The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I’ve just received a wave from Colonel Campbell,” General Lei said, smiling broadly through his beard as he came into the kitchen. “He’s perfectly on schedule to meet us. Very punctual. He’s led the Alliance on a wild chase through three systems, but lost them around Eden.” He sighed, a rare look of satisfaction on his face. “Brilliant man, Campbell. If we’d had a thousand of him in the war, I’d be . . . well, maybe not Emperor, but probably Imperial Regent somewhere. Is that coffee?” “Just made it. About to go on watch. Quality never was a problem with us, either,” Zoe said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “We won plenty o’ battles we were s’posed to lose, on account of a few brilliant folks. ‘Course, punctuality wasn’t our strong suit. Or discipline. Or most o’ the other stuff that makes a real military – but we had some great warriors.” She took a long sip. “Didn’t help much, I guess, when the enemy insists on having more. And better armed. And better led.” “Ah, give yourselves some credit,” Lei said, pouring a cup for himself. “You should be proud. What the Independents did, that was magnificent. We had an existing military, at least, with a long tradition. We had munitions factories. We had shipyards. What General Orvis and his people put together . . . nothing short of miraculous. When he captured the Alliance spaceport on Persephone, that strike was nothing short of brilliant. And that was the first of many.” “I appreciate you sayin’ that, General,” Zoe said, smiling a little. “Mal an’ I, we were part o’ several o’ those impossible missions. Kind of a shame, there not bein’ a chain-of-command to recognize what we did at the end. Closest we come to that was Colonel Brevard. He’s the one who ordered us to lay down arms. Met him in a prison camp on Hera, not long after Serenity. Said he couldn’t give us a medal, but he woulda recommended one for what we done there. He was able to give us ‘battlefield promotions’, though, in light of our service in Serenity Valley. He felt bad for tellin’ us to surrender. A couple o’ months later, he chewed on a pistol. “When the purplebelly chaplains came around to muster us into the POW camp, he insisted that we be listed by our battlefield ranks, not our actual ranks. I was a First Lieutenant, Mal made Captain. It was just a paperwork thing, but it was a nice touch. When the Reconciliation Acts went through, we were paid off according to those ranks.” She looked around at the ship. “That helped buy our girl.” “I spent close to two years in a POW camp, myself,” Lei growled. “When the Emperor surrendered, the terms included exile for most of the Imperial Command. Not the Emperor, of course. But since we concluded a separate peace, we weren’t covered by the Reconciliation Act. I took nothing from home, save a few personal effects. And I had to steal my ship,” he said, with a certain amount of pride. “Mal saw this one, had to have it. She’s a good ship,” Zoe said, with love. Then she remembered suddenly that Wash objected to her as a nursery, which mitigated her expression. “He saved her from scrap. We needed a new home – him especially,” she said, taking another sip and looking directly at the General. “He was from Shadow,” she explained. Lei’s eyes got the slightest bit wider. “Cao ni zou zong shi ba dai!” he swore. “They used nukes on Shadow.” Zoe nodded. “That’s right. Six months before the War ended. The Browncoat General, Kohr, had pre-prepared an insurgency when it was clear he was cut off, with no hope of relief and a sky full of ships. Shen jing bing wouldn’t yield. Not one bit. Real patriotic type. Figured if he made it hard enough, he’d tie up the fleet there, keep them from supporting their advance. “The purplebelly Admiral was on a schedule, had to get to Greenleaf. Couldn’t wait for lengthy occupation, couldn’t leave a