The Squash in Odaiba
A Gfantis Story by Skip Peel
Editor’s Note – This entry into the Gfantis vs Guest Monster series is submitted by Skip Peel! Skip is a frequent contributor to G-Fan Magazine and his Rex Summeral stories are a staple of the G-Fan Kaiju Tales section of the magazine. No G-fan based anthology would be complete without a story by Skip. This story features the kaiju Itara that Skip first introduced in the landmark Daikaiju anthology series!
Though bleak and overcast as any other autumn day in October, the Tokyo skies had offered no rain to quell the still smoldering fires. Along the eastern edge of ground zero, city engineers and emergency responders struggled on to put out the remaining the blazes, though their efforts were growing more clumsy and lethargic as most of them had been striving for 36 hours without break. Japanese dedication and duty kept them going, but nature was catching up, and so slowly some went home to visit their families. In turn, others arrived from handling lesser damages and completed rescues to help. The latest efforts to extinguish these fires involved pumping in seawater from the Bay, but the engineers had not quite managed it yet. Rumors among exhausted firefighters and policemen were that this particular burn off had less to do with underground piping and power lines, but more was caused by the special source of energy which ignited it. Visible among the rubble and bits of framework and girders, there lay a huge, twisted and unrecognizable mass of something organic. A group of men distinct from the city officials, clearly less wearied and protected by hazard suits, were examining this object with their ample gear. Most of their devices were mounted on extended metal poles or hung from wiring and ladders, thereby securing a respectful distance from the blackened and still glowing embers of monstrous flesh.
The smoke from these multiple sources curled high in the sky and seemed to meld with the natural cloud cover of that morning, almost as if land and sky were dancing into each other. Isabella Gabriela Oliveira, followed by her aide, skirted about the chunks of rubble in a pair of flats that she had wisely traded with her usual dressier shoes before leaving the Consulate. Aside from her footwear, her attire remained as professional and as attractive as whenever she would be on State business in Tokyo. A sweeping wind was tearing across the landscape that morning and left the tails of her long fashionable brown coat fluttering. Isabella could not be certain whether this wind was natural to the season or produced in part by the strange fires that had burned for more than a day. Undaunted against its opposing force, she paid little heed when this wind freed her thick golden brown hair from a hastily pinned clasp and blew the full locks behind her. She moved on, further into the heart of ground zero and towards the smoldering organic mass. Her aide stepped forward to speak with yet another set of Japanese police attempting to halt their progress for their own safety, the third such scattered effort by beleaguered officials to keep them out of Odaiba. But the authoritative appearance of their Embassy badges had done more for them than even Isabella expected. Her aide spoke Japanese effectively enough, so he handled the local policemen, while Isabella’s dark eyes scanned the horizon.
Isabella Gabriela Oliveira was her full name, and rolled off the tongue so very easily, even musically, in her native Brazil, but it contained far too many “L” sounds for a Japanese pronunciation. In situations that did not require the dignity of affairs of State, she preferred for the sakes of Japanese speakers that they call her Isa-san, meaning Miss Isa. Such a casual approach never bothered her. It aligned to her own personal and even national tastes, and after all, she was not the Brazilian ambassador, but merely a chief advisor, and could get away with more. Japanese decorum was often willingly set aside to avoid the embarrassment from something even as simple as muddled pronunciation.
As Isabella shuffled out of range from her aide’s conversation with the police, she looked through the swirls and shifting mists of smoke and spied Case Handler Kazuo Tabuchi. He stood still as a statue, hands uncharacteristically in pockets, shoulders hunched and sharp features downward cast in thought. He seemed more gaunt than she remembered him, which may have been age but perhaps too a psychological affect from those challenges he had just endured, or maybe even still was facing. As his features came further into the light, she noticed blackened marks of what may have been soot upon his skin. His suit disheveled was also dirty. His tie flapped in a gust of that same harsh morning wind that in the moment blew most of the smoke aside and revealed behind him more of the desolate landscape of what had once been Odaiba.
