The Family

by Saxon Keeley

  Mẫu Thoải presents them with a scroll of parchment made of plant. Laying it out onto the table, both Alistair and Weishi meticulously read through each line of the document. Agreements concerning economic and political rights are explicitly codified. At the bottom is room for five signatures.

  “All that is left to do is to sign,” his grandfather explained to them, holding out a pen.

  “You want us to sign it?” asked Weishi.

  “You two are the future of Shanxi. Of the Charted Systems. If neither of you sign, none of us will.”

  Grabbing his hand, Weishi stares deep into his eyes. He squeezes back tight. Not knowing what this will bring, the two of them stand on the edge of uncertainty, waiting for the other to take the first step.

  “For Nicholas and Jessica,” she whispered.

  “Nicholas and Jessica.”

  Taking the pen from his grandfather, Alistair rests the point of the pen on the parchment. Ensuring his penmanship is perfect, he slowly signs his name. No smudges. No flaws. His name, Alistair Jung, written in black and white. Then, stepping to one side, he watches as his wife signs the pact. Then his grandfather, Mẫu Thoải and finally Anh Quốc.

  Ecstatic, Zhang tops up everyone’s drinks and marks the occasion with a toast.

  “To independence.”

  Wesley Jung

  Roars erupt from their Vietnamese guests as another blow lands between the ribcage of the Shanxi soldier cocksure enough to step into the ring.

  On a stack of disused crates, Wesley, Li and Sun Ren sit watching the fight, thankful it is no one from their squad. With her ankle in plaster, she has felt more than useless since coming back from the mountain, even with the support from Li and Wesley. Squinting as their comrade is hit again, Li turns to his commander and both laugh at the misfortune.

  Distracted, Wesley meets Sun Tzu’s gaze, standing along the balcony with Alistair, his grandfather and the Chairman of Thuỷ Phủ, it feels as if he is being baited by the old man.

  The fight ends as blood sprays over the ring. Slow claps commend the soldier’s efforts. Others have just lost their bets, doubling their week’s chores.

  Anh Quốc looks enthralled by the victory, while his brother looks a little queasy. Sun Tzu however does not even seem to recognise the defeat, still fixated on Wesley. With an abrasive clap, Anh Quốc summons another contender into the ring.

  A slender young commander steps into the ring. His body taut. A nimble opponent that would be a test of skill and speed. Beckoning someone to fight him, the Thuỷ Phủ soldier is stumped as to why no one is accepting his challenge. Anh Quốc cannot contain his amusement.

  Wesley already knows Sun Tzu has been saving this fight for him. From his pocket, he begins to wrap his fists in cloth. Li nudges Sun Ren, drawing her attention to Wesley.

  “Do not be fooled. This will be a deceptive fight,” she warned.

  Following his line of sight, she realises that it is not the Thuỷ Phủ soldier that Wesley is staring at. With the slightest of nods, Sun Tzu gives his instruction.

  “Do not embarrass us out there. We are Shanxi’s finest.”

  “Do you really have such little faith in me?” Wesley smirked, jumping down from the crates.

  Ensuring the cloth is tight, Wesley throws his top to the floor. Clearing a path to the ring he is met with equal encouragement as mockery.

  “So, this is the best Thuỷ Phủ can offer. Some pretty boy and an old man. No wonder the CERE do not fear us. Here I stand before you, a pampered boy from privilege. Come on country boy, I will show you what it means to be Shanxi,” taunted Wesley, convinced neither his opponent or Anh Quốc can fully understand him.

  Rubbing the ball of his foot into the ring, Wesley controls his breathing. Focussing his strength. Finding balance. The soldier retorts something incomprehensible as he takes his stance.

  Hurtling forward, Wesley is only just quick enough to avoid the first strike. The Vietnamese soldier’s foot comes crashing to the ground. Using the energy, he throws out his other leg, landing the sole of his foot into Wesley’s side.

  With no chance to recover, another kick comes flying at him. The speed in which his opponent attacks is nothing like he has ever seen. It is in that moment that Wesley realises how easy Sun Tzu had gone on him.

