The Supernova Era

by Cixin Liu

  “One last question, Ms. Zheng. . . . ​Ah, you go first.”

  “What I’d like to say is that if you think their little country is the most successful, then it’s due to collective effort. There may be a few standout kids in the class, but their biggest advantage is their collective strength. They might not amount to anything if you divide them up.”

  “That’s just the question I wanted to ask. I’ve gotten the same feeling, and it’s a very important point. My greatest regret, Ms. Zheng, is that my son was never your student.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Twelve. One of the lucky ones.”

  It was several days later that she found out what his words meant. The Rose Nebula was now rising over the eastern horizon, its blue light rendering the valley in sharp relief.

  “It’s gotten bigger. And the floral shape has changed,” she said.

  “It’ll continue to grow for the next few decades. Astronomers predict that at its largest it will occupy a fifth of the sky, and will be as bright as an overcast day. Night will disappear.”

  “My god. What will that be like?”

  “I’d really like to know, too. Take a look at this,” Zhang Lin said, pointing to a nearby scholar tree whose flower-laden branches were visible in the nebula light.

  “It shouldn’t be blooming this time of year. The past few days I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff with the hillside vegetation. Lots of blooming flowers, in all sorts of strange shapes.”

  “We’re sequestered from the outside world here so we haven’t seen the news for a few days, but I’ve heard that bizarre fruits and vegetables have been turning up in the marketplace, like grapes as big as apples.”

  From the valley came a burst of gunfire.

  “It’s from Sunland!” Zheng Chen shouted in alarm.

  “No,” Zhang Lin said after a moment, “it’s farther upstream. Caterpillaria is attacking the Galactic Republic.”

  The gunshots grew thicker, and they could see muzzle flashes in an area of the valley.

  “Do you really intend to let things go on like this? I don’t think I can take it,” Zheng Chen said in a trembling voice.

  “The entirety of human history is war. There are figures showing that in five thousand years of civilization, there’s been a total of just one hundred and seven years of genuine peacetime. Even as we speak humanity is at war. But doesn’t life still go on?”

  “But they’re only children!”

  “Not for long.”

  *

  That afternoon, Caterpillaria agreed to the Galactic Republic’s demand to exchange the best parcel of its untilled land for drinking water, but proposed holding a land-handover ceremony to which each side would dispatch an honor guard of twenty children. The Galactic Republic agreed. As leaders for both sides and their honor guards were carrying out the ceremony, a dozen Caterpillaria soldiers lying in ambush staged a surprise attack on the Galactic Republic honor guard, and at the same time the Caterpillaria honor guard also opened fire, taking out all twenty guard members with their electric charges. They came to ten minutes later and discovered they were prisoners and their territory had fallen into enemy hands, for while they were unconscious, the Caterpillaria army had assaulted the Galactic Republic. Their guns had all been sent off with the honor guard, and their remaining six boys and twenty-odd girls were ill-equipped for even an unarmed fight.

  As soon as Caterpillaria merged with the Galactic Republic, it demanded land from the Four Country Alliance. Unprepared to launch a military attack, it played the water card. The downstream countries didn’t have much left, and Caterpillaria planned to squeeze the Four Country Alliance until they ran out of water.

  Now Specs’s vast store of knowledge found an application in a method he proposed. Tiny holes were punctured all across the bottom of five washbasins, which were then filled with layers of stones, decreasing in diameter top to bottom, to form a water filter. Lü Gang suggested a second method: Smashing grasses and leaves into a paste and stirring it into the water would leave the water clean once it settled. He said he’d learned the technique from his father during outdoor training. Water subjected to these two methods was sent to the directorate for testing, and it turned out to be drinkable. The Four Country Alliance now had access to so much water it could even export its surplus to Caterpillaria.

  And so Caterpillaria started planning an attack on the alliance. Its children had no interest in agriculture and cared only for territorial expansion. But they soon discovered there was no need for this, either.

  From upstream came the news that the Nebula Empire, at the westernmost edge of the valley, had absorbed thirteen other countries to form a superstate with an army four hundred strong that was now marching downstream on a mission to unite the valley. In the face of such a powerful enemy, the resolve Caterpillaria’s leaders had shown toward the conquest of the Galactic Republic evaporated. They panicked, and without a plan their country collapsed into chaos and ultimately disbanded. Some of the children fled upstream to the Nebula Empire, but most went to the directorate to be sent home. In the Four Country Alliance, Giant Land, Blue Flower Land, and Emailand dissolved, and most of their children also exited the game apart from a minority that joined their ally, leaving Sunland to face a powerful enemy alone.

  All citizens of Sunland were determined to defend it to the end. Over the past two weeks they had grown fond of the tiny country into which they’d poured their sweat, and this emotion gave them spiritual strength that amazed the adults in the directorate.

