Beneath the Tree of Heaven

“Well, Cousin, what do you think?”

Wu Shih frowned, then gave a reluctant nod. “I do not like this, Yuan, yet I agree with Tsu Ma. To let him live is unthinkable. . . . No. An Sheng must not come to trial. He must die. How you do that. . . well, I leave it to you, Cousin. But do it soon. While things are yet confused.” Li Yuan, looking down at Wu Shih from the screen, nodded. “It seems we must bury our consciences, neh, old friend? Necessity’s the force that moves us now.”

“Then let us be ruthless and have done with it. I, for one, have more than enough troubles without this added burden.” “That woman, eh?”

Wu Shih nodded. “That woman . . .”

“Well, good luck, Cousin. We shall both need our fair share of it, neh?”

Wu Shih bowed, then cut contact. That woman . . .

“Master Pao?”

“Chieh Hsia?”

He turned, looking at his Master of the Inner Chambers. “Get Kennedy for me. Tell him we have to talk. And ask Fen Cho-hsien to come through. We must deal with this matter at once.”

Pao En-fu bowed low, then turned and hurried away. Wu Shih went across to his desk and sat, pulling at his beard. As far as Mary Lever was concerned, they had miscalculated badly. Her broadcasts had not merely been successful, they had been phenomenal. Unknown to them she had organized a whole network of “wives,” women she had worked with on previous funding projects. They in their turn had organized parties and social gatherings across the City, timed to coincide with the broadcasts. Using those as focal points for her recruitment drive, she had managed to sign up close to five million subscribers at the first attempt. And then, this morning, while the business with the Ministry was distracting them, she had gone on air again, to advertise her success and to discuss the next step forward.

I should have pulled the plug at once. I should have—

“Chieh Hsia? I have the Representative on hold.”

“Good. Then put him through. It’s time he learned a few truths.”

the man groaned . It was a small sound, almost forgetful in nature, as if

he had suffered so much already that this little extra were as nothing to

him, yet Nan Ho, watching him, could see he was on the edge. Either he

would confess and it would be over, or he was innocent and he would go

mad.

It was not much of a choice.

Nan Ho stepped outside, then stood there, taking a long deep breath of the cleaner air of the corridor. Two men lay in the cells, their bodies racked, their flesh burned and mutilated. One of them had been bought, the other was completely innocent. Yet which was which? Only these two—clerks to the Master of the Inner Chambers—had had access to detailed information of the staff here at Tongjiang, and only one of them could have passed on that information to An Sheng for his list. It was possible, of course, that both were guilty, but that was not usually the way of it. To buy two men was more dangerous than hiring one—for when there were two, one might think to sell the other or, after some quarrel, betray him out of spite, whereas a single spy—

He stopped, realizing where his thoughts had led. Five years ago he had stood beside Tolonen, watching an innocent man being torn apart in these same cells, and all to save the worthless reputation of his Master’s wife. Back then he had thrown up, appalled by the physical damage that had been done to the young man; horrified that, after so much pain, the boy should still resist. And yet just now . . .

If the truth be told, he had felt nothing, or at best a vague regret at the necessity Had he changed so much in that brief time? Had his skin grown so thick that nothing touched him now? Had power made him callous? Or maybe the world had changed, and his expectations of it likewise. Not that he had any option in this case, for if there was a traitor in their midst—and the list more than suggested that there was— then it was his duty to unearth him. Feelings . . . they did not enter into this. He turned, listening. There was a shouting farther down, in the first cell. A moment later the door swung back and one of the guards stepped out, his face flushed, his bare chest misted with sweat. “Excellency! I think we’re there!”

“Ah. . .” He went across, then ducked inside. The prisoner had lifted his head and was staring across at him, wild-eyed. “Well?” he asked. “What have you to say?”

“Forgive me, Master Nan—I never meant. . .” His head fell back and he broke down, sobbing.

“No.” Nan Ho felt sorry for him now that it was done. He turned, waving one of the guards through to stop the torture in the other cell, then looked back at the man, placing his hand softly, almost tenderly, on his brow. “Tell me, Chen So. How did it happen?” He looked away, swallowing, unable to meet Nan Ho’s eyes, clearly ashamed.

