Saitoh caught the little gasp she made when he touched her hand, but said nothing. He didn’t need to. It was enough to know that she, like he, was also affected by close proximity.
(Theory tested…theory confirmed) it was the way he worked; a lifetime of analytical thinking couldn’t help but spill out into other aspects of his life. But there was only so much that a linear mode of thought could offer either of them in this case. Logic could not, for example, explain how something as simple as skin or eye contact could generate a wellspring of peace and stillness. Reason could not account for memories, for recollections of another time, another place, for a sense of familiarity (a sense of family) he thought as he looked down at her, his expression thoughtful as she explained her own theories and ideas about what could have triggered what he could only describe as an intense emotional awakening.
“Have you heard anything about a new designer drug, probably dispersed by aerosol, possibly timed-release, that causes people to lose control of their emotions or to hallucinate, one that implants false memories in a person’s mind?”
He thought carefully, giving her idea the consideration it deserved. “When I served in the war, there was, near the end of the conflict, a chemical attack on a nearby company of soldiers,” He’d watched with the other officers as a hazy green mist settled over the encampment across the Sumida, a nearly transparent cloud that smelled vaguely of almond oil. For a few minutes, there was nothing in the aftermath of the silent attack, no sound from the barracks and bunkers, then it began, first in whimpers and groans, then terrified screams and anguished shouts erupted.
“It was an aerosol gas that attacked the central nervous system, resulting in hallucinations and a complete and utter loss of emotional control.” It had shaken him, watching men and women, people he’d fought beside reduced to screaming, sobbing wrecks as the nerve agent ate them from the inside and caused their brain matter to break down at the cellular level. “So, yes, the technology exists to create a weapon that fit the parameters you described. Therefore it is possible, that some variant, something more benign was released into the air yesterday.”
He paused, and looked at her carefully, trying to read and understand the emotions that moved over her beautiful face like low lying clouds in the summer. “It is possible, Takagi-san, but not probable. There were other survivors at the diner, Susanoo-san and the bus boy. I have reviewed their statements and neither of them complained of any atypical neurological reactions. And while it is conceivable that an agent could be introduced and potentially spread through touch, or close human proximity, I do not know how such an agent could ensure that two people, who have to the best of their knowledge never met and never spoken, could experience the same hallucinations or receive memories of one another. There is no drug, no gas or scientific explanation that I know of that can account adequately for what has occurred.”
She was frightened, he could see the worry and confusion blossoming in her grey eyes and wanted to protect her from it, but in this case could not and would not. To do so, would be a disservice to them both. Still, he would not have her come to an understanding alone.
“If you are going mad, then so am I,” he acknowledged quietly, allowing a barrier to fall between them. “And this…” he reached over and put a hand on her slender shoulder, a steadying supportive hand, “whatever this ends up being…it is not madness.”
Unbidden, memories of breaking, of shattering, of becoming a pale, intoxicated shade of the man he should have been came to mind, “I would know the difference, because I have…” he paused, his eyes becoming stark and looked away for a moment, “because I know all too well what it is like to fall into such a state, and I give you my word, that I would tell you honestly if I thought ourselves compromised.”
no subject
(Theory tested…theory confirmed) it was the way he worked; a lifetime of analytical thinking couldn’t help but spill out into other aspects of his life. But there was only so much that a linear mode of thought could offer either of them in this case. Logic could not, for example, explain how something as simple as skin or eye contact could generate a wellspring of peace and stillness. Reason could not account for memories, for recollections of another time, another place, for a sense of familiarity (a sense of family) he thought as he looked down at her, his expression thoughtful as she explained her own theories and ideas about what could have triggered what he could only describe as an intense emotional awakening.
“Have you heard anything about a new designer drug, probably dispersed by aerosol, possibly timed-release, that causes people to lose control of their emotions or to hallucinate, one that implants false memories in a person’s mind?”
He thought carefully, giving her idea the consideration it deserved. “When I served in the war, there was, near the end of the conflict, a chemical attack on a nearby company of soldiers,” He’d watched with the other officers as a hazy green mist settled over the encampment across the Sumida, a nearly transparent cloud that smelled vaguely of almond oil. For a few minutes, there was nothing in the aftermath of the silent attack, no sound from the barracks and bunkers, then it began, first in whimpers and groans, then terrified screams and anguished shouts erupted.
“It was an aerosol gas that attacked the central nervous system, resulting in hallucinations and a complete and utter loss of emotional control.” It had shaken him, watching men and women, people he’d fought beside reduced to screaming, sobbing wrecks as the nerve agent ate them from the inside and caused their brain matter to break down at the cellular level. “So, yes, the technology exists to create a weapon that fit the parameters you described. Therefore it is possible, that some variant, something more benign was released into the air yesterday.”
He paused, and looked at her carefully, trying to read and understand the emotions that moved over her beautiful face like low lying clouds in the summer. “It is possible, Takagi-san, but not probable. There were other survivors at the diner, Susanoo-san and the bus boy. I have reviewed their statements and neither of them complained of any atypical neurological reactions. And while it is conceivable that an agent could be introduced and potentially spread through touch, or close human proximity, I do not know how such an agent could ensure that two people, who have to the best of their knowledge never met and never spoken, could experience the same hallucinations or receive memories of one another. There is no drug, no gas or scientific explanation that I know of that can account adequately for what has occurred.”
She was frightened, he could see the worry and confusion blossoming in her grey eyes and wanted to protect her from it, but in this case could not and would not. To do so, would be a disservice to them both. Still, he would not have her come to an understanding alone.
“If you are going mad, then so am I,” he acknowledged quietly, allowing a barrier to fall between them. “And this…” he reached over and put a hand on her slender shoulder, a steadying supportive hand, “whatever this ends up being…it is not madness.”
Unbidden, memories of breaking, of shattering, of becoming a pale, intoxicated shade of the man he should have been came to mind, “I would know the difference, because I have…” he paused, his eyes becoming stark and looked away for a moment, “because I know all too well what it is like to fall into such a state, and I give you my word, that I would tell you honestly if I thought ourselves compromised.”