Beneath the Tree of Heaven

I—“

Abruptly, she turned back. “Look, why don’t you be hostess?”

“Don’t be silly, Em. I couldn’t possibly. It’s your House, your party.

People will expect you to be hostess. No ... you’ll get through, trust me.

But I’ll be there if you want, at your elbow, to take the pressure off. They can be really quite obnoxious, some of these First Level wives. Real Grade-A bitches. But we’ll cope, neh? We’re pretty tough bitches ourselves when it comes down to it. Am-er-ican bitches . . .” Mary laughed. “What would I do without you?” “You’d survive. Now, tell me who’s coming. You sent out all the invitations on the list I compiled?”

She nodded.

“Okay ... so who replied?”

“Everyone.”

“Everyone?” Gloria’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t get everyone to a party in the Above. Not here, anyway. There are always lots of celebrations going on, especially the night before a tournament. You always get apologies.”

“Well, I didn’t. They’re all coming. All eight hundred and sixty-four of them.”

“Eight hundred and ...” Gloria gasped. “Aiya! You’ll never fit them all in ... And then, well. . . you’ll need extra waiters, another five, six cooks at least, more wine. You’ll need—“ Mary put her hand on her friends arm. “It’s all done. Wine, waiters, and an extra dozen cooks!”

Gloria stared at her, her hazel eyes wide with disbelief. “Everyone?

You’re sure?

“Everyone.”

“Then the gods help us, Mary Lever, but you’re there. Base One, first time out. Queen of the Above. Eldest Daughter . . . And tonight”— she smiled, her eyes bright with pride, then leaned close and kissed Mary’s cheek—“tonight they come to pay court to you.”

the visit had been unannounced. The first Pei K’ung knew of it was when her father came to her rooms and told her to get dressed, and fast. “Who is it?” she had asked, and when he’d told her she had stood there several moments in total disbelief. Why should the great T’ang visit her? Her father, certainly, but her?

She had dressed simply, modestly, as was her way, then had gone down and presented herself to him, kneeling in the doorway and pressing her forehead once, twice, a third time, against the cold marble. He had come across, standing over her, and told her to get up. Then, for what seemed a long, long time, he had studied her. “She’ll do,” he’d said finally, with an abruptness she found strange, then he had turned and walked across to where his Chancellor, Nan Ho, was waiting for him.

“Pei Ro-hen,” he’d said, addressing her elderly father, “would you leave us for a moment? I have something to say to your daughter.” Her father had bowed low and left, and she had waited, not knowing what to expect. Thirty-eight years old, she had waited. A plain girl, her mother had always said when she was still alive. No wonder she had never married. Not like her sisters, who were—and this was always mentioned—pretty girls.

“Look at me,” he’d said, in a tone of command that brooked no argument.

And she had looked.

He was a handsome man, fifteen years her junior. A powerful man, too, of course, and that radiated from him. Strangely, she had found herself smiling.

“Why do you smile?” he asked, his eyes curious. To be honest, she had not really been sure just why she’d smiled, simply that something in the situation had struck her as absurd. “I suppose, Chieh Hsia, it is because you have come to marry me.”

“Have I?” And then he’d laughed. “Well, I guess that much is obvious. But

we must be clear from the start just what it is 1 want from you as a

wife.”

He had paused, putting a gloved hand to his beardless chin as if in thought. “I want no children, Pei K’ung. Indeed, it shall be a marriage in name only. There will be no physical side to the relationship. But you will help me, understand? You will share my duties and take some of the ceremonial burden from me. Is that clear?” For some reason she had frowned.

“Yes?”

“Why me, Chieh Hsia? There are a hundred other princesses you might have chosen, all of them far prettier. So why me? Are you punishing yourself, Li Yuan?”

He laughed. “Master Nan said you spoke plainly. But I like that. I think we’ll get on well. But let me answer you candidly. I chose you because you have no brothers to complicate matters—no scheming hordes of relatives to torment me with requests for favors. And because you are old.” She had smiled at that. “Old, Chieh Hsia?”

