Where the cobbles of the jetty ended they turned left onto an old dirt track. It led up through the trees, away from the houses and the waterfront.
The track led up onto a broad ledge of smooth, gray rock. There was a gap in the screen of trees and a view across the water.
"Careful," he said, his grip on her hand tightening as she moved closer to the edge. "It can be slippery." Then she saw it.
Below her was a tiny bay enclosed on three sides by the dense growth of pines. But at one point the tree cover was broken. Directly across from her a great spur of rock rose abruptly from the water, and on its summit—so like the rock in color and texture that at first she had not recognized it—was the house.
It was astonishing. Huge walls of solid stone rose sheer from the rock, ending in narrow turrets and castellated battlements. A steep roof, gray and lichen-stained, ran almost the length of the house. Only at its far end, where the sea surrounded it on three sides, was its steep pitch broken. There a tower rose, two stories higher than the rest of the house, capped with a spire that shone darkly in the sunlight.
She stared at it open-mouthed, then looked back at her father.
"I thought it was a house."
He laughed. "It is. It was my great-grandfather's house. And his grandfather's before that. It has been in our family for nine generations."
She narrowed her eyes, not understanding. "You mean, it's ours?"
"It was. I guess it still is. But it is for Li Shai Tung to say whether or not we might use it."
"It seems so unfair."
He stared at her, surprised, then answered her. "No. It has to be like this. The peasants must work the land. They must be outside. And the Seven carry a heavy burden; they need their estates. But there is not land enough for all those who wish to live outside. There would be much resentment if we had this and others didn't, don't you see?"
"But, surely, if it's ours . . ."
He shook his head firmly. "No. The world has grown too small for such luxuries. It's a small price to pay for peace and stability."
They walked on, still climbing. Then he turned back, pointing downward. "We have to go down here. There are some steps, cut into the rock. They're tricky, so you'd better take my hand again."
She let him help her down. It was cooler, more shaded beneath the ridge, the ground rockier, the long, straight trunks of the pines more spaced.
"There," he said, pointing between the trees.
She looked. About fifty ch'i distant was a gray stone wall. It was hard to tell how high it was from where she stood, but it seemed massive—twice her father's height at least. To the left it turned back on itself, hugging the cliffs edge, to the right it vanished among the trees. Partway along was a huge gate, flanked by pillars, and beyond that—still, silent in the late morning sunlight—the tower.
She turned to find him looking past her at the house, a distant smile on his face. Then he looked down at her.
"Kalevala," he said softly. "We're home, Jelka. Home."
"Do you know the thing I miss most?"
T'ai Cho looked up at Kim and smiled. Kim stood in the doorway, looking past him. "What's that?"
"The pool. I used to do all my best thinking in the pool."
He laughed. "Well, can't we do something about that?"
Kim made a small movement of his head, indicating the overhead camera. "Only if Shih Spatz wills it."
T'ai Cho stared at Kim a moment longer, then returned to his unpacking.
"I'll put in a request," he said, taking the last few things from the bag, then stowed it beneath the pull-down bed. "He can only say no, after all." He looked up again, meeting Kim's eyes with a smile. "Anyway, how have things been? Is the work interesting?"
Kim looked away. "No," he answered quietly.
T'ai Cho straightened up, surprised. "Really? But I thought you said the research would be challenging?"
"It is. But Spatz is not letting me get anywhere near it."
T'ai Cho stiffened. "But he can't do that! I won't let him do that to you, Kim. I'll contact the Prince."
Kim shook his head. "No. I don't want to go running to Prince Yuan every time I've a problem."
T'ai Cho turned angrily. "But you must. The Prince will have Spatz removed. He'll—"
But Kim was still shaking his head. "You don't see it, do you, T'ai Cho? You think this is just a piece of pure science research, but it's not. I saw that at once. This is political. And very sensitive. Practically all of the men they've recruited for it are vulnerable. They were on the wrong side in the War and now they've no choice but to work on this. All except for Spatz, and he's no scientist. At least, not a good enough scientist to be on a project of this nature. No, he's here to keep a lid on things."
"But that's outrageous."
"No. Not at all. You see, someone wants this project to fail. That's why Spatz was made Administrator. Why Tolonen was appointed overall Head of the Project."
"And you'll allow that to happen?"
"It's not up to me, T'ai Cho. I've no choice in the matter. I do as I'm told. As I've always done. But that's all right. There are plenty of things we can do. All that's asked of us is that we don't rock the boat."
T'ai Cho was staring at him, his eyes narrowed. "That's not like you, Kim. To lay down and do nothing."
Kim looked down. "Maybe it wasn't, in the past. But where did it ever get me?" He looked up again, his dark eyes searing T'ai Cho. "Five years of Socialization. Of brutal reconditioning. That was my reward for standing up for myself. But next time they won't bother. They'll just write me off as an unfulfilled investment. A bad debt." He laughed bitterly. "I'm not even a citizen. I exist only because Li Yuan wills my existence. You heard him yourself, T'ai Cho. That's the fact of the matter.
So don't lecture me about doing something. Things are easy here. Why make trouble for ourselves?"
T'ai Cho stared back at him, open-mouthed, hardly believing what he was hearing. "Well, you'd better go," he said abruptly. "I've things to do."
"I'm sorry, T'ai Cho. I..."
But T'ai Cho was busying himself, putting clothes into a drawer.
"I'll see you later, then?" Kim asked, but T'ai Cho made no sign that he had even heard.
Back in his room Kim went to the desk and sat, the first of the poems Hammond had written on the screen in front of him.
It had not been easy, making T'ai Cho believe he had given up. It had hurt to disillusion his old tutor, but it was necessary. If he was to function at all in this setup, he had to allay Spatz's suspicions, make Spatz believe he was behaving himself. And what better way of convincing Spatz than by manipulating the reactions of the man supposedly closest to him? T'ai Cho's indignation—his angry disappointment in Kim—would throw Spatz off the scent. Would give Kim that tiny bit of room he needed.
Even so, it hurt. And that surprised Kim, because he had begun to question whether he had any feelings left after what they had done to him in Socialization. He recalled all the times he had met T'ai Cho since then, knowing what the man had once been to him, yet feeling nothing. Nothing at all. He had lain awake at nights, worried about that absence in himself, fearing that the ability to love had been taken from him, perhaps for good. So this—this hurt he felt at hurting another—was a sign of hope. Of change in himself.
He looked down at the poem on the desk, then sighed. What made it worse was that there was an element of truth in what he had said to T'ai Cho. Remove Spatz and another Spatz would be appointed in his place. So it was in this life. Moreover, it was true what he had said about himself. Truer, perhaps, than he had intended.
All his life he had been owned. Possessed, not for himself but for the thing within him—his "talent." They used him, as they would a machine. And, like a machine, if he malfunctioned he was to be repaired, or junked.