Interlude: Prime Minister

“The Cabinet Committee for Security is now in session,” announced the civil servant at the end of the table.

Ramnath Narayanswamy knew he should recall the man’s name. It was hard, though. There were just too many people he had to meet, every single day, all seeking him to fix one thing or the other.

He preferred being out and about, giving speeches, motivating people. That was what he was good at. He’d been an exceptional public speaker, ever since he’d spent months locked in a tiny house with only his parents, sister, a book on public speaking and several mirrors for company. 

The pandemic had shaped him, and his generation, to handle a certain degree of adversity. The last twenty years had sharpened that edge, even as four generations of innovation and rising living standards had given way to the necessities of wartime. 

That did not change the fact that many longed for the older days. There had been discussions - closed-door discussions, but discussions nonetheless - of the feasibility of reaching out to the aliens for a peaceful coexistence. 

The thought made his blood boil, as well as that of every member of his cabinet. They’d all learnt about colonialism and its tragic aftermath in school. And yet, as the war dragged on year after year, with no end in sight, the thought had been bandied around.

Now, it appeared the idea might have been a plant. A subversive campaign by the alien shapeshifters, the Gellatoids. 

If they could infiltrate the Americans, with their much-vaunted technology and the largest number of active ultrahumans in the world, how much easier would it be to infiltrate India? 

Was any of his Cabinet members an imposter? Were they, even now, considering how to push the nation into surrender?

He couldn’t figure it out. These were men he’d known for years - decades, in some cases - and he couldn’t tell for sure if any had been replaced by a bodysnatcher. 

“The situation in Mumbai is getting worse,” the Minister of Information and Broadcasting was saying. “There are many who believe the government already has a cure, and is simply hiding it. Or that it’s available, but only to the rich.”

“Have we been able to trace out the source of these rumours?” asked Jatin Panchal, the Minister of Defence. 

Abhinav Khare, the Home Minister - and the man to whom every intelligence apparatus in the country eventually reported - shook his head. “Tracing such messages is like chasing shadows. The minute you shine a light towards the origin, they disappear.”

“It’s not just a digital campaign,” the Minister of Information and Broadcasting added. “There are rumours at the ground level, circulating by word of mouth. They say Aerovascar doses are being stockpiled in Bhiwandi, and they should go and seize them.”

“Aerovascar precursors are being stocked in Bhiwandi,” grumbled Govind Goyal, the Minister of Industry. “Not the finished product. Stick that stuff in a man’s arm, and he’ll die.”

“Leave it unused for too long, and it’ll decay,” added Pranjali Gokhale, the Minister of Finance. “Which will not help our financial situation. Do we have any updates on when this Belessar will bring the final components?”

“The last component is a highly explosive compound,” pointed out Khare. “The superhero is working on making it, but the British government kicked up some sort of fuss about taxation.”

“Which has been handled now,” added Ramya Lamba, the Minister of Foreign Affairs. “We had to haggle a bit, though.”

“How did we get involved in a taxation matter?” asked Narayanswamy.

Lamba looked embarrassed. “The British company - BAE - reached out to us. Said the government was going to place a multi-billion pound tax on their product if they shipped it to India, even free of cost. We put in a word from our side indicating we’d appreciate a waiver for this one case.”

“Doesn’t their government own a third of the company?”

“It does, Ramnath ji.”

“So they were going to… tax themselves?”

“There was a lot of red tape. We talked them into skipping certain things.”

“Another example of Western racism against our country,” growled Goyal. “You can’t trust the British.”

“I’m sure our ancestors would agree with you,” Narayanswamy said, “but this is the now. We need what they’re making, and we’re willing to pay the cost in money, if not in time. How bad are things in Mumbai, Abhinav?”

“The police have de-escalated sixteen protests,” Khare replied. “They’re asking for more support, and I’m inclined to give it to them.”

“Sixteen protests is not a lot,” said Lamba, “for a city of twenty-five million people.”

“That was just yesterday.”

“... that’s a lot.”

“Six de-escalations today, so far.”

