by Saxon Keeley
Day turns to dusk, and dusk into night. Camps litter the hillsides.
Hunched over a portable hop, Wesley and Li warm their dinner for the night. Stirring the broth, Wesley begins to hum an old tune from China.
“I did not imagine you would be a fan of the old songs,” Li said surprised.
“Yeah. I used to sing all the time. Not so much recently. I did not think it was the place. Doubt anyone would appreciate it.”
“When I was at school I used to be in the choir. Believe it or not.”
Wesley raises an eyebrow, not sure whether to believe his comrade.
“Fine, do not believe me. But that is what I always wanted to be when I grew up. Spent years studying music,” he admitted.
“So, what happened?”
“Westerners only want to see young beautiful Chinese girls up on stage, not aspiring young boys. I spent a few years in bars, salons and nightclubs performing on the occasional quiet night to lonely drunks. Angry with being treated with such contempt I eventually stopped working legitimately.”
Finding out their bowls Wesley begins to share out the broth.
“Would you ever go back to it?”
“Singing? No. There are only so many times people can be rejected. I think that is why I like it here. Everyone is accepted,” said Li contently.
“I still find it hard to believe. Sing something for us now,” Wesley teased.
“I am not giving you a performance.”
“Sing for us Private Li. Yong Squad needs a little morale boost,” Sun Ren commanded from the tent opposite.
The squad encouragingly cheer on their comrade. Though feeling responsible for Li’s embarrassment, Wesley can’t help but laugh. Quietly their leader waits for him to give into the squads demands.
“Fine…I will sing an old war song. But first, I want you all to do something for me. Imagine your country, your home, under siege by a brutal enemy willing to resort to the most despicable acts of war. Unable to hold off the invasion, you and your fellow soldiers are forced to take refuge in a warehouse. Low on supplies and nursing injured men, the enemy could strike at any moment. Determined to defend the last free stretch of the city, your commander lies about the strength of the stronghold. Deceiving the enemy. Over the radio, eight hundred names are announced. Eight hundred heroes.”
The camp falls silent as Li beings to sing the song of eight hundred heroes. Carried by the wind his words reach the nearby squads. Carefully they listen to a feat of bravery in the face of certain defeat.
Wesley cannot help but realise how divorced he is from his mother’s native land. A history that has been erased, leaving them all as mere pretenders. With Li still singing, Wesley leaves in search for time away from the camp.
Stargazing, he tries to imagine what the night sky would look like on Earth. A trickle from the forming stream at the foot of the hill reminds him that they are far away from the city. Never in his life has everything seemed so still.
Flickers of light are extinguished one by one as the camps retire for the night.
“Jung,” Sun Ren called out.
Sitting up, Wesley welcomes his commanders company. She takes a place next to him and admires the view. Eventually, Wesley lets out a sigh.
“I feel guilty,” he confided in her.
Subtlety she studies his features in the moonlight, careful not to be noticed.
“Because you are the rich kid who got into one too many fights?” she teased, trying to lighten the mood.
Wesley nods.
“It does not matter who we once were. I would have thought you had learnt that by now.”
“I guess,” he acknowledged. “Sun Ren is not your real name, is it?”
She shakes her head. “No. It was given to me by Sun Tzu. He told me that even women can be as fearsome and as wise as any man.”
Unwilling to pry further, Wesley enjoys the silence.
“Come,” Sun Ren instructed, “we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. I expect us to reach the mining colony by nightfall.”
*
Feeling the effects of the altitude, Yong Squad press on cautiously. The higher they climb the thinner the air seems. A tight strain throbs across their foreheads. Fatigue begins to set in. Finding out the Diamox tablets from his side pocket, Wesley washes them down with a conservative swig of water.
They know that they must still make their way back down, so each of the squad look out for one another, resting whenever someone begins to fall behind and offering their strength when another cannot go on.
Slumping down against a large rock, Sun Ren in her light-headed daze can scarcely believe her eyes, as she finds herself in the middle of a patch of vegetation growing high up in the mountains. In her hands, Sun Ren carefully caresses a single purple flower.
“Shit, this is so beautiful.”
Concerned about their commander, Li offers her a helping hand. “We should continue Fūrén. Are you alright to carry on?”
“Yes. I just need a minute.”
Wesley notices Sun Ren’s broken ankle protruding from the side of her leg, it is a wonder that none of them had noticed until now. Calling over their medic, Li and Wesley keep their commander steady while she is examined. He pulls her trouser leg up revealing a swollen blacked ankle. The sight leaves Li queasy.
“You have badly broken your ankle, Fūrén,” the medic informed.
“No,” Sun Ren protested, “I have just twisted it. I will be alright in a minute.”
Wesley holds back is amusement, then catches Li’s eye. They both know the severity of the situation. Next in command, Li begins to give the orders.
“We turn back immediately. Once we reach the checkpoint we can radio for assistance.”
“Belay that order,” Sun Ren perked up. “If you dare turn this squad around I will have you transferred.”
“Fūrén, you are in no condition to continue.”
