The room was large, with an air of old-world luxury. Comfortable, if mismatched furniture of indisputable quality littered the space. Heavy, embroidered draperies – a few decades out-of-fashion – obscured the high windows on either side of the room, casting the place in shadows despite the relatively early hour.
The man thought absently that it was unlike Aeriels to prefer darkness. But then, nothing about his present companion had ever been conventional anyway.
"It has to be done soon, if it is to be done at all," Tauheen said, her voice soft and intimate. She shifted slightly on the large sofa to curl closer to her mortal companion, one hand snaking out to wrap loosely around his torso. She held him down with deceptive strength. "We need to have it before it's too late."
"I am not a magician, Tauheen," the man replied irritably. One of his hands moved instinctively to touch the Aeriel's flawless, almost translucent skin, stroking along her arms in slow, caressing motions. He closed his eyes. "It's dangerous now. Ruban is a capable Hunter, as I'm sure you know very well." He spared her a sidelong glance. Her expression told him she hadn't forgotten the man he spoke of, or the Parliament attack, during which Ruban had almost casually slashed the throats of two of her best soldiers and closest associates. "He will leave no stone unturned to stop us, to stop you.
"And there will be nothing I can do to help, if it came to that. He will have all the resources of the state at his disposal. Even you cannot hope to win against those odds. As long as nobody knew or suspected, we had the element of surprise. Now the whole country – from the chief justice to every goddamn shoe-polish boy in the capital – is buzzing with talk of Aeriel plots and conspiracies. It's too dangerous to make a move in such an environment."
Tauheen's wings flared with evident indignation, flooding the surrounding gloom momentarily with a surreal, silver light. Then, just as quickly as it had happened, it was gone, and the chamber was plunged back into darkness. The Aeriel smiled, tightening her hold over him ever so slightly. "We'll do it when he's there, then," she murmured, her voice barely audible. The intimate promise of her tone sent a thrill down his spine. Tauheen was excited, he could tell. And when she was, she had ways of expressing it that he thoroughly approved of.
Getting a hold of his racing heart, the man forced himself to say in as stern a voice as he could muster. "Do what?"
"Why, steal the formula, of course," Tauheen said, looking into his eyes for the first time that evening.
Her eyes shone with anticipation. They weren't like any he had seen on an Aeriel before. She had dark eyes. Not as dark as a human's; nobody would ever mistake them for mortal irises. They were sprinkled with flecks of silver that shone with an almost cutting light against the sun. Dark and alert, full of life, they weren't anything like an Aeriel's pearly orbs either. He couldn't bring himself to look away. "We'll do it when Ruban Kinoh is in the building. That way, he will lose the confidence of the department and you can replace him with somebody…less troublesome. And even if he's not replaced, he'll lose credibility and access to much of your precious resources. Even a man such as himself cannot hope to do much damage without state support. Then, after it's all done, we can take care of him at our own leisure."
"And what makes you think he'll let you steal the formula from under his nose, anyway?" the man asked, frowning.
"Oh, don't you worry about that, my love." Tauheen ran a gentle hand over her companion's chest, a rare smile of true pleasure appearing on her beautiful face. "I'll take care of all that."
***
The seminar hall echoed with claps as Professor Dawad finished his speech on the matriarchal structure of the pre-Rebellion Aeriel monarchy. Ruban sat near the back, clapping softly as the other guests began to move out of the hall. The professor's speech had been the last one in the seminar line-up and the guests were now headed to the dining hall for tea and snacks.
It wasn't often that Ruban got the chance to visit Bracken Academy these days. But with Simani temporarily out of commission and the report on the Ghorib case yet to be fully processed by the higher-ups, he had found himself with some free time on his hands.
He always tried to keep up with Dawad's work whenever possible. Ruban had never considered himself particularly inclined towards academics, but Dawad's classes had always fascinated him while he was still a student at Bracken. The man certainly knew his subject. And unlike his classmates, Ruban had not subscribed to the view that the Aeriel History and Culture classes were a waste of time with no practical application. His father had always said that you cannot fight what you do not understand. And while Ruban doubted that Abhas had meant the advice quite in this context, he believed it to be true nonetheless. You couldn't fight an enemy you didn't understand. And so, while at college, Ruban had scrupulously attended all of Professor Dawad's classes, trying to glean any information he could about possible weaknesses and vulnerabilities in the Aeriel psyche or social structure, that he could exploit in a fight.
And while Dawad had not always approved of his student's single-minded focus on the military aspects of his subject, even he could not have denied Ruban's obvious natural skill, or his eagerness to learn. Ruban smiled as he remembered the many evenings he and his small group of friends had spent at the library with the little Kanbarian academic, steaming coffee in hand as they talked into the wee hours about the First Advent, the Rebellion, and the last Aeriel Queen, Dawad tutting occasionally to bring the conversation back on track when his students got too carried away with imaginary battle strategies and creative plans to dissect non-existent Aeriels in increasingly unrealistic ways.
Once the hall was almost empty, Ruban walked up to his old professor, inclining his head respectfully when he caught the old man's eye. Dawad's bright green eyes lit up the moment they saw Ruban, and his dark, wrinkled face split open in a toothy smile – ebony skin rippling to accommodate his pleasure. His curly white hair seemed to fluff up around his lean face, enthused by his joy at seeing his old student. The man was the world's foremost expert in his field, but singularly eccentric in almost every other aspect of life. Ruban felt a sudden surge of affection for the strange old man who had helped him through so much during those first few months after his arrival at Ragah to join Bracken. He had lost the only home he had ever known. Nobody could have made Ruban forget, but Dawad had helped him to manage and channelize his anger and hatred towards something less corrosive and more productive. He would be eternally grateful to the man for that.
"Hello professor," he said with a grin, hopping up onto the dais to take the old Kanbarian's outstretched hand into both of his own. "How are you?"
"Ah," said Dawad with a small smile. "It has been a while, young man. I'm fantastic, as always. I trust you're doing well yourself?"
Ruban nodded as Dawad led him down the corridor until they reached the professor's office, a few doors down from the seminar hall. "How is Simani, my child?" asked the old man, settling himself with some difficulty into his large, cushioned chair which made him look even smaller than he really was. At a gesture from Dawad, Ruban took the seat across from him as his host rang the bell for tea. "I saw on the news that she'd been injured in Ghorib. I believe you were there too? I trust she is not in any danger?" he shook his head. "That girl was always too reckless for her own good."
Ruban couldn't help it. He laughed. Dawad's reproving tone brought with it such a strong reminder of their undergraduate days at Bracken that Ruban almost had to remind himself that he wasn't actually in trouble for any of the outrageous hijinks Simani and her friends regularly lured him into during their time at the institute.
"She's fine prof," he assured the old man. "Still recovering, but she'll be fine. Or so the doctors tell us anyway. Actually, that's kind of what I am here for. Ghorib, I mean. You've read about it in the papers, I'm sure. Aeriels were attacking the sif mines in Ghorib. That's why we were sent there to look into it," he leaned back, frowning. "It wasn't a destructive attack, though. They didn't even try to get at any of the workers or anything. It was more like they wanted something…from the mines. That's what I can't figure out. What could Aeriels possibly want in a sif mine? Why were they in Ghorib in the first place?"
"I did read about it in the papers. And about your role in it too. Yours and Simani's, that is. You were very courageous, Ruban," Dawad nodded approvingly, his eyes warm. "Both you and your partner. I feel very proud to have had you as my students."
Ruban coughed uncomfortably, not sure how to respond to his teacher's praise, particularly because it was more than he deserved. Ashwin's role in the incident had been kept out of the papers. The powers that be were apparently still unsure about what to make of the strange foreigner and didn't want to bring him back into the public eye so soon after the mess he had caused with Casia Washi.
In truth, Ruban couldn't even say that he blamed them. He himself wasn't sure he quite knew what he was dealing with when it came to Ashwin yet. The young man had been following him around almost everywhere he went ever since their return from Ghorib, smiling and blabbering and generally making an overall ass of himself. Nothing about him had really changed since that first day Ruban had laid eyes on him on the IAW grounds. Gods, was that only a week ago? It felt like months. But Ruban couldn't bring himself to forget what he had seen of the young Zainian in Ghorib, and he wasn't entirely sure he believed Ashwin's tale about an old grandmother who had taught him some secret technique of ancient Zainian martial arts as a child. There was more to it than he was letting on, but for now Ruban had no choice but to go along with the charade and accept the undeserved compliment with whatever grace he could muster.
Dawad seemed to sense his awkwardness though, and did not press the subject any further. Instead, he launched into a different topic altogether. "I also read in the papers about the rumours regarding this new formula they're apparently developing at SifCo," he began, his aged eyes twinkling with curiosity. "Casia Washi's show was full of it just about a week ago. And then, radio silence. Ever since Emancipation Day, if I remember correctly."
"It's nothing, prof." His lips pressed into a thin line, Ruban tried to avoid Dawad's searching eyes without being too obvious about it. He did not like lying to the other man, but this was not a subject he was authorised to speak about. "Just a lot of baseless speculation."
"Ah, we both know Washi isn't the type to deal in speculation, my child," the old man said, gazing at Ruban with sharp green eyes as if he could look into the younger man's soul. "If nothing else, she has a reputation to maintain. But no matter. You do not have to tell me anything you don't want to. What I was getting at, Ruban, is this. You say the Aeriels seemed to be looking for something in the Ghorib mines. And every news anchor in the country is screaming about Aeriel conspiracies surrounding SifCo, the single biggest research facility in the capital that deals exclusively with sif and its by-products. And as I'm sure you're aware, the Ghorib mines are some of the largest and most productive in the country right now. Besides which, Ghorib is the only major mining town that is reasonably close to Ragah. Most of the others are all in the south. Does it not strike you as too much of a coincidence, then, that Aeriels should suddenly show such interest in all the places that work with sif?" He sat back, letting his words sink in.
