Shoots and Ladders
Breakaway + 4 years
If you are planning for one year, grow rice. If you are planning for twenty years, grow trees. If you are planning for centuries, grow men. …Chinese proverb
Canh sat down on the nearest bench, a solid thump resounding from his slim body, still staring at the door through which she had just exited. She was simply… magnificent. When she had walked in the door to his lab a mere ten minutes ago, his breath caught painfully in his chest, his tongue cleaving firmly to the roof of his suddenly dry mouth. It was as if his beloved Tatiana had risen from the dead to join him on wayward Alpha. How had he missed such a golden goddess here on Alpha?
Well, now. Canh shook his head as he tried to regain his rattled wits. He ran fingers through his hair, leaving the usually neat arrangement spiky and disorganized, several locks now waving in the silent, artificial breeze. So deep in thought was he, that he completely ignored the comforting susurrus of the leaves of the potted dwarf bamboo behind him, waving gently to and fro in tandem with his wayward hair.
She had asked if there were any botanical solutions to her problem. She had asked, no, insisted there must some way of growing a fiber capable of being made into the cloth needed for sheets, towels and even clothes. Baby clothes in particular, which had been most peculiar as there were no children excepting young Jackie Crawford. She had waxed melodiously in her lilting Russian-accented English on the limitations of the common polymer-based cloth. So stunned was he in her presence that he barely recalled her arguments against such synthetic material, but that was irrelevant. He would move the moon itself to see she was appeased. And to see a smile grace that beautiful face.
He knew he had provided no good answer to the goddess, and that was to his shame. But. That also gave him the needed excuse to seek her out and make apologies for his inexcusable rudeness, and place his humble botanical skills at her feet. Canh stood shakily, looking futilely about the lab for the solution to his now most pressing research problem. None presented itself. Too befuddled to focus further on his day’s labors, he headed home. His ongoing rice research could wait. Yes, he would most assuredly present himself to Katya Glovaskaya, head of Laundry, and become her most devoted research associate. If he could find the courage.
Xuan Canh puttered around his lushly plant-filled quarters watering his carefully nurtured bonsai. During the base-wide Amnesty after Breakaway, he had been a most dutiful Alphan and turned in his clandestine spice and plant collection, so stealthily slipped past the inspectors during his trips to and from Mother Earth. Most of it. Justifying himself by rather convoluted logic, he had reserved a few shoots of delicious bamboo, some spice seeds… and his precious Japanese maple bonsai. For the nourishment of his soul, he told himself.
Initially appointed to Alpha by the Asian Lunar Alliance, Canh had been assigned the all-important task of developing rice that would flourish under lunar conditions. The modified rice would provide a needed staple for the diet of the much anticipated Moonbase Beta, funded and staffed primarily by the peoples of the Asian Alliance. The many strains of rice he had charge of now flourished in the catacombs of Moonbase Alpha Genetically enhanced and fortified, the five different strains of long, medium and short grain rice now made one of the foundation elements of the Alphan diet. He was quietly proud of his contributions to Alpha. Dr. Russell had even praised him in the presence of the entire Botanical division.
Canh critically studied the tiny maple tree. The dark red leaves and twisted trunk and branches were aesthetically pleasing. He had been working on this specimen for many, many years. He had planted it over three decades ago, under the careful tutelage of a Japanese-American nun in the Vietnamese orphanage where he had grown up. He most fondly remembered Sister Mary, she who had supervised the war orphans in her care. She had never discriminated against the mixed-race children of foreign soldiers and those small, damaged children of Vietnamese parents, like himself. She had been the one who had selected his name, as he had none when left as a newborn at the doorstep, umbilical cord still attached. Canh for the nature she loved, and a surname, Xuan, for spring, the season of his birth. He often thought of Sister Mary as he tended this gift of her patience, and thought a prayer for her untimely death helping the orphaned children she so dearly loved, dying with them in the tragic crash of the American plane at the end of the so-called Vietnam Conflict.
