“How long are we talking about for a custom model?”
“For a custom one, several months. For one our models that have already been trained, two days top. Their software will be tweaked and after updates are made, they’ll be on the next plane to Tokyo. However, these aren’t as customizable, aside from their appearances.”
Kodai considers this for a moment. “I see. Is there any disadvantage of going with a pre-made model?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Good, go ahead and put the order in for a model that is already available. I’d like one quickly, preferably a female.”
Lorem Ipsum takes a sip from his coffee. “Consider it done.”
A prompt on Kodai’s iNet screen gives him the leasing cost and various leasing and indemnity documents for him to peruse. After he has skimmed through everything, his own bank details appear in a prompt directly over the leasing document. He accepts the charges and the credit is instantly transferred.
“Also, I’ll need a humstunner. Isn’t that what you Americans call it?”
“That or a humgun, yes.”
Another prompt; more credit is transferred.
“Wonderful,” Lorem Ipsum clasps his fingers together. “Your humandroid should be available within two days, maybe less. In the meantime, if you require added protection, may I suggest an agent recently assigned to the Asian circuit. Walt?”
The older cyborg steps away from his post and approaches the table.
Kodai examines the agent for a moment. He’s fit, with a scarred, grizzled face. The mercenary offers Lorem a small bow. “A pleasure to meet you,” he says in passable Japanese.
“I’ll let you know if I need any additional security.”
“Please do,” Lorem says as he extends his hand to Kodai, “and tell your mother that I said hello.”
(0)__(0)
It is Lorem Ipsum’s last comment that has Kodai brooding as his aerosSUV lifts into the air. Even though the windows are tinted, he offers Lorem Ipsum another tight smile. The fucker. To be sure, it his MercSecure’s job to know a person’s pressure points, but that doesn’t make it sting any less.
“Has Sarah arrived yet?” he asks Gorira, who sits in the front passenger seat of the vehicle.
“She’s there now, in the lobby.”
“Have her brought up to my apartment. Keep someone with her so she doesn’t touch anything.”
“You got it, boss.”
With his eyes closed, his eyelids come alive with various things he’s monitoring over iNet.
Two of his pink salons in Harmonica Yokocho had lower than normal profits last week. He’ll need to take a look into this, and he’ll also need to take a look into a soapland named Hinomaru that he runs in Yokohama. The manager, a hapless idiot nicknamed Meosa, was hired as a favor to an earlier investor in the establishment. Now that profits have stabilized, it’d be better if Meosa simply disappeared.
Then there’s the oppai pub in Tachikawa that caters to American military personnel stationed at Fussa Air Force Base. This is a cash cow for sure, but the Americans can be very destructive when they’re drunk. Case in point: an incident last night in which a minor scuffle involving a small group of airmen escalated into a full-blown bar brawl which spilled into the street and involved the civil police and American Security Forces.
The pub is trashed and will be closed for the next few days for repairs.
There are other business matters Kodai needs to attend to that don’t involve the sex industry, including a new shipment from Bangkok of designer intoxicants, known as pollutes, something that his organization will distribute to a few of his establishments later this week.
The pollute business has taken off over the last five years; still, the sex industry is a constant when it comes to profits and even with the turnover, it will continue to drive his family business until at least 2080, likely longer. Even with the advent of full immersion sex in various Proxima worlds – something the sex industry thought would lead to its demise – human on human contact still trumps anything that takes place simply in the mind.
Which is one of the reasons he’s invited Sarah the Australian over this morning.
“I need to visit Hinomaru later today,” he tells Gorira, “this evening, before the late night crowd arrives.”
“You got it, boss. Anything else?”
“Tachikawa. I’ll need to go there afterwards.”
“Got it.”
Time blips by and soon, his aerosSUV lowers into its appropriate skylane. It continues its descent to the street in front of his condo, in a cordoned off space at the building’s entrance.
There is a rooftop landing spot, but Kodai prefers the ground level entrance as it keeps him visible. After all, his family owns the entire complex, and he likes the residents to know that he is there and that they should feel safe, no matter the situation.
Several more of his men, each Mt. Fuji-sized, form a shield around him as he exits the vehicle.
They lead Kodai through the lobby, past an older female resident. No gawking, the woman keeps her eyes front and modestly lowered, as if to pretend that the owner isn’t passing. Kodai approves.
The Japanese, while curious, are a well-mannered society that generally don’t pry or inquire too closely into the business of others; very much unlike his experience in New York. Sure, people kept to themselves in the famed American metropolis, but if he had shown up in Manhattan with a security detail like he has now, people would have stopped, watched, and recorded. There were even signs in New York that encouraged this behavior – Stop, Watch, Record – an effort from the governor’s office in partnership with America’s Federal Corporate Government to lower crime.
Gorira enters and clears the elevator. He courteously holds the door as Kodai enters. The mammoth minder presses his finger on a keypad and the elevator samples his DNA. After it flashes green, a pleasant voice announces that they are cleared to proceed.
Again, they ride in silence as the elevator ascends to the thirtieth floor. Gorira steps out first and scans the entryway, then steps aside so Kodai may exit. He tells Gorira to wait a moment, and once he’s scanned his finger the front door of his penthouse clicks open.
“You may leave now,” he tells Sarah’s escort, who stands solemnly in the center of the room. The man bows and exits; Kodai waits until the door is completely shut before turning to Sarah.
“Let’s speak in English,” he tells her as he takes off his coat.
Sarah nervously adjusts her short velvet mini-skirt. She’s in a low cut top, the fabric of which barely restrains her more than ample breasts. Her high heels are neatly placed next to the door and she now stands in a pair of Doraemon house slippers.
“But I wanted to practice my Japanese,” she says, quickly regaining her confidence. This remains the one thing Kodai admires most about her – her confidence in the face of true power. “I was up pretty late last night, you know.” She winks at him, “Working for you. When did you leave?”
“A little after I met with my brother. Did you see him?”
She bites her lip as she thinks for a moment. “A bit of a scrawny guy, isn’t he? Black hair? Hoodie?”
“That’s him. We share the same hair color.”
She stifles a laugh.
Kodai unzips his jacket. “How very racist of you.”
“I don’t see many Japanese that don’t have black hair,” she says, “but yours is much better than his. That mop on his head makes him look like a bloody drongo. I prefer your style, clean cut, masculine.”
“It’s nice to be preferred.”