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“Tokyo Tension” by Crimson Ruari

A young wolf lands in Tokyo for work and discovers he has a lot of learning to do very quickly. Today’s story is “Tokyo Tension” by Crimson Ruari, who has short stories in Heat 14 and CLAW 1 and you can find more of his stories on his webpage. Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.
Transcript
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You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.

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I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

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and today’s story is

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“Tokyo Tension” by Crimson Ruari,

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who has short stories in Heat 14

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and CLAW 1 and you can find more of his stories on his webpage.

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“Tokyo Tension”

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by Crimson Ruari

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"Ohaio gozaimasu!"

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The two raccoons behind the front desk bowed in unison.

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Rick ducked his head as he stepped up to the desk

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and set his bag down.

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It was chest-height for the clerks,

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but as a six-foot-tall wolf, he felt like he was looming.

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"Uh, thank you." The head clerk smiled at him,

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and Rick realized that they weren't raccoons, but raccoon dogs.

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Tanuki, he recalled.

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Leaner, larger, a little pointier, and still a lot shorter than he was.

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The clerk's English was heavily accented, but clear.

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"Good evening, sir. How may we help you?"

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Rick passed over his passport.

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He tried a little smile.

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"I have a room. Rick Staller.

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Staller." The clerk glanced up at him,

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then at his passport and started typing on the computer.

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Rick felt like his smile might have been a little too big.

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He felt like everything about him was. "Ah,

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hai, yes sir. I see your room is on a company account.

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Do you have a card for incidentals?"

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Rick nodded.

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"Yeah. Yes. Hai." He huffed, then clapped his muzzle shut and patted down his pants until he found his wallet.

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After twelve hours on a plane, getting through customs,

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getting a train card, and then taking multiple trains to get to his hotel,

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even simple tasks had become monumental efforts.

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Finally, he found it in his front pocket,

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a concession to economy airline seating.

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He started to slide his card across the table,

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but the clerk touched the tray on the counter discreetly, and he nodded,

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then put his card there.

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The clerk smiled and gave a little bow as he picked up the tray in both paws.

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More typing, and then the card was returned in the same fashion, joined by a room key.

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The clerk looked up at him again.

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"Your room will be 2306.

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Is there anything else we can do for you, sir?"

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Rick picked up his cards and shook his head.

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"No, thanks." The clerk bowed again. "Arigato gozaimasu." Rick ducked his head.

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"Arigato." He staggered to the elevator and managed to wedge himself into the space with his luggage;

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it wasn't the smallest elevator he'd been in, but it was close.

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Fortunately, nobody else tried to join him.

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Unfortunately, the space reeked of cigarette smoke, and he hoped whatever guest enjoyed that habit was checking out soon.

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He made it to the room

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and was pleasantly surprised that, while small and space-efficient,

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it wasn't cramped.

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There was a small, open closet to one side

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and the bathroom door to the other.

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The bed took up most of the room,

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but he could walk comfortably around it.

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A small desk was attached to the wall by the window.

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In all, it had everything he expected out of a hotel, with none of the massive wastes of space of most American rooms he'd used.

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He stashed his luggage

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and fished his laptop out to drop it on the desk,

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then went to check out the bathroom.

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There were no major surprises,

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but its raised floor felt a little weird.

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The tub was shorter than he was used to,

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and the toilet had a control panel, which he was not even going to try and make sense of that night,

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but in all it had pretty much what he expected to find.

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He stripped down and brushed himself out,

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taking comfort in the familiar ritual and smoothing out the travel-matted fur.

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When he fell into bed,

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his paws dangled off the edge of the bed.

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At six-foot-two, he'd gotten used to being a little too tall,

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but this bed was clearly shorter than the ones he was used to.

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After some fussing around, he managed to find a way to sleep crossways

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and get all of himself on the mattress

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and let travel fatigue put him into an early,

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heavy sleep.Rick found himself awake at five o'clock.

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He felt like he could have slept for another day,

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but he counted it a small favor that he didn't feel entirely terrible

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and was waking up in the morning.

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Breakfast was a challenge.

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First, he forgot his breakfast ticket until he stepped out of the elevator.

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Then, once he had his ticket,

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he didn't know what exactly to do with it.

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Fortunately, the vixen taking tickets spoke enough English to help him through the process.

