NightSide - Asynchronous Mud

The man held out his left hand, and Watanabe saw the man's entire right arm had been seriously mangled, and was now barely useable. Without words he held out his own battered left hand and bowed slightly.

"Mark Stuart," the other man said, returning the bow.

"Kenji Watanabe. I am so pleased to meet you."

"What say we head on up to the house. Sorry, but there are going to be a few people here tonight, politicians and other like-minded whores, if you know what I mean, and a few Hollywood types to liven things up a bit."

"Ah, well perhaps I should excuse myself then. I am tired, and do not feel much like a party tonight?"

"As you wish, but I have to tell you, I think you'll regret that decision."

There was something in the way Stuart said those last few words...some infinitesimally small warning in the man's tone that let Watanabe know he was being judged, even if from afar. He decided, despite knowing he was being manipulated, to put aside his own discomfort and agreed to join the man on this walk up to the main house.

Which was, as far as he could tell, an almost faithful replica of Greene & Greene's Gamble House, right down to the arboreal front entry. He walked inside with Stuart and his eyes lit up as he took in forests of honeyed oak, all glowing in verdigris-accented amber mica lamplight. And then to his utter amazement he saw several Hollywood types, including more than a few unimaginably beautiful woman dressed in all the most fashionable shades of preening vanity, these men and women so astonishingly gorgeous he found the scene grotesquely amusing. And when he spotted least two senators talking to one of the women, two men whose corrupt nature would normally be a given, he had smiled inside -- because now he knew the danger here was great. Even if he hadn't known them personally, known them to be noble men dedicated to government service, he would have felt as such -- because mixing politics and lust always led to dubious outcomes. Then one of the politicians, the Junior Senator from State of California, saw him and waved before he came over to greet him -- and Mark Stuart...

"Kenji! What the devil are you doing over here?"

"He's come," Stuart interrupted, "to spend some time here with me this weekend. We were going to take a ride in the morning, if you have the time...?"

"Hell, Mark, of course I'll make time. I had no idea you two knew each other..."

But just then an older starlet of fading repute walked over to join their conversation; she'd just been nominated for Best Supporting Actress in the upcoming Academy Awards, for her performance in a cop movie set in South Central LA, and Watanabe regarded her warily, afraid of her reaction to his disfigurement.

"Mark? I didn't know you ran with Republicans," she said in a chiding tone as she walked up and took his arm in her own. "Say it isn't so!"

"Oh, Samantha, you know me...I'll let anyone come to these little parties..." Stuart said with a self-deprecating shrug. "Let me introduce you to a friend of mine, just in from Tokyo. Kenji, this is Sam Sinfield. I don't think you two have met..."

"A sincere honor," Watanabe said, bowing deeply as he held out his hand. 'She took it! And with not the slightest look of revulsion in her eyes...!'

"Kenji! Isn't that the cutest name!" she gushed in a deepest Carolina accent, keeping his hand firmly wrapped in hers. "Kenji? Why don't you come with me -- buy me a drink or two?" She pulled him away from Stuart and they walked over to a bar set-up just off the main kitchen. "What'll it be, Kenji?" she asked as she ordered some kind of Mojito.

"The same, please," he said, bowing his head indifferently.

After the bartender finished two huckleberry mojitos, the two of them walked out onto a vast brick and stone patio located just off the living room, and Watanabe almost hissed as, startled, he took in the view of the bay spread out below. The sun was setting and he saw city lights just winking on, yet he felt the autumn air was still warm. "What a nice evening this is," Ms Sinfield said as a soft breeze drifted from the forests surrounding the vast house -- filling the air with scents of pine and eucalyptus and lending the whole scene a little golden tint of 'Hollywood'. He took a sip of his drink, noted fresh mint and berries of some sort mashed in the bottom of the glass, and he nodded his head in approval.

"It's just yummy out here, don't you think, Kenj..." the woman sighed intimately. "Like the night is full of magic, alive with infinite possibilities...ya know?"

He heard the woman but was too wrapped up in the even-glow to consider her words carefully, at least at first, but then he recognized the trap and stopped himself from falling further under her spell. 'I am being grossly manipulated,' he told himself. 'Why else would this woman be here with me? Speaking to me in such familiar terms?'

