5th Story Conference Room A2, MOFA Headquarters

12:20 PM

Minister Yoshimune paraded himself through the halls with an unmatched stride, undisturbed by the managers who shot past with portable phones in hand, or diplomats and lowly apparatchiks hurriedly rushing along with stacks of papers that wilted and lost petals every corner they cut across. He was helped along by two aides of little importance beyond delegating instructions down the line.

Wiping down his forehead with a handkerchief, he’d come upon just the door he was looking for; an elm wood door accessorized by a translucent placard listing out the room’s purpose and its number. He took no hesitation in opening the door and stepped in.

Upon entry, Yoshimune scanned the room, as if to make sure he’d entered the right one even despite the fact that he could navigate the building blindfolded.

To his right, the short back wall was covered completely by a faux-bamboo screen with austere ink-wash artwork splattered across it. A trio of Japanese flags draped from flagpoles stemming from the same base further accompanied this, outer flagpoles angled outward by about fifteen degrees. At the front wall to his left was a more modern design, with a projector screen pre-installed yet left undeployed.

Two tables had been set up in the center of the room, with about two dozen people in attendance. Just as with prior meetings at the Prime Ministerial level, one was for important officials, though much smaller, and the other for a disproportionate amount of observing aides to make notes for future reference. Against the wider table were nine office chairs, the one at the head without a pair on the opposing side.

Along the table were the usuals implements; readied documents and reports for study, hopefully working black pens, brass nameplates, and glasses of still water on the lacquered and matted surface. Not so fancy as the Prime Ministerial meeting, with its telephones that were never used, but more ornate than most parliamentary advisory boards.

Of note in attendance were parliamentary Vice Ministers Joben and Takuji, one lean and adorned by a roundish pair of spectacles with balding scalp, and the other with a texture like a wrinkled candy wrapper, topped by a perfectly black cowlick. Both sat to Yoshimune’s left side, accompanied by Administrative Vice Minister Tohaku who could be most easily identified by a fat nose and backward-leaning stance. Everybody who needed to be present was; every Vice Minister and the best academics and consultants that the Ministry could fetch at that hour.

Yoshimune quickly skimmed through a card for opening remarks, half of it useless formality that he’d rather not go through, instead assuming they were all well aware of what had happened, and what was being done. Mentally blacking out the parts he’d snipped off for brevity, Yoshimune gave an impatient huff. “Allow this to open our first emergency summit for foreign affairs issues relating to the current transference emergency,” Yoshimune would say. His words met still eyes, still bodies.

As Yoshimune concluded, the remaining twenty-three people in the room bowed and took their seats, imminently followed by Minister Yoshimune who slid into his chair with ease. Not so uncomfortable as it had been earlier in the day.

Placing both of his hands on the table, Yoshimune quickly moistened his lips with a flick of his tongue for an uncomfortable silence. It preceded the same croaky and geriatric voice that he usually spoke with. “Now, on matters of most pressing importance, I’d like to set up an emergency task force to ascertain a full list of immediate and future consequences—ideally we should have them take in all information possible.”

From diagonally across, Tohaku nodded as if to bow once more, before speaking. “Er…, I believe we can spare quite a bit of manpower from the analysts’ office,” he’d say, turning a page with an audible crinkle, “It should be enough, and I’d bet we could call up some Yashiori Institute consultants to help out if we can’t come up with any solid strategy here.”

“Are we currently able to handle the projected extremely large influx of possible stateless individuals for visa issuance and documentation?” Teruo would interrupt in a questioning tone, raising new discussion.

On the side, a Deputy Departmental Director raised their hand, causing some heads to turn, and relayed information directly from a paper he held in his left hand. “Currently we have neither current ‘nor relevant projections, erm….” He paused, looking up from the page and eying the room. All eyes were on him—from both the main and side table groups. He looked back down to his page and continued, “Though a solution is being worked on concurrently. On the other hand, the visa office has indicated they will most likely be over capacity to an alarming degree, and thus alternative solutions will need to be found for the time being.”

“I believe consular services could provide a temporary solution for this… extremely large number of people newly found stateless whilst the visa office processes them, though I fail to believe that they’ll be able to handle all of them,” State Minister Keiji would claim, nodding as he finished speaking.

Tohaku brought a second interruption to the conversation’s flow, asking “If we could, for a moment, I feel it would be more appropriate to instead grant refugee status, and refer to such people as refugees.” He’d halt at the final word, emphasizing its importance to all present. “Legally, and as an act of goodwill, with their home countries gone for what we can only hope to be a short period, it would be our responsibility to do so.”

One of the members on the main table, a man whose naked head was covered by threads of a graying combover, and who’d remained at large silent up to that point, began to speak. His nameplate recognized him as Consultant Shuji. “Unfortunately,” Shuji would say, extending out the last syllable of the word for a quarter second longer than it should have been, “Current legal interpretation considers only people who may face persecution in their home countries to be recognized as refugees;” Shuji paused, letting his words savor with the others before continuing, “We’d need an entirely new law to state otherwise, and we can’t simply push it through the diet instantly.”

They understood the implication immediately. It was an unfortunate truth that many of these people wouldn’t be helped, at least not in that manner. And not in due time, instead abandoned by the very nation that had welcomed them in. It was by no fault of their own or of Japan’s, her stringent definition though lackluster the result of a senescent society that was in all regards an immovable object socially—one that wouldn’t so much as entertain the idea of terrorism on its soil as being a realistic possibility ‘nor apparently goodwill to most refugees.

Joben rocked back in his chair as he began to speak. “How do we—” He paused, subtle changes to his mouth happening as he shifted his tongue about whilst thinking, remembering, what he was to say next. “How do we handle their housing then?” Dropping one of the bigger questions which lurked in the corner of their minds, he’d effectively crammed it forward to the forefront, pushing aside whatever they’d prior been thinking.

The issue too, was in no way novel. They all knew well the sheer volume of tourists who came annually, and the million or so, but probably far more, stranded foreigners then currently in the country could quite easily cause a rout. And Japan herself was not yet ready for this influx, still paying off her debt in permanent accommodation.

Fifteen seconds were spent reasoning and rationalizing possible solutions to this impossible game of calculus. It didn’t take long for somebody to raise a point, with utmost confidence in his answer.

“I’d say we could temporarily nationalize leisure facilities,” Takuji would say, garnering an all-too-delicate reaction from the side table.

And it took far less time for somebody to waltz in and swat his answer down as probably wrong.

“That wouldn’t be something we could do or our problem,” Tohaku said. “And again, it’d need time we don’t have in the diet,” he’d go on to add to his heartless discouragement. Both Shuji and Hisashi would nominally have given affirming nods throughout had he not said it wasn’t their problem. Yet again, as heartless as it was, what he’d said was an unfortunate reality—the latter part especially.

“No, but that’s not the way to think of the problem—we can cooperate with the Home Affairs Ministry on that matter in due time,” Yoshimune reminded, his remark aimed specifically for Tohaku, “Remember, our primary concern as of right now is handling foreign missions and their people, and how to advance Japan within this new world,” he’d continue to all on the table.

Keiji would then ask, “Do we have any other ideas then for handling the stranded?”

“We could allow those that choose to do so to integrate into Japan, so long as their embassies give us approval,” Teruo replied with an adequate idea.

Yoshimune looked around the table, all faces dulled from when they first walked in. “Hmm… so, if we could, is there anything that would restrict such a course of action?”

Several members had apprehension written across their faces. Most noticeable was Shuji, who very clearly was to speak after he’d finished thinking through whatever had gotten him to scratch his head. For a moment, the room returned to the sound of scratchpads and pens, Shuji taking more than a few seconds to strangle an answer out.

“I’m not so sure, Minister Yoshimune.” Shuji awkwardly fumbled with his words, “Erm… I—I don’t… recall any legislation relating to the willful transfer of citizens beyond standard immigration procedures, though I think there is some room to stretch interpretation.”