  The Thuỷ Phủ commander throws a wild punch at Wesley in hope to finish the fight quickly. Instinctively reacting to the strike, Wesley finds an opening and scores his first hit. Finding space once again Wesley hopes to dictate the flow of the fight.

  Any control he gained, is lost in the next onslaught. Struggling to keep up, more punches being to slip though. Blood trickles from his nose after a what felt like a slight knock.

  Sniggering to himself, Wesley begins to question his opponent. For all his skill, how many times has he taken a beating. Dropping his guard, Wesley puts all his weight behind his fist. A loud crack silences the whole room.

  A throbbing pain burns in his side. Despite it feeling like his ribs are broken, he knows the sound came from the young Vietnamese soldier. Brought to his knees, blood dribbles onto the ring. He attempts to find his feet, for only Wesley to bring down another punch. His body hits the floor with a thud.

  “Jung, enough,” Sun Ren’s muffled voice cried.

  Scanning the room, fellow soldiers chant and cheer. Sun Ren stands with a glint of fear in her eyes. Ignoring the hysteria of his commander, Wesley turn to the balcony.

  Alistair has the same look across his face, unable to recognise his own brother. His grandfather and Anh Quốc quietly converse as they head towards the exit. No one who matters stays to relish in his victory.

  Above, Sun Tzu stares back with his crazed smile.

  *

  His side is already coming up in a nasty purple bruise. Their medic had to put stitches where his lip split. A lingering metallic taste won’t leave his mouth.

  Ensuring his squad are fast asleep, Wesley sneaks out of their quarters and heads through the underground corridors to find Sun Tzu. For months of mentoring, it was not skill that won him tonight’s match. Concentration and focus only held him back, leaving him uncertain in the lesson he was supposed to be learning.

  As with most nights the old man is in his chamber, but something is different. Instead of practicing, he waits for Wesley at the far end of the room. Holding out his palm, Sun Tzu instructs the young soldier to come no farther. In the middle of the room is his sword, dividing the two men.

  “If I collect the Jian before you, I will plunge it into your heart,” threatened Sun Tzu. “If you collect it before me, I will beat you like you beat that Thuỷ Phủ commander.”

  “You will not kill me,” Wesley scoffed. “I am tired of your games. They make no sense.”

  Sun Tzu hangs his head disappointedly. “You are strong. In both body and spirit. Arrogant too. A quality that will get you killed on the battlefield. More importantly, it will endanger the lives of your squad and those who you wish to protect. Why should I spare such a liability?”

  Without thought Wesley tuts, dismissing the musings of the old man. How could his mentor be so conceited to ignore all that he had achieved since being conscripted? Proving himself time and time again, Wesley decides this has nothing to do with what he does, instead who he is. Giving up on winning his mentor’s respect, Wesley turns to head back to bed.

  “Do you not consider me serious boy?”

  “No.”

  Sun Tzu makes a run for the sword. Purely reactionary, Wesley dives across the room, landing hard and manages to place his fingertips on the blade. Quickly he draws the sword closer, gripping the hilt tight. True to his word, Sun Tzu toe punts Wesley in the face and the stitches come undone.

  Swinging wildly, the tip of the blade manages to cut into the flesh of the old man. Impressed, Sun Tzu does not wait for his apprentice to find his feet. A single kick knocks him back down.

  Weaving in and out of the cautionary swipes, Sun Tzu does not waste time in finding t
he first opening. Twisting Wesley’s wrist, he places enough pressure to cause his hand to open, dropping the sword. Sweeping his feet away, Sun Tzu retrieves the weapon.

  Wesley feels a sharp pain pinning him place. Sticking into his chest is the cold metal. Though not fatal, it is deep enough for Wesley to worry about the damage done. Slowly Sun Tzu twists the blade.

  “Fuck,” roared Wesley. “Just tell me. No more games.”

  “You are about to face real monsters. Animals who will show no pity. When it begins, there will be no heroes. Just those who live and those who die,” he explained.

