Tokyo Love

by Diana Jean

  “Because it crashes the hardware.”

  “Maybe the hardware needs an update as well.”

  Yuriko no longer looked impressed. Kathleen flushed in embarrassment. She blamed her day for her rudeness. She was constantly criticized by Engineering for pushing the limits of the technology; it seemed she had finally run into her limit.

  “Look, I’m—”

  “We need to change trains here.” Yuriko pushed past her to exit the packed train.

  Kathleen was temporarily thrust into the throng of strangers, but quickly recovered enough to follow. Luckily, Yuriko’s force managed to form a path in the sea of bodies. Together, they crossed the platform to the next departing train. While it was still full, at least they weren’t pressed against each other like the last train. Yuriko settled with one shoulder against the door, staring out the window. Kathleen stood awkwardly in the aisle, holding to a seat bar for stability. She stared at Yuriko, wondering if there was any hope of salvaging the conversation.

  Unfortunately, this train ride was shorter than the last. When they entered the station, Yuriko turned to Kathleen, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Look, I’ve got to stop at the konbini. I assume you know where you are now?”

  Kathleen nodded. “Yes, thank you. I mean … ” She bowed, feeling a little ridiculous, but she knew it was the right gesture. “I’m sorry.”

  Yuriko sighed, tugging at the end of her ponytail. “Don’t worry about it. And if you find yourself lost again, just text me, okay? We obviously live in the same area, so it probably wouldn’t be too inconvenient.” She gave a small smile, but it looked a little impatient. “Try not to overhaul the code again tonight. I’d like to get to bed early.”

  Kathleen smirked, feeling a little better. “Thanks, Vellucci-san.”

  Yuriko waved a hand. “Yuriko is fine. Vellucci-san just sounds weird with your accent.”

  chapter TWO

  When Yuriko was eleven, she found her dad working in the shed out back on his old 2017 Trinix Hybrid. It was one of the last cars ever made that still used fossil fuels to help it run. It was terribly clunky and loud and dirty. Her dad liked to tinker with it, trying to improve the technology, but still keep that classic style.

  He used to work on it whenever he fought with Yuriko’s mother.

  So Yuriko, whenever she felt upset or torn or confused, used to go into that shed and bang around that old car. She loved being up to her elbows in oil, practically inhaling the toxic fumes. It was amazing. Her dad had been working on that junker for ten years with little progress. Yuriko turned it into a fully automated electric car within nine months. And she gave it a new wax.

  Yuriko loved to see how machines worked. From the delicate modern nanotechnology, to clunky antiques. They were all fascinating and beautiful. They all deserved a bit of tinkering and improving.

  When Yuriko first saw the Personal Love Companion project, she thought it was creepy, if not insane. Love simulations had always been virtual reality based. Anything physically made by those same companies was a sex toy. But the PLC promised so much more. The programming might be weird, but the machines, the dolls, were like art. They were beautiful and refined. They were the cutting edge of robotics and Yuriko hadn’t cared that she would be helping to bring more perverted computer programs into the world. She wanted to be on the ground floor of those machines.

  Yuriko examined the hydraulic tubing of the PLC 10.6. The PLC was laid before her, all wires and tubes and valves and lightweight steel boning. It did not have a skin on. Since that would be customized, only a few were given default skins for the purpose of testing. The skin would only get in the way of Yuriko's work. She didn’t need it. Even without eyes or eyelids on the PLC, she could see the fine motors moving synthetic pads to widen or narrow. Even without teeth or lips, she could recognize a smile or grimace. Yuriko had been with these PLCs since the 2.0 beta and she didn’t need all the bells and whistles to understand them.

  The hydraulic tubing would pump cooling water to overheating areas, simultaneously heating itself to make the synthetic skin warm to the touch. But it had been faulty since the PLC 5.3. The more complex the mechanics got, the more the bulky hydraulics failed.

  She poked at a junction point, trying to visualize a way to make it more streamlined and secure.

  Her wrist buzzed with a new email. It was a mass email sent to her department. Yuriko tapped it.

  New patch from SD on the S/A malfunction. Testing in Shinjuku.

