Red Moon

by Kim Stanley Robinson

  Eventually they came to the last great aria, which was made of a repeated scale of rising notes—just the eight notes of a C major scale begun on E, repeated as if someone were just learning to play the piano. This turned out to make a beautiful song, one of the composer’s finest discoveries, nicely saved for the ending. The whole population of the city sang this together, and the dance troupes had come to stillness somehow, wherever they were, so that everyone now hung suspended somewhere in the air under the dome. Valerie found herself with people she had never seen, people of all kinds floating there. In the distance across the city the other participants were small in her sight, so that suddenly it looked to her like she had fallen into the Disneyland ride called It’s a Small World. That ride had bowled her over when she was five years old, and now her head was suddenly hearing its simple tune, It’s a world of laughter, a world of tears, et cetera, leading to It’s a small world after all! Which was quite a tune to impinge on the sublimity of the finale of Satyagraha, but her earworm weakness had already latched onto it, and all she could do was try to braid the two tunes together in her head, and in this particular moment it even seemed to kind of work, as a counterpoint or fugue or descant.

  That odd little duet accompanied her all the rest of that day, which was taken up mostly by relocating John Semple. She couldn’t find him, she couldn’t find Anna, and she couldn’t find their hosts from the platform, and she didn’t know any of their names, and couldn’t immediately recall their faces. She had to brachiate her way back to where she thought their first meeting had taken place, dodging other swingers as she swung. Lots of flushed and happy faces flying around out there, and she was sure she probably looked like the rest.

  Finally she ran into John, sitting on a platform drinking tea and talking with what she thought was a completely different set of people. He welcomed her back with a real smile, a smile of acceptance, and she sat and took a cup of tea, and listened to them tell stories about the place, and looked at all their faces, glowing like paper lanterns. All the while she was hearing in her head “it’s a world of laughter, a world of tears,” chiming across the rising scale that ended Satyagraha, and this stranded tune persisted in her head through the rest of their stay in the little flying crater, and all the way back to the north pole.

  AI 8

  lianxi

  Contact

  Little Eyeball said in her stiff version of the beautiful voice of Zhou Xuan, “Ready to transmit.”

  The analyst sat by the Unicaster 3000 unit, hesitating over the keyboard. Time to send a hopeful greeting to the wayward princessling Chan Qi. He found he was nervous. Slowly he typed,

  Hello, Chan Qi.

  I’m a friend in China.

  I work under the Great Firewall, in what some call the Invisible Wall. Colleagues of mine are surveilling you and others organizing the three withouts. I’m sure you know about some of this. I like your efforts, and would like to help you succeed in them.

  He looked at the message for a while, then hit send. This kind of phone pair was quantum encrypted, but capable of exchanging only a relatively tiny thread, a string of binaries almost like Morse code, tapping on the ether itself.

  He contemplated the device as he waited for a response. Possibly she would never write back, given that he had mentioned the Great Firewall. He had admitted to being someone in national security; why reply? But she had been traveling with the American who worked in quantum encryption, and the analyst had had this device sent to them hoping that the quantum expert would explain to her how the entanglement of the qubits inside the devices meant no one could overhear their conversation without them knowing of it.

  Of course his phone could be in an office of the Ministry of State Security with a crowd of policemen reading its screen, but even if it were so, they would not be able to find her if she answered them. So he waited with some curiosity.

  A reply appeared on his screen:

  Why should you want to help me when you work on the Great Firewall?

  He wrote back, I work under the Great Firewall. I helped design it, and I can use it to help people sometimes, if I want to.

  Why do you want to help me?

  I want to help the three withouts.

  Why?

  The Party exists to serve the people. As Mao said, “The people alone are the motive force in the making of world history.”

  And yet you work in a security agency.

  I feel it’s best if the people are secure. But then the question becomes, what creates the greatest security? For me, when the people are happy the country is safest. So I like your ideas.

  How do you know what my ideas are?

  You are often surveilled. I’ve heard recordings, I’ve read transcripts.

  Did you work for Xi?

  I did. He was a good leader, all things considered. I helped design his poverty eradication campaign, back in the twenties.

  How could you do that from a security agency?

  My work has always been in quantum computers and artificial intelligence. President Xi asked us to investigate how we could help eradicate poverty. That turned out to be hard, as early efforts often are. But there were some results that helped push poverty down.

  And yet the problem still exists.

  President Xi’s fourth term came to an end, and he could not extend to a fifth. Even the fourth term was hard. Progress was impeded by the struggle over who would come after him. After he was gone his influence waned and new policies were pursued. The leadership since his time has been weak. They are not interested in poverty eradication. They are only fighting among themselves now, thinking they could become the next Xi.

  Who in the leadership do you support now?

  I support Peng. Also your father. Also Liu and Yi. These and other people are trying to solve the outstanding problems. But they are not in control now. Shanzhai wants one of his supporters to succeed him as leader. He is working for that result at this Party congress. He has chosen Huyou, the worst of them.

