Seven Wonders of a Once and Future World

by Caroline M. Yoachim

  Subject: Please Approve the Dissertation Research of Angtor

  Dear Puny Human Advisor,

  Submitted in fulfillment of the graduation requirements of the PhD program is my thesis, “Human undergraduates will destroy the home planet of Jenna Wong if Angtor asks them politely without making any overt death threats.” Retroactive HSRB approval was provided by Ulric Thurman, the new chair of the human subjects review board. Angtor spent two whole days working very hard on this research.

  If you feel this dissertation does not meet the standards of the university, Angtor can add an additional test condition to see if human undergraduates will destroy your home planet when asked politely by Angtor. Earth is a very nice planet. It would be a shame if something happened to it. Angtor is confident that the human subjects review board would retroactively approve this additional research if asked politely without any overt death threats.

  Thank you,

  Angtor

  *

  From: loretta.blaine@u.titan.edu

  To: ANGTOR.lastname@u.titan.edu

  Date: 5:52am June 2, 2429

  Subject: RE: Please Approve the Dissertation Research of Angtor

  Dear Angtor,

  Congratulations on finishing your thesis. I can assure you that although the official paperwork is still being processed, you will absolutely be receiving your PhD, and therefore there is no need for you to conduct additional research of any kind.

  Purely as a formality, we have scheduled your thesis defense for Friday afternoon. Again, please rest assured that you need not do any additional research, and this is only a formality. Congratulations on your PhD.

  Sincerely,

  Loretta M. Blaine, PhD

  Psychology Department

  University of Titan

  *

  From: ANGTOR.lastname@u.titan.edu

  To: loretta.blaine@u.titan.edu

  Date: 3:42pm June 3, 2429

  Subject: RE: RE: Please Approve the Dissertation Research of Angtor

  Dear Puny Human Advisor,

  Angtor is pleased that no additional research is needed.

  On a personal note, Angtor has selected a mate and is filled with broodlings. Therefore Angtor will not be attending your thesis defense nonsense.

  Thank you,

  Angtor

  *

  From: ANGTOR.lastname@u.titan.edu

  To: SCREEVE@u.tauceti.edu, LINGBAD@u.tauceti.edu,

  CHANDAR@u.tauceti.edu

  Date: 9:19pm June 7, 2429

  Subject: Please Approve the Dissertation Research of Angtor

  Dear Exalted Tannin Empire Dissertation Committee,

  Angtor humbly submits for your approval a dissertation titled “Human University Will Grant PhD to Alien Student When Threatened With the Destruction of Inhabited Planets.”

  No sentient creatures were physically harmed in the execution of this research, but the humans seemed strangely troubled by Angtor’s highly convincing simulations of planetary destruction. In debriefing, Angtor offset this psychological damage by showing the humans pictures of small furry Earth creatures called kittens.

  Thank you,

  Angtor, PhD

  GRASS GIRL

  The other girls are made of driftwood, but I’m made of bamboo that whistles in the wind. My bamboo makes a hollow thud when the other girls kick pebbles at my legs on our way to school.

  “Bamboo isn’t wood, it’s grass,” Sylvia says. She isn’t kicking pebbles, and I can’t tell if her statement is meant to be an insult or an observation.

  Sylvia is the most popular and prettiest of all the girls. She’s made of smooth driftwood with smoky quartz eyes. The other girls hang on her every word, and after she mentions my bamboo, they mock me.

  “Do you fall over when the wind blows, grass girl?”

  “Solid beats hollow.”

  “Hey grass girl, the monkeys look hungry.”

  I ignore their taunts. The monkeys only eat fresh shoots and leaves, not the thick woody stems of bamboo that I am made of. Sometimes they nibble at my seaweed hair, but that’s no big loss since I have to redo it with fresh seaweed every couple days anyway.

  When we get to school, the other girls leave me alone. They don’t want to get in trouble. The teachers dismantle girls who misbehave, usually only for a couple hours but one time for an entire week.

