Gene Mapper (6 page)

“Could we do this project in person?”

“In person? You mean physically in person?”

This was a surprise. I’d worked with Kurokawa for several years and never actually met the man. Sure, I got together with friends, but AR had made physical presence almost completely unnecessary for work.

“Yes, in person. I’d like you to come to my office. I have a slight problem with using TrueNet to interface with the same address too often. I know this sounds odd. It’s not the usual approach.”

“Well, I have two hundred gigabytes of data to deal with. It would be easier if we were in one place.”

“Two
hundre
d
?”

“Yep, and I’m not sure why, but that’s what they sent me. It looks like the sample is a mix of DNA from several organisms.” The dog’s brown eyes opened wide in surprise. “I’m waiting for a redo on the sampling, but I don’t want to sit around waiting. Bringing you what I have and dealing with it on your end would be faster and more efficient. The thing is, I’d need my agent to sign off. Can you wait?”

“Of course. No problem. If you come, I can be your consultant. My knowledge should be useful overall,” he said. “I promise not to charge much, especially if you take the trouble to travel.”

It was an attractive proposal. With Yagodo’s skills, I felt sure we’d identify the intruder that much faster. On the other hand, I still didn’t know much about him. If he was a member of Anonymous—they mostly hated TrueNet—I could still work with him. If he was a No ID fundamentalist, I wouldn’t be able to cut a contract with him. It was L&B policy: no dealings with “antisocial” people or groups.

“Thanks for offering to consult. It’s just that my client doesn’t let me do business with people who follow a certain philosophy.”

“Rest easy, Mamoru. I’m not Anonymous, certainly not No ID. You’ll see when you get to Ho Chi Minh.”

“Ho Chi Minh?”

“Vietnam. Oh, forgot my location data.” The dog dipped his head and raised a paw in the universal gesture for “sorry.” The avatar concealed Yagodo’s expression, but I was starting to like the man on the other side of the stage.

By now I was really looking forward to meeting him. I knew I was dealing with a talented salvager, maybe astonishingly talented. I didn’t even care whether he gave us advice. If all I had to do was fly to Vietnam, get what I was looking for, and be back within a week, I’d be satisfied.

I also liked the idea of seeing Ho Chi Minh City. Meeting in augmented reality is enough for just about any type of work-related communication. Opportunities to get out of Japan and get paid for it are almost nonexistent.

vietnam/ho chi minh
appeared in the commstat bar. I couldn’t understand how this was possible.

“Doesn’t TrueNet display location data automatically?”

“Sorry, I didn’t know it was required for your stage. I’ll input it next time.”

Input it. If Yagodo had access to system-level resources, he could input anything he wanted. If so, he was off the charts in terms of network expertise, on top of his professional-level genetic engineering background and virtuoso salvaging skills. The cliché “hacker” was crossing my mind when his avatar suddenly started breaking up.

I was looking at compression artifacts. His right leg jumped from one point to another and back again, as if the image were running backward. The next instant, I heard my avatar speaking, though I hadn’t said anything.

“My contact will probably come along.”

“Will you be bringing anyone with you?”

Yagodo’s voice arrived after my avatar’s response. I almost responded, then I remembered: my avatar had already spoken … ?

“Thank you.” My avatar again. Yagodo’s video feed kept blurring and jerking. The hair on the dog’s head rose, then lay abruptly flat again. He looked at me, then the image jumped and he was looking off into space. What was going on?

“I’ll send you an estimate for my services right away.”

I opened my mouth to say “Thank you,” but my avatar was already answering. It was as if time were running backward.

Yagodo says he’ll send an estimate, and I thank him. He asks about the number of hotel guests, and I answer. That was the only correct sequence for the exchange.

“I’m not in a hurry, but you must be. I’ll start getting things ready. That way you can be here anytime starting tomorrow.”

The dog began to lower his right paw, then looked left and right as if noticing something. “Damn, I think we’re out of sync.”

“My avatar is responding on its own. What’s going on?”

The dog popped back into focus. Now my avatar spoke when I did.

“Too many censor spiders on that circuit, so I switched us through Taiwan. This circuit has a lot less latency. I think it confused your delay sensor.”

