by Saxon Keeley
“Thank you, Jessica.”
He waits for his niece to close the door behind her and as soon as it is shut, Wesley throws off the covers and reaches for the glass of water. Gulping it down, a trickle of water runs down his cheek, and with the last mouthful he swishes it around his mouth hoping to get rid of the horrid taste left from last night.
Dressed in only his underwear, he wraps the towel around himself and heads for the bathroom.
Wesley resents his brother for owning one of the most luxurious homes on Shanxi. The wooden flooring is genuine wood imported from Earth. Paintings, ornaments and ancient relics saved from China decorate the house. There is a warmth to his home that reminds Wesley of old images of life in China.
Underfloor heating makes every barefooted step inviting. Actual plants cleanse the air, not like the wax plants that are found almost everywhere else.
To even have a bathroom in the house is a sign of extravagance and privilege afforded only to those who live in the Imperial Gardens. But there is no wastage. The water will be used to wash the whole family, then it will be found a secondary use or recycled. Even in the Imperial Gardens, nothing is wasted.
Bathed and dressed, Wesley strolls down the hall to the dining room.
The rain cascades from the roof onto the patio. Gardeners are already busy making sure the flowers can survive this morning’s weather. He waves just to acknowledge them, more than what he imagines Alistair does.
Wesley takes his place at the black lacquer dining table between Jessica and Nicholas.
With only a couple of years between them, it is obvious that Nicholas is the elder sibling. While his sister retains her childlike mischievous sensibilities, Nicholas is more wanting to adhere to the expectations and social situations of the adult world. Often this is misconstrued as an introverted shyness.
But Wesley knows better, nudging his nephew, they both share a smile.
Straightening the spoon and chop sticks so they are perfectly aligned, they wait patiently while Weishi, his brother’s wife, finishes the breakfast in the kitchen.
“Good morning brother,” greeted Alistair pleasantly enough considering last night. “Jessica, could you pour your uncle some tea.”
She nods and leans over to the teapot in the centre of the table. Wesley watches as she expertly pours the dark golden liquid into a cup.
Distracting Jessica with a quick kiss placed upon her forehead, he takes the pot and refills her cup. Wesley then offers to pour Nicholas one, but he refuses unsure if it would be wrong of him to accept his uncle serving the household.
A gorgeous smell wafts in and Weishi rushes over to the table with breakfast. A large pot with a ladle sticking out is placed onto the food-warmer. Quickly she dashes back to fetch two plates which she lays down either side of the pot.
Jessica is just about to dive in first until Nicholas stops her haste. “Uncle is our guest. You must wait until Father and Uncle have taken theirs.”
“Do not worry, you can take my place in the line,” said Wesley.
Excitedly Jessica opens the pot and helps herself to a generous serving of congee, and then, to her brother’s dismay, she takes the largest youtiao. Stopping at the third dish, she leans over carefully to inspect it. Jessica takes a huge sniff and tries to determine whether she would like it.
“It is good for you,” encouraged her father as he scoops up a slice with his chopsticks and places it into his congee.
“Jessica do please sit back, allow your Uncle to help himself,” insisted Weishi.
As she leans back onto her chair, two chopsticks dart passed her face and snatch a slice. Jessica watches her uncle as he places the whole thing into his mouth. Moaning in pleasure while he chews, he convinces her to try some.
Hesitantly she takes a bite. The saltiness of the fake meat leaves her very uncertain of the prospect of eating anymore.
“It is a lot better if you put it in your congee,” explained her mother.
Wesley nods, confirming the advice.
There is a pause in conversation as everyone tucks into their breakfast. Words are replaced by the tapping of chopsticks and slurping.
Jessica pushed her fish substitute to one side of the bowl and buries it. Wesley winks to let her know she is secret safe with him.
Nicholas is the first to compliment his mother’s food, everyone extends their gratitude afterwards.
“What time are you meeting with Grandfather?” Weishi asked her husband.
Alistair looks at his watch. “Not long, maybe about ten minutes if I am lucky.”
“Wesley,” she said, “do you think you could look after Nicholas and Jessica today? Their nanny called in early this morning and she is too sick to work. It would not be any hassle. Lunch is already prepared and we would be back before dinner.”
Wesley feels a kick from under the table and looks at Jessica trying to get his attention. He leans in close enough for her to whisper.
“Mother is lying to you. I heard her on the phone telling Nanny not to come in today.”
“Jessica,” scolded Alistair.
“It is true,” she protested.
Wesley mouths to his niece that he figured as much, reassuring her.
“It would be a huge help if you could,” added Alistair.
“No problem. It will be fun,” said Wesley, nodding to both of Alistair’s children.
Even Nicholas seems to be pleased by the notion.
“Wesley, you are a life saver,” said Weishi.
A loud knocking comes from the front door. Alistair finishes his mouthful.
“That will be the Chairman.”
Tucking in his chair, Alistair rushes around from room to room, each time acquiring something different. First a jacket, then a coat, a briefcase, then an umbrella. The whole scenario looks well practiced. His wife and children wish him a good day and continue with their breakfast.
