For the First Time, Again, page 18
This is ridiculous. Our lives would not be our lives if we were someone else. I am evidently more shaken by Mother’s death than I care to admit. I suppose carrying her ashes everywhere is not helping, but it would have been bad form to drop her remains in the trash at the funeral home.
…
I will do it at the airport.
50
The Scientist
This is so weird. I only been to China once. Like, I know absolutely nothing about the place, but it feels superfamiliar for some reason. Well, I know the reason. It’s ’cause I been to the exact same places. I landed at the same airport. I took the same route on the same kind of cab. I’m about to meet the same person in the same teahouse. I’m sitting at the same table even. The whole country’s an airport, a cab, and a restaurant. It ain’t that hard to get comfortable with. Also, I keep moving all the time, so my definition of what feels like home is a little skewed. Here he comes, through the same door.…
—My dear Aster, I did not think I would see you again so soon. When you last came to China, I—
—I’m sorry, sir. I’m terribly sorry to bother you like this, but I need your help again.
—Do not be sorry. You are always welcome. To be perfectly honest, it feels as though you never left. Our last conversation has occupied my mind incessantly until now. It would seem the only thing stronger than the existential questions you raised in my mind is the profound joy you and your family have always brought me. I presume you were unable to convince the New Horizons team to attach your device to their probe.
—Yes. Well, no. It won’t be on the probe, sir. All I wanted was for them to include the weight in their calculations.
—I’m afraid I do not understand.
—Well, I never cared that much about the probe. It’s the rocket they’ll send it on that interests me.
—An Atlas V if I’m not mistaken.
—Yes, but with a third stage added. The rest of the rocket won’t go anywhere, but the third stage will also be on an escape trajectory out of the solar system. I might have gotten the math wrong, but I think it might even get to Jupiter before the probe does.
—That is brilliant. So you want to hide your device inside the third-stage rocket.
—Oh no. Well, that’s what I wanted at first, but then I read about it some more and it’s really tiny. There’s not enough room.
—I see. Then I’m afraid I don’t have a solution for you.… Unless … Perhaps you could use the adap—
—The adaptor ring that attaches the rocket to the probe. Yes, sir, that’s what I thought, but it won’t fit either. The ring is a tiny tiny bit too small. Seriously, like this much. That’s why I wanted the probe to be heavier. If I got them to add a few kilos to the payload, they would use the Star 48B as the third stage for the rocket instead of the “regular” Star 48. That one carries an extra eleven kilograms of propellant and it’s a tad larger. Not much, but just enough to fit what I want to send out inside the ring.
—This is … impressive. If I may ask, how do you know all this?
—I bought the company that makes it. Oh, you mean how do I know about the third stage and all that? I read all the technical details and the service manuals. They’ll give them to you if you just ask. But I didn’t know there were that many companies. I thought, like, NASA made the rockets, but no! They buy them from someone, and the third stage is made by someone else and they subcontract parts of it to a billion other companies. I bought the one that makes the adaptor ring. Just that. Well, they make other things but not for the rocket.…
—You bought it.
—Yes, sir. It wasn’t that much. It’s a small company.
—…
—Sir, please say something.
—I do not know what to say. You appear to have thought of everything. I am, therefore, confused as to why you require my help.
—Well, the thing is, I can read the manuals and the budget requests and all that, but I don’t know how to make things for real. I don’t know how to machine aluminum and I can’t ask thirty employees to make a second part with a secret compartment inside it. All I really wanted when I bought the company was the key to the warehouse so I can switch the crates before they deliver it to NASA.
—And you believe I can help because …
—Because you’re really smart and you know how rockets work and you must know people who can make things like that and not tell anyone. I’ll pay for it, of course. I have money. Also, you’re an adult. It’s a lot easier to get things done when you’re an adult.
—Perhaps your friend, the one who accompanied you, could—
—He can’t. He knows nothing about this kind of stuff, plus he has some health problems at the moment. I have another friend, but she has her own issues. I need you. Will you help me?
—Aster, I—
—Please?
—Before you interrupted me, I was going to say … yes. I will gladly help you. I can inquire with certain Russian entrepreneurs who will make just about anything for a price.
—Will they ask questions?
—Not if you do not want them to, but I suspect that will also have a price.
—YES! Thank you so much! Can I hug you again?
—Not so tight; I— Thank you. May I ask a favor of you in return?
—Yes, sir. Anything you want.
—This device of yours, it comes from another world.
—I think so, yes.
—Would it be possible for me to see it, perhaps to touch it?
—That’s easy. I brought it with me. And the plans for the ring, and my necklace has to be in there. That’s also from—like you said—another world. Here, you can hold it. Well, you can do more than that. You’ll have to take it home to send to those Russians. Just … don’t touch the sphere with the necklace. That’s like the one thing you can’t do.
—…
—Why are you crying, sir?
—Oh, Aster. Since the dawn of time, humanity wondered if there were others, whether gods or aliens lived high in the sky. Here, in my hand, lies the proof we have been looking for all along. These two objects are irrefutable evidence that we are not alone. Each could be the most significant discovery in our species’s short history, and here I am about to help you get rid of them for eternity.… I will ask you this, Aster. I will ask you once and never mention it again. Are you absolutely certain this is what must be done?
