Jonah’s Env, Unit A, 20th Floor, Woodlands Envplex, Woodlands, New Singapore
Friday, 27 December 2109, 8:45am +8 UTC
I woke up lying face down on the sleeper in my Env in Woodlands. A shaft of sun streamed through the window. With one eye open I saw the rose lying on the pillow next to me, and I smiled. I turned my head the other way and looked at the Dev beside the sleeper. 8:45am.
I turned over on my back and scooted my backside up so that I could rest against the wall of the Env. It had changed a lot in the last two weeks since being occupied by Mariko. Books, paper books were piled in stacks around the room.
“Our library,” she had said, as if it were obvious that we needed paper books when we could read them on a Devstick. “A Devscreen with all the titles of the books you have on your Devstick just doesn’t have the same meaning as seeing the spines of real books,” she’d continued as we returned from another visit to the second hand book store on Orchard, near the Hyatt VacEnv. And she was right. I found myself absorbed in the feel of a book in my hands. So different from reading them on the Devstick. It is strange that although paper is such a low-tech medium, it allows for a far more random relationship with the data than a Devstick. What could be more random than laying books on the grass and allowing the breeze to select what you will read? You can’t do that with a Devstick.
Apart from the rose, she had also bought croissants from the French bakery on ground level, three blocks down from my Env, and started the coffee pot. Another new vice that I’d acquired — but then I’d lost a couple as well so maybe I was ahead of the game. Thinking about her I knew I was ahead of the game.
Since that day when we’d returned from the Lev port at Changi and she’d insisted on bringing me back to my Env, I was embarrassed at being that affected by the alky, and she had laughed it away, stripped my outers off me and pushed me into the outlet. I’d showered and felt clean and when I came out of the outlet she’d put new sheets on the sleeper and folded it back for me to crash on. She’d been sitting on the sleeper and patted the empty space exposed by the folded sheet. I’d walked over and laid down. She’d brushed the hair off my forehead and out of my eyes. No one had ever done that before. And it was a first of firsts. I’d fallen into a deep sleep, waking later to see her in the sleeper beside me, her arm over my stomach.
That was fourteen days ago now. I swung my legs out of the sleeper and walked across the padded floor of the Env to the outlet near the door. I took a seat on the recycler and tapped the Devscreen set into the wall opposite. Keeping myself on silent, I hit the menu for my data stream and, with my elbows on my knees and my chin resting on my knuckles, watched the screen. Mariko would be back at 2pm and then we’d go. I rubbed my unshaven jaw. It was unfamiliar to feel the stubble against my fingers, but since I’d resigned from my contribution at Coughington and Scuttle, a lot of things felt unfamiliar to me. I liked the feeling. It felt like I had gotten off a treadmill.
Finished, I pressed a button on the side of the recycler and a blast of ice cold water hit me full force. I yelped and jumped up, the water immediately cutting off. Mariko, I thought, and laughed. She had set the temp to manual and turned it to an icy three degrees Cel. She had a nasty sense of humor. I would have to think up something in return.
I reset the switch on the recycler to automatic and sat back down. A sec later the water, now warm, sprayed and cleaned me. I rose and entered the shower cubicle, but as I did so a new direct datafeed on the Dev caught my eye. It was from my uncle. I hadn’t told him of my decision to quit Coughington and Scuttle, nor of my decision to quit the pro bono work at UNPOL. I had just done it. I had acquired enough self-leave, and as a partner I could leave when I wanted, so I had quit within a week after returning to Earth. After that I had spent all of my time with Mariko when she wasn’t contributing. The rest of my time I’d spent reading and writing. I had never been happier.
I tapped the Dev and saw that my uncle had invited me to lunch at the UNPOL Executive Club located on the Topside of the UNPOL Complex. I thought about replying, and then decided I’d take a shower first, and shave. I checked that the switch of the shower was set on auto and that the temp was set at thirty cel. It was. She hadn’t booby trapped the shower as well as the recycler, and while I showered I occupied my mind thinking of how I would pay her back for her prank.
