The Windup Girl

by Paolo Bacigalupi

  Carlyle taps a leather armrest thoughtfully. "I'll have to get me one of these. Once the trade starts flowing, I'm going to have a lot of money to spend."

  Anderson nods, distracted. "We're going to need to start shipping calories right away. Famine relief. I want to commission your dirigibles immediately, as a stopgap. We'll bring U-Tex in from India. Give Akkarat something to crow about. Benefits of open markets, all that. Lots of good press from the whisper sheets. Get things cemented."

  "You can't just enjoy the moment?" Carlyle laughs. "It's not often you escape a black hood, Anderson. The first thing we do is go find some whiskey and a rooftop, and watch the damn sun rise over the country we just bought. That's what we do first. The rest of the crap will all wait for tomorrow."

  The limousine makes a turn onto Phraram I Road and their escort forges ahead of them, hurtling across the rapidly lightening city. They come down off a flyway and detour around a rubbled Expansion tower that has been entirely toppled in the fighting. A few people are scavenging in the wreckage, but no one is armed.

  "It's over," Anderson murmurs. "Just like that." He feels tired. A pair of white shirt bodies lie half-off the curb, rag-doll limp. A vulture stands beside them, edging closer. Anderson touches his ribs gingerly, suddenly glad to be alive.

  "You know someplace we can buy that whiskey?"

  46

  The old Chinese man and the young girl crouch away from her, watching carefully as she guzzles water. Emiko was surprised when the old man allowed the girl to help her crawl over the balcony's edge. But now that she is safe, he keeps his spring gun trained on her and Emiko understands that he is not motivated by charity.

  "Did you really kill them?" he asks.

  Emiko gingerly lifts her glass and drinks again. If she didn't hurt so much, she could almost enjoy the fact that they are afraid of her. With water, she feels vastly improved, even with her right arm lying limp and swollen in her lap. She sets the glass on the floor and cradles her wounded elbow close. She breathes shallowly through the pain.

  "Did you?" he asks again.

  She shrugs slightly. "I was fast. They were slow."

  They are speaking Mandarin, a language she hasn't used since her time with Gendo-sama. English, Thai, French, Mandarin Chinese, accounting, political protocol, catering and hospitality. . . So many skills she doesn't use anymore. It took a few minutes for her memories of the language to surface but then it was there, like a limb that had atrophied from long neglect, and then miraculously turned out to be strong. She wonders if her broken arm will heal as easily, if her body still holds surprises for her.

  "You are the yellow card secretary from the factory," she says. "Hock Seng, yes? Anderson-sama told me that you ran away when the whites shirts came."

  The old man shrugs. "I came back."

  "Why?"

  He grins without humor. "We cling to whatever flotsam we have."

  Outside, an explosion rumbles. They all look toward the sound.

  "I think it's ending," the girl murmurs. "That's the first one in more than an hour."

  Emiko thinks that with the two of them distracted, she could probably kill them both, even with her shattered arm. But she is so tired. Tired of destruction. Tired of slaughter. Beyond the balcony, the city smokes against a lightening sky. An entire city torn to ribbons over. . . what? A windup girl who couldn't keep her place.

  Emiko closes her eyes against the shame of it. She can almost see Mizumi-sensei frowning disapproval. She's surprised that the woman still holds any power over her at all. Perhaps she will never be free of her old teacher. Mizumi is as much a part of her as her wretched pore structure. "You want to collect the reward for me?" she asks. "Wish to profit from catching a killer?"

  "The Thais want you very badly."

  The apartment's locks rattle. They all look up as Anderson-sama and another gaijin stumble through the door. Dark bruises decorate the foreigners' faces, but they're laughing and smiling. They both stop short. Anderson-sama's eyes flick from Emiko to the old man, to the pistol that now points at him.

  "Hock Seng?"

  The other gaijin backpedals and slips behind Anderson-sama. "What the hell?"

  "Good question." Anderson-sama is studying the scene before him, pale blue eyes evaluating.

  The girl Mai makes a reflexive wai to the gaijin. Emiko almost smiles in recognition. She too knows that knee-jerk urge to show respect.

  "What are you doing here, Hock Seng?" Anderson-sama asks.

  Hock Seng gives him a thin smile. "You aren't pleased to capture the killer of the Somdet Chaopraya?"

