The Art of War (6 page)

Hung Mien-lo glared at Wang Sau-leyan, then turned away angrily. ‘Come, then. Let’s see what the Prince has left us, neh?’

Wang Sau-leyan sat on a footstool in his bedroom, letting the doctor dress the wound at his neck. Across from him Fischer was moving about the bathroom suite, examining the two corpses.

‘Why?’ Hung Mien-lo asked him again, standing over him almost threateningly. ‘Why did you kill them?’

He looked up, ignoring Hung Mien-lo, his eyes piercing his elder brother. ‘They were dangerous men. They killed our Father. What was to stop them killing me?’

He smiled tightly, then looked back at the bathroom. He saw Fischer straighten up, then turn and come to the doorway. He had been searching the dead men’s clothing, as if for something they had stolen.

‘Where are they?’ Fischer asked, looking directly at him.

Wang Sau-leyan stared back at him, irritated by his insolence. ‘Where are what?’ he asked angrily, wincing as the doctor tightened the bandage about his shoulder.

‘The ears,’ said Fischer, coming out into the room.

‘Ears?’ Wang Sau-leyan gave a short laugh.

‘Yes,’ Fischer said, meeting the Prince’s eyes. ‘The ears, my lord. Where are the great T’ang’s ears?’

The Prince rose sharply from his stool, pushing Hung Mien-lo aside, his broad, moon face filled with disbelief. He strode across and stood there, glowering at Fischer, his face only inches from his.

‘What are you suggesting, Captain?’

Fischer knelt, his head bowed. ‘Forgive me, my lord. I was suggesting nothing. But the murderers took your father’s ears, and now there is no sign of them.’

Wang Sau-leyan stood there a moment longer, clearly puzzled, then whirled about, looking directly at his brother.

‘Is this true, Ta-hung?’

‘
Chieh Hsia
...’ Hung Mien-lo reminded him, but Wang Sau-leyan ignored him.

‘Well, brother? Is it true?’

Wang Ta-hung let his head fall before the fierceness of his younger brother’s gaze. He nodded. ‘It is so.’

Wang Sau-leyan took a shuddering breath, then looked about him again, his whole manner suddenly defiant, his eyes challenging any in that room to gainsay him.

‘Then I’m glad I killed them.’

Hung Mien-lo stared at the Prince a moment, astonished by his outburst, then turned and looked across at Wang Ta-hung. The contrast was marked. Tiger and lamb they were. And then he understood. Wang Sau-leyan had dared to have his father killed. Yes! Looking at him he knew it for a certainty. Sun had had access to the T’ang and motive enough, but only Wang Sau-leyan had had the will – the sheer audacity – to carry through the act.

It took his breath. He looked at the Prince with new eyes. Then, almost without thinking, he stepped forward and, his head bowed in respect, addressed him.

‘Please, my Prince, sit down and rest. No blame attaches to you. You did as you had to. The murderers are dead. We need look no further.’

Wang Sau-leyan turned, facing him, a smile coming to his lips. Then he turned, facing Fischer, his face hardening again.

‘Good. Then get the bodies of those vermin out of here and leave me be. I must get some sleep.’

PART TEN

THE ART OF WAR

SUMMER 2206

Though the enemy be stronger in numbers, we may prevent him from fighting. Scheme so as to discover his plans and the likelihood of their success. Rouse him, and learn the principle of his activity or inactivity. Force him to reveal himself, so as to find out his vulnerable spots. Carefully compare the opposing army with your own, so that you may know where strength is superabundant and where it is deficient.

—Sun Tzu,
The Art of War
(5th century
BC
)

Chapter 43

THE FIFTY-NINTH STONE

I
t was dawn on Mars. In the lowland desert of the Golden Plains it was minus one hundred and fourteen degrees and rising. Deep shadow lay like the surface of a fathomless sea to the east, tracing the lips of huge escarpments, while to the north and west the sun’s first rays picked out the frozen slopes and wind-scoured mouths of ancient craters. Through the centre of this landscape ran a massive pipeline, dissecting the plain from north to south: a smooth vein of polished white against the brown-red terrain.

