Interzone Science Fiction and Fantasy Magazine #213 Page 4

  "Who told you that?” Yusuf asked, eyes narrowed.

  "A boy at my school."

  "That is just superstition and nonsense, child,” Yusuf said sharply. “Leaving aside the fact that the Earth is not flat, if there were emerald mountains of supernatural beings surrounding our planet, our remote-viewing mirrors would surely see them. They don't. If we do not credit the evidence of our senses we dishonor the almighty god who bestowed them upon us."

  Yusuf's son shrank back into himself, cowed, and Yusuf quickly realized that his tone had been more strident than he'd intended.

  "It is possible, Ma Ounaminou,” Abdul-asiz said, leaning forward, “that many superstitions, though we may know them to be not literal truth, can still be instructive."

  Ma smiled slightly, looking up into the face of the Athabascan sitting opposite him.

  "Now, finish your food, or you'll be sitting here all night,” Yusuf said, playfully assaying the role of the stern parent. But Ma still shrank from his father's gaze, and kept silent for the remainder of the meal.

  Later, the meal completed, Yusuf's wife and her mother cleared away the dishes as Yusuf and Adbul-asiz went out onto the patio garden, to smoke the hookah. Yusuf's son followed along, still somewhat cowed by his father's strong words.

  "Do you see the stars of the Northern Ladle?” Adbul-asiz asked Yusuf's son, pointing up at the night sky as he arranged himself on a cushion.

  "Yes,” the boy said, lifting his eyes.

  "Well,” Abdul-asiz said, “in the land of my birth, ancient peoples thought that those stars marked the presence of an immense jaguar, one of four brothers who originally constructed the Earth. He was once shaped like a man, this jaguar, until he overstepped his bounds, and his brothers flung him into the seas. When he resurfaced, he had been transformed into a jaguar, and after sending his new jaguar brethren to eat all that lived and walked upon the earth, he went to live among the stars. His brothers were forced to create the Earth all over again, rebuilding a better world in the jaguar's wake."

  "That's not true, is it, father?” the boy asked, turning wide eyes to Yusuf.

  Yusuf smiled, and shook his head. “No, but it makes for an amusing story, doesn't it?"

  Yusuf's son nodded. “Yes,” he said, gravely, and looked back at the Athabascan, who smiled broadly in return, teeth shining white against his ruddy skin.

  "Go get ready for bed, son,” Yusuf said, reaching over to muss the boy's hair.

  When the boy had gone, Yusuf drew the cool smoke of the hookah deep into his lungs, and shook his head, thoughtfully. He expelled twin streams of smoke from his nostrils, and glanced at the doorway through which his son had just passed. “It is ... a difficult age."

  "Do not worry, my friend,” Abdul-asiz said, wearing a gentle smile. “This, too, shall pass."

  * * * *

  After the evening prayers, as they prepared for bed, long after their son was asleep and their guest had gone home, Yusuf's wife's mother already snoring in another room, Lin Shui sat on the edge of their cot, a quizzical expression on her face.

  "Do you ever wonder, husband, about the wife of Abdul-asiz?"

  "What do you mean?” Yusuf changed out of his work clothes, into the long tunic he wore to sleep.

  "It just strikes me as odd, given the frequency with which Abdul-asiz mentions his wife, that she has never yet moved here to the Middle Kingdom, nor even visited. I know that for years Abdul-asiz has said that he would move his family to his side when he could afford to do so, but surely he's saved enough by now."

  "What are you suggesting?” Yusuf asked, sitting beside Shui on the cot.

  "I'm not certain,” Shui said, her lips pursed. “Do you ... do you suppose that he might prefer the company of men to that of women, and that's why he keeps his wife so far away?"

  Yusuf sat bolt upright, shocked at the thought.

  "Of course not,” he said, perhaps overly quickly, overly loud. “Adbul-asiz is ... He is not like that."

  Shui's eyes widened, and she continued as though Yusuf hadn't spoken, still caught up in thought. “For that matter, do you suppose that she might not even exist."

  "Wife!” Yusuf said, jumping to his feet and rounding on her. “You forget yourself. That is my friend, and a brother in Islam that you malign."

  Shui lowered her eyes, meekly, and muttered her apology.

