“It was,” said Gus. “Vaporized grounding cable. Talk to Mike Shorter—his suit got it, too.”
“Yeah. Sorry about the shipping container. Not really respectful. A coffin is enroute from the mainland, but they say it will be another day before it gets here.”
“I'll take her as she is back to Japan.”
“We have some forms for you to fill out,” said one of the people in the hangar.
“The hell with your forms,” said Gus. His voice was sapped of its usual heat. “My only mission in life now is to take most of my friend's daughter back to him. You can fill out the forms any way you like.”
* * *
Throughout the long flight from Solix Ground to Nakata's home in Osaka, Japan, Gus rode hard on the in-flight communications network.
“I must know where Shirgeru Nakata is at all times. At ALL times, got it?” Gus leaned into the microphone, slipping into his dangerous voice without noticing it.
“Yes sir. That might be difficult, sir. He's got pretty good security.”
“At all times, dammit,” he said, hammering on the disconnect button. The aircraft might be small, but it was powerful and fast, sporting a secret thorium micro-reactor that extended its range considerably. It was one of several designs that Nakata was trying out to ease the transition of Earth away from fossil fuel. Rumors were that it would work well on Mars or Titan, but Gus discounted those. Thorium fission-derived heat, with a closed-loop heat exchanger powering twin turbo-fan motors would give a full-scale aircraft unlimited range, something to consider on an increasingly fuel-starved world.
“Mr. Reach, would you like a drink?” The flight attendant was quiet, invisible in that Japanese sort of way, and Gus was slightly startled by her sudden appearance.
“No, thank you. I have to keep a clear head.”
She nodded. “Anything I can get you, sir, please don't hesitate to ask.”
Gus thanked her and returned to his thoughts. I must find Nakata and resign. It is the only honorable thing to do.
* * *
A chime sounded in the boardroom of Seizora Kabushikigaisha. The only reaction Shigeru Nakata evinced was refocusing his eyes on his normally quiescent com monitor.
“My apologies,” he said, and pressed the sequence that would reroute the call to his communications implant.
“Mr. August Reach has bullied his way past the front desk and is headed towards you. Should we intercept?” The voice was that of the head of his personal bodyguard detachment.
“No. Discon.” Shigeru looked up at the board of advisors gathered around this table. “I apologize in advance, ladies and gentlemen. Please remain and observe.” He settled down to wait.
Two minutes later, a double rap sounded on the doors of the boardroom, and an apologetic secretary announced Gus. He walked resolutely to the end of the boardroom table.
“Come closer,” said Shigeru. Gus walked around the table to where Shigeru was slowly standing up.
Gus stopped in front of the man. He looked him straight in the eye. “Sir, for the events of Thursday last week, I have no excuse. I hereby tender my resignation from your employ. Reach Corporation will fulfill its contracts, but I will neither lead nor benefit from them.”
Gus then fell to his knees. Lower and lower he bowed, until his forehead touched the carpet at Shigeru's feet. “Moshi wake gozaimasen,” he said. “I am deeply sorry.” He felt the tears well in his eyes. Oh, Yuai! Why did you insist on going Topside? Why didn't I stop you? What a great leader you would have made!
Gus kept repeating “Moshi wake gozaimasen” over and over, while his grief, long held in check by the press of events, finally broke through. He wept, unashamedly, into the rich carpet of the boardroom of his friend, Shigeru Nakata.
“Augustus Reach,” said Shigeru. Gus continued his monologue of guilt and remorse. “Augustus!” said Shigeru, more forcefully. Finally, he reached down and laid his hand on the man's shoulder.
“Augustus, please.” Shigeru offered him his handkerchief and turned to the side to allow Gus to clean his face.
“Augustus, the death of Yuai is no more your fault than it was hers.” He held up his hand. “My experts assure me that the amount of what they call 'surface charging' on Solix GEO and the long orbital cable should have been anticipated, but everyone failed to do so. We are all to blame.”
Shigeru's arms were stiff at his sides. “You honor me, and Yuai, with your actions here today. You honor Seizora Kabushikigaisha with your willingness to take full responsibility for something at which everyone failed. If I accept your resignation, then we all must resign, for all of us share in the failure to anticipate the results of a strong solar flare.”
“Honorable Nakata,” said Gus, but Shigeru overrode him.
“No. This is the end of it. There will be no resignations. Yuai knew the dangers she willingly took on. In the end, we are all responsible for the results of our decisions, good and bad.
“So, I have two requests to make of you. First, please accompany me to our tsuya for Yuai, and the subsequent kokubetsu-shiki, or the wake and the funeral ceremony.”
The assembled group gasped audibly. Given the prevalence of terrorism, funeral ceremonies involving the heads of large corporations in Japan had become intensely private affairs. To invite not just a non-family member, but a non-Japanese like Gus Reach was a signal honor.
Gus bowed from the waist until his back was nearly horizontal. “I would be honored, Mr. Nakata.”
Shigeru inclined his head. “My second request is a little more involved. I will propose that The Reach Corporation be accepted as the General Contractor for all space construction activities for Seizora. I won't ask you to accept now, but I did want you to know my intentions.”
Again the deep bow. “You are generous and kind, Mr. Nakata.”
* * *
A Japanese funeral, properly done, will last two days. The wake and ceremony is elaborate and intricate, and Shigeru was gratified at how much Japanese culture that August had absorbed. During the incense offering, his motions and responses were precise and well-rehearsed. Shigeru received many compliments for August's performance.
An open coffin was, understandably, not going to happen. Gus was assured that Yuai was still in her pressure suit. It was fitting, Shigeru explained to him, that she be cremated while still in the embrace of that garment. She had wanted to go into space since she was a small child. And, while twenty-five miles up was not technically space, it had all the dangers of that environment.