Coming out of the shower, I stepped into the dryer and the warm air blasted the water off my body, sanitizing at the same time. Once out of the dryer I looked at myself in the mirror that ran above the counter of the outlet. A single wash basin occupied the counter along with my shaver. I ran a hand over my jaw. I hadn’t planned on shaving today, however I hadn’t planned on the lunch with my uncle either, and now both were things I had to do.
I studied myself in the mirror. I hadn’t really paid any attention to what I looked like before, but Mariko had touched me in so many little ways and this was one of them. I wanted to look good for her. There were wrinkles at the corner of my blue green eyes. I could have them disappear with a little regen but I thought they suited the tanned face they were in. My light brown hair was long, longer than it had ever been. I hadn’t had it cut or styled in over three months. Usually I’d had it done once a month, to a level above the collar on my outers.
I am of average height at one hundred and eighty-six cents and slim, weighing in at seventy-nine kilogs. My shoulders are slightly stooped and I have to remind myself to stand up straight all the time. Mariko said that the rounded shoulders came from me thinking so much with my jaw resting in the palm of my hand. An image that conjured up another image, that of the runner who had called himself Jibril and who had disappeared. I picked up the shaver and ran it over my face, its wide laser removing my facial hair without a touch. The skin underneath was a slightly whiter shade than the rest of my face, but nothing that a casual observer would notice. Sir Thomas will notice, I thought, and I ran my hand again over my chin, leaning forward across the counter to be nearer the mirror, checking for any missed spots. I didn’t find any and thought ruefully of how nervous meeting my uncle made me. That had never changed. My uncle still inspired a childish fear in me, the fear that I had done wrong and was now going to be held accountable.
I exited the outlet and went back into the main room, threading my way between the containers that held mine and Mariko’s sparse belongings. Outers and inners mainly, but hers also held a collection of images of family and friends in image frames, plus objects gathered on her travels. When she had first moved into my Env, and we had collected her belongings from the EnvDorm on Orchard, I was surprised at the amount of baggage she had with her. Just as she was surprised when, the day after they’d returned from the Moon, she’d asked me how long I had been in the Env. When I’d told her four years, she had gone wide-eyed.
“Four years!” she’d exclaimed. “There’s nothing in here at all. It looks like a VacEnv.” And she was right. It did look like a VacEnv — there was nothing to show that the Env was mine, nothing except my Dev and my clothes.
There were two empty containers that sat on the floor nearest the shelves that contained our outers and inners. I was supposed to pack those and then this afternoon when she returned from the UNPOL Complex we would pack the car that was arriving at 3pm and set off for our new Env on the beach in Kampung Tanjung Sisik.
I walked across to the shelves that held my remaining unpacked inners and outers, and putting on my inners, leafed through the outers on the shelf. I decided to go and cred some new outers. I dressed quickly, poured myself a half cup of coffee from the pot that Mariko had put on earlier that morning, and took a gulp, putting the cup back down. Grabbing my Devstick off the sleeper side table, I walked to the door of my env and said, “Leaving.”
I turned right, heading the sixty meters down the corridor to the Lev port. I’d been lucky to get the Env on the twentieth level, but now the plastic walls hemmed me in and I couldn’t wait for that moment when I informed the Env Dev that I was leaving permanently. The molded Env with its smooth one piece cream interior just didn’t seem like the place to be anymore, and I thought of the work that needed to be done on the beach house. I was looking forward to the work, it would be fun to do, and I hadn’t had much fun my life.
The Lev was on level eighty-two but descending rapidly and I called up a map on my Devstick, saying, “Walkys to men’s outers and clothing shops, Johor.” The new shop space, ‘Credabiliti’ in Johor featured as the address for over fifty of the top one hundred listings, so I decided I would go there. The Lev arrived and I stepped in. It was just after nine, past the time for the half morning shift to have already arrived at their contribution, and apart from a woman with a baby strapped to her chest, the Lev was empty.
The woman smiled at me. Smiling back I said, “Ground level please.” You didn’t have to be polite to a Dev, but it’s a small thing to say please.
The woman with the baby got out on Level Ten, probably going to the mothers’ and babies’ center within the complex. The Lev door cut off the sounds of children’s happy shouts and resumed its journey. It was one of the older models from Otis, and hadn’t been upgraded, but then that was one of reasons that the Env was a low cred Envplex.
