Transmigrant - Chapter 7
Copyright © 2024, 2025 Stephen B. Anthony
If I were to make the choice, wouldn’t it be wiser to nourish the whole rather than follow a template? After all, the body will discard what it does not need. Yet the allure of enhancement lingers—carefully monitored, and all the more tempting for it.
—Christine Silman Decker
CHAPTER 7
Twelve light years from the Solar system on the planet Etheria, in the city of New Lebanon, Kannon Niruku sat at his desk, dressed in a sharp, double-breasted suit, notably barefoot. He was thin, not particularly tall, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair cut classically, tapering at the back and temples, slicked back in a neat manner. Kannon had a taste for port and lemon mochi, though not at the same time. This morning, he enjoyed the lemon mochi.
His office was decorated in a Japanese motif. The exterior wall, a single pane of glass, offered a panoramic view of New Lebanon from the one-hundred-twelfth floor of corporate headquarters. Indirect lighting from rice paper lamps bathed the room in a soft, warm glow, while shoji screens created distinct functional areas. A dramatic fountain on one wall spilled into a koi pond, its fish varying in color, red and black, each with unique patterns. On another wall, several brilliant brush-stroke paintings added to the tranquil atmosphere.
Luis Soto, deputy director of security, knocked and entered the office. He was tall, dark-haired, and dark-skinned, his handsome features reflecting his Spanish ancestry. Perpetually unruly hair, more pepper than salt, crowned his head. His cold, hard eyes contrasted with his otherwise pleasant face. Despite Kannon’s preference for professional attire, Soto always wore a thin, tan linen jacket over a blue denim shirt, loose-fitting casual tan pants, and hiking boots.
As Soto entered, Ema, Niruku’s ever-present serving maid in traditional garb, appeared from behind a shoji screen to stand near Kannon’s chair.
“Good morning, Mr. Chairman,” Soto greeted.
“Good morning, Luis,” Kannon replied, setting down the lemon mochi and dabbing the corner of his mouth with a silk napkin. “Would you care for some green tea? I promised my mother I’d drink two cups of green tea daily to stay young and fit. She lived to be one hundred thirty-one.”
“Certainly,” Soto agreed, knowing the invitation was more of an expectation than a request. He sat across from the galaxy’s most powerful man, not particularly fond of the bitter drink, but accustomed to it after years of working for Niruku. Tea with Kannon was a ceremony, not a casual dining experience. Soto knew silence was required at certain moments, though he wasn’t always sure when. He had learned to follow the Chairman’s lead.
A low table held various implements whose names Soto could never remember. He knew Ema would use the decorated red cloth tucked in her hakama to clean the tools and handle the tea bowl.
Soto waited patiently as Kannon finished his mochi, folded the napkin neatly, and placed it on a white porcelain serving tray adorned with scenes of cranes knee-deep in reed-filled waters.
The ritual required two bowls of tea for each drinker. The first, a stronger brew, was followed by a lighter, more refreshing second round. The host served the first bowl to the guest in each round, taking the second bowl for themselves.
The serving maid cleansed the utensils with her cloth, then used hot water to warm the tea bowl and cleanse a peculiar bamboo whisk.
“It is symbolic of cleansing your souls,” Ema said softly.
With practiced precision, she used a small bamboo scoop to add three measures of green powdered tea into the bowl. Soto observed in silence as she added hot water with a long-handled ladle, whisking the tea into a foamy froth.
When she finished, Ema held the bowl in her left hand, turned it, and placed it on the table before Soto. He picked it up with his left palm, turned it with his right hand, and, using both hands, drank the tea, offering a quiet thanks.
Kannon nodded, and Ema prepared a bowl of tea for him, beginning with the cleansing process. Soto sat quietly, absorbing the zen-like moment as Kannon and Ema listened to the boiling water.
After Kannon finished his first bowl, he stood, clasping his hands behind his back, pacing back and forth, his bare feet padding softly on the floor. Ema remained kneeling by the preparation table, eyes fixed on the floor.
