Fanfiction: A Posse Ad Esse: From Possibility to Actuality (1/2)
Saito held his right knee and rubbed thoughtfully at the tendon and muscle underneath while a part of his mind recoiled at the firm smooth flesh of a relatively young man.
The physical pains were coupled with the strange double vision that he sometimes experienced, particularly when he was tired or in the half-asleep stage in early morning. Two days ago, he had tersely called his assistant up to deliver his eyeglasses, only to be regarded with utter bewilderment, an expression he could see quite clearly several feet away from his desk.
If he believed in karma, he would have supposed that it was only right to suffer a few side effects from his jaunt into Robert Fischer’s mind. As it was, Saito was focused on choosing an appointment time for a massage tomorrow so that he would be in the right mindset for the business meeting later that day.
He breathed in the steam from his green tea and firmly ignored the rumblings from his stomach that persisted in showing displeasure at the rich meal (blackened salmon and tender asparagus with a rather nice Burgundy) that he had indulged in earlier.
Call him perverse, but he was curious whether Fischer would recognize him from the dream. Previously, they had met briefly at various functions where the rich gossiped, partnered up, and betrayed. Saito’s attention had been on Maurice Fischer, but he hadn’t failed to notice the distant expression that Robert Fischer maintained at all times when he accompanied his father.
Such total disregard had amused Saito. Especially that one time quite a few years back when a clumsy waiter had dropped a hot towel into Robert Fischer’s lap. Not many men could stay so calm in the same situation. With less self-control back then, Saito had embarrassed himself by laughing involuntarily and drawing an icy glare from Fischer who had transferred the same look to the unfortunate waiter stumbling back.
If Inception worked, then Saito could take pleasure in absorbing Fischer-Morrow’s choice projects and employees while opening the playground for less worthy competitors.
If Inception had failed, then Saito would have to consider another method of dismantling his chief competitor. Balance was an integral part of life, he endorsed strongly.
Saito watched the cool impatience steadily grow in Robert Fischer’s eyes as their chosen spokesmen and lawyers volleyed back and forth with ambiguous wording and subtle take backs.
Ruefully, he could sympathize.
If his hands didn’t hurt so much from phantom arthritis, he would have filtered the conversation until his direct input was needed. Blocked from daydreaming, Saito kept his hands together under the table as the agreements finally started to solidify.
“Proclus Global plays a strong role in the energy market, as you are aware, and we have an obligation to our customers to arrange this to their satisfaction,” Akimoto-san put forth smoothly with an intractable smile.
“Fisher-Morrow is renowned for our history and influence. Our subsidiaries span the whole world, and our partners require assurances that pivotal relationships remain strong and present,” Mr. Foley returned with equal amiability.
Saito sighed inwardly. No, he’d been precipitous.
Fischer coughed abruptly and deliberately, inserting himself smoothly just before Akimoto-san’s reply. He waited for all eyes to rest on his, especially Saito’s, before gathering up the documents and pushing back his chair.
He tapped the papers gently into an organized sheaf before he looked up and graced them with a slight smile.
“We’re nowhere near a conclusion. Gentlemen, I’m afraid that six is a crowd. I’d like to continue the meeting with Saito-san alone, if he agrees.”
Akimoto-san eyed the Fischer-Morrow personnel with intense suspicion as he whispered discouragingly into Saito’s ear. Saito listened carefully and then waved him off after a nod.
“Of course, Mr. Fischer. I value efficiency in all matters.” Fischer couldn’t think so lowly of him as to attempt any paperwork unseen by Akimoto-san and his other counselors.
With the night looming, they ordered coffee and pastries to stave off the hunger pains and settled down to battle.
After a few remarks that recapped their lawyers’ conversation, they paused to sip at their drinks and prepare new arguments during the standstill.
Fischer put down his cup and pursed his lips before leaning forward. His blue eyes bore into Saito’s as he sighed deeply before he smirked. “Let’s cut the BS. You’re not signing any documents that Akimoto doesn’t go over with a fine-toothed comb, and I won’t even touch paperwork that doesn’t match my set of criteria.”
“And yet here we are,” Saito pointed out, reasonably.
Fischer laughed. “Saito-san,” he said confidingly, the polite honorific somehow extraneous on his tongue, “We haven’t talked personally for a long time. In fact, I recall that we only ever talked once, but that’s why I carried away a deep impression. You didn’t strike me as a man who tolerates circular debates past the point of requirement.”
“You strike me the same way,” Saito laughed, as he searched his memory. Had he really spoken with Robert Fischer outside of the usual pleasantries? He doubted that their chat had been significant if he couldn’t recall it easily, yet being in the dark never sat well with him, and he made a mental marker to return to the subject at a later point.
He stepped forward. “I’m curious, Mr. Fischer.” He saw a flicker in the other man’s eyes but couldn’t decipher it. “From all sources, I have heard that your decision to dismantle, excuse my diction, your father’s company was rather sudden. I didn’t expect that you would have particularly strong thoughts about the methods.”
Noting Fischer’s furrowed brow, he added cruelly, “I was pleasantly surprised today to hear of your future goals.”
A familiar chill garnished Fischer’s eyes as he first blinked and then stared furiously at Saito.
“It’s getting late.” Saito broke the silence. His hands no longer ached, but he was tired and ready to retire for the night. And he was beginning to wonder if his last point resulted more from current personal aggravations than from business acumen. “We can finish our discussion at another time.”
