Paradise Reclaimed

by Raymond Harris

  “It would seem a long shot.”

  “Any chess move might prompt a number of responses. I have considered each one carefully, calculated the probability based on our opponent’s capability and prepared a response. Would it surprise you Amy if I were to tell that other actions have already taken place and that others are being put into place?”

  Torv nodded. This was Tshentso Jayarama. She would have looked at this problem from every perspective, including perspectives others could not even conceive.

  “Truthfully, I believe the leaders will send more men and we will have to strike again, this time leaving no survivors. And perhaps more will be sent, each wave obliterated. Rumours will spread and these will undermine discipline. Perhaps some will mutiny. Perhaps some will become so inwardly terrified that they will shake with fear when attacked and they will turn and run.”

  “Thus minimising the number of deaths?” said Torv understanding the calculation.

  “Our enemy uses gratuitous violence but we will use surgical violence, minimum death for maximum effect, always targeting the killers and especially those who order the killing. Never any innocent lives. Do you understand Amy?”

  Torv nodded.

  “Did I hear you say fangs?” asked the general, puzzled by an earlier reference.

  “Amy, kindly show Norbu your biomechanical enhancements,” commanded Tshentso.

  Torv held up her hands and glared at the general. She growled for effect and her fangs descended and her claws extended in one quick movement. The general jumped and a cold chill of primal terror caused him to shudder.

  “Relax Norbu,” said Tshentso with a wicked laugh. “There is a perfectly logical explanation. There always is. But they are effective are they not? All the best demons have fangs.”

  Torv retracted her fangs and claws and smiled at the general.

  “You see what we are capable of Norbu? You understand the storm that is about to sweep their lands?”

  The general nodded his head silently. He was putty in Tshentso’s hands. Torv couldn’t even begin to understand the many gambits at play. Tshentso turned to Torv and she was once again drawn into her deep eyes. “Killing is not easy. Your team will react in many ways. It is why I came. So I could ask each of you personally. Will you kill for me Amy?”

  Torv could not say no. A thought occurred to her that she had been expertly manipulated by Tshentso, her every response predicted and countered. Tshentso moved toward her for an embrace. She melted into her tiny body. Yes, she would kill for Tshentso. She would even die for Tshentso. Tshentso whispered in her ear. “You must watch them carefully, like a mother watches her children. Everyone must come back unharmed, not even a scratch. When you have succeeded you will return to the capital Thimpu where you will be treated as heroes. The time for the unveiling approaches. Now, let us go to the barracks so I can speak to the others.” The general began to stand and she held up her hand to stop him. “This is not for you Norbu, I do not think your constitution can handle it.”

  Torv gave a small laugh and the perplexed look on his face and then he blushed when he realised the Kumari’s meaning.

  98

  Sun, Mae and Riku

  Sun was at least pleased about one thing. The burkha provided protection against the dust storm. It might be hot and itchy, but the face covering stopped grit getting in her eyes. It also turned out to be a convenient disguise. They could walk through the market, indistinguishable from the other women and older girls similarly covered from head to foot.

  It had seemed totally absurd the first time she had heard of it. These primitives believed that the sight of the naked form would incite uncontrollable lust in any man. There was no sense of self-control or self-responsibility. Of course it was just an excuse. A way to blame the victim, a way to control women. Still, it was a useful disguise.

  “There it is,” said Mae from just behind her left shoulder.

  “The Al-Shabab mosque,” said Riku, who was just a black shape to her right side.

  “It’ll be dark in a few hours so we’ve got a bit of a wait,” said Sun.

  “I’m hungry and I’ve developed a taste for coffee,” said Mae.

  “You know they won’t let women sit in cafes,” said Riku.

  “So it’s dates, dried apricots and almonds from the market - again,” Sun sighed.

  They returned to the markets, to the cacophony of smells: dust, coffee, spices, urine, chicken shit and the rancid smell of goat meat hanging on skewers, flies buzzing around.

