Hoshi remembered being happy to see Lan Chua on the platform at Corvaal’s Bay nine days ago. If anyone could arrange this mission and keep them safe, it was Green Sun’s founder. She couldn’t have predicted the difficulty of the training that followed – or the stunning developments in Pinchon. Worse yet, they lived with new identities, using their birth names only when alone together.

  They ate, slept, and trained. Everything from miles-long runs through the drowning humidity to weapons and tactical exercises to cracking corporate security systems. The latter was entirely based on simulations and Lan’s prior knowledge from years at Nantou Global. Yet the news pointed them toward Hotai Counsel.

  Ya-Li Taron’s takeover left them breathless. Lan Chua – now known as Tran Pau – was convinced this was Ya-Li’s post-massacre goal: Acquire his family’s stakes in Hotai and assume unfettered control. But why? The answer was elusive. His contacts in Pinchon were nervous. They said the elite families and the seamasters were on edge. The speed of change following such terror amounted to a script no one prepared for.

  The question every Green Sun exile in Ishuan Town asked: What did these developments mean for their own security? Would the KumTaan send agents to apprehend them in spite of Huryo’s non-extradition status? Did they need to make spectacular arrests to show they were in control?

  The relative isolation of Ishuan Town gave limited comfort. This was a remote fishing village and occasional smuggling route a thousand kilometers from Huryo’s only spaceport. No one here appeared much concerned with anyone else’s business, and the longtime locals showed no interest in news from Hokkaido. Hoshi sometimes thought the planet might as well exist in another star system, though it was visible in the southern sky.

  Strangers passed through like migrants, mostly from crews of boats that traversed the great Bay of P’jann. Wouldn’t it be simple, she thought, for KumTaan agents and Huryan mercenaries to blend in? They could lurk in the shadows and sneak out from time to time to complete the nasty bits.

  This paranoid fantasy was on her mind toward high noon of day nine. She walked the docks, where most berths were empty. Most of the old, rickety fishing boats – passed down through generations – were trawling the bay. Those not active today beat against the docks during a rare windy burst as storm clouds rolled across P’jann.

  Hoshi wondered how these vessels stayed afloat. Trawlers like this had not been seen on Hokkaido for centuries. The silent vessels appeared empty. A few locals surveyed the wares of fishmongers who cleaned and dressed to order. Business would pick up by mid-afternoon as the trawlers returned, with an excited rush as evening approached.

  P’jann produced a bounty of fish, crabs, water snakes, and coheeta, which the locals called bay grass. Giant barrels of various tubers were filled before the afternoon rush. It seemed enough for the natives, Hoshi thought, as the town’s only general market presented few rows of alternatives, most dried or pressure-sealed.

  Mosh and Muna were waiting at their pre-determined spot, a small vendor’s shack where they found the only refuge for a sweet tooth. An old woman sold fru’ho, a confection similar to the coconut sugar swirls they knew from The Lagos. The shack was closed at noon, the old woman busy inside making new batches for the afternoon rush.

  “He’s late,” Mosh said. “Lan is …”

  “Please,” Hoshi interrupted. “We’re in public.”

  “Apologies. Of course. Tran is always early. Should we worry?”

  “He knows what he’s doing. Just smile and talk about nonsense. We’re three fans of fru’ho waiting for the shack to open.”

  “Breeze is nice,” he said. “I’ve only felt the wind kick up a couple of times. The humidity wouldn’t be so bad otherwise.”

  “They say it’s always like this during the dry season,” Muna said. “The humidity won’t modify until the monsoon season, but it’s five months until B’Hai.”

  Mosh rolled his eyes. “If we’re still here in five months, kill me.”

  “I think we might have landed a better deal,” Muna added, “if we’d come up here during the evacuation instead of joining with the Talons. Most of our people are living better than this. Tran said there are only four others like us in the area.”

  Hoshi despised this place, but she was tired of the whining.

  “We’ll know more soon enough,” she said. “Tran’s message seemed urgent. Maybe it’s the news we’ve been waiting for.”

