“A bag man?”
“Partly. Primarily a middle-ranking go-between, a smooth talking, charming, obsequious fixer.”
“And why Bhutan?”
“A reward for services rendered, a pay-off to his cronies. It would seem his job is to gently massage the anus of Bhutan so his cronies can insert themselves and fuck it in the arse, to put it politely.”
“In what way?”
“Making sure construction contracts go to his cronies, controlling the drug trade, opening Bhutan to human trafficking…”
He shuddered. He was well aware that Nepal was a major source of children for the brothels of Mumbai and Delhi. There had been some cases of human trafficking from Bhutan, especially in the southwest, but the government had so far been able to control it. “In other words, they have been given Bhutan to exploit?”
“Effectively, but it goes deeper. There is a small group of Bhutanese traders eager to expand their business links with India. It is greed, pure and simple. I understand there was a meeting six months ago at the Taj in Mumbai…”
“You have the names?”
“Yes.”
“How do we proceed?”
“We’ve considered several scenarios. Ideally we’d handle this in a classic sting and embarrass him through a scandal, catch him with his pants down.”
“Do you have anything to use?”
“Oh, there”ve been plenty of rumours: the rape of a young domestic, sexual assault of a maid in a hotel, suggestions he played a pivotal role in organising the Dharavi riots, links to fixing cricket matches, that sort of thing.”
“Nothing out the ordinary?”
“No, all fixed with copious amounts of hush money. It would take too much time to lay a trap, plus he seems very canny. Part of his job description is to compromise politicians and businessmen and force their compliance through blackmail. One of his favoured techniques is to place a child in a compromising position and make sure he has it on film. He seems to get a kick out of it.” Akash sighed. It was the usual sordid story. “As much as I regret it, it seems our best option is a straightforward assassination.”
“Straightforward?”
“Well, we’d have to set it up, find a believable scapegoat.”
“Stupid question: does he have enemies?”
“Oh yes, plenty. Muslims, rival business cartels, politicians caught in his net.”
“And the most probable?”
“Muslims, especially a radical faction operating as a front for the mafia, as revenge for his connections to Shiv Sena and his role in the riots.”
He froze and looked up at the moon passing behind a cloud then inside to his family laughing at something on the screen, Pema curled up between Tshering and Freja. “This could spark another wave of communal riots.”
Aviva paused before she answered. “Yes, it has its downsides, but if I was to make a purely cynical observation, it also has its upsides.”
He hated these conversations. “Yes?”
“Riots would distract the new BJP government, afford us some valuable breathing space…”
“At the cost of how many lives?”
“The situation is volatile. It might happen without our intervention anyway. I have a clear conscience. They have choices too.”
“Women and children will die.”
“They die now. Do you know how many child prostitutes there are thanks to the goondas, do you know how many young bodies are found discarded in dumping grounds, raped and cut up?”
“An unfair point and a crude attempt to provoke my emotions. I understand the situation very well.”
“Our action might interrupt the network and save lives, especially Bhutanese lives.”
“I understand the moral calculus.”
“And we’ll need to mop up. We have to deal with the collaborators in Bhutan, but we can take our time with that. I’m sure they can be isolated, arrested on trumped up charges, tax evasion, that sort of thing.”
“We’ll leave that up to the Bhutanese. There will be those who will consider them traitors.”
“So what is it?”
He sighed. In the end it was an emotional decision. He looked at his family in the living room and understood he had to do everything to get them off this hellhole of a planet. “Proceed,” he said with tears welling in his eyes.
He was about to end the call when Aviva stopped him. “There’s one another urgent matter.”
He wasn’t sure he could handle anymore and replied curtly, “yes, what?”
“The child, Nour Abu Shukra, Australia has rejected their application. Her mother had cancer…”
“Had? Past tense?”
“She died two days ago, no treatment was available in the camp.”
“I see, and the father?”
“Severely depressed, unable to care adequately for Nour. He’s attempted self-harm. She’s a rough diamond Akash, she needs to be polished.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“As heartbreaking as it is, Nour’s father has given up. I’ve run out of options. If she stays in the camp she may succumb to pneumonia, cholera – they’re cesspits.”
He looked back inside. The show had ended and Alice was getting Pema ready for bed. There was room for one more. “How?”
“Simple really. Choppers come and go all the time carrying supplies and aid workers. She’ll be on one. One of our private fleet can fly her out in a day or two.”
“Alone?”
“She’ll be okay. She’s resilient. She’ll be in a state of shock of course, but she’ll recover. She knows about you. She said to tell you she was good at mathematics.”
“She can’t be alone…”
“I don’t have anyone trustworthy, not at such short notice.”
He looked back inside and considered the implausible. Dare he suggest it? “I think I do. I’ll alert my people. We can use our jet at Paro. It can leave in the morning.”
“Okay, give the details when you’ve set the flight plan. May I ask who?”
“Alice. She’s indefatigable and very good with gifted children.”
“Are you sure?”
