Philippine Speculative Fiction 9 Page 10
After a brief temptation to return to the elaborate designs on the spinning cylinders, Cleric Filemon turned his attention to the straight, drab, rectangular spine that held the cylinders together. Its uncharacteristically mundane nature now called out to him for greater scrutiny. It seemed wider than it needed to be, but that supported the theory that it had been engineered to block the light of the solar system’s lone star—had the Murderer of Faith anticipated that the system would eventually fall to the Universal Church and that the system’s star would be successfully reclaimed? One would have to assume so, given the extensive contingencies that the reconsecration teams had run afoul of over the past decades.
And yet all that could be overcome by a fleet of space tugs, blessed by no less than High Cardinal Feng, with magnetic grapplers at key stress points. None of the teams would be sent in close enough to be endangered by anything so pedestrian as a hidden energy beam weaponry or kinetic kill missile batteries; anyway, none had been detected.
Cleric Filemon Martinez gingerly touched the edges of the three-dimensional schematic on his screen, and rotated the space station spine until he could look right down the length of it. There were three equidistant bulges, barely noticeable, along the center. Tapping the bulges, he read and questioned the annotations. Three additional fusion power plants? An inelegant solution to the standard two, which were normally placed at either side of the single O’Neill cylinder. Regulus Three did have potential bottlenecks in energy distribution, but placement in the cylinders themselves would have been the obvious solution.
Zooming out of the schematic, Cleric Filemon requested an energy systems overlay on the image of Regulus Three. Six bright spheres, one in every cylinder, and one in each of the spinal bulges reaffirmed and compounded his suspicions. But just as his thoughts turned to possible causes for extravagant redundancy in power, he caught a glimpse of the space station’s total estimated mass, which in turned sparked a blessed leap in logic.
Black holes. Like stars, these naturally occurring fellstars were once thought, before the Council of Pangarion, to be spiritually inert aspects of creation. But when the Revelations of St. Malachi were finally accepted into the Universal Gospel, black holes were seen for what they were: perfect prisons of dark intelligences a magnitude greater than any of the dark spirits encountered in the spaces between stars. They called out to blessed light, and devoured it—along with any unfortunate souls trapped in its light or matter.
Martillo had once written about introducing flaws into these prisons, but had found the efforts too hazardous and costly—which had spurred his research into artificial black holes.
There had to be one on Regulus Three. The middle bulge probably housed it, and the staggering power requirements to maintain the magnetic bottle were almost certainly provided by the two adjacent fusion plants.
The extra mass would make rotation of the space station slightly more difficult, but the warping, corrupting effects of an active fellstar would put everyone involved in spiritual peril. Just being this close would have already brought various stresses and anxieties to the fore.
Cleric Filemon Martinez looked up at the time, saw that he was late—three urgent summons to the main hall had already reached his console.
He touched his screen, circled all his relevant files and findings, and dumped them into the blessed terabyte pouch that Edin—St. Edinha—had given to him upon his ordination. Gathering his gear into his satchel, he stepped out of his chambers, to warn his peers about the increased danger that they all faced: the birth of a new fellstar.
Once enough of them were in position, he was certain, power to the black hole’s housing would fail. It would warp, slow, and freeze time for all light and matter within its event horizon, and pull everything else subject to its gravitic call into its ravenous maw. Therefore, preventing that from happening had to be their first priority—a duo of reconsecrant teams would be dispatched to both fusion plants to do just that.
He himself would lead a third reconsecrant team directly into the housing of the fellstar, and begin the Rite of High Reconsecration—a rite he was almost certain he would not be able to see to the end in such close proximity to infernal influences. Perhaps one or more members of his team would succumb to illusions and phantasms of the mind that would lead to a catastrophic error in procedure; perhaps he would finally fall prey to a heart attack or a seizure or a stroke that would paralyze him as he watched his team members perish before his eyes; or perhaps a hidden trigger would simply unleash the fell star anyway.
But the Rite would be completed, regardless. Unlike Sacraments, whose very identity and efficacy is defined by ritual and formula, Rites were open to improvisation and adaptation. The final act of any reconsecration was to integrate sanctified elements and relics into the infrastructure of a location—and the tons of sacramental salt, holy water, and saintly relics that would be consumed by the fell star’s eruption into space would doom it utterly.
