"Get up," he said. Then, handing the man the paper back, urged him back toward the palace. "Hand this to the Chancellor. Tell him I'm going there right now. And tell him this. Tell him I'll deal with the other matter when I can."

karr's CRUISER was flying northwest at top speed, heading for the garrison at Kiev. Things were bad.

Reports had come in of incursions by Lehmann's ground forces right along the line, with major invasions at Katowice, Ternopol, and Kishinev. If this was true, then it was serious indeed. He had already committed all of his available cruisers-more than eighteen thousand in all-to fight off the threat in the air, and to fight three separate major land engagements without air support could prove extremely costly.

He leaned forward, chewing at a nail. Far below plantation workers had formed a straggling line from one of the large irrigation canals to the edge of a burning field, passing buckets from hand to hand, urged on by their supervisors, but the fire was burning fiercely and black smoke rolled out across the sky. From the blackened look of it, much of the huge, ten-thousand-mou field had already been consumed.

Moreover, it was one of many such fires he could see as he scanned the fields from horizon to horizon.

Lehmann's craft must have penetrated their defenses deeply to inflict such damage-either that or his agents had infiltrated the plantations themselves.

Karr sighed, pained by what he saw, knowing it would be worse farther south toward the border with Lehmann's lands. So much destruction would take a long rime to repair, and that would put a severe strain on the Enclave, but to lose it all would be catastrophic, for they could not survive on what the orbitals produced. This was a battle they had to win.

His stomach tightened with anxiety. It was six months since Lehmann had last made a concerted effort to destroy the Plantations; six months in which he had had time to build his strength. Over the same period Karr's own forces had diminished.

The balance is swinging away from us again, he thought, watching as a hostile swept by below, pursued by two of his own ships, the curved wing shape of Lehmann's new craft unmistakable. Yes, and he's winning the technological race too.

"Sir?"

He turned, looking to his Communications officer. "Yes, Radow?"

"There's been an attack on the Ansbach Sector, sir. It looks like we've been overwhelmed there. MajorFiedler is leading a counterattack, and reinforcements are being sent down from Bremen, but things look bad."

"Patch me in," Karr said, a cold certainty gripping him. Ansbach was where he'd been only that morning.

Where the copy had been found.

The copy, he thought. He knows we've got the copy and he wants it back. Maybe that's what all of this is about!

But even as he thought it, he realized that it couldn't be true. The copy may have precipitated things, but this had the look of a long-prepared campaign. Lehmann could not possibly have organized all this in a matter of hours.

"Fiedler?" he said, as the Major's voice sounded in his head. "What's the situation there?"

"Bad, sir, but better than it was. Looks like Lehmann's put in an elite battalion. The way they're fighting, you'd think our friend the White T'ang wanted something desperately."

He does, Karr thought, deciding not to commit his thoughts to the airwaves, just in case Lehmann was listening in, and glad at the same time that he'd ordered the copy removed to Bremen.

"Who knows?" he said, noncommittally. "For now, contain him. Evacuate the surrounding stacks and fall back if he attacks again. Reinforcements will be there soon enough. If it's a foothold he's after, we'll know soon enough."

"Sir."

"And keep me advised of developments, Walter."

"How are things there?"

Karr looked out, noting the smoking wreck of a cruiser-one of his-in the field below. "Bad." He said.

"But it's early yet. I'm going to make the fucker pay for this, believe me."

"Good. And good luck,"

"And you."

He cut contact and sat back, closing his eyes a moment, thinking things through. If this was the Big Push, then they could expect a major campaign of disruption within the Enclave itself. Lehmann would be looking to destabilize things on every front, to try-almost literally-to kick the props away from under Li Yuan. So far, however, there was no news of any trouble within the Enclave itself. So maybe this was part of a longer-term strategy. Maybe Lehmann had decided that he couldn't topple the Enclave at a single go.

And maybe he's right. After all, we've survived his worst for six years now.

Karr opened his eyes and leaned forward again, nodding slowly to himself. If Lehmann had committed himself prematurely, then maybe it was time to be audacious. Maybe it was time to hit him back. To take the War onto his territory for the first time.

His supply lines, they were Lehmann's weakness. He had a good staff, by all accounts, but he didn't have a genius like Heng Yu organizing things behind the scenes.

He expects me to defend, as I've always defended. But if I go behind his lines and hit him where it hurts . . .Karr laughed, then turned, calling to his Communications Officer. "Radow! Get me the Chancellor, right away! Tell him it's urgent. And if there's a problem, tell him the T'ang's General wants to fight a war."

MINISTER CHANG was dressing for his afternoon appointment with his Junior Ministers when the news started breaking. Pushing his Steward aside, he stood before the big wall-screen, watching as the attack on the Plantations unfolded.

Too early, he thought, wondering why he'd heard nothing from Lehmann. He's gone in too early.

Nothing's ready yet.

Unless something had happened.

Chang Hong turned, yelling at his servants to clear the room; then, the door locked securely behind him, he went to the corner and sat at his desk, punching out the contact code Lehmann had given him for emergencies.

He waited, tapping the desktop nervously, knowing the signal had to be rerouted several times. "Come on," he said, after a moment, anxious that it was taking so long. Then a face appeared; young, female, Han, in her twenties.

"Can I help you, Master?"

He shook his head, not understanding. "But the number I punched-"

"Is unavailable, Minister," she answered, bowing her head.

He stared at the screen a moment, then cut contact. Minister . . . she'd called him Minister. Which meant . . .

"Aiya . . ."he moaned softly. They knew. The bastards knew!

Out. He had to get out. Before they came for him.

Throwing the chair aside, he ran to the door and unlocked it, then went out into the corridor, calling for his Steward, knowing that time was against him.

