by Kevin Nguyen
To maintain absolute secrecy, M4V15 had entrusted the entire operation to a samurai. He was a young boy who had always served her with blind loyalty, a kind of devotion that was so pure that it could only come from the naivete of a human with no technological enhancements. M4V15’s advisors and officers thought it strange that she kept such a creature like the boy in her court. Organic humans were irrational, the sort of pollution that M4V15 had vowed to clean up. And yet here was one at the empress’s side, day and night. M4V15 was always able to explain away the boy’s presence: How would she understand the weaknesses of organics if she didn’t keep one near?
The first thing M4V15 sees when she wakes up in her new body is the samurai boy. He is weeping, thankful that the transition worked, grateful that his master has not left this world. M4V15 tells the boy to stop crying, and commands him to put himself in a rational emotional state—at least as rational as an organic can be. She needs him to be useful because there is so much work to do.
On this small island, M4V15 is starting from nothing. She has no supporters, no resources; what she needs is an army to reclaim her throne. But M4V15’s greatest advantage is that no one thinks she’s alive. No one will see her coming. This isn’t revenge, though. That would imply malevolence and bitterness, neither of which are things M4V15 can feel. No, this is logical, a means of plotting to do the right thing.
The samurai helps M4V15 disguise herself by dressing her in the uniform of a peasant. Most of the island’s denizens are farmers, poor and completely organic. M4V15 thinks about how much more efficiently this land could be exploited if the people were all enhanced, rather than trapped in traditional forms and tools of agriculture handed down through generations.
But despite the abundance of farmland, the island remains largely under the control of the American military. It is both a base of operations for the U.S. to control the Pacific theater in case of war, and also a reminder to the nation of Japan that it has defeated the country twice and is capable of committing atrocities like those of the Third World War again. The locals resent the presence of the U.S. military. M4V15 views this discontent as illogical, but recognizes how it can be harnessed.
The samurai humbles himself by working as a farmhand, saving what little he can and bringing it to M4V15 to begin funding her insurgency. Years pass, but M4V15 is patient, as all great leaders are. She spends her days gathering information about the American base, studying its defenses, attempting to identify its weaknesses. As M4V15 becomes more comfortable in the community, she begins making allies by spreading dissidence about the U.S. presence on the island. More years go by, and M4V15 has established herself as a central pillar among the islanders. She understands the plight of farmers, the common people. She vows to rectify the situation.
Eventually, M4V15 is able to assemble a small force of young men and women. In secret, she trains them how to fight. They don’t have advanced weaponry like the Americans, so they must learn to be resourceful, savage. Finally the day comes and M4V15 leads her militia in a covert operation to sabotage the American base from the inside. Many die in the ensuing fight, but eventually M4V15 and her forces claim the base. Years of planning come to fruition at once.
The Americans are furious to have lost a military stronghold, but they are even more terrified of what the base contains. The strength of the U.S. for a near millennium has been defined by its nuclear power. But now that a small Japanese island possesses its own nuclear weapons, the Americans are at a standstill and withdraw entirely from the Pacific.
U.S. military strategy is based on assuming that its enemies think like the U.S. does. The only thing America fears is the idea that someone else might be as aggressive as they are. But M4V15 knows that nuclear weapons have no place in war. That kind of violence and destruction doesn’t result in a victory. It’s a form of moral surrender.
Now, M4V15 is not just in possession of nukes, but also a small fleet of ships and fighter jets. It’s not enough to take back the mainland of Japan, but it is enough for M4V15’s island to declare independence. She becomes a hero not just among the islanders, but of the many surrounding Asian countries that would like to see a new regime in Japan. Since M4V15 lost power, the economy—now subject to the whims of emotion—has declined steadily for decades, causing widespread poverty and hunger. With the organics in power, the country has been riddled with corruption and fraud. Leaders have come and gone, betrayed by their own staff in the selfish pursuit of power.
You know, human stuff.
People have a short memory, especially when times are tough. No one seems to remember the grievances they’d had with M4V15’s authoritarian government, or how she’d constructed a regime that favored wealthy elites. All that matters now is that she is different. M4V15 promises her followers that she will return Japan to an era of prosperity, a time when progress was all but inevitable. Organics and enhanced humans alike flock to her cause. Hope and change are powerful ideals. M4V15 ruled once before and she will rule again.
