Days of Bitter Strength

Shen Li narrowed his eyes, trying to make out details. "What are those?" he asked, putting a hand into the light-show, indicating a hemispherical lump beneath one of the rocket casings. "That," Kim said, smiling, "is one of my innovations. It's a web-layer."

"A web-layer?"

"Yes. At certain intervals along the way, that unit produces a kind of light-seed. You might say that it lays eggs."

Shen Li laughed uncomfortably. "Wouldn't the blast from the rockets burn them up?"

Kim answered patiently. "The rockets are there only to accelerate us out of our solar system and then decelerate us , at the other end. Between times they'll be switched off, long before the web-layer comes into play."

"That part I don't understand. Webs and eggs and seeds. You think something can grow out there in the vacuum?"

"Why, of course. Light can grow. Webs of light. The seeds, or eggs if you want to call them that, are channels for it. They're self-perpetuating boosters. By my calculations they'll survive out there for thousands, maybe even tens of thousands, of years, sending their signals between the stars. It's like laying a cable, but this cable will be several light-years long."

At that Shen Li laughed. "Ingenious. It is true what they say about you, Shih Ward."

"And what do they say?" Kim asked, switching on the lights as the holograms faded.

The stranger - his face less obviously Han now that the lights had come up - gave a bow. "Why, that you are the man of the age."

Kim laughed, embarrassed by the other's words, yet there was an element of truth in what he said. "You place a great burden on me, Shen Li."

"Why so?" the other asked, clearly surprised. "That fate must fall on some man, so why not you? Besides, from what I have heard you carry that burden well."

"You hear much, Shen Li, considering where you hail from."

Shen Li's smile was open, almost childlike. "Oh, I know we seem cut off out in the asteroid belt, but we try to keep up with the news, even so. We know, for instance, that you plan to take more than simply ships."

It was Kim's turn to narrow his eyes. "What do you know, Shih Shen?"

Shen Li leaned toward him. "First, let me introduce myself properly. Circumstances force my brothers and I to adopt Han names, Han clothes, but we are not Han. We are Ishida."

"Ishida . . ." Kim laughed. "You mean, you're Japanese?"

"Ha!" the stranger bowed almost to the waist.

Kim slowly shook his head. "Why, I'll be ..." Again, he laughed. "Then some of you survived, after all. Out there."

"Out there," the stranger echoed.

"And you are?"

"Ikuro Ishida." Again he bowed.

"So, Ikuro Ishida. When you sought audience with me, you said there were ways in which you could help my venture. And just now you spoke of us taking more than just ships on the journey. What did you mean?"

Ikuro smiled broadly. "I hear you need to make some holes."

"Holes?" Kim blinked.

In answer, Ikuro took a scrolled piece of translucent paper from his pocket and unfurled it on the desk top. On it was a detailed plan for a series of bore-tunnels. Kim recognised what it was at once.

"You can do this?" he asked, turning the plan round so he could see it better, liking what he saw.

"With the help of my brothers and cousins, yes." "I see." Kim nodded approvingly. "And how long would it take to ... to make these tunnels?"

"Eight weeks. Six if we don't hit any problems." Kim looked up at him, astonished. "Impossible." Ikuro shook his head. "You forget, Shik Ward, making tunnels is our life. It is what we have been doing now for six generations. It is what we are. There is, though I say it with humility as well as pride, no one better prepared or equipped to undertake this task in the whole solar system." Kim laughed. "I'll take your word for that, but what’s your price?"

Ikuro's smile faded slowly. "Our price?"

"Yes."

He looked down, steeling himself, then raised his eyes to meet Kim's again. "That you take us with you."

"You said you would explain . . ."

Heng Yu set the silver tray down on the low table between them then looked up, meeting Jelka's eyes.

"And so I shall."

With an almost ritualistic care, he lifted the massive chung and poured some of the steaming ch'a into one of the empty -. porcelain bowls, then offered it to her.

She smiled, looking about her at the spacious garden room. "Thank you, Master Heng."

He poured a second bowl, then sat facing her, making himself comfortable in the high-backed chair, drawing his robes about him. Clearing his throat, he spoke. "You were no doubt wondering what all that was about earlier."

"A blockade, you said."

Heng smiled and nodded. "So I did. But not just any blockade. This is more in the nature of a ... quarantine."

She frowned and gestured for him to continue.

"Word has come, you see," he said. "DeVore, it seems, is active once again."

Jelka's eyes widened. "Aiyal Where did you hear this?"

Heng hesitated, then. "Let us just say that I have my sources. But we have been monitoring all incoming flights for the past year now . . . yes, and making the most stringent tests. If any of those things try to come in, we want to know about it."

"I see." Jelka sat back, sipping her ch'a thoughtfully. "But thaf s not all, is it?"

Heng"s smile returned. Tolonen had raised his daughter well. "No. If that were all... well, I would be a happy man, sinister as the threat of DeVore's return might be. As it is . . ." He shook his head, then took a tiny sip from his bowl. "Well, where shall I begin?"

"Why not with Li Yuan, since he's the root?"

"Ah yes . . . my Master."

There was something about the way he said it - the faintest hint of irony, even of bitterness - that made Jelka frown.

"He is well, I take it?"

"As any man addicted to his own senses could be. Yes, and as unpopular with his people." Heng sighed heavily. "There have been five assassination attempts this year alone."

Jelka looked down, shocked. "I did not know."

"Oh, thaf s not the worst of it. We've had the lot. Riots. Civil insurrection, the indiscriminate bombing of government offices." He shook his head, pained by it all. "The people are angry, Jelka Ward. They blame Li Yuan for all their ills. And maybe they are right, for it seems he no longer cares. Besides, with Pei K'ung dead and his son in exile in America, there is no one to blame but Li Yuan. Children are starving in the streets of his City while he spends his time in indolence and self-indulgent excess. Why, I have heard it said that Wang Sau-leyan at his worst was no match for our Master. It is something of an exaggeration, I feel, but indicative of the mood of the times. As I said, the people are angry."

Jelka looked up and met his hazel eyes. "You sound angry yourself, Master Heng."

He nodded, then. "What was it I used to say? Ah, yes ... I am my Master's hands. How trite that now sounds. How ...

corrupt."

She shook her head. "Are things really so bad?" "Bad?" He laughed. "Oh, bad would be good. Bad would be... marvellous. No, the truth is things are awful. The treaty with the Warlord of Mashhad has much to do with it, of course. By the terms of that, we gave away more than half our growing lands. As a result, food is scarce and with taxes higher than ever, the people can barely afford to eat. Why, the old Ku Li have re-emerged." "Ku UK" She didn't recognise the term. "Ku Li . . . it means 'bitter strength'. So they have traditionally called themselves. The unemployed masses, willing to do anything to earn a crust. Codies... men of bitter strength." He laughed, sourly this time. "How apt! For these are surely days of bitter strength. Eat bitter, my people say. Endure. But their patience is coming to an end, Jelka Ward. Unless my Master wakes from his enchantment, all this. . ." he lifted both his hands, indicating the room and its contents, " . . .must pass."

She sighed. "I had no idea. The transmissions . .." "Those?' The scorn in his voice was open now. "Propaganda! To keep the Colonies from knowing what" s going on down here." He leaned toward her. "No, my dear friend, our only hope now is with your husband. Chung Kuo is doomed. When DeVore comes, as indeed he will, then . . ." She shook her head, appalled. "But surely something can be done?"

He stared at her a while then slowly shook his head. "I used to think I could be useful. I used to think... well, that I was a good man, and that as a good man I could influence events. But to be First Minister is to be but a pair of hands. Worse than a mannequin, for what harm can a mannequin do?" He made a face. "No, Jelka Ward, nothing can be done. Things have gone too far this past year. Far too far."

She stared at him, silent for a time, then sighed. "Is there a reason why you are telling me all this, Master Heng? Do you... want something of me?"

"Do I . . .?" He laughed abruptly, then put a hand up. "Forgive me, I ... no, I want nothing of you. That is, I do want something . . . that is, your understanding. But beyond that. . ." He sat back slightly, composing himself, putting the fingertips of both hands up to his lips. "I wanted you to let your husband know, that's all."

"To let him know?"

"That not all of us are his enemies. It might seem so in the months to come, but. . ."

Jelka narrowed her eyes. "Is something up, Master Heng?"

He hesitated, then, "You should not really be here, Jelka Ward. The Empress expressly forbade me to let you land."

"She what?" Jelka set her bowl down sharply and stood. "Then we must leave at once."

He stood, putting out a hand to her. "No, you must not go. You must do what you came to do. That is right. That is ... proper."

"And the Empress? She'll hear about this, surely?"

Heng smiled. "Oh, she will be furious when she hears, but he needs me. For a while longer, anyway. He'll placate her. Maybe he'll buy her something. A palace. Or a new horse. She likes such trinkets."

"Even so . . ."

"Besides," he carried on, "there is another good reason why you must not go."

"Which is?"

"Because there are many here who wish to speak to you. To wish you luck. Many who . . . sympathise, particularly among Security. Your father stood for many things that have gone from our world. He was widely admired. And you Jelka Ward, you stand for those things too. People see it. They look at you and see him and all those things he represented. They see ... justice and order and . . ."

He sniffed deeply, overcome. She saw how he swallowed, how his fists clenched; saw how pained he was that all he'd hoped for had finally come to nought.

"I understand," she said, taking his hands and holding them. "And the ceremony . . . that will mean something, neh?"

He smiled and nodded. "Exactly. It will be a focus. A chance for many to express what cannot be put into words. To show solidarity with the old ideals."

"And afterwards?"

He shrugged, a bleakness in his eyes now. "Who knows?"

She looked about her, then, "Is there some way I can see what's going on?"

"See? You mean, physically?'

She nodded.

"Why, certainly. There's a security cruiser on constant standby on the roof. We could use that. But what would you want to see?"

"Everything," she said, taking his arm and leading him to the door. "I want you to show me everything."

Heng Yu leaned slightly out of the half-open window of the cruiser and pointed down toward the dockside three, four hundred ch'i below.

"A lot of it begins right here, at the loading bays. The agitators go among the men, stirring things up, signing them up for whatever breakaway revolutionary party they happen to represent. It's understandable. These men have lost everything. They've nothing. Only the ragged clothes they sleep in. So when someone comes along and promises them an equal share in everything, they sign on. After all, a promise is better than nothing, neh?"

He turned and looked back in at her, smiling sourly. "At least, if s better than what we're offering them."

They flew on, over the City, Heng Yu showing her where parts of it had been burned or damaged by rioting. In one place almost a whole Hsien had been destroyed.

"It used to get rebuilt," he said. "For a while we made an effort, but they just tore it all down again. It was like they didn't want it to survive. So now we simply leave it. A lot of shanty towns have sprung up. Or people are living in the old heating and drainage tunnels beneath the City, though the gods know that" s dangerous enough."

"And Li Yuan does nothing?" Jelka found it hard to take in how the situation had degenerated so rapidly.

"Oh, no. Li Yuan has a programme."

She stared at the Chancellor, intrigued by something in his voice. "A programme?"

Heng nodded. The wind blew through his dark, fine hair, making him seem suddenly a much younger man than he was. "It was Cheng Nai shan's idea, actually. Cheng's is the voice the Empress listens to these days. That said, Li Yuan didn't oppose it. In fact, he's gone out of his way to promote it."

She frowned. "What is he doing?"

He turned and looked directly at her. "He's wiring them."

"No . . . they . . . they wouldn't let him, surely?"

"They've no say. When his squads take prisoners they're under instructions to take any that aren't already wired and pen them. After questioning, they're wired - whether they want it or not."

She stared at him, horrified. "And no one does anything?"

In answer, he pointed down at another section of the great city which had been reduced to a patch of ashes. "What can they do? They riot, or burn down a street or two. But nothing changes. His mind is set. He wants everyone wired."

"Everyone?"

He turned, lifting his hair to show her the vivid scar on his neck beneath his right ear. "Everyone."

She let out her breath slowly. "My father was opposed to it."

"I know."

Again she sighed heavily. "What can be done?"

His smile was heavy with resignation. "For us, nothing. No, Jelka Ward, you now are the future. Chung Kuo is dead. Or as good as."

"Is there no opposition?"

He shook his head sadly. "It has gone too far for that. But come . . . there are a few old friends of yours I want you to meet."

Heng Yu leaned forward, saying a few words of Mandarin to his pilot, then sat back again. "Mileja will join us there."

"You've . . ."

"Oh, she's quite safe," he hastened to reassure her. "I have assigned a special elite squad to guard you both while you're down here. Besides, where we're going now is safe enough. Perhaps the last safe place in the whole city."

She looked at him, intrigued, then sat back, pondering on what she had been shown.

As the cruiser set down within the high walls of the great mansion, four men ran across the tiled courtyard - grizzled veterans in black leather jackets and fatigues, the heavy automatics they carried evincing a no-nonsense approach.

Jelka, looking out through the portal, saw them take up a stance to either side of the cockpit, one of them shouting up a challenge to the pilot. Other guards looked on from the shadows of the surrounding terrace, their guns covering the ship.

"Who are they?" she asked, turning to Heng Yu, who sat across from her, gathering up his papers.

"They're Karr's men. When he quit, they quit. Now they guard him, day and night."

She nodded, understanding. Then it was Karr they'd come to see. She smiled, looking forward to seeing the big man again. Karr had always been her father's favourite. If there'd ever been a problem - a real problem - then her father had sent Karr to sort it out. Up in space, or on Mars, or below the Net. It didn't matter. The big man always came through. He'd never once failed to get the job done.

"Whaf s Karr been doing?" she asked, wanting to know a few things before she met him again.

"Doing?" Heng laughed, then closed up the slim briefcase and stood. As he did the engines finally cut out and the door at the front hissed open. "Why, he has been twice as busy as he ever was. Seeing old friends, spending time with his family." She looked at him sternly, as if to say "don't lie to me". Seeing that look, he raised a hand, relenting.

"Okay. But it is not so far from the truth. You simply have to remember the calibre of friends a man like Karr attracts. In times like ours, a strong and honest man attracts such friends like a bright light attracts moths in the night."

"So he's the focus, eh?" She nodded, sombrely. "No wonder they guard him. I'm surprised the Empress hasn't had him killed."

"Oh, I am certain she would have tried, had her husband not warned her off. Karr still has much support in the army. To have him killed might prove. . . well, counter-productive as far as our Mistress is concerned. She might find herself on the wrong side of an army revolt."

She stared at Heng Yu, amazed. "You think they would rebel?"

"If Karr were assassinated?" Heng nodded. "But that is not the same thing as saying that Karr has the upper hand. He too must tread carefully. There are, after all, other ways of getting at a man than killing him."

She frowned, not understanding.

"His daughters. . ." Heng said quietly, then turned as two of the guards came into the craft, smiling a greeting at them. "Horst... Carl ..."

"Master Heng," the first of them, Horst, answered gruffly, making no attempt at bowing to him, as if he were the Chancellor's equal. "My Master asks . . ."

He stopped, noticing Jelka for the first time. As he did, his eyes widened and he dropped onto one knee, bowing his head smartly. "Nu Ski Tolonen. I did not know . . ."

Jelka gave a little laugh, surprised by his reaction. Behind him his fellow guard, Carl, had done the same.

"Why, thank you, Captain Hagenau," she said, remembering the man from way back, "but my name is Ward now. And you needn't kneel. Please."

He looked up at her, but made no attempt to get up. "We are honoured by your presence, Madame Ward. Your father was a great man."

"Yes. But please ..."

She reached out, taking his hand, and pulled him to his feet, then looked to Heng Yu again. "Captain Hagenau was twice decorated by my father for his bravery. If he is leading the Marshal's men then they are well-led indeed."

Hagenau beamed at the compliment, then tucked his head in again. "We are but the Marshal's hands."

At the reminder of their earlier conversation, Heng Yu cleared his throat, then gestured toward the open doorway. "Well, shall we go meet your old friend?"

Jelka looked to Hagenau. "Captain? If you would lead the way?" "It would be my pleasure," he said. "Oh, and it is Major Hagenau now, incidentally."

"Then lead on, Major Hagenau. It seems your Master and I have much to talk about."

Karr met them in the massive hallway of the mansion, almost picking Jelka up as he embraced her, then turning to introduce her to his wife, Marie.

"I would have you meet my girls, too," he said, beaming at her, "but they are at their studies right now. Maybe later?"

"I'd like that very much," she answered, smiling back at the giant, conscious of Heng at her side, the slim case under his arm.

Karr stepped back slightly, nodding to himself and smiling as he took in the sight of her. He had changed little over the years. His hair, admittedly, was almost grey now, but his face had not aged the way some men's faces did. Like her own father's, Karr's had become set - as if it would be forever thus: a face of granite certainty.

"You know, I never thought to see you back here," he said, _, -.after a moment. "How is your husband? How is Kim?" "Very well, last I heard. The Colonies thrive." "So I've heard." He paused, looking to Marie a moment, thoughtful, then: "Well, we shall talk later, neh? Right now Master Heng and I have some business to see to. Urgent business, I'm afraid. But when it's done . . ."

"Of course," she said graciously. Then, turning to Heng, she asked, "And Mileja?"

"She's on her way," Heng reassured her. "As soon as she arrives I'll have her sent through to you. But there is someone else I wish you to meet. Someone I think you'll find ... interesting."

Jelka raised an eyebrow, then turned, hearing a noise on the stairs above them. She looked up. At the top of the massive stairway, one hand on the rail of the balcony, stood a young woman of roughly her own age. Her hair was tied back severely, but her face was pretty.

"Ah . . ." Heng Yu said, as they all turned to look up at her, "there you are. I was just about to send a servant for you."

"I heard the cruiser land," the young woman answered, coming down the stairs slowly, a pleasant smile on her face now. Coming to the bottom of the stairs, she stepped forward, holding her hand out to Jelka. "You must be Jelka Ward. I've heard a great deal about you."

Jelka raised an eyebrow. Now that the young woman was right before her, something about her face seemed familiar. She tried to recollect where she might have known it from, but nothing came. With a shrug and a smile she took the hand and shook it warmly. "Forgive me for not remembering you, but any friend of Gregor Karr's . . ."

"We've not met," the girl answered, "yet you could say we have much in common. In my researches I have read much about your family. Your father was a great man."

"Yes, and he was often wrong and stubborn and . .."

"Loyal?"

Karr's single word stopped her short. 'Tes," she said. "Loyal. That best describes him. He was like a huge pillar, holding up a vast stone ceiling."

"And mother and father to you, so I understand," the young woman said, then, with a little bow of her head, "and my name is Shang Han A, though my good friends call me Hannah."

Jelka stared at her anew, the name now matching the face. "You were the Minister's daughter, no?"

Hannah nodded, smiling guardedly. "That is so."

"Then we do have much in common," Jelka said, recalling the circumstances.

Hannah's father, Minister Shang had served the I Lung, the "First Dragon", Head of the Thousand Eyes, the great Ministry itself, whose task was to watch over Chung Kuo and guard and preserve the false history their ancestors had created. The Ministry had done their job well, for even now few common citizens knew that the history of their world was false - that its true history had been suppressed, the past changed to suit their Han masters. But so it was. So she herself had discovered.

"And your researches?" Jelka asked. "They have to do with your father's work?"

"Indirectly. But let me show you." She looked to Karr. "You men, I take it, have 'important matters' to discuss?" Karr looked to Heng Yu and nodded. "Okay," Hannah said, looking back at Jelka, "then let's take the opportunity to discuss a few things ourselves, neh?" Hannah turned to Marie. "You'll join us, I hope, Marie?" "I'll make some ch'a," Marie answered, "and bring it up." "Good." Hannah smiled first to Karr, then to Heng, each of whom bowed respectfully to her. "Then come, my friend," she said, taking Jelka's hand and turning toward the stairs. "I have much to show you."

Jelka looked about her at the book-lined room, astonished. The last time she had seen so many forbidden items was in her father's study years ago, and even he had not had a tenth as much as this.

"I didn't know so much had survived," she said, looking to Hannah, who stood at her side. "Where did they all come from?"

