Only when he found the shadowy corner where his rage was hiding did Ryllen discover how to fight back. He saw the future, where al those named Jee would join the chorus of others who cal ed him the Idiot of The Lagos. They’d mock his memory and degrade him to their friends – the ones who remained, that is. In time, they’d lose interest in this playful banter and simply forget he ever came to Hokkaido, bringing new wealth and influence to Jee.

  Play your cudfrucking games, but never cross my path.

  Ryllen said nothing to Kai when he returned home. He threw the memglass into a jewelry box along with his collection of rings, necklaces and braiding bands.

  His birthplace was more than two hundred light-years away, its star almost indiscernible on the clearest of nights. Once the home of a great empire, now engulfed in a civil war – the least civilized world in the Collectorate.

  “Earth,” he whispered. “Chancel ors. I spit on you.”

  He fel into Kai’s arms, and together they slept through the afternoon. Long after the sun fel , they gathered at a nondescript location in the Zozo District and turned their eyes toward the next phase of their service to Green Sun.

  Lan Chua, more charismatic than usual, laid out his vision and summoned his personal security, who entered with a treasure trove of weapons. Ryllen never saw such a variety of kil ing tools in one place.

  Some were Hokki design, some left over from the Chancel or evacuation, but several smuggled from other colonies.

  Chua’s guards explained the ful inventory, distinguishing the simple point-and-shoot from the more intricate devices which required special training. Lan turned to each of his captains and lieutenants and asked a simple question.

  “Wil you kil anyone who is an enemy of The Lagos?”

  Each answered in the affirmative, which Ryllen thought was al too easy. Lan came to him last, perhaps because this was Ryllen’s first meeting among the inner circle.

  When Lan asked the question, Ryl en felt al the weight of his past dissolve. He grinned.

  “What are we waiting for?” He told Lan. “Let’s start tonight.”

  3

  Death of the Idiot

  Standard Year 5364

  YLLEN JEE LOVED THE COMPOSITION of a GB-X Mark 4

  R pistol, which fit snug into a semi-closed fist. A tap of the thumb triggered the Mark 4 to flip open, drop its ten flash pegs into the dispensary cylinder, extend the suppressor tunnel four inches, and acquire a target. Quick. Quiet. As useful in the shadows as in the midst of a madding crowd. The flash pegs were Chancellor design, but modifications to the gun belonged to Hokki genius. Green Sun bought their stash from a new wave of arms dealers based near Puratoon, on the continent.

  Ryllen coined its nickname: The Goodboy.

  Though it was his gun of choice and facilitated every strike against the enemies of The Lagos, Ryllen trained on each weapon the black market provided. He focused on weight – both in his hands and tucked beneath his clothing – as wel as user interface. The more intricate devices, such as modified Unification Guard blast rifles, only worked efficiently during exercises. They were too bulky for close-quarter kil s, he concluded. Nonetheless, he resolved to master their subtleties. The crusade might soon face a hardened opposition. Street battles were inevitable. Firepower would be essential.

  They trained on the tiny private island of Barrio, six kilometers from Pinchon. Although their leader, Lan Chua, never admitted it, everyone knew he owned the island along with a consortium of like-minded investors. Movement was easy; everything off-book and outside the auspices of Pinchon’s Island Transport Discipline.

  Ryllen never exercised so hard, ran so far, or studied so long.

  Classwork focused primarily on the disciplines of a new fighting strategy cal ed guerril a warfare. Lan Chua said it was developed on what he cal ed “the dark quad” of colonies – Zwahili Kingdom, Moroccan Prime, Mauritania, and Boer – where centuries of insurgencies and civil wars posed the greatest chal enge to the Unification Guard before the Chancel ors’ empire collapsed. He said the strategies gave Green Sun the best chance to sustain itself for the long haul.

  “More than one bil ion Freelanders want what we have,” he insisted during one of many pep ral ies. “They wil poison The Lagos as surely as their poisoned the continent. We stand at the front line to fight this cancer. Our enemies go far beyond immos. Some are traitors who double-deal with the enemy from their estates in Haansu. Others are mid-level managers in the seamaster corporate structure who sacrifice their fealty for undeserved wealth. Our enemies take many forms. We wil , too.”