And so, with a faint grin, hidden by the curls of his recalcitrant beard, Cleric Filemon Martinez pushed off from his cabin to float steadily to the meeting hall where his colleagues and compatriots awaited his final arrival.
William Robert Yasi
Sikat
William Robert Yasi (Robbie) is a Physicist, an environmentalist and a Youth Ministry worker. He tweets and blogs for money. He teaches high school kids how to debate in his spare time. And he is the founder and project leader of the Great ASEAN Eco-debates, an international debate competition aimed to save the world from destroying itself. He was part of LitCritters Dumaguete during his college days. But most of his writing is limited to him and the few friends he has/had.
MAMA TOOK ME to an audition today. I’m not sure kung anong role ang ipapa-audition niya, but I’m thinking it’s for a tween show. Ewan ko sa kanya. Personally ha, I’m really not into those I’m-cute-and-innocent-pero-I’m-totally-capable-of-making-out-type of roles. It’s kinda cheap, eh. I’m thinking more of some hot Asian chick in Glee. Yaaan, yan ang role na bagay sa’kin.
But Mama never listens. All she wants me to do is wear these god-awful dresses Tita Joseph makes in his spare time (I mean, no offense ha, I know he’s bakla and all, but that doesn’t mean he’s automatically fashionable). I keep on asking Mama why she insists on having me audition for these “roles,” but she NEVER gives me an answer aside from, “Basta anak, just trust me. Bagay na bagay sa ‘yo ‘to”.
And I always do. Mama ko siya, eh.
Kaya ayun, we went to ABS-CBN—which took us like, forever because Mama had to fix her hair a million times (which is weird because she only spends 5 minutes on MY hair). Pero in fairness ha, she takes care of my skin ala Vicky Belo. May pa-takip-takip pa sa mukha ko everywhere we go. Para raw mas magiging maputi at flawless ang skin ko. Like Sarah Geronimo. Yuck. Anyway, when we arrived dun sa ABS Compound, we went straight to the auditioning room sa 3rd floor.
I always love going there. It smells great and sosyal. Also, the hallways have these numerous shiny tarpaulin posters of the studio’s biggest stars covering the walls. And as mama scurried her way to meet up with her “fixer” Kuya Jepoy, I took that “alone time” as an opportunity to saunter down the hall, softy gliding my fingers along the flawless, lineless faces of the country’s most beautiful people.
Sharon. Kris. Gary V. Ang dami. Everyone who’s someone had their faces put up dun. Lahat sila sikat. Lahat sila minamahal. Shet, naiinggit nanaman ako.
“Be the next Sharon.” It said under Ate Shawie’s poster. I’ve seen a poster of her doing the exact same smile. Well, her smile is the same naman sa lahat.
After reading the tagline again, I thought to myself, why would anyone want to be the next Sharon? Yeah, she’s got the looks and voice for fame, pero you know, she’s had her super gwapo ex-husband leave her, her husband right now has a jillion kabits and her daughters can’t act. And what’s worse, she’s getting fatter and fatter everyday. As in. Siya na nga ang host ng The Biggest Loser.
“Joraida! Jo! Joraiiiidddaaaaa!” Her voice echoed down to where I was. People started looking around, obviously irritated by my mama’s nasaly voice. My gahd, nakakahiya!
“Hay nako. San ka ba galing?” She asked when she found me. “Hinihintay na tayo ni Kuya Jepoy mo.” She looked excited. I wasn’t at the very least. This was not how I wanted my showbiz career to start. Gusto ko yung may ‘a talent scout found me in a sea of common faces’ na drama. Hashtag charos.
I still followed her, though. But as we entered the door of the auditioning room, I looked at her and she knew right away what I was about to ask her.
“Basta anak, just trust me. Bagay na bagay sa ‘yo ‘to.”
I sighed. Of course, yan naman talaga ang sagot nya eh. Although ngayon, parang mas confident siyang pakinggan. Ewan.
“Remember anak, yung itinuro ko sa ‘yo ha? Mouth closed, chin up and act natural lang. Gayahin mo lang tatay mo.”
