Two black Mercedes are driving through the dust of the Kalahari. They arrive at a small turn of the century town surrounded by a growing slum of townships. They pull into the parking lot of an old hotel and the cars park next to each other. Out of each car climbs an enormous man in khaki suits. They look at each other and then open the back door of each vehicle in unison.

Out of the one car steps three Japanese executives in crisp black suits with dark glasses. Out of the other car first steps a tall Japanese man in a flowing Kimono with a Koi fish chasing a Tiger around his body. His head is bald. He helps a slim Japanese girl out of the car. She is petite, reaching his chest and has long, straight black hair over her face. She wears a tailored grey suit and red high heel shoes that show up against the sandy ground.

The two large men, speaking in terse, coarse Afrikaans accents, guide them into the hotel, scanning the surroundings with practised glances. The man in the Kimono is constantly pressed up against the girl from behind, guiding her. His hands guide stray objects and vines away from her body with smooth, balletic movements.


The hotel owner, a large German man, greets them smiling but nervous. The one Afrikaaner asks the man immediately where they are to hold conference and they are led upstairs into a large lounge, furnished with Colonial furniture. They walk into the room and the two groups take seats opposite each other across a large oval dining table surrounded by ruby coloured leather chairs. The man in the kimono ushers the hotel manager out of the room and closes the Heavy Edwardian doors.

The man sits next to the girl, who is looking down into her lap with her shoulders drooped. The first Afrikaans man, who calls himself Piet, introduces his colleague as Boeta. Boeta is holding a small device and running it along the edges of furniture and implements in the room while Piet has moved to close the curtains and glance briefly down into the courtyard and parking lot.

The Japanese executives begin muttering to themselves. For the first time, the girl speaks, in perfect accented English, without raising her head. She tells the Afrikaner’s that they are to be discussing diplomatic Japanese secrets and that their presence is not required in the room. The men snort to each other in Afrikaans and then agree with short nods, moving simultaneously to exit the room and close the door behind them.

The man in the Kimono asks the executives to show them the unit. They are speaking in Japanese with English subtitles. One of the executives lifts up an enamelled briefcase and places it on the table. In raised red leather and brass are imprinted the words KIM UNIT. They lift the briefcase lid facing toward the girl and reveal a sleek black screen with a pair of black earphones embedded into the surface below a panel with streaming red lines of code.

One of the executives asks the girl where their Algorithm is. Still looking down she explains that it is nearby but first she must ascertain the veracity of their own code. She says that she will not touch the computer but raises her head slightly to read the screen. She asks them to run the sequence and they oblige by pressing a button and handing her the earphones. She places them around her head and watches the screen as thousands of arcane symbols scroll rapidly across the screen. She does not move for a full ten minutes.


Outside the hotel Boeta is standing in the parking lot, watching all the movement. Scenes of poverty stricken children blur past him in the afternoon light. He looks at everyone with scorn and suspicion. He sees a young man walking quickly across the courtyard and follows him. When he reaches the outer wall he cannot spot the man but sees a movement in the bushes. He pauses and watches until a dog sized predatory cat steps out of hiding, looks at him and then quickly runs into the bushes. The cat has reddish fur and tufts at its ears. He curses in Afrikaans and laughs before turning and walking back to the hotel entrance.


Back in the drawing room, the girl is still scanning the screen while the executives look at her nervously and with impatience, wringing their hands. One comments that she cannot possibly read all the code. Suddenly the screen freezes and resolves into a KIM logo. She looks down and then instructs her bodyguard to go to her room and fetch the black bag with her laptop. He looks up in alarm, claiming he did not see it previously, fiercely whispering that he cannot leave her for even a moment. She simply tells him to go immediately.

As the door closes behind her she slowly raises her head until she is looking directly at the men with her hazel oval eyes and thanks them in a whisper. She is smiling. She looks down at her lower arm and in the half-light it looks like tiny flashes of intricate silver wire are replacing her skin in a pale mesh. Her hand twists into a fist, coated with a deep blue metallic skin. You see her eyes close and then she leaps forward.

Kimono is running down the corridor and swiftly opens the room. He looks at the main bed where he sees a black case placed neatly. He jumps towards it and hears a bolt of wood fall to seal the door from the outside. He rips open the bag and finds a note written in Japanese. It says; ‘Goodbye’. He screams and turns to throw himself at the door to the room before turning and kicking it in reverse with stunning force, splintering the wood. From beyond the door he hears violent screams of fear and pain.


Outside Boeta flips his head toward the noise while simultaneously drawing his gun in a smooth, practised motion. From the open door of the hotel Piet sticks his head out, looks at Boeta. He makes a silent motion with his gun pointing upstairs and then turns to run. Boeta starts sprinting, his heavy bulk surprisingly fast across the courtyard. As he runs, he pulls a magazine clip from his waist band and closes his left fist over it.