by Austin Aslan
Dad relaxes. “Yeah. I guess so. But the president still—”
“The White House has its own protocol in the event of first contact. We never gave them anything actionable. They had their reaction all lined up sixty years ago. Earth-visitation scenarios always assumed a far superior technology or intellect than our own. A defensive posture was the only logical one. Anyway, the president changed his mind. He was trying to tell the whole world it was arriving when it blossomed and fried our satellites.”
We’re quiet, watching Dad toy with the eyepiece of one of the big telescopes near the foyer.
“It’s not intelligent,” I say. “I mean, not like us. It’s more like a … a sea turtle.”
“A sea turtle.” Buzz loses himself in thought. “Okay. A giant … space turtle. Just doing its thing. Coming ashore to lay eggs. Wow.”
Dad pats Buzz on the shoulder. “Sorry, Buzz. You have no idea what we’ve been through. We would have stayed on the Big Island if we’d known—”
“You guys were off-island when the blackout began?”
“O`ahu,” I say. “We just made it back. Yesterday.”
Buzz stares at me, agape. He shakes himself out of his trance. “We effed up, big time. I honestly don’t think it would have changed anything, but we should have done more. Learned more. I don’t know. Maybe it’s not too late. It’s finally leaving—which is not a blessing, believe me. But maybe those of us left can make do. Go underground. Rebuild. Repair all that integrated circuitry. No more tungsten, obviously. I’ve noticed that some analog circuits can still function. Basic batteries, resistors, transistors, and diodes can work. Edison would still be in business. We just have to go back to the level of technology that was around when he—”
“Buzz … what about all the meltdowns?” I ask.
He stammers. “You—you know about that, too?”
I nod. “The Orchids—they’re radiation mops. If they leave, nuclear winter falls.”
“How did you figure that out?”
“A priest on Moloka`i started us thinking. He’d figured it out. There have been meltdowns, but no radiation.”
Buzz laughs. He gathers his wits and says, “At least thirty plants have gone supernova, last we could count. As fail-safes buckle I bet we’ll average a couple a week from here on out. Right—the crazy irony is that these Star Flowers seem to render the radiation inert. Like I said, it’s not good that they’re leaving. We need them now.”
“What if we can bring them back?” Dad says.
Buzz turns to me. “You came up here because you’ve found a way to talk to it?”
I shift my feet. “Not really. I tried to get its attention once, but it didn’t work. But I thought that if I were just a little bit closer to it, maybe it could hear me.”
“Because you’re higher up?”
Dad and I nod.
Buzz’s expression is kind. “Okay. There’s a lot going on here. First thing: you haven’t gotten closer to anything. The Star Flowers are drifting away at about fifteen thousand feet per minute. Since we started this conversation, they’ve already moved about four times as far as this mountain is tall.”
“Oh.” I steal a glance at Dad. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so stupid in my entire life.
“The other thing is that we’re turning. Relative to Hawai`i, it’s on the other side of the globe right now. It won’t rise until about four p.m. So, technically, as far as distance is concerned, at this particular moment you’d actually be closer to it if you were at sea level.”
“The Orchids rise at four?” Dad asks.
“They come over the horizon at four. We don’t see them until dark, but we’ll be in line with them by then. That doesn’t really seem to impact their effect on us. But if you want to get their attention, it’s best to wait.”
“Oh.” I cast Dad a questioning glance. He shrugs.
“What did you have in mind?” asks Buzz. “How can I help?” I see the hope in his eyes.
I was going to drink a diet soda. That’s it. That’s all.
Mom and Kai and Grandpa could be at the house right now, reading our note. We could be together. Are we wasting time up here—time that we can never get back? For Uncle Akoni’s romantic notions of caves and mountains. All the things he could do with those telescopes and … and …?
“I love the Big Island. Wish Moloka`i had mountains like that. Mauna Kea’s what, fourteen thousand feet high?”
“Yeah. Think so.”
“All those telescopes and radio dishes.”