  Yuriko’s eyes widened. Software development had sent in a new code for the shoulder malfunction? It was only yesterday that it broke down. The whole situation was still under review and Yuriko was expecting an email about it in the afternoon. Then the real drama would unfold of how the problem would be fixed and, more importantly, who would have to fix it.

  For software to just send out a new code without prompting was nearly unheard of. She stepped away from the PLC, turning to look around.

  Mitsu was standing at one of the computer stations, writing in a report. She was wearing a white lab coat as was required in the testing sites. Its stark whiteness was offset by a rather large glittering red bow in Mitsu’s hair.

  “Mitsu-san?” Yuriko called.

  Mitsu turned, pouting. Her lip-gloss was even glittering. “Mitsu-chan,” she corrected.

  Yuriko rolled her eyes. “People will think you're my favorite,” she replied in Japanese.

  “I am your favorite!”

  Yuriko couldn't help but grin. “Okay, okay. Did you see the email for the new patch? Can you input it into this model?” She motioned to the PLC lying in front of her.

  “Hai!” Mitsu turned back to the computer. A few taps and Yuriko could see the diagnostic display for the PLC in front of her. A couple of warning signals popped up and Yuriko reached over the PLC and closed a couple valves that she had opened while testing. The screen went green and Yuriko nodded to Mitsu.

  Mitsu typed a couple of commands into the computer. Yuriko stepped back as the PLC before her twitched. The eyeless eyes opened and the retina lights flickered on, scanning the area. Since this PLC wasn’t programmed with a cortex scan, it wouldn’t be able to process much besides anything that might be in its path.

  Following Mitsu’s instructions, it sat up and swung its legs over the side of the table. It sat straight and stiff. A light blinked on in its head, just behind the ear, reading the next instruction.

  Then it slumped its shoulders, cocking its head to Yuriko. The muscles in the lips pulled back into a lazy smile. And then it shrugged.

  Mitsu came to stand beside Yuriko. The PLC repeated the motion. Then used its other shoulder.

  “No issues?” Yuriko asked.

  Mitsu shook her head. “It looks … good.”

  It did look good. It was just a slight movement. But all the mechanics in the shoulder moved in time with a slight tilt of the head. Minute and precise. Nothing jammed up, nothing tried to compensate or obstruct the movement.

  The lazy smile was new. But Yuriko supposed that was just the simulation the development team decided to send out as an example. She remembered Kathleen Schmitt’s words.

  PLC has the potential for smooth, minute movements. Why not take advantage?

  There had always been a mutually antagonistic feeling between the software and hardware development teams. They both worked so separately while needing to come together to make a full product. It was often felt by Yuriko’s team that they were the ones who needed to pick up the pieces of a mess made by software. They always had to adapt to the code, never the other way around. They had to fix the problems made by the programming. They were the ones criticized when it failed.

  Yuriko suddenly wondered if something she said to Kathleen had prompted her to pick up the slack on this problem. She felt a mixture of guilt and satisfaction at the thought.

  She hadn’t been very impressed by the head of the Product Development team. She had known that a foreigner had been brought in three mo
nths ago to take over for Osada Renjiro. But she’d had a vague vision that they would be like Osada, a CEO type with too much confidence and too little talent. Of course, that was why Osada had been taken from the project.

  Kathleen was … pathetic.

  Well, she had seemed that way to Yuriko. She had been screaming at a HELP kiosk like a madwoman, then turned to Yuriko like she had just given up all hope in her life.

  It was hard to describe why some foreigners seemed to take up so much space. Kathleen was certainly curvier than the normal Japanese woman; her breasts and hips seemed barely contained in business casual clothing. Kathleen had curly reddish-brown hair, the sort of hair that would break any comb or brush that tried to tame it. She had tied it back into something that looked like a literal knot, loose curls haloing around her face and neck. Her eyes were wide, a warm brown, with a prominent nose and full lips.

  Nothing about her appearance was demure. In fact, she seemed barely contained. In the train she had leaned against Yuriko in the crush off the commute. Her body had been heavy and warm.