“Ah, Tabuchi-san,” Isabella offered in her best, heavily accented English. “I have found you. I thought you might still be here. I had to come.”
Isabella was definitely a polyglot, completely fluent in Portuguese and Spanish, and while she self-criticized her ability with English, she spoke it, though accented, better than many Americans. Yet a talent for Japanese escaped her, and she had found the language extremely challenging, barely achieving any conversational level in spite of courses and tutors. She often found it more practical to switch to English whenever a native Japanese knew any English, and would even throw in bits of Japanese with these efforts. This approach often worked better for her than speaking straight Japanese, though it usually confused her listeners more than she realized, as in the politeness of misunderstanding came those frequent Japanese smiles and nods.
Case Handler Tabuchi spoke English decently, if not exceptionally well. So much world travel had boosted his base study of the language. As he stepped forward towards Isabella, his silent gaze showed that he did not yet recognize her, though she was memorably beautiful to any man half-paying attention. But Tabuchi paid little attention that day. He certainly was not feeling social, especially with a foreigner.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” Isabella asked truly affectionately, but not realizing that her Brazilian bubbliness, especially on a wind swept field of recent battle, was wholly inappropriate to a Japanese sensibility. She had a lot to learn, even in spite of all those cultural sensitivity classes she had been required to take as part of Embassy training.
“No,” Tabuchi answered, half hearted, almost ignoring her, and saying nothing else. It was a response out of despondency, and not from rudeness of even indignation. This man, so accustomed to battle, so seasoned by victory, was mourning his complete and devastating loss in the way he culturally knew how. He also seemed to be waiting for something. His lack of reaction seemed to be a cue to the policemen still conferring with Isabella’s aide that she was accepted and they should not interfere.
Isabella’s mission in journeying onto that scarred and destroyed stretch of Odaiba was foremost in her heart, if not her mind, and while she was there for Tabuchi’s sake, she seemed oblivious to Tabuchi’s feelings in that moment, and continued with a genuine enthusiasm at seeing him.
“I am Isabella Oliveira,” she explained. “We first met at a countermeasures summit in Rio de Janeiro. I was allowed to join with the final expedition as a field operative, my first major assignment that got me into government work, and I was there at the final rainforest battle if you remember that, surely. My older sister is Larissa Oliveira-Santos, who worked then with the Governor’s office, and I think you would remember her. We were both key witnesses. You interviewed us.”
“Ah yes,” Tabuchi absently mindedly responded in Japanese. “That rainforest monster.”
“Yes, yes.” Isabella cried excitedly, but almost painfully. “You interviewed us several times, as we had witnessed the worst attack. The media called it the Chimera Chupacabra of Brazil.”
“That’s right.” Tabuchi echoed dreamily with half a frown that looked like it hurt, “We never did discover the origins of that creature. A true mystery of science from out of the jungles of the past.”
“You first called me Isa-san,” Isabelle recalled, a deep admiration for Tabuchi continuing to be evident. It was a type of admiration that shines quite strongly when seen in the face and mannerisms of a beautiful wo
man, especially an expressive one. “You said my name was too difficult to pronounce. I always remembered that, and I still use it today.”
“Isa-san. Yes.” Tabuchi said, eyebrows wrinkling with some jog of memory, and he nodded ever so slightly that only a keen watchful eye would have noticed the gesture.
“I work with the Brazilian embassy in Tokyo now,” she explained. “I’ve been here three years.” Here Isabella paused a moment. “It was working with your team, and the Sekiyama Group, but especially you Tabuchi-san, that inspired me to come here to work in Japan when I was offered the opportunity.”
“Yes. Sekiyama.” Tabuchi echoed in Japanese, quite dejectedly.
There was a bit of silence between them as the wind turned and swept the smoke back into their faces. Tabuchi gave a slight cough as they moved together out of it, while Isabella struggled with her maze of hair as it blew in the smoky air, realizing her hair clasp had been lost completely. This wave of smoke seemed to close the curtain behind them as it were, as police and aide disappeared to them, and they walked on alone.