“Radio dishes,” I say. I turn to the astronomer. “Radio dishes.”
“Of course! The array!”
Dad looks between us. “Radio dishes? Sending a message by radio telescope?”
Buzz’s eyes are aglow. “We don’t have one big dish, but a bunch of smaller ones. We can link them and blast something out to the Star Flowers. We tried it once, but we didn’t have any idea what to say, or how. Pummeled the poor thing with prime numbers for two days. Lot of good that did. Can you imagine: a scuba diver shoving an abacus in a sea turtle’s face? But … but if Leilani can somehow manifest its thoughts, maybe her brain can formulate something that it will be able to interpret.”
“The dishes weren’t damaged?” asks Dad.
“Well, the computers—all the integrated circuitry—are fried. But I’ve still got my slide rule. I can physically align all the dishes. I know exactly where to point them. And aside from some gas generators to give them some juice, we won’t need any power. Leilani’s going to provide the signal herself. I really think we can do this.”
“Lei,” says Dad. “What do you think?”
I offer a hesitant nod. “What do we do now?”
Buzz reaches over the counter and grabs his jacket. He’s already on his way out the door as he replies, “If Mike can help me arrange things up there, I think we can be ready to go by Flower-rise. Leilani, you’ve got the hardest job of all.”
“What’s that?”
“You need to figure out what you’re going to say.”
CHAPTER 31
I walk alone over a Martian landscape high above marshmallow clouds, chanting a familiar prayer.
Ai, Ai, Ai.
Ho`opuka e-ka-la ma ka hikina e
Kahua ka`i hele no tumutahi
Ha`a mai na`i wa me Hi`iaka
Tapo Laka ika ulu wehiwehi
Nee mai na`i wa ma ku`u alo
Ho`i no`o e te tapu me na`ali`i e
Rise up, rise up, rise up.
Make a hole in the sun and find the light hidden inside.
May the light of the gods dawn on me like the rising sun.
Come to me through your breath and take me by force.
Come, drift upon me, and spread.
Bring me the means of life.
Come to me like the creeping of lava,
and may this sacred ceremony of the ali`i
bring me meditation and release.
The wind ruffles my hair. The air is frigid, and I wrap my arms around myself to keep warm. Mighty white domes of telescopes look down upon me from their high thrones. Relics, shrines to a fading era, guarding great secrets, yet silent as the mountain beneath them.
Ahead lies another temple.
Lake Waiau is little more than a pond that sits in a gentle bowl at the top of Mauna Kea. It was once thought to be bottomless. For many Hawaiians it remains a threshold between worlds. It has an emerald glow, caused by nutrients in the form of human umbilical cords, which have been fed into it for centuries. Hawaiian chiefs would come here and offer the piko of their firstborn sons, securing their chiefly status in this life and the one to come. My grandfather’s umbilical cord was placed in this lake. And now I will make an offering.
Along the ridge overlooking the lake, I sing and chant an ancient Hawaiian oli kāhea. I ask permission of the land and the akua to enter their sacred dwelling place.
Ke ka-nae-nae a ka mea hele, He leo, e-e,
A he leo wale no,
e-e.
Eia ka pu`u nui owaho nei la,
He ua, he ino, he anu, he ko`e-ko`e.
Maloko aku au.
In the stillness, I feel them stir. They grant me permission.
I proceed down the slope slowly. The shore of the small green lake is just before me now. I pause, listening to the silence. My heart beats slowly but with great purpose. I remember how Aleka gave me that warm, welcoming hug. She was glad to see me. She was glad I was home.
I belong.
We’re all in the same boat now. We belong here. We belong to each other.
This is my home, and no one can ever take that from me.
I yank the medical bracelet with its corkscrew serpents off my wrist. I keep it in my hand along with my last pills and squeeze.
Pele fought her sisters here. She won her right to remain on the Big Island. Dad and I fought our way home, and we won our place here, too. But now we must win another battle.
