The SONG of SHIVA

by Michael Caulfield

  But Hank Jackson ― though he might still blame me for his illness ― can also thank me for saving his life. Everyone else survived ― all of them in the clear now. We were lucky. A convergence of serendipity and that unexpected freak of nature.

  Nora had decided to stay a few more days to fully document her work before returning to Atlanta. A number of other biologic anomalies had come to light. Years of follow-up investigation lay ahead.

  We pushed it hard ― right up to the wire ― but we prevailed. So what if luck played a role? If not for our work, who knows how many more would have perished? What did Secretary Wiznecki say? “You not only saved lives, Carmichael, but the reputation of the CDC in the bargain.”

  Totally justifies my raising the alarm. Damned hard to be humble when you’re right. Everybody agrees. We’re heroes. Thanks to my big mouth. Put me in the right place at just the right time. Why shrink from the praise? Be gracious for once. Under the circumstances it’s well deserved.

  Taken in that context, a respite from the burdens of the past three weeks was deserved. Justified. And ultimately satisfying. Any thought of avoiding its comfort seemed foolish. As long as she didn’t start flaunting or wallowing in it.

  For now anyway, we’re the victors, she reasoned. And to a great extent that’s thanks to me. Except... Why is there always an ‘except’? The development of the telomerase protease inhibitor trigger owes more to Innovac’s prowess than my personal genius. I may have been the instigator, but Innovac and Chan’s people did all the work. I suggested which doors to knock on. They opened them. Wouldn’t hurt to publicly acknowledge that important contribution. Only fair. There’s plenty enough praise to spread around.

  Unnoticed, gathering clouds were already closing in on her reverie. With breakfast barely touched, the first raindrops began to fall. She first sought shelter under the rear portico’s columned roof, but the storm’s accompanying cold breeze forced her inside. Standing in the kitchen, staring through diamond-paned leaded windows, raindrops accelerating their earthward plunge, bouncing off darkening stone, glass tabletops and white wrought iron chairs, she gazed out across the western landscape. Nature sure had a way of putting everything into perspective.

  And a girl like me in her rightful place, she observed with a trenchant grin. Turning her back on the elements, she walked over to the granite-topped island counter and poured a cup of coffee. The morning had grown colder, her solitude no longer felt as comforting.

  “Good morning, Nora,” Julie Prentice cooed from behind her.

  Nora turned, the cup warming her hands, and asked in a relaxed way, “Are we the only early birds this morning?”

  “Right.” Prentice answered as a negative. “Atma’s been working out in the gym for an hour. Can’t keep the energy contained in that man. You’ve been here awhile. You know how he is.”

  Nora did know. She’d also learned a few other things during her stay at the Cairncrest estate. One of the first had been that Julie Prentice was providing more than legal counsel to the good doctor.

  “I know he’s got more energy than most men half his age,” Nora answered directly, keeping her prejudicial thoughts to herself. What business was it of hers? “Not that I meant he’s old or anything,” she corrected, attempting to diffuse what could have been thought an impolitic remark.

  Julie gave her a sparkling-eyed, unabashed look that said everything the words that followed did not. “He pushes himself. More motivation than anyone else I’ve ever met. Prodigious.” The retort gave nothing and yet everything away in both tone and entendre.

  Skirting the intricate steps of Ms. Prentice’s personal fandango with Pandavas was not the conversation Nora wanted right now. How about something with which she was more knowledgeable, more interested and certainly more comfortable?

  “Makes the rest of us, people who work for and with him, more demanding of ourselves, is that what you mean?” she replied, adroitly sidestepping Prentice’s hard-edged pronouncement. “If so, it’s sure been successful.” Nora was alluding to the Innovac Empire, of which this manor house and surrounding baronial estate being only one small part.

  “I mean Atma never pushes anyone harder than himself,” Prentice replied. “Luckily, the rest of us mortals receive a little more leeway ― but not much.” In qualifying her previous remark, she had stapled a new and unreadable smile on her face. Almost as an afterthought she added, “Praise couched in a platitude, Carmichael? Are you already preparing for tonight’s celebration?”

