Zero Sum Game, page 20
The salaryman stood at the register. She hadn't even seen him leave his table. He still gripped his cell phone in one hand, he held a long sharp knife in his other. The scared clerk bumped into the doorframe of the smoking area entrance, rattling the glass. That caught everyone else's attention. They looked at her, then saw the man with the knife. An old lady screamed and the toddler's parents let out a gasp, the mother putting her arm around the child. The high school boy didn't look up, focused on his studies.
The salaryman's bloodshot eyes tried looking at everyone at once. The clerk behind the register backed against the work counter, her hands gripping it tightly. She didn't move; her gaze followed every twitch and swipe of the knife. Hina saw the door to the kitchen area. She wondered why the woman didn't run into the back to get help or at least save her own life. The woman was too scared to move.
The man glared at the customers. "What are you doing back there?" His voice was unsteady but petulant, like a child asking why others were getting candy and not him. "I can't do it if you're all back there." He swiped at the air and an old lady yelped. "I can't reach you." He took a stumbling step forward, like his knees were locked and his shoes were filled with cement.
Hina realized she had been waiting for a situation like this. This was a chance to fight, to face danger and overcome it. It's only a knife. It's only a knife. It can't hurt me, she repeated to herself. Voice said I'm nearly invulnerable. I fell off a second story roof without a scratch. I can handle this. It's only a knife.
In the silence a page rustled. The salaryman snapped his head in the direction of the sound. He shuffled towards the boy, holding the knife at chest height with one hand and never letting go of his cell phone. Something must have alerted the boy, he looked up and his eyes went wide when he saw the knife and the crazed man holding it.
"You're right there," the salaryman said. "Perfect, perfect, perfect. Stay right there." He gave a weak, awkward jab. The knife wasn't even within a meter of touching the kid, but he backed away as if he had been poked with a hot iron. His chair banged the window behind him. He was trapped; blinds and glass behind him, a knife welding manic in front. He glanced at everyone sitting on the other side of the shop, then at the clerk behind the counter. She turned her head away, unable to look him in the eye as he pleaded for help in silence. The salaryman shuffled forward and jabbed again, this time closer to his target.
"Stop it."
All eyes turned to Hina. "Just stop it," she said, standing by her table. "You're scaring these people. Whatever you want, you're not getting it here." She stepped forward.
The man shuffled away from the scared student. "What I want?" the man said. His voice went shrill. "What I want is this," and he put the tip of the knife to the base of his throat. "But I can't." He lowered the tip. "I can't do it on my own." He took a few halting steps towards Hina.
Hina moved away from her table. One of the old ladies grabbed her wrist and tried to tug her back towards safety. Hina focused only on the salaryman. She stopped a couple of meters away.
"But you," he continued, "you can help." His eyes shook in their sockets and his mouth seemed like it was trying to smile and cry at the same time. "I kill you, and I get the death penalty. Then I'm gone. I'll have what I want."
He gripped the knife with both hands, still managing to hold on to his cell phone. Hina saw the flip-top display. It showed a young man and woman with a child about five years old, their faces pushed together in that classic pose of someone trying to fit in all the faces into a selfie. She wondered what this was all about.
The man screamed and rushed her with both his arms held out straight. He didn't look at her, wanting to stab her but unable to bear watching himself do it.
Hina tensed her legs, pushing one foot back to brace herself. The knife impacted below her breasts. The blade held stiff for a brief second then broke in half. The man collided with something much harder than himself. He fell to the ground.
Hina grabbed the remainder of the knife from his limp hand. The cell phone clattered to the floor, but neither attempted to retrieve it. The large kitchen implement had a sturdy thick blade and a wooden handle. She squeezed the handle, and the wood cracked and snapped, coming apart in long splintery fragments. She tossed the defunct weapon towards the bathroom where it clattered on the floor with a large clap.
The man rose, his eyes wide and shaking. Anger tightened Hina's face; her eyes narrowed and she bit her lower lip to contain her emotions. She slapped the man across the face and he crashed against the tray return like he had been punched by a heavyweight boxer. His head struck the upper edge and he went to the floor for a second time, stunned into motionlessness. Hina reached over his sprawled legs and picked up the cell phone. Taking another look at the picture, she closed the unit.
The clerk behind the counter hadn't moved from her spot during the entire incident. Hina held out the phone to her. The clerk released her white-knuckled grip and took it.
"You should call the police," Hina said.
Relief entered her. Her heart rate was slower than she would have expected and she didn't feel fearful. She had, in fact, been more afraid for the safety of the customers than for herself. She had overcome her fear of dangerous encounters, if only a little bit. She went to her table and put her donuts in the bag with her father's, regretful she couldn't finish her cafe-au-lait. She stood the middle of the shop. "I'm sorry for all the trouble," she said to the customers and gave a deep bow. She walked out.
— — —
In her bedroom, Hina looked at herself in the full length mirror. Her reflection showed a normal junior high school girl. She had a heavy muscular build, with broad shoulders and thick legs. Her blue skirt and pale blue school uniform blouse looked like everyone else's at school. Nothing out of the ordinary. But what she had done at the donut shop wasn't something most ordinary people would do. And that made her excited.