“We’d defer responsibility then to the Home Affairs Ministry though, right?” Hisashi, another of their already-present consultants who’d been silent to that point, would pose. His jaw was noticeably squared off and the beginning slits of wrinkles dashed across his face.

The attention of the room—the spotlight and stardom—was thus handed to Hisashi and the issue he’d raised.

“I think it’s a Cabinet issue after that point,” Yoshimune raised as a point, “and I’d hold serious concerns over whether such a thing could get through the diet.”

“Wait—how about those that choose not to? I doubt many American or Chinese citizens would be so willing to simply transfer their citizenship. Could we collaborate with Ambassador Gardner on that?”

“We could allow them to remain sovereign entities under a land-based cooperative initiative or something along those lines, but it’d require diet approval,” “So many of them would still be stranded for a while.”

State Minister Keiji considered the options with a finger to his chin, allowing his mental processes to churn under the guise of a poker face. Going through them all, he’d ask, “What if we have it be done as a treaty instead?” He spoke as if sure it would work, that the lightbulb had been just bright enough for his mind to not have been encompassed by the dark of mental dullness.

“It’d still need diet approval,” Takuji complained.

Keiji listened with a squint and furrowed eyebrows, only to open his mouth the second Takuji’s was closed. “Only before ratification—we can still sign it and thereby express that we’re bound to it,” he’d say with his expression breaking from seriousness into a look that said ‘gotcha’.

Takuji pursed his lips, tentatively shaking his head as he rested a paper-like cheek on a balled fist. “And yet it still wouldn’t be legally binding unless ratified,” he’d say somewhat bitterly. Had his dear colleague Keiji forgotten this simple fact that wholly threw his idea away? The cogs in his mind came to a halt, expecting little more from Keiji and more from the rest of the group.

Drumming his feet against the floor, his head shot upward into a far stronger posture. “Yes, but it’d still work as a gesture of compassion being conveyed to those stranded, which I’d guess they would sorely need,” he’d say with an even stronger voice than before, “Is that not something that would help these people? Assure them that at the very least they aren’t being let go of?” He’d ask rhetorically.

“Very well then.” Takuji slumped back and gave a long exhale—he’d conceded to Keiji.

“Does anybody else oppose the idea?” Yoshimune boomed.

The table was silenced by the voice of Minister Yoshimune, to which he’d internally applaud. One issue was finally decided upon, with only scores more of still-unanswered questions to go.

Yoshimune would break the silence expressing commitment toward the rather superficially agreed-upon plan, “I’ll get to work on the basic framework to offer to Ambassadors after this meeting. In the meantime, we should make as many of them as possible aware of their options moving forward.”

He knew very well that interacting with them would be a task that was arduous in excess; that he could only lay out expectations as clearly as he could to them. None, of course, were obliged to listen to his instructions or orders—they were technically after all, still citizens of sovereign nations, even if they no longer existed outside of Japan, and they still had diplomatic immunity.

“While basic, I have confidence that revisions can be made so that the plan is more solid than it’d need to be when it comes to it,” Yoshimune added at the last second.

The rest nodded their heads, and the inevitable had bubbled up in their soupy brains. The topic of domestic outcry against whatever they agreed upon—that the nationalists rally for the abandoned to be exiled, the communists uniting to kick out the Americans once and for all—all under what was pretty much the same banner for all he could be concerned, no matter how much they hated one another.

That was an issue for later, Yoshimune recognized. And he’d recognized the rest had about come to similar conclusions to his own—restless under-their-breath muttering having taken the rest by storm. So in the meantime, he’d distract them all, a distraction no less than the prospect of new outside nations. Even if the same or similar concerns could apply, and probably amplified in intensity too.

“What about those flights sent out earlier; have we any news there?” Yoshimune would ask with a writhing and squirming sensation local to his fingertips. His atrophied muscles compressed themselves under his skin, his right brow raised of course, and he couldn’t help but lean into the table with his ears more open than they were before.

So much was left unknown, and the flights had wiped away a fraction of an inch of condensation on a windshield—basing so much on so little—something of such great importance to their decision-making, probably so different to how they usually saw things, that it merited experts to be brought in, and as soon as possible at that. Unless, of course, the Cabinet was to beat him to it, which was the far more likely outcome. Still, the same knowledge would be drawn from the same set of images.

What negativity that had lingered in Yoshimune’s mind fluttered away, and what remained was instead a list of clearly set goals in his mind. The ambassadors were certainly an issue for him, but to Yoshimune, this was the grand issue for the MOFA set by the Kami themselves, the foremost political equation they’d solve and prove all who doubted wrong. Just who was out there, waiting for them to call?

The phone would ring, and they would have an answer.

Disappointingly, the news came, and more lukewarm than he’d expected it to. “No—they’ve yet to return,” Tohaku answered with a lull in his eyes which sparked, “But that does remind me—could we ask Transport Minister Hitoshi to send out an MSA ship out on ‘patrol?’” He’d lead into with a suddenly bright-eyed look, cast upon and whispered to by the fairy of good ideas.

There was a silence, where they all looked at one another seemingly confused. Already, he’d skipped ahead, though maybe it was a good thing that he did.

“That wouldn’t be possible,” Takuji naturally commented, “they’re bound to Japanese coastal waters and I’d be under the impression that whatever is out there is far further than whatever limit we’ve imposed on them.” Takuji’s voice was unyielding with a strong sense of bandaged pride behind his reasoning.

Professor Shuji gave the remark not a second of thought before he gave his answer to what was meant to be rhetorical, “It should be possible, their boundaries aren’t so clear as are the MSDF’s.” The pride was shattered in a half moment. “We very easily could send liaison diplomats to hop along with whichever MSA vessel gets sent over and establish a first contact if we wanted to, since we shouldn’t be bound by any laws in effect, even without stretching any interpretations, though a few different issues would be brought up by this.”

In the background as Shuji spoke, gleams of hope were poured into dulled eyes—that rather quickly a first contact could be made. Yet a minority shifted in their chairs and tugged at their clothes. Keiji especially seemed particularly perturbed by the notions brought up.

Keiji argued with renewed tenacity, sparing little time just as Shuji had finished his statement, “I believe we’re jumping the gun with these suggestions,” he’d pronounce as clearly as he could, jabbing a finger into the table with thick taps, “We’ve yet to make any clear understanding of these foreign nations, if they so much as exist, and I doubt they would appreciate having armed vessels approach for diplomatic purposes lest this be a repeat of the Perry Expedition.”

Some nodded as others made quiet “mhm”s and “hmm”s that were only just audible.

Keiji then appealed with the obvious, “I elect we reel in experts, er, linguists, historians, whatever we can get our hands on that are relevant, to review whatever the MSDF captures if there’s so much as anything to indicate these… these aliens are so much as real, and take in their opinion before sending off diplomats.”

Yoshimune put a finger to his chin, already entertained by the idea. He’d planned on doing what Keiji had elected to do even before he'd spoken anyways. However, he didn’t put this into words, instead keeping quiet, curious to where they would take things.

A few moments of silence were followed by Shuji serving his opinion right off the griddle. “No matter what we do, it’ll seem like a repeat anyways—it’s better to minimize the risk involved to the greatest degree and allow some margin of acceptable issue. Establishing first contact and negotiating trade should be our number one priority with practically all our sources of resources gone!”

A departmental director on the side table picked up where Shuji had left, his head perked up from his scratchpad and inoffensive voice leaving few any room to think. “I feel that it would be appropriate to add that the MITI have been non-stop calling my department for the past few hours, and I’ve yet to give them any real answer,” He’d grumble. The attention he’d attracted would notice that he was noticeably more slouched in his seat than the others around him.

In speaking, he’d somewhere between candidly and tacitly reminded of a near-guaranteed future spell of domestic industrial troubles. The time element which they’d sent to the backs of their minds had been driven to the forefront, a narrow deadline set that they were aware existed, but were yet to know when it exactly was. One of three big reasons that anyone could easily infer as to why the nation would rely so heavily upon their ministry for the future.

