The Middle Kingdom

The other girls giggled, but Golden Heart carried on, her face earnest. "Afterward I woke, but I was still in the dream, and beside me on the bed lay a pale gray snake, its skin almost white in places. At first it moved, yet when I reached out and touched it it was cold."

Mu Chua licked her lips, disturbed. "That is a powerful dream, child. But what it means . . ." She shrugged and fell quiet, then changed the subject. It would not do to worry Golden Heart. "Listen. I have a special favor to ask of you girls. We are to have visitors. Three important men from the Above. Soldiers."

Crimson Lotus clapped her hands in delight. "How wonderful, Mother Chua! Soldiers! They keep themselves so fit, so trim!" She gave a low, seductive laugh and looked across at Sweet Honey. "If Mother Chua weren't here to look after us I'm sure I'd do it for nothing with a soldier!"

Mu Chua joined their laughter. "Yes. But these are not just any soldiers. These are the great General's own men, his elite, and you will be paid three times your usual fee. You will entertain them in the Room of Heaven and you will do whatever they ask."

"Whatever they ask?" Sweet Honey raised an eyebrow.

Mu Chua smiled reassuringly at her. "Within the rules, of course. They have been told they are not to harm you in any way."

"And if they are not pleased?" asked Golden Heart, her face still clouded from the dream she'd had.

Mu Chua reached out and stroked her cheek tenderly. "They are men, child. Of course they will be pleased."

EBERT STOPPED at the curtained doorway and turned to face them. "Here we are, my friends. Mu Chua's. The finest beneath the Net."

Fest laughed, delighted, but at his side Haavikko looked uncertain. "What is this place?"

Fest clapped his shoulder and pointed up at the sign of the lotus and the fish above the doorway. "What does it look like, Axel? We're in Flower Streets and Willow Lanes here. In the land of warmth and softness. At home with the family of the green lamps." He saw comprehension dawn on Haavikko's face and laughed again. "Yes, Axel, it's a singsong house. A brothel."

He tried to go forward, his arm still about Haavikko's shoulder, but Haavikko held back.

"No. I don't want to go in." Haavikko swallowed. A faint color appeared in his cheeks. "It—it isn't my thing."

Ebert came back to him. "You're a man, aren't you, Haavikko? Well, then, of course it's your thing."

Haavikko shook his head. "You go in. I'll wait for you."

Ebert looked at Fest and raised an eyebrow. Then he looked back at Haavikko. "That's impossible. I've booked us in for the night. We're staying here. This is our billet while we're down here. Understand?"

"You mean they do more than . . . ?"

Ebert nodded exaggeratedly, making Fest laugh once more, then he grew more serious. "Look, Haavikko, if you don't want to screw one of the girls you don't have to. But come inside, eh? Mu Chua will bring you a meal and show you to a room. You can watch a trivee or something while Fest and I enjoy ourselves."

Haavikko looked down, angered by the slightly mocking tone in Ebert's voice. "Isn't there somewhere else I could stay?"

Ebert huffed, losing his patience suddenly. "Oh, for the gods' sake, Fest, order him inside! Don't you understand, Haavikko? We're a squad. We need to be together when the call comes. What's the fucking good if you're somewhere else?"

Haavikko looked to Fest, who smiled apologetically. "It's true, Axel. My orders are to keep us together at all times. Look, why don't you do what Hans has suggested? Come inside and take a room. Then, if you change your mind, you've not far to go."

"I've told you—"

"Yes, yes. I understand. Now come inside. I order you. All right?"

Inside Mu Chua greeted them expansively, then led them through to a large room at the back of the House where three girls were waiting. As they entered the girls knelt and bowed their heads, then looked up at them, smiling, expectant, as if waiting for them to make their choice. Axel stared at them, surprised. They were not at all what he had expected, nor was this place the gaudy den of harlotry he had so often seen in vid dramas.

"What is this room called?" he asked, surprising both Ebert and Fest by being the first to speak.

The girl on the far left looked briefly across at her companions, then looked up at Axel, smiling radiantly. "This is the Room of Heaven. Here a man may dream and live his dreams."

She was beautiful. Even for these tiny Han types she was quite exceptional, and Axel felt something stir in him despite himself. She wore a bright red satin ch'i p'ao patterned with tiny blue flowers and cranes and varicolored butterflies, the long,

one-piece dress wrapped concealingly about her dainty figure. Her hair had been cut in a swallowtail bang, the two wings swept down over a pale ivory brow that would have graced the daughter of a T'ang, a clasp of imitation pearls holding the dark flow of her back hair in a tight, unbraided queue. Her hands, small as a child's, were unadorned, the nails varnished but unpainted. She was so astonishing, so unexpected, that he could not help but stare at her, his lips parted, his eyes wide.

"What do they call you?"

She bowed her head again, a faint smile playing on her tiny, rosebud lips. "My name is Crimson Lotus."

"Well!" said Ebert, laughing. "I see Haavikko has made his choice."

Axel broke from the spell. "No. Not at all. I-^I meant what I said. This—" he looked about him again, surprised anew by the tastefulness, the simple luxury, of the room and its furnishings— "this isn't my thing."

He looked back down at the girl and saw, behind the surface smile, a faint hint of disappointment in her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. At once he felt upset that he had hurt her, even in so small a way, by his inadvertence. "I'm sorry—" he started to say, but Ebert spoke over him.

