The Broken Wheel

by David Wingrove

  She took his hand and held it still. ‘Don’t be silly. I’d have told you if it hurt.’ She gave a little shudder, then looked down, smiling. ‘Besides, I want our child to be lusty, don’t you? I want him to know that his mother is loved.’

  Her eyes met his provocatively, then looked away.

  Tolonen bowed deeply, then stepped forward, handing Li Shai Tung the report Hans Ebert had prepared on the planned attack on the Plantations.

  ‘It’s all here?’ the T’ang asked, his eyes meeting Tolonen’s briefly before they returned to the opening page of the report.

  ‘Everything we discussed, Chieh Hsia.’

  ‘And copies have gone to all the generals?’

  ‘And to their T’ang, no doubt.’

  Li Shai Tung smiled bleakly. ‘Good.’ He had been closeted with his Ministers since first light and had had no time to refresh his mind about the details. Now, in the few minutes that remained to him before the Council of the Seven met, he took the time to look through the file.

  Halfway through he looked up. ‘You know, Knut, sometimes I wish I could direct input all this. It would make things so much easier.’

  Tolonen smiled, tracing the tiny slot behind his ear with his right index finger, then shook his head. ‘It would not be right to break with tradition, Chieh Hsia. Besides, you have servants and Ministers to assist you in such matters.’

  Yes, thought the T’ang, and as you’ve so often said, it would only be another way in which my enemies could get to me. I’ve heard they can do it now. Programmes that destroy the mind’s ability to reason. Like the food I eat, it would need to be ‘tasted’. No, perhaps you’re right, Knut Tolonen. It would only build more walls between Chung Kuo and I, and the gods know there are enough already.

  He finished the document quickly, then closed it, looking back at Tolonen. ‘Is there anything else?’

  Tolonen paused, then lowered his voice slightly. ‘One thing, Chieh Hsia. In view of how things are developing, shouldn’t we inform Prince Yuan?’

  Li Shai Tung considered a moment, then shook his head. ‘No, Knut. Yuan has worked hard these last few weeks. He needs time with that wife of his.’ He smiled, his own tiredness showing at the corners of his mouth. ‘You know how Yuan is. If he knew, he would be back here instantly, and there’s nothing he can really do to help. So let it be. If I need him, I’ll instruct Master Nan to brief him fully. Until then, let him rest.’

  ‘Chieh Hsia.’

  Li Shai Tung watched his old friend stride away, then turned, pulling at his beard thoughtfully. The session ahead was certain to be difficult and it might have helped to have had Yuan at his side, but he remembered the last time, when Wang Sau-leyan had insisted on the Prince leaving. Well, he would give him no opportunity to pull such strokes this time. It was too important. For what he was about to suggest…

  Twenty years too late. He knew that now. Knew how vulnerable they had become in that time. But it had to be said, even if it split the Council. Because unless it was faced – and faced immediately – there could be no future.

  He looked about him at the cold grandeur of the marble hallway, his eyes coming to rest on the great wheel of the Ywe Lung carved into the huge double doors, then shook his head. This was the turning point. Whatever they decided today, there was no turning back from this, no further chance to right things. The cusp was upon them.

  And beyond?

  Li Shai Tung felt a small ripple of fear pass down his spine, then turned and went across to the great doorway, the four shaven-headed guards bowing low before they turned and pushed back the heavy doors.

  *

  Wei Feng, T’ang of East Asia, sat forward in his chair and looked about him at the informal circle of his fellow T’ang, his face stern, his whole manner immensely dignified. It was he who had called this emergency meeting of the Council; he who, as the most senior of the Seven, hosted it now, at his palace of Chung Ning in Ning Hsia province. Seeing him lean forward, the other T’ang fell silent, waiting for him to speak.

  ‘Well, cousins, we have all read the reports, and I think we would all agree that a major disaster was only narrowly averted, thanks to the quick action of Li Shai Tung’s Security forces. A disaster which, whilst its immediate consequences would have befallen one of our number alone, would have damaged every one of us, for are not the seven One and the one Seven?’

