Sagramanda

by Alan Dean Foster

  Frowning, Chal worked the scanner again. For a second time, it insisted that it had solved the small matter of the taxi's internal security and had deactivated the relevant segment of the vehicle's programming. Yet when he tried the door again, he found it still locked tight. Peering in, he could see that his frightened quarry had retreated to the far side of the single bench seat and was working with a bracelet communicator. The tracker addressed his scanner a third time.

  In this fashion they advanced up the street, one man seated inside the cab with the other running alongside, the two of them dueling with wireless electronics and embedded, adaptive programs much as their predecessors in another age might have sparred on horseback with swords or pistols. Responsive and insufficiently intelligent to be confused, the taxi's doors unlocked and relocked, opened and resecured themselves. Each time, Taneer's electronic riposte was just a step enough ahead of his pursuer's reprogramming to relock the doors before Chal could wrench one open.

  “Ah,” announced the taxi's voice, unconcerned with and uninvolved in the intense struggle that was taking place between passenger and pedestrian, “we have a break in traffic. Please relax, sir, and I will have you at your destination as soon as is legally possible.”

  When the cab accelerated beyond his ability to keep pace with it, a winded Chal put away his unexpectedly ineffective scanner and pulled his gun. Witnesses or no witnesses, he was not about to let his quarry escape a third time. He would fire to disable the taxi and invent some excuse to satisfy the anticipated horde of curious onlookers the attack would draw. But he had waited too long. Fast as he was, by the time he had the weapon out and aimed, a dozen pedestrians, a trio of rickshaws, and one cow had filled in the space between him and the rapidly retreating cab. The pedestrians he could avoid, the rickshaws he could pay compensation for, but if he killed the cow, the mass of devoted Hindus who comprised the majority of the crowd were likely to set on him and beat him to a bloody pulp. It was with great reluctance that he put the gun away.

  Furious and frustrated, it was all he could do to keep from screaming his disappointment as the taxi carrying his long-sought-after quarry disappeared into the night, swallowed up by the swarming multitude of men, women, children, cattle, dogs, and assorted exotics.

  Taneer kept looking out the side windows and twisting around to stare out the back until he was absolutely certain there was no sign of his pursuer. Even so, he did not relax until the taxi spoke to him in a concerned, if wholly synthetic, voice.

  “Pardon me, sir, but in compliance with metropolitan taxi code regulations two hundred seventy through two hundred eighty-four, I am required as part of service and safety rules to monitor the health of my passengers at all times. In respect of that, I note that your respiration is significantly elevated above the initial readings taken when you first entered and engaged my services, and that your heart rate has repeatedly surged above levels deemed safe by the Municipal Health Authority of the city of Sagramanda for one of your approximate age and build. Do you wish me to detour to the nearest hospital?”

  Reminding himself that he was dealing with programming and not with a human driver, Taneer composed an appropriate response while making an effort to slow both his heart and his breathing. “I'll be fine. Proceed to the designated destination, please. You may continue to monitor my vital signs.” At a thought, he added, “Should I at any time fail to respond adequately to your inquiries, feel free to abort the requested destination and take me to a hospital.”

  There, he thought. If his relentless pursuer somehow managed to get in front of the taxi and shoot or otherwise injure him while he was still in the cab, the vehicle was now programmed to take him to a hospital and into the presence of witnesses, regardless of what the tracker did. It was a sensible and hopefully unnecessary precaution.

  Pulling the bottom of his shirt out of his waistband, he used the hem to mop up the sweat that was still pouring off his face despite the taxi's efforts to cool the interior of the cab. His hairbreadth escape into the taxi meant he had managed two near-misses tonight. That was two too many, he knew. Having lost his quarry twice, Taneer doubted his pursuer would allow him to get away a third time. Therefore, there must be no third time.

  Some things would have to change. Though he had taken pains to repeatedly emphasize to Sanjay Ghosh the need to move forward in negotiations with all possible speed, he was going to have to insist on it now. Available time and space was contracting rapidly around him. Contrary to current physical theory, his universe was showing distinct signs of collapsing. Ghosh was going to have to make a deal with a buyer, and fast—even if it meant cutting the price Taneer was asking. Better to have half the money and be alive to enjoy it than hold out for the full amount and end up dead as well as broke.

  Could the uncomplicated ex-farmer pull it off? Taneer had to admit the shopkeeper had done well so far. He was just going to have to do well a little faster. As the cab sped onward into the night and toward safety, it struck the scientist that despite their disparity in education and accomplishment, both men were about the same age and wanted the same things. Having from the first sought only straightforward, unemotional help in pursuing his dealings, Taneer recognized with a start how much he had come to depend on the shopkeeper. Everything was now riding on the other man's skills as a negotiator and a businessman. The money, his future, that of him and Depahli together; everything. And not only that.

  Perhaps also his life, Taneer felt as he recalled the last intense glare of the grim tracker as the man had begun to fall behind the accelerating taxi.

