“Memorize every line and quiz each other,” Dy-Won advised. The biographies were prepared in advance, always based on the lives of deceased Huryans and crafted by destitute freelance writers. “Know it so well, you become this person. You will use it every day.”

  Hoshi’s interrogator leaned back in his comfortable swivel and read her bio as if it were a good novel, looking up with slivers passing as eyes, trying to confirm the veracity of her story before asking the first question. He was twice her age, and she suspected his swagger reflected a long history of catching frauds.

  This must have been his only entertainment, she thought. The ferry arrived once daily. The vast spaceport, previously a hub for visitors from across the former Collectorate, seemed largely abandoned beyond the customs queues. Hoshi glanced over her shoulder. The line was nine deep in each queue. Only the two Hokki trade reps onboard received express treatment. For Huryans at the end of these queues, the wait time might be interminable.

  “Spell your grandfather’s last name,” the interrogator said.

  His first question caught Hoshi off-guard, but she understood what Dy-Won meant about trickery.

  “It’s spelled W-O-H-N on the InterPass, but that’s an error. You see, the government misprinted it on his death certificate. That’s why I correctly spelled it W-O-O-N in the biography.”

  Hoshi thought it was likely Dy-Won’s mistake. She caught the inconsistency during flight and used her imagination to explain it. The interrogator moved on.

  “I see the family’s aquifarm was two thousand meters square at peak production. What was your typical yield with yellow crabs?”

  “We harvested twenty pulls a day of red filter crabs. I never saw a yellow one in my life. But I’ve heard stories about the ones here. A delicacy, they say. The meat is chewy and firm.”

  “Hmm. To each his own.”

  Yellow. Red. Would he have sent her back for the discrepancy?

  “Your brother’s death when you were eight must have been traumatic,” he said. “Is that why your father abandoned the family?”

  “He left us three months before Trin-Lo’s accident. We always blamed Father because he wasn’t there to keep Trin-Lo out of trouble. Trin-Lo was a good boy, but he had a problem up here.” She tapped her skull. “He had an aphasia. Sometimes, he couldn’t put words together or even do something simple like yell for help. It happened a lot after Father left us. I remember one day, though, when he suddenly started talking like a genius. We thought maybe he was cured. He wasn’t, of course, but it was the most wonderful few hours. I remember how we were all so happy and …”

  The interrogator coughed.

  “Thank you. That’s quite enough.”

  Dy-Won’s number one strategy for shortening the interview worked like a charm. He encouraged them to reminisce.

  “Interrogators hate when immigrants veer into the weeds of their life stories,” he said. “Wait a few questions then expand the narrative of the biography. Just be sure to keep it credible.”

  The interrogator went to the same final two questions all immigrants received:

  “What is your employment goal? How will you be traveling to your benefactor?”

  Hoshi said, “I’ll be looking for work in the dress-and-roll lines in one of the fisheries. I’m very good with a crawler knife. My benefactor is Solis Quin at the Offworld Employment Commission. She is sending a driver to take me into the city.”

  He nodded, no doubt familiar with the name. Most Huryans without special connections went through the OEC.

  “You’ll have fifty days, but not one more. For what it’s worth, you might have come at the right time.”

  He stamped the InterPass and handed Hoshi the document folder.

  “Be on your way. Welcome to Hokkaido.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  She bowed, a gesture Dy-Won said was unnecessary but boosted the interrogators’ sense of self-worth. Like a tip.

  Cleared of the queue, Hoshi looked back. Mosh and Muna remained deep into their interrogations. Possibly they encountered agents who delved deeper into the biography, or perhaps they were stumbling over their answers, producing inconsistencies. She didn’t think Muna took the preparation as seriously as she should have. Hoshi could wait for a short while, but if the driver arrived, she must not loiter. Dy-Won said suspicion ran high of newcomers who did not appear to have a plan.

  She followed the signs to ground transportation, where a row of public hoppers awaited along with a few private sedans. Hoshi did not know her driver’s name, nor was she given a description. She did, however, know how to signal.

  Hoshi removed her putan, folded the crinkled hat, and held it tight against her chest. She waited. Passengers and drivers passed by her without a second’s acknowledgement.

