Ecotones: Ecological Stories from the Border Between Fantasy and Science Fiction

by Ken Liu

  A bird exploded from behind some thorny bushes, startling him. Then, someone was firing at him.

  He ducked, rolled, hid behind a lichen-eaten rock. Shards of stone exploded around him. He waited, then very slowly, burrowed into the nearby brush, and aimed. There was a man kneeling next to a tree, maybe four hundred meters away. An easy shot while airborne, effortless when prone and steady.

  He fired. The second smuggler dropped dead.

  Ruan was up and running again. He saw the third target, aimed, fired, missed. He missed! He bit off a curse as he gave chase. Well, maybe his arms were a little shaky. After all, he had been running for quite a while now.

  The target was zigzagging between trees, quick, small, nimble. He would stop now and then and take a pot shot back at Ruan. Even so, Ruan had to duck or take cover because even random shots could kill. He had read about the probability of an unaimed shot fatality in close-range engagements during his second year at the academy. It was 1 in every 19.33 million bullets for small arms fire.

  There was a loud beeping noise in his helmet—it was a warning from the positioning system. He had stepped out of the agreed-upon hunt radius.

  Conscious of the risk of getting injured during the first mission but consumed with the burning need to please his father and his friends, Ruan pursued, treading through snow and gorse. The Denier was getting tired, he noted. The distance shortened. Soon enough, Ruan would take the sho—

  Suddenly the sky was utterly blue above him.

  He was lying on his back.

  I’m shot, he thought, sad statistics running through his head. No, he wasn’t shot. Something had just tackled him.

  Then he felt the cold on his face.

  It took him a moment to understand what had happened. He was exposed!

  Ruan rolled over, fighting panic and disgust. His helmet lay in the snow just behind him, the air tubes torn, snagged around a low branch. He let out a shuddering breath.

  What now? Continue the chase? Head back to the helicopter?

  His training kicked in. First, compose yourself. You won’t die. The Chaos air is contaminated with carbon-dioxide and methane. Prolonged exposure may lead to severe health problems, but it will not kill a human outright.

  Second, finish the damn mission!

  Hot breath steaming between his gritted teeth, Ruan rose, anger replacing confusion and revulsion. He could handle this impure environment for a while. He would get this job done.

  He started running again, inhaling the frigid atmosphere of the Chaos.

  Soon enough, he was panting, wheezing, spitting, a bubble of snot tickling the tip of his nose, refusing to come out. Running in exposed, contaminated air was difficult. But the Denier seemed just as affected. He was only twenty or thirty meters away. No longer capering or taunting, rifle held low, plowing doggedly through slush and thorn.

  Ruan knelt, steadied his breathing and aimed. He pulled the trigger.

  The gun malfunctioned.

  Looking closely, he found the barrel jammed with spruce needles and hard ice. Snarling, he slung the rifle over his shoulder. Then, with his father’s spirit whipping resolve into the back of his mind, he stood on burning, rubbery legs and continued the pursuit.

  An age later, he caught up with the enemy. Tripped him. They went down in a breathless grunt. Ice scratched Ruan’s cheeks, made his eyes water. He wanted to puke his soul out, but his tongue was thick and swollen and raw. Fighting dry retches, he yanked his target over. The man was too exhausted to fight back.

  The man was—

  A woman.

  He was a she.

  “How do you feel, Ruan?” the doctor asked.

  “Strange,” he said, the pale violet lighting and the rushing water ambient noise of the psychiatrist’s office increasingly irritating.

  “Is it the fact you have killed men, or the fact that you have failed to kill the third smuggler?”

  “Neither. I don’t think about that. It’s the... other thing.”

  “The contact with the Denier woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “But that would point to the fact you have failed to kill her.”

  “My weapon malfunctioned.”

  “You could have killed her using your hands. Statistics show that only 1 in 6,544 women have the strength or training or both to survive such an encounter.”

  Ruan rose on his elbows. “Have you ever tried to kill anyone with your bare hands, Doctor?”

  “This session is about you, Ruan, not about me. Projection and aggression. Perfectly normal for post-combat trauma. I will increase your dosage of zinc and relaxants, and I will also sign you up for an aggression attenuation workshop.”

  “I just couldn’t strangle an unarmed person, that’s all.”

  “Is it because the enemy was of the opposite gender?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You may also need an equality awareness workshop, too, but the nearest term available is not for two months, I’m afraid. Have you ever had thoughts or fantasies about rape?”

  “What?”

  “Passive denial. Noted. Do you have erectile dysfunction?”

  Ruan rose from the water-filled bed. “I had better leave now, Doctor.”

  The girl was staring back at him, all too tanned, with bristly jet black hair and shaved temples, shiny piercings under her lip and in her cheek, and a small tattoo of a lizard on her thin, gulping neck. Her eyes were steel blue and staring at him with mad amusement.

  No fear there.

  Ruan pinned her arms down, waiting for his heartbeat to settle. But it just kept on hammering in his ears, red, misty gongs of nausea. His stomach threatened to punch through his spine.