He switched the circuit? How did he do that?

“Are you all right, Mamoru? No dizziness or headache?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Then there’s no need to worry. There was around a second of latency before I made the switch. Your avatar was timing your responses. The new circuit has almost zero latency, which put your avatar out of sync for a few seconds. You were coming through normally on this end.”

So it was the delay sensor. I was unconsciously used to communicating with the delay; my awareness of what I was hearing was fouled up by the change in latency. At least I guessed that was what happened. I knew the stage corrected for delays to make the conversation sound as if it were unfolding in real time, but that also meant you might remember something out of order from the way it happened. It was hard to believe, but what remained in memory was a conversation that took place in reverse order.

I was starting to wonder about my dependence on an avatar. Was this why Kurokawa insisted on using RealVu? Maybe I needed to dial back my behavior settings and work on my communication skills a bit.

“Yes, I think I’ll be coming with my agent.”

“Sorry to keep asking favors, but would you mind if I text you the details and my budget? I’m enjoying our talk, but I’ve been on too long.”

“No problem. I’m pretty sure we’ll be asking you to handle the job. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can about the trip schedule.”

The dog put four legs on the chair and jumped to the floor. “That’s right, I forgot.” He wagged his tail.

“Listen, Mamoru. The DNA, the data they sent you for the intruder. That two hundred gigabytes—was it a single data set?”

“Yes. It looks like the samples were contaminated with insect DNA and DNA from the distilled crop plants.”

“Insects? How long did it take them to extract the DNA after gathering the samples?”

“Less than half a day.”

“Then the samples weren’t contaminated. That’s a single continuous genome from a single organism.”

“But it’s two hundred gigabytes. An organism with a hundred times more DNA than humans—”

“Is impossible? We’ll think about that when you get to Ho Chi Minh City.”

The dog winked and bounded off.

*   *   *

I closed the stage and opened my workspace. The message from Yagodo was already in my inbox. His fee was eight thousand “Common World Dollars”—eight grand was the target I listed in my recruiting ad—and another two thousand for consulting. It was just like a salvager to send me a quote in an imaginary currency, even though my target was US dollars. Anyway, I guessed L&B would agree to the fee.

What surprised me was Yagodo’s resume. It was complete, straightforward, and digitally signed. Isamu Yagodo, resident of Vietnam. The contact number and account he used for the meeting matched the numbers in the status bar. He might be a member of Anonymous, but he was no fundamentalist. Still, his knowledge of network architecture and ability to manipulate the digital domain meant that I couldn’t trust him to be exactly what he seemed.

I played back the part of our meeting where the conversation had seemed to flow backward, but there were no compression artifacts and nothing odd about the sequence. I was already having trouble remembering what I’d experienced.

“Add comment to archive: avatar delay sensor malfunction.”

I decided not to just make a note of it. Part of my problem was that I was relying too much on my avatar.

“Disable avatar Behavior Manager and set Behavior Correction to Weak.”

Mamoru, if you lower Behavior Correction to Weak, your mumbling and incessant eye blinking will not be filtered. You want to look your best in meetings, don’t you?

“I don’t care; lower it.”

Yagodo’s avatar made it hard to judge, but I suspected he wasn’t using Behavior Correction. I didn’t feel like going to the same lengths as Kurokawa, but I thought I’d better learn to show a little more of myself to the world.

“Message to Kurokawa. Attach Yagodo’s text file and an edited summary of the video.”

If I could get Yagodo on our team, it would be only a matter of time before we identified the intruder. Running across someone so capable so early in the investigation felt like a good omen.

Then there was the chance to actually travel—what did they used to say, “take a business trip”? To physically go to a foreign country to complete a task, in an era when there was hardly anything that couldn’t be handled over TrueNet. I was looking forward to it.

Kurokawa got back to me in record time.

OKAY TO USE YAGODO AND TRAVEL TO VIETNAM. TAKASHI

There was an attachment. It was an air ticket to Ho Chi Minh City. The challenge ahead was going to be tough, but maybe Kurokawa was as eager as I was to get out for a change.

I checked the departure date. My eyes widened.

The flight left the next morning.