fortified base in his rear. “So he dropped a bomb on Siler City, where the Air Defense command was. Kohr had two hundred Alliance sympathizers shot in reprisal. Admiral dropped a bomb on Clovis – main supply storage depot. Mostly empty. But tell that to the 130,000 civilians in Clovis. Kohr shoots five hundred sympathizers. Admiral loses his patience, has a hissy-fit. Nuked Dobell, Rougemont, and then the capital, Penumbra. Half a million people in Penumbra. Three million dead, all told. Over sixty percent of the population – gone, in two days. Huge areas uninhabitable – they’re still clearin’ up the mess, eight years later. Burned the land to ashes.” She took another sip. “Admiral kept his schedule. Got a medal. But Mal couldn’t go home.” Lei closed his eyes, looking grim. “On Yuan, they used biologics. Close to nine million dead. Over two long, tortuous months. It was pure evil, a scorched earth strategy. Kept us from taking the rest of the planet. We had strike ships waiting for reprisals, in deep space. Would have hit Sihnon, Londinium, Osiris and Isis. Our own biologics, a little nuclear. But the Emperor wouldn’t order it. Said there had been enough death. Purplebelly chou wang ba dan!” Lei spat. “Where?” Mal asked, as he came in from the rear of the ship. “Talkin’ ‘bout the War, Captain,” Zoe said, shooting a look to the General that clearly meant ‘this ain’t somethin’ to be talkin’ about.’ “Just tradin’ POW camp stories.” “Heh. Barrel o’ laughs,” Mal said without humor. “Least they fed us decent,” he amended. “Three bowls o’ rice an’ a cot. A real cot. Felt like a featherbed, after sleepin’ on rocks for two years.” “You had rocks?” Lei asked, in mock surprise. “Lucky bastard. I would have killed for a nice comfy rock.” That did bring a smile to Mal’s face. “Been meanin’ to ask, General,” he said as he grabbed a mug and poured himself a cup. “Somethin’ I always wanted to know. You Imperial fellas made that deep strike on Merovingia. Was that a just supply raid, or a brilliant feint?” Lei laughed, a deep belly laugh. “That, my friend, was the result of a drunken wager.” “Oh, this I’ve got to hear,” Zoe said, looking at her watch then sitting down at the table. “It should be good,” Mal agreed, also taking a seat. “Oh, it is. It was early in the War, and my cousin had just declared himself Emperor on T’ien. We had . . . liberated the local Alliance commander’s base, and since he was in our POW camp, he didn’t seem to have need of his wine cellar. He was a Merovingian – Commander Gascon, I think his name was – and he had the most glorious wine cellar. “Well, the Emperor didn’t drink wine, so we kept it. Spoils of war, you know. One night my Chief of Staff and a few other commanders had taken a break while we were planning our defensive strategy. We started toasting the Emperor’s health, then each other, the war, the men, everything in sight with this damn fine wine. Before you know it, we were out of the better vintages. And dead drunk. “So General Chou and Commander Wayne – both killed later in the war, regrettably – they say that they would give anything for just one more bottle of the stuff. Well, Chou had a ranch on T’ien, and I like to ride, and Wayne owned a scroll painting I coveted. So I bet them that I could bring them a case in time for the Emperor’s birthday – a month off – or I’d give them a month’s leave, each. It was a stupid bet, I know. But at the time it seemed like good sense. Still drunk, I ordered a shake-down cruise for our newly captured fleet, and by the time I sobered up we were half-way to Merovingia. “I got chewed out something fierce by the Emperor. We spent six days looting, destroying factories, and blowing up the shipyards there before we were done. Minimum civilian casualties, I might add,” he said, looking knowingly at Zoe. “Hung sixteen of my own men for looting churches and temples, and killing or raping the