by Malka Older
“Okay,” Maryam says, but she’s distracted: she had forgotten that the first government debate of the campaign was happening while they were in the time capsule, and she can see just from the volume of traffic on the Information intranet that something newsworthy happened.
* * *
Mishima finds the election debates a lot less fun now that she’s preparing for her own event. Her typical mix of intellectual fascination, gossipy obsession, and personal interest in the result is tempered by the awareness that she will soon be performing herself. Everything that happens at the government debate will be fair game for questions to Secretariat candidates, so there’s also the feeling of cramming for a critical and wide-ranging exam. More than that, though, she is registering in a new way how professional spokespeople and heads of state deploy nuances of gesture, tone, and phrase, wondering what she can cull for her own use and what will seem artificial.
There are differences between the debates, of course. There will only be five Information candidates on her stage, and the first government debate has seventeen. It’s a significant reduction from the number included in the previous election’s first debate, which is partly because Information tightened up the criteria for inclusion, but—frowning over numbers during the opening statements—Mishima wonders if it’s also indicative of a consolidation of power among large governments.
She surfaces from the data long enough to hear the Liberty spokesperson talking about fresh starts and becoming better through experience, and expands her datacubes again. At least number-crunching—never her strong point—will distract her from the smarm. Ken, next to her, is making incoherent angry noises and yanking at his hair.
When Mishima looks back up from her (inconclusive) data, she finds that whoever’s in charge of the official Information debate projection is doing the same thing. Debates are audio-only, much to the chagrin of the better-looking heads of state, and while most of the projection is taken up with annotation of the ongoing speeches, someone has started putting up infographics ranking the participating governments along various metrics on a slide screen.
Mishima notices that while Heritage remains number one in inequality, followed closely by 888, Policy1st has crept up quite a few spots over the past few years. They naturally jumped when they won the Supermajority, with many centenals that had been in higher-Gini governments moving over to them, but the fact that they’ve continued in that direction suggests that some aspect of the Supermajority status may benefit the already-wealthy more than others. Mishima makes a note to throw that question to the economists. Odd, having access to a staff of experts in various subjects, instead of muddling through everything herself. And that’s just the official candidate perks; actually winning would probably spoil her completely.
Vera Kubugli won the randomization and gets to make her closing statement last. Listening to her rich tones, Mishima remembers how in the last election Policy1st presented a different spokesperson at every debate, supposedly part of their focus on policy rather than personalities. She wonders if they’re going to do that again this time; she can’t think of anyone with a stature anywhere near Vera’s. Have they noticeably centralized power since Veena left? Her brain, catching something her conscious mind missed, jerks her attention back to the content of Vera’s speech.
“… and because we believe in local policy determination, we’ll be taking our own approach to this a step further. We are introducing mechanisms to allow centenals that vote for us to maintain their local government identity while benefiting from the experience, economies of scale, and umbrella policies that Policy1st can offer.”
Mishima slams upright and opens the official Policy1st site in a separate projection. Even as her eyes take in the structural diagram posted in pride of place to describe this move, she opens the Information intranet because she knows people are going to be losing their shit over this.
“What?” Ken is yelling next to her. “How did they—” He jumps up and starts parading around the room, talking to himself in fragments that, Mishima notes, have a distinctly triumphant sound to them. She scans the diagram while intranet comments drift in front of her vision and the rest of Vera’s speech washes over her.
There’s a lot of shrieking going on at Information over whether this is legal; Mishima will wait for the lawyers, but it looks like a neatly borderline case to her. The diagram clarifies that centenals who take this plan will have no official status with the local government they would have otherwise chosen, but they will receive an explicit contract ceding specific policy areas to the second-choice government. The initiative seems designed to skirt the law requiring merging governments to completely align their platforms.
Mishima opens a call to Nejime, but there’s no answer. She must be flooded with calls from freaked-out staffers. Mishima toys with the diagram while it rings, and then stops suddenly. She can see both sides of this, but she’s not going to have that luxury for long. This is exactly the sort of thing the Secretariat would decide on, which means she’s going to have to have a position.
