The Simmering Seas

by Frank Kennedy

  The party was lined up in the estate’s great hall, a cavernous corridor with cathedral windows and an inner wall splashed with giant portraits, some dating back centuries. The processional began when the orchestra, positioned behind the stage, lit into a glorious rendition from the old Earth composer Sibelius. His work, though long providing the anthems of the Chancellory, was beloved by Hokkis since before colonization. The prefect exited first, followed by the grandparents, parents, and siblings. The families split apart, moving to opposite sides of the amphitheater to walk on the colors of their respective houses. When they reached the stage, they took seats in the rear – facing the guests – and were now arranged by family seniority but no longer on separate sides. The prefect waited behind the central dais, outfitted in a fabric blending red and bronze.

  The bride, groom, and their parties waited at the great double doors of the hall until the prefect instructed the guests to rise, and a popular allegro by Sibelius cascaded from the orchestra.

  Ya-Li Taron, standing in line behind his groomsmen, leaned over to Kara, who held a similar position behind her bridesmaids.

  “I’ve been waiting for this day most of my life,” he whispered. “I never thought it possible to marry a woman as beautiful as you.”

  Kara saw nothing but sincerity and love in his sweeping eyes, yet she pitied him. Someday soon he would have to bear the shame of his ancestors’ actions, just as she would. Kara doubted he knew anything of the past conspiracy or the present. The Tarons shielded him all his life, allowing him to isolate with his books. If his family refused to enlighten Ya-Li, his new wife would.

  Assuming, of course, they lived through day one of their union. Kara grew increasingly concerned that survival was far from guaranteed.

  “You’re very handsome today,” Kara told her groom, scrounging for words to shutter this brief exchange.

  In front of Kara, bridesmaid Shia Loo turned askance and smirked. She must have heard them. Kara was happier to see Shia than any of her wedding party. The woman might have become a considerable thorn given how Kara dumped her at Bongo Seaside. Dae’s quick thinking after they left the flat where Mei lay dead was vital. Realizing Shia might prove a loose end, Dae handed over his hand-comm and allowed Kara to make excuses for her behavior. To Kara’s great relief, Shia never contacted the estate after Kara disappeared. Shia wasn’t the brightest of Hokkis, which worked to everyone’s benefit.

  The wedding march began. Like with their families, the bride and groom followed their parties to opposite wings of the amphitheater. The bridesmaids each carried a small bouquet of red blossoms, while the groomsmen wore a bronze badge pinned to their lapels. Kara opted to go without the traditional bride’s bouquet.

  In the moments after she discovered the gift of a laser pistol, she returned to her dressing room with Chi-Qua. She asked her aide to make the bridal bouquet disappear. She doubted a backup would lay in wait if she showed up at the line empty-handed. The crown of white flowers would have to suffice.

  The pistol was another matter. She acted fast, deciding to tuck the weapon inside the elastic of her right garter, halfway between knee and waist. It wasn’t comfortable, but she was able to walk with equal poise. More important, the dress was thick enough to conceal the weapon’s bulge. Kara considered herself fortunate – garters were rarely worn anymore outside of wedding ensembles.

  Chi-Qua didn’t approve.

  “You don’t know who sent it or why,” she said. “This person could be setting you up instead of protecting you.”

  “It’s possible. But only someone who knows what I’ve been through would go to this trouble.” She explained about the initials. “I don’t know who N.L. stands for, but why give me even that much if this is meant to get me killed?”

  “I can make a list. Care if I write them down?”

  Nothing Chi-Qua said changed Kara’s mind. Their parting was somber. Chi-Qua, as household staff, was not permitted to enter with the wedding party or sit in the amphitheater. She would watch from a nearby balcony with the other servants.

  As the procession turned into the amphitheater, Kara struggled to follow the rehearsed protocol which said she – like the groom – was not to make eye contact with the guests (though all eyes were certainly trained on them). It was considered by traditionalists to be too intimate for such an elegant occasion. Kara thought it the height of snobbery, an attempt to elevate the intendeds as if they were entering into a union more special than countless other Hokkis who were married each year. More to the point, she needed to see their faces. Perhaps she’d make a connection. An N.L. might emerge.