  A few minutes later, she felt a presence at her right shoulder. A peaceful voice said:

  “It’s such a beautiful day on Pinchon.”

  She replied, “I hear the nights are better.”

  “Welcome to Hokkaido. What is your name, Huryan?”

  “Sela Woon.”

  “Do you have any bags?”

  “None but what you see.”

  “Do you have friends?”

  “Two, but they have not passed customs.”

  “I will give them a few minutes. After that, they will have to take public transport, if they can afford it. Proceed to parking lodge seven. Make yourself comfortable.”

  She complied without looking the man in the eye. The port-side passenger gate flipped up on a humble blue sedan, which hovered inches off the ground. She jumped inside.

  The sedan did not carry the extravagance of those she rode throughout her childhood, but it smelled new. Hoshi fell into a plush cushioned seat. She looked out the window and saw the southern end of the famed UpWay, leading into a city of glass towers and urban spectacle that stretched for miles. An island of twenty million people, the heartbeat of the global economy.

  Hoshi never thought she’d see the likes of Pinchon. The past few weeks took her across star systems, into a fight against an enemy she thought long defeated, and left her to endure a swamp-infested world where life stood still for centuries. It was a story worth telling her children, if she lived long enough to have any. For now, the best she could do was breathe a long sigh of relief and prepare to live a new life as a Huryan immigrant.

  She was lost in these thoughts when Mosh jumped in beside her. The driver followed, taking his place at nav. The passenger gate dropped. She whispered.

  “Where’s Muna?”

  Mosh cowered his eyes.

  “When I left, she was arguing with her interrogator. A customs agent dragged her off.”

  The driver, a small man their age with quiet features, turned.

  “Distance is our best strategy now. Your friend will go through around round of questions. If she passes, they’ll let her through. She’ll have to find her own way.”

  “If she doesn’t?” Hoshi asked.

  “The ferry leaves in three hours.”

  “Is there no way to bring in someone else to watch for her?”

  “No. We don’t wish to draw attention. At any rate, my name is Chi. I will drive you to your stackhouse. You’ll have time to bathe and rest before someone contacts you.”

  “I thought we were reporting to Solis Quin at the OEC.”

  “A matter for another day. Your business is particular. Speaking of which, look behind your seats. Grab a bag. Find a combination that suits you, and change into your new clothes before we reach the stackhouse. Leave those filthy Huryan rags behind. I’ll make sure they’re burned.”

  “What? You want us to strip in here? In front of each other?”

  Chi smiled. “The windows will tint. Please. If you would.”

  “But … we’re not allowed to …”

  “I know what’s on your chest. It’s also on mine.” Chi pulled back his shirt to reveal part of the Green Sun tattoo. “I’m a brother.”

  She was stunned. “You never fled Hokkaido?”

  “I joined two months ago. I wasn’t part of any active mission, including the Taron massacre, so I was still anonymous. Lan Chua encouraged me to stay. He said I would be needed. There are only a few of us on the island, but we do what we can. Please, change your clothes now.”

  Hoshi couldn’t wait to get out of these rags, but Mosh turned away to hide as best he might. Hoshi saw a change in him since the incident at the hut in Ishuan. Though he blamed his humiliation on bad timing, Mosh lost the gung-ho attitude that carried him through their earlier travails. OK, so he peed his pants. There had to be more to the story. Hoshi didn’t want to press, but she also hoped he would snap out of it now that they were home again. The mission ahead was dangerous enough. She needed a reliable partner.

  Each bag contained a surprise: A colorful wig.

  “Chi,” she asked, “are we expected to wear these? I do have a full head of hair.”

  “Optional, but they’ll help you fit in. Ascension is coming up in eight days. Red and violet everywhere you can see.”

  “I’d forgotten about Ascension. So, these are big in Pinchon?”

  “Even the Haansu types wear them at the end.”

  She turned to Mosh. “We’re supposed to fit in.”

  He grabbed the wig and eyed it with suspicion.

  “I’ll feel like a clown.”

  “But this is Pinchon. They do things differently here.”

  Chi added: “Bald usually means you’re ancient or Huryan. You can’t pass for the first, and nobody much likes Huryans.”

