Chosen Spirits

by Samit Basu

  'Please explain what's happening here,' she says. 'What are Zaria and Rudra doing? Do they work for you? Are you the King of Nehru Place?'

  'There is no King in Nehru Place,' he says. 'I'm not allowed to say more about their plans, but they're going out into dangerous places to find out the truth. They don't work for me at all — but we have common interests and beliefs, enough for us to help them.'

  'How dangerous?'

  'If they fail, they'll die. Even if they succeed, people might not be ready to hear the truths they learn — so it is quite possible that no one will listen to them. But they are doing what they feel they must. And whether they succeed or fail, we will learn much we do not know.'

  'I don't like this. Zaria knows what she's doing, but Rudra? This isn't right.'

  'It is not in your hands. Or mine. They have heard the call, and they have to answer. If I had my way, I wouldn't want you anywhere near Cyber Bazaar. But here you are. There was no other way that would keep them safe.'

  The boys interrupt, with a tray bearing Joey's phone, and another one laden with food, and a small plastic table which they set up with cheerful efficiency. Metal plates and glasses, huge mounds of rice, and bowls of pale yellow dal, crisp fried bhindi and a thin chicken curry: the closest thing to home-cooked food Joey's seen all week. The boys' names are Kusu and Rocky, and after setting the table they hover near the door, looking at each other slyly, both silently daring the other to speak.

  'What is it?' Joey asks.

  'Didi, are you the pink girl? Gin the traitor?' Rocky asks. Raja yells at them and they run off, howling with laughter.

  The background score of muffled screams and gunshots is not ideal, but the food is delicious, and Joey and Raja eat in silence. Joey's surprised to find she can eat at all, but there's something calming about the sight of Raja shovelling kilos of food into his face as if these were the most normal circumstances possible for a simple meal. When the food is done, Kusu appears to clear the table, managing not to smirk or look at Joey under Raja's fierce gaze. Raja keeps checking his phone, but it's stubbornly silent: to ease the tension, Joey decides to draw his story out of him. He's hesitant at first, but grows comfortable once he realises it's not an interrogation, and soon he's telling her far more than he should.

  Raja grew up in Madhupur, a cyber-crime hub in Jharkhand, and learnt his skills from jobless engineers in dusty cybercafes. He met Laxmi in Calcutta, when he'd been sent there to run a small gang of sim-duplicators: he'd fallen in love with her data while picking her digital pocket, and she'd still not tired of reminding him about this. They'd run away to Delhi together to escape a local politician his gang had hacked, who'd set fire to Laxmi's entire neighbourhood. That was 20 years ago. They were 17.

  Raja lights up as he speaks, and Joey sees what drew Laxmi to the man: in another world, in another time, he would have been a great teacher. He tells her about Solboxes that let families trade solar power directly with their neighbours, about dronejacking sweatshops and illegal 3D printing factories that could compete with the Chinese if they didn't have to pay bribes, about criminal-only servers, identity theft centres, malware startups, tech-pyravikar cartels aligned with caste mafias in Uttar Pradesh, fake ID publishers and maverick gene-hackers, Gujarati cryptocurrency forgers and Dravida Nation spies. He tells her about other cities under Delhi's skin, city-states with their own internets, their own currencies, their own economies. Not just the fortress-paradise cities of the rich, but watering holes for the very poorest. And Cyber Bazaar is where these cities intersect, where micro-religions come for artificially powered exoskeletons, infotech tycoons for self-updating sex toys, Gurgaon kids for racing hoverboards. Genmaicha to gallium, nanobots to neodymium, genetic ovens and CRISPR kits, transilluminators and centrifuges all available within two-minute walks from where they sit, at the world's best price. She knows there are many things sold here that he cannot tell her about, too, and wishes she didn't know, that she could see Cyber Bazaar as he did, as some sort of biopunk pirate-port paradise. But she envies his evident belonging to all these cities: she was born here, he was not, but her upper-class indigo passport doesn't give her the gate-passes he possesses.

