United States of Japan

by Peter Tieryas

  She looked at his scars, which were already looking better. “You’re fortunate Los Angeles has the best medical facilities in the Empire.”

  The Empire’s state of the art biotechnology had eliminated most known diseases, a fact not lost on all the German officials she saw in the hallway. The burn marks on Ben’s back were rapidly healing, but her mind involuntarily went back to the night her brother had been killed by explosives from an American terrorist attack. He’d been burned beyond recognition and, for a moment, the blackened groove of Ben’s skin looked the same. Still, it was only an archipelago of burn marks in an ocean of flesh compared to the lava field that had been her brother. Ben had survived with superficial wounds to his back and arm.

  “I feel very fortunate,” Ben said. “And grateful.”

  Her principal mission had been to execute Jenna publicly, despite her protests to the contrary, and have her brain ready for Biologics. Akiko had also been told to assess the captain, determine if the complaints about his lazy work ethic were true. She didn’t like him, didn’t think he took his job seriously enough. But as she reported, he had been able to crack Claire’s portical when over thirty specialists had failed.

  “How many others died?” he asked.

  “I don’t have the exact number. Other agents are still collating the information.”

  “Anyone you know pass away?”

  “Someone leading the bomb squad,” Akiko replied. “I was supposed to be in her place.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I didn’t know her well,” Akiko stated. “But she died in the line of service. There is no greater honor.”

  “It’s still tough having someone die in your place.”

  “People die and are reborn into a new life. It’s the skewed circle that drives our existence. She took my place. I’ll take someone else’s someday.”

  “You believe in reincarnation?”

  “Why do you seem surprised?”

  “Tokko usually aren’t religious.”

  “Everything gets recycled. Star dust, cow shit, even our ashes. Why not the electrical impulses of our brain? You don’t believe it?”

  Ben shook his head. “No.”

  “That’s why you fear killing,” she stated.

  “I fear birth more than murder.”

  “Birth?”

  “Bringing children into our world without any regard for their desires is a crime. Even if they are ‘reborn souls.’”

  “Only a man who’d turn in his own parents would say something like that,” Akiko remarked.

  Ben seemed about to defend himself when a nurse came in. She removed the regenerative gels that were treating his burns. “Please stay this way for the next two hours,” she said, put the gels back on, and left.

  “Any idea who set the bombs?” Ben asked Akiko.

  “The main suspect is your girlfriend, Tiffany Kaneko,” she answered.

  “That’s impossible,” Ben said.

  “Why? She was the last person you were with. There’s a lot of unusual activity in her itinerary for the past month that can’t be accounted for on standard records.”

  “You mean she travels a lot. She’s a journalist.”

  “You feel an attachment to her?”

  “Of course,” Ben replied.

  “Even if she may have been the one who tried to kill you?”

  “I highly doubt it.”

  “Doubt is my area of expertise, Captain Ishimura. It’s never wise to ignore doubt of any nature.”

  “If it was only me, it’d make sense. But this is way bigger than that.”

  “I’ve considered that,” Akiko said. “I have officers investigating your home and they’ll get back to me if they find anything in the debris. I’m curious how long those explosives were there and why they picked tonight to set them off.” She stood up.

  “Where are you going?” Ben asked.

  “To speak with Tiffany.”

  “Let me come with you.”

  “You still need the gels to work on your back.”

  “I’m fine.”

  The bioscans behind him measuring various statistics indicated nominal health conditions. “You could compromise the case with your bias,” she said.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “If your girlfriend turns out to be the one who implemented the bomb, she will be executed.”

  “And if she’s innocent?”

  “Everyone’s guilty. It’s only a matter of figuring out what for.”

  “What about Tokko?”

  “If we weren’t guilty of something, we wouldn’t be good at our jobs.”

  Ben tried to stand, but Akiko stopped him. “There’s an incident I need to investigate,” she said.

  “What kind of incident?”

  “The Gogo Arcade is having unusual problems.”

  “I like the Gogo Arcade,” Ben said. “Let me come along.”

  She was about to refuse him, but something in his eagerness reminded her of her brother. “Give the gels another two hours to work and then meet me.”

  Ben lay back down.

  “I’m sending you the directions for the Go–”

  “I know where the Gogo Arcade is.”

  She went down into the underground parking lot and saw the shadow of a massive winged creature flapping on the wall. It took a moment for her to realize it was a tiny moth brushing right against the light, projecting a black silhouette as its bigger alter ego. She hopped into her car and took out a piece of gum from the glove department. “Any updates?” she asked the centralized communicator hooked into the car’s portical, as she drove to her destination.

  “Nothing new since your last check,” the operator from Tokko command answered. “Forensics is still investigating the site.”

  “Any mission parameters at the Gogo?”

  “You are to question Tiffany Kaneko and determine if she’s a viable suspect.”

  Akiko had not told Ben that Tiffany was last seen at the arcade with a group of kyotei racers, partying in their karaoke booths. “Is she considered disposable?”

  “Not at this time.”

  Which meant the evidence was circumstantial at best. Akiko rubbed her eyes, feeling tired, wanting a cigarette. But she’d quit, or at least told herself she’d quit. She’d go find coffee at the arcade.