Most properly, he was Xuan Canh, PhD, doctor of the study of poaceae grasses, which included the all-important rice. To his Alphan friends, almost to a person of Western stock, he answered to Canh Xuan. He truly did not mind the reversal of his names. Tatiana had also called him thus.
Ah, Tatiana. His golden Russian goddess.
Canh had been fourteen at the time the war had ended, and through a terrifying set of circumstances had ended up in the hands of North Vietnamese soldiers. Rather than summary execution as an American sympathizer, one astute officer realized that the boy’s fluid American English might be of future benefit. He forwarded the terrified adolescent Canh, carefully clutching his tiny tree, up the military chain until the boy found himself in China. There, Cahn endured indoctrination into his new way of life, and had been forced to master Mandarin Chinese as well as Russian. The latter, in all honesty, he never truly considered mastered. At the best, his accent was atrocious; Tatiana had laughingly told him so on numerous occasions.
He studied hard in his new land, and applied his natural gifts with growing things to master the delicate intricacies of roots and rhizomes, stems and genomes. He earned his advanced degree with full honors and was stationed in Inner Mongolia, near the Russian border at the Agricultural University. His pioneering research had been noted favorably by high party officials. Regrettably however, and less favorably noted, had been his struggling efforts as impromptu liaison and translator between Russian and Chinese researchers. In one tense regional situation, he had even been pressed into duty as a diplomatic translator, and that was when the powers-that-be realized a more permanent solution was needed. He could still close his eyes and see her as she had been that momentous first day. Tall, with golden hair that fell to her waist, blue eyes laughing merrily, and with a soul that sang for joy.
Tatiana Kupchenko was a gifted polyglot who spoke ten languages fluidly, and could make herself understood in as many dialects of those languages. She specialized in the Asian language family and its cultures, but was equally fluent in the King’s English and, but of course, her mother Russian. She also had a weakness for saki. Which just happened to be derived from the saki rice. When golden Tatiana had somehow discovered that the retiring botanist she had so gratefully succeeded was a dependable source of the needed ingredient, and could brew an authentic batch of saki, well, a friendship was born. That their conversations could trip through Vietnamese, English, Chinese and Russian was an added pleasure, as each language had its strengths and weaknesses in explaining the concepts they so joyfully explored. That Tatiana spoke British English and he the American variant, and that a subdialect found only in the province of California, just added to the delightful, if only transient, misunderstandings.
Canh finally found cause to be grateful for his vagabond life.
They were married in 1989, two years after the Great War that had shattered the stranglehold the USSR had held on the eastern half of mother Earth. Old protocols fell aside, old prejudices overturned. He asked Tatiana for her hand in marriage, and she agreed. The maple tree bonsai was his wedding gift to her. Ten years later, she insisted he take it with him to Alpha so that their two rambunctious sons would not cause it inadvertent harm. With the sympathetic help of Captain Carter, it arrived here on Alpha safe and sound.
He recalled approaching the Captain with some trepidation, but Tatiana assured him that diplomatic corps ‘scuttlebutt’ had her friend Carter as a rogue, and most likely to be amenable to anything that twitted Commander Gorski. And so he was. Carter had even been the one to suggest bringing along a few ‘extra’ packages, if such would improve the dietary choices on Alpha. And so, Canh could lay claim to many Asian spices, rice for saki, young bamboo for soups, and his maple tree. And, if over the years he had wondered in passing if Carter had ‘helped’ Tatiana master her knowledge of the Australian variant of English, well, he was grateful to anyone who brought his Tatiana joy.
He delicately pruned one wayward branchlet and watered the shallow roots. He returned the maple tree to its place of honor under light panels that now contained a full Earth-solar spectrum. He sighed. How he missed Tatiana and their sons.
