He woke up when he heard rattling in the kitchen. Alice was serving dinner. He was in an exuberant mood and he walked up to her to give her a hug. She accepted it readily. Usually she retracted at signs of affection. He helped her prepare, lit some candles and poured some wine for them both.
“You should find the time to play more often,” he said as they sat at the table.
“Perhaps on Eden. Do you think we can include a Steinway concert grand on the big cargo lifts?” she asked cheekily.
“That might be a bit extravagant. I’m not sure it would survive the temperature and pressure variations.”
“You know we might have enough musicians to create a small orchestra. Freja has been concerned to include people with the requisite artistic skills. Perhaps one of our early building priorities should be a concert hall. I understand most colonies are quick to develop some form of entertainment.”
“If that’s what the colony wants,” he said smiling back at her. “How are the new people coping?”
“Better than expected. Most seem to have transmuted the shock into a kind of manic busyness. Anaïs expects them to crash in a few days from mental and emotional exhaustion.”
“But that has been figured into the schedule…?”
“Yes, it’s just that it’s taking longer than expected. There’s been plenty of discussion late into the night. A few tentative pairings. They’re a lively group.”
“And you’ve looked at their genomes?”
Alice nodded. “Yes, and I have some ideas about who should be matched, or rather, who shouldn’t be matched. We’ve selected for variety anyway so most natural, romantic combinations will be beneficial. It’s just a matter of encouraging diversity.”
He nodded his head absent-mindedly. “Any moral objections?”
“Of course, the usual. Some of the females have accepted the moral argument; a few are wrestling with culturally ingrained objections. As you know we have selected candidates from cultural backgrounds with a tradition of unconventional sexuality, unconventional that is, in terms of the dominant paradigm, a paradigm that will not serve us well on Eden. Once they understand that each candidate has the requisite developmental maturity, their objections will naturally falter. Reproductive rights means the right to say yes as much as it means the right to say no.”
It was an argument he had heard before, and one he could not fault. As usual Alice was passionate about her cause, yet there was something different in the way she expressed it. He knew she found it difficult to suffer fools. It was something he understood well. When he was her age he could not understand why other people could not see the world as he did; could not calculate as quickly or understand the abstractions of physics. It could be a strange and lonely existence.
“I don’t know what it is,” he said suddenly. “But you’ve changed.”
His observation changed her train of thought and she stared directly into his eyes, searching for the emotion behind the change of topic.
He couldn’t recall ever just looking at her face and eyes so directly. She usually looked away, either disinterested or dismissive. But now he saw something different: emotional intelligence and clarity. She wasn’t autistic, far from it. She just had little patience for the emotional confusion of ordinary people. He had been the same. The emotions of ordinary people were often incoherent and contradictory, ruled mostly by subconscious patterns. Anaïs had surprised him (as the Crickets often did) with the astute observation that most people ran contradictory scripts, many with strong emotional associations. These scripts might be triggered by a subconscious event: a smell, a gesture, an expression, a coincidence. This would cause an emotion to arise that actually had little to do with the matter at hand. He had learnt long ago that many people were triggered by his precocity alone. They felt immediately threatened and would react angrily or suspiciously to whatever he was saying, no matter what the content. So he too had learnt to zone out when an irrelevant emotion invaded what seemed to him to be a perfectly sensible topic of conversation.
“Perhaps it is you who has changed?” she said as she held his gaze. “Perhaps you now see more than you used to?”
He realised her stare was unnerving him. It was seductive, provocative; simply because it was so open and aware. She had dropped her normal reserve and he was able to see her charisma. Yes, her face was pretty and she would one day become a beautiful woman, but it was the intelligence in her eyes that was pulling him in. He realised he had been afraid of her, afraid of her emotional precocity.
“You and I are not that different Akash. Perhaps you are now able to see me as an equal, as an adult?”
He nodded. It was true. She was a mirror; the person most like him amongst them all and that truth had profound implications. He would be a hypocrite if he did not treat her as his complete equal; treat her the way he had wanted to be treated when he was her age.
The mood shifted after that. He cleared the table and washed the dishes whilst she sat at the piano and played Chopin. Then he sat and read whilst she played Mozart and Beethoven. His mind raced with multiple thoughts as he wondered how Alice might see the world. Through an accident of biology, human ability was expressed over a very broad spectrum. Some people were born with physical disabilities, whilst others were born with superb athletic skill. Some were born with psychopathologies that distorted the way they saw reality, yet others were born hyper sane, with the ability to take reality for what it was. Some were born with an intellectual disability that clouded their ability to understand, yet others were born with vastly superior intellects and could see and understand things that most people could not. The distribution of these obstacles and abilities was random and unfair. He understood how envy and jealousy had caused the less able to attack and undermine the gifts bestowed on the more able. As Alice played Mozart he wondered what the world would have been like without his particular musical genius. He looked up again to marvel at Alice lost in the piece she was playing and understood for the first time that she saw the human genome as music. At the moment it was chaotic and discordant, but in the hands of master conductor it might become a masterpiece. And with that realisation, any resistance he might have had to her genetic program dissolved. He realised he trusted her judgment implacably.