Grabbing Wesley by the neck, she brings him in close. Able to feel the warmth of her breath, he listens to her request.
“I have not come all this way to fail. We are Yong Squad. We must struggle to become better.”
“Jung?” asked Li.
He stares back at their commander, able to sympathise with her resolve. As if carp swimming against the cascading waterfall, they must fight to become dragons. To transcend, they must discard the past. They must elevate themselves above pain.
“It looks like we have a mountain to climb,” replied Wesley.
“Well, I am not carrying her.”
“You would do well to address me by my title in future Li. And do not dare think that you will be carrying me up this mountain,” she cautioned her second in command.
“Well best of luck Fūrén,” teased Wesley. “With that ankle, it would be amazing to see you climb to your feet. Let alone to the summit.”
Quietly the medic agrees with Wesley.
Not completely foolhardy, Sun Ren holds out her hand. Carefully bringing their commander to her feet, Wesley takes the weight as she leans on him for support. They only manage to get a few feet before they both realise the futility of their efforts.
Dropping his backpack, Wesley takes a knee and instructs Sun Ren to grab a hold. Reluctantly she does so. Wesley rises to his feet, to a round of applause from Yong Squad. Li takes the lead ensuring safe footing for the remaining ascent.
“You are insufferably likeable,” Sun Ren said so only he could hear.
“I will excuse your comment on the account of the altitude, Fūrén.”
Wesley digs his feet into the snow and is helped up the last steep incline. Sweat runs down his brow. His muscles burn. The cold crisp air fills his lungs. Sun Ren feels like a bolder pulling him back down the mountain.
With the last surge of energy, Wesley lunges forward clearing the last few steps. His legs turn to jelly and together they collapse to the ground. Resting his face in the cold, he lays there in disbelief that they made it.
“Assistance required,
” shouted Sun Ren, rolling off Wesley.
Before anyone can help, Wesley warns off his fellow soldiers and stands on his own volition. The rest of the squad are left dumbfounded at the strength of the young boy from privilege.
He drags himself over to find somewhere to admire the view. Looking out over the clouds that cover the land, Wesley is certain he can see the Shanxi Assembly peeking out in the far distance. How small it all seems from here, as if it were a statue that has been withered down to a grain of sand.
Sun Ren hobbles over and takes a seat next to him. Taking a deep breath, she lets out a sigh of satisfaction. At top the mountain she imagines herself transcended.
Nicholas Jung
Liang Huazhi Square is bustling with people going about their daily business, and an understandably bored Nicholas watches them as he waits for his father’s return, while his mother and sister are both off at yet another dressmaker. The concrete bench ordinarily would not offer much comfort, but Nicholas feels as if he has been walking all day.
Behind him the waterway gently trickles. Glancing back for only a second, he notices something sailing downstream. A small paper boat.
Intrigued by his strange discovery, Nicholas fishes the paper boat out before it disappears off into one of the connecting channels. Miraculously dry, he unfolds the boat to find printed in red ink:
‘The times test the youth. The youth create the times.’
Though not fully able to understand the implications of the slogan, Nicholas knows that his father would not be pleased to find him with it. Quickly refolding the paper, he places the boat back into the waterway so that it may continue its journey through the veins of Shanxi.
Just as he takes his seat, he is pleasantly surprised to see his father return with two snow cones.
“Thank you, Father,” he said with a massive gleeful grin.
“There is nothing more boring than shopping.”
“It is the worst.”
Leaning over their cones, the two scoop a tiny spoonful of ice into their mouth. They watch the busy square as people rush around.
“Could I become Chairman?” asked Nicholas.
“Not for a long time. It is an important job for a dedicated and hardworking grown up,” explained his father.
“Has there ever been a Chairman my age?”
“Great Grandfather is the only Chairman Neo-Shanxi has ever had. Only adults much older than me have been the Chairman of China. But a very long time ago there were once leaders of China who were your age.”
“What were they like?”
“Not good people, largely,” began Alistair. “There was once a Crown Prince, about a year older than you are now, who became the Emperor of Liu Song. When he was younger, he was always getting into trouble. He had a terribly violent temper and this terrible temper did not end when he became Emperor. He would roam his country, killing his people in the most hideous ways. It was a sad day for the Emperor if he had not killed.
“One day, he woke up his most trusted general and, fascinated by his enormous belly, painted a target on his belly and was about to fire an arrow at him. Just before he let the arrow fly, an adviser stopped the Emperor. He explained to the young ruler that if he shot the arrow at his general’s stomach, how could he use it again for target practice. With blunt arrowheads, he embarrassed his most trusted general time and time again,” recited his father, trying his best to remember the story.
“What happened to the Emperor?” asked Nicholas, looking rather shocked.
“His most trusted general cut off the Emperor’s head while he slept,” Alistair finished, now worried that perhaps he had gone too far. “Sorry. Great Grandfather would tell me and your uncles stories from old China when we were your age. I guess I never thought about how gruesome they actually were.”
“So, I could become Chairman, but I would have to be kind to my people?” questioned Nicholas, pleased his father had shared a moment of his own upbringing with him.
