He has sixteen children, twelve of which occupy executive offices. He thinks his line can’t be broken. He’s an idiot.

  “Here we have the President of the Muni Collective, the Honorable Amin Parke.”

  Ninety-five years old, blind in one eye, and a wife sixty years younger. He’s one of these fools who thinks he’ll live forever. Just like Ban-Ho.

  “From Sextant Fisheries, I wish to introduce the President, the Honorable Bryn Tannis.”

  He controls less than five percent of the market. He’ll be the first to fall in line behind me.

  “And finally, may I introduce, for the first time, the President of Hotai Counsel, the Honored Ya-Li Taron.”

  How predictable are these assholes? They introduce me last and give me the lesser honorific. Not that he cared about honorifics.

  “At this time, I turn over the proceedings to our host, the Honorable Fo Jaal.”

  When Ya-Li received the request to meet with the other corporate heads, he did not know Fo Jaal initiated the convocation. Most likely, the five reached consensus in a private meeting and pushed Jaal into the lead role. After all, the speaker did not say “for the first time” in front of Jaal’s name. No doubt, Ya-Li shocked them by agreeing to meet the day of his parents’ funeral. Would that fact and his sling keep them off balance?

  Jaal said, “I wish to begin this session with my sincere condolence to the Honored Mr. Taron on his unimaginable losses in these recent weeks. We have all been shaken by these villainous acts of terror and wish you the very best as you move forward.”

  Ya-Li thought the condolence, while predictable, was as polished and insincere as Nantou’s Director of Communication likely could craft. Nonetheless, he nodded in appreciation.

  “Thank you, President Jaal. I’m sure all of you would have attended my parents’ funeral today had circumstance not limited our numbers.”

  “Indeed, we would have,” said Ren-Lo Shang, the heaviest man present. “On a personal note, I admire your courage in stilling your grief long enough to meet with us today.”

  “You expressed a sense of urgency,” Ya-Li replied. “Despite the tragedies in my family, these are trying times for The Lagos and the seamasters. I thought it best we meet quickly. Oh, and I wish to introduce my senior officers. To my right, my Vice President of Operations, Park Doon. To my left, my Vice President of Security and Internal Affairs, Weeb Low. No doubt, you are familiar with their families and will afford them the requisite courtesies.”

  “We do,” said Amin Parke, he of the one good eye. “However, this is a private convocation of presidents. Perhaps since you are new, you did not realize the limitations. Our senior officers are not present. Might I humbly ask that the Honored Mr. Doon and Mr. Park leave at this time.”

  Ya-Li didn’t want to smile. Not yet.

  “You may ask, but they will not leave. Though I have the title, it is the three of us who run Hotai. We speak as one. We listen as one.”

  He saw a rolled set of eyes, a grumble of consternation, and a disdainful brow. How long could they restrain themselves?

  “This is irregular and in violation of …” Fo Jaal began.

  “Nothing,” Ya-Li said. “There is no written protocol regarding a presidential convocation. I might be new, but I am a thorough study.”

  “Then perhaps you will allow us time to bring our own senior officers into the meeting?”

  “For what purpose? Show? If you wish to call them in, I won’t object. But I am tired. I said farewell to my parents today. This enormous house is empty but for the three of us, staff, and security. We all know the agenda. I prefer we proceed.”

  Fo Jaal asked if anyone objected. No one did.

  “Very good,” he said. “Then we come to the heart of the issue. President Taron, five days ago you announced a series of pricing changes that will create a devastating imbalance in the market. Despite the attacks and your own life hanging in the balance, you remain committed to this reckless plan. We are here today to ask you, as fellow seamasters, to retract these changes.”

  There wasn’t a single word they uttered so far that he didn’t predict. Even their request was polished and restrained, far from what they’d say if they ventured off script.

  Smug old dragons. How quickly I can twist them out of shape?

  “No,” he said.

  A withering silence meant they didn’t expect a one-word response.

  Perr-Len Sheung, the father of sixteen, threw open his hands.

