The Art of War

by David Wingrove

  Shepherd smiled bleakly. ‘Not all the men. There’s still DeVore.’

  The old T’ang lowered his head slightly. ‘Yes. But Karr will get him. As he got Berdichev.’

  Tsu Ma leaned forward. ‘A useful man, Karr. Maybe we ought to mass-produce the fellow. Give Old Man Ebert a patent for the job.’

  Li Shai Tung laughed and lifted his feet one at a time from the turtle stool. ‘Maybe.’ He pulled himself up and stretched. ‘First, however, I have another idea I want you to consider. Something Li Yuan has been working on these last few months. I’m going to introduce it in Council tomorrow, but I wanted to sound you out first.’

  Tsu Ma nodded and settled back with his drink, watching the old T’ang as he walked slowly up and down the room.

  ‘It was an idea Li Yuan had years ago, when he was eight. He was out hawking with Han Ch’in when one of the hawks flew high up in a tree and refused to come down to the lure. Han Ch’in, impatient with the hawk, took the control box from the servant and destroyed the bird.’

  ‘Using the homing-wire in the bird’s head?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Tsu Ma took a sip, then tilted his head slightly. ‘I’ve never had to do that, myself.’

  ‘Nor I,’ agreed Li Shai Tung. ‘And it was the first I had heard of the matter when Li Yuan told me of it six months back. However, until then Li Yuan had not realized that the birds were wired up in that way. It made him wonder why we didn’t have such a thing for men.’

  Tsu Ma laughed. ‘Men are not hawks. They would not let themselves be bound so easily.’

  ‘No. And that is exactly what Li Yuan told himself. Yet the idea was still a good one. He argued it thus. If the man was a good man he had no fear of having such a wire put into his head. It would make no difference. And if the man was a bad man, then he ought to have the wire.’

  ‘I like that. Even so, the fact remains, men are not hawks. They like the illusion of freedom.’

  Li Shai Tung stopped before Hal Shepherd and leaned forward a moment, placing his hand on the shoulder of his old friend, a sad smile on his face, then turned back, facing Tsu Ma.

  ‘And if we gave them that illusion? If we could make them think they wanted the wires in their heads?’

  ‘Easier said than done.’

  ‘But not impossible. And Li Yuan has come up with a scheme by which the majority of men might do just that.’

  Tsu Ma sat back, considering. ‘And the technicalities of this?’

  Li Shai Tung smiled. ‘As ever, Tsu Ma, you anticipate me. There are, indeed, problems with creating such a control system. Men’s brains are far more complex than a hawk’s, and the logistics of tracking forty billion separate individuals through the three hundred levels of the City are far greater than the problems involved in tracing a few hawks on an estate. It is fair to say that Li Yuan has made little progress in this regard. Which is why there is a need to invest time and money in research.’

  ‘I see. And that’s what you want from the Council tomorrow? Permission to pursue this line of enquiry?’

  Li Shai Tung inclined his head slightly. ‘It would not do for a T’ang to break the Edict.’

  Tsu Ma smiled. ‘Quite so. But rest assured, Shai Tung, in this as in other things, you have my full support in Council.’ He drained his glass and set it down. ‘And the rest of your scheme?’

  Li Shai Tung smiled. ‘For now, enough. But if you would honour me by being my guest at Tongjiang this autumn, we might talk some more. Things will be more advanced by then and Li Yuan, I know, would be delighted to tell you about his scheme.’

  Tsu Ma smiled. ‘It would be my great honour and delight. But come, talking of Li Yuan, we have neglected your son and his new wife far too much already. I have yet to congratulate him on his choice.’

  Both men pretended not to see the flicker of doubt that crossed the old T’ang’s face.

  ‘And you, Hal?’ Li Shai Tung turned to face his old friend. ‘Will you come through?’

  Shepherd smiled. ‘Later, perhaps. Just now I feel a little tired. Too much Yang Sen, I guess.’

  ‘Ah. Maybe so.’ And, turning sadly away, Li Shai Tung took Tsu Ma’s arm and led him out into the gathering in the Great Hall.

  Karr leaned across the desk and, with one hand, pulled the man up out of his seat, the front of the man’s powder blue silk tunic bunched tightly in his fist.

