The Dark Forest

by Cixin Liu

  “Captain, you ought to give us some indication of what’s happening,” he said.

  “Lieutenant Colonel, you ought to be the one giving us an indication.”

  “Do you mean that you don’t know anything about your present state?”

  An infinite sadness welled up in her dull eyes. “I only know that we’re the first humans who have gone into space.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is the first time humanity has really gone to space.”

  “Oh. I see what you mean. Before, no matter how far humans traveled into space, they were still just a kite sent aloft by Earth. They were connected to Earth by a spiritual line. Now that line has been severed.”

  “That’s right. The line is severed. The essential change is not that the line has been let go, but that the hand has disappeared. The Earth is heading toward doomsday. In fact, she’s already dead in our minds. Our five spacecraft are not connected to any world. There is nothing around us apart from the abyss of space.”

  “Indeed. Humanity has never faced a psychological environment like this before.”

  “Yes. In this environment, the human spirit will be fundamentally changed. People will become—” She suddenly broke off, and the sadness in her eyes vanished, leaving only gloom, like a cloud-covered sky after the rain has stopped.

  “You mean that in this environment, people will become new people?”

  “New people? No, Lieutenant Colonel. People will become … non-people.”

  At that last word, Lan Xi shuddered. He looked up at Dongfang Yanxu, and she met his gaze. In the blankness of her eyes, all he saw were tightly closed windows to her soul.

  “What I mean is that we won’t be people in the old sense.… Lieutenant Colonel, that’s all I can say. Just do your best. And…” The words that followed seemed like she was talking in her sleep. “It’ll be your turn soon.”

  The situation continued to deteriorate. The day after Lan Xi’s talk with Dongfang Yanxu, there was a vicious injury on Natural Selection. A lieutenant colonel with the ship’s navigational system fired upon another officer bunking with him. According to the victim’s recollection, the officer had awakened suddenly in the middle of the night and, noticing that the victim was also awake, had accused him of eavesdropping on him talking in his sleep. In the struggle, his emotions had gotten away from him and he had fired the gun.

  Lan Xi went at once to see the detained lieutenant colonel. “What were you afraid of him hearing you say in your sleep?” he asked.

  “You mean he really heard it?” the attacker asked in terror.

  Lan Xi shook his head. “He said that you didn’t say anything.”

  “So what if I did say something? You can’t take sleep talk for the truth! My mind doesn’t really think that. Surely I’m not going to go to hell for something I said in my sleep!”

  In the end, Lan Xi was unable to draw out what the attacker imagined he said in his sleep, so he asked whether he minded going under hypnotherapy. Unexpectedly, the attacker once again blew up at this suggestion, lunging at Lan Xi and strangling him until the military police finally came in and pried him off. Leaving the brig, one MP who had overheard the conversation said to Lan Xi, “Lieutenant Colonel, don’t mention hypnotherapy again unless CSD2 wants to become the most hated place on the ship. You wouldn’t last very long.”

  So Lan Xi had to contact Colonel Scott, a psychologist aboard Enterprise. Scott also served as the ship’s chaplain, a position most ships in the Asian Fleet did not have. Enterprise and the other three ships in the pursuing force were still two hundred thousand kilometers away.

  “Why is it so dark over there?” Lan Xi asked as he looked at the video sent over from Enterprise. The curved walls of the cabin Scott was in had been adjusted to glow a faint yellow, and they displayed an image of the stars outside, making it look as if he was inside a fogged-over cosmos. His face was shrouded in shadow, but even so, Lan Xi could still sense Scott’s eyes slipping quickly away from his gaze.

  “The Garden of Eden is growing dark. Blackness will swallow everything,” Scott said in a weary voice.

  Lan Xi had consulted him because, as chaplain of Enterprise, he would likely have had people confide the truth in him during confession, and he might be able to pass on some advice. But at these words, and noticing how the colonel’s eyes loomed in the shadows, Lan Xi knew that he would come up with nothing. So he suppressed the question he was about to ask and turned to another, one that surprised even him:

  “Will what happened in the first Garden of Eden be repeated in the second?”

