Freedom Club (20 page)

“He knows,” Thomas said, still grinning.

“What?” said Kim, utterly confounded. “Who knows?”

“Our entire plan,” Thomas said, shaking his head. “Probably from the very beginning.”

Slowly Kim realized what Thomas was alluding to. A look of surprised horror crept over Kim’s face as he nodded with grave realization.

“Shiro!” Kim rasped.

There was no more to say about it. Both men sat helplessly watching gauges that displayed a rapidly decreasing altitude. The ground soon came within range and replaced the landscape view provided by internal monitors. Screens altered from cyan blue to brownish earth. Then, within microseconds, the Martin Luther King Junior plunged deep into the New Mexican desert. The resulting explosion sent a plume of debris several kilometers into the air. Accompanied by a thunderous clap, ominous booms echoed in every direction for several hundred kilometers.

It was a small distance compared to the global impact the spaceplane’s destruction would eventually have.

Sado Island Japan: 1964
Tasting Room, Ceylon Tea Importers

“T
hen the plane crashed,” Orlando said, while pouring a cup of steamy Darjeeling, “and upon impact my body was burned beyond all recognition. I died right there on the spot!”

Lieutenant Trent of the U.S. Navy smirked. “Well, if you ask me, you look pretty good for a dead man.”

Well past his prime, Orlando Mazzotta laughed politely. Sitting down in an old wicker chair, he stirred two solid lumps of sugar into his tea. He grinned to himself, and then continued his tale as he peeked over old spectacles.

“No doubt my reincarnation was quite miraculous,” Orlando jested.

Lieutenant Trent of the US Navy took another sip from his cup and smiled. Having come to Sado Island on vacation, he was happy to find Orlando Mazzotta’s Ceylon tea shop. Unlike anything near the Naval Base in Yokoska, the shop was well stocked and offered a comfortable place to sit on a cold rainy day.

And though remote, the shop’s most fascinating characteristic was Orlando Mazzotta himself. The mysterious sole proprietor spoke the King’s English and exhibited an upbringing quite out of place in Japan. With light olive skin and strong facial features, the old man’s acquaintance sparked great interest with the Lieutenant.

“Hey, if you don’t mind,” Trent went on, “I still don’t get how you came to Sado Island, here in the Sea of Japan. You say you’re some kinda refugee from...Hindustan? That’s present-day India, right?”

“Quite right,” Orlando sniffed behind his fine china cup.

“But that name of yours, Orlando Mazzotta, would sort of indicate that you’re...Italian?”

Orlando cleared his throat. “A name increasingly used after my rebirth. Previously I was a Hindu and used other names. But my dear friends would often call me Netaji.”

Trent spoke no Hindi and found himself unable to follow. He cocked his head inquisitively.

“Tell me, Lieutenant,” Orlando said while pouring more tea. “What do you know of India’s history? In particular, of what happened toward the end of the Second World War?”

Trent smiled sheepishly. “Well, to be honest, I wasn’t aware anything happened. My military education concentrated on the fall of Berlin followed by the bombing of Japan.”

Smiling furtively, Orlando nodded. “Yes, it would seem that those events, quite historic no doubt, have suppressed the history of Azad Hind’s strive for independence, when India daringly attacked the British with an army of over fifty thousand. Are you familiar with Azad Hind, Lieutenant? You might remember it as the Provisional Government of Free India.”

“India attacking the British?” Trent guffawed. “I thought they were on England’s side during the war. You provided logistical support and stuff like that.”

“Quite true,” Orlando agreed. “But India was also in the final stages of rebellion, ready to throw off the yoke of British tyranny.”

Bemused by the notion, Trent put down his cup. “Yoke of British tyranny? Come on! You can’t mean India was rooting for the Nazis. Hitler was a ruthless dictator.”

Pausing in mid drink, Orlando smiled painfully. The comment did not anger him, but for the sake of history Orlando felt compelled to set the record straight.

