The Hundred Gram Mission (31 page)

"You think it is a failure because you have seen so little. I have been fighting since I was twelve years old.  I have seen failure, and you do not look like it."

Kareem studied the horizon.

"It is strange, being in Pakistan."

"Strange to be right where the fight is?"  The old man smiled. "Did you think it was one big war zone?"

"Not really. But it seems that way sometimes, from what we would hear."

"This has been a war zone for 75 years.  Children grow up.  People get married.  They grow old and die. In my father's time, the wrecks we played in were Russian tanks.  My sons played in American ones. The new wrecks are all Chinese."

"How you Pashtuns have managed is incredible."

"The gadgets your group gave ours have always been a big help. The medical printers, the solar-powered water condensers, the self-guiding bullet designs." He cleared his throat. "I am sorry for how it happened, but it is good for you and for your group to be out here. To be
really
fighting.  Not making gadgets underground and answering emails."

Kareem frowned. "You didn’t think we were fighting?"

"No."

The two said nothing for a while, and watched the sunrise over the sand gray mountains.

"What will you do now?" Asked the old Jihadi.

"Up there," Kareem pointed at the sky. "We have a weapon. On the orbital station, E2."

"A bomb?"

"In a sense. More like a plague."

"Plagues are messy."

"That's why we don't want to unleash it down here.  We used a simpler version in Yemen to help destroy the American drones.  What we have in space can do so much more."

"You are going to trigger it?"

"Yes, I will.  It is an important weapons test, and retaliation for America's attack on us. It will also be good for my people’s morale when we to take responsibility. The Americans will think twice about attacking us again, for fear we'll use it on them."

"It sounds like it is a quite a big bomb."

"It is, but it starts from the smallest of sand grains. Then it grows, making more and more of itself."

"Sand grains," he shook his head. "You do not want to look at your enemy’s face when you shoot him?"

"The Americans don't look at ours when they drop their bombs."

The Jihadi seemed to accept that.

"You and your people are always welcome here, stay as long as you like."

"Thank you. We may need to be here for some time."

"It will be good for your people, we can teach you a lot. How to fight. Different from how you have been doing all this time."

"Not like sitting underground and sending emails?"

"Yes, different from that."

"Today, I am going to be sending an email. Just one. Tomorrow, let us see what you have to say about how we fight."

Suyin Lee, V

"Glavnaya,"UNHCR Orbital E2, High Earth Orbit  

"It’s like we're on a giant hamster wheel, with glass panes glued on either side. Wow. Why is there so much glass? I never got used to that, the last time."

Her boots crushed daisies with each step. She could not feel the spin, but she could see it. Outside through the hamlet-sized window, the Earth was spinning. Through the window opposite, the sun burned as hard as summer.

"The spinning still bothers me," She pointed at the Earth.

"So don't look," said Meng. Behind him were gengineered wheat fields. They surrounded rustic houses made from asteroid brick. Microgravity-fattened birds dipped down to sieve the reservoir for food. Old men sat in fishing boats, smoking, bare chested, and bored. Children screamed and splashed on a shore younger than them.

"Just try to focus elsewhere. You'll get used to it."

"I can’t stop. Did you know that the glass is two meters thick?"

"Two meters thick where it connects with the hull. Towards the center," he pointed, "It goes down to just a meter."

"That's still quite thick. It’s graphene reinforced, So I don't understand why."

"It
needs
to be thick. That's leaded glass, it's keeping out the radiation. At High Earth Orbit you can't rely on the magnetosphere."

The Call to Prayer came from the mosque. It was right across the wheeled space station - half a kilometer by air. Diamondoid struts spanned the station's spokes on the giant wheel. People walked them like rope ladders across canyons.

"It seems silly to me. Why not just cover the station in regolith?" Suyin persisted. "Then they could have just mounted solar panels outside, and put artificial lights, inside. Easier - and cheaper.  Isn't that the whole point with these refugee stations? They don't need to be nice, they need to be cost effective. Take that lake for instance. I love it, it's the nicest lake I've ever swam in. But why did they build a freaking lake?"

"It's not just to look pretty," said Meng. "The water serves as a heat sink, It helps to keep the interior from quickly becoming too hot or too cold. And underneath is an emergency radiation shelter. The water acts as additional shielding. Those giant windows," he pointed, "Are a much easier solution than converting sunlight into electricity and then back into light. Which, by the way, is actually incredibly inefficient."

"Do you study this stuff for fun?"

"Actually, it was in the tourist brochure."

Suyin scowled at him. Meng shrugged.

"Let's get on with the mission," she started walking back to the path. Their ride was a Russian golf cart with a BBC English accent. It would not start until they both had their seatbelts on.

"Get me to the Constabulary," Suyin told it.

Presently, an annoyed looking Russian man appeared on the golf cart’s main screen.

"Yes?"

"I am sorry to disturb you Mr. Sukhov, but do you have any news on our request for surveillance approval?"

"It still has to go through Geneva. The UNHCR has jurisdiction. They will probably want to run it through Interpol. Then it will need to go to a judge."

"But shouldn't this be a Russian decision? E2 is Russian built and Russian property. That's how it was five years ago."

"That was five years ago. Madam, the UNHCR has jurisdiction. It's only 3am over there right now. You will have to wait."