  ‘What do you mean, “Can’t”? I’m leaving today. By the first craft available. And I’m taking those files with me.’

  For a moment the man’s left hand struggled to reach the summons pad on his desk, then desisted. He had heard what a maniac Karr was, but he’d never believed the man would storm into his office and physically attack him.

  ‘Don’t you know who I am?’ he screeched, his voice half-strangled. ‘I’m Governor of Mars. You can’t do this to me!’

  Karr dragged the man across the desk until he was eye to eye with him. ‘You’re a fine one to lecture me on what can and can’t be done, Governor Schenck. You were ordered to give me full assistance, but you’ve been nothing but obstructive since I came back to Tian Men K’ou City.’

  The Governor swallowed painfully. ‘But... the investigation... Feng Shou Station’s destroyed, the pipeline badly damaged.’

  ‘That’s your concern. Mine is to report back to my T’ang at the earliest opportunity, and to take back with me all relevant information. You knew that. You had your orders.’

  ‘But...’

  Karr leaned back across the desk and threw Schenck down into his chair, then slammed his fist down on the summons pad.

  ‘Do you want war with the Seven?’

  ‘What?’ Schenck’s face blanched.

  ‘Because that’s what you’ll get if you take any further measures to keep me here. By a special Edict of the Seven I was authorized to do as I saw fit to bring the traitor Berdichev to justice and to reclaim any files or documents relating to that same person. That I have done. Now, tell me, Shih Schenck, what has your investigation to do with me?’

  ‘I...’ he began, then saw the door open behind Karr.

  Karr turned at once. ‘Bring the Berdichev files. At once.’

  The underling looked past Karr at Governor Schenck. ‘Excellency?’

  Karr turned back to Schenck. ‘Well? Will you defy the Seven and sign your own death warrant, or will you do as I request?’

  Schenck swallowed again, then bowed his head. ‘Do as he says. And while you’re at it, prepare Major Karr’s clearance for the Tientsin. He leaves us this afternoon.’

  ‘At once, Excellency.’

  ‘Good,’ said Karr, settling his huge frame into the tiny chair, facing Schenck. ‘Now tell me, Governor, who ordered you to keep me here?’

  Back on Chung Kuo, DeVore looked up from the files and stared hard at his lieutenant. ‘Is this all?’

  Wiegand bowed his head. ‘For now, Excellency. But our contacts have promised us more. You’ll know all you need to know about these scum before you meet with them again.’

  ‘Good. Because I want to know who’s good at what, and who’s responsible for what. I want to know where they came from and what they ultimately want. And I want no guesses. I want facts.’

  ‘Of course, Excellency. I’ll see to it at once.’

  Wiegand bowed low, then turned and went. A good man, thought DeVore, watching him go. Intelligent and reliable, despite that business with Lehmann and the Notice.

  He got up and came round his desk, then stood there, studying the huge, blown-up photograph of the five Ping Tiao leaders that Wiegand had pinned to the wall.

  The simple black and white image was clear and sharp, the life-size faces of the five terrorists standing out perfectly, Gesell in their centre. It had been taken ten or fifteen seconds into the meeting, the tiny lens cameras activated when he’d nodded to indicate the half-map on the table in front of Gesell. His intention had been merely to get images of the other four Ping Tiao leaders so they could be traced
through his contacts in Security, yet what the picture captured most clearly was the intense, almost insane suspicion. DeVore smiled. He had sensed something of it at the time, but had been too engrossed in his own scheme to make anything of it. Now, seeing it so vividly – so physically – expressed, he realized he had missed something of real importance.

  They were scared, yes, but it was more than that. They were on the run. Their cockiness was merely a front. Gesell’s bluster masked a general fear that someone would come along and simply wipe them out. They and everything they stood for. They had suffered too many setbacks, too many betrayals by their own kind. They were paranoid, afraid of their own shadows.

  But that was good. He could use that. It would give him the whip hand when they met in two days’ time.

