The Simmering Seas

by Frank Kennedy

  “Tact is not your strong suit, RJ,” Ham said before turning to Kara. “Your hands will be clean. In all likelihood, our mission will gather evidence. No more, no less. But we make no guarantees.”

  She shrugged. “Of course not. How can you? We have no idea what’s going on out there. If anything.”

  “Which brings us to logistics,” Lan said. “When do you visit HCC?”

  “Four of noon. Tomorrow.”

  Brows raised. They weren’t expecting such short notice.

  “A bold move,” Lan said. “They didn’t appear to suspect anything by your eagerness to meet so soon?”

  “Actually, it wasn’t my idea. I proposed Daselin. I was told the company conducts no off-island business on Daselins. A tradition started by the chairman, Sho Parke. Families remain in the residential village for celebrations of some sort.”

  “Odd,” Ham mumbled. “Who told you this?”

  “Chin Sun Tyce. She’s the CSO’s brother.”

  “Yes. Hen-Bo Tyce. The mastermind of shimmer tech.”

  “Not to hear him speak of it. He leaves all shimmer business to his sister. Chin Sun agreed to meet with me tomorrow rather than push the date too close to my wedding.”

  “How generous of her,” Ham said.

  Lan grunted. “What’s on your mind, Ham?”

  “This thing with Daselin makes no sense. HCC has an incredible production output and profit for such a small company. And now you’re telling me they operate on a limited work week? No Hokki business model is built this way. Hokkis, by their very nature, are hard-wired to maximize labor output, not the other way around.”

  He had a point. Nantou Global was the richest company on Hokkaido, yet it offered few if any fringe benefits. Workers at most levels beneath the EB met tightly regulated production schedules.

  “Unusual,” Kara said, “but there’s no law against it.”

  “No,” Ham said, “assuming this model even exists. What else did Chin Sun tell you about the Daselin tradition?”

  “Not much. She said Sho Parke started it several years ago, and they didn’t care if it slowed production.”

  “How many years ago?”

  “I didn’t ask. Why?”

  “Like I told you earlier, I suspect everything and everyone. Yesterday, before RJ made an unscheduled appearance in your cabana, you and your PA were reviewing customs schedules. Yes?”

  “We were.”

  “In particular, visits from the planets of the so-called dark quadrant. You saw a pattern in those visits. Do you remember the gaps?”

  She searched her memory and grabbed her hand-comm.

  “I seem to recall something like eighteen days. Thirty-six days. Not exact, but relatively consistent. Why?”

  Ham’s eyes widened with visible revelation.

  “Do you have the data on your hand-comm?”

  “Yes.”

  “Throw it open and filter the customs records for dark quadrant arrivals.” He turned to Lan, whose wild eyes seemed to catch on.

  “If you’re right,” Lan said, his voice trailing off.

  “What?” Ryllen asked, eyes darting between them all.

  Kara tossed the data into holographic display and swiped through until the past few years of records focused on arrivals from Moroccan Prime, Boer, Zwahili Kingdom, and Mauritania.

  “What am I looking for?”

  “The dates. Overlay them with days of the week.”

  The revelation hit her before finishing the task. It was there all along in the math. Nine-day weeks. Arrivals every eighteen and thirty-six days. Enough time for a delegation to travel the Fulcrum there and back without ever making contact with representatives from another world. When the answer appeared, she said it aloud simultaneous to Ham and Lan.

  “Daselin.”

  “Ninety-eight percent of arrivals the past four years,” Ham said. “All on Daselins. And what did Chin Sun say about conducting no off-island business?”

  The epiphany was grand, but the underlying potential worrisome.

  “What does it mean?” Kara asked.

  “It means we’ve found our nexus,” Ham said. “And I think I am staring at the organizing principle. Thank you, Chin Sun Tyce for a beautiful error in judgment. In Special Services, we used to say, ‘You can always count on the indigos to trip over themselves.’ Nicely done, Kara. You’ve given us a gift we never saw coming.”

  “What now?”

  Ham massaged his beard, but Kara saw a twinkle in his eye. It frightened her.