  I’m supposed to learn the species name for every variety of willow tree, but instead I daydream about replacing my bamboo with driftwood.

  At night, I comb the beach. Eventually I find a nice flat piece to replace my left foot, and swap out the old for the new. I hurl my unwanted bamboo foot into the ocean. It makes an eerie whistle as it flies through the air—a wail of loss, as if the small segments of bamboo are sad that they’re no longer part of me.

  It’s hard to walk with one foot wood and one bamboo. I practice on the beach until the moon sets, checking my footprints in the sand to see how badly I’m dragging my heavy new foot. When I go to bed, I’m exhausted.

  The next morning I catch up with all the other girls on the path that winds through the bamboo grove and up the hill to our school. Despite my practice last night, I’m limping.

  “Nice foot, grass girl,” Sylvia says. She’s looking at my foot with a thoughtful expression on her face, and I think she maybe means it as a compliment. The other girls are not as kind.

  “Hey grass girl, your feet don’t match.”

  “One good foot isn’t going to make up for the rest.”

  “Too weak to walk, grass girl?”

  The words sting. I’m supposed to go learn about botanical history, but instead I go back to the beach to look for more driftwood. I find a few small pieces that will make good fingers, and a curved piece for my jawbone. I leave my old bamboo body parts in the sand. When the tide comes up, the waves will wash them all away.

  I notice a nice piece of seaweed, the shiny dark-green kind that makes the nicest hair. I’ve always thought my hair was one of my better features, for all that I have to replace it every couple nights. None of the other girls have seaweed hair. They all have shells or bones that don’t need to be redone as often.

  I pick up the seaweed and bring it home.

  “Mom, why didn’t you make me more like everyone else?”

  “Because you’re you,” Mom answers. “You’re special.”

  She helps me weave my seaweed into my scalp, and the wind blows across her bamboo fingers in a low whistle. Three of her fingers are split, and she’ll need to replace them soon. I suggest that we go out together to look for new fingers, thinking that maybe I can convince her to switch over to driftwood too.

  I’m disappointed when she insists on going to the bamboo grove instead of the beach. After she finds her new fingers, she points out some other nice stems, and mentions that lighter feet are easier to walk with. I refuse to take the hint. Solid beats hollow.

  When I’m about half wood, the other girls stop calling me grass girl and mostly leave me alone. But the girl whose approval I really want is gone. Sylvia hasn’t been coming to school, and nobody knows where she went. Or nobody will tell me, anyway.

  I wander through the bamboo grove on my way to the beach, whacking the tall poles of bamboo with my hand and listening to the hollow sound. When I tap my arm, I hear the satisfying clack of wood on wood. I am becoming sturdy and strong. I don’t whistle in the wind.

  I go farther down the beach than I’ve ever walked before—all the way to the stony cliffs. I’m determined to find as much wood as possible. When I get to the end of the sand, I find a girl reclined against the cliffs, her body made entirely of stone. The tide is high and warm ocean waves wash up onto her feet, but she doesn’t move.

  If wood is unchanging, solid and good, stone must be even better. The stone girl is beautiful, gray and still, serene despite the waves that crash over her feet. Indestructible. Her eyes are smoky quartz. “Sylvia?”

  She doesn’t answer at first. When she eventually
speaks, her voice is raspy like crashing waves. “Please help me. I remade myself in stone, but now I’m too tired to move.”

  I tried to figure out what to do. Of all the girls, she’s always been the least mean, even though she’s the most popular. I don’t see any driftwood nearby. Someone must have stolen the pieces of her old body, or maybe the waves have reclaimed it for the ocean.

  She’s too heavy to lift; I need something to replace the stones. I run to the bamboo grove, and the trip takes longer than it should—my driftwood body is so much heavier than my bamboo was. I gather up an armful of bamboo and run back to the cliffs.

  The bamboo in my arms whistles as I run.

  I replace Sylvia’s stone arms with bamboo and bind her together with seaweed. When only her legs are stone, I’m able to help her to her feet.

