I was distracted. Sitting behind the wheel of my new blue car, a gift from my father, I was running errands with Masaru after spending the day in classes at the local university. I complied with Masaru's request to put on a CD, grateful to drown out my worrisome thoughts with his upbeat brand of music.

Overseas, Brogeen had taken up the task of teaching me to drive. "You're always here," she observed one day. "Why don't you get out once and a while? At least pick up some medical supplies for your father."

"It's not that I don't want to see this country," I smiled, "It's just that I'm housebound. I can't drive." Brogeen looked mortified.

"At your age, not having a license?! I've never heard of such nonsense!"

I diplomatically reasoned, "Where I come from, many people never bothered with driving. They walked, or rode bikes. I lived out of town, so I took the bus anytime I wanted to go somewhere."

"Well," she declared, after taking a moment to consider this, "That won't do you much good here." She stood to put on her jacket. "Tomorrow."

I looked quizzically at her. "What about tomorrow?"

"I'll help you learn; starting tomorrow." She cut short the protests forming on my lips with a sharp glance. "Don't start your selfless martyrdom act again, Mitusko. You're going to accept an offer when it's given to you." She sighed, as though relieved she'd been able to silence me without bracing the usual tidal wave of stubbornness. "And don't you worry about me. I spend most of the day with a Komyouji; I doubt spending a couple more hours a day with another one will harm me."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I quickly glanced over at Masaru. He had pressed his face firmly against the glass of the passenger side window, his breath leaving behind the impression of fog. He stared outside, enchanted with the blur of neat rows of houses. From his angle, they flashed so quickly, his eyes could have barely discerned any finite point of beginning or end from property to property.

Last week, I had received a note from his teacher. "He has been showing a reluctance to socialize with his peers," the grim note stated.

Well, no kidding, I had silently thought. If the only two friends you had made in a long time were really spies of your father's enemy, and tried to kill you-along with two people you loved, would you have some reservations about opening up to new people?

I wanted to help my brother, but I didn't dare take him to a psychologist. Masaru knows what he is and is not allowed to say about the past few months, but what if after gentle coaxing, he were to slip and allude to the fact that Jiro is an android? I'll let you reason the possible scenarios that would ensue on your own. After all, I didn't see much point to taking him to one, if all he would be able to do is lie.

The body of the note detailed, "He appears to be daydreaming. I think he is not listening, but when I call on him, he always gives me the correct answer." That didn't surprise me. Father and I had Masaru placed in an advanced class at a school known for academic prestige, but he was already bored. He wasn't being challenged, so he spent most of the school day sketching in his notebooks. Leafing through them one day, I found innumerable castles, knights, and of course androids. All of them had a detail beyond what ordinary nine-and-a-half year olds would typically portray. They were quite good.

In an apologetic afterthought, the letter hastily concluded with such phrases as: "...very well behaved...sweet...otherwise a joy to have in class..."

Despite my reservations, I knew I had to address the issue before it perpetuated into something worse. The day of the letter's arrival, he saw my flustered expression from the hallway. With concern etched in his brow, he approached me and put his hand on my arm. "I know it's been hard for you. I'm not asking you to pretend, but do you think...you could at least try? If it's too simple, Father and I will put you in another school. But we'll never know unless you're willing to make the situation that you're in right now work."

He nodded, his expression mimicking a much more mature person. His desired effect might have been successful, if it weren't for the fact that his baseball cap pushed his ears forward, giving them an elf-like slant. "I will, Mitsuko. You're going to be so proud of me."

I already am...

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** **** *** ***

I clenched the wheel, taking in the steady stream of stimuli the road proffered. It was my Biology professor, who was also my advisor, that I was trying not to think about. It wasn't as though he had done anything...improper, yet his presence would somehow manage to make me ill at ease. I could never point to a specific example of flirtation, but I sensed strongly that he wanted something from me.

I had done nothing to be set apart from any of my classmates: sitting in the back of the lecture hall, applying myself, but taking great pains not to be the student who raised her hand the most in class. I resented how he singled me out, just because he was getting intimations that I was intelligent. It made all of the other hardworking students feel belittled and dense.

