The 8th Sky_A Psychological Novel With An Unforgettable Twist

by Leigh Lyn

  I glanced at the clock in the upper right corner of the screen. It was 6:33 a.m. I closed my laptop and stretched as I went to the kitchen to make coffee. The twins would be getting up in half an hour.

  Chapter 20

  An era seemed to have gone by since I last set foot in Corinth, even though it had only been three days. Its army of architects, technicians, and interns, who had their eyes transfixed on their plans, schedules, or screens, were so engrossed in pushing Peter’s boulders up hills they didn’t even look up. None of my teammates were there as I read the dozen emails that Xiao Cai, the project manager of the Chongqing project, had sent me, throwing a tantrum in each about the same issue.

  An hour later, my team walked in, including Stephanie, who, it turned out, had called an emergency meeting. Seeing me at my desk, she came over and erupted. “I have other things to handle than tidying up your mess.”

  I’d worked with her long enough to know she saw any problems large or small as mine, even though she was the team leader. For the Chongqing project, that was futile, because Xiao Cai was her middle school classmate and called her whenever he wanted.

  “Xiao Cai unloaded an instruction on me at 8.59 this morning. He wants us to finish the Master Layout Plan submission, incorporating a long list of new requirements. I have you booked for a flight next Monday, 10 a.m. to Chongqing. Talk to the team and take it from here.”

  She spun one-eighty on her heels and walked away when I called after her, “We’re waiting for them to confirm design decisions! We can’t table the submission without. What if they change their mind or blame us?”

  Glancing over her shoulder, she bellowed, “Talk to your team and deal with it!”

  After lunch, we made a conference call to Xiao Cai. The whole team was sitting around the phone as the conundrum revealed itself.

  “The government official in charge of the site next to ours is ruining it for everyone,” Xiao Cai moaned. “The moron had to get himself arrested for taking bribes. They figure—”

  “They?” I interrupted him. “Who are they?”

  “The officials overlooking our project at the Planning Bureau. Who else?” He was on the verge of exploding. “I’m telling you what happened during our meeting you should have attended.”

  “I’m sorry. What do they figure?”

  “They figure these will be the last comments you need to incorporate.”

  Wide-eyed, Suki crossed her arms to make an “x” sign.

  I pressed the “mute” button on the microphone and asked, “What?”

  “It bombed. Xiao Cai and what’s-her-face—” Suki pointed at the empty chair opposite my desk. “S-teflon-y figured the best thing to do was for someone to convince those officials that because the government’s expert panel had approved the master-plan design already, their necks are not on the block.”

  The last time I checked our contract, liaison with the government department was the client’s responsibility, not ours.

  “And who did Xiao Cai and Stephany figure this someone to be?” I asked.

  Suki tilted her head. “Steph asked Don since he has another meeting in Chongqing the Friday before, but now that you are here…”

  I un-muted the phone. “Hey, Xiao Cai, I'll get back to you.”

  “That’s unnecessary,” he said. “Stephanie confirmed you will do whatever is necessary.”

  We spent hours going through Xiao Cai’s list of changes. I was about to call it a day when Ben’s face popped up on my phone.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “I’m swamped.” Seeing Kat in the distance where Peter’s team was, something suddenly connected. “I’m sorry, do you mind if I call you back? I got stuff to take care of.”

  “Oh… I wanted to tell you about the trip, but it can wait I guess.”

  Ending Ben’s call, I dialed Kat’s extension. “Fancy a quick drink at Bauhinia in ten?… Okay… I’ll grab Suki if you grab Don.”

  “Are we screwed?” Suki asked. We’d found a table just outside Bauhinia’s bi-folding front doors and were waiting for our drinks.

  “You can’t expect architects to fix politics.” I shook my head. “This is outside our expertise; I don’t know what Stephanie is thinking.”

  Albert and Jen, two colleagues from another team, walked past and joined us.

  Noticing their tan, I asked, “Did you forget to bring sun-lotion to the beach last weekend?”