  Hoshi felt a pull on her body wrap.

  The girl appeared out of nowhere, less than waist high, her head shaved. Her eyes radiated boundless curiosity. However, she did not say a word. Instead, she pointed at Hoshi, then Mosh, followed by Muna. She counted silently. One, two, three.

  She reached into her sack-like dress and removed a folded piece of paper from her only pocket. She offered it to Hoshi.

  “For me?” Hoshi said. The girl nodded and ran away. “Wait. I …” She turned to her mystified friends. “This can’t be good.”

  The message inside was direct. Five minutes later, they found themselves inside a dry barn amid long racks of green and black sheets of bay grass, which smelled like fresh hay. Per instructions, Hoshi closed the door behind them and inserted a bar through the lock to ensure privacy.

  Lan Chua (Tran Pau) emerged from the rear of the tiny barn. He carried a tablet and a stern chin. They had not seen him in two days. Lan was known to travel throughout the region, visiting Green Sun agents in exile, keeping them in the loop about Hokkaido. Global comm tech – personal and network – were available everywhere, but in limited supply. Most Green Sun refugees lived entirely off the grid that once consumed their lives back home.

  “I know the man who owns this barn,” Lan said. “He is conducting business far away. This coheeta will not be properly seasoned for another week. There are few artisans like him who know the ancient tradition of hard-pressing coheeta.”

  “What is it used for?” said Mosh.

  “It’s a delicacy to many ends. It breaks downs to form a base in stews. In pulverized form, it works in baking. Others smoke it.”

  Hoshi thought the information was interesting but irrelevant.

  “Why are we here, Tran? Why did you send that girl to us?”

  “I have concerns about the four of us meeting in public. There have been developments back home.”

  “Tell us.”

  Lan, who had grown increasingly cautious since their arrival, stared at his tablet and shook his head. He slipped the tablet into a pocket.

  “There has been a new round of attacks in Pinchon. Details are slow to come, but what I know is that there are many deaths, and the targets were spread throughout The Lagos.”

  Hoshi asked the obvious question.

  “Is Ya-Li Taron behind this one, too?”

  “Ya-Li was one of the targets. I don’t know if he was killed. I only have the initial reports. He was shot while making a public speech. Soon after, there were other attacks. It’s chaos.”

  Mosh let loose a string of vulgarities.

  “Are they going to blame Green Sun for this, too?”

  “It’s early. I’m receiving the information through backchannels. I don’t want to use the intersystem stream, in case anyone is tracking my location. The attacks happened fourteen hours ago. I’ll receive another data dump in two hours.”

  Muna stepped in. “What does this mean for our mission? If Ya-Li Taron dies, will we …?”

  “Return home? Yes, but with new mission parameters. There is still the matter of the Splinter. I’m not sure if it poses an urgent threat out of Mr. Taron’s hands, but we need to get it off world before someone else takes his place.”

  “Is that what your contacts in Pinchon plan to do?”

  “They know nothing about the Splinter, or this Alliance connected to it. You will take the evidence to them directly.”

  “I don’t understand,” Hoshi said. “They’ve been working blind this whole time? I thought you said …”

  “My job is to protect our people in exile here. No one on Hokkaido must know we are actively pursuing these elements until we are in position to make a move. My contacts are loyal. If they weren’t – or if they were part of the Alliance – I would have felt their unkind whip. No. We can’t do this job from Huryo.”

  Mosh wagged a finger.

  “Tran, I understand your caution, but something bothers me. We know the truth about the Taron massacre. We have evidence. We know who gave Ya-Li the Splinter and who led the attack. And we know he’s not far from here. Why don’t we come forward? Tell the government and the KumTaan who was behind it all?”

  Lan dropped a supporting hand on Mosh.

  “That is the most direct solution. Yes. But it’s also the sloppiest. Truth has a way of unwinding many other secrets. Once Hokkaido knows what the seamasters have done to the continents, our economic and political stability will collapse. Your solution will become a nightmare we’ll live with for generations. Better we do this quietly. If Ya-Li Taron survives the latest attack, we make a move against him and find the Splinter.