  23

  A N HOUR LATER, RYLLEN RETURNED to Zozo exhilarated. The end felt close at hand. A tangible location. A time. A plan. More important, a target. Though Shin Wain’s name only came up once inside the sub, Ryllen felt as if they were circling around it. The picture couldn’t be clearer. Shin Wain had to be at the center of whatever was happening on Mangum. He was behind the massacre at Ronin Swallows, sent infiltrators into Green Sun, and supported the seamasters’ competitors.

  “And High Cannon calls him a special consultant,” Ryllen said as he walked the streets with Ham. “They don’t want anyone to know what he really does. He’s working with the dark quad, and probably some of these Chancellors you’re worried about. It’s why he’s been so hard to track. He’s hidden behind layers.”

  Ham nodded without response. Ryllen noticed how quiet he’d been since leaving Baangarden. Ham only spoke as needed, but the silence was unsettling. Ryllen tried another tack.

  “I think we have a good plan. You know, if this mission works out, our lives are going to change. Maybe for the better, or maybe worse than we can imagine. Either way, we’ll wake up a lot of Hokkis.”

  They approached the external stairs leading to Ham’s third-floor walk-up. Ham scanned the stone street, which was quiet.

  “Follow me,” he said, motioning to a place beneath the stairs, hidden from street view.

  Ryllen did as told. He realized his mistake too late.

  Ham wrapped him in a chokehold and plunged Ryllen against the stone wall, his skull cracking on impact and his vision blurring.

  “I could have killed you with that move,” Ham said. “But you’d just wake up in ten minutes, give or take.”

  “Cudfrucker.” Ryllen’s voice slurred. “Why …?”

  “Immortals have a problem with overconfidence. They are loud and rash because they have a ticket to forever. They don’t concern themselves with consequence.”

  “Wait. What?” He coughed blood.

  “Granted, I only know one immortal, but I observe.”

  “Is it the plan? Did I … oh, shit, that hurts. What gives?”

  “The plan will be fine, RJ. If everyone does their part, we have a fifty percent chance of success. No. I haven’t forgotten what you said on the way to Baangarden. You said I should tell Kara the other reason I agreed to this mission.”

  “Oh. That. Damn, Ham. Next time, just kill me. OK?”

  “No. I think a period of extended pain is what you need. Does your body regenerate while your heart beats?”

  “Yeah, but it’s slow.”

  “Good. To my point, RJ. I introduced you to my family on the condition you never speak of them to anyone. Not even a hint.”

  The pain intensified. “Sorry. OK? It was just … in the moment. Kara … we can trust her. C’mon, Ham. I need to sit down.”

  Ham let go, and Ryllen collapsed, unable to feel his legs. His fingers tingled, and a chill rose up from deep inside. The world disappeared, but he wasn’t dead. His ears still worked.

  “Oh, dear,” Ham said, feeling the back of Ryllen’s skull. “I forget my own strength. The blow was harder than expected. I don’t think you’ll survive much longer. But you’d best not die out here. I don’t need people asking ques …”

  The voice faded into the background, like a distant echo carried on the wind. Ryllen had a sense of being lifted, but the world dissolved into incoherent fragments.

  He knew when his time came. He alway
s knew.

  Death. Silence.

  A wheel of fire and a tumultuous rainstorm.

  In time, Ryllen reached the abyss.

  The pain was beyond human description, but it landed on a carpet of memories. Transformative, pivotal moments on eternal replay.

  He saw nothing but sensed everything.

  It was a spring night. The rain tapered off, but the streets glistened. He walked beside Kai, hoods shielding their faces.

  They neared the culvert. Targets inside. Three, maybe four.

  These immos were a shifty bunch, always on the move until their handlers found safehouses. But they weren’t getting away this time. Lan Chua lifted the no-kill order. Forced deportation wasn’t working.

  No survivors. No witnesses. Clean and quiet.

  Kai was a vet. Knew how to kill. Told Ryllen this day was coming.

  Are you ready?

  I am, Kai. For The Lagos.

  Laser pistol in each hand. Tight grip. Commitment.

  Shadows and faint voices dominated the culvert. Immos betrayed their location.

  Kai called after them by name.

  Time to move. It isn’t safe here.

