Late afternoon, I finished my first report for Minister Quek, giving an overview of the plight and treatment of the swee population in the North American Union for the last thirty years. It wasn’t very long, since I’d only had a week to work on it, but the Minster had insisted on seeing something, however preliminary, by today. I was all ready to walk the report up to her office, but Aya stopped me on the way, saying, “She’s not even in the building right now because of some Cabinet meeting. In cases like this, we send the documents by pneumatic tube. Come, I’ll show you.”
Aya brought me to the Internal Memoranda Delivery Room at the end of the corridor, and showed me which tube led to the office of the Ministry of Arts and Culture. My delivery cylinder zipped away with a hissing gust, and I felt the brief, childish urge to send up something else, just to hear that whooshing sound again.
After work, I grabbed a quick bite before heading down to Victoria Quay. It was around 7pm, but there were already at least a hundred people there on the riverbank for the vigil. Someone had set up posters for each of the women who’d died and fastened them to the railings, displaying their name, photo and surviving family members; I recognised a few of the women from my bumboat ride last week, and could feel the blood drain from my face. People had apparently been leaving flowers and other offerings all week.
I turned to go, suddenly feeling like I shouldn’t be there, that it was either none of my business, or, oddly, that my presence would only make things worse somehow. But then someone put one of those little paper-cupped candles in my hand, and its tiny little flame set loose a rush of genuine sorrow I hadn’t even realised had been lurking inside me. I started crying, and a business-type in a nice-looking suit put his arm around me and squeezed. If something like this had happened back home, there would be hymns or spirituals sung, but the scene was eerily quiet apart from some sniffling and low murmuring. Farther down the riverside were the regular sounds of a Friday night, people out for dinner or drinks or whatever, so incongruous with our bubble of solemnity. I stayed long after many of the other mourners had left, hypnotised by my grief and the gentle lapping of the water.
ENCRYPTED DISPATCH
#73F5ACBF2A17D397C4F43B1921
Sent: Mon, 05 Nov, 3.14pm
She did WHAT?!
I never thought that Ailene would stoop so low. It’s not enough that she has to destroy my marriage and career, but initiate treason proceedings against me too?
I greatly appreciate you rushing to my defence, but I worry that it’ll come smashing back against you. I don’t want this to ruin your life too, Rick.
But if you do want some logical ammunition, you can use these facts:
1. Yes, it is true that I have taken a post at Tinhau’s Ministry of Stability. I have a fairly specialised skill set, and this can be put to productive use in the Cultural Affairs Sector. I am in essence now Tinhau’s liaison with the NAU, so when the DESD has further dealings with Tinhau, they’ll be seeing a friendly face across the table. This is nothing but positive.
2. Tinhau is not the NAU’s enemy. While the mission to ally the two nations was not successful, there are absolutely no indications that Tinhau is in any way hostile towards the NAU. Tinhau is too small and the NAU too big for them to even consider such an absurd foreign policy approach. Diplomacy and peace are paramount here.
3. Therefore, I have in no way “given aid to the enemy”. I left New York with the clothes on my back and little else; had I wished to actually give or sell information about the NAU, I would have needed to bring along my ordinator from work, which I clearly did not do. It is simply not reasonable that I would have planned an entire diplomatic mission to Tinhau for the sole purpose of somehow insinuating myself into the government to betray the NAU.
4. Ailene has absolutely no proof of her claims. She has concocted a ridiculous and improbable story out of thin air. She is a bitter woman who has let her vindictive emotions overpower her sense of common decency.
I hope that this helps, and God save you.
Lucas
To Joseph Lehrer, NAUAF, Ret.
Tuesday, November 6
Dear Dad,
You’re never going to believe this, or maybe you will: Ailene is accusing me of treason. She went back to New York, and basically convinced my boss’ boss that I manufactured the entire mission to Tinhau so that I could defect and sell state secrets. She’s such a horrible fucking human being, please pardon my language. The director of the DESD is doing all he can to argue my case, but it’s so hard to do when I’m not there. I’m worried.
I don’t know if you still have any contacts within the Department of Defense, but if so, I could really use the help.
Love,
Luke
To Major General Albert Hansen, NAUAF
Tuesday, November 6
Dear General Hansen,
Thank you so much for your message. I appreciate your kind words towards both me and my father. I realise that you may be limited in what aid you may be able to give, as there is not always a strong interdepartmental link between the DESD and Defense, but thank you in advance for looking into my case.
Attached is the true version of events, with as much documentation as I can provide.
I look forward to hearing from you again soon.
Sincerely,
Lucas Lehrer
FROM THE PAPER JOURNAL OF LL
Friday, November 9
I haven’t slept well all week thanks to Ailene’s vindictive bullshit. Major General Hansen, Dad’s old air force buddy at the DOD, has said that he’d look into things and try to get all this treason nonsense dropped. That was Tuesday afternoon, and I haven’t heard from him since. The waiting is killing me.
