“Please, Commander. Proceed.”

  “It’s well known many Green Sun terrorists escaped into hiding on Huryo. We have struggled to track their whereabouts. Most are beyond our reach.”

  He called up an orbital view of Hokkaido’s moon, overlaid by schematics with triangles highlighting the populated regions.

  “Our best estimate suggests they are scattered over more than twelve thousand kilometers of swamps, glades, and weak-timber forests. We don’t have the manpower to hunt them down, and in absence of an extradition agreement with Huryo, we’d never get them off world. All ships have been barred except for the system ferry. Until things change, our reach is extremely limited.”

  “By and large, Commander, I knew this. You told me a few days after the wedding: Anyone who escaped Hokkaido would likely never be apprehended. Why are we here?”

  Kloon flexed his brows and opened new windows.

  “There’s been a development of consequence. A Scramjet arrived outside a small village at Corvaal’s Bay on Huryo a few days ago. It matches the configuration of one involved in the Taron siege.”

  He pointed to a magnified image of a ship hovering above a marsh. A handful of people gathered close.

  “We believe this ship arrived by non-conventional means. No system beacon picked up this Scramjet. It did not arrive from Hokkaido or enter the system through the Nexus. We believe it has a wormhole-capable drive.”

  OK. Now we’re getting too close.

  “Commander, the only humans known to possess such drives are the Aeternans. Correct?”

  “So the intelligence division tells me. However, the individuals seen here are not Aeternans. We have identified Hokkis, a Chancellor, and one other who we believe played a central role in the siege.”

  He zoomed in. “This is the best magnification. We have clearly identified Lan Chua, formerly of Nantou Global and the reputed head of Green Sun. With him are Pinchon exiles and likely GS agents. But I want you to look closer. I know the image is not the best.

  “See the man standing in the Scramjet’s open egress? We have matched our extensive vid records to confirm this is Hamilton Cortez. He was a Chancellor who went rogue before the Collectorate fell. Known by intelligence circles across the world. Linked to Lan Chua. He disappeared in the days before the attack but was seen on your estate. However, the most intriguing is this one.”

  Kloon pointed to a group of three bald people walking away from the Scramjet. Kloon focused on the one in the middle.

  “We have limited visual records, but we believe him to be Ryllen Jee. He was long linked to Green Sun, although we thought him a low-level agent. On this count, we were mistaken. Witness statements placed him on the stage at your wedding. He executed Ban-Ho and Hoija Taron, Ja Yuan, Sho Parke. Enemy Number One of Hokkaido.”

  Ya-Li practiced relaxation techniques as he zeroed in on the grainy image. RJ? How can that be you?

  “Commander, do you want me to confirm his identity?”

  “If you can, yes. You were there, very close to him.”

  “The man I saw had more than a full head of hair. He had braids beneath his shoulders. He was also wearing black body armor. This man looks pathetic. Commander, how did you get these images?”

  Kloon sat back. He shifted uncomfortably, as he if hoped this question might not arise.

  “This must not leave the room, gentlemen. We have long been able to spy on Huryo through a network of orbital drones. By we, I refer to the provincial governments. The system was set up many years before the Collectorate fell.”

  “Chancellor tech?” Weeb said.

  Kloon nodded. “Huryans are, by and large, of no interest to Hokkaido except when they’re using the swamps for smuggler drops or hideaways for Hokki criminals.”

  “If this is Ryllen Jee,” Ya-Li said, “what do you intend to do?”

  “If this is him, we are willing to take extraordinary measures to return this monster for trial and execution.”

  That will be good for no one.

  “If you’re asking for a positive ID, Commander, I can’t give it. I want Ryllen Jee dead more than anyone on Hokkaido, but if this is your best evidence, it’s not good enough. Are there other images?”

  “No. The drone was scanning a large region. An officer sorting through the data found this two days after it was recorded.”

  “What’s the next step?”

