by Hao Jingfang
I fear that the migration into the crater will lead to fracture, to division. A pile of sand can grow only so high before it collapses, and a cell can grow only so large before it must split. A civilization’s division does not need a reason, because societies are like insects, and their structure determines their scale. The republic will not last as one nation.
I’ve done all I can, Galiman. I remember what you said: we’re born from the land, and we’ll return to the land. We have always sworn our oath of loyalty to the land itself. As you put it: The sky is silent; let the land witness and weigh our soul.
Hans stood up and pulled the blanket tighter around Galiman. He poured a glass of water and left it on the nightstand. A crisply folded uniform sat at the foot of the bed. Hans knew it was Pierre’s work. Pierre had pinned all of Galiman’s medals neatly on the uniform. Hans knew that the boy also wished for his grandfather to awaken. He wanted to be like Pierre, to do everything to prepare for Galiman’s awakening. That way, if he were to awaken, he wouldn’t face the prospect of having been forgotten.
Hans checked the readings on the instruments one last time to be sure everything was normal. He stood up and saluted Galiman as solemnly and forcefully as the first day the two of them had saluted the flag of Mars.
He turned and strode out of the room, as resolutely as the day he had strode into battle for the first time.
LUOYING
Luoying called Anka’s name again and again. There was no response. She was the only one who could hear her cries. Her helmet rang with her own amplified voice, and the vibrations went into her head, buzzing around her brain. She lifted her face to the sky, trying to make her voice carry farther, to the ears of the boy who could no longer hear anything.
Luoying was standing in front of the cave where she and Anka had spent a night. Before her was the crater in which they had soared; behind her was the ground on which they had sat; on the cave floor were pieces of the wing that had kept them warm; in her eyes was the wondrous sight they had seen together in the morning; beneath her feet lay the slope they had tumbled down side by side. She could see every detail, each recollection stabbing into her like a cold, bone-piercing blast of air.
She opened her eyes and saw Anka crouching and modifying the wings, looking up at her with a smile. She closed her eyes and saw him tumble to the ground from midair, crashing to his death. She opened her eyes again and he was standing in front of her, fingers still busy, face still smiling, carefree. She held out her hands to that illusion, and he disappeared into the wind. She dared not open her eyes or close them. She was lost in visions that would not leave her alone.
The crater was completely still, without a hint of breeze. In the bright sunlit air, she still seemed to see traces of their flight. She remembered how Anka and she had danced in the air. Then the wind had risen, and Anka had helped her land against the cliff face. Her heart had pounded from terror, and Anka had crouched over her, protecting her against falling stones with his arm. His body had been a shelter against the falling sand and rocks raining down around them.
Anka’s eyes were a pure, clear blue. He had always looked a bit sleepy, and those eyes seemed to say so much. She recalled the time they left the Registry of Files, when he had his arm around her in the tube train, as she recalled her great-grandparents’ night in the dust storm. She said she would probably meet with disaster, and he said no, she wouldn’t. His look had put her at ease; his eyes were his smile.
And the night that she broke her leg, when she returned to the corridor leading to her room, seeing his figure leaning against the wall, illuminated by the single lamp, smiling with the pudding in his hand. She knew then that her courage had returned. His casual pose, apparently without a care in the world, and his eyes full of reassurance, were so comforting.
He stood face-to-face with her on the footpath in front of her house. She brushed a leaf off his nose; he grinned in response. He told her to get plenty of rest, not to put too much pressure on herself for her dance.
He grabbed her hand when she had fallen behind the rest of the Mercury Group. Come with me, he said, completely at ease. He led her through so many roads, so many years. When he looked back at her, his clear blue eyes always said Come with me. He appeared whenever she felt lost. He took her flying, showed her the most beautiful clouds at dusk and sunset. She would never see such beautiful clouds again—never. He was flying up, up, until he was part of the sunset, part of the clouds.
Luoying couldn’t think anymore. Her heart was too full. For the last few days she had been numb, refusing to remember anything. But now, as she sat on this special plot of land, everything came back to her. Intolerable.
She stood up and danced on the ledge. Because of the cramped space, she turned all the long leaps into spinning jumps. Trying to release the pain accumulated in her body through movement, she had never danced with such power. She hadn’t practiced for many days, but she never felt so full of strength. She had to put all her energy into every movement to keep up with her emotions. She could feel the emotions spilling out of her, memories seeping out of the tips of her fingers and toes. She spun; she leaped straight up; she pressed against the ground, unleashing the pent-up energy. She had to maintain control lest she fall, or tumble over the edge of the ledge. For the first time in her life, she didn’t pay attention to her movements but allowed her emotions to meld with her body. It was her most painful and strenuous release of the day.
As she thought of Anka, the props and backdrops of the world disappeared, leaving behind only him. There was no world, no revolution, no glory—only a person standing in the middle of the empty universe, angry and mournful, a proud look that would not be tamed. He was there. This was her true dance, and the only dance.
She had to stop, exhausted. She stood at the lip of the ledge and screamed with all her strength into the crater. Her heart pounded against her ribs painfully.
Anka!
Anka!
Anka!