Looking thoughtfully over his specs, he began. “Lieutenant, have you ever been inside Burma’s Mandalay Prison for any period of time?”

“Uhm...no, I can’t say that I have.”

“Then you have not watched men bake under the sun in small cells until they die of thirst, hunger, and disease?”

“No.”

“Or perhaps watched a man beg for his life as he was truncheoned to death?”

“I’m real sorry,” Trent stated uncomfortably. “I stay down in engine rooms all day at Yokoska. To be honest, I’ve never seen that sort of thing.”

Smiling, Orlando picked up his cup and took a long, drawn-out sip. Placing the cup carefully on the table, he leaned back in his wicker chair. Quite old, it crackled loudly under his weight.

“‘That sort of thing’?” Orlando repeated, widening his eyes. “Admittedly, I find that quite interesting coming from a person with military experience. But I don’t wish to be rude. Your generation without a doubt is quite civil. But do allow me to say the following. If one could have seen the cruelty inflicted upon the Indian people, one might have trouble distinguishing Britain from any other dictatorship. Men dying unjustly are ambivalent, be their jailer Nazi or king.”

Trent stirred in his seat. “I’m real sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“Not at all!” scoffed Orlando, shooing away the air. “I have no such memories. They all perished during reincarnation. The man who sits before you is free of all untoward thoughts.”

“I see.” Trent followed along. “But your previous, uhm, embodiment was really in the middle of things. I can only imagine the people he met.”

“Yes, quite true,” Orlando said, reminiscing to himself. “There were, of course, the unprecedented meetings with Hitler and Mussolini.” Orlando paused to refresh Trent’s cup. “Would you like lemon or milk with your tea?”

“Wha?” the Lieutenant gasped. “Say again?”

“Lemon or milk?”

“Oh, lemon, thanks. Uhm, but you mentioned a meeting with Hitler and Mussolini! That really happened?”

Orlando nonchalantly placed lemon in Trent’s cup. “Yes, well, those were strange times, when it was hoped that serpent venom would have a medicinal effect toward the cause of freedom.”

“That’s incredible!” Trent spurted.

“But Tojo was indeed altogether different. A strong meticulous leader, quite unlike European dictators. And, of course, his dedication to the liberation of India was admirable.”

Trent held his tea cup in hand, but paid it no attention. “Let me get this straight. You met...sorry, I mean your past embodiment met with Tojo? Why?”

Orlando nodded and sat down again with a fresh cup. He put out some sugar biscuits and sweetened his tea with liberal amounts of sugar. Sitting back quite relaxed, Orlando reminisced while looking outside. Storm clouds were gathering and the sky began to darken.

“It’s as I mentioned earlier,” Orlando said. “The Japanese recognized the value of Azad Hind, and fought next to the Indian National Army of fifty thousand. The strategy was to gain a toehold within India and start a national rebellion. The campaign failed, though. Most died. What was left of both armies retreated into Burma, or committed seppuku as was the case for many Japanese. A horrific sacrifice in the name of India’s freedom.”

Orlando noticed that the Lieutenant hadn’t touched his biscuits. Trent just gazed back in disbelief. Holding his cup stiffly, he waited for Orlando to complete the tale.

Orlando sighed and went on. “But as horrific as those events were twenty years ago, I would now have to say that we fought the wrong enemy. After much deliberation, I realize now it wasn’t the British, really.”

“The Nazis and Japs, you mean,” Trent interjected.

Lightning flashed briefly in the shop’s window. Both men looked outside as thunder rumbled in the distance.

Turning back slowly, Orlando shook his head. “No, Lieutenant. For two decades now, I have had nothing else to do but consider the past. And I have come to a rather bizarre conclusion: that no single country was the true enemy. Instead, we were fighting an entity that was much more diabolical and evil in nature.

Puzzled, Trent shook his head. “An entity?”

“Technology! We were fighting technology.”