I nodded and approached the tall, bald bakla with the scarf around his neck. I’ve met Kuya Jepoy before when Mama brought my cousin Joemar to audition for Goin’ Bulilit. I can still remember how he kept asking my mom about me. Good thing di pinayagan ni Mama si Kuya Jepoy na kunin yung pantakip ng face ko. Masisira na talaga yung skin ko.
“Ay, Inday. I’ve been waiting to see you. Your mama has kept on bragging about you when we have mahjong.” Kuya Jepoy blurted out when I approached him.
I couldn’t help but smile when I heard that. Naks naman. That was the first time I heard someone say that my mama was proud of me. I know she loves me pero I can’t think of a reason why she would be proud of me. I mean, di naman ako nag-eeskwela. I rarely get out of the house, I’m not part of ANY dance crew, di rin ako sumasali sa mga pageant-pageant sa barangay. Wala talaga. Kaya ayun, na-touch talaga ako dun.
“So Inday, why don’t you just stand diyan sa may naka-ekis sa sahig?”
I went to where he told me to stand and as soon as I got there the lights were suddenly turned on. I looked around and saw that there were more than ten people in the room. Mama was still by the door smiling nervously and Kuya Jepoy was by the large camera waving to his other crew members. Na-conscious agad ako. Di kasi ako sanay na tinitignan ng maraming tao.
“Ok, Inday. Tanggalin mo na yang takip sa mukha mo.” Kuya Jepoy said with a smile.
“Sige po.”
I took the long black scarf off and let it drop on the floor beside me. When I did so, soft gasps travelled across the room. Parang echo.
“Homaygad…” Kuya Jepoy said with sheer surprise in his eyes. I looked around and saw the same expression on everyone’s faces. Maliban nalang kay Mama. Sanay na sanay na sa kagandahan ng fez ko.
“What’s y-your name nga, I… Inday?” Kuya Jepoy finally managed to say after what seemed like hours of dead silence.
I looked at my mom. Pa’no ko mame-maintain ang “Closed mouth, chin up, act natural” rule niya eh, may tinanong si Kuya Jepoy?
She nodded reassuringly. Pwede kong sagutin yun.
“Joraida po.”
Another wave of gasps echoed throughout the room. I heard comments like “Grabe, pati ang boses!” and “Sa’n ba nakuha ni Jepoy yan?” follow the gasps.
“P-pakisabi nga u-ulit ng name mo.”
“Joraida Adelfa Macatangay Elumba po. Joraida tawag sa’kin ni Mama.”
Shet. Ano ba to? Parang may mali sa atmosphere. Why does everyone look scared? Di ba enough ang beauty ko?
I looked at my mother with tears in my eyes. I knew I wasn’t getting the role. Another one down the drain. Palagi na lang. I felt sorry talaga for my mom. All her bragging was for nothing. Pero at least, naka-harap talaga ako sa camera. All those other auditions, eh hanggang linya lang ako. They always pick the girl they want before they even got to me.
But still. My mama would be doubly disappointed.
“Excuse me, Joraida? Joraida?”
I snapped out of my pagkatulala and saw that Kuya Jepoy was trying to catch my attention.
“Po?” I replied immediately.
“Pwede ka bang sumama sa amin?”
“Ho? Ano po yon?” Kinabahan na ako ng konte. A million thoughts rushed through my mind. Did I do something wrong? Are they kicking me out of the building?
“Sabi ko, pwede ka bang sumama sa amin? We’re giving you the role and we want you to sign the contracts now.”
I was stunned. My knees felt weak and my heart started racing. Did I hear that right? Are they really giving me the role? Is this really it? Ito naba ang simula ng career ko sa industriya? Isasama na ba ako sa mga mukhang makalagay dun sa hallway? Hindi talaga ako makakapaniwala. Nawawalan na ako ng hininga.
“So, what’s your decision? Sasama ka ba?”
“Oo po. Sasama talaga ako!” I beamed and turned to look at Mama. She wasn’t by the door. I looked around and she wasn’t in the studio room also. Baka nag-CR. Nerbyosa kasi yun.
“Halika na, punta na tayo.” Kuya Jepoy motioned his other members to come with him. One of them took my scarf and covered my face with it. I had chills run down my spine. May PA na ako agad. Sosyal!
