by Axie Oh
There’s pain her voice. I feel an echo of it in my chest.
“And what do you choose?”
She closes her eyes. “Freedom.”
I’m reminded of the first time I met her, when she went to the roof not to jump, but to feel the wind.
“I once asked you why you went to the concert,” I say, “when you could have escaped. You said I wouldn’t understand.”
She opens her eyes. “What is freedom to you, Lee Jaewon?”
I think of the definition of the word. “To have basic human rights.”
She laughs, cocking an eyebrow. “That would be your definition.”
“And what is freedom to you?”
“To me, freedom is a song that plays over in my mind, again and again.” She stands and moves to the gazebo rail. “The night of the concert, I escaped my guard and rode the elevator all the way to the top of the Tower. I walked to the edge. It was so cold up there, and there was nothing but wind and darkness, and that perpetual searchlight. I felt so empty, that this was the highest place I could go in the city, and still it didn’t seem high enough. But then I heard it — a song drifting through the night. I’d never heard anything like it, never felt such joy and sadness at the same time, bottled up inside me. It felt like a dream, but it was real, so real that if I reached out, I could take it.”
She turns from the railing to look at me. “They tell me I’m a weapon, that I’m built for a great purpose, but I don’t know how to be anything but myself.”
I don’t know what to say. She’s opened her soul to me, and I’m left speechless by the beauty of it, the beauty of her. She steps forward until she stands before me. I close my eyes and raise my face. She brushes her fingers across my lips and cheekbones.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“You said you would.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“This kind of hurt I can take.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
I open my eyes and curl my hand around her wrist. I pull her gently toward me until she’s half on the bench, half on my lap, her leg draped over my knees. Wrapping an arm around her, I breathe into her hair, still somewhat damp from her shower.
We’re quiet for a moment.
Strange, but I’ve never felt more safe, here in her arms. “I don’t want to go back,” I say.
“Inside the house?” she teases, willfully misunderstanding.
“To the Tower.”
She laughs, her breath tickling my collarbone. “Where would we go?”
“My apartment.”
“In Mapo-gu, Hapjeong-dong?”
“Yes.”
“And what would we do there?” She snuggles closer. Her voice is barely a whisper.
She falls asleep in my arms. The lantern dims. I press my lips against her hair.
“We’d dream.”
* * *
■ ■ ■
I’m startled awake — minutes, hours later — by a sound. Tera’s also up, alert, her eyes on the house.
“What was — ?” I begin to ask. Then I hear it again. Screaming, from inside.
“Ama!” Tera shouts. We’re both off the bench in a flash. The lantern flares on, alerted to our movement.
“Go,” I say. “I’ll catch up.”
Tera sprints up the stairs. In less than three seconds, she’s inside the house.
I’m slower to follow. I run up the stone steps and through the sliding door. The house is shrouded in darkness without even the sunlight to illuminate the rooms. The screams have stopped.
I manage to make it to the medical room without tripping on anything. Tera sits on the bed with Ama, brushing hair back from the younger girl’s tear-streaked face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask from the doorway.
Ama’s head whips in my direction. “It’s Alex!” she yells. “He’s hurting — he’s hurting him!”
I pivot and sprint down the hall. I check Alex’s room, but there’s no sign of him.
“Alex!” I take out my phone and call him. It goes straight to his voice mail. I slide down another hall, my feet slipping on the wood. Dammit. This house is a maze, the rooms growing darker as I move deeper into the mountain. The lights must be voice-activated by the owners, because they don’t turn on, and I don’t see a control panel on the walls.
I turn a corner and see a light at the end of a hall. I rush down it and stumble out a back door into an outer courtyard. It’s jarring after the catacombs of the house. I’m . . . outside, in what must be a recess in the mountain. Moonlight bathes an empty dirt courtyard, ringed on all four sides by wooden walkways. A bow and arrow set on a stand are situated on one side of the courtyard, a bull’s-eye on the other. Across the courtyard, yellow light glows from a paper-paneled doorway.
I walk slowly toward the light. “Alex?”
A loud crash booms from within the room, and I flinch. Shadows move against the paper walls. A terrible smack reverberates through the courtyard as one figure brings his fist down, hard, upon another kneeling on the ground. It’s Alex, and he’s . . . with his father.
I shouldn’t be surprised, and in a way I’m not. I’d lived the majority of my life in a gang. I understand violence. And I’d even seen the signs in Alex, the inexplicable wounds, the way he keeps mostly to himself and refuses to allow people close to him. But still, I’m surprised.
I step forward, and my shoe kicks a loose rock.
The Director’s fist stops in the air. He looks up, but he can’t see me through the cracked doorway, standing as he is in the light, with me in the darkness. He’s wearing sleeping robes. Everything about him is clean and white, but for his bloody hands.
“Get out,” he says, but whether he’s addressing me or Alex I can’t tell. Without another word, he exits the room on the other side, slamming the sliding door behind him.
Silence reigns once more.
“Alex,” I say.
“Don’t.” He pushes himself slowly off the mat floor. The room is some sort of personal dojang, meant for martial arts training.