“It was the girl, Excellency.”

“The girl?” He caught his breath. “What girl?” “The Master’s maid, Heart’s Delight—she was my lover. I—“ “Aiya!”

Nan Ho turned and left at once, hurrying up the stairs. At the top he burst through the door, knocking the guard aside, and began to run, his heart in his mouth. Then, finding his voice again, he called the guards to him, frantic now, wondering if he wasn’t already too late.

KENNEDY TURNED FROM THE SCREEN, Wu Shih’s words ringing loudly in his ears.

“This is your last chance, Mr. Kennedy. Just silence that damned woman, all right? Silence her!”

Sure. But how? There wasn’t anything he could offer Mary Lever, and there seemed to be no way he could threaten her, so what did that leave? Gentle persuasion? Seduction? Murder?

He shivered, uneasy with that last thought, then looked up, realizing that his wife, Jean, was standing in the doorway watching him. “What is it?” she asked. “You look troubled.” He shrugged, then went across and held her a moment. “What would you like—I mean, what would you really like to do, if you had the choice?” She looked up at him, frowning. “What is this? Have you gone mad or something?”

“No. Just answer me. One thing.”

She thought for a moment, then smiled. “I know. I’d like to paddle in the sea—you know, the real sea. Just walk along the shoreline, like in one of those old trivids.”

“Okay. We’ll do it. Tomorrow. And we’ll take the boys. Make a day of it.”

She laughed. “Now I know you’ve gone mad!”

“First though, I’ve got to contact someone. Arrange a meeting.”

nan ho burst into Li Yuan’s rooms unceremoniously, half running down the corridor, afraid what he would find. He was about to go through to the bedroom when he came face-to-face with his T’ang as he emerged from one of the side rooms.

“Chieh Hsia!” he exclaimed, falling to his knees, relieved beyond words. “What is the matter, Master Nan? You looked for a moment as if you had seen a ghost!”

Nan Ho bowed his head. “Forgive me, Master, but for one brief moment I feared that that was all I would see!”

Li Yuan tensed. “What is it?”

“Your maid, Chieh Hsia. Heart’s Delight. . .”

“What of her?”

“One of the Clerks of the Inner Chamber—she was his lover. It seems ...” Li Yuan raised a hand, ahead of his Chancellor. “I understand. And you thought—“ He shuddered. “It’s strange. I asked for her earlier and one of the other maids said she hadn’t been feeling well and had gone to her room. I didn’t think . . .”

“Nor I, Chieh Hsia,” Nan Ho said, his voice heavy with apology. “Go find her, Master Nan. Then bring her here. I want to know why. I want—“ He stopped, clearly pained, then shook his head. “It is difficult to believe. I slept with her, Master Nan, not once but many times. Such a sweet and loving girl. I’d never . . .” He shivered again, then, “Go bring her, Master Nan. Now!”

Nan Ho bowed again, then hurried off to find her.

the entrance to the corridor was decked out in blue and gold. To one side a group of shaven-headed boys—orphans, picked for their photogenic qualities—lined up behind a rope, waiting for their handouts. In front of them, dressed in the simple brown of the Eldest Daughter, stood Mary. She turned, waving the handcarts through, then stepped back, looking up into the lens of the floater-camera.

“This, then, is the first phase of our work down here. As you can see, we have recruited workers from these levels to do the actual manual work—the loading and distribution of the food and clothing. Others are repairing those shops we’ve already bought—shops which will be used not merely as distribution points but as help and advice centers. We have begun with a core of five hundred, but as our campaign grows it’s hoped that there’ll be at least one of these shops in every stack in City North America, providing not only food and clothing but also advice and useful pamphlets on all manner of issues. Each of these shops will be instantly recognizable—like our carts and helpers—by the distinctive livery of blue and gold. The gold represents the life-giving sun, the blue the nurturing water.”

She moved back slightly, letting the floater take in the line of carts as it moved past her.

“However, let me emphasize once again that it is not our aim to nursemaid these people. Our aim is to give them back their dignity. By giving them work we give them a purpose in life, and by giving them food we give them the strength to move forward. Once we have allayed their fears and dealt with their most basic needs, we can begin to tackle the real problems—problems we all, as inhabitants of this great City, have to face. The problems of meaning and direction.”