  “Get someone up there to make visual contact with the suspects. It’s an isolated area, a thousand kilometers from the planetary port. Might require a few days, but we’ll get to the truth. This monster will pay for his crimes. I promise.”

  Ya-Li offered his hand.

  “Thank you, Commander. I know this search is personal to the KumTaan as well. You lost fifty officers. If there’s anything I can do, don’t hesitate to contact me.”

  “Appreciate your time, President Taron. The best to your family.”

  Ya-Li nodded to Burr, asking him to walk Kloon out. When they were alone again, Ya-Li waited for Weeb to start. He complied.

  “I saw it in your eyes. You recognized him. Ryllen Jee.”

  “Yes.”

  “Lying to Kloon puts you at risk.”

  “Everything else has been a lie. There’s something to be said for consistency. Weeb, do you have contacts on Huryo?”

  “No, but I can stretch my net and see what comes to surface.”

  “Do it. If RJ is still there, we need to get to him first. It’s strange. He looks dreadful. What happened to him since he left Hokkaido?”

  That last question troubled Ya-Li more than anything Ryllen might say under interrogation. Ryllen, Ham, and Kara left with a healthy contingent of Green Sun and Twenty Talon soldiers. They had a clear mission: Find Amayas Knight, destroy the Splinters. Ya-Li was happy to send them away. They weren’t going to find Amayas anytime soon; if they did succeed, it would come long after Ya-Li set Hokkaido on a new path. Yet there he was: RJ, in a pitiful state, leaving Ham behind. Twelve days after the wedding, give or take.

  What happened out there? What about Kara?

  “The timing couldn’t be worse,” he told Weeb. “I knew we’d face wildcards along the way, but I never saw this one coming.”

  “Should we call off Coda? It’s not too late.”

  “The whole point of Coda is to eliminate the wildcards we know, and make anyone else slip back into the shadows. No, Weeb. I’ve invested too much. Go forward.”

  Which they did.

  The ride down the executive elevator at five minutes of ten was a contemplative one. Burr to his left, Weeb to his right. As they neared lobby level, Burr positioned himself to take point. Weeb flicked a hair off his suit. Ya-Li held his Tachtron reader at his side, though it would only be for show. He memorized the speech after two passes, the normal speed for perfect consumption. Eidetic memory secured the words in one reading; the second taught him tone, pacing, and volume. As he recited it again inside his head, he focused on the concluding stage, where he would be interrupted.

  The door opened. The lobby, which normally bustled with clients and contractors intermingled with tourists and residents, echoed a smattering of voices across the vast chamber. All entrances were sealed to isolate those participating in today’s event.

  Executives and senior officers representing ten divisions huddled near the front entrance. Ya-Li wondered whether their faces would light up in joy or dismay as he announced his policy changes to the world. The Director of Marketing, who eloquently carried the Convocation a week ago and whose name still eluded Ya-Li, joined Park and Len-Ho Doon to greet Hotai’s President.

  “Ya-Li,” Park said, “have you met Hira Jade?”

  Oh, so that’s your name.

  “I think not, Park.” He offered the Director of Marketing his hand. “Apologies. I’m sure you expected an invitation to the sixtieth by now. I’ve been quite inundated.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Hira said. “Although after what you’re about to announce, I think we will be in frequent contact with your office.”

  Park said, “Father and I realized a potential kink in our plan. We didn’t feel it smart to have department heads hearing these changes at the same time as the public. In public, no less. We gave them the bullet points. It seemed prudent.”

  He realized each executive held a sheet of paper, gripped by it.

  One less wildcard, I suppose.

  “Very smart. The cams will be on everyone. We should have a unified front.”

  “These changes are most exciting and historic,” Hira said. “No amount of hyperbole will overstate what Hotai is about to do for our global customers.”

  He hated marketing people, but he gave Hira Jade credit for her enthusiasm: She’d put the greatest possible spin on it. And company advertising campaigns would likely blend the Hotai logo with classic Hokki anthems of patriotism. Predictable, but it would move product and force the other seamasters to follow suit.

