Fable Hill

by Christopher Uremovich

  “Welcome to Lake Motosu.” The cockpit doors swung open and a small set of stairs deployed.

  The Nagoya complex encircled the entire Lake Motosu valley, and afforded fantastic views of snow-capped Mount Fuji. Frank could see observatories and antennas scattered about the surrounding mountains. The sheer scope of the area made his heart flutter with anticipation.

  I deserve this, Frank thought to himself as he left Haru and entered the main lobby of Building 5424. Two large, white marble dragons welcomed him to Japan at the doors. Water cascaded from the rooftop like spring rain into a marble fountain centerpiece.

  The lobby was virtually empty, aside from two females Frank could only surmise were secretaries. They were seated at a rather small table considering the size of the lobby.

  “Hello . . . hello, please!” One of the secretaries motioned for Frank. His boots echoed as he clomped across the polished terrazzo floors.

  “I am sorry, sir, but your appointment with Yamaguchi-san, head of human resource department, is rescheduled for tomorrow,” the woman behind the counter said with a respectful bow. “So sorry . . . . ”

  Frank let out a candid sigh of disappointment. “What time tomorrow?”

  “It looks like Yamaguchi-san is going to call with more information in the morning, sir. Here is voucher for hotel room in Motosu. Taxis are outside.” The secretary handed Frank a cash voucher. On it, a rainbow-colored snake ate sushi with a half-naked Japanese man.

  “Arigato,” Frank said nicely before leaving.

  Arriving at the hotel, Frank felt exhausted. The last few months of physical therapy had taken its toll. He turned forty years old next month. To him it felt like seventy.

  Frank removed his shirt and fell face down on the bed. Just as soon as he had gotten comfortable, the phone rang. It was a curious little tune, reminding Frank of anime.

  “Phone, answer,” Frank said, turning towards the speaker on the wall. The phone still rang.

  “Video call, answer!?” Frank said even louder. The touchscreen interface built into the wall continued to ring. “Ah, hell!” Frank got up and pressed the green answer button on the touchscreen.

  “Welcome to Hotel Mizumi, Nash-san. Please enjoy a drink in our world-class bar, or a dish of our finest rainbow trout caught fresh from Lake Motosu,” the recording droned.

  “Maybe I will get a drink . . . or two,” Frank said to himself.

  He engaged the disassemble button and lever on his right, then left leg, removing them from mechanical studs. Taking out a small bag, he removed a water-based solvent and lubricant, applying it generously to the titanium ball bearings and joints before reattaching his legs.

  Downstairs at the bar, Frank ordered a glass of ten year old bourbon. He didn't drink often, but when he did, he had bourbon.

  The bar began to get busy as more and more patrons filed in for after-dinner drinks. Frank glanced out the corner of his eye and the flash of a purple backless dress captured his attention.

  An attractive young Japanese woman with heavy makeup proceeded to the far side of the bar. She exchanged courtesies with the bartender and ordered a dry martini and a shot of dry Japanese whiskey. Her eyes locked on Frank as he looked away, not wanting to get caught staring.

  The television above the bar played the latest Japanese game show. A slew of male contestants took turns answering questions. If incorrect, a tethered ball would smack them square in the testicles. Frank couldn't help but be amused. “Crazy bastards,” he muttered to himself.

  Feeling the urge to look again, he snuck a peek towards the woman at the bar, but she was nowhere to be found. That's the end of that, he thought.

  “Hello,” a voice said from the chair next to his. It caught Frank off guard and his drink missed his mouth, dribbling good bourbon all over his britches.

  “Uh . . . h-hello,” Frank replied, quickly hiding the spilled alcohol with his sleeve.

  “I am so sorry, I did not mean to startle you. My name is Keiko.” Her hand extended outward.

  “Frank, Frank Nash,” he said as he shook her hand, expecting it to be limp. He was surprised to find a firm handshake.

  “You must be the war hero we hear so much about,” Keiko stated with admiration. The bartender gave them both a curious smile.

  “Didn't think anyone knew me here,” Frank puzzled.

  “Oh yes, our company takes great interest in the brave. We travel to other planets, you know.” Keiko grabbed a brimming shot glass and rolled her head back in one fluid motion. She slammed it onto the polished, solid oak table.