Yoshimune gave it thought, and found himself only wound up in a web of paths to take, where none had clear endings. Everything would snowball, one way or another, and he couldn’t be so sure as to which snowballed the least.

“But how to handle it then? We haven’t the slightest clue as to what’s available out there, what culture or values we’ll have to deal with, or what resources there are available, et cetera,” Hisashi would enunciate with each syllable spoken aloud. Heads turned to meet him, Shuji joining in with mild annoyance.

“Have any of the space agencies been able to get any satellite images?” Tohaku would ask in direct response to Hisashi, “They should be able to resolve most of these informational issues, even if it requires some effort to wean out the answers we’re after, right?” Tohaku offered a light, questioning energy with the main course he’d just handed out, pulling himself from an eighty-degree to one-hundred-and-twenty-degree angle in his seat, none noticing the sudden change.

A lanyard-wearing Assistant Deputy to the side shook their head to Tohaku’s question, leering at him. “If I may, NASDA reported they lost contact with all their satellites at the start of the whole ordeal,” he’d announce, pausing as he flipped through the pages that he had with him, “and I think all the others are in similar situations.”

Tohaku set himself back in his seat offering only a half-hearted “I see…” as a response.

The attention of the room then returned to Hisashi’s question, the satellite deficiency in mind. Every man in the room had an opinion on the matter, to which they all began generating their responses in an instant, expecting a close race to be ended by margins of milliseconds. Yet all were beaten to one by Shuji, who came upon his conclusion whole seconds before the others had.

“If we’re to discuss foreign nations, handling them would call upon a careful and deliberate consideration of every challenge that could possibly happen,” Shuji said, holding a pen vertically, then spearheading a new conversation into the fray. “Now while somewhat obvious, I believe it would be most prudent for this Ministry to recommend a policy of Japanese-led and initiated collaboration to promote good diplomatic health and show that we would happen to be a positive force.”

“How then, Mister Shuji?” Minister Yoshimune asked, “And in what ways would this work to our favor?” Understanding the basic premise, he wanted thorough elaboration.

“If we think of it using the snowball analogy, Minister, it would be like, uh… like constructing a wall or barrier near the top of the hill to stop anything capable of hitting hard from forming.” Shuji would explain, leaving only crumbs of uncertainty for them to pick at. Yet still, the crumbs attracted the hawks in the room.

Vice Minister Joben, who’d remained largely silent for most of the meeting save for asking about housing, spoke up once more, raising both hands as he did so. He held his face tightly, conveying some sense of seriousness as he asked, “Would this not leave us open then to snowballs slightly less problematic occurring further down this metaphorical hill?”

Lucky that he’d already thought of the issue prior. All that Shuji needed to do was the mental equivalent to finding one’s phone in their purse, the response’s location already in the open and ready to be collected.

With confidence in his past self, Shuji would strike back through an inoffensive tone. “Ideally, no, but relative to those at the top, they would still be within the scope of issues this Ministry could deal with without exhausting too many resources.”

“And what if things don’t pan out that way, Mister Shuji?” Joben would proceed with his hands cupped together on the table, tongue replaced by a razor to all outward appearances. “If we’re given the cold shoulder at every door we knock at, what then?” He’d further suggest, with a guise that only hinted he wouldn’t give an inch. Shuji could only frown at the vague speculations.

Joben’s demeanor was further broken by the intervention of Teruo, who’d come to the aid of Shuji. He spoke firmer than he usually did, yet marred by light fatigue. “Reasonably, we could expect that at the very least we’d have something of value to offer, Mister Joben,” Teruo yawned with an instinctive swipe of his hand. “The MITI has assured to me that our industrial base is still sizable and adaptable enough that realistically, I’d wager that relatively advanced nations should find some degree of utility if not novelty in investing both diplomatically and financially into our country,” he’d continue in a tired voice.

On the conveyor belt of those to speak came Yoshimune next, whose lines were spaced in such a way that left no room for Joben to think of any answer. “I concur with Mister Shuji on this issue,” Yoshimune would start rather simply, hammering in the first few nails, “Vice Minister Teruo’s response is reasonable,” he’d say with two-thirds of the nails already dug in, “I expect it to probably be revised by the task force, but inevitably adopted as policy in some way. Moreso, the examples you’ve provided, Vice Minister Joben, are most likely unrealistic to our current state—while it is an issue we should take note of moving forward, the manner of total rejection is unlikely.”

Yoshimune concluded with the last nail in the coffin, offering only an entirely disinterested look throughout the whole one-sided exchange.

Joben’s vision scampered about the table, before making no further attempt to refute Yoshimune or Teruo, retreating back to his usual silence. His focus flitted across the table’s members; most glaring or side-eyeing him.

Yoshimune let himself at ease momentarily as the remaining Vice Ministers only nodded like bobbleheads at the dash of a car. Keiji turned these silenced mental agreements to hushed words in a fashion atypical of himself; whispers spoken in the way one talks to themselves being redirected toward Teruo, who was seated to his left.

There would at least be some future for Japan whose specifics only the Kami knew of. Whilst they felt implored to be relieved, maybe even pushed toward feeling so, they instead were hit by overwhelming uncertainty. Only time would tell if any of it would end up being true after all. The two consultants—Hisashi and Shuji—were both deep in thought, though looked to be slowly approaching similar, if not outright the same opinion to what Yoshimune had just come up with, as if it wasn’t obvious enough already.

Sensing a growing dread in the room that couldn’t be pinpointed to any particular person, Yoshimune set himself to action yet again. He’d pick up the discussion’s paddle, and rowed with as much force as he could to avert any hint of low morale rearing its ugly head in the room.

“Now, on the topic of New World foreign nations, what challenges are we likely to face in handling them?” he’d ask, scratching the underside of his chin as he waited for the others to pick up.

As if a cue for him to do so, a Ministry lackey entered the room unannounced, and bowed. The lackey gleefully passed by each member with a deadpan face, handing them crisply pressed dossiers in manila folders that were sealed shut and designated by thick black markers as ‘compiled relevant MSDF patrol documentation’.

It was inconvenient, for the staffer especially whom none attending cared all too much for, and shamefully, of all things to have not done, they hadn’t carted in a projector before the meeting—almost all of them were somehow simultaneously in use at the time they checked, and they most certainly weren’t going to wheel one in right in the middle of a top-level meeting.

Simultaneously, Hisashi sent off his response, “Well, I believe that…” His dossier was placed neatly in front of him, drawing a significant fraction of his attention as he spoke, “Thank you, er… policy-wise, we— we could…” The trainwreck came to a full stop as he finally read what the document claimed to be, the others around him in similar states of mild confusion as they shifted attention so quickly from Hisashi to the document. Nominally rude, but exceptional circumstances may have trumped all else—manners notwithstanding.

Yoshimune only nodded, and every member on both tables opened their provided document like a child on Christmas morning, ensuring they were most gentle with how they separated the two sides of the sleeve from one another—most tender with how they slowly pulled and poured out the contents within. And when that failed, they tore into the bowels of the folders, ripping away image after image. All read through the set provided, none satisfied by how few gifts they received.

Nested inside each document was the same set of about two and a half dozen photographs, distantly almost all primarily a deep blue with some diverting to more usual aerial landscapes that kept little of the skies overhead. Several of the members were at a loss for words, Keiji especially. Some cocked their heads as they tried to make sense of what they’d been provided.

Yoshimune himself sifted through them, before plucking one out from a neat stack he’d formed and set it aside to examine closely. He held the one he’d selected closer to his face, the thin card-like paper still rigid with a smoothed-out surface. On it, a large ship reminiscent of the ocean liners of old that had once dominated the seas—once symbols of traveling in maritime opulence and the newly established affordability of travel—casually sailed along. While it probably didn’t compare to anything they had around in Tokyo Bay, it had apathetically wolfed down most of the space in the photograph without so much as lifting a finger.

