Temple of the Gods

The sword’s name dredged up a vague memory from her childhood, when her parents had taught her the legends of other countries. ‘Kusanagi… that’s the Japanese equivalent of Excalibur, isn’t it? I thought it was kept in a temple.’

‘The Atsuta Shrine in Nagoya, yes. That is what the priests there claim. It is good for business.’ A brief, grunting laugh. ‘But I have owned it for more than thirty years.’

‘If it’s part of the Imperial Regalia, doesn’t it really belong to the emperor?’

Takashi struggled to conceal his irritation. ‘A few politicians have suggested that. But they are now former politicians.’ He moved on, keen to change the subject. ‘Here, Dr Wilde,’ he said, standing before one particular display case. ‘Here is what you have come to see.’

Nina gazed at the objects within. They seemed unremarkable: crude figures, primitive carvings made from an unusual purple stone. One had been bisected vertically, the left and right halves put back together and held in place by thin elastic bands. Compared to the treasures around them, they appeared all but worthless.

She knew that was far from the case, however. They were conductors of earth energy, which in certain hands — her hands — produced extraordinary effects. When separated, each statue glowed, brighter bands of light pointing in the direction of its two companions. When all three were brought together…

That was the main reason she had come to Japan. To find out. She had never had the chance to complete the set before they were stolen by Stikes.

Now, that chance had come.

7

Dressed in a cheap suit from Hong Kong, Eddie entered the Takashi building.

Scarber had provided the information he sought. Stikes was in the building right now, meeting the company’s boss on the fiftieth floor. The first obstacle he would have to overcome was getting up there. The penthouse — apparently the guy lived right above his headquarters, which Eddie supposed was one way to cut down on commuting — was only serviced by a single lift, which was permanently guarded. He could see two uniformed men standing at a set of doors away from the other elevators, and guessed they were backed up by electronic surveillance.

But that wasn’t the lift he would be taking. Scarber had also given him the name of a contact within the company, who could get him up to the thirtieth floor. That left another twenty, but one step at a time…

Feigning casualness, he strolled to the reception desk. ‘Hi, I’m here to see — whoa!’ He flinched as he realised he was talking to some sort of mechanical mannequin rather than a young woman, and looked round to see if he were being secretly filmed for some elaborate practical joke. ‘What’s this, Realdoll HQ?’

The robot’s response was to bow its head, then say, ‘My apologies, sir. I did not know you spoke English. May I take your name, please?’

‘Ed— er, Barney Phelps,’ he stuttered, thrown by the disconcerting encounter.

‘I’m sorry, I did not hear you correctly,’ said the robot apologetically. ‘Could you repeat that, please?’

‘Barney Phelps,’ he said again. ‘Look, no offence, but I’d rather talk to a real person. Wait,’ he added, ‘why am I apologising to a fembot?’

A lifeless smile spread across the robot’s face. ‘Thank you, you are expected. Mr Jiro is waiting for you. If you will please take your visitor’s pass, and wear it at all times while you are in the building?’ The machine indicated a slot in the desktop. Eddie hesitantly took the pass that slid out and attached it to his lapel. ‘Please go to elevator number twelve and exit on the thirtieth floor. Have a nice day.’

‘I might, if this wasn’t fucking Westworld,’ Eddie muttered as he headed for the lifts. ‘Okay, number twelve…’

He was the only person waiting; at this time of day, Takashi employees were just starting to leave for the evening. Once the elevator had disgorged its occupants, he entered and rose up through the building alone. The doors opened, and he stepped out into a small lobby area. Another of the unsettling robot receptionists was waiting at a little desk, but to his relief an actual human being came to meet him before it could speak. ‘Mr… Phelps?’ said the thin-haired Japanese man. Despite the air-conditioned cool, sweat was beading on his forehead.

‘That’s right,’ Eddie answered. ‘You’re Jiro?’

‘Yes, yes.’ He gave the Englishman a perfunctory bow, glancing about to check that nobody was watching. ‘Come with me, please.’

Eddie followed him down a corridor into a small office. Jiro quickly closed the door behind him, then pulled open a drawer and, hands shaking, took a holdall from it. ‘I will be fired if anyone learns of this,’ he said. ‘Or worse. Give me your pass.’

Eddie took it from his jacket. ‘What’re you going to do with it?’

‘I will log you out of the building. On the computer, it will look as though we left together. I don’t want to be connected with whatever you’re doing.’ He exchanged the holdall for the pass.

Eddie opened the bag. Inside was a gun, a Russian Makarov PMM automatic. Considering Japan’s extremely strict gun laws it must have taken some work to obtain. He eyed his contact. ‘Doesn’t sound like you’re too happy about helping me.’

‘I don’t want to. Scarber is making me. Busu ama!’ He almost spat the insult.

‘So how do I get up to the penthouse?’

‘You will have to get into the central core. Only two elevators go to the top of the building — Takashi-san’s private elevator, and one for maintenance. But the maintenance elevator is controlled by computer, so you will have to climb up.’

‘There are security cameras on the stairs, I take it.’ Jiro nodded. ‘So how do I get into this central core?’ Eddie asked as he checked the gun. It was fully loaded with twelve nine-millimetre rounds.

‘There is a door used by the cleaning robots. You will—’

‘Wait, the what? Jesus, is everything in this place robotic?’

‘You will have to be careful,’ Jiro continued impatiently. ‘The door only opens for the robots, and they stop if a person gets too close. For safety.’ He scribbled a rough map from the office to the service entrance. ‘When you are inside, there is an elevator that goes to the maintenance hub on the forty-fourth floor. From there… you are on your own.’

‘Looks like I already am,’ Eddie said scathingly as Jiro hurriedly prepared to leave. ‘What if I run into anybody on the way?’

‘There is a fake pass in the bag, so put it on. If you look as though you know where you are going, no one will be suspicious.’

Eddie took out the laminated pass. He couldn’t help noticing that its picture was not of him; the grinning youth with extravagantly styled hair seemed to have been clipped out of a magazine advert. ‘Only way this could’ve looked less like me would be if you’d used a photo of Pamela Anderson.’

‘All you gaijin look the same. I am going now.’ Jiro donned his coat and scurried out. ‘Be sure no one sees you leave my office.’

‘Not going to wish me luck?’ Eddie called after him. He examined the crude map and memorised the route, then affixed the bogus pass to his jacket. He opened the door a fraction. Nobody was in the corridor. He pocketed the gun and set out.

The stereotype of the long Japanese working day seemed to have some truth to it; even though it was clocking-off time, there was plenty of activity in the offices he passed. A moment of concern as a door opened ahead of him, but the woman who emerged, carrying a large bundle of documents, hurried past without even giving him a glance.

A couple of turns, and he saw the service door ahead. It was lower and wider than he had expected, less than four feet high — and had no handle. It bore a large ‘no entry’ logo. The system was fully automated. In that case, he needed a robot…

One presented itself as he reached the junction at the corridor’s end. He had half expected a mop-wielding