Alex limps toward me. I step back. He shuts the door quietly behind him, a contrast to his father’s booming exit.
“The Director’s in a bad mood,” he says calmly. “We’ll have to postpone the meeting.”
“Shit.”
He ignores me. “What are you doing out here?”
“Ama’s awake.”
He looks past my shoulder. “Is she all right?”
“She heard you.”
I wonder how loud his thoughts are. He looks so quiet, so contained in this moment. A hint of emotion in the twitching of his cheek. “Let’s go.”
We’re halfway through the courtyard when he stumbles. I catch him before he hits the ground, and then lower him gently the rest of the way.
“He’s going to kill you,” I say.
“I’m his son,” Alex answers, defeated.
“Alex?” Ama appears in the doorway of the main house, Tera close behind. “Alex!” Ama rushes into the courtyard and sinks to the ground beside him. Her small hands move to the back of his head, gently fluttering against his hair, wet with blood.
“His thoughts are chaotic,” Ama says. “He’s in so much pain.” I don’t have to read minds to know she’s not just talking about the physical pain. Her brows knit in concentration. “No,” she says, “it’s not your fault.” I think she’s responding to thoughts of his father, but then she says, “You didn’t know he would die.”
Seungpyo.
Tears escape Alex’s eyes. They trail down his face. Ama holds tight to him.
“Take it away,” he whispers.
“I can’t,” she says. “I can’t.”
“You can. Please, take the pain away.”
I look at Tera,
who’s come out from the doorway to stand in the moonlight. “She can do that?” I ask.
“She can take his memories away.”
“No,” Alex says, “not that.”
“Or she can put him into a deep sleep, without dreams or thought.”
Slowly Ama lifts her hand to brush it against Alex’s temple. She closes her eyes. “Sleep,” she says, “and when you wake, everything will be better. I promise.”
I frown. How can she promise something like that?
“It’s a promise to myself,” Ama whispers. “That one day, he’ll wake to a world better than the one he fell asleep in.”
We wait as Alex’s breaths change from short, frantic bursts to long, drawn-out sighs. Between us, Tera and I manage to get him back to the medical room. As we enter, one of the maid-and-butler bots in the corner immediately whirs on, coming to Alex’s side. We let it administer to him, programmed as it is for moments just like this one.
A low, vibrating noise from his pocket alerts us to an incoming phone call. Ama pulls out the phone. It flashes blue with Dr. Koga’s name.
Ama answers. “Hi, Dr. K,” she says softly. “No, I’m okay. Alex is . . . asleep. Lee Jaewon? He’s here. Okay, one sec.”
She hands the phone over to me. I wonder if Koga had been kind to Ama on the phone because he bites out a quick order to me before hanging up. “Bring Ama and Tera back to the Tower immediately.”
23
Fairy Tale
Dr. Koga waits for us in the lobby of the Tower. He doesn’t speak as he takes Ama and Tera to their rooms, ordering me to wait for him. I look down and see I have Alex’s blood on the cuff of my sleeve.
When Koga returns, he motions me to follow. “I need to speak with you. Ride the elevator up with me? You don’t have to stay for the party.” It’s not a request.
I step into the lift, and the doors close. Dr. Koga shifts the speed to its lowest setting before pressing the button for the Skyroom. The elevator car begins to ascend.
“I get nauseous if it moves too quickly,” he explains.
“Ah,” I say. It also gives him an extra few minutes to chastise me for failing to bring Ama and Tera back on time. I brace myself for the dressing-down.
“Rough day?” He nods, indicating the wounds on my face. They’re not as obvious after the patches I’d applied earlier, but to an astute observer like Koga, they’d be noticeable.
“I got into a fight.” Well, two, but I don’t have to bring his attention to the first.
“At the Silla hotel,” Koga says. “News travels fast.”
We’re quiet for a moment. “How is he?” I ask.
“No Seungri? His father came for him. No charges are being pressed.”
I’m relieved. Seungri shouldn’t have threatened Ama, but his pain and grief were palpable.
“He’s a good man,” Koga says. “Seungri’s father is. He served in the military for several years before receiving an honorable discharge. It was an injury, hit him right here.” Koga presses the center of his chest. “Since then, he’s devoted his life to manufacturing safe gear for combatants. A good man, and devoted to his sons.”
A heat rises in my chest, unbidden. A good man. His sons, plural.
“You protected Seungri from Tera,” Koga says. “You fought her, and yet here you are, alive and well.”
I’d been nervous when I stepped into the elevator that he would berate me for not bringing Ama and Tera back to the Tower on time. But his demeanor is calm, pleasant. Koga takes off his glasses and wipes them on the cuff of his sleeve. Without the magnifying lenses, his eyes are smaller, kinder. Maybe I’m paranoid, too used to wolves disguised as people. From the moment I’ve met Koga, he’s been honest. Maybe he’s just that. Someone who is exactly as he appears.
He puts his glasses back on, and we both gaze out at the city, watching first the sides and then the rooftops of buildings as we leave the city behind and enter the sky.
