by J D Astra
Unless Ko-nah has already told him everything. The traitor knew our inner circle well and would be able to describe us or even share his memories of us in a ry scry. That was my argument against Hana, then. We all had to submit this information, and the only one who could slip past unnoticed would be Hana.
Hana Boksu.
She had finished her name change over the summer, though it’d taken her all year collaborating with Mae and Yuri to find something that fit her just right. She had of course run every possible idea she liked past me for my approval. I’d told her to pick whatever made her happy, but she didn’t seem satisfied with that answer. She wanted me to approve of her name, and that brought me a sense of happiness that was both strange and welcome.
“What are you smiling about?” Hana asked, curious.
I shook my head. “Nothing. Let’s go find our rooms.”
Hana, Cho, Yuri, and I headed out to the resident village, passing Shin-soo going down the stairs. I gave him only a slight dip of my head. A sign of respect, but nothing that others around us would note as too friendly.
There was a special section on the top floor of the boys’ third-year building for the exchange students—five to a room. We passed others’ rooms on our way up to see there were three, or sometimes even two beds to a room. Well, this was going to be a problem.
Cho, Shin-soo, and I needed to talk strategy and plans if we were going to get anything planned before departure. There were still two pieces of tech I hadn’t completed, though neither of them were mission critical. With two others taking up residence in our room, we wouldn’t be able to have any mission related discussions here. We’d have to find somewhere else on the grounds with a modicum of privacy.
We set out our belongings, and I placed the picture of my family in a prominent spot on the desk next to my bed. I ran my finger down the silver frame, feeling its complexity. This was the most essential piece of equipment I had created. It was unfortunate that it looked like a bejeweled monstrosity. The diamond insets were critical to its functionality, and so it couldn’t be helped.
I sat on my bed and spared a moment to practice data visualization. It was something Mae had taught me over the summer with her secondary device. We had practiced a way for me to interface with other artificial minds in the way Mae did, but the information came through in a jumbled mess. I had to visualize the end goal with my intrusions—like see every machina connected to the system—so my ma munje adapted to my request intuitively, just as it did for building bands, casting glimmers, and any other thing we had ever called magic.
“I have a theory. I think I know why you can remote operate machina. When we merged, my nanites, the things that make up my mind, started communicating directly with all of yours. Both of our nanite systems are learning from one another,” Mae said gravely.
‘There’s worse things that could be happening. At least we’re both learning. Wait, what are you learning?’ I asked, wondering what a machina being could learn from a human.
She hummed. “Quite a lot, actually. Because of you, I know what having a body that feels is like. I’ve been able to experience taste, smell, emotions, sensations... I’ve learned more than you, I think,” she said with a chuckle. “Are you ready to try again?”
‘Let’s do it,’ I thought, readying my mind for the intrusion of data.
“Are you sure you don’t want to find something to throw up into first?” she asked sarcastically.
‘I’m not throwing up this time.’
Bright light filled my mind’s eye and strobed every microsecond, changing colors. Nonsense sounds pushed all thought out of the way. Symbols and words I didn’t understand bombarded me from every angle, and I squinted under the assault.
“You’re looking too closely,” Mae said, barely audible above the noise.
My head spun and gut turned, but I tried to step back.
Step back.
Step back!
The sounds and images fuzzed in and out of focus, and I almost saw a complete picture. I held on to that fraction of information, squeezing it and not letting go. Noise crashed around me and the strobing intensified.
The nausea I’d been fighting almost took over, and I opened my eyes, swallowing back bile. Mae immediately ceased the onslaught, and I took a slow breath through my nose. Sweat gathered under my arms and rolled down my back.
“You’re trying too hard to hold onto little bits. You need to try to see all the data at once,” Mae reminded me for what felt like the hundredth time.
‘I think I almost had it that time,’ I thought.
After another few minutes of slow breaths, the room stopped spinning, and I finished putting away my personal items.
The usual “Welcome” message from Min-hwan blared over the speakers in our room as Shin-soo and two more transfer students filed in. When the announcement was over, we got to talking like normal students who were excited to see the Kokyu machina, eat new foods, and see pretty, foreign girls.
Lee, a good-natured boy with a close-shaved head, cleared his throat and looked at me when our natural conversation died down. “So,” he started nervously, “about last year...”
He trailed off and the other boy, Hwang, donned a similarly anxious expression. I had some idea of what he wanted to ask, but had no intention of divulging what had happened or how we’d foiled the plot. The silence dragged on uncomfortably, but I maintained my blank stare at Lee.
“What about last year?” Shin-soo asked aggressively.
Lee shook his head like he’d been snapped from a trance. “Forget it.”
Perhaps having Shin-soo around would be a good thing. Few questions asked, even fewer answered.
“Let’s go meet Yuri and Hana,” Cho offered to get us out of the awkward tension.
Shin-soo didn’t follow as Cho and I stepped to the door.
“Are you coming?” I asked.
Shin-soo looked up from his personal effects. For a moment, my former school-yard enemy looked embarrassed. His eyes bulged as if he was not expecting our invitation. “Me?”
“Yes,” I replied, trying to keep my tone friendly.
