by Chris Angus
For several miles, the two talked about their homes and families, a cathartic experience for each of them, since it was unlikely, in the new China, that they would ever see their families again. They found they knew many of the same places and people.
“Why did you leave Shehong?” Yä Ling asked him.
“My father had six sons. I was the youngest. There wasn’t enough land to support everyone. I think I would have enjoyed life on the land, but I had no choice. I joined the army instead.”
As he talked, Gaoming’s eyes never stopped searching the countryside. He turned in his saddle and pointed to a narrow trail that switch-backed down the side of an approaching valley. One of his men took the unspoken order and rode ahead to check that the route was safe.
“Your men are so young,” Yä Ling said. “I would think they’d want to return to their families in these hard times.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “They don’t know about the epidemic.”
She looked at him in surprise. “You haven’t told them?”
“No. Because you are right. They would want to go home—every one of them. But that’s not possible now. Their families, and mine as well, are almost certainly dead or else on the move along with millions of others. It would be a death sentence for them to leave. We have a certain safety as a group, especially in this remote region. I must hold them together in the only way I know how.”
“By lying to them?”
“At some point they’ll have to be told. The longer I can put off that day, the more likely circumstances will convince them that what I did was the only right course.” To change the uncomfortable subject, he asked, “What of you? Why did you leave your home?”
It was Yä Ling’s turn to look discomfited. “My father and mother sold me. They needed the money to feed my brothers and sisters.”
He shrugged. “Such things were done,” he said with a dismissive but sympathetic look.
“The man I was sold to was very bad and beat me. I ran away and lived on the streets . . . doing what was necessary to survive. You understand?” For some reason, she found herself wanting this young man from so near her own hometown to accept her. “Eventually, Mr. Ren offered to set me up in my own apartment in exchange for . . . favors. Do you see?”
Gaoming nodded. He wasn’t surprised, though he’d assumed the younger man, Huang, had been her owner.
“China will never be the same,” he said. “Provided we live so long, there may be greater opportunity to change our lives in ways we would prefer. I myself have considered what I’ll do once this trouble passes. The army, I believe, has almost completely dispersed. I no longer know who I’m supposed to answer to. It’s as though I’ve become the supreme military commander myself—at least of this small group. The others look to me to decide things. It’s a great burden that weighs heavily on me.”
She wasn’t quite sure why she did it, but Yä Ling reached over and squeezed his hand. “I think your men are very lucky to have you, Gaoming.”
Before he could reply, one of the young soldiers rode alongside and pointed ahead. Zhong and Huang had reappeared and were making their way up the switchbacks to join them. Zhong looked like a giant panda bear sitting atop his mount, his extra flesh jiggling each time he bounced in the saddle.
They reined in and Huang said, “The way is clear. We got far enough to see the monastery. I don’t know if the Americans are there, but we’ll soon find out. They had no arms at the dig, and I don’t expect any resistance. The monks will certainly pose no problem. We’ll ride straight in with a show of force and demand to have the Americans turned over to us.”
Gaoming stared at him with distaste. “Who exactly is in charge here?” he asked. “I thought Mr. Ren was the senior figure.”
Zhong looked flustered. He hadn’t realized how much he’d begun to cede control to Huang. Now that he no longer possessed the symbols of his authority—his office, cars, and underlings—the younger, more vigorous, and forceful Huang was asserting himself more every hour. This was clearly how it would be in the new China. The emblems of power that allowed older men to rule were gone. From now on, youth, strength, and ambition would determine who would be leaders and who followers.
Huang sensed the moment as well. It was hardly surprising. He’d been waiting all his life to assert himself. “Zhong is a tired, old man,” he said, looking purposely at Yä Ling. “It was my decision to go after the American spies, my decision to leave Urumqi, my foresight to have a car and supplies. I will give the orders now on how to take the monastery.”
“I see,” said Gaoming, who looked for a long moment at Zhong. But Huang was at least partly correct. Zhong recognized that his day was over. He said nothing.
“I don’t believe either of you has the power to order a military patrol under present conditions,” Gaoming said. “Therefore, I will be the one in charge.”
Yä Ling, who had all but resigned herself to becoming Huang’s woman after the brief exchange, looked at Gaoming in surprise. He had strength, this man who shared something of her own background. She glanced at Huang and saw a look of such total hatred she cringed. Gaoming saw it, too, but was unfazed by it.
“I tell you . . . you need me,” Huang sputtered. “I understand the Americans. You know nothing of them.”
“Then you will have to tell me all about them,” said Gaoming. “It is decided. We’ll go to the monastery, as much to seek a place for us to stay as to confront anyone. The world of spies and counter-spies is gone. We may find that we must work with the Americans in order to survive . . . and with the monks as well.”
Huang was beside himself. Even Zhong smirked a bit. The reign of Huang the Tiny had come and gone as swiftly as the flight of an arrow. But there was nothing he could do. Gaoming obviously controlled the loyalty of his men. As they moved out in the direction of the monastery, Huang tagged along, silent and downcast, at the end of the little column.
