The sun rises on a day like any other in Roanapur. The early risers are oppressed by the humidity, but the sun is still a few hours away from turning the city of concrete and asphalt into a tropical hellscape. The streetwalkers and dealers are just now coming off the night shift, finding shelter in cafes and under the awnings of food stalls, desperate to fill their stomachs before they sleep out the heat of the day.
Rokuro Okajima watches them all through the gaps in his plastic blinds, his coffee cooling as the dawn settles. He has no business being up this early, but years as a dutiful salaryman in Japan have hardened his circadian rhythms into circadian laws. He is awake now only because sleep no longer will keep him company.
Rock takes a sip of lukewarm coffee and turns his eyes to the heavens. Overcast again today. It is early August, and the rainy season in Thailand will continue for a few more months. He looks at the calendar on the wall again, taking in the twenty-plus days still left in the month. 1998 has been a long year for him.
He goes to take another sip from his mug and finds that it is empty. Rock figures that he's been spaced out at his window for at least an hour by now, long enough for Benny or Dutch to get to the office. Revy wouldn't be up any time soon, but he could at least confirm if there was any work for the day.
On the streets below, he is well known. He walks past a dozen un-named faces and he shares with them momentary glances of respect. Yet when he passes one of Ronnie's collection men on the sidewalk, Rock gives him a wide berth. If it were Revy coming down the street, most toughs would tuck themselves into alleyways or turn around, but people like Rock are never feared so much as tolerated by gangsters.
The office is cold when Rock steps in, not more than twenty degrees centigrade and the air conditioning going full blast. Benny has the guts of a computer out on the coffee table, working close among the pieces.
"This all came in just this morning," Benny says, cradling a memory board with two hands. "I couldn't risk getting sweat on them during assembly."
Rock nods, rubbing his bare forearms. With the humidity and the air conditioning, their office now resembles a walk-in freezer. He starts a conversation to take his mind off the conditions. "What are those pieces you're putting in?" He still doesn't know much about computers.
"These are a couple of Voodoo2 twelve-megabyte video accelerators," Benny announces. "I'm putting them in SLI, these guys will outstrip anything else on the market."
"Oh? What are they used for?"
"Games, mostly." Benny flashes a wry smile. "But I've been spending my spare time trying to adapt them for other computation."
Rock nods again, not really understanding. He latches onto the only thing he can. "How much do they cost?"
"Depends on where you ask," Benny says, hooking a cable between the video accelerators. "These here were lifted from a freighter near Singapore, but they're still plenty expensive at their usual destinations in the West."
Benny pushes his glasses up and sweeps his bangs back in relief. The hard part of the assembly is over.
"What do those parts sell for in baht?" Rock asks.
"I haven't seen prices in baht, at least not anywhere in Roanapur. Makes sense, though. The cops won't even take their bribes in baht right now."
It wasn't news that Thailand's national currency had lost ground in town. The entirety of Asia had been in a financial crisis for a year, and Thailand had been one of the first casualties. The U.S dollar was now dominating the baht, and every operation in town was now exclusively taking greenbacks, even the noodle shops.
Benny tightens a few last screws and then hauls his computer over to the other side of the room to hook it up to a monitor. Rock watches him fiddle for a bit and then speaks.
"Any clue when Dutch will be here?"
Benny shrugs. "I let myself in this morning."
Rock shakes a cigarette loose from a soft-pack and holds his lighter to the tip. His second smoke of the day. An acrid cloud fills his lungs as he breathes in. Until Dutch showed up, it was impossible to tell what kind of day it would be. For him, a boring day will be worse than a bloody day.
Rock waits patiently, alternating between reading the newspaper and watching Benny test his computer. The next person through the door is Revy, who arrives at a quarter to one, somewhat early for her. She shivers in the cold air and her face lights up with fury.
"What the fuck is going on with the AC in here?" she says. "Is Rock bailing out the ice cream man?"
She stomps over to the heavy-duty air conditioner and cranks the temperature back to something more reasonable. Rock cannot tell if this is one of her bad days yet. Her face settles as she looks to him.
"What's got you down?" she asks.
Rock shrugs. Revy vaults over the couch and puts booted feet up on the table. Her arm drapes across the back of the couch, nearly touching him.
"C'mon, it's a Friday," she says. "Unless Dutch fucks us with a surprise job, we're getting the whole weekend off."
A weekend for what? All of Rock's hobbies are connected to his job. Outside of his games in the twilight, there is nothing that gives him a rush anymore. He has become addicted to a forbidden pleasure of his own beyond the drugs and cheap sex that were abundant in Roanapur. The symptoms of withdrawal are undeniable. He knows he will not be happy with a day off.
He does not tell any of this to Revy, and her eyes become serious. "Hey, seriously. Cut the quiet act out, Rock. You're gonna ruin my mood."
