by Taiyo Fujii
Kazumi was shocked. He had no idea he had a slouch. He decided to puff out his chest.
“My shoulders …” he said, but couldn’t think of the right word in English. “They harden.”
“Sorry, did I make you self-conscious? I only meant if I pay really close attention—” Daryl cut off what he was saying and cast his gaze to the end of the lane. “That’s Akari, isn’t it?”
Kazumi followed Daryl’s gaze. In front of the register, clinging to a massive cart, was a small figure in khaki cargoes, her shaved head conspicuous as her hat seemed to have fallen off somewhere. The cart was piled full of equipment.
Seeing her pull a credit card from her wallet, Daryl shouted, “Akari! Stop!” and began to jog toward her. Kazumi followed behind him pushing the cart.
“Obviously that stuff isn’t for your daily personal use. I’ve got it.”
“Really? That would be great. I was really worried because it looked like this was going to go over my limit.”
Daryl began to push Akari’s cart for her and waved over Kazumi, saying, “I’ll pay for it all together.”
“Wow, this is a lot,” he continued. “Amazing that they had this many Raspberries in stock. And LAN cables too. But what’s with this tarp and Nichrome wire?”
Daryl lined up the items in the carts on the checkout counter. The amount of merchandise Akari had piled in hers was stunning. There were three cables wrapped around drums with LAN and USB connectors. A heap of antistatic bags and cardboard boxes containing various electronic devices in the dozens. Overwhelmed by the quantity, the cashier called over help, and three staff began to beep them through. One of them, a black man close to Daryl, said “Oh Jesus” in a fed-up tone as he scanned the bar codes. “What are you getting yourselves into with all this stuff? Hey! Isn’t that a display item?”
The hands of the cashiers stopped and Daryl, who had put down the object in question on the counter, shrugged. On the yellow frame above bristly tires was the brand name “Cannondale.” A mountain bike.
Passing through the checkout gate. Akari, who suddenly had her Mariners cap on again, turned around. She had the tips of her fingers up on the brim and was smiling. From her upraised, unlipsticked lips came some badass words.
“We’re getting ourselves into war.”
2020-12-15T04:00 GMT
Project Wyvern
Have you ever seen a light when your eyes were closed? Here, 350 km above the surface of the Earth, in the vacuum of orbit, I had just such a strange experience.
Burrowing into bed after turning off the lights and tightening the Velcro straps around my blanket, I suddenly felt the sandman dragging me down to sleep. I could be indulging in a bit of hyperbole here.
Then, just when I closed my eyes, it happened. Behind my eyelids, a pure “light” flashed.
I should have been more careful how I worded this. The networks will probably just quote my introduction and broadcast it all over the news. But to all my spiritual ladies out there, this is not the guiding force of the élan vital or even an angel. Nor did an alien enter into my consciousness on its way back to retrieve its corpse from Area 51.
The true nature of this light is cosmic radiation. One cosmic ray out of the many emitted unceasingly by the sun, black holes, and the stars of the galaxy passed through the bulkhead of the Wyvern Orbital Hotel and my eyelid to strike my retina.
I experienced this as light.
In other words, I was irradiated. Most likely this radiation came in the form of gamma rays.
It has been almost two full days since we blasted off, and during that period I have absorbed two microsieverts of cosmic radiation. That’s an exposure 150 times greater than on the surface of the Earth. Just like an X-ray technician, I have a dosimeter badge strapped on.
I’m going to be honest here. Oh, I really don’t want to tell you how old I actually am … but this is for science. If a twenty-eight-year-old like me stays on the Wyvern for a week, the chances that they will die of cancer increase by approximately 0.02 percent.
Of course, all measures have been taken to protect this hotel from cosmic radiation. I’ve blogged about this several times already—to block it out, the space between the exterior and interior wall is full of water, and a faint electrical current is passed through a fine metallic mesh. It’s even safer here than on the ISS. If someone were to step outside of the hotel, they would be exposed to hundreds of times more radiation.
