He smiled. It had all seemed very bleak yesterday, when the news had first broken, but it was going to be all right. Maybe even better than before, in fact, because this gave him a chance to work much closer with Mach. To make him his tool.
In that Mach and the jou tung wu were alike. Neither was conscious of the role they served. Of how they were fattened only to be slaughtered. For that was their ultimate purpose in life. To eat shit and feed others. The jou tung wu to feed the mei yujen wen, the "subhumans" of the City, and Mach—a finer, tastier meat—to feed him.
He laughed. Yes, Mach, I mean to eat you. To make your skull my rice bowl and feast upon your brains. Because that's how it is in this little world of ours. It's man eat man, and always has been.
He slowed as he came closer to the transporter, checking for signs that anything was wrong; then, satisfied, he ducked inside, leaving his lieutenants to follow in the second craft.
He sat down at once, strapping himself in, the craft rising steeply even before the door was fully closed, the pilot following his earlier instructions to the letter, making sure there was no possibility of pursuit, no chance of ambush.
As the ground fell away he smiled, thinking of the equation he had made in his head. Yes, they were all meat-animals, every last one of them, himself included. But he could dream. Ah yes, he could dream. And in his dreams he saw them— finer, cleaner beasts, all trace of grossness excised from their natures. Tall, slender creatures, sculpted like glass yet hard as steel. Creatures of ice, designed to survive the very worst the universe could throw at them. Survivors.
No . . . More than that. Inheritors.
He laughed. That was it—the name he had been looking for. Inheritors. He keyed the word into his wrist set, then closed his eyes and let his head fall back, relaxing.
Yes. Inheritors. But first he must destroy what stopped them from coming into being. In that, Tsao Ch'un had been right. The new could not come into being while the old remained. His inheritors could not stand tall and straight in that cramped little world of levels. So the old must go. The levels must be leveled, the walls torn down, the universe opened up again. In order that they might exist. In order that things could go forward again, onward to the ultimate—the mind's total control of matter. Only then could they stop. Only then could there be surcease.
He shivered. That was the dream. The reason—no—the motivating force behind each action that he took, the dark wind blowing hard and cold at his back. To bring them into being. Creatures of ice. Creatures better than himself.
What finer aim was there? What finer aim?
HANS EBERT stopped in the doorway, lowering his head in a bow of respect, then went in, the fully laden tray held out before him. As he came near, Nocenzi, Tolonen, and the T'ang moved back slightly, letting him put it down in the space they had cleared. They had been closeted together three hours now, discussing the matter of reprisals and the new Security measures.
Li Shai Tung smiled, accepting a bowl of ch'a from the young Major. "You shouldn't have, Hans. I would have sent a servant."
Ebert's head remained lowered a moment longer. "You were in deep discussion, Chieh Hsia. I felt it best to see to things myself."
The old T'ang laughed softly. "Well, Hans, I'm glad you did. I did not realize how much time had passed or how thirsty I had grown."
The T'ang made to sip from the bowl, but Ebert cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Chieh Hsia. But if you'd permit me?"
Li Shai Tung frowned, then saw what Ebert meant. He handed him the bowl, then watched as the young man sipped, then wiped where his lips had touched with a cloth before handing back the bowl.
The T'ang looked to Tolonen and Nocenzi and saw how his own pleasure was mirrored in their faces. Ebert was a splendid young man, and he had been right to insist on tasting the ch'a before he drank it.
"One cannot be too careful, Chieh Hsia."
Li Shai Tung nodded. "You are quite right, Hans. What would your father say, eh?"
"To you, nothing, Chieh Hsia. But he would most certainly have chastised me for failing in my duties as his son if I had let you sip the ch'a untasted."
Again the answer pleased the three older men greatly. With a last bow to his T'ang, Ebert turned and began to pour for the General and the Marshal.
"Well, Knut," continued the T'ang where he had left off, "do you think we got them all?"
Tolonen straightened slightly, taking the bowl from Ebert before he answered.
"Not all, Chieh Hsia, but I'd warrant it'll be a year or more before we have any more trouble from them, if then. Hans did a fine job. And it was good that we acted when we did. If we had left it even an hour later we wouldn't have got anyone to inform on the scum and we would never have got to those cells. As it was . . ." As it was they had practically destroyed the Ping Tioo. After the awfulness of Bremen there had been smiles again. Grim smiles of satisfaction at a job well done. "I wish I had known," the T'ang said, looking away. "I might have pushed things a little less hard in Council. Might have waited a while and tried to convince my fellow T'ang rather than coerce them."
"Forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but you acted as you had to," Nocenzi said, his voice free of doubt. "Whether the threat be from the Ping Tioo or from another group, the problem remains. And as long as population outstrips food production it can only get worse."
"Yes, Vittorio, but what can I do? The Council will hear nothing of population measures and I have done all that can be done to increase productivity. What remains?"
Nocenzi looked to Tolonen, who gave the slightest nod, then turned to young Ebert. "Hans, you know the facts and figures. Would you like to spell it out for us?" . Ebert looked to his T'ang, then set his ch'a down. "Chieh Hsia?"
"Go ahead, Major."
Ebert hesitated, then bowed his head. "Forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but when I learned what had been planned against the plantations, I decided, after consultation with Marshal Tolonen, to commission a report. One separate from those you had asked us to compile."
The T'ang looked briefly to Tolonen, then frowned. "I see. And what was in this report?"
"It was quite simple, Chieh Hsia. Indeed, it asked but one highly specific question. What would it cost in terms of manpower and finances to adequately guard the plantations?"
"And the results of your report?"
Tolonen interrupted. "You must understand, Chieh Hsia, that Ebert acted only under my strict orders. Nor would I have mentioned this had you been successful in Council. It's just that I felt we should be prepared for the worst eventuality. For the failure of our action against the Ping Tioo and the—the hostility, let us say, of the Seven to your scheme."
The T'ang looked down, then laughed. "I am not angry, Knut. Gods, no. I'm glad to have such fine men as you three tending to my interests. If I seem angry, it is at the need for us to take such measures. At the wastefulness of it all. Surely there's no need for us to breed and breed until we choke on our own excess of flesh!"
He looked about him angrily, then calmed, nodding to himself. "Well, Hans? What would the cost be?"
Ebert bowed. "In men we're talking of a further half-million, Chieh Hsia. Six-hundred-and fifty thousand to be absolutely safe. In money—for food, billeting, equipment, salaries, and so forth—it works out to something like eighty-five thousand yuan per man, or a total somewhere between forty-two and fifty-five billion yuan per year.
"However, this scenario presumes that we have half a million trained Security guards ready for placement. The truth is, if we took this number of men from their present duties there would be a substantial increase in criminal activity throughout the levels, not to say a dramatic rise in civil disturbance at the very bottom of the City. It would reduce current strength by over twenty-five percent, and that could well result in a complete breakdown of law and order in the lowest fifty levels."