“I am most disappointed,” Kannon said, his voice cold. “Anomalies prove the rule, but I dislike them. We designed the transmigrant program to manage this kind of thing, yet here we are in the eleventh hour. How could a colonist have gotten so far off the program without detection?”
“I do not know, sir,” Soto responded, his voice steady, though a hint of malicious anticipation lingered beneath the surface.
“That kind of thing does not happen,” Kannon continued. “This corporation has been at the forefront of almost every major technological achievement of the last five hundred years. It started with my ancestor, a man whose vision was doubted. Other scientists scorned him, but he prevailed. Do you know why?”
Soto knew a lecture was coming. Though much too busy for it, he understood his duty. He remained silent, hiding his eagerness for the next steps.
“Throughout history,” Kannon said, “a select few have changed the course of human events. But the biggest changes didn’t come from conquerors or military leaders. The most significant moments often came from the intellect of a handful of people. What were we before gunpowder, the compass, eyeglasses, the printing press, or the internal combustion engine? Those inventions improved human lives; wouldn’t you agree?”
Soto smiled, responding, “On the other hand, are we more capable as individuals because of those inventions? Gunpowder has killed billions. We’re so reliant on the compass that the average person no longer navigates by the stars. The printing press spreads lies and propaganda, and countless lives have been lost in automobile accidents. Every invention can be used for benefit or harm.”
“You didn’t mention eyeglasses in your rebuttal,” Kannon noted.
“I had a hard time finding a negative for that one,” Soto admitted.
“But you’d agree that those inventions have shaped our universe and that, when used properly, they have positive effects?”
“Sure,” Soto said, his mind already turning to the methods he would employ to extract information from their enemies.
“In 2081, my ancestor, a planetary engineer stationed on Mars, formulated what we now know as the Niruku Theory of Gravitics.”
“An accidental discovery, some say.”
“Perhaps,” Kannon acknowledged. “He confirmed gravity is a waveform. He was the first to define, measure, and change its properties. Gravitics became the primary operating principle that brought us from Earth to planets. We can simulate gravity, offset the effects of acceleration, and finally reach the stars.”
“I’m familiar with the technology,” Soto said, his mind wandering.
Kannon nodded to Ema, who prepared a third bowl of tea. This, being the first in the second round, had only one scoop of powdered tea. Soto drank the tea and bowed his head, remaining silent, relishing the thought of his next task.
“Overpopulation nearly destroyed the Earth,” Kannon continued. “In response, Katsu Niruku established Luna Station on the moon and Olympus Station on Mars, but these were primarily scientific outposts rather than permanent settlements. Our goal became finding suitable suns—solar analogs or twins—to support potential human colonization, considering factors like age, mass, and composition.”
Kannon paused as Ema prepared the fourth and final bowl of tea for him. She moved with the same precision as before, cleaning the rim of the tea jar with the silk cloth and placing the ladle on the open top of the copper kettle. He savored his second bowl of tea more than the first, making an audible slurp when he finished. He nodded to Ema, who bowed and began clearing the utensils.
“So, you’re saying that Katsu was one of those determined people who changed the course of human history,” Soto said.
“Indeed, he was,” Kannon affirmed. “When he claimed he could achieve a constant one-gee acceleration for an entire year with only a ton of deuterium, the scientific community scoffed and treated his paper as junk science. Until he proved it with a prototype that made the trip from Uranus to Mercury in a little over eleven hours.”
Kannon continued, “After the gravitic drive came the jump gates. Wormholes in space. That was our invention. But someone needs to build the jump gate before you can jump to it. It doesn’t replace the gravitic drive; it supplements it. We send generation ships to the stars. The colonists build a jump gate. Humanity jumps through and populates the world. That’s how it works. But we must send the generation ship in the first place, and for us to be successful, we need a program in place. We can’t have a 200-year adventure of hope. We must have a 200-year plan for success.”
