[b]Kalachinsk, Russia[/b]

The embrace of night was a cool and welcome relief. It lay across the Vilage, bringing to a conclusion the events of earlier that day. Though not silencing the war as a whole, the sing-song of crickets mingled with the distant thunder of artillery fire. Aircraft droned regularly over head towards Omsk. The surreal mixture of country-side peace, and the relentless pursuit of man towards self destruction was a surreal experience. As one part of the world was too busy dying for sleep, another was closing on their last breaths of the waking hour.

Under the canopy of a bomb blasted roof Tsun sat staring out to Omsk. His body gripped with a distant numbness as he quivered and shook on the rickety floorboards of that abandoned attic. His knuckles gripped the edge so tight they glowed white, locked to the boards like clamps of steel. His breath sawed in and out through his lips with a strained gasp. The sounds of fighting were inescapable, and the ghosts of earlier that day had him surrounded on the inside. He felt trapped between two hells, and he felt a desperate need to get away. But to where?

The rattle of the Tei Gui shook still in his seat. The thunder of its main gun echoed in his ears as a distant, soft ringing found a home. It felt like mosquittos in his head, adding to the panic that filled him like a pitcher of water. Bitter water, salt water. There was nothing refreshing about the experience. It was a bloody drum that beat his skull, forcing the water down through his skull to his tongue. He tasted the bitterness of his own fear, his shame. It poured from his skin. His sweat stuck his uniform to his skin, freezing there against the cool mid-spring night. The freezing temperature only made it worse.

Shells thundered through the darkened abyss of the night, sending up bright flashes of fire and light, briefly silhouetting distant barren trees. The guns had arrived a few hours earlier, and entrenched themselves a mile behind the tiny Russian village. The dull thumping boomed over them, and the ghostly response of the shells responded back. Occasionally, flares would spring up from the countryside. Tsun watched from his perch, not in rapt interest, but of fear and empathy. Watching the patterns of flare vs fire, where the shells would drop as a distant star sprung from the darkness.

Omsk glowed with its own eerie light. The distance between him and it making the city only a electrical glow on the horizon. Or perhaps it was fire. But the smoking passes of hair-thin spotlights glowed through the fog and the clouds as the defenses scanned for aircraft. Was this like China during the Revolution? Could he even remember those days?

Would this be China if its enemies breached its borders?

The implications were haunting. Torturous over the battlefield laid out in the darkness around him. This was free murder, and for one rare moment in his life he began to cry. He fell to his side against the splintered and frayed floor boards, feeling the spines of broken wood dig into the side of his face as he shut himself off from the battle. Tears breaking the dams in his eyes and flowing with the force of a flood. He croaked and sobbed, rolling on the cold boards.

It didn't matter, the war drowned him out. And it charged him on. It pushed the dawning realization he had been forced into a world beyond his control and trapped all the way through. He lost time as he lay there. He sniffed and sobbed, soaking up the bitterness. He was trapped.

How could man be so brutal? Even his own people, how had they gone into this. He had thought so differently of war. That it was honorable somehow. But, this was something else. And he had only been in it for a day. How would he keep without going insane? How had the others?

“Are you quite done?” a man said indifferently. The sudden voice of an intruder froze Tsun in his position. Bitter, afraid tears still crawled down his face, but he had been caught mid-breath and he instead starred off in the distance, drawing coarse broken breath.

Heavy boots trod across the wood in a slow careful swagger. Tsun scrambled up, staggering to his feet as he turned to address the visitor. The cold life-less flashes of flares and artillery fire lit up the emptied room they were in, and the deep bald features of Hui. There was little empathy in his face, but no hate or condescension in his expression.

“I- n- Ye-” Tsun bubbled and blathered. Running his hand through his knotted hair. The weight of a horse pressed against him. Fear, anxiety, embarrassment. He didn't know what. He staggered, muttering incoherently as he tried to look for the most appropriate word to use. Nothing came out. Nothing came to mind. His speech was as his mind, a turbulent mess. “Abhayenomaybe.” he finally choked in distress.

“I'll take that as a maybe.” Hui said, stopping alongside him. The loader fumbled in his pockets, drawing out a red package.

“Cigarette?” he asked, holding out the box with a clip of a wrist. A small number of crumpled bent cigarettes poked out at him, barely illuminated in the deadened light of the moon. And only briefly brought to light in the flashes of battle.

“I-” Tsun started. Conflicted.

