He looked across to Lake Geneva, momentarily lost in thought, watching the sun reflect off the water and a speedboat cut through the waves. He had no taste for these extravagances. He could have used his money to buy his way into the most exclusive social circles. He could have married a Bollywood starlet and bought influence in Indian politics. He could have married an American model as a trophy wife and bought influence in New York, LA, or Washington. And now he was being invited into the upper echelons of Europe. But at what cost?
When he looked back down Angelika was getting out the pool, her body evenly tanned, confirming that, for her, swimming au naturale was perfectly normal. She looked up and saw him. He froze. He expected her to run for a towel or cover her body with her hands. Instead she waved and yelled up at him. “You’re welcome to use the pool. As you can see, costumes are not necessary. We do not bother here at Sommerland.” There was no hint of embarrassment or apology in her words; it was merely a statement of fact.
He waved back. “It certainly looks inviting. Perhaps in the morning, to wake me up,” he replied calmly, hoping to signal that he was not shocked.
She smiled. “As you wish. You’ll find a large towel and a robe in your room.” She walked over to a deck chair and lay out in the sun to dry. She seemed totally unconcerned that he continued to watch, perhaps expecting him to admire her slightly awkward, adolescent beauty; as if she were the subject of one of the many paintings he had seen in the house, or even a photographic model like her mother.
After a nap of about an hour he woke and checked the clock. He had half an hour to get ready. In the closet he found a selection of evening clothes. If it was meant to be a formal evening they would have included black tie, but the theme was clearly semi-formal summer wear: slacks, an open-necked shirt and a sports jacket, again, all exquisitely tailored garments from top designers.
When he went downstairs he found Willy waiting for him with a whiskey. “As usual the women will want to make an entrance. I hope you don’t mind Angelika acting as your escort for the evening. I assure you she enjoys the ballet and is charming company.”
“I have no doubt, no doubt at all.”
They engaged in small talk about Geneva and the Swiss countryside as they waited. Then Greta and Angelika made their entrance, orchestrated specifically to impress him. Greta was simply stunning: elegant and sensuous, dressed in a light, backless summer gown that hugged her body, her neck decorated with an elaborate diamond necklace with matching earrings. Angelika was no less stunning, dressed in something slightly more age appropriate that nonetheless still displayed her adolescent figure, a light touch of makeup making her seem considerably more mature. He understood that the whole intention was to be noticed and admired. He was expected to compliment them.
“Akash, so glad to finally meet you,” said Greta as she glided toward him to give him the traditional double kiss on the cheek.
“And you, and may I say how beautiful you and your daughter look.”
She nodded politely to acknowledge the expected compliment.
It was a very pleasant drive to the theatre. Greta was charming company, expert in the art of putting people at ease with a mixture of wit and friendly seduction. The ballet was a surprise: an incomprehensible modern production that featured male and female nudity, again reminding him that he was in Europe and not deeply conservative India or America. During the intermission he learned that Willy and Greta were patrons of the Grand Thèâtre de Genève (as was made clear by the people who came up to greet them) and that Angelika had trained to be a dancer. The point was further emphasised when Willy invited him back stage to meet the choreographer and principle dancers. The fact that many were in various stages of undress, including a rather well hung African, seemed not to concern either the dancers or the Eisenbachs, least of all Angelika (who had no doubt been attending each season since she was a child). Of course it was all a test. He was being assessed constantly. How cultured and sophisticated was he (because cultured people are not shocked by nudity in art)? How discrete? How witty and entertaining? How knowledgeable?
As they left the theatre Angelika pulled him aside. “You may not want to be papped.”
“Sorry?”
“The paparazzi. They’ll be waiting out front. They’re not interested in me, not yet. I’m considered a geek. I haven’t done anything interesting or scandalous. But if it had been Karolin or Christian…”
“Why, has Karolin done something scandalous?”
“Not yet, but she’s planning on it, to coincide with her first major show.”
“What kind of scandal?” He asked, genuinely bemused.
Angelika frowned at his naivety. “Why, a sex scandal silly, the plebs demand their glamour with un degré d’frisson sexuel. We represent a fantasy.”
“And your parents aren’t concerned?”
“Goodness no. We are not subject to the simplistic morality of the petite bourgeoisie - we never have been. Mama is the master of the carefully orchestrated scandal, or should that be mistress. She had a calculated affair with a famous photographer when she turned fifteen. It caused a scandal but it served her career exceptionally well. It was all part of the marketing strategy.”
She grabbed him by the arm and walked him out a door at the far end, away from where the cameras were waiting. He could see the flashes of light and just glimpse Willy and Greta pausing to pose, with Willy standing aside after just a few shots to let Greta offer a few well rehearsed solo poses.
“I suppose those photos will sell that dress,” he observed drily.
“Yes silly. The designer is a friend. It’s worth thousands to her business and the favour will be returned. That’s how it works.”
“And what about you? You could model, become famous?”
“I could, but that would be too easy for people like us don’t you think?”
“Like us?”