  Lü Gang drew up a battle plan: Sunland’s children would knock down all the tents on the broad floodplain and put in two defensive lines on the eastern and western sides, formed from various materials. On the western side, the first front the enemy troops would reach, only ten children would be stationed. Lü Gang instructed them, “When you’ve finished the first volley, shout ‘We’re out of ammo!’ and then run back.”

  The defensive lines had just been completed when the army of the Nebula Empire came surging along the valley floor, and soon it covered the entire territory of the former Galactic Republic and Caterpillaria. A boy shouted through a loudspeaker, “Hey, Sunland kids! The Nebula Empire has united the valley. Do you losers still want to play? Surrender! Have some dignity!”

  The challenge was met with silence. And so the Nebula Empire began its assault. The children on Sunland’s front defense line opened fire, and the invading army hit the ground immediately and returned fire. Shots from Sunland’s side petered out, and then a kid shouted, “We’re out of ammo! Run!,” and all the kids on the line beat a fast retreat.

  “They’re out of ammo! Charge!” The Nebula Empire army surged forward with a roar, but when they were halfway across the floodplain, the guns of Sunland’s second defensive line let loose. The invaders were caught totally unaware and huge numbers fell. Those behind them turned and ran. The first assault was beaten back.

  When the shocks wore off and the kids crawled to their feet, the Nebula Empire organized a second attack. This time, Sunland was actually running low on ammo. As they watched an imperial force ten times their size advance carefully along the river toward them, a kid exclaimed, “God, they’ve even got helicopters!”

  A helicopter was approaching over the hill, and when it stopped and hovered over the battlefield, an adult’s voice over a loudspeaker said, “Children! Hold your fire! The game is over!”

  THE STATE

  It had just turned dark when three helicopters carrying fifty-four children took flight toward the city. Eight of the children on board, including Huahua, Specs, Xiaomeng, and Lü Gang, were from Zheng Chen’s class, and they were accompanied by Zheng Chen and four other teachers.

  They landed in front of a plain 1950s-style building whose lights were blazing. Zhang Lin and the leader of the valley-game directorate led the fifty-four children through the main gate and down a long corridor, at the end of which stood a large leather-covered door with a gleaming brass handle. Wh
en the children neared, two guards eased it open and they entered a huge hall, one that had witnessed so many historic events whose shadows even now seemed to dance between the columns.

  There were three people in the hall: the president of the country, premier of the State Council, and chief of staff of the army. They seemed to have been there a while, and were talking in low voices when the door opened and they turned to look at the children.

  The two leaders went on ahead to make a brief, whispered report to the president and premier.

  “Hello, children!” the president said. “This is the last time I’ll treat you as children. History requires that you grow from thirteen to thirty over the next ten minutes. The premier will outline the situation for you now.”

  The premier said, “As you’re all aware, a month ago there was a supernova in the vicinity of Earth. You’re all familiar with the details so I won’t go into them. Instead, I’ll tell you some things you don’t know. After the supernova, health agencies the world over studied its effects on humans. We’ve received reports from authoritative medical institutions on all continents that match the conclusions of our own domestic institutions: namely, the supernova’s high-energy radiation destroys chromosomes in human cells. This radiation has a penetrative power never seen before. No one was unaffected, even if they were indoors or down a mine shaft. But in one population group, chromosomes have the ability to repair themselves when damaged, ninety-seven percent in thirteen-year-olds, and one hundred percent in those aged twelve and under. Damage suffered by everyone else is irreversible. They’ll survive only for another ten months to a year at most. Visible light from the supernova lasted for a little over an hour, but the invisible radiation continued for an entire week—that’s when the sky was filled with aurora borealis. The Earth completed seven revolutions during that time, so the whole world was affected identically.”

  The premier spoke with a calm solemnity, as if discussing something more ordinary. The children listened numbly for a while as his words sank into their minds. For a long time it didn’t make sense, and then all of a sudden it did.

  Decades later, when the second generation of the Supernova Era was growing up, they were curious about how their parents’ generation felt when they first heard the news, since after all it was the most shocking piece of information in human history. Historians and astronomers had made countless attempts to re-create that scene, none of them accurate. The following conversation between a young reporter and an elder took place forty-five years after the incident:

  REPORTER: Can you describe how you felt when you first heard the news?

  ELDER: I didn’t feel anything, because I still didn’t understand.

  REPORTER: How long did it take for you to understand?

  ELDER: It depended on the person. No one got it immediately. Some people took half a minute, others several minutes, and others a few days. Some kids stayed in a trance all the way up until the Supernova Era actually began. It’s weird thinking back on it. Why was such a simple piece of information so hard to digest?

  REPORTER: And yourself?

  ELDER: I was lucky. I got it in three minutes.

  REPORTER: Can you describe the shock?

  ELDER: It wasn’t a shock.

  REPORTER: Then . . . ​was it fear?

  ELDER: No, not fear.

  REPORTER: (laughs) That’s what they all say. I do understand, of course, how it might be hard to put that degree of fear and shock into words.