Ruban frowned, frustration rising like bile in his throat. "But what can Aeriels possibly want with sif? The only thing it's good for is gutting the bastards." He bit his lip the moment the expletive had left his mouth, looking up guiltily at his old professor.
Dawad smiled beatifically. "You really haven't changed, have you young man? I tried to teach you this while you were under my tutelage, but I suppose I wasn't entirely successful. The world is rarely as neatly segmented, as black and white as we would like it to be. There is as much variety amongst Aeriels as there is among men. And they are no more all 'bastards', as you say, than Zainians are all dandies or Kanbarians all greedy capitalists; though I will say that there is some truth to almost every stereotype," he chuckled. "My point is, there might be much about Aeriels that you don't yet know, or understand fully. It is a folly to be tricked by one's own prejudices. I cannot tell you what it is the Aeriels were doing in Ghorib, Ruban, especially because I don't seem to have all the pieces of the puzzle yet. But it can't hurt to keep our minds open to the possibility that the universe is not quite as unidimensional or monochrome as we sometimes perceive it to be."
***
"We'll be paying a visit to SifCo today," Ruban said, buttoning his uniform shirt as he walked out of the shower. It was around eight in the morning but it had been raining on and off for a few hours now, clouds obscuring the sun and plunging the world into semi-darkness, illuminated only by the occasional burst of lightning. "Get ready quickly. We have an appointment in a couple of hours, and we don't want to be late."
Shwaan tossed the last few pieces of toast onto a plate containing scrambled eggs and passed them to his host, wiping his hands on the dishtowel. He had been staying at Ruban's flat for the past week, occupying his couch for lack of a proper guest-room, as the man refused to let him out of his sight after office hours. So he figured he might as well make himself useful, and a few carefully watched episodes of 'Secret Recipe' and 'Gourmet Central' had solved the mysteries of modern kitchen appliances, although he still found the juicer mildly confounding. He took up his own plate and walked over to the table to join Ruban. He didn't need to eat, of course. But he supposed the Hunter would eventually notice if his houseguest skipped all his meals.
Besides, food could be rather fun when one experimented with the recipes, and Shwaan was a firm believer in experimentation in all its forms, much to his host's frequent annoyance. He made a mental note to make Safaa try the cheese balls sautéed in red pepper sauce, once this current mess was over. He would have done it before, but he didn't want to risk his sister changing her mind and going over to their mother's side at such a critical juncture, deciding that humanity needed to be annihilated after all.
"Simani won't be coming with us?" he asked, swallowing a mouthful of eggs.
Ruban shook his head, biting into a piece of toast before following it with a spoonful of eggs. "Doc's advised her complete bed-rest for two weeks at least. Besides, this is just recon, so there shouldn't be any trouble. I've told Hema to be on hand just in case we need backup, but it won't be necessary."
Shwaan nodded, looking dolefully out of the window. "It's been raining cats and dogs for two days in a row now," he sighed. "I hate this weather. It's like night-time twenty-four hours a day."
Ruban grinned, following Shwaan's gaze to the cloudy sky outside. "Oh I love it. It's the best time of the year."
"It is?" Shwaan raised an eyebrow.
"Oh yeah. Keeps those bastards nice and weak." Then, noticing his companion's uncomprehending stare, he continued: "Aeriels. They feed off of sunlight, didn't you know? Monsoon is the time of the year they're at their weakest. There's practically no sun to be had, is there? There's a reason the Rebellion happened during the monsoon."
***
Unlike the IAW building, which despite numerous renovations still retained its air of old-world magnificence, the SifCo facility was – in every way – a true temple of modernity. The compound was divided into two broad sections, with smaller buildings and establishments sprinkled throughout the premises. The east wing was huge and imposing, a sprawling seven-floor structure of polished metal and glass that reflected the sun with an almost dazzling light on clear days. On a day like this one, it looked dark and forbidding, the stormy sky casting its tumultuous shadow on the reflective surface.
Standing opposite it, separated by a small courtyard, the west wing was a more modest sight: a simple, three-storey, whitewashed building with large windows. Young men and women – barely out of college, Ruban thought – in white coats with files and tablets in their hands walked in and out of the west wing unhindered.
The east wing, by contrast, was guarded by two heavy-set men in dark blue uniforms. Ruban could see their shoulder holsters and the sheathed sifblades at their hips. They weren't Hunters, that he could tell, but sometimes the government issued sifblades to ordinary security personnel deployed to places considered at risk of Aeriel attacks. Not that sif in itself would do much good without the proper training. One of the most important parts of being a Hunter was knowing how to get the sif into the Aeriel, something no amount of raw firepower could replace.
Flashing his badge at the main gate, Ruban drove into the SifCo compound, taking his time to get a feel for the area before parking in a lot close to the west wing that appeared to be reserved for visitors. Getting out of the car, he shot off a message to Subhas's contact at the facility while walking briskly across the courtyard towards the east wing, trying to avoid the rain as much as possible.
As he approached, Ashwin in tow, he noted one of the guards reaching for his walkie-talkie while the other rested a hand somewhat conspicuously on his holster, though he made no move to withdraw the weapon, yet. Ruban supposed it was natural for security to be a little jumpy after all the hue and cry in the media about an impending Aeriel attack at SifCo. He trotted up the front steps, holding up his badge for the guards to see. But before he could say anything, the heavy metal doors swung open and a long-faced, dark haired woman – her hair done up neatly in a coiffure behind her head – stood at the doorway. She gestured at the guards to stand down and stood back to allow the two men entry into the building.
"Hello, I'm Natasha," she said with a little nod, holding out her hand to Ruban. "You must be Mr. Ruban Kinoh of the South Ragah Division."
"I am," he said, taking her hand for a brief shake. "It's nice to finally meet you. And this is my…partner. Lord Ashwin Kwan. He's our liaison with the Zainian secret service."
The woman smiled formally. "Pleasure," she said, turning to Ashwin. Then she started walking further into the building, gesturing for them to follow her. "Come, let me introduce you to some of my colleagues."
***
"No, no. The amplifier just enhances the immediate intensity of the shot but it's the booster at the back that really adds to the overall velocity," the bright-eyed young researcher explained enthusiastically as Ashwin nodded along with a look of attentive fascination on his face, stopping his companion here and there to ask another question about the strange semi-circular gadget they were cooing over.
"Ah yes," murmured the Zainian after a particularly convoluted piece of techno-babble from the researcher. "My sister had been working on something like this a few years ago. She told me the motherboard would require a platinum base before she could expand the storage capacity–"
One of the other researchers, a slightly older woman in her early thirties, tapped Ashwin's shoulder to draw his attention to another contraption that looked vaguely like the first one, but with some sort of antennae attached to one end. "This is a more advanced version of the drive. But what it gains in speed, it loses in storage capacity, particularly when working with older interfaces. Of course that wouldn't matter much in an emergency situation but when we consider long-term commercial use…"
Ruban tuned them out. It all sounded like gibberish to him anyway. Hiya would enjoy being here. It was not that he was particularly bad with technology. He managed the basic stuff he needed for his job without much trouble, but he had never felt a fascination for technology for its own sake. Apparently, Ashwin felt differently – his eyes were wide and his mouth hung slightly open as he listened with rapt attention to the pair of researchers explaining the relative pros and cons of the two gadgets in what seemed to Ruban like excruciating detail. Well, he supposed that even a nincompoop of Ashwin's calibre had to have something he was interested in. Besides, it couldn't hurt to make friends with the staff at SifCo, since they would inevitably need their cooperation at some point during the investigation.
Turning away, he surveyed the interiors of the facility. The place felt oddly sterile to him, almost like a hospital, but with machines for patients. The walls were all painted white and the furniture was modern and uncomfortable. Tall, metal cabinets lined the walls and bizarre-looking contraptions in various stages of dismantlement littered almost every available surface.
He was just about to turn around and join Ashwin in his enthusiastic explorations of the wonders of science, to try and see if he could get any information out of the junior researchers, when a metal door to the back of the room, marked 'RESTRICTED', flew open. A slender, harried-looking man in his early sixties, wearing thick glasses and a long white lab coat, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, stood at the doorway. His eyes darted around the room for a few seconds before landing finally on Ruban.
"Ah, you must be Mr. Kinoh," he said, rushing forward to grab Ruban's hand and give it a hearty shake. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Got caught up with something; so stupid of me. I was told you would be coming today. But you know how time flies…and when you're so close to the end. Hard to keep track, you know." He continued to babble, turning to walk back towards the room he had just come out of. He was still holding on to Ruban's hand, never having let go of it after the rather extensive handshake they had shared, and the Hunter found himself being pulled along behind the newcomer to the chamber with the 'Restricted' sign. His head snapped back to look at Ashwin, but the Zainian seemed to have caught on to what was happening and made to follow Ruban into the room, bidding a perfunctory goodbye to his new friends before breaking out into a semi jog to catch up with the other two.