And how shall I win it? The Orchids arrived as pale green angels of death. Now they would flee. But if we are to survive, they must stay—even if just for a short while. It means a future filled with hardship and suffering. But at least it means a future.
E iho ana o luna
E pi`i ana o lalo
E hui ana na moku
E ku an aka paia
Chants and ancient whispers dance through my mind, loudest among them all the prophecy of the arrival of King Kamehameha. So many forces have led me to be here: Uncle Akoni; the sheriff and Grandpa, once partners; finding a van with gasoline; a mountaintop guru who can wield a slide rule and a radio-telescope array. The timing of my trip to O`ahu to change up my meds is itself an amazing thing. I don’t know whether it is fate or chance or God or gods. But I feel the mystery in the air.
That which is above will come down
That which is below will rise up
The islands shall unite
The walls shall stand firm.
There is no fear or doubt. No shame. No denial or regret. No choice. There is only acceptance—and a sense of honor.
I will never again run from who I am, or from where I belong.
I throw my medical bracelet and my remaining pills into the green waters to meld with the life-delivering flesh of my Hawaiian ancestors, and I prepare to fight for my family, for my islands, and for my world.
* * *
We stand among the radio telescopes, very near the highest peak of Mauna Kea. The sun is low on the horizon, bathing the mountaintop and the puffy clouds below in a fiery orange befitting the end of the world. Soon the heavens will be given over to the night, in its velvety gown, dazzling with sequins and pearls and emerald-green flower brooches. I can feel the cold seeping into my bones. But soon I will reach out and touch the stars.
* * *
“Are we really going to do this?” Dad asks. He and I are sitting on the tailgate of Buzz’s old truck, parked at the center of the array. “Have these things here for the rest of our lives? No more computers? Internet? Phones?”
“We’ll grow old together,” I say.
“I’d give everything for that.”
“It’s not for life, though. Years? I mean, we need enough time for people to box up the world’s nuclear material. Stuff it all underground, in that Yucca Mountain place in Nevada or something. Then I can send the Orchids away.”
“Piece of cake,” Dad says. “We’ll just send instructions to every nuclear nation by carrier pigeon.”
“We’ll think of a way.”
Buzz yells. “Looks like we’re ready.” He dashes between a tight-knit grid of garage-sized satellite dishes as if he were a Hawaiian honeycreeper pollinating giant flowers. The roar of several gas generators penetrates the stillness.
Buzz huffs and puffs into view. He studies me kindly, attaches makeshift electrodes to my head. “We have about twenty minutes before your dad and I have to adjust all the dishes. I imagine we’ll be adjusting the orientation all night, though. Don’t worry if it takes a while.”
“You all set, Lei? I’m right here.” Dad holds my hand.
I smile and pop open my can of diet soda.
“I’m right here to keep you safe.”
I kiss him on the forehead. “I know.”
I turn east, opposite the sunset, and cross my legs. The sky above the carpet of clouds is pink and orange and red. No hint of green. But I trust Buzz, and I trust my father, and I trust myself. Dad braces me. I close my eyes and drink.
Leilani. I am Leilani. I am with you.
I go toward the depths. It is time for the long fastness now.
Return to the shores. Rest here. Remain with me. Stay with the sweetness until it has finished flowing.
The hotness is sweet. I like the hotness. But I need the long fastness. I need to leave.
No. You don’t. Stay.
Stay.
I yearn for the depths and the long fastness to the other shores.
No. You don’t. You only want to do that because it’s what you’ve always done. What the one who gave you always did. Stay. There is purpose in staying. We need you to take up all the hotness until it is gone.
I do what is always done. Yes. It is good.
You like the shores. You want the sweetness. It is best for the young one. It is better here than in the deep. Best for the young one. To feed. To feed. Feed the young one.
The depths are good. The long fastness must begin. Yes, I like the shores. The other shores. I am almost free enough of the current to begin.
No. We need you. Stay.
Hello? Leilani? Where did you go? Please.
