by Taiyo Fujii
Alef was forced to stand on the roof of a red Peugeot parked in front of the main gate. Behind him stood the scarf-masked man holding a handgun to his back.
In the rotary in front of the main gate, the crowd jostled. Wrapped in dust-covered capes, these were laborers with their families. One of Alef’s student comrades looked up at him with concern, but when Alef turned to meet his gaze, he faded into the crowd. On the far side of the rotary, a unit of maybe one hundred soldiers were lined up in formation behind a barricade. A man standing in the center of the unit raised his right hand. Immediately, the soldiers removed the cartridges from their guns, checked that there were bullets inside, and reinserted them, sending the sound of metal against metal across the rotary. The soldiers carried the same weapon as the man behind Alef—Kalashnikovs. They were not equipped for riot control. The bullets were real.
“Kadiba, can you see them?” asked the man standing behind Alef as he pointed over his shoulder at the sky. In the clear blue above there were two—no, three—sparkling dots. “A few drones have joined the fun. Anjians and—how unusual. They’ve even brought along Fengren observation drones.”
It was at this moment that Alef realized that the Azadi Interanet demonstration he had planned was being co-opted not only by antigovernment groups but by the government as well. The government knew that insurgents had mixed themselves in with the protesters in order to mobilize Tehran’s malcontents and cause a disturbance and was planning to wipe them out along with all the students. Alef could sense no signs that the man holding him hostage was dismayed by any of this. Most likely he and his fellows were hoping that today’s unrest would only spark more.
The crowd swayed with Alef’s slightest movement. Everyone was waiting for his opening words.
“You couldn’t hope for a better place to speak. So let’s get on with it. Starting with the adhan. Allahu Akbar. God is grea—hey! What’s …” The barrel on Alef’s back shook, and the man holding it said in Arabic, “Mahiza?” What the?
Standing between the crowd and the soldiers aiming their guns to the sky were two men wearing suits. One was middle-aged and had a cart stacked with dully gleaming metal cases. The other had a youthful face with smooth, healthy skin. Beneath the wintry sky, they were spreading out a piece of white fabric.
“A white flag?” said the man behind Alef.
“The Red Cro—no, it’s the flag of a country,” said another.
When the two suited men stepped away from each other holding the upper corners of the cloth, an unmistakable flag unfurled, with a bright-red disk dyed straight through: the flag of Japan. Silence fell on the whole rotary as all eyes focused on these two men. The Anjians and Fengrens stood out clearly in the light brownish-gray sky, and the faintest sound of their engines could be heard. The two men began to walk toward Alef with long, slow strides as they held the sun disc between them. The young one took a megaphone from where it hung around his neck and put it to his mouth. Howling feedback echoed through the rotary. What in the name of God are they doing? Alef wondered.
“I’d like to express my gratitude to all my brethren who have assembled here today.” Fluent Persian came pouring from the speaker. Alef was astounded to find that this one sentence was almost identical to the manuscript he had planned to use for his speech.
Kurosaki pushed along the cart fully loaded with Iridiums and glanced at Sekiguchi striding forward on the other side of the Japanese flag. Shaking the flag vigorously, he spoke in Persian with a dignified air. Though Kurosaki couldn’t understand the words, he could hear Sekiguchi’s megaphoned voice reverberating sonorously through the rotary. Not once did he falter or repeat himself.
Their objective was the red Peugeot and the man standing atop it. When he and Sekiguchi were still standing in the narrow alley outside the rotary waiting for the right moment, Sekiguchi had identified him as Alef Kadiba. The dangerous-looking man standing behind him was either a member of Hamas or an extremist group connected to them. Remembering when Sekiguchi had said, “They’re definitely armed,” Kurosaki shuddered.
They continued to take slow steps toward the Peugeot straight ahead. Their frustratingly drawn-out pace reminded Kurosaki of the stabbing cold, but they couldn’t allow themselves to move too fast and get apprehended by the soldiers behind them. At the same time, they’d be in even worse trouble if the man behind Alef clued into Sekiguchi’s intentions and sparked up a riot. If that happened, the soldiers behind them and the drones overhead would surely transform the demonstration into a massacre without hesitation. So, as quickly as they could, but not so rushed as to raise anyone’s guard, they continued forward.
