The Light Saga & Other Short Stories

Part I

I unplugged the Virtual Reality headset from the back of my head to close the programme and stepped out of the simulation capsule. The house computer sensed my movement and announced the time in her digital voice. It was just after 4:00 AM, the first of the five daily Obeisance Hours. My timing was fortuitous; one could be punished for missing out on any of these Hours.

I hurried to complete the compulsory Obeisance and afterwards, went over to the large viewport in the lounge to look out on the city. Even at this hour, sky buses and taxis were taking commuters to various destinations, zooming at breakneck speeds down the skyways.

“Transceptia,” I addressed the house computer, “why do we never have air crashes on our skyways?”

“That is because the vehicles are all driven by infallible micro computer chips, Bruce,” she answered instantly. “It is impossible for two vehicles to collide into each other, as both vehicles have excellent navigation systems not reliant on human guidance,” she added in what sounded like a smug tone to me.

“Thank you,” I replied automatically.

“You are welcome, Bruce,” she responded equally automatically.

If I had known then what I know now, I wouldn’t have asked the question, nor accepted Transceptia’s answer so naïvely. But that night was also momentous for another reason: I would meet my soulmate the very next day.

“Excuse me. Is this seat taken?” I asked the gorgeous brunette sitting on the viewport bench, the reflected light of the stars outside outlining her like the radiance streaming off an angel. Inwardly I cringed at the corny opening line I had used, but the impulse to engage this woman in conversation was too strong to resist.

Her features were elfin, as if she had stepped out of a fantasy novel into my time and world; her eyes: sparkling sapphires that penetrated me to the very heart of my soul. I knew I was a goner before she even spoke to me.

She smiled slightly, her left cheek dimpling fetchingly, which made my knees buckle, and said, “Feel free to sit down. This is a public viewport and unless you’re not one of the public, I can’t deny you what is obviously a vacant spot.”

I turned beet red. I knew this because I could feel my face flushing with heat, and because I have been told numerous times by so many friends that I blush as easily as Bashful the Dwarf in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

“Sorry, that was really lame,” I admitted and smiled sheepishly.

“Actually, it was kind of cute,” she said, surprising me completely. Then she said, “I’m Nirupa, and you must be new at trying to pick up a girl,” and gave an infectious laugh.

“Bruce. Bruce Taylor,” I said clumsily before I realised what I sounded like. I mentally forehead-slapped myself for being a total doofus.

“Are you sure you’re not Bond, James Bond?” Nirupa teased, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

I laughed and said, “Let me start over. Hi, my name’s Bruce and I’m a total retard,” and winked at her. It finally broke the ice and we started chatting like familiar friends.

That’s how it felt between us right from the start: like we were old friends who had met up again after having been mysteriously separated for years. We clicked in every way possible, from our identical sense of humour to the way we tended to lean towards being self-deprecating. On that first day, we spoke for nearly half an hour before we left the viewport. We ended up seeing each other every day for the rest of the week. After that, we realised we were made for each other and within a month, Nirupa moved into my three-tiered living quarters.

Eight months later, Nirupa and I went through our Betrothal Vows ceremony, an official declaration of our union, although it was not legally required. That was another similarity between us: we were old-fashioned and our hearts belonged to a bygone century.

As Nirupa often said, “We were born in the wrong time and place, weren’t we?”, to which I perpetually responded with, “No, because we are both here now, so it’s the right time and place,” eliciting a delightful laugh from her. Yes, we were corny to the extreme, but we didn’t care.

Nirupa worked as a computer specialist for one of the giant microchip companies, the Wanwuyishi Corporation, and although her work was of a highly sensitive and secretive nature, I showed no interest in it. My profession as paediatrician kept me far too busy to become curious about her work. And to be honest, I don’t much understand technology.

It was about eighteen months after our Betrothal Vows that Nirupa came home one evening with a look on her face that stopped me dead in my tracks. I was about to go to the kitchen to get some water when she stepped out of the elevator.

She had her palmpad open and a look of what can only be described as fury on her face. I had never seen her even frown much, and to see her face etched with such stark lines of anger scared me no end.

“Hun, what’s the matter?” I asked as I hurried over to her. I reached out to embrace her, but she moved away from me further into the lounge, apparently unaware that I had spoken to her or that I was there. Once again, I addressed her.

“Nirupa, what’s wrong?”