  “We come to you in good faith in these trying times, and you can do no better than ‘No’?”

  “Correct.”

  “I see you have much to learn about the role of the executive. I …”

  “I am the head of my corporation, President Sheung. I can say ‘no’ or ‘yes,’ and I need not explain. I do believe that’s the role of the executive.”

  Now they showed teeth. Ironic smiles among some. Gritting among others. How they hated being patronized. Ya-Li wondered who would strike first.

  “President Taron,” said Jaal. “Our chief concern is that you do not have a firm grasp on what these changes will mean to the economic stability of The Lagos. If you wish to reduce your profit margins and devalue the stakes of your many thousands of holders, that is certainly your choice. However, you are destabilizing a market where prices are fixed to minimum, sustainable heights. The disruption will create extraordinary pressure on the supply chain and confuse our two billion customers.”

  Ya-Li waited for someone to bottom-line Jaal’s sanitized analysis. No one bothered, so Ya-Li thought to make the first move.

  “You are all in agreement with President Jaal?” He asked.

  Their nods were curt but respectful. No one wanted to be a lout.

  “Good. Then allow me to translate your concern in language an ordinary Hokki might understand. I am breaking up decades of price fixing caused by collusion among six corporations responsible for ninety-six percent of all food production and distribution on this planet. I am allowing the average Hokki to purchase our products at a price that will make it easier for them to feed their families.”

  Actual dragons would have been breathing fire. For Ya-Li, the result was the next best thing. They talked over each other, but it was Ren-Lo Shang, the fat man, who spoke loudest.

  “How dare you, a novice, presume to set yourself as the champion of the people? You have no understanding of the economics in feeding an entire planet. You do not grasp the necessity for our price structure.”

  “Children!”

  Amin Parke, the oldest, yelled the word like it was a vulgarity.

  “Look at the three of you. Children pretending to be lords. You know nothing about the needs of the Hokki people.”

  Bryn Tannis, who held the smallest market share but had yet to speak, interrupted.

  “I fear tempers are rising, my honorable friends.” Ya-Li was surprised. A voice of calm and reason. Huh. “President Taron, your idealism is noble. This is often the way of youth. You see a problem and believe a simple solution exists. You move forward without proper consultation and study. These men who hold the same title as you, nonetheless, own hundreds of years of collective experience. We do not take our roles lightly. We believe in working to benefit all Hokkis. Can you not work with us on this matter?”

  Ya-Li held his sarcasm in check. Not yet.

  “In fact, I can. I was going to propose that each of you match Hotai’s new pricing structure.” Then he couldn’t help himself. “We’ll call it reverse collusion.”

  That set them off.

  “You’re a fool.” “Insolent.” “Pretender.” “Spoiled brat.”

  And the descriptors slid toward the gutter. Nonetheless, Ya-Li allowed their pleasure until they ran out of insults.

  He turned to his right.

  “Mr. Doon, your father, Len-Ho, is one of the most respected men of finance in Pinchon. Yes?”

  “He is, President Taron.”

  “He wrote a full financial prospectus for Hotai given our new pricing decreases and proposed payroll increases. Could you briefly summarize his projection for one financial cycle?”

  “I can. My father has determined Hotai’s net revenues will fall seventy-two percent over the next financial cycle. However, the company will profit by seven hundred seventy-two million Dims.”

  “Does this prospectus assume cuts in personnel or capital expenses, Mr. Doon?”

  “No. In fact, our capital expenses will increase to meet the expected expansion of our operations on land and sea.”

  “In summation, we pay our people more, we charge our customers far less, our stakeholders will see modest but fair dividends, and our sustainability is in no way threatened. Yes?”

  “Correct.”

  Ya-Li used to think this sort of meeting would intimidate him. Now, he didn’t want the fun to end.

  “Honorable seamasters,” he began. “We are young, but we did not come into this world unprepared. To you, Mr. Parke, we probably do look like children. Great grandchildren, to be specific.”

  “How dare you ….”

