by Arthur C.
Nicole could not sleep. Over and over again she replayed the same scene. She kept seeing herself walking into the crowd and slapping the red-haired boy. Which makes me no better than he is, she thought.
"You're still awake, aren't you?" Richard said.
"Umm-hm."
"Are you all right?"
There was a short silence. "No, Richard," Nicole answered. "I'm not… I'm extremely upset with myself for striking that boy."
"Hey, come on," he said. "Stop beating yourself up. He deserved it. He insulted you in the worst way. People like that don't understand anything but force."
Richard reached over and began rubbing Nicole's back. "My God," he said, "I've never seen you so tense. You're in knots from one end to the other."
"I'm worried," Nicole said. "I have a terrible feeling that the whole fabric of our life here in New Eden is about to come unraveled… And that everything I have done or am doing is absolutely useless."
"You have done your best, darling. I must confess that I am amazed by how hard you have tried." Richard continued to rub Nicole's back very gently. "But you must remember you're dealing with human beings. You can transport them to another world and give them a paradise, but they still come equipped with their fears and insecurities and cultural predilections. A new world could only really be new if all the humans involved began with totally empty minds, like new computers with no software and no operating systems, just loads of untapped potential."
Nicole managed a smile. "You're not very optimistic, darling."
"Why should I be? Nothing I have seen here in New Eden or on Earth suggests to me that humanity is capable of achieving harmony in its relationship with itself, much less with any other living creatures. Occasionally there is an individual, or even a group, that is able to transcend the basic genetic and environmental drawbacks of the species… But these people are miracles, certainly not the norm."
"I don't agree with you," Nicole said softly. "Your view is too hopeless. I believe that most people desperately want to achieve that harmony. We just don't know how to do it. That's why we need more education. And more good examples."
"Even that red-haired boy? Do you believe he could be educated out of his intolerance?"
"I have to think so, darling," Nicole said. "Otherwise … I fear I would simply give up."
Richard made a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh.
"What is it?" Nicole asked.
"I was just wondering," Richard said, "if Sisyphus ever deluded himself into believing that maybe the next time the boulder would not roll down the hill again."
Nicole smiled. "He had to believe there was some chance the boulder would stay at the summit, or he could not have labored so hard… At least that's what I think."
9
As Kenji Watanabe descended from the train at Hakone, it was impossible for him not to recall another meeting with Toshio Nakamura, years before, on a planet billions of kilometers away. He had telephoned me that time too, Kenji thought. He had insisted that we talk about Keiko.
Kenji stopped in front of a shop window and straightened his tie. In the distorted reflection he could easily imagine himself as an idealistic Kyoto teenager on his way to a meeting with a rival. But that was long ago, Kenji thought to himself, with nothing at stake except our egos. Now the entire fate of our little world…
His wife Nai had not wanted him to meet with Nakamura at all. She had encouraged Kenji to call Nicole for another opinion. Nicole also had been opposed to any meeting between the governor and Toshio Nakamura. "He's a dishonest, power-crazy megalomaniac," Nicole had said. "Nothing good can come from the meeting. He just wants to find your weaknesses."
"But he has said that he can reduce tension in the colony."
"At what price, Kenji? Watch out for the terms. That man never offers to do something for nothing."
So why did you come? a voice inside Kenji's head asked him as he stared at the huge palace his boyhood associate had built for himself. I'm not certain exactly, another voice answered. Maybe honor. Or self-respect. Something deep in my heritage.
Nakamura's palace and the surrounding homes were built of wood in the classic Kyoto style. Blue tile roofs, carefully manicured gardens, sheltering trees, immaculately clean walkways—even the smell of the flowers reminded Kenji of his home city on a faraway planet.
He was met at the door by a lovely young girl in sandals and kimono, who bowed and said, "Ohairi kudasai," in the very formal Japanese way. Kenji left his shoes on the rack and put on sandals himself. The girl's eyes were always on the floor as she guided him through the few Western rooms of the palace into the tatami mat area where, it was said, Nakamura spent most of his free time gamboling with his concubines.