"Ladies, please forgive our friend. We thought we might change his mind by bringing him to your most excellent house, but it seems he's adamant." Ebert looked to Fest and smiled. "1 should explain. My friend is ya, you understand? A yellow eel."

Haavikko frowned, not understanding. His knowledge of basic Mandarin included neither term. But the girls understood at once.

"My pardon, honorable sir," said Crimson Lotus, her face clear, her smile suddenly resplendent, showing her pearl-white perfect teeth. "If you will but wait a moment I shall call back Mother Chua. I am certain she could provide you with a boy."

Axel turned to face Ebert, furious. "What do you mean . . . ?"

Ebert roared with laughter, enjoying the confusion on the faces of the girls. Ignoring the edge in Axel's voice he reached out and touched his shoulder. "Only a joke, my friend. Only a joke."

The girls were looking from one to the other of the soldiers, their faces momentarily anxious. Then they too joined in with Ebert's laughter; their heads lowered, one hand raised to their mouths, their laughter like the faint, distant laughter of children.

Axel turned away from Ebert and looked at them again, letting his anger drain from him. Then he smiled and gave the slightest bow. No, he thought. Make nothing of it. It is Ebert's way. He cannot help it if he is ill bred and ill mannered. It comes from being who he is; heir to one of the biggest financial empires in Chung Kuo. He does not have to behave as Fest and I. We serve, but he only plays at being servant. He, after all, is a master.

Yes, but watch yourself, Hans Ebert. One day you'll make one joke too many, speak out of place once too often, and then your riches will not help you. No, nor your connections.

The smallest of the girls rose with a bow and came toward them, head lowered. "Would the gentlemen like ch'a?"

Ebert answered for them. "Gods no! Bring us something stronger. Some wine. And something to eat too. I'm ravenous!"

Embarrassed by Ebert's brash, proprietorial manner and awkward on his own account, Axel watched the others sit on cushions Crimson Lotus brought for them. "Will you not sit with us?" she asked him, coming much closer than she had before. The sweet delicacy of her scent was intoxicating and her dark eyes were like a lover's, sharing some secret understanding.

"I'd best not," he said, rather too stiffly. My sisters... he had almost added. He looked down, suddenly embarrassed. Yes, that was why. He had promised his sisters. Had sworn on his honor that he would keep himself clean. Would not do as other men did.

He shuddered and met the girl's eyes again. "If you would send for Mu Chua. Perhaps she would find me a room. I'll eat there and take my rest."

Crimson Lotus smiled, unoffended, nothing behind her smile this time. Her disappointment had been momentary; now she was the perfect hostess once more, all personal thoughts banished. "If you will wait a moment, I shall summon her."

But Mu Chua had been watching everything. She appeared in the doorway at once, knowing what to do, what to say, in this instance. She had been told beforehand that it might be so.

"Please follow me, Shih Haavikko. There is a room prepared. I will take you there."

Axel bowed, grateful, then looked across at Ebert and Fest. Fest met his eyes and gave the briefest nod, acknowledging his departure, but Ebert ignored him, concentrating on the young girl—she looked barely ten—who sat beside him now.

"What is the young girl's name?" Haavikko asked Mu Chua, keeping his voice low.

Mu Chua smiled. "That's Golden Heart. She's the baby of the house. A sweet young thing, don't you think?"

He stared at the girl a moment longer, then turned back to Mu Chua. "If you would take me to my room."

Mu Chua smiled, all understanding. "Of course."

AXEL WOKE to find the room dark, a strange smell in the air. He sat up suddenly, alert, his training taking over, then remembered where he was and forced himself to relax. But still he felt on edge. Something was wrong. Something. . .

He heard it. Heard the second thread of breathing in the silent darkness. He felt to his left. Nothing. Then to his right. His hand met a soft warmth.

He swallowed, recognizing the musky smell for what it was. What had they done? Drugged him? And what else? He had seen too many covert operations not to feel vulnerable. What if Ebert had set this up? What if he'd had him drugged, then taped what he'd subsequently done? He shivered and slowly edged away from the girl—was it a girl?—who lay there next to him in the bed, then felt behind him for a lighting panel.

His hand met the slight indentation in the wall. At once a soft light lay across the center of the bed, blurring into darkness.

Axel gasped and his eyes widened, horrified. "Kuan Yin preserve me!" he whispered. •

The girl was Hung Mao. A tall, blond-haired girl with full breasts and an athletic build. She lay there, undisturbed by the light, one hand up at her neck, the fingers laced into her long, thick hair, the other resting on her smoothly muscled stomach, the fingers pointing down to the rich growth of pubic hair.

Axel stared at her, horrified and yet fascinated, his eyes drawn to her ice-white breasts, to the soft, down-covered swell of her sex. Then he looked at her face again and shuddered. So like her. So very like her. As if...

He turned away, swallowing, then looked back, his eyes drawn once more to those parts of her he'd never seen. Never dreamed he'd see.

It couldn't be. Surely it couldn't. . . ?

"Vesa. . ." he whispered, leaning closer. "Vesa. . ." It was his sister's name.

The head turned, the eyes opened. Astonishingly blue eyes, like his sister's. But different. Oh, so thankfully different. And yet...