He walked to the patio door and opened it as he said yes and disconnected the call. The warm air was a relief. “Alice,” he said. She turned to look at him. “How would you like to do a favour for me?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Of course, what?”
“Fly to Jordan tomorrow and escort a child back.”
Tshering and Freja turned immediately.
“It’s Nour,” said Alice calmly.
“How’d you know?” he asked, perplexed.
“Who else could it be?”
He thought that Tshering might object but she remained silent. There really wasn’t much to it. Alice could use the flight time to study and he really couldn’t think of anyone better to keep Nour occupied on the flight back – a sixteen-hour return trip.
“Does she speak another language?” asked Freja.
“Reasonable English, a little French,” said Alice.
They all looked at her.
“I’ve studied her profile. I’ve studied many of the profiles. I can’t wait to look at her genome. She may be the only example from a very interesting mutation. I was going to speak to you about her anyway. She should go to Eden. There’s no life for her here on Earth.”
79
Biyu, Nuku and Prax
Earth was just a few weeks away. After the public ceremony they had finally coalesced as a team. They were fucking now on a daily basis, the intimacy forming a deeper bond that was getting close to intuition. Biyu had wanted to test that intuition by taking Nuku and Prax through a number of combat situations, both defensive and offensive. Today they were fending off an attack from seven assailants, new recruits handpicked by Torv. The object of the exercise was to get Nuku and Prax used to formation fighting, with Nuku taking the rear, Prax the centre and Biyu the front. It required considerable skill. They had to follow Biyu as
she twisted, turned, ran and countered whilst fending off incursions from the rear and flanks. If their formation collapsed they could be isolated and picked off. She was very pleased with Nuku. She might not be as strong, quick or as accurate, but her intuition was uncanny. She said she could smell an attack before it came. Prax was the weak link, which is why he took the centre, although she had to admit he was a quick learner, picking up a number of key defensive skills.
She called a halt when one of the attackers was injured with a staff blow to the upper arm, the crack of a broken bone plainly audible. The boy was clearly in pain, but he tried to laugh it off, part of the required stoicism. She was pleased. They had kept the formation and defended themselves. Tomorrow she would take them through offensive moves: running attacks toward an enemy position; cutting a swathe through the defences.
Their guardians were now speaking to them in the Creole dialect of the Northern States, a mixture of French, English and local slang, the result of the dominant cultural influence of the former Canadian province of Quebec. Prax was already fluent, but she and Nuku had a little way to go.
In the afternoon and evening they studied, sometimes linking from their work location, sometimes meeting in the cafeteria. They were compiling a better picture of the culture of the NS, a loose federation of regional collectives held together by the charisma and political skill of the president, Robert Wolf.
Then in the evenings they retired to the same room and took to fucking. It was not unusual for one or other of them to reach a conclusion or have insight whilst engaged in some sort of sexual act and often they would engage in post-coital discussions until they drifted off to sleep.
There was still one undecided matter. How to approach the Terrans? Would they slip in quietly or make a dramatic approach? This was not a trivial matter. Culture shock was a real concern. If the approach was too soft they would not be taken seriously and they would have to manage the politics of manipulation and coercion as various interest groups sought to control them. If the approach was too strong people would feel threatened and they would have to manage the politics of fear and suspicion. The right approach would engender the politics of respect and cooperation.
Nuku was casually watching Biyu grind aggressively into Prax, his erection deep inside her. Biyu might be predominantly same-sex attracted but she certainly knew how to make the most of cock when she had it. Prax was exercising control, using his breathing to calm his response, allowing Biyu to take the lead. “We’re not going to be able to please everyone,” she mused.
Biyu ignored her, her body in the first phase of an orgasm.
Prax turned slightly to look at her. “No, we’ll have to make a rather quick assessment about the key players. We may have to make an intuitive leap about who to accommodate.”
“But we don’t have enough information. It’s risky.”
“I have already considered that we will naturally be a threat to some interests. We may be forced to choose sides in conflicts of which we will be unaware. Neutrality may not be an option.”
“Whilst maintaining a façade of neutrality,” she said thinking aloud.
“The essence of diplomacy.”
“I’ve found the role of the religions difficult to grasp.”
“How so?” asked Prax as he held his breath. Biyu had stopped moving and was now trembling with an orgasm. Nuku watched her as she peaked and then transitioned into resolution. She never got tired of watching orgasmic responses, each one unique. When Biyu’s breathing returned to normal she gradually lifted herself off Prax and collapsed beside him.
“Do you need release?” Nuku asked Prax. “You’ve been erect for an hour.”
“It’ll subside. I’m out for the moment.”
“Sorry,” whispered Biyu as she caught her breath. “We’ve been a bit demanding in the last few days. The bonding has been more intense than I thought. I find I can’t get enough,” she said as she reached playfully for his erection. “They chose us well: just enough difference and just enough compatibility. Anyway, what’s this about religion?”
“The predominant sect in the NS are the Jesu and they seem to have a history of supporting science and education. Yet there are other factions that seem threatened. I’m just not grasping the reasoning. If I understand the current situation, the president’s science advisor is a Jesu priest,” said Nuku.