In his head, a bubble burst. A thin film capsule that instantly retracted into itself, flaying the air around it with soapy dots and splashes, sending away an all-around satisfying pop not so dissimilar from the drip of leaking pipes. The airy feel of a willingness, a need, to learn had escaped, and spread across his mind like wildfire as he examined its beauty—frail curves which led into a sharp edge, washed by the dark of night, and dressed by the froth of the ocean blue; so gracile and thin. What he saw had disturbed and awoken something, deep carnal urges to discover and know, to understand and inevitably be able to touch something from beyond.

Thoughts from the others indistinguishable from his own took the room by storm—an unfamiliar unanimity spawned by stills taken of what was everyday life for someone, out there. Seeing it all for themselves would be in due time along whichever course, from the thousands of options given, the Ministry was to set upon.

“Well, we certainly will be a guiding force…” Yoshimune reflected with a softer voice, untrustworthy of his own eyes as he called back to Teruo’s remark. And though the obvious ominous aura of his words couldn’t be ignored, they were, for the most part, ignored and given singular passing thoughts as the rest of the room let their faces do the speaking.

The attendees in all their excitement and uncertainty and disbelief and fear snapped their sights to Yoshimune. They hadn’t heard what he said, but they did hear him speak.

Yet as they turned it was only evident that most of them were still with emotion at the wheel—reason not just yet recovered. Some of their symptoms were universal with few exceptions; eyelids and pupils gone wide as if held split apart, incredulous gazes held by minds that had given out just seconds ago, and a temporary spell of the inability to speak that held back all but gasps. The catatonia, though amusing as it was, was short-lived, as the men all were dragged violently back down to Earth by Yoshimune.

Of the photos, some had rather distinct—even if faintly blurry—flags numbering about four in total, maybe three, though they couldn’t be so sure. One was clearly a variation on another of the other banners documented, or at least astoundingly similar from afar. They weren’t carbon copies of one another; the similarities still striking enough that they didn’t go under the radar. Unknown, definitely, and completely and entirely unique to anything from Earth. Flags that followed no established Earthen norms. If one squinted, maybe they could see recognizable elements, yet all was lost when they focused hard on the designs overall. Whoever they belonged to had unknowingly entered and won first, second, and third prizes in a competition to be the first for the Ministry to pay attention to and focus on, geographic proximity was a guarantee for at least one of them.

Rubbing his hands together, he raised his voice to one they were guaranteed to pay attention to. “I believe this settles any debate over the reality of our… issue… for certain then; photographic evidence that anyone can understand for our… topical… predicament,” Yoshimune said, his voice waning and wavering as he swung into the words ‘issue’ and ‘topical,’ and again as he swung out.

Amongst the first to slam into the ground besides Yoshimune was Teruo, broaching one of the first things that came to mind when looking at the images. “What year… no, era… what era are they from?”

“We’re… we’re back to the… the start of the century then, right?” Shuji stammered out after a prolonged gasp, speaking in the same manner one talks to themselves. He’d been hit by a car, left dazed as it both sped off and hit the brakes right in front of him. Without words, the middle-aged man swapped between one image and another; consequently crumpling his face inward toward his nose as his focus entwined itself into an ugly Christmas sweater, placed toward both no images in particular and all of them at the same time.

Neither Teruo nor Shuji, nor Hisashi or any of the others on the main table as a matter of fact, had anything of any more precision to say about the files. A darkness of vague, general statements had conquered them and threatened to cast its void upon those on the side.

This would not stand, for one of the assistant directors from the side group was quick to appraise the total of the document he’d been served with an approaching pinpoint statement. “Uhh… with the way the ship and city are built; why, I’d bet they’re anywhere in the park of…,” he’d say, cut off by a short musing of the answer he was to give. He’d resume by providing a date outright as he concluded it to be within his own accepted degree of accuracy. “The dawn of the nineteenth to the interwar period,” he’d say with little hesitance to have done so.

Nobody in particular disagreed with his opinion, or at least hadn’t made it known, and so sat back down with no further comment. The response was… palatable. They all understood the gist of what he’d put forward, and it was enough for the topic to be considered closed—at least until they or the Cabinet could reel in those further knowledgeable on the topic. They were decision-makers, after all, not men of the sciences or humanities (for the most part).

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Ten seconds of silence befell the meeting, in which Yoshimune took the liberty to gander over at the room’s clock. Seven past one, and yet time’s passing hadn’t felt so long. Forty-seven minutes which felt more like twenty, and in it barely anything had been done. Sure, they agreed on things and had elements of what they’d do mentally written down, but still very little was set in stone. Yoshimune looked back to the photos for inspiration in a second deeper look at them, already partly over the high he’d gotten from the first time he’d looked at them. And he wasn’t the only one to do so.

It wasn’t very hard for him to notice that of the photos, some had three rather distinct flags. Yes, some sapient species was on this planet too, and so too were they reasonably industrious in their civilizations’ technology. Unknown, definitely, and completely and entirely unique to anything from Earth. Flags which followed no established Earthen norms, ships that felt more like a warped and genericized poster boy of the era’s shipbuilding, and buildings faintly reminiscent of a bygone Australia and South Africa. If one squinted, maybe they could see recognizable elements in minute design; all effort was for nothing the moment they focused any harder on the bigger picture, something which Takuji and a few of the bureaucrats along the side would proceed to do.

Takuji squinted and scrubbed at his eyes, scrutinizing every last blurry detail he could. It was true that none were from Earth—no symbols, regalia, or any previously prevailing arrangements in particular. Maybe, too true that they weren’t, as if having silently come uncomfortably close to his face before banshee screeching that it wasn’t Earth.

Not even the staple tricolor in the background or foreground was there in any of the flags. Three colors, yes, but the stripes, not so much; flies dipped in paint, and hoist-sides with hemispheres and triangles and stars whose specifics would be unknown. Of course, the sample size was still particularly small, but it pointed upward to an overhanging question, and begged answers from Takuji specifically, who fumbled and grimaced at the path to its solution.

Ditching the road already part way along, he’d project his thoughts to the rest at the table, as though to warn them of a tumultuous journey ahead. “As Mister Hisashi said earlier, how exactly will we manage to speak to them? They’ve only continually proven to be completely and entirely alien, and now I’m seeing doubts that we could so much as communicate with them in any timely period,” Takuji declared, rushing through each word as if trying to catch up to what would be entire sentences ahead.

Teruo put his finger to his chin, narrowing his eyes and staring blankly across the table. In his mind, while there was no way they were guaranteed to be right, it was still worth a shot to try and make an educated guess at the very least. The situation assuredly had called for it. Pressing his fingers against a print of a blurred flag which his gaze had since shifted to, Teruo began, “We have hints, indications, in these photographs—enough to build a solid foundation from.”

Takuji shook his head well before Teruo finished speaking, already having decided what he was to say to be foolish even if he hadn’t yet fully explained at the time. With a strained voice, he forwarded his response. “If anything, all these photos do is push my point—the foreignness of these designs and the surreality of their flags that we’ve seen, as though made specifically to be different from those of nations we already know, should be more than enough.”

Teruo placed down the photograph, then looked to Yoshimune to directly address him, remaining indifferent even in request, “I’d bet if we had a team or two studying these over at least the day, but more probably the week, we’ll have enough for an outline to give to our good diplomats who’ll be sent over.”

Yoshimune let out a hum as the idea entertained itself. It would help, but given a week for such little when they were on the clock to get something started by who knew when? While normally it would be permissible, their hourglasses would rather soon run dry of sand, and every detour and group the action needed to go through would eat away at precious time. Who knew what scrum of chaos would be caused by inaction over their political thrombosis. Be that as it may, a corner of his mind still spoke to him—that they were now thinking too quickly. He’d ask himself what compromise could he draw from his hand if any at all, and nothing came of.

Thankfully, Keiji came in with excellent timing to intercede.