  Yuriko didn’t deny that she was attracted to the female figure. And Kathleen was a lot more “figure” than Yuriko was used to encountering.

  Then Kathleen had opened her mouth.

  She was overeager and a little too desperate for conversation and connection to Yuriko. This woman had been living in Japan for three months, yet she acted like the freshest of tourists: too loud, and with too much presence.

  It probably hadn’t helped that she was directly responsible for Yuriko’s problems that day.

  But, watching the PLC with its perfected movement, not a warning error or troubling mechanical failure in sight, Yuriko wondered if maybe there was just a little more to Kathleen than a hopeless foreigner.

  chapter THREE

  Kathleen had heard rumors that in Beijing office workers got to take a nap in the middle of the day. At the designated time, it was perfectly acceptable to take out pillows and sleep at the desk.

  Kathleen didn’t have the time to sleep—she had about ten incoming reports and at least three proposals to write—but she would have been very grateful to rest her head on a soft pillow while she scrolled through her three thousand emails.

  “Director?”

  She looked up. “Fukusawa-san?” One of her subordinates. Hopelessly polite and terribly efficient. He was sort of her secretary, keeping track of all the tasks she was forced to delegate. But even though a portion of his day was spent running around the office for her, he had all the same skills as she did.

  He was a practical genius when it came to computer software. In fact, when she first met him and realized that he would answer to her, she wondered why he hadn’t been promoted. Sometimes she still did. But she guessed what she possessed, and Fukusawa lacked, was creativity. Give Fukusawa any task and he would complete it efficiently. But he was incapable of creating his own tasks or finding those rough edges in the code. Those little opportunities for reimagining were beyond him.

  Though, it seemed to Kathleen, every time she tried to bring up a new opportunity for innovation, her superiors spent all their time just trying to find its weaknesses. Life used to be so simple before she had to think about personnel management, deadlines, and budget evaluations.

  Fukusawa stepped forward, handing her a pad. “Tamura-san requires you. It’s about the PLC 10.6 beta.”

  Kathleen stood up, taking the pad and flipping through the files Fukusawa had brought up for her. She bit her lip, feeling the blood drain from her face. “Shit.”

  “Excuse me, Director?”

  Kathleen waved him aside. “Nothing, sorry. Can you text me whenever Sugiyama-san’s report is finished? This might take a while.”

  “Of course.”

  Kathleen swept from the office, scanning the pad on her way down the hall. Preliminary evaluations completed … proceed ahead of proposed schedule … begin 10.6 beta tests … She looked from the pad as she opened the door to Tamura’s office. Tamura was the Assistant Vice President to the entire company. She wasn’t technically Kathleen’s direct supervisor, but since her office was so close to the PLC development project that Kathleen was currently running, she tended to weigh in on important decisions. Like this obviously ill advised one.

  Tamura’s secretary looked up at Kathleen. She was a pretty, thin woman with black hair that shimmered purple and blue in the light from the window behind her. The trend in shimmer colors had recently gotten popular, since, at first glance, it made most people’s hair look a natural black. Kathleen knew that if she were to try it, it would probably turn her reddish brown hair into an ugly grey or green in the sunlight. Natural redheads did not agree with most color pigmentation.

  The secretary smiled. “Schmitt-san.” Her accent was very thick and she couldn’t quite get her tongue around Kathleen’s name. It sounded more like ‘Shu-mi-tsu.’ “Assistant Vice President Tamura-san will see you now.”

  Tamura’s office door opened automatically and Kathleen attempted not to storm inside. The office was lavish compared to Kathleen’s. Kathleen had been impressed, upon moving to Japan, that she got her own fancy workspace with large windows and a desk all to herself. But Tamura’s was about three times in size, with lush oak furniture and soft carpeting. Kathleen was pretty sure she was served lunch on a silver dolly. She also guessed that the other door in her office led to a private bathroom.

  Tamura’s appearance was a typical businesswoman. Her no-nonsense hairstyle was pulled into a sharp bun, and probably hair-sprayed into submission. She always wore suits with pointed shoulders and elbows, all black or slate. She wore thick, black glasses and Kathleen could see a newsfeed projecting from the rims. When Kathleen stepped into the office, Tamura blinked several times to close the feed. She tapped her wrist, bringing up a visual of the document Kathleen had just been skimming to rest on her desk.

