Beneath the Tree of Heaven

“Who saw her beside yourself?”

“My lieutenant. . . Oh, and a young guard. He was the one who brought her to the barrier.”

“The guard ... is he on duty now?”

“No, but I can have him brought here if you wish. He’s stationed on this deck. It’ll only take a moment or two.”

“Okay. Do that. I’ll see him here. Meanwhile . . .” Chen half turned, indicating the huge piles of bits and pieces that remained to be sifted through.

“Good luck,” Johnson said, grinning. “I hope you find something.” As the Captain left, the lieutenant appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray. “Your ch’a, Major Kao.”

Chen smiled. “Wonderful!” He glanced at the timer inset into his wrist. It was ten minutes after four. “Just put it down there. And thanks, Lieutenant. I’m grateful.”

“Sir!”

Alone again, Chen lifted the lid of the chung and sniffed. It smelled good. Just what he needed.

He crouched, looking back at the nearest pile, studying the exposed strata. For a moment or two he saw only the unwanted detritus of a typical deck, then, with mounting interest, he began to pick things from the pile. When the young guard came, Chen was sitting on one of the lower piles, the chung cradled in his lap. In a small polyethylene bag beside him was a jumble of black lacquered computer parts. The guard stopped just inside the door and came to attention, his head bowed. “Private Lauer, sir. I’m told you wanted to speak to me.” “Yes, Lauer. Relax, lad. I only want to ask you a few questions, that’s all. About the young woman you helped yesterday. I understand you kept her out of trouble.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chen took a long sip from the chung, then looked back at the guard. He was still a boy. Seventeen, eighteen at most. Only three years older than his son, Jyan.

“Relax, Lauer, please . . .” He smiled, trying to reassure the young man. “All I want to know is what you did, what you saw. You’re not in any trouble. Oh, and I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that because I’m special services I want to trap you. That’s not so. You did nothing wrong. All you did was help a young woman who was out of her level. You saw the danger to her and you acted, neh?” “Yes, sir.”

“Well, that’s commendable.” Chen held out the chung, offering it to the young man, encouraging him to take it, forcing him to come closer. “So when did you first notice her?”

The guard lowered the chung and wiped his mouth, then handed the chung back to Chen. “She was standing in the corridor, sir, not far from where I was, at the guard post. She was watching the hua pen, the storyteller, and sketching what she saw—“ “Sketching?”

“Yes, sir. You know, with one of those computerized sketchboards. I thought it was odd. I could see she was . . . well, not from this level. Her clothes, the cut of her hair. I could see it at once.”

“See what?”

The young man smiled, looking past Chen momentarily, remembering. “First Level . . . that’s what I told myself. She’s First Level.” Chen stared at the young man, surprised by the awe in his voice, the longing in his eyes, then set the chung down. “What did you see?”

“Her . . . Well, she’s . . .” The young man shook his head, suddenly flustered, a color appearing at his neck. “I don’t know, sir. It’s just what I felt, looking at her. So intense, she was. So—so there.” Chen looked down. He had it all. All he needed. All, that was, except a reason.

“Okay,” he said gently. “That’s all I need. You can go now, Lauer. And thanks. . . .”

“Sir!” The young guard came to attention, then backed away. Chen took a long breath, then, lifting the polyethylene bag, he stood, stretching his limbs. It was too early yet to go and see the girl. He’d leave it a few hours, get himself some breakfast, then pay a visit. And then? Chen touched his tongue to his top teeth and shook his head. And then he’d do his job. After all, General Rheinhardt wanted results.

as the great doors swung open, Shang Mu turned, watching as his Master, the First Dragon, backed out of the audience chamber, his head bowed low. Like his Master, Shang Mu had been summoned from his bed and brought here through the darkness to Tsu Ma’s palace on the shore of the Caspian Sea. As the doors thudded shut, the First Dragon turned, his face like a wall, expressionless. As he passed, Shang Mu fell in behind him silently, knowing, from the tension in the great man’s back, that the audience had not gone well.

Tsu Ma had been clever. Very clever indeed. He had had them brought separately, giving them no time to consult or prepare for the meeting. Moreover, in not waiting on the First Dragon to make the first move, he had seized the initiative and thus taken the upper hand. As in a game of wei chi, they were forced now to defend.

