Science Ninja Team Gatchaman
Written by Toriumi Jinzō
Illustrated by Ōtori Workshop
Part 1: Joe Asakura, God of Death
Chapter 3
The supersonic passenger plane Prometheus flew smoothly through a sunset sky, aerodynamic wings reflecting the orange light of the sun.
Joe took in the view through a glass window. “What kind of race will it be this time?” he muttered to himself.
The World Sports Prototype Championship (WSPC) in Japan held at Fuji Speedway was a world-renowned sporting event. The 24-Hours of Le Mans endurance race was a hugely popular series that rivaled the Formula 1 races.
The secret to WSPC's popularity was undoubtedly the race cars themselves. The technical restrictions were slightly more lax than for Formula 1 races, which meant that manufacturers could be a bit more creative with the designs and capabilities of the cars. Fans loved seeing new car models on the racetracks every year. The races also drove innovation; race car design and specs improved year over year. It was not uncommon to see cars with a top speed of over 470 kilometers per hour (about 300 miles an hour). There has never been a limit to technological progress.
But this proved to be a double-edged sword for drivers. As speeds increased, so did the number of accidents. Fatal accidents were commonplace. In 2009 alone, there were six fatal accidents.
The next year, another serious accident occurred, killing nine drivers.
And these accidents all had one thing in common: Joe was a participant in all the races. Moreover, the fatal accidents always occurred near Joe. Sometimes cars spun out right in front of him, and sometimes they happened less than a second after Joe passed the unfortunate racer in his own vehicle.
As more and more accidents occurred in races that Joe was in, people noticed the pattern. That was how he got the nickname “God of Death.”
One of the sports reporters who heard this nickname called him “Joe the Condor” instead, since the door of his car had a condor painted on it. From then on, Joe had two nicknames on the racing circuit.
The overhead lights in the cabin came on. A sensor had detected a drop in ambient light and had tripped the switch on for the interior lights.
“Would you like something to drink?” Joe turned around when he heard a woman speaking to him in Japanese. A stewardess was carrying drinks on a cart.
“No, thank you,” Joe replied brusquely.
George Holst, a British mechanic, was sitting next to Joe. He chuckled as he accepted a glass of brandy from the stewardess.
“What are you thinking about?” George asked in English.
“Nothing much,” Joe mumbled. “Just about the race.”
George was a talented mechanic who’d been present at all of Joe’s races. Joe didn’t like him personally, but he respected his skills and wouldn’t want anyone else working on his car.
“Something big's going to happen in this race,” George said. “I can feel it.” He ran a hand through his curly hair. He was a short man; his small stature and long fingers helped make him talented at his job.
“You shouldn’t predict stuff based on your feelings,” Joe said. “It’s not logical.”
George took a sip of his brandy.
Joe looked at George suspiciously. “Where am I going first? Do you know?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t think it matters, really. I can tell you’re ready to get back on the racing circuit. You’ve got that fighting spirit, y’know.”
Joe grinned wryly. Was George trying to compliment him? Encourage him? George never did stuff like that.
As he pondered what George had said, Joe remembered the incredible surge of power he’d felt during his fight in Italy. He really did have a fighting spirit. He wasn’t sure where it had come from. It felt innate, but he’d never experienced it before that day.
The view out the window tilted forward and down. Prometheus was beginning its descent. The seat belt signs flashed on.
I wonder if Jun is in Japan, Joe thought. She was definitely Japanese, so it was possible that she was here.
The silhouette of Mt. Fuji appeared below Joe, wreathed in clouds.
***
Three days later, the World Sports Prototype Championship (WSPC) in Japan held at Fuji Speedway conducted opening ceremonies. It was a clear and sunny day: perfect weather for the start of the Championship races.
There would be 42 cars participating and a total of 100,000 spectators. The stands were packed with people. The majority of the audience had come to see “Joe, the God of Death.” He had a reputation now that so many accidents had happened around him.
When Joe entered the racing circuit, the audience erupted in cheers.
Joe had never felt like a God of Death, but the bloodthirsty crowd made him think grim thoughts. Who’s the real God of Death, me or all these people here to watch others get hurt and die?
Joe laughed bitterly as he got into his black car like the grim reaper entering his coffin. The car was a Porsche 1020A prototype with a V8 engine, 1225 horsepower and a top speed of 470 kilometers per hour (about 300 miles per hour). The body was painted with a smooth, streamlined special synthetic resin, and the back of the car tapered on both sides into aerodynamic wings to reduce air resistance. It was too elegant to really be considered a coffin.
