The Simmering Seas

by Frank Kennedy

“Indeed. Maybe more than you know.”

  “Which means?”

  “Since the two of you arrived, three Hokkis have entered this bar who do not belong in Zozo. Two women. One man. Disguises might pass muster to the weak observer, but their details were rushed. Did you bring a rear guard?”

  Kara eyed the crowd with care. “No.”

  “You assume. It’s possible their agenda is unrelated to you, but we need to proceed with caution.”

  “You said this was your territory, that you’d protect us here.”

  “It is, and I am. Miss Syung, do you actually believe I came alone?”

  He sipped the last of his bisque and wiped his beard.

  “Under better circumstance,” he said, “I’d order a bowl for you each. Another time, perhaps. Here’s how we play it, young ladies. You will leave the table first. When I rise, you will each place an arm inside mine and escort me to the rear. We will take the stairs to the third floor. The room is 317. It has a beautiful view. Ready?”

  “Yes. We are.”

  “Good. I assume you know how to use those pistols?”

  Chi-Qua gasped. “What?”

  “Your hand cases. You’re holding them much too snug.”

  Kara realized how tight she maintained her grip. Any fool might suspect there was more inside than makeup and prophylactics.

  “Be casual, young ladies. You’re about to entertain a client. Smile as you escort me to the time of my life. Yes?”

  They staged a magnificent parade and led Ham between the crowded tables and the standing patrons. Some Hokkis nodded at Ham with wry smiles.

  Just as they made the first right-angle turn, Kara saw something unexpected in the crowd. A mathematical improbability.

  He was drinking at the bar, talking low to another patron. He was taller than most, somewhere between boy and man, a reckless beard with hair styled in elaborate braids – the kind that took hours even for an artisan. He was blond, though many braids were tinted in rose and violet. Kara might have moved on, but he pivoted from the patron and glanced at the ex-Chancellor and his two dolls.

  Like Ham, he styled himself as a Hokki, but he was not. His Anglo-European features were clean and rugged.

  Another one.

  What were the odds?

  As they approached the stairs, Kara wanted to turn back. Run fast as she might. Why did she ever think Zozo was a smart move?

  4

  K ARA UNCLASPED HER BAG AND FELT inside for the snub-nosed laser pistol as they ascended the stairs. She didn’t know whether Chi-Qua saw the same unlikely patron, but Kara wasn’t in position to warn her. For the moment, she played along. When they reached the third floor, which was free of foot traffic, Ham allowed them to unlock arms and took lead to 317. He extended the key and pushed open the door.

  “Close behind you, please,” he said before entering first.

  The room offered no surprises. Ham flipped on a lamp and pulled back the curtains.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it? The sea at dusk. Come. Look.”

  He was right. The ocean stretched into infinity, sparkling under the light of the almost-full Huryo. Along the horizon, flickering cities barely moved – the massive ships of Pinchon heading toward the deepest waters to find the greatest catch. The ocean came to within a few feet of Mal’s Drop, the building set behind a massive seawall. She understood why he had no issue exposing a lit room to potential spies.

  “It’s nice,” she said. “Now, to business?”

  “Have a seat on the bed and tell me your story, Miss Syung. Once I hear your concerns and see your evidence, I’ll confirm what I know.”

  She reached into her bag, pushed past the laser pistol, and retrieved her hand-comm. Chi-Qua sat at her side. Ham leaned against the windowsill. Kara stilled her heart and began at the place where all important stories must.

  “Three years ago, my brother Lang killed himself. That’s not the official story, but I’m certain he did. His body washed up on the north shore two days after Sanhae.”

  Ham raised a finger. “Yes. I remember the particulars. Many rumors. My sympathies. What leads you to believe in suicide?”

  “He and I last spoke the night of Sanhae. We had been estranged for two years. He resented me, and for good reason. But I received a promotion that night. Nantou moved me into BRED. After the ceremony, Lang approached me. He congratulated me. He said he was proud, and he apologized for an earlier wrong.

