“Oh no, not materials science. How dull.”
Isla laughed. “I know; if I hear any more about super ceramics and diamond fibre.”
Nuku looked at Isla and saw someone different. She had indeed been looking at Isla through the glasses of prejudice. She had also been lying to herself; lying to her intuition, her own freak brain. She had known all along that Isla was attracted to her and that she would eventually say yes; had known that she and Isla would become firm friends. “So, you want to take me to dinner or something?”
Isla blushed and smiled coyly. “I’d like that. I was actually going to ask you to dinner at my small flat. I do a mean Xinqing noodle and I have a bottle of purple I’ve been keeping for a special occasion.”
“Sounds perfect.”
29
Akash
He was torn. Shunyata employed too many people to close everything down, and he knew many of them were insisting politely that they continue, arguing that it was what the first expedition would have wanted. Yet he felt paralysed. How could he put more lives at risk?
“Keep your arm steady,” said prince Trongsa. “Try to relax before you release the arrow.”
He was wearing the traditional costume of Bhutan and found it slightly awkward. Even though this was a day of informal sport amongst the elites of Bhutan, archery was still taken very seriously. It was a privilege to be asked to participate, a sign of his acceptance into Bhutanese society.
“I know, become one with the arrow,” he said in Dzongkpa.
“No idiot, just stop shaking,” the prince laughed.
He tried to steady his arm but he was weak and the strain of holding such a taught bow caused him to shake. He held his breath, scrunched up his face and through sheer determination managed a moment of stability before he let the string go.
He had his eyes closed when he heard polite applause. “Not bad for a novice, you actually hit the target,” said the prince.
They walked over to the picnic table to where his wife Tshering was waiting, with Pema sitting on princess Drolma’s lap being shown how to play cat’s cradle.
“Well done darling,” said Tshering somewhat formally; mindful of the company she was in.
“Yes, very manly,” teased Drolma.
He would have liked to have stayed with the women but custom dictated that he rejoin the prince who had started a conversation with his older brother the king and an aid who had just appeared looking very serious. He approached but waited for the king to acknowledge his presence, which he did with a surprisingly urgent wave of his hand.
“Jayarama, you’ll need to hear this,” the king said in a hushed voice.
“Sir?”
The king spoke to the aid. “Repeat what you just told me.”
The aid looked at Akash with uncertainty but obeyed his king’s command. “We have just learnt that the Russian president and several members of his government have died in a plane crash. We don’t think it was an accident.”
Akash went pale because he was certain it wasn’t.
“What do you think?” asked the king.
“I doubt it was an accident. If you would allow me sir, I’ll check with my people.”
“Of course, your guidance in these matters has been invaluable to us.” It was a reminder that their cooperation with his mysterious business dealings was based on his ability to offer them the intelligence their small network could never hope to. His advice had already helped the kingdom in several ways.
Akash bowed, just a small nod commensurate with his familiarity with the king’s inner circle, switched on his secure phone and walked out of earshot. There was already a message from Aviva.
“Who was it?”
“We think it was Shukarov.”
“Isn’t he in exile in London?”
“Yes, but he’s been building an alliance with French and British oil interests. It’s all part of the manoeuvering for control of the Arctic oil and gas fields.”
“I assume the president had favoured another group?”
“Yes, a consortium linked to Votyakov. We have been able to trace a substantial payment into the president’s offshore accounts. We think Shukarov has people in the Kremlin, plus one or two generals in his pay.”
“And the Chinese?”
“Will not be happy, although we have detected traffic between Shukarov and Hong Kong through Britain.”
“And the probable outcome?”
“An attempted coup in Russia, destabilisation of neighbouring countries linked to the president, increased tensions between China, the Scandinavians and Russia, and increased tensions within the Chinese hierarchy with the possibility of an attempted purge against Xing and the Hong Kong clique.”
“And the impact on Shunyata and Bhutan?”
“In some ways it’s positive as it draws China’s focus away from India and SE Asia. The major players seem focused on internal battles for the moment. On the other hand it is bad because the planet just became even more unstable and a step closer to an open war over Arctic resources.”
He frowned. It was the assessment he suspected. “But it might allow the Indians to think there were opportunities in the north. Didn’t you say a group of corporates linked to a faction within the BJP were scouting for locations for havens in the Himalayas?”
“Yes, but we heard they were looking at Nepal, the government has been more open to Indian investment and they have a tighter grip, both legit and criminal.”
“It’s still too close. I’ve never liked it. I think we should keep a closer watch.”
“Okay. It’ll mean shifting assets. We’re getting stretched.”
“I know. I’ll look at the budget again. I’ll let you know.”
“One more thing…”
“Yes.” He knew what she was about to say.
“The window of opportunity just got smaller.”
He frowned. She was right, yet he still did not think he could face seeing any more of his people die on an alien world and their families told lies. He returned to the king and informed him of his news, adding that a full report would be sent to the foreign minister.
“Well, let the world go mad, we will ensure Bhutan survives,” said the king shaking his head with exasperation.
