Sofia and the Utopia Machine

by Judith Huang

  Its purpose was to consume, to overwhelm, to destroy. It enjoyed the power it had to decimate and corrupt everything that came in its path. It enjoyed reducing order to chaos. It enjoyed turning the beautiful into the ugly.

  It was itself very beautiful and very ugly at the same time. After all, something so ugly must have been beautiful once, before it was broken.

  And so the Lotan strode its way across planets and embedded itself in the hearts of sentient beings, lifting its enormous and majestic neck and nuzzling against their hearts, whether they were intelligent crystals or deep sea fungi, and made them turn upon themselves and their neighbours in poisonous hatred.

  It was the Lotan. Where it went, it was known, for its reputation stalked the continents before it. The waters parted before it, and cliffs fell down upon their knees when it passed. It was destruction itself, annihilation, found deep in the heart of every black hole.

  How the people of Sofia’s world came to know its name is related in the tale passed from father to daughter and mother to son, the story of Ha’shan and the Star.

  There was a rich land, a city that grew upon four mountains and bloomed with a thousand flowers. It was the most beautiful city you had ever seen, clad in green moss and carved out of black volcanic stone. It had towers that reached the sky and deep depths that plunged straight into the earth, and it sat glistening like a jewel on a great old river that roared its pleasure at the sight of the beautiful city.

  And it was a city ruled by a council of wise elders, their brows etched with wisdom and their robes magisterial, their white hair covering their heads like snow.

  And these counsellors would interpret the will of the heavens, and so they governed the city wisely and brought it such prosperity that all people, whether high or low, loved the city they lived in.

  And there was justice in the city, and it bloomed too, like one of the thousand flowers that graced the land. And it was said that the city’s peace and prosperity were built upon the wisdom of a single true star, buried deep within the mountain at the heart of the city, in a cave that only the wise counsellors were permitted to enter, and that this star was the guiding light for the city’s rulers, consulted only when the city was in the depths of calamity.

  In this city of wonders, there lived the son of one of the counsellors, an intelligent and quick-witted young man, brought up among the first of the families, and his friend, a djinn that lived in a small jewel he carried everywhere with him, a bonded slave of the counsellor’s household but no less respected and loved.

  One day, as the young man, whose name was Ha’shan, strolled along the roof of his magnificent home, grazing a lily with his finger and tasting its water as he raised it to his lip, he looked out beyond into the city and at the central mountain around which the city was built. The djinn he summoned with a short sweet whistle, so that he accompanied his master at his side.

  “What think you of the star that is rumoured to be buried there, beneath this jewel of a city?” asked the young master.

  “I think it slumbers in its place, young master, and I hope it will slumber for an age to come, for if it needs to be woken, it would mean our city would be in calamity,” replied the djinn.

  “If it is truly the source of wisdom and the greatness of this city, shouldn’t it be consulted more often?” asked Ha’shan, his eyes sparkling dangerously. “Why, if I were a grand counsellor, as my parents are, I would certainly want to know how the city may be improved, or how to expand its power, or how its commerce can flow farther abroad than it does now. And who better to ask than the star itself?”

  The djinn shivered in the air and did a somersault. “Indeed, who better to ask than the star?” he echoed. “And who better to do the asking than yourself, an intrepid and intelligent young man?”

  “Exactly what I was thinking!” laughed Ha’shan, clapping his hands at the somersault. For it is the province of the young and powerful to do foolish things.

  However, it is not an easy thing to access the greatest secret an advanced civilisation has sworn to protect, not even for an intelligent and powerful young man. As he mulled over his brainwave, Ha’shan became obsessed with the idea of reaching the star, and started asking his father questions, quizzing him on esoteric matters related to the guardianship of the city.

  “Is it true, my father, that there is a force that holds the city together, that governs it with wisdom?”

  “Are you not describing the council of the elders, my son?”

