The Windup Girl(51)
Another shadow cat bolts across the street, shimmering and shading through darkness. A high-tech homage to Lewis Carroll, a few dirigible and clipper ship rides, and suddenly entire classes of animals are wiped out, unequipped to fight an invisible threat.
"We would have realized our mistake," Anderson observes.
"Yes. Of course. But perhaps not soon enough."She changes the subject abruptly. Nods at a temple rising against the night skyline. "It's very pretty, yes? You like their temples?"
Anderson wonders if she has changed the subject to avoid conflict and argument, or if she is actually afraid that he will successfully refute her fantasy. He studies the rising chedi and bot of the temple. "It's a lot nicer than what the Grahamites are building back home."
"Grahamites." She makes a face. "So concerned with niche and nature. So focused on their Noah's ark, after the flood has already happened."
Anderson thinks of Hagg, sweating and distressed at the destruction caused by ivory beetle. "If they could, they'd keep us all on our own continents."
"It is impossible, I think. People like to expand. To fill new niches."
The temple's golden filigree shines dully under the moon. The world truly is shrinking again. A few dirigible and clipper rides and Anderson clatters through darkened streets on the far side of the planet. It's astounding. In his grandparents' time, even the commute between an old Expansion suburb and a city center was impossible. His grandparents used to tell stories of exploring abandoned suburbs, scavenging for the scrap and leavings of whole sprawling neighborhoods that were destroyed in the petroleum Contraction. To travel ten miles had been a great journey for them, and now look at him…
Ahead of them, white uniforms materialize at the mouth of an alley.
Emiko blanches and leans close. "Hold me."
Anderson tries to shake her off, but she clings. The white shirts have stopped, are watching them approach. The windup clings more tightly. Anderson fights an urge to shove her from the rickshaw and flee. This is the last thing he needs.
She whispers, "I am against quarantine now, like Nippon genehack weevil. If they see my movement, they will know. They will mulch me." She nestles close. "I am sorry. Please." Her eyes beg.
In a sudden rush of pity he wraps his arms around her, enfolding her in whatever protection a calorie man can offer a piece of illegal Japanese trash. The Ministry men call out to them, smiling. Anderson smiles back and gives a bob of the head, even as his skin prickles. The white shirts' eyes linger. One of them smiles and says something to the other as he twirls the baton that dangles from his wrist. Emiko shivers uncontrollably beside Anderson, her smile a forced mask. Anderson pulls her closer.
Please don't ask for a bribe. Not this time. Please.
They slide past.
Behind them, the white shirts start laughing, either about the farang and the girl clutched together or about something else completely unrelated and it doesn't matter really because they are disappearing into the distance and he and Emiko are safe again.
She draws away, shaking. "Thank you," she whispers. "I was careless to come out. Stupid." She pushes her hair away from her face and looks back. The Ministry men are quickly receding. Her fists clench. "Stupid girl," she murmurs. "You are not a cheshire who disappears as you please." She shakes her head, angry, driving home her own lesson. "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid."
Anderson watches, transfixed. Emiko is adapted for a different sort of world, not this brutal sweltering place. The city will swallow her eventually. It's obvious.
She becomes aware of his gaze. Shares a small melancholy smile. "Nothing lasts forever, I think."
"No." Anderson's throat is tight.
They stare at one another. Her blouse has fallen open again, showing the line of her throat, the inner curve of her br**sts. She doesn't move to hide herself, just looks back at him, solemn. Is it deliberate? Does she mean to encourage him? Or is it simply her nature to entice? Perhaps she cannot help herself at all. A set of instincts as ingrained in her DNA as the cheshire's clever stalking of birds. Anderson leans close, unsure.
Emiko doesn't pull away, moves instead to meet him. Her lips are soft. Anderson runs his hand up her hip, pushes her blouse open and quests inside. She sighs and presses closer, her lips opening to him. Does she wish this? Or only acquiesce? Is she even capable of refusing? Her br**sts press against him. Her hands slip down his body. He's shaking. Trembling like a sixteen-year-old boy. Did the geneticists embed her DNA with pheromones? Her body is intoxicating.
Mindless of the street, of Lao Gu, of everything, he pulls her to him, running his hand up to cup her breast, to hold her perfect flesh.
The windup girl's heart speeds like a hummingbird's under his palm.
11
Jaidee has a certain respect for the Chaozhou Chinese. Their factories are large and well-run. They have generations rooted in the Kingdom, and they are intensely loyal to Her Majesty the Child Queen. They are utterly unlike the pathetic Chinese refugees who have flooded in from Malaya, fleeing to his country in hopes of succor after they alienated the natives of their own. If the Malayan Chinese had been half as clever as the Chaozhou, they would have converted to Islam generations ago, and woven themselves fully into the tapestry of that society.
Instead, the Chinese of Malacca and Penang and the Western Coast arrogantly held themselves apart, thinking the rising tide of fundamentalism would not affect them. And now they come begging to the Kingdom, hoping that their Chaozhou cousins will aid them when they were not clever enough to help themselves.