Bruce Sterling - Islands in the Net

P.M. flicked back the smooth, dark wing of hair across his forehead. Gleam of strong, young teeth.

The video board left the celebs and switched to the plung- ing, bootclad legs of a majorette.

The kids left the stadium to fond applause, and two long lines of military police marched in. White chin-strapped hel- mets, white Sam Browne belts, pressed khakis, spit-polished boots. The soldiers faced the stands and began a complex rifle drill. Snappy over-the-shoulder_ high toss, in a precisely timed cascade.

"Kim looks good today," Suvendra said. Everybody in

Singapore called the prime minister by his first name. His name was Kim Swee Lok-or Lok Kim Swee, to his fellow ethnic Chinese.

"Mmm," Laura said.

"You are quiet this evening." Suvendra put a butterfly touch on Laura's forearm. "Still tired from testimony, isn't it?

"He reminds me of my husband," Laura blurted.

Suvendra smiled. "He's a good-looking bloke, your husband."

Laura felt a tingle of unease. She'd flown around the world with such bruising speed-the culture shock had odd side effects. Some pattern-seeking side of her brain had gone into overdrive. She'd seen Singapore store clerks with the faces of pop stars, and street cops who looked like presidents. Even

Suvendra herself reminded Laura somehow of Grace Web- ster, her mother-in-law. No physical resemblance, but the vibe was there. Laura had always gotten on very well with Grace.

Kim's practiced appeal made Laura feel truly peculiar. His influence over this little city-state had a personal intimacy that was almost erotic. It was as if Singapore had married him.

His People's Innovation Party had annihilated the opposition parties at the ballot box. Democratically, legally-but the

Republic of Singapore was now essentially a one-party state.

The whole little republic, with its swarming traffic and cheerful, disciplined populace, was now in the hands of a thirty-two-year-old visionary genius. Since his election to

Parliament at twenty-three, Kim Lok had reformed the civil service, masterminded a vast urban development scheme, and revitalized the army. And while carrying on a series of highly public love affairs, he had somehow managed to pick up advanced degrees in engineering and political science. His rise to power had been unstoppable, buoyed by a strange mix of menace and playboy appeal.

The soldiers finished with a flourish, then snapped to atten- tion, saluting. The crowd rose to sing the national anthem: a ringing ditty called "Count On Me, Singapore." Thousands of smiling, neatly dressed Chinese and Malays and Tamils- all singing in English.

The crowd resumed their bleacher seats with that loud, peculiar rustle emitted by tons of moving human flesh. They smelled of sassafras and suntan oil and snow cones. Suvendra lifted her binoculars, scanning the bulletproof glass of the celebrity box. "Now comes the big speech," she told Laura.

"He may start with the space launch, but shall end with the

Grenada crisis, as usual. You could be taking the measure of this fellow."

"Right." Laura clicked on her little tape deck.

They turned and stared expectantly at the video screen.

The prime minister rose, carelessly tucking his shades into his suit pocket. He gripped the edge of the podium with both hands, leaning forward, chin tilted, shoulders tense.

A tight, attentive silence seized the crowd. The woman next to Laura, a Chinese matron in stretch pants and straw hat, clamped her knees together nervously and jammed her hands in her lap. The guy eating sunflower seeds set his bag between his feet.

Closeup. The prime minister's head and shoulders loomed thirty feet high on the video board. A silkily amplified voice, smooth and intimate, rang from the elaborate P.A. system.

"My dear fellow citizens," Kim said.

Suvendra whispered hastily. "This shall be major, eh, definitely!" Sunflower Seeds hissed for silence.

"In the days of our grandparents," Kim intoned, "Ameri- cans visited the moon. At this moment, an antique space station from the Socialist Bloc still circles our Earth.

"Yet until today, the greatest -adventure of humanity has languished. The power brokers outside our borders are no longer interested in new frontiers. The globalists have stifled these ideals. Their clumsy, ancient space rockets still mimic the nuclear missiles with which they once threatened the planet.

"--`But ladies and gentlemen-fellow citizens-today I can stand before you and tell you that the world did not reckon with the vision of Singapore!"

(Frantic applause. The prime minister waited, smiling. He lifted a hand. Silence.)

"The orbital flight of Captain Yong-Joo is the greatest space achievement of our era. His feat proves to all that our republic now owns the most advanced launch technology on

Earth. Technology that is clean, swift, and efficient-based on modem breakthroughs in superconductivity and tunable lasers. Innovations that other nations seem unable to achieve-or even to imagine."

(Wry smile from Kim. Fierce cries of glee from the sixty thousand.)

"Today, men and women around the world turn their eyes to Singapore. They are bewildered by the magnitude of our achievement-a cold fact that puts the lie to years of globalist slander. They wonder how our city of four million souls has triumphed where continental nations have failed.

"But our success is not a secret. It -was inherent in our very destiny as a nation. Our island is lovely-but cannot feed us.

For two centuries, we of the Lion City have earned every mouthful of rice by our own wits."

(A stern frown on the enormous video-board face. Excited ripples through the crowd.)

"This struggle gave us strength. Harsh necessity forced

Singapore to shoulder the burden of excellence. Since Merdeka, we have matched the achievements of the developed world- and surpassed them. There has never been room here for sloth or corruption. Yet while. we forged ahead, those vices have eaten into the very core of global culture."

(A gleam of teeth-almost a sneer.)

"Today the American giant slumbers-its Government re- duced to a televised parody. Today, the Socialist Bloc pur- sues its hollow dreams of consumer avarice. Even the once-mighty Japanese have grown cautious and soft.

"Today, under the malignant spell of the Vienna Conven- tion, the world slides steadily toward gray mediocrity.

"But the flight of Captain Yong-Joo marks a turning point.

Today our historic struggle enters a new phase-for stakes higher than any we have faced before.

"Empires have always sought to dominate this island. We fought Japanese oppressors through three merciless years of occupation. We sent the British imperialists packing, back to their European decay. Chinese communism, and Malaysian treachery, sought to subvert us, without success.

"And today, at, this very moment, the globalist media net seethes with propaganda, targeted against our island."

(Laura shivered in the balmy tropic air.)

"Tariffs are raised-export quotas imposed on our products- conspiracies launched against our pioneering industries by foreign multinationals. Why? What have we done to deserve such treatment?

"The answer is simple. We have beaten them on their own ground. We have succeeded where the globalists have failed!"

(His hand cut the air with a sudden flash of cuff link.)

"Travel through any other developed nation in the world today! You will find laziness, decay, and cynicism. Every- where, an abdication of the pioneering spirit. Streets littered with trash, factories eaten by rust. Men and women aban- doned to useless lives on the dole queue. Artists and intellec- tuals, without goals or purpose, playing empty games of listless alienation. And everywhere the numbing web of one- world propaganda.