This week at work was supposed to be spent putting together my next report at MinStab, about the Range attacks on the USA/NAU from 1999 to 2015, but I was so distracted that I only completed about half of what I’d expected to do. My energy is low and my attention wanders easily. For example: it’s taken me more than ten minutes to write this entry.
I’m going to go curl up on the bed now and rest my eyes.
Saturday, November 10
I wallowed at home for most of the morning, but around lunchtime I started hearing loud but muffled speech, as if someone was talking through a loudhailer or microphone. It was annoying enough that it prevented me from concentrating on reading or even watching television, so after eating a sandwich, I threw on some presentable clothes and headed outside.
It turned out to be a rally in the little public park nearby, the one where I’d seen the teenaged composer a couple of weeks ago. A makeshift stage with a lectern was set up, behind which stood, to my surprise, the Minister of Defence, who had attracted a sizeable audience of several hundred people from (I’m assuming) the neighbourhood. “Yeo Zhi Jian, Making Tinhau Human Again!” was emblazoned on the lectern itself, blatantly taking a page out of President Jarret’s sloganeering; what was puzzling was the fact that no election had been scheduled, or was expected to be scheduled this year in Tinhau. So why was Yeo stumping for votes?
The stage was crowded by security, beefy men in sunglasses that reminded me intimately of Jarret’s Redcaps, creating a wall between the Minister and his supposed constituents. He railed against the swees in frothing rhetoric as different from his recent television appearance as a cocaine-fuelled cheetah from a sloth. Swees can be anyone, they’re hiding in plain sight, ready to rise up and destroy us humans, they’re dangerous, they’re rapists, they’re criminals, they’re infesting the nation—it was as though he’d hired all of Jarret’s campaign staff to provide talking points.
There were swees in the audience, I’m assuming drawn by the ranting to see what was going on. One young woman in particular, who had four bluish segmented arms like a grasshopper, charged up to the front and yelled, “You siao lah! What is this bigoted bullshit? We are Tinhau citizens too!”
At which point a middle-aged Chinese man got in her face and shouted, �
�You shut up ah, you cockroach!” before shoving her backward. The woman’s friends, some obviously also swees and others who might have been human, came to her defence and shoved the angry man back, which caused others around them to join the fray to jostle and slap at the young people. At this escalation, I looked up at the stage, and Minister Yeo was barely suppressing a big grin, seemingly content to let this violent conflict play out, but then he apparently caught himself and nodded to the nearest of the security men, who stepped into the clash along with some of his fellows, and broke the fight up. They separated the swees and their supporters, moving them to the far area of the park, to the sound of applause.
“My fellow citizens,” Yeo said, practically purring, “you see how they are. I don’t advocate violence, but we must contain this festering threat within our borders. All of us must be vigilant so that we never again see another Christmas Massacre. Stability is everything, and we must root out these unstable elements. Report any cockroach—I mean, swee,” and he smiled here at his “gaffe” (clearly having planned the utterance thanks to inspiration from the initial angry shover) to scattered laughter in the crowd, “using their inhuman powers to the detriment of us real people. Remember, we are strong, and together we can Make Tinhau Human Again!”
Even more applause followed, although a good portion of the audience looked unnerved by the spectacle. As the crowd dispersed, I turned towards the swees who had been caught up in the scuffle, but I couldn’t see them anymore. I prayed that they had just returned to their own lives, and weren’t ziptied in the back of a police vehicle. I couldn’t help thinking of the early days of the round-up in the NAU, when swees were “disappeared” without oversight or penalty, and I wanted to shout at everyone around me that this was how it all started, how progressive society could slide so easily into fascism. But instead, I kept my mouth shut, and slowly made my way back to my flat.
To Major General Albert Hansen, NAUAF
Monday, November 12
Dear General Hansen,
I’m naturally upset to hear that, but I know that you must have done everything you could.
Sincerely,
Lucas Lehrer
To Joseph Lehrer, NAUAF, Ret.
Monday, November 12
Dad,
Please calm down. I’m also embarrassed that this has now become national news, and that you’re getting lots of harassing phone calls, but these things that they’re saying are lies. This is bullshit propaganda to scapegoat me. I swear to Almighty God that I’m telling you the truth.
And you know what will happen to me if I try to come back and “face my accusers like a man”: I’ll get thrown into a deep dark hole in Salt Lake City, and you’ll never see me again. Don’t think that they wouldn’t. I’m now an embarrassment to them, and I’m sure they want to just make me go away.
Please, I need your support right now, sir.
Luke
ENCRYPTED DISPATCH
#76E3B55BDDE8B9801A6F7CDF6B
Sent: Mon, 12 Nov, 11.56am
How is it that the Cabinet believes Ailene over you? I just don’t understand this, Rick. Even if she’s stirred up emotions with all this “swee-lover” rhetoric, she has zero proof! I never realised that Secretary July was so gullible.
I know that you’re doing all you can, and that your association with me now has them aiming their sights your way as well, but I’m freaking out right now. I never intended this move to Tinhau to be permanent; I always intended to return to New York someday. But if Ailene gets her way, I’ll never be able to set foot in the NAU again.