She ends the call unanswered.
CHAPTER 13
Possibly taking a hint from the previous day, Rajiv is even more deferential with Taskeen on their second meeting. “How would you do this?” he asks. “Is there a coding solution that would let you communicate in this way?” “This would be more useful if we could hardcode the message path to avoid certain nodes; is that possible?”
Taskeen does seem mollified. She smiles at Rajiv once or twice, and when they break for tea, she brings out the sweets right away. Yesterday he got no food at all. But Maryam is pretty sure that Taskeen is holding back in her answers. Either that or she really is dotty. When Rajiv asked if she trusted Taskeen yesterday, Maryam honestly wasn’t sure. Now she’s positive that Rajiv shouldn’t trust the elderly maven, but she feels much less inclined to warn him. The techie sisterhood, it seems, is thicker than Information loyalty.
“Now that we’ve covered some basics,” Rajiv is saying, “let’s get a little more specific about what we’re doing. You’re working together to find these ex-Information staffers, right? What do we know about them?” Drawing them out, he lists known and suspected activities, capabilities, and weaknesses. “We need to think like them. Put yourselves in their position. What do you think they’re doing?”
“Acting desperate,” Taskeen snaps. They both look at her in surprise, and she tries again. “They’re probing for weaknesses.”
“That seems reasonable,” Rajiv says. “So, what do we expect from here?”
Taskeen coughs around something that might have been “incompetence” or maybe “nonsense.”
“More of the same, presuming they haven’t found what they’re looking for,” Maryam suggests.
Taskeen rises to clear the tea. “Weren’t you going to practice—what did you call it? Street security?—today?”
They take the hint.
“She is acting a little odd,” Maryam says once they’re safely away from the compound. She still has no intention of telling Rajiv about the techie stuff he (presumably) missed, but her curt dismissal was so obvious that to pretend not to have noticed would be strange.
“I wonder.” Rajiv seems lost in thought. “In any case, hopefully we’ve gotten through to her enough to keep her from sending any more reckless messages.”
We? thinks Maryam, her sense of techie sisterhood thickening further.
“By the way, is it true you were in the Isla de Pinos station when it was attacked? Can you tell me about it?” When she nods reluctantly, he looks around and guides her into an unassuming teashop on a corner. Maryam, who has just had two mugs of Taskeen’s excellent blend, is not in the mood for a cup of swill, but she supposes there’s an operational security reason. She sips the lukewarm brew sparingly in between describing the experience a second time. If Taskeen’s warmth yesterday brought out the emotional side of it, Rajiv seems more interested in the narrative and technical details. “In a closet!
Where was it located? How frightening! And they didn’t look for you? What about heat sensors? How did you hide your identity when you logged into the station’s systems?”
When she’s finished, he leans back. “I haven’t been following Exformation too closely—not my billet—but these station attacks are scary. Amazing they don’t hurt anyone, though! Almost a Robin Hood aspect to it.”
Maryam looks at him skeptically. “You think they’re distributing the data among the poor?”
He laughs. “No, but I imagine it could garner them some sympathy. Daring attacks with no victims.”
“Sympathy?”
“Oh, I think plenty of people would be on their side, don’t you?” His eyes search her face, and Maryam focuses on the dregs in her teacup. “Especially, I hate to say it, but especially Information staff. I think everyone can relate to the feeling of workplace dissatisfaction.”
“Is that what it’s about?” Maryam asks, doubtful.
“Since they worked for Information before, I assume they have some grievances.”
“Sure,” Maryam nods, feeling that it’s better to agree at this point. “Don’t we all?”
“Maybe even deeper philosophical disagreements with the organization.”
She gives him a questioning look.
“It’s possible they are acting on some principles—say, questions of privacy, or responsible neutrality, or unelected hegemony—as well as a desire for power.” There’s an earnest glint in his eye, and Maryam forces a smile.