For a second she experienced the desire to jump. The ledge protruded from the cliff face like a perfect diving platform, and the slope beneath her was a broad, sheer avenue dropping to the bottom. The earthen-yellow mountains stood around her, magnificent, heaven-scraping, offering the only comforting and magnanimous embrace in the universe. The sunlight was like a lullaby, and the wind seemed to bring to her his voice.
Dazed, she fell.
An arm stretched out and held her up from behind. Gently, it supported her until she sat down. She looked up and saw Reini’s sympathetic gaze. She was back in the present. And after swaying for a moment, she collapsed against his shoulder and sobbed.
She was finally crying. Tears flooded from her eyes, merging into torrents. She let all the pent-up tears go, unable to hold back any longer. She wept as if she were going to cry out her heart, her memories. Reini gently patted her back, saying nothing, letting her cry.
This was the first time she had cried since his death. The first time in three days.
* * *
A week later Luoying attended the funeral with Hans and Rudy.
It was a funeral for three people: Anka, Galiman, and Garcia. Galiman’s organs had finally failed, with no possibility of resuscitation. Garcia had died in peace on Maearth, and his body had been brought down so that he could rest in his homeland. The deaths of the three had cast a pall over the whole city, and everyone could tell it signaled the end of an era.
Anka and the two elders would be buried in the special cemetery reserved for Heroes of the Martian Republic.
To be interred in this cemetery was a singular honor, as every tombstone was the equivalent of a statue for a decorated hero. Strictly speaking, Anka didn’t qualify. Since he had died to rescue Terrans, not Martians, there was no formal honor for which he was eligible. Nonetheless, Hans asked that the young man be buried as a Hero of the Martian Republic. To create room for Anka, Hans yielded the plot that had been reserved for himself. Hans planned to be cremated upon death, with hi
s ashes scattered in space. That way he would be free—free to fly forever.
At the funeral, Luoying sat next to Pierre. Gielle sat next to her mother, her eyes red and swollen. Though Garcia had not been on Mars in many, many years, Gielle still loved her grandfather deeply. Her memories of him from when she was a little girl made her sob uncontrollably. Pierre, on the other hand, didn’t cry. Instead, he simply gazed at a photograph of Galiman, oblivious to passersby.
“My condolences,” whispered Luoying.
“Thank you,” said Pierre, without any emotion.
Luoying looked at Pierre. He seemed to have become taller, more mature. He still talked to few people, but his eyes no longer looked shy. He was now a group leader for one of the engineering teams on the migration plan, the youngest group leader. His solar membrane would be mass-produced, and he would go on to invent more creations for the new Mars.
Luoying had found out about Hans switching her with Pierre. She didn’t know if Pierre knew, but he certainly never brought it up. Sometimes she wondered how life for both of them would have been different if he, instead of she, had gone to Earth. But there was no point in indulging in such hypotheticals. Once life had gone down one branch of the fork, there was no way to ever rewind and try again.
Once again she asked herself just how Earth had influenced her. She had asked this question more than a hundred times, and she was certain she would ask it a hundred times more. Earth had given her so much heartache but also so much joy. She didn’t know which side should be trusted, but she had been given the ability and desire to understand both peoples. She vacillated between the two, empathizing with both. She had felt lost because of her vagabond heart, but now she experienced it as a condition to be borne with equanimity. It felt like fate.
What is fate, she thought, but to be changed by chance and then take the inevitable path that belongs to no one else?
She bid Pierre goodbye and walked to the front of the mourning hall, where Hans and Rudy were greeting mourners and directing them to their places. Rudy, charged with organizing and executing the event, was in constant motion, working efficiently and professionally, while Hans stood in the middle, bowing to everyone as they came up to leave flowers for the dead. Hans was no longer the consul, while Rudy was one of the directors of the new engineering project. The two contrasted sharply in their demeanors: the somber and quiet dusk against the fresh morning, full of potential.
Luoying walked up to Hans. “I’ve decided, Grandpa.”
“Oh?”
“I’d like to go to Maearth with you.”
“You’re certain?”
“I am.”
Luoying didn’t know what kind of life she would lead as a result of this decision, but she felt this was the future she wanted to pursue at the moment. Hans had decided to take over for Garcia and spend the rest of his life aboard Maearth, and Luoying had chosen to go with him. She wanted to be his closest companion in his final years, but she also wanted to foster good relations between Mars and Earth. If they could understand each other better, perhaps some conflicts could be avoided, and Anka wouldn’t have died in vain. Often, in order to forestall the final, disastrous moment, it was also necessary to turn away all the nameless moments that led up to it. She had already seen Babel. Perhaps all differences could be resolved in another tall tower, in which planet was no longer different from planet.
She was going to return to Maearth, to return to Charon. There, on the ferryboat above the river of the underworld, she would reside with the dead.
On Mars, everyone was looking forward to the construction of their new home. But Luoying didn’t want to be a part of it. The mega-engineering project that would change heaven and earth had consumed everyone’s attention, but Luoying cared far more about an individual’s frail, simple fate. She wasn’t choosing Maearth to accomplish great deeds but for herself. As she watched herself take one step after another into her destiny, for the first time in her life, she found peace and composure in the courage of accepting.