After a hot bath and a good night’s sleep, Saito woke up and pondered his words from the previous day. He thought that Robert Fischer had pride enough to perhaps decline Proclus Global’s offer and go with that of a lesser company’s.
Saito brainstormed as he went through his calisthenics. Proclus Global could always buy out that unknown lesser company, but Fischer would be astute enough to think of such a possibility and make things difficult if it struck him.
Saito’s business phone vibrated gently on his living room table, and he answered it as he flexed his hands, feeling relieved at the ease with which his fingers moved. “Yes?”
“Pardon me, shacho,” his regular secretary, Miyagi-kun, spoke out. He was surprised to hear that she was back. Her sister, Mayu-chan, must be doing well.
“You have a message from Mr. Robert Fischer of Fisher-Morrow. Mr. Fischer invites you to join him at Spice Market, New York, for dinner at 8:00pm this Friday.”
Miyagi-kun was crisp and professional until the end where her voice lifted in a slight questioning tone. If he gave any such indication, she would communicate a firm refusal and dissuade further contact on his behalf.
“Tell Mr. Fischer that I accept his invitation,” Saito decided after a long moment. Perhaps he should have allowed Akimoto to handle the negotiations after all. He wondered if prolonged contact with Fischer would exacerbate his memories of Limbo.
He walked exhaustedly along the dark wood paneled walls of his study. Every few steps he would pass one of the uncountable human figures that populated his mind, and they, man or woman, would bow respectfully and inquire if he needed anything. Polite at the beginning, he had grown weary of their constant deference and once screamed at them to leave him in peace. Ironically, it was the only thing that they could not give him.
He gasped for breath and sank heavily to the ground, his back against the wall and vaguely aware that he was tipped to the side against a helpful projection’s shoulder. He wiped the tears of strain from his eyes and was caught with horror at his heavily wrinkled and gnarled hands.
He shuddered with revulsion at his old body, but couldn’t muster up much else; he felt worn out, body and spirit. He gazed dully around the room. Was this all he would have achieved?
Isolation in opulent surroundings, waiting until his ancient heart finally gave out. He knew that he had done and seen so much, but those memories were faded and tenuous. He dreaded remembering them; he suspected that closer examination would reveal his triumphs to be petty.
The grandfather clock high up began to chime at the hour. It was the only sound he ever heard here. For years and years.
He liked his quiet. But this, whatever this was, it terrified him. His pulse thudded heavily and erratically as he fell from his natural dream.
His bedside alarm chimed again in its peaceful melody. He covered his face with one arm before anger overtook him, and he threw his pillow across the room. It swiped a filled vase, and the unexpectedly loud crash of thin porcelain shocked and shamed him.
He lay back down and stared up, his tired eyes blurring the ceiling into a large swatch of mahogany and black.
Eventually, he removed his clothing and showered with his eyes closed, one hand making good use of the shower sponge to get clean without touching skin. He left off the robe and walked to the full-length mirror on his bedroom door.
He straightened his shoulders and lifted his head and forced himself to look, from the pure black hair plastered to his forehead, the smooth-shaven chin, strong shoulders and muscled torso, legs balanced firmly on feet that should have been entirely unfamiliar with the chronic pains of age.
The slight chill in the air stirred the hair on his arms and chest, and his body reacted, despite his headache and ill mood. He reluctantly chuckled to himself. He needed no other sign to confirm his actual body’s vigor.
Saito strode deeper into the restaurant, leaving Akimoto-san and the others at the front with their own table. Somehow he and Fischer had settled on an unspoken agreement to continue meeting privately. He supposed that they could more easily bare their claws that way.
Fischer was already sitting at the table. A waiter hovered discreetly nearby until Fischer gestured for him to fill the wine glass at the empty seat. When Saito refused the subtle proffer of a menu, the waiter cleared the cutlery and left the bottle of Chateau Margaux 1995 with a bow.
They weren’t there to eat.
“You didn’t let me finish last time,” Fischer remarked calmly. He swirled his wine but didn’t drink, eyes fixed on the tiny swells.
“We have time enough now,” Saito said; he smiled to himself at his private joke. Time would never again be a light topic for him.
He shrugged agreeably. “Your list of criteria for the buy-out. What are they?”
“I wasn’t referring to the buy-out. But it’s related, so you don’t have to worry that I’m trying to waste your time.”
“Oh?”
“You don’t remember the conversation that we had. If you did, you wouldn’t be surprised about my goals now.”
Saito looked indulgent. “I apologize. I can’t count the number of conversations that I’ve had over the years. Maybe you can enlighten me.”
“I’m going to,” Fischer returned. “You’re the one who gave me the idea.”
Fischer said more, but Saito barely listened as he took a swallow from his glass, buying time to dissect Fisher’s meaning. It was possible, yet-
“I gave you the idea,” he repeated firmly, an eyebrow arched in query.
“It was actually at one of your company celebrations. Proclus Global had just acquired Fuels Unlimited, Inc., and all notable power companies were invited to make nice,” Fischer said dryly.
“My father had me skip school and accompany him. It wasn’t a particularly interesting experience for a high school senior, and I didn’t appreciate the event’s ramifications until much later. All I cared about was my dad paying attention to me, being proud of me, acknowledging me outside of our house. I was wrong. It was just in style to bring your heir, no matter how disappointing he is.”