  He went through what he knew. The Han male to the far left of the picture was Shen Lu Chua, a computer systems expert, trained as a mathematician. He was in his mid-thirties, his clean-shaven face long and drawn. Beside him was a rather pretty-looking woman with finely chiselled features – a Hung Mao, though her dark, fine hair was cut like a Han’s. Her name was Emily Ascher and she was an economist, though of more interest to DeVore was the fact that she was Gesell’s lover. On the other side of Gesell – second from the right in the photo – was the Han female, Mao Liang. She was an interesting one. The fourth daughter of a quite prominent Minor Family, she had been raised and educated at First Level, but had rebelled against her upbringing in her late teens and, after a year of arguments at home, had vanished into the lower levels, surfacing only now, five years on, amongst the Ping Tiao.

  Last of the five – on the far right of the photo – was Jan Mach. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man of thirty-three with dark, shoulder-length braided hair and a thick growth of beard. He worked for the Ministry of Waste Recycling as a maintenance official. It was a good job for a Ping Tiao member, allowing him quick and legitimate passage between the levels, but Mach had the further advantage of being a volunteer in the Security Reserve Corps, licensed to carry a firearm. In the circles in which he operated it provided the perfect cover for his ko ming activities.

  Mach, alone of the five, was looking away from DeVore in the picture, his eyes lowered to a writing pad on the desk before him. On the pad – in neatly formed pictograms that could be read quite clearly – was written, ‘Jen to chiu luan lung to chiu han.’ Too many people bring chaos; too many dragons bring drought.

  The detail was interesting. If Gesell was the leader, Mach was the power behind the throne. He was the one to watch, to influence, the ideologue of the group.

  There was a sharp knock on the door.

  ‘Come in!’

  Lehmann stood there in the doorway. ‘Our guests are here, sir.’

  DeVore hesitated, noting how well the albino looked in uniform, then nodded. ‘Good. I’ll be down in a short while. Take them to the dining room, and make sure they’re well looked after.’

  Lehmann bowed and left.

  DeVore turned and had one last brief look at the life-size picture of the five terrorists. ‘As one door closes, so another opens.’

  He laughed softly, then went across to his desk and pressed out the code to link him to the landing dome. His man there, Kubinyi, answered at once.

  ‘Is everything in hand?’

  ‘As you ordered, Excellency.’

  ‘Good. I want no foul-ups. Understand me?’

  He cut contact before Kubinyi could answer, then reached across and took the file from the drawer. He paused, looking about his office, conscious of the significance of the moment. Then, with a sharp laugh of enjoyment, he slammed the drawer shut and went out.

  New directions, he told himself as he marched briskly down the corridor towards the lift. The wise man always follows new directions.

  They turned as he entered the room. Seven of them. First Level businessmen, dressed in light-coloured silk pau.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, deliberately – ironically – avoiding the normal Han term, ch’un tzu. ‘How good to see you all again.’

  He saw at once how tense they were; how they looked at each other for support. They were afraid of him. Afraid of how he might react to the news they brought. News they thought he was unaware of. But he saw also how resigned they were. A spent force. The Seven had routed them thoroughly. The Confiscations, the arrests and executions – these had shaken them badly. They saw now the true cost of their involvement.

  So it is, he thought. And now your time has passed.

  He went amongst them, shaking hands, making small talk, his style and manner putting them at ease. He left Douglas until last, taking the old man’s hand firmly, warmly, and holding his shoulder a moment, as if greeting the best of friends. Douglas was leader of the Dispersionists now that Berdichev was dead. Leader of a broken party, unwilling even to whisper its own name in public.

  The news of Berdichev’s death had been broken publicly only two hours back. While they were meeting, no doubt, finalizing what they would say to him this afternoon. The shock of that lay on them too. He could see it in Douglas’s eyes.

  ‘It’s a sad business,’ he said, pre-empting Douglas. ‘I had nothing but respect for Soren Berdichev. He was a great man.’

  Douglas lowered his head slightly. The news had affected him badly. His voice was bitter and angry, but also broken. ‘They killed him,’ he said. ‘Like a common criminal. One of their animal-men – some GenSyn brute – did it, I’m told. Snapped his back like a twig. No trial. Nothing.’ He met DeVore’s eyes. ‘I never imagined...’