  "Now,” Yusuf said coldly, slipping under the sheets, “let us sleep, and forget these words were ever spoken."

  That night, long after his wife had fallen sleep, Yusuf lay sleeplessly on the cot, staring into the darkness. He could not help but wonder. The year before, Yusuf had rushed to his friend's side when he first heard the news of wildfires tearing through the southern countryside of Khalifah, verging dangerously near the township where Abdul-asiz's family lived. To Yusuf's surprise, Abdul-asiz had not seemed the least bit worried at the initial news, and it was only when Yusuf pressed the issue, asking whether he had word of his wife and parents, or any news that they had escaped the flames, that Abdul-asiz evinced any concern.

  * * * *

  Yusuf was in the shipyards, looking at the skeletal frame of the crew module of the Taikong Two rocket. Ruan was there with him, as were Yan and Diao. They had discussed the matter from every possible approach, and the opinion was unanimous. While they had been able to incorporate any number of improvements into this new rocket, having learned from the development of Taikong One, they had still found nothing in the design itself which could account for the explosion.

  "What about the atmospheric mix in the crew compartment?” Yusuf said, scratching his chest through the fabric of his tunic. “If it was too oxygen-rich, might a spark from some of the exposed electricals have caused an ignition?"

  Ruan shook his head. “I was personally responsible for the development of the environmental mechanics in the Taikong One crew capsule, and we had made a careful study of the appropriate mix of nitrogen to oxygen to prevent just such a conflagration, and all of their early tests bore out that they had devised the appropriate ratio. Even if we hadn't done, though, an explosion of that sort wouldn't have carried beyond the reinforced walls of the capsule to engulf Hsiao and the others on the platform. The metal and ceramics of the hull are designed to protect the crew from the heat of re-entry, but they should just as easily protect anyone outside the hull from temperatures within."

  "How about a fuel leak, Yan?” Yusuf asked. “If fuel were to ignite, it might be possible for flame to travel along the lines to the reserve tanks themselves. Obviously the tanks for the main stage rockets didn't fire, or none of us would have survived the blow, but there was sufficient fuel in the attitude adjustment rockets on the crew capsule to create a pretty big blast."

  Yan, who had overseen propulsion on Taikong One, just as he now did with Taikong Two, thought for a brief moment, then shook his head emphatically. “No, Master Foreman, I'm afraid it just isn't possible. I personally checked over all the fuel lines and junctions on the crew capsule of Taikong One the morning before the explosion, and they were all sound."

  "That's as may be,” Diao said, breaking his characteristic silence. “But a fuel leak, and the resultant explosion, is the only reasonable explanation for the blast pattern that I've heard so far."

  "Those fuel leads were flawless just a few hours before the explosion!” Yan said, arms folded. “There's no way that this system could have caused the explosion."

  Yusuf turned his attention back to the skeleton of the crew module. There had to be some explanation for the explosion. It just was hidden somewhere they hadn't yet thought to look.

  * * * *

  Yusuf arrived at the taikonaut training facilities, just outside the shipyards, questions and formulae still whirling in his thoughts.

  "You requested to see me, Commander Qiu?” he said, as the commander approached him across the swept floor of bare, unvarnished stone. A short distance away stood a collection of boys that Yusuf at first took to be some school group tou
ring the facilities.

  "Yes, Foreman Ounaminou,” Qiu said, waving him over to the group of boys. “I want to introduce you to the new men.” Qiu pointed at each in turn. “This is Chieu, Chaim, and Ouyang."

  Yusuf looked from the commander, to the fresh-faced, eager young men, and back again. “These...?” he began, then trailed off. “These are ... the Taikong Two crew?"

  "New-minted taikonauts,” Qiu said, with a trace of irony, “fresh from their training regimen at the Imperial Navy of the Air."

  Yusuf nodded, and shook each man's hand in turn, and though Yusuf spoke with them briefly, as soon as the conversation was over he couldn't remember anything that was said.

  Finally, Commander Qiu dismissed the three new taikonauts and, as they left, Yusuf stared after them, disbelieving. “They seem so..."