She sat on the edge of her bed. "I did it, didn't I, Voice?"
"You did a great job," the battle suit replied.
"It's like we had talked about earlier," she said. "I have to keep at it."
"If you intend to pursue this course of action, I would suggest patrols of the city," Voice said. "Most calls on the police bands come in after the crime has been committed. It is too late to be of much service. Patrolling at night in neighborhoods that are known for crime would offer a better chance to help citizens."
Voice's idea sounded good to her. "But when would I do it? I can't skip school or anything like that. And if I'm always gone, won't my father or friends get suspicious?"
"My suggestion is at night after your father has gone to sleep."
"Really?" Hina did think that would be the best time, but to be out into the late hours of the morning then have to get up for Sports Day practice…? Could she do it? Maybe for only for an hour or so, she thought.
"Hina, you have far more stamina and endurance than anyone else. Although, like all living organisms you require rest, you need it less than your fellow humans. My catoms are constantly repairing your cells. Coupled with your nutritional eating habits, you would be able to patrol for several hours almost every night. It's not a perfect plan, but one that is executable."
Voice's idea sounded reasonable to her. It would be a way to train for dangerous situations without raising too many suspicions. If Voice thought it could work, she should trust his judgement. "Okay," she said. "We'll start tonight. Can you access some computers or something, try to find out which parts of the city have high crime rates and such?"
"It won't be a problem," Voice said.
Hina smiled at her reflection. She hoped the people in the donut shop wouldn't be the last she helped.
CHAPTER 22
Earth's death warrant sat on Amano's desk. He opened it, read the first paragraph of the report, then closed the file. He had already read it twice before. He leaned back in his chair, tapped his finger, and reread the first paragraph.
He sat in his office at AHI's laboratory. Dr. Kanemoto had delivered the report to him an hour ago. The scientist had been ecstatic, the folder trembling as he handed it to Amano. After reading the report, Kanemoto reiterated what the first paragraph had said: the catom data from the laboratory test and the data given to the team by Shimizu had indicated stability. Terraforming was possible and AHI had achieved it.
The report guaranteed Earth's destruction.
Amano had congratulated Kanemoto and his team. He said they could take the rest of the day off to celebrate if they wanted, but the scientist would have none of it. He and the others would keep working, going over every piece of data byte by byte. Amano promised to hold an office party in their honor the following weekend.
It had been Shimizu's idea to tell a version of the truth to Amano's team, after laying out the real plan for him. It would be impossible, Shimizu had said, to keep such a massive project, and its purpose, a secret. Tell them the truth: they were working on a revolutionary terraforming project. If successful, JAXA could be the first space agency with a shot at terraforming the moon into a livable habitat. The second part, of course, had been false, but that was what the scientists believed the project would lead to: further developments with JAXA for possible use in space. Amano and Shimizu never hinted to them that they wouldn't be terraforming the moon, but Earth instead. Whatever kept the smart fish working, as Shimizu sometimes said.
Staring at the red folder, Amano wondered how much longer the world had left. He estimated it was less than a week. Shimizu had said the change would happen almost overnight, in planetary terms. It would take almost six months for the catoms to spread across the planet, self-replicating as they burrowed deep into the world, riding the magma waves under the ground.
The catoms would transform the soil and rocks first. The planet's core and mantle would be changed. Volcanos would soon spew Noigel-suited air, as well as catoms, to change the atmosphere. This would happen within six months. As the air and soil changed, plant life would die, followed by animals. It would take a year for the planet to stabilize. A year after that, the Noigel ark would begin delivering animals and citizens. A two-year span from launch to habitation.
There was a knock on the door, followed by the secretary opening it. Before she could say anything, Shimizu walked in, ignoring the young woman. He stopped in front of Amano's desk and dropped his briefcase onto a chair. Amano nodded at the secretary, and she closed the door.
"Is this it?" Shimizu asked by way of greeting, tapping the red folder with his middle finger.
"Yes," replied Amano.
Shimizu picked it up and sat down in the remaining seat. He read it, flipping the pages in a hurry. When he finished, he read it one more time, then closed it and tossed it back on Amano's desk.
"It works," Amano said.
"Of course," Shimizu said. "It came from Noigel technology. Your smart fish did well."
Amano heard the trace of contempt in Shimizu's voice. He knew Shimizu had been as worried as he had. The plans may have come from Noigel knowledge, but they both knew it depended on human technology to make it happen. If the technology didn't work, if it was beyond the scope of the "smart fish," the plan was doomed. And so were the Noigel. Amano leaned back in his chair, watching the alien. The other man leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head. A big sigh escaped him, and his shoulders dropped in relief. It seemed the weight of a world, in an almost literal sense, had been unburdened. When he looked up, Shimizu was smiling. Amano thought it was the first time he had seen him actually smile. It wasn't a smirk or a sneer. Shimizu was happy.
Shimizu ran his hands over his face and leaned his head back as far as he could, the grin still on his face. "I did it," he said. He closed his eyes. "I saved us." He sat upright and gazed around the office. "Soon all this will be gone," he said to Amano. His usual smirk now replaced the genuine smile. "We'll leave a few monuments and artifacts. Have a museum to the little fish that helped us. What do you think of that?"
