CHAPTER ONE

“How many of you have been to Mekayi?”

Susan stood at the head of the table in a simple, saffron dress and a choker of maroon beads. The Dayne Pacific Construction logo was on the screen behind her in red, black, and blue. She waved a remote control back and forth, her dark eyes wide in anticipation.

“Anyone?”

Georgie glanced around at her teammates seated around the table. They were clearly confused.

“Collurtia,” she said to be helpful. She felt an involuntary grimace and shrugged at Susan.

To Georgie’s relief, Susan nodded and pointed at her.

“Our anthropologist has made my point. If any of you had been to Mekayi, you’d know that they don’t call themselves Collurtia any more. It was a name imposed on them by Spanish explorers.”

Georgie won some resentful glares for that.

“Ms. Henshall. Have you been to Mekayi?”

Georgie sighed. “I have not. I studied the minority Ayí language for State. I’m studying the majority—”

“The State Department refuses to change the official name of the country to Mekayi, correct?”

Georgie nodded. “The Brits are still grouchy about independence. Collur— Mekayi refused a Commonwealth status compromise. State doesn’t want to upset the UK.”

“You’re studying the majority language Qhyint, now,” Susan finished her earlier thought. Her dark braid slipped from her shoulder and fell behind her.

Georgie nodded. More resentful glares. She felt like Susan was secretly setting her up as the villain on the team. The know-it-all.

“That’s good, Ms. Henshall. My understanding is that the Brits and our own State Department still communicate with Mekayi in English. Stubbornness.”

She smiled warmly and set the remote on the table. Very gently. Georgie could see she was trying to soften what she’d started as a very tense briefing. Good cop, bad cop.

“Don’t worry,” Susan said. “Almost all of the Mekayi speak English. If you stay out of the tribal regions, you won’t have any problem communicating.”

Georgie’s teammates relaxed at that. Which meant Susan’s gambit worked. She’d created tension, self-doubt, and then had released it. She’d won them over. She was clearly very good at managing people. But, by gauging the team’s reaction, she’d also confirmed that most of them knew very little about Collurtia.

Georgie bit her lip. Mekayi. Mekayi, not Collurtia.

“Are there guides in the tribal regions who speak English?”

All eyes were on Vince, the civil engineer. On the team to inspect the plans and what little had already been built. He leaned back in his chair, brushed black curls from his forehead, and looked curious with a practiced calm.

“None of the planned rail lines go through tribal regions,” Susan said. “But, you read the job competition. You want to visit the tribal regions anyway?”

He nodded. “I hear they have good hunting there.”

Susan grinned and grabbed the remote.

“So, you have some information on Mekayi beyond what you learned in school and on TV. You know there are animals there that will hunt you back?”

“Sure,” Vince said. “Including the tribes.”

He turned to Georgie. “You speak their language?”

She shook her head. “I know Ayí, a Polynesian language spoken mostly on the southern shores. The upland tribes speak dialects of Qhyint.”

His face twisted in disappointment. “That doesn’t do anyone any good.”

Someone muttered: “Oof.” Georgie wasn’t sure who.

“Don’t worry, Vince,” Susan said. “There are guides.”

He shared a victorious grin with his teammates.

“For the tourists,” she added. There was some chuckling, which erased Vince’s grin.

Susan clicked the remote to replace the DPC logo with a rough map of Mekayi. It said Collurtia at the bottom.

“Stubbornness,” she said, shaking her head. The braid danced along the back of her saffron blazer.

“We,” said Dale. He glanced sheepishly around the table and ran a hand over his dark, shaven head. He found the courage to look up at Susan.

“We have a better map, emailed from DPC. With the rough routes and destinations.” He grinned nervously, then frowned. “It says Mekayi.”

Susan nodded.

“In your digital project package. I’m glad you’ve read it. This,” she pointed at the map on the screen, “is from the hard-copy packet you have in front of you.”

All of Georgie’s teammates glanced at the bulging manila envelopes on the table. A couple of them—their editor Joel and their scheduler Anna Mia—reached for the envelopes and started opening them. Susan nodded at the rest of them to go ahead. The quiet hum of the air conditioning was noisily overwhelmed by adhesive being torn.

“In it you will find a book, a primer on Collurtia.” She gave Georgie a sidelong grin.

“Also, some print-out cultural dossiers, one of them from the State Department.” She winked at Georgie. Maybe she wasn’t to be the villain after all.

“Is there something in here,” Dale said, shuffling through the stack of stapled papers. He slid the book away across the table. “Is there something in here about the colors?”