“What happened here?” Isabella asked. “I saw it on the news of course, but they are suppressing most of the video footage to keep the public from panic my own sources say. You saw it with your own eyes. Is it true Gfantis landed in Tokyo at last?”
“Yes. Yes.” Tabuchi nodded.
“They are saying some harsh things, criticizing what happened . . .”
“Yes.” Tabuchi looked skyward at the smoke above them.
“That is why I had to come,” Isabella told him, with a firm tone of serious intent in her voice. “I owe you so much Tabuchi-san. We, my entire country, we are indebted. I had to see if you were okay, . . . if I could be of any help to you.”
Tabuchi said nothing, but gave a strange side-glance towards this Brazilian woman that to him was like a mysterious ghost out of the mist.
“I would have looked you up before now.” Isabella continued. “But you are always travelling it seems. In time, my own job took precedence. I never knew if you were in Tokyo, and your work is more important than mine.”
As Tabuchi seemed disinclined to speak, but willing to walk with her, they strode on together in silence, approaching the site of the burning organic mass. They came there not by either’s choice, but rather by an instinct, as it stood a fascinating focal point amid that scene of devastation. They approached the work site of the survey team examining the hulking object. A closer examination of the logos on their protective gear and electronic equipment revealed them to be from the Sekiyama Group. Each worker they encountered immediately recognized Case Handler Tabuchi, and while they did not engage him directly in conversation, all acknowledged and clearly deferred to him as their superior, remaining busy in their analyses. A thick smell of burnt flesh filled the air, which though harsh, was not entirely unpleasant, yet distinctly strange.
“Is this the Itara?” Isabella asked, raising her hand to her mouth in astonishment.
“Yes,” was all the demoralized Tabuchi could muster in reply.
“What happened here?” Isabella asked again.
Tabuchi gave a sigh of resignation mixed with frustration and maybe even nerves. He walked over to a workstation among the Sekiyama team and picked up a newspaper. It was a copy of the most recent New York Times.
“You speak very good English,” he said to Isabella. Then breaking a bit of ice by repeating her nickname, he asked, “Isa-san, can you explain to me exactly what this headline means?”
Isabella examined the paper. It read:
Gfantis Triumphant in Tokyo! The Solar Nightmare Gfantis Defeats Sekiyama Group’s Kaiju Killer Itara at the Odaiba District in a Total Squash!
Isabella paused and raised an eyebrow.
“What does this mean?” Tabuchi asked, the first sign of passion returning to his voice. “This ‘Squash?’ I thought squash was fruit or vegetable or something.”
Isabella exhaled a deep sigh that blew back against the wind. She was not shy, if even less tactful.
“Well here, they mean that it was a defeat. A sound defeat. A very certain, quick, and complete defeat. Like squashing an insect.”
“Oh, is that so.” Tabuchi sighed in Japanese, his tone again deflating. “I knew it would be so.”
The conversation was interrupted by the hissing of a fire hose, as the Sekiyama team tried to extinguish a part of the gigantic body that was still glowing with the heat of the burn. The two walked a few paces away from the noise.
“I am sorry Tabuchi-san.” Isabella told him. “So very sorry. But I came partly to say thank you, partly to help, and also to say you must carry on! Do not listen to what they say in the news. Ganbatte as they say. You have done so much Tabuchi-san, you must carry on even today!”
“No. No.” he protested.
“What happened here?” she asked, for the third time that morning.
There are moments when a person needs to talk, even the most culturally and socially reserved Japanese person, and in times such as those, often a stranger can be a better confidant than a trusted friend. To Tabuchi, not only was Isabella a gentle, feminine and sympathetic voice, both encouraging and strong, but also she represented a happier time to him. She hearkened back to success, to when he was in good favor, held good face, and was the world’s greatest success regarding kaiju countermeasures. In talking to her, the success of Sekiyama’s Brazilian Chupacabra campaign came back to him, and with that, the confidence of a truly passionate man underneath it all.