He looks down at his pack of cigarettes. Emptied. He'd burned them all away just waiting in the office.
Benny looks away from the computer. "He was talking more this morning."
"He's hibernating because you had the AC set to 'Arctic Fucking Pole' this whole time."
Benny turns back to his computer. This is not his fight.
"I'm fine," Rock hears himself say. "There's just a lot to think about."
"Think about what? Town's dead," Revy says. "The perv tourists won't show up for months and the streets are empty. Whatever bullshit is happening with the economy means Rowan's girls can't even turn tricks with the locals. I bet there's plenty of street dealers going hungry too."
"That's what I mean," he says. "Until the cool season comes in and the baht is worth more, Roanapur will keep drying up. It's a lot to think about."
Something in Rock's voice makes Benny turn his chair around to face them.
"The town might have iterations, but it isn't going to die over a bad summer," Benny says, his face neutral. "That's the way this works. Just wait until November, when the sex tourists and the expats start up again."
"Iterations, huh?" Rock says, looking up at the tiled ceiling. "Like a machine, then, it'll all come around again. Just one more rev of the engine."
His voice is distant. In his mind's eye Rock imagines the city of Roanapur like an engine, fueled by the sins of the world. But where did all of its power come from? And where did it go?
He is pulled out of his thoughts when Revy pounces onto him in an attack. Her weight is a familiar imposition, but she is hostile now, holding his head against the back of the sofa, using her fingers to keep his eyelids from closing. Her eyes are focused and angry as they inspect him, but something in her also resembles fear.
"Are you on something?" she asks, examining his pupils and the whites of his eyes. Rock looks at her calmly and does not fight. "God fucking dammit, Rock, if you've turned junkie-"
Benny tries to calm Revy from a safe distance. His pleas go unanswered as Revy interrogates Rock.
"Is it H?" she asks. "Who's selling you that shit?"
Dutch chooses that moment to enter the office, standing silently in the doorway and watching the scene play out from behind his sunglasses. Once they all notice their boss, his presence stops them in their tracks. He observes them coolly.
"Hell is other people, huh?" Dutch crosses his arms.
Revy's anger dissipates in an instant. She gets off of Rock, and he misses the warmth.
Dutch checks his watch. "I hate to break up the company theatre rehearsal, but we've got a job."
"Shit, this late in the day?" Revy's mood drops further. "At least tell me we're going to be back by tomorrow."
"No luck," Dutch says. "We're going up the Straits of Malacca, by way of Singapore."
Revy does the math on her fingers. "Christ, we're going to be lucky if we get back before Monday. What's the deal?"
"The deal is that we're making one-hundred large on a simple loop route." Dutch crosses his arms. "And we're getting a thousand more for each hour we shave off the trip. That's big money in our pockets, the kind that's worth missing Ladies Night at the Yellow Flag." Dutch props open the door with his boot, gesturing for the rest to follow him.
The promise of money gets the crew on their feet. Benny hoists his computer up under his shoulder and Rock considers him lucky for his ability to carry his hobby with him. The journey will take two-and-a-half days, including fueling. No matter how optimized their boat was for long-haul travel, it would be a long distance to head west out of the Gulf of Thailand and around Singapore. Rock prepares himself to face a weekend with nothing to do.
The streets are nearly deserted as Benny drives them down to the dock, and all hands are on deck to get them out of the moorings. They get out of port with hours left before sunset. Dutch sets the throttle high and the boat surges through the water.
"Thirty knots?" Rock asks, looking at their speed over Dutch's shoulder.
"This job is about getting there fast," Dutch says. "We'll see how long the gasoline holds, but our fuel costs are being covered by the client."
"How generous." Rock is already suspicious of the job. He turns to leave, and Dutch chooses that moment to speak.
"Rock." His voice is calm and controlled. "I don't know what was going on between you and Revy today. I don't want to find out, either. Keep the drama under control."
"Sure," Rock says. Dutch lets him go.
He goes to the aft turret because he knows Revy will be there. She is sitting on its rim, looking into the setting sun. He climbs the ladder up to take the opposite side. The breeze is strong, and he can only light his cigarette by cupping both hands and tucking his chin down. He offers the pack to Revy and she takes one before handing it back to him.
"Sorry," he says. It is not often that he apologizes to her. That is what she likes about him.
"Forget it," Revy says.
The boat cruises for a few minutes while he sits still waiting for her next words. He knows her well enough to feel the hesitation.
"I've seen people get all quiet like that before," Revy says. "Usually it means they're gonna drop out of their crew and start chasing the dragon full-time."
Drug habits were common in Roanapur. Among the higher levels of a criminal organization, addiction could be grounds for execution, but plenty of low-level associates gave themselves over to the city's cheap and plentiful supply of chemical delight. What else was there to do?