  They retreated to the shadows, to the dark recesses of narrow alleyways and the sounds and smells of domestic life. A dog barked and a small boy pissed up against the wall. They squatted on a stone step and shared their meal, lifting their veils to drop in small handfuls of dried fruits and nuts. As the sun set they took brief naps, one always staying awake to watch.

  At midnight they slipped out of their burkas. There was a curfew for women and they could not be seen out at night. Instead they would use their chromatophores to blend into the shadows, standing perfectly still when they saw movement. It was their favourite time. They were free again. Unseen. Night Shadows.

  They returned to the mosque. Two men stood guard to protect it from attack by sectarian rivals. A dog barked and the men shone torches into the dark. The beam passed over Riku but did not return. She had assumed the colour of the wall.

  They found a way over the mosque wall and dropped into a small courtyard. The ayatollah’s rooms were on the other side. It was a luxurious oasis in a desert land: a small pool with a fountain, a tiled patio, a small rose garden. Sun stopped and dipped her hand in the water and washed her face of dirt.

  “Come on, let’s get this done first,” Riku hissed.

  They walked to the door and tried the handle. It was open. They crept through the house accounting for every occupant: the ayatollah’s three wives and six children. One wife was missing but they expected her to be in her husband’s bed.

  Ayatollah Oman Ali al-Thrani was in his bed, flat on his back and snoring. It was still warm and he was naked, his third wife was lying on her side in a tangle of sheets. All they could see was bare leg and breast and an exposed hand covered in a henna design, her face partially covered in a tangle of thick black hair.

  Mae bent down and had a close look. She was young, perhaps fifteen and very pretty. She was an oddity because they had seen so few Arab women in the flesh. Mae gently turned the girl’s wrist to expose her veins and then released one of her claws. With one quick jab she injected a sedative. The girl opened her eyes with a start and looked into Mae’s eyes. Riku placed her hand over the girl’s mouth to stifle her scream and the girl’s eyes widened in terror before they closed and she slipped into a deep sleep.

  Sun had found a suitable vein in the ayatollah’s neck and injected him with a powerful hallucinogen. She began to run her hand over his chest and stomach. He was fat and his body was covered in hair. An ape. She moved her hand to his genitals. He smelt of sweat and hashish. With her other hand she checked his pulse and began to release her pheromones. He would wake soon but it would seem like a dream. He grew erect and she mounted him. He should now be entering an intense erotic dream. Mae and Riku released their pheromones and began to masturbate, filling the room with an overwhelming aroma of sex (the girl would also have a powerful erotic dream).

  The ayatollah opened his eyes to see a glowing angel staring at him. It spoke to him in Farsi. He did not fully realise that the angel had mounted him; rather he experienced a feeling of overwhelming bliss.

  “I am Jabril. I am the moon. Oman, faithful servant of Allah, why is your mind filled with dark clouds that hide the moon?”

  He could not answer. All he knew was that an angel had chosen him.

  “Shaitan’s clouds have darkened men’s minds Oman. But Allah, the most compassionate, the most merciful, the all seeing and all knowing, will send a brilliant light to burn away the clouds. He has brought you a prophet for a new era. The Mahd
i. A virgin from the east. Allah has chosen you as her messenger.”

  The ayatollah was getting close to orgasm and his brain was flooded with waves of bliss that he would associate with a mystical vision. When he was close to ejaculation she stood up so that he could see her glowing body. To his eyes she was a radiant vision of supernal beauty.

  The hallucinogen amplified every feeling and thought and his mind swirled in a kaleidoscope of colour and symbolism - all carefully designed to circumvent his prefrontal cortex. Sun had used her words carefully. The moon was a powerful symbol in his branch of Islam, one connected to the mystics known as Sufis. It was a risky strategy but it played right into the mythical thinking of these primitive people. He was already a powerful ayatollah and if they succeeded, this man could inspire a powerful new movement that might challenge the fundamentalist orthodoxy - a new movement loyal to Tshentso.