  The shadows took form as the immos revealed themselves and stepped into the range of a glow stick. Again, Kai called their names.

  Faces unimportant, but dirty and tired. Two men, one woman, a boy younger than Ryllen. Smiles. Hope of a new life.

  You came a long way, Kai said. You shouldn’t have bothered.

  Ryllen felt it. The signal. It was time.

  He raised the pistols. They had no chance to scream or beg.

  Blasts lit up the culvert.

  The woman fell first. Then the boy. Kai finished the men.

  Take a close look, RJ. They won’t be the last.

  Kai waved the glow stick above the corpses.

  Their eyes, still full of hope. No time to process the terror.

  What does it feel like to be a killer?

  Ryllen can’t answer. He feels a tug.

  He rises above the abyss.

  New sound cracks through the night like thunder.

  And then …

  Water is boiling.

  He rose from Ham’s sofa. A dull ache throbbed along the back of his skull. Otherwise, Ryllen felt fine. His legs worked.

  Ham noticed him from the kitchenette.

  “Nine minutes,” the ex-Chancellor said. “You’re consistent.”

  “Shit, Ham. Next time you want to make a point, just shoot me between the eyes and be done with it.”

  “I’ve never dragged a dead man up three flights. Much easier the other way.”

  “Oh, yeah? You sound like an old pro.”

  Ham slid the teapot off the burner. “I’ve had my rounds.”

  Ryllen discovered the best and worst bit about returning from the dead was that the memory of his final seconds revisited with crystal clarity. The more painful the ending, the more aggravating.

  “Sorry I brought up your family. I thought I was helping.”

  “Fortunately, I cut you off. Kara doesn’t trust me, which is wholly understandable. But she has no idea who’s here. Please, RJ. Your enthusiasm can be dangerous to others. Scale it back.”

  Ryllen shook off a flash of dizziness when he stood.

  “So, how’s she doing today?”

  Ham dropped a teabag into a cup and poured water over it.

  “She read an entire book. Hmm. I’ll take progress in any form. You can visit if you’d like. She appreciates another face.”

  “Even mine? I don’t think she likes me.”

  “She mentions you at least once a day. I’d say she’s fond.”

  Ham gave Ryllen the cup and saucer and nodded toward the rear bedroom. Ryllen hadn’t been back there in two weeks – the longest stretch in months. He didn’t want to offend her, but he’d run out of chit-chat. Ham opened the door, and Ryllen took lead.

  He expected to find a withering Hokki with the bedsheets pulled up to her shoulders, misery hanging over her like a scythe. Instead, much to Ryllen’s surprise, Mi Cha Woo rocked comfortably in her cushioned chair whispering to her favorite parrot, which perched on her right arm. Her eyes showed glimmers of joy. Her pastel green robe fit the season well. Across the room, the other birds – all caged – seemed to stare at the scene with considerable envy.

  “For me?” She said. “Thank you, RJ. Put it on the side table, please. I don’t want to distract Jeen-O. I’ve just now got him settled.”

  Jeen-O was Mi Cha’s favorite, although she loved all her birds and made sure Ham gave them the best care and feeding.

  “You look beautiful today, Honored Mi Cha,” Ryllen said. “Ham didn’t tell me you were up and about.”

  “I’m not sure if four feet from the bed qualifies.” She turned a loving eye to Ham. “But it is four feet more than this morning.”

  Her hair, a salt-and-pepper blend, settled in waves over her chest. The color in her cheeks was better than usual.

  “What would you like for luncheon?” Ham asked.

  “Oh, whatever you and RJ are having.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be staying …”

  “Yes, you will. I’m feeling adventurous, dear,” she told Ham. “Do we have any of the sweet polanna bread from the market?”

  “We do. Can your stomach handle it?”

  “No worries, dear. Cut my Kohlna very thin. A few drops of jangum sauce, too. It won’t disagree with my stomach acid.”

  “Very good, love. I’ll leave RJ to entertain you.”

  “Nothing for me,” Ryllen said. “I’ll score some blue grapes later.”

  The silence did not last long after Ham retired to the kitchenette. Ryllen homed in on the parrot’s stoic embrace of his owner.

  “How long has Jeen-O sat there like that?”