“Yes. Kind and fair.”
A shadow is cast over the two sitting on the bench. Looking up Nicholas finds his mother and Jessica re-joining them after their shopping trip.
“Are you ready?” asked his mother, with paper bags in hand.
“Hey, where is my snow cone?” complained Jessica.
“How may dresses have you just brought?” asked their father.
“Not the point.”
“I do not know, Chairman. What do you suppose we do?” asked their father to Nicholas.
Thinking it over for a second, he studies his sister’s disappointed face.
“We should share our snow cones with Jessica and Mother.”
“Share them we shall,” declared Alistair. “Come Jessica. We shall share mine together.”
Before they walk away from the bench, Nicholas turns to check if the paper boat has disappeared. Staring down at nothing but water, his mother nudges him jokingly, insisting on a taste of the snow cone. Nicholas offers her a generous spoonful. Silently he is satisfied with himself, knowing that the boat will reach its destination.
Earth
Charles Jung
“Thank you for joining me,” Charles said to Michael who takes the seat opposite.
The whole room is centred around a dried-out tree with white bark. Marble flooring and chandeliers add to the grandeur of the extravagant establishment. Ordinarily it would take months to secure a reservation, let alone a table that overlooks New York City, but the CERE offered to buyout a reservation as a gesture of goodwill. Charles gladly accepted the offer.
Something about the place brings him back forty years to when him and Li would dine at the most exclusive restaurants, rubbing elbows with Earth’s elite. Now it seems like such imprudent behaviour in the face of all that has happened.
“Charles, you don’t need to be so formal. We are not diplomats. This is dinner between two old friends,” said Michael, taking a long hard look at Charles, sensing his unease. “I think Neo-Shanxi has broken you.”
“Your right. This is just dinner. Join me in a drink. I think it has had enough time to breathe,” said Charles, pouring two glasses of red wine.
“We’d better not get too carried away tonight, a busy day tomorrow. Is Oscar joining us tonight?” he asked.
Charles shakes his head. “I have sent him on a small tour of the city. We will not be staying here on Earth for long, it makes sense for him to see as much of it as possible.”
“Ah, so playing the tourist. Anything nice planned?”
“The usual sights mostly. This morning, he was taken over to Ellis Island. Hopefully he realises that all people were once immigrants. Right now, Oscar should be enjoying jazz in the East Village.”
“A fan of music?”
“So much of a fan he married a singer,” explained Charles.
“Makes sense. How did that work out?” Michael pressed already imagining the story.
“As you might have expected,” he said indifferently. “But eventually his work at the Labs grounded him.”
Interrupted by the waiter, the two pause their conversation and awkwardly admit they have not yet looked at the menu. Though offered more time by the charming young man, Michael refuses and skims tonight’s dishes. Charles sits there clueless and Michael orders for them both.
“My friend here will have the charred chicory cups. I will have the Parma ham with seared scallops and gremolata.”
“Good choice sir,” the waiter complimented, leaving the table.
“Sorry for ordering for you, but that roast I saw you and Li having on Delta Nine did not look the best and I expect you haven’t had much other than Chinese cuisine for decades,” said Michael.
“No, thank you. We may have been here all night otherwise,” he admitted unoffended.
“Are you prepared for your hearing with the CERE tomorrow? I am happy to give things a once over, to check to see if they are in order. Don’t feel as if you have to do it all yourself,” pried Michael.
&
nbsp; “That will not be necessary. I am as ready as I’ll ever be and there is little point in complicating things at this hour,” said Charles. “But I would like to ask a favour of you. Instead of accompanying me to the hearing tomorrow, could you escort Oscar to Mianshan?”
“To China?” questioned Michael.
“To the mountains of Shanxi. I would like for him to see it with his own eyes. It would only be for a couple of days while the negations take place. Tickets and travel have already been paid for,” he explained. “I need someone I can trust to look after him. Show Oscar the country, the people and be honest.”
Michael leans back into his chair, taking a sip of wine he thinks over the proposition. His crystal glass glistens in the light.
All around them waiters serve expensive and specially bred dishes. From the window, the New York City skyline lays under a pea green sky. No stars. The moon only appears as a dim orb from behind a thick fog.
“Will you not need me tomorrow? I have a good relationship with the CERE. Or is that relationship which makes you suspicious?” Michael asked. “I thought it was never about politics.”
“Perhaps Neo-Shanxi has broken me,” confessed Charles. “For a long time, I refused to accept what it was that my sons had experienced. I had become so passive. But now I fear that either way things are about to change. If I can achieve this without blood being spilt, then I can die content with my life.”
The waiter arrives with their starters. Sensing the tension between the two old friends, the young man wastes no time in his service. Impressed that the waiter remembered who ordered which dish, Michael lightens the mood with his gratitude.
Wishing to change the subject, Charles tucks in right away. The sensation of the chicory cups is so overwhelming in contrast to what he has eaten for the past years his eyes begin to water.
“This is so delicious. However, I am jealous of how good yours looks.”