Paprika by Yasutaka Tsutsui Page B

her lab coat. “Apparently Tsumura wasn’t only looking at the reflector,” Nobue said. “He was also using the collector. Wasn’t he?”
    “So it seems.”
    “So they’re all using the collector for treatment in the other labs? In that case, why am I the only one who’s not allowed to use it?”
    “Hashimoto has put you up to this, hasn’t he. Tsumura was affected because he used the collector without sufficient training. Why is everyone so keen to use it, anyway?”
    “You just don’t trust me, do you.”
    “It’s not a question of trust.”
    Nobue said nothing for a moment, then changed the subject. “I read the article about the press conference the other day. Then I had the idea of going around disguised as Paprika.”
    Atsuko looked at Nobue as if something had just struck her. “What for?”
    “To clear suspicion from you, of course. The media suspicion that you are Paprika.”
    This mere slip of a girl wanted to parade herself as Paprika. Atsuko restrained her laughter at the very thought of that. “So in fact, the real identity of Paprika was none other than you all along,” she said. “And you really think they’re going to fall for that?”
    “Did you know I’m being followed? Ever since that press conference? They obviously think I could be Paprika. But maybe you’re saying I’m not even good enough to do that …” Nobue stared hard at Atsuko, patently unaware of her own lack of logic.
    Atsuko simply returned the stare. Perhaps Nobue really was being followed by some newspaper reporter who suspected all the Institute’s female staff of being Paprika. But that was barely credible; Nobue was more likely suffering from some kind of persecution complex. She didn’t seem her usual self. Both her words and her tone of voice were different today. Atsuko felt a shudder. Had someone been tampering with Nobue’s reflector? In that case, the danger was drawing closer. Atsuko realized she would urgently need to check the memory and software programs of her own reflector and collector.
    Not wishing to convey her suspicions but knowing that Nobue had to be distracted, Atsuko immediately ordered her to photocopy and bind a large pile of research papers. That would surely keep her busy for three or four hours …
    Atsuko bought some coffee and sandwiches in the Institute shop and took them to the Senior Staff Room. Tokita had already finished his lunch and was drinking tea with a face that looked like a damp floor rag. “Tea here tastes like gnat’s piss!”
    Atsuko paid no attention. “There’s something wrong with my assistant,” she said in the hope of getting some advice from him.
    “Her too?” Even the normally docile Tokita was surprised. “Tsumura was subjected to subliminal projections that caused his trauma to be released at the imperceptible rate of one-twentieth of a second every three minutes of real time. Truly ingenious.”
    “Who could have programmed the device? Was it Himuro?”
    “Well, whoever it was, the program came from Himuro’s partition. But what would Himuro gain by doing that? No, someone else must have made him do it. Don’t worry. I’ll wring it out of him.”
    “No, I’d rather you waited. We don’t know what the enemy would do if they found out.”
    “Well, I can get it out of him any time you like.” Tokita seemed inordinately keen to “get it out of” his almost equally obese junior. “He’ll soon spit it out.”
    “Not yet, though. Please.”
    “Oh, that reminds me. You know that DC Mini thing? I cracked it late last night.”
    Tokita casually announced his breathtaking achievement with the same nonchalance as if he’d just scribbled off a short essay. D stood for Daedalus, C for Collector. Tokita took something out of his pocket and placed it on a corner of Atsuko’s desk. It was a conical object about a centimeter high, with a base about seven or eight millimeters in diameter.
    “This is the DC Mini? What about the cables?”
    “No