After a short walk the girl stopped and pulled aside a paper screen decorated with cranes in flight. "Dozo," she said, gesturing inside. Kenji walked into the six-mat room and sat cross-legged on one of the two cushions in front of a shiny black lacquer table. He will be late, Kenji thought. That's all part of the strategy.
A different young girl, also pretty, self-effacing, and dressed in a lovely pastel kimono, came noiselessly into the room carrying water and Japanese tea. Kenji sipped the tea slowly while his eyes roamed around the room. In one corner was a wooden screen with four panels. Kenji could tell from his distance of a few meters that it was exquisitely carved. He rose from his cushion to take a closer look.
The side facing toward him featured the beauty of Japan, one panel for each of the four seasons. The winter picture showed a ski resort in the Japanese Alps smothered in meters of snow; the spring panel depicted the cherry trees in blossom along the Kama River in Kyoto. Summer was a pristine clear day with Mount Fuji's snowcapped summit rising above the verdant countryside. The autumn panel presented a riot of color in the trees surrounding the Tokugawa family shrine and mausoleum at Nikko.
All this amazing beauty, Kenji thought, suddenly feeling deeply homesick. He has tried to recreate the world we have left behind. But why? Why does he spend his sordid money on such magnificent art? He is a strange, inconsistent man.
The four panels on the backside of the screen told of another Japan. The rich colors displayed the battle of Osaka Castle, in the early seventeenth century, after which Ieyasu Tokugawa was virtually unopposed as shogun of Japan. The screen was covered with human figures—samurai warriors in battle, male and female members of the court scattered throughout the castle grounds, even the Lord Tokugawa himself, larger than the rest and looking supremely content with his victory. Kenji noticed with amusement that the carved shogun bore more than a passing resemblance to Nakamura.
Kenji was about to sit back down on the cushion when the screen opened and his adversary entered. "Omachido sama deshita," Nakamura said, bowing slightly in his direction.
Kenji bowed back, somewhat awkwardly because he could not take his eyes off his countryman. Toshio Nakamura was dressed in a complete samurai outfit, including the sword and dagger! This is all part of some psychological ploy, Kenji told himself. It is designed to confuse or scare me.
"Ano, hajememashoka," Nakamura said, sitting down on the cushion opposite Kenji. "Kocha ga, oishii desu, ne?"
"Totemo oishii desu," Kenji replied, taking another sip. The tea was indeed excellent. But he is not my shogun, Kenji thought. I must change this atmosphere before any serious discussion starts.
"Nakamura-san, we are both busy men," Governor Watanabe said in English. "It is important to me that we dispense with the formalities and cut straight to the heart of the matter. Your representative told me on the phone this morning that you are 'disturbed' about the events of the last twenty-four hours and have some 'positive suggestions' for reducing the current tension in New Eden. This is why I have come to talk to you."
Nakamura's face showed nothing; however, the slight hiss as he was speaking indicated his displeasure with Kenji's directness. "You have forgotten your Japanese manners, Watanabe-san. It is grievously impolite to start a
business discussion before you have complimented your host on the surroundings and inquired about his well-being. Such impropriety almost always leads to unpleasant disagreement, which can be avoided—"
"I'm sorry," Kenji interrupted with a trace of impatience, "but I don't need a lesson from you, of all people, on manners. Besides, we are not in Japan, we are not even on Earth, and our ancient Japanese customs are about as germane now as the outfit you are wearing—"
Kenji had not intended to insult Nakamura, but he could not have had a better strategy for causing his adversary to reveal his true intentions. The tycoon rose to his feet abruptly. For a moment the governor thought Nakamura was going to draw his samurai sword.
"All right," said Nakamura, his eyes implacably hostile, "we will do this your way … Watanabe, you have lost control of the colony. The citizens are very unhappy with your leadership and my people tell me there is widespread talk of impeachment and/or insurrection. You have botched the environmental and RV-41 issues, and now your black woman judge, after innumerable delays, has announced that a nigger rapist will not be subject to a trial by jury. Some of the more thoughtful of the colonists, knowing that you and I have a common background, have asked me to intercede, to try to convince you to step aside before there is widespread bloodshed and chaos."
