Lever shrugged, then waved them away, lowering his head as he dug into his breakfast.
Outside it was cooler. Subtle lighting gave the impression that it really was morning, that they really were walking beneath a fresh, early autumn sky, a faint breeze whispering through the branches of the nearby trees.
DeVore, watching the younger Lever, saw how he changed once out of his father's presence, how the tense pose of formality slipped from him.
"Was I right?" he asked, as soon as they were out of earshot of the mansion.
Lever turned. "You're a clever man, Howard, but don't underestimate my father."
"Maybe. But was I right?"
Lever nodded. "It was all he talked about. But then, that's not surprising. It's an obsession with him. Immortality . . ." He shook his head.
DeVore put his hand on the young man's arm. "I understand how you must feel, Michael. I've not said anything before now—after all, it would hardly be good manners to talk of it in front of your father—but to you I can speak freely. You see, I find the idea of living forever quite absurd. To think that we could outwit death— that we could beat the old Master at his own game!" He laughed and shook his head ruefully, seeing how he had struck a chord in the other man. "Well, I'm sure you agree. The very idea is ludicrous. Besides, why perpetuate the weakness of the old creature—the mei yu jen went Why not strive to make some better, finer being?"
"What do you mean?"
DeVore lowered his voice. "You've seen what I've achieved so far. Well, much more has yet to be done. The fortresses are but a small part of my scheme. It's my belief that we must look beyond the destruction of the Seven and anticipate what happens afterward. And not merely anticipate. The wise man seeks to shape the future, surely?"
Lever nodded thoughtfully. "It's what I've always said,"
"Good. Then hear me out, for I have a plan that might benefit us both."
"Apian?"
"Yes. Something that will keep everyone happy."
Lever laughed. "That's a tall order."
"But not impossible. Listen. What if we were to set up an Immortality Research Center in the Wilds?"
Lever started. "But I thought you said—?"
"I did. And I meant what I said. But look at it this way; you want one thing, your father another. However, he has the power—the money, to be precise—and you have nothing. Or as good as."
He could see from the sourness in the young man's face that he had touched a raw nerve.
"Well, why not channel a little of that money into something for yourself, Michael?"
Lever's eyes widened, understanding. "I see. When you talk of a research center, you don't mean that, do you? You're talking of a front. A way of channeling funds."
"Of course."
"You're asking me to fool my father. To draw on his obsession, hoping he'll be blind to what I'm doing."
DeVore shook his head. "I'm asking nothing of you, Michael. You'll act as you choose to act. And if that accords with what I want, then all well and good. If not . . ." He shrugged and smiled pleasantly, as if it didn't matter.
"And what do you want?"
DeVore hesitated. He had been asked that question so many times now that he had even begun to ask it of himself. For a brief moment he was tempted to spell it out—the whole grand scheme he carried in his head—then changed his mind.
"I think you know what I want. But let me just ask you this, Michael. If your father got his dearest wish—if he finally found a way of becoming immortal—what then? Wouldn't that simply prove a curse to all involved? After all, if he were to live forever, when would you inherit?"
Lever met DeVore's eyes briefly, then looked away. But DeVore, watching, had seen how his words had touched him to the quick. It was what he feared—what his whole generation feared. To be a son forever, bound by a living ghost.
Lever shivered, then shook his head. "And this Center—how would you go about selling the idea to my father?"
DeVore smiled, then took the young man's arm again, leading him on, beginning to outline his plan. But the most difficult part now lay behind him. The rest would be easy.
Immortality. It was a nonsense, but a useful nonsense. And he would milk it to the last drop. But before then he would carry out a few last schemes of his own. To tidy things up, and settle a few last scores.
IT was AFTER six in the morning when Kim got back to the high-security complex where he was staying. The guards checked his ID, then passed him through.
The apartment was in darkness, only the faint glow of the console display showing from the room at the far end of the hallway. He stood there a moment, feeling uneasy. His bedroom was just up a little on the right. He went through, closing the door behind him, then turned on the bedside lamp.
He stiffened, then turned slowly, looking about him. The red silk package on the bedside table had not been there when he had left. Someone had been into the room.
He stared at it a moment, wondering what to do. If it were a bomb it might already be too late—merely coming into the room could have triggered the timer. Then he saw the note poking out from beneath, and smiled, recognizing the hand.
He sat, placing the package beside him on the bed while he read the note. It was in Mandarin, the black-ink characters formed with confident, fluent strokes. At the foot of the small, silken sheet was the young T'ang's seal, the Ywe Lung impressed into the bright gold wax. He read it quickly.
Shi/i Ward,
At our first meeting I said that if you did as I wished I would tear up my father's warrant. You have more than fulfilled your part of our agreement, therefore I return my father's document, duly enacted.
I would be honored if you would also accept these few small gifts with my sincere gratitude for your help in restoring the Project.
I look forward to seeing you on your return from my cousin's City.
With deepest respect, Li Yuan
Kim looked up. The note was most unusual. With deepest respect. These were not words a T'ang normally used to a subject. No, he knew enough of the social mechanics of Chung Kuo to know that this was exceptional behavior on the young T'ang's part. But why? What did he want from him?
Or was that fair? Did Li Yuan have to want something?
He put the note down and picked up the package. Beneath the silk wrapping was a tiny box, a black lacquered box, the letters of Kim's name impressed into the lid in bright gold lettering. He felt a tiny tremor of anticipation ripple through him as he opened it. Inside the box, wrapped in the torn pieces of Li Shai Tung's warrant, were four small cards. He spilled them onto the bed. They were little different from the computer cards that were in use everywhere throughout Chung Kuo: multipurpose cards that served to store information in every shape and form. There was no guessing what these were until he fed them into a comset. They might be credit chips, for instance, or holograms, or special programs of some kind. The only clue he had was the number Li Yuan had hand-written on each.
He scooped them up and went into the end room, turning on the desk lamp beside the console before slipping the first of the cards—numbered yi, one—into the slot in front of him.
He sat back, waiting.
There was the sound of a tiny bell being rung, the note high and pure, then two words appeared on the screen.
PASS CODE?
He placed his hand palm down on the touchpad and leaned forward over the dark, reflective surface, opening his eyes wide, letting the machine verify his retinal print. He spoke four words of code, then sat back.
There was a fraction of a second's delay before the response came up on the screen.
AUDIO OR VISUAL?
"Visual," he said softly.
The surface rippled in acknowledgment, like the calm surface of a pool dis-