Six: Subtraction
To our good fortune, Statesman Hershey returned. He’d explained the process in limited detail. Our minder was patient. Our time constraint was not. We’d not heard nor seen the missing soldiers we’d been assured were still alive. Until a plan to end our current stalemate could be formulated, we had no choice but to play along.
Presently, it was my turn to venture into the glass box.
Just as Mr. Hershey had described to the team, the interior of the two-story transparent building was vacant. At least, the ground level had no persons or staff within. Stepping forward I could have swordn to have heard footsteps above me. Only faint creeks from the ceiling. Perhaps only my imagination or nerves. I continued forward, my black dress socks padded silently over the polished sedona-red floors. Woven rice mats flanked either side of the aisle. The air smelled familiar; smokey, rich cedar, and sea salt. There was an overpowering sense of ritual purity in this space. It begged the question; all of this mystique for a entrance visa?
I’d reached the back wall furthest from the entrance. Spaced out evenly against the rear glass wall were seven flat black stones as tall as a man and just as wide. I reached out my hand cautiously. It was cool to the touch and the centermost rock began to glow in response to my finger tips. The off white luminecance appeared soft at first, its surface gradually brightening to appear cream colored parchment. Without any other input from my part, Katakana scrolled down from the smooth surface. Those symols shifted once more.
English writing.
Q. 1) What is the purpose of your stay?
Having been prepped in advance by Mr. Hershey, my mind had only the length of time it took to cross the room to decide whether to answer honestly or lie. What would be in the best interest of preventing another global war? What would ensure my own survival and that of my companions? I’d been trained as both an investigative journalist and Naval Officer of the United States. At no point in time had I been versed in counterintelligence. The probability that someone here could see through any lie I conjured would be high. I reread the black typeface upon the illuminated stone. Buried deep within me, but not deep enough, my previous sense of honor compelled me to answer honestly.
Mr. Hershey had stated that one could answer the questions verbally, and so; “My purpose here, on behalf of the Federal Government is to discover the motive for this intrusion onto United States soil.”
I watched in wonder as my words appeared underneath where the question was written. Words in black script appeared as if I’d dictated my answer to a literal ghost writer. Within seconds my words faded and the second question appeared.
Q. 2) What is the current date?
Had I misremembered the order of the questions Mr. Hersehy had relayed to me? I could have sworn the first question would be to state my full name, then the date, then my purpose, and so on.
I rolled my shoulders back and steadied my nerves; “It is June 2nd, 1946.”
Q. 3) What interest does your government have in the people of Japan?
That was odd. I turned about to see if there was anyone else in the wide open, empty space. Still no one. Perhaps a camera concealed in the ceiling? No more faint footsteps from above me. I remained alone in this glass box. If some were to somehow to manipulate the order of these questions, it was by means I could not presently identify. Perhaps the questions could be unique for each individual. But, why?
I cleared my throat, “My government seeks to honor and uphold the unconditional surrender signed by the former Emperor and current Constitutional Monarch Hirohito, to preserve the peace between our nations.”
Q. 4) What is peace?
Admittedly, I was not prepared for any philosophical questions. Any such faculties I possessed for thinking abstractly had been summarily erased once I boarded a train that transported myself and six others into another time and space. What could I possibly answer based on my present condition? At what point in my past had I ever truly known peace? Two global wars, a second marriage hanging by thread? If there were any chance for peace, I could only imagine it would be far into the future until I experience such a thing.
Time was running out. My answer was curt, impatient, but honest; “I’m not intimately familiar with such a concept. However, I aim to temper my thoughts and deeds in such a manner to not disrupt the peace of those around me, or peace found in the natural order of things.”
I read the text that had been dictated and appeared upon the rock face. It was as honest an answer as I could muster given the circumstances. Again the text faded. Instead of another question, the stone’s luminosity faded entirely. I heard the faint whirring of some sort of mechanism within the stone as a slit no bigger than the span of my hand and just as high opened in the center of the black shale rock. A wooden shelf pushed outward slowly with a white paper box upon it.
“This must be the gift,” I whispered allowed. I’d anticipated the other six questions to follow as Mr. Hershey, Agents Yao and Jin had also answered. Instead, I’d received only four and the same gift the other three had received appeared. Without any futrther hesitation given our ticking clock, I took the gift and swiftly walked back across the room with the small box in hand.
---
In total, the visa process took nearly two hours. The majority of that time was on the last member of our team to complete their questionnaire. When he finally exited the glass box building, Master Sergeant Cross could barely contain his rage.
“Forty god-damn questions? And for what, this flat rock? We’re here to bring our troops home. Am I the only one to remember that?!” Cross barked out, “Where they at anyhow? Where are our--”
Lieutenant Colonol Buckner placed a firm hand on the enlisted man, while the officer addressed Masta Killa, “Magistrate, we are under a considerable time constraint. We'd like to see that our soldiers are unharmed.”
The robed Magistrate had sat upon a wooden bench on the raised patio just outside the door. Although he appeared to gaze longingly into the distance, we were all keenly aware he was within earshot, listening to our every word. After his brief engagement with MSG Cross, we would do best not to consider him an idle threat.
Standing to his feet, Magistrate Masta Killa nodded, “Yes, it is time to see your soldiers back home. They are being escorted to the station platform presently. This way, please…” For an elderly man, he was certainly spry and surprisingly strong. This initial deception of sending an seemingly harmless man to greet was would only be the first of many instances of The Shogun to us our biases against us.
We followed the stone-cut walkway back toward the central courtyard. Agent Jin spoke up; “Magistrate, about our, um… Gifts? What are they exactly?”