“A week!?” Keiji would exclaim with a tone close to that usually accompanied by pens being thrown and fists being slammed. Heads from both tables turned their attention to his outburst, and perfectly so for him to speak from his soapbox. “We don’t have that kind of time on our hands, and—”

“It’s a prudent time frame though, isn’t it?” Teruo interrupted.

Already cooled off, Keiji sounded off in a more indoors-appropriate tone, settling instead for a shorter two days. “We should settle for two days instead—it’s… it’s more reasonable that with this little evidence to work with, they could get something usable out within that time. A week is just stretching it.”

Yoshimune’s then-current thoughts were echoed in voice by Takuji, rather meek compared to the others even if at the same strength as it always had been. “But how do we speak to them? If not by words, how?” Takuji then turned his head toward both Shuji and Hisashi. The rest of the table followed by.

“Pictographs?” Hisashi muttered under his breath like a student unsure of their answer, pulling his head behind his shoulders as his eyes danced across the room in a paranoid blend. “Surely pictographs would work well?” Hisashi spoke tentatively, though loud enough at that point for all of them to have picked up on the general concept.

Some agreed, Yoshimune being one of some as he almost came to nodding with pursed lips. Others paid closer attention, expecting to hear more from Hisashi, who closed in on further remarks only to be spun around by Tohaku a percentage point away from a plan.

“Pictographs that come intuitively to us. We’ve no clue as to whether they’ll so much as understand what any of it looks like! An image of a house, a fire, a tree even!” Tohaku rather passionately shouted with his chin held level to the others’ noses. Every word that left his mouth had ended with a silent gulp, and accompanied a face that only got redder and redder as he went on. “How, exactly, will we communicate in a way that they understand?” Tohaku repeated, speaking just as much with his hands as he did with his mouth.

During Tohaku’s tirade against him and pictographs, however, Hisashi had found greater interest in constantly scratching the left side of his neck furtively, totaling twelve times throughout. Half of the words that went at him slammed into a wall or forced to hit the brakes as they went past Hisashi instead of into—something Tohaku and Tohaku alone failed to notice.

Sharing some of Hisashi’s irritations, Teruo nudged Tohaku’s left leg from under the table with his right leg. The sudden contact caused Tohaku to jerk his head toward Teruo, who prompted him with a halfway impertinent yet still polite voice once he was sure he had his attention, “Mister Tohaku, please keep your voice down.”

“Well, uh…, I was about to say that the issue isn’t so extreme with pictographs—while yes there is a chance that some of the concepts won’t go through, more elementary ones could be expected to work, so it could prove to be a viable means of basic communication,” Shuji contributed, something which Hisashi reacted to with unspoken praise and a lightness in his chest.

“I’m sure that this is an issue our linguists should be able to resolve, even if only to a basic degree of understanding,” Yoshimune would assert, then asking for a new course to be put out. “While it is important, let’s put the lid on this issue and move on to more pressing matters for now,” he’d maintain with a firm yet somewhat welcoming posture.

He’d set the lure, and like a hunter keeping watch through a scope, Yoshimune searched the room; the eyes of those around him for clues as to who’d elected themselves to suggest next. What great terror was to be put forward this time? He examined every last detail, every subtle change that his eyes allowed for, anticipation quite literally rocking him to his core as his hands jittered in hair-splitting fashion.

Faces across the room sat along a spectrum of emotion at random, Keiji’s hints of locked surprise contrast to Teruo’s unmoved sombreness at the situation. It was as though they’d all been plunged into mental darkness, resulting either from the former conversation or the entire state of affairs somehow only finally setting in, the latter greatly unlikely. In this darkness was still a clear endpoint that had now been reduced from a light as bright as the sun to a speck far away, to which he was the only one equipped with a flashlight to guide with.

Turning the light on, he considered asking about as he followed the trails of where the previous discussion had been going before it had all been deflected into a ditch by Takuji’s watch. Unfortunately, no indications came for where it had been going—be it his gradually compounding tiredness having passed a certain line, or nobody being in any way helpful to his search. So then, he thought, maybe a search through the contents of the discussion itself would help.

In Yoshimune’s mind, he dumped crates upon crates of memories from the past five minutes. Disinterested brain cells sifted piles of raw, blurry memories, processing them until they were relevant and lucid. It was back to the start of the discussion before all the frills and plumage that he was able to pull the core idea; how would they move forward with this new information? How he’d forgotten this, he couldn’t recall, but it was enough to keep some momentum. His thesis was proven correct, to enough of a degree that the light far away grew slightly. Once a centimeter across, now a half-meter.

“From my perspective, the prevailing issue is that still, we are yet to develop an approach that won’t bring such a great shock,” Yoshimune elaborated, pausing suddenly and ominously before resuming, “To our side or theirs. The time frame is, of course, preferably within the week though at most the end of the month.”

Shuji, who’d dynamically thought out proposals whilst following every word that Yoshimune had just said, was quick to put forward his ideas.

“Then we should seek a policy of openness and transparency diplomatically,” Shuji would say. Heads as usual turned, though this time with tense, silent looks. They reserved themselves until he was done speaking, though already they’d made their stances on his proposal obvious. Shuji went on to continue, unfettered by any pushes going against him. “By focusing on encouraging trade and healthy relations in lieu of being open to discussions whilst keeping the initiative for them, we could rather quickly, albeit somewhat optimistically, produce good relations with neighboring countries in the given timeframe—all whilst projecting a positive image of Japan. The faster we get past the hurdle of initial suspicions, the better a position we’ll be in for the future.” Shuji concluded feeling at ease with not only himself, but also the rest of the room.

Those skeptical of his plan took a moment to deliberate inwardly, consolidating all their qualms and dubiety into solid (enough) coherent arguments. Such was this process followed by Tohaku, Takuji, and various of those on the side who remained quiet. Naturally, they debated the topic as soon as they were ready to.

“It was agreed upon earlier that emphasis on ‘careful and deliberate’ assessment of risks and hazards was to happen when dealing with the transference issue,” Tohaku reminded half-sarcastically, taking a more confrontational lean inward as he then further pressed Shuji. “If we’re to seriously follow it, this policy of rapid and transparent diplomatic engagement would go against the whole point of playing our cards well.” Pausing, Tohaku let the first few sentences sink in easily instead of immediately shifting to his next remark, rhetorically asking the room, “Who knows what would happen if we went about with this too quickly?”

Leaving little to no time between their exchange, Shuji was quick to defend his position and rapidly responded, “While care should be taken when handling these unknowns, I strongly affirm the position that in keeping our intentions and situation wholly transparent during diplomatic engagement, we could attract not only sympathy but also trust and positive attention that we could leverage into more likely accepted offers of assistance.” Shuji spoke with a straightforward tone, hiding no meaning and asking no open-ended questions. He’d lead on into a swift conclusion where no sense of confidence had been lost. “In doing so, we can make friends in this new world rather quickly; I’m sure of it.”

The room was descended upon by a short period of silence as they took the moment to immerse themselves in the two’s justifications. There came a standstill as it neared its end, the two both wanting to be first to reinforce their arguments. A standoff.

Both men looked one another in the eyes, watched on in vague horror by Yoshimune and their colleagues. Hands hovered over their holsters, postured as if to pull quicker than the other. Even if it was inconsiderate to go immediately after having done so, Shuji wished to go, armed with more potent words that would surely swing the rest in his favor. Tohaku too, with new quarrel already seated in his vocal cords.

A bang went off as both floundered at their holsters; words went by as quickly as a bullet. With them the beaten opponent fell to a now uphill battle. So fast did they go by that none could process it as it happened right before their very eyes. A new opponent had thrown himself into the ring, and in strong support of a bewildered Shuji. Dashes of skin were revealed under flaps of gray hair combed over, the man in question adjusting his glasses to speak. Joben stood victorious.

“Mister Tohaku,” Joben pronounced with every drop of deliberation and care, “I must ask where you think this strategy would bring our nation.”