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From there he was on his own again,

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but hotel breakfast bars didn't seem to vary too wildly the world over:

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there was food in one area, trays and dishes in another,

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and a coffee and tea station in a third.

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The food was one part familiar, and one part

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different. There was rice to go with sausages

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and thin scrambled eggs, and while the combination was new to him,

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he found it both palatable and filling.

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Coffee was more difficult --

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none of the options were labeled in Romanji, much less English.

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He settled for pressing one of the buttons. The machine whirred and growled and eventually filled his cup with coffee.

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Cream and sugar were nearby, and, while not labeled,

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he managed. As friendly as the hotel was,

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very little in the restaurant area was labeled in a language he could read.

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Rick muddled through breakfast as best he could.

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Coffee steadied his nerves,

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and the food settled the growling emptiness in his stomach.

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He found himself glad for the solid food --

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it was a small spot of comfort amid a growing tension.

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Finished with his meal,

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he became aware of the rest of the diners, who clustered in distinct groups:

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one sounded like they might be German or Scandinavian,

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another might have been Chinese, and many groups seemed to be Japanese.

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Someone near him seemed to be listening to a news report in French.

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Nobody in the dining area was speaking English, and the din of unfamiliar languages left Rick pinning his ears back.

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Rick got himself another coffee to help with the jet lag

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and flicked at his phone,

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killing time and using the hotel's wireless to check email for the fifth time.

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His calendar suggested the meeting that morning at ten was still on.

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Email said he'd be meeting his father's executive assistant,

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whom he'd met only briefly.

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Fiona O'Clare was a vixen with the sort of

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muted Irish accent that he found incredibly charming,

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and paired well with her intense personality.

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His father had spoken highly of her since she'd been hired several years prior.

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He couldn't sit still any longer,

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so he got up and handed his tray to the vixen who'd taken his ticket with a small bow

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and an "arigato.

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"arigato." A little politeness was the least he could do.

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Rick stopped in at his room to freshen up

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and grab his briefcase.

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He was going to be hellaciously early,

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but he couldn't bear to sit in the hotel any longer.

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A short walk and several wrong turns later,

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Rick found himself at the train station.

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The hotel was not a reasonable walking distance to the clients' office,

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so he had to contend with the morning crowd on the subway.

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He already had his fare card, but he still had to consult a saved email

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and the subway maps for several minutes before he approached the gate he was reasonably sure

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lead to the line he needed.

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Locals made it seem easy,

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putting their phones or their cards against the reader and walking confidently through the gates.

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Rick approached it with some trepidation,

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but the display went green and the gates swung aside, so he hurried through, lest any more people cut around him to the other gates.

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No one said anything, but it was clear that he was moving entirely too slowly.

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Once through, he followed one set of stairs down,

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forgetting to walk on the left, not the right,

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but managing to correct his mistake after inconveniencing no fewer than twelve people.

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Unfortunately, closer inspection of the trains on that platform revealed that he had chosen poorly,

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and he had to make his way back up the stairs against the flow of traffic.

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At least he'd been on the correct side.

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Soon enough, he stood on a platform that seemed to lead in the right direction.

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Overhead signs largely displayed

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a frustrating mix of kanji and hiragana,

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but they also rotated through romanji, and by the time a train arrived, he was fairly sure it was the right one.

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Rick was not prepared for what a Tokyo rush hour was like.

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The train was already crowded when it arrived,

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and he shuffled on with the other passengers when the doors opened.

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He had not realized he was only in the middle of the queue until he found himself getting shuffled farther and farther from the door

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as more people piled in.

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Men, women, and school kids of all ages seemed to pour endlessly through the doors,

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and the press of bodies grew claustrophobic.

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He knew he stood out,

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a tall grey wolf,

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head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd and taking up too much space, no matter how much he tried.

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It was a silver lining that the crush of bodies

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meant he didn't stagger much

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when the train started moving.

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Even in the press of other passengers,

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Rick wanted some solid support.

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He reached for a handle hanging from overhead

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and clocked another passenger in the temple.

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He'd been told there was an apology for more serious infractions,

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but he racked his brain for a moment and nothing came out,

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so he settled for blurting "sumimasen"

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and ducking his head in as much of a bow as he could manage without hitting someone else.

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The next stop wasn't much better.

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People poured in and out of the train,

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though mostly in.

