by Hao Jingfang
“What are you trying to do?”
“I was hoping to disassemble one of the wings and connect the battery to the two ends. The conducting veins in the wings can function as a heater for us during the night.”
“I didn’t know you’re so handy with circuits.”
“I wouldn’t say handy, but all of us worked on the wings, so I know them well.”
“What about my costume?”
Luoying took off her dance costume, which she had worn outside the survival suit, and handed it to Anka. The costume was so light that it was like handling a cloud of puffy mist.
“The material is luminescent,” she explained. “Maybe there’s a way to light it up.”
Anka nodded. “I’ll give it a try.”
He stepped outside the cave, bringing a battery and the costume with him. Crouched in the moonlight, he tried to figure out how to turn the costume into a lamp. Luoying watched him crouch on one knee, his body a dark silhouette with a silvery glow on top of his head.
She shivered from the cold. The air temperature was now below zero, but she had been too nervous until now to notice. The formfitting survival suits they wore provided only the most basic protection, without heating elements. Since Anka was even more exposed and hadn’t moved in a while, she began to worry that he had frozen like a statue.
Just as she was about to go out of the cave to check on him, Anka came in.
“All set,” he said.
There was a glowing semispherical ball of mist in his hand, as delicate as a luminescent seashell. As he carefully stepped inside, her costume shifted through a spectrum of translucent colors, the hues flowing and swirling. The eye-catching magnificence of the stage had turned into something gentler and more lasting here, like a soft, lingering song.
After Anka placed the makeshift lamp in the middle of the room, the two took a good look at their surroundings. It had once been a living room of some kind. There was a table carved out of sandstone next to one of the inner walls, though only half of it was still standing. Hooks for hanging clothes could be seen on some of the still-intact wall sections. The decaying ruin painted a sketch of the lives that had once flourished here.
“We’re lucky to have found this place,” said Anka. He examined the cross section of a broken wall carefully. “There’s a layer of insulation and another layer that absorbs radiation. We might not last the night if we were exposed in the open.”
“Don’t we need heat, though?”
“Are you cold?”
“A little.”
“It’s going to get a lot colder during the night.” Anka lifted the bundles of folded-up wings. “Give me a hand, please.”
They unfolded a pair of wings, which were too large for the narrow space and had to be twisted and bent to fit. Carefully, Anka showed Luoying how to bend the wings into arches and erect them on the ground like a tree-branch shelter on some island. Anka brought over more batteries. Sitting near the wing roots, he began to pick apart the complicated wires.
Carefully, he attached wires from the wing tips and roots to the terminals of the battery, forming a simple circuit. In a few minutes the wing tent began to give off heat. There was a faint glow in the thin, translucent material as well, illuminating the space along with the mist lamp.
Anka made sure that everything was secure before sitting down with a sigh, finally relaxing. They sat on the floor side by side, leaning against each other.
“Still cold?”
“Better now.”
Anka put an arm around her shoulders.
“If we use up all the electricity for heating,” said Luoying, “how are we going to fly tomorrow?”
“Let’s not worry about that for now,” said Anka. “We could always hang the wings out in the sun in the morning to recharge.”
The cave didn’t seem so shabby or terrifying with the two of them together. The wings kept the place warm and glowed like curtains. Moonlight, as clear as water, limned the mouth of the cave. The survival suits they wore sealed them from head to toe, so it was impossible for them to even touch their fingers, but the pressure sensors they wore also amplified all sensations—not only the rough texture of the rocky floor but also their mutual touches. The act of leaning against each other enveloped both in a singular sensation to be savored. Luoying rested her head on Anka’s shoulder.
“We’re lucky to have friends like Runge and the others,” said Luoying.
“We are,” said Anka. “They would rather stay out here all night than risk not being able to find us tomorrow.”
“Mira worries so much about everyone … yet I feel he’s the happiest of all of us.”
Anka grinned. “He never takes anything too seriously, including himself.”
“I’m concerned about Chania. She’s never been happy.”
“I don’t really understand her. But I think Sorin is right: she’s too extreme.”
“Do you think there’s something going on between them?” asked Luoying, turning to look at Anka.
Anka chuckled. “Yeah.”
“But I don’t think Sorin supports Chania’s plan.”
“I think Runge is the only one who agrees with her one hundred percent.”
“Runge is also so extreme. He’s always claiming that everyone is working for self-aggrandizement. I don’t think that’s true.”
“There’s an old man in Runge’s lab,” said Anka. “He’s got a bad reputation. Since he’s in charge of a big project, everyone in the lab has to try to curry favor with him. Runge refused, so the old man has been interfering with his work in petty ways.”
“I had no idea.”
“Runge is thinking of leaving the lab, but you know how hard that is.”
Luoying sighed. “I don’t know why. But it seems all of us are having trouble readjusting to life on Mars.”
“You’re right,” said Anka. In a self-deprecating tone he added, “I suppose we all … think too highly of ourselves.”
“Do you also think we should start a revolution?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s useless.”
“Do you mistrust revolutions? Like Mira?”
