Green Sun rules were inviolate: Immos were to be killed under cover of darkness. Public attacks should be avoided when possible, although dry-by scenarios were acceptable with Lan’s approval. That meant Ryllen and Kai would not return to Zozo to finish the job for several hours.

  I never had second thoughts, even after we agreed I would kill the boy. He wasn’t my first. Most of our talk was strategic. We were using new weapons. A variation, actually. It was a GB-X Mark 3 snub nose pistol. Earlier version of the one I preferred, the Mark 4. I called that one the Goodboy. It was lightweight. Fit natural in my hand. The Mark 3 was a few grams heavier. Point blank didn’t make much difference, but anything outside that range might be tricky. I liked a quick, clean kill. So did Kai. We practiced. We also talked about disposal. Where we were going wasn’t far from the Zozo seawall. We needed to make sure our route was going to be witness-free. Then we kissed and headed out.

  The streets of Zozo never emptied, but the tourists and revelers tended to dissipate around midnight. Ryllen and Kai blended into the crowd, taking part in seafront games, hopping between pubs, and keeping an eye on immos trying to pass themselves off as islanders. Shortly after midnight, they walked the promenade, pretending to be pleasant drunks. The routine fit the Green Sun mandate: Always seem a part of the community. No one must suspect you.

  We found them in a sewer hollow. Only new immos hid there because everyone else was smart enough to know they were coffins. You left yourself no room to escape. The father, he wasn’t so bright. He was curled up in the opening. Probably playing lookout. We told him it was too dangerous here. We said there was a better place, like a safehouse. He didn’t trust us, but we heard his son farther inside saying he was hungry and wanted to sleep on a bed. I hated the father. He should have stayed on the continent. What was he thinking, dragging his boy along?

  The quickest way would have been to kill them right there. But we passed a couple of mahali dealers about twenty meters up the way. There were dens nearby. They were recruiting. We were supposed to avoid witnesses at all costs. But Kai, he was a good talker. A real salesman. He made the father see good sense. We got them out of the hollow and started toward street level. We had two more bends to go. A quiet spot, not thirty meters from the seawall. Kai would give the signal, then we’d turn and shoot.

  Maybe the father got wise at the last minute. Maybe it was the way we walked, or the clothes we wore. I don’t know. But he decided we were islanders. He shoved Kai in the back and pushed me against the wall. I was dazed. He told the boy to run, but the kid froze. Kai jumped to his feet and grabbed his pistol, but the man was fast. I wasn’t sure how it was going to end. The pistol went off. The man dropped to his knees. The boy didn’t realize how bad it was. He raced to his father and begged him to stop fighting. He said Kai and me were here to help. We have to trust them.

  Kai triggered a glow stick. I guess that’s when the boy saw the pistol. ‘You aren’t wanted here.’ That’s what Kai said. It’s what we always said. I saw the look in his eyes. Kai decided we were close enough to the seawall. Time to finish it. He put the pistol against the man’s forehead and pressed the trigger button.

  The boy just melted. He was whimpering, but not loud enough for anybody nearby to hear. He backed up against the wall and looked at me. It was like he knew I was for him. He begged. They always begged if we gave them time enough. I didn’t apologize before I did it. I pointed to his father. ‘It’s his fault. You deserved better.’ I really expected him to struggle, but he was nothing like his father. He trusted us. Just like he trusted his father. I did him a service and made it quick. One between the eyes.

  Ryllen and Kai made haste in dragging the bodies to an open port along the seawall. The tide was high but about to recede. Perfect timing, as calculated. They took another route out of the sewers and disappeared into the oldest street in Zozo, where they left their rifter early in the evening.

  I didn’t sleep well that night, but not because of who I killed. I kept circling back through our routine. I wanted to understand what mistakes we made. That was the first time anyone fought back. I wanted to make sure it never happened again.