The Lev finally reached ground level. I stepped out into the ground floor of my Envplex. The door to outside was about one hundred meters straight ahead. I didn’t bother with the directional lights in the rubberized walkway as I already knew the way. I had trod this path over fifteen hundred times in the past four years.
I strolled along a walkway lined with Angsana trees, each keeping the path in shade when it was sunny. Overcast as it was now, the trees still seemed to provide some respite from the humidity, and seeing the lights take a left turn over a grassy hill with a fountain on its crest, I followed the path into the shopping center named Credibiliti. It was here that I could find that shop to get some outers for the meeting with my uncle.
Credibiliti had only been completely finished six months ago, but it was already full and had a waiting list for retail shop space that ran into the hundreds. Even at this early hour it was packed, but then inside and under its roof, time had little meaning. It could be any time day or night and Credibiliti would be packed.
I stopped walking and took a look around to get my bearings. I had entered at the northern end of the shop space and the clothier’s shop that I wanted was in the middle.
I followed the lights and a short while later reached the shop I had selected on my Devstick, ‘Smooth — finest men’s clothing’ said the sign above the door.
The door opened and, as I entered, the noise level from outside was immediately cut to a minimum. The shop was minimalist in design — white, dark grey with full-length image screens set into the walls in undulating curves, providing a chromium finish when not in use as now. The shop staffer rose from where she was sitting at a glass table with a black matte iDev positioned exactly in its center. It looked like it had never been used.
She took in my attire with a glance, looked like she had made her mind up about something and said, “Good morning, sir. How can I help you?”
I smiled at her. She was an attractive woman of Chinese origin, slender and tall, perhaps as tall as one hundred and seventy-five cents. Her pale angular face was highlighted with a gold blush under her cheekbones and her lips accented with a lighter gold.
She looks good: sophisticated, expensive, much like the shop, I thought. I said, “I’d like to get some new outers, something for formal occasions, and a couple of others for smart-casual occasions.”
Smiling, she walked over to where I was standing and took my arm. She led me to a black circle about a meter in diameter. “Please stand naturally as we take your measurements,” and stepping back she pressed a button on the Devstick in her right hand. My body was crisscrossed with thousands of thin beams of rose-colored light that turned off as quickly as they’d come on. Taking my arm again she led me over to an unfinished but smooth stone bench and, indicating that I should sit with a gesture of her hand, sat down beside me on my left side.
A bench rose from the floor in front of us and then extended itself and opened in two. The top withdrew to reveal cloth of a myriad of colors made from natural fabrics inside. I reached out with my right hand, leaving my Devstick on the bench beside me and felt the cloth nearest me.
“That’s Thai silk,” she said. “Do you have a favorite color?”
“No,” I said with a chuckle as I thought about it and realized I didn’t, “but for the formal wear I was thinking of something in a darker shade and more matte. This is a bit too shiny.”
The woman looked quickly down the row of cloth and, pressing a button on her Devstick, the conveyor moved swiftly forward and stopped with a selection of dark cloth in front of me. A dark grey material with a very thin, almost invisible, line of scarlet red running through it caught my eye. I reached out to feel it with my thumb and forefinger, rubbing the cloth between them.
“This feels nice,” I said.
She smiled and said, “Good choice. This particular cashmere comes from Gobi in Mongolia, and as you can see it has this very thin silk thread running through it.”
“How long does it take you to get everything together?”
Her eyes squinted slightly and her forehead creased. “About forty-five minutes.”
“Great, I’d like this cloth for the formal outers and what about something really comfortable to relax in? Something that will keep me warm on a tropical night, but cool in the day. Do you have that sort of thing?”
She smiled and leaned over, taking out the bolt of cloth and putting it on the stone bench beside her. She sat straight-backed and her movements were efficient. Turning to me she said, “We’ve just got a new cloth in and it is exactly what you are looking for.” She reached and pressed the button on the cloth conveyor again and the bolts moved in a quiet hum. “This is AC, short for ambient cloth. It takes on different thickness according to the ambient temperature. It’s very expensive,” as she said this she arched an eyebrow and looked me straight in eye.