Some, mainly those who worked under him, stared on as their heads slowly turned to Tohaku. They knew precisely what was coming next that Tohaku did not, and indeed, it seemed as though he’d fallen right for it.

Tohaku hit the question with words cascading down, striking right at its heart. “By reserving most of our cards, I’d say we’re better able to leverage our position as an unknown factor for these nations that would have to be much more seriously considered.”

“There’s no need to go so hard on them; keeping ourselves in a shroud of secrecy would only attract suspicions toward our ulterior motives.”

“As would being so transparent when we could be compared to likely peers of reference,” Tohaku retorted, less easygoing than before. “If… we keep our cards away, we can get them to play their hand when they’re in less beneficial positions to our own. It’s the only way to truly be careful,” he’d add.

All else in the arena watched the fight carefully, the room split between silent supporters of transparency against opacity. Yet slowly, one side had gained traction, and it seemed as if it would be all but a landslide for the team. The swirls of thoughts in the heads of the spectators had shifted greatly since the entry of Joben, whose parries resonated in the air.

“We can have a combination of the best aspects of both,” Joben would say. “There’s no reason to isolate Japan again, especially with our dependency on foreign sectors to function efficiently and effectively—quickly pushing for diplomatic action, being open about our true intentions, and emphasizing going about it carefully aren’t mutually exclusive to one another.”

“Yes… they are,” Tohaku would say in a questioning tone. He wasn’t so sure of Joben and Shuji’s ideas, but at this point, he wasn’t so receptive to his own previous ideas as he was when he sent them out. Nevertheless, he continued to argue from the perspective that felt right to him, “If we’re open about what we intend on doing and why we are, it opens us to several new and increasingly obvious angles of attack for disadvantageous deals and situations.”

Tohaku went in for another jab, the last hopeful blow to end the match. Shuji watched as he dashed up toward Joben, and all seemed as though he would make it. Yet he was stricken down last second by a knockout punch that came from, on the face of it, absolutely thin air.

Joben laid out the situation once more, and as straightforward as he could, saying, “Little can be guaranteed, but I can safely say we’ll soon enter a bout of severe shortage in key resources and food, and even then that’s underselling it.”

“The MITI and MAFF surely wouldn’t be so keen on this added pressure,” Joben then appealed after a brief pause. After all, as the Administrative Vice Minister, Tohaku surely wouldn’t want both of them weighing down and nagging him as constantly and frequently as they could be. He then continued, concluding with a defense that would assuredly lay the issue to rest, “While admitting these would certainly admit weakness, the cracks would show up sooner or later, and they’ll be enough to ruin our reputation as anything but deceitful and corrupt. Indeed, stabbing them like crooks would only be an international cause célèbre.”

Betrayed by his weight and propelled into the blade, Tohaku had lost. And so much so had the meter ticked over for the crowd that even Tohaku was supportive, if only slightly, and still somewhat skeptical of the plan. He threw up his hands, still metaphorically, and was left slumped in his seat, now literally.

“If that's the end of that…” Yoshimune would send out in a candid wrapping, a call for whatever was left to be put forward.

He’d search his mind, scraping every last shelf of mental notes for new issues to discuss in the remaining time they had. To nobody’s surprise, he found none, and so searched the others who had little to say. This time, he had no context to look through, and this time, he had no new notes that were of any significance left undiscussed. At least, everything that wasn't something he’d have to collaborate on with another Ministry. And so, with the convenience of his setup, Yoshimune segued somewhat cleanly into the finale.

“I believe this concludes this meeting; I have no additional comments beyond that I’d expect these settled issues to be handled via the appropriate channels and revised by policy groups, and that embassy officials be alerted of and kept updated on our plans.”

Every head turned to him, and every last one of them nodded to his pronouncement, Yoshimune returning the gesture shortly thereafter.

[~]

5th Story Conference Room A1, MOFA Headquarters

3:30 PM

A delegation had gathered in a mid-sized room, none under the age of fifty-five, and all dressed in deep-colored tweed and fleece that failed to break darker than asphalt gray. There were five of them in attendance, all hailing from various universities and institutes.

The room was small by the Ministry’s standards. While diminutive, it made up for its size by being leagues more extravagant than the others in the building. It had wooden facades that covered only portions of some walls, and the entirety of others, with a matching-color door in the far corner. And of course, the necessary plumage of triple red discs. Gone with the conservative style of room. Of note were large arching windows opposite to the door, through which the ravines of urban development outside gave way not only to a spectacle of a view, but also a flood of sumptuous natural light which substituted if not having outright overtaken the slurred beams from lights which swung overhead.

Around were some drawers and a small number of seats for spectators, alongside six scripts of varied calligraphy hung just as proudly on the same wall as awards and pathetic diplomas would be hung over an unsuccessful office worker’s desk. The latter was opposed to an unstained screen complemented by a cart-seated projector. All-in-all, a neat contrast to the bland, desolate feel of A2. An unmatched liveliness that had already been overtaken for the record books.

They sat on armchairs side by side with one another, and opposite a row of armchairs equal in number to theirs, separated by a long cedar coffee table. Minister Yoshimune sat on one side of the table alongside a select few aides opposite the academics.

“We haven’t much time to speak of the matter which is why copies had been sent in advance, so while I apologize for such short notice, I urge for actionable and insightful information to be given with as much brevity as possible.” Yoshimune thrust out with focus as he spoke, his voice steady. “Now Professor Tamotsu, please,” He’d then ask, sending stronger than usual eye contact to the shortly-built man.

Heads all turned with Yoshimune, dozens of pairs of eyes on Tamotsu. Everyone's ears were wide open to the sound of shuffling paper and the hum-buzz of an overhead fluorescent light; the expected had not yet come. Tamotsu’s answer was hence instead with a fine nod sent along, only just noticed by Yoshimune before he spoke.

“Well, Minister Yoshimune-san, though it can safely be assumed that they are technologically disparate to their approximate counterparts on Earth, and I would nominally place no estimate of date, as it would be hard to pinpoint it to exact decade let alone year,” Tamotsu would say, then pausing as he shuffled through his set of paper. His voice was tremulous and light on the ears; it was no butter, but it was thankfully, and appreciably, no chalk either.

As he sifted through, the background continued its non-stop run of the scratch-drag sound of a quarter-dozen pens and pencils in intercourse with lines of paper and scratch pads. Neither the academics nor Yoshimune minded, both the former and latter taking their mental notes on Tamotsu's contribution.

It was on the fifth change that he was satisfied, pulling up an aerial photograph labeled on its backside as ‘Seventy-Eight B, Hikōtai Macaque to be level with his face. The item in question was a wide shot of a wide urban artery, and wide only by virtue of a relatively low density, that sliced through a mix of detached and terraced development. An assistant beside the projector identified the photograph perfectly from across the room and inserted a copy.

The act prompted imitation from the other professors in a mostly absentminded furor, their attentions split.

“I believe it could be said that technologically they are in an era similar to the late industrial revolution,” Tamotsu continued, eyebrows squashed together as he turned to the Minister. “With this in mind…, the presence of streetcars, or equivalent thereof, does implicate the location to be some modern city for the timeframe,”

Yoshimune could find no error in Tamotsu’s reasoning, ‘nor could his aides whose penmanship continued in their laborious competition against time itself. They kept down as they let Tamotsu pass by with his extended monologue.

“While it doesn’t appear to be so significant as a port city relative to those which I’m aware of,” Tamotsu said, tapping a pen against his lip during his pause. “It could be assumed without much issue that this location would have at the minimum some form of rapid postage to this nation’s leadership, and as a potentially major city, would likely draw plenty of attention to our presence if formal contact was to be established here.”

Tamotsu concluded with a shallow bow for a relatively shallow analysis before returning to his seat, holding onto his lower back with a suppressed grimace as he did so. Still, while no claps were awarded, no whistles sent forward, and no cheers were presented to him, some were impressed.

