The Secretary of State spoke up. “I share that concern about our allies,” Pamela Abrams said. “We have commitments to the Philippines, to Japan, to Korea, to Vietnam, to ASEAN. Everyone expects us to hold to international law and internationally defined borders. If we back down on this, the signal it sends will rock the whole region.” Secretary Abrams shook her head. “I can’t believe the Chinese are crazy enough to shoot.”

Pryce looked around the table. CIA and NSA weren’t offering any opinions. The VP was silent as usual. “It’s your call, Mr President,” she said, turning to Stockton.

Stockton exhaled. “We stand our ground. We don’t shoot first. But we don’t give in to bullying.”

Bai stood at attention, stoic-faced, mind locked down, not showing any of his horror, as the thing in little Ling’s body gave him and Peng new orders, a kilometer below Jiao Tong.

Ensure that the protesters are not flushed from the square, it sent.

There was an ugly bruise on one side of Ling’s face. Her eyes were bloodshot. One lip was swollen. There was blood on her dress. From where it had dripped down from the lip, he’d guess.

Her mouth was working. Her lips were saying something. Not the same as her mind was saying.

In the corner, Chen Pang stood, staring at the Quantum Cluster behind the glass.

But do not reveal yourselves yet, the thing that he’d once thought was Su-Yong went on. New brothers will be arriving, reinforcing you.

More than fifty had already arrived, from Dachang, sneaking in, using chameleonware, or disguised in other ways to hide their distinctive faces.

“Mother…” Peng said aloud. His voice sounded tentative, uncertain.

Bai felt fear rush through him.

Don’t say the wrong thing, Peng, he thought, not daring to transmit it. Don’t say the wrong thing.

“…is everything going alright?” Peng finished.

Little Ling’s mouth stopped making words to them. She smiled with it instead, showing teeth that needed cleaning.

“Everything will be just fine,” she said in Ling’s voice.

It wasn’t until he and Peng were near the top of the kilometer-high elevator shaft that they even looked at each other.

And Peng silently moved his lips and mouth in a precise mimicry of what Ling’s had done.

Bai nodded silently.

Help me. Please, help me. That’s what Ling’s mouth had been saying. Even as the entity that occupied her had been telling them something else entirely.

Bai shivered, and felt and saw his brother do the same.

106
Inflamed

Sunday 2041.01.20

Zhi Li stood atop the table in the setting sun, looking down on the crowd in the square of Jiao Tong.