She’s in her element, I thought, and smiled in return. “Well,” I said, leaning forward and feeling the cloth. I turned, put my elbow on my knee, and cupped my chin in my hand. “Well, even though I might be a pauper when I walk out of here, I simply must have it.” I spoke in the voice of a young flick star batting my eyelids at her at the same time.
“Can I ask you a personal question, and it has nothing to do with my selection?” she asked.
“Sure, go for it,” and I smiled knowing what was coming.
“Are you in a committed relationship right now?”
I’d been right. “Yes, I am. Does it show?” And I gave her an innocent grin, looking at her under hooded eyelids with the grin playing around my lips but not breaking out fully. “But you can be sure that should the day come when I am not in a committed relationship — and I have to say I hope that day never comes — but should it, then the first thing I am going to do is come back to see you and cred some new outers.”
She burst out with a laugh and turned back to the input, concentrating hard on the Devscreen in front of her. The intensity of her look could have been professional focus, but I suspected it was more a shield to hide the sudden jolt of loneliness I had seen in her eyes.
I went and stood next to her and leaned in close, our arms touching. It was closer than socially acceptable for two people who did not know each other, but I reasoned that we had communicated more in the last five minutes than some people do in years. She stepped back from the Dev and swung her arm in an arc, the palm of her hand slightly tilted and pointing to the black circle where I had been measured. With a shake of her head, a little blink of her eyes, and a soft smile, she said, “There. What do you think?”
My image was facing me wearing a combination of the cashmere and the AC.
“That’s the formal — short collar, cuffed with five black pearl buttons on each cuff, and a single black cut palladium button. More on that later, as you can see.” As she said this the image spun around to show the back. “I have kept the single silk red threads in the back and one running down the inside of each sleeve. The AC inner outer, is set for white, but you can change its ambience to a more subtle burgundy or a midnight blue, depending on the mood or occasion.” The image changed. “For casual, I’ve gone with AC throughout and as you can see I’ve included inners for your extremities as well.”
“And the palladium button?”
“Ah yes, sorry.” She smiled, back in form now, in her element. “That controls the height of the collar and the width of the lapel. It allows for greater configuration of the top outers, say if you’re going to a slightly less formal event. But if you still have a need to perform then you can adjust.”
“So am I going to be a pauper?”
She smiled wider, her nose scrunching up in a cute way, flicked her eyes down to the corner of the iDev sitting on the glass table and said, “Most probably.”
Two hours later, I walked slowly up the steps of the UNPOL Executive Club on the Topside of the UNPOL Complex. Security was discreet but heavy due to its patrons, and I guessed because of the recent terrorist attacks. A hard-looking young man gave me a nod as I passed through the entrance. Firearms were rarely seen, so it was a shock to see one riding casually on the right breast of the UNPOL staffer. Another rarely-seen item, upon an old wooden desk next to the entrance to the club, was the sign-in book with a pen lying in the crease between the pages guarded by an old Chinese man wearing a white outer top and black trousers. He bent slightly at the waist as I approached.
“Good afternoon, sir. You must be Jonah Oliver. Please follow me, sir — the Director only arrived moments ago and informed me that you would be joining him for lunch.” The man turned and walked through the three meter high double doors of dark varnished mahogany, across the black and white polished granite floor into the restaurant. The domed white interior of the ceiling soared above me and, belying the stern entrance, the interior was light, spacious and alive with green palm trees and other foliage. It had the essence of a summer park.
The maitre d’ led me to an alcove corner hidden from the main door by a golden palm in the shape of a fan. I saw my uncle sitting at a table next to the window preparing to place the white linen napkin on his lap. Sir Thomas looked up, his head suddenly jerking back, and dropped the napkin on the floor as I, dressed in my new formal, walked around the palm. Sir Thomas rose, ignoring the fallen napkin, and came around the table to greet me, his hand held out in front of him. The Chinese maitre d’ recovered the napkin with a quick swoop as my uncle shook hands formally with me. The maitre d’ then peeled off, and with a smile and a little nod at me, walked backed to his guard post at the entrance.