He pushed the thought back sharply. But it came again. Like Vesa. So very like his darling sister Vesa.

The girl smiled up at him and reached out for him, making a small sound of pleasure deep in her throat.

Instinctively he moved back slightly, tensed, but he was betrayed. Slowly his penis filled with blood until, engorged, it stood out stiffly. And when she reached for it and took it he could do nothing but close his eyes, ashamed and yet grateful.

As he entered her he opened his eyes and looked at her again. "What's your name?"

She laughed softly, and for the briefest moment the movement of her body against his own slowed and became uncertain. "Don't you remember, Axel? I'm White Orchid. Your little flower." Then she laughed again, more raucously this time, her body pressing up against his, making him cry out with the pleasure of it. "And he said you were ya . . ."

"Shall I wake him?"

"No, Mother Chua. Let him sleep a little longer. The fight is not for another two hours yet. There's plenty of time. Did he enjoy himself?"

Mu Chua smiled but did not answer. Some things she would do for money. Others were against her code. Spying on her guests was one of them. She studied Ebert a moment, trying to establish what it was made him so different from the others who came here. Perhaps it was just the sheer rudeness of the man. His ready assumption that he could have anything, buy anything. She didn't like him, but then it wasn't her job to like all of her clients. As it was he had brought her something valuable—the two Hung Mao girls.

"Have you made your mind up yet?"

Ebert did not look at her. There was a faint smile on his lips. "I can choose any one?"

"That was our deal."

"Then I'll take the girl. Golden Heart."

Mu Chua looked down. It was as she had expected. "She's untrained," she said, knowing it was hopeless but trying to persuade him even so.

"I know. That's partly why I chose her. I could train her myself. To my own ways."

Mu Chua shuddered, wondering what those ways would be. For a moment she considered going back on the deal and returning the two Hung Mao girls, but she knew that it made no sense either to throw away such a certain attraction as the barbarian shen nu or to make an enemy of Hans Ebert.

"Are you certain she's not too young?"

Ebert merely laughed.

"Then I'll draw up the contracts. It will be as agreed. The two girls for the one. And this evening's entertainment free."

"As we agreed," said Ebert, smiling to himself.

Mu Chua studied him again, wondering what game he was playing with his fellow officer. She had seen the way he bullied and insulted him. Why, then, had he been so insistent that she drug him and send the Hung Moo girl to him? There seemed no love lost between the two men, so what was Ebert's design?

She bowed and smiled, for once feeling the hollowness of her smile, then turned and went to bring the contract. But she was thinking of Golden Heart's dream. Ebert was the tiger come out of the West, and last night he had mated with her. Insatiably, so Golden Heart had said: wildly, his passion barely short of violence. And though there was no chance of Golden Heart conceiving, Mu Chua could not help but think of the image in the dream—the image of the gray-white snake. In most cases it was an auspicious symbol—sign that the dreamer would bear a boy child. But the snake in the dream had been cold and dead.

She shuddered. The first part of the dream had proved so right, how could the second not come about in time? And then, what misery for Golden Heart. Eat your year cakes now, thought Mu Chua as she took the contract from the drawer in her room and turned to go back. Celebrate now beneath the rainbow-colored clouds, for soon Golden Heart will be broken. And I can do nothing. Nothing at all.

WHEN HE WOKE the second time he knew she would be there, beside him in the bed. He turned and looked at her, all shame, all horror purged from him, only love and a vague desire remaining. For a moment he was still, silent, watching her, a faint smile on his face. Then, as he watched, there was movement at the mouth of her sex. A dark and slender shape seemed to press up between the soft, pale lips of flesh. Slowly it emerged, stretching a thumbnail's length and more into the air, its blind snout moving purposively, as if sniffing the air. Axel stared at it, fascinated and horrified. It was alive—a living thing. He gave a small cry of shock and surprise and the thing vanished, as though it had never been, burrowing back down into the soft, moist folds of flesh.

His cry woke her. She sat up abruptly, her eyes as blue as a northern sea, heavy with sleep. "Axel. . . what is it?"

She focused on his face and seemed to come awake suddenly, seeing the horror there.

"Gods, what is it?" She got up and moved toward him, but he backed away, fending her off with his hands. She stopped still, her body tensed, and lowered her head a fraction, staring at him. "Tell me what it is, Axel. Please. Was it a bad dream?"

He pointed at her. "Something ..."

It was all he could say, but it seemed she understood. She sat back on the bed, folding her hands in her lap. "Ah ... I see."

She let out a deep breath. "What you saw"— she shrugged and looked up at him, strangely vulnerable—"we all have them." Her look was as much as to say, Surely you knew about this? Surely you've heard?

"I"— he swallowed—"I don't understand."

She stared at him a moment longer, then reached down into the folds of her sex and began to coax something gently from within. Axel watched, wide eyed, as she lifted the thing with her fingers and placed it gently in the palm of her right hand, extendiag it toward him so that he could see it clearly.

"Look. It's all right. It won't hurt you. It's perfectly harmless."

It was an insect of some kind. Or so it first appeared. A dark, slender, wormlike shape half the length of a finger. It was smooth and perfectly black. Unsegmented. Unmarked. It seemed blind; devoid, in fact, of all sensory equipment. And yet it had reacted swiftly to his cry.