  “You work for Nagoya?” Frank asked inquisitively.

  “I do, I've been with them for many years.” Keiko raised her hand to the bartender and ordered two more rice whiskey shots.

  “Oh, I'm good on the shots, I don't want to be too hosed for tomorrow,” Frank said with an insisting wave of his hand.

  “Those shots are both for me.” Keiko produced a mischievous face.

  “A woman who likes whiskey . . . is that an American accent I detect as well?” Frank was kind of relieved he didn't have to drink anymore.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.” Keiko cocked her head sideways. “I studied English at Johns Hopkins. My father thought it would make me more sophisticated,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  The bartender laid down two generous shots of whiskey near Keiko. “Can I get you another bourbon, sir?” the bartender asked.

  “No, thanks.” Frank shook his head. He handed the bartender some yen as a tip.

  “Bring him another bourbon, it's on me,” Keiko said. “No fun drinking alone, especially around here.” Frank politely accepted but dreaded waking up to a hangover.

  “Your father must be very wealthy to afford you going to school overseas,” Frank said.

  Keiko double-fisted both glasses and slammed them fast. “I don't want you to think I'm a cheap drunk or anything, I just get so bored here during the week. If you want to see Japan, we should go to Tokyo sometime,” she slurred. Residual whiskey dripped from her lower lip.

  “I would love to, but I gotta get the job first,” Frank said with a nervous laugh. He could feel the warm, relaxed feeling of his bourbon kick in.

  “I wouldn't worry to much about your interview, we are badly in need of a pilot. The last one recently died in a motorcycle accident,” Keiko said bluntly.

  “Oh my god, I am so sorry to hear that.” The bartender handed Frank his second bourbon, filled to the brim on Keiko's orders. He gave the bartender an unamused look.

  “Don't be sorry, guy was a douche,” Keiko said.

  Frank sipped carefully, trying not to spill its contents again. “I am going to be shitfaced after this one, Keiko,” Frank said, giving up on resisting it.

  Keiko let out a laugh. “You looked like a guy who could hold his liquor. Maybe I was wrong, eh?” she said, giving him a taunting pat on the thigh.

  “You’re taking pleasure in this, aren't you?” Frank retorted, taking another good-sized gulp.

  “It is mildly entertaining, I will admit,” Keiko said, nursing her martini and eating the two olives off a little plastic sword. “Batenda!” Keiko yelled as she drank the last of her martini. “Ijo no arukoru.”

  A low, deafening rumble shook the bar and hotel at its foundation. “Earthquake!” some of the patrons called out, but Frank knew better. He could tell the sounds of a gas turbine jet engine from many miles away. It came naturally to him.

  “Those are F-35s,” he said to Keiko, whose face was fixated on the bar's television screen. A news report showed the aftermath of an attack on a southern Japanese island. “What are they saying?” Frank inquired, but Keiko kept staring intently.

  “We were attacked by Chinese cruise missiles. The war has started again.” Keiko spoke while a live news feed captured footage of a burning military base.

  Frank clenched his fist but didn’t comment. He was having flashbacks of his time in Okinawa as a young Marine.

  Chapter 4


  Tokyo was covered in smoke. Fires raged throughout streets and alleyways. Burned out car husks and smoldering skyscrapers set the backdrop.

  An American squad of soldiers roamed tactically through the central square of Shibuya Tower. A bronze statue of children playing, now riddled with bullet holes, graced the central courtyard. With gas masks donned, the squad reached the steps of the carbonized tower. Fragments of glass shattered under weighted boots. Removing his mask, Frank breathed in the tainted air. It reeked of death. Out of the fog, tracers burned and armor-piercing rounds hit with traumatic force. Pinned down behind whatever cover they could find, Frank ordered a retreat into the safety of Shibuya Tower.

  Two fire teams provided suppression fire as the other two bounded up granite steps. Rounds zipped and cracked above the heads of the soldiers. Two rocket-propelled grenades flew into the lead fire team, obliterating them all in a single instant.

  “Go, go, go!” Frank shouted, his voice lost in the chaos. One by one, the men scaling the steps were gunned down, some reached the inside only to be buried in stone by precision-guided bombs.