“Isa-san,” he began. “I told them, I told them all along. If Gfantis came, if Gfantis ever touched the mainland, or if against our hope in the heavens that monster ever was drawn to Tokyo, we could not win. I have refused other countries before.”
“Refused?” Isabella asked.
“Yes, as the creator and expert trainer of our greatest clone for kaiju countermeasures, the Itara, I am chief Case Handler for Sekiyama Group’s International Enterprises Division. With this title, I am given final say on what cases we take with Itara and which we refuse. We strive to keep it out of the press, but we have refused Russia, Canada and even America as regards to Gfantis. That monster is too powerful. I knew him to be beyond the Itara’s ability to defeat him. Itara is lithe, as I had it explained to me once in England, a monster flexible with dexterity and strong with grappling and clawing power. But he is designed for mid-range kaiju combat. Gfantis is too . . . well, fantastic as his name indicates. He is beyond our science. Beyond our understanding to deal with him. Trying is like tampering with the fabled fires of the gods. I cannot defeat him, and I knew the Itara could not win.”
“Then why did you choose to fight?” Isabella asked.
“I could not refuse my homeland.” Tabuchi cried, the pain on his face the most obvious in that moment. “I could not say no, and had I tried, I knew I would be fired and replaced. This time, as had been long feared, Gfantis would invade Japan, and intelligence pointed to the worst at Tokyo. We had to try to fight. If Itara was to face his fate against Gfantis, I knew I must be with him.”
“And so the Itara,” Isabella summed up, “That monster which saved my people, and so many others across the globe, he was then killed here?”
“Yes.” Tabuchi spoke, much as one might answer about the death of a child.
“It is very sad to me Tabuchi-san.” Isabella responded. “I am sorry about it, and it is hard for me to believe. Your monster was majestic in battle the day I saw him defeat the Chimera Chupacabra in the rainforest, swinging trees and tossing large stones as weapons, and finally winning his victory by dragging that awful monster into the river.”
As Isabella recounted these memories, a great pride, nearly a thrill, seemed to shine from her face. There was passion in her voice that the smoky wind of that morning could not abate.
“How? . . .” she began.
But Tabuchi had stepped away, separating from the noises of the Sekiyama c
rew, the firefighters off to the east them, and the worst of the patches of smoke. He beckoned to her Japanese style, like a cat waving its paw, and so she followed him for a few minutes, up a small hill of excavated dirt, a rare high spot in an area so very flat. From this vantage point, most of northern Odaiba and its devastated landscape was in view before them in a vast, wide vista.
“As you may know,” Tabuchi began, speaking in a fluent sort of English technical jargon that came easily to him when dealing with international clientele, “this part of Tokyo Bay, Odaiba, was man-made by my country long ago. But only in the past twenty years was it developed into the famous district of the capitol it became with Aqua City, all the shopping, malls and entertainment. The monster prediction networks were saying the same information, and it also became the government position, that Gfantis would land in Tokyo at last. We knew through studying his previously observed movements he would certainly land through Tokyo Bay. If so, would he land west at Shinagawa, immediately devastating the city? And if he went east and hit near Tokyo Disney, there lies a stretch of coastline that we could not pinpoint any spot that offered a strategy. We actually hoped for Odaiba because we needed the open acreage here, as it afforded us an easy battlefield where with Itara, we could make our stand.
“Please understand Isa-san, that I only had four days to prepare for Gfantis, and that under terrible conditions. Fortunately we were on this side of the world already with him, dealing with a sea serpent infestation south of Fiji. Upon word from Tokyo, we dropped everything immediately and sailed here, but I had only four days to prepare my exhausted monster.