The reason this radiation isn’t a problem on the surface of the Earth is that the atmosphere and magnetism protect us from it. Magnetic fields are invisible to the eye, but you can see the atmosphere clearly from this hotel.
The Earth is too big to view all at once from the window, but around its outline lit up by the sun I can see a shell the thickness of a fingernail. This thin, gleaming blue thing is what protects terrestrial life.
And I’m able to be up here because the efforts of science and technology have managed to re-create a fraction of that mystical protective power. We could go so much further.
But it looks like my writing won’t be going any further this time because Ronny has just ordered me to go to sleep. Until next time.
Coddled-in-a-giant-cocoon-feeling-protectedly yours,
Judy Smark
8 The Team
Mon, 14 Dec 2020, 21:09 -0800 (2020-12-15T05:09 GMT)
Western Days Hotel, Seattle
When the Chevy loaded with their bags and luggage passed beneath an elevated city railway, Kazumi saw a strangely familiar tower brightly lit up ahead of them.
“Windows 8!” cried Akari in excitement from the backseat, and Kazumi suddenly remembered where he’d seen the tower before. It had appeared on the wallpaper of the PC he’d used in college. In the image, it seemed to be standing by the shore for some reason, though they were now quite a distance from the ocean.
“You got it,” said Daryl. “It’s called the Space Needle. Our hotel is at the base. I hope you’ll forgive me for booking at a cheap one.”
Against a pitch-black sky dancing with powder snow, the illuminated Space Needle drew closer. This served as a vivid reminder for Kazumi that he had indeed come all the way to America. As planned, Daryl took a right when they reached the base of the Space Needle, passed through a gate labeled Western Days, and drove into the rotary. When the Chevy proceeded farther, shaking green leaves dusted with snow as it passed, two staff dashed out from the lobby to meet them: a bellboy in a blue jacket with a white belt strapped diagonally across, and a large black man in a white jacket.
“Well, this is odd,” said Daryl, looking perplexed. “We seem to be getting the royal treatment.”
The uniformed bellboy came around to the driver’s seat and stood up straight, facing in the direction of the car’s rear. The jacketed black man came around to the shotgun seat where Kazumi was sitting, smoothed out the handkerchief in his pocket that had gotten ruffled when he ran over, bowed deeply, and said in a loud voice, “Welcome to Western Days, Mr. David, Mr. and Mrs. Chan. We have come to greet you as representatives of this hotel.”
“That is not us,” said Kazumi, the English that came hurriedly to his lips seeming unnatural even to him. He was worried that even if the man had heard him, he wouldn’t understand what he’d said, and Kazumi shook his head and hands to indicate that there had been a mistake. But keeping his head down, the man made big obvious motions with his thick lips and said, in a voice that was barely audible inside the car, “We know.”
The man then glanced inside the car. “Woo-wee. That sure is a lot of luggage. Even a bicycle. Well, we’ll carry it all for you, so please feel free to make your way directly into the hotel.”
When the man whistled and raised his arm, several other staff members dashed out of the hotel and made a line that ran to the revolving doors at the entrance. Wearing tense expressions, they all stared intently in the direc
tion of the outside of the rotary and the road that ran alongside the hotel.
With a sigh, Daryl unlocked the car doors and said, “So the jig is up … We don’t hold a candle to them.”
“What is wrong?” asked Kazumi.
“Let’s go right on in,” said Daryl. “I don’t want to be a nuisance to the hotel staff.”
Once the man saw that the car was unlocked, he opened the door and stood in a position that would block Kazumi from view of the road. He then led him behind the line of staff and went back to let out Daryl and Akari, shunting all three to the entrance.
“Welcome to Western Days,” he whispered to Daryl and Kazumi. “The woman who arrived before you instructed us to provide our best hospitality and protection. Please enjoy a relaxing stay at our hotel.”
