Aye I Longwhite: An American-Chinese teenager’s adventure in the Middle Kingdom and beyond (10 page)

I threw on my backpack, with the top open so I could easily hear
Willstin’s directions.  Chang Lin followed, all cheerful.  I guess the 20 minute nap was enough for her.  If anything, my dozing off made me even more tired.  Although Willstin was quite light, I felt like I was carrying a fully-loaded army regulation backpack.  And that I had already been on a 10 mile march.

We went through security without issue, though there were cameras everywhere.  The security robots didn’t even look at Willstin; he might’ve just been my doll.  But my palms were getting sweaty.  We were walking up to immigration.

“Passports.”  Chang Lin and I had gone up to the same window.  We handed the cards over along with our travel authorization papers.  The security robot scanned the chops slowly.  I could feel sweat beading on my forehead.  “Officer,” the robot said, “Can you come over here please?”

The smartly dressed officer stepped down from his glass-enclosed podium and came over to our station.  “What is it, security #17?”
  I considered running right there and then.

“Sir, their passports are valid.  Their travel authorization is in order with the official chop from their school.  Protocol requires me to get human verification on their reason for travel.” Security #17 recited.

The human officer turned to us, “So why are you going to the US?”

I wanted to say, “Read the damn travel authorization
,” but I didn’t think that would help our situation.  I looked at Chang Lin, letting her speak in Chinese.

Chang Lin said, “We are going to a Robotics competition sir.” I turned my backpack around and unzipped it, so the officer could see Willstin.  Thankfully, he played dead. 

The officer looked at our robot skeptically.  “That’s a robot?  Looks like a doll to me.”

“Yes sir, a dancing robot, we can show you,” I improvised.

The officer ignored me, and asked Chang Lin, “Why bother with a US competition?  And why are you going with this foreign devil?” 

I wanted to scream, “Hey, I’m right here.  And I understand Chinese!  I just spoke to you in Chinese!”

Chang Lin didn’t break a sweat.  “We’re going to this competition as a warm up to the China one.  I’m going with this guy because he’s the engineer.”  She said that last word with a sneer.  “Somebody’s got to do the actual building of the robot when I’m working on the dance algorithms.”

The officer was satisfied with that answer, the proper order in the world re-established.  “Huh.  Well, ok, go show those foreign devils how we build robots in
Zhong Guo.”

I zipped up my backpack and was about to reach for our passports, when the officer said, “Wait. 
Why are you traveling so late all alone?”

I was stunned and could only utter a few “ums.”  But Chang Lin stepped up, “Because it’s the last flight out today.  The competition starts tomorrow.  And then we return immediately after.  I want to minimize my time in the US.”  She was really playing up the discrimination card, and the officer was eating it up.
  I really hoped Willstin heard and was booking our return flight as we spoke, in case the officer checked.

“I understand,” the officer nodded.  “Last formality and you’re on your way.  I just have to check with your parents.”

I stuttered, “Umm, my mom’s in an important government meeting in Beijing.  With Minister Li.  Ministry of Education.”

Even Chang Lin looked scared.  She managed a small, “Ok.  But I think they’re asleep right now…”

But the officer had turned away already and returned to his glass cage.  I whispered to Willstin, “Do something!”

“I’m
working on it,” Willstin replied.  “It should be fine as long as he doesn’t ask anything hard.  I’m splicing in recent videos of Chang Lin’s parents, extrapolating for a dark room in the middle of the night.  It should be fine.”  Willstin’s voice didn’t sound like it would be fine.  I guess he had learned to lie, or at least finesse the truth, but hadn’t yet managed to control the emotions module.

“Great.  What do we do?”  I was panicking.

“Sit tight.  There’s nothing to do except pray.”  I didn’t know AI was religious.

After a few agonizing minutes, the officer returned.  He glared angrily at me, “Your mom is not accessible at the moment.”  I tried not to look victorious with an “I told you so” attitude.  I looked down, repentantly.  His glare continued a couple of seconds longer, as if his eyes could give me a dressing down. 

Then, he turned his attention to Chang Lin.  He might as well have been a different person.  He smiled and said, “Your parents are very nice.  They are concerned about your travel and asked that I make sure you were safe, considering your…company.”  He glared at me again.  “I promised to make sure you at least got to the plane safely.  Then the airline crew can take over.”