“Oh well.” Hui said. Retracting the pack. With a pass he returned it to his pocket, drawing one out as he returned it. With a click he held out a lighter, shielding the fire as he lit up.

“You did good.” Hui complimented ghostly after a long silence. Echoing explosions and gunshots punctuated the following silence as the dull ember glow of the cigarette lit up Hui's face. The distinctive stubble of an unshaven jaw shone in the fiery glow.

“I- thanks?” a conflicted Tsun said, “I don't know...”

“No, you did well.” Hui laughed. “But of course, with Song screaming at everyone and everything firing on you, what choice is there?”

“What do you mean?”

Hui shrugged, “You know.” he said, “Song forbid you turn that thing around without his orders mid-fire fight. They may have armored the '80's back-side up. But I wouldn't give these vodka pissers the chance to stick a rocket in our ass. I don't want to be the one to test armor durability.”

Tsun stood stunned. Hui approached the subject in such a casual distant matter it shook him harder than the war around them. “How do you do it?” he found himself asking.

“Do what?” Hui asked.

“This. All of this.” Tsung said. He found it difficult to simply imply the current state of things. It felt sickening to him. But he was here, like a village child in Kowloon.

Hui kept silent for a moment. Drawing from the glowing cigarette as he looked from him, and to briefly distant Omsk. “You learn.” he said cryptically.”

“How?” Tsun pleaded, “How do you?”

Hui visibly shrugged, not even sure himself. “Just keep rolling. It'll all probably be over in a couple months anyways. It always seems to.”

“There's something though...” Tsung said, pressing to desperation, “All of this... I don't know if I can do this. It's... different than what I thought it would be.”

Hui nodded, “I haven't thought about it.” he said, “And I don't want too. Comrade, I think that's for the best.”

Turning for the stairs he extinguished his cigarette against the bottom of his boot. “And Song's wondering where you are.” he said, “He'd want us both back. Doesn't want a sniper to take any of us. Let's get back.”

[b]Northern Russia[/b]

A dead silence hung over the forest. In it, the shadows hid all under the boughs of gently snow-dusted pines. The low underbrush was still dead and barren. Under the stars and a moon hidden under the clouds the low grumble of motors rolled across the desolate Siberian forest. First three, then five. From the five it doubled to ten. From ten a complete brigade of mechanized infantry. The roars of their engines filling up into the night time air. Loosing themselves in the snow-packed boughs over heads. From weak head lamps the light snow glistened a amber and golden light.

The low rumble echoed in the darkened silent wood. The sounds of the motor low as the small, low vehicles skirted through the snow at the run of a quick man. The pocketed heavy tires digging into and kicking out the snow as they wound through, digging their own paths. The effort was slow going. But it was expected with what they had.

The low drone was interrupted by a high growling pop and a wet whine. The sharp cut of the sound split through the silence like a gunshot. And likewise many of the riders responded likewise. The caravan swerved to the side, and dark shapes dove from the seats for cover. All at once the sound of the motors died to a monotonous idle rumble as their riders – and passengers – took to the snowy ground.

But there was no response.

“At ease! At ease!” a voice shouted into the night, “Ease, comrades!

“Kill the cars. We've got motor problems.” the same man shouted again, distraught and frustrated. Slowly one by one the rumbling of small engines died and the Russian forest died into subtle soft silence. A deadened weight hung in the ears of the soldiers as they killed their mounts. A silent nervousness and tensity weighed over the unit as they set to watch into the darkness.

With a click, a singular light turned on. Illuminating a field of steam and smoke as a small group of men gathered near.

“The fuck happened this time!?” Tsien Huang coughed from the steel-frame nest on the top of the buggy. Gripping his coat by the edge he waved the heavy cotton fabric in the air, brushing aside the thin acrid smell of smoke and putrid smelling steam from the motor below him. An expression of contempt and disgust twisted his face as he glared down below.

“I'm looking.” a man growled. The driver. In one hand he held a heavy flashlight and with the other he fought to wave out the tendrils of steam and smoke as he looked over the exposed engine block. Pipes and pockets glowed a soft cherry red, but he paid these patches no heed as he looked over every edge he could.

“Did we get snow in it again?” Yun-qi asked, leaning over the driver's shoulder. He squinted his eyes against the harsh biting vapors of wrongly-cooked oil and gas, “I'm hoping that's not the smell of a motor on the brink of exploding.”