  "Young?” Qiu said. “I know.” He shook his head. “Believe me, I know. I've had a time finding even these three. The Ministry of Celestial Excursion is adamant that the first men to be launched into space must be either Manchu or Han. It is the emperor's wish, apparently, that one of these two noble bloodlines be the first to pierce the heavens. Which is all to the good, if the best candidates for the job that I continue to find in the corps of the Imperial Navy of the Air weren't Hindi, or Arabian, or Ethiop, or Athabascan, or Briton. I'm having to pass over qualified pilots to meet the political agendas of bureaucrats."

  "What happened to all of the qualified Manchu and Han pilots?"

  "Honestly?” Qiu raised an eyebrow, and leaned in conspiratorially. “Most of them are dead. They tend to get the choicest assignments, which include piloting new, experimental craft, which leads to a higher mortality rate than is average. And those that survive to a reasonable age are usually promoted out of the cockpit and into an administrative position, which our bureaucratic masters view as a ‘reward'.” Qiu scowled, and was silent for a long while.

  "You want to go up there, don't you?” Yusuf asked, at length. He pointed, not to the ceiling, but beyond it. “Into orbit."

  "Don't you?” Qiu asked.

  Yusuf nodded. Then he pointed to his left eye. “Astigmatism. Kept me out of the pilot's seat when I was a younger man."

  "You wanted to be a flyer, too? I don't think I ever knew that.” Qiu nodded slowly, looking at Yusuf with new respect. “That's a damned shame. I think you would have made a fine one. Me, they need too badly here on the ground, I'm afraid. The only way I'd be going up would be if they couldn't find a single other pilot to take the spot, and even then they'd send paperwork up in the capsule with me, to keep me busy."

  * * * *

  Yusuf and his family dined again with Abdul-asiz. That night, after the evening prayers, when Abdul-asiz had gone home, Yusuf read to his son from the adventure of Sindbad the Sailor. In the story, Sindbad finds himself in a barren, rocky valley, the floor of which is littered with fabulous gem stones. The sailor is preyed upon by merciless rukhs, giant birds who swoop down from their perches high above the valley floor, preying on anything that is luckless enough to fall in their path. Only by tying himself to the skinned carcass of a dead sheep, which a rukh plucks up and carries far away in his talons, is the resourceful sailor and merchant able to survive to enjoy further adventures.

  Yusuf struggled to go to sleep that night, and when he did, he dreamt fitfully of riding atop a huge, ferocious bird, who shot flames from his mouth and from his hind end, screaming through the sky. The bird carried Yusuf higher and higher, the ground below dropping away until it was no longer visible, and just as the air thinned around him and the stars twinkled into view on all sides, he woke up.

  Lying in the darkness, his heart pounding in his chest, Yusuf could still feel the sensation of movement in his stomach, and he grit his teeth to bite back tears.

  * * * *

  Yusuf signaled to Yan that they were ready to proceed, and retreated behind the bunker. They were testing out a new firing configuration for the rockets in the final stage. The test rocket was bolted to the ground, set to be operated remotely, and instruments were gauged to determine the amount of thrust produced. Only bare months remained until the launch.

  Yan was worried about the final burst of speed needed to reach escape velocity, as he had been for weeks. “I wonder,” he said, his hands lingering over the firing controls, “whether we shouldn't consider adding an additional pair of thrusters to the final stage module."

  Yusuf shook his head, a weary but gentle expression on his face, the one he wore when he answered any of his son's seemingly interminable questions about the logic in his bedtime stories. “And add the attendant mass for the rockets themselves, to say nothing of the fuel? No. Tie two birds together, and neither can fly, even though they now have four wings between them. Don't worry, Yan, the calculations are correct."

  * * * *

  Yusuf and Abdul-asiz sat out on his patio, smoking a hookah, looking up at the stars overhead.

  "So how is the Taikong Two rocket progressing, my friend?” Abdul-asiz asked, his tone mellow and relaxed.

  Yusuf sighed, deeply. “I worry sometimes that we are too incautious, and other times that we are being too careful."

  Abdul-asiz thought this over, and shrugged. “I find it hard to see how one could be too careful, in such an enterprise."

