A nurse brought him a chair and he sat, content to wait until the young man woke. His new arm ached at the shoulder, despite the drugs, but it was feeling better than it had.
Besides, he was alive. Thanks to Haavikko, he was alive.
The nurse hovered but he waved her away, then settled to watch the sleeping man.
All his life he had been self-reliant. All his life he had fought his own fights, keeping himself always one step ahead of his enemies. But now he was growing old. At last he had proof of it. His old eyes had missed the discrepancy of the color codings on the soldiers' chests, his reactions had been just a fraction of a second too slow, and he had lost his arm as a result. Almost his life.
He smiled, studying the young man. Haavikko was cradled in bandages, special healants creating new skin growth on his badly burned shoulder and back.
Tolonen shook his head as if to clear it, feeling both sad and happy at once. He had been told what Haavikko had done for him, like a son for a father; risking himself when all bonds of duty or obligation had long ago been severed between them.
Yes, he had sorely misjudged the boy; had believed him other than he was.
Haavikko stirred and opened his eyes. "Marshal. . ." He made to sit up, then winced and eased back, closing his eyes again. The blast had removed most of the skin at the top of his back and taken off his ear.
"Lie still, boy. Please. You need your rest."
Haavikko opened his eyes again and looked up at the Marshal. "Your arm . . ." he said, clearly pained by the sight.
Tolonen laughed gruffly. "You like it? It hurts a bit just now, but that doesn't matter. I'm alive, that's the thing." He sat back, his right hand reaching up to scratch at the stubble on his left cheek; an awkward, embarrassed gesture, indicative of just how hard the old man found it to deal with this. The warmth he felt toward the other man—that depth of reawakened feeling—brought him close to tears. He looked away a moment, controlling himself, then finished what he had meant to say. "Thanks to you, Axel. Thanks to you."
Axel smiled. His hands lay above the sheets. Long, fine hands, undamaged in the incident. Tolonen took one and squeezed it.
"I misjudged you, boy. I—"
Haavikko shook his head, a slight grimace of pain crossing his face. "It doesn't matter. Really, sir. I..." He turned his head slightly, looking across the room to the peg where his clothes hung. "But there's something you must know. Something important."
Tolonen smiled. "Rest, my boy. There's plenty of time for other things . . ."
"No . . ." Haavikko swallowed dryly. "Over there, in my tunic, there's a package. I was bringing it to you when it happened. I'd pieced it all together."
Tolonen shook his head, puzzled. "Pieced what together?"
Haavikko looked up, pleading with his eyes. "Just look. Please, sir. You don't have to read it all right now. Later, perhaps, when you feel up to it. But promise me you'll read it. Please, Marshal."
Tolonen let go of Haavikko's hand, got up heavily, and walked across the room. Just as Haavikko had said, there was a small package in the inner pocket of the tunic. He tugged at it until it came free, then went back, taking his seat again.
He held the package out, a query in his eyes. "So what is this?"
Haavikko swallowed again and Tolonen, taking the hint, put the package down and picked up the glass by the bedside, giving Haavikko a few sips.
"Well?"
"Long ago you asked me to do something for you—to make a list of people who might have been involved in the assassination of Minister Lwo Kang. Do you remember?"
Tolonen laughed. "Gods! That must have been eleven years ago. And you did that?"
Haavikko made the smallest movement of his head. "That's how it began. But I extended it. I kept a record of anything I felt wasn't right—anything that didn't quite make sense to me. Then, recently, I teamed up with Kao Chen and your man Karr."
"Good men," Tolonen said, nodding his approval.
"Yes." Haavikko smiled, then grew serious again. "Anyway, what you have there is the result of our investigations. My original list, my notes, and a few other things. Computer files. Hologram images."
Tolonen lifted the package and turned it in his hand; then he set it down on his knee and reached out to take Haavikko's hand again. "And you want me to look at it?"
"Yes. . ."
Tolonen considered a moment. He had promised Jelka he would dine with her later on, but maybe he would cancel that. He could always say he was tired. Jelka would understand. He smiled broadly at Haavikko. "Of course. It's the very least I can do."
Haavikko looked back at him, his eyes moist. "Thank you," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "Thank you, sir."
Tolonen sat clasping the young man's hand. The ache in his left shoulder was much stronger now. It was probably time for his medication, but he felt loath to leave Haavikko.
"I must go now," he said softly. "But I promise you I'll look at your files. Later. When it's quiet."
Haavikko smiled, his eyes closed. Slowly his mouth relaxed. In a moment he was sleeping.
Tolonen placed the young man's hand gently back on the sheets, then got to his feet stiffly. Twice lucky, he thought, remembering the attack at Nanking spaceport. He made his way across, then turned, looking back, noticing for the first time just how pale Haavikko was. He stood there a moment longer, absently scratching at the dressing at his shoulder, then desisted, annoyed with himself.
He looked down at the silver arm and sighed, remembering how Jelka had fussed when she'd first seen it. But there was steel in her too. She had borne up bravely. So, too, this young man. Oh, he would make things up. He was determined on it. He would find a way of making things right again.
Tolonen yawned, then, smiling sadly to himself, turned away, leaving the young officer to sleep.
TSU ma lifted the dish and brushed his thumb across its silken, contoured surface. It was a perfect piece; black lacquer carved with two water fowls against a background of lotus. Fourteenth century, from the last years of the Yuan Dynasty. He smiled to himself, then turned to face Li Yuan.
"Two years they would labor to make one of these. Two years of a master craftsman's life. And at the end, this. This small fragment of dark perfection."
Li Yuan looked across at him, turning from the view of Rio de Janeiro's bay and Sugarloaf Mountain beyond. He had not been listening, but he saw the lacquered dish in Tsu Ma's hands and nodded. "That piece is beautiful. Hou Ti had many fine things."
Tsu Ma held his eyes a moment. "These days some think of them as primitive, ignorant men. Barbarians. But look at this. Is this barbarian?" He shook his head slowly, his eyes returning to the dish. "As if the mere passage of years could make our species more sophisticated."
Li Yuan laughed and came closer. "Your point, Tsu Ma?"
Behind them, at the far side of the long room, the rest of the Seven were gathered, talking among themselves.
Tsu Ma put the dish down, letting his fingers rest in its shallow bowl, then looked up at Li Yuan again. "Just that there are those here who think the future better than the past simply because it is the future. Who believe that change is good simply because it is change. They have no time for comparisons. Nor for the kind of values expressed in the simplicity of this dish. No time for craft, control, or discipline." He lowered his voice a fraction. "And I find that disturbing, Li Yuan. Dangerous, even."
Li Yuan studied him a moment, then gave the barest nod of agreement. They had covered much ground that morning, but nothing yet of true significance. On the matters of the stewardships and the new immortality drugs he had bowed like the reed before the wind, not pushing his own viewpoint, merely ensuring that these matters were not finalized. Let them play their games of evading death, he thought; death would find them anyway, wherever they hid. As for the other, there was time enough to force his view on that.