  He sighed. “I’ll give it a go.”

  “My best advice,” Chi said. “Keep it simple. You’re Sela Woon and Lem Drash. Act Hokki so you don’t draw attention. Unless you’re talking to the OEC, your boss, or somebody in uniform, keep to yourselves. We need you to hide in plain sight.”

  “Until when?”

  “You’ll be contacted.” Chi slowed the sedan. “We’re here. Welcome to your next life.”

  “Or the last one,” Hoshi whispered.

  23

  T HEY CLINKED DEEP-FLUTED GLASSES and sipped the most expensive red wine on Hokkaido: Two thousand Dims a bottle. The moment was a long exhale rather than a celebration. The Hotai Counsel President’s Board passed Ya-Li’s proposals with unexpected unanimity – and no one died. Rumors of plots led to a few arrests but no violence. Did the seamasters accept the new history being written before their eyes? Or did they decide upon a wait-and-see approach?

  Ya-Li didn’t care. He made them blink.

  “To a new way of doing business,” he said, with glasses raised. “To a new Hokkaido.”

  As the toast commenced, the setting sun cast long orange-pink rays through the tree line along the Taron estate’s eastern end. Ya-Li, Weeb, Park and his wife, Cho, stood on the balcony overlooking a manicured lawn. Twenty-nine days ago, the lawn was hidden beneath a stage and hundreds of chairs. Dozens of Hokkis were massacred.

  With each day’s passing, Ya-Li thought the horror felt more like a distant dream. Did it really happen? Did soldiers from another universe turn his wedding into a bloodbath? Did they kill Tarons and Syungs on his orders? Did fifty uniformed officers drop dead, electrocuted by their own weapons? Did he marry a woman who might never love him?

  The only visual cue to the truth were the armored guards who held forth like silent sculptures, preparing to spring into life at a second’s notice. Burr Sheong, Ya-Li’s personal guard, did not like the party venturing outside, to which Ya-Li quipped:

  “If something goes wrong, you can resign again. I’ll accept.”

  No one else voiced concern, including Cho, who was glad to be outside after days of close confinement under heavy guard. Cho was a quiet woman who did not waste words and looked more like Park’s sister than his wife. Ya-Li thought they made a strong pair: The right balance of temperament and a camaraderie that suggested a clean love if not a passionate one.

  “It’s the type of marriage I want,” he confessed to Weeb an hour before the Board voted on his policies. “Something I can count on as a respite when I need it. There should be loyalty and steadiness. We fulfill each other’s needs, and we continue the Taron line, but we don’t lose our individuality. We wear our independence with the same pride as our dependence.”

  “OK,” Weeb said between puffs, visibly uncomfortable. “You have a thousand things on your to-do list. Why talk about marriage now?”

  “It’s practical. It’s biological. And frankly, I want someone at my side when I change Hokkaido.”

  Weeb scoffed. “Hey, you’ve got me. What more can you want?”

  They shared a laugh.

  “I think we both know your aversion to marriage won’t cool unless someone pops out of the woodwork and steals your heart.”

  “Huh. Even if, there’s some long odds, my friend.”

  “Perhaps. But this is high on my to-do list. Top ten. I loved Kara, but she didn’t feel the same, and the marriage was not our idea. I want to be in control this time.”

  “You’re so popular, they’d form a line around the Horseshoe if you put out a call for a wife. Got anyone in mind?”

  Ya-Li hoped Weeb wouldn’t laugh.

  “Actually, there might be. She’s not a Haansu woman. I’ve only met her once, but she fascinated me. I’d like to spend more time with her … to see if my instincts are right.”

  “She have a name?”

  He braced for laughter. “Dani.”

  Weeb fumbled his pipe.

  “Wait. You don’t mean the kept woman who … Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  Weeb stared at Ya-Li like he didn’t know the man.

  “She spends a few hours in your bed, and that qualifies her as a wife? Ya-Li, you’re not pining for her just because she was your first?”

  Ya-Li pondered the same questions. Dani arrived at his sixtieth floor suite blindfolded and performed the same services she no doubt gave to many other men, elite or otherwise. But she was gentle, mature, and polished. She deserved to be more than a mere kept woman.

