The Dragon and the Stars

by Derwin Mak

  “Yeah.” Carter was right on the money with that statement. “But I don’t know. Her priorities in life are different from mine. You see, my dad left us when I was three—”

  “I know. Nina told me.”

  “Right. Well, my mother’s always told me that love is overrated. When finding a husband, security is the most important.” Katie shook her head and looked out the window behind Carter.

  Raindrops pitter-pattered against the glass, cutting through the silence of the night.

  “Mom always said that every type of love in this world is just a reflection of self-love,” she continued. “If you love yourself, you won’t need the love of others.”

  “Then what about your boy toy, sleeping in the other room over there?” Carter asked. “Are you in love with him?”

  Katie opened her mouth to say “Yes,” because when someone asks you a question like that, the answer is so obvious that it’s almost a reflex.

  But this time Katie paused. Stopped.

  Seconds ticked by.

  And then she asked, “What’s your definition of love?”

  Carter chuckled and shook his head. “If you have ever been in love, you wouldn’t need someone else to define it for you.”

  The words stabbed into Katie’s chest, planting pain like fire. “How would you know that?” she shot back. “Don’t tell me that you’ve been in love before.”

  Carter snorted. “No, I’ve never been in love, nor have I ever been loved. People don’t love pieces of machinery. They kick you around and abuse you, knowing that if you break down and cease to perform, they can take you down to the shop and replace you.”

  Katie said nothing and looked down at her hands, folded across her lap.

  “Anyway, enough about me,” Carter said. “Tell me more about you.”

  Katie blinked away the tears clouding her eyes and said, “What do you want to know?”

  Carter shrugged. “Tell me why you wanted to go in robotic diagnostics. The guy who examined me thirty years ago treated psychological examinations like a job, something that would pay the bills and feed his family. But you ...” He moved his seat closer. “But you have a passion for robotics. You were so determined, even desperate, to seek out humanistic traits in me. Why?”

  Katie smiled through the bitterness mushrooming in her heart. “I grew up as an outsider,” she said. “It’s not that the other kids didn’t accept me. I always had a lot of friends. But my mother, she never let me get too close with anybody. There were no such things as sleepovers, birthday parties, and after-school activities. So, when I was little, I had no such thing as a best friend to tell all my secrets to. As I grew older and more rebellious, this changed, but—” She swallowed the lump in her throat and continued. “I’ve never forgotten what it was like to be on the outside looking in, desperately wanting to break the glass between me and the people I wanted to be.”

  Carter nodded. “And so, by analyzing the psychological awareness of robots—”

  “I wanted to break the glass between robots and human society,” Katie said. “I thought, if I could find a robot that was so humanistic that he was no different from a real human—”

  She had to laugh at herself, realizing that voicing her thoughts out loud sounded even more stupid than it seemed inside her head.

  “I don’t know. Maybe then I would feel like I achieved something, like I’ve helped someone else break the barrier.”

  The more she talked, the more things she revealed about herself, thoughts and ideas that she had been planning to take to the grave. As she spoke, Katie felt something inside her escape, little by little. As if the boulder that sat on her chest were eroding away.

  As though, finally, everything was beginning to make sense.

  The men came to the door before the sun even crept up.

  “What is going on?” Nina demanded as she stepped out of her room, still dressed in her pajamas.

  Katie, Charles, and Carter were already standing at the front door.

  “Katie, why are you all making all this racket at—” Nina stopped when her eyes fell upon the five other men in the room.

  “You must be Ms. Huang’s mother,” one of the men said. He handed Nina a business card. His name was Ian Roberts. “We are with BioCorp’s robotic collection division, here to pick up a certain robot. Carter, I believe?”

  Before Nina had a chance to reply, Carter stepped forward and said, “That would be me.”

  Standing there, Katie felt her stomach twisting, turning.

  “Now, hold on,” Nina said, grabbing Carter by the arm as he walked toward the men. “Carter, where are you going?”

  “We’re taking him to the testing lab at BioCorp,” Roberts said. “You see, Carter here has passed our robotic psychological examination and is now pending human status.”

