Vagabonds

by Hao Jingfang

  But for others with a cyclical view, history was like a beautiful fountain. The grandiose appearance disguised an empty interior as streams of water shot into the air only to return to the fountain, and the same story simply repeated without end. In their view, the story of Mars was just a rerun of a story that had occurred countless times before: exploration, development, independence, political consolidation. Every time, those who developed a new world rebelled, and every time, the rebels turned into new oppressors.

  For yet others who leaned toward nihilism, history was only a thin shadow of reality. Reality was a deep, vast sea. What we could see was only the froth on the surface, while invisible details formed roiling currents beneath the waves. They believed that historical events were largely accidental, contingent, fortuitous, and put no faith in the retrospective explanations of later generations. In their view, a man named Sloan committed an opportunistic murder at a fortuitous time, but those who came later decided to tell a story about a long plot with years of preparation, a story of historical necessity.

  Finally, for those who believed in the law of the jungle, history was merely the result of the clash between powerful crosscurrents. In the struggle for survival, the strong persisted while the weak vanished. They believed in the truth of history, but there was no higher purpose, no teleology, no regularity. All that was was the contest between power and power, having nothing to do with philosophy or social systems. When Mars’s own military power grew strong enough to overcome that of Earth’s, war began. Power determined the conclusion.

  No matter the form of the truth, Reini believed that a single drop of water had the hardest time explaining the appearance of water.

  * * *

  Reini liked to read. The greatest benefit of reading was to help the lonely feel not so alone.

  In a way, Reini’s lonely life didn’t cause him to fall into a depression because he had seen shades of himself in other historians during his study of history. No, he didn’t mean the scholastically trained classical historians who had recorded the deeds of mankind to glorify God or gods, and neither did he mean the generations of bards, starting with Homer and continuing through contemporary novelists, who pleased the public with romantic epics. Rather, he identified himself with some of the historians of ancient China who wrote with a singular vision. They were lonely and disappointed, serious and objective, but their writings were filled with traces of their individual, unique consciousness.

  Luoying also enjoyed reading. For her, reading was at once lonely and also not lonely.

  Even as a young child, Luoying understood that her name would be forever entwined with the fate of her country because of her blood. She didn’t know, however, whether this connectedness was an honor or a burden. When she read stories of other princesses in books, she found them to be more determined and pure of purpose, and their lives were happier.

  She read, for instance, about Haydée, who came to be with the Count of Monte Cristo. Her father was a great hero, and despite the cruelty of foreign invaders and the betrayal of the craven, nothing could harm the eternal glory of her father. She had also read about Sulla’s daughter. The Roman dictator was fatuous and shameless, a cruel oppressor of the slaves. The leader of the rebellion, on the other hand, was the embodiment of courage and justice, and so she joined the rebellion against a tyrant without hesitation. But whether it was abiding faith or dogged rebellion, they were passionate and resolute, and definitely inspiring. She could even imagine their lines: Father, no matter how difficult the path ahead, my love for you will never diminish … No, tyrant, no matter how difficult the path ahead, I will bring you down.

  But she herself could not live like that. Instead of the life of a princess of ancient times, she lived in the real Mars of the twenty-second century. Uncertain of the nature of the world around her, she could not settle on her attitude. The feeling made her lonely. She was sure that a look of hesitation and perplexity inspired no one, but she wanted to be faithful to the truth, which meant she had to waver on her attitude.

  Although the lives of the princesses in books didn’t resonate with her, she found her mind reflected in the writings of other travelers.

  If the desert appears at first only as emptiness and silence, that is because it doesn’t offer itself to inconstant lovers. A simple village in our homeland would hide itself from us in the same manner. If we do not renounce the rest of the world for its sake, if we do not enter its traditions, its customs, its rivalries, we cannot understand why it is someone’s homeland.

  It was only after leaving home that she understood the meaning of homeland, and her homeland had then concealed itself from her because of it. She understood now that she had possessed Mars only when she was a child. Back then, she had lived the same life day after day and knew of no other ways of interpreting her surroundings. She was immersed in the customs of her homeland, unforgiving to its rivals, constant in her affections, gladly giving up the whole rest of the universe for its sake. Then, and only then, was her homeland her homeland.

  She understood how the writer felt between the lines. When Saint-Exupéry wrote these lines, his fate to be vagabond had already been sealed.

  Luoying closed the book and gazed at its orange and dark blue cover.

  Wind, Sand and Stars, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.

  Those words encompassed all the treasures of Mars.

  CRYSTAL

  As Gielle entered Luoying’s room, Luoying slid Dr. Reini’s manuscript under her blanket and picked up a book of pictures from the nightstand. She didn’t want Gielle to ask about what she was reading. It wasn’t that she felt she had anything to hide; she simply didn’t know how to explain.

  Gielle was her usual chatty and vivacious self, as bubbly as the rising sun.

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “All right,” said Luoying.

  “Can you walk now?”

  “A few steps.”