Saito remembered the celebration. Ichiyusai-san, his predecessor, had told him the day before that he had been chosen to succeed the position of CEO upon the old man’s retirement in five years, and Saito had barely been able to sleep for anticipation and joy. Just barely 28 years old, he had given a rousing speech on Ichiyusai-san’s behalf, as the man watched approvingly from his chair on the stage.
But the celebration’s tight schedule would not have allowed him to converse with the other successors for long. Saito began wondering if Fischer had not mistaken him for another Asian man. Hsing De Wu from Global Electric Resources was said to resemble him somewhat.
He studied Fischer’s intent expression and revised his opinion. 15 years was a long time, and each person had his own view of the past. It would be best if he paid careful attention to what Fischer had to say. It would not do to be willfully ignorant.
“During the appetizers, Lukas Nikonov asked me about my plans for Fischer-Morrow, and my dad actually let me answer. I was eager to share my epiphany.” The tension in Fischer’s hands conveyed the bitterness that his face didn’t.
Annoyed at the individual who had organized the scheduling, Saito took a measured sip of his water and ignored his wine glass. Silently, he began reciting his speech once more before being rudely interrupted in mid-thought.
“I’m sure I heard you wrong, Robert. What do you mean, ‘Going green?’ Energy has nothing to do with greenery, I hope you know!”
Despite not being the individual addressed, Saito grew irritated and turned around to see a younger man blush and thin his lips in anger at his opponent.
He insisted, “Fossil fuels are being depleted at an incredible rate. Wind power, solar power, hydroelectric power are all excellent sources of energy that will become common in the future.”
Nikonov laughed again, “Oh, is that what you mean? You need to be a little clearer, Robert. I had the sad impression that you wanted to wave around palm fronds and generate a little air to power your pinwheel.”
Saito eyed the obnoxious young man who reminded him of the boarding school students who used to torment him for his dialectal accent, pretending they couldn’t understand a word he said.
The upset young man sputtered, and Nikonov nudged his fellows, who also began laughing at the ineffectual display.
“My father just sat there and observed. He later told me that I was too meek. He let Lukas run over me because he didn’t think I was man enough to defend myself, that I had better learn how.” Fischer quirked his lips. “Either that, or be humiliated.”
Fisher wasn’t done with his story, but it did sound vaguely familiar. Nikonov was still a rather provocative character with sound bites that showed up frequently in the evening news. Saito broke out of his reverie to ask-
“Robert.” Peter Browning entered the private room, his forehead creased unhappily, and he leaned down to whisper something urgently into Fischer’s ear. Saito watched as Fischer extended a hand to receive a heavy envelope.
“Excuse me, Saito-san. I believe this will take some time.” Fischer gazed intently at the message clipped to the envelope before passing it back to Browning.
Saito nodded graciously, pushing back his chair. “Of course, Mr. Fischer. You’re a busy man. I look forward to resuming our discussion at a more convenient time.”
He took off his socks and shoes before wading into the water. The waves were large and strong, the white foam at the top glistening as they faded in and out. Saito squished his feet in the soft sand thoughtfully.
In Limbo, he had watched the ocean outside his prison almost daily, but had no further interest, having soon tired of it, until the moment his security guards pushed a bedraggled man to the table. The man with a gun and a top who professed to save him. The man who had eaten like a starving wolf even as his eyes glittered with secrets and his hoarse voice compelled belief.
Dominic Cobb.
Saito’s assistant, Fuji-kun, assured him that Cobb had reached his children with no difficulties. Presumably the man then had the sense to quietly move away with his children. Saito’s influence didn’t reach the neighbors’ active tongues.
When his memories of Limbo had been fresher, Saito had considered contacting Cobb and arranging a meeting. But he had reigned in his desperation for empathy with pure reason.
Cobb’s goals were achieved: he had been reunited with his children, and he had gained some measure of closure with his wife’s death.
Saito valued the connection that they had forged during Inception, but was astute enough to understand that whatever he had felt wasn’t viable in reality.
The briny water leaked from his cupped hands and fell in drops back to the slow currents twinning past his feet. Still, he lifted his hands and took in the distinct smell of ocean water. His assorted old man’s pains were thankfully recurring less and less as the days passed, but he would regret losing the wonder that he felt now for his natural surroundings, for the microscopic life that apparently milled around in the water he’d just held.
A pity really. No other man had ever pulled another from the depths of old age back to youth and actuality. Cobb was singular, the sort of man who pulled others into his orbit, challenging them to new heights and breaking the boundaries of knowledge and action.
Saito had always been intrigued by such men.
“Shacho,” Akimoto-san called after knocking politely on the doorframe leading to Saito’s office.
Saito automatically saved the document that he’d been reviewing, and gave Akimoto-san his full attention.
Akimoto-san’s lips were thinned, and he shifted, uncharacteristically ill at ease. Saito began to wonder if the man were not ill when Akimoto-san finally explained the problem.
“Tanaka-san has not been coming to work. Today is the third consecutive day, and Fuji-kun couldn’t reach him on his cell phone or home phone.”
Saito furrowed his brows, as Akimoto-san continued. “I believe that he may have relapsed into his alcoholism. His wife remarried a few weeks ago, and his brother told me that they have been fighting over custody of their daughter, Akane-chan.”
Saito rubbed at his temples while he thought. Tanaka-san was an excellent employee while he maintained his sobriety, and in fact, Saito had ensured that Proclus Global provided the man with paid leave whenever he needed to attend counseling. Unfortunately, he was becoming a loose cannon lately.
