others are already dead.”
“Can you send a bomb squad?”
“We just had them try on another target.”
“And?”
“They were killed. I’m outside your apartment building. The technicians designed a jamming signal I can send out, but it’ll only last a minute before it gets overridden.”
“What do I do?” Ben asked.
“Hold on. Let me sync with the bomb’s kikkai signal.”
Ben looked at all the paintings on the wall, thought of the days he’d spent aligning the furniture to get optimal feng shui.
“I got it,” Akiko said. “Leave your portical on the bed, open your window, and jump out.”
“Is there a Plan B?”
“What’s wrong with Plan A?”
He envisioned himself splattering against the cement. “I think I’d rather die in an explosion than falling down from a building.”
“Can’t you take a leap of faith?”
“In you?”
“I’ll release a safety net,” she assured him – the nets that went up in case people tried to commit suicide from the tops of buildings.
“Very generous of you. Why would you care if I lived or died?”
“I still need your help tracking down the general.”
“So this isn’t an interdepartmental favor to your alumnus?”
“Not this time.”
“If I’m not very helpful, will you shoot me too?”
“I shoot anyone who betrays the Emperor.”
It was madness to jump out of a building. But did he have any other choice? He looked under the bed again. There were explosives all right. Was this how he was going to die? Think, Ben, think! If he jumped out the window and she didn’t trigger the net, it was very possible they could call his death a suicide. An all-too-convenient closure to a Tokko plan to dispose of him. He preferred to leave a bloody mess. He looked over at the window and knew it was a far drop down. Too far.
“Jam it,” Ben said to Akiko. He tossed the portical down, ran out his room and down the stairs, nearly slipping. He rushed to the front door and grabbed the samurai armor. As it was coated in titanium, he hoped it would provide some protection. He lifted the chest plate and covered his body, ran out of the unit and shut the door behind him. The elevator seemed like a bad option so he went for the stairs when he heard a rumble. The fire was oddly cold and he felt something hurtle into his back and propel him downwards. He closed his eyes, ready for death. “ Shikata ga nai ,” he murmured to himself, feeling morbidly satisfied that his concluding emotion was a sense of welcoming.
LOS ANGELES
July 1, 1988
1:36am
----
Just under twenty-four hours earlier, Akiko had woken her boyfriend early in the morning. Night was dissolving into day and a layer of fog dallied over Venice Beach. She remembered traces of a dream, an old friend painting his house blue, covering the lamps, shelves, even the flowers in a darker hue of ultramarine. She’d reminded her boyfriend of his duty. “If more men with your genetic history don’t contribute to the fertility clinic, the population of pureblooded Japanese will disappear in the USJ.”
“Do you know what I have to do there every day?” he’d protested. “They take the joy out of–”
Everything was nothing for her, while seeming nothingness could signify anything in the proper context. In the wrong context, her concerns about the infertility Japanese men were experiencing from all the atomic weapon testing going on in Nevada could be construed as treasonous.
“Why’d you volunteer me for this?” he groaned.
“Because we’re citizens of the Empire and it’s our obligation to help in any way possible.”
“What’s the big deal about being pure Japanese? You’re French and Korean, and you’re a more important part of the Empire than I ever will be.”
She bristled at his reminder of her polluted ancestry. “The fact that you’re full blooded Japanese is essential to the Empire,” she said, even though,
“Can you send a bomb squad?”
“We just had them try on another target.”
“And?”
“They were killed. I’m outside your apartment building. The technicians designed a jamming signal I can send out, but it’ll only last a minute before it gets overridden.”
“What do I do?” Ben asked.
“Hold on. Let me sync with the bomb’s kikkai signal.”
Ben looked at all the paintings on the wall, thought of the days he’d spent aligning the furniture to get optimal feng shui.
“I got it,” Akiko said. “Leave your portical on the bed, open your window, and jump out.”
“Is there a Plan B?”
“What’s wrong with Plan A?”
He envisioned himself splattering against the cement. “I think I’d rather die in an explosion than falling down from a building.”
“Can’t you take a leap of faith?”
“In you?”
“I’ll release a safety net,” she assured him – the nets that went up in case people tried to commit suicide from the tops of buildings.
“Very generous of you. Why would you care if I lived or died?”
“I still need your help tracking down the general.”
“So this isn’t an interdepartmental favor to your alumnus?”
“Not this time.”
“If I’m not very helpful, will you shoot me too?”
“I shoot anyone who betrays the Emperor.”
It was madness to jump out of a building. But did he have any other choice? He looked under the bed again. There were explosives all right. Was this how he was going to die? Think, Ben, think! If he jumped out the window and she didn’t trigger the net, it was very possible they could call his death a suicide. An all-too-convenient closure to a Tokko plan to dispose of him. He preferred to leave a bloody mess. He looked over at the window and knew it was a far drop down. Too far.
“Jam it,” Ben said to Akiko. He tossed the portical down, ran out his room and down the stairs, nearly slipping. He rushed to the front door and grabbed the samurai armor. As it was coated in titanium, he hoped it would provide some protection. He lifted the chest plate and covered his body, ran out of the unit and shut the door behind him. The elevator seemed like a bad option so he went for the stairs when he heard a rumble. The fire was oddly cold and he felt something hurtle into his back and propel him downwards. He closed his eyes, ready for death. “ Shikata ga nai ,” he murmured to himself, feeling morbidly satisfied that his concluding emotion was a sense of welcoming.
LOS ANGELES
July 1, 1988
1:36am
----
Just under twenty-four hours earlier, Akiko had woken her boyfriend early in the morning. Night was dissolving into day and a layer of fog dallied over Venice Beach. She remembered traces of a dream, an old friend painting his house blue, covering the lamps, shelves, even the flowers in a darker hue of ultramarine. She’d reminded her boyfriend of his duty. “If more men with your genetic history don’t contribute to the fertility clinic, the population of pureblooded Japanese will disappear in the USJ.”
“Do you know what I have to do there every day?” he’d protested. “They take the joy out of–”
Everything was nothing for her, while seeming nothingness could signify anything in the proper context. In the wrong context, her concerns about the infertility Japanese men were experiencing from all the atomic weapon testing going on in Nevada could be construed as treasonous.
“Why’d you volunteer me for this?” he groaned.
“Because we’re citizens of the Empire and it’s our obligation to help in any way possible.”
“What’s the big deal about being pure Japanese? You’re French and Korean, and you’re a more important part of the Empire than I ever will be.”
She bristled at his reminder of her polluted ancestry. “The fact that you’re full blooded Japanese is essential to the Empire,” she said, even though,
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