Afterward they stopped at a bar, right across the street from the one where Eiji had paused to wait for Minsuk’s workday to end just a few hours before. He’d been struggling with some guilt over the fact that for how busy he’d been up until now, he wouldn’t be able to tell Minsuk much about it since so much of the information was classified secret. He knew that what he’d told her about Saitou’s speech the last time they’d spent together must have piqued her curiosity in a way that had left some suspense, but he also knew that officially he was not at liberty to talk about anything he’d learned since – and that the punishments for doing so could be severe.
To his surprise, however, as they sipped sake and chewed skewers of squid at the bar, Minsuk produced from her coat the first real Citizenship Unit Eiji had seen. He recognized it from the slides he’d been shown during training, but here it was, Minsuk’s own, complete with a small metal plate into which “Sayaka Hayashi” was etched in Old Meihonese, above a serial number consisting mostly of zeroes.
“It’s called a black drive,” Minsuk said. “Have you heard about these?”
Eiji nodded, staring at it. “They told us about them in the retraining classes… but they said they wouldn’t start to issue them for another month.”
Minsuk nodded, handing it to him. “Commerce Guild establishments and personnel are getting ours in advance. They want us to already be familiar with the new technology by the time everyone starts using it.”
Eiji turned the thin metal box over in his hands, looking at the connection ports on it. In the end there wasn’t that much to look at, but it was fascinating nonetheless when you knew what it was. He handed it back to her.
“Digital purses,” Minsuk said with a laugh as she took it back. “There’s a separate unit for the restaurant itself too,” she explained, sipping from her cup. “They’ve already got us taking our income to the conversion center once a week, where they confiscate it and program the balance into the restaurant’s black drive. In fact,” she leaned close to him and lowered her voice, “one of the girls at the conversion center converted my all my savings to a digital balance on this thing,” she lifted the black drive, “without actually confiscating the paper money, since I’ll still need it until the full network goes live.”
“Goes live?” Eiji said.
“Sorry,” Minsuk said, “that’s techie jargon I picked up from the people who came to explain it all to us. It’s what they call the electronic system going into effect. When that happens, there will be a one-month grace period, after which paper and coin money will be worthless. And thanks to what that girl at the conversion center did for me, I can spend my entire savings without spending it at all, as long as I do it before then.”
Eiji raised his eyebrows. “That’s a pretty good deal.”
Minsuk laughed. “It’s not actually that much money.”
—–
So she said, but she insisted on taking him out on her tab to the grand opening of a massive restaurant in the heart of the Commerce District. The restaurant served “authentic cuisine” of the Old Shin Empire, which at that time was coming into high fashion, and claimed to be the first and only place in the capital where food cooked true to the origins of the style could be had. It occupied three entire floors at the top of a brand new glass high-rise – an entire floor was needed to accommodate the kitchen facilities and store-rooms alone, as this restaurant had been granted a special permit to do its own brewing of beers and distilling of liquors, its own processing and aging of raw foodstuffs, its own butchering, and to a limited extent, even its own slaughtering. There was a special elevator incorporated into the design of the building, Minsuk explained to Eiji, specifically for live animals to be brought up to the restaurant out of sight.
The head chef was extremely famous in restaurant and bar circles, and even enjoyed some exposure among the general public because his word-of-mouth popularity had generated Culture Journal articles and televised specials about him. His name was Jiayang Yu, and he was the great-grandson of the head palace chef for the last Shin Emperor prior to Meihonese conquest. He was known for having single-handedly brought about a localist culinary revival in a province where Meihonese cooking had for two whole generations been the sole choice among the cultured elite. Now he had left his homeland to cook Old Shin style for the Meihonese conquerors themselves in the heart of their imperial capital. Whether he had come of his own free will, was lured, or was coerced was anyone’s guess – and there was no shortage of guessing being done by those talking about it.
As it happened, the opening of this restaurant turned out to be quite a social event. It was attended by important personages from every bureau and guild, from prolific artists and poets and musicians to captains of industry and commerce to imperial courtesans to celebrated generals (indeed, Forward General Saitou was among the faces Eiji recognized from the loftiest reaches of the military). Eiji half-expected for the Emperor himself to make an appearance, although of course it was to be assumed that carousing in the districts was beneath the dignity of the Divine Throne of Light.
Innocent as she and Eiji both were to the mechanisms of high society in the capital, Minsuk had heard about this grand opening from her Commerce Guild coworkers and presumed it to be like the opening of any other restaurant or business; that is, an occasion which any and all interested from the public were free to patronize. But the reality was that Minsuk’s bosses, let alone their apprentice, would not normally have been welcome at the event. This was glaringly obvious as soon as they arrived, and indeed she and Eiji were only allowed inside the restaurant at all because an inebriated Kensuke Yamanoue, the most famous living poet in the empire, happened to be passing by the entrance as the hosts were about to send them away. True to his reputation as having an outspoken and at times iconoclastic personality, he had interrupted.
“This guy’s a war hero, he’s the talk of the city,” Kensuke Yamanoue insisted, eyes and cheeks red. Though not exactly articulate, he showed an incredible amount of control in forcing his words not to slur despite the reek of drink upon him. “Let him in or I’m leaving, and I’m remembering your names on my way out.”
And so they were seated, in the middle of what was essentially a huge private party. Eiji felt immediately insecure at how under-dressed he and Minsuk suddenly turned out to be in the midst of this formal affair (not to mention that they were both still somewhat mussed and rumpled from their quickie in the alleyway). But more than their wardrobes, their very lives suddenly seemed irrelevant amongst these giants.
In contrast, Minsuk was not moved to this kind of intimidation – at least not to any extent that Eiji could detect. She carried herself just as comfortably as if she were in a local grillroom. She was, however, extremely interested in this opportunity to study the restaurant up close, as well as to become acquainted with the clientele whose patronage made something of its scale possible. She had the look of a scientist performing a dissection behind the charm and ease of her mannerisms, and if Eiji didn’t ask her what she was thinking, it was out of a respectful awe that was afraid to interrupt it, and not because he wasn’t interested.
But Kensuke Yamanoue wasn’t the only one there who recognized Eiji, nor did anyone seem to mind that he had been let in, even dressed as he was in the extremely plain and in those times curious affect of a soldier attempting to appear civilian. Suddenly he was Commander Daitokai of the Great Unit Mirai – a legitimized person of importance. He was also of great interest to this social circle as a hardened veteran of front line combat, which they were all far enough removed from to be able to romanticize. Even his seeming ignorance of, or else disregard for, the standards of dress and manner at such an event only heightened his mystique.
Eiji had hardly begun to understand his own transformation of status; but apparently it had already, as the term goes, gone live.
It created a stir when, to each cluster of people who came up to Eiji for introductions and to probe him with questions, he introduced his wife-to-be. “This is my fiancée,” he said each time, and since he was never in the habit of calling her Sayaka, “Minsuk Im.”
Only a few made visible signs of surprise at the introduction, but the gossip followed for months after. “This patriotic hero of the empire,” they began chattering as soon as they were out of earshot, “is marrying a Hansillan! And a commerce apprentice.”
“It will either ruin his career,” the talk went, “or become the new fashion.”
