Copyright 2012 by Robert Bush
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. . . and there is nobody more terrible than the desperate
Field Marshal Aleksandr V. Suvorov, 1799
8 April 2155
A bolt of lightning lit the boardroom. The terrible rip of thunder that followed was muted by the glass that formed the south wall. Torrents of rain, swept in from the sea, pounded the windows obscuring the view of the bay.
Around a conference table by the windows, six men awaited the arrival of the president and vice president of the company. None of them spoke. Some nervously toyed with their pencils; others stared at their hands. With each blast of thunder, the tension in the room increased. Only Tomonaga, the youngest member, was calm. At the far end of the polished table, he sat with Zen like serenity, gazing out the window at the raging storm.
In an elevator rising to the board room level, still three minutes from arriving, two men watched the digital indicator count the floors on their way to the top of the world headquarters building. They had just left the company’s laboratories beneath the building. Fuchita, the president, broke the silence. “Have you noticed the fact that as we ascend to the hundred and sixtieth floor of this building, our plan will send technicians, Hiryu and Akagi, one hundred and sixty years into the past?”