“The color symbology?” Georgie asked. She winced at her hand’s impulse to reach out for his elbow. He seemed very nervous.

“You’re worried about assigning colors to rail lines,” Susan said, “as systems engineer?”

Georgie sighed and let her hand do what it wanted to do. Dale looked at her, his brows scrunching at the physical contact.

“Colors are tricky,” she said to Dale, noting Susan’s attention. “Too much symbolism. And all the cultural sensitivities about where to put the stations and what to name them. I’ll help you.”

Dale grinned and slapped her hand twice with his.

“That would be great!” he said. “Then, I can stick to schedules and automation coding.”

“Ms. Henshall brings us to my point.” Susan waved the remote toward Vince, who looked around the table and frowned. “As does Mr. Santiago. Understanding Mekayi is key to our mission. Not understanding Mekayi is why you are here.”

“Not understanding Mekayi,” Vince shrugged, brows lowered skeptically. “You said they speak English. And, if not, there are guides.”

“If not,” Susan said, “is my point. What if not?”

“Huh?” he said.

“It’s more than just talking, Mr. Santiago.” She waved the remote around the table. “In your packets is a book called What If Not?”

Dale sheepishly reached out to drag the book back. Georgie picked hers up and read the full title. What If Not? The Culture and History of Collurtia. She flipped to the first page of text.

Collurtia is a microcontinent (or perhaps a large island) in the North Pacific, halfway between the Aleutian and Hawaiian islands. Collurtia has been an independent republic since 1976. The country includes a smaller island to the north, commonly known as Pritaco (Prîtako), which shares a culture and a long, prehistoric relationship with the Collurtian mainland.

Collurtia has more land area than the two largest contiguous American states, California and Texas…

′Nice audience service,′ Georgie thought. The book was clearly geared toward US students. Give them references they can understand.

Even so, it was very basic. She’d studied Collurtia—Mekayi!—in college. She’d attended classified briefing in the State Department. Georgie found this “primer” insulting.

She looked up at Susan, who was appraising her with an unnerving smirk. Waiting for her to object? Maybe she did intend Georgie to be the villain. The enviable cultural expert on a team full of newbies.

She lifted the book and shook it at Susan.

“What’s in here that I can’t brief my teammates on?”

Susan nodded condescendingly. “As anthropologist.”

Georgie realized she’d partially stood from her chair. She settled her ass back into it.

“Yes,” she said. She waved the book around. “I mean, this. This is a very simple introduction.”

“True,” Susan said.

Georgie looked to the papers stapled in front of her. “These seem more advanced. A language primer. Cultural briefings. I could work with these.”

Susan set the remote on the table. Not gently.

“But, do you know What If Not?”

Georgie stared at the cover of the book. The title confused her. She felt her shoulders slump. She shook her head.

Susan waved around the table. The team’s eyes followed her hand.

“Stubbornness!” she said. “What if the Brits had not been so stubborn about accommodating Mekayi during negotiations?”

Georgie could see that Susan commanded the room. She had seeded that word, stubbornness, and now was using it to bring home her point.

“What if the State Department had not been stubborn about letting them call themselves whatever they wanted? What if the Dayne Pacific Construction executives…”

She let the sentence hang. She was about to criticize their bosses. Her bosses. All eyes, and ears, were on her. Georgie felt her paranoia giving way to admiration. Susan knew how to play a room.

Susan set both hands on the table.

“What if they had not quarreled with the Mekayi Parliament about the terms and conditions of our contract?”

Georgie pointed the book at her.

“All that’s in here?”

Susan shrugged and scooped up the remote. With a click, the Qhyint word HAFIŠUK appeared on the screen in all-caps.

“When the stubbornness of the DPC executives in accommodating the Mekayi Parliament’s cultural concerns reached a standstill, the Parliament called for hafišuk to settle the matter.”

“Halfish Oak,” said Vince.

“Close,” Georgie said.

Vince grinned and Susan nodded.

“A hafiš,” Susan said, “is an extraordinary outsider. It’s a Qhyint tradition, part of their ancient feudal law. When a disagreement starts to escalate to open conflict, three hafišuk are called in to settle the matter. Originally, to stave off war. These days, to stave off a prolonged pissing contest in court.”

The team chuckled at that.

“Three,” Georgie said. She frowned as Susan pointed at her.

“Three hafišuk,” she said. “You, Vince, and Dale. But the rest of us are on the team via negotiations. Finally, the execs wised up. Three plus three.”

