“Salome, place a priority order for an academic tablet and wristband/headset and set up an account with our Brussels store. Create a secure link direct to you and get it to Bo, asap. Once she’s connected, access all her other devices and monitor her. Alert me only if you notice any unusual movements, communications or financial transactions, otherwise protect her data at the highest level. Mediate all contact. She is not authorised to contact me directly.”
The AI responded with a simple, “understood, delivery within twenty-four hours.”
“Okay, then back to work, display the latest security reports.”
Her desk screen displayed a list; most were text and vid reports from within Shunyata, most of them about boring legal cases and political instability that might effect business, the standard concerns of a corporate security division. There had been more violent street demonstrations in Bangkok and a large explosion in a North Korean chemical plant, blamed on a group of ex-Kim paramilitary loyalists calling themselves the shiwang, after the mythical ten gods of the underworld. The Philippines had been placed on high alert after violent street demonstrations had spread, the result of rumours accusing the corrupt military government of using a virus to weaken the population of a slum area that was slated to be cleared for a major commercial development. These sorts of stories had become more common, most remained unsubstantiated, but others had turned out to be all too true. She sighed with resignation. There was little she could do. There was no point in informing the local authorities because they were corrupt and the media were next to useless because the network of corporations making the decisions controlled the press.
The US situation was in a stalemate. Negotiations to resolve the conflict were due to be held at Camp David in a week, meanwhile both sides continued to probe for weaknesses using a number of proxy groups. There had been a mass shooting at a white school in Charleston. The perpetrator was a young black man linked to a group calling itself the Revived Black Panthers. It was a false flag group designed to instil fear in the southern white population. A bomb had gone off at a military base in Texas. The culprit had been a Latino group calling itself Reconquista. It was real. The bodies of sixty immigrants had been found in the desert of Arizona. Underground sources blamed a rogue faction of the Minutemen. And a terrorist cell in Illinois had been exposed just before it was about to bomb Lincoln’s Springfield home. Each attack was designed to shock the general population into choosing sides. She expected the talks to fail. Civil war was grimly unavoidable.
She turned her attention to reports from outside sources: think tanks, independent futurists and military analysts. One item had been flagged. It was from a blogger on the dark net (the Huxley connection to the hacker group Matrix had proved very useful), an ex-paramilitary who used the name Anmael, after the fallen angel of puzzles and confusion. Anmael had built a network of rogue agents and whistle blowers from within the cyber security and intelligence community who used the site as a back channel and safety valve. She had used it to expose information about the Texans; information she knew had made its way to the right people. When the time came she would leak strategic information about Eden.
She opened the link and what she read alarmed her. It claimed the Chinese military had made significant advances in the use of military drones and robots, particularly in regard to urban search and destroy. She knew immediately that Uedo must somehow be connected. It was of course, highly illegal and in contravention of several treaties and Japanese government policy. China and Japan were bitter strategic rivals and they had skated close to open conflict several times, not that national security concerns had ever stopped transnationals. She shuddered. The reason she disliked domestic robots was because she feared they could be hacked. It was theoretically possible for Uedo to create a backdoor in all their models, allowing remote control. Bo had dismissed the fears of a robot apocalypse, but that was naive. She knew better. Robots might never autonomously turn against humans, but humans could certainly program them to do the killing for them. If this program succeeded, military dictatorships could use them against their own people. She had visions of robot tanks with chemicalised water cannons pushing back street demonstrators and drones using facial recognition to isolate the leaders, even robots replacing SWAT teams.
She sent out three security alerts. The first to Shunyata’s robotics division with an instruction to thoroughly investigate all Uedo systems for backdoors; the second was an order to the security division to apply more resources to investigating the Chinese connection to Uedo; the third was sent to Ai’s handler alerting to the development and recommending they start their own, independent investigation.
She looked outside. The clouds had broken and the setting sun had coloured the clouds in shades of lavender and pink. She was starving. “Book me a table at that Ethiopian place…”
“Kokob… Is seven suitable?”
“Yes. I’ll need a ride.”
“I’ve already booked one.”
“Clever girl.”
This left her plenty of time to change into something no fuss and casual – jeans and a pullover (pashmina, a gift from Akash) - pour a wine and let her mind switch off.
She was flicking through online images of the islands and inlets of the Dalmatian coast, planning a fantasy boat trip, imagining herself as a child swimming naked in the crystal clear waters, sipping the last of her wine, about the leave, when the AI announced that a message had just come through from Eli. It consisted of one word spoken in a cute, child-like voice, “kontakuto”, and an animated giff of a kawaii maneki-neko waving happily, Eli’s idea of a joke. It lasted just a few seconds before it was wiped permanently from the record.
“Your driver has arrived.”