_ "My father saved much of it," Hannah answered. "He was one of the few who were authorised, you understand. Whenever there was a raid, whenever something illicit - something forbidden by the Edict - was recovered, it would pass through his hands before incineration. But sometimes the odd item would be retained by him." Hannah smiled wistfully. "It's only now that I understand how carefully he chose those items. It's as if ... well, as if he knew that what he were doing were wrong, and by this means he could somehow preserve the past. A past he was avowed professionally to destroy."

Jelka nodded, then sighed. "And you, Shang Han A? You carry on his work?"

"The preservation, yes. I'm writing a history, you see. A true history of Chung Kuo." Jelka laughed. "My husband did that once." "I know," Hannah said, touching her arm gently. "And nearly died for it, so I understand." Jelka looked to her, surprised that she knew. "Look," Hannah said, going across to her desk in the corner of the room and bringing back a loosely-bound folder. "Do you recognise this?"

Jelka took it and, flicking open the plain green cover, read the title page: "The Aristotle File, being the true history of Chung Kuo ... by Kim Ward." She looked up, staring at Hannah. "That's the original," Hannah said. "The first printout from which all the other handwritten copies were made. Take it. I'd like you to give it to your husband."

Jelka smiled, clearly moved by the gesture. "Why, that's very kind . . ."

But Hannah shook her head. "Not kind. It's... well, if s like the completion of a circle, I guess. You see, that's not all I want you to give him. I want you to give him what exists of my own history. It was inspired by his, you see. Karr, and his friend Kao Chen, urged me to write it, but it was your husband's work that made it possible - that gave me the framework for my own history. Without it ... well, I guess I wouldn't have known where to start, where to look first." "You have it here?"

"On disc, for you to take with you. Nine copies. One for Kim and two for each fleet." Jelka frowned. "You know, then?"

Hannah nodded, then smiled reassuringly. "We all know. If s never talked about. . . not openly, anyway, but the very fact that the starfleets exist gives us all hope. What's happening down here . . . well . . ." she sighed heavily, "I suppose Chancellor Heng has told you all about that." "Some of it. Not why he's here with Karr."

Hannah turned and walked over to her desk, then looked back, sighing again. "If s time we talked, Jelka Ward. Time you found out what's really going on."

From his bedroom Tom could see the white and orange sphere of Jupiter's second moon, Europa, its tiny satellite, sewn like a button onto the gas giant's swirling cream and gold waistcoat. For a time he lay there, staring at it thoughtlessly, then heard the airlock door hiss open out in the corridor and turned, staring at the open doorway. Tom?

Tom knew Sampsa could sense him there, but didn't answer. He was still angry with Sampsa from last night.

He heard the door slide closed, the click of the catches as Sampsa removed his helmet, then footsteps in the corridor outside. A moment later Sampsa poked his head round the doorway. "Tom?"

Tom glared at him then looked away. His head was full of anger and resentment; emotions he knew Sampsa could feel.

Sampsa sighed. "Are you going to keep this up all day? I'm sorry, okay? I spoke out of order. I even thought out of order.

But that doesn't change things." He clicked the catches at his right-hand wrist, rotated the sealing ring, then began to pull off the heavy glove. "You want to go home, you go home. But I'm staying. I haven't time to go back to Chung Kuo. There's too much going on here. Too much to be got ready."

Tom glanced at him, glowering still. We could have gone , .with her.

Sampsa huffed. "Yes, but we didn't, did we? We decided not to. You agreed with me." He leaned across and poked Tom's forehead with his forefinger. "I even felt it in there."

Tom jerked his head back angrily. Don't touch me like that.

"What, like this..." Sampsa put his hand out to poke Tom's forehead again, but Tom batted it aside.

Tom stood and walked across to the thick view window, his back to Sampsa. You didn't look. You only saw what you wanted to see. If you'd looked deeper.

Sampsa sigh of exasperation filled the room. "Aiyal" He took a deep breath, then began again. "So you want to go back, yes?"

Tom turned. Yes.

"Then go. And take Lu Yi with you. I'm sure she'd like to see Chung Kuo again."

Tom looked down. And you?

Sampsa shivered. 7 have to stay. Can't you see that, Tom? The people here need me. There's so much to do. So much to get ready.

Tom's eyes lifted, meeting his own. And us? What about us?

Sampsa shrugged. "We'll keep in touch. And maybe it'll do us good . . . you know, being out of each other's minds for a while."

7 didn't mean that. 7...

Sampsa looked - looked deep this time - and saw what Tom had been holding back from him. He sat. "Ahh .. ."

So? Tom said inside his head as he sat beside him on the edge of the bed. Are you prepared to risk that?

Sampsa turned and looked into Tom's eyes, seeing himself reflected back. "Are you?"

But Tom shook his head. You know what I mean. We've got to make a choice. To stay or go.

Sampsa spoke softly. "I thought you'd made that choice."

No . . . No, 7 ... Tom sighed and looked down at his clenched hands.

Sampsa reached out, putting his arm about Tom's shoulders. "I know it must be hard, Tom. I know how much you miss it all... your mother, the Domain, all that. . . but. . . well, I have to go. It's my destiny. And if you decide . . . well, to stay, then it'll be like half of me has been ripped away. But that can't stop me. Nor should it stop you. Seriously. If you want to go back, then go back. Find out whether you have to stay or go." He shrugged then hugged his mind's twin. "Do it if you must. But don't be afraid of doing it."

He was about to say more when the airlock hissed open again. There was a moment's pause and then the sound of footsteps out in the corridor, the babble of two voices talking quickly in Mandarin.

Sampsa stood then walked across to the door. "Ai Lin? Lu Yi?"

The twins turned as they were taking off their helmets and looked to him, giggling.

"We didn't think you'd be here," Ai Lin said, hanging her helmet up on the hook. "We thought.. ." She fell silent, noting how serious Sampsa looked.

"What is it?" Lu Yi asked, stepping past her sister. "Is it Tom?"

"Yes," Sampsa said, then, raising a hand before she could panic, he quickly added, "he's not hurt or anything, it's just. . . well, it's just that he wants to go back. To Chung Kuo. He.. ."

"Chung Kuo?" Lu Yi frowned, not understanding. "He wants to go there?"

Sampsa nodded, looking back into the room, conscious of Tom sat there in his head, looking through his eyes all the while, and wondering how it would feel never to feel that again. The thought made Tom look up and meet his eyes. Sampsa sighed, then turned, looking to Lu Yi again. "Yes. And he wants you to go with him. To meet his parents and see the Domain. He wants . . ."

I want to say goodbye, Tom said inside his head.

Sampsa glanced at him again, then nodded. "He wants to say goodbye."

"Aiya," Lu Yi said, looking to her twin, clearly scared by the thought of being separated from her for the first time in her life. She looked back at Sampsa. "You mean, just me and him?"

"And Ai Lin, if you want." He saw the relief in her face and .. felt, at the same time, Tom's surprise. "After all, I'm going to be very busy these next few months. And you two need a holiday.

So ..."

The two young women looked to each other a moment, then, giggling, fell into each other's arms.

Well? he asked silently, speaking directly into Tom's head. Are you still angry with me?

No, Tom said, getting up and coming across, then laying a hand on his arm fondly. No. Not now .. .

Mileja was running from room to room, giggling, Karr's youngest, Beth, in hot pursuit. Jelka watched her daughter disappear through the door of the great dining room then turned to look at Karr again.

Karr was staring at the empty doorway and smiling, fondly, indulgently, the way her own father had used to smile at her. Once again it brought home to her just how much like him Kan-had become. She smiled, the warmth she felt for him at that moment surprising her. Such things crept up on one until, suddenly, one's relationship was wholly different, transformed. Why, if it were not so ridiculous, she would have said that what she felt for Karr at that moment was something akin to love. Not the kind of love she had for Kim, no, but not so different from what she had once felt for her father.

She looked down, realising suddenly just how much she missed him. And with that realisation came another, that she was lonely. Oh, there was Kim - there was always Kim - and more often than not he was enough for her: he and Sampsa and Mileja, that was. But sometimes, late at night, or when she was alone and feeling thoughtful, her mind would go back to her father and to those first days on the island, at Kalevala, with her uncle and aunt. Those had been magical days. If she closed her eyes she could see him still, his face in the fire's flickering light halved into a mask of gold and black, his hands resting on his knees like something carved from stone and set before a temple. Magnificent, he'd been. Magnificent in the same physical way that Karr was magnificent. Archetypal, almost. And even if, in the years that had followed, they had fallen out over Kim, she had still loved him. Loved him despite all he had done to keep her and Kim apart. Loved him and understood him. She looked up, finding Karr's eyes on her. "Are you okay?"

She nodded and smiled. "Just remembering, that's all." "Your father?"

"Yes." She sighed. "You'll come, I hope... to the ceremony." "Nothing could stop me," he said, smiling at her in the same way she had seen him smile at his daughters; a smile of pride and love. "It will be nice to see old faces again, neh?"

"Neh."

She was quiet for a while, then. "Hannah's told me things."

"Things?" Karr lifted his chin slightly, a questioning look in his eyes.

"About the situation here."

"Ah . . ." He nodded thoughtfully, then went across and pushed the door to. "Then you understand why we are leaving here."

"Leaving?" Hannah had said nothing of that to her.

"Yes," Karr said, noting her surprise, "to join Ebert in Africa. Things here are finished."

"And they'll be better in Africa?"

"For a time."

Jelka looked down, anxious suddenly. Then, "Why don't you come?"

"What?" He looked at her, not understanding.

"Why don't you come with us. You, Marie and the girls. Oh, and Master Heng. And others. We'll find room." She laughed. "We'll make room!"

"And Hans, and the Osu?"

"All of you." Jelka laughed, suddenly on fire with the idea. Why not, after all? They were all good people, and Kim was always saying that they needed as many good people as they could find. "I mean, if there really is nothing left to stay for?"

She saw the doubt in his face. "I'd not thought. I..."

Jelka placed a hand on his arm. "Think about it. Please, •v,- Gregor. Talk to Marie and the girls, see how they feel about the idea. In the meantime I'll talk to Kim. I'm sure he'd say yes. You could be on the New Hope with us!"

Karr laughed, then shook his head. "Full circle."

"What?" She narrowed her eyes.

"Full circle," Karr repeated. "Or do you forget who it was single-handedly blew up the first New Hope?"

"I. . ." She laughed. "Well, maybe another ship, eh?"

"And Li Yuan?" he asked, a note of sobriety entering his voice now.

She stared back at him a moment then looked away. "Li Yuan has made his own bed," she answered quietly. "Now he must lie in it."

On the cruiser back, Jelka sat silently at the window, watching the city pass below, her thoughts returning time and again to what Hannah had told her.

Gone, she thought, frowning deeply. How could it all have gone so quickly? Yet what worried her more was that it might be somehow Kim's fault - for giving up on Chung Kuo - or, more to the point, hers for persuading him to focus his energies elsewhere. One thing was for certain, however, that when Kim had withdrawn, no one else had stepped in to fill the void.

She put a hand to her mouth, pressing the knuckles against her teeth, unhappy with herself. Maybe it wasn't their fault. After all, the government of the State was Li Yuan's business, not Kim's. That said, she knew how strongly Kim had felt about it; how he had always argued in favour of putting something back into the system that had given him his chance. About how they should make it possible for others.

So what did she do? Did she tell him? And if she told him, what would he decide? Would he abandon their plans and turn back inward to try to sort the mess out? Because if he did, he would fail. She understood that now. Chung Kuo was a giant powder keg. All wars - even the great war against DeVore in which so many had died - would be as rehearsals for the next one, for the next war would destroy what was left of civilisation.

Jelka let out a sigh then looked across to where Heng Yu sat, his head tilted to the left, his eyes closed, resting. Across from him, Mileja leaned over the travel-table, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth in concentration as she sketched in her book.

Sketches . . .

She had seen Hannah's sketches of the weapons Li Yuan was developing. Deadly things - spin-offs of technologies Kim had developed for more peaceful means. Yes, and rumour was the Americans had more of the same. Awful, inhuman things made for inhuman uses. Things that maimed and killed indiscriminately. Machines whose sole purpose was to destroy. No. Whatever happened, she decided she would keep this from him. In case the pity in him outweighed the common sense. And to prevent him from making one last futile gesture. Besides, she had seen how the merest mention of the starfleets lit men up with hope. Even Karr. Things might be bad, the end might well be near here on Chung Kuo, but so long as it wasn't the end, then men could carry on, their eyes alive, knowing that there was a future. How strange that was. How . .. unexpected. She moved in her seat, trying to get more comfortable, and as she did there was a thump and the craft juddered.

"Wha . . .?" Heng was instantly awake. As he went to stand, the craft swung to the right, throwing him back into his seat. A moment later a face appeared around the door to the cockpit.

"What"s happening?" Heng asked, hanging on tightly as the craft banked and began to rise swiftly.

"We were shot at from below, Master. Simple hand-weapons, by the feel of it. One round hit our port wing, but everything seems okay. All systems are functional. But we're taking evasive action."

At the co-pilot's words, Mileja, who had been looking about her, clearly frightened, burst into tears. Jelka pulled herself up out of her chair and went across, sitting beside her young daughter and comforting her as the craft continued its steep climb.

"Well, there's a first," Heng murmured to himself, clearly , _. shaken by the incident. He looked to Jelka and slowly shook his head. "I must apologise. I thought..."

He broke off, then sat back, sighing heavily. "Day by day it gets worse. Like the other day. I was flying in to Heidelberg, idly looking out of the window, when I saw two guards chasing a group of boys down a deserted alleyway. Young boys, they were... oh, nine, ten years old at most. The boys were gaining on the guards. I remember smiling and wondering to myself just what they'd done, when one of the guards stopped and pulled something from his tunic."

Heng shuddered, then looked away, clearly disturbed by the memory. He licked at his lips nervously, then continued. "I knew at once what it was. I wanted to do something - to intercede and stop it before it went any further, but I was too far away. I couldn't. . . Well, anyway, I saw the guard lift the tiny box and point it at the boys, as if he were pointing a gun at them. They were running, they were still running, when the explosions happened."

"Explosions?" Jelka was cradling the now silent Mileja, pressing her head into her chest tightly, as if to protect her against any further attacks.

"They were wired, you see." Heng made a gesture with both hands as if his skull were flying apart.

Jelka shuddered, staring at the Chancellor wide-eyed now. "They can do that?" Heng snapped his fingers. "Like that." "Aiya . . . And the boys?"

"Dead before they fell. Or three of them were. One of them got away. He wasn't wired, you see. He . . ."

Heng fell silent, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Cuddled into her mother, Mileja was absolutely still, clearly listening to it all.

"Can't you . . . do anything?" Mileja asked after a moment, breaking the awkward silence.

In answer, Heng Yu turned his head and, pulling down the silk of his collar, showed Mileja the dark scar on the neck beneath his ear where his own wire had been inserted. "The Empress insisted we set an example. We all have them now."

"And Karr? Is he wired, too?" Jelka asked. If he had, she hadn't noticed.

Heng Yu shook his head. "Not Karr. She'd need a reason, and she hasn't got one. Not yet, anyway. No, Gregor's resignation was the best thing - maybe the only good thing - that's happened these last few years. The fact that he's not inside . . ."

"And not wired."

Heng Yu nodded.

Jelka looked away. Still she held her daughter tightly. Her voice was much quieter now. "How much longer can this go on, Master Heng?"

"Not long," he said simply. "When they start shooting at Imperial craft, how long can it be before they choose to attack the San Chang itself?"

Heng sighed. "No, Jelka Ward. Say farewell to your father and get out. Out, while there's still time to get out."

Kim was sitting at his desk, scrutinising Ikuro's plans in detail when Wen Ch'ang poked his head around the door.

"Kim?"

Kim looked up. "Ah, Wen Ch'ang . . . come in. How's it going?"

"It's ready," Wen Ch'ang said, coming across. "You can go inside whenever you want."

"Good," Kim said, turning the plans so he could see. "What do you think?"

Wen Ch'ang leaned across the desk, studying the drawings silently for a minute or two, then he looked up at Kim and smiled. "It looks fine to me. If the general principles are sound ..."

"Shen Li says they've bored hundreds of these things, one or two of them even bigger than these specifications."

"But...?"

Kim laughed. "How did you know there was a but? Are you a mind-reader, Wen Ch'ang?"

"There's always a but," Wen Ch'ang said, returning Kim's smile in his lopsided fashion.

Kim shrugged. "It's just that this is so important. We're not talking about building extraction tunnels here, we're talking about building escape vents for the forces released by massive explosions."

"So?"

"So we can't afford to get it wrong."

"Well then, try it out. Experiment. That's what you're always telling me, neh?"

Kim laughed. "What? On one of the smaller moons?"

"Precisely."

"But that would give the game away, surely? They'd see it, even on Chung Kuo."

Wen Ch'ang shrugged. "Maybe. But what could Li Yuan do? Tell you to stop?"

"No. But maybe he'd send someone to try to stop us. To sabotage things."

"And maybe he knows already." Wen Ch'ang looked at the drawings again and smiled. "As I said, to my eyes that looks like a good piece of work. It's precisely what we were looking for." He looked back at Kim. "If it's the security angle you're worried about, then double the guard on all vital installations. Take whatever precautions are necessary. But test this out. Build a prototype ... on Sinope, maybe . . . that'd be big enough to give us a meaningful result, neh?"

Kim sat back, steepling his fingers together as he considered it, then looked to Wen Ch'ang again and smiled. "Okay. You arrange it."

Wen Ch'ang smiled back at him, "After all, I've so little to do."

"Am I working you too hard?"

Wen Ch'ang grinned then shook his head. "No. I'll gladly do it, Kim. This Shen Li ... he's here on Ganymede, right?"

"In one of the guest apartments, along with two of his brothers. Their ship's docked in orbit."

"I know," Wen Ch'ang said. "It's an impressive craft. I've not seen its like before."

"Separate evolution," Kim said. "Apparently those asteroid miners have been out there more than two hundred years now. They've had a long time to adapt to the conditions out here."

"The shape of things to come, eh?"

Kim smiled. "Who knows?"

Wen Ch'ang took the "rapid" down to Level 26, then, leaving the lift, hurried along the north corridor toward his apartment, holding out his ID card before him, the "seals" - the airtight doors that partitioned the corridors every fifty ch'i or so -hissing open at his approach.

Back in his rooms, he stripped off and then stood under the shower, the recycled water flowing hot over his body for a full thirty seconds before it cut off and the warm air jets cut in to dry him off.

Excellent, he thought, stepping out and grinning at his reflection in the steam-free mirror. Everything is falling into place just perfectly.

He went through into the tiny cabin bedroom and, reaching into the narrow built-in wardrobe, took out a simple light green one-piece, his blood coursing in his veins with anticipation.

The message had come that morning - a simple, folded note slipped under his door. After all these years DeVore had contacted him again . . . had activated him.

Wen Ch'ang stepped into the one-piece and pulled it up over his body, easing his arms into the sleeves and sealing it at the neck.

"Dead," he said quietly, then chuckled to himself. "The bastard's as good as dead."

Oh, he'd have to plan it carefully, of course. He'd have to make it seem as though it were an accident, but that was detail, and he was good at detail. Nobody better, as Ward so often told him.

The chuckle became a laugh, a full-bellied laugh that filled the silent rooms.

He was the dragon's tooth, a single stone placed long ago in a forgotten corner of the board. But now his time had come. The end game was upon them.

His laughter died. Stepping back into the shower-room he stared at himself again. He wasn't real. He knew that. He had been made, produced from a genetic template in DeVore's plant back on Mars; grown in a tank and given false memories. For a time he had lived as men lived, but he wasn't a man, he was a morph, a stone, a dragon's tooth.

He bared his teeth at his reflection. There! There was a side of him Ward didn't know. He smiled at the irony of it. For Ward was the most intelligent man he had ever known. More intelligent even than his Master. But unlike DeVore, Ward was naive. He trusted.

The test bore, he thought, the idea coming to him whole in that instant. Ill do it then, and blame Shen Li and his brothers.

He smiled, his mind already working on the problem, then, with a brief nod to his image in the mirror, he went out, heading for Kalevala.

Heng Yu stood a moment, calming himself, then, with a nod to the Captain of the Guard, stepped through the slowly-opening doors and into his Master's study, bowing low as he crossed the thickly-carpeted floor.

Stopping before the massive desk, a single glance told him that Dragon Heart was in a mood; an observation that was confirmed in an instant.