  “Why don’t we position the execs outside. I’ll follow.”

  Weeb shepherded the Hotai suits through the wide glass doors. Burr stayed at Ya-Li’s side.

  “When we exit, sir, allow me to take stock of the landscape.” He tapped his ear, where a bug spoke to him. “My team reports all clear, but I like to have the final eye, if you get my meaning.”

  “Of course.”

  As he headed toward the doors, Ya-Li felt a familiar tingle.

  “It’s strange,” he told Bonju. “A man who walks into a trap unwittingly is either a fool or unlucky. If he knows he’s entering a trap, he’s either arrogant or a martyr. Or both. But if he walks knowingly into a trap of his own design, what do we call him?”

  Bonju relaxed on a hammock, tall drink in hand.

  “This will depend upon the outcome. If he dies, he’s clearly an arrogant fool. He will also become a forgotten fool.”

  “And if he survives?”

  “If he survives and thrives, he will be unstoppable.”

  “I hope so, Bonju. We’ll know in a few moments. If this is our last encounter, pass along my best hopes to Myka and Sebu.”

  Bonju stayed close, but Ya-Li pushed the image out of his mind. He needed to focus on the only world he could control.

  The scene outside was disciplined. Beyond the dais, media reps sat in five rows. To either side of the dais, Hotai executives stood shoulder to shoulder in an orderly configuration. Burr gave final approval and stepped clear. Ya-Li approached, his first public appearance since the Convocation that shook Hotai Counsel.

  He sat his tablet on the dais and grabbed the red stylus, which Weeb positioned where Ya-Li requested. He wrapped it in his right fist and looked past the media down the promenade, which was flanked by the vast gardens and statuary of the Horseshoe. Beyond, office towers rose from ten to twenty levels. Too many offices to secure them all.

  “Good morning,” he told the assembled. “I have been silent in the seven days since I assumed the Presidency of Hotai. I have done so in order to prepare for this moment. Today, I will announce sweeping changes to our company policies. These changes will impact Hokkis worldwide and mark a new era in the relationship between seamasters, their employees, and their customers.

  “I do not wish to delay you with exalted language or political flourishes. I will say only this: I take these long overdue actions to benefit the Hokki people.

  “Number One. I have instructed that all Hotai food products and derivatives will be reduced by thirty-five percent, effective no later than Ascension Day. Some products, including Kohlna feed and Kohlna mash, which serve the poorest Hokkis, will be reduced by fifty percent. These reductions will remain in place for a period of no less than three years. At that time, only the unanimous vote of the President’s Board will permit any price increase.”

  Eyes bulged, heads turned, and murmurs ensued from the gathered media. He realized Park’s last-minute maneuver made sense: A solid wall of executives needed to hold steadfast.

  “Number Two. In appreciation of the additional labor this change may impose, I am instructing a uniform pay increase of twenty percent to all crew of the Hotai fleet as well as our personnel at the Port of Pinchon. All other employees of Hotai, including those based here in headquarters, will receive staggered raises of five to ten percent later this year. I will not, however, authorize raises to any executives who are stakeholders. They will see sufficient growth through dividends.”

  He hoped the last part of that statement rang clear: Rank and file who did the hardest work would see the biggest growth.

  He gesticulated so the red stylus was visible. He laid out how these two goals would be achieved, confronting some of the issues Len-Ho Doon voiced. He announced his six selections for the President’s Board and an emergency Convocation to elect the other six, allowing his policies to take effect quickly.

  “I wish to be clear,” he continued. “We will take these actions regardless of whether any other seamaster chooses to follow. For too long, we have put profits ahead of the well-being of Hokkis. We feed the world. This is our mission. Not the accumulation of wealth at the expense of those who have none. It is …”

  Here it came. The paragraph. The moment.

  As the words left his mouth, as he reassured his listeners this was not a dream, Ya-Li followed the script, just as Weeb insisted his “man” would do the same.

  “It is a new era,” he said. “The Collectorate is gone. Until new interstellar trade forms, we are alone. We must hold to each …”

  There. The word.