“While Gfantis possesses powers I feared, the biggest concern as always was his much larger size. I needed more time, but I gave Itara as much steroid growth hormone as we thought reasonable and safe, and then added some more. This worked quickly, and as he grew during the voyage he nearly outsized our cruiser. But it wasn’t enough. Gfantis’ mass would still be three or more times that of Itara. I should have known there were would be no contest. But we were desperate. I had to fight regardless.”
“How did you grow the monster larger?” Isabella asked. “He was about 25 meters when I saw him last.”
“We had done it twice before,” Tabuchi explained. “Once with an unbelievably large troll and again with a sort of Kraken in the Norwegian Sea. They grow the monsters bigger farther north it seems. A massive dose of a proprietary growth hormone will increase Itara’s mass up to thirty percent, but only for the time it is actively administered, then he reverts to his regular size. I never liked to do that, and considered it dangerous, so it would only ever be an emergency type of measure, and this was an emergency. Such rapid growth cannot be healthy for any creature, and I am guessing it may have shortened Itara’s lifespan. Still, he is a unique bioengineered clone, so our studies had been ongoing, and now with this destruction, I will never know the true effects of those forced growth spurts. If you will remember, Itara was a genetic combination of tiger, gorilla, and alligator. One of the worst aspects of bioengineering those size shifts were the weight concerns. If I were to remake him, though transport would be an major issue and increase costs, I would consider making him even larger, perhaps adding some structural skeletal components from a rhinoceros into his genetic mix to deal with the weight. But then he would lose speed and dexterity, so it is a give and take.”
“How large did Itara get by the time of the battle?” Isabella asked.
“Almost 35 meters,” Tabuchi explained, “But Gfantis is 55 meters, so he towered over Itara. Based on films I had seen of Gfantis, I had no true strategy other than to attack the neck area directly and hope Itara, using his claws and teeth, could tear into the jugular, that is . . . if Gfantis even has one. So little is known of him.”
Tabuchi sighed as Isabella waited.
“That is where Gfantis landed,” he continued, pointing to a southwestern corner of the artificial island. “It was a hard decision to clear with my superiors to not engage him first outside of Tokyo Bay. While Itara can swim effectively, and as you saw in his battle in the Brazilian Rainforest River, he could hold his breath for a very long time. But Gfantis has been observed to be also deftly agile in the water, and can submerge for even longer. We waited here on dry land and in a clear area where there were few buildings, and to our good fortune he did land at Odaiba, almost I believe as if he could sense Itara’s presence. He came out of the water and promptly stepped on the bathhouse that used to be over there.”
“Oh,” Isabella cried, noticing a smashed scattering of wooden beams in the far distance by the shore. “I loved that onsen.”
Now Tabuchi grew in excitement as he began to recount the grittiest details of the battle, and he stood taller and thrust his chest forward. “Itara wanted to take him. It was all I could do to hold him back with a ready signal until I thought Gfantis was effectively in a target position. We were watching from a mobile aerial unit that was keeping a constantly safe distance but also direct line of sight with the battle. Once Gfantis was out of the water and standing still enough, sizing us up, I unleashed my weapon upon him. In one of his last grand and glorious moments, Itara sprung forward with such a snarl, and leapt up into the face of Gfantis, and began tearing into him!”
Here Tabuchi paused.
“And what happened?” Isabella demanded.
With a sigh, Tabuchi continued. “Gfantis was too strong. Itara could not even break his tough reptile hide. Very angry now, Gfantis grabbed him by the throat and like Itara was but a child, threw him hard to the ground.
“It was such an impact, I knew something was wrong immediately. Itara was favoring his shoulder as he rolled and then scurried back to regroup. The impact where Gfantis slammed him left that hole in the ground you see over there. I did not know what to do but maybe try to knock Gfantis off his feet. That attempt failed, for when Itara grabbed his leg, he could not move that greater mass when Gfantis shifted in defense. Then with a mighty forearm swing, Gfantis hit Itara and sent him flying further back inland, near to where we are now.
