Eichiro was still speaking. With an effort, Nikki focused her attention once more on his words.
“These are the people,” he was saying, “who will spearhead the research of the Special Projects department, and who will take on a mission of great importance — one that will bring glory to the corporation.
“For reasons of security, the exact goal and the activities of this new research group will be kept secret. While this may be inconvenient, senior management trusts that you will understand why this is necessary, and abide with it.”
Eichiro paused for a moment and smiled — a chilling smile, Nikki thought. “Those actually assigned to the project should have little difficulty abiding by these security provisions,” he said. “This is because the actual research will not take place in either of Nagara’s normal facilities. It will take place …”
A map appeared on the rear-projection screen behind him. A map of Southeast Asia, with the islands of Japan in the top right corner. From his podium, Eichiro picked up a laser pointer. The ruby-red dot of laser light indicated an area on the eastern coast of a long island, near the Malaysian peninsula tipped by Singapore. It’s Sumatra, Nikki realized with a shock.
“It will take place here,” Eichiro said. “Once called Sumatra, many inhabitants of this island now call it Majestic. The research site will be located fifty miles inland, near the banks of a major river. The research outpost will be named after that river — the Inderagiri Research Facility.”
More muttered reactions filled the air. The only people who didn’t seem affected by this were the experts from the Matsushima Bay site. But of course they’re not affected, Nikki thought, they knew about this long ago. For the rest, though, there’d be shock, and wild speculation over who’d be going.
And there was another difference between the Japanese and the American cultures. In the States, Nikki was sure, most people in this kind of situation would be eager to be sent to Sumatra, on such an important mission. They’d look on a transfer like this as exciting, as an adventure. The people who were chosen would consider themselves lucky, while the people left behind would be envious.
Not so here, Nikki knew. To all the people in this room — to anyone working for any major corporation like Nagara — Japan, and more specifically Tokyo, was the bright center of the universe. Everywhere else on the planet was a wasteland, more or less uncivilized, at the very best a pale reflection of the most sophisticated and cultured land on the face of the planet. Getting transferred away from Japan, even on an important scientific mission for their corporation, would seem like a horrible demotion, almost as bad as exile.
Eichiro was speaking again, his voice easily carrying above the mumbled conversation. “To repeat,” he was saying, “the core of the ou tpost will be the science group from our Matsushima Bay facility. But of course they will need support: clerical staff, computer support and maintenance, and security. These groups have already been chosen, and are at this moment being notified of their great responsibility. In addition, the outpost will need technical support in order to carry out their great work. That is where the Genetic Research Division comes in.”
Eichiro paused, his cold eyes scanning the faces of the audience, which had suddenly fallen silent. Nikki felt his gaze pass over her … and pause for a moment. His thin lips twisted in a faint, chilly smile. Is that smile meant for me? she wondered for a moment, then squelched the thought. Of course not. Paranoid thinking again.
“The Inderagiri outpost will require a technical workgroup to assist the scientists with genetic analysis and immunoassays,” Eichiro went on. “Nagara has selected Group Five for this task, the workgroup led by
Miss Nikki Carlson.” Now there was no doubt at all. His steady eyes were fixed on Nikki’s face, and his grim smile was definitely for her.
The muttered conversations broke out again, this time obviously full of relief. “Saved,” most of the people would be thinking, Nikki knew. “I’m not being exiled.”
She felt eyes on her — not Eichiro’s; the gazes belonged to others. She looked around her.
Omi, Ito, Toshima, Matsukara, Zakoji and Bojo — the other members of her workgroup, of Group Five. They were looking at her — staring at her — their faces expressionless, their eyes cold. Their emotions were almost palpable — outrage, shame, sadness … and anger. And of course, that anger was directed at her.