  The confession reached its conclusion near noon of the fourth day in the Scroll of Sins, the fat man listening with relative silence. Whereas he interrupted Ryllen frequently the first three days, he seemed more satisfied with the course of this narrative. While the Scroll listened, his apprentice took notes in a large pad a few feet away. Ryllen glanced her direction from time to time, but the Scroll insisted he receive the prisoner’s absolute attention.

  “Once again, Friend,” the Scroll said, “you take innocent life without consideration for that innocence or its inherent right to exist. Did you ever once consider the father’s desperation, having lost his trade and seeing no hope in the land on which he was born?”

  “Hokkaido is a big planet, Scroll. There was other farmland, and Puratoon had ways to support him. There were charities. Pinchon did not have enough work or room for outsiders.”

  “Intriguing. Is Pinchon not a place of wealth and stability?”

  “Yes, Scroll.”

  “Where there is wealth, there is room. You do not speak truth, Friend. You speak the ideology of fear. This man was a farmer. He grew potatoes. His hands belonged in the soil. It was his trade, and it was hard work. Did you notice how withered he was for his age?”

  “I don’t know how old he was, Scroll.”

  “Old enough to have earned a contented life, grateful for the land, his craft, and his son. Yet he abandoned it all for an impractical dream in a place where he would always be among the lowest of the low. Why, Friend, would a man debase himself in this way?”

  “Perhaps he didn’t trust the other options.”

  The Scroll sighed.

  “Um, ho, dah. Even after these many years, you cannot look beyond the flimsy veil of this ideology. I ask again, Friend. Why did the man debase himself in this way?”

  Ryllen understood many of the Scroll’s interrogation patterns. He saw where this line of questioning might be headed, but if he could steer a different path, all the better.

  “He lost respect for himself, Scroll. People who do not respect themselves make poor choices.”

  “I see. Poor choices. That is why he brought his child to Pinchon?”

  “Yes, Scroll. He did not respect what was best for the boy.”

  “Are you sure, Friend?”

  “You say I’m wrong, Scroll?”

  “When have you been correct? Why did he debase himself? Why did he bring his son to Pinchon?”

  The fat man’s tone darkened with a hint of impatience.

  It’s not about the father. Shit.

  “He wasn’t trying to start over for himself,” Ryllen said. “He wanted a new future for his son, Scroll.”

  “Why would he take such a great risk to do this, Friend?”

  “Because he cared about his boy.”

  “Cared? Such a timid word, especially coming from a man who claims to have deep passion. Tell me, Friend, why would he do this?”

  Why Ryllen continued to fight the Scroll defied logic. Yet he tried again. And once more, his will collapsed, the drug knocking him back. He answered with conviction.

  “Love, Scroll. He loved his son. He loved his son more than his own life.”

  “And?”

  “He would have done anything – even sacrificing his own life – to give his son another chance.”

  “Because why?”

  “This is what humans do for their children, Scroll. The good ones give up everything.”

  “And why, Friend?”

  “Love has no conditions.”

  “Um, ho, dah. And there we are. A man gives his life that his child might find better. But you come along and murder the child. Take a moment to ponder this idea. I will rest my eyes while you do.”

  The Scroll fell into a brief, meditative state, as he did periodically each day. Ryllen caught a longer glimpse of Sela, who continued to work the pad without stopping. What did she think of him now? More repulsed? She knew he was a monster from the outset, but did she also see how this was not entirely his fault?

  Love has no conditions. I gave all my love to Kai and Green Sun. Love allowed the monster to take over. I do not deserve this.

  The Scroll groaned with a hint of satisfaction when he opened his eyes, which darted between Ryllen and Sela.

  “Tell me, Friend, in the final seconds before you murdered the boy, what was he thinking of?”

  “What? Scroll, I told you earlier. He trusted us, like he trusted his father, and he knew he was going to die because of it. He wasn’t thinking anything else. He was terrified. No one thinks clearly when they’re terrified.”

  “Now, that’s quite an assessment, not to mention a generalization. If a human faces the end of his life and is consumed in terror, what is truly the source of his terror?”

