“Enabling her to-”
“Akira is so driven,” he shook his head, “it’s her biggest strength, but it’s also her biggest weakness. Sachi exploited that. And now you are.”
“That’s not-”
“Let me finish,” he said sternly, “what Sachi did in Mexico was terrible. And it wasn’t just Sachi. Akira and I both turned a blind eye to all of it. Worse. We’re both culpable. Neither of us can wash our hands of it.” He took a deep breath, staying quiet for a few steps as we continued through the hospital hallways. I waited for him to keep talking. “Akira…she did it because of her drive. I did because I love her. That’s my biggest strength and weakness. But that can’t happen again. I won’t let it. She already can barely cope with what we did. And what you want her to do is potentially much worse than what we were helping Sachi do.”
“How can you-” I stopped, seeing the look on Masaru’s face.
“If you and Akira keep trying,” he said, “how far are the two of you willing to go? How far will you let Benecorp go to get you what you want? And if you somehow do succeed, you have no idea what you might unleash on the world. It could be a calamity on…on a scale none of us can even comprehend. And I don’t just mean in the sense of making a miserable future. I mean, what will it mean for the human species? The human experience? Nothing would alter this planet – hell, this universe, for all we know about your reincarnation – more than this. We shouldn’t be trying to beat Benecorp to it. We should be trying to stop them from getting it at all.”
Both of us continued in quiet, walking at a leisurely pace, Masaru leaning on his cane. Nurses and orderlies rushed past us in both directions. Low murmuring conversations and pattering footsteps mixed with the beeping and humming of medical equipment in the all-too-familiar sound of a hospital.
“If we don’t succeed,” I said, just above a whisper, “this might not even be a planet worth having human experiences for much longer.”
“Good, you’re here. It’ll be just a moment,” a PA said as we rounded the corner into another hallway, “they’re still interviewing with Regina.”
Masaru forced a smile, bowing. “Okay, thanks.”
I nodded to the PA and took a seat. She turned and went back into the conference room. Masaru began pacing with his uneven gait, fidgeting with his cane.
He sighed. “I know you think I’m overreacting. And you and I…we might never be able to understand one another. But this is…it’s more than just philosophical differences in opinion. You’ve seen how Akira’s been. I thought, hey, maybe this rescue mission will be the antidote. It’s exactly the kind of mission she always tried getting Sachi to do,” he stopped pacing, turning to look at me, “do you know how many times Akira has come here to Denver to see the children we rescued?”
I said nothing.
“Once,” he said, “right after the rescue. Since then she’s been back in Cortez. Probably working on your little project, trying to distract herself from her misery.”
“Is something wrong with the implants?”
“Is…what? No, I mean…no” he began pacing again, looking flustered, “at least, not from a technical standpoint, I guess. But this stuff, this tech…she’s become too…dependent.”
“We all depend on it,” I said.
“I don’t mean that way,” Masaru said, “I mean that it’s become like an addiction for her. That she lied to me about it was the first sign. But that she depends on it to…” he sighed again and went quiet.
“To function?” I asked.
“My father was a gambler,” Masaru said, stopping to lean against the wall, “I really didn’t know him that well. He was always gone. My mom would always tell me that he would be back, and that this time he would stay and we would be a family again. I remember the last time I saw him. He went through all of our valuables, pawning everything off. He owed a lot of money to the Yakuza. He argued with my mom about something. I didn’t get the full conversation, but I think…I think he wanted her to sell her body for money to get out of debt. To prostitute herself.”
Sell her body to the Yakuza? Shirou’s file on Akira – on Teru – said they were killed for their organs…
“I lost my parents because my father didn’t know when stop,” Masaru said, “I’m not going to let the same thing happen to me and my family.”
“Are you…you’re going to leave?” I asked, “you’re quitting? Just like that? Is that why you wanted me to get Doctor Taylor involved? To replace you guys?”
“Yes,” Masaru said, “but look what happened to me. To all of us. And what we’ve put Yukiko through. I mean damn, she’s two and going to therapy. She still can’t sleep unless she’s in our bed. And for what? I’m almost forty years old. And I’m a mortal. And what has anything we’ve done helped anyone?”
I sat quiet for a moment, feeling the foundations of my world groan and shudder. I gripped my hands together in my lap as if that might stop it from collapsing. There wasn’t anything I could do without Akira and Masaru.
Except go back to Sachi. And going to back to her is unacceptable.
Masaru saw the anxiety in my expression. “Listen, Eshe. I…I want the future to be better. For you. For everyone. But I’m mortal. So is Akira. And Yukiko. That means…that means I need to know when to…to cut our losses.”
“I…”
“I’m not going to leave you without making sure you can continue,” Masaru said, “we’ll leave all the lab stuff with you. We’ll still help with the children however we can. We’ll even leave the vast majority of the money for you, as well as the accounts that are still collecting. I only plan to take enough to get started.”
“But…the future?” was all I could manage.