"What is it?" he asked, coming closer, unable to conceal a shudder.

"As I said, we all have them. All of the girls, that is. They keep us clean, you see. OenSyn developed thenu They live off bacteria—special kinds of bacteria. AIDS, herpes, venereal diseases of all kinds."

He wrinkled up his nose. "Gods," he said. "And it's been there all the time. While we were . . . ?"

"AH the time. But it never gets in the way. It lives in a special sac in my womb. It only comes out when it senses I'm asleep or perfectly relaxed. It's a parasite, you see. A benevolent one." She smiled and petted the thing in her hand, then gently put it back.

There was a knock on the door. Axel looked about him.

"Here," said the girl, handing him a robe, but taking nothing for herself.

He wrapped the er-silk pau about him, then turned to face the door. "Come in!"

It was Mu Chua. "I heard a noise," she said. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes. Yes, it's fine." He glanced at the girl, who sat there on the bed, looking away from him, then turned back to face Mu Chua. "It was nothing. Really. Nothing at all."

Mu Chua met his eyes and held them just a moment longer than was natural, making him wonder what she was thinking as she looked at him; reawakening, for the briefest moment, his fears of being taped and betrayed. But then she smiled—a warm, candid smile that held no subterfuge. "Good," she said. "Then dress and come through. I've prepared a breakfast for you."

Her smile warmed him, cleared away the shadows in his head. "Thank you, Mother Chua. You run a good house. A very good house."

THE PIT was a riot of noise and activity, its tiered benches packed to overflowing. On all sides men yelled and waved their arms frantically, placing bets, dark, faceless figures in the dim red light, while down below, in the intense white light of the combat circle, the two men crouched on their haunches, in the wa shih stance, facing each other silently.

Axel Haavikko, sitting on the front bench between Fest and Ebert, narrowed his eyes, studying the two combatants. They seemed an ill-matched pair; one Hung Mao, the other Han; one a giant, the other so compact and yet so perfectly formed he looked as though he had been made in a GenSyn vat. But there was a stillness, an undisguised sense of authority, about the smaller man that impressed at once. He seemed immovable, as if grown about a central point of calm.

"The Han's name is Hwa. I'm told he's champion here," said Fest, leaning forward and speaking into his ear. "Seventeen bouts, he's had. Two more and it'll be a record."

Axel turned and yelled back at Fest. "And the other?"

Fest shrugged and indicated the small Han sitting next to him. He leaned forward again, raising his voice. "My friend here says that no one knows much about him. He's a local boy, name of Karr, but he hasn't fought before. He's something of a mystery. But worth a bet, maybe. You'll get good odds."

Axel turned to look at the other combatant. Crouched, Karr was taller than most men. Seven ch'i, perhaps. Maybe more. Standing, he had been close to twice the size of Hwa; broad at the shoulder and heavily muscled, his oiled skin shining slickly in the brilliant whiteness. Such men were usually slow. They depended on sheer strength to win through. Yet Axel remembered how the crowd had gone quiet when the giant entered the arena and realized that Karr was something unusual, even by their standards.

For a moment he studied the tattoos on Karr's chest and arms. On each arm a pair of dragons—one green, one red, their long bodies thick and muscular—coiled about each other sinuously. Their heads were turned inward, face to face, wide, sharp-toothed mouths snarling, huge golden eyes flashing. On his chest a great bird spread its wings, its powerful, regal head thrown back defiantly, its cruel beak open in a cry of triumph, a terror-stricken horse held fast in each of its steel-like talons.

Axel looked away, feeling suddenly quite awkward. His silks, his braided hair, his necklaces of silver and jade. Such refinements were an impertinence down here. There was no place for such subtleties. Here everything was bared.

It was warm in the Pit and unbearably stuffy, yet he shivered, thinking of what was to come.

"Look at him!" yelled Ebert, leaning close to join their conversation. "Meat! That's what he is! A huge sack of meat! It's a foregone conclusion, Haavikko! I'd not waste a single yuan on him! It'll be over in seconds!"

"You think so, Ebert?"

Ebert nodded exaggeratedly. "See our man here." He indicated Hwa. "I'm told he's a perfectionist. An artist. He practices eight hours a day, sometimes doing nothing but repeating one single movement." Ebert laughed and his gray eyes gleamed red in the dull light. "Such training pays off. They say he's so fast you daren't even blink while he's fighting!"

Axel shrugged. Maybe it was so. Certainly there was something different, something obsessive about the man that was quite chilling. His eyes, for instance, never moved. They stared ahead, as if in trance, boring into his opponent's face, unblinking, merciless in their focus. Whereas the other . . .

Even as he looked he saw Karr turn his head and look directly at him.

It was a fierce, insolent gaze, almost primitive in its intensity, and yet not wholly unintelligent. There was something about the man. Something he had seen at once. Perhaps it was the casual, almost arrogant way he had looked about the tiers on entering, or the brief, almost dismissive bow he had greeted his opponent with. Whatever, it was enough to make Axel feel uneasy with Ebert's brusque dismissal of the man. On balance, however, he had to agree with Ebert; the small man looked like an adept—a perfect fighting machine. Height, weight, and breadth were no concern to him. His strength was of another kind.

