Revelation

'And have you identified this man from Sirius?'

'I have. He's an industrialist. And I have reason to believe he's assembling a team of engineers to announce the process and discuss the construction of a prototype machine. As soon as his engineers know about the basic process, the secret is out and can't be put back.'

'You see what you have done with your stupid theft?'

Findhorn ignored the angry comment. 'I intend to indulge in a little industrial espionage, in the hope of finding the where and when. I suspect that the meeting will take place somewhere in Switzerland, and that it will be held very shortly.'

Matsumo barked something. One of the Friendship men slid open a panel door, and they left. Shortly the woman, who Findhorn presumed to be Matsumo's wife, came in with towels. She was followed by a girl of about eighteen, dressed in the traditional kimono, carrying Findhorn's clothes, neatly ironed and folded. Matsumo's wife crossed to a circular paper panel door and slid the two halves open. Cool air drifted into the room and Findhorn found himself looking out over the garden, where a low table had been set next to a gingko tree. Matsumo climbed the steps out of the tub onto the tatami floor. He was pink up to his chest and had a wrinkled, drooping stomach and white pubic hair. His wife began to pat him dry with a big white towel. Findhorn, feeling acutely embarrassed, climbed out and wrapped a towel around himself, declining the girl's offer of help. The girl tried to keep a straight face.

Lunch comprised mixed sashimi, raw squid and salmon cut into rose shapes, with thick slices of tuna, served on heavily lacquered square plates. A sea bass, garnished with daikon radishes and lemon, stared mournfully up at Findhorn. The ladies had vanished and the Friendship bodyguards were standing motionless a discreet twenty yards away. Lake Biwa sparkled below them, and Findhorn followed the wake of a powerful hydrofoil out to a central island, on which he could just make out a clutter of shrines.

'As you are a Westerner, I assume that you are driven by greed,' Matsumo said. 'You must suppose that by telling me where I can retrieve the secret, you will be given a share of future profits from it.'

The air, cool after the scalding tub, was refreshing. Findhorn said, 'The process may be dangerously unstable. It might cause disaster on a planetary scale. It has to be strangled at birth.'

Matsumo's face registered no surprise. Findhorn continued: 'Maybe the risk is at the one per cent level, maybe it's one shot in a million. But the potential profits are vast and the man from Sirius is willing to take the slight chance.'

'And you object to this?'

'If the risk was his alone, fine. But he's taking a chance with the future of life on Earth in return for personal gain. Four billion years of evolution being gambled on the turn of a card. And if we're alone in the Galaxy..'

'Now I understand. You seek the Petrosian document in order to destroy it for altruistic reasons.'

Findhorn was finding the sea bass a bit awkward. 'As do you, for reasons of commercial greed.'

Matsumo's hostile expression was gradually giving way to something approaching respect. 'So. You have been investigating my company's affairs.'

'Uhuh. Especially Norsk Advanced Technologies.'

Matsumo studied Findhorn's face closely. He grunted. 'Either you are, as you would have me believe, an idealist intent on saving the planet, or you are a very clever buccaneer.'

'Let me guess the sequence of events. When the aircraft wreckage was exposed, you found yourself in a race with the Americans to get to it. You didn't want an open conflict with them and so you asked the religious fanatics to do the job for you. You got them onto that expedition, intending the diaries to end up on your icebreaker. What was the inducement, Matsumo-sensei? A substantial sum of money?'

Matsumo remained silent.

'So far it's been all take and no give. Tell me what happened. What's your connection with the man from Sirius?'

Matsumo resumed his surgery with chopsticks. 'In the course of my long career one or two people have addressed me in that tone. Sadly, misfortune came their way.' He neatly pulled skin away from flesh. 'I knew the rumours about the slight risk of instability of the Petrosian secret but gave them no credence. How could any machine be so destructive? But I also knew that the Temple of Celestial Truth fanatics, with their distorted vision of reality, would believe it because they wanted it to be true. They would see the diaries as the route to a doomsday machine. That was the real inducement for them. The agreement was that they would acquire the diaries and give them to me, and I would then build them the machine.'

'Except that you had no intention of honouring the agreement. You intended to destroy the diaries,' Findhorn suggested.

'And the fanatics.'

'Let me guess some more. The leader of the cult double-crossed you. He no more believes it's unstable than do you. And he no more intends to hand over a fortune-making machine than he really believes he's from Sirius.'

'That would seem to be the case. I admit to a miscalculation. The man would seem to be a total fraud. I do not pretend to understand the psychology of religious leaders. However, you say that you have learned the identity of this wretch?'

'Is it possible to eat a fried egg with chopsticks?'

'Of course.' Matsumo snapped his fingers. The girl appeared with steaming white rice in delicate porcelain bowls. She set the plates out, brushing her arm lightly against Findhorn. She was wearing jade green eyeshadow and her eyes were accentuated by heavy black eye liner, and she gave Findhorn a slow, almost insolent, sultry glance. Matsumo caught the look and said something sharply. She scurried off, giggling behind her hand.

'If you are a clever buccaneer, you too will try to double-cross me at the first opportunity,' Matsumo said. 'Strangling the process at birth: you understand the implications?'

Findhorn nodded, the old familiar feeling creeping into his stomach. 'The industrialist in question has read the document. To kill the knowledge, you have to kill the man.'

'Not I, Findhorn-san. We. Only if you share the guilt can your future silence, and hence my security, be assured.' Matsumo was skilfully separating the spinal cord of the raw bass from its flesh. 'You must join my ninjas in the enterprise.'

'Oh God.'

'Are you prepared to do this?'

'To become a murderer? What choice do I have?' Findhorn heard the words from his own mouth, could hardly believe he was speaking them.

'And then there are the engineers.'

'They should be left alone. My man won't have dared to spread the process around. Security is everything. He'll announce the process at his meeting with them, probably cut them in on the profits to ensure their secrecy.'

Matsumo paused, flesh from the dead fish hovering at his mouth. 'That is what I would do. Then we had better get to your man before he meets them. If we wait until the meeting, everyone at it must be killed.'

'I'm having to grow up fast here,' said Findhorn, putting his chopsticks down.

'The morality of killing worries you, especially as we are not even in a war. But think, Findhorn-san. If you do not kill this wretched man, he will build a machine and risk the planet for personal gain. What morality is there in doing nothing to stop him taking that reckless chance? Your choice is this. Kill a man, or do not kill him. If you do, you become a murderer. If you do not, you connive in risking the termination of life on Earth.'

'I suspect you've been through this sort of consideration before.'

Matsumo shrugged. 'Most men never pass beyond the moral simplicities to be found in a western. Their minds are shaped by ignorant clerics and Hollywood producers. But the world belongs to men who understand the limitations of the morality tales.'