Kaev walked in the direction of the vortex. Even with the windscreen, Qaanaaq’s gusts could be extreme, forming sudden swirling gyres that could push people off balance, stop them in their tracks, make a single step impossible. But one of Kaev’s favorite leisure activities was to walk with the wind, submit to it, let its violence and sudden shifts dictate his path. On reflection, he’d come to recognize it as an extension of the pleasure he took from fighting. The thrill of submission, of abdicating control, of letting the mind with all its capricious insatiable demands fall away. And it was good training. It took agility, dexterity, to keep from smashing into any of the people struggling against the wind. It took wisdom to know how and when to yield.
This was a good day. A strong wind, but not too cold. A belly full of noodles. No fights scheduled, but he was heading for a meeting with Go. She’d give him his next assignment. His money would last for two more months; as long as the fight came sooner, he’d be fine.
He’d always been fine. Somehow.
And then, boom. His good mood gone. Who could say why, something he glimpsed from the corner of his eye, a bratty child screaming at his mother, maybe, or a baby in its father’s arms, but it was always something, some reminder of what he didn’t have, what he would not be, and his mind seized hold of it, spun it out in a dozen directions, nightmare scenarios of suffering and pain, things that were probably fantasies but what if they were memories, glimpses he’d held on to from infancy, things he’d seen . . .
A woman interrupted the stream of hateful thoughts, but he was not grateful. She wore a ratty fur coat and a giant Russian-style fur hat and she was peering into his eyes, and what right did she have to make eye contact with him? He flinched away as if from an electric shock.
“You are American, no?”
“I’m—” he said, frightened, because who was she, why had she spoken to him? Did he look American? What did an American even look like? Was he American? “I’m.” And then a gibber, a bark, some loud panicky succession of syllables he couldn’t control, which made her flinch, which is what it did to everyone.
“Our people are in danger,” she said. “Evil has come to Qaanaaq. I need strong men. Men who are not afraid.”
Kaev wanted to laugh at the anachronistic use of the word men to mean people. But he could not laugh. I’m not strong, he wanted to say, and I’m afraid. All that came out was “I’m,” several times in quick succession.
“She is hunting us,” the old woman said. “That’s why she came. The woman who brings monsters. She blames us for righteously trying to wipe her sinful kind off the face of the earth.”
The orcamancer, then. His heart swelled, thinking of her. And her polar bear, hands and head caged. A fellow fighter had shown him photos, in the gym, a couple of nights ago. From the lowest level of the Sports Platform. She was real. She was in his city. He’d go to see her, soon. Not that he’d have anything in particular to do or say when he got there—he just wanted to see her for himself.
“Will you help me?”
Kaev fought the urge to yell at her, scold her, threaten to feed her to the orca himself, but his helpless years had taught him patience. She touched his sleeve. “God loves you,” she said. “Do you know that?”
Kaev nodded, because that was the expected answer, that was what fundies wanted to hear, but he didn’t believe God loved him. Quite the opposite, actually.
She pressed a scrap into his hand. “My church,” she said. “Come? Tomorrow night? We need you. Ask for Maria.”
And then she left, and he was grateful, except that now he felt bad for her, this sweet, sincere, deranged old woman, alone in a city where no one cared about her god, on a mission to destroy something beautiful, and if she thought that strong men could do something about the evil in Qaanaaq then she was even stupider than Kaev was.
“You’re late,” said Go’s first lieutenant when Kaev arrived at her Arm Five floating headquarters. Dao; tall, thin, levelheaded. He handled her strategy and planning, the big-picture stuff. Kaev liked the guy, even if he was an asshole. There was something wise about him, something calm. More pleasant than the lieutenants who headed up her operations, security, intelligence.
“Delayed. I got. I got delayed.”
“By what?”
“The wind.”
“Idiot.” But he said it affectionately, and stepped aside for Kaev to ascend to the boat.
