“I didn’t know the Minister of Trade was a conspiracy theorist.”
“Which are you?” Akkarat studies him. “AgriGen? PurCal? Total Nutrient Holdings?”
Anderson spreads his hands. “I understand that you would like help in arranging a more stable government. I have resources to offer, provided that we can come to an agreement.”
“What is it you want?”
Anderson looks him in the eye, serious. “Access to your seedbank.”
Akkarat jerks back. “Impossible.” The car turns and begins to accelerate down Thanon Rama XII. Bangkok streams by in a blur of images as Akkarat’s retinue clears the avenue ahead of them.
“Not to own.” Anderson puts out a calming hand. “Only to sample from.”
“The seedbank has kept us independent of your kind. When blister rust and genehack weevil swept the globe, it was only the seedbank that allowed us to stave off the worst of the plagues, and even so, our people died in droves. When India and Burma and Vietnam all fell to you, we stood strong. And now you come asking for our finest weapon.” Akkarat laughs. “I may want to see General Pracha with his hair and eyebrows shaved off, living in a forest monastery and despised by all, but on this, at least, he and I agree. No farang should ever touch the heart of us. You may take an arm or a leg from our country, but not the head, and certainly not the heart.”
“We need new genetic material,” Anderson says. “We’ve exhausted many of our options and the plagues keep mutating. We don’t have a problem sharing our research results. Profits, even.”
“I’m sure you offered the same to the Finns.”
Anderson leans forward. “Finland was a tragedy, and not just for us. If the world is going to keep eating, we need to stay ahead of cibiscosis and blister rust and Nippon genehack weevil. It’s the only way.”
“You’re saying that you yoked the world to your patented grains and seeds, happily enslaved us all-and now you finally realize that you are dragging us all to hell.”
“That’s what the Grahamites like to say.” Anderson shrugs. “The reality is that weevils and blister rust don’t wait. And we’re the only ones with the scientific resources to hack our way out of this mess. We’re hoping that somewhere in your seedbank we’ll find a key.”
“And if you don’t?”
“Then it won’t really matter who runs the Kingdom; we’ll all be coughing blood from the next mutation of cibiscosis.”
“It’s impossible. The Environment Ministry controls the seed stock.”
“I was under the impression that we were discussing a change in administration.”
Akkarat frowns. “You want samples, this is all? You’re offering weapons, equipment, payoffs, and this is all you want?”
Anderson nods. “And one other thing. A man. Gibbons.” He watches Akkarat for a reaction.
“Gibbons?” Akkarat shrugs. “I have never heard of him.”
“A farang. One of ours. We’d like him back. He’s been infringing on our intellectual property.”
“And that bothers you a great deal, I’m sure.” Akkarat laughs. “It’s very interesting to actually meet one of your kind. Of course we all talk about the calorie men crouching on Koh Angrit, like demons or phii krasue, plotting to swallow the Kingdom, but you…” He studies Anderson. “I could have you executed by megodont if I chose, ripped apart and left for kites and crows. And no one would raise a finger. In the past, if even a whisper of a calorie man amongst us touched the streets it was enough to trigger protests and riots. And yet here you sit. So confident.”
“Times have changed.”
“Not as much as you suggest. Are you brave, or simply foolish?”
“I could ask the same question,” Anderson says. “Not many people poke the white shirts in the eye and expect to get away with it.”
Akkarat smiles. “If you had come to me last week with your offers of money and equipment, I would have been very grateful.” He shrugs. “This week, in light of present circumstances and recent successes, I will take your offer under advisement.” He taps on the window for the driver to pull over.
“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood. On another day, I would have seen a calorie man torn into blood pieces and called it a very good day.” He indicates that Anderson should get out. “I’ll consider your offer.”
15
There is a place for New People.
The hope of it runs through Emiko’s head every day, every minute, every second. The memory of the gaijin Anderson, and his conviction that the place truly exists. His hands on her in the darkness, eyes solemn as he nodded and confirmed.
So now she stares at Raleigh every night, wondering what the man knows, and if she dares to ask him about what he has seen in the north. About the route to safety. Three times she has approached him and each time her voice has failed her, leaving the question unasked. Each night she returns home, exhausted from the abuse that Kannika metes out, and falls into dreams of a place where New People dwell in safety, without patrons or masters.
Emiko remembers Mizumi-sensei at the kaizen studio where she taught all the young New People as they knelt in kimono and took their lessons.
“What are you?”
“New People.”
“What is your honor?”
“It is my honor to serve.”
“Who do you honor?”
“I honor my patron.”
Mizumi-sensei was swift with a switch, 100 years old and terrifying. An early New Person, her skin was nearly unaged. Who knew how many young ones she had shepherded through her studio? Mizumi-sensei, always there, always advising. Brutal in her anger, and yet fair in her punishments. And always the instruction, the faith that if they served their patron well, that they had attained their highest state.
Mizumi-sensei introduced them all to Mizuko Jizo Bodhisattva, who has compassion even for New People, and who would hide them in his sleeves after their deaths and smuggle them out of the hell world of genetically engineered toys and into the true cycle of life. Their duty was to serve, their honor was to serve, and their reward would come in the next life, when they became fully human. Service would yield the greatest rewards.
How Emiko had hated Mizumi-sensei when Gendo-sama abandoned her.
But now her heart beats again at the thought of a new patron: a wise man, a guide into a different world, one who can provide what Gendo-sama would not.
Another who lies to you? Who will betray you?
She squashes the thought. It is the other Emiko who thinks this. Not her highest self at all, as if she is nothing but a cheshire, bent on glutting herself, unconcerned with what her niche may be, overrunning everything. Not a thought appropriate to New People at all.
Mizumi-sensei taught that there are two parts to a New Person’s nature. The evil half, ruled by the animal hungers of their genes, by the many splicings and additions that changed them into what they were. And balanced against this, the civilized self, the side that knows the difference between niche and animal urge. That comprehends its place in the hierarchies of their country and people, and appreciates the gift their patrons provide by giving them life. Dark and light. In-Yo. Two sides of a coin, two sides of the soul. Mizumi-sensei helped them own their souls. Prepared them for the honor of service.
To be honest, it is only Gendo-sama’s poor treatment of her that makes Emiko think so badly of him. He was a weak man. Or, perhaps, if she is honest, she was not all she could have been. She did not serve to her utmost. That is the sad truth. A bit of shame that she must accept, even as she strives to live without the loving hand of a patron. But perhaps this strange gaijin… perhaps… She will not let the cynical animal into her mind tonight; she will let herself dream.