The Simmering Seas

by Frank Kennedy

  “Change the current by making your face known tonight. Invite a friend. Rent a room. Third floor. See if you can secure 317. It’s ocean view. Should provide an ample stage.”

  Ryllen chuckled. “A friend? What are those?” Ham was not amused. “OK. Fine. I know who I can ask. She’ll slap me around, but I think I can convince her.”

  “No think, kid. Make it happen.”

  “Sure, Ham, but I got to ask. This Syung coit … she’s coming to you for intel off-book. That means she’s poking into business that’s not hers to poke. You could exchange through backchannels. Why the elaborate setup at Mal’s? It’s public, and too many things can go wrong.”

  Ham grabbed a breadfruit out of his basket and massaged it.

  “An exchange of data is no better than foreplay. I need to create a sense of urgency in Honored Miss Syung. Kid, contrary to popular notion, my intel net is not as thorough as it used to be. I think the seamasters know this, too. They’ve reduced their reliance on my talents. But someone inside one of the most powerful families on this island may be working against her own legacy. She is taking an enormous risk. I need to leverage it, as do you.”

  “And you’re sure this will give me Shin Wain?”

  Ham studied Ryllen’s braids. “Sure? Kid, I spent most of my life engaged in unsavory deeds in the service of an eternal empire that no longer exists. I learned a lesson. There is no certainty. Only precision, discipline, and a dash of luck. I will do my best.”

  Ryllen sighed. Was the end in sight?

  “I know you will, Ham. You’ve never done me wrong.”

  “So far as you know.”

  An awkward silence held until Ham’s widening smile unveiled the jest. Ham reached inside the Sak’ne and retrieved his hand-comm.

  “I want you to see something, RJ. I’ve been holding onto this for a few weeks, but I think this might be an opportune time to broach the subject again.”

  “What subject?”

  Ham swiped through the screen tabs and launched a holovid.

  The visuals stunned Ryllen. He last saw people like these many years ago in school while studying the Collectorate Principle of Ethnic Sovereignty. Hundreds of black men and women gathered in loud, festive garb in a city square. A small ensemble stood behind a wide dais.

  “Where is this?”

  “Zwahili Kingdom. The federated capital, Mumbassa City. The time stamp is fifty-eight SDs ago. It’s been on the Global Wave for many weeks, but only within the intercolonial stream tabs. Most Hokkis have little interest.”

  “And I should care why?”

  “There.” He zoomed in. “The one in the middle. The giant man in the black armored bodysuit and the forest of braids. Remarkable specimen. Soldiers of the Guard used to command such presence.”

  “Who is he?”

  “The Minister of Aeterna. This was his first formal diplomatic mission to Zwahili. He rarely leaves Aeterna. Impressive. Yes?”

  Ryllen couldn’t reject the description. The Aeternan was a beautiful man, indeed, but that was beside the point. This wasn’t the first time Ham tried to revisit a topic Ryllen insisted was off-limits.

  “No, Ham. Just … no. I made my position clear.”

  “You did, and all positions are subject to change, no matter how obstinate the place-holder. You belong on Aeterna. They are your kind. My last report suggested their population surpassed two thousand immortals. They’ve recovered almost all their people from the colonies. I know little about this man,” he said, pointing again to the minister, “beyond his role in bringing down the Collectorate. There are legends circulating over the light-years, but all accounts agree he is benevolent and highly protective of his people.

  “Listen to me, kid. I chose Hokkaido. But it was foisted upon you, and it has done you no favors. So, you loved a man for a few months? What of it? Now you kill without remorse in his name. You have no family. And when Shin Wain is dead, you will face an eternity alone on a planet with two billion strangers. Assuming, of course, Hokkaido survives. All I ask: When there is no more blood to shed, travel to Aeterna. Meet them. I fear it’s the only way you will ever find peace.”

  Ryllen fumed. Cudfrucker. He knew there’d be a bait and switch. He leaped from the bench.

  “It’s not fair. Are you making this a condition?”

