The Simmering Seas

by Frank Kennedy

  Ryllen was dumbfounded. “How long does she have? How long can you keep her hidden?”

  “I don’t know how long, but she’ll die if she remains on Hokkaido. She is the most wanted woman in The Lagos. If her variant were triggered, she would kill almost everyone on this island.”

  “But … there’s no trigger anymore. She’s harmless. Right?”

  Ham sighed. “Every colonial government knew this but ordered the executions anyway. And in matters of sheer math, what guilt might a public servant have to eliminate thirty Hokkis in order to guarantee the lives of two billion? Hmm?”

  Now, eight months later, Ryllen remained as equally perplexed as he was amazed by the bond Ham and Mi Cha shared. She loved him – Ryllen saw it in her eyes, heard it in her voice. But how? He was the man who injected her with a death sentence. Did rescuing her from a different breed of killers nullify the original sin?

  As if Ryllen had room to judge.

  “Luncheon is served,” Ham said, returning to Mi Cha’s room with a small plate of steamed Kohlna on zesty polanna bread. She exchanged her parrot for lunch. Ham returned Jeen-O to his cage.

  She took a small bite and moaned with deep satisfaction.

  “Delicious, my love. The bread has a perfect crust.”

  “I know how you like it.” He turned to Ryllen. “Mi Cha is very specific about her crust. Took me years to perfect it.”

  “I should go,” Ryllen said. “I’ll be around again soon, Mi Cha.”

  “Not so long next time, RJ. I have many things to say to you, and you need to hear them.”

  Ryllen didn’t want to pursue the cryptic message, so he winked on the way out the door. He caught Ham’s eyes, which told him what to do next. Ryllen waited on the stairwell outside the flat until Ham joined him a few minutes later.

  “Don’t,” Ham said. “Not one word. You’ve said it all before, and my position is unchanged. The day she leaves this flat, she will leave Hokkaido, or she will be dead. No one on this planet will help.”

  “Then why are you still here? Ham, you have resources. Contacts. You could smuggle her out of the system.”

  “Conditions must be perfect.”

  “No. It’s not that. You don’t have a destination. A Chancellor and a sick Hokki woman? Where won’t you stand out?”

  “Yes, our options are limited, but there is a potential path. It may depend upon what happens tomorrow on Mangum.”

  “How so?”

  “No, RJ. Not now. Your only concern is preparation. Review the mission parameters. I need you to be at your best, but we might require your worst. Understood?”

  He sighed. Ham wasn’t going to budge on the issue of Mi Cha.

  “Oh, and RJ, I do apologize for killing you earlier. It truly was not my intent.”

  “Hey, it happens.”

  24

  F IRST, KARA PLANNED TO APOLOGIZE. She hated leaving Chi-Qua in the lurch with the bridesmaids before heading to Baangarden. It was a necessary sacrifice, though, and the meeting with their new allies proved constructive if not dangerous. She returned to Nantou on schedule, no one wise to her machinations. Her project team worked double-time to prepare their presentation for High Cannon Collective. They seemed excited at the prospect of communing with HCC engineers; Kara couldn’t have cared less if her idea of miniaturized shimmer tech was feasible.

  She was mentally replaying the logistics for tomorrow’s surveillance mission to Mangum Island when her sedan left the UpWay and descended into the Haansu district. The strategy and specialized tech Hamilton Cortez and Lan Chua brought to the table carried sufficient risk but appeared likely to succeed if all parties focused on timing, precision, and anticipation.

  “If this blows up,” Kara told them aboard the Queen Mab, “we all fall down, including our families.”

  Neither Ryllen nor Mei seemed to have a problem with that notion. Ryllen shrugged.

  “Used to think I had one of those,” he said, “but they were assholes. Kicked their baby Randall out the back door.”

  “You will fall the farthest, Kara,” Lan said.

  “If I do, maybe it’s what Syung-Low deserves. You don’t fear for the Chua household?”

  “Not as such. I’m a creature much like Hamilton. We have too many fail-safes and backstops in place.”

