Li Yuan raised his hand. "I understand. Can I see the boy?"
"Of course, my Lord. But you must understand his condition. I am told it is a result of his 'restructuring' at the clinic. Occasionally he falls into a kind of torpor' where he won't speak or even acknowledge that anyone is there."
"I see." Li Yuan kept the depth of his disappointment from his face. "And is he like that now?"
"I am afraid so, my Lord."
"And his tutor, T'ai Cho?"
Spatz gave a small shrug of resignation. "A good man, but his loyalty to the boy is—shall we say, misguided. He is too involved, my Lord. His only thought is to keep the boy from harm. I'm afraid you'll get little sense from him either."
Li Yuan studied Spatz a moment longer, then closed the file.
"You wish to see the boy, my Lord?"
Li Yuan sighed, then shook his head. "No. I think I've seen enough." He stood. "I'm disappointed, Spatz. Hugely disappointed. I expected far greater progress than this. Still, things are on the right lines. I note that youVe made some headway toward solving things on the technical side. That's good, but I want more. I want a working model twelve months from now."
"My Lord . . ." The note of pure panic in the Director's voice was almost comical, yet Li Yuan had never felt less like laughing.
"Twelve months. Understand me? For my part, I'll make sure you have another dozen men—the best scientists I can recruit from the Companies. As for funding, you're quite correct, Director. It is inadequate. Which is why I'm tripling it from this moment."
For the first time Spatz's head came up and his eyes searched him out. "My Lord, you are too generous."
Li Yuan laughed sourly. "Generosity has nothing to do with it, Director Spatz. I want a job done and I want it done properly. We underfunded. We didn't see the scale of the thing. Well, now we'll put that right. But I want results this time."
"And the boy?"
Li Yuan stood, handing the main copies of the files to Chang Shih-sen, then looked back at Spatz.
"The matter of the boy will be dealt with. You need worry yourself no further in that regard, Director."
BARYCZ LOCKED the door of the Communications Room, then went to his desk and activated the screen. He tapped in the code and waited, knowing the signal was being scrambled through as many as a dozen subroutes before it got to its destination. The screen flickered wildly, then cleared, DeVore's face staring out at him.
"Is it done?"
Barycz swallowed nervously, then nodded. "I've dispatched copies of the files to your man. He should have them within the hour."
"Good. And the boy? He's out of it, I hope?"
Barycz bowed his head. "I've done everything as you ordered it, Shih Loehr. However, there is one small complication. The Director has ordered Hammond off the Project. With immediate effect."
DeVore looked away a moment, then nodded. "Fine. I'll see to that." He looked back at Barycz, smiling. "You've done well, Barycz. There'll be a bonus for you."
Barycz bowed his head again. "You are too kind." When he looked up again the screen was dark.
He smiled, pleased with himself, then sat back, wondering how generous Loehr planned to be. Maybe he'd have enough to move up a deck—to buy a place in the Hundreds.
Barycz sniffed thoughtfully, then laughed, recalling how Hammond had spat in the Director's face.
"Served the bastard right," he said quietly. Yes. He was not a spiteful man, but he had enjoyed the sight of Spatz getting his deserts. Enjoyed it greatly.
LEHMANN STOOD in the doorway, looking in. "Ebert's here."
DeVore looked up from the wei chi board and smiled. "Okay. I'll be up in a while. Take him through into the private suite and get one of the stewards to look after him. Tell him I won't be long."
DeVore watched his lieutenant go, then stood. He had been practicing new openings. Experimenting. Seeing if he could break down old habits. That was the only trouble with u>ei chi—it was not a game to be played against oneself. One needed a steady supply of opponents, men as good as oneself—better, if one really wished to improve one's game. But he had no one.
He stretched and looked about him, feeling good, noticing his furs where he had left them in the corner of the room. He had been out early, before sunrise; he had gone out alone, hunting snow foxes. The pelts of five were hanging in the kitchens, drying out, the scant meat of the foxes gone into a stew—a special meal to celebrate. Yes, things were going well. Only a few weeks ago the situation had seemed bleak, but now the board was filling nicely with his plays. In the north, the Ping Tiao were effectively destroyed and Mach's Yu was primed to step into the resultant power vacuum. In the east his men were in position, awaiting only his order to attack the Plantations, while to the west he was building up a new shape—seeking new allies among the elite of City North America. Added to these were two much subtler plays—the poisoned statue and his plans for the Wiring Project. All were coming to fruition. Soon the shapes on the board would change and a new phase of the game would begin—the middle game—in which his pieces would be in the ascendant. And what was Ebert's role in all this? He had ambitions, that was clear now. Ambitions above being a puppet ruler. Well, let Ebert have them. When the time came, he would cut him down to size. Until then he would pretend to trust him more.
DeVore laughed. In the meantime, maybe he would offer him the girl, the lookalike. She had been meant for Tolonen—as a "gift" to replace his murdered daughter—but Jelka's survival had meant a change of plans. He studied the board thoughtfully, then nodded. Yes, he would give Ebert the lookalike as an early wedding gift. To do with as he wished.
He smiled, then leaned across and placed a white stone on the board, breachin§ the space between two of the black masses, threatening to cut.
HANS EBERT stood by the open hatchway of the transporter, his left hand strao tiehtiv as the craft rose steeply from the mountainside.
DeVore's gift was crouched behind him against the far wall of the craft, as far from the open hatchway as she could get. He could sense her there behind him and felt the hairs rise along his spine and at the back of his neck.
The bastard. The devious fucking bastard.
He smiled tightly and waved a hand at the slowly diminishing figure on the hillside far below. Then, as the craft began to bank away, he turned, looking at the girl, smiling at her reassuringly, keeping his true feelings from showing.
Games. It was all one big game to DeVore. He understood that now. And this— this gift of the girl—that was part of the play too. To unsettle him, perhaps. Or mock him. Well, he'd not let him.
He moved past her brusquely and went through into the cockpit. Auden turned, looking at him.
"What is it, Hans?"
He took a breath then shook his head. "Nothing. But you'd best have this." He took the sealed letter DeVore had given him and handed it across. "It's to Lever. DeVore wants you to hand it to him when you meet the Americans at the spaceport. It's an invitation."
Auden tucked it away. "What else?"
Ebert smiled. Auden was a good man. He understood things without having to be told. "It's just that I don't trust him. Especially when he 'puts all his stones on the table.' He's up to something."
Auden laughed. "Like what?"
Ebert stared out through the frosted glass, noting the bleakness of their surroundings. "I don't know. It's just a feeling. And then there's his gift . . ."
Auden narrowed his eyes. "So what are you going to do with her?"
Ebert turned back, meeting his eyes briefly, then jerked away, pulling the cockpit door closed behind him.