Launch Pad Read online

  LAUNCH PAD

  Copyright © 2017 by Shelly Bryant

  Author photo by Susie Gordon. Used with permission.

  Cover Design by Yong Wen Yeu

  All rights reserved

  Published in Singapore by Epigram Books

  www.epigrambooks.sg

  These pieces were published

  (in slightly different form) in the following places:

  “Tan Swee Nee, Barber” in Junoesq, August 2014

  “Case Study: Training Programme” in Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, July 2015

  “Sila” in Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, April 2014

  “Rewrites” in Fish Eats Lion (ed. Jason Erik Lundberg), 2012

  National Library Board,

  Singapore Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  Name: Bryant, Shelly.

  Title: Launch pad : stories / Shelly Bryant.

  Description: Singapore : Epigram Books, 2017.

  Identifier: OCN 992726483

  ISBN: 978-981-47-8520-4 (paperback)

  ISBN: 978-981-47-8521-1 (ebook)

  Subject: LCSH: Singapore—Fiction.

  Classification: DDC 813.6—dc23

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First Edition: September 2017

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  FOR MY FRIENDS

  WHO HAVE TAUGHT ME THAT THERE ARE NO

  SUCH THINGS AS STRANGERS AND MONSTERS

  CONTENTS

  INTRODUCTION BY

  TINA KANAGARATNAM

  LAUNCH PAD

  THE HANDLING

  TAN SWEE NEE, BARBER

  PEREGRINE

  三人行, OR THREE TRAVELLERS

  THE WORLD, A STAGE

  CASE STUDY: TRAINING PROGRAMME

  REWRITES

  SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS

  SETI-SGHQ

  IN SITU

  SILA

  TERMINUS

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  In this gem of a short story collection, Shelly Bryant explores the trajectory of Singapore as a launch pad—a bridge between worlds, a crossroads—taking the reader on a journey of discovery from the earliest days of Singapura to the far future. It is a journey into our past, present and future, one that seems at once astonishing and yet totally real, totally plausible.

  These stories are an almost magical alchemy of Shelly’s worlds: the translator, the science fiction poet, the 25-year Singapore resident, the postcolonial thinker. Her poetic sensibility deftly homes in on the very essence of her characters, while her translator’s ear gives us the pitch-perfect cadences of our own Singlish, in all its variations. The science fiction futures she describes, easily understandable by non-sci-fi geeks (I speak from experience), are so tangible that it almost makes you wonder if there isn’t really, somewhere in Singapore, a SETI (Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence) Centre. It’s details like this that bring these stories to life, and make them real.

  That alone would make them worth reading, but Launch Pad is much, much more than a collection of Singaporean stories. Two compelling threads run through these tales: one, the voicing of the silent “Other”, whether that other is a minority, a woman, a robot or an alien. What does, what would, the Other think if they had a voice? The second thread is our common humanity, and our common emotions: love, connection, morality, language, whether we’re from this age or another, this planet or another, whether human, alien or artificial. In the end, she shows us that we’re not so different. And simply in getting us to think about these things, our worlds expand.

  For me, there’s a personal reason why Launch Pad is such a joy. For a native Singaporean of the generation raised on British literature—raised as always thinking of ourselves as the Other—reading something so very Singaporean remains a thrill. Shelly nails Singapore, in the cadence of the language, in the familiar landmarks, in the issues that are central to who we are. And with each story, she leaves us thinking—the greatest gift of all.

  Tina Kanagaratnam

  Co-founder, Literary Shanghai

  [A hologram appears onstage. A blue shimmer passes over its flesh as it smiles, then starts speaking in IHNese.]

  Welcome to the Midway Space Station History Museum! My name is Tarmonak, and this is the room where I was born. I was not the first child raised in this facility, but I am the first of my kind not only to be born here, but anywhere. I am half-Earthling, half-Kepleran; my mother a biped, my father triped. You can see in my form the result of the blending of these two species, and you can decide for yourself whether it is a pleasant shape. Perhaps you will even meet some of my younger siblings in the flesh as you tour the facilities. Many have chosen to remain behind here at Midway, making it their permanent home, but I have chosen to follow in my parents’ footsteps, working for ever-greater intergalactic diplomacy. I am currently serving as Midway’s ambassador to XGF4873M, where the latest contact has been made with intelligent life.

  But here, it is not the future that interests us so much as the past. The rooms you are entering now tell the story of Earth’s integration into the Interstellar HoloNetwork nearly 300 years ago. This room tells the story of my mother’s home planet from her perspective. It is adapted from a written record she sent with the cryos to this space station. It is the only first-hand contact I ever had with my mother.

  To modern eyes, my mother’s record appears extremely parochial—not only focused almost exclusively on her own planet’s history, but on the history of the Earth-bound nation from which she came, which was one of the smallest on the planet. Much has changed for Earthlings since that time, allowing us to feel how narrow the confines of her view were. Even so, when compared to her contemporaries, my mother was an open-minded, pioneering spirit, and certainly ahead of her time.

