Sushi - On the Grid!

Emiyo gazed into the churning waters of the fish turbine. A yellowtail drifted against the current as it made lazy laps around the machine. The turbine wasn’t strong enough to harvest fish past a certain size.

The tuna looked up at Emiyo with weird, curious eyes.

“You have t’go inside the trap!” she hollered down at it.

It made a snapping motion with its mouth.

The little girl cursed the big tuna and threw a scrap of her sandwich in the water. Dozens of silvery, corded bodies flew to the surface and thrashed around in the waves. The turbine sucked up some of the smaller ones in their pursuit of Emiyo’s scraps.

“Aha!” she laughed down at them. “Stupid!”

A static murmur disrupted the surface of the water and an engine dropped out of the clouds above her.

It was an ugly boxcraft with pinstripe text that read SUSHI along the side.

The little girl sighed and started the long walk back to the house. She wanted to see if mom would really chop his legs off like she said.

The fish turbines connected to a catwalk that made them all accessible. Children had an easier time navigating the slender metal skyducts, so the work was asked of them. Emiyo and her siblings proved seasoned veterans of the wharf.

She followed the skyduct back to the mainland. Below her, hundreds of whirlpools swirled between the turbines.

A path cut along the coast, worn into the cliffside by the feet of meandering children. It ran parallel to game trails and guerilla tracks. She followed the well tread avenue that linked the ocean to the village.

She wandered through forested hills until she came upon the Higasa compound.

There was no sign of the food truck – somehow she’d beat it to the house. Emiyo shrugged, plopped down on the front porch, and waited.

The atmocraft sputtered down the road and into the driveway. It chugged like an injured animal until it stalled out by the garage.

Kenji swung out of the cockpit, already complaining. He rubbed his neck with one hand and puffed a cigarette with the other. The ship was still hot, but he inspected the undercarriage anyway.

Emiyo watched him from the stoop in silence. She thought he looked drunk while he stumbled around the craft.

Kenji flicked the cigarette into the dirt when he was done. He took a deep breath and smoothed the creases in his chef whites.

“Why d’you look so guilty?” Emiyo asked sharply.

Kenji jumped at the sound of her voice. He whispered curses under his breath until he spotted her.

“I don’t look guilty,” he replied. “You don’t welcome me home?”

“You were gone three days,” she said.

He rolled his tongue around in his mouth and looked down the driveway.

“You don’t greet me?” she asked.

Kenji turned and marched up the stairs. He tousled her hair as he passed by and said, “Come with me inside and I’ll tell you where I’ve been.”

Emiyo watched him stroll by and walk face first into the door. He bounced off with a huff.

“What the-”

“Mom reset your password,” Emiyo explained. “She said you were dead.”

Kenji groaned and threw his hands up.

“I’m not dead – I’m hungover,” he pounded on the steel panel while he spoke. “It’s much, much worse!”

No one came to open the door for Kenji. He turned and plopped down next to his daughter in defeat.

“Anata wa detarame,” he said. “Traitors.”

Emiyo smiled and leaned in for a hug. The old man pulled her in as they looked out over the horizon. They rocked back and forth for a while, and watched the dogs come out to sniff the food truck.

Emiyo lay still while her father scratched the top of her head. It was a favorite pastime of hers.

“I’m sorry I am so late.” Kenji finally offered.

Emiyo flung herself to kiss him on the cheek.

“We worried,” she said.

Kenji scoffed and pushed the little girl’s advances away.

“You stink like fish guts!” he hollered.

They wrestled back and forth beneath the sunset in a desperate bid to tickle one another. Emiyo giggled until she was breathless.

“Stay back!” he warned her. Kenji held up his pointer fingers as if they were daggers.

The door panel slid open behind them. They went rigid under the stern gaze of Kikoro Higasa.

“Can we help you, sir?” she began.

Kenji squinted up at her.

“Are you a salesman? A crook?”

“Don’t be mean, ma!” Emiyo interjected. “Space is dark, he got lost.”

“Who? This man?” Kiko made a point not to look at him. “He looks unfamiliar to me.”