  There was nodding from all quarters, even from Wang Sau-leyan. Wei Feng looked about him, satisfied, then spoke again.

  ‘It is, of course, why we are here today. The attack on Bremen and the planned attacks on the East European Plantations are significant enough in themselves, but they have far wider implications. It is to these wider implications – to the underlying causes and the long-term prospects for Chung Kuo – that we must address ourselves.’

  Wei Feng looked briefly at his old friend, Li Shai Tung, then lifted one hand from the arm of his chair, seventy-five years of command forming that tiny, almost effortless gesture. All of his long experience, the whole majesty of his power was gathered momentarily in his raised hand, while his seated form seemed to emanate an aura of solemn purpose and iron-willed determination. His eyes traced the circle of his fellow T’ang.

  ‘These are special circumstances, my cousins. Very special. I can think of no occasion on which the threat to the stability of Chung Kuo has been greater than it is now.’

  There was a low murmur of agreement, a nodding of heads. To Li Shai Tung it felt suddenly like old times, with the Council as one not merely in its policy but in its sentiments. He looked across at Wang Sau-leyan and saw how the young T’ang of Africa was watching him, his eyes filled with sympathetic understanding. It was unexpected, but not, when he considered it, surprising, for this – as Wei Feng had said – threatened them all. If some good were to come of all that horror, let it be this – that it had served to unify the Seven.

  He looked back at Wei Feng, listening.

  ‘Not even in the darkest days of the War was there a time when we did not believe in the ultimate and inevitable triumph of the order which we represent. But can we say so with such confidence today? Bremen was more than a tragedy for all those who lost friends and family in the attack – it was a show of power. A statement of potentiality. What we must discover is this: who wields that power? What is that potentiality? The very fact that we cannot answer these questions immediately concerns me, for it indicates just how much we have lost control of things. For Bremen to have happened… it ought to have been unthinkable. But now we must face facts – must begin to think the unthinkable.’

  Wei Feng turned slightly, the fingers of his hand opening out, pointed towards Li Shai Tung.

  ‘Cousins! It is time to say openly what has hitherto remained unexpressed. Li Shai Tung, will you begin?’

  Their eyes turned expectantly to the T’ang of Europe.

  ‘Cousins,’ Li Shai Tung began softly, ‘I wish I had come to you in better days and spoken of these things, rather than have had adversity push me to it. But you must understand that what I say here today is no hasty, ill-considered reaction to Bremen, but has matured in me over many years. Forgive me also if what I say seems at times to border on a lecture. It is not meant so, I assure you. Yet it seemed to me that I must set these things out clearly before you, if only to see whether my eyes and my brain deceived me in this matter, or whether my vision and my reason hold good.’

  ‘We are listening, cousin Li,’ Tsu Ma said, his expression willing Li Shai Tung to go on – to say what had to be said.

  Li Shai Tung looked about him, seeing that same encouragement mirrored in the faces of the other T’ang, even in the pallid, moon-like face of Wang Sau-leyan. ‘Very well,’ he said, keeping his eyes on Wang Sauleyan, ‘but you must hear me out.’

  ‘Of course,’ Wei Feng said quickly, wanting to smooth over any possibility of friction between the two T’ang. ‘There will be ample time afterwards to discuss these matters fully. So speak out, Shai Tung. We are al
l ears.’

  Li Shai Tung looked down, searching inside himself for the right words, knowing there was no easy way to put it. Then, looking up, his face suddenly set, determined, he began.

  ‘You have all read Major Ebert’s report, so you understand just how close the Ping Tiao came to succeeding in their scheme to destroy large areas of the East European Plantations. What you haven’t seen, however, is a second report I commissioned. A report to ascertain the probable economic and social consequences had the Ping Tiao succeeded.’

  He saw how they looked among themselves and knew that the matter had been in all their minds.