  Luoying could see that Gielle was disappointed. In fact, she didn’t really need to stay at the hospital. Reini had told her that her fracture was healing well, and it would be all right for her to recuperate at home. But she didn’t want to leave. She still had so many questions for Reini, and she loved reading old books by the light of the setting sun on the skydeck. Once she went home, she would likely not enjoy such peaceful times again.

  Gielle couldn’t hold back any longer.

  “Aren’t you excited about the Creativity Fair? The preliminary rounds will be held next week. I thought you would be out of the hospital by now, which was why I signed you up as part of our team: me, you, Daniel, and Pierre.”

  Gielle’s words brought Luoying back to her conversation with Reini a few days earlier. All at once, a flood of memories inundated her mind.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Gielle, noticing Luoying’s distracted look. “Did you forget about the Creativity Fair?”

  “Oh, no, not at all.” Luoying shook her head. “How could I forget that?”

  Gielle went on excitedly to describe their plans while Luoying listened halfheartedly.

  “We just settled on the team name. Every afternoon we’re supposed to get together at Interchange Plaza to plan. Oh, every team is supposed to have a flag, and Lily designed ours … I was thinking … But then Daniel said … In a few more days, after your leg is better, you have to join the planning discussions. We can have tea and snacks while we talk.”

  Gielle’s enthusiastic voice drifted in and out of Luoying’s consciousness. She had no interest in the fair at all. She couldn’t help but remember how this all looked from Earth: an authoritarian regime using education to consolidate its rule. But she couldn’t possibly explain any of this to Gielle.

  Luoying sighed. Gielle’s animated expressions complicated her feelings even further. She was sitting on the window ledge, telling her all the details of their preparation. Against the sunlight streaming in through the window, Gielle cut a sharp silhouette. Her round arms supported her body on the window led
ge, and a few strands of loose hair fluttered in the room’s air currents. The bright sun was like a halo around her. All of a sudden Luoying felt tired. Memories of Earth seemed to have become a nasty habit: she was doubting everything. She couldn’t shake the taut nerves and unsettled feeling.

  She shook her head, angry at herself. “What are you planning on making for the competition?”

  “Another outfit!”

  “What kind of outfit?”

  “Still using Pierre’s material, of course. One variation of his material has photoelectric properties, sort of like our roofs. I want to see if we can design an outfit that can generate electricity. Daniel is good with electronics, and he says he can embed wires to conduct the electricity out. I’ll be in charge of overall design. Although this material isn’t as soft or light as the material I used for your costume, we can make it into something utilitarian, like armor. It will look so gallant.”

  Luoying nodded. “That sounds fantastic.”

  “Definitely. Daniel and I already drew the patterns and the circuits. If Pierre didn’t have to be at the hospital these last couple of days, we would have already started trials.”

  “What happened to Pierre?”

  “His grandfather is ill. He has to be at the hospital to keep watch.”

  Luoying’s heart clenched. “I hope it’s nothing too serious.”

  Gielle nodded. “That reminds me … I should go visit, too. His grandfather is also staying at this hospital.”

  She jumped down, patted Luoying on the arm, and rushed toward the door. But at the door she seemed to remember something and turned around, her eyes sparkling.

  “I almost forgot: we’re all getting together this weekend. You should come, too.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know, the old gang. It’s a party to get everyone excited about the preliminary rounds next week.”

  “Don’t you already see each other every day?”

  “It’s not the same. We’re having a picnic, and then we’re dancing at the function hall.”

  “I won’t be able to make it,” Luoying said. “Have fun.”

  She knew what kind of party Gielle was talking about, but she didn’t want to go. The attendees had all grown up together, gone to school together, played house and war together, entered ateliers together, and held parties together. At this party they would continue the same games that were left unfinished at the last one, joke with one another about the past, gossip when someone seemed to be dancing with someone else just a little bit differently, and plan for the next party.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t like parties like this, but she still remembered another kind of party, a party of strangers. Lightning flashed across the sky as tiny planes landed like a flock of birds around a dance club. Men and women, sleep deprived, filled the space, exchanging charming smiles and clinking glasses. They hugged before they knew each other’s names and then parted, never to see each other again. Every time a new face, every time a new introduction, every time a new pose, dancing only for herself. Scattered souls meeting by chance, never to return to the same place. Long, winding corridors filled with goods from every country: Sri Lankan mirrors, Thai pipes, German canes, Mexican knives. The loneliness of the vagabond.

  * * *

  Reini turned off the screen and, eschewing the tube train, walked slowly toward Hans’s home. The video that he had just watched, still fresh in his mind, raised many questions.

  Hans had asked Reini to review the video and give him some suggestions. It was an animation combining the rivers of Earth with the mountains of Mars. Although Hans didn’t explain, Reini understood why Hans had shown him the video.

  As he walked, thinking over what he was going to say to Hans, Reini’s thoughts stretched like the footpath he was on.