The First Dragon’s cruiser was waiting on the pad outside the palace. An honor guard lined the broad path leading from the building to the craft, flaming torches held aloft, lighting the predawn darkness. Shang Mu followed his master between the torches and up into the battle cruiser. As the doors hissed shut and the engines fired, he stood to one side, watching his Master settle in his great chair, servants fussing about him. “He knows,” the First Dragon said, looking across at his Junior Minister, his voice competing with the engines’ roar. The servants—deaf mutes, raised in the First Dragon’s own household—continued to tend to the great man, oblivious of what was being said.

“Knows what?” Shang Mu asked, chilled by the thought that their plans might be known to the Seven.

The great man looked away, his anger held in check. “We have been warned.

Moreover, we are to be watched, like common criminals.” “Watched?” Shang Mu’s mouth fell open in astonishment. “I do not understand, I Lung. To watch the Thousand Eyes ... it is unheard of!” “And yet it is to be done. Li Yuan’s special force, his shen t’se, are to be appointed to the task. They are to watch the Watchers, it seems. To keep an eye on the Great Eye itself.”

Beneath the surface irony of the words was a savage anger that did not escape Shang Mu. He thought quickly. “Did he say why, Master?” The First Dragon rested his head back, letting a servant remove his wig and begin to rub salve into his shaven scalp. “He spoke of rumors that had come to his ear. Rumors of corruption and mismanagement. Not at the highest level, of course. No, Tsu Ma is too smart to accuse the Council itself. But he felt it would be best if an independent body investigated the claims, especially in view of the new arrangements.” “New arrangements, I Lung? What new arrangements?” “The cuts. . . .” The First Dragon turned, waving the servant away, then signaled that Shang Mu should come and sit across from him. “There is more,” he said, leaning toward Shang Mu, as the craft slowly lifted. “It seems we are to provide Karr’s force with copies of all our files.”

He stared back at his Master, dumbstruck. “But that is outrageous, I Lung!

Why, when our great Ministry was formed—“

The First Dragon raised a hand. “I know, Shang Mu. In effect this breaks the long-standing agreement between the Seven and the Ministry. Oh, technically, the Seven are entitled to do as they will, but in practice . . .”He sat back, cupping his closed right fist in his left. “Well ... if we had any doubts before, we have none now, neh? They mean to break us, Shang Mu. To destroy the last barrier between Chung Kuo and total anarchy. But we can’t let them ... we won’t let them.” He moved his hands apart, spreading his fingers, deliberately calming himself, then, turning in his chair, raised his right hand, summoning the ship’s Steward.

The Steward came across and bowed, waiting silently, his eyes on the First Dragon’s hands. As Shang Mu watched, the great man gave signed instructions with his fingers, finishing with the signal of dismissal. Like all else about the great man this discipline impressed Shang Mu. If a single man epitomized the great principle of Shen Chung—of Caution—then it was the First Dragon. Things, then, were bad, when such a solid, upright man should even consider going to war with his own Masters. Shang Mu looked down, a cold sobriety sweeping over him. War. He had known it last night, looking through the files. And though the thought of it appalled him, some colder, more clinical pan of him understood the need and saw no alternative. The servants must become the masters if they were properly to serve.

Looking up he saw that the great man was watching him, almost as if he knew what he was thinking.

“Where now?” he asked, feeling, in that moment, a special bond between himself and his Master.

“To Yu Shu,” the First Dragon answered. “To see our friend An Sheng. But not directly. From now on we do nothing directly. Not until we must.”

the tiny hologram flickered brightly in the darkened room, smoke from the incense stick drifting through the image of the old man. In its faint, blue-tinted light the kneeling girl seemed like a giant statue, immobile, her head lowered respectfully, her hands folded in her lap. “Are you sure this is the best course, Shang Han-A?” the hologram asked, leaning forward slightly, one hand stroking the long, white, plaited beard that flowed almost to its waist. “Is there not some better way to heal the breach between you?”