—… Yes, sir, I am.
—How can you be so certain?
—I feel it in my gut?
—That is … good enough for me. Now, shall we order some tea?
ENTR’ACTE
The Path
Their fight in Nairi left Kish without a right hand. The sword she’d picked off a dead man broke on Tereshiin’s first blow. The second blow went straight through her wrist. The third never came. Tereshiin had forgotten how much Kish loathed swords. He remembered, eventually, when his gut spilled out. He ran when the villagers came for him, holding his intestines with both hands. It was the last time Kish would see Tereshiin. She hoped her feelings would one day sort themselves, but the thought of him would always conjure a mess of emotions.
The mother of the little boy Kish had saved took care of her arm and dressed it. She did it with a smile, as if pitting dates for the night’s meal. This wasn’t the first time violence had entered her home and it wouldn’t be the last. Kish was offered to stay but politely declined. There was somewhere else she needed to be.
It had been fourteen years since she’d seen inside its walls, but Arbailu was just as she left it. The hum of the crowd at the market, the smell of roasted lamb and fresh kidbei. Even the old fruit lady, whom four-year-old Kish believed was born this old, was still scolding children for running through her stand.
Kish’s excitement morphed into uneasiness as she approached the house she grew up in. She didn’t recognize the gray-haired man sweeping the pavement, but his smile and tears left little room for speculation. Both were still speechless when Nidintu ran outside and hugged her younger self. Her embrace lasted for an eternity, not nearly enough time for Kish’s heartbeat to slow down.
There was too much to say, too much to ask. Kish had no idea where to begin, but her mother knew.
—Come inside and eat some dates. Nabûa, will you run to the market and see if they still have milk?
Milk and dates was exactly what Kish needed and the words started pouring out of her. She told her mother about where she’d been, what she saw. Nidintu ran her finger up and down the scar on her neck while Kish spoke of the man who upended their lives.
—He said we’re not from this world, Mother. He also said we were … exactly the same, like two clay copies from the same stone.
—You are exactly like me! Your father almost had a heart attack when he saw you. I remember the day you were born like it was yesterday. I knew there was something special about you. But you are very much of Earth, my love. Even your name should tell you that.
—Kish?
—Kish is what I call you. You are Kishar, granddaughter of Tiamat, and goddess of the Earth.
They talked until sunset, and Nidintu prepared her daughter a bed. Kish was moved by the simplicity of her mother’s life, but she fell asleep knowing that quietness fit her no more than the clothes she wore when she last saw this house. She woke early the next day with the same bittersweet certainty. Her mother was sitting by her side.
—I was watching you sleep. Come. There’s something I need to show you.
—Now?
The women walked to the neighbor’s house to borrow a horse and chariot, then rode north to the Zabu ēlū, about four leagues from the city walls. They found a secluded spot on the river shore, with a giant oak tree casting shade on a lone patch of grass. Kish joined her mother to help when she started digging at the base of the tree. Every muscle in Kish’s body tensed when her fingers brushed against the smooth, round shape.
—Is this what you and that man were looking for?
—Yes, Mother. But I thought—
—No, my love. I don’t remember anything. Your father and I traveled through here once and I recognized that tree from a dream. I thought—it was more a feeling than a thought—I once hid something here.
—Did you know what it was?
—Not really. Just … something that needed hiding.
—What will you do with it?
—Me? That is for you to decide.
…
—I can’t stay with you, Mother. Not after we found this.
—You never could. You and I both know it. The Rādi kibsi was looking for paths in the sky. He will look for you, now. You are the path.
—I can’t do this alone, Mother.
—Alone? You will never be alone, my love. If everything you told me is true, then you are me, and I am you. I can never not be with you.
—I don’t want to leave you.
—Good! We have to return this horse! And your father is cooking lamb for us tonight. You can leave tomorrow, or the next day or the one after.
—And do what? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
—You are the path, Kish. His, but also yours, and mine, and everyone else’s if you’re up for it. You can help shape this world. Make it whatever you want it to be.
Kish spent nearly four months with her mother and father. Then one day, not unlike all the others, she felt ready. She never said goodbye. She just smiled and her mother knew.
—Tell Father I love him.
—He knows, but I’ll tell him anyway.
—Thank you.
—Where should I look when I think of my daughter?
—East, Mother. You should look east.
—To the sunrise. I like that.
ACT VI
51
Mr. Brightside
2004
I thought I could find solace in the grass fields of Scotland. I suppose I did. Aster was done with her space endeavor. All we had to do, she said, was wait. We did. We waited for nearly two years in Scotland. I’m not entirely sure how we settled on a destination. I think Saa had something to do with it. To be honest, I was glad to help Aster while I could, but also relieved this plan of hers was coming to an end. I looked forward to settling into a quiet life away from everything. Scotland certainly fit the bill. It was … peaceful. We stayed in a small house looking down a cliff, surrounded by an endless sea of green. There wasn’t anything for Saa to hurt, except for us and a handful of sheep. I must admit, I grew fonder of our tall friend over the past few months. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I enjoyed her presence, but I got … used to it, the way people get used to cold weather, or the sound of trains rolling past on a nearby track. Perhaps coming to terms with my own mortality has helped me mellow out. Perhaps it was nature that did it. I had hoped nature would fix more than my temper. It has not. I pee blood now, every day, six times a day. I know little of medicine, especially when it comes to my kind, but I know this can’t be good.