“Ahhh!” Kenji exclaimed with a wave of his hand. He got to his feet and rubbed the fatigue from his face.

When he pulled his hands away, he felt the stinging impact of Kiko’s palm. The whole side of his head started to swell.

Emiyo let out another giggle.

“Ow!” Kenji shouted. “I thought you didn’t know me!”

“I know you well, KENJI HIGASA!” she roared.

The trio went silent.

More members of the clan came to fill the doorway – mostly children. Kikoro tapped her foot while she waited for them to gather.

“Pop!” Itsu yelled. He charged through the door frame.

Kikoro snatched him by his collar and pulled him back into the house.

“I’m in trouble today,” Kenji said with a shrug.

“No shit,” Itsu replied. “Did you get cigarettes?”

Kikoro’s eyes bulged out from her head. She turned and cracked Itsu with the same open palm she gave her husband.

“You do not smoke in this house!” she clarified.

Emiyo shook her head. Home had been chaotic since Kenji disappeared; mom carefully collected her wrath over the last three days.

Uncle Z materialized in the foreground. He leaned against the porch railing and puffed a cigarette while he watched the reunion.

Kikoro reached a hand above her head and stole the words out of every mouth. She cast silence over the family like a real kijo.

She turned a menacing eye on her husband, who cycled through a series of calming breaths.

Emiyo reached up and clasped his hand.

“Do you all want to know where I’ve been?” Kenji asked. He had the enthusiasm of a gambler with the winning hand.

The Higasa clan leaned in close; toddlers, teenagers, aunts and grandparents, even the wild woodland dogs. The yard, usually rank with engine oil, permeated an old magic that only storytelling kept.

“It was crazy,” he began.

__________**__________

“This is crazy,” Kenji muttered.

He followed the cartel lightwing through the processing queues and into the flight zone; millionaire spacecrafts drifted in every direction while the pilots linked up to party. The food truck looked like a toy amongst the designer ships.

Kenji guided it through all manner of industry. A ring of casinos pulsated with a bass so loud it rattled his windows. Those blocky buildings tapered into slender pleasure houses with strippers on the roof. They wore only jetpacks as they danced through the air, beckoning Kenji into their naked foray.

He gulped and hit the accelerator.

A colossal ferris wheel arched out into the abyss. The buckets ascended up before they disappeared into the black maw of outer space. They drove through its tremendous spokes and hooked down an avenue.

This segment looked like a neighborhood – rundown housing pods leaned against each other in a struggle to stay standing. Kenji thought it looked like the crap down on Earth.

“Poverty has no limit,” he reminded himself.

The projects turned into a black underbelly of commerce. Bars and nightclubs took over the real estate, but not the loud, bright ones like before. These places had no flashy signs or advertising. They didn’t have sprawling windows to give passersby a sample – they didn’t even have a front door.

Kenji followed the lightwing up onto the roof of one building. He looked around anxiously for the jetpacking hookers.

The roof peeled back and exposed a parking dock. It was stacked with sleek combat ships.

Kenji put the old atmocraft down and killed the engine.

It was showtime.

He opened the toolhatch and found his dad’s old handgun, greasy from years of neglect. Kenji peered out from the cockpit and weighed the consequences.

He placed it back inside the hatch and exited the ship.

The tattooed stranger leaned against his lightwing. He puffed on a vaporizer while he waited.

“Are we well met, sushi man?” he asked.

“Chef Kenji Higasa,” he offered a curt bow. “At your service.”

“Vardo.”

The gangster nodded back toward a beautiful set of french doors that led into the nightclub. The glass reverberated like liquid from the music within.

“I only see these in magazines,” Kenji said as he passed through the doors. He took a moment to inspect the craftsmanship.

“What the hell’s a magazine?”

Kenji shook his head and continued into the building.

Vardo led him through gambling terraces and pleasure lounges; neon lights cascaded to the tune of infinite bass rhythms. Beautiful dancing crowds filled all the empty space.

They meandered into a bar, which was a simple nook between club floors. Vardo saddled up to the counter and waited to order.