She could guess their thoughts. “It’s the gaijin,” they’d be telling themselves. “It was her — her shame — that caused this. So Nagara Security didn’t censure her after the wreckers’ raid, but maybe that was just because they didn’t have enough proof. But they knew she was guilty, and now they’re banishing her. And us too.” It was a logical reaction, considering their background and outlook. But it was totally unfair (wasn’t it?). She was innocent, she’d never done anything to harm the corporation.
Her own anger flared. Couldn’t they see that this was an honor? Group Five had support the old Special Projects initiative well — so well that they’d been assigned to support this new secret venture. Didn’t they realize that it would have been a subtle — or not-so-subtle — slap in the face if another group had been assigned to the new science group?
But of course they couldn’t see it that way. All they knew was that they’d be going to Sumatra — a primitive, uncivilized country, in their minds — and of course they’d blame their gaijin workgroup leader for it. She sighed.
And how did she feel about it? She ran a quick inventory of her own emotions .Excitement—that was the major emotion. Excitement that she’d be part of the Inderagiri outpost, whatever its secret goal might be. She’d never been to Indonesia, to Sumatra, although when she’d first come to Asia she’d intended to visit the region if she could get the money together for a wanderjahr. Now she’d be going, and Nagara would be paying her for the privilege. She knew little about how what the Voice of America called the Possibility Wars had affected Indonesia, although the rumors she’d heard hinted at dark changes in the region. But still the excitement remained, albeit overlaid with faint tinges of guilt. Even though she saw this as an opportunity, she knew her colleagues considered it a punishment, a dishonor. She shrugged. Feeling guilty was stupid. She wasn’t responsible for Eichiro’s choice.
Eichiro. fust what did his smile mean? Did he share with the other members of Group Five the idea that this was a demotion? His eyes and his smile were certainly cold enough …
But he always looked cold, she remembered. His face just naturally fell into those lines, and any smile automatically became a sneer. Did he understand the way she’d view the transfer? Was he smiling because he knew she’d relish the challenge? Was this transfer — giving her something he knew she’d enjoy and appreciate — a form of apology for the shabby treatment she’d suffered at the hands of Iwao Yamato, the dismissed security chief… the closest to a real apology he could bring himself to offer? But of course there was no way of finding out without asking Eichiro directly, and she couldn’t do that.
“I am sure that we all offer Group Five — and, of course, the Matsushima Bay scientists — our thanks for taking on this significant responsibility,” Eichiro was saying in conclusion, “and wish them all possible
success. This meeting is concluded.”
*
Nikki was one of the first to leave the room. She felt a strong urge to speak to the other members of her workgroup … But what would I say? she asked herself. Apologize? For something that isn’t my fault? For something they should see as an honor? No. Considering their upbringing and world view, there was no way they’d see her side of the issue. There was nothing she could do to convince them that the gaijin hadn’t brought shame down upon them. She sighed. Yet another complexity, in a life that was already quite complex enough.
The Matsushima Bay scientists were also quick to leave the lecture theater. Again, their body language communicated that they were a tight-knit group, very distinct from the others around them.
&
nbsp; As she was walking slowly toward the elevators, suddenly Nikki realized that she recognized one of their faces. A slender man, taller than the others, with flashes of premature grey in the hair at his temples. Where had she seen him before, and who was he?
The man, on the periphery of the Matsushima Bay group, was standing near her as they all waited for the elevator car to arrive. She studied him in her peripheral vision, overcoming the impulse to stare at him. Yes, she definitely had seen him before. But where? How? She was sure he’d never been to Nagara’s Tokyo building; he’d have spent all his time in the labs and other facilities of the manmade island off Kyushu.