  “Just anxious ― if that’s what you mean,” Nora answered. “Rattling on so I can burn off a little of the nervous energy this dinner tonight has created. The whole damned thing seems completely unnecessary.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I couldn’t be more pleased with the results of our work here... finding a stopgap bullet for the CDC crisis. Even now it has a fairy tale quality. But I don’t want any reward… certainly not praise… even thanks. Anyway, everyone who was involved realizes the praise should be going to Innovac and the WHO investigative team. Yin Yat Chen ― her people deserve far more credit than I do.

  “Placing me as headliner on tonight’s bill is going overboard. I’m trying to be gracious, really I am, but honestly, I’ll be happy when all this is history and I can return to the shadows ― and my research. I don’t want the spotlight. And for quite awhile now it’s been nothing but.”

  There it was. Nora had been struggling with this ever since she had discovered Pandavas had been planning tonight’s gala ― from the moment word of the serum’s success had reached Cairncrest.

  “Don’t worry,” Prentice reassured her, “it was Atma’s idea, not yours. Everyone’s aware of that.”

  Just as Prentice finished, Pandavas walked into the kitchen. He was already dressed for the day in a handcrafted, light and airy Herr Ganzi grey suit, borrowing its hue from the landscape’s dry-stone walls, both the suit and the man exuding an opulence that fell just shy of outright decadence. The morning workout had placed a sparkle in his darkly reflective eyes, kindling a subtle fire below the surface of his flesh, crowning the whole with a full head of recently showered hair, glistening like anthracite.

  So bright and alive, Nora couldn’t help thinking. The impression was one of a nimbus or Heiligenschein, definitely some kind of aura ― burning with an indefinable radiance.

  “Ah, I was looking for you girls,” he said familiarly. Neither woman took offense. “I have to leave for London within the hour and wanted to ask for your help with a few minor details. They shouldn’t prove too burdensome.”

  “I’m sure they won’t, Atma,” Julie answered immediately. Nora nodded in agreement.

  “Vivaldi, Concerto for Strings, Number 17, conversational background,” Pandavas said idly to the empty air. Before the final consonant had faded, a sweet pastoral arrangement of woodwinds and strings began flooding the kitchen with a perfect accompaniment of eighteenth-century morning-in-the-country ambiance. The music came from everywhere and nowhere through hidden speakers so expertly crafted that their exact locations were unidentifiable.

  “The main ballroom is being prepared for dinner. A modest ceremony to follow. Jainni informs me a hundred and twelve have confirmed.” Jainni was Cairncrest’s Head of Staff, responsible for the manse’s day-to-day operation. An estate of this size required dozens of servants and round-the-clock attention.

  “A hundred and twelve?” Nora echoed with obvious alarm. “Sounds like an invasion.” The quip was intended to sound lighthearted, but barely camouflaged her anxiety.

  “Don’t worry, my dear, they’re all on your side,” Pandavas said soothingly, lifting a hand as if to brush away an insignificance. “Under your command you might even say.

  “Many of the people you already know: HHS Secretary Wiznecki: she’ll be arriving with the US Ambassador to the Court of Saint James; a small contingent of American senators, most of whom I understand you’ve already met under more stressful circumstances. They’re here for consultations
with Peter Henn, the newly elected PM, arriving with members of his staff. He’s already informed us they have commitments on the continent tomorrow so shan’t be staying for more than an hour or so. Just making an appearance, you understand.

  “A number of the others we’ve all met before: Innovac and WHO operatives from Thailand, including Jean-George. We’ll be shining the spotlight in his direction as well. His people deserve a good deal of the credit for our success.”

  Hearing the all-inclusive ‘our success’, Nora relaxed. “Okay, okay, I get the point,” she said with an exaggerated smile. “It’s been a group success and we’re going to make certain everyone gets their deer-in-the-headlights moment, right?”

  “By God, I think she’s got it!” Pandavas replied with mock theatrics. “But still, you’ll have to accept that no good deed goes unpunished. And tonight’s main event is sure to focus its spotlight on you as well. Accept your sentence and remember it’ll be back to day labor again soon enough.”

