Intricate Mirrors

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Island of the AncestorIn the glare of the spotlight, Daniel Zisuey Eng stood on the high dais in the Temple of Eng Zisuey, wearing his traditional black Chinese robe of embroidered silk and a white undertunic. Now at the end of the ritual, he watched the crowd standing far below him. The sweet smoke of incense wafted past, mixed with acrid smoke left by firecrackers set off earlier.

“Farewell,” Daniel’s voice boomed in English over the speakers.

From the traditional Chinese orchestra, the fast banging of a light-weight gong built to a crescendo. Those below gazed up at Daniel in awe, curiosity, or skepticism, the majority of them also surnamed Eng. A few shouted insults; others called entreaties, even prayers. He calmly remained behind the altar of carved teak that was now covered with sacrifices of cash, pledges, jewelry, even children’s toys.

“Yi lu ping an,” Daniel intoned in Mandarin, wishing the crowd a peaceful journey. “Yet lu ping on,” he repeated in Cantonese.

As always, Daniel waited for a line of acolytes to form below the dais so no one could jump the rail and climb up to him. At the gong’s final crash, the spotlight went out, signaling the end of the ritual. In the sudden darkness, he whirled and strode off the dais, stage right.

Twenty-eight years old, Daniel had been worshipped as a spirit reborn for nearly all of his adult life.

*****

“’Nother day, ’nother dollar, Danny-boy.” At Daniel’s dressing-room door, Eric Leitch, the tall, brawny Chief of Personal Security, smirked at Daniel as he spoke in his Aussie-accented English, his sun-bleached flat-top standing stiff over his broad, square-jawed face. “The acolytes are escortin’ the crowd out in order; A-Okay, green lights all ’round.”

“Good,” Daniel muttered in annoyance, palming the doorplate to slip inside and close it again. He had no liking for his blue-uniformed Personal Security bodyguards. Even the acolytes were guards who wore traditional robes over their uniforms during the rituals.

Chief Leitch spent most of his shift watching the temple grounds on monitors in his office. His unit worked for Mr. Eng Sen, as Daniel did–his nominal grandfather, a tycoon whose business empire owned Eng Zhouxian Do, this island near Hong Kong.

The light came on in Daniel’s lavish dressing room at the rear of the temple—”backstage,” in the jargon of his UCLA major in Theater Arts. A glass door led to a balcony overlooking the rocky, wooded slope down the mountain. Far below, the brightly colored lights of the island’s shops, restaurants, hotels, and amusement park sparkled near the docks; they remained open past midnight.

A man’s voice, dry with age, came on the room’s speakers in Cantonese. “Ah Suey, are you there? Keep your stage makeup on.”

“I’m here,” Daniel answered in the same language, recognizing Eng Sen’s voice. “Screen on.” He flopped down in a tan leather-covered recliner, tired as always from the evening’s effort.

The far wall brightened with the video image of the man he called “Grandfather.” Seventy-two years old, Eng Sen wore his white hair short and had age spots removed by laser treatment. His bland, roundish face smiled with cold courtesy from a high, black leather chair; sunlight backlit him like a halo. “I’m calling from my London office, Ah Suey. Remain in costume; I’ve instructed a new assistant of mine to bring visitors to you even as we speak.”

“A major sacrifice, Grandfather?” Daniel fought to keep disgust out of his voice as he pushed up from the recliner.

“My assistant, Meilin Lei, will handle the financial matters.”

“I know what to do, Grandfather,” Daniel said obediently.

“I know you do. By the way, I’ll be coming by the island in two days for routine meetings. See you then.” Eng Sen disconnected.

Leitch came on the screen. “A Meilin Lei and guests to see ya.”

Daniel palmed a plate set into the wall to open the door. He assumed the erect, formal posture he used on the dais. “Welcome.”

A young Chinese woman dressed in a dark blue suit with a short skirt entered first. The light shone on her black hair, styled fashionably short. “Good evening, Wu Zisui,” she said in Mandarin, smiling prettily as she used that dialect’s pronunciation of his name. “I’m Meilin Lei and these are guests who have come to see you.”

A family of three joined them. The two adults were slender and well-dressed. A skinny, gawky boy also in a suit came last.

“Ni hau,” said the man in Mandarin politely.

“Hau.” Daniel spoke in the same dialect, bowing in the old way. “I’m fine. You are well? I am Wu Zisui.” He palmed the door shut.

“I am Wu Jixian...my wife Wu Xiao and our laoda, Dawei.”

“Your eldest son.” Daniel understood that these were members of his far-reaching clan. He turned to Dawei. “How old are you?”

“Twelve,” Dawei said courteously.

“Mr. Wu has made a considerable donation to the Temple Fund,” said Meilin. “Their daughter Xiaoping is dying of an inoperable brain tumor. I explained that you asked to meet them.”

“I am very sorry to hear about your daughter.” Daniel felt his stomach turn cold. “Please tell me more about her.”

“She is ten,” Mr. Wu said nervously, glancing from Daniel to Meilin. “She...she’s only a little girl. And very well-behaved.”

“All the spirits will be kind.” Daniel hoped it was not a lie.

“Are you really Wu Zisui?” Dawei asked suddenly. “How can you be someone who lived in ancient times?”

Aghast, his mother grabbed his arm and shushed him with quick whispers. “Please forgive us his impertinence,” she begged Daniel.

“Wu Zisui lived about two and a half millennia ago,” said Daniel calmly. “His tomb was found thirty years ago. A lab used DNA from his remains to create me. A branch of our clan in California raised me.”