  Ya-Li wagged a finger.

  “You’re an old man. I don’t judge you for it. It’s simply a biological fact. But it is one that holds true for all of you. Each of you reached your prime while the Chancellors orbited Hokkaido, raping us of mineral wealth and conspiring with the elite houses to keep the masses under control. You and my great grandfather – and your predecessors, to be fair – suppressed the Hokki people by the surest way possible. Controlling the food supply. They raped Hokkaido while you raped the continent.”

  Their voices rose in unified protest and condemnation. Bryn Tannis on one end and Fo Jaal on the other tried to bring the middle three under control, but they didn’t try very hard. They must have realized the truth: There would be no scaring “the children” today.

  Ya-Li continued.

  “I did not want this job. Now that I have it, I intend to correct the repugnant choices the seamasters have made for generations. I have men at my side who understand this world in ways you have long forgotten. I know the financial implications of my decisions. I will put no one out of work. In fact, I will improve the lives of my employees on land and sea. I will deliver products to millions of homes that will lessen their financial burden. And I will go forward without any disruption or sabotage from you. I know this will be the case because if you should collude against Hotai, I will have no choice but to make public the true reason why ninety-seven percent of the arable land on the continent is worthless.

  “I think your choice is a simple one. Match – or even exceed – the Hotai price cuts. If you don’t, you will lose suppliers. They will come to Hotai. Your stakes will devalue, as will your capital holdings. I will have to expand by purchasing new ships and increasing payroll, but I suspect I will be able to buy many of your ships at a fraction of the Dim. Or perhaps you’d be interested in a merger. That’s a conversation for another day. Yes?”

  He took a deep, satisfied breath and waited. Their anger suggested retaliation, but these were defeated old men who knew they had no argument. Still, one of them tried.

  Perr-Len Sheung, the father of sixteen, said: “How can you do this to all your ancestors who have built a paradise for The Lagos?”

  “I have no obligation to those who have passed, President Sheung. Whatever they achieved was frozen forever upon their deaths. It is not the job of a new generation to continue simply to continue. I’ve lived all my life in this great monument to the past. I’ve wanted for nothing. And still, I’ve lost almost everyone. Should I walk into my family mausoleum each day and give praise to they who cannot hear me? Should I vow to build upon their achievements, knowing the cost to billions of Hokkis far less fortunate?

  “I have a conscience. Our people deserve better. I will not rape them of their livelihood and dignity in exchange for food. It is immoral. It is criminal. It is barbaric. Each of you must decide for your company, but Hotai will lead the way to a new equality on Hokkaido. I have nothing more to say.”

  He turned to his left.

  “It’s OK to smoke now,” he told Weeb, who couldn’t resist a smirk.

  Fo Jaal spoke to other presidents:

  “Is there any further commentary?”

  “I have many words,” Amin Parke said, “but they will be a waste of time. These children are bent on leading us to ruin.”

  Jaal said, “Anything else?”

  Ya-Li read their faces, none of which would have done them any favors at a poker table. They weren’t finished, but any further discussions would not include Hotai.

  “President Taron,” Jaal continued. “I am sorry we were unable to resolve the issue today. Again, my condolence for your loss. We must all plan to reconvene at a date in the near future.”

  Jaal looked off screen and nodded, likely to his Director of Communication. Seconds later, the holowindows turned dark and dissipated into the plate.

  Ya-Li exhaled. “So?”

  Weeb and Park leaped into applause.

  “Remarkable,” Park said. “You almost had me in tears.”

  “They never saw you coming,” Weeb added. “The assholes really thought they could push us around like children. But your words … that last speech … I’ve never felt so proud to be Hokki.”

  “I meant every word. I’ve been waiting to say that all my life. I never thought I’d have the courage.”

  “Father will be proud,” Park said. “At first, he thought you’d ruin the company, but he’s changed his tune. Others will, too. Maybe even some of those old dragons.”

  “I wouldn’t count on them, but it won’t matter in two days.”