  She understands only the broad outlines, but is fascinated by the scale of it: shuttered hardware centres repurposed to manufacture every project that comes up on American crowdfunding sites before their proposals are even funded, viruses to confuse the most advanced facial-recognition databases, rogue AI being developed to create their own gangs in cyberspace. She understands why they will never leave, never search for a new life in a strange land: they're addicted to Delhi. They love the place, and she wonders if she ever will, anywhere near as much.

  When Raja's phone finally rings, she doesn't want his stories to stop. He takes the phone to a corner to mutter, and she realises that it's quiet outside: they must be cleaning up the street. She hopes they'll be done before she leaves. Despite her best efforts to restrain her producer brain, she's got the whole pitch for Raja's Flow ready: she knows he won't do it, she knows her funders wouldn't hear of it, she knows she won't even suggest it to him. But she's got it all lined up, so she can at least imagine making it, polishing it, and putting it out in the world.

  Raja leads her through another maze of corridors and stairways, into another ancient elevator. This one has a sleek control panel stuck on its pulpy walls: he asks her to shut her eyes as he punches a combination. It's a short ride, and then he guides her out of the elevator and tells her to open her eyes.

  It's a large hall, a makeshift hospital ward, four parallel rows of beds, trolleys loaded with medical equipment: monitors, stands, drips. There are no partitions, the walls are lined with thick curtains, and the ceiling dotted with air-conditioner vents. She thinks she sees a rat's tail hanging out of one, but it's gone in an instant. The AC's on at full blast: Joey shivers as Raja walks her past empty beds.

  At the far end of the hall, there are two beds that aren't empty. Joey starts running as soon as she sees them. Rudra and Zaria are both unconscious, on beds next to each other, on drip, in blue robes, wired up to machines Joey doesn't even begin to recognise. Their arms and heads are covered in bandages, and Joey's worried it's not them, she hasn't looked at their bodies that closely, this could be anyone. There's a man in a white coat standing between them, who speaks as Joey approaches, but she ignores him, and grabs Rudra’s hand.

  'What have you done to them?' she asks.

  Raja arrives, huffing, behind her.

  'Bijoyini, meet Dr Magan,' he says, with deep reverence.

  'Just Magan, please,' says the doctor. 'My degrees are not even recognised in India.'

  He's white-bearded and immediately charismatic. Joey cancels her first few questions, all of which are rude ones about who he is and where he's from — this is clearly not a man to antagonise, but there are other questions, more important ones.

  'What have you done to them?' she asks again.

  'So you're the famous Bijoyini,' he says, walking towards her. His right trouser-leg ends in a grey smart prosthetic foot: she tries not to look at it.

  'How lucky, to grow up eating Laxmi's cooking,' Magan says. 'You don't look like you have, though. I would have been far fatter, far happier.'

  He sighs. 'Your friends have not yet awakened, as you can see. They should have woken, hours ago, but there were complications, thanks to this stupid fighting outside. Raja, you will have a word with the usual people. We pay our dues, more than we should. They can have their fights elsewhere.'

  'Yes, sir,' Raja says.

  'Unfortunately you will not be able to speak with them today,' Magan says. 'The schedules have altered, and it will soon not be safe for you to be here, to see what you would see if you stayed. But I hope, and pray, that you will see them again soon.'

  He stops Joey with an outstretched palm before she can repeat her question.

  'Their new faces have not set yet,' he says. 'There's no cause for such alarm — they will look the sa
me to you. But the machines will not know them now, unless they want to be seen. A gift from Cyber Bazaar. They will place themselves in great danger for the good of the land, and we must do our best to help.'

  'I can't allow this to happen, whatever it is,' Joey says, wishing she could summon more authority in a bloodstained salwar in a pirate hospital. 'I am responsible for these people, and I need to hear them say they know what they're doing. And that's just Zaria — I can't allow Rudra to go. He works for me. He's not made for high-pressure situations, and it'll be my fault if something happens to him.'

  Magan and Raja exchange a look, and a smirk.