  I want to destabilize that whole regime.

  I know. I think that might be a very helpful effort. I think it’s worth a try. This is my opinion.

  So what do you want from me?

  Nothing. I want to tell you what I am seeing here, concerning your surveillance and the surveillance of your group.

  So tell me.

  Most of the security agencies pursuing you are not yet aware that you went back to the moon in one of Fang Fei’s rockets. But one of them has now found out, and that could represent a danger.

  Red Spear?

  Yes.

  So they know where I am.

  Probably so.

  So I should leave where I am.

  Probably so. I would if I were you. Fang Fei is a positive force, but he may not be able to protect you.

  At this point there was a long pause. The analyst wondered if she had ended the conversation. The device showed the channel was still open, but she might not know how to shut it. Although probably the young American would know, if he was with her.

  Then another message appeared. I’ll contact you again later.

  Thank you.

  The channel closed.

  The analyst sat back in the seat, took a deep breath. His hands were quivering slightly. It was at times like this that he most regretted having quit smoking. For most of his life, he would have lit up at a time like this. Now he observed his breathing, in and out, in and out. It was almost like smoking.

  “Alert,” his AI said.

  “What is it?”

  “Tunnels one and four have collapsed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I am no longer receiving the taps you had moving through those tunnels.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Two and three are still functioning, also five through thirty.”

  “Find out what you can about these closures, please.”

  “I will.”

  Someone was in pursuit.


  CHAPTER TWELVE

  zhengzhi luxian de zhenglun

  Debates About Theory

  Fred sat with Qi and Ta Shu on a pavilion overlooking one of the ponds in the lava tunnel, trying to identify some of the food on the table by them. He was hungry but tentative, worried he might trigger another Hong Kong reaction in his gut.

  “This isn’t China,” Qi declared, gesturing at the classic landscape filling the big lava tunnel. “It’s Chinoiserie. It’s a Western fantasy of what they thought China looked like, another Orientalism. Part of the process of othering that led to the assault and conquest of the Opium War, followed by the Century of Humiliation. It’s absurd and disgusting. Who built this stupid theme park?”

  “Fang Fei built it,” Ta Shu said. “And to me it looks like every Tang painting I’ve ever seen. So if it’s a fantasy, it’s at least a Chinese fantasy. The original China Dream, from well before contact with the West, much less the Century of Humiliation. Many Chinese still revere this dream. Many still know a classic poem or two by heart. It’s part of who we are.” His sweet smile was lighting up his face. “This place looks like one of Wang Wei’s paintings!”

  Qi frowned. “None of Wang Wei’s paintings have survived,” she pointed out grumpily.

  Fred saw she was in a cross mood. Whoever next gave her a chance to jump on them was going to get jumped. He thought knowing that would allow him to avoid being that person, but no:

  “Quit smirking,” she ordered him.

  “I wasn’t,” he claimed. “It’s just that I like this place too. It’s a beautiful look. See those peach blossoms in the water?”

  Ta Shu laughed. “We must seek their source! Maybe there’s a place upstream where you two won’t get arrested again.”

  Qi shook her head. “We are already arrested.”

  “Think of it as a refuge,” Ta Shu suggested to her. “A sanctuary.”

  “No,” Qi said. “There must be hundreds of people in here. In any group that large, there will be informers. So this is not a refuge. There are people out there who already know we’re here.”

  She scowled as she said this; she seemed quite sure of it. Fred wondered if she had learned this by way of that call she had gotten on the private quantum phone Ta Shu had given to her. Fred had helped her to take the call, then stared curiously at the Chinese characters on her screen. As they were on the far side of the moon, the call had to be coming to her by way of a satellite link; after she had finished the call he had reminded her of that fact, which she might not have remembered or understood. Indeed she had scowled the same scowl he was seeing now, not directed at him, but at his news. “Fang Fei must have helped make the connection,” she had said after thinking it over. “I don’t know what that means yet. But for sure we’re in his cage.”

  Now Ta Shu said to her, “I defer to your experience, of course, but for now I think we are safe.”

  She shook her head, glanced at Fred in a way that seemed to be telling him to keep quiet. “You don’t know enough to say that,” she said darkly to Ta Shu. “This is probably just a kind of holding tank for the convenience of some faction of the elite. They’re probably very happy we’re here, available for pickup at any time.”

  At this Ta Shu looked troubled. “Again I defer to your superior experience. And it’s true that my friend Peng Ling wanted you here, to be out of harm’s way, she said. But I do think that Fang Fei regards this place as his own, and will guard it as such.”

  “How come we haven’t met him yet? Where is he?”

  “At the source of the peach blossom stream,” Ta Shu said, smiling as he gestured up the lava tunnel. Fred saw that Qi couldn’t spoil his pleasure in this place, which obviously to him was landscape art, a kind of poem written in stone. “Let’s go find him.”