Canh looked about his painfully neat quarters, truly more generous than one small man needed. The space once assigned to a roommate now held row upon neatly staggered row of formed-lunar concrete containers, filled to overflowing with tidy fronds, canes and roses. At Breakaway, he had shared this space with a botanist named Mateo. A good man, if a little eccentric in his researches. He had learned a little Italian during their time together, before the man was killed by his own ghost. Canh shuddered. No, not a memory he liked to revisit.
After the deaths of Mateo, Laura and Dr. Warren that had decimated their small division, Commander Koenig had offered Canh the division leadership, which he had hastily declined. He knew well his strengths and weaknesses. He knew himself as a strong, innovative researcher, but far from charismatic. He deferred to Edward Collins, and as young as Eddie was, he rallied the remaining botanists and prudently focused on food production and diversification following accepted standards. No mystical plant communication for that one.
Well, it had now been four years since Breakaway, and he had mourned his lost love deeply and fervently. His overwhelming grief had lessened to a deep ache of loneliness. In the last year or so, he watched as other widows and widowers paired off and looked to a future with a measure of hope. He had rejoiced in the happiness of young Shermeen as she married Eddie. He had been the first she had told of her engagement, and it was he who would stand as ‘god-father’ to her not yet first-born. Honors he valued highly.
Canh walked over to the computer terminal and started programming his research parameters. Yes, maybe it was time to find out which plants they had to hand might suffice as a source for Katya’s needed fabric. And perhaps, just perhaps, she might like a cup of saki over which to discuss his upcoming discoveries.
Hours later, he pushed his chair away from the computer and stood to stretch cramped muscles. To his surprise, the room was dark. He blinked owlishly into the shadowy space about him. The only light in the room came from the computer screen and the commpost. He looked at the time with a mild note of surprise. 2200. No wonder the growth lights had cycled off. He walked about his room deep in thought, not really needing much light, able to tell the way by the scents alone of the plants about him.
His research into fabric donors was still to bear fruit, but he had found out much about golden Katya. She was native to Moscow. Her family had served Party officials for decades and Czars for centuries. At seventeen, she had accepted a commission into the USSR military, and risen as far as her age and gender would allow prior to the Great War. After the War, she had picked up the shattered remnants of those men and women around her and kept them alive and fed until rescue four months later. Her subsequent record glowed with commendations, but was absent of any mention of spouse or children. She had been posted to Alpha as reward for her superlative work in uniform, and upon the death of her division head one week after Breakaway, assumed leadership of her division. And that her birthday was tomorrow.
Space. It all came down to space. Or the lack of it. While the moon traveled through the vast emptiness, on the moon, oxygenated, warm, wet space was at a premium. Through hard work, they had carved out more growing space from the vast maze of interlocking lava tubes and caverns beneath Alpha, left as remnants of a more tectonically active lunar era. Oxygen had been made, ice melted from scarce lunar sources, and mineral and nutrients added to lunar regolith to make fertile soil. And, amazingly, it worked. But such hard won real estate was primarily devoted to food and oxygen forming plants, and only a few square meters here and there to experimental research.
Hmm. They had, amongst the seeds collected from pre-Breakaway research projects and those surrendered at the post-Breakaway Amnesty, flax, cotton and hemp. Those held potential. There was no wool or cashmere, of course, as sheep and goats were not to be found on Alpha. Silk was a remote possibility as a novelty item as there was a small collection of silkworms still alive, but most assuredly not in the quantity needed to even make one silken slip, as much as his fantasies might like to see such on Katya. Canh shook his head, discouraged on many fronts. All the plants simply took up too much precious space, and took too long to grow in the quantities Katya seemed to think were needed very soon.
Canh’s stomach rumbled to protest its empty state. Well enough. Computer could continue its preliminary research unattended while he stretched his legs and filled his stomach.
