by J D Astra
I awoke to the sound of steam venting and quiet, somber chatter. It was hard to sit up, like I was lying in a bed of rice that slipped out from under me at every attempt. I opened my eyes to see I was suspended over the deck of the Valeria in a thick woven net.
I climbed out of the hammock with painfully slow movements. However long I’d been asleep, it hadn’t been enough to save me from the penalties of not cleansing my infused zo. Fresh clothes were clipped on the wall with a handwritten note that read For Jiyong in an all-too-familiar handwriting.
I pulled the dobok down and inspected it. It was very old, but in good shape, and just the right size for me. I flipped it over and found a hand-stitched inscription on the inside pocket, just over the left peck.
May our hearts never beat wardrums.
~Moon
A lump swelled and filled up my throat until I was gasping for breath. I looked up, blinking away the unwanted tears, and dressed myself.
“Jiyong?” a timid voice asked. It was Numane, the girl who’d once asked me to join her at her private beach.
I gritted my teeth at the sight of her. The empty socket of her left eye was bright pink with a fresh, accelerated-healing scar. The skin around her nose was still purple, and she sported more than one new scar on her neck. She’d fought the Moon Shadow students who’d tried to detain her, like all the other Bastions had.
Numane pursed her lips, turning her face away until her missing eye was hidden under her hair. “Wansil Kumiho wants you.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“I hate you.” Her lip quivered, and she glared at me. Her one good eye misted with tears. So did mine.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not sorry enough.” She turned for the stairs down to the dining room, her shoulders bunched up to her ears and fists clenched.
I took another deep breath and banished the new tears. There would be time to cry when I knew what to cry about. I turned toward the hall up to the control room. The nanite map of the submarine’s bones were enough to guide me to the destination.
‘How long was I asleep?’ I asked while we limped along.
Mae hummed. “Something like twelve hours, I’m not really sure. I think I may have slept, too.”
‘How is that possible? I thought you didn’t sleep.’
“I don’t know, but there’s a definite time gap in my memory. A problem for another time,” she whispered sadly.
I passed Yin and one of the Silver Dragonflies—Nitta—on the way to the helm. Yin stopped, and I offered him a gentle pat on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Yin smiled sadly. “I will be exiled from my country for whatever lie is spun, but that doesn’t matter. I will never stop fighting for Kokyu and what’s right.” He paused, putting his hand on my shoulder in return. “I believe you were doing what was right, and I forgive you.”
I bowed. “You’re too gracious. You should hate me.”
He chuckled. “Hate is a poison. Do I wish I could see my mother and sisters, or my family home, or my friends? Of course, and I will again one day. This event has pulled back the veil. Now I see the tyranny growing in Kokyu through a man’s ill-intentioned good will. Now, I can do something about it.”
“And we will,” I affirmed.
“We will,” he said.
We parted ways, and I made it to the control room. Shin-soo was standing over Hiro’s shoulder, looking down at the control panel in the center of the narrow room. There was a ry glimmer cast on the far back wall, revealing murky seawater outside. I shivered at the thought of what might be below us or just out of sight.
I closed the door and both men looked to me. Hiro beckoned me forward. They had Mae’s secondary device sitting on the blue glowing controls, and above it projected the images I’d seen in my head when I was infiltrating Dokun’s machina.
“He’s creating some kind of base in Kokyu occupied Chi-ganya,” Hiro said, and the images flipped a few times, landing on the architectural plans for a massive structure.
Mae sighed. “It’s very likely to be a rocket site. I found various other plans regarding a satellite system, which he’d need rockets that could reach the lower thermosphere to deploy.”
“And satellites are?” Shin-soo asked.
I tutted. “You know how Hiro broadcasted that signal all over Busa-nan to make the people sick?”
My former father dropped his gaze, lips pressed to a thin line. Shin-soo nodded uncomfortably.
“A satellite system would give Dokun the power to broadcast over hundreds of square kilometers in an instant. Isn’t that right, Hiro?”