Kenji looked around the empty seats and asked, “Is this the spot?”

“Nope. Just a holding tank.”

“What we here for?” Kenji’s English slipped under the anxiety.

“There’s other business going on. Think of this as a waiting room,” the bartender explained from the other side of the counter. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Kenji eyeballed the endless bottles behind him.

“He can make anything,” Vardo encouraged.

“Gin and tonic?” Kenji asked with a coy smile.

The bartender nodded and got to work – he’d finished preparing a Neo Fashioned and placed it delicately before the gangster.

“How long you been in business?” Vardo asked after a long sip.

Kenji shrugged and ran his hand across the counter.

“Mmm. Twenty years. Twenty two.”

Vardo raised his eyebrows, “Wow. How’d I never hear about you?”

“My family does business in backwaters,” Kenji explained.

“Ours too,” the bartender said.

He splashed a glass with bubbles and slid it to the chef.

Kenji took a gulp and let it float in his mouth – he hinged on the aroma of fresh grated ginger that rimmed the glass.

“And you said,” Vardo said between sips. “You said you barter with Earthlings for the fish?”

Kenji shook his head and touched his chest, “I am the Earthling.”

The gangster and the bartender exchanged a look.

“Shit, really?” he asked.

The chef nodded and took another swig.

They sat in silence for a while. Kenji cradled his cocktail and watched different people drift between clubs and casinos. Some danced, others ran, but all of them carried the cadence of rich folk. They wore space diamonds and glowing tattoos.

The strangest part was that no one looked back; he hadn’t made eye contact with anyone he passed on his way to the bar. He was a stranger in a strange land – no one had time for old Kenji!

He leaned against the bar and relaxed. Aside from the thrumming walls, the place was pretty cozy.

“Do you know what he wants?” Kenji asked after a time.

Vardo turned away from the bartender and said, “I told you once – he’s a she. She. She.” he tapped the bar each time he said the word.

The bartender nodded sternly.

“Sorry,” Kenji slapped himself upside the head. “Old man thinking. What does she want?”

“I don’t have the details,” the gangster explained. “She loved your product. That’s all I got.”

There was a gut wrenching scream from the back of the bar. Only Kenji reacted to the sound of it.

“What is that?” he hollered, jumping from his stool.

Vardo tipped his glass and swallowed what was left.

“Business,” said the bartender. “Looks like they’re ready for you.”

“What the hell kind of business-” Kenji trailed off into a Japanese tirade.

Vardo shook his head and beckoned for Kenji to follow, who grumbled with every step.

“Look, it’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna be gross in here, but play it cool. Ya’ever see a dead body before?” Vardo asked with one hand resting on the wall in front of him.

“What?” the old man sputtered. “Dead?”

Vardo nodded.

“No!”

“Then just pretend like you have. Ready?”

The gangster pushed the panel open before Kenji could respond. Behind the hard black steel was a private lounge, smoked out wall to wall. Outlaws reclined in huge leather loveseats all over the room.

A fish tank ran down the center and divided the lounge into two distinct sections. Beautiful fish danced back and forth behind the glass, but Kenji couldn’t tell if they were real. Animals were notoriously hard to come by in space, even for racketeers. He watched them as he followed Vardo through the party.

He watched them because it was the safest place to look. The first thing Kenji noticed when the wall panel swung open was a firearm glued to every hip. Hard eyes stared holes through him as he passed through the parlor; he had no intention of looking back.

Something stirred in his breast pocket. Kenji looked down and saw the domed head of the spiderbot shivering in the fabric.

A frown crept across his face. He’d forgotten about his little helper.

“Vardy’s back!” someone shouted.

“Heyo!” Vardo hollered. Half the crowd raised their drinks as a salute.

The marble floor fed into a raised platform near the back, which happened beneath a stunning disco ball. It swirled back and forth and sent a dazzling array of light in every direction.

A dark assembly watched them approach from the platform. They sat enmeshed in the leather of a rounded booth.