"You are late, Master Heng! We expected you an hour back!"

He dropped to his knees, conscious of how he must appear to those others present - a cringing, fawning fool.

"Forgive me, Mistress," he said, "but unexpected matters.. ."

"Don't lie to me, Master Heng," she interrupted, sitting forward, "I know what you've been up to!"

"Mistress?" He glanced at Li Yuan, trying to gauge whether this show of temper were orchestrated or merely the product of the woman's vacillating mood.

Li Yuan sat in a matching throne beside his wife, reading a report. He had put on weight this past year and at times Heng Yu suspected that he too had been wired secretly by his wife, he went along with her with such docile acquiescence. Yet there were moments when the old Li Yuan stared back at him; moments when all his certainties dissolved beneath his Tang's ironic stare.

" WelP' Dragon Heart shouted at him, banging the table with her fist. "Have you something to tell me, Master Heng?"

"Tell you, Mistress?" One thing the years had taught him was to admit to nothing until confronted with it absolutely.

She stood then came round the desk until she was standing over him. Her voice was cold, acidic. "You disobeyed me."

"Mistress?" He kept his eyes lowered, wondering just what she knew for a fact and what was guesswork.

"The woman. Ward's wife."

Heng Yu waited, tensing himself against the expected explosion, but it did not come.

He looked up at her, surprised to find her smiling. "Mistress?"

"You are a clever man, Master Heng."

"Clever, Mistress?"

"Yes. I was very angry with you at first. I wanted you . . . executed. But my husband," she looked round, gazing fondly at Li Yuan. "My dear, sweet husband persuaded me that I was wrong about you."

"Ah . .." Heng Yu looked to his Master for enlightenment, but Li Yuan was still reading, as if disinterested in events.

"He said you were the most loyal of his servants. He said. . ." Her laughter was soft, almost kind for once. "He said that you had to have a plan of some kind. To entrap the woman. To weave her into some kind of plot by our enemies, perhaps. To incriminate her."

"Mistress?" Heng Yu stared at her a moment, then understood. It had arrived. The moment he had been waiting for for years - first as Pei K'ung's willing "dog" and now as this child's. Now he must choose. To serve her or disobey. There was no third alternative.

He glanced at Li Yuan again. His Master was watching him now, intrigued to see what he would do.

Heng swallowed and looked down, bowing to his Mistress. "My Master, as ever, understands me perfectly."

Her smile was triumphant. "Good. Then all is well, neh? My husband and I can rest safe at nights, knowing that the Empire is in safe hands."

If there was any irony in her voice Heng could not detect it, but then, she was a sly one. Almost as sly as his Master, and certainly his match nine days out of ten. "Is there anything else, Mistress?" "No, Master Heng, I..."

She stopped, looking past him. Someone had entered the study and was crossing the huge expanse of carpet. From the waft of perfume that preceded the figure, Heng could tell without looking who it was. Cheng Nai shan. As the Empress's First Advisor swept past him, the swish of expensive silk as much a trademark of the man as his cologne, Heng noted that Ming Ai's old ally had three of Li Yuan's generals with him. Something was up.

Head still bowed, Heng Yu watched his rival go round the desk and unceremoniously lean in to Li Yuan and whisper in the Tang's ear, one hand cupped about it so no one else could overhear. After a moment Li Yuan nodded, then looked to the generals, nodding to each in turn.

What now? Heng wondered, staring suspiciously back at Cheng, who was smiling broadly now.

As the generals backed out of the room, Heng Yu looked to his master, then, steeling himself, took his opportunity to make his request.

"Master?"

Li Yuan looked back at him languidly. "Yes, Master Heng?"

"I wish to ask permission to attend the ceremony in two days time."

"Ceremony?"

"At Marshal Tolonen's grave-tablet in Bremen."

Li Yuan stared back at him. "Ceremony? There's to be a ceremony?"

"Yes, Master. I... I felt as a mark of my respect. . ."

"Permission is refused," Dragon Heart interrupted. "You will be in Mashhad that day."

He looked to her. "Mashhad?"

"We have a meeting there," Li Yuan said, looking to his wife and raising a hand to softly intercede. "I shall need you there with me, Master Heng. For the negotiations."

He felt his stomach tighten. Negotiations? He had heard nothing, he looked to Cheng Nai shan and saw the cocky, self-confident look in his eyes and knew whose work this had been. Cheng had been trying to usurp him for months now, but this was the first time he had taken such direct and drastic measures to undermine him. Even so, Li Yuan still needed him. Hadn't he just said as much.

"Besides," Dragon Heart continued, ignoring her husband's signal, "I doubt that there'll be a ceremony. It would be ... well, inadvisable, let us say."

"Inadvisable, Mistress?"

"Yes," she said, a much harder edge slipping into her voice. "Harmless as such events might seem, it might prove ... a focus, don't you think, Master Heng?"

This time the look she gave him was unequivocal. She knew. Which meant she must have a spy, either in Karr's household or his own. He shuddered, briefly distracted by the thought of who it might be, but her raised voice brought him swiftly back to himself.

"You are dismissed, Master Heng." "Dismissed?" He stared at Cheng Nai shan, then at Li Yuan and understood. He was no longer trusted... not on matters of policy, anyway. That knowledge made him feel strange, lightheaded, and as he backed away, his body bent, his head bowed low, he almost stumbled.

The choice was straightforward. Either he set Jelka Ward up and had her arrested, or he was out. And out meant dead.

As the doors closed and he turned away, the strangeness of the choice that lay before him hit him fully. He had been here once before, of course, with Pei K'ung two years ago. But then the choice had been much simpler - had been between his Mistress or his Master. Now that had changed, for his Master now did his young wife's bidding. Or as good as. To betray her would be to betray him.

Heng Yu walked back slowly, deep in thought. These past few weeks he had thought it all settled. He had been sure that, when it came to it, he'd know just what to do and how to act, but now that the hour had come he was much less certain. He had gone through so much for Li Yuan; had done so much that was against his nature. Yet at what point did loyalty and duty — those great cornerstones of his existence -break down? How far was he supposed to go before something in him snapped?

And Jelka? Could he honestly give up Jelka to that woman? He shuddered at the thought. Even so, the question remained: could he abandon his Master at this late hour? Could he simply sit and watch while Cheng Nai shan and the generals picked the rotting carcass clean?

I don't know, he answered himself, hastening his pace, realising that he must warn Karr about the spy. The gods help me, I don't know!

Kim stood in the garden of Kalevala, the old greystone house behind him, the dome curving overhead, the great circle of Jupiter dominating the skyline. It felt strange to be there again - stranger still because, when he closed his eyes and sniffed the air, it was almost as if he were back on Chung Kuo on a quiet evening, the sea still, the air calm. But that illusion was only momentary. The moment you stepped outside the house, the moment you looked out of one of the windows, you were aware of where you were.

Space. Everywhere he looked he could see the vacuum. And this . . . this was his choice. To be out here, on the edge of things, rather than back there, close in to the sun, there where it was relatively safe and warm.

He walked out until he left the well-trimmed lawn and found himself beneath the trees, on rough, uneven ground. Barefoot he walked, a silent shadow among the shadowy branches.

Out here the silence of the place was eerie. There was no wind here, no rain, no movement of the tides. It was, he realised, like being back inside the City once again.

For the briefest moment he wondered if he'd been wrong. Wrong to spend so much time and effort shipping this out here. Wrong because it didn't fit.

Maybe. But he had done it now. There was no going back. Kalevala, Ganymede, that was his address henceforth.

Kim laughed, then moved quickly between the trees until he came out into the clearing. Here, strangely, nothing grew. A perfect circle of black was surrounded by seven tall pines. Here, years ago - almost thirty, if he recalled correctly what Jelka had said - a bolt of lightning had struck, turning the pines into blazing candles. In the morning Jelka had come and stood among their ashes, astonished by the power of the storm. Saplings had grown from the ruined stumps, yet in their midst the intense heat of the lightning strike had fused the ground. Nothing grew there, even now.

Kim squatted, brushing the thin layer of earth aside to feel the smooth, black surface underneath. And as he did, the words of the ancient tales, the Kalevala, filled his mind.

Thereupon smith Rmarinen Answered in the words that follow: But indeed tis not a wonder, If I am a skilful craftsman, For twos I who forged the heavens, And the arch of air who welded.'

He looked up through the trees at the magnificent sight of the gas giant, Jupiter filling half the sky in front of him, and shivered. Sometimes the words of that ancient saga seemed almost to relate to him personally. Some days he'd think of a phrase or two and briefly feel as if he too were caught up in something much larger than himself, something strange and mythical - like the great heroes of the tales; like Vainamoinen, or Lemminkainen, or more particularly, Ilmarinen. And yet what was he? Just a man. Clayborn. Malformed and lucky to be alive. He was no hero, that was for certain.

No. And yet, from his smallness bigger things might grow.

"Kim?"

The voice came from the air.

He turned his head, then stood, looking toward the house. "What is it, Wen Ch'ang?"

"You have a visitor, Kim. Young Chuang would like permission to come into the house."

' Kim laughed. "Of course. Send her in at once. I'll meet her there." Then, brushing his hand against his thigh, he started back through the trees.

"Well?" Kim asked, looking about him at Tolonen's study. "What do you think?"

Chuang Kuan Ts'ai looked back at Kim and grinned. "So many books."

Kim walked across and, reaching up, took an old, leather-bound volume from the shelf.

"Here," he said, turning and handing it to the nine-year-old. She studied the spine a moment then looked back at him. For a moment she seemed to be listening to something, her eyes glazing over, then she nodded.

Kim, watching, understood. The Machine inside her was downloading: dumping all it knew of Kalevala into her memory. Not that it knew much these days. In choosing a human host it had been forced to abandon its vast stores of knowledge, having to make do with those unused areas of the child's brain. Yet, in limiting itself, it had become greater than it had been, more human.

Chuang's eyes cleared and she looked at him again. "It must have been so much better back then, before the Cities. So much . . . clearer."

She turned, looking across at the carved stone fireplace, then went across and sat in the massive leather armchair by the window, her tiny frame dwarfed by it. For a time she simply sat there, staring thoughtfully at the book-lined walls, her legs kicking slowly above the ground. Turning to look at him, an impish smile formed on her lips.

He smiled back at her, glad that they'd adopted her. She was a good child, hard-working, loving, and no trouble at all. He'd never once had to raise his voice to her.

"I had a dream, Papa Kim."

"A dream?"

Her legs kicked slowly, languidly, as if they were dangling in a stream. "It was . . . strange."

Briefly Kim thought of the dreams Jelka had once had -those vivid, almost apocalyptic dreams of threat and rescue. Like the dreams of Potiphar's wife, he thought idly. Prophetic dreams.

"So?" he asked gently, coaxing her, when she said no more. "In what way were they strange?"

She made a tiny moue with her lips. "Just that it was so vivid. So ... real. While I was in the dream, it was like it was really happening. But it couldn't happen. Not that."

The slightest tenseness in her voice revealed just how much she'd been disturbed by it. Her previous cheeriness had vanished, as if it had been an illusion. Kim went across and knelt, staring up into that perfect, unlined face, conscious of how large and dark her eyes were. He took her hand gently.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

She shrugged, then looked past him. "I don't know. I ..." Her eyes met his own again. "It was about Jelka, you see."

"Ah . . ." For some reason he felt his stomach muscles clench. Only natural, he reassured himself. After all, she's so far away.

He forced himself to smile. "And?"

"At first I thought they were statues . . ."

"Statues?"

"They were gold, you see. As if they'd been gilded. And so stiff, too."

"They?"

"Yes. Both Jelka and Mileja. They were in a room. A sealed room, like in a spacecraft. The walls were bright, metallic, and there were no windows." She frowned, as if seeing it again. "They were so still ... so still ... In the dream I seemed to float within the room, like a bug . . . you know, one of those camera eyes, like they use in the new tunnels when they're digging."

He nodded, feeling cold now, numbed. "And then?"

"Nothing. I ..." She swallowed and clenched her hands together. "It was like they were dead, Papa Kim. But not ordinary dead. Their eyes . . . their eyes were like steel ball-_ bearings. Featureless. It... frightened me."

He held her, comforting not only her but himself; his own anxiety fed by her words. Dreams... He shivered. What in the Maker's name was the meaning of dreams?

"You're just afraid, that's all," he said, after a while. "I am, too. If s only natural. The dreams . . . well, they're an expression of your anxiety. We all have them."

"But it was so real" she insisted.

"Yes," he said, her certainty disturbing him. "But you mustn't worry. They're okay. They'll be okay."

She moved back a little from him, smiling at him, reassured by his words, then looked about her again. "Did she grow up here?"

"Jelka?" Kim shook his head. "No. She lived in Bremen, in quarters there with her father."

"Ah . . ." Chuang nodded, as if she suddenly remembered. That much Jelka and Chuang had in common; neither had known their mother, and both had been brought up by men. Perhaps it was why they got on so well together.

Kim stood. "You want to see the rest of the house?"

She nodded then jumped up, taking his hand again. "Okay," she said, suddenly much brighter. "Let's start with the tower."

But as Kim led her from the room, he felt his own mood darkened by the memory of the dream.

He could always ask Wen Ch'ang to contact her, of course, as a matter of urgency. But what would he say? That young Chuang had had a dream and he was worried? No. Jelka would only think him silly and absurd.

I'll wait, he thought, looking at the timer set into his left wrist. After all, it was only four hours until her regular call. Even so, the shadow remained.

So still they were. . . like golden statues. . . their eyes like steel bad-bearings . . .

He shuddered, then, shaking off the mood, squeezed Chuang's hand.

"Come on, then," he said, leading her through the glass-panelled door that led into the tower. "I'll show you where Jelka watched the storm."

Li Yuan was finishing off, signing the last of that day's documents and preparing to join his wife, when the screen to his left lit up.

He looked up, surprised to find himself staring into a face he had last seen two years before.

"SW Egan ..."

"Li Yuan," Old Man Egan said, looking fit and bronzed, not aged a day since Li Yuan had last seen him. "I'm sorry to call so late, but I've news."

"News?" Li Yuan pushed the document aside, then gestured to Cheng Nai shan to clear the room. "What kind of news?"

Josiah Egan smiled broadly, showing perfect white teeth. "Why, nothing but good news, Li Yuan. You are a grandfather."

Li Yuan sat back, astonished. "Kuei Jen has a child?"

"An hour back. A son. Eight catties he weighs."

Li Yuan laughed. "A son . . . My son has a son!" Then, realising the significance of it, he leaned toward the screen. "The mother . . . who is the mother?"

"You mean, you did not know, Li Yuan?" Egan smiled. "Why the mother was Kuei Jen."

"Kuei. . ." Li Yuan frowned. "I beg pardon . . .?"

"Your son," Egan's smile broadened until it seemed to bum whitely at the centre of the screen. "Your son was the mother. And my grandson, Mark . . ."

Aiya! Li Yuan thought, seeing it in an instant.

His mouth was suddenly dry. On the screen Egan grinned and grinned, tanned and eternal.

"Oh, and one further thing," Egan said, as if only then remembering. "I have a message from an old friend of yours. He says, look to the skies . . ." And, chuckling, he cut contact.

Shocked beyond all words, Li Yuan sat back, staring at the blank screen. Aiya! he thought. Aiya!

Ben stood by the fence at the end of the garden, looking out across the river as darkness fell.

Li Yuan had just been on, his pale, shocked face almost comical as he spoke stumblingly of what had happened.

It might have been worse; he might have laughed, for it was very funny, after all; even so, Li Yuan had broken contact after less than five minutes, enraged that he was not more sympathetic.

But what was he supposed to say? I'm sorry for you, Li Yuan, but at least you have the grandson you always wanted? Or was he supposed to wave his magic wand and set it all right for him?

And that was the trouble with Li Yuan; he was always wanting others to bail him out of situations he had created for himself. As long as he'd known him it had been the same - rash decisions followed by long periods of remorse. But this time remorse was insufficient. He had driven his son into the arms of a deadly rival, and now that rival had taken the opportunity to get back at him.

He smiled, imagining Li Yuan's surprise. Yes, and what a bold stroke on Old Man Egan's part! What imaginative audacity! Not that it surprised him as much as it did Li Yuan; after all, he had seen at once which way the wind blew between Kuei Jen and the young American. The only surprise was that the manly Kuei Jen should have been the one to have the operation. He'd have thought the softer, more effeminate Egan would have been the better mother, but then, that would not have suited Old Man Egan's purpose - and it was absolutely certain that Egan knew what effect the news would have before he called to congratulate Li Yuan.

Ben chuckled softly. What could be worse for a proud Han ruler than to have one's cock cut off? Only one thing - to have one's son emasculated! Yes, and Egan had gone one better, for to all intents and purposes he had not merely castrated Li Yuan's family line, he had usurped it by having his grandson plant his seed in Kuei Jen's belly.

Why, had the Old Man buggered Li Yuan himself, it could not have been more blatant!

War. It had to be war. Only Li Yuan didn't know that yet. He was still in shock. But when he began to think again . . .

Ben turned, looking back up the slope toward the cottage. There were lights on now in several of the downstairs rooms. To the left, through the latticed window of the kitchen he could see Meg at work, preparing the supper, while through the long window of the living room he could see Catherine, walking back and forth, the new child cradled on her shoulder.

He walked back slowly, smiling, wondering what Li Yuan was doing now and picturing in his mind Kuei Jen tucked up in bed, the pillows piled behind his back as he cradled the newborn. He slowed, conceiving the scene as a picture, the baby suckling at Kuei Jen's breast, then gave a snort of laughter. For one mischievous moment he had considered actually painting it and sending it to Li Yuan as a birth present. But why make unnecessary enemies?

He ducked under the low sill and, pushing the door open, stepped into the shadowed hallway, the smell of Meg's cooking coming to him. The child was crying - a low snuffling cry, like that of a small animal. He went to the doorway and stood there, looking in at Catherine.

Seeing him, she smiled. "He's almost gone," she said softly, almost mouthing the words, the child - fifteen months now -moving irritably on her shoulder at the noise.

For a moment he stared at the child, conscious of its flattened features, its jet-black skin, then smiled. So rich life was, so varied. If Li Yuan could only see that. If he could only look beyond his personal "humiliation" and see this thing for the wonder it was. But he knew that that wasn't possible, for Li Yuan was a Han, through and through, and for all his boasting that he was a moderniser, he was cut from the same cloth as his father and his father's father. No. There was no way he would forgive his son this; no way he would ever acknowledge his newborn grandson, let alone embrace him.

Ben sighed, not for the pity of it, but because he knew what this would mean for them all. Things were bad enough as they were. This .. . well, this would push them over the edge.

Sleep wett, he thought, going across and tousling the child's dark curls, then leaning close to kiss Catherine's offered lips. He embraced her briefly, then, turning away, hurried from the room. It was time to pack. Time to move on. While they still could.

CHAPTER-12

the hollower

"Master Heng! Master Heng!"

Heng Yu raised himself on his elbows, then, sitting up fully, knuckled his eyes. He had heard the banging on the outer door but had thought it part of the dream. But this now was no dream. His First Secretary, Fen Chun, stood over him, his face anxious.

"What is it, Chun?" Heng asked, wanting nothing more than to lie down again and sleep. But if Fen Chun had chosen to wake him, then it had to be something very urgent.

"You must come, Master Heng! You must see for yourself!"

Heng Yu got to his feet, then pulled on the cloak Fen was holding out for him. "Are we in danger, Chun?"

"No immediate danger, Master," the young man answered him. "But you ought to see this. . . before Master Cheng gets to hear of it."

"Ah. . ." Heng understood at once, and praised the Heavens that he had such a fine and loyal First Secretary as Fen Chun. Whatever this was, it was important that he took charge, before Cheng Nai shan could further undermine his authority.

Heng followed Fen Chun in silence, hurrying down the dimly lit corridor and out, down the steps, into the central gardens of the San Chang. It was not long after dawn and the shadows on the mosaic path were long. Ahead of them, beside one of the white marble ornamental bridges that crossed the stream, stood two guards. Another crouched nearby, looking down at something in the water.

As Heng Yu came up beside him, he saw what it was. It was a young woman. She was floating face down in the water.