He blinked. “I mean . . .”

“Oh, I am not hurt by your words, Chieh Hsia. I see myself often enough in the mirror to know how I look. And as for your conditions ... I am agreeable to them. When is it to be?”

“Next week,” he’d said, looking to his Chancellor, who had witnessed everything with an expressionless face. “It shall be a private ceremony at Tongjiang. Close family, that’s all.”

She had waited, as if there was to be more, but that was it. Li Yuan had called her father back into the room and told him, and she had smiled again, more pleased for him than for herself. Yet in truth the matter had intrigued her. Why is he doing this? she’d asked herself, and What does he want from me?

In time, perhaps, she would know. In time the mystery of it—the sheer absurdity—would give way to a clearer view of things. But just then it had seemed peculiar, like the visit of one of the old immortals to confer a favor.

My life was ended, she told herself as she climbed the stairs to her room again. An hour ago there was nothing. And now . . . Now her life was about to begin. She paused on the turn and laughed with astonishment, hearing the roar of the imperial cruiser’s engines as it lifted from the House pad. Now, at thirty-eight, her life was finally about to begin.

chen stopped and turned, facing the young woman. “Well. . . this is it.

Are you coming in?”

Hannah tugged at a strand of hair, then made a shrugging movement of her shoulders. “It’s late. I really ought to be getting back.” Chen smiled, then patted her shoulder. “Come on. Have some ch’a, a bite to eat. Then you can go.”

“It’s your family, Chen. I’d feel. . . well, like an intruder.” “Nonsense. You’ll love Wang Ti. Besides, Karr will be there. He’ll want to know how we got on.”

She hesitated a moment, reluctance making her purse her lips, then,

relenting, she smiled. “All right. Half an hour. And then I must get

back.”

“Okay.” He grinned at her, then turned, punching the combination to the door.

They were all in the kitchen. As Chen came through, his youngest, Ch’iang Hsin, rushed at him, throwing her arms about his waist. “Daddy! You’re back!”

He hugged her, then looked about the room. Marie was there, sitting next to Karr, leaning in to him, while in a chair in the corner, a shawl about her shoulders, Wang Ti sat cradling Marie’s baby, a big smile lighting her features.

“Isn’t she a darling,” she said, lifting her face to Chen as he went over to kiss her. He crouched, peering into the bundle of blankets at the tiny baby girl. She had been born premature and grossly underweight, and even now, at five months, she was only half the weight she ought to have been. Chen took a long, heavy breath, then looked across to where his old friend sat, his arm about his wife. It was hard to believe that something so small and delicate had come from their union. If he’d thought of it at all he had pictured some giant of a son, stamped from the same mold as Karr and his mate, not this—this tiny miracle. “She’s so pretty,” he said, staring at the child once more.

“Isn’t she?” Wang Ti said softly. Then, looking past him: “So who’s this?”

Chen turned, then stood. “Forgive me, this is Hannah. Karr you’ve met. This is his wife, Marie, and their baby, May. And this is my wife, my dear Wang Ti.”

Hannah smiled and came forward. “She’s beautiful,” she said, homing in on the baby, “and so very like her mother.”

“Do you think so?” Karr asked.

“Daddy!” Ch’iang Hsin exclaimed loudly, tugging at Chen’s trouser leg.

“You didn’t introduce me!”

“Oh, yes,” Chen said, drawing her around in front of him. “And this is my little darling, Ch’iang Hsin.”

Hannah turned, offering a hand. “I’m Hannah, and I’m very pleased to meet you, Ch’iang Hsin.”

Ch’iang Hsin beamed, then gave an awkward bow of welcome. “Do you work with Daddy?”

“Do I. . . ?” She laughed, then stood. “Kao Chen ... do I work with you?” “You do indeed,” he said, nodding for emphasis. “Hannah, I’d have you know, is a writer. A very good writer, though she’s had very little published yet.”