  Ham shot a jaundiced eye at Ryllen then changed the subject to wrap up discussion of the post-mission strategy. He wasn’t telling her everything; perhaps it was his standard operating procedure. Kara didn’t mind so long as his own issues stayed clear of the mission.

  She had much to tell Chi-Qua before the evening dine.

  Unfortunately, the skill of anticipation failed Kara when she arrived home and saw an eight-seat luxury class Scram parked inside the east gate. Her stomach tensed when she spied the letter T painted in elaborate gold script on the center fly door.

  Taron.

  “Please don’t let this be what I think,” she muttered.

  It was.

  Ya-Li Taron walked outside to greet her. He was dressed down tonight – a casual dinner jacket, monotone colors, no jewelry, ordinary soft shoes without sheen or buckles. He didn’t have to say it, but she’d make him, nonetheless.

  Ya-Li bowed. “Honored Miss Syung, good evening.”

  “We are seriously doing this tonight? Shinsho-Na?”

  “Yes.” He looked puzzled. “Did your family not tell you?”

  “We have communication deficiencies.”

  He nodded with a youthful grin. “It won’t get any better once you join the Taron household. I apologize in advance. Yes. Shinsho-Na. We’re asking for a lifetime of misery if we don’t go through with it.”

  “I’d say that’s questionable. This silly tradition has been around for what … twelve, thirteen hundred years? In that time, I suspect a few marriages went off without Shinsho-Na but survived the long haul.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, but dare we tempt fate?”

  She’d forgotten about this ceremonial gesture, an act of submission by the groom’s family toward the bride’s before she took the name of her new household. To Kara’s knowledge, only the most powerful houses engaged in this ritual, which was meant to deepen alliances and establish greater leverage against common rivals. Like corporate threading, Shinsho-Na built a stronger wall against pretenders and usurpers. It was typically arranged on short notice in the weeks leading up to the nuptials, meant as an unexpected treat for the bride’s family. She never thought it would be jammed into the suddenly tight schedule before her accelerated wedding. Moreover, the Syungs weren’t required to perform the ritual before Dae’s sudden, unannounced marriage to Luyn. How the family dodged it was a mystery.

  “Did they all come, Ya-Li?”

  “Four. Honorable Mother and Father, of course. Honorable Gran Hoija. And Honorable Great Grandfather.”

  She was floored. The old man was rumored to never leave the Taron estate anymore.

  “Honorable Ban-Ho is here?”

  “He insisted. I’m told he talks of little else but our wedding.”

  “Why? He’s the wealthiest man on Hokkaido and has a hundred five years to pack into his memoir, which I hear he still hasn’t finished. We’re rug rats compared to him.”

  Ya-Li shaded his eyes. His cheeks reddened.

  “Honorable Great Grandfather says I am his favorite. He has always been good to me, Kara. He allows me more time with my books when all others demand I take my place at Hotai.”

  She remembered Hoija’s office visit, where Ya-Li’s grandmother insisted Kara shape him into more than an intellectual. Apparently, Hoija and her father did not share the same sentiment regarding Ya-Li’s development.

  “Promise me something, Ya-Li. We end this ridiculous theater when our own children come of age. Yes?”

  He laughed harder than she’d ever seen.

  “Only if my Honorable Gran and Great-Grand have passed, but I wouldn’t count on it. They don’t plan to die. Ever.”

&nbs
p; “Immortal, are they?”

  “To hear them talk? Yes.”

  She could have told him what the true face of immortality looked like. Instead, she offered up a perfunctory kiss and took his arm, which he extended.

  “They’re going to play full script?” She asked.

  “They are. Honorable Great-Grand will be selecting the wines.”

  “You?”

  “First course. Mother and Father have the entrée. Gran Hoija will finish with a mango crème cake she’ll claim to have made by hand.”

  “I’m sure it will be elaborate. All prepared by your house chef?”

  “Of course. Grandmother hasn’t been near an oven in decades.”

  They laughed in unison. Ya-Li seemed looser than usual, even giddy at the prospect of waiting the Syung-Low table. She wondered where this side of him had been hiding.

