Nigel Findley

by Out Of Nippon

  What did I just see? Nikki wondered. Obviously they were out in the jungle, but why?

  And why was I afraid to let them know I saw it?

  It was that question that stayed with her as she

  walked slowly back to her quarters.

  *

  The question was still with her in the morning, as she headed for the refectory for breakfast. She didn’t know why, but she still had the uncomfortable feeling she’d seen something she shouldn’t have. Logically, there was nothing to base that conclusion on—but the fact that it denied logical analysis just made the feeling stronger, almost unassailable on an emotional level.

  She was still curious, of course—even more curious now than she’d been last night. The scientists were out in the jungle at night. That was undeniable. But why? What were they doing, and why were they risking the dangers? Obviously, their task had to be vitally important if Eichiro would authorize risking his oh-so-important team scientists on it.

  It was just after half past eight, and the refectory was almost empty. Three security guards sat together at one table, talking quietly among themselves, while on the other side of the room sat the two mechanics who’d been aboard the freighter with Nikki, also deep in conversation. Shop talk, Nikki thought. What do security guards talk about? Guns, and armor, and how to kill people? She chuckled quietly to herself. No, probably just sports and gossip.

  There was one other man in the refectory, sitting alone in the far corner. Funakoshi, the scientist. He’d finished his breakfast, Nikki saw, and was just finishing off a large cup of coffee. He probably needs the caffeine to make up for the sleep he didn’t get last night, Nikki told herself.

  She hesitated for a moment, then made a quick decision. Casually, she walked over to the scientist’s table and sat down across from him.

  “Konichi-wa, Funakoshi-san,” she greeted him politely.

  He glanced up, his expression cold. “Huh,” he grunted.

  Normally, Nikki would have reacted to his rudeness and just left him alone. But today she kept her smile in place, even broadened it. “I just wanted to tell you that I consider it an honor to be working with you,” she said lightly. She giggled. “You know, I never thought I’d have the chance to meet someone as important as you.”

  Deep down, Nikki hated herself for what she was doing. Briko, the Japanese called it — the childish, giggling, almost brainless manner that so many Japanese women cultivated. Nikki had always hated briko; it offended her and disgusted her that women would choose to pretend that they weren’t competent to make it through life without the help of men. Seeing it in others set her teeth on edge, almost like the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard. How much worse to act that way herself …

  But it seemed that Japanese men reacted well to briko, and the fact that her own manner was almost the direct opposite—competent and self-assured—often seemed to alienate them. If she wanted to ingratiate herself with Funakoshi — even temporarily, just long enough to find out what was going on — she had to swallow her revulsion and give them what they wanted.

  She couldn’t tell if it was working. Funakoshi’s eyes were as cold and expressionless as always. But at least he hasn’t left, she told herself, or told me to leave.

  “It must be something very important you’re working on here,” she went on in the same manner. “Why else would they bring in someone as well-known and knowledgeable as you?”

  That seemed to get through to the scientist; his hard expression softened into a self-satisfied half-smile. Play on his vanity, Nikki thought, that’s his weakness.

  “It must be very complex,” she continued. “Do you know, I read some of your publications? Well, I tried to read them, but it was all just too confusing, much too advanced. I couldn’t understand a word of it. Someone like you, you must be working on something very new, very innovative.”

  She almost gagged at her pretense. I can’t keep this up much longer, she told herself.

  But maybe she didn’t have to, she realized. Funakoshi’s smile broadened millimetrically. “Yes,” he said smugly, “our work is very advanced. I expect a great breakthrough.”

  “Soon?”

  He nodded. “Soon, I think,” he concurred.

  “And will you write a paper on it for the Journal of the Genetic Engineering Society?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps eventually.”