  Nora smiled, looked at Prentice and resignedly put the final denouement on her humility. “I suppose you’re right. Tomorrow will finally arrive and everyone’s attention will move on. I just wish it was tomorrow already.”

  “No doubt, Nora, no doubt at all.” Pandavas agreed. “Dinner will be at eight. It’s only about twenty-two minutes direct from Gatwick by helicopter. I’ll be back in plenty of time to meet with our guests. Most of them will be arriving after six.

  “Still, a few people may get here before then. Cairncrest is difficult to find. No nearby highways. Few road signs. The closest rail stop is Pewsey, thirty-five minutes by car over a succession of ill-marked country roads. So people may strike out early, only to roll up in the drive much sooner than they planned.

  “Until my return I was hoping the two of you could entertain our early arrivals... employ your coquettish charms, perhaps with a tour of the grounds ― weather permitting of course. I’ll relieve you when I return ― allow you both to freshen up before the festivities begin.”

  Could anybody refuse this guy? Nora thought, smiling. Prentice never had a prayer.

  “I checked Skycast not ten minutes ago,” Pandavas continued. “This front should move on by noon. Behind it, clear skies are forecast. The stables are available for anyone interested ― so long as the streams don’t swell and the game trails become impassable. You’re both resourceful women and shouldn’t have any trouble.”

  “So he says,” Julie quipped and it was settled.

  Nora felt only slightly disabused for being handed this hostess’s role. There were plenty of other things a girl needed to consider. Out here in the middle of nowhere, without advance notice, it had even been difficult to find apparel suitable for such a politically-charged event.

  The minute she had learned what was in the offing she had commandeered Pandavas’s car and driver and rushed off to the closest fashionable shopping district, more than an hour away in the resort town of Bath. Once there, she was able to locate an exclusive couture, Poynts & Trumbell, and they had been kind and gracious enough to let her splurge half a month’s salary on an off-the-rack, off-the-shoulder black clingy number she hoped would satisfy the demands of the evening.

  A hundred and twelve still sounded like a standing army ― whether they were the enemy or friendlies ― no matter what Pandavas might claim to the contrary. She had been operating in overdrive for more than a month and seriously doubted that, as the good doctor had promised, life would ever again return to its pre-TAI virus dull roar.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Third Chances

  A man cannot ford the same river twice.

  T ’an Tzu : Fragment 87

  Rain beat against the railcar window, muddling the landscape. Staring distractedly at the blurred countryside, Lyköan struggled to pull a momentarily elusive concept out of the ether. Until nailed, his half-finished memo was stalled in mid-sentence. He winced, trying to avoid the insolent glare of the flickering display screen.

  Settling upon a serviceable word, he returned to the butterfly keyboard and began typing. One thing’s for certain, this beauty is ten times better than my old Ōkiinami.

  No one capable of reading his thoughts would have contradicted them. It had become a modern fact of life: The most innovative electronics these days were coming out of places with unfamiliar names like Quangzhou and Dongquan. Sure, Chinese manufacturing had been world-class for years, but their original designs had never quite measured up. Groundbreaking and elegant invention was irrationally thought to be the sole purview of the Western mind. After years of me-too manufacturing, such hubris no longer held water. The Chinese tiger had finally arrived.

  As proof, this Xīn Liming Pocket Servant or Yíge Bāngzhú, truncated by the geek world into the monosyllabic yíb ― configured with a revolutionary BT microprocessor ― possessed more functionality and raw computing power than the best GX laptops currently being produced anywhere in the West. BT or Bifurcated Threading permitted multiple signals to pass through critical logic gates simultaneously, producing a logarithmic improvement in processor performance. The occidental world had initially reacted to the BT pre-release hype with derision, dubbing it Boasting Tiger technology. But the revolutionary design had lived up to its advance billing in a way only Sputnik, six decades before, had ever equaled.