  “You have the day to think it over. If you can’t participate in our drama, I’ll understand and make my apologies to Honored Miss Syung.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Yes, but a caring asshole. Now, go about your day, kid. It appears to be full. My lot will be hungry for breakfast. I’d best not keep them.” He reached for his basket. “My bicomm will be on silent notifier.”

  Ryllen walked away in a fury, though not the first time Ham’s double-dealing incensed him. Ham never gave him anything for free. Perhaps it was genetic. The Chancellor way. Though Ham claimed to have abandoned his old allegiances, he maintained intelligence networks across the planet like a good officer of the Unification Guard’s Special Services. Though he claimed to have adopted Hokki dress and customs, he smuggled many special tools to Hokkaido when he “went native” more than a decade ago. Ryllen never bought into Ham’s “I chose Hokkaido” vow but doubted he’d ever know the whole truth.

  And yet, what choice did he have? His debt was too great.

  Ham revealed the truth of Ryllen’s origin the first time they met – one day after the ambush at Ronin Swallows. He taught Ryllen how to become a shadow, how to hide in plain sight, how to stalk and kill with efficiency, and provided tools to assist. And all along, Ham reminded him of the backup plan known as Aeterna.

  Immortal children like Ryllen, created in a Chancellor lab on Earth and seeded throughout the Collectorate, were kidnapped years ago by terrorists known as Salvation, who launched attacks using a new wormhole technology. If not for a turn of luck, young Ryllen might have been part of the army that destroyed Ark Carriers with singularity weapons in the first salvo to break the Collectorate. Salvation forced the surviving Carriers to return to Earth while the terrorists claimed Aeterna for themselves. They crushed an invading Guard fleet and never explained how. Ryllen might have been part of it, might have gotten to know Aeterna’s legendary minister.

  Brothers and sisters, all immortal. Living in eternal harmony.

  The idea sickened him. They were insane. A race of genetically engineered freaks hiding in a solar system blockaded by their own singularity weapons. After Ham first revealed the truth, Ryllen researched the Global Wave for everything he could find. The reports of the few who supposedly visited Aeterna told of a gorgeous, terraformed planet with boundless possibilities.

  Ryllen wasn’t impressed. It was propaganda. These immortals fancied themselves to be superior, so they created myths about their home world then hid behind the blockade to shield the truth. They were no better than Chancellors.

  “Alone among two billion strangers.” Ryllen munched on the last loganberries. “At least I have a unique talent. Asshole.”

  Yet no temper tantrum was going to send him off on his own. Like every time before, Ham presented him with an offer he couldn’t decline. He’d come so close to killing Shin Wain in the first weeks after the ambush, then the bastard disappeared. Even if Ham wasn’t telling him everything – standard operating procedure – he couldn’t let slip the chance to keep his promise to Kai.

  Ryllen pulled himself together, made way to a public bath, and prepared for his first gambit. The opening step was going to be painful. No way around it.

  “Maybe she won’t try to kill me straight away.”

  15

  T HE PORT OF PINCHON NEVER CLOSED. Up to a hundred fifty quays hosted ships of various classes on the mile-long isthmus leading outward to the Point of the Redeemer. Their cargo fed a planet and formed the largest single industry on Hokkaido. It was its own city, one of sound and fury, the nonstop loading and off-loading, crews coming and going, drone loaders transporting eight-hundred-pound Kohlna fish in
to meat processors, congested traffic of Scrams and rifters humming inside the elevated transport field.

  Ryllen artfully piloted his way through the port during his years with Green Sun, but this was his first visit in thirteen months. Though he knew the regulations and programmed the nav to follow the binding fields at a cautionary speed, he couldn’t avoid sweaty palms. He’d land appropriately at Quay 105, drop twenty Dims into the AutoScan for parking, and draw no notice. Still, he was anxious.

  “Should’ve warned her I was coming,” he whispered after gliding into the quay. “Maybe she’s having a good day.”

  If she was, Ryllen assumed he was about to end it. Nonetheless, he forged ahead through the quay’s entry gate and toward the dispatch office. The lean structure, shadowed by a towering Barrier Class deep-sea trawler and directly across its dock, featured wraparound windows. She’ll see me first. I can wait right here.