Then recollection came. She’d never seen him in the flesh, just in a photograph. Early in her tenure as leader of Group Five, she’d made great efforts to read all the literature published in the discipline of genetic analysis and engineering — magazines in both English and Japanese. One of these journals — the most important, but also the hardest to read — was the Journal of the Genetic Engineering Society of Japan. Unlike most of the other scientific publications, the Journal published photographs of the authors of individual papers, not just brief biographies. That’s where she’d seen the man before: he was incredibly prolific, it seemed, with dozens of scholarly papers to his credit. She recalled that his photograph had appeared in almost every quarterly issue, either as co-author or sole author of a major paper. She’d noticed his face particularly, and remembered it, because he was considerably younger than most other authors, but mainly because the streaks of grey in his hair made him stand out.
What’s his name? Nikki racked her brain. Fusaaki? … something starting with an F ….
Funakoshi, that was it. Fusaaki Funakoshi, reputed to be one of the world’s best — if not the best — chimeric gene splicers in the world. She remembered that he’d led a group that had succeeded in altering the genetic makeup of the tiny garden cross spider. The modifications had allowed the spider to incorporate the metal vanadium, introduced in its diet, into the silk it used to spin its webs, vastly increasing its strength. She recalled reading that the modified web had hundreds of times the tensile strength of steel of the same thickness. The paper, published several years ago, had speculated that if only a way could be found to synthesize this modified silk artificially and in great quantities, it could become an important structural material — perhaps used to make cables and hawsers a fraction of an inch thick but with a breaking strain measured in tons, or maybe as a component in high-speed aircraft or even spacecraft. Of course, Funakoshi would have seen this kind of industrialization as unimportant, a task for lesser engineers, not for pure scientists like himself. He’d almost certainly have moved on to some other project as soon as he’d succeeded with the genetic aspects of the work.
Funakoshi was staring at her, his eyes cold and hostile. Nikki felt her cheeks color. Despite her attempts not to, she must have been staring at the man.
Impulsively, she took a step closer to him. “Please accept my apologies, Funakoshi-san,” she said politely. “Forgive me for staring … but I recognized you from your picture in the Genetic Engineering Society Journal.”
His lips curved in a faint smile — an arrogant, icy expression that reminded her of Eichiro. Even though he was an inch or so shorter than her, his manner made her feel like he was looking down on something hardly worthy of his attention.
For a moment, anger flared in her chest. So what if I’m a gaijin and a woman? I’m still a human being. But she repressed the emotion ruthlessly. What good would it do to show anger? His attitude — offensive as it was— was natural for him, for all too many people in this culture. They’d be working together. What good would it do her to react, and earn his enmity?
She forced her voice to remain steady, and chose the most polite form of address. “May one ask what the purpose of the Inderagiri outpost will be?”
Funakoshi’s face became an expressionless mask. “One may not,” he said flatly, his choice of words and his manner right on the verge of personal insult. She took half a step back at his rudeness, as if she’d been slapped.
The elevator doors hissed open. As a block, the Matsushima Bay scientists walked into the elevator, filling the car. There was no room for Nikki, or for the other workers standing with her. The scientists could have made room, but none of them bothered to move an inch.
As the doors slid shut, leaving Nikki in the hallway, she saw that Funakoshi’s supercilious smile had returned.
*
Nikki leaned back in her chair. Taking a mouthful from the cup of tea — Earl Grey, not the traditional green Japanese brew, which she found too bitter for late-night sipping — next to her computer, she rubbed her eyes. The system that Nagara had given her for use at her apartment was light-years better than any personal computer she’d ever used in the States, but even so, late at night when she was tired, the screen still made her eyes sore if she stared at it too long. With a grunt of frustration, she logged off the public database and powered down the computer.
She’d been trying to get some kind of background on the island of Sumatra — on Indonesia in general, in fact — and on how the so-called “Possibility Wars” had affected it at all. Although she owned a decent-sized book collection, all her volumes were either fiction — mainly science fiction — or technical tomes dedicated to genetics, microbiology, biochemistry, and the other arcana of her career. Nothing in her library touched on the geography, history or culture of Southeast Asia. (Well, that wasn’t quite true. She had two guidebooks for tourists visiting Japan, and a number of books in the “Learn Japanese in Some Ludicrously Short Period of Time” style. But of course none of them said a word about Sumatra.) So she’d turned to technology, using her home computer to log onto the public databanks that had largely replaced research libraries in Japan. She’d quickly realized that searching all the many datafiles manually would take too long, so she’d written a short EXEC program to automate matters — to search through the databanks and flag any passages containing the word SUMATRA. That had sped things up somewhat, but there were still a lot of entries that she had to sort through manually.
