Between the stone wall along Green Street on the west and the back of the restaurant on the east, four hundred fifty feet apart, and between him and the stone wall along Fourteenth Street two hundred fifty feet away, almost three acres was enclosed. All of it was planted in high-value cash crops of one kind or another, built up over fifty years of backbreaking daily labor.
The garden in front of him. The restaurant. The market beyond, across Market Street. The workshop building behind that. The apartment building in which he sat.
All of this Kendall would tax to fund his nightmare.
Matt pulled up the heads-up display on his communicator and sent a message to MingWei. His communicator was one of the rarer original ones, from Earth. Most of them today were made locally, by one of the electronics factories the metafactory had built.
“Will you have tea with me?”
“Of course.”
MingWei was now seventy-three, and one of Matt’s closest advisers. He was shorter than Matt, and slighter than the large American, but a lifetime of labor had also left him strong. He had stood aside for Matt to be the leader of the family, but he stood high in everyone’s respect and ran many of the family’s operations.
Including the training and preparation of the family’s direct-action teams, which had never been used.
When MingWei arrived, he sat on a pillow next to Matt’s pillow – the pillows were equally centered in the wide doorway, a sign of respect – both of them facing out into the gardens. A young woman in a lavalava served them both tea, put the pot on the tray between them, and bowed out without saying a word.
“Did you have the chance to look at Mr. Kendall’s questionnaire?” Matt asked.
“Yes. It is most enlightening. And disturbing.”
Matt nodded.
“Two interesting things happened today.”
“Ah?” MingWei asked.
“The first is easy to explain. Mr. Kendall has asked to meet with me.”
“To get your support for his program? Is he so ignorant of your position on these matters?”
“I think he is blind to the objections to his plans. He thinks anyone as wise as the Chen will surely see the wisdom of his proposals.”
Matt’s second sentence dripped with sarcasm and MingWei snorted, stifling a laugh.
“The other interesting thing that happened I cannot explain. I found some additional files in my computer account this morning.”
“Anything interesting?” MingWei asked.
“You might say that. The communication records between and among the council members and Mr. Kendall, as well as all their bank records.”
“Oh, my.”
“Yes, and it is as bad as we feared it could be. They are all being rewarded with tax money by Mr. Kendall for going along with his plans. And his public plans are only a first step toward the society he wants to create.”
“But we already have a society.”
“Indeed.”
“So it is time?”
Matt took a sip of his tea and looked out, eyes unfocused, across the garden. It was his decision, he knew. His call. Individuals within the family may agree or disagree with him, but someone had to decide. Then all would act together.
“I would appreciate your counsel on that question.”
MingWei knew as well that it was Matt’s decision. It was at times like these he was most happy he had stepped aside.
“It will only get harder. Right now, early, it is still easy. Later, it may not even be possible. But it is yours to decide, Chen Zufu.”
Matt nodded and took another sip of his tea. MingWei was content to wait. He had said his piece. He sipped his tea also, as they looked out over the garden from the large doorway.
Matt remembered what Janice Quant – the World Authority Chairman, the political leader of four billion people – had said to him fifty-four years ago, the night they learned they had won the colony lottery. ‘Colonies need people who know right from wrong and are willing to stand up for what’s right.’
There was a time to act and a time to wait. He tried the decision both ways. To wait felt wrong. To act felt right. Matt nodded.
“We will act,” he said.
MingWei nodded.
“Plan CC?” he asked.
“I think it has to be Plan CC. The council is clearly corrupted beyond repair. We need to get out the entire root of the weed, lest it simply spring up again.”
They sipped their tea. Minutes passed.
“I will ask Mr. Kendall to tea tomorrow,” Matt said.
“Is that proper, Chen Zufu? In China, tea is...”
MingWei struggled for the right word.
“... almost sacred,” he finished.
“So is stopping tyranny,” Matt said, shrugging. “It’s an American thing.”
“Ah,” MingWei said, nodding.
“But I will let him make the first move.”
“Very good. A response at that time would be appropriate, even with tea.”
Matt nodded.
They sat and sipped tea for another ten minutes in silence, watching the young women work in the gardens.
Their work was done.
The future of Arcadia had been decided.
The Meeting
Kevin Kendall arrived at the Chen-Jasic apartment building in mid-afternoon of the next day, Wednesday, in an armored limousine ground car, one of only two in the colony, both of which were owned by the chairman’s office.
The factory that made vehicles could make more of the limousines if it was asked to, but the chairman controlled what got made in the factories, and he liked being the only person on the planet with a limousine. The extra car made sure one was
