Salvation

  “Uh huh.”

  “You sound like you disapprove.”

  “I don’t get the Utopial grading system, that’s all. I thought the ethos was equality.”

  Kruse gave a quick smile. “Opportunity is equal. People are not. In our society, you can progress as far as your talent and enthusiasm can reach.”

  “The same as everywhere.”

  “Not quite. Here everyone receives a fair share of society’s produce, no matter the level of practical contribution you make. If you choose to do absolutely nothing for your entire life, you will still be fed and clothed and housed, and given access to medical treatment or education without prejudice. But in reality, a life of total leisure, or sloth, is rarely chosen. It is human nature to want to perform some kind of activity. The difference is we do not require it to be what the old communist and capitalist theories interpret as economically viable. With the introduction of Turings and fabricators, the human race has advanced to a technology level that has given us a self-maintaining industrial base. It can provide consumerist products at practically zero cost. Nobody should be regarded as a parasite or sponger, as your media condemns and shames your underclass. Here, if you wish to devote your life to developing obscure philosophy, or an artistic endeavor that is outside the mainstream, that is to be welcomed and encouraged as much as someone who commits to designing new technology or researching pure science.”

  “Some are more equal than others?”

  “That is how the rich Universal rulers like to spin the Utopial ethos, yes. It is rather childish, don’t you think?” Hir hand gestured proudly at the glorious cylindrical panorama. “Could a flawed society produce and maintain this?”

  “I guess not.”

  “One day, everybody will live like this. Free from constraints.”

  “Indeed.” All Kandara could think of when she looked at the tall Utopial was the local priest who had governed so much of her childhood. The scriptures, his ethos, could never be wrong; he would have a patient smile as he explained away every question bold young minds could think of to challenge God’s implacable word. “So what now?”

  “There is someone who wishes to meet you before you can begin.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  * * *

  —

  It was quite a hike, which Kandara hadn’t been expecting. She followed Kruse into the trees. They’d only gone a few hundred meters before the overhead canopy merged to a single luxuriant emerald roof. Slim beams of light slithered through the long leaves to dapple the ground. Trunks grew closer together and the undergrowth shorter. Several times they crossed narrow, arched wooden bridges with streams gurgling away below. Birds squawked loudly in the high branches, unseen from the ground. It wasn’t long before Kandara took her linen jacket off; the still air was so warm even her trademark black singlet seemed excessive

  Finally they came to a small clearing with a stream running along one side. There was a tent in the middle, all billowing white cloth with scarlet edging and bronze guy ropes. The only thing missing to complete the look of medieval pageantry was a royal pendant fluttering from the apex. The whole structure was ludicrously incongruous in a space habitat orbiting an alien star.

  Kandara gave Kruse a skeptical look. “Really?”

  It was the first time Kruse’s urbane expression faltered. Sie pulled the opening curtain aside. “Jaru is expecting you.” Sie hesitated. “Please be aware of the importance so many Utopials assign to hir, though sie will of course dismiss any such devotion.”

  Once again Kandara felt a tingle of unease at Kruse’s piety. “Of course.” She walked into the tent.

  It was noticeably cooler inside. The fabric seemed to glow with a rich luminosity lacking in the stark light outside. Somehow the interior didn’t surprise Kandara. The cushions, small fountain, and a single stiff-backed wooden chair all sang: humble yet mystic guru.

  Jaru Niyom sat in the chair, draped in sea-blue monk-style robes; gaining an immense dignity by looking as old as anyone Kandara had ever seen. It has to be theatre, she thought. But then sie had already been old when telomere treatments first became available. Old yet rich.

  Jaru was the only child of a wealthy Thai family; hir father had made a fortune in property development as Thailand’s prosperity grew. They had been estranged when the elder Niyom had died from a stress-induced coronary at sixty-one, never quite able to come to terms with his cherished offspring becoming kathoey. Most assumed the more gentle Jaru would let the company dwindle, but the family’s entrepreneurial gene wasn’t recessive. Hir inheritance came at the same time as Kellan Rindstrom demonstrated quantum spatial entanglement. With a flash of intuition sie would often demonstrate in later life, Jaru immediately saw a way of advancing hir company’s fortunes, benefiting the environment, and providing cheaper housing which the world so desperately needed.

  Thailand became the first country to construct ribbontowns. Jaru bought (at a bargain price) hundreds of kilometers of the nation’s motorways and expressway networks, along with the entire 4,000 kilometers of the State Railway network—all of which were becoming redundant as Connexion continued its inexorable advance of portal hubs across the globe.

  Jaru began building houses along the abandoned train tracks. Big vehicles ripped up the asphalt and concrete of the roads, exposing the raw earth ready for new foundations to be sunk. What sie had realized was that Ainsley Zangari’s notorious slogan was correct—everything truly was one step away. In this new age of instantaneous transport, habitation didn’t need a civic center anymore. All the facilities like schools, hospitals, and theatres could be accessed no matter where your home was physically located; you just needed a portal door nearby.

