The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi

dream. If Hock Seng ran the company, he would have shut it down more than a year ago.

    But Mr. Lake doesn't blink at the news. All he says is, "More money." He turns to Hock Seng. "And when will the algae tanks and nutrient cultures clear Customs?" he asks. "When, really?"

    Hock Seng blanches. "It is difficult. Parting the bamboo curtain is not something done in a day. The Environment Ministry likes to interfere."

    "You said you paid to keep the white shirts off our backs."

    "Yes." Hock Seng inclines his head. "All the appropriate gifts have been given."

    "So why was Banyat complaining about contaminated baths? If we've got live organisms breeding—"

    Hock Seng hurries to interrupt. "Everything is at the anchor pads. Delivered by Carlyle & Sons last week. . ." He makes a decision. The yang guizi needs to hear good news. "Tomorrow the shipment will clear Customs. The bamboo curtain will part, and your shipment will arrive on the backs of megodonts." He makes himself smile. "Unless you wish to fire the Union right now?"

    The devil shakes his head, even smiles a little at the joke, and Hock Seng feels a flush of relief.

    "Tomorrow then. For certain?" Mr. Lake asks.

    Hock Seng steels himself and inclines his head in agreement, willing it to be the truth. Still the foreigner holds him with his blue eyes. "We spend a lot of money here. But the one thing the investors can't tolerate is incompetence. I won't tolerate it, either."

    "I understand."

    Mr. Lake nods, satisfied. "Good then. We'll wait to talk with the home office. After we've got the new line equipment out of Customs, we'll call. Give them some good news with the bad. I don't want to ask for money with nothing to show at all." He looks at Hock Seng again. "We wouldn't want that, would we?"

    Hock Seng makes himself nod. "As you say."

    Mr. Lake takes another drink from his bottle. "Good. Find out how bad the damage is. I'll want a report in the morning."

    With this dismissal, Hock Seng heads across the factory floor to the waiting spindle crew. He hopes that he is right about the shipment. That it will be truly released. That he will be proven right by events. It is a gamble, but not a bad one. And the devil would not have wanted to hear too much bad news at once, in any case.

    When Hock Seng arrives at the winding spindle, Mai is dusting herself off from another foray into the hole. "How does it look?" Hock Seng asks. The winding spindle is fully disengaged from the line. Now drawn forth, it lies on the ground, a massive spike of teak. The cracks are large and obvious. He calls down the hole. "A lot of damage?"

    A minute later, Pom crawls out covered in grease. "Those tunnels are tight." he gasps. "I can't fit down some of them." He wipes the sweat and grime with an arm. "It's the sub-train for certain, and we won't know about the rest until we send children down along the links. If the main chain is damaged, we'll have to pull up the floor."

    Hock Seng peers into the revealed spindle hole with a grimace, flashing back to tunnels and rats and cowering survival in the jungles of the south. "We'll have Mai find some of her friends."

    He surveys the damage again. He owned buildings like this, once. Whole warehouses filled with goods. And now look what he is, a factotum for yang guizi. An old man with a body that's falling apart and a clan that has been filed down to his single head. He sighs and forces down frustration. "I want to know everything about how bad the damage is, before I talk to the farang again. No surprises."

    Pom wais . "Yes, Khun ."

    Hock Seng turns for the offices, limping slightly for the first few steps before forcing himself not to favor the leg. With all the activity, his knee aches, a reminder of an encounter of his own with the monsters that drive the factory. He can't help stopping at the top of the steps to study the megodont carcass, the places where the workers died. Memories scratch and peck at him, swirling like black crows,