This is incredible, Kenji thought as he listened to Nakamura. The man is absolutely out of his mind. The governor resolved to say very little in the conversation.
"So you believe I should resign?" Kenji asked after a protracted silence.
"Yes," answered Nakamura, his tone growing more imperious. "But not immediately. Not until tomorrow. Today you should exercise your executive privilege to change the jurisdiction for the Martinez case away from Nicole des Jardins Wakefield. She is obviously prejudiced. Judges Iannella or Rodriguez, either one, would be more appropriate. Notice," he said, forcing a smile, "that I am not suggesting the case be transferred to Judge Nishimura's court."
"Is there anything else?" Kenji asked.
"Only one more thing. Tell Ulanov to withdraw from the election. He doesn't have any chance to win and continuing this divisive campaign will only make it more difficult for us to pull together after the Macmillan victory. We need to be united. I foresee a serious threat to the colony from whatever enemy inhabits the other habitat. The leggies, that you seem to believe are 'harmless observers,' are just their advance scouts…"
Kenji was astonished by what he was hearing. How had Nakamura become so warped? Or had he always been this way?
"…I must stress that time is of the essence," Nakamura was saying, "especially with respect to the Martinez issue and your resignation. I have asked Kobayashi-san and the other members of the Asian community not to act too hastily, but after last night I'm not certain I can restrain them. His daughter was a beautiful, talented young woman. Her suicide note makes it clear that she could not live with the shame implied by the continual delays in the trial of her rapist. There is genuine anger throughout—"
Governor Watanabe temporarily forgot his resolution to remain quiet. "Are you aware," he said, also standing up, "that semen from two different individuals was found in Mariko Kobayashi after the night during which she was allegedly raped? And that both Mariko and Pedro Martinez repeatedly insisted that they were alone together the entire evening? Even when Nicole hinted to Mariko last week that there was evidence of additional intercourse, the young woman stuck to her story."
Nakamura momentarily lost his composure. He stared blankly at Kenji Watanabe.
"We have not been able to identify the other party," Kenji continued. "The semen samples mysteriously disappeared from the hospital laboratory before the full DNA analysis could be completed. All we have is the record of the original examination."
"That record could be wrong," asserted Nakamura, his self-confidence returning.
"Very, very unlikely. But at any rate, now you can understand Judge Wakefield's dilemma. Everyone in this colony has already decided Pedro is guilty. She did not want a jury to convict him wrongly."
There was a long silence. The governor started to depart. "I'm surprised at you, Watanabe," Nakamura said at length. "You've missed the point of this meeting entirely. Whether or not that jigaboo Martinez raped Mariko Kobayashi is really not that important. I have promised her father that the Nicaraguan boy will be punished. And that's what counts."
Kenji Watanabe stared at his boyhood classmate with disgust. "I'm going to leave now" he said, "before I become really angry."
"You will not be given another chance," Nakamura said, his eyes again full of hostility. "This was my first and final offer."
Kenji shook his head, pulled back the paper screen himself, and walked out into the corridor.
Nicole was walking along a beach in beautiful sunlight. Ahead of her about fifty meters, Ellie was standing beside Dr. Turner. She was wearing her wedding dress, but the groom was dressed in a bathing suit. Nicole's great-grandfather Omeh was performing the ceremony in his long green tribal robe.
Omeh placed Ellie's hands in Dr. Turner's and began a Senoufo chant. He raised his eyes to the sky. A solitary avian soared overheard, shrieking in rhythm with the wedding chant. As Nicole watched the avian flying above her, the sky darkened. Storm clouds rushed in, displacing the placid sky.
The ocean began to churn and the wind to blow. Nicole's hair, now completely gray, streamed out behind her. The wedding party was in disarray. Everyone ran inland to escape the coming storm. Nicole could not move. Her eyes were fixed on a large object being tossed upon the waves.