Lots of entries, but none of them had told her what she really wanted to know. Many of them had provided basic geographic and historical background on Sumatra. It hadn’t taken her too long to learn more than she’d ever really need to know about that large island.
Situated right on the Equator, Sumatra was just over a thousand miles, or about 1,600 kilometers, long, and varied in width from about 90 to 240 miles (145 to 386 kilometers. Marco Polo had visited the island in 1292, and by 1510 Portuguese traders had established commercial stations there. During the 17th Century, the Dutch moved in and took over, eventually turning Sumatra into part of the “Netherlands Indies.” In 1945, the island became part of the Republic of Indonesia.
It had surprised Nikki to learn that the population at the last official census had been around 14 million people. She’d never really thought about it before, but now she realized she’d had a mental picture of Sumatra as one large, steaming jungle, largely unfit for human habitation. She shook her head in mild disgust at herself. She’d always prided herself on not being like those Americans — all too many of them — who never spared a thought for anything outside the United States. But here had been the kind of blatant ignorance she so despised in the “ugly Americans.”
She’d skimmed through the rest of the file, looking for other false assumptions she might have about the region. The climate was just about as she’d envisioned it: temperature ranging from about 77° to 81° Fahrenheit, and fairly heavy annual rainfall. Most of the island was densely forested, with bamboo, pine, camphor, eucalyptus and teak the most common trees. The island was home to a wide range of animals — the elephant, tiger, panther, even the rhinoceros. (The rhinoceros? She hadn’t known that.) That was all historical data, dating back at least five years, and sometimes much longer. There were no current details, she’d found — to her disappointment — as she�
��d scanned the databanks. Specifically, no information on what changes the Possibility Wars might have wrought on the area. Some files had made coy references to Kawaru — “the Change” — and how it had modified the ecology, culture, even the weather patterns of Indonesia. But there’d been no details. The only useful data had hinted that high technology didn’t always work as expected — that, in many places, Indonesia had slipped back to a technological level that roughly matched that of the Victorian era. (There’d also been some cryptic comments implying that the culture of some parts of Indonesia had also come to resemble Victorian England, but she hadn’t attributed much importance to those rumors.) If there had been a regression in technology, that probably meant the population of the island had dropped, but to what extent she couldn’t even guess.
She’d flipped back to the geographical database, and keyed in the word INDERAGIRI as a search term. Quickly the screen had filled with text.
Apparently, the Inderagiri River — alternatively spelled Indragiri, she’d noted — was one of the island’s main rivers. Like the other major rivers—the Musi, the Jambi and the Kampar — it flowed down the eastern side of the mountainous backbone of the island, the Barisan Mountains, onto a broad, gently-sloping plane. The file had pointed out that all the rivers were traditionally important for interior navigation. (Idly she’d wondered if the technological changes had made those rivers more or less important. Probably more so, she’d decided after a moment. Even if you can’t depend on engines any more, you can always trust the wind, or oars.) She took another sip of tea, staring unseeingly at the computer’s blank screen. Most people, she knew, found starting off on a new venture without sufficient information frustrating or frightening. She had a tendency to view things that way sometimes. But usually all she had to do was remind herself that much of life’s joy came from discovering something new. How would it be to go from day to day, always knowing everything that waited around the next corner? Safe and reassuring, maybe. But ultimately boring. The adventure of learning, the joy of discovery — those were the twin emotions that had pushed her toward a career in science, and maintained her interest in her job at Nagara.
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