This time she heard me, but it seemed as if she were returning from a far off place with great difficulty. Her eyes refocused as she saw me and smiled.

“Bruce!” she exclaimed. “Sorry, love. I didn’t even see you,” she said and surreptitiously pocketed her palmpad.

“Niru,” I called her by her pet name, “talk to me, please. I need to know what’s going on because I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Like what?” she asked with a laugh, trying to make light of the situation. I would have none of it.

“Out with it. Remember: No secrets between us. A worry shared is a worry pared,” I reminded her.

She looked at me for a heartbeat, nodded once and got up.

That was the great thing about our relationship: we had utter faith and trust in each other. During the year and a half since our betrothal, we had become inseparable emotionally, mentally and physically; and wholly dependent upon each other. This was “abnormal” in a world where humankind had become a detached, anti-social and single-minded species. It was rare for any couple to remain with each other for longer than four months; we had probably set a record for co-habitation.

“I have to show you something. Let’s go to the computer room,” she said as she went back to the elevator to go down two floors.

Our apartment entrance, kitchen and lounge were on the top tier, with our sleeping quarters on the second and the computer room on the third level. We were both silent in the elevator, but she had come into my arms and was holding me in a tight embrace. A sinister snake of anxiety uncurled ever so slowly inside my belly.

“Do you recall the accident that occurred on Skyway 65, the one between the airbus and the air taxi?” Nirupa suddenly asked me.

“The one in which eighty-six people died? How could I forget that horror crash?” I replied rhetorically.

“Well, since then there have been quite a number of accidents happening all across the city. Accidents involving one-person, multi-person, automatic and even heavy duty vehicles as well as trains. But the strangest thing is that so far, the authorities haven’t been able to determine whether it was due to mechanical failure or electrical interference,” she informed me.

“More accidents?” I asked in disbelief. “But I haven’t heard about these other accidents,” I stated, forgetting for the moment that I very seldom watched the newscasts.

“In order not to panic people, the media have been ‘requested’ to downplay the crashes,” Nirupa said with obvious distaste and a bit of anger in her voice.

“Requested by whom?” I asked, knowing I sounded like a fool.

“Who else? The mega computer corporations, of course. Especially the Wanwuyishi Corporation.”

That silenced me as I processed her revelation. If her company was behind the crashes in some way, it could seriously impact on her, and on us.

I also vaguely recalled Transceptia telling me once long ago that we had no accidents on our skyways because of the micro computer chips installed in all vehicles. “Infallible micro computer chips,” she had labelled them, so how did these accidents then occur?

We had arrived at the computer room by now and we quickly plugged ourselves into the VR Internet. Nirupa opened a number of windows to show me reports of the crashes, those reports that had aired before the media had been requested to focus less on the crashes. I was outraged that innocent citizens were placed in harm’s way each time they used their car or took public transport because they were unaware of the mounting danger of increased accidents. In fact, Nirupa and I were at much the same risk, as we also relied on public modes of transport.

We unplugged from the VR set and took the elevator back up to our living tier. The ride up was a silent, dark and pregnant one. We clung to each other like swimmers drowning in a sea of despair.

As we stepped out of the elevator, the chime for the Final Hour of Obeisance rang gently. I immediately set off for the designated obeisance area in the lounge, but Nirupa went into the kitchen. Although she knew the punishment for failure to complete the obligatory ritual was very severe, she refused to perform it.

Initially, when I had discovered a month after we had started dating that she was a Disobedient, I had been aghast and implored her to follow the ritual, but she had stood firm and refused to be swayed.

“I don’t fear the punishment, and I refuse to have my actions prescribed for me or regulated by an Adjudicator Supreme. I decide what I do and where my future lies because I create my own destiny,” she had retorted. Because I had fallen wholly in love with her by then, I relented and never brought the Obeisance Hours up again.

Once I had completed the Ritual of Obedience, I joined Nirupa on the couch.

“Bruce, I know you never ask about my work and I appreciate it, but I need to share my discovery with someone I trust. And there’s no one I trust more than I do you,” she said, a note of panic in her voice.

That snake in my belly suddenly fully uncurled and slithered up my spine. The view of the skyline outside appeared to shimmer and blur as my heart skipped a few beats.

“Okay,” I began hesitantly, “what did you discover?”

“I did a few tests on some random chips installed in the control boards of vehicles,” she started, “and found them all to be okay. However, purely by luck I discovered that many of these chips degraded after extensive exposure to moisture,” she concluded in a whisper.