Kannon walked to a corner of his office, his bare feet padding across the floor. A koshirae mounting of a daisho set of three curved blades stood on a marble pillar. The engraving on the stand depicted the Niruku family crest—a pair of night herons. The white handle wrap, made from the belly of a manta ray, crisscrossed with braided silk, left the distinct impression of white diamonds along each handle. The katana rested at the bottom of the stand, the shorter wakizashi in the middle, and the dagger-like tanto at the top. Each was positioned with the blade pointing to the right. Kannon reverently held the wakizashi horizontally across his body, palms up.
Soto observed Kannon’s graceful movements in silence. These were not merely display pieces.
“We provide humanity a service,” Kannon said, “A chance to live in relative peace compared to an overcrowded Earth. We deserve payment for those services.”
He slid the blade from the lacquered black saya, revealing just a few inches of it. “The point is, the transmigrant program is key to expanding to other planets.”
He drew the entire length of the sword, admiring it. “Do you know that a single, small bamboo peg holds this weapon together? It’s called a mekugi. It’s the least functional part of the sword, and nobody really thinks about it, but without it, the whole sword falls apart.”
Soto waited, knowing better than to interrupt.
Kannon turned to Soto, his eyes intense. “I will not risk the revenue associated with our program for one farmer on Tellarius who wants to expose the less savory aspects of the program for his own satisfaction. Every piece must be in its place, or it all falls apart.”
“I understand the importance,” Soto said, eagerness flickering in his gaze.
Kannon picked up the tanto, the smallest blade in the set—a small, curved dagger. He returned to his chair, his movements deliberate and controlled. Soto watched him handle the weapon, his own thoughts dark and calculating.
“Tell me about the transmigrant,” Kannon said.
“We recovered some personal logs, but most of the data is missing. His name is Ray Decker,” Soto reported. “Born in the latter half of the year minus fifteen of the Perseus expedition. He was the first transmigrant to set foot on the planet.”
“An auspicious event,” Kannon mused. “How did it go off the rails?”
Soto continued, “His mother was the chief genetics officer. His father was a systems engineer. He was a botanist, starting in hydroponics. The first anomaly we found was that his test scores were slightly below average for his skill set. Not abnormal, just outside one standard deviation, so it wouldn’t raise a flag. However, he’s slightly above average in overall scores and well above average for what we would consider opposing skills. Being above average hasn’t raised a flag either, but combined, they show a pattern.”
“In what way?” Kannon asked.
“We think it indicates that his education was less specialized and more generalized. It falls outside the program parameters.”
“How did we miss it?”
“It seems he took care not to attract attention. It’s almost as if he knew the program parameters and walked the line to avoid raising flags.”
“So, he intentionally misdirected the algorithm,” Kannon said. “Which means he knew what was going on. That makes him much more dangerous than we thought.”
Ema returned and knelt beside Kannon’s chair, head bowed, waiting for any further instructions.
“Any other anomalies?” Kannon asked.
“Nothing on record,” Soto said, “but we did interviews, and Decker did not want to be a farmer.”
“How could there be no records?”
“We believe his father expunged them. He would have had access.”
“Anything unusual about the conception and development in the lab?”
“Those records were expunged and are not retrievable,” Soto said.
“Then it’s possible he didn’t receive the correct template for a farmer,” Kannon speculated. “Which would implicate his mother. That points the finger at both parents.”
“In the logs, his mother indicates she might not have used a template at all, so I think you’re right, sir. One of our psychologists had a theory about Decker.”
“Tell me.”
“There’s a strong possibility that no template was applied and that he inherited all of his genetics directly from his parents.”
“So, he’d have enhanced genetics for things like genetic engineering and computer engineering?” Kannon asked.
“It’s more complex than that,” Soto explained. “He likely inherited genetic markers that were suppressed in his parents but were not programmatically suppressed in him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m no geneticist, but typically, undesired traits in a subject can be suppressed. If this suppression wasn’t applied to him, it’s possible some recessive traits became expressed in him.”