Before anyone else has an opportunity to claim the remainders of Alistair’s breakfast, Jessica appears at her father’s place and carries off the leftovers of his youtiao.
Alistair Jung
“You cannot blame your brother for being angry,” the Chairman counselled his grandson.
Unlike the early hours of the morning, the beauty of the Political District can now be fully appreciated. Each building unique. Patterned with rich vibrant colours. All distinctly based on old famous Chinese architecture.
The rain falls on to the city and is directed by the slight curvature of the pavements into the waterways either side. These open channels give the appearance that each structure has its own moat, small bridges connect the entrances to the street. Kept immaculately clean, the waterways carry rain down the channel to the nearest water plant. They serve as the arteries of the colony, ensuring its survival.
“It is not that he is angry. It is that his anger is so directionless. Throwing punches at small time Western business men in seedy bars with a gang of thugs who are happy to sit back and watch him take the fault. It is an embarrassment. He spits in the face of you and our father,” argued Alistair.
“And what is it that you know of mine or your father’s place here on Neo-Shanxi?” chuckled Zhang. “You were but babies when you and Oscar arrived on this planet. The colony was a hard place to live. Better than China granted, but hard regardless. The canyon that the city resides next to was once dry. You would not remember the summers when the droughts hit. Families would be found dead, rotting in their homes. It was Charles, your father, that changed the prospects of this colony. What these people owe to him, what they owe to me, is immeasurable. Do not count yourself or your brothers in either legacy.
“Talk of family honour is commendable,” he continued, “but it is your futures that you should be most concerned about. You should not frivolously worry about the reputation of a name, but the strength of your generation. If embarrassment is all that is at stake then be embarrassed. But it is more than humility that you will lose if your brother were to be deported t
o Earth. How do you expect to find strength if a part of you is missing?”
Contemplating his grandfather’s words, they continue through the crowded streets.
Business men and women weave in and out of one another hurrying to work. Teahouses open early to serve breakfast to those whose commute did not allow enough time to eat. The district’s cleaners stand in the alleyways smoking waiting of the rush of people to subside.
The Shanxi Assembly is the second largest structure on the planet, after the TFP on the other side of the canyon, and dwarfs the other buildings of the city. A lasting relic of the first colonisation attempt of Delta Nine, it stands out as a botched visualisation of what society would look like away from Earth. Much of the building is made of glass and during autumn and spring, when the storms are at their worst, whole floors are closed off for safety reasons. Though still functioning as the colony’s seat of power, it is a symbol of irony for many of the Chinese living on Neo-Shanxi.
Liang Huazhi Square, that the Assembly sits in the centre of, is the busiest area of the whole colony. Headquarters of major industry heavyweights, high end independent fashion retailers and extortionately priced restaurants serving imported meat, all fight for their place in the square.
“My grandson is a fool. But a fool that will be needed in the years to come,” said Zhang, climbing the stairs to the Assembly. “And you are right, he is directionless. It is our duty to nurture him. Just as it is our duty is to nurture all young Chinese who have lost what it means to be Chinese. It is our place as politicians to give purpose to those feelings, not for ourselves to be consumed by them.”
“And what purpose should we bestow onto my brother?”
Zhang smiled, “I must first speak to your father before I can disclose such matters. But we must mind our words when we attend the Assembly. Certain whispers have been overheard concerning Wesley’s antics last night. There are members of the CERE that would like to make an example of him. Whatever is said today, keep your emotions in check.”
“I understand Grandfather.”
“Shall we go, the sharks are waiting for us,” joked the Chairman.
The entrance hall of the Assembly building is grand. Walking in, Alistair and the Chairman are greeted with a huge golden statue of the Shanxi Dragon, the same dragon they wear on their chests. It’s eyes wild. It’s fangs sharp. The dragon sits atop a smooth boulder, sinking it’s claws into the hard rock.
Behind is a waterfall, gently trickling down the rockery and into a pond that surrounds the dragon. There are lotus flowers and lily pads floating atop the water. Orange and creamy whites flicker in the pond, giving the illusion that there is organic life.
Deep, dark browns give the sense that the furnishings are made of wood. Marble stairs lead up behind the waterfall to the elevators.
On either side of the entrance are two front desks with staff working tirelessly. Despite the tranquil appearance of the hall, the atmosphere is frantic. Clerks, PA’s, civil servants and politicians dart around completing their morning chores. A voice calls out to the Chairman as a young man rushes up to them, waving his tablet in the air.
“Morning, Chairman. The Assembly is meeting in forty-five minutes.”
The Chairman lets out a loud and abrasive laugh. “I will barely have time for my morning tea. No doubt called by the CERE to catch us off guard,” he said to Alistair.
“Would you like me to circulate before the Assembly is called? See what I can find out,” asked Alistair, making their way up the marble stairs.
“There will be little need of that today. We cannot possibly learn more than what we are already expecting. If you could, arrange a conversation with Du Jianguo or one of the heads of the Shanxi Conservatives,” requested the Chairman.
On the third to top floor, the members of the Shanxi Assembly wait to be called in.
