Suddenly, the safehouse seemed much less secure.
“No,” Ryllen told himself. “Lan won’t do it. He’s a good man. He wants the best for us. He’l protect me.”
Ryllen snuck out of the safehouse shortly after noon, hiding a Tachtron reader, a memglass, and a Goodboy in a side pocket. Though no one in the Zozo district paid him any mind, Ryllen assumed they were reporting him for his many crimes. He was a kil er, after al . But he found a quiet corner in a dank al ey to examine the contents of the memglass, hoping Muna Lin Jee spoke the truth months ago about the data contained within.
“There is someone in Pinchon capable of breaking the encryption,”
she told him. “He is ex-Chancel or. He works freelance intel igence for the seamasters. I used my contacts in Nantou to retrieve this man’s particulars. I give you a path, Ryllen. Take it now, while time stands in
wait.”
Time was up, and Ryllen ran out of options. He’d never see his first family again, and the second one might be coming to kil him.
He put the last ounce of his faith in a former Chancel or named Hamilton Cortez.
Muna Lin made Cortez seem like a man of considerable success
– running intel for the seamasters carried hefty rewards. Yet he lived a few streets away in a second-floor flat. No one of importance lived in Zozo. Ever.
Given the man’s occupation, he proved surprisingly easy to find.
Ryllen never had to enter the man’s building. Instead, as he passed a bar adjacent, he heard an angry woman shout:
“Say it again, you Randal cudfruck, and you’l be answering to my brothers. Get. Out.”
Randal was an epithet Hokkis sometimes used to describe Chancel ors who “went native” to live with the locals. Ryllen heard it directed his way once or twice early in school before he understood the implications. Back then, before the Ark Carriers left Hokkaido, his parents stood up for their adoptive son.
Ryllen’s target was seven feet tal , with broad shoulders above a lean build. He walked with a long, leisurely gait, smiling through a thick dark beard that complemented hair pul ed back into a ponytail and draping halfway down his back. He wore a traditional gray Sak’ne suit joined at the waist by a broad red sash. Ryllen never saw such fashion among the common people, let alone the Modernists who dominated the island city. Was it possible he was a Freelander? The target smiled as he threw back a glass of green alcohol, most likely sanque.
“Hamilton Cortez?” Ryllen asked, maintaining a safe distance.
The man stopped, laughed like someone who lost al care about life, and continued on without looking back. Ryllen tried again.
“Honored Cortez. May I speak with you?”
The man whistled, held the empty glass up to the sun, and moaned.
“I’m al manner of things, but honored I am not.” He swung around. “And if you’re trying to be clever, I suggest …”
He caught himself when he took his first look at Ryllen.
“OK then. Was not expecting you.”
“Wait. Do you know me?”
“I should. Hold on, kid. It’s coming to me. Ah, yes. Jee. Family name. Yes? Ah, hold on. Brayllen? Galen?”
“Ryl en.”
“No, no. That’s not it. They cal you RJ. Yes?”
“Wait, what? How do you know this?”
Hamilton Cortez shaded his eyes as he approached Ryllen.
“There are sixty Chancel or-born in The Lagos. We tend to stand out. Yes? I like to keep track.”
“I’m not a Chancel or.”
“But you were born on Earth. Same thing, more or less.”
“You know my story?”
“I know many stories. Some happy, some sad. Occasional y, tinged with a mild nose of redemption. What do you want from me?”
“I need your help. I think you’re the only one who can.”
“Huh. Two bil ion people on this big, gorgeous rock, and somehow, it’s down to me. For the record, there are other Earth-born you can play with.”
Ryllen revealed the Tachtron reader.
“I have a memglass with a Chancel or encryption. I was told you could break the code.”
“Almost certainly. Might take a few days, but I don’t do Chancel or anymore, kid. I’m Hokki now. Can’t you tel ?”
“But you just said you kept track of …”
“Oh. That. Everyone needs a hobby.”
Ryllen lowered his voice. “Can’t we go somewhere and talk? I have a very important question I need answered. I think it’s on the memglass. Please, Hamilton?”
“For the record: Ham. And what is your grand question?”
“What am I?”
“Hmm. As interrogatives go, that’s an interesting choice. OK. Five minutes, kid. With me.”
Ham escorted Ryllen up the block to one of several empty benches surrounding a lifeless stone fountain. They sat.
“Lived in this neighborhood three years. It’s never worked. Pity.
So then, why do you ask a question in the form of ‘What am I’”?
Ryllen didn’t know where to begin. He stammered.
“I … last night, I was …”
“Whatever it is, I won’t be shocked, kid. I worked six years in Special Services for the Guard. There’s nothing more shocking
