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〃But sensei； look out there；〃 Tori had said； pointing to the exquisite garden。 〃You are always surrounded by nature。 I don't understand。〃
Sensei had smiled。 〃I urge you to look again at the garden on which I lavish so much attention。 Is it nature？ When we wander the lush hillsides of Yoshino； that is nature； when we climb the alps to the north； that is nature。 But this garden？ No。 It is a product of my imagination。 Everything is made； dwarfed； bonsaied； controlled by me or by one of my students。 This garden is what I want it to be； nothing more； certainly not nature。 Not yet。
〃The perfect garden； Tori…san； is a simulacrum of nature； it merges with nature to bee one with it。 But there is no such thing as a perfect garden； and there never will be。 The result； though we work all our lives toward it； is too frightening a prospect； because if it ever came about； we would； by definition； lose our control over it； and that can never be allowed。〃
Facades and a sense of control； these were the principles of Japanese gardens； microcosms of the Japanese culture itself。 And these were what Tori thought of the night she went carousing the wild side of Tokyo with Greg。 Because she was； at last； tired of both。
Sake was a good antidote to regimentation。 Something quite strong was needed to blur the lines； the grids； the bars of the life of an acolyte。 Because that was just what she and Greg were； acolytes： she had joined the samurai religion of the past； he the scientific religion of the future。 The two of them met here at this moment in time； amid the neon burning of a Tokyo night； in the primitive jungle within the world's most civilized city； bound in the present they were creating。
Or so Tori had thought； until they hit a place called The Lemon Crush。 It was at the wrong end of Shinjuku； a kind of akachochin； an after…hours joint； posh and potent； where the price tags were hot and the action even hotter。
They were； by this time； two liters into sake； and Tori felt as if an electric wire had been slipped into her veins。 Greg's eyes crossed at intervals； and he couldn't keep the sweat from glistening in his short； blond hair。
〃Wow！〃 he had exclaimed； when they had taken the Lucite elevator down to the main floor of The Lemon Crush。 〃I don't ever want to leave this place！〃 Greg had always been prone to theatrical overstatement； a trait he had unconsciously picked up from their mother。
They had been given a table on the upper level that circled the main floor。 Blue and yellow neon rimmed everything： floor； tables； steps； railings； and on the gigantic screen of the ceiling； projected origami were continually unfolding like exotic flowers in yet another display of the Japanese trying to control nature；
Tori and Greg were on their second round of sake； soaking up the sights； the sounds of Heaven 17 singing 〃Fascist Groove Thang〃 at teeth…rattling volume； when Tori sensed Greg's attention wandering。 She followed his gaze； saw him staring fixedly at a beautiful young woman； tall； lissome； exotic as the origami unfolding overhead。
〃Hubba； hubba！〃 Greg said； and slipped out of his chair before Tori could do anything to stop him。 This was Japan； but Greg had no conception of what that meant； especially in his current state。
〃Damnit； Greg！〃
But he couldn't hear her。 As Tori watched him make his way down toward the beautiful young woman； she thought of the kind of place this was； and what that said about its habitues。 Drug dealers and sex peddlers were only the tamer elements wending their way through the yellow…and…blue…lit throng。 The Lemon Crush； it was whispered； was a favored hangout of the Yakuza。
Tori had never met a Yakuza； and even through her sake…induced buzz she thought that this was not the night to do so。 Macho was one thing； suicide quite another。 Greg would not understand this。 Tori did not think they had enough time together for her to adequately explain the inner workings of the Yakuza mind to him。
Now she could see Greg talking to the woman； could see her smiling in return。 Greg was so handsome； he had never had trouble getting girls； just the opposite； in fact。 Tori could remember when he was in high school； there were too many girl…friends to make life simple。 And at one point Greg's after…school and practice life became something of a slapstick farce； plete with slammed doors； lightning changes of clothes； and； at least on Greg's part； iron…man stamina。 Tori had had an active part in this； playing…in Laura Nunn's parlance…the straight man who stooged for the star； making sure no two girls would catch him in the same room at the same time。