“Oh, no doubt,” she says, swallowing an inclination to retort, Or at least that’s what they tell themselves.
“I’m sure we’ve all had our disagreements with the bureaucracy.” Rajiv chuckles. “I know I’ve had my share.”
There is a crack and a moment later a rapidly accelarating pock-pock: a monsoon is drenching the pavement just outside.
“See, like that,” Rajiv says, yelling to be heard over the sudden crushing noise of the rain. “Why didn’t they warn us?”
Maryam can’t tell if he’s joking.
* * *
“This is a great opportunity; it’s a win-win.” Ken realizes he is using buzzspeak and takes a breath. “We can get the best of both worlds.” Not much better, but said slower, it sounds more thoughtful. Besides, this buzzspeak is probably the best way to communicate with Geoff Forth. “We can combine the power of the sitting Supermajority with the quirky local flavor and freedom of Free2B. I still know a lot of people at Policy1st, I’m sure I can work out advantageous terms, it could be—”
“We are all well aware of your continuing contacts at Policy1st,” Geoff says, in the driest of takedown tones. “Ken, you’ve been of incredible value to us and you’re doing a great job as campaign director, but after all these years, I’m not sure you’ve fully aligned your perspective with that of Free2B.”
Ken, already thrown off by the attack (Does Geoff know Policy1st was trying to poach me?), leaps back into the breach, fueled with indignation. “I love Free2B! I came here because this was where I wanted to live. I have turned down every higher-profile, higher-salary offer, I—”
“And we appreciate that, Ken, but the bottom line is you still think bigger is better, that ambition is a virtue. That perspective informs all your work. But that’s just not what Free2B is about.”
“Was I just fired?” Ken asks Phuong after the meeting.
She frowns. “I’m not sure. Geoff hates coming out and saying uncomfortable stuff like that.”
Ken is trying to figure out whether he wants to be fired or not. On the one hand, it would be a great excuse to take the Policy1st job. On the other, he loves his apartment, and his neighborhood, and really the whole government. Would he have to move, if only for pride’s sake?
“You shouldn’t be,” Phuong is going on. “They’ll never find another campaign director as good as you.” Ken swells, ready to stay. “At least not for the price, and not this late in the game.”
“I wish he’d tell me one way or the other,” Ken grumps, deflated again.
“You could make some tiny adjustment in the strategy document and take it to him, see what happens,” Phuong suggests. “I’m pretty sure he’d tell you one on one.”
“That could tip him against me,” Ken points out. “Geoff and I have never done well one on one.”
“Then keep your head down,” Phuong says. “Just do your job, okay? I, for one, want to keep my centenal.”
* * *
Rajiv doesn’t know Dhaka well, but he looked up call centers in the city before he arrived—using carefully oblique searches for low-income businesses and obsolete tech still in use. The one he selected is festooned with posters and pop-ups advertising short-term labor contracts in Saudi. He’s concerned that a call to Russia will stand out, but at this point he’s willing to take the risk.
“Maryam might be amenable in the future, but she’s not ready,” he says as soon as Moushian picks up. “I’m not willing to risk it.”
“What about Khan?”
“Still dangerous,” Rajiv says. “She might suspect me. I managed to take some imaging of her computer screen, which I’ll send you as soon as I get back to Kathmandu. I think they’re looking at data transfer software.”
Moushian is silent.
“Are we ready for the event?” Rajiv asks, unable to help himself. “I don’t know what Khan is planning, but Information is on alert.”
“We’re ready, but I think we need to go to our contingency plan. Get yourself to the site.”
* * *
Rajiv doesn’t show up for training on Maryam’s last day in Dhaka. She waits for thirty-two minutes, then, wondering if she’s breaking a key rule of dealing with spies, asks after him at the hotel desk. He checked out the night before, leaving no message. Odd, but maybe he was called to an emergency somewhere. Maryam is not too sorry to miss the training. Instead, she goes back to the sanatorium to visit Taskeen one more time. It feels almost like an obligation, as if Maryam’s been neglecting an elderly relative: Taskeen was the one who called her here, and then they were interrupted by Rajiv, and she’s barely spent any time with her.