Dawei eyed him carefully, too chastised to ask more questions.

“If...if you can help, we pray to you for, for—” The children’s mother shook her head, unable to say more as she began to weep.

“I will do all I can for Xiaoping,” Daniel said formally.

“Thank you.” Mr. Wu nodded, taking his wife’s shoulders, and turned away. “Thank you for your time. Dawei, come.”

“You are welcome.” Daniel palmed the door open for them.

At the door, Meilin spoke in Chinese-accented English. “Chief, would you have a security detail escort them to the gate for me?”

“Why, sure,” said Leitch, startled. “I can take ’em m’self.” Meilin returned to Daniel. “I just want to introduce myself.”

Daniel palmed the door shut and shook hands with her, his tone suddenly bitter. “So—you see what I really do for a living.”

“The Wu family and I attended the ritual. It’s very impressive.”

“We put on a show; that’s all.” Self-loathing twisted his voice.

“People in the Wu Clan come from all over the world to make sacrifices to the living twin of their common ancestor.”

“And they think I can work miracles for them.”

Her mouth dropped open slightly in surprise. “Well, it was very kind of you to invite our guests to meet you privately tonight.”

Daniel decided to let her learn about her new boss over time. “Most families don’t know of a single common ancestor, except maybe for some European aristocracy. What do you know about Wu Zisui?”

“I read the classical play about him; it’s for sale all over the island. He was a statesman who angered his king. When the king ordered the entire clan killed, only Wu Zisui escaped to father another generation.”

“That’s it. I live with the story every day of my life.”

“And I read the book detailing how Mr. Eng had his own Eng Research Bio-Labs use Wu Zisui’s cellular material to create you.”

“It’s public knowledge. None of it makes me a miracle worker.”

She paused. “Well, I...I won’t take up more of your time.”

“Thank you for coming.”

Daniel palmed the door open again. As soon as she had left, he closed the door again, thinking, “I was bought and sold—not conceived.”

*****

Deep in a dream, he strode down a long palace hallway in silken robes, the ends of his sash flying out behind him. Fear deep in his gut drove him, looking in terror for the king’s sword-wielding guards at every corner. He slipped into shadows down a small corridor, with the thumping of many footsteps approaching him faster all the time.

In a sudden dream-shift, he ran among trees, with leaves and branches slapping his face. He tripped over tree roots and stumbled, his robes snagged on clutching twigs. Angry men shouted behind him and the blaze from their torches threw sharp shadows into the forest on all sides.

He screamed–and awakened, soaked in sweat, lying in bed.

Sitting up, Daniel blinked in the silent darkness and stared out the plate glass window of his bedroom, gasping for breath.

He lived in a house built into the mountain peak, hidden in the trees behind the temple. Connected to his dressing room by an underground hallway, the house was visited only by Personal Security on patrol. It was not marked on tourist maps of the island.

Most of the lights down by the distant shore had gone out; only the tiny streetlights and security lights still shone far below. At false dawn, sensors would close his heavy drapes, but for now he gazed into the near-void, still feeling the silken robes and clawing tree branches of his dream–and the paralyzing fear as he ran.

Daniel had dreamed this dream before, off and on for most of his life, but lately more often than ever. He thought again of the girl with the brain tumor, that little Xiaoping, and guilt swept over him. Collapsing again on his satin sheets, he began to cry.

*****

In the morning, Daniel ate in his breakfast nook of tinted glass, overlooking the pine-covered slope.

Down through the needled branches, he saw the white wakes in the ocean waves left by jetfoils ferrying tourists to Hong Kong. Yachts stood aloof from those routes. Tourists played on jet skis, sailboats, and surfboards while swimmers stroked by the beach and families waded with children in the breakers.

Sleepy from his restless night, he felt totally alone.

Daniel showered, shaved, and dressed in regular clothes before entering his home office. Distraught and weary, he sat down at his desk. He hated asking his old college friend Mark Stern for favors. Because he had introduced Mark as a microbiologist to his grandfather’s lab, Daniel knew Mark felt obligated to him; Daniel avoided taking advantage of that. Today, however, having a friend at the lab that had created him meant he could avoid red tape–and his grandfather’s notice. Clearing his throat, he instructed his computer to call Eng Research Bio-Labs in Houston.

“Hey, Dan—how’s the California boy?” Mark grinned on the small desk video screen, wearing a white lab coat and pulling off plastic gloves. Tall and slender, he wore a brown beard that filled out his narrow face. “You caught me working late. What’s up? You coming to visit?”

“Mark, do you remember those nasty dreams I’ve always had?”

“How could I forget?” Mark’s demeanor turned serious. “You woke up screaming in our dorm room once every few months. Half the UCLA campus buzzed about it. Have they stopped, Dan?”

“No, they haven’t. It’s worse than ever.” Daniel sighed, rubbing his aching forehead. “I always just figured they were stress-related. Lots of people have recurring dreams. But they’re more detailed than ever.”

“They’re changing? After all these years?”

“Yeah, and I’ll get to the point. I know how I was created–taking the old DNA and putting it into an empty cell sac, then growing me as a lab embryo. So could I have gotten the original guy’s memories? Any at all?”

“I don’t see how. Your origin came from his hair; you’d need a lot of his brain cells to form a memory of any complexity. And all the other people publicly known to be created this way are younger than you, so the literature about this is limited. I can look into it for you, though.”

“Can you get to it soon? I’m really anxious to know.”

“Sure, Dan. I’ll get right to my computer.”

“Thanks. And, while you’re at it ....”