"If you're trying to get under my skin, you can stop," Amano replied. "Monuments, no monuments. It doesn't matter to me."
"What about your smart fish? Do they matter to you?"
"No."
Shimizu narrowed his eyes a bit as they stared at one another. He stood and walked behind his chair, his back to Amano. After a moment he faced him, leaning on the chair's headrest.
"I have been open with you, telling you my plans to destroy your world. I will kill every living thing on this planet, including you. Destroy your entire history, and not a soul in the galaxy will know you existed. You'll be wiped from the universe's memory. And you've been okay with that."
Amano held Shimizu's gaze with his own. "You derive happiness from recreating your world. I get satisfaction from ending mine." He stood and approached Shimizu, his hands deep in his pants pockets. "You think your world is worth saving. Mine? I don't."
All that mattered was Shimizu honoring their agreement that he would let Amano die with the world. He turned away from the alien and stood by the window, gazing out over the landscape, a countdown clock already running in his head.
After several seconds of silence, Shimizu spoke again, with no trace of the contempt from earlier. "Order more catoms to be made. A billion. Run the company on overtime if you have to. What about our delivery method? Is it ready?"
Amano didn't turn around. "It will arrive in time. The catoms will take a few days. Kanemoto-sensei won't like it, but he'll have no say in the matter. Everything's ready."
The Noigel had nothing else to say.
— — —
Nighttime during Hiroshima's summers were hot and humid. The hotness no longer bothered Hina as much as it used to. She wondered if it was Voice's doing, and asked him.
"The same mechanism responsible for your 'invulnerability' as it were, helps protect you from temperature variances," he said. "It is an interesting process. The catoms—"
"You can't answer 'yes' or 'no,' can you?" she said in an exasperated whisper.
"I can," Voice said. "And in answer to your question: yes." After that he fell silent.
He's pouting again, Hina thought. She supposed she should be grateful to him for protecting her from the weather. She stood in the doorway of a bakery near a street corner. The shop didn't face the main road and gave her some protection from the view of passing patrol cars. If the police caught her, she would have a difficult time explaining why she was out past midnight on a school night. The area wasn't patrolled very often; it was mostly residential with a few small shops and convenience stores scattered in its midst.
She peered around the corner at the collection of bikes parked at the apartment building down the street. Voice had told her the area was plagued by bicycle thefts. The old apartment didn't have an indoor parking area. Most of the bikes were chained to the bike racks near the two entrances to the apartment building. There was no guard, and although a sticker on the lobby window said a security camera monitored the area, that didn't deter the thieves. Hina wondered if the camera existed; the sticker could have been for show.
Her image of a bike thief was a young man in dark clothes with spiky hair, maybe colored blonde or even red, with piercings. A delinquent, in other words. But Voice had told her criminals could be anybody, and they had no idea what kind of person to expect. They'd have to keep an eye on everybody.
She peered around the corner again; someone walked up the street in her direction. He was college aged, with disheveled hair, wearing dress pants and a collared shirt with a knapsack slung over one shoulder. His thick-framed square glasses covered almost half his face. He dragged his feet and hung his head, like he had put in a full day of classes and was exhausted from a late-night study session.
He passed by the first row of bikes, then slowed as he approached the second row. He glanced at the apartment building and the street. He stopped at an old red bike and pulled out a set of keys from his pants pocket. With another quick glance around, he made a show of flipping through his keys, then fumbled and dropped them. He stooped down to pick them up. He slid his knapsack off his shoulder, unzipped it, and pulled out a pair of bolt cutters.
He's kind of smart, thought Hina. But the bike wasn't his and she needed to stop him. She walked away from her hiding place.
At the sound of her footsteps, the bolt cutters disappeared back into the knapsack. He jangled the keys again. He kept his head down and reached towards the metal rope that looped through the front spokes of the bike and around the rack's metal bar. He stayed hunched over until he noticed Hina had not walked by.
"Good evening," he said.
"Are you having some trouble?" Her tone was as polite and false as his.
He smiled at her, it was forced and uncomfortable. "I can't seem to find the right key for my bike," he said.
"It's kind of late for a bike ride, isn't it?"
The boy's smile dropped and he got to his feet. He stood in front of Hina, and looked her up and down. "And it's too late for a middle schooler to be out." He jerked his head over his shoulder. "Go back home. It's a school night."
She crossed her arms. "If you're having trouble with your bike chain," she said, "cut it with those things you have." She made a snipping motion with her fingers.
His eyes narrowed behind his large-framed glasses. "I don't know what you're talking about." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and put more of himself between Hina and the red bike. And his knapsack.
"You don't have a pair of bolt cutters with orange handles, black grips, and a black head?"
Hina enjoyed watching the boy's face go slack for a moment. Her powers still amazed her. Score one for enhanced sight, she thought.
He shrugged, trying to feign indifference but failing. "What I have in my bag is none of your business." His voice rose in pitch on the last word. "Go home."