From where he stood at the control board nearby, Beresiner looked up, then drew his finger across his throat. At once the overhead lights dimmed. “Great!” he said. “I’ll intercut it with shots of the men stacking the carts and preparing the shops, then add the piece you did earlier. We’ve got a slot at one-thirty after the lunchtime news, and another at three. We can run it then.”

Mary nodded, then looked about her, feeling an immense satisfaction at all she saw. It had begun. She was finally doing something worthwhile. Not what she’d set out to do, perhaps, but effective nonetheless. And maybe better, in a sense, for at least this way she could sleep nights. “Has Michael rung?” she asked.

Beresiner shook his head. “Not that I know. Ask Jill. She’s fielding all incoming calls just now.”

She went across. They had set up a control room on one side of Main. From there her principal helper, Jill, was running the show. “Hi! Has Michael rung?”

“Not yet.”

Mary frowned, surprised. “Okay. So what’s been coming in? Anything of interest?”

Jill half smiled, like she had some big secret, then handed a slip of paper across.

She read it, then looked up sharply. “Kennedy? He wants to meet?” “Looks like it. It came in five minutes back. What shall I do? Tell him to fuck himself? Mind you, he’s probably the only one who hasn’t!” “Now ...” But Mary was smiling. There was so much spirit here. So much real desire to change things. She sighed. “Okay. I’ll see what he wants. But make sure he understands there’ll be no deals. Tell him we don’t need to make deals.”

Jill smiled. “Okay, but he’ll try, anyway, you know that. It’s how these men are. They think no means yes. It’s how they were bred.” “Sure. But it’s going to change. We’re going to make it change, right?”

“Right. Oh, and Gloria called. Says the total’s gone past fifteen million.

We’re going to have to recruit more people to process all of this.”

“Good. Then hire them. Anything else?”

“Hythe-Mackay are suing for use of their livery colors. ...”

“Fight it.”

“And a reporter from MedFac’s ‘Downline’ channel called. He wants to interview you.”

“Downline, huh?” She considered a moment, then nodded. “Okay. We can do it here.”

“You sure that’s wise? What if it’s a setup? What if he’s out to humiliate you?”

She smiled. “Let him try. He gets out of hand, I’ll break his jaw!” Jill laughed. “Thattagirl! Okay. I’ll arrange it for six. That all right with you?”

“That’s fine. Now I’d better get running.” She hesitated. “You sure Michael hasn’t been in touch?”

“Things are bad,” Johnson said, throwing a stack of old-fashioned files into Michael’s in-tray. “We’ve achieved only twenty percent of our enrollment targets. If this goes on we’ll be busted by the year’s end!” “Sit tight,” Michael said, smiling back at him. “Things will change. They may be scared off right now, but it won’t last. And the chance to live forever—who else is offering that?”

“Maybe . . . but it’s hurting us, Michael. The kind of people we’re trying to attract . . . well, they’re put off by what Mary’s doing. More than put off, in fact—some of them are incensed!”

Michael shrugged. “So what do you suggest? You fancy walking in to Mary and telling her she’s got to pull the plug? You want that job, Dan?” Johnson shook his head, then looked away, exasperated. “You don’t like this, do you? I mean, all of this pandering to the Old Men. . . .” “No. I feel like a fraud. But it’s necessary if we’re going to get the rest of the package through. Health care and decent pay for our employees, that’s a good goal, wouldn’t you say? A damn sight better than the single-minded pursuit of profit! If a few rich bastards want to pay for all that, then I’m sure as hell not going to stop them!” “You sound just like Mary.”

He laughed. “Do I?” Then, “Oh, shit! I didn’t call her. . . .”

The comset on the desk beside him started flashing.

“Maybe that’s her.”

Michael leaned forward. “Yes?”

It was his secretary’s voice. “Shih Lever? It’s Representative Kennedy.”

“Joe . . .” He looked to Johnson, then waved him away. “I’ll take it.” He stood up and walked across as the screen came down on the far side of the office.

A life-size Joseph Kennedy faced him, a sad smile on his lips.

