by Malka Older
Maryam sucks in breath. She is almost to the Hub.
“We’ve already won,” Taskeen says. “Getting the question into the voting mechanism, that was everything.”
“I thought the infrastructure was everything. I thought you needed our infrastructure!”
“A bit of misdirection,” Taskeen admits. “I didn’t want you looking too closely at what I was trying to do, but I certainly didn’t need to cut off your power supply to hack your election ballot, and for distribution we’ve worked out a transmission method using a network of small, cheap antennae. The technology has been improving rapidly, and all of my partners are outfitted and operational. But I needed your help to block those other idiots, the Exformation crew. They can’t manage without infrastructure. Clumsy fools! Trying to control something they don’t understand. That’s the risk right now, that they do something stupid to try to hijack your network. The sooner we can settle this, the safer everyone will be. Look around you! The advids from our competitors are starting to go up. The Election Day adblocker is broken. The information market is open. So, when I ask for your help”—her eyes coming back to meet Maryam’s—“it is only in making the transition as painless as possible.”
Maryam dawdles under the overhang outside the main entrance of the Hub. When she looks up, Roz is getting out of an autocab and walking toward her. “Maybe,” Maryam says. “Let’s see what’s happening inside.” She turns down the volume but leaves the connection on as she and Roz walk into the building together.
* * *
“What are you doing here?” Maryam asks Roz.
“Mmph,” Roz says. “Suleyman’s not happy about it. And my parents are worse. But with all this happening, I couldn’t not come. Supposedly I have another week anyway. Besides, this is hardly farther from the hospital than my apartment.”
“So, you’re planning to go into labor in the middle of the showdown?”
“Careful, they’ll say you have a narrative disorder.” They start toward the elevators. “Is that what this is going to be? A showdown?”
“What else could it be?” Maryam asks, conscious of Taskeen listening in.
Roz looks at her sidelong. “You heard Nougaz is here?”
“What?”
“I assumed that’s why you called it a showdown,” Roz says sheepishly. “She came in last night.”
Maryam is flipping through the messages she missed during her Núria interlude. Nothing from Valérie. Several messages of varying degrees of panic from Batún, asking what he should tell the tech team to do about voting. “Do you know where she is?” Maryam hears herself asking.
Roz shrugs and tilts her head toward the reception desk. “Where will you be?” Maryam asks, already moving.
“I’m going to say hi to the Wall team before the meeting,” Roz says. “I’ll see you there, unless I go into labor first.”
“Wait, Roz?” Maryam flushes, hurrying back to get close enough to whisper. “There’s a meeting?”
“You weren’t invited? Oh, right, I keep forgetting you’re not supposed to be here.” She flicks the message about it over to Maryam. “I’m sure they won’t mind if you sit in.”
“I hope not,” Maryam says. “Um. Remember I mentioned a person we could talk to?” She waits until she sees understanding click in Roz’s face. “I’m connected with them.” She taps her ear.
Roz’s face shows shock now. “What—now?” she whispers, as if that would make a difference.
“I think—I hope this is the right decision. What we talked about.” Taskeen sends an old-school emoji, a face with a waving hand, to dance in front of Maryam’s vision. Maryam stifles a laugh. “Sorry. Didn’t get much sleep. Anyway, this meeting. If I can’t get in…”
Roz studies her face. “I’ll call you,” she promises, pressing Maryam’s hand. “But I’m sure Nougaz will get you in, if nothing else. See you soon—it starts in twenty minutes.”
* * *
Nougaz has taken over the office of Lily Cohen, deployed to Kashmir to monitor the election. When Maryam walks in, she is observing a projection and making notes, so enthralled it is half a minute before she can drag her eyes away from whatever she’s looking at. She doesn’t seem surprised when she does. “What do you know?”
Oh, Valérie. Maryam hears herself say it in her head in the same tone Nejime used. “I told Nejime about your involvement with the tunnel,” she says, before she can lose her nerve.