  Ryllen understood, as did they al , that their targeted kil ings of immos and those who smuggled them into The Lagos was about to escalate. Yes, Green Sun had countless supporters throughout Pinchon – those in government, law enforcement, and seamasters

  – who looked away when bodies turned up with a green dot painted between their eyes. But would their protection hold when true citizens fel ? How long before the great families of Haansu were directly affected? They had the resources to push back.

  “We are going to suffer losses,” Lan Chua told Ryllen, Kai Durin, and two other captains as they walked the beach after sunset. “I have seen a tenfold increase in the hiring of personal security teams.

  My contact in Puratoon says the clientele for his products has diversified. His competitors deliver to a third of the islands.”

  “Our side?” Kai asked.

  “Many sympathizers. Yes. But other entities have opposing agendas. To what extent they engage us remains an open question.”

  Ryllen never heard Lan speak with such uncertainty. As Executive Chairman of Discipline at Nantou Global, Lan had more spies and informants at the ready than anyone in The Lagos. He’d built his

  network with diligence and care, sinking deep inside al the major seamasters, the limp regional government, and its hesitant enforcement division, the Constabulary. Unlike years ago, when the Ark Carriers sent invincible soldiers planet-side to quel uprisings, Green Sun faced no uniformed army. It might have been easier that way, Lan suggested. At least the enemy could be clearly identified.

  “Have you considered my proposal?” Kai asked.

  “I have,” Lan replied. “Bombings would be a major escalation, and our broader message wil be taken to heart by the enemy. However, we have avoided collateral damage to this point. We are popular because we can rightful y prove everyone we kil is an enemy of The Lagos or a collaborator. Bombs are less precise. If we make mistakes, we wil become the enemy. You are one of my best, Kai, but I cannot undermine what I’ve built.”

  Even in the dim light, Ryllen saw Kai’s frustration. The man he’d come to love spent the past few months researching and designing a new generation of explosives he thought to be game changers. They often debated the merits of Kai’s vision. Ryllen wanted to look his victims in the eye, to be sure their last thoughts were regret for having invaded The Lagos. He suspected Kai wanted to be far away from those terrified eyes. Kai started kil ing for Green Sun when he was fifteen, long before targeted murders were sanctioned. Four years later, the shadow spread wide across Kai’s features when he stared into the rear.

  Ryllen waited until they were alone to address what he saw. They sat on rocks at the shore’s edge, sharing a pipe. Across the strait, the twinkling lights of Pinchon fil ed the night. The breeze died.

  “Are you stil with us?” Ryllen asked. “With Lan?”

  “You mean, am I going to obey? Of course, RJ. Green Sun has given my life a purpose. No way I’m stepping out of line. I just wish …” Kai took a long drag on the pipe. “He’s too conservative, RJ. He put us in this position when he gave the kil order seven months ago. We did our job so wel , now we have an enemy massing against us. They’l strike sooner or later. You heard him tonight. We’re going to lose people. We need to make sure they lose more.”

  “We wil . We have more informants than ever, and we’l start uncovering the high-ranking collaborators soon. I feel it. Then we’l

  have a field day on those cudfrucking traitors.”

  Kai passed back the pipe. “We go deeper into the muck, and I swear, you’re more confident every day. Where do you get it from?”

  “Dunno. I wake up with the sun, feeling better about myself than I ever have. I kil people nearabout every week, but I don’t blink.

  Don’t wanna take it back or run home to Mother – not that she’d open the door. I guess the important thing is I’m taking a stand, Kai. No matter which way this ends, I can say I made a difference.

  What else was I gonna do with my life? I’l never be a real Hokki, and I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

  Kai grabbed Ryllen’s hand and kissed it. “I agree, RJ. A man has to stand for something. We’re patriots. We do what has to be done.