“I see,” Kannon said thoughtfully.
Soto continued, “This could explain why he performs slightly below average. He might have had to work harder than his peers to achieve the level of performance he has. Yet, those observing him might have mistaken his results for laziness. But the truth is, he probably worked harder.”
“This is why everything is supposed to be controlled,” Kannon said, a trace of frustration seeping into his tone.
Soto added, “Compared to a normal human, he will be genetically superior in every way. He’s going to excel at most things. He has spent the first half of his life believing he was inferior to his peers because of the lack of specialization, but now, exposed to normal humans, he’ll find he is not inferior at all. Our psychologist believes this realization will shock him, forcing him to reevaluate all of his assumptions.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“He’s going to have heightened senses—hearing, smell, taste, touch, sight—all superior to normal humans. He’ll be smarter, faster, stronger, more durable, more capable.”
“By how much?”
“It’s difficult to quantify, but it’s clear we’ve significantly underestimated him.”
“What else? Any enhancements?”
“We don’t believe any enhancements were applied. He didn’t have a template for enhanced empathy or pheromone production. He lacks the template for biogenic nanotech.”
“So, we’re dealing with an undetected conspiracy to go off the program. Have we addressed this for future missions?”
“We think the protocols for the last two generations—the group that will arrive on a planet—are too lax and need to be tightened. There seems to be a tradition of loosening the protocol to allow more freedom, supposedly to help them adapt better to living on the planet than their ancestors,” Soto said, his voice laced with disdain for those who dared deviate from strict protocols.
“It’s certainly a balancing act we need to perfect,” Kannon said. “You’re aware, Mr. Soto, that we’ve been leveraging a certain asset for the last several years to control the information the fleet receives about our operations?”
Soto glanced at Ema, then back to Kannon. “Yes, sir.”
“It’s been a useful tool, but I think it’s time to send a different message. Let’s give them the truth.”
Kannon picked up a silk napkin from the table. Moving with grace and speed, he stood, drew the tanto from its saya, and swiftly cut Ema’s throat. She gurgled as she stumbled, clutching at her neck in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood. Kannon gently guided her body away from the tea set, ensuring nothing but blood spilled. He spun her slightly as she dropped, and with a final, controlled movement, used his foot to lower her body to the floor in a morbid dance of death.
Soto’s eyes gleamed with a perverse delight as he watched Ema’s life ebb away. He had always admired the ruthless efficiency of Kannon’s methods.
Kannon looked down at Ema, her breath labored. “Ema, I tolerated you because you were dependable at making tea and passing only the information I wanted. But now it’s time to go.”
He then sat down and crossed his legs. Using the silk napkin, he meticulously cleaned the tanto blade, ignoring the dying maid’s convulsions or the growing pool of blood on the tile floor. He inspected the blade and, with a clean napkin, applied a few drops of mineral oil, carefully working it into the steel. Satisfied, he returned the blade to the black lacquer saya and placed it beside him.
It took another thirty seconds for Ema to stop struggling for life, during which neither man spoke.
Finally, Kannon said, “Tell me about the senator’s daughter.”
Soto’s expression shifted back to business, though his eyes still danced with the thrill of the recent violence.
“The girl?” Kannon prompted again.
“Oh, yes,” Soto said, gathering himself. “She worked in genetics—no previous trouble. Only two things stood out. She spent time showing interest in the Mannheimer project. In retrospect, it seems outside the scope of her duties.”
“I must confess, I don’t understand why she’d throw away her career. She had a promising future,” Kannon mused. “What was the other thing?”
“Her husband divorced her last year.”
“What was the cause?”
“The marriage didn’t survive a miscarriage,” Soto said, a twitch from the dead body momentarily distracting him.
“So, a vicarious child, perhaps?” Kannon speculated. “Hoshi, Decker, and Stewart are meeting with Ellen Lamond on Eden Station. A senator’s daughter meeting with special operations. How do Hoshi and Lamond know the senator? What have we missed? Has she been working with them for some time? Was her daughter involved?”