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One businesscat squeezed in

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just as the doors were closing, and the entire crowd

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somehow managed to sneak a space for him,

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though it left him pressed against the doors.

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Rick wondered if they'd open again.

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He was glad he was not near the door, given how riders had to

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leave and jump back on to accommodate people getting off.

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It was a marvel nobody got left behind.

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The train was a cacophony of scents.

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The sheer density of people on the train overwhelmed any attempt at air handling

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and it thoroughly exceeded any of Rick's prior experiences --

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he'd been on American and even European subways that, while crowded,

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didn't have so many people or so many smells with them.

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Adding to the mix

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was that so many of them were unfamiliar:

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different chemicals in riders' soaps, different foods in their diets,

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even the cleaning chemicals were different.

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Much was familiar,

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but nothing smelled quite right.

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It was entirely too much,

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so he focused on just those scents closest to him

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until the rest faded

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into a sort of background noise.

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It was still a lot,

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but it was manageable.

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The train was surprisingly quiet.

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A few riders had conversations,

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in Japanese, of course,

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but they kept to low volumes, and the vast majority seemed focused on their books or their phones.

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Rick thought about reaching for his phone,

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but it was tucked in a pocket, and he wasn't sure he'd get it out without dropping it or elbowing someone in the face or both.

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Instead, he stared at the ceiling,

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with its unfamiliar and largely illegible ads

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and their advertising focus that was

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for a culture he was clearly not a part of.

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A weathered, familiar American actor was selling canned coffee,

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and Rick resolved to try it, just for the experience.

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He was pretty sure he'd seen the brand on a vending machine at some point since he'd arrived.

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Eventually, the name of the station he needed popped up on the sign over the doors.

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He shuffled towards them,

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mumbling "sumimasen" as though it were a talisman of safe passage.

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For the most part, it seemed to work,

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and by the time the train arrived at his stop, he was expelled with the rest of the riders getting off there

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and swept up with the flow of people.

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He managed to break away, tucking himself against a sign

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and took the chance to get his bearings, finally deciding that the stairs in front of him would probably lead to his destination.

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Luck was with him and he emerged at the top of the stairs

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into the station proper.

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He took full advantage of his height to scan the signs hanging from the ceiling

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and managed to break from the traffic flow to go out through the right set of gates.

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He was grateful he'd spent so much time memorizing the transit directions --

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this far into the city,

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there didn't seem to be a lot of spaces to stand and look at a map.

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Out on the streets, it was crowded,

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but less overwhelming.

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The open air of the city

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added its own set of fresh smells, but the crowds had a little more room to spread out,

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and Rick felt less compressed

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as he set out towards the client's office.

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The Ikeda Heavy Industries office was a very convenient block from the station.

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The marten at the reception desk was rather perturbed he was so early,

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but the conference room was ready and empty, so she let him wait there.

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Being in a quiet,

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empty space that was larger than he needed for himself was a pleasant change from the rest of the morning.

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He had been reviewing his presentation,

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more out of a need to do something than a need to prepare further, when someone walked in.

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That someone, in this case, was his father's executive assistant.

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"Rick, you're early." She took the seat next to him and put her briefcase on the

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chair. "Ms. O'Clare. Better an hour early than a minute late.

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Dad was always fond of that one.

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one." He shrugged. "Besides,

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I didn't know how long it would take, and I really didn't have anything else to do."

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"Fiona, please." She set a laptop of her own on the table,

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followed by a pen and a leather-bound notebook.

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"I suppose sleeping in wasn't an option.

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option." He shook his head.

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"God no. I was up at five.

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five." She contemplated that for a moment, then shrugged.

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"That's really quite a reasonable time.

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Up just before the sun,

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plenty of time for a morning run, breakfast, and getting here.

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You could do worse.

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worse." Rick snorted. "I was in no shape to run,

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and I didn't pack anything for it. Hell,

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I barely managed to accomplish breakfast." "Hmmm.

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Present ticket, eat food, too complicated for you?"

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She shook her head.

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"I told your father this was too much too soon.

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soon." He couldn't tell if the disappointed look she gave him as she sat down was serious or not.

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He let it go unanswered for a minute, but uncertainty won out.

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"Great vote of confidence there.

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there." She jabbed him in the arm with the tip of a claw

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and gave him a grin, instead.

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"It's a joke. You must have left your sense of humor at Customs.

