by John Hunt
Although Khamil also did not care to keep clean, since coming to work with Azid he had been forced to make an effort. “Malodorous people get noticed,” Azid said. “We need to go unnoticed.” And so he bathed. He considered it part of his job, and he was well paid. He had an innate ability to relax. He cared about nothing, so relaxation came easily.
“What do you wish to do today, Khamil? We have the entire day to see the city.”
Khamil grunted. “You go see the city. I have little interest. I’ll see you back at the hotel.”
The two men separated; Khamil left in a taxi and Azid left on foot. Khamil went straight to the hotel, turned on the television, and let his mind go quiet.
Azid walked downtown toward the Kyoto station. More than in the West or the Middle East, bicyclists rode on the sidewalk and on the street in all directions. Azid kept a wary eye and ear out for bicyclists that approached him rapidly. The bicyclists heeded no traffic laws except when they crossed the streets with lights. Neither pedestrians nor bicyclists in Kyoto would ever cross a street against a light. Fortunately, all the bicyclists would gently toll their small bells with just enough time for a pedestrian to leap clear.
He walked several blocks south until the station building appeared. Above the station stood an impressive shining structure in the shape of a cube. Eleven stories tall, it reflected beautifully the nearly cloudless sky. Sharp-angled structures pierced the sky from the roof like broadswords. Azid crossed several lanes of traffic, always obeying the lights, and entered the building. Thousands of people mulled about among dozens of display counters. He discerned that the cube was a giant department store that looked to have been very recently renovated. It was the day of the building’s grand re-opening, and it was crowded even by Japanese standards.
Azid worked his way to the top of the building. He searched fruitlessly for an elevator and then headed for the escalator. Waiting in line for an escalator was a new experience. He gazed around the colossal store. Above him, the escalators were stacked in series, so that with only small intervening platforms the moving stairs would take you all the way to the top in one steady direction. In his whole range of vision he could see only Japanese people, and no other ethnicities whatsoever. To his left Azid saw a wall upon which was a diagram, which attempted to guide the shopper to the various departments. He did not have time to examine the whole placard before he had reached the base of the escalator. Upward he went.
At the next level, he perused the trinkets for sale. He recognized little here. Counter after counter displayed prettily wrapped objects. Perhaps they were food. He picked up a small decoratively wrapped object. Despite careful examination, he could not tell what it was. Shaking his head, he put it down, resigned to never know.
He got off at the fifth level and walked around the luggage. After much time and a little frustration, he found what he was seeking — a small but sturdy padlock. He purchased it with pilfered yen and then headed back to the escalator. After waiting in line, he went on upward.
It took several more minutes to reach the tenth floor. He looked down at all the moving stairways behind him and then took the next upward bound escalator to the roof level. Far down at the bottom, where he had started perhaps half an hour earlier, little ants mulled about. A persistent buzz of voices and footsteps rose from below. He had never seen more people jammed into one building in in his life.
On the step ahead of him, two smiling old and frail ladies chatted amiably. Behind, a stocky man with a large head and tightly cropped hair occupied the step below and looked to his side down to the floor as it receded below him. Azid looked ahead again as he approached the top. Suddenly, he became aware. He creased his eyebrows and felt an instinctive sense of danger when he realized what lay ahead. The roof level of the store was packed as full of people, shoulder to shoulder. He noticed that the faces ahead of him expressed concern. Their concern was legitimate, for although the small platform ahead had no room for more people, more would soon be upon it. The escalator was fully loaded behind him.
The moving ramp propelled Azid off and into the throng. He shuffled his feet forward, looking for a passage off to the side. But he could move no more than a meter before he pressed against the old ladies ahead. The stocky man squeezed in behind. Azid looked out over the sea of heads and saw no way out. He lived a dangerous life, with a dangerous occupation. It never crossed his mind that he might die in a compressed mass of people at a shopping mall. The escalator continued to deposit body after body at the top. He knew he would soon be unable to breath.