“But hun, that’s nothing bad, is it? Isn’t that normal and aren’t these often replaced before they degrade completely?”

“That’s just the thing. These chips are tested when the vehicles come in for their regular service and replaced with new ones. However, the problem is that the chips are of an inferior quality, thus they are degrading much faster. What’s worse is that many of the accidents occurred because the vehicles involved weren’t serviced by Wanwuyishi. The technicians working on them weren’t aware of the chip degradation and therefore didn’t replace them,” Nirupa explained.

“Look, what I don’t get is how you discovered that moisture degrades the chips, and why has no one else said anything about it?”

I was playing Devil’s Advocate and Nirupa knew it. This was something we had long ago agreed upon to do whenever we were trying to convince each other of something. One of us would always play the role of Doubting Thomas and try to dispute the claim or issue the other proposed. Inside, I already knew the truth: my wife was never wrong when it came to anything involving computers.

“Because they’ve been told to shut their mouths,” she suddenly said vehemently. “The techs working on the cars have been told in no uncertain terms that if any of them caused a stir about this, or tried to let slip the news about the faulty chips, there would be harsh, dire and instant consequences for them and their families.”

“Shit!” I said like an illiterate boor, as if the vocabulary to express my incredulity and indignation had failed me.

“Exactly!” Nirupa said. “What these corporate scumbags didn’t count on though was that one of the techs would suffer a personal tragedy, and then how could they silence him? What leverage would they have on him?”

“Are you telling me that’s what happened? A Wanwuyishi technician lost a family member in one of the crashes?” I asked in a rush.

“Yes, and it so happened that he is a good colleague of mine who often comes to my lab to deliver or receive parts. I don’t know if you remember me mentioning Usman to you a few times,” she said.

“Is he the Moroccan who lives over in Marrakech Village?” I asked.

“Oh, so you do pay attention when I speak to you?” Nirupa asked teasingly. My heart swelled with love for her and although we were deep in a storm of frightening proportions, I kissed her long and held her tightly to me.

“Yes, that’s Usman. He sent me this report tonight,” she said and showed me her palmpad. It displayed a number of graphs and statistics of failed chips for the past four months. For the second time that evening my vocabulary abandoned me and I swore like a sailor. Attached to the file was a video clip, which Nirupa now opened and swiped onto the large screen television mounted on the wall and played it.

It was a clip of Usman standing in a factory cell; he was in the manufacturing section and had a number of new chips arrayed in front of him on a workbench. He started speaking, addressing Nirupa, as the clip had obviously been filmed for her.

“These chips here are all made locally, and the quality of each one is inferior. Look here,” he said as he pointed to a chip, “this one’s gold filaments have already started to partially flake off. Many of the other chips are extremely brittle, but most of them are fully functional and of regulation standard.”

Although he sounded calm and seemed composed, I detected the fear in his brown-eyed gaze. His Arab features seemed less pronounced as a result of the stress he was under, as his skin was not as swarthy as usual. His black beard stood out sharply in contrast.

“The trouble with these chips lies in the manufacturing process,” he continued. “The chips are not completely resistant to either heat or moisture. So, when a vehicle’s engine heats up excessively, the chip short circuits, or if the cooling system’s vapours fall on the chip, they affect the chip and it malfunctions,” Usman explained.

Both Nirupa and I were glued to the video clip, but my mind was in turmoil. I knew what I was viewing was an indictment against the Wanwuyishi Corporation, and if any of the Executive Members discovered that we had seen this leaked video, we would face huge legal ramifications, and possibly even physical intimidation or threats.

As Usman concluded his exposé, I held Nirupa’s hand tighter in support. I knew she had fallen into a dark hole of deceit and corruption, and I was determined to help her find her way out of the cesspit.

“If this video clip ends up in the wrong hands, Nirupa, both our lives and the lives of our loved ones will be in danger. I trust that you’ll use the info well,” Usman said before the clip faded to black.

Nirupa turned to me and I could read the anxiety and fear in her eyes. My heart stuttered at the thought that anything could happen to her, but I dismissed the idea and resolved to protect her, no matter what.

“Bruce,” she said, “I have to act on this. I can’t ignore such criminal negligence and deliberate misinformation, never mind the intentional deception involved,” she stated.