When Taskeen opens the door, however, her brisk pleasure in seeing her is nothing like a lonely old woman who had been hoping for another visit. Maryam tries to pull herself back into professionalism while Taskeen puts on the kettle.
“Well?” the older woman says. “How was your time with the spy? Did you learn something?”
“Something, maybe.” Maryam chuckles self-consciously. “I’m not sure it’s the type of skill you can pick up in a few days.”
“That’s just what a spy would say,” Taskeen says in what Maryam hopes is a teasing voice, tapping her on the back of the hand. “Tell me though: do you trust him?”
“Rajiv?” Maryam asks, not even surprised anymore. The conversation with Rajiv in the teashop was entirely weird, but she’s gotten into the habit of not answering that question with the truth. “He seemed nice enough. But trust him? No, I don’t trust him. But I trust Nejime.”
“I don’t!” Taskeen snaps. “I don’t trust him, I don’t trust Nejime, and I don’t trust Information.”
“I thought you and Nejime were friends,” Maryam squeaks, her eyes straying to the photo of the two of them together on the wall.
“Friendship has nothing to do with it. If you think your boss or your organization has your best interests at heart, you’re a fool.” Taskeen gestures impatiently, as if trying to brush away the effects of her harsh tone. “It’s fine to say you’re just a techie, but at some point, you have to start thinking for yourself, you understand?”
The kettle whistles on cue and Maryam jumps, and Taskeen laughs, then pats her on the hand again as she goes to make the tea. Maryam stares at the room cluttered with the detritus of an influential life. When Taskeen gets back, she waits for her to either resume or explain her rant, but Taskeen sets out the cups in silence.
“What kind of changes were you considering
?” Maryam asks finally. Taskeen looks up sharply, her face bright and poised. “For the data transfer software, I mean.”
“Oh, that,” Taskeen answers, but she still looks eager. “I think we can shift a few things around, maybe change some command definitions, and that ought to slow them down.”
They dive deep into it, long enough for Maryam and Taskeen to be finishing each others’ sentences as they work through the problems. It’s been a while since Maryam’s done such straight-up tech work, and even longer since she’s done it together with someone who could hold their own. Every time she remembers that it’s Taskeen Khan she’s working with, she shivers.
They finish their work, but Taskeen puts the kettle on again and pours them more tea, and they chat about less consequential matters. Taskeen wants to hear about those former colleagues of hers who are still at Information. Some of them Maryam knows only by names; she has spent most of her career at the Paris, Doha, and now La Habana Hubs, and her circle is somewhat limited.
“And Nougaz?” Taskeen asks, after Maryam has updated her on the scant gossip that hovers around Nejime. “I understand she’s still trying to run things?”
Maryam chokes a bit on her tea. “She’s…” Oh, yes, there is a non-personal update she can offer. “She’s running for the Information representative position on the Secretariat.”
Taskeen wrinkles her nose. “I’ve seen this Secretariat thing mentioned in the news compilers, but what exactly is it?”
Maryam glances at her sharply when she mentions news compilers, but Taskeen has admitted to staying abreast of current events several times already. “It’s a…” Again, Maryam stops; that’s a harder question than it seems. Like everyone in her set, she has an awareness and a working knowledge of the new structure, but not an actual definition. Maryam blinks to bring up the official Information line, but of course it doesn’t come. “It’s an attempt,” she starts bravely, “to add structure and … oversight to the system. Since Information is supposed to be neutral”—she and Taskeen share a knowing grimace—“and the Supermajority doesn’t, and shouldn’t, have much oversight power, the Secretariat is meant to be a committee staffed with representatives of various interested parties that can deal with procedural disputes, set the kind of umbrella laws that Information is reluctant to touch…” She trails off with a shrug. No one really knows yet what the Secretariat is going to do, although she’s heard there’s a list of possible issues pending its decision once it exists.