She caught the tube into the centre, feeling slightly anxious with anticipation. All the adults were dressed in the latest sarongs and their bodies adorned with all manner of jewellery (children mostly went naked, impatient of clothing). They had settled in Eden’s equatorial region and had quickly realised clothes were impractical because of the tropical climate, so they looked to the cultures of the equatorial regions of old Earth for aesthetic inspiration: from the basic nudity of tribes of the Americas, Africa and Australia, to the simple single cloth wraps of the islands of Melanesia and Polynesia. The most favoured period was that of the great Hindu expansion into SE Asia: the Champa, Khmer, Srivijayan, Singhasari and Majapahit empires. Artisan weavers created bright brocade sarongs using a variety of native plant based materials, florists made elaborate leis and head, wrist and ankle wreaths, and given that gold, silver and precious gems were bountiful, jewellers created elaborate pieces to adorn ears, necks, heads, waists, noses, nipples, fingers, wrists, ankles, penises, anywhere that could be pierced or hold a ring or chain. If people were intent on being further adorned, they resorted to tattoos and body paint.
She alighted at Central, the large station feeding the network. She followed the colourful crowd up the moving ramps - the walls of the brightly lit tunnel decorated with Renaissance style frescoes depicting the many cultures of old Earth - and spilled out into the bright sunlight.
She was facing the broad expanse of the Common, a large botanic park based on the grand parks of old Earth: Central Park in NY, the Hyde, Green and Regents parks in London, Stanley Park in Vancouver, Ueno Park in Tokyo, the Jardin Tuillieres of Paris and the Botanic Gardens of Melbourne. It sat astride the mouth of Jayarama River and hugged Settler Bay. Most of the major cultural buildings were carefully placed in its meticulously landscaped sections: the concert hall, art gallery, Conservatorium, the many departments of the Academy, Congress and the administrative offices of the Common.
She had set aside some time to wander, perhaps explore the markets and indulge in some jewellery and sweet treats, perhaps even catch a concert in the open theatre.
“What’s on?” she asked her guardian as she headed across the lawn, enjoying the feel of the fragrant blue-green satin grass between her toes.
“Simpson’s guitar concerto is currently playing, followed by a choral group. They’ll be performing a piece by Grace Mpeko, the Stellar Harmony…”
“Oh good, I like that one.”
She paused for a moment to watch an informal football match set on one of the fields, possibly between students on a break from lectures at the Academy. A beautiful girl was making a fluid barefoot run down the left flank, her blond ponytail streaming behind her, the opposing team finding it difficult to counter her. When she had come to the end of her run she made a perfectly placed cross to the goal. There was something especially graceful and economical about the way she moved. Biyu walked around the field to get a closer look at her: tall, small breasted, long sprinter’s legs and gluts, taught stomach, pronounced mons veneris – everything she liked. Without a doubt enhanced and probably holding back for the benefit of the others. She couldn’t recall having seen her playing in the league. Perhaps she was a new recruit.
The girl must have sensed her staring because she turned and looked at her as if to ask, “do I know you?”
It was then Biyu understood her athletic grace because the girl was staring back at her with large green eyes: all iris and no white conjunctiva. It was obvious she was a spright runner from the forests in the far north. They had been the first to seek enhanced vision and hearing in order to better hunt the illusive and very fast spright: a medium sized forest grazer that used colour shifting as camouflage. It was a difficult enhancement. It wasn’t just a case of creating more rods for the eyes but also increasing the cell density of the visual cortex so the brain could process the additional data. In time all humans would receive the enhancement, but for now this girl was an exotic.
Biyu met the girl’s stare and smiled, “just admiring your skill,” she said softly, knowing the girl would hear. The girl looked at Biyu for a moment and tilted her head, noting Biyu’s gymnast’s body, accepting the flirtation, inviting Biyu to take a good look.
“Aren’t you…?”
“Zhang Biyu, yes.”
“Our lot nearly beat you last year.”
“Yes, I know. Masaru Sakamura. Left me for dead on the flat, stumbled on the climb.”
The girl smiled. “I’m coming to the fight. I wanted to watch you lose,” she said cheekily, “but now that I see you’re cute, maybe I’ll fuck the enemy instead.”
Biyu laughed at the sexual aggression. It was not uncommon amongst athletes, a way of testing the competition and the spright runners were especially noted for their directness. “My girlfriend will be there,” she cautioned.
The girl shrugged. “One’s a chore, two’s a bore, more is what I adore.”
Biyu laughed. “And your name?”
The girl smiled and returned her attention to the game, jogging backwards to her position, knowing that Biyu was watching her every move.
“Katsumi Sakamura... Kat… Masaru’s little sister.”
“Little sister?” Masaru had been fourteen, which meant this girl was still just a pup.
“By two years,” she nodded.
The ball was passed on the other side and the girl ran to intercept, her attention concentrated on the game. Biyu continued on her way, smiling at the unexpected but welcome flirtation.