“I'm not about to rule that out now, but it's likely.” the driver said, biting his lip, “This will take a while. Perhaps you should get in with the other units and we'll make camp.”

“Right, how far do you think we got?” Yun-qi asked.

“Again, without an odometer I can't say for certain.” the driver laughed, nervously, “But maybe twelve hours driving, roughly forty-five kilometers an hour... Maybe five-hundred fifty kilometers.”

“And we're not any closer to knocking on Radek's back fucking door.” Tsien Huang cursed in his cage.

“Well, we're in good a spot as any.” Quan Yun-Qi added, “We'll stop here. Work on this tomorrow and move when it's done.”

“Copy that.” the driver grunted, burying his head into the cloud of fog and smoke as he sought out what had blown. The trip had been very dissatisfying.

Yun-Qi turned from the disabled buggy. When they were moving they made good progress. But the deeper they got, the less they managed to make in time. Of the twelve hours on a motorized forced march across Russia, four outside had been used in simple maintenance on the Russian made buggies. The cheap, quick to manufacture design was a cheap boon to the effort. They could be pounded out in Novosibirsk on a fistful of Ren. But they were that, cheap. And it irritated Quan.

On every occasion, the fault of their stall had fallen on the exposure of the engines. The combat engineers under his command had did their best to conceal and protect the fragile second-hand engines from the elements. But any given moment that itself seemed to fail and the snow managed to get in with much added frustration.

It hadn't been hardly a day since he and his men had deployed from their forward post in the far-north of Siberia - where they had froze for the better part of a winter in the arctic circle – that the ills of the Russian built buggies manifested. In almost eight hours kicked-back snow had built up over the motor and effectively drowned the engine of Yun-Qi's own buggy. To infuriated shouts all over, they were forced to stop as the issue was amended.

Of the most frustrating was when they rallied back to move after camp, where snow melt had frozen in the fuel lines and caused them to rupture. For a brief moment, they were at the closest they had been to going up in flames. As black smoke erupted from a live motor they moment they turned it on the day was doomed to be sour as nine and a half hours were wasted in fixing, and examining the similar carts. It was at that stage the column divided into their own units.

The loose regiment turned to their colonel as he called out to them. Handing out the order to make their camp for the night. Given the hardly ideal position, the command was met with frustrated grumbles. For the men, it would be difficult to find a solid place to dig down. Woody bushes grew clustered around the young pines, and the ground was still cold, despite it being the middle of May.

“[i]Lùjūn shàngxiào[/i]!” Tsien Huang called out, summoning Yun-qi's attention as the coated Mongolian sprinted up to his officer's side.

“Yes?”

“At least for my own benefit, are we close to wherever we need to be?” Huang asked, “Driving off road through the Russian wasteland is exciting, comrade. But it's not what I expected on this campaign. And there's an end to a road somewhere.”

Yun-qi smiled. With a distant sigh he shook his head. “I'll need to check the map.” he sighed, “But we should be getting there soon. Provided we don't have any more problems.” he added, looking to the disabled buggy. The sounds of tired motors were replaced by the hacking and thudding of picks and shovels as his men dug into into the frozen ground for their camp.

“Well damn if that's not what he said before!” sneered Huang. Throwing his arms into the air he shouted sarcastically, “I'm so excited!”

Quan rolled his eyes. “Sure...” he mumbled. The soldier snorted and shook his head.

“We better be damn close.” he growled, “Or I'll go out and look for it myself.”

****

Small pinprics of light dotted the dark trees. Loose canopies scattered throughout the forest contained the soft glow of lamp lights or small forests as the Chinese held against the bitter cold of Northern Russia. Likewise, Quan Yun-qi brooded over his map.

Laid across his lap like a blanket, he leaned over it in the light of a gas lamp suspended from the hook of a metal pole driven into the frozen Earth. With his coat, a unwashed stone gray blanket lay across his shoulders as he worked over the day.

“Comrade.” a man's voice said, drawing up Yun-qi's attention from his map. Hovering in the opening of his quickly erected tent loomed his radio officer.

“Chen.” the colonel muttered, “You got the reports in?”

“Just finished.” communication's officer Chen said, throwing himself down on the cold ground. He stole wore his heavy radio, the heavy straps holding his heavy form in a tight hug. Rummaging in his pockets he spoke: “Sentries are out as well.” he said with a sigh, pulling out a piece of paper, “I have their communications on my primary channel. It's all quiet so far.”

“Suppose they still we're here?” Yun-Qi asked.

