Omair Ahmad - Delhi Noir

Premier world power . The words strolled luxuriously through Dome’s head, like an emperor touring his estates.

Dome felt the familiar rich thrill lapping through his consciousness. It was grand, it was heady, to belong to a nation of such consequence. World power! Yes, that’s what we are! he thought. A glory to behold, the envy of all other nations!

The reference to “controlled experiments” barely penetrated the light haze that enveloped his senses.

Instead, he allowed himself to be mesmerized by the view from the window. Blinding white clouds drifted lazily against the dizzy blue vault. He could see the darting profiles of police transports as they sped across the city’s skies. He wondered how soon it would be before he would be released to duty once more. He wondered if the faint flush of heat he felt at his temples was a reaction to the antibiotics coursing through his system. There was a faint nausea too and the first stirrings of a headache. He registered these impressions with surprise but no actual alarm.

The silence in the room deepened in some way.

With a guilty start, Dome returned his attention to the others around him. He had the oddest impression that his distraction had been noticed, even though no one was looking directly at him. In fact, they seemed to be avoiding his gaze in some subtle way, as if peering around him rather than at him. He told himself he was imagining things.

The man in the linen suit continued now, in his weightless voice, as if he had not paused to ensure that Dome was listening. “Clearly, it is a threat that we can no longer tolerate. Five years have passed since we cut their water and power supply. The area continues to be used as a dumping ground for every kind of waste — toxic, nontoxic, wet, dry, what have you. They have no sanitation facilities, no access to any medical supplies, no health-related technology. No supplies in the form of fresh food, no manufactured goods. Their air is unbreathable. They live ten to a cubicle, each cubicle the size of an aircraft toilet.” He paused for maximum effect. “Yet they thrive .” On the final word, his voice swung down like an axe, exposing the heart of his passion.

That repulsive vitality!

The man’s nostrils expanded, and he exposed his teeth in disgust. “The time is long overdue,” he whispered, “for that zone of filth and human degradation to be extinguished.

Snuffed out. Erased.” He turned his head slowly, taking in his audience one at a time, yet excluding Dome. If his voice had been soft before, now it was little more than a purr. “We all know the realities: We cannot use military force without attracting the attention of the world’s moral matrons. But the residents of the Acres have steadfastly refused to submit of their own accord. In such a situation, I think you will all agree, we have few choices...” He paused once more. “Yes? May I assume agreement?”

Dome’s forehead puckered in confusion. He glanced around the room and saw, to his surprise, that heads were nodding. Whatever the linen suit was talking about, the other members of the audience seemed to be in on the secret. Now the hairs on the back of his neck stiffened. His heart began to thump within his chest. What were the others nodding over?

He could not remember hearing of any resolution. Had something been discussed in his absence? Had some crucial decision been made?

No one was meeting his eye.

The unnamed man’s head was swiveling around now, toward Dome. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, young man. You have every reason to look bewildered. That is because you do not realize that what began as a routine operation has ended very differently. Even as you sit there, believing that you are the same young officer who leapt into his transport to respond to a distress call this morning, the truth is, you have been damaged beyond repair by the encounter. What may have appeared to be a long and fruitful life ahead of you has today, in the space of a few brief minutes, been reduced to a week, maybe two.”

Dome stammered, “Sir— I— what...?”

“It is the latest strategy of the denizens of Golden Acres.

They use various pretexts to lure government agents to their environment, then jab them with microfine needles filled with infected blood and send them back. No doubt they have found ways of harvesting the hospital wastes that are dumped on their land. No doubt they find painkillers and hypodermic syringes along with all the rest. It is swiftly done, perhaps using a mild anesthetic, so that the victim is not even aware of what has happened to him. But we have seen the results and, I assure you, what I say is true. While you were unconscious during your physical exam, I was able to reveal to your colleagues the site of the puncture wound, deep within the crease of your right armpit. The infection will be fatal and incurable, a cocktail of TB, hepatitis, and SARS, plus a speeding agent which causes the germs to go to work at twice their natural speed.”

He paused, like a college lecturer who knows when to give his students time to absorb a nodal point in their instruction.

“I have informed your colleagues that only one course of action is available to you, and of course we will offer you a couple of hours to adjust your mind to these new realities. It boils down to this: We will send you back in there, loaded with contagions that we have prepared for just this purpose. Whereas the technology of the squatter community has not progressed beyond the primitive skin-puncture delivery systems of the mosquito, ours spreads through a modified rhinovirus via skin contact and then to the mucus membranes. Death follows in forty-eight hours as the lungs clog up with fluids. When the contagion spreads amongst the residents, they’ll have no option but to come streaming out of there like rats from a burning warehouse. We’ll have specially prepared containment hangars ready for them. Their bodies will be disposed of safely, with no risk of further contamination. It should take about a fortnight. From the very start, we shall announce the outbreak of an epidemic of catastrophic proportions and declare to the world that for the sake of the entire human species we will have no option but to raze and sterilize the entire area...”

Bureau Chief Mana raised her hand. “Excuse me, sir, but how will you defend this action in the eyes of the international community? Whatever justification you offer, however catastrophic the disease, human beings cannot be destroyed like poultry at the time of the avian flu epidemic! This action will be defined as a planned genocide, with severe economic sanctions to follow—”

“We shall refer to it as culling, ” said the man, cutting in swiftly, before Mana could build up steam. “You are familiar with the term, no doubt? It belongs to the era of big game hunting, when licenses were issued for thinning out herds of animals whose populations were rising too steeply in game sanctuaries. But we shall redefine the word to mean, Removing a percentage of the human population so that the species as a whole might survive . It is a useful word. We hope to make it very popular.”

He turned back to Dome.

“You realize, I am sure, that you will be a martyr to our nation’s greater glory. Not that your role can ever be acknowledged: This entire operation, including your trip this morning to the Acres, has already been erased from the record. Even as we speak your copilot is having the memory of his flight flushed from his brain. You cannot have any contact with your parents before you vanish from their lives forever, apparently in a tragic encounter with enemy agents. However, your service record tells me that you are a model citizen, for which reason I do not doubt that in your final moments, you will find tremendous satisfaction in the knowledge that your name will be honored and that your family will benefit to the tune of...” He mentioned a very handsome sum.