  What follows is extracted from the record she left for me, her telling of one side of my heritage. She writes:

  Fifty years. Not a short time to human eyes, yet if a person dies at fifty, we say she or he has died young. Similarly, at its fiftieth birthday, a nation is still young. Very young. Its future is still being determined, and its past still being defined.

  In 2015, as Singapore turned fifty, one aspect of its identity, both past and future, was tied up in a particular role. An English-speaking nation with a Chinese majority, it often functioned as a launch pad for foreigners who either used it to educate their children in English in the safe confines of a traditional Chinese culture so that they could be sent on to Western universities, or—for those moving the other direction—to set up business in Asia, usually with an eye towards China.

  The role of launch pad was nothing new to Singapore, even if it was only with some reluctance that the role was played. Its location had always made it a strategic site on the shipping lanes, a feature particularly maximised in its colonial days. That period in Singapore’s history cemented its fate as a melting pot for cultures and languages, making it a celebrated bridge between worlds for several generations. When independence was thrust upon the island-state in 1965, the consistent direction in the early government’s policy decisions for the first several decades served to stamp out the flourishing of linguistic and cultural variety, creating a watered down mixture of limited language skills and narrow cultural bounds that was branded a more unified and cohesive “Singaporean identity”.

  Even so, its reputation as a crossroads continued to draw people from around the world to live, learn, trade and toil in Singapore—even if they only stayed long enough to launch new lives and careers on other shores. On the micro level, there was some grumbling among Singapore�
��s citizens. On the macro level, the influx of “foreign talents”—and their capital—was celebrated by those in power, and policy continued to embrace the role of launch pad, creating favourable conditions for foreigners to choose Singapore as a temporary abode at least.

  By the early 2030s, the situation in Asia had changed dramatically. China and India were no longer developing nations, but fully developed superpowers. These changes forced Singapore to adapt; not just keeping up, but thriving in this new environment where Asia set the pace for global development and the global economy, and was likewise the centre of development for all sorts of high-tech fields. By 2040, Singapore was among the world’s leaders in robotics and artificial intelligence technology. This expertise, coupled with its reputation for cultural and linguistic diversity, added further appeal for foreigners who already saw Singapore as an advantageous tax home. Once again, the population grew, culturally and linguistically diverse.

  As space on the island became further limited, Singapore turned its eyes to the stars. Aerospace exploration took centre stage in Asia’s continued push for superiority in every arena, and Singapore grew into one of the key centres for research and development in the field. Using its colonial history and reputation as a multicultural, multilingual, multiracial nation to its best advantage, Singapore sought to convince the world that it was uniquely suited to play a leading role in space exploration and colonisation. It would be sensitive to the dangers attached to the colonising process, given its own colonial history, and it would be more experienced in dealing with the Other, were Others to be found out there.

  For once, Singapore’s small size worked to its benefit. No other nation saw Singapore as a threat to its own agenda or superiority. As a result, many larger and more powerful nations were willing to relocate their research centres to Singapore in order to work with other competing nations. Singapore provided the perfect neutral ground for largescale international cooperation.

  In 2065, the SETI Centre moved its headquarters from the USA to Singapore, on the occasion of the nation’s one-hundredth birthday. The communication centres there connected research facilities all over the globe, as well as probes, satellites and space stations that had left the planet for good, searching for extra-terrestrial intelligent life. Platforms in the South Indian Ocean, some housing research facilities that were larger than the entire island-nation itself, fell under Singapore’s jurisdiction, as did several space stations and, eventually, an R&D and Communications Centre on the Moon. At last Singapore had more land, even if it was located farther away from its administrative centre than anyone had before imagined possible.

  As a proud Singaporean, I signed on as a volunteer when we first came into contact with life “out there”, lending my own linguistic skills to the work. When I left for the TransNeptune Region, I never imagined how profoundly I would be changed by the experience. I see now how naïve that was. We had found something so far beyond anything we had ever known before. How could I help but be changed?

  Those were some of the words my mother left for me— the words by which I know her, and know my Earthling heritage. In the memoriavision exhibits contained in this room, you will see my mother’s Earth recreated. If it seems unnecessarily focused on one small part of her home planet, it is because this is how we all see our worlds—at least until someone opens our eyes to wider truths. The other rooms in the Earth portion of the museum will give you a fuller picture of the planet’s history. But here, in this room, I invite you to see Earth as I first experienced it—through my mother’s telling of it.

  Enjoy your visit!

  A sweaty strand of hair fell over her eyes as her body quaked. She gasped, trying to breathe normally. She ground her fists into her eyes, but she could not stop the tears.