Wang Ti looked up, intrigued. “Really? What do you write?” Hannah looked to Chen, then to Karr. “I—I don’t know, really. Reports, I guess you’d call them.”

“Essays,” Chen said authoritatively, then looked meaningfully at his wife.

“But come, I’ll make some ch’a. You must be dry as a bone.”

Wang Ti stared blankly at him a moment, then looked down, understanding. Leaning forward, she sniffed at the bundle in her arms, then looked across at Marie.

“I may be wrong, but I think May might need changing. I’ll take her through if you want to come.”

Marie glanced at Karr, who nodded.

“Okay,” she said, a wry smile on her lips. “I know when we’re not wanted.” “Business to discuss,” Karr said, laughing gently and slapping her butt as she squeezed past him. “We’ll send in some ch’a if you want.” “Oh, don’t you go bothering yourselves,” Wang Ti said, threading her way between them. “Marie and I will be indulging in something a little bit stronger than ch’a, won’t we, Marie?”

“We most certainly will!”

As the door closed, Hannah turned to Chen. “She’s not how I expected her.

When you said—“

“She’s improved a lot,” Chen said, cutting in. He turned, smiling, looking at the space his wife had just vacated. “For a long time it was like she was dead. I gave up hope. But now . . .” He laughed. “Well, the baby helps a lot. She loves it now that Marie comes around. It was a brilliant idea, Gregor. I was afraid. I thought . . . well, I thought it would only make her more bitter, but look at her. You’d think May was her own.” “I’m pleased for them both,” Karr said, leaning toward them across the table. “Marie hated it where she was. She had nothing in common with those service wives. But here . . . well, it’s like she’s a different person. They’re good for each other. Better than a dozen surgeons.”

Chen grinned, nodded.

“So?” Karr said, as Chen busied himself preparing the ch’a. “How did it go?”

“It went well,” Chen answered. “Those people you knew . . . they were interested. Very interested. It seems like we did business.” “That’s great. And what about the material itself?” Karr looked to Hannah, smiling. “Any feedback on that?”

Hannah came across and sat facing him. “There were already rumors—vague things about an accident at Nantes, but nothing certain. The Ting Wei did a good job, but not quite good enough. There are two eyewitnesses, it seems, who escaped the security trawl. But there was no proof, and you know how these things are. The more time that passes, the vaguer things become. However, the very fact that there was a rumor was enough to make people begin to ask questions.”

“So what did you say when they asked who’d provided the documentary evidence?”

“I said it was stolen from a senior official’s Mansion. Which was true in a way. They liked that. Liked the sense that the leak was . . . well, accidental.”

Karr sat back, nodding his satisfaction. “It sounds good. But we’ll see, neh? If they do their job, your pamphlet will be all over the Lowers by tomorrow evening. If they don’t. . .”

“. . . we try again,” said Chen, bringing ch’a bowls and a plate of soft pastries across. “Until we find someone who can get the things out in the quantities we need.”

Karr looked up, meeting his eyes. “Does it still worry you, Chen?” Chen smiled. “Strangely, no. I feel. . . freer somehow than I’ve felt for years. Happy almost.” He turned away, busying himself with the ch’a. “In fact, I’ve decided to resign my commission. We’re going to sell up and get out.”

“Out?”

Chen returned, placing the steaming ch’a pot in the middle of the table.

“To the Plantations. I spoke to Wang Ti about it last night. She agreed.

In fact, she loves the idea.”

“And the children?”

“Ch’iang Hsin and Wu both seem to share her enthusiasm. Jyan . . . well, he’s at a difficult age. All of his friends are here. But he’ll come around. I plan to take him there. To let him see it for himself. I’m sure he’ll Chen turned, looking. Jyan was standing in the doorway. “Dad?”

“Not now, Jyan. We’re busy.”