They arrived at the monastery late in the afternoon. The monks seemed unsurprised at the sudden appearance of a large group of people. They showed them into the central courtyard and offered bread and cheese to eat. Huang managed to get the old monk in authority, Xuemin, aside long enough to ask if there were any Americans present. But even as he spoke, Alan, Duncan, Leeanne, and Marcia suddenly appeared, and almost simultaneously Logan, Diana, and the rest of the students arrived on foot, having abandoned their motorcycles a few miles away after running out of fuel.
There was a great reunion in the courtyard, the archaeologists all gathering excitedly around Diana to hear her story of survival in Urumqi and to thank her for her bravery in buying them time. In the midst of this, Diana suddenly saw Huang hanging back nervously now that she was surrounded by her friends. She almost felt sorry for the little weasel. Almost. “I hope you had a good night’s sleep in your tent, Huang,” she said.
He looked away miserably and found himself confronting Logan’s cold glare. “All I did was offer her a ride to the Tarim site,” he said, edging away.
Diana put a restraining hand on Logan. She had to admit Huang was right. All the innuendo and forced togetherness still hadn’t added up to rape—only because she hadn’t stayed around long enough for it to develop.
Seeing Yä Ling, Diana ran over and hugged the girl tightly.
“How on earth did you get here?” she asked.
“It was Huang. He came into the city and convinced Zhong we should leave to take refuge at the Tarim site. Instead, after learning one of the archaeologists . . . a Dr. Kessler . . . had made a call from here, Zhong declared this was where we should go for safety and to try to find the American spies.”
“Spies?”
“Yes. Huang became convinced after you eluded him that your trip to Urumqi had been designed to distract him from the group’s real purpose.”
“It’s true!” said Huang, almost petulantly. “You are American spies!”
Logan raised his hand and called for quiet. “We’ve no time to continue
this little reunion. On our way in we passed a large group of refugees headed this way. They were better organized than most, and we considered contacting them. But once we got closer, it was clear many of them were sick. They are almost certainly heading here. And they may not be the only such group. Many Chinese know of this place. Its remoteness, combined with the self-contained economy the monks have developed, makes it a natural destination for desperate people. We need to prepare our defenses.”
Yä Ling said to Logan, “This is Jiang Gaoming. He’s the commander of the soldiers. I think he is a very good commander.”
“We’ve met,” said Logan. “And I agree with you. Will you work with us, Gaoming?”
“I think we’ll all need to help one another now,” he said. “I’ll explain to my men what is happening.” He turned away to speak to the soldiers.
In fact, the old monastery was a perfect fortress. Before his departure, Logan had already begun to consider how it could be defended. Now, he directed Gaoming to have some of his men set up rocket launching sites on the steep slope directly behind the enclosure to cover the approaches from the river. With its back to the mountains, they effectively had only one direction that needed defending. The rest of the soldiers, along with the dozen students, were all consigned posts around the compound wall, and a rotating series of shifts was established. The wall was only five feet high and hadn’t been constructed with defense in mind, but it would have to do.
Not counting the monks, they now numbered almost fifty. Well-armed from the army stockpile with rifles and rocket launchers, they represented a formidable force structure in the new, disintegrating China. Xuemin and the other monks maintained their distance. They weren’t happy about the essential takeover of their home by the soldiers, but they were used to lives devoted to the simple tasks of prayer and the tending of crops and animals. They had eschewed contact with the outside world for centuries through one war, pestilence, and famine after another. The current state of China was nothing new to them, and they believed it, too, would pass.
By nightfall, Logan was satisfied with their preparations. His final act was to send out several scouts into the hills to check on the progress of the refugees. After the monks had provided dinner for everyone, Logan and Diana retreated to a corner of the compound, where they sat together.
For the first time in what had seemed like an endless week and a half of turmoil, Diana felt completely safe.
“Kiss me,” she said.
Without a word, he did, and she felt again that feeling she’d dreamt about constantly during the days of staving off the attentions of Huang.
After a long time, Logan separated, but continued to hold her close. “It must have been awful in Urumqi,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have survived if not for Yä Ling. She protected me from Huang while she could. I was glad to see Zhong didn’t abandon her. She was right about that, though I detect something changed in her now. She seems quite independent all of a sudden from Zhong. I think it may have something to do with a certain young military commander.”
“There you are!” said Dr. Kessler, coming at them out of the dark like some sort of tall, leathery phantom. “I’ve been looking all over for you, Logan.”
“What’s the matter?” he asked quickly, fearing the refugee attack had begun.
“Something I want to show you. Will you come with me? Both of you.”
She led them through the compound and up to Xuemin’s room where the smooth, black oval rested inscrutably amidst a sea of papers on the old monk’s desk. Duncan and Alan were already there. Marcia sank tiredly into her chair.
“Have you learned something?” Logan asked.