I noticed the runway as I descended from the Boeing at Tan Son Nhat International. The apron was marked with green and white lines that looked like fresh paint. To my still-sleepy eyes—I was out from the takeoff roll until just before landing—they looked almost too fresh.

These pristine markings on the flight apron were another achievement of genetic engineering: sustainable cement excreted by designed coral. They were unmarked even after being scuffed all day by shoes and vehicle tires. Mother Mekong used the same technology to get their Active Ground Cover certification. The terrestrial coral digested air pollutants and waste stuck to the concrete, keeping the apron and its markings spotless.

I looked more closely at the unnaturally vivid markings and remembered the propaganda images I’d seen of small animals being “eaten” by “carnivorous” pavement. Nature addicts hated this kind of engineering.

The sharply defined lettering and details expressed by the coral looked classier than the huge logos I mapped onto grass species. I’d heard that the coral could do a complete redraw overnight. The color-expression technology was probably not all that different from the techniques I used for logos, but it was a different specialty, and I couldn’t quite picture how the mapping was done. Watching the coral as it redrew might give me ideas, but I didn’t have many chances to visit an airport in the middle of the night.

I had arrived at Narita International at five a.m. to pick up everything I thought I might need for a trip to Vietnam. I couldn’t believe that the “business trip” I lucked into would mean a six a.m. check-in. All I’d had time to do the night before was format the data for analysis and pack the gear I needed to run Gene Analytics. I understood why Kurokawa was in a hurry, but sparing a day for prep—a day, at least—would’ve been great. I was worried I’d get to Vietnam and discover I’d left something critical behind.

I was mentally checklisting my suitcase as I turned into the corridor that led to passport control. A man in a neatly tailored suit was ahead of me, pushing a huge four-wheeled suitcase. There was no mistaking the clothes and the neatly parted hair.

“Takashi!”

Kurokawa swung the bag around skillfully so he could look at me and keep it moving. I felt suddenly dizzy. There seemed to be something wrong with my sense of perspective.

The round, smooth face, the doll-like hair, and the dark irises peering steadily from behind black-framed glasses were a mirror image of the Kurokawa I knew from years of augmented reality meetings. The deft way he handled his luggage was familiar too. But his body was completely different.

“Nice to see you in the flesh, Mamoru.”

The voice and steady gaze were coming from somewhere below the level of my breastbone. The man was tiny: four foot six, seven at the most. His body had the proportions of a full-grown adult, with perfectly formed feet and hands. He reminded me of those artifacts you see on low-quality stages where the scaling is screwed up.

“I’ll be joining you on this trip to Ho Chi Minh City. Thanks for having me along.”

Kurokawa placed his arms at his sides and executed a picture-perfect bow. He looked like a salaryman in an old movie. Actors don’t know how to bow like that anymore. With hardly any chances to meet face to face in work settings, I wondered where he’d learned to bow so smoothly.

“The pleasure is mine.” Caught up in the moment, I did my version of a bow. Naturally my shoulder strap slipped off, almost dumping a load of delicate gear on the floor. I made a grab for the strap and hoisted it back on my shoulder. My bow left me looking down on Kurokawa from directly above, which felt even more unsettling.

Maybe it would be better to shake? By the time my hand was extended, Kurokawa was holding out a small paper rectangle with both hands. It was printed with his name, contact number, and network account. I turned the rectangle over. The other side displayed the same information in English.

“Takashi, what is this?”

“It’s called a business card. Please keep it on file.”

Since we weren’t in AR, I didn’t have AutoGlossary to help me out, but then I remembered. Business cards were a kind of physical media used to exchange personal data. I’d only seen them in movies.

“Interesting.” While I was wondering what the polite thing would be to do with it, someone behind me yelled in English.

“Hey, you!”

I spun around and saw a cart stopped in the corridor, piled high with luggage. The suitcases were plastered all over with red
fragile
stickers. A skinheaded woman stuck her head around the luggage mountain and glared at me.

“Out of the way. Your ass is blocking the corridor.” Yet more English.

I wasn’t exactly in her way, but it must’ve been hard for her to see. I gave her some space. As she pushed past us, she stared at Kurokawa from behind dark sunglasses.