“But, Dad, there’s something on I think you ought to see. You and Gregor.

A news flash.”

They followed Jyan into the clutter of his room, then stood there watching the images on the screen over Jyan’s bed, while the anchorman gave the commentary.

“The first outbreaks began, it seems, in the ports of Marseilles and Naples, where workers on the big intercontinental freighters were among the first to contract the disease.”

“Aiya ...” Chen said softly, as a picture of a young child—no more than three or four years of age—was flashed onto the screen, his corpse-pale flesh covered in strangely shaped weals and sores. “Poor little bugger!” “Something big’s happening,” Karr said quietly, talking over the commentary. “Look at it. Have you ever seen them screen anything like this before?”

Chen shook his head. “No. The Ting Wei wouldn’t let them. It’ll cause panic throughout the levels.”

“Then why?”

The answer came a moment later, over images of the great port facilities lying idle, visored guards blocking the entrances. “In these unprecedented and exceptional circumstances Chancellor Nan has taken the decision to suspend trade with City Africa and isolate the port facilities until the situation has been brought under control. The authorities have asked that anyone suffering any of the preliminary symptoms of the disease should report at once to their deck surgeon. It is stressed that early treatment can prevent loss of life.” “So that’s it,” Karr said, releasing a long breath. “They’ve closed the ports. Wang Sau-leyan won’t like that. He won’t like that one tiny little bit.”

“No. But if I were Nan Ho I’d be far more worried about the sickness than the odious Wang. How long is it since something like this happened? A hundred, a hundred and twenty years? And what protections have we got? If this spreads any farther, it’ll sweep through the levels like ...” Chen shook his head, then, remembering suddenly that Jyan was there, turned to his son. Jyan was looking up at him, a naked fear in his face. “Here,” he said, opening his arms, hugging him tightly.

“Will it be bad?” Jyan asked, a faint tremor in his voice. “I don’t know,” he answered, stroking Jyan’s brow. “But we’ll be okay. I promise you.”

“There’s a curfew,” Karr said, pointing to the screen. “That makes sense. I imagine they’ll close down the transits and most of the interstack transportation. It’ll be chaos for a day or two.” Hannah, silent until then, spoke up. “It reminds me of something I read in one of my father’s books. One of the proscribed texts he kept on his shelves.” She paused, recollecting the words, then spoke again. “Then the Lord rained on Sodom and Gomor’rah brimstone and fire from the Lord out of heaven; and he overthrew those cities, and all the valley, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and what grew on the ground.” She stopped, then, with an embarrassed glance at Chen, looked down. “Brimstone and fire, eh?” Karr said, his face grim. “Maybe that’s not so far from the truth. Well... we must look to our own these next few weeks and hope the gods are kind.”

From the hallway came the regular buzzing signal of the vid-phone. “That’ll be Bremen,” Karr said, meeting Chen’s eyes. “You answer it, I’ll tell the women. We may be gone some while.” Chen nodded. Releasing Jyan gently, he went to answer the call. Wang Ti and Marie had come to the bedroom doorway to see what was happening. Karr ushered them back inside and closed the door. Only then did Chen make the connection.

“Yes?” he said, facing the uniformed figure who appeared. “Major Kao here.

What is it, Captain?”

“ChiehHsia. . “

Li Yuan turned from the darkness of the cruiser’s window and looked toward his Chancellor.

“Yes, Master Nan?”

“He’s on. He wants to talk to you.”

He, undoubtedly, was his cousin, Wang. Nor was the reason for his call a mystery. Li Yuan sighed. “All right. I’ll come and speak to him. Give me a moment to compose myself.”

Nan Ho bowed, then turned and ducked back through the hatch.

Li Yuan sat back, closing his eyes, saying the chen yen for inner peace.

But it was no good—the thoughts still filled his head. Whatever he says, I shall hold my tongue and keep my temper. There is no proof he manufactured this crisis. No proof at all. But I would not put such a thing past him. He would destroy us all, and what better way than this?