  Crew filed up the gangplank. Drones positioned empty cages on the forward deck. Ryllen made quick work of the scene: The Chincoton Fairy would be pulling out soon, likely heading to the Hoonan Sea for high season. The biggest catch.

  She’ll be busy. I’ll give her time.

  His fear was irrational, of course. She might bust his jaw, but she couldn’t kill him no matter the effort. Mei Durin despised Ryllen the first time she saw him – a gangly sixteen-year-old escorted by her stepbrother to be tattooed into Green Sun. And that was the high point of their relationship. Ryllen came today trusting in two factors: The power of time to heal old wounds, and the likelihood she heard about his crusade to avenge Kai.

  His strategy proved worthwhile. He waited outside dispatch less than five minutes before she appeared. Mei was beautiful despite the murderous glare in those devilish black eyes. Inside Green Sun, they used to call her Salamander. She wore tight-fitting one-piece bodysuits to accentuate her curves and flexibility. Today, her suit was green as an avocado skin, disrupted only by the yellow vest of a port dispatcher.

  Mei whistled to someone down dock as she approached Ryllen. A taller, rugged Hokki dressed for the open sea joined her. She pointed to Ryllen with a sneer.

  “Anshi, what do you think of this one?”

  The Hokki twisted his features into full-on mockery.

  “Who’s this now? A Randall with hoi-toi braids?”

  “Don’t make fun, Anshi. He’s very sensitive. I saw him cry once.”

  “You’re not thinking of booking this lot on the crew?”

  She slapped him on the back. “For all the rings, no! I was thinking maybe you shove him in a crate, store him aft. About a thousand nauticals out, toss him to the syllaphi. They’re nesting. Yes?”

  “Be kinder if you gutted him now and tossed him over.” He spoke to Ryllen. “Those syllaphi wrap you in their death grip, they’ll gnaw you down for days. Best you run on, boy.”

  “I’ll see to him, Anshi. Thanks for the input.”

  “Anything for you, Mei.”

  Ryllen hated biting his tongue during the exchange, but he didn’t need to give Mei an excuse to follow the sailor’s advice. He bucked up and stiffened his shoulders. She was predictably predatory, slinking her way to within inches. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she spit in his face. Instead, she took a few seconds to break down his stare, a strategy she enjoyed but against which he practiced.

  “A few words,” he said. “That’s all I need.”

  “Don’t insult me, you cudfrucking poser. You show up at my place of work but don’t have the spine to approach my window. You broke the truce by coming here. I have grounds to kill you. Won’t need Lan Chua’s permission.”

  “True. But you won’t kill me, and you couldn’t if you tried.”

  “What the cud does that mean, you Randall shit?”

  “I can explain, but not here. It would take too long, and you’ve got a job to do. I want you to meet me tonight. It’s a …”

  Then came a narrow spray of saliva. Humiliating yet predictable.

  “You have ten tons of nerve, RJ. The last time we were this close, I was aiming a blade at your carotid … until they pulled me off.”

  “I stayed clear. You think I’d show my face if it wasn’t important?”

  “Huh. Clear? You mean in hiding. From me. From Green Sun. You were a coward. I never understood what Kai saw …”

  “He’s why I’m here, Mei. Justice. I know who was responsible, and I’m closing in. And I haven’t been hiding. I killed seven of the assholes who did Kai and our brothers and sisters. I …”

  This time, she slapped him. Again, predictable.

  “You have no brothers and sisters. The House of Jee sent you on your merry way, and so did Green Sun. You’re a poser. A fraud.”

  “And the only one getting revenge for the ambush. What has Green Sun accomplished? What Kohlna feed does Lan Chua shovel?”

  She swiped a finger across his neck as if it were a blade. Then Mei stepped back.

  “You’re dead, RJ. And I have a ship to clear for sea. We’re coming for you, and that other Randall – what’s his name, Cortez? – won’t save you this time.”

  She threw up her arms as if ashamed she hadn’t followed through with her threat then and there. Ryllen didn’t allow her to go far. He invoked her only weakness.

  “I know how much you loved him, Mei. Probably as much as I did. His death has to be worth something. There are things you don’t know. Meet me tonight. If you don’t like what I’ve got to say, kill me. Do it whatever way makes you happy.”

