So hopefully you'll have a better idea of Arthur's headspace and history by the end of this chapter. Happy Holidays everyone!

Chapter Four: Tokyo Drift

The depth and strength of a human character are defined by its moral reserves. People reveal themselves completely only when they are thrown out of the customary conditions of their life, for only then do they have to fall back on their reserves.

- Leon Trotsky

Tokyo is mostly digital efficiency. Its bustling downtown area is more futuristic than New York and if possible, more crowded. And yet, tucked away to the side of one giant yet delicate skyscraper is a noodle shop that has been there for years. Mr. Noguchi, the proprietor of said shop, makes fresh, hand pulled noodles and combines it with whatever the catch of the day is from the sea. Next to the glittering, scrolling digital banners and plasma screens, his dusty chalkboard with the day's menu is a balm. I fall in line and fifteen minutes pass before I make it into the tiny shop. All two of its tables are occupied by customers in business suits, busily slurping away. He looks up at me, and the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and mouth deepen. "Arthur-chan", he murmurs, dropping his task at the moment and reaching out a hand at me. I shake it with both of mine. "It has been too long."

"Yes it has. How are you, Mr. Noguchi?"

He lifts one knobby shoulder. "A man my age - waking up every day is one more day I won't grouse about." He studies me. "You are in Tokyo for business?" At my nod, he says,"Eat first. We will discuss more later." He prepares a large, steaming bowl for me and gestures me to eat in the back of his shop.

I push through the curtain and walk down the short hallway which is filled with vegetables and other supplies. There is a door and when I pass through it, it opens up into a rather cavernous warehouse. There are a few cots which are, at the moment, empty. I aim for the table and as I proceed to eat my lunch, a man enters at the opposite end of the hall.

He sees me right away and within minutes, he is standing in front of me. We appraise each other for a few seconds - his mouth is set in a grim line. "You still haven't learned how to hold chopsticks properly", he says in Japanese.

"Urusai, baka. Last time I saw you, you were barely taller than these chopsticks." He grins at my words and then slaps a hand on my back.

"Teaching me the ABCs, I remember. Did Sofu see you yet?" I nod, which causes him to rub his palms against each other in a fast motion. "What do you need this time?"

I raise an eyebrow as he walks over to a painted metal cabinet and opens one of its doors. PASIVs, vials of liquids, and other supplies are neatly stacked within. "Taking over the family business?"

"I'm just helping out. I want to go to Oxford. You going to write me a recommendation letter?"

Haru hasn't changed much from the little boy who once shadowed my heels, words tumbling straight from his head out through his mouth. I shake my head, smiling. "I'm not sure a ne'er-do-well alumni of Cambridge will get you very far at Oxford."

He points to the silver suitcase and I nod. "That's too bad, my dude. How you like my American slang? I've been studying."

It's all I can do to keep a straight face. "So I can tell." He is reaching for a small bottle filled with green liquid. "No, not the Full Nelson. Do you have any Hat Trick?"

"Light, lucid and lucent", Haru says, referring to the properties for which the clear-colored somnacin derives its moniker. "It's been in demand lately. Just sold the last batch; when do you need it? Want to try my own special brew? I call it the Tokyo Drift. You know why? Because it's fast and furious."

He waves it in front of me, cherry red liquid swishing in a sealed test tube. I've tried his concoctions before; somehow it managed to slip all of us - Cobb, Nash, me - that we should have used a double dosage with a brew called the One Eye Open. I shake my head. "Another time, perhaps. It's not an extraction job, it's defense. I need something smoother than your Tokyo Drift."

"The Ella Fitzgerald, then? We administer it to newcomers and amateurs." He reaches in and pulls out a vial filled with amber liquid.

"What's the finish like?"

"What did you use on your last job?"

"Kenyan homemade brew. Closest to a Jiminy Cricket or a Leap Year." Yusuf's somnacin compound is far superior to the commercial varieties currently available on the market. I make a mental note to make a pit stop in Kenya to pick some up.

Haru whistles. "Whoa! The outtro is going to be disappointing, whether it's the Hat Trick or the Ella Fitzgerald. But the Hat Trick might be better for you after all, given your tastes these days."

"How long before your next shipment?" I have planned to meet with Saito tomorrow morning.

"Two days. I can deliver to you, if you are in a rush."

The door behind us opens; Mr. Noguchi is standing behind it. "Nonsense. Arthur-chan won't mind coming back again to pick it up, will you?" He walks up to us.

"No, I wouldn't mind at all." The opportunities to see Mr. Noguchi for more than a cursory stop to stock up on supplies in the last ten years have been few and far in between.

"Saito Isamu tells me he was very pleased with your work." Noguchi winces slightly as he takes a seat beside me. He waves away my hand. "I'm just old. There's nothing you can do to help me with that."

"I'm glad to hear a positive review from Saito. He's retained me for some additional work."