The thing was big, a tramp steamer long out of commission, its side emblazoned with the name of a corporation and a city, neither of which existed anymore. Go and her operatives ran Amonrattanakosin Group out of it, and they lived there, and they used its cargo hold for storage. And paid the hefty priority docking fee, which came with a guarantee that Safety and Narcotics and Commerce would only ever attempt to board in the most egregious cases. Qaanaaq’s whole hands-off approach to law enforcement had been successful in minimizing crime syndicate violence, but it had also allowed the syndicates to amass significant influence and legitimacy. Kaev reached the deck and turned around to look down, at his city, the Arm he’d left behind, and wondered what would happen when people like Go decided they wanted more.
She’d fought hard enough to get where she was. He remembered the horror of her rise. Even back then, when they were together, she’d had enemies. People she wanted out of the way; people determined to dismember her. Stab wounds she ended up with. Weeks when she had to disappear.
One woman in particular: Jackal, real name Jackie, but don’t ever let her hear you use it. A runner, like Go, with her eyes as set on climbing the ladder as Go’s were. Whatever happened to Jackal? Or the better question: how, exactly, had Go destroyed her?
“Darling,” Go said when he reached the bridge. She embraced him. He wondered if she knew how he felt about her. How much he hated her. She must have. She was too smart not to. “A magnificent fight the other night.”
Kaev yipped accidentally, then paused until he could collect himself. “Kid’s good.”
“He’ll become something special,” she said. “People love him.”
“Means money.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And who knows. Maybe someday he’ll see you, remember you, buy you breakfast.”
Kaev winced. He had made the mistake of telling her, once, when one of the kids he’d lost to who’d made it big ran into him on the street, treated him to a fancy meal, shared his disruptors, started crying, telling Kaev how he owed him everything. The problem with Go was that she knew him too well, knew how he felt about things. That sense of people made her a good crime boss, and a terrible ex.
“Fight,” he stuttered out. “You have anything for me?”
“Sort of,” she said. She went to her cabin’s front porthole, looked out onto the deck. Exactly like a captain would. She was dressed in drab green, Kaev’s favorite color. He wondered if that was on purpose. The machete scabbard hung from her belt, as always. No one had ever seen her use it. Kaev knew she wouldn’t hesitate; wondered if she’d used it on Jackal. “Dao has two names for you. See him on your way out.”
“Names. Names?”
“Business rivals,” she said. “I’m not going to lie to you to spare your feelings, Kaev. You’re a grown-up, at least in body you are. I need you to soak them.”
Kaev felt very close to crying. He said “I’m” several times, and then finished in a rush: “I’m not a thug, Go, I’m not going to go rough up your enemies for you. I’m a fighter and I’ve made my peace with doing your dirty work in the ring, losing fights I know I can win, training young punks so you can make more money on them, but I’m not going to throw somebody into the water because of some business deal you need to get done.”
At least, that’s what he tried to say. He was pretty sure he got all the words out, and maybe even in the right order, but probably too fast for most of them to make any sense.
She patted his cheek. “Oh, Kaev. My noble warrior. I know this is hard for you.”
“Me?” he asked. “Why. You have people. Lots. Who do this. Do this kind of thing. Better at it than I’d be.”
“True,” she said, “and lots of them are ex-fighters. You’re getting old, Kaev. You know this. Couple of years, you won’t be able to put on a convincing show in the ring anymore. And then what? If you can do this job, and do it well—well, then, you have a whole new career opening up ahead of you.”
“And if I refuse? Or. If I mess up. Because I don’t know how to do this thing?”
“Then good luck with your life,” she said, her back to him, the conversation over, no point in arguing. He’d stared at her back like this before. “Needless to say, you’ll never have another beam fight again. Or unlicensed skiff brawl, or snuff film knife fight, or anything.”
Dao beamed him the details when he descended from the deck. And, because he really was a good man under all the assholishness, he didn’t comment on the wetness beading up in the corner of Kaev’s left eye.