Wang bowed his head respectfully. "1 agree, honored Cousin. There is great wisdom in your words. And that is why I propose that a joint committee be set up to investigate the likely consequences of such measures. Moreover, might I suggest that my cousin Wei Feng's man, Minister Sheng, be appointed head of that committee, reporting back directly to this Council with his findings."
Li Yuan stared at Tsu Ma, astonished. Minister Sheng! It was Sheng whom he and Tsu Ma had planned to propose as the new steward for GenSyn, Sheng who was the linchpin of their scheme to keep the company from financial ruin; yet somehow Wang Sau-leyan had found out, and now he had preempted them, robbing them of their candidate, knowing they had prepared no other. Wei Feng was nodding, immensely pleased by the suggestion. A moment later a vote had carried the decision unanimously, bringing them to the next piece of business, the question of GenSyn and how it was to be administered.
"But first let us eat," Wang said, lifting his bulky figure from the chair. "I don't know about you, cousins, but I could eat an ox, raw if necessary."
There was laughter, but it was not shared by Li Yuan or Tsu Ma—they were still reeling from the shock of Wang's final twist. Li Yuan looked across, meeting Wang's eyes. Before they had been clear, but now there was a hardness, a small gleam of satisfaction in them.
Li Yuan bit back his anger, then leaned forward and picked up the silk-bound folder, gripping it tightly as he made his way across and out onto the balcony. Only minutes ago he had decided not to use what he knew—not to play his final card— but now he was determined.
No. He was not finished yet. Let Wang Sau-leyan savor his tiny victory, for this day would see him humbled, his power in Council broken for all time.
And nothing—nothing—would stop him now.
AT THAT moment, twenty thousand Ji away, at Nanking spaceport a tall Han, wearing the outworld fashions of the Mars Colony, was stepping down from the interplanetary craft Wuhan. He had been through one exhaustive security check on board the ship, but another lay ahead. Ever since the attempt on Marshal Tolonen's life, security had been tight here.
He joined the queue, staring out across the massive landing pit dispassionately. The tests inside the ship had interested him. They were looking for abnormalities; for differences in the rib structure and the upper chest; signs of unusual brain scan patterns. He had had to produce a sample of his urine and his fecal matter. Likewise, he had had to spit into a small ceramic dish. And afterward the guard had looked up at him and smiled. "It's all right," he'd said, laughing as if he'd cracked the joke a thousand times, "you're human."
As if that meant anything. "Tuan Wen-ch'ang . . ."
He stepped forward, presenting his papers. The guard ignored them, taking his hand and placing it onto a lit-up pad on the desk in front of him. After a moment the guard released his hand, then brought around a swivel arm, indicating that he should put his eye to the cup. He did so, holding there a moment longer than was necessary for the machine to take a retinal scan.
"Okay," the guard said, then leaned across, taking Tuan's papers. Holding them under the high-density light he looked for signs of tampering or falsification. Satisfied, he slipped the pass into the slim black box at his side. A moment later it popped out again. At Security Central in Bremen the computer had entered Tuan Wen-ch'ang's personal details into the mainframe.
"All right. You're authorized for unobstructed passage in the four Cities in which you have business, full access granted between Level 150 and First Level."
Tuan gave the slightest bow then walked on, pocketing his papers.
Deep inside he felt a mild amusement. It had been much easier than he had expected. But he understood why. This whole society had been conditioned not to anticipate; to think of how things were and had always been, not of their potential. Their security procedures, for instance. They were testing for something that was already redundant; that was as outmoded as the tests they used to find it. On Mars things were different. There the pace was faster. Things had moved on.
He climbed aboard the courtesy train and sat there, waiting, his patience inexhaustible, his path through the great labyrinth of the City mapped out clearly in his head, as if already traveled. It was four hours by bolt to Luo Yang, then another hour and a half north to Yang Ch'ian on the edge of the City, only a hundred It from Wang Sau-leyan's palace at Tao Yuan. But the central computer records would show something else; would show him traveling south down the coast to catch the intercontinental shuttle from Fuchow to Darwin. And if the central computer said it were so, who would argue with it? Who would bother to check whether it reflected anything real—anything happening in the solid, physical world?
Tuan Wen-ch'ang's face remained placid, almost inscrutable in its masklike quality, yet deep down he was smiling. Yes, they had had all kinds of things bred out of them down here. Things that the species needed if it were to evolve beyond its present state. And that was why he was here. To remind them of what could be done. To shake them up a little.
And to push things one stage further.
BEYOND THE one-way GLASS the two youths sat, their backs to the wall, their hands bound. The preliminary interrogation was over, the accusations made and denied. Now it was time to take things further.
Chen followed the sergeant through, watching how the two boys glanced at him, seeing the uniform, then looked again, their eyes widening as they recognized who he was.
"Ai ya . . ." the younger of them murmured beneath his breath, but the tall, thin youth—the ringleader—was silent.
"Well, my friends," the sergeant said, a warm, ironic tone to his voice, "you've met your accuser before, but I don't think you knew his name. So let me present Captain Kao of the T'ang's special elite force."
The thin youth's eyes came up, meeting Chen's briefly.
Good, thought Chen. So now you understand.
"All right," he said brusquely. "You have had your chance to confess. Now you will be taken before a specially convened panel of judges who will decide the matter." He paused. "Your families will be present."
He saw the sudden bitterness in the thin youth's face. "You bastard," the boy said quietly. "You fucking bastard."
Again, he let it pass. He was the T'ang's man, after all. It was his duty to do things properly.
They took them down, under armed escort, to the meeting hall at the far end of the deck. There, in closed session, the three judges were waiting, sitting behind their high lecterns. To one side of the hall, on chairs set apart from the rest, sat the youths' four young accomplices. Behind them were the families—men, women, and children—numbering several hundred in all.
AH this, Chen thought, looking about him, surprised by the size of the gathering. AH this because I willed it. Because I wanted things to be done properly.
And yet it didn't feel right. He should have broken the little bastard's hand. Should have given him a simple lesson in power. Whereas this . . .
It began. Chen sat there, to the side, while the judges went through the evidence, questioning the boys and noting down their replies. It was a cold, almost clinical process. Yet when Chen stood to give his statement, he could feel the silent pressure of all those eyes, accusing him, angry at him for disturbing the balance of their lives. He felt his face grow numb, his heart begin to hammer, but he saw it through. He was kwai, after all. Besides, it was not he who had threatened another; who had extorted money and then lied about it.