The Middle Kingdom (56 page)

Power is
defined only through the exercise of power. For too long now we have
refrained from openly exercising our power and that restraint has
been taken for weakness by our enemies. In view of developments it
might be argued that they have been justified in this view. However,
our real weakness is not that we lack the potential, but that we lack
the will to act.

We have lost
the initiative and allowed our opponents to dictate the subject
—
even
the rules
—of
the debate. This has resulted in the
perpetuation of the belief that change is not merely desirable but
inevitabk. Moreover, they believe that the natural instrument of that
change is the House, therefore they seek to increase the power of the
House.

The logic of
this process is inexorable. There is nothing but House and Seven,
hence the House can grow only at the expense of the Seven.

War is
inevitable. It can be delayed but not avoided. And every delay is
henceforth to our opponents' advantage. They grow while we
dimmish.
It
follows that we must preempt their play for power.

We must
destroy them now, while we yet have the upper hand.

Li Shai Tung
closed the file with a sigh. Shepherd was right. He knew, with a gut
certainty, that this was what they should do. But he had said it
already. He was not simply T'ang, he was Seven, and the Seven would
never act on this. They saw it differently.

"Well?"

"I can keep
this?"

"Of course.
It was meant for you."

The T'ang smiled
sadly, then looked across at the boy. He spoke to him as he would to
his own son, undeferentially, as one adult to another. "Have you
seen this, Ben?"

Shepherd
answered for his son. "You've heard him already. He thinks it
nonsense."

Ben corrected
his father. "Not nonsense. I never said that. I merely said it
avoided the real issue."

"Which is?"
Li Shai Tung asked, reaching for his glass.

"Why men
are never satisfied."

The T'ang
considered a moment, then laughed softly. "That has always been
so, Ben. How can I change what men are?"

"You could
make it better for them. They feel boxed in. Not just physically, but
mentally too. They've no dreams. Not one of them feels real anymore."

There was a
moment's silence, then Hal Shepherd spoke again. "You know this,
Ben? You've talked to people?"

Ben stared at
his father momentarily, then turned his attention back to the T'ang.
"You can't miss it. It's there in all their eyes. There's an
emptiness there. An unfilled, unfulfilled space deep inside them. I
don't have to talk to them to see that. I have only to watch the
media. It's like they're all dead but they can't see it. They're
looking for some purpose for it all and they can't find it."

Li Shai Tung
stared back at the boy for a moment, then looked down, chilled by
what Ben had said. Was it so? Was it really so? He looked about the
room, conscious suddenly of the lowness of the ceiling, of the dark
oak beams that divided up the whitewashed walls, the fresh cut roses
in a silver bowl on the table in the corner. He could feel the old
wood beneath his fingers, smell the strong pine scent of the fire.
All this was real. And he, too, was real, surely? But sometimes, just
sometimes . . .

"And you
think we could give them a purpose?"

Strangely, Ben
smiled. "No. But you might give them the space to find one for
themselves."

The T'ang
nodded. "Ah. Space. Well, Ben, there are more than thirty-nine
billion people in Chung Kuo. What practical measures could we
possibly take to give space to so many?"

But Ben was
shaking his head. "You mistake me, Li Shai Tung. You take my
image too literally." He put a finger to his brow. "I meant
space up here. That's where they're trapped. The City's only the
outward, concrete form of it. But the blueprint— the
paradigm—is inside their heads. That's where youVe got to give
them room. And you can only do that by giving them a sense of
direction."

"Change.
That's what you mean, isn't it?"

"No. You
need change nothing."

Li Shai Tung
laughed. "Then I don't understand you, Ben. Have you some magic
trick in mind?"

"Not at
all. I mean only that if the problem is in their heads, then the
solution can be found in the same place, They want outwardness. They
want space, excitement, novelty. Well, why not give it to them? But
not out there, in the real world. Give it to them up here, in their
heads."

The T'ang was
frowning. "But don't they get that, Ben? Doesn't the media give
them that now?"

Ben shook his
head. "No. I'm talking of something entirely different.
Something that will make the walls dissolve. That will make it real
to them." Again he tapped his brow. "Up here, where it
counts."