People screamed now. Shouts for help echoed throughout. The stocky man behind him tried to climb up and over those around him. The crowd pushed the two older ladies into each other. Azid heard the crunch of aged ribs cracking. People reaching the top of the escalator stepped backward to avoid the impending crunch. They stepped on others behind, and soon a tumble of people rolled down the escalator in a tumult of limbs and torsos. People would be severely injured in that heap. This event stopped the oncoming flood of humans, as people at the bottom finally realized that there were problems at the top. The compression stopped and gradually relaxed. Azid took a deep breath. After a few minutes he had enough space to leave the platform and step out to the crowd on the roof. He did not mind leaving the injured to the care of others.
Working his way to the edge of the building, he peered over a chest-high wall out to the city. He had a wonderful view, for other than a tower rising above a nearby hotel, no taller building was visible. He could tell from the geography of the two rivers in the city that he faced north. He gazed over the grounds of an expansive Buddhist temple complex just a few blocks away. The map proclaimed it to be the Higashi Hangan-ji. Further north were the now familiar grounds of Doshisha University. It was several minutes before he could determine confidently which was the Physics Building.
As he looked around at the rest of the city, he absorbed the view and noted the pattern of streets and several relevant landmarks. After he had seen enough, he worked his way over to the downside escalators and tentatively stepped on. Ten levels later, he had returned safely to the ground floor. Hailing a taxi, he headed back to the hotel.
Upon arrival at the Holiday Inn, he found Khamil sleeping with the television still on. It tuned in to some sort of soap opera. Azid pressed the off button on the remote control. He laid down for a needed nap.
It was several hours before he awoke. He could hear Khamil in the bathroom taking a shower.
“Earning your pay, my friend,” Azid muttered with a cynical smile.
They had a leisurely Japanese dinner at one of the hotel restaurants and then the two men went to the pool to sit in the adjacent Jacuzzi. No one else was around.
“So,” said Khamil, “tell me the plan. I know you have a well-thought-out plan.”
Azid chuckled. “You know me better than that, my friend. I am careful, yes, but also smart enough to know that it is impossible to plan for everything. And you know me well enough to know that I hardly ever plan more than a few hours ahead. But in just such a few hours, we will be performing the task.”
“We have a fair amount of explosive, and we know the target. What is left to plan?”
“You are right, Khamil. Let us do what we do best — use our instincts. Are you ready?”
“Yes. More than ready; I am eager. I told you I think those unfortunate people who work in that lab will appreciate our efforts on their behalf.”
The two men relaxed in the tub for several more minutes.
In their room, they got dressed in their dark suits, took extraneous items out of their suitcases, and zipped them closed. They went down and climbed into a waiting cab. A few minutes later they were again several blocks south of Doshisha. It was night, but it was not dark. The sky was clear. The city lights cast a pleasant glow over the streets.
Azid started off, dragging his wheeled suitcase, with Khamil close behind. They followed the same path as earlier that day, and entered the Doshis
ha grounds through the same unguarded gate. No one sat in the grass to study now. The streetlights from the city did not penetrate the walls, and the trees blocked the light from the sun. While approaching the Physics Building, the two men passed one young bespectacled student carrying a small duffel bag over his shoulder. He seemed to pay them no heed.
Up the stairs and through the dim hallways, gradually they worked their way to the laboratory, now empty. Khamil worked the lock and within a moment had the door opened. The men entered rapidly.
Azid searched the lab, identified apparently important lab notebooks, and began photographing page after page. Khamil busily assembled several wires to the containers of blue fluid that he had removed from the suitcases and carefully concealed the high-tech bomb above the lightweight fiber ceiling tiles. Then he placed into the kiln the container of yellow liquid and a blue one, also wired, and locked down the lid with the padlock Azid had purchased earlier. Khamil placed and set the bombs long before Azid finished his photography, and so sat down in a chair, and fell asleep for a time.
