the Devil Quake, or attributed to the Devil Quake itself? A satisfactory answer has eluded all my investigations. How could that intention be described in the first place? This is where scholars are bound to focus their attention next.”
Sasaki worried he was laying it on a bit too thick. The young man listened attentively with no evident distaste. Or at least he appeared to be paying attention. Sasaki had no choice but to continue. At some point, the drive of a veteran reporter to seek out a response from the questioner had abruptly waned.
“This was the focus of my attention when I started collecting material. A magnitude 8.5 earthquake struck directly beneath the city. As if reading a map, the earthquake left the neighboring wards untouched. What could explain such a phenomenon?”
Sasaki took a breath and continued.
“How could forty-five thousand people die while at the same time and literally next door, not even a puppy was hurt? Then there were the repeated and unsettling setbacks in the reconstruction efforts. The killing sprees with automatic weapons. The transport that inexplicably went missing on its return route. The memorial service where the skin melted off the priest’s body. What is at the root of all this? There’s so much to investigate that I hardly knew where to begin. In fact, were it not for a rather trivial incident, I would have approached this special edition with a point of view hardly different from the rest, and equally far removed from the reality of the situation.”
He stopped talking. Not so much because he’d come to the conclusion of his thoughts. Something stirred on the young man’s face, as if to say: Don’t tell me what I already know .
Sasaki hadn’t gotten to the point, but Setsura Aki was doing a fast-forward. He asked in a perfectly polite tone of voice, “What was this rather trivial incident?”
Sasaki gulped a bit. His mouth was so dry there was nothing left to swallow. “That would be—” he began hoarsely. He paused and tried to summon up some saliva to wet his vocal cords. He hadn’t felt like this even interviewing one of Shinjuku’s deadliest assassins.
“A friend of mine is an internist,” he began again. “He showed me something very interesting, a microcellular scan he’d done on a cancer patient. The display showed the afflicted carcinoma and the surrounding organs. This was a patient on his death bed. The only question was how rapidly the cancer cells would invade the healthy tissue. He’d mapped the whole thing using computer graphics. Not exactly my cup of tea, but he seemed to get a kick out of it.”
Sasaki permitted himself a small sigh. “So I ended up as the spectator for his show. The cancer cells were dyed black. They spread into the white normal cells. I sat there glued to my seat. You can probably guess where this is going. The map of those cells perfectly aligned with a map of Tokyo—I know, because I carry a map of Tokyo with me wherever I go. I pulled it out, and I swear it raised the hairs on the back of my neck.”
He wiped his brow. The ventilation left much to be desired. All the better to make the suspect literally sweat. The interrogators could take a drug to cool down their own body temperature during the questioning. But it wasn’t the warmth that was making Sasaki sweat. The fever was erupting from within. He felt he’d said too much already. He felt something approaching despair.
“That definitely is quite interesting.” Though his eyes said something else entirely. “Please continue. Let’s get to me and Roran.”
“Ah, first, I need some water.”
“Yeah, it is hot. But there’s no running water down here. Keep going, in as much detail as you can.”
“Just a minute—”
“Exactly how did you come to know about me and Roran?”
Sasaki stared back at him. It was like he was looking at a different person. “Who—who the hell are you?” Civility was hardly the issue now.
“How did you find out
Sasaki worried he was laying it on a bit too thick. The young man listened attentively with no evident distaste. Or at least he appeared to be paying attention. Sasaki had no choice but to continue. At some point, the drive of a veteran reporter to seek out a response from the questioner had abruptly waned.
“This was the focus of my attention when I started collecting material. A magnitude 8.5 earthquake struck directly beneath the city. As if reading a map, the earthquake left the neighboring wards untouched. What could explain such a phenomenon?”
Sasaki took a breath and continued.
“How could forty-five thousand people die while at the same time and literally next door, not even a puppy was hurt? Then there were the repeated and unsettling setbacks in the reconstruction efforts. The killing sprees with automatic weapons. The transport that inexplicably went missing on its return route. The memorial service where the skin melted off the priest’s body. What is at the root of all this? There’s so much to investigate that I hardly knew where to begin. In fact, were it not for a rather trivial incident, I would have approached this special edition with a point of view hardly different from the rest, and equally far removed from the reality of the situation.”
He stopped talking. Not so much because he’d come to the conclusion of his thoughts. Something stirred on the young man’s face, as if to say: Don’t tell me what I already know .
Sasaki hadn’t gotten to the point, but Setsura Aki was doing a fast-forward. He asked in a perfectly polite tone of voice, “What was this rather trivial incident?”
Sasaki gulped a bit. His mouth was so dry there was nothing left to swallow. “That would be—” he began hoarsely. He paused and tried to summon up some saliva to wet his vocal cords. He hadn’t felt like this even interviewing one of Shinjuku’s deadliest assassins.
“A friend of mine is an internist,” he began again. “He showed me something very interesting, a microcellular scan he’d done on a cancer patient. The display showed the afflicted carcinoma and the surrounding organs. This was a patient on his death bed. The only question was how rapidly the cancer cells would invade the healthy tissue. He’d mapped the whole thing using computer graphics. Not exactly my cup of tea, but he seemed to get a kick out of it.”
Sasaki permitted himself a small sigh. “So I ended up as the spectator for his show. The cancer cells were dyed black. They spread into the white normal cells. I sat there glued to my seat. You can probably guess where this is going. The map of those cells perfectly aligned with a map of Tokyo—I know, because I carry a map of Tokyo with me wherever I go. I pulled it out, and I swear it raised the hairs on the back of my neck.”
He wiped his brow. The ventilation left much to be desired. All the better to make the suspect literally sweat. The interrogators could take a drug to cool down their own body temperature during the questioning. But it wasn’t the warmth that was making Sasaki sweat. The fever was erupting from within. He felt he’d said too much already. He felt something approaching despair.
“That definitely is quite interesting.” Though his eyes said something else entirely. “Please continue. Let’s get to me and Roran.”
“Ah, first, I need some water.”
“Yeah, it is hot. But there’s no running water down here. Keep going, in as much detail as you can.”
“Just a minute—”
“Exactly how did you come to know about me and Roran?”
Sasaki stared back at him. It was like he was looking at a different person. “Who—who the hell are you?” Civility was hardly the issue now.
“How did you find out
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