  'I am happy to see you care so much for your charges, but they are not yours any more,' says Magan. 'They belong to no one but themselves — the mission they go on is not even ours. We are merely helping. I did not call you here to ask for your permission. I have something to give you that I needed to place in your hands myself.'

  He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a small plastic box. He hands it to Joey with great solemnity.

  'This is all of Rudra's data,' he says. 'He said you were the person he trusted most. Keep it secret. If he needs to be rebuilt, it will be necessary.'

  She stands before him, completely helpless, glaring at the box in her hand.

  'He also said goodbye,' Magan says. 'He said to thank you, you especially, for setting him free.'

  'Oh we're not done,' Joey says. 'He's not going anywhere. I'm not letting him go.'

  'It is what he wants. You have not failed him,' Magan says. 'You could not have stopped them. Zaria has done this before. She is not alone. And Rudra? Rudra will surprise you. I see a great strength in the boy. If he doesn't break, he will end up a folk hero.'

  'You've given them face implants, and... what else? Where are they going? When are they supposed to return?'

  'The less you know, the better. But rest assured, they are in no physical pain. We have given them new smartatts, implants to prevent infections that don't exist yet, means of communication very few in the world possess. In their own way, they are beyond human now. We do not have too many of these gifts to give, but they were worthy. The evils they are going to fight — they need to be fought. Rudra and Zaria will ride into battle, and win. They will change the world. I know all of this is strange, and I understand how you feel. But from what I have heard of you, I know we are on the same side.'

  He sits on Zaria's bed, and gestures. Joey sits on Rudra's, sullen but grateful: everything still hurts.

  'Does a part of you want to go with them?' he asks.

  'I don't know,' she says. 'Yes?'

  'I understand, but it is impossible. They are different creatures from you, with different stories. You are not powerful enough, or powerless enough, to take these risks. But there are things you can do to help.'

  'I don't think I can help you,' Joey says. 'A few minutes after leaving the metro I was sure I was going to die. And — sorry, there's no good way to say this — but I don't want to be a criminal. I'm not smart enough, or brave enough.'

  'I became a criminal because they did not allow me to be a good man. But we are not just criminals here. We make things here that the people need but their rulers do not want. We could go out there and print 3D huts for next to nothing. Build water generators that make drinking water out of air. All the things that would let people live decent lives, keep them from coming to this slaughterhouse of a city. But they will not let us. They don't want people to live like humans. They want them for meat.'

  'What do you want from me?'

  'I want to ask you if you're happy with your life the way it is.'

  ‘No.'

  ‘Do you have a purpose? A calling?’

  ‘No. Well-‘

  'Do you feel as if you live in an illusion, and do you want to help people outside it?'

  'Yes.'

  'Do you feel like your life is passing by, and it is somehow shallow, and you want to do something of relevance, of importance?'

  'Yes.'

  'I know these feelings. I was young once too, in Berbera. A surgeon. I had the wrong opinions, but I kept them to myself — I wanted to be safe, and I wanted my family to be safe. But I wrote a diary, for myself, on my computer, where I told myself many truths. And one day some men came and took my computer, and everything in it was used against me, to take away all I had. Perhaps that is why I do what I do.'

  He stretches, and smiles at Joey, his teeth even and stained a deep brown.

  'The Berberawi are scattered now, our land divided by wars and competing investors. Perhaps one day we will go back. I shall not live to see that day, but I have many grandchildren. Perhaps they will find a small plot of land to sit, and chew their khat, and see a real sunset again. I will die in Delhi. I suppose that makes it my home, as well. When you find a new home, and get to know it, there always comes a time when you find ghosts of your last home in it. When I see you, I see my daughter.'

  Joey almost asks where she is, and stops herself just in time.

  'I say this not to trick you into feeling kinship with me, but to tell you that I swear I will never allow any harm to come to you. And if I tried to harm you — what would you do, Raja?'

  'I would kill you,' Raja says.

  'There you have it. I want you to work with me, Bijoyini.'

  'How?'