  Anderson-sama doesn't respond, just looks from Hock Seng to Emiko and back again. Finally he asks, "How did you get in here?"

  Hock Seng shrugs. "I did, after all, find this flat for Mr. Yates. Presented the keys to him myself."

  Anderson-sama shakes his head. "He was a fool, wasn't he?"

  Hock Seng inclines his head.

  With a chill, Emiko sees that this confrontation can only turn against her. The only person here who is disposable is herself. If she is quick, she can simply strip the pistol from the old man's hand. Just as she took the pistols from those slow bodyguards. It will hurt, but it can be done. The old man is no match for her.

  The other gaijin is slipping out the door without another word, but Emiko is surprised to see Anderson-sama does not retreat as well. Instead, he eases into the room, hands held up, palms out. One of his hands is bandaged. His voice is soothing.

  "What do you want, Hock Seng?"

  Hock Seng backs away, keeping space between himself and the gaijin. "Nothing." Hock Seng shrugs slightly. "The killer of the Somdet Chaopraya, righteously punished. That is all."

  Anderson-sama laughs. "Nice." He turns and settles carefully into a couch. Grunts and winces as he leans back. Smiles again.

  "Now, what do you really want?"

  The old man's lips quirk, sharing the joke. "What I've always wanted. A future."

  Anderson-sama nods thoughtfully. "You think this girl will help you get that? Get you a nice reward?"

  "The capture of a royal assassin will surely earn me enough to rebuild my family."

  Anderson-sama doesn't say anything, just stares at Hock Seng with his cold blue eyes. His gaze turns to Emiko. "Did you kill him? Really?"

  A part of her wants to lie. She can see in his eyes that he wants that lie as well, but she can't force the words out. "I am sorry, Anderson-sama."

  "And all the bodyguards, too?"

  "They hurt me."

  He shakes his head. "I didn't believe it. I was sure Akkarat set it all up. But then you jumped off the balcony." His unsettling blue eyes continue to watch her. "Are you trained to kill?"

  "No!" She recoils, shocked at the suggestion. Rushes to explain. "I did not know. They hurt me. I was angry. I didn't know—" She has an overwhelming urge to kowtow before him. To try to convince him of her loyalty. She fights the instinct, recognizing her own genetic need to roll over on her back and bare her belly.

  "So you're not an assassin, trained?" he asks. "A military windup?"

  "No. Not military. Please. Believe me."

  "But still dangerous. You tore the Somdet Chaopraya's head off with your bare hands."

  Emiko wants to protest, to say that she is not that creature, that it was not her, but the words won't come out. All she can do is whisper, "I did not take off his head."

  "You could kill us all if you wanted, though. Before we even knew you were coming. Before Hock Seng could even lift his pistol."

  At these words, Hock Seng whips his spring gun back to point at her. Pathetically slow.

  Emiko shakes her head. "I do not wish it," she says. "I only wish to leave. To go north. That is all."

  "But still, you're a dangerous creature," Anderson-sama says. "Dangerous to me. To other people. If anyone saw me with you, now." He shakes his head and grimaces. "You're worth far more dead than alive."

  Emiko readies herself, prepares for the exc
ruciating pain that will come. First the Chinese, then Anderson-sama. Maybe not the little girl—

  "I'm sorry, Hock Seng," Anderson-sama says abruptly. "You can't have her."

  Emiko stares at the gaijin, shocked.

  The Chinese laughs. "You will stop me?"

  Anderson-sama shakes his head. "Times are changing, Hock Seng. My people are coming. In force. All our fortunes will be changing. It won't just be the factory anymore. It'll be calorie contracts, freight shipping, R&D centers, trade negotiations. . . Starting today, everything changes."

  "And this rising tide will raise my ship as well?"

  Anderson-sama laughs, then winces, touching his ribs. "More than ever, Hock Seng. We'll need people like you more than ever."

  The old man looks from Anderson-sama to Emiko. "What about Mai?"

  Anderson-sama coughs. "Stop worrying about small things, Hock Seng. You're going to have an almost unlimited expense account. Hire her. Marry her. I don't care. Do what you like. Hell, I'm sure Carlyle would find a place for her too, if you don't want her on your own payroll." He leans back and shouts out into the hall. "I know you're still out there, you coward. Get in here."

