from my week at IBM yesterday. You should see their labs! They put me on the helpdesk to wipe the arses of the great unwashed. Deep grief. I wanted to be in R&D to check out the new stuff, right. It took me a few minutes to hatch my escape plan. My first call comes in, this bumpkin from Akita with an accent even thicker than yours, no offence. “Oim having some bovver with my ’puter. Screen went blank.” “Oh dear, sir. Can you see the cursor?” “You wot?” “The little arrow, sir, that tells you where you are.” “Don’t see no arrow. Don’t see nuffin. Screen went blank, I tell yer.” “I see, sir. Is there a power indicator on your monitor?” “On me wot?” “On your monitor, sir. The TV. Does it have a little ‘On’ light?” “No light, no nuffin.” “Sir, is the TV plugged into the wall?” “No idea, can’t see nuffin, I tell yer.” “Not even if you crane your head around, sir?” “How could I? It be as black as night in here, oim tellin yer.” “Maybe it would help if you turned the lights on, sir?” “Oi tried, but they won’t come on – the electric company are testing the wotsits, and there won’t be no power until three o’clock.” “I see, sir. Well, I have good news.” “You do?” “Yes, sir. Do you still have the boxes the computer came in?” “Oi never throw nuffin away.” “Splendid, sir. I want you to pack your computer up and take it back to the shop you bought it from.” “Is the problem that serious, then?” “I’m afraid it is, sir.” “Wot do I tell ’em at the shop, then?” “Are you listening carefully, sir?” “Oi am.” “Tell them you’re too much of a shit-for-brains to own a computer!” And then I hang up.’
‘That was your escape plan?’
‘I know my calls are monitored by the drongo in charge of me, right. Plus, I know they know I’m too valuable to chop. So the supervisor agreed my talents might be more profitably employed in another department. I suggested R&D, and off I went. Miyake, what is that thing you’re carrying?’
‘A pineapple.’
‘I thought so. Why are you carrying a pineapple?’
‘This is a present.’
‘I thought they came in cans. Who are you giving a live pineapple to?’
‘You.’
‘Me?’ Suga is mystified. ‘What do you do with them?’
‘People slice them into chunks with a knife, and, uh . . . eat them.’
Suga suddenly beams. ‘Hey, thanks. I forgot lunch. Guess where I am?’ He nods at his computer, and pulls a beer free from its six-pack – I shake my head. ‘French Nuclear Energy. Their anti-hacking tech is Iron Age.’
‘I thought your Holy Grail was in the Pentagon.’
‘Oh, shit.’ Suga hiss-pisses beer everywhere. ‘It is. The French are zombies.’
‘Zombies? I know their Pacific nuclear tests suck, but—’
Suga shakes his head. ‘Zombies. No hacker worth his silicon ever hacks directly. We hack into a zombie computer, and go fishing from there. Often, we zombify another zombie via the first. The hotter the target, the longer the zombie conga.’
Time to get to the point. ‘I have a favour to ask. A delicate one.’
‘What do you want me to hack into?’
He looks at me as he swigs his beer. I realize there is a whole lot more to Suga than I judged. I judge people too fast. I get out the library book that Miriam dropped in the park. ‘This might be a tall order, Suga, but could you get into a Tokyo library computer and look up the address of the person who is borrowing this book?’
Suga wipes away the beer froth. ‘You must be joking.’
‘Can you do it?’
‘Can I piss straight when I waz?’
Miriam’s Korean name is Kang Hyo Yeoun. She is twenty-five, and has three books on loan from the library service. I take an overland train to her apartment in Funabashi. It is a run-down neighbourhood, but sort of friendly. Everything needs a new coat of paint. I ask a woman who works in a cake shop next to the station where I can find Miriam’s address, and she draws me a map and says goodbye with a crafty wink. I walk past a long row of bicycle stalls, turn a corner and there is the sea, for the first time in a month. Tokyo bay sea air has a petrol tang. Cargo ships lie berthed, loaded and unloaded by cranes with four legs and llama necks. Fiery weeds