At the head of our Group, Magistrate Masta Killa turned to us with a warm, almost excited smile. He’d stopped just in front of the series of floating cylinders and gestured to them with his hand, “Within our prefecture here, we’ve developed these useful tools: Keitai. Translated to mean, portable telephone.”
Most of us had already opened the white paper boxes. We collectively stared down at the palm-sized, flat smooth shale rocks in our hands. There were some stifled snickers, but we had seen the Magistrate use such a device not but a handful of hours ago.
With the same thin satisfied smile, the Magistrate continued, “We’ve established a secure wireless form of communication within our prefecture. Our Keitai is the most efficient way to communicate.”
Mr. Hershey nodded, “We also have similar means of communication. Our portable radios are used throughout our military and--”
Agent Cooper cut off Mr. Hershey, “-Statesman, respectfully I’d advise you not to discuss our communication techniques at this time.”
Before Hershey could offer a reputable, the Magistrate continued, holding up his own Keitai for our team to see, “These devices are not merely for military use, Statesman Hershey. Every citizen in the Hirawa prefecture has their own personal communication device on their person. We believe that a strong communication network is a key to ensuring peace.”
The Statesman regarded Agent Cooper with a welcomed nod before turning back to Masta Killa, “I would certainly agree with that statement.”
“To activate your devices,” The Magistrate continued, “Simply press them up against the seventh stone, here, as so.” Placing the rock flat up against the cylinder that floated at eye level, the Magistrate’s Keitai illuminated simliar to the devices we'd used in the glass box.
“Extraordinary,” Captain Yao breathed out.
“Yeah, we’re all impressed by your fancy radios,” MSG Cross scoffed, “For the last time; where are our soldiers?”
Our answer arrived almost within the same breath.
Flanked by a dozen Samurai in formal armor of teal and rose red, armed with Naginata, two National Guardsmen marched casually in their midst. They all proceded toward the station from our south-east passing by what we'd assumed was a tavern. Our soldiers from this distance did not appear any worse for wear. Once they'd made it onto the platform proper, they even turned and offered an informal nod of the head to their Samurai escorts.
With a gesture of his hand, the Magistrate regarded the soldiers, “Our train will arrive in precisely three minutes to deliver Private First Class Dobbs, Sergeant Ryan Kelly, and Statesman Hershey back to your country.”
The group fell silent.
“Magistrate, for what reason am I being sent back along with the soldiers?” Hershey asked in his leveled tone.
After a pause, the Magistrate answered, “His eminence, Shogun Hirawa has decided that you, Statesman Hershey, possess the diplomatic skills necessary to relay what you’ve seen here to your government. Once your soldiers have returned safely, we will invite you back to discuss the matter of securing a diplomatic embassy at our station’s point of origin. Our prefecture would like to honor the proper legal process and open diplomatic communication with your government.”
Statesman Hershey lifted the weighted response with little difficulty. In fact, the prospects of securing peace between Japan and the West visibly lit up his face; “Although it may be a complex series of negotiations to arrive at that solution, on behalf of the United States Government we’d be interested in exploring such an opportunity.”
The Magistrate simply bowed and raised his hand, “Shogun Hirawa thanks you, and looks forward to your return. Safe travels, Statesman Hershey.”
Not able to speak for the group, one particular concern lingered in the air; would the Pentagon actually listen to Hershey? Granted, the situation at present would appear as a negative return on hostages. Sending in seven specialists and returning with three? Even a primary-student would be quick to point out a bad trade: like exchanging both bishops, rooks, knights, and a queen for two pawns. This situation was clearly more complicated than a game of chess. I still remember the failure that was the League of Nations; our first draft for dealing with complex diplomatic situations birthed an evil in Europe the world could never have imagined.
In regards to the Japanese political cats cradle of the late thirties and early forties, it was as if I’d witnessed the breaking of a suspension bridge one cable at a time. Yet, the expression on Hershey's face remained optimistic. This was a man who had been at the other end of that bridge when diplomacy failed. If there were ever a driving force to motivate a man to act, it would be the prospect of a second chance. What if one man could prevent the next Pearl Harbor? It was a risk Hershey was certainly willing to take. However, there was still so much we didn’t know about this strange land within the train station… Or, wherever we truly were now.
“Before I depart,” Hershey asked, “Whom shall I contact within the Japanese Government to negotiate the formal process of legally designating your rail station as an embassy?”
The Magistrate’s smile faltered, ever so briefly. I watched as he subtly touched his thumb to the face of his glowing stone; “We will be in communication with you directly via your Keitai.”
A pause as Mr. Hershey looked us over quietly before replying to the Magistrate; “We look forward to your expedient communication and the return of all our personnel, Magistrate. Please, extend my honorable regards to Shogun Hirawa.” I distinctly remember the punch the statesman put on the word, 'All.' He may have been asked to depart from this place, but Hershey didn't see his responsibility to us concluded. For that, I would be forever greatful.
The magistrate bowed again and Hershey returned the gesture.
With a confident stride, the Statesman walked the short distance between the floating cylinders in the center of the courtyard up to the station platform. We watched Hershey shake hands with the soldiers. Their facial expressions from this distance seemed relaxed, excited even. Moments later, the same train arrived through the archway of cherry blossoms. The diplomat and the soldiers boarded the car and off they went. One of our objectives to our mission was accomplished.
Or so it would appear.
There were in fact six of us left. Each carried objectives presently unknown to the group as a whole.
“Once you've connected your Keitan to the network,” The Magistrate said aloud to the group, “We shall show you to your lodgings for the duration of your stay.”
The six of us, silent and uncertain, followed the elderly magistrate into the unknown without our strongest asset.
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