The Simmering Seas

by Frank Kennedy

  She tried, but another voice intervened.

  “Kara?”

  No, I won’t open them. You can’t make me.

  “Kara?”

  She surrendered to the voice and peeked out. Still, she was flying amid the rocks, but now the emptiness above the ring was filled by a city-ship. It was a cavernous miracle, kilometers long. An Ark Carrier, they called it. The glory of the Chancellory. Families. Schools. A world unto itself, orbiting Hokkaido for centuries.

  She heard all the stories about the waterfalls, the artificial suns, the sky fields, and the drifting operas. Hokkis who visited the Carriers spoke of a fantastical world where life was held in balance, where equity was guaranteed among its citizens, and where children prided themselves on being the legacy of humanity’s master caste. It was utopia for all those whose genes aligned to Chancellor ancestry. And like most Chancellors, they lived as gods high above the ethnics who they forcibly migrated to the thirty-nine colonies.

  It was beautiful. It was terrifying. It was demeaning.

  You don’t even see us.

  “Kara? Do you hear me?”

  Though the Carrier was many kilometers away, Kara saw its name displayed beneath its bow: Henrik Nilsson.

  Were you somebody important, Henrik?

  It answered her call with a blinding flash brighter than a hundred suns. Space distorted and folded in on itself. The Henrik Nilsson wavered, danced, shrank, and extended. A push-pull as if it were trying to run from the evitable. But the explosions tore at its superstructure. Thousands of tiny lights visible from stern to bow disappeared in a rapid sequence.

  In a blink, the ship disappeared into oblivion. The tens of thousands onboard never had a chance to scream.

  “Kara? Where are you?”

  A hand nestled upon her shoulder and brought Kara Syung back to reality. She stood on the balcony outside her private suite, looking into the sun, lost in a distortion of overlapping memories. Though she floated among the rings fifteen years ago, the Carrier’s destruction and the end of the Chancellory’s empire occurred eight years afterward. She was celebrating her sixteenth birthday, watching the stars from a cubby inside a bullabast tree. A white blister filled the sky to mark the death of the Henrik Nilsson.

  Life changed in an instant for all Hokkis.

  Independence. Reprisals. Social refinery. Insurgency.

  Though the surviving Carriers returned to Earth eight years ago, it felt like weeks. Hokkis moved forward on their own, without the supervision of the so-called ruling caste, but the Chancellors’ influence remained undaunted, like malevolent ghosts who mocked the living. Everywhere Kara looked from her high perch, the tatters and secrets of a dead empire pushed and pulled at Hokki society.

  Cracks widened. Tempers flared. Body counts grew.

  “I’m sorry,” Kara said, turning to the personal aide who was also her best friend. “I was lost in the past. It happens often these days.”

  Chi-Qua Baek’s empty smile reflected understandable anxiety.

  “You have too much weight on your shoulders,” she said. “Kara, we don’t have to go through with this.”

  “That’s what I go to bed telling myself. Then I wake up refreshed, come out here, feel the warm sun on my skin. I’ve come too far, Chi. In seventeen years, have you ever known me to retreat?”

  “No. And that’s the problem. You always dodge the consequences. Your day will come, Kara. It does for everybody. What if this is it? Are we pushing too far this time?”

  Kara kissed her friend’s cheek.

  “I’m glad you’re my conscience. You keep me in check.”

  She wrapped an arm around Chi-Qua and pulled her close. Kara stared out upon the estate grounds. The gardens were in full bloom, the bullabast trees loaded down in spindly green bulla fruit. Seabirds converged on the broad feeders surrounding the gazebo in the west garden. Just above the tree line, the spire atop the Hamoi family’s estate house marked a familiar beacon. It used to be a second home for Kara in the early years, when she took a short path through the narrow woods to visit Chi-Qua every day.

  That was before the Chancellors left. Before the reprisals and refinery. Before the Baeks lost everything. Kara had not crossed the property line in eight years. She and Chi-Qua never spoke about the Hamoi takeover.

  “There’s too much at stake, Chi. I have to do this. But I’ll understand if you want to sit it out.”

  “Wait, what? You think I’d let you set off to Zozo on your own? Your parents would have my head if anything happened.”