Aiya, he thought, seeing the implications at once. If the girl had been murdered . . .

"Who found her?" he asked, looking to the guards, who now stood, their heads bowed in his presence.

One of them knelt. "It was I, Master Heng. Twenty minutes back. I... I thought you should know at once."

"You did well, " Heng said, wondering how much time he had to investigate the matter before Cheng was notified. "Has anyone else been informed?"

"No, Master Heng. I sent my colleague to fetch Master Fen. The rest you know."

Heng breathed in deeply. If she had been murdered, and not simply fallen in and drowned, then it was important to establish who she was and just how long she had been dead. Hopefully this was a "domestic" incident - a jealous husband exacting his "revenge", perhaps - and not something more sinister, but whatever it was, speed now was of the essence.

"Chun," he said, turning to his Secretary, "Go and fetch Surgeon Chang. Tell him only that it is urgent."

As Fen Chun hurried away, Heng turned to the guards again. "You, private," he said, pointing to the kneeling man. "Go and bring a tent from stores."

"Master!" The young man stood, bowed, then hurried off.

"Okay," Heng said, looking to the others. "Let's fish her out."

He watched as the two men struggled to pull the water-sodden corpse from the stream, then stood back as they slowly dragged her up onto the path.

" "Turn her over," Heng said quietly, a profound sadness falling over him. For a moment, as they'd been lifting her from the water, he had thought of his own daughter and had wondered how he would have felt, had it been her. It wasn't, of course, for she was miles from here, after all, yet that possibility - the sense of empathy it created in him - made this moment poignant.

One of the guards stood at the dead girl's head, the other at her waist, facing his fellow, his legs straddling her as they heaved and turned her onto her back.

THE HOLLOWER As one the three men gasped.

"Aiya!" Heng said, the word almost a breath. "What in the gods' names is that?"

The two young guards had stepped back at the sight, holding their hands out, away from themselves.

Heng Yu shuddered, then, reining in the deep, instinctive fear he was feeling, leaned in closer. "It seems ... alive."

At that, one of the guards turned and began to heave noisily. The other stood there, swaying unsteadily, disgust etched deep in his face. Yet he, like Heng Yu, was unable to tear his eyes from the sight.

The dead girl's face was peaceful, her eyes closed, her features unmarked, but lower down, where her thin silk dress had been torn open at the front, the flesh had been eaten away by something, leaving her chest a palpitating mess. Bad as that was, something else made it seem eerie and unnatural, for the bloodied tissue glowed with a faint golden tinge that seemed to pulse.

Heng swallowed back the bile that had risen to his throat, then straightened up, a shiver rippling through him. Whatever this was, it wasn't murder, nor was it an accident. He turned, looking back toward the Western Palace, anxious suddenly for Surgeon Chang to come and take charge of things.

"Master Heng?"

He looked to the guard, who was still staring at the girl. "Yes?"

"I think I know her."

Heng looked to the girl's face again, seeing only a stranger. "You know her?"

"I mean, I've seen her before. A few nights back. I was on picket duty at the East Gate. One of Master Cheng's men slipped in with her. At least, it looks like her."

Heng frowned. He had heard nothing of this. Strangers were being brought into the San Chang without his knowledge? He would have to have a word with Cheng Nai shan!

Yes, but see to this first, he reminded himself, hearing footsteps on the path behind him.

"Ah," he said, turning to find Fen Chun hurrying the greybearded Chang along. "Surgeon Chang ... it seems we have a mystery."

Michael Lever rose and went to the window, looking out across the gardens towards the wall of the compound. It was just after seven and the sky was overcast. Soon it would rain.

He turned back, looking across the vast expanse of carpet, past the big double bed where he slept alone, toward the screen on the far wall, and spoke to the House Computer. "Give me the latest on the markets." There was a pause, then, unexpectedly, his First Steward, Wei Yu answered him:

"Forgive me, Master, but I think there's another news item will interest you. Shall I patch it through?"

Michael frowned, then gestured to the air. "Okay. Put it up." He walked across as the screen lit up, then stood there, watching as the images changed, the talk-over subtitled in Mandarin at the foot of the screen.

"Reports are breaking of a mystery disease that has struck down more than two dozen victims in the past twelve hours. Whilst all the incidents so far reported have been isolated, the authorities have asked citizens to take sensible precautions against the possible spread of the disease, which is as yet unidentified."

The camera dwelt on one of those victims, a young boy whose peaceful face suggested he was merely sleeping.

"Government investigators are currently hard at work tracking down both the source and nature of the mysterious illness and are confident that they will have the situation under wraps by nightfall."

The screen went blank. Michael turned, looking to the voice-sensor in the centre of the ceiling.

"Is that it?"

There was a pause, then. "The other channels are beginning to pick up on the item, Master, but they've nothing new as yet. Do you want me to keep you informed?"

THE HOLLOWER Michael pressed his top teeth into his bottom lip, then nodded. "Okay. Make it at half-hourly intervals." He hesitated, then. "Does Emily know?"

"You want me to tell her, Master?"

"Yes. . . Yes. And tell her... tell her I'll be in the breakfast room in half an hour."

"Yes, Master."

In the silence that followed, Lever understood. It had been there in the tone of the newsfac commentator. This was the big one. This was . ..

He swallowed, then frowned, his face wrinkling deeply, the fear he had felt seeing those images returning to him strongly.

Two weeks ago he had been at the big rare diseases conference in Strasbourg. Only two weeks! He laughed, but it sounded hollow; a noise of despair. The words of one of the specialists came back to him:

. . .and given the lack of any general immunity to such diseases, the likelihood of a major outbreak in the next five years is not, as one of my colleagues has asserted, a low statistic possibility, but a probability. In fact, it would be no exaggeration to say that - should hygiene standards continue to deteriorate at their current rate - it is almost a certainty.

A certainty. Yes, he had known then that it was true. Time. . . it was only time before it struck. He had even set up a team within his management to see what could be done. But it was too late now, for here it was.

"Wei Yu?"

"Yes, Master?"

"Send in the maid to dress me."

"Yes, Master."

Michael went over to the bed and sat, drumming his fingers on the mattress while he waited, his mind wrestling with the question of what action he should take.

Emily will know, he told himself, realising that he had no ready answers. She'll tell me what to do. She always does.

Yes, and meanwhile he'd make sure the boys stayed home, within the compound, because if this was what he thought it was ...

He stopped, his fingers gripping the bed, then said it openly for the first time, naming it. "The plague. The bloody plague is here among us." Yes, like a thief, a cut-throat, stealing not purses but souls, invisible and deadly. The Hollower . . .

He looked up as the door on the far side of the room opened and the maid entered. She took two steps into the room and then stopped, bowing low. "You wanted me, Master?"

Michael stared at her, for the briefest moment forgetting why he'd asked her to come. The "accident" had been twenty years ago - the bomb that had killed his best friend and damn near finished him for good. Since then, he had rebuilt himself, inside and out. But sometimes, like now, the old aches ached, like rheumatoid bones in damp weather. The kind that could not be gotten rid of with drugs or massage or ...

For that one brief instant it was like he was standing before that door once again, before the bomb had gone off. But this time he knew what was about to happen, and, because he knew, he wanted to warn her - to send her home to her family and tell her to get in supplies and lock their doors and . . . "Here," he said dully. "Dress me."

Head bowed, she came across, moving past him to the built-in cupboards.

He watched her, saddened. If he were to order her to strip and kneel, she would do it. If he told her to hop on one leg and sing a silly song, she would do that, too, without a moment's thought, for he was a rich man and she the third daughter of an ,._ unsuccessful street merchant. But all that would change in the coming days. Rich and poor ... it did not matter now, for the great Hollower would level all.

He sighed heavily, conscious of the irony, for hadn't that been Emily's great aim, back in those days when she had been Ping Tiao ... to level everything?

Well, now the Levellers had their wish. Michael looked at the maid again, realising as he did that he was not the kind of man who was happy using others. Rich as he was, the instinct to abuse did not exist in him.

THE HOLLOWER Or was that strictly true? After all, he was his father's son. No. The instinct remained, encoded in him like the colour of his eyes, the shape of his fingernails, but he had learned how to channel it; how to control it Emily had taught him, long ago now.

The maid turned back, looking to him, blithely unaware of the shape of his thoughts, holding up a choice of pau so he could see.

"You want the blue, Master? Or would you like the green today?"

He stared at her, then shook his head. "Go home, Chan Sang. Go home at once, while you still can."

Heng Yu knelt, his head bowed, before his Master.

"The news is bad, Chieh Hsia. The lab report on the girl we found says that she died of a new and as yet unidentified strain of viral infection. It seems the virus is perfectly harmless until it comes in contact with human genetic material. Then. . .well, it is a killer, Chieh Hsia."

Heng Yu glanced up, noting how distracted Li Yuan seemed, how tired. No doubt he had been up all night, entertaining his young wife, if entertainment was the word for what they got up to.

"In the circumstances, Chieh Hsia, might I strongly recommend that we isolate the southern city straight away and close all public meeting places - schools, markets and the like - in the rest of the city."

Dragon Heart, who had been listening to him in a desultory fashion, now leaned forward.

"We shall do no such thing, Master Heng. Close the southern city? Why, what would our citizens think? And think of the damage it would do to trade. No, Master Heng. Find out some more about this . . . this bug, then report back. Later, after lunch, perhaps. Until then, do not trouble us with your scare-mongering."

Heng Yu stared at his Mistress openly, forgetting himself for that brief moment, appalled by her attitude. Didn't she understand? Hadn't she listened to a word he'd said? This was a killer. And if it spread ...

"Master?" he said, looking to Li Yuan. "Is this your word?"

But Li Yuan wasn't interested in his objections, it seemed. "Do as my wife has told you, Master Heng. Oh, and send in Master Chang on your way out. I need to speak to him."

Heng Yu bowed then backed away.

Outside he stood there in a daze, barely conscious of Chang Nai shan as he swept past and on into the great room, the huge doors slamming shut behind him. For a moment Heng felt light-headed and wondered if he were about to faint, then he collected himself.

Off-planet. He had to get his family off-planet. Yes. And there were others to warn, too. Jelka and Karr and . ..

He sniffed in deeply, a sudden determination returning his strength to him. He would use the next few hours to do some good. Whatever good he could.

Yes, he told himself as he hurried back down the corridor toward his suite; for time was of the essence now. This once I'll do what I ought, not what my Master tells me.

"Michael?"

Lever turned, looking to the doorway, where his private secretary stood.

"Yes, Dan?"

"We've got in a preliminary report on that mystery disease. Seems it's a variant of a psychotropic drug known as Golden Dreams. Something our old friend Lehmann thought up years back. It's hard to say exactly where the thing's coming from, but records show that the last known supplies of the stuff were stored down in the old GenSyn facility in Milan. Golden Dreams was an inject-yourself drug, but this appears to be a pneumonic form of it. The gestation period is less than forty-eight hours. We don't yet know how deadly it is. All of its victims thus far have been old people or children."

"Apart from the maid."

"Maid?" Johnson took a step toward him. "What maid?"

"In the San Chang. It seems Security were called about an incident and then, when they got there, were sent away without an explanation. I've had my sources do a little digging. Rumour is they found a body in one of the ornamental pools, her chest eaten away by this thing."

"Shit!"

"Yeah," Lever laughed, but it was with little humour. "Deep shit."

"So what do we do?"

Lever sat back. "We close all our factories. Warn our staff. And we get some of our so-called experts to get working on an antidote straight away. Can we get samples of this stuff?"

Johnson nodded. "There've been over four hundred new cases in the past hour. It shouldn't be difficult to persuade a couple of them to receive treatment. At our expense, of course."

Lever smiled. "Good. Then get to it. Oh, and Dan, make sure we've got enough supplies in. I'm going to seal the compound until things are over."

"Seal the compound? Isn't that a bit drastic?"

"You tell me. This thing is virulent, right?"

"You bet."

"Then I'm going to seal us off. Until things blow over. You're welcome to stay."

Johnson hesitated, then shook his head. "If you don't mind, Michael, I'll get on home . . ." He smiled. "Once I've set things in motion, that is."

"Okay." Lever grinned, then got up and went across, embracing his old friend and helper. "And take care, Dan. I'll be needing you once this is over."

Johnson smiled and hugged him back. "I shall, Michael."

When Johnson had gone, Michael sat there, swivelling back and forth in his chair, staring blankly into the air. He was still sitting there when Emily came in.

"What's all this about sealing the compound?"

Michael looked up at her. "It's just a precaution, thaf s all."

"And what if I want out?"

"You can't. Not while that thing's raging out there."

"Raging?"

In answer he showed her the latest figures on the screen. "Over a thousand reported cases now, and more by the minute. Mostly in the south, right now, but there are one or two isolated cases in the north, too."

She stared at the screen, taking it all in.

"Your boys would die if you went out there. Not all of them, perhaps, but some of them. You want that?" Emily looked at him then slowly shook her head. "Then trust me, Em. For the sake of the boys, trust me."

Karr sat back and roared with laughter, then clapped his hands as Mileja bowed, her imitation of her father finished.

"And you say he knows?" Karr said, looking to where Jelka sat, sandwiched between Hannah and Marie on the big sofa, a broad grin on her face.

"Oh, Kim loves it!" she said. "If we ever have a gathering, he insists she does it!"

Mileja stood there, beaming, her dark, curly hair framing her rosy-cheeked face. "I can do Mama, too," she said, a subtle change of her stance making her resemble her mother strikingly, even though she looked nothing like the Marshal's daughter.

"Not now, young Madam," Jelka said, wagging a finger at her. "Now we must get ready. Master Heng will be waiting for us." She looked to Karr again. "Gregor, if I might..."

The urgent knocking at the door startled them all. Hannah, whose rooms these were, stood quickly and went across, standing at the door a moment exchanging words with the stooped and aged servant before coming back, her face clouded.

"Forgive me, everyone, but something's happening in the city."

She went over to the big screen in the corner and reached up, switching it on. At once it was filled with images of weeping people, of hospital wards and worried faces. The voice of the . .commentator was calm, yet there was a distinctly ominous tone to his words.

" . . .with more than a thousand new victims being reported every hour. In a statement from his palace in Bremen, Chancellor Heng has asked the populace to remain calm, but as a precautionary measure he has ordered the immediate closure of all schools, clubs, restaurants and public markets and has asked citizens to stay in their homes. Emergency food deliveries will be organised and people are asked to report any further outbreaks of the illness to their local Yamen."

Both Karr and Jelka were standing now, staring at the screen, but Marie just sat, frowning deeply and staring at her hands.

"What is it?" Karr asked, as the commentator's voice fell silent momentarily.

"It looks like some kind of plague," Jelka said quietly, pointing to the marks on one of the bodies on the screen. "Though the gods alone know what kind of bug does that." "It looks like it's glowing," Hannah said. Then, "Do you mind if I run it back a little?"

"No," Karr said quietly, answering for them all, his eyes wide as he stared at the awful images on the screen.

Hannah reached up, touching the control pad, freezing and then backtracking the images until she came to the one that had caught her attention. It was a close-up of an old man's chest and thorax. They had been partially eaten away, the flesh melted as though a flame had been put to plastic. But where the tissue was damaged it didn't bleed but seemed to glow with a faint golden light.

"DeVore?" Karr asked.

Hannah frowned. "Who knows?" But somehow she didn't think so. This wasn't his style. This was too haphazard. This had the look of an accident.

Jelka, who had turned and was looking out the window, now called across to her.

"Hannah? There are fires out there. In the distance. Great plumes of smoke. Is that normal?"

Hannah went across, then opened the french windows and stepped out onto the balcony. The others joined her there.

"They're burning the city again," she said quietly.

"Or corpses," Marie said, speaking for the first time.

There came the distant noise of shouts, screams, and then the distinct rattle of semi-automatic fire.

"Oh gods!" Marie said, holding Mileja to her tightly. "Oh gods, not again!"

Karr was staring at Jelka. "You must go," he said.

"Go?"

"You must leave here now. Get off-planet."

But Jelka shook her head. "I can't. Not until I've said goodbye."

Karr frowned. "Then say goodbye. But do it now, then get out. I'll come with you, if you want."

Jelka hesitated, then nodded. "Okay." She turned, looking to Hannah, then gestured to Mileja to come. "We'll be as quick as we can. Meanwhile, take care."

Marie looked at her, her smile tinged with concern. "Just hurry back, neh?"

"Yes," Hannah said, stepping across and hugging Jelka. "And take no silly risks, eh, Jelka Ward? Mankind has need of you."

Nan Fa-hsien, Master of the Inner Chambers, and son of Nan Ho, once Chancellor to the great T'ang, Li Yuan, straightened up, staring at himself in the mirror, making sure he was correctly dressed, then, satisfied, turned to look at the three waiting guards.

"Well?" he asked. "You have your orders. What are you waiting for?"

The Captain hesitated, then, clearing his throat, answered for them all. "It's just that it's . . ."

"Unfair?" Nan Fa-hsien laughed bitterly. "We are our Master's hands. We do what he says. We do not act without his permission. Chancellor Heng . . . Heng Yu, that is, has disobeyed our Master. For that his life is forfeit."

The Captain looked down, then spoke again, more quietly this time. "Can't you see what is happening, Master Nan? The city is in turmoil. Rumour is that this illness is a kind of plague. And the Chancellor . . . well, he but acts to save as many lives as he can. If that is treachery . . ."

Nan Fa-hsien answered him again, uncomfortable and just the slightest bit irritated that he should be made to defend his Master's actions in this manner.

"Whether Master Heng is right or wrong does not concern you and I, Captain. We have our duty, neh? Or do you forget who you serve?"

The Captain's laugh was openly scornful now. "You mean her?"

Nan Fa-hsien stared at the man, speechless now.

"You think our Master in his true senses would have ordered this?" the Captain continued, shaking his head. "No. Never in ten thousand years! This is her doing . . . this tuickedness."

"Enough!" Nan Fa-hsien bellowed, losing his temper with the man. "Do your duty, Captain, or surrender your dagger."

The Captain stared at him with a cold disdain, then, looking to his fellows, turned on his heels and left.

Aiya, Nan Fa-hsien thought, letting out a long, shuddering breath.

They were right, of course. Their Master was not in his true senses. Nor was what Heng Yu had done an act of treachery. But that was not the point. Li Yuan was the arch, the hub, the very centre of it all. His word was therefore sacrosanct. And they... he felt a shiver run down his spine ... they were but his hands, to do as he ordered, for good or ill.

He looked across the room to where his two secretaries stood against the wall, silently looking on.

"Come," he said, conscious of his father's ghost at his shoulder at that moment. He was to be appointed Chancellor at last. Chancellor, like his father before him.

Forgive me, Heng Yu, he thought, leading the two servants out and along the corridor, heading towards the stables where his T'ang awaited him. But he had not gone far before he was called back.

"Master Nan!"

He turned as one of the stewards from the Eastern Palace came up and, kneeling, pressing his forehead to the floor, began to speak.

"It is here, Master Nan! The plague is here among us!"

Nan Fa-hsien felt his whole body go cold. "Slow down, Steward Wen. Tell me what has happened."

"One of the guards... one of the three who found her... he is sick, Master Fan. The golden sickness. The Hollower . . ."

Hearing that word again - the third time in an hour - Nan Fa-hsien frowned. How quickly such things spread.

"It is not possible," he said. "Why, it is only hours since they found the body!"

"Yes, Master Nan," the man said, looking up at him, as if he could save them. "And is he the only instance?" "So far, Master Nan."

"Then isolate him. And the other two as well. In fact, isolate all who have been in contact with them."

"All those.. ." Steward Wen gave a strange laugh. "But that is the whole of the San Chang, Master Nan. Are you saying we should bar the doors?"

«T »

Suddenly he understood. Suddenly he knew why Master Heng had acted as he had. The thing was out of hand. However fast they ran now, it would run faster.

"Bar the doors," he said, a cold certainty in his voice. "And guard them well. And Steward Wen . . ."

"Yes, Master Nan?"

"Go light a candle to the gods."

Nan Fa-hsien found his Master in the stables, working alone in one of the end stalls, raking through the straw bedding with a pitchfork, his back to him.

"You sent for me, Chieh Hsia?"

Li Yuan stopped, resting a moment on the handle of his fork. "I sent for you, Master Nan."

