Chan Yin looked at his father with concern and love. He hated seeing him like this, so old and powerless. His memories rebelled against this image of Wei Feng and would have had his father strong and vigorous again. But those were childhood memories and he himself was older, much older now. Forty this next birthday. He sighed, then crossed the room to stand with his brothers at the bedside.
Hsi Wang stood there in his Colonel's uniform, ill at ease in this situation, his usual good humor subdued. Since his father's stroke he had been only half himself, his normally untroubled face overcast. Tseng-li, the youngest, stood right beside his father, his hand resting lightly on the old man's shoulder, his beautiful face looking down into his father's. From time to time Wei Feng would turn slightly and look up at him, smiling.
The stroke had almost killed Wei Feng. Only expert surgery had saved him. But pneumonia had set in shortly afterward. Now, a month from the first heart attack, he was much better, but the experience had aged him greatly. The left side of his skull was shaved bald and his right arm lay useless on the covers. There had been a blood clot and certain areas of his brain had died, among them those which controlled certain of his movements. Not even expert prosthetics could bring back the use of his right arm.
"My sons," he saidjsmiling, looking from one to the other, the simple words heavy with emotion. For a moment the coughing took him again, and Tseng-li bent his huge, tall body, kneeling, holding the old man's hand more tightly until the spasm passed. Then Wei Feng spoke again, looking mainly at his heir, Chan Yin.
"The doctors tell me 1 shall live." He smiled sadly, then nodded. "Even that seems strange now . . . the thought of living." Retook a long, shuddering breath, then spoke again. "But being such a friend to death these last few weeks, I have had the chance to study him—to look him in the face and come to know him. Like an enemy one comes to respect for his great skill and cunning."
Hsi Wang laughed shortly and Wei Feng looked up at him, smiling, indulging his laughter. "It is good to hear you laugh, Hsi. I have missed your laughter." He licked his lips slightly, then carried on. "I have stood beside him, you see, and looked back. Into the light. Looked back and seen the shape of things, here, in this shadow world of ours."
Chan Yin narrowed his eyes, listening, watching his .father's face, and saw how the old T'ang's eyes seemed to look out past Hsi, as if he really could see something that was denied to their vision.
"For the first time I saw clearly. How things are. How they will be."
Wei Feng turned his head and looked at his eldest son once more. "Which is why you are here. You especially, Chan Yin. But you also, Hsi and Tseng. As witnesses. Custodians, if you like."
They waited while Wei Feng took his breath. From the open doors came the sound of the wind in the trees and the buzzing of insects. A faint breeze moved the curtains gently, cooling the air in the room.
"There is something I want from you, Chan Yin. Something no father ought to ask of his eldest son. But I have«een what is to come. And, because I love you, I want you to swear to me that you will do what I ask of you."
Chan Yin shivered, seeing the strange intensity in his father's eyes, and nodded. "Whatever you ask, Father."
Wei Feng was quiet a while, watching him; then he sighed and looked down at his useless arm. "I want you to swear to me that you will support Li Yuan. Support him in whatever he asks, and for whatever reason he gives. Whatever he asks of you, do it."
He paused, a sudden ferocity in his face, as if he was seeing things again from the side of death. Looking back at the world of shadows and light.
"Do it, Chan Yin! You must! For upon Li Yuan's shoulders rests the fate of us all. Deny him and the Seven will fall, as surely as I will someday die and you inherit."
For a moment Chan Yin was silent, thoughtful, then he looked up and met his father's eyes, smiling, understanding the full import of what was being asked of him.
"I swear to do as my father wishes. To support Li Yuan, whatever he asks." He bowed low, then turned, facing his brothers. "This I swear as a sacred trust, which you, my brothers, bear witness to."
Wei Feng lay back again, relaxing, looking up at the three faces of his sons. "You are good men. Good sons. A father could not ask for better sons."
Leaning forward, Tseng-li kissed his father's brow. "It isn't chosen, Father," he said softly, smiling at him once more. "It simply is."
LI YUAN sat at his desk, beneath the portrait of his grandfather. Across from him the face of Wu Shih, ten times its normal size, stared down at him from the wall screen.
"You talk of troubles to come, Yuan, but things have been quiet for some time now. The Lowers have not been so placid these past ten years."
"Maybe so, but things are happening down there, Wu Shih. I can feel it. We are sitting on a powder keg."
"And more powder every day, neh?" Wu Shih moved back a fraction, his features formed into a frown. "Then maybe it is time, Yuan. Time to implement what we have already decided."
Li Yuan sat there a moment, then nodded slowly. The decision had been made the day before, in Council, the terms for the "new deal" agreed among the Seven. It remained only to put it before the representatives of the Above.
In principle the package was fairly straightforward. Five changes to the Edict of Technological Control, in specialized areas. Stricter monitoring controls. Changes to the Personal Liberty Act. More money to be spent on low-level health care and maintenance support. Minor concessions concerning space travel. The reopening of the House of Representatives at Weimar. And in return, the House would set up the legal machinery for population controls.
Wu Shih sighed deeply and tugged at his plaited beard. "My instincts cry out against giving those bastards anything. But as youVe rightly argued, we have a problem and it will not go away. So .1. ." He shrugged and raised his hands, as if in surrender.
"We go ahead then? We ratify the document?"
Wu Shih nodded. "I see no point in waiting, Yuan. Even our cousin Wang is in agreement. Indeed, his amendments to the Edict changes were most thoughtful. It is clear the problem worries him as much as you or I."
"Perhaps . . ." Li Yuan looked away a moment, stony-faced, deep in thought, then turned back, facing the giant image of Wu Shih, meeting those platelike almond eyes. "We should have done this sixty years ago. Now . . . Well, maybe it is already much too late. Maybe we are only building walls of sand against the tide."
"Yet we must try, neh? We are Seven, after all."
The tone of irony in Wu Shih's voice did not escape the young T'ang. Li Yuan laughed, then fell serious again. "These are uncertain times, dear cousin. But whatever happens, remember that I count you as my friend. As brother to my father."
Wu Shih stared back at him, his expression giving nothing away, then he nodded. "You have my support, Li Yuan, in whatever you do. And yes. I will be an uncle to you in all things." He smiled, relaxing. "Well, so much for business. Now how is that child of yours? How is Kuei Jen?"
Li Yuank face lit from within. "He is . . ." He hesitated, seeking the correct word, then laughed, finding nothing better than what had first come to mind. "He is beautiful, Wu Shih. Simply the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."
michael LEVER stood there on the balcony overlooking the ballroom of his father's mansion, remembering the last time he had been there, fifteen months before, at the great Thanksgiving Ball his father had thrown for the Supernal. Outwardly, things seemed to have changed very little; the pillars and balconies of the great hall were festooned as before with red, white, and blue banners, while at the far end of the hall, beside a full-size replica of the ancient Liberty Bell, a twelve-piece band, dressed in the dark blue military uniforms of the Revolution, played the battle tunes of the old American Empire— forbidden tunes that spoke eloquently of another age, when the Americans ruled their own land and the Han were safe within their borders. Looking about him, it was easy to believe that this evening and the last were somehow connected, and that the fifteen months that had elapsed between were merely a dream, a dark delusion. But there was no connection, and those days—four hundred and sixty-three days, to be precise about it—had been no dream.