Lady Weimeng suffered a dream about her dead child.
The first wife of Wang Shan-shi-jie, The Son of Heaven, tossed restlessly in sleep and moaned. In her dream the girl-child Mengnu was now five, and they were in the upper garden with a fine view of the western mountains. Mengnu was wading in the gravel-bottomed pool there and giggling with delight when the carp tickled her tiny feet. Her dark eyes twinkled with merriment in a round symmetrical face, and she clapped her hands in glee, dropping the hems of her golden robe and soaking it. Her box-cut black hair, coming down to her eyebrows, gave her the appearance of a fine, porcelain doll made by the ancestors.
Weimeng watched her daughter try to catch the carp with her hands, heard her squeals of excitement when a big one slid from her grasp. She turned her attention again to ink and brushes, the drawing pad in her lap where she sat on a carpet of moss at the edge of the pool. She dipped a brush and resumed her drawing of the mountains, placing a pagoda at the summit of a sharp peak before feeling a hand on her shoulder and looking up to see The Son of Heaven standing there, smiling down at her.
"My husband," she said, lowering her eyes before him.
"Da!" cried Mengnu. "I will catch a fish for you!" She plunged her little hands deep into the water, splashing herself, coming up sputtering and empty-handed. "They are very fast, Da!" she said, grinning.
"They will not be so fast when you're older," said the Emperor of Shanji. He sat down by Weimeng, slid an arm around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder to look at her painting.
"Ah, there is a new structure on the three peaks that are one," he said, and Weimeng smelled cinnamon on his breath.
"It overlooks the great plateau. I would have it there to commemorate the first landing on Shanji," she said.
He kissed her neck. "Then I will build it for you, and when Mengnu is Empress she will burn incense there in memory of us."
His face was smooth, lips soft when she touched them. They were young again, and in love, and the heiress to their throne splashed merrily in the pool beside them.
But then it seemed that a dark cloud had suddenly passed over them and the light of Tengri-Khan was blocked off. Weimeng looked up and saw two monstrous storks descending upon them, black as night, beaks like swords, claws outstretched. She was seized with paralysis, unable to move a muscle as the great birds descended to the pool and grasped her daughter by the shoulders, lifting her from the water.
Mengnu screamed, "Ma! Da! Don't let them take me!" But Weimeng could not move, nor could she utter a word, and her husband was suddenly gone. She could only watch helplessly as the great black birds carried her shrieking, struggling daughter away from her towards the mountains until they were out of sight and she was alone by the pool, and the tears raining from her face had ruined the painting in her lap.
She found her voice, and cried out, "Mengnu! We will search for you, my darling! We will find you!"
And she was awake, surrounded by the golden curtain of her bed, the pillow-surface at her cheek saturated with tears. She must have cried out in sleep, for there was movement beyond the curtain, a silhouette there in the dim light, then a soft, feminine voice.
"Are you ill, My Lady? I came as quickly as I could when I heard your call."
It was Tanchun, her First Servant, ever watchful.
Weimeng sat up to catch her breath, for it seemed like her heart was skipping beats. "I've had a dream. Please get Juimoshu for me at once."
"It is very late, My Lady. I must disturb her sleep."
"Tell her I've had a dream about my child and would know the meaning of it immediately. Go quickly!"
"Yes, My Lady." And Tanchun was quickly gone from the palace suite.
There was meaning to the dream; of this, Weimeng was certain. There was significance in black storks taking back the blessing of a child and flying westward to the mountains. And the pagoda. Why had she drawn that? Only Juimoshu had the power to penetrate such womanly dreams and see the meaning behind them, for she was the only living female among The Chosen Ones, and claimed direct contact with First Mother. She would come to Weimeng because it was her responsibility to interpret such dreams for the royal family. But mostly, she would come because Weimeng was the artificially inseminated child of her own body.