"Of course," continued Ebert, raising his voice so that it carried to the giant, "brute strength alone can never win. Intelligence and discipline will triumph every time. It's nature's law, my friends!"

Axel saw the giant's eyes flare, his muscles tense. He had heard and understood.

He leaned close to Ebert. "I'll wager a hundred yuan that the big man wins."

"Okay. I'll give you five to one."

"You're sure?"

Ebert laughed arrogantly. "Make it two fifty, and I'll give you ten to one!"

Axel met his eyes a moment, conscious of the challenge in them, then gave the barest nod.

Just then, however, the fight marshal stepped out into the combat circle and the crowd hushed expectantly.

Axel felt his stomach tighten, his heart begin to thud against his rib cage. This was it, then. To the death.

The two men rose and approached the center of the circle. There they knelt and bowed to each other—a full k'o t'ou, heads almost touching. Then they sat back on their haunches, waiting, while the marshal gave their names and read the rules.

The rules were short and simple. One. No weapons were permitted but their own bodies. Two. So long as the fight continued they were to keep within the combat circle. Three. Once begun the fight could not be called off. It ended only when one of them was dead.

Axel could feel the tension in his bones. All about him rose a buzz of excitement; an awful, illicit excitement that grew and grew as the moments passed and the two men faced each other at the circle's center, waiting for the signal.

Then, suddenly, it began.

The small man flipped backward like a tumbler, then stopped, perfectly, almost unnaturally still, half crouched on his toes, his arms raised to shoulder level, forearms bent inward, his fingers splayed.

Karr had not moved. He was watching Hwa carefully, his eyes half lidded. Then, very slowly, he eased back off his knees, drawing himself up to his full height, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet.

Hwa feinted to the left, then sprang at Karr—bounding forward, then flipping his body up and sideways, one foot kicking out at the big man's groin.

There was a roar from the crowd. For a moment Karr was down. Then he was up again, his feet thudding against the canvas flooring, a hiss of pain escaping through his teeth. Hwa had missed his target. His foot had struck Karr on the upper thigh. The skin there was a vivid red, darkening by the moment, and as Karr circled he rubbed at the spot tenderly, almost absentmindedly.

"He's too slow!" Ebert hissed in his ear.

"Wait!" Axel answered. He had been watching Hwa's face; had seen the surprise there when the big man had bounced up again. Hwa had thought he had him. He really had.

Hwa crouched again, in the classic ch'i ma shih, the riding-horse stance, moving side to side from the hips, like a snake. Then he moved his feet in a little dance. From the tiers on all sides came a loud, low shuddering as the crowd banged their feet in applause. A moment later Hwa attacked again.

This time he ran at Karr; a strange, weaving run that ended in a leap. At the same time he let out a bloodcurdling scream.

But Karr had moved.

At the instant Hwa leapt, Karr ducked, rolled, and turned. It was a movement that was so quick and so unexpected from such a big man that a huge gasp of surprise went up from the crowd. As Hwa turned to face him again, Karr was smiling.

Surprise turned to rage. Hwa attacked a third time; whirling his body about, thrusting and kicking, his arms and legs moving in a blur. But each blow was met and countered. For once Hwa's speed was matched. And when he withdrew he was breathing heavily, his face red from exertion.

The crowd roared its appreciation.

"It's luck!" yelled Ebert next to him. "You see if it isn't! The Han will have him soon enough!"

Axel made to answer, but at that moment Hwa launched himself again, flipping over once, twice, like an acrobat, then feinting to left, right, then left again. He was only an arm's length from Karr when the big man acted. But this time Karr moved a fraction too slowly. When Hwa kicked Karr was off balance, striking at a place where Hwa had been but was no longer.

The crack of bone could be heard to the back of the tiers.

Karr groaned audibly and went down.

Hwa struck again at once, his foot kicking out once, twice, forcing the broken arm back at an impossible angle.

Axel gasped, feeling sick. Beside him Ebert gave a yell of triumph.

Hwa moved back, getting his breath, a look of satisfaction replacing the frown of concentration he had worn until that moment.

The Pit was tense, silent, waiting for him to end it. "Shau," he said softly, looking at Karr. Burn.

Karr was down on one knee, his face a mask of pain. Slowly, very slowly, he got up, supporting his shattered arm with his left hand. For a moment he seemed to look inside himself. His breathing slowed and his face cleared. With a grimace of pure agony he wrenched his arm back, the click of bone against bone the only sound in the whole arena. For a moment he swayed, then seemed to gain control of himself again and tucked the useless hand into the cloth belt at his waist, securing it.

"Come," he said, lifting his chin in challenge to the smaller man. "Jt isn't over yet."

The words were like a goad. Hwa exploded, twirling and somersaulting, kicking and punching in a furious rain of blows that went on for minutes. But Karr was up to the challenge. With his good arm and both legs he parried everything Hwa threw at him, weaving and ducking and turning with a speed and agility that surprised everyone. It seemed impossible for a man so big to move his weight so quickly, so subtly.

But Axel, watching, saw how much it cost him—saw, beneath the mask of outward calm, the agony as Karr flipped and jumped and rolled, avoiding the constant flood of blows. Saw it in his eyes, in the faintest movement at the corners of his mouth. Watched until it seemed impossible that Karr could take any more.