  Nina looked confused. “I never submitted Carter for any examinations.”

  Roberts’ pleasant smile faded. “Umm ...” He looked from Nina to Katie.

  “I gave Carter the psychological examination,” Katie said. Her mother’s eyes jumped to her. “I read a poem to him last night, just to see whether or not he could interpret it as a human could, and he passed.”

  “You gave him one of your nonsensical psychological examinations?” Nina exclaimed with a glare. “Why in the world—”

  “Nina, it’s okay,” Carter interrupted. “I’m just going with these men down to the lab to get tested. I’ll be back soon.”

  None of the men said anything, and Katie stood with her eyes glued to the ground, her heart racing with an unsteady beat of guilt and fear as Nina rounded on her again. “Katie, how could you?”

  “Ma’am.” Roberts stepped in between them, a sheet of paper in his hand. “This is the buyer’s contract you signed in Indiana when you bought Carter, a little over three months ago. If you read the safety clause below, you’ll see that BioCorp is perfectly within its rights to take possession of any robot, at any time, without giving a reason until BioCorp has kept the robot for more than twenty-four hours.”

  Nina’s eyes scanned the paragraph. She said nothing afterwards.

  “All right,” Carter said, smiling. “I guess it’s time for us to go.”

  Roberts nodded and motioned for the men behind him to file out.

  As Carter placed his first foot out the door, he suddenly stopped and turned around.

  “I almost forgot,” he said, looking down at Li Bai’s book of poems, still clutched at his side. He handed the book back to Katie. “Thank you.”

  Katie looked down at the book. “You can read this?” She had a hard time keeping her voice steady. “When did you finish?”

  “While I was waiting for you to finish your phone call,” Carter said. “It took a little longer, using the Internet to translate the Chinese, but I did finish. By the way, this Li Bai guy is a total cheese ball of emotions. I can see why you like him. You’re both so much alike.”

  Katie tittered, pushing down the feelings that were convulsing inside her. It hurt. It was supposed to hurt.

  “Oh, don’t be so sad,” Carter said. “You look as though someone just burned your favorite doll.”

  And with those words, he nodded to Roberts, standing a few paces in front of him. “I’m ready.”

  Katie called out, “Wait.”

  Carter stopped.

  “Wait.” She took a deep breath, examining Carter from head to toe. She wanted to remember him. She needed to.

  We had it right the first time, she thought as she stared into Carter’s eyes. On the first try, we created a breed of robots that could feel, that could think.

  And the company, terrified of its own creation, was trying to erase all evidence of Aqua Generation robots having ever walked the Earth.

  “This is murder,” Katie blurted out. “You can’t do this. Carter may not have a beating heart. He may not have blood streaming through his body like you and me. But his brain, the free-thinking system that BioCorp installed in him, t
ells him that he is human. He is human.”

  She stepped forward and grabbed Carter by the arm. “And for this reason alone, I cannot let you haul him away and recycle his parts like a defective machine.”

  Silence blanketed the room for a moment, and then Roberts, standing beside Carter, spoke. “Ms. Huang, I’m not sure where you’re getting these ideas. We are only taking the robot down to the lab for an extensive checkup, as you probably expected we would. You were the one who called in.”

  Katie had nothing to say. She clenched her teeth as tightly as she could, but the tears that she fought against eventually crept down her face.

  “Hey, look, don’t worry about me,” Carter interjected.

  All eyes in the room found their way to him.

  The robot grabbed hold of both Katie’s hands, looked deep into her eyes and said, “Remember, don’t live your life caring about the criticisms of others and changing yourself in order to realize dreams that weren’t even your own. You’ll lose sight of who you really are.”

  Feeling weak all over, Katie said, “What if it’s already too late?”

  Carter shook his head. “It’s never too late,” he said. “Because I see who you really are. I see you, trapped inside who you’ve become, waiting to burst out.” He gave her hand a squeeze before letting go, stepping back. “So don’t be afraid to laugh when something’s funny. Don’t be afraid to cry when you’re hurt. But most important of all, don’t be afraid to speak up if you’re unhappy. Life’s too short to be unhappy.”