Azid finished and awoke Khamil — without difficulty this time. They walked calmly out of the building and into the dark campus grounds. Nobody saw them leave.
The next morning, Azid again faced the ten escalators in the building called the Cube. This was the first time for Khamil, however. Azid was relieved to see that today a couple of men with radios stood at the bottom of each escalator; from time to time, one of them would stop people from boarding the moving staircase while the platform above had a chance to clear. They waited in line and worked their way from floor to floor until they reached the roof. Although crowded, at least it was not dangerous on this second day after opening.
Azid led Khamil up the escalators to the very top of the building and to the wall where he had been the day before. He pointed out Doshisha University to Khamil and let Khamil locate the Physics Building on his own. It was 10:00 in the morning in Kyoto. Most if not all of the lab workers would be in the room with the kiln. The few people not in the room would probably be somewhere within the building. Azid reached into his left pants pocket and pulled out a small transmitter that looked exactly like a cellular phone. He held it above the cement wall, keyed a preset code, and hit the send button.
The building they were gazing at changed drastically. At once, every window broke and glass flew violently outward. A moment later, the sound of the initial blast shocked the crowd on the roof of the Cube, and all eyes turned toward the university campus in shock. Dust poured out of the windows of the Physics Building and smoke rose to the sky. The blue liquid had done its job. Then, with all eyes watching, the walls of the soundly constructed but old academic building shuddered and the roof began to collapse. Azid keyed in another number. He pressed the send button. With a violent burst of flame and light, the yellow canister from Khamil’s suitcase, in combination with the last of the blue fluid protected by the kiln, ignited. The entire brick building disintegrated in the extreme heat released by the intensely exothermic reaction when the two chemicals mixed. The tremendous pressure of this second explosion shook the whole Cube and shattered dozens of panes of glass that then rained down like knife blades on the streets below.
As the plume of smoke drifted over the area, Azid and Khamil and hundreds of others on the roof looked out onto the crater where the Physics Building had once stood. Azid smiled. He enjoyed his work. It served a great and long-term purpose. And because of him, this new photoelectric breakthrough would not rival oil as the supreme source of energy for the ravenous world. Black blood was the source of wealth of his nation today and even more so in the near future, and it would continue to pump life into the veins of his nation for a long time to come.
18. Critical Mass
THE ACCOMMODATIONS were first-class on the sleek thirty-passenger corporate jet on which Jeff and Sophia stretched out comfortably. The jet had recently been acquired by the Island Corporation to ferry its personnel between the Island and their various home countries.
There were several modes of transport to and from Paradise. Cargo planes continued to land almost daily with supplies for construction projects as well as with groceries, mail, and miscellaneous items purchased from the States. The planes usually had room for passengers, who could travel cheaply, though not comfortably. Ships still carried the bulk of the supplies and made for interesting travel if one had the time. And one could also take the small fast jets, Jack Gaimey’s tiltrotor, or now this new corporate jet.
None of them were free. Indeed the cost of Jeff’s flight to Paradise had been substantial. After paying, he looked at Sophia with an eyebrow raised. “Well, that’s not peanuts!”
Sophia smiled. “It is not cheap to fly this route. We have to pay for the fuel and maintenance, the pilots’ salary, and the amortized costs of the plane itself. It adds up.”
Jeff let it drop for a while. But later, Jeff returned to the topic. He turned in his seat to look at Sophia. “I would think that the Island Corporation would subsidize your travel, since you have to be so far away from home.”
Sophia shrugged. “My brother strongly opposes that, and he convinced the others not to subsidize much of anything. Everyone on the island pays for their housing, transportation, power and communication, food, and what-have-you, just like you would in the United States. But it goes further on the Island. They also pay for their medical care and other items that are essentially socialized in the states. The people on the island are paid a lot extra to cover the expenses, and they get to pocket what they don’t spend.”