The T'ang was
about to answer him when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!"
said Shepherd, half turning in his seat.

It was the
T'ang's steward. He bowed low to Shepherd and his son, then turned,
his head still lowered, to his master. "Forgive me,
Chieh
Hsia,
but you asked me to remind you of your audience with
Minister Chao." Then, with a bow, the steward backed away,
closing the door behind him.

Li Shai Tung
looked back at Shepherd. "I'm sorry, Hal, but I must leave
soon."

"Of
course—" Shepherd began, but his son interrupted him.

"One last
thing, Li Shai Tung."

The T'ang
turned, patient, smiling. "What is it, Ben?"

"I saw
something. This afternoon, in the town."

Li Shai Tung
frowned. "You saw something?"

"An
execution. And a suicide. Two of the elite guards."

"Gods!"
The T'ang sat forward. "You saw that?"

"We were
upstairs in one of the shops."

Shepherd broke
in.
"We.
You mean Meg was with you?"

Ben nodded, then
told what he had seen. At the end Li Shai Tung, his face stricken,
turned to Shepherd. "Forgive me, Hal. This is all my fault.
Captain Rosten was acting on my direct orders. However, had I known
Ben and Meg would be there . . ." He shuddered, then turned back
to the boy. "Ben, please forgive me. And ask Meg to forgive me
too. Would that I could undo what has been done."

For a moment Ben
seemed about to say something, then he dropped his eyes and made a
small movement of his head. A negation. But what it signified neither
man knew.

There was
another knock on the door; a signal that the T'ang acknowledged with
a few words of Mandarin. Then the two men stood, facing each other,
smiling, for a brief moment in perfect accord.

"It has
been an honor to have you here, Li Shai Tung. An honor and a
pleasure."

The T'ang's
smile broadened. "The pleasure has been mine, Hal. It is not
often I can be myself."

"Then come
again. Whenever you need to be yourself."

Li Shai Tung let
his left hand rest on Shepherd's upper arm a moment, then nodded. "I
shall. I promise you. But come, Hal, I've a gift for you."

The door opened
and two of the T'ang's personal servants came in, carrying the gift.
They set it down on the floor in the middle of the room, as the T'ang
had instructed them earlier, then backed away, heads lowered. It was
a tree. A tiny, miniature apple tree.

Shepherd went
across and knelt beside it, then turned and looked back at Li Shai
Tung, clearly moved by the T'ang's gesture.

"It's
beautiful. It really is, Shai Tung. How did you know I wanted one?"

The Pang laughed
softly. "I cheated, Hal. I asked Beth. But the gift is for you
both. Look carefully. The tree is a twin. It has two intertwined
trunks."

Shepherd looked.
"Ah, yes." He laughed, aware of the significance. Joined
trees were objects of good omen; symbols of conjugal happiness and
marital fidelity. More than that, an apple—
p'ing,
in
Mandarin—was a symbol of peace. "It's perfect, Li Shai
Tung. It really is." He shook his head, overwhelmed, tears
forming in his eyes. "We shall treasure it."

"And I
this." Li Shai Tung held up Shepherd's file. He smiled, then
turned to the boy. "It was good to talk with you, Ben. I hope we
might talk again sometime."

Ben stood and,
unexpectedly, gave a small bow to the T'ang.

"My
father's right, of course. You should destroy them. Now, while you
still can."

"Ah ..."
Li Shai Tung hesitated, then nodded. Maybe so, he thought, surprised
yet again by the child's unpredictability. But he said nothing. Time
alone would prove them right or wrong on that.

He looked back
at Shepherd, who was standing now. "I must go, Hal. It would not
do to keep Minister Chao waiting." He laughed. "You know,
Chao has been in my service longer than anyone but Tblonen."

It was said
before he realized it.

"I forget.
. . ." he said with a small, sad laugh.

Shepherd,
watching him, shook his head. "Bring him back, Shai Tung."
he said softly. "This once, do as your heart bids you."

The T'ang smiled
tightly and held the file more firmly. "Maybe," he said.
But he knew he would not. It was as he had said. He was T'ang, yes,
but he was also Seven.