I suddenly remembered Mama and how she hasn’t come back yet. She might wonder as to where I went.
“Kuya Jepoy, si Mama? Di po ba natin siya aantayin?”
“Ay Inday, don’t worry. OK lang yung mama mo. She’ll catch up with us later”
I nodded. And slowly walked after Kuya Jepoy with my head down. Di pwede ang paparazzi ngayon.
We passed by the row of posters I paraded through kanina. I couldn’t help but imagine my face plastered on one of them in the future. Photoshopped, yes. But famous pa rin.
Pero my gosh, di talaga ako makakapaniwala na nangyayari talaga ‘to. People walked by us waving to other employees who were with us, and occasionally squinting their eyes to see kung sino ‘tong nakatakip ang mukha. Ngingiti lang ako sa ilalim ng scarf ko. Sooner or later, they’d realize na ako na pala ang susunod na hot item ng showbiz.
And that they had passed by me. (And even passed me over some girl who could simply cry on cue.)
Ha. Karma talaga. Bitch kung bitch.
My thoughts were interrupted by two employees chattering loudly as they passed by us. Parang si Mama pag nagma-majhong.
“Hoy, mare. May nagsabi sakin na may babaeng tikbalang raw na na-discover dito sa building.” Said one of the women.
“Oo nga e. Totoo kaya yun?” the other replied.
I heard Kuya Jepoy scoff at the last girl’s comment. Ako din, napangiti. Mga chismosa talaga ‘tong mga ‘to. Why would anyone even think of a finding a tikbalang in the station?
But I didn’t give it much care. Petty thoughts lang yun. At saka, dumating na kasi kami sa kung saan magco-contract signing.
“News and Current Affairs Department” ang sabi ng door sign.
Weird.
Press conference agad? Bilis naman.
“Wag kang likot, OK Joraida?” Kuya Jepoy whispered to me as we went in the conference hall. “Let me do all the talking.”
I looked around. Wala pa rin si Mama. But I know she’ll come soon. I mean, siya pa? Tamang-tama nga siya eh. Bagay na bagay pala sa ‘kin ‘to.
Eliza Victoria
Deliver Us
Eliza Victoria is the author of several books, including the science fiction novel Project 17 (2013) and the short story collection A Bottle of Storm Clouds (2012). Her fiction and poetry have appeared in online and print publications in the Philippines and abroad, and have won prizes in the Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature and the Free Press Literary Awards. She has also been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and the National Children’s Book Awards, an
d has been included in the Honorable Mentions for Best Horror of the Year. Visit her at http://elizavictoria.com.
“IT WAS AN accident,” Lucas said, and I wasn’t sure if I should believe him, but he looked tormented enough, so down we went to lift Noelle between us in the dark, the headlights of his car the only glow to guide us, and dumped her like a sack of garbage in the backyard of a family who had left Santa Monica years and years ago we couldn’t remember their name, their house an empty shell, their land overrun with weeds.
We fought before we lifted her. We cried. We covered our mouths in horror and disgust. We should take her to the hospital, I said, load her in the backseat and just drive. Even though I knew the nearest hospital was two hours away, and Noelle was already dead after the car hit her and ran over her body. We wanted to think we weren’t monsters, but it didn’t matter. Our grief, our early thoughts of taking her to safety, our reluctance to just leave her there—it didn’t matter, because we did leave her there. When we lifted her she was as light as a bird, the bones shifting beneath the skin. I remembered my hatred of lifting kittens, those ribs that I could feel beneath the fur, my irrational fear that my fingers could somehow pierce through their skin and hurt them.
Lucas wanted to leave her inside the empty house but I was smeared with blood, Lucas had already fallen once and had scratched his knees and legs, and I didn’t want to walk any longer. We left her on top of the tall weeds, the wild grass surrounding her like a wall.
Somehow, we got back to the old house. It belonged to Lucas’s family before they moved out of Bulacan to Manila. Now it was a vacation house in a dying place you wouldn’t wish to have a vacation in. A development area that never got developed. Most of the families had moved out. Now there was nothing but unfinished houses, a playground gone to rust, and miles and miles of weeds. Sixteen, I thought. Noelle, Lucas’s cousin, was sixteen.