  Without positive identification, Frank fired into the smoke-shrouded street. He turned from cover and ran for the steps. A strafe of automatic machine gun fire traversed across his armored back, splintering shards of ceramics into his kidneys and liver.

  He fell to a knee in shock. An enemy sniper took aim and caught him through the back. Bloody mist and red-stained dust shot out from his chest cavity as the 12.7 millimeter round penetrated.

  On his knees, Frank could only watch as the battle raged. His men that remained fought valiantly as enemy soldiers ran past Frank’s broken body. Fighter jets screamed past, impacting the tower with ordnances that shook its very foundation. His life force waned, teetering on the brink of death, his vision unfocused and blurred. Blood sprang from his wounds and soaked the crumbled asphalt.

  To Frank's horror, he witnessed hideous spectres made of shadow. They sprang forth from out of the ground. In the hundreds, they descended on the corpses of friend and foe alike. Snatching them, they ripped and tore at souls of the departed. Grabbing each soul, they disappeared back into the ground, leaving only brimstone behind. In the midst of the fighting, bullets and shells went right through them like ghosts. More bodies fell from gunfire, only to be dragged down into hell.

  Standing in the central square, a being of pure light appeared, still as a statue. In its hand, a sword of blue flame. Frank stared at the being and it stared back, waiting for Frank to die.

  The dark ones surrounded Frank, waiting for his soul to leave his shredded flesh. As Frank's last breath slipped from his body, they sprinted towards his retreating soul. The being of light intervened and raised its sword. The unsightly ones dispersed at once. With a raised hand of purifying flame, Frank's soul burst forth.

  Frank screamed in terror and sat upright in bed. The morning sun beamed its light through a tiny slit in the blinds, covering his face.

  Sweat poured down his neck as he regained lost composure. Breathing heavily, he grabbed for a glass of water and splashed it across his face. “I should have taken the medication the doctors offered me,” Frank whispered to himself.

  As if on cue, the phone rang. Frank adjusted himself in bed and took a deep sigh of relief. “Connect call.”

  “Frank . . . Frank is that you?” a man’s voice said with concern. “Frank, it's Ric, I have fourteen missed calls from you.”

  “Captain Reyna, forgive me. I saw on the news the war had started again in the Pacific,” Frank said.

  “What the hell do you want? You're retired now, Frank. You know what that means?” Captain Reyna replied with a hint of sarcasm.

  “I know damn well what that means. I'm rescinding my retirement, I want to come back,” Frank pleaded.

  “You know I can't let you do that, you signed the DD form 214.” Reyna paused. “Even if we could bring you back, the admiral won't allow it,” Reyna said with genuine regret in his voice.

  “I want to talk to Admiral Masanai, right now,” Frank demanded, wiping the spit from his mouth.

  “The admiral is at fleet headquarters. The situation is complicated. He doesn't have time for you, Frank. I mean that in the best possible way.”

  Frank sat in silence, staring at his titanium legs, thinking of what to say next.

  “I'm hanging up now, Frank. You should enjoy Tokyo. Your many years serving our country is greatly appreciated,” Reyna said with compassion.

  The call ended before Frank could say anything in reply. He felt helpless and weak, feelings he was not used to.

  He glanced down at his watch. It was half past ten in the morning. So many thoughts and emotions were zooming through his mind, he couldn't think clearly.

  “The interview!” he exclaimed to himself. “I missed the interview!”

  Again, the phone rang from the wall, not phasing Frank as he sat upright in bed, contemplating his bad fortune and swelling headache from the night before.

  “Hello?” The voice of his wife came through the intercom on the wall.

  “Yes, I'm here,” Frank said.

  “Frank?” said his wife again.

  “Justine, I can hear you, what do you want?” Frank shouted louder.

  “Oh, there you are. How is Tokyo?”

  “It's fine, I missed my—” Frank said before being interrupted.

  “That’s great to hear! I tried calling earlier but no one answered. Did you get my text messages or voicemails?”

  Frank opened his phone from his wrist watch and scrolled through dozens of unopened messages.

  “Yeah, I got them,” he said.