Chang Lin smiled sweetly, “Thank you sir.”  She creased her brows slightly, “This is my first trip to the hinterlands.  I am a little nervous.”

The officer’s protective training kicked in.  “Don’t you worry, little sis.  Officer Chang is here to save you!”

“Oh thank you, Officer Chang.  You are too kind.”  I felt sick at her syrupy tone.

“Security #17, let them pass!”

Security #17 bowed slightly, handed back our paperwork, and dismissed us with, “Next.”

As we cleared security and immigrations, I asked Willstin what had happened.  He explained that Chang Lin’s parents, from a quite prominent Shanghai family, had promised to mention Officer Chang’s name to the Head of Shanghai Police for a job well done taking care of their precious daughter.

W
hen he tried to call my mom, he got the “out of office for important government business” message.  He showed some initiative by calling the Beijing security branch, but got rebuked for bothering the capital’s officers with such a trivial issue.  Couldn’t he see the official Ministry of Education chop at the bottom of his mom’s out of office message?  Willstin chuckled that he didn’t even have to interfere with that memo, which was legitimate.  No wonder Officer Chang was so angry with me.  He had lost face in front of his superiors.  I almost felt bad for him.  Almost.

"Go West, young man"

---
 
American
 
author 
Horace Greeley
,
related to the then-popular concept of 
Manifest Destiny
.

“
A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.
”

---
Lao Tzu

We boarded the plane.

It’s really a hybrid jet and rocket.  It lifts off vertically like a rocket to quickly get into sub-orbital space.  Then it lands like a jet, horizontally on tires.  The best – or worst, depending on your
body – was the weightlessness part at the apex of the trajectory, when we entered sub-space. 

Most people feel ‘space sickness’ – nausea, sweating, and the grossest part in a plane, vomiting.
  During the safety briefing, a fair amount of time was telling the passengers to keep the puke bag nearby.  They didn’t call it the puke bag, but that’s what I called it.  On my flight over, a lady started barfing.  She was in such bad shape, she couldn’t get the bag up to her mouth.  Damn, it was disgusting seeing particles of her vomit floating around the cabin until we hit re-entry and gravity pulled the pieces down – on whoever happened to be under them.  It was so gross, I almost hurled myself, even though I wasn’t space sick.

I started sharing the story with Chang Lin, but surprisingly she didn’t want to hear
about it.  I stuffed Willstin in the overhead bin, pretending to tuck him in for the night.  “Good night, sleep tight, see you in the morning light baby,” I cooed.  Maybe it was just the cabin lighting, but I think Willstin glowered at me, his eyes changing to a cooler shade of blue. 

Showing off my vast experience in sub-orbital flights, I said, “Don’t worry Chang Lin. These flights are super safe.  The initial blast off is a bit heavy
, about 2-3 Gs, but that only lasts for a few minutes.”

She patted my arm.  “I’m not worried, Austin.  I’m looking forward to this.  It’s like an awesome roller coaster ride.  But if you’re scared, you can hold my hand.”

I jerked back, “Me, scared?  Come on, I’m the astronaut here.”  Technically, my first trip into sub-orbital space qualified me as an astronaut.

I was starving by now, but the policy was not to feed the passengers until after free fall.  Based on my first experience, I decided that was a great plan.

The preparations took a while.  Chang Lin and I whispered about how crazy this whole thing was, how we hoped we didn’t get into too much trouble, whether we really believed Willstin was a true AI, how impossible that was, etc.  I told her about Yoda as well.  We speculated on what would happen in the US, but we really had no idea.  She wondered about Willy, and I told her what Willstin had explained to me.  We spent some time theorizing about our “luck” attribute and sharing notes on our lab tests.  By launch time, we were none the wiser, but at least we felt better that we were equally confused.

The captain interrupted our guesswork.  “
One minute to launch…30 seconds…10…9…8…7…”  The whole cabin counted down with him, even the old folks, and we screamed during blast off, as if we were entering the roller coaster’s big drop.  I would’ve raised my hands over my head if the seat belts didn’t constrict my movement.  And anyway the G’s shoved me down into my seat.