  On the way out they stopped at the pool. They allowed their skin to glow brightly as they swam and cleansed themselves. Upstairs the young daughter of the ayatollah, Layla, watched nymphs - jinn, frolic in the water. She watched silently, entranced by their beauty.

  She would tell her father and it would become yet another sign from Allah.

  99

  Biyu

  They were not what she expected, but then, nothing was as she expected. They stood in formation, ten boys and ten girls from the ages of eight to fifteen, all stripped to the waist, all wearing loose black pants, their heads shaved to a stubble.

  “The Kumari has ordered a search of the Republic to uncover the enhanced,” said Choejor who was similarly stripped to the waist. “She has created a new order, the Heruka, as part of her reform program. They are based on the ancient Shaolin tradition.”

  Biyu turned to their elderly master, Koto Khadro. “It is an intriguing story, hardly surprising. I have always found the martial philosophy of the various Buddhist schools fascinating. You say that during the collapse Bhutan offered sanctuary to masters from China and Japan?”

  Koto Khadro nodded. “I am myself descended from a Japanese master, Shinzo Hokusai. The Gyaltsen dynasty believed the new circumstances required a new philosophy. The teaching of the physical skills coincided with a thorough training in mindfulness, highly suited to the enhanced.”

  “And you are enhanced?”

  He bowed. “I am fortunate to have benefitted from the lineage of Tashi Thokmay.”

  Choejor looked up at the sun, the first rays were warming the crisp air of the courtyard. “The enhanced became advisors, assistants and bodyguards. They put themselves in positions where they could see and hear everything, where they could whisper quietly and influence gently.”

  Biyu turned from Koto to look at Choejor. Stripped to the waist she looked stronger, more physically robust. It was if she were playing a different character. “So, who is your best?”

  “Lhamo,” said Koto.

  Biyu turned to inspect the group and a girl of around eleven bowed her head.

  “She has been fortunate to be the recipient of a superior genome. There also seems to have been an epigenetic mutation. She is a natural.”

  Biyu indicated for the girl to stand before her. She did so with careful, soft steps and a totally calm expression. She was small but her body was athletic and in perfect proportion, her face displaying strong Himalayan features. “Will you demonstrate Hung Gar style?”

  The girl bowed. Biyu watched carefully as the girl transitioned into a fully alert and fierce fighter. There were flaws. A general lack of strength and speed but she was certainly good.

  “Engage me,” said Biyu as she tested the girl’s defences. It was effortless for her but the girl was not intimidated and would not give up. This was the most encouraging sign - courage and persistence. Biyu ended it with a test of the girl’s acceptance of pain and defeat. She delivered a blow to the girl’s stomach, winding her, then she kicked her feet from under her and she hit the ground hard. Biyu stood back to watch how the girl responded. She shook her head and took a deep breath, trying to regain her senses as quickly as possible. Then she stood calmly and bowed to acknowledge Biyu’s superiority.

  “Very good Lhamo,” said Biyu softly. “The most critical point in any contest is on the cusp of failure. You must retain control at all times. There are two critical thought processes: the psychology of hubris and the psychology of capitulation. Even the defeated can win in the final heartbeats if the victor succumbs to arrogance. The person who succumbs to capitulation has simply defeated themselves.”

  The girl bowed briefly in acknowledgment but quickly raised her head to catch Biyu’s gaze. “Master Zhang, will you kindly demonstrate your skill?”

  Biyu smiled at the girl and turned to Choejor and Koto who nodded their assent.

  “Of course, but if I may seek an indulgence?” She looked again at Choejor and Koto. “On Eden we do not wear restrictive clothing when training. We find it hides important information about muscle movement and I would like to assess your students.”

  Koto bowed. “The Kumari desires that the Heruka order become masters of the body. The clothing is simply tradition.” He turned to the assembly of students. “Please demonstrate your mastery over shame.”

  The students bowed, immediately undressed and returned to their formation. She cast her eye over their bodies. They were shorter and stockier than their Edenoi peers and the older boys and girls sported pubic hair, but they were every bit as beautiful in their natural state.