  Kara mused. “True. Your head on a pike would not be a good look.”

  Chi-Qua snickered. “You’re dark, Kara.”

  “No. Pragmatic. So, is everything prepared?”

  Chi-Qua lifted the black case in her right hand.

  “To the last detail. I stowed the rest in the sedan.”

  “Do you have questions? See any loose threads?”

  She frowned. “I still don’t understand why our contact insists on meeting in Zozo. He’s not a shadow. He’s well known.”

  “He lives there, Chi. Says he can do a better job protecting us on his own territory. I take him at his word.”

  “A Chancellor?”

  “Ex-Chancellor, Chi. He belongs to no one, which means I have to trust him. It’s more than I can say for my parents, or Dae, or half my colleagues at Nantou. No one is better positioned to help me.”

  “Or draw you into a trap. Kara, if he helps you, doesn’t that mean he’s taking sides? I thought he worked freelance.”

  “People who stay in the middle grow tired after a while. They have no one to play with. Come on, then. It’s time.”

  They retreated inside, offering Kara one last opportunity to make sure she was presentable for the next stage. The mirror reaffirmed her choices: Two-piece body suit, black with white sash, low cut but not provocative, accentuating her figure without drawing undo attention. Business casual, evening wear, appropriate for a woman of Syung-Low. Believable.

  Chi-Qua still wore her traditional staff dress of red and white, the house colors. Any change too soon might draw suspicion. They’d follow the usual strategy en route.

  The first test awaited at the entrance to Kara’s suite, where the nearest member of the estate’s security detail stood vigilant. Jo-Ta Pai was what they called a “strapper,” a man unusually broad-shouldered and muscular for a Hokki.

  “Honored Miss Syung,” he said. “I have a message from your Honorable Mother. She demands you not leave without a word. She waits in the parlor.”

  “Thank you, Jo-Ta. I assume she’ll insist you come along.”

  “We never discussed the matter, but the city is tense. I would feel remiss not to escort you.”

  “I can make my way. Always have. Tell me, Jo-Ta, where are you stationed when I’m out?”

  He winced at the question, as if it made little sense.

  “Here, Honored Miss Syung. The estate is vulnerable if even one sector remains unguarded.”

  She didn’t blame Jo-Ta for his paranoia. Her parents instilled it the day they hired him on a pay scale exceeding what a house guard anywhere else – including among the great houses of the Haansu District – might expect. If there ever was an attack – by Freelanders or any faction supporting the seamasters’ competitors – Kara doubted poor Jo-Ta would know how to conduct himself. In her experience, brawn rarely equated to courage.

  “I’m sure we’re in good hands,” Kara said, and led Chi-Qua downstairs. When she turned toward the main vestibule rather than the parlor, Chi-Qua stepped ahead.

  “What of your mother?”

  “I’ve heard it all before, Chi. We have an appointment to make.”

  Chi-Qua shaded her eyes as she looked beyond Kara.

  “Perhaps she’ll be brief this time.”

  Kara recognized Chi-Qua’s intimidation and rolled her eyes.

  “She’s behind me, isn’t she? Waiting in the hall?”

  “She is.”

/>   Kara sighed. “Knows me too well. Fine. I’ll give her an audience, just to throw her off the scent. Go to the sedan. Wait for me.”

  Kara pivoted, counting off the seconds in her head. This needed to be brief and efficient.

  Li-Ann Syung commanded the corridor wearing floral silk – her favorite dress – her hands cupped at rest. The shoulders were stiff, the nose high, the irritation clear.

  “Did Jo-Ta not pass along my message?” She asked.

  “He did, Honorable Mother. I apologize. I have business in the city. I was feeling rushed.”

  Li-Ann flexed a skeptical brow. “Rushed business? Hmm. You are typically so organized, Daughter. Always prompt. What carries such urgency for you today?”

  “I was planning to catch up on some work at Nantou, then I have a few evening engagements with friends. Would you like me to share my calendar?”

  “There will be no need. I think we’re well past such business. Yes? Although I am concerned about your determination to travel without security.”

  “No cause for concern, Honorable Mother. I’ll stay within the narrows. A good girl.”

  Li-Ann studied her daughter’s black-white ensemble.

  “Yes. Good. Reliable. Circumspect.”