The conclusion of the night had been inevitable, orchestrated from the moment they had met. Alice had always been ready. She was simply waiting for him. In the early hours of the morning he rolled over and reached out for her. She was gone. He looked at the clock: six in the morning. He felt pressure in his bladder and rolled out of bed. He felt surprisingly alert. He found Alice sitting in front of her screen with just a pashmina shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She smiled when she saw him and he walked up to give her a kiss.
“Sorry, it was a scheduled call. It’s Li.”
He walked around so he could see her and say “hi”. He assumed that Alice had told her everything and he felt surprisingly relaxed. “Anything I need to know?” he asked.
“No, I was just downloading some plant gene sequences and updating Alice, all just boring data.”
“And how’s the new team?”
“Good, excited about the next phase, which Alice tells me is proceeding well…”
“Yes, seems to be. Give them my regards.”
“Will do.”
“Okay, that’s all from me Li,” said Alice as she signed off. She stood and let her shawl fall to the ground. “Let’s return to bed and later I’ll make you breakfast – husband.”
It was seven when the call came through. He reached over Alice to fetch his phone. It was Aviva. The message was brief. “They want a meeting. They’ll be in touch.”
“You look a bit pale,” said Alice.
He nodded. “I’m afraid the sharks are circling.”
“Then we need to accelerate the program.”
He stroked her face and the side of her neck. “There are some things I haven’t told you and you deserve to know.”
106
Akash
It was not as he expected: their approach was made formally through the Danish embassy (the only European diplomatic mission in Bhutan). The Bhutanese foreign minister had received a diplomatic letter for his eyes only. This immediately told him that they were well connected and also that they did not want to create any kind of electronic trail. It was old-fashioned but effective.
He flew out a week and a half later; at a time Aviva judged indicated that he was neither at their beck and call, nor rudely dismissive of the importance of their invitation. He arrived at a private aerodrome on the outskirts of Geneva, where a chauffeured executive Mercedes Benz was waiting for him, the latest electric model. It was an interesting coincidence. Benz was negotiating with Shunyata to licence its antigrav technology. There were still some significant engineering problems to overcome relating to propulsion and aerial stability (especially the impact of side winds) but they were hopeful of a prototype in five years. Was this what this was about? It was certainly worth billions to the struggling German automotive industry.
“Where are we heading?” he asked the driver: a uniformed African.
“Sommerland, the summer residence of Willhelm Reichgraf von Eisenbach,” the driver answered in a heavy French accent.
“Von? Doesn’t that usually indicate nobility?”
“Yes sir, but the German nobility was abolished by the Weimar Republic. It is not an official title, but his great grandfather was a Reichgraf, the Duke of Eisenbach.”
“So I presume he is connected to other European noble families?”
“Yes sir, but he is very modern in his outlook. He is a good man, not at all, how do the English say – a snob.”
“And are they related to the English royal family?” he asked in a light-hearted manner.
“I believe so. I think through Albert, he was a distant cousin.”
“Victoria’s Albert?”
“Yes sir, it is no secret that the house of Windsor has German connections, but you know how it is. They are all intermarried.”
He nodded, satisfied with the chauffeur’s answers. It told him he was dealing with old European money, no doubt securely sequestered away in Swiss, Monégasque and Luxembourgian bank accounts.
The Duke was waiting for him at the bottom of stone steps that lead up to an exquisite white residence he assumed had been built in the nineteenth century, judging by the neoclassical features. The Duke was dressed in casual summer clothes: leather loafers, cream trousers and a pale blue polo shirt. He felt decidedly over dressed in his business suit. Perhaps it was a tactic designed to unsettle him, to make him feel out of place? From this moment on he would have to watch everything that was said and done.
“Mr Jayarama, so glad to finally meet you,” the Duke said as he extended his hand and smiled warmly. The man was certainly handsome: tanned with neatly trimmed black hair and a fine moustache.
“Herr von Eisenbach,” Akash replied formally as he gripped his hand with the appropriate pressure, not too limp and not too aggressive.
“Please, my friends call me Willy.”
The informality immediately told him that they would first try and charm him. “Akash…”
“Good, now first things first, are you tired from your flight? Perhaps I can offer you refreshments?”
“I managed some sleep on the plane, although I would appreciate being able to freshen up. And I am somewhat overdressed.”
“Of course, an unfortunate slip up in communications. My secretary should have forewarned you. We are on vacation. Just in case, I have provided a selection of casual clothes. Your room has an en suite.”
Willy turned and directed Akash into the house, leaving the chauffeur to hand his luggage to an expensive Japanese butler-class robot.
He was no expert in European style but he assumed that this house was indeed a summer residence rather than a formal, primary residence. It was exquisitely decorated, with original paintings on the walls, including one of Monet’s famous Givenchy series, and a Matisse nude. All the colours were bright and playful and the artwork evoked the kind of languid sensuousness of a summer vacation.