“Not exactly the same.” Anka paused to think. “I don’t just feel that revolutions are useless; I feel everything is pointless.”
“What do you mean?”
“The problems they’ve identified are problems. But I feel that no matter how the system changes, no matter what government or way of life we adopt, the problems will always remain.”
“I … I’ve never thought about it that way.”
“So how do you feel?”
“I think there are things we can do to make it better, but I don’t know the best way.”
“Really?”
“Do you remember the filmmaker in the Terran delegation? He wrote to me later, saying that he thought the way we live on Mars could provide the solution to Earth’s problems. He was going to work on that. I liked his determination, regardless of the consequences. His idealism made you feel there’s a purpose in life. I wish I had such faith in some ideal that would propel me to act. I would feel so much better then.”
“Then you agree with Chania’s suggestion?”
“Not exactly.” Luoying chose her words carefully. “The others are all too fuzzy in their aims; they just have a lot of passion. But in the end I can’t tell what actions would be useful.”
Anka gazed at the costume lamp, glowing like a tiny campfire. “Don’t you think it’s funny that a Terran is trying to save Earth with lessons learned from Mars, while a bunch of Martian kids are trying to save Mars with lessons learned on Earth?”
“You’re right,” said Luoying. “That’s the part that puzzles me the most. What is the relationship between the two worlds? Even as children, we were taught that Earth eventually would become like Mars, because when knowledge and wisdom had advanced sufficiently, it was inevitable people would crave the freedom of sharing an
d the community of the intellect, like we have on Mars. But on Earth, everything we heard was the opposite. They say that Mars was too primitive and simple, and progress would eventually force us to become just like Earth. Who is the primitive stage of whom? I’m so confused.”
“I think these are just empty theories.”
“So you think neither is better than the other?”
“Something like that. The war caused us to diverge in our development, that’s all. There’s no good or bad.”
Luoying also gazed at the mist light, as though seeing mirages in the darkness. “That’s also one of the reasons I can’t just support Runge and Chania. Whether the system is good or not, it’s the result of the life’s work of my grandfather and his companions. I don’t want to go against them without being sure.”
“I think the people of that time were very idealistic.”
“That’s true. I read some of Garcia’s speeches and Ronen’s essays. At the time, they weren’t thinking of some system of controlling the population. For them, the central archive was an ideal that represented truth and communication. Knowledge was the common wealth of all humanity, and everyone had the right to approach and pick from that treasure trove, like the right to freedom and existence. They argued that only by mutual understanding could they guarantee the coexistence of all faiths, to prevent cycles of slaughter, and the central archive was the best protector of the freedom of faith and conscience by allowing each to express their true beliefs without having to compromise by the need to make a living. Politics would be enriched by such honesty for all.”
“They probably never thought so many would remain hypocrites full of lies.”
“Or maybe they did, but nonetheless hoped it would be otherwise.”
After an interval of silence, Anka said, without any emotion, “I’m not idealistic like that.”
Luoying gazed at his face through the visors, not sure what to say. Anka’s dispassionate declaration made her sad.
She was about to try to comfort him, but at the last minute she changed her mind. “I wonder if the wind is still blowing.”
Anka stood up and pulled her up. “Let’s go see.”
They emerged from the mouth of the cave. The sand and dust that had filled the sky all through dusk seemed to be gone, and the night was very tranquil. Runge’s mining ship had shifted closer to the cliff.
Anka put his arms around Luoying and both leaned back to look up the cliff face. Moonlight came from the side, coating both of them in a silver sheen. The stars glowed densely overhead without twinkling. Other than the Milky Way, every other part of the sky looked about the same. Black holes from billions of light-years away were no more distinguishable than the Large Magellanic Cloud, practically close enough to touch by cosmic standards. There was no violent upheaval, no history, no stellar birth or death, only a bright web of stars quietly glowing overhead, aloof but also warm, comforting those who gazed up at them with fear and confusion.
“Do you recognize any constellations?” Luoying asked Anka.
He shook his head.
“Can you find Earth?”
Anka shook his head again.
Luoying sighed. “If Zeta were here, she could teach us.”
“I doubt she would know either,” said Anka. “She’s a cosmologist, and I heard that she doesn’t know any of the stars by sight or name.”
Luoying began to hum an old song. After the dust storm had abated, the yearning for peace returned. Singing, like starlight, was insubstantial but made one feel settled. Since the air was too thin to transmit sound, she sang quietly in her heart.
“I like the old folk beliefs,” said Anka abruptly.
“Like what?”
“When someone dies, they turn into a star in the sky.”
“I like that one, too. I’ve always felt that those we had known and who had passed away are stars. I think there are three hundred billion stars in the Milky Way, which is just about the number of people who have ever existed.”
Anka grinned. “We may run into a bit of a problem there. There are going to be more and more people, but the number of stars isn’t going up.”
“But I like the thought.”
“Me too,” said Anka. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we were put on Earth just to accomplish some mission, after which we’d return to the sky? Life would be more bearable.”
“Yeah.”
