In the sky above the Pacific Ocean, in a first-class seat of a JAL Boeing 747, I sat staring out of the window, an unread copy of the Wall Street Journal on the empty seat beside me. I was surrounded mostly by Japanese businessmen, several of whom stared at me, then at their newspapers, then back at me, whispering to each other with various degrees of awe. For several days the Post had found the Battle party newsworthy.
As I sat there I wondered what had happened to my life. Only four months earlier I’d been well on the road to success, happily employed, happily engaged, confident and secure in all I did. Now I was on the road to failure, unemployed, unengaged, unconfident and insecure. All because of that horrible idea of finding my father. With that single act I had inadvertently set in motion events that seemed to have undone my life. Thank God.
Inadvertently. Accidentally. By chance. With the simple intention of just finding Luke I had somehow created a situation in which the tabloids were damning me and praising me as the ‘evil offshoot’ or ‘worthy successor’ to the very father I’d just months ago set out permanently to disown.
Where was the justice in the world? Where the reason? Where the logical, inevitable, rational unfolding of events that let a reasonable man get ahead in the world?
Kim came suddenly down the aisle and sat down happily beside me. I wasn’t too sure how happy I was going to be as a failure, but though she’d been fired from her job with the health salons – her boss not taking kindly to her sudden open-ended trip to the Far East – Kim was as cheerful as ever. Since Mr Battle had now totally cut her off, and her lifetime savings consisted of less than eight hundred dollars, she couldn’t really afford this trip, but I’d put our tickets on a BB&P credit expense card before my alleged attempt to rape the wife of the firm’s most important client had got me cut off. ‘I liked my old life,’ I said when she had settled beside
‘So that’s why you spent all those hours with psychotherapists,’ she commented.
‘I liked my old life – even my complaining about my father,’ I said.
‘Now you’ve really got something to complain about.’
‘I bet by the time I find out where my father is he’ll be dead,’ I said. ‘At the last minute he’ll disappear – just like he did when I was twelve.’
‘He might have to,’ said Kim.
‘What’s that mean?’
That FBI agent we saw in Lukedom is in the back row of the plane, puking all over the place.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. You’re still not the only one interested in finding dear old dicedaddy.’
At the Tokyo airport Larry and Kim cleared customs and found a cab to take them to the nearby train station to get into Tokyo. Putt and Macavoy, close behind, leapt into the very next cab and Putt leaned forward and shouted: ‘Follow that cab!’
The Japanese cab driver nodded cheerfully, slammed down the meter and zoomed off. Putt, eyes gleaming, sat back in his seal and watched his cab quickly come up behind the one that contained Larry. He turned to smile at Macavoy.
But then his cab suddenly passed Larry’s cab. Was this some clever Oriental method of tailing that the cabbie was using? Putt looked behind to see what was happening to Larry and saw the other cab make a right turn and move off in another direction.
‘Hey!’ shouted Putt. The other way! He went right!’
The Japanese smiled and nodded and went even faster as he tore up the ramp to get on the expressway to Tokyo.
‘No, no, no!’ shouted Putt. ‘Other way! Reverse! Turn around!’ He made circles with his hands, he pointed, he shouted, he raved, he collapsed. Through it all the cab driver merely smiled and nodded. The meter ticked on.
Ditonics was housed in a medium-sized skyscraper in the heart of downtown Tokyo. The architecture was magnificently modem, with long concrete curves, huge planes of glass, and several monumental modem sculptures. The building epitomized everything that Lukedom was not. When their cab from the train deposited them in front of this edifice, one look at it made both Larry and Kim feel that they must be on a wild goose chase. No element of chance could have created this building or the wealth necessary to pay for it. Their hearts sank.
The lobby was equally impressive, with the ceiling almost a hundred feet above the main part of the lobby and magnificent curved staircases soaring up to the various levels that led off this main lobby. Their hearts sank further.
But then there was the logo: a cubic design with the letters D and I in two of the three visible sides of the cube. Of course a cube didn’t have to represent a die. But then again, why the name Ditonics? Was Ditonics a Japanese word? Could Luke really have had anything to do with this corporation?
One of the receptionists spoke flawless English. When they told her they were here to write a history of the corporation for a New York magazine she referred them to their Public Relations Director.
Mr Uro also spoke English, and after they had established their interest in the history of the corporation, Larry asked casually how the corporation had gotten its name. Mr Uro said he didn’t know. Larry asked what the logo was supposed to mean. Mr Uro said he didn’t know. Kim asked if an American named Luke Rhinehart had had anything to do with the creation of the corporation. Mr Uro said he didn’t know.
However, he was clearly made uncomfortable by these questions. After having a woman bring them tea he asked to be excused for a short time.
Half an hour later he apologetically returned and said he had found someone who might perhaps better answer their questions.
Mr Mora was an elderly Japanese, dressed, as were all the men they met, in the standard business suit. He was a frail man with a mild twinkle in his eye who greeted them warmly in a large office on the thirty-ninth floor. He understood they were interested in the history of Ditonics and had mentioned an American named Luke Rhinehart.