The object was a huge green bag, like the plastic bags used for lawn trash back in the twenty-first century. The bag was full and was coming toward the shore. Nicole would have tried to grab it, but she was afraid of the moiling sea. She pointed at the bag. She yelled for help.
In the upper left-hand corner of her dream screen she saw a long canoe. As it drew closer, Nicole realized that the eight occupants of the canoe were extraterrestrials, orange in color, smaller than humans. They looked as if they were made from bread dough. They had eyes and faces but no bodily hair. The aliens steered the canoe over to the large green bag and picked it up.
The orange extraterrestrials deposited the green bag on the beach. Nicole did not approach until they climbed back into their canoe and returned to the ocean. She waved good-bye to them and walked over to the bag. It had a zipper, which she carefully opened. Nicole pulled back the top half and stared at the dead face of Kenji Watanabe.
Nicole shuddered, screamed, and sat up in bed. She reached over for Richard, but the bed was empty. The digital clock on the table read 2:48 A.M. Nicole tried to slow her breathing and clear her mind of the horrible dream.
The vivid image of the dead Kenji Watanabe lingered in her mind. As she walked over to the bathroom, Nicole remembered her premonitory dreams about the death of her mother, back when she was only ten years old. What if Kenji is really going to die? she thought, feeling the first wave of panic. She forced herself to think about something else. Now where is Richard at this time of night? she wondered. Nicole pulled on her robe and left the bedroom area.
She walked quietly past the children's rooms toward the front of the house. Benjy was snoring, as usual. The light was on in the study, but Richard was not there. Two of the new biots plus Prince Hal were also gone. One of the monitors on Richard's work table still contained a display.
Nicole smiled to herself and remembered their agreement. She touched the keys NICOLE on the keyboard and the display changed.
Dearest Nicole [the message appeared], If you awaken before I return, do not worry. I plan to be back by dawn, eight o'clock tomorrow morning at the very latest. I have been doing some work with the 300 series biots—you remember, the ones that are not completely programmed in firmware and therefore can be designed for special tasks—and have reason to believe that someone has been, spying on my work. Therefore, I have accelerated the completion of my current project and have gone outside Ne
w Eden for a final test. I love you. Richard.
It was dark and cold out on the Central Plain. Richard tried to be patient. He had sent his upgraded Einstein (Richard referred to it as Super-Al) and Garcia #325 over to the second habitat probe site before him. They had explained to the night watchman, a standard Garcia biot, that the published experiment schedule had changed and that a special investigation was presently going to be conducted. With Richard still out of sight, Super-Al had then withdrawn all the equipment from the opening into the other habitat and placed it on the ground. The process had consumed over an hour of precious time. Now that Super-Al was finally finished, he signaled Richard to approach. Garcia #325 cleverly led the watchman biot off to another area around the probe site so it wouldn't be able to see Richard.
He wasted no time. Richard pulled Prince Hal out of his pocket and put him in the opening. "Go quickly," Richard said, setting his small monitor up on the floor of the passage. The opening into the other habitat had been gradually widened over the weeks so that it was now approximately a square, eighty centimeters on a side. There was more than enough room for the tiny robot.
Prince Hal hurried through to the other side. The drop from the passage to the inside floor was about a meter. The robot adroitly attached a small cable to a stanchion he glued to the floor of the passage and then let himself down. Richard watched Hal's every move on his screen and communicated instructions by radio.
Richard had expected that there would be an outer annulus protecting the second habitat. He was correct. So the basic design of the two habitats is similar, he thought. Richard had also anticipated that there would be an opening of some kind in the inner wall, some gate or door through which the leggies must come and go, and that Prince Hal would be small enough to enter the inside of the habitat by the same portal.
It did not take long for Hal to locate the entrance into the main part of the habitat. However, what was obviously a door was also more than twenty meters above the floor of the annulus. Having watched the video recordings of the leggies moving up vertical surfaces on the bulldozer biots at the Avalon survey site, Richard had prepared for this possibility as well.