The View
On the flight to Jakarta, Randy Sanderson got a good look at the LASK.
Randy Sanderson woke up to the sound of the flight attendant’s voice over the comms:
“Attention passengers. We are close to our destination, Soekarno-Hatta International Airport. Please be prepared for landing. Return to your seats and put your seatbelts on.”
Randy looked at the flight map in front of him and saw that the plane was still over Jakarta Bay. Then it hit him, the LASK should be out there. Having silently thanked the Almighty for the window seat, he opened the window blinds and was greeted to the view he was hoping for:
Piercing through the clouds, the Lift Antariksa Sunda Kelapa (Indonesian for Sunda Kelapa Space Elevator) stood like a giant pole, alone, in the middle of the sky. On the ground below was the rest of the port, the rest of Jakarta. And just as Indonesia stood alone amongst the nations of Earth, the LASK stood alone amongst everything else in the nation’s capital.
Within that needle lies my destiny, thought Randy.
“Enjoying the view?” The question was said in Indonesian.
It was an older lady well into her sixties, her seat next to Randy’s, who asked that question. If this flight had happened in the 21st century, Randy would have been annoyed. But flight accommodations had gone a long way since then. Even the humble economy class passenger was granted quite a bit of room, especially in flights to and from Indonesia.
“Certainly, ma’am,” said Randy; he had learned some Indonesian from his mother, but it was still stiff and overly formal. “Once I reach the LASK, I shall leave this planet and build my fortune.”
“How, exactly?”
“I do not know the precise means for it. Perhaps as an explorer, or a miner, or even a conqueror. Whatever it may be, I am ready to unleash my potential.”
“You and everyone who comes to Jakarta,” the woman said, shaking her head. “And what makes you think you’ll do better than all those who rushed into Jakarta before you? And after, too!”
Randy smiled. “Well, madam, my mother is from Indonesia. In her shortsightedness, she gave up her Indonesian citizenship after she married my father and moved to America. I seek to rectify that mistake by reclaiming my birthright.”
“And do you have any relatives or friends in Jakarta who can help you?”
“Well… no.”
“Do you know how to get around the place? Any plans?”
“Umm… no.”
The old lady shook her head. “Typical, just like every poor idiot who comes to Jakarta.”
“What was that?”
“Never mind, just speaking to myself.” The woman was then deep in thought. “I assume you don’t have any place to stay, so why don’t you come over and live with me? My granddaughter just moved away to Tapanuli II, her husband just got a job as a space miner. Lots of money! But now I’m lonely in that big house.”
Randy gave his interlocutor an odd look. “I wish not to be ungrateful ma’am, but why are you helping me?”
“You remind me so much of my grandson. You see, young man, I have a daughter who married an American. They now live in Texas; their son is around your age.”
“I see. Thank you for your kindness, madam.”
“Please, call me opung.”
“And you can call me Randy.”
Randy and Opung shook hands, just in time for the comms to blare: “Attention passengers. We are about to land. Our destination, Soekarno-Hatta International Airport. Remember to put your seatbelts on.”