  Someday, they’re going to celebrate us for drawing a line and defending it. I’d just like to be around to hear the cheers. I don’t want them writing poems about me. They can thank me to my face.”

  “They wil .”

  “Can you guarantee it?”

  “They’re not fond of yellow.”

  Kai chuckled. “Say what?”

  “Your hair. Yel ow. It’s not your best. They’l respond to red. You real y ought to go that way more often.”

  “What in The Lagos does my hair color have to … Oh. You’re being funny, RJ. This from a guy who retints his braids twice a week.”

  “Somebody has to have a laugh. Keeps us sane. That’s what you always told me when I was down.”

  “Fair point,” Kai said.

  “Plus, it’s about as beautiful a damn night as they make. The rings? Look at them. Take your breath away. And that city.” He pointed across the strait. “Last paradise on Hokkaido. You and I are fighting to keep it that way. Never been prouder of anything I’ve done in my life.

  “I think of those people who don’t know we’re protecting them.

  No clue how badly the rings are poisoning the planet or how desperate the continentals are becoming. We’re protecting a way of life. We’re the heroes, Kai. Knowing that puts a smile on my face

  every morning. Wel . That, and loving you.”

  Kai fel silent. He looked up at the stars and across to the city then turned to Ryllen.

  “Nice speech. So, you love me? You never said it out loud before.”

  “Wait, what? Sure, I have. Lots of times. I think.”

  “Nope. I was starting to wonder.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re wrong.”

  “I’m certain I’m not.”

  “OK. I won’t push it. You’l just pul rank.”

  “Always works.”

  Ryllen felt the last of the evening’s tension fade away. So rarely these days did they find time for themselves without the crusade casting a long shadow. Ryllen wanted to hold onto the moment and stretch it deep into the night. When the sun returned, they’d leave the island and resume inflicting death on the enemy.

  Until then?

  Happiness.

  Or were those precious moments together a mere delusion?

  Ryllen never stopped asking the question, for so long as he lived. It was one of many he would never be able to shake.

  Where did he miscalculate? Was he always naïve? Was love too taxing an emotion in a time of war? Did it cloud strategy, cripple courage, and induce hesitation?

  None of these concerns waylaid Ryl en when they returned home to their flat beneath the UpWay. Not as they communicated with their brothers and sisters to organize an assault on their most valuable targets yet. Not as the final intel confirmed they would be intercepting a smuggling ring – twelve immos, two couriers, and a traitor from Hotai Counsel overseeing the transfer.

  The smugglers were using the Ronin Swal ows, a limestone cavern along the west-central coast that fil ed with seawater at high tide. It was located five kilometers north of the Port of Pinchon. They’d arrive after midnight in swift boats running silent to deliver human cargo unloaded from a competitor’s ship thirty kilometers out. Ronin used to be a popular staging area, but Green Sun shut it down months earlier with a pair of massacres. Intel said a new outfit was running this show,

  likely a crew out of New Seoul. Lan Chua dispatched two captains –

  Kai and Ryllen – along with each man’s four lieutenants.

  Instructions were clear: No survivors except the Hotai exec.

  Stand him up before a flowcam and extract a confession then shoot him in the head. Throw al bodies into the swift boats and set automated controls to lay in a reverse course.

  Ryllen saw one flaw in the plan. He related it to Kai as they traveled west in Ryllen’s rifter.

  “How do we know those boats wil make it back to the dropship?”

  “We don’t,” Kai said. “But they’l only have enough fuel to reach the Mid-Sea shipping lanes. If the dropship isn’t waiting, they’l drift.

  Bound to be seen by somebody within a day, give or take. Doesn’t matter who records it. The byte wil be al over the Global Wave.

  We’l pair it with the confession. Hotai wil be in a universe of hurt.

  They’l won’t be celebrating at Nantou, either. They’l be rooting out traitors in their own nest.”

  “But this won’t undermine the seamasters, wil it? Most of the people we’re protecting work for them.”

  “No. Just a few weeks of rough-and-tumble politics in the big houses. They’l squeeze out the cancer, which is al we’re asking.”

