It Is Enough
29 Jun 2018Suki Hai
Sumika Matsumoto sat on the floor of her Citi Gateway apartment, her legs crossed in the lotus position. Her hands rested lightly on her ankles, palms upwards. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow and even. The room was scented with the soothing aroma of sandalwood incense sticks, and serene koto music played from the dataslate by her side. The only light came from candles, placed at various points on the floor around her.The music came to a natural end. Sumika opened her eyes and took a deep breath. She looked straight ahead for several seconds, and reached out to pick up the dataslate. Its screen flickered into life, casting a glow on Sumika’s placid features. She tapped the screen, read the displayed information, and smiled.
“Hai,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “It is enough.”
Rising, she picked up the heavy grey blanket which lay in the corner of the room, unfolded it and spread it out on the floor. Then, after blowing out the candles, Sumika lay on the blanket and once again closed her eyes. Her dataslate now provided the room’s only source of illumination, but not for long. Sensing five minutes of inactivity, the device silently powered itself down into dormant mode, its screen dimming to blackness.
The room was dark, and Sumika drifted into sleep.
*****
To the girls with whom she worked at The Olive Grove, and to the customers who passed through its doors, she was not Sumika Matsumoto. To them her name was Suki Hai, a pseudonym given to her by the previous owner of the pleasure house. Back then it had been called the Organ Grinder, and its owner had been as crude as the name of his establishment implied. A foul-tempered, chain-smoking slob of a man, with a bottle of cheap whisky never far from his reach. Sumika, like the other girls, had found themselves trapped in service to him, kept in debt and doped into docility. Sumika had arrived on Citi Gateway in need of a steady income, and had jumped at the chance when the offer came to work at the Organ Grinder. By the time she’d realised what she’d let herself in for, it was too late to escape.
Then, in late 3303, came word that the Organ Grinder was to be sold to a new owner. A woman, named Jemine Caesar. She had spoken with each and every girl personally, assuring them that things would change for the better. She had shown them plans for the total refurbishment of the premises, complete with state-of-the-art security and – even better – adequate plumbing. There would be proper contracts of employment, with health checks and regular vacations. It was a vast improvement on what had gone before.
Two or three of the girls had chosen to leave, despite the promises made by the Caesar woman. But Sumika had opted to stay. Her skill lay not in the bedroom but in administration, and Jemine – Miss Jemine, as she quickly came to be known – had given Sumika responsibility for managing the club’s reception area.
Sumika had not told her new employer about her past life, apart from one thing; she was skilled in the martial art of tensatsuken. On learning this, Jemine had asked Sumika to teach her. And so each day, after their shifts had ended, they would go to a gymnasium where Sumika would instruct Jemine how to fight. To Sumika, the role of sensei to a willing and diligent pupil was a great honour.
But then Jemine’s health had begun to fail, and presently Sumika noticed that her employer took to surreptitiously wearing a wig. Then, one day in April 3304, Jemine had announced she was leaving Citi Gateway for an indefinite period, entrusting The Olive Grove to the joint care of Sumika and the club’s Bar Manager, Cee Klover. When Jemine returned almost exactly one month later, she was revitalised and refreshed, though her hair was very short.
A week later Jemine had asked to resume her training in tensatsuken. Sumika had advised caution against picking up too soon after so long out of practice; she insisted on spending the first few sessions in light warm-up and toning exercises, including sessions of meditation and yoga.
“I wasn’t completely out of practice, sensei,” Jemine had said. “While I was away, I was attacked by a man. He was a skilled fighter, and I was in grave danger of losing my life, but I remembered your teaching. I evaded all his strikes until, when the right moment presented itself, I struck back.”
“And did you prevail?”
“I did. I only landed one blow, but it was enough.”
“Indeed. But why did you choose to fight? Why did you not choose instead to run?”
Jemine had blinked at the unexpectedness of the question, and shook her head.
“There was... someone else. Someone I was with. He was hurt, and couldn’t run. He might have been killed if I'd left him. I couldn’t do that.”
“Ah,” Sumika said. “So you chose to fight not for yourself, but for the good of another. This pleases me. You are an apt pupil. I think you would have done well at the Hattori temple.”
“Hattori?” Jemine had asked. “Where is that?”
“It is where I learned tensatsuken,” replied Sumika. “In a system called Shinigami, where I was born.”