And then, just as Hwa was drawing off, Kan: counterattacked for the first time.

Hwa moved back, his full weight resting momentarily— perhaps, for the only time during the contest—on his back foot, in hou shih, the monkey stance. And as he moved back, so Karr rolled forward, pushing up off the floor with his good left arm, his wrist straining and flexing, the whole weight of his huge frame thrust forward into Hwa.

He caught Hwa totally off balance, his legs wrapping about the small man's neck, his huge weight driving him down into the canvas.

For an instant there was silence. Then, as the big man rolled over, there was a groan of pain. Karr sat up, clutching his arm, his face rent with pain. But Hwa was dead. He lay there next to Karr, pale, unmoving, his back, his neck, broken, the back of his skull crushed by the impact of his fall.

Axel let out a shivering breath. Beside him Ebert was suddenly very quiet. On all sides the Pit was in uproar.

"Magnificent!" Fest yelled into Axel's ear. "They were giving odds of thirty-five to one! It's the biggest upset in five years, so my friend here says!" But Axel was barely listening. He was watching Karr, filled with admiration and respect for the big man.

"He was magnificent," Axel said softly, turning to look at Ebert.

"He-was lucky!" For a second or two Ebert glowered back at him. Then he laughed dismissively and dug something out of his tunic pocket and handed it across to Haavikko.

"It's only money, eh?"

Axel looked down at the thick square of plastic in his hand. It was a secure-image holo-chip. A bearer credit for 2,500 yuan. Axel looked up, surprised, then remembered the wager. Two fifty at ten to one. It was more than six months' salary, but Ebert had treated it as nothing. But then, why not? To him it was pocket money.

Ebert was leaning across him, yelling at Fest. "Hey! Let's go back to the dressing room and congratulate him., eh?"

For a moment longer Axel stared at Ebert, then he looked back at the big man. Karr was picking himself up from the floor painfully, no sign of triumph in his face.

Fest took Axel's arm and began to pull him away. "Let's go. Hans has had enough."

"Come on," said Ebert as they stood in the corridor outside. "We'll buy the brute dinner. He can be our guest."

They stood in the corridor outside the dressing room, leaning against the wall, ignoring the comings and goings of the lesser fighters. There were bouts all afternoon—challengers for the new champion. But they had seen enough. Ebert had sent in his card a quarter bell ago, the invitation scribbled on the back. Now they waited.

"There's a problem with such mechanical virtuosity," Ebert said rather pompously. "It can so easily switch over into automatism. A kind of unthinking, machinelike response. Totally inflexible and unable to adapt to approaches more subtle than its own. That's why Hwa lost. He was inflexible. Unable to change."

Fest laughed. "Sound stuff, Hans. But what you're really saying is that you knew the big man would win all the time!"

Ebert shook his head. "You know what I mean." There was a slight irritation in his voice. Then he relented and laughed. "Okay, I'm trying to rationalize it, but we were all surprised. Even Axel here. Even he thought his man was going to lose."

Haavikko smiled. "That's true. He was good, though, wasn't he?"

Fest nodded. "Impressive. Not the best I've seen, maybe, but strong. Brave too."

Axel looked about him. "It's another world," he said. "Rawer, more basic than ours."

Ebert laughed, looking at him. "I do believe our young friend is in love with it all. Imagine, living down here, in the sweat and grime!" He laughed again, more viciously this time. "You'd soon be disillusioned."

"Maybe..."

He managed no more. Just then the door opened and the big man's manager came out. He had the same look about him. You're Karr's elder brother, Axel thought, looking at him.

"What do you want?"

Ebert smiled. "I watched your man. He fought well. I'd like to take him out to supper. My treat."

Axel saw how the man controlled himself; saw how he looked from one of them to the next, recognizing them for what they were, Above aristocrats, and knew at once how it must be to live as this man did—wanting to stay clear of their kind, but at the same time needing them. Yes, he saw it all there in the man's face; all the dreadful compromises he had had to make just to live down here. It rent at Axel's soul; made him want to turn and leave.

"Okay," the man said after a moment's hesitation. "But Karr's not feeling well. The contest took a lot out of him. He needs rest. ..."

Ebert held the man's hands a moment. "It's all right, friend. We'll not keep him. A celebration meal, and then. . ." He shrugged and smiled pleasantly, letting the man's hands go. "We have influence. Understand? We can arrange things for you. Make it easier. . . ."

Axel narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, Ebert?"

Ebert turned and looked at him sharply. "Shut up, Haavikko! Let me deal with this. I know what I'm doing."

Axel looked down. Do as you will, he thought.

Ebert had a reputation for being headstrong. For doing what others would never dare to do. But it was understandable. He had been born to rule. His father, Klaus Ebert, was head of Chung Kuo's second largest company. A company that had existed since the first days of the City; that provided all the body servants for the Great Families—sweet, intelligent creatures, scarcely distinguishable from the human; that provided a range of taste-sculpted servants for the richest of the rich, and armies of mindless automatons for the Seven. A company that produced over a third of all the synthesized food eaten in the levels.

Hans Ebert was heir to GenSyn, second only to MedFac on the Hang Seng Index. Rumor was his father could buy the Net twice over. What, then, if he should haggle with the manager of a small-time fighter? Even so, Axel found himself annoyed. Hadn't Ebert seen? Hadn't he realized how fine, how powerful, the man was?

