Thoughts of English punctuation left Ami's mind as she scrolled back the window beside her bed and took a deep breath of fresh, warm air. A light breeze quickly got to work at drying her freshly-washed, ink-blue hair and her eyes, similarly coloured, seemed to shine beneath the fading orange glow of the sky. A contented smile lit up her delicate features.
Her bedroom was situated in an apartment building that was one of many in the area. The surrounding complexes were thick concrete rectangles and silhouetted against the sinking sun, Ami liked to think they were soldiers clad in dark uniform, standing stiffly at attention and keeping guard over her own home. Quite unlike the functional blocks that were the other buildings, it was a higgledy-piggledy pile of a structure, asymmetric in design and surrounded on all sides by trees, shrubs and hedges, giving the impression that the building had simply grown out of the ground amongst them.
She remained there for a while, sitting cross-legged on her pink bedspread, listening to the gentle murmur of people and traffic from the street below. The breeze tugged lightly at her loose, powder blue pyjamas and ruffled the leaves of the tall palm plant that stood at the foot of her bed. A glance over her shoulder at the minimal clock mounted on the wall informed her that it was almost time for bed. Taking one last deep breath of the evening breeze, she slid the window to a close and turned around.
Bookshelves dominated the majority of the opposite wall, each stacked with various reference texts to aid in her studies. Studying was something that Ami had always taken very seriously, and unlike her friends she didn't find it to be a chore. The acquisition of knowledge, and its application, were things that not only came easily to her, but that she enjoyed. She aspired to use this gift for learning to help others, by following in her mother's footsteps and becoming a doctor. That was her dream and she dedicated a great deal of time towards realising it, but it didn't mean her interests were confined to medicine alone.
A pair of trophies vied for attention atop one shelf: a blue fish indicant of her swimming prowess, her favoured form of exercise, and a black horse's head atop a wooden plinth telling of her skill at chess. Above these, framed certificates awarded for various academic accomplishments were hung in a row.
Before one of the bookshelves sat a wooden desk used primarily for studying and bare save for a computer and a flexible desk lamp. Ami's gaze lingered on the computer for a moment. She supposed she had time to check her e-mail before she retired for the night. Sliding off the bed, she padded over to the desk, jabbed the computer's power switch with a finger, and seated herself in the red swivel chair. It took a few moments for the system to boot up and the operating system to load, and a few moments more to connect to the internet. Waiting patiently for the dial-up process to finish, she swivelled around and glanced back at the window. The sun had almost completed its daily descent to the horizon and the first stars were shyly beginning to wink.
"Anybody at all?"
These three words were the first to greet her when she turned back to face the monitor. They were displayed within a white square – a window – that had popped up on the screen. Ami's eyes momentarily widened with surprise before she recognised the program. It was an instant messaging client used to communicate in real-time with people all over the world. Being more than slightly computer-savvy, Ami was a member of several online message forums and as such used the program to keep in contact with people who shared her interests. She scanned the window again, looking for a name to identify who the message was from, but there didn't appear to be one. That was unusual.
Leaning forward, her slender fingers began to tap away at the keyboard. The words "Hello, who is this?" appeared on the screen. Hitting the enter key, the words were sent instantly to her seemingly anonymous peer. They were preceded by the name 'Mercury', an alias that Ami used for online communication, among other things.
There was a pause before a reply appeared. It read, rather cryptically, "I don't believe it."
Frowning slightly, more intrigued than anything else, Ami sent the message "Excuse me?"
Another pause. "I've been wanting to reach somebody for a long time," came the eventual reply. "I was beginning to think I never would."
This statement struck Ami as rather odd. The program was free to download and available to all, and contacting somebody was as simple as knowing their username. "May I ask your name?" she sent, politely reiterating her first question.
"Forgive my rudeness," was the reply. "My name is Shynkon. I do hope I'm not disturbing you?"
Ami smiled. The absence of physical proximity meant that good manners weren't commonly used online, with an unfortunate majority of people taking advantage of their anonymity to employ quite the opposite. The same was true of grammar. Ami, however, felt that both, particularly manners, were important in all circumstances. It seemed this 'Shynkon' felt the same. "Not at all," she typed in reply. "I was just about to go to bed, but I could make a little time to talk." She added: "I'm Mercury, by the way," and sent the message.
"Pleased to meet you," replied Shynkon. "If that's the correct verb."
Ami suppressed a giggle. Had he intended to be funny? "It's as good as any."