“Yes, the people destined to change the world.”
He stared at her and was met with a look of cold ambition. “Be careful Angelika, hubris is a dangerous frame of mind.”
“Oh come on Akash, don’t lecture me about hubris. I cannot believe you have not considered the impact your discoveries have had and are about to have on this world. Humility can also be a dangerous frame of mind. It might incline you to deny responsibility for what you have unleashed.”
“Unleashed?”
“You have set the fox amongst the chickens Akash. Do not think me a fool. You know I suspect you’ve discovered more than you are letting on. The physics world is abuzz with speculation that you are about to announce you’ve solved the ultimate puzzle, the unified field theory.”
“I’m not about to announce anything of the sort.”
“And why not? Many people are starting to put two and two together: first quantum computing and then antigrav. How the fuck do you cancel gravity without manipulating gravity waves? It is theoretically implausible.”
Her use of an obscenity and her sudden passion shocked him. She was addressing him as her intellectual equal arguing in a university cafeteria or at a conference event. In that moment he wanted to tell her why he couldn’t announce anything, but to do so would be to admit to her that he had.
“I’m sorry, but that is proprietorial information and I’m not about to reveal that to a masters student, no matter how smart they are.”
“Bullshit Akash. You owe it to the world. Look at it. The carbon industries are on the point of collapse and with it all of this,” she said as she gestured toward the theatre. “Culture, civilisation, everything worth living for.”
“So you are an idealist then?”
She gripped her hands into fists and growled with frustration. “Argh! The von Eisenbachs are realists. How do you think we survived the centuries? Idealists are fools.”
He was saved from the argument when Angelika saw her father wave for them to get into the car that had just pulled up.
“You two seemed involved in a rather intense co
nversation,” said Greta observing Angelika’s reddened face.
“Physik, liebe mutter. Akash doesn’t agree with me that the recent experiments at CERN contradict M-theory.”
“I see, well that rules me out,” she laughed.
“Me too,” agreed Willy.
Of course, what Angelika had just said was gibberish but he had to admire the way she had deflected the conversation.
Greta quickly changed the topic to an informed discussion about the night’s performance, with Angelika adding a brief history of the importance of the choreographer to abstract expressionist revivalism.
The meal was, as expected, superb: a two Michelin star restaurant. He understood perfectly well that such restaurants were booked months ahead and that only the rich and famous could get such easy access, again because their presence was publicity for the owner and chef. The dinner conversation was pleasant with Greta again gently encouraging him to tell them about Tshering, Pema and the exotic ephemera of Bhutan.
109
Tshentso and Prax
“You wanted to talk to me?”
He looked up to see Tshentso entering the meditation hall dressed in a plain maroon kera and yellow sleeveless vest, her head freshly shorn so that it was completely bald. “I hadn’t wanted to bother you,” he said softly.
She smiled and extended her hands to greet him as she walked closer. “But it has been on your mind since you arrived. You deserve an answer.” She took both his hands and gently directed him to sit.
“We have a child,” he reminded her.
She nodded. “I have several, although it seems odd. A surprisingly simple technique. My ovaries are hormonally stimulated to produce eggs. Because of my youth the follicles are very healthy. The average woman will produce somewhere between four to five hundred ova over her lifetime, but only ever conceive just a few children. As she gets older, the ova degrade, reducing the chance of a healthy conception. Using this method we can realise the full potential of my genome. Every ova potentially becoming a child, many I may never know, some conceived after my passing. I won’t give birth myself and my ovaries will be exhausted in a few years. I will enter menopause before I enter menarche.”
“But why? Won’t you have regrets?”
She held his gaze and gave a small, almost arrogant smile. “I will be giving birth to something much better. I will be seeding a leap in human intelligence. It is necessary for the next phase.”
“Large-scale colonisation? You plan for your progeny to start new lines on multiple planets?”
“It has been decided to accelerate population growth. It is a matter of numbers. There is no shortage of spermatozoa. It is the number of ova that is the limiting factor. I am the first; in time there will be others, each giving birth only to females, thus increasing the number of available high-grade ovum, each potentially seeding hundreds more - if they so wish. It will be voluntary, some may decline the program.”
“Some will be mothers well before they can conceive naturally? A female might mother several generations before she even enters puberty...” He was thinking out loud, astonished at the implications. “But doesn’t this place an enormous strain on nurturing?”
“It is true that extended families still remain the best way to raise children, but childhood will be shorter. The needs of these children will be different. They will be far more emotionally self-reliant, far more peer group focused. Parenting agreements may only need to be five to six years, rather than the standard twelve. This means individuals can nurture more cohorts within a lifetime, if they so choose - or fulfil their parenting obligations sooner, returning to focus on their personal ambitions and their obligations to the Accord.”
The way she chose her words confirmed his suspicions. “And if you include Terrans into your calculation…?”