He was young, still in his mid-twenties. With all of us, he instructed that without exception, we were to call him by his first name; Jonathan. I felt uncomfortable without the distance of formality to separate us. For me, he extended himself further. I could feel his smile alight when I stepped into his office. Occasionally, he would offer me rides to South Campus, which I would always refuse. He would quickly rebut my protests with excuses of his own. "You're carrying way too many books to be walking," was his favorite refutal. "You'll throw your back out of alignment if you keep doing that."

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Today, he had cheerfully strided over to me while I sat on a bench, organizing my papers. From a distance, I could note what appeared to be a green twig perched on his forearm. I lowered my head, pretending to be engrossed in filing my exams away. I had hoped to go unnoticed, but I felt the jolt of a weight plunking itself down next to me. I looked up, and found his insanely beaming face. "Hey. Have a caught you at a bad time?" I shook my head. Verbally responding didn't seem smart, as I was unsure myself exactly how tactless I could become with him. "Can you believe this? It's amazing he's surviving in this weather."

There, on his shoulder, the twig moved, parting slender limbs from its main trunk. It was a praying mantis. With redoubtable silence, I watched the tapering green unfold itself; fragile and rigid like origami.

But this thing, I marveled to myself, it has consciousness. Its head facing me, I saw its arm elongate, as if to beckon me.

Like that time...It looked right into me...

Its shrill, staccato speech...

...Sunken eyes...sleek metallic exoskeleton.

Its cries filled up each room...

...of my dead house...

"Hey. Hey...!" My communion with the insect broken, I stared at Jonathan to see what he could possibly want. "Well, okay! I guess I have interrupted you."

I shrugged, "It's nothing. I'm fine. Just...preoccupied."

"You were contemplating how to approach the essay I've assigned to you." I couldn't decipher if he was being facetious.

I forced a smile, trying to force that night away from my mind. It felt like plastic. "Yes. That's it exactly."

My evasiveness left him unabashed. If anything, it heightened the mystery, making me all the more appealing. He was so transparent, I could link his every expression with a thought. He stood. "I'm going to find a suitable home for our friend now. I just thought I'd see how you were doing."

"Uh-huh."

"Let me know if you want access to some of my books for research." His hand rested on my arm.

"Sure." It was all I could manage to choke out.

As he departed, I was left with a sense of revulsion. I could still feel the impression his palm had left on my arm.

He would have received a warmer reception if he were courting that darned mantis, I thought wryly. I caught myself, and immediately began to chide this surfacing pettiness.

How can I be so juvenile? He's done nothing but support my abilities. And I haven't been charitable at all. He's a foreigner; that's probably the only reason why he's so casual. I leaned back, and consoled myself by trying to remember what Jiro's touch had felt like. I froze as my mind located it again: the worn, plush leather of his gloves. It came like a swift hit of seratonin, and I was fine again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Masaru had graduated from fogging up the window to tracing impressions on it. I spotted a small smiley face he had left behind. "Did you remember everything?" He queried.

"I think so. Father asked for some new software for his laptop, and you were the one with the grocery list."

"Well, I haven't forgotten anything. Are we going anywhere else?"

"No, not today." He lowered his eyes, disappointed. He probably wanted to spend some time outside of the house. He'd been so good about assisting Father at home these past few months, he too had neglected his exploratory nature. That, or maybe he was hoping we would stop by the toy store.

It was dark out by the time I pulled into our driveway. I opened the door, and dropped the keys down on the table summarily. Masaru bolted to his bedroom to finish the remainder of his homework. I set my backpack and plastic bags by the couch, and noticed the sound of metal scraping against the linoleum. From the kitchen, Father was slowly moving towards me in his walker. He carefully avoided all of the packaging boxes full of glassware, and settled in front of me.

"Did you find everything?"

"No problems. It's all here."

"How was traffic?"

"Fair." He leaned in, and pressed his lips against my forehead.

As I reached down to pick up the bag of groceries, he continued, "I've hired some help to spruce up the house before moving day." I met his gaze. "It hasn't been maintained at all since we left. It would have been too much work for you."

"All right." I curved an "S" around my father and the boxes to the kitchen to put away the food. I opened the refrigerator, and was kneeling to put away the food when I heard a phone ringing off from somewhere. "Masaru!" I shouted.

"He has his door closed. He can't hear you," said Father. I jumped up, and stumbled my way around the boxes to locate the ringing. The only unpacked phone left was the one in the living room.

