And maybe he's right. After all, we've survived his worst for six years now.
Karr opened his eyes and leaned forward again, nodding slowly to himself. If Lehmann had committed himself prematurely, then maybe it was time to be audacious. Maybe it was time to hit him back. To take the War onto his territory for the first time.
His supply lines, they were Lehmann's weakness. He had a good staff, by all accounts, but he didn't have a genius like Heng Yu organizing things behind the scenes.
He expects me to defend, as I've always defended. But if I go behind his lines and hit him where it hurts . . .
Karr laughed, then turned, calling to his Communications Officer. "Radow! Get me the Chancellor, right away! Tell him it's urgent. And if there's a problem, tell him the T'ang's General wants to fight a war."
MINISTER CHANG was dressing for his afternoon appointment with his Junior Ministers when the news started breaking. Pushing his Steward aside, he stood before the big wall-screen, watching as the attack on the Plantations unfolded.
Too early, he thought, wondering why he'd heard nothing from Lehmann. He's gone in too early. Nothing's ready yet.
Unless something had happened.
Chang Hong turned, yelling at his servants to clear the room; then, the door locked securely behind him, he went to the corner and sat at his desk, punching out the contact code Lehmann had given him for emergencies.
He waited, tapping the desktop nervously, knowing the signal had to be rerouted several times. "Come on," he said, after a moment, anxious that it was taking so long. Then a face appeared; young, female, Han, in her twenties.
"Can I help you, Master?"
He shook his head, not understanding. "But the number I punched—"
"Is unavailable, Minister," she answered, bowing her head.
He stared at the screen a moment, then cut contact. Minister . . . she'd called him Minister. Which meant . . .
"Aiya . . ."he moaned softly. They knew. The bastards knew!
Out. He had to get out. Before they came for him.
Throwing the chair aside, he ran to the door and unlocked it, then went out into the corridor, calling for his Steward, knowing that time was against him.
NAN HO HURRIED from his Master's study, almost running as he headed back to his own rooms. Things were happening fast. They had turned Lehmann's forces at Ternopol and fought off the worst of his air strikes, but Karr was right—they had to do more than simply stand their ground. It was crucial—for morale, if nothing else—that they hit back, and swiftly.
As the doors to his rooms opened before him, he swept through, Li Yuan's signed order in his hand. It had taken a great deal to persuade the T'ang, but this would free Karr's hands to take decisive action.
"Get Karr," he said brusquely, settling behind his desk and summoning his Secretary. "Then tell me what the latest situation is with Minister Chang. Is our man still following him?"
"Karr is already on, Master," Hu Ch'ang said, bowing low. "As far as Minister Chang is concerned, we have taken his brothers to Bremen. As a precaution. They will remain there until Chang himself is apprehended."
Nan Ho nodded. While the situation was bad, there had been this one single benefit—that while a State of Emergency existed he could arrest Chang Hong openly, without fear of repercussions. Right now any allies Chang might have had were keeping their heads low.
"Okay. Let's take Chang Hong. Alive, if possible. I want to question the man. Find out what he knows!"
"Master!"
The Secretary backed away, head low as the big screen came down to Nan Ho's left. Nan Ho turned to meet Karr's eyes on the screen.
"Well, Master Nan?" Karr asked. "What does our Master say?"
Nan Ho held up the order. "He has given you permission, Gregor. A free hand to do what you must."
Relief flooded Karr's face. "Thank the gods!"
"One thing, however."
"Yes, Master Nan?"
"The copies. I want you to relinquish control of that to someone else."
"But—"
Nan Ho raised a hand. "Hear me out, Gregor. You have enough on your hands as it is, and I, for one, would be much happier if I knew your full attention was on the business of defeating Lehmann in the field. But for your own peace of mind, let me explain. I have asked the T'ang if I can bring in Ward on this matter."
"Ward? You mean the Clayborn?"
Nan Ho nodded. "I reason it thus. Ward has more experience than any of us on constructing morphs. More, perhaps, even than Gen-Syn—and certainly more than any single GenSyn employee. Who better to bring in on this? He has the mind for it, certainly."
Karr laughed. "There's no doubting that!" He considered a moment, then nodded. "Okay. But I'd like to liaise with him. All of this is tied in somehow, and I want to know how. It might be important."
"I'll make sure he does."
"Good. Then I'd best set to."
Nan Ho smiled, his face taut, strangely emotional. "And good luck, Gregor Karr. All our fortunes rest with you."
Karr bowed his head. "Take good care, Master Nan. And keep an eye out for my girls, neh?"
"I shall."
Nan Ho leaned forward and cut the connection, then sat back. It was eight minutes after three. "Get me Ward," he said, the heaviness he had been feeling earlier descending on him again. "Tell him his friend the T'ang requires his help."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Dreams of Morpheus
THE NAKED BOY crouched on the flat, wet stone at the cliffs edge, his wiry five-year-old body hunched forward, watching the wave rush in—a pale green swell above the gray—and smash against the rocks below.
As it surged back he tensed, waiting, then threw himself in, his arms flicking out above his head, his body arching in a perfect dive. He struck the surface crisply, almost without a trace, his pale form powering beneath the incoming wave, his dark head surfacing in the green beyond as the water splintered against the steep face of the bay.
He took a bireath, then kicked backward, letting the outward flow carry, then lift him up into the approaching swell.
This was the dangerous part. Judge this wrong and he was in trouble. He kicked hardl, forcing his body back, climbing the wave that threatened to pick him up and smash him against the rocks. Kick, then kick again, and it was gone, sliding beneath him like a whale's back heading for the shore.
He laughed and turned onto his front, his quick strokes pulling him through the water like a young otter, then ducked beneath the next wave and up. He was out of the bay now. The beach lay to his right, beyond the headland. He propelled himself across, letting the swirling current tug at hum momentarily, enjoying the play offerees on his skin, then kicked foir shore, riding the waves until he beached, then letting the inward tidle wash over him, lifting him gently as he lay on the shingle, relaxing.
Easy, he thought. So easy.
"Sampsa!"
He twisted sharply in the water, his head turning toward the sound. It was his father's voice, calling from the cliff path.
"Sampsa! Sampsa, are you there?"
He looked about him, then got up and ran quickly to the shore, disappearing among the rocks. There he hid, watching his father pass above him, calling.
"Sampsa! Where are you, boy?"
As his father's figure vanished among the trees at the top of the path, he scrambled up, climbing the path quickly, his feet finding the stones blindly. His clothes were where he'd left them, in a neat pile among the ferns. He reached in and pulled them out, then, shaking each item before he pulled it on, got dressed.
"Sampsa!"
The call was distant now, up near the house. His father would be getting worried.