“Jonah, so very good of you to come and join me. Sorry for the short notice, but I will be leaving New Singapore soon and I wanted to catch up with you before I left. Come, come, sit down and tell me all about what you have been up to.”
Saying this, my uncle led me over to the table and, rejoining his seat, waved at the opposite one for me. I sat with my hands in my lap, straight-backed, and waited for my uncle to continue.
“Well it’s been quite some time since we had the chance to have a good chat, hasn’t it? Why, I think the last time we met was over that troublesome mess with that runner, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Uncle,” I said, and smiled, but wondered inwardly if he was going to ask me about my trip to the Moon. Instead he picked up the menu and smiled at me. Everything in here was old-fashioned, I thought. Paper menus, wooden tables, even my uncle, it all creates an illusion of the past.
“So Jonah, would you like an alky? As I understand that you have left your contribution, it shouldn’t corrupt your thoughts too much, I hope?”
“No, Sir Thomas. I mean yes, I would like an alky, and no it won’t corrupt my thoughts too much.”
The Chinese maitre d’ appeared again, this time with a napkin folded over his arm which was across his stomach.
“Charles, I’ll have a single malt. Make it a double.”
The maitre d’, who I now knew was called Charles, turned his head, his body remaining perfectly still. For a brief sec, I wondered if Charles was a Servbot and almost laughed out loud at the thought.
“I’ll just have a beer, thanks.”
“Would you like our draft or bottled beer, sir?”
“The draft would be fine, thank you.”
Sir Thomas leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hand together with his forearms on the table, tilting his balding, short cropped grey haired head towards me, and softly chided in a voice that evoked a hundred memories, “You could have told me of your decision to quit your contribution. It was a little embarrassing finding out from Bill that you had decided to move on, hmm?”
“Yes, Sir Thomas, that was thoughtless of me. Please do accept my deepest apologies,” I said, tilting my head forward in slight formal bow.
Sir Thomas gave me straight hard look, and then his eyes softened and he smiled, “Apology accepted, and please accept mine for also not informing you of my resignation.” Sir Thomas’s smile turned into a grin, the horizontal slash set in the Moon-white round face turning up slightly as he registered the shock on my face.
“Resignation? Are you retiring, Uncle?”
Sir Thomas straightened fully in his seat, the grin disappearing to be replaced by his stone look. “Hah! Me retire? No, far from it — I will be busier than ever. The only time I’ll retire is when my work is done, and that shall be after I expire.”
“Yes, of course, uncle. Forgive me for the foolish suggestion,” I said with just a little trace of sarcasm in my voice. It brought a different kind of grin to my uncle’s face. This one more competitive in nature and accompanied by another hard stare.
“So if you’re not retiring, what are your plans?”
“I’m moving on from UNPOL, that’s for sure. As for other plans? Well, I have a few irons in the fire, shall we say. And what are your plans, Jonah?”
I waited before answering as Charles came back with our alkys balanced on a silver tray. He placed the single malt within reach of Sir Thomas’s left hand. Coming around the table, he set the tall, frosted schooner glass at my right hand. He also placed a menu on the white table cloth in front of me, and departed with a slight bow of the waist, his arm providing a fulcrum.
“I really don’t have any plans. I was just not happy doing what I was doing. It wasn’t my calling. You could say that it was an impulsive decision.” On saying this I picked up the frosted schooner and brought it to my lips. Sir Thomas raised his drink with his left hand in my direction and I pushed the schooner out from my lips in response, toasting him. Forestalling the need to say anything more about my plans or the lack of them, I picked up the stiff white card menu and started reading. Sir Thomas gave me a look with a quirky uplift of one corner of his mouth and also picked up the menu.
Charles appeared back at the side of our table. He moved silently. I hadn’t noticed him until he came into my peripheral vision. He must wear very soft-soled footwear, I thought, not looking up from the menu. Sir Thomas cleared his throat, a harsh rasping sound, and turned his head to Charles, passing him the menu at the same time.
“I’ll have the chicken with the gruyere sauce, and the lobster bisque to start.”