  The Ronin Swal ows bordered the Mootau Botanical Gardens, one of the few unpopulated sectors of the giant island city. This worked to Green Sun’s advantage, giving them more room to maneuver without fear of witnesses. It was also the darkest sector of the island, though the great glass towers of the corporate cluster loomed over the immediate horizon.

  Ryllen parked the rifter beneath the single largest bul abast tree on the island. He and Kai met their teams shortly thereafter. The sea echoed nearby, waves crashing against the Swal ows.

  An hour until midnight. The tide was rising.

  “Any final questions about logistics?” Kai asked. When al heads nodded, he tapped his bicomm. The profile of a wel -groomed man with a thin mustache rose six inches above his wrist. “Shin Wain.

  Kil them al , including his security, but not this cudfruck. If he’s armed and tries anything, go for the legs. We need this garbage to talk.”

  They descended toward the Swal ows, guided by a night-vision prosthetic as thin as reading glasses and kept in touch by an audio shel in one ear. They bore three weapons each: A Goodboy, a modified blast rifle, and a foot-long trifetta knife designed for gutting F’heldabeast. Ryllen mastered proper trifetta technique but knew if he ever required it, he and his team were in serious trouble.

  They dispersed to their designated locations, covering the entrance to the Swal ows from every angle. The waiting would be the hardest.

  Intel said to expect the swift boats “after midnight,” which left open a window of several hours. This wasn’t their first ambush where patience and discipline were essential skil s.

  Ryllen took point and stationed himself in an awkward crevice just inside the opening. As waves rapped against the limestone, he felt an odd sense of tranquility. He wondered how many centuries of rising tides helped to carve out this cavern. He also realized this slow, natural rhythm would continue long after he and his generation died off – long after their crusade became a buried footnote in history. He was about to slaughter people he did not know, and the greater forces of Hokkaido didn’t care at al .

  From time to time, Kai checked in with the teams and offered brief but reassuring updates. At one point more than an hour into the mission, he relayed intel from one of their spotters in the city: Shin Wain left his high-rise suite with a security detail of four.

  “Remember,” Kai said, “we need Shin alive for the byte.”

  A few minutes later, Ryllen heard the sweet hum of swift boat engines. He ducked out of position to get a better look. As intel predicted: Two boats, slowing as they approached the Swallows.

  “They’re coming,” he whispered for the shel . “Take position. Guns ready. No survivors.”

  The boats throttled back and glided inside the Swal ows largely on the rush of the tide. They entered the narrow cavern one at a time.

  From his perch, Ryllen saw their backs.

  He counted. Seven on boat one. Courier, plus six. Same for boat two. Intel pegged it precisely.

  The courier stood with confidence behind the steering arm, while the six immos sat near the stern, black shirts, three abreast, their

  heads down.

  Fodder for target practice.

  The enemy needed to be kil ed before stepping off the boats.

  Quick and clean. If Kai was ambitious, they might redirect the boats before Shin Wain and his team arrived.

  “Al in,” Ryl en whispered, the go-order indicating every target was accounted for.

  “Take them soft,” Kai responded, giving the order to use Goodboys instead of the high-powered blast rifles. With their targets clustered and defenseless, they were easy marks. The suppressors on the Goodboys were perfect for silent executions.

  Ryllen advanced one step and saw an inconsistency. How did he miss it the first time?

  The immo shirts were black. Yes. But something was off. They weren’t fabric. No wrinkles, no bends.

  Metal.

  Armor. They’re wearing armor.

  How did he miss it?

  Ryllen hesitated, perhaps no more than a second, but his paralysis lasted long enough.

  “I …” He shouted, too late.

  The couriers and their twelve passengers rose as one to reveal night-vision bands and long guns.

  Modified blast rifles.

  They opened fire.

  The cavern shouted in a blaze of chaos and malevolence as flash pegs hit their targets with brutal efficiency.

  Ryllen saw two of his brothers fal in the same instant a flash peg bore a hole through his gut. A second tiny missile shattered his left collarbone and exploded inside his chest.