Hannah was silent a moment, contemplating what her greatgrandfather, Shang Chu, had said, then answered him. “I believe not, honorable Great-grandfather. My stepmother is frequently unwell, and that makes her . . . tetchy, let us say. As for me, I am young, impetuous sometimes. It is a fault, I realize, but one that time will cure. However, if I stay here the friction between myself and my stepmother will remain and, in all probability, get worse. I would hate to see that. If I go, then the source of my stepmother’s irritation is gone. Her health will improve, and we shall both be happier. And that would be good for my father, neh? To have two happy homes, rather than a single unhappy one.” “It would, indeed.” The hologram straightened up, smiling. “I am very pleased with you, Shang Han-A. Your concern for your fathers happiness is most dutiful. I shall speak to him next time he consults me and let him know what I think on this matter. For now, however, it would be best if you said nothing. Your father has much on his mind. These are hard times for him. You must do all you can to ease his burden in the days ahead.”

“I understand, Great-grandfather, and I shall do my utmost.” Hannah bowed, then, leaning forward slightly, placed her fingers lightly on the panel in front of the hologram. At once the image faded, leaving only the bright red point of the burning incense stick. There was the sound of a match being struck, a sudden flare of light. A second incense stick was placed on the altar, in a tiny silver holder just to the right of the first. There was the vague murmur of a blessing from the kneeling girl, then, as she brushed her fingers against the second pad, another hologram appeared, this one much shorter and stockier than the first, the beard darker, bushier.

“Greetings, honorable Grandfather,” Hannah said, lowering her head respectfully. “I pray you’re well.”

The figure lifted its chin and gave a short laugh. “As well as the dead can be, young Hannah.”

In the darkness Hannah smiled. The holograms had been programmed by the living men to reflect what of their personalities they wished to survive them. Normally this resulted in a rather stiff, one-dimensional self-portrait that emphasized all the virtues while editing out anything which might be viewed as “unseemly” by future generations. But her grandfather, Shang Wen Shao, had not been such a man. He had always claimed that a man was all his different selves—fool and sage, father and lover, braggart and coward, good friend and savage enemy—and had programmed his own ancestral hologram to reveal all of these different aspects. Of all the family holograms this was Hannah’s favorite, and she consulted it whenever she had problems in her personal life, for Grandfather Wen Shao could be trusted never to mouth platitudes, but to offer advice from the depth of his own considerable experience. Six wives, four concubines, and a good few dozen lovers had made him wise in the ways of the world and a good judge of women. And though he had been a fool in business and had lost much of the great financial empire his father had built from nothing, he was, in Hannah’s eyes, the better man—an opinion she was careful to conceal from her father. “What’s up, Hannah? Is that shrew of a stepmother of yours troubling you again? Or is it something else this time?” Hannah bowed a little lower. “You see right through me, honorable Grandfather.”

The hologram gave a little guffaw of laughter and thumped at its chest. “I’d have said it was the other way about, wouldn’t you, girl? That you see through me!”

Again Hannah smiled to herself. She had heard all of these jokes a thousand times, but the familiarity of them warmed her. “We are all smoke in the eyes of the gods, Grandfather.”

“Yes. . . . But be specific, Hannah. Hurry. I need to piss.” Hannah bowed again, wishing, not for the first time, that she had known her grandfather in life. He must have been a real character. Hannah could see how her father—cast in Great-grandfather Chu’s puritanical mold—would have been offended by his own father. She could imagine him wincing at the old man’s vulgarity even as he bowed dutifully before him. Not that her father didn’t have a sense of humor: it was just that he lacked his father’s spontaneity, his open, generous nature. She hesitated a moment longer, then asked, “Can I trust you, Grandfather?” Wen Shao leaned back, as if to see her better. “Now, that’s an odd question, my girl. Perhaps the oddest you’ve asked. Can you trust me? Hmmm . . .” He scratched his chin. “Well, now, I really don’t know. If you were a wife of mine I’d have to say no. Not any farther than you could throw me. But it’s not that kind of thing, is it?” “No, Grandfather.”

“Then speak. I’ll not repeat a word, not even if some clever young programmer tries to tamper with my memory circuits!” She smiled. “Then let me ask you this. If you knew a secret, a big secret—one that was so big it affected everyone and everything they did—then what would you do? Would you let everyone know, or would you keep it to yourself?”

Wen Shao had narrowed his eyes. He looked back at his granddaughter inscrutably from his broad Hung Mao features, as if, for that moment, mimicking the Han whose name his grandfather had adopted a century before. “That’s a big secret,” he said, then shook his head, blowing out a noisy breath. “In fact it sounds like the kind of secret your father is fond of keeping, neh? Have you been prying among his things again, young Hannah?” “No, Grandfather.”