He looked back to his things laid out on the bed, then decided to leave them as they were. Shin-soo didn’t seem to fear his things being pilfered, or scrutinized. He was either very confident in the persona he kept or completely uncaring of what others did to his property.
“See you later,” I said with a friendly smile for Lee and Hwang, making it clear the invite did not extend to them.
The lunch lines were long, and Shin-soo employed some of the older student privilege, cutting off a couple of first-years. The rest of us waited at the back. There were more than enough older students willing to pull rank and cut the first-years off to keep the Bastion culture alive.
Min-hwan gave his customary speech, as did Woong-ji. We finished our meals in relative quiet as the other students welcomed each other back and chatted avidly.
When night fell, I was eager to return to my lodging for some rest. The next day would bring physical training for three and half hours. All the exchange students were on the same modified program, since we’d all be leaving in a matter of weeks. Physical training every morning for three and a half hours. It would provide the distraction I needed from the anxiety of what was to come.
The evening class was a combination of language, history, and culture refreshers from our summer materials. It would be repetitive, but I would throw myself into it nonetheless. There was no space in my head for family matters or anything else. We had a mission to carry out, and our preparation for that was all that mattered now.
Chapter 4
FIVE WEEKS PASSED IN a blur, and the time I got to spend with family on rest days was cherished to the fullest. Minjee started attending a special “school” made up of scientists and instructors, all trying to puzzle out the enigma of her missing munje core. It wasn’t as much social interaction as I’d been hoping she could get, but we would find ways for her t
o make friends in the kingdom outside of school.
Do-hwan and Daegon lived out of their little workshop when they weren’t in school. They were obsessed with creating random gadgets for Mother and Minjee to use to help them with everyday life. It warmed my heart they were so kind, and made me proud they were so ambitious.
Suyi had gotten into a school that emphasized practical munje uses for work, rather than the way Bastion trained assassins. The word—when Suyi had said it so cavalierly—had lanced me through the heart, but I’d kept my face placid. Suyi and Eun-bi both had been guessing around the content of the Silent Pact all summer, and as my time to leave drew nearer, Suyi was becoming even more relentless in trying to figure it out.
Eun-bi worked hard at a small operation that built farm plots into the structures of the towering buildings of Busa-nan. She’d told us all about the company, UpGrow, and their mission. With the population increasing in the kingdom, it was only a matter of time before fresh produce being readily available for all was going to be the standard. Her designs were genius, and she’d already been recognized by the company founders.
I was happy they were flourishing, and Eun-bi seemed truly happy with her work, but I couldn’t shake the cold fear that settled in my mind. This was it. The threshold of no return. The morning of our departure. Once we were on the open seas, there was no turning back.
I packed my backpack, careful to wrap my family portrait in two layers of clothes, like that could protect it from the scrupulous search the Kokyu customs agents would perform. I took a deep breath and zipped up my pack.
“Ready?” I asked the others.
Lee and Hwang were practically bouncing out of their skin with excitement, but not Cho or Shin-soo. They nodded with quiet reserve, and I could only assume they felt the same pressure as I did.
We made our way to the dining hall with our packs and loaded up plates full of food. We would be on rowing duty for the first two hours of the trip, and needed an ample supply of energy to feed the immense munje costs.
Hana, Yuri, Cho, Shin-soo, and I ate in complete silence. It was when the meal was almost done that I sat back and reviewed our surroundings. The other third-years were giddy, and our lack of excitement was giving nearby tables reason to be worried.
“I’m ready for this adventure,” I said in Kokyugo. We’d been instructed to speak the Kokyu dialect at all times to help ease our transition into the culture. It had done wonders for my horrible accent, so said Mae.
Hana smiled. “Me too.”
Shin-soo squinted at me and asked in a hushed voice, “You know we might die, right?”
I sighed. “Yes, but I’m hopeful we won’t.”
“We won’t,” Yuri said smugly.
“How do you know?” Cho asked, interested.
Yuri pulled a small, silver coin from her pocket. It wasn’t a guli or any of the coins in circulation in Kokyu. “Rub it,” she said, holding it out over the table.
“Oh no, Yuri. Did you fall for that quack fortuneteller’s lies?” Hana asked with pity in her eyes.
Yuri shook her head. “It’s seriously a lucky coin! I got picked for second rowing shift, the easiest shift. I also got fresh pork belly this morning.”
“That doesn’t mean the coin is lucky,” Cho said, looking skeptical.
“Whatever,” Shin-soo said, then rubbed the coin. “I need as much luck as I can get.”
Cho reached out and rubbed the coin next. “Yeah, totally.”
Hana groaned, but gave the luck emblem a scrub, then everyone looked to me. I rolled my eyes and gave the coin a swish swish with my index finger and thumb. Yuri looked content and put the coin away.
Min-hwan cleared his throat, booming over the hall full of students. “The time has come to bid farewell to the third-year exchange students.”
My heart thrummed with nerves, and I looked around at the smiling faces.
“Have a safe trip!” everyone chimed together.