  “Once his threat is eliminated, we strike deals with the government and the KumTaan. In time, we’ll be able to negotiate amnesty for ex-Green Sun. As for the one who led the massacre, your orders remain the same. He is not to be discussed. He is the most wanted man in the system. His fate is in the hands of others. Do I make myself clear?”

  They nodded.

  “Yes, Tran,” Hoshi said. “What now?”

  “I am working to expedite your departure. I hope to have the proper InterPass documentation in two days. The bureaucracy in Quanteel is challenging, but I know a man in customs.

  “I’m not going to lie. You will be leaving earlier than planned, but it can’t be helped. The only route to Hokkaido is via the system ferry, and there’s no guarantee it will be operating much longer. The latest attacks might force a shutdown of intersystem travel. And then there’s the matter of spies. I’ve had reports of Huryan mercenaries contracting with the KumTaan to search for high-value targets.”

  Mosh grumbled. “Would they even think to search in a backwoods hole like this?”

  “The smart ones will look to places like Ishuan first.”

  “Understood,” Hoshi said. “When do you plan to move us out? Or should we wait around for that little girl to show up again?”

  Lan cracked a smile.

  “I never reach into the same bag twice. Keep your heads down today. As soon as I can secure a private jump-craft, I’ll let you know the location for rendezvous. Go now. I’ll lock up.”

  They did as ordered, although Mosh mumbled under his breath during the walk to their hut. Mosh was never one for process; he preferred to charge in headlong. Hoshi vowed that as she kept her own head down, she’d leave one eye focused on Mosh.

  And what for all the rings was a jump-craft?

  15

  L ATER, HOSHI RETURNED TO the old woman’s shack to order a bag of fru’hos. There wasn’t much she’d remember of Ishuan Town beyond the coconut confection. She waited at the end of a short line of children, all of whom struck her as hopeless but for this one intersection of joy. The trawlers had not yet returned, and the docks were sparse. Nonetheless, a few strangers mingled nearby.

  The old woman, small but sturdy and upright, eyed Hoshi with suspicion, though this was her third visit in five days. Hoshi nodded and offered her most generous smile.

  “May I have nine, please?”

  The woman went straight to business, dipping the fru’ho patties in yellow glaze, which hardened in seconds.

  “You have a big appetite, young lady.”

  “I’m sharing with others. I see how the children love these. I’ll bet you know them all by first name.”

  She grunted. “Eh. The ones I like. Some are rascals. What about you, young lady? Are you a rascal?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You are visiting, hiding, or smuggling. The only ones permanent to Ishuan were born here.”

  “Then I must be doing one of the other three.”

  The woman stopped her work, studied Hoshi, and smiled.

  “So it is.” She resumed fru’ho preparation. “I do not wish to pry. I pay little mind to outsiders unless they visit my shack. Why do you not dress your hair?”

  “Dress my hair?”

  “Wear a hat or a putan. You have so much hair. It should be protected in this climate. Did the guidebooks not tell you this?”

  “You mean, like for tourists?”

  “Any visitor from Hokkaido.”

  “You don’t think I’m Huryan?”

  She bagged the patties with a gleeful laughter.

  “You walk too fast. Hokkis always must go to be somewhere else. Always rushing. I will not ask your name because I do not believe you will give it. But I know little of Hokkaido. Tell me. Where is your home?”

  Hoshi paid her with five silver coins.

  “I grew up on an island in a house by the ocean. Thank you for the fru’ho. I will remember them on my journeys.”

  “Good. If you ever return, I will be here. Or I will be dead. In which case, you will meet my daughter.”

  Hoshi offered a bow of respect, though she never saw such formalities between Huryans. The old woman did not reciprocate before returning to her work.

  The woman wasn’t wrong, however. Hoshi did not see another woman of full hair without a head covering of some manner, even if a simple bandana. Most men were bald, but those who defied the custom wore a kinked, tight-fit hat called a putan. Her nonconformity made her stand out, but Lan never demanded she comply to the local fashion. Though her hair was reduced to a knotted mess by evening, the nightly wash and styling passed the time.