It is time to begin.
There you are.
I can feel the fastness building. Soon we will rush.
I am Leilani. I will return to the shore that I just left. The one I gave needs the hotness. I want the depths, but I want to do the good thing more. The good thing is to stay.
I need to go. The long fastness is best.
I need to stay. It is best for the one I gave. I am safe here. I will stay. Here the young one grows strong. Strongest young one of them all. We will stay. It is just a moment. Just a moment until the sweetness is used up. Then we will go. The depths are not good. Not without the strength. The others will take the one I have given. I must protect the one from harm. We are safe here for now. We will stay. The others will come and steal this sweetness. I must protect the sweetness. I must use it. The sweetness is good and it will keep me safe it will keep the one I gave safe it is the good thing to do yes I want to go but I want to stay too I want to stay more than I want to go it is just a short time I will stay for a short time more and then go for the other shore and enjoy the fastness later.
I want to stay. It is safer to stay and grow strong and protect the one that I gave and do the fastness later.
Yes. To stay is good. I want to stay and make myself and the one that I gave stronger. That way the long fastness will be even more pleasant and the one that I gave will have an advantage over all the other new ones and the sweetness is too sweet to let go especially now when I am weak from the giving and the one I gave is still weak and I want to stay not long just until all the oozing is spent and then I can go I want to stay for now and enjoy the sweetness which is hard to find I like these shores the surf the seafoam rocks me the one that I gave will be with me and we will be together for longer and it is good it is good to stay it is what I want to do it is what I yearn to do it is good and the sweetness is good and I am very satisfied.
I yearn for the seafoam of the shores where I gave the new one. I yearn for the hotness sweetness and we will stay here until we are strong and safe and all the sweetness is gone.
I am Leilani. We are Leilani. We will stay. It is our purpose now. We are one. We are ali`i nui. We are the guardians of the shores and the surf and the islands and all the mysteries that dwell within. We hunger for the rumbling of rock, the creeping swirl of orange light. We have dreamt of these shores. We were born here, but we slipped away. Now we
have reached the shallows, at long last, guided across the endless waters by ancient stars. These islands and their sacred tides call us forth.
We are home.
We are Leilani. Spellbound, we blossom.
We are Leilani. Spellbound, we blossom.
CHAPTER 32
Hilo has always been dark at night—dimly lit to assist the observatories in their endless safaris through the skies—but it was never this dark. Squares of candlelight seeping through kitchen windows hint that the town remains home to tens of thousands of people, but the streets seem deserted on this green, moonless night.
We drive by Tami’s. I see candles in their windows! The house is fine. In the van, I blink back tears. I’ll find her tomorrow. But we can’t stop.
Home first.
We retrieve the Civic as we retrace our path. Dad is so relieved to have his car back, as if that’s the thing that has been pressing on his mind most. I stifle a laugh.
I glance out the window to admire the two Star Flowers. They are fully separate now; everyone will know there are two. They blossom much larger and nearer than they ever have. I may be able to hear the mother’s guileless mind even now. A switch has been flipped in my brain; some door, once seamless in the walls of my mind, remains propped open. Yes, I do believe I can hear … something.
Can she still hear me?
I think she can. We are Leilani, after all. We are somehow one.
I did it. I brought them back. And I can feel the mother, somehow. It’s like beginning to wiggle a foot that has fallen asleep. She’s a part of me now. So odd. So marvelous. I can sense her drawing up radiation from the Earth’s surface, neutralizing it. The sensation reminds me of a bone-dry sponge in my hand, growing soft and moist as I press it against a countertop spill.
We were right to do this. We saved the world. Everyone. Everyone. Our race may still have a future.
My eyes study the silhouetted slopes of Mauna Loa. Pele’s home, where she stopped running and took a stand. Her throne does not rise as high toward the sky as Mauna Kea, but she exerts a greater force upon the world. She simmers within, biding her time, shaping her paths with infinite confidence and patience.