Masaru stood back up strait, limping toward me with a forced a smile. “You have to understand. We get only one life. And I almost lost mine because of all this. And Akira…she won’t stop trying to ‘improve’ herself as long as she has this mission. And she’ll keep growing more and more distant from everyone and everything except the mission. But more than anything, this is no life for our daughter. I can’t do this to her.”
“It’s not just my future we’re doing all this for,” I snapped, “this world is turning to shit. Everywhere…more tyranny. More chaos. And who do you think is going to come out on top? Fucking Benecorp. Especially if they figure this reincarnation thing out. Is that who you want writing the future of this planet? Is that who you want writing Yukiko’s future?”
“I understand how you feel,” Masaru said, “but you have to understand that-”
“Do you? Do you understand how I feel? I’ll be the one still around when Benecorp is experimenting on Yukiko’s kids and grandkids. But I can’t do this alone. I can’t-”
“Maybe Sachi will-”
“Sachi? What, so she can fuck the world like she fucked Mexico? It’s not just me that you’ll doom to despair and misery, it’s-”
“I’ll never understand what you’ve been through,” Masaru said, “I don’t think I would ever be capable of understanding. No mortal could.”
“Exactly.”
“You may not think so,” Masaru said, “but you are human. You are subject to human nature, which comes with all our flaws.” He shook his head, exhaling slowly. “I know for you it’s temporary, but we’ll still be your friend. And we’ll still do what we can to help, when possible. But we’re not going to-”
“I don’t need fucking friends, I need help.”
“I’m sure you’ll find plenty more people you can manipulate into helping you,” he shot back, “but I’m thinking friends are what you’ve needed all along. Maybe then you wouldn’t be such an asshole.”
“Is this more of your ‘you’re only doing this because you’re lonely’ line of bullshit?” I stood up so I was face-to-face with him.
He looked like he was about to lob another rejoinder, but stopped himself, taking in a deep breath. “Eshe…I wish things were different. And I know you’re angry. S
o am I. Which is why we shouldn’t do this right now.”
“That depends when you planned on leaving me. What did Akira say about all this?” I asked, anger still simmering within.
“I haven’t said anything to her yet.”
I was about to point out that Akira would argue for staying, too, when I realized his plan.
“You’ll take Yuki and leave if she doesn’t come with you,” I said, “you’re going to give her an ultimatum.”
Masaru regarded me with a stony expression, saying nothing.
“Fine,” I said, “fine. Whatever. Fuck the world.”
“They’re ready for you,” the PA said, sticking her head out of the conference room, “who wants to go first?”
Masaru forced a smile at me before looking to the PA. “I’ll go first.”
The PA nodded and slipped back into the room. Masaru looked back to me.
“I know you’re angry, Eshe,” he said, “but I am still your friend. I hope, in time, you can understand why I’m doing this.”
I kept my gaze on him but said nothing. He stood for a moment, staring back, before turning and going into the conference room.
By my turn to speak with the press, the lingering anger from my conversation with Masaru had mutated into a hazy fatigue. Talking to anyone was the last thing I felt like doing. Especially people I knew were going to do their best to twist my every word to fit their respective narratives. It was Masaru’s idea in the first place that I talk to them and try to stamp out the media rumor mill that continued churning out ever exaggerated misinformation.
I had successfully avoided the spotlight, but my name continued being mentioned in interviews with the LoC security agents. I was one of the masterminds – along with Akira, who often became conflated with Sachi by the reporters – behind the plot to free the children.
On Masaru’s advice, I finally gave in. That somehow made the reporters seem that much more irritating, as if the interview was some convoluted torture device fashioned by Masaru himself in order to get me to relent to his way of thinking.
“Quite a few people have been saying you cynically waited until Easter to rescue the children,” a man from the CSA said, “is it true that you wanted the rescue to coincide with the holiday?”
I cleared my throat, looking at the five people staring at me from across the conference table, each one with a small digital camera propped up behind them, trained on me. “You’re talking about the rumor being spread on social media? Do you think that’s a credible source?”
“Are you avoiding the question?” a woman from Wyoming asked.
I forced a smile. “No. We wanted to make sure to hit every place at once so we wouldn’t drive any of them further underground or have them harm the children. That took months of careful surveillance of the houses and planning out all the details. There came a time when we knew it was going to happen right around Easter, so yes, we did purposefully go ahead with it on Easter Sunday, but it would have only been plus or minus a few days either way.”
“What about the vigilante attacks between the Christmas Catastrophe and Easter Emancipation?” the CSA man asked, “reports say the traffickers were tortured.”
“We had no involvement in that,” I said, “we condemned those actions and the methods they used. We had every intention of liberating those houses during our primary operation.”
“Are there any CSA or PRA politicians involved in the forty-eights?” a woman from Canada asked.
“We aren’t involved in the politics of either region,” I said, “we haven’t bothered wading into those cesspools of corruption.”
The Canadian reporter chuckled, the reporters from the CSA and PRA giving me a dirty look, employing all of their willpower to stay professional.