“Michael. . . how are you?”

He smiled. “I’m fine, Joe. And you?”

Kennedy shrugged. “So-so. You know how it is.”

“I’m—“

“No. Don’t apologize. You were right, Michael. You and Mary. I should have fought my ground much harder. I gave too much. I...” He shrugged. “What can I do for you, Joe?”

“It wasn’t you I wanted, to be honest. It’s Mary, I—“ There was a buzzing behind him. He turned, looking off-screen. “Hold on, my secretary’s saying something to me. What’s that? Oh. Okay.”

He turned back. “Well, what do you know? That was your wife’s office, returning my call.”

Michael smiled. “Whatever it is, you won’t persuade her.” “No?” Kennedy laughed softly. “Maybe not. You know, you married well, Michael. Out of your level, and I don’t mean that in any pejorative sense. She’s one in ten billion, I realize, that now.”

“Sure. So why are you seeing her?”

“Just going through the motions. You know how it is. Politics . . .”

“I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“No? Nor I. ... But I’m tired, Michael. Bone weary. This life ... I didn’t think it would be this hard. That buzz we got when we were winning—you know, I thought it would last forever. I really thought. . . Still. History now, eh?”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“No. It’s done with now. I’ll be stepping down. Let someone else take on the burden. Parker, maybe. Or Fisher. Someone younger.” “Shit . . . you’re only thirty-five. You’ve a good thirty years in you yet!”

“You trying to talk me back into it, Michael?” Michael shook his head. “No. I know how you feel. After Bryn died ... it was never the same.” “No . . . Well, I’d better get some work done. I’ve promised Jean I’d take her somewhere tomorrow, so I’d better clear my desk.” He paused, as if reluctant to go, his eyes misted. “I miss you, Michael. Miss working with you.”

“Yeah . . . Still. . . take care, huh?”

“And you ...”

Michael stood there afterward, feeling strange, and not knowing why. It was true what Kennedy had said. You did things, thinking it would always be the same, but it changed. It always changed. That was the only certainty in this life.

she lay ONHERBACKon the bed, her vacant face staring up into the sunlight from the nearby window. She seemed to be asleep, but there was no movement of her chest and when Nan Ho touched her arm, he found the flesh was cold. He turned to the guard, behind him in the doorway. “Bring Surgeon Lu. And tell him to fetch a resuscitation unit.”

It was probably too late, but. . .

He turned back, looking about the room for some clue as to how she had died. There was no apparent wound on her, no scent of gas, no sign of any medications. But there was something. A note. He unfolded it, then went to the window and read it through.

An Sheng... It named An Sheng!

He looked at her again, pitying her. It seemed An Sheng had taken her mother and younger brother and was holding them against her “good behavior.”

He sighed. This was an ill day’s work. Yet at least An Sheng was theirs.

He went out to the doorway as two guards ran up. He handed one the note. “You . . . take this to the T’ang. And you, wait here and guard the door until Surgeon Lu arrives.”

Then, with a final glance at the dead girl, he left, making his way back to his offices.

It was time to get An Sheng.

she was late, but Kennedy had waited. A bodyguard frisked her outside the door, then, satisfied, knocked and pushed the door back. It was an unexpectedly small room. Kennedy was to her right, seated at a table, talking into a small comset. As she stepped inside he looked up and smiled, then hastily signed off.

He stood, coming around the table, offering his hand. “Mary . . .”

She took it, then looked about her. “So? What do you want?”

His smile broadened. “No small talk, huh?” She looked at him: a clear, cold look. “We’re both busy people. Besides, I’m sure you didn’t ask me here to discuss my health.” He laughed. “No. Okay. . . I’ll come right to the point. I want to know if you’ll call off your Eldest Daughter campaign.” “Why?”

He shrugged. “You’re making things difficult, that’s all. For me ... and for Michael.”

“Michael can speak for himself.”

“Sure. Then for me.”

She shook her head, surprised at him. “I don’t get you, Joseph Kennedy. There was a time when you professed to want change. You said you wanted to help the Lowers. What went wrong?”

He sighed. “I take it that’s a no.”