  The gaijin Carlyle's voice calls in. "You're really going to protect that windup?" He peers around the corner, cautious.

  Anderson-sama shrugs. "Without her, we wouldn't even have had an excuse for the coup." He gives her a crooked smile. "That must be worth something."

  He looks again at Hock Seng. "Well? What do you think?"

  "You swear this?" the old man asks.

  "If we break faith, you can always report her later. She's not going anywhere soon. Not with everyone on the lookout for a windup assassin. We all benefit, every one of us, if we come to agreement. Come on, Hock Seng. This is an easy call. Everyone wins, for once."

  Hock Seng hesitates, then gives a sharp nod and lowers his gun. Emiko feels a sudden flood of relief. Anderson smiles. He turns his attention to her and his expression softens. "Many things will be changing now. But we can't let anyone see you. There are too many people who will never forgive. You understand?"

  "Yes. I will not be seen."

  "Good. Once things calm down, we'll see about getting you out of here. For the moment, you'll stay here. We'll splint up that arm. I'll get someone to bring in a case of ice. Would you like that?"

  The relief is almost overwhelming. "Yes. Thank you. You are kind."

  Anderson-sama smiles. "Where's that whiskey, Carlyle? We need a toast." He gets up, wincing, and comes back with an array of glasses and a bottle.

  As he sets the glassware down on a small end-table, he coughs.

  "Goddamn Akkarat," he mutters, and then he coughs again, a deep hoarse sound.

  Suddenly he doubles over. Another cough wracks him and then more follow in a wet rattling series. Anderson-sama puts out a hand to steady himself but instead jostles the table. Tips it.

  Emiko watches as the glasses and whiskey bottle slide toward the edge of the table, spill off. They fall very slowly, glinting in the light of the rising sun. They're very pretty, she thinks. So clean and bright.

  They shatter across the floor. Anderson-sama's coughing spasm continues. He collapses to his knees amongst the shards. He tries to get up, but another spasm seizes him. He curls over on his side.

  When the coughing finally releases him, he looks toward Emiko, blue eyes staring out from sunken hollows.

  "Akkarat really cracked me up," he rasps.

  Hock Seng and Mai are backing away. Carlyle has an arm over his mouth, frightened eyes peering over the crook of an elbow.

  "It's like the factory," Mai murmurs.

  Emiko crouches down beside the gaijin.

  He suddenly seems small and frail. He reaches for her, clumsy, and she takes his hand. Blood spackles his lips.

  47

  The formal surrender occurs on the open parade grounds before the Grand Palace. Akkarat is there to greet Kanya and accept her khrab of submission. Already AgriGen ships are in the docks, unloading U-Tex rice and SoyPRO onto the docks. The sterile seeds of the grain monopolies—some to feed people now, some to go to Thai farmers in the next planting cycle. From where she stands in the parade grounds, Kanya can see the corporate sails with their red wheat crest logos billowing above the levee rim.

  There was a rumor that the young Queen would oversee the ceremony and cement the new government under Akkarat, and so the throngs are larger than would be expected. But at the last moment, word came that she would not, after all, attend, and so they all stand in the heat of the dry season that has gone on too long already, sweating and sweltering as Akkarat steps up on a dais while monks chant. He swears oaths as the new Somdet Chaopraya to protect the Kingdom in this unsettled state of military law, then he turns and faces the army and civilians and remaining white shirts under Kanya, all arrayed before him.

  Sweat trickles down Kanya's temples but she refuses to move. Even though she surrendered the Environment Ministry into Akkarat's hands, still she wishes to present it in the best, most disciplined light, and so she remains at attention, sweating, with Pai in the front rank beside her, his face schooled into careful immobility.

  She catches sight of Narong standing a little behind Akkarat, watching the proceedings. He inclines his head to her and it is all she can do not to scream at him, to shriek that all of this destruction is his fault. Wanton and pointless and avoidable. Kanya grits her teeth and sweats and drills her hatred into Narong's forehead. It's stupid. The one she hates is herself. She will formally surrender the last of her good men and women to Akkarat and see the white shirts disbanded.

  Jaidee stands beside her, watching thoughtfully.

  "You have something you want to say?" Kanya mutters.

  Jaidee shrugs. "They took the rest of my family. In the fighting."