  2:08AM

  Gogo Arcade was as big as some shopping malls and was bustling with activity. The complex was four stories tall and almost two hundred and forty thousand square meters in size. Tubed escalators connected the gaming center to peripheral shopping malls. The first floor was packed with slot machines, pachinko machines, and takarakuji vendors. Bars were stationed at almost every corner, and waitresses and waiters bowed to those passing by. The second and third floors were brimming with games that players could directly connect into their porticals. Big screens showed off a variety of simulations: fight as a soldier in the Holy War; pilot a mecha; or mow down rebels as the player-controlled bullets in an artillery assault. Huge battles took place over individual porticals projected on the arcade screen, thousands fighting against thousands of others, reinforced in their ideology that gyokusai (“a glorious death”) was the ultimate blessing. For those who wanted to take a break from the hyperrealistic visuals of combat, there was also an eclectic share of simulation games – be a bedbug for the night and multiply as much as possible; live life as a brick for ten years; become a raccoon and travel through time; and channel a fire and burn as much of an old American city as possible (of course, all the victims were ethnically non-Japanese as regulated by the censors). The amalgam of noise was so deafening, it became a sonorous blur of gunshots, explosions, and expletives. It was a constant barrage of stimulation, spectacle vying to outdo itself in a visual orgy more blinding than the gorgons. Akiko wondered if the study of unidentified human whimsies had a name.

  She’d never liked games. Her brother played them every chance he could and his decision to join the army was d
irectly influenced by his love of war games.

  “I want to be like the heroes in Honor of Death!” he’d said.

  “Baka,” she cursed him. “It’s just a game.”

  The fervor and intensity with which people played their porticals perturbed her. Even her boyfriend, Hideyoshi, played addictively into the night. A fight between eight gamers had to be broken up by arcade security and a shouting match between lovers over a misreported score had to be quelled by guards. Akiko knew all gaming fell under the Department of Peaceful Propaganda, but she did not like the effect it had on the citizens. She picked up a coffee, averting her eyes from the cigarette rack. She sniffed the cigarette smoke in the air, hoping to get a little jolt. It had been six days since she’d promised herself she’d stop.

  The karaoke stations were in the eastern wing of the fourth floor. Many were fronts for hostess and host bars – male and female “escorts” whose time could be bought for companionship. Shortly after her graduation a few years back, some of her classmates had taken her to a host bar to celebrate. While she found many of the men handsome and charming, they were too artificial to take seriously. The men barked back whatever they thought she wanted to hear and were essentially caricaturized companions. She was surprised, then, to find her male classmates loved female artifice even though it was so obviously an illusion.

  It was one of those host men that greeted her at the front of the Alchemist Bar, which was located on the top floor of the arcade. He was muscular with orange hair spiraling like a minaret above his head. Utterly ridiculous if he wasn’t so cute. “For one?” he asked, smiling with dimples. According to the portical scan, his nickname was Hornet. He was twenty-two, never went to college, and lived in an apartment in Torrance.

  She took out her badge and showed the image of Tiffany on her portical. “I’m looking for this woman. Her name’s Tiffany Kaneko and she was seen here earlier.”

  “I don’t recall–”

  “Hornet – why do they call you that?”

  He smiled in fake coyness. “Because I sting in bed.”

  “I can tell they’d love your sting in a labor camp at Catalina. Do you know much about what they do to fresh prisoners in Catalina?”

  “I’ve heard stories.”

  “You’ve already been arrested four times on obscenity charges. I could arrest you for a fifth.”

  “On what charge? I have my license now.”

  “Poor memory,” she replied.

  He lowered his eyes. “I don’t remember exactly when they went in, but they’re in the back.”

  He escorted her through the marble hallway. Akiko connected into Tiffany’s portical, accessing the camera as well as the audio speakers. There was loud music in the background and it was dark with strobe lights flashing so that it was impossible to see out the camera on her portical. Rooms filled with patrons were on either side of them, drunks bawling their souls out in hopes of one night of absolution. Karaoke was their escape, an attempt to exorcise the manacles of everyday routine. In civilian life, drinking binges and singing escapades were a form of bonding necessitated by the caprice of bosses who imposed their will on those below them. Akiko found the Tokko ban on fraternization a relief. They were trained to be suspicious of everyone, even each other.

  Hornet went into the room and dragged Tiffany out. Tiffany was drunk, wearing a slinky red dress, her blond hair a mess from dancing. Hornet bowed and excused himself.

  “What can I do for you?” Tiffany asked.

  “When was the last time you saw Beniko Ishimura?” Akiko asked back, as she showed her badge.

  “Earlier tonight. Why?”

  “How would you describe your relationship with him?”

  “We’re… close friends.”

  “Any hostility between you two?”

  “Of course not,” Tiffany replied. “Did something happen to him?”

  “Do you have any reason to believe something might have happened to him?”

  “A member of the Tokko asking me about him seems like a good reason.”

  “Did Ishimura act strange at all?” Akiko asked, paying careful attention to Tiffany’s response.