Weimeng arose, and put on a red robe embroidered with golden shizi. The entire suite was in red and gold: thick carpets of wool, lamps of brass, wall hangings of scenes from the western sea to the mountains to the farming plains and villages east of the city. Scenes of everyday life among her people. Scenes of families—with children. With consciousness fully returned, Weimeng's heart ached again over Mengnu, the only child she'd ever been able to carry to full term. But Mengnu was stillborn, and buried without ceremony because it was her husband's will.
And then he had taken a second wife, a girl forty years his junior, and she had given him a son.
Weimeng sat down at the ebony desk in the center of the suite, facing the great double-door entrance to the suite, now closed. Two chairs sat before the desk; in one corner opposite her canopied and shrouded bed was a conversational corner of two couches and matching chairs that hadn't been used in five years. Her husband had been in the suite only a few times during those years, and then only to ask her advice on various political matters. They had not slept together since the death of Mengnu, and now his bed was shared only by Yang Xifeng, the mother of his son.
The top of the desk was littered with sketches and paintings in inks and watercolors which occupied her days and long evenings with only servants as companions. The odors of incense and cinnamon tea lingered there from the previous evening, but now the tea was cold and strong to the taste, making her grimace when she tried a sip.
Years ago, her days had been spent in court at her husband's side, asking questions, giving advice which softened his natural tendency for harshness, relaying subtle, long-term desires of The Brotherhood which came to her through her mother. But those days were now past, the rule of Wang Shan-shi-jie growing harsher each year, his connection with The Chosen Ones more tenuous and with it his belief in and respect for First Mother, for whose children he was responsible.
Weimeng feared for the stability of her husband's throne, for he both underestimated and disregarded the power and influence of The Brotherhood, despite her mother's repeated warnings. First, the Tumatsin lands had been taken away to grow crops that were only excess, and now there had been an attack on a village. Children had been killed, and The Chosen were furious over it for reasons unknown to her. Was it the death of children that had triggered her dream?
There was a soft rap on the suite's door. "Enter!" she said.
The door opened slightly, and Tanchun peered around it. "Lady Juimoshu has arrived, My Lady."
"Show her in, and bring hot tea, please." Weimeng shuffled her drawings together in a neat stack, and placed it to one side as her mother entered the room.
Her mother squeezed past Tanchun, and stopped as the door closed behind her. "I've been awakened from a sound sleep, my dear, so I presume this is very important to you."
"It is, mother. I think First Mother has spoken to me in a dream about Mengnu."
Juimoshu's eyes narrowed for a brief instant. She walked forward slowly, body proudly erect for a small woman in her sixties, and sat down in a chair before her daughter's desk. She wore a plain robe of natural black wool, and her grey hair hung to her waist in a great mass spilling down over her back. Her small black eyes were set close together on either side of a finely arched nose, her intense gaze always giving her a searching look that gave people pause for thought when dealing with her.
Juimoshu folded her tiny hands in her lap. "Well, what is it? I thought the dreams about your dead child had finally ended, and you were resigned to your fate at last. Tell me, daughter."
Weimeng leaned back in her chair, hands in her lap. "What you say is true, though I've continued to wonder why First Mother has abandoned me in such a cruel way."
"You have been in my prayers to Her, child. I can do nothing more than that."
"And perhaps those prayers have been fruitful, mother. This dream of Mengnu is the first in over a year, and there is symbolism in it I need to understand. Here is what I saw in that dream."
Weimeng told her mother about the dream in complete detail, for it was yet fresh in her mind and her heart still ached with the memory of it. She was interrupted once by Tanchun, who returned with two cups of hot tea for them and quickly left the room. But the tea remained untouched during their conversation.
Juimoshu steepled her hands before her face and closed her eyes as she listened, remaining that way for several moments after Weimeng had finished telling her story.
Now, her eyes opened. "You've not had this dream before tonight?"
"No, mother. It is something new, and quite intense."