"I'm not on drugs," Rock says.
"Well, something is fucking you up. This is worse than Tokyo."
Rock does not want to remember any of things that happened on their visit to Japan, but the memories still enter his mind. He bites his filter in pain as she watches him.
"Is 'something' doing this?" Rock wonders aloud. "Or maybe-"
She finishes his thought. "-Maybe it's the 'nothing' that's giving you shit?"
Rock is quiet, but Revy is sympathetic this time. She glances at him before looking back to the darkening horizon.
"You're in a dangerous place, Rock." She ashes her cig and looks at the cherry smoldering at its end. "You only get one life. Don't waste it waiting for the next big thing to come and fuck you up."
He sees her watching it burn ever closer to the filter. The longer his eyes lay on her, the more uncomfortable she gets.
"Fuckin' Christ, I've still got a hangover. I'm gonna nap." She leaps from the turret and out of his sight. Then her voice echoes from below. "Come and get me at midnight."
Rock sits in the turret for a long while, unable to move. The sun dips below the Earth and still he stays in place. The sea and the sky melt into a blur of uncaring change. Night arrives. The moon is nearly full and the sky is clear enough that everything is lit up. If he focuses far enough out at sea, he can see the gentle white of cresting waves. A blinking red light passes out by the horizon, some other small ship passing in the distant night.
"There you are," Benny says, from below deck. "I didn't see you around inside."
Rock checks his watch. He has spent hours in the turret without truly realizing it. His rear hurts and once again a new pack of cigarettes was nearly depleted from his chainsmoking. What was happening to him?
"Hey," Rock's reply is unenthusiastic. Benny pretends not to notice.
"When Revy goes on watch, can you tell her the radar is set for proximity alert?" He's being too cautious. The crew makes overnight journeys all the time, and the routine is nothing new.
By the time Rock can answer, Benny has already headed to his bunk. Rock gets up from his position in the turret, legs filling with pins and needles as he takes the ladder to the deck slowly, one rung at a time. He goes to wake Revy, as he has many times before. She stretches and rubs the sleep from her eyes, then looks at his silhouette, the shoulders slumped and head lowered.
"Get some sleep."
Rock lies down on the sleeping bag. It is still warm and smells like her. It is the only place for him now. Dutch sleeps in the pilot's chair and Benny has the only mattress set up in the dayroom of the ship. Sleep does not come to Rock no matter how tightly he closes his eyes.
He lies there in Revy's bedding, unable to truly rest. The night passes like that for him, reminded of all the other times he has laid awake like this. It had happened in Japan as Rokurou and now it was happening in Roanapur as Rock- he finds he can no longer enjoy life. Once he sees the sunrise through its faint glow in the hall, Rock sits up mechanically and puts his shoes back on, tightening his tie by reflex alone. He stops by the galley for coffee, the water pump second nature to him too in the gloom. He drinks one cup of instant coffee and pours another for Revy.
Dutch is dozing with his feet up as Rock passes through. He and Benny trade off shifts in a weird rhythm known only to themselves, but the lookouts trade off in equal intervals, which lets Rock find Revy in the fore turret. She reaches her tattooed arm down over the edge and Rock hands her the coffee cup.
"You look like shit," she says.
Rock lights up his first cigarette of the new day. He had laid completely still through the sleepless night, letting the craving build up in him. Tobacco smoke is more valuable than fresh air for the moment. He had stirred only to chase his addictions.
"Did you see anything on the street when you were coming in yesterday?" Rock asks. He knows Revy likes to take the long way to the office to get a feel for what was going on.
At first she stares at him, but Revy ends up obliging him.
"Streets are quiet, I guess," she says. "The Colombians are hanging on by a thread because their buddies back home keep getting busted. The market for coke has been fucked for years cause dealers in the States are mostly buying low purity shit to make crack."
Back in the normal world, Rokuro Okajima had been a materials procurement specialist and he finds it easy to adapt knowledge of international supply chains to the drug market. If he had to put it in purely economic terms, he would say that a glut of coca paste in South America was keeping prices low even as the market continued to expand. The 'nose candy' era of powdered cocaine was responsible for an emergent market in the '70s, but the late '80s marked a new era: the crack cocaine epidemic.
Dealers found it more profitable to do some home chemistry and create a smokable 'rock' out of cocaine. They could sell rock at a greater volume than powder. In the words of his schooling: the supply of coca paste had grown to be greater than demand, and the American market responded by introducing a new value-added product.
It seems like a tiny difference, but the popularity has caused a massive change in Roanapur. Long distance Pacific trading made way less money than short-distance routes in the Atlantic, reversing the direction of the flow.
"I wonder who'll pick up the Colombians' territory."
"Fuck if I know," Revy says. "Maybe those Nuevo Laredo cartel guys. They have the border route into America."
