Jay sighed and took another sip of her wine; this moved her mind on to the Chilean farmers scraping a living from their vines, where lack of educational opportunities combined with social inequality to deny them or their children advancement. Jay shook herself; she knew she had to stop thinking like this, that only actions, not thoughts change anything. Jay knew that she would act, had acted already to improve the lives of others. However, she was also acutely aware how difficult effecting real change was. It was not a problem finding things to improve; the difficulty lay in prioritising one over another and dealing with the impact on others that a “positive” change for one group would have. The effect of improving the lives of Chilean wine farmers would ultimately be an increase in the cost of production of Chilean wine; this would normally lead to a reduction in demand for Chilean wine as distributors, responding to consumer demands, switched to other countries for wine of a similar quality. This meant that addressing Chilean wine farmers would entail addressing the worldwide production of wine. Then one has to address other types of farming as the improved conditions for wine producers pushes up the cost of farmland and farm labour. This in turn has a direct impact on developing nations where increasingly manufacturing is competing with farming for labour. Really, Jay thought to herself, it's a wonder that we achieve anything at all.
Jay's mind switched to her new position. As Under-Secretary General, she had had power and influence over multiple UN programmes. Now however, she would be setting policy and directing, guiding, she corrected herself, the UN in all matters. Jay had a clear idea of what she wanted to achieve with her tenure as Sec-Gen, a world where every individual can succeed to the best of his or her ability, regardless of their start in life. Unfortunately, Jay had no idea how to achieve this. Education would be part of it. However the truth was that an African child who shows great aptitude for quantum physics would have little real prospect of studying in that field, there being too many barriers in the way. Therefore, someone born to a better life, but with less natural ability and potential takes that place and the world is deprived of a significant opportunity for advancement. It would take, Jay thought, a global organisation that could make that investment and make use of the people. It would have to be on a scale never before known, bigger than any country, generating more wealth than any one country could. Jay sighed again, realising how small the chance of such an organisation coming into existence, smaller still in her lifetime. The best I could achieve, she thought, would be to bring a little more opportunity and justice into the world. Jay took another sip of her wine, relaxed and let the heat and bubbles continue their work.
21:19 27 October [02:19 28 October GMT]
Residence of the Secretary-General, East 57th Street, New York.
The yellow cab pulled up outside the house. Sameena Kapoor paid the driver, giving him an adequate, but not overly generous tip and stepped out of the taxi, pulling her shopping bags behind her like a prisoner with a ball and chain. Sam climbed the steps to her house, mother’s house; she corrected herself as she opened the door. The smell of roasted garlic and fresh bread reminded Sam how small her lunch had been, and how long ago. She put her shopping at the bottom of the stairs and slipped off her coat, glad to be in the warm again. Sam made for the dining room, although she hated eating in there. A long table with seating for ten, the room was large enough to accommodate twice that number. The room made Sam feel awkward and uncomfortable. Sam would have preferred a loft apartment, something with adequate size but none of the “stuffiness” of this mausoleum. She knew that the house was not of her mother's choosing either, it had come with the job, and her mother would be expected to entertain here. Sam would love to throw a party in this place, but she somehow doubted whether her mother would approve of her guests.
Sam entered the dining room. Her mother, Jayanti was sitting at the head of the table. In front of her on the table were four silver serving dishes, all covered. There was a place laid for Sam next to her mother. Jayanti poured her daughter a glass of wine and topped up her own glass, finishing the bottle. Sam wagered with herself that it was not the first bottle opened that night. Jay made a point of looking at her watch.
'You're twenty minutes late.' Jay said to her daughter, 'what did we agree?'
Sam thought to herself, we never agreed anything, you said and that was it.
'I know mother' Sam responded politely, 'I'm sorry, the time kind of got away from me.'
'It's not asking too much' Jay said 'for us to have one meal a week together, is it?'
'No mother, of course not.'
She felt like a teenager again, instead of the thirty-five year old woman she was. They started their meal, Sam complimenting her mother on her speech, which she had made a point of stopping to watch during her day. Her mother shrugged of the compliment, instead turning the conversation around to Sam and her lack of a job, let alone a career.
'You know' Jay began 'there are a good number of very interesting projects going on within the UN right now. They may not be in your field, but you don't seem to be doing anything in your field anyway so it would hardly be a waste.'
How many times are we going to have this conversation? Sam thought. 'That's very kind of you mother, but I'm fine, really I am. It's not been that long since I finished my Master’s and I am really enjoying helping out at the dog rescue.'
'It's been over three years and you could be doing so much more with your life than re-homing a few stray dogs.'
Jay was more acerbic than intended, but she had had a bottle of wine before this one and she was tired of her daughter wasting her education. Sam bit her tongue before replying.
'I know you are tired mother, so perhaps we should do this another time huh?'
Jay, seeing the “out” her daughter had offered decided to take it. 'You are right dear' she replied 'I am tired let's not talk of this now. Are you going out tonight dear?'
