Anderson laughs. "I'm not here for the adventure. That's for all of those drunks over there…" He trails off, stunned.

Emiko is in the crowd, standing with the Japanese delegation. He catches a glimpse of her movement in the knot of business people and political officers as they cluster around Akkarat, talking and smiling.

"My god." Carlyle sucks in his breath. "Is that a windup? In the compound?"

Anderson's tries to say something, but can't make his throat work.

No, he's wrong. It's not Emiko. The movement is the same, but the girl is not. This one is richly dressed, with gold glimmering around her throat. A slightly different face. She lifts her hand, stutter-stop motion, tucks black silk hair behind an ear. Similar, but not the same.

Anderson's heart starts beating again.

The windup girl smiles graciously at whatever story Akkarat is telling. She turns to make introductions for a man Anderson recognizes from intelligence photos as a general manager of Mishimoto. Her patron says something to her and she ducks her head to him, then hurries away to the rickshaws, odd and graceful.

She's so much like Emiko. So stylized, so deliberate. Everything about the windup before him reminds him of that other, so much more desperate girl. He swallows, remembering Emiko in his bed, small and alone. Starving for information about windup villages. What are they like? Who lives within them? Do they really live without patrons? So desperate for hope. So different from this glittering windup that threads gracefully between white shirts and officials.

"I don't think she was allowed in the temple," Anderson finally says. "They couldn't have gone that far. The white shirts must have made her wait outside."

"Still, they must be seething." Carlyle cocks his head, watching the Japanese delegation. "You know, Raleigh has one of those, too. Uses it for a freak show in the back of his place."

Anderson swallows. "Oh? I hadn't heard."

"Sure. It'll fuck anything. You should see it. Truly bizarre." Carlyle laughs low. "Look, she's catching attention. I think the Queen's Protector is actually smitten."

The Somdet Chaopraya is staring at the windup, wide-eyed like a cow struck on the side of the head before slaughter.

Anderson frowns, shocked despite himself. "He wouldn't risk his status. Not with a windup."

"Who knows? The man doesn't exactly have a clean reputation. Positively debauched, from what I've heard. He was better when the old king was alive. Kept himself under control. But now…" Carlyle trails off. He nods at the windup girl. "I wouldn't be surprised if the Japanese end up making a gift of goodwill in the near future. No one refuses the Somdet Chaopraya."

"More bribes."

"Always. But the Somdet Chaopraya would be worth it. From everything I've heard, he's taken over most of the palace functions. Accumulated a lot of power. And that would give you a lot of insurance when the next coup happens." Carlyle observes. "Everyone looks calm, but below the surface things are boiling. Pracha and Akkarat can't go on like this. They've been circling each other ever since the December 12 coup." He pauses. "With the right pressure, we help decide who comes out on top."

"Sounds expensive."

"Not to your people. A bit of gold and jade. Some opium." He lowers his voice. "Might even be cheap, by your standards."

"Stop selling me. Am I going to meet Akkarat or not?"

Carlyle claps Anderson on the back and laughs. "God, I love working with farang. At least you're direct. Don't worry. It's already arranged." And then he's striding back toward the Japanese delegation and hailing Akkarat. And Akkarat is looking at Anderson with bright appraising eyes. Anderson wais a greeting. Akkarat, as befits his high rank, favors Anderson with the barest nod of acknowledgement.

Outside the gates of the Environment Ministry, as Anderson hails Lao Gu for a ride back to the factory, a pair of Thais sweep up on either side.

"This way, Khun."

They take Anderson by the elbows and guide him down the street. For a moment, Anderson thinks he's being grabbed by the white shirts, but then he sees a coal-diesel limo. He fights down paranoia as he's guided inside.

If they wanted to kill you, they could wait for any number of better times.

The door slams closed. Trade Minister Akkarat sits across from him.

"Khun Anderson." Akkarat smiles. "Thank you for joining me."

Anderson scans the vehicle, wondering if he can break out or if the locks are controlled up front. The worst part of any job is the moment of exposure, when too many people suddenly know too many things. Finland went that way: Peters and Lei, with nooses around their necks and their feet kicking air as they were raised above the crowds.

"Khun Richard tells me that you have a proposal," Akkarat prompts.

Anderson hesitates. "I understand we have mutual interests."

"No." Akkarat shakes his head. "Your people have tried to destroy mine for the last five hundred years. We have nothing in common."

Anderson smiles tentatively. "Of course, we see some things differently."

The car starts to roll. Akkarat says, "This is not a question of perspective. Ever since your first missionaries landed on our shores, you have always sought to destroy us. During the old Expansion your kind tried to take every part of us. Chopping off the arms and legs of our country. It was only through our Kings' wisdom and leadership that we avoided your worst. And yet still you weren't done with us. With the Contraction, your worshipped global economy left us starving and over-specialized." He looks pointedly at Anderson. "And then your calorie plagues came. You very nearly took rice from us entirely."

"I didn't know the Minister of Trade was a conspiracy theorist."

"Which are you?" Akkarat studies him. "AgriGen? PurCal? Total Nutrient Holdings?"

Anderson spreads his hands. "I understand that you would like help in arranging a more stable government. I have resources to offer, provided that we can come to an agreement."

"What is it you want?"

Anderson looks him in the eye, serious. "Access to your seedbank."

Akkarat jerks back. "Impossible." The car turns and begins to accelerate down Thanon Rama XII. Bangkok streams by in a blur of images as Akkarat's retinue clears the avenue ahead of them.

"Not to own." Anderson puts out a calming hand. "Only to sample from."

"The seedbank has kept us independent of your kind. When blister rust and genehack weevil swept the globe, it was only the seedbank that allowed us to stave off the worst of the plagues, and even so, our people died in droves. When India and Burma and Vietnam all fell to you, we stood strong. And now you come asking for our finest weapon." Akkarat laughs. "I may want to see General Pracha with his hair and eyebrows shaved off, living in a forest monastery and despised by all, but on this, at least, he and I agree. No farang should ever touch the heart of us. You may take an arm or a leg from our country, but not the head, and certainly not the heart."

"We need new genetic material," Anderson says. "We've exhausted many of our options and the plagues keep mutating. We don't have a problem sharing our research results. Profits, even."

"I'm sure you offered the same to the Finns."

Anderson leans forward. "Finland was a tragedy, and not just for us. If the world is going to keep eating, we need to stay ahead of cibiscosis and blister rust and Nippon genehack weevil. It's the only way."

"You're saying that you yoked the world to your patented grains and seeds, happily enslaved us all-and now you finally realize that you are dragging us all to hell."