‘May I ask what your interest is in this American named Luke Rhinehart?’ Mr Mora asked.
‘I’m his son,’ Larry said. ‘I haven’t seen him in fifteen years. I want to find him.’
‘And why do you think he might be in Tokyo?’ asked Mr Mora.
‘Because Ditonics has been sending money to some enterprises that my father created many years ago and to his old friend Jake Ecstein,’ answered Larry.
‘Ah, is that so?’ said Mr Mora, nodding and with his omnipresent soft smile. ‘How interesting.’
‘We thought so,’ said Kim.
‘You must know something about that funding,’ said Larry, ‘and therefore something about my father.’
‘Is that so?’ said Mr Mora, nodding and smiling. ‘How interesting.’
‘So would you mind sharing this knowledge with us?’ suggested Kim.
‘That would be interesting, too,’ said Mr Mora. ‘But first it is my duty to take you on a tour of Ditonics. I cannot explain the funding you speak of unless you know about our whole corporation. Will you, please?’
Mr Mora had risen from behind his desk and began to leave the room, bowing and beckoning Larry and Kim to follow. In the anteroom outside, a nervous-looking Mr Uro was waiting. Together the four of them began to take a look at Ditonics.
What struck Larry most strongly about the corporation and its operation was how closely it resembled what he had read about every other Japanese corporation. Everywhere they went everyone seemed to be working hard; everyone was dressed like everyone else; each office seemed similar to the one before. They saw a group of employees doing calisthenics before lunch, another group meditating. They saw massive armies of computers.
Mr Uro explained that Ditonics was a multifaceted company dealing primarily in creating computer software for design programs for other companies. For example, they had created many design programs that Toyota and Honda and other Japanese car companies used in designing their automobiles. Ditonics had created other programs for the Japanese fashion industry, which, he pointed out, was now one of the leaders in the world. Also design programs for leading architects, including the one that had designed the building they were in. They also created design programs for Sony, Hitachi and other Japanese producers of video and sound equipment. They also created video games.
In addition to their computer software work, they invested in other enterprises throughout the world, usually on a small scale – as with Lukedom. They also funded studies about the effectiveness of some of these enterprises.
After an hour of peering at one roomful of hard-working Japanese men after another and the seemingly endless monologue of Mr Uro on the boring businesses of Ditonics, Larry and Kim were at a loss to see what all this had to do with Luke Rhinehart. Then Mr Mora invited them to lunch.
The three of them ate alone in the executive dining room.
‘You ask earlier,’ Mr Mora said, after they had eaten the main meal and were lingering over brandy, ‘if Luke Rhinehart create Ditonics. Not so. Ditonics founded by Japanese computer expert, Iko Tarowu. However, something we not yet tell you throw a different light on Ditonics.’
He paused, took a sip of his brandy and, eyes twinkling,
‘Ditonics has succeeded because we have secret formula,’ he said. ‘Formula created by Iko Tarowu more than twelve years ago.’ Again he paused. ‘Mr Tarowu developed technique of introducing random elements into every piece oí design software. He felt that as animal species have been improved over millions of years by chance mutations so too designs might be improved by chance mutation.’
Larry and Kim watched him, listening, knowing that this was leading them closer to Luke Rhinehart.
‘In designing a car you feed in variables and design values and you push button and you get nice-looking car. A car that is nice-looking like other cars have been nice-looking. With random element introduced you get ugly cars, cars with flaws, cars with big noses or no ears, cars with one leg or pimples.’ He smiled broadly for the first time. ‘And, one time in ten thousand, you get beautiful car, a car beautiful and interesting in a way rational software never produce. You get a successful mutant.’
Larry and Kim simply waited for him to go on.
‘Actually I say one in ten thousand,’ Mr Mora went on after a brief frown. ‘Not so. It more like one in ten million. We don’t just introduce one random element into software, but have to introduce many different random elements in random combinations in order to create our beautiful mutants. But when we succeed we come up with something that no one else ever think of, something no one else’s software ever possibly come up with, because everyone else following reason and cause and effect and purpose and these can only lead to slight modifications of things we already have and know. Ditonics alone produces mutants.’
He leaned back in his chair and looked pleased. ‘Did Mr Iko know Luke Rhinehart?’ asked Kim softly.
‘Mr Tarowu,’ Mr Mora corrected. ‘Yes, he did. Mr Tarowu was … what do you call it … hippie in London in early 1970s. He read your father’s book. He conclude chance is important. He return to Japan and became Japanese again. He create Ditonics.’ Mr Mora smiled.
‘Does my father work here in Ditonics?’ Larry asked.
‘Not any more,’ said Mr Mora without pause.
‘Where is he?’ asked Larry.
‘Your father is in Zen monastery near Kyoto,’ answered Mr Mora.
‘Thank you,’ said Larry.
‘He is expecting you,’ said Mr Mora.