“I will admit I panicked. I had no strategy then, as almost all our previous victories came through clawing, grappling, drowning the other monster, or a delivery of a poison package or other superweapon that only Itara could handle. We had no weapon against Gfantis. Itara was it, and none of our other battle strategies we quickly learned could work against the overpowering nature of this monster.
“Our two attacks had roused Gfantis’ fighting instincts. He charged our monster, and out of self-preservation I signaled Itara to retreat. An idea came that maybe he could lead Gfantis out of the city and away from Tokyo. But the bigger monster was between my monster and the sea, and so Itara scrambled to get away, and I foolishly led them both into the entertainment complexes of Odaiba.
“Itara was quicker, but his growth hormone treatments had affected his locomotive skills and his synapses and muscles were not firing as quickly as usual. Normally he would have bounded away to safety, but this Gfantis was nearly keeping pace. They came upon that giant Gundam statue that was so very famous. Itara dodged around it like a tree, and jumped a few paces past it into one of the shopping malls. That statue confused Gfantis I think, as he snorted at it, and passed by with what seemed a dismissive roar, but at the last moment his mighty tailed lashed out, and the giant Gundam robot came crashing down.
“Itara raced through the streets of Odaiba, around hotels, restaurants, and exhibit halls, while Gfantis more lumbering, smashed each and every building underneath him to get at his enemy. With a most mighty bound, Itara leapt to what he though was safety on the Daikanransha . . . you know that big Ferris wheel?”
“Ah yes,” Isabella replied, looking towards where it used to be. “It was so very pretty lit up at night with so many colors and designs.”
“Well, it toppled under Itara’s weight. But my monster was strong, so I thought he could use it as a weapon, and I signaled
via my remote transmitter to give him a tool and weapon response. As Gfantis lumbered closer, Itara hurled that Ferris wheel, three times his size, with both arms. Like a spinning disk it struck Gfantis in the belly, but not with much impact. Crashing at his feet, Gfantis stomped it into oblivion, and then . . . I noticed the crescent horn on his head began to ignite with a glow.
“I ordered an emergency dodge command just in time, for that blast of solar radiation came tearing out from Gfantis’ head just as Itara leaped away. You can see there to the west where the energy blast from that attack tore a stretch in the ground several hundred meters long; most of it still on fire.
“All seemed lost now to me Isa-san. My commands to Itara worked on a combination of basic animal training signals chemically hardwired into his brain. After seeing the power of that blast, I hit the emergency retreat command with everything I had. Itara didn’t know where he was going, just that he was running for his life. He sprinted back to the northeastern part of the island, and headed onto the Rainbow Bridge at full speed. This unfortunately as you know, would have led him directly into the heart of urban Tokyo!”
“Oh my, indeed.” Isabella cried, so into the story she instinctively grabbed onto a small cross necklace she always wore, usually tucked beneath her designer blouses. She now pulled it out and ran her thumb along it as she listened.
“But though Itara ran,” Tabuchi continued, “Gfantis was on the hunt for what he took as a hated enemy. They reached the Bridge in the same moment, and Gfantis grabbed Itara’s rear leg while in mid-bound. Itara clung to the suspension cables of the bridge, but as Gfantis pulled him, that metal would not hold, and snapped as you can see. It didn’t destroy the Bridge thankfully, but my poor monster, so much lighter than his opponent, who had such great strength, Gfantis hurled Itara with an incredible momentum I didn’t know was possible. Itara flew through the air across the northern shores of Odaiba, completely over that shopping mall, which you can see still standing, and my Itara . . . he crashed directly into the Fuji TV building with such force, the entire structure came down on top of him!
