“Then speak. I’ll not repeat a word, not even if some clever young programmer tries to tamper with my memory circuits!” She smiled. “Then let me ask you this. If you knew a secret, a big secret—one that was so big it affected everyone and everything they did—then what would you do? Would you let everyone know, or would you keep it to yourself?”
Wen Shao had narrowed his eyes. He looked back at his granddaughter inscrutably from his broad Hung Mao features, as if, for that moment, mimicking the Han whose name his grandfather had adopted a century before. “That’s a big secret,” he said, then shook his head, blowing out a noisy breath. “In fact it sounds like the kind of secret your father is fond of keeping, neh? Have you been prying among his things again, young Hannah?” “No, Grandfather.”
“But they’re connected, neh?”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
“Ahh . . .” He smacked his lips, then, unexpectedly, he sat, crossing his legs beneath him. “Well, you know how I feel about your father’s work. I’ve never liked it. I wish now that I’d never paid to have him educated.
It seems such a waste, to devote oneself to such—such pettiness.” “Pettiness, Grandfather? But surely what he does is of the greatest importance?”
Wen Shao laughed. “You think so? But what does the great Tao teach us? That in everything is its opposite. That that which seems greatest is, in truth, the smallest. As Chuang Tzu says, there is nothing in the world bigger than the tip of an autumn hair, and Mount T’ai is little.” “Maybe so, Grandfather, but you still haven’t answered me.” “Haven’t I?” Wen Shao laughed, then leaned forward, tugging at the air by his left foot as if he were plucking a blade of grass. “Why, and there I was thinking I had.”
She laughed, watching him chew at the imaginary blade. “Maybe you only think you have.”
“Ah . . . that must be it.”
“Grandfather?”
He stopped chewing and smiled. “You want a straight answer, is that it?”
“This once I’d appreciate it.”
He shrugged. “Okay. But you won’t like it. My advice is to forget your big secret. It’ll only bring you unhappiness. You and that proper man you call your father.”
“Your son,” she reminded him.
“So the genetic charts would have me believe . . . but that aside, I’m serious, my girl. Let others worry about this secret. Leave the sleepless nights to them. You’re a young woman, Hannah. You should be out meeting young men and having a good time. That’s what this life is for.” She looked away, for the first time in her life disappointed by his answer. But then, what had she expected? For him to endorse her crazy scheme? To tell her, yes, Hannah, go ahead and ruin your life? No. Wen Shao was Wen Shao. And she had too much of her father’s blood in her—was too much her father’s daughter.
“You’re disappointed,” he said, looking up at her, the smoke from the incense stick making his seated form shimmer momentarily. “I know what you wanted, my girl, but you asked me a question and I answered it. Do as you will. Take on the great world of levels, if you must. But don’t ask me to sanction it.” He smiled. “In fact, if you ask me, I think you’re mad even to consider the idea. Oh, I respect your madness. It’s an admirable trait—one I wish your father possessed in greater measure—but take care, little Hannah. The world is uncaring. It’s a mechanism for chewing people up and spitting them out. And only fools like me survive.” “You’re no fool, Grandfather.”
“No. Maybe not. Not in the sense most people mean, yet I was fool enough in my youth. Fool enough to think the world could be a better place.” “You, honorable Grandfather? I’d never have guessed!” He laughed. “Yes, I know my reputation. The old goat, they called me. A drunk, they said, a reprobate. But I wasn’t always so, my girl. It was the world that made me thus. That and the sweet scent of sweat on a woman’s skin. ...”
“Grandfather!”
“Forgive me. . . .” The tiny figure stood, brushing its hands together.
“However, I really must go now. Even ghosts must have their rest, neh?” She smiled and lowered her head respectfully. “Then sleep well, Grandfather. And thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” “I have?” He smiled. “Well, now, that makes a change. Maybe there’s hope for me after all.”
“Maybe. . . .”
She leaned across and touched the pad. The figure shimmered and was gone. Hannah stared at the empty space a moment, then sat back on her heels, thinking.
He was right, of course. It was insane even to think of getting involved. The best thing to do would be to take the File and feed it into the incinerator, but for some reason she couldn’t do that. Something in her prevented that. Some perversity of nature. “Nu Shi! Nu Shi!”
Hannah turned as her amah appeared in the doorway, her face excited.
“What is it, Wei?”
“A soldier has come, Mistress,” the young maid answered, bowing low. “A Security Major. ...”
Hannah stood. “For my father, you mean?”
“No, Mistress. For you. He is talking to your stepmother even now—“
“My stepmother! Oh, gods!” Hannah lifted the hem of her silk and moved
past the young girl, her bare feet padding quickly along the tiled
hallway.
A Major had come . . . But what did that mean? Was she discovered? Or was this merely a courtesy call, to see if she was all right after her experience? As she approached the big double doors that led through to her stepmother’s rooms she stopped, calming herself. It was all right. It had to be. Because if it wasn’t, they’d have asked to see her father. That was the way they worked. And it wouldn’t have been a mere Major, it would have been General Rheinhardt himself.
She took a long breath, then indicated to the waiting servants that they should open the doors.
Inside, her stepmother, Huang Hui, was sitting upright in a big chair heaped with cushions, the whole thing presenting the illusion of a great bed tipped up onto its edge, her pale Han face staring out from a cocoon of red silk. In front of her stood the Major, his back to Hannah. His large-boned body filled almost to bursting the powder-blue dress uniform he was wearing. Over his shoulder was a black leather dispatch bag of the same kind her father’s messengers used. As he turned she felt a flicker of surprise. He was Han.
Huang Hui looked across at her and gave a weary, sickly smile. “Han-A. I’m glad you’ve come. I was just about to call you. This is Major Kao of Security.”
The Major lowered his closely shaven head smartly, then straightened up. He was a remarkably plain-looking man, with crude, almost unformed features. His nose was somehow too big, as were his ears. And yet his mouth was strong, and his eyes ...
“Major Kao.” Hannah went across and bowed to her stepmother, then turned, facing him again. “I’m told you wish to see me.” He smiled at her, not insolently, as some of the young officers smiled at her, but as her own father smiled. That, and the strange honesty of his eyes, made her look away briefly, wondering. “I have a few questions I need to ask,” he said quietly. “That is, if that is all right with you, Nu Shi Shang? About yesterday. There was no time then, I understand, and the Captain was rightly more concerned with your safety than with Security procedures. But it would help us greatly if you could make a simple statement about what you saw.” “Safety . . . ? Statement. . .?” Hannah’s stepmother leaned forward, her pinched face instantly suspicious. “Han-A . . . what have you been up to?” She was about to answer, but the Major interceded. “Oh, it is nothing, Madam Shang. There was an incident. Your daughter was caught up on the periphery of it. The questions, as I said, are a mere formality.” “Incident? What kind of incident?”