The cafeteria was only lightly populated this late at ‘night’. A lunch was being served for those on the swing shift, with light snacks for those simply with a hollow in their belly before turning in. Alpha was now in the fortunate state to be able to serve such snacks. It had not always been thus, thought Canh, reflecting back on those first lean months. And even after stability of a sort had been achieved, there had been…difficulties… faced time and again after hostile alien attacks. And now, in this time of relative bounty, the frequently requested ‘sweets’ remained a rarity, although the small, regular harvests of sugar beets did provide a high quality sugar, and even molasses.
Canh thought of the latter. A sugar beet had been among the illicit plants surrendered during Amnesty. Why such a plant had been brought up remained a mystery. No matter. It was a disobedience to ILC rules that was a blessing to bakery. And while they had of necessity concentrated on life support and food, being botanists meant no seed went unexamined. And there was still the odd seed collection here and there.
He selected a light dinner of soup and salad, and on a whimsy accepted one molasses cookie from the dark-skinned dietary tech. He found a seat in the back of the darkened room, seating himself facing away from the door. He was not very skilled at small talk, and this was often enough to buy him a peaceful, solitary meal. Finishing in a timely fashion, and curious to see what Computer had found, he stood, gathering plate and utensils. He walked over to the collection area to return his dishes, still musing about plant fibers and Russia, when he all but bumped into the white-sleeved medico. He stopped abruptly, tumbling the almost empty water cup off the tray and spilling the last few drops of his drink onto himself.
“Ah, Dr. Russell, your most humble pardon. I was not paying attention.” At least he had not spilled anything on the chief medical officer. Who, if he recalled correctly, was still on her honeymoon. He righted the now empty cup and smiled at the doctor. “Or, should I apologize to Dr. Koenig?” It pleased him to see the cool, collected doctor blush.
“I haven’t decided yet, Canh. John does hold a research doctorate in his own right after all, and having two Doctors Koenig might be confusing.”
“But the good Commander never uses that title. PhD’s are, as you Americans put it, ‘a dime a dozen’ here on Alpha. There would be no confusion.”
Dr. Russell, or Dr. Koenig perhaps, just smiled at him.
“We’ll see.”
Canh agreeably nodded his head, both to Dr. Russell and the Commander who joined her, and moved on to allow them their privacy. Computer’s search should be just about complete.
He enjoyed walking the empty corridors of Alpha. As grateful as he was for the presence of others so far from mother Earth, sometimes peace and quiet were a balm for living cheek to jowl with three hundred other trapped souls. He took absent note that these corridors from the main cafeteria to the residential wing would benefit from the presence of greenery. He paused by the lift, waiting for its arrival. A large potted fern just here would be good. The door opened and Canh entered, still lost in contemplation. The ride up two floors was brief and he soon found himself turning the final corners to his quarters. The childish laughter from the spur corridor ahead and to his right took him by surprise, as did the largish black and white ball that bounced up against his legs.
Turning agilely, Canh absently trapped the ball beneath his foot, smiling as the small, enthusiastic child rounded the corner and ran into him. He reached out his arms catching the small body, transferring the child’s forward momentum into an upward swing to sit the boy on his hip. Canh laughed at the indignant expression on the small face.
The pale, dark haired, three-year-old wriggled in Canh’s arms to be put down. Canh hugged him gently, whispering Vietnamese words of affection into the small ear. Jackie Crawford paused long enough to really look at Canh, and then smiled. As Alphan foster-fathers went, Canh was not so tall and playful as Jim Haines, nor as athletic and talkative as Alan Carter, but he did have something Jackie’s other foster-fathers lacked… flowers. And young Jackie loved the pretty plants and being allowed to help water them.
“So, my danh tu, why are you up so late?” His foster son looked down at the trapped ball, still under Canh’s foot. “A football game, yes, I see. Most important, it is true. Where is your mother, may I ask?”
The silent boy now looked back over his shoulder and pointed to the tall and slender dark-haired woman rounding the corner. The rust-sleeved technician must be working the night shift this cycle, Canh reasoned. This then would be her ‘lunch break’, and that usually found her spending time with her son.