It was an awesome few minutes.  The adrenaline rush made me forget my fear and anxiety that had been gnawing at me the whole night, even with my tranquilizer shot.  I realized Chang Lin didn’t get a tranquilizer shot, and she was holding it together remarkably well.  I vowed to get a grip of myself and not show my fear.  “Go with the flow.  It’s the journey, not the destination.  This is an adventure. 
Power of now.”  I repeated these thoughts in my head like a mantra.

We floated past the weightlessness part of the trip without issue, meaning nobody blew chunks into the cabin.  I felt a little bit queasy this time, but Chang Lin really enjoyed it.  “I
wish we could unbuckle ourselves and float around the cabin,” she enthused. 

I didn’t really share that thought, but I said, “Yeah, me too!”

We re-entered earth’s atmosphere, bumping a bit on the way in.  I kept expecting the cabin’s temperature to heat up, seeing the red glow stream by our windows, but the insulation and cooling systems were up to the task.  Finally, the seatbelt sign turned off, and the captain told us we were on our hour-long gliding descent to our destination.

The air host robots came around, offering drinks
that poured right out of their fingertips into our cups.  I wanted to see if I could confuse it by asking it to mix all the sodas together.  It said, “Absolutely, Mr. Austin, coming right up.”  I was amused that he called me Mr. Austin.  I was not amused with the concoction I got, a mixture of 16 different sodas that the robot could create on the fly with his large library of flavors.

“Serves you right for picking on the poor robot,” Chang Lin chastised me.

“It should’ve protected me and warned me that it wouldn’t taste good,” I protested.

“Protect you from your own idiocy?  I think that requires strong AI.”

“Touché.”  For some reason, saying stuff in French sounded cooler, more sophisticated.  I was trying to figure out how to use “c’est la vie,” “coup d’état” and “fait accompli” in my sentences when the air host robot returned with our meals.

“Qing man yong.”
  I always thought this phrase was funny.  Waiters always say this when they hand you your food in China.  It means, “Please enjoy your meal,” but the direct translation is, “Please use slowly,” or a little less literally, “Take your time with your meal.”  It must’ve come down from some Chinese belief that eating your food slowly is good for digestion.  The Chinese have all sort of crazy beliefs around eating and drinking, like not drinking cold drinks on a hot day.  Anyway, why I find this phrase funny is because have you ever seen the Chinese when the food is put in front of them?  They eat as if they’ve been starved for days and the airplane food is the most delicious meal they’ve ever had.  They shovel it in as if it were a speed eating contest.  They inhale it.  I don’t think the Chinese note the irony of the phrase since they don’t do the direct translation, like I do.  I guess it’s like not answering “How do you do?” with a literal response of how we are actually feeling at the moment.

Chang Lin was diving into her food, her chopsticks whirling like a ninja showing off her
nunchuck skills.  She glanced over at me, “You’re not hungry?” she asked through her stuffed mouth.  Not speaking with your mouth full is not an etiquette forced upon children in China.  It almost seems encouraged, if we are to follow the example of adults.

“No, no, I’m starving.”  I started into my food, with a little less gusto than the passengers around me.  I didn’t completely
throw out everything I had learned as proper and polite in my first 15 years of life in the US.  I still said, “Bless you” when someone sneezed, even though there’s no equivalent in Chinese.  Chinese just don’t say anything when someone sneezes.  I just find that weird.

After the meal, I conked out.  I’m not sure if I even put my chopsticks down before I blacked out.  The front tire of the plane hitting the runway jarred me awake.  I gasped, with my heart hammering.  I wiped the drool from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand.  I squinted at the glaring sunlight pouring in
through the window.

“Welcome to Las Vegas.”

--------------

We only slept an hour or so, but the bright light of the Nevada desert helped reset our circadian clock.  I held back the desire to get on my knees to kiss the US soil; I was
back home, where everyone was a barbarian like me.

Ch
ang Lin’s eyes were as wide as frisbees.  “I can’t believe I’m really here,” she repeated over and over to herself.  If she were a robot, I would’ve rebooted her, thinking she was caught in a recursive loop.  “There’s so much
space
…Where are all the people?  Why are they all so
big
?”  She would utter these rhetorical questions as culture shock seeped in.  I was in a bit of reverse culture shock as well.  Yeah, it did look really empty, as if Vegas were a ghost town, compared to almost any city in China.  And yeah, the people looked like they had a bunch of extra air pumped into them.