“You might say that. I’ve been puzzled since the moment we found this thing by its shape. What is it about the oval shape? What is its purpose, say, in the game of football?”
“To fly through the air, obviously,” said Diana.
“Yes. More precisely, to be aerodynamic. I believe our stone here may have been designed to do exactly what a football does, that is, to move through the air.”
Logan was puzzled. “So you’re saying . . . what? That football was originally invented by Buddhist monks?”
Marcia gave him a withering look. She reached for a pack of cigarettes on the table and lit one. With the entire world falling apart, she’d decided it was hardly the moment to worry about lung cancer. She inhaled with notable pleasure and blew a cloud of smoke into the air.
“Suppose this object was designed to travel through space and then the atmosphere of planets?”
Logan and Diana stared at her blankly. Finally, Logan said, “It was found bricked up in a two-thousand-year-old dungeon in a monastery. No one at that time was making objects to travel through space.”
Marcia went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “I also think the object’s cold is somehow related to its lengthy passage through the heavens. It absorbed the cold of space . . . somehow using it as a power source.”
“Hold on,” said Alan. “How could you possibly know that? Have you managed to interpret the markings on the thing?”
“Barely scratched the surface.” She snickered. “Actually, I can’t scratch the surface. It’s too hard. Another reason I think it was designed for some extraordinary journey. But now I want you to prepare yourselves for my greatest discovery. It’s something you’re not going to believe. I scarcely believe it myself. Come closer.”
They approached the desk and leaned over the strange object. Logan could still feel the cold emanating from within.
“Here’s what I want to show you. It was near the end of the encryptions, and I only came upon it this evening.” She pointed to a series of markings that resembled nothing more than a twisted, scroll-like pattern of random scratching.
“I don’t understand,” said Logan. “It doesn’t look like anything at all to me. Just more unintelligible symbols—if they’re symbols at all-—and not just natural scratches.”
“Yes. I thought so too at first glance. But there’s something familiar about these particular markings. Look at them again.” She seemed almost reluctant to tell them, wanting them to see for themselves.
After several more long moments of perusal, Logan sighed and raised his head. “It’s nonsense to me. I don’t make anything of it.”
Kessler stood up and walked to the window. She stared up at the sky for a moment. Logan and Diana exchanged glances, wondering what on Earth she was up to. Then she turned back to them.
“What you’re looking at is a quite precise representation of a double helix, the structure of DNA, the basis of all life on Earth.”
They gaped speechlessly at her. Duncan snorted. “Patent nonsense!” he said.
“The thing that confused me initially,” said Kessler, ignoring him, “is that the structure isn’t vertical, as we usually tend to view it, but rather lies on a horizontal plane. But there’s really no mistaking what it is once you take the initial leap of understanding.”
Logan stared at her. He looked back at the oval, bringing his gaze down even with the tiny, twisted lines. “You must be joking,” he said finally. “You’re saying this ancient object describes the double helix two thousand years before Watson and Crick figured it out?”
“I’m not sure the word describes is quite operative. I don’t think whoever—or whatever—made this thing was interested in defining their terms for us. I see these markings not as descriptions, but more as instructions.”
“Huh?” said Diana.
Suddenly Logan began to get an inkling of understanding. “Are you saying this object relates somehow to the DNA anomalies that set us off on this mission?”
“That is precisely what I believe. And I think our little football here is not two thousand years old, but quite possibly several million years old, or older.”
“As old as the earliest DNA anomalies discovered,” said Diana. “But I still don’t understand. What’s its purpose?”
“That’s the sixty-four-
thousand-dollar question,” said Kessler, moving back to her desk and staring once again at the mystery lying before them.
“When Earth was very young,” she began slowly, “it was completely sterile, as dead as the surface of the moon. But there were many thousands of chemicals intermixing in the air and water as the rain and wind wore down the rocks and volcanoes thrust up still more chemicals, creating a rich broth of substances. It may have taken a billion years for the right sets of chemicals to join together under the right conditions to allow the creation of the very first small bit of pre-cellular DNA. Many more millions of years had to pass before that strand managed to grow into a single cell with a now much longer, coded string of genetic material—what was, basically, the very essence of life. That same elemental coding still exists in all DNA today.
“The human body contains about a hundred billion copies of our DNA. Each of these copies is a living thing. Each can reproduce itself, and is identical to all the other copies. It is responsible for everything about us, our appearance, our mental and bodily functions, even, to an extent, the length of our lives, though, of course, lifestyle and environmental factors also play a role. When DNA replicates, it passes its life directly on to its offspring. No new life is created. All DNA alive on the planet today has been alive since the beginning, since that very first tiny string created three billion years ago in the primordial soup.”
She hesitated. “Of course, there is another possibility—that instead of forming in the primordial soup billions of years ago, life was introduced to Earth from outside, via a meteorite for example. That would bring up the interesting possibility that all life everywhere in the universe might have derived from one source—one original creation if you will—of DNA.”
