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The windswept coast gave way to rugged bushland with little in the way of walking tracks, slowing his progress. His clothes were damp and began chafing against his neck, underarms and thighs.

Lee came across a clearing bathed in sunlight. He stopped, stripped down to his underwear and hung his clothes out to dry as he rested in the warmth of the sun. For a moment, lying there with his eyes closed, he could almost imagine he was safe.

The clearing was on the leeward side of a hill overlooking one of the numerous inlets along the rugged North Korean coast. With the sound of birds calling in the trees and the wind gently rustling the leaves, Lee drifted off to sleep, exhausted.

He woke, shivering.

Clouds covered the sky. The temperature had dropped. Another storm loomed overhead.

Lee dressed and continued on his way. Across the bay, he could see a fishing village. Several boats were docked against a rough wooden pier. Fishermen tended to their nets, stringing them up on poles and repairing any tears or holes in the fine mesh. Women toiled in fields beyond the village, gathering crops. Children played on the muddy ground, kicking around what looked like a soccer ball.

He had to escape. Crossing the most heavily guarded border in the world, with two armies separated by the largest minefield ever devised was suicide, but if he could steal a fishing boat in the dead of night he stood a chance. Having a plan encouraged him. For the first time since he washed up on shore, Lee felt as though he was going to make it home.

As he followed an animal trail he came across a muddy track winding its way up from the coast. Creeping through the undergrowth, he walked parallel to the track for a few minutes before hearing the neighing of a horse in distress.

Lee froze and hid behind a fallen tree for several minutes, waiting to see if someone was coming along the worn track.

The animal's cries were muffled by the wind rustling the leaves. The anguished neighing faded with the shifting breeze, and he wondered if the cries he could hear were his imagination toying with him.

The bush track had been cut into the steep hill in several places, and sections of the embankment had collapsed, blocking the path. Lee could see the slips were old, with horseshoe prints and cart tracks climbing over them. Further down the slope, fresh mud and rocks spread out, having slid down from above.

Lee could hear a woman’s voice, crying out for help, barely audible over the ghostly howl of the coming storm.

Cautiously, he stepped down onto the track and peered over the edge. There, pinned beneath a shattered wooden cart, lay a young woman.

She saw him.

Instantly, she reached out with both hands, pleading for him to help her, and Lee found his mind flashing back to the young girl he’d rescued months before. This woman had the same look in her eyes; a plea for pity. He couldn’t turn away. He had to do something, even if it meant risking capture. He couldn’t leave this woman to die.

“Hold on,” he called out, starting to negotiate the slippery terrain.

The cart must have slid off of the side, dragging the horse down with it. Clumps of dirt had been dug out of the side of the hill, marking where the horse had fought to stay upright. The mare lay on her side some thirty feet below the makeshift road. Her front leg must have broken in the fall. Blood pooled and clotted from a gash on the shoulder of this once proud horse.

Darkness descended.

Rain fell.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Lee grabbed at the thin tree trunks and branches as he slid down the steep, muddy bank, his boots sliding on the loose rocks and stones. He dug in his heels, slowing his descent. A small avalanche of pebbles and dirt followed behind him, covering his boots.

“Hang in there,” he cried. “You’re going to be fine.”

As he came down beside her, he saw a look of terror sweep across her face.

“No,” she cried.

“Hey, it’s OK,” he said, holding out his hands in a gesture to demonstrate he meant no harm. He realized his uniform, his South Korean accent, and the mud and grime covering his face must have terrified her.

She wriggled, trying to free herself, trying to pull away from him.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

There was so much misinformation, so much distrust, so many myths. She had probably never seen anyone from South Korea before, but she would have heard the propaganda, the lies intended to isolate the North Koreans from the outside world.

Lee wasn't one to cling to ideologies. Back in the 50s, merely attending a communist meeting in the south was enough to have someone lined up before a firing squad, even if they'd only gone there for the free rice. For decades, both sides had lived in fear of each other. Lee hated how his country had been cut in half by something as arbitrary as a line on a map. The North had been taught to fear outsiders, to fear the differences regardless of how irrational that was. To Lee, fear was the real enemy.