  Kara leveled her arms at her sides, matching Ya-Li’s stance on the opposite. Her lack of bouquet inevitably drew studied glances. A bride carrying nothing? The curiosity varied by generation. Elder women did not hide their disdain for the break from tradition, while young women and girls seemed not to mind. Then again, as Kara noted, the youthful eyes spent far more time courting a response from Ya-Li.

  The processional was timed to end at the music’s crescendo, so Kara made sure to keep proper pace while studying every row, every guest without being conspicuous. Did her half-smile convey agreeability or condescension? Did they believe Kara was silently thanking them for seeing her off onto a new journey? Or were they jealous in the staggering amount of leverage these families gained by intermarrying again? Who among them would be the first to call for the heads of Syung-Low and Taron if the truth were revealed? Who would flee Hokkaido for worlds unknown if their secrets became public?

  Kara figured the guests and the wedding party were collectively worth more than a trillion Dims. “We have the furthest to fall,” Dae told her. Yet who here actually believed the fall would ever come? Who among them didn’t think their role atop the Hokki social order would last forever?

  The beautiful people. The worshipped people. The criminals.

  When she stepped onto the stage, Kara’s frustration at noticing no one out of place or potentially connected to the blue box reached an anxious peak. Then she saw an unexpected face in the far corner, next to the Taron wing of the audience. Can’t be. Why would she ….?

  Kara refocused as she approached an ornate high-back chair, cushioned in velvet as if anticipating royalty. Her maids took their place in a flanking position to the right of the bride’s chair. The groomsmen flanked left of Ya-Li’s equally gorgeous chair. Kara stopped and faced Ya-Li; they waited for the signal from Prefect Moon Yost.

  “All those in attendance may be seated,” Yost said. “On this grandiloquent day, we continue a tradition founded long before our ancestors migrated from Earth. We unite two young people – the next generation to represent their great houses – in the spirit that their union may lift the larger spirit of the Hokki people. I now ask Ya-Li Taron and Kara Syung to take their seats.”

  In simultaneous fashion, Kara and Ya-Li reached to the side of their chair and flexed the attached microphone until it rested at chin level, inches away. Then they sat in silence and waited, for now was the time of the prefect. Yost was hired for these events not as a mere purveyor of the scripted language but rather to recite tales from the history of both families. Granted, these were not drawn from historical archives but rather were provided by the heads of the families. Propaganda was the word Kara often used when she heard these prefects drone on. They did, however, have a knack for bringing great theater to history. “Worth every Dim,” her Mother said during the initial wedding negotiations.

  “To the Honored and the Honorable,” he said, “I ask you to imagine a time nine hundred years in our past. The Hokki frontier was open to unlimited possibilities, to evolve beyond the wild and to tame a planet richer than imagination but most of its treasure hidden beneath the surface of its great oceans. And now, I wish you to imagine a wisp of a man, living on his final Dims, searching for a place in this new world. A man of bold ambition and dynamic vision, if only others could see the future as he did. I want to speak to you of the legendary Joa Ta
ron.”

  And away he went. His stories would continue for twenty minutes according to script, likely to elicit laughter, cheers, and occasional gasps from the crowd. Kara hoped he ran long. This was the window of opportunity she needed. As long as she sat still, no one noticed her amid the prefect’s theatrics.

  She returned her careful glare toward the audience and caught sight of the woman near the rear. She was right the first time.

  It was Chin Sun Tyce, the High Cannon executive who greeted Kara and her team of engineers, considered their proposals, walked her about the facility, and led Kara into a trap that ended with a needle to the back of her neck. Here was a woman who insisted she had not set foot on Pinchon in fifty years.

  “The home island is not for every Hokki,” she insisted.

  Yet here she was, and she did not appear to be paying attention to the prefect’s concocted tales. Her eyes fell on Kara, who looked away, now focusing on anyone else who might be out of place. Kara wasn’t an insider to the Pinchon social scene, but she knew enough to recognize outsiders.