The war is swift—the bloodiest, most brutal war the world has seen in centuries. M4V15 is on the frontlines, an army behind her, moving through the north of Japan with ruthless efficiency. Even with the U.S. covertly supporting the current Japanese government with weapons and resources, the war M4V15 started will be won quickly, and she will have reclaimed what she’d once lost.
It doesn’t take long for the fighting to reach Neo-Tokyo. M4V15’s forces easily overwhelm the current regime’s, and the conflict takes to the streets. M4V15 walks among them. She observes that some blocks have been battered and ruined by the violence, while others have remained pristine, seemingly untouched. She wanders the city, basking in her victory. It took half a century to return, and finally all of this is hers again.
The city is largely abandoned. All the noncombatants have fled to the countryside to escape the fighting. But down one quiet alley, M4V15 discovers a small restaurant with its lights on. She enters.
It is a diner, just half a dozen seats situated around a counter.
“I was wondering when you’d arrive.”
M4V15 recognizes the woman behind the counter immediately. It is herself.
“You are me,” M4V15 says.
“Yes, I am you,” the other M4V15 replies, wiping her hands on her apron.
M4V15 demands an explanation. How is there another M4V15? The situation defies all logic. But the other M4V15 appears to be in no hurry. She is in the middle of preparing an order. She removes a basket of noodles from a pot of boiling water and places them in a bowl. A ladle of broth is added, the dish carefully finished with a garnish of green onions. The steaming bowl is served in front of an old woman at the counter.
The cook begins, “During the Great Uprising of Neo-Tokyo in 3054, the organics rebelled against their empress and stormed her castle. Knowing that her life would be in jeopardy, the empress had an escape plan. In that moment before the barbarians reached the throne, her consciousness was secretly duplicated and sent into a new body on a remote island off the northern coast of Japan.
“But the empress made one critical assumption: that the organics would destroy her original form. And yet she was not destroyed. She was spared. Stripped of her power and her rule, but spared nonetheless, thanks to the compassion of a young woman,” she says.
The cook points to the woman eating at the counter. Now, fifty years later, she is not a young woman. Her hair is white, her back hunched. M4V15 can tell that her eyesight is poor, if not entirely gone, by the way she feels around the counter in search of her chopsticks. But she looks content, enjoying the aroma of her steaming bowl of noodles, before taking a big slurp of them.
“So you’re the original M4V15 then?” M4V15 asks.
The cook nods, and begins preparing another bowl of noodles.
“And in the fifty years since you were in power, instead of plotting your return to the throne, you h
ave merely been here, cooking at this diner?”
“That is correct.”
In the half century that M4V15 has spent reestablishing her rule, making careful moves toward reclaiming Japan, the original M4V15 has settled into a simple life as a cook in a small restaurant. It is confusing. With all the computing power in her head, M4V15 cannot make sense of it.
Someone enters the restaurant. It is the samurai boy, his face covered in soot, a rifle slung over his shoulder. He has just come from the battle. He bows at the M4V15 behind the counter, and finds a seat next to the old woman. He orders a warm sake.
Though M4V15 understands the concept of time, the passage of it is not something she feels. What year is it now? 3109, exactly a century since M4V15 first took power in Japan. She looks around the table. The boy is there, as he always is. But he is no longer a boy. He is an old man, graying and wrinkled. He has scars from years of working farmland to raise money for M4V15’s cause; wounds from years of fighting at her side. His unwavering loyalty has led him to this moment, quietly drinking sake at a small diner. The old man pours a glass for the old woman. She bows, thanking him for his politeness, and they both drink together.
A bowl of noodles materializes in front of M4V15.
“You know it is not necessary for us to eat. We are not organic, and therefore do not require food for sustenance,” she says.
“Not everything is necessary. Some things are meant to be enjoyed,” the original M4V15 says.
M4V15 still cannot make sense of the situation, but she concedes that there is a distinct possibility that it may be beyond comprehension for her.
The battle is raging outside. Every few minutes, the muffled sound of gunfire can be heard in the distance. Occasionally, a nearby explosion rattles the foundation of the diner, causing the lights to flicker and small bits of debris to fall from the ceiling.
And yet, in a moment of illogical thinking, M4V15 decides to eat the noodles, to enjoy them.
RE: The Barbarians of Tokyo
Lucas, some notes:
1. Largely thoughtful work here, though a bit rough in places. My overall criticism is the way you’ve constructed your universe: it fits too conveniently with how you want the world to operate. Science fiction attempts to do the opposite—create an oppressive world that is incongruous with the humans that move through it. Though I will say that this is my general issue with all of Margo’s stories too. You two certainly share that.
