by Hao Jingfang
“Dr. Reini, what are you doing here?”
“I’m an archivist. An important session of the Boule like this one requires access to all files.”
Luoying was uncertain how to continue.
Reini poured a glass of water for her and set it down gently on the table.
“I’ll be brief,” he said. “They won’t wait long out there.”
Luoying nodded.
“Do you know why I called you in here?”
Luoying shook her head.
“To show you this.”
Reini walked to the display cases and lifted the cover off one. Carefully he retrieved an object, held it in the palm of his hand, and returned to Luoying, presenting it to her.
Luoying saw that it was a brooch in the shape of an orchid woven from ordinary gold-plated wires. Two glass beads were set in the tip. It was well-made but not anything extraordinary. She examined it carefully but couldn’t see what was special about it.
“Who did this belong to?”
“An old woman.”
“Who was she?”
“Just an ordinary retired woman,” Reini sighed. “But she died in special circumstances. It was almost ten years ago, and she died right here, as the result of an accident in Capitol Square. This brooch has been kept as a memorial to that event.” He paused and then added, “It will be ten full years in another two months.”
Luoying sensed something terrible in Reini’s tone. Her mouth felt dry, and she almost wished Reini would stop. But another part of her wanted him to continue, to resolve all her questions and doubts. All terrifying secrets were also terrifyingly appealing. The faster her heart pumped, the more she wanted him to continue.
“How … did she die?”
“From an air leak. One of the valves over the square malfunctioned from being impacted, and the air began to leak out. Whenever such an accident occurred, the network safety system would automatically deploy the isolation doors to seal off the affected area from the rest of the city. On the day of the accident, the owner of this brooch was walking past the square. She was caught in a passage between two isolation doors, right where the leak occurred. The air rushed out, and she died in the near vacuum.”
Color drained from Luoying’s face. “What happened on that day?”
“There was a demonstration on the square, an even bigger, more chaotic demonstration than yours. The organizers were more experienced, skilled, and resourceful. They brought a robot to construct a series of models of glass houses on the square. The robot was very tall, and two lights at the top glared like two monstrous eyes. The demonstrators were all adults, and they chanted their slogans far more effectively than you. Eventually the Security System’s constables were summoned. Someone probably said something they would regret, and a fight broke out between the two sides. In the ensuing chaos, the robot was toppled, breaking the air valve. Other than the old woman I mentioned, two other young protesters died in the stampede.”
Luoying listened without blinking her eyes.
“Who … started that demonstration?”
“Your parents.”
Luoying let out a held breath. What she had feared most was true. She felt lost.
“And then?”
“Then they were punished. Not just them. All the leaders of the protest and the constables were punished, although your parents received the severest penalty of all.”
“So it wasn’t for giving Arthur the plans to the central archive?”
“No.” Reini shook his head gravely. “To be exiled to the abandoned Deimos mines was a very harsh penalty, and it was reserved only for actions that led to the deaths of others. If no one had died, nothing, not opposing the atelier system or giving a Terran the plans to the central archive, would have led to such a punishment. The head constable that day and his staff are still on Deimos. They failed in their duty to prevent the escalation of violence. Arthur left after the demonstrations. Because your parents were punished, he decided to return to Earth. Your father took the plans with him as he left the optical-electrical atelier and gave them to Arthur.”
In Luoying’s mind, she saw the photographs of her parents. Their carefree young faces appeared before her eyes like translucent clouds. The brooch in Reini’s hand glinted like a needle piercing through the mist of time. Her vision grew blurry.
“Was it my grandfather who imposed the penalty?”
“Yes, and also no. Their sentence was handed down by the three justices of the Security System and the Archon of the Security System. But your grandfather had to carry out the sentence. He was in trouble himself. He had been consul for only a month, and it was the first crisis of his administration. Since the consul’s own son and daughter-in-law led the protest against the republic and he couldn’t maintain order, which resulted in multiple deaths and civil disorder, many people thought your grandfather bore a large share of the blame. They wanted him to resign or face impeachment.”
“Impeachment?”
“He was a new consul, and the Boule was still in the process of reorganization. He wasn’t secure in his post at all.”
“What happened after that?”
“The debate in the Boule to impeach was fierce, and the situation was on the verge of spinning out of control. Your grandfather was unable to stabilize the crisis. But then Juan stepped in.”
“Uncle Juan?”
She remembered the old photos in her parents’ study, and the full-fidelity recording they led to.
Reini nodded. “Juan was the new Archon of the Flight System. During the debates in the Boule, he declared that he would be loyal only to your grandfather. This was taken by many to be a threat to launch a military coup. At that time Juan’s influence and prestige in the Flight System was unparalleled. Even though he had just been promoted to the post, he had received a nearly unanimous vote of confirmation, an unprecedented event in the history of the republic. Your grandfather had also risen through the aerospace force, and on the day of the impeachment vote, the Flight System launched fighters to circle above the city.
