They were completely peerless, species unknown. How many people were there, and just what types of people comprised this “team”? These things were all shrouded in mystery.
And what did they do?
Everything.
They did everything, that was all you could say about it. They did so much of everything, there was nothing they didn’t do. They wreaked havoc, havoc, and more havoc. I wasn’t in Japan at the time, so I didn’t get to see it firsthand, but they say it was such full-on, ludicrous havoc that it was practically refreshing, lending no hint as to their motives or aims. Beginning with pure hacking and cracking, they also had their hands in corporate advising and fixer fraud. It’s also quietly speculated that, back then, they controlled a number of large corporations.
But you couldn’t say they existed solely as a nuisance. For better or worse, it was thanks to them that the overall level of network technology improved drastically. You could even say they forced it. If you looked at it through a fine-toothed comb, sure there were losses, but in the big picture, the gains outweighed them tenfold.
But, of course, the fat cats upstairs saw them as little more than pesky, law-breaking criminals, a hacking, cracking eyesore. Thus the “team” went on, despised and pursued. But they were never caught, and exactly what they were doing was never brought to light. Then, sometime last year, suddenly and without anything in particular having happened, they were never heard from again. It was as though they had just burned out and vanished.
“Yo, what’s wrong, Ii-chan? You’re quiet all of a sudden.”
“Nah… nothing.”
She flipped her hair with a giggle.
“Yeah, I guess it’s nothing…”
It was in that way that the “team” met what was, in a sense, an anticlimactic end. Who would believe the leader of that now-defunct team was this happy-go-lucky girl still in her teens? Exactly who in their right mind would believe something so nonsensical that it couldn’t even be mistaken for a sick joke?
But if that wasn’t the case, Kunagisa wouldn’t have been invited to this genius-ridden island. Not as a communication and systems engineering specialist.
“How could I not have a complex, Shinya-san?”
“Huh? Did you say something?” Kunagisa glanced up at me for a moment.
“Just babbling,” I said. “So ‘Geocide,’ doesn’t that mean ‘Earth murder’?”
“Yup. Of all the existing OS’s, it’s probably the most awesome. Geocide is number one. Even the RASIS is perfect.”
“Sometimes I think you use those big words just to tick me off. What’s a RASIS?”
“It’s an acronym for reliability, availability, serviceability, integrity, security. But of course, that’s in English,” she said a bit irritably.
“Basically it means stability. Of course it requires a high-performance system, but it won’t cause errors or anything like that. Man, that Atchan really is a genius. Hehehe.”
“Atchan, huh? Sounds like you two are pretty close.”
“Hmm? Jealous? Hmm? Hmm?” she said with a strangely pleased tone and naughty smirk. “It’s okay. I like you best of all.”
“Ah, right. ‘Preciate that.” I shrugged and tried to change the subject. “But if it’s such an amazing OS, why not market it? If it sold like Windows, you’d make a fortune.”
“No can do. You know about increasing returns, right? With an OS this different, we’d never catch up. Business goes beyond skill or talent.”
Increasing returns. The law of economics that states “the more you have, the more you get,” which does nothing for what you don’t have. It had been awhile since I’d studied it, so I didn’t remember it very clearly, but to put it simply, “once a significantly problematic difference has appeared, it is impossible to bury that difference.” Whether it be in regards to skill or money, it seemed to make no difference.
“Besides, Atchan was satisfied just by creating Geocide. Atchan’s a very self-satisfied person.”
“Hey, yeah, must be very happy.”
“Even if that wasn’t the case, I don’t think it would be possible to market it. Even though it’s just core software, it requires some pretty outrageous specs. Seriously astronomical figures. Even my machine just barely cuts it.”
“Hmm. How many gigs is your hard disk? About a hundred?”
“One hundred tera.”
Different unit.
“Tera… that’s the opposite of pico, so… a thousand times a gig?”
“Nope, 1,024 times.”
Nitpicky chick.
“Man, I’ve never seen a hard disk like that.”
“To be specific, it’s not a hard disk; it’s holographic memory. Unlike hard disks, which record data with magnets, this records data onto a surface. It’s capable of one tera per second rapid transfer. What you’d find on the market is, well, quite a bit slower. This is the kind of media they’re using in the development of space technology.”
She had those kinds of connections, too?
She belonged to an altogether dubious community.
“Of course, this goes for the machine’s capacity as well, but if the motherboard specs aren’t customized home brew as well, you’re probably out of luck. Atchan just makes things without considering any of the surrounding circumstances, y’see. So they just end up like this. He doesn’t try to suit things to other people.”
“Motherboard home brew? There are people who do that?”
“Like yours truly, for one.” She indicated herself with her thumb.
That’s right. She was an engineer, after all. She must’ve been the culprit providing her “teammates” with the hardware and software that were to be their main “weapons.” If you thought about it, it was fairly disturbing. It was one thing to develop a seemingly unmarketable OS like that, but to take it and build your own motherboard for it was just plain freakish.
“Mr. Earth Murder aside, haven’t you ever considered selling this stuff? Like that motherboard you’re so proud of?”
“I’m the self-satisfied type, too How ‘bout you, Ii-chan?”
“Hmm, I wonder.”
Regardless of talent or lack thereof, in the end all people are classified into two groups: those who pursue and those who create. My own case notwithstanding, Kunagisa was overwhelmingly the latter.
“Besides, as far as money is concerned, I’ve got plenty and
✦ ✦ ✦
then some. I’m not thinking about making any more right now.”
“Ah, no wonder.”
That was true. Kunagisa wasn’t in a position that demanded she immediately go into business. It wouldn’t be much of an exaggeration to say she spent money like it was water. A nineteen-year-old occupying a high-class, two-floor condo in Shirosaki and spending money as fast as she could. I didn’t know how many people out there had more money than Kunagisa, but surely no one individual spent as much.
Between the Akagami Foundation and the Kunagisa household, who held the greater power was beyond my realm of knowledge, but either way, they both possessed enough of a fortune to enjoy the best things in life and still get change back, that much was certain.
Speaking of which, Kunagisa resembled the master of this island, Iria, in that she, too, was semi-exiled from her family. Perhaps they were similar people. In the three days I had spent on the island, signs indeed pointed to the contrary, but, well, they were both eccentric, that was for sure. So much so that it would have been impossible for them to blend into any group or be members of any organization.
Surely that’s how it was.
In which case, this island…
The meaning of this so-called island of wet crow’s feathers…
Kunagisa returned to her typing.
“I’m gonna go have breakfast. What about you?”
“No, thanks. Not hungry. It’s mating season. Ii-chan, go ahead on your own. Eat for me, too.”
Gotcha, I said, and headed for the dining room.