She walked out immediately. She didn’t take her bag or wallet, just the latest Shunyata ring ID (a microprocessor that could be included in any piece of jewellery, that latest fad). She didn’t need money or cards. The AI had taken care of everything. The driver’s name was Ayoub, an immigrant from Tunisia, one of the many thousands slowly Africanising Europe. He arrived in a small, Saab electric. He had a warm, engaging smile, played cool, retro African jazz on the sound system and bragged about his son.
“Top of his class, man. Very clever.”
“And what is his name?”
“Ziri, it means brighter than the moon. He wants to be a geologist and mine space asteroids. I am a very happy and proud man.”
“A spaceman eh? And how old is he?”
“Eleven, but I swear, he is a wise old man in a child’s body.” The driver gave a hearty laugh.
She made a mental note to ask Salome to do a search; she already had the driver’s details. There wouldn’t be too many eleven year-olds called Ziri with a father who was a taxi driver. If he turned out to be as clever as his father believed then he might qualify for one of Akash’s scholarships, perhaps even qualify for future migration to Eden. It was the least she could do.
He let her out on the corner. A car beeped impatiently behind. “Thank you Ayoub. I will authorise a boost to your tip. I enjoyed the music and your company. I will use you again if you are available.” She stepped out onto a crowded street. A rowdy group of Belgian teens dressed in vampire Goth pushed past her, high on a cocktail of party drugs. Across the street a group of young Congolese men dressed in the dapper sapeur style of brightly coloured suits and ties, shouted half-hearted insults. A well-dressed couple engrossed in each other forced her temporarily onto the road. Single people hurried by, most distracted by hand screens, others listening to headsets, all hypnotised by a carefully manipulated pop culture. The world might be in steady economic decline, but there was still a large enough bourgeoisie to sustain vibrant city centres in most European cities. It was the outer suburbs and smaller industrial cities that suffered, steadily turning into gang-riddled slums overflowing with the unemployed and desperate migrants from Eastern Europe and Africa.
Things were in motion now; the end game was in play. And these pe
ople had no fucking idea, assuming they even cared.
129
The Unveiling
Jinpa Palsang had walked for two days from her small village on the Tibetan plateau. She came hoping for blessings from the virgin Buddha and to see aliens. She was in the crowd in the Potala Palace Square when the day sky lit up with the flash of two bright suns and a double sonic boom shook the ground. Some screamed with fright, some with delight and wonder. So it was true, thunder dragons had returned. She scanned the sky as people began pointing. She could make out two glistening shapes growing ever larger and larger, shifting colour from a fire red through orange to gold. They circled the Palace, the detail of their hulls and wings becoming clearer as they got closer. She knew they were machines but she preferred to think of them as dragons. She had heard the legends of an age of wonder when humans had flown like birds in such machines - but that had been long ago.
One disappeared behind the Palace, landing in the gardens on the north side, the other hovered and disgorged the dakini, who floated effortlessly to the ground. So this was true too. The sky dancers, the khandroma were also real. The great wheel of dharma had turned. This was truly the beginning of satya yuga, the new age of wonders.
She had been told that the Kumari had emerged naked from the belly of a small dragon, which had then disappeared back into the grey, misty sky from whence it had silently and mysteriously appeared. She had walked naked through falling snow to the nearby Lahlung Tekchokling monastery, a mere child, where she presented herself to the Peling Tukse. After impressing him with her mastery of the siddhis laghima (levitation), andvandvam (control of heat and cold), trikālajñatvam (knowledge of the past and future), as well as her profound knowledge of the sutras and tantras, he announced that she was a living Buddha and a reincarnation of Yeshe Tsogyal.
Since then the reports of miracles had spread. A merchant had told her that riches were flooding into the capital Lhasa. Aliens had arrived riding dragons and were helping to restore the Palace to its former glory. There were jobs and opportunities, and even rumours that the Kumari was hand selecting the very best.
The crowd began to move around to the gardens. The streets were lined with colourful prayer flags and bright bunting. Entertainers and merchants had come from far and wide and street vendors were selling every imaginable kind of food. She was able to inch her way to the front of a crowd packed behind a cordon facing a small square and a stage holding three thrones. The Kumari was seated on the highest, middle throne, a small figure in a yellow and gold brocade gown, and to remind the crowd of her lineage, a large thangka of a naked Yeshe Tsogyal flapped in the wind behind her. To her right sat the Dalai Lama and to her left the Karmapa, signifying the unification of the schools. To either side stood a host of dignitaries, and most dramatically, the aliens and the dakini, a male and a female standing on either side of the Kumari’s throne, dressed in strange armour, their lower bodies unashamedly exposed. Around her she could hear people whispering and sniggering, especially the girls at the sight of the very well endowed male dakini standing to the Kumari’s right.
Cymbals and drums crashed and trumpets blared in a cacophony of sound designed to drive away demons. Dancers in the brightly coloured costumes of the Himalayan tribes performed traditional dances and a young singer with a high, pure voice serenaded them with a song praising the return of the dharma and the appearance of the Kumari. There were a few formal speeches, all mercifully short, including one by a tall, blond alien with coffee coloured skin dressed in a white and gold robe, but few in the crowd were listening.