  ‘It was, of necessity, a hastily compiled report, and I have since commissioned another to consider the matter in much greater detail. However, the results of that first report make fascinating and – without exaggerating the matter – frightening reading. Before I come to those results, however, let me undertake a brief résumé of the situation with regard to food production and population increase over the past fifteen-year period.’

  He saw how Wang Sau-leyan looked down and felt his stomach tighten, instinct telling him he would have to fight the younger T’ang on this. Well, so be it. It was too important a matter to back down over.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Back in 2192 the official population figure for the whole of Chung Kuo was just short of thirty-four billion – a figure that excluded, of course, the populations of both Net and Clay. I mention this fact because, whilst the figure for the Clay might, with good reason, be overlooked, that for the Net cannot. The relationship of Net to City is an important one economically, particularly in terms of food production, for whilst we have no jurisdiction over the Net, we nonetheless produce all the food consumed there.

  ‘Unofficial estimates for 2192 placed the population of the Net at just over three billion. However, the growing number of demotions over the period, added to an ever-increasing birth rate down there have given rise to latest estimates of at least twice that number, with the highest estimate indicating a below-Net population of eight billion.

  ‘Over the same period the population of the City has also climbed, though not with anything like the same rate of growth. The census of 2200 revealed a rounded-up figure of 37.8 billion – a growth rate of just under half a billion a year.’

  Li Shai Tung paused, recalling the reports his father had once shown him from more than two hundred years ago – World Population Reports compiled by an ancient body called the United Nations. They had contained an underlying assumption that, as Man’s material condition improved, so his numbers would stabilize, but the truth was otherwise. One law alone governed the growth of numbers – the capacity of Humankind to feed itself. As health standards had improved, so infant mortality rates had plummeted. At the same time life expectancy had increased dramatically. With vast areas of the City being opened up yearly, the population of Chung Kuo had grown exponentially for the first century of the City’s existence. It had doubled, from four to eight billion, from eight to sixteen, then from sixteen to thirty-two, each doubling a matter of only thirty years. Against such vast and unchecked growth the United Nations’ estimate of the world’s population stabilizing at 10.2 billion was laughable. What had happened was more like the ancient tale of the Emperor and the wei chi board.

  In the tale the Emperor had granted the peasant his wish – for one grain of rice on the first square of the board, twice as much on the second, twice as much again on the third and so on – not realizing how vast the final total was, how far beyond his means to give. So it was with the Seven. They had guaranteed the masses of Chung Kuo unlimited food, shelter and medical care, with no check upon their numbers. It was madness. A madness that could be tolerated no longer.

  He looked about him; saw how they were waiting for him, as if they knew where his words led.

  ‘That rate of growth has not, thankfully, maintained itself over the last seven years. However, births are still outstripping deaths by two to one, and the current figure of thirty-nine and a half billion is still enough to cause us major concern, particularly in view of the growing problems with food production.’

  So here he was, at last, speaking about it.

  He looked across at Wu Shih, then back to Tsu Ma, seeing how tense his fellow T’ang had grown. Even Wei Feng was looking down, disturbed by the direction Li Shai Tung’s words had taken. He pressed on.

  ‘As you know, for the past twenty years I have been trying to anticipate these problems – to find solutions without taking what seems to me now the inevitable step. The number of orbital farms, for instance, has been increased eight hundred per cent in the past fifteen years, resulting in fifty-five per cent of all Chung Kuo’s food now being grown off-planet. That success, however, has caused us new problems. There is the danger of cluttering up the skies; the problem of repairing and maintaining such vast and complex machineries; the need to build at least four and possibly as many as twelve new spaceports, capacity at the present ports being strained to the limit. Added to this, the cost of ferrying down the produce, of processing it and distributing it, has grown year by year. And then, as we all know, there have been accidents.’

