Two nights before, the Chinese children in the NIT had received an email from the US president. Its contents were simple:
I really, really want to visit your country. I would like to go immediately. May I?
Best Regards,
Frances Benes
President of the United States of America
When the motorcade reached the airport, a flashing silvery-white dot was already circling overhead. The children in the control tower signaled permission to land, and the dot rapidly increased in size. Ten minutes later, Air Force One touched down. Due to the young pilot’s limited technical abilities, the big metal object bounced back up again a few times before landing for good, and then traced a dangerous S curve right up to the end of the runway, where it finally stopped.
The hatch opened. A few small heads poked out and watched anxiously as the airstair was brought in from a few hundred meters away. Once it was in place, the first to exit was a pretty blond-haired girl whom Huahua recognized from TV news as the new president. Right behind her were a few senior officials he didn’t know. They crowded into each other, jostling into Benes so that she nearly tripped. She righted herself and turned back to them to shake a fist and shout a few words of warning, and they slowed down.
The president continued a graceful descent, keeping a clear picture in mind of the history she was making. At the two-thirds point, a gaggle of reporters with cameras strapped round their necks pushed their way out of the hatch and down the stairs, overtaking the officials. The fastest made it to the ground a step ahead of Benes and turned around to train his lens on her. She erupted into fury, bounded down the rest of the stairs to grab the photographer by the collar, and started shouting angrily at him.
The interpreter told Huahua, “The president says that she was supposed to descend first, so that she would be the first American to set foot in China in the Supernova Era. But the reporter stole it from her. The reporter is arguing that he only came down first so he could get a photo of her, but the president is calling him a jackass, and says that she made it very clear aboard the plane that no one was to go in front of her. They were already being privileged; when Nixon came to China he went down by himself, and when he was shaking hands with Zhou Enlai everyone else was still stuck on board. That reporter is the AP’s old pro in the White House and he’s furious. He’s saying, ‘Who the hell are you? You’ll be gone in four years, but we’ll still be in the White House!’ Now the president is saying, ‘Go to hell. I’ll still be there in four years. I’ll be there in eight. I’ll be there forever!’”
Now all the children had come down the stairs, and the argument had turned physical. The president extracted herself from the scrum and strode over to greet the Chinese children.
“I am overjoyed to meet you on the cusp of the rebirth of human history. Wow, your face is covered in frostbite scars. They’re medals of valor! Do you know that in America there are lots of special beauty salons now that give kids frostbite scars using dry ice? They do good business!” Benes said to Huahua through the translator.
“I wish I didn’t have these medals,” Huahua said. “They itch like crazy, and I think they’ll be that way every winter. I really don’t want to have to relive that time in Antarctica over and over. Our two countries suffered such immense trouble and loss due to the World Games.”
“That’s why we’re here. We have a new game!” Benes said with a smile and a bow. Then she looked into the distance. “Where’s the Great Wall?” And around her. “And the pandas?” Clearly she imagined that she would see the Great Wall as soon as she set foot in Chinese territory, and that pandas would be as common as dogs are in the US.
Then a thought struck her. Glancing about again, she asked, “Where’s Vaughn?”
It took a few kids shouting back at the plane for a while before Chester Vaughn emerged. He came down slowly, his arms cradling a thick book. “He’s always reading,” she said to Huahua. “He didn’t even realize we’d landed.”
Shaking his hand, Huahua glanced at the book. It was a volume of Mao Zedong’s commentary on the Twenty-Four Histories, a thread-bound Chinese edition.
Vaughn’s eyes were half closed, as if he were in a trance, and he took a deep breath. “It’s the air I’ve dreamed about,” he said.
“What?” Benes asked in wonder.
“The air of antiquity,” he said, practically inaudible to anyone but himself. Then he stood silently in place, detached, taking everything in.
NEW WORLD GAMES
Warily, the children entered the solemn, mysterious hall. Deep red carpets, snow-white armchairs arranged into a large semicircle, and behind them elegant embroidered silk screens and a magnificent cloisonné vase the size of a person… all of it was spotless, and they passed through air so still it felt like swimming through the phantoms of history.
“Wow. This is China’s White House?” Benes asked softly. Behind her, two other American kids were carrying a roll of paper, a full two meters long, and they set it gingerly on the carpet as the Chinese children looked on curiously.
“That’s right,” Xiaomeng said. “The adults used to receive foreign heads of state here. You know, this is our first time in here, too.”
“Your first time? Why didn’t you come before? You’re the supreme leaders of the country, so surely it ought to be your workplace.”
“We work in the NIT. I was kind of scared to come here, since it seemed like as soon as I came in I’d have all those pairs of adult eyes watching us from some place, like they were saying, ‘Children, you’re being stupid!’”
“I felt the same way my first time in the White House, but I got over it eventually. I don’t like adults watching us. Still, I’m really grateful that you’ve brought us here, because a historic meeting should be held in an exceptional setting so that we won’t feel embarrassed when it is written into the history books.”
The children sat down in the armchairs.
“Now we’ll explain the new world games,” Benes said.
Huahua shook his head. “You can’t simply place world games however you please. We’ve done them once with your idea, so now it’s time to listen to someone else’s.”
“Naturally we won’t force anyone to play our game. You can come up with your own rules, and we’ll use whichever is more fun. Do you have anything new?”
Xiaomeng shook her head. “We’ve got too many other things to do right now. The end of the Antarctic Games obliterated the children’s dream for a new world on that continent, and now a dark mood of loss and disappointment has descended upon all of society. There are signs of a reemergence of Candytown.”
Benes nodded. “It’s the same in the US. The streets are ringing with gunfire again, since violent games are the only way for kids to find thrills. Or any meaning in life at all. We really need a new game to give them some kind of spiritual support, so they can escape the current danger.”
“Very well,” Huahua said. “Then let’s discuss your new game.”
When Xiaomeng and Specs nodded their agreement, Benes’s excitement bubbled over. “Thank you! Thank you! Now, before we get to the idea of the game, I’d first advise you to mentally prepare yourselves for the shock of the unimaginable. We may have a far better tolerance for that than the adults, and our tolerance has only been strengthened by the supernova, but the shock we’re preparing will still be a challenge for our Chinese friends.”
“You’re bluffing,” Huahua said dismissively.
“You’ll find that out soon enough.”