locals. Brought back tons of loot, valuable stuff. Stuff we used in taking – well, almost taking – Yuan. But we were so quick, so unexpected, and so devastating that it kept the Alliance forces nailed down protecting the other Core worlds until they could build up their gorram fleet. Probably bought all the factions six months, a year before they would come out to engage. Best move I made in the war, sad to say. But the horse was magnificent, and the scroll held a place of honor in my study until it was confiscated by the purplebellies.” Mal and Zoe were both laughing, appreciating the irony of it. It was widely discussed among the ranks how important military decisions were made by the brass. The story seemed to bear out some of the theories. “So it was a feint. You just didn’t mean it as a feint,” concluded Mal. “I’d consider it a supply raid,” Zoe countered. “We done some fair stupid things for booze, too, don’t forget.” “Hey, that was your idea!” accused Mal, chuckling. “General, listen to this. We were in Du-Khang, about a year before the War ended. Heavy fighting, real nasty stuff,” he began. “Supplies were low – real low. Boot-eatin’ low. Ain’t had liquor in weeks. Town’s a mess. Pretty town, too. But this crazy woman here decides she can’t go just one more night without something to keep her warm – it was winter – and she gets it in her head that Alliance officers always have a flask or two.” “They nearly always did,” agreed Zoe, smiling. “The higher the rank, the more and better the booze.” “So she picks a couple of privates to watch her back, and sneaks out at night. We were in the city, and it was as bad as urban warfare gets. So she crawls across the barbed wire, through the minefields, around the sentries, and all the way back to their forward command post.” “He exaggerates,” Zoe said. “It was a fire-base with a kitchen, is all.” “Well, she keeps runnin’ into officers. First a lieutenant. Was a Mormon, no booze. She captures him, sends him back with one o’ her guys. She keeps going. Finds a Captain. A Moslem. No booze. Sends him back with another of her guys. So she keeps going, with just one man – Tracey, I think it was, good man – and he’s shittin’ bricks, they’re so deep behind the line. He thinks they’re humped. “But does that bother our Zoe? Hell, no. She wanted a bottle, and the first two officers she captured didn’t have one.” The General was starting to chuckle. “So she keeps going. And she crosses another sentry post and comes across the nicest little diner you ever did see – purplebellies had made it into a command post. All cozy an’ warm. So Zoe takes out the sentry, sneaks in, catches an artillery Colonel inside. Tracey’s right behind her, says, ‘Table for two, nonsmoking’, before the poor man realized what had happened. “But Zoe is tenacious. She will not be deterred. She raises her rifle, points it at his head, and snarls – would it be fair to say it was a snarl? -- she snarls, ‘What religion are you?’” General Lei was laughing loudly, as was Zoe, even if she was a trifle embarrassed by the story. Smiling, and trying not to laugh himself, Mal continued. “So he looks at her, and snarls back, ‘I’m a gorram atheist, I don’t need to pray to no one! Go ahead and shoot!’ and she says ‘Oh, thank God!’ and hits him upside the head with her rifle butt. “She’s fillin’ up sacks with bottles from the bar, Tracey’s stuffin’ cans of beans and ham in his coat, grabs some rice, whatever he can carry. Zoe notices the Colonel’s coat. Gets the idea she deserves a promotion. Puts it on, has Tracey don the sentry’s coat – them purplebellies had warm coats. So they’re on their way out, Zoe remembers maybe she should bring back some intel, justify the whole thing. She picks up a big wad o’ papers, and then Tracey sees this cake. “Now, we had been in the field for months. Ain’t seen a cake since . . . well, I don’t know how long. It’s a thing of beauty, three layers tall and pink frosting and God’s own beam o’ light shinin’ down upon it. But it’s big. And Tracey’s thinkin’, ‘how am I gonna get back with this cake?’ Doesn’t even think about leavin’ it. “Next thing you know, they both walk outa that post, bold as brass, walk straight for the line. Only sentry who stopped them wanted to know what they were doin’ – Zoe says that they’re delivering a birthday cake to her nephew. Sentry salutes, tells ‘em to be careful, and leaves them alone. They walk straight back to our post – where I almost shoot ‘em myself, ‘cause they’re still wearing the gorram Alliance coats. I got ‘em in my sights, about to pull the trigger – and I see the gorram cake! “Two purplebellies comin’ in, that’s one thing – but you bring me cake, I’ll let you live . . . long enough to taste it!” “Best gorram cake I ever et,” Zoe affirmed, laughing. “Kept us going for another couple o’days.” “Beautiful, beautiful,” the General said appreciatively, when he could stop laughing. “That’s the kind of spirit I admire. That’s a gorram soldier. Captain, I believe Chin Yi was right to trust in you. He has good instincts.” He wandered over to the kitchen and refilled his cup. “I think we can do business.” “Hope we can, General,” Mal said. “Once we get to Salisbury – then what?” “We rendezvous with the Revenge, we take on more fuel than you’d ever thought you’d carry, and then we go back to my real base.” “Salisbury ain’t your base?” asked Zoe. “No, it’s not. But it’s the closes planet to it.” “General, I looked it up – there ain’t nothin’ close to Salisbury,” Mal said doubtfully. “You just aren’t looking in the right places,” he chuckled. “When the time comes, we’ll tell you. You can keep Chin Yi on board with you until you arrive. He has one third of the map. We have to have him to proceed. But I don’t want to give away all my secrets, yet. I’m sure you can understand.” “Yes, sir,” Mal said slowly, “I believe I do. Fair enough. Johnny stays with us, we ain’t gotta problem. Like he said, we’re his people. But we come too far to get left out in the rain. We do, then we got us a problem.” “Understood. Captain, believe me that I’m taking as much of a chance on this as you – perhaps more so. By showing my face on any Alliance world, I’ve violated the terms of my surrender agreement. Which means I can not only be arrested, I can be tried for ‘war crimes’. Not that I knowingly performed any, understand – I was – am – an honorable soldier – but you know what can happen in a war.” “I do indeed,” Mal said, nodding. Jayne stuck his head through the door. “Zoe, your gorram watch started ten gorram minutes ago!” he accused. “You don’t get up here soon, I’m gonna put River in charge!” “Sorry, just . . . lost track of time,” she said, guiltily, finishing her coffee and hurrying off. “She can take ten of your next watch,” Mal decreed. “Give you a chance to catch up on beauty sleep.” “Don’t laugh,” Jayne said, scowling. “Pretty boy ain’t the best bunkmate I ever had!” “I’m sure he’s just as traumatized as you are,” Mal said, smirking. “But it’s necessary. Just . . . try not to sleep at the same time.” “No worries there,” the mercenary said, scratching his neck and heading towards the kitchen. “Couldn’t pay me good money to cuddle up with him – an’ I been known to cuddle up with some right wretched folk, truthful.” “Well, I’m sure I’ll hear it from him afore long, too. General, care to sit on my bunk and tell some lies? What I got ain’t Merovingian – it ain’t even wine – but it ain’t bad.” “I’d love the chance, Captain,” the big man said, slapping him on the shoulder. “While my nephew and my uncle get acquainted, you and I can relive the glory days.” The two men left as Lei began to tell another story. Jayne shook his head, grabbed a mug. “Stupid army people,” he said with a sneer. Then he looked down at the pot in his hands. “Hey, who drank all the coffee?”

