Hoija also scared adults. Kara never took so many gut punches.
“No, Honorable Gran Hoija. No need to continue. I understand your message.”
“Wonderful. You realize, of course, we never spoke today. And if life serves us well, we will never speak of this again. I have a busy schedule, Kara. Do you have questions or concerns?”
She spoke like the hammer to the nail after the job was done. Kara shook her head, devastated at anyone being able to crush her spirit with such efficiency. Hoija pushed back the chair, stood, and straightened her dress.
“I look forward to daily conversations over tea once you join the Taron household. Until then …”
Kara wasn’t going to let Hoija depart so easily.
“If I may, Honorable Gran Hoija. I have one question. Why did the wedding move forward six months?”
“Ah. Did you ask your parents?”
“I did. They said you made the request.”
“There you are. Matter solved. Have a wonderful Dullin, Kara.”
Kara had no time to ask a follow-up. Hoija left the office without closing the door.
Blackmail?
Kara recalled the counsel of her late Gran, who told her years ago, “Never forget, child. The Kohlna have the sharpest teeth. They are very clever. You will not see them coming.”
None, apparently, were sharper than Hoija’s.
Minutes later, she continued to reel in place when Oleena Jan-Po, the communications officer, knocked and entered.
“Kara? Are you feeling well? You look out of sorts.”
What to say? What to say? Dammit, Kara. Make this good.
“Yes, Oleena. I’m ecstatic, actually. It’s just the enormity of the moment. It overtook me.”
“Understandable. This will be a massive sea change. If you wish for privacy, I can direct the others to stay clear.”
She almost accepted the offer. No. This will not break me.
“Actually, Oleena, I’d like to meet my project team in ten minutes. Conference B. Would you notify them?”
Six days left.
I’ve come too cudfrucking far to stop now.
Kara reset her emotions, compartmentalized Hoija’s theatrical moment, and thought of Chi-Qua in the Hall of Records. Her work there was critical, but it might be worthless without the effort of the project team. This next step had to be carried out with nuance. Kara knew how to do it, but if her efforts drew too much attention too soon …
Still, she was ready when her team of five took their seats around the circular conference table. These were top-flight professionals, none of them prone to flights of fancy, office politics, or a sense of entitlement. Not one qualified as a sycophant, and only two attended her cake and tea.
She triggered the projection globe in the center to cast the schematics from her hand-comm. Kara spent three hours crafting this moment rather than sleeping.
“Thank you for pushing everything aside,” she began. “I intended to call you in when I arrived, but the morning conspired against me.”
They laughed, which set her at ease.
“I had an epiphany last night regarding the WaveRammer design. I might have a solution for the problem we’ve encountered with the convex alignment scoops.”
She displayed the three-dimensional designs for the proposed revision to Nantou’s drone offloading system. The goal: Improve speed and efficiency for automated cargo transfer at the Port of Pinchon. Each day, more than three hundred drone systems processed the giant catch arriving from deep sea. They also loaded ships with construction equipment for offshore and suboceanic facilities. However, technical glitches increased as the drones aged, and replacement parts became more expensive.
The Executive Board designated Kara’s team to design upgrades before the competition stepped in. She found the perfect cover to advance her mission.
“Has anyone considered using shimmer tech?” She asked.
Their eyes revealed a healthy mix of skepticism and delight. She knew the answer before the first tech spoke.
“Shimmer tunnels operate large-scale systems,” Alli Parnish said. He was the senior member of the team, with more than twenty years in BRED. “One would have to miniaturize the energy containment field by at least ninety percent to accommodate our alignment scoops. Even then, we’d have to retrofit the convex gradient of the scoops. Assuming the integration is even practical.”
Heads nodded. Carbedyne shimmer tunnels traditionally operated as the core power systems for the largest ocean-going vessels and suboceanic bases. The alignment scoops were each less than a foot long. Though her suggestion seemed, at first, too much like backtracking to reconsider the entire design matrix, Kara knew her team well enough to anticipate the response.
