Diane Joplin wondered how she had emerged from the myriad depths of Shinjuku Station in one piece. She figured she wouldn’t have made it out of there without the help of the AR unit, which superimposed instructions on to the glasses telling her exactly which exits to take. She had bought the AR on a whim and now it was proving itself to be worth a lot more than the money she had shelled out for it. Diane stood still on the pavement outside the exit trying to get her bearings as a non-stop column of Japanese humanity oozed out of the station all around her. The AR had superimposed a detailed map over the intersection with blinking arrows indicating the way to the Keio Plaza Hotel, which was located to the north just a few minutes walk away.

The snow had stopped falling and the cold Shinjuku air was surprisingly refreshing even though Diane found it difficult to get used to the numerous flickering images of giant outdoor screens and the blaring sound of advertising. This was exactly how she had imagined Japan but actually being here was altogether a totally different experience. All around her people moved to and fro, Goths, uniformly dark-suited salarymen, fashionably-clad office girls, elaborately dressed geisha in shimmering kimonos, and young people of various descriptions intermingled as they moved on to unknown destinations. Diane noticed makeup and hairstyles that would have had her dad cringing in horror. Girls with deathly-white foundation, blacked out eyes and hairstyles designed to resemble dragons, phoenixes and even cartoon characters milled around. Everyone was chattering away in Japanese, which she found very pleasing to the ear, or simply walking with that introspective look that was so quintessentially Japanese. At least, that’s how she thought about them. On the asphalt lanes between the teeming masses, lozenge-shaped cars of various shapes and sizes glided past, their occupants moving swiftly through the confusion of Shinjuku, shielded from its controlled chaos.

And then Diane started to move with the crowds following the AR’s arrows towards the Keio Plaza Hotel, which she hoped would provide refuge from all this. She was exhausted from the mental and physical activity of the last few hours and wanted nothing better than to soak in a hot bath and recollect her wits. The din of Shinjuku was not doing that much to help with that so she stoically moved through the crowds, craning her neck to take a closer look when some impossibly-dressed or coiffed individual walked past her.

It seemed that Japan was not so much welcoming her as injecting its DNA into her very being with all this noise, this unrelenting visual stimulation. Walking past a zillion department stores, impossibly-shaped buildings, most of which were called Shinjuku something or other. And the smell on the street, one that was totally Japanese. It was the unlikely smell of electronics and yakitori fusing with expensive perfumes and damp concrete. It was a modern smell that assaulted your senses and just kept on assaulting.

And then she saw the Keio Plaza Hotel, just before the augmented reality reading said she was very close now. The two towers of the hotel were sandwiched between buildings that were so tall that their top floors disappeared into the oppressive clouds above, activity within signaled only by muted light soaking through the clouds, interlaced with whatever sunlight managed to seep through. The Keio Plaza towers were crawling with black crab-like objects which Diane recognized as building repair robots from some technology TV program. They were probably making repairs to the aging outer walls to make it look brand new and if you looked close enough you could see that the bottom of the hotel building was much newer than the top which Diane thought was impossible since buildings were built from the ground up.

Diane walked through the revolving doors of the Keio Plaza Hotel into a tastefully decorated marble lobby. High up in the ceiling, dirigibles dehumidified the air and dispensed delicate mists of air freshener. Diane thought they smelled of cherry blossoms but that could just be her mind because she didn’t actually know what cherry blossoms smelled like. All this heightened by the visual spectacle of the traditional ikebana flower arrangements dotted around the lobby and the impressive chandeliers set high up on the ceiling. Luggage robots moved back and forth along the pristine marble floors as guests checked in or out.

Diane moved towards the check-in counter, the wheels of her Samsonite squeaking reassuringly behind her.