She wandered through the section devoted to the whispering trees of the north. It sounded like the wind whistling through branches but it was a vibration caused by small tubes in the midrib of the broad orange leaves, a kind of primitive vocal chord summoning insects to feed off the nectar in the tree’s purple flowers.
The market was set under large white cloth sails set to protect it from the heat of the midday sun and the tropical rains. She walked in through the eastern entrance past a large fountain of intricately timed spurts creating complex geometric patterns, young children running through the spurts trying to catch each one, just as she remembered doing as a child. She passed street entertainers: a juggler; a clown amusing some young children; a heavily tattooed woman performing tricks with brightly coloured ribbon (pulling it through her nose and out her mouth; making it disappear; making it seem as if it was being pulled through her ears; pulling an especially long rainbow coloured ribbon from her vagina – which always got the biggest applause). There was also a talented young violinist and a body artist painting a young boy with tribal markings, watched on by a queue of children eager for their turn – all standard street entertainment. It was something she knew well because she had once performed there as a young acrobat, wowing the assembled crowds with amusing and dangerous routines.
She wove her way through the crowds. Past people trying on sarongs or jewellery, or inspecting objets d”art: elaborately hand painted porcelain, intricate woodcarvings, or individually designed silverware. Past stalls selling children’s toys and exotic potted plants. Past the food stalls with the smells urging her to break her strict diet. She decided to indulge in an ice, something usually forbidden because of its calorie content. She chose a cone of two flavours, the tangy bib berry and the sweet jewel fruit. It dripped on her hand as she wandered through the many aisles, her attention finally drawn to a stall selling Revived Art Nouveau glassware. The woman attending the stall explained that the artist was her third daughter, Octavia De Bortoloni. She wanted to hold some of the pieces, but her hands were sticky. The woman smiled and reached for a cloth and wet it with some water from a flask.
In the end she couldn’t resist. She chose a beautiful frosted pink vase with intricate patterns fused to the outside. It was expensive, but it was a fair price for the skill and labor of the glassmaker.
“Okay, deal,” she said. “Although I can’t carry it…”
“I’ll get a drone to deliver it. When?”
“Get them to hol
d it and my guardian will let them know.”
The woman nodded and reached for the vase to wrap it. The lights of their guardians flickered to register the transaction and confirm that a drone had been booked. She was rather pleased with herself. She would give it to Zoe as a surprise, perhaps tonight if circumstances allowed, perhaps in some romantic moment? She would time the drone to arrive just after they had made love.
She wandered through the ceramics section with a vague idea to redecorate her small bathroom with hand painted tiles but she had to watch her funds. That was why the coming bout was so important. The winner’s prize would be a welcome top up.
“Biyu,” her guardian whispered. “The concert begins in ten minutes, if you head through the fern glade you’ll make it on time at a steady pace.”
She sighed. “You could have given me more time. I need a piss.”
“There’s a urinal in the fern glade.”
She couldn’t win. Of course there was.
The urinal was exactly where her guardian had said, a beautiful tiled wall with cascading water that ended in a grated trough, where it would be recycled to water the gardens. A young girl was already squatting, pissing into the trough. She parted her sarong, parted her labia and pissed standing. She sighed and closed her eyes with the relief. As she opened her eyes a man stood beside her and pulled out an impressive penis decorated with tattoos and a jade cock ring. She watched distractedly as he pissed into the cascading water.
“Nice day,” he said. “Here for anything in particular?”
It was a polite throwaway question.
“I’m heading to the concert.”
He nodded and tucked his cock back under his sarong and she stood back and let her sarong fall back into place.
“Well enjoy,” he said smiling.
“I will,” she replied walking away to the hiss of water, glad to miss a rowdy group of older children who ran to the wall and started playfully jostling each other as they pissed, with one girl pushing a boy into the wall of water, leading to squeals of laughter and a game of chase.
The concert was very soothing. Six singers: a bass, tenor, a mezzo, two sopranos and a boy treble. The intricate polyphony based on the bhairavi raga was somewhat melancholic, dreamy. There was nothing to do but close her eyes and absorb the music.
Her guardian interrupted as soon as the polite applause started to fade. “They’ve informed me that they are running ahead of schedule. As you are now the closest they wondered if you wouldn’t mind making your way.”
“What, now?”
“Well, they did wait until the concert was over. There is no rush.”
It was stated with the exquisite polite formality of the Common. What they were really saying was that they wanted to see her as soon as she got there. It was a ten-minute walk around the climate-controlled domes housing botanical displays from the arid and temperate regions, and then across the river.
It was a sight that always filled her with awe. One of the few ostentatious buildings designed to stand out rather than blend in; a symbol of the Common. It took its design from the Hagia Sophia, the great Byzantine church: except this building was made of the purest white marble and its domes were covered in gold. It sat on the edge of a cliff with the best view of the archipelago and its many bays, inlets and islands. The Congress sat under the large central dome and the many other domes of various sizes held convention halls and meeting rooms. It was the living, breathing heart of Eden democracy.