For a time the plain was still and silent. Then, from the south, came the sound of an approaching craft, the dull roar of its engines carried faintly on the thin atmosphere. A moment later it drew nearer, following the pipeline. Feng Shou Pumping Station was up ahead, in the distance – a small oasis in the billion-year sterility of the Martian desert – discernible even at this range from the faint spiral curve of cloud that placed a blue-white smudge amidst the perfect pinkness of the sky.

The report had come in less than an hour ago: an unconfirmed message that an unauthorized craft had been challenged and brought down in the Sea of Divine Kings, eighty
li
north-west of Feng Shou Station. There was no more than that, but Karr, trusting to instinct, had commissioned a Security craft at once, speeding north from Tian Men K’ou City to investigate.

Karr stared down through the dark filter of the cockpit’s screen at the rugged terrain below, conscious that, after eight months of scouring this tiny planet for some sign of the man, he might at last be nearing the end of his search.

At first he had thought this a dreadful place. The bitter cold, the thin, unnatural atmosphere, the closeness of the horizon, the all-pervading redness of the place. He had felt quite ill those first few weeks, despite the enjoyable sensation of shedding more than 60 per cent of his body weight to Mars’s much lower surface gravity. The Han Security officer who had been his host had told him it was quite natural to feel that way: it took some while to acclimatize to Mars. But he had wondered briefly whether this cold, inhospitable planet might not be his final resting place. Now, however, he felt sad that it was coming to an end. He had grown to love the austere magnificence of Mars. Eight months. It was little more than a season here.

As the craft drew nearer he ordered the pilot to circle the station from two
li
out.

The five huge chimneys of the atmosphere generator dominated the tiny settlement, belching huge clouds of oxygen-rich air into the thin and frigid atmosphere. Beneath them the sprawl of settlement buildings was swathed in green – hardy mosses that could survive the extreme temperatures of the Martian night. Further out, the red sands were rimed with ice that formed a wide, uneven ring of whiteness about the station. The generator itself was deep beneath the surface, its taproots reaching down towards the core of the planet to draw their energy. Like thirty other such generators scattered about the planet’s surface, it had been pumping oxygen into the skies of Mars for more than one hundred and fifty years. Even so, it would be centuries yet before Mars had a proper atmosphere again.

Karr made a full circle of the settlement, studying the scene. There were four transports parked to the east of the pipeline, in an open space between some low buildings. At first, in the half-light, they had seemed to form one single, indistinct shape – a complexity of shadows – but through the resolution of field glasses he could make out individual markings. One was a craft belonging to the settlement, another two Security craft from out of Kang Kua in the north. The fourth was unmarked. A small, four-man flier, the design unlike anything he had seen before on Mars.

He leaned forward and tapped out that day’s security code, then sat back, waiting. In a moment it came back, suitably amended, followed by an update.

Karr gave himself a moment to digest the information, then nodded to himself. ‘Okay. Set her down half a
li
to the south of those craft. Then suit up. I want to be ready for any trouble.’

The young pilot nodded tersely, setting them down softly on the southern edge of the settlement. While the pilot suited up, Karr sat there, staring out at the settlement, watching for any sign that this might yet be a trap.

‘Ready?’

The young man nodded.

‘Good. Wait here. I’ll not be long.’

Karr took a breath then released the hatch. As he climbed out, systems within his suit reacted immediately to the sudden changes in temperature and pressure. It was cold out here. Cold enough to kill a man in minutes if his suit failed.

There were five buildings surrounding the craft: three domes and two long, flat-topped constructions, the domes to the left, the flat-tops to the right. The pumping station itself was the largest of the domes, straddling the pipeline like a giant swelling, one of eight similar stations – situated at two-hundred-
li
intervals along the pipeline – that pumped water from the sprawling Tzu Li Keng Seng generating complex in the south to the three great northern cities of Hong Hai, Kang Kua and Chi Shan.

