“Here in Japan, young people have become ever more interested in their computers, video screens and virtual reality than in actual reality and human-to-human contact. People have lost the ability to connect with one another. Restaurants, bars and hotels cater to singles who wish to eat, sleep and experience the world undisturbed by others next to them. Isolation within a crowd has become the norm. Eyes on screens, earbuds blocking outside noise and conversation. We are a nation of people living separate existences and as a result our marriage and birthrates are plummeting. If this isn’t changed within a generation or two, our population will fall by half. A crash unlike anything seen in modern times.”
Considering how crowded Tokyo appeared, it was hard to imagine that in thirty years it might be half empty.
She led them to a parking lot and stopped. “Before we begin, I require you to relinquish your cell phones, iPods, iPads, cameras and computers, along with any other electronic paraphernalia you may have brought with you.”
She slid off the backpack and began collecting the various devices. One by one, Kurt, Joe, Paul and Gamay unpacked their electronics and placed them in the pack, which Kurt noticed was lined with some type of metallic foil.
When they were finished, the pack was full. Seeing the items all piled together, Kurt had to admit it was almost embarrassing how much electronic junk they traveled with these days.
“How did we ever travel without all this stuff?” Joe asked aloud.
“We carried quarters and dimes,” Kurt said, “and there were whole walls in the airport filled with these things called phone booths.”
Joe laughed. “You’re showing your age, amigo.”
“I’m not old,” Kurt said, “I’m a classic.”
Akiko pulled the bulky pack over her shoulder and led them across the parking lot, where the night suddenly became far more interesting.
Kurt was expecting a bland white van or perhaps a large nondescript sedan to shuttle them to the lakeside retreat, but instead they stopped beside a pair of classic Japanese cars from the sixties.
The first was a gleaming white sedan that bore a vague resemblance to the BMWs of the era. It had performance tires, a vintage spoiler and polished chrome accents. The second car was a silver 1969 Datsun 240Z. It had a long, low hood, sleek lines and side vents that looked like gills. All of which contributed to a predatory, shark-like appearance.
A low roofline and mirrors placed well forward of the windshield and out on the fenders made it look fast even sitting still.
“Beautiful machines,” Joe said.
“I rebuilt them myself,” she replied.
“Really,” Joe said. “I also love to work on cars. Perhaps we could collaborate sometime.”
Akiko offered a brief nod, nothing more. “These will transport us to the lakeside,” she said, walking to the sedan. She opened the trunk and placed the packful of confiscated electronic equipment inside. Kurt noticed another metallic lining in the trunk.
“I could ride with you,” Joe offered.
Akiko slammed the trunk of the sedan and opened the door. “American Paul will ride with me.”
Joe took that hard.
“As will his American wife,” Gamay said.
“Very well,” Akiko replied. “You two will follow us. Try to keep up. I will be driving quickly, as we are probably under surveillance already.”
She threw a set of keys their way, which Joe grabbed out of the air. “I’m driving,” he said with a grin.
Kurt shrugged as Joe strutted toward the classic sports car. He reached the right-hand door the same moment Joe opened the door on the left. They dropped into the bucket seats together.
From the corner of his eye, Kurt saw Joe reach forward as if to grab the steering wheel, but there was nothing there except the padded dash. The wheel was in front of Kurt—on the “wrong” side of the car.
“No,” Joe cried, suddenly re
alizing his error.
“Right-hand drive in Japan,” Kurt said. “Might want to brush up on your Japanese automotive history before you start rebuilding cars with your new friend.”
“Very funny,” Joe said. “I must be slipping. I blame it on the jet lag.”
“Should have taken a nap. Eight or nine hours would have done you some good.”