“Not with the south being a load of shit.” he coughed, “Fuck it's cold.” he commented bitterly, “But no. I don't think so. And there's too much wasteland for them to watch over. I don't suppose they would have found the time to keep our northern post under watch, even if they knew it was there to begin with. No one lives up here.

“Or, no one in their right mind.”

Quan Yun-qi took the slip of paper in his gloved hands and unfolded it. Triangulation data and coordinates were scribbled loosely across the entire scrap in messy quick handwriting. “I suppose you're right.” the colonel coughed.

“So then,” Chen started, “How are we doing in our voyage to this so-called installation?” he asked.

“I'm finding out.” the colonel said with a long distressed sigh, “We're still going south-west. But it'd help if we knew where there were any landmarks. Do you remember crossing any rivers?” he asked.

“No sir.” Chen shook his head.

“Then we're still north of Surgut. So we must be on the right path.”

“Do you suppose we're out of the arctic?” the comm officer asked.

“I see trees.” Yun-qi commented.

“As do I.” Chen laughed as he scratched his stubbly beard. “But I do got to say there have been an enormous amount of lakes.”

“Small ones.” Yun-qi nodded, “I don't think they included all but the bigger bodies.” the colonel spoke with a low angry tone as he scribbled along the side of the map. Adding to the margin long streams of math before returning to the center.

“There is good news though.” Yun-qi smiled, “I believe we're getting close.”

“Are we?”

“Less than a day's ride yet.” he smiled, “If we go the right way, we can patrol out to it on foot.”

“So it begins?”

“Soon.

“Very soon?”

“Yes.”

[b]Urals, Russia[/b]

Night in the mountains was a cool respite from the day. Without electricity, nightly peace came early and quick. The motions of man died nearly as fast as one could hit the light-switch. So as the sun went down, the villagers retired. The small commune nestled in the bosom of the Urals fell to sleep as their guardians held a constant vigil at their posts, and the numerous wooded outposts.

The snow had long melted. But it did mean it was any colder. The day earlier had been kissed by gentle warm rains which impregnated the soil with warm seed. And as the front passed and left, and as the sun disappeared, the cold returned. The shock then had sent the hamlet to sleep in a eerie thick fog that clouded over the village.

At the table in a small cabin on the edge of the village a pair of Chinamen sat idle in the middle of their only other room. Sparsely decorated, the cabin's main room encompassed the concept of living room, kitchen, and dining into one space. It was hardly bigger than the average apartment in Shanghai, with barely enough space to park two large cars in it. A beaten moldy couch sat pressed against a pressed wood table, and behind it the wood of the counters, the steel of the sink, and the battered rusty iron of a wood stove; a tea pot boiled on top as the jaws of the stove filled with fire, keeping the cramped living space heated and comfortable.

Even with this effort though, a clammy cold draft found its way in. Brushing across the two men's faces like a ghost. Both fought to pay it no heed as they sat at the small table, wrapped in their coats and gloves.

The agent Jun leaned to the side as he rested in his lap the long curved blade of a Miao Dao. The metal shone with a high polish in the light and the heat of the stove alongside it. Gently, the scarred hands of its master ran a smooth stone along its edge, honing it as a rag over top polished the metal to an even more lustrous shine.

The blade was as long as the agent's torso was tall, if not more. The metal shone with perfect clarity the silent, apathetic sneer of its owner. Jun's lips pressed thin into a knotted frown as he looked down at himself in his sword's shine. His eyes had become visibly irritated, but he hardly felt it. But he could see it. His whites had bled a noticeable red. He tried to recount how many times he had rubbed them that day, or even why. But as long as he could see, it was hardly a major concern to the agent.

Opposite of him, his stouter companion, hunched over a pair of books as he studied one to copy the other down. The Mongol, Ulanhu was silent in his studies. If his ancestors could see their kin working over such things, they would disown them. Or so muddled Jun as he leaned over the blade as the studious Ulanhu translated and transliterated the names, numbers, and dates within into Chinese.

“How close are we to finishing?” Jun said, his voice low and heavy.

“Almost finished.” Ulanhu commented, “And I'm happy that I am, I just got a few more lines.” he sighed in relief. Looking up at his partner he gave him a distant smile, “I tried to cross-reference these names with old Imperial documentation in an attempt to eliminate a few names. Just so we do not get you chasing down old hookers perhaps to interrogate.”

“Or remove.” Jun remarked coldly.