  "It is like the story the shaykh told us at the lodge, that summer, of the king whose astrologer told him that he would die at a certain hour, on a certain day. The king had no desire to leave this life, and had constructed a fortress of solid rock. When his fortress was completed, he posted numerous guards at his gate, and went inside. He would remain within, until the appointed hour had been and gone, safe from any calamity. One day, within his fortress, he realized he could still see daylight, at the top of a doorway. He found an opening, a bare space through which a poison snake or scorpion might pass. And so the king sealed up the opening, to prevent misfortune from entering. In blocking the door, the king made himself a prisoner with his own two hands, sealed in so tightly that even air could not enter. And so, because of his extreme caution, on the appointed hour the king suffocated, and was no more."

  Abdul-asiz nodded, and took a long draw on the water pipe.

  "An instructive fable,” Abdul-asiz said, at length. “It is fortunate, then, that your taikonauts will carry their own supplies of air with them, no?"

  Yusuf smiled, nodding.

  "Tell me, friend Yusuf, do you ever think about your old dreams of flying? When we first met, you used to mention those ambitions often, but you haven't for some long time."

  Yusuf shook his head, ruefully. “There are things that it doesn't profit one to dwell upon, my friend."

  "Does it not rankle to think that nothing but a bureaucratic requirement prevented you from taking to the skies as you'd always dreamed? Your eyes work as well as any pilots. So you've got a minor astigmatism. What of it?"

  Yusuf sighed. “That is the requirement of the emperor's law, and who am I to gainsay it?” He paused, and drew a deep breath. “Even if the law is unjust."

  "But doesn't the master teach us that unjust laws, by definition, are not in keeping with the commandments of the almighty?"

  Yusuf took a deep pull on the hookah, and held the smoke in his lungs for a long while before answering. “What choice do we have, my friend? We either obey the laws of men, or find ourselves imprisoned. Or, I suppose, we could defect to the Mexic Dominion, but I doubt such as we would fare much better there."

  Yusuf chuckled and, after a long moment, Adbul-asiz joined him with faint laughter.

  * * * *

  Yusuf was with Ruan, reviewing the electrics in the crew compartment. Only a few weeks remained in the year, only a few weeks until the Taikong Two would launch, and everything had to be in readiness.

  Yusuf's assistant Jaiveer rushed in, all out of breath. “Master Foreman! There's been an accident. At the taikonaut training facility."

  "Serious?” Yusuf asked, his heart in his throat.

  "There h
as been a fatality, Master,” Jaiveer said.

  "Ruan,” Yusuf said, already heading for the door, “stay at your post and continue working. We don't have any time to spare. Jaiveer—” Yusuf snapped his fingers, to catch his assistant's attention, which seemed to be drifting with thoughts of tragedy “—stay and help Ruan with whatever he needs."

  At the training facility, in the large open area beyond the main building, Yusuf found Commander Qiu, near the armature used to prepare the taikonauts for the intense forces of acceleration they would feel at lift-off. The armature, a long pole designed to spin on an axis, with a chair on one end balanced by a counterweight on the other end, was lying in pieces on the ground.

  "What happened?” Yusuf asked, coming to stand beside Qiu. Chieu and Ouyang stood nearby in their taikonaut training uniforms, whispering to one another in somber tones. A party of technicians was crowded around the acceleration chair, which was pinned beneath a long section of the pole, nearly a hundred meters away.

  "The axle froze up when the acceleration chair was up to ten g's,” Qiu explained, pointing to the chair, “and the chair and the counterweight both just kept going.” He pointed in the opposite direction, where the counterweight had crashed into the walls of a nearby building.

  Yusuf looked from Qiu to the two taikonauts standing a short distance off, and understood immediately. “It was Chaim, then?"

  Qiu nodded.

  A long silence followed, filled with thoughts neither man needed to voice.

  "So what will you do?” Yusuf finally said.

  Qiu shook his head, looking defeated. “I'm not sure. We'll never be able to train another pilot up in time, even if I could find a potential candidate. And I'm not even sure another candidate is out there."

  Yusuf looked at Qiu. “What about you? You know more about the Taikong rocket than anyone who didn't help build it, and you're the most qualified pilot I can think of."

  "No,” Qiu said sharply. “No, they wouldn't allow it."

  Yusuf set his mouth in a line. “They don't have a choice. If they want the launch by year's end, it's you or no one, I'm afraid."