"It was not my place. In any case, it was not ready before now."
The T'ang looked back down at the folder and at the summary Shepherd had appended to the front of his report. This was more than a simple distillation of the man's thoughts on the current political situation. Here, in its every detail, was the plan for that "War of Levels" Shepherd had mentioned earlier. A scheme which would, if implemented, bring the Seven into direct confrontation with the House.
Li Shai Tung flicked through the pages of the report quickly, skimming, picking out phrases which Shepherd had highlighted or underlined, his pulse quickening as he read. Shepherd's tiny, neat handwriting filled almost forty pages, but the meat of it was there, in that opening summary. He read once more what Shepherd had written.
Power is defined only through the exercise of power. For too long now we have refrained from openly exercising our power and that restraint has been taken for weakness by our enemies. In view of developments it might be argued that they have been justified in this view. However, our real weakness is not that we lack the potential, but that we lack the will to act.
We have lost the initiative and allowed our opponents to dictate the subject—even the rules—of the debate. This has resulted in the perpetuation of the belief that change is not merely desirable but inevitabk. Moreover, they believe that the natural instrument of that change is the House, therefore they seek to increase the power of the House.
The logic of this process is inexorable. There is nothing but House and Seven, hence the House can grow only at the expense of the Seven.
War is inevitable. It can be delayed but not avoided. And every delay is henceforth to our opponents' advantage. They grow while we dimmish. It follows that we must preempt their play for power.
We must destroy them now, while we yet have the upper hand.
Li Shai Tung closed the file with a sigh. Shepherd was right. He knew, with a gut certainty, that this was what they should do. But he had said it already. He was not simply T'ang, he was Seven, and the Seven would never act on this. They saw it differently.
"Well?"
"I can keep this?"
"Of course. It was meant for you."
The T'ang smiled sadly, then looked across at the boy. He spoke to him as he would to his own son, undeferentially, as one adult to another. "Have you seen this, Ben?"
Shepherd answered for his son. "You've heard him already. He thinks it nonsense."
Ben corrected his father. "Not nonsense. I never said that. I merely said it avoided the real issue."
"Which is?" Li Shai Tung asked, reaching for his glass.
"Why men are never satisfied."
The T'ang considered a moment, then laughed softly. "That has always been so, Ben. How can I change what men are?"
"You could make it better for them. They feel boxed in. Not just physically, but mentally too. They've no dreams. Not one of them feels real anymore."
There was a moment's silence, then Hal Shepherd spoke again. "You know this, Ben? You've talked to people?"
Ben stared at his father momentarily, then turned his attention back to the T'ang. "You can't miss it. It's there in all their eyes. There's an emptiness there. An unfilled, unfulfilled space deep inside them. I don't have to talk to them to see that. I have only to watch the media. It's like they're all dead but they can't see it. They're looking for some purpose for it all and they can't find it."
Li Shai Tung stared back at the boy for a moment, then looked down, chilled by what Ben had said. Was it so? Was it really so? He looked about the room, conscious suddenly of the lowness of the ceiling, of the dark oak beams that divided up the whitewashed walls, the fresh cut roses in a silver bowl on the table in the corner. He could feel the old wood beneath his fingers, smell the strong pine scent of the fire. All this was real. And he, too, was real, surely? But sometimes, just sometimes . . .
"And you think we could give them a purpose?"
Strangely, Ben smiled. "No. But you might give them the space to find one for themselves."
The T'ang nodded. "Ah. Space. Well, Ben, there are more than thirty-nine billion people in Chung Kuo. What practical measures could we possibly take to give space to so many?"
But Ben was shaking his head. "You mistake me, Li Shai Tung. You take my image too literally." He put a finger to his brow. "I meant space up here. That's where they're trapped. The City's only the outward, concrete form of it. But the blueprint— the paradigm—is inside their heads. That's where youVe got to give them room. And you can only do that by giving them a sense of direction."
"Change. That's what you mean, isn't it?"
"No. You need change nothing."
Li Shai Tung laughed. "Then I don't understand you, Ben. Have you some magic trick in mind?"
"Not at all. I mean only that if the problem is in their heads, then the solution can be found in the same place, They want outwardness. They want space, excitement, novelty. Well, why not give it to them? But not out there, in the real world. Give it to them up here, in their heads."
The T'ang was frowning. "But don't they get that, Ben? Doesn't the media give them that now?"
Ben shook his head. "No. I'm talking of something entirely different. Something that will make the walls dissolve. That will make it real to them." Again he tapped his brow. "Up here, where it counts."
The T'ang was about to answer him when there was a knock on the door.
"Come in!" said Shepherd, half turning in his seat.
It was the T'ang's steward. He bowed low to Shepherd and his son, then turned, his head still lowered, to his master. "Forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but you asked me to remind you of your audience with Minister Chao." Then, with a bow, the steward backed away, closing the door behind him.
Li Shai Tung looked back at Shepherd. "I'm sorry, Hal, but I must leave soon."
"Of course—" Shepherd began, but his son interrupted him.
"One last thing, Li Shai Tung."
The T'ang turned, patient, smiling. "What is it, Ben?"
"I saw something. This afternoon, in the town."
Li Shai Tung frowned. "You saw something?"
"An execution. And a suicide. Two of the elite guards."
"Gods!" The T'ang sat forward. "You saw that?"
"We were upstairs in one of the shops."
Shepherd broke in. "We. You mean Meg was with you?"
Ben nodded, then told what he had seen. At the end Li Shai Tung, his face stricken, turned to Shepherd. "Forgive me, Hal. This is all my fault. Captain Rosten was acting on my direct orders. However, had I known Ben and Meg would be there . . ." He shuddered, then turned back to the boy. "Ben, please forgive me. And ask Meg to forgive me too. Would that I could undo what has been done."
For a moment Ben seemed about to say something, then he dropped his eyes and made a small movement of his head. A negation. But what it signified neither man knew.
There was another knock on the door; a signal that the T'ang acknowledged with a few words of Mandarin. Then the two men stood, facing each other, smiling, for a brief moment in perfect accord.
"It has been an honor to have you here, Li Shai Tung. An honor and a pleasure."
The T'ang's smile broadened. "The pleasure has been mine, Hal. It is not often I can be myself."
"Then come again. Whenever you need to be yourself."
Li Shai Tung let his left hand rest on Shepherd's upper arm a moment, then nodded. "I shall. I promise you. But come, Hal, I've a gift for you."
The door opened and two of the T'ang's personal servants came in, carrying the gift. They set it down on the floor in the middle of the room, as the T'ang had instructed them earlier, then backed away, heads lowered. It was a tree. A tiny, miniature apple tree.
Shepherd went across and knelt beside it, then turned and looked back at Li Shai Tung, clearly moved by the T'ang's gesture.