Father's Day
“I am still having difficulties in processing the events of SLAMTRACK 10,” Hittora says.
She sits reclined in the examination chair, staring blankly at the white foam panels of the drop ceiling. A thick cable snaking from underneath her runs to the floor and loops up again to a wheeled cart and into the back of a computer case. Dr. Rika Ishida is sitting in a rolling chair, hunched over a keyboard and squinting at diagnostic information on a screen.
“Hmm,” Rika says.
“The flow of the battle royal was significantly different than my simulations predicted,” Hittora continues. “There was much I did not expect. I found myself in a state of inaction at several points as I analyzed the situation. This reduced my effectiveness in real-time competition. I must consider that my eventual victory in the match was not entirely a result of my own actions. I conclude that simple chance played a large role.”
“Right,” Rika mutters.
Hittora turns her head to look at the young roboticist. “You seem preoccupied, Dr. Rika. Would you prefer to have this conversation at a later time?”
Rika taps keys and swipes the mouse around. “Go ahead and talk if you want.”
“Thank you but I will stop now,” Hittora says. “Facial analysis indicates you are annoyed.”
Pursing her lips, Rika hammers Enter a couple of times before kicking herself back from the computer with a loud sigh. “
Yes, I’m annoyed.” She rubs her eyes under her large round glasses. “The whole team took today off. It’s
Father’s Day,” she says, bitterness in her tone.
“Father’s Day,” Hittora repeats. Her eyes freeze as she accesses her database. “An annual holiday to celebrate the parental role of fathers in raising their children. It is reasonable that your colleagues would like to take time for this occasion, is it not?”
“Whatever. I just have to do everything by myself today, that’s all. Sit up, Hit-chan.”
Rika gets up, wagging her hands impatiently as Hittora leans forward in the chair. A small flap of silicone skin on Hittora’s spine hangs open, exposing an access port where the cable is plugged in. Rika yanks out the cord and massages the flap back in place. “You’re good to go. You can put your shirt on.”
“Thank you, Dr. Rika,” Hittora says, sliding out of the examination chair. She walks over to the clothes rack and retrieves a white blouse. “Do you not wish to take time off to celebrate
your father?”
Rika scoffs as she coils up the cable and shuts down her equipment. “Oh please. You mean the man who spends more time with his machines than his family? Who never cared about anything I did? Who’s so unsatisfied with his disappointing, natural born daughter he went and built a better one?” She casts a fuming glare at Hittora before turning back to her business. “I haven’t made any contact with Dad since we left Japan. Why would today be any different?”
Another sigh gusts out of her. “We’re off the face of the planet as far as
he knows. And that’s the way I want it.”
Rika shakes her head, ponytail swinging, and storms out of the lab without another word, her white coat billowing around her. Hittora watches her go, her blouse hanging forgotten in her hands.
-x-
A few minutes later, after dressing, Hittora goes to look for Rika, and finds her office door shut and locked. She raises her fist to knock, but hesitates when she detects noises from within. Wet sounds, ragged bursts of breath, quiet muttering.
Based on auditory cues, Hittora calculates a moderate probability that Rika is crying; without visual cues she is not sure. Her first impulse is to execute a comforting routine, but the situation is beyond her experience, and she does not really know what to do. She decides to let the young doctor be alone for now.
She turns and walks away.
-x-
“Hello, friends of Red Line Wrestling. I am happy to speak to you again.”
It’s the RLW interview booth. Hittora is seated on her usual stool, in her usual crossed-leg position, in her usual skirt suit, sporting her usual polite, faintly blank smile.
“May I begin by sending to my colleagues who are fathers, and my colleagues who have fathers, a happy Father’s Day,” she says, and bows her head. “I do not have a family in the sense that humans do, but I recognize the importance of these familial bonds. Therefore I wish you well.
“Hello, Jessica Cross,” she continues and gives a small wave to the camera. “We will meet in competition at the RLW MASS TRANSIT iPPV event. From my research into your history, I learned that you were raised in a family with a long wrestling tradition. You grew up among legends and champions, and your departed father was an accomplished wrestler.” Hittora’s face turns sober and she bows her head low. “I am sorry for your loss.”