“But they’re connected, neh?”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

“Ahh . . .” He smacked his lips, then, unexpectedly, he sat, crossing his legs beneath him. “Well, you know how I feel about your father’s work. I’ve never liked it. I wish now that I’d never paid to have him educated.

It seems such a waste, to devote oneself to such—such pettiness.” “Pettiness, Grandfather? But surely what he does is of the greatest importance?”

Wen Shao laughed. “You think so? But what does the great Tao teach us? That in everything is its opposite. That that which seems greatest is, in truth, the smallest. As Chuang Tzu says, there is nothing in the world bigger than the tip of an autumn hair, and Mount T’ai is little.” “Maybe so, Grandfather, but you still haven’t answered me.” “Haven’t I?” Wen Shao laughed, then leaned forward, tugging at the air by his left foot as if he were plucking a blade of grass. “Why, and there I was thinking I had.”

She laughed, watching him chew at the imaginary blade. “Maybe you only think you have.”

“Ah . . . that must be it.”

“Grandfather?”

He stopped chewing and smiled. “You want a straight answer, is that it?”

“This once I’d appreciate it.”

He shrugged. “Okay. But you won’t like it. My advice is to forget your big secret. It’ll only bring you unhappiness. You and that proper man you call your father.”

“Your son,” she reminded him.

“So the genetic charts would have me believe . . . but that aside, I’m serious, my girl. Let others worry about this secret. Leave the sleepless nights to them. You’re a young woman, Hannah. You should be out meeting young men and having a good time. That’s what this life is for.” She looked away, for the first time in her life disappointed by his answer. But then, what had she expected? For him to endorse her crazy scheme? To tell her, yes, Hannah, go ahead and ruin your life? No. Wen Shao was Wen Shao. And she had too much of her father’s blood in her—was too much her father’s daughter.

“You’re disappointed,” he said, looking up at her, the smoke from the incense stick making his seated form shimmer momentarily. “I know what you wanted, my girl, but you asked me a question and I answered it. Do as you will. Take on the great world of levels, if you must. But don’t ask me to sanction it.” He smiled. “In fact, if you ask me, I think you’re mad even to consider the idea. Oh, I respect your madness. It’s an admirable trait—one I wish your father possessed in greater measure—but take care, little Hannah. The world is uncaring. It’s a mechanism for chewing people up and spitting them out. And only fools like me survive.” “You’re no fool, Grandfather.”

“No. Maybe not. Not in the sense most people mean, yet I was fool enough in my youth. Fool enough to think the world could be a better place.” “You, honorable Grandfather? I’d never have guessed!” He laughed. “Yes, I know my reputation. The old goat, they called me. A drunk, they said, a reprobate. But I wasn’t always so, my girl. It was the world that made me thus. That and the sweet scent of sweat on a woman’s skin. ...”

“Grandfather!”

“Forgive me. . . .” The tiny figure stood, brushing its hands together.

“However, I really must go now. Even ghosts must have their rest, neh?” She smiled and lowered her head respectfully. “Then sleep well, Grandfather. And thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” “I have?” He smiled. “Well, now, that makes a change. Maybe there’s hope for me after all.”

“Maybe. . . .”

She leaned across and touched the pad. The figure shimmered and was gone. Hannah stared at the empty space a moment, then sat back on her heels, thinking.

He was right, of course. It was insane even to think of getting involved. The best thing to do would be to take the File and feed it into the incinerator, but for some reason she couldn’t do that. Something in her prevented that. Some perversity of nature. “Nu Shi! Nu Shi!”

Hannah turned as her amah appeared in the doorway, her face excited.

“What is it, Wei?”

“A soldier has come, Mistress,” the young maid answered, bowing low. “A Security Major. ...”

Hannah stood. “For my father, you mean?”

“No, Mistress. For you. He is talking to your stepmother even now—“

“My stepmother! Oh, gods!” Hannah lifted the hem of her silk and moved

past the young girl, her bare feet padding quickly along the tiled

hallway.

A Major had come . . . But what did that mean? Was she discovered? Or was this merely a courtesy call, to see if she was all right after her experience? As she approached the big double doors that led through to her stepmother’s rooms she stopped, calming herself. It was all right. It had to be. Because if it wasn’t, they’d have asked to see her father. That was the way they worked. And it wouldn’t have been a mere Major, it would have been General Rheinhardt himself.