  “The clock doesn’t matter. He knows this is where he needs to be. Do you believe a bird can see inside a human?”

  “Uh … what do you mean?”

  “To feel our pain. Or joy.”

  “Dunno, Mi Cha. I’ve never been around birds … except here.”

  She reached for her tea. “Then you should buy one. They are wonderful companions. I believe they’re empathic.”

  Ryllen assumed Mi Cha knew nothing of his exploits or his revolving addresses.

  “You’re in high spirits,” he said. “It’s a good sign. Yes?”

  She sipped her tea then glanced toward the door. Mi Cha leaned forward and whispered.

  “I’ve had good signs before. They don’t last.”

  Ryllen’s heart sank. The story never changed with her. It frustrated Ryllen. Surely, her pain was unnecessary.

  “What does Ham say? Has no one come up with a solution?”

  “I fear there are no solutions. Not for me. My condition is both unique and self-induced. It will fall into remission of its own accord, or I’ll spend most of my life in bed.” She glanced again toward the door. “He never loses faith, but this is one truth he cannot admit. I think it would break him.”

  Ryllen couldn’t imagine it: Hamilton Cortez, a broken man. And yet, he knew Mi Cha wasn’t far off. Ever since Ryllen first learned of Ham’s “family,” he only saw Ham’s unflappable emotions compromised when Mi Cha’s fate was called into question. Ryllen carried a headache from today’s encounter with Ham’s rage.

  He learned about Mi Cha’s existence five months after meeting Ham. The ex-Chancellor told his protégé the story of the woman he hid from view. At first, Ryllen was honored to be trusted with the secret. Yet when he learned the details, Ryllen discovered an indirect connection to Mi Cha which threw his emotions into disarray every time he visited. Like Ryllen, she was a victim of mad Chancellor science. Unlike him, Mi Cha was not a successful experiment.

  “I was stationed onboard the Ark Carrier Juliano,” Ham said. “We recruited temporary workers. All Hokkis, of course. Mi Cha caught my eye … and then something more remarkable.

  “You must consider th
e irony, RJ. I never felt a drop of fondness for anyone. I was the perfect Chancellor. A sociopath of the highest order. Finding love with an indigo? It defied all logic. Unfortunately, Mi Cha completed her therapy before I recognized my feelings.”

  Ryllen interrupted. “What was the experiment?”

  “We called it ‘genetic repurposing.’ The therapy used research forwarded by our colleagues on Earth. We did not have names at the time, only mission parameters. The experiments were conducted across fifteen systems.”

  “What was the goal?”

  Ham looked away, as if regretting the conversation.

  “Our orders were to inject, observe, and analyze. Months later, we learned who invented the therapy. Their names were Emil and Frances Bouchet. The same ones who bioengineered the terrorists who, in a stroke of remarkable irony, brought down the Collectorate rather than save it. The Bouchets were the same two who created you and the other immortals, RJ.”

  A shiver ran through him. “Aside from the ones like me, the other terrorists … they were what … walking nukes? Right?”

  “Yes. They killed two million Chancellors.”

  “So, what were the Bouchets trying to accomplish with the program you were running?”

  “A fail-safe should the Chancellory lose control of the colonies. RJ, people like Mi Cha were fashioned into timebombs. They carried a new genetic variant. If triggered, these people would unwittingly infect the population with a plague. The Bouchets projected this plague to wipe out seventy-five percent of every indigo population.”

  “Cudfruckers! But I don’t understand. The Chancellory fell and nothing happened.”

  “Because the Bouchets were killed and denounced as traitors, and their work destroyed. A well-deserved termination. But it was too late for people like Mi Cha. The experiment was irreversible. I don’t know how it happened, but the names of the volunteers were leaked to the colonial governments. They were quietly rounded up and killed. I was three years into my life here when I received word.

  “Mi Cha was living a quiet life in Pinchon. A street vendor. I passed her almost daily. She remembered me from the Juliano. We struck up a friendship. She was struggling with her condition even then. When I learned of the kill order, I drew a line I never imagined possible. I compromised my life for another. She’s been with me ever since. Some days are worse than others, but I love her, RJ.”