Ice and Fire by David Wingrove Page B

actual measurement is one kilometre. I understand that they have used the old Hung Mao measurements throughout the craft.’
    Wei Feng grunted his dissatisfaction, but Wang Hsien, T’ang of Africa, was not so restrained. ‘But that’s an outrage!’ he roared. ‘An insult! How dare they flout the Edict so openly?’
    ‘I would remind you, Wang Hsien,’ Li Shai Tung answered quietly, seeing the unease on every face. ‘We agreed that the terms of the Edict would not apply to the starship.’
    He looked back at the ship. The fine web of lines was now distinct. In its centre, etched finer than the lines surrounding it, were two lines of beadlike figures spiralling about each other, forming the double helix of heredity, symbol of the Dispersionists.
    Three years ago – the day after Under Secretary Lehmann had been killed in the House by Tolonen – he had summoned the leaders of the House before him, and there, in the Purple Forbidden City where they had murdered his son, had granted them concessions, amongst them permission to build a generation starship. It had prevented war. But now the ship was almost ready and though the uneasy peace remained intact, soon it would be broken. The cusp lay just ahead. Thus far on the road of concession he had carried the Seven. Thus far but no further.
    He stared at the starship a moment longer. It was beautiful, but both House and Seven knew what The New Hope really was. No one was fooled by the mask of rhetoric. The Dispersionists talked of it being an answer – ‘the only guarantee of a future for our children’ – but in practical terms it did nothing to solve the problem of over-population that was supposedly its raison d’être . Fully laden, it could carry no more than five thousand settlers. In any case, the ship, fast as it was, would take a thousand years to reach the nearest star. No, The New Hope was not an answer, it was a symbol, a political counter – the thin end of the great wedge of Change. It heralded not a new age of dispersal but a return to the bad old days of technological free-for-all – a return to that madness that had once before almost destroyed Chung Kuo.
    He cleared the image and sat there, conscious that they were waiting for him to say what was on his mind. He looked from face to face, aware that the past three years had brought great changes in his thinking. What had once seemed certain was no longer so. His belief in peace at all costs – in a policy of concession and containment – had eroded in the years since Han Ch’in’s death. He had aged, and not only his face. Some days there was an air of lethargy about him, of having done with things. Yes , he thought, looking down at his own long hands, the tiger’s teeth are soft now, his eyes grown dull. And they know this. Our enemies know it and seek advantage from it. But what might we do that we have not already done? How can we stem the tidal flow of change?
    Tsu Ma broke into his thoughts. ‘Forgive me, Li Shai Tung. But what of Tolonen?’
    Li Shai Tung looked up, surprised, meeting the new T’ang’s eyes.
    ‘Tolonen? I don’t understand you, Tsu Ma. You think I should accede to the House’s demands?’ He looked away, a bitter anger in his eyes. ‘You would have me give them that satisfaction too?’
    Tsu Ma answered him softly. ‘Not at all, Shai Tung. You mistake my meaning. Things have changed. Many who were angry three years ago have cooled. They see things differently now, even in the House.’
    Li Shai Tung looked about him, expecting strong disagreement with Tsu Ma’s remarks, but there was nothing. They looked at him expectantly.
    ‘I still don’t follow you. You mean they’d have him back? After what he did?’
    Tsu Ma shook his head. ‘Not as General, no. But in some other role.’
    Li Shai Tung looked down sharply. It was more than he could have hoped for. But dare he say yes? Dare he call the old rogue back?
    ‘We are not alone in thinking things have gone too