“I have a reservation. Diane Joplin,” she said, handing her passport and credit chips over to one of the attendants, a pretty girl with skin the color of freshly-made tofu and large pensive eyes crowned by very long fake eyelashes. Diane thought she saw something flash across the girl’s eyes and her gaze shift towards the sitting area to the left. Nothing but a lone salaryman dressed in somber black threads looking expectantly in the direction of the lifts as though waiting for a prospective date. And when the salaryman started speaking on a phone mounted on his left ear, Diane turned her attention to the attendant who was punching in her room chip, something tugging at her luggage. She turned round to see one of the luggage robots.

“It’s OK, luggage robot,” explained the attendant, smiling, and Diane reluctantly released the handle of the suitcase which the robot deftly lifted with something that looked like the front of a forklift truck and placed gently on its ridged rubber surface. The girl handed back her chips, the room’s electronic key and a map of Shinjuku with little geometric shapes representing Tokyo landmarks.

“Thanks.”

“Welcome to the Keio Plaza Inter-Continental Hotel. Please enjoy your stay.” The attendant smiled with perfectly aligned white teeth, her doe-like black eyes willing Diane to feel welcome.

She moved off following the robot as it headed towards the elevators. Inside, Diane looked at the chip and saw that her room was on the 34th floor of the South Tower where the Executive Service Center was located, which made her wonder whether the hotel’s computer had linked the credit chip to her father’s business accounts. She liked heights anyway so she wasn’t too bothered to be on the top floor although she remembered reading on the plane that there was a helipad up there on the roof of the South Tower. Before she could reach out to press thirty-four on the lift, the button was illuminated automatically. It appeared that the luggage robot had read the room chip and wirelessly activated the correct elevator button. Or the elevator itself had read the room number, which was a more scary possibility because it meant her movements could probably be tracked elsewhere in the hotel.

The room door also opened automatically, which meant the luggage robot was behind all this technological stuff. She watched it move into the room and deposit her Samsonite at a precise right angle to the mirrored wardrobe. The robot moved towards the curtains, which slid aside silently revealing a dense array of skyscrapers through which fields of neon glared. One of the buildings, another twin-tower skyscraper, had a sign that read Tokyo Metropolitan Government Offices and Diane realized that the government building was much closer than she had anticipated. The robot withdrew from the room and Diane locked the door and walked into the sizeable bathroom which had an elaborate computer-controlled toilet and a large bathtub and shower. The usual items you’d expect to find in a good hotel: razors, slippers, an elaborate kimono and various kinds of scented soap. After a few minutes of reading the instructions on the wall she started running a bath and walked back in the room to unpack. She balked at placing her clothes in the wardrobe, preferring to be able to get moving in as little time as possible. Removing Xybo from the suitcase, she switched it on and it moved off to get its bearings, the scanners in its body building a digital map of the room and its contents.

A few minutes later, Diane lay soaking in a lavender foam bath trying not to think of her father. But that was impossible so she gave up and let her tears fall freely, mixing with the soapy water. What was she going to do? There was a Mitsubishi cyberspace terminal on the desk in the room and a pair of understated gloves and cyberspace goggles. She needed to spend some time on there figuring out where this Kenzo Yamamoto’s headquarters were located. Then she’d go out and walk the streets and try to get her bearings with the help of the AR. Tomorrow she would make a trip to this building and look for Kenzo Yamamoto. She’d get to the bottom of her father’s death and hopefully that would bring her peace. Yet, she knew she was dealing with the Yakuza and that was a dangerous game but she couldn’t just sit around and do nothing.

Feeling much more relaxed she stepped out of the bath and put on the hotel’s complementary white terrycloth robe. She walked into the room and switched on the console and the flat-screen monitor. Xybo trundled awkwardly up to her with the sensor on its nose blinking. It still wasn’t used to the uneven surface of the thick carpet but it was getting better. Diane sat in the room’s jet-black designer chair and chose English from the language menu. She picked up Xybo and stroked him gently. He was all she had in the world.

“We will soon get to the bottom of this Xybo,” she whispered to the robot dog as she headed out into cyberspace. The dog inclined its head and fixed her with artificial eyes perfectly approximating sympathy.