"Yes," he replied, "just so. But I have always considered that the infinite resides in the night."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"How else could the way ahead be lit?"

She sighed, nodded her head. "Do you really think we can ever know such things, Kenji?"

"All things are possible, Miss Sinfield, in the soft glow of an evening like this."

"So, why'd Mark invite you tonight? Bad karma?"

He looked at her when he heard that. "I'm not sure what you mean, Miss Sinfield?"

"Oh, Mark has been kind of a recluse for a few years. You know...the Howard Hughes thing, but recently all that changed."

"I see. Well...We talked earlier in the week about a business proposal of sorts, and he invited me to meet someone he thought I might find interesting."

"Interesting?"

"An assistant of his. Eve is, I think, her name."

"Oh. Her," she said, a falling note of despair in her voice.

"You do not sound very happy about the idea. May I ask why?"

"Sure, but it's no secret. Ever since she came into his life he's been different. I would have said it was love at one point but it's much deeper than that now, I think. She's become like an extension of his soul, and he rarely goes anywhere without her. You know, Mark used to be very shy, almost introverted, but now I'd say he's almost the exact opposite. Very secure in his skin, very sure of himself, if you know what I mean...?"

"But -- is that such a bad thing?" Kenji asked, yet almost immediately he regretted asking the question, for he could see the answer in the woman's eyes. She had loved this Mark Stuart once-upon-a-time, though he suspected in the superficial way an actress might love a wealthy man, and perhaps she had been unable to elicit such a response from Stuart. "I mean," he said quickly, trying to seize the direction he wanted this conversation to go, "have you talked to her? Do you think she feels the same way towards Mr Stuart?"

"You know, I have. Once, at lunch on Mark's boat, we talked a bit -- about men, I think -- and she professed to know little about them, only what she knew about men through her understanding of Mark. It's funny, I think, but to me right then it felt like she can't see the past, any past, beyond what the time they've had together." She paused, took a sip from her mojito and then shook her head. "All I can say is that she seems completely devoted to him. And I mean completely."

"Devoted, you say. What about love? Do you think she loves him?"

"Kenji...what is this? Are you pumping me for information?"

Watanabe felt red-faced and flushed, as if he was suddenly sweating hellfire when she asked him that, and though he stammered an apology he felt angry with himself for such an obtuse show of emotion. "No, I am sorry if it seems that way. It's just that I've heard so much -- yet at the same time very little of substance -- about her, so a thousand pardons as I was merely curious. Even so, I am compelled to ask: did you love him before she came?"

The ball in the other court now, he watched her reaction to this parry -- yet he was disappointed again.

"You know, Kenji, at one time or another everyone falls in love with Mark. Everyone. First you fall for his generosity, then you see something under it all...something deep inside like a force of nature. A more powerful intellect you'll never meet, but then you dig a little deeper and you find out he's really, at heart, a gentle soul. And the funny thing is, Kenji, he really wants to accomplish something good in this lifetime, yet he's not so sure of himself that he really knows what 'good' is. Does that make any sense at all?"

Watanabe nodded his head. "Yes, very much. History has been a long parade of men who were certain of their knowledge, and the tides of time are littered with dubious results."

"Exactly. Mark questions everything, but most of all he questions his own preconceptions. Anyway, I think everyone who gets to know him well begins to understand that about him. And Kenji, in the end I think that's why everyone falls in love with him."

"Everyone?"

"Oh, you know what I mean. It's that thing that draws people -- almost like moths to the flame. They used to call it charisma, but I never thought of that kind of attraction as something so banal. People loved JFK, half the country cried their eyes out for a week after his murder...and while I'm just as sorry as I can be -- but that ain't charisma. That's love."

"Ah, I see what you mean. You are saying that people almost, well, they almost venerate Mr Stuart?"

"Oh, not quite that...Oh, look! There she is..." Sinfield said, trying not to point.

"Who?" Kenji asked, following her gaze, but he didn't need any further cues. No, he could tell, just by looking at Stuart's eyes.

He was looking at a fairly good looking woman, taller than himself but about the same height as Stuart. Reddish brown hair, flawless skin, much whiter than Stuart's, and she was dressed simply, yet quite elegantly -- like she had consciously dressed so as not to upstage any of his guests that evening. And yes, there was something almost serene about the man's eyes now that she was with him -- like he was suddenly complete, whole again, despite his obvious injuries.

