"It's freezing in here." She shivered from the cold, then pointed down.
"You know, all the wiring must be underneath this raised floor. There's
no way to even know where the power conduit is, let alone reach it."
"Okay, guess we'll just have to start ripping . . ."
My heart skipped a beat. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I
finally noticed what I should have seen immediately. Lying atop the big
computation module was a thin, four-foot- long bundle, swathed in silk.
So there's where he decided to put it--in the one room that would always
be locked. Or maybe he thought it should be kept in the most powerful
location on the premises.
I reached up and retrieved it, then pulled away the silk. The blade had
just been freshly oiled, and it literally glistened in the dim light.
It was every bit as razor-sharp as the day it had been consecrated
eight hundred years ago at the zenith of samurai metallurgy.
Guess Noda knew a prize when he saw it. And this _katana _was
definitely a one-of-a-kind piece--an Old Sword, _koto_, from the Sanjo
branch of the Yamashiro school of swordsmiths, late Heian. Signed by
Munechika, said to have fashioned samurai swords for the Shogun
Minamoto Yoritomo himself, the man who destroyed the Imperial forces at
Dan-no-ura. No wonder Noda had treated it with special reverence.
"Welcome." I held it up.
"Why do you suppose he put it in here?" She was admiring it too.
"You know, I think I understand. But it's the kind of thing that can't
be explained in words."
"Well, at least you've got it back again. Samson's hair. Are you
pleased?"
"Maybe Noda was trying to tell me something. Send a message. But now
I'm going to send one back."
"Do you really think . . . ?" She was already ahead of
me.
"Guess we're about to find out." I bowed to the blade ritually, then to
the NEC's head-high main processor. "From the first shogun to the
last."
This, I muttered silently, is for Amy. Her answer, Noda- san.
The great masters of swordsmanship all will tell you something very
ironic. If you train for years and years, all your
moves eventually become instinctive; you literally no longer "know"
what you are doing. You become oblivious of your mind, as unknowing,
consciously, of technique as the day you started. Thus the greatest
masters and the rankest beginners actually share something very
similar. Both are totally unaware of technique.
Was I closer to the mindless beginner or the "no mind" master? Friends,
that's one confession you'll need medieval torture to extract.
I will, however, admit to thinking about which stroke to use. There are
several that might have done the job. Of them all, though, the _kesa_
seemed best for some reason. It slices diagonally, from the left
shoulder down and across to the right, and a swordsman pure in spirit
can literally bisect a man, slice him right in half.
As the blade sang through the cold and struck with a ring true as a
bell, I felt nothing, thought nothing.
The hexagonal computation unit standing in front of us wasn't halved,
not even close, but it was severely disoriented. I felt a small tingle
in my fingertips as the sword sailed through the outer steel casing and
severed its first layer of silicon neurons, sending forth a shower of
sparks.
It wasn't dead, but then the sword had some backup. There is a long
tradition in Japanese culture of cooperation, support from others. For
example, in _seppuku_, the ritual disembowelment sometimes called
_hara-kiri_, there is always a second participant who stands behind you
and ceremonially lops off your head as your body topples forward. It is
an honored assignment.
My action may have been satisfying symbolically, but it wouldn't do the
job alone. Fortunately it didn't have to. There was one simple way to
disengage Noda's electronic brain, now and forever. Tam didn't even
hesitate.
For a second there it could have been the Fourth of July. An Uzi
blasting away in the dark is a marvel. I watched spellbound as she
emptied about twenty rounds into the processor bank as well as into
everything else in sight, continuing until smoke started to pour out of
the flooring below, followed by the crackle of electrical shorting.
Then several storage modules began to arc, their high voltage mating in
midair. In moments Noda's NEC supercomputer was transformed into a
shorting, sputtering junk heap.
After that, electrical fires erupted down below, and the linoleum
squares beneath our feet proceeded to heat and buckle. Next, something
flashed somewhere in the dark, and a stack of computer printouts lying
next to the door burst into flame.
Originally I'd planned to retrieve the blade, but then I reflected a
second and decided just to leave it. The sword in the supercomputer. A
six-figure gesture, maybe, but one worth every penny in satisfaction.
Noda would definitely understand.
By the time we made our way back through the shattered glass doorway,
picking a path among the splinters, the fire was already spreading to
the main office.
"Let's get out of here." Tam was still grasping the Uzi.
"Not so fast." I reached for the grip. "You don't get to have all the
fun. How do you operate this thing?"
"Just pull there." She pointed, then raised the muzzle. "Careful. You
might need that foot someday."
I lifted it up and it coughed a burst of flame. The water cooler
outside my office exploded.
"Uh, I think you have to be Chuck Norris to do it like that. On a scale
of one to ten, that round scores down in the fractions. Better aim."
"Spoilsport." But I did. I took critical bead on a leering green
monitor, squeezed, and felt a light kick from the metal stock. Out
blinked one of the dying monster's eyes. Then I methodically took out
half a dozen more workstations, just for the hell of it. Automatic
weapons fire can be great therapy. Not to mention fun.
"Okay for a beginner . . . Matt!" She was pointing at the desk of
Noda's secretary. A phone light had just flashed on. "He's calling in
reinforcements."
"Time to make our not-so-graceful exit."
"Bring the automatic."
"You've got it . . . and, uh, I'm a little embarrassed to ask you for
money, but would you mind grabbing your purse. We may need it."
"You're now broke, right?" She dashed for her office.
"So we're told." I was wrapping the Uzi in some computer printouts that
hadn't yet caught fire. The place was really starting to blaze, thanks
to all the paper. Smoke everywhere.