"Just about what you might have become. With your father's money, I mean. You could have been a right bastard, neh? Beating them at their own game. Making deals. Controlling the markets. Undercutting your competitors or stealing their patents. Did that never appeal to you?"
Lehmann looked down again. "I considered it. But then, I considered a lot of things. But to answer you, Shih Mach—no, it never appealed to me. But this . . ." He eased the bolt out and set it down. "This is what I've always wanted to do."
"Always?" Mach helped him remove the plate, then sat back on his haunches, watching.
"Since I can remember," Lehmann went on, tapping the cut-out code into the keyboard. "I've always fought against the system. Ever since I knew I could. In small ways at first. And later . . ."
Mach waited, but Lehmann seemed to have finished.
"Are you really as nihilistic as you seem, Stefan Lehmann? Is there nothing you believe in?"
Lehmann's pale, thin fingers hovered over the panel a moment, then quickly plucked the five tiny cards from their slots. Mach had watched Lehmann do this eighteen times now, noting how he took his time, double-checking, making absolutely sure he took the right ones. It was impressive in a way, this kind of obsessive care. And necessary in this case, because the configuration of each panel was different. But there was also something machinelike about the way Lehmann went about it.
He waited, knowing the albino would answer him when he was good and ready; watching him take out the tiny sealed packet and break it open, then slip the replacement cards into their respective slots.
"There," Lehmann said. "That's all of them. Do you want to test the circuit out?"
Mach was about to answer when there was a banging on the tunnel wall beneath them.
"Shit!" Mach hissed between his teeth. "What the fuck is that?"
Lehmann had turned at the noise; now he waited, perfectly still, like a lizard about to take its prey. Wait, he mouthed. It may be nothing.
There was silence. Mach counted. He had gotten to eight when the banging came again, louder than before and closer, almost beneath their feet. Moments later a head appeared at the hatchway farther along.
"Hey!" the guard said, turning to face them. "Are you authorized to be in there?"
Mach laughed. "Well, if we're not we're in trouble, aren't we?" The guard was pulling himself up into the tunnel, hissing with the effort. Mach looked to Lehmann quickly, indicating that he should do nothing. With the barest nod Lehmann leaned back, resting his head against the tunnel wall, his eyes closed.
The guard scrambled up, then came closer, his body hunched up in the narrow space. He was a young, dark-haired officer with the kind of bearing that suggested he had come out of cadet training only months before. "What are you doing here?" he asked officiously, one hand resting lightly on his sidearm. Mach smiled, shaking his head. "Don't you read your sheets?" The young guard bristled, offended by Mach's off-hand manner. "That's precisely why I'm here. I've already checked. There's no mention of any maintenance work on the sheets."
Mach shrugged. "And that's our fault? You should contact Admin and find out what asshole fucked things up, but don't get on our backs. Here." He reached inside his tunic and pulled out the papers DeVore had had forged for them.
He watched the guard's face; saw how the sight of something official-looking mollified him.
"Well? Are you satisfied?" Mach asked, putting out his hand to take the papers back.
The guard drew back a step, his eyes taking in the open box, the exposed panel. "I still don't understand. What exactly are you doing there? It says here that you're supposed to be testing the ComNet, but you can do that without looking at the boxes, surely?"
Mach stared back at him, his lips parted, momentarily at a loss, but Lehmann came to the rescue. He leaned forward casually and plucked one of the tiny cards from the panel in front of him, handing it to the guard.
"Have you ever seen one of these?"
The guard studied the clear plastic of the card, then looked back at Lehmann. "Yes, I—"
"And you know how they function?"
"Vaguely, yes, I—"
Lehmann laughed. A cold, scathing laughter. "You don't know a fucking thing, do you, soldier boy? For instance, did you know that if even a single one of these instruction cards gets put in the wrong slot then the whole net can be fucked up. Urgent information can be misrouted, emergency calls never get to their destinations. That's why wextake such pains. That's why we look at every box. Carefully. Meticulously. To make sure it doesn't happen. Understand me?" He looked up at the guard savagely. "Okay, you've been a good boy and done all your checking, now just piss off and let us get on with the job, neh? Before we register a complaint to your superior officer for harassment."
Mach saw the anger in the young guard's face, the swallowed retort. Then the papers were thrust back into his hand and the guard was backing away down the tunnel.
"That was good," Mach said quietly when he was gone. "He'll be no more trouble, that's for sure."
Lehmann looked at him, then shook his head. "Here," he said, handing him the plate. "You finish this. I'm going after our friend."
Mach narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure that's wise? I mean, he seemed satisfied with your explanation. And if you were to kill him . . ."
Lehmann turned, his face for that brief moment very close to Mach's, his pink eyes searching the Ping Tiao leader's own eyes.
"You asked if I believed in anything, Mach. Well, there's one thing I do believe in—I believe in making sure."
LI YUAN RODE ahead, finding the path down the hillside. Behind him came the palanquin, swaying gently, the six carriers finding their footholds on the gentle slope with a practiced certainty, their low grunts carrying on the still evening air.
Li Yuan turned in his saddle, looking back. The sun was setting in the west, beyond the Ta Pa Shan. In its dying light the pale yellow silks of the palanquin seemed dyed a bloody red. He laughed and turned back, spurring his horse on. It had been a wonderful day. A day he would remember for a long time. And Fei Yen? Despite her sickness, Fei had looked more beautiful than ever. And even if they had not made love, simply to be with her had somehow been enough.
He threw his head back, feeling the cool breeze on his neck and face. Yes, motherhood suited Fei Yen. They would have many sons. A dozen, fifteen, sons. Enough to fill Tongjiang. And daughters too. Daughters who would look like Fei Yen. And then, when he was old and silver-haired, he would have a hundred grandchildren; would gather his pretties about his throne and tell them of a summer day—this day—when he had gone up to the ruins with their grandmother, the Lady Fei, and wished them into being.
He laughed, enjoying the thought, then slowed, seeing lights floating, dancing in the darkness up ahead. Looking back he raised a hand, signaling for the carriers to stop, then eased his mount forward a pace or two. No, he was not mistaken, the lights were coming on toward them. Then he understood. They were lanterns. Someone—Nan Ho, most likely—had thought to send out lantern bearers to light their way home.
He turned, signaling the carriers to come on, then spurred the Arab forward again, going down to meet the party from the palace.
He met them halfway across the long meadow. There were twenty bearers, their ancient oil-filled lanterns mounted on ten-ch'i wooden poles. Coming up behind were a dozen guards and two of the young grooms from the stables. Ahead of them all, marching along stiffly, like a young boy playing at soldiers, was Nan Ho. "Master Nan!" he hailed. "How good of you to think of coming to greet us." Nan Ho bowed low. Behind him the tiny procession had stopped, their heads bowed. "It was but my duty, my Lord."
Li Yuan drew closer, leaning toward Nan Ho, his voice lowered. "And the business I sent you on?"