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Customs." He rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't remind me. Customs, exchange, train card. So much to do, all at once. I'm lucky I made it to

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the hotel."

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"You know, you could have used your phone,

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I hear it has these navigation functions."

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"Yeah, and no data plan.

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plan." She cocked her head at him.

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"Really?" She opened her laptop and tapped away at it furiously for a few moments.

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Rick was impressed at just how quickly she found exactly what she was looking for.

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"We ordered it. Did you try to activate it?"

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"Ah, no. Nobody told me.

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Isn't it hideously expensive?"

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Fiona shrugged and waggled her paws in a vague gesture. "Eh. It's that or get you a phone for every region you visit, and that's more trouble than it's worth.

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It's an approved expense.

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expense." She fixed him with a sharp look.

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"You do know how to turn it on, right?"

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He pulled his phone out and poked at it.

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"I haven't tried; I just

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turned off cell services before I left the US.

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US." She sighed and grabbed the phone.

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"Fine, I'll do it." More furious tapping and swiping for a minute,

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then she thrust it back at him.

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"Here. Don't watch too many cat videos. We didn't get you the unlimited plan.

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Still, it should get you through Translate and Maps.

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Maps." Rick eyed her for a moment,

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then poked the mail icon.

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New mail appeared.

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"Looks good." "Indeed.

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"Indeed." Her ears perked up, and she sat up straight,

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then looked over his shoulder at the door.

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"Ok, silence it and put it away.

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Client's here. And stand up.

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up." She followed her own advice and gave her jacket a tug,

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not that it needed straightening.

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Rick scrambled to his feet and stuffed his phone in his pocket.

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The time for worrying passed

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as the door opened and the receptionist from earlier stepped through, followed by their client.

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He matched the photo and overview his father had given him on

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the man perfectly.

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Ikeda Souta was a fifty-something silver-furred fox who carried himself with reserve,

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as though he disapproved of everything around him.

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Perhaps he simply expected to be disappointed.

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Perhaps he already had been.

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Rick was distracted from this line of thought

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when the other person they were waiting for followed Souta through the door.

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Aba Ren also matched the bio Rick had been given.

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In his case, this meant he was a tanuki,

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of somewhat stockier build than his boss and a little shorter.

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He moved with less poise

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and had an uncomfortable energy that set him apart from his boss

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far more than his appearance did.

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Mr. Ikeda was the VP of Information Technology for Ikeda Heavy Industries;

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the CEO was a cousin.

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Mr. Aba was to be the project manager for integrating the network management software Rick was selling.

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IHI wasn't the same sort of giant as Fuji or Samsung,

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but they maintained more than enough production locations throughout Japan to make for an interesting network

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that consumed entirely too many man hours keeping it running smoothly.

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Rick's product would help IHI reduce the man hours

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and get more out of them.

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He hoped the network would run smoothly.

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They stood on the other side of the table

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and appeared to consider him quietly.

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"Mr. Ikeda, thank you for having us.

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us." Rick fished a couple of folders out of his briefcase

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and slid them across the table.

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He pointed at one,

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then the other. "That is an annotated copy of the presentation, if you'd like to follow along.

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It contains more details about the software that I'll be referencing as we go.

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go." Fiona helpfully cut the lights,

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and Rick started.

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"So, from what I understand, Ikeda Heavy Industries wants to increase awareness of their network topology without relying on static documentation, which, of course,

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is out of date the moment it's printed.

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Staller Solutions has developed a dynamic network documentation and management suite

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built around a simple guiding principle:

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The Network Is The Documentation."

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"So, that could have gone better.

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better." Rick stabbed at the bowl of rice and fish and something else that sat in front of him.

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Fiona had ordered

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and told him it was a "sticky bowl.

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bowl." It looked and smelled strange, and his stomach was giving him fits after the meeting,

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so he wasn't feeling the hunger he might have.

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Fiona shrugged and tucked into her bowl with an enthusiasm Rick couldn't understand. "Eh.

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It went well enough."

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"What makes you think that?

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They were nearly silent the whole time, and the old man --"

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"Mr. Ikeda, please." Fiona gave him a look that said this was not up for debate.

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Whatever the org chart said,

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he knew better than to argue with her.

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"Ok, Mr. Ikeda looked like he'd smelled something foul through the whole presentation.

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presentation." He took a bite of his food.

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It was indeed quite sticky and also quite tasty.