***
As it turned out, Ruban's impromptu kidnapper was apparently the Head Researcher in charge of the reinforced sifblade project. The room he led them into was full of more metal cabinets and a couple of wooden chests full of drawers. At the centre of the room stood a small wooden table with an ancient-looking desktop computer and a telephone. Taking the seat behind this table with a relieved sigh, the man gestured for his guests to take the chairs opposite him. "Please, do sit down," he said, uncapping a plastic bottle and taking a long drink of water before setting it back down on the table and finally focusing on his visitors. "You must be Hunters. Of course you are. Subhas told me the Zainians were involved," he said, sparing a cursory glance at Ashwin. "Really, all this ruckus over a silly news programme. Reporters are a bloody menace, not that bureaucrats are any better." He shook his head. "To think they let it get this far. Nip it in the bud, is what they should've done. Now I have fucking reporters and Hunters and the goddamned police all over my office asking all sorts of silly questions and distracting the scientists when really, we should be working on completing the damn thing they're all so excited about in the first place."
"You mean the reinforced sifblade formula?" asked Ruban.
"Yes the reinforced sifblade formula." The man nodded emphatically. "Not that the actual thing seems to matter to anyone anymore. All they want are the sound-bites and the screen time and the ridiculous fucking rumours the press likes to call news these days."
"Umm," began Ashwin, hesitantly. "If we could just have your name, sir?"
The man turned abruptly to look at Ashwin through narrowed eyes, regarding him as if he had completely lost his mind. And while Ruban was wont to agree with this assessment of the Zainian most of the time, even he couldn't find anything particularly objectionable about Ashwin's current line of inquiry. He himself was getting rather tired of referring to their new acquaintance as 'the man' in his head. It made him sound far more mysterious and interesting than he actually was.
"Kalhar," the man said dismissively, as if he did not appreciate being bothered about such insignificant details. "Kalhar Visht. And you are?"
"Ashwin Kwan," Ashwin inclined his head with a pleasant smile. Then, before Ruban could get a word in edgewise, he continued: "If you wouldn't mind telling us, Dr. Visht, what exactly is the reinforced sifblade formula? And how will it affect our fight against Aeriels, practically speaking? I mean we all know the basics, of course, that they're more effective than regular sifblades. But really, what does that mean in terms of practical combat? How will this formula help a Hunter, say, during a one-on-one face-off with an Aeriel?"
Ruban glanced sideways at Ashwin, taken aback. The Zainian never failed to surprise him, somehow, and for some reason he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he was missing when it came to the other man; something important.
Ashwin's questions seemed to have taken the scientist's mind off the shortcomings of the various professions, at least. Instead, his face lit up as if somebody had breathed new life into his overtaxed lungs. "More effective?" he exclaimed, looking at Ashwin incredulously. "This formula will not just make sifblades more effective, dear sir; it will change the application of sif as we know it permanently. It will herald a new era in humanity's war against Aeriels."
"I'm sure," said Ashwin patiently. "But how?"
Visht took a deep breath, leaning back into his chair. "You understand how sifblades work, right? The basic principles of how sif operates. Its properties?" He squinted doubtfully at Ashwin.
As Ruban watched, Ashwin's eyes went wide, his face overcome by a look of innocent confusion. By now, Ruban knew that helplessly bewildered expression for the fishing tactic it really was, but he kept his mouth shut anyway. It was always a good idea to keep your sources talking. The more they spoke, the more likely they were to say something useful without realising it.
Dr. Visht sighed resignedly. "Aeriels are energy beings. That's why regular weapons don't work against them. While they share quite a few external physical characteristics with humans, biologically speaking, they operate on entirely different principles." Ruban felt as though he was back in his first year at Bracken, sitting impatiently through the introductory lectures, waiting desperately for the real combat training to begin. Ashwin looked interested, though, and he supposed there wasn't any harm in letting the doctor warm up to the meat of the matter. He didn't want to rush him, lest he leave anything important out. "Unlike humans, Aeriels do not need food or water for sustenance. While it is not impossible for them to eat, they sustain themselves primarily on energy derived directly from the sun. In that sense, I suppose you could say they're more akin to plants than to humans.
"Anyway, because the energy they consume is more direct in nature, it grants them greater physical prowess and accelerated powers of healing. Practically, this means that flesh wounds do not affect them as they would a human, thus rendering conventional weapons useless.
"Sif, as you know, is the world's greatest and fastest conductor of energy. It's the only substance on earth that can sap an Aeriel's energy faster than its body can replenish it. Sifblades kill Aeriels not by means of any physical wounds, but simply by drawing the energy – their life-source – out of their bodies faster than they can recharge their batteries.
"But of course, in order to accomplish this, you need a significant amount of sif to first enter the Aeriel's system; enough to overcome its natural processes and sap its energy to the extent that its body shuts down entirely. This is why sif cannot be used in bullets. A bullet couldn't carry enough sif to stop an Aeriel from absorbing energy at a rate fast enough to replenish lost power.
"Well, it couldn't yet," Visht said, a triumphant glint in his eye. "Reinforced sifblades are made from enhanced sif ores that have passed through extensive induced pressure to make them better conductors of energy than regular sif, several times over. A tiny amount of the reinforced sif can do far more damage than twenty ordinary sifblades taken together. Even glancing contact with a reinforced sifblade would fell most normal Aeriels. A single stab wound would kill an X-class in a matter of seconds. Once this formula has been perfected, the tides in this age-old war will turn so quickly, it would be as if centuries have passed in the blink of an eye. If everything goes according to plan, there would be no Aeriels left on earth by the turn of the century."
Ruban knew all this already, of course. Subhas had explained the practical implications of the formula to him and Simani during their meeting on Emancipation Day, if not all the technical details. But as the doctor spoke, he couldn't help but feel his heart hammering in his chest, his blood buzzing with anticipation in his veins at the thought of having such a weapon in his hands. Of holding it between his fingers as he drove it through the heart of an attacking Aeriel, watching the creature crumple at his feet like a discarded rag doll.
Glancing sideways at Ashwin, he saw that the younger man had gone a little green around the gills. Well, he supposed even seasoned fighters could sometimes be made uncomfortable by cold-blooded descriptions of graphic violence, and the Zainian was barely more than a kid, for all his secret Aeriel-killing techniques. Turning his attention back towards the doctor, Ruban frowned. "Everything isn't going according to plan, is it though, Dr. Visht? The Supreme Court itself has ordered the IAW to look into the rumours of an impending Aeriel attack on SifCo. It can't all be nothing," he said, deliberately goading.
Visht snorted. "Oh please. People who say these kinds of things are half-witted idiots that don't know what they're talking about." He stood up and walked over to one of the wooden chests, withdrawing a jingling bunch of keys from one of its drawers. Walking back to his table, he chose one of the keys and used it to open the bottom right drawer of the desk. When he straightened once more, Ruban saw that the doctor had a small black disk in his hand, a little under the size of his palm. This he put on the table before his visitors, leaning back into his chair with an air of satisfaction.
"This is the disk containing the formula. And if it were to be stolen or destroyed – which is very unlikely, considering our security measures – I daresay we would face some minor problems, a little delay in the inevitable, perhaps. The formula will still be there. It is stored, in fragments, in various locations and systems across the country. It would take some time to reassemble all of that and start work once again from where we left off, as this is currently the only full copy of the entire formula in existence.
"But the thing is, even if somebody did manage to steal it, this disk would be less than useless to the thief. The formula in it is buried under layers upon layers of encryptions and codes, created by different programmers working for various organisations across the world, most of whom had no idea about the existence of any of the others. Only about five or six people at the topmost echelons of the government and of SifCo itself have the key to decrypt even part of the code. And the thief would need at least two of them to cooperate with him in order to recover anything of value from this disk. Now, short of a hostile Aeriel takeover of our government within the next few months, I don't see how that could happen. Do you? So, you tell me, Mr. Kinoh, why would anyone go through that much trouble to get their hands on what will essentially be a useless scrap of metal outside this building?"
Before Ruban could answer, however, a searing flash of lightning cut across the stormy sky outside, followed by an ear-splitting crack of thunder. As the trio looked out of the window, momentarily distracted, a fireball from the heavens seemed to crash into the smaller west wing of the facility, escalating into a deafening explosion followed by the horrified screams of those in the vicinity.
Before he could even properly register what was happening, Ruban was on his feet, running towards the exit, his sifblade in his hand. As Ashwin rose to follow him out, Dr. Visht called after them, his voice fearful: "Is it Aeriels?"
"Yes," Ashwin replied.
***
"It was a distraction," Ruban breathed as Ashwin came up behind him, skidding to a stop a few yards away from the west wing. He looked up at the devastation wrought on the topmost floor of the structure. It was immediately obvious to both of them, however, that the attack had been random and unplanned, with no specific target. A section of the uppermost balcony had been shattered and bits of concrete littered the landing below, while others hung precariously off the jagged edges of what remained of the veranda. But the attack had been too shallow, the devastation it had wrought limited largely to the outer edges of the building. If it had been meant to target the people working within the walls of the structure, it had been singularly inadequate an attempt.
That had never been the point of the blast, though, and Ruban knew it even as he whipped around and started running in the opposite direction almost instinctively. It wasn't here that the actual target lay.
***
Bursting through the doors to the 'Restricted' room they had just left, the first thing Ruban noticed was the light. The second was Dr. Visht's prone form lying unconscious in a corner of the room.
Letting the same instinct that had been driving him for the past few minutes take control of his body, Ruban lifted his hand and threw his sifblade almost blindly just a few inches in front of the streak of light that he had first noticed upon entering the chamber. It was an Aeriel with its wings outstretched, heading towards the only window in the room – the one overlooking the courtyard with a direct view of the wrecked west wing.
