June 7, 2440
By six-thirty, Matt had changed clothes again.
T’monn stood near the windows of the penthouse while he finished adjusting his kimono.
The fabric had looked merely green when folded.
On him, under the suite lighting, it shifted with movement, pearl green at one angle, pale jade at another, with a restrained iridescence running through the weave. The trim was yellow, warm rather than metallic, enough contrast to make the clothing obviously expensive without pushing it toward ceremony.
T’monn looked him over.
“You are shiny.”
Matt glanced down.
“I prefer distinguished.”
“You are iridescent.”
“That sounds more expensive.”
“It sounds like a fish.”
Matt looked at her.
She was dressed in plum and gold, equally fine, but comfortably so. Neither of them looked dressed for court, a state dinner or anyone’s boardroom.
They looked like people who had decided to dress well because they were going somewhere worth dressing well for.
Matt pointed at her.
“You’re shiny too.”
“I am elegant.”
“Interesting distinction.”
“Yes.”
“Based on?”
“Me.”
Matt nodded.
“Difficult to challenge.”
T’mari and L’tani were already occupied with the growing collection of pages and Japanese teenagers and young adults bound for the J-pop concert.
Matt offered T’monn his hand.
“Dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Large dinner.”
“How large?”
“I selected the full tasting menu.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“The restaurant did not believe a number was necessary.”
“That concerns me.”
“It encouraged me.”
The restaurant was intimate without being private.
Twelve diners occupied the room.
Rather than separate Western tables, the seating was arranged around low lounging tables with cushions and enough space to settle comfortably through a long meal.
Matt and T’monn shared a broad triangular table with two other couples.
One couple looked to be in their sixties.
The man wore a conservative dark suit, beautifully fitted and completely unremarkable by design. His wife wore a very good dress, understated jewelry and the easy posture of somebody accustomed to nice restaurants without needing anyone to notice that she was accustomed to them.
The second couple were perhaps mid-thirties and both wore fashionable kimono, modern enough in fabric and cut to make clear that neither had dressed from obligation.
Introductions came naturally once everyone had settled.
The older man was a surgeon.
His wife had trained and worked as a nurse before staying home when their children were young.
“Former nurse,” she said.
Her husband looked at her.
“You still diagnose everyone.”
“I diagnose you.”
“That is everyone who matters to me.”
She ignored him with the ease of several decades of practice.
The younger woman worked in television production.
Her husband worked in banking.
When the younger woman learned that T’monn had been in Tokyo only a short time, she immediately began asking what she had eaten so far.
T’monn answered seriously.
The woman listened with equal seriousness.
Matt realized with some amusement that he had ceased to be the most interesting person at the table.
He approved.
The first course arrived.
A chilled clear broth with a thin curl of citrus peel.
T’monn lifted the small cup and drank.
Then looked inside.
“This is the first course?”
The television producer smiled.
“Yes.”
T’monn looked at Matt.
“It is very small.”
“There are going to be many.”
“How many?”
The banker laughed.
“That question means you have never ordered the full menu here.”
Matt looked at him.
“You know?”
“I made the same mistake.”
His wife said, “He ate noodles afterward.”
“I was hungry again.”
“Forty minutes later.”
“That qualifies as later.”
T’monn nodded thoughtfully.
“I like him.”
Matt said, “Of course you do.”
The second course contained three meticulously arranged bites.
Sea bream.
A seasonal vegetable preparation.
A small wrapped morsel glazed with something T’monn tasted twice before deciding she liked it.
The surgeon’s wife watched her.
“You don’t have to like everything.”
“I know.”
“Good. My husband believes expensive food must be praised.”
The surgeon objected.
“I believe the chef deserves respect.”
“You once praised sea cucumber for ten minutes and then told me in the taxi that you hated it.”
The younger couple laughed.
The surgeon sighed.
“I married a historian.”
“You married a nurse.”
“Same evidentiary standards.”
Matt liked them immediately.
Sashimi followed.
Then grilled river fish, crisp with salt along the skin.
T’monn studied the presentation for a moment, then began eating without hesitation.
The surgeon looked interested.
“You have had whole fish before.”
T’monn nodded.
“Our presentation is different.”
“Better?”
T’monn considered the question with enough seriousness that his wife laughed before she answered.
“Different.”
The surgeon nodded approvingly.
“Excellent diplomatic response.”
Matt said, “She is better at this than I am.”
Everyone at the table looked at him.
Matt frowned.
“That reaction was unnecessary.”
The television producer smiled.
“I saw lunch.”
Matt paused.
“What part?”
“Transporter.”
T’monn looked at him.
Matt looked down at his fish.
The younger woman continued.
“Our entire production office stopped working for five minutes.”
“The man asked how we got to Ikejiri.”
“And you said transporter.”
“We were transported.”
“By what?”
Matt smiled.
“Nice try.”
