Around the great hall, other generals compared war stories from when they were young men. Song preferred to keep his stories — and himself — to himself. He hadn’t eaten, and, though he would sit down to dinner with his wife and granddaughter when he returned home, decided to have a dumpling, if only to give himself something to occupy his time besides staring at people who did not wish to talk with him anyway.
He was standing empty-handed in front of a chafing dish, perusing the seemingly endless variety of pork, mushroom, and bean dumplings, when he felt someone walk up behind him. He stepped aside, apologizing for blocking access to the serving area. Turning as he spoke, he was horrified to see Chairman Zhao, holding his own saucer and a conical dumpling of sticky rice and peanut called
General Song bowed deeply. “I have not, Mr. Chairman, sir. But I am about to.”
Zhao smiled graciously and waved at the laden table. “Please do.”
Zhao took a bite of his
Chairman Zhao did have a way of getting to the yolk of the egg. It wasn’t a question.
“We have found a way to be professional, Mr. Chairman,” Song said.
Zhao nodded, as if he knew better. “He is watching us from across the room, though he does not believe me clever enough to notice such things.”
Song took the chairman’s word for it, squirming a little at being taken into such confidence regarding the man’s thoughts on General Bai.
Zhao sighed. “I have read the reports of your computer simulations but have not had the opportunity to talk to you in person.”
Song bowed again, bracing himself. “I am at your service, Mr. Chairman.”
“The outcome of your computer modeling is divisive, to say the least. General Bai believes you have omitted vital components.”
There had yet to be a question, so Song offered no response. As his father taught him,
“Bai does have some unique ideas,” the chairman continued. “Revolutionary, even. I would be interested to know what you think of them.”
“The general shares with me what I need to know for my duties,” Song said.
“Your duties are with supercomputers, artificial intelligence, gaming simulations, and the like?” Zhao said.
“That is correct, Mr. Chairman.” This was taking an odd turn.
“So,” Zhao continued, “I would like to know more of your honest assessment. What do you think of this Indonesian business… FIRESHIP?”
“FIRESHIP?” Song’s mind raced to figure out what the chairman was talking about. He dared not hazard a guess, but knew better than to answer his superior’s question with a question. There was nothing left but to be honest — Song’s habitual fallback position. “I am not aware of any operation with that name.”
“That is most interesting.” The chairman cocked his head, moving his jaw back and forth in thought. “Your involvement would be logical, considering your area of… It is not important,” he said, in a pensive way that meant it most definitely was extremely important. “I think it best if you do not speak of this Operation FIRESHIP until General Bai brings it up to you.” He smiled serenely. “This conversation should remain between you and me.”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Chairman.”
“Continue to do exactly what you are doing, General Song. I need forward-thinking men like Bai who are willing to take risks for the future of our country, but their vision does not diminish the necessity of truth.”
Song dipped his head without thinking. “That means a great deal, Mr. Chairman.”
“Oh, do not be too grateful,” Zhao said. “I have chatted with you so long I may have ended your career. Most of those here will believe… hope… that I have spent this time scolding you. Others will be out of their minds with jealousy that I spoke to you at all. People make up stories to fill the vacuum of what they do not know, and those stories are always subject to their own insecurities. It is human nature to believe the worst in others, because we know the worst about ourselves.”
“I thank you, in any case,” Song said.
Zhao’s aide stepped forward at some unseen signal and ushered him to a group of admirals waiting for their turn to politick.