Sumika had said no more, and Jemine had not pressed for details. Indeed, Sumika had never discussed her past with anyone, with one exception. A woman had contacted The Olive Grove during December 3303, looking to arrange a contract for the supply of sake. The woman, whose name was Veronica Richardson, had met with Sumika for a chat at the InGaBa. It turned out that Veronica had also studied the teachings of the Hattori Clan. Recognising a kindred spirit, Sumika had found herself telling Veronica about her childhood, her training with the Hattori, and about her coming to Inara.
As the days of late May slipped into the first week of June, Sumika had gradually increased the demands on her pupil in her training. Though almost fully recovered from whatever ailment had led up to her departure from Citi Gateway, Jemine was still prone to the occasional bout of nausea.
“I have a request,” said Sumika during one of their meditation sessions. “I wish to take a vacation. One, perhaps two weeks. If it is permitted.”
“Certainly it’s permitted,” replied Jemine with a soft chuckle. “You know that. When would you like to go?”
“As soon as it is convenient. Tomorrow, if possible.”
“Tomorrow?” said Jemine. “Oh, that’s a shame. You’ll miss seeing Penny.”
"I would regret that," replied Sumika. "In that case, I will postpone my vacation until after her visit. I would very much like to see Penny-san again."
Penelope Richman had been the talk of The Olive Grove for the past couple of weeks. She had joined The Olive Grove the day after it had opened, and had quickly become something of a favourite with the regular clients because of her quirky sense of humour. Sumika recalled her fondness for dressing up in sexy, revealing costumes, and her insistence on telling her clients that her name was “Candi... with an i”. Then, one day in early May, one particular client had changed Penny’s life, offering her fame and fortune, travel and luxury. His name was Jack Cernig-Dix, and had told Penny he wanted her to provide the glamour element for a holo-series he was producing, titled “The Gourmet’s Guide To The Galaxy”.
Most of the girls had warned Penny to be wary, advising her that it wasn’t the first time some chancer had come along hoping to lure one of them to who knew what. Slave traders were well known to view brothels as easy targets to pick up cheap goods. But Cernig-Dix was different. He’d been able to prove his bona fides not only to Penny, but also to the more street-wise Cee Klover. Cee had insisted on having a “friendly chat” with Mister Cernig-Dix after he’d made his intentions known.
“Yep,” Cee had said to a hopeful Penny Richman. “I reckon this guy checks out. He’s a shipping magnate, and sure ain’t short of a credit or two. Billions of ‘em. Congratulations, Candi. Looks like you found yourself a meal ticket for life. Pay us a visit when you’re a star, huh?”
It was just the break Penny had been hoping for, and, after a tearful round of farewells, she had taken her leave of The Olive Grove. She’d already gone by the time Jemine returned.
Cernig-Dix had contacted Jemine at the end of May.
“Now, pre-production for the first episode of my show is well underway, with shooting at the Turir Grand Hotel scheduled for next week.”
“That’s very nice, Mister Cernig-Dix,” Jemine had said. “But I don’t understand why you’re—“
“Penny has told me a lot about you, Miss Caesar. I must say I was very impressed when I visited your establishment. Very impressed indeed. The thing is, I’d very much like to shoot the second episode of my show at The Olive Grove.”
“I’m flattered, but I don’t run a restaurant. I can’t provide the sort of food you’re likely to need.”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” Cernig-Dix had countered. “I’ll provide the food, and some rare beverages, too. Actually, it’s the drinks that will be the feature of this particular episode. And your pleasure house is a perfect setting. Tastefully decorated, popular with the locals... and, of course, plenty of gorgeous girls to provide the glamour.”
“Well, I don’t know...”
“Think of the publicity, Jemine. May I call you Jemine? My show will have a Bubble-wide audience. Billions of people will learn about The Olive Grove. And, I should add, you will receive a generous payment in return for your hospitality. Very generous indeed.”
Jemine had not been at all sure about the offer, but her boyfriend Sam had encouraged her to accept.
“What harm can it do, my love?” he’d said. “A bit of showbiz comes to The Olive Grove. You’ll be famous.”
And so Jemine had responded to Jack Cernig-Dix, saying she’d be delighted for him to produce his food show at The Olive Grove, and yes, she’d be happy to take part in a short interview as the owner of the venue.
The day of the recording was a whirlwind of activity. Cernig-Dix had brought along some professional makeup artists and costumiers to work on the girls, “ramping up the glamour factor” as he’d put it. A small army of catering assistants brought in the food and drink, and technicians set up an array of lights to show off The Olive Grove bar to its fullest. The show, Jemine learned from Cernig-Dix, would be broadcast in late June or early July, depending on network scheduling.
