knew the words of his speech at the meeting cold – but not because he prepared it in advance. Artificial intelligence will never fully replace a human being – as long as humans fancy looking at humans. Humans ensoul robots, humans need a circus and heroes … And villains, too – and theater, and drama, and tears – of sorrow and joy. Advisory systems, neural networks, autonomous cars, drones and other gadgets – to make life easier for humanity, to serve – so that humanity can spend more time on entertainment.
Everything’s simple: an Austrian, a Brit, a Japanese – all want the same thing. To streamline the operations, less routine, more vivid interest – to advance and achieve results.
Development is a mechanism embedded by evolution, the property of everyone, even those considered hopelessly good-for-nothings. Workaholics are especially quick to get addicted to the eternal race for unattainable satisfaction – and they die on the job every year, receiving posthumous allowance.
Kuma oft asked himself whether he was a workaholic. The whiskey bottle on the table, the carelessly loosened tie knot on his neck, said he wasn’t … However, results were always the measure of his self-worth.
The catastrophe that happened to him two years ago opened his eyes – he almost lost everything, and the death that had nearly taken him was merely a part of the fall.
For many years he had been building his empire – and in an instant the tower of glass and metal came crashing down, threatening to bury him in the debris. After the car crash at an intersection in Toshima City, a ward in Tokyo – the fault of a tourist who lost control of his car and died on the spot – Yusuke Kuma, with multiple bodily harm and a traumatic brain injury, was rushed to the hospital and spent about half a year in a coma.
The resurrection and the return to the rails of the head of the Innovative Research Excellence department was a true miracle. A few months of rehabilitation – and Kuma was good as new, as if a new man.
“I almost forgot!” Pierce gave a forced exclamation. “I’ll reveal one more secret, only to you – and our hospitable partners from Nonoda.”
He was pulling a sheet with an artist’s name out of an envelope, the winner of the competition to design the livery of the Bulls’ race car for the last of the three American Grand Prix – the one taking place in Austin in the second half of October. One more way to attract the fans to the big circus show …
“Rear and front wing end plates, the side pods, the side chassis … No, it’s not graffiti,” Pierce smiled, “and not anime.”
The team had already guessed the subject of the surprise, they were perkily calling out their guesses and whispering, the cameraman alternated between filming Vermeer, Pelaez, and Rizzo, who stood out against the blue and orange suits.
Kuma had already brought the whiskey glass to his lips, but never took the sip. An instant – and the camera’s already switched from the row of the chattering Bulls in the assembly hall to the speakers on the stage – the laughing Piece, Minobe, patiently watching, and Kuma himself, who was looking over Rote Stier chief’s shoulder to read the text on the card.
He slammed the rocks glass on the table with a clatter, made a stopping motion, pausing the recording, reached for the touchscreen control panel embedded in the desk to rewind.
An instant later the whiskey glass flew into the glass wall panel a couple of inches from the screen, the liquid splashed on the floor mid-flight, leaving a glistening stroke, the shards scattered across the office to the deafening, sparking accompaniment of the ringing.
In the envelope was the name of the designer who had created the layout inspired by the symmetry of Blake’s Tyger – titled ‘Invariant.’
On the curved screen was the mug of Richard North – in Rote Stier’s brand baseball cap and jacket.
The son of a bitch is in Nonoda – right under his nose!
11. The Lovers
On the thirty-sixth floor of the Mitsui Tower, a young man in a red hoodie came perilously close to crashing into Adam Bradshaw. Adam staggered back from the bright blotch hurtling towards him, jumping out of the elevator, the man, with a laugh, raised his hands apologetically. They instantly passed each other by, the young man, with springly steps, continued down the corridor, Adam stepped into the elevator.
He had just been talking to Alexandra and was on his way down, but not to his hotel room, for a stroll – because it was boring to sit in the hotel room. He suspected that she had simply sent him out.
These agents were so strange, anyway …
As the elevator doors closed, Adam thought he heard someone scream – in joy, like people do when they unexpectedly run into someone they know. Clearly, the young man in the red hoodie pleasantly surprised someone with his arrival.
Dr. Bradshaw had tried dishes from all the ramen shops in the neighborhood, and Alexandra, who had been keeping him company since day one, while Richard was in his room, was complaining that she’s already tired of soba and udon. Adam was trying to find something to do – it felt like he was disappointed that his assistance was no longer required as soon as Richard started feeling better.
He had no plans to leave yet, he felt that all this – the unplanned trip to Japan, the encounter with MI6 – served some purpose.
Although it could simply be procrastination – and a reluctance to return to Baltimore.
Alexandra had already shut the door behind Dr. Bradshaw, who went off to have lunch alone, but she lingered by the doorway – as there were footsteps approaching up the hallway.
She opened the door without waiting – and immediately cried out, echoing the young man in the red hoodie who rushed towards her with open arms. Christopher yelled without shame – and so did she, uncaring of what the guests in neighboring rooms would think. Soon they let go, appraising each other, the visitor squinted.
“How long has it been since we saw each other – a month and a half?”
“About that,” Alexandra replied.
“How’s Richard?”
“Alive.”
Christopher already knew how Richard was – because partrons are connected even without calls and messengers. He had last talked to Alexandra in the waking life when she came to London – on another reader event organized by the Träger publishing house. They, too, didn’t have to see each other to stay updated – but every in-person encounter became an experience.
They shared a unique ability to find trouble wherever they wandered. Such compatibility even had a name, neither a spy nor an alchemical one – ‘friendship.’
Christopher stepped back, looking around, making it clear he had no intention to spend time in the hotel room.
“I suggest we go to the Museum of Modern Art in the Imperial Palace, there’s bound to be some ludicrousness on display there,” he said. “You haven’t been there, have you?”
Alexandra shook her head: she and Richard only went outside on Sunday, while alone – or with Dr. Bradshaw – she never strayed farther from the hotel than a few miles. The broadcast tower of the Tokyo Skytree had already become an eyesore.
“Tonight we’ll go to an izakaya, it’s been a while since I got shitfaced Japanese-style,” Christopher added. “I won’t let you die of boredom.”
“We’ll sooner die of something else.”
“We’ll find the jag-off and cut him up into yakitori. Do you seriously think he could be dangerous?”
The jag-off – Baer, Medvedev –