No Future Ch 70

LXX

Ivory Towers

Gabrielle

2040

There was a demonstration going on in Oxford's city centre. Normally, Gabrielle wouldn't be worried by something like that, but the taxi she was in would have to pass through it and she was concerned for the safety of Ajit, her Chief Farm Manager. Would they notice that he was Pakistani?

"Relax," said Ghazi who was also accompanying her. "Things might be getting heated over there in the Kashmir, but these guys aren't about to be lynching anyone. Look at them. They're a mixture of Muslims and Hindus. It's the war they're complaining about: not one side of the other."

Gabrielle looked more closely at the banners on display. There was a reassuring lack of factionalism. There was an apparent even-handedness about the complaints, but it was surely rare in the heated atmosphere of the last few months to find someone whose origin was in the Indian subcontinent who didn't side with either Pakistan or India. Indeed, there were plenty of good reasons to attack both parties. Neither democratically elected government had been exactly blameless, though Gabrielle suspected that in many ways they were just enacting what their respective electorates wanted them to do. The carnage in Kashmir was enough to upset anyone. Then there were the terrorist bomb attacks in Delhi, Mumbai and Lahore. And every day there was yet another story of an atrocity of one kind or another committed by Muslim, Hindu and Sikh extremists. It was sometimes difficult enough for Gabrielle to maintain the stance that it was the war rather than the warring nations that was most to blame.

Gabrielle enjoyed her business trips out of London and there were few cities as delightful as Oxford. She was looking forward to staying with Ghazi for a few days at the hotel. She just hoped the rooms were properly sound-proofed as she'd become a much more voluble lover as the years passed. Ajit was staying in his own hotel room. Gabrielle had thought about what it would be like to make love with him, but that was just never going to happen. Even if he wasn't already married with children, he'd be reluctant to compromise his working relationship with his boss. Furthermore, he probably wouldn't appreciate sex without some kind of emotional tie.

What a drag!

Gabrielle saw plenty of evidence of a more partisan attitude towards the India-Pakistan War after they'd got out of the taxi and entered the grounds of Jared Diamond House. This was where she was due to attend a set of seminars regarding some of the latest agricultural and biotechnological products. There were many posters on the office walls that publicised talks and discussions on the war. Some of the accompanying graphic images were extremely distressing, but then there was no shortage of distasteful photographs arising from the conflict. There were images of Muslim children being burnt alive, Hindu mothers being disembowelled, and naked cadavers being excavated from trenches that had been dug high up in the mountains. It was inevitable that there would be strong emotions in such a large population of British people whose origins were either India or Pakistan: especially here in Oxford. British Asians were, of course, disproportionately represented in the world of academia. No other ethnic community in the United Kingdom had invested so much effort to get ahead. And, naturally, this academic and material success attracted the wrath and envy of another community that was less well represented in university circles, but Gabrielle knew to exist in Oxford from viewing the hate graffiti sprayed on the walls alongside the railway line.

Pakis Out! Death to Ragheads! Fuck Off Back to Neelum Valley!

The last was an unusually well-spelled reference to the infamous biochemical atrocity that had become a byword for the excesses of modern warfare.

"I'm delighted you could make it," said Samirah, the promotional manager for Jared Diamond House's Biotech seminars. "I'm sure you'll agree that we've got some star speakers and plenty of exciting new ideas. Here are your passes."

She handed Gabrielle the name tags that they'd have to dangle over their breasts for the evening. She hesitated slightly when she saw the names associated with Gabrielle's companions.

"I hope you don't mind me asking," Samirah said in a relatively low voice. "Are your companions Indian or Pakistani? Not necessarily, of course, by birth, I hope you understand, but by...er...allegiance. I've been instructed to keep Indian and Pakistani nationals apart. There's been

ever

so much trouble in recent months."

Gabrielle understood Samirah's concern but she also knew that her response wasn't going to be very helpful. "One's Indian and the other's Pakistani," she said. "I think they would prefer not to sit apart."

"I understand," said Samirah thoughtfully while she consulted her notes. "I'll see what we can do."

Fortunately, neither Ghazi nor Ajit dressed in a way that announced their allegiance or religion and most attendees wouldn't care one way or another. There were a few other Asians, even though their presence in the agricultural profession had only begun to be widespread in recent years since agriculture once more became a prosperous industry and was attracting those who in an earlier generation might have been attracted to a career in financial services. Like Ghazi, most dressed no differently to any other British citizen irrespective of ethnicity, but there were some who openly paraded their sympathies. A group of Asian men and women with a prominent tilaka on their forehead sat on one side of the lecture theatre while on the other side were bearded men adorned in loose traditional clothing. They sat as far from each other as was possible.

Gabrielle was grateful during the seminar that she'd studied Chemistry and Biology as part of her degree in Agriculture and Farm Management. She might not be as comfortable as Ajit with the polysyllabic names and she was sure that without the aid of the photographs and slides she would have lost the thread of the discussion, but she was equally sure that many of the others were totally blinded by science. The bullet points that most visibly awakened their attention were phrased in terms of profit, investment opportunities and the bottom line. They may have been less concerned than Gabrielle and certainly Ajit about the less prominently highlighted caveats regarding mutation, disease-resistance and unproven side-effects.

Ghazi was obviously bored by the seminars and Gabrielle could see his eyes wander about the room. He was clearly attracted to Samirah who, despite her Islamic name, was certainly not Pakistani and was so pale-skinned that she may well have had no connection whatsoever to North Africa or the Middle East. He also had his eyes on an Asian man on the Pakistani side of the room who was surrounded by farmers of a more traditional English aspect that were so obese that even Ghazi would have hesitated to fuck them. Gabrielle knew that Ghazi had a true connoisseur's nose for those men most likely to find him attractive and who'd be game for a fuck. Gabrielle wondered whether this young Asian would be sharing their hotel room tonight.