  “I don’t know. At any rate, the vipers have come out. The snakes of the second Garden of Eden are even now climbing up people’s souls.”

  “You mean, you’ve eaten the fruit of knowledge?”

  Scott slowly nodded. Then he bowed his head, but did not raise it again, as if he was trying to hide the eyes that would betray him. “You could say that.”

  “Who will be expelled from the Garden of Eden?” Lan Xi’s voice quavered, and a cold sweat was on his palms.

  “Many people. But unlike the first time, this time some people might remain.”

  “Who? Who will remain?”

  Scott gave a long sigh. “Lieutenant Colonel Lan, I’ve said enough. Why don’t you seek the fruit of knowledge for yourself? Everyone’s got to take that step, after all. Isn’t that right?”

  “Where should I seek it?”

  “Set down your work, and think about it. Feel more, and you’ll find it.”

  After speaking with Scott, Lan Xi halted his busy work amid chaotic feelings, and stopped to think, as the colonel had advised. Faster than he had imagined, Eden’s cold, slippery vipers crawled into his consciousness. He found the fruit of knowledge and ate it, and the last rays of sunshine in his soul disappeared forever as everything plunged into darkness.

  On Starship Earth, an invisible, taut string was being pulled close to snapping.

  Two days later, the captain of Ultimate Law committed suicide. He had been standing on the aft platform at the time, a platform enclosed in a transparent dome that made it seem exposed to space. The stern of the ship faced the Solar System, where the sun was by now no more than a yellow star just a bit brighter than the rest. The peripheral spiral arm of the Milky Way lay in this direction, its stars sparse. The depth and expanse of deep space exhibited an arrogance that left no support for the mind or the eyes.

  “Dark. It’s so fucking dark,” the captain murmured, and then shot himself.

  * * *

  When Dongfang Yanxu learned that the captain of Ultimate Law had committed suicide, she had the premonition that time was up, so she convened an emergency meeting with the two vice-captains in the large spherical fighter hangar.

  In the corridor on the way to the hangar, she heard someone behind her call her name. It was Zhang Beihai. In her gloomy state of mind, she had practically forgotten about him for the past couple of days. He looked her up and down, his eyes full of a fatherly concern that gave her an undreamed-of sense of comfort, for it was hard to find a pair of eyes without a shadow on Starship Earth these days.

  “Dongfang, I don’t think you’ve been right lately. I don’t know the reason, but you seem to be hiding something. What’s going on?”

  She didn’t answer his question, but instead asked, “Sir, how have you been lately?”

  “Well. Very well. I’ve been touring all over the place and studying. I’m familiarizing myself with Natural Selection’s weapons system. Of course, I’m only scratching the surface, but it’s fascinating. Imagine how Columbus would feel visiting an aircraft carrier. I’m the same way.”

  Seeing how calm and relaxed he was now, Dongfang Yanxu felt a little jealous. Yes, he had completed his great endeavor and had the right to enjoy tranquility. The history-making great man had turned back into an ignorant hibernator. All he needed now was protection. With that in mind, she said, “Sir, don’t ask anyone else about the que
stion you just asked. Don’t ask about any of this.”

  “Why? Why shouldn’t I ask?”

  “It’s dangerous to ask. Besides, you really don’t need to know. Believe me.”

  He nodded. “Very well. I won’t ask. Thank you for treating me like an ordinary person. That’s all I’ve been hoping for.”

  She said a hurried good-bye, but as she went her own way, she heard the voice of the founder of Starship Earth behind her: “Dongfang, no matter what happens, let things go as they will. Everything will be okay.”

  She saw the two vice-captains in the center of the spherical hall. She had chosen to meet them here because the size of the hall made it feel like they were in the wilderness. The three of them floated at the center of a world of pure white, as if the whole universe was empty except for them. It lent a sense of security to their conversation.