Charles turned to me. “And I’ll have the stuffed aubergine and the salmon,” and also handed over my menu.
Sir Thomas sat back from the table with both of his hands resting on its edge and regarded me with an appraising eye. He brought his drink up and took a sip. He didn’t say anything, just looked at me with a slight smile twitching around the corner of his mouth. But his eyes, while not cold, were not warm neither, and I felt compelled to add to my previous statement.
“Uncle, I do appreciate the support you gave me to achieve that contribution, and I believe that I contributed well in the four years I was there. I’m thirty-four. This feels like a good time to take stock and plan what I should do next. I’d like to start my next contribution when I’m ready, maybe after my thirty-fifth birthday. Give myself a good seven months of contemplation time.”
Sir Thomas responded with a series of curt nods at each of my assertions. I wasn’t sure if this meant that he had merely heard, understood or agreed with what I was saying but chose the last as the most preferable outcome. I took another long draught of my beer, inviting my uncle to fill the void between us with words. He’d already won the ‘who would speak first’ competition and I didn’t want a second round.
It seemed however that my uncle was in a good mood, and after another sip of his malt, he said, “Actually I think your resignation is a good thing, and your decision of taking time to plan your next move, a sound one. I have had very similar thoughts, but in a different context of course. I am seventy-five, well past the age that one usually continues to contribute, but as I pass the fitness, health and mental tests for my position each year UNPOL has seen fit to allow me to retain a post of some significance and influence. But the time has come to pass that mantle to other hands. Unlike you, I have a concrete idea of what I will do next. However I will take some self-time before I start to fully plan what that will be.”
“What is it that you will be doing, Uncle?” My talks with Sir Thomas had always been formal. As long as I could remember, he had never encouraged familiarity. I was surprised that he was talking to me in this confidante way, and felt a little unease at the conversation.
Sir Thomas formed a steeple with his hands and spoke without expression. “In the last few years of my tenure at UNPOL, I have seen many changes in society. Some good and some, in my opinion, bad. You attain a certain perspective on what the world really needs when you reach my age. The question of life becomes less important than the question of death and what your legacy will be. Some are content to wind down, to hand over the reins and enter the receiving part of their contribution. Others of us feel that our experience and knowledge should be further contributed. In short, I have decided to devote my entire time to running the Oliver Foundation, hands on, providing guidance and direction for the orphans it sponsors.”
“I see. Well congratulations, Uncle. When will you officially resign your post at UNPOL?”
“Not until I’ve caught the terrorists that blasted Paris and New Manhattan.” As he said this he stabbed the air with his knife. I steered the conversation back to calmer waters.
“So, will you be returning to the England Geographic?” I asked: the headquarters of the Oliver Foundation had long been established in London.
“Good God, no. Miserable place, terrible weather and not a palm tree in sight. No, I’ll be moving the foundation’s headquarters to New Singapore. Already got a nice complex picked out in the SingCom Building.”
“Congratulations,” I said, raising my Schooner and smiling.
Sir Thomas raised his single malt again. Smacking his lips at the taste, he said, “I plan to announce my resignation on the global feeds next Tuesday and that I’ll stay on until I’ve caught these terrorists. When I hand over the bridge it will be when the ship is in smooth waters and safe seas.”
“Tuesday evening is New Year’s eve,” I said, and turned to see Charles wheeling a silver trolley to our table.
An efficient disbursement of cutlery and food later, Sir Thomas, face tilted down, dipping a chunk of crusted bread into his lobster bisque, said in a much less formal tone, “Yes, New Year’s eve. My resignation is my New Year’s gift to the children of the foundation.”
My mind flashed an image of Sir Thomas making his resignation speech, under a spotlight, a redundant mic in front of him to tell the masses he was making a speech. A somber tone, humble, thanks for the years of civic duty, and then he would switch to ‘good ole Uncle Tom’.
Sir Thomas leveled a spoon of bisque into his mouth, swallowed, and said casually, “After the announcement I’ll be having a small gathering of close friends and associates over to the Penthouse. I’d like it if you were there.”
I sawed through a piece of stuffed aubergine and pesto sauce. It really was very tasty so my concentration on cutting gave me a few seconds to formulate my reply.