And； recalling this； seeing him laughing with the beautiful； exotic Japanese； Tori discovered that it wasn't only apprehension she was feeling； it was anger。 She and Greg saw each other so infrequently； she thought it insensitive of him to go off and leave her like this。 And from the secure distance of the future； Tori was able to see the truth： she had wanted to spend the night with her brother； matching his macho with hers； at last on her turf； showing Greg…and Ellis Nunn…that she could pete on his level。
Could she really be jealous of this creature？ Tori had asked herself then。 Yes； yes； as she slid through the crowd； moving toward them。
Tori was still some distance away when she saw the tall； square…shouldered young man heading on a collision course with her brother and the woman。 He was a Japanese dressed in a stylish suit。 His hair was shorter even than Greg's； almost a military cut。 There was something in his direct gaze that disturbed her even before she was close enough to feel the power of his wa。 That was when the fright took over。 By that time she had had more than enough training to know a dangerous opponent when she saw one。
The young man was heading straight for Greg； his gaze fixed steadily on him。 Tori watched him move through the crowd。 It was like seeing a hot knife slice through butter。 He did not have to fight his way through； did not have to elbow people aside。 No one was disturbed； there was no ripple to mark his passage。
Then abruptly； shockingly； he reached out and the sleeve of his jacket rode up his arm； exposing a wrist covered with an irizumi demon spitting fire。 And Tori's heart lurched。 Oh； my God； she thought。 Greg's making a move on the girlfriend of a Yakuza。
She and the Yakuza converged on Greg and the woman。 Tori had just enough time to say； 〃Greg； let's get out of here！〃 before the Yakuza's hand clamped down on Greg's shoulder。
Greg spun； shoving the hand off him。 Greg was in a semi…crouch； the standard first position of the sort of unarmed bat taught by the United States government agencies。 It would mean nothing to the Yakuza。 Unless Greg pulled a gun and shot him dead； the Yakuza's skills would quickly overpower anything Greg could throw at him。
Greg grinned。 〃Hey； I don't want any trouble；〃 he said suddenly； ing out of his crouch。 He put up his hands。 〃No law I know of against talking to a beautiful woman。〃
〃The woman belongs to me；〃 the Yakuza said。 He had gone very still。 One arm was out from his body； rigid； the other one was close to the lapel of his suit jacket。
Greg said； 〃You've got it all wrong； pal。 Slavery was abolished almost a hundred years ago。''
〃The world doesn't belong to America；〃 the Yakuza said。
〃Yeah？ Well； it sure doesn't belong to Japan。〃
The Yakuza grinned。 〃Not yet。〃
〃Greg； e on；'' Tori said。 ''We didn't e here to debate cultural differences。〃
〃Stay away； woman！ This does not concern you； 〃the Yakuza growled； curtly dismissing her。
〃Like hell！〃 Tori said； for the moment forgetting everything she had been taught。 〃When you threaten my brother； you threaten me。〃
The Yakuza slowly turned to her； said in the most condescending voice； 〃You're cute； you know that？〃 He produced a snub…nosed automatic。 〃But that's all you are； so…〃
At that point Tori jammed the stiffened fingers of her right hand into the Yakuza's solar plexus。 His eyes opened wide and he was jolted backward。
Greg lunged for the automatic； and the Yakuza's left hand chopped down on his forearm。 As if in slow motion； Tori saw the Yakuza turn his gun on Greg； she went for the nerve cluster in his right arm； and using her own left arm as a brace； bent the Yakuza's gun arm backward until she heard the snap。
His savage kick caught her on the edge of her pelvis。 She cried out in surprise and pain； slammed into him again and； almost simultaneously； heard the report of the single shot。
The Yakuza's face went white； he said something unintelligible in all the electronic noise and motion； then slipped to the floor。 Blood； a dark flower； spread its lethal petals。
Tori bent； touched him on the side of the neck。 Then she grabbed Greg and pushed her way through the throng； farther and farther； blue and yellow mutating the shadows all around； the origami unfolding； unfolding； the strained faces now so alien to her。
Outside in the spangled night she said； ''e on！ Let's go！〃
Greg hesitated。 〃But that guy's wounded。 He might die。 I think we ought to wait。〃
〃Greg； he's dead。 He had no pulse。 The only thing that will happen if we wait is we'll be killed。 That guy was Yakuza； a gangster of the