NAN HO HURRIED from his Master's study, almost running as he headed back to his own rooms.

Things were happening fast. They had turned Lehmann's forces at Ternopol and fought off the worst of his air strikes, but Karr was right-they had to do more than simply stand their ground. It was crucial-for morale, if nothing else-that they hit back, and swiftly.

As the doors to his rooms opened before him, he swept through, Li Yuan's signed order in his hand. It had taken a great deal to persuade the T'ang, but this would free Karr's hands to take decisive action.

"Get Karr," he said brusquely, settling behind his desk and summoning his Secretary. "Then tell me what the latest situation is with Minister Chang. Is our man still following him?"

"Karr is already on, Master," Hu Ch'ang said, bowing low. "As far as Minister Chang is concerned, we have taken his brothers to Bremen. As a precaution. They will remain there until Chang himself is apprehended."

Nan Ho nodded. While the situation was bad, there had been this one single benefit-that while a State of Emergency existed he could arrest Chang Hong openly, without fear of repercussions. Right now any allies Chang might have had were keeping their heads low."Okay. Let's take Chang Hong. Alive, if possible. I want to question the man. Find out what he knows!"

"Master!"

The Secretary backed away, head low as the big screen came down to Nan Ho's left. Nan Ho turned to meet Karr's eyes on the screen.

"Well, Master Nan?" Karr asked. "What does our Master say?"

Nan Ho held up the order. "He has given you permission, Gregor. A free hand to do what you must."

Relief flooded Karr's face. "Thank the gods!"

"One thing, however."

"Yes, Master Nan?"

"The copies. I want you to relinquish control of that to someone else."

"But-"

Nan Ho raised a hand. "Hear me out, Gregor. You have enough on your hands as it is, and I, for one, would be much happier if I knew your full attention was on the business of defeating Lehmann in the field.

But for your own peace of mind, let me explain. I have asked the T'ang if I can bring in Ward on this matter."

"Ward? You mean the Clayborn?"

Nan Ho nodded. "I reason it thus. Ward has more experience than any of us on constructing morphs.

More, perhaps, even than Gen-Syn-and certainly more than any single GenSyn employee. Who better to bring in on this? He has the mind for it, certainly."

Karr laughed. "There's no doubting that!" He considered a moment, then nodded. "Okay. But I'd like to liaise with him. All of this is tied in somehow, and I want to know how. It might be important."

"I'll make sure he does."

"Good. Then I'd best set to."

Nan Ho smiled, his face taut, strangely emotional. "And good luck, Gregor Karr. All our fortunes rest with you."

Karr bowed his head. "Take good care, Master Nan. And keep an eye out for my girls, neh?"

"I shall."

Nan Ho leaned forward and cut the connection, then sat back. It was eight minutes after three. "Get me Ward," he said, the heaviness he had been feeling earlier descending on him again. "Tell him his friend the T'ang requires his help."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

The Dreams of Morpheus.

THE NAKED BOY crouched on the flat, wet stone at the cliffs edge, his wiry five-year-old body hunched forward, watching the wave rush in-a pale green swell above the gray-and smash against the rocks below.

As it surged back he tensed, waiting, then threw himself in, his arms flicking out above his head, his body arching in a perfect dive. He struck the surface crisply, almost without a trace, his pale form powering beneath the incoming wave, his dark head surfacing in the green beyond as the water splintered against the steep face of the bay.

He took a bireath, then kicked backward, letting the outward flow carry, then lift him up into the approaching swell.

This was the dangerous part. Judge this wrong and he was in trouble. He kicked hardl, forcing his body back, climbing the wave that threatened to pick him up and smash him against the rocks. Kick, then kick again, and it was gone, sliding beneath him like a whale's back heading for the shore.

He laughed and turned onto his front, his quick strokes pulling him through the water like a young otter, then ducked beneath the next wave and up. He was out of the bay now. The beach lay to his right, beyond the headland. He propelled himself across, letting the swirling current tug at hum momentarily, enjoying the play offerees on his skin, then kicked foir shore, riding the waves until he beached, then letting the inward tidle wash over him, lifting him gently as he lay on the shingle, relaxing.

Easy, he thought. So easy.

"Sampsa!"

He twisted sharply in the water, his head turning toward the sound. It was his father's voice, calling from the cliff path.

"Sampsa! Sampsa, are you there?"

He looked about him, then got up and ran quickly to the shore, disappearing among the rocks. There he hid, watching his father pass above him, calling.

"Sampsa! Where are you, boy?"

As his father's figure vanished among the trees at the top of the path, he scrambled up, climbing the path quickly, his feet finding the stones blindly. His clothes were where he'd left them, in a neat pile among the ferns. He reached in and pulled them out, then, shaking each item before he pulled it on, got dressed.

"Sampsa!"

The call was distant now, up near the house. His father would be getting worried.

"Here!" he called, beginning to run along the path, one hand combing the wetness from his hair. "I'm here!"

He didn't see him until it was too late. As he came out into the clearing at the top of the path, his father stepped out and picked him up, twirling him around above his head.

"You're wet!"Sampsa stared down at his father, his eyes-one blue, one brown- wide with surprise. How had he done that? It was as if he'd come from nowhere.

"You've been swimming. Diving off the rocks again."

Sampsa made to shake his head, then smiled apologetically.

"Your mother would kill you, you know that? She worries enough as it is. You'll put gray hairs on her, Sampsa!"

"No," he said, pained by the thought. "You mustn't tell her."

"Then you'd best run to the house and dry yourself. I've got to go."

"Go?" Sampsa's eyes grew even wider, this time with curiosity.