“I don’t know,” Soto confessed, his tone darkening with frustration. “As far as we know, neither Lamond nor Hoshi has ever met Senator Stewart.”
“Was Ms. Stewart possibly their go-between? Has she been spying for them while working for us?”
“It’s a possibility,” Soto said.
“How did we not realize we had a senator’s daughter working for us?”
“It’s a common name,” Soto said. “She never brought it up. Never talked about it to anyone in her department. Never bragged about it.”
“The whole thing doesn’t make sense,” Kannon said. “Why the meeting with Lamond? What’s special operations doing?”
“I’m not sure, but there’s a chance they’re interested in Pyrion.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Kannon said. He stood and stepped over the body, crossing his office to return the tanto to its normal position. Disregarding the body, he casually stepped over it again upon his return. He sat down, crossed his legs, and said, “Please tell me we have that situation in hand.”
Soto’s face lit up with a twisted satisfaction. “We’re working on getting the exact location from him.”
“Is he resisting?”
“Not for much longer,” Soto replied with conviction. “But I may need to handle it personally.”
“Given the fleet’s actions, you may need to increase the pressure. Employ other techniques if necessary. He takes from me, you take from him. I’m sure you understand,” Kannon said, his voice calm yet commanding. “What detail do we have about the artifact? Is it intact?”
“We don’t have that information yet,” Soto admitted. “I don’t believe he knows.”
“So,” Kannon said, thinking aloud, “Hoshi, Decker, and Stewart are all together at Eden Station, plotting a move to Pyrion.” He rested his chin on his hand, contemplating. “Recommendations?”
“Get to the Shinobi before they try to leave,” Soto suggested, his excitement barely contained.
“Lamond will just assign someone else,” Kannon countered. “Let’s make sure nobody goes. In fact, it might be time to dismantle that early retirement community hovering over Eden. Ultimately, having the fleet be independent of our corporation is a disadvantage for us. Congress needs to outsource fleet operations. I’ve been working on that. Let’s expedite the process.”
“Understood,” Soto said, nodding in agreement.
“I don’t want to go to Pyrion,” Kannon continued, “but circumstances have changed. I’ll consider moving to the Leviathan, though it pains me. It’s time to take matters into our own hands. Do you understand? We have many enemies in one place at one time. It’s time to put an end to this.”
“We might start a war,” Soto said, though his tone betrayed his eagerness for the chaos.
“Your job is to ensure it’s not traced back to us,” Kannon said, his voice hardening. “We’re not far removed from Eden’s race war. Use it.”
“Collateral damage?” Soto asked, almost licking his lips at the prospect.
“We’re talking about the very future of humanity. The survival of our species,” Kannon said, his voice cold and resolute. “Sacrifices must be made.”
“Understood,” Soto said, already relishing the thought. He stood, his mind buzzing with plans. As he opened the door, Kannon called after him, “Send in a cleaner, please.”
“Consider it done,” Soto replied, already thinking of the next steps as he left the office.
Kannon remained seated, his gaze lingering on the lifeless body of Ema. He allowed himself a rare moment of reflection, considering the intricacies of his carefully orchestrated plans. Every move, every sacrifice, was calculated. There could be no room for error, not at this stage. The path forward was clear, but it required absolute precision, a quality he knew Soto possessed.
Satisfied with the morning’s progress, Kannon rose from his chair, his bare feet silent on the polished floor. He walked to the window, looking out over the sprawling city of New Lebanon. The sky was a brilliant blue, the city bustling below, oblivious to the machinations happening so far above. Kannon allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. The future was unfolding exactly as he had planned. Nothing would be allowed to derail it—not Ray Decker, not the fleet, not even the whims of fate.
He turned away from the window, leaving the view behind as he returned to his desk. There was still much to be done, and time, as always, was of the essence.
Transmigrant is available at Amazon & Audible.