Nan Fa-hsien waited patiently, then heard his Master sigh.

"Are you all right, Chieh Hsia?"

Li Yuan's laugh was bleak. "Am I all right?" He sniffed deeply, then straightened up, throwing aside the fork. "I did not know until an hour ago."

"Know, Chieh Hsia?'

"The maid ... I slept with her. She . . ."

Li Yuan turned, and as he did Nan Fa-hsien gasped and fell to his knees. His Master's face was blotched, the neck too. Faint golden blotches.

"Aiyal" Nan cried, staring at his master with dismay. But Li Yuan merely stood there, stoical, resigned, it seemed, to his fate.

"The gods have decided to test us, Master Nan. To punish us for our wickedness. Let us pray that some of us survive."

Cheng Nai shan stood back, aghast at his Mistress's reaction. But then, what had he expected? It was not every day that one learned that one's husband had the plague.

Even so, that shriek she'd uttered . . . He stared at her as she knelt there, pulling at her hair and groaning loudly. The gods help us, he thought, finding the theatrical nature of the display somewhat ostentatious. Why you'd think she'd really loved the man\

He knew better of course. After all, it had been he who had arranged all those secret visits - all those other young men who had come, quite literally, and without his Master's knowledge - to keep his Mistress happy.

"Mistress," he said, taking a step toward her, trying to get her attention. "Mistress?"

The screech she gave made him jerk back. He turned, gesturing to his secretary.

"Lai Wu ... go fetch the Surgeon. Tell him . . . tell him we need a sedative for the Lady Lung."

The groaning grew louder, more violent. Cheng Nai shan glanced at the woman and shuddered with distaste. So coarse she was. So ...

"Master Cheng?"

He turned, looking to the newcomer. It was one of the captains of the elite palace guard.

"What is it, man?"

"It is the gates, Master Cheng. Nan Fa-hsien has ordered them barred."

"Barred?" He stared at the man, then, knowing he must act at once, rushed from the room, leaving the captain to catch up with him.

So young Master Nan thought he was in charge, did he? Well, just because his Master had given him a new title, that did not mean that it was he who held the reins of power here in the San Chang.

"The nerve of the man," he murmured, half running as he emerged from the ornate entrance and ran across the marble path, heading for the Main Guard House. "We'll see whose word counts more!"

Nan Fa-hsien had heard that his Mistress was in a state, yet when he reached her rooms they were empty. The only sign that Dragon Heart had been there were a few shreds of ripped silk - silk, he guessed, that she had torn from her own robes.

Kuan Yin preserve us, he thought, groaning inwardly. He had hoped to spare her, or, at best, at least to have the Surgeon there when he broke the news, so that he could administer some palliative to help her sleep, but now . . .

It's that meddler, Cheng, he thought, the guess becoming a certainty as he sniffed the air and smelled the sweet, telltale waft of Chang's perfume. What is that bastard up to?

He would send someone to find out. But first the Empress.

He turned, looking about him, smoothing his beard with one hand as he forced himself to think. Where would she be right now? What would she be thinking?

He tried to put himself in her place. Tried to imagine her response. She would be tearful and afraid, yes, and shocked. But after that ... He shivered, then nodded his head. After that she would be angry. Angry enough to want revenge. Revenge, yes, but who would she take out her anger on? And how?

His rooms, he thought. Shell have gone to his rooms. And, hurrying from the suite, he went in quick pursuit.

He found her there, sat in the corner, hunched over a screen. For a moment he simply stared at her, astonished by how calm she seemed. She was humming to herself as she tapped the keys. Humming, and smiling broadly.

"There!" she said, triumphantly. "That's another one!"

"Mistress?" Nan said, edging toward her, knowing how fiery she was when angered. "Mistress, are you all right?"

Her laugh chilled his blood. Tap tap tap and then a laugh.

"There! That'll serve the bastard right!"

He frowned. What on earth was she doing?

Slowly he moved round the desk and, moving quietly, tiptoeing the last few steps, he positioned himself behind her, so that he could see the screen.

"Ai-ya!" he groaned, seeing what it was. One by one she was accessing the files of those who were wired. One by one their names came up, their faces appeared on the screen, an access code flashed. One by one she keyed those access codes and pressed DETONATE.

She was blowing up the wired! She was trawling the files randomly and blowing the heads off innocent young men and women!

Without thinking he stepped up and pulled her back, physically tearing her away from the machine.

She screeched and turned on him, trying to scratch out his eyes, a wildcat suddenly, but he was too strong from her. Throwing her down, he yelled at her.

"Hsun Lung hsin! You must desist!"

But she wasn't about to desist. With a blood-curdling growl, Dragon Heart threw herself at him again, her nails ripping through his silks and tearing great lumps of flesh from his upper arms before he could throw her down again.

He drew his dagger.

"Hsun Lung hsin!"

But she was not listening. Her eyes were wild and mad and he knew that he would have to stop her. This time as she threw herself at him, he raised the knife.

Both her scream and the weight of her suddenly on his arm, surprised him, so that he let go of the blade and, staggering back, let her fall. Stumbling, he tripped and fell over the edge of the desk, cracking the back of his head against it.

He blacked out. When he woke, it was to find two guards staring down at him.

He tried to get up, but the guard's boot pressed him down again. "Stay there, you bastard," the man said, sneering at him. "Unless you'd like a taste of your own medicine."

Nan Fa-hsien shuddered, remembering. He had felt the blade go in, and in that last moment, as her eyes had met his, had known that she had thrown herself upon it.

In the heart. He had stabbed the Empress in the heart.

Nan closed his eyes and groaned. When he opened them again, it was to find himself looking up at Cheng Nai shan.

"Master Nan," Cheng said, smiling urbanely and giving a little mock bow of respect. "Had a little trouble, have we?"

Jelka stood at her father's graveside, her head bowed, as the wind blew across the giant stadium. Karr stood behind her, at attention, his eyes lowered, Mileja's tiny hand enveloped within his. Further off, armed guards patrolled the banked white stone terraces, stopping briefly to look on, conscious of the significance of the moment.

Jelka knelt and, bowing her head before the massive basalt headstone, placed her offerings on the white marble plaque.

Marshal Knut Tolonen, it read, the words cut deep into the marble, and beneath, under the Mandarin transcription of her father's name, the final lines of her homeland's great epic poem:

"But let this be as it may be, I have shown the way to singers, Showed the way, and left the markers, Cut the branches, shown the pathways. This way therefore leads the pathway, Here the course lies newly opened, Open for the greater singers, For the young, who now are growing, For the rising generation."

She shivered, reading those familiar words, then stood again, studying the life-size portrait of her father that was cut into the great slab of basalt facing her. Seeing it once more, she felt a lump come to her throat.

So you were, she thought, nodding to herself. Yes, even when he had been alive, he had been like stone; like the great arch upon which all else stood.

And now he stood there, frozen forever in this single image, staring out toward the east, his chin slightly raised, that great cliff of a face revealing the strength and resolution of a thousand men.

She stared and stared, the desire to reach out and touch his hand again - to have his fingers close on hers - so strong that it almost unhinged her. Absurd, she thought, feeling a single tear run down her cheek. Yet when she turned, it was to find Karr wiping his free hand across his face.

She smiled, then put out a hand, beckoning her daughter. Mileja came to her and, her hand in her mother's, knelt before her grandfather's tablet, placing her own small offering beside Jelka's.

"You must never forget him, Mileja," Jelka said quietly. "He was a great man. An oak among pines."

Mileja stared up at her mother momentarily, then looked back at the great headstone. "Is he inside there, Mama?" she asked.

Jelka was about to say no, about to explain, when Kan-stepped up beside her.

"He is everywhere here, Mileja," he said, kneeling beside the seven-year old. "This is his place, here, at the very centre of it all. Your mother speaks the truth. Your grandfather was a great man. Perhaps the greatest Chung Kuo has known. Why, Emperors would bow their heads to him."

Mileja stared back at Karr, wide-eyed, then turned her head to look at the great carving once more, seeing it anew. Then, with a seriousness that was no mimicry, she bowed low.

Karr looked across her at Jelka and smiled; a smile that seemed to encompass all she was feeling at that moment. She returned it, glad he was there; glad that he'd shared this moment with her. Then, knowing it was time, she turned back.

"Goodbye, father," she said quietly. "You will be with me wherever I go." She placed her hand to her heart. "In here."

Again she bowed. One final time she took in those granite features, that rock-like stance, then, closing her eyes, squeezing them tight against the tears that threatened, she slowly backed away.

Karr looked about him as they approached the shadowed entrance to the great tunnel that led beneath the terraces, signalling to his men, summoning them to him, relieved that it had all gone without incident, especially as they were drastically under strength today - a dozen of his best men having been assigned to collect his girls from their respective schools and colleges.

"Thank you," Jelka said as they went in under the arch, stopping a moment to press his hand.

"Not at all," he said, turning his attention to her for that moment. "I'm only glad I could be of service. If there's anything else?"

"No," she said. "You were right. We should get out at once. But won't you come with us, Gregor? You and Marie and the girls. Oh, and Hannah, too, of course. There's room. We'd make room."

Karr smiled. "I'm grateful. Truly I am. But there are things here I must do. Bad as things are, I can't just leave."

"I understand. But my offer remains open. Any time you wish to come, just come. Okay?"

Karr smiled, nodding his gratitude. "Okay." He turned, looking about him, then frowned. "Where's Mileja?"

"She's just over there, sir," one of his men called back, "she . . ."

Jelka turned and looked. As she did, an old woman stepped from one of the storerooms leading off the dimly-lit tunnel and hobbled up to Mileja, something held out to the little girl.

"Mileja!" Jelka shouted. "Nol"

But it was too late. The old woman had given Mileja the gift and was patting her wrist fondly.

"Shit!" Karr hissed, looking to the nearest of his men. "I thought you'd cleared this place, Eduard! Where did she come from?"

Eduard grimaced. "She must have been sleeping among the crates in there . . ."

Karr glowered at him angrily. "Well, get rid of her! Now! And check her out. Make sure she hasn't got anything!"

"Sir!"

But Jelka was already there. Pulling Mileja away, she thanked the old woman, her smile tinged with fear. A moment later, two of Karr's men dragged the startled woman away.

Karr hurried across. "I'm so sorry, Jelka. How can I apologise. I thought we'd cleared this place."

"No matter," Jelka said, clearly shaken by the encounter. "No harm's been done." Even so, she took the sprig of flowers from her daughter and threw them aside.

"Let us hope so," Karr said, kneeling, then ruffling his hand through Mileja's hair. "For a moment I thought. . ."

Jelka looked to him. "You don't have to explain. You see assassins everywhere, neh, Gregor?" Karr looked back at her and nodded. "Everywhere."

As they flew north again, Karr sat beside the pilot, gathering in whatever information he could about the situation.

As the plague spread, so effective government was breaking down. More than a thousand had already died, though whether that was of the plague or from "contributory factors" - riots, grudge killings, etc - was hard to determine, for as things broke down, so the reliability of information diminished.

Chancellor Heng’s broadcast had had some effect in calming things, but this had been seriously undermined in the last half hour by news of his arrest on a charge of treason.

He had not told Jelka about that yet. Besides, she was far more worried about her daughter. Using the medical kit in the back of the cruiser, she had scrubbed Mileja's arms and hands with a disinfecting agent, then given her a shot to boost her immune system. Mileja showed no sign of having sustained any harm, but Karr could hardly blame Jelka for taking such precautions. Had it been his own daughters, he would have done the same.

In that vein, at least, the news was good. All four of his daughters were now safely home, locked within the compound doors. Marie's relief in relating the news to him had been echoed by his own.

Karr turned, staring back into the main cabin of the cruiser, watching as Jelka settled her daughter, tucking her in beneath the military-issue blanket. Her offer was tempting, very tempting. So much so that he had almost mentioned it to Marie earlier. But he hadn't, because he knew she would have urged him to accept it, to leave Chung Kuo to its fate and look after his own for once. And maybe she was right. Maybe there were moments when all a man could do was look after those nearest and dearest to him. Yet in his judgement that moment had not yet come. While he could still do something constructive, he would. If his voice, his not inconsiderable influence, could help the situation, even in some small way, then he would use it.

Jelka looked up and saw him watching her, then came across, a weary smile lighting her features.

"She seems okay," she said quietly, slumping down onto the leather padded bench at the back of the cockpit. "How are things in the bigger world?"

"Bad," he said. "And they're going to get worse." She sighed and rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands before looking back at him. "You're going to stay, aren't you?" "Yes," he said. "And Marie and the girls?"

He blew out a long breath. "Maybe I'll send them to stay with Kao Chen and his family on the Plantations. Until it all blows over."

"You think it tvtt blow over, Gregor?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. This is all... new." He laughed quietly. "You know, I remember your father once saying something about fighting terrorism and about how it was like trying to fight ghosts. Well, this thing. . . this sickness. . . that's a form of terrorism too, neh? So maybe we're just fighting ghosts again . . . little golden ghosts." Jelka shuddered. "Any word yet from the San Chang?" He shook his head. "Nothing in, nothing out. A complete shutdown."

"You think there's been trouble there?"

"Who knows? But if Heng Yu has been . . ." He stopped, realising he had not told her yet.

She narrowed her eyes. "What about Heng Yu?"

Karr swallowed, then looked down. "He's been arrested. For treason. It seems he went against the Empress."

"Went against. . ." Jelka's eyes were wide with disbelief. "So where is he?" Karr shrugged. "Edingen, perhaps. Or maybe they've taken him to the San Chang."

Jelka sat forward urgently, reaching out to touch his arm. "Then we have to go there! We have to get him out!"

"No," Karr said, smiling apologetically. "We're going straight to the spaceport."

"But.. ."

"I'm finding out," he said, covering her hand with his own. "Once I know where Master Heng is, I'll take whatever action is appropriate." He smiled. "Don't worry, Jelka. I'll not let that bitch harm a hair on Heng Yu's head if I can help it!"

She grinned back at him. "Good! Then let's make haste. You've much to do."

"Yes," he said, grinning broadly. "It's almost like old times, neh?"

Cheng Nai shan stepped forward, meaning to block the Warlord's way, but Han Ch'in brushed him aside. As Cheng hurried after him, protesting all the while, Han turned and, grabbing the man by the neck, pinned him to the wall.

"Try that again, Master Cheng, and I'll take great delight in killing you. Now keep out of my way. I wish to see my father."

He let Cheng fall. The new Chancellor knelt there, gasping, touching his neck tenderly, glaring at Han Ch'in's back as he disappeared through the double doors and into Li Yuan's rooms.

Priests and surgeons turned at the young man's entry, then, seeing who it was, made a path for him, bowing as he moved quickly, unceremoniously, between them.

At the door he stopped, smoothing a hand down the front of his silks, composing himself, then stepped inside.

The room was silent, lit only by a small wall lamp on the far side and a single glow-lamp beside the bed. In its wan light a woman sat in a chair beside the bed, her breast exposed as she fed a child. Beside her, beneath the thin silk covers, lay his father, his upper chest and neck sheened in sweat.

Han Ch'in frowned, then slowly crossed the room. He was only a few paces from the woman when she looked up and smiled at him.

"Welcome, brother. I wondered if you would come."

"Kuei . .. Kuei Jen?"

"Don't let these fool you," Kuei Jen answered, extricating the baby from his swollen nipple, then tucking the breast back into his shirt as he raised the baby to a sitting position on his lap and began to smooth its back. "I am still Kuei Jen and I warrant I could outshoot, outride and generally outdrink you any day, elder brother!"

Han Ch'in laughed, but his eyes were wide, staring at the baby and at the womanly shape of his half-brother. He had not expected to find Kuei Jen here, let alone a Kuei Jen so ... changed.

"Well, brother'" Kuei Jen said, after a moment. "Will you not ask bow our father is?"

Han Ch'in stared at him a moment longer, then, with a little shudder, looked to the figure sprawled upon the bed. "Aiya. . ." he breathed softly, "he looks so ... ill."

"He is dying," Kuei Jen said, matter-of-factly. "See the marks upon him. If s eating him away from the inside, hollowing him."

Han Ch'in swallowed, his face appalled. "Is there nothing we can do?"

Kuei Jen smiled. "I have done all I could, but as you see, he seems not to be responding."

Han Ch'in looked back at him, not understanding. Then, "Are you not afraid, Kuei Jen?"

Kuei Jen looked up at him, clear eyed. "Are you?"

"For myself, no. If I die, I die. My duty to my father comes before that. But you . . . you have the child to think of."

"The child is fine," Kuei Jen said. "As am I. We have an antidote, you see."

"An antidote?"

Kuei Jen nodded, then gestured to the bedside table where three tiny vials lay in a silken box. Two were empty now, the third contained a dark solution. "Thaf s yours, brother. If you want it."

" Han Ch'in stared at the vial a moment, then back at Kuei Jen.

"You're like me," he said, after a while. "Oh, not the breasts. . ."

Both half-brothers laughed, relaxing with each other suddenly.

"I often wondered," Kuei Jen began, breaking the silence that had fell.

"Wondered?"

"What you were like. You see, I have known for a long time now. Father never told me, but I found out. I made it my business to find out. For a long time I thought I had lost you."

"And that worried you?"

Kuei Jen nodded and, as the baby burped, lifted it and placed it on his shoulder, patting its back gently, rhythmically. "I always wanted a brother. An elder brother. Someone to look up to, the way our father looked up to his brother. Someone to love."

Han Ch'in frowned, then looked away, disturbed by the rawness of that final word.

"Does that embarrass you, Han Ch'in? That I should want to love you?"

Han Ch'in looked back, then shrugged.

Kuei Jen laughed. "I'm sorry, brother. It is my hormones, or so they tell me. They make me ... emotioned."

Han Ch'in stared a moment longer, then laughed. "Why, I do believe my little brother is teasing me."

Kuei Jen smiled and nodded. "Even so, there is an element of truth in it. We were bred to be cold, you and I. To stifle our emotions. I have learned that that is wrong. I have learned ... well, to be more myself. To free the woman in me."

Han Ch'in laughed. "That I can see." Then, more seriously: "And if he dies?"

"Then you rule, elder brother. As is the way." Kuei Jen gestured toward the vial. "Take it and you need not fear this sickness."

"And if it is a poison?" Han Ch'in asked, narrowing his eyes.

Kuei Jen smiled sadly. "You have been living far too long in your mother's shadow, elder brother. I would not poison you. Not for all the kingdoms of the world, let alone this small domain. Here, give me it."

Han Ch'in leaned across and picked up the vial and handed it to him, watching as Kuei Jen cracked the tip of it and put it to his tongue.

He swallowed, then held out the vial, offering it to Han Ch'in. A finger's width of the dark solution had gone. "Now you. That is, if you really want to live."

Han Ch'in stared at his brother a moment longer, then took the vial and drained it at a gulp, setting it down beside the others.

"Good," Kuei Jen said, smiling, at ease again. "Now draw up a chair and sit with me. The night looks set to be a long one and we have much to talk about."

Night had fallen by the time Karr returned home. He had searched all afternoon for Heng Yu, but there was no sign of his old friend, and there were strong rumours that the ex-Chancellor was already dead, his throat cut, his body dumped in a back alley to be burned with the other corpses.

Stepping down from the cruiser, Karr felt heavy-hearted. He would have to break the news to Marie and Hannah, and the thought of that made his guts ache. He hated being the bearer of such news.

As he made his way across the dimly-lit yard, acknowledging the bows of his men, he wondered once again whether he should tell Marie of Jelka's offer; whether it wasn't best this once to call it a day and get out.

Twenty thousand dead. That was the latest figure. And more by the hour. If this kept up the city would be a morgue within a week.

Karr sighed and went inside, ducking beneath the lintel. The corridor was dark, but up ahead a light shone in the kitchen. He could hear Marie and the others there - the laughter of May and Beth. The thought of them raised his spirits, but only a little. They too would have to be told.

Coming out into the kitchen, he braced himself, knowing it would be the first thing they would ask, then stopped dead, staring across the room, open-mouthed. There, in a chair on the "far side of the big kitchen table, sat Heng Yu, a bowl of ch'a cupped between his hands as he talked to the lady of the house, Marie.

For a moment no one noticed Karr standing there. Then the conversation died, as first one then another saw him.