  Though every part of her ached, Katie thought that the last impression she would give Carter should be covered with a smile.

  Carter smiled back. “Everything will be all right.”

  The words froze Katie’s heart.

  Everything will be all right, she repeated. Her father had told her the same thing, on the night that he packed his bags and left.

  She watched in silence as Carter and the men walked out the door, disappearing from sight. This time she made no attempt to stop them.

  Bargains

  Gabriela Lee

  “SO how’s the writing going?” Jeff asks me when we meet up for dinner. He’s wearing that cute paisley button-down that we got from Levi’s last week, and it fits him perfectly. I dig into my nasi lemak and assault the fried chicken.

  “It’s going,” I answer between bites.

  “So what’s it about?” He laces his fingers together and rests his chin on top of them. A lock of hair falls straight across his eyes. He looks like a cross between one of the Four Flower guys and the Korean singer Rain. If he were straight, I’d totally go for him.

  I thoughtfully chew on a spoonful of coconut rice. “You know what, I’m still thinking about it.”

  “You know what?” Jeff points his chopsticks at me. Bits of hokkien mee still cling to the bamboo surface. “We have less than a week here. You need to turn in that story when we get back. Amelia, you need to start cracking.”

  I nod and finish the rest of my food. It didn’t taste as good anymore. “I know, I know. How’s your progress?”

  Jeff shrugs. “I’m done. Just giving myself a couple of days to breathe before editing.”

  I push my plate away and glare at him. “Come on then. I want to get back and have a few pages done before turning in for the night.”

  We walk out of the kopitiam and into the cool night. It’s hovering between summer and the monsoon here, and the air seems heavy with the promise of a storm. We wander the bazaars of Temple Street in Chinatown, passing hawkers selling cheap knockoffs of Prada and Louis Vuitton, plastic toy cars, and display case perfumes by the dozen. Bright orange lanterns crisscross overhead, and there’s the rising scent of cooking satay in the air. Jeff takes out his digital camera and starts snapping photos.

  I wander off to a stall selling bright Thai silks, wondering if I should buy a bolt or two for my mother, when a flickering light catches my eye. I stop haggling with the stall owner and turn toward the light. It’s there, dancing, right at the corner of my eye, like my own personal St. Elmo’s fire. I walk toward the light, and realize that it’s behind a barred door, with small windows cut out at the top. Intricate carvings slither in and out of the woodwork, seemingly alive. I can see scrolling clouds, dragons with curling whiskers, lotus flowers blossoming against the wood. I lift the heavy brass doorknocker and rap against the door.

  “Come in,” I hear a voice say.

  The smell of camphor hits me as soon as I enter, and incense smoke surrounds me like invisible fingers ushering me inside. I feel as if I am walking onto a movie set, a fantasy Chinatown land, replete with stereotypical lacquer boxes against a scarlet-painted wall, handwoven straw baskets full of dried things that have no name, and carefully carved jade ornaments hanging on the wall. A fat golden Buddha sits on the counter, its carved face shining with good fortune. Wall scrolls depict delicately painted bald men, as white as a sheet, clad in ornately decorated robes of state as they ascend toward the top edge of the scroll, where presumably Heaven lies. There are myriad signs in Chinese calligraphy, none of which I could read. They cover the entire top half of one wall, gilt-edged and framed, watching me as I make my way through the aisles.

  “Hello,” says the same voice. I turn around, and there is a little old lady standing behind me. She is wearing a yellow blazer and matching slacks, and her white hair is neatly tucked into a bun at the back of her head. She has the kind of face that you want to kiss, the one you want to start confessing all your secrets too, hoping that she will give you a kind word, a quiet benediction. “Welcome to my shop.”