The banker laughed.
T’monn asked in V’ren, “Are you going to do this all night?”
Matt answered in V’ren.
“If necessary.”
The surgeon’s wife watched the exchange.
“That is useful.”
“What?”
“Having a language nobody else at the table understands.”
Matt nodded.
“Marriage technology.”
T’monn looked at him.
The next course arrived before she could answer.
Steamed shellfish, mushrooms and greens.
Then rice with a smoky topping.
Then duck.
Then vegetables arranged with absurd precision.
Then soup.
Then charcoal-grilled beef.
The banker took his first bite and leaned back slightly.
“There.”
His wife nodded.
“There.”
T’monn looked between them.
“What?”
“The beef.”
She tried hers.
“Oh.”
Matt smiled.
“Exactly.”
They ate in silence for several seconds.
The surgeon said, “Some conversations should be postponed.”
His wife nodded.
“This is one.”
The next course was tofu.
Matt tasted it.
Then took another bite.
T’monn watched him.
“You like this.”
“Yes.”
“You like most food.”
“I have excellent judgment.”
“You ate something yesterday that everyone else said smelled rotten.”
“It tasted better than it smelled.”
The surgeon’s wife said, “That describes several important Japanese foods.”
Matt pointed toward her with his chopsticks.
“See?”
T’monn said, “You have found allies.”
The tofu was followed by tempura, served piece by piece rather than as a single plate.
Conversation drifted with the food.
The surgeon asked T’monn about V’ren medicine without attempting to turn dinner into a consultation.
His wife was more interested in V’ren family life.
The television producer wanted to know whether V’ren audiences understood Earth television pacing.
Her husband wanted to know whether V’ren even had anything equivalent to consumer banking.
T’monn answered what she knew.
Matt answered some.
Other questions they simply left unanswered.
Nobody seemed offended.
That, more than anything, made the meal pleasant.
The banker eventually asked Matt, “Do people always try to turn dinner into business?”
“Yes.”
“And you hate that?”
“No. I hate bad business over dinner.”
The banker considered that.
“Reasonable.”
The television producer looked at Matt’s kimono.
“You wore navy this afternoon.”
“Yes.”
“I saw that too.”
“Apparently you had a productive day at work.”
“You were difficult to avoid.”
T’monn said, “He enjoys that.”
Matt turned toward her.
“I absolutely do not.”
The entire table laughed.
T’monn looked satisfied.
Noodles arrived.
Then another rice course.
T’monn looked at Matt.
“We already had rice.”
“Yes.”
“Why do we have more?”
The surgeon answered.
“Because this is the part where the meal begins convincing you it was larger than the plates suggested.”
His wife said, “He says that every time.”
“And every time I am correct.”
Pickles followed.
Then tea.
Then fruit.
Then a chilled dessert.
Then a small confection.
T’monn looked around the table.
“Is this the end?”
The banker said, “Never ask that confidently.”
A final small plate arrived.
His wife pointed at him.
“You frightened her.”
“I warned her.”
By then the six of them had been sharing the triangular table for long enough that the original introductions had largely ceased to matter.
The surgeon’s wife had explained that she left nursing when their first child was born and never really returned except for occasional volunteer work once the children were older.
The surgeon insisted she had spent forty years practicing medicine on the family for free.
She informed him that if she billed retroactively he would die in debt.
The banker had been married to the television producer for seven years.
The producer had already extracted enough observations about V’ren reactions to Japanese media that T’monn finally looked suspicious.
“You are working.”
The woman laughed.
“A little.”
“You said this was dinner.”
“It is.”
“You are also remembering everything.”
“Yes.”
T’monn nodded.
“I understand you now.”
The woman lifted her tea.
“That sounds threatening.”
“It was admiration.”
The chef visited the room near the end of service rather than approaching Matt and T’monn separately.
That pleased Matt.
He thanked everyone at the table together, accepted compliments, answered two questions about particular dishes, and only afterward acknowledged Matt and T’monn’s presence specifically.
Matt thanked him in Japanese.
T’monn followed with her own Japanese, slower but careful.
The chef smiled.
The surgeon’s wife smiled too.
“You are learning quickly.”
T’monn nodded toward Matt.
“He talks constantly.”
Matt stared at her.
The television producer laughed hard enough to put down her cup.
Eventually the six of them rose.
Bows were exchanged.
The older couple were heading home.
The younger couple were going somewhere else in the city.
Matt and T’monn were going to kabuki.
The surgeon looked at Matt’s pearl-green kimono.
“Good choice for the theater.”
Matt glanced down.
“Thank you.”
His wife looked at T’monn.
“Yours is better.”
T’monn smiled.
“I know.”
Matt sighed.
Outside, the city had settled fully into evening.
They walked to the theater.
Kabuki required Matt to shut up.
T’monn quickly discovered this additional advantage.
