Tolonen hesitated a moment, then spoke again. "There is one other thing, Chieh Hsia. Something which isn't in the summary. Something we're still working on."
"And what's that?"
"The brain. It wasn't like anything else GenSyn ever produced. For a start, it wasn't connected to any kind of spinal cord. Nor did it have to be sited in a skull. Moreover, it's a lot more compact than a normal human brain, as if it was designed for something else. It makes me think that this was only a single component and that the rest was being made up elsewhere, maybe at sites all over Chung Kuo."
"To be sent to Mars for assembly, you think?"
"Maybe." The old man frowned and shook his head. "Maybe I'm just being paranoid about this, Chieh Hsia. Maybe it's all dead and gone, like the brain itself. Maybe we killed it when we killed DeVore.
But I'm not so sure. The fact that this could be built in the first place worries me immensely. If you were to put a number of these inside Hei bodies, for instance, you could do a lot of damage. No one would be safe. Not if those performance statistics are correct."
"So what do you suggest?"
"That you meet with Wu Shih and Tsu Ma and let them know of this at once."
"And the rest of the Council?"
Tolonen shook his head. "For once I think you need to keep things tight. Master Nan will need to know about this, certainly. But if Wang Sau-leyan were to find out, who knows what he would do? If this thing was built once, it could be built again. And in our cousin's hands, who knows what evil might result?"
"That is so," Li Yuan said quietly. "Yet why not simply destroy all record of it? That would be simplest, surely?"
"Maybe it would, Chieh Hsia. But can we take the risk? Can we be certain that these are the only records of the experiments, or are there copies elsewhere? On Mars, perhaps? Or somewhere else, hidden away?"
Li Yuan looked down. "So we must live with this?"
"It seems so, Chieh Hsia. At least, until we can be sure."
"Sure?" Li Yuan laughed bleakly, recalling with surprise his earlier mood of joy. When could they ever be sure?
old MAN LEVER turned, the dark, curly-haired head held firmly between his broad, square-fingered hands, and smiled.
"Well, what do you think?"
Lever held out the severed head, as if offering it to the three men who stood before him, but they merely grimaced, their fans fluttering agitatedly before their faces.
"Really, Charles," one of them, a tall, morose-looking man named Marley, answered. "It's grotesque. What is it? GenSyn?"
Lever shook his head, but the smile remained in his eyes. He was enjoying their discomfort. "Not at all. It's real. Or was. As far as I know there are only three such heads in existence, but this is the best. Look at it. Look how well preserved it is."
As he thrust the head out toward them, there was a sharp movement back; a look of revulsion in their faces so profound it was almost comical.
Lever shrugged, then turned the head in his hands, staring down into the dark, broad features. Lifting it slightly, he sniffed the black, leathery skin.
"It's beautiful, neh? Slaves they were. Negroes, they called them. They were brought over to America from Africa four, five centuries ago. Our forefathers used them like machines, to toil in their fields and serve in their mansions. They say there were once thousands of them. Subhuman, of course. You can see that at a glance. But men, all the same. Bred, not made."
Marley shuddered and turned away, looking about him. The room was cluttered with packing cases from a dozen different auction rooms, most of them unopened. But those that were open displayed treasures beyond imagining. Clothing and furniture, machines and books, statues and paintings and silverware. Things from the old times none of them had dreamed still existed.
He turned back. Old Man Lever's eyes were on him again, as if studying him, gauging his reaction to all this.
"I thought we might have a special exhibition suite at the Institute, George. What do you think? Something to boost morale. To give us a renewed sense of our heritage. As Americans."
Marley shot worried glances at his fellows, then looked back at Lever, a faint quiver in his voice. "An exhibition? Of this?"
Lever nodded.
"But wouldn't that be ... dangerous? I mean. . ." Marleys fan fluttered nervously. "Word would get out. The Seven would hear of it. They would see it as a kind of challenge, surely?"
Lever laughed dismissively. "No more than the Waldeseemuller map that already hangs there. No, and certainly no more of a challenge than the Kitchen. Besides, what would our friend Wu Shih do if he knew? What could he do?"
Marley averted his eyes before the fierce, challenging gaze of the other, but his discomfort was evident. And maybe that was why Lever had invited them this morning—not to show off his most recent acquisitions but to sound out their reaction to his scheme. The ancient map of the world that hung in the great hall of the Institute, that was one thing, and Archimedes Kitchen and its anti-Han excesses, that was another. But this—this scheme for an exhibition, a museum of ancient Americana—was something else entirely. Was an act of defiance so gross that to ignore it would be tantamount to condoning it.
And Wu Shih could not afford to condone it.
So why? Why did Lever want to bring things to a head? Why did he want a confrontation with Wu Shih? Was he still burning at the humiliation he had suffered on the steps of the ancient Lincoln Memorial, or was this something else? In setting up this exhibition was he, perhaps, attempting to create some kind of bargaining counter? Something he might trade off for some other, more worthwhile concession?
Or was that too subtle a reading of this? Mightn't the old fool simply be ignorant of the likely result of his proposed action? Marley stared at the severed Negro head in Old Man Lever's hands and shuddered inwardly. It would not do to offend Lever, but the alternative for once seemed just as bad.
He met Lever's eyes firmly, steeling himself to ask the question. "What do you want, Charles? What do you really want?"
Lever looked down at the head, then back at Marley. "I want us to be proud again, that's all, George. Proud. We've bowed before these bastards all our lives. Been their creatures. Done what they said. But times are changing. We're entering a new phase of things. And afterward . . ." he lowered his voice, smiling now, "well, maybe they'll find occasion to bow their heads to us, neh?"
Yes, Marley thought, or have ours cut from our necks . . .
He was about to speak, about to ask something more of the Old Man, when there was a banging on the door at the far end of the room. Lever set the head down carefully, then, with a tight smile that revealed he was loath to be interrupted, moved past them.
While Lever stood there at the door speaking to his First Steward, Marley looked to his two companions—like himself, major contributors to the Institute's funds—and saw his own deep reluctance mirrored there. But how articulate that? How convey their feelings without alienating Lever?
He turned, looking back at Lever, and caught his breath, surprised by the look of unbridled anger in the old man's face.
"Send him up!" Lever barked, dismissing the servant with a curt gesture. Then, composing himself as well as he could, he turned back, facing them again.
"Forgive me, ch'un t^u, but my son is here, it seems. I forbade him to come without my express permission, but he is here nonetheless."
"Ah. . ." Marley looked down, understanding. The rift between Old Man Lever and his son was common knowledge, but until now he had not known the depth of their division. Things were bad indeed if Lever had barred his son from the family home.
"Should we leave, Charles? This matter of the exhibition ... we might speak of it another time. Over dinner, perhaps?"