Akash nodded in agreement; his plan depended on it. “We should perhaps review the progress of making Bhutan’s economy sustainable and independent.”
“Of course, I’ll have a word to the Prime Minister when he comes to see me in a few days. I’m sure we’ll discuss this turn of events.”
That night he stayed up late watching the news feeds as the streets of Moscow and St Petersburg were filled with protestors and riot police. At the moment it was peaceful but he expected it to escalate to riots in the next few days. There was additional news of anti-Muslim riots in Europe, an increase in Sunni/Shia hostility in Iraq and large anti-globalisation rallies in South America. It looked like the world was on fire, in truth it was a relatively quiet day. Most people had no idea of the extent of global unrest because the national media outlets only gave limited coverage, with most of them owned by the very corporate elites with the most to lose.
In the past he had not paid much attention to global affairs. His mind had been thoroughly immersed in higher mathematics, but in recent months he had been having a number of interesting conversations with political psychologists and cultural anthropologists trying to understand why humanity kept going around and around in circles, never learning from past mistakes. It was like the fall of the Roman Empire all over again; only the problem was now planet wide. The social and economic forces had once again created a patrician elite with oppressed plebeians, slaves and barbarians just waiting for a chance to topple an overextended and internally corrupt empire. Only this time there were no new continents rich with resources to plunder.
His mind was racing so he walked out onto the penthouse balcony that looked out over the Thimpu valley. It was a clear, crisp night and stars filled the sky, a
place to clear his mind. He had often thought that one of the reasons he had been attracted to the Himalayas was because some childish part of him thought he would be closer to the stars. His mother had told him that the subcontinent of India was moving north, the tectonic fold that had created the Himalayas gradually pushing them higher, closer and closer to the stars. To his mother it was a metaphor to explain why the Himalayas had been the source of so much wisdom – perpetually seeking the heights.
He took a deep breath. It would be so easy to abandon interstellar travel and retreat into these mountains. Even though the rest of the world might go to hell he was sure Bhutan had a future. Here at least was a country that seemed to get the balance right, to emphasise happiness over pride and greed. Surely the best option was to use his vast resources to protect Bhutan so that his daughter might have a chance?
Yet there was something else about these mountains. Stories that his mother had told him about extraordinary humans, the mahasiddhas with their magic powers, a tradition shared by both Hindus and Buddhists. He had been entranced by stories of yogis who had mastered levitation, invisibility, telekinesis and telepathy. Of course he understood that much of it was trickery, but he couldn’t help but imagine if some early science had created wonders. The mahasiddhas were the inheritors of a more ancient shamanist tradition. They were alchemists, especially of the body, and perhaps they had attained something that appeared supernatural to the superstitious mind of the time. So didn’t this make him a mahasiddha of a kind, the man who had solved the problem of interstellar travel, who could draw limitless energy from the void?
He shivered as a cold wind blew down from the mountains. He retreated to sit at the family puja filled with statues and thangkas dedicated to the dakinis and great female Buddhas of the Nyingma lineage: Yeshe Tsogyal and her reincarnations, Jomo Menmo, Sera Khandro and Mingyur Paldrön. Tshering had introduced him to this rich tradition and his one materialist indulgence had been to collect antique statues, many of which would eventually be housed in a specially built museum (Tshering was chair of the board). He found comfort in these images because they reminded him so much of his mother.
He had also finally come to accept that the Himalayans had been right about meditation. Initially he had adopted Western materialist scepticism. He had believed that the mind was fixed, but over the years more and more objective scientific evidence was challenging that simplistic model. He had once thought that the tales of yogis and siddhas stopping their hearts was a cheap magic trick, until the trick was performed under laboratory conditions. And now magnetic resonance imaging was clearly proving that meditation could shape the brain. It was now understood that neuroplasticity was very real and that the various forms of mindfulness were good for the health of the body and mind. He still thought that a good deal of meditation was associated with unjustified metaphysical speculation but his way around that was to understand the speculation as one understood myth. It could be enjoyed without actually believing it was true. Once he had understood that the deities weren’t real, that they were aspects of the mind, symbols of psychological processes, he could enjoy them without offending his rational mind. The same applied to ritual. It was theatre, something to be enjoyed with all the senses and not over analysed.
He had also once thought that meditation was about emptying his mind and finding stillness. When he explained this to Tshering she laughed at his naivety and explained that fullness was emptiness; that the Buddhas could fill the mind with their essence, that this was the origin of the Greek concept of genius and of the Latin inspirare – to be filled with the breath of the gods. This concept changed everything: changed the way he saw the periods of mania that seemed to overtake him and fill his mind to overflowing, keeping him awake for days. He wasn’t seeking emptiness, he was seeking fullness, a laser like clarity; all his wild thoughts focused into concentrated insight.
It also demonstrated that the Indians had developed a very sophisticated theory of mind, something Western psychology and philosophy was just beginning to appreciate.