  Pulling the sword from his chest, Sun Tzu finds a cloth to wipe it clean. Wesley lays there, heart pounding, beads of sweat running down his skin. Blood covers the dragon crawling up his neck.

  Oscar Jung

  The old family home is a comforting sight. All the downstairs lights are on, which means only one thing. Oscar imagines his mother in the kitchen helped by Wesley and Weishi, while Alistair hopelessly struggles with the menial task of cutting the vegetables. His grandfather telling Alexander and his cousins myths from the old country. He wonders where his wife is tonight.

  Utterly exhausted from their voyage home, neither Oscar or Charles can find it within themselves to be pleased with their return. Both are troubled by their failure and unsettled about what will happen next.

  Just as his father is about to ring the doorbell, Oscar stops him and for a second, he struggles to find the right words. “Thank you. For bringing me along. Even if, well, you know.”

  Charles nods. “You don’t ever have to say thank you. Just do me a favour, don’t tell your brothers about China. It is something you have to see with your own eyes.”

  Oscar agrees.

  The bell is rung and they can hear the excitement coming from the house. Small but loud footsteps come racing to answer. Barely opening the front door, Alexander throws himself into his father’s arms. Holding him tight, Oscar looks over his son’s shoulder to find Xuan awkwardly standing beside his mother.

  “You were gone for so long,” said Alexander tearfully.

  “I am here now.”

  Taking Alexander by the hand, he leads them over to Xuan. Nervously she taps her heel, shaking her whole body. With no need for words, he embraces his wife. She glances over at his parents to see them both smiling.

  “It is good to have you both back safely,” said Li, placing a kiss on Charles’ lips.

  “Are they back?” Alistair’s voice called out from somewhere in the house.

  “Tend to the noodles,” instructed Zhang, emerging from the kitchen. “Wesley, do you mind supervising the dinner. I fear it may take more than Weishi to avert your brother from causing a disaster.”

  “Yes Grandfather,” Wesley obliged.

  Jumping up from the floor where he was playing with Nicholas and Jessica, he quickly welcomes his father and brother home. He places a firm grip on Oscar’s shoulder.

  “You look well brother. It is good to have you back.”

  “You were prettier the last time I saw you,” joked Oscar, inspecting the cut on his lip.

  With a wink, Wesley laughs. He turns to his nephew and niece. “Come on you two. Dinner is almost ready and the table is not set.”

  Xuan leans down to Alexander. “Come, we should help out. Your father needs some time to rest, we will have plenty of time to hear about their trip to Earth later.”

  Understanding his son’s disappointment, Oscar quietly mouths that he will join them shortly. Even with the reassurance, Alexander is reluctant to be separated so soon.

  With the children having been taken into the dining room, Zhang is quick to get his pleasantries out of the way.

  “I expect you feel like you have not had a proper night’s rest since leaving Shanxi. I know you had time on the Cyclothone, but if you ask me, sleeping in zero gravity is never quite the same. Isn’t space a miraculous sight though.”

  “Like nothing I have ever seen before,” answered Oscar, finding it hard to match his grandfather’s enthusiasm.

  “Yes, well. I expect you are both tired. It will be nice for you to unwind with the family tonight,” he said. “Li, if you do not mind, may I steal Charles for a couple of minutes?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Son, you could probably do with a drink anyway.”

  Oscar is left with his mother while his grandfather ushers his father into a private room of the house. Slumping on the sofa, Li fixes them a drink. Pleased that his mother is the only one around, he feels as if he can finally relax. She knows what he has seen and there does not need to be any pretence between them.

  “Young Alexander has missed you dearly. Xuan has done a remarkable job,” said Li, handing over the drink.

  “I expect she has not done it alone.”

  “There is no shame in asking for help Oscar,” she explained. “Whatever happened on Earth, put it behind you. You are back with your family. This is where things matter.”

  Hanging his head, Oscar does his best to hold back his emotions, but cannot. “We failed. We failed everyone. Muspelheim, I tried Mother. I tried.”

