Espresso Love (A Dystopian Japan Novel) #Wattys2014

Staccato

-Staccato-

I found out from a dull looking security guard, who must be in his late forties, that there had been a breach at the shaft we climbed and that I would have to leave from the front doors instead. The trip would be over 500 meters long.

"A breach?"

"A security breach."

"What do you mean a security breach?"

"All kinds of crazy things people do for coffee. One time, some thugs tried to sneak in as workers disguised and all, entering at different times. Like Ocean's Eleven or something. But we're no casino from back in the day. Luckily we have fingerprint recognition technology and they hadn't planned that far." He turns out to be a pretty talkative guy, perhaps bored to wits' end of his job. "So we put them in a locked room until the police came. As a souvenir, Ms. Kaneko gave them each a coffee bean and told them to apply from the company website if they wanted to work here. I thought it was pretty funny, there was no way she was serious." We're walking pretty fast, feet drumming on the floor, sounding like tribal music. I can hear Shirayuki's extra set of feet behind us. "Anyway, this time," he says, "the security cameras look pretty serious. We have a good team monitoring the cameras but they got pretty far in before we found out. Black suits and all -"

He never gets to finish, because I notice the brief flicker in the navy blue of his uniform. His boots become dress shoes. It takes me a brief second, but I understand right away and start to run. Shirayuki is right behind me, shouting something inaudible. Our sneakers are squeaking and I'm not looking back. Don't look back, I tell her. I'm not, she says.

I wasn't entirely sure what was going on, or where I was going but in the distance I heard something that resembled gunfire. Loud cracks that reverberated through the halls. All I knew was that I was running, Shirayuki was running. It wasn't too hard to navigate, only that the passageways seemed excessively long, stretching alongside the plantations. It was so large, there could be a fire at one end and no one would notice on the other. Some of the airlock climate bays we pass by had no windows and we couldn't see into it. There were only vault-like doors and large signs in bold black lettering and red lines. CAUTION: AIRTIGHT SEAL. AUTHORIZED PLANTATION PERSONNEL ONLY. PLEASE USE APPROPRIATE STERILIZED EQUIPMENT.

"This way." She pulls me hard to one side and we turn a corner into a long narrow hall. So narrow my shoulders nearly touch the sides. The lights are off, walls white and blank, like a hospital horror movie. Something sterile smells. At the end there's a glass door and a sign that tells us it's supposed to be an exit. But to where?

"This isn't the front lobby," I say.

She shrugs and presses forward, her Converse shuffling on the ground silently.

Down the hall behind us, I hear footsteps.

"Okay, well, no choice."

Through the door, we find ourselves a set of stairs that spiral up, sort of a fire escape, but without lights. Everything is a monochrome swath of deep blue. There's some soft mysterious light filtering in from the glass window and probably from another level above. It appears abandoned, no one has used it in a long time. There's even a thin layer of dust on the handrails that change the red paint into a pastel as if it's coated in volcanic ash or dandruff. Maybe like the citizens of Pompeii, all that's left is just a remnant of historic truth.

We climb the stairs two steps at a time and at the top reach an alcove connecting to a walkway of steel grating like ones in a factory, but painted white. They seem to cut between each plantation as a dizzying network of connecting bridges. But at some point they were probably discarded because some meet blank walls where an access door might have been. To someone below in the hall or in the farm, they would have had no idea we are here. It's safe it appears, and dark - there's only a single emergency light, glowing orange like a sunset on a beach. This is all above the ceiling and works along the ventilation. Aside from maintenance crews, I can't imagine why someone would use this. The set of stairs are rather pointless: we've been led to a confined space. But there must be secrets and hidden skeletons behind the scenes somewhere.

Picking our way along the tight platform isn't easy business and the going is slow. We try not to move much because the surface trembles and wobbles like a flimsy piece of tin foil with each step. As a result, there is tremendous noise coming from us. I am keenly aware of a firm pressure, some sort of presence rearing up behind me, urging me onward. My heart is pounding and my palms sweating. There's not much time available, is what it says.

After a few minutes, we hear footsteps in front of us and we flatten ourselves against the wall. Coincidentally, a steel I-beam pillar conveniently sits in front. I feel her shoulder pressed against mine and her small frame trembling. I imagine what it would be like if Shizuka was here. Would she show her fear or anxiety? Or would she be as composed and level-headed as ever? Would she have another plan in mind?

There are no voices, just footsteps. Slow, steady, heavy. Familiar. Loud thuds. I count five paces, then a long pause. Then I hear from another direction, five paces, and another long pause. There are at least two of them. They had climbed stairs, opened the door and stepped onto the walkway at opposing ends. It seems far enough away. But the sound carries through the metal frames like electricity through wires. It resonates right up to my eardrums as if there were loudspeakers beside me, as if the walls themselves were cracking.

Shirayuki is trembling on. I feel an urge to comfort her somehow. After all, she is still a kid. She's trying her best. But there's nothing I can do. I don't know if we had made a mistake or if they would've found us anyway. They know where we are, I reason, if the System can tell when or where Etiquette is broken - and surely it has just happened, or been happening. But would the Images know or does the System have to relay the information to them? Is there a delay in response time?

Aside from returning the way we came from, the path continues forward and hits a fork towards two gangways. One disappears into the shadows behind a large duct and the other straight over a pitfall in the open, presumably the gap to the ten foot high faux ceiling of the pedestrian corridors below. We would have to move soon, or they'd zero in like .

Then, like a solar flare, my mind lights up for a moment - I hear it in my head a while before I hear it with my ears.

There's an audible metal clack.

"That's not good," she says.

"No that can't be good."