Gently but firmly with his strong arms, the man pushed them one by one through the slowly revolving doors, first Akari, then Kazumi, and finally Daryl. On the other side, Kazumi was disgorged into a toasty-warm lobby filled with the faint scent of roses. Akari, with her hand on her freshly shaved, hatless head, swept her gaze around the room in apparent wonderment.
The space inside wasn’t so different from the hotel lobbies Kazumi was used to seeing in Japan. Though it lacked the elegance of the Nippon Grand Hotel, there were rows of low sofas big enough to sleep on under the glow of evenly placed ambient lights, and he could see the flame of a fireplace enclosed by a brass screen in one wall. From the huge speakers that resembled spaceships installed in each of the four corners of the lobby came the sound of stringed instruments.
When Daryl came in through the revolving door, a suited lady stood up from the sofa where she’d been sitting in the back. Her perfectly set blond hair reflected the light of the fire and took on beautiful orange highlights.
“Just as I thought,” Daryl muttered.
“You’re late, Daryl,” said the lady. “But good work picking these two up.” She walked over and extended her right hand. “Mr. Kimura and Ms. Numata, I presume. You must be tired after your twelve-hour flight. My name is Chris Ferguson. Please call me Chris.”
The lady squeezed Kazumi’s hand with more strength than he would’ve imagined she possessed. “Welcome to the United States.”
Kazumi got off an elevator that went directly to the seventh floor and realized that there was only one room there. Daryl pushed open the door to the room, glanced inside, and gave a whistle. “Ladies first,” he said, inviting Akari in, but she dithered for a moment and Chris stepped inside. Peeking into the room after her, Akari muttered in awkward English, “Another suite.”
If she was going to talk to herself, Kazumi thought, she might as well be using Japanese, but she seemed determined to get by with English as much as she could.
“There are not enough seats,” said Akari. “If I had been told it was this spacious, I would have bought more things.”
“What you going to use that silver stuff for?” asked Chris.
“For a darkroom. I will explain later.”
“All right.”
Kazumi was taken aback by the interior, which was decorated in the same way as the lobby but was much more spacious. A chandelier hung from a round cove in the ceiling. There was a real fire going in the fireplace between two large balcony windows. The carpet was so plush it seemed to be absorbing the legs of the table and sofa. While this room might have been a suite like the one at the Nippon Grand Hotel, it struck a far better balance between refinement and calmness.
Ahead of the others, Chris stood in front of a brand-new table with legs still in plastic wrap. It was oval shaped and big enough for about ten people to hold conference. Around it were placed six high-quality business chairs the likes of which Kazumi had only ever seen in catalogs. Beyond the table was a giant whiteboard that was also so brand-new you could tell at a glance and a glass partition with adhesive tape stuck to it like the squares of a go board. On the upper part of the partition, five digital clocks displayed the time in different cities around the world in red shining digits, and below them hung the Geeple Rod from God article.
“This is our operations center,” said Chris. “We haven’t brought in the computers yet, but you’ve picked up a few things too, haven’t you, Daryl?”
“Yes, I’ve purchased some of the materials we’ll need.”
“That’s my seat over there,” said Chris. “Can I have you connect me with wired Internet?” She pointed to a big, hefty desk placed in a spot near the entrance from which you could view the entire room. It was the sort of desk that might appear in a drawing of “the boss’s seat.” Her open laptop was on top. “Kazumi and Akari, you’ll be sleeping in the two bedrooms to the left. Please rest assured that both of them have been disinfected.”
In the direction that Chris pointed were two doors. When a CIA agent like Chris said “disinfected,” Kazumi supposed that it meant they had checked for bugs.
“You’re lucky I came, Akari,” said Chris. “Daryl’s superior thought that you and Kazumi would sleep together in the same room.”
“What? He was wrong about that?” said Daryl in surprise.
“We’re just business partners,” Akari replied.
“Yes. No. It’s not like that,” said Kazumi.