  “Then his tone changed. I’ll never forget his words. He called me a soldier. Then he said, ‘There’s a war coming. Wars need soldiers.’ I asked him what he meant. But he kept going. I … I memorized the words and wrote them down later.

  “He said, ‘I tried to look away. But then they made me look closer. I was going to be their man for the future.’”

  “Whose man?” Ham asked.

  “I don’t know. But he wasn’t done. He said, ‘It’s not going to end well. Kara, they’re going to burn it all.’ Then he hugged me so tight, I knew he was saying goodbye, but I didn’t admit it until later. He whispered these words: ‘Focus on engineering. Keep a close eye. Be a soldier.’”

  Awkward silence followed. Chi-Qua grabbed her hand.

  “Nothing else?” Ham asked.

  “He promised we’d speak again then he walked away. I wanted to run after him, but I’d never seen him like that before. He was always self-assured. He was the second brother, but stronger than Dae. The more I think about the darkness in his eyes, the more I realize he attended Sanhae to be with his family one last time. He left this world by choice. I’m sure of it.”

  “And you have a theory as to why?”

  “I think Lang was being groomed for something horrible. Something he had no power to stop. He surrendered the only way he knew how.”

  Ham clasped his arms and frowned.

  “An intriguing conjecture. And deeply flawed. ‘They’re going to burn it all. Watch engineering.’ I slice those warnings together, and we’re talking about some manner of potentially devastating tech program. Your brother was a junior member of Nantou’s Executive Board. He was not without influence. Rather than kill himself, he could have exposed this program. Why suicide?”

  Kara did not want to go there, but Ham left her no choice.

  “Lang made mistakes. One almost destroyed our family. For a short time, he was the island’s leading trafficker in mahali. I think it was his way of rebelling against the script our parents laid out for him. He was ashamed. I think his involvement in this other matter broke him.”

  “Hokki elites. Too easily shamed. I assume you followed Lang’s advice to keep a close eye on Engineering. What have you found?”

  She ignited the hand-comm and pulled up schematics.

  “Lang’s job was to oversee interisland commerce. Unfortunately, his business and personal accounts were clean-slated before I broke into them, so I never discovered the nature of his activities. The only records existed on the finance mainframe. All company travelogues and expense reports must pass through accounting. It took months to sort through years of data without leaving a footprint.”

  Kara grabbed the data fields and threw up a holographic interface.

  “He traveled to forty-eight islands over four years. I cross-checked everything, looked for patterns. He visited some islands more than others, but he showed no favorites. No greater frequency. It looks for all the rings like he was simply doing his job.”

  Ham nodded. “But you don’t believe in ‘looks,’ do you?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Good for you, seeing beyond the veil. I spent six years in Special Services making things ‘look’ a certain way.” He started toward Kara, revealing his own hand-comm. “May I?”

  “Go ahead.”

  He leaned the device into the holographic field, which jumped onto his hand-comm.

  “Do you see anything there?” She said.

  “I have only your theory about suicide, and your brother’s travel records. This is not why w
e’re here.”

  “No. I suppose not. But it’s like you said downstairs. We can’t see the big picture without motive, means, and consequence.”

  “Fair point. Continue.”

  She grabbed more data and threw up a series of historical simulations focused on the Kye-Do rings.

  “I assume you’re familiar with the conspiracy theories about the rings. How the acenomite is poisoning the continent’s arable land?”

  “Yes. The theories have found fertile ground – pardon the irony – on subnets of the Global Wave. Does your data support them?”

  Kara sighed.

  “These charts rate the amount of acenomite dust in the atmosphere over the past fifty years. As you see, the particulates have been falling at a far greater pace over the continent than over the ocean. In the past four years, the particulate concentration has more than tripled. The largest dust clouds have impacted the highlighted regions, all of which were agricultural centers.”

  Ham’s eyes widened. “The keyword being ‘were’. I’ve never seen this detail before. I wasn’t aware the science was so specific. Nantou has been compiling these numbers?”

  “Nantou, Hotai, and the next three biggest seamasters. It’s classified. I only found it because I poked around in hidden spaces.”

