Sea of Death

by Richard P. Henrick

  “Climb in,” he instructed as she reached the road.

  She scooted into the cart beside him, and Ishii added.

  “What an absolutely gorgeous morning it is for me to give you that tour I promised. I hope you slept well. Miss Noguchi.”

  “I’m afraid it was another late night at the lab, sir,” Yoko replied while Ishii put the cart into gear and started driving them forward.

  Ishii looked concerned.

  “Any problems?”

  “Nothing serious. I just lost track of the time while initiating some aerosol experiments.”

  “It appears that destiny has brought you to the right place to lose track of time, my dear,” returned Ishii.

  “Except instead of misplacing hours, I lose entire years to my work!”

  Ishii turned the cart onto an asphalt roadway that led them away from the massive industrial complex beside which the dormitory was located. A series of scrub-filled foothills stretched before them now.

  They appeared to be unoccupied except for dozens of tall, wildly spinning windmills. These structures were of the most modern construction, complete with pivoting, airplane-style propellers that efficiently caught the wind no matter which direction it was blowing from.

  “This is our little wind farm,” observed Ishii proudly.

  “When I first came to Takara, I noticed that the constantly blowing trade winds were funneled through this valley. These windmills are responsible for a fifth of the electricity we use here.”

  He turned onto a road that ran parallel to the foothills, and Yoko spotted a series of massive electrical pylons and accompanying cables. These stretched all the way into the surrounding mountains.

  “What other power sources do you rely on?” she asked.

  Ishii was anticipating such a question and eagerly answered it.

  “Solar energy provides us with another fifth of our total power requirement, while the rest is produced by hydroelectrical means. In this way we can keep our import of costly, pollution-causing fossil fuels to a bare minimum.”

  “That’s most impressive, sir,” observed the young scientist, whose curiosity was still not satisfied.

  “May I ask though where this hydroelectrical power source originates? I didn’t think Takara Island had any major rivers.”

  “It doesn’t,” returned Ishii, who liked her probing intellect.

  “We have developed away to tap the very energy that courses through the seas. Much as we did with these windmills, we have strategically placed several specially designed turbines in the waters off Takara’s northern coast. A strong, constant current cuts the Ryukyu chain here, and it’s this surge that spins our turbines and provides the power that satisfies the majority of our energy requirements.”

  “Ingenious,” reflected Yoko, who was equally impressed with what she next viewed.

  What appeared to be over a dozen, large, rectangularly shaped ponds were cut into the floor of the valley. As they passed by the first of these miniature lakes, several individuals could be seen patrolling the gently sloping shoreline, with wide, pole-mounted nets in hand.

  Not bothering to wait for the question he knew would soon be voiced, Ishii continued his role as tour guide.

  “This is aportion of our aqua-farm. Miss Noguchi. In these ponds we raise such delectables as prawns, lobsters, oysters, and catfish. Sizable growths of kelp and seaweed are also grown here. We have cordoned off portions of the adjoining sea in order to raise species that need more space to feed-salmon, tuna, and even shark, whose flesh I find particularly satisfying.”

  “So this is where that delicious lobster I had for dinner two nights ago came from,” said Yoko.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Our lobster crop this year was excellent, and we have already begun exporting a sizable number to the mainland.”

  Ishii made this comment while steering the cart onto a dirt road that led back toward the bay. The bulk of the industrial complex could be seen to the left, while a double-wide, chainlink security fence stretched along the right side of the road, a thick forest of trees beyond it.

  From Yoke’s vantage point, a freighter docked at the facilities main pier could be seen. Several trucks were lined up beside this ship, which was unloading its cargo by means of a conveyor belt.

  “It appears that the folks in mineral extraction will be busy tonight,” said Ishii ashe guided the cart onto the concrete pavement that followed the bay back to the complex.

  “That ship’s hold is filled with hundreds of tons of newly excavated nodules, picked off the floor of the Pacific at a depth of some ten thousand feet. Our preliminary analysis shows it to be rich in manganese.”

  “My father always said that the greatest mineral treasures of all lay untouched on the bottom of the sea,” said Yoko.

  Ishii was quick to respond to this comment.

  “I understand from your personnel dossier that your father was a geologist. Too bad he didn’t live long enough to see the day when his prophetic observation would come true.”

  “There’s so much here that my father would have been fascinated with.” Yoko turned to face her silver-haired escort.

  “When I first considered applying to work here, one of my father’s ex-colleagues mentioned that your wife was one of the first female geologists to graduate from Tokyo University.”

  “That was many, many years ago, my dear,” reflected Ishii dreamily.

  “Is your wife still alive?” Yoko asked, as innocently as possible.

  Ishii’s tone turned bitter.

  “My wife was one of the thousands of unfortunate souls burned to death when the American atomic bomb fell on Nagasaki on August 9, 1945.”

  A moment of constrained silence followed as the cart passed by the main pier. Yoko saw that two other vessels, a submarine and a sleek patrol boat, were also docked here. She was surprised when Ishii failed to turn left onto the road that would have taken them back to the laboratory. Instead they continued on beside the sparkling waters of the bay.