“Sorry, kid. Didn’t see you.”

I was still processing this statement in English as she walked away. Then she laughed derisively, and the nickel dropped.

“You—!”

“Mamoru!”

Kurokawa was on tiptoe with his hands raised to block my line of sight. The woman turned, glared again, and flipped me off before striding away.

“I appreciate your support, but I’m used to this kind of thing. You don’t need to feel bad about it.”

“Okay, but …”

“At least I don’t look my age.” He smiled and looked down at his knit tie, carefully tucking it into place behind his jacket button. He took his time with it. Maybe this was how he absorbed the pain. Even if he was used to being singled out, it still had to hurt.

“Aren’t you going to be hot? The tie, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m dressed for the heat.”

With a smooth motion, he undid the button and opened his jacket. The light behind him showed through the single unlined layer of cloth.

“But didn’t you hear the announcement? It’s thirty-five degrees outside.”

“Don’t you know it’s cooler to wear a coat when it’s hot? I bet you’re the one who sweats when we get out there.” He glanced at my T-shirt and jeans.

*   *   *

I waited next to the baggage carousel while Kurokawa dealt with the telecom services agent. He was arranging a local flat-rate stage. He would need it. He had to be ready for L&B anytime day or night.

Kurokawa was on tiptoe, clutching the edge of the VIET ARV counter with one hand and gesturing animatedly with the other. He was a veteran international traveler, but from where I stood he looked like a child trying to keep his balance.

Why was he so small? He always had a healthy glow. Even after meetings that ran far past midnight, he was at work the next day with as much energy as anyone. He certainly wasn’t weak. His precise movements and gestures in our meetings—I’d never seen him use an avatar—proved that his motor coordination was above average. Maybe he’d had some major illness as a child? I was curious, but I couldn’t see asking him straight out.

As I was mulling this over, Kurokawa came back with an actual paper receipt in his hand.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I can’t believe how cheap their stage is. Five dollars a day for unlimited use. Why don’t you get one while you’re here? I’ll bill L&B for it.”

“I’m covered. I have roaming.”

“Isn’t that expensive? By the day, it must be—”

“Twenty dollars if I max out. Remember, I’ll be stuck in Yagodo’s office almost the whole the time.”

“Yes, I forgot.”

Before I hit the sack the night before, Kurokawa had confirmed that Mother Mekong was already collecting the second round of samples from the intruder and SR06 at multiple locations across the site. He was expecting the new data today.

Yagodo wouldn’t be on the case until tomorrow at the earliest, but once he started salvaging I’d have my hands full looking for matches. Since Yagodo was an excellent salvager, I might have to comb through dozens of genomes a day. It didn’t look like I’d have much time to get out.

But I wasn’t in Vietnam just to sift through suspect genomes. We still had no idea why the mutation—or intrusion—happened and only a month to figure out how to stop it from happening again. If Yagodo’s advice didn’t turn out to be helpful, I’d have to head back to Tokyo as soon as the salvaging was done.

“I guess all we have today is our meet and greet with Yagodo?”

“Yes, and I’m looking forward to it. I watched that video closely. Yagodo is a real find. Even L&B doesn’t have many people with that much talent.”

“Yeah. That dog avatar took me by surprise though. Hey, it’s about time.”

My suitcase was finally coming along the carousel.

*   *   *

“This person who’s meeting us. How do you pronounce that?”

Yagodo had texted that a “Miss Nguyen” would be waiting at the airport. The gender was clear, but the name was a mystery. How did you say it?

“It must be something like ‘Gwen,’ ” said Kurokawa over his shoulder. I was pushing a cart loaded with our luggage while Kurokawa walked ahead. We emerged from the baggage claim area into the lobby and a sea of faces, all yelling at once.

“Hey mister! Over here!” “Taxi, very cheap!”

A waist-high fence ran the length of the lobby, separating us from the taxi and hotel touts, people holding boards with passenger names, and throngs of waiting people. The touts shouted in Japanese, probably because of Kurokawa’s suit.