Haru quips,"Maybe you get him to write my Oxford letter? He's a large man, even outside of Japan." He ducks, avoiding his grandfather's half-hearted swat of the hand.

"Saito does not trust easily, nor does a man of his prestige have low standards. It is an honor indeed that he has requested your help a second time." He leans forward. "You have gone far since your days as an apprentice."

I bow my head. "With your help."

"No. With your own help. I never expected the hapless busboy I hired so many years ago would develop into such a polished and esteemed gentleman."

"Let's run away, Arthur."

Paige and I are lying next to each other, on a hammock in her parents' backyard. We're supposed to be studying for our final exam of the school year - a torture device concocted by an especially sadistic physics teacher. Our textbooks lie forgotten on the grass beneath us. "What? Now? Why?"

She lifts her head, shifts so that her chin and lower half of one arm are draped across my chest. "No, silly. After graduation. You'll defer Harvard; I'll defer Princeton and we travel the world for a year. Work odd jobs. Make everyone mad and secretly jealous. How does that sound?"

I laugh, which cause a few fine strands of hair on her head to tremble. "What kind of work could we do?"

She shrugs. "Anything. Everything. We're young and smart. What couldn't we do? Haul fish off a ship. Shuttle tourists around in a pedicab. Wash dishes."

I take one of her hands, with its nails painted another glowing shade of pink. It reminds me of the color of the sky a few seconds after the sun has risen. "You've never done an honest day's work in your life and you expect to wash dishes and haul fish?"

She wrinkles her nose at me. "I'm a fast learner. I'll get by. Just you wait and see, Arthur Gibson. Just you see."

I blink. Noguchi's face swims before me. I incline my head. "No, I never expected this of myself either."

He holds my gaze for a few heartbeats. "You will come back. When you are done with your latest mission, I will find something else for you." Noguchi knows when I need more work. He has never failed me; and fortunately I have never failed him either.

I am standing in front of Saito's building two days later. The first thought that pops into my mind is how much Ariadne would love studying its structure. I don't even need to introduce myself; when the guard sees me walk up to the desk, he picks up a phone. In minutes, a suited young man arrives who bows to me deeply. "Mr. Gibson, it is an honor. I am Nakamura Tenchi, Mr. Saito's assistant. Mr. Saito is finishing up a meeting but he should be with you shortly." He says this in flawless English.

I return the bow. "I am early, Mr. Nakamura. I have no problem waiting for Mr. Saito." He blinks at my Japanese but makes no comment.

Saito's office is large - his desk is at the far end of the room, peninsula-ed by three walls of windows. When you look outside and down at the bustling metropolis, it seems like you are floating, alone, above the crowds. His corner of the building juts out on a ledge to give this effect. I turn away and look at his desk. It's made out of thick thermoplastic material - and completely devoid of any thing on top of it - no loose papers, no framed photos, no pen. There isn't even a phone. My finger hovers a centimeter from the polished surface.

"It is good to see you again, Mr. Gibson."

I look up and slowly retract my hand. I bow. "Mr. Saito, I trust all's well since we last met."

He enters into his own space at a stroll. "Yes. There is news that Fischer is...dissatisfied with the large empire his father has built."

I lift an eyebrow. "Imagine that."

Saito smiles. "My compliments to a job well done."

"Thank you, but the best compliment you can give me is further employment."

"A man after my own sensibilities. Very well. I am eager to begin our training."

As I begin to walk around the desk, the tips of my hand brushes the desk. The surface flickers, emitting an electronic hum of light. Squares of images float by - one includes Saito standing next to a younger version of himself in a cap and gown; in another, they are with an older woman wearing traditional Japanese garb. "Fascinating." I look up at him. "This is what I think it is, isn't it? May I?" At his nod, I touch a finger on the surface again - the screensaver vanishes to reveal the standard desktop background. There is one file, placed in the center; at the press of my finger, it opens to reveal a litany of documents. I begin to scroll and selectively read with as much speed as I can muster.

Perhaps a minute or two ticks by before Saito is clearing his throat. "Mr. Gibson, as interesting as you may find my desk, I am on a tight schedule today. I suggest we commence with my lesson?"

I'm still looking through his documents as I say, "Hm? Oh, yes, Mr. Saito, it already has."

"Excuse me?"

I straighten my posture and meet his eyes. "Your lesson? It began before you even stepped inside your own office. It began the moment I was allowed in."

There are clouds on his face as he walks over to me and sees the files I've accessed. His mouth drops. "These are... How did you..?" He whirls around, staring at his surroundings, arm half raised.

I point to my watch and smile. "And... time."

When I open my eyes, a pretty Japanese woman's face is hovering over mine. "Tea?" I shake my head and then sit up, disconnecting the needle and tubing as I do so. Saito is on a massage table a few feet away from me. He stares at me.

"How did you know I would be here today?"