  How could this have happened to her? She was the concubine of Iskandar Shah, the Parameswara—maybe not the favourite concubine, but still part of the royal household. To be reduced to this—

  Her mind reeled as the scene that had just occurred washed over her again. They had dragged her into the square at the centre of the fortress, leering men surrounding her on every side. She knew what they were going to do. They were going to strip her and display her naked body in front of everyone. She had seen it done before, and she knew she could not respond with the proud exhibitionist pose the harlot had struck when the same punishment had last been meted out. While she admired that woman’s boldness, she couldn’t replicate it—she was no harlot, and she wouldn’t endure having strange men’s eyes on her.

  But neither did she want to cave in and weep, vainly attempting to cover herself. Things never turned out well for girls who reacted that way to their punishment.

  So that left her with only one choice. As soon as the man guarding her loosened the rope around her wrists, she ran. It didn’t keep her from being stripped—there were too many hands for that—but it did preserve the last drop of self-respect still left to her.

  She ran. The hands grabbed at her, pulling off her sarong, the lone covering she had been allowed as she had been marched out. They continued to grab at her flesh when no clothes were left, but she kept running. She made it out of the fortress, escaping those greedy, ugly hands.

  She ran as fast as she could, into the jungle. Without thinking, she ran straight to the spot where she and her brothers and sisters had always loved to play when they were small. It wouldn’t offer her safety for long—the mob would find its victim eventually, as it always did—but it was a familiar place, and this was where her legs had carried her, as though she were fated to die in the place that brought her back to childhood innocence.

  She sobbed as she lay on the jungle floor, naked. Why had they done this to her? She had done nothing wrong. Never had any man but her husband seen her body, much less touched it. Not until today, when her husband had ordered she be thrown to that pack of wolves with their filthy hands.

  She heard people moving through the jungle, heading towards her from the direction of the fortress. They were coming to finish the job, to complete her humiliation.

  She looked about desperately for a place to hide. Even though she knew it wasn’t enough, she scrambled as silently as possible towards a fallen log.

  “Adik.” It was her mother’s voice. Her mother would take care of her!

  “Ibu,” she whispered.

  “She’s there!” she heard her mother say to someone. Then to her, “Adik, I’m here. I’m coming.” The older woman stepped around a banyan tree, a bundle of clothes in her hands.

  Her mother rushed to her and embraced her. After she was covered, her mother turned and called to the people who had been with her. Two of her brothers stepped around the tree, following their mother’s path. They walked to her. “Come,” the eldest said, and reached over to help her up.

  She lay on her mat in the women’s room—her room during the years she’d spent in this house. She had not been here since she had been sent to Parameswara’s home four years earlier, but it still felt the same. She could almost believe she had only dreamt that she had been a part of the royal harem.

  Almost. Her father and brothers were talking in the outer room, reminding her that she really had suffered that humiliating treatment earlier in the day. She numbed her mind and lay mutely on her mat, listening to the voices as if in a dream.

  “Bapa, she says she did not do anything wrong. That there was no other man.”

  “I know.”

  “Why would she say that?”

  “Because it’s true.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Did you not hear what the Parameswara said in his edict? He said she had an affair with a Majapahit merchant. Where would she have met a Majapahit merchant while she was living in the Parameswara’s harem, under such close watch all day and all night?”

  “Yes, that’s true,” her brother said reluctantly. “But why did he do it then? Why disgrace her, and even bring shame on himself?”

  “It was not punishment for he
r. It was meant for me. I have had dealings with the Majapahit people, and he fears I am disloyal—that it is I who have adulterated myself. That is a bigger threat to him than the disloyalty of any common concubine in his house. Let there be no mistake about that.”

  “What should we do, Bapa?”

  “Do?”

  “Yes, of course. He disgraced our family!”

  “He did. And he is the Parameswara, so we do nothing. For now.”

  She lay on her mat for many more days. She did not wish to be seen, and no one asked for her. Her mother and her sisters cared for her, but no one spoke much. What was there to say, anyway?

  On the fifth afternoon she was home, she heard her father speaking to a stranger. As they exchanged pleasantries, she began to realise that the man was from Majapahit.

  “Are you sure?” the man asked her father.

  “I am sure. You get word to Wikramawardhana for me. If he attacks Singapura, I will support him.”

  It was weeks later that the Parameswara’s man came to their home and called for her father. She still had not left the women’s room, though she did occasionally rise from her mat and walk about within its confines.

  When her father returned from the meeting with the Parameswara, her brother asked what had happened. She froze as she listened for a hint of her fate in the conversation between the two men.

  “You know, son. There was an attack from Majapahit. They sent ships, but there’s nothing to worry about. The fortress is strong. No foreign troops will bring it down.”

  “Why did the Parameswara want to see you?”

  “To find out if I was involved, if I had plotted with Majapahit.”

  “And did you?”

  “Of course not!”

  There was a moment of silence, then her father said, “You may not believe me, but the Parameswara does. He even signalled his trust in me by giving me a new post. I am in charge of the royal store houses, from today onward.”