  Sanjay was wrapping the rug when the call on his secure number came through. He was reluctant to take it. An early rule he had learned in this business was that when a customer agreed to a purchase it was prudent to conclude it as quickly as possible lest at the last minute they change their mind and ask for their money back. Even when a price had been agreed upon and a credcard debited, ever-fickle tourists had been known to insist on canceling the purchase. Someone decided they didn't like the color, or the item was too big, or they had gone overbudget on their vacation. This had happened to Sanjay several times before he caught on.

  So he rolled and wrapped the rug with its gold and silver thread, hand-applied beadwork, and sewn-in bits of mirror as expeditiously as possible lest the bored Taiwanese parents and their giggling teenagers decide to move on without taking it. They were very happy with the price they had bargained him down to. Fashioned from a patchwork of elaborate, elegant wedding blouses all sewn together on a heavy backing, the decorative rug was an expensive item to begin with. No doubt his customers felt the obsequious shopkeeper badly needed to make the sale or he would not have come down so far on the price. They were confident in this because they had compared their acquisition with the cost of similar rugs for sale all up and down the street.

  They were right about the price of the item, on which they were indeed getting an excellent deal. What they did not realize was that Sanjay would make back the difference together with a little extra by bumping up the cost of shipping and insurance. He did not feel guilty for doing this. After all, if his customers went away happy, and he was happy, then what was there to argue about?

  The communicator would not shut up, and he could see that it was distracting his customers. In a burst of activity and a blur of hands he managed to finish the wrapping, double-check the total charge, and shoo his contented clientele outside onto the street before the device ceased demanding his attention. So anxious was he to take the call that he almost forgot to darken his windows and activate the exterior sign that said “Band/Closed.” That way, if his visitors from the far east did change their minds, they would not be able to contact him until it was too late and the rug had already “shipped”—even if only to his back storeroom, where it would await eventual transport.

  His satisfaction in completing the sale was muted when he saw that the communication was not only marked “urgent” but was triple-encrypted. Only a handful o
f trusted suppliers and buyers had the ability to put something that significant through to his machine. They, and one other.

  “You're sure nobody can intercept this?”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Mohan, sir.” Inwardly, Sanjay sighed. He had been compelled to repeatedly reassure his exceptional client as to the state-of-the-art status of his shop's communications system. But no matter how many times he did so the assurance never seemed to stick. Reminding himself silently that he existed only to serve his customer, he patiently repeated himself yet again.

  “As I have told you previously, sir, once I have privatized my shop, no detection equipment can penetrate the electronic shielding and scrambling except those senders who possess the necessary key coding. And as everything is quantum encrypted before it is received by me, I am assured that the mere act of trying to intercept it would result in the secure communication being terminated. As before, you can speak with confidence that our conversation is completely private. Otherwise we would not be talking now.” He frowned slightly. “You already know this. Is there some reason for you to perhaps be more concerned than before? Something you are not telling me, sir?”

  “The last time I visited you, I was followed,” Taneer told him. “Someone working on behalf of my ex-employers, I'm sure. I had more opportunities than was healthy to memorize his face. Tall guy, lean and muscular, part European or American. I just barely got away from him, and nearly got myself killed in the process.”

  “Oh my goodness gracious, sir! I hope you are all right.” Sanjay was genuinely upset. Not so much because he particularly liked his sometimes overbearing, condescending client, but because the other man promised to make him rich; a task the gentleman who called himself Mr. Mohan would be unable to complete if he got himself dead.

  “I'm okay, thanks,” came the heartening reply. “But I can't come back to your place, and we can't see each other in person. At least not for a while, until I'm sure it's completely safe.”

  Sanjay found himself looking past his counter, through the shop, toward the darkened windows and the barely visible street beyond. “Tell me honestly, sir: do you think I am safe? Not that I care so much about myself,” he lied facilely, “but I have a devoted wife and two fine children to think about.”

  “Nobody's interested in you.” Sanjay took no offense at this cavalier and rather blunt appraisal of his evident nonimportance. It was after all nothing more than a statement of reality. “It's me they want.” There was a pause on the other end before the client resumed. “If they should connect us, and someone should confront you, don't try to hold anything back. Don't let yourself get hurt. Tell them whatever they want to know. I don't want anyone else getting in trouble because of me and what I've done.”

  Suddenly Sanjay found that he did like the other man. “I will take care,” he assured his client. “I have been very careful so far. So then, you do not think this person who came after you can connect you directly to me and my shop?”

  “I don't know. But I didn't notice him until I was well away from your place. It may be that he was only told to look for me in the area, and is still unaware of our relationship. For both our sakes we need to make sure he remains ignorant in that respect.”

  Sanjay nodded, even though there was no one in the shop to observe the gesture. “Then it truly is best if you do not come into my establishment anymore.”

  “Agreed. We'll conduct the rest of our business via communicator and box. I don't foresee any difficulty. The added distance shouldn't impact our dealings.” The scientist's tone softened slightly. “Though I will miss your tea.”

  Sanjay smiled. “When our business is finished, you can buy all the tea you want, I think. A whole plantation. Or two.”

  “I'm not interested in getting into the tea business,” Taneer told him, evidently not detecting the humor in the shopkeeper's response. “What I am interested in is concluding ours as rapidly as possible. How soon can you make the final arrangements?”