“Niru, of course you have to,” I assured her, “but didn’t you hear what Usman said at the end? Our lives could be in danger. I don’t care about my own, but I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you,” I exclaimed in a truly hackneyed manner.

“And you think I could live without you?” Nirupa instantly retaliated. “We are both each other’s true half, but this is far more important than anything else, sweetheart,” she added.

“I know, I know,” I said in defeat, “but I beg you to be cautious. We don’t need to rush into anything, do we?”

“Definitely not! I’m not going to go off half-cocked just to fall flat on my face in failure. These guys have connections everywhere and I will have to tread lightly if I want to bring them down,” she declared.

“And you can’t trust anyone, not really. And this is what makes me fear that we are already way out of our depth. How will you know who to confide in when the corporations have managed to silence the media?” I asked in exasperation.

“Not everyone has been silenced,” Nirupa remarked cryptically, a small smile revealing that she believed she held some trump card.

“What? What do you mean? I thought they had told the media to ignore the crashes and not report them,” I said in confusion.

“Yes, they have, but I know a reporter who works for one of the minor news networks who hasn’t given up on the story or paid heed to the decree from the corporations. In fact, I’ve arranged to meet with her tomorrow, and I’ll play it by ear,” Nirupa explained.

She closed her palmpad and placed it inside the coffee table storage drawer. The television had automatically switched off when Nirupa had closed her palmpad.

Nirupa walked over to the kitchen and reached for the rice canister placed on a shelf above the stove. I didn’t have time to see what she did because just then the house computer made an announcement.

Part II

“Visitors at the door,” Transceptia interrupted us and projected an image of the visitors at our front door. The image displayed an austerely dressed woman whose clothes practically screamed GIA – Galactic Investigation Authority – while the stocky man at her side looked like an obvious sidekick. He had the submissive look of an inferior and his bearing seemed to ooze sleaze.

“Who the hell are they?” I asked angrily. It was already past 9:00 PM and in our time and world, it was rare indeed for anyone to visit after the last Obeisance Hour.

“That’s Agent Adlyne and her partner, Marsh,” Nirupa stated calmly.

“Huh?” I asked in surprise. “How do you know them?” The anxiety in my heart made me sound unnecessarily curt and even suspicious.

“Relax, love. They were at the office this afternoon, interviewing a few of us about the latest accident. I haven’t had a chance yet to mention it to you,” Nirupa explained.

“Should I allow them entry into the apartment?” Transceptia asked coolly.

“Yes,” I brusquely instructed her.

Our uninvited guests stepped out of the elevator just as Nirupa joined my side.

“Agent Adlyne, Agent Marsh,” Nirupa greeted them and, turning to me, said, “This is my husband, Bruce.” Nirupa gracefully led the Agents into our lounge.

“Ah, yes. The paediatrician,” Agent Adlyne said as she shook my hand, giving it a slight squeeze before letting go of it. I shook hands with Agent Marsh and a deep sense of foreboding overcame me as our hands touched. I shook it off as nerves and escorted the two Agents further into the lounge area.

“Please, have a seat,” I indicated to them while Nirupa sat down elegantly in one of the tub chairs. She looked utterly calm and was the perfect picture of graceful poise, while I knew I looked guilty, ill at ease.

“No, this won’t take long,” Agent Adlyne stated as she remained standing with her back to the viewport. She was facing Nirupa while it was obvious that Agent Marsh was “covering” me. I could see the slight bulge of his Lazer weapon under his jacket and couldn’t help but wonder if it was set to Subdue or Slaughter.

“Mrs Taylor,” Agent Adlyne began, “do you know a tech named Usman?”

“Of course I do, and you know I do. He’s a good colleague of mine,” Nirupa said pointedly.

“Yes, yes. Of course. I apologise,” Agent Adlyne said glibly. “Perhaps I should have asked if you had heard from him today. Apparently, he didn’t come in to work because of some family tragedy?” Agent Adlyne prompted.

“His parents died two days ago in a crash. Their auto-drive car had inexplicably swerved out of its lane straight into a fuel tanker. The funeral, I believe, was today, so no, I haven’t heard from him,” Nirupa replied.

She had turned slightly pale and I could see that her hands were trembling ever so slightly. I knew my wife better than I knew myself, so I doubted that either Agent had noticed Nirupa’s slight physical changes. I was wrong.

“You’re trembling, Mrs Taylor,” Agent Marsh suddenly hissed next to me. All right, he didn’t exactly hiss, but he might as well have. The man made my skin crawl as if he were a serpent in disguise.

