United States of Japan

by Peter Tieryas

  “Not when the stakes are this high. She apologized to you.”

  “For what?”

  “For her deception,” Akiko replied.

  “I know, ultimately, it doesn’t really mean anything. But I feel like I’ve been dating a complete stranger.”

  “Everyone in the USJ is a stranger,” Akiko said.

  “I guess you’re right. Ironic.”

  “What?”

  “You’re the only person I’m certain of, and you’re Tokko.”

  “Don’t take it personally. I still haven’t told my mother I’m part of the Tokko.”

  “Why not?”

  She was surprised at having told Ben this fact. “Where were these porticals manufactured?” she asked, changing the topic.

  He lifted one up. “Good question. They’re not made in Japan or China, that’s for sure. They’re shoddy, cheap material, no serial numbers to track. I’m thinking they’re made in the USJ and I’m pretty sure it’s in Anaheim in Portical Valley.”

  She peered into the trashcans and saw they were full of smoked cigarettes and empty ramen cups that still reeked – they’d been here recently. Garbology officers could go through the trash and forensics would scan for fingerprints.

  “Doesn’t the arcade have a security system?”

  “A really good one,” Ben answered.

  “How’d they crack it?”

  “I said good, not great. It wouldn’t have been that hard for an experienced portical tech to break through. Let’s head to Anaheim.”

  “Are they open? It’s 5:00am.”

  “They never sleep. Looks like you could use some shut eye. Why don’t you let me drive?”

  She was too tired to object.

  5:32AM

  Akiko was in a store that sold memories, a mishmash of tawdry emancipation bottled into faked vulnerability and fingernails from forgotten musicians grilled on kebabs of misplaced desire. If only she’d had better taste, she could have escaped the corpulence of discontent. But no, her belly swelled and her fingernails turned into claws as her nose gushed latex paint.

  “Hey,” she heard, feeling ice chill her wrist.

  “W-wh–”

  “We’re almost there,” Ben said.

  She looked at Ben and oriented herself. “Did I sleep?”

  “Soundly,” he replied. “You were dreaming.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “I’ll be happy when our medics find a way for the human body to go without sleep.”

  “Dreaming is my favorite part of the day.”

  “Some of our scientists are trying to find a way to record dreams to see what people are really thinking at the subconscious level.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can’t arrest someone based on their dreams.”

  “Why not?”

  “What if it gets misinterpreted?”

  “We would have agents to curate them,” Akiko said. “Unfortunately, it won’t be available anytime, soon since their primary focus is on extracting memories from the dead.”

  “How close are they?”

  Akiko tried not to think about Jenna. “Still in the initial steps.”

  “I guess the dead won’t be able to keep secrets anymore,” Ben noted.

  They took a left into a road full of gigantic portical advertisements for new entertainment shows and gaming competitions.

  “How much further?” Akiko asked.

  “We’re arriving. The rules are looser here and they don’t like military. I hope I don’t offend if I suggest that you follow my lead.”

  Akiko wasn’t familiar with Portical Valley, so she said, “That’s fine.”

  “You OK?”

  “Why would I not be?” Akiko asked.

  “You look frazzled.”

  “I’m tired.”

  Ben held up an inhalant. “Need a shot of caffeine?”

  “Later.”

  Portical Valley was a strange intersection of technology and lewd ribaldry. There were cocoons of scintillating lights tightly choreographed into demo booths for new machines, grandiose monuments to marketing ascending high above them. It was a shopping center as big as a public square, a bazaar selling every type of portical and accessory imaginable. Built indoors, the ceiling was a sprawling display screen with advertisements of scantily clad actors and actresses. Promotional models abounded, the usual throng of tight T-shirts, bikinis, buff bared men wandering about with catchphrases and phony smiles packaged to appeal to repressed libidos. Porticals and sex made for a surprisingly agreeable liaison.

  “Where are we going?” Akiko asked.

  “This is just the surface. We’re visiting an old acquaintance of mine.”

  Elephants, zebras, and monkeys ran rampant. Exotic birds flew from one empty ledge to another. The enormous leg of a broken mecha was on display, the remnants of a goliath that had once blasted Americans in San Diego. At the base, food stalls sold squash and basil that granted virility. Miniscule chilies promised to make a tongue burst after a taste and red shallots bled spices to make other parts implode. The lemon grass and kaffir limes contributed to the international canal of coconut juice flowing through the intestines of everyone passing through the valley. Many were engaged in community portical games at kiosks, shrugging off fatigue and frustration.

  “Why are there so many animals?” Akiko inquired.

  “Organic porticals built into the animal body are the new rage,” Ben answered. “Kind of like flesh phones, but with deeper connections. Check out those ostriches.”

  There was a herd of them with copper plating on their bowl heads.

  “For racing,” Ben said. “Increases hormonal activity and makes them easier to control.”

  “They have a portical brain?”

  “Half and half. Same for body.”

  “Who controls it?”

  “The portical intelligence system. Some creatures have direct interfacing with humans. I hear in Manchukuo, they have brutal cricket matches with human drivers. Leaves a lot of them crazy, living as a bug.”