  It was a model swiftly copied by the rest of the world. With governments desperate for the cash that selling obsolete roads and railways to developers would raise, and solving the global housing crisis at the same time, the resulting construction boom went on to save (or at least salvage) many economies suffering from the collapse of the traditional transport industries.

  Multibillionairedom allowed Jaru to expand hir commercial interest out into the burgeoning space industries, constructing new habitats on Sol’s asteroids. Then, in 2078, as a direct result of nine über-corporate habitats declaring themselves low-tax nations open for business, sie sponsored the First Progressive Conclave, where fifteen more idealistically minded space-based billionaires pledged to birth a true post-scarcity civilization for the human race. Each of them committed their habitat to an economy based on a Turing-managed self-replicating industrial base. It was the start of the whole Utopial movement.

  Kandara didn’t need any prompting to duck her head in a small bow of acknowledgment. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

  “You are kind,” Jaru said with a melodic voice. “Though I fear at my age I am no longer terribly spectacular.”

  “Age is wisdom.”

  Sie chuckled. “Age can be wisdom. It depends how you spend those years.”

  “True.” Kandara was aware of Kruse coming into the tent behind her and bowing deeply.

  “Are you acquiring wisdom, Kandara?” Jaru asked.

  “My life has a purpose. You know that. It’s why I am here.”

  “Of course. This is why I asked to meet you before we commit to this course of action.”

  “So you can judge me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are free to ask me whatever you wish. But please bear in mind my former clients have full confidentiality.”

  “I don’t wish to know the darker commercial details of corporations. I am interested only in you.”

  “I’m not a serial killer who’s found the perfect cover. Nor am I a sadist. If a client wanted someone to suffer before death, I would turn the job down. I execute people. It’s that simple.”

  “What about those who can be red
eemed?”

  “If the person causing you trouble can be redeemed, you don’t need me.”

  “So you judge us in turn, then?”

  “Everybody judges everyone else. I don’t deem myself infallible. I hope and believe I haven’t made a mistake so far. Everyone I’ve been called upon to deal with has deserved what happened to them, in my view.”

  “Surely, we would be better served by you arresting these criminals and quietly renditioning them to Zagreus?”

  “Again, if you can deal with them that way, you don’t need me. I’m here for the ones who won’t come meekly, or who are so far along their path that a fight to the death is what they want—consciously or otherwise.”

  “Is this a quest for revenge, then?”

  “I don’t want any more children to suffer as I did. If you want to call that revenge, feel free.”

  “You sleep at night, then?”

  Kandara narrowed her eyes as she studied the ancient wrinkled face for any hint of guile, wondering if the Utopials had cracked her medical files. “My conscience is clear.”

  “I wish I could say the same.”

  “I can walk away if you’d like. No offense will be taken. No regrets.”

  “I believe we are past that point now,” Jaru said sadly. “The senior council has made its decision based on the level of extremism we appear to be facing. I do not dispute this. If those who are harming us do not surrender to authority, then they must be dealt with. I simply wished to see what kind of person you were.”

  “I’m sorry to be the serpent in your Eden.”

  “I never deluded myself we could achieve a truly peaceful egalitarian society without suffering misfortunes along the way.”

  “I am a last resort. Most of my clients regret having to call me in, but they seldom have any choice.”

  “So it would seem. I cannot express how disappointed I am that people are so hostile to us.”

  “They fear you,” Kandara said, “for you are change. And change frightens people, especially those with the most to lose as that change is enacted.”

  “You approve of us?” sie asked in charmed surprise.

  “Yes. The economics you seek to replace are those which ultimately resulted in my parents’ murder. How could I not approve?”

  “Yet you have not come to live with us.”

  “My skill set has no place in your culture. When the human race comes to accept the Utopial ethos, embraces it even, then I will settle here with you—if you’ll have me. Until then, I will always be needed.”

  “You may be in for a long wait. We are a small nation. The number seeking to join us is disappointingly few.”

  Kandara glanced wearily at Kruse, uncertain how the acolyte would respond to the immutable doctrine being questioned. “Do you mind if I tell you how I see it?”

  “Acceptance of truth is fundamental to our ethos. To determine truth we must first listen to all opinion.”

  “Okay: You went too far too quickly.”

  “The Turings were nothing new, nor was the level of sophistication in the fabricators that manufacture our technology. The asteroids provide us with unlimited elements. Solarwells supply eternal energy. Synergy between such diverse developments was inevitable.”

  “Yes, but they were just the economic factors. You took it a stage further.”

  “Ah.” Jaru smiled gently. “The omnia.”

  “Yes. You were asking too much of people. You offer converts to the Utopial ethos all the material goods they could want, practically for free, but first they have to accept the gender change.”

  “We prefer the term ‘gender expansion.’ ”

  “Whatever. The material benefits of post-scarcity shouldn’t be wholly dependent on pimping the DNA of your children.”

  “But, dear child, the formation of Utopial society was never just about physical rewards. The Universal culture provides much to its citizens—to a great many of them, in fact. Today there are fewer living in relative poverty than ever before.”

  “So why insist on the omnia-only clause?”