I doubt Salt Lake City will be more salutary. I had never been, nor had I considered going, to Utah before now, but this is where the rocket is made, so here we are, awaiting a piece of technology Aster had manufactured in China. Or is it Russia? I forgot. She has a tendency to explain things in one breathless, long-winded sentence, and I sometimes stop listening midway through.
Where the thing was made is not particularly relevant. What matters is that Aster has found a way to send the sphere away from this world, one that she never shared completely until we were all herding sheep in the middle of nowhere. I wish she had been more forthcoming, but the sting of deceit pales in comparison to the sense of pride I felt at her accomplishments. This was my doing as much as it was Aster’s. I … made her. Before me, she was ordinary, just one more face in the crowd. She was one of them. Look at her now. She forged a plan and marched forward, never looking back. She hid things from me not out of malice but because she thought the truth might hinder her plan. I understand all too well. This was a cold, calculated move, one she would have been incapable of making before I met her. I have seen my creation spread its wings and take flight. Aster may not be my daughter, but she is my legacy.
I can only imagine what she will accomplish in her lifetime. I wish she did not have to spend it running from the authorities. She could change the world if given the chance. She could rule it if she wanted to. She will not want to, but I have no doubt she will thrive in her time. She has the will and the resources, and I have given her the skills she’ll need.
I do not have much time left, but I have done what I set out to do. I saved Aster. Sending the sphere away may prove futile if our kind is already under way, but if they are not, every mile traveled by that rocket will make Earth that much safer. It is not a perfect ending, but it is as much redemption as anyone could reasonably hope for, and likely more than I deserve. I find it difficult to quantify redemption. I can count the number of people I killed with my fingers … and some toes. Numerically speaking, saving a greater number of people should make up for it. Saving the world, if that’s what we’re doing, would certainly eclipse whatever errors in judgment I made in the past. On the other hand, the guilt I feel for killing my brothers is greater than their number would suggest. Perhaps the price to pay for that is also greater. Similarly, I take more pride in keeping Aster alive than I do in potentially saving the world. The fact that I was the one to endanger it might have something to do with the discrepancy, but I am struck by the utter lack of objectivity involved in determining one’s worthiness. I suppose it is not for me to decide whether I’ve paid my debt or not, but I feel more at peace now than I have since tending our garden as a child.
A garden. Perhaps Aster would find it as soothing as I did. Now that I think about it, I am surprised I never brought it up before. I am no longer able to fight, or run, or do any of the things that were part of our routine in the Philippines, but this we could do. We could spend time together in the yard every day—we’ll require a yard. I think Aster would enjoy caring for other living things. She might even learn to stop talking all the time.
Speak of the devil. She and Saa are waving at me. I believe it is time to go. I may be debilitated, but Aster doesn’t know how to drive and I refuse to sit in a car with Saa behind the wheel.…
52
Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)
Eighteen months I been waiting for this. Wait, no, twenty months! In Scotland! Not the have-a-pint-in-Glasgow, Here’s tae ye! kind of Scotland, no. We lived in nothing-but-sheep-and-grass Scotland where Saa couldn’t kill anyone. It was nice for about a week; then I started wishing for an alien invasion. Gawd, it was boring. We never saw anyone, ever, except for the old man who delivered our food each week. I talked his ear off every time. He had a hearing problem, I think. We had a wooden TV from the dark ages. No reception, of course. There was a DVD player, just no DVDs, except for Tony Little’s Gazelle and we didn’t even have the Gazelle. I never—not in a million years!—thought we’d be there that long, but customer service ain’t exactly five-star in the world of Russian counterfeit rocket parts. Live and learn, I guess.
But here it is, in a crumbling warehouse filled with gas canisters. My little spaceship. Well, spaceship adaptor ring. To be honest, it’s not the most awe-inspiring thing I seen.… It looks like one of those exercise saucers for babies, but without the seat or the fun things attached to it. It’s shiny, so there’s that. The Russians did a good job. You can’t tell the sphere is encased inside the frame. My necklace is in there too, about half an inch from the sphere. Xuesen even fixed my design. There’s no mechanism now, just enough give in the structure for the necklace to touch the sphere when the rocket’s last stage separates. It feels superweird to get rid of it. My family managed to hold on to that piece of jewelry for three thousand years and I’m just going to shoot it into space. “See ya!” That necklace is the only thing I got from my mom. I still have her journal, but she didn’t give it to me. Samael did, right after he stole it. That necklace was Mom’s most precious thing in the whole world, and it was her mom’s most precious thing, and her mom’s mom’s. My whole family would be so mad. Whatever, they’re not here. I’m the one dealing with this mess and, well, you gotta do what you gotta do.