  ‘Nor I,’ said DeVore sympathetically, placing an arm about his shoulder. ‘Anyway... Come. Let’s have something to eat. I’m sure you’re all hungry after your flight here. Then we’ll sit and talk.’

  Douglas bowed his head slightly, a wistful smile on his lips softening the hurt and anger in his eyes. ‘You’re a good man, Howard.’

  Little was said during the meal, but afterwards, with the plates cleared and fresh drinks poured all round, Douglas came to the point.

  ‘The War is over, Howard. The Seven have won. We must plan for the long peace.’

  The outer blast shutters had been drawn back and through the thick, clear glass of the wall-length window could be seen the sunlit valley and the cloud-wreathed mountains beyond. The late afternoon light gave the room a strangely melancholy atmosphere. DeVore sat at the head of the table, his back to the window, facing them, his face in partial shadow.

  ‘Ai mo ta yu hsin ssu.’

  Douglas gave a slow nod of agreement. ‘So it is. Nothing is more sorrowful than the death of the heart. And that is how we feel, Howard. Weary. Heartbroken. More so now that Soren is not with us.’

  ‘And?’ DeVore looked from one to another, noting how hard they found it to look at him at this moment of surrender. They were ashamed. Deeply, bitterly ashamed. But of what? Of their failure to dislodge the Seven? Or was it because of their betrayal of him? Only Douglas was looking at him.

  When no one spoke DeVore stood and turned his back on them, staring out at the mountains. ‘I’m disappointed,’ he said. ‘I can’t help it, but I am. I thought better of you than this. I thought you had more…’ He turned, looking at them. ‘More guts.’

  ‘We’ve lost,’ Douglas said, sitting back, suddenly defensive. ‘It’s an unpleasant fact to face, but it’s true. Things have changed drastically, even in the last few months. It would be suicide to carry on.’

  ‘I see.’ DeVore seemed surprised. He turned slightly aside, as if considering something unexpected.

  ‘Surely you must have thought about it, Howard? You must have seen how things are. The arrests. The Confiscations. The Seven are riding high. Anyone who shows even the slightest sign of opposing them is crushed. And no half-measures.’ He paused, looking about him for support. ‘That’s how it is. I can’t change that, Howard. None of us can. We failed. Now it’s time to call it a day.’

  ‘And that’s how you all feel?’

  There was
a murmur of agreement from around the table.

  DeVore sighed heavily. ‘I thought as we’d come so far…’

  They were watching him now. Wondering what he would do.

  DeVore tapped the file, suddenly more animated, his voice holding the slightest trace of anger. ‘I had plans. Schemes for new campaigns. Ways to finish what we had so successfully begun.’

  ‘Successfully?’ Douglas laughed sharply. ‘I’m sorry, Howard, but in that you’re wrong. We lost. And we lost heavily. Berdichev, Lehmann and Wyatt. Duchek, Weis and Barrow. They’re all dead. Along with more than two thousand other, lesser members of our “revolution”. One hundred and eighteen Companies have ceased trading – their assets and holdings confiscated by the Seven. And the Seven are still there, stronger than ever, more dominant than ever.’

  ‘You’re wrong. The Seven are weak. Weaker than they’ve been in their entire history. The Council has lost four of its most experienced members in the last six years. The new T’ang are young and inexperienced. Not only that, but the older T’ang have lost the confidence, the certainty, they once possessed. Once it was considered inconceivable to challenge the Seven. But now…’

  ‘Now we understand why.’

  DeVore shook his head, then, resignedly, sat again.

  Douglas watched him a moment, then looked down. ‘I’m sorry, Howard. I know how you must feel. You were closer to it all than we were. The fortresses. The campaigns. These were your projects – your children, if you like. It must be hard to give them up. But it’s over. We would just be throwing good money after bad if we continued to support it all.’

  DeVore lifted his head, then smiled and shrugged. His voice was softer, more reconciled. ‘Well, as you say, old friend. But you’re still wrong. We shook the tree. Can’t you see that? It almost fell.’

  Douglas looked away, his disagreement implicit in that gesture. ‘What will you do?’

  DeVore stared down at the two files, as if undecided. ‘I don’t know. Wind it all down here, I guess.’