History does not wait for us to be ready. It does not pause its turn. The page keeps turning — we write the next one, or allow it to be written for us.
Ka Kim Hyok Chol, CPPRA member and Political Commissar, 2035
Office of the Communist Party of the PRA, Yan’an Underground Complex 1, China, PRA, Earth, 05/03/2230, 1318 hours
Flechette and Zhengming stand in front of a humble building — a modest 10 stories, not like the spires of the UCF citadels, nor like the monolithic presence of the Yan’an housing blocks. No, this looks like a small office building, at least 100 years old. Zhengming explains:
“It’s a small local branch. The CPPRA administers all parts of the PRA, as a unified entity — however, most local concerns are decided at the local level. Your path forward is yours. But the representatives of the People will offer you options, and you will have to choose.”
Flechette nods. She is beginning to see it now; the way kindness seeps into the things Zhengming says, even if they seem cold. She is thankful for this.
The past 36 hours have been a whirlwind. She can barely imagine that she’s only been in this world for a day. Flechette steels herself for what is to come. You will have to choose.
The pair walk into the building, past bustling workers — party members — each engrossed in a particular task necessary to the daily functioning of life in the Underground Complex. This building is a node — a nerve cluster for the immense, networked body that is the People’s Republics of Asia.
Zhengming approaches the information desk by the entrance. The receptionist perks up at their arrival. They note the presence of Flechette, intentionally shifting to English.
“Ah! Ka Zhengming, the council is expecting you.”
“Good. We’ll head there momentarily.”
At this, the receptionist pouts a bit.
“Aww, you’re not going to stay and chat a bit? I’ve missed you~” the receptionist flirts.
If Zhengming is flustered, they do not portray it. Instead, they offer a cool smile.
“Alas, Ka Siyuan, there is always work to be done.” Siyuan laughs.
“Said like a true Party leader. Alright, well, I’ll let them know you’re on your way up.”
“Thank you, kasama.”
“You still owe me a dinner together, Ka Zhengming!” Siyuan calls out as they leave.
“A debt which I will certainly pay, when work allows me the softnesses of the heart, Ka Siyuan.” Flechette realizes that Zhengming is cool.
In the council chamber, Flechette is introduced to the party members — a small crowd of about ten warm cadres, seated around a long, simple table. Flechette silently breathes a sigh of relief. She had imagined an imposing throng, speaking down to her, granting her swift justice from on high. This reads much more like a parent-teacher conference.
The cadres are shockingly kind to her, offering to shake her hand, pulling out a seat for her. Flechette understands now that Zhengming is not the prototype — in a certain way, they are the exemplar.
The cadres chatter amongst themselves as they sit down and begin the proceedings, speaking as one voice.
“Your name is Flechette Jaydamn, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“How old are you, Flechette?”
“26, s— um, 26.” Flechette keeps catching herself on the reflex to respond with “sir”.
“Good. It would be unbecoming of the CPPRA if we proceeded this way with a child. We do not know if the UCF enlists children yet.”
“Flechette Jaydamn, Ka Zhengming’s report indicates that you defected from the UCF-ARC, coming here through a contact established by a previous intelligence agent, and brought with you a sixth-generation mechanized armor. They also said that you have recorded synchronization amplitudes of up to 500%. If these are all true, we must ask you: what do you intend with these gifts?”
Gifts. “I wish to serve the People.”
Murmurs of agreement, affirmation, surprise.
“Flechette Jaydamn, that is a most welcome answer. Ka Zhengming has also vouched that you have demonstrated an unexpectedly advanced burgeoning consciousness. This is good news. There is much need in the struggle for a person of your skills. You would have much to offer the People. We must ask you, though — working for the People, serving the People as a laborer — that is one thing, and a noble thing, no less — but returning to the battlefield, to the frontline, where we could most make use of your skills — let there be no euphemism. You will be tasked with killing your former compatriots. This would be difficult for anyone, even the most stalwart and committed members of this Party. Is this something you believe you can do?”
Flechette hesitates, cannot find the words. She remembers the feeling of Tang’s entry plug splintering underfoot. She imagines Trinity in the cockpit instead. Her flaming green eyes. Her lopsided smile.
“I— I don’t—”
“You need not make a decision now, Flechette. We are happy to have you here as a guest. And you can earn your permanent place here in many ways — as you say, serving the People. But you will serve the People if you are to stay here. It is your decision how you will choose to do so. We will offer you three days to decide. You need not take the time, but we encourage you to do so.”
“I— Thank you, uh… Thank you.” The hearing seems to be over. Flechette and Zhengming are excused. One of the cadres — an older cadre, with long silver hair tied neatly in a bun, shakes her hand as she leaves, and tells her “Be well.”
Zhengming and Flechette leave the CPPRA Office. Flechette exhales, free of the anxiety she felt. Flechette is genuinely taken aback by their graciousness.
Zhengming expresses to Flechette that she is free to do what she likes with her time, until her decision must be registered. Flechette asks Zhengming where they will go.
“Ha! Thanks to you, I’ve had my regular tasks temporarily suspended. They’re being handled by a comrade, while I act as chaperone for you. So really, I’m allowed to do whatever I want with my time. A rare treat. Usually work is much more demanding of me.”
A group of children scamper up the street, carrying a small ball. They shout out to Zhengming.
“Ka Zhengming, Ka Zhengming!” They say something in Mandarin. Flechette watches as Zhengming leans over, smiling warmly, their typical disciplined coldness melted away. The group and Zhengming chatter for a bit, with the children hopping excitedly as they seem to ask Zhengming something.
“The children would like to play a game with us. Will you join us?”
“Oh! I would— I would love that.”
Ka Zhengming looks down at the children. Ka Zhengming speaks slowly, enunciating.
“Children, our friend here does not speak Mandarin. Do you think you can practice your English with her?”
“O-kay!” The children sing in unison.
“Friend, what is your name?” A child asks Flechette.
“Um. My name is Flechette.” The children all giggle and she blushes.
“That is a funny name!”
“Yes, it is,” Flechette agrees.
“Do you have a second name?” A child asks. “Lots of Ka Zhengming’s friends have a second name!”
Zhengming looks at Flechette, expectantly. Flechette remembers Ka Zhengming’s words to her — Ka Kailani. Their name for Tang. Flechette reaches for something — and grasps the obvious.
“Uh. You may call me Hanabi.”
“Okay! Hi Ka Hanabi! Let’s play a game!”
Flechette and Zhengming then wait about five minutes as the children struggle to explain the rules of this game, interrupting each other, laughing, pausing to chase a distracting digression. But soon, the game is underway. The children laugh and cheer, while Flechette keeps up, clumsily. Sweat beads on her forehead as she plays in a way she hasn’t in many years — perhaps ever. The rules of the game itself are somewhat incoherent, haphazard.
“Ka Hanabi, do you know Ka Kailani?”
Flechette drops the ball, frozen.
“Uh— I—”
“Ka Kailani taught us this game! Ka Kailani is very nice. I hope you are able to meet him. He is also a friend of Ka Zhengming’s.”
One of the children pouts.
“He has not come to see us in a long time. I miss him.” Several children wander over to hug the pouting child.
“It’s okay! We can play together,” another child pipes up, speaking to everyone at once.
Flechette stands there, unmoving, as she watches the children continue to play their game. She looks down at her hands. Reality seems to flicker in and out. Her hands become the hands of the VENUS, become her hands again, become the hands of the VENUS—
So this is the cost of it.