He opened his eyes again, nodding to himself, determined not to incite his cousin. Yet he knew how hard it was going to be. Faced by that odious moon-faced creature, he always felt something snap within him. He stood, brushing himself down, more from an unaccustomed nervousness than need. Then, taking a long, deep breath, he walked through to the cockpit. “Cousin . . .” he said, taking his seat before the screen, Nan Ho to one side of him, out of view of the transmit camera. “How can I help you?” Wang leaned close to the screen, his grotesque features filling the whole of it. “You might begin, Cousin, by opening the ports again. And by paying me full recompense for loss of trade and damage on the markets.” “Forgive me, Cousin, but it is not so simple. There is an epidemic in my City. And in yours, too, I believe, though no certain word of it has come from your Ministers.”

Wang drew back slightly, anger making his features seem more than usually malicious. “That’s scurrilous nonsense, Yuan, and you know it! If there were any sign of this sickness in my City I would know of it! No! This is merely a pretext... an excuse to insult me and damage my interests!” Li Yuan went to speak—to snap back some cutting answer—then checked himself. He took a breath. “It is no pretext, Cousin. Nor is any insult meant. The epidemic is real enough and threatens both our interests. If it subsequently proves that the disease did not originate in your City, I shall, of course, recompense you fully for any losses. I would not see my cousin harmed in any way by these . . . necessary actions.” Wang stared at him belligerently a moment longer, then, as if mollified somewhat, nodded. “I suppose this means the tournament is off?” Li Yuan hesitated, realizing he hadn’t even considered the matter. “No. I—I think it would be a good idea if we continued with it. It might be useful to have something to ... distract our citizens. As you might have heard, I have imposed a strict curfew over the whole of my City. It would be good, in the circumstances, to give the people something to take their minds off present troubles.”

Wang grunted.

“You will still come, I hope?” Li Yuan asked, after a moment. “Oh, I shall be there, Li Yuan. You can be certain of it.” And, leaning forward, he cut the connection.

less than half the guests had arrived when details of the curfew were announced. Michael had had a big screen set up in the Main Hall, and a crowd had gathered beneath it, watching developments anxiously. Mary, watching with Gloria Chung from the balcony, shuddered as the latest pictures came through. She had never felt so helpless, so impotent. This was her City, and it was tearing itself apart. “It’s happening again,” she said quietly, seeing the images of riot on the screen as Hsien after Hsien declared itself for Chaos. “No . . .” Gloria answered her, “it’ll be all right,” yet her fingers gripped Mary’s arm fearfully.

Down below Michael was going among the crowd of dignitaries, trying his best to reassure them and to deal with all their questions, yet it was a hopeless task. A squad of elite guards had been posted at the interlevel transit, but there was no chance that anyone would be allowed to go home, not for some hours yet, if then. From the images on the screen things seemed to be getting worse by the minute, with no sign of the official requests for calm being heeded. Reports had come in in the last hour of First Level Mansions being attacked and burned, and of the murder of several prominent officials.

And of the common people? What of them?

But the First Level media weren’t concerned with the fate of the people in the Lowers. What if a million people died? Or five hundred million, as had reputedly been killed when City North America fell? What of it? They were concerned only for themselves—a fortress mentality which had been best exemplified by one of the North European Representatives who, witnessing the carnage on the screen, had lifted his wine cup and, in a raised voice, said, “Let’s hope they do a good job of it, neh?” Which was why Michael had sent her up here, before she said something she’d regret.

Not that I’d really regret putting some of these bastards in their place!

“Are you all right, Em?”

