by Hao Jingfang
“I believe that we’ll find a way for both sides to be satisfied. We will take your demands into consideration, but the final deal must be approved by all the citizens of Mars. For a decision this momentous, a democratic process is vital. Moreover, I believe the Terran delegation will also behave in a democratic manner so that the final deal will be approved by all the members.
“This is a beautiful night, and it’s far too early to jump to conclusions. Let’s set aside our differences for now and raise a glass to our first evening together in one another’s company.”
Everyone raised their glass. Chania asked Luoying what had led to Uncle Juan’s outburst. Luoying shook her head, saying she didn’t know either.
In fact, however, she did know. Grandfather’s toast was just another version of what Garcia had said: the democratic process among the Terran delegates was the fight over the treasure. Some vague outline of the situation was emerging in her mind, but she still didn’t understand the nature of the treasure the Terrans were fighting over. She ate silently, her mind churning over Grandfather’s ambivalent words.
THE FILM ARCHIVE
Before paying a visit to Janet Brook, Eko went to see Peter Beverley first.
He didn’t make an appointment; instead, he went up to Beverley’s door and knocked on it.
It was nine thirty in the morning, and Eko knew Peter was certain to be up by then. The first formal negotiations would begin at ten sharp. It took about ten minutes to get from the hotel to the meeting hall, and he only needed a few minutes of his time.
Eko knew that Peter had had a rough time at the reception the previous night, and he wished he could have seen the expression on the man’s face after he got back to the hotel. At the banquet, Eko had placed a camera under one of the poinsettias, and though he didn’t make an announcement about it, he was sure Peter knew. Peter had been a movie star, and there was perhaps no one else on Earth who was more sensitive to the presence of a camera. The whole night he had presented his profile from the right side to Eko’s lens, smiling in that most charming way he had. Ever since he had gotten into politics at the age of thirty-five, he posed like that for the camera.
Eko found Peter interesting. The man led a charmed life: handsome, scion of a prominent family, Ivy League–educated, friends everywhere, and though he was barely in his fifties, already many were speaking of him as the next Democratic candidate for the presidency.
His family was perhaps his most powerful asset. It was rumored that he had been selected to lead the Terran delegation because of his family’s vast network of connections. Everyone understood that the job was perfect for him: high-exposure but low-risk, a great way to accumulate political capital for the next step in his career. He cared very much about how he was seen through the lens.
And that was why Eko was enjoying himself so much. After getting back to the hotel the night before, Eko had reviewed the footage of the reception and found himself quite taken with the ruddy-faced man who had sat next to Peter and screamed at him.
The door opened to reveal a perfectly coiffed Peter Beverley in a pale blue silk suit. He greeted Eko warmly, completely at ease.
“Morning,” said Eko. “It’s all right, I don’t need to come in. I just need a few moments of your time.”
Peter nodded, waiting.
“Do you remember the Martian consul’s speech last night about democracy? I spoke to one of the Martian legislators after the reception, and he explained that the Boule is responsible for most day-to-day decisions and engineering projects, but major decisions that affect everyone have to be put to a vote by all the citizens of Mars. That doesn’t jibe with what we usually hear on Earth.”
“It is rather different,” Peter acknowledged.
“So … what do you make of this difference? We have a representative democracy with free and fair elections. They don’t have elections at all, but they do have plebiscites involving everyone.”
“You’re right to point out the difference,” said Peter. “It’s worth pondering.”
“Can I reveal this … ‘difference’ in my film?”
“Of course. Why shouldn’t you?”
“But this seems so different from the general consensus about how Mars functions that I don’t know what I’ll find if I keep on digging.”
“Don’t worry about your conclusions. To think, to probe, to test your theories—that’s what matters.”
“I’m not sure you understand what I’m getting at. Right now, everyone on Earth thinks of Mars as an autocracy. My film may challenge this consensus and lead to unpredictable results.”
Peter continued to smile, as though giving Eko his full attention. But Eko had noticed him fidgeting with his cuffs and brushing the hair from his shoulders. Peter reached out and clapped a hand over Eko’s shoulder like a kind, older relative.
“Young man, don’t worry about the consequences. To have a future, you must dare to dream.”
Eko tried to tamp down his rising rage. There was no sincerity in Peter’s words. He had evaded him with cliché after cliché and said nothing of substance. Eko wondered if Peter had grasped the import of his revelation at all.
But he must have. On Earth, despite the competition and distrust among nations, everyone saw Mars as the common enemy. It was like another Cold War, one based on the iron curtain of space. Mars was described as an isolated community controlled by evil generals and mad scientists, the textbook model of a society under a repressive authoritarian regime abetted by thought-control machinery, the very opposite of a free market economy and democratic governance. The media and the intelligentsia both portrayed Mars as a byword for cruelty, tyranny, and inhumanity, a massive dystopian war machine the likes of which had never existed on Earth. The Martian war for independence had been declared a suicidal act of betrayal, and the Martians were supposed to have no future except to return to the community of nations or face utter annihilation. Surely, Peter Beverley knew all this and could see what Eko was getting at.