It was as if my life were playing at double speed, and in no time at all, we were outside the gates of Bastion staring at twelve rickshaws hired to ferry the twenty students and four escort instructors down to the seaport. Several intercity ports existed to get people from one end of Busa-nan to the other, but there were only two ports with boats large enough to travel across the sea to visit neighboring kingdoms.
Hana held my hand as we bounced along, but said nothing. My heart was raw as I watched the kingdom streets go by. Would this be the last time I ever saw them?
Unlike the fishermen’s docks—five narrow strips of wood planks stretching out thirty meters into the bay—the international ports were massive. At least sixty boats with capacities ranging from ten passengers up to two hundred waited down the thirty thick, long planks.
Boats with tall masts, machina motors, and elaborate designs filled up the bustling space. We exited the rickshaws at the edge of the port where the excitement was palpable. Students from all kinds of academies throughout the kingdom were lined up to board their boats for the exchange program.
“There’s the Silver Dragonfly,” Cho said wistfully as he pointed toward the students in silvery robes accented with hints of purple and blue.
Cho’s sister, Zari, had elected to become an escort for her exchange program when she’d learned Cho would be going to Kokyu. They had hoped to be able to spend time together there, since Zari was under such strict observation in Busa-nan.
“You’ll see her soon.” I smiled and patted my friend on the back.
“Students, gather up!” Sung-ki boomed with an infusion of ry, and my class gathered around him. “We will be aboard the Swift Sola, pier seventeen, position ten. If you are not there in thirty minutes, we will depart without you.”
I looked to my friends—and Shin-soo—and confirmed there was no reason to mess around wasting time. We followed the instructors to pier seventeen down to the Swift Sola and boarded the agile-looking ship.
It was primarily constructed of wood, with solid metal pressed along the underside. Razorfins would dice up anything not shielded by metal stronger than their infamously named razor fin. The boat had a mast and sails for catching wind, but the primary method of making speed would be our own “rowing”—moving the water around the boat to propel it forward.
The rowers wouldn’t use oars, but would pull at the water itself with en munje. They would line the front left and right sides of the boat on the main deck. Behind the rowers were two sets of stairs on either side that led to an upper deck for steering, observation, and loitering. The back of the boat had areas to stand about and enjoy the scenery, and there was a small space below decks where we could store our gear.
The ship had a few places for sitting, but it was obvious the vessel was not meant for multiple days of straight travel. There were no cots, and no space to sleep for that matter, or store a lot of food. The ship was intended to make port every day it was out, or at least make landfall and set up camp on the shore. I knew our trip would take us to Heiko, the island between Busa-nan and Kokyu. It was a no man’s land, fraught with pirates and degenerates.
But it was also necessary. The leader of Heiko—no more than a greedy thug—controlled the canal that would allow boats through to the other side and into Kokyu territory. Without going through Heiko, the trip would take an additional five days of sailing around tall mountains and treacherous waters full of dangers even greater than a ravenous pod of razorfins. There was nowhere to pull ashore against the rocky cliffs, and rowing non-stop would certainly be our death.
Cho was leaned against the railing on the top deck, his light hair ruffling in the breeze. His eyes were set on the horizon, and no emotion played on his face. I approached my friend, knowing full-well he was thinking about something horrifying.
“What is it?” I asked.
Cho was quiet as more Bastion students boarded, then went below deck. “Zari.”
“You’re worried for her?”
He nodded.
“We’ll wa
tch out for her.”
Cho chuckled, then turned to me with a genuine smile. “She’s at the top of her class. I don’t think she needs looking after...” He trailed off and the smile faded. “I’m worried about if we fail. What will happen to all of them?” Cho asked as he gestured to the docks.
Bright-eyed students from all over the kingdom boarded boats off to fun and exciting exchange schools, some of them in Kokyu. If we were discovered, it might not just implicate all the Bastions, but all the students from Busa-nan. Who knew what the king of Kokyu would do?
“I’ve thought about it too, and there’s no point in keeping those ideas in your head. The more you fixate on failure, the higher its probability.”
Cho quirked an eyebrow and asked sarcastically, “Positive thinking?”
“The mind is a powerful place,” I said, tapping my temple. I placed my other hand over my heart, feeling Mae’s disc burned into my chest.
He nodded. “You’re right. Let’s not dwell on things.”
A loud boom like a trumpet blare filled the sky over the docks and all fell silent. “Attention student exchange programs. The Kokyu convoy will be departing in five minutes. If you are a Kokyu exchange, get to your boat now. The Sianam convoy will be departing in one hour. That is all.”
As more and more students flooded the deck, we shifted our conversation to mirror our peers in excitement. The loud blare sounded again to signal the convoy’s departure, and our captain stood.
He was tall and slender, with lean muscles. With a clearing of his throat, he addressed us. “We’ll have orderly rowing to Heiko! My crew will serve as section leaders for all rowing shifts. They will help you keep pace, navigate obstacles, and stay alert. Follow your section leader’s orders at all times, and we might just get to Heiko in one piece.” He paused, smirking. “I know you Bastions are supposed to be the best, but the sea is more treacherous than anything you’ve ever experienced. It will not be easy if we don’t all work together. Clear?”
