A sharp pain penetrated Mamoru’s wonderful dream. It came from his own fingers, helpfully reminding him he was piloting a boat and not a rocket. But even as he focused intently on the war boat in front of him, the lack of bodily existence was pulling him back into the dark.

“Sayuri, you there?” he said to the open air.

“I am here, Mr. Fukuzawa.”

The girl’s voice came from starboard.

“We’ve gotta drop the invisibility, it’s messin’ with my head. I’m gonna try to get us to shore.”

“If you believe it prudent.”

Mamoru could tell she had no idea what her hatsuden was doing, or what it could do. The Imperial Public Safety Agency had warned him Sayuri Ueichi’s full-body kinkawa would be a constant question mark, but it was something else for it to project memories into your head.

He put his anxieties away for now and became a calculator of the rocking waves, the trajectories of the patrol boats, the flows of the thick river stench. His nerves synthesized and transferred this information to the Daisagi-Maru. She did the rest.

One of the river monitors’ gunboats cheated back and towards the east bank. Like a gravitational slingshot, the Daisagi-Maru flung itself from the larger boat into line behind the patrol boat, waiting for it to get closer to shore.

There would be a gap. If the radarman was paying attention, a little pink blip with a trail of indigo behind it would be seen heading for shore.

“Any chance you can deflect radio waves, too?”

“I-I can try, but I have no way of knowing if it will work,” Sayuri replied.

“Shou ga nai, neh?” he said, turning the Daisagi-Maru towards the shore.

The sailors on the Genji patrol boat looked around, searching for the diesel engine they could hear and smell. Mamoru powered down the engine and drifted the Daisagi-Maru towards the bank, inches from the fence warning of the Shroud. They waited camouflaged until the last of the main flotilla passed by. A few Genji patrol boats hung back to search Aldwithy, but the river monitors continued on towards Burnehithe.

When they were out of sight, Sayuri turned the boat visible again. Milly and Thomas had glazed expressions that snapped back into focus once the hatsuden ceased.

“Everyone alright?” Mamoru asked.

Milly hocked a few times to get the rest of the vomit out of her mouth. “No…”

Thomas passed her apple wine to wash her mouth with.

“I’ve never…” Thomas said, searching for a verb, “never… felt the Shroud do that.”

Mamoru turned to Sayuri and raised his eyebrows. “Special kinkawa?”

“I have more of it than most,” she said, staring starboard at the darkening waters.

“How much more?”

She rolled the sleeves of her gown up past the spot Milly stopped applying make-up. Her elbow was covered in a golden web that ran like bundles of wiring up her arm. “My entire body.”

Thomas exhaled sharply and rubbed his temple and forehead.

“Shit… How about that?” Mamoru said, pretending not to know already.

Sayuri tapped the tips of her shoes together. “So… I would like to extend our sincerest apologies for… not being fully forthcoming with the… situation.”

“We started the trip gettin’ shot at, I had a hunch it wasn’t a pleasure cruise. Genji wants to know how to stuff all that gold in someone, that it?”

Sayuri nodded. Her hands were trembling at her sides. She must have thought he might turn her in for a reward.

“Frankly, I don’t think Ueden oughta have that technology either, but better only one gang of jackals than two,” he said, slumping in his seat.

“So, you will still take us to Tо̄tо̄shi?” Sayuri asked.

“Aye, but you’ll be doin’ more work now that I know you’re a spoiled brat in need of some character-building.”

“How dare—” Sayuri started to say before Thomas glared at her, “—hmm, yes, I can perhaps be of some assistance.”

Mamoru grinned and grabbed a mop tucked into a corner of the bridge, handing it to her. Pink blood still stained its head. “Great. Start by swabbin’ the deck.”

Sayuri looked aghast. “W-Why me?”

He looked at Thomas. “Well, lad, y’ever mopped a floor?”

Thomas tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and cocked his head as though unsure what the man was getting at. “Thousands.”

“And how about you, Milly? Ever done a bit of mopping?”

She looked across the boat at him with weary eyes. “That was half my job.”

He turned back to Sayuri trying to pout her way out of it. “Looks like it’s your turn.”

“But I don’t know how!”

“I’ll teach ya!”

Sayuri was the least efficient for the task. Not only were her arms too short to cover broad swathes, but her perfectionism kept her rubbing away at one or two pieces of hard-stuck gunk and neglecting the rest of the deck.

It wasn’t a punishment though, even if she thought it was. While Mamoru maybe, perhaps, found a hint of satisfaction forcing the girl to earn her keep, he thought of it as a gift. The academies who catered to wealthy conglomerate girls deprived them of nothing except an appreciation for good, honest, physical labor. Sadly, that was worth more than everything else combined.

“No need to scrub so hard. You’re not gettin’ that algae out without a brush and some vinegar,” he said, watching by her side.

She snarled. “How should I know what I am meant to scrub and what I am not!?”