  Each of them looked in a different direction.

  “We have to make things clear,” she said.

  “Yes. Every second we delay is dangerous,” Vice-Captain Levine said. Then he and Akira Inoue turned around to face Dongfang Yanxu. His meaning was clear: You are the captain, you speak first.

  But she didn’t have the courage.

  Whatever happened now, at the second dawn of human civilization, might be the foundation of a new Homeric epic or a Bible. Judas became who he was because he was the first to kiss Jesus, and that made him fundamentally different from the second one to kiss him. It was the same now. The first to speak would mark a milestone in the history of the second civilization. Perhaps he or she would become Judas, or perhaps Jesus, but whatever the possibility, Dongfang Yanxu did not have that courage.

  But she had to undertake her own mission, so she made a smart choice. She did not avoid the gaze of her vice-captains. Language was not necessary now. All communication could be accomplished through the eyes. As they stared at each other, their interlocking gazes were like information conduits linking their three souls together and communicating everything at high speed.

  Fuel.

  Fuel.

  Fuel.

  The route is still unclear, but at least two clouds of interstellar dust have been found.

  Drag.

  Of course. After passing through them, the spaceships will drop to 0.03 percent of the speed of light due to drag from the dust.

  We’re still more than ten light-years away from NH558J2. We’ll need sixty thousand years to get there.

  Then we’ll never arrive.

  The ships may arrive, but the life on board won’t. Even hibernation can’t be sustained for that long.

  Unless …

  Unless speed is maintained through the dust clouds, or we accelerate afterward.

  Fuel is insufficient.

  Fusion fuel is the only source of energy aboard ship, and it needs to be used in other areas: environmental systems, possible course corrections.…

  And for deceleration once the target system is reached. NH558J2 is much smaller than the sun. We can’t achieve orbit relying solely on gravity for deceleration. We’ll have to expend large quantities of fuel, or else we’ll fly by the target star system.

  All of the fuel on Starship Earth is basically enough for two spacecraft.

  But, if we’re careful, it’s enough for just one.

  Fuel.

  Fuel.

  Fuel.

  “And then there’s the issue of parts,” Dongfang Yanxu said.

  Parts.

  Parts.

  Parts.

  Particularly parts for critical systems: fusion engines, information and control systems, environmental systems.

  It may not be as urgent as fuel, but it’s the foundation of long-term survival. NH55J82 doesn’t have a hospitable planet for settlement or establishment of industry, or even the necessary resources to do so. It’s just a place to refuel before heading to the next system, where industry can be established to produce parts.

  Natural Selection has only two levels of redundancy for key parts.

  Too few.

  Too few.

  Apart from the fusion engines, most of the key parts on Starship Earth are interoperable.

  Engine parts can be used after modification.

  “Can all personnel be gathered onto one or two ships?” Dongfang Yanxu said aloud, but her voice was only meant to guide the direction of their eye communication.

  Impossible.

  Impossible.

  Impossible. There are too many people. Environmental and hibernation systems can’t accommodate them all. If present capacity is boosted even a little, it will be disastrous.

  “So, is it clear now?” Dongfang Yanxu’s voice resounded in the empty white space like the mutterings of someone deeply asleep.

  Clear.

  Clear.

  Some people must die, or everyone will die.

  Then their eyes went silent. The three of them felt an intense desire to turn away, as if shaken by thunder from the depths of the universe that made their souls quake in terror. Dongfang Yanxu was the first to stabilize her own gaze.

  “Stop it,” she said.

  Stop it.

  Don’t give up.

  Don’t give up?

  Don’t give up! Because no one else has given up. If we give up, then we’ll be expelled from the Garden of Eden.

  Why us?

  Of course, it shouldn’t be them, either.

  But someone has to be expelled. The Garden of Eden has a limited capacity.

  We don’t want to leave the garden.

  So we can’t give up!

  Three pairs of eyes, so close to breaking apart, locked together again.

  Infrasonic H-bomb.