  “We still got that from the demonstration,” Albert said.

  “The universal suffrage for 2017 demo?” Suki asked.

  He nodded. “Not that many to choose from.”

  “Good for you,” Suki said. “But it’s a shame that the more the pan-democracy bunch does, the more they make them look like lame ducks.”

  “The Chief should listen to the people,” Albert said. “Instead, C.Y. treats us like we’re annoying fleas who shouldn’t bite a sleeping dog. I take offense to that.”

  Nothing like politics to stoke up the heat in people these days. Half an hour of government-bashing later, Kat and Dawn slouched into their chairs.

  “Another round, a whiskey sour and whatever he’s having!” Kat called out to the waiter.

  “A draught, please?” Don said, looking exhausted.

  “You’re an hour late,” I said, ordering a round of Dawas; a delicious, fluorescent pink drink which, according to the menu, was Swahili for something between a medicine and a magic potion.

  “Blame it on Peter,” Don said, lighting up a cigarette. “He loves these last minute where-the-fuck-do-we-stand meetings, doesn’t he?”

  Kat swung her long hair back. “Oh, he thrives on them, but then, you do too.”

  “How so?” Don asked.

  “He can detect by the twitching of your brows and other tics what you’re doing wrong and what you should do instead.” Kat had been Peter’s secretary since she replaced her school flats and Timberland school bag with heels and designer bags fifteen years ago.

  The pink Dawas arrived; we toasted and emptied one each.

  “Just by the twitching of our brows?” Jen, who hadn’t worked with Peter, laughed.

  “You should talk to Peter about Chongqing, Lin.” Suki said to me. “Everyone, including Xiao Cai and Stephanie, are freaking out.”

  “Could do.” I shrugged.

  “What about Chongqing?” Kat asked, emptying another shot. As Suki explained the conundrum in detail, I turned to Don. “How do the Corp rats like the fake stuff?”

  “Huh?”

  Don looked lost.

  “You were complaining about the fake materials the contractor submitted for the G.Y. project you’re working on?”

  “Oh, I’m going there Friday to look at them.” Don hung his lids half-mast. “It was a fraction of the original price, and the PM said it’s fine if the quality is comparable.”

  “That’s one of the Asian characteristics of their capitalism they always mention but never admit.” I chuckled. “How’s the rest going?”

  “It’s going.” Don shrugged. “The concreting is done. Only the roof is left.”

  Not having worked in China before Corinth and not speaking Putonghua, Don was perfect for the job. Knowing less made it easier for his conscience.

  “That’s fast,” I said. “Is the workmanship up to par?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’d have to see on Friday.”

  “Is it the standard ISO-inspection?” Kat asked.

  Don nodded.

  “Well done,” I said. “Seeing the thing built is like watching your baby graduate from university.”

  Don rolled his eyes. “We all know it’s your baby, Lin.”

  “It was a team effort, but I’d love to see it.”

  More colleagues had arrived and moved another table to adjoin ours. I glanced at Albert, who ordered one more round of Daras after knocking one back with a flick of his wrist.

  “Why don’t you come along?” Don asked. “We’ve arranged Irene from the 33rd floor
to be the independent checker, but she can’t make it.”

  “Irene’s got the chickenpox,” Kat said.

  “Why don’t you come instead?” Don asked. “According to ISO protocol, someone from another team must come along.”

  I beamed. “I would love to, but only if it’s no hassle for you?”

  “Not at all.” Don shrugged.

  Across the table, a beet-red, drunken Albert shouted at us, “Hey, you two wankers over there, drink up! You’re four rounds behind.”

  Don laughed. “I apologize on his behalf. I do hope he remembers this tomorrow.”

  Chapter 21

  The dark sky exploded, and thunder struck not far from our plane. I held my breath as the pilot steered us through layers of mangled clouds to land at a UFO-like airport that had landed in each of China’s bigger cities after leaving the mother fleet. Unnerved to be so near to the dragon’s pulse, I wondered if Dr. Wen was right and I was looking for ghosts where there were none.