She let the breath she’d been holding escape her, then nodded. “I’m fine. It’s just”—she turned, facing her friend—“acch, it’s just that it sickens me. Those people down there in the Lowers . . . they’re frightened. This sickness, it’s a new thing, and the gods know how it’ll all turn out, but these people here”—she turned, looking out across the crowd below, conscious of how richly, how elegantly, they were dressed—each costume worth at least a year’s salary to a worker in the Lowers—“well, just look at them, Gloria. All they’re worried about is whether their Mansions and their factories will be okay. But when it comes to those people on the screen . . . they don’t care if they live or die. It’s all the same to them.”

“And you? You care?”

She turned back, staring at her friend, surprised she could even ask. But was it so surprising? After all, she had been bom to this too. For her it was easy to forget how much things cost. She had never had to think about the value of things. The real value of things. “I’ve been there,” she said, trying to contain the anger, the frustration, she felt. “I know how they must be feeling.” She made a sound of disgust and moved away from the balcony. “I was wrong to do this. I knew it. These people ... at heart they’re totally indifferent to all that suffering. As long as they’re okay, then things are fine. It can bum down there, people can die by the tens of millions, and as long as their little enclave remains untouched, then it’s just as if nothing has happened! Isn’t that the truth?”

Gloria was staring at her now, shocked. “You don’t mean that, Em. There are good people down there in the Hall. Friends of yours. Friends of Michael’s. It’s not that they don’t care. . . .” “No? Then why don’t they get off their asses and do something? They’ve got the means. They’re rich beyond all need. So why don’t they use that wealth to do some good? Why do they use it to buy statues and paintings and other useless shit? Why don’t they spend it on people? After all, they’ve got a choice, haven’t they?”

“You’re being unfair now. Many of them give money to charity.” “Charity?” She was openly scornful now, beyond caring whether what she said was hurtful. “What’s that but a salve—an excuse not to act, not to do something real?”

Gloria shook her head, her face tight now with resentment. “You’re a real little revolutionary at heart, aren’t you? I thought—“ “You thought what? That I could be tamed? That I could be made to be the perfect political companion for Michael?” She shook her head. “That’s what Kennedy thought, too, and look where that led him.” “That’s unfair, Em, and you know it.”

“Unfair? Shit... I wasn’t the one who was making deals with Wu Shih!” “He had no choice. Besides, Michael’s told me about your meeting with Nan Ho.”

She felt herself go still. “He told you? When?” Gloria shrugged, realizing she had said something wrong. “I—I can’t remember. Last week sometime. He tells me these things. . . .” “Tells you . . .” Mary looked away, her lips pursed. “He sees you, then, when I’m not there?”

“It’s nothing,” Gloria said quickly. “I—“

She stopped. Michael was standing in the doorway behind them.

“What’s going on? I heard raised voices. ...” “You’d better ask your wife. I think she’d like to declare war on all of us.”

He turned to her. “Em?”

For once she didn’t look at him. “It won’t work, Michael. I can’t be Nan Ho’s creature, however slack the strings. And this—this farce . . . gods, it’s so decadent! There’s a sickness here, all right, but it isn’t just in the Lowers. It’s everywhere!”

“Em . . . This isn’t like you.”

“No?” She turned on him, anger flashing in her eyes. “Well, you’d best discuss that with your friend here. You seem to discuss everything else.” “Ah . . .” He shook his head. “Look. It’s just that I’m used to talking things through with her. We go back years. ...” But Mary was no longer listening. Abruptly she pushed past him and through the door. Her footsteps hammered on the marble steps leading up to her room and then a door slammed loudly.

“This business . . . it’s upset her badly.”

“Go after her. She’ll listen to you, Michael.” “I don’t know. ...” He stared at the empty doorway, frowning. “I’ve never seen her quite like that. All that anger.” “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned about our meeting Tuesday. She thinks”—she laughed—“she thinks we’re having an affair.” Michael stared at her, astonished, then turned back to face the doorway once again. “Oh shit! . . . And I thought...” He sighed. “I’d better go talk to her, neh?”

“You’d better. And, Michael. . .”

He turned back. “Yes?”

She smiled. “If you need me, you know where I am.”