  He saw, once again, how they looked among themselves. This was the Great Unsaid. If the Seven could be said to have a taboo it was this – the relationship of food production to population growth. It was Chung Kuo’s oldest problem – as old as the First Emperor, Ch’in Shih Huang Ti himself – yet for a century or more they had refused to discuss it, even to mention it. And why? Because that relationship underpinned the one great freedom they had promised the people of Chung Kuo – the one freedom upon which the whole great edifice of Family and Seven depended, the right to have an unlimited number of children. Take that away and the belief in Family was undermined; a belief that was sacrosanct – that was the very foundation stone of their great State, for were they not themselves the fathers of their people?

  Yes. But now that had to change. A new relationship had to be forged, less satisfactory than the old, yet necessary, because without it there would be nothing. No Seven, no State, nothing but anarchy.

  ‘We know these things,’ he said softly, ‘yet we say nothing of them. But now it is time to do our sums: to balance the one against the other and see where such figures lead us. All of which brings me back to the report I commissioned and its central question – what would have happened if the Ping Tiao had succeeded in their attack on the Plantations?’

  ‘Li Shai Tung… ?’ It was Wei Feng.

  ‘Yes, cousin?’

  ‘Will we be given copies of this report?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Wei Feng met his eyes briefly, his expression deeply troubled. ‘Good. But let me say how… unorthodox I find this – to speak of a document none of us has seen. It is not how we normally transact our business.’

  Li Shai Tung lowered his head, respecting his old friend’s feelings. ‘I understand, cousin, but these are not normal times, neither is this matter… orthodox. It was simply that I did not feel I could submit such a document for the record. However, when the detailed report is ready I shall ensure each of you receives a copy.’

  Wei Feng nodded, but it was clear he was far from happy with the way things had developed, despite his words about ‘thinking the unthinkable’. Li Shai Tung studied him a moment, trying to gauge how strongly he felt on the matter, then looked away, resuming his speech.

  ‘However, from our first and admittedly hurried estimates, we believe that the Ping Tiao attack would have destroyed as much as thirty-five per cent of the East European growing areas. In terms of overall food production this equates with approximately ten per cent of City Europe’s total.’

  He leaned forward slightly.

  ‘Were this merely a matter of percentage reductions the problem would be a relatively minor one – and, indeed, short term, for the growing areas could be redeveloped within three months – but the fact is that we have developed a distribution network that is immensely fragile. I
f you will forgive the analogy, we are like an army encamped in enemy territory that has tried to keep its supply lines as short as possible. This has meant that food from the Plantations has traditionally been used to feed the eastern Hsien of City Europe, while the food brought down from the orbitals – landed in the six spaceports on the west and southern coasts – has been used to feed the west and south of the City. If the Plantations failed it would mean shipping vast amounts of grain, meat and other edibles across the continent. It is not impossible, but it would be difficult to organize and immensely costly.’

  He paused significantly. ‘That, however, would be the least of our problems. Because production has not kept pace with population growth, the physical amount of food consumed by our citizenry has dropped considerably over the past fifteen years. On average, people now eat ten per cent less than they did in 2192. To ask them to cut their consumption by a further ten per cent – as we would undoubtedly have had to in the short term – would, I am told, return us to the situation we faced a year ago, with widespread rioting in the lower levels. The potential damage of that is, as you can imagine, inestimable.

  ‘But let me come to my final point – the point at which my worries become your worries. For what we are really talking of here is not a question of logistics – of finding administrative solutions to large-scale problems – but an ongoing situation of destabilization. Such an attack, we could be certain, would be but the first, and each subsequent attack would find us more vulnerable, our resources stretched much further, our options fewer. What we are talking of is a downward spiral with the only end in sight our own. My counsellors estimate that it would need only a twenty-five per cent reduction in food supplies to make City Europe effectively ungovernable. And what can happen in Europe can, I am assured, be duplicated elsewhere. So you see, cousins, this matter has brought to our attention just how vulnerable we are in this, the most important and yet most neglected area of government.’

  He fell silent, noting the air of unease that had fallen over the meeting. It was Wu Shih, T’ang of North America, who spoke.