  ELDER: There were no feelings like shock and fear back then. Please believe me, even if it might be hard for you to understand now.

  REPORTER: Then what did you feel?

  ELDER: Unfamiliarity.

  REPORTER: . . .

  ELDER: Back in our day, we had this story: A man blind from birth accidentally fell down the stairs one day, and the impact somehow jostled the nerves in his brain enough to restore his sight. He looked at the world around him brimming with curiosity. . . . ​That’s how we felt. The world was going to turn strange for us, as if we’d never seen it before.

  From Ya Ke, Born in the Common Era. Beijing, SE 46.

  In the huge hall, the beating heart of the country, fifty-four children shared the experience of this powerful unfamiliarity, as if an invisible razor had dropped, severing the past from the future, and they were staring into a strange new world. Through the wide window they could see the newly risen Rose Nebula, which projected its blue radiance on the floor like an enormous cosmic eye staring into this inexplicable world.

  For an entire week high-energy rays had traversed every part of the solar system, and high-energy particles battered the Earth like a rainstorm pouring down on land and sea, tearing through human bodies at unimaginably high velocity, penetrating every cell. And the tiny chromosomes in each of those cells were buffeted like fragile crystalline threads by those high-energy particles, which unraveled the DNA double helix and sent nucleotides spinning away. Damaged genes continued to operate, but the precise chain that had evolved through hundreds of millions of years of copying life had been snapped, and the mutated genes now spread death. Earth revolved humanity through a deadly shower, winding up the death clock in billions of bodies that now ticked slowly away. . . .

  Everyone above the age of thirteen would die, and Earth would become a children’s world.

  *

  The fifty-four children were different from the rest. A second piece of information would take the world that had just been made unfamiliar and shatter it into pieces, leaving them hanging in a bewildered void.

  Zheng Chen came round first. “These children, Premier, if I’m not mistaken . . .”

  The premier nodded, and said calmly, “You’re not mistaken.”

  “That’s impossible,” she cried out in alarm.

  The state leaders looked at her in silence.

  “They’re just kids. How can they . . .”

  “What do you think we ought to do, young lady?” the premier asked.

  “. . . You at least ought to have held a nationwide search for candidates.”

  “Do you really think that’s possible? How would we select them? Kids aren’t adults. They don’t belong to a hierarchical national social structure, so in such a short time frame it’s frankly impossible to choose the most talented and best suited from among four hundred million children to take on this responsibility. Ten months is just an estimate; we might actually have far less time than that. The adult world could become inoperative at any moment. This is humanity’s darkest hour. We must not leave our country headless at a time like this. Did we have any other choice? Like every other country in the world, we adopted exceptional methods to make the selection.”

  “My god. . . .” She was close to fainting.

  The president came up to her and said, “Your students may not agree with you. You only know them in ordinary times, but not in extreme situations. In times of crisis, people, children included, can become superhuman.”

  The president turned to address the children, who had not yet entirely grasped the situation. “Yes, children. You’re going to lead this country.”

  3

  THE GREAT LEARNING

  THE WORLD CLASSROOM

  On the day the Great Learning started, Zheng Chen left the school to check in on her students. Out of her class of forty-three, eight had qualified in the valley for the central government; the remainder, distributed throughout the city, were now embarking on the toughest curriculum in history under their parents’ tutelage.

  Yao Rui was the first student Zheng Chen thought of. Out of her thirty-five remaining students, he had the toughest course of study. She took a quick subway trip to the thermal power station, shut down on environmental grounds prior to the supernova but now saved from dismantling and returned to operation as a classroom.

  She saw her student outside the gate. He was with his father, the station’s chief engineer. Chief Yao greeted her, and she replied out of a jumble of feelings, “It’s like you�
��re me teaching my first class six years ago.”

  Chief Yao smiled and nodded. “Ms. Zheng, I’m probably even less confident than you were.”

  “Back in parent-teacher conferences, you never were pleased with my teaching methods. Today we’re going to see how you go about it.”

  They went through the gate alongside a host of other groups of parents and children.

  “What a tall, thick smokestack!” Yao Rui shouted, pointing excitedly ahead of them.

  “Silly boy. I’ve told you before, that’s not a smokestack. It’s a cooling tower. Over there, behind the plant, is a smokestack.”

  Chief Yao led his son and Zheng Chen up into the cooling tower, where water rained down into a circular pool. Pointing at it, Chief Yao said, “That’s the cooled water that circulates in the generator. It’s pretty warm. When I first came to the plant fifteen years ago, I used to swim in it.” He sighed at the memory of his youth.

  Then they came to several small mountains of black coal. “This is the coal yard. A thermal power plant produces electricity by burning coal. At full capacity, our plant will consume twelve thousand tons per day. I bet you have no idea how much that is. See that coal train with forty railcars? You’d need about six of those trains full of coal.”