The Simmering Seas

by Frank Kennedy

  Ryllen Jee felt no pain, but he was segmenting. Layers appeared to peel away. Whole sections of his body regenerated into facsimiles and joined each other in a semi-circle around the original.

  “SPLINTER.”

  He counted five lookalikes.

  None seemed interested in him. Instead, they examined the various partitions. After a time, they turned to each other and nodded.

  In a flash, they vanished before reappearing beyond the windows of the other worlds.

  Waterfalls. Glaciers. Volcanoes. Farmland. Towers.

  They spoke in unison before disappearing into these worlds.

  “We were never here.”

  It was impossible. It was a dream.

  For Ryllen, it was the most intensely beautiful moment of his life.

  Why me? I don’t deserve this. I don’t matter.

  The cube responded with silence, but Ryllen’s eyes caught a silver glint emanating from a partition boring deep into the ocean. On the other side? Wasteland.

  The tug was irresistible, the air thick, and the gravity overpowering, as if he were standing inside the singularity itself.

  “IT BEGINS. GO.”

  All the voices he ever heard – from the sweetest to the vilest – demanded Ryllen take one step into the greatest of uncertainty. He sensed what lay beyond: Pain, toil, desolation.

  And yet …

  I was never here, Ryllen thought before falling into the wasteland.

  Five shadows and a burning metropolis greeted him.

  40

  R YLLEN WAS GONE. SO WAS THE CUBE. Ham tried to make sense of the moment, but he glared at Mei with the same bewilderment she returned in kind.

  “Did I miss it?” He asked, without expecting a response. “I never heard him say a word. I never saw it happen.”

  Mei bent to her knees. “He was here. Yes?” She pointed to the bow line, which laid at her feet. “I tied the rope to his waist. Yes?”

  “I recall. But when?”

  Ham noticed the incongruity: Dawn had passed. The sun crept halfway above the western horizon.

  “Can’t be,” he said. “The morning light was dim. At least half an hour from sunrise. Do you recall?”

  “I think so. Yes. Ham, he’s gone. Where did he go?”

  “I’m sorry, Mei. This is my fault. Every instinct told me to resist RJ’s plan. I knew better than to put that cube back in his hands.”

  “But you gave in. That’s the little asshole’s magic. We all give in – even when we’d rather kill him. What now?”

  Ham shrugged. For the first time he could remember, Ham had nothing. No schemes, no theories.

  “This is beyond me. I witnessed things tonight I never imagined to see in my lifetime. To be honest, Mei, I fear the answers.”

  “If you’re frightened, I’d say we’re headed for the knife.”

  When they descended into the sub, the crew greeted them with funereal faces. Lan stepped forward.

  “We were worried,” he said. “Suggestions were made to violate orders and head topside. Where’s RJ?”

  “Gone.”

  Lan flexed a brow. “Gone, as in …?”

  “As in, not here. Not there. Just … gone. The Splinter as well. How long were we topside?”

  “Fifty minutes.”

  Ham and Mei shared a disbelieving glance.

  “And we thought the news couldn’t get worse,” Lan continued.

  Ham’s chest tightened. “How bad is it?”

  “We’re not going home. At least not right away. You were correct about how fast they’d work to identify us. The KumTaan has taken the Quantum Majesty. They’re calling it a crime scene. They raided my estate, questioned by family, and absconded with my personal plate. They won’t find anything of consequence, of course, but it will make them feel like champions in the short haul. I’m also out of a job. They raided the twenty-second floor at Nantou Global.”

  “Do they know about the Queen Mab?”

  “My contact at Baangarden reports no disturbances, but they might be lying in wait.”

  “I’m sorry, Lan. I thought if you remained at sea, they’d have little chance of connecting you to the mission.”

  “They connected me, Ham, because word leaked about my affiliation to Green Sun. I was publicly identified as its founder. The first reports have made their way to the IntraNex.”

  “A traitor?”

  “About time, I suppose. I’ve had close calls with double dealers in the past. I always imagined handing off the reins to another before my exploits overtook me.” He turned to Mei and shrugged. “I might have liked you for the job in a year or so.”