Surveying the night-shrouded crater, thinking of Mira’s dreams of flying all over Mars, they couldn’t help but imagine the future. Anka said that he really did want to visit Olympus Mons and to experience the sensation of flight at such heights. Luoying, on the other hand, wanted to visit the network of gullies in the northern plains and Ravi Vallis, just south of the equator. Rudy had said it would be ideal to take all the water from Ceres and refill these ancient channels. She wondered what that would look like. Would it be the same as a real river?
“Maybe one day we’ll get to go visit other stars, like the crew of Cerealia.”
“Do you know what’s happening with the colony ship?”
“They’ve left the Solar System safely. Everything seems to be going well.”
“Then they must be getting ready to select the next crew.”
“Not much chance for us, though,” said Luoying. “They’re still focused on experienced astronauts and experts. I guess it will be a few decades before we’ll be considered.”
“Still, there’s hope.”
They spoke of distant stars no different from the names of ordinary streets. It didn’t matter how many millions of kilometers or decades were involved, as they gave language free rein to carry them on waves of hopeless hope. In the sky, strange planets lit up one after another, like abstract pencil sketches.
The deep night gave Luoying’s thoughts a kind of free-flowing freedom she hadn’t experienced in a while, not since the days in the hospital, when she had read by herself on the skydeck. The feeling was like a surging sea under her skin; it had given her courage, had helped her find her direction.
The stars shined steadily overhead like diamonds of time, and in a flash they awakened a memory deep in her mind. Without hesitation, she began to recite a passage from a book she loved, L’Homme révolté.
Mais qui se donne …
Almost three hundred years ago, Camus spoke of facing one’s destiny, of rebelling against history, of choosing the faithful land of Ithaca, of the first and last love of Earth.
Her voice echoed in the headset, like a declaration from the heart. Anka listened intently. For a long while afterward they remained silent, unwilling to break the simple determination that rose in both hearts. All other words seemed extraneous. The ancient crater and the abandoned past spread out silently beneath their feet, the best support for them in this moment.
Back in the cave, it took them a while to fall asleep. They lay next to each other, and every movement from one was felt by the other, leading to laughter, which was amplified by both. Several times they were about to fall asleep, only to wake up laughing. Tired out in the end, they fell asleep without noticing.
MORNING
The moment Anka got up, Luoying awakened as well. She had always been a light sleeper, and when the pressure on her shoulder was gone, her mind naturally emerged from slumber.
She saw the light glinting off the distant peaks through the golden cave mouth. She blinked a few times until her mind was fully alert. Noiselessly, she sat up, looked around, and saw that Anka had already left the cave. The empty space, with the glowing ring around the cave mouth, felt warm and secure. She lifted one of the wings blocking the entrance and went out.
Anka was standing to the right, gazing at the distant rim of the crater, a hand on his waist. In the still-dim dawn, half of his profile remained in shadows, and his visor glinted in the rising sun.
Seeing Luoying, he smiled and whispered, “Careful, it’s still cold.”
He held out an arm. Luoying walked over, and he wrapped the arm around her fro
m behind, hugging her close as they stood side by side.
“You’re watching the sunrise?”
Anka nodded. “It’s been several years since I’ve seen it.”
Luoying sighed. “I’ve never seen a real sunrise. On Earth, I once went to the beach to try to catch it, but it was an overcast day.”
The world brightened bit by bit. Though the sky remained as dark as ever, the landscape was emerging from the indistinct shadows. Ray by ray, the sun climbed above the rim, but it was still blocked by a peak, so that they could see the light but not the source. The crater shucked off the disguise of night, revealing the canyons and gullies, the dust and rocks, like a curled-up child who had no memories of the tantrum it had thrown the day before. The morning breeze was gentle, and Luoying could see the fabric edging of her belt being lifted by the currents without feeling the touch of wind. The light grew more colorful. The rim was again a chiaroscuro of gold and black, and most of the crater had returned to its habitual yellow-brown. The sharp border between shadow and light sketched out smooth and full curves, like the outline for some magnificent landscape painting.
“Look over there!” Luoying pointed.
“What are you looking at?”
“The mountains. Look at the shadows! They’ve been shaped.”
“Are you suggesting—”
“Yes, it’s been worked over artificially.”
“How is that possible?” Anka stared where she was pointing. “But you are right …”
The entire western and southern rim of the crater was displaying the image of a gigantic upside-down tree. The canyons high up on the rim, like gorges worn by waterfalls, formed the trunk. Lower down, the spreading network of shallow channels and gullies formed the branches and a thick canopy. Even though the outline was made from natural geography, every turn and connection showed signs of human touch. Rough corners had been smoothed and blockages cleared out until the whole mountainside served as the canvas for a magnificent painting.
In the clear morning light, the caves located next to the canyons and gullies appeared dark and round, clearly intended to represent heavy and plump fruits hanging from the branches of the tree. Compared to the other caves unconnected to the mountain-tree, these had apparently been shaped to be more circular and uniform in size, to better approximate the appearance of fruit. Against the golden mountainside, the dark shadow limbs of the tree showed up especially well. Under the empty sky, the image was at once solemn and awe-inspiring. Luoying and Anka were entranced.