So with this understanding he sat and prayed to Tshering’s favourite deity, the White Tara, the sensuous sixteen year-old female boddhisattva always depicted unashamedly topless (a reminder that in the Golden Age of Hinduism, an uncovered chest was the norm for both men and women). He was now perfectly comfortable with the explicit sexual symbolism of tantric Buddhism; of statues of the Buddha in coitus with a dakini – the famous yab-yum; of thangkas of dakinis displaying their vaginas; of phalluses drawn on the houses of Bhutan to ward off the evil eye (as they had also done in Rome). It made symbolic sense to associate the creation of human life with the creation of the cosmos, to see the big bang as a cosmic orgasm and the womb as the void out of which the cosmos was born. It made far more sense than the Western notion that a lone male god had willed the universe into existence.
He began the Sanskrit Tara mantra: aum tare tutture ture soha, repeating it until his internal clock seemed to freeze. At some point his mind drifted to a lecture he had attended by Tshering’s brother the Peling Tukse, in which he explained that the universe consisted of multiple realms. It was then he felt embraced by the young Tara’s arms and lifted from the ground. He was lucid enough to think that he had fallen asleep and was dreaming.
She spoke, softly; he could feel her sweet breath blow gently in his ear. “This has all happened before. The past is a memory of the future.”
He dreamt he descended through mist and was placed on a beautiful field filled with fragrant wildflowers.
“The Buddha realms are real. We have already been there. Over and over.”
He dreamt he was on a mountaintop in a vast mountain range; naked men and women flew through the air on gossamer wings.
“The gods are not myths. They are memories.”
She let her sarong drop and she displayed her vulva.
“This is the beginning. The world is born. You are the creator.”
He was erect and she lowered herself onto him.
“This is the symbol of life. The earth has forgotten and now it worships death.”
He dreamt that she showed him cycle after cycle of creation and billions of Buddha realms.
“The future is the past,” she said as his head exploded into light and his body shook with ecstasy.
When he came to he had a powerful erection and the first light was breaking over the mountains. He walked to his bed in a blissful daze. Tshering stirred and gazed with wonder at the light shining from his eyes. She understood immediately and whispered “the blessings of Tara” in Bhutanese. They made love. He knew that Tshering would conceive.
They fell into a slumber for a short time before being woken by his daughter Pema, who hopped in and snuggled between them.
“Guess what Pem,” he whispered as he tickled her.
“What Papa?”
“We just made you a sister. We’ll call her Tara.”
Tshering smiled. She knew it was true.
After they had slept for an hour he got out of bed fully refreshed, the path ahead clear. He rang Aviva.
“Is this urgent?” she grumbled.
“Are you in a bar?” he said hearing the hum of voices and music in the background, knowing it would be around ten at night in California.
“Yes, and I’ve just left the office after a long, long day.”
He ignored her hint. “I’ve decided. It’s full steam ahead – as of now.”
“About fucking time,” she sighed. “But right now I’m getting shitfaced.”
She hung up and he smiled. He knew her too well. She’d be back in the office early, if hung over. Like him she didn’t need much sleep.
30
Prax
It wasn’t what he expected. The room was large and well furnished, at one end sunlight poured in from a large window with a glass door leading to a balcony, at the other end sat a large conference table with an array of screens suspended in the centre just above head height.
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��You must be hungry by now,” said a familiar voice to his left. He turned to see strategos Shimazu standing at a sideboard set with a small array of food and drink. “There’s beer and wine, something stronger if you like. We are to be joined by strategos Le Clerq and magnuses Peter Yvgeny and Ravi Pandit.”
“Axelle Le Clerq?” he asked as he moved to the table
“Yes, you’ll remember her from the Academy. She’s in charge of psychological strategy. You’ll be working with us both…”
“And the other strategos?”
“Yes, you’ll meet them in due course: logistics and armaments. Wine?”
He nodded as she poured him a yellow and considered what was on offer: fruit, nuts, finger foods. “An army marches on its stomach,” he said.
“There are kitchens and a canteen in the lower sections. We all do a dish shift on a regular basis. I look forward to it. It gives me a chance to talk informally with the defenders. I take off my uniform and encourage frank discussions, become one of them.”
He took a bite of a dumpling. “So, are we expecting an attack on the capital?”
She was surprised by the change of topic. “Possibly. It doesn’t hurt to have a backup. The deeper bunkers can withstand a nuclear attack.”
“But not a targeted explosion sent from the void?”
“No, but first they’d have to have accurate spacetime co-ordinates and for that they’d have to know we are here.”
“A probe, infra-red, surely there’s a way?”
She smiled. “We have run through many simulations, but that is a discussion for others and not really on the agenda for today. I’m afraid magnus that you will have to be patient.”
As she finished her sentence the door opened and three people walked in, the strategos and her two magnuses, one a tall, older man and the other a surprisingly young woman, perhaps no older than seventeen. Axelle La Clerq was still as impressive as he had remembered: tall, full figured, her nipples pierced, her green eyes searching everyone’s soul, her psychological insight reading every emotion, no matter how fleeting.
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