  “Indeed. If that’s all, Honorable Mother, I’d like …”

  Li-Ann wagged a finger. “I thought to pass along the news before you heard through other channels.”

  “News?”

  “Your wedding to Ya-Li Taron has been rescheduled.”

  Her stomach churned. “To when?”

  “Next week. Seven days. At noon on Yeodlin.”

  Suddenly, the business in Zozo took a back seat.

  “What? I’m not supposed to marry Ya-Li for six months.”

  Li-Ann shrugged. “The terms have been renegotiated.”

  Kara raised her voice, a quality her mother hated.

  “By whom?”

  “Your Honorable Father and Ban-Ho Taron, of course.”

  Panic. Stiff chest. Fever.

  “No, no, no. This is unacceptable. We had a four-year agreement. You can’t just toss us in the arena with so little warning.”

  “But we can, and we have. Kara, you had three years to file an objection to the arrangement. But Ya-Li, being a man of outstanding character, gave you no grounds to object. The terms have adjusted. Notices will be delivered tomorrow.”

  She searched her mind for a last-second gambit.

  “Then I’ll submit a formal objection before the notices.”

  “I see. And will you do this before or after your business in the city? Perhaps my memory is faulty. Yes. Now that I recall, I believe your Honorable Father said the notices will be relayed before sundown.”

  She cursed in silence. “Why the rush?”

  “Your Father and I married five months into our agreement. Trust me, Kara, three years is an outlier. Look at this with relief. All the pertinent arrangements were sorted weeks ago, freeing you to enjoy your final days with Syung-Low. The Taron household will prepare the venue. I understand Ban-Ho himself is looking forward to the event with great enthusiasm. And I’ve never known a Hokki to disappoint Ban-Ho without suffering lifelong regret.”

  “You never answered my question. Why the rush?”

  Li-Ann brought out that smug, condescending grin Kara hated since she was little.

  “You have grown into a fine young woman, Kara. Bold, independent, stubborn. A Syung-Low. But there are times you still think like a child. Hmm. Go into the city. Take care of your business. Enjoy your friends. Stay within the narrows. I wish to hear of nothing untoward.”

  She pivoted without waiting for her daughter’s response.

  Kara fumed. She’d lost count of how often she stood in these shoes, verging on victory, only to experience Honorable Mother’s chokehold.

  She loves to strike when you never expect.

  Maybe Chi-Qua was right: The Tarons would show more respect. Ya-Li was a good man, might even make her happy. But marriage? Cudfrucker!

  The timing couldn’t have been worse.

  Kara had a planet to save.

  2

  K ARA DIDN’T SAY A WORD from the back seat as Chi-Qua launched the sedan’s nav panel and programmed its course. The bronze vehicle, gifted to Kara upon her eighteenth birthday, fired its Carbedyne nacelles and began a gentle ascent over the neighborhoods of Haansu District en route to the UpWay. Kara reached inside a bag and found a metallic blue cylinder five inches long. She double tapped the end, which glowed. Kara pulled hard on the pipe and filled her lungs with smoke from poltash weed.

  Chi-Qua glanced over her shoulder.

  “The only time you smoke is when you’re angry,” she said. “Are you going to tell me what she said?”

  “I marry Ya-Li in seven days. Yeodlin at noon.”

  Chi-Qua swiveled about, her hands off the nav arms as the vehicle followed the binding fields onto the UpWay.

  “That’s insane, Kara. How can she do this to you?”

  “Don’t act surprised, Chi. You know my mother well. I could half accept it if I knew she still blamed me for Lang. But she wouldn’t use my brother’s shame to renegotiate terms. There’s something else going on. There’s no practical reason to reschedule unless …”

  “What?”

  “It feels like a seamaster maneuver. I’ve heard rumors about consolidation. With everything going on, Hotai and Nantou are more vulnerable. The bombings, the assassinations, the riots on the continent. The seamasters can’t do business as usual. Not anymore.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Kara hated being paranoid, though she long ago learned its necessity. She pulled on the pipe again and stowed it in her bag.

  “They called it threading. The great houses tried it centuries ago. Intertwine the most powerful families through marriage then rewrite corporate charters to favor the threaded houses. In time, control becomes too knotted to break.”