  “I don’t know, Scroll. I have died many times, but I knew I’d return. I haven’t been afraid to die.”

  “That is a punishment greater than any I know, Friend. A man who has not lived a complete life should fear a premature end. Why do you think that is the case?”

  “Because he has much to lose, Scroll.”

  “Yes. Only a man at the natural end of a life well-lived should find contentment in moving on. Therefore, I ask again. What was the true source of the boy’s terror?”

  “The loss of his future.”

  “Yes. The one his loving father tried his best to provide in the most desperate of circumstances. The one you stole from him.”

  “I was Green Sun. What else was I to do?”

  The Scroll shifted on the stool, a rare move.

  “Tell me, Friend. Have you ever planted potatoes?”

  “No, Scroll.”

  “Have you ever dreamed of harvesting potatoes?”

  “No, Scroll.”

  “Do you think the boy wished he and his father could have stayed on the continent and raised potatoes?”

  “Yes, Scroll.”

  “Is a potato farmer a worthy occupation?”

  “Yes, Scroll.”

  “Was the boy a worthy human being?”

  “Yes, Scroll.”

  “Why did you murder a worthy human being?”

  His heart raced. No. You’re not going to do this to me.

  “I don’t know, Scroll.”

  “Yes. You do, Friend.”

  The Scroll waved over his apprentice. Sela put down the pad. She knelt beside him as he whispered in her ear. This was new.

  Sela returned to her stool and retrieved the pad.

  “Maintain your position,” the Scroll told Ryllen. “I have one more question for today, but I will not ask it, Friend. I have charged my apprentice to complete the interrogation. Understand, Friend. Though I will not be present, she will speak for me. She will determine if you answer to my satisfaction and report her findings to me. As usual, you will conclude your day with the mantras. If you do not satisfy, you will not receive a meal. And tomorrow? We will start again with the murder of a potato farmer and his son.”

  Presently, the Scroll gathered his materials into his bag and methodically raised himself from the stool with the traditional moans and creaks. He did not say another word as he departed the pond.

  Ryllen continued to tread, his deadened arms outstretched, but turned toward Sela. He saw the difference in her eyes. They were steady, unyielding. Sela was now doing the job for which she was being trained.

  “I have one question, Friend,” she said. “Why do you show no remorse for taking an innocent boy’s life?”

  Ryllen knew the easy answer, but it wasn’t the right answer. It would not yield satisfaction.

  I’m a psychopath. You know it, he knows it. They all knew it. Mother and Father. Ham Cortez. Mei Durin. The Talons. Maybe Kai even saw it before the end.

  He treaded the water and waited for inspiration.

  None came.

  An hour passed.

  Sela waited as patiently as the Scroll himself.

  18

  R YLLEN GAVE UP. They wanted honesty, but the truth eluded him. Why was this question so hard to answer? If the drug forced him to open his mind, and if the answer might push him an important step closer to leaving this hell, why did he find nothing satisfactory?

  Sela’s patience ended. She closed her pad and dropped it into a bag.

  “I will have to report this,” she said. “The Scroll will be disappointed in me.”

  “Why? It’s not your fault. I’m trying to find the answer. I know how critical it is.”

  “Do you? Everything you recounted today was accurate. If it wasn’t, the Scroll would have challenged your narrative. Yet those were surface details. You can recite the next ten or next hundred murders with accuracy, and all we will have is an encyclopedia of your crimes. That will never be good enough for the Scroll.”

  “What about you, Sela? Don’t you think I’m trying? My body is burning in pain every second. I’m trying.”

  She bowed her eyes.

  “Not hard enough,” she said. “Until you surrender to the underlying truth, your pain will never end. A man who expresses remorse for taking another life begins a path toward redemption. He without remorse stands on the edge of the abyss. Annihilation must come from within. Do you not see this?”

  “I do, Sela. But I don’t regret killing that boy or anyone else.”