“Or... Or kill.” Ulanhu said uncomfortably, shifting in his seat. Sighing distraught he continued, “Some of these persons aren't added as actual names though,” he continued, “which could be remarkably easy. Especially with identification like '[i]bukhgalter[/i]'.”

Jun didn't honor the statement a response. Looking back down to his blade he nodded quietly. Running his thumb along the blade and drawing blood, he deduced he had honed it enough. With a soft slide and a click he returned the long sword into its scabbard.

“There's a lot of persons – or parties – in this book like that.” Ulanhu continued to droll on in a monotonous voice as his partner traded working on his sword for his handgun. With a heavy clunk the nickle-blue Changdu revolver fell with a clatter and he set to dis-assembly and cleaning of the fire-arm. His partner continued: “But 'prachechnaya-avtomat' or the library is probably not your forte of things to pursue to work up the chain of command.

“There's also a 'boss' written down, but I doubt the address is legitimate. I even checked with some of the men here about it, and they say it's been abandoned since the czar died.”

“Do you think it has purpose?” Jun asked as he popped out the cylinder of his weapon. Rolling out a cleaning kit he worked a brush into the chambers as he looked up, listening to his companion.

“Probably a drop off or meeting point for something, there's a few addresses marked that way.” Ulanhu grumbled, “You could go there and check them out, but I highly doubt you'd find significant leads at abandoned apartments or warehouses.

“I'd chase the bookkeeper myself. From a purely analytical input.”

“Why?” Jun asked, starring through the barrel searching for imperfections in the rifling.

“It's just the best lead!” Ulanhu grunted with a raised voice, flustered his composure wavered, and he even glowed a little more red.

“Very well then.” Jun nodded.

“Listen, are you sure you can do this?” his partner asked. Deep concern shone in his eyes as he looked up from the book and into the disinterested stare of Jun, “I mean, if you think you need some help. Organize leads maybe, watch your back even. Then just say. I'll tag along.”

“Is that what you want?” Jun asked, lowering the broken down frame for his revolver. Flashing it through the air was a surreal sight. A weapon so deadly stripped to its base components, it was really something strange. It made Ulanhu wonder, how often a bunch of springs, screws, and levers could be so dangerous.

But, in Jun's hands... That assumption was always ready to go out the window.

“It'd be better than sitting here.” he grumbled, “The general doesn't really have much for me to do. He already has his own field intelligence unit listening to radios and doing communication and map work. There's not a whole lot of things I can do.”

“It's Ivan?” Jun blurted out.

“Wh- what?” a baffled Ulanhu stammered.

“Yea, you're afraid he'll dunk you in another pond, naked.” Jun smiled, “I think he's past that point, comrade.

“You need to stay. Makulov's orders and Beijing's interests. I need someone to keep us up to date with our recon. Those planes found it this far. It's a shame for us to both leave.”

“I understand.” Ulanhu said weakly, bowing his head.

“So the book?” Jun asked.

“Yes.” Ulanhu sighed, passing over the copied and translated address book, “Again, I omitted a few names that were unnecessary that I can tell with my intel. It's also in three-month old cold. So even if the Mafiya's code-breaking it'll at least look like gibberish Mandarrin to the layman translator.”

Jun nodded, coming quickly to the conclusion in the event he's taken it'd be best to be incoherent. Building a cover.

“And when we go, you should pursue his bookkeeper. He's got no name as far as I can tell, but he has a home address. You won't have trouble finding him? He's literally on the road to Yekaterinburg. In Verkhnyaya Pyshma.”

Looking down at the open book and looking down the names Jun said with a soft up turned smile, “No.” he said, “No I don't think I'll have problems.”

“Good. Same transport as usual down there?”

“I suppose. I'll talk to Viktor.” said Jun.

“Makulov said he'll be sure to have his birds looking out for you.” Ulanhu said, closing the original with a soft hand. Jun stuffed the copy deep into his pockets, “I don't know how. He with held that. But I can only hope he can be in touch.

“And do this fast. The Office is already getting upset that we haven't made progress is convincing Makulov.”

“Ulanhu.” Jun said.

“Yes.”

“We're killers, not diplomats.” smiled Jun.

“I understand.”

“Then good. I'll head out early morning then.”

[b]Lijiang River, South of Quilin, China, Guangxi[/b]

A heavy rain fell on the country. The dark night sky painted black at the strength of the rainclouds. The mountains of the Lijiang river valley shrouded in the darkness as the storm rolled over head. Thunder rolled heavily over head as the water kept coming down. The midnight rain fell relentless. But inside it was dry and warm.