In that moment, he saw the realization in her eyes. She understood he just wanted to help. She must have seen the compassion of one human being for another, regardless of ideology. She took a deep breath, relaxing.

Lee crouched down, looking at the cart. Her leg was pinned under the rear wheel. He tried lifting the cart, but the horse was lying on the front corner, pinning the shattered wooden frame. The horse shifted its weight, but was in danger of dragging them all further down into the gully. Water poured down from above, running in a stream over the hind flanks of the crippled beast.

Looking around, Lee found an uprooted tree, a sapling not more than six feet in length. He wedged one end of the slender trunk beneath the cart and pried at the frame, trying to gain some leverage on a large rock. Slowly, the cart lifted and the woman pulled herself from beneath the wheel.

Lee was breathing hard has he dropped down beside her. She was grimacing in pain, but she forced out two words, “Thank you.”

From the awkward angle her foot was at and the swelling below her knee, he knew she had broken her fibula bone, but the break hadn’t broken through the skin, which was good. Hopefully she’d avoid infection.

“Please, don’t be afraid. My name is John Lee. I am a captain with the South Korean Coast Guard.”

The woman nodded. He’d expected her to introduce herself, but she didn’t. He wasn’t sure if she was shy, if she felt intimidated by someone who was ostensibly her enemy, or if this was some kind of cultural protocol between men and women in North Korea, but she looked away as though she were embarrassed. On thinking about it, he realized any South Korean would probably feel as confused and dazed if they were suddenly rescued by a North Korean soldier, so her response was understandable.

“Listen. Your leg is broken. I need to make a splint or I’m going to cause more damage when I move you. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

Lee had a knife with a saw-tooth back in his survival kit. He used the jagged blade to cut through two branches, trimming them to roughly a foot long. It was tiring work as each stroke spanned only a couple of inches. Even in the cold, sweat beaded on his forehead as he sawed at the wood. He spoke as he worked. Talking made him feel better.

“We crashed off the coast last night. My helicopter was damaged and sank. I thought I was dead. The last thing I remember was swimming through the wreckage, trying to get to the surface. I must have blacked out, but my life jacket kept my head above water and somehow I survived. I was washed ashore about fifteen kilometers south of here.”

Lee should have been more guarded with his words, but he had to speak. Talking broke down the artificial barriers between them. He wondered how much she understood, wondering if she would recall his words to the North Korean soldiers and betray him, and yet he felt he had to trust her. From the moment he decided to help, he knew he’d have to trust her to do the right thing, just as he’d done the right thing in coming to her aid. What was greater? Loyalty to one’s country, or kindness to a stranger?

“We were searching for someone,” he continued. “A girl, a young girl.”

“The girl from the stars?” she said, and he stopped sawing.

“Yes, the girl from the stars,” he replied, his heart pounding in his chest.

Lee was surprised by the emotion stirred by her words. Her description of a girl from the stars took him off guard, but that had to be who the US Navy SEALs had come looking for. How did this woman know about her? What made her talk about this girl as coming from the stars? How was that even possible? He had so many questions, but he felt prudence was the best tactic and finished sawing at the wood without saying any more.

“I have seen her,” the woman added, breaking the silence. “She was rescued by one of the fishermen in my village. I will take you to her.”

Lee was surprised by the woman's openness. There was something in the tone of her voice, in the conviction with which she spoke, as though she had been bold enough to speak out against taboo. He nodded, saying, “Thank you.”

Although what could he do to help this child? He had no idea who she was, where she was really from, or why she was so important to the Americans. And he had no way of rescuing the young girl, no way of rescuing himself. For now, however, that could wait.

“First, we need to get you out of this ravine,” he said, kneeling beside her and placing sticks on either side of her leg. He took off his jacket and removed his shirt. Then, using his knife, he tore the shirt into long strips of cloth. “I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt.”