  She kneed him in the groin, and he’d have felt immense pain if not for his armor. Realizing he was immune she tried to wrestle away, but she was too small, too weak to shake his bulk off. Resigned, she rested her head on the snow. The piercing stare did not go away.

  Ruan wondered what he should do now. Strangle her? Bash her head in? He had never trained for that. His training had never included female targets, either.

  “Go ahead,” the girl taunted, in an antiquated accent. “Do it.”

  What is it like to kill a man – a person – barehanded? Did he even dare touch her? Who knew what kind of disease she carried.

  “Come on, pretty face, finish it.”

  Ruan blinked hard. Did she just call him pretty face? Of course, it made sense. His careful genetic grooming and immaculate, healthy living conditions would make him extremely attractive to the flawed citizens of the Chaos.

  But then, the girl under him was pretty, too. Her face was oval, symmetrical, with a sharp chin. She had tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose. There was a scar on her jaw—UV exposure, Ruan thought with alarm and wonder. Yet, her hair was healthy, her teeth white and perfect.

  If anyone had a pretty face, it was her. In fact, she was as beautiful as any woman in the normal world.

  Now what? She still had to die.

  “How do you feel, Ruan?”

  “Confused.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I have been thinking about life recently. About human history.”

  His meditation teacher rolled her eyes. “A soldier and a philosopher. Have some tea.”

  “No, thank you. I was wondering… how did things go so horribly wrong?”

  “Wrong?”

  “There are thirteen billion people living on the other side of the bioborder. And they seem to be getting along just fine, despite the radiation and pollution and all the carcinogens in their meat. The world didn’t melt, there were no tidal waves or anything... I mean, maybe—”

  “Ruan, this is exactly why we have these meditation lessons. So you can cleanse your mind of poisonous thoughts.”

  “What if the Deniers have it right? What if all the measures we’ve taken to protect ourselves are meaningless?”

  “Ruan, what are you talking about?”

 
“Like, why do we use carbon dioxide capsules?”

  “Because that’s how you get the gas, Ruan.”

  “But plants need it, too.”

  “And that is why we have the greenhouse zones.”

  Ruan rubbed his forehead. The artificial incense was giving him a headache. “No, that’s not what I mean. There are plants out there, too. They grow just fine without our modifications and UV modulation, and all the rest. The Deniers use their atmosphere without any problems.”

  “The carbon dioxide in the Chaos is contaminated, Ruan. Everything is. That’s why we control our environments. Beyond the bioborder, they have genetic diseases. They have obesity. They have a million problems.”

  “What if I wanted to kiss a girl?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Why do I have to wait for her DNA report and her medical screening? Can’t I just kiss her?”

  “Ruan, I believe you should see a psychiatrist. These are rather disturbing thoughts.”

  “No, I mean, if I like someone—”

  “You follow protocol, Ruan. You follow it.”

  Her hot breath washed over his face and he turned away, trying to focus on his mission. He could not hear the helicopter rotor, could not hear any shots. The world was silent except for their erratic, labored breathing, and the cry of some subarctic bird hiding in the scree somewhere.

  “Come on, brave soldier. Finish your mission.”

  Ruan tried to imagine himself choking the life out of her. He closed his eyes hard, his own sweat burning, itching. “Why do you hate us?” he snarled at her. He opened his eyes.

  She wouldn’t stop looking at him!

  “What’s your name?” she asked suddenly.

  Shocked, Ruan heard his mouth answer the question.

  “I’m Mia,” the girl said.

  “Why do you hate us? Why do you want to destroy us?”

  Mia frowned, but still smiled. “Too much oxygen, is that it, Ruan? What the fuck are you talking about?”

  He let go of her left hand, and reached into her camouflaged suit. He padded and probed, yanked pockets and zippers open. He felt ashamed for groping a woman this way, but it was all part of the mission. He felt deeply disturbed that his fingers had to touch unknown contents on her person, even through a thick layer of nylon and polymer.

  His fist closed on half a dozen slim, round casings.

  He pushed them under her nose. “Why are you trying to smuggle these into my world!”

  Mia made an incredulous face. “It’s profitable business, Ruan.”

  “You are trying to poison my people!”

  “That’s carbon dioxide, Ruan.” She snorted with laughter.

  Ruan fixed his gaze on the silver casings. Standard breathing capsules, used throughout the normal world. Each one was a month’s worth of breathable carbon dioxide.

  “Poison,” he repeated.

  “Supply and demand, Ruan,” Mia said, her breath steadier now. “Your folks want it, we deliver it. Cheaper, too! Worth the risk of an occasional raid across the bioborder. Now, what you should be worried about are those people on your side who would have paid half the price to get our capsules.”

  She was mocking him, trying to confuse him.”Enough,” he grated. He tossed the capsules away.

  “Just remember, you kill people for trying to smuggle a vital—”

  “I said enough!”

  “If you’re going to kill me, please hurry up. I’m getting cold here.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “Stop shouting. I can hear you and smell your perfectly engineered breath all too well.”

  Ruan raised his fist. She raised her chin. The smile never wavered.

  “How can you live with yourself,” he growled, feeling defeated. His training had not included this, either.

  “It’s just business, Ruan.”

  “You are trying to undermine our morals and culture! You are trying to make our children sick.”