  “I suppose it makes a useful diversion for the masses.”

  “I’ve never seen a cricket match, but the ostrich races are disturbing and violent. Some of those matches are to the death – those birds’ll do anything to win.”

  “They take after their human masters,” Akiko noted dryly.

  Many of the human masters had artificial parts and there were stores that promised updates to mechanical limbs in a matter of hours. These included tooled supplements that helped in jobs like janitorial work, plumbing, and construction by having replaceable equipment constructed into the arm. Also on sale were supplemental teeth to enhance taste, fashion nails with portical screens built in, and sensory augmentation to stimulate weaker nerves.

  They entered a seafood store that reeked of dead fish. Swarthy cooks chopped up meat and peeled the fins off salmon cadavers. Boxes of discarded clam shells and fish bones were leaking viscous juices that drenched the floor with aquatic blood. Ben and Akiko walked into what appeared to be a storage room, but it led to another door that itself turned into a staircase. On an enclosure on the left wall, the upper half of a man turned to them on a steel swivel, his face covered by a fishnet. His head was shaved, though he had a fastidious square mustache. “How can I help you, officers?”

  “I’d like to see Koushou,” Ben replied.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “You know we don’t.”

  “Koushou is not in at the moment.”

  “We can wait,” Ben said with a smile, before placing a rolled wad of yen into the man’s hand.

  “Koushou will return shortly.”

  “Probably by the time we reach his chambers.”

  “Perhaps.”

  They went down the long stairway, guided by violet radiation that gleamed temptation.

  “What was that?” Akiko asked.

  “That’s what you call greasing the modern eunuch.”
>
  “He’s human?”

  “Cut in half.”

  “Nothing below?”

  Ben shook his head.

  “Does he just stay there forever?”

  “Another eunuch replaces him when he needs to rest,” Ben explained. “They go in shifts.”

  “Why do they do this?”

  “The lack of a lower half ensures their loyalty. Important trait down here.”

  “How does he eat?” she inquired.

  “Injections of proteins and other nutrients to keep him alive.”

  “That’s barbaric.”

  “He lives a very comfortable life as gatekeeper,” Ben said.

  “With bribes?”

  “Toll fees.”

  “How much did you give him?” she asked, crossing her arms.

  “Don’t ask,” Ben said, and brushed some lint off his jacket.

  “Isn’t he in pain?”

  “Regenerative gels make him feel like he’s in heaven, and he’s wealthier than you and I can even imagine.”

  “There are things more valuable than money.”

  “Not down here.”

  They walked into a lobby that was dense with smoke. The tangent chamber organized itself into blocks of alcohol dispensers and naked waiters serving patrons. Some of the glass walls had shaded tints where human action was visible in silhouette, naked couples frolicking with animals. A woman was passionately kissing a muscular man who had a plastic face – one of those artificial males – and her perfume assailed them with its scent. Each vice smelled distinctively lurid: drugs, cigarettes, kinky sex, alcohol, that revolting effusion of dank obsession stirred together by the helplessness of addiction and frailty.

  “Why isn’t my portical working?” Akiko asked.

  “Outside connections are disrupted.”

  “Why?”

  “Koushou’s orders. Only internal connections work and we don’t have access. He’s pretty much king down here,” Ben said.

  “King?” she asked, offended by the encroachment on royalty.

  “He’s developed a taste for cruelty.”

  “How do you know him?” Akiko asked.

  “San Diego.”

  “He served?”

  “With distinction. We get what we need and we’ll be on our way. Even if you might not like it, let him rule his little empire down here.”

  “I’m not sure what that means.”

  They entered a hallway with a convex ceiling, white walls, shallow reflecting pool, and statues of grotesque animals. It resembled a temple with its axial alignments and lilies floating serenely in the water. She was about to comment on the architecture when she noticed something strange. The statues looked real and one of the nude women blinked. It took a few seconds to realize that all the statues were actual people, bound by metallic strips, some with bars perforating their body, wires intertwined with veins and muscles. An emaciated male had a metallic nail sticking out at every junction point in his bones, a tattoo of a black line linking them in a constellation of affliction. A woman’s skin was split up like patchworks, part metal, part flesh, hundreds of squares breaking up her body into a checkerboard. Another was bent backwards, the spine arcing in an impossible three hundred and sixty degree curl, the face held immobile by a larynx substitute and thousands of needles. They were sculptures celebrating the prosthetics of human profligacy. There was an altar at the other end and several columns that led to a corridor. Next to the altar was a tall giraffe with the face of a human and a dog with the body of a man. A woman had the wings and legs of a flamingo. They were hybrid people and the worst part was that, even though their bodies were immobile, their eyes were restlessly skipping.

  Meditating at the head of the pond was a plain-looking man who was neither ugly, nor especially handsome, an Asian face that would have disappeared in a sea of strangers. His haircut had no discernible fashion aside from being somewhat combed so that it didn’t rise haphazardly. He wore a blue robe, had a neutral expression, and revealed shriveled yellow teeth with huge gaps between them, the stalactites of an inscrutable appetite.

  “Have you heard the theory that the mythological Noah’s Ark was actually the very first natural history museum?” he asked. Even his voice was plain.