  “If this data is correct, the rings are indeed poisoning the planet. It also contradicts the public messaging. The seamasters and every regional government have insisted acenomite fallout is a harmless natural process thousands of years old.”

  “But accelerated by centuries of Chancellor mining operations.”

  “Yes. And those operations ended eight years ago when the Carriers broke orbit. If anything, acenomite fallout should have decreased. Hmm. I like conundrums, Miss Syung, and this intrigues me. Two questions. Are you certain these figures are accurate? Why do you suppose the seamasters concealed them?”

  Ham allowed his hand-comm to grab the charts without permission. The more Kara said these things out loud, the greater her dismay.

  “I studied the science, Ham. The field tests couldn’t have been faked. Why they’re covering it up, I don’t know.”

  “Be cynical, Miss Syung. It’s a short leap to the truth.”

  She took the offer.

  “Profits. As long as nothing is done to combat the true source of the problem, the continent increases dependency on the seamasters. We feed the world and we raise our prices. It’s … it’s inhumane.”

  “Yes. And sadly, direct from the Chancellory’s playbook: How to Become the Ruling Caste.” He moved his fingers through the graphics. “And yet, Miss Syung, there’s something deeper at play. An element far more concerning. A scheme of this nature is not sustainable. Greater inequity will drive global conflict, disrupt supply lines, slash long-term profits, and turn ninety percent of Hokkaido’s population against these little islands. The Chancellors wouldn’t have minded the odds because they had an invincible army at their disposal. But The Lagos? A cabal of short-term profiteers.

  “As with all other human concerns, the driving force is wealth. The question: Why amass it through a scheme that’s destined to fail?”

  Her paranoia asked the same questions over the past months of quiet investigations, yet she never said them aloud. Kara didn’t used to believe in conspiracy theories. They always seemed to sprout from weak, rattled minds unable to accept rational events at face value. And now? To hear confirmation from a Chancellor? The answer reached her lips with a matter-of-fact pronouncement.

  “They’re deferring short-term profits to some larger purpose.”

  “Indeed, they are. And this is where we land on your brother’s words about Engineering. Has Nantou commissioned any unusual projects in the last few years? Any classified teams working apart from the primary corporate structure?”

  “No. And trust me, I’ve stuck my nose everywhere. It’s all geared toward more advanced ships, safer deep-sea mining operations, open-water platforms. Nothing beyond the ordinary.”

  Ham shuttered the hologram and pivoted to the window. He studied the sea in silence then rapped twice on the glass.

  “I’m disappointed, Miss Syung. You missed it.”

  “Missed what?”

  “The nexus.” When he faced her again, Kara saw the light of revelation in his eyes. “Grand schemes fail without a nexus. It’s the joyful center where motive, means, and consequence make love.”

  “I see. And where is this nexus?”

  “You already know. You’ve shown me. You …”

  He raised a finger as he paused and pulled back his left sleeve. He pressed the receptor of the bicomm melded to his wrist. A six-inch holographic figure emerged. Kara recognized the young man with braids who she spotted at the bar downstairs.

  “Trouble times three,” he told Ham. “I got their flank. Pickup is on the way.”

  Ham nodded and silenced the bicomm.

  “Wish I’d been wrong this time.”

  He tucked away the hand-comm and reached inside a subtle fold of the Sak’ne suit to unveil a long-barreled laser pistol.

  Kara didn’t think. She reached inside her case, felt the snub-nose, and prepared to do something for which she was wholly unqualified.

  She didn’t have the chance.

  “Down,” he said. “Both of you. Behind the bed.”

  5

  K ARA HEARD COMMOTION in the hallway before she hit the floor. She hugged Chi-Qua tight. Had she come so close to discovering the truth, only to end up a corpse in doll’s clothing? The scandal would bring down Syung-Low.

  First, she heard a shout. Maybe the braided man, maybe not. Panic shut down her reflexes. In the next few seconds, she lay paralyzed.

  The concussive blasts signaled a battle of three against one. The three were closer.