  A gull cried out harshly overhead, and Yoko looked up into a clear blue sky. Now that they were closer to the water, the air temperature had dropped several degrees, and she was thankful for the light sweater she’d decided to wear. Deciding against asking anymore personal questions, she sat back to enjoy the tour that was turning out to be much more extensive than she had expected.

  Some sort of park was visible up ahead. Ishii slowed down the cart as they approached this immaculately manicured field of grass on which a dozen youngsters were doing kendo exercises. An eagle-eyed instructor led the children, orchestrating the movements of their bamboo swords with his out stretched hand.

  “Are you familiar with the way of the sword, my dear?” asked Ishii.

  “As a child, I used to have my own bokken,” replied Yoko.

  “But now my favorite martial-art is judo,” Ishii continued, while slowing the cart to a virtual crawl.

  “Perhaps when you get completely settled in, you’ll join me in the gymnasium on Saturday mornings, when a few of us get together to practice. As you may very well know, there’s much more to the ancient sport of kendo than merely striking two swords together.”

  “I’d enjoy that,” said Yoko, who really wasn’t certain what he was referring to.

  On the far side of the practice field was an airstrip, complete with a small tower and a quonset hut. Ishii remained silent until the cart was parked beside the closed doors of the metal hangar, then spoke out in a cool, composed voice.

  “Several days ago, you asked me why it was necessary for us to develop anew, deadlier strain of anthrax toxin. I’d like to take this opportunity to inform you that Ishii Industries has taken this step not only to formulate a proper vaccine, but also to investigate the theoretical use of such toxins in the future defense of the Japanese mainland.”

  This off-the-wall remark caught Yoko by complete surprise, and she hesitated a moment before responding.

  “Do you have a Ministry of De
fense grant to initiate such experiments?” she questioned.

  Ishii laughed.

  “The Ministry of Defense, that’s a misnomer if I ever heard one! No, Miss Noguchi, we have taken this initiative on our own.”

  “But the government?” countered the young scientist.“How can you even think of proceeding with such a dangerous experiment without their support and approval?”

  Ishii remained cool, and in complete control.

  “It’s evident that you’re young and innocent, my dear.

  But the idealistic days of childhood and university life are over. It’s my duty to welcome you to the world as it really is. In all honesty, what do you know about this government you speak of? Just because it’s there, do you allow it to take control of your destiny as if it were some omnipotent force unable to err?”

  Having no answer to this, Yoko could only wait for her new employer to continue.

  “I hate to bethe one to disillusion you, my dear, but the current government of Japan is nothing but a weak, corrupt lackey of our military occupiers, the United States of America. To prove this point, one only has to look at our current national energy policy.

  This shortsighted program relies almost exclusively on oil from the Persian Gulf to run the country’s industrial machine. Yet what happens when this source is interrupted, as it was in the winter of nineteen ninety? Faced with a potential loss of over eighty percent of our petroleum reserves, Japan was forced — against its will — to practically write out a blank check to the US treasury. And did our government learn from this costly mistake and change its policy, focus its attention on alternative power sources such as those that run this island? On the contrary. Because the weak-willed fools who run our nation are still afraid of any innovation that could upset their precious status quo or anger our old friend. Uncle Sam.

  “It was no different in the days that preceded World War II, my dear. At that time our energy-starved nation faced a similar dilemma. Yet instead of dealing directly with the problem and finding alternatives, the government did nothing. It was this inaction that allowed the militants to assume power.

  And from then on, Japan’s doom was sealed.”

  “But we are a democracy now,” dared Yoko.

  “Our government is but a reflection of the will of the people. And if they’re not satisfied, they’ll vote out the incumbents and elect new officials who will carryout their desires.”

  “That would be so if our citizens had the vision to know what was really in their best interests,” returned Ishii.

  “Unfortunately, most of them can’t see beyond their next bowl of rice.”

  The elder sighed and beckoned Yoko to follow him on foot.

  “Come, my dear. Enough of this rather heavy talk. Now I want to show you the one material object that’s closer to this old man’s heart than anything else on the face of this planet.”

  Yoko was amazed at how quickly Ishii changed the direction of their conversation. It was almost as if he’d planned this outing just to test her political preferences. Fascinated by his own peculiar beliefs, she followed him over to the closed doors of the hangar.

  “In my mind, nothing symbolizes the true inventive soul of the Japanese people like the aircraft that awaits us inside,” said Ishii ashe swung back one of the massive doors and walked inside to activate the lights.

  The fluorescent tubes snapped on overhead, illuminating a single, light gray airplane with bright red rising-sun decals on its wings and both sides of its fuselage. A yellow stripe encircled the aft part of the freshly painted metal fuselage, another stripe brightened the base of the vertical stabilizer. Only when Ishii went on to explain this aircraft’s history, did Yoko realize how incredibly preserved it was.

  “My dear, this is my pride and joy, a Type 0, Model-21 fighter escort, originally built by Mitsubishi in nineteen forty-three. She’s one of ten thousand five hundred eighty of such aircraft designed for Japan by the master aeronautical engineer Jiro Horikoshi.”

  They reached the Zero’s side, and Yoko carefully touched the smooth, flush-riveted fuselage asher host continued.