"Master Heng?" Karr said, still not one hundred per cent positive that this wasn't a delusion brought on by tiredness.

Heng looked at him and laughed. "I hear you have been looking for me, Gregor Karr."

Hearing that voice, Karr swore. "You bugger! I've been running about the city, breaking my balls trying to find you, and all the while . . ."

" . . .1 have been here." Heng smiled and shrugged with his hands. "Yes."

"Why, you ..."

Heng raised a hand. "Just a moment, Gregor. Try and see it from another viewpoint. If even you think I am dead, then is it not likely that our enemies will take it for the truth?"

Karr made to speak, then huffed.

Heng stood and, setting down his ch'a bowl, came around the table and stood before Karr, looking up into the big man's face.

"I am sorry to have played such a miserable trick on you, Gregor, but there was a need."

Marie laughed. "It's true, Gregor. You're such a bad actor. If you had known . . . well, they would have known for sure that Master Heng was still alive!"

Karr bristled momentarily, then, recognising the truth in what had been said, reached out and hugged Heng Yu to him, genuinely delighted that he was safe, the differing physical stature of the two men making it seem as though Karr were embracing a teenage son rather than an equal.

Karr stepped back. "You are forgiven, Master Heng. This once. But you must pay a penalty."

Heng Yu stared up at him. "A penalty?"

Karr grinned. "Yes." He looked to Marie. "Sweetheart, break out that bottle of Yunan double-strength brandy and pour Master Heng a glass."

"And that's a penalty?" Heng Yu asked, eyebrows raised.

"Yes," Karr said, mock sternly. "But you must drain the glass at a single go."

Marie, who had gone to the cupboard, now turned and looked at her husband. "And is Master Heng to drink alone?"

Karr laughed. "No . . . Pour everyone a glass. May and Beth too. Let us celebrate Master Heng"s safe homecoming. And toast the safe journey of our good friends Jelka and Mileja Ward."

They had climbed up beyond the earth's pull; now they were decelerating slowly, synchronising their path with that of the parked Luoyang where it waited, orbiting one hundred and fifteen thousand tt above Chung Kuo.

Opening her eyes, Jelka yawned, then, conscious that the restraining harness had slotted back into the chair, she stretched and turned, looking at Mileja.

Mileja was sleeping, her face angelic, a stray lock of her dark curls fallen over one cheek. Jelka smiled, then, reaching beneath her seat, pulled out the blanket and, breaking the wrapper, shook it out and tucked it over Mileja.

She turned, looking at the black square of the viewer in front of her, then reached out, touching its surface with her fingertips. At once a view of the planet below filled the tiny screen. Looking at it, Jelka sighed, knowing it was the last time she would see the planet of her birth. So peaceful it looked, so innocent, and yet thousands were dying by the moment down there.

The cities were burning. For the third time in her brief lifetime, the cities were burning. But this time, she knew, nothing would rise from the ashes.

She thought of Karr and felt sad. Maybe he'd come, after all. Maybe, when he saw how hopeless things were - how futile -he would change his mind.

She closed her eyes, thinking back over the day, seeing again the great basalt slab into which her father's image had been cut, and gave a little shiver, then reached out to blank the viewer.

Glancing at Mileja, she saw that the blanket had slipped down and went to tuck it back, then froze, her heart in her mouth. There, on her daughter's right arm, just above the wrist, the flesh was bruised. A golden, faintly glowing bruise.

The plague! She felt her whole body go cold. Aiya! Mileja has the plague!

CHAPTER-13

the spider in the well

Kim crouched in the pocket they had cut near the head of the shaft, watching as Ikuro and his brothers prepared the Cutter, tending it gently and encouraging it as if it were some massive beast - which, in truth, it was. Earlier he had patted its diamond-tough flank and felt its unexpected warmth. Unexpected, because this was a creature that could cut through solid rock and withstand the force of vacuum on its skin.

Seeing the Cutter whole as they towed it across to the drilling site, it had reminded him immensely of a giant maggot, its narrow segmented body tapering at each end. At the front end were the rotating jaws, a long, toughened gullet leading to a small but efficient refinery where all of the valuable minerals were extracted. Two smaller gullets led to the rear, one disposing of the waste in the form of neat pellets, the other leading to an expandible storage sack.

All in all it was ingenious. GenSyn, of course, but made to the specifications of the Ishida family.

Ikuro turned to him, the light in his helmet revealing a distinct smile.

"We're ready," he said, his voice sounding in Kim's own helmet. He drifted toward Kim slowly, then gestured to the lightweight transparent shields - like full-body riot shields -that were stacked to one side of the cave-like pocket. "You'd best take one of those. There's not usually much 'loose', but if s best to take no chances, neh?"

Kim nodded, then turned and, pushing off, floated over to the stack and picked one up. He was studying it, conscious that it wasn't polymer-based, when Ikuro came alongside him.

"It's processed rock," Ishida said, taking one for himself, then looking to Kim with his incessant grin. "It doesn't really matter what you use, Kim San, it's the way you fold the molecules that gives it its strength. That and the vacuum between each layer."

Kim smiled. So it was. It was just that he was so used to things being made of plastic. But it made sense. After all, what did they have most of in the asteroid belt? Rock and vacuum.

It made him understand. Going out there, things would change. Life adapted. And out there they would have to adapt very quickly, or die.

And when we come back? he asked himself, imagining things a thousand years hence. WHl they even recognise us back on Chung Kuo? That is, if Chung Kuo is still a living, breathing planet.

As ever, the thought of it engendered in him a mixed response -of excitement. . .and fear. Fear that somewhere along the line -as the result, perhaps, of extreme evolutionary pressures -mankind might become inhuman. Might spawn . . . well, De-Vores. A harder, more intelligent species, yet lacking in that moral sense that made mankind essentially a decent creature.

"Okay," he said, shaking off the sudden mood. "Let's see what it can do."

The drilling shaft had been cut by hand - Ikuro and his brothers working six-hour shifts, turn and turn about, until it was done. Only then could they use the Cutter. Now it was the machine's turn.

"Five days it'll take," Ikuro said, reaffirming what had been said earlier.

"What if it hits something hard enough to break its cutting jaw?" Kim asked, following Ikuro out into the gap between the Cutter and the shaft wall, moving slowly along the narrow space, his right hand hauling him along the Cutter's blood-warm flank, the shield scraping along the rough rock wall to his left.

Ikuro laughed. "If it hits something that hard, then we've struck solid diamond. And if we've struck diamond, then we buy another Cutter! Maybe two!"

Kim smiled, but still he was tense about this. It was so important. If they could - as the first estimates suggested -knock six months off the cutting schedule, then they could hit the earlier window. They could leave before the year's end - a full year earlier than they'd originally planned.

As the Cutter tapered, the gap grew wider until they could see the far wall. Several dozen of Ikuro's relatives had gathered there. Seeing Kim, they nodded their helmeted heads at him and grinned, or lifted their safety shields in welcome. A friendly bunch, sociable as only a close-knit community could be.

"You say when," Ikuro said, looking about him to check that all was in order.

"Aren't we in the way here?" Kim said, conscious of the huge bulk of the Cutter in the tunnel behind him.

"We would be if we were staying, but this is only a test. To show you what she can do." "She?"

Ikuro grinned again. "She's most definitely female. A real softie" Kim laughed, surprised. "Soft, huh?" Again Ikuro nodded. "Have you ever met a man who could work as hard as a woman? Who could endure as much? You think men would have babies if they had to suffer that kind of pain? No. The human race would have died out long ago. That's why we know she's a girl." He patted the Cutter's flank fondly. "Besides, she's a sweet thing, neh?" "Neh," Kim agreed. Then, "Well, shall we begin?" Ikuro turned, waving his brothers and cousins and uncles back. "Okay. I think she's hungry."

Kim watched, fascinated, as one of the brothers - the big one, Kano - drifted over to the Cutter's mouth and, undaunted by the massive ring of huge, shovel-like teeth, began to murmur to it. It seemed to tremble, like a struck bell, and then slowly, very slowly it began to edge forward, its segmented sides undulating gently, moving its huge bulk with a delicacy Kim would not have believed possible.

As the watching men moved back, it edged its way slowly forward until the edge of its jaws were touching the surface of the rock.

Kano's voice sounded in every helmet. "Shields up!"

Kim lifted his, staring through it as the jaws locked and began very slowly to turn, a strangely glutinous substance trickling over the jet black gums as it picked up speed. There was a crunching, a grinding that grew louder and louder. The air began to get hot. Soon the noise became unbearable. And then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

It had lasted only two minutes. At the end of it, the Cutter eased back, its jaws flexing once before they froze rigid again.

"Go and look," Ikuro said, nudging him forward.

He drifted across, amazed to see how far the Cutter had bored into the rock in that short time. Why, a team of men would have taken an hour to do as much, even with the latest equipment.

"Excellent," he said, turning to stare at Ikuro and his brother, steadying himself against the wall as he did, the heat of the rock transmitting itself through his glove. "And you say it doesn't need to rest?"

Ikuro shook his head. "The perfect woman, neh?"

Kim smiled, though he wasn't so sure Jelka would have liked the joke. "And when if s done?"

"Then we take over," Kano said, tapping his chest confidently. "Five days, six at most, and you have the best blast-hole you've ever seen!"

"Good," Kim said. "Excellent! Then you have the job."

"We have . . ."

Ikuro's whoop of joy made Kim put his hands up to his helmet. From all sides came the noises of celebration.

"Okay," Kim said, after a moment, "let's get out of here and let her get to work, neh?"

"Neh," both Ikuro and Kano answered him, as one, bowing their heads sharply, the movement sending them into a spin.

"Right," Kim said, making sure he did not laugh, lest it upset them. "And then we'll go back to my office and sign the terms straight away."

"Father?"

Kim turned, still laughing, his hand on Ikuro's shoulder, as his son came into the room.

"You should have seen it, Sampsa," Kim began, gesturing out through the big viewing window toward the drilling sight, his eyes still full of the sight of the Cutter biting into the rock, "why, I've never seen . . ."

He stopped abruptly, noting something in Sampsa's face.

"What is it?" he asked, suddenly more sober. "What's happened?"

"It's Tom," Sampsa answered ominously. "He says there's been a message. From mother." "Tom?" Kim frowned. "But I thought. . ."

Sampsa raised a hand. Kim could see now he'd been crying. "I think you should take the call at once."

Kim stared at his son a moment, then gave a single nod. He looked to Ikuro and his two brothers, who, understanding how things were, bowed and began to leave. When they were gone, Sampsa shut the door then looked to his father again.

"Are you okay?"

"Me?" Kim looked up, then shrugged. "I don't know. Ifs just ... well, Chuang's dream. I should have listened to Chuang's dream."

"What?" Sampsa stared back at him, puzzled. "No matter. Patch it through. I think I'm ready."

But he wasn't ready. Nothing could have made him ready for such news. He looked up at the screen at the image of his wife, his only love, Jelka, and saw at once how that face had changed, had aged, and felt something die in him.

"There's plague here," she said, with a calmness that was frightening; that made his blood freeze in his veins. "People are dying from it in their thousands. It's . . ."

She swallowed, maintaining her dignity, the Marshal's daughter to the very end. "Mileja has it. I... I have it, too. We. . . look, Kim, we don't know how to treat it. If we pull through, then. . ."

She looked down at that point, a single tear betraying her. Kim groaned, sickened by the sight and by the news of his beloved Mileja, his little spark of joy. Beside him, Sampsa was sobbing loudly.

"I don't know what will happen," she continued, looking to camera again, ignoring the tear. "But we're on the shuttle now.

My plan is to isolate us on the ship. They've prepared the cells for us. The crew can pass food through the hatch in the door. We ..." She shrugged, a strange movement in her face betraying just how close she was to breaking down. "We hope we'll see you again. And, Kim, Sampsa ... I love you. And little Chuang. Tell her ..."

But the signal was beginning to break up, the image break down into coloured blocks of pixels, then it was gone.

Tell her what? Kim wondered as a strange numbness overcame him.

"Dad?... Dad?" Sampsa reached out and caught him as his legs gave, then carried him across to the couch in the corner of the office.

"Chuang's dream," Kim murmured, as his eyes flickered and he slipped into unconsciousness. "Chuang's dream."

"Tom? .. . Tom?"

Lu Yi popped her head around the door and, seeing him sitting there in the darkness, frowned.

"Tom? What is it?"

He looked up at her then stood, moving past her into the kitchen. She followed, watching as he poured water from the jug into a beaker and gulped it down.

"Tom?"

He looked about him at the tiny cabin kitchen, then took the wipe-pad from the wall and wrote on it. Plague. Chung Kuo. Mileja and Jelka have it. Kim and Sampsa know. She took the pad from him and read his words, then looked back at him, her eyes wide. "Plague?"

He nodded, then looked down. This changed things. Just an hour ago he'd had things clear. Just a single hour ago he had known what he must do. But now?

He stood, then, pushing past her, went back to his room and, switching on the light, began to unpack his case.

After a while he looked up. She was standing there in the doorway, watching him silently, her face uncritical.

You don't mind? he mouthed.

"No," she answered, coming across and sitting beside him, putting her arm about his back. "They'll need us now. Now more than ever."

Back in their quarters, Ikuro sat heavily on the bench, setting his helmet down beside him, then looked up at his brothers.

"Something's up," he said. "You saw the son."

"Yes, Kano said. "He looked bad, neh?"

Shukaku scratched his chin. "You think this affects us, little brother?"

Ikuro shrugged. "Who knows? Shih Ward is a good man, an honourable man. He will keep his word."

"Maybe," Kano said, "but what if something bad has happened? Something so bad it makes him change his mind."

"Yes," Shukaku chipped in. "We really should find out."

"Find out?" But Ikuro found himself remembering how Ward's son had looked. "You think this is our business?"

"Shih Ward's business is our business now," Shukaku said. "If something is wrong, we should know."

"Okay," Ikuro said, feeling bad about it even so. "See what you can find out. But be discreet, brother. Shih Ward is our friend. I do not wish to offend him."

"Of course," Shukaku said, a gleam in his eye as he bowed, then turned and hurried away.

When he was gone, Kano looked to his little brother. "What should we do?"

"Do?" Ikuro sighed. "What can we do?"

"We could pray for him," Kano answered, his broad face filled with sympathy. "We could burn offerings."

Ikuro smiled sadly, loving his brother deeply at that moment. "Yes," he said, getting up, recalling the look that had passed between Ward and his son. "Yes, let us go and do that now."

The cell door was locked and sealed, special filters placed over the cabin's ventilation ducts. From here on, they were on their own.

Mileja lay on the left hand bunk, beneath a single sheet. She was unconscious, yet she tossed and turned restlessly, as if in the grip of some hideous nightmare, her face sometimes grimacing, sometimes at peace. For a whole day now Jelka had nursed her tirelessly, but now she too was succumbing to the virus. Besides, she was tired; more tired than she'd ever felt in her life. It was like she had been punctured and the air was slowly hissing from her.

The crew had been good. No, they had been marvellous, if the truth were told. In their position, would she have taken the risk? Maybe. But then, maybe not. Not if it meant she might contract the disease herself. Yet there hadn't been a moment's hesitation.

"Don't be silly," her old friend Torve Hamsun had said to her, when she'd contacted him. "I wouldn't think of not helping you. What would your father have thought of me?"

And so here she was, heading back out. Heading home. Back to Kim.

She dragged herself over and slumped down upon the right-hand bunk, the weight of her limbs oppressive now, the virus in her blood beginning to make her feverish. The delusions hadn't begun yet - that was the third stage of the disease, so they said - yet already her mind kept circling, about her own mortality: wondering what Kim would do if she didn't make it; how he would cope without her.

This twfi kill him, she thought, and almost laughed. But she didn't have the energy to laugh. She barely had the energy to turn her head and look across what now seemed a hundred mile gap to where her daughter lay.

Be weU, MUeja, she willed, closing her eyes and letting her head fall onto the surface of the bunk. Yet even as she slipped into unconsciousness, she could hear her father's voice sounding — clearly in her head: "It's how we are, my love" he was saying.

"Brittle. Easily angered. But strong, too, neh? Stronger than iron."

Kim pushed the medic's arm away and stood.

"I don't need a sedative! I need to be awake, alert, in case something can be done."

"But Kim," the young medic said, unoffended by Kim's anger; knowing it wasn't directed at him, "you really ought to rest. Your system's had a shock. You ignore that and you vM be in trouble. And probably just when you can be of help! Look ... get a couple of hours now. I'll give you something that'll put you out short-term. If s for the best. Really it is."

Kim glowered a moment longer, then relented. "Okay. But two hours maximum. And if something comes up while I'm out, I want you to bring me round immediately, understand?"

The medic raised his hands. "I understand." He searched in his bag and took out a slim plastic tube, squeezing two tablets from it. "Here, take these with water. Then go and lie down. They take effect pretty damn quick."

Kim palmed them in his left hand, then went across to the basin in the corner and filled a beaker with water. "Okay," he said over his shoulder. "You can go now."

The surgeon smiled at Kim's reflection in the mirror. "Not until I've seen you take them."

Kim put his left hand to his mouth then drained the water. He turned, showing the young medic his empty mouth, lifting his tongue. "There! See! Now let me be. And wake me in two hours or you're fired!"

"Okay."

The cabin door slammed closed. Kim waited a moment, then took the two tablets from his suit pocket where he'd slipped them and flushed them down the sink.

He was in shock. He could feel it. But that was secondary right now. What was most important was doing something for Jelka and Mileja. His own problems could wait.

He looked to the ceiling. "Machine?"

There was no answer for a moment. He could imagine his voice being switched from circuit to circuit about the colony until it reached the Machine where it rested in young Chuang's head. When the answer came, it was a soft presence in his back brain, like a gentle tickle that was also words.

What is it, Kim?

"Who would have an antidote?"

An antidote? To what?

"To the plague. Jelka has it. And Mileja."

Ahh. . . I didn't know. There was a moment's pause, a delay that revealed as much as anything the Machine's vast loss of powers, and then: The Americans. The New Enclaves. There was a message ...

"A message?"

From Old Man Egan. It came in half an hour back. You want me to play it for you?

Kim stared into space, amazed. "From Egan? You're sure?" But the Machine never lied. Not as far as he knew. "Okay," he said after a moment. "Patch it through next door."

He went through and sat before the comset, drumming his fingers on the edge of the desk as he waited. Whatever it was, it was relevant The Machine would not have mentioned it otherwise.

He hadn't long to wait. The screen flickered, then lit up. Egan's vigorous, sun-tanned face beamed out at him.

"Kim... if s been a long while. I hope you're well. I. . .look, I'll come straight to the point. I've heard your news. About Jelka and the girl. Mileja, is that right? I hear they've got the sickness."

Kim raised a hand. At once the image froze. He spoke to the air. "How did he know? How the fuck did he find out?"

The Machine spoke to him gently. Egan's been monitoring your private lines for years. Or was. I would imagine he's been tracking the transmissions from the Luoyang. If so, he'd have heard the news before you did.

Kim shivered. Long before, by the sound of it. At present Chung Kuo and Jupiter were in orbits on the same side of the sun, so a light-speed transmission between the two would have taken over forty minutes.

Forty two minutes eighteen seconds, the Machine confirmed. "Run it on," he said, sobered by the thought. "I'm sorry to hear that," Egan continued, his face a mask of earnestness. "Very sorry, indeed. I have children of my own and know how you must feel. But I'm also a businessman." Egan paused, giving a little apologetic shrug. "As I'm sure you'll understand, as a businessman if s not in my interest simply to give away something I've spent a small fortune developing. Thafs bad business. It takes food from my childrens' mouths. But though you're a rich man, Kim, if s not your money I'm after. I think we can do much better than that" Egan grinned. "I think we can do business."

Kim swallowed. Whatever this was, he already knew that it stank. He knew Egan of old. The bastard gave nothing away.

"Now, as I see it, Kim, you need a cure . . . and I've got one. Tried and tested. One hundred per cent effective."

Kim raised a hand, freezing the image. "A cure? He has a cure? Already?"

From what he'd heard, the plague had been traced to an accidental spillage in one of the old GenSyn facilities. If that was so, how was it Egan had a cure? Unless . . .

He let a long breath escape him, then spoke to the air once more. "Run the message."