'So much like me,' Watanabe thought, and suddenly he wondered if that was important.

"Come on, Kenji, it's time you met her, don't you think?"

"Yes, perhaps so," he said, taking the actress' hand, yet now, suddenly, he felt quite nervous again about this whole evening. About the idea of a meeting with Stuart -- and about acquiring an 'assistant' -- whatever that might mean, but soon they were back in the living room, standing by the man...and this assistant of his.

"Mark?" Samantha said innocently, "has Eve met Kenji yet?"

"No, I don't think he has," Stuart said, turning to the woman by his side. "Eve, this is the man I was talking to Sumner about yesterday."

"Ah, yes, Watanabe-sama," the woman began, speaking now in flawless Japanese. "I am so honored to meet you."

"The honor is mine, Lady," he replied in English, not wanting to make his host ill-at-ease. "Is this not a most gorgeous evening?"

She looked at him for a moment, accepting his gift of a traditional greeting. "Yes, with cool wind in her tree, just in silence, she sings to the moon's tears."

Watanabe staggered under the weight of the woman's haiku, at her perfect choice of words. He hissed sharply and bowed his head. 'You already know me so well?' he sighed inwardly, wondering how she saw his disfigurement: as the wind, or the trees. Would he break and fall, or could he stand up to her song?

Yet all he could see now was the quiet smile on her face, and in her eyes. A serenity...borne of what, he wondered? Was her victory complete, or had this just been her opening move?

+++++

"It is an honor to meet you, Mr Richardson," Kenji said. He looked at the man, at this man's infirmities, and he thought he understood more about why he was here. Richardson's wheelchair was a vast, complicated thing, almost a portable life-support unit, for the man now had to be almost ninety years old. "And I must say, I admire this building very much. I have read much about it in the architectural press."

"Have you now, indeed? Well, perhaps we can arrange a little tour, later this afternoon if you'd like. I love Wright's architecture so I spent quite a while searching for a disciple."

"Yes, well, I'd say you have succeeded beyond one's wildest imaginings. And I'd enjoy such a tour very much."

"Fine, fine...Mark? Did Eve come with you today?"

Stuart whirled around, looked from Watanabe to Richardson. "She's with Sumner right now, I believe. I think they'll be along in a few minutes."

"And have you told Watanabe-san about our project?"

"Yessir, I think he's up to speed. At least through the episode on the bridge."

Richardson looked at Watanabe all through this exchange, trying to gauge the man's reaction -- but his face had remained a mask -- all emotion impossible to discern. "So? Any questions, Kenji?"

Watanabe turned and faced the old man. "A few. This technology Mr. Stuart speaks of? Is it yours?"

Richardson shrugged. "Is that so important, Kenji?"

"The sphere Mr Stuart describes...he mentioned seeing a being of some sort before the transformation?"

"A being, yes. That does sort of complicates matters, doesn't it? Who or what they are, well, we have no idea, and neither do we have any idea what their objectives are. They've not been, well, we've had little contact with them since that night on the bridge..."

"And the more I think about them," Sumner Bacon said, coming into the room with Eve, "the more unsure I am about what they are. Or what their motives are."

"Ah, good morning Sumner, Miss Goodman. What have you two been up to?"

"Talking with MJ, seeing how she's doing today."

Watanabe turned and looked at the old police officer, the startling story of that night on the bridge still fresh in his mind. "You were saying, Sumner? Excuse my persistence, but what exactly do you think that presence was?"

Bacon shook his head, sighed as he looked from Richardson to Watanabe. "Sometimes I feel like the thing that communicated with me was a being, other times I think it was a construct of some sort."

"A machine?" Watanabe seemed incredulous.

Bacon nodded his head. "I'm sorry, but that night remains a jumbled series of impressions, and even so most of my memory is from before and after the event. We've tried hypnosis, all manner of off-the-wall methods to get at the time I was gone, after we disappeared inside that sphere, but I guess in a way all that time simply vanished, and I have no memory of it at all."

"Memory forms in time," Watanabe mused openly. "With time dilation, perhaps all that you experienced inside that sphere happened inside one instant, at least as far as you were concerned. People on the bridge might have experienced the passage of time as minutes, perhaps even hours, yet during that instant..."