I’m scared, Rick.
FROM THE PAPER JOURNAL OF LL
Monday, November 12
Beset on all sides. By my ex-wife (may she burn forever), the NAU government, even my father! O’Brien has been overruled by his boss, DESD Secretary July, and the department is now drawing up formal charges against me. Fuck.
Thank God for Aya, is all I can say. When she came into my office this afternoon, after I’d got the news, she could tell that something was really bothering me. I told her everything. She sat quietly, waiting for me to get through it all before speaking. She stepped around to my side of the desk, gave me a quick hug and told me that she would do anything she could to help, that “we take care of our own” (which made me feel better, even as it confused me), that if it comes to it, I could ask for political asylum (and then I can’t be extradited).
The only other good thing to come out of today was that my savings from the NAU have arrived in my new bank account. Not that I’m going to go on a spending spree, but I can breathe easier now.
I somehow got through the rest of the workday, though it was hard to see the point of it. At quitting time, Aya said that she and Wong Kee and a few others from the sector were going out for a drink, adding, “And you’re coming along too.” I tried to back out of it, but she said, “You really shouldn’t be alone tonight. You need to be around people right now. So come on, get your things.”
And she was right. We walked a few blocks to an open-air bar on the riverbank and sat at one of those high metal tables. I ordered a pint of whatever they had on tap, but I barely tasted it. Aya was the queen of small talk, asking about how everyone’s families were, and what books they were reading, and where they had travelled during the Mid-Autumn holidays. She was careful to steer away from my political troubles and personal life; I did get asked about my favourite Tinhauan food (laksa). It was a diverting few hours, and I appreciated the effort she went through to help take my mind off my problems, and also to make me feel like I was part of the team after only two weeks on the job.
As we said our goodbyes, she gave me another quick hug. Even after nursing just the one pint, I felt a bit wobbly on the TMRT ride home, but as soon as I stepped through the door of my flat, I immediately sobered up, and everything came crashing down on me again. I just hope my neighbours couldn’t hear me crying.
To Joseph Lehrer, NAUAF, Ret.
Tuesday, November 13
Dad,
I don’t know what to say, except that I’m stunned. I’m surprised that I wasn’t informed first; as the husband, at least legally, I have a right to know.
I just don’t get this. And I’m not quite as ready to celebrate as you seem to be.
I need some time with this.
Love,
Luke
FROM THE PAPER JOURNAL OF LL
Tuesday, November 13
Ailene is dead. I can’t believe it. There was a freak kitchen fire in her apartment, the one we used to share, and she passed out from smoke inhalation before burning to death.
Dad thinks I should be singing from the rooftops, but I’m in shock. As badly as she’s hurt me, I never wished her dead. At least, I don’t think so.
I just don’t know how to feel. I’m sad, and also ashamed to say that I’m relieved.
Will I go to Hell for such feelings?
Wednesday, November 14
I was racked with guilt all morning over not feeling worse about Ailene’s death, and then all afternoon over lusting after another woman. What’s wrong with me?
Her name is Neo Yu-Wei, and she came to have lunch with Aya. When they stepped into my office for introductions, my breath was literally taken away for several long moments. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a strikingly gorgeous woman before; there was something otherworldly about her beauty. Dear sweet Lord in Heaven.
She wore this low-cut bright orange dress. Dyed auburn hair down to her shoulders. Dangly earrings. Some kind of light perfume. Incredible figure. And that smile; it lit up her whole face and made my heart skip a beat. She offered her hand for a shake while I struggled to breathe again. I stammered a hello and swallowed hard.
“She and I met at that Halloween party,” Aya was saying. “Yu-Wei is a published poet.”
Yu-Wei smiled again. Her hand was still in mine. “Oh, it’s really not so impressive. Just a handful of pieces in some Chinese-language literary journals.”
“I’m fluent in both languages, but Mandarin was my first, so Chinese is what I write in. I thought about translating my work into English, but just haven’t got around to it yet.”
“Well,” Aya said, “we should really head to the canteen before the duck rice is all gone.”
Yu-Wei let go of my hand; the heat from her fingers lingered on my skin. “Lucas, would you care to join us?”
I was all set to blurt out a yes, but the look on Aya’s face told me that I’d be intruding. Plus, as soon as our hands were no longer touching, the waves of guilt and shame came rushing back. I said that I wasn’t feeling hungry, but I appreciated the invitation.
“Next time then,” Yu-Wei said, then turned and was gone in an orange blur. Aya followed.
When I sat down in my chair, I realised that the back of my shirt was damp with sweat, as well as the back of my neck. I walked down the hall to the bathroom, grabbed some paper towels and closed myself into one of the toilet cubicles so that I could untuck my shirt and mop my back and neck dry.
Despite myself, I tried searching for Yu-Wei online, but either her name is a common one or she doesn’t have an electronic footprint. Not even a Friendface page. It’s probably for the best; I don’t need to be obsessing over her.
Diary of One Who Disappeared Page 7