Another thought occurred to Saito, and he quickly straightened. His grimace caught Akimoto-san’s attention.
“Yes, I thought perhaps it was related to Inception, but I was unable to get confirmation. As you requested, I have ordered surveillance of Tanaka-san and the others involved in the project, but Nobuo-kun has not reported anything out of the ordinary. Tanaka-san may have started in a popular bar or nightclub, but since we haven’t been able to locate him, he may be in some low-down place.”
Saito considered their options. Tanaka-san did have a reputation for going on a bender every so often, but at such a critical juncture, he disliked having the man missing, doing whatever, perhaps unconsciously spreading sensitive information.
Alcohol loosened a man’s tongue like nothing else. Well, perhaps sex.
“Widen the search. Hire a bounty hunter to reach areas that our men cannot.”
Tanaka-san had been loyal employee for more than fifteen years, but every man reached the end of his career sooner or later. Tanaka-san was longer reliable; Saito would give the man a generous severance package and encourage his retirement.
His third meeting with Fischer seemed to be a step back. Bringing their entourages, they both sat there, quiet with their thoughts, as their lawyers shuffled papers and excised displeasing words, phrases, and entire passages from the documents being prepared.
Saito looked calmly and steadily across the room, but Fischer never quite met his gaze, an admirable skill, since the man somehow conveyed that the avoidance was not due to being intimidated, or anything else ridiculous.
Akimoto-san took out a blue manila folder and a black fountain pen. He started making little check marks to his list. The older man had never gotten used to the advent of computers, Saito mused, but he managed very well with his old-fashioned methods.
“We have yet to come to an agreement on five of the subsidiaries, primarily the ones that research and produce alternate fuels. Proclus Global has a great interest in this market, and we would like to present a more appealing offer, if Fischer-Morrow is in talks with another company.”
Mr. Foley clicked his PowerPoint remote, and a bi-colored graph loomed up on the white wall of the boardroom.
“Modern Energy Affiliates is the brainchild of Mr. Fischer himself. As you can see on the graph, the company’s shares have been steadily increasing in value. Naturally, Mr. Fischer is reluctant to entrust his achievements to another president without assurance that he will still be involved.”
“Of course, we understand that Mr. Fischer may feel possessive of his project, but his role is at the end. Modern Energy Affiliates has done well in recent years, but Proclus Global will pursue somewhat different avenues with the various properties and assets.”
Even as he spoke directly to Mr. Foley, Akimoto-san smiled in distant, patronizing acknowledgment at Fischer.
Arching his brows exaggeratedly, Mr. Foley countered, with a broad gesture towards a second graph, which gave a closer look at the past five years’ advancement.
“Modern Energy Affiliates has experienced exponential increases in the value of its market shares. While our investors rely on the company’s unique approach, Mr. Fischer has garnered the company excellent publicity through his philanthropic efforts in sponsoring various ‘going green’ projects in the local communities.”
Akimoto-san snorted softly, a habit that he had never managed to break despite the coarse air that it gave him. “I assure you, Mr. Foley, our financiers have sufficient skill to map out the most probable growth, which is considerable but not exceptional.”
“Your financiers would be wrong, Akimoto-san. Modern Energy Affiliates has recently launched a new probe into a compound that could increase the efficiency of ethanol-based fuels. Our studies have been very promising.”
Akimoto-san briefly rifled through his papers before looking to Saito, who shook his head slightly in response to the unasked question and then broke in, silencing the others.
“I had the impression, Mr. Fischer, that your secretary had transferred all relevant documents to us before this meeting,” he spoke mildly, as his eyes bored into the other man’s.
Fischer returned the glare with a complacent expression. He seemed more alert than before. “Mr. Wilson assured me that he did.”
A heavy silence fell as every man began flipping through his sheaf of documents, but neither side admitted fault.
Saito didn’t bother looking through his own binder. Instead he held the eye contact with Fischer, and inevitably, he began comparing those blue eyes with another pair he was familiar with.
The large waves swept the beach clean of his footsteps, and Saito unthinkingly rushed to make more. He treaded from one end of the beach to the other, as he waited again for something truly important. Elegant as his house was, it was vaguely foreboding, and he felt driven to wade in the warm blue-green waters that lapped at his waist.
He had found the ocean soothing until the comfort became unbearable, and he had retired permanently to his house.
Cobb’s eyes were reminiscent of the ocean on a quintessential beach day. Saito couldn’t say the same for Fischer’s.
Fischer’s shade was somehow “whiter.” But not cooler. The intensity of the man behind the eyes made them flare like-
Saito forced away the unpleasant memory beginning to stir. He turned his gaze to the side where Akimoto-san was drafting notes on the probable impact that the MEA compound would have on the contracts.
Fischer serenely folded his hands in front and studied them. The man seemed to like stringing things out: he hadn’t mentioned their supposed long ago conversation since he’d brought it up almost a week ago.
The atomic clock on the wall ticked along, seemingly growing louder and louder, as the stalemate continued.
Saito broke it.
“Once you have finished with the calculations, let me know,” Saito announced before getting up from the table, impatient for time alone to think. It bemused him that Fischer could incept him in reality by planting the urge to remember a minor incident so many years ago that Fischer had apparently valued.
Saito had stridden halfway to the door before his forthright nature kicked in: if one wanted full information, one should go straight to the source.
Saito turned to Fischer and suggested, “Perhaps you will join me for a drink?”