WHEN THE T'ANG
had gone they stood at the river's edge. The moon was high overhead—a
bright, full moon that seemed to float in the dark mirror of the
water. The night was warm and still, its silence broken only by the
sound—a distant, almost disembodied sound—of the soldiers
working on the cottage. Shepherd squatted down, looking out across
the water into the darkness on the other side.

"What did
you mean, Ben, earlier? All that business about dissolving walls and
making it real. Was that just talk or did you have something real in
mind?"

Ben was standing
several paces from his father, looking back up the grassy slope to
where they had set up arc lamps all around the cottage. The dark
figures of the suited men seemed to flit through the glare like
objects seen peripherally, in a dream.

"It's an
idea I have. Something IVe been working on."

Shepherd turned
his head slightly and studied his son a moment. "You seemed
quite confident. Almost as if the thing existed."

Ben smiled and
met his father's eyes briefly. "It does. Up here."

Shepherd laughed
and looked down, tugging at the long grass. "So what is it? I'm
interested. And I think the T'ang was interested too."

"What did
he want?"

A faint breeze
ruffled the water, making the moon dance exaggeratedly on the
darkness. "What do you mean?"

"Why was I
there?"

Shepherd smiled
to himself. He should have known better than to think Ben would not
ask that question.

"Because he
wanted to see you, Ben. Because he thinks that one day you might help
his son."

"I see. And
he was assessing me?"

"You might
put it that way."

Ben laughed. "I
thought as much. Do you think he found me strange?"

"Why should
you think that?"

Ben looked
directly at his father. "I know what I am. I've seen enough of
the world to know how different I am."

"On a
screen, yes. But not everything's up there on the screen, Ben."

"No?"
Ben looked back up the slope toward the cottage. They were hauling
the first of the thin encasing layers over the top of the frame, the
heavily suited men pulling on the guide ropes. "What don't they
show?"

Shepherd
laughed, but let the query pass. Ben was right. He did know what he
was, and he was different. There was no point in denying that.

"You've no
need to follow in my footsteps, Ben."

Ben smiled but
didn't look at him. "You think I'd want that?"

Shepherd felt a
twinge of bitterness, then shook his head. "No. No, I guess not.
In any case, I'd never force that on you. You know that, don't you?"

Ben turned and
stared out across the water fixedly. "Those things don't
interest me. The political specifics. The who-runs-what and
who-did-what. I would be bored by it all. And what good is a bored
advisor? I'd need to care about those things, and I don't."

"You seemed
to care. Earlier, when we were talking about them."

"No. That
was something different. That was the deeper thing."

Shepherd
laughed. "Of course. The
deeper
thing."

Ben looked back
at him. "You deal in surfaces, Father, both of you. But the
problem's deeper than that. It's inside. Beneath the surface of the
skin. It's bred in the blood and bone of men, in the complex web of
nerve and muscle and organic tissue. But you . . . well, you persist
in dealing with only what you see. You treat the blemished skin and
let the inner man corrupt."

Shepherd was
watching his son thoughtfully, aware of the gulf that had grown
between them these last few years. It was as if Ben had outgrown them
all. Had done with childish things. He shrugged. "Maybe. But
that doesn't solve the immediate problem. Those surfaces you dismiss
so readily have hard edges. Collide with them and you'll realize that
at once. People get hurt, lives get blighted, and those aren't
superficial things."

"It wasn't
what I meant."

Shepherd
laughed. "No. Maybe not.' And maybe you're right. You'd make a
lousy advisor, Ben. YouVe been made for other things than politics
and intrigue." He stood up, wiping his hands against his
trousers. "You know, there were many things I wanted to do, but
I never had the time for them. Pictures I wanted to paint, books I
wanted to write, music I wanted to compose. But in serving the T'ang
IVe had to sacrifice all those and much else besides. I've seen much
less of you and Meg than I ought—and far, far too little of
your mother. So . . ." He shrugged. "Well, if you don't
want that kind of life, I understand. I understand only too well.
More than that, Ben, I think the world would lose something were you
to neglect the gifts you have."