  Indeed, the evening proved to be as surreal and farcical as Kara might have predicted. The heads of a Haansu household were not equipped to play the role of staff. Their incompetence and hesitancy shown through, their façade of humble subservience as waxen as their skillset for manual labor.

  The Tarons appeared outside the staff quarters no longer than one might expect of those on the Syung-Low payroll. Only Ban-Ho, whose weary features and shaky hands graced the wine bar, watched the dinner service with a keen eye, careful to say no more than someone clothed in the red and white staff colors of Syung-Low.

  Kara ate with her back to the man who was possibly the most well-known on the planet, who spent decades planting heirs and relatives into key positions on the executive boards of all the major seamasters. If anyone pulled the strings, it was he. Yet Kara couldn’t imagine this fading relic to still hold anything more than illusory power. Could he butt heads with a sharp-edged Kohlna like Ja Yuan, Chairman of Nantou Global, and expect to win? The last time Kara, or most of the elite, saw him in public, Ban-Ho seemed rattled and at times, incoherent. When the old man presided over his last Sanhae celebration, some suspected he was drunk. Others wondered whether he suffered a stroke. A few whispered the word most likely: Dementia. Was being here tonight his idea? Why did he care so much about Ya-Li and Kara’s wedding?

  Kara wasn’t permitted to ponder these questions aloud over dinner. The silliness of Shinsho-Na’s theater demanded the host family behave as normal, paying no more mind to their one-time servants than their salaried staff. Not that she could ignore the pale, terror-stricken features on Ya-Li’s parents, Chan and Moon. They served the fish entrée on beautifully plated dishes but seemed flummoxed by how to navigate through adjacent diners.

  “I’ll never understand it,” she later told Chi-Qua. “Why do people of such consequence debase themselves before their peers? There’s nothing to be gained.”

  “Haansu Hokkis don’t do anything unless there’s gain,” Chi-Qua said. “Playing servant reminds them what they have to lose.”

  The answer stung, especially coming from Chi-Qua, whose presence was a daily reminder of what happened when a family fell.

  Chan and Moon Taron, both entrenched in the highest of Haansu society and more closely networked to seamaster allies, must have been grinding their teeth as they served Kara’s parents, who carried on with evening banter, oblivious to their servers.

  “The Fennicks began blooming this morning,” Li-Ann said. “I’ll expect them to peak in four days.” To Perr, she added, “Will you join me for a stroll after the dine?”

  “I should have the time. Yes.”

  Luyn threw back some wine to clear her throat. “When I was a child, our gardener planted fifty meters of Fennicks along the border garden to our stream. They seeded and grew wild, but I remember gazing out my bedroom window and being amazed by their grandeur. Nothing else has quite that shade of red.”

  Li-Ann sliced into her Kohlna steak. “Now, Luyn, is this your subtle way of asking to join our stroll?”

  “Oh, I’d never think to interfere with your private …”

  “Don’t give it a thought, dear. A garden is meant to be treasured. We’d love the company.”

  “Thank you, Honorable Mother.”

  After a few more bites, Kara felt her mother’s cold stare, one which she dared not ignore.

  “I’d be honored to join you as well, but I’ve had a full day, and another tomorrow. I’m trying to consolidate my work at Nantou before the wedding.”

  Li-Ann shrugged, but not Perr, who set down his fork and focused upon his daughter.

  “Ah, yes. Nantou. Tell me, Daughter. Do you not think your project team can absorb your duties? Each of them is far more experienced than you.”

  “Perhaps, Honorable Father, but we have an outstanding relationship. I don’t want to undermine their trust by foisting off my job onto them. Not to mention, we’re in the midst of some exciting projects. I feel guilty enough leaving them in mid-current.”

  “Admirable, but Nantou will continue to flourish in your absence. And as this will be your only wedding, your mental focus should be limited to the greatest moment of your life.”

  Kara swirled her wine glass for effect.

  “I’d prefer to report to work these next four days, thank you. Unless, of course, you insist on my resignation.”

  Kara felt the steel glower of Chan and Moon Taron, who finished their service and waited, like sentinels, in the dining room entry. She could push this moment to the edge, even so much as to call the wedding into question, and they’d be honor-bound to remain silent.