  The model Lyköan had chosen to replace the Ōkii tablet stolen during the apartment break-in utilized proprietary software that permitted conflicting operating systems and applications to run simultaneously ― transparently interweaving formerly incompatible code and architecture via a remarkably simple and intuitive interface. A featherweight neon-argon battery completed the near-perfect product, providing enough energy in a single charge for twelve-hours of uninterrupted operation at full power. Hallelujah! The first electronic device capable of a full eight-hour workday’s wireless operation. Which made it the most sought after personal computer on the planet. For the present, supplies and availability were still limited to Asia.

  One of the many blessings of living under the ever-expanding Chinese economic umbrella, Lyköan thought with only the slightest sarcasm.

  Experience being a stern master, Lyköan had made sure this new purchase was equipped with global anti-theft GPS tracking. Hindsight is always perfect.

  If I was smart I would have had tracking installed retro on the Ōkiinami. Maybe if I had, those jik goh burglars ― or whoever the hell they were ― would be cooling their heels behind bars by now.

  Though Krung Thep’s finest claimed they were still looking for his attackers and the stolen Ōkii, nothing had come of it yet. Their blasé attitude almost assured that nothing ever would.

  He had survived the bullet, an unremembered ambulance ride, seven units of blood and four hours of emergency surgery. But everything else had changed. Certainly any ability to relax. He was now constantly jumpy. Even in this innocuous railcar he felt threatened. Maybe it was just something he’d have to learn to live with from now on.

  He refocused on the memo. Ruesri Dat Ton Organics was expecting an update. The international herbalist maintained a satellite office in London that he had visited briefly the day before. Of the few dozen businesses tiny Lyköan IE had once represented, only a handful remained. RDT was one of the last. Yesterday’s London visit might have looked like the height of personal service, but it had been pure coincidence. Today’s other business was the real reason he was in England.

  Whether it’s Ruesri or Innovac, clients expect added value. If I can’t provide it, I’m history. Smoked. Either contribute to the bottom line, Lyköan, or say sayonara.

  Though now that Innovac’s silver is rolling in I could hire somebody to help out ― or just find RDT another agent…

  Maybe it’s fear. Five outfits are all I’ve got if anything goes wrong at Innovac. And the way my luck’s been running lately…

  But the stalwarts stuck with me. Out of loyalty? Who knows? Whatever ― I owe them.

  Above his belt, half ache, h
alf itch, the healing wound pled for attention. Rubbing the stitches with one hand, he finished the communiqué with the other. Proofing what he’d written, he tapped the touchpad and waited for the memo to clear, shifting uncomfortably behind the cramped table of his standard class seat.

  When the “transmission successful” message flashed, he returned to Innovac. Arriving aboard Cawling & Preston, probably the UK’s best cargo carrier, Innovac’s first shipment would reach Bangkok about the same time this train rolled into Pewsey. Innovac was sure getting their money’s worth. Sleepless nights. Haggard days. It was catching up with him.

  Agony on the long flight from Bangkok had been followed by two nights on a rack-like mattress in London’s St. Gerard Hotel. The Pandavas estate, if nothing else, would be a soft place to crash. The real reason for pushing this far into the English countryside, however, was entirely mercenary. Among the dignitaries headed for the same destination were the final two trade officials whose approvals he’d been seeking for weeks. Finally convinced ― who cared by what diplomatic machinations or transfers of untraceable cash ― the last of the Innovac trade stars had finally aligned in the political heavens.

  The oft-altered pact, executed in the finest legalese money could buy, awaited only these signatures. Attested to and witnessed, the three parties of England, Thailand and Innovac would henceforth be legally bound, allowing Lyköan to drop the curtain on this laughable burlesque and move onto the operational phase. Even without signatures, materials transport had already been pushed up a notch, the trade agreement de facto implemented, flying for the past week under cover of temporary governmental waivers. The signed document would only make it all official. Nice and legal.

  He owed Innovac at least that much. And more. Up to and including his life. They had sure been his guardian angels on the night he had almost died. Coming to investigate after hearing gunshots, his landlady had found him unconscious, lying in a pool of blood where he had fallen. The police were summoned and rushed him to the nearest hospital, Mongnaki General. Had he remained there, the story might have ended quite differently.