Fischer gazed into the distance briefly before accepting with a slow smile. “I have a room at The Muse. We can have that drink and talk in private there.”
Part 2
The physical pains were coupled with the strange double vision that he sometimes experienced, particularly when he was tired or in the half-asleep stage in early morning. Two days ago, he had tersely called his assistant up to deliver his eyeglasses, only to be regarded with utter bewilderment, an expression he could see quite clearly several feet away from his desk.
If he believed in karma, he would have supposed that it was only right to suffer a few side effects from his jaunt into Robert Fischer’s mind. As it was, Saito was focused on choosing an appointment time for a massage tomorrow so that he would be in the right mindset for the business meeting later that day.
He breathed in the steam from his green tea and firmly ignored the rumblings from his stomach that persisted in showing displeasure at the rich meal (blackened salmon and tender asparagus with a rather nice Burgundy) that he had indulged in earlier.
Call him perverse, but he was curious whether Fischer would recognize him from the dream. Previously, they had met briefly at various functions where the rich gossiped, partnered up, and betrayed. Saito’s attention had been on Maurice Fischer, but he hadn’t failed to notice the distant expression that Robert Fischer maintained at all times when he accompanied his father.
Such total disregard had amused Saito. Especially that one time quite a few years back when a clumsy waiter had dropped a hot towel into Robert Fischer’s lap. Not many men could stay so calm in the same situation. With less self-control back then, Saito had embarrassed himself by laughing involuntarily and drawing an icy glare from Fischer who had transferred the same look to the unfortunate waiter stumbling back.
If Inception worked, then Saito could take pleasure in absorbing Fischer-Morrow’s choice projects and employees while opening the playground for less worthy competitors.
If Inception had failed, then Saito would have to consider another method of dismantling his chief competitor. Balance was an integral part of life, he endorsed strongly.
Saito watched the cool impatience steadily grow in Robert Fischer’s eyes as their chosen spokesmen and lawyers volleyed back and forth with ambiguous wording and subtle take backs.
Ruefully, he could sympathize.
If his hands didn’t hurt so much from phantom arthritis, he would have filtered the conversation until his direct input was needed. Blocked from daydreaming, Saito kept his hands together under the table as the agreements finally started to solidify.
“Proclus Global plays a strong role in the energy market, as you are aware, and we have an obligation to our customers to arrange this to their satisfaction,” Akimoto-san put forth smoothly with an intractable smile.
“Fisher-Morrow is renowned for our history and influence. Our subsidiaries span the whole world, and our partners require assurances that pivotal relationships remain strong and present,” Mr. Foley returned with equal amiability.
Saito sighed inwardly. No, he’d been precipitous.
Fischer coughed abruptly and deliberately, inserting himself smoothly just before Akimoto-san’s reply. He waited for all eyes to rest on his, especially Saito’s, before gathering up the documents and pushing back his chair.
He tapped the papers gently into an organized sheaf before he looked up and graced them with a slight smile.
“We’re nowhere near a conclusion. Gentlemen, I’m afraid that six is a crowd. I’d like to continue the meeting with Saito-san alone, if he agrees.”
Akimoto-san eyed the Fischer-Morrow personnel with intense suspicion as he whispered discouragingly into Saito’s ear. Saito listened carefully and then waved him off after a nod.
“Of course, Mr. Fischer. I value efficiency in all matters.” Fischer couldn’t think so lowly of him as to attempt any paperwork unseen by Akimoto-san and his other counselors.
With the night looming, they ordered coffee and pastries to stave off the hunger pains and settled down to battle.
After a few remarks that recapped their lawyers’ conversation, they paused to sip at their drinks and prepare new arguments during the standstill.
Fischer put down his cup and pursed his lips before leaning forward. His blue eyes bore into Saito’s as he sighed deeply before he smirked. “Let’s cut the BS. You’re not signing any documents that Akimoto doesn’t go over with a fine-toothed comb, and I won’t even touch paperwork that doesn’t match my set of criteria.”
“And yet here we are,” Saito pointed out, reasonably.
Fischer laughed. “Saito-san,” he said confidingly, the polite honorific somehow extraneous on his tongue, “We haven’t talked personally for a long time. In fact, I recall that we only ever talked once, but that’s why I carried away a deep impression. You didn’t strike me as a man who tolerates circular debates past the point of requirement.”
“You strike me the same way,” Saito laughed, as he searched his memory. Had he really spoken with Robert Fischer outside of the usual pleasantries? He doubted that their chat had been significant if he couldn’t recall it easily, yet being in the dark never sat well with him, and he made a mental marker to return to the subject at a later point.
He stepped forward. “I’m curious, Mr. Fischer.” He saw a flicker in the other man’s eyes but couldn’t decipher it. “From all sources, I have heard that your decision to dismantle, excuse my diction, your father’s company was rather sudden. I didn’t expect that you would have particularly strong thoughts about the methods.”
Noting Fischer’s furrowed brow, he added cruelly, “I was pleasantly surprised today to hear of your future goals.”
A familiar chill garnished Fischer’s eyes as he first blinked and then stared furiously at Saito.
“It’s getting late.” Saito broke the silence. His hands no longer ached, but he was tired and ready to retire for the night. And he was beginning to wonder if his last point resulted more from current personal aggravations than from business acumen. “We can finish our discussion at another time.”
After a hot bath and a good night’s sleep, Saito woke up and pondered his words from the previous day. He thought that Robert Fischer had pride enough to perhaps decline Proclus Global’s offer and go with that of a lesser company’s.