Somehow she thought she would be directed to an office, instead she was directed to a side veranda covered in purple flowering vine with a commanding view across the bay. The place seemed empty until a tall woman in her fifties walked out regally from behind a column.
“Ah Zhang Biyu, am I correct?”
She froze. It was a justice, as indicated by her vermillion and gold sarong and the gold diadem with the large diamond pendant suspended over her third eye. She was also heavily pregnant, her sizable breasts swollen with milk.
“Ma’am,” Biyu dropped her head in a formal acknowledgment of the woman’s authority.
The woman nodded in return. “I’m justice Goya, but you can call me Maeve.”
She was suddenly very nervous. She knew exactly who this woman was.
“Will you have tea? The sweet cakes are from a master pâtissier. I recommend them most highly,” she said directing Biyu to a table and two chairs.
She remained frozen and did not sit. Such formal politeness meant that this was about to get very serious.
“What I am about to say is subject to a section ten, subsection five confidentiality agreement. If you have any objection to making such an assurance you may leave now without prejudice.”
Biyu gulped and shook her head that she had no objection.
“Do you understand and accept?”
“I understand and accept.”
The diamond in the justice’s diadem flickered with light, indicating that her guardian had just recorded the agreement in the legal files. “It is agreed and noted. Now, understanding that you may not speak of anything I say next, do you accept a confidentiality agreement under subsection three of the emergency provisions of section eleven of the Accord, understanding that any breach of the agreement may result in severe penalties including expulsion from the Accord. If you have any objection you may leave now without prejudice. Do you understand and accept?”
Biyu imagined she was visibly trembling.
“You may think about it if you wish.”
“What is this about?”
“It cannot be revealed without your accepting the confidentiality agreement.” Justice Goya managed a faint smile, but it was a smile of impatience.
“I understand and accept.”
“It is agreed and noted.”
Her mind raced. She had just agreed to keep an important secret from Zoe and the guardians would be monitoring her every word. Most importantly, if anyone dared press her to reveal any of this, they would also be committing an offence.
“Good. Of course you understand that we would not have selected you if we had any doubts.” The justice moved to reassure her by placing her hand on her wrist. “Now I want you to listen very carefully. You do not have to decide now.”
Biyu nodded, afraid to look in the justice’s eyes.
“Do you accept this task knowing that you risk serious physical and psychological injury, even death?”
Biyu started to speak but the justice moved her hand slightly, gesturing for her to wait.
“And do you accept this task knowing that you may be required to kill without moral hesitation in order to defend yourself?”
Biyu’s eyes widened but the justice’s hand was still raised.
“And do you accept this task knowing that you may be asked to kill without moral hesitation to defend the Common?”
“A warrior?” she gasped before realising her indiscretion.
She expected the justice to react with disapproval, but instead the justice merely rolled her head slightly to indicate that she had not been too far from the truth. “We do not require an immediate response. You need to think about this very carefully, noting your emotional response. What we have asked would shock many and terrify some. If you have the least doubt you must decline. Listen to me carefully.” The justice held her gaze. “Zhang Biyu we are asking you to risk your life. You might not come back from this task.”
Biyu nodded, she was shaking.
“You have five days to do what you need to do. The Common will provide any assistance you need. Your guardian has now been programmed with the highest security clearance and if you feel it is necessary, you may speak to me directly.”
For some reason all she could think of was her match. “I have a bout in a few days…”
“Yes, we know. We suggest you compete; it will help things to look normal. I may even attend myself.”
“So what is this about? Are we under threat?”
It seemed that the just
ice had expected this question. “I wish I could tell you but even I am not aware of all the details. You will be fully briefed and once again given the choice to decline without prejudice.” The justice pulled her close to end their meeting with a formal kiss. “Thank you for your service Biyu.”
12
Akash
He had not expected to marry. Intimate relationships were just too difficult. It wasn’t just because he was busy and often distracted, his mind preoccupied with complex demands. It was the fact that he couldn’t explain his work to intimates; it was either too intricate or too secret. They might ask questions he couldn’t answer, or he would give answers they couldn’t comprehend. It created an almost unbridgeable gap. So he began to see himself as a kind of monk forced into celibacy and sometimes he thought the deeply religious kingdom of Bhutan was the perfect redoubt.
When he first saw Tshering she looked like many of the young Bhutanese women who visited the temple. She was certainly pretty and exotic, but he found many Himalayan women pretty and exotic. It was not until she looked at him directly that he saw the piercing intelligence. He found himself returning her gaze for longer than was polite.
The next time they met she was formally introduced as the Peling Tukse’s older sister (she was twenty-one). She smiled demurely as he offered a clumsy formal greeting in stilted Dzongkpa. He was impressed when she responded in carefully articulated English. She could sense that he was curious and politely explained that she had studied English at Delhi University and had hoped to be either a teacher or a translator (although he guessed her talents and ambitions were much greater).
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