2163
It occurred to Eckhart as she switched trains at Dar Es Salaam that she had never been so far south in Africa. Compelling religious reasons aside, it seemed strange given the population and power of Subsahara. The gleaming Lusaka Terminal, teeming with people and robots alike, put a fine point on it.
She was met just outside the train by a sharp-dressed robot attendant that insisted on taking her bags. With its featureless brushed-nickel face, the gesture seemed more threatening than helpful.
"Please follow me, Cardinal," it said, turning on heel immediately. Eckhart had no time to take in her surroundings lest her guide disappear; she had to wonder if she had ever been somewhere that robots were so commonplace you could lose sight of them in a crowd.
It eventually brought her to great sliding glass doors that opened onto a covered pickup lane, still sweltering despite the shade. She was grateful she had packed lighter clothes, and winced at the sight of the three men standing in front of a limousine clad in three-piece suits. One of them stepped forward and offered a hand as the robot loaded Eckhart's things into the trunk.
"Cardinal. Desmond Saidi. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Please, get out of the heat," he said, opening the door, ushering her in and following close behind. The robot took up a place in the driver's side seat, one of the other men the passenger's side, and the third stood where he was, gaze panning left to right even as the limousine pulled away from the curb.
"A security precaution," Desmond said, opening a panel in the wall of the limousine and producing a chilled bottle of water for her. "In case anyone was following you."
"Were you expecting anyone?"
"Extremists of all sorts have reasons to wish you harm."
Akilah Mkapa's right-hand man, Eckhart thought, looking him over. His dossier had said that he was raised in an Arcadian settlement, his father a deacon in the local church; now he worked for a cutting-edge engineering firm that some accused of being the Satan's hand on Earth. Did that show in his demeanor?
"I regret to inform you that Miss Mkapa will not be available to meet with you today," he said. "She has no intention of keeping you waiting, but of course you understand that things have been moving very quickly since the discovery, and there are critical meetings she cannot postpone," Desmond said.
"I see. In the meantime?"
"We are taking you to a hotel very near our headquarters campus. We'll handle all of your expenses while you're here, of course."
Eckhart expected him to close himself off from further conversation, but he remained ever so slightly leaned forward, attentive.
"I've heard that you come from an Arcadian background," Eckhart said.
"I would say I'm still mostly an Arcadian, if pressed."
"How do you square that with your work?"
"It's true that most Arcadians have very conservative views on thinking machines," Desmond said, smiling softly. "To which I am not unsympathetic. But to assume that this is a core part of the creed has always struck me as a misreading particular to a Remnant worldview. Wishing no offense."
"None taken. Please, go on."
"Arcadianism is mainly about preserving the roots of community through a shared engagement with nature. If thinking machines have seemed to distance us from those roots, it's not the fault of the technology or of the individual machines, but of the way humans have used them."
"Not so different from the Gradualist position within the Church."
"Just a bit greener."
They were deep in downtown Lusaka before long; Eckhart knew Kinshasa was an even grander city, but it strained the imagination given what surrounded her. Lush gardens were built into nearly every edifice; the few buildings short enough that she could see the tops of bloomed with strange metal flowers, pistils scraping at the sky—surely not antennae, but what, then?
"These were only installed in the last few years," Desmond said, following her gaze. "The specifics aren't well understood, but they radiate heat directly away from the Earth's surface, providing a measure of passive cooling. They close up at night, or else they'd freeze the buildings directly below them, they're so effective."
"Pre-Cataclysm tech?"
"Found in a warehouse not far from what used to be Harare. We've put up a few in other cities south of the desert as well." Desmond perked up and rest his hand on the door handle preemptively. Ah, we're here."
The limousine pulled into a plaza stretching twenty meters back off the street; between the brickwork in lieu of asphalt, the fountain at the center, the benches and the planters, it was a small park. Foundation Park Square's green endlessness sitting just across the way, Eckhart found it gratuitous. She let herself be escorted out the limousine, Desmond's man hauling her bags after them, into the equally impressive lobby.
"This is a hotel?" Eckhart asked. There was what appeared to be a concierge desk, but the ten-meter ceilings and restaurant and storefronts stretching along the walls seemed more like a grand mall—and as with every part of the city, robots aplenty.
"Among other things," Desmond said, not without a hint of pride. "A conference center takes up the second and third floors. A gymnasium and a few small offices take up the fourth. The fifth through seventy-ninth floors are the hotel."
A kindly young woman greeted her at the desk, and after Desmond's introductions she wound up with keys to a 'premiere suite,' whatever that meant. They boarded an elevator, Desmond pressed the button marked '63,' and with the doors closed she had a moment of relief from the crowds and noise and luxury.
"You seem a bit shocked," Desmond said.
"I don't mind admitting that. I've heard all the stories, and I've been to big cities, but . . ."
"Not like this."
Eckhart nodded.
"I was surprised when Cardinal Dorji informed us that the observer was going to be someone who has never dealt with us before, or even been south of the Sahara." A pause. "Still, everything we've heard about you is positive. I'm not aware of anyone else that both Dorji and Vakenuz smile on."
"I'm not aware that Vakenuz smiles on anyone," Eckhart said, permitting herself a terse laugh. "Maybe this doesn't mean anything to you or Miss Mkapa, but I want to help, sincerely. If this thing the diggers found is all that you said in the press conference, it's too important for us to squabble over."
"I believe you'll find Miss Mkapa shares that conviction."
The elevator doors opened, and Desmond ushered her out and to her room and its bird's-eye view of Foundation Square Park. The man with them set her bags down at the foot of the king-sized bed.
"Here's where I'll take my leave for now. I'll let Miss Mkapa know that you've arrived safely, and I'll contact you when she's available to meet. Please, enjoy the hotel's hospitality to the fullest; everything is on us."
Exeunt Desmond and his man; Eckhart started to unpack, looking around as she did. The smart bet was that the room was bugged, but the smarter money was that whatever bugs the TG folks had on hand were too tiny and sophisticated for an amateur like her to find.
Still, keep things boring indoors, she thought. She felt the folder of dossiers in her bag, nearly froze, reached past it for more clothes. When she'd finished, she washed off the travel stain with an icy shower, dressed lightly, and plucked the dossiers from her bag, making straight for the elevator. She still had more annotations to make, and it was a pleasant day for some light reading in the park, after all. No certainty that TG wouldn't have small camera drones on her once she was out, but if they were that desperate to spy on her, there was no point fretting.
The elevator doors opened and she excused herself as she squeezed past a tall young man with striking white hair, and the pretty double-amputee whose wheelchair he was pushing along. At a glance they matched the descriptions of Preston DeWitt and Martinique Sy from her dossiers, but they disappeared behind the elevator doors before she could say a word.