  Leaning back in his chair, Sanjay tried to conjure a reply that would satisfy his client. “My goodness, Mr. Mohan, sir: it is not as simple as trying to auction off a truckload of chickens, you know. I am still waiting for all the bids to come in. I do not know how familiar you are with business dealings, but the longer one waits and the more disinterested he seems, the better the price that can eventually be obtained.”

  The shakiness of the voice on the other end of the secure communication was not the fault of a poor connection. “Sanjay, my friend, we don't have time. If this person finds me again, I doubt I'll be able to get away from him. I could see it in his face. I don't doubt that if he feels it necessary, he will do whatever it takes to secure my cooperation. Or yours, you should know. You have to strike a deal now, while we still have the freedom to do so.”

  Sanjay nodded reflexively. “Very well, Mr. Mohan, sir. You are the instigator here, whereas I am only a humble facilitator working on a commission. Of three percent.”

  Exasperation replaced anxiety on the communicator. “Please, my friend. No last-minute renegotiations. I don't have time for that, either. If you're finding our agreement unsatisfactory, I can always—”

  “No, no, sir!” Sanjay cut the other man off quickly. “Please excuse me. I meant no offense. You must understand, it is the way I was brought up. Surely you cannot blame a fellow for trying?”

  “All right,” the voice conceded. “But no more foolishness. This is a deadly serious business, as you should know from the stakes involved. How soon can you close the deal?”

  Sanjay considered. “I will go today, if I can get an appointment, to speak with the intermediary who is working to arrange the sale on our behalf. I will explain to him what you have said. But in order to push the business forward, I need your permission to threaten to break off all talkings if the kind of speed you are requesting is not forthcoming.”

  “Tell him whatever you like,” Taneer told the shopkeeper. “Do whatever you have to do. But we must have a deal and make the exchange this week.”

  “I understand from where you are coming, sir. I will do my very best.”

  “Oh, and Mr. Ghosh?”

  “Sir?”

  “Be careful, and don't accept any help from those of whose reliability you are not personally certain.”

  Sanjay found himself smiling again. “In my business, Mr. Mohan, sir, one learns very quickly about such things, or one morning he wakes up to find he no longer is the operator of a going concern.”

  A few brief closing pleasantries, and the communication was terminated. As soon as his client was off the line, Sanjay began making encrypted calls of his own. As expected, his contact was as reluctant as he had been to rush a transaction of such magnitude. And just as he had been, his contact did not dare risk losing his share of the deal. It might be done, Sanjay was told. It had to be done, he riposted. Otherwise, the entire complex transaction risked falling to pieces.

  The intermediary wanted confirmation of final details in person. Sanjay agreed to a meeting that very afternoon. Concluding the conversation, he made hurried preparations to close up shop for the rest of the day. Urgent family business was the explanation he gave to the merchants who operated the stores on either side of his. They nodded knowingly and sympathetically, not believing him for a minute, having themselves utilized the same generic excuse to cover the doing of secret business. But they would watch over his shop just as carefully, had the situation been reversed, as he would have watched over theirs.

  Almost, he determined to go straight to Shrinahji. Since time had become so important to his client, the last thing he wanted was to be late for the important appointment he had managed to secure. At the last minute he recalled Mr. Mohan's admonition to always employ a roundabout route when traveling on behalf of their mutual business.

  It was well that he did. He was only halfway to the great market when it occurred to him that the same three people were on the back of the city bus that he had seen riding in the same subway car wi
th him when he had left the central district. Two men and a woman. Trying to size them up without staring in their direction, he grew decidedly uneasy not at the sight of the men, but of the woman. Her expression was furtive and uncertain, as if she did not know where to aim her eyes. A woman in the company of two men should not look so uneasy. Also, he did not like the way she kept fiddling with the pallav, or end piece, of her sari. She kept pulling and pushing it up higher on her left shoulder, as if she was using the silken folds to hide something there.

  It could be coincidence, of course. The three might really be traveling the same route that he was. Furthermore, neither of the two men fit the description of his client's tracker. They were of average height, and neither looked in the least bit European. Nor had Mr. Mohan said anything about a woman.

  Sanjay knew he could not take any chances.

  Exiting the bus at the next stop, well in advance of his intended destination, he found himself in an upper-middle-class commercial district. Drifting adverts assailed him, clamoring for him to try, buy, and not be shy about sampling the latest range of domestic products, imports, and joint-venture goods. Pushing through a loosely regulated street-storm of light and noise entreating him to acquire a new car, new furniture, new entertainment options, new hair, new body odor, and old vits recalibrated for contemporary playback devices, he worked his way through the comparatively well-dressed, well-groomed crowd of upwardly mobile service personnel, students, and technocrats who jammed the eastern sidewalk.

  A single backward glance was enough to confirm his escalating fears. The somber ménage à trois was still behind him, following at a discreet distance, striving assiduously to look everywhere but in his direction while not losing track of him.

  He began wildly searching his immediate vicinity. Would they just continue to follow him? Or if they could catch him out alone somewhere, in a store or while waiting for transportation, would they decide their presence had been detected and choose to confront him instead? With questions, and the means to persuade him to provide the answers they sought?