“The impeachment resolution failed to pass. You can view this event from multiple perspectives, but it was true that your grandfather held on to the post of consul because of what Juan did. For many years afterward, there was much resentment.”
Luoying muttered. “I didn’t know any of this.”
She recalled the face of Hans Sloan in the holographic recording: his angular features torn between pain and resolve. She tried to imagine the scene. She didn’t know what emotion had the upper hand in her grandfather’s heart: the pain of being denounced by his child, the pain of punishing his child, the pain of being blamed and accused by others. Her heart clenched as she realized that it was her parents who had brought such pain to her grandfather, and the pain had then redounded onto them.
“Does my brother know all of this?”
“I believe so.”
“Then … why did he support us?”
“I …” Reini hesitated, as though holding back. “Let’s finish discussing the past first. Do you know the theme of your parents’ movement?”
Luoying shook her head.
“They wanted every family to have a home,” said Reini. “They wanted every married couple to have a house.”
“What?”
“Yes, that’s the system we have now. Your parents’ protest was suppressed, but their proposal later became the policy that was enacted by the Boule. We now live under the system they dreamed of.”
“But … then what was the system before?”
“Before then, housing was allocated based on one’s research accomplishments and position.” Reini sighed, as though seeing the distant past. “When the city was first founded, resources were so scarce that everyone lived in dormitories. Only the most accomplished researchers could build their own houses, and the sizes of the houses were determined by their research results. The policy was reasonable at first, but after thirty years it was deeply flawed. If someone was unl
ucky and didn’t produce any research results that found practical applications, then they would die in a dormitory. As a result, everyone became dependent on their supervisors, trying to curry favor with them so that their own research would be included in some engineering project. Power corrupted, and the distribution of housing became the tail that wagged the dog of scientific research.”
“But I remember that when I was little, every family had their own house!”
Reini smiled. “You lived in a district where the other families of the founders of the republic and system directors lived. That was why they had houses.”
“Then my parents …”
“They did it for Arthur.”
“Arthur? And Janet?”
“Yes. Since Arthur had no place in the system at all, they could never be given a house. Your parents found this unjust. After seeing so much abuse of power and the rejection of their friend by this system, they began to crave the fairness of absolute equal distribution.”
“But we … ,” whispered Luoying, “… we are opposing this.”
“You want to build your own, to exchange with others, to have freedom. You oppose the absolute equality of even distribution.” Reini’s voice was very composed. “That’s not new, either, you know? That was how things were before the war. Back then, everyone built their own house or bartered for it. Back then, the different camps belonged to different companies, and every person or group had to buy their own tools or hire the services of a larger company. That system was just a continuation of the tradition on Earth. But Mars wasn’t Earth. On Mars, resources were extremely scarce, and much of the raw material could not be used directly. Only a few companies who held the key smelting and casting technologies could provide building materials. The oligopoly companies controlled the market and raised the prices. Almost anyone with skill and brains at the time realized that under such conditions it was impossible to obtain a better life by merit and smarts alone. The unfair allocation of resources couldn’t be bypassed. So they risked their lives to found a new republic where anyone was free to earn a better life not by possessing capital but by utilizing their talents.”
Luoying was gradually coming to a realization. “My parents rebelled against my grandfather; we rebelled against my parents; and my grandfather rebelled against the vision we’re now trying to make true?”
“That’s one way to think about it,” Reini continued in a calm tone. “Freedom, merit, and equality—any of these alluring words will always be pursued by a generation.”
“And be opposed by another?”
Luoying looked down, feeling lost. She didn’t know what next step to take. The movement was fruitless. The world was always flawed, impossible to perfect. Toppling and erecting repeated in an endless cycle. She had no idea what to do. Her family had given so much to this effort, but it was unclear if the world had been improved even a little. If it had been improved, in what direction? And if not, what should people do? She felt the world emptying out. She was standing at the edge of a hollow universe. There was no end in sight, and heaven was nowhere to be found.
“Dr. Reini,” Luoying said, her voice anguished, “did you know that I wasn’t certain about this movement at all? For a long time I debated with myself whether I should participate. In the end I decided to join because I didn’t know what else I could do, where else I could find the feeling I wanted. I was looking for a sense of life, a surging sensation of releasing my self, a … meaning. I wanted to do something that felt worthy of devoting my whole self to. I just wanted that feeling. I wasn’t thinking much about the goal or the movement itself. I never even really thought about whether the movement was right. Simply, I wanted my life to burn, to feel that burn.”
“I think I understand,” said Reini.
“Do you think me naïve?”
“Not at all. I think many harbor such a hope inside. Do you remember what you said about the disease of ‘great accomplishments dementia’? It’s not so unusual a condition for humanity.”
“Because of the love of grandiosity?”
“Not just that, but an even greater yearning: to complete the self. You’re searching for some meaning to lose yourself in, and many others are searching as well. They yearn for the self to become significant against such a distant vision. Without that yearning, no control or instigation can be effective. Without so many people wishing to meld into a circuit, it’s impossible to build a circuit. People aren’t all obsessed with doing great deeds, but great deeds do give the individual that sense of presence.”
