“Yes. They expected to waltz into Nantou at Honorable Father’s side and have the underlings bow to their every need. The job’s harder than they thought. Sometimes, I hear arguments in Father’s study. I saw Dae in tears last week.”
“You smile like you enjoy their suffering, but you miss my point, Kara. Yes, the job has changed them, but not in your favor. They’re more emotional because they’re afraid. That means they’re desperate. I saw that combination in my Honorable Father every day after we left Haansu. Lang and Dae are walking on a string. If you come along and show any promise, they’ll feel threatened. If you exceed your station, they won’t care if you’re their sister.”
“What? You think they’d try to hurt me?”
“Possibly. Especially Lang. He scares me sometimes.”
Kara knew what she meant, and so much more. Lang smiled about as often as the moon Huryo turned full. Some might have mistaken it for quiet dignity, the eldest son projecting his father’s inner strength and certitude. But from time to time, Lang unraveled. A quiet evening of tea and dessert on the east balcony might be interrupted by a long, incoherent political diatribe. Lang might return to an old grievance from his childhood, like recounting the intimate details of how a twelve-year-old rival tried to sabotage Lang at school. He became theatrical during these moments, flailing wildly as if drunk, though he was in fact sober.
Days of stoicism followed these outbursts, none of which seemed to bother their parents. Kara mused at the thought of how dramatically Perr and Li-Ann Syung responded to their daughter’s emotional storms. The hypocrisy infuriated her, but it also proved a source of motivation.
She dared not speak to her parents about Lang’s uneven behavior, knowing how the confrontation might end. They grew hyper-protective of each son following Lang and Dae’s installation as junior officers to Nantou’s executive board. Perr and Li-Ann focused on vetting potential wives, looking for the most politically advantageous alliances. If anything was off about Lang, they refused to see it or assumed a healthy marriage would resolve it. In the meantime, they allowed the sons to indulge themselves with “kept” women in the city – a common practice.
Kara hid her suspicion about Lang – a secret she did not share with Chi-Qua. She believed Lang was using mahali, the illegal neurodrug he once distributed. Her research uncovered symptoms of addiction that matched Lang’s erratic behavior.
Two years earlier, she blackmailed her parents with evidence of Lang’s drug-dealing ways in order to bring Chi-Qua into their household. After she was successful, Lang struck back, promising to have Chi-Qua killed someday. For weeks, Kara struggled under the weight of his threat. She convinced herself he’d never follow through; he was misguided, but he wasn’t a killer. Nonetheless, her paranoia sent Kara peering into the shadows.
Mother put her fears at rest, calling Kara into private conference and beginning with a demand.
“Destroy your copy of the memglass,” she said. “The matter has been resolved. He has been extricated from that filthy business. He has asked for our forgiveness, which we have granted. Your evidence is obsolete.”
Lang did not, however, seek Kara’s forgiveness or offer an apology. For the most part, he stayed clear of his sister except during mandated gatherings. He spent more time in the city or traveling on business to the other islands of The Lagos.
Their lives took increasingly different tracks, but they shared commonalities Kara doubted they’d ever lose: Same boss, same dynasty. They were two of more than seventy thousand employees based in the Nantou Global complex. Though their responsibilities never overlapped, and their offices were far apart, the name Syung-Low shined the same bright light upon them both. It was a light of curiosity, envy, intimidation, reverence, and expectation.
Their privilege did not exclude them from being targets of opportunists with vaulting ambition. Other families actively sought what Syung-Low possessed for generations. In the post-Collectorate era, where new ideas and fragile alliances frayed at Pinchon’s social order, the pressure intensified upon those who rode the crest of the tallest waves.
“Never forget,” Kara’s Honored Gran used to say, “The Kohlna have the sharpest teeth.”
Was this why Lang fell into addiction? Was the light too bright, the pressure too intense? Was he more fragile than anyone suspected? Did he scare people like Chi-Qua because they didn’t understand his struggle? Kara thought these were important questions, but she was not her brother’s therapist, and his instability would not get in the way of her calculated move up the ladder.
Toward the end of the picnic at Bongwoo Curl, Kara unveiled the final stage of her plan. She wanted to prepare Chi-Qua for the eye of the needle.
“I think it has to be done in public, Chi,” she said while tossing half a crab roll to a red-breasted swan. “My family won’t push back if there are hundreds of witnesses.”
Chi-Qua winced. “Wait. Aren’t we talking about a job transfer?”
“Yes. An internal personnel matter. Paperwork. Payroll adjustment. The sort of thing that goes through channels. Honorable Father and his ilk oversee those transfers. If they don’t catch wind of it, my brothers will. They’ll block me. So, I’ve come up with a workaround.”
“Which is?”
“Sanhae.”
“What about it?”
“That’s where I’ll spring out. Nantou’s Gala at Sanhae. They’ll never see it coming.”
Sanhae, which meant new year, was one of the few words on the calendar dating back pre-colonization to Earth. One of the few words preserved after Hokkaido converted to Engleshe as its official – and only – language.
For years, Kara wanted to join Nantou’s Bioresearch and Engineering Division (BRED). She first made the announcement weeks before her sixteenth birthday and was promptly ridiculed by Lang, who said she was best suited for marketing. Her parents did not object. Mother offered brief but superficial encouragement,