  “It’s very lovely.” I am suddenly aware of my size, all five foot four inches of me, sweaty with the humidity from outside and smelling distinctly of charred meat. My cotton tank and shorts don’t belong in this world. I have the sudden urge to take a bath in rose petals and sandalwood, and brush my hair a hundred strokes. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name—”

  “You may call me Auntie Wang,” she says, moving past me and making her way behind the counter. She takes out a small set of weights, perfectly carved in miniature. A dragon curls up the middle pillar of the scales, its sapphire eyes glinting in the ruddy light. “Now then, my dear—Amelia, was it? What was it you wanted to buy?”

  “I, ah-didn’t want to buy anything. I just wanted to take a look.” I don’t recall giving her my name, but she looks at me, and her face crinkles into a soft smile, and I want to tell her everything. Then the door jangles again, and Jeff enters, slipping his lithe frame past the door, camera held out in front of him.

  “Oh, there you are,” he says amiably. He waves at Auntie Wang. “Hello!”

  She nods and smiles, then turns back to me. Her face glows softly, like the full moon. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes, you wanted to purchase something.”

  Jeff joins me at the counter. “Buying souvenirs already ? You can go shopping later. I want to go try some of that rose drink they have down at the corner.”

  I wave him away. “What can I buy here, Auntie Wang?” I hope my voice has a respectful tone in it. I’m so used to yelling at editors, and being yelled at in return, that the notion of respect hasn’t quite sunk in.

  She touches the tip of her nose with a wizened finger. “Ah, well, this shop, see, is full of cures for all kinds of ailments, of sicknesses here—”

  She leans over and touches my forehead—“and here.” Her fingernail brushes lightly over my heart.

  “I can brew you a special tea that will make time stop, make it go forward and backwards. Or maybe an ointment to soothe a broken heart, hmm? Powder to make your mother stop asking you so many inappropriate questions. I can give you a jade charm for happiness, or money, or intelligence.” She gives me another smile. “The only thing I cannot do is tell the future. That is best left to soothsayers, not medicine women.”

  Jeff lets out a laugh. “Seriously? Oh, God, come on Amelia. This woman is clearly off her rocker. We’d better get going.” He moves awa
y from the counter and toward the door.

  I wave him on. “I’ll meet you outside.”

  His face suddenly darkens. “Oh, God. Don’t tell me you believe in this crap.”

  “For goodness sake, Jeff, just go.”

  I hear the door close behind Jeff, and once more we are alone in the shop. I turn back to Auntie Wang. “Are you pulling my leg?”

  “All I say are true.”

  I take a deep breath. It wouldn’t hurt, right? And besides, Singapore has great healthcare, the best in the region. If I get a stomach ache, at least I’m not in some backwater village in Laos, retching behind a banana tree.

  “All right. I’d like to buy some inspiration for a story. I’ve been trying to write this damn thing for ages now, and whenever I see a blank page, I just—” I look back at all the hours wasted and wonder what the hell I was doing. “Well, you know what I mean.”

  She gives me a shrewd look, her lacquer-dark eyes narrowing. Then she turns her back on me and starts grabbing small glass jars arranged in shelves behind her. They look dead and old, and they smell of decay and age. Their labels, written in cramped calligraphy, are taped in the front, the ink already bleeding against the paper. I hear her muttering to herself as she mixes the compounds, grinding everything into a powder with her mortar and pestle. After a few moments, she turns to me and presents me with a small bag of powdered material that looked suspiciously like potting soil, tied neatly at the top with a piece of red thread.

  “Steep this in boiling water for exactly three-quarters of an hour, then drink under the light of the full moon. You will find yourself in a frenzy, a ... hmmm ... a need to write.” She wraps the bag in brown paper, stamped with what was probably the name of the store. “The effect lasts for twenty-four hours, so you must use it wisely.”

  “Thank you,” I say, pulling my wallet out of my bag. “How much does it cost?”

  “No.” She gestures emphatically. “You pay me in a different way,” Placing the paper-wrapped parcel on the weighing scales, she gives me a searching look. “Now then, inspiration is expensive to brew. So it is one of our most valuable items for sale. What do you think is the price for this?”