“Ah.” Canh smiled at the woman. Although he stood as one of several foster-fathers to Alpha’s only child, he remained shy around the boy’s mother. Sue had always been kind to him, but Canh found British women very intimidating.
“Hello, Canh. Would you like to join us?” Sue gestured to the ball still under Canh’s foot.
It was tempting, and Jackie’s wide smile was hard to resist, but no… Computer would be done soon, and he had to fulfill his obligation to the Russian goddess.
“Thank you, but not this night.”
Canh leaned over and stood Jackie back on the ground. With a small kick, he popped the ball up in the air, much to the delight of the boy who caught it easily.
“We will play another night. Soon. And then you can help me water my flowers, yes?”
The boy nodded enthusiastically and then turned to kick the ball back down the short spur corridor, safely out of the way of passers-by. Canh fondly watched the lad, his smile fading as boy and mother turned the corner and disappeared. The boy had never spoken word. Ever. Not during his ‘possession’ by the alien Jarak, and not since then. It could be unnerving to see such a silent, adult-like boy, but the smiling eyes in the small face just now were most certainly child-like. He knew Sue was concerned that some lingering trace of the alien remained. Canh thought not, just that the boy’s soul needed time to regain its own center. He felt all would be well, eventually.
Canh continued his way to his room. It would be good for Alpha to have more children about. Like springtime, children promised renewal and hope. What had Katya said during that all-too-brief encounter? Small, sturdy outfits easy to launder, easy to make in many sizes. Yes, children would be good. He would like to have them underfoot again. Maybe, this time, even a daughter.
Once again in the sanctuary of his room, he noted that Computer anticipated concluding its task within the next 7.12 minutes. Enough time to prepare a cup of ‘wine’ he rather thought. Several of his friends, not the botanists of course but others, still thought saki a wine. In truth, it was closer to beer as the product of grain fermentation. But, he saw no reason to point this out to the base at large. Few Alphans enjoyed its taste, and those few were unlikely to go to Mr. Verdeschi and point out that he was not the only brewer of alcoholic drinks on Alpha, and was, by far, the worst. Canh cringed at the memory of the atrocious ‘beer’ Shermeen once insisted he try.
Ahh… Computer chirped its conclusion. Cahn placed his now empty cup on an available surface and walked around the bushy clump of dwarf bamboo to read the results of his search. He scanned the short list of potential organic, renewable fabric sources. The second item caught his eye. He looked at the potted plant next to him, and his mouth dropped open in a most un-Canh like display of botanical befuddlement.
But of course. Why hadn’t he seen the obvious? It was close to perfect given their situation. It would take a cavern donated for its growth… And is would take about five years to reach its full potential… But what a bounty Alpha could harvest! A renewable resource that would provide abundant oxygen, a reliable and delicious food source, material for furniture and flooring, and even paper for those special messages of the heart… and not in the least, Katya’s soft fabric suitable for even infant needs.
A quick computer review of the catalogued rhizomes kept in storage found three potential candidates. Canh sighed in deep satisfaction. If only it wasn’t so very late, he would take this revelation to the goddess this very moment. But no, such impetuosity would not do. Instead, he sat on the edge of his bed and made his plans for the morrow.
He didn’t have any Vodka to hand to take as a hospitality gift, but he did have other items that might intrigue a Russian soul. He would ask Katya for a meeting, perhaps over lunch or dinner. He would take a flask of his best saki, a small tureen of bamboo soup, just enough for two to share, and a small planter of Poaceae Bambusoideae. Yes, that would be a suitable apology for being so dense and not providing her an immediate answer… was it just today? Cahn glanced at the chronometer on the commpost. 0100. No, golden Katya had called yesterday, and he would leave a comm message for her to see when she awoke later today. He walked back over to his terminal and saved his search. He paused for a moment to think of the right words to open such a friendship as he hoped to share. They came in due time.