“Is there any reasoning?” Biyu sighed, starting to doze, her hand still gently stroking Prax’s erection, as if it were a pet.
“It would seem to be an unfortunate side effect of ideation,” said Prax. “At the lower levels the self becomes intensely attached to its chosen worldview. This may have arisen as a form of social bonding. In the early stages of expansion humanity differentiated into tribal groups, gradually adopting different languages and customs. I agree that it is curious how each cultural group became so attached to their beliefs, such that they would rather die than surrender them, or alternatively, use the differing beliefs of others as an excuse to kill them. Language differentiation only served to increase the likelihood of misunderstanding.”
“I guess you could say it was a form of non-biological speciation. A natural law. Isolation generates differentiation…”
“It fits,” said Biyu, still distractedly playing with his erection. “The new species defends its territory and its genetic pool. If different cultures are seen as different species, the deeper instincts whisper to the prefrontal cortex, danger, kill, they are not like us.”
“And we will be very different,” sighed Nuku.
Biyu suddenly found it funny. “Very different. If this was Europe in the Middle Ages you and I would be burned as witches.”
Nuku shuddered. The mission to Earth was looking more dangerous every day. She was beginning to think the Colonialist faction was right. Perhaps they should ignore Earth and concentrate on new worlds. She was suddenly envious of Isla. In two days she would be on Calliope dealing with much simpler animals.
She looked down to see that Prax had closed his eyes and his erection had begun to subside, Biyu’s hand still cradling it. She ordered the room to switch off the lights and nestled in beside Prax, her last thoughts contemplating the terrible truth that the principle predator of humanity was human superstition.
80
Calliope
Isla didn’t have too much time to feel guilty. She had planned to call Nuku directly to say goodbye but the mission had been brought forward twelve hours. A volatile electrical storm was forming off the coast and whilst drukh class jumpers could easily negotiate the turbulence, it would be unpleasant for the dignitaries who had wanted to witness the departure. She had attempted to call at night but Nuku’s guardian said she was busy. That was the way it had been for both of them in these last days. Her cunt ached for Nuku but nothing could be done. She had made her choice. She was destined for the stars and whilst she desperately wanted Nuku beside her, Nuku was not about to follow her around like a hungry faux monkey. She figured she had two choices: a long rambling message that confessed her feelings (mostly lust) or something short and sweet. She chose short and sweet. “Change of schedule. Gotta go now. Bon voyage amis.”
She sighed and relaxed back into the gel. They had called their drukh Hyleoroi, after the nymphs who guarded forests. Kat Sakamura was her pilot and she whispered her instructions seductively. “Okay gorgeous, take us away.”
There was no sensation of lift off or vibration, just the image of the ground falling away and the watching crowd shrinking to small dots. Sakamura didn’t like waiting around and pushed Hyleoroi into hypersonic as soon as she could. They had already been up many times and didn’t need to admire the view, so Sakamura performed a running jump at hypersonic. In a fraction of a moment Hyleoroi was screaming into Calliope’s atmosphere at high speed, her hull glowing orange and red from the heat of re-entry. The escort jumpers had already settled into formation on the ground: a cargo jumper, a lab and sleeping quarters with a mess. The landing site was on a m
ountain meadow, one of the rare open areas close to running water. Sakamura was a good pilot but she was cocky. Isla thought the approach was unnecessarily fast. Isla could see her lean to spin Hyleoroi around to sit snugly in her position as one of the four sides of a square, a formation that created a fort like structure.
“It’s cold on the surface,” said Isla as she checked her instrumentation. “The winds are coming off the mountains, ambient temperature is twelve degrees Celsius, wind chill four degrees.
“Balmy,” laughed one of the defenders from the rear.
“No need to be Spartan about this. Use the gel. That’s an order,” Isla snapped.
“She’s right,” said Sakamura as the gel began to wrap around her. “Willpower won’t stop hypothermia, despite your survival training in the mountains.”
Isla waited patiently as the gel crept over her body. It was still a strange sensation, part ticklish, part erotic, part downright creepy. When it had wrapped itself around her upper torso, arms, legs and feet, leaving her face and hands free, and moulded itself around her labia and anus so that it could register every minute movement to allow her full sexual and excretory function, she stood and stretched, allowing the gel to adapt to her muscle movement.
The others were standing now, the defenders putting on their armour plates (which adhered to the gel) and making crude jokes about the gel in orifices and the sensation as it wrapped around the men’s genitals (causing some to become erect). When everyone signalled they were ready, Sakamura gently asked Hyleoroi to open the hatch. The cold air on her face sent a chill through her body. The gel adjusted immediately. Sakamura was the first out, Isla the second, wading into knee high alpine grass. Another cold chill went through her body and the gel adjusted again, or perhaps it was the stunning view out across dramatic snow capped mountain ranges, valleys brimming with tall, blue-green trees and a large flock of flyers twisting and turning above the canopy. She noticed dark clouds gathering. “A rainstorm,” she said pointing.
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