Vagabonds

by Hao Jingfang

  “But why was independence necessary? Why couldn’t all this have been accomplished in the old crater-rim camp?”

  “That wouldn’t have been possible because the change involved the transformation of the whole economy. The envisioned city needed all intellectual and spiritual explorations to be open, unfettered from the economy. In other words, the production of goods and the production of ideas had to be separated into two distinct realms. There was no historical precedent for this.”

  “You mean,” asked Luoying, “that the products of the spirit would not be bought and sold, right?”

  “Correct. That was the vow made by the leaders of the rebellion.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “I’m afraid there’s no answer to that.” Reini turned his gaze to the twilit horizon. “For those who started the revolution, it was a matter of faith. When it comes to matters of faith, it’s impossible to judge them with labels like ‘good’ and ‘bad.’ ”

  “What kind of life would that be like … ?” Luoying muttered to herself.

  Though Reini made no judgment about right or wrong, he did explain to her, in simplified terms, some of the historical choices the early Martians made, and the lives of Luoying’s grandfather and his companions when they were young. He stuck to the outlines because he was convinced that the broad trends of history were not nearly as moving as the specific acts of individuals caught in history.

  Reini had once read many documents from before the war, and it was impossible not to be infected in some measure by the burning passion, as bright as sun-burnished dawn, in those words. It was a slightly impractical age, a utopia in the desert, a bubbling spring in the wasteland. Back then, without much encouragement, many would strive to make flowers bloom in the sand; indeed, the very idea moved many to throw themselves into the grand endeavor.

  At the start of the war, the rebels camped in a crater, similar to the Terran forces. The only difference was that the rebels were closer to the edge of Big Cliff, closer to the plains. This was because although the rebels could obtain about half of the food and other goods they needed by raiding the Terran forces’ supply ships, they still had to provide the rest through farming.

  It was an age when technology developed at a dizzying speed. Perhaps in no previous era were there so many clever minds placed together under so much pressure. The rebels consisted mostly of brilliant scientists who had joined the ranks because of dissatisfaction with the way various factions on Mars had been hoarding information, erecting walls to contain knowledge. The walls had to do with politics and commerce, which they knew nothing about, but they did know that to survive in the harsh environment of Mars required the free sharing and exchange of discoveries and inventions. They had built up a platform for sharing information in order to survive. There was no thought of art, of decorative designs, of politics and plebiscites and all the rest that came after.

  War gave birth to a generation. They grew up during the war, came of age in the war, and many died from the war. Hans, Galiman, Ronen, and Garcia were all children of the war. They fought as pilots, but they weren’t only pilots. They grew up in the worst of times, when it was easy to lose faith. But they carried on the flame of faith and kept it alive.

  Near the end of the war, Hans Sloan and his friends became the principals on the stage. Hans, young and handsome, took to the air with his wife as newlyweds and became a pilot instructor at the age of twenty-two. His father was still in the prime of his life and career as the commander of the Martian forces, and radiation sickness, though it had made him gaunt and wan, had as of yet no effect on his spirit. Galiman, his blond tresses like a lion’s mane and his booming voice a lion’s roar, was refining the designs that would ultimately propel the rebels to leave the crater for a new home. The sophisticated Garcia was already showing his potential as a diplomat, traveling everywhere to deliver speeches that kindled the dream of the central archive in the hearts of the new Martian people. Poetic Ronen, on the other hand, had published a series of essays, turning Habermas’s communicative rationality into passionate expositions that extended to every aspect of city construction and design.

  It was an age when ideals ruled. Reini knew that, regardless of the reality of the time, the people who had lived through that age had genuinely stretched their hands into space, yearning for their dreams.

  * * *

  After leaving the insect lab, Luoying suddenly wanted to dance.

  She hadn’t danced for days. Her mind had been preoccupied by other things, and her body had been recuperating. In her heart, she thought she had bid farewell to the dance stage, and neither her body nor her mind would ever return. But for the first time since her injury, she wanted to dance, to move all her body, to leap and turn and devote all of herself to a state of activity. She couldn’t tell where the urge had come from: perhaps the flitting butterflies, perhaps the cliffs seen at the end of the horizon, perhaps the history of men and women who fought to be free of restraints; perhaps flight.

  Stopping at the door of the insect lab, she turned to gaze at the wings flitting through the vibrant green of the hothouse, and the desire that had lain dormant in her body began to waken.

  She went to the dance school and, without turning on the lights, danced in the blue glow of the streetlamps that came on. Stretching, going through the standard poses, spinning before the mirror. Feeling her feet strike the thick, solid floor made her feel solid. The floor was the most loyal of partners, holding her up as she felt for it with the tips of her toes.

  As she danced, her thoughts rose and fell with her.