Their seats were good, but not arranged as a spectacle. Matt had no interest in sitting somewhere designed primarily so everyone else could watch him watching the performance.
Recognition still happened.
A few people looked twice.
Someone asked quietly for a photograph before the performance.
Matt agreed.
Then the lights changed.
The stage took over.
T’monn leaned slightly toward Matt during the first act.
In V’ren, she whispered, “The movement is intentionally unnatural.”
“Yes.”
“I like it.”
“I thought you might.”
“The audience understands the rules.”
“Yes.”
“They know what movement means before words.”
“Often.”
She watched more closely.
Matt watched her watching.
She caught him.
“Stage.”
“I am watching.”
“You were looking at me.”
“You occupied part of my peripheral vision.”
“I am beside you.”
“Exactly.”
She bumped his shoulder lightly.
At intermission she had questions.
By the end she had opinions.
Matt considered that success.
Outside, Tokyo had changed again.
The streets remained busy, but differently from daylight.
They walked.
Security stayed near enough to matter and far enough away not to turn the evening into a procession.
Eventually they reached the park.
Tokyo softened around them.
Not vanished.
Just moved outward.
T’monn walked beside Matt with her hands resting loosely inside her sleeves.
Under the park lights, Matt’s kimono shifted from pearl green toward pale silver and back again.
T’monn noticed.
“You are still shiny.”
“You waited several hours to repeat that.”
“Yes.”
“Your plum glows.”
“That is different.”
“How?”
“It belongs to me.”
Matt laughed.
For a while they walked without speaking.
Silence with T’monn did not require repair.
Eventually she said, “You enjoyed today.”
“Parts.”
“The meeting this morning?”
“Yes.”
“The chairman?”
“Yes.”
“The man on the train?”
Matt looked at her.
“I did not enjoy him.”
“The elbow?”
Matt considered.
“A little.”
T’monn laughed.
“That answer I believe.”
“He earned discomfort.”
“Yes.”
“He did not require a hospital.”
“You calibrated.”
“Yes.”
That settled it for her.
They kept walking.
After another minute she said, “The V’ren settlements are not yours.”
“No.”
“But you want them to succeed.”
“Yes.”
“The Freehold is yours.”
“Yes.”
“And this afternoon you asked Japan for people for it.”
“Yes.”
“You want both.”
“Of course.”
T’monn looked ahead.
“Humans sometimes believe loyalty must only point one direction.”
“Some do.”
“You do not.”
“No.”
Matt put his hands into his sleeves.
“I can want the Trust settlements to succeed and still want more people in my Freehold.”
“That is normal.”
“Thank you.”
“For V’ren.”
“Still counts.”
They reached a quieter part of the park.
Matt’s phone had remained in his pocket for almost twenty minutes.
T’monn noticed.
“You have not checked applications.”
“I am taking the evening off.”
“It has been twenty minutes.”
“A substantial vacation.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“You want to.”
“Very much.”
“Then check.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Principle.”
T’monn considered him.
“You created a principle solely so you could suffer from it.”
“Yes.”
“That is very human.”
“Thank you.”
“That was not praise.”
Matt looked at her.
“Everyone has learned that sentence.”
They eventually left the park by a quieter side street.
Traffic was lighter there.
A few pedestrians.
A bicycle.
Two men talking quietly.
A woman walking a small dog that was making strong arguments about direction.
Matt glanced once behind them.
T’monn noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That has become evidence.”
He smiled.
A blue van sat at the curb ahead.
Entirely ordinary.
Not new enough to attract attention.
Not old enough to attract attention.
Exactly the kind of vehicle a person forgot immediately after seeing it.
Matt slowed.
T’monn looked at the van.
Then at him.
“No.”
“What?”
“I know that expression.”
“I have no expression.”
“You do.”
The side door slid open.
Nobody nearby appeared interested.
Matt gestured toward it.
“Your carriage.”
T’monn looked inside.
Then back at Matt.
“We left the hotel dressed like this.”
“Yes.”
“We had a twelve-course dinner.”
“More than twelve, depending on how you count.”
“We attended kabuki.”
“Yes.”
“We walked through a park.”
“Yes.”
“And now we are getting into the back of a blue van.”
“Yes.”
She stared at his iridescent pearl-green kimono.
“You planned this.”
“I planned transportation.”
T’monn narrowed her eyes.
“Transporter?”
Matt smiled.
“Do not tell T’mari.”
T’monn laughed and climbed inside.
Matt followed.
The door slid shut.
From the street, almost nothing had happened.
Two well-dressed pedestrians had disappeared into an ordinary blue van.
A cyclist passed.
The woman with the dog continued losing her argument.
The van pulled away from the curb.
By the time anyone might have wondered where Matthew Johnathan Boone Marmaduke and T’monn Th’ron had gone after their walk, there was nothing left to see.