They agreed with Alli Parnish, but they embraced the challenge to figure out how the retrofit might work. A healthy debate began. They considered her additional schematics, examined the energy capacity of a typical shimmer tunnel, and threw together theoretical redesigns on the fly.
Thirty minutes later, a skeptical mind hit upon the biggest roadblock – which Kara wanted them to uncover without her help.
“Even if we can make this work,” said Geo Laan, a ten-year veteran, “we do not own proprietary control over shimmer tech. We’ve always outsourced those systems. High Cannon Collective has the monopoly.”
“Yes. I’ve heard of them,” Kara said. “This is their one product. Am I right?”
“You are,” Geo said. “The seamasters tried to acquire the patents, but the Chancellors intervened in negotiations long ago. I worked in procurement before I moved to BRED. Dealing with High Cannon was stressful on a good day. Their contracts were unreasonable, their prices astounding. We had enough on-hand cash to buy them out five times over, and they rejected every offer at face value. Even today, when we purchase shimmer tech, the negotiations are held at their facility on Mangum Island. I doubt they’ve ever set foot in Nantou, Hotai, or any other seamasters.”
“Why the privacy?” She asked. “Shimmer tech has been around for decades. Eventually, we’ll develop a superior system. Plus, the Chancellors are gone.”
Alli, the twenty-year vet, chimed in.
“I don’t see them as any different than the rest of us. The seamasters will do anything to hold their power base, but we know this world is changing. It’s fraying. The issue with the rings is not going away, my friends.”
Teams rarely discussed the acenomite issue – mostly at the executive board’s insistence – so rooms became tense at its mention.
“Agreed,” she said, wishing to be conciliatory. “But for the moment, let’s focus on shimmer tech. Can I have a show of hands? How many believe this direction is worth pursuing?”
Their curiosity for all things possible prevailed, as Kara predicted. Five hands. Perfect.
“Then I propose we attack the problem two ways. One, we set up simulations to determine the physical requirements of a retrofit. Second, we gather all resource material, including contacts, for High Cannon Collective. I can reach out to them personally, just to get the conversation started.”
Geo chuckled. “Good luck with that, Kara. Don’t expect the conversation to go five minutes before they insist on speaking in person, in their facility.”
“Not a problem,” Kara said, ever grateful that something finally went right this morning. “Mangum Island isn’t far away.”
9
T HE FIRST TIME KARA MET YA-LI TARON, she thought he was sixteen going on ten. His bones grew too fast for a boy with such pubescent features. Heads turned when he entered a room, but not because he dispensed a charismatic personality. Though a son of Taron, he was a gangly, awkward child who did not appreciate his status or understand his peers. Seven years later, Kara Syung greeted him in a private dining compartment at the sky level of Manifest Dome. She did not want to be here, not while her team was researching the facility on Mangum, but defying her father and Hoija Taron was not a smart strategy.
Per
tradition, Ya-Li bowed with a quick, disciplined nod and extended his right hand. Kara took it and allowed a kiss.
“You are beautiful, my love,” he said, unable to contain the glee of a pining schoolboy, though he was twenty-two. “May I?”
She offered no resistance as their lips joined. The kiss gave off no passion, but it was sweet. Just like Ya-Li, she thought. Sweet. Gentle. Frightened.
Honorable Gran Hoija’s words echoed louder than anything her fiancé might say. While Ya-Li walked with a more confident strut, the social incompetence was clear. He followed the script of tradition not only in how he greeted her, but how he prepared their table in advance. Two wines were already poured – one red, one white – and a tiny dish awaited Kara, with a Maylish braid in the center. The ringed delicacy blended ocean strips from the six-armed F’heldabeast, drifting sea cabbage, and yellow crab. Tradition said the Maylish braid stood for strength, love, and virility (depending upon who asked). Kara knew it was Ya-Li’s favorite food and, by extension, must become hers.
“You ordered a beautiful table,” she said, adhering to the script, then took her seat across from him.