I stopped in my tracks, stunned by the noise. In a few seconds the T-shirt under my shoulder strap was damp. The low-ceilinged lobby must have had air conditioning, but it felt five degrees hotter than back by the carousel. The aroma of chicken broth and cilantro filled my nostrils, reminding me that I’d missed lunch on the plane.

The crowd behind the railings seemed incredibly diverse. I kept noticing a man in a short-sleeved Mao jacket and black slacks with a bored smirk on his face. He was holding a sign at chest level that said “Gorph Robertson” in fancy calligraphy. I walked the length of the railing slowly, but no one was holding a board with our names on it.

I reached the far end of the lobby and headed back. The skinhead who had called Kurokawa “kid” was walking toward the central exit, followed by a straw-haired guy pushing her luggage cart. The cart was now piled even higher with luggage that she must have checked. The mound looked like it was about to topple. The pair passed through the exit and out of sight.

“They must be journalists. That’s quite a load.”

I heard Kurokawa, but my attention was nailed to the exit. A young woman with long black hair was standing just inside, next to the automatic door.

The lobby was crowded with people reuniting with loved ones, hugging and chatting happily. Others crisscrossed the lobby, turning their heads constantly, searching for someone. In the middle of all this the woman stood motionless, holding a board with something on it, staring intently at the baggage claim exit.

She was wearing a close-fitting white silk tunic with trailing flaps front and back over pants of the same material. The sunlight glowed through the loose cuffs of her sleeves and the fabric of her pants, gently suggesting the outlines of her body. Whenever the door slid open, a puff of air stirred the flaps of her tunic, which reached almost to the floor. Her long limbs and petite head were a contrast with the women around her. She stood with her weight on her right leg, upper body turned slightly like a model. The pose reminded me of an avatar.

“I think that’s her.” Kurokawa pointed. Now I saw that the board she was holding had our names in ink-brushed characters. It was upside down, which was why I hadn’t noticed it before.

“Excuse me, are you Miss Nguyen?”

She turned and stared. After a beat, her face blossomed into a smile.

“Sure, I’m Nguyen. Assistant of Yagodo-san. You are Hayashida-san and Kurokawa-san, right? Welcome Ho Chi Minh City!” She slipped the board under her arm, held it against her slender torso, and stood at attention to welcome us, head slightly cocked. I liked the rhythm of her English and her ever-changing expression.

“Nice to meet you,” I said in English. “Um, your board is upside down.”

“Really? I apology to rotate your name. I’m not familiar for Japanese.” She snatched the board from under her arm, hurriedly turned it the right way, and held it out to show us. “Is it okay? I’m so sorry.”

Kurokawa smiled and shook his head. “Ok-kay, u-ee doan u-orry bauts. Dikkimura u-raitto itsu?”

“Yes, Yagodo-san write this.”

I couldn’t believe it. She understood him. Is this how he spoke English outside augmented reality? At least they were communicating. I just wasn’t sure how.

The pleasing rhythm of Nguyen’s English totally belied the impression of coldness she’d given when I first noticed her. If she was going to be around the office, this visit—business trip—was shaping up to be more fun than I’d expected.

Kurokawa nudged me in the hip.

“What?”

“Oh … nothing. I’ll tell you later.” He pointed to his glasses.

“We’ll go to your hotel by taxi. Are those all your baggages? Okay, follow m—”

Nguyen spun around, spinning the flaps of her tunic in opposite directions, and thrust an index finger toward the automatic door, but it didn’t open fast enough. She jammed her finger against the glass.

“Đau!

Charming, but a bit ditzy.

*   *   *

We hit the traffic jam as soon as we got onto the main artery heading downtown, after the soccer stadium. The four-lane road was a sea of immobilized electric vehicles with just enough space for electric motorbikes with two (or three) riders and throngs of jaywalkers to weave between. Children pinned flyers behind windshield wipers. Beggars followed, plucking the ads off and wiping down the windshields before motioning for tips. There were a lot of missing limbs and people on crutches. Nguyen dismissed them all with a wave from the front seat, but everyone was smiling, no one seemed stressed out. It made the whole scene easier to take.

Kurokawa and I sat in the back. I felt cramped, but Kurokawa had plenty of space to cross his legs. He leaned toward me and smiled. “Don’t you envy me? I’m always in business class.”