  That told her something, she realized—that the work

  Funakoshi was doing was related to genetic engineering in some way. She could have guessed that, but it was good to confirm it. “It’s interesting to come to the jungle,” she went on lightly, “I’ve never been anywhere like this before. It’s such a long way from Japan.” She smiled guilelessly at the scientist. “It must be wonderful for you here: so many strange plants and animals, so many interesting samples for your work …”

  The response to her words surprised her. It was as if steel shutters slammed closed behind Funakoshi’s eyes. His smile vanished, and his face was as hard as stone. He glared at her, and it was all she could do to keep her insipid smile in place.

  Funakoshi stood up abruptly. “Our work is of the highest security classification,” he told her sharply, “and no concern of yours. You will do well to remember that.” And with that, he turned on his heel and strode away.

  What did I say? Nikki asked herself, watching the scientist’s receding back. I said something that got to him. But what?

  She reviewed her last words in her mind. He closed down the instant I said the word “samples,” she realized after a moment. So what did that mean? That the “mission” — or whatever it was — last night was supposed to collect samples from the jungle? That made sense, it was logical. But then why the secrecy, and why did Funakoshi react so strongly? How much more strongly would he have reacted if he’d known I saw him last night? she wondered. There was something very strange going on here, maybe even stranger than she’d first thought, but she didn’t have the slightest clue what it was …

  “Morning.”

  She jumped slightly at the voice at her shoulder. It was O’Neil. She’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t seen or heard him approach.

  The pilot pointed to the empty tabletop in front of her. “Having a light breakfast, I see.”

  “Sit down for a moment,” she suggested. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

  Quickly she reviewed what she’d seen the previous night, and the details of her conversation with Funakoshi. “They’re doing … something … in the jungle,” she concluded, “something that they don’t want me to know about. Don’t want us to know about,” she amended quickly. “What do you think’s going on?”

  O’Neil didn’t answer immediately. In fact, he seemed to be concentrating on his own thoughts more than on her words, almost as if he hadn’t even heard her.

  She touched his arm lightly. “Earth to O’Neil,” she joked, “come in O’Neil.”

  His eyes focused back on her. “Sorry,” he said, “just thinking. What did you say?”

  “I said, ‘what do you think’s going on?’” She hesitated, looking closer at the pilot. He was smiling as usual, but there seemed to be a kind of shadow over his face. He’s worried about something, she recognized, really worried. “What’s up?” she asked quietly.

  His smile faded. “They’re sending me up in the chopper today,” he told her. “Some kind of scouting mission out over the jungle, toward the hills southwest of here. I’m to take one of the scientist with me. It’s a long flight, a couple of hours each way, right at the limit of my fuel.”

  “Oh? What for?”

  He shrugged. “I guess I don’t need to know,” he said wryly.

  What’s wrong? she asked herself. Flying’s what he’s supposed to be here for. Then she remembered their conversation aboard the V/STOL in transit from Tokyo to Spratly Island. “You’re worried the helicopter’s going to fail?” she asked.

  His only answer was a sharp nod.


  “Look around you,” she suggested lightly. “There’s no problem with technology. The lights work, the coffeemaker works … hell, even the computers work, and they’re more complex than your helicopter, aren’t they?”

  Her attempt to cheer him up hadn’t worked, she saw at once. He still looked worried. “That’s right,” he agreed, “but that’s inside the outpost, isn’t it?”

  “Why should that make a difference?”

  He shrugged again. “I don’t know, but it does.” He leaned forward earnestly. “Do you feel like you’re in the middle of Orrorsh here, Nikki? I don’t, I feel like in …” — he searched for words — “in a little bit of Japan. For Christ’s sake, look at the walls, the floors, the lighting … It’s all just like the Nagara Building in Tokyo, isn’t it?” Nikki had to nod agreement; O’Neil’s words meshed perfectly with he own thoughts when she’d first entered her quarters.