Joel and Anna Mia smiled. They had been elevated above helper status to align with Susan.

“The cultural concerns,” Dale said.

Susan pointed at him. “Exactly. Which is why I gave you these packets.”

“But,” Vince said, “we work for DPC, not Collurtia.”

Susan nodded. “Nominally. As exceptional outsiders. But, our job is to smooth out the differences. The company put out the competition, you all applied, and the Parliament read your résumés and agreed that you qualified as hafišuk.”

Georgie scanned the room. There was a lot of nodding at this new sense of purpose.

“But,” she said, “what about What Is Not?”

Susan pointed at the book in Georgie’s hand.

“That,” she said, “is a very simplistic primer. Basically what you’d give to high school students or undergrads. But, it contains one element that even the most detailed description of Mekayi politics usually fails to address.”

She slapped the remote on the table. Everyone sat back on their seats.

“What if the Parliament had not elevated you as hafišuk?”

Georgie’s teammates glanced back and forth at each other.

“Where would you be?” Susan asked. “What would you be doing? Consider that.”

“I’d be sitting on my ass,” Vince said. “Collecting money from the light rail system I designed.”

“Your senior project in college,” Susan winked at him. “I know your résumé. I guess you’d be roaming around hunting bison in your free time.”

Vince seemed oddly disappointed. “Probably. Just fucking around.”

Dale sighed. “I’d be doing the same. Just cashing in on the automation I did for the New York subway.”

“I’d just be editing thank-you notes for some federal big wig,” said Joel.

“And, I’d be scheduling his meetings,” said Anna Mia.

Georgie felt her shoulders sag. Who was she, Georgia Henshall? Daughter of more successful parents, a US naval captain and a Singaporean businesswoman. Top honors at Chicago, sure. A few published papers, but nothing practical. Nothing to compete with Vince or Dale.

How was she of exceptional potential? How was she hafiš? Georgie had no idea, but the Parliament had signed off on her. And, as an anthropologist, she had to confess that maybe they knew something she didn’t.

“What If Not,” Susan said, “is an ancient Qhyint riddle. A humbling meditation.”

Georgie had never heard of this, in all of her obsessive study of Qhyint culture since she learned of the competition.

“Like a Zen koan?” Georgie said.

“Yes,” Susan said. “This admittedly crappy book contains a lot of very basic information on Mekayi.”

She reached across the table to take Georgie’s copy. Georgie surrendered it. Susan held it out.

“This book also tells of the What If Not? riddle. To select something very important and consider what if it had not happened. What if it had not existed.”

The room was riveted. Susan clicked the remote to reveal a world map with Mekayi outlined in saffron.

“What if the British had not stubbornly insisted on imposing their colonial culture, and had instead sought to accommodate? What if the United States had not sided with their British allies in this stubbornness? What if the Dayne Pacific executives had not stubbornly dismissed the Mekayi Parliament’s concerns? What if the Parliament had re-competed the contract instead of calling for hafišuk?”

“Maybe the Chinese or the Saudis would be doing this,” Vince said.

“There you go,” Susan said. “To understand Mekayi, you must understand What If Not.”

She handed the book back to Georgie.

“My father was an American diplomat,” Susan said, “as yours was an American naval officer. But, my mother was Qhyin. She taught me Qhyint and made sure I knew the culture, even though I grew up in San Francisco.”

Now, the dark eyes and dark hair, the single braid, made sense to Georgie. The saffron dress and maroon beads, echoing the Mekayi flag. Susan had been chosen to lead the team because she knew the culture of the Qhyintuk.

“And you,” Susan said with a grin, “are probably the only person here who is actually going to read this book.”

The team laughed.

“I’ll read it,” Dale said.

Vince rolled his eyes.

“Me too,” said Joel. “I’ll need to know how to edit our stuff for local sensibilities.”

Anna Mia nodded. “And, maybe there’s some stuff in here about timing? Scheduling?”

“There is,” Susan said.

“Morning is better,” Georgie said.

“I’ll read it,” Anna Mia said.

Georgie sighed. Was she replaced by a book?

“Alright then,” Susan said. She clicked the remote and the screen went black. “Your plane leaves at 8 a.m. tomorrow. Barring any weather, you should all be in Mekayi tomorrow evening, sipping coconelle coladas.”

She turned to Vince.

“And planning your hunting excursions.”

The team laughed at that, to Vince’s obvious chagrin. Georgie just scooped up her packet and stood up.