We were first in line at immigration, coming off our first class berths.  The customs officer – a real human being in each booth!
– glanced lazily at my passport, mumbled “China heh, lucky boy,” and stamped me through without another word.

I waited on the other side as Chang Lin stepped up.  Suddenly the customs officer’s entire demeanor changed. 
“Oh, good morning young lady.  Uh, ni hao,” the officer showing off his tiny bit of mandarin.

“Ni
hao,” Chang Lin replied courteously. 

“Let’s see,” said the officer as he flipped thr
ough the pages on his screen, “From Shanghai.  Visiting our fair country for…” pausing as he skimmed the travel authorization, “for a Robotics competition, right here in our very own Vegas…today.  Oh my, well let’s get you through this red tape and on your way to winning a little trophy to bring back home, all right?”

“Ok,” Chang Lin smiled brightly.

“Wow, your English is so good,” the officer gushed, based on her pronunciation of 2 letters.  “Well, here you go. Everything’s in order.  Good luck!”  He almost saluted her as she left.

“He was so nice.  Is everyone that nice in the US?”

“Yeah, everyone,” I said jealously.  She didn’t notice my sarcasm.

“I love this country already!”  She took a deep breath, as if our air was any fresher than China’s.  “Ok, let’s go.”

I started heading towards the bus line, but Willstin said, “To the taxi line.  Busses are too slow and too public.”

By instinct, based on the drilling of the importance of money from my mom since forever, I said, “But taxis are too expensive!”
  Chang Lin just looked at me.  “Oh yeah, we have Willstin’s bottomless wallet,” I muttered weakly, and we changed course towards the taxi line. 

There was no
line at all for the passengers and a huge backup of taxis.  All the taxi drivers – humans again! – looked hungrily at us as we walked up.  In theory, the first cab is supposed to get the passenger, but we were money personified.  All the cabbies started yelling, pitching their services. 

“Over here, my taxi’s only got 300,000 miles on it.  It’s practically brand new!” 

“I got the latest rave beats mixed by DJ Hsia-ck!”  It was pronounced like “shock.” 

“I’ll give you a free tour of Vegas, no charge!” 

But we ignored them all and piled into the first taxi.  The driver smiled at us and, before getting into the driver seat, gave a rude gesture to the rest of his fellow drivers. 

The “driver” actually didn’t drive; it was just a name from the past.  He was really like a tour guide, someone to help with the controls if anyone was really too ignorant to know how to communicate with the robot car.  Sometimes, a tourist’s accent was too thick for the older taxis to understand, and so the human “driver” would have to translate, not that the American drivers were any better at understanding
the foreigners.  My Dad had once said it was the “unions” who lobbied the lawmakers to make it a requirement to still have a human driver for taxis as a concession to agreeing to robotic cars replacing human-driven autos. 

My mind is still a bit boggled that humans
once manually drove these metal shells, granted at slower speeds than today, but still fast enough to smash you to bits if you made the smallest error.  Supposedly, in the early 21
st
century, a million people died every year from road traffic injuries.  Even if you were a good driver, how could you insure that all the other drivers out there were good as well?  Man, am I glad I didn’t live in those dark ages, even if we were now living under China’s “protection” and a lot of the luxuries of that wasteful period are unavailable anymore. 

We didn’t have to tell the driver anything. Willstin already had the destination programmed in.  The driver commented, “
Oooh, The Beijing.  Newest hotel on the strip.”  You could tell he meant, “The most expensive.”  “Funny thing is that it wasn’t the Chinese who built it.  They own everything else on the strip, but not The Beijing.”

I could tell he was dying to tell us who built it, so I played into it. 
“Who built The Beijing?”

“Our old Middle East buddies, that’s who!  They had more money than God but their oil fields were running out.  They ran around the world and bought everything they could in the most expensive cities in the world.  Unfortunately, the world collapsed on them, so all those bets failed.  In the end, you have to make money the old fashioned way.”

“By working hard?” I asked innocently, letting the driver have his fun.

“No!  By taking advantage of
human sins!  Gambling.  Drinking.  F…”  I give him credit for stopping himself, as his eyes flicked to the rear view mirror to look at Chang Lin.  “Uh, fine food,” he self-censored.