  “Because I seek more from people. I seek universal equality. And the most basic inequality is that caused by a binary gender. It fuels every disparity and bigotry present in the so-called Universal culture. It condemned our history on Earth to variants of the same mistakes because, before genetic modification, it could not be eradicated. I know this. In my youth I experienced it in ways you should be thankful you will never encounter. It is worse than any of the miseries brought about by the old foes of religion, capitalism, communism, and tribal nationalism. Those can all be cured in time with education and love, but genders would remain unless we took action.” Hir hand was extended palm outward toward Kruse. “And now…even that problem has been solved. Quite beautifully, too.”

  Kruse beamed worshipfully. “Thank you.”

  “Nice theory,” Kandara said. “But all you’ve done is set up an admittedly worthwhile society that exists in parallel to the majority society. You’re not changing anything.”

  “The Universal factions are in constant conflict,” Kruse said darkly. “They will fall as we will rise.”

  “Which is why I’m here,” Kandara concluded. “Not falling the way you hoped, huh?”

  “Their hostility is unremitting,” Jaru acknowledged with a profound sigh. “And recently they have advanced that enmity to a level it is impossible to brush aside as petulance. They seek to inflict physical harm. Much as I would wish it, I am not Gandhi. My father’s pragmatism remains strong in me.”

  “Tell me what you need,” Kandara said.

  “A group of Universal activists has been sabotaging our design bureaus. Some of the most promising research has been stolen and our results corrupted. They are damaging us, Kandara, quite badly—though that cannot be admitted in public. We don’t know where they came from or who sent them. They elude us. Find them. Stop them.”

  Kandara nodded solemnly. “It’s what I do.”

  * * *

  —

  “We’ve put a team together for you,” Kruse said as they walked back through the trees.

  “Oh, really? What kind of team? And who’s we?”

  “Our Home Security Bureau. We brought in a variety of experts and advisors. It is their task to track down the physical location where the attacks come from.”

  “Okay, that’s good.” Kandara had been expecting to use some of the specialists she was familiar with, but she was prepared to give Kruse’s people a chance.

  A portal door in the habitat’s endcap took them down to a hub on Akitha. Seven hubs later, they reached the central metrohub of Naima, a city of some 700,000 inhabitants sprawling across the southern side of a large island. From there it was ten hubs around a metro loop to the street where Kruse had assembled the team.

  Kandara stepped out of the hub and immediately dabbed at the sweat that was starting to bead on her brow. Naima was part of an archipelago in the equatorial zone, making it considerably hotter and more humid here than it had been back in Nebesa. They’d emerged into a white stone plaza that was several hundred meters above a calm indigo ocean. Naima occupied the rugged slope on all sides, comprised of modest stone-and-glass buildings that Kandara felt were a little too similar. It put her in mind of the Tuscan villages she’d visited in her childhood, when her parents had spent several weeks in Italy on management courses at their employer’s head office. Pretty and peaceful, if bland.

  They walked along the broad road with its central sentry line of tall palm trees, her bagez rattling over the authentically uneven cobbles behind her. A minute later they arrived at the villa. It squatted at the top of a small cliff, with a glass-walled living room presenting a magnificent view across the broad, curving bay below the city. In the distance, a clutter of small pillar-like rock islands stood proud from the sun-spa
rkled water. Beyond the open doors, a paved patio stretched out to an infinity pool. When Kandara walked over to it, she realized most of the pool must be supported on pillars; only the house itself was sitting on the terraced cliff.

  “Okay, this will do,” Kandara admitted.

  “The team is in the kitchen,” Kruse told her.

  Naima might have been Italianate, but the kitchen clearly followed a more Nordic tradition—a minimalist spectacle of black-and-scarlet marble, with a dozen worktop recesses from which various culinary devices could slide out as required, looking more like sculptures than practical machinery. She tried not to show any envy, but it made her little kitchen seem quite tired in comparison.

  Three people were sitting at the long crystal table in the middle of the pale-oak flooring, sipping wine from tall-stemmed glasses.

  A rebuke was starting to form in Kandara’s head. It was ridiculous; these people were acting like they were on some kind of delightful weekend break, not setting up a covert op that was likely to end with smoking ruins and dead bodies.

  Two of them were clearly Utopial omnias—their height alone evidenced that—while the third was shorter and female. Kandara didn’t think she was just female cycled, not that she could explain her conviction. Hopefully, it was solid detective’s intuition.

  The trio rose to greet her, smiling warmly.

  “This is Tyle,” Kruse said, introducing the tallest, who had sandy hair and a slim dark mustache with the tips precisely trimmed in neat curls. “Our network analyst.”

  “Excited to be working with you,” Tyle said. Hir voice was high, and eager. Kandara thought sie was genuinely young, maybe in hir late twenties. But then hir sharp features were so disturbingly close to Gustavo’s she felt she was being haunted.

  “Oistad, a defensive program operator.”

  Sie was almost as tall as Kruse, but with thick honey-blond hair that came over hir shoulders in languid waves. The flowing blue summer dress sie wore left Kandara no doubt sie was in full female cycle. As always, age was difficult to pin down these days, but to Kandara the poised manner spoke of someone over half a century.