“Everything okay?” he asked in mock concern.

I knew both Agents probably already suspected Nirupa of something, but I also realised that if they had had any conclusive and absolute proof that Nirupa had been in touch with Usman, or that she had viewed a most incriminating video, they would not have been having a civil chat with her. They would have simply stormed into our flat and dragged Nirupa off in chains to their Interrogation Towers. I decided to act tough and see if I could bluff my way out of a perilous situation.

“Excuse me,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster. “My wife has already answered your question. Of what relevance is her shaking? Anyone else would, too, if they were being interviewed by two Agents at this time of the night. If you have any more questions for her, ask them or leave immediately. We didn’t ask if you have a Document of Investigation, but maybe we should have,” I said, nearly out of breath by the end of my speech.

The DI (ironically pronounced “die”) allowed Agents absolute authority to question any citizen for as long and as harshly as they wished to, but if Agents didn’t have a DI, they could legally be denied the authority to question a suspect. I was hoping these two sleaze balls didn’t possess said DI.

“Right you are, Mr Taylor,” the male scumbag said. “We don’t have a DI, but I have just one more question for your wife, and then we’ll leave, if that’s okay with you,” Agent Marsh said unctuously. I wanted to kick him in his gonads and make him pee his pants. Instead, I simply nodded in assent.

“Did you receive any correspondence from Usman recently? Perchance an audio or video clip, or perhaps an encrypted email?” Agent Marsh asked and watched Nirupa with narrowed eyes.

“It might have gone to your Unread email folder, or perhaps even been erroneously redirected to your Phising folder,” Agent Adlyne added.

“Well, Agent Adlyne, if it did go to one of those folders, I would definitely not have received or seen it. Nobody checks those folders, ever,” Nirupa replied with false bravado. “As for having received it in my Inbox, nope. I check my emails very regularly, and the last time I went into my account, there was nothing from Usman,” she said.

I wondered how she had managed to get the video clip, but I reasoned she probably had some hidden account that Usman knew of. I panicked when I started to think about the possibility that the Agents might know about Nirupa’s hidden email account, if one existed, and they were simply allowing her to incriminate herself. Just as I was once again about to object, Agent Marsh spoke.

“Well, then, that’s all resolved. We apologise if we’ve disturbed your evening, but we need to follow up on every lead, and we needed to make sure that you, Mrs Taylor, could be cleared of any involvement in the recent spate of accidents,” he stated.

“Yes, now that Mrs Taylor has answered our questions, there’s nothing else keeping us here,” Agent Adlyne said to me. Both agents moved towards the elevator, but then Agent Adlyne stopped as if a thought had suddenly struck her.

“Just one more thing, Mrs Taylor, if you don’t mind,” she said in a mild voice and smiled at Nirupa.

I wanted to say, “Really? Are you seriously doing a Detective Columbo move right now?”, but I knew the reference would be lost on her, thus I said nothing. I dreaded what the “one more thing” might be though.

“Yes?” my wife asked with only the slightest hint of trepidation. I cursed inwardly and wanted to throw both Agents through the viewport.

“Could you do us a small favour and satisfy our curiosity by calling up your email account so that we could check if there isn’t perhaps any message now from Usman?” the insufferable woman asked in the sweetest voice possible.

“Come on! Is that truly necessary?” I asked, but Nirupa waved away my objection.

“Bruce, it’s not a problem. If it will soothe the Agents’ anxiety, I would be only too happy to show them the emails in my account,” she said and removed her palmpad from the coffee table drawer.

At the sight of it, my throat constricted so violently that an involuntary squeak escaped me. I swiftly coughed to cover the implicating sound. I knew the Agents had most probably already hacked into Nirupa’s email account, so I was puzzled as to their reason for asking her to access the account in front of them. It was possible that they were hoping Nirupa would inadvertently reveal something. They definitely did not know my wife, for Nirupa never blundered at anything. What had caused me to choke was the knowledge of the video from Usman on the palmpad.

Nirupa smoothly extracted the palmpad from its sleeve and it lit up brightly. She swiped the screen to have it appear on the television and opened her email account.

“There you go,” she said cheerfully to the two agents. “Scroll through my emails at your leisure.”

That was when Agent Marsh’s real iniquitous and shrewd nature showed itself. He smiled down at my wife seated in the tub chair.