Kenji’s nerves danced around like he was being electrocuted. He wanted to feel nervous but it simply wouldn’t come; his body knew it should feel worse. His throat was dry and sticky, his hands were shaking, and he thought he could pee at any moment.

The gin distracted him too much – he didn’t rehearse anything, not even a hello.

“I’ thi’ the guy?” one of the councilmen asked. He drummed his fingers on the table while he spoke.

“All the way from Earth,” Vardo explained, and presented Kenji with a rolling gesture of his hand.

The group didn’t respond.

“Hello!” Kenji offered. He tacked on his signature smile and waved.

“Are you the chef?” a young woman asked. She was the only girl at the table.

“Kenji Higasa, the last itamae,” he said with a bow.

The spiderbot also bowed, in the depths of his pocket.

Something glided into sight along Kenji’s periphery. He dismissed it as a party guest, but it stalked back and forth as it approached. It had the silent maneuvers of a maneater.

Kenji glanced from the corner of his eye and saw a cat – the biggest cat he’d ever seen. It loomed over a pulverized corpse.

“My name is Selvada. I’m a curator for the Nexus.”

“Oh, your hospitality proceeds you!” Kenji ventured. Nexus was a poster child for cartel antics. They existed on the cutting edge of illegal commerce.

The dreadful feline licked its whiskers and sized the chef up. It pawed at the corpse and pushed great claws in and out of rendered flesh.

Kenji realized he smelled like tuna.

“We’d like to offer a business proposition to you. One that benefits both parties, inmediatamente,” Solvada finished with a Spanish glow.

Kenji struggled to split his attention between predators.

“I am a humble sushi maker. I love to serve.”

The cartel council nodded, and offered a small round of applause.

The cat’s eyes flared at the sound. It arched its great back and restarted the approach.

“The Nexus would like to employ you in two roles – pardon the pun.”

Kenji laughed nervously while fanning his collar.

“We host a lot of events. A private sushi maker would make waves, both with our affiliates and with our competition,” Selvada explained. Her face was framed with thick dark ringlets of hair. She had the appearance of a South American import – if those existed anymore. Foreign ethnicities were more rare than animals up here.

“We also need a drop location somewhere off the Grid,” she motioned to Vardo. “He says you operate on the other side of the Moon.”

“Yes, yes. We do business on the farside for many years,” he explained.

Kenji felt a hard nuzzle behind his ear. His skin went cold beneath the heavy breath of the cat.

He could smell the blood and decay between its fangs. The old man shuddered in its shadow while he waited for it to strike.

“Don’t worry, thath juth Poe,” the same councilman explained. His lisp was palpable.

“He’s mean, but only when I tell him to be,” Selvada assured him.

Poe traced around him with long strides – his pupils were a mere sliver as they made their inspection.

“Good kitty,” Kenji whispered.

Poe surged forward and sniffed at Kenji’s hands, which trembled out of his control. He imagined the different fish juices between his fingers, and the salt and sesame under the nails – a feast for the taking.

The cartel members watched as if they were the proud parents of an honor student. No one moved to separate the cat from the morsel.

“Here, Poe!” Selvada called.

The cat turned one ear in her direction, but kept prodding at Kenji’s chef whites. He followed the scents up the arm to the nape of his neck. Bristling fur tickled his cheeks but didn’t stir a smile.

He glanced down and saw the subtle movements of the spiderbot as it climbed out from his pocket.

The cat noticed it too, and moved in to investigate.

The little robot braced itself against Kenji’s chest. It sent one of its pointed legs up inside the cat’s nose and hooked the soft flesh within – Poe roared in duress.

Cartel members jumped to their feet but hesitated to break up the commotion.

“Poe, HERE!” Selvada shouted. It had the same result as before.

The cat struggled to break free, but the spiderbot had it barbed. It lifted another pointy leg and leveled it with Poe’s enormous eyeball.

Kenji lept backwards before the spiderbot could lance Poe through the brain.

“Aye!” he warned the robot.

Poe let out a feral groan. The spiderbot made a dismissive gesture with one spindly leg as the cat slunk back into the shadows.