*

*

*

“I have to bunk with . . . whom?” Simon said in disbelief. “Jayne Cobb,” Mal said, serenely. “Perhaps you’ve met?” He was back at the kitchen table, working on the fueling accounts and catching up on forging the documents he might need to prove he had been somewhere other than Wuhan during the shoot-out. He had no real idea if they had been connected to the crime in any cop files, and he was itching to find out. That might have an impact on their future travel plans. “Captain . . . whatever disagreements we’ve had in the past . . . whatever I may have done that offended your . . . sensibilities . . . Captain . . . I’m sorry. I can’t bear that. It’s too much to ask,” he said, shaking his head. “Look, I know you two haven’t exactly been blood brothers,” Mal agreed, “and I’m as sorry as I can be about it. But we have to double up some while we have this many guests. River with Kaylee, you with Jayne. Book’s sharin’ a room. We all have to make sacrifices.” “Including you?” Mal looked sorrowful. “Well, it does pain me somethin’ powerful to hear all o’ your sad tales of woe. Keeps me awake at night . . . five, maybe six minutes. I’m suffering,” he assured. Simon looked disgusted. “Put me with . . . Inara, then.” Mal shook his head. “She’s paid up. I got no right to ask her. You can ask her, an’ maybe she’ll let you. Anything is possible. But if I were a bettin’ man, I wouldn’t take those odds.” “There has got to be another way,” Simon said, stunned. “Well, you can doss on the couch in the lounge, if you don’t mind people comin’ through your bedroom at all hours. Or you can catch a nap in Kaylee’s hammock, if you like to be lulled to sleep by industrial engine noises and the sweet smell of lubricants. I would say you could bunk with Kaylee – I’m certain she wouldn’t mind the trouble – but when I considered the possibility of River an’ Jayne inhabiting the same space, well, I thought I’d give you some consideration and take that solution off the table.” “Jayne probably wouldn’t sleep in the same room with River, anyway,” Simon decided. Clearly the thought horrified him. “There was that, too,” Mal admitted. “I went so far as to ask him. After callin’ me somethin’ uncaptainlike, he muttered somethin’ ‘bout fearin’ for his brain. Said he’d rather sleep in an airlock. So I put her with Kaylee and you with him.” “Pity you didn’t reconsider,” Simon said, drolly. “I can offer you the same deal. Put up with Jayne, or . . . tell you what: you go a couple o’ nights with him, see how it goes. If you two can’t make your peace you can set up a bunk in Shuttle Two. I don’t like doin’ that, on account it’s a safety hazard, but . . . beats seein’ you two scratch each other’s eyes out.” “He’s subhuman!” Simon protested. “He’s foul! He’s gross! He’s . . . he’s . . .” “He’s standing watches every eight hours or so, and you can build your sleep schedule around that,” supplied Mal. “Captain, I really don’t think it’s fair—” “Doctor, you’re still talkin’ like it ain’t been determined,” Mal pointed out. When Mal got to that point, the discussion was, for all practical reasons, over. “Two nights,” Simon repeated. “I’ll try it. For two nights. But it’s under protest.” “So noted, Doctor. Jayne’s next watch shift is in about two hours. He’s lifting weights in the cargo hold. You two sit down over tea and cookies and work out a schedule. Try an’ remember that he’s just as upset about this as you. But leave me the hell out of it.” “Why in the name of all that’s holy does he object to me?” he asked, perplexed. “I’m perfectly neat, I don’t go out of my way to disgust everyone in sight by my very presence, and I don’t kill people for a living, I heal them!” “Yeah, that pretty much covers his reasons. Oh, an’ he said somethin’ ‘bout you havin’ a stick . . . oh, I forget ‘zactly where he said.” Mal considered. “Think of it as your opportunity to expand your personal horizons. Problems like this, they build character.” “I’ll do my best,” Simon said, icily. “Frankly, Doctor, I’m surprised. You were brave enough to sneak into a classified government facility an’ break your sister out. Why let a little thing like Jayne get you fussed?” “Have you . . . met the man?” Simon asked with incredulity. “My God! He’s a walking social atavism!” “A note of advice, Doctor,” Mal said, “try not to use such words around Jayne. He’s like to mistake it as an insult.” “It is an insult!” Simon declared. “Well, consider the man keeps a platoon’s worth o’ ordinance next to his bunk, an’ he ain’t the best at wakin’ up pretty.” “I’ll try to keep my language terse and . . . monosyllabic,” he said grudgingly. “That’s the spirit. Only for a couple o’ days. You can handle that, can’t you?” Simon glared at Mal malevolently, and stalked off towards the infirmiry. Mal looked after him a bit, then shook his head as he got back to work. “Oh, this is gonna be fun,” he said, smiling to himself.

