“Knows what?” Shang Mu asked, chilled by the thought that their plans might be known to the Seven.
The great man looked away, his anger held in check. “We have been warned.
Moreover, we are to be watched, like common criminals.” “Watched?” Shang Mu’s mouth fell open in astonishment. “I do not understand, I Lung. To watch the Thousand Eyes ... it is unheard of!” “And yet it is to be done. Li Yuan’s special force, his shen t’se, are to be appointed to the task. They are to watch the Watchers, it seems. To keep an eye on the Great Eye itself.”
Beneath the surface irony of the words was a savage anger that did not escape Shang Mu. He thought quickly. “Did he say why, Master?” The First Dragon rested his head back, letting a servant remove his wig and begin to rub salve into his shaven scalp. “He spoke of rumors that had come to his ear. Rumors of corruption and mismanagement. Not at the highest level, of course. No, Tsu Ma is too smart to accuse the Council itself. But he felt it would be best if an independent body investigated the claims, especially in view of the new arrangements.” “New arrangements, I Lung? What new arrangements?” “The cuts. . . .” The First Dragon turned, waving the servant away, then signaled that Shang Mu should come and sit across from him. “There is more,” he said, leaning toward Shang Mu, as the craft slowly lifted. “It seems we are to provide Karr’s force with copies of all our files.”
He stared back at his Master, dumbstruck. “But that is outrageous, I Lung!
Why, when our great Ministry was formed—“
The First Dragon raised a hand. “I know, Shang Mu. In effect this breaks the long-standing agreement between the Seven and the Ministry. Oh, technically, the Seven are entitled to do as they will, but in practice . . .”He sat back, cupping his closed right fist in his left. “Well ... if we had any doubts before, we have none now, neh? They mean to break us, Shang Mu. To destroy the last barrier between Chung Kuo and total anarchy. But we can’t let them ... we won’t let them.” He moved his hands apart, spreading his fingers, deliberately calming himself, then, turning in his chair, raised his right hand, summoning the ship’s Steward.
The Steward came across and bowed, waiting silently, his eyes on the First Dragon’s hands. As Shang Mu watched, the great man gave signed instructions with his fingers, finishing with the signal of dismissal. Like all else about the great man this discipline impressed Shang Mu. If a single man epitomized the great principle of Shen Chung—of Caution—then it was the First Dragon. Things, then, were bad, when such a solid, upright man should even consider going to war with his own Masters. Shang Mu looked down, a cold sobriety sweeping over him. War. He had known it last night, looking through the files. And though the thought of it appalled him, some colder, more clinical pan of him understood the need and saw no alternative. The servants must become the masters if they were properly to serve.
Looking up he saw that the great man was watching him, almost as if he knew what he was thinking.
“Where now?” he asked, feeling, in that moment, a special bond between himself and his Master.
“To Yu Shu,” the First Dragon answered. “To see our friend An Sheng. But not directly. From now on we do nothing directly. Not until we must.”
the tiny hologram flickered brightly in the darkened room, smoke from the incense stick drifting through the image of the old man. In its faint, blue-tinted light the kneeling girl seemed like a giant statue, immobile, her head lowered respectfully, her hands folded in her lap. “Are you sure this is the best course, Shang Han-A?” the hologram asked, leaning forward slightly, one hand stroking the long, white, plaited beard that flowed almost to its waist. “Is there not some better way to heal the breach between you?”
Hannah was silent a moment, contemplating what her greatgrandfather, Shang Chu, had said, then answered him. “I believe not, honorable Great-grandfather. My stepmother is frequently unwell, and that makes her . . . tetchy, let us say. As for me, I am young, impetuous sometimes. It is a fault, I realize, but one that time will cure. However, if I stay here the friction between myself and my stepmother will remain and, in all probability, get worse. I would hate to see that. If I go, then the source of my stepmother’s irritation is gone. Her health will improve, and we shall both be happier. And that would be good for my father, neh? To have two happy homes, rather than a single unhappy one.” “It would, indeed.” The hologram straightened up, smiling. “I am very pleased with you, Shang Han-A. Your concern for your fathers happiness is most dutiful. I shall speak to him next time he consults me and let him know what I think on this matter. For now, however, it would be best if you said nothing. Your father has much on his mind. These are hard times for him. You must do all you can to ease his burden in the days ahead.”
“I understand, Great-grandfather, and I shall do my utmost.” Hannah bowed, then, leaning forward slightly, placed her fingers lightly on the panel in front of the hologram. At once the image faded, leaving only the bright red point of the burning incense stick. There was the sound of a match being struck, a sudden flare of light. A second incense stick was placed on the altar, in a tiny silver holder just to the right of the first. There was the vague murmur of a blessing from the kneeling girl, then, as she brushed her fingers against the second pad, another hologram appeared, this one much shorter and stockier than the first, the beard darker, bushier.
“Greetings, honorable Grandfather,” Hannah said, lowering her head respectfully. “I pray you’re well.”
The figure lifted its chin and gave a short laugh. “As well as the dead can be, young Hannah.”
In the darkness Hannah smiled. The holograms had been programmed by the living men to reflect what of their personalities they wished to survive them. Normally this resulted in a rather stiff, one-dimensional self-portrait that emphasized all the virtues while editing out anything which might be viewed as “unseemly” by future generations. But her grandfather, Shang Wen Shao, had not been such a man. He had always claimed that a man was all his different selves—fool and sage, father and lover, braggart and coward, good friend and savage enemy—and had programmed his own ancestral hologram to reveal all of these different aspects. Of all the family holograms this was Hannah’s favorite, and she consulted it whenever she had problems in her personal life, for Grandfather Wen Shao could be trusted never to mouth platitudes, but to offer advice from the depth of his own considerable experience. Six wives, four concubines, and a good few dozen lovers had made him wise in the ways of the world and a good judge of women. And though he had been a fool in business and had lost much of the great financial empire his father had built from nothing, he was, in Hannah’s eyes, the better man—an opinion she was careful to conceal from her father. “What’s up, Hannah? Is that shrew of a stepmother of yours troubling you again? Or is it something else this time?” Hannah bowed a little lower. “You see right through me, honorable Grandfather.”
The hologram gave a little guffaw of laughter and thumped at its chest. “I’d have said it was the other way about, wouldn’t you, girl? That you see through me!”
Again Hannah smiled to herself. She had heard all of these jokes a thousand times, but the familiarity of them warmed her. “We are all smoke in the eyes of the gods, Grandfather.”
“Yes. . . . But be specific, Hannah. Hurry. I need to piss.” Hannah bowed again, wishing, not for the first time, that she had known her grandfather in life. He must have been a real character. Hannah could see how her father—cast in Great-grandfather Chu’s puritanical mold—would have been offended by his own father. She could imagine him wincing at the old man’s vulgarity even as he bowed dutifully before him. Not that her father didn’t have a sense of humor: it was just that he lacked his father’s spontaneity, his open, generous nature. She hesitated a moment longer, then asked, “Can I trust you, Grandfather?” Wen Shao leaned back, as if to see her better. “Now, that’s an odd question, my girl. Perhaps the oddest you’ve asked. Can you trust me? Hmmm . . .” He scratched his chin. “Well, now, I really don’t know. If you were a wife of mine I’d have to say no. Not any farther than you could throw me. But it’s not that kind of thing, is it?” “No, Grandfather.”