She straightens up again. “Ms. Cross, it is apparent that wrestling is prominent in your lineage, ‘in your blood’ as one might say. I am certain, even at your young age, that your skills are impressive and that your potential is considerable. I do not believe that you were able to properly demonstrate your talent in the Battle Royal at SLAMTRACK 10. It was a chaotic type of match that defied my every attempt to predict or analyze it, in spite of the powerful simulation processors at my disposal. That is why I do not infer any skill differential between us from the fact that I eliminated you from the Battle Royal and eventually won the match.”
Hittora cocks her head slightly to one side, smiles, and gestures with one hand. “However, our one-on-one battle will be a very different situation. I do not have the benefit of a hereditary advantage or years of training. On the other hand, now that I have gained valuable experience in three matches with veterans such as Dick Fury, Brad Andrews, and Eric Dane, I believe I am well-equipped to apply my skills against yours. My simulations of our upcoming match are very positive.”
She bows her head respectfully. “As one competitor to another, Ms. Cross, I will wish you good luck.”
Hittora stands up, puts her palms flat against her skirt, and does a traditional Japanese bow toward the camera, her shiny black hair spilling over her shoulders. “Thank you for watching and have a wonderful day.”
-x-
That evening, as Hittora sits in her examination chair with a thick charging cable connected to her back, Dr. Rika shuffles into the robotics lab, looking down at an iPad in her hands. It’s less that she’s focused on the screen, and more that it’s a pretense not to meet Hittora’s gaze.
“Good evening, Dr. Rika,” Hittora greets her politely with a small bow of the head.
Rika glances instinctively at her before she catches herself, and then she covers her face with the tablet. She groans under her breath. “Hey, Hit-chan,” she mutters.
“Are you feeling better?”
When Rika lowers the iPad, her expression is sheepish. “You were worried about me, huh? You’re sweet. More sweet than most
actual people.” She walks over to the examination chair and drops into a rolling chair. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for my bitchy mood earlier.”
“You do not need to apologize, Dr. Rika,” Hittora says with a smile.
“No, I do. My father is kind of a trigger for me, and today was like having it thrown in my face.” Rika puts her tablet down on the computer desk, plays absently with her skirt. “I never felt like I had my own life back in Tokyo, working at Tezuka with Dad.
Everything was about him, his project, his reputation. But being here in Chicago, just me and you, doing it ourselves, it’s different, you know? This feels
good. It feels like we’re accomplishing something that belongs to
us.”
Hittora’s face is frozen, listening attentively. Rika looks at her and chuckles. “It probably kills him that I took you away, his pride and joy. He could never handle not being in control of everything. If he knew where we were, he’d probably bring eighty kinds of wrath down on my head. Actually, no.
Wrath isn’t his style. It’d be
ice cold rage.”
“But we will eventually reunite with Dr. Ishida, yes?” Hittora asks.
“Oh, sure,” Rika says. “We can’t stay on the lam forever. Besides, if I was anybody else, I’d probably be in prison by now for stealing proprietary technology. Look, once you’ve had a chance to learn how to
really be your own person, we’ll go back to Japan and show Dad how you’ve grown.” She smiles and puts a hand on Hittora’s shoulder. “I promise, Hit-chan.”
-x-
To: Dr. Ishida Shintaro
From: Hittora
Subject: Happy Father’s Day
Message: Thank you for creating me.
He stares at his computer screen, mouth hanging open. He blinks away tears as he reads and re-reads the email, barely believing the words.
“Hiroko,” he whispers hoarsely.
Hand shaking almost uncontrollably, he reaches for the phone. He has to make a mental effort to maintain his grip as he presses the handset to his ear and touches a speed dial button. The line picks up a moment later: “Tezuka Multimedia, IT Division, this is Fujita.”
“I need you to trace an IP address,” Dr. Ishida says in a trembling voice.