To show democracy functioning on Mars was to challenge the very foundation of the narrative about the red planet. It would lead to admission that politicians on Earth had lied, that the propaganda against Mars was based on prejudice and envy rooted in defeat. Eko wasn’t afraid of making waves, but he knew what was politically correct for a filmmaker to show. As an official member of the delegation, he knew he was subject to constraints.
But Peter had not reacted. He simply fended him off with poses and elegant, meaningless words.
Fine, thought Eko. No matter what I end up producing, I can always say that I asked for permission first. In fact, this was better. As a lifelong antiestablishment Reversionist, Eko delighted in shooting down conventional wisdom on Earth.
“Thank you,” he said. “I guess I should have told you earlier: this conversation isn’t being recorded. There’s no camera here.”
As Eko turned to leave, he glimpsed through the door Peter’s wife putting the finishing touches on her makeup. About ten years younger than Peter, she was also a famous actress. Their romance had always been conducted in front of cameras, from the first kiss to the birth of their son. Peter was skilled at the role of model husband, romantic and appropriately spontaneous. Their marriage looked perfect, and he always made sure that she accompanied him everywhere. Eko had seen many men move from acting careers into politics, but so few of them seemed to understand the importance of the women’s vote. Peter was one of the few.
* * *
The Tarkovsky Film Archive wasn’t far from the hotel. Like the hotel itself, it was in the southern part of the city, two districts away. A tube train would get him there in twenty-four minutes, passing by the Capitol, site of City Hall and the Boule Chamber, as well as the Expo Center, where the world’s fair was being held.
As with his visit to Peter Beverley in the morning, Eko didn’t make an appointment with Janet Brook. He left no message in Janet’s personal space, and didn’t call the archive ahead of time either. He didn
’t want to alert her at all, to give her a chance to turn down his politely phrased request for a meeting, or to prepare herself to spar with him in a superficial conversation in which both sides carefully avoided the truth.
He wanted to catch her off guard; perhaps then he would see the real person. He didn’t know if she was the “cause” that he sought; he had to see her first to judge.
Once aboard the tube train, Eko took out a camera patch and stuck it to the wall of the car to record the scenery along the way. He had ridden the tube train from the shuttle port to the hotel, but the ride was so short that he didn’t have a chance to shoot any footage. The totally transparent structure of the train car gave the camera patch a great view.
Tube train cars were of different colors. The one Eko was in right now was beige, and he enjoyed the fantasy of sitting inside a drop of some solution as it traveled from retort to beaker to flask to funnel through twisting glass tubing. The train passed over different types of structures: clusters of small residences alternating with large public buildings. The small houses surrounded the larger edifices like satellites orbiting planets. The larger buildings were typically ring-shaped, with a glass roof over the open center. The smaller houses, on the other hand, were typically covered entirely by semispherical glass domes, including the yards, filled with flowers and other lush vegetation. Eko heard that the oxygen needs of many dwellings were mostly satisfied by the plants in their gardens, thereby saving both precious energy and the need for complex oxygen-producing machinery.
Small screens inside the train car displayed the names and brief histories of the various landmarks and districts they passed. Eko noticed that many of the buildings on Mars showed the influence of practically every architectural trend and tradition on Earth: the symmetry and harmony of the Renaissance; the complexity and excesses of rococo; the sweeping roofs and long verandas of Chinese wood-frame architecture; the hard, geometric lines of modernism; and so on. The whole city therefore resembled a natural museum of architectural history, full of layers and variety. The buildings that most drew Eko’s attention, however, displayed a unique kind of fluid curves and surfaces, like gently flowing water. All the structures were made out of glass.
As the train passed by the Capitol, Eko stood up and took a few still photographs. The Capitol was the administrative center of Mars City, where all the policies affecting the republic were made. Constructed in a solemn, classical style, it wasn’t a very large or imposing building. It was rectangular in plan, its front doors were located on one of the shorter sides, which were lined with bronze statues and metal, Roman-style columns. The walls were a rare dark copper interspersed with ivory-hued vertical panels, reminiscent of the Teatro alla Scala.
While the camera patch continued to film, Eko took out his notepad and wrote to himself in shorthand. This was his habit as he wandered everywhere, whether at home or on a battlefield by the sea.
Beverley is a fool.
After a moment of thought, he deleted the note. It wasn’t an objective observation and didn’t quite capture what he meant. He knew that Beverley was a clever man who knew how to evaluate a situation, and he was sensitive to his own role. But he lacked wisdom. For Eko, opportunistic cunning wasn’t the same as wisdom. Peter was an idol whose holographic image could be seen in every supermarket, his trademark million-watt smile gently nudging shoppers this way or that. That required no wisdom.
“He was not stupid. It was sheer thoughtlessness, ” Hannah Arendt wrote of Eichmann more than two hundred years ago, but the words remain applicable today. I don’t like Beverley. There’s no good reason for it—except that he seems like a wax figure sculpted by himself. He makes himself smile rather than smile because he wants to. He exudes charm, but there’s nothing behind it. He doesn’t even have the humor of a JFK. A man like this probably didn’t exist in the past. Every age has its hypocritical politicians, but before our age, no one could be an empty shell of pasted images from the moment of his birth. Beverley is so used to being a hologram that the image has become the person, while his real self has faded into illusion.