“Practice. And listen when I’m tellin’ you to mop in sections so you don’t push the same crud around,” he said, pointing to the little streaks of orange from Milly’s spillage left behind in Sayuri’s haste to stab at the green crust.

“And my stockings are getting wet!”

“So, take ‘em off.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I may perform the actions of a peasant, but I shall never look the part!”

He laughed. “Up to you.”

While Sayuri was receiving her lesson in swabbing, Mamoru charged Thomas with making dinner. By dusk, the glowing red grill became their bonfire. The only other source of light in the rural evening besides the grill and the stars were floodlights far to the east, illuminating the freight-crawlers forever marching to market.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Crispy brown char spread across the roasting potatoes, carrots, and apples. Thomas had succumbed to the Aldwithers’ sob story about too many apples and bought some, apparently. They’d gotten Mamoru with it the first couple of passes down the river too. Roasted apples weren’t the worst thing in the world, though.

Mamoru’s seasoning collection wasn’t impressive, but there was enough in there to give the food some life. Thomas basted them with peanut oil from a gallon jug then tossed the potatoes, carrots, and apples in salt and an herb blend Mamoru had traded for with some continental name he couldn’t pronounce. Once the vegetables were done roasting, Thomas warmed cans of herring and doled it out onto plastic plates.

“Ew, is this fish?” Sayuri prodded the canned herring.

“Yush,” Thomas replied, munching on his own. “If delifuf.”

Her nose crinkled.

“S’not the best tastin’ fish, I’ll give ya that,” Mamoru said, swabbing potatoes in his can to mop up the oil. “But if ya want better ya gotta fish for it.”

“I know not how to fish. Surely you must be a masterful fisherman, Mr. Fukuzawa. Can you not merely catch enough for all of us?”

Now that was something they taught in girls’ academies: How to talk someone into doing your work for you. A useful lesson to teach the scions of clan-conglomerates.

“How ‘bout I teach ya how to fish instead? Then you can catch us dinner.”

Sayuri groaned. “Must I? Have not the many trades, arts, and industries gained precisely by the division of labor? Would we not have more fish if you were to apply your specialized fishing skills and me to… erm, forecast dangerous political potentialities which may lie ahead?”

“Nope. Fish or starve,” he said, stuffing carrots in his mouth.

She rolled her eyes and handed the can to Thomas who wolfed down the oily herring.

Milly was the first to go to bed, awake long enough to get something on her upset stomach before laying out a tarp and curling up under it. Sayuri didn’t last long either. She grumbled for a minute or two about her scratchy blanket and corn husk pillow then promptly fell asleep.

“We should have a watch,” Thomas said, “in case the Genji boats in Aldwithy head back downriver.”

“Good idea,” Mamoru said, nipping on a flask of rye whiskey.

Above them was outer space. Mamoru could never see it as “the night sky” again. Once he’d been up there, it was no longer separate from the world. If the night sky was a ceiling hanging over his head, outer space was an open door. An old lover. There he’d gone, and there he wished to go again.

“You weren’t surprised to find out Sayuri had full-body kinkawa,” Thomas said.

Mamoru swiveled his pilot chair. “Get to my age and nothing is surprising anymore. Just fancy doo-dads and trinkets comin’ outta the city, all sparkles and pizzazz, nothing that improves folks’ lives.”

“Uh-huh.” Thomas folded his arms. “Who are you?”

Mamoru swallowed the whiskey. “That was fast. I figured I could get you folk to Éstfýr before you started askin’ questions.”

“You can drop the folksy act,” Thomas said.

“It’s the real deal. I’ve gone up and down this river for a decade now. I’ve been accused of goin’ native by Kaihonjin.”

“Who are you, and who do you work for?”

In the dim orange light of the electric grill, he saw Thomas’ hands curling and uncurling.

Mamoru was a bit of an adrenaline junkie, truth be told. He’d deflected railguns twice, flown warfighter planes over Seikoku, nearly been caught by river pirates, chased by the Genji navy, and ridden a missile loaded with half a million gallons of rocket fuel into space. But a grenadier bearing down on him was terrifying.

“L-Listen, lad, I’m not with the conglomerates, ya have my word on that!”

Thomas looked up at the Imperial flag flying from the mast. “With the Emperor?”

Mamoru nodded, his knuckles white against the pilot’s seat. From the zip pocket of his jumpsuit he produced the shiny brass badge proclaiming him Special Investigator of the Imperial Public Safety Agency and showed it to Thomas.

“What does the Emperor want with Sayuri?” Thomas asked.

“I can’t speak for Him directly, but He likes to keep apprised of what goes on in his dominion. I am His eyes and ears on the conflict brewing between Ueden and Genjūkō. We have a shared goal here, you and I.”

“Which is?”

“Sayuri Ueichi delivered safely home, war defused before innocent Æfrians get caught in it, and your name cleared. Along with a generous reward for service to the Emperor, of course.”

“Why didn’t you tell the truth to begin with?” Thomas asked.