He could see her gripping the roots of the tree she was leaning against. Her knuckles were white with anticipation. She nodded, and Lee got to work, trying to move as swiftly and deliberately as possible as he straightened her leg and bound sticks on either side. She cried out in pain, but held herself still.

“You’re doing good,” he said, as her head jerked to one side. Lee understood what she was doing. She wanted to pull away, to remove herself from the pain, but she had to know how important it was to keep her leg still. Her pent up anguish and pain manifested itself in tension in her arms, shoulders, neck and head, but she kept from moving her legs.

He hated seeing anyone in pain, much less being the one inflicting the pain, but this was necessary. With fourteen years in the Coast Guard, Lee had seen his fair share of grisly injuries, but they were normally tended to by the medics. Necessity demanded precision, to be cruel to be kind. She was gritting her teeth as he fed the strips of cloth under her leg and bound them to the sticks, tying them tight.

He finished and let her rest for a few minutes, knowing that the pain from setting her leg would take some time to subside. Already, there was considerable swelling around the leg.

“You were very brave,” he said as rain dripped from his face.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she replied, trying to joke with him. This was good, he knew. She looked pale and had begun shivering in the rain, and he was worried about the effect of shock and the impact of the temperature drop as night settled. To hear her joke relieved him and allowed him to gauge her resilience. She was tough.

Lee helped her stand, pulling her arm up over his shoulder. The horse had fallen silent, but it wasn't dead, it craned its head, looking over at them, perhaps sensing rescue. There was nothing to be done for the animal. If he had a sidearm, he would have been tempted to put a bullet in its brain, even if it would have attracted unwanted attention. In any case, there was nothing he could do for the suffering mare.

“Easy, girl. Easy,” he said to the mare, speaking in a soft tone. If the horse became spooked and started lashing out with its legs the crushed remains of the wagon could come loose and slide further down the gully, taking them with it. The horse craned its neck, turning its head and looking back at him with the whites of its eyes exposed in terror.

“Easy,” he whispered, sensing the fear running through the distressed animal.

The horse turned its head away, staring out into the darkness. He could see it was exhausted. The water running across its back and flanks must have been chilling its core. For a moment, Lee thought about dragging the woman out of the gully and then returning to put the poor animal out of its misery, but with a knife he'd only ensure the horse died in agony. The horse rested its head in the mud, resigned to its fate, and Lee decided hypothermia was the kindest death it could have.

Lee helped the woman up, keeping one eye on the mare.

The woman stood on her good leg, keeping the knee of her broken leg bent, trying to avoid touching the ground.

“I am Sun-Hee,” she said, and Lee smiled, realizing how culturally difficult this was for her. With her arm around his neck for support, she seemed to struggle with being uncomfortably close to him. Such close proximity didn't bother him, but she appeared to be pushing through a mental barrier. He recognized that and wanted to show warmth and friendship in response.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sun-Hee, although I wish it were under different circumstances.”

“Me too.”

It took over an hour to climb out of the gorge as night fell. Lee picked his way up the side of the slope, moving at an angle. He dragged Sun-Hee with him, helping her from one tree to the next, resting often. Occasionally, she’d cry out in pain as her broken leg knocked against the ground or caught on a rock. Her screams pierced the quiet of night, but there was no reply. No one was looking for her.

“What were you doing out here in the forest?” he asked as they staggered out onto the darkened track.

“I was returning from the markets in Koh-Soh. I live with my grandfather, a fisherman in the village below.”

“Yes, I saw the village from the ridge,” Lee replied, relishing how their conversation had warmed.

With the rain falling in a drizzle, they hobbled down the muddy track toward the distant village.

“Dude, you scored! Come on. Tell me. Who is she?”

Mitchell wasn’t subtle at the best of times, thought Jason. With his hair buzzed close to the scalp on the sides and back of his head and an excessive amount of hair gel sticking up the remaining crop on top, Jason imagined Mitchell's hair style came from sticking his fingers in an electrical socket. He kept that thought to himself.

“Her name's Lily,” he replied.