“That’s correct,” Hiro said solemnly. He scowled. “But why in Chi-ganya? Why risk having the base captured?”
“The fuel is there,” Mae said, panning the image over to the video of the mining operation. “It needs to stay cold, and transporting it long distances is dangerous. He had been trying to build this very same base on the island just southwest of Kokyu, but his fuel shipments were being raided by giant beasts...” She trailed off and the image changed to the clips of the ravenous, half-machina dragons.
They dove through the air, cutting transports out of the sky and leaking the mined fuel across the land. Where it touched, the plants shriveled, and the stone turned to ice. I snatched the device from the control and put it in my dobok pocket. Hiro had seen enough of our intelligence.
“Min-hwan will know what to do. We need to focus on getting home, not analyzing this data.”
“Good, I agree,” Hiro said. “Jiyong, why don’t you stay and help optimize the navigation so we can do that?”
Shin-soo bowed and left without a word. I didn’t want to be alone with my former father, but improving our chances of getting home faster and safer was more important than my wants.
Hiro pulled up to an orange glowing panel at the front of the ship. He explained all the systems as they were represented on the user controls, and then Mae and I dived into the data flowing through the wires.
His headings had only been a quarter of a degree off. But more surprising than that was he didn’t try to talk to me. He instructed or informed me, but he didn’t say he was disappointed or angry or talk about the mission. When we were done, we moved on to the ventilation system and optimizing power usage. After that, the water filtration system.
After several hours, and numerous stomach groans later from both of us, he released me. He stayed at the helm, staring out at the sea.
“Aren’t you coming?” I asked at the door.
He shook his head. “Someone has to watch out for hungry, ship-sized Gweng-wah.”
I gave one nervous laugh, and he looked at me sternly, as if to say, “I’m serious.”
I grimaced. “I’ll be back later to take a shift, then.”
I paused, then flipped open the inner pocket of my top so the inscription showed. “Was this dobok yours?”
He gave the dobok a cursory glance, then nodded.
So, he’d kept it all this time.
I closed the door behind me, then rubbed the back of my neck. Never had I sat over a control panel for so long, but it had been amazing to see the inner workings of the Valeria’s systems. While the connections weren’t as complex as Mae, they were far more vast, with interesting implications for ry communication expansions on future Tukos.
Around the corner, I heard a feminine grunt, straining, and then a string of cursing that could make anyone blush. Hana threw something metal to the ground, and the curses went on. I rounded the corner to see her attach a wrench to a steaming pipe near the floor.
She pulled on the wrench handle, her feet braced against the wall and butt hanging in the air. The muscles in her back flexed, and she groaned. Then, her hands slipped, and she fell back to the ground with another hissed curse.
“Can I help?” I offered, and she jumped.
“Jiyong,” she sighed, holding her chest. “If my former mother could hear my mouth,” she said with a nervous c
huckle, avoiding my gaze.
She’d been distant the whole trip through the mountains, but I understood why—I was right there with her. So many innocent people had died: our classmates, the people of Kokyu, children... I didn’t know if my master had been innocent, or if she was dead, but I knew she was a good woman, and she didn’t deserve being left behind on the battlefield.
With the Enjiho searching for us, it would’ve only been a matter of time before they came looking in the bay. Risking the lives of every student and all the data we had wouldn’t have been what Woong-ji wanted. I hoped she and Sung-ki were alive, and that I would see them again soon, but I didn’t give that hope much weight. I’d seen the explosion at the school.
“How are you doing?” I asked, squatting down next to Hana.
She stared at the steam hissing from the pipe, her face expressionless and still. She didn’t reply for a few moments, and I thought maybe she hadn’t heard me, but then she spoke. “I’ve seen too many friends die.”
The words punched me in the gut, and I yearned to comfort her, but I held my tongue. She needed me to listen, not speak.
After a quiet moment gazing into space, she spoke again. “How many more will die now that Dokun will take Kokyu? How many people will suffer because of his greed?”
The word struck me. Dokun wanted control, but I didn’t know if greed drove him. Hope, fear, desperation, those were the things that drove him. It didn’t make him any less villainous, but greed wasn’t his primary driver.
