A few minutes later, they were seated on the floor around a low table, monks bringing them steaming bowls of soup, rice, pickles, that rotting cabbage crap they called kimchi, and some other less-identifiable stuff. There were four places — and just as many guards. A moment later, Hei Feng came in and bowed to them, followed by Kim, their old translator.
“Hei Feng welcomes you and apologizes for not having had the time to show you more hospitality,” Kim said after Black Wind spoke a whole bunch of Chinese. “He remains very curious about you and hopes that you and he may speak freely. He would be most eager to keep the soldiers outside, so long as you continue to honor your word regarding the use of your abilities. Of course, an attack now on him, or anyone else, would result in the regrettable end of many of your countrymen. It would only take a single code word on the radio for that to happen. He urges you to join him for this meal in peace and comradeship.”
Cal looked at Padilla and Yamato, who looked just as puzzled as Cal felt, and finally decided to speak for the group. “You tell him, Kim, that’d be just fine. Happy to sit down for a nice breakfast and a chat. Tell him we’ll behave.”
Kim related the information, and a moment later, Hei Feng dismissed the soldiers, leaving the four Variants — and one translator — in the room. Cal started to feel a little bad for Kim, frankly; he already knew way too much for any one side to want him around after all was said and done.
Tea was poured and plates filled, and Cal dug in with relish, his chopstick usage surprisingly deft for having just learned, while Padilla and Yamato still struggled with theirs. “So, can I ask what Hei Feng’s been doing lately? Haven’t seen him around.”
“He has been away on missions, and also to consult with his superiors in the Red Army,” Kim replied after some back and forth with Hei Feng. “He would like you to know that he has kept your existence secret from all but a few trusted officers and friends, which is why you are here and not with the other prisoners, or sent away. Hei Feng knows you would be of great interest to the government of China — or the Soviet Union.”
Cal nodded and smiled. “Tell him thanks for that. He’s right. I’m gonna assume, then, that the folks in Beijing and Moscow don’t know about him, either. Otherwise, I figure they’d snap him up and ship him off to Beria or somebody. Does he know of anything like that? A program where they use people like us?”
Another flurry of translation and discussion followed. “There are rumors, yes, that the Communists gather people with strange abilities, and that some go to Moscow, some go to Beijing. It is Hei Feng’s belief that he can be more effective and useful to his people here, than in such a situation.”
Oh, boy. There’s a Chinese Variant program too, Cal thought. It made sense, of course, given China’s huge land and population. Enhancements didn’t really seem to hold to a particular geography or race, so it made sense that China might have more than a few Variants around. And if Beria was poaching where he could, well… that’d be interesting too. How long before China would say enough to that?
“Hei Feng would like to know about the kind of program America has for its special people,” Kim added. “He believes you to be soldiers and wishes to confirm this.”
“Don’t tell him shit,” Yamato warned quietly. “He could already be working for Moscow. Or someone else.”
Cal just smiled. “And if he’s working for Beria, he already knows all about us. I mean, Beria himself saw you throwing lightning around pretty good in Kazakhstan, if I’m not mistaken.” Yamato said nothing to that, just scowled into his meal, so Cal turned back to Kim.
“You can tell him that, yeah, we have a program. We’re not just soldiers, though. We do a lot of different things to help our government and our people. And we’re paid well and treated well.”
“But you are a black man, Calvin Hooks,” Kim replied after translating. “The Chinese and Koreans know that black people are still treated like slaves in America, and that capitalism will keep them as slaves forever.”
Well, ain’t that something. “Yeah, black folks aren’t treated too well. We aren’t slaves no more — my grandfather was born a slave, but he was freed after the Civil War. But yeah, especially in the South, we have to sit in the back of the bus, can’t go where we like. It’s called segregation. But that ain’t gonna last forever. Every year goes by, black people like me, we’re getting stronger. We’re fighting back. My boy is studying law in order to try to help with that. And as for me, yeah, there’s still some prejudice. But I live up North now, and for the most part, we’re treated just fine. And my program, for folks with abilities, they really don’t see color. Me and Yamato here, we’re treated just the same as white folk. I mean, they really gonna treat us bad, knowing what we can do?”
Hei Feng laughed at this once translated, then continued to pepper them with questions. Each of them was asked about their abilities. Yamato remained sullen but Padilla offered a modest demonstration by using a grain of rice to strike a fly on the ceiling in the corner of the room, which delighted Hei Feng and even impressed Cal a bit.
As they talked, Cal got a sense that Hei Feng was sizing them up, putting rumor to fact and figuring out where his loyalties might truly lie. The Chinese Variant said he was a simple farmer’s son, drafted into Mao’s revolution not because he was a believer, but because his village had been on Mao’s way to Beijing. Then he’d been sent to Korea and, about six months ago, his Enhancement had manifested. Cal was impressed that the boy had been able to keep the secret from so many people for so long, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but wonder if Hei Feng had maybe trusted some people he shouldn’t. It wasn’t likely that a Chinese farmer’s son would have anything more than an instinctual grasp of operational security — and the Devil’s in the details.
Breakfast stretched onto lunch as they talked, and the monks cleared their plates and brought more food, including some of Cal’s favorite spicy dishes. Cal told stories about his life in the States, and some heavily redacted tales of his work with MAJESTIC-12. Yamato kept shooting him warning glances, but when Hei Feng excused himself for a moment, Cal explained that this was as much a recruitment opportunity as an interrogation. That mollified him for the time being, and by the time Hei Feng returned, lunch was served, and Yamato offered a few reluctant details about his own upbringing. Hei Feng was particularly intrigued to hear about the Japanese internment during World War II, since the Chinese Variant had lost an older brother and an uncle to the Japanese invasion of China back in the late 1930s.
They finally wrapped things up by mid-afternoon, and Hei Feng thanked them profusely for their time and openness, which Cal was sure to return in kind. Cal figured he maybe needed three or four more sessions like these before Hei Feng would seriously consider defecting, and that outcome wasn’t certain at all. Black Wind might be a xian and have all kinds of admiration and worship from the people around him, but in the end, he was just a kid pressed into service in a war he didn’t really believe in. And like most folks — like Cal himself — he just wanted a better life. And in Cal’s case, MAJESTIC-12 had largely delivered on that.
Except, of course, for him being a prisoner in Korea. But it wasn’t the first time he was captured by someone. All he could do was hope it might be the last.
17
It didn’t take Frank Lodge long to see what everyone in East Berlin was grumbling about in the coffeehouse that morning. The front page of Neues Deutschland spelled it out perfectly. “Economic Reforms Approved by Council of Ministers,” the headlines read. “Workers Will Achieve New Heights Under New Socialist Program.”