  Trained as an architect prone to spatial exaltations, the sleek and modern terminal would normally excite me, but today its banality reminded me of aluminum cannelloni. Adrenaline pumped through my veins during the cab drive in the drizzling rain that took Don and me into the glimmering city of Chongqing. Wet, it shone like it had just risen majestically out of the Yangtze River with muddy water snaking around the peninsula. Glistening skyscrapers aspiring to climb higher than its neighbors even if it meant they were ascending to meet the thunderstorm.

  Upon arrival, we sidestepped the puddles and walked up to G.Y.’s complex. Next to it was Corinth’s building site, in the middle of which were two defiant brick sheds leaning against each other for support in the vast chaos created by construction.

  “What’s that about?” I asked, tilting my chin to the ramshackle structures.

  “The owners are husband and wife,” Don said. “The story goes that the sheds have been passed onto them from their parents who have been neighbors for all their lives. And now they are refusing to sell.”

  “What role does Corinth play in this?”

  “None, but the story went viral, and the press mentioned Corinth’s name. The couple claimed the developer used sly tricks to chase them off: snakes, blackmail, threats, the works. Peter got anxious but, honest to God, there was nothing I could do about it.”

  “How can anyone live in the middle of this?” I scanned the cranes and piles of construction material.

  “I doubt they do.” Don raised his left brow.

  In China, people with compelling stories like this couple were the Achilles heel of planners and developers. Soon, the shacks would be surrounded by gleaming glass facades and become a testimony that relentless integrity still exists.

  “Has the project manager replied to your text yet?”

  “No, but let’s go inside.”

  Don took me to a freight container converted to a site office. There he introduced me to the skinny clerk of works, Lao Qiang, and a heavy-set site supervisor with bristle-like hair called Xiao Pang.

  “The project manager is still in Shanghai. They delayed his flight,” Lao Qiang said. Seeing the slump of my shoulder and Don’s pained expression, he added, “He asked me to show you the works though.”

  I turned to Don. “Have you seen the completed phases of the complex?”

  Under Peter’s supervision, my team designed the existing laboratories four years ago while we added the dispatch center two years ago.

  “They gave me a lightning tour, which lasted ten minutes,” Don replied.

  “Can we look around the existing complex?” I asked Lao Qiang.

  “I don’t see why not,” he said and picked up the phone.

  Five minutes later, a thirty-something woman in a long white linen tunic came in.

  “I’m Ai Ling; I’m here to take the architects on a tour of our facilities?”

  “That would be us,” Don said.

  “If you come this way,” she said and led us across the chaotic site to G.Y.’s stately entrance court. We entered G.Y.’s tall, oval-shaped entrance hall. A glazed corridor led to the labs, where pristine metal workbenches were coupled to fume cupboards and machinery. Two young men in white overalls hovered over Petri dishes, which looked empty to the naked eye. The glee on their faces suggested the secrets of the universe were unfolding in front of their eyes.

  “They look young for scientists,” I said.

  “They are Ph.D. students. Their professor at the Chongqing University is the leader of this research project.”

  “What’s the research about?” I asked.

  “Our company is a pioneer in medical implant devices that, in a decade, will make oral or intravenous application obsolete,” Ai Ling said. “Here, you see them use unfertilized eggs to clone genetically altered stem cells to produce various medication and enzymes.”

  “Human eggs?” Don asked, and I couldn’t help smiling.

  Taken aback, Ai Ling shook her head. “I don’t think so. You’d have to ask the research staff. If you want to come this way, I’ll show you our community facilities.” Ai Ling pointed in the direction from which we had come.

  “Wait,” I said, taking a few photos of the lab with my phone. “Our company has professional photos taken of our buildings and interiors, but they don’t have people in them. And I believe the looks on the faces of users is the best proof of our designs’ success.”

