There were guffaws of laughter at the look of utter disgust on Lehmann's face.
"Worthiness . . . well, we all know what that really means, don't we? It means a new breed of minister, as efficient as a GenSyn domestic and every bit as limited when it comes to making a real decision. But we knew what they were from the first, didn't we? Dams set up against the natural flow. Mouthpieces for the Seven, programed only to say no to change."
Again there was a murmur of agreement; but louder this time, more aggressive. Lehmann raised his hands, palm outward, begging their silence, then nodded his head slowly.
"We know their game, eh? We understand what they are trying to do. And we all know what has been happening in the House this last year. WeVe seen to what lengths they'll go to oppose change."
It could not be said openly, but all there knew what Lehmann was implying. From the first days of the House the Seven had always maintained a small but influential faction there—men whom the T'angs "kept" for their votes. Such men were known as tea—"pockets"—and, historically, had served a double function in the House, counterbalancing the strong mercantile tendencies of the House and serving as a conduit for the views of the Seven. In the past the Seven had chosen well; their ted had been elderly, well-respected men: charismatic and persuasive—their tongues worth a dozen, sometimes as many as fifty, votes. As agents of consensus they had proved a strong, stabilizing influence on the House. But with the new liberalization things had slowly changed and their influence had waned. For a long while the Seven had done nothing, but in the past twelve months they had bought their way heavily, indiscriminately, into the House, trading influence for the direct power of votes.
Now there was a new breed of "pocket": brash young men who owed their wealth and power not to trade or family but to their sudden elevation by the Seven. Rival candidates had been paid off or threatened. Elections had been rigged. Campaign money had flowed like the Yangtze flood. Of the one hundred and eighty delegates elected to the House in the last six months alone, more than two thirds had been tai.
The effect had been to crystallize the factions in the House, and to radicalize the demands for changes to the Edict of Technological Control—that keystone in the great wall of state; or, as some saw it, the dam restraining the gathering waters of change.
"Change will come," Lehmann said softly, "whether they wish it or not. Change must come. It is the natural order of things. They cannot build a wall high enough to contain it."
Lehmann paused. There was a noise at the doorway as some of the men gathered there moved aside. Edmund Wyatt pushed through.
"I heard you wanted me, Pietr," he said, then looked around, seeing how everyone was suddenly watching him. He dropped his voice. "What is it?"
Lehmann took his arm, then led him across to the chair and sat him down.
"General Tolonen was here. He brought a copy of a warrant."
Wyatt looked blankly at Lehmann. "So?"
There was a strong murmuring from the men in the room. Lehmann looked back at them triumphantly, then turned to Barrow. "There! There's your proof, surely, Barrow Chao? Was that the reaction of a guilty man?"
Behind him Wyatt laughed. His cheeks were pink with embarrassment. "What is it, Pietr? What am I supposed-to be guilty of?"
Lehmann looked down at the paper in his hand, hesitating, then handed it across. For a moment Wyatt was silent, his right hand holding down the paper as he read. Then he looked up, a startled expression in his eyes. "1—I don't believe it."
Lehmann had gone round the back of him. Now he stood there, leaning over Wyatt, but looking up at the other men in the room as he spoke.
"It's what it appears to be. A warrant. Signed by the T'ang himself. For your arrest, Edmund. For the murder of Lwo Kang."
Wyatt turned and stared up into his face. His bewilderment, his total incomprehension, were there for everyone in the room to see. "But it can't be, Pietr. I mean, I never. . ."
His voice gave out again and he looked down sharply, shuddering.
"Then this is real," he said after a moment.
There was a tense silence in the room, then Lehmann spoke again. "Well, Barrow Chao? What do you reckon?"
Barrow dropped his head and nodded. The room was deathly quiet.
Lehmann straightened, sighing. "Then the question is this. How do we fight this?"
Wyatt looked up at him. "Fight it?"
Lehmann was quiet a moment, concentrating, then gave the slightest nod. "Yes," he said. "We'll hide you. All of us. We could do it. We could keep Tolonen from serving the warrant."
Lehmann gazed about him defiantly, looking from face to face, challenging anyone to gainsay him, but the mood was in his favor now.
"No!" Wyatt got up, then came around and stood there, facing Lehmann. "No, Pietr. I won't hide. That's what he wants. That's why he came here first. Don't you see? He wanted that. Wanted me to run. That way he could put another warrant out. Have me killed without trial. No, let him serve his warrant. IVe nothing to fear. I've done nothing."
Lehmann laughed sourly. "And what does that mean, Edmund? The T'ang wants payment for his Minister's life. Retribution. Right or wrong is an irrelevance in this instance. It doesn't matter that you're innocent. He wants you. Don't you see that?" His voice was stern now, unyielding. "And he'll find all the evidence he needs to get you."
There was a loud murmuring, but no disagreement.
Wyatt turned away. "When does he plan to serve the warrant?"
Lehmann looked about him, seeing how open each man's face now was; how starkly etched their anger and resentment, their concern and indignation. Then he turned back. "Midday tomorrow," he said. "At your apartment."
"I see." Wyatt looked down. "Then I'll be there. T'ang or not, he's wrong, Pietr. I'm innocent. You know I am."
Lehmann turned, looking back at him, then reached out and touched his shoulder. "I know."
"Minister Heng."
The T'ang's Chamberlain, Chung Hu-yan, bowed stiffly, his face expressionless, then turned, inviting the Minister to follow him.
Astonished, Heng returned the Chamberlain's bow. He had barely arrived a minute before, and here was Chung trying to rush him into an audience. Was there to be no ritual of preparation? No honor guard? He stood there a moment longer, as if he had not heard the words, looking about him, surprised by the emptiness of the great entrance hall. It was strangely disconcerting; as if the T'ang's servants had been sent elsewhere. But why? And why the unseemly haste?
"Please . . ." Chung Hu-yan bowed a second time, then repeated the gesture of invitation, making it clear that it had been no mistake.
"Forgive me," Heng said, bowing again, his composure slipping. "Of course . . ."
He followed the Chamberlain through, under the great lintel and into the Hall of Eternal Truth. But he had taken only three steps into the great hall when he stopped, taken aback. There, alone beneath the empty Presence Throne, stood General Tblonen; tall, white haired, and elegant in his peacock blue dress uniform. Heng Chi-Po frowned, then walked on, conscious for once of the unfavorable contrast he made to the haughty Hung Moo, his hand momentarily straying to the crane patch on the chest of his dark blue pau, symbol of his status as an official of the first rank.
Coming opposite the General, Minister Heng stopped and bowed, but Tolonen stared through him coldly, not even the smallest flicker of recognition in his eyes.
The T'ang's Chamberlain waited, watching the exchange carefully. Then, rather stiffly, he bowed. "Forgive me, Minister Heng, but the T'ang awaits you. Please ... if you would follow me."