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We eased out of the lower bay into the field beyond, the only sound the whir of the freight-shifter and the soft patter the watering jets made against its cab, as they swept back and forth over tomatoes and onions. Only when I heard the doors firmly close behind us, a sound I felt in the pit of my stomach, did I dare to sit back and breathe again. "That was close."
"I was hoping we could save that for a real emergency." Jo glanced at the box between my feet.
"We're not there yet. Hideki could still tip off Mazawa."
"It's possible, although it sounded as if he was in enough hot water already. I guess we'll know soon enough." He gazed out over the lush greenery and neatly cultivated fields that seemed to stretch endlessly in either direction. "Have you ever seen so much fresh food before in your life, Renata? There's enough here to feed everyone in Sawagi two or three times over."
"What I eat usually comes freeze-dried in foil packets." I leaned against the door. "Did you go to Sawagi often?"
"Not as much as I would have liked."
"Weren't you ever lonely or frightened?"
"Frightened? No, I'm grateful for my time in Aokigahara and will always be thankful for the discoveries she gave me." He leaned over the steering mechanism, staring out at our surroundings like a child who'd just happened upon a hidden wonderland. "I've never been inside this holodome before. It's so immense, it makes the one near the Nagasaki Ruins look like a scene in a snow globe."
Though I had no idea what a snow globe might be, after living in the forest as long as he had, open ground must've seemed very foreign to him, indeed. We rode in silence, spring and summer crops giving way to winter fare: row upon row of cabbages and kabocha squash with plump buds nodding in the shadows between their wide leaves. Some had already blossomed, displaying bright orange stellate blooms. As we passed a patch of daikon with frothy stalks, a thought suddenly occurred to me. "Could you grow the Idoron’s main ingredient here, the one Satoshi mentioned?"
"Jubokko? No."
"Why not?"
"Why—? Oh, Renata, it seems your education has been very—I don’t blame Satoshi, mind you, I know he did his best." Favoring me with a sympathetic look he said, "When this is over, we'll have to work on that. There's more to life than survival tactics."
He laughed when I told him he really would have to be immortal to accomplish that, but could start by answering my question.
"Although it often appears as a natural organism—in most cases a tree—the Jubokko strains the limits of scientific reasoning, which is why you will only find mention of its existence in the annals of mythology or cryptobotany. Jubokko can only grow upon ground created by death."
Created? Having personal experience in dealing death, I knew there wasn't anything particularly creative about it at all. Death was the complete opposite of growth and flourishing: it was destruction, decomposition, the ultimate exercise in subtraction. "By that, do you mean places like battlegrounds or sites of mass murder? After centuries of suicides, I can see how Aokigahara would serve as an excellent source of fertilizer."
"That's what I thought, too, initially." He tapped my arm lightly. "The answer lies in what made Aokigahara. Fire and lava: death, Renata, death like a slow creeping river. A cataclysmic event and one so traumatizing, after its occurrence, the very character of the land was forever changed, fragile as scar tissue and just as susceptible to certain..." Brows knitted, Jo paused to pick the right word. "Certain influences, let's say."
"Supernatural ones, you mean?" I shot him a worried glance.
"When it begins to heal, the land, what then springs from it is beyond all rational explanation, defying both science and reason, yet somehow, still exists. Whether one believes in it or not, it simply is."
"If that's true, then wouldn't every plant in the Jukai be a Jubokko?"
"Essentially, yes—although potency wildly varies from species to species. I can't tell you how long it took before I was able to find the most appropriate specimens for my work."
With or without supernatural intervention, it sounded dangerously complicated. "I'm amazed you discovered it at all."
"Thank your mother for that. I'm just a test monkey and sap collector." Then, sobering, he said, "You know, you harmed quite a few Jubokko. Such a violent assault on their poor flesh can impede their circulation, impacting their growth for years to come."
"Sorry, but I had no other way to mark my path," I replied, finding it both strange and sad how he talked about the trees as if they were children, a replacement family for the one he thought he'd lost.
"I believe the phenomenon might not be limited to just volcanic eruptions. Tsunamis, hurricanes, earthquakes—all of these natural disasters might be capable of producing unique species of Jubokko and maybe even different strains of sera! Of course, I haven't had much opportunity to test that thesis, yet."
As we neared the buildings with whitewashed sides and tiled roofs, I became aware of a mechanical whine. One that grew steadily louder behind us. "Jo, someone's—"
Goro, wearing a grim expression, pulled alongside us. Lashed to his zephyr-chaser, staining its pristine surface with crimson rivulets, was Eki's armless body. But before he gunned the engine and sped ahead, Eki moved his head.