On the second day, August was invited to the crematorium for the most intimate and private ceremony of all—the picking of the bones. The bones of the dead are separated from the rest of the ashes and packed into funeral urns, which are then kept in honored places.
Gus was naturally nervous at this, but Shigeru reassured him. “I know you loved her, and looked on her as a daughter. That is why I have insisted you be here. Honor her. She would have done the same for you.”
Gus tried, he really did. Picking up her white finger bones and placing them in a jar was one of the hardest things he had ever done. That he loved her, there was no doubt. But as a daughter? Or as a lover? He tried to figure it out, while he maneuvered the extra-long chopsticks over the pile of ash that was once his...he wasn't sure.
Finally, he was rescued by the funeral director. “Mr. Reach, please join Mr. Nakata over here. There's something special he has for you.”
Shigeru held a small velvet box. Oh, please, don't make it a bone, thought Gus. It's bad enough that she's gone.
“Augustus, I was informed that there was an anomaly in the cremation. The pressure suit was made of composites, and those, naturally, burned away. But there was a quantity of copper, which fell to the tray and encapsulated some of Yuai's ash.”
The director bowed deeply. “I am terribly sorry, Mr. Nakata.”
“It was part of the grounding cable that vaporized and coated her suit,” said August. “The explosion threw her from
the Kishizuna.”
“Yes,” said Shigeru. “That is why, when I was called in the night about it, I asked them to be artistic with the copper. Here, then, is the result, which I would like you to have to remember her by.”
Gus opened the blue velvet case to find a small, copper sphere, suspended from a golden chain. The backing of the lid was imprinted 'Ad Astra'—To The Stars.
“It's beautiful,” Gus said.
“As she was. Now, Augustus Reach, go get us our stars.”
THE END
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DEDICATIONS
To those who have made the path to becoming an Indie author far easier, this, my first Indie work, is dedicated.
First and foremost, Samuel Peralta, who took a chance on an unknown author and agreed to read this work.
M Louise Locke and Cheri Lasota, who oversaw the Paradisi Chronicles canon, and worked with Samuel to bring this world to the Future Chronicles world so that others (cough) could participate within.
Acknowledgements
This work would not have been possible without the assistance of many people.
I am deeply indebted to The Wonderful Wife™, Barbara, without whom I would probably not even be here.
Christine Laputka, the best writing partner, who has helped me far more than I ever helped her.
Felix R. Savage, who was exceptionally welcoming when I first popped my head up in the anthology.
Editor Jessica West, who edited this work under exceptionally trying circumstances.
Cover modeller, Gregory Bulmer, for the startlingly good cover image.
Cover artist, Christian Bentulan, for his assistance in cover typography.
This story was written first, and the novella “Live Wire”, which precedes the events in this short story, was written second.
Here’s an excerpt from Live Wire--I hope you enjoy it.
* * *
Live Wire
by Bill Patterson
A drunken Japanese man waved for service, revealing elaborate tattoos on his forearms. Yakuza. Gus pretended not to notice. The yakuza, Japan's version of America's Mafia, were declining as well. The group with the drunk appeared to be all Japanese. They were probably the cadre of the local branch of the Family. All of the dirty work, the wet work, had long been outsourced to the Pakistani immigrants who had flooded in to Japan to bring their own particular brand of lawlessness to the tiny island nation.
It was a good idea to mind one's own business here; drawing no attention to oneself. Gus smiled inwardly, touching the memory chip case in his right front jeans pocket. A contract, at last. Reach Corporation was going to help build the Lunar Elevator! CEO Shigeru Nakata had personally given him the memory chip.
He slid back into the shadows of the booth, and thought about his good fortune. At the same time, the habits of a lifetime remained ever vigilant. He kept his eyes downcast, but constantly scanning. The bar scene was calm, almost peaceful. Music played, but was not blaring. The yakuza group didn't seem agitated. Various other sketchy characters slumped at the worn wood of the bar, smoking a variety of substances, including illegal tobacco. The lights were dim, except for the bright one that shone on the door, where it would blind the new arrival, while giving the rest of the patrons time to recognize the newcomer and decide what to do.
The door opened with an intentional squeal, and a young woman stepped inside. Alone. Gus willed himself into immobility. All he saw was her side and back, since he had chosen a booth along the front wall of the building. Her long, straight, shiny black hair cascaded down to her mid-back, contrasting sharply with her bright yellow blouse, far-too-short black skirt, and high heels. She paused for a moment in the light and then stepped unsteadily to the bar. To Gus, it was clear that she was either drunk, stoned, or way too young to be wobbling on heels that high. The barman, a wary man with unreadable eyes, nodded at her, while the barflies shifted around, hoping she would choose a seat next to them.
She seemed to argue with the barman, who shrugged and poured her what looked like a martini. She nodded thanks, slipped a bill to the man, and turned around to face every eye in the room. Gus almost choked on his beer.
It was Yuai Nakata!
About the Author
Bill Patterson is the author of a computer-aided design software book, and a former magazine columnist. His fiction has been published 90 Minutes to Live (JournalStone, 2011), and his nonfiction in Rocket Science (Mutation Press, 2012), where his piece "A Ray of Sunshine" was nominated for the British Science Fiction Association's Award for Non-Fiction.
He is also one of two Municipal Liaisons for the Central NJ Region of the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) challenge. Bill also serves as an Event Host for the Princeton Writing Group.
He and his wife of 33 years, Barbara, live in Central New Jersey.
Eye of the Needle: A Paradisi Short Page 3