Part 1 (1/2)

GHOSTWRITTEN.

by David Mitch.e.l.l.

for John

...And I, who claim to know so much more, isn't it possible that even I have missed the very spring within the spring?

Some say that we shall never know, and that to the G.o.ds we are like the flies that the boys kill on a summer day, and some say, on the contrary, that the very sparrows do not lose a feather that has not been brushed away by the finger of G.o.d.

Thornton Wilder, The Bridge of San Luis Rey The Bridge of San Luis Rey

Contents

Okinawa

Tokyo

Hong Kong

Holy Mountain

Mongolia

Petersburg

London

Clear Island

Night Train

Underground

Okinawa

Who was blowing on the nape of my neck?

I swung around. The tinted gla.s.s doors hissed shut. The light was bright. Synthetic ferns swayed, very gently, up and down the empty lobby. Nothing moved in the sun-smacked car park. Beyond, a row of palm trees and the deep sky.

'Sir?'

I swung around. The receptionist was still waiting, offering me her pen, her smile as ironed as her uniform. I saw the pores beneath her make-up, and heard the silence beneath the muzak, and the rus.h.i.+ng beneath the silence.

'Kobayas.h.i.+. I called from the airport, a while ago. To reserve a room.' Pinp.r.i.c.king in the palms of my hands. Little thorns.

'Ah, yes, Mr Kobayas.h.i.+...' So what if she didn't believe me? The unclean check into hotels under false names all the time. To fornicate, with strangers. 'If I could just ask you to fill in your name and address here, sir... and your profession?'

I showed her my bandaged hand. 'I'm afraid you'll have to fill the form in for me.'

'Certainly... My, how did that happen?'

'A door closed on it.'

She winced sympathetically, and turned the form around. 'Your profession, Mr Kobayas.h.i.+?'

'I'm a software engineer. I develop products for different companies, on a contract-by-contract basis.'

She frowned. I wasn't fitting her form. 'I see, no company as such, then...'

'Let's use the company I'm working with at the moment.' Easy. The Fellows.h.i.+p's technology division will arrange corroboration.

'Fine, Mr Kobayas.h.i.+... Welcome to the Okinawa Garden Hotel.'

'Thank you.'

'Are you visiting Okinawa for business or for sightseeing, Mr Kobayas.h.i.+?'

Was there something quizzical in her smile? Suspicion in her face?

'Partly business, partly sightseeing.' I deployed my alpha control voice.

'We hope you have a pleasant stay. Here's your key, sir. Room 307. If we can a.s.sist you in any way, please don't hesitate to ask.'

You? a.s.sist me? 'Thank you.'

Unclean, unclean. These Okinawans never were pure-blooded j.a.panese. Different, weaker ancestors. As I turned away and walked towards the elevator, my ESP told me she was smirking to herself. She wouldn't be smirking if she knew the calibre of mind she was dealing with. Her time will come, like all the others.

Not a soul was stirring in the giant hotel. Hushed corridors stretched into the noontime distance, empty as catacombs.

There's no air in my room. Use of air-conditioning is prohibited in Sanctuary because it impairs alpha waves. To show solidarity with my brothers and sisters, I switched it off and opened the windows. The curtains I keep drawn. You never know whose telephoto lens might be looking in.