Ark (33 page)

“And I am surprised to hear you say that, all things considered.”

“What is the purpose of your visit?”

“We wish to interview the Chinese citizens who are employed in this place. Each of them individually.”

“Then you should address your request to Ng Fred, who is in charge.”

“Come, come. You are the man in charge.”

“There will be no point in proceeding, General, if you begin by doubting my word.”

The two men, who had always before treated each other as fraternity brothers, now behaved as if they had never met. The change couldn’t have been more complete if it had been rehearsed. For all I knew, it
had
been rehearsed.

General Yao said, “There will be no point in proceeding unless I am addressing the actual principal.”

“I say again, you should talk to Ng Fred,” Henry said.

“What is the role of the woman?” General Yao asked.

“She is my adviser.”

“If you have no interest in this matter, why do you need an adviser?”

“General, once again—talk to Ng Fred.”

“You are placing Comrade Ng in a difficult position. He is a Chinese citizen. In your case, the violations of Chinese law that have occurred here are serious crimes, but as a foreigner you might in certain circumstances be spared harsh punishment. In Mr. Ng’s case, however, the same offenses might very well constitute treason.”

“We are in Mongolia, General. Chinese law does not apply here.”

“Wherever he might happen to be, Comrade Ng is a Chinese citizen and his family and property are in China,” General Yao said. “As a matter of protecting his legal interests and rights, I decline to regard him as the principal in this affair. If you continue to insist that I must do so, and Comrade Ng supports you, I will understand that you are, in fact, the principal and he is obeying your orders.”

His words were meant to chill. In my case, they succeeded. What was happening began to seem real. This, at last, was the smiler with the knife I had always assumed lurked within the actor I had previously known. Without his ingratiating smile, Yao looked more than ever like Zhou Enlai. Henry’s face was as stony, his voice as frigid as Yao’s.

With formality, Henry excused himself, rose from his chair, and left the room. Yao exhibited no surprise. I followed Henry. So did Ng Fred. Henry and Ng Fred were walking fast. Our footsteps echoed in the vast building. The workers who usually crowded the factory floor had disappeared. It was the same in the next building and the one after that—not a human being in sight. Birds fluttered among the rafters, the only signs of life in a space that usually teemed with workers. It was the lunch hour, but no clamor issued from the cafeteria. If Henry and Ng Fred knew what was going on, as surely they did, they offered no explanation to me, let alone Yao, for whom this charade had been arranged.

In Ng Fred’s office—deserted like the rest of the factory—we drank green tea drawn from a large thermos bottle. One wall was filled with small video monitors clustered around a much larger one. Not a word was spoken by any of us. Henry and Ng Fred were silent, presumably, because they were waiting for something to happen. I kept quiet because I had no idea what was coming next and was trying not to think about it. On one of the monitors I watched the bureaucrats, who were still waiting in formation on the tarmac by their airplane. They weren’t talking, either.

Henry’s cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, then let the phone ring seven more times before picking up.

He said, “Henry here.”

He listened to the caller, and without saying anything more, switched off.

“Gotta go,” he said to Ng Fred and me. He pointed a finger at the monitors. “Feel free to tune in.”

Henry left us. Ng Fred clicked a remote. Henry and Yao appeared in split-screen view on the large monitor, marching toward each other along the catwalk. Like Henry, Yao was alone. When Yao and Henry met, the relaxed body language I remembered from their other encounters had been restored. Henry indicated the many doors lining the catwalk and in dumb show, invited Yao to choose one. A moment later they reappeared on another screen inside yet another small, utilitarian office. Ng Fred switched the image to the large screen. He touched another button and we heard what they were saying.

Yao said, “Alone at last.”

Henry said, “Shall we get down to it?”

“Please.”

Henry said, “What do they want?”

“Everything that’s already in orbit,” Yao replied. “On the ground, the factories and everything under construction, plus the girls and Ng Fred to run things. China’s flag on the existing Spaceplanes.”

“Is that all?”

“No, the list is long. They want a Chinese quota on the crew of the eventual mission. They want Chinese embryos chosen by China, Chinese only, in their own freezer. You may be interested to know that specimens of Chairman Mao’s semen have been preserved.”

“What else will they demand if I’m dumb enough to give them these things?”

“Use your imagination. Meanwhile, you’ve been given an opportunity to negotiate, so negotiate. It would be better to give them something instead of giving up everything.”

“I’ve already given them a trillion dollars’ worth of data.”

“An appetizer.”

“And if I don’t give them anything more?”