  Biyu did not hesitate and stripped. She performed a full demonstration of skills: leaps, kick and punch routines, somersaults and twists and her extraordinary flexibility. She was again free. Fully in her body, flying through the air, defying all constraints.

  After her demonstration she mixed freely with the students. They asked her questions and asked her to show them specific skills. If she were not in the courtyard of an ancient Buddhist monastery, she might have thought she was back on Eden amongst student athletes. Clearly this was Tshentso’s intention: to gradually synthesise Terran and Edenoi customs to create a new cultural formation. And it had been her task to inspire a small vanguard, the very first recruits. She could not predict the future but at that moment she thought there was hope for Earth. It was no longer about escaping the planet to found new colonies on alien worlds, it was about transforming Earth itself.

  100

  Prax

  He was in the monastery library looking at the collection of scrolls, exquisite folded books and pen and ink illustrations of complex mandalas and alchemical diagrams. They were beautiful and extraordinary, but he also understood that most of it was metaphysical gibberish. Nonetheless they were still the result of curious minds searching the darkness. He carefully unrolled a stiff parchment containing an elaborate sketch of a fierce dakini, her eyes glowing with anger, her fangs dripping with blood. It seemed strange that such an image had been produced by a religion that preached pacifism. Of course he understood that each dakini represented the fearless destruction of ignorance, the barrier to enlightenment, but it was still shocking. Is this really what Tshentso had intended?

  He had not expected to be so shaken, so uncertain. How do you play a chess game where the rules keep shifting? Life on Eden was simple, almost predictable, even the politics. The various factions were well known and their views well understood. Politics on Eden was a matter of polite disagreement and respectful discussion. On Earth it was secretive, labyrinthine and often extremely violent. The Edenoi might be more intelligent but he was not sure they were a match for the amoral cunning of the Terrans.

  It wasn’t that the Edenoi didn’t understand human history. They understood it all too well. They just didn’t have the practical experience. It all came down to trust. The Edenoi trusted evidence and they trusted each other. On Earth there was no trust, none. There was no trust in evidence and certainly no trust in others. It seemed to him that Terrans were the masters of deception. They habitually deceived each other and most alarmingly, they hab
itually deceived themselves. They had a distressing capacity to believe in things that were clearly untrue.

  He understood that the emotion he was feeling was existential sadness at the tragedy of the human condition. Again, theoretically, he understood the cause. Uncertainty and mistrust created stress and the release of harmful hormones. Yet he was supposed to have received training in monitoring his mind and isolating the thoughts that had been stimulated by the stress reaction. The last time he had spoken to Tshentso she reminded him that Earth humans had become so habituated to the psychology of stress that they had considered it normal, even virtuous. Somewhere back in Earth’s ancient history, humans had forgotten about the delicate balance between natural stress and natural pleasure. Even Tshentso was uncertain about when it had begun. Somewhere in the Neolithic when population pressure began to deplete local resources and tribal groups turned to raiding and violence to survive. Studies of other primate species showed that periods of stress were always followed by periods of pleasure: of social grooming, feeding, and of sex. And other species found some sort of balance between stress and pleasure. The life of grazing animals consisted of long periods of grazing and mating punctuated by brief periods of stress caused by predator attack or the variability of the environment, even the predators themselves had long periods of sleeping and mating interrupted by brief periods of stress when they hunted and killed.

  But humans, they had become addicted to stress and had turned it into a cultural necessity. During the Neolithic era warrior cultures began to appear. They became rich through war and slavery. In order to succeed they had built stratified societies based on brutal repression: a governing cast, a priestly cast to threaten the wrath of the gods, a warrior cast to enforce control, and the rest, the workers and peasants. Some of these cultures allowed an outlet for pleasure but some began to conceive of pleasure as a weakness. The superior warrior was tough. Cruelty became a virtue and fear became the norm; the way to control the population and turn it to the business of war was through constant fear.