Instead of the sound of agreement, however, the room remained solely filled by the machine that had made him talk as it continued its mechanical duty. Discard and select. “Professor Horikoshi, if you could,” Yoshimune asked, barely holding a sagged face up from falling any further.

He’d asked the very instant it was clear Tamotsu had little else to say, who receded further into his seat. If somehow not initially made clear, anyone who paid more than a slight amount of attention would have known immediately by this point exactly what Yoshimune had been searching for.

Horikoshi, who’d already made the necessary fumbling about with his papers, signaled to the projectionist by presenting the page’s rearward text toward him—‘Ninety-Six C, Hikōtai Weasel. The signal was taken clearly, and the image changed with a clunky, boxy ‘kerchunk’.

Formerly of a street, now of an archaic airplane, and taken yet again from a grimy porthole. There was no doubt that the P-3 had been intercepted, and none more that this was the very reason as to why it had returned so early.

An amalgamation of slag and foil strung together by weld seams and rivets—something that was nothing when put next to the sleek planes and smooth surfaces of the ASDF’s latest, but an achievement nonetheless that still brought a ‘wow’ factor from all who looked at it. Thick, blurred, propellers that stuck to an obtrusive cowling would have swept through the air, almost hiding an uncovered cavity filled by an obvious landing gear wheel, and all wrapped up with a birdcage canopy flush to the fuselage. It was by no means a marvel, not to the Japanese, but nonetheless, it must’ve been a marvel to see.

A world anew, and as luck had it, one where they’d not only long achieved passenger liners, but also just passed a long-unbreakable wall of artificial heavier-than-air flight. Were the circumstances any less severe, by so much as a fraction of an amount, a low smile would’ve crept along his face. Instead, it stalked from afar—unseen and unknown. So giddy was he that he wouldn’t let a moment go by without trying to discuss it.

“This airframe…,” he trembled. He trembled! One moment of excitement, the next of nervousness! A wave of enthusiasm had somehow invigorated him into speaking just to sweep away his words from the tip of his tongue. Already, he’d succeeded in drawing attention to what he’d discuss, even if it was already tremendously obvious, but now there was absolutely no turning back. Opposing whatever apparent confidence he’d initially had, his body went from animation to so very still in an instant. “Whilst extremely remin…iscent,” he tripped, “to those of our own early interwar period, I can only make vague guesses as to whether the airframe is a contemporary design.”

Yoshimune pursed his lips. He could well see the direction Horikoshi was traveling along, and yet the final stop still had some air of mystery to it. He couldn’t see exactly what his point was, only that he was leading into it, and while normally he’d have pushed him along to get to it, he couldn’t exactly tell how far away his idea was.

Maybe were Horikoshi only a quarter of the way to, Yoshimune would see to an opportunity to politely ask, but were he already three-quarters, there was little reason to do so, and inevitably paint him as all but excessively impatient. For all he knew, all bets were off, and surely such a time-sensitive matter would merit him some allowance. And so he prepared his script accordingly. With a podium of his mind already prepared, and a microphone directly to his vocal cords already connected. All he had to do was give the word.

Yet, he’d mistimed, Horikoshi spilling into his next argument as smoothly as butter, and with zero indication that he was doing so. The closest opening to interject was now past, and the next was to be what could be a half-minute or more away. And worse so, he’d bet wrong—all the prep work for nothing. Horikoshi had indeed been within the range of ninety to a hundred percent from his destination and was in the process of, unknowingly or not, trampling over Yoshimune, who could only sit back and listen some more.

Horikoshi, partially simultaneous to Yoshimune’s thought processes, continued to speak in an unhurried fashion, “However, more significantly and more importantly is that…, er, while this is just speculation…,” he accentuated, “We have a relatively clear view of what appear to be roundels. They’re, uh, they’re best visible on this aircraft’s vertical stabilizer—the– the part at the tail end—and on the side of where I assume the engine is mounted.”

And then a big ‘um’, as though he had the content, he hadn’t an ending. Like a painter to their creation, Horikoshi knew not on what to conclude—all he could think of was far too obvious, and yet simultaneously, he couldn’t bear leaving them with a nonissue he’d used their time up for. Whatever was best, he thought to at least leave them with something reasonable yet also somewhat obvious.

“Now these roundels…bear great semblance to the flags that feature on some of the photos involving the avenue and a ship. Thus, the only relevant note I can advise upon is that we tread with some caution with this in mind as this may indicate them to at the very least be a regional power should this be modern equipment for them.”

Horikoshi patted his leg as he put forward his resolution, by no means something that would truly sate the Ministry on its quest for knowledge, but still a means to an end that looked to be so far away. He squeezed tightly at his thigh.

He’d succeeded in one thing, at least, if Yoshimune’s expression was anything to go by. He’d succeeded in drawing Yoshimune’s eyes together as he narrowed them.

“Professor Seiichi,” Yoshimune beckoned with his attention paid only to the man, as though cleansing his memory of what had just prior occurred. The assistants’ heads followed, with a rotation similar to a chicken’s whose body was moved, some still halfway through transcribing Tamotsu’s response and now with an increased tempo.

Seiichi made a glancing motion toward the projectionist, pulling up his desired card—‘Eighteen C, Hikōtai Weasel’. Such a motion was, of course, obliged with a steel-laden ‘clack’. A ship. A big one.

“I would argue similarly, Minister Yoshimune-san, along the line of thinking that Mister Horikoshi and Tamotsu have taken. These people align approximately with the mid-nineteen-twenties where I’d say that the ship design flags it as most likely built within at most the last decade. The number of masts and wiring connected to the interior ones seem to indicate at the very least rudimentary telegraphy devices possibly aboard; the deficiency in lifeboats on the deck may further indicate this to be a possibility. However, I am yet to make any sense of this open space on the stern end.” He traced his index finger along one of the wider shots, ending both his presentation and tracing pointing toward the tip of the beast’s rear. A flat space, just as he’d said.

Yet, for all the effort put into what he’d just said, Yoshimune for once had been forced to confide in some humiliatingly quiet manner with an assistant sitting to his right—a back-and-forth repeat of what had just been said by Seiichi. Yoshimune turned back to, after two score seconds of this cycle.

“For quite a bit of information, how so, would the point on… lifeboats reinforce this thinking, and moreso, what significance could you draw from this open space?”

Seiichi opened with a stammer before opening the floodgates that held back a spew of knowledge. “Well, for the first item, Minister…, while this is only an educated guess based on experiences on Earth, lax lifeboat policy had been observed during a period between the collisions of the ocean liners Republic and Florida, to the sinking of the Titanic, where they were seen instead as a ferry to be used between ships thanks to the advent of telegraphing technologies.”

He spoke as though info-dumping in a book, much of the information he’d dropped of little real, tangible value. Of course, it all contributed to evidencing his claim which by this point had followed a particularly obvious trend of interwar technology. But still, he continued to his next, held back by none other than those in his head.

“However, on the other hand, the… stern is quite similar to the construct of a more modern ship’s helipad, being raised and more noticeably colored than the rest of the deck—this is, of course, an extremely anachronistic feature that while unable to justified reasonably from current knowledge, I would advise some level of consideration over this due to its uncharacteristic nature,” he’d say, in effect asking Yoshimune and his group to conclude by themselves.

Some of the aides looked up from their pages to glare at the man, yet Yoshimune remained steadfast, who instead opted to move right on, carrying on unamused.

“Professor Sohei then…, the floor is yours.” He welcomed the next person onto the stage, though this time now a member of his University’s Humanities and Sociology faculty instead of the various engineering and science departments of the others. And deep down, Yoshimune hoped he would bring a far more useful answer, though not to discredit any of the use the others had already given, for the harvest was already plentiful.

Professor Sohei gave his answer with a waver, “While I cannot say with any absolutes, I must point out that, on several of the photographs depicting what I believe to be a town. There are clear markers for what my colleagues and I believe to be some form of racial segregation,” he’d explain with a huff, face downcast and with naturally good reason.