  Infrasonic H-bomb.

  Infrasonic H-bomb.

  Every ship is equipped with them.

  It’s hard to defend against a stealth launch.

  Their gazes separated temporarily as their minds were pushed to the brink of collapse. They needed rest. When the three pairs of eyes met once again, they were uncertain and erratic, like candles flickering in the wind.

  Evil!

  Evil!

  Evil!

  We’ll become devils!

  We’ll become devils!

  We’ll become devils!

  “But … what are they thinking?” Dongfang Yanxu asked softly. To the two vice-captains, her voice, while soft, seemed to linger uninterrupted in the white space, like the buzz of a mosquito.

  Yes. We don’t want to become devils, but who knows what they’re thinking.

  Then we’re already devils, or how else could we think of them as devils unprovoked?

  Very well, then we won’t think of them as devils.

  “That won’t solve the problem,” Dongfang Yanxu said with a gentle shake of her head.

  Yes. Even if they aren’t devils, the problem remains.

  Because they don’t know what we’re thinking.

  Suppose they know that we’re not devils?

  The problem still exists.

  They don’t know what we’re thinking about them.

  They don’t know what we’re thinking about what they’re thinking about us.

  That carries on in an endless chain of suspicion: They don’t know what we’re thinking about what they’re thinking about what we’re thinking about what they’re thinking about what we’re …

  How can this chain of suspicion be broken?

  Communication?

  On Earth, perhaps. But not in space. Some people must die, or everyone will die. This is the unwinnable dead hand that space has dealt for the survival of Starship Earth. An insurmountable wall. In the face of it, communication has no meaning.

  Only one choice is left. The question is who makes that choice.

  Dark. It’s so fucking dark.

  “We can’t delay any longer,” Dongfang Yanxu said decisively.

  No more delays. In this dark region of space, the duelists are holding their breath. The string is about to snap.

  Every se
cond, the danger grows exponentially.

  Since it’s all the same no matter who pulls it, why not pull it ourselves?

  Then Akira Inoue suddenly broke the silence: “There’s another choice!”

  We sacrifice ourselves.

  Why?

  Why us?

  The three of us could, but do we have the authority to make this choice on behalf of the two thousand people on Natural Selection?

  The three of them were standing on a knife blade. Though its cuts were painful, a jump off either side would be into a bottomless abyss. These were the labor pains for the birth of the new space humans.

  “How about this?” Levine said. “First lock in the targets, and then think it over some more.”

  Dongfang Yanxu nodded. Levine called up a control interface for the weapons system in the air and opened up the window for the infrasonic H-bombs and carrier missiles. On a spherical coordinate system with Natural Selection at the origin, Blue Space, Enterprise, Deep Space, and Ultimate Law were displayed as four points of light two hundred thousand kilometers away. The distance masked the structure of the targets, for at the scale of space, everything was just a point.

  But the four points of light were ringed with four red halos, four deathly nooses indicating that the weapons system had already locked on the targets.

  Stunned, the three of them looked at each other and shook their heads to say that it wasn’t their doing.

  Apart from them, privileges to place a target lock in the weapons system were also held by the arms control and target screening officers, but their lock placement had to be authorized by the captain or vice-captain. That left just one other person with direct privileges to lock a target and launch an attack.

  We’re idiots. He’s only someone who’s changed history twice!

  He realized all of this first!

  Who knows when he realized it? Maybe when Starship Earth was founded, or even earlier, when he learned that the combined fleet had been destroyed. He is the last to show worry. Like the parents of his era, always keeping their children in mind.

  Dongfang Yanxu flew across the spherical hall as fast as she could, followed closely by the two vice-captains. They went out the door and down that long corridor until they arrived at the door to Zhang Beihai’s cabin. Suspended in front of him was an interface identical to the one they had just seen. They rushed forward, but the scene from Natural Selection’s escape replayed itself: They crashed into the bulkhead. There was no door, just an oval-shaped area where the bulkhead was transparent.