And the challenge? That, too, he saw in moral terms. As he conceived it now, the scheme presented mainly technical problems that required not the kind of inventiveness he was good at but the perfecting of existing systems. In many ways it was a matter of pure organizational complexity, of breaking down the Wiring Project into its constituent parts and then rebuilding it. The end, however, was not unachievable. Far from it. Most of the technology required already existed. He could have said as much to Prince Yuan at their first meeting, but the challenge— the real challenge—lay in directing the research, in determining not the quality of the eventual wire, but its kind.
And there, perhaps, he overstepped the brief Li Yuan had given him, for he had not been asked to consider what the wire should be capable of; he had been asked only to determine whether the scheme would work. Again he was to be simply the tool—the vehicle—for another's needs, the instrument by which their dreams might become realities. As ever, he was supposed to have no say in the matter. Yet he would have his say.
Kim stilled the movement of his legs in the water and looked up.
"Joel!"
Hammond stood there on the far side of the pool. "Kim. I thought I'd find you here."
Kim clambered up and went around the pool to greet him.
"How long have you been there?"
"I've just got here. You looked deep in thought. Troubles?"
They were both conscious of the watching cameras. Kim shrugged and smiled, moving past the older man, taking his towel from the rail; then he turned, looking back at him. "What brings you here?"
Hammond held out a wafer-thin piece of printout paper. "This came."
Kim took it. A moment later he looked up, his dark eyes wide with surprise. "This is for real?"
"Absolutely. Director Spatz confirmed it with Prince Yuan's secretary. I'm to accompany you. To keep you out of trouble."
Kim laughed, then handed the paper back, pulling the towel up about his shoulders. "But that's amazing. An observatory. Does that mean we'll be going into space?"
Hammond shook his head. "No. Quite the opposite, in fact. The observatory at Heilbronn is situated at the bottom of a mineshaft, more than three li underground."
Kim looked away, then laughed. "Of course. It makes sense." He looked back. "When do we go?"'
"Tomorrow. First thing."
Kim smiled, then drew closer, whispering. "Was Spatz angry?"
Hammond bent down, giving his answer to Kim's ear. "Angry? He was furious!"
JELKA WOKE. Outside the storm was raging, hurling gusts of rain against the windowpane. Throwing on her nightgown she went out into the passageway. The night growled and roared beyond the thick stone walls of the house. She stood there a moment, listening, then started as the window at the far end of the passage lit up brilliantly. Seconds later a huge thunderclap shook the house.
She shivered, then laughed, her fear replaced by a surge of excitement. The storm! The storm was upon them!
She hurried down the great stairway, then stood there in the darkness of the hallway, the tiles cold beneath her naked feet. Again there was a flash, filling the huge, stained-glass window at the far end of the hallway with brilliant color. And then darkness, intense and menacing, filled by the tremendous power of the thunderclap that followed.
She went on, finding her way blindly to the door at the far end of the passageway. Usually it was locked, but for once she found it open. She stood there a moment, trembling. Here behind the thick stone of the outer wall, it was still, almost silent, only the muted rumble of distant thunder disturbing the darkness. When the next flash came, she pulled the door open and went up into the tower.
At once the sound of the storm grew louder. She went up the narrow, twisting steps in darkness, her left arm extended, steadying herself against the wall, coming out into a room she had not seen before. Blindly, she began to edge toward the center of the room, away from the hole in the floor, then froze as a blaze of light filled the room from the narrow window to her left. The accompanying thunderclap exploded in the tiny space and, in the momentary brilliance, she glimpsed the sparse contents of the room.
She saw herself briefly in the mirror opposite—a tiny figure in an almost empty room, her body framed in searing light, her face in intense shadow, one arm raised as if to fend off the thunder, the dark square of the stair hole just behind her.
She found the steps in the darkness, then went up, as a sudden flash filled the stairwell with light.
She went to the window. The glass was cold against her face, beaded with brilliant drops. The wooden boards were smooth and cool beneath her feet. Wind and rain rattled the glass. And then a vast hand seemed to shake the building. The tower seemed alive. As alive as she. She pressed her hands against the wood of the window's frame and stared out, waiting for each vivid stroke, each growl of elemental anger.
As the window lit up again she turned, looking behind her. On the far side of the room a metal ladder had been set into the wall. Above it, set square and solid in the ceiling, was a hatch. For a moment she stared at it, then pushed away from the window.
In the sudden dark she stumbled and fell, then clambered up again, her hands held out before her until they met the cold stone surface. For a moment she searched the wall blindly, cursing softly to herself, then found the metal rung and pulling herself across, began to climb.
She was pushing upward when the next flash filled the room. Above her the great hatch shuddered against her hands as the thunderclap shook the tower. She shivered, momentarily frightened by the power of the storm, then pushed her head and shoulder up against the hatch until it gave.
Suddenly she was outside, the rain pouring down onto her, the wind whipping cruelly at her hair, soaking the thin nightgown she was wearing.
She pulled herself up and, in the half-light, went to the parapet, steeling herself against the sudden cold, the insane fury of the wind, her hands gripping the metal rail tightly. As the sky lit up she looked down. Below her the sea seemed to writhe and boil, then throw a huge, clear fist of water against the rocks at the base of the tower. Spray splintered all about her and, as if on cue, the air about her filled with a ferocious, elemental roar that juddered the tower and shook her to the bone. And then darkness. An intense, brooding darkness, filled with the fury of the storm.
She was breathing deeply now, erratically. It felt as though the storm were part of her. Each time the lightning flashed and forked in the sky she felt a tremor go through her from head to toe, as sharp as splintered ice. And when the thunder growled it sounded in her bones, exploding with a suddenness that made her shudder with a fierce delight.
She shivered, her teeth clenched tight, her eyes wide, her limbs trembling with a strange, unexpected joy. Water ran freely down her face and neck, cleansing her, while below her the sea raged and churned, boiling against the rocks, its voice a scream of unarticulated pain, indistinguishable from the wind.