  They had been given rooms in a little guesthouse overlooking the water pavilion; now they were driven in a little cart along a narrow paved road running under the hills that formed the lava tube’s left wall. Other little carts hummed up or down the path, moving construction supplies, boxes, and people. The path ran behind a line of poplar trees, and every few hundred meters they passed parking lots where more carts were parked. The floor of the lava tube was mostly parkland, dotted with small villages, and everywhere green with trees; it was almost flat, but as they were driven along the side path they were moving slightly uphill. They were headed upstream. After all the time they had recently spent inside small confined spaces, the lava tunnel seemed immense. It looked to be about a kilometer wide and two or three hundred meters tall. The ceiling glowed sky blue, being painted or illuminated in some fashion that looked a lot like Earth’s sky, although it was dotted here and there by clustered sunlamps, as if the sun in the sky had been chopped into subunits and distributed evenly across the zodiac. White clouds overhead were either projected onto the blue ceiling or else were really up there, it was hard to tell. The air was cool when the slight breeze from upstream struck them, warm when the sunlamps were nearby. It was bright without being anywhere near as bright as daylight on the lunar surface, or even a sunny day on Earth. It was about as bright as an overcast day on Earth, and certainly bright enough that everything was clear to the eye.

  They came to a long pond, which the stream entered and left through reed beds. On the lawn banking this pond some people were fly fishing, casting their lines far out onto the water. Behind them, in the shade of trees that Ta Shu said were ginseng, sat circles of people; they looked like classes or discussion groups. There were little cubical houseboats floating on the pond, and the sidewalls of the lava tunnel were here corrugated by vertical ridges and steep ravines, with wisps of clouds floating across them in the classic Chinese landscape painting style. Upstream a hexagonal pagoda with ceramic roof tiles towered above the treetops. A flock of geese flew overhead, wing feathers creaking as they pumped the air.

  “Give me a break,” Qi said.

  Their electric cart brought them down a path to the pond. A broad promenade curved around its shore, and bridges spanned the reed beds at inlet and outlet. A pavilion near the outlet extended over the water. Big willow trees dotted the bank and drooped greenly, branches trailing in the pond like hair being washed. Ripples on the water reflected various jade and forest-green tones, also the blue of the sky overhead.

  “Come on!” Qi exclaimed. “What’s next, a dragon?”

  At that very moment a dragon-prowed boat glided out of a boathouse on the far shore and swanned toward them.

  “Enough!” Qi exclaimed. She glared at Ta Shu. “Where do we meet this guy?”

  “Here,” he said. “I was told he’ll join us after a while. But before that, I want to take one of those pedal boats and ride around the lake.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “I will!” Grinning hugely, Ta Shu walked carefully over to a little marina where pedal boats were moored in rows. Qi sat in a chair by the pavilion railing, and Fred joined her. It seemed to him that this was, if not a refuge, then at least a far better place than many others he could imagine them inhabiting. For one thing, they were still together. This pleased him.

  When the dragon boat touched the edge of the pavilion, an old man stepped off—short and slight, elderly but upright, skillful in the lunar g. He walked up to Qi and Fred and stood staring at them. With a little bow of the head and a questioning wave of the hand, he sat in an empty chair by them.

  He spoke in Chinese, then looked at Fred and said something more. Qi replied, and he nodded and stood, walked over to Fred, and offered him a pair of black spectacles he pulled from his shirt pocket. He gestured and Fred understood to put them on.

  They were translating glasses. The ancient one said something, and in red across the lower half of the glasses flowed the text A nice day to be water, moving like a newsfeed. Fred found the moving scroll distracting, but understanding what the other two were saying was well worth it.

  “Thank you!” Fred exclaimed.

  “Fang Fei,” the old one said, and the wo
rds appeared in writing on Fred’s glasses. “Fred Fredericks,” Fred replied. They nodded in a similar way, possibly acknowledging the coincidence of their FF initials.

  Qi said something to Fang Fei in Chinese. Fred’s glasses scrolled the red words I am afraid to be water.

  Fred concluded that the machine translation of the glasses was imperfect, but this was always true. Now he just had to do his best to interpret what he read.

  Fang Fei said, or was imputed to say, Water is life.

  Qi shrugged. Why is it here? What are you doing?

  When young I was three withouts.

  Sanwu. Fred heard this word and remembered Qi defining it during one of their talks in the apartment: it referred to people without residence permit, job, and something else. Family, maybe. Or car. Or money. Seemed like three might not be a big enough number anymore.

  Fang Fei was imputed to say: No iron rice bowl makes China a hard place. I do not forget that.

  Qi said, So you build your own private China?

  Yes. It was like this once. It will be like this again.

  Qi didn’t believe that, her face said. How long do we stay here? she said.

  You stay anytime you want. You leave anytime you want.

  Qi didn’t believe this either. What do you want? she said.

  I want peace. I want China happy.

  What about the billion?

  I was billion. I am billion. I will be billion always.

  She shook her head. Another thing she didn’t believe.