When that was done, the palace guards organised the crowd into a queue that snaked its way through the park, lulled into a reverential state by the sonorous chanting of monks and nuns. She waited patiently in her place, excited and fearful. She would finally get to meet the virgin Buddha and come face to face with aliens. She knew this day would decide her fate.
It had been a journey of wonder for those on board Saphira and Morrigan too. Tshentso had made a promise to take Choejor out to see earthrise over the moon and they had briefly hovered over the remains of the first Apollo mission, with the small lander, the flag and the footprints still visible (despite a thin layer of grey dust beginning to fade the colour). They had all looked at the scene with a strange reverence, even Tshentso who seemed to say a silent prayer before making a vow: “They never returned, but we made a promise we would.” Then they jumped back high into Earth’s stratosphere so that those below would see the pulse of electromagnetic radiation caused by the violation of the laws of spacetime.
Prax had not expected to be awed in turn. He blinked with a combination of technical appreciation and child-like wonder as they circled the Potala Palace, one of the architectural marvels of old Earth. It was being restored: one side was covered in scaffolding with Edenoi drones flitting about assisting human workers, another side had been freshly whitewashed and stood out brilliantly in contrast to a faded, rundown section. At the very top the golden temples glistened with newly applied gold leaf transported from Eden - all a gift to the Buddhist Republic as a sign of appreciation for its cooperation and as a promise of the abundance to come.
“Nuku, I want you to pay careful attention to the physical and mental condition of the common people,” Tshentso said as she guided her to her position. “I know you have been sent to assess the biological health of the planet. I will be interested in your assessment, but I must warn you, you may find it distressing.”
The rest stood back as observers and to be observed. The Prime Minister took Prax under her wing and Biyu joined the newly appointed head of the Terran forces, strategos Torv.
Nuku watched carefully as people of all ages bowed before Tshentso. She met each one with a gaze of deep compassion and listened to their words with genuine concern, sometimes holding their hands or giving them a hug before placing a strip of white silk around their necks. Some were crying, others seemed in a blissful trance, many were afflicted in some way: some with disease, some with physical impairments: poor eyesight due to cataracts, twisted and amputated limbs, backs bent by years of physical labour, scars from wounds, rotting and broken teeth. Others were afflicted by mental impairments: trauma, madness, substance addiction and the deep emotional distress of grief and a life of struggle. Still others suffered from genetic impairments: diminished cognitive capacity, skeletal deformation or poor physiques (too thin, too weak, too obese). She even saw a boy with dwarfism, a girl with cerebral palsy and a small cohort of children with Down syndrome. She was appalled. All of these conditions had long ago been cured on Eden. It would take a team of thera decades to even begin to heal such a wide variety of afflictions. If this is what the rest of the Terran population was like, the task ahead seemed impossible.
Yet there were also healthy and strong people, their faces lit with bright smiles, their faces ruddy and tanned. Every now and then she noticed Tshentso signal an aid and an adolescent or child would be singled out and taken to see Choejor, who then took their names and spoke to the parents. It was not difficult to guess that Tshentso had seen the marks of a gifted child or an as yet undiscovered descendent of one of the enhanced - an extra glint of intelligence in their eyes, an especially good physique or beautiful face. There were more females than males and it was obvious to her that Tshentso intended to prioritise them for enhancement and training. This is what they had come to Earth to do, to select the best genomes for further enhancement and she understood then, why Tshentso had placed her so close. One day she would have to make the same decision.
One adolescent girl in particular caught her attention. She was stunning; her face broad, her cheekbones high and defined, her ears draped with long earrings of silver, her raven hair tied in tight braids and decorated with bright blue and orange beads, her movements delicate and seductive. The girl had been momentarily distracted by the sight of the male defender’s impressive cock and had stared a little too long, giggling behind her hands and blushing. Tshentso laughed at h
er reaction and whispered something conspiratorial in the girl’s ear that made her already ruddy complexion blush an even deeper shade. She too was singled out and taken to see Choejor. Her name was Jinpa. Her future as a consort seemed clear and even she wondered what the girl would look like naked and willing.
Biyu didn’t like being on display and looked around for a distraction. She saw Torv trying to look suitably imperious in her armour; her breastplate now decorated with a gold dragon. “Well the promotion is certainly deserved strategos,” Biyu said as she hugged Torv. “I have read the reports of your missions. Perhaps you have some advice for me?”
Torv frowned. Biyu thought she saw sadness and regret in her eyes. She was familiar with Torv’s psychological profile and knew she was emotionally resilient with a genome particularly resistant to stress. “I hope it is different for you Biyu, I truly do. Nothing can prepare you for the brutal reality of it. This scar reminds me every day, and reminds all of the defenders.” She traced a finger along the scar on her cheek.
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