  “I know. Scroll determined this in the first ten minutes with you. He said your chance for survival was small because you are a remorseless killer, the worst kind there is. That is why he waited until today to pose the question about remorse.”

  Ryllen understood.

  “He hoped I would feel more comfortable answering to you.”

  “You may be right. He did not alert me to his plans. All I can say is this: If you are unable to answer the question, you will never leave here. Now, time to begin your mantras.”

  His body screamed to get this day over with. Ryllen complied.

  “I am a murderer. I take pleasure in killing human beings. I enjoy the sight of blood. I do not hesitate to kill children. I dream …”

  When he completed the mantras, Sela said she would return with the Scroll tomorrow. He asked about a meal, but she said nothing. He knew she would not be coming back today.

  He flopped onto the rack and did not move for hours. Ryllen wanted to sob in self-pity, desperation, frustration, recrimination. Yet there were no tears. His body was dried up. And tomorrow? Back in the water, treading for hours, recounting the same ground.

  How was he to find an answer where there appeared to be none? Was a remorseless man truly irredeemable? Did his love for Kai and Exeter not prove he was more than a killer? Did his loyalty to Green Sun and his desire to save Hokkaido not prove his merit? Why must everything hinge on the single question of remorse?

  I killed them without hesitation. I knew I was committing murder. I wanted more. If I ever leave here, I’ll kill again. But I’ll love and be loyal. I can lead others and save lives. Isn’t that enough truth?

  He lapsed into a deep sleep.

  Hours later, he woke to a banging of metal. The darkness was absolute. The banging sharpened until he recognized the sound.

  It was the meal basket bouncing against the rack, a quarter way around. Was it possible?

  He crawled toward the sound.

  “Sela?”

  No reply. The last time she stayed after sunset, the apprentice carried a glow stick.

  The basket dangled at rack level. Ryllen pulled it close, unable to see the contents. He reached inside and fumbled about.

  There was no plate. Only a small bag.

  He let go of the basket and tore open the bag. The texture and smell were unfamiliar, yet there was a hint of … coconut?

  “Sela? Are you there?”

  “No. I am not the Scroll’s apprentice.” A familiar male voice. “I thought you might appreciate a treat. It is called a fru’ho.”

  Ryllen wasn’t sure whether to be excited or terrified.

  “Lan Chua?”

  “Try the fru’ho. The locals say it is not only refreshing but also has the ability to soothe a savage stomach.”

  “Why are you here, Lan? Are you going to free me?”

  He last saw Lan Chua on the platform at Corvaal’s Bay. Was the Scroll his idea?

  “Eat in small bites. When you’re finished, we’ll talk.”

  Ryllen wanted answers. No more delays or theatrics.

  He also wanted to eat, and the treat smelled so sweet.

  He bit through the hard glazed shell of the fru’ho and encountered a fluffy interior, like a type of sponge cake infused with the aromatics of coconut. When he swallowed the last chunk, he wanted more.

  “I’m done, Lan. Please, tell me you’re going to help me leave this place. I’m dying here.”

  “If only that were true, but we know you can’t. That fact sits at the heart of my dilemma. You must know by now it was I who arranged the Scroll. Yes?”

  “You and Ham.”

  “Yes, the idea was Hamilton’s. He wanted to save you from an eternity drifting in open space, but he also recognized the need for consequences to your actions. I’ve no doubt you blame him for this circumstance, but he cares deeply for you. He wanted to give you a chance to rejoin the living at some point.”

  “I want that, too. I can’t keep doing this, Lan. It’s never going to end. I killed so many people, and nothing is good enough for the Scroll. Please, can you make this end?”

  “I can end it with a word. However, our security situation has changed. You are the most wanted man on Hokkaido, and it is possible their agents believe you are on Huryo. If you are released, where do you go? You are an enemy to everyone except the mercenaries who will kill each other to capture you alive. You no longer have a home onboard the Scylla with Hamilton and his crew. And yet, the longer you remain on Huryo, the greater the danger toward your brothers and sisters of Green Sun.