  “No, Daughter. You earned your position on merit. You’ll do the proper thing and surrender it after you take the Taron name.”

  “Good. Then here’s to another four days in a short-lived career.”

  She raised her glass, but no one followed suit. This was as far to the edge as she dared take the night.

  Social trivialities continued through the main course, to a follow-up round of wine, delivered one glass at a time by their octogenarian barkeep. As promised, Hoija Taron climaxed the ritual with the mango crème cake. While it looked scrumptious and tasted even better, the cake did not compare to the shock of seeing Hoija, a world-class fashion plate, reduced to a bland old maid. Hair tied back into a tight ball, no makeup, the red-and-white uniform of Syung-Low. Kara shouldn’t have been surprised: Even in dressing down, disguising herself as one of the anonymous masses, Hoija fashioned a winning appearance. And yes, she grabbed credit for the cake, a claim no one at the table took seriously.

  As dessert concluded, Kara leaned into her mother and suggested they offer thanks to the Tarons for outstanding service. Li-Ann rebuffed her with a disdainful curl of the eyes. The Tarons were to receive no more credit for the meal than the staff. A simple nod, perhaps. A gracious smile. The Tarons were charged with clearing the table afterward and leaving without fanfare.

  Silly and heartless in equal measure, Kara thought.

  Three-fifths of the table departed for an evening stroll to view the blooming Fennicks. Only Kara and her brother Dae remained. That’s when she realized he did not say five words the entire meal. He sipped the last of his dessert wine and laid heavy eyes upon her.

  “Father’s right,” Dae said. “You’ll have a new life as a Taron. Nantou won’t be a factor anymore.”

  “Good thing seamasters aren’t the only ones needing engineers.”

  “That’s not what I mean. People like us don’t choose our path. It’s paved for us. We walk away at our peril.”

  “A threat, Brother?”

  “Truth.”

  “Who’s truth? Yours?”

  “Please, Kara. You’ve known it since you were little. OK, so you tricked your way into BRED. But you drew attention to yourself. You won’t fool anyone next time.”

  She glanced around. All the Tarons except Ban-Ho gathered in the anteroom, waiting for the table to clear. She caught Ya-Li’s eyes. He played his part and looked away.

  “He can’t hear us,” Dae said, referencing Ban-Ho. “They’ve covered it up for a few years now. T
he prosthetics don’t help.”

  “Is there something you need to say to me, Dae?”

  He wiped his lips with a napkin and tossed it over his plate.

  “Best we let your new family clear the table and head home. Meet me under the gazebo.”

  Long after Dae retired, she lingered, waiting for the Tarons to finish the job. Much to her amazement, they remained in character despite the absence of her family. She leaned into Ya-Li as he placed a handful of dishes on a tray.

  “Does this mean we’ve avoided a lifetime of misery?”

  His eyes drifted, as if worried his parents might see him talking out of turn – to the woman he was destined to marry, no less.

  “Improved the odds, at the very least. Goodnight, Kara.”

  The sun’s light was all but snuffed out when she met Dae at the gazebo. He was smoking.

  Amid a hazy cloud, he said, “It’s not so bad being the wife. Ask Luyn. It’s a good life. Comfortable. Flexible schedule. A few compromises. There are worse fates, Kara.”

  He extended his pipe, which she accepted.

  “Huh. Compromise. The exorcism of what? Joy? Passion? Purpose?”

  “All three are a product of choice. You can find new avenues for each. Maybe not what you dreamed as a girl, but acceptable.”

  He was four years older but spoke as a patronizing father might to a young child. She pulled hard on the pipe and directed her plume of smoke into his face. He didn’t flinch.

  “Why are we here, Dae?”

  “I know you’re scheming against our parents and this marriage.”

  She tensed. “What are you going on about?”

  “I have an ear in BRED. Word is, you and your team have launched a new project. I don’t know the details, but I’m told it could be innovative. You’re working long hours, forging ahead as if there was nothing in your way. You don’t intend to leave Nantou.”

  “There’s no reason for me to throw aside my career. But maybe you know something I don’t?”