Read Dead Roots (The Analyst) for Free Online Page B

myself. We'll meet with Harold Saldana, the director of all sanctioned Medium activity in Tokyo. Knowing him, we'll probably then go out for dinner in a four-star restaurant, and he'll treat us to an evening's entertainment.”
    “Classy. Is it like this for all Mediums here?”
    “Not always, but when Harold is in season, he is a particularly generous host.”
    “Huh,” Tom said, as he took his last slurp of coffee. He finally pulled back the foil on his airline meal, and looked down at the block of scrambled eggs and pale sausages. He poked at them with his fork, daring himself to take a mouthful, if only to have something in his stomach. “Maybe this won't be so bad.”
    “It won't. As usual, you'll have a day of observation with the Medium. If you like we can take a day trip to the village where I grew up out in the countryside.”
    “What are we, dating?”
    Keda laughed. “I am just offering. I visit home at least once a year. I will be back. If there are some sights you'd particularly like to see, let me know.”
    In spite of himself, Tom offered a small smile. “That's nice of you, really.”
    “You seem like a man who needs a vacation. I'm happy to oblige.”
    “Don't worry too much about me.” Tom sighed. “You're being awfully gracious about all this.”
    Keda offered his usual strange, vacant smile. “I understand stress, Mr. Bell. Do try to enjoy yourself.”
    “Yeah...”
    The seatbelt sign above them lit up. Tom buckled himself back in and set his chair upright. He might make it through this after all.
     
    ********
     
    The very first stop was the smoking lounge.
    Tom breathed a huge, cloudy sigh of relief after the smoke entered his lungs. He sunk into the hard leather seat, and caught eyes with a middle-aged Japanese man in a suit sitting across from him. The man nodded gently in recognition, sucking in a lungful from his own cigarette. Tom smiled at him.
    “Twelve hours in that cabin. I thought I'd kill myself.”
    “ Sumimasen. No English,” the man replied with a warm smile. Tom brought two fingers up to his head, miming shooting himself. He took another long drag off his smoke and sighed, emphatically placing a hand on his chest for effect. The man gave a polite laugh and relaxed into his own seat. It struck Tom that he knew absolutely no Japanese. He wasn't sure how well he was going to get along without it. At least he'd have Keda to help.
    Tom took his cellphone out of his pocket and flipped it open. Navigating to his inbox, he saw a brief communique from Margaret.
    Let me know when you get in , it said simply. He knew the drill, it was protocol, but it was still nice that she put in the effort.
    On ground. Getting cancer. Off to hotel with Keda in a few minutes , he punched in and hit the reply button.
    He looked around the room. Other passengers were finishing up their smoke breaks and filing out of the lounge, almost as if called by some silent siren. When in Rome, he figured. He took down the last of his smoke as quickly as he could, but was still left by himself for a long moment. With a sigh, he drew his phone again, and resigned his dignity for long enough to punch in another reply to Margaret.
    How are you?
    He chided himself gently for making himself so available, before standing up. He stepped out into the arrival gate. There wasn't much in this part of the terminal. Passengers filing down a long hallway, both sides grey-and-white, and broken up with windows that offered a view out onto the tarmac. There were some drinking fountains, entrances to bathrooms, and several moving walkways between him and baggage claim. He had nothing to claim, so he'd be out of here reasonably fast.
    Keda emerged from a nearby bathroom. He stopped to drink at a waist-high fountain. Tom caught up to him, fiddling with his pocket to affirm the continued presence of his pack of cigarettes. He was nearly out.
    “There a duty free?” he asked. Keda stood up straight, adjusting the strap of his