“Would you have gotten on a boat with someone from the Imperial Public Safety Agency?”

“If you explained everything.”

Mamoru pointed at Sayuri, curled up next to Milly. “D’ya think she would’ve?”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t think you understand the animosity between the Imperial State and the conglomerates. She can’t see the bureaucracy as anything other than an adversary trying to take her family’s trade secrets for themselves.”

“Are they?”

Mamoru exhaled. “The Imperial bureaucracy has its own plans, but believe me, they’re far more benevolent than what the conglomerates want with her. It’s not a matter of if, but when she falls into someone’s hands. You’re not dumb, lad, I know ya realized ya can’t outrun the conglomerates forever. It’s not just Genji, Propertism itself wants to turn her into Property. You’re not up against a company, Thomas, you’re up against the way our world works."

A hint of fear finally made its way onto Thomas’ clammy face. “And the Imperial bureaucracy is better, how?”

“Because we think in longer time frames than business quarters. Because we transcend the private interests of Propertist conglomerates. And because we won’t tear her body limb from limb to learn its secrets. We’re the best option, Thomas. And I vow before Fleothe, goddess of this here river, that I will protect Sayuri with my life."

To punctuate his vow, Mamoru tore a tiny piece of the Imperial flag he'd lowered for the night, kissed it, and set it adrift in the river.

Thomas deflated. “And you want me to keep this secret from Sayuri until when?”

“Until she finds out herself that her clan is trying to kill her.”

“What!?” he said, barely keeping his voice down.

“Her father, Toue Ueichi, was an only child, and her grandfather abdicated the patriarchate when he became senile. She’s all that remains of the first house, but she’s still the legitimate successor to her clan’s patriarchate. Err, matriarchate, I s’pose. That makes her more dangerous than Genji in the eyes of some in her clan.”

Thomas rubbed his temples. “Gods, you Kaihonjin are brutal people.”

“Most Kaihonjin are good people, it’s our elite who are bloodthirsty.”

“I think it says something about who you make your elites,” Thomas replied.

“I agree with ya, lad. There’s a reason I want to take power back from them.”

“For the Emperor?”

“For the Emperor.”

Mamoru took first watch as Thomas laid down under his wool blanket. There was a weight off Mamoru’s shoulders now that he was no longer hiding, at least from Thomas.

He kept the grill going for another hour or so as Sayuri’s stockings, hanging from the railing, slowly dried. He liked the girl. Which was good, because his job would’ve been much harder if she was like all the other worthless, parasitic conglomerate brats.

Mamoru woke the next morning to Thomas shaking him awake. The sky was brightening, but the sun was below the horizon and their boat was still hidden in night’s inky blackness. Genji patrol boats zipped past at full speed. Their searchlights were on, but they didn’t seem to be sweeping the river looking for them. Instead, they were plowing straight ahead.

“What’dya think’s got ‘em in such a hurry?” Mamoru asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth,” Thomas replied.

Despite his fatigue, Mamoru stayed up with Thomas making sure the last of the patrol boats left Aldwithy. They ate a quick breakfast of apples, corn, and tea while Milly reapplied make-up to Sayuri’s face and were soon headed downriver. Milly looked worse than the day before and Thomas spent the morning repeatedly asking her if she needed anything.

Sayuri, meanwhile, hovered around the bridge, asking questions about every little thing Mamoru did. Having slept on it, she’d apparently set herself to becoming a sailor. Her enthusiasm waned when he gave her a brush, a plastic jug of vinegar, and the task of scrubbing out the crust of algae she’d been swiping at yesterday, but she attacked the film of algae and soon found herself locked into combat with it, stockings forgotten on the bridge railing.

An hour past noon, as they were coming up on Burnehithe, hovering shapes appeared on the horizon.

Sayuri turned the boat invisible and they watched with enforced disinterest as three tiltrotor gunships bearing silver-and-blue Genji colors limped overhead, pocked with the jagged cheese-grater holes of anti-aircraft fire. A moment later, gray smoke burst out of one’s engines and the gunship spiraled down into the river behind them in an explosion of fire, water, and steam.

Their fellow airmen didn’t stop to check, continuing onward towards Suigen. The Daisagi-Maru became visible again.

“What the fuck!?” Sayuri said.

“Sayuri!” Thomas said.

“What?”

“Don’t use that word.”

Milly put her hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think that’s the most important thing right now.”

Plumes of dark smoke leaked into the sky ahead. With dread, Mamoru—or Shuu, for as long as Sayuri was up and about—guessed the source of the smoke before it came into sight. The Genji river monitors that had been preying on them had become the prey of another conglomerate, either Ueden itself or one of their allies.

Under the watching eye of the Burnehithe clocktower, at the confluence of the Glær and Cleif rivers, the Genji flotilla had been turned into a shattered archipelago of tortured metal and drowned and burning bodies. No sign of their ambushers remained save a handful of unexploded bombs bobbing downriver and a downed gunship with the crest of Kintoki Arms Services, slowly sinking.