  “We’re not done fighting,” she said. “The KumTaan are idiots.”

  “True. Those squads are not the brightest, but they’ll ride this wave. Hokkis love scandal above all else, and the KumTaan only need to feed their hunger. But Mei is correct on one point,” he told the crew. “This does not end the fight. I’m neither stupid nor careless. They won’t crack our network. I built it from nothing after the Chancellors left our world. We are everywhere on these islands. The sugar channels keep us alive, active, and in the shadows.”

  Ham assumed Lan had all manner of backup plans in the event of a dangerous curve, but this information was new.

  “Sugar channels?” He asked, realizing why Lan didn’t seem to take enormous offense at these developments.

  “A silly name for a foolproof system.” Lan shared a smile with his agents. “Encrypted code. Handwritten. A language so complex no one’s cracked it because they don’t know it exists. We train our squad captains – Mei among them. They deliver communiques via poem, purchase order, or novlet. It takes longer but provides genuine security. Hokkis haven’t worked underground this way in centuries. We’ve become utterly dependent upon hand-comms and plates. Writing on paper is a vanishing art.

  “What can I say, Hamilton? I love history. The old Hokkaido. Why do you think I was so enamored by the Queen Mab? I can mobilize our people. They’ll choose me over the KumTaan. The question I have is this: What precisely do I say we’re mobilizing against?”

  Ham struggled to summon a more cogent response than topside.

  “To mobilize, you need a target,” he told the crew. “You lot always had immos. You sniffed them out then snuffed them out. But this? I don’t know how to identify the enemy. We witnessed how those people behaved at High Cannon. If there’s an enemy, they aren’t it. Whatever we face knows how to hide as well as you.”

  The more he talked, a vague picture formed.

  “But what happened at High Cannon will have ripples, even if it’s covered up. We need to be attuned to every development, no matter how obscure, or how bizarre.”

  Then he thought too much. Ham recognized the key details he overlooked from the moment Lan greeted them with bad news.

  “Lan, if the KumTaan came after you, how did I escape notice?”

  Lan shaded his eyes, as did the four young agents who stayed in his company.

  “You didn’t, Hamilton. But it wasn’t the KumTaan. The agents watching after your flat reported in before my name was betrayed.”

  He didn’t want to know. Why did I leave her alone?

  “What happened?”

  “A luxury sedan arrived about three of midnight. Our agents made no positive identifications, but there were two men and one woman. Very dark uniforms. Unfamiliar. They knocked. Upon no response, they entered with tactical weapons.”

  “And?”

  “Quiet. Ten minutes later, they left with a second woman.”

  Mi Cha. I’m sorry.

  “Was she …?”

  “Alive. Yes. Walking on her own power but hooded. Hamilton, who was that woman?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Sure, it does. I’ve had my people watching you for years. I always suspected something was off in your flat.”

  “You’ve been surveilling me?”

  “You expected different?”

>   One night’s folly: RJ gone. Mi Cha gone. Never was a Chancellor more incompetent. Ham checked his rage.

  “Am I to assume I’ve also been publicly listed as a criminal?”

  “Oddly enough, no. It’s mystifying, but you’re not returning to Zozo. The KumTaan might be laying a trap.”

  “I’ve set many a trap. I’ll recognize it. I need to go home. Arrange a pickup. Now.”

  Ham knew futility when he heard it.

  41

  K ARA SAW ONE WAY OUT, though her means of escape did not sit well. At this point, what choice remained? Her attempts to contact Ham and Ryllen failed. The people who first connected her to Ham Cortez knew nothing of his whereabouts. Her other contacts – inside Nantou and out – proved useless. She tapped into the IntraNex and saw news about Lan Chua’s unraveling as Green Sun founder. She knew the timing was not coincidence.

  Kara turned to someone who lived without a care, partying deep into the night and lounging on the wealth of her family. A woman who could be summoned at a moment’s notice because her calendar was otherwise vacant. As Kara predicted, the youngest of her bridesmaids – Shia Loo – made quick work of fashioning herself for the day and jaunting over to the Syung-Low estate in her sedan.