She took a long breath, then indicated to the waiting servants that they should open the doors.

Inside, her stepmother, Huang Hui, was sitting upright in a big chair heaped with cushions, the whole thing presenting the illusion of a great bed tipped up onto its edge, her pale Han face staring out from a cocoon of red silk. In front of her stood the Major, his back to Hannah. His large-boned body filled almost to bursting the powder-blue dress uniform he was wearing. Over his shoulder was a black leather dispatch bag of the same kind her father’s messengers used. As he turned she felt a flicker of surprise. He was Han.

Huang Hui looked across at her and gave a weary, sickly smile. “Han-A. I’m glad you’ve come. I was just about to call you. This is Major Kao of Security.”

The Major lowered his closely shaven head smartly, then straightened up. He was a remarkably plain-looking man, with crude, almost unformed features. His nose was somehow too big, as were his ears. And yet his mouth was strong, and his eyes ...

“Major Kao.” Hannah went across and bowed to her stepmother, then turned, facing him again. “I’m told you wish to see me.” He smiled at her, not insolently, as some of the young officers smiled at her, but as her own father smiled. That, and the strange honesty of his eyes, made her look away briefly, wondering. “I have a few questions I need to ask,” he said quietly. “That is, if that is all right with you, Nu Shi Shang? About yesterday. There was no time then, I understand, and the Captain was rightly more concerned with your safety than with Security procedures. But it would help us greatly if you could make a simple statement about what you saw.” “Safety . . . ? Statement. . .?” Hannah’s stepmother leaned forward, her pinched face instantly suspicious. “Han-A . . . what have you been up to?” She was about to answer, but the Major interceded. “Oh, it is nothing, Madam Shang. There was an incident. Your daughter was caught up on the periphery of it. The questions, as I said, are a mere formality.” “Incident? What kind of incident?”

This time Hannah made sure she got in first. “There was a criminal, Stepmother Huang ... a revolutionary! A troop of the Majors soldiers chased him through the corridors and trapped him, but he put up a fight and they had to shoot him. There was blood everywhere. . . .” Huang Hui sank back into her cushions, an expression of sheer horror on her face. “Aiya!” she muttered, fanning herself with a vigor that was surprising for one so clearly invalided.

Hannah turned, a strange gleam in her eyes, and looked directly at the Major. “If you would come through, Major Kao, I shall arrange for a servant to bring ch’a. Have you had breakfast?” The Major hesitated. “Yes, I—I had some earlier. I...” Then, as if remembering himself, he turned, bowing low to Huang Hui. “Madam Shang. It was kind of you to receive me. Please give my regards to your husband, the Junior Minister, when he returns. May I also say how much I hope your health improves. However, if you would excuse me now. . .” A wan smile appeared on Huang Huis face. “Major Kao . . .” Kao Chen turned back, looking to the girl, who smiled and turned away. He followed, stopping at the door to look back. The pale-faced invalid was recumbent in the huge upright bed of red cushions. Now that the audience was over, Huang Hui seemed to have collapsed in upon herself, her frail figure losing its last glimmer of animation. As he watched, two servants hurried to her, plumping up her cushions and tending to her. He watched a moment longer, then, with a tiny shudder, went out into the corridor to join the waiting girl.

“Well?” she asked, turning to face him.

Chen looked about him at the room, taking it all in. Everywhere he looked there were signs of wealth, of a luxury he could never aspire to. The left-hand wall and the end wall were lined with shelves, the shelves crowded with ancient-looking leather-bound books that he could smell even from where he stood. In the right-hand corner was a huge wooden desk, not unlike the one that stood in General Rhein-hardt’s office. Next to it was a big, glass-fronted cabinet containing all manner of small, exotic-looking objects, few of which he recognized. Behind that, in a case on the wall, was a banner of some kind, showing a blood-red cross on a white background. The rest of that wall was filled with sketches and paintings of various sizes, unusual only in that they showed scenes from the levels. Chen studied them a moment, then looked down. Beneath his feet was a thick, richly woven rug that would have carpeted three rooms in his own apartment, while to his right, only a ch’i or so from where he stood .

. .