  “But what about outside the compound?” the pilot went on urgently. “What’s on the other side of the stockade fence, Nikki? It’s the jungle. It’s Orrorsh. Isn’t it?” Again she had to nod. “And remember the story I told you about the guards, about the tentacles? They went into the jungle, they got too far from the outpost, and what happened? Their flashlights went out, their radios stopped working. Right? I’m going a long way from the outpost…”

  In the silence, Nikki looked closely at her acquaintance — no, my friend. This was really getting to him, she saw, and she could understand why. Even though it made little logical sense, there was some kind of … some kind of emotional resonance to what he said. “They’re sending a scientist with you,” she pointed out at last. “One of the Matsushima Bay group?”

  O’Neil nodded.

  “You know how important Eichiro thinks those scientists are,” she reminded him. “Do you think he’s going to risk one of them if the mission might be risky?”

  “No,” the pilot allowed, “but Eichiro doesn’t seem to pay attention to anything that indicates Orrorsh is different from Japan. Otherwise why would he have brought the chopper in the first place?”

  A new thought struck Nikki. “Well, what about that tank thing, that pickup with tracks I saw last night?” she asked. “It had gone out into the jungle, and it was still working. They weren’t towing it in or anything. So if that didn’t fail, why would your helicopter fail?”

  For the first time, O’Neil’s expression lightened, and his smile returned almost as unshakable as ever. “You know what, Carrson-san? You’re right.” He reached forward, laid his hand on Nikki’s and squeezed. “Thanks. I guess it’s just the nightmares getting to me.”

  That startled Nikki a little. “Nightmares? You’re having nightmares?”

  “Real doozies,” he confirmed.

  “What are they?”

  He shrugged her question off. “Typical pilot stuff,” he said lightly. “Flying in a storm, lost, and running out of fuel. Coming in for a landing and the runway’s been turned into a parking lot. The plane’s on fire, I can’t open the hatch, and I don’t have a parachute anyway. Just the old fears talking.”

  “Do you dream anything else?” she asked. Suddenly, inexplicably, that question seemed to be of vital importance.

  He smiled at her, climbing to his feet. “Why don’t we discuss it over a late lunch?” he suggested. He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get going. I don’t think those lab guys understand the word ‘patience.’ I’ll see you when I get back.” He turned away and headed for the door.

  “O’Neil,” she called after him, then, “Tom.” He

  glanced back. “Good luck,” she told him.

  He grinned, flipped her a casual salute. “Good pilots make their own luck, Carrson-san. See ya.”

  There was a knot in Nikki’s stomach as she watched him leave. Fear? she wondered. But that doesn’t make sense, does it ? Of course not. She shook her head to clear it, ruthlessly suppressing the irrational worries that assailed her. All I need is breakfast and some coffee, she told herself.

  But she couldn’t quite make herself believe it. *

  The wind howled around the buildings of the compound like a live thing in torment. Even inside her workgroup’s lab, Nikki could hear it. She imagined that less sturdily-built structures would be physically shaking under its impact.

  The storm had hit without warning, brewing up out of a clear blue sky. She’d been outside when the first of the clouds appeared, scudding across the sky like slate-grey battleships, under the driving force of high-altitude winds. She’d watched in fascination, actually going so far as to time the process on her watch. It had taken less than five minutes from the first indication for the sky to become an unbroken ceiling of black. And then the winds had started, and the rain, whipped ferociously by the gusts.

  That had been at about ten-thirty in the morning. She checked her watch: it was just before one-thirty now. According to the security guard she’d asked earlier, O’Neil’s chopper had been due back on the helipad about half an hour ago. That was the flight plan, at least, and the storm had changed things drastically. The wind was blowing generally from the northeast, which meant that if the first leg of O’Neil’s flight had been to the southwest, now he’d be facing a strong headwind. And he said the flight was already at the limit of the helicopter’s fuel, she remembered. Had he taken the possibility of a headwind into account when he’d taken off?

  Another gust of wind struck the building with an audible impact. Even without worrying about fuel, it had to be sheer hell up there. How well did helicopters deal with strong gusting winds?