“Where’s the Japanese woman?” the man from the PRA asked, “The one everyone says caused the human rights disaster in Mexico? Is she really former Yakuza?”
“Maybe you should do your research and get your facts straight before asking a question like that,” I said.
“We’ve had reports she’s in Colorado,” the man said, “are you denying she’s here?”
“I’m denying that it’s even a valid question,” I said, “you clearly don’t even know who you are talking about.”
“Is she involved in the LoC government?” the man from Brazil asked.
“There is no government in the LoC,” I said.
“You know what I mean,” he said.
“No, I don’t,” I said, “I don’t know who you think she is and I don’t know who you think the LoC ‘government’ is.”
“You’re denying she exists?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “That who exists?”
“The Japanese woman,” the Brazilian reporter said, exasperated.
“You’re going to have to be clearer,” I said, “I’ve known several Japanese women.”
“You’re still avoiding the question,” the PRA man said.
“I’ll gladly answer your questions when you people can ask ones that make sense,” I said, “start looking for facts rather than just confirming your narrative.”
“You are acting contemptuously,” the woman from Wyoming said, “it’s not reflecting well on your organization.”
“I’m simply pointing out that the questions I’m being asked are making assumptions that have nothing to do with reality,” I said, “if anyone looks bad here, it’s all of you.”
“How would you respond to Director Gabriel Mitchell’s criticisms?” the man from the CSA asked.
“I’d say his relationship with the facts is as thin as yours,” I said, “he’s conflated the people who helped rescue the children with the people who enslaved them.”
“Director Mitchell has applauded LoC Security multiple times,” the CSA reporter said.
“Which is great,” I said, “They should be applauded. It never would have happened without them, and they sacrificed dearly for it. But Director Mitchell also said the forty-eights were involved in trafficking. He somehow wants to connect our chromosome treatment with the gene doping forced on those kids. He’s either completely oblivious or full of lies. I’m not sure which is worse.”
The PRA reporter laughed at this. “And how is it you got involved in this, anyway?” he asked, “You are by your own admission part of the forty-eights cartel.”
“We’re not a cartel,” I sighed.
“Whatever you want to call yourself,” the reporter said, “where are you from and how did you get involved?”
“Is that really important?” I asked.
“Are you hiding something?” the man from the CSA asked.
“I’m originally from the Democratic Republic of the Congo,” I said.
“From the area where that new rebel army’s been murdering government officials?” the reporter from Canada asked.
“Are you or the forty-eights involved in the violence happening there?” the PRA man asked.
“They’re saying the rebel army is made up of mostly child soldiers,” the woman from Wyoming said.
“Children about your age,” the man from Brazil said, “They’re killing and capturing people who support the Baas regime.”
“Neither I nor the other forty-eights have any involvement in the violence in that region,” I said, “I haven’t been there in several years.”
“What are the forty-eights trying to achieve?” the woman from Wyoming asked, “people can’t seem to make sense of your actions.”
I took a deep breath and gave her a wan smile, feeling a dim light poke through the haze of my fatigue. “The forty-eights want the world to be a place where anyone can imagine themselves being being a Mexican child sold into slavery, their childhoods stolen from them. Where anyone can imagine themselves being a kid born in a DRC refugee camp, caught in a proxy war, scared and desperate. And where people can imagine themselves being born the billionaire son of a CEO to the world’s largest multinational corporation, or political dynasty, and
know that they can actually do something to help those kids.”
All five looked at me for a moment without saying anything. I immediately knew that this response wasn’t going to make it into any of their pieces about this. Fatigue blotted out that dim light in a thick, roiling miasma. Smoldering irritation from my earlier conversation with Masaru reignited.
“How did you get involved with the forty-eights?” the PRA man asked.
“Are we not here to discuss the rescue of these children?” I asked, sighing.
“People have been talking about the children for a couple weeks now,” the man from the PRA said, “now people want to know who was behind this rescue.”
“That’s distracting from the issue,” I said, “if you think this human trafficking ring is the only illegal activity your governments are involved in, you’re wrong.”
“Do you have something else planned?” the woman from Canada asked.
“How much reporting has any of you done on the Global Prosperity Free Trade Agreement?” I asked, “The GPFTA?”
All five of them stared at me blankly.
“Exactly,” I said, “right now, there are secret meetings being held where cabals of powerful people are making decisions that affect all of you, and you don’t even know it.”
“What are you doing?” the woman from Wyoming asked.
“I’m exposing another truth,” I said, “I’m pointing you in the direction of possibly one of the biggest stories going on right now and-”
“No,” the woman from Wyoming said, “what are you doing?”
I looked where she was pointing, my left hand giving all five of them the middle finger. I quickly reached over with my right, grabbing my left wrist, and pulled the hand close to my chest. All five of the bloggers started murmuring to each other as I grit my teeth, trying to control the hand which frantically tried to pull itself away, tearing at my shirt.
I stood up from the chair in my struggle and started stumbling for the door. The five reporters were now all asking questions at the same time. The door opened, Masaru and Regina standing there looking at me anxiously.
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