  The strategy paid off, but the results terrified her.

  Near the front, predictably, she saw Ja Yuan, President of Nantou Global. His eyes locked on the prefect, but he showed no visceral reaction to the tales. However, three rows and several seats behind Ja Yuan, she spotted Sho Parke, Chairman of HCC. An elusive figure but one she recognized from the personnel search she conducted with Chi-Qua. Were he and Tyce present for the attack involving Ham’s team? Mei would have known. Did they link Kara to those events? Surely, they wouldn’t take any action – not here, not in public. Why such exposure, with their plans endangered?

  Then she remembered what Dae said before he killed Mei:

  The three Hokkis closest to the Inventor were Sho Parke, Ja Yuan, and Hoija Taron, the last being the true power of the triumvirate.

  She broke eye contact with the audience and glanced aside toward the rear of the stage. Hoija, dressed in full grandeur and wearing a flock of ornamental sea swans on her head, chuckled to the rhythm of the prefect’s cadence, as if she wrote the words herself. Kara thought their eyes locked for a second.

  How was it possible? This woman, the lead player in a conspiracy of the planet’s most powerful figures? It seemed preposterous, but she was a huge woman, dominating her father beside her – the once-feared yet now withering Ban-Ho Taron – and the quiet parents Chan and Moon, who reared a book-bound genius in Ya-Li. She sat dead center in the front row, which was afforded to most senior lineage.

  If she was truly pulling the strings, she sat in the perfect location. More important, she would have overseen the seating arrangements along with Kara’s mother. They never would have allowed surprise guests to sneak through.

  Conclusion: Not everyone was here for a wedding.

  Her paranoia chased every accessible path while the prefect’s theatrics continued. Soon, new pieces laid a productive track. Kara retreaded the steps she took after Mal’s Drop and up through her final seconds with Mei Durin.

  Then it happened. A moment she overlooked.

  It was a passing reference that might have made no difference in the long run. Inside a hopper en route to Baangarden, Ham Cortez responded to a question Kara asked after Mal’s Drop.

  “You did ask for my Chancellor name when we last met. I was born Nathaniel Loomis in a city once known as New Stockholm.”

  N.L.

  She shifted with unease and corrected herself at once. No one must suspect.

  He’s here, she thought. Ham Cortez is here.

  When she asked herself why and couldn’t think of an answer, Kara latched onto another conclusion.

  People are going to die today.

  48

  K ARA’S SUSPICION TURNED TO EVERYONE she did not know through social circles. How many of these guests had ulterior motives? What about the servants? The staff hired just for this event? The estate security? Were they playing dual roles? Did Ham and Lan slip agents onto the estate? Would Chin Sun Tyce and Sho Parke arrive from Mangum Island without personal protection? And what of those onstage with her? How many Tarons and Syung-Lows also carried weapons beneath their finery?

  She wanted to leap from her royal chair and demand the ceremony be halted. But what then? Tell them the truth? Turn herself into an object of mockery and derision, with no proof to her claims? Kara knew she’d destroy her life and lose any further chance to expose the madness among the elite.

  I’ll save lives.

  The nobility inside suggested that was reason enough to martyr herself in public. Yet self-interest prevailed, and she did nothing.

  Then the prefect concluded his dramatic stories of history.

  “And when the children of Ya-Li and Kara enter into marriage, may we hope they learn of the heroic exploits of their parents,” Yost said. “And now, to seal this union. First, I call upon Ya-Li, son of Moon and Chan Taron, to deliver his vows.”

  The crowd applauded with petite, genteel claps, ending at the prefect’s signal. Ya-Li cleared his throat and spoke his scripted lines into the microphone, his eyes embedded on Kara.

  “Kara, today I offer you my whole heart and undying fealty. I will seek to provide for you as I do for the Hokki people, for we are one great spirit, whether on sea or land. I will strive to mend you in times of distress and celebrate our love at times of revelry. I will walk hand in hand with you as we honor the legacy of our ancestors and lay a path for our descendants. I enter our bond with love, and I will carry that love until death divides us.”