  “Oh, good. I know this is bad timing but I think it is for the best, you know?” she said timidly. “We have been through so much together these many years, but our kids are grown adults, you're retired now . . . ”

  “What are you talking about Justine?” Frank interrupted her. He already suspected this day would come, but he wanted her to say it.

  “I thought you read the messages, you should read through the messages and listen to my—” Justine said in a frenzy.

  “Just say it, Justine, my god!” Frank yelled at the wall, frustrated with the day that had barely begun.

  “I am divorcing you, Frank. I mean, I want a divorce,” she blurted out.

  Frank stared at the intercom with a grimaced face, his jaw shaking with rage. He could hardly contain himself. He moved his lips but no words came out.

  “Oh my god, that felt so good. I was so nervous to finally tell you, but my therapist said it would be good for me to branch out in my golden years.” Justine could be heard fiddling with paper.

  “That's great,” Frank said. “That's good to hear.” His words trailed off into a soft whisper. “What do I have to do?” Frank said.

  “You don't have to do anything, Frank, I'll handle everything. My lawyer will get with yours and we will split everything fifty-fifty.”

  There was an awkward silence after that, just the sound of breathing. Sweat beaded on Frank's forehead and formed streaks that pooled and fell down his sideburns.

  “I have to go, Frank . . . please, enjoy your new life. You deserve it,” Justine said one last time.

  The intercom went silent and Frank lay on his back in the bed. Everything was happening so fast. Not even his experiences in war could have prepared him for this.

  Frank drifted off into his daydreams, searching for thoughts to comfort his heart and soul. The phone rang again from the wall but he wasn't in the mood.

  “Power off,” he said to the intercom on the wall. The screen went dark and a blue light blinked from the console.

  Immediately his watch shone a bright blue and began to vibrate on his wrist. He peered down and saw a Japanese 080 number. Frank pressed the answer button and set the device to speaker. “Hello, this is Frank Nash,” he said.

  “Ah, Mr. Nash. Hello, sir,” a Japanese man with very good English said on the other end. “It is so very hard
to reach you this morning, sir.”

  “Who am I speaking with?” Frank replied.

  “This is Mr. Yamaguchi, I am the Director of Recruitment at Nagoya.”

  Frank sat upright quickly and straightened his posture in the bed. “Yes, sir, this is Frank Nash. How are you this morning?” he said promptly.

  “I am good, sir, very good. I wanted to talk with you about our interview this morning,” Yamaguchi said.

  “Yes, yes I remember, I am so sorry that I missed your calls and the interview. I hope I can reschedule,” Frank said with embarrassment.

  “No need, sir. I wanted to call and congratulate you on your acceptance to Nagoya Industries!” Yamaguchi stated with pride.

  “Accepted? But how?” Frank mumbled with surprise.

  “I was contacted by Ms. Tajika herself about your successful interview and would like for you to come in to my office and sign the required paperwork. Can you come in this afternoon, sir?” Mr. Yamaguchi said to a mystified Frank.

  “Uh, yeah, yes I can come by this afternoon. Thank you, Mr. Yamaguchi, thank you!” Frank said with bewilderment.

  Frank pressed the end call button on his watch and stared at the wall. He could not believe his change of fortune, and began thinking about Keiko from the previous night.

  Could she have told Ms. Tajika about me? he thought to himself. “She does work for the company,” he said out loud.

  Frank sprang to his feet and celebrated around the room. Holding his arms out wide, he glanced upwards and thanked God for his new job.

  •••

  The Nagoya logistical plane was cramped and uncomfortable. It reminded Frank of his days as an infantryman in the Marines, flying into hostile territory with his brothers in arms, which felt like a lifetime ago.

  He read study material given to him by Mr. Yamaguchi before leaving Tokyo. It contained itineraries, training schedules, and a job description:

  As a pilot for Nagoya Industries, must be proficient with hands-on application of computers and cockpit systems of current generation Nagoya spacecrafts. Responsible for the safety of all Nagoya spacecrafts and crew. Must pass certain physical requirements as well as comprehensive academic and mental evaluations. Pilots fly to various destinations throughout the solar system to conduct research and experiments. These missions will vary and their focus is subject to change without warning.