  “Your bloody children have never tasted chocolate! Now there’s a crime!”

  “Chocolate is not healthy!”

  “What about milk?”

  “It’s not healthy!”

  “Then why do mothers have it in their breasts?” She chuckled.

  Ruan raised his fist again, but he felt embarrassed doing it. She was deranged. He might as well kill her out of pity.

  “Well, Ruan, what now? Are you gonna keep pretending you’re about to kill me? Or do you have more sordid thoughts on your mind?”

  “Give me one good reason why I should let you live,” he said.

  Her face went blank. “All right, pretty face. One.”

  She pushed her head off the ice. And kissed him.

  “How do you feel, Ruan?”

  “Skeptical.”

  “Good. Skepticism is a sign of a healthy, curious, intelligent mind. What is that you feel skeptical about?”

  “Two things. One, the outcome of this session. I believe it won’t really be productive.”

  “Hmm. Early signs of depression and cynicism. I might recommend a magnesium and selenium cocktail. And why is that, Ruan?”

  “Because I don’t think I will feel better after we part ways today, Doctor. For one thing, I’ve never met you before. It’s always a different face listening to me and writing prescriptions. The idea of meeting a psychiatrist is to help you with a mental or emotional issue you might be facing. That’s clearly not the case here.”

  “Hmm. Disregard of authority. What is the second thing?”

  “The reason why I was asked to meet you. The conversation with my meditation teacher.”

  “Please elaborate.”

  “…are we doing the right thing?”

  “Yes, Ruan. We have saved the planet, and humanity.”

  “But humanity—most of it—lives outside the bioborder, and the planet is still here.”

  “Yes, Ruan, but at what cost? All that disease, all that pollution, all that chaos. We’ve cured the civilized world of all of these, and we can focus on making our society as productive and effective as it can be, without violence, without destroying the environment.”

  “We put it in a cage.”

  “It’s the only way to preserve nature, Ruan.”

  “But, ‘without violence’? Why do we still have a military, then? Why am I around?”

  “We need armed forces to protect us from the Deniers. But, specifically, when your parents were asked to choose your genetic predisposition, your father wanted his military career carried over in his offspring, which is why the geneticists preserved your aggression genes.”

  “I know that.”

  “There is another reason why you were summoned, Ruan.”

  “What is it?”

  “The council asked me to inform you that it has selected two potential partners for you. One of the candidates scored low on the aggression scale, so if you want your child not to continue in the army, you may choose so. The other comes from a similar background to yours, and there’s a 76% chance your offspring would become an officer within two years of military service.”

  “What if I want… something else?”

  “You can present us with a list of desired genetic traits, and we will determine the best candidate.”

  “No, I mean, what if I want to date a random girl? Just go out and—”

  “Ruan, what are you talking about?”

  What if I wanted to kiss a girl, he wanted to say again, but it was pointless. “Nothing. Just a thought.”

  “A very dangerous, unhealthy thought.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because that’s how chaos starts.”

  Horrified, he crawled back, touching a gloved finger to his lip. No. No. No!

  He had been trained to read tiny facial expressions and gestures, to anticipate enemy action, to see it happen before it happened.

  And then a crazy, suicidal girl from Chaos had kissed him.

  She had sullied him.

 
; Ruan rose to his feet, wondering what kind of disease he was developing. He took his surroundings in: a world with unfiltered cancer rays penetrating his skin, air full of heavy metals, unhygienic contact with a woman from Chaos.

  He realized how cold he was. His exposed head hurt from the chill. His ears and nose were numb. His eyes hurt from the morning sun glaring against the beaten, wind-licked snow. His throat was raw from breathing in frigid, polluted atmosphere.

  He needed immediate medical attention.

  “Get lost,” he whispered.

  The girl quickly got up and ran away without looking back. Ruan waited a moment, then looked behind him. There, a smudge of smoke. Mindful of bullet statistics and the fact he wore no helmet, he headed back toward sanity. His lips tingled.

  He wondered if he might die.

  “What it is, Son?”

  “It’s... the girl.”

  His father snorted. “I have to admit, that’s one deranged woman. But you’d have to be, to risk your life smuggling things across the bioborder.”

  “No... I mean—”

  “I know, Son. I read your report. She hit you in the face and ran away. It happens. Unarmed combat is always messy, unpredictable. No point torturing yourself over it. Whenever a mission goes wrong, all the protocols go down the drain. It becomes a game of discipline, superior firepower, and luck. There are no rules out there, Son. Hey, we got lucky our helicopter wasn’t destroyed, and we didn’t die in the crash!”

  She kissed me, and I let her go, Ruan wanted to say.

  But he had told no one.

  Couldn’t tell anyone.

  “Let me tell you a story, Son.” Ruan nodded weakly at his father’s tale. The old man was soon in full swing, retelling one of his best, about that two-day standoff in Australia’s coal mines.

  Ruan barely heard a word.

  What would people think if they knew he’d been manipulated by a tattooed Denier girl? What would happen to his military career? Once the doctors started probing and questioning him, they would learn all the grisly details.

  That he still felt that kiss on his lips, despite layers and layers of antibiotic creams.