Chris laughed warmly at Kazumi’s confusion about how to use “yes” and “no.” “There’s no need to worry about English mistakes, Kazumi,” she said. “If you start talking the way Akari does, you’ll get used to it right away. Japanese reserve is a vice in America.”
Chris stood up tall and walked toward the whiteboard. “It’s going to take some time for hotel security to check our luggage. In the meantime, I’d like to talk to you all about something.”
Kazumi noticed that Chris was suddenly gripping a whiteboard marker in her hand. Daryl’s brisk movements had been surprising enough, but Chris’s deft efficiency was of a different sort altogether. If Kazumi had to compare her to someone, it would be Sekiguchi at the Nippon Grand Hotel. He looked into her gray pupils sparkling beneath her perfectly set blond hair and thought, So this is what a real CIA operative is like.
Chris did one lap, pacing back and forth in front of the whiteboard. Then, turning her focus on Daryl, Kazumi, and Akari, who were all staring at her, she slowly took the cap off her pen. Then she wrote “mission” in big, spaced-out letters so that the two Japanese could read it clearly, swiftly underlined it, and turned to face the three of them.
Rule number one: if you want to command your audience’s attention, never speak with your back to them. Chris knew how to write on a whiteboard behind her while facing straight ahead, but she was aware that this was not the time or place to use such parlor tricks. Surprise can only get an audience interested once. The three of them were bewildered by the shifting situation. Now was the time to hold sway over them with a strong will.
“We need to clarify our mission,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Daryl, standing with his feet at shoulder width and his hands together behind his back. He seemed to have decided that he was now acting under Chris’s authority. But she wanted him to lose the military decorum. It was too stiff and constricting for their two private citizens, Kazumi and Akari, not to mention Chris herself.
“Please sit and be at ease,” she said. Chris recognized that she had to be careful how she dealt with the two Japanese. They were new to America, and if she was too pushy with them in seeking their obedience, they might withdraw into their shells like turtles.
Judging by the email sent by the JAXA official, Kurosaki, she could tell that the information these two had gathered was of exceedingly high quality. Particularly impressive was how Akari had exposed the translation-engine contamination that allowed them to determine North Korea’s involvement, as well as the shadow-ware ad hack technique. If the CIA extended the hand of friendship to her, then they could investigate in a different way than the by-the-book headqu
arters team.
The unknown quantity was Kazumi. He had been the first to draw out the existence of the tethercraft using the observational data uploaded on Ozzy’s blog and had even received the academic paper of Jamshed Jahanshah in Tehran. Everything he had achieved up to that point, including writing the report attached to Kurosaki’s email, was remarkable, but what role Kazumi might play now was a different story. They had no need for an amateur who had enjoyed one lucky break, and she wondered how useful he would be in unraveling the true nature of the mysterious tether-driven spacecraft.
“Kazumi,” said Chris, “I’m throwing in my chips with your tethercraft hypothesis.”
Daryl held his breath, and Kazumi nodded slowly.
“Thank you,” said Kazumi.
Chris chose her words carefully, so as not to put pressure on Kazumi, who had just entered the country a few hours ago and who, moreover, had no experience traveling abroad.
“There’s no need to thank me. What’s important here is that I’m starting up a team to follow the tethercraft. I’ll be reporting this to CIA headquarters. I need to get the government of the United States to trust in what you amateurs have to say.”
Chris noticed that this drew Kazumi’s frown.
“Is it necessary for us to write up a report?” he asked.
“I’ll take care of that,” said Chris with a shake of her head. “What you should concern yourself with instead is convincing me of your hypothesis. I said my chips are on you, but that’s only because we don’t have any better ideas to work with.”
Daryl went to stand up, but Chris raised her hand for him to sit back down and stared into Kazumi’s dark-brown eyes.
“I’d like to hear about it directly from you, Kazumi.”
Kazumi looked to Akari and Daryl, then took a deep breath and stood up.
“Akari, can you get out the projector?” he said, walking up to the whiteboard and receiving the pen from Chris.