Joe entered the cockpit and fastened his seat belt tightly. Joe loved this tension before races. As he watched and waited, he felt the same fighting spirit he’d felt in Italy welling up inside him, waiting to be used.
The other cars reached the starting line. Racers revved their engines. The track was incredible: wide and well-maintained. The pacing car, which indicated when the drivers could begin the race, flashed its yellow hazard lights.
The race was about to start. There was an announcement over the loudspeakers in the stadium that was nearly drowned out by the engine roar of the surrounding cars.
Joe took his foot off the brake, and the race was on.
George watched the race in fascination from the sidelines. Joe’s driving was always extraordinary. He’d set several speed records in other races and George was expecting to see something similar here.
Joe quickly took the lead after passing a well-known Japanese car group. He outpaced the cars by a solid three seconds of lead time, but he couldn’t keep that speed up forever. The engine would overheat.
George muttered to himself, concerned that early engine failure would knock Joe out of the race.
Joe’s Porsche accelerated further on the straight sections of the track. He didn’t slow down at all as he approached the next curve.
The engine started making concerning noises.
“Damn it!” Joe cursed and slapped his steering wheel. He checked all his gauges. The oil temperature was abnormally high. If he continued to accelerate, the engine would break apart.
Trembling with rage, Joe switched on the radio in his helmet.
“Can you hear me, Horst?”
“What’s wrong?” George asked, sounding anxious.
After hearing Joe’s report, George realized that what he had feared had come to pass. This was a major problem. There was no way that Joe could win this race.
“Okay, get to the pit and I’ll take a look.” He clicked his headset off and ran to help Joe.
Joe’s car returned to the pit. A Nissan R-104, which was in second place, zipped past him.
The crowd roared when Joe was eliminated.
As Joe got out of his Porsche, Horst called out to him, “Will you quit the race?”
“No way,” Joe said. He was shaking from nerves or anger or both.
“Then I guess we’ll have to pray to the thunder god for luck.”
“People call me the God of Death. No need to pray to any other deities. If death comes to get me during this race, I’ll be ready enough.”
Races were always unpredictable. It looked like Joe was out of the race right now, but it was still early. Anything could happen.
Repairing the engine was more difficult than expected. By the time the repairs were completed, Joe’s Porsche was more than ten laps behind the leader.
The entire race was being broadcast by several TV cameras. The broadcast room behind the stands selected images from all over the track and sent them to TV stations as still shots. Small monitors covered an entire wall of the dimly lit room, showing the faces of excited spectators. Most people appeared shocked at Joe’s unexpected elimination from the race.
One spectator, a beautiful young woman, glared straight ahead and scowled at what she saw. She had golden hair, green eyes that sparkled like emeralds, and a small, pert mouth. She wore a tight purple skin suit and little else; the day was particularly warm. Many other spectators were drawn to her peculiar, bewitching looks. Colors that would have clashed on anyone else looked well on her. She oozed sex appeal and seemed aware of that fact. She pouted at a few of her admirers, expressing dejected disappointment.
A young monitor operator was watching the screens. He forgot about his work and stared breathlessly at the gorgeous woman. The chief director, who had peered in from behind to check on his lazy worker, was briefly speechless when he saw the woman on the screen.
Just as Joe was getting back into his Porsche, a sudden cold gust of wind blew, kicking up dust. People looked up in surprise. Dark clouds were spreading across the sky. Thunder roared, and heavy rain fell in sheets.
This sudden change in the weather was definitely abnormal. No one had forecasted rain that day.
Joe recalled George’s tongue-in-cheek comment about the thunder god. Rain could change everything in a race. It was an extra hazard, one that not all racers were equally equipped to deal with. The odds had just shifted in Joe’s favor slightly.
The torrential rain caused many spectators to cry out and rush for cover. Their confusion spread to the racing pits. The tires on all the race cars had to be changed to tires designed for rainy weather.
The Nissan driver who’d passed Joe initially pursed his lips, highly displeased. Joe would certainly make up a lot of ground in the race now.
George had already swapped out Joe’s tires while fixing the Porsche’s engine. Joe’s car zipped onto the racetrack while everyone else was still stuck in the pits.
“I’ll win,” Joe told himself. It was far too early to give up.
George was pleased, but also surprised. Joe’s luck was uncanny. Had his fighting spirit worked this miracle, or was this just a fluke in a long line of flukes?
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