  We walk slowly up the beach because her stone legs make it hard for her to move. On our way to the bamboo grove, we meet a girl made of the smooth driftwood that had once belonged to Sylvia. They are the same pieces, but somehow this new girl doesn’t wear them as well. She lacks Sylvia’s grace. The new girl sneers at Sylvia’s bamboo, then looks down at her legs.

  “Sylvia?” she asks. “I thought you’d gone all the way to stone.”

  “I did. I changed my mind.” She shrugs like it was no big deal, and I marvel at her confidence, to not care that another girl is seeing her while she’s half stone and half grass, and honestly looking like a complete mess.

  I glance down at my own body, with its patchwork of driftwood pieces, mixed together with my last remaining scraps of bamboo. It’s better than the body Sylvia has, but she’s proud and I’m ashamed. Why do I want to be all solid and unchanging, anyway? Who says the solid clack of wood is better than the hollow whistle of bamboo?

  I sit in the sand by the bamboo grove and rebuild myself as I had been before, a girl of grass, with gorgeous seaweed hair. Sylvia sits with me and replaces the stone in her legs with bamboo so that she can be a grass girl, too. The ocean wind blows through our fingers, and the music it makes is beautiful.

  ONE LAST NIGHT AT THE CARNIVAL,

  BEFORE THE STARS GO OUT

  Lady Earth went to the Galactic Carnival in a gown of watery blue and earthy green, with a shawl of swirling gray clouds. The back of her gown was black, but decorated with the lights of thousands of cities. Her pet, Moon, trailed behind her.

  “Guess your mass, Madam?” Mars asked, teasing.

  She twirled for him, showing off her gown.

  “You look lovely,” Mars said. “Even the Great Ringmaster could not conjure anything so beautiful.”

  Lady Earth wanted to hear more about the magician, but Moon tugged at the ocean of her gown, eager to see the attractions. Venus hurried by, dressed in thick clouds and looking uncomfortably warm. Mercury followed. He asked, as he always did, “Can Moon come and play? Please please can I play with Moon?”

  He was gone before Lady Earth could answer. She turned her attention to the bright lights of the Constellation Animal Show—bears and lions, dogs and fishes, all sparkling brilliantly as they leapt through hoops and balanced on tightropes. Lady Earth munched on meteorites as she watched the animals, tossing an occasional treat to Moon. The back of her gown brightened as her city lights spread and merged, covering her land and even her oceans.

  The constellation show was popular with children. Lady Earth spotted Halley and Apophis running around and gawking at the animals, surrounded by scores of other comets and asteroids. Apophis paid no attention to where he was going, and almost collided with Lady Earth.

  “Be more careful,” she warned, for even at the carnival there were sometimes tragedies. “Remember what happened to Shoemaker-Levy Nine!”

  Poor Nine had been watching His Majesty’s Many Mighty Moons—a spectacular juggling act—and had run into His Majesty himself, the great King Jupiter. Nine had broken up into pieces and burned away, and there was nothing anyone could do. So sad. But Apophis paid no attention to Lady Earth’s warning and continued at top speed, careening away into the blackness.

  From the exit of the constellation show, Lady Earth saw the magician Mars had mentioned. The Great Ringmaster pulled planetary nebulae seemingly out of nowhere. Excited by the show, Moon ran circles around her, eager to see where the rings would appear next. Her darling pet would have loved to chase the brightly-colored rings, but she kept Moon’s leash short, as she always did.

  Mercury whizzed by, so enthralled by the show that he forgot to ask if Moon could come and play.

  Another nebula appeared, and another. A bluish one here, a rainbow ring there, and a delicate band of pink and gold that appeared like a halo directly above her. Some were so distant they looked like points, others were close enough to see every detail. Lady Earth searched the blackness, trying to see where the rings came from, but she never managed to look in the right place at the right time. She was so engrossed in the show that she didn’t notice Mars until he was almost upon her.

  “The Great Ringmaster will perform his trick on Sun in a moment—you’d best step back a bit,” he said. “And, I must say, your natural black is gorgeous. I always thought the lights were a bit much.”

