Ken Liu - Broken Stars

The robot stood up and held a fist over its chest, promising the drinking man an answer no matter how much work it required.

The man, overjoyed, invited the robot to join him. The wine was truly exceptional, as even the metal tongue could tell the taste was peerless—though it lacked the words to do the flavor justice. After a few rounds, even its always-sober electronic brain grew hazy. The wine was like a wonderful experience of annihilation itself. The robot seemed to see its drinking companion’s body puff up and expand… until he had turned into a giant. The robot saw itself sitting on the giant’s shoulder, and the once-boundless sea was nothing but a puddle at the giant’s feet. The giant grabbed the robot and tossed it with a long swing of his arm. The mechanical soldier tumbled through the air, zipping along at an incredible speed, until it fell into a volcanic crater.

Next to the boiling lava, a man sat deep in thought. The robot instantly sobered as it recognized the gloomy figure.

“A pleasure to meet again,” said the robot, bowing. “However, I still can’t go with you. In fact, I have to ask you to send me back, as I’m on a mission. I understand that you’re a gentleman who can be persuaded by reason. Would you hear me out?”

“What you ask for is impossible.”

“Let’s discuss it, at least. Maybe I can help you in some way—”

“There is no problem that I can’t solve. I have no need of anyone’s aid.”

“I do beg your pardon. However, I think there are a few questions that perhaps even you can’t answer.”

“Ask away.”

“I know a picture-dodger who has always been able to escape from your maze-paintings. Do you know how he’s been able to accomplish this?”

“Although I can’t tell you the answer right now, I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

“I’m curious…. If he can always escape, why don’t you give up the hunt?”

“Without pictures, how can there be picture-dodgers?”

The robot, having experienced and seen so much of the world, was now able to think deeper. After churning the man’s words in and through and around its circuits, it decided that the logic was not unsound. So, it continued. “I have a friend who planted a language tree that has grown almost as tall as the sky itself. The tree has fallen prey to some infestation. Do you know the cause?”

“It’s possible that the tree is afraid of heights.”

It was so wonderful to speak with the truly wise! The robot’s mind had been opened even wider.

“One more question. I heard that inebriation causes people to feel brave and honest. Is there a drink that will intoxicate permanently? Why doesn’t the Creator allow the drunken to feel the same courage and confidence once they’re sober?”

“Aren’t the very things that intoxicate people also created by people?”

The answer basically confirmed the robot’s guess. It felt it had a good grasp of the situation.

“If you already know the answers to these questions,” said the robot, “why don’t you explain them to my friends?”

Death sighed. “Because they run away as soon as they see me, giving me no chance to explain… and also…”

“I’m going to be so bold as to suggest that you probably enjoy the interminable hunt,” said the robot gingerly. Death probably doesn’t have any friends.

“All right,” said Death wistfully. “If you’re willing to take my answers to them, I’ll help you. It’s time to end these games.”

“You can count on me,” said the robot, holding a fist over its chest.

Death walked up to the robot and placed a hand against its back. One hard shove sent the robot into the boiling lava. But instead of being harmed, the robot sank through the lava, fell through the clouds, and landed back on the ship. The giant had shrunken back to his usual, plump form, and he was sitting at the stern of the ship, drinking by himself.

“Have you found the answer to my question?”

“It is said that wine does not make a man drunk; the man makes himself drunk. My friend, have you tried to see this world for what it is when you’re sober? Gaze at yourself; gaze at Death.”

The man was silent. He had never, in all his life and death, done this. “You’re right….” He set down his cup and stared at the ship’s wake for a long while. His mind awakened as his gaze cleared. The roiling, savage black waves seemed to be a mirror for his soul. For a moment, his rotund body shivered, as though he wanted to take a step back, but he forced himself to stand his ground. Yes, he saw it all clearly; he understood all his duties and honors. He turned and went into the ship’s cabin. When he emerged, he was dressed in full armor.

“This is my gift to you,” the aged warrior said as he untied the drinking gourd from his belt and handed it to the robot. The wind howled and the waves rose higher. “He’s coming for me. I shall face him head-on this time.”

As the raging waves heaved and dropped the ship, the robot was thrown overboard into the sea. The drinking gourd grew until it lifted the robot out of the water like a lifeboat. The robot looked back and saw that the old warrior in his rusty armor was standing on the tempest-drenched deck like a bronze statue, his sword at the ready.

Riding the drinking gourd, the robot drifted over the ocean until, somehow, it found itself in the lake surrounded by snowcapped mountains. The poet’s beard was now much longer, and he was trying to feed some Möbius grass to a clockwork horse.

“Do you have an answer for me?”

The robot uncapped the drinking gourd and poured a shot for the poet. “Drink up! You’ll be inspired after this. But you must decide that this is what you want.”

The poet hesitated for a moment. Why not? Isn’t this what I want? He drained the cup. The sweet nectar, distilled from the food of the gods, poured into the parched soil of his heart, nurturing it with hope, life, and youth until the seed of love germinated and grew into a towering vine that thrust into the heavens, proudly sporting layers of lush leaves. The poet, delighted, climbed up like a swinging gibbon, and soon disappeared from view.

The robot waited. As we all know, the robot was very patient.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, the poet returned. He was covered in bruises and wounds, and twigs and leaves lay tangled in his beard and hair. His whole body trembled as he held up a single branch to show the robot.

The mechanical soldier wanted to ask whether the poet had climbed to the top of the tree and what he had seen there. Had he managed to lift the veil over the face of the world? Had he found eternity? It managed to hold its metal tongue, though, because it didn’t want to sadden the poet.

“Take this branch as a keepsake,” said the poet. Then he helped the robot mount the clockwork horse and began to wind up the mainspring. Creak, creak , the coils of the spring grew tighter; clack, clack , the horse pawed the ground. “Farewell, my friend! It’s time for you to go. We’ll see each other again when everything starts over. I shall now construct my own tomb, so remember to never look back, no matter what.”

The poet let go of the reins, and the clockwork horse galloped away, joy punctuating every step. The robot respected the poet’s wishes and didn’t look back. From behind came the fading sound of an ax biting into wood. Eventually, all it could hear was the sound of the howling wind.

The mechanical pair traversed the wilderness until they came to a ruined city. In a square surrounded by broken walls and fallen beams, a faithful crowd was in the process of crucifying an apostate. The robot dismounted from the horse and joined the watching throng.