From behind, Kurosaki could sense a stir among the soldiers and heard more metallic clacks. Most likely they were struggling to decide what to do with these two out-of-place men holding aloft the flag of a country that had diplomatic relations with Iran. Rotating his body from side to side, Sekiguchi continued speaking to the people gathered in the rotary. Kurosaki just shook his hand holding the flag and forced himself to smile. Everything they did was to appear incongruous and ensure that they could make contact with Alef. Kurosaki noticed that mixed in with the crowd around them were those who gave off the same vibe as the man behind Alef. They all had sturdy builds, had wrapped green scarves around their faces, and glowered at the two of them. Were they going to succeed?
Kurosaki’s eyes met with those of an old man with a bent back. In his whitish, clouded pupils appeared the clear signs of confusion. Kurosaki forced his tense cheeks into the shape of a smile and moved his head around, looking from face to face in the crowd. A scrawny youth wrapped in a dusty cloth. A man who looked like a laborer, gap-toothed mouth agape. An old woman carrying a grandchild. All of them squinted as they stared at Kurosaki and Sekiguchi.
“Ooyomidouni Amazon.”
Finally Sekiguchi said something that Kurosaki could catch: Amazon. This was the part where he lectured them on how Internet shopping had transformed daily life. The manuscript for the speech that Sekiguchi was giving had been written as if they were an NPO from Japan come to support Alef’s demo. By the way the crowd breathed, Kurosaki could tell that Sekiguchi’s Persian was getting through to them as words. But there seemed little chance that these people would understand the convenience of the Internet, struggling as they were to maintain basic necessities. In all likelihood, they had never even seen a credit card, and Kurosaki could only wonder how this foreigner in a tidy suit speaking empty words might appear to them.
Looking straight ahead again, Kurosaki was surprised to see the Peugeot already almost right in front of them. The two of them had crossed the rotary before he’d even realized it. Surrounding them, a group of people were gathered who seemed somehow different from those before. Young people wearing modern clothes, their faces blushing in the hot air: students. Their eyes sparkled with excitement at the words of support that had come to them from a distant country.
Sekiguchi stopped and turned around as he spread out his arms, gestured for them to approach. Kurosaki imitated him, looking all around as he held the flag. Cutting through a wall of exhausted-looking laborer types, the students charged over. Alef, still standing on top of the car, broke into a smile. The man who had been standing behind him was suddenly nowhere to be seen. Sekiguchi raised his arm holding the megaphone and pointed it to the sky.
“Azadi interanet!”
“Azadi interanet!” Alef echoed, projecting his voice as he raised his fist toward the heavens.
Then he reached his arms out toward the students thronging around the Peugeot, beckoning for them to join in.
“Azadi interanet!” Countless fists went to the sky, as yellow confetti rained down.
Sekiguchi and Kurosaki edged over to the Peugeot through the pandemonium. Hopping down from the roof, Alef gave Sekiguchi a hug. Sekiguchi brought his lips near to Alef’s ear and said in English, “Mr. Alef Kadiba, I presume? I’m glad you�
��re safe.”
Alef nodded again and again, shaking his trim mustache.
Sekiguchi grabbed Alef’s shoulders and pulled him even closer. “I’m giving you these twenty Internet access modules and satellite phones. Please connect the access kit’s local area network to the campus network. This will enable uncensored access to the network.”
“Who are you two? Why …”
Sekiguchi yanked Alef in so close that their cheeks touched. “Mr. Kadiba. I have one condition,” he said. “We’re hoping that all of the students of this institute of technology will have free access to the Internet. Please connect all of the campus networks, including those in the dorms, to the Internet. I would really appreciate it.”
“That’s all you need from me?”
Sekiguchi nodded. “I’ve given you a voice that can reach the world. Only you can decide how to use it.”