“.... It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”

“You understand the need for urgency, then.”

“Any chance of actual riots breaking out?” asked Narayanswamy.

Khare shrugged. “There’s always a chance. When India loses a cricket match, there’s a chance. When India wins a cricket match, there’s a chance.”

“I need something concrete, Abhinav.”

“Fifty per cent in the next month, Ramnath-ji. Twenty per cent if you only count riots big enough to make it to the news.”

“And by the end of next month?”

“Seventy-five per cent that there will be a small riot, forty per cent for a larger one. The month after that, near certainty on the small riot, sixty per cent on the larger one. People are getting desperate out there, even as the clock ticks down.”

“And when the riot breaks out, what is our plan?” asked Indira Vaghele, the Minister of Atomic Energy. “Are you going to send in the Rapid Action Force and break heads again?”

Before Khare could react - explosively - Narayanswamy stepped in. “Indira, the RAF is better trained now. There will be no repeat of what happened to your parents - as I promised.”

Naturally, Khare had to step in and make the situation worse. “How someone like you was chosen to run our nuclear program, I’ll never know.”

“I run it because I know what NOT to do with it,” snapped the social-activist-turned-Cabinet minister.

Narayanswamy slammed his hand on the table. “The two of you had better calm down. I will not have a riot inside the Cabinet chambers, do you understand? And no more personal remarks.”

The two ministers, still staring daggers at each other, subsided. For now. Another storm that he’d managed to hold off.

Jatin Panchal cleared his throat. “Although Indira madam’s question might have been differently phrased, it is a valid one. A riot is going to break out, sooner or later. And what happens then?”

“The state government is working with community leaders,” said Khare, “to ensure things don’t get out of hand.”

“Yes, but we still have a forty per cent chance of a major riot in a month. What can we do to de-risk that? Do you need flag marches in the city?”

“While that might help, the trouble comes from the more… organized powers,” admitted Khare. “There are ultrahumans in the city, embedded in the underworld. At least three Masters that we suspect, and a dozen more visible powers.”

“The underworld ultras have been quiet for years,” pointed out Lamba. “They’ve been focused on making money, and we’ve let them be in return. What’s changed?”

“Nobody’s sure,” Khare responded. “It’s just… more people going missing than normal. A spike in murders. A general upsurge in crime, both violent and the standard identity theft cases.”

“Does anyone have a theory why this is happening?” asked Narayanswamy.

“Shortage of adequate policing manpower,” Khare’s tone was bitter. “A massive drop in psychological health. Most of my intelligence folks believe the surge in missing people cases is all unidentified suicides, and the bodies will wash ashore sooner or later.”

“Aren’t there CCTV cameras on all bridges?” asked Ramya Lamba. “My boyfriend and I used to dodge them all the time….”

“Yes, there are cameras on all the bridges,” sighed Khare. “Yes, they’ve been overhauled every five years like clockwork, since those ancient times when your husband was just a boyfriend…”

Ramya grinned. “Don’t tell Kush, but those adventures weren’t with him.”

“.... ever since those very ancient times when the honourable Ms. Lamba dodged security cameras to make out with her mysterious boyfriend,” Khare deadpanned. “The missing people cases are the ones left after we exclude the jumpers and the humpers.”

“Could it be trafficking?” asked Pranjali. “I thought we stamped that out a while ago.”

“If it was trafficking, there would be some noise from my NGO contacts,” said Indira Vaghele. “Women’s support organizations have been - about as active as normal, nothing more than the ordinary.”

“So, unexplained disappearances, a stirring underworld, the possibility of an upcoming riot and a badly overstretched police force,” said Panchal. “And you want me to cut military recruitment and replacement further, to add to the problem.”

“Might I remind everyone of what Finance has to repeat, at every meeting,” Pranjali Gokhale sighed. “We. Don’t. Have. The. Money.”

“Print some,” shot back Panchal.

“The minute I start printing more money, the rupee crashes. Again. And all of your imported weapons and gear become that much more expensive.”