'Yes,' Sam replied, ‘we’ve been invited to the opening tonight of a new club.'
23:15 27 October [04:15 28 October GMT]
Club Confidential, 23 E. 65th St., Manhattan, New York, USA.
How many times, thought Sameena, do I have to say “no” to this guy? The guy in question was good-looking, obviously well-educated with success written all over him. Sam had made a bet with herself that after working as a trader for a few years he had struck out on his own and is now seriously wealthy. Curious as to whether she was right Sam ventured a question.
'So what do you do?'
The guy smiled as if he had just won a competition. 'Oh' he responded, trying to act as though he hadn't expected the question 'I have my own fund, I run it out of my top floor offices in Midtown. We're doing really well too, despite everything.'
That was it the guy realised, he had seen the look in Sam's eye as he had added the “doing really well” bit and she had decided that then he was a “no go”. For whatever reason, he thought to himself, this woman is not impressed by money, status or any of the things a New York female usually looks for in a man. He decided to cut his losses and be magnanimous.
'Well it’s been terrific talking to you. Let me know if you change your mind about that dance, I'll be around for a while.'
Sam was a little sad to see him go. Not that she was interested, she wasn’t, but he had at least been a gentleman. Not like many of the men whom I normally meet. Arrogant, rich and vain. All typical “Alpha” males, when you meet a group of them you can almost drown in the testosterone, she reflected. Sam thought about the lack of a man in her life. She knew more about what she didn't want than truly what she did want. The only real image she had in her mind was a “Joe the Plumber” type. An honest, hardworking man who wouldn't mind taking out the garbage or washing the dishes, but at the same time someone who was still a real man. Sam knew that type was out of her league, for a man to feel a man he needs to be the breadwinner and generally a touch smarter. Sam thought about her considerable wealth, her high level of education, and all the “succes
sful” men she has known. Presidents, Prime Ministers, Heads of State and the rest, truly there could not be a “normal” man for me who could compete in that arena.
Anne, one of Sam's closest friends, wandered over to her now that she was alone. As she approached Sam, she started clapping her hands, in a slow mocking fashion.
'Well done,' Anne began 'that is almost a record, even for you. Tell me what is your secret to scaring away attractive and successful men? Really, tell me, I want to know.'
'He wasn't right' Sam responded, rather feebly she thought.
'Oh is that so?’ Anne countered 'and what wasn't right about him? Tall, dark, handsome and obviously rich. Was he witty and intelligent?'
'Well yes' answered Sam 'he was actually.'
'Well' continued Anne 'what was the problem?'
'He wouldn't take out the garbage....'
Anne was dumbfounded, there was no telling what her friend might say, do or think. Anne had tried countless times to set her friend up with men, most had never gotten off the ground, the others faltered very quickly. The men all saying something similar, that Sam was cold and distant. Anne didn't believe this, she knew her friend too well, but she had to admit that Sam could act very cold if she didn't feel that you were worth her interest.
'Come dance with me' Anne asked Sam.
'OK' Sam replied, deciding that man or no man, she would enjoy herself tonight.
04:15 28 October [09:15 28 October GMT]
Residence of the Secretary-General, East 57th St., New York.
Sam tripped up the stairs to her mother's house, just managing to stay upright and not fall. Key in hand, she entered and tried to act sober. She knew that her mother would be fast asleep, and likely to rise in just a couple of hours. Slipping off her high-heels, the cold marble floor of the lobby contrasted against the soft warmth of the Oriental rug that she crossed on her way to the drawing room. The place is like a stately home, picture perfect and immaculately kept, she reflected, the rug is probably a priceless gift from some king or prince.
Sam poured herself a drink and curled up in one of the large leather armchairs, feeling like a small child. She started to reflect on the night, the men who want her and the man she wants what her mother had said and her life in general. Mother was right about one thing, she thought, I do need to do something with my time, it doesn't have to be forever and I could still help out at the animal rescue part time. Sam reflected on her education, a degree in Psychiatry, and another in Astrophysics, her Masters was in Business Administration, but running a business did not offer any great appeal to her. A PhD is the next logical step, but in what? Sam had no idea, but decided to speak to her old professor tomorrow and sound him out to see where current academic interest lay.
14:28 28 October [12:28 28 October GMT]
N 37º 59’ 30’’ E 20º 51’ 37’’ Off the coast of Kefallonia, Greek Islands.
Group 79 had not always had the same name; indeed, they had changed it many times throughout their extremely long history. Few knew of their existence, fewer still of their purpose and true nature. They had seen nations born and others lost, civilisations grow and die. They have always kept their existence a secret for fear that if discovered panic would ensue. They have guided man’s advancements, medical, technological, and social. Most of the time their touch had been gentle, influencing writings and teachings. However, there had been times when they had to be strong direct and intrusive for fear that their ultimate goal would be undone.