The blade reached the window just as the Aeriel made to fly out into the open, shattering the iron window-sills as if they were made of cheap plastic. The weapon connected, however, pinning the creature by its wing to the wooden frame surrounding the glass window-panes. The Aeriel let out a strangled cry, trying weakly to break free even as light poured out of the injured appendage. Ruban leapt forward, pulling the blade out of the creature's wing and with one swift motion slashing its throat before it could take advantage of its freedom to fight back.
As the Aeriel's body crumpled at his feet, Ruban caught the all-too-familiar glint of a building energy-shell through the window, shining ominously against the thunderous sky. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, he jumped back into the room just in time to avoid the blast that ripped through the outer wall of the building, almost annihilating not only a good portion of the wall itself but also many of the metal cabinets that had stood against it.
When the air had finally cleared of the concrete-and-metal particles that were all that was left of the beautiful glass exterior of the east wing, Ruban could make out the vague silhouette of an Aeriel floating mid-air in the gap now created by the destroyed wall. His vision was still too fuzzy to clearly make out the features of this new monster, but he could see the only thing that mattered: three tiny red marks emblazoned against the silvery whiteness of the creature's wings, the tips almost glowing crimson.
Tauheen, the last Aeriel Queen – Ruban thought deliriously. That mythical creature that they had all read about in textbooks, but that had never actually been seen in living memory. His mind felt dazed, and for a brief second he thought he could feel himself shaking.
Then the moment passed, and he straightened, leaning slightly forward into the combative stance he would adopt before launching into any fight. At least this time he had his sifblade in his hand. He could feel Ashwin tensing behind him. Just this once, he almost sympathised with the foreigner. Ruban could hardly imagine a situation tenser than this one.
As they watched, Tauheen moved. And though Ruban knew it was physically impossible for her to have done so, it seemed to him almost as though she had teleported from her position near the destroyed wall to within an inch of his face.
With movements so swift he could barely follow them with his eyes, the Aeriel reached out and wrapping pale fingers around his throat, lifted him into the air as if he weighed no more than a child's toy.
Ruban gripped his sifblade and swung it at his attacker, but Tauheen dodged easily. Leaning back slightly to avoid the blade by mere inches, she threw the Hunter against the nearest wall with enough force to knock the wind out of his lungs. Ruban tried to keep his feet but his knees buckled, unable to hold up his weight. The sifblade fell out of his hand, clattering to the floor with a sound that rung like a death-knell in his ears.
Tauheen fell to her knees beside him, reaching out to touch the side of his face almost gently. "You really are something, aren't you my boy?" she whispered sweetly in his ear, leaning forward so that her breath brushed his skin. For a moment, his heart stopped at the sight of her eyes – dark with flecks of iridescent silver. He had never seen anything like them.
If Ruban hadn't been fighting to stay conscious – his head throbbing painfully from where it had hit the wall – he might have laughed at how surreal the situation was.
"You've certainly given me more trouble than your life is worth, these last few years. But no hard feelings," she smiled, wrapping her fingers around his throat, this time hard enough to make him arch up into the air, trying to breathe. She just pressed harder, the serene smile never leaving her lips, relentlessly squeezing the air out of his lungs.
He almost wished she would get it over with already. He had no doubt that she could kill him with a single flick of her wrist. But she seemed to enjoy drawing it out; almost as though she were making a point.
"I intend to repay all my debts in kind."
In Ruban's (admittedly limited) experience, eloquent victory speeches should always be reserved for after your enemy is safely dead. Because while long-winded pre-murder tirades might sound cool on principle, they were never quite worth the sheer awkwardness of having your victim escape at the end of it, thus rendering the whole exercise pointless.
Not that he wasn't glad Tauheen hadn't gotten the memo on that one, as Dr. Visht's large mahogany desk came flying out of nowhere to slam against the Aeriel's side.
For less than a moment, his assailant lost her balance, her hold on Ruban slipping as she tried to steady herself on her knees. That was all the time Ruban needed. He leapt out from under her, seizing his blade as he rose to his feet and jumping back as far as he could manage without falling out of the gaping hole in the wall. He cursed under his breath, trying not to trip over any of the toppled furniture. To say that he did not like having to fight the bloody Aeriel Queen in a space as confined as this one would be to make the understatement of the century.
Tauheen, for her part, had forgotten all about Ruban for the time being. Instead, she had turned around and was now staring at Ashwin, whom she seemed to have noticed for the first time. Ruban realised then that it must have been the young Zainian who had swung the table at Tauheen while he was busy getting strangled. He spared a moment to admire the sheer audacity of the act before readying himself to jump to the boy's defence when the Aeriel finally attacked him.
Instead of trying to kill Ashwin, however, Tauheen let out a surprised laugh, never taking her eyes off the Zainian. The air vibrated with her mirth, and Ruban could feel his own confusion – and fear – growing with every passing second. The adrenaline rush that had kept him going for so long was now starting to fade and Ruban had to fight to keep his vision from swimming. His head felt like someone was hammering at it with a million mallets and he knew that if he didn't end it soon, he would have no hope of winning.
Not that he had much of that anyway.
The Aeriel was talking again, seeming to have gotten over her giggling fit. "By Zeifaa, it really is you," she was saying, looking into Ashwin's eyes. She chuckled. "I always had high hopes for you, my love. You're wasted back at home. Earth is where you should be, where we should be, not hiding like cowards out of mortal reach. Safaa doesn't have what it takes to sit on the throne, she never did."
Before Ashwin could make a reply – though Ruban couldn't think what on earth Tauheen had expected him to say – he threw his sifblade at the Aeriel's back. Tauheen sensed it coming and flew up into the air to avoid the attack, just as he had expected. What he hadn't been so sure about was the second part of the plan, since he had had no time to discuss it with the Zainian beforehand.
Ashwin didn't disappoint. As the blade flew past the spot where Tauheen had been a moment ago, its target having disappeared, the young man reached out and seized the weapon mid-air, flipping it in his hand and leaping up onto one of the chairs they had occupied earlier during their meeting with Visht. Now almost level with the floating Aeriel, he struck with a speed that could rival Tauheen's, almost plunging the blade into the Aeriel's heart. At the last moment, Tauheen moved sideways, causing the weapon to strike her shoulder instead, but the damage was severe nonetheless and Ruban heard the sound of bone cracking under the vicious assault.
Light flooded the room as Tauheen stumbled back a few inches, wearing an expression of shock.
Seizing the opportunity, Ruban rushed forward and kicked the Aeriel behind the knees just as she was about to land, knocking her off her feet. Then, catching the blade that Ashwin threw back at him, he raised his hands to finish the creature off once and for all.
With Ruban standing over her and the sifblade barely an inch from her throat, Tauheen's wings flared. And with the preternatural speed – even by Aeriel standards – that Ruban had seen glimpses of before, she all but disappeared from under him in a rush of wind and silvery feathers.
She reappeared near the destroyed wall and leaned over the dead Aeriel's corpse. For a second, her hands moved searchingly through its feather-cloak. Then she leapt off the edge of the landing into the cloudy sky beyond.
As she rose higher into the air, her humongous wings forming a halo around her receding form, she turned to look one final time at Ruban. Her unnatural eyes burned with something he couldn't define.
Then she was gone, and all that remained were the damaged buildings and the faint screams filling the air around them, almost drowning out the distant sound of emergency sirens.
***
"Baan!" the little ball of fiery delight burst through the doors of the stately residence. Skipping over the scrupulously tended garden, she threw herself at the Hunter the moment he had stepped out of the sedan.
Even as Ruban picked his ten-year-old cousin up into his arms, the passenger door clicked open to reveal Simani. She held herself a little stiffly and moved with a tad more caution than usual, but apart from that there was no indication of the injuries she had suffered only a few weeks ago. She smiled at the little girl in her partner's arms and with a conspiratorial wink, whipped out a large pack of Dairy Milk chocolate from somewhere within the folds of her multi-layered tunic. The girl squealed, wriggling in Ruban's arms to get within reach of the gigantic candy bar.
"Where's Uncle Subhas, Hiya?" Ruban asked, setting the girl down so that she could run to Simani to claim her prize. "Isn't he home?"
Hiya shook her head, making a grab for the chocolate only for Simani to hold it up, just a little out of her reach. This prompted another squeal and a singularly impressive leap that brought the child level with Simani, if only momentarily. "He's out!" she gasped at last with a satisfied smile, chocolate held firmly in her hands as she landed on the grass with a thump.
Bala, the housekeeper, came out of the house behind Hiya, wiping her hands on her stained apron. Her round, pockmarked face was slightly flushed. "Master Ruban, Miss Vaz," she greeted, nodding at the familiar faces as she rushed over to the parked vehicle. Plucking the chocolate out of Hiya's hands on the way over, with a bright 'after dinner, darling', she blithely ignored all of the girl's vociferous protests thereafter. "Sir told me that you would be coming to the house today. He had to go out on an urgent errand just about an hour ago. He said he wouldn't be gone for more than a couple of hours, though. You don't mind waiting, do you? Please, do come in. I'll make some tea."
As she turned to walk back into the house, Ashwin emerged from the car, big eyes drinking in every tiny detail of his surroundings as he walked towards the small cluster standing near the garden. Ruban grinned. He could almost see the cogs turning in Hiya's head as she turned to look curiously at this new arrival, her tantrum forgotten mid-wail. Brow furrowed and head cocked to one side, she observed solemnly as the Zainian came to stand beside the two Hunters, looking appreciatively up at the manor that stood beyond the garden.