  Ya-Li felt a tweak around his injury. His chest tightened. He grabbed a glass and poured plum saak. The sip went down smooth and refreshing.

  “They’ll try to kill me,” he said. The air vanished from the room. “They won’t allow these changes to become official. Weeb, I’m going to call in Burr. I need you to coordinate with him. Additional security for each of us as well as my six selections to the PrezBoard. After tomorrow’s Convocation, extend the security around the other six electees. We will see to it they report to the boardroom on Meolin. We will pass these changes, according to the charter.”

  Weeb did not expect this.

  “You really believe those old bastards will do it?”

  “They’re probably meeting to arrange the hits as we speak. But they won’t succeed.” He brought Weeb in close and dropped a hand on his shoulder. “I killed my family for this. I killed most of the family of the woman I married for this. I sacrificed them for the Hokki people. I cannot fail. Do you understand?”

  “No worries, Ya-Li. I’ve got this.”

  He turned to Park.

  “It’s been a long day. Go home to your family and enjoy the victory. We’re back to work tomorrow.”

  “I will, Ya-Li. Thank you.”

  “I’ll make sure your father knows how well you performed today. Oh, and I’ll pull off a guard from estate duty to escort you home.”

  And that’s how he left it. A victory and a dark cloud entwined.

  If they survived through Meolin, the economic gambit would begin. Yet that was a small prelude.

  An hour later, alone in the library, Ya-Li opened his secret vault and removed the Splinter. He massaged the cube with a nuance learned over years of study. It sang to him.

  “Nine days,” he told it. “I hope you’re ready.”

  22

  H OSHI NEGANI DID NOT FEEL like an assassin. She wore the simple wrap of a Huryan marsh farmer, her hair tucked inside a green putan, and she smelled of two-day perspiration. Her second-class ticket aboard the intersystem ferry provided no access to showers during the twenty-hour flight. She was hungry and exhausted.

  Yet, as she stepped from the ferry onto the welcome platform of the Pinchon Interstellar Spaceport, she breathed in crisp air free of humidity. She felt a cooling breeze off the ocean. In the distance, she saw the Isthmus of the Redeemer and hundreds of ships docked at the port. It was big, bold, modern, and alive. Though she did not grow up on this island, it felt familiar enough to call it home.

  She carried a small handbag with Dim credits and an InterPass that gave her a fifty-day grace before deportation. She posed as a pathetic creature: A disaffected Huryan looking for a new start on the mother world. A few thousand people like her threw all their savings into an InterPass each year and took a chance. They had less than six weeks to find work or return to Huryo.

  “Sela Woon,” a uniformed agent with a tablet called.

  Hoshi stepped forward in her new role. The port agent pointed her to queue A, where a customs interrogator awaited. She pressed on, looking around as if in wonder. Lan’s contact in Quanteel trained her to appear awestruck. The more like a rube, the less suspicion she might draw.

  Hoshi’s companions, borrowing from the same playbook, were pointed to queues B and C. Mosh Koo-Ti was now Lem Drash, a trained marsh digger from the southern outskirts of Quanteel. Muna Fei carried an InterPass for Cho Brees, a street cleaner who never finished an apprenticeship because of disciplinary problems. People like her faced years of hard labor if deported back to Huryo.

  For now, Hoshi couldn’t be concerned about her friends. They were on their own before the interrogator. Their contact in Quanteel, a corrupt customs agent named Dy-Won, warned them of the interrogators’ ability to sniff out fraud.

  “They will try to trick you,” Dy-Won said when he handed over their forged InterPass documents. “If you cannot answer even the smallest details with perfect accuracy, they will not allow you to leave the port.”

  By details, he meant the eight-page biography accompanying the InterPass. Hokkaido Customs required all new arrivals to fill out an extensive questionnaire before landing, documenting every aspect of their lives, including their family history dating back at least three generations, and the name and address of their Hokki benefactor. The quota law permitted Huryan immigration under strict conditions. Visitors handed over their documents to the interrogator; he took time to read and highlight details of interest.