Juimoshu again folded her hands loosely in her lap and sat there for a long moment, looking down at them, deep in thought while Weimeng waited patiently.
"There is significance in this dream," she finally said, "but I hesitate to say what I think because I do not want to give you false hope."
Weimeng stiffened. "What is it, mother?"
Juimoshu sighed. "The black storks are a symbol given to young women who have lost a child, but who will conceive again. Because of the damage done to you during the still-birth of your daughter, that is clearly not possible for you and yet there is the inference of another child to come. And there are other peculiarities here. An imperfect child is taken to Tengri-Khan for recasting into a more perfect form to follow, yet in your dream the storks flew towards the mountains in the west with a child still alive and struggling. A direct interpretation of this infers a new child will come to you from the west, not from the source of all life, and that child will be the reincarnation of your little lost one."
Weimeng caught her breath, and leaned forward, putting her hands flat on the desk, her eyes stinging. "Mengnu? She will be returned to me? Oh, mother, can it be true?" Tears ran down her cheeks and she stifled a sob.
Juimoshu waved a hand in warning. "Take care, daughter. I tell you only what the dream says to me, and I cannot be certain about its meaning. To give you false hope would be a terrible cruelty I could not endure."
Now it was Juimoshu who leaned forward, gaze intense, clenching her hands together in her lap. Her voice was nearly a whisper. "Even so, I have also dreamed this night, but it was a dream without vision, only words. The voice of a child, crying out in the darkness, and I felt a horrible sadness that left my body aching when your servant came to wake me. And the words were `Da,' and `Ma', said over and over again, words as in your dream. Not `mama', or `baba'. Did you not notice that in your dream?"
"No. I have heard these words used by children before. They are from the old dialect, before the coming of First Mother."
"A dialect still used by the outcast peoples to the west, the people your husband would have long ago driven into the sea if it hadn't been for your humane intervention."
"A Tumatsin child?" asked Weimeng, wondering how that could be. "A Changeling?"
Juimoshu nodded her head. "A Tumatsin child is lost, and seeks its parents. Boy, or girl, it is near, for I have felt its sorrow since being awakened and I feel it even now. There is a terrible pain of loss—here." Juimoshu placed her hand over her heart, and nodded again.
Weimeng stood up, excited, and leaned over the desk. "There was an attack on a Tumatsin village this morning, and several people were killed! Could there have been prisoners taken? Children?"
Juimoshu stood up, took Weimeng's hands in hers. The wrinkles around her eyes had suddenly deepened and her face was drawn, as if she were experiencing physical pain. "I hear your thoughts, daughter, and I will make inquiries. But now I must rest. The feelings inside me have grown steadily in intensity since my coming to you, and I must pray to First Mother for relief before attempting sleep again." She squeezed Weimeng's hands, then turned to leave.
Weimeng felt a lightness in her chest, an euphoria that swept over her, bringing a flush to her cheeks. "You must find the child, mother! And I will also listen for its call!"
Juimoshu waved a hand to one side, shuffling slowly towards the door. "You've inherited few of my abilities, daughter, and once that was a disappointment for me. But at this moment, I think you have been blessed."
Juimoshu reached the door, opened it, and shook her head. "Such power!" she said, and then she left the room.
Weimeng was too excited to sleep. She drank both cups of tea, now cold, and paced the circumference of her suite many times before weariness returned. She turned down the lights, and returned to her bed, where she offered up a fervent prayer to First Mother for the gift of a child, hoping there would be a sign, a vision, a voice crying out for her. There was nothing there, and finally she drifted away to a quiet place beyond consciousness.
But in the morning, she arose with the uneasy feeling that someone had called out to her shortly before she'd awakened.
Mengyao took the lift up to the seventh floor of the palace, which housed the offices of the Moshuguang, The Magic Light, The Brotherhood of The Searchers. Mengmoshu's office was centrally located along a long, stark hallway painted white and softly illuminated by ceiling panels. Each door was numbered, without titles to identify the occupants. He stopped at number ten, and knocked softly three times.
