Ken Liu - Broken Stars

Reporter: … I see something that looks like a dumpling.

Li: I mean, if you want to be technical about it, we’re really creating local lines of fastest descent, and then we string these local curves together—

Reporter: Let’s set the math aside for now. Can you tell us more about the missing passengers? Where is the lost train?

Li: It’s at another point in the space-time continuum.

Reporter: Are you… are you talking about a parallel universe?

Li: No! Just another point in the space-time continuum. It’s contemporaneous with us, but at another location. It’s colocated in the same site as the people who’re already there, but in a different time.

Reporter: … I think it’s best we stop talking about theories. Let me ask you a different question: prior to this accident, Homeward Bound was not licensed by the relevant authorities. You were selling tickets illegally, weren’t you?

Li: The transportation market is dominated by inefficient monopolies. We had no choice but to push the regulatory framework to Uberize space-time to better serve the people.

Reporter: What do you think will happen to Homeward Bound after this incident? Will you be shut down?

Li: Let’s wait and find out the fate of the train first.

Reporter: Do you think the passengers will return safely?

Li: I’m sure they’ll be fine. All they need to do [ taking out another sheet of paper and drawing again ]… is to find a new space-time curve. They’ll end up reuniting with us at our coordinates in the continuum.

Reporter: … I see a poorly made dumpling that hasn’t been sealed properly.

[ The director, who is behind the camera, interrupts the interview by informing the reporter that the missing train has been found and all passengers are safe.

Both the reporter—a bit stunned—and Li Dapang stare at the breaking news on the wall-mounted TV. The TV shows passengers getting off Homeward Bound . Their expressions are serene—actually, maybe even delighted.

A reporter on the platform stops a passenger to ask about her experience.

“It was great! We traveled for so many days, and when we got out, we found out it’s not even New Year’s yet!”

The reporter stops another passenger to ask if he had been scared.

“Not at all! We just had an unexpected vacation on the train.”

The shocked reporter grabs the conductor and asks for details.

“The train had some mechanical difficulties, which didn’t take long to fix. But the passengers demanded that we take the scenic route so that they could enjoy more time on the train before arriving at the final destination.”

The reporter doesn’t know what to do.

Back to the office. ]

Li: This is easily explained. Although the train has traversed only a single day in the space-time continuum, the total length of the route it traveled in the continuum was much longer, and the biological clocks of the passengers ticked along at the usual rate. Thus, despite the fact that from our perspective it seems the train has been missing for only six hours, the passengers feel they’ve spent many days on the train.

[ The rest of the segment consists of talking heads debating government transportation policy, legal issues, and train technology. No clear consensus emerges on any topic.

The camera is shut off, and the reporter packs up. Before leaving Li Dapang’s office, however, he turns to the entrepreneur with a few more questions. ]

Reporter: Why did those passengers want to stay on the train? It doesn’t make sense to me. Don’t people who visit family for Chinese New Year want to get there as quickly as possible?

Li: I can’t answer that. You’ll have to ask the passengers themselves. But think about this: if the starting point and the destination are already set, and if no matter how many days it takes to get there, you’ll arrive on time, then wouldn’t you want to prolong the trip as much as possible to enjoy it?

Reporter: I guess so. It’s like free time.

Li: It’s simple when you put it like that, right? What doesn’t make sense to me is this: lots of times, when the starting point and the destination are fixed—say, birth and death—why do most people rush toward the end?

Fei Dao (the name should be treated as a single indivisible unit) is the pen name of Mr. Jia Liyuan. Born in 1983 in Chifeng, Inner Mongolia, China, Fei Dao received his Ph.D. in Literature from Tsinghua University. Later, he pursued research at Beijing Normal University before returning to Tsinghua to teach. In 2017, he began to offer a new course in Tsinghua on writing science fiction. Currently, he also serves as the executive director for Tsinghua’s Center for Literary Writing and Research.

He is the author of short story collections Innocence and Its Fabrications , The Storytelling Robot , Chinese Sci-fi Blockbusters , and The Long Journey to Death . Previous publications in translation include Italian and English editions of “A Story of the End of the World” and “The Demon’s Head.” He has also been published academically in journals such as Science Fiction Studies , Literary Review , Contemporary Writers Review , Dushu , and Comparative Literature in China .

Many of Fei Dao’s stories straddle the line between fantasy and science fiction, and play with history as well as futurism. “The Robot Who Liked to Tell Tall Tales” is a Calvinoesque fable that explores the sense of wonder beating in the chest of every fictioneer.

Once upon a time there was a king. He was brave and clever and blessed with good luck. As you might expect, he ended up unifying the world, and even made plans to conquer the sun. Most remarkably, he did everything aboveboard and never lied. The people loved him and wanted to emulate his example. Let’s put it this way: there had never been a realm in the history of the universe so pure and good as his.

Unfortunately, he had a son who enjoyed lying. From childhood, the prince exaggerated and bragged, and his shameless whoppers made his parents blush with shame. The courtiers and ladies-in-waiting were so tickled by his tall tales that they wanted nothing more than to roll on the floor and howl with laughter, though courtly etiquette forced them to hold it in, and they all ended up with stomachaches. Unavoidably, his colorful yarns spread throughout the kingdom. At first, the common people tried to remain silent out of politeness, but eventually their bellies hurt so much that they had to laugh out loud. Everyone agreed that they had not heard such fantastic stories in ages.

The boy always said, “I’ve never fibbed in my life! You’ll know after you’re dead.”

The king gathered the most skilled doctors, the wisest philosophers, the most reputable priests, and the most elegant musicians, and charged them to cure, enlighten, redeem, and reform the little rapscallion. All these efforts came to naught.