  Hoshi set her course for the hut shared with Mosh and Muna and did not notice anything amiss. Only when she left the docks and rounded a corner into a narrow alley did she feel a strange presence.

  He was right behind her, walking on cat’s feet. It was the second time today she allowed someone to sneak up unnoticed.

  “Do you need something?” She asked the man, twice her age and sporting a thin beard along his jawline. He wore a putan.

  “I do apologize,” he said. “I did not intend to create the wrong first impression.”

  She didn’t like his tone. Too slippery. Too forced.

  “What do you want?”

  “I have seen you in town recently, and … to be honest, I overheard the last of your conversation with the fru’ho vendor. You are from Hokkaido. Yes?”

  “Where I’m from doesn’t matter. Tell me what you want, or I’m walking away. I have friends.”

  “Yes. I saw them, too. You see, I’m looking for someone. I desperately need to meet with him. I’m sure you don’t know the man, but I was hoping maybe you heard rumors about him.”

  “If I’m from Hokkaido, why would I hear rumors about a local? Wait by the docks. Ask the townspeople when the boats come in.”

  He flexed his brows. “Tried that yesterday. These are simple people. They don’t like being questioned. If it helps, the man is famous. Information about him goes for a premium. A thousand Dims, perhaps?”

  “Ah. You’re Hokki.” She leaned closer. “You dress Huryan. Maybe you do business with both?”

  His smile of recognition quickly faded to irritation.

  “OK. Yes. I have many interests. I also have a thousand Dims – maybe I find a few more – if you can nudge me toward Lan Chua.”

  She rehearsed for this moment.

  “Who?”

  “Please don’t play coy, and do not ask for double. I hate when informers do that.”

  “I have no idea who Lan Chua is, and I don’t listen to rumors.”

  “He is likely living under an alias. He is …”

  “No. Stop. I said I don’t know him. Goodbye.”

  “Should I tell the authorities about Green Sun agents hiding in Ishuan Town?”

  Another question she prepared for. At the very least, Hoshi expected to encounter a mercenary with a bit more subtlety and patience.

  “If you must know, I am an anthropology student learning about the ancient fishing traditions of rural Huryan communities. All I know about Green Sun is that they’re terrorists. I know what they did on Hokkaido a few weeks ago. Beyond that, I care nothing about Green Sun or this person … Lan Chua. Please bother someone else. Goodbye.”

  It was the first time Hoshi publicly denounced the group to which she’d devoted three years of her life. She wore the group’s large tattoo on her chest like all members and made sure her clothing hid it, even if it added to the discomfort of living in this humid rathole.

  The man backed away, raising his hands in a sign of surrender.

  “My deepest apologies. I misread you. Best of luck in your studies.”

  He retreated. Hoshi waited until he cleared the alley before she continued. Though she felt her cover story was delivered with aplomb, the result seemed all too easy.

  She reported back to Mosh and Muna. They agreed: They had enough fruit, potatoes, and fish rolls to see them through to the morning. Except for a quick piss – with a partner nearby – nobody was leaving the hut until Lan Chua made contact.

  “Who do you think is paying him?” Muna spoke a notch above a whisper as they huddled close. “KumTaan?”

  “Could be,” Hoshi said. “Maybe Ya-Li Taron.”

  “Or whoever’s behind the newest attack,” Mosh added.

  Hoshi sighed. “I’m not sure it matters right now. We knew the risk if we returned to the system. We have to be extra careful. I think things are happening faster than expected.”

  “They should have given us pistols. They trained us on dummy weapons and tactical sims. Not the same as the real thing.”

  “I know, Mosh, but the laws here are so strict. If they catch us with illegal weapons, the government could extradite us. We didn’t kill anybody at the Taron wedding, but the KumTaan won’t hesitate to put us before a firing squad. It’s not about justice. It’s revenge.”