"History, a distillation of rumour."
--Thomas Carlyle
Togusa felt terrible about leaving his family in such a bad state, but he made it a rule to always be on time for work. Unlike some of the other members of Section 9, who sometimes seem to live at headquarters, he tried to arrive and leave punctually, when work permitted. His wife was very understanding about his sometimes unpredictable hours -- more than once he'd had to buy a can of sake from a vending machine on the way home and chug it down so he could say he'd been drinking with coworkers instead of working on a special assignment -- but he still felt precariously balanced between the two lives, sometimes.
And it did feel like two separate lives -- one so involved with crime and deception and technology, and the other so innocent and calm and beautiful. Though the house was anything but calm, today.
"Daddy! I'm hungry, and I'm going to be late! An-chan will be here any minute to walk me to school, and I can't make her wait!," his daughter complained. Now, where did she get that sense of punctuality?, he thought to himself wryly. She had only been in school for a few months, but she took it very seriously. He bent down to her level and tried to sound positive.
"I know; I think I'm going to be late myself. Here, your rice is still good, why don't you just eat that and leave the rest and go to school?" The table was a mess; his little boy had thrown up in the middle of breakfast all over half the food. His wife was trying to keep him from playing in the vomit and eating soiled food, while at the same time cleaning up the mess, and his daughter was close to tears. I could use a top-notch team of secret police agents myself right about now . . .
Surprisingly, his daughter took his advice and, wrinkling her nose, took her bowl as far from the mess as possible and began to eat. His wife gave him an amused smile and nodded towards the door for him to go. Ah, what a beautiful woman, he thought, not for the first time. Gratefully, he nodded and headed out, pausing only to say goodbye and slip on his shoes at the door. Just as he closed the front door, he heard a loud crashing sound coming from the kitchen, and he cringed. He paused for a moment, but when no screams or crying followed, Togusa decided it would be okay for him to continue on to work.
I'm not too late, he thought to himself as he merged onto the freeway. If there's nothing going on, it's possible no one's noticed . . .. He was interrupted by a private com from the Major.
"Togusa, where are you? A briefing is about to begin." He winced. Apologies never seemed to have any effect on the Major, but he had to offer one anyway.
"Sorry Major, I ran into some . . . problems and I'm running a little late, but I'm on my way."
"Good. Come to the briefing room as soon as you arrive. Major out."
Section 9, gathered in the briefing room, listened to the Chief explain the suspicious circumstances around Professor Ogawa's Historical Immersion System. Togusa still felt a little uncomfortable because of his late entrance, but his embarrassment was soon replaced by interest in this new case. He wondered what kind of research project could land a professor and his assistants in a coma in the hospital -- especially a research project by a history professor.
As the Chief finished, he nodded to the Major and she began to give out assignments.
"Paz, Saito, I want you to check out Oda Ichigo and see what he's being paid for." The two nodded expressionlessly. "Ishikawa, Borma, see if you can find any information on why the Department of Internal Affairs is interested in this project. Batou, find out which hospital Professor Ogawa is at right now and see what you can discover there. Togusa, go to the university and learn what you can."
"What about you, Major?," Batou asked.
"I'll just go wherever seems like the most fun," she answered flippantly, and began to leave.
"The most dangerous, you mean," he muttered quietly, and Togusa fought a grin as he stood up on his way out.
As he drove on the freeway once again, this time towards New Tokyo University, he used the quiet time to plan his investigation. By the time he pulled his car into the parking lot, he had several ideas of how to obtain the information he needed. He grabbed one of his spare IDs from the glove compartment and pulled up a map of campus through his cyberbrain. Cross-referencing with a faculty list gave him the building that Professor Ogawa's office was in, and he kept the map up as he traversed the campus so that he wouldn't get lost. Obviously, he didn't expect to find Professor Ogawa there, but hopefully there would be someone who knew something about the situation.
An older, smartly dressed woman greeted him as he entered the floor of the building that housed most of the faculty offices. "Can I help you, sir?," she asked politely, not appearing at all unhappy to be interrupted.
"Yes, I'm looking for Professor Ogawa." A simple approach usually works best, and is the least suspicious, he thought.
"Professor Ogawa? I'm afraid he is not in his office, and won't be back for quite some time. Perhaps I could help you?"
"Maybe so. I was supposed to talk with him about a paper he is writing for our publication about his newest project. When he didn't return my messages, I thought I would just drop by." The secretary nodded in understanding.
"I see. Well, you might want to postpone publication of that article for a while. You see, Professor Ogawa is in the hospital."
"Oh dear! I had no idea! I hope he's not seriously ill?" He leaned forward a little over the desk, to give their conversation a bit more privacy. She looked around worriedly before replying in a low voice,
"Well . . . the truth is that he is in a coma. The doctor at the hospital told me that it was from air poisoning due to an air conditioner malfunction. But that was several days ago . . ."
"I see . . . the poor Professor! Do you think I could perhaps talk with one of his assistants -- they may actually be able to give me the information I need." Once again she lowered her voice and leaned forward slightly before answering.
"I'm afraid not. They are all in the hospital, as well, with the same condition."
"All of them?! Why, that seems very strange, don't you think?" Togusa already knew that the lab assistants and the professor were in the hospital, but he tried to sound very surprised and concerned.
"Yes, it is strange." She shook her head. "I have called the hospital several times, but they don't seem to know when they will wake up or how to treat them. And when we told maintenance to check the air conditioning in the Sanada building -- that's where the lab is, you know -- they said they couldn't find anything wrong with it."
"Well, that's very unusual. I really hope the Professor is all right. It seems like you are keeping a good watch on him." The secretary smiled a little at this, and he continued, "Perhaps I could leave my number with you, and when he comes back, I hope he will give me a call." He handed her a fake business card for his cover as a magazine editor.
"Oh, of course, sir. I'm so sorry I couldn't help you." She smiled genuinely, and he was surprised for a moment to find such a friendly, genuine person -- in their business, they dealt mostly with military types, crooks, and slimy politicians. Sometimes all three in one.
"Not at all -- I just feel bad for the Professor and his assistants. Thank you so much for your invaluable assistance." He bowed politely, and then walked out the large double doors and down the steps. Togusa then searched on the campus map for the Sanada Building, the one the secretary had mentioned. With any luck, he thought, the Historical Immersion System will be there in the lab. And maybe some clues as well.
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I should mention that my husband is my co-writer on this whole fic. He comes up with a lot of the intrigue and subtle connections, and is a great editor, too. :-) Oh, and the cleaning up vomit was from my own personal experience with my one-year-old son last week. Ugh.