“I feel angry,” she said, fists clenched as she scowled. “I feel so mad at him for what he’s done and will do. I’m so sad for everyone who is hurting or will hurt. It’s not our fault this happened—it’s Dokun’s. He killed our friends and all those people. He unleashed the toxin on Busa-nan. He’s the one responsible for all this hurt... Yet in all this, there is one thing I feel ashamed of.”
She finally looked to me, tears in her eyes. “I kissed Ko-nah.”
I opened my mouth to tell her it was okay, that I understood she needed to keep up the act for the sake of the mission, but she cut me off.
“And I know, I know what you’re going to say. I know you’re not upset with me. I’m upset with myself. I know I had to do it, I know.” Her words were broken by little sobs as she went on. “I just can’t stop thinking I’ve betrayed you in the worst way, and that’s considering I tried to help get you kidnapped by your father!”
I opened my arms to her, and she fell into my embrace. I hugged her tightly, kissing her hair and whispering it would all be okay. The reminder of her actions stabbed through my chest, but I breathed and accepted them. I didn’t want our hearts to beat wardrums...
She cried herself out and eventually calmed. I continued to rock her side to side, enjoying the closeness we hadn’t shared in a long time. Every few seconds she would sniffle back the onslaught of tears, shaking in my grasp. We rocked until she was still, nuzzled against my chest with wet lashes.
Sung-ki’s words returned to me from what felt like eons ago. “We all make mistakes, Jiyong. She may be your master, but she’s not perfect. A lesson for you...”
It had taken Woong-ji’s sacrifice to teach me that lesson. I made mistakes, too. I shouldn’t have left her there. Maybe if I’d been a little more careful. Maybe if I’d tried harder. What was important was that I kept those things in mind in the future, so no one else would have to die.
“We all make mistakes. It’s what we do after that matters,” I whispered to Hana softly.
She broke into tears again. “I should’ve talked to you. I should’ve asked you to leave with your father. I should’ve trusted you to make the choice you thought was right, no matter what it was, just like you did for me.”
I squeezed her tighter. “We don’t know what a future would look like where I’d left with him. Perhaps everything would be better. Maybe Woong-ji and Sung-ki would’ve assassinated Dokun and none of this would’ve happened. Maybe I made the wrong choice.”
She shook her head. “No, everything would be worse. Dokun probably still would’ve come to power, and we wouldn’t know anything about his plan. You did make the right choice. And that makes me feel like a horrible white-backed weasel. Why did I think I knew better?”
“You and my master. Let me guess, she was the one who suggested the kidnapping?” I asked with a smile, trying to absolve Hana.
“It was. She said she didn’t want to lose Mae to the enemy, but really it was that she didn’t want to lose another apprentice. She really cherished you,” Hana whimpered the words, and hot tears came to my eyes.
“Apologies for the interruption,” Mae said through the speaker on my chest, and Hana jumped in my grasp. Mae wouldn’t have interrupted unless it was serious.
“It’s okay, what’s going on?” I asked, regaining control of my emotions.
“There’s a new audio-visual broadcast on all Kokyu frequencies. It’s dampened at our depth, but I’m piecing it together.”
Blue light projected from the device on my chest onto the wall beside us. Dokun’s face appeared front and center, mid-sentence.
“Attacks not made by our friends and neighbors, Busa-nan, but from inside our very own country.” The image shifted to show video clips from Enjiho as they witnessed Hisachi meeting personally with Woong-ji and others I didn’t recognize on separate occasions. After several clips, the image changed again to still-framed shots of the supposed perpetrators side-by-side. Woong-ji was there next to Sung-ki, Ko-nah, and Yin.
Dokun’s voice continued. “King Hisachi hired mercenaries and bribed teachers to destabilize our great nation from the inside. If you’re wondering why, hear this. You—the people—had spoken. You were tired of backwards progress. You were tired of the king stealing your husbands, wives, sons, and daughters for a war you didn’t believe in. You were tired of the lies.