“I’m sorry, Uncle. I’ve made plans for New Year and I can’t change them.” I popped the piece of aubergine into my mouth so that I’d have time to think up a reply to whatever my uncle’s response was going to be.
Sir Thomas didn’t say anything. Sitting straight-backed in the comfortable chair, lifting the spoon to his mouth with almost mechanical precision, he ate his bisque without expression. He waited out my aubergine chewing.
I looked Sir Thomas directly in the eyes and placed my hands on the side of my plate, my knife and fork at the salute angle. “Uncle, I understand that this is a big occasion for you, but I’ve met a woman and it will be our first New Year’s eve. I had planned on making it a special one for her.”
Sir Thomas set his spoon down into the now empty bowl and reached for the single malt with the same left hand. This method of eating always left his stabbing hand free to reach for the carbon fiber stiletto sheathed under his left armpit.
“By woman I assume you mean Mariko?”
I was somewhat, but not really surprised, that he knew of my relationship with Mariko. My uncle had often let me know in subtle ways that he kept tabs on what I was doing. Of course this time he was hardly being subtle about it. Well two can play at that game I thought.
“Yes, Mariko. Does UNPOL have a problem with that?”
He deflected my barb at his prying with a tight grin, saying, “No, of course not, Jonah. Happy to see that you have found someone that you’re happy with. Fine girl, our Mariko.”
I felt a hot flush of anger, as he said, ‘our girl’, but held it down and didn’t say anything. I didn’t trust my voice not to betray my feelings. Sir Thomas continued.
“Look never mind. Perhaps the two of you could visit me after the New Year and I can have a good look at this young lady who has so charmed you, eh?”
“Yes, Uncle, that would be nice. Only it might be some time. You see I’m moving out of New Singapore. I’m staying in the region though as I’m going to have to find some way to contribute, and New Singapore is the financial center of the region. But I am moving out to Sisik — I want to get out of the metropolis and I’ve found a new Env in Sisik. Do you know it?”
Sir Thomas nodded, and then glanced up at Charles who was removing his soup bowl and substituting a plate of chicken smothered in a creamy mushroom sauce. “Yes. In the Malaysian Geographic about three hundred kiloms from here.”
“Yes, that’s right.” I smiled — my uncle’s photographic memory never ceased to amaze me. It wasn’t a well-known fact and Sir Thomas did not broadcast his ability. But he could remember everything he’d read whether digital or not. “Well, I’ve found an Env out there that I can afford…”
“Hmph,” Sir Thomas cut me off. “You can afford the best Topside Env in New Singapore with your inheritance.”
“Yes, I know, but I prefer not to use that cred as you know.”
I had never touched the cred left to me by my parents, held at first in trust to Sir Thomas as the executor of the will and then later passing to me when I had demonstrated the ability to understand its value. Although that had happened when I was a fourteen, I had never touched a single unit. The trust had stayed invested in the original Ents and as they had prospered so had the trust. It was by any accounts a large amount of cred — I could have bought all of Sisik had I wanted — but I preferred to think of myself as independent, and part of that was using what I had earned and saved. The trust was something I would have to do something about one day, but in the meantime I chose not to use it.
“Anyway, the place is a bit run down and I plan to do some work to clean it up and also to spend some time writing.”
“Writing?” asked Sir Thomas, pausing mid-chew. He had a speck of the creamy mushroom sauce on his upper lip.
“Yes, I’ve been doing quite a bit of reading lately, and the more I read, the more I get the urge to write about my own feelings and experiences.”
“Hmm, I see, and do you think this writing about your feelings is going to earn the cred you need to exist?”
“Well, I don’t know about that yet, but I plan to try.”
Sir Thomas stopped eating for a moment and pointed his knife at me. He said, “Write for me then. I’ll cred you.”
I looked at my uncle, my head jerking back in surprise. “Write what?”
“My memoir.” Sir Thomas looked out at the view of thunderous black clouds. “You can keep whatever we sell it for, including the royalties. How’s that?”
“I’ve never written anything other than legal briefs before. I’m not sure that I’m qualified to write your memoir.”