The structure of Group 79 whilst not unique was very unusual for such a body. There was no committee, executive, or head. They did not vote, at least not as such. Every opinion was listened to and counted as equal to every other. There were no arguments over policy or procedure, instead they discussed things in-depth and at length. Time was always on their side. They had a charter, but that was more out of courtesy to the non-permanent members than any need or desire to detail their purpose.
They met this day to perform one of their duties. The last of the reports had come back and everything had checked out, all of the details were correct and so they had decided that Rule 4c should be enacted.
A large screen revealed itself to the left of the room and all was ready for the meeting.
07:28 28 October [12:28 28 October GMT]
40th Floor, United Nations Building, New York.
Jayanti Kapoor had been in enough positions of authority to have learned two things; one, no matter what you have learned you can still be surprised and two, when a member of your security detail makes a request treat it like an order, because your life could depend upon it. It was these thoughts that occupied her mind during the elevator ride to the 40th floor of the 39-floored building.
The elevator doors opened to reveal nothing more than a very ordinary looking room, unremarkable except for the fact that it had no windows and didn’t officially exist. She stepped forward into the room, unusually for her feeling some trepidation, and sat down on the single chair at the solitary table. The lift doors closed behind her, and the large screen on the wall opposite her blinked into life.
The image she saw was a room with a table, much larger than the one at which she currently sat, but with a number of men and women sat at it. She did a quick count, twelve, eight men, and four women. No particular bias on race or colour. An excellent judge of a situation, she had honed her “people” skills throughout her career.
After nearly fifteen minutes the screen dimmed and the lift doors opened, this made her jump, just a little. She stepped back into the lift and stared at the member of her security detail who had brought her here, wondering just how much he knew. She knew not to ask, they had made that very clear, what they had told her was for her alone. Alone, that was exactly how she felt at this moment and very conscious that there is more going on in the world than even she had known.
14:43 28 October [12:43 28 October GMT]
N 38º 00’ 34’’ E20º 52’ 06’’ Off the coast of Kefallonia, Greek Islands.
Group 79 had discharged their Rule 4c requirement. It wouldn’t stop there of course, continuous surveillance would be maintained for the next twelve, or more months and she would always be monitored now, probably for the rest of her life. None of the group was troubled by this, not for them the ethical consideration of spying on a diplomat, not least of all because they knew that each of the non-permanent members were still being monitored, and some of them had joined more than twenty years ago.
16:22 28 October [21:22 29 October GMT]
Columbia University, New York.
Sam found herself arriving at the campus with both a sense of excitement and one of almost fear. The excitement generated by the thought of embarking on a new challenge; the fear was at meeting her old professor. No one had ever treated her like the prof; nothing she ever did had seemed good enough for him, other students shined and received encouragement, Sam always left feeling less than adequate. Sam was bright enough to know that she sought the approval of a father figure, her own having passed away when she was only five, barely a memory of him existed, except being chased around the orchard, her daddy tickling her remorselessly when he caught her. Knowing that she was seeking the prof's approval and being able to stop herself from seeking it were two different things, the hole in her life left by the loss of her father was one she felt she could never fill. It was why she was so choosy about her boyfriends, she had to judge them the way she thought her father would have. She knocked on the door to the professor's private office.
'Come in.' the voice from the other side called out.
Sam instantly returned to the subordinate student; she took a breath, reached out to the handle, and turning it gently, entered the room.
Professor Bonas looked up from the papers on his desk at the woman entering the room. He reflected that she certainly was a woman now, not the “child” he had known ten years previously. Of all his students, she had been one of the highlights, very bright and gifted with insight, diligent
and a hard worker, he would have pushed her even if her mother had not asked him to. The phone call he had received from her that morning had come out of the blue, it was obvious to him that she was serious though, and somewhat desperate from her tone and inflection. He waved her to the couch and rose to join her there, a tea tray already laid out with some sandwiches and assorted biscuits. He reflected again how he had come to America as a young immigrant, no home, no income, but with the drive and passion of ten people.
They talked at some length, mainly around what Sam had been doing since they had last seen each other, how her mother was now Sec-Gen of the UN. Professor Bonas shared that he was now widowed, his wife passing away three years before from cancer, the pain of the loss still evident on his face. Sam reached out at that and squeezed his hand tenderly, surprising herself even though it felt the right thing to do.
'So you are sure that you are ready for doctoral work?' the professor asked.
'Yes, I am. I need the challenge and I would like to contribute something.'
'Well, you are in luck, I spoke to a friend at JPL, and they are looking for someone like you to work on a project for NASA'
'It's not weapons is it?’ Sam interjected.
'No' the professor replied, his annoyance at being interrupted evident on his face, he continued, 'It is for their deep space division, they want someone to run a project researching the psychological effects of deep space travel, with particular reference to long term sensory deprivation.'
Sam paused before replying, conscious that she didn't want to interrupt him again.
Dark Matter Page 6