  She pivoted. Her loathsome glare frightened many a man, but Ryllen saw a tiny victory inside it before she replied.

  “It’d be a waste to feed you to the syllaphi.”

  “I agree. Mal’s Drop in Zozo. You know the place. Find me at the bar. Around nine. A couple of drinks. We’ll talk. I’ll reserve a room so you can butcher me afterward.”

  Mei cut a sardonic grin, the act of someone knowingly about to make a stupid decision.

  “Drink until nothing hurts, RJ. Tonight, you’re dead.”

  Her threats meant nothing, although they did crystallize his strategy. After he left the port, Ryllen secured Room 317 at Mal’s Drop, per Ham’s request. He also dropped in on a safehouse where he kept an extra stash of clothes.

  The owner – a rapacious woman who was fifty going on thirty – wasn’t home, so Ryllen made himself comfortable. He turned on the woman’s kaleidosound and indulged in her tracks of classic Pyongpo bands. Harsh bass, electronic riffs, incoherent lyrics, but fast, fast, fast. The music raced the blood and raised the temperature. The owner turned the volume to max whenever Ryllen serviced her.

  He lay still for three hours, the music clearing away all distraction, and finalized his next move. Along the way, he considered the proposed meeting with Kara Syung and devised an idea clever enough to achieve Ham’s objective of providing a “sense of urgency” for their client. He’ll think I’m loony, but he’ll buy it.

  He tapped into his bicomm and shared his plan with Ham, who mulled it with care.

  “Workable,” the ex-Chancellor said. “But requires precision. If any aspect of the sequence is off, the plan will collapse or, at worse, will reveal its duplicity. Keep me abreast, kid. I appreciate your initiative, but I will have final approval. Understood?”

  He did. The whole thing was pie-in-the-sky if he couldn’t convince Mei, and the odds of that ranked somewhere between none and less. Still, the challenge felt worth it.

  Ryllen was nursing his second glass of sanque at the bar that night when Mei, skin-tight in all red, sidled up beside him. She arrived an hour late, no doubt a test. He never expected her to be on time and assumed she sent in scouts well ahead.

  She tapped a pipe and smoked poltash without a word. One finger told the barman her desire. He poured a shot of Senjan whiskey. Her choice gave Ryllen his lead-in.

  “I’m surprised you go for the continental sauce.”

  She rapped the counter as she threw back the shot.

  “It�
�s liquor. Not everything made on the continent is a threat.”

  “No. But when I earned my tattoo, Kai said we were forbidden to buy off-Lagos. Part of the creed.”

  She purred. “Kai was playing with your head. He loved it. That’s why he called you Idiot of The Lagos.”

  “You got it wrong. Everybody did. It wasn’t an insult. It was his pet name for me. Kai loved me from the start.”

  “Kai loved himself and the cause. Everything else was negotiable. Maybe he did lend you a piece of his heart. What did you deliver in return, RJ? When he needed you most, you betrayed him.” She sighed. “What the cud am I doing here? Consorting with a Randall and a coward.” She leaned in close. “I have three brothers and sisters outside. You won’t see them until it’s too late.”

  “I thought you planned to do it yourself.”

  “Backup. You said something about a room?”

  “Paid for. It’s waiting.”

  She pulled away and offered one finger to the barman. He replenished her shot glass. Mei threw it back and gritted. Her eyes said the rest: Lead the way upstairs and prepare to die.

  Inside 317, she closed the door and laid out her terms.

  “Shake and rattle my world, RJ. Anything less, and I cut you down. Then I snip those beautiful braids and shove them up your anus.”

  He almost laughed. Even for Mei, the threat was over the top. Ryllen knew his endgame, but he needed to prime her first.

  He reached for his hand-comm. Predictably, her trigger hand tensed but didn’t slide toward the weapon she undoubtedly hid inside a camouflaged pocket. Ryllen tapped his device and swiped through encrypted tabs until he found visual proof of his many crimes. He threw up a holographic projection.

  Seven photos. Seven dead men. Laser holes, slashed necks, crushed skulls. Beneath each: A name, a date, a location.