“May I use your palmpad, please?” he said in a most innocuous voice.

To Nirupa’s credit, she evinced not the slightest sign of panic or fear, but promptly handed the device to Agent Marsh and made a hand gesture that said, “It’s all yours.” She got up from the chair and walked nonchalantly over to the fridge, asking the Agents over her shoulder if they wanted a cold beverage. Both Agents declined, of course, but Nirupa’s indifference must have convinced them that she had nothing to hide, for without even using the palmpad, Agent Marsh abruptly switched it off and placed it on the coffee table.

“I think we’re done here, Mrs Taylor,” Agent Adlyne said and walked towards the elevator once again. This time, she didn’t pause but stopped in front of the doors with Agent Marsh at her side. Transceptia caused the doors to slide open silently, and the two Agents stepped into the waiting cab.

“Thank you very much for seeing us. If we need anything else, we’ll be in touch,” Agent Adlyne said.

“Preferably through my office,” Nirupa bravely remarked.

“Certainly, Mrs Taylor,” Agent Marsh averred as the doors closed.

Both of us immediately sighed loudly in relief. I went over to have a cup of ice cold water to calm my shot nerves while Nirupa hurried over to her palmpad. She ran her hands carefully across the entire device, as if searching by touch for something.

“What are you doing?” I asked, perplexed by her actions.

With a triumphant smile, Nirupa pulled something off a corner of the palmpad and held it up for me to see. “A bug. Tiny but powerful. Agent Marsh planted it on the palmpad,” my wife explained. “I had suspected as much when they asked for the palmpad but failed to use it,” she added.

“Sons of bitches!” I exclaimed in anger. I was livid, but my dread was also reaching critical levels. That miniscule and inconspicuous bug was evidence that the Agents suspected Nirupa. I immediately worried if there were perhaps other listening devices secreted in our apartment.

“Transceptia, scan the flat for any unauthorised listening devices,” I instructed the house computer.

“One second, please,” she said and then reported back. “Apartment scanned. One listening device discovered. Source: Mrs Taylor.”

“Great,” I said in relief, “so that’s the only intruder.”

Nirupa came over to me, dropped the bug into my glass of water and hugged me. Both of us clung desperately to each other. We might have pretended to be fearless in front of the Agents, but we were terrified to the core.

The GIA had a brutal reputation, and their modus operandi were not entirely democratic or ethical. We went to bed, utterly exhausted, and I fell instantly into turbulent dreams of torture and torment.

Part III

The next morning it finally dawned on me to ask Nirupa why she had so willingly handed over the palmpad to the Agents when the video from Usman was still on it.

“Simple, sweetheart,” she replied calmly as she zipped up her skirt and stepped into her shoes. “As soon as we had viewed it, I had cut it from the palmpad and pasted it on a thumb drive. I removed the drive just before the Agents arrived – it’s stored safely in the rice jar.”

“Aah,” I said like an imbecile.

Both of us took the elevator to the top tier and stepped out into a day filled so glaringly with radiant sunlight that my eyes automatically adjusted. It initiated the tint mode and filtered the sunlight to a bearable degree. I kissed Nirupa as she stepped into her waiting taxi while I went over to the bus stop to catch the next bus. That would be the last time I would see my wife alive.

Later that day, at about two in the afternoon, I received a call from Nirupa. She sounded simultaneously agitated and extremely excited.

“Turn on the news,” she told me. “The story – it’s broken all over the vidcasts and minor networks. Wanwuyishi can’t kill it anymore!” she practically yelled at me.

I hurriedly switched on my office television and selected a news channel, just in time to hear the news anchor say, “In spite of the damning video, the Wanwuyishi Corporation is still adamantly denying that some of their microchips installed in vehicles are faulty. The GIA has pledged to get to the truth immediately.” He went on to provide more details, but I had urgent questions for my wife and muted the television.

“Niru, what did you do?” I asked in horror. “I thought if you released the video, you would endanger not only your life, but the lives of Usman and his family, too!”

“Don’t worry, Bruce,” Nirupa said in an infuriatingly composed manner. God, I loved her!

“The reporter I met today is one who never reveals her sources, no matter what. She’s famous for this – or infamous, depending on your perspective – and that’s why I selected her,” Nirupa explained. “I gave her an edited version of the video, removing the last part of it. Usman’s face was blurred out, while his voice was distorted. There’s no way it can be traced back to either him or me,” she said with confidence.