  “Ah yes, but there are rumours…”

  “And rumours will be rumours,” said his father, “but the wise man uses his eyes and his mind. My colleagues and I govern this city, well, I hope, and with wisdom, and that is what holds the city together.”

  “What of the cave in the mountain, then?”

  “The mountain is a mountain, one of four that the city is built upon. There is nothing more to it than that.”

  “Is it not true that we tell annually at the festival of the deep summer the story of a star that fell and was hidden in the depths of the mountain?”

  “And we do, but those are merely stories for children,” said Ha’shan’s father. “There is nothing more to those stories.”

  “But is it not true that our city is built upon magic as well as reason?”

  “And that is true, my boy. But the counsellors do magic in the open and not in secret, and harmony is maintained by reason as well as magic.”

  Thus Ha’shan was unable to get anything of use out of his father. So Ha’shan turned to the libraries of that great city—great catacomb libraries that went deep into the earth for many leagues, lit only by the glow of his djinn. There were many stories of the star, but no book told how to access it, and all the stories began with a warning that seeking it out was strictly forbidden but to the counsellors and even then only when the city was in crisis.

  Finally, in the deepest catacomb he had yet seen, Ha’shan found the dustiest of books, its pages mildewed and its leather faded. And in this book Ha’shan found a single reference to a calamity that had once struck the city—a terrible storm that had rocked the foundations of the mountains and made the waters of the river rise beyond their bounds, and in it was mentioned that the great counsellors had convened an extraordinary meeting and decided to consult the star. They unlocked the great gates that barred all people from walking the path to the central mountain, mouthed the secret passwords that defended the waterfall that hid the mouth of the cave, and spoke face to face with the great jewel of the city itself within.

  Ha’shan trembled with excitement, and turned to his djinn with stars in his eyes.

  “Why, then, the gates can be opened! But of course they must open, for they are gates, after all, and no gate has been made that cannot be open as well as shut!”

  “And the passwords, my lord?”

  “Surely my father will know them, and surely if he knows them he must keep them somewhere he thinks is safe, and if he keeps it somewhere he thinks safe, it may be found with only a little ingenuity.” For Ha’shan was not a young man who waited idly for things to happen, but very much did things as they came to his mind.

  And so Ha’shan, under cover of darkness and accompanied by his djinn, broke into the secret chambers of his father that night. The djinn cast a spell over the shelves in the chambers to reveal all magical and hidden things, and they danced before Ha’shan and his djinn, floating towards them as though borne on an alien wind.

  And among these magical and hidden things he found a pass-stone, decorated with esoteric carvings and glistening like a jewel, which he was certain had to be a password to the waterfall that guarded the cave within the mountain, and this he pocketed. And then, being very careful to leave everything as he had found it, he left his father’s secret chambers and clambered back into bed, his heart racing.

  It was three days later that Ha’shan found an opportunity to try his luck with a path to the mountain. The great gates that barred the path to the m
ountain were heavy and dark, forged out of the magical metal that was mined in the mines to the South.

  Ha’shan used all his strength to break the chains that shut them, but they would not shatter. Then he had his djinn try all manner of spells of unlocking to undo the chains, but all to no avail. Finally, he remembered his sword was also forged of the magical metal that the gates were made of, and reinforced it with a spell for the breaking of things. He raised his sword and brought it squarely down upon the chains, and magically, they unwound themselves from around the gates and fell to pieces on the ground.

  Flushed with success, Ha’shan and his djinn walked up the path of the mountain, the path that led to the secret depths of the caves. At the foot of the mountain there was a great waterfall. It roared noisily down the heights of the mountain into a pool that was so deep you could see the stars in it, although it was bright daylight. At this magnificent sight Ha’shan stopped and took a sharp intake of breath. Truly it was a most mystical sight, the water white as clouds and so deep he couldn’t see the bottom.