"Come!"
Mengyao entered, closed the door behind him, and seated himself in a plush, white chair before a plain table in the center of the room, behind which the Chancellor of the Moshuguang sat pecking away at a workstation. The office was large, ten meters on a side, but sparsely furnished: workstation, table, two chairs for visitors, a plush couch and chair in one corner. There was a thick, red carpet, but no windows, greenish light coming from three ceiling panels. One wall was entirely filled with video monitors, all dark at the moment, another lined with shelves of books and cassettes and the diskettes of the past hundred years of Moshuguang science and politics.
Mengmoshu nodded a greeting, but continued working for several minutes while Mengyao sat in silence. Finally he leaned back in his chair and brushed an errant lock of gray hair from his forehead. "I've checked every report for the last five years, and there is only one Tumatsin woman who has even traces of green in her eyes. Her name is Manlee, and her children are grown to adulthood with no unusual characteristics. All of them live by the sea. Are you certain we have the right child?"
"There can be no doubt," said Mengyao. "We found her beneath a collapsed ger, nearly unconscious, yet her mental call was so strong even some of the men sensed something at a distance. Her mother was killed in the attack, and apparently also her little horse. I tried to shield her from the sight of bodies, but she saw them, and her grief was so severe I could barely stand up under it. When I tried to control her, it was like grasping a bar of steel, yet her emotions flowed like water. I prayed, Mengmoshu. I prayed to First Mother for relief, and she came not to me, but to the child."
Mengmoshu's eyes widened. "She spoke to the child?"
"Yes. She offered words of comfort, endearments, and said the child must do something for Her when she is a woman. The words were meant to be heard by me; She made no effort to shield them. First Mother has claimed her, Mengmoshu. She is The One."
Mengmoshu blew softly through pursed lips. "So it seems," he said. "She is somehow connected to Manlee's line, then. Her ordu was formed only eighty years ago, according to our records, and several families have moved in from the west since then. Was her father killed?"
"There is a father, and a younger brother. A report from yesterday says they had gone west to Manlee to try and stop the provocations that have inflamed The Son Of Heaven. As far as I know, they are safe for the moment."
"Unless Wang decides to attack the coastal ordus. We must lobby strongly against that when we have our audience. That is in half an hour."
"We see the Emperor today?"
Mengmoshu waved his hand, unconcerned. "It is posturing. I will do the talking, but He might ask you for details of what you saw after the attack. The will of the Moshuguang has been clearly overruled in this case. We must handle Wang delicately, yet let him know of our displeasure, and convince Him again of the importance of the Tumatsin people in our biological programs. He still thinks Juimoshu came from that effort, and I don't intend to tell him otherwise. Where is the child now?"
"In order to quickly meet you, I turned her over to novice Huomeng when he met us at the monorail. I would guess he's taken her to the Hall of Ministers, where there are usually spare rooms for guests."
"A fine youngster," said Mengmoshu. "His memory is prodigious, and his nature gentle. Some find him a bit precocious, but that is to be expected with his intelligence. He shows great promise; his psi abilities appeared at age ten, quite young, yet this girl you've returned with is younger still. I must question her in the morning."
"Go gently with her, Mengmoshu. She's been horribly traumatized by the attack, and soon her sorrow will turn to hate. She must see us as friends. She must see us as her new family. If she is The One, there must be devotion between us, or we will be destroyed."
"I understand that, Mengyao, and you know my methods are not harsh. Perhaps it would be good to have Juimoshu present for the questioning. A woman's presence could be comforting to the child. What's her name?"
"Kati."
"Yes, Kati might find reassurance in a grandmotherly presence. I will see to that."
Mengmoshu stood up. "I know you've had a long and difficult day, Mengyao, but now I must ask you to join me in an audience with The Son Of Heaven. It should not take long, but it is necessary."
