Drawing closer, Song was horrified to hear mention of simulations. Computers. That was Song’s area. What could this fool, Bai, be talking about with the president? Bai’s aide had come up from the back of the great hall. He was closer than Song, close enough to hear what was being said with more clarity. Whatever it was made the man blanch. His wooden expression was difficult to read.
Song wove his way through pockets of military leaders, holding his breath as he passed through the clouds of cologne and the earthy fragrance of dumplings fried in sesame oil. General Bai spoke with his hands, a bombastic habit that appeared to make Zhao’s security people very nervous.
Chairs clattered against one another as they were dragged across the carpeted floor to disparate areas of the hall. These were not young men, and many of them preferred to sit and talk in small trusted groups while they ate.
A rear admiral named Tai touched Song’s sleeve as he went by, taking a moment to criticize the PLA Navy’s attrition forecast from Song’s last scenario report. The general took a moment to try and appease him, though they were of equivalent rank. By the time he extricated himself, he looked up to see the chairman with one hand on Bai’s shoulder. He either was impressed or wanted the general to stop waving his arms so much. The look on his face said it was a little of both. General Bai all but gushed, the jowly smile pinching his eyes into tiny lines. Song could hear only snippets of their conversation.
“…turning point… power… computer model… can assure you… winning… game…” Then, more clearly, “Mr. Chairman, this will change the tides…”
An aide stepped forward and whispered something to Zhao, causing him to bow and step away to chat with a waiting politician.
Bai caught Song’s eye, lingered to gloat for a moment, then strode away with his scabby major in tow, obviously satisfied at how the conversation had gone.
The chairman would continue to work the room for at least an hour. That was, after all, the purpose of this meeting. Song was in no mood to be chided for doing his job. He entered the data he was given and lived with the unadulterated results. It was hardly his fault if the United States had more sophisticated aircraft and carriers. Less than ten feet away from the paramount leader of all of China, General Song veered left and melted into the crowd of green uniforms and multicolored ribbons. He could not leave before the chairman did. That would have been noticed — and noted.
Around the great hall, other generals compared war stories from when they were young men. Song preferred to keep his stories — and himself — to himself. He hadn’t eaten, and, though he would sit down to dinner with his wife and granddaughter when he returned home, decided to have a dumpling, if only to give himself something to occupy his time besides staring at people who did not wish to talk with him anyway.
He was standing empty-handed in front of a chafing dish, perusing the seemingly endless variety of pork, mushroom, and bean dumplings, when he felt someone walk up behind him. He stepped aside, apologizing for blocking access to the serving area. Turning as he spoke, he was horrified to see Chairman Zhao, holding his own saucer and a conical dumpling of sticky rice and peanut called zongzi.
“Chi fan le ma?” the chairman asked. Literally, Have you eaten? It was the traditional Chinese greeting, used when an English speaker might say “How are you?” It was doubly appropriate here, since the Office of the Chairman had provided all the food.
General Song bowed deeply. “I have not, Mr. Chairman, sir. But I am about to.”
Zhao smiled graciously and waved at the laden table. “Please do.”
“Mín yĭ shí wéi tiān,” Song said, responding with a proverb, hoping it would come across as a humble compliment. Common people regard food as heaven.
Zhao took a bite of his zongzi and regarded Song as he chewed. “You and General Bai do not get along.”
Chairman Zhao did have a way of getting to the yolk of the egg. It wasn’t a question.
“We have found a way to be professional, Mr. Chairman,” Song said.
Zhao nodded, as if he knew better. “He is watching us from across the room, though he does not believe me clever enough to notice such things.”
Song took the chairman’s word for it, squirming a little at being taken into such confidence regarding the man’s thoughts on General Bai.
Zhao sighed. “I have read the reports of your computer simulations but have not had the opportunity to talk to you in person.”
Song bowed again, bracing himself. “I am at your service, Mr. Chairman.”
“The outcome of your computer modeling is divisive, to say the least. General Bai believes you have omitted vital components.”
There had yet to be a question, so Song offered no response. As his father taught him, there was no wisdom like silence.
“Bai does have some unique ideas,” the chairman continued. “Revolutionary, even. I would be interested to know what you think of them.”
“The general shares with me what I need to know for my duties,” Song said.
“Your duties are with supercomputers, artificial intelligence, gaming simulations, and the like?” Zhao said.
“That is correct, Mr. Chairman.” This was taking an odd turn.
“So,” Zhao continued, “I would like to know more of your honest assessment. What do you think of this Indonesian business… FIRESHIP?”
“FIRESHIP?” Song’s mind raced to figure out what the chairman was talking about. He dared not hazard a guess, but knew better than to answer his superior’s question with a question. There was nothing left but to be honest — Song’s habitual fallback position. “I am not aware of any operation with that name.”
“That is most interesting.” The chairman cocked his head, moving his jaw back and forth in thought. “Your involvement would be logical, considering your area of… It is not important,” he said, in a pensive way that meant it most definitely was extremely important. “I think it best if you do not speak of this Operation FIRESHIP until General Bai brings it up to you.” He smiled serenely. “This conversation should remain between you and me.”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Chairman.”
“Continue to do exactly what you are doing, General Song. I need forward-thinking men like Bai who are willing to take risks for the future of our country, but their vision does not diminish the necessity of truth.”
Song dipped his head without thinking. “That means a great deal, Mr. Chairman.”
“Oh, do not be too grateful,” Zhao said. “I have chatted with you so long I may have ended your career. Most of those here will believe… hope… that I have spent this time scolding you. Others will be out of their minds with jealousy that I spoke to you at all. People make up stories to fill the vacuum of what they do not know, and those stories are always subject to their own insecurities. It is human nature to believe the worst in others, because we know the worst about ourselves.”
“I thank you, in any case,” Song said.
Zhao’s aide stepped forward at some unseen signal and ushered him to a group of admirals waiting for their turn to politick.
Left alone by the mountain of dumplings, Song breathed an audible gasp of relief. He had never been one for hero worship, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the sun had gone behind a cloud when Chairman Zhao stepped away to speak with someone else. Junior generals in the People’s Liberation Army did not customarily have chats with the paramount leader of China. Song could not yet comprehend what their little talk meant, but he sensed it was important.