“You’re saying it’s in fact meaningless?”
“That depends on what you consider to be meaningful.”
Luoying pondered this for a moment. “What should I do now?”
“That, you’ll have to decide,” said Reini. “I can only tell you stories, but the ultimate choice is always yours.”
Reini walked to the entrance to the lounge and pulled open the gold-colored door. The door frame, patterned like marble, was decorated with an elaborate floral edging. In the door was a mirror.
Luoying saw herself in the mirror. The chiton draped to her ankle, and white flowers bloomed from the artificial laurel wreath on her head. Her long black hair draped to her waist. She saw that her face looked pale and lost, just the way she had looked two months earlier. She had hoped that she would become strong and clearheaded, but after having experienced so much, she found herself looking even more perplexed and wan. She walked toward the mirror, toward herself. At the door, she stopped to look at Reini, who nodded at her. She reached out to touch her image as though touching another space and time.
The walk down the short corridor felt like a whole century to her. The floor was painted with scenes from human history, and the tips of her feet could feel the cold of the glass and colored metal. Round stained glass windows along the corridor glowed with a pure and sacred light and cast geometric shadows on the floor. The door ahead of her remained shut, holding the noise outside at bay.
Just before she opened the door, Reini stopped her. “There’s one more thing that I thought I should tell you. Do you remember the mental patient who leaped to his death?”
“Yes.”
“His name was Jenkins. Do you remember the mining accident that led to my punishment?”
“Yes.”
“My punishment happened ten years ago. Jenkins was the system archon at the time, a headstrong and power-hungry man. Instead of devoting himself to the details of administration, he surrounded himself with a group of yes-men who stroked his ego. Before the accident, the production line for the mining carts was already in disarray. No one was paying attention to the safety inspections, and an accident was only a matter of time. Since I was punished, the investigation report covered up his role, and the Boule managed to save him. But instead of learning his lesson, he continued to mismanage the system. A year later another major accident occurred, and this time they punished him by stripping him of all power and ensuring he would never be promoted again.”
“So he was the one responsible for ruining your life.”
“Ruin is too strong a word. I think it’s more fair to say that he bore some responsibility.”
Luoying regarded Reini, unsure how to feel. The man Reini hated had died in front of Luoying, but Luoying and her friends had launched a movement to honor him. The man’s incompetence had led to Reini’s ruin, but then he had gone mad and died, winning their sympathy as a victim, stirring up their sense of justice.
“How did he go mad?” she asked.
“He couldn’t stand the fact that others no longer praised him.”
He rested a comforting hand on Luoying’s shoulder, his thick palm giving her a sense of strength, of determination. She looked up at him, eyes full of sadness, but he only nodded at her without speaking. He pressed the button next to the door, and the two heavy metal panels slowly swung open. Luoying looked out. The bright square was like a golden ocean that blinded her.
She gazed into
the light, a shining emptiness. She could see nothing.
Eventually her vision returned. She saw that the youths were still gathered below the steps in small groups, sitting, standing, arguing, talking. When they saw her, the noise died down and all eyes were on her, waiting for her to speak. She took a few steps down until she was sure they could all hear her. She felt Reini’s gaze on her back, far behind her.
She cleared her throat.
“Let’s all go home.”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear and carried far over the quiet square. Everyone stared at her, and for a long time no one said anything.
“Let’s all go home now,” Luoying said. “I’ll explain the reasons another time.”
The crowd became agitated. People looked at one another; there were whispers. The voices of doubt grew.
“You’ve got to give us some explanation. A reason!” someone shouted.
“It’s because …” Luoying didn’t see who had asked the question. “Because of history.”
“What do you mean?”
“I will explain another time.”
She saw that they were still restless and uneasy. She climbed higher and raised her voice, pleading. “Please! Please listen to me! I promise I’ll explain later. But, for now, we have to go home. Please, let’s go home.”
Her voice grew anguished at the end. She waited, her heart pierced with the pain of an interrupted play. The drama had reached its climax, and she, like an usher here to spoil everyone’s fun, had suddenly turned on all the lights. The illusion was broken; the stage had turned from the setting of heroic action to mere painted backdrop; the mesmerizing emotions had been cut off in mid-sentence. Everyone resented her.
She could see the indignation on their faces, and she knew how unwilling they were to give up their stirred-up passions. But she had no other choice except to be true to her conscience. She couldn’t lead them forward when she didn’t believe in their cause, and so she had to disappoint them. She waited for their reaction, and they waited for their own reaction. The cheerless silence over the square was like the sea.
Still standing atop the steps, she lifted her hands and placed them together right below her lips. The chiton and the Roman columns next to her made her seem like a vestal priestess of old. She felt her self and her voice growing even further apart, her voice adrift like bubbles in the sun.