He finished his notes just as the train pulled into the station. He despised filming politicians, though it was one of the primary sources of income for the film industry. This sort of work sapped his passion, and he would have rather filmed some urchin cursing in the streets. He stuck the notepad back into his shirt pocket, packed away the camera patch, and stood before the door.
The door slid open. An aquamarine structure resembling an oyster stood before him. The walls were opaque, so he couldn’t see inside. A footpath led from the station to the building entrance, which was shaped like a conch shell.
* * *
Inside the Tarkovsky Film Archive lobby was a circular screen. Photographs scrolled across it, along with a menu of choices for visitors: self-guided tours, film viewings, atelier visits. Eko picked the last one.
Several sub-menus popped up. Patiently, Eko navigated through them until he found Janet Brook.
His heart sped up as he touched her name. The high-resolution photograph of a woman with light-blond hair appeared. One glance was enough for him to know that he had found the right person: he had seen her in Arthur Davosky’s journal. Compared to the photograph in his teacher’s possession, she had gained a little weight, her skin sagged a bit, and her hair was shorter. But her eyes were very distinctive, giving the appearance of always smiling. He did some mental math and determined that Janet Brook was now about forty-five, her face still as lively as that of her younger self. After a moment of hesitation, he touched the button to let her know she had a visitor.
The screen pulsed, showing that the call went through and was being processed.
A few minutes later Janet came into the lobby from a door at the other end. She wore a salmon jacket over a white blouse, with light makeup and hair tucked behind her ear on one side. When she saw Eko, she looked momentarily confused, not recognizing him. Nonetheless, she smiled at him politely.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m Janet Brook.”
Eko held out his hand. “An honor to meet you. I’m Eko Lu, from Earth.”
“Ah, you’re with the Terran delegation.”
“That’s right. I’m the delegation’s documentary film director.”
“No kidding.”
“Here’s my card.”
“Oh … it’s not that I don’t believe you. I’m sorry. I just … I had no idea they brought along a film crew.”
“It’s just me, actually.”
“Well, this is truly wonderful. I haven’t met a colleague from Earth in ages.”
“Eighteen years, to be exact,” said Eko.
“Really? Let me think … yes, you’re right. My memory isn’t as good as when I was younger.”
Eko hesitated. Janet’s reactions told him nothing. She looked composed, and meeting a filmmaker from Earth didn’t seem to arouse any particular passions. He decided to test her some more before revealing the true purpose of his visit.
“I explained to officials at the Boule that I wanted to meet Martian filmmakers,” Eko said. “They recommended you.”
“That’s nice of them. Why don’t you come in?”
Janet pushed open the door leading to the interior of the archive building, and Eko followed, taking in everything around him. The conch-shell design motif of the entrance continued deep inside the building, and they walked through round tunnels with smooth-flowing curves full of blue-gray lines that spiraled inward. Various videos and images scrolled over the walls as the route they took twisted around like a maze.
“Honestly, I don’t know why the officials recommended you to me,” said Eko after a while. “They didn’t tell me much about you.”
Janet laughed. “I’d guess it’s because I’m the only filmmaker they know.”
“Oh?”
“There was a technology developed here that they used to trade with Earth a while back. Terrans really liked it.”
“What technology w
as it?”
“Full-fidelity holographic projections.”
Eko grew excited. He had made up the excuse to continue the conversation, but Janet had brought up that exchange from decades ago herself.
“Did your atelier invent it?”
“We sure did. More than twenty years ago now.”
“Please accept my gratitude, then. I have a job because of you.”
“You’re a holographic filmmaker?”
“Most films are holographic. Flats are almost extinct.”
Janet laughed heartily, and Eko could sense the genuine pleasure behind it. “You shouldn’t thank me at all. Without holographic projections, you’d still have a job. But with them, many people can no longer do what they used to do.”
Eko smiled in return. He knew what she meant. Every revolution left many behind in the old world. From silent films to talkies, from flats to full-fidelity holographs—it wasn’t that people were incapable of learning the new medium, only that many didn’t want to. It was complicated. The more someone excelled in the old world, the more unwilling they were to start afresh in the new. They had put so much of their life into the outdated mode of expression that they could not abandon it. No one liked to abandon themselves.
“What about here on Mars?” he asked.
“We still have flats as well as holographic films. When you’re recording a meeting or some industrial footage, there’s no need to use 3-D. Too expensive.”
“I see. We have those as well, though we don’t usually count those as ‘films.’ ”
“I understand,” said Janet. “You call something a ‘film’ only if you can publish it.”
“Isn’t it the same here?”
“No. On Mars the definition is purely technical. Any kind of audio-visual record is classified as film. You publish your films on the web, divided by genre, but we don’t do things that way. Our films are all stored in the central archive under each person’s name. Since everyone can make dramatic narratives, factual documentaries, records of experiments, or industrial footage used as raw data, there’s no need to separate them.”