"Did you see that? He's alive! Eki's alive!"
Jo squinted into the distance. "They left him for dead, Renata. Are you sure?"
"Positive. A dead body can't raise its head." But why did they rescue him? Mazawa cared about as much for the welfare of his troops as he did for his Kufugaki. Both were mere weapons for him to wield, expendable. "Where do you think Goro's taking him?"
Jo, who'd been watching the zephyr-chaser's progress, raised his wristlet. "Kim, can you push your freight-shifter any faster? I'd like to see where that skycraft's headed."
"No, but don't worry. Kentaro says we're all headed to the same place."
Mud soon gave way to wide, uneven paving stones that wove their way through clusters of whitewashed structures with galvanized roofs. Unguarded, the first grouping appeared to be large storage sheds whose windows had been blackened over from the inside. Metal bars barricaded their doors, signs—many bearing symbols—nailed to their sides, designated each as a repository for a potentially volatile substance, and an insidious stench hung over the area like a thick cloud.
"It's some kind of fertilizer, I'll bet," Jo said, wrinkling his nose. "Nice to know, if we need an explosion on short notice."
We continued this way for some time, weaving around the ramshackle outbuildings. Then the path widened and sprawling cinderblock constructions with rectangular windows replaced the sheds. I wanted to see what was inside them, but tiny windows, set high in the structure, discouraged outside views.
After rounding another turn, we found ourselves at the edge of a rotunda, where a group of Squaddies—all girls and all extremely young—were being put through maneuvers by a sinewy woman in high-collared, dark grey fatigues. Our caravan had to stop to let them pass. Like Hiro, all had the same dark hair and wide dark eyes. One in the rear, however, smaller than the rest and unable to keep up with the woman’s verbal barrage of commands, stumbled.
The commander descended on the child in a flash, beat her mercilessly with her baton, then, taking up her place, marched the Squaddies away, leaving the child in the road.
"What kind of monster—"
"No! No, you can't!" I wrestled Jo away from the door.
Shoulders hunched, white-knuckling the steering control, Jo waited in stony silence until another grey-clad guard waved us on.
Outside the barracks, we turned onto a concourse paved with pale smooth stones. Much wider and straighter than the streets before, we could see the massive mechanized gate and coils of razor wire long before we reached them.
Echoing the sanctuary entrance in the visitor center, this gate also resembled a Torii, only smaller and painted jet black. Signs, bolted to its hashira, proclaimed the area strictly off-limits to civilians, threatening severe penalties for any who dared disobey. And, just in case the electric fence and foot-high warnings in eye-searing red weren't enough of a deterrent, patrollers in full riot gear—body armor, helmets and face shields—manned stations outside the gate. Behind the enclosure, the Spire Lab's monolithic frame glowered in the distance.
Ours wasn't the only transport headed in that direction this morning, either. Another conveyance was steadily approaching us from the opposite side of the street: a freight-shifter whose lumpy cargo had been hidden under a waterproof tarp.
As we neared the gates, the guards stepped forward. One drew his beam launcher, while the other signaled for us to stop. While the former held firing position, his dour-faced friend regarded each of the freight shifters in turn.
"Shit! Not another ID check!"
"Shh!" Jo cautioned. But when the guard strode over to peer in the window, he scowled, tapped his wristlet, and stabbed his finger at the gates.
Nodding, the soldier raised his hand and backed away, but when the heavy doors squealed and started opening inwardly, he silently ordered the covered transport to take the lead.
It plodded forward, slower than ice melt in February, but as it passed us, its cargo shifted, allowing a white-clad arm to protrude. As I watched it dangle, limp as a waterlogged reed, a wave of gooseflesh crawled over me.
"They must've come from the Saisei Detention Center," I whispered.
"But why are they—"
Joe shushed me again, then whispered, "I think we’re about to find out."
Once the cadaver carrier finally cleared the Torii, the pinch-faced patroller waved us through. Midway up the street, we met an outbound contingent, a group clad in full hazmat gear. Empty sample containers rattled on the back of their cargo shifter. Two of them bobbed their misshapen white heads in silent greeting as we passed.
Their exit heralded our entry point: a long ramp-like ingress between two smaller buildings that ended at a large loading dock. Multiple overhead doors—four in all—marked entrances to its bays, which sat high above the ground. On the sides of each door, as well as bolted to the buildings in the back of the lot, surveillance recorders swiveled slowly, monitoring our progress with their baleful black lenses. Directly above the bays, the Spire Lab's glassy green panels soared into the artificially sunlit sky.