  Kara’s last words on the redirected hand-comm:

  “Leave your driver home, Shia. When security checks you through, tell them you’re surprising me.”

  Kara met Shia as a Year One at Vox School. For a while, she thought they might become best friends. She identified with the girl’s independent streak. Yet Shia’s individuality morphed into self-indulgence in later years. She became enamored by shiny things, a fate for many girls at Vox. Kara’s thirst for engineering set their friendship adrift. Yet Shia always came back, if for nothing more than to have a shoulder to cry upon. After the news of Kara and Ya-Li’s engagement surfaced, Shia closed orbit, all but inviting her way into the wedding party.

  “I’ll never be so lucky,” she told Kara two days earlier at Mina’s Garden, where the four bridesmaids took part in a luncheon which acted as a diversionary tactic. “I envy you,” Shia said.

  Shia had to be screaming inside, to know she’d lost her way. The rest of her life, she’d be recognized for inherited wealth but no more. Not even a respectable husband might change that reality.

  Kara didn’t have time for pity, but she did need a useful pawn.

  Standing on her balcony, Kara feigned surprise when Shia neared. The guards did not leave their stations, although she saw one whispering into a comm on his wrist.

  “Hi, sweets,” the visitor shouted. “I called the office and they said you were out today. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “My goodness,” Kara said, pulling off a decent “bestie” impersonation. “Of course, I don’t mind. I’m just sitting around waiting to be married.”

  “I’ll be right up.”

  “No, no. Shia, I’ll come to you. Meet me at the gazebo.”

  Chi-Qua was waiting inside.

  “This is dangerous, Kara. You don’t know how they’ll react.”

  “Which is why you aren’t coming, Chi. Stay in your room. They can’t know you were part of this.”

  She returned the hand-comm. “I restored its original settings. They’ll never suspect. Return it to the hiding place. Take a nap.”

  “Kara, I …”

  “No. Do as I say. This plan is a long shot at best. They won’t be able to accuse you of violating your terms. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you to your parents today.”

  Earlier, when her plan came into focus, Kara made a last call on the hand-comm, telling Chi-Qua’s parents the rendezvous was off. She didn’t know if another opportunity might arise again, especially after marriage – assuming Kara lived long enough to state her vows.

  Before heading outside, Kara slipped a couple of small, potentially useful items into cozy pockets of her casual sundress. She doubted the guard would search her. If they did, she expected to be dragged inside and cuffed.

  She greeted Shia with a kiss. Her old friend of sorts dressed as if ready for an afternoon poolside, her tight garments accentuating every nuanced curve. It was perfect. Enough to amuse the guards and lessen their sense of urgency.

  “I was so excited when you called,” Shia said, grabbing Kara’s hand as they sat together under the gazebo. “When you said the other bridesmaids weren’t invited, why, it just filled my heart.”

  “It did?”

  “Of course, sweets. We haven’t spent any quality time together in months. Just the two of us. I think it may be longer. I have to confess, I thought you weren’t terribly fond of me anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, you have a successful career, and you’re marrying one of the most gorgeous men in Pinchon. And the other girls … they’re more proper. You know what I mean? Stable. Reliable.”

  “OK. I’ll admit, Cho and Nya have made their place, but Brin? You call her stable?”

  Shia’s cheeks reddened. “I suppose the news will make the rounds soon enough. Brin’s going to be engaged. A few weeks, maybe. He’s junior level at Hotai, but a solid family. I think they’ll accept him.”

  The codewords were clear: Brin Lo-Han was marrying down. Typically, such transactions were only accepted when the bachelor’s family offered an enormous stipend and/or the woman was …

  “Is Brin pregnant?”

  Shia nodded. “Six weeks. It’s his. Test confirmed it. A miracle, really, because she’s been with so many …”

  “We don’t need to go there. I’ve heard the stories.”

  “I think she wanted to pull you aside at Mina’s Garden and tell you, but you had to run and …” Shia wiped away a tear. “The point is, she’s going to have a family. You all are. You won’t have time for Shia Loo.”