“Absolutely.” She looked at him a moment, expecting something more. Then:

“Is that it? No cogent arguments, no clever reasons why I should give it up? I’m surprised, Joe. You never used to give in so easily.” “No. Maybe not.” He seemed strangely relaxed now, as if somehow a burden had been lifted from him. “I had to try, but... well, I’m glad. You do what you have to, Mary Lever. I admire you for it, really I do.” He smiled again, but this time it seemed pained, for some reason much more sincere than the smiles she was used to from him. “We’ve never got on very well, have we? I guess that was my fault. I should have made more of an effort. But you were right. All those compromises . . . they’re not worth making.

The game’s not worth the candle!”

She stared at him, astonished, then laughed. “You’re mocking me, right?” He shook his head. “No. And I wish you luck. I really do. Maybe you’ll get done what I failed to do. Oh, and thanks for the second gift . . . you know, the newspaper. It seems us Kennedys don’t have much luck, eh?” She shivered, surprised. “You’ve made a decision, huh?”

He nodded. “I’m stepping down. I’m going to announce it tomorrow night.

I’ve booked a slot.”

“Ah. . .”

He held his hand out again. “It’s good-bye, then.” She looked down at it, frowning, then, surprising him, put out her arms and held him to her a moment.

“Good luck, Joseph Kennedy. ...”

Then, turning away, she left.

He stared at the door a moment, a strange, pained expression on his face; then, sighing, he looked about him once again and, seeing nothing there to keep him, followed her out.

as the cruiser settled, An Sheng unbuckled himself, nervously looking out through the porthole to his right. Nothing. He scuttled across to the other side and looked out. Nothing! Fucking nothing! He hissed with rage, then turned, looking about him.

What if it didn’t come? What if...

He went to the back of the craft.

“Open it!” he barked. “Now!”

The guard hit the release pad. The hatch began to open.

An Sheng stared out as the gap widened. Come on, he urged. Be there! But there was nothing. The roof of the City stretched away to the horizon, a flat, dirty-white plain, broken here and there by the up-jutting shape of a ventilation shaft.

He stepped down, chewing at his knuckles. The bastard had promised—he’d given his fucking word!

There was a faint noise, carried on the breeze, like the hum of an insect.

He turned full circle, shading his eyes, then looked back at the ship.

“Where’s south?”

The guard pointed past him.

He turned, looking, staring hard for a long time until he finally saw it—there!—high up, coming in from the southwest. It was coming! Thank the gods! Wang Sau-leyan had kept his promise, after all!

He watched it grow larger, the growl of its engines growing all the while. Then, as it settled, he ran across to it, a wave of relief and exultation replacing the heaviness—the dread—he’d been feeling all day. As the hatch hissed open and the ramp unfolded toward him, he glimpsed an honor guard waiting within. Then, as the ramp flattened, a man he recognized as one of Wang Sau-leyan’s senior household staff stepped out and bowed low. “Prince An, if you would be our guest. . . ?” He turned, dismissing his own craft, then climbed up onto the ramp. Africa ... he would be safe in Africa.

Inside he sat in a chair of soft silk cushions while a girl massaged his neck and a servant brought him wine.

Thank the gods for good wine, he thought, remembering the night with Fifth Brother, when he had first learned of this “rabbit hole.” And thank the gods, too, for serving girls, for without serving girls and wine, he would never have unhinged the bastards tongue.

Yes, and wouldn’t the I Lung be surprised to see him? That was one reunion he was really looking forward to.

And Wang Sau-leyan? Wang would use him, he was certain of it. How and for what purpose he did not know, but it was better than being dead, and certainly a lot better than bowing to that bastard Li Yuan. “Is all to your satisfaction, Excellency?” He smiled and nodded. “Most excellent, thank you.” Then, closing his eyes, he let himself relax, the soft pressure of the girl’s hands on his chest making him think that exile might not be so bad a thing after all. the reporter came across and stood before her, leaning in over the desk in an almost threatening manner. “She’s late,” he said. “Yes,” Jill answered, looking up at him wearily. “I know. She sometimes is.”

“Half an hour late.”