  Ha’shan knew that to get past the waterfall he would have to swim. But he also knew the water was magical and would dissolve any unauthorised trespassers who were trying to enter the cave, so he would have to use the pass-stone that he had found in his father’s secret chambers.

  Ha’shan stripped off his clothes and left them by the side of the pool. He plunged into the pool with one graceful dive and felt the coolness of the water rushing over his chest and up into the little canals of his ears. The bubbles grew out of his nose and he felt the immense refreshment of the waters. Thundering about him were the clouds of foam arising from the crashing waterfall, and it deafened his ears even underwater. In one hand he held the pass-stone.

  Forcing his eyes to open underwater, he saw a little ledge before the waterfall with a hole just the size of the pass-stone and swam towards it eagerly. His djinn floated beside him in the air, as djinns were not inclined to get wet. He took a deep breath and dived deeper, towards the ledge, and when he came to it, placed the pass-stone into the hole.

  What happened next caused him to nearly disbelieve his own eyes, for the waterfall parted in the middle like a curtain, as though some invisible hand had drawn it apart. The pass-stone glowed with an ethereal light, and Ha’shan and his djinn swam through the gap in the waterfall and into the caverns behind it.

  Ha’shan found that his knees were grazing solid rock, and so, cautiously, he stood up in the cavern behind the waterfall. It was a dark, green-smelling place that seemed to narrow into a long corridor. Cautiously, Ha’shan and his djinn crept along the walls of the cavern, the djinn emitting a soft glowing light. The walls of the cavern dripped continually upon them, sending chills down Ha’shan’s back each time a drop fell upon him. The rock was slippery and wet, and he felt constantly as though he were about to slip and fall. So intently was he focused on keeping his grip on the slimy rock that it took him a while to realise that he was walking towards an unearthly blue light.

  It was dim at first but unmistakable. Then Ha’shan turned a corner and suddenly his eyes were blinded by the light. It cast scintillating shadows against the cavern walls, and was itself so dazzling that he dared not look straight at it. It seemed to throw off light like a thousand mirror faces, like a giant multifaceted jewel. It was blue and purple and pink and green; it was all colours and colourless all at once. It was the star.

  Ha’shan fell down on his face when he came into the presence of it. He mumbled what felt instinctive to him—a kind of prayer. A prayer for mercy, for he was frightened—more frightened than he had ever been in his life. It completely terrified him that he had sought the star out, and now that he was in the presence of it, he regretted immediately the entire plan in the first place.

  The star spoke. It did not speak in a language but in all languages. It didn’t make a sound but beamed its message straight into the mind of the young man, although he averted his eyes from the star.

  Who are you, and why have you sought me out? beamed the star, its voice as ancient as the mountains, as ancient as the skies.

  “Forgive me, my Star, forgive me!” Ha’shan trembled.

  Is the city in calamity? beamed the star. Why do you disturb my rest?

  “Forgive me, O Star! The city is not in calamity, I have come only to seek your wisdom.”

  The star trembled with terrible energy. How dare you disturb my peace for no reason! Very well, since it is wisdom you seek, state your question!

  “O Star, I seek only the wisdom that would govern this city better,” cried Ha’shan, his voice trembling.

  You would have that wisdom, wouldn’t you? asked the star. Very well then, but you will have to pay for it. You will become the greatest ruler of this city, but when the time comes for the next calamity that will visit the city on your watch, you will have to face it, and only your death will pay for its survival. And because you disturbed me, the calamity that visits the city will be the greatest of all; the most terrible evil. You will have to face the evil of the Lotan.

  There was a flash of light even more dazzling than the light that emanated from the star, and the light exploded in Ha’shan’s eyeballs like his eyes themselves were being obliterated. Ha’shan was plunged into utter darkness, for he had become blind.

  Crying, stumbling, Ha’shan crept out of the caverns with blighted eyes, his djinn floating beside him, before he reached the edge of the cave beneath the waterfall and plunged into the icy water beneath. He summoned his djinn to retrieve the pass-stone, and the waterfall fell back like a curtain over the caverns.