Yellow confetti was cast about from atop the gate. Kurosaki brushed pieces of the paper off him and looked through the gate to what was beyond it. Somewhere inside one of those dusty buildings was the scientist who had first conceived of the tethercraft, Dr. Jamshed Jahanshah.
One of the students who took the Iridium cases from Kurosaki shouted, “Free Internet!” and dashed into the campus.
2020-12-16T08:00 GMT
Project Wyvern
People of Earth, good morning! Our current orbital altitude is 370 km. The orbital hotel is operating as usual. There seems to have been a slight problem with the Wyvern return vehicle that was to serve as our backup spacecraft to go back to Earth, and we’re currently investigating the cause. It’s just one thing after another. Still, I’m not worried because our plan was to return from the ISS on the Soyuz to begin with. I’m sooo grateful for all your support!
There’s something I’ve wanted to write about for a while but couldn’t get to because of all the commotion about the Rod from God, so heere we go: food. I bet you’re all curious to know what sorts of dishes are on offer in the microgravity environment of the orbital hotel. And since the first stage of the space tour is $50,000 for eight days, I’m sure everyone will want to be eating proper meals.
So I was preparing several drafts … But here’s the problem. We have as much food as we could want, and it tastes delicious! I think most of you have seen the video of me and Ronnie having a meal, but the truth is, we had no trouble at all behind the scenes.
All we had to do was pull a tray out of one of the pantries embedded in the wall and put it in the microwave. The salad comes out fresh, the sushi rice comes out at body temperature, the soup and pasta come out at sixty-eight degrees Celsius, and the grilled fish comes out sizzling, all in their individual little bowls.
This is a triumph of molecular gastronomy. The hotel doesn’t carry frozen dishes that have been preprepared, but dishes that are designed to come out of the microwave just perfect. I’m telling you, it’s simply amazing.
The Project Wyvern chefs are stunningly talented.
I guess the only difference from Earth is the precautions taken to ensure that the food doesn’t come apart and scatter about. Drinks would be a real hassle if they did that too, so they’re kept in plastic containers. That’s about the worst you have to put up with. I don’t even want to think what it would be like to have raw hot pepper come flying into your nostrils while you were sleeping. Ronnie, I can put up with your energetic nibbling, but please pay attention when you’re eating!
Let’s not forget the part everyone looks forward to: dessert. Today, it’s … wait for it … “magnetoberry kiwitron wrap”! Don’t get it? Neither do I! That’s because this dessert doesn’t exist on Earth. The slightly sour juice of berries is sealed inside a red, gelatinous nugget and wrapped in kiwi-flavored dough, kind of like pasta. Made with a pure molecular-synthesis recipe, there’s no dish like it anywhere. Totally, utterly original.
Every day, Ronnie and I get to sample one of these creations.
On Earth, as we all know, many people are unable to eat as much as they need. Every day when we fly even ten degrees over Africa, there’s no ignoring the parched, reddish-brown ground that we see. I hate to remember that the fish in the filet we’re eating polluted the environment when it was farmed in Lake Victoria. When I see a clear pattern on the surface of vast plains, I’m aware that those are agricultural fields, and when we pass on to the night side of the Earth, I can sometimes see the glow of squid farms.
People have eaten up the Earth.
I wonder what kind of food we’ll survive on when we leave Earth. We hope to make molecular-synthesis recipes the first step.
But, Head Chef Casper, please let me say just one thing. I’ve had more than enough of your magnetoberry kiwitron wrap!
Guinea Pig Smark
11 Unity
Chaharshambe, 26 Azar 1399, 12:43 +0330
(2020-12-16T09:13 GMT)
Tehran Institute of Technology
Tumbling into a van, Kurosaki rolled up the flag and stuffed it in his bag. Alef had said earlier that he wanted to keep the flag as a symbol of their friendship, but they couldn’t leave any evidence and were planning instead, with much reluctance, to cut up their talisman from a moment earlier and toss it.
