Page 54 - Three Adventures

Deflator Mouse

Wolfe, the wrong man, blew the gaff, and he, Ken Oshima, had
provided the sympathetic ear in Bob Johnson. Now Litmus was in
disarray: the board of directors had fired Beveledge and laid off all
the specialists he had hired to work on Project Salamander. After the
national wire-services had picked up the story, an inside source in the
Pentagon revealed that another corporation was already under
consideration for the contract; the veil of secrecy was torn and
tattered, but the appropriation had to be spent.
He looked around his barely-furnished living room. In one day
everything had collapsed. No job. No girl. No prospects. Failure.
Somewhere in the closet he kept a ceremonial sword belonging to a
great-grandfather in the Meiji era. He found it and drew the blade
from its scabbard. Why not? The bitter question had no sweet
answer. He ripped open his permanent-pressed shirt and sat down on
the floor, the sword before him. His notions of seppuku procedure
were sketchy and cinematic, but he grasped the essentials: erase
dishonor with death. He reached for the sword quickly. Don’t think,
he thought; just do it.
Suddenly his doorbell rang. It snapped his concentration. He stood
up and went to the door. “What is it?” he yelled.
“Western Union. Telegram for Ken-ichi Oshima. You’ve got to
sign for it.”
Ken pulled open the door. The messenger took in the ripped shirt,
the wild eyes, and the very long sword gripped in the right hand. “Ah,
never mind. Just a formality!” he said, dropped an envelope at Ken’s
feet, and fled.
Telegram? He picked it up, tore the envelope sideways, and read
the message: “EXPECT AWARDED SALAMANDER STOP
EMPLOYMENT OFFER FOLLOWS. TERATRONICS
SEATTLE.”

53