“The much larger question is: how do you give birth to cultural change on Earth? A divinely conceived human catalyst caused most of the major shifts: Moses, Krishna, Buddha, Jesus, Padmasambhava…”
“All men…”
She bowed slightly to acknowledge his point, and to dismiss it. “Not all. It is surprising how many religions recognise the feminine as the ultimate source of wisdom, even the most patriarchal deviations. Have you heard of the legend of the Lakota Sioux’s Pteskawin, the White Buffalo Calf Woman?”
He shook his head that he had not.
“Given that you are going to the Americas, it might be useful to refresh your knowledge. It is my understanding some of the indigenous tribes fared better than the city bound whites.” She emphasised her point by frowning and he understood it was a vital, strategic reminder. “Pteskawin taught them the seven sacred traditions that became the basis of Sioux culture.”
“I see, a Sophia figure…”
“Shekinah, Shakti, Sophia, even the archangel Gabriel was said to be feminine. The Great Mother – the universal geneatrix. It is an archetype, a deep cultural meme that still resonates on Earth today.” She paused and stared at him intently, prompting him to make the next conceptual leap.
“Gabriel was responsible for impregnating the Virgin Mary…”
“Or at least responsible for being the messenger,” she corrected. “The ancients believed that the gods consorted with mortals - immortals impregnated mortal females; mortal men impregnated immortal goddesses. The Greek and Hindu legends have many quite colourful accounts. Zeus seems to have had a habit of transforming himself into swans, eagles, even a white bull. Krishna satisfied dozens of Gopi…”
“So you wish to exploit the meme by inserting some of your progeny to act as agents of cultural change?”
“And also to begin impregnating suitable Terran females with advanced Edenoi genomes.”
He was confused by what Tshentso had just said. “What, randomly? The gods often raped mortal women…”
Tshentso frowned. “They would never be forced. Besides, it will be of great benefit to them. They would come under our protection. To succeed we must control the Terran genome.”
“This has considerable potential to offend local customs. It could be a very provocative policy.”
She scoffed at his reticence. “Our mere existence will offend many. We will not be able to transform this planet without confronting and changing the genetic imbecility that caused its decline. Of course, we must do so in a measured way. Our first task is to establish a well-defended base of operations and then gradually expand using all the methods at our disposal, never expanding past our ability to hold what we have gained.”
“All the methods?”
“But of course: all the variations of inspiration, alliance, persuasion, inducement, and as a last resort, disruption. We will give birth to an ancient archetype, one that has long been suppressed, one connected to the Great Mother: Paradise, Jinnah, Indraloka, Atlantis, Shangri-La, the Golden City. We will build it in the lands of the Buddha. It will become a source of inspiration, a place where mortals can mix with the gods and become gods themselves. A gateway to the stars.”
It was only then that he began to understand the fullness of her vision. Of course she was not concerned about her individual children. She was giving birth to something much larger. The city would be the mother. It would nurture all that was good in humanity. Terrans would enter the city as the womb of the Great Mother and be transformed. He realised it had to be that way. You couldn’t just pluck Terrans from their villages and cities. You had to transform them and the city would be the machine to do just that. “It is a massive project… It is a hostile and damaged environment…”
She sighed; disappointed that he had not understood she had already worked out a way to solve the problem. “Several technologies have advanced. We will be able to perform the necessary terraforming and climate manipulation. We can return the rains, return the fertility… You see why we need to boost the population. The discovery of the Muses…”
He cocked his head at the mention of an unfamiliar term and Tshentso gave a small, cheeky smile.
<
br /> “Ah, yes, of course, Calliope and Erato…” he mumbled, finally understanding.
“And now Aoedë, Thalia and Euterpe… It means we are hardly short of material resources…”
“Just short of the human resources needed to transform the material resources…” He realised that Tshentso’s plan had important political ramifications back on Eden. Not everyone would be happy about the shift in priorities. She noticed the subtle shift in his expression that indicated he had become momentarily distracted and looked at him as if she expected him to draw further conclusions. “We must access the Terran population to reach the required population level,” he said. She had a look that expected him to finish her line of reasoning. It was certainly unsettling to have someone so young demand so much of him. “Yes, of course... There must be some highly gifted people on Earth, you found a cohort of the enhanced in Bhutan, surely there must be others?”
She smiled and nodded her head. “The Terran genome is largely uncontrolled. This has two consequences, one negative, one positive. The negative is that beneficial mutations may mix with harmful mutations and degrade over time. The positive is…
“The potential for random, beneficial mutations… At the time of the migration, there was considerable variation in the human genome, many suffered due to a deficient genome, but a fortunate few were blessed with far superior genomes. If we insert superior Edenoi genomes…”
“Or superior Terran genomes…” she added.
“Of course, but first we must locate them…”
She sighed softly; pleased he had finally caught up. “We are morally bound to seek out the gifted as a matter of priority. One of the Founder’s wives, Nour, was rescued from rather dire circumstances. Her gifted sister never made it. Her genome was obliterated and as you know, the Abu Shukra line was instrumental in founding the thera. So, each gifted person we find represents an opportunity…”
Paradise Reclaimed Page 78