"Well, then - "

The screen went dead.

"How very rude!"

"Government workers," said Meng.

"Fuck it. There's only a thousand people on this station, We can learn whatever we need to, the old-fashioned way."

"Hitting people?" Meng looked uncomfortable.

"No, asking them!"

"This is a small town and we are outsiders. They're Uighers, They definitely won't want to talk to us."

"I worked with some informants when I was here last. There's one I can still go back to."

"He’s still reliable?"

"
She
."

The farmer went rolling onto the gravel. He groaned and tried to get up, then slumped back down.

"That's right," A gray-haired woman in an apron dusted her hands, scowling at him. "You want to drink here? You learn how to behave."

The farmer swore, got to his feet, and limped away. In the open verandah tea house, men turned back to their drinks and dice.

Meng and Suyin exchanged looks. The short old lady shifted her scowl to Suyin.

"Hello Arzu," Suyin smiled broadly.

"Hmph! You again," The old lady turned and went back inside.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Meng.

"Of course. Let’s have some tea."

They sat down at an open table. People stared at them, none of their expressions were friendly.

"It doesn't smell like anyone’s having tea," said Meng.

"It's not tea that she brews."

The old lady returned with a pitcher and two, chipped, tea cups. She poured them each half a cup. Meng sniffed his and almost gagged.

"Too strong for you?" Arzu asked.

"No, no, just - unexpected."

She smiled with brown peg teeth.

"Won't the Constabulary shut you down?" asked Suyin sipping from her own cup. They spoke in Mandarin and drew more stares.

"Three times," she held up the fingers. "Always, I build a new still. I can always find the parts: some copper tubing, a plastic barrel, a buried line I can tap for power. Everyone wants to drink. Even some constables - they pretend not to know me whenever anyone else is around."

"You are operating openly," said Meng. "Have you set up an arrangement with the constabulary?"

"No," she shook her covered head. "They’ve given up.  And if they shut me down, I will just start again, like I always do.  Like in Xinjiang."

"You ran a still in Xinjiang?" asked Suyin. "I didn't know that."

"Once. It needed too much water, and I could not afford the bribes. It was better than farming though. You always had to start again in Xinjiang."

"You were a farmer?" asked Meng, the 'tea' was growing on him.

She shook her head this way and that. "I was whatever I needed to be. I worked on my parents’ field till the desert took it. Then my husband's field until the desert took that. Then some potatoes in a refugee camp. I couldn't get the water for them though. The aid workers didn't want us growing our own food."

"Why not?"

"Because then we wouldn’t need the aid workers. So instead, I starting using my tent to catch mist. I would freeze in the nights, but in the mornings I had water to sell. You always find something. You can always keep going." eyes prematurely aged, winked.

"We need your help Arzu, but I don't think we should talk here," said Suyin.

"It's all right Colonel," she replied.  "Nobody cares anymore if I talk to Chinese intelligence officers."

"Are you sure about that? Don't put yourself in danger."

Arzu scowled again. "Not all Muslims are terrorists, Colonel. And there are no terrorists in this village."

"We have good reason to believe that there are."

"I would know about them. Up here, I know everything about everyone. There are only a thousand of us."

"Then maybe, they're people who don’t realize what they are getting into. Can you help us find those people?"

"Yes. But you might find that describes most people, here. Look at where we ended up."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The madrassa was in a prefab hall next to the village mosque. All the buildings in the village center were prefabs. A grant winning, Icelandic architecture firm designed them. Legitimacy came from a focus group of bewildered but charmingly diverse natives. Their bid was selected in the end by white privilege-free, random lottery.

The self-repairing streets were clean: school children hunted and stabbed refuse with sticks. They wore reflective vests, and dragged yellow, bio-plastic, trash bags. Electric tractors bounced by, pulling trailers of produce and top soil (E2's prime exports). Their drivers stared as they passed the outsiders, unsmiling. A (somehow) stray dog slept on the steps. It looked up seeing the visitors, then stretched and wagged its tail.

"Come on Tohti," Arzu wagged her finger. "You can say more, you are the most outspoken student here. These nice people came all the way from Earth to hear what you have to say."

"There is nothing to say," said the young man, stiffly. He wore a prayer cap, his beard was long and thick. "I have not heard or seen anything. We are all good Moslems here; we don't want to create trouble. We are all very grateful to be here. No one wants to be sent back down."

"No one is going to deport you," said Suyin holding up her hand. "That's not our job, and we are here to help and protect this community. With what you know, we can help protect all of you."

"Madam, our students study the Quran. We have no extremists here."

"
Anangni sikey!
[lxvi]
You are the number one extremist!"

"How dare you speak to me like that!"

"None of the girls want young, handsome, Tohti Kusen here," Arzu scorned gleefully. "Do you know why? Because he'll make them cover their heads, and lock them away where other men can't see them. To protect them, of course - "

"I like how proud you are, of how little you know about your own religion."

" - So he is on the Internet for hours and hours, talking to good, obedient, Moslem girls."

"What?" Suyin asked. She and Meng shared a look. 

"So?" Tohti glared.

"These girls, do you talk to them through video, or do you just message?" she asked.

"What business is that of yours?"

"
Do you do video, or do you just message?
"

"I - we message."

"Only messaging?"