Again it was a fact. Even though every cultivable piece of land outside the City was in use, still only sixty percent of Chung Kuo's demand was met that way. The rest was synthesized within the City or grown in the giant orbital farms. And as the population grew, the problem grew with it. How feed the many mouths of Chung Kuo?
Yuan felt himself tense, knowing that Shepherd was coming to the nub of it. Through Shepherd, his father was fishing for something here; some concession, maybe. Some way of healing the anticipated breach; of keeping Chung Kuo from war.
"But there are other ways, eh?"
Lehmann let the words lie there between himself and Shepherd. He sipped at his wine and looked across at Berdichev, a faint smile on his lips.
Shepherd tilted his head slightly, as if considering Lehmann's words. Then he sighed and shook his head. "The T'ang himself has tried to make changes. For three years now he has tried to persuade the Council to take certain measures. But they are reluctant. They do not feel the House would give its full support to such changes."
Yuan had seen how Lehmann's eyes had widened at Shepherd's use of the word changes in the context of his father and the Council; had seen how surprised both Berdichev and Duchek also were.
Lehmann spoke for them. "Changes? I don't understand you, Shih Shepherd. What changes?"
"Controls. Concessions. A deal, you might call it."
"A deal?" Lehmann's mouth twisted almost scornfully. "I thought the Seven were above deals. What could they possibly want from the House?"
Shepherd loojced at each of the men in turn, then smiled. "Population controls. Perhaps even reductions?"
Lehmann's laughter made heads turn nearby. He leaned toward Shepherd and almost spat the word back at him. "Impossible!"
"So you say, but what if—"
But Shepherd never got to finish his sentence. Yuan felt a touch on his shoulder and knew at once it was Han Ch'in. No one else would have dared lay a hand on him.
"Hal! Hal! Have you seen them? Have you seen my ox-men? They're marvelous!"
Shepherd drew back from the edge. Calmly he turned to Han Ch'in and smiled. "So that's what they were, Han. I did wonder. I thought perhaps you had invited a few brutes up from the Clay!"
The rest of the circle had bowed at Han Ch'in's sudden entry into their ranks. Now Shepherd's comment drew their laughter. But Han Ch'in himself was more thoughtful.
"It must be awful, Hal, being born down there."
Berdichev, who, with Lehmann and Wyatt, had been beneath the City's floor into the Clay and seen it for himself, bowed again, then answered Han.
"It would be, were they really conscious of their misery. But it's all they know. In any case, they're really little more than animals. They don't live long enough to consider how awful their lives truly are."
"We should gas them," said Duchek. "We should pump the Clay full of gas and clean it up."
Han Ch'in looked sharply at the Administrator but said nothing.
"It would, perhaps, be best," said Lehmann, coming to Duchek's aid. "After all, it would ease their suffering. And we could use the land down there for other things."
"So I understand," Han Ch'in answered, his distaste for Lehmann quite open. "You have argued for it in the House often enough."
Lehmann bowed his head, then looked to Shepherd, his frustration at being interrupted at such a crucial moment threatening, for an instant, to goad him into an impropriety. Then he relaxed again and smiled at the T'ang's eldest son.
"I am honored that the Prince pays such attention to my humble affairs. You may be sure I am no less your own admirer."
Han Ch'in stared back at him a moment, nothing but coldness in his eyes, then he turned to Shepherd and laughed.
"You know, Hal, I can't get over how marvelous my ox-men are. They even talk. Baby talk, admittedly, but it's talk of a kind, eh? And you should smell them. Rich, they are! Ripe!" He looked meaningfully around the circle, then back at Shepherd. "Perhaps I should have Uncle Klaus make more of them for me. Then I could form my own House and watch the beasts debate."
TOLONEN's EYES took in everything about him. He had a sense of where each person was within ten paces of the T'ang; how far away the nearest of them were; how casually or otherwise each stood. As for himself, he stood there, seemingly at ease, a drink in his left hand, his right hand resting against his thigh. Casual. Listening, or so it seemed, to every word that was being said. Indeed, at any moment he might have repeated anything that had just been said by the T'ang and his party, yet his attention was split. He watched, attentive to every sign, knowing that this, the safest place, was also the most dangerous. They could never take Li Shai Tung by force. But surprise?
Earlier that afternoon he had checked out the servants for himself, trusting no one. He had had every servo-mechanism checked for program quirks, every GenSyn neuter for behavioral deviancy. And then, at the last moment, he had brought in his own guards. It was they who now went among the guests, serving drinks and offering spiced delicacies. At any moment Tolonen could tune in to any conversation and hear whatever was being said through the direct relay in his head. His guards picked up all talk, positioning themselves so that not a word in the Great Hall would be missed. It would all be replayed and investigated for significance later. For now, however, only one thing mattered. He had to keep Li Shai Tung alive.
For years now he had learned to outguess his enemies; to anticipate their next move. But now things were changing, the situation escalating, and in his heart of hearts he knew that the tenuous peace that had existed for more than a century was about to be broken. The Dispersionists, a covert, loosely knit organization before the arrest of Edmund Wyatt, were now an open faction in the House; not merely respected but heavily supported. Their strength had upset the traditional balance. In the last two years they had radicalized the House and brought the clamor for change to a head.
It was time to come to an agreement. To make concessions. But first they would have justice. For Lwo Kang's death and the insult to the Seven.
Tolonen breathed deeply, hearing Lehmann's voice sound clearly in his head. In two hours the smile would be wiped off that bastard's face.
He had been listening to the conversation between Shepherd and the others, amused by the way Shepherd ran them, like fish upon a line, only to reel them slowly in. But Han Ch'in's sudden interjection had snapped the fragile line. Tolonen looked across and saw the young prince leaning forward, one hand on his younger brother's shoulder, and heard his voice clearly, transmitted to him by the waiter at Berdichev's side.
"It must be awful, Hal. Being born down there."
"Knut!"
He turned at the T'ang's summons and went across to him, the fingers of his right hand surreptitiously moving across the control panel beneath the cloth of his uniform trousers, shutting off the voices in his head. "ChiehHsia?"
The circle about the T'ang made room for the General.
"Klaus was asking me about Major DeVore. He's back tomorrow, isn't he?"
"He was due then, Chieh Hsia, but the flight from Mars was delayed. He docks the morning of the wedding."
"Good. Klaus was saying how much his son would like to serve the Major again. I hope he'll be granted the opportunity."
Tolonen bowed his head. What the T'ang "hoped" for was tantamount to a command. "I shall see to it personally, Chieh Hsia."
"He has done well out there, I understand."
Again the T'ang was being diplomatic. He knew perfectly well how DeVore had performed as Chief Security Officer to the Martian colony. He had seen all the reports and discussed them at length with Tolonen.