  'We have a large operation here, as you know. I understand the sciences, and my friends understand money, power and violence. Delhi's rulers need us, for now, we make their lives easier and so we are allowed to thrive. But things change fast, and before the next wind blows us away, I want — we want — to make a real difference to things we do not understand. Things that hold the world together in a way that better machines cannot. Culture, the arts, the people's hearts. Ideas that grow. We need experts we trust to build those worlds for us. I have heard you are the best in the field.'

  'I'm not. I've heard that before, but I just — I just do my job. And I didn't get my job because I was the best at anything. It was because of who I knew.'

  'It takes a certain wisdom to be able to see the unfairness of a system that benefits one. Every pyramid of power is built on loyalty — for some it is a social elite that serves itself while maintaining the illusion of fair competition, for others it is a contest to see who kills the most, and lies the loudest, to serve their leaders. And the fact that all systems are corrupt and flawed does not make them all the same. Cyber Bazaar runs on loyalty too. But the world we want to build is a better one than the world that is now available. It is not a world where the powerless will be left behind to die.'

  'I believe you. I'm just trying to tell you I'm not exceptionally brilliant. I'm just doing my job, and plenty of other people could do it too.’

  'If that were true, they would be here now, not you. We have known your work for years. We even tried sending one of our friends to work for you — a spirit of fire, you may know her as Uma — but she was not ready for your union and neither were you. Please understand, Joey, we are not trying to tell you that you must save the world. It’s a job, like any other. We have tried to find the right person for it before, and if you refuse us, we will try others. But you fit what we need. Many in your world are above the law, like your present employers. Many others are entirely outside it, like I am. But you — you are still connected to something we are not, a river that churns and is full of filth, but still flows. Without people like you, we cannot restore what is lost, we cannot build the new. Does that make sense to you?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Now hear this. We are in the middle of a war. Our survival is at stake. Great powers move, and the tensions between them will crush us, and they do not care. India will stand up. Across the country, they have stood up before, they will stand up again when it is time. Such is their character. But the road is long. And sometimes people get tired, and fall back into sleep. We have been trying, for a while, to wake them up again, before it is too late. But our artists, from E-Klav and Desibr
yde to those less famous, need to do more — need to inspire more.’

  'It's really not measurable, though. Both of them are doing fantastic work.'

  'They have become notorious in their own ways, but the people we hired to guide their art and the people who talk about it most are all... far away. Not just in physical distance, but in culture. Their modes of resistance work for their people, but we need faster change for ours.'

  'So you need a local.'

  'We need someone to show our artists how to bring real change here. Someone who understands Delhi, and India, and what works here. Someone who can teach people not to believe propaganda, not to trust advertising, not to succumb to rage or hate or, just as dangerous, distraction. Someone to keep their minds whole, focussed and sharp, so they see the truth behind the stories they hear, and learn how to tell their own stories. Would you like to be this person?'

  'This isn't one person's job.'

  'Then you shall have a team.'

  'This isn't how art works.'

  'Then show us how it does.'

  'You can't set goals like this for art. And I'm tired of being pushed around. I hate being a piece in games I don't understand.'

  'You will be free to do whatever you want.'

  'You're not listening!' Joey slams her hand on the bed, flinching as she hits Rudra, but Rudra doesn't awaken.

  'This is an incredibly exciting idea,' she says after a while. 'I mean, manage E-Klav? Desibryde? But I'm not the right person to do it. I don't understand India, or Delhi, or any of the other things you need me to understand. You need someone better.'

  'There is no one better. We have looked. When we say we see something special in you, it's because we know we're right. If we did not understand people, we would not have lived this long. Laxmi has told us things about you that you might not know yourself. How you nurture your charges, how you build their lives, how you give away grand ideas to the fools you work for. How you stay away from the traps of fame, and how tired you are of your shallow world. And above all, how you want to do more. It’s time to become one of us, and have a real adventure. I promise you, there's a deeper, richer life to be had in the shadows, whole worlds that you can save. Look at me. We need you. Will you help us?'