Ordinarily, Jason wasn't one to get caught up with infatuations, but Lily had an uncanny effect on him. Just the mention of her name was a delight, which was a strange sensation for someone who normally kept himself aloof and saw relationships as a luxury rather than a necessity.

Earlier that morning, Jason had taken Lily’s photo with his smart phone and printed the image on paper, making a flyer with his cellphone number on it. He used tape to stick several copies to the traffic lights on the corners, as that was the only way he was going to get Lily away from the intersection and over to Mario's Diner for breakfast. Even then, she had asked if she could hold onto his phone as she didn't want to risk missing the call.

Jason and Lily had met up with Mitchell and his girlfriend Helena outside Mario's. Mitchell hadn't stopped grinning. He'd been waiting to drop that pearl on Jason as soon as the girls were out of earshot.

Jason and Mitchell slid into a booth overlooking Central Park while Helena and Lily went to the bathroom. Helena had insisted on having Lily come with her, and Jason figured she was grilling Lily on all the juicy details of what she imagined had gone on last night. There was nothing, of course. Lily had sat there staring out the window into the night as Jason had drifted off to sleep. He’d woken a couple of times, which was unusual, but each time he’d seen her still sitting there staring out into the night. When he awoke with the dawn, Lily looked like she hadn’t moved all night. Helena wouldn’t believe a word of it.

“How did you meet her?” Mitchell asked. “How long have you guys been going out? And how the hell did you keep her secret from me?”

Jason opened his pill case and took a swig of water, swallowing a red capsule followed by two dull blue tablets. He suffered from a rare genetic disorder known as Cander’s Syndrome and needed to watch his meds to avoid ending up in the hospital. He slipped the case in his pocket as Mitchell continued.

“Where is she from?”

Jason wasn’t sure which question he was supposed to answer first, but he decided the last one was the simplest.

“She’s Korean, from some place called Sun-Way-Do.”

“Sunwi-do,” Mitchell replied. “You’re fucking kidding me!”

Jason shrugged. He wasn’t sure why Mitchell was so excited.

“Dude,” Mitchell said, opening his backpack and pulling out his tablet computer. “That’s the peninsula from the Incheon Incident. Sunwi-do is in North Korea.”

“Isn’t Incheon in South Korea, just outside of Seoul?” Jason asked, knowing he was going to regret asking.

Mitchell switched on the tablet, saying, “It’s called the Incheon incident because that’s where the rescue helicopter was based, but if you want to be technical about it, it’s the Yellow Sea incident, although that’s confusing as well, as the Chinese weren’t involved.”

“Weekly World News? Seriously?” Jason said, catching a glimpse of several poorly photoshopped images as Mitchell opened an application and flicked through virtual pages.

There was an image of a man with three heads, or was that three people with one body? Another shot showed a classic, bug-eyed, hairless alien with a bulbous head sitting behind the President’s desk in the Oval Office. In another, UFOs sat outside the departure gate of some anonymous mid-west airport.

“This stuff is gold!” Mitchell said, overacting, knowing he was goading Jason. “It's serious investigative journalism.”

Jason shook his head, trying not to laugh.

As Mitchell flicked through the pages, Jason spotted an image of a hairy man running through a child’s playground.

“Hey, that’s a monkey suit,” Jason cried, but Mitchell kept running his finger back and forth over the glass display, turning pages.

“Oh,” Mitchell replied. “You gotta separate the wheat from the chaff, but there’s some great stuff in here. Most of this stuff has been classified top secret for decades!”

“Yeah,” Jason replied dryly, pretending to agree with him. “It's real Pulitzer Prize material.”

Mitchell turned to a page near the back of the virtual newspaper and pointed at a grainy picture. He slapped his finger on the screen, exclaiming in triumph.

“There!”

From what Jason could make out, the image showed someone pulling a young child from the ocean into a rickety old fishing boat. There was something beneath the water directly below the boat, but it was impossible to make out what the object was. He reached over and touched the glass screen, pinching with his fingers and enlarging the image.

Lights appeared to glow from beneath the waves, but he thought they looked like they’d been added to the photograph.

Jason read the caption beneath the photo.