Once Sekiguchi had given some kind of instructions to the driver, the engine started and the car began to roll over the rough pavement. Kurosaki felt the rumble of the pebbles scattered all over the road coming up through the creaking suspension.
“What a day,” said Sekiguchi, passing Kurosaki a quilted field coat from the back of the van.
Putting his arms through the sleeves, Kurosaki felt the blood run to his fingertips and an itchy sensation climbing his skin. Considering the low temperature outside, they should have been dressed this warmly to begin with. But Kurosaki believed they had made the right move in deciding to wear only their suits, as this had allowed them to pose as out-of-place NPO members unfamiliar with the environment. Still, the tension moments earlier had made Kurosaki sweat heavily, draining his body completely of heat.
Every time the two men breathed, the windows fogged up white inside. Wiping the one closest to him, Kurosaki saw the parking circle in front of the institute rush by in the spaces between buildings. For just a moment, he glimpsed soldiers pointing their automatic rifles to the sky. Remembering how his back had been exposed to those barrels, Kurosaki felt a tremor rise from the base of his spine and reflexively hugged himself tight.
“… Sorry. I seem to be tired.”
“Of course, Kurosaki-san.”
Sekiguchi flipped up the collar of his suit to cover his throat and began to zip up the coat he was wearing over it. His fingers moved supplely as he went on to button up the flap that covered the zipper, from bottom to top. Tracking Sekiguchi’s motions with his eyes, Kurosaki arrived at his face and saw that his expression was just like always. Even though he had been in the line of fire just as Kurosaki had …
Questions welled up in Kurosaki’s mind one after the other. Over the past few days, Sekiguchi’s actions had gone far beyond what might be called simply “capable.” He had clued in to the North Korean agents at Fool’s Launchpad, slipped into the Nippon Grand Hotel used by Chinese spies, and even chartered a helicopter. Then, when he’d learned that JAXA’s MDM had been hacked, he had turned this against the hackers by leaving behind his JAXA-issued device, activating a rather fishy app that sent blank messages. Everything up to that point could be put up to his inborn intelligence and the fact that he had a colleague in the NSC.
But the Iridiums were a different story. Though he claimed to have had them sent from Singapore, there was no way that importing equipment capable of bypassing the government’s Internet barriers and censorship could be as easy as he had made it seem. How could he have gotten them through customs? Then there was the information about the demonstration. After meeting Alef and the students in person, Kurosaki was surprised to learn how small their
movement was. Their demonstration wasn’t exactly going to shake the nation the way the Arab Spring had. He hated to put it so harshly, but it was more like a game played by students with an inferiority complex toward the English-speaking world. If it hadn’t been co-opted by the rebel groups, it never would have been so well attended that it was difficult to even enter the campus, and Kurosaki doubted that the intelligence agencies of Japan, which had fallen sorely behind the times, would have known who the organizer of such an insignificant protest was.
And when exactly did Sekiguchi come up with the strategy of securing their network access indirectly by giving the students Iridiums? The army had been called in because Hamas had tried to co-opt the demo, but somehow Sekiguchi had known about both the rebel involvement and the army’s mobilization before they had even left Japan …
“Let’s toast our success,” said Sekiguchi, raising a pink plastic bag in his hand. “I had the driver go buy this for us. Just some water.”
Sekiguchi scrunched the two plastic bottles together in one hand, opened the caps, and proffered one to Kurosaki.
“Thanks,” said Kurosaki. “This time you—”
“Cheers,” Sekiguchi interrupted, and lifted his bottle to take a gulp. “It was pretty cold out there, but only because we were sweating. The air is dry too. Go ahead, Kurosaki-san.”
Urged on by Sekiguchi, Kurosaki took a sip. It felt good to have this liquid soak into the pasty membranes throughout his mouth. Once again he tipped back the bottle and gulped down more refreshment.
“How about a smoke to go with that? I had him pick up some cigarettes too,” said Sekiguchi, opening the seal on the pack adroitly and offering one to Kurosaki. “I bet you’re dying to try shisha, though, since we’re in Iran and all.”