Saito brainstormed as he went through his calisthenics. Proclus Global could always buy out that unknown lesser company, but Fischer would be astute enough to think of such a possibility and make things difficult if it struck him.
Saito’s business phone vibrated gently on his living room table, and he answered it as he flexed his hands, feeling relieved at the ease with which his fingers moved. “Yes?”
“Pardon me, shacho,” his regular secretary, Miyagi-kun, spoke out. He was surprised to hear that she was back. Her sister, Mayu-chan, must be doing well.
“You have a message from Mr. Robert Fischer of Fisher-Morrow. Mr. Fischer invites you to join him at Spice Market, New York, for dinner at 8:00pm this Friday.”
Miyagi-kun was crisp and professional until the end where her voice lifted in a slight questioning tone. If he gave any such indication, she would communicate a firm refusal and dissuade further contact on his behalf.
“Tell Mr. Fischer that I accept his invitation,” Saito decided after a long moment. Perhaps he should have allowed Akimoto to handle the negotiations after all. He wondered if prolonged contact with Fischer would exacerbate his memories of Limbo.
He walked exhaustedly along the dark wood paneled walls of his study. Every few steps he would pass one of the uncountable human figures that populated his mind, and they, man or woman, would bow respectfully and inquire if he needed anything. Polite at the beginning, he had grown weary of their constant deference and once screamed at them to leave him in peace. Ironically, it was the only thing that they could not give him.
He gasped for breath and sank heavily to the ground, his back against the wall and vaguely aware that he was tipped to the side against a helpful projection’s shoulder. He wiped the tears of strain from his eyes and was caught with horror at his heavily wrinkled and gnarled hands.
He shuddered with revulsion at his old body, but couldn’t muster up much else; he felt worn out, body and spirit. He gazed dully around the room. Was this all he would have achieved?
Isolation in opulent surroundings, waiting until his ancient heart finally gave out. He knew that he had done and seen so much, but those memories were faded and tenuous. He dreaded remembering them; he suspected that closer examination would reveal his triumphs to be petty.
The grandfather clock high up began to chime at the hour. It was the only sound he ever heard here. For years and years.
He liked his quiet. But this, whatever this was, it terrified him. His pulse thudded heavily and erratically as he fell from his natural dream.
His bedside alarm chimed again in its peaceful melody. He covered his face with one arm before anger overtook him, and he threw his pillow across the room. It swiped a filled vase, and the unexpectedly loud crash of thin porcelain shocked and shamed him.
He lay back down and stared up, his tired eyes blurring the ceiling into a large swatch of mahogany and black.
Eventually, he removed his clothing and showered with his eyes closed, one hand making good use of the shower sponge to get clean without touching skin. He left off the robe and walked to the full-length mirror on his bedroom door.
He straightened his shoulders and lifted his head and forced himself to look, from the pure black hair plastered to his forehead, the smooth-shaven chin, strong shoulders and muscled torso, legs balanced firmly on feet that should have been entirely unfamiliar with the chronic pains of age.
The slight chill in the air stirred the hair on his arms and chest, and his body reacted, despite his headache and ill mood. He reluctantly chuckled to himself. He needed no other sign to confirm his actual body’s vigor.
Saito strode deeper into the restaurant, leaving Akimoto-san and the others at the front with their own table. Somehow he and Fischer had settled on an unspoken agreement to continue meeting privately. He supposed that they could more easily bare their claws that way.
Fischer was already sitting at the table. A waiter hovered discreetly nearby until Fischer gestured for him to fill the wine glass at the empty seat. When Saito refused the subtle proffer of a menu, the waiter cleared the cutlery and left the bottle of Chateau Margaux 1995 with a bow.
They weren’t there to eat.
“You didn’t let me finish last time,” Fischer remarked calmly. He swirled his wine but didn’t drink, eyes fixed on the tiny swells.
“We have time enough now,” Saito said; he smiled to himself at his private joke. Time would never again be a light topic for him.
He shrugged agreeably. “Your list of criteria for the buy-out. What are they?”
“I wasn’t referring to the buy-out. But it’s related, so you don’t have to worry that I’m trying to waste your time.”
“Oh?”
“You don’t remember the conversation that we had. If you did, you wouldn’t be surprised about my goals now.”
Saito looked indulgent. “I apologize. I can’t count the number of conversations that I’ve had over the years. Maybe you can enlighten me.”
“I’m going to,” Fischer returned. “You’re the one who gave me the idea.”
Fischer said more, but Saito barely listened as he took a swallow from his glass, buying time to dissect Fisher’s meaning. It was possible, yet-
“I gave you the idea,” he repeated firmly, an eyebrow arched in query.
“It was actually at one of your company celebrations. Proclus Global had just acquired Fuels Unlimited, Inc., and all notable power companies were invited to make nice,” Fischer said dryly.
“My father had me skip school and accompany him. It wasn’t a particularly interesting experience for a high school senior, and I didn’t appreciate the event’s ramifications until much later. All I cared about was my dad paying attention to me, being proud of me, acknowledging me outside of our house. I was wrong. It was just in style to bring your heir, no matter how disappointing he is.”
Saito remembered the celebration. Ichiyusai-san, his predecessor, had told him the day before that he had been chosen to succeed the position of CEO upon the old man’s retirement in five years, and Saito had barely been able to sleep for anticipation and joy. Just barely 28 years old, he had given a rousing speech on Ichiyusai-san’s behalf, as the man watched approvingly from his chair on the stage.
