Кобо Абэ - The Ark Sakura

He went even faster on the return trip. I tried to call out to him, but I was gasping for breath, and it was all I could do to keep up with him. I couldn’t understand. Who was he accusing of underestimating him? The insect dealer was drunk and asleep, and I couldn’t recall any particularly stormy exchanges between them. But there wasn’t anybody else. I had the feeling that cancer wasn’t the only shadow hanging over him.

He did not stop until he reached the firing range. I had no intention of asking questions, but even so he fitted an arrow into the crossbow, drew the bow full, spun around and took aim at my feet.

“From here on, don’t utter a sound. Better take off your shoes too.”

“Komono was drunk, you know. I can’t believe he was only pretending to be asleep.”

“I said shut up!”

His voice was so charged with electricity that it all but gave off sparks. I took off my shoes and stuck them in my belt. I wanted to hold him back, but he gained another big lead on me at the lift. By the time I had lowered myself back onto the floor of the work hold, he was way across the room.

I tiptoed into the last tunnel. I had no great mind to stick up for the insect dealer. In a sense, he had it coming. His overbearing ways — especially his overly familiar way with the girl — had riled me too. But the shill was not a terribly good shot. Whether the girl was on the top or the bottom, he might err and hit her instead. Even if he did hit his target, things would be sticky. Calling an ambulance would be bad enough; once the police were called in, the ship was doomed even before its launching. Perhaps a mortal wound would be better. Once the body was chopped up and flushed down the toilet, nothing would remain but a lingering unpleasantness. And in six more months (following the worst-case scenario), burdened now with two cancer-ridden corpses, I would go back to being a lonely captain, probably never recovering sufficiently to seek other buyers for the tickets to survival.

The shill was standing stock-still in the tunnel entranceway, weapon poised. The arrow was still fixed in place, with no sign that he had fired. Below the bridge, the blue-and-red-striped sleeping bag was rolled up like a potato bug, and from it emerged deep snores.

The shill put his weapon on safety and smiled awkwardly. “I have a feeling. I’ll bet those old geezers in the Broom Brigade are planning an attack for right around tonight.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Just a feeling I have. Anyway, Komono should be ashamed of himself — knocked out flat by a few beers!”

15

THE MEMBERS OF THE OLYMPIC

PREVENTION LEAGUE WEAR

PIG BADGES ON THEIR CHESTS

The girl too lay asleep, face down on the chaise longue, with a light blanket pulled up over her head (by which I do not mean to suggest that the lower half of her body was exposed), her snores rivaling those of the insect dealer. The shill sat down in the middle of the stairs and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He said:

“I wasn’t really going to shoot. That’s the honest truth. Even if the worst possible thing was happening right before my eyes, I wouldn’t have pulled the trigger. I’m not as tough as I look and talk, really; it’s all an act. I’m just a failure. And I go into jealous fits over her. Even though in six months she’ll never belong to anyone again. She’s something, isn’t she? I mean, don’t you think so?”

“Yes, I do. I have from the first.”

“Back when I was with the gangsters, I happened to read Darwin’s theory of evolution. In comic book form — but still, it changed my whole view of life. Yakuza pride themselves on living dangerously, but you know, if their fights are real, so are everybody else’s. If a gangster is somebody who lays his life on the line every day, then everybody’s a gangster. But gangsters can see only their own little world. Life is reduced to a bunch of fights over territory. You wouldn’t believe how spiteful they are.”

“So the problem is who the ‘fittest’ are.”

“Exactly. Basically, everyone who’s alive is fit. Suppose Komono were to try to take her pants off and succeed — he’d be one of the fittest.”

“Everything seems so clear to you.”

“Not really. It’s just evolutionary theory.”

“Speaking of fights over territories — the eupcaccia has a very small territory, doesn’t it? Barely the length of its own body.”

His mind continued on its own track. “Religions aren’t fair,” he said, “with their heavens and hells.”

I laughed. “I’m starting to see what you meant when you said a shipload of respectable people would be dull as hell.”

“Absolutely. This is no Olympic village. No point in gathering a lot of clean-cut athletic types.”

“Speaking of the Olympics — did you ever hear of something called the Olympic Prevention League?” He didn’t answer, and I dropped the subject.

The coffee was ready. I placed two cups side by side on the edge of the toilet, and poured out coffee that looked like watery brown paint. The shill propped up the insect dealer and held a cup of scalding coffee to his mouth.

“All right, Komono, wake up. It’s only nine-thirty. I’ve got to talk to you, so wake up.”

Opening one bloodshot eye, the insect dealer slurped a mouthful of coffee, made sure he was holding the gun, shook his head, and went back to sleep without uttering a word.

The shill and I went back up the stairs, and sat drinking our coffee and waiting for something to happen. Yawning without opening his mouth, he said, “I wonder if they’re really going to attack. What do you think, Captain?”

“Shall I try again to get hold of Sengoku?”

“Why?”

“Based on circumstantial evidence, he’s a strong suspect, isn’t he?”

“Why are they all old men in that outfit? Aren’t there any old ladies?”

“Apparently not, although I don’t know why. Maybe the old ladies are too in touch with reality.”

Too much coffee upsets my stomach. Thinking I’d boil myself an egg, I headed for the galley, when out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed a human figure lurking around the tunnel entrance. I set down my coffee cup, snatched the converted Uzi out of the insect dealer’s sleeping bag, and took off.

“What is it?”

“There’s somebody over there.”

The shill jumped down the stairs in a single bound, quickly overtaking me and running on ahead. As he planted himself in the entrance to the work hold, crossbow at the ready, he looked reassuringly strong and reliable.

“Nobody in sight. There wasn’t enough time to climb the shaft; maybe he got out that way.” He snapped his fingers in the direction of the tunnel leading to the second hold (the future residential area).

“Impossible. It’s a dead end, and besides—” I caught myself. That’s right, the shill still didn’t know. I took a step forward, held out the barrel of the Uzi, and waved it up and down. A bell rang. I turned off the switch under the rails. “I tested it before too. The warning system is all in working order.”

“That’s funny.”

“Maybe I only imagined it. The same thing’s happened before, more than once. This place is so big and empty, and the light is so dim, that even a piece of dust in your eye can look like all sorts of things.”

“Are you telling me I only imagined what I saw?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It’s not impossible, though. I’ve never lived anywhere as big as this.”

“But if you caught sight of him repeatedly. I mean, if it was an optical illusion you’d have seen him once, period.”

“I suppose so. You want to have a look in that pile of stuff over there?”

The shill aimed his crossbow at the palisade of old bikes concealing the entrance to the storerooms. The bike handles were turned at odd angles, with no sign that anyone had been through. Whoever knew about the camouflage would also know that inside was a dead end. If he meant to use the arsenal, however, that was different. In that case, there was even the possibility of counterattack. I cocked my Uzi and held it ready. Lining up the handlebars in the right and left corners so they faced the same way, I swung the palisade out and switched on the lights. While the shill guarded the entrance, I checked out the interior, step by step. Nobody was there.