Trent was confused. Unable to follow Orlando’s line of thinking, he looked bewildered and grimaced.

“Please hear me out,” Orlando urged with one palm extended. “Even after independence, India has not fared well. Many had hopes. But she is still enslaved, suffering from poverty, bloodshed, starvation, illiteracy, and corruption! Though independent, India retains many of the ills seen under British rule. And one must, you see, question why this is.”

“Let me guess,” Trent offered, unsure. “Technology?”

“Precisely,” Orlando said, rubbing his eye. “After much contemplation it became apparent that India was the victim of fundamental systems: socialism, industrialization, warfare, and even the caste system. Each in turn can be broken down into smaller units. But all consist of technologies, or techniques if you will, in one form or another. And though each component promised benefits, it seems that their application comes with a price, a terrible price that both subjugates and enslaves.”

Lieutenant Trent said nothing. He looked on with interest, but clearly didn’t understand fully the meaning of Orlando’s discourse. A new tack was required.

“You know, Lieutenant,” Orlando said, waving a hand casually, “many years ago, the young rebel leader Subhas Chandra Bose would recite poetry to his young followers, words of wisdom that offered hope in a world filled with darkness. Since his death, I have modified one of his poems to make my point. It goes something like this.”

Sitting back in the wicker chair, Orlando closed his eyes. The poem came forth like a song. Without music, it caressed the air and everything it touched.

If you want the fragrance of the full-blown rose?
You must risk the thorns.
If you want to witness all the first rays of dawn?
You must brave the night.
But if you want the solace of technology?
You must mind its toll.
For it will be freedom, liberty, happiness
And the sanctity of your soul.

Looking on with compassion, Trent sighed. “Wow, Orlando. I don’t understand poetry all that much. But it sure sounded nice.”

Orlando refilled their cups with a smile. “Enjoy, Lieutenant. Sometimes small pleasures like tea and biscuits are all we have when skies are dark and gloomy.”

Outside the shop, torrential rain came down in sheets. Lightning crackled nearby, and was soon accompanied by thunderous rumbling in the distance, ominous booms which echoed in every direction.

S
umeet sat fitfully at Shinkei-Kenkyu’s office for over a full day before coming to the realization that he needed a distraction, anything that would take his mind off of all his troubles. The layoff, Hiral, the com-plex – all had to be forced aside at any cost. And it was with grudging reluctance that he gave Ganesh’s request serious attention. Digging out his emails, he studied all the information provided to him. There were a number of step-by-step instructions on how to proceed. Anyone could do this, he soon realized. But so what? The audit offered mental diversion. Thank God for that.

Unfolding the data port in his virtual room, several high-level components detached themselves and came to rest in a tiled stack. There were some documentation handles to study and he spent time reading through them, understanding how the data was originally archived.

Inside the archive there were genetic algorithms, flexi PCB diagrams, and manufacturing plans of all types. However, he soon realized that most of it was too specialized for him to understand. It really didn’t matter, though. Expert systems and Sentients would do all of the grunt work. So he began by running broad search algorithms as instructed. The approach was to separate out the data more likely to be of value, and provide the results back to Ganesh’s team.

This would take time. He scrutinized one counter that showed a ninety-minute progress bar. Looking back at his instructions, he found some other tasks to do in parallel. There were several expert systems he could call upon to investigate the data-mart. Methodically, he packed together specific datasets that each system was capable of analyzing. One after another, long-term counters kept popping up. The work was monotonous, but kept him temporarily engaged.

Several hours had passed by when he suddenly realized the workday was over. There was no telling why, but for some strange reason he felt better. The effort had taken his mind off things. For that, Sumeet found himself quite grateful. Of course there were still issues to deal with, but he chose to put them off until later. He’d had enough excitement for one day. Without checking his unread messages, he closed down his system and made his way out. Passing the exit scanners, the android receptionist spewed a few obligatory good-night wishes, which he ignored. A waiting elevator then delivered him back to street level. That was when it hit him.