But the celebration’s tight schedule would not have allowed him to converse with the other successors for long. Saito began wondering if Fischer had not mistaken him for another Asian man. Hsing De Wu from Global Electric Resources was said to resemble him somewhat.
He studied Fischer’s intent expression and revised his opinion. 15 years was a long time, and each person had his own view of the past. It would be best if he paid careful attention to what Fischer had to say. It would not do to be willfully ignorant.
“During the appetizers, Lukas Nikonov asked me about my plans for Fischer-Morrow, and my dad actually let me answer. I was eager to share my epiphany.” The tension in Fischer’s hands conveyed the bitterness that his face didn’t.
Annoyed at the individual who had organized the scheduling, Saito took a measured sip of his water and ignored his wine glass. Silently, he began reciting his speech once more before being rudely interrupted in mid-thought.
“I’m sure I heard you wrong, Robert. What do you mean, ‘Going green?’ Energy has nothing to do with greenery, I hope you know!”
Despite not being the individual addressed, Saito grew irritated and turned around to see a younger man blush and thin his lips in anger at his opponent.
He insisted, “Fossil fuels are being depleted at an incredible rate. Wind power, solar power, hydroelectric power are all excellent sources of energy that will become common in the future.”
Nikonov laughed again, “Oh, is that what you mean? You need to be a little clearer, Robert. I had the sad impression that you wanted to wave around palm fronds and generate a little air to power your pinwheel.”
Saito eyed the obnoxious young man who reminded him of the boarding school students who used to torment him for his dialectal accent, pretending they couldn’t understand a word he said.
The upset young man sputtered, and Nikonov nudged his fellows, who also began laughing at the ineffectual display.
“My father just sat there and observed. He later told me that I was too meek. He let Lukas run over me because he didn’t think I was man enough to defend myself, that I had better learn how.” Fischer quirked his lips. “Either that, or be humiliated.”
Fisher wasn’t done with his story, but it did sound vaguely familiar. Nikonov was still a rather provocative character with sound bites that showed up frequently in the evening news. Saito broke out of his reverie to ask-
“Robert.” Peter Browning entered the private room, his forehead creased unhappily, and he leaned down to whisper something urgently into Fischer’s ear. Saito watched as Fischer extended a hand to receive a heavy envelope.
“Excuse me, Saito-san. I believe this will take some time.” Fischer gazed intently at the message clipped to the envelope before passing it back to Browning.
Saito nodded graciously, pushing back his chair. “Of course, Mr. Fischer. You’re a busy man. I look forward to resuming our discussion at a more convenient time.”
He took off his socks and shoes before wading into the water. The waves were large and strong, the white foam at the top glistening as they faded in and out. Saito squished his feet in the soft sand thoughtfully.
In Limbo, he had watched the ocean outside his prison almost daily, but had no further interest, having soon tired of it, until the moment his security guards pushed a bedraggled man to the table. The man with a gun and a top who professed to save him. The man who had eaten like a starving wolf even as his eyes glittered with secrets and his hoarse voice compelled belief.
Dominic Cobb.
Saito’s assistant, Fuji-kun, assured him that Cobb had reached his children with no difficulties. Presumably the man then had the sense to quietly move away with his children. Saito’s influence didn’t reach the neighbors’ active tongues.
When his memories of Limbo had been fresher, Saito had considered contacting Cobb and arranging a meeting. But he had reigned in his desperation for empathy with pure reason.
Cobb’s goals were achieved: he had been reunited with his children, and he had gained some measure of closure with his wife’s death.
Saito valued the connection that they had forged during Inception, but was astute enough to understand that whatever he had felt wasn’t viable in reality.
The briny water leaked from his cupped hands and fell in drops back to the slow currents twinning past his feet. Still, he lifted his hands and took in the distinct smell of ocean water. His assorted old man’s pains were thankfully recurring less and less as the days passed, but he would regret losing the wonder that he felt now for his natural surroundings, for the microscopic life that apparently milled around in the water he’d just held.
A pity really. No other man had ever pulled another from the depths of old age back to youth and actuality. Cobb was singular, the sort of man who pulled others into his orbit, challenging them to new heights and breaking the boundaries of knowledge and action.
Saito had always been intrigued by such men.
“Shacho,” Akimoto-san called after knocking politely on the doorframe leading to Saito’s office.
Saito automatically saved the document that he’d been reviewing, and gave Akimoto-san his full attention.
Akimoto-san’s lips were thinned, and he shifted, uncharacteristically ill at ease. Saito began to wonder if the man were not ill when Akimoto-san finally explained the problem.
“Tanaka-san has not been coming to work. Today is the third consecutive day, and Fuji-kun couldn’t reach him on his cell phone or home phone.”
Saito furrowed his brows, as Akimoto-san continued. “I believe that he may have relapsed into his alcoholism. His wife remarried a few weeks ago, and his brother told me that they have been fighting over custody of their daughter, Akane-chan.”
Saito rubbed at his temples while he thought. Tanaka-san was an excellent employee while he maintained his sobriety, and in fact, Saito had ensured that Proclus Global provided the man with paid leave whenever he needed to attend counseling. Unfortunately, he was becoming a loose cannon lately.
Another thought occurred to Saito, and he quickly straightened. His grimace caught Akimoto-san’s attention.