It made sense to Rock. Colombian groups were being taken down, and Mexican cartels seemed to be taking their place. The border cartels had a better reason to be in Roanapur, as they sourced illicit goods and people to be trafficked across the sea and then up through the land border into North America. With the Colombians becoming disorganized and reliant on Mexican smuggling routes, it was clear to see who had a future in the city.
"So what if the Colombians are done in Roanapur? There's always more gangs," Revy says. "Don't get your hopes up."
"Who said anything about hope?" Rock laughs silently and wanders off.
Dutch wakes up a while later and announces that they have enough gas to go full speed to the next refuel point. Benny takes his position in the comms room and Rock braces himself by Dutch. The throttle is set near maximum and all three engines in the rear of the boat roar with power as they are sent skimming over the surface.
Rock is compelled to share his theory with Dutch, but waits until they have gotten used to the rocking boat. He has to yell to be heard over the noise. "Revy thinks Nuevo Laredo is going to take the Colombian's territory."
Dutch looks at him, sunglasses keeping his face unreadable. "Revy says a lot of things. Hotel Moscow and the Triad make territory decisions. If the Mexicans want land, they'll have to cough the cash up to them."
Rock knows Dutch favors stability above all else. Pessimism and patience are the lenses through which he views the world.
"Hotel Moscow and the Triad don't have the manpower to hold any more of the city than they have now," Rock says. "Hong Kong is still adapting to Chinese rule and the Russians are about to have another financial crash."
Dutch shakes his head. "This kind of analysis was never in your job description, Rock. Our involvement in city business should start and end at the port."
"I think what's happening in the city is big enough to affect us," Rock says. "It could change in a year or two."
"We'll deal with it then," Dutch says. "Until then, our noses are going to stay clean, okay? If something goes tits-up, I don't want the Lagoon Company to be seen anywhere near it."
Rock raises his hands in surrender. "Sure, Dutch. No heroics from me."
They refuel near the Thai-Malaysian border, having crossed all the way across the bay. Rock buys more cigarettes and an English newspaper off of a kid. The exchange is done without words while hundreds of gallons of gasoline fill their tank.
"If we're picking our passengers up in Kuala Lumpur and taking them back to Roanapur, why don't they just drive up the peninsula and save both of us the time?" Revy asks. "They could take a fucking tuk-tuk and get there quicker than by boat."
"Maybe they want a nice cruise," Benny says.
Rock does not hear them. He is staring at the newspaper in his hands. The headline jumps out at him from the page.
BOMBS RIP APART TWO US EMBASSIES IN AFRICA; SCORES KILLED
For Rock, the headline and their gig form an instinctual connection. They were getting paid an absurd amount of money to do a rush job. They were about to smuggle someone who didn't want to be documented crossing a border. Rock shows Dutch the paper and he snatches it from his hands. He speed-reads the article, tossing unrelated sections of the newspaper to the deck. His face is grim as he scans the page.
"Terrorists set off bombs at U.S embassies in Kenya and Tanzania, mostly killing Africans," Dutch summarizes. "Let me remind you all that the Lagoon Company is not in the business of smuggling terrorists. They don't pay enough."
They have already been informed that their client is on the run for financial crimes.
"The way terrorists work nowadays, those bombers could be anyone," Benny says. He's leaning against the cabin, nonchalant.
"Our job came from a reliable contractor back in Roanapur," Dutch says.
That is the end of the discussion. No one will second-guess Dutch this early in a job. With all that, though, the boat is traveling even faster once they are done refueling. Something has him hurrying, and Rock wonders if the promise of a bonus is the only thing on his mind.
Rock looks over the article again and notes that the journalists are already able to pin the blame on someone: a man named Osama bin Laden. The family name is well known to Rock; the Saudi Binladin Group is the largest construction firm in Saudi Arabia and has extremely close relations with Saudi royalty. They were an important company for Rock to know at his old job, but the bin Laden family was so large that he had never been able to commit the entire roster to memory. All he knows is that 'Osama bin Laden' did not have a place in the family business the last time he checked.
He guesses the man was just some Saudi scion who had made a left turn from a life of debauched luxury into terrorism. Rock made a mental note to do more research once they docked back in Roanapur. Southeast Asia was not devoid of radical religious movements, and it was impossible to predict when knowledge would be useful.
Dutch keeps the pace up until they reach Singapore, where they fill up on av-gas at a dock just by the airport. Rock watches a plane land, coming in close enough over the boat that he can tell there are faces in the windows. Revy gives the finger to the hundreds of passengers onboard and cackles. Of course, it is impossible to make out a single extended middle finger from that high in the air, but to her, the most important part was that she had done it.
Rock wishes he could live like that- in the moment, in himself. But even now, his mind goes back to Roanapur. And from there it goes onwards towards its end.