Sagramanda, a Novel of Near-Future India

'Understood, Chief Inspector.'

'I want to be very clear on this, Lieutenant.' Keshu spoke slowly and emphatically. 'If this woman is by chance the person we are after, and we alert her that we are on to her, she may change her modus completely. Or worse, leave India altogether. As a noncitizen, we cannot hold her. We need to be absolutely certain we have our killer before we pick her up, and that we have sufficient evidence to bring cause and to convict. Otherwise, we may not get a second chance. This case is too important to risk on second chances.'

'I understand fully, Chief Inspector. It would be useful, I suppose, if she were to attack the students she seems to be following. Without being allowed to harm them, of course.'

'Yes, catching a suspect in the act is always the ideal situation. We can but hope.' Growing larger, the black spot resolved itself into a police stealth chopper. Switching gears, he added, 'Downline your present location, Lieutenant. I'll be airborne again in a minute or two and on my way in your direction. And for the love of Guru Nanak, keep your people clear of the suspect.'

The specially equipped chopper barely had time to touch down on the service platform before Keshu leaped aboard. In the waning light he hurried forward to take a seat behind the copilot. It took only seconds for his communicator to wirelessly relay the information the lieu tenant had supplied and enter it into the chopper's navigation system. Upon confirmation from the pilot, the craft rose and turned south toward the indicated coordinates as it rapidly gained altitude.

Through the open sides of the craft the sounds of the great city wafted up to him. Black and lean as a cobra, the stealth chopper itself generated virtually no noise. Or rather, the sounds it made were smothered by the special noise-canceling electronics that were built into its propulsion system. Descending on unwary suspects, it could touch down with less commotion than a startled cat.

Endless commercial and industrial complexes and towering apartment blocks swiftly gave way to more prosperous inurbs whose fenced and patrolled interiors were interspersed with neighborhoods that varied from the desperately poor to the unspeakably poverty-riven. As the first arms of the Delta passed beneath the chopper, they in turn were replaced by the inurbs inhabited by the wealthy and the merely well-off. When the chopper began to descend, Keshu found himself wondering if after weeks and months of endless frustration they really might have the right person. Computer simulation matches had been wrong before. And even if Lieutenant Johar's people had locked onto the right suspect, there was no guarantee she was doing anything more than traveling south. To arrest and prosecute, he needed more than that; much more. Ideally, he needed a smoking gun. Or a swinging sword.

Jena thought about trying to strike up a conversation with the students she was following. She knew they were students because of the way they acted, the style of MPAs they played with, and the matching Bangalore University Zoology departmental shirts they wore. They had backpacks that were up-to-the-minute stylish as well as practical, and fancy roll-up communicators, and gave every indication of being rich, educated, and innocent the same way certain flowers emit a musky stink to attract certain insects. They were perfect candidates to save from the brutal corruption and overwhelming despair with which the world was soon to mortally infect them.

Unusually, and usefully, the transport car in which all three of them were speeding south was busy, but not crowded. Standing and hanging onto one of the commuter bars, you could actually see through a window: never mind actually seeing the length of one of the slightly curved acrylic windows itself. Conversely, freed from the usual need simply to find enough personal space in which to breathe, it also meant other passengers would be more likely to notice the neatly dressed foreign woman introducing herself to the college-age locals. The immediate environment was public, and occupied by too many of the public. Better to wait, keep to herself, and continue to follow qui etly until privacy as well as opportunity presented itself. She continued to peruse the bright-backgrounded scriptures unscrolling on the com pact reader resting in her left hand, and waited.

