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his
wrists and twisted. The old man capitulated and backed into the
corridor. "Mr. Vaughan! You are making a grave mistake. In the
name of an ancient and noble religion, please think again. It is an
honour to be the subject of Contemplation in the Buddhist faith."
    "Damn you!" He wanted to go on, shout
that Rao would know the sham of all religions if he could only look
into the human mind as he had, read the fear and the guilt and the
universal desire to be saved.
    Something in Vaughan’s stance caused Rao to
back off further, raising his hands in a gesture of self-protection.
"Mr. Vaughan, I am not a violent man..."
    Vaughan turned and stared into Tiger’s room,
repeating Rao’s claim and trying to summon a suitable reply. He
turned and stabbed a finger at the doctor. "You’re not
violent?" he said. "Are you trying to tell me that what you
did to those kids out there—what you did to Tiger—do you
mean to say that wasn’t violent?"
    Rao spread his hands. "Mr. Vaughan, I ensure
that my children suffer no pain. It is a sacrifice they willingly
make. I look after them, take care of all their needs."
    Vaughan dropped his head and closed his eyes. He
let the seconds build up, fought to control his rage. "I’m
sorry. I can’t let you go through with this." He paused,
contemplating Rao, then said, "How much?"
    Rao blinked. "Excuse me?"
    "How much is the monk giving you? I’ll
give you more if you’ll let me arrange Tiger’s funeral.
    The monk tipped his head towards Rao’s ear,
whispered something that Vaughan didn’t catch. Rao replied with
a whisper of his own. The monk bowed with impeccable serenity, first
to Rao and then to Vaughan, and retreated down the corridor.
    Dr. Rao said, "I can see that Tiger’s
funeral means much to you, Mr. Vaughan. The monk would have paid me
five hundred Thai baht."
    Vaughan felt nothing but contempt for the Indian.
"I’ll give you six hundred. I want Tiger taken to Level
Eleven where she can be collected. I’ll make all the
arrangements."
    Rao placed his palms together before his face,
performed a servile bow.
    Vaughan took out his wallet, counted out six
one-hundred-baht notes, and thrust them into Rao’s palm.
    He turned and stared through the door at Tiger’s
small body laid out on the bed. He wanted to run, to get as far away
from here as possible, but something, some absurd notion that do so
would be to show Tiger disrespect, forced him to step into the room
and sit down beside the dead girl.
    He took her hand, tried to find the words to
express what he was feeling. His throat was constricted; words would
not form—not that any expression of sentiment would mean
anything now. Images of Tiger in life came back to him, and he saw in
his mind’s-eye brief flashes of Holly.
    At last, in silence, he released the cooling hand
and stepped from the room.
    Rao was nowhere to be seen. Vaughan retraced his
steps through the ship and found his guide squatting in the entrance.
The boy jumped to his feet. "Dr. Rao told me show you out."
    "Take me to the nearest inhabited level."
    Thirty minutes later he was riding a crowded
upchute to the surface, packed between dozens of Indians on their way
to work, the unintelligible noise of their minds loud in his head. He
left the upchute station and walked into a warm dawn, the wash of
brightening sunlight dazzling after the gloom of the lower levels. He
felt as if he had just awoken from a nightmare, that if he went to
Nazruddin’s and sat in his booth then sooner or later Tiger
would turn up.
    He boarded a mono-train heading west and alighted
at the edge. There was a quiet park above his apartment where he
sometimes went to be alone.
    He sat on a bench overlooking a greensward that
sloped towards the edge of the Station. The sky was still dark out
over India; the sun was rising behind him, streaking the shadow of
his head and shoulders