  The philosophy of dance in the twenty-second century had reached an apex of complexity. Dance was seen as a relationship between the human body and space, and there were many contradictory trends. Some argued that the physical language of body movements should be used to generate new signifiers, while others propounded the use of dance to throw off the layers of signifiers imposed on the body … but Luoying wasn’t interested in such abstruse theories. For her, dance wasn’t about a relationship with the external world but the relationship with the self. After pondering the goal of dance at length, she had reached the conclusion that it was control. The Mercury Group’s project leaders had given her the mission to learn to jump, to find the limits of the human body. But she found precision to be more important than height. The hardest task wasn’t to reach higher but to set the tips of the toes in an exact position, no higher and no lower.

  She raised a leg until it was at the height of her waist, set it down, and kicked back, standing still on one foot.

  Only after learning to dance did she find out how limited humanity’s understanding of the human body was. No one thought about how to sit, how to stand, how to walk without falling over. People carried out these incredibly complicated movements by instinct, without conscious control. How marvelous! It was as miraculous as the life energy that animated the body itself. The body had memories of its own, deeper habits that the conscious mind never understood.

  A ray of light swept through the depths of her mind.

  She was thinking of the night before, of the vast empty warehouse and the steel racks, of the boys locked in deep debate. All their efforts had stalled because of a crucial link, like a puzzle missing the piece that depicted the eyes. Everything was there, but it wasn’t a picture.

  And now she had the missing piece: control of the wings.

  To control the wings, perhaps they didn’t need the brain, only the instincts of the body.

  SHIP

  The day for the finals of the Creativity Fair had arrived.

  The various districts took turns hosting the finals. This time it was the Alyosha District. The Alyosha Stadium and its environs had been spruced up for the occasion. The whole plaza was decorated to resemble the Earth of the Romantic era, classic and luxurious. The crowd at the site of the final competition was jubilant and enthusiastic. The dome of the stadium showed palaces in clouds and dancing angels, and symphoni
c strains filled the air. Roller-skating youths circled the stadium, taking off from various ramps to perform stunt jumps and spins, landing to waves of applause and cheering.

  The audience in the seats was especially excited. To be able to witness the results of the final competition was an honor, and only the best competitors from every district were given the opportunity. All the youths were expectant, attracted not just by the competition itself but by the parties and dances that would follow. This was one of the best venues to meet young people from other districts. Everyone was looking sharp, the girls in beautiful dresses and the boys in crisp uniforms, posing elegantly. The youths who couldn’t make it to the venue gathered in their own districts and watched the proceedings remotely, cheering on their friends as they consumed snacks and drinks.

  Backstage was full of excitement as well. Gielle had been picked to be one of the goddesses to give out the awards to the victors. She checked herself in the mirror nervously, babbling to those around her to be sure that her hair was perfect and the floral diadem on her head straight. Thinking that she would soon have to stride confidently across the stage, the focus of the gazes of millions, she felt her palms grow sweaty. She had been reciting her lines to herself continuously, and she had drafted Luoying to check that she made no mistakes. Around them other girls in the dressing room were busy with makeup, costumes, running about and screaming “Who has seen my necklace?,” and suchlike. Luoying could barely make out Gielle’s recitation.

  “When are you going to put on your makeup?” asked Gielle.

  “I’m done,” said Luoying, smiling.

  “You’re going up like that?” Gielle was too astounded to be polite.

  “That’s right. I’m just part of the chorus.”

  Luoying was in a long flowing white dress. She wore no jewelry except a small flower on her shoulder. Her long dark hair draped loosely about her shoulders, and a thin golden band was wrapped around her forehead. Her eyes and brows were not painted or lined.

  Gielle found Luoying’s almost casual attitude incomprehensible. Luoying didn’t bother explaining herself except to say that her role was just part of the overall atmosphere of the performance. She didn’t mention that she also needed to change quickly right after the finals, so the simpler her costume and makeup the better. It was vital that Gielle know nothing about that second part.

  The play they had been rehearsing would be the third performance today. Luoying wasn’t nervous at all. In her mind, the performance was for no one except themselves, a calm expression of their beliefs.

  The first two performances were choreographed dances for the opening ceremony, so their play would be the first real act. While waiting for their turn to go onstage, Luoying peeked out from backstage at the bright, colorful domed ceiling of the stadium, like a nebula deep in space. The other Mercury Group members around her weren’t nervous either. No one said anything except for occasional whispered reminders of instructions for how to get out quickly afterward.

  It was time.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, talented youths,” the emcee, the education minister, spoke as fireworks exploded, “let’s celebrate this feast of the mind! … To create is the highest of honors! …”

  After the wild celebratory opening ceremony, it was time for drama.

  * * *

  All the lights were focused on Mira. Dressed in a ragged brown shirt and a brown hat full of holes, he looked the very image of a vagrant down on his luck. His big toes stuck out of the gaps in his ill-fitting black boots, and he carried a small cloth bundle on a stick. He took two steps forward, two steps back, scratched his head and sighed.

  —I’m a pitiable vagabond, full of talents and dreams recognized by no one. Once, I aspired to do great deeds that would change the world, but reality smashed my ambition to smithereens. O universe, why are you so unfair? I should have been a great doctor, the vanquisher of cancer, but now I’m a homeless wanderer. Oh, what did I do wrong?

