Arms Race Read Online Free PDF Page A

the polished steel doors when they slid open.
His reflection split in half to reveal a metal gangway suspended above an enormous
factory floor. A vaulted ironwork ceiling arched overhead.
    Jora moved to the edge of the gangway and gripped the railing. Far below, rows of
battered photocopiers, thousands of them, stretched off into the distance. An army
of workers in blue overalls loaded cartridges and paper, or stood conversing in tight
groups. The bustle called to mind a great railway station.
    You there! a rich, fruity voice cried. Last bets.
    Jora turned to see a small crowd gathered further along the walkway. They were drinking
champagne and watching the preparations below. A man with a formidable moustache
strode towards him. He had the same short stocky build as Jora, and when they were
face to face Jora saw they wore identical glasses.
    I have business with the manager, Jora said.
    The man looked him up and down and paused, as if making a decision, then gave a small
formal bow.
    I am the manager, he said. Business must wait. Any last bets?
    What are we betting on? Jora asked.
    We are betting on the copying of the Lonely Planet guide. Where are you from?
    I grew up in the poorest village in Rajasthan. But now I’m—
    Yes, the manager cut him off. You look like a village man. Which one?
    Jora stiffened. Jaisalmer will do.
    Jaisalmer it is. You are betting on page two hundred and twelve. Minimum bet five
hundred rupees.
    Jora took his wallet and casually counted out ten thousand rupees. It was far more
than he could afford. He had just enough left for the train home.
    The manager took the money and made a note in his book. Then he turned to the railing
and pointed down to a group of workers in the vivid red turbans of Jaisalmer men.
    That is your row, the manager said. They have never won. Now, let us begin. He leaned
over the railing and clapped his hands.
    An air-raid siren filled the factory. The workers below rushed into a vast and swirling
choreography, as intricate as a North Korean spectacular. Chaos resolved itself into
row upon perfect row, a worker standing to attention at each machine. Jora watched
transfixed. Around him the betting crowd moved to the railing.
    At the end of the factory an official made his way across the floor. He stopped at
the first copier in each row and handed its operator a white envelope.
    The originals, the manager said. Each row gets one page from the original guidebook
to copy. Three hundred pages, three hundred rows.
    Once the envelopes were distributed a hush fell. The workers and the crowd fixed
their total attention on the manager. He raised both arms above his head, then brought
them swiftly down.
    Go!
    The little crowd roared, and at the start of each row the workers tore open their
envelopes and thrust the precious originals into their machines. A mighty whirring
clamour filled the factory like a flock of mechanical pigeons taking flight, and
a jagged line of light flared across the roof. Jora raised a hand to shield his eyes.
    The first copies rolled from the machines; as in a baton race the next worker in
each row seized the duplicate and fed it into his machine and made a copy, which
was in turn taken up and copied by the next and so on, passing copies of copies of
copies down the factory in a furious relay.
    The race passed beneath Jora’s feet and away to the south, where the machines were
old and decrepit and soon began to choke and jam. The stench of toner filled the
air. Repair teams raced along the rows, vanishing and reappearing amid the steam
and smoke. The strobing line of light that marked the progress of the race grew ragged
as some rows fell behind and others surged ahead.
    At the front, the Jaisalmer row was neck and neck with a sleek Delhi team. Jora found
himself gripping the rail and urging his desert cousins on.
    Go, you sons of bitches!
    At that, a woman leaned over the railing to cheer the Delhi team. She thrust one
slender arm into the air,