  Lady Earth’s beautiful lights had all gone out while she was watching the magic show. She wondered what had happened to the sparkling cities, and decided that perhaps the Great Ringmaster had dimmed the lights in preparation for his trick. She hoped it was only that, and not a more permanent change.

  “Hurry,” Mars said, disrupting her thoughts, “and come away with me. It isn’t wise to linger when the magician makes his nebulae.”

  Mars was forever asking her out, but never with such urgency. He was a nice enough neighbor, but Lady Earth wasn’t sure he was worth leaving orbit for. Besides, who would watch Moon if she went out?

  Lady Earth was about to say no when a section of her gown caught fire. Half a continent of fabric lit up with tiny jets of flame. Startled, Lady Earth jumped out toward Mars. A good thing too, for Sun transformed into a giant ball of red flames. If she had stayed on her normal path, Lady Earth would certainly have perished. As it was, her gown boiled away, leaving her with no oceans and no atmosphere, only molten rock laid bare for all to see.

  But that was not the worst of it.

  Poor Moon was lost to the flames. Even at the carnival there were tragedies, and Lady Earth had not pulled her beloved pet out fast enough. She felt more naked for losing Moon than for losing all her oceans, clouds, and lights put together.

  Eventually Sun shrank away, small and dim, drained by the magic trick. All around Lady Earth the blackness of space had changed to reds and blues and yellows and greens, but she hardly noticed the nebula that surrounded her. Instead she searched the inner orbits for her lost pet, but she searched in vain. There was no sign of Venus, or little Mercury. He and Moon were together now, burned away and gone.

  Mars and Halley and even King Jupiter came and gave her their condolences. Mars offered her Deimos, for he had two pets and liked Phobos better anyway—but Deimos could not replace Moon. Lady Earth was stripped of everything she held dear, and nothing could cheer her.

  Or so she thought.

  But when Mars swept past again, Phobos and Deimos cast their shadows on him, and in those shadows Lady Earth saw the tiny glowing lights of cities.

  Moon was lost, and her gown was ruined, but perhaps one day her cities would return to her. Their tiny lights gave her hope enough to keep moving. After all, tonight was the last night of the carnival, and she had much to see before the stars went out.

  HONEYBEE

  A honeybee fluttered its wings for the last time.

  It was the last honeybee, a sickly man-made clone descended from a tragically short line of sickly man-made clones. Its stunted wings were translucent and crisscrossed with veins. The blackish yellow fur on its thorax reminded me of the ducklings I saw at the zoo when I went with my mom.

  This bee was the last attempt at bees. Scientists experimented with oth
er technologies—pollination drones to preserve essential plants, nanotech cooling panels to decrease global warming, and time travel to fix the environment before it was destroyed. Bees became one extinct species among many.

  After my mother died, my son and I cleaned out her kitchen. He was five, and bored. He dumped a box of alphabetized recipe cards onto the kitchen floor. The recipes were handwritten on oversized index cards, with pictures printed off the internet and stapled to each one. I’d asked her once why she didn’t print the recipes and she’d answered that food from a handwritten recipe tasted better.

  “What’s this one?” my son asked. The card was yellow with age and had a smear of red on one corner where I’d grabbed it with jam-covered fingers.

  “Almond raspberry thumbprint cookies.”

  “Will Grandma make them for me?”

  I couldn’t answer. Mom was gone, and the ingredients for her cookies no longer existed. Pollination drones had saved some foods, but neither almonds nor raspberries had survived. My inability to make the cookies drove home the realization that my mother was gone, so far beyond my reach that I couldn’t use her recipes. I stood in the kitchen, tears streaming down my cheeks.

  “I’ll make them for you someday,” I told my son.

  A honeybee fluttered its wings for the last time.

  That memory was my test of whether our manipulations to the timeline worked. No matter what we did, within the strict rules of the Historical Compliance Committee, my memory was never altered. The bees died, the ecosystem collapsed, and there were no raspberries and almonds to make cookies for my son.