I sighed in relief and asked her to be careful. She promised she would be, and then ended the call. The next call I received later that day brought my universe crashing down upon me.

Ironically, it was Agent Marsh who was the unfortunate bearer of the news that would devastate me and shatter my heart into innumerable pieces. I had just arrived home when the wall phone beeped.

“Video call from Agent Marsh,” Transceptia announced. “Should I put the call through?” she asked me. Like everyone else, we had programmed our house computer to screen all incoming calls to protect our privacy.

I hesitated for a second or two, but then said, “Sure, connect him.”

When I saw Marsh’s face, I knew he was about to tell me something I definitely did not want to hear. Before I could prevent him from saying anything, he spoke.

“Good evening, Mr Taylor. I’m truly sorry to have to tell you that … that the auto-drive taxi your wife was travelling in was … involved in … an accident this evening. I’m afraid the news is not good,” he said in a hesitant and surprisingly sorrowful voice.

“What?” I said inanely. “An accident? Is she okay?” I already knew what his answer would be before he gave it, but it still sent me reeling.

“Mr Taylor, I don’t know how to say this, but I’m afraid the accident … was fatal. Your wife died on the spot.”

He kept on talking; I knew he did because I could see his lips moving, but I had stopped listening. All I heard echoing around in my head were his last words: Your wife died on the spot. In a daze, I ended the call and barely managed to walk to the lounge where I collapsed onto the sofa. I don’t know for how long I simply sat like one dead to the world, but I was finally drawn from my insensate state by the ping of the elevator.

I looked up in confusion to see Agent Adlyne standing in front of me. Agent Marsh flanked her, as usual. Seeing the two of them alive while Nirupa was no more sent me over the edge. With an inhuman roar I charged them, fully intending to rip out their throats, but Agent Marsh was a trained Galactic Agent. With hardly more than a side twist, he had me in a bear hug, my arms immobilised and useless. Slowly he lowered me to the floor, all the while saying, “Relax, buddy. Relax.”

Abruptly, all the fight left me and I broke down into sobs, feeling that my burdened soul was pouring out with my tears. A soft, caring touch surprised me and made me lift my watery gaze to see Agent Adlyne leaning gently over me. My brain refused to make sense of the tableau, until Agent Adlyne explained in a kind, patient voice.

“Mr Taylor, we are not the enemy. We knew your wife had some information on the Wanwuyishi Corporation, but I believe our approach sent the wrong signals. She misunderstood our intentions, and consequently, this tragedy has occurred.

“We’ve been acquiring information and evidence on Wanwuyishi and other microchip manufacturing corporations for the past four months, and we knew we were close to breaking the case. We only needed some concrete evidence, such as the video clip your wife obtained, to confront the corporations and make arrests. Unfortunately, your wife thought we were in league with the corporations, thus she distrusted us,” Agent Adlyne explained.

“We were trying to protect your wife,” Agent Marsh continued. “With hindsight, we can see now how the two of you could have construed our presence and investigation as hostile. We should have been honest with you and your wife from the start, and perhaps then this calamity could have been averted,” he ended.

I listened in stupefied silence to the contrite Agents, but then a tiny thought flickered to life, lit by Marsh’s last statement.

“Wait,” I said, “are you saying Wanwuyishi had something to do with my wife’s … death?” I could barely utter the word, and again I was briefly overcome by soul-shattering anguish.

“We believe so, yes,” Agent Marsh said.

“If not directly, then for sure indirectly,” Agent Adlyne affirmed. “We think they had somehow found out that it was your wife who had leaked the video clip, and they took steps to punish and silence her,” Agent Adlyne explained.

“Either that, or the accident was as a result of a chip malfunction … and your wife became one of the many unfortunate people who lost their lives due to negligence and greed,” Agent Marsh added.

“We can promise you though that we will bring Wanwuyishi and the other corporations crashing to their knees. They will be held fully accountable for these tragedies and brought to justice,” Agent Adlyne assured me.

It was little comfort to me, of course, but at least my beautiful, inimitable, brave Nirupa had brought down those responsible for the deaths of innocents. In the month that followed, Wanwuyishi and three other microchip corporations were swiftly brought to book by the GIA. Wanwuyishi was proven to be not so infallible, after all.

It was a Pyrrhic victory though.

Wanwuyishi – Chinese word meaning “infallible”