  “Sadly enough, today only a handful of such aircraft remain in existence. As a pilot, I can personally attest to her marvelous handling qualities. Designed around lightness, simplicity, and case of maintenance, the Zero could out maneuver any plane the enemy had, even the highly vaunted English Spitfire.”

  “She’s certainly agood-looking piece of machinery,” Yoko commented.

  “She’s much more than that, my dear,” replied Ishii with rising emotion.

  “The Zero was built with a minimum of government interference. Aircraft such as this are poignant reminders thatone must not neglect to consider the private sector when it comes to the defense of our ancestral homeland.

  “Much like Jiro Horikoshi, I want to make a contribution to the security of Japan. As we get to know each other better, you’ll see that my vision is a relatively simple one. All that I really desire is a country free from foreign occupation. Under the divine leadership of our holy Emperor, we will expand our sphere of influence to include our rightful colonies in Southeast Asia, China, Korea, and Indonesia.

  Only then can we truly flourish and successfully compete with such economic giants as the rapidly emerging European Economic Community.”

  “In all honesty, I don’t think today’s Japan is doing that badly,” said Yoko.

  “If you ask me, your plan for the future hints at the reawakening of militarism, but that’s something the people won’t stand for.”

  “The people,” repeated Ishii with disgust.

  “What do they know of the realities of geopolitical power?

  But that’s irrelevant at the moment,” he added in a softer tone.

  “You are a member of our family now.

  And all I ask of you is to keep an open mind. Attend our lecture, exercise, and meditation sessions, and don’t be afraid to express your own opinions when challenged. In other words, dare to grow with us in consciousness, my dear, and the Way will lead you homeward like along-lost pilgrim.”

  “No one ever accused me of having a closed mind before,” said Yoko.

  “I didn’t think so,” replied the grinning elder.

  “You’re much too intelligent for that. You are also a welcome breath of fresh air around here. I’m relying on you to give me a better understanding of the modern generation that comprises mainstream Japan, so never be afraid to speak your mind around me. And in such amanner we can continue to learn from each other, and to become fuller individuals as we do.”

  Ishii projected an almost fatherly warmth ashe beckoned toward the open doors of the hangar and added.

  “I don’t know about you, but all this talking and fresh air has done wonders for my appetite.

  Please do me the honor of joining me for brunch in my private diningroom and perhaps you’ll share with me what it’s like to be a university student in modern-day Japan.”

  “I’d enjoy that,” responded Yoko, allowing the elder to gently take her by the arm and guide her out into the welcoming sunlight.

  Twelve

  Pete Frystak was simply amazed at how quickly he readjusted to the life of a submariner. It was almost as if he had never retired at all, but had merely been on extended leave during these last couple of years of civilian life. The familiar sights, smells, and sounds of the boats had never left his blood after all. And he’d never realized how much he’d missed them until fate had called him back into service for this mission.

  But he was concerned about his wife. There had been no hiding the hurt in Kathy’s expression ashe’d hurriedly packed his seabag and arranged transport to Homestead. Fortunately, their faithful, hardworking staff would help her run the resort while he was gone, and the Cuban maintenance men would proceed with the roofing project. If all turned out as planned, he’d be back in Big Pine Key in less than two weeks, none the worse for wear and full of pleasant memories.

  Unable even
to drop Kathy a postcard to let her know he was okay, Pete was currently moving into his new quarters aboard the Bokken. For the first couple of nights after arriving at Alpha Base, he had bunked in the relatively luxurious confines of the USS Hawkbill. Yet now that their sailing date was rapidly approaching, it was time to live exclusively aboard the vessel that would soon betaking them into harm’s way.

  He had been assigned space in the Romeoclass sub’s forward officer’s quarters. Though this meant sharing a cramped area not much larger than his closet back home with five other sailors, he really didn’t mind at all. Their cruise promised to be a short one, and anyway, most of his time would be spent on watch in the torpedo room.

  The accommodations consisted of narrow, three-tiered bunks. The top ones appeared to be already occupied, so he gratefully cased himself onto a bottom bunk.

  The mattress proved to be unusually firm, which was fine with Pete. At home, to get additional support, he slept with a board under his Serta.

  A locker was located beneath the bunk, and Pete was in the process of filling it with the personal belongings he’d brought along when aman carrying asea bag entered the quarters.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the newcomer said politely, “but I guess we’re bunkmates.”

  Pete turned and eyed a tall, lanky youngster at most twenty-one years of age. This fellow was dressed in gray sweats, and had the scarred remnants of teenage acne on his beardless chin. The veteran instantly sensed his shyness, and did his best to make the lad feel right at home.

  “Pete Frystak’s the name. But please, call me Pete.”

  The young man still seemed afraid to directly meet the veteran’s gaze ashe hesitantly responded.

  “I’m Ensign Adrian Avila — Adie for short.”

  Frystak flashed his warmest smile and, while exchanging a handshake, questioned him further.

  “What’s your specialty on the Hawkbill, Adie?”

  “I’m currently training to qualify as a weapons officer, sir,” returned the young sailor.

  “No kidding,” said Frystak.