*

*

*

It was early in the morning – about 5 a.m., ship’s time – and Book was in the hold, balancing on one leg. He had taken up the practice of tai chi chuan decades ago, while convalescing from a wound, as part of his physical therapy. He had stuck with it on and off since then. While some of the brothers in the Abbey had objected to the “heathen practice”, Book and the senior brothers were appreciative of both the physical conditioning, with its emphasis on balance and control, and its spiritual aspects. He had even taught a class in Yang Style to interested brethren for a few years. He did the full form at least three times a week, now. He found it helped him sleep, kept him alert, and made his tired old bones feel better. “Elegant form,” a voice said from above. Without breaking his movement, he looked up and saw Master Lei watching from the catwalk. “Thank you,” Book replied. “Care to join me?” “I’d be honored,” the old monk said. He came spryly down the stairs as Book stopped his slow dance and waited for him to start again from the beginning. The two men moved in unison, silently, slowly, effortlessly shifting from one pose to another. They were about a third of the way through the form when they began talking. “You have practiced what, about fifteen years?” Lei asked, curious. “Almost exactly,” Book agreed, as he moved into Grasp the Swallow’s Tail. “How did you know?” “It figures. A man who undertakes the Grand Ultimate and keeps at it faithfully, he carries himself a certain way. After ten years, he walks as if his toes caress the earth. After fifteen, he walks on the clouds.” “You don’t mind me askin’, how long have you practiced?” “Sixty years.” “I feel like such a novice!” chuckled Book. “The greatest journey begins with a single yadda yadda yadda,” Lei said with a snort. “It is useful, yes. It brings us in line with the Tao, for a time. But it has its limits.” “Sill, I enjoy it,” Book admitted. “Is it how you find the Tao?” “Strange question, from a Shepherd,” noted Lei. “It is one way. Not my preferred way. In my youth, I walked in the Way in a far different manner.” “Meditation?” “Flying,” corrected Lei. “I was a fighter pilot in my younger years,” he explained. “It was expected that the members of the Imperial Family who were not in direct line of succession should do their service to the Empire in the military, before moving on to civilian posts. I chose the Imperial Aerospace Defense Command and flew fighters. Ghost Tigers, C-18s, A33 Tempests, and my favorite, the unmatched Stargull G88 Quadro. They used that design as the basis for the Angel 88’s in the last War, though they regrettably reduced the thrust ratio by nearly half.” “And you found the Tao in that?” Book asked, amused. “The Tao is everywhere,” pointed out Lei, sweeping his hand gracefully to his side. “Even in Christ, the Tao can be found.” Book shook his head. “Not according to some,” he said as he matched Lei’s move. “Then they are a stranger to the Tao, or to the Christ, or to both,” insisted Lei. “That could be,” Book agreed. “Many argue that Christ was free of all such heathenish influences. Then there are those who say that what He preached was congruent with many other philosophies, Taoism among them.” Lei grunted. “Yet the Christians are more concerned with the ‘Who’ of Christ, and the Taoists with the ‘How’ of the Way.” “That’s one way to look at it,” agreed Book. “Biggest difference I’ve seen is that Christ insists His message be communicated, while the Tao . . .” “‘The Tao that can be spoken of is not the True and Eternal Tao,’” quoted Lei. “Exactly. Yet I can see a bridge between the two. A lot of Shepherds, they preach ‘till they’re blue, but when it comes to the essential nature of Christ, they seem strangely absent. They can call on hellfire and damnation, but when it comes to loving their own neighbor, well, they seem strangely lacking. I’ve always felt that the Tao, like Christ’s nature, was more of a . . . an action verb. Something you do, not something you talk about.” “Interesting philosophy,” Lei said. “And more enlightened than many. There are many Taoists who spend their lives in abject serenity, who walk so closely on the Way that they forget that the Way was meant to be walked in the world, not within a temple. One reason, that was, that Taoism as a religion nearly died out. Had it not been for the revival in the Great Exodus, religious Taoism would be a historical footnote, not a faith practiced by