However, this wasn't what happened although there were several times during the rest of the day when Ghazi was absent. That was hardly unexpected. There was little likelihood that he'd really get much joy from the seminars though, as a private investor with many lucrative sidelines, it was almost certain that he'd find some money-making opportunity from either the information given by the professorial lecturers or, more likely, from the contacts he'd make during the coffee breaks. What was rather less to be expected was that the Pakistani man towards whom Ghazi's eyes had wandered was also not there.

Gabrielle wasn't put out that much during the evening when she lazed about in her hotel suite watching an ancient Hollywood blockbuster while dressed only in a dressing gown. She'd probably have been rather more surprised if Ghazi hadn't found a man or woman with whom to spend his time, but her long-time lover was always reliable in one respect. She was more or less guaranteed that she would eventually be fucked long and hard by him and if he picked up a third party... well, that could be an extra treat. In any case, Gabrielle was rather enjoying the preposterous superhero nonsense that had once been such standard fare in Hollywood when movie budgets were extravagant enough to afford real human actors. These days only the excellence of computer graphics disguised the reduced expenditure on special effects, although nothing could be done to disguise the poor quality of the script-writing.

When Ghazi did arrive, well before midnight, he had the unmistakable odour of sex on his body, but as the man or woman with whom he'd so obviously been sharing his body wasn't there Gabrielle was grateful that her lover showered off the aroma before joining her on their double bed. She guessed that it had been a woman he'd had sex with, simply because he'd not brought anyone back with her. Gabrielle wasn't even slightly attracted to women, but thankfully most men, even those who enjoyed having sex with other men, were generally attracted to her.

It wasn't Samirah, that was for sure. When Ghazi and Gabrielle attended the seminar the following day, where Ajit was patiently waiting, Samirah betrayed none of the tell-tale signs with which Gabrielle was so familiar when her wayward lover had made a conquest. It could have been anyone. The hotel bar had been full of women the night before, though it was anyone's guess how many were guests and how many were plying for trade.

It wasn't until much later in the day, after lunch in fact, that Gabrielle discovered who it was that Ghazi had had sex with.

She was chatting with Ajit about some of the products that were on display in the foyer. The new brands of GM wheat were particularly impressive, although Ajit was troubled by the fact that the wheat was sterile. They disagreed about the new breeds of goat that were being cloned. Gabrielle was impressed by the milk-yield and the quality of the lean meat, whilst Ajit was troubled by the fact that the goat's legs were so short the animal could barely lift its stomach off the ground.

It was then that they heard the sounds of shouting and furniture being kicked over that had them both wondering whether it was better to run towards the source of the commotion to identify the cause or to run away for safety. There had been many terrorist incidents in the last few weeks related to the war in India and Pakistan: generally directed towards British Asians rather than any other ethnic or social group. Mosques had been set alight. A Gurdwara in Manchester had been fire-bombed. A dormitory that was housing migrant workers from Bangladesh (which nation had stayed resolutely neutral in the conflict) had been the victim of a suicide bomb. Could this be another terrorist attack?

Ajit led the way back to the lecture theatre with the more cautious Gabrielle trailing behind. It was clear that no bombs or guns had been used but the cause of the fracas wasn't immediately obvious. A group of people was gathered around the part of the room from which came the unmistakable sound of violence, but it was only when Gabrielle got closer that she discovered what was happening. It was a fight, but scarcely one that was evenly matched. Ghazi was lying prostrate and whimpering on the floor while three or four bearded, hooded men were kicking him repeatedly in the face, the chest and the groin.

And then before the security guards could arrive, they ran off.

The attackers weren't attendees of the seminar, because all the people who'd been there the day before were still in attendance with the exception of the Asian man who'd attracted Ghazi's eye. All the Muslim and Hindu visitors were there. No one from either group had been amongst those who'd run away and now hidden in Oxford's crowds of tourists. The Muslim Asians who dressed in traditional dress had been so far from the scene of the incident that it was obvious that none of them had been active participants.

Ghazi was in a very bad state. Gabrielle and Ajit sat with him in an adjacent room while they waited for the paramedics to arrive. His nose was broken and several teeth had been kicked out. He had difficulty breathing and he clutched his chest where it was likely that a rib had been broken. Blood was trickling out of his nose and his mouth. A bloody gash was open across his forehead. One eye was badly swollen.

"Why did they attack him?" Gabrielle asked Ajit. "Was it just because they thought he was a Hindu and they didn't like Hindus?"

Ajit shook his head. "I don't think that's why," he said sadly. "I don't think religion or nationality had anything to do with it. In any case, since Ghazi sat next to me and most people guessed that I might be Pakistani, they might well have thought he was one as well. Or at least a third- or fourth-generation migrant. No, it wasn't that at all."

"What was it?"

"I speak Urdu mostly, but I also know Sindhi," said Ajit. "I overheard some of the conversation between those with the long beards: you know the ones in traditional clothes. What they objected to wasn't Ghazi's religion. It was what he seems to have been up to with one of the other Muslim men who were there yesterday but who I gather from what I heard might also be in hospital."

"You think it might be Ghazi's sexual behaviour that they objected to?"

"I don't know your boyfriend very well," said Ajit very carefully. "He doesn't confide in me about personal matters and most especially not about his sexual activity. Nevertheless, I know that he did something yesterday that some people clearly didn't like. And I guess he's been punished for it."

"He most certainly has," said Gabrielle as she continued to attempt to staunch the flow of blood from Ghazi's bloody mouth.