I hit the "talk" button. "Hello?"

"Mitusko, it's Ha-(static). You've...(crackle)."

I winced at the sound of electronic fuzz. "Mr. Hattori?" I called into the phone. Mr. Hattori and I had been good about communicating since I left. We corresponded mostly through e-mails, though occasionally I would call him. From time to time, he tell me about cases he was working on, without disclosing any private information.

"Yeah, it's me." His voice rose over the din, "Can you hear me better now?"

"Yes!"

"Yeah....I'm a pay phone now, so I don't know how great the reception's gonna be." There was something strangely hollow in his tone of voice.

"Your cell phone needs to be recharged," I surmised. I could hear Father approaching from behind. There was a pregnant pause from Mr. Hattori's end.

I had begun to wonder if we had been disconnected, when he responded, "Mitsuko, have you had the television on this evening?"

"No; I just walked in."

"What about in the car? Was the (fizzle) radio on?"

"I had a CD on." The pause was excruciating. He was skirting telling me something big, but I had no idea what it was.

"I think you'd better turn on the TV."

I located the remote control, and hit the "power" button. "All right, it's on. What am I-"

I halted in mid-sentence. As the picture came into focus, I could see an amateur video recording of the cityscape. There was a toy robot, similar in design to the Transformers Masaru played with, strategically placed in front of the camera. My eyes narrowed, as I visually scanned the image for meaning. Finally, I found a thread.

A thread of smoke.

It curled upwards from one of the buildings before billowing out to the atmosphere. There was something happening to the city.

Tourists, I thought impatiently. Why don't they just move that silly thing so I can see what-

Then, the realization struck.

It isn't a toy. And it's not in front of the camera; it's shot from afar.

I felt a leaden weight pulling on the base of my stomach. The late afternoon sun glinted off the machine's chrome as it marched on. The buildings were actually being razed by this thing. As they toppled, I saw a fine mist of taupe debris burgeoned up to obscure the sky. It boomed in the direction of the camera, and soon it too was engulfed, leaving nothing visible. It quaked on impact of the nebulous film, and then the transmission cut, turning the screen to snow.

It's gone. All of it. It's gone. My mind was stuck chanting the phrase.

I suddenly recalled I still had the phone to my ear. "Where is Etsuko?!" I cried. Father had seated himself on the couch, his face paling. I looked over my shoulder, and found Masaru peering at me from behind.

"Etsuko is fine. She's right here." I turned back to face the television. The stations were playing the footage over in a loop. Mercifully, they were playing it without sound.

"Oh, my God." The doors of my heart had begun to slam like a shutter in a gail. My hands felt numb. I hadn't experienced this in months, but I knew exactly what had come over me.

It was panic.

Stop it! Stop it now! You have to be able to think! I struggled to regain control of myself. I fought through the chaos in my mind for clarity.

"The machine's been dismantled. It looks like there was a mutiny from inside, and it crashed. I think...(snap) the only thing the police will find in it are corpses." His voice had reverted to a calm, level tone. I latched onto its placid effect, and permitted it to pull me out of my tumult.

"Where you live...it's not there anymore."

"Yeah. Those buildings where Etsuko and I lived are gone. But we're fine, Mitsuko."

I took in a breath, "Is there some way you two can manage to come here?"

"There's been a mass exodus from the city. Most people are just walking out, but there may (pop) be a few operational cars and buses before the police block off the roadways." He paused. Masaru came up beside me, and wrapped his arms around my side, as if he knew I needed the support. He was watching the TV as intently as I had been.

"There's a long line for the pay phone here," Mr. Hattori continued. " People are getting (hiss) pretty impatient. I don't want to scare you, but I don't know when the next chance I get to contact you will be."

"Just try and find a way here," I urged. "I'm going to take the day off from school tomorrow; I'll stay home and wait for your call. I don't care what time it is, just make sure you let me know what's going on."

"Okay." I thought I heard Etsuko's voice murmuring something to Mr. Hattori, but I wasn't sure. "I know," he said to the unidentified female voice. There was another pause. "Mitsuko?" he finally whispered. "There's something else (snap)... The person who dismantled that machine, he's still alive.

"It's Jiro."