“Yes, I thought perhaps it was related to Inception, but I was unable to get confirmation. As you requested, I have ordered surveillance of Tanaka-san and the others involved in the project, but Nobuo-kun has not reported anything out of the ordinary. Tanaka-san may have started in a popular bar or nightclub, but since we haven’t been able to locate him, he may be in some low-down place.”
Saito considered their options. Tanaka-san did have a reputation for going on a bender every so often, but at such a critical juncture, he disliked having the man missing, doing whatever, perhaps unconsciously spreading sensitive information.
Alcohol loosened a man’s tongue like nothing else. Well, perhaps sex.
“Widen the search. Hire a bounty hunter to reach areas that our men cannot.”
Tanaka-san had been loyal employee for more than fifteen years, but every man reached the end of his career sooner or later. Tanaka-san was longer reliable; Saito would give the man a generous severance package and encourage his retirement.
His third meeting with Fischer seemed to be a step back. Bringing their entourages, they both sat there, quiet with their thoughts, as their lawyers shuffled papers and excised displeasing words, phrases, and entire passages from the documents being prepared.
Saito looked calmly and steadily across the room, but Fischer never quite met his gaze, an admirable skill, since the man somehow conveyed that the avoidance was not due to being intimidated, or anything else ridiculous.
Akimoto-san took out a blue manila folder and a black fountain pen. He started making little check marks to his list. The older man had never gotten used to the advent of computers, Saito mused, but he managed very well with his old-fashioned methods.
“We have yet to come to an agreement on five of the subsidiaries, primarily the ones that research and produce alternate fuels. Proclus Global has a great interest in this market, and we would like to present a more appealing offer, if Fischer-Morrow is in talks with another company.”
Mr. Foley clicked his PowerPoint remote, and a bi-colored graph loomed up on the white wall of the boardroom.
“Modern Energy Affiliates is the brainchild of Mr. Fischer himself. As you can see on the graph, the company’s shares have been steadily increasing in value. Naturally, Mr. Fischer is reluctant to entrust his achievements to another president without assurance that he will still be involved.”
“Of course, we understand that Mr. Fischer may feel possessive of his project, but his role is at the end. Modern Energy Affiliates has done well in recent years, but Proclus Global will pursue somewhat different avenues with the various properties and assets.”
Even as he spoke directly to Mr. Foley, Akimoto-san smiled in distant, patronizing acknowledgment at Fischer.
Arching his brows exaggeratedly, Mr. Foley countered, with a broad gesture towards a second graph, which gave a closer look at the past five years’ advancement.
“Modern Energy Affiliates has experienced exponential increases in the value of its market shares. While our investors rely on the company’s unique approach, Mr. Fischer has garnered the company excellent publicity through his philanthropic efforts in sponsoring various ‘going green’ projects in the local communities.”
Akimoto-san snorted softly, a habit that he had never managed to break despite the coarse air that it gave him. “I assure you, Mr. Foley, our financiers have sufficient skill to map out the most probable growth, which is considerable but not exceptional.”
“Your financiers would be wrong, Akimoto-san. Modern Energy Affiliates has recently launched a new probe into a compound that could increase the efficiency of ethanol-based fuels. Our studies have been very promising.”
Akimoto-san briefly rifled through his papers before looking to Saito, who shook his head slightly in response to the unasked question and then broke in, silencing the others.
“I had the impression, Mr. Fischer, that your secretary had transferred all relevant documents to us before this meeting,” he spoke mildly, as his eyes bored into the other man’s.
Fischer returned the glare with a complacent expression. He seemed more alert than before. “Mr. Wilson assured me that he did.”
A heavy silence fell as every man began flipping through his sheaf of documents, but neither side admitted fault.
Saito didn’t bother looking through his own binder. Instead he held the eye contact with Fischer, and inevitably, he began comparing those blue eyes with another pair he was familiar with.
The large waves swept the beach clean of his footsteps, and Saito unthinkingly rushed to make more. He treaded from one end of the beach to the other, as he waited again for something truly important. Elegant as his house was, it was vaguely foreboding, and he felt driven to wade in the warm blue-green waters that lapped at his waist.
He had found the ocean soothing until the comfort became unbearable, and he had retired permanently to his house.
Cobb’s eyes were reminiscent of the ocean on a quintessential beach day. Saito couldn’t say the same for Fischer’s.
Fischer’s shade was somehow “whiter.” But not cooler. The intensity of the man behind the eyes made them flare like-
Saito forced away the unpleasant memory beginning to stir. He turned his gaze to the side where Akimoto-san was drafting notes on the probable impact that the MEA compound would have on the contracts.
Fischer serenely folded his hands in front and studied them. The man seemed to like stringing things out: he hadn’t mentioned their supposed long ago conversation since he’d brought it up almost a week ago.
The atomic clock on the wall ticked along, seemingly growing louder and louder, as the stalemate continued.
Saito broke it.
“Once you have finished with the calculations, let me know,” Saito announced before getting up from the table, impatient for time alone to think. It bemused him that Fischer could incept him in reality by planting the urge to remember a minor incident so many years ago that Fischer had apparently valued.
Saito had stridden halfway to the door before his forthright nature kicked in: if one wanted full information, one should go straight to the source.
Saito turned to Fischer and suggested, “Perhaps you will join me for a drink?”
Fischer gazed into the distance briefly before accepting with a slow smile. “I have a room at The Muse. We can have that drink and talk in private there.”
Part 2