“If I may ask, I am always interested in family history. Might I assume your family goes back a fair way?”
Willy acted with feigned indifference. He understood it was a polite enquiry intended to establish his credentials. How he answered would tell Akash how secretive he intended to be.
“Oh yes, a good way back. The family tree is kept back at the family home, and yes, as you may have guessed, it is an ancestral schloss, a castle. I do not like it myself. It is too impractical and cold and gloomy. These days it is mostly for the tourists, as are most of the grand houses of Europe. But yes, family legend tells us that our branch was started by a German chieftain, an Alamanni to be precise, who formed an alliance with the Romans. He became a Roman citizen and commanded an army, and for that he was rewarded with an estate. We do not know his name and there is no record. We next appear during the reign of Charlemagne. Our loyalty to subsequent Holy Roman Emperors was rewarded in the usual way. Our family has been lucky, although not without its share of changes of fortune.”
“Well, as for me, I come from simpler origins.”
The Duke seemed displeased and responded curtly. “All the great families had humble origins. A noble title was simply a reward for services to the king. Many paid for it with their lives and property. It could just as easily be taken away.” Willy stopped and opened a door. “I hope this is to your satisfaction. Please, you are my guest. Make yourself at home. When you feel you are ready, make your way downstairs. It is just my family. The children are on vacation also. We do not keep any staff here during the summer. I won’t be too far away.”
“Thanks Willy, you have been most hospitable. I might just shower and change. Shouldn’t take me too long.”
Willy bowed curtly and left. Akash looked around the room as the robot quietly put away his luggage. The room was exquisite, with a balcony that looked out across Lake Geneva - undoubtedly their best guest room. Again there were original paintings on the wall, the feature being a vivid expressionist painting of naked figures bathing in a lake. He opened the wardrobe and found an extensive selection of new designer clothes, all exactly his size. This was another message. They had clearly done their research. He did not believe they had neglected to suggest the dress code. These were gifts signalling they were prepared to be generous. The question was what did they want in return?
He took off his suit jacket, put it on a hanger and reached for his phone. He wondered if the room was being monitored, but decided that would be too crass. He sent a quick text to Aviva that simply said: “Reichgraf von Eisenbach.”
“Can I get you anything sir,” the robot said in a whimsical English accent.
“No, stand down. I will attend to my needs.”
The robot quietly left the room.
He showered and chose one of three expensive colognes provided for his selection. He chose an Armani white linen shirt, Ralph Lauren cream shorts and Italian leather loafers and took a deep breath. Let the games begin.
He took his time, wandering through the house and studying the artwork: an exquisite neoclassical statuette of a naked ephebe, a colourful Kandinsky abstract, a Gauguin from his Tahitian period, a Renoir nude, a series of academic sketches of a young woman, a neoclassical painting by Feurbach of a bathing Diana surrounded by nymphs, It all spoke of good taste and a great deal of money. He supposed many of the pieces had been in the family for generations.
He found Willy in the kitchen preparing a plate of bread, cheese and fruit. “Ah, indeed, very prompt. Now, what can I get you? I’m about to prepare a juice. I’m on a strict diet. My wife insists.”
“I’m afraid I know little about you. If I may ask about your wife?”
“Of course, my apologies, we have been mysterious and it is unfair. You see, I have done my research and know you are married to a young Bhutanese woman and that you
have a daughter. I understand she is quite beautiful, a rival to the queen. I too have been fortunate. I married Greta Kriel and I have three children. The eldest is Christian, nineteen, and then two daughters, Karolin and Angelika, fifteen and twelve. You will meet them all. The girls are outside playing tennis, Christian is out sailing on the lake with his girlfriend and my wife is doing a little food shopping…”
“I’m sorry, but the name Kriel is not familiar to me,” said Akash as he approached the large island bench in the very well appointed kitchen.
“No, I’m sorry, a presumption on my part. Why would you? I guess you have little time for trivialities like fashion. My wife was a model. She now runs her own label and is involved in a few charitable foundations.”
Akash frowned. It was all such a cliché. Young model marries wealthy young banker. “You are right. I don’t follow these things. She is a famous then?”
Willy shrugged his shoulders. “She was in demand, yes. But she is also a very smart woman. Her label is very successful and she might have been a concert violinist if not for her decision to model.”
“I see,” said Akash as he picked up a piece of apple. “And you Willy? What exactly is it that you do? Why am I here?”
“Ah, to the point.” Willy smiled politely but his eyes betrayed a calculating mind. “Will you share the juice? I am afraid it is a frightful concoction of so-called superfoods. But if you wish I can get you something stronger, a coffee perhaps? We have a selection of single origin beans, organic of course.”
“The juice sounds good.”
“To answer your question, I am a dilettante. I prefer to think of myself as a patron and a preserver…”
“Patron?”
“Yes, in the original sense, like a Medici: a patron and protector of the arts and sciences. I consider that my real job: to make that possible that I head Rhinegold, Eisenbach and Company, a private investment bank. We were established in 1790 and we manage an established and exclusive client list. I act in their interest.”
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