  “He seemed distant, like something was bothering him.”

  “Did he say what?”

  “No. I figured he just had a bad day at work.”

  “Is it common for him to have a bad day at work?”

  “He’s usually cheerful.”

  “Did you notice any unusual people in or outside of the apartment tonight?”

  “Definitely not inside, but outside?” She thought back. “No.”

  “Why aren’t you with him?” Akiko asked.

  “He fell asleep and these guys wanted to party. I’m writing a story about kyotei racing and thought it’d be a good chance to get to know them better.”

  “Interactive journalism?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Wouldn’t that affect your objectivity?”

  “I’m good at setting boundaries.”

  “Was Beniko a story?”

  Tiffany smiled. “While I’d love to write a story about the office of the censor, no. My relationship with him is purely for pleasure. Is something going on?”

  Akiko was about to answer when someone familiar popped her head out of the room. “Tiffany?” she called. “Everything OK?”

  Akiko startled. It was the girl she’d executed earlier, Jenna. Except she looked normal, untouched by the virus.

  “Don’t worry,” Tiffany replied to her.

  When Akiko stared at the woman again, a completely different face was there, much rounder with a leaner nose. There was no resemblance at all.

  “Here’s my itinerary for the past week,” Tiffany offered, showing her portical’s calendar. “I can get witnesses for most of my schedule.”

  Akiko perused it. There did not seem to be anything overtly suspicious.

  “Any more questions, officer?” Tiffany asked, taking her portical back.

  Akiko shook her head. “I’ll contact you if I have.”

  “I’m flying out to Beiping in the morning.”

  Her business completed, Akiko hastily exited. Hornet bowed to her as she left, but she did not acknowledge him.

  2:45AM

  It’s because I’m tired, she told herself. I need to get home and sleep. She prepared a short report to Command in a conference room security provided, explaining that a preliminary questioning indicated no leads from Tiffany. Afterwards, she walked through the arcade and watched as thousands of gamers waged a digital war. General Mutsuraga, the gaming taisho, developed war simulations in the first Mexican Conflicts and the San Diego Uprising that had been uncannily accurate, helping them to annihilate their opposition. When the Nazis caused an uproar over Afghanistan, Mutsuraga had programmed tactical games that prepared them for almost every contingency the German army would make. It was as though Mutsuraga knew their steps before they did. There was no doubt of his brilliance and his value to the Empire if it hadn’t been marred by his wife’s death. Akiko wondered again why his wife went out to a public marketplace in San Diego unguarded despite the ongoing revolt, a question she had never been able to resolve.

  She saw that Hideyoshi had called. She called back, but he did not answer. He was most likely already sleeping.

  I should get back home, she thought. But she didn’t want to rest yet. She wandered the arcade, observing the people. She understood the teens who were there, but it was the older players that boggled her. Why were they here in the middle of the night, hooked to a slot machine or portical game? Did they have family? Her portical could easily register and detail their personal life back to her, but she liked playing the only game she ever enjoyed – guessing people’s lives. She saw a balding man playing a simulation as a cat. She theorized he was a father of three whose family life he was trying to escape by taking on the tranquility of a lazy feline. The portical confirmed three children, but his wife had recently passed away as had their f
amily cat. Two of his boys served as enlisted men in Vietnam, while the third had been killed. Onto an elderly woman with a thin frame, who was playing a samurai game slashing at horrifying kami (spirits). Akiko saw her gold watch and general demeanor, surmised she was a rich woman with a string of young lovers. The portical report indicated she’d been married over twenty years, had two children, and lived in wealth thanks to her engineer husband who was currently on a business trip to New Berlin on the Britannic Islands. Akiko noted the recorded logs of liaisons the woman had enjoyed at host bars. She was about to guess at a few more when all the screens changed.

  “Imagine a world where everyone is equal,” a voice declared over the arcade speakers. “Where men and women of all races live in peace. A world where the Chinese and the Africans and the Jews still exist, not mercilessly massacred. Every minute we are told lies, told ‘inferior races’ were wiped away by false plagues. Our literature, our history, even our religion is being reshaped. Genghis Khan was not Japanese. Jesus Christ was not a Shinto priest. Franklin Roosevelt did not voluntarily surrender to the Japanese Empire. America was not a cruel, despotic country bent on annihilating Japan and Germany. It was a land of freedom that believed the pursuit of happiness was an inalienable right. They had no Emperor – their leaders were chosen by and for the people. They could say, do, write, and believe whatever they chose. The United States of Japan has forced themselves onto what was once the greatest nation in the world. Now, rise up, take back the country, return it to what it once was – the United States of America.”

  The game opened up with Japanese soldiers executing a group of unarmed civilians, thousands of them brutally murdered. Those who tried to escape were either stabbed in the back or shot in the head. Some of the digital Japanese soldiers laughed as they performed “cutting tests” and decapitated children.

  She recognized Mutsuraga’s game all too well as she’d been given a demonstration of it earlier. There was a funereal silence as gamers were engrossed. She called Command to notify them, explaining in brief what had transpired. “The game is playing on every screen. What should I do?” she asked the operator who relayed orders from Command.