“Two decades have passed since the Incheon Incident, when a UFO crashed into the sea off the coast of North Korea. The only known survivor of this extraterrestrial contact was a young girl of three or four, rescued from the ocean by North Korean fishermen as the UFO took on water and sank.”

“I don’t see what this proves,” Jason said.

Mitchell turned to another virtual page, crying, “Look at that!”

He pointed at an image of a UFO flying past the Empire State building. Apart from the appalling lack of chromatic balance, Jason didn’t see anything noteworthy in the picture.

“It’s the same UFO,” Mitchell announced.

“It’s the same poor photoshop skills,” Jason conceded. He pretended to peer closely at the screen, taking the computer tablet from Mitchell and holding absurdly close to his face until the glass touched his nose. He squinted, adding, “Oh, yeah. That’s definitely been doctored by the same guy!”

Mitchell laughed as Jason gently placed the tablet back on the table.

Jason loved Mitchell like a brother, ever since they'd met during their first year at college, but his gullibility for the outlandishly absurd was astonishing to Jason's rational mind.

Mitchell said, “Look at the facts: twenty years ago, a UFO crashes and a young girl survives. Today, you meet a roughly twenty year old woman from the same province. What are the odds that they are one and the same person?”

Jason thought about it for a second and said, “Zero. One’s fictitious, the other’s real. There’s no chance they’re one and the same person.”

“Come on,” Mitchell pleaded. “Think about it. All life on Earth follows circadian rhythms, with a day/night wake/rest cycle, but by your own admission little old Lily sat up all night. How do you explain that?”

“Two words,” Jason said, watching as Helena and Lily walked over to join them. “Jet lag.”

Lily smiled. She slid around into the booth and sat next to him. For someone who had dropped into his world barely a day ago, having her beside him felt both comforting and refreshing. Jason couldn’t express why, but it felt natural to be with her, as though they belonged together. He wasn’t one for the old cliché of love at first sight, but Lily was different from any other girl he’d ever met. She seemed almost disinterested in a physical relationship, and he found that strangely appealing. Perhaps it was the lack of expectation that disarmed him, the absence of any pressure was welcome. Rather than trying to make something happen between them, it felt like it had already happened years ago.

Was this déjà vu, he wondered? Jason wasn’t one to buy into superstitions. He preferred to think of the two of them as somehow complimentary at a hormonal level. Yes, he thought, compatible chemistry, that was a better explanation.

“Are you guys ready to order?” a waitress asked, standing there with her plastic stylus poised above a digital tablet ready to take their order.

“Blueberry pancakes,” Jason said.

“I’ll have the deluxe omelet,” Helena said.

“Trucker’s breakfast,” Mitchell said.

Lily looked overwhelmed by the choices on the menu. Each meal had a glossy, color image associated with it, and Jason could see her eyes darting around the menu without settling on anything.

“What do you normally have for breakfast in Korea?” he asked.

“Rice.”

“And lunch?” Mitchell asked.

“Rice.”

“And dinner?” Helena asked.

“Fish ... With rice.”

“Whatever you do,” Helena said, addressing the waitress, “do not give this girl any rice.”

Lily laughed.

Helena turned to her, saying, “You can have anything on here you want.”

That didn’t help, Jason noted.

Finally, Lily said, “I’ll have what he’s having,” pointing at Jason.

The waitress wandered off.

Mitchell leaned across the table, addressing Lily as he said, “So, what do you remember from your childhood? Say, when you were about three or four?”

Jason kicked him beneath the table.

Lily looked confused.

“Don’t worry about him,” Helena said. “Mitch was born with his foot in his mouth. That’s what I love about him.”

Lily blushed, and Jason wondered what was running through her mind. Here she was, thousands of miles from home, in a strange culture, surrounded by three Americans she didn’t know, unable to find her father. The poor girl must have been terrified, but she kept a brave face.

“You are all very kind,” she said. “I am lucky to have found you.”

Helena spoke in a serious tone, saying, “You need to be careful, Lily. New York is a dangerous place for a girl on her own.”