  Kanya sucks in her breath. "I am sorry." She wishes she could reach out. Touch him.

  Jaidee smiles sadly. "It is war. I always tried to explain that to you."

  She wants to answer but Akkarat beckons for her. Now is the time for her abasement. She hates the man so. How is it that her youthful rage can be so undone? She swore as a child she would destroy the white shirts, and yet now her victory has the reek of the Ministry's burning grounds. Kanya climbs the steps and performs her khrab. Akkarat allows her to remain prostrate for a long time. Above her, she can hear him speaking.

  "It is natural to grieve a man such as General Pracha," he says to the multitudes. "Though he was not loyal, he was passionate, and for that, if nothing else, we owe him a measure of respect. His last days were not his only days. He labored on behalf of the Kingdom for many years. He worked to preserve our people in times of great uncertainty. I will never speak against his good work, even if, at the end, he went astray."

  He pauses, then says, "We, as a Kingdom, must heal." He looks down at them all. "In the spirit of good will, I am very happy to announce that the Queen has accepted my request that all the combatants who fought on behalf of General Pracha and his coup attempt are granted amnesty. Unconditionally. For those of you who still wish to work at the Environment Ministry, I hope that you will continue to work there with pride. We face all manner of hardships, and we cannot know what our future holds."

  He motions to Kanya to stand and walks across to her.

  "Captain Kanya, though you fought against the Kingdom and the palace, I grant you both a pardon and something more." He pauses. "We must reconcile. We, as a kingdom and nation, must reconcile. Must reach across to one another."

  Kanya's stomach tightens, she feels sick with disgust at the whole proceeding. Akkarat says, "As you are the highest ranking member of the Environment Ministry, I now appoint you to its head. Your duty is as it was. Protect the Kingdom and Her Royal Majesty the Queen."

  Kanya stares at Akkarat. Behind him, Narong is smiling slightly. He inclines his head, showing respect. Kanya is speechless. She wais, deeply shocked. Akkarat smiles.

  "You may dismiss your men, General. Tom
orrow we must once again rebuild."

  Still speechless, she wais again, then turns. Her first attempt at an order comes out as a croak. She swallows and give the order again, her voice cracking. Faces, as surprised and uncertain as her own feels, stare at up at her. For a moment, she fears that they know her for a fraud, that they will not obey. Then ranks of white shirts turn as one. They march away, uniforms flashing in the sunlight. Jaidee marches with them. But before he does, he wais to her as if she truly is a general, and this hurts more than anything that has come before.

  48

  "They're leaving. It's done."

  Anderson lets his head fall back on the pillow. "We've won then."

  Emiko doesn't respond; she's still looking out toward the distant parade grounds.

  Morning light burns through the window. He is shivering. Freezing and grateful for the onslaught of sun. Sweat pours off of him. Emiko lays a hand on his forehead and he's surprised to feel that it is cool.

  He looks up at her through his haze of fever and sickness. "Is Hock Seng here yet?"

  She shakes her head sadly. "Your people are not loyal."

  Anderson almost laughs at that. He pushes ineffectually at his blankets. Emiko helps him strip them away. "No. They're not." He turns his face to the sun again, soaking it up, allowing it to bathe him. "But I knew that." He would laugh more, if he weren't so tired. If his body didn't feel as if it was breaking apart.

  "Do you want more water?" she asks.

  The thought doesn't appeal. He's not thirsty. Last night, he was thirsty. When the doctor came at Akkarat's order he could have drunk the ocean, but now, he is not.

  After examining him, the doctor went way, fear in his eyes, saying that he would send people. That the Environment Ministry would have to be notified. That white shirts would come to work some black containment magic upon him. All that time Emiko hid, and after the doctor went away, she waited with Anderson through the days and nights.

  At least, he remembers her in fractured moments. He dreamed. Hallucinated. Yates sat with him for a time on his bed. Laughed at him. Pointed out the futility of his life. Peered into his eyes and asked him if he understood. And Anderson tried to answer but his throat was parched. No words could force their way out. And Yates laughed at that as well, and asked him what he thought of the newly arrived AgriGen Trade Representative coming to take his niche. If Anderson liked being replaced any better than he had. And then Emiko was there with a cool cloth and he was grateful, desperately grateful for any sort of attention, for her human connection. . . and he had laughed weakly at the irony.