  “An oligarchy?”

  “More or less.”

  “And marrying you to Ya-Li Taron is their ace?”

  “If they’re on the verge of announcing a merger.”

  “What? I thought it was against the law for a single seamaster to run the entire industry. It would have a monopoly on every food supply line across Hokkaido.”

  “No law. Just a handshake four hundred years ago. They didn’t have a choice then. Threading was a disaster. The intertwined houses turned on each other. It was a bloodbath. The Chancellors intervened.”

  Kara was a student of history, often diving into archival texts gathering dust in the Pinchon Hall of Records. The old transactions – everything from corporate investitures, family reconstitutions, and immigrations from the continent – fascinated Kara. Most Hokkis on The Lagos knew little about the intimate history of their island chain, much of it having taken a secondary role to the once-dominant Chancellory. The rest was a combination of legend and Modernist propaganda.

  “So, you think they’re repeating history,” Chi-Qua said, “but without the Chancellors to keep them in line this time.”

  “Yes. Maybe. It’s predictable, but it doesn’t feel right. I asked Mother why the rush. She said I think like a child. Then she walked away. Typical. If it’s just a corporate maneuver, why the evasion?”

  “What about Ya-Li? Any chance he’s behind it?”

  Kara laughed as she rummaged through her bag. She snapped open a palm-sized case.

  “Ya-Li is terrified. He wants to marry me because he thinks he’s in love with me, but he dreads the first night.” She caught the salacious twinkle in Chi-Qua’s eye. “He confessed to me a month ago. He’s never been with anyone, Chi. Not once. They offered him a kept woman in the city, and he refused. Ya-Li can be gentle, but he’s insecure. The Tarons keep him on the shortest leash.”

  “In other words, a twat.”

  Kara selected a pair of prosthetic eyes from the case and held them up for Chi-Qua.

  “Too bold?”

 
; “Definitely.”

  “Good. Then they’re perfect.”

  She opened wide and tapped each prosthetic against a cornea. The design, biometrically fitted to Kara, melted onto the surface. Seconds later, they activated. Though Kara saw the world without change, her eyes cast an orange aura. This model reflected the latest in fashion accoutrement but updated its reflective nodules to prevent bio-gen devices from scanning her true eyes.

  “Only the best dolls wear that color,” Chi said with a wry grin. “But most of theirs are cheap knock-offs. You’ll make them jealous.”

  “As long as I fit in, I don’t care. What we’re doing tonight is too important. I’ll speak to Ya-Li tomorrow. Maybe he knows something. We have to put it aside for now, Chi.”

  “Right. Compartmentalize. You’re the better woman, Kara. If I learned I’d be joining the House of Taron at the end of the week, I’d have a hard time focusing on anything else.”

  Kara grabbed the catch on her white sash and unfastened it. She started from the top of her black body suit and pulled it back at the center crease, revealing her chest.

  “I learned to compartmentalize from day one in BRED,” she said, referencing Nantou Global’s Bioresearch and Engineering Division, where she worked for three years. “The rivalries. The pettiness. The subterfuge. You wouldn’t believe, Chi.”

  “Sure, I would. You’ve told me enough stories.”

  “I won’t be sucked into their vortex. The only ones in BRED with any vision at all remain focused on the science. The rest? It’s all about ambition and status. They don’t see what’s happening around us.”

  “Or they won’t admit it.”

  That’s what frightened Kara most. The evidence was overwhelming, the science undeniable, and the solutions elusive. She removed her top and pulled down her pants.

  “Which is why we need proof. Here’s hoping our contact will provide a lead. We’ve hit the UpWay, Chi. Drop the tint and hold speed at minimum safety. Let’s blend in with the traffic. I don’t want to draw the eye of a Forsythe.”

  The UpWay was congested as the sun descended into the east, and tiny moving islands powered by blue Carbedyne nacelles navigated in relative order on Pinchon’s central thoroughfare. Toward the northern end of the island, luxury class vehicles such as Kara’s intermingled with the public hoppers, rifters, and early model personal Scrams of Haansu’s working and service classes. End-day traffic on Meolin – the first day of the Hokki week – was always congested. Flashing beacons denoted distance to the next OutPass and offered lane-shift guidance to onboard nav systems.