She waited as Shynkon formulated his next message. "Mercury, is it? Is that in reference to the planet, the Roman messenger god or the chemical element also known as 'quicksilver'?"
Ami raised her eyebrows, slightly impressed. Whoever he was – something in his manner told her he was a boy – he was certainly smart. She thought about the question for a moment. "I suppose it's the planet," she replied truthfully. It was her guardian deity, after all. She smiled a little as she continued, "It's also the name given to plants in the Mercurialis genus."
"Impressive," echoed Shynkon. Ami blushed as she always did when paid a compliment, glad that he couldn't see her. "A good friend of mine knows a little about botany," she told him, again truthfully. She decided to steer the conversation in a different direction. "So what can I do for you, Shynkon-san?" She hoped he'd appreciate the honourific.
"Just your company would be nice," he replied. "I don't have anybody I can talk to here. I feel lonely sometimes." Ami nodded sadly, recalling her own childhood. A great deal of it had been spent alone. Her mother worked long hours and her father simply hadn't been there, and her natural shyness had made it difficult to make friends at school. Adolescence had been even more arduous, with her quiet demeanour leading her fellow students to believe she was cold and unkind, and her growing academic success lending her an unwarranted air of apparent superiority. Now she had her wonderful friends, and with them she'd never be lonely again, but the memory of those long years and whispered rumours still stung her behind the eyes. "I understand," she told Shynkon. "I've been lonely before. I'd be happy to be your friend." She meant it. If he was suffering a similar experience to her own, then she knew the value a friend could have.
"I'd like that a lot," he replied. "It's difficult, not having anyone to talk to."
"If you have a problem, I'd be glad to help, if I can," Ami told him.
Shynkon's next message took her slightly by surprise. "Do you often go out of your way to help strangers?" Was there something confrontational in those words or was he honestly curious? It was difficult to tell without the context a face-to-face conversation provided. She thought carefully before replying, "I believe very strongly in helping people. It's my dream to become a doctor to do just that."
"That's wonderful." Ami smiled. She'd just been imagining the undertone in his last message. "I'd like to do the same. I wish I could. It's not possible, though."
"Why not?" asked Ami. "Forgive the cliché, but anything is possible if you put your mind to it. I know that for a fact."
"Not for me," replied Shynkon. "I'm not allowed. I have to do my job, and because of that people get hurt." A small pang of worry sparked to life within Ami's chest. What kind of job involved hurting people? She didn't want to know, but her fingers danced across the keyboard and the words "What do you mean?" appeared in the window regardless.
"I'm sorry. I've said too much. It could be dangerous for both of us if I say any more."
The spark became a flame. The logical part of her mind told her he was joking, just a child playing a prank, but another part, some indefinable but persuasive sense, told her that she was communicating with somebody who needed help. Ami didn't know if it stemmed from her choice of career path or from some other, less tangible place, but she knew she couldn't ignore it. She decided to press further. "You shouldn't be afraid to ask for help if you have a problem," she typed, hoping he wouldn't think she was being intrusive. "After all, that's what friends are for."
"You're right," came the reply. Ami smiled with relief as she read this, but said smile was quickly wiped from her lips as her eyes absorbed the rest of the message. "But I'm afraid my problem is too large to be solved by talking. It would only exacerbate the matter."
"Are you sure?" typed Ami helplessly.
"Quite sure," replied Shynkon. "But thank-you for your concern. You're a very kind girl."
Ami smiled again in spite of her persisting concern. "How did you know I'm a girl?"
"Just a guess. Men aren't usually so polite."
"Then what about you?" She realised, to her embarrassment, that she'd be disappointed if he were a woman. The flush returned to her cheeks and she found herself holding her breath for the few seconds it took him – her? – to reply.
The reply read, "I'm the exception to the rule."
Ami grinned, and then caught herself and suppressed it. Her eyes circled the outskirts of the window as she tried to think of something to say to that. Several icons were arranged around its perimeter, each tied to a different function of the program. Some of these were simple competitive games built into the software. One of these, depicting a pair of kings dressed in contrasting colours – one black, one white – caught her eye. "Would you care for a game of chess?" she asked.
There was a pause that was somewhat longer than usual, before Shynkon replied "I'd be delighted to. Just don't expect much in the way of competition."
Chess was Ami's favourite game and had been since she was a child. While the trophy on the bookshelf attested to her skill at the game, it had never been a competitive pastime for Ami. She considered it the perfect game of the intellect, cultivating a calm mentality and accurate judgement. It often helped to relax her, or to enable her to make connections and solve problems that she wouldn't under ordinary circumstances. Perhaps it would help Shynkon similarly?