“Sorry…” Selvada trailed off as Poe disappeared. “Unusual behavior for him.”

“He never smell fish before,” Kenji explained. “Natural instincts take over.”

She nodded and said, “Just like anything else.”

“Is he real?” Kenji asked. He pointed to the fish tank. “Are they real?”

“Eh, yes and no. Poe is real but modified,” Selvada made a back and forth motion with her hand as she spoke. “And only the school fish are real – the bigger ones are holograms to keep the real ones moving.”

“How you make cat so big?” Kenji made a wide gesture with his arms.

“We used a volumizer,” she admitted.

Kenji scrunched up his face and said, “Messy work. Did you do organs first, or skin first?”

“Organs.”

Kenji shook his head and cringed.

The conversation went back to business. Kenji explained the food truck schedule and types of traffic he encountered. He went through various off-Grid scenarios, like random craft searches and robbery. Selvada leveraged his information with the different security options the Nexus provided.

“No one’ll fuck with you again, mijo,” she promised.

The old man’s anxiety surrendered to a foreign loyalty. Whatever fears he carried into the cartel lounge became hopes – visions of a stable future. The Higasa clan wouldn’t be cursed as Earthlings after all.

“I’m eager to showcase my gratitude in the way of action,” he declared.

Selvada got to her feet and descended from the raised booth. She was short and curvy with hair that tumbled down to her waist. Kenji lost himself in the movements of her hips as she approached.

“Maravillosa,” she said. “Let’s make it official.”

They shook hands before the entire cartel.

Selvada released a whistle so sharp it buckled Kenji’s knees. Even Poe hissed from his nook in the darkness.

“Bring this man some money! Let’s get it goin’!” she hollered.

The whole lounge upturned itself; dance music spun to life overhead, and the scent of a thousand freshly sparked spliffs took the whole room hostage. Bourbon and vodka flowed like a geyser to fill every flute. The upper council sniffed powdery lines off the war table.

Vardo roped an arm around Kenji and handed him a briefcase. It was so heavy he almost let it hit the floor.

“Congrats, sushi man,” the gangster said. “Welcome to Nexus.”

“Thank you,” was all Kenji managed.

“Better get drinking, spud – this is all for you,” Vardo explained before he disappeared into the crowd.

Kenji hoisted the briefcase and peeked into its confines; inside he found crisp stacks of cash. Enough to afford a lifetime.

The old man shook his fists at the ceiling and screamed.

__________**__________

The Higasa clan looked down at the briefcase with a collective slackjaw.

“Holy shit,” Itsu muttered.

Kiko motioned to whack him again, but was too distracted by the green fortune before her.

Some of the younger children stroked the bills as if it were a pet.

“Then what happened?” Uncle Z pried. “I know you. You didn’t party for three days.”

“I didn’t – I partied for two. We danced and drank for forty eight hours till whole place got raided!” Kenji exclaimed.

“Did you hide?” Kiko asked. She was suspicious of every word.

“Hell no. I ran!” Kenji crossed his eyes before he continued. “But I was so drunk, it took me another day to sober up.”

Interplanetary flight was the most dangerous, and the food truck wasn’t even rated for such transitions. Doing it drunk was a death sentence – he knew because he tried once.

“The cartel said they get raided every week. Say I’ll never meet them at same place twice.”

Kikoro crossed her arms and said, “What else?”

“I’m sorry,” Kenji muttered.

“What?”

“I’m sorry!” He picked up a handful of cash and threw it in his wife’s face.

She scoffed and watched the fortune flutter across the kitchen.

All of their children jumped and cheered beneath the legal confetti. Kiko and Uncle Z scattered their own fistfuls in the air like bandits.

Kenji crossed through the paper cloud and took his wife in his arms. They shared a kiss while the others danced and daydreamed.

“We made it,” he whispered in her ear.

She slumped against his chest and breathed him in.

“God, you stink.”

“That’s what I told Emiyo!”

They both laughed.

“When do you go back?” Kikoro asked under her breath.

“Tomorrow,” Kenji sighed.

He furrowed his brow.

“Want to come with me?” he asked.