“Enough, Pranjali, Jatin,” Narayanswamy cut in. “We have been over this. And we decided - including you, Jatin - that it was necessary to accept temporary cuts to military funding in order to get the Aerovascar factories up and running. We will stay the course on that. Abhinav? What do you need to manage a riot, if one breaks out - other than more police, which is off the table for the moment.”

Khare shrugged. “The only thing I can think of is getting some more ultrahuman volunteers.”

“We’ve always shied away from giving ultrahumans too much power,” pointed out Panchal. “After Pakistan.”

“And perhaps the time has come to revisit that,” suggested Indira Vaghele. “At least temporarily. I know there are those who would welcome a more inclusive administration.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” grumbled Khare. “Let me get some of the more capable ultras - the ones who we can rely on, anyway - involved in certain activities. Information gathering, mostly, so we can improve our prevention - and maybe a few Masters.”

“.... You want to mind control mobs into obedience?” hissed Vaghela.

“We are not approving that yet,” Narayanswamy cut in, before another argument broke out. “You can make plans, but any deployment - regardless of the situation - will require my express authorization. Is that clear?”

“Absolutely.”

“And I shall visit Mumbai personally,” added Narayanswamy, holding up a hand to forestall any objections. “Speak to the people. Ask them to bear the hardship, for a little while. Swear not to take the cure until others have.”

“You’re not affected,” said Khare. 

“My niece is,” Narayanswamy pointed out. “She’s in Mumbai, if you recall. And I specifically told you to exempt her from the free healing Belessar and Melody Harmony were offering.”

“Would she be willing to share the stage with you?” asked Panchal. “We could use more women leaders in the party.”

Three sets of eyes shot daggers at him. The Minister of Defence raised his hand in mock-surrender. “I meant no offence to present company, of course. Only that Ramnath-ji is special, as is his family….”

“No more dynasties,” Vaghele grumbled. “We had hell getting rid of the first one.”

“And the copycats,” muttered Khare.

“I shall refrain from adding my niece to the party,” Narayanswamy observed. “Though she may merit the stage in her own right. She is a doctor, after all. And it’s one less person for the SPG to investigate and clear. On that note, Ramya - do we have a date about when the last component is to be delivered by Belessar?”

The Minister of External Affairs nodded seriously. “The first batch of octanitrocubane is expected in a week. I believe arrangements have been made to take it directly to the synthesis plant near Bhiwandi.”

“Under full armed guard,” added Khare, “and they’re sending it by Traveler.”

“How dangerous is this stuff exactly?” asked Pranjali. 

“It was mentioned in the briefing note.”

“Which was written in peak scientific jargon. Come now, Abhinav, you know my department is mostly accountants and economists. The chemistry went over everyone’s heads.”

Khare smiled cryptically. “If the stuff in those batches he’s sent goes off, everything within three kilometres will explode.”

“.... That’s an exaggeration, surely.”

“It is the most powerful non-nuclear explosive known to mankind, Pranjali,” Khare replied seriously. “I understand Belessar normally uses it in his missiles - and a single one of them can shoot down an alien craft. Something which our most advanced fighters struggle with.”

“Everyone’s fighters struggle with that,” added Panchal. “But yes, a fifty-kilo missile with that stuff as a warhead can bring down an alien strikefighter - and the batch he is bringing consists of thousands of tons.”

“Bringing?” asked Indira Vaghela. “He’s coming with it?”

“He indicated that a personal escort would be useful.”

“Maybe….” Vaghela tapped her chin. “Get him to stand beside Ramnath-ji at one of the speeches? A show of support.”

“I don’t think the public will warm to a foreigner,” Panchal said.

“He’s an American. And he’s Agni’s former boyfriend. We can play up on that angle.”

“If it delays the possibility of a riot - why not?” asked Pranjali Gokhale. “We’re paying him anyway.”

Khare scowled. “Prime Minister?”

“If the man is willing, I wouldn’t mind,” Narayanswamy said calmly. “Khare - get your man to reach out to Belessar, see if he can join us for the speech.”