The Whispering Circle, as it has become known as, forms a ring around the Assembly Hall. From this high up, the whole colony and its surrounding landscape can be seen. To the south is the canyon and the TFP, on sunny days, the reflection of the water’s surface can just be made out from the deep depths. Stretching from the west to the north are mountains with thick layers of snow forming on the peaks. To the east is a wide-open red sand plane as far as the eye can see.
Politicians mingle in small groups, some partisan and others mixed. They gossip, collaborate, corroborate, share, trade and tease information while party spies wander the circle.
The Shanxi Chinese Representatives proudly display the Shanxi Dragon on their chests. By far they are the largest elected party of the Assembly.
The Shanxi Conservatives wear a golden Sanzuwu emblem and represent the more moderate interests of Chinese colonists.
The Shanxi Radicals are few, many having been removed of their position due to disruptive outbursts.
And finally, the CERE. Most of the members that comprise the party are individuals with varying business interests, the rest are directly appointed by the politicians of Earth. Unelected, their power is inflated by wealth, enterprise and protection from the constitutional amendments imposed following the Assembly’s loss of independence.
“Your grandchild summoned me,” called out an old man, loud enough to be heard by all those around.
“Du Jianguo, any louder and someone might hear you,” the Chairman welcomed the politician wearing the golden three-legged crow.
Keeping his body language open, Zhang attempts to defuse interest from nearby spies. The manner in which he conducts himself has been practiced over years of playing the same game. His experience and level of deception far surpasses the rest of the Assembly’s.
“I hear my Grandson is to be the topic of conversation this morning?”
Alistair stands beside the Chairman, watching intently. Learning from each gesture and each subtle pause. How his grandfather’s posture straightens while being addressed.
“I only hear what you hear Chairman. But you know what echoes through this circle is either frivolous scandal best fit for nothing more than drinks at Salon de Ning, or something to keep you sleepless at night,” said Du.
“And so, is my Grandson frivolous gossip or something I should take heed of?” asked the Chairman.
“Sometimes gossip mutates into cautionary tales.”
The two lean in close, whispering into one another’s ear.
Alistair strains to hear the conversation, as he does so, he notices another eavesdropper from the group opposite them.
His grandfather pulls way deep in thought, or at least pretending to be.
“I expect that the SCR can rely on the SC for support on this matter?” asked Zhang.
Du sighed in uncertainty. “We have given the SCR support over many issues throughout the years. There are many of my party that question if there is even a difference between us. There are those in the party who question my leadership because of that.”
“That is because despite our differences, we have a shared interest. To protect the next generation of Chinese and to allow them to flourish.”
“I am not sure our decisions have led to a better life for our young people. These gangs in the Trading and Industrial Districts are a sign that perhaps we failed them. We should have integrated them into this changing culture, not promoted these martial arts clubs and cultural schemes,” countered Du.
“Your concerns are mine. But you neglect the positive changes we have had; these young people want to fight because they truly believe that this colony is home. How many Chinese are fortunate enough to say they belong? This is my Grandchild we are talking about. He is the child of Charles Jung, the individual who offered you the gift of this planet. If we protect the wayward son today, I promise the Assembly will have conversations in the near future about what we can do to better integrate the youth.”
Du sighs again.
“This may be the last time I can have everyone toe party line. It is because we are in debt to you, but there is only so much we can be expec
ted to pay back,” Du reluctantly conceded.
“Thank you, my dear friend. And in your debt, I am now,” said Zhang. “We should call the Assembly; enough time has been spent whispering.”
The Chairman and Alistair take their leave and head for the entrance to the Assembly Hall. Either side are two men and a gong. With only a nod, the gong is struck and the Whispering Circle falls silent. Each party begins to congregate behind the Chairman. First to enter is Zhang, followed by his party. The CERE are always last.
The Assembly Hall itself is a large circular room. Opposite the entrance is an elevated desk where the Chairman takes his seat. Everyone else takes a seat in the benches around the edge of the hall.
The Chairman slowly rises from his seat. “Those who called this meeting, please stand.”
From the benches, Alistair watches the rest of the room intensely. Shocking even most of her party, Li He, the deputy leader of the Shanxi Conservatives stands. Directly behind her, Yao Hongwen, follows her example. On the far end of the room Israel Epstein, the head of the CERE here on Neo-Shanxi, joins his fellow conspirators.
“What is to be presented to the Assembly, Li He?” asked the Chairman.
“Chairman, we bring to the Assembly’s attention what we believe to be a total disregard for the growth of civil disobedience and delinquent behaviour in certain youth groups in our city,” she began.
Around Alistair, comments, quips and pre-emptive arguments are shared amongst the SCR party members. The SR farther down the bench are less subtle in their objections.
Li He continues reciting her prepared statement with conviction and confidence. Impressed, Alistair sits back with his tablet in hand, taking notes on both her argument and her aptitude for public speaking.
The Assembly settles in for a long session.
Oscar Jung
Buzz. Buzz.
Awoken by the intrusive nose of the intercom, Oscar’s arm jerks out, knocking last night’s half-drunk tea flying. The flask’s lid pops off as it hits the ground and tea spills everywhere. Oscar swears profusely while gathering himself together after an uncomfortable sleep.