"I was dreading that interview,” Jemine told Sumika the next day in the gymnasium. “I was so nervous, I'm sure I was just babbling absolute nonsense. Maybe they'll just leave it out."
“Do not concern yourself,” Sumika replied. “You spoke well. And it was good to see Penny-san again. Even if I did have to pretend to greet her six times before we got it right for Cernig-Dix-san’s camera!”
At the end of the session, Sumika raised the subject of her vacation, saying she would very much like to leave the next day, if Miss Jemine had no objection.
“By all means,” Jemine replied. “Are you going somewhere nice?”
“I am going home. To Shinigami.”
*****
“Welcome to my humble abode, Miss Matsumoto,” said the grossly obese man who sat before Sumika. “I trust you have had a safe journey to Shinigami?”
“Hai, Pilkington-san,” replied Sumika with a deep bow of respect. “I am honoured that you welcome me to your beautiful residence.”
“Quite so,” said Pilkington, a slight air of impatience in his tone. “And now that the formalities are out of the way, shall we proceed to business?”
Pilkington languidly produced a dataslate from a pocket in his capacious robe and laid it on the coffee table in front of Sumika. She, in turn, produced her own dataslate from her duffle bag and tapped its display twice. A moment later there was a simultaneous beep from both devices.
“You have a bargain, Miss Matsumoto,” said Pilkington. “A veritable bargain. I feel positively philanthropic. I’m almost giving her to you at that price.”
Sumika bowed her head.
“That price,” she said, “is all the money I have, Pilkington-san. To me it is a most considerable sum. I have saved every spare credit for many years.”
“Really?” said Pilkington, totally disinterested. With a bored sigh he clicked his fingers.
As if awaiting the signal, a woman in her late twenties entered the room. She wore a plain robe of black. Her features strongly resembled those of Sumika, though there was a look of trepidation on her downcast face. Pilkington heaved himself up from his large armchair.
“I shall leave you to become acquainted with your property. You may see yourself out,” he said, and wobbled off.
Sumika took a step towards the woman, and gave her a polite bow. The woman bowed in return, though it was a much deeper, more formal bow of respect.
“What is your name?” asked Sumika.
“Harumi.”
"Tell me,” said Sumika, “have you been content with your life here, as a slave?"
The woman nodded uncertainly. "It was necessary," she replied. "When I was a small girl, my father was a farmer. His--"
"His entire crop failed," Sumika continued, "and he fell into great debt. To pay his debt, your father was obliged to sell his daughters into slavery. But it was not enough to pay his debt, and so he sold himself to slavery also."
The woman’s eyes widened, but kept silent. To speak without permission would have been insolent in the extreme.
“Do you know who I am?” Sumika asked, her voice gentle.
The woman kept her eyes lowered in subservience. “Hai,” she answered in a whisper. “You are my new mistress.”
Sumika shook her head. “You are mistaken. I am not your mistress. Do you not recognise me, Harumi Matsumoto? Your father had seven daughters, but sold only six into slavery. I am the daughter he did not sell. I am your younger sister, Sumika. And now you are free.”
Harumi let out a loud gasp of surprise. Then, tears of joy welling up in her eyes, she fell to her knees, hands clasped to her chest.
"Stand up," said Sumika. “You must not kneel before me. No longer must you kneel before anyone, for you are no longer a slave.”
“But,” replied Harumi, her voice tremulous as she rose to her feet, “I have been a slave ever since I can remember. I know no other life. How, then, shall I use my freedom? Tell me what to do, imouto.”
“I will not,” replied Sumika. “Your path is for you alone to choose.”
“And you... what will you do next?”
Sumika picked up her dataslate and put it into her duffle bag.
“I will stay at the Hattori temple near Mikawa Village,” she said. “Just for a few days, to meditate. And then I will return to Inara, to the place where I have made my home. There I will again begin to save all my credits, until I am able to free another of our sisters from her slavery. And then another, and another, until all our sisters are free. And, one day perhaps, our father also. It will take a long time. Many years.”
“Then I will come with you,” Harumi said. “I will find work at Inara, and save all my credits also. We will free our sisters together. If we save together it will not take so long.”
Sumika took her sister’s hand. “Think carefully before you make up your mind on this, Harumi. My path has been one of constant sacrifice. Is this how you would spend your freedom? Is it what you truly want?”
Tears still streaming down her face, Harumi Matsumoto smiled at her sister and nodded.
“It is enough.”
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Author's Note
A special thank you to Jack Cernig-Dix for his input and support for this story.