"We'll go in, then?" Ebert said, his tone insistent. Commanding. The manager lowered his head, then bowed to the waist, letting them pass.

So power is, thought Axel, moving past him. So power acts.

Karr was sitting at the far end of the room, his right arm strapped to his chest, a bowl of soup balanced in his left hand. He looked up at them sharply, annoyed at their intrusion.

"What do you want?"

Ebert smiled, ignoring the big man's hostility. "You fought well. We'd like to celebrate your success. To honor you."

Karr laughed. He set down the soup and stood up, then came across the room until he stood two paces from Ebert.

"You want to honor me?"

For the briefest moment Ebert seemed intimidated by the big man. Then he recovered, turning to smile at his fellows before looking back up at Karr. "Why not? It was a great victory."

"You think so?" Karr smiled, but his voice was sharp and cold. "You don't think it was the triumph of meat over intelligence, then?"

Ebert's mouth worked ineffectually for a moment. Then he took a step backward. But as he did so, Karr spat on the floor between Ebert's feet.

"Fuck off! Understand? I don't need you."

Ebert's face turned ashen. For a moment he struggled to form words. Then he found his voice again. "How dare he!"

The words were high pitched, almost strangled.

Fest held his arm tightly, whispering urgently in his ear. "Don't make trouble here, Hans. Please! They suffer us down here. But if we start anything we'll spark a riot."

"I'll kill him," Ebert said, under his breath.

Karr heard and smiled mockingly.

"He'd as like break both your arms," Fest said quietly.

Ebert sneered. "I think my father would have something to say about that, don't you?"

Fest pulled on Ebert's arm, drawing him back. "The less said about your father, the better, Hans. These fellows know only too well who manufactures the Hei they send in to crush any sign of an uprising. GenSyn and your father are about as popular here as Genghis Khan."

Karr was watching them hawkishly. At the mention of Gen-Syn his eyes narrowed. "So you're Ebert's son?"

Ebert threw off Fest's hand and took a step forward, his head raised arrogantly to face out the big man. "You understand what it means, then?"

Karr smiled tightly. "Oh, I know what it means up there. But you're not up there now, Shih Ebert. This isn't your kingdom and you should mind your manners. Understand?"

Ebert went to speak again, but Karr lifted his good hand sharply to cut him off. His face was bitter. "Let me explain it simply for you. Today I killed a man I admired greatly. A man who taught me much about honor and necessity." He took a step closer to Ebert. "He was a man, Ebert. A master."

"You were lucky," said Ebert quietly, provocatively.

A faint smile played on Karr's lips briefly, but his eyes were cold and hard. "Yes. For once you're right. I was lucky. Hwa underestimated me. He thought as you think. And because of that he's dead."

"Is that a threat?"

Karr laughed, then shook his head. He was about to say something more, but at that moment there was a noise in the corridor outside. An instant later the door swung open. Two uniformed officers of the Special Security squad stood there, their standard-issue deng rifles held against their chests. Behind them came the General.

Tolonen strode into the dressing room, then stopped, looking about him. Fest, Ebert, and Haavikko had come sharply to attention. They stood there, heads bowed, awaiting orders, but the General ignored them a moment. He walked up to Karr and looked him up and down before turning his back on him.

"I'm sorry to have to break things up, but we've heard from our Triad contacts. I'd have notified you before, but the matter's no longer urgent."

"Sir?" Fest straightened up, his face expressing his confusion. He had been told this was a matter of the utmost urgency and that he would be notified at once.

Tolonen turned his head and looked at Fest. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, I should explain. They're dead. Someone got to them before us. The Kuei Chuan Triad are sending a man to take us to the place. IVe arranged to meet them here in an hour."

"Is it far?" Fest asked.

"I'm not sure. They don't use grid references down here. But it's a place called Ammersee."

Behind him Karr laughed. "I know it well. It's quite a warren. You'll need a guide."

Tolonen turned and looked at the fighter again. He was a big man himself, but Karr was head and shoulders taller than him. "Who's this?" he asked Fest.

"His name is Karr, sir. He was the winner of the combat."

Tolonen stared at Karr, then nodded. "Yes. He doesn't look like a loser." Then he addressed the big man directly. "How far is this place?"

"Ten, maybe twelve H."

"And how long would it take us to get there?"

Karr shrugged. "By foot forty minutes. By rickshaw fifteen, maybe twenty."

"And you'll take us?"

Karr looked at Ebert. "I'm not sure I'd be welcome."

Tolonen looked from Karr to Ebert. "Oh, And why's that, Hans?"

Ebert lowered his head, not looking at Karr. "Just a small disagreement, sir. Nothing serious."

"Good," said the General. "That's settled, then. The sooner we get there the better. I want to sort this out." He turned back to Karr. "I'm indebted, Shih Karr. I'll make sure you're well paid for your help."

Karr bowed, then turned to get his cloak.

D E V O R E met them in the corridor outside Kao Jyan's apartment. "I came as soon as I heard, sir."