“They say the chef here makes the best Maylish in Pinchon,” he said. “The wines come from the Onaka vineyards on Rapinoe Island. They pulled from a special stock for us.”
“It’s very elaborate, Ya-Li, and I’m grateful. But it wasn’t necessary, not for luncheon.”
He shaded his eyes, the embarrassment obvious.
“I know, Kara. Consider it my apology. I never wanted the news to come so suddenly. It wasn’t my decision. Please know this.”
“I do. You’re too kind a man to pull a stunt this brazen. No. This is how families like ours handle marriage. Social and political theater.”
“Is that what you think our marriage will be? Theater?”
The awkwardness arrived sooner than she anticipated.
“Ya-Li, we’ve had three years to talk about this. Your feelings are stronger than mine. I believe you’ll be an honorable husband. And someday, I might honor you with the same love. But my attachment to you has not grown. Don’t take it as an insult or rejection. My parents didn’t love each other. They married for social leverage. Eventually, that changed.”
He smiled as if she gave him the game ball despite no victory.
“Once we live under the same roof and spend more time with each other …”
“Then yes, Ya-Li, things might change. I ask you to be patient.”
He nodded without response and pointed to the Maylish braid. Kara dipped the knotted ring into a mango-pepper chutney and bit into it. Ya-Li was right. No one else prepared Maylish this well.
After the appetizer and the first sips of wine, Kara broke a long silence more typical of a deteriorating first date.
“Ya-Li, I have two important questions. They won’t change anything about next week, but I want us to go forward in certainty.”
“Of course, Kara. I love you. I’ll never hold back.”
“Good. Ya-Li, why did your Honorable Gran Hoija move up the wedding six months?”
He winced. “It wasn’t her idea. My Honorable Father told me the news only minutes before it arrived on the IntraNex. He said Honorable Perr Syung pushed for the renegotiation.”
“You’re sure?”
“I have not seen Gran Hoija in three days. She lives in a separate wing of the estate. She sits for dinner with us twice per week.”
Kara didn’t know what to make of this little twist of the knife.
“Then why was I told it came from the Taron household?”
“Honorable Father ordered me to make this reservation for luncheon. He said the House of Syung-Low would arrange social photos afterward. It’s all I knew.”
“They’re playing games, Ya-Li. Why?”
He lost his smile, clearly disturbed by this turn.
“Maybe it’s like you say, Kara. Social and political theater.”
“Doesn’t it make you angry to be used this way?”
“Everyone uses me, Kara. They always have. Sometimes, I don’t mind. I always knew my life wasn’t my own.”
“But it is, and that’s the point. We are grown adults, Ya-Li, and we are not without influence. Aren’t you tired of being a puppet?”
He stared outside to a spectacular view of the western coastline. In the distance, the Port of Pinchon extended more than a mile into the sea along the Isthmus of the Redeemer, hundreds of ships docked at its quays. Nantou Global and Hotai Counsel owned many of those vessels and most of the port itself. Ya-Li, like Kara, stood in line to inherit large chunks of this empire someday. At the moment, however, Kara did not feel like a princess, and Ya-Li seemed like anything but a prince.
His cheeks reddened. “Sometimes it’s easier to go along,” he said. “If they tell me to step to the left, and I do, then they’re happy with me. When they’re happy, they leave me alone.”
She remembered Hoija’s words. “Alone with your books?”
“Yes.”
Kara didn’t want to hurt him, but she refused to lead him on.
“So, you understand why I find it hard to connect with you?”
He sipped white wine. “You have strong convictions. You’re respected, Kara, but I think more people hate you because they know they’ll never best you. Me? I’m no threat to anyone, so they adore me. I wouldn’t mind having an enemy or two.”
She’d seen him fall into these moments of self-pity, the feckless rich kid who wanted sympathy because he occupied a role most people would die for. Despite Hoija’s hopes, Kara wasn’t sure anyone could harden Ya-Li into the leader his family demanded.