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His stomach seemed to decide that this was acceptable,

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and the tension retreated to make room for hunger. "Mm!"

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Fiona grinned at him.

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"That's why I told you to mix it up.

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Most Americans wouldn't eat natto with their first lunch,

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but there you go.

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go." She leveled her spoon at him.

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"And that brings me back to my point.

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You're doing better than you think."

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"Eh?" He cocked his head at her.

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Surely not. Hadn't he just said as much?

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She shook her head.

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"So Mr. Ikeda looked like that because he always looks like that.

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It's just something about him.

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Every photo I've ever seen, he looks disappointed.

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That has nothing to do with whether or not he wants our services.

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services." She shrugged and flicked her ears.

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"Although, it probably doesn't help that we're a western company.

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company." Rick turned his head to the other side.

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"What now? Does he have a thing against westerners?"

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Fiona laughed. "Nice!

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Yes, a lot of older folks here, especially from more well-to-do families, have leftover prejudices,

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especially against westerners.

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westerners." She grinned. "I'm sure you've met folks back in the US who are the same way.

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way." Rick waved his spoon in a

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waffling sort of admission.

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He'd seen something similar in a few associates he'd had over the years.

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They'd never seemed like bad people, but they probably weren't angels, either.

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"Sure, I guess." "Uh-huh.

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So, imagine that, the Japanese are people, too,

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and they have similar issues floating around in their culture.

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It's how life goes.

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Plus, frankly," she waved a paw,

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"War, internment camps, nuclear bombs, occupation.

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There are a few bumpy parts in our history. You did learn about that, right?"

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Rick flicked his ears.

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"Yeah. Yeah I guess so."

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"Good." Fiona shrugged again,

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then paused her lesson to attack her food with the same

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almost-terrifying intensity she did everything else.

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"So. That's Mr. Ikeda.

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Don't worry about it.

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He's talking to us, and that's good enough.

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We sell a great piece of software,

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and you're going to make sure it works for him.

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him." Rick groaned. "Yeah, sure.

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sure." She snorted. "Such confidence.

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Look, you want to score some points with them, right?"

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He nodded. "Naturally."

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"Fine. Try changing a couple of things. Show them you're trying to respect their culture."

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"And if I make a mistake?"

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She laughed again.

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"Oh, you'll make mistakes,

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but so what? You're gaijin.

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You can't possibly get it completely right.

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But that you are trying? Sincerely trying?

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That'll get you a long way,

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and it should prevent the most egregious mistakes.

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mistakes." Rick shoveled another spoonful of 'sticky bowl' into his muzzle

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and eyed the vixen curiously.

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"Did I make any today?"

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She raised an eyebrow.

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"I think you know the answer to that. Mr.

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Ikeda's reaction wasn't just

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resting grump face.

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face." He started at his bowl.

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"Oh." "Yes, well. I guess we didn't give you a culture briefing before this, did we?"

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He shook his head.

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"No. You pretty much hired me out of my job in RTP and sent me here.

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here."

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She tapped a claw on the table. "Hmm. Did we? I mean... Yeah, we should probably send movers for your stuff.

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Got anything embarrassing out? We could have you moved before you get home." "Uhhhhh.

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"Uhhhhh." Fiona grinned at him.

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"I'm kidding. But you're right, this was pretty time-sensitive, so we really didn't give you time to brief.

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At least you know the software we're selling."

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"Mostly because Dad loved to talk about it any time we got together.

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together." She shrugged. "The advantage of hiring family.

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Besides, you had a career before we brought you into the fold.

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fold." Rick grumbled and avoided answering by digging into the remains of his bowl.

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"Like I said, you have some street cred.

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cred." She shrugged again.

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"Back on topic. Yes,

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you made some mistakes. Step one,

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don't point with one finger.

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Sure, you'll see locals do it here,

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but it's more polite to use your whole paw, like this." She

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gestured at his bowl with all four fingers together

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and her thumb held close to the side of her palm.

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"Just as precise, but doesn't run afoul of the finger thing."

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"What's that about?"

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He pointed back at her with a similarly-open paw,

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just to try it out.

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She grinned. "Much better.

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And I have no idea.

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It's what I was told; I think

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it's less demeaning or something like that.

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In any case, give it a shot.

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You probably won't notice a difference in their reactions, but it's polite.

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polite." Rick nodded. "Ok.