  “Hokkis are greater than they give themselves credit for, Weeb. The Splinter has shown us the proof. Perhaps I’m wrong about her, but I don’t want to reflect on this as a missed opportunity. One little thing: I don’t know her family name. Can you find her for me?”

  “Easy enough. I know half the women in her stable. Just one thing, Ya-Li, and it’s no small point. She doesn’t have the breeding to be seen in public with a man like you. Now, I get that you’re throwing out the rulebook, but nodamnbody will thank you for cheap Kohlna if you’re walking the streets with a glorified whore.”

  “That’s your opinion as my Chief of Security?”

  Weeb sighed. “And Internal Affairs.”

  He took Weeb’s message to heart. If his curiosity about Dani morphed into something more prominent, he’d have to devise a strategy for the inevitable blowback. Price controls were one thing; social mores were a different animal.

  Those thoughts stayed with Ya-Li to the sunset toast on the balcony.

  “We will have another guest for dinner,” he told them. “She should be arriving any moment. Her name is Dani Tau. She’s an acquaintance. Perhaps she will be more someday, but I can’t say for certain. Dani will be nervous. She’s not used to these trappings. I hope you’ll make her feel at home.”

  “You’re a man of surprises,” said Park, who never questioned Ya-Li about that night in the penthouse.

  “At least one a day, according to Park,” Cho added. “Sit her next to me. I’ll make her feel at home.”

  “Thank you, Cho.”

  Ya-Li could not have scripted the moment any better. The house steward appeared in regal attire and followed a decades-old routine.

  “Honorable Lord Taron, may I introduce your guest for the evening. The Honored Dani Tau.”

  He stepped away to reveal a small beauty stripped of the exotic allure she brought to the penthouse. Dani wore a designer off-white dinner dress traditional to the elite houses of Haansu. Her makeup was muted, her jewelry understated, her hair color natural. Weeb did better than arrange the visit; he coached her on presentation.

  Ya-Li set down his glass and stepped forward.

  “Good evening, Dani. Thank you for coming on short notice. I’m so pleased to see you again. May I introduce you to my friends?”

  The moment was as surreal as Ya-Li anticipated. Dani pretended to be meeting Weeb for the first time; he kissed the back of her hand in the elite tradition. Park and Cho treated her as they might a new acquaintance at any social function. Ya-Li didn’t believe they suspected her career choice.

  “If I might impose,” Park said, “how do you know each other?”

  “Mutual friends.” Ya-Li came prepared. “We shared a few classes at Upper School but moved in different circles.”

  He didn’t enjoy lying to his friends; but if his plans moved forward, a backstory would have to be created for the masses. Dani, it seemed, knew how to play along.

  “Ya-Li was much shorter then. If he had filled out a little sooner, I might have looked his way more often.”

  She spoke with a refinement of someone trained in the art of Haansu etiquette. She displayed no fear or lack of social graces. If Dani was acting, she was delivering a master class. Ya-Li loved it.

  “We reconnected recently,” he said. “Dani wrote me the most beautiful letter after … well, the wedding. She sought to encourage me. It was touching.”

  “Honestly, I didn’t think he’d ever see it. I knew Ya-Li would be inundated with support from across The Lagos. And here I was, being so presumptuous. I was stunned when he replied, especially after everything that happened this week.”

  “Life demands we not allow our grief to silence our lives.”

  Weeb thought that was worth another toast, so he filled everyone’s glass and handed a new one to Dani.

  “To friends, old and new,” he said. “They get us through the shit.”

  It happened just like that. An ease pervaded these five, with no sense of one being an interloper. Dani slipped into the conversation and out again as the rhythm of the moment dictated. She held her eyes on Ya-Li no longer than appropriate and spoke lovingly when Cho brought up her daughter, who was at home with the nanny. The trend continued at dinner. With Ya-Li commanding the head chair, the women on his right and the men on his left, Dani and Cho frequently turned to whisper as the men drifted in and out of business concerns. Dani gave up nothing of her backstory, waiting to fill it in only when Ya-Li opened a convenient doorway.