"It isn't about the competition," she told him, and clicked on the icon. Another, smaller window popped up, displaying a graphic of a chequered board upon which the pieces were arranged in their starting positions. Ami was designated the white pieces, Shynkon the black, and the game began.
Despite his initial protestation, Ami found Shynkon to be a worthy opponent. He seemed to remain focused on the bigger picture, ignoring several easy, short-term victories in favour of building an overall strategy. As the game went on and pieces were exchanged, Ami found herself becoming engrossed. That almost an hour had passed and she hadn't yet checked her e-mail couldn't have been further from her mind. Her worries about Shynkon's suspicious occupation were filed away for later. Sleep was a distant and ethereal concept that existed beyond the immediate reality of logic, of strategy and sacrifices, of black and white.
The game went on.
"Zugzwang," Ami typed as she completed a move. She checked the board again to affirm it and nodded to herself. "Zugzwang?" asked Shynkon. Ami grinned sheepishly, thankful again for her invisibility. "It's the German word for 'compulsion to move'. It means that every possible move you can make weakens your position. In this case, every move leads to a victory for me. I'm afraid you're in a classic zugzwang scenario."
"Fascinating," came his reply. From anybody else it might have seemed sarcastic, but Ami was sure he meant it. "I can't believe I didn't see that. You're really very good."
"I've had a lot of practice," replied Ami, going pink again. "Actually, I was Junior Chess Champion of Japan a few years ago." Did she sound egotistical, telling him that? She hoped not.
"I'll let you have your victory, then, Champion," wrote Shynkon. She watched as he moved his sole remaining knight a single space across and two spaces down, cementing her victory in the process. "Checkmate." With the game complete, Ami closed the window and their conversation again filled the screen.
"Congratulations," sent Shynkon. "Although I think I did well, considering it's the first time I've played."
Ami's jaw practically brushed the pale blue carpet.
"You don't mean that, surely?" she asked incredulously.
"Of course I do. I just looked up the rules before we began. Besides, I lost, didn't I?"
"Even so," persisted Ami, "you showed a great deal of talent."
"It's a game of logic," countered Shynkon. "I'm technically a mathematician, and the two are somewhat related."
Was he lying? She had no way of being sure, but Ami didn't think so. And if that was the case…
"I'm afraid I have to get back to work," continued Shynkon. Ami's initial disappointment over their conversation ending quickly turned back to worry. Working this late at night? She decided to voice her question. "Isn't it rather late to be at work?"
"It's not like I have a choice."
His ambiguity merely filled Ami with more concerns and questions, but before she could type a single one his next message appeared on the screen. "Thank-you for keeping me company. It means a lot to me."
"Can we speak again soon?" asked Ami, not caring if the statement sounded too forward.
"I'd like that," replied Shynkon. "I should be able to find you again at the same time tomorrow."
"I'll be here," Ami told him, relieved.
"Thank-you again, and goodnight, Mercury-san."
Before Ami could return the sentiment, the window changed colour from a bright white to a dull grey, denoting that the conversation was no longer active. As Ami closed the window and shut down the computer, forgetting her e-mail entirely, she couldn't help but worry. If she believed everything he had told her – and she knew that she did – then he was clearly being coerced into using his intellect for decidedly sinister means. But what were they? And how could she help?
I have to do my job, and because of that people get hurt. It could be dangerous for both of us if I say any more.
These words continued to bother her as she lay her head on the pillow and pulled the covers up around her shoulders, and they were the last thing she was aware of before she finally drifted into a deep, silent sleep.
The rainbow is a bold ribbon of colour against the deep azure of the sky and the tip of every blade of grass sparkles with moisture. The squeak of the wheels of her bicycle is pleasantly familiar. Above, the clouds are aeroplanes made of cotton, drifting carelessly through the serene, radiant blue. The fresh breeze on her face, her bare legs, everywhere, as if daring them to continue up the steep hill.
They dare.
At the top, a grassy plain stretches out before them, a little patch of the world reserved exclusively for the two of them. Laying down their bicycles in the wet grass, they take a deep breath in unison and she feels her lungs filling, swelling with sweet, crisp summer air.
"Wonderful, isn't it?" she asks, turning to face him.
He just smiles. The legs of his jeans are damp from the grass, but he doesn't seem to notice.
His mouth opens and a single word tumbles nervously out.
"Ami-chan."