  “I have not,” Akiko answered, after she saw Ben dipping his hand in the pool, ignoring the question.

  “Some fanatics theorize humans are just organic machines created not so long ago with a self-sustaining system.”

  “That runs counter to our knowledge that the Emperor is god,” Akiko replied.

  “Like I said, fanatics. I’ve always been curious. Was Noah a glorified weatherman who knew when to call his animals back in?”

  “Noah is part of a silly superstition the Americans clung to.”

  “Every ancient culture in the world had a flood myth.”

  “Except Japan.”

  “Why is that?” the man inquired.

  “Because Japan was the highest point in all the world.”

  “We were the first to develop pottery and live in accordance with all kami until the westerners disrupted our ennui.”

  “Look, Koushou. I’m not here for a history lesson. We’ve found some porticals that–”

  “I know why you’re here. Ishimura messaged me the specs.”

  Koushou stepped into the pool, not concerned that his robe was getting wet. He approached a man who was hanging upside down and took a dagger-shaped device off his neck. The bottom tip was pointed and he pushed a button at its base. The man started weeping.

  “Why is he crying?” Akiko asked.

  Koushou cackled. “He’s so aroused right now, it’s driving him crazy.”

  “Aroused?”

  “Look at his pants.”

  She saw the bulge.

  “I can control every hormone in his body,” Koushou boasted. “I can make him so hungry, he’ll want to rip out your neck with his jaws, or bawl his eyes out because he’s depressed about a stupid comment he made to someone insignificant fourteen years ago.”

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “Same place where I got most of my tech – the army,” he explained. “We had a lot of fun with these in San Diego, didn’t we, Ben? You never had the stomach for this kind of thing with your porticals and numbers.” Akiko looked back at Ben, who was still concentrating on the water. She tried to get his attention, but Koushou said, “I pamper them for the most part.”

  “Who are they?”

  “My pets. The ones who’ve betrayed me or tried to steal from me. Or ones who just suited my fancy. They all deserved death. I gave them this alternative. They are contractually bound to me. The only art worth contemplating is live art. They change every day, force you to countenance possibilities about human nature that would otherwise be impossible to comprehend.”

  “What have you learned?” she asked, dubious.

  “That a universe exists within every human being. That to the blood cells and organs in your body, you are god. That this universe is only one individual among infinite others.”

  “You think the universe is a living being?”

  “One among billions that will eventually die. We fight for the scraps. Did you know the Japanese government wondered after the war if they should outlaw Christianity?” Koushou asked.

  “I did.”

  “Then you know why they eventually didn’t.”

  “No one follows a defeated God,” Akiko answered.

  “Because Gods get replaced all the time.”

  “The only thing I’m interested in right now is who bought those porticals.”

  “I know what you’re interested in,” Koushou said. “What can you offer me in exchange?”

  “How about your life?” Akiko asked, gripping the viral gun in her belt.

  “I’m inoculated to your viruses. You’ll need to do better,” he said.

  “This is a new weapon devel–”

  “I was trained at the 9th Army Technical Research L
aboratory. I’ve worked on the latest death rays, fire balloons, humanoid mechas, submersibles with fighter jets, atomic torpedoes the size of a pen, and diseases beyond your imagination. If all you have are petty threats, get out of here.”

  She knew the 9th Lab was one of the most secret facilities in the Empire. Seeing the technology he had access to, she believed him.

  “What do you want?”

  “How badly do you want this information?” he continued.

  “It’s a matter of Imperial security.”

  Koushou’s eyes brightened. “I want bodies.”

  “What kind of bodies?”

  “Dead ones. That was quite an experiment you did with that poor girl.”

  Did he mean… “She was working for the George Washingtons.”

  “They’re out for your head,” Koushou said. “I can give them to you if you’d like. There’s a large group of them who’ve left their haven in San Diego. All I want in exchange for their whereabouts are eight infected; dead, or preferably, frozen alive.”

  “I only have one dead body and she’s been requisitioned by the Biologics Department.”

  “There are other enemies of the state.”

  “What will you do with them?”

  “There’s a market for corpses that have been tortured to death by the Tokko. A novelty item, if you may. I’ll take samples of their blood and keep the virological data, which is useful too.”

  “Useful for what?” Akiko asked.

  “For connoisseurs who want to understand the intricacies of a gruesome execution. I assemble human-animal hybrids. I have quite a museum of them at another site. I’ve created literal mermaids and centaurs. They are fascinating specimens. But no surgery can compare to the acumen of a virus that can reshape the tapestry and genetic makeup of one of your victims.”

  The inverted man was still crying, screaming at a high pitch. She had a sudden stabbing memory as she remembered the first person she’d tortured. He, too, couldn’t stop screaming. “Can you shut him up?” she asked Koushou, pinching the bridge of her nose to decrease the piercing sensation the memory evoked.

  “Why? I would have thought you of the Tokko would appreciate this more than any other.”

  “There’s nothing about this I appreciate,” she said, and reminded herself that the man she was thinking of died years ago during the interrogation she led. “You’re sadistic.”