"You've got a good firewall for your network, Mr. Saito. But you should listen to your IT Director and spend the extra money for the proposed upgrade. Security on all fronts is the best deterrent for people like me." I hold out a hand and he places his needle and tubing in my palm.

"I see. Do you agree with the system my IT Director wants to go with?"

I shrug as I shut the PASIV suitcase. "It's about as good as any out there. Although, you may wish to confer with him in choosing an alternative. The less I know, the better off you'll be. I will wait for you outside."

When the door slides open, he is dressed. "Do you mean, that the less you know, the less you can use against me, if ever the situation calls for it?"

We walk down the hallway towards the exit. "Don't forget that our minds retain all information we are exposed to, even if we can't remember it. I may choose not to engage in a job where you are the target, but I know a few of my counterparts would hack into my mind in an attempt to access what I have on you. Most of them won't succeed, but I can't guarantee all of them. Therefore, it's safer for both of us that I know as little as possible."

"But in the dream, you've just read the contents of my computer."

I nod. "Yes, I tried to focus only on the information that didn't pertain to your business. I imagine many young boys growing up in your time would name their pets Godzilla." He colors slightly at my last sentence.

He is silent as we make our way into the car that is waiting for him at the curb. Then he turns to me. "You've shown me that I have to keep my defenses up; now, teach me how I can begin to do that."

An hour later, I'm standing outside Saito's building. I've given him enough information - he agrees to meet with me in a week's time. This means I have only a few days before the next lesson. As I walk away, mulling over the logistics, my phone rings. I recognize the area code. "Bonjour."

"Hello, yourself. I hope you don't mind, me taking the liberty." She sounds happy, elated. Is she relieved that I picked up the phone?

"No, I'm rather impressed, actually. How did you get my number?"

She clucks at me. "I've learned a trick or two from you. You're not the only one with resources, you know."

"Apparently. I presume you're back in Paris?"

"Just got back yesterday. I've promised Lucy I'm going to visit again."

"Most people find it hard to stay away from the temperate climates Southern California has to offer. Doubly more so when the company is as pleasant as Lucy's."

"I don't know. You seem pretty immune to it."

"I grew up there, so it's different. I'm the exception."

"Yes, Arthur, you are so exceptional. So very, very different from the rest of us mere mortal beings."

I blink at her tone, her words. "Ariadne, are you drunk?"

"No. I'm fine, perfectly so." That's when I notice that her pitch is unusually high.

My heart begins to speed. "Where are you? How are you getting home?"

"You worry too much, you know that? I'll be fine, I've got a car to take me home." Now there is a noticeable slur to her words.

I practically shout, "No, I don't want you driving in your condition." A few heads swivel in my direction. I stop moving just before the curb ends and the traffic light turns green; cars rush forward, an inch shy from my feet.

"Please, Arthur. I'm not the one driving. Don't be ridiculous. I don't own a car, in the first place. Although, I guess I can afford one now... Do you think I should? You know, buy a car? I've always wanted a Beetle. The quiet one."

My hands are shaking. I'm sweating. I take two or three deep breaths. "Who's driving you home, Ariadne? Can I speak with him or her first?"

"Ok... but I hope you can speak French." She giggles. "Of course you can speak French. You can probably speak Swahili, if you needed to, right? Here's Emmanuelle."

"Combien l'a a bu?", I say without preamble at the woman's "Salut."

"Assez que je la conduis de nouveau à son appartement." Her voice is even. The words come out, calm and unhurried. "Ne vous inquiétez pas, je restera avec elle."

"Merci. Elle est importante pour moi." She hands the phone back to Ariadne. "Ariadne, stay with your friend. I will call you in the morning, ok?"

"Ok. But just remember, I called you first."

We hang up and I can't seem to remain standing without support from a wall. I prop a hand against the closest one, trying to regain my wits about me. But it's useless, because the floodgates have opened.

She collapses on the sand next to me, smelling like wood from the bonfire and rests her chin on my shoulder. "You're drunk."

"I'm fine, Arthur. Relax, why don't you? We've just had an amazing night, don't ruin it by going all parental on me." I grimace and pull my hands back as she tosses the car keys underneath her blouse.

"I'd rather we get home in one piece, thank you."

She pouts. "You're one to talk. No way. Give me ten minutes, I'll be even more sober by then."

"I don't know, Paige..."

"Come on, it's almost dawn, anyway. We'll stay for the sunrise and then we can go. Is that ok, Mr. Frowny Face?"

I try and I try, but I can't remember much else from that night, a few meager, fuzzy details which I have spent years sorting and resorting, in vain. There are different accounts of it all, but nothing fits. None of the scenarios reveal anything to me. It's lost inside, a memory I can't access, not with hypnosis; not with drugs; not with conscious effort; not even in dreams. I only know this - I am responsible for destroying a family. Because the next clear memory I have is waking up in a hospital bed and there is blood on my hands. If only - how many times have I said this, how many times have I wished this - if only the story could have just ended there.