  Silently she consoles her son. Li listens, not pressing for needless details, unlike the interrogation she envisions her husband is undergoing from her father.

  “Whatever Harrison did, screwed the planet. By the time me and Michael reset the TFP, it was too late. Bodies lay scorched in their homes. The smell…I can still smell it,” said Oscar, taking a swing of his drink. “It was the same for Father on Beta Nine. We were too late. The CERE refused to honour their agreement to grant constitutional change to Shanxi. They said we did not meet the conditions of the agreement. They acted so callously. No regard for all the colonists lost.”

  Placing her hand over his, Li does not disguise her honesty. “Your father was foolish to think the CERE would honour any promise. But you did the right thing. You tried to save those people. The good that you did, even if it met an unfortunate end, separates us from them.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” muttered Oscar, squeezing back.

  “We should join everyone in the dining room. Wouldn’t want the food to go cold.”

  Li kisses her son on the forehead and stands waiting for him.

  The pop of a cork startles Oscar as he enters the dining room. His family gathered around the table cheer, delighted to have him home. A banner made by the children has been hung along the wall and a vast spread has been laid out. Wesley begins to pour out glasses of champagne, one of the last bottles in their parent’s reserve. Taking a seat between Xuan and Alexander, Oscar is humbled by the fuss his family has made.

  “It is good to have you home,” Weishi said, serving up the last of the dinner.

  Finally, Alistair places a bowl of noodles in the centre, impressed with the one dish he was allowed any control over.

  “The best noodles on the whole of Shanxi. Forget all this other fancy food,” he said boastfully.

  “They look a little soggy,” Wesley jested to the children’s amusement.

  “Soggy noodles are good noodles. No?”

  “Well, I am sure we shall all stomach them for your sake,” Weishi joined in.

  Jessica whispers something into her uncle’s ear and together they quietly conspirer from across the table. With a slight of hand, Wesley steals a jiaozi for his niece. Inauspiciously Jessica attempts to eat it without her father noticing. Catching them in the act, Alistair is unsure of who to scold. Wide eyed, Wesley stares at his brother trying to break his serious glare.

  Joining them at the table, Zhang and Charles take their places. Li checks in on her husband, gently he reassures her. Standing with his glass in hand, their grandfather waits patiently for everyone’s attention. Wesley rolls his eyes at Oscar jokingly before holding out his glass.

  “Thousands of families sit down to dine tonight. Not just here on Shanxi, but amongst the stars. We are fortunate to have one another. Family is what makes us strong. Family is what makes us belong. For all tho
se thousands of families together tonight, there is none like this one. It is our family that gives me hope and fills me with the greatest sense of pride,” toasted Zhang.

  “Aww,” Wesley sarcastically interrupted.

  Taking it in his stride, Zhang permits everyone to begin the feast, much to Jessica and Alexander’s relief.

  The food is passed around. Drinks refilled. No one is left out from conversation. Momentarily Oscar’s spirits are uplifted, forgetting about all that he had witnessed.

  After dinner, the Chairman heads outside for fresh air, while everyone else heads into the living room to play games. Sitting amongst his children, Alistair enjoys the informality of the evening. Xuan does her best to follow Alexander’s instructions to win the game. Wesley shares his story of climbing the Neo-Shanxi mountains with their mother.

  His brother’s feat leaves Oscar feeling sombre, recollecting his own expedition into the mountains of China. Sneaking away, he joins his grandfather out on the porch.

  “How did you find Earth?” asked Zhang, wistfully gazing up at the stars.

  Hesitantly, Oscar answers. “You lied to us.”

  “How so?”

  “I have seen China. It is a desperately sad place.”

  “But a country with dignity…” the Chairman began, being cut off quickly.

  “No. No it is not,” refuted Oscar with a crackle in his voice. “The land is barren, saturated in levels of radiation too dangerous for humans to live off. Whole regions of the countryside abandoned. The people are starving. Babies are born deformed and disowned by their parents. Cities are a cesspit, swelling with a population of the desperate and the depraved. You have fooled us all in thinking that you are some saviour and that we are at all Chinese.”