Karr walked towards the huge hemisphere of the station, the tiny heat generator in his suit clicking on as he moved into the shadow of the giant pipeline. As he came nearer a door hissed open and unfolded towards the ground, forming steps. Without hesitation he mounted them and went inside, hearing the door close behind him.

He went through the airlock briskly and out into the pressurized and heated core of the station. Two Security men were waiting for him, at attention, clearly surprised that he was still suited up. They looked at him expectantly, but he went past them without a word, leaving them to follow him or not, as they wished.

He took a left turn at the first junction into a corridor that bridged the pipeline. As he did so an officer, a fresh-faced young Han, hurried down the corridor towards him.

‘Major Karr. Welcome to Feng Shou. Captain Wen would like...’

Ignoring him, Karr brushed past and turned off to the left, taking the narrow stairwell down to the basement. Guards looked up, surprised, as he came down the corridor towards them, then stood to a hurried attention as they noticed the leopard badge of a third-ranking officer that adorned the chest of his suit.

‘Forgive me, Major Karr, but the Captain says you must...’

Karr turned and glared at the junior officer who had followed him, silencing him with a look.

‘Please tell your captain that, as his superior officer, I’ve taken charge of this matter. And before you ask, no, I don’t want to see him. Understand me?’

The young soldier bowed deeply and backed off a step. ‘Of course, Major. As you say.’

Karr turned away, forgetting the man at once. These stations were all the same. There was only one place to keep prisoners securely. He marched down the narrow, dimly lit passageway, then stopped, facing a heavy, panelled door. He waited as one of the guards caught up with him and took a bunch of old-fashioned metal keys from inside a thick pouch, then, as the door swung inward, pushed past the man impatiently.

Hasty improvisation had made a cell of the small storeroom. The floor was bare rock, the walls undecorated ice, opaque and milky white, like a blind eye. The four men were bound at wrist and ankle.

Berdichev was sitting slumped against the wall. His grey uniform was dusty and dishevelled, buttons missing from the neck, his face thinner, gaunter than the Security profile of him. He hadn’t shaved for a week or more and he stared back at Karr through eyes red-rimmed with tiredness. Karr studied him thoughtfully. The horn-rimmed glasses that were his trademark hung from a fine silver chain about his neck, the lenses covered in a fine red grit.

He had not been certain. Not until this moment. But now he knew. Berdichev was his. After almost five years of pursuit, he had finally caught up with the leader of the Dispersionists.

Karr looked about the cell again, conscious of the other three watching him closely, then nodded, satisfied. He knew how he looked to them. Knew how the suit exaggerated his size, making him seem monstrous, unnatural. Perhaps they were even wondering what he was – machine or man. If so, he would let them know. He lit up his face plate, seeing how the eyes of the others widened with surprise. But not Berdichev. He was watching Karr closely.

Karr turned, slamming the door shut behind him, then turned back, facing them again.

He knew what they expected. They knew the laws that were supposed to govern an arrest. But this was different. They had been tried in their absence and found guilty. He was not here to arrest them.

‘Well, Major Karr, so we meet up at last, neh?’ Berdichev lifted his chin a little as he spoke, but his eyes seemed to look down on the giant. ‘Do you really think you’ll get me to stand trial? In fact, do you even think you’ll leave Mars alive?’

If there had been any doubt before, there was none now. It was a trap. Berdichev had made a deal with the Captain, Wen. Or maybe Wen was in another’s pay – a friend of Berdichev’s. Whatever, it didn’t matter now. He walked over to where Berdichev was sprawled and kicked at his feet.

‘Get up,’ he said tonelessly, his voice emerging disembodied and inhuman through the suit’s microphone.

Berdichev stood slowly, awkwardly. He was clearly ill. Even so, there was a dignity of bearing to him, a superiority of manner, that was impressive. Even in defeat he thought himself the better man.