Message now sent, Canh returned the computer terminal to stand-by mode, undressed and prepared for bed. He looked forward to getting acquainted with Katya Glovaskaya. He accepted that golden Tatiana was no more, but he was comfortable around Russians, their humor, their expectations, and their wonderful fatalistic world-view. He would know exactly where he stood with Katya by the end of their shared meal. And perhaps, just perhaps, one shared meal might just lead to another.
The morning passed quickly and Canh dressed carefully for the lunchtime meeting, picking his best yellow-sleeved uniform for the occasion. He had spent most of his morning considering what to say to Katya. Oh, not the words of science, those can easily, but the words of the heart. Tatiana laughed in his memory, telling him to simply embrace life and celebrate its fullness.
He walked toward the Laundry division staff offices, carefully carrying his small bundles. He entered the warm, humid realm of Katya Glovaskaya, nodding courteously to the yellow-sleeved workers processing mounds of sheets and uniforms, but oblivious to their curious glances. He walked with resolute steps to the open office.
He stood outside the entrance for a moment, taking a deep breath for calm and courage. He shifted his bundles carefully so the flask would be the first thing she saw. He knocked on the doorframe, and the golden goddess appeared. She looked down at him and at his offerings of saki, soup… and a planter full of young, vigorous bamboo. Bamboo that would grow three meters tall and ultimately provide the soft, silky cloth she needed.
Katya glanced at the plant curiously, but then reached out and fingered the strips of paper hanging from the neck of the saki flask. The beautiful, Slavic face went perfectly still for a moment, and Canh quailed inside, fearful perhaps, that he had overstepped the bounds of propriety. The moment passed feeling long, oh-so-very long, and then the golden goddess smiled. She looked down at Cahn and smiled, welcoming him into her office, and closing the door behind them.
The closing of the door led to a ripple of whispers among the workers left outside. Although new to Laundry, Ananwa had been as surprised as her coworkers to see a smile on their formidable boss’s face. The Head of Laundry never smiled. The whispered speculations continued for another hour until the door opened again and the boss stated her intention to accompany Dr. Xuan to Hydroponics. The work continued unabated, but now speculation shifted to the observation that the boss’s unusual visitor, who had arrived with many packages, had left with none.
Ananwa’s curiosity was peaked. Waiting until her co-workers disbursed to deliver the day’s cleaning, she stayed behind to steal a look into Katya Glovaskaya’s sanctum. Ananwa glanced around; no one else remained. She entered the forbidden room, crossing to the desk for a quick glance to feed her curiosity. She knew to be caught would mean yet another reprimand on her record, and then probably a transfer to somewhere even less desirable than dirty clothes. Ananwa snorted, what could be worse than sorting smelly clothes under the gimlet gaze of that Russian terror? She looked around. To her surprise, on the usually immaculate desk of that imposing personage was an interesting collection of clutter: a small, empty flask from which thin strips of papers dangled, an empty food container, and a small plant.
Pushing the funny looking plant aside, Ananwa picked up the empty flask and smoothed the fragile, crackly papers to make out the writing. On one narrow strip were letters she couldn’t read, but kind of looked like the funny, curving writing with backward letters the boss wrote in for her private notes. The other strip was written in English. Fancy, curvy and almost illegible, but English all the same. Ananwa read the words and snickered. What’d you know? The boss had a beau. She placed the flask down and left, unfortunately not taking much care to place the bottle back where it had been found. She also failed to notice that the bamboo plant was left teetering on the very edge of the table, only to be rescued by careful Russian hands later that same day. Ananwa soon discovered what was worse than smelly socks.
For many years afterwards, a small flask held pride of place on the shelf above Katya Glovaskaya’s desk. Around the neck of the empty saki flask hung two narrow ribbons of precious rice paper. And on each narrow strip, hand-drawn with utmost care, appearing almost oriental in calligraphied ornateness. was written the same short, faded message in Cyrillic and English script…
Happy Birthday.
5/8/07
MGK