“Senator, we have orders to clear the protest and get you out of here,” the cop replied.

“Officer, that crowd is being pacified by this young man right here! Shooting more teargas and rubber bullets is just going to make it harder. Now goddammit, put me in touch with your commander.”

Rangan just closed his eyes, tuned in to the peace coming off this monk, this man he didn’t even know.

290,000.

295,000.

Someone jostled him, and he opened his eyes. He looked over and the monk was half-collapsed on him, still smiling, still serene, his mind still giving off a deep tranquility.

There was red all over his robes.

“He’s been shot!” Rangan said.

Suddenly there were riot cops all around him, shields held high. Radios were crackling.

He felt other minds, protesters all around, climbing onto the stage from the sides, crowding around, shielding him with their bodies.

And this man. Rangan lowered him to the wood floor of the stage, surrounded by cops and protesters both.

The monk was still smiling, eyes closed.

The monk still smiled. His mind reached out. The tranquility was changing somehow. The peace growing more ethereal.

Turning to white.

Everything turning to white.

Beautiful, beautiful white.

It took Rangan’s breath away.

He felt hundreds of thousands of people gasp with it. Felt them all lose themselves in the complete absorption of this man’s mind.

Everything was this. This moment. This breath. There was no past. No future. Complete Samadhi. Complete absorption.

All white.

All peace.

All compassion.

Rangan lost himself in it. He wasn’t even sure how long it lasted.

And then it was fading.

And fading.

Dissipating.

Gone.

And all around him he felt stillness. Stillness everywhere.

Peace.

He opened his eyes, stood upright, craned his head over the forest of police shields and protesters who’d climbed up here to protect him, and looked out over the crowd.

Everywhere, people had stopped. The protesters had stopped. The cops had stopped.

They’d won. The riot was over.

Stan Kim put a hand on Rangan’s shoulder.

“Well done,” the Senator said quietly. “Now, get the hell out of here.”

Rangan nodded.

Time to get the hell out. Before the cops realized who they had here.

Then he heard a radio crackle, saw a police officer’s eyes go wide, the cop step back to create room, his gun fly out of its holster, aimed straight at Rangan.

“Down on the ground!”

Carolyn Pryce stared at the message, at the data in the attached file.

She couldn’t breathe. A fake? So detailed.

“Dr Pryce,” someone was saying. “Dr Pryce!”

She looked up. People were staring at her. She focused on Admiral McWilliams, ignored everyone else.

“I need a secure line to the National Terror Response Center.”

McWilliams stared at her, like he didn’t understand what language she was speaking.

“Now!”

123
Inauguration

Monday 2041.01.20