Before long, the slides ended, and the room brightened again.

"I'll open up the floor now if anyone has any questions..."

At that moment, Kiyomi's right arm twitched.

By the time she realized it, her hand had shot straight up into the air.

Ishihara was visibly surprised at this. Some of the students turned around and gave her a quizzical look. Toshiaki, who was about to pack up the slide projector, stopped what he was doing.

"Go ahead, please ."The professor smiled and pointed at her.

Kiyomi wondered if she was dreaming as she stood, poised and tall. Her lips moved of their own accord. She had no idea what she was saying.

"In today's lecture, you pointed out that mitochondria are, in essence, enslaved by the nuclei of their hosts. True, mitochondrial DNA codes only rRNA and tRNA and just a few other enzymes of the electron transport chain, so it would seem impossible for mitochondria to survive on their own. According to your explanation, this came about because the nucleus extracted hereditary information originally held by mitochondria. But don't you think it's a bit rash to conclude that mitochondria were therefore enslaved by nuclei? Couldn't we say the opposite is true? In other words, it could well be the case that mitochondria actively sent genes into nuclei, of their own volition. Not all of the nuclear genome has been sequenced yet. Perhaps, in the portions that haven't been a.n.a.lyzed yet, we'll find crucial genes that mitochondria secretly inserted into nuclei. What if the proteins encoded by those genes are as yet unknown nuclei-shifting receptors that can manipulate copies and translations of the host's genes? This would cast mitochondrial symbiosis in a whole new light, I think. In short, isn't the following hypothesis tenable? Namely that, in the near future, these parasites we call mitochondria will enslave their hosts The room was dead silent, save for the low whir of the slide projector fan. No one moved a muscle. Ishihara just stood there with mouth agape.

Leaves rustled as a gust of wind blew the trees outside. At this, everyone turned away or coughed nervously. The professor scanned the room and, picking Toshiaki out from among the crowd, glared at him as if to say, "What the h.e.l.l was that all about?"The students began to stir. Kiyomi sat down calmly. She straightened her back and smiled, staring Ishihara right in the eye.

"Er, well, that was out of the blue, but an excellent question."

The professor forced an embarra.s.sed cough. He was trembling slightly and at a total loss for an answer. Kiyomi flashed him a look of ridicule. Upon noticing this, he choked back his discomfort and faltered as he attempted an answer. But soon his words ebbed into silence.

He was certainly accepting of criticism, but the ideas she had proposed were too outlandish for him. It was simply a viewpoint no researchers held. He tried his best to wrap his mind around it, but failed.

Just as I thought...1 was right. Only Toshiaki genuinely understands mitochondria. HE IS MY TARGET. I?.

Kiyomi looked up suddenly.

At that moment, she regained control over her body. She slumped forward.

Her hand unconsciously grabbed the desk, stopping herself just before she hit her chin on the seat in front of her.

Who was this "I'?

She could not shake the feeling that her heart was slouching forth into a bottomless abyss.

That morning, Toshiaki and Kiyomi left home at the same time.

Kiyomi woke up at her usual hour, prepared breakfast, and ate together with her husband. It was a traditional meal featuring salmon and eggs cooked in the j.a.panese style.

When they stepped outside of the apartment door, a weak morning sunlight shone down from a break in the clouds. Walking down the stairs together, they b.u.mped into the couple who lived on the second floor, and they all exchanged slight bows.

"Okay, I'm off," said Toshiaki.

Kiyomi beamed him a smile and waved to him as he got into the driver's seat. Then she got into her recently purchased compact. She put her handbag on the pa.s.senger's seat and started the engine. The night before, she had written a letter to Chika for the first time in a long while. Kiyomi had become lazy about keeping in touch with old friends and wanted to regain some semblance of reliability. The letter was only pleasantries, but she thought it might rekindle what was once a frequent exchange between them.

After making sure the letter was in her bag, she unconsciously took out her wallet to see if she had her driver's license with her. Sandwiched carefully in between her license and auto-registration membership was her kidney donor card.

She started the car forward. Toshiaki pulled out behind her. She turned right, Toshiaki turned left, his waving figure reflected in her rear-view mirror.

Kiyomi drove for about five minutes through the neighborhood streets until she came out onto the main road. A bit congested, but no more than usual. It was a route she had traveled hundreds of times. Before long, the street sloped gently downward. The flow of traffic quickened as the road bore to the right. She watched the sky spreading out overhead through the windshield.

And just after she saw the traffic light change to yellow beyond the curve, her sight faded to black.

20.

"Mariko is sleeping," said the nurse as she and Anzai pa.s.sed each other in the hallway.

He responded with a small bow.

Visiting hours would be over soon. He could not put himself through this routine much longer, spending a few awkward hours in Mariko's room before returning to work.

