In Washington on Monday she would don a suit and bring to bear the powers of her title as Senior White House Scientific Advisor. On Monday, she would demand a meeting with the White House Chief of Staff, and then, hopefully with his blessing, she would go and see the president.

Chapter 8: Communicating with Hammers

Pei Leong-Lam stood up as the long, green and brown bus entered the processing center at the East Gate of Weifang Base, home to the 26th Infantry division of the Chinese Army and to their most prestigious officer training school. As the high, chain-link gate closed behind them and the six armed guards reassumed their positions in front of it, he reached up to pick up his large military duffle bag from amongst the identical piled bags on the rack above all their heads. He was careful to appear as strained by its weight as his cohorts were by their bags, even though his was essentially empty.

Up until two days beforehand the large duffle bag had contained only one item, itself another container of sorts, but now, though it appeared to be full, its contents were notably absent.

Pei Leong-Lam jumped down from the bus with his fellow officer candidates and formed up along a yellow painted line at the barked commands of the drill sergeant’s team of squad sergeants. The drill sergeant walked silently among them, eyeing up the officer candidates, assessing them with long-experienced eyes.

His scarred face was of Tibetan origin, and he had grown up on the plateau, the son of a Sherpa, joining the Chinese People’s Liberation Army years after it had first subjugated the Tibetan government. Eight years into his army career he had returned to his homeland with a rifle, and fought with cold calculation and efficiency alongside his fellow Chinese soldiers when they had reinvaded his home country to regain control.

As he surveyed the new meat, his calculating eye came to Officer Candidate Pei Leong-Lam. He noted the soldier’s bolt upright stance, the controlled breathing that belied his obvious strength and physical conditioning, but most of all he noted the complete lack of emotion shown on his face as his black eyes remained unflinchingly forward while he was surveyed.

The drill sergeant decided offhandedly to make this one his first example. He would push this one till he broke, or till he met the highest possible standards, either way it did not matter to Drill Sergeant Shih. The others would see from this moment what was expected of them, and what happened when his standards were not met.

Assuming a stance not an inch from the face of the taller, younger Pei Leong-Lam he shouted, “Why do you not look at me? Am I not worth looking at? Am I not pretty?” he screamed with phenomenal volume right in the man’s face, his spit flying.

“My eyes are front and center, Drill Sergeant.” shouted Leong-Lam, without hesitation.