  From that day forward, Ha’shan became renowned in the land for his extraordinary wisdom and his blighted eyes. He never spoke of how he had come to be blind, for he was too wise to reveal such secrets now, unlike the foolish youth who had sought that wisdom.

  But it haunted him that he had condemned the city to a fate linked inextricably to his own—that one day he would have to die for the city. In that day he would find his true worth and the true wisdom of a ruler, and in that way he had brought a calamity upon the city that he loved because he had sought out the wisdom of the star.

  And that is how Ha’shan’s foolishness will one day awaken the Lotan, for it is the Lotan, and no other, that will bring that calamity that he alone will be able to slay.

  Chapter 20: In the Cell

  Clara paced around in the little room. It was small, windowless, and with no handle on the door, reminding her that she was not free to open it from the inside. Along one side was a wooden plank that served as a bed. A single, dirty light bulb lit the room.

  She found that pacing around calmed her, which she needed since she was so agitated. She didn’t spend a whole lot of time on self-analysis, so it was a little frightening to have to do it all at once. But she was so dirty. She had never felt this grimy before. They hadn’t given her anything but the loose gown she had been wearing for four days. On the second day, they had given her a small, wet face towel, and she had wiped herself down like a piece of furniture.

  She thought of Sofia. She hoped she had done something sensible, and at least managed to get away from the flat. Perhaps even find some way to flee the country, although…she was so very young! Clara thought of her lab. Had they ransacked it, trying to find the Utopia Machine? That was, after all, what they had been interrogating her about ever since she got here. They seemed convinced that she had hidden it somewhere, that she had unnamed accomplices. She thought of Peter. Peter—was it possible that he was in this very building, separated by nothing but a few walls?

  She didn’t want to know how she felt about Peter. She had pushed him out of her mind for so long, she didn’t want to think about him. Certainly not right now. But then…their progress on the Utopia Machine had stalled when he had disappeared seven years ago. He had definitely done something to it. Could they have arrested him then, for that act of sabotaging the project?

  Ah, Peter. Try as she might, she could not push him
from her thoughts. He of the working class background, so

  self-effacing and modest, yet undeniably brilliant. The poster boy from the Voids, the model of social mobility—one of the last of his kind—a scholar who had won his scholarship to Harvard, where they had first met. A Party man at first, idealistic and a fervent supporter of the government that had given him all the opportunities, before he suddenly changed.

  Unbidden, the memories of their life together flashed across her mind.

  She was sitting in Lowell Dining Hall, the light reflecting off the piles of snow outside the windows as a young Peter walked in, dumping a pile of clothbound library books he had retrieved from the obscure Singapore section of the stacks—all those banned books about imprisoned dissidents he tried to convince her to read, despite her disinterest in anything political…

  Peter, proposing to her on the banks of the Charles River with twenty hand-printed, hand-coloured plates inspired by Blake that he had letter pressed at the Bow & Arrow Press in Adams House, and their fellow grad student friends cheering when she accepted…

  Peter in his No. 4 army uniform and regulation black-framed glasses, rushing to meet her at the airport with a bouquet of white calla lilies, her favourite…

  Peter on their wedding day, smiling shyly as she came down the aisle, handsome in his black tuxedo with his hair slicked back, looking for all the world like he had won the top prize in some competition…

  Peter with Sofia, delighting her with a Kinder Surprise that had melted slightly in the tropical heat when they picked her up from kindergarten… Peter swinging their little daughter round in a perfect circle by her arms, while she squealed happily, gurgling her pleasure…

  A sob of grief rose from her throat. She remembered the moment she had fallen out of love with him—for no particular reason at all, she had looked at him and seen nothing but a sad, overworked man in his thirties with his papers strewn across his desk, his face tired and weary. His arms were too skinny. His chest was shallow and small, and his hair was thinning.