“But your hope, your rebellion—Ribatasan—was a threat he couldn’t crush, and so he turned his weapons on the people, inciting fear. He would do anything to keep his power, kill anyone.”
The image changed to one I had captured and sent to the people of Kokyu. Dokun threw Ko-nah across the room and he fell to the floor. Blood pooled around his cheek and lips, and he didn’t breathe. Had he managed to drink the potion in time and survive the hit he took? What would Dokun have done with his body?
“He even stooped so low as to send this assassin in the guise of my joka-yi, my nephew’s son. And to Jiyong—if you’re listening, my boy—I know you were used like a tool, just like the other Bastion students. I want no harm to come to you or the other young ones. I want you to know that my offer still stands. You can come to me with anything, and I’ll be here for you.”
My aching body vibrated with rage. How could he be so... so...
“Manipulative and vile?” Mae asked aloud. She cut the feed.
“Wait! Is there more? What about news of Woong-ji or Sung-ki. What if they survived?”
“They may try to use the signal connection to track our location, like how we tracked the malware to the people affected last year.” Mae paused thoughtfully. “But we can probably get away with a few more moments.”
Dokun’s face snapped back onto the wall. “—tumultuous times, but I know our strength. Our ancestors fought back Nalkas and reclaimed Kokyu. Our ancestors cultivated munje. Our grandfathers built machina.” His voice rose with every proclamation until he was nearly shouting, but then he paused. He looked at the camera with gravitas. “We will tame science, abolish poverty, and live in prosperity like the ancients did. We will see this bright future brought to the whole world through peace, starting with Chi-ganya, the sister country we have ravaged for decades.
“We will share our technology with no reservation and turn our troops toward rebuilding cities instead of destroying them. We will heal the wounds we’ve made upon the Earth and mend our broken bonds.”
Mae disabled the connection. “That’s as long as I dare risking.”
I sat back in
utter disbelief.
Dokun had outsmarted us in every way. He’d used everything we’d done to his advantage, playing us like pawns. He had won this game of Shōgi.
Chapter 41
AFTER FOUR CLAUSTROPHOBIC days onboard the Valeria, we made it to an unlikely safe harbor: an island just south of Kokyu controlled by the Yumemo, the same clan Ko-nah had been raised by. Ko-nah’s mother, Maria, welcomed us on the docks.
Her smile faded when she noticed her son was not among us. Her expression became neutral, and she breathed slowly. “He’s dead, then?”
I showed her the remembered vision of his death with my ry. “He may yet be alive, but after three days through the hills and a day waiting in the bay, he didn’t meet us.”
Her jaw flexed, and she nodded. “He was a good man.”
“Even after everything that had happened, he had my trust in the end, and didn’t betray it again.”
At this, her face trembled into a teary-eyed frown. “It was worth it, I hope?”
“It was. I’ll send word when I can,” I said.
Her lip quivered one last time, then she nodded. “Very good. Follow me, and I’ll take you to your next transport.” She said it all in a business-like tone. This was a very different Maria from the one I’d met last year... She was a skilled performer, and had taught Ko-nah well.
I moved to follow her, but was held back by Hiro. “You won’t stand a chance against Dokun next time you meet unless you can master your munje.”
“I know. I’m going to learn at school,” I said.
“But they can’t teach you what I know.”
I shook my head. “Grandmaster Min-hwan has already taught me far more than you ever could.”
His face drooped in remorse for a flicker, then returned to stone. “If you ever need me, use the same signal. I’ll never be too far away to see it.”
“Is that a threat?” I pulled myself from his grasp.
“No, it’s a promise,” he whispered, then turned back for the Valeria.
Maria led us across the docks, through the narrow part of the island, and to the other side where another port sat. She helped get us back to the mainland on cargo vessels the Yumemo operated for one of Busa-nan’s rubber shipping companies. It was one of their only legal businesses, and the best way to get us into the city. I wanted nothing more than to return home with Hana, hug my family, and sleep for a week, but I knew we had to see Min-hwan first.