With that, she turned her head away from Jeff and closed her eyes. The drone of the jet engines was hypnotic. She was asleep in minutes.
The hours passed, and Jeff stayed awake. Sophia slept the entire flight. He smiled at the serene expression she kept in her slumber.
They had been descending for some minutes, the resulting pressure change rousing her from her nap. She stretched, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. They both looked out through the small window as the plane approached Paradise 1 and landed on the lengthy runway. The plane rolled to a stop, and within moments a ramp was in place by an exit door.
“You are about to see an amazing place, Jeff. This is my brother’s dream. For as long as I remember, really, he has been driven to create this place!”
They stepped out into the mid-afternoon warmth of Paradise 1. From the top of the ramp, Jeff had a direct view down the slope to the lagoon. The tower of Science Hall was prominent not far down the hill. Other buildings poked their roofs through trees, and he could see houses scattered throughout the nearby land, most with porches facing the lagoon and the open ocean beyond. The sky was blue, with only a few scattered cotton-ball clouds above his head. He knew in an instant he could stay here forever.
A tall lanky blond man awaited them at the base of the ramp, smiling. Sophia ran down and gave him a hug. She said, “I’m so sorry.”
He shook Jeff’s hand eagerly, and Jeff knew that this must be Petur Bjarnasson.
“Welcome back, Sophia. I missed you! And Jeff, welcome to Paradise 1!”
“It’s beautiful. You picked a good island, Petur.”
Petur smiled and pointed up the ramp to the pilot, who was walking down. He was enormous and dark-skinned. Jeff had seen him as they boarded the aircraft early that morning and also had noted his unusual accent as his voice came through the overhead speakers.
“Jack Gaimey, meet Jeff Baddori. You have just flown him in.”
Jack Gaimey reached for Jeff’s hand and the two large men shared a formidable grasp.
“Welcome to my island, Jeff.” Jack Gaimey smiled a toothy grin.
Petur slapped Jack Gaimey on the back. “These islands are all Jack Gaimey’s, you know.”
The pilot nodded his head to acknowledge the fact and headed off to his electric golf cart waiting nearby. He then sped off down the hill toward his lagoon on his island.
“Is that the local form of transportation?”
; “We all use those, or walk, or run, or bicycle. There is no need for cars. Besides, we have to import petroleum products, but electricity is,” Petur frowned for just a second, “or at least some day will be, relatively easy to come by.”
Petur pointed behind Jeff’s shoulder to the side of the nearby mountain. Jeff turned and saw the lush, vegetated volcanic peak. Despite the long distance to the top of the mountain, he could easily see the astronomical observatory. The dome was pulled back, and inside it, adjacent to a massive telescope, stood a tall cylindrical tower. Hundreds of mirrors scattered throughout the rising slopes below, all tracking the sun and reflecting the rays toward the tower on the summit.
“We are working on a variety of innovative energy sources. The solar array you see there is just one. Alone it is enough to supply our everyday power needs.”
Jeff was very impressed, and he said so.
“Actually, Jeff, this is just a sideshow. We have to do some things in the short term to make the long-term goals possible.” He paused. “You must both be exhausted and craving showers. First things first!”
Petur stepped over to Sophia, who had been off to the side looking out to the lagoon. They spoke quietly, and Jeff was unable to make out the words. Sophia and Jeff’s luggage had been placed, along with the other passengers’, on the dry pavement near the first of a row of perhaps twenty golf carts. People were climbing into the carts, driving forward, and picking up their luggage. The line went very quickly, and within minutes only four bags remained. Jeff recognized those four as theirs.
While Sophia and her brother chatted, Jeff loaded the luggage. He boarded a brand-new and perfectly clean cart and pushed down on the accelerator. Nothing happened. He moved his foot to the parking brake and released the lock, and then pressed the accelerator again. Again nothing. He examined the dashboard and the steering column, looking for a button to press; then below him on the base of the seat — just a gearshift lever there. How did these silly things work?