Hanami Goto stands at the counter of her kitchenette inside her single occupancy student dorm room at the Edo Defense Academy. The television set blares in the background—a news show. She doesn’t appear to be paying attention to it. Instead, she regards the items and ingredients carefully arranged on the counter. Everything in its right place.
Hanami opens a rice cooker and scoops piping hot rice into a bowl. Using the back of the spoon, she presses down in the center of the rice to create a deep indentation. Then, with a deft movement, Hanami cracks an egg and pours the contents into the hole. She vigorously whisks the raw egg and steaming rice with a pair of chopsticks. Next, a drizzle of soy sauce and a dash of furikake and bonito flakes.
She carries the bowl to a small table covered with textbooks. Her pet Corgi looks up from his cushion with a whimper, licking his chops, then lays his head back down. Tucking a curl of bright orange hair behind her left ear, Hanami inserts a wireless earbud. The energetic sounds of Y Pop in one ear and the sonorous TV anchors yakking in the other do not phase her as she begins eating her breakfast with one hand and flipping through a book with the other. Decisive Battles of the Ancient World.
On the TV: “The world is holding its collective breath today as tensions continue to escalate between Pro-Democratic forces and the Red Star Empire after Formosa Island formally declared its independence. In a show of force, several Red Star warships have formed a blockade in the Formosa Strait. In response, the Allied Pacific Defense Organization, or A-PAC, has mobilized its naval forces.”
Hanami sets down her chopsticks and turns to look at the peacefully snoozing dog. She gets off the chair and kneels beside her pet, gently pressing her forehead against his.
Then, as she predicted, her phone starts to vibrate.
---
Chase MacArthur presses the throttle on his red motorcycle and careens around a curve overlooking the bay. It’s a long drop to the shore below, but Chase doesn’t even process this as he rockets down the coastal highway.
“WOO HOO! This baby can FLY!” Chase hollers.
The rushing air whips through his high blonde flat top. The force presses his goggles tight against his grinning face.
Then—sirens. A military police vehicle swerves onto the highway in pursuit, lights flashing.
Oh, great. MPs. Just what I need, Chase thinks. Well, they can’t write me up if they can’t catch me!
Chase guns the bike even faster, engine roaring. He sees a side trail leading down to the beach and, on an impulse, takes it. The road is too narrow for the patrol car which screeches to a halt. Seagulls scatter as Chase blazes over compact sand, gunning it for all its worth.
Another noise competes with the engine as a dark green military helicopter flies directly overhead, banking in the air perpendicular to Chase’s path.
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You’ve gotta be kidding! Sending a bird after me over a little joy ride?
The motorcycle skids to a stop and Chase shields his face with his arms as the descending chopper blows sand and surf in every direction. The engine cuts and a uniformed officer hops out, marching over to Chase.
“Sir... this is all just a misunderstanding...” Chase starts.
“Never mind that. You are needed back at base ASAP,” comes the gruff reply.
---
Reo Mafui’e shoulders the heavy wooden outrigger canoe as he and five others carry the boat barefoot across the island sand toward the green-blue ocean water. His tan, muscular torso glistens in the hot sun. Next week six men from his village will make the voyage between neighboring islands in commemoration of Heritage Day.
“How’s it feel, big guy?” one of the others, his cousin, teases. “Forty miles at sea without a shred of modern tech.”
Reo grunts, takes a moment to think before he replies.
“When our ancestors built these boats and traveled these seas, they used the best technology available to them. I’m just sayin’ a few improvements on the design couldn’t hurt... or at least takin’ a compass along...”
“Nah, braddah. Sometimes the old ways are the best ways!”
The others laugh. The six young men set their outrigger down where the sand meets the water. Palm trees sway in the gentle breeze.
Reo runs a thick hand over his jet-black hair, adjusting his man bun. As he does, he notices something in the water.
“Look at that,” he says and points.
His cousin shields his eyes from the sun and looks out. A glide of blue flying fish dart and leap across the surface of the sea.
“Nice, braddah. They say to see flyin’ fish before startin’ a journey is a sign. Like, for luck,” his cousin answers.
Yes, but good luck or bad luck? Reo wonders.
A familiar voice calls out.
“Reo! Reeeo!”
He turns to see the village elder, a beloved matriarch, hobbling in his direction on a driftwood cane—followed by half of the village!
“What is it, Aunty?” Reo asks, curious.
“There is an important call for you on the satellite phone.”
---
Kora Saint-Sheppard sits beside a hospital bed. Monitors and other medical equipment beep and whirr arrhythmically. A potted plant and an old bouquet of flowers sit on the windowsill overlooking downtown Templecross.
Kora studies the face of the resting patient. An illusion of peace.
The patient opens her eyes, groggily.
“S-sis?’ she asks.
“Yes, love, I’m here,” Kora scoots forward and takes the girl’s hand in her own. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“That’s okay…”
“Look, I brought you something.”
Kora reaches into her bag and pulls out a plump Kiwi plushie. She hands the gift to her little sister.
“Cuuute!” she squeals, eagerly squeezing the plushie to her chest. The exertion is too much and brings on a coughing fit.
“Easy now, love,” Kora says in a low, soothing voice. “The nurses will scold me if I put too much strain on you.”
Her sister looks up with her big, lavender-colored eyes. Tears start to form.
“Can you take me for a walk around the hospital grounds today? Last time you said you would.”
Kora shakes her head sadly. She glances at the wheelchair in the corner of the room.
“You know I would love to, Hillary. But it’s almost time for your medicine. Next time, I promise.”
A tear rolls down Hillary’s soft cheek and Kora wipes it with the back of her finger.
The glass door slides open, and a doctor and nurse pull back the privacy curtain. They look at Kora knowingly and she gets up, collecting her things. The medical staff prep an IV drip.
“I’ll come visit again real soon,” Kora whispers. “Kiwi will keep you company for a bit, ay?”
As she steps into the hall and closes the sliding door, she spots a man in a suit talking to someone at the nurses’ station. The nurse points in Kora’s direction and the man walks briskly over. He is wearing an official badge—the Foreign Ministry.
So, it has begun, Kora thinks.