  Hans was a nostalgic man, Reini knew. He would remember a childhood wish or a good friend’s ideals for the rest of his life. Reini knew few people like that. They were usually as silent as iron, but also just as solid and resolute. Out of all his contemporaries, Hans was the only one still working. His old friends had all died or become bedridden, and only he remained at his post, soliciting the advice of others with a serious expression. He persisted because certain beliefs, deep in his heart, had supported him throughout the years.

  Among Hans’s closest friends, Galiman was the only one who stood by him in his struggles. They had been part of the same fighter squadron during the war and, after the war, rebuilt Mars together. During those difficult years Ronen traveled far from home, while Garcia stayed on Maearth. For forty years only Galiman accompanied Hans, lending him his strength like a roaring lion. If one compared Hans with Diocletian, then Galiman was his Maximian, except this Augustus had no secret plan to split with the consul, and never did groom his own Caesar. For decades, he and Hans fought together for this city on a battlefield where there were no lasers or missiles, only the howling of the wind over sand. Without each other’s support, neither would have lasted as long.

  Hans and others his age were the founders of the Martian Republic. Mars was born in their thirties, and for the next four decades the baby grew, inch by inch. Galiman was the architect, responsible for the city’s design. At the age of twenty-two, he drew up the first plan for a glass house, which defined the core structural principles for all Martian houses and became the foundation for the city’s infrastructure. Their city grew and expanded on this design, and around a core of durable foundational technologies evolved an infinite variety of external forms and rich details. This was a city born from ideals. In his mind, Galiman sketched a crystal garden in the air and led his people out of the valley shrouded by the darkness of war.

  Of all of Hans’s beliefs, Galiman’s city plan was among the most important. Hans had participated in all phases of its realization. He grew from the young pilot who flew everywhere to gather raw materials to the old consul who presided over the execution of plan after plan to perfect their vision. He gave no less of himself to this city than Galiman had. For the city he fought, and devoted his life to its protection.

  Reini knew that there was no decision more difficult for Hans than the decision to give up this city, especially now, when, after two terms as consul, he was about to set down his burden and retire. The choice presented a complicated dilemma.

  As Reini walked into Hans’s study, Hans had just finished playing a recording of Galiman. Reini caught the very end of the video, which was from forty years ago. Galiman was an impulsive young man, and his insuppressible passion animated his smooth features, warming the air in the spacious study like a fireplace.

  The sun was setting, and Hans’s back cut a lonely silhouette.

  Reini coughed softly. Hans turned around, saw him, and nodded in acknowledgment. Hans poured a cup of tea for Reini at the table and pressed a few places on the wall. A minute later a flask of liquor and a few bowls of snacks were sent up in the dumbwaiter. Hans opened the small door and took out the tray, setting everything down on the table.

  “I watched the video,” said Reini.

  Hans poured for Reini without speaking.

  “I also reviewed the computer simulation of the plan.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think there are two main difficulties: air and water temperature.”

  Hans nodded, waiting for Reini to continue. Though his gaze appeared calm and steady, Reini could see in Hans’s eyes the kind of expectancy one had when waiting for the surgeon to emerge from the operating room.

  “The first problem may be the hardest,” Reini said. “It’s a million times harder to maintain the air in an open environment versus an enclosed environment.”

  “You’re concerned about air pressure?”

  “Yes, but that’s not the key. The key is the composition of the air. A human being is essentially a balloon in equilibrium with the surrounding atmosphere, and changes in the atmosphere are reflected instantly in the body. The brain is very sensitive to the proporti
on of oxygen. Much of the rest must be made up by some kind of inert gas so as to prevent disruptions to the body’s reactions. Since it needs to be fairly common, the only choice is nitrogen. We can’t have too much carbon dioxide, lest people suffocate. The amount of water vapor also needs to be controlled, since humans are sensitive to humidity. Ultimately, we must essentially replicate the atmosphere of Earth, which is a challenge in a place with such low escape velocity.”

  As Reini spoke, he seemed to see thousands of thin tendrils extend out of his body to connect with the air around him, like a plant being pulled out of the soil, dangling a web of roots. He had always been cautious about grand fantasies envisioning humans scattered to every corner of the universe, because he didn’t view a human being as an independent sculpture but as a membrane with air on both sides. A human being required certain conditions to survive, and without a suitable environment a human being could no more remain a human being than a jellyfish could maintain its shape out of the water.

  Hans’s features relaxed slightly, as though the answer was what he had anticipated.

  “What about the water temperature?”

  “That’s the other problem,” said Reini. “If we can’t maintain water in a liquid state and create a true water cycle, then the idea of an open-air ecosystem is meaningless. No matter where we locate the site, the temperature at night will be below freezing. Rivers will freeze over and perhaps not even thaw completely during the day. To artificially heat the water would be incredibly costly in terms of energy, and the final result won’t be better than the enclosed city.”

  “In other words, you don’t believe the development plan can succeed.”

  “I can’t rule out the possibility, but it will be extremely difficult.”