“Neither am I,” said Sir Thomas with a deadpan expression, and the hint of a smile buried in his eyes, “and what’s your point?”
I smiled a wry grin at my uncle and looked at him under lidded eyes. “All right, I can try.”
“Good, that settles it then. As soon as we’ve finished lunch I’ll set up my base Dev to provide you with a secure means of communication with me. I’ll send you a brief of what we need to cover, and provide you with my notes. You must be totally secret and discreet regarding what you write. I am trusting you with a great deal here, Jonah. The fact that you are related to me by blood is the reason behind my offer.”
Saying this Sir Thomas fixed me with a clenched jaw expression that defied any response other than that which he was looking for.
“Yes, Uncle, I understand, and please don’t forget I am an arbitrator, even if an unemployed one at present. You are still protected by client relationship, and disclosure of any sort would lead to me being struck off.”
Sir Thomas relaxed his look, leaned back in his seat and said, “Ah yes, of course. I had forgotten that.”
My uncle never forgot anything. The Devstick in my inside pocket tickled my nipple, vibrating with an incoming call, but I ignored it. My uncle was a formal man and answering a Devstick while having lunch would be frowned upon at best.
“Can I ask about your plans for the Foundation?”
“Hmph,” Sir Thomas half grunted and snorted. “Simply put? Growth. For too long I’ve left a bunch of incompetent fools in management at the Foundation and now is the time to change all of that. We have over fifty Oliver homes around the planet, but I intend to double that figure within a year or two. Children are the future, Jonah, and it disturbs me to see so many of our young wasted with a poor upbringing.
“I’m well aware of what I am, and I am not a charismatic man. I am a not Shaw, or Hei Lin, nor a Bo Vinh. What I am is a student of human nature, and human nature can be trained. I will lead the young children of the Oliver Foundation by example and teaching.
“I won’t bore you with all the theory now. Suffice to say that nature is Darwinian and we must prepare the youth of today to succeed. To take us forward in time, in a way that will best prepare us as a race. My goal is to take the Oliver Foundation to new levels of support for the disadvantaged and appeal to the lowest echelon of humans with ambition: those people who wish to better themselves but do not have the means to do so.”
I had the suspicion that Sir Thomas was practicing his speech on me but felt it would be ungracious to say so. I was somewhat surprised and gratified at the strength of his concern for the orphaned children of the Oliver Foundation. I had no idea he felt that deeply about them.
What shocked me more was that my uncle was being so frank with me about his plans. He seemed to be elevating our relationship to a new level. Perhaps it was my handling of the runner, or perhaps my uncle had been motivated by his retirement from UNPOL, but whatever the reason, he had never opened up to me like this before and that shocked me.
I nodded my head slowly and replied, “Well, those are extremely admirable goals. I wish you every success in achieving them.”
Sir Thomas was picking at his teeth with his napkin, hiding the mining process. He put the napkin down, his tongue making his mouth bulge down near his chin, and then swallowed. With almost an exhalation, he said softly, “Oh I’ll achieve them,” and smiled a quick smile.
I placed my knife and fork in the center of my plate, and sat back, my hands on my thighs resting on the white linen napkin with the UNPOL logo in the middle. Smiling at my uncle, I said, “Thank you for the lunch, Uncle, and for the opportunity to contribute to your future memoir.”
Sir Thomas, rising, said, “My pleasure, Jonah.”
I rose, bent at the waist and gave my uncle a deep wai. He smiled and, coming around the table, took my arm. Leading me back through the scattered tables, he said, “When are you moving up the Coast?”
“I’m leaving today. I’ve got a car coming to the Woodlands Envplex at 4pm, and then I’ll drive up there. I’m looking forward to it. I haven’t really driven a car since I came here.”
We walked out onto Topside. The sky had turned into a mass of churning grey, mustard and black, and sheets of rain could be seen in the east, hitting Orchard in great walls of water, and in the west just as dark a mass. “Well, we better be getting indoors. It looks as if there’s going to be a thunderstorm. Drive safely, the long-haulers on that Travway are known to be faulty on occasion and results are always messy.”