Alan Foster - Sagramanda, a Novel of Near-Future India

"Right away. The sooner a buyer is agreed upon, the better it will be for everyone concerned." Raising his left foot off the ground, Taneer indicated the heel of his shoe. "It may not appear so, but what I have been carrying around in my shoe is surprisingly heavy, and grows heavier by the day."

Sanjay dipped his head. "I will do my job, sir, and not fail you. Soon the only burden you will bow beneath is the weight of too much money."

They shook hands again. As Taneer was going out the door, he turned to leave one last thought in his wake. It should not have been necessary to say it, but even at his comparatively young age, he was not one to leave important matters unspoken.

"You'll mention this to no one else, of course. No one," he finished solemnly.

Sanjay's nod was brisk. "Not even to my most beloved wife. I know that it is difficult for a man to keep his wits about him if his head is removed from his shoulders."

"If the wrong people learn about this, they won't start with your head." Leaving that final warning hanging in the air, Taneer stepped back out into the heat and glare of midday. The usual afternoon mix of pedestrian and vehicular traffic soon swallowed him up.

Returning to his counter, Sanjay did not reactivate the "Open" sign on his shop front door, nor did he lighten his windows so passersby could look in and once more view his stock. Instead, he called up the information his visitor had somehow magically inserted into his personal files. None of the names were known to him. For the most part, the street addresses were equally unfamiliar. They lay in parts of the city that were alien to him: very high-rent commercial districts and blocks. Well, they would be known to him soon, he realized. Or at least to whomever he would engage to make the necessary representations. His own contact. The second intermediary, whose participation would pro vide the extra level of security his just-departed guest demanded.

No boxwork, Taneer had warned him. Nothing online to be traced. Everything had to be done in person. The old-fashioned way. Step back in time a couple of centuries, and then proceed.

Sitting behind his simple counter, visions of wealth and freedom dancing tantalizingly at the edge of his thoughts, Sanjay Ghosh set to work.

Depahli's gaze kept returning to the dancing, swaying numbers on the time-designated portion of the wall that had been implanted with the clock. It was as if they were following her around the apartment. They would have followed her around except that they had been programmed to remain in one place.

The men she was waiting for were late. That was not unexpected. Riots that sprang up like weeds, equipment failure, traffic jams in unexpected places, animals on the road, the loud and often violent settling of personal vendettas: all could and often did combine to slow the delivery of materials. In the case of her order, she had placed it in person, which was supposed to expedite such matters. Though she had lived with Taneer for nearly a year and paid close attention to his instructions, she was still comparatively new to working the box. She tended to look away from its scanner and not speak clearly in the direction of the vorec. It would take a while before she was as comfortable talking to a device as she was to another person.

The sensitive nature of her order had not intimidated her from shopping for it, or from dealing with the understanding female clerk at the other end of the connection. She could have placed it over her personal communicator as well as directly via the apartment box. But it was useful to be able to talk to someone knowledgeable about what she was buying. Receiving an explanation from another woman who had used it herself was better than reading about it on the box, or even viewing a full holo demonstration.

But if the delivery people didn't hurry, they would not be able to complete the installation in time, before she expected Taneer home. Everything would still function, but the surprise would be lost.

Though she was a naturally fast learner, the totality of her ignorance concerning things technological when she had first met Taneer had frequently left them both gasping with laughter. In truth, he had enjoyed teaching her as much as she had enjoyed being taught. Now, she could work everything in the unassuming apartment: the vit, the built-in kitchen, the mobile small appliances scattered throughout the four rooms, and she was learning more and more about how to operate the box. Circumscribed as her physical movements were, it was the safest window to the rest of the world. When she had successfully placed her first order, using the alternative, secured cash account Taneer had set up exclusively for her use, she had insisted on cele brating. Her man had found it amusing that she could get so excited over doing something that had been second-nature to him as a child.

He had not grown up a Dalit child, she had reminded him firmly.

A pleasant male voice broke into her reverie to announce that there was someone at the door. As she hoped, it was a pair of installers with her order. After verifying their identities, the building admitted them.

A second security check in the hallway proved equally routine. Moments later they were on the tenth floor and querying her door in person.

Though not Muslim, she wore a veil and modified abaya. With her beauty effectively concealed, she would not be a distraction to the two men. Not being Muslim themselves, neither thought to comment on the contradiction of a Muslim woman admitting two strange men into her home. Or perhaps they assumed that the male resident was close by.

They set about their work with a professionalism that put her at ease. Other than to query her about where she wished a certain component to be installed, or how she wanted another positioned, they went about their business in silence. Neither commented on the sensitive nature of the system she had purchased. No doubt they had per formed dozens, perhaps hundreds, of such installations and it was all strictly business to them.

When they had finished, they ran several of the system's embedded programs to make sure it was functioning properly. Watching these, Depahli found herself blushing beneath the veil. They paid not the slightest attention to her. It struck her then that perhaps they were eunuchs, or gay, and had no interest whatsoever in the details. Business, after all, was business.

The senior of the two workmen turned the system vorec over to her, spent a few moments instructing her on how to program it to recognize her voice, had her peer briefly into the unit that imprinted her retinal pattern onto the receipt, and bid her good day as he and his companion took their leave.

She experimented with the installation for the next hour, gradually becoming more comfortable with its individual eccentricities, learning how to customize it to her tastes. Taneer would do the same, of course-if she could just get him to relax . That was becoming harder and harder as the time for reestablishing contact with the outside world drew near. It was why she had purchased the system. If it couldn't relax him, it was likely nothing could.

When he finally arrived just before dark, after taking the usual random, circuitous route back to the apartment, he was tired but elated.

"I think we're on our way at last, Depa." Smiling, he put his arms around her and hugged her tight. "I think I've found just the right person to move this along."

"Finally!" For all her physical perfection, she still had to stand on tiptoes to kiss him. "I have a surprise for you."

His smile metamorphosed into a grin. "I know that smile, you little vixen, you. What have you been cooking up while I've been gone?"

Taking his hand, she drew him toward the kitchen. "Dinner first. After you've had your fill of my cooking, you'll see what I've been cooking up."