Egan's smile seemed suddenly quite sinister. "Now I'd call that a seller's market, wouldn't you? You want something, I have it. Not only that, but you need it ... urgently. That simplifies things. But we have a problem, neh? Time. It'll take time for this message to get to you. Equally, if 11 take you time to give me your answer. And between times, your loved ones are languishing on the Luoyang. That's a shame, but that's how things are. So I tell you what, Kim Ward? I won't haggle. I'll name my price exactly. If you meet it, we do business. If you don't. . . well, I hope your gamble pays off. I hope they come through safely. You see, I don't wish you ill. It's just business."

Egan sat back. "So . . . what do I want? I'll tell you. I want time."

"But. . ." Kim began, then understood. It was the one thing the Old Men had always wanted. Time. Endless time.

"That's right," Egan said, as if he'd listened in on Kim's thoughts. "I want you to give me a reliable immortality treatment. One that works. One that stops the cells from ageing."

Egan smiled again, all teeth and insincerity. "You could do it, Kim. We know you could. Oh, I know it'll take time, but that's fine. Right now you have only to say yes. You're an honourable man, Kim. I know that. You give me your word, I'll send back details of the cure. But don't take too long thinking things through. Time's pressing. Your loved ones . . . Well, I'll say no more. Good luck, Kim. If s been nice talking to you. I hope we can do business."

Kim sat back, recalling the last time he had come to this point; seeing in his mind the circle of Old Men at Lever's Mansion, offering him the world if he would only find them a sure and certain cure for death. He shivered, then leaned against the console, his arms extended, his palms flat on the desk's surface, breathing deeply. If he was going to help Jelka and Mileja he ought to decide things now, but this was too big a decision to make just like that. Besides, hadn't he made it once already? If he changed his mind now . . .

Yes, but they 'U. die, he told himself. If I don't agree, they 11 die.

Maybe, but he would go and speak to Ebert first. Ten minutes, that's all it would take. Just ten minutes.

The Luoyang was silent. Or almost so, for there was still the faintest hum - a reverberation in the air and in every strut and panel of the ancient craft - that emanated from the engine core.

Silently it traversed space, on automatic now, speeding at nearly 190,000 ti an hour toward Jupiter. Overrides had switched in an hour back, when Captain Hamsun failed to make the latest of the routine four-hour checks. Now the ship flew itself, an unconscious mechanism, a computer-driven stone hurled between the planets.

At the controls, Torve Hamsun grinned the grin that would be fixed until his bones rotted, the skin stretched tight over his skull, hanging loose on his tall, gaunt frame. The Hollower had caught him unprepared and his flesh had been ravaged by malfunctioning enzymes, by massive conflagrations of pulsing, glowing, golden cells.

Conscientious to the last, he had died at his post, sending out a final Mayday message, a massive coronary sparing him the worst. Elsewhere his crew lay in their bunks, dead or dying, their groans unheard, their suffering untended.

In the isolation suite, Jelka lay on the broad bunk, her brow speckled with tiny golden droplets, the orbs of her eyes flickering frenetically beneath their thinly-fleshed coverings. Mileja lay beside her now, panting, her tiny hands spasming, her child's eyes - eyes which were like swollen golden coins -staring fixedly at the ceiling.

Through the silent dark the Luoyang sped on, heading out toward its rendezvous with Ganymede.

Hans Ebert sat next to Kim on the bunk, his blind eyes staring past the Clayborn, the tiny cameras orbiting tightly overhead, relaying back the scene to micro-fine receivers in his skull.

The tiny, cell-like room was sparsely furnished: a single bunk, a chair and, on a table by the door, an old-fashioned comset brought long ago from Mars. A small lamp on the wall above the bed was the only source of illumination. The effect was spartan, as if Ebert inhabited a prison cell. "So?" Kim asked. "What should I do?" Ebert shrugged. "It is difficult, my friend. You ask me whether you should be true to what you have always believed, yet the only true test of any idea or philosophy is when it has real meaning to a man's life - when it affects a man. Until then all professed beliefs are but words. So, when you ask me what you should do, how can I answer you truthfully? How advise you? For me, you see, the question is an academic one - if it were my child, Pauli, who were threatened, would I save him or would I stand by my principles?"

"Well?" Kim prompted, anxious now, conscious of time passing. "What would you do?"

Ebert lifted his face slightly. "What you really mean is how far would I go to save my child, neh?"

Kim hesitated, then nodded.

"Well," Ebert continued, "let us look at the matter objectively. To my mind a child is greater than any material possession. Were it impossible to have a child except to have one built, what would one cost? A billion yuan? Ten billion?"

"And what they're asking for?" Kim asked, troubled now. "Does that mean so little?"

Ebert pulled his head to one side and scratched at his neck. "Not at all. It means a great deal. And yet their world is dying. In giving Egan what he wants you will be doing him no great service. To be Lord of such a ruin forever . . . well, it is not a fate I personally would ask for." "So I should agree, then?"

Ebert laughed, then leaned forward, resting his right hand on Kim's shoulder. "Your decision was made for you long ago, Kim, when you first chose to be a scientist, for how can a man know what his discoveries will be used for? How can he know for sure whether good or ill will come of them?"

"But only ill will come of this . . ."

"You're sure of that?"

Kim looked up, meeting Eberf s blind eyes, disconcerted by the way those empty sockets seemed to look right through and into him.

"If you are sure," Ebert said, when Kim was silent, "then you should say no."

"And is that your counsel?"

"Would you kill another man to save your daughter?''

Kim swallowed, then looked down, deeply troubled. Would he?

"No," he said finally.

"Then my counsel is that you should make a deal with Egan."

"A deaf?" Kim stared at Ebert, surprised.

"Yes. Tell him you'll give him what he wants, but only if you keep the patent."

"The patent. . ." Kim laughed, understanding. The Old Men would get their chance at immortality, but so would anyone else who wanted it. That is, if anyone else truly wanted such an obscenity.

"Well?" Ebert prompted. "Hadn't you better hurry?"

"Of course. Forgive me, I..." Kim turned his left wrist and, lifting the flap of protective skin, tapped out the connecting code. At once a patch of skin lit up, showing Wen Ch'ang's face.

"Wen Ch'ang," Kim said urgently. "Set up a channel to Old Man Egan back on Chung Kuo. The number and special access code are on file. I'll be with you in five minutes."

He cut contact and sat back, looking to the blind man, then took his hand and squeezed it. "Thank you, Hans. You've been a good friend."

Ebert smiled. "Never mind that. Get going now, my dear friend. And good luck. I'll pray for you."

Jelka woke. In her dream she had been soaking in the huge marble bath, back in her father's house. She had been eight. That morning she had been practising a special kicking movement and her upper thighs ached from the exercise. Now, relaxing, her body sheened in sweat from the steam, she stretched her aching limbs and sighed.

For a moment longer the dream held her, then she realised where she was. She shuddered, then turned and drew Mileja close, cuddling her. The child was cold. Deathly cold. Jelka gave a motherly cluck and smoothed her hand over her daughter's back a few times, holding her tighter, trying to warm her as she slipped back into unconsciousness.

Kim sat, preparing to give Egan his answer - to commit himself to giving the Old Men what they wanted - when the Machine spoke softly in his head.

It's Jelka, Kim. She's sent a message from the Luoyang. I'll patch it through.

There was a moment's disbelief, and then Kim laughed and stood, looking to Sampsa who was sitting in the corner.

"What?' Sampsa asked, staring at his father as if he'd gone mad.

In answer, Kim turned, indicating the screen as the Machine patched through the clip. Sampsa stood and came up alongside his father, staring into his mother's gaunt and damaged face.

"Gods," he said, appalled by what he saw. How changed she was. And those eyes . . .

"Kim, Sampsa... I hope you can hear me. I'm calling from the bridge of the Luoyang. The ship's on automatic. Captain Hamsun and his crew are dead. They're all dead. I'm fine now, but I'm very weak. I'll have to go and lie down again in a while. But listen. Send out a ship to meet us. But warn them. Tell them to use special suits, and to burn the suits afterwards. And the ship, too. You must destroy the ship once you've taken me off it."

"And Mileja . . .?" Kim coaxed, his voice scarcely a breath.

Jelka looked down, as if she'd heard him. Both men could see how difficult it was for her to say what she said next. But she was the Marshal's daughter, after all: even this, it seemed, could be borne.

She looked up, her golden eyes weeping. "She's dead, Kim. Our darling little girl is dead ... I ... I've put her into cold storage. We'll. . ." She shuddered, then continued. "We'll bury her in Kalevala."

Kim stared in disbelief. "No," he said. "No, you must..." He fell silent, stunned by the news. Beside him Sampsa was snuffling and wiping his face with the back of his hand.

"I don't think she suffered much," Jelka said, her face showing her own pain now. "Mostly she slept. I... I held her."

He saw her face crack and felt as much as heard a great groan of pain issue from his own lips. Dead? How could their darling girl be dead? Why, he could see her, running, laughing...

Jelka sniffed deeply, regaining her self control. "You must be strong, Kim. And you too, my darling Sampsa. You must help each other until I come home. You must remember all the good we can still do."

She smiled, and as she did, Kim leaned toward the screen, meaning to kiss the image of that damaged, yet still beautiful face, yet even as he did, the screen blanked.

He turned, his face distraught, tears running down his cheeks, and put his arms out, letting Sampsa hug him tightly, both men groaning - the sound torn from the very depths of them.

"My girl!" Kim groaned, unable to bear the thought of it, wanting at that moment to die. "My darling little girl..."

But she was gone. He knew it now. There was no need for deals. No need to pander to Old Man Egan.

Gone ... He groaned again, then clutched his son to him, desperate now, conscious of the darkness pressing close, and of the light receding.

CHAPTER-14

in the city of the dead

It was five days now since the first reported case and the streets and alleyways of the northern city were quiet Corpses lay where they had fallen, curled into themselves like foetuses, their hollowed husks stirred by the gusting breeze that blew from the south.

It was a perfect day, the afternoon sky cloudless and azure. Beneath the burning summer sun, Ben Shepherd walked slowly between the houses, an airtight suit protecting him from any chance of contagion. From time to time he would stop and go inside, looking about him, seeing where the dead had been taken; this one sat at table over a plate of untouched, rotting breakfast; that one on its knees beside the bath, a stain of vomit telling its own dark story.

He looked, his eyes taking it all in, processing it, his mind already weaving the cloth of a new tale from these sickening threads. It was like the whole world had died. The disease had passed like a cloud over the sun of their collective being and blotted them out. Only one in twelve had survived, according to the latest figures. And no one knew why. Sheer will, Ben told himself, stepping out into the dusty street once more. There was no other answer, after all. For this silent army had come upon a people without defences.

"Kick-start", GenSyn had called it when they'd made it. And then Lehmann had taken the drug and mutated it, given it a new name and sold it on the open market "Golden Dreams", he'd called it And finally it had changed itself; become a predator, feeding on human blood and tissue. The ultimate killer. The Hollower, as it was known.

Ben frowned, then sniffed the air, but he could smell nothing through his helmet's filters. Briefly he thought of taking it off, but why take the risk? He need only take a sample of the air - a machine could do the rest; analysing the various pheromones. From that he could produce a safe analog. Something that would remind without killing.

Yes, he thought, but where's the story?

When the tragedy was so sudden, so general, was it really quite so tragic? He walked toward the river now, musing on the question. Whatever poignancy each individual death might have possessed had been robbed by the sheer scale of the disaster. When death was on such a scale it became anonymous, anodyne. To make his story work he needed a single focus. One single soul to animate the tragic whole.

"A child," he said softly, thinking of Chuang Kuan Ts'ai. "It has to be a child."

A child cut off from its parents when the epidemic hit. A child . . .

Ben laughed, then rubbed his gloved hands together, seeing it whole. It was exactly what he had been waiting for: the perfect vehicle for his experiments in death. Stepping Over, he would call it.

Stepping over . . .

As the wind rose, a corpse blew past him, tumbling end over end like a loose, dry bush. And in his mind he saw it burning, its smoke sweetly-scented, like incense. A God-sign, given to him alone; for him alone to interpret.

Ben walked on, smiling broadly, the river just ahead of him now. And as he walked the opening words of Dante's epic "poem came to his lips:

"Day was departing and the dusk drew on, loosing from labour every living thing save me, in all the world; I -1 alone - "

Michael Lever stood before the screen in the downstairs study, channel-surfing, trying to find a station that was still transmitting. The House Computer could have located one in an instant, but he had dispensed with its services these last few days, wanting to keep busy.

"Well?" Emily asked, coming into the room. "Still searching," he said over his shoulder. "How are the boys?"

"Fine," she answered, coming across and standing beside him. "They're restless, but that can't be helped. Better restless than dead, neh?"

The slightest irony in her voice made him turn and look at her. "I thought we'd settled this."

She shrugged, her face closed against him.

He sighed and rolled his eyes to Heaven. "They're alive, aren't they?Aiyal What in the gods' names did you want, Em?"

"I wanted to help ..."

"You wanted to die, that's what. You and your boys. Because that's what would have happened if you'd gone out there like you wanted."

"Maybe..."

He shook his head, angry with her suddenly - at her ingratitude as much as anything. "No, no maybes about it. You'd be dead. And the boys would be dead. And how would that have helped?"

"Shooting those men didn't help, did it?" she answered, a fire in her eyes now.

He swallowed. "So what was I supposed to do? Let them break down the gates and come in?" He laughed, incredulous. "You know what would have happened if they had, don't you? I mean . . . apart from us all getting the disease. They would have killed us, thaf s what. You saw how desperate they were."

"You can't say that. You didn't even talk to them."

"They didn't respect our sign."

"But they were desperate."

"And so was I." Michael turned from her. "Anyway, you've not got to worry about that, have you? I mean, thaf s on my conscience, not yours. Yours is white as white, after all!"

"That's unfair!"

"Is it?" He turned back, glaring at her now. "Consider the facts. This thing ... the Hollower. Look what if s done to our world in a mere five days. Asia, Africa, America, there's not a single City where it hasn't spread. Decimation isn't the word for it. Over ninety per cent fatalities. Ninety per cent! Shit! Don't you understand what that means. Emily? It means we're back in the Stone Age! It means . . ." He shuddered, then fell silent, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry," she said, after a moment. "It's just. . . it's just that I feel so helpless. I want..."

".. .to go out there. I know" He looked at her again, admiring her spirit even as he was irritated by her illogic and angered by her ingratitude. "You want to do something, neh?"

"Well, it's better than sitting on your arse and doing nothing!"

He stared at her, saying nothing, hurt by her accusation.

"So?" she said. "Do you think it's safe?"

He laughed, amazed by her persistence. "You really want to try it out there?"

"Why not?"

"Because we don't know. Because . . ." He swallowed, then said it. "Because I don't want to lose you, Em."

"So if s not the boys you're worried about. . ."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Em! Do you have to twist everything? Of course I'm worried about the boys. It'd hurt me if any of them were hurt. But it's you I love. Is that such a fucking crime?"

She stared at him a moment, then, unexpectedly, she smiled.

"I thought you'd lost it, you know."

"Lost it?"

"Your temper. I thought. . ." She reached out and touched his cheek. It was the first intimate gesture she had made .toward him in the two years she had lived inside his walls. He closed his eyes, savouring it.

"Anyway," he said, feeling her fingers move away, opening his eyes again to look at her. "I am doing something."

"Like what?"

"Like producing an antidote."

She stared at him, mouth open. "You've got one?"

"It's being delivered later today. The simulations suggest it's effective in close to ninety-five per cent of cases. If we can mass-produce it."

Emily looked down, sighing. "If only we'd had it five days back . . . three days, even."

"But we didn't." He took a long breath, then. "Look, Em. There must be many more like us. People who've locked themselves in. Small, isolated pockets of healthy life. If we can get to them... if we can get the antidote to them, thaf d be something, surely?"

She looked up at him, then nodded, a profound sadness in her face. "Yes," she said, smiling through the pain. "That would be something."

As Ben turned the comer he knew that something was wrong. There was a pile of burned and broken furniture not twenty feet away - between him and the waiting cruiser - that had not been there earlier. Aside from that, other, smaller things had changed. Someone had been here. A number of someones.

Ben smiled, a tiny thrill of excitement making his blood pound faster. At last! He'd thought the whole place dead.

He stepped out, skirting the makeshift barricade, conscious now of a shuffling in the alleyway he had just come out of. A door creaked close by. Whoever they were, they were close.

The cruiser was a hundred feet away now, resting where he'd parked it five hours back, the hatch sealed. Even from here he could see the dents and scratches around the lock.

Making no sudden movements, he slid his hand down his side and activated the charger on his belt, glad he'd taken care to arm himself. As yet they hadn't shown themselves. But they would. He was almost certain they wouldn't let him get back inside the cruiser - not unless he was their prisoner first.

A step, another step, and then the scuffling behind him materialised into forms. He turned, looking back at them. Three men - or what were once men - their gaunt, skeletal faces grinning at him golden-eyed.

High noon in ghoul town, Ben thought, amused, wondering how he could use this in his tale. They weren't armed. At least, not with anything he should worry about. He turned back, then walked on slowly, but he had barely gone another half dozen paces before a further two of them stepped out from a shadowed doorway just ahead and to his left.

The three behind had blocked off the space between the barricade and the street-front. As Ben watched, another four moved out from behind the cruiser. Taking it all in at a glance, he noted the glint of something metallic in one of their hands. A gun? No. He recognised it now. It was a Security stun-prod. Good. He could handle that.

Ben stopped, looking about him, his smile benevolent now, like a prince among his subjects.

"Gentlemen," he said, imperiously, "what can I do for you?" There was a murmuring between the two nearest him. Ben saw how they glanced to the one with the prod who was clearly their leader, then, at his nod, started toward him.

With a deceptively casual gesture, Ben drew the laser from inside his tunic and pointed it at them. For a moment it was as if they didn't see what he was doing - despite the sudden glare of the tightly-focused beam - for they both kept coming. It was only when one of them screeched and fell to his knees that the other - the one he hadn't yet shot - stumbled to a halt, his ravaged face transformed in an almost comic double-take.

"Dead," Ben said, pointing the gun at him and squeezing the trigger. Light leapt, transfixing the creature. For a moment he seemed to dance on the end of it, his chest on fire, then he too fell. Ben turned, grinning broadly now, raking the laser fire across the wall facing him, across the makeshift barricade and onto the backs of the fleeing men.

He watched them screech and fall, then turned back, walking on as the last of them backed away, their faces frozen in sudden fear, the screams of their fellows still sounding loudly in that narrow, enclosed space, the smell of burned flesh powerful now.

"Dead," Ben repeated, lifting the gun but not using it. "Dead.

All of you."

And now they turned and ran, shrieking, afraid. But Ben was not done. Slipping the gun back into its holster, he plucked one of the tiny, fig-like bombs from his belt and, biting off the top, threw it after them, imagining himself back in the woods on the Domain and hunting squirrels. As it exploded, sending two of the stick figures sprawling, he took a second bomb and, repeating the process, hurled it, the accuracy of his throw the result of forty years' practice.

"Dead," he said, even as the last of them was blown into the air. Chuckling to himself he walked over to the cruiser and, lifting his face to the camera so that it could scan him through the helmet's glass, he uttered the voice command. "Open Sesame!"

As the hatch opened and the ramp unfurled, he turned, looking about him at the devastation. It had been too easy. Much, much too easy.

"Ben nine, Ghouls nil," he said quietly, then nodded to himself, seeing exactly what changes he'd need to make if he were to use this. As it was his own role in events was unheroic, unsympathetic. But he could change that. He could make them more beastly for a start, more gruesome. And he could have them taunt him, threaten him. As for himself, he would need to be unarmed. There would have to be a fight, hand-to-hand stuff, with one moment - one precarious, heart-stopping moment - when it seemed that they'd prevailed.

He grinned, seeing it whole, then turned and climbed the ramp, anxious to get back.

The four creatures emerged from the shadows of the old warehouse in which they'd hid and stepped out into the brilliant sunlight, their smooth, hairless heads looking up as one, following the path of the departing craft. They had seen the fight through their remotes; seen the smile on the suited man's face and found it strange.

As the craft flew out of sight, three of the four looked to their leader.