Ruban had not been entirely certain whether or not to bring Ashwin along for this particular trip. However, even he could not deny the Zainian's considerable role during the showdown at SifCo. And he supposed his input might prove helpful in the recovery of the formula. Unless he was terribly mistaken, Tauheen had seemed very interested in Ashwin's presence at the facility, and Ruban would pay a good deal of money to know exactly what the Zainian had done to attract the attention of the Aeriel Queen. It was better than leaving Ashwin to his own devices, at any rate. The young man seemed to have a penchant for ending up at the weirdest places when left alone, even for the briefest period.
"Who's this?" asked Hiya, thrusting a haughty chin at the newcomer, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Before Ruban could introduce him, Ashwin broke out into a grin. "Hello, I'm Ashwin," he said, walking up to Hiya and holding out a hand. "It's very nice to meet you."
Cautiously, with a quick glance at Ruban, Hiya extended her own hand, taking Ashwin's for a perfunctory shake. Then, before she could pull away, her eyes widened, a delighted squeak escaping her lips. "It's magic!" she declared, beaming up at the Zainian as she held up two small, bite-sized packs of Dairy Milk – the exact flavour that Simani had given her earlier – stuck neatly to her outstretched hand.
***
"Show me more!" Hiya demanded, jumping up and down on the balls of her feet as the three adults sipped Bala's special ginger-tea from delicate china cups in the drawing room.
Putting his cup obligingly down on the coffee table, Ashwin held his hand out to the girl, his expression a study in solemnity. With equal gravity, Hiya unscrewed the top of her piggy bank and handed him a bronze two-dinka coin. This was followed by a slight nod which made Ruban think of a circus ringmaster signalling her lion to jump through the fiery hoop.
Right on cue, Ashwin's fingers closed around the coin as he mumbled something incomprehensible under his breath. A second passed, then another. Just as Hiya's expression began to shift from expectant to slightly sceptical, the Zainian twisted his wrist in a dramatic flourish and bringing his closed fist next to the girl's ear, threw his fingers open. Not a coin but a beautiful, multi-hued peacock feather sprang upright from between his index and middle fingers.
Hiya squealed again, her eyes dancing with delight as she clapped excitedly. Despite himself, Ruban could feel his breath catch at the sight of the prismatic feather swaying gently in the light monsoon breeze.
Then the feather was gone, the coin resting innocently on the palm of Ashwin's hand as he held it magnanimously out to his audience. Hiya plucked the coin out of the Zainian's hand with a grin that threatened to split her face in two.
Bala reappeared at the doorway with a tray full of delicious-smelling biscuits and sweets to accompany her excellent tea. And everything else was forgotten for the next few minutes as everyone hunkered down to feast on the homemade delicacies with unanimous enthusiasm.
***
The four walls of the room were painted in four different – though equally vibrant – shades of yellow. The floor was littered with a wide variety of miscellaneous items: from crayons and colour-books to CDs, dolls in various stages of dismemberment and a boomerang-shaped object with multi-coloured buttons that Shwaan could only assume was some variation of the video-game console he had seen in Casia's duplex during his brief stay with the reporter. He stepped gingerly over the severed torso of what appeared to have been a Barbie at some point and finally threw himself onto the large, ochre beanbag – big enough to sleep on – that occupied pride of place at the centre of the yellow wasteland that was Hiya's bedroom. Walking around in this place was an open invitation to disaster.
"Not a big believer in organisation, are you?" Shwaan remarked, looking around the room at the cluttered shelves and half-open wardrobe overflowing with clothing in more shades of yellow. Apparently, successfully impressing Hiya with magic tricks he had picked up from one of his mortal nurses over six centuries ago had earned him the privilege of a grand tour of the young lady's dominion.
Ruban had certainly wasted no time in shooing the two of them upstairs the moment the opportunity presented itself. It was just as well, he supposed. Enlightening as it often was, spending too much time in the Hunter's company also carried with it the risk of discovery. Tauheen's infernal garrulity at SifCo had already raised some suspicions in Ruban, he could tell. Best to let it cool at a distance before anybody put two and two together and blew his cover.
Hiya ignored him. What looked like a humongous plastic model of the rear half of an airplane balanced precariously on her outstretched hands, she tottered over to Ashwin before placing the monstrosity carefully at his feet. He looked down expectantly, not entirely sure what he was supposed to do with it. Well, at least this one wasn't yellow.
"Help," Hiya said, pointing at the semi-constructed aeroplane replica. It wasn't a question, though. It was a statement.
***
As Hiya gleefully added the finishing touches to her newly-completed toy airplane, which had now assumed pride of place at the centre of her amber study table, Shwaan stood in front of a bookcase at the other end of the room, looking up at the framed photograph of a young woman in a white lab-coat smiling cheerfully at the camera.
The photo was old, from what Shwaan could tell, the quality of the picture less clear than what he had seen in modern photographs. Still, it looked to have been well cared for, the metal frame sparkling in the light of the bulb mounted on the opposite wall. A young man stood slightly to the left of the woman. He too was smiling broadly, though he was barely in the frame. Him, Shwaan recognised immediately as a younger version of the Senior Secretary of Defence. The broad shoulders and the proud jawline were still the same, though they seemed softer somehow. Shwaan thought absently that he had looked better with the stubble than he did now, without it.
"That's Mommy," Hiya informed him. Shwaan had not heard her come up behind him, but there she was with her arms crossed, looking seriously up at the picture Shwaan had been contemplating. "Baba says she was really pretty. I think he's right," she confided, nodding sagaciously.
Shwaan was not quite sure how to respond to that. He tried to think of anything he had heard about Subhas Kinoh's wife during his time in Ragah, but drew a persistent blank. "Oh," he said finally, looking down at his young companion. "What was her name?"
Hiya looked at him like he was an idiot. "Misri," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing on earth. "And that's Baba," she added after a beat, as if to make sure he hadn't foolishly missed that bit of information as well.
"Well, I think your Baba is right too," Shwaan told her, and he wasn't lying. The woman in the picture really was striking, her brown eyes sharp and lively and her smile infectious, even through the fading Polaroid. "Was your mother a doctor, Hiya?"
"Nuh-huh," she shook her head, squinting dubiously at Shwaan as if worried about his lack of general knowledge. "She was a sci-en-tist." Enunciating each syllable carefully, she looked mildly proud when she had accomplished the feat. "At SifCo. Baba says she was very smart, just like me."
"At SifCo?" Shwaan repeated, looking up at the picture once again. "She worked at SifCo?"
Hiya nodded. "When she was alive, yes. Bala di says she died in a car crash on her way there, back when I was a baby," she said matter-of-factly.
Shwaan supposed Hiya had never known her mother well enough to feel her loss, if it really had happened when she was still an infant. He looked up at the picture again. It was hard to believe those vivacious eyes belonged to someone long gone. Besides, how old was Hiya anyway? Something about that timeline didn't sit well with him, but he couldn't place his finger on it at the moment. With a mental shrug, he turned around. There would be time to look into it later.
"I think your Baba is back," he informed her, tilting his head a little to hear the voices downstairs with more clarity; they sounded vaguely agitated to him. "Should we go down?"
Hiya nodded, then took his hand in a proprietary grip and marched out of the room, Shwaan trailing a little behind her.
***
As Subhas entered the drawing room less than an hour after their arrival, Ruban and Simani rose to greet him. Ruban couldn't help noticing, however, that the man looked haggard, worn out – dark circles under his eyes and his usually clean-shaven face covered in greying stubble. Upon seeing the Hunters, Subhas offered them a small smile, nodding for them to resume their seats. Ruban thought it didn't quite reach his eyes, though.
"You wanted to see us?" Simani said, once they had all sat down and another round of the refreshing ginger tea had been served by Bala. This was not the first time they had been summoned to Subhas's home to discuss important or confidential business that the Senior Secretary did not feel comfortable talking about at the office. Between the three of them, there was no need to go through the usual round of inane pleasantries.
Subhas nodded slowly, as if his head weighed heavily on his shoulders. "The incident at SifCo," he began, looking down at his hands which were folded rigidly on his lap. "As you must know, it hasn't gone over well with the media. Or with many of my colleagues at the IAW, not to mention the Cabinet."
Simani nodded. "What happened was…horrific. The last time something like this happened…was the Parliament attack." She drew in a deep breath. "You couldn't switch the TV on without seeing footage of the burning SifCo buildings for days after. And the Aeriel Queen. She hasn't been seen in...well, decades I suppose. Why would she show up now, at SifCo of all places? It doesn't make any sense."
"At the time of the Parliament attack, we had two Aeriels dead and one in custody," said Subhas. "Something to show for our troubles. Now, it's been over a week, Simani, and we've made no headway on the case. Not to mention, the formula is gone. Stolen from right under the nose of the Hunter tasked with protecting it, the very best in the city." He looked up briefly at Ruban, a flash of guilt in his eyes. He sighed. "I do not mean to blame you, my boy. You did your best, I know that. There was nothing more you could have done. You were unprepared; we'd had no warning that something like that was going to happen. But the fact remains that the media is questioning us. The cabinet is questioning us. They want results, and people are losing confidence that…the current team in charge of the investigation can deliver it."
"What does that mean, then?" Ruban asked, his voice strained.
Subhas gave a small shrug, then looked away to stare unseeingly at the ticking grandfather clock on the opposite wall. Ruban's father had owned one just like it, almost identical but for the hands, which had been gold instead of red. It had been gutted in the fire. Just like every other remnant of Ruban's childhood, his old life.
