Harris strode down the ramp balancing their heavy luggage. Ahead of him, Albert moved with a steady gait but used his walking stick for occasional balance.

Sometimes Harris flashed back to the explosion. His heart would start pounding, and he relived the panicked reaction of finding Albert’s bloody and twisted body. At first, thinking he was dead, he burned with anger. Murder was on his mind. These men responsible did not have long to live.

And then Albert’s hand twitched.

“Help, I need help with Dr. Timmons! Get the doctor. In the meantime, find me a flat surface, that broken door will do.” The metal door that protected him from the blast sat at a crooked angle against the wall. At his frantic yell, men rushed in.

Harris held Albert’s head while the men lifted him onto the door. He stared down at his friend’s white face. Albert made it this far under his protection, no way was he going to die this close to the voyage’s end.

The doctor came in and shoved everyone aside. He bent over to give him a quick evaluation. After a moment, he glanced up at the anxious faces. “He may have a concussion. Vision could be blurred for a while. One of you go ahead and make sure the lift is ready. Harris, you, and another bring Albert to the infirmary on the table. Hurry. No delay. I’ll walk along beside to keep an eye on him.”

The next day passed in a blur. Harris was torn between wanting to stay with him and an emergency in the boiler room. One engineer had a broken arm, the other a possible concussion. The blast not only shook their area but also the boiler room next door. The captain and his father had kept in correspondence. He knew from the letters that Harris had a rapport with machines. His summons to help could not be refused.

Using the boys for constant updates, Harris worked through the night to get the ship moving again. While waiting for the steam to build and see if his hard work was successful, a small hand tugged on his sleeve.

“He’s waking up,” a boy said.

“Go, the engines are turning, everything looks good. The ship is underway again,” the engineer with a broken arm advised him.

The doctor greeted him at the door. “Dr. Timmons woke up for a few minutes and went back to sleep. He should be waking for longer periods now.”

After Albert woke up, and they talked, Harris constantly prodded and hassled him until he was up and able to eat in the dining room.

Now, watching Albert move down the ramp, he was glad of the effort.

The noise of the docks caught his attention. When he was twelve, Harris’s dad had to captain a ship to Japan. The original captain suddenly died, and he was coerced into ‘one last’ trip. Harris was brought along and for the whole trip over and back, roamed every inch of the ship. But the best part was when they traveled through the island to meet his relatives. He glanced around and discovered not much had changed in Japan. Sure, there were some signs of modernization due to the new progressive emperor’s policies, more cars, and a train station to the side, but the people still looked the same. Their mode of dress, hair topknots, straw hats, and shoe styles remained constant. Fancy-dressed women in richly woven kimonos tottered along on elevated, flat sandals. Shops lined the street with colorful banners waving in the breeze to get their attention. Street vendors sold their goods. And the smell. A combination of cooked meat, spices, and an earthy smell of sweat. He sighed, now was not a good time to get lost in memories.

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At the bottom of the ramp, Emissary Tamako was met by a group of bowing men. He bowed to them and then pointed to Albert walking toward him. A man stepped forward and said something in Japanese.

Izumi standing next to them translated, “Dr. Timmons, you honor us with your presence.”

“Please tell them, ‘Thank you for the invitation. It is a privilege to be here’.”

After much more bowing and nodding, a carriage was brought up and Tamako indicated for him to enter.

Before stepping in, he turned and asked Izumi, “Where are we going?”

“To the Emperor. Mr. Harris will be escorted to your house along with the luggage.”

“My boxes?”

“They will be stored in a safe place. Now, if you will please enter the carriage.”

Not liking the idea of leaving Albert at the mercy of Izumi and her translations, there was nothing Harris could do but watch the carriage drive off. At a prod from behind, he stepped aside to let men carry the boxes down the ramp and place them in a horse-driven cart. As it started to leave, he pitched on the luggage and leaped up on the back.

The creaking cart made its slow way through the busy streets. Curious residents paused and watched them go by. They seemed more interested in the boxes than Harris. He leaned back against one and studied his surroundings. He caught a few belligerent glares, but none turned their backs to his scrutiny. A group of Buddhist monks stepped in the road as the cart passed and nodded to him. He nodded back.

Although it appeared not much changed from his last visit, he felt an undercurrent of emotion around him. Harris was not certain if it pertained to the new emperor, Americans in general, or Timmon’s scary machines.

At a group of small houses, they stopped, and the men grunted at him and waved. Taking that as an indication to get off, he hopped down and grabbed their luggage just before the cart moved again.

Standing in a courtyard, surrounded by small houses, Harris could not decide whether to reveal his knowledge of Japanese or play the dumb American. He approached the first house and at the doorway, called out in English, “Anyone here?”

“Who are you mate?” a British voice asked.

“Looking for Dr. Timmons house.”

“You him?” A disheveled man appeared from behind a screen with his shirt untucked and hair standing up.

“Nope, his valet.”

“Valet, huh?” this was asked with a derisive tone.

Harris balanced the luggage on each shoulder, and with muscles bulging, asked, “Got a problem with that?”

The man hesitated before answering, “No. Good to have more English speakers. Gets lonely sometimes. I’m Davis, John Davis, part of the engineering group here to work on the train system.”

“Name’s Mark Harris, but mostly answer to ‘Harris’.”

“Not sure why, but they put you in that last house on the far right, kind of secluded over there. Say, what type of doctor is Timmons?”

“Engineer also, but a different field. Well, I’ll be off. We can talk later.”

As he stood in the open doorway of their quarters with luggage at his feet, two female servants rushed forward.

“Dr. Timmons?” one asked.

“No, Harris. Dr. Timmons is with Emissary Tamako. He will come later. The doctor’s room?” He indicated Albert’s luggage.

She tried to lift the heavy bag.

“I’ll do that, just show me which room.”