Koga speaks again. “The board of the Tower voted on whether or not to bring you, specifically, into the project. After all, your records show little of your background and family history, only that you were a war orphan recruited into the Red Moon gang at the age of eight. Alex was already a candidate due to his father’s backing, but you were a dark horse, and there were some who regarded your past as a gangster a detriment to your character. Of course, there were others who thought it could be an asset.”
He smiles, amused at himself. “I voted in favor of you despite your many supposed faults, and would do so again. You tested above average in athletics and intelligence, and high in leadership and piloting, all of which would have made you a strong candidate as Tera’s partner.”
Koga taps the glass of the elevator. “But I voted in favor of you for one simple reason and one reason only, and that was because you tested high in empathy.”
Empathy?
I must make a face, because Koga chuckles. “It’s not an insult. You wouldn’t kill Tera in the simulation.”
“That’s because I’d seen her before at the concert. I believed her to be a student at another academy.”
“Yes, that matters, the connection you have with her. I am not one to take fate lightly. But it’s more than that. You wouldn’t kill her, because when you saw her, you saw a person, a life that needed to be saved. I had faith in the humanity you showed. Because of it, I took a chance on a kid from across the river. I swung the vote in your favor.”
I don’t know what he expects me to say. Thank you? I am thankful. Without his vote I would have never come to the Tower. I would have never met Tera.
“Some of my colleagues criticize me for being an emotional man, for seeing the girls as girls first, and weapons second. They think me a pathetic fool who believes Ama and Tera are my daughters. Of course I don’t. But I have known them for almost their whole lives. I don’t think they have memories without me. That’s a responsibility I carry.”
I lean my shoulder against the glass. “You are an emotional man.”
Koga sighs. “Maybe.”
It’s a cloudless night. A great airship, likely a troop transport, flies in a southwesterly direction past the Tower. If it weren’t for the searchlight, it might have even crashed into the structure. I realize the Tower is a lighthouse, warning ships in the night.
The airship hums as if it’s alive, and in a way, it is. It carries the lives of thousands of people, a city in the sky.
Koga continues. “The creators of the Amaterasu Project forgot one thing in building the perfect soldier: that the ultimate weapon is not a machine, like the Marionette, but a human with the will to fight. Because they believe in something, because they want to protect someone. What makes Tsuko such a great soldier is that he believes in his endeavors, to the point where it is his reason for being. What is Tera’s reason for being?”
I think of Tera’s face as she looked out into the city. I don’t know how to be anything but myself. “Does she need one?”
“Ah.” Koga smiles brightly. “And that is exactly why I voted for you.”
The elevator sounds our arrival. Level one hundred and forty-four. The Skyroom. The doors open to the sound of music.
Koga steps out. “Come, have some food before you head back out. I promise you don’t have to speak with anyone if you don’t wish to.”
I get out because there are several people waiting for the elevator, and I don’t feel like sharing a cramped space for the return trip. Koga’s already left me to disappear into the crowd.
I’ve been here once before, the day I came to the Tower and met Tera on the roof. It had been set up as a restaurant then. Tonight the tables and chairs have been put away, leaving an open ballroom filled with well-dressed men and women. Music comes from the stage, where C’est La Vie is performing.
Sela’s back with her band tonight. Her hair is long and starlit-g
ray. She’s singing her new single. I’ve heard it at least five times since I lied to her about listening to it, playing at the mall and on the holos.
I scan the room for Park Taesung, but don’t pick out his face in the crowd.
At the edge of the Skyroom there is a massive floor-to-ceiling window. I gaze outside at the bright lights of Neo Seoul far below. Every seventh second, the searchlight comes around to highlight the buildings surrounding the Tower. Even when I close my eyes, I can see the light, circling. I wonder when the people who live beneath the glaring light become accustomed to it — when it’s no longer a nuisance but just part of the surroundings.
Sela’s song ends, and a new one begins. “Please tell me. Please tell me why people hurt one another.”
It’s the song from the concert. The first time I’d heard it, I’d thought it depressing. But there’s a subversive quality to the lyrics. I’m surprised it hasn’t been censored. Then again, C’est La Vie isn’t the Proselytizer, here to stir up a revolution.
“Please tell me. Why do people hurt one another? Why do people kill one another?”
I don’t have an answer. I don’t know if anyone does. All I know is, I’m ready to leave. It’s been a long day.
I head back toward the elevator bank. Halfway there, I spot a figure in the crowd. My heart kicks in my chest. No. It can’t be.
She stands with her profile to me, wearing a dress of deep blue.
It’s beautiful on her. And even though I know I’ll regret it, that I’ll be disappointed, even devastated, that it’s useless, I find myself moving toward her through the crowd until I’m standing behind her, and I know that she knows I’m there, that I’m here beside her, because her shoulders flinch as if taken by a chill.
She turns, slowly, and I say, “Mother.”
It’s strange the way you love the people that hurt you the most. For a second, I think she doesn’t recognize me, but then she takes my hands in her own soft ones. “My son.”
She looks the same. Maybe shorter. No, I’ve grown taller. The last I’d seen her, I’d been eight years old.