"We must think of a reshuffle. Bring someone else, maybe another team into the investigation. You can still consult with them, of course. Help them with the case. But it doesn't seem…viable for you to keep charge of the investigation anymore, after what happened. If I do not hand the case over to someone else, we risk losing funding for the investigation. Besides which, resolving the case would be infinitely harder without the backing of the IAW brass and the Cabinet."
For a moment, Ruban just sat there, unable to move, much less speak. If asked, he would have said he felt humiliated, betrayed – though by whom, he did not know. And he did. But overpowering that emotion, overpowering everything else was the feeling of helpless, impotent fury at the thought of Tauheen – laughing with the disk in her hand, flying away into the distance as the world burned behind her – out of his reach forever, out of the reach of justice. Deep in his heart, he knew he could not allow that to happen, though how he would stop it he didn't have the faintest idea.
Before Ruban could get his thoughts together, Simani was speaking: "But you can't just take us off the case. You said it yourself, sir, we were unprepared for the attack. We had had no warning that anything like that was going to happen. You were the one who'd asked Ruban to visit SifCo that day to get a feel for the place before the investigation took off in earnest. If any of us had had the faintest inkling…" she trailed off, shaking her head as if to dislodge that line of thinking. There was no point in dwelling on the 'what ifs' of any situation, Ruban knew that better than most. "Ruban did everything he could, under the circumstances. There is nobody who could have done better in that situation, you know that."
"I know that," Subhas agreed, looking Simani in the eyes, his voice strained. "And you know that. But the media doesn't. The public doesn't. All they know is that a path-breaking formula worth millions was stolen from one of the most prestigious research facilities in the country, by Aeriels. Right under the nose of the Hunter tasked with protecting that same formula against a threat the press has been screaming about for months now. What do you think it looks like from the outside?
"We serve a democratic government, Simani. Nothing means anything once we have lost public confidence. And whether we like it or not, in this case we have." He exhaled and seemed to sag slightly into the sofa, his energy drained. "We need resources for this investigation, my dear. Resources and money. Especially now with the involvement of Tauheen…who knows what could happen next? Even if I managed to keep the IAW on your side for some time longer, which in itself won't be easy, we'll lose all Central backing, both in terms of money and manpower. In a case like this, after an incident of this magnitude, do you really think we can afford that loss?"
"It won't be necessary," said an airy voice behind them as two pairs of footsteps echoed down the staircase. Ruban whipped around just in time to see Hiya gallop down the stairs behind the dining space, Ashwin in tow. The latter continued to speak as the duo finally reached the drawing room landing, breathing heavily, and Hiya threw herself rather unceremoniously onto her father's lap. "Give us one week's time," Ashwin said, directing the full force of his earnest, wide-eyed gaze at Subhas. "If people still want Ruban off the case," he shrugged. "I suppose then it would have to be done. But you never know what could happen in a week. You can hold them off for seven days, no? Give us a chance to fix this, if you would."
Subhas stared at the young man standing before him, his expression perplexed. Ruban had a feeling he would have been angry, if he hadn't been too busy being surprised. Ashwin gave no indication whatsoever that he thought his request to be an odd one. He might have been asking for extra biscuits, for all the innocent optimism in his eyes as he looked at the Senior Secretary expectantly.
"What could you possibly hope to accomplish in one week?" Subhas asked at length, seeming to notice the brown-haired bundle on his lap for the first time. He shifted slightly, adjusting his position so Hiya wouldn't tumble off his legs accidentally. "What do you know about any of this anyway?"
At this, Hiya's little brown head came up to stare intently into her father's eyes. "He fixed my plane," she said seriously, extending her vote of confidence to the Zainian before once again burying her nose into Subhas's shirt.
Subhas let out a surprised huff of laughter, as if caught off guard by his own reaction. "Well," he said, turning to give Ashwin one last, searching look. "I guess one cannot argue with that. Alright then, I suppose I can stall the change of guard for another week. I should warn you though, you are merely delaying the inevitable," he looked apologetically at Ruban before turning his gaze back to Ashwin. "We'll have to initiate the handover by next Monday at the latest. A case like this cannot be left hanging for long."
Ashwin nodded. "Of course."
"And now we'll go for ice-cream!" Hiya announced, turning around to look imperiously at the rest of the party, seeming to sense that the 'important adult talk' was finally over. "Right Baan?"
Ruban sighed, looking up at his cousin with a lopsided smile. "Well, I don't see why not," he said, getting to his feet with a chuckle. "It's been quite a day. It deserves to end with excess calories."
"I'd say so," Ashwin chimed in as they all filed out of the house, the procession led by Hiya.
***
Simani strolled lazily through the little yard surrounding the Quarters, a cigarette dangling loosely from her fingers. She was finally back at the office after a gap of over half a month, not that it was doing her much good. She was to be chained firmly to the desk for another couple of weeks at least; no field-work for her until the damned doctors gave her a clean chit of health. It was all profoundly frustrating.
As she turned a corner near the back of the building, a hand grabbed her and pulled her unceremoniously into an alcove between the red-brick walls.
"Not that I don't appreciate the interest, Ashwin," she said in a level voice to the dishevelled-looking boy who still held her loosely around her wrist, his eyes bright with what she thought might have been excitement. Her own hand had gone instinctively to the holster at her belt. "But you do realise I could have killed you if I'd had just a tad bit less self-control. Or if you hadn't been just a tad bit too pretty to disfigure."
Ashwin laughed, and the sound reminded her vaguely of the slow tinkling of temple bells during Friday prayers. "Sorry to startle you, Simani. But I really did need to speak with you. I need your help."
"And help you would've had even if you'd waited another ten minutes for me to get back into the office."
Ashwin shook his head emphatically. "No, no. This is…secret. We can't let Ruban find out we're doing this. That's why I couldn't talk to you inside," he glanced furtively at the main entrance before shaking his head again, loose strands of hair flying everywhere.
Simani felt her skin prickle with something that wasn't exactly suspicion, but was close enough. "What do you mean? Why can't Ruban know about whatever this is?"
Ashwin made a face. "'Cause he would never allow it, is why. He's no fun whatsoever." He shook his head sadly. "I'm only trying to help. But he'll be all up in my face threatening to drive that damned knife into my throat, I just know it. So, it's got to be you. You've got to help me get the tapes."
"Tapes? What tapes?"
"The SifCo tapes, of course," Ashwin said matter-of-factly. Then, when Simani continued to stare at him uncomprehendingly, he elaborated with the longsuffering sigh of one surrounded by his intellectual inferiors. "The security tapes at SifCo. There must have been surveillance cameras in the building. Particularly in the room with the formula, the one which Tauheen attacked. I need the footage of the fight – you know, between Ruban and Tauheen."
"What for?" asked Simani, frowning. "That's evidence, Ashwin. Vital evidence in an ongoing investigation. You can't just walk in and take those tapes."
"Of course I can't. That's the whole point. That's why I need you. We still have the case for another week, so you have all the access you need. You can get the tapes for me."
"But what for? What will you do with them?"
"I'll keep my promise," he said, looking earnestly into her eyes. "I said I'll do what I can to help Ruban keep the SifCo case. And I plan to keep my word."
Simani took a drag of her cigarette, then threw it down, putting it out with the heel of her boot. In truth, she had no real reason to doubt Ashwin's sincerity. He had been with them for almost two months and in all that time had shown no signs of wanting anything but to see the case through, as he had originally claimed during their first meeting at the IAW. Looking at him now, she couldn't detect any signs of deception on his face. Still, Simani had never been a particularly trusting person to begin with, and four years at Bracken had beaten any remaining shreds of gullibility out of her system. "Fine, I can get you the tapes," she said, looking at him through narrowed eyes, watching to see his reaction. "But first, you have to tell me what you plan to do with them."
If Simani had expected to see hesitation in Ashwin's eyes, she did not find it. Instead, they lit up with what she thought was amusement, and he just laughed some more. "Show the world what we already know, of course," he said easily. "That there couldn't be anyone better suited to handle this case than Ruban."
Simani sighed. She had a feeling it was just as well that she didn't know anything more about this hare-brained scheme than this. Plausible deniability certainly had its uses. "Alright, I'll get you the tapes. I'll need to get in touch with the IAW, though. That's where all the evidence is stored. It might take a couple of days."
Ashwin's eyes widened. "IAW?" he said incredulously. "No, no, don't do that. We go straight to SifCo. They'll have a copy of the footage. And they'll give it to you if you ask – just for a while, of course, so we can make a copy of our own. You're a Hunter, and involved with this case. You can just tell them you need it for the investigation and they won't suspect a thing."
"But why?" asked Simani, baffled. "Why go through all that trouble when I can just get it from the IAW? As you said, I still have access in this case."
"Because, Simani," Ashwin began, the longsuffering tone back. "If you withdraw evidence from the IAW, there'll be an official record of it. It would be far harder to explain away than a casual chat with some junior security staff at SifCo."
Simani looked up at the sky – the day was remarkably clear for monsoon – and prayed to heaven for the patience to deal with the Zainian without putting a bullet through his head. "Alright Ashwin," she said finally, leaning back against the wall to get a better look at his face. "We'll go to SifCo tonight."
***
Viman Rai sat in his office, glancing through the script for the day's programme, sent over by the output desk for his perusal before it was finalised. Usually, he liked editing his scripts. People didn't often realise how much of a role 'voice' played in a news broadcast. It wasn't always just about the facts; it was almost never just about the facts. It was about who was giving you the facts, and how well they were giving it. You couldn't sound sincere or honest if you were speaking in somebody else's voice. Not even the most skilled writer could perfectly imitate another person's tenor. All the best anchors that he had ever known had significant input in their own scripts. They made sure their 'voice' was in it.