"Well, Tybor," one of them asked. "What now?" Tybor sighed and looked about him. Bodies. Everywhere bodies. He stretched his long limbs - limbs twice the length of any human - then walked toward the nearest house.

"Let's do something useful," he said. "Lefs burn some of these bodies."

They had heard the cruisers coming from a long way off. Now Kao Chen stood on the low stone wall beside the main pen, shielding his eyes and looking to see where they were headed and how many there were.

"Three," he said, looking to the others who were gathered about him. "And they're heading straight for us."

They broke out the arms then headed across the big field toward the village. If they'd land anywhere, they'd land there. As they jogged along, Chen looked to his eldest son, Jyan and smiled encouragement. "It'll be okay," he called, speaking not only to Jyan but to the others. "When they see how determined we are, they'll go elsewhere."

But secretly he'd begun to have his doubts. They had fought off five raiding parties in the past week and things seemed to be getting no better. Those who fled the plague in the city faced hunger outside it. And hunger made men ruthless.

And if these were Security, as they appeared to be, then who knew what they'd do to get their way. He'd been among them most of his life, after all, and knew well enough what many of his fellow officers thought of the peasants who manned the Plantations. Why, they'd think longer about crushing an insect than they would about killing a Plantation worker.

Yes, but if they try any of that shit here they'll find they've bitten off more than they can chew, he thought, burying his doubts, knowing that if Wang Ti and the children were to survive - yes, and all of his good friends here - he'd have to dispense with such uncertainties.

Coming into the village, he dispersed his men among the big stone houses. By now this was almost routine, yet he could see how the village men derived some comfort from the way he barked his orders at them - as if his long experience as a Security Major were some kind of magic shield behind which they might be safe.

Thinking of it - of the weight of expectation that bore down on his shoulders - he shuddered. But then there was no more time to think of that. The cruisers were upon them, bearing down like giant locusts.

"Hold fire until I say!" he bellowed over the noise of the engines, then ducked beneath a rail, running for the end house in the row.

The cruisers had slowed and were hovering above the field to the west of the village. As he watched, two of the craft took up what was clearly a defensive cover while the central craft slowly set down.

It was a classic manoeuvre, and, watching it, Kao Chen felt old instincts switch in. He had been a good soldier in his time. The best, so some said, Karr aside. But he'd been a Han in a Hung Mao army. Besides which, the job had stunk. Not the technical side, that he'd loved, it was just that serving a bastard like Li Yuan hadn't been easy. The times that he'd done things which had been against his conscience were innumerable.

As the craft's engines died and the hatch began to open, he took up a position behind the stone steps of the nearest house, covering the opening gap in the cruiser's flank with his rifle.

His men knew where to fire. He'd spent the last few evenings in his crowded kitchen drawing them diagrams of these things, showing them where the weak points were, until they could do it in their sleep. Now that theoretical knowledge had become a reality. If he couldn't persuade them to go on, then they'd have to fight. And their only chance was if they could disable the cruisers.

As a figure appeared in the opening he clicked off the safety. Then, with a tiny gasp of surprise, he lowered the gun.

Marie! It was Marie! And beside her . . .

He stepped out, laughing openly now, then began to run toward the craft.

"Gregor!" he yelled. "Gregor!"

Slipping his rifle over his shoulder, he turned and signalled to the others. "It's okay! They're friendly!"

Then, turning back, unable to keep the broad grin from his face, he hurried on toward the craft.

He was only a dozen or so paces from it when he remembered.

"Chen?" Karr said, a slight shadow falling over his face at the change in Kao Chen's expression. "What is it, Chen?"

Chen shook his head regretfully. "You can't come in, Gregor. The plague. You might have the plague."

"Ah . . ." Karr nodded, sobered by the reminder. He turned, signalling to his girls to step out onto the ramp with him, then looked back at Chen. "You have a place we can stay? Somewhere isolated?"

"Somewhere ..." And then Chen saw what his old friend was saying. "You've come to stay?"

Karr nodded and smiled again. "If you'll have us." Chen thought, then nodded. Turning, he yelled back at his son, Jyan, who was at the front of a crowd of curious villagers. "Jyan, get the hatchery ready for our guests. Clean it out and put some beds in there. And move one of the larder units in. Fully stocked." He beamed. "My dear friend Gregor Karr and his family have come to stay!"

Li Yuan sat there in the darkened room, the damp, sweat-sodden sheets draping his emaciated form. All around the Imperial bed his surgeons and ministers lay dead, taken by the sickness even as they offered up their prayers for their Lord and Master's earthly and heavenly souls. But their Master had lived. Wraith-like, almost skeletal, he lived.

Climbing weakly from the bed he pushed aside the weightless husks that bowed before him and made his way across the massive room until he stood before the mirror. There, his frail limbs trembling from the effort, he shrugged off the thin yellow gown that shrouded him and looked.

Aiya, he thought, barely recognising himself in the stick-like naked figure, wondering how such a form could still hold breath or maintain a decent pulse. And his eyes . . . His eyes were golden, like twin suns! He shivered, then realised he was hungry, ravenously hungry. The kitchens, he decided, making his slow way to the door. Standing there a moment, his bony hand clutching the great hexagonal knob, he turned, staring back at the grotesquely withered figures gathered about the bed.

Men of straw . . .

He almost laughed. Almost. But he was hungry. More hungry than he'd ever been. Why, he could feel a full week's hunger in his shrunken belly!

Servants lay where they had fallen in the littered corridors. Maids lay toppled over laundry baskets or against walls. Two guards, their heavy armour loose on them, squatted like dummies, their stiff boots keeping them half-erect where they had fallen against the doors.

Dead. Everywhere he looked he saw the dead. Mummified. Ossified. And he the only one alive.

Li Yuan frowned, one hand supporting him against the wall as he got his breath. So weak he was, so ... hungry.

He scuttled on, like an octogenarian, stooped and ague-ridden.

And this time he did laugh, for it reminded him of the tale of the woodcutter who had stopped to watch two immortals playing wei ch'i in the forest. While he'd stood there, watching them, a thousand years had passed and when the woodcutter returned to his village it was to find it totally changed, all those he'd known long dead and rotted in the ground.

He hauled himself over to the window and looked out over the gardens. No one. Absolutely no one. He shuddered, then ambled on.

Maybe he was the only one left. Maybe they had all died and this was his punishment - to be Lord of the City of the Dead, a living wraith.

And his hunger? Was that a sign?

A twinge of his guts told him otherwise. No. If anything convinced him he was alive, it was that twinge.

He hurried on, hunger driving him like a goad.

The kitchens were empty, deserted, the surfaces spotlessly clean, the floor neatly swept. After the desolation elsewhere, its tidiness surprised him. But maybe there was a reason. Maybe they'd tidied the kitchens and left before the sickness had taken them. Even so, he crossed the massive room uneasily, moving between the long tables slowly, glancing from side to side, as if it were a trap.

On a long table at the far side of the room, a fruit bowl was piled high with apples and mandarin oranges. He reached out, meaning to take one, then drew his fingers back. Rotten. They were all brown and rotten.

Li Yuan shuddered, then turned, looking about him. When had he last been in here? When had he last thought of how his food was prepared or where it was stored? No, he had been concerned only that it was laid before him on a silver dish. Apart from that, he hadn't really cared.

Shuffling across to one of the big freezer units, he pulled at the catch. Slowly the door swung open, cool, fresh air bathing his body and making him shiver involuntarily. But inside the dimly-lit recesses was food, lots of food.

He reached in, taking fruit and meat and drink, then, leaving the door open, too weak to push it shut, he staggered across to one of the central tables and sat, spreading his '"meal" out before him.

He was halfway through, his face smeared with fruit and fat, when a noise made him look up. A man was standing in the doorway, a soldier's stave in his hand. At least, he was either a man or a scarecrow come to life, for his uniform hung on him as on a child.

"What are you doing here?" the soldier demanded, taking two unsteady steps toward him. "And why are you stealing from the Imperial kitchens? Do you not know the penalty?"

Li Yuan, who had at first been shocked, now stood, recognising that face.

"Dawes? Captain Dawes? Is that you?"

The figure jerked, surprised. "How do you know my name, lao jen?"

Li Yuan laughed, the sound more like a short bark or cough than laughter. "Old man, eh? Why, don't you recognise me, Captain? I am your T'ang, Li Yuan!"

Dawes stared at the emaciated figure, his golden eyes uncertain, then, seeing something in that ravaged face, some spark of recognition motivating him, he fell to his knees, his hairless skull bowed low.

"Get up," Li Yuan muttered, going across to him and pulling him to his feet. "We have finished with all that nonsense. We are but men now. So come and sit with me and share my meal. We both look as if we could do with a good feed, neh, Captain?" Dawes hesitated, then accompanied Li Yuan across, the two men sitting side by side, sharing the provisions, looking up at each other from time to time as they ate, grinning.

Han Ch'in, who had gone into the darkened room, cried out, then came back to the doorway.

"He's gone! Someone's taken the body!"

"Aiyal" Kuei Jen said, rocking the baby in his arms. "Who would have done such a thing?"

"You know these ghouls," Han Ch'in answered, looking about him angrily. "They believe that you can adopt another's attributes by eating them. No doubt they've cut him up and cooked him already."

Kuei Jen stared at his brother in amazement. "You think. . ."

"Masters!"

They both turned as one of the guards ran toward them, then stopped, bowing low.

"What is it, man?" Han Ch'in asked, assuming command.

"We've found him, Excellency. In the kitchens."

"My father?"

"Yes, Excellency. He's alive. And there's another with him. A Captain ..."

Han Ch'in turned to Kuei Jen and grinned. "Alive!" He laughed, then slapped his brother's back. "Then let us go and greet our father, Kuei Jen! Let us show him his new grandson!"

They walked for most of that day through the streets of the dead city, a small but growing crowd of golden-eyed survivors raggedly following their cart.

It was when they were about to give up their search and go home, convinced they'd come too late to save any, that they came upon the boarded-up Mansion: a big, two-storey house at the top of a wide, sloping street.

While Michael knocked loudly on the bolted gate, Lin Chao and Lin Pei went round to the alleyway that ran along the back of the big house to see if there were any signs of life there.

Leaning on the cart, Emily looked on, conscious of how tired Michael seemed. Tired but uncomplaining. She smiled, weary herself, thinking of all he had done for them these past few months, asking nothing for himself: endlessly patient with her and her boys.

"Lef s go," she said, when, after knocking again, there was no reply. "They're either dead or in hiding."

But she had barely uttered the words when the shutters over the gate clattered open and a cowled head popped out.

"What do you want?"

Michael looked up, smiling, but the smile slowly froze as he realised he was staring into the barrel of a high-powered rifle.

"Michael?" she said quietly, alerted by the sudden change in his expression.

"Stay where you are, woman!" the same voice - cracked and angry - barked at her. "Come any closer and I'll blow his head clean off his shoulders!"

She saw the slight movement in Michael's eyes. In that instant he had weighed things up and knew he had no chance of getting out of the way - not if the madman decided to pull the trigger. And there was no doubt he was mad. She could hear it in the voice.

"We've come to help you," Michael said, no trace of fear or self-concern in his voice. "We've got a potion... a cure for the plague."

"You're a stinking liar!" the man yelled, the rifle jerking menacingly in his hands. "You bastards have come to rob me!"

Emily had moved slightly to the side to try to get a better view of him, but now she stopped. Who knew? The least movement might set him off.

"That's not so," Michael answered patiently, showing his empty hands.

"Then what's in the cart?" "Medicines and blankets and food." The gun jerked again. "Show me!"

Keeping his hands clearly in sight, Michael backed away and, making no movement that might be misconstrued, turned the cart and pushed it across until it was directly beneath the window. Moving slowly, with infinite patience, he opened doors and pulled out drawers, showing the madman what was there.

Finished, he looked up again. "Well? Will you let us help you^? We're friends. We mean no harm."

There was a long, tense silence, then the man grunted and moved back inside. Emily let out a breath and closed her eyes briefly. Thank the gods! K moment later she heard the sound of chains being unlocked, of huge bolts being slid back. And then, very slowly, the doors swung open.

Emily went across, joining Michael even as the two boys reappeared, signalling with one hand for them to be quiet.

Now that she faced him she saw they had come too late. Despite the hood, the protective mask that hid his face, the signs of the Hollowing were clear on him. He had lost near on two-thirds of his body weight and his clothes hung on him like a sail on a child's boat.

"Well?" he demanded, throwing the gun down and moving toward them. "Where is it? Where is this cure you told me about?"

Michael reached beside him and lifted one of the vials, meaning to hand it to him, but the man stepped past him, knocking his hand away, and grabbed a handful of them, uncapping them one after another and gulping them down.

Michael looked to Emily, then stepped inside and picked up the gun, examining it.

"Empty," he said, showing her the chamber. "And I'd say it hasn't been cleaned for years."

As the madman made to grab another handful of vials, Emily stepped up to him and gently but firmly pulled his hand away.

"That's fine," she said, smiling into his golden eyes. "You should be okay now. But any more and you might get sick again."

He stared back at her uncertainly, then nodded. "You want to come in?" he asked, as if suddenly remembering his manners. "My wife will be pleased to see such honoured guests. It's been so long since we entertained."

Something in the way he said it warned her. But even though she had seen many grotesque sights in the last week, this capped them all.

Coming into the house she could smell the strong reek ot incense, and in a room at the far end of a long, unlit corridor, she could see candles burning in silver holders on a polished table. She walked toward them, then stopped, realising just what she was looking at. His family were gathered about the table, eight of them in all including the grandparents, one chair left vacant at the head of the table. All were dressed as if to greet some mighty dignitary, the best chopsticks laid out before plates of sparkling porcelain and dishes of finest silver. But they were all dead and shrivelled and the food in the dishes was covered in a five-day layer of mould.

Emily walked on, slowly now, conscious of the madman right behind her.

"I told them you would come," he said, a strange happiness in his voice. "What did I say, Jung Wang. I told you we must look our very best for when our guests arrived. Our very best." She stopped, holding on to the doorway lest she faint, the poignancy of the candle-lit scene affecting her more than anything she'd ever seen. Here was his whole world, here all of his treasures - his wife, his parents, his three sons and his two young daughters. And all of them dead bar him. Yes, and nothing he, their protector, could do about it.

Emily turned and looked to him and felt her heart go out to him. Mad? No wonder he was mad. The real wonder was that anyone was sane who had lived through this.

Just behind their host, Michael was looking on, his face mirroring her own astonished pity. "Aiyal" he said softly. "The gods have mercy on us all."

"Yes," she said quietly, remembering now why she had loved him once. "But let's go home now, Michael. And let's take our friend here with us, neh?"

Early evening shadows were falling across the rose garden as Ben's cruiser set down on the pad in the lower field. Catherine looked up from where she sat on the lawn, the sleeping child in her lap, then half turned, hearing the top flap of the kitchen door creak back as Meg leaned out to look.

For a while Meg simply stared, a smile lighting her face, then she looked to Catherine. "Why don't you go down and meet him? I'll lay little Dogu down for you."

"Would you?" Catherine studied the child a moment, conscious of how fond she was of it. And that was strange, considering how fervently she'd wished it dead before the birth. But Ben was kind to it and that was what mattered. If Ben had not been kind . . .

She shivered, then, sensing Meg behind her, moved back slightly, letting her lift and take the child.

Sometimes this thing with Ben frightened her. The intensity of it. Sometimes it was hard to know whether she was really in control of herself, or whether she was in the grip of some force.

She stood, brushing herself down, stopping a moment to watch Meg carry the child inside. If anyone could be said to love the boy it was Meg. She spoiled him endlessly and loved nothing more than to sit on the lawn and play with him for hours. When it came to say its first words it would be Meg, no doubt, who heard them.

Not that that really mattered. What mattered was Ben. Ben . . . even more than herself. It had not always been so, but now . . . well, even when she slept with other men - with guests or guards or with that Osu creature - it was Ben to whom she returned, Ben with whom she shared it.

Catherine turned back, staring down the slope toward the craft again, knowing there was no hurry. The guards had to spray it first. And then Ben would have to shower in the special tent he'd had rigged up. But afterwards . . .

Smiling, she reached beneath her skirts and, slipping her fingers beneath the waist of her briefs, pulled them down over her legs and kicked them away. Then, the smile fixed mischievously on her face, she began to make her way down to meet him.

Ben closed his eyes, letting the water drum over his naked body, the force of it inducing a kind of trance-like state in him. It was one of the few moments when he found himself freed from the slavery of thought, when - as in those final, dark moments of sex - he was released and, in Keats' immortal phrase, found himself "dying into life". Ironically, it was only at such moments that he found himself capable of reaching beyond the normal level of his being and making leaps.

Leaps . . . From nothing they came. Or, rather, from some inaccessible recess deep within him - some deep, lightless well from which he could not consciously draw.

But for months that well had been capped, and the source of his muse had run dry. For months now he had waited. Until today.

He half turned, hearing a vague noise just behind him, a swishing of the plastic as someone came into the tent; then he laughed and turned to embrace Catherine as she stepped beneath the steady flow.

"You'll get soaked," he said, delighted to see her.

"I don't care," she said, pulling him close, her lips hungrily seeking his. "I don't fucking care!"

Ben broke from the second kiss and held her out at arm's length from him, studying her. The soft, sodden cotton clung to her, revealing her full figure, while her long bronze-red hair fell in wet ringlets over her breasts. She was magnificent.

She laughed softly, looking down the length of him. "I see you're pleased to see me again."

He grinned. "I'm always pleased to see you," then, drawing her close again, he rucked up her skirt, surprised and pleased to see that she'd anticipated him. Falling to his knees, he nuzzled his head between her thighs, rubbing his cheeks against them before kissing her softly, gently on her sex.

She held his head, her fingers deep in his fine black hair, her eyes closed as the water fell and fell and fell. For a moment she felt close to exploding, the feeling of it was so wonderful, and then Ben was standing again, pulling her wet blouse up over her shoulders, stripping her until she was naked. He lifted her gently up onto him, her legs wrapping about his waist, her mouth opening in a soft Oh of delight as he entered her and they began to make love.

Afterwards, in the quiet of the drying room, she made to help him, but, smiling, he turned the tables on her, making her sit while he dried her feet and legs, whistling to himself as he did.

"You're in a good mood," she said, running her fingers through his hair fondly.

He looked up at her and winked. "You know how it is." For once she had no idea what he was talking about; only that he was looking inordinately pleased with himself. "What is it?" she asked, curious now. "What happened in there?"

He laughed and sat back on his heels. "I've got it, Catherine. The whole of it."

She hesitated, then leaned toward him, her eyes wide. "The new work? You've got that?"

Ben nodded, then busied himself drying her flanks, making her lift her arms, as if he were drying a child. "It was on the way back. I was feeling disappointed. What I'd seen. . . well, it was strange, but not as strange as I'd expected. And then it came to me."

He leaned back and threw the towel aside, then stood, looking down at her.

"Well?" she said.

"I'll show you," he said enigmatically. "Later. But only if you're good."

"Good? I thought I was the best."

"Oh, you are," he said. "You and Meg." And with that he turned away, leaving her to stare at his naked back as he disappeared out of the tent, heading for the cottage.

"You and Meg," she said, after a moment, mimicking him perfectly, a look of pique on her face. Then, shrugging it off, she stretched, cat-like and began to smile, one hand going down to her sex, remembering.

"Meg?"

Meg appeared at the door on the far side of the living room, a finger to her lips. "Shh," she said. "Dogu's restless."

"Ah," he nodded, then went across to her, keeping his voice down to a whisper. "Would you bring some food down to me? I want to work on something for a while."

She smiled. "Hadn't you better put some clothes on?"

He shook his head.

She smoothed one hand down his chest until it rested between his legs. "Would you like me to come down and inspire you?"

"Later," he said, kissing her mouth softly. "Right now I've got to work. Why don't you take Catherine to bed. She's futt of beans."

Meg looked away. He'd often suggested that they slept together, but they never had. With him, yes, but not alone.

"It's rabbit stew," she said, moving past him, clearly miffed by his suggestion.

"My favourite," he said, watching her go through to the kitchen and smiling to himself. Then, knowing he had to set it all down while it was still fresh in his mind, he hurried across and, pulling open the door, padded down the steps into the cellar where his work room was.