  She looked around the lab. The other members of her workgroup were busy, beginning the analysis of the first serum samples that Funakoshi and his team had sent over. The work was going to be just like it had been in Japan, she realized. Her group were given samples, with no indication of what they were or where they came from, and they had to analyze them exhaustively and “by the book.” Without some clue as to what the science team was looking for, there were no shortcuts to take, or ways of making the process more efficient. At least the automated analyzers work, she thought, glancing over at the row of five white, refrigerator-sized machines.

  She glanced at her watch again. The team wouldn’t need her for a few minutes, she figured. “I’m going out for some fresh air,” she told them. A couple of her colleagues looked up long enough to nod, but most didn’t pay any attention whatsoever. With a last look around the lab, she went out into the hallway.

  There was a major gap in her wardrobe, she’d realized early on: she hadn’t brought any rain gear whatsoever. Stupid, she told herself, you should have known what tropical rainstorms are like. Fortunately for her, the outpost’s supplies included raincoats—more like light ponchos, really — in Nagara’s blue-and-white color-scheme with the company’s origami crane logo prominent on the back. She’d snagged one of those for herself this morning, as soon as the storm had hit. Now she slung it around her shoulders and closed the fasteners down the front. She opened the door and stepped out into the storm.

  The wind tugged at her poncho, lashed warm — and slightly brackish — rain into her face. Even with the rain gear, she knew she’d be drenched to the skin in minutes. Although it was a useless gesture, she raised the hood and pulled it tight about her face. She headed toward the heliport.

  Rain had already turned most of the compound to dark, reddish mud. The reinforced paths, however, were still firm, although wet and sometimes slippery. She headed past the central administration building, and reached the equipment shed.

  The building gave her at least some cover, she noted thankfully. Driven by the wind, the rain was falling at almost a forty-five-degree angle, slanting down from the northeast. Flattening herself against the south side of the building, she was sheltered from the worst of the weather, while having a great view of the helipad.

  There were a couple of security guards standing around the pad, she noticed. They had to be soaked, but if they noticed or cared they gave no sign. One
was searching the skies to the southwest; the other glanced at his watch. They’re waiting for O’Neil, too, Nikki realized.

  Almost as if the guard checking his watch had been a cue, she heard the distant, dull whop-whop-whop of rotor blades. Using her hand to screen her eyes from the water dripping from her hair, she searched the sky. It would be difficult to pick out the helicopter against the dark clouds …

  But there it was, closer than she’d expected judging by the sound of its rotors, a distended black dot low over the treetops to the southwest. It was coming in fast: O’ Neil was probably pushing the machine as hard as he could, to get home before the wind and rain grew any worse. Even at this distance, she could see the helicopter lurching as the wind lashed at it. One hell of a rough ride, she thought, I’m glad I’m not aboard.

  As though summoned by the sound of the rotors, three mechanics appeared out of the equipment shed and hurried toward the helipad. They were carrying plastic-covered wire ropes—tie-downs, Nikki guessed, to secure the helicopter against the wind as soon as it was down. With the security guards coming to their aid, they started attaching the ropes to large eyebolts set into the hard surface of the pad.

  The helicopter was moving even faster than Nikki had thought. It was already over the stockade fence, slowing to a hover a hundred feet above the pad. Now Nikki could see the two figures through the bulbous, transparent canopy. She couldn’t recognize them from this distance, but knew the one in the left-hand seat had to be O’Neil.

  The copter was bouncing alarmingly, ten feet or even more at a time, and in totally unpredictable directions. Can he land it? she wondered. And then she thought, But what else can he do? Her stomach knotted with apprehension. The engine sound changed slightly, and the machine began to descend.

  Without any warning, the howl of the wind built to a horrendous crescendo. Even in the shelter of the equipment shed, Nikki was buffeted, almost knocked from her feet. One of the mechanics, still trying to attach his tie-down, was knocked to the ground.