Today, though, he felt a vague sense of restlessness that he couldn't really put a finger on. He wanted to go for a walk, although he knew it was a ridiculous notion. They'd start filming in less than an hour; there was no time for dithering. He forced himself to concentrate on the script.
He looked up, surprised, when the door to his office banged open. Menaka, his rundown producer, burst in with what looked like a brown envelope clutched to her breast, her eyes wild. Viman sat up in his chair, mildly alarmed. Menaka was an excitable woman, but he had not seen her in quite such a state since the Parliament attack story broke last year. "What's wrong?" he asked, trying to make his voice as soothing as possible.
"I think you would want to see this," she said, holding the envelope out to him, her eyes wide and anxious.
"What is it?" he asked, examining the package. He flipped the envelope over. It was unmarked save for a single name scribbled across the plain side – Brij. He frowned, looking up at Menaka. What about this package had put her in such a state? "Brij sent something? Something we need to include in today's broadcast?"
Brij was one of his old sources, back from his reporting days, a young pickpocket he had befriended back when he had been covering crime for a local daily. It had been a long time since Viman had last been on the field, but Brij still sent him little titbits of information whenever he came across something interesting, though usually he just called or texted. In return, Viman took him out for dinner and drinks every couple of months. He couldn't imagine what Brij might have sent that would warrant such a reaction from one of his producers, though.
Reaching into the envelope, his fingers found a small pen drive. Viman frowned; this was unusual. Taking the pen drive out of the package, he inserted it into the appropriate slot on his desktop. The folder opened to reveal a single file, a video of some kind. "What is this?"
"You need to see it for yourself."
Well, he certainly wasn't going to get any answers out of her. Viman sighed and quickly double-clicked the video icon.
***
Fifteen minutes later, Viman sat back, flabbergasted. "I don't understand," he said, his voice slightly unsteady. "How could…where on earth could Brij possibly have found this?"
"It's obviously been edited," Menaka was saying, seeming to have rediscovered some of her faculties now that she had shared her burden with her boss. "You can't hear what the Aeriel is saying to the Zainian nobleman. Isn't he the same one Casia Washi was parading around a couple of months ago? And a lot of the background details are blurred. But my God, this video! We could play this and nothing else for the entire hour today and we would be at the top of every ratings chart for the next week at least. When I first saw it, I would've sworn it was at least partly doctored. But IT says it's a hundred percent authentic."
"So the rumours are true then," Viman said, ignoring Menaka's chattering. "The Aeriel Queen has resurfaced. She was the one who attacked SifCo. It's a surprise it ended as well as it did, really. If half of what they say about her is true, we could have been swimming in casualties after that attack."
"What?"
"The Aeriel, the one that made it out. The one that was talking to the Zainian. Didn't you see its wings? The three red marks. It was Tauheen, the last Aeriel Queen."
Menaka gasped. "Oh-oh my God. I-I didn't–"
Viman cut her off. "Go tell the output people we're running this today itself. Rewrite the script; call SifCo and the IAW for comment. I need to make a call."
***
Brij picked up on the second ring. "Hullo, Viman ji, what can I do for you sir?"
"I received the package you sent me," began Viman carefully. "Where did you get it?"
"Ah, you got it? Good good. He told me it was something you'd like."
"He who?"
"An old friend of mine, sir. From back home. He's a waiter at a pub in Himli now, place called 'Red Poppy'. You wouldn't know him, I don't think. Said an old patron of his sent it to him, sir, with money so as to pass it on to the capital. Said 'twas very important news, he did. So I thought perhaps you'd like it."
"What's his name, this friend of yours?"
"Gabin sir, but he's never been to the city, to my knowledge. You wouldn't know him."
"And this patron of his, you know who it was? Can you find out?" Viman asked, expectantly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this excited about a story.
"Can't rightly say, sir. I don't think Gab knows neither; the gentleman's name, that is. He did say the package arrived from Zaini, though. With instructions to pass it on to the capital."
"Zaini? That doesn't make any sense. How could this video have gone to Zaini when nobody's seen it in Ragah?"
"Can't rightly say, sir," Brij said. He sounded nervous now, frightened. "Is there omething' wrong in it?"
Viman did his best to calm himself, make his voice as friendly and reassuring as he could. After all, Brij was a good source, as well as a good friend. It wouldn't do to lose him. And he had no idea how much he had helped Viman by passing the drive on to him. It was luck beyond his wildest dreams, that the video should have come to Brij of all people. "Nothing wrong, Brij. You did a fantastic job, in fact. Do come by the office this weekend. This deserves a celebration," he smiled into the phone, already clicking on the video icon on his desktop one more time.
"Yes, yes of course Viman ji. I'll surely be there," Brij responded eagerly, and Viman knew that the man was already planning the menu in his mind.
"See you later then," he said distractedly, and disconnected the line as the video started playing once again.
***
Just as the Hunter, Ruban Kinoh, raised the sifblade to stab the fallen Tauheen in the chest, the door to Viman's office slid open and Menaka walked in. He looked up at her, pausing the video. She looked more composed and self-possessed than she had when she left the office, though she was still clearly excited.
"We've made the changes to the script, sir. Everything is ready. We're airing the video today itself, no delays. We'll start filming in twenty minutes. I'll send the make-up people around, shall I?"
Viman nodded, straightening, brushing imaginary lint off his suit-jacket. He could feel his blood thrumming in his veins. He liked his job, but it had been a while since he had felt so profoundly excited by it – it was intoxicating. Finally, he breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the moist monsoon air. It was showtime.
***
Casia Washi looked down at her buzzing cell phone and frowned. Lifting five fingers in an unspoken signal to her crew, she slid out of the studio and walked briskly towards the east balcony; it was usually deserted this time of day. She recognised the number immediately, of course. She was the one who had bought the Zainian that SIM card soon after they had first met; he didn't seem to have had much of an idea about the rules of international telecommunication. She supposed life in one of the noble houses of Zaini wasn't conducive to much by way of practical education. What she didn't know, however, was why he was calling her now, over two months after they had last seen each other. She couldn't deny her curiosity, though, and slipping into the empty balcony, she clicked on the receive button. "Hello?"
"Miss Casia!" Ashwin's voice came through the line, exuberant, and she could almost imagine him standing right in front of her, dark eyes sparkling with zest over whatever new thing had caught his fancy. "You have to meet me."
"I do?" Casia said archly. "And why would that be?"
"Because there was an attack on SifCo about a week ago, and we need to talk about it."
Casia frowned. "What's there to talk about? Everyone knows about the SifCo attack already. We've been doing segments on it for days. I've exhausted all my sources in the matter."
"Yes yes," Ashwin said impatiently. "But you haven't done a segment on this. I was there, Miss Casia. I know exactly what happened. I could tell you all about it."
"You were there during the attack?" Casia asked, surprised.
"Uh-huh. From start to finish. And there's a video that'll be aired tonight by Viman Rai over at CXN that'll prove it too."
"What? How do you know all this?"
"My superiors in Zaini told me that a surveillance video from SifCo was leaked to the media. Apparently somebody had hacked into their systems or something like that. I don't know." And Casia believed that he didn't, in fact, know. He sounded so confused she almost took pity on him.
"Alright Ashwin, I believe you. But what exactly do you have to tell me about it?"
"I want people to know exactly what happened at SifCo. There's a lot of misconceptions floating around. And like you said, Miss Casia, if there's anybody that deserves to know about the threats facing this country, it is the people of this country. I just want to make sure that the people aren't kept in the dark any longer," he sounded so painfully sincere, Casia had the irrational urge to tell him that everything was going to be alright. She tamped down on it hard.
"You say all that now, but how do I know you won't bail on me again like you did on Emancipation Day?" she asked instead.
"Oh come on, Miss Casia," Ashwin began, and he sounded genuinely contrite, though still defensive. "The Senior Secretary of Defence ordered me to stop talking to the media. I am but a foreign emissary in this country, a rather insignificant one at that. What would you have had me do?"
Casia sighed. She knew this, of course, and she knew it was irrational to hold the Zainian responsible for what had happened. Still, it had stung at the time, and Casia had never had an easy time letting things go. Now wasn't the time for indecision, though. Forcing herself to look at the situation objectively, she said: "What do you have to offer me, my lord, that we don't already know about this incident?"
"Please don't call me that," Ashwin sounded plaintive. Casia sighed, waiting for him to continue. It was hard to hold a grudge against someone so willing to roll over. "And as for what you don't already know, Miss Casia," he said, some of the verve returning to his voice. "It wasn't just any old Aeriel that attacked SifCo. It was Tauheen."
Casia spluttered. "What? Th-that can't be. Those are just rumours. Baseless rumours."
"They are not. It's been kept out of the media so as not to alarm the public. Though personally, I don't think that's a very good idea, to keep the people in the dark. As I said, it's all there in the video. You'll see it yourself tonight."
"I won't have to wait that long," said Casia, steel in her voice. "I have friends at CXN, favours I can call in. I'll know what's on that video before it is aired. And Ashwin? Come over to the studio at around seven this evening. Viman's show airs at eight. I'll fit you in in the eight-thirty slot. People will have seen the video by then, so we can have an exclusive interview plus an in-depth analysis of the footage. It'll be quite the competition!" She was talking more to herself than to Ashwin now, the plan unfolding like a fully laid out chessboard in her mind. She pulled herself back from her musings and tried to focus on the conversation at hand. "Don't be late Ashwin, and you can say your piece to the nation."