AN ENDING BUT ALSO A BEGINNING
The flood would be the turning point of history. The past would be washed away, the lingering gaze frozen into statues. The ark was laden with the power of rebirth.
As the source of floodwaters descended, every singing voice paused. The audience gazed at the projected image upon the domed ceiling from different angles, holding their breaths.
In space, a long-wandering dwarf planet had lost half of its mass. A giant block of ice mixed with mud, in orbit around Mars, was being accelerated by fusion reactors. Like a giant torch, it was glowing as it approached the atmosphere. It had bid farewell to the planet of its birth and was descending to a new land. Many orbits later it would land in the middle of a crater.
Simultaneously a thin and broad sail unfolded in space. It stretched and extended, precisely and delicately adjusting itself to face the sun. Like a giant eye, it gazed down at the many eyes below. It directed sunlight down in a glowing pillar of light that enveloped the watching audience. Powerful machines waited in neat array in ancient caves; houses, still uninhabited, honeycombed the slopes; turbines and waterwheels were ready to spin, and elevators hummed the music of silence.
As everyone paused in preparation for the momentous occasion, Consul Laak delivered a speech from the Boule Chamber, his first major speech since he had taken the oath of office. In the empty chamber he looked ahead, letting his gaze penetrate the marble-patterned floor, the statues of the founders of the republic, the infinite distance outside the wide-open doors. He knew that his face was being broadcast to every room, projected on every window. He felt the importance of the moment, but he was also completely at peace.
“Today, let’s begin by remembering four people who have given so much to Mars, and to today. Without them, we wouldn’t be witnessing this historical moment.
“The first is Ronen. For decades he served as the connection between Mars and Ceres, and then accompanied the inhabitants of that planet as they headed away from the Solar System. He’s no longer with us, but Cerealia continues its journey toward Proxima Centauri. We will honor them with the gratitude of our entire planet. Without their courage, our survival would be in jeopardy.
“The second is Garcia. He was the captain of Maearth and our ambassador to Earth. Through his unrelenting effort, he won us the negotiation opportunities and the necessary technologies, including the hydraulic engineering technology that is key to today’s success. Though he won’t be able to enjoy our new home, we will honor him with the gratitude of our entire planet. There was no one who pushed further the limits of our frontiers.
“The third is Galiman. He was responsible for the glass houses with which we built our old city and which we’re about to abandon. He devoted his entire life to improving our living conditions and ecological systems. Seven days ago he lost his long battle against cancer. Even though we’re about to leave behind his designs, we will honor him with the gratitude of our entire planet. We will never forget that our civilization began in his city.
“The last is Hans Sloan, someone we’re all familiar with and love. He served as consul for the previous two terms and led Mars for a full decade. In his youth he was an active pilot who did much for the construction of early Mars. Later he presided skillfully over the contentious decision to capture Ceres for its water, and then to devote that water to the construction of a new home for all of us. Selfless, farsighted, honorable, he helped secure our prosperity and stability and propelled us onto the path toward this important historical change. Now he has taken over Maearth and continues to serve Mars as our ambassador. We will honor him with the gratitude of our entire planet. He has given all his life to Mars, and Mars will celebrate him with a new way of life.”
Inside the control room for the descent of the water source, Rudy looked up at the face of Laak in the suspended screen. Gielle, standing next to him, held his hand. Gently he withdrew it from her grasp and returned to the flashing numbers on the instrument pa
nel. Gielle, red-faced, seemed about to fly into a rage but in the end held herself back. Pierre, passing by the control room, paused for a moment and then continued on his way, his eyes betraying his agony.
Next to a fountain, Chania looked up, her fingers caressing the water plants in the pool while holographic projections made the fountain look like a broad, beautiful lake. Next to her, Sorin sat with an arm around her waist. As they listened to Laak’s speech, they were also writing a letter to Luoying. From time to time Chania looked up at Sorin, happiness suffusing all her features.
Between the bookcases, Reini looked up at the image of Laak projected on the wall. Laak was gazing back into his eyes as well. A strain of music sounded; pages of books fluttered. He looked over at the door, where Janet smiled back at him. She waved, and he waved back. Neither said anything. The storm they had weathered together and the settling dust afterward had sealed their friendship.
At the training field of Fourth Base, Juan looked up, his face expressionless as he listened to Laak’s speech. Laak was not someone who would support Juan; he knew that. He didn’t like it, but there wasn’t much he could do. Still, he didn’t feel discouraged or demoralized. Instead, he continued to prepare for the military parade and inspection. Even with all the changes, no one could challenge the prominence and leadership of the Flight System. He was still strong and in charge. There would be plenty of opportunities in the future.
Laak paused. He looked around and seemed to see the shadows of many figures. The eight white pillars glowed with the pride of classical Greece, with the ancient dreams and worries of humanity. Laak had attended countless meetings and debates here, both as an audience member and as a speaker, including the debate that determined the fate of the Mercury Group. This was, however, the first time he spoke as consul, and he gazed around, making sure he remembered every detail of the chamber.