“They will take what they want. I know you’ve taken the precaution of operating outside China. However, power still comes out of the barrel of a gun. There are three million soldiers in the People’s Liberation Army. If even a very small percentage of these soldiers march across the border, Mongolia can’t stop them. It won’t even try. The United States will not intervene, since it doesn’t need you or another disastrous war in Asia, and it doesn’t have the cash. In its hubris, America may not recognize the reality, but it is impotent in this situation. You have given it everything it needs except time—time to build its own Spaceplanes, mother ship, and all the rest. China’s position is the same. One power or the other must seize your property in order to rule the future.”

Henry said, “So what do you recommend?”

“As I just said, negotiation.”

“Why should they negotiate with me instead of just taking what they want?”

“For one thing, it would be quicker and cheaper. For another, the world might come to an end sooner than they think and they’d be stranded. You could blow up the factories and go into orbit, or to another galaxy, aboard the last Spaceplane. Or the end might not come despite the horoscope you have drawn up for humanity, in which case the invasion of a peaceful neighbor would become a serious embarrassment.”

“What odds are being quoted in Beijing that the end is near?” Henry asked.

“The materialists, the scientists, say a thousand to one against,” Yao replied. “They think you’re delusional. The astrologers and the feng shui masters are divided on the percentages, but the pessimists are in the majority. There’s some sort of problem with the magnetism of the planet, so the feng shui masters can’t get the precise compass readings they need to make a valid judgment. If you can invent a super-compass and make a gift of it to the Party, our leaders’ hearts might be softened.”

Henry had taken with him the thermos from Ng Fred’s office. Now he drew two bowls of tea and handed one to Yao. They sipped while they took a break.

Yao asked about Amerigo.

“Is the poor fellow in jail?”

“No,” Henry replied—just the one word.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Yao said, without asking for more information. “He’s a harmless soul. And of course it would be a great bother for you if he were locked up.”

Henry made no reply to that observation. The two men finished their tea.

Yao put down his bowl and said, “This is the offer I am instructed to present to you. CyberSci, Inc., will enter into a contract with the government of China to manufacture any or all of the items it has licensed China to manufacture. It will also give the young women who return from orbit the opportunity of joining the Chinese space program. It will train additional
taikonauts
and also train Chinese people chosen by the party to be trainers.”

“Even if these terms were acceptable to us,” Henry said, “we would not be able to start work on any such contract for several months, perhaps for a year or longer.”

“You mean, until you complete your own mother ship?”

“We cannot interrupt our own work.”

“Then you are saying no?”

“I’m saying two things. One, we’re busy. Two, Ng Fred is the CEO of CyberSci. I’m just a customer.”

Yao let a long moment pass. Then he said, “I’ll deliver your message. The offer is not what my principals were hoping for.”

“Sorry about that,” Henry said. “But that’s all there is.”

“Whatever you say. But speaking as your friend, Henry, I hope you won’t be adamant about this. Sometimes a sweetener, offered at the right moment and in the right spirit, can change minds.”

Henry returned to Ng Fred’s office. The three of us watched the monitor as General Yao and the bureaucrats got back on their airplane and it took off. Ng Fred made a telephone call and spoke a sentence in Mandarin. Soon afterward, the workers spilled out of hiding. The buildings filled with the sound of voices speaking Mandarin. This stirred the myriad birds perched in the rafters in our building.

The human beings looked up at the birds and clapped their hands in unison. The birds formed into a Gobi-brown cloud—there were many, many more of them than had been visible earlier—and fled through an aperture in the peak of the building in a long, thin stream, as if poured from a spout.

“The workers don’t like the birds,” Ng Fred said. “Neither do I, and I’m not the one who has to clean up after them.”

~ * ~

4

HENRY SAID, “ARE YOU IN any way religious?”

We were lying in bed, in the dark.

“Are you kidding?” I said. “What about you?”

“My parents were Methodists,” Henry said, “but I always thought that to them, Christianity was a code of behavior, not a matter of prayer and hope of heaven and fear of hell.”

“They sound like sensible people,” I said. “Why did you ask me such a question?”

Henry replied, “Because I think Mongolia would be a good place for us to get married, and I wanted to warn you that the eyes of God won’t be involved.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“This is a Buddhist country, and Buddhists attach no religious significance to marriage.”

“So?”

“To them, it’s a secular thing—something of this world, therefore illusory,” Henry said. “Buddhism doesn’t require anyone to get married, or stay single, for that matter. You can be blessed by a monk for good luck afterward if you want, but that’s up to you.”

I said, “Henry, did you wake me up to tell me you’re a Buddhist?”

“No, to see how you felt about getting married in a godless country,” Henry replied. “The Buddhist ceremony requires the man and the woman to make certain assurances to each other in the presence of others, but no clergy is involved. I think it would be good to do it that way.”

“I agree. Let’s do it.”

“Would tomorrow be soon enough? It’s customary to put on some clothes and have witnesses present.”