“Hello? Yes? May I help you?”
“It’s Chia McKenzie, from Seattle.”
“You are still in Seattle?”
“I’m here. In Tokyo.” She upped the scale on the Sandbenders’ map. “In a subway station called Shinjuku.”
“Yes. Very good. Are you coming here now?”
“I’d sure like to. I’m really tired.”
The voice began to explain the route.
“It’s okay,” Chia said, “my computer can do it. Just tell me the station I have to get to.” She found it on the map, set a marker. “How
long will it take to get there?”
“Twenty to thirty minutes, depending on how crowded the
trains are. I will meet you there.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Chia said. “Just give me your address.”
“Japanese addresses are difficult.”
“It’s okay,” Chia said, “I’ve got global positioning.” The Sandbenders, working the Tokyo telco, was already showing her Mitsuko Mimura’s latitude and longitude. In Seattle, that only worked for business numbers. 85 No,” Mitsuko said, “I must greet you. Jam the social secretary.’
Thanks,” Chia said. “I’m on my way.’
With her bag over her shoulder, left partly unzipped so she could follow the Sandbenders’ verbal prompts, Chia rode an escalator up, two levels, bought a ticket with her cashcard, and found her platform. It was really crowded, as crowded as the airport, but when the train came she let the crowd pick her up and squash her into the nearest car; it would’ve been harder not to get on.
As they pulled out, she heard the Sandbenders announce that they were leaving Shinjuku station.
The sky was like mother-of-pearl when Chia emerged from the station. Gray buildings, pastel neon, a streetscape dotted with vaguely unfamiliar shapes. Dozens of bicycles were parked everywhere, the fragile-looking kind with paper-tube frames spun with carbon fiber. Chia took a step back as an enormous turquoise garbage truck rumbled past, its driver’s white-gloved hands visible on the high wheel. As it cleared her held of vision, she saw a Japanese girl wearing a short plaid skirt and black biker jacket. The girl smiled. Chia waved.
Mitsuko’s second-floor room was above the rear of her father’s restaurant. Chia could hear a steady thumping sound from below, and Mitsuko explained that that was a food-prep robot that chopped and sliced things.
The room was smaller than Chia’s bedroom in Seattle, but much cleaner, very near and organized. So was Mitsuko, who had a razor-edged coppery diagonal bleached into her black bangs, and wore sneakers with double soles. She was thirteen, a year younger than Chia.
Mitsuko had introduced Chia to her father, who wore a white, short-sleeved shirt, a tie, and was supervising three white-gloved men in blue coveralls, who were cleaning his restaurant with great 86 WUII;,n, Gibson energy and determination, Mitsuko’s father had nodded, smiled, said something in Japanese, and gone back to what he was doing. On their way upstairs, Mitsuko, who didn’t speak much English, told Chia that she’d told her father that Chia was part of some cultural-exchange program, short-term homestay, something to do with her school.
Mitsuko had the same poster on her wall, the original cover shot from the Dog Soup album.
Mitsuko went downstairs, returning with a pot of tea and a covered, segmented box that contained a California roll and an assortment of less familiar things. Grateful for the familiarity of the California roll, Chia ate everything except the one with the orange sea-urchin goo on top. Mirsuko complimented her on her skill with chopsticks. Chia said she was from Seattle and people there used chopsticks a lot.
Now they were both wearing wireless ear-clip headsets. The translation was generally glitch-free, except when Mitsuko used Japanese slang that was too new, or when she inserted English words that she knew but couldnt pronounce.
Chia wanted to ask her about Rez and the idoru, but they kept getting onto other things. Then Chia fell asleep, sitting up cross-legged on the floor, and Mitsuko must have managed to roll her onto a hard little futon-thing that she’d unfolded from somewhere, because that was where Chia woke up, three hours later.
A rainy silver light was at the room’s narrow window.
Mitsuko appeared with another pot of tea, and said something in Japanese. Chia found her ear-clip and put it on.