Geoff Ryman - Air (or Have Not Have)

Kwan scratched her hair, delicately. 'I am concerned about many things, including you.'

'So. How are you going to stop me talking? Shen couldn't. You are so concerned about progress. Is it progress to start bossing people around, like the government? The government thinks you are nonsense, Kwan. Who saved you then?'

'You.'

'Then leave me alone.'

Kwan looked very determined. 'I am going to return the favour, Mae. I am not one to give up on a friend.'

It was Kwan who cut off communication this time.

Mae was left quaking with rage. Who was Kwan to tell her what to do? To tell her what to say, to tell her to get rid of her baby? Kwan, you have been important in the village too long, you have come to think of yourself as Head Woman.

She read her mail.

____________________

e-mail from: Mr Ken Kuei

20 February

Dear Mae,

Happy New Year. E-mail gets easier all the time. It reminds me of when I learned to ride a bicycle. Suddenly for no reason you can do it. I wish, though, that I had learned from you.

Since these messages can go round the world, I thought I would send one an even greater distance. Across our courtyard.

____________________

audio file from: Lieutenant Chung Lung

20 February

Tsang has left Dad. I knew trouble was coming when she started to lose weight and wear black, and took even more trouble with her grooming. She got a job with some crook of an estate developer. She would talk in front of Dad about all the opportunities he was offering her. Dinner with clients. She thought she had become a Balshang Beauty. She was always a very stupid woman. She used to be falsely fond of Dad, but at least she would praise him in front of the officers. Suddenly all that stopped. She started to say things to make Dad look like a fool, and he would sit with that hazy grin of his, looking really foolish. This drove my sister Ying crazy. She said she would not be in the same room with Tsang.

Tsang was very bitter about me, too: 'Oh, but then Asian women are not good enough for you, so you want to leave Kizuldah so far behind.' 'Like you?' I said back. 'Is this boss of yours married?' So finally she has gone off with her gangster and Dad is alone. He wants to come and live here with me. I can't have him, Mama. I have to entertain officers here, it really is not possible. He came here two nights ago when the colonel was visiting with us. Dad was drunk and he was weeping and cursing Tsang, and cursing you and cursing life, and looked like a real peasant. I tried to keep him under control. I said he could stay the night if he wanted to. Sarah tried to take him into the kitchen and he threw off her hands and started calling her 'a Western whore.' And he started telling me that I thought I was a big man now, but I wouldn't when my Western wife found out I had a small cock. All this in front of my colonel. Truly awful. I know he was upset, but really, he cannot behave in this way. Neither I nor Ying has heard anything from him for two days. I will try to visit him after work today. I will let you know what happens.

____________________

e-mail from: Mr Bedri Eyoobogloo

20 February

Mae,

Thanks for data. The attached file shows what happens when we run it against what's happening here. You are getting more snow because it is warmer. There is more evaporation, which then falls on the higher slopes.

We get Dragon's Breath when an inversion over the desert is suddenly pushed south by a cold front coming down from the north. Usually this happens in summer, when the air has baked. It is usually in massive, single movements.

We have an inversion now – it is 32 degrees Celsius in Balshang! We are getting little Dragons. Mustafa here calls them 'Dragon Sneezes' – whirls of cold coming down in spiral patterns, making very hot blasts, very localized. The front itself is not moving nor the inversion. However, this is the foundation situation.

Your data is going patchy, and that disappoints us. Your assistant Sezen is no substitute for you.

Mae opened the attached file and entered it into her own database. She stood up and looked through her skylight. It was snowing heavily. It was so warm the flakes seemed to have cohered into lumps, almost as if someone were throwing snowballs or marshmallows.

She told her machine, 'Calculate the chances of a flood.'

50-50 Chance of Flood

This is the last warning I can print. I have run out of paper. Please take precautions. The map shows a map of Kizuldah, and where water and avalanches are most likely.

If it gets hot, day or night, if you feel the Dragon's Breath on your back, leave the west of the village. Go east and up. It is best around Kwan's house. Now is the time to get your seed grain up in lofts; don't wait for the flood to begin. Mrs Tung says, when it comes, it sounds merry. The water laughs, the rocks applaud.

If you hear that sound, get yourselves away, get yourselves away, for the love of God.

Your friendly madwoman, Chung Mae

Mae ran with her leaflets to Mr Ken's house and knocked on his door.

His mother opened it. Old Mrs Ken glared at Mae. She was a plump, overworked woman in her sixties, sweaty, with hair astray.

Mae did not give her a chance to speak. 'The government says there is a chance of the Flood, there is cold in Russia; if it decides to move, all the pieces will fall into place, the Dragon will wake up, the snow will melt. Okay. So. If it gets hot, go up to Kwan's. It is bad for us at this end of the village. See?'

Mr Ken's mother stared at her like a stone. She took the paper Mae offered her and held it out away from her as Mae pointed to the map.

Saying nothing, Mrs Ken tore up the paper, calmly, neatly.

'I will put this where it belongs,' she said.

'I am carrying your grandchild,' said Mae, and left, having no more time to waste.

Mae was wrestling with the courtyard gate, and heard footsteps.

'Don't mind Mother, she is still upset,' said Mr Ken. His face was phosphorescent-blue from snowlight, and outlined in gold.

'I'm used to it,' said Mae. It seemed as if Ken Kuei had stepped out of her life from many years before.

'Can I help?' he asked.

Mae paused. 'Yes,' she said, and divided her papers in half and passed them to him. 'Take these along Lower Street, that will be a big help. I will cover Upper, and I will ask Sezen to cover the Marsh. If the Flood comes, get your mother up to Kwan's.'

'Where will you be?'

'I will go to the mosque, so I can use the Muerain's speaker. Okay, thanks for helping. You go that way, I head up there.'

Ken stood his ground. 'Is the baby mine?'

Mae thought: This is what I get for not clearing this up; I am being held up at just the wrong time. 'Of course. Who else's?'

'Will you marry me? After the Air comes?'

The snow fell, like fainting in reverse. White flakes, not darkness, closed from the side of her vision. Blue-and-gold light reflected on the cheeks of this beautiful faithful man.

'Yes,' she said, and then hedged. 'Probably.'

'Probably,' he said, disappointed.

'Move, please. Please?' Her eyes and her voice were pleading. Of course I need help with this – please help.

Mr Ken nodded, serious, solemn, not entirely bright, but good. He stepped out of the gate and turned up Lower Street. Mae found herself gazing at his broad, silent back. Oh God, she thought, I love him too.

She turned and walked northeast.

She climbed up the hill to Sezen's house. She pounded on the door. 'Sezi! Sezi! It's me, Mae.' Hatijah opened the door, looking nervous but pleased to see her patron at New Year's. The courtyard goat began to bleat at the disturbance.