"Well, Howard?" said Tolonen. "What have we got?" "Three men, sir. Low-level criminals. I've checked with our contacts. They weren't members of any of the local Triads. Two of them were kwai. Hired knives. The other—Kao Jyan, who owned the apartment—was a small-time racketeer. Drugs, stolen goods, nothing big."

Iblonen nodded. "Nothing to connect them with anyone higher up?"

DeVore shook his head. "Not yet, sir. But we're still investigating. Kao Jyan was known to frequent a place known as Big White's. He'd do some of his business there, it seems. But the place was gutted yesterday. Victim of one of the local gang wars. Big White himself is dead, so that avenue's closed to us too."

"It all seems too convenient. Too systematic."

DeVore gave a brief nod. "As if someone's tidying up after them."

"Yes," said Tolonen, touching his shoulder. "That's my thought exactly."

"In this case, sir, it seems genuine enough. Big White was playing off one Triad against another. It looks like he was a victim of his own greed."

"Hmm." Tolonen still seemed unhappy with the coincidence. "Dig deeper, eh, Howard? It might be genuine, but then it might not. Someone high's behind all of this. Someone high enough to pay off Triads as a matter of course."

DeVore bowed, obedient, then turned toward the guarded doorway. "Shall we go in, sir?"

Axel, watching from the doorway, saw the General move about the room; saw how he looked at everything, trying to fit it all into place. In the rickshaw coming over, Tolonen had turned to him, explaining.

"Sometimes, Axel, you need to see things for yourself. Sniff them out first hand. Sometimes it's the only way. You see things that another might have missed. Understand things. Bring things to light that would otherwise have remained hidden."

He saw now how the General went about that. How he looked from one thing to the next; his eyes sharp, alert for the hidden connections.

"This is odd, Howard. Very odd."

Tolonen was leaning over the corpse that lay facedown on the bed, holding the surgeon's tag between his fingers. DeVore went over to him.

"Sir?"

"Look at this. The time of death. Two hours before the other two. Why's that, d'you think?"

"I'd guess they were waiting for them in the room. That they picked them off as they came in."

Tolonen looked up at him grimly. "Maybe. But that would take some nerve. To sit with a man you'd murdered for two hours."

DeVore said nothing.

"Which one was this?"

"We don't have a surname, sir, but he was known as Chen."

Tolonen nodded, then carefully moved the bloodied head. It lay there, its shattered left profile upward on the sheets. For a while the General stared at it, as if trying to remember something. He touched the smooth skin beneath the ear and frowned, then shrugged and got up.

"This one." He pointed down at the corpse of Kao Jyan. "I recognize him from the tape."

"The tape?" DeVore looked up sharply.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Howard. I should have said. We had a tape of the two men. A copy from the CompCam files."

"Ah, yes," DeVore said hurriedly. "Of course."

Tolonen had moved on. He stood over the third of the bodies, one hand stroking his smooth-shaven chin. "So who was this, then? And how did he fit in?" He looked up and across at DeVore. "Whose side was he on, I wonder? Was he with these two, or did he come to kill them?"

DeVore met his gaze steadily. "His name was Chu Heng, sir. A local thug. It seems—"

Karr, in the doorway, interrupted him. "Excuse me, but he was quite well known in these parts, General. A handy man with a blade. Too handy. It's good to see him dead."

DeVore looked at the big man curiously, then turned to the General. "Who's this, sir?"

Tolonen indicated that Karr should come in. "This is Shih Karr, Howard. He's a fighter—what they call a 'blood.' He's champion, it seems. For the time being."

DeVore gave the slightest bow, acknowledging the giant. "You know these parts, then?"

Karr was kneeling over the corpse, looking at the wounds to Chu Heng's neck and chest with a professional interest. After a moment he looked up at DeVore. "I was born in Ammersee.

Until four years ago I lived here. I know its people and its business."

"So you knew these men?"

"Kao Jyan? Well, I knew of him. Chen I didn't know. He must have taken up with Ka&Jyan quite recently. But he was a good man. He had honor."

"A good man, eh? You can say that, not knowing him?" DeVore laughed, his eyes weighing up the big man. "But he was kwai, a killer. Do killers have honor?"

Karr met his eyes firmly. "Some do. You, for instance. Haven't you had to kill in your line of work?"

DeVore smiled. "Ah, but that's different."

"Is it?" Karr straightened up, moving to the second of the bodies, giving it the same scrupulous examination as the first. "Are people so very different below the Net?" He glanced up at DeVore, then back at the body. "Do you know what kwai is, Major?"

"They kill for profit. What more do I need to know?"

Karr laughed but did not look up. "I thought you'd be curious, if only professionally. You see, Chu Heng was kwai, too, but he wasn't typical. He was what they call a 'twisted blade.' Most kwai would have spat on Chu Heng."

"A knife's a knife."

Karr shook his head. "Not so. Some weapons are better made than others. And some are made by masters. So with a good kwai. You see, to become kwai one must study long and hard. It is a discipline. A way of life."

"Down here? The only way of life IVe seen down here is grab what you can and kill to keep it,"

Karr looked up, his gray eyes calm, controlled. "Tsao Ch'un was Son of Heaven."

For once the old saying carried rather too much meaning. Tsao Ch'un was the tyrant who had united Chung Kuo and built the great City- He, in his time, had grabbed and killed to keep what he had taken. Until the Seven—his chief ministers—had deposed him.