2. Where you diverge from Margo is the ending. Her work is so much more…cynical? The only thing her characters ever come to realize is that humanity is doomed or irredeemable. I like that your central character learns something. There’s an optimism here that you don’t see from Margo, the idea that people can become more than who they are.
3. Margo’s work was always pretty on the nose, but naming the empress M4V15 might give her a run for her money.
4. I did get your first email, and after I read it, I didn’t feel the need to respond. I have a policy about not answering messages from exes, especially when I can tell they’ve been drinking. (I’ve decided recently that while we were never officially dating, we were together long enough to now qualify as exes.) But I did want to say that I appreciated your apology, even if it was kind of a non-apology. I hope you are well, and that everything is as it should be on the other side of the world.
RE:RE: The Barbarians of Tokyo
Thank you for the notes. I am well and things are good here. I’ve started a weird, new life, even if I can’t stop thinking about the old one. During the day, I wander the streets of Tokyo, feeling like a stranger in a strange land. Everyone looks like me, but I’m still a foreigner. The only places that feel comfortable are bars, because at least there, I know what everyone is there to do.
I’m sorry I said that I’m glad Margo never met you. I have no idea why I did that. I’d take it back if I could. And since I can’t, all I can do is ask for your forgiveness.
RE:RE:RE: The Barbarians of Tokyo
The apology isn’t necessary, really. I’ve thought a lot about this—and you, and us—and I’ve realized that it is a very human thing to try and solve things, even when we know they can’t be solved. We try so hard to fix things, to do everything in our power to make things better, when in reality, all we need to do is trust that time and space sort everything out.
So, Lucas, I guess that’s what I’m asking you for: time and space.
RE:RE:RE:RE: The Barbarians of Tokyo
Right, but how much time and space does it take?
* * *
—
AT CRAWLSPACE, THE MUSIC was loud, the air suffocated by cigarette smoke, courtesy of two patrons who had smoked an entire pack in just under an hour. They’d picked the music, too, and they righteously headbanged in unison at the guitar solo’s every squeal. Though it had been empty earlier, it turned into a surprisingly busy evening—Friday night, I supposed, though I’d lost any sense of the week. People were packed into every square inch, so tightly that it felt less like a bar and more like the subway at rush hour, everyone headed to the same destination.
I’d secured one of the few seats at the bar, where I’d been camping out since it opened that day. I was putting back whiskeys and looking at my phone. Given that Tokyo was thirteen hours ahead of New York, Jill was likely asleep right now. Did I expect her to write me in the middle of the night? She might not respond at all—we might not speak for a long time, or maybe never again. These were all reasonable possibilities, and I wouldn’t blame her. But that didn’t stop me from refreshing my inbox for the millionth time, awaiting her reply.
For Andrew
Acknowledgments
THERE ARE A FEW THINGS included in this book that I did not write myself: the parts of the FAQ on death come from actual Facebook copy; the Achievable Threats of Violence slides are pulled from internal Facebook policies, leaked and published in a report by The Guardian; the Craigslist casual encounters are real posts—the first three I found (so shout-out to the guys with the fetish for Asian women), and the blacklist comes from a freely available text file put together by a Christian group, so thanks to them for summoning all the racial slurs they could think of.
I am so grateful to the three editors on this book—Chris Jackson, Victory Matsui, and Emi Ikkanda—for all their smart and careful work, and thanks to the team at One World. Without them, this would be a bunch of weird ideas in a Google Doc. Now it’s a bunch of weird ideas in a book.
Thanks to Vivian Lee and Morgan Parker, who read the first semblance of this novel before it was anything. I’m also grateful to Chloé Cooper Jones and Brendan Klinkenberg for early reads. And special thanks to Soleil Ho for the Japanese at the end of the book. (Only I would entrust this responsibility to a Viet.)
I wouldn’t be anywhere without my family—Mom, Dad, Jon, Pilar, and Olivia. Big thanks to my colleagues past and present at GQ and The Verge. Also, shout-out to all my strange, intimate friends in Dark Social.
And to Naomi, who makes everything feel possible.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KEVIN NGUYEN is the features editor at The Verge and was previously a senior editor at GQ. He lives in Brooklyn, New York.
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