“I thought he was dead, but my heart rose with delight when I saw my creation struggle free from that rubble. But he was hurt, bleeding, an arm clearly broken now, and in such a daze he could barely move. He stumbled aimlessly towards the western shore, right to where you see he fell. Out from the rising cloud of the debris, I saw a glow. It was Gfantis’ horn charging with solar power again, and as the monster stepped forward into my own full view, . . . well, I hit every button I could to fire every chemical and instinctual trigger I could give Itara. None of it worked, and there may have been a neurological overload, for Itara screamed a death roar, saddening my heart, just as a massive onslaught of that solar cosmic radiation arced halfway across Odaiba and tore into Itara. He fell immediately to the ground, the force of the blast pushing him through the dirt several dozen meters, and with the intensity of that firepower upon him for what seemed like minutes to me, though it may have only been seconds, his body burst into an inferno of flames, that perhaps thankfully, killed him immediately so his death agony ended quickly. He died where you see him, burned into nothing recognizable, killed by Gfantis’ cosmic solar power from heaven, his corpse still smoldering after two days. And that was the end.”
Case Handler Tabuchi, a scientific and technical man, could prove quite poetic, or so Isabella thought, when discussing the spectacular demise of his beloved cloned creation.
“And what happened to Gfantis?” she asked.
“Oh yes,” Tabuchi added, as if jogged awake. “He gave a snort, looked around as it were, and then promptly returned to the Bay and headed out back to sea.”
The wind had died down just a bit, enough to be less harsh and more musical in its affect on the psyches of both Tabuchi and Isabella. Nothing needed to be said for a time, but eventually Isabella broke the silence.
“So what now?”
“I fear there is no ‘what now.’” Tabuchi told her.
“There is always a ‘what now,’ Tabuchi-san,” she argued. “But you tell me what you mean.”
“My career is over,” he said, “I have allowed a monster into Tokyo where it has destroyed billions of yen in property, only to walk out again at its own will. I have let a multi-billion yen asset of my Sekiyama Group be annihilated and lost. I have brought shame to myself, my family, my employer, and my country. I will surely be fired. I have lost face. I am in the most great disgrace. I have been ‘squashed’ as the Americans have put it.”
“No, no, no.” Isabella demanded, “You cannot talk like this. You have to carry on. You have to continue your work.”
“I will be fired Isa-san.” Tabuchi said with almost a tear, his head held low. “I am shamed.”
“They would be fools to fire you!” she replied angrily. “And even if they did, you could have a job anywhere in the world in any country with any bioengineering firm or kaiju countermeasures program. No one cares what the papers in America have said, or in your own country here for that matter! You are the best in world at what you do, and that is destroying big dangerous monsters that hurt people. You have to keep doing that! And for as long as you can!”
“No, no Isa-san.” Tabuchi humbly protested.
“Tabuchi-san!” Isabella nearly shouted, actual tears running down her cheeks, “The Chupacabra ate my brother! Do you understand! I saw it with my own eyes! I will never get over that, and I can never bring him back! But you are the man who gave me some peace! You killed that monster and kept it from ever harming anyone else in my country. You saved lives that day! And you have been doing it all over the world for years, over and over again!
Tabuchi looked at Isabella with deep feeling in his eyes, the brow furrowing on his smudged face. He was giving his full attention to her for the first time that morning. She wiped away more tears as she gathered herself and continued.
“Don’t let the monsters win Tabuchi-san! Even if they beat you down, don’t ever let the monsters win.”
Tabuchi was about to speak when he looked up and noticed a few dozen paces away a group of men nicely dressed in suits to be walking towards them. Isabella followed his gaze and quickly wiped her last tears away and checked herself, adjusting all the wild wind and intense conversation had displaced of her blouse and dress, and tucking the cross necklace back into its usual place.
“Representatives from Sekiyama Group, including my boss.” Tabuchi explained quickly, “And I’m guessing some more officials from the government, these higher up the chain of command. Well, Isa-san, here it comes.”
Case Handler Tabuchi stood up as if he were in the military and expecting a dishonorable discharge. Isabella backed up a few paces out of respect. The exchange that followed was entirely in Japanese, but Isabella understood most of it.
“Case Handler Kazuo Tabuchi!” said one of the foremost men, with that extremely clear air of purely dignified, Japanese matter of fact business.