  “Always so prompt, Kathleen,” Tamura commented, smiling. She had a slight accent, but her English was perfect. She, of course, did much of her business with foreigners and had gotten used to informality in the work place. Not that she had ever invited Kathleen to use her first name, but that was probably because they worked for the same company.

  “This is a joke, Tamura-san.”

  Tamura arched a brow, tapping at the holo document, making it flicker. “I’d thought you’d be excited.”

  “Beta-ing wasn’t supposed to being for another six months.” Kathleen held up the pad. “This says by next week candidates will be screened! Just last week I was given an urgent text that the cortex readers wouldn’t be running until next month. And we haven’t even gone over the mainframe failures from Tuesday!”

  Tamura leaned back, her black eyes sharp as they assessed Kathleen. “The schedule has been shifted. PR has come back that Lian-Yeh has already started the beta for their companion product.”

  Kathleen really wanted to shout, “I don’t care about China!” Instead she said, “We aren’t ready.”

  Tamura tapped her glasses, blinking through her emails. “Medical has assured me that the cortex readers will be ready by next week. We won’t be able to screen as many applicants, which is why we have decided to choose a very particular few with the skill sets required to properly assess a product that will, obviously, be a little rushed through production.”

  “A little rushed? If we send out the product now, it’s bound to have numerous problems. Crashing, coding failure, mechanical failure.” Kathleen knew it would be better to have Lian-Yeh have six months on Mashida than to put out such a faulty product.

  Tamura frowned, all forced politeness gone from her features. She rested her hands on her desk, long nails tense on the wood. “Mashida is the world’s leader in love simulation technology. We are the pinnacle of innovation in the field of AI and robotics. Ms. Kathleen Schmitt, you were brought here three months ago to jumpstart our most exciting product to date. So you will make sure it is ready by next week and you will be very careful in choosing our beta
testers for this exciting opportunity.”

  Kathleen took a step back. She shouldn’t argue with one of the higher people in the corporation. But she had a feeling Tamura didn’t care about the product Kathleen had poured her soul and stress into for the past three months. Tamura just cared about numbers, which China was apparently beating. So Kathleen took a deep breath. “We need to come to a compromise.”

  “Compromise?”

  “The product isn’t ready for beta. Not to the general public. But let me choose some people in the company, one or two that know this product. They can test it outside the lab and send back reports. It would be incredibly helpful data and unlikely to damage our reputation. In fact, it could speed our progress so that we could put out an even better beta than intended.”

  “Give me a timetable.” Tamura was already pulling up a new document, quickly writing notes with one sharp nail.

  Kathleen, feeling a little overwhelmed, attempted to run numbers. “Okay, so we choose a tester by next Monday, give them two months—”

  “Four weeks, maximum.”

  Kathleen grit her teeth. “All right, four weeks. If they send weekly detailed reports.”

  “Daily.”

  “Daily reports. Then we can simultaneously develop the real beta in … oh, probably two months?”

  Tamura looked up at her, eyes still unrelenting. “You have six weeks. That is my final offer. You will take charge of this pre-test and I will cover with PR.”

  Kathleen’s head was swimming. God, six weeks. At least it wasn’t next week. “Okay, I’ll find someone to test—”

  “No, you will perform the pre-testing.”

  It took Kathleen a moment to register what she meant. “Wait, no. I will find a suitable tester. Possibly Fukusawa-san.” She threw out the name. “I know his work ethic. He would be a very good candidate for … ” She trailed off.

  Tamura was ignoring her. She finished writing her note and tapped the edge of the document, storing it. She stood up, the polite fake smile back in place. “No, Kathleen. If you insist that this product isn’t ready, then you will be personally responsible to make sure it is within my graciously extended deadline. Please make an appointment with Medical by Monday so the prototype can be fashioned for you by Wednesday.” Her eyes glimmered. “I expect your first report to be forwarded to my secretary by Thursday.”