  As the waterworks started, Kara strategized ways to push through another shoulder-crying session with speed and efficiency. Shia’s usual self-indulgence tinged with a dose of self-loathing bore a hole in an already open wound which Kara detested among the daughters of the elite families. Like her, most were offered little leeway in terms of career choices, with most expected to play auxiliary roles in their family structure without establishing their own identity. Unlike her, they didn’t learn how to manipulate the system to benefit themselves early on.

  Kara hated these women though she never told them. One likely benefit of living inside the Taron cage? She’d never have to face these unchallenged, unmotivated women again. It would have been easy to blame the entrenched patriarchy of The Lagos, but Kara pointed her finger squarely at young ladies who received the best education on Hokkaido and tossed it aside to follow social orthodoxy.

  She endured their banter and superficial self-analysis, as she did now beneath the gazebo. Shia droned on with few prompts or objections over the next fifteen minutes, lining up the same old saws Kara heard since they entered Vox Upper School but adding a list of confessions as to why she spent half her life as a creature of the Pinchon entertainment district.

  “It was Honorable Mother’s idea,” she insisted. “She wanted me out of the house so I wouldn’t see how my brothers were smothered in the glory of the Loo dynasty. When I was fifteen, she just came right out and said it. ‘Shia, you will always be a shadow unless you create your own star.’ But she wasn’t talking about becoming an executive or an amazing engineer like you. She wanted me to go wherever I might be recognized by somebody who wanted to take me off her hands.”

  Ah, yes. The blame game. Vox graduates played the same hand to lay fault for their miserable yet wealthy lot in life.

  Kara wanted to slap her silly. Singularity weapons might be coming back to endanger the planet, led by a likely conspiracy of The Lagos elites, and this vacuous girl was bemoaning the loss of her future to a nightlife she seemed to love when not blaming her mother for it. Twenty minutes of this meandering nonsense proved to be quite enough, thank you. Kara also decided the guards were sufficiently unconcerned about any potential threat. />
  Time to act.

  “Do you have plans today?” Kara knew the answer.

  “Oh, no. My calendar is free. What are you thinking?”

  She lowered her voice. “My Honorable Mother has a full agenda of pre-wedding concerns. It’s why she insisted I stay home. But I’d love any excuse to dally off a bit. Yes?”

  Shia, who showed no sign of having bawled her eyes out for twenty minutes, turned on the positive energy.

  “Just the two of us? Or would you bring Chi-Qua?”

  “No. You and I haven’t had a true girls’ day out in … well, ever.”

  “What are you thinking? A last fling before Ya-Li?”

  “Nothing like that. I can’t risk scandal. Actually, I was thinking about the Bongo Seaside. You know it? South end of Zozo?”

  Shia lost her enthusiasm.

  “Oh. There. Well, it’s all very exciting, but the crowds. You know. It’s not our people. Very pedestrian.”

  “Perfect. Nobody will care who we are. I hear it’s always crowded these days.”

  “Well. You are the bride. And if that’s where you want to go … oh, why not? Who am I to say no to my best friend in the world?”

  Kara didn’t attempt to correct those last few words.

  “Great, Shia. So, here’s my plan. We need to be clever because Honorable Mother might be watching. OK?”

  It worked, better than Kara predicted. They bantered outside Shia’s sedan, its passenger gates open. Shia remote-triggered the nav with her personal code. The Carbedyne nacelles ignited blue, the vehicle hovering inches above the ground. Guards paid close attention but kept their distance, none appearing to suspect Kara’s deceit.

  “It’s been wonderful,” Shia said, loud enough for all to hear and as Kara coached her. “I can’t wait until the wedding. It’s going to be a beautiful day, sweets.”

  Shia disappeared inside, Kara stepping back to wave. She wondered whether her mother was viewing the moment from her parlor, which held a second-floor angle of the guest parking. If she was, Kara decided, might her heart skip a beat at what she was about to see?

  It happened in a blink. As soon as the gates descended, Kara leaped inside through the narrowing gap.