She stared back at him. “She’ll be here. Okay?” He turned away, clearly angry. But it wasn’t his anger that disturbed her so much as his nervousness. He seemed quite agitated, unduly concerned at Mary’s tardiness. At first she’d put it down to work pressure—no doubt some producer was on his back to deliver something fast—but when she’d asked, he’d muttered something about it going out the next day. And that had struck her as odd. Stations like Downline didn’t usually sit on things longer than an hour, let alone all night. But his accreditation was okay and a quick check on the central file showed he’d been working there seven years now. So why the nervousness? Or was it Mary? Was he nervous at meeting Mary?

She looked down again. Maybe that was it. Maybe this was his big chance and he was scared shitless he’d fuck it up somehow. Well, if he had any sense he’d simply ask the first question, point the microphone at Mary, and let her roll.

The desk com buzzed. She answered it, looking down into the tilted screen.

“Yes?”

“It’s Michael again ... he wants to know if she’s back yet.”

“No. Tell him I’ll let him know just as soon as she gets here, okay?”

“Right. . .’.”

She cut contact and looked up. The reporter was coming back across.

“Was that her?”

Jill hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. She said she’d be here in ten minutes.

Okay?”

He nodded, then turned and went back to where he’d been sitting. Getting out a handset he murmured something into it. Rehearsing, she thought, then turned, taking the latest printout from the tray behind her. Twenty-two million, and still they were rolling in. At this rate they would hit their first target by tomorrow lunchtime and could begin the second phase—a full week earlier than they’d anticipated. She sat back, smiling. All her life she’d been looking for something useful to do—something meaningful—and suddenly, out of the blue, it had been dumped in her lap. She laughed. Like a miracle. And Mary . . . her smile broadened . . . Mary . . . she was like Kuan Yin herself, the Goddess of Mercy, the Bestower of All Gifts. Mary . . . She looked down, sighing. Why, she was half in love with Mary Lever.

the guard put out his arm, barring her way.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t go down there.”

“But I’m Mary Lever. I—“

“I know who you are, ma’am, but there’s been an incident. We’ve got a squad in, sorting it out.”

“An incident?”

“I. . .” He hesitated, conscious of the press of people beyond her, then turned and called to the group of guards beyond him. “Lieutenant!” The young officer came across and, seeing who it was, bowed low, the light of deep respect in his eyes.

“Madam Lever . . . if you would come through to the office.” She followed him through, then sat on the other side of the desk from him, her hands clasped anxiously together.

“Okay. What’s been happening?”

“I’m afraid there’s been some trouble. Your campaign post was . . . hit, let’s say. It looks like the work of three or four men. We’re looking at the camera evidence right now. It—“ She stood.

“Please, Madam Lever. If you’d sit down again. There’s nothing you can do.

As I was saying—“

“I’ve got to go there,” she said. “Don’t you understand? I’ve got to see what’s happened.”

He swallowed. “There’s not much to see, I’m afraid they didn’t leave

much.”

“What do you mean?”

“I—I’ll see if the Captain will talk to you. Maybe he’ll...” He hesitated, then shook his head. “Look, you really don’t want to see it, okay? It’s—“ She leaned across the desk at him. “You don’t understand, Lieutenant. I have to see it. I have to know what my enemies are capable of— what they’ll do to stop me. No matter how bad it is, I have to see it.” “I. . .” He nodded, then stood, going to the door. “Give me a minute, Madam Lever. I’ll speak to the Captain.”

Mary waited, a cold, hard certainty at the pit of her stomach.

Kennedy. This was his work. No wonder he’d made no effort to persuade her. And that was just like him—just like his kind—to keep her out of it to spare Michael’s feelings.

She shuddered with indignation and a cold, hard rage. If it was him, she would have him. She would kill him with her own two hands. They were dead, she knew it. Jill and Anna, Eva and Bess, and all the others who’d stayed on the extra hour, waiting for her to get back. Dead, every one. She closed her eyes, trying to keep the anger uppermost, trying hard not to succumb to the great upswell of grief she felt at the thought of their deaths.

No, she told herself sternly. You have to be strong, Emily Ascher. Weep later. Right now you must be hard and unyielding, like iron. She took a long, deep breath, then went to the door and stood there, waiting for the officer to return.