“Yeah,” Mitchell added, kicking Jason's feet. “You never know what weirdos you’ll meet.”

Jason smiled, shaking his head as Mitchell laughed.

Lily picked up on their banter and rested her hand on Jason’s knee, saying, “Jason is a gentleman. I feel safe with him.”

Jason turned his head slightly to one side and grinned at Mitchell. Mitch would know precisely the retort Jason wanted to utter to him at that point, something along the lines of, ‘Take that,
Bitch!
’ Mitchell smiled knowingly.

Lily pointed at the computer tablet lying on the table and asked, “What's in the news?”

“The news?” Mitchell replied, sounding innocent. “Oh, funny you should ask.”

“Mitch, Honey,” Helena said, resting her hand on his forearm.

Jason jumped in with, “Mitch thinks New York is about to be invaded by aliens.”

“Really?” Lily asked, and Jason saw some of the naiveté he’d noted the night before. She seemed intelligent, but was easily led.

The waitress arrived carrying all four plates. She set them down and left.

“The odds are against it,” Jason said, pouring maple syrup over his pancakes. Lily copied him.

“Space is absurdly large,” he added, picking up a tiny speck of dust between his fingers and holding it up, examining it in the morning light, somewhat lost in thought. “If this was the sun ... Well, actually, even this is a bit too big. If our sun was a single blood cell, visible only under a microscope, then our galaxy, the Milky Way, would be the size of the Continental US.”

“And the nearest star?” Lily asked.

Jason looked out the window of the restaurant and across the street at Central Park. From their first floor booth, he could see over the tops of the trees. There were some kids throwing a frisbee in an open grassy patch by the lake.

“About there,” he replied, pointing at them. “Roughly two hundred yards away, perhaps a little more. And it too would be no more than a microscopic speck of dust.”

“What about Voyager?” Mitchell asked. “It's left the solar system and is headed toward the stars, right?”

“Well, yes and no,” Jason replied. “It all depends on how you define the solar system.”

Jason pulled a quarter out and put it on the table in front of him, with his finger resting in the middle of the coin.

“If the sun was the size of a blood cell, most of the planets, including Earth, would orbit inside this quarter. Voyager would be just marginally beyond our quarter. Voyager is beyond the most distant, recognized planet, and well beyond the heliopause, where solar winds buffet against interstellar space, but it's not really the edge of our solar system, not if you consider the solar system as the system directly affected by the sun.”

Jason pointed across the street at a man walking his dog through the park, just visible through the trees. He'd only just walked his beagle across the street.

“He's probably at about the right distance. Surrounding our sun almost a light year away is the Oort cloud containing billions, if not trillions of comets all held loosely in check by the sun's gravity, just waiting to start their long slow fall in toward the inner solar system and put on a show. That's the real edge of the solar system, at least from a gravitational perspective.”

Lily had stopped eating. She sat there with her elbows on the table, her head resting on her hands, listening with rapt attention.

“Space is mindbogglingly huge. There's a whole lot of nothing out there. Imagine New York City as an empty void. You'd have maybe a couple of hundred microscopic specks of dust scattered around as stars. Perhaps one of them would be on top of the Empire State Building, another might be on the Statue of Liberty, and so on. But there would only be a couple of hundred tiny specks broadly scattered around the place.

“If the Milky Way were the size of the Continental US, there would be a massive black hole at the center, just outside of Lebanon, Kansas, up by the border with Nebraska. But it too would be no larger than a few grains of sand. As for us, the tiny speck we call the sun would probably be in St. Louis.”

“I like St. Louis,” Helena said, grinning as she sipped some coffee.

“Black holes in Kansas!” Mitchell cried. “Sounds like you've been reading News of the World.”

Jason laughed, saying, “There’s just too much empty space out there. Interstellar travel is impractical. It will take Voyager 30,000 years just to reach the Oort cloud, let alone any of the stars. Thirty to forty thousand years ago, Homo sapiens had just reached Europe and discovered Neanderthals and Cro-Magnon man. Imagine where we will be in thirty thousand years time!