covered by debris.
He took off his tunic and wrapped it around the safe, then slowly dragged it across the floor and into the elevator. He looked back into the room, then reached across and pushed the button. He had no need for the head this time—there were no checks on who left the room, nor on who used the elevator to ascend. Again that was a flaw in their thinking. He would have designed it otherwise: would have made it easier to break in, harder to get out. That way one trapped one's opponent, surrounded him. As in wei chi.
At the top Lehmann was waiting for him, a fresh one-piece over his arm. "How are things?" DeVore asked, stripping off quickly and slipping into the dark-green maintenance overalls.
Lehmann stared at the safe. "The Ping Tiao have held their end. We've begun shipping the armaments out through the top east gate. Wiegand reports that the Security channels are buzzing with news of the attack. We should expect a counterattack any time now."
DeVore looked up sharply. "Then we'd best get this out quick, eh?" "I've four men waiting outside, and another two holding the west transit elevator. I've told the Ping Tiao it's out of order." "Excellent. Anything else?"
"Good news. The rioting in Braunschweig has spilled over into neighboring hsien. It seems our friends were right. It's a powder keg down there."
"Maybe . . ." DeVore looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. "Right. Get those men in here. I want this out of here before the Ping Tiao find out what we've done. Then we'll blow the bridges."
li YUAN LEFT at once, not waiting for the T'ang to resolve their dispute. He went out onto the broad balcony and stood there at the balustrade, looking out across the blue expanse of the Caspian toward the distant shoreline. Wei Feng's son Wei Chan Yin joined him there a moment later, tense with anger.
For a time neither of them spoke, then Wei Chan Yin lifted his chin. His voice was cold and clear—the voice of reason itself.
"The trouble is, Wang Sau-leyan is right. We have not adapted to the times."
Li Yuan turned his head, looking at the older man's profile. "Maybe so. But there are ways of saying such things."
Wei Chan Yin relaxed slightly, then gave a small laugh. "His manners are appalling, aren't they? Perhaps it has something to do with his exile as a child."
Their eyes met and they laughed.
Li Yuan turned, facing Wei Chan Yin. Wei Feng's eldest son was thirty-six, a tall, well-built man with a high forehead and handsome features. His eyes were smiling, yet at times they could be penetrating, almost frightening in their intensity. Li Yuan had known him since birth and had always looked up to him, but now they were equals in power. Differences in age meant nothing beside their roles as future T'ang.
"What does he want, do you think?"
Wei Chan Yin shrugged. He stared out past Li Yuan a moment, considering things, then looked back at him.
"My father thinks he's a troublemaker."
"But you think otherwise."
"I think he's a clever young man. Colder, far more controlled than he appears. That display back there—I think he was playacting."
Li Yuan smiled. It was what he himself had been thinking. Yet it was a superb act. He had seen the outrage on the faces of his father and the older T'ang. If Wang Sau-leyan's purpose had been merely to upset them, he had succeeded marvelously. But why? What could he gain by such tactics?
"I agree. But my question remains. What does he want?"
"Change."
Li Yuan hesitated, waiting for Wei Chan Yin to say more. But Chan Yin had finished.
"Change?" Li Yuan's laughter was an expression of disbelief. Then, with a tiny shudder of revulsion, he saw what his cousin's words implied. "You mean . . ."
It was left unstated, yet Wei Chan Yin nodded. They were talking of the murder of Wang Hsien. Chan Yin's voice sank to a whisper. "It is common knowledge that he hated his father. It would make a kind of sense if his hatred extended to all that his father held dear." "The Seven?" "And Chung Kuo itself."
Li Yuan shook his head slowly. Was it possible? If so ... He swallowed, then looked away, appalled. "Then he must never become a T'ang."
Wei Chan Yin laughed sourly. "Would that it were so easy, cousin. But be careful what you say. The young Wang has ears in unexpected places. Between ourselves there are no secrets; but there are some, even among our own, who do not understand when to speak and when to remain silent."
Again there was no need to say more. Li Yuan understood at once who Wei Chan Yin was talking of. Hou Tung-po, the young T'ang of South America, had spent much time recently with Wang Sau-leyan on his estates.
He shivered again, as if the sunlight suddenly had no strength to warm him, then reached out and laid his hand on Wei Chan Yin's arm.
"My father was right. These are evil times. Yet we are Seven. Even if some prove weak, if the greater part remain strong . . ."
Wei covered Li Yuan's hand with his own. "As you say, good cousin. But I must go. There is much to be done."
Li Yuan smiled. "Your father's business?" "Of course. We are our fathers' hands, neh?"
Li Yuan watched him go, then turned back and leaned across the balustrade, staring outward. But this time his thoughts went back to the day when his father had summoned him and introduced him to the sharp-faced official Ssu Lu Shan. That afternoon had changed his life, for it was then that he had learned of the Great Deception, and of the Ministry that had been set up to administer it.
History had it that Pan Chao's great fleet had landed here on the shores of Astrakhan in A.D. 98. He had trapped the Ta Ts'in garrison between his sea forces and a second great land-based army and after a battle lasting three days, had set up the yellow dragon banner of the Emperor above the old town's walls. But history lied. Pan Chao had, indeed, crossed the Caspian to meet representatives of the Ta Ts'in—consuls of Trajan's mighty Roman Empire. But no vast Han army had ever landed on this desolate shore, no Han had crossed the great range of the Urals and entered Europe as conquerors. Not until the great dictator Tsao Ch'un had come, little more than a century past.
Li Yuan shivered, then turned away, angry with himself. Lies or not, it was the world they had inherited; it did no good to dwell upon alternatives. He had done so for a time and it had almost destroyed him. Now he had come to terms with it, had made his peace with the world of appearances. And yet sometimes—as now—the veil would slip and he would find himself wishing it would fly apart and that he could say, just once, This is the truth of things. But that was impossible. Heaven itself would fall before the words could leave his lips. He stared back at the doorway, his anger finding its focus once more in the upstart Wang Sau-leyan.
Change . . . Was Prince Wei right? Was it change Wang Sau-leyan wanted? Did he hunger to set the Great Wheel turning once again, whatever the cost? If so, they must act to stop him. Because change was impossible. Inconceivable.
Or was it?
Li Yuan hesitated. No, he thought, not inconceivable. Not now. Even so, it could not be. They could not let it be. His father was right: Change was the great destroyer; the turning Wheel crushed all beneath it, indiscriminately. It had always been so. If there was a single reason for the existence of the Seven it was this—to keep the Wheel from turning.
With a shudder he turned back, making his way through, his role in things suddenly clear to him. Yes, he would be the brake, the block that kept the Wheel from turning.
AT THE turn DeVore stopped and flattened himself against the wall of the corridor, listening. Behind him the four men rested, taking their breath, the safe nestled in the net between them. Ahead there were noises—footsteps, the muffled sound of voices. But whose? These levels were supposed to be empty, the path to the bridge clear.