“After all this time, you’re still a mystery,” she said. “I’ve seen you with your circle of friends. They cling to you like all those acenomite rocks orbiting Hokkaido. I see you smile and laugh. You seem free. But with your family … even now … Ya-Li, I see an unbearable weight on your shoulders. Don’t wish for enemies. They’ll increase the load.”
He bit into the Maylish and savored a long chew.
“It’s been this way all my life,” he said, “and I can’t explain it. Away from home, I want to be heard. But when I’m with my family, I feel nothing. No connection. No kindred. I know in my heart they won’t understand, so I don’t try to be heard.”
“And with me?”
“Somewhere in between. I love you. I want to please you. But I don’t know if you’ll ever appreciate me for who I am.”
“When we’re married, I’ll be your family. Ya-Li, will you disconnect from me like you have the other Tarons?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, Ya-Li scanned beyond the booth, as if searching for a waiter. Kara held a steady glare. He swallowed hard.
Finally, he said, “I don’t know.”
“Huh.” She continued after a sip of wine. “I credit your honesty. Ninety-nine out of a hundred men would have lied. I suppose this brings me to my second important question. Ya-Li, do you actually want to marry me?”
Though she wished with a passion he’d say no, Kara wasn’t stupid. Such honesty would not stop the inevitable tide. He never had a say in this marriage, and his spine wasn’t steeled to halt it.
“I want you,” he said. “I want us together in my bed. The rest of it seems unnecessary.”
“Oh, I see. If I were a kept woman with a small place in the city where we met on a schedule …”
“No, no, Kara. I’d never think of you like that. If I have to sign paperwork to love you, then yes. I want to be your husband.”
“Not the best endorsement for marriage, is it?”
“No. But after noon on Yeodlin, it won’t matter.”
Kara wasn’t sure what she hoped to accomplish with her line of questioning. However, she later finished luncheon with the distinct conclusion Ya-Li wasn’t interested in whether she wanted to marry him. Or perhaps he was just clumsy enough to never consider asking. Though Ya-Li was gentler and more non-threatening than most, he shared a trait she found in a
lmost all Hokki men: They desperately needed the light to shine brightest on them.
Six days, Kara thought as she ate most of the meal in polite silence. Then I make babies for the Tarons.
Every instinct insisted the marriage would be disastrous, that they based it on a lie. Moving it forward six months made no logical sense. Deflecting blame for who started the renegotiation? This had to mean something of consequence. Kara was missing a crucial piece, and Ya-Li offered no help. As if the mystery of Mangum Island, the poisoning of the planet, and four dead bodies in Zozo weren’t baggage enough …
Still, Kara dared not fight back too soon. They needed to believe she intended to go forward with this wedding.
Which is why she later posed with Ya-Li for the social reporters, answering their softball questions with superficial niceties. As they took photos, she wrapped her arm around him and laid her head on his shoulder, as if no one on Hokkaido meant more to her.
She doubled down on the theater, no doubt pleasing everyone named Syung or Taron.
Yet Kara’s every thought turned to the next stage in her gambit. To Nantou, where information about High Cannon Collective might soon arrive on her desk. To the Hall of Records, where Chi-Qua gathered details about off-worlders.
Questions needed answers.
Answers required action.
Marriage was not one of those actions.
10
T HE KYE-DO RINGS REACHED THEIR zenith over Pinchon as Kara returned to Nantou Global. Rather than heading to the fortieth floor, she ventured outside to the Jai-Wei Gardens, which provided an impressive focal point at Nantou’s public entrance. At its center, the world’s largest sculpture of the great Kohlna fish reminded all islanders of the true source of their good fortune. Kara rested on the bench encircling the sculpture and reached inside her handbag to find her pipe.
A few soft pulls on the sweet poltash weed did little to lessen her anxiety or provide clarity. High above, the rings appeared to intersect the skyscraper at its northern and southern ends before disappearing. It might have been a marvelous sight, even symbolic, had she not seen it hundreds of times. The young girl’s fascination had morphed into a young woman’s consternation.
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