Disconnecting the call, she strode back towards the studio. She needed to have a word with Jiniya.
***
Ruban entered the flat, latching the door behind him with a sigh of relief. It had been a long day. It seemed as though Aeriel activity was escalating all across the country, not just in the capital. Today itself, they had received reports of two attacks in the suburbs and some minor incidents in the National Capital Region surrounding Ragah. He was exhausted and he could feel a headache approaching, though in a way he supposed he was also grateful for the distraction. Today was the last day of the week, the last day he officially retained the SifCo case. On Monday, he'd have to hand it over to a new team put together by the IAW brass.
The thought of it made his blood boil and he wanted to slam his fist into the wall, just to relieve the festering feeling of utter helplessness. Still, the fact remained that he was, in fact, helpless in this matter. He couldn't even really blame Subhas. He knew the man was doing his best, and he understood – even if reluctantly – the compulsions of his uncle's position.
None of that made this easier, though. Ruban was self-aware enough to recognise that his aversion to the situation was caused as much by his wounded pride as a genuine sense of professional investment in the case. But still, he itched to storm into the IAW headquarters and give those damned paper-pushers a piece of his mind. He would have liked to see which one of them fared better in the situation that Ruban had been in: faced – with no warning whatsoever – with the Aeriel Queen herself; nothing but a standard-issue sifblade on his person and two civilians in the room, one of them unconscious.
Speaking of civilians, Ruban spared a moment to be thankful that Ashwin wasn't here now, having flittered off earlier in the evening to meet some 'friends' in the city. Ruban supposed he was going to the Zainian embassy, and let him go. If the young man had indeed had any malicious intent so far as the SifCo case was concerned, he had had ample opportunity to act on it by now. Besides, he thought bitterly, that case was no longer his responsibility, or his concern.
It was just as well. Ruban was in no mood for company and he didn't fancy losing his cool in front of the Zainian. He walked over to the kitchenette to fix himself a cup of coffee. God knew he needed caffeine to keep himself from passing out tonight, and he needed to stay up to deal with the deluge of cases that had suddenly landed on their laps over the past week.
An insistent knock on the door, followed quickly by another, louder one, tore him away from his thoughts. Putting his cup down on the counter, Ruban walked over to the sitting room and pulled the door open. Vikram Vaz stood on the other side of the threshold, breathing quickly as if he had just run a long distance, his eyes alight with excitement.
"Turn on the TV," Vikram said without preamble, pushing himself past Ruban and into the flat. He marched over to the outdated television set in the small living room and flicked on the main switch. "Where's the remote?"
"Wh-what? Vik, what on earth are you doing here? And what's with the TV? Have you lost it?" Ruban asked, flabbergasted.
Vikram laughed. "It's not me, my friend. The world has lost it. Turn on the TV and you'll see. You're the hero of Ragah once again. Hell, the Parliament attack had nothing on this. I'd be surprised if you received any less than a million marriage proposals this time. They'll be making movies about you after this." With that, Vikram finally managed to locate the remote under one of the sofa cushions and pressed the power button. The television flared to life.
"What are you saying, man? Stop talking in riddles and tell me what's going on," Ruban said irritably, making a grab for the remote. The other man dodged him – with more agility than Ruban would have expected from the academic. Apparently having a Hunter for a wife had taught him a few tricks after all – and pointed the remote at the TV again, flicking through the channels until he found the one he wanted.
The words died on Ruban's lips when his mind registered exactly what it was that he was seeing. The screen was split into two halves. On the left hand side was playing what looked like a pre-recorded video of poor quality, slightly hazy with bad lighting. On the right, Casia Washi was talking animatedly with Ashwin Kwan.
Looking closely, Ruban finally realised why the video seemed familiar. It was not that he had seen it ever before, it was that he was in it. Frame after frame of the fight at SifCo passed before his eyes: him killing the first Aeriel; Tauheen's arrival, her crimson-tipped wings flaring as she blasted half the wall off; him overpowered and pinned down by the Aeriel Queen as Ashwin swung the table at her; then Ruban's final attack upon the creature and Tauheen's escape. The scenes were blurry and ill-defined – security camera feed, he realised dimly – but there was no mistaking what was going on. Ruban was fighting the Aeriel Queen, and losing by a hair's breadth against impossible odds.
Eventually, the video concluded and the frame to the left disappeared, the panel on the right expanding to cover the entire screen. Through the ringing in his ears, Ruban caught snatches of the conversation between Washi and Ashwin:
"And you're sure it was Tauheen?" Washi was asking, and even through the haze in his mind Ruban could hear the raw curiosity in her voice.
"Yup," Ashwin said, his tone enthusiastic. "Even if it weren't for the markings on her wings, didn't you see the way she was moving? Not even Aeriels can move that fast; not normal ones anyway."
"Still, Ruban Kinoh put up an admirable fight, considering the circumstances…"
"Quite so," Ashwin nodded earnestly, looking at the camera with big, solemn eyes. "If it hadn't been for him, Dr. Visht and I would most certainly be dead. That Aeriel was so…scary." He shuddered visibly.
"You weren't so bad yourself," Washi smiled encouragingly at her companion. "You aided Mr. Kinoh when he was overpowered by Tauheen. That was very brave of you."
Ashwin dipped his head, a shy little smile on his lips. "I only did what I had to. Truth is, Mr. Kinoh was fighting impossible odds. We were wholly unprepared for the attack. No one has seen Tauheen in decades; nobody could have imagined she'd show up at SifCo of all places. All the help in the world wouldn't have made any difference that day." He shook his head from side to side, sighing resignedly.
"Do you not believe that this menace can be overcome, then?" Washi asked.
"Oh of course it can, but only with proper planning and preparation. Of course, Mr. Kinoh has already faced Tauheen once, and he almost got her then. I'm sure that given enough time to plan and prepare a strategy, with the necessary help from the government and the IAW, Mr. Kinoh will have no problems capturing the Aeriel Queen. There's nobody else who actually knows what it is to fight Tauheen face to face, and I cannot imagine anyone better suited to the task of overcoming this new menace." Ashwin's voice was so guilelessly sincere, Ruban almost believed it himself.
"There are rumours about the video having been leaked from Zaini…" Washi let the unspoken question hang in the air. Even through the pounding pain that had now spread throughout his skull, Ruban could appreciate her skill as an interviewer. She had said nothing, yet had implied everything in that one simple sentence.
"Oh, I wouldn't know about that. Clearly, whoever leaked that video was acting against the law – probably another one of the Aeriels' schemes to divide us in this time of crisis. The culprit must be brought to justice as soon as possible."
With a flick of his finger, Vikram turned off the television. "This has been going on for a couple of hours now. CXN first aired the video – apparently they'd received it through some anonymous source, though God only knows what source that is – and every channel's been playing it on a loop ever since. And then our boy Ashwin went on at Casia Washi's show and he's been gushing about your vaunted bravery for the past hour, live on national TV. I wouldn't be surprised if teenage girls were forming online fan clubs in your name as we speak," he chuckled.
Before Ruban could think of an appropriate response to that comment, his phone rang. Reaching almost blindly for the device, he pressed answer.
"Am I speaking to Mr. Ruban Kinoh, Chief Hunter, South Ragah Division?" the cool voice on the other end of the line asked. IAW, thought Ruban, his blood thrumming in his veins even as he answered in the affirmative. "The Director would like to speak with you, sir. Please wait while I put you through."
Ruban's breath caught in his throat. He had expected to be put through to his uncle. What on earth did the Director of the IAW want with him? Before he could think much more about it though, a hearty voice came through the line, drawing his attention to it.
"Ruban, my boy!" the Director said, his voice warm.
Ruban could count on one hand the number of times he had met the Director during his time as a Hunter, and the man had never struck him as being particularly congenial during those short encounters. "Sir?" he said, cautious.
"You have done a fantastic job, young man. Wonderful indeed! You've ensured the safety of this city and made the Hunter Corps proud to have you in its ranks. I had been meaning to tell you that in person this past week, but something always seemed to come up that needed my attention. You know how it is."
"Uh," said Ruban, not sure how he was expected to respond to that.
"Anyway," continued the Director, brushing aside whatever opinions Ruban might have had about his schedule. "What I called to say is this. If you need any assistance with this case, anything at all, money, men or anything else, feel free to talk to me directly, alright? All the resources of the IAW and the Centre will be at your disposal for the duration of this case. The safety of this city, this nation is paramount, and we are all relying upon you to ensure that it remains intact. Do not hesitate to ask for whatever you need to capture Tauheen and bring her to justice. This is now our first priority. I have every faith in you, Ruban. I know you can do it, if anyone can."
"Yes sir. Of course," Ruban said slowly. He held the phone to his ear for a few more minutes as the Director continued to speak, his tone oddly intimate. Finally, the line went dead, and Ruban threw the phone onto the sofa, sitting heavily down beside it.
"I don't understand," he said at length, turning to Vikram after he had had a moment to digest it all. He still felt rather shaken. "There was a leak – a security breach at SifCo. Or at the IAW, for that matter. How does nobody seem to have noticed that?"
Vikram laughed. "Oh come on, Ruban. You know what this is as well as I do. The city's being swept by a media storm, and you're at the centre of it all. And for once, it seems to be going in our favour. Don't look so glum. This is your own personal manna, the opportunity you've been waiting for all week. Nobody cares what really happened or how; what matters is what the public thinks happened. And at least for now, they seem to think you're a grand fucking hero! Not even the Prime Minister himself could take the SifCo case away from you now."
***
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