  Grunts. Vulgarities. Ricochets.

  A blast blew off the doorknob.

  Ham held position, a monolith with two hands to steady his weapon.

  The door smashed inward and laser blasts followed. Flares of concentrated red death appeared to wing Ham, but he never flinched. The former Chancellor held his position with the same unshakeable courage of the Guard soldiers who used to drop from the sky and silence every violent Hokki conflict.

  The window fractured.

  He responded: One shot. Two. Three.

  Kara thought the battle lasted forever, but common sense suggested it ended less than ten seconds after it began.

  She knew they prevailed when Ham nodded to his compatriot and tucked away his weapon.

  She made sure Chi-Qua was fine before they rose together. The tableau was like nothing she imagined. It went beyond the headlines or crime-scene photos on the IntraNex. This sort of business didn’t happen in Haansu or within the corporate cluster. I fought these battles among the street rabble, the front-liners for dead-end causes, anti-immigrant groups, and misguided insurgents. But here she was, Kara Syung of one of the five most powerful houses on The Lagos, observing three bodies of Hokkis who came to kill her.

  The woman who fired on Ham took a pair of clean hits to the face and another through her neck, which was scarcely attached to her torso. Outside the open door, a boy – looking younger than Kara when she graduated the Vox School six years ago – took a hit between the eyes. His brains painted the wall behind him. The third shooter – a girl at least as old as Ham – held a silly smile beneath glassy eyes. She bled from the mouth.

  The braided man who saved them swaggered into the room as if triumphant, but he didn’t last long. He cursed under his breath and grabbed at a wide, dark burn beneath his left collarbone. He fell back against the open door. Ham raced to his side.

  “How bad?” Ham asked.

  The young killer shrugged. “Too bad.”

  She caught the certain stare between them, and then a nod. Ham helped the braided man to the floor.

  “Cudfruck,” he told Ham. “She was waiting for me. Got me with the first blast.”

  “But you held the line. Good b
oy.”

  “There’s something else. I recognized this one.” He pointed to the woman Ham killed. “We trained in the same unit. Check her.”

  Ham bent over the woman and ripped away her shirt. Kara recognized the symbol tattooed over most of the assassin’s chest. A large green sun radiated fifty-seven uniform red rays, representing the islands of The Lagos.

  “Green Sun,” she whispered.

  Ham did not acknowledge her but checked the other bodies.

  “Don’t understand,” the braided man told Ham. “Why was she here?”

  Kara saw the confusion in Ham’s features – the mirror opposite of the light of revelation he demonstrated just before the battle.

  “This may not be as it appears,” Ham said. “I’ll see to my sources.”

  “Sorry about the misread. I’ll do better next time.” The shooter acknowledged Kara and Chi-Qua. He licked his lips and smiled through obvious agony. “You two are some hot coits. Not bad for posers.”

  Kara stepped in. “Ham, what are we doing? He needs help, and … look around. How are we going to get out of this?”

  “Settle, Miss Syung. No one knows. No one will.”

  “What? How?”

  “That mad ruckus two flights below? No one heard the shots. And we’re the only ones on the third floor. I reserved all of it.”

  “He’s one smart asshole,” the shooter said. “Emphasis on the ass. Oh, by the way, I’m Ryllen. Friends used to call me RJ, back when I had friends. Been a long time since I met any girls from Haansu. Nice.”

  Kara was dumbstruck. Ryllen was a strange creation, an obvious off-worlder who honored Hokki tradition with some of the most elaborate braids she’d ever seen on a man. Yet he was also a killer. Green Sun. A band of nationalist fanatics who targeted illegal immigrants, and anyone else they considered traitors to the “purity of The Lagos.” At the moment, through that forced smile and undisciplined scrap of beard, he seemed like a boy trying to be a man.

  “I need to get them to safety,” Ham told Ryllen, who nodded. “How long do you have?”

  “It’s a cudfrucker, but it feels slow. Faster the better, Ham.”

  Again, they shared a unified nod. Kara had a horrible feeling.