  A spotlight illuminated an area stage left, where the first recollection of the vagabond began. A student—Mira’s character’s younger self—dressed in a white shirt buttoned all the way up, stood excitedly next to a rotund middle-aged man and held up a document with both hands. The middle-aged man looked serious and imposing, and the student looked at him with awe and respect.

  —Welcome to our lab. All of us are heirs to an illustrious history, and innovation is our unceasing pursuit. Our motto is: Never stop in the quest for constant innovation and eternal truths, ever maintain lively minds and progressive aims, exert all effort to keep our lab at the forefront of human exploration. Excelsior!

  The black-robed chorus chimed in.

  —Ah, so great, so, so great!

  —Director, such lofty sentiments! I cannot agree with you more. I think my discovery will be perfectly in line with your goals.

  —Oh? What sort of discovery is that?

  —I’ve come up with a plan to streamline our production process. As soon as I arrived, I carefully examined our process chart and added a feedback procedure right here. By my calculations, we can reduce our production time by up to half.

  —Why in the world would you want to do that?

  —But … isn’t that a good thing? This will lower our costs significantly. Wouldn’t that help us get more funding in the budget?

  —Oh, you foolish child. Do you really think victory in the competition for a share of the budget is won by such accomplishments? Have you no experience of the world? To win a share of the budget, we must make bold pronouncements and airy promises. You must never waste your energy on such useless details. Set your mind to grand blueprints.

  Once again, the black-robed chorus chimed in.

  —Ah-ha-ha, so great, so, so great.

  The light on the left side of the stage went out. Once again the spotlight highlighted Mira in the middle of the stage. He was in a boat on wheels, and he was straining to row it forward.

  —Little did I know that the improvement I suggested had long been thought of by others, but they were all too smart to bring it up. The fact was, the higher the costs of production for a project, the higher the allocated share of the budget. I was too inexperienced to understand this basic rule of the real world. But by pointing out a blatant inefficiency, I angered my colleagues, who exiled me to another continent. Oh, I am the most unfortunate soul in the world. I must learn my lesson and hold fast to my ideals. I will revitalize my career on the new continent.

  The ship wobbled ahead, passing through a sea of stars until it reached the right side of the stage. The lights came on to reveal a second version of Mira’s character’s younger self.

  He was dressed in a glittery, silvery bodysuit, his hair in a spiky, hedgehog-like style that was very fashionable. Once again, he stood next to a middle-aged man, and his attitude was again full of respect for the man in charge. The middle-aged man here had even more severe features and slicked-back hair.

  —Welcome, young man! We welcome all good ideas and improvement suggestions, which will help us increase our profitability. Oh, profit, that most sacred word in the whole cosmos! You reflect the welfare of all humanity! We need more commerce, more trade, and more contracts to satisfy the demands of others with our supply. While benefiting them we also benefit ourselves!

  The white-robed chorus, of which Luoying was a member, sang for the first time.

  —Oh, that’s wonderful, wonderful!

  —Boss, such wonderful thoughts! I cannot agree with you more. I think my discovery will be perfectly in line with your goals.

  —Oh? What sort of discovery is that?

  —I’ve come up with a plan to streamline our production process. As soon as I arrived, I carefully examined our process chart and added a feedback procedure right here. By my calculations, we can reduce our production time by up to half.

  —Aha, that is a fantastic discovery. This will lower our costs a great deal.

  —And our prices, too.

  —No, the pric
es will not change.

  —But … why? If we lower our prices, there’ll be many more customers.

  —Not at all. You’re too inexperienced, young man. Do you really think there is a relationship between the price and demand for cancer medication? No matter how high the price, they have to pay. Reducing the cost of production is excellent, but you must never touch our profit. Our profit is social utility! Let’s devote our efforts to lowering costs, which will result in ever more profit and more social utility.

  The white-robed chorus raised their voices.

  —Oh, that’s wonderful, wonderful!

  The light on the right side of the stage dimmed. Once again Mira appeared on stage, only this time he was sitting. His clothes were even more ragged, and before him, like a hawker at a market, was spread a torn blanket on which were scattered bits of broken glass. As he tried to offer his wares to invisible buyers, he spoke to the audience.

  —I was enraged by their plans. They could have reduced their prices to one-eighth what they charged, but they refused to do so. I stole the ingredient list and production method for the medication and found another manufacturer who could make the drug much cheaper. Surely, trying to get medicine to the sick cheaply is a good thing? But they were absolutely outraged and tried to shut me down no matter where I went. Look at the state of my blanket! I was lucky to meet with a lawyer who took me in; otherwise I’d have nothing to eat.

  Mira looked toward the center of the stage. A beam of white light from above illuminated a circular area in which Anita, dressed expensively, stood. Bathed in the bright light, she looked like an angel. A third version of Mira’s younger self stood next to her.

  —Ah, me, unfortunate me. I loved my husband, a great author, but he died too young. He had so many ideas that he hadn’t written down.