"I'm at your service, Mengmoshu," said Mengyao, rising. There was no thing he would not do for the man who stood before him.
They left the office and walked to the end of the hallway, where elevator doors of brass were guarded by two troopers with laser rifles and sidearms. The elevator took them down five floors, opening to a reception hall adjacent to the throne room. Panels glowed from a gilded, low ceiling, and lining the room on three sides, set on pedestals, were the bronze busts of all fifty-five past Emperors of Shanji. Tapestries of silk, in paints, inks and embroidery hung on the walls: mountains, village scenes, fields of grain, and various views of the Emperor's city from centuries past.
Mengmoshu went to the reception desk while Mengyao admired the tapestries. All showed scenes of a feudal society as founded by Wang Chen-Ma, the first Emperor, the one who had fled Tengri-Nayon with his traditionalist followers. Several were portraits of royal courts: a Son of Heaven surrounded by family, those nobles and merchants most influential at the time, heads of craft and trade guilds most adept at bribery and flattery. Only tranquil village scenes commemorated the peasants who made profits for their masters. And there was nothing related to the great agricultural expansion to the east.
Other tapestries had been on these walls, but removed years ago, stored or destroyed. Mengyao remembered the scene of shuttles dropping from the mother ship that had brought the people from the red star to Shanji, the burning city from the time when the Emerald Empress of Tengri sought to reclaim the errant people who had fled her harsh rule. History was selective on the walls of the Emperor's palace.
Mengmoshu soon rejoined Mengyao by the tapestries, looking displeased.
"We are scheduled for this time, but everything is running behind because of the transportation guild's lobbying for a new tunnel to the east. She said it would be less than an hour, and we should sit near the door to be called."
They went to a pair of ebony benches on either side of the throne room door, and found places to sit there with six other people.
Over an hour later, three men came out of the room, angry and grumbling to themselves about short-term thinking.
The other six people were called one-by-one: two merchants, three farm managers and a man with a wrapped gift from the Arts Guild.
Mengmoshu's face slowly turned into an angry mask, and he shifted his position on the bench with increasing frequency. "Let him posture all he wishes. We will remain here until he sees us."
The others came out one by one, all grim, except for the Arts Guild representative, who looked rather pleased with himself.
They would be next, after a wait of over three hours. Mengyao's buttocks were numb, and his stomach was grumbling, for he hadn't eaten all day.
The door opened again, and they arose in anticipation of the audience, but a young woman came out, leading a little boy by the hand. Both men bowed courteously, for it was the Emperor's second wife and his son. The woman, Yang Xifeng, was in her early twenties, and lovely to behold: small face and features, a long, graceful neck and slender body, tall for a Hansui yet proudly erect and seeming to float as she walked. She nodded to acknowledge their greeting as she passed by, the little boy Shan-lan looking up at them shyly. Both men sensed his fear of them, but from Yang Xifeng there was nothing. Both wore the golden robes of the Emperor's court. They crossed the reception hall, and disappeared into the elevator taking them to their living quarters below.
"The boy is too thin for a five-year-old. He does not look healthy," said Mengyao, as they sat down again.
"I hear he's a delicate child," said Mengmoshu, "but even now his presence is required at court, and he likely hasn't eaten for hours. The Emperor begins the training of his heir at childhood, and has a difficult task ahead of him."
"There will be other children, I suppose."
"That I doubt, considering the age of The Son Of Heaven. Shan-lan is marvel enough. You felt his fear?"
"Yes."
"Then we will soon be called."
And ten minutes later they were finally ushered into the throne room of Wang-Shan-shi-jie to find the Emperor sitting on his throne—alone. The man who had ushered them in quickly left, closing the doors behind them.
