Vol 1 Chapter 2.1 (1/2)
[Novel] NO. 6 - Vol 1 Ch 2 (a)
These are English translations for the novel NO. 6 by Asano Atsuko.
CHAPTER 2
A Quiet Beginning
Index Case (First Discovered Example)
Male, aged 31 years. Employee at a biotechnology firm. Engineer. Already dead upon discovery. Confirmed address...
The man sank into a bench in the Forest park, and sighed. He wondered how many times he had already sighed that morning. He sighed, and looked at the head of lettuce in his hand. It made him sigh again. Crisp, green leaves firmly wrapped the head of lettuce ― as far as quality went, it was first-cla.s.s. He tore off a leaf, and brought it to his mouth. It had a delicate taste, and the texture was excellent. First-cla.s.s, indeed. Then why wasn't it selling?
The lettuce was this man's piece of work. He had long worked in the development of biotechnology to produce fresh produce, namely leafy vegetables. He believed that these safe, affordable and delicious bio-vegetables were the solution to the rising food crisis, and would soon become a mainstay in food distribution. He had the confidence it would. But market sales were not doing as well as he expected, and the man was losing hope. Buyers seemed to prefer produce trucked in from the fields of the Southeastern Blocks, rather than his bio-vegetables. The trend was especially strong for leafy vegetables, like cabbage and lettuce. If this continued, his boss had told him, he would have to start thinking about discontinuing production.
The base of his neck itched. It had been itching for a while now. The man was p.r.o.ne to getting rashes when he was tired. By tonight, a red rash would probably have spread to his whole body. Too many unpleasant things were happening today. He sighed again. The lettuce in his hand felt heavy.
A beeping sound rang from his breast pocket. The mobile telephone screen on his ID card lit up, and young woman's face appeared.
”Greetings from the Munic.i.p.al Information System. This is to notify you of the results of the Children's Examination you have registered for. To confirm your account, please enter your Citizens.h.i.+p Number...” Before the woman was even finished speaking, the man began to key in his number. Today was the day of his two-year-old daughter's Examinations. She was a bright and adorable little girl. He had never dared to say it out loud, but he secretly harboured an expectation that she might be acknowledged as a top ranker.
”Thank you. We have confirmed your fingerprint and registration number. Your information is as follows...” His daughter's name was displayed, followed by a set of detailed numbers. Weight, height, bust measurement, condition of health, condition of nutrition, development stage, ranking of various skills... all grades ranged in the average A to C. She was neither overly behind, nor outstandingly brilliant. That was it. The man gazed at the screen for a moment, and then put his card back into his pocket. He thought of his daughter's smile.
Oh well.
The man spoke to himself, and grinned at the head of lettuce in his hand. Gifted or not, his daughter was still his daughter. He cherished and adored her. And that was good enough.
Suddenly, an idea sparked in his head. Had he, perhaps, been too trapped in the idea of the best, most perfect? It was true ― there was nothing to complain about this lettuce. But maybe its perfection was also the bane of it. If these identical, perfect heads of lettuce were piled up row after row, consumers might not feel as inclined to buy it. What if its perfection was actually scaring consumers away?
A cleaning robot was approaching. On its metallic body sat a round head, and two arms extended to pick up trash, and throw it inside the dust box located in the middle of its body. Yes. This lettuce was like that robot. It was clean and orderly, but too artificial. The vegetables that the consumers wanted were more unique, more natural.... The lettuce rolled out of his hand. The man quickly bent down to pick it up, and furrowed his brow.
Huh?
His fingers stiffened. His vision blurred. It was hard to breathe. The robot picked the lettuce up, and paused. A young male voice prompted him.
”May I dispose of this as trash?”
The man opened his mouth to speak, and was overcome with a fit of coughing. Along with it, something white spilled out of his mouth. Teeth. His teeth were falling out.
”Are you sure? I will dispose of it now.” The lettuce was thrown into the dust box, and the robot moved away.
――Wait, help me....
The man reached out, and gave a cry of horror. The whole length of his extended arm was riddled with spots. His body grew heavy. The man staggered, and collapsed on the ground between the bench and the hedges.
”s.h.i.+on, take a look at this.”
It was past six when s.h.i.+on was called over by his co-worker, Yamase. The two were the only people at the Park Administration Office. Together they operated and maintained the three cleaning robots that patrolled the park. Labour robots such as these were still at the prototype stage, and even simple cleaning robots were p.r.o.ne to breaking down. Operating them was a ha.s.sle too, because they weren't good at distinguis.h.i.+ng trash. After recording an object as trash in the computer's memory the first time around, it was supposed to recognize it automatically every time afterwards. But the robots sent back ”indistinguishable object” errors all the time. There was one half an hour ago, in fact. The image sent back to him looked like a head of lettuce, and s.h.i.+on had hesitated for a moment about what to do. He had encountered other things before that he wondered if he should call trash, like a baby chick that had fallen out of a tree, or a hat with a rather extravagant feathered decoration. Lettuce, though, was a first.
”Something the matter?” He stood behind Yamase, who was sitting at the operation panel.
”Hmm... Sampo's acting strange.”
Yamase liked to call the three robots by their nicknames. Sampo was Robot No. 3. Today, it was working in a corner in the deeper recesses of the park. Sampo was also the same one that picked up the head of lettuce. The screen in front of them displayed a flas.h.i.+ng red error notifying them of an indistinguishable object.
”What's the image like?”
”Yeah, about that. It's not very clear, but... it's strange.”
”Strange?”
Yamase was twenty ― four years older than s.h.i.+on ― and quiet by nature, seldom ruffled by anything. The calm nature of his co-worker was one of the two reasons why s.h.i.+on liked this workplace. The other reason was that because his job dealt mostly with machines, he didn't have to talk to people.
”Here, you take a look,” Yamase said, switching the screen over to the camera.
”Can you focus in a little more?”
”Sure,” came the answer, and Yamase's hands moved swiftly over the control panel. The image became clearer.
”What......” s.h.i.+on leaned in closer, and his breath caught in his throat. Feet? A pair of trousered legs were protruding from behind the bench. He could see a pair of brownish shoes outfitting them.
”You think he's sleeping...?” Yamase's voice trembled.
”Any signs of life?”
”Huh?”
”Can you raise Sampo's sensors to the max level?” Sampo was outfitted with several receptors that could sense heat, sound, and texture. Yamase's voice shook more violently.