The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi

of sorted contents. Kanya follows close behind. Jaidee asks, "What do we have, Lieutenant?"

    "Agar solutions. Nutrient cultures. Some kind of breeding tanks. PurCal cinnamon. A papaya seedstock we don't recognize. A new iteration of U-Tex that probably sterilizes any rice varietal it meets." She shrugs. "About what we expected."

    Jaidee flips open a shipping container's lid and peers inside. Checks the address. A company in the farang manufacturing district. He tries sounding out the foreign letters, then gives up. He tries to remember if he's seen the logo before, but doesn't think so. He fingers through the materials inside, sacks of some sort of protein powder. "Nothing of wonderful interest, then. No new version of blister rust leaping out of a box from AgriGen or PurCal."

    "No."

    "It's a pity we couldn't catch that last dirigible. They ran quite quickly. I would have liked to search the cargo of Khun Carlyle."

    Kanya shrugs. "They will return."

    "They always do."

    "Like dogs to a carcass," she says.

    Jaidee follows Kanya's gaze to the Customs men, watching from their safe distance. He is saddened that they see the world so similarly. Does he influence Kanya? Or does she influence him? He used to have much more fun at this work. But then, work used to be so much more clear-cut. He's not accustomed to stalking the gray landscapes that Kanya walks. But at least he has more fun.

    His reverie is broken by the arrival of one of his men. Somchai, sauntering over, his machete swinging casually. He's a fast one, as old as Jaidee but hard-edged from losses when blister rust swept the North for the third time in a single growing season. A good man, and loyal. And clever.

    "There's a man watching us," Somchai mumbles as he draws close to the two of them.

    "Where?"

    Somchai jerks his head subtly. Jaidee lets his eyes roam the bustle of the landing fields. Beside him, Kanya stiffens.

    Somchai nods. "You see him, then?"

    "Kha." She nods affirmative.

    Jaidee finally catches sight of the man, standing a good distance away, watching both the white shirts and the Customs men. He has on a simple orange sarong and purple linen shirt, as if he might be a laborer, and yet he carries nothing. He does nothing. And he seems well-fed. Not showing ribs and hollow cheeks the way most laborers do. He watches, casually leaning against an anchor hook. "Trade?" Jaidee asks.

    "Army?" Kanya guesses. "He's a confident one."

    As though he senses Jaidee's eyes, the man turns. His eyes lock with Jaidee for moment.

    "Shit." Somchai frowns. "He's seen us." He and Kanya join Jaidee in an open study of the man. The man is unperturbed. He spits a stream of red betel and turns and saunters away, disappearing into the bustle of freight movements.

    Somchai asks, "Should I go after him? Question him?"

    Jaidee cranes his neck, trying to catch another glimpse of the man where he has been swallowed by the bustle. "What do you think, Kanya?"

    She hesitates. "Haven't we prodded enough cobras for one night?"

    Jaidee smiles slightly. "The voice of wisdom and restraint speaks."

    Somchai nods agreement. "Trade will be furious as it is."

    "One hopes so." Jaidee motions to Somchai to return to his inspections. As they watch him go, Kanya says, "We may have overstepped this time."

    "You mean I may have overstepped." Jaidee grins. "You're losing your nerve?"

    "Not my nerve." Her gaze travels back to where their observer disappeared. "There are bigger fish than us, Khun Jaidee. The anchor pads. . ." Kanya trails off. Finally, after visibly working to choose her words, she says, "It's an aggressive move."

    "You're sure you're not afraid?" he teases her.

    "No!" She stops short, swallows her outburst, masters her composure.

    Privately, Jaidee admires her ability to speak with a cool heart. He was never so careful with his words, or his actions. He was always the sort to charge in like a megodont and try to right the trampled rice shoots after. Jai rawn ,