Richardson looked at Bacon; they both nodded their heads. "Yes," Richardson said, "that's what our theoretical physicists say."

"Very interesting," Watanabe sighed. "So the question remains, which..."

"And we have no way to test either hypothesis," Richardson said, his hands open, expressing the hopelessness all involved in the project felt.

"How many of these 'assistants' are there now?"

"Seven. So far."

"And this new assistant of mine? She chose me, as well?"

Richardson nodded his head.

"I see. Am I...?"

"Only the second one," Richard's sighed. "Eve was first to make a choice."

Watanabe turned to Eve just then, and looked into her eyes. "And your purpose? You know nothing of why you are here?"

She looked him in the eye as well, while she gently shook her head. "No."

"I find this all very troubling," Watanabe said. "Like we are pawns in a game we know nothing about..."

"Yes, that's quite true," Richardson interrupted, "but then again Kenji, whoever's playing this game did in fact choose you. Doesn't that make you just a little...?"

"Curious? No, not really. I would say fear is the word that comes first to my mind. Yes. I am afraid."

"Of what," a woman said, walking into the room, and Watanabe turned and looked at this new presence...

...and his world cartwheeled out of control.

He looked at his idea of human perfection, a woman so gorgeous his heart jumped breathlessly in his chest and his vision clouded.

"Kenji, I'd like you to meet Mary," Richardson said.

But the woman was staring at Watanabe now, like there was no one else in the room. "Watanabe-sama? Tell me please, what are you afraid of?"

"You, dear lady. I am most afraid -- of you --"

+++++

Now, sitting in this huge airliner high above the Pacific, he could think of little else. Fear and acceptance. Fear and curiosity. Fear, and the choices he'd made over the last two days.

To let this woman, if that was indeed what she was, so deeply into his life. This was insane!

He turned, saw she was resting on the bed in their suite, and he looked around the room again -- bewildered.

All the first class suites were located here, inside the innermost portion of the Boeing's huge wing, with the leading edge of the wing made of some carved translucent material. One entire 'wall' of this compartment was, in effect, a huge, curved window -- and now he was staring at a great wall of dark clouds just ahead, ahead as this monstrously large jet arced through the sky with limitless views of the way ahead. And yet, as intoxicating as this view was, it was also intensely disorienting to Kenji. He tried to wall-off memories of that day, but when his guard was down he slipped through time again and he saw that other airliner cartwheeling into Incheon Bay.

And just then, in the deepest part of the unfolding memory, in the wildest moments of his confusion, she came to him, comforting him without asking where the roots of his distress lay.

"You express empathy so naturally," he said to her after the first time this happened. "Are you so attuned to human emotion?"

She ignored his rationalizations with a gentle shrug. "I can't imagine the pain you must have endured," she whispered in his ear, "with all you experienced."

"You know about -- the incident at Incheon?"

"Of course," she said, rubbing the mottled skin on the side of his face. "You have such strength of nerve, Kenji-sama, so much that it leaves me breathless."

He had turned then and looked into her eyes, yet he felt nothing duplicitous in her words, no insincerity whatsoever. "I wonder, would it be impossible for someone like me to fall in love with someone like you?"

Yet she had smiled upon hearing those words. But "Yes. I wonder," was her only reply, yet just then she had leaned into him, kissed his forehead.

"This is all so impossible," he said again, so quietly she might not have heard him. "Why are you here?"

But she had simply smiled at this question. "The day ahead will be very difficult, the next few days as well, but then you'll see. The best years of your life lay just ahead, and I will be there with you, always, to keep you safe."

He'd looked into her eyes then, saw something important there. "What do you mean? How could you possibly know what tomorrow will bring?"

And she had laughed away such questions. "What a wondrous machine," she'd said, gayly. "It's almost like a time machine, don't you think?"

"A -- what? A time machine? How so?"

"Oh, I was simply thinking what it must have been like to sail these seas a hundred years ago. From, say, San Francisco to Tokyo; such a trip as we make now would have taken months, would it not? And yet we will make the journey in just a few hours, so in a way, this machine has compressed time -- from months to hours. A time machine. And think of email. Time further compressed, just like another time machine."

He smiled. "I see. You are most wise, Mary. And what other time machines might you tell me about?"