There were, in fact, times when Anzai wondered why he even came at all. She was still putting up a front. He tried talking to her, but it was useless. Even before all this, they had hardly talked. Try as he might, the words just never came out.

So why was he even here?

He was only coming out of duty to his daughter.

Anzai had to admit that he was much more at ease at work. He no longer understood his own feelings.

When he opened the sickroom door and peeked inside, Mariko was sleeping just as the nurse had said, her body rising and falling with quiet breaths.

He closed the door softly so as not to wake her, walked silently over, and sat at her bedside.

She turned a little towards him in her sleep.

It had been a long time since he looked directly upon his daughter's face. He was ashamed to realize this. He saw Mariko every day now, and had not even gotten a good look at her.

Her lips were slightly open and slender eyelashes extended from her closed eyelids.

Her nose was still youthful and her cheeks faintly red from a slight fever. He had never noticed it before, but she bore a striking resemblance to her late mother. After Mariko was born, relatives often said she'd taken after her mother, yet Anzai didn't really see it back then.

Looking at her now, however, the traces left behind were uncanny.

He regretted not having done more for her. He let his head fall into his hands.

Just then, she began moaning.

He looked up worriedly.

Mariko was frowning. She was not fully awake, but her arms moved above her body as if trying to push something away. Anzai a.s.sumed she was just having a bad dream, but she looked to be in serious pain. Her voice grew louder. "Mariko, what's wrong?"

Anzai stood up and reached out a hand to touch her, but she rolled over and brushed him away.

"You okay, Mariko?"

She practically screamed, kicking her legs back and forth. It was so sudden that Anzai had no idea what to do.

"Go away," Mariko said deliriously. "No... Go away, go away..." "Mariko, wake up."

He tried holding her body down, grabbing hold of her shins to restrain her. Without warning, her body sprung up into the air.

The force of it shoved him away hard. He fell to the floor and stared at her in blank amazement.

Mariko's abdomen undulated like a net full of fish.

"Mariko, get up! Wake up!" he shouted, now shaking her by the shoulders. Something was terribly wrong here.

"Mariko! Mariko!" he screamed desperately.

It stopped. She opened her eyes slowly.

"Oh!" Anzai breathed, and embraced her.

"Dad..." She wrapped her arms around his back.

"It's okay...it's over now..."

He caressed her hair, relieved she was awake.

"Dad...did you save me...?"

"You were having a nightmare."

"...that person...did the person die?"

"What person?"

"The one who was just here..."

She was obviously still half-dreaming.

"There's no one else here. Just me."

"Really...?"

"Yes, really."

There was a pattering sound, followed by a nurse's dramatic entry.

"What happened? I heard shouting."

"Mariko was having a nightmare," Anzai explained. "A real bad one from the looks of it..."

"Not again," said the nurse in exasperation.

"What do you mean again? Has this been happening a lot?"

"Yes, she's been having bad dreams almost every night. Didn't the doctor talk to you about it?"

"He mentioned it in pa.s.sing, but...1 had no idea it was this bad."

"She usually calms down after an hour, but it's been getting worse this past week... She even pulled out her IV tube."

"Can't someone be here for her at night?"

"We used to take turns staying with her right after the operation, but lately we've been too busy... We do come in regularly to see how she's doing."

"I see. Then why don't I take care of her? Would you mind?"

"No, not at all. I have other patients who need a lot of attention, so it would be a great help."

Anzai was burning with anger.

"But what about the nightmares? I had no idea it was so severe!"

The nurse sighed.

"Please, just go home for today. Visiting hours are actually over, anyway... It'll be okay, I'll inform the doctor and we'll all take better care of her, rest a.s.sured."

"But..."

He looked back and forth between the nurse and his daughter. Mariko seemed dead tired and let herself fall back into bed.

Anzai finally gave in. He made to leave, but Mariko eyed him uneasily.

"...I'm scared," she said in a meek voice which struck at his heart.

"Everything's fine, I'll come again tomorrow." It was all he could say.

"...really?"

"Really."

He managed a smile.

"I'm here today to report that we have successfully introduced clofibrate in rat livers and generated unsaturated fatty acid beta oxidation enzymes in their mitochondria..."

Asakura was practicing in the seminar room. Her presentation was tomorrow. She had to get everything down today.

The conference would last three days and was being held at the local event hall. Her presentation was set to begin at 5:20 pm, the last one on opening day. Toshiaki's would be at two that same afternoon. Poster sessions would also be on the day's agenda, clearing half of the presenters from their seminar. They all planned to go out for a drink after Asakura's presentation was done.

When Toshiaki asked if she needed any help before he left for home, she a.s.sured him everything was fine, though some nervousness lingered.