Compared to the reception hall, the room was small, twenty meters on a side. All was in red, except for the throne in white stone. Thick carpeting, painted walls and ceiling, six rows of pews for group audiences, with an aisle down the center leading to the throne, behind which hung thick curtains. Juimoshu often hid herself behind those curtains, probing the minds of plaintiffs during delicate hearings, but she would not be there now. The Emperor trusted her judgment in all matters, except when dealing with the Moshuguang, for she was one of them.
Wang-Shan-shi-jie beckoned for them to come forth. "Please excuse me for the long delay, but I presumed you would wish to speak in private."
Let no other ears hear our displeasure.
Of course. And no witnesses to any promises. Remember that.
They walked forward to the throne and bowed deeply before it. The Emperor smiled down on them, elbow on one arm of the throne, a fist against his chin. Now in his mid-sixties, his hair was white, braided into two pigtails hanging down across his chest. His robe was gold, but on his feet were the soft, black slippers of a peasant, and he wore no jewelry. A myriad of lines creased his face, but his eyes were wide and alert and focused on their faces, never moving from them.
"You've had a long day, and I will try to be brief," said Mengmoshu, then smiling, "It has been months since I've seen your son. He's a handsome boy."
"He is my joy in times of difficult decisions," said the Emperor. "And pleasantries aside, I believe you are here to discuss one of those decisions."
Careful. He takes responsibility for it.
"The decisions are yours to make, Son Of Heaven. I'm here only to clarify an understanding I thought we had with you. Perhaps I have not remembered it correctly," said Mengmoshu in a respectful tone.
"And how do you remember it, Chancellor?" The Emperor's fist had not moved from his chin.
"We discussed the discovery of a gifted Tumatsin child we'd traced to an ordu just west of here, an ordu you felt was the source of all our recent sabotage. Whatever happened, it was our wish that child would not be harmed, and we could bring her here for study and possible training."
"Yes, I remember. And I hear this has been accomplished. The child is now resting comfortably within the Hall of Ministers. Is there a problem with this?"
"It is only good fortune that has saved the child. My understanding was that we would be allowed to retrieve her before any military action was taken against the ordu. But your flyers did not wait for that. We had nearly reached the ordu when the attack took place; Mengyao here was nearly cut down by laser fire as he tried to approach. Your people nearly killed a senior member of the Moshuguang, and the child was near death when we found her!"
The Emperor blinked once. "I do admit to a military error in timing, and the flight commander has been admonished for it, but he was following my orders to destroy that ordu and anyone in it. When Mengyao voiced protest from the ground, the attack was broken off, and I showed considerable mercy in not pursuing the survivors in case the child was among them. What else would you have had me do? I went against my own orders to appease your wishes and save a child I have no interest in. Be reasonable, Mengmoshu." He smiled, as if talking to a small child.
"The child's mother was killed, and she has been traumatized by it. If she has the abilities we seek, I fear it will affect her training."
"That is tragic, of course, and you have my full support in making her comfortable in her new home. But tell me, Mengmoshu, would it have been less traumatic if you'd simply taken her away from her family?"
"Yes, I think so. Her mother is dead, and the child's abilities likely come through her, though it could be by the father. We're not sure. The father and brother had traveled west, and have fortunately survived. We must know the complete lineage and want them kept safe. We urge you not to attack any ordus on the coast."
The Emperor chuckled. "Such concern for the Changelings is most humane, Mengmoshu. I hear the words of my first wife, and respect them. But I rule Shanji, and the sabotage had to stop. I have taken action to assure that, yet I am also humane, even with the Tumatsin.
"So put your mind at ease, Mengmoshu. The Tumatsin have a sacred place, a canyon and fields far to the west. I have today sent them a decree giving them this place, and all lands west to the sea, as their own. I will not violate this territory I have deeded to them, but any Tumatsin who ventures outside of it will be shot on sight. And I maintain the right of inspection, by air or ground. They are forbidden to build an army, for they have no need of one. I will protect them against any foreign aggressors. It's all in the decree, Mengmoshu. I will send you a copy of it."