  He said the words with a thrusting tone she never heard before. Though the script was standard fare for a groom of the elite, Ya-Li spoke them as if he was the original author. No matter what else he might become, Ya-Li loved Kara. Of that, she no longer doubted.

  “Now,” the prefect said, “I call upon Kara, daughter of Perr and Li-Ann Syung, to deliver her vows.”

  Kara knew the words, but they were a farce. Every bone in her body said there would never be a more perfect time: She had their attention; they’d never see it coming. Yet when she opened her lips, the well-rehearsed message followed.

  “Ya-Li, today I offer you my whole heart, my undying fealty, and the promise of continuing your family name. I will seek to provide for you as one of the Hokki people, for we are one great spirit, whether on sea or land. I will strive to mend you in times of distress and celebrate our love through the fulfillment of my duties as wife and mother. I will walk at your side as we honor the legacy of our ancestors and lay a path for our descendants. I enter our bond with love and fertility, and I will carry that love until death divides us.”

  Even on a good day, those vows would have left Kara feeling raw inside, as she agreed in public to become yet another secondary player to the patriarchy. But today? Who cared?

  Instinct suggested this was all wrong, a setup of some sort. Her only solace was having gone into it with eyes relatively wide open. She felt the cold laser pistol against her thigh.

  “Their vows complete,” Prefect Yost said, “I ask Ya-Li and Kara to arise and join me at center stage.”

  They complied and faced each other but did not hold hands.

  “Ya-Li, you have the honors,” Yost said.

  He reached into his pocket and removed a gold ring. He held it high enough for all present to see then slipped it over a finger on his left hand. He took a deep breath and said:

  “My fealty is now complete, before the eyes of every witness.”

  Ya-Li reached into his pocket again and revealed a second ring, glimmering in silver. Again, he held it high and nodded to Kara, who lifted her right hand.

  Everything to this moment would be nullified if she took away her hand and refused the ring. A simple act to prevent what almost certainly would turn into a lifetime of shared misfortune. Yet no matter what happened next, no matter how far their families fell in the coming years, Kara saw another truth in Ya-Li’s boyish, idealistic eyes: She would never find anyone who loved her so complet
ely.

  Ya-Li slipped the ring over her finger, and the crowd burst into raucous applause. The prefect held out his arms as if to embrace the new couple.

  Kara didn’t have to say another word. Ya-Li drew upon her and struggled to resist tears. She gave in, and they kissed with a passion Kara thought might never be exceeded. If this was to be their last happy moment together, she preferred to embrace rather than reject.

  “I love you,” she said when their lips separated, having no idea whether she spoke the truth.

  “Until I die, Kara,” he said, “I’ll always be here for you.”

  It was enough for him to mean those words. It was enough for The Lagos to exult along with all those present. It was enough for the sun to shine on them for a few, blissful moments.

  And it was, as Kara’s instinct warned her, the end of joy and the beginning of terror.

  She might have been the only one who saw it at first. As the new couple waved from the stage, Kara pivoted toward the Taron wing of the amphitheater and looked southeast across the estate. A small ship – its configuration like a Scramjet – hovered over distant trees. Its hull glimmered like a brilliant star rising at noon.

  Four tiny blue projectiles emerged from its dorsal frame, each leaving a contrail as it swirled and then disappeared – either behind the trees or the tallest turrets of the estate house.

  “Ya-Li,” she said, her heart racing. “Ya-Li.”

  He didn’t hear above the cheers, so she grabbed him. His smile disappeared when he saw the panic in her eyes.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “What?” He leaned in.

  She raised her voice. “Do you trust me?”

  “Forever. Why?”

  They weren’t given the chance to extend the conversation.

  It happened with simultaneous precision. All four broadcast drones disintegrated in blue explosions.

  The cheering died and gasps ensued. Murmurs followed as eyes darted in all directions. It happened so quickly: How many assumed technical failures and denied reality?