“Yes boss,” Tabuchi answered, bowing to him very low.
“Before we settle any company business,” the Sekiyama executive explained, “There is someone here who wishes to speak with you in person, right here now in the field.”
“Yes sir!” Tabuchi replied, again bowing.
From the rear of the group, and out from behind two large gentlemen that were clearly bodyguards, appeared no less than the sitting Prime Minister of Japan! Tabuchi kept his bowing position, but his eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he bowed even lower. Isabella immediately recognized the Prime Minster as well, and took another two steps back in further deference.
“Kazuo Tabuchi,” the Prime Minister began, “on behalf of myself, my family, but most especially on behalf of all the people of Japan, we wish to thank you for your service to your country. Your work has saved us.”
“Ah,” was all Tabuchi could muster, which the immediate consternation on his face showed was an involuntary noise h
e did not quite choose to utter.
“You sacrificed a most valuable asset,” the Prime Minster continued, “Indeed your company’s most valuable asset was laid down to protect our capitol and spare the people who could not be evacuated from inner Tokyo. You lured the monster here to Odaiba, where all had been evacuated, and where only there are businesses and enterprises, but no homes. By putting up this fight, by showing our resolve and resistance through the efforts of your monster, you repelled our threat back to the sea. You kept Gfantis from the heart of Tokyo at all costs, and for that, the people of Tokyo and Japan most deeply thank you. Kazuo Tabuchi . . . very well done!”
All this was spoken with authentic feeling, and the Prime Minister then bowed to Tabuchi in return. The Head of State even seemed to bend forward a tad lower than was his customary bow, enough so that everyone there who was Japanese noticed.
Tabuchi might have passed out from shock, but he weathered it, though perhaps less so than one of his kaiju battles. The official thanks now completed, the attitude of the men became more casual. As they mingled, Tabuchi heaved a sigh, and turned to Isabella, giving her thankful and most obvious nod. She ventured forward enough to touch his arm in encouragement, which in that Japanese social environment, was as good as the biggest hug.
About then a large truck pulled up towing a flatbed. Still smoldering pieces of the flesh of what had once been the Itara clone were chained atop as cargo. It was not discernable what pieces of the monster they once were, though some of it was a probably claw and part of the forearm. Others might have been internal organs or just pieces of hide. The smoldering gave off a glow, even in the noonday sun that had just barely broken through the heavy cloud cover. The sunlight even appeared to increase the effect of luminescence.
One of Tabuchi’s technicians humbly approached him.
“Sir, I know you are busy,” he ventured. “But we have to get you to sign off on this. We recommend, all of us, getting these pieces back to our labs and in a secure and sterile environment as soon as possible.”
Tabuchi took the papers and clipboard the tech was offering and began to look over it. “Why so?” he asked. “What’s the hurry?”
“The radiation sir!” the tech whispered, though Isabella could overhear it. “We are getting massive readings of cosmic radiation coming from some of the Itara’s flesh. It’s almost like these cells are now sources of solar power. They are giving off an intensity we don’t understand. And . . .”
“And?” Tabuchi inquired.
“The flesh, the cells, they are somehow still metabolizing and reproducing. What isn’t burned to a crisp, those are the parts charged with the solar radiation . . . those parts are still alive!”
Tabuchi said nothing, but his eyes grew even wider than before. He hastily signed the paper, and shoved it back to the tech, who scurried to the flatbed truck, which he immediately drove away.
As Tabuchi turned back to mingle with the Prime Minster and executives from Sekiyama Group, he adjusted his tie and looked once more toward Isabella as she waved goodbye and left to find the aide who had come with her from the Consulate.
Case Handler Tabuchi finally gave a smile, and it was a meter wide. The End
The References: Wrath of Gfantis
Story by Matthew Dennion and Mark Dennion
Art by Brian Parsons
Gfantis vs the Guest Monsters Page 29