It is better than we'd hoped for, Mengmoshu.
"Your judgment is most generous, Son Of Heaven, and we appreciate it. If we wish to search out relatives of the child, may we enter the Tumatsin territory?"
"Of course. You need only ask, so I may provide you with an escort." Now the Emperor seemed to relax, taking the fist from his chin, and leaning back, his piercing gaze suddenly softened.
"I have sorrow for the child, for I know the feeling of losing a loved one, Mengmoshu. I have had these feelings in my life in several ways."
An infant child dead, then putting aside a loved, but barren wife, and now my own inability to conceive again.
"Please let me know what you require for the child, and I will honor it. Now, is there anything else? Even an Emperor must eat, and my family is waiting."
"In your wisdom you have anticipated all our concerns, Son Of Heaven. We will work with the child, and hope to use her in your service," said Mengmoshu, bowing.
"Another Juimoshu, perhaps," said the Emperor, standing up. "She has been very helpful to me, but now we both grow older by the day." He took the two steps down from the throne's platform, and put a hand on Mengmoshu's shoulder. "Walk with me, Chancellor."
They walked towards the door, Mengyao following respectfully behind by a step. "I wish to continue working with the Moshuguang in an amiable way, Mengmoshu, and will do so as long as its activities are confined to the sciences of the body and mind," said the Emperor. "But those sciences must be used in my service, and I remain a traditionalist like those men who have ruled before me. I know that your breeding program goes beyond producing your own kind, that your true purpose is the creation of a super-being capable of transferring great energies from afar with only the use of the mind. I think you would best put your efforts in other directions."
"It is a task put to us by First Mother, from whom we are descended," said Mengmoshu.
Careful. He fears this.
"Ah, yes, your ancestral Empress of Tengri-Nayon. I, too, honor my ancestors, but I do not pray to them, nor do they speak to me. I live only in the moment, Mengmoshu, and perform the tasks at hand. My advice to the Moshuguang is to do the same, advancing the sciences useful to us, while keeping the traditionalists' values. You might show me, for example, an economical way to dig a six kilometer tunnel through the mountain for commercial access to our eastern farms. That is something real, Mengmoshu. Not mythical."
They left the throne room, and accompanied the Emperor to his elevator in silence for a moment.
It is a genuine request, Mengmoshu, though he wishes to divert our interests.
"There is wisdom in what you say," said Mengmoshu. "If you will send us specifications for the tunnel, we'll begin work on the problem immediately."
The elevator doors opened; the Emperor stepped inside, and smiled. "Good. We will work together, then, for the betterment of Shanji." The doors closed, and he was gone.
They waited for the elevator to return, and went back to Mengmoshu's office, where they were served tea.
"He was remarkably controlled today," said Mengyao, "but his fear of our biological work is real."
"Needlessly, I think. We emulate nature, and six generations of laboratory work have given us nothing. We can only continue our present course. Have you been experiencing discomfort, Mengyao?"
"Yes, for the past hour. A kind of anxiety."
"It comes from the child, Mengyao. It comes in waves, and is very strong at such a distance from her. I am eager to meet this child, and you are familiar to her. Would you have breakfast with me here at seven tomorrow? Her interview will begin after that."
"I will be here," said Mengyao.
That night, in his living quarters on the fourth floor of the Hall of Ministers, Mengmoshu slept a troubled sleep.
He was awakened three times with a feeling of sorrow, flashing visions of dead bodies, the face of a woman that vaguely disturbed him. The third time he was left wide awake, and suddenly there was a voice.
Mengmoshu, I cannot sleep with this racket. Is this the child brought back from the Tumatsin?
It was Juimoshu.
Yes. I've never felt such power from a young one, but her grief is terrible and we must handle her carefully. We have the support of the Emperor in treating her well.
Then there is something you must know, said Juimoshu.
They spoke without words for an hour, and formed a plan for the coming day.