There were gasps at his belief, several left openly staring, including those of Yoshimune’s cohort meant to be transcribing. While the former three had been wholly mechanical, Sohei, whose job title made obvious his appraisal goal, had been on an entirely different track, nay, course it seemed. It made sense, and yet it did not. There was an intrigue; a mystery, to how he would justify his thoughts, and a strong sense to unearth all that could bring credibility to the claim.

So how exactly had he come to this conclusion was the exact sentence which flew through all their minds.

“While we can’t be certain for now, I point towards the photographs Eighty B (Hikōtai Macaque) and Ninety-Five A (Hikōtai Serow), wherein we can see clear crowds and queues in the broad daylight. W-hile somewhat blurred, I believe there is a reasonably clear line between the crowds regarding racial characteristics where a wide distance is held between the two groups, and the ship that which Tamotsu had been so eager for, showed a roughly similar though far less clear-cut division in Thirteen and Fifteen C.”

He hosed out his opinion on the matter, light tremors and inconsistencies plaguing his speech. Alas, thankfully none took any attention, Yoshimune himself poring over the details of the words he spewed instead of the tool that it came through.

Eyes flew along to the projector, where the projectionist faithfully had already clacked up the exact image. Some nodded or went cold as their disbeliefs were disproven, others simply swallowing their hubris, and some even in outright disgust—Yoshimune amongst with a borderline neurotic refusal to so much as glance at the board after his first look. Indeed the described distinction was there; many-a-heads had been perked up, most probably paying mind to the flight overhead, and all conveniently arranged by color which could have of course been by some strange coincidence. Some were a caucasian in tone, others a deeper brown, and some… animal. Not in any racial sense, but in the literally specific, as they were most definitely non-human in face. Creatures in hats alongside regular men, and little helped to identify any further features, only the vaguest of below-the-head bodily features shown with the rest obscured by the tightly packed bodies of others. Strange.

Some wanted to stand up and gather attention with a new object to contest, all to ask a new big question. Why were animals amongst the crowd, and what sort of loopsy-land had they fallen upon?

While they couldn’t tell which group exactly were the ones in charge, not with any accuracy, already a few sneaky preconceptions took aim. Sohei was quick to recognize this, be it part of his work or not, quick enough in wit to have translated their facial expressions of disgust to concern into some form of Japanese.

“And, I feel I… must remind that while many preconceptions may arise, erm… especially due to their correlation with our world, these are a completely alien culture, and thus I could draw little else conclusion without a boots-on-the-ground experience.”

“Then that settles it—an expedition must happen, correct?”

“Once more, and unfortunately so…, er…,” he’d say, unable to do so without awkward trips and slips made in full view of the rest. “I…I can’t say for sure, but I would caution to keep this possibility in mind, since it would naturally lead to any prospect of friendliness to be several magnitudes harder to reach.”

Somebody on the side visibly shrugged and waved it off, another showing vacancy in their eyes as they jotted down every last detail, and a third sagged in his seat, thereby taking off a few inches from his height.

Yoshimune only spoke under his breath to himself. “Please let them be.”

Soon, however, the light of a conclusion made itself known as Sohei silenced. The previous two nervous wrecks, and by extension the two preceding them, were relegated to being only spectators, unable to do little more than make strange faces in reaction. As had been throughout the meeting, and as would be established for future meetings.

“Professor Kanbei,” the weary Minister named for one last time. Impermanent, but for the hour at least—his mind had been going crazy enough simply learning of the transference, and wear had already reared its ugly head on the cogs of his cognition.

A man whose perspective would once again differ, the former all men of history, engineering, and society, and now a man of science. Beyond this, however, Kanbei was a short man, possibly the shortest at the table. And while it would be rude to identify him solely with this trait, little else of any outstanding nature could be said of him—a generic trim and forgettable face. The kind of throwaway character to never appear again beyond satisfying one overly specific need.

And just as with stature, the time he took to reach his point was short, making no effort to ask for any images to be presented. The boldness in such a move was watched by wide eyes from his colleagues, the Ministry’s men none the wiser beyond a minor uncertainty at what he was to say.

“There exists a great danger in these new lands, as we do to them. Biosecurity should be a top concern for us,” Kanbei appealed, resisting his urge to compare it to any of the engineering matters. They were certainly issues of note, but wasn’t the fate of millions to possibly billions the most important? “Where our nation and our people could at the very least mitigate disaster should all be handled with care, the same cannot be said for the outside world. Our ecosystem, and from what I both understand and assume, their ecosystem, are both intensely fragile and could be blown away in a matter of years if not months were any widespread outbreaks of both fauna and flora to occur. The losses would be astronomic!”

Yoshimune’s nose unwrinkled to a combined cocktail of moral suasion, conservationism, and implied economic concerns, all enough to gain the backing of the Ministry’s leader. Not so much his aides, who for the most part mumbled incoherently as sore wrists galore did what it could to compel them to stop.

From then on was a fork for Kanbei to consider—to either end there with a persuaded, and hopefully satisfied Yoshimune, or continue with a much stronger case; barely half of the things on his mind presented.

So like essay, he flowed on with little in his way. “Furthering this, paying attention to the details of my colleague, Professor Sohei’s images, we see blurry but definitely varied animal features on what I assume to be sentient humanoids, and while fascinating, I can only offer the explanation that they are a quirk, and danger of this world, presenting a whole new host of illness that could so willingly strike our own fauna, or even people.”

Kanbei then halted.

It took him a moment to think of reasonably appropriate hand motions so as to drive in his point, and it took little effort for him to come to two realizations: the pause helped in accentuating his prior and current argument, but it would have to end soon, and be timed exceptionally well for maximal effect, and that a finger slamming into the table would be succinct in this regard.

And so, with a thud of an index finger pressed with the middle striking the hardwood, he chattered. “As disease would destroy not just us, but our reputation as well, I would hence advise upon stringent sanitation measures at all places of entry and leave, if not outright restrictions on movement in or out beyond Government officials.”

All eyes watched Kanbei—his mouth, eyes, and expression—with all the intent that remained. He’d gone passive for five seconds, whole and not rounded off, and he showed zero indication to Yoshimune and company that he was going to continue. In these, Yoshimune’s words had come to him, and now he could set the session to rest.

They were stolen, however. No matter where he looked, his words had been gone, as although Kanbei showed no purpose in continuing, it was as if divine intervention had taken place whereby he’d been puppeteered and thus did so anyways.

“Additionally, and while it is partially not my field to say, there is a unique risk posed by not just wild animals, which would likely be at large a non-issue, but also insects, insect-borne disease, and parasites due to the circumstances the Ministry will be facing,” Kanbei concluded on a strange note, skin gone a tad paler than it was initially.

Eyes were, again, on Kanbei, though now all thunderstruck at the audacity of his speaking. He dared trick them and throw in one last thing. Indeed, he’d shoehorned in new information as was appropriate for a throwaway, yet none could find fault in him doing so, ‘nor did any make a response in either the negative or positive—all else justified it mentally as something that was all for the sake of caution, of course. The last thing they needed was to overlook one detail and the whole plan to go up in flames as a result, something many throughout history had been victim to. They would not be victims.

Yoshimune stood to attention abruptly, albeit expectedly, and sent off an overtly expansive bow at a perfect seventy degrees the way of all five of the professors. In turn, he was remunerated with similar, if not overpowering, rigor by the opposing delegation who fielded their regard in a near-perfect sync.

Yoshimune sent the delegation and his own off, projecting an effusive mood just before they filed out the door. “...and I once more strongly apologize for the inconvenience brought about by such short notice for your presence.”

They dragged their footsteps along with frozen-solid faces, taking no sighs of relief. Tamotsu unfastened the top button of his shirt right before he went through, and Seiichi only left after he’d scraped through his scalp thoroughly.

With none else in the room, and having held it in since the start of the meeting, Yoshimune dabbled with his handkerchief and yawned with a balled fist.