eighty million.” He whirled with a little hop, maintaining his balance perfectly. Book was impressed. He guessed if the ship suddenly turned upside down, Lei would land on the ceiling and go about his business unperturbed. “I’ve always been impressed by its resiliency. One of the oldest of faiths, changed many ways over many years, and yet it still maintains its essential nature. That’s commendable in a philosophy.” “It helps that it was the official religion of the Imperial Family,” noted Lei. “The colonists of Yuan were tired of the peaceful oppression of Buddhism. Fatalistic, they found it. In a few generations, Taoism would be completely supplanted. Only by building a world where the Masters were elevated over the Awakened, could they find the strength to continue.” “You place Confucius among the Masters?” “He was a righteous old prick, but he knew of the Way. And Mencius. And of course Lao-Tzu, Chuang-Tzu, Sun Tzu, and a hundred others who wrote of the Way. Perfectly good system we had evolved – thousands of years of refinement of the Rites and Rituals. And then Bodhidarmha comes over the mountains and messes everything up. We have yin, yang . . . for what do we need Buddhism?” “What about ‘The Three Ways are One’?” smiled Book, citing a common adage in ancient China which preached the importance of treating Confucism, Taoism, and Buddhism as components of the same great Chinese religion. Within his Order Buddhism was revered as the only other ‘Great Faith” truly worthy of respect – largely because there were so many Buddhists. In truth, there had been thousands of attempts to rectify the two into one great religion, but none had quite managed that theological feat. It was fascinating to hear someone disparage the Eightfold Path of the Buddha. “Utter feh hua, invented by desperate Emperors who wanted to avoid civil war,” Lei insisted. “Zen – I mean, Ch’an?” “A bastard philosophy,” he sneered good naturedly. “It lets people say they’re Buddhists, and walk the Way under the table.” They continued the form while they spoke, until the last quarter – then they were silent and focused on their moves. When they reached the end, Lei turned and bowed. “A most enjoyable exercise, Shepherd, and an interesting conversation, as well.” Book returned the bow. “I feel as if I have practiced with a master this morning.” Lei grunted. “It’s funny. I haven’t been away from Wuhan in over thirty years. Not since my wife died. I haven’t left the temple – museum – in ten. And at the drop of the hat I abandon it all to go on this foolish quest.” “I was curious about that, myself,” admitted Book, grabbing a towel. Despite the slow movements, Tai Chi was strenuous work. “Didn’t think your order really encouraged such behavior, but I thought it rude to say so.” “The Way is different for each of us, and may lead us into strange places. Yet we should not depart the Way.” He looked away and sighed. “It’s because of that boy. Chin Yi. Last son of my House, I would see him prosper before I make the final Journey of this life. I have walked a lifetime on the Way. I can spare a few weeks for my posterity.” Book nodded, understanding a bit. “You find favor in the boy?” “Oh, yes, much. He has not had an ideal education, but he is young. He is finding his Way. And he is filled with excitement. Through his eyes, old things to me are new again. Such is the power of children.” “I never wed, myself,” Book said wistfully. “Do you wish you had?” “Sometimes . . . but that’s not where God put me. Can’t rightly say that I don’t have regrets . . . but that’s not for me to say.” Lei grunted again. “You almost sound like a Taoist.” “That’s blasphemy,” pointed out Book with a smile, “if you wanted to get technical. But I forgive you.” Lei stared back, a twinkle in his eye. “Well, it’s not like you have much choice, now, does it?” Book laughed appreciatively. “I guess it is my stock-in-trade. Breakfast?” Lei nodded emphatically. “Starved! What are we having?” “A textured protein base flavored to pretend to be a breakfast beefsteak. Probably some fake eggs, too.” “Textured protein beef,” Lei said, shaking his head as he followed Book upstairs. “I forgot what it was like to be in the Black. I find I’ve missed it. Except for the food. Especially the steak. But I suppose it’s religiously gratifying.” “How so?” “Fake steak? ‘The Cow that can be spoken of is not the True and Eternal Cow.’” Book closed his eyes and groaned. “That, I just can’t forgive you for!”