standards, but enough to put it in the upper ranks of this earthquake-prone country’s structures. An illuminated logo stood out near its summit. A stylized T, the letter drawn with the flowing strokes of Japanese calligraphy.
The same logo appeared on the letter the bowing limo driver had presented to her at the airport. A greeting from Takashi Seiji, apologizing for not meeting her in person. Instead, the industrialist had written to humbly request—the exact words of the letter—that she meet him at his penthouse.
To her surprise, it turned out that the penthouse was above the corporate headquarters. Takashi was apparently so dedicated to his work, he literally lived at the office.
The skyscraper was set back from the streets, surrounded by an expanse of perfectly manicured lawn. Knowing that Tokyo real estate was among the most expensive in the world, Nina recognized something so simple as a patch of grass as making a subtle yet powerful statement: Yes, we can afford this. Having done a little research during the flight, she knew that Penrose was right about the company’s being a major force in Japan. Takashi himself was the third-generation leader of the business, and in the forty years he had been in charge he had taken it to heights that even his successful father and grandfather could not have dreamed of.
The limo pulled up at one of the building’s entrances, the driver opening the door for Nina and bowing again as she got out. A young Japanese man in a crisp Italian suit came to meet her, bowing even lower before extending his hand. “Good afternoon, Dr. Wilde,” he said. There was a faint West Coast accent to his English. “I’m Kojima Kenichi, Takashi-san’s secretary. I hope you had a pleasant journey.”
“A little short notice, but yes, thank you.” She’d had an extremely nice surprise at JFK when she discovered she had been upgraded to first class, courtesy of Takashi.
“I’m glad to hear it. Please, follow me—don’t worry about your bags, you’ll be taken to your hotel after the meeting.” Another bow, then he started for the entrance. Nina followed.
Kojima led her to a marble reception desk in the lobby—where she was startled to discover that the figure behind it was not human. The receptionist was actually a robot, designed to look like a young and pretty Japanese woman. The illusion was convincing enough for Nina to have reached the desk before noticing something was amiss, but now that she knew, she found the replicant’s slightly stiff movements and glassy eyes unsettling. The robot turned toward her and spoke Japanese in a high, girlie voice.
“Uh … what do I do?” she asked Kojima, who appeared amused by her discomfiture.
The robot bowed its head and spoke again, this time in a distinctly lower register. “My apologies, madam. I did not know you spoke English. May I take your name, please?”
“Nina Wilde?” Nina offered hesitantly.
The robot’s mouth pulled into a smile. “Thank you, you are expected. Mr. Takashi is waiting for you. If you will please take your visitor’s pass and wear it at all times while you are in the building?” Its hand gestured toward a slot set into the marble desktop, from which emerged a laminated card bearing Nina’s name and photograph—which, she realized with unease, must have been taken just moments before by a camera in one of the robot’s eyes. She picked up the card, finding it still warm from whatever gadget had produced it, and clipped it to her jacket. “Please go to elevator number one,” the simulacrum told her. “Have a nice day.”
Nina stepped away from the desk with haste. “Well, that was … creepy,” she said. “Aren’t there any, y’know, real people who could do that?”
Kojima smiled as they crossed the lobby. “Takashi is a world leader in robotics. One of the best ways to test our new technology is to put it on the front line, so to speak. Also, Takashi-san only employs the best and brightest people, and believes that hiring such people for menial work would be a waste of their potential.”
“Uh-huh,” said Nina noncommittally, wondering how Lola would react to having her job described as “menial.” To her mind it seemed better to provide a person with work and a wage than to spend God knew how much money building a freaky robot to do the same thing, but then, she reflected, that was probably why she wasn’t the head of a multibillion-dollar company. “So, before I meet Mr. Takashi, is