Frustratingly, the boy and girl rode the car all the way to the end of the line. By the time they chose to exit, it was already dark outside. The evening was cloudy and with only a hint of moon, a condition Jena had thoughtfully ascertained before deciding to go out that night in search of others in need of salvation. Nor was the terminus station crowded, at least by Indian standards, when the pair finally disembarked. As they made their way through the station confines, past shops whose owners were activating security screens and autovendors that were shutting down for the night, they never noticed her. From her continued clandestine observation of them, she felt it was doubtful they noticed anything except each other, so intent were they on the young and handsome miracle that was themselves. In love, no doubt. Puppy love, kitty love, first love. Certain old memories that forever refused entombment rose, like bitter gorge, within her. She slapped them down. There was work to be done this night. Despite her resolve and her eagerness, she nearly changed her mind when the older woman showed up to meet the couple. Stout and efficient, the newcomer was dressed not in sari or salwar, but in freshly laundered Western-style field gear. Peering over the top of her reader, Jena saw the newcomer namaste and then formally shake hands with each of the students in turn. That was more encouraging. It meant the possibility existed that not only had greeter and arrivals not met before, it also suggested that the students were new to this area and to their eventual destination. Unfamiliarity was the mother of confusion, and ever a useful partner in Jena's work.

Students and greeter climbed into an open-topped, fuel-cell-powered 4x4 equipped with bull bars, oversized wheels, all-wheel steering, and a pair of swiveling elevator observation seats mounted in the rear. Pocketing her reader and making her way in the same direction without ever following immediately behind the trio, Jena was able to make out the bold inscription on the side of the vehicle: Jhila-Biopatenschaften Biological Station. This only further confirmed her supposition that the young couple were students. Come over from their dorm for a night's, or longer, fieldwork. Used to reacting quickly to the unforeseen, she employed one of several aliased credcards in her bag to rent an electric trike from one of the numerous autohires located next to the station. When the 4x4 headed out of the parking lot and away from the terminal, its occupants were unknowingly being tracked by an equally silent if much smaller shadow.

In defiance of traffic regulations and those regulating the use of the rental, she drove with all the lights turned off. Should the driver of the vehicle in front of her happen to glance in her curving rearview, on such a dark night she was unlikely to see the much smaller, three-wheeled transport following behind. Jena was also careful to keep out of range of the other vehicle's animal detection avoidance system with which a 4x4 in this area was likely to be equipped. While its arc of sensitivity would be much greater forward of the vehicle on which it was mounted than it would be to the rear, she was taking no chances.

After a short drive during which the station receded into the distance behind them, the 4x4 slowed as it approached a gate in a tall, high security fence. Sizing up the situation swiftly, Jena did not slow proportionately. Instead, she asked for and received a quick burst of speed from the trike that enabled her to pull up alongside the bigger vehicle. It positioned her on the right side of the 4x4, out of range of the gate's identification system that was mounted off to the left. So occupied with each other were the students that they did not even bother to glance in her direction. As for the car's driver, she was busy slipping an ident card into the gate sensor's reception slot. Meanwhile, Jena made a show of fumbling in her shoulder bag for a similar card, which she did not possess.

Accepting the driver's ID, the gate blocking the road ahead rolled back on its track to allow the 4x4 to drive through. Jena paralleled it until she was just inside the gate, then turned deliberately down a narrow road leading off to the right. Not until the bigger transport had driven on out of sight did she reverse course, accelerate quickly, and resume tracking the other vehicle.

Interesting, she mused as she bounced along in the wake of her quarry, immediately finding herself in deep, damp forest. This was a place she had never visited before. Night birds called querulously to one another from high in the trees while the occasional rattle of shadowy branches hinted at the presence of other, larger creatures. As she drove on, forced in the absence of the trike's lights to concentrate exclusively on the route ahead, she made note of her fascinating new surroundings, or as much of them as she could make out in the dark. Fervently committed but not single-minded, she was always interested in improving herself and adding to her store of knowledge about her adopted country.

Giving no sign that its occupants were in any way aware that they were being followed, the nearly silent 4x4 pushed deeper into forest and night. Before too long it turned onto a left-hand spur that was narrower than the main track. Nearly an hour of additional driving ensued, during which time Jena stoically ignored the increasing ache in her backside and legs. Pain and discomfort were mere intangibles that her ongoing studies had long ago taught her how to tolerate.

Eventually, the 4x4 slowed and turned right, heading toward a small but intense cluster of bright lights that