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Anything else I really screwed up?"

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"Next time you give the client a packet,

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try not to just toss it on the table. That kinda works in the US,

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but even then, it's pretty casual.

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Hand it over, with two paws,

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give a little bow.

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Acknowledge the transfer.

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transfer." He nodded again. "Fair enough.

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enough." They'd both finished by then.

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Fiona pushed back a little from the table

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and waved at a server.

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"Sumimasen!" The weasel woman came over immediately.

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"Hai?" "Chekku, onegaishimasu.

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onegaishimasu." The server gave a little bow, said,

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"Hai, ok," and disappeared.

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Fiona turned her attention back to Rick.

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"So, also, if you want your check, that's how it goes.

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Don't sit around waiting for them to notice you.

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you." Rick nodded and reached for his wallet.

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She shook her head

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and held out a paw. "No, I'll handle it.

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This one's on the company, anyway.

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As are the rest of your meals, if you don't go crazy.

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crazy." She paused and glanced at the clock on her phone.

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"I have some work to do,

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but you should go see a museum or something.

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Tokyo National Museum is

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gorgeous and only a couple thousand yen.

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Go, learn a little about the culture, maybe buy a book.

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book." Rick chuckled. "Yes, ma'am.

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I guess this will be my cultural briefing.

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briefing." She wagged a finger at him.

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"Don't ever call me ma'am again if you want to live.

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But yes, think of it that way.

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Now, go do some learning and try not to screw up tomorrow."

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"Hai, ok." Fiona nodded.

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"Good lad."Morning found Rick in better spirits.

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Six o'clock was real progress on waking up at a reasonable time,

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since he'd always been a seven-o-clock sort of wolf.

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The bed was no longer wholly unfamiliar,

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and he'd managed to find a more comfortable sleeping position.

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The bathroom was just a little easier to use.

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Practice, even a day's worth,

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went a long way. He remembered his breakfast ticket,

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and breakfast itself was even more exciting,

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as they'd traded out the familiar sausages for some kind of grilled fish.

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Emboldened, he piled rice in a bowl and topped it with the fish

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and the slightly-runny eggs.

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He was sure it wasn't terribly traditional,

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but it was a lot different from what he was used to

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and that was a start.

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Plus, it smelled good

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and reminded him of the previous day's lunch.

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Even coffee was more familiar, and, in the spirit of adventure,

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he pressed the other button on the machine.

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He couldn't tell the difference in the result, but it was coffee, and that was good enough.

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The subway station hadn't moved, so he found it readily enough,

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and the interior was a little more familiar

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and a little less stressful.

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The ride to the Ikeda office was still cramped,

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but he didn't hit anyone, and he managed to more or less move with the crowd

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as he was expelled onto the platform at his stop.

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Perhaps he could learn, after all.

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He nodded to the marten behind the reception desk as he entered Ikeda's lobby.

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"Ohayo." She raised an eyebrow at him, but offered a slight smile as she stood

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and led him to the conference room.

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"This way, Mr. Staller.

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Ms. O'Clare is already waiting for you.

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you." Rick nodded. "Arigato.

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"Arigato." She gave a short bow

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and left him with Fiona.

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"You beat me here this time,"

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he remarked. The vixen grinned.

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"You were making me look bad.

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Besides, you're later than yesterday.

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yesterday." He shrugged and pulled out his laptop and presentation from his bag.

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"I'm starting to get a feel for the commute.

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commute." She nodded. "Good to hear it.

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Ready to really sell it today?"

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Rick paused his preparations and looked at her,

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cocking his head in thought.

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"You know, I think I am.

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At the least, I'll give it my best and we'll see how it goes.

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goes." Fiona patted his shoulder.

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"That's all any of us can do.

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Now, let's get set up;

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we have a lot of work ahead of us."

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This was “Tokyo Tension”

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by Crimson Ruari,

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read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

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For more stories

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you can find us wherever you get your podcasts, or on the web at thevoice.dog.

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Thank you for listening

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to The Voice of Dog

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About the Podcast

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The Voice of Dog
Furry stories to warm the ol' cockles, read by Rob MacWolf and guests. If you have a story that would suit the show, you can get in touch with @VoiceOfDog@meow.social on Mastodon, @voiceofdog.bsky.social on Blue Sky, or @Theodwulf on Telegram.

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About your host

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Khaki