  “… each other …”

  He dropped the stylus.

  It had to be natural. No one could suspect.

  He shifted to catch the stylus as it slid off the dais.

  Twenty degrees. That’s all he needed.

  Ya-Li saw the compressed light a flicker before it caught him.

  He grunted and fell.

  The left side of his chest burned.

  Was there chaos? Were his friends crowding around him, shouting his name? Were people running? Did the other attacks begin on time? Ya-Li didn’t care anymore. He knew only one thing.

  “It hurts. It hurts.”

  PART TWO

  SCROLL OF SINS

  “Why do we give killers a second chance?”

  “They help with population control.”

  10

  Corvaal’s Bay, Huryo

  14 days after the wedding

  T HE WATER WAS TEPID AND SMELLED like piss. When it stilled, tiny translucent creatures – eyelash-thin – gathered on the surface to cover the pool like a giant cataract. The thicker the film, the greater the stench. Sunrise brought wisps of yellow fog from the nearby marshes, carrying toxic gasses emitted from thousands of daffer frogs. Ryllen Jee woke from a fitful sleep and vomited spittle. His stomach had long since emptied.

  He lay naked on a narrow lattice rack made of weak-timber and rounding the edges of the pool, which was twelve feet in diameter. The rack, positioned six inches above the water line, required slow, disciplined movement to avoid the many splintered edges. Eighteen inches of headspace separated him from a reinforced ceiling, which extended outward a foot or so beyond the rack and curved the pool, like a retracted roof. Thin rods crisscrossed the opening, through which he saw a much higher roof.

  The third sunrise.

  Still, no fresh water. No food. No visitors.

  No one responded to his pleas.

  He itched all over, and his stomach cried out.

  An hour after he arrived on Huryo, they forced him into the pond without telling him why. He heard three things:

  “This is the way it must be.”

  “Clothes will make it worse.”

  “If you try to escape, you’ll be electrocuted.”

  They lowered a frog on the end of a long skewer. The rods fried it.

  In three days, Ryllen did not hear another human voice. Strange squeals arose from the marshes at night, and passing showers pattered the upper roof. He was shielded from the rain, a pointless irony.

  I don’t deserve this.

  If he thought it once, he did so a thousand times.

  He told the guards as much after stepping off the Scramjet Horn. They were former Green Sun agents, like him. They should understand. They led him away on the long wooden platform past the village and beyond prying eyes of the locals.

  They only responded when he asked, “Don’t you know who I am?”

  A bald woman calling herself Liu said:

  “Yes. Because of you, we can never go home again. You should be thankful the punishment isn’t worse.”

  Didn’t they understand what he was trying to do for them? He was saving Hokkaido. They didn’t realize how good they had it – no Hokki did. One day, they’d return as heroes of a revolution.

  The one he started.

  Would they have treated him with such disregard if he were Hokki born? He’d given as much to the movement as anyone. He sacrificed six years in another universe for them.

  None of his arguments landed. When they left him alone in the pond, Ryllen had the distinct feeling he’d never see them again. As the hours turned into days, he wondered if he’d ever see anyone.

  The rack kept him dry, but it wasn’t a solution. The itching reached a torturous level as tiny mites attacked from many directions. The only solution? A dip into the vile, stagnant water. It cleansed the mites but coated him in a thin sheen that smelled like the worst sewer in Zozo. When he lay drying on the rack, he felt his skin tightening and cracking – preferable to the mites but a temporary salve at best.

  The pain and the empty stomach should not have tortured him so soon. He was weakening, his ability to climb back onto the rack more sluggish than the last. But how bad was this, really? Did he not endure six years of war, where rations were the norm and the stench of death was ever-present? Did days of endless combat against the ground forces of the Chancellor Swarm not push him past logical limits of endurance? Did he not stand tall among the Twenty Talons in his ability to motivate them at their bleakest moments? Why then was he fading so fast in this putrid squalor?