The home of Zhang Auyi sat at one of a dozen bends of the river Lijiang. Nestled at the foot of the mountains merely a twenty-five minutes from the city of Quilin.

“What do we got from Chen Feng?” Auyi asked as he lay back in the arms of a bright-red armchair. A table lamp next to him cast around the sitting area a bight yellow halo. The darkness and the silent of the night cast back against the walls and far rooms by the glow of the bulb and the shuffling of papers.

“I didn't get a return on my message yet.” Auyi's companion said with a sigh. He was a small man, with a large heavy head shaped like a brick. A messy mop of hair crowned the top, but went no further than his ears; it was like a rat had taken to nesting there. “I have a feeling she may be aligning herself in the middle and not wanting to get involved.”

“We could use her involvement though.” Auyi mumbled, licking his thumb and turning aside the paper he had read. What came next was another part of a long list. Representatives of the Congress in Beijing.

“She's also elected out of Dalain.” the other man said, looking up, “She may be in support of your platform in private, but if she has aspirations of remaining in office by her own election cycle then I imagine she'll need to consider. Xhu is targeting the industrial bloc for his support.”

“That's to be expected though, comrade Wu.” Auyi nodded, “But what about Tui from the Yingkou district?”

“I got a return on that, and he's in favor. He'll be eager to meet with you, or attend whatever party you want to throw.”

“Good to hear.” Auyi nodded.

“Comrade?” Wu asked, leaning back in his chair and raising a meaty hand to his eyes, rubbing the sleep out of them, “If I can ask the important question, did you talk to Hou like you promised you would?”

“I did the morning after.”

“And what'd he say?”

Auyi paused for a moment. He juggled the idea he could tell him. That Hou would. But there had been no word from him, private or otherwise. “He said he'd think about it.”

“We may have a little under a year left, but his word on this would invaluable. No matter how little he said he would step out of this. After all, I'd hate to see us doing this again to get you into the parliament.”

“And how would that help?”

“Maybe you can use a parliamentary seat to form a bloc against Zhu.” shrugged Wu, indifferently.

“But maybe it wouldn't matter if I can't get endorsement out of them anyways.” Auyi grumbled, “I'd be better of retiring if I can't get it.”

“I got to ask though, comrade Auyi. Is this all your campaign?” Wu asked, concerned, “I realize you brought me back after your provincial commissioner bid. But even then, aren't we doing too little?”

“Shanxi Wu,” Auyi laughed, “this coming from the man who said political endorsements were a powerful thing to have in a race.” Auyi took a soft sigh, smiling distantly as he lowered the parliamentary list to his lap and starring out the night-stricken window, “And it's not like we had long to prepare.”

“I do agree.” nodded Wu, “And even from a... professional vantage point I got to ask you if you think it's time we start to take the platform out publicly.”

“Soon...” Auyi mumbled.

“Soon? How soon? Zhu started himself early. He laid out his ideas to the NPN the day of his announcement to run as a successor. Besides Tau Shan and Kwen He Fui he's being pegged as the man with the greatest chances among my colleagues back at the universities.

“And comrade, you have already a chance to take a demographic none of your competitors are reaching for. Never mind the congressional endorsement.”

“Who?” Auyi asked.

“The youth, of course!” Wu laughed, “You're involvement in the NPN bullshit with that singer Yaoliang Chen and the organization had an effect. Siding with Chen really helped.”

Auyi nodded. He demeanor remained flat and without word. But he remembered that. It was a dispute that threatened to go to the courts. And with a simple purge, it had been ended before it exploded.

“And the youth are smart. They'll support a liberalized agenda. I guess the universities are a blessing here. And I'm one contact away from getting in touch with the college commission to get it down to the kids.

“Granted, the main challenge will get them to vote. Only a quarter have ever bothered to report to a registered public election. But we should really be going after this. We could maybe get a supporter for every Zhu's one and get this to a close early race. Two maybe, if you can get them out of of Shan's growing net.

“I can get the official literature and the survey results across campuses by next week at the latest. But I'd like it if you scheduled a open conference. If you would like, I can get it set for Hong Kong, I know the people. Just say the word.”

There wasn't much to do. “Alright.” agreed Auyi, “Can you get me the phone number? I'll pass a call to someone in the morning.”

Wu smiled, “Thank you.” he bowed.