  We followed Ai Ling to the community center. In our original design, this had been the dispatch center. Although the bright colors were at odds with the building design, the conversion was well done.

  “We have a business-to-business health plan for affiliated companies. And this is our day-clinic serving these companies,” Ai Ling said, looking around the pink waiting room where a dozen women of different ages were seated.

  “Why are all the patients women?” I asked.

  “At this clinic, we specialize in women’s diseases. With the one-child family planning policies, they are the ones most in need of care. Both medically and psychologically. Also, one of our doctors here is a famous gynecologist. This way, please.” Ai-Ling pointed down a corridor painted pastel yellow with segments of rainbow here and there.

  We entered a hall that, in our original design, had been a multi-purpose recreation room fitted out for badminton and other ball games.

  “What the heck?” Don muttered.

  Hundreds of its occupants lay in rows upon rows of transparent polycarbonate cribs, years away from holding a racket or bat.

  “This is G.Y.’s famous childcare center,” Ai Ling said.

  I bent over a crib and peered at the baby sleeping in it. Her peanut-shaped head was a sallow yellow.

  “If you want to follow me,” Ai Ling said, leading us to the next hall. It had a thick green carpet on the floor and green padding up to the waist. Rows and rows of playpens line the walls, in which hundreds of toddlers were kept. A dozen toddlers in red jumpsuits were crawling about in a large yellow circle in the middle. Young men in white lab-coats were walking around, hovering over the pens while scribbling things down on clipboards.

  “What are they doing?” I asked, rattled by the finicky looks on their faces.

  “Taking notes,” Ai Ling said. “There’s always room for improvement. Come with me please.”

  Ai Ling whisked us past the last recreation room to the canteen, a cozy, wood-paneled room with hundreds of tables surrounding a large serving island in the middle of the bright space.

  “All food is from G.Y.’s own GMO farms,” she said. “We specialize in traditional Chinese medicine-inspired dishes, which promote ‘Chi’ in body and mind.”

  “Would you like to try some?”

  “Don’t mind if we do,” Don said.

  “Here you have two VIP visitors’ passes.” Ai Ling handed us the cards. “Help yourself to anything you like.” She bowed and walked away.

  “The observatory announced that typhoon ten would be hoisted in an hour,” Xiao Pang sai
d when we returned to the site office. “Xiao Cai’s flight is canceled, and Lao Qiang has gone to tell everyone to wrap up and go home.”

  My heart sank. “Does it mean we can’t see the works?”

  “You can, but quickly. If you’d like to come here and register.” He opened a window on the desktop computer and prompted for a password; I leaned in to see what he typed.

  “Your names, please,” he said, pointing his pudgy finger where he wanted them. As Don complied, my eyes wandered around the small office. Shirts, pants and odd pieces of clothing hung from a row of nails. An old, stained rice cooker sat on a wooden stool. A key cabinet hung above it, containing dozens of keys with white, blue-rimmed tags. Pinned to a plyboard wall was a large site plan highlighted in fluorescent colors. Walking up to it, I saw it was a construction timetable with a legend that showed the completion dates. If I wasn’t misreading it, the basement had been finished six months ago.

  “All set. Let’s go then,” Xiao Pang said from behind me.

  As we headed for the door, Lao Qiang, the skinny clerk, walked in. Resting his watery, yellowed eyes on Xiao Pang, he said, “I’ll take them. Why don’t you stay and notify the sub-contractors?”

  Pointing at a forest of metal posts supporting a wooden deck, Lao Qiang said, “The formwork for the roof is ready to go. We can pour the concrete as soon as the weather clears up.”

  I followed Don as he inspected every square inch of what there was to inspect, asking the old clerk of works a question now and then. Deserted, the place seemed larger and creepier than any construction site I’d ever visited. At intervals, lightning illuminated the gigantic gray cloud, which hung low in the otherwise dark sky. After an hour of climbing up and down and scavenging around piles of building materials and heaps of cement, Don said we were done.