“She is looking well,” Taskeen says in Maryam’s ear.
Nougaz shrugs, eyes dipping back to the projection. “It would have come out anyway. Moot now; we have bigger problems.”
Maryam moves farther into the room, closing the door behind her. “Whose side are you on?”
“Hmm?”
“Whose side are you on?” She enunciates it loudly, and Valérie finally turns her attention on her.
“What are you doing here?” Nougaz asks. “Don’t you work somewhere else now?”
“I’m supporting the transition.” Maryam hears a pleased sigh from Taskeen.
Nougaz offers her classic eyebrow-raise. “Transition, is it?”
“You said yourself Information is over.”
“I didn’t think you believed me.” Nougaz examines her. “Transition sounds … promising.”
Taskeen snorts. “Commitment problems?”
Maryam flinches. “I’ll assume you’re still on your own side. Assuming there is a transition, where do you want to end up?”
“What’s on offer?” Nougaz asks, cautious. “Where does this transition idea come from? Nejime?”
“You’re giving away too much and she’s not telling you anything,” Taskeen grumbles.
“Taskeen Khan,” Maryam says, piqued, and is gratified by Taskeen’s annoyed grunt.
“Taskeen Khan?” Nougaz’s features startle from their resting position of authority into a rare expression of surprise. “You’re working with her? She used to be my senior, back when we were starting.”
“Used to be!” Taskeen explodes in Maryam’s ear. “I am still very much her senior! People think that age and experience are only good up to a point and then it’s a fast downhill slide, but believe me…” Maryam lowers the volume on her earpiece to background Taskeen’s rant as Nougaz goes on.
“Taskeen Khan, back in the game. And how is she communicating? No, never mind, don’t tell me, I’m sure I won’t understand your explanation, anyway. Everyone seems to be trying to squirrel away their own secret comms these days: Khan, those other lines in the Heritage tunnel…”
“What Heritage tunnel?” Taskeen asks sharply.
“Where is Taskeen these days?” Nougaz asks.
“Dhaka.” Maryam is relieved to have a question she can answer quickly, even if she’s omitting the fact that Taskeen is listening in on their conversation. “Shall we go to the meeting?”
Valérie raises her eyebrows. “We still have a few minutes. Are you well?”
“Fine,” Maryam says. She can feel Taskeen hovering silently on the connection. Don’t pick this moment to get sentimental for the first time in your life, Valérie, not right now.
“Your—” Valérie stops, and Maryam wonders what she had been about to say: Your job? Your girlfriend? Instead, she shifts her position to make room at the workspace. “Have you seen these?” she asks.
Maryam steps in next to her. She can smell the dry, clean scent of the older woman, see the energy contained in the angle of her neck. Nougaz enlarges the projection. A shimmery flash gives way to an image of a beautiful, middle-aged white woman—the ad is picking up Nougaz’s identity cues—reading something off of a projection and nodding with a satisfied smile. For data you can trust reads the italicized text, as a quick array of stylish infographics shuffles, Opposition Research is on your side!
Nougaz sniffs. “Not very sophisticated, are they?”
Maryam is stunned. “‘On your side’—data is not supposed to be on anyone’s side!”
“Data is on
everyone’s side,” Nougaz corrects. “But yes, I think they’re trying to suggest—”
“That they’ll tell you just what you want to hear.” Maryam covers her eyes with her hands. Nejime was right! She should have helped her. And now here she is, letting the architect of all this listen in on their conversations.
“It won’t be that easy,” Taskeen predicts in her ear. “Information will still be around, not to mention their other competitors.”
“But no one will believe Information anymore!” Maryam feels like she’s about to be sick.
Nougaz has stepped back, the better to eye her suspiciously. “Not that many people believe us now,” she says. “But if you’re so worried about it, tell Taskeen to stop these.”
“I can’t,” Taskeen says. “That’s the whole point. I don’t run Opposition Research. I am not in charge. No one is.”
This does not make Maryam feel any less nauseous. “She can’t stop them,” she repeats, for Nougaz’s benefit. “She’s not controlling them.”
“Well, then,” Nougaz says briskly. “Let’s go see what the best minds of our generations can come up with.” Having managed to annoy both Maryam and Taskeen, she leads the way out.
* * *
Vincent brings Amran a bowl of ugali, a spiceless vegetable stew, and a scoop of fried termites for protein. He hangs around and tries to make conversation while she eats, but she’s not into Stockholm syndrome. She does accept his offer to take her to a toilet, and takes advantage of the moment of solitude to fit the handle of her billaawe in her hand, comforting herself that it is real. When she puts it back under her robes, she is careful to arrange it for ease of access. Amran knows she’s not proficient enough to manage anything complicated, and she doesn’t trust her resolve for a committed stab through cartilage, bone, and squirty bits, so she has decided her best chance is to the throat. She imagines the motions repeatedly as they walk back along the hallway: spring forward, slash, run. Spring forward, slash, run.
When they get back to the room, Misra is finishing a call.
“There have been some unexpected developments,” she says. “I think we’re going to have to skip ahead to the climactic scenes.” She projects some new backgrounds, and Amran is startled to recognize the silhouette of a building.
“That’s—those are Information hubs!”
“Correct,” Misra says. “A targeted strike on critical infrastructure and personnel.”
“Personnel?” Amran waits for her brain to catch up with her sense of shock. Misra is smiling, obviously pleased with herself. “But,” Amran says, speaking carefully, “how will attacking Information hubs win you any kind of lasting control?”
“With that physical access, we’ll be able to speak as Information while having some of their most powerful and influential officials under our control. We will be able to enact our reforms. And then we’ll be the most prepared to step in and take over. The same service everyone is accustomed to, but we will do it better. Just look at the data collection and distribution we’ve been able to do already, and then imagine it with all the logistical and political power of Information on our side.”
“So, you’re taking over but not making any real changes to this system you hate?”
“There will be lots of changes,” Misra says. “We have all sorts of plans, but that can come later. What we need to have ready is the storyline of our glorious takeover. This is crucial because Information will be spreading their own perspective if they have any chance to do it. So: a spirited attack using the military might of our allies.” She flashes vid clips of fighter planes. “Heroic hand-to-hand battles, I’d imagine. And finally, triumph and freedom of Information!”
“What hubs?” Amran asks.
“Excuse me?” Misra comes back from her daydream.
“What hubs are you attacking?”
“We were going to hit Doha, Paris, and Mexico City, but we have been tracking the Paris Director and she is conveniently in Doha at the moment, so we can economize. Again, local color is great. Now, it would be good if we can have the bare-bones version of this prepared to run later tonight, although I hope it won’t be necessary until tomorrow or the day after.”
“Sure,” Amran says, and leaps across the space between them, unsheathing her billaawe.
* * *
The meeting is in the scrupulously designed Jaber conference room usually reserved for visiting dignitaries with large entourages or high-level internal meetings. The last time Maryam was here was five years ago, after the last election was sabotaged. She hangs back at the door, not wanting her entrance with Nougaz to be misinterpreted, but there are enough people milling around that she doesn’t think it will be remarked on.
She searches for Roz and finally finds her on the other side of the room, but as she starts toward her, Maryam realizes the person she is talking to is Mishima. When did she get here? Maryam doesn’t know Mishima that well, and a mega-famous assassin-spy-politician seems like the worst person to involve in touchy secret machinations. Unless she’s most definitely your mega-famous assassin-spy-politician. But then Mishima touches Roz’s belly, and Maryam notices a small child clinging to Mishima’s leg. They’re talking pregnancy and motherhood, not global political cataclysm. Or maybe both?
Letting her gaze drift, Maryam catches a glimpse of Batún projecting in from La Habana, and sits down hastily in the first seat she can find, not wanting to have to explain what she’s doing here or why she hasn’t answered his messages. In any case, the meeting seems to be wending toward a beginning; the hum of conversation has risen in anticipation of being cut off, and more people are sitting. Not far from her, Maryam hears Nougaz talking with Nejime and al-Mofti.
“If this had happened two days later, it would be the Secretariat debating this.”
“Two thwarted elections in a row. Perhaps we are finished.”
“You think so?”
Maryam cranes around to catch Nejime’s expression, but she is already calling the meeting to order.
* * *
Amran goes in, slashing for the throat. She misses the neck but catches Misra across the cheek. It’s clear Misra isn’t a fighter either: she flails at Amran, shrieking. Amran dodges her and runs for the door. She throws it open to find Vincent running toward her. She aims for his belly but he yells and ducks away.
“What the fuck!” he screams.
“You kidnapped me!” Amran yells back at him. “You! Kidnapped! Meeeeeeeee!” she screams in his face as loudly as she can. Then she runs.
* * *
Ken slides into the room just after the meeting starts. Nakia decided she couldn’t face a Hub full of strangers while still under suspicion, so they had dropped her off at Roz’s apartment. Then they moored on top of the Information Hub, and while Mishima went straight to the meeting, Ken went down to the sweet cart he remembered in the lobby to get a few Lebanese pastries for Sayaka (and himself). He can’t get close to where Mishima is sitting at that point, but as a non-Information employee he prefers to sit in the back anyway.
Ken was in this room, even more distinctly out of place, for a similar debate during the last election. He automatically glances down at Sayaka. Mishima set her up with a projection under the conference table, and she’s lost to the world. She’s a personification of all the time that has passed since the last time he was in this room, not only since her birth but also the years before that while he and Mishima were getting to the place where they could decide to have a child.
There are other differences, too. For one, he knows almost everyone’s name here and more or less who they are. When he slipped in, Hassan was giving the tech perspective on what’s going on; now Hub Directors from across the globe are putting in their comments on special local considerations and sharing the different ads that have been going up in their regions for new data services, which seems to be making everyone nervous.
“Maybe no one will see them,” says one of the older directors, from northern Europe, Ken thin
ks.
“Are we going to have to start advertising now?” asks Lin, laughing at the preposterousness of the idea.
“Surely people won’t fall for this crap!”
“Why not? They fall for everything else.”
“And even if people see them, if they don’t have any original content…”
Ken clears his throat, darting a gaze at Mishima. She nods, and he speaks. “They do.” Faces turn to him. “They have original content. And some pretty exciting original content, too. Policy1st is using one of the new…” He doesn’t even know what the word should be. “They’re using one the new independent datastreams to inform the world about secret communication cables in the PhilipMorris mantle tunnel.”
General chaos ensues. Nobody is looking at Ken anymore, because half of them are looking for friends or rivals to discuss with or shout at, and the other half are trying to find out about it on Information. Someone with a particularly loud voice is shouting, “How dare they! How dare they!” and Ken wonders whether they’re talking about PhilipMorris or Policy1st.
“You won’t find it on Information,” he tells the room. “It will be blocked because it’s Election Day.”
Horrified silence. Nejime breaks it. “Once the Secretariat is in place, we can manage these governments with their secret communications…”
“You knew about this?” someone asks.
Nejime bats the question away. “We were dealing with it. That is a minor threat compared with this problem of upstart data purveyors!”
“The question is how we can possibly maintain our authority under a deluge of competing sources,” al-Derbi agrees.
“You are already accepting their premise,” Nejime says, cutting through. “Back up. We can’t let this election stand. The voting depends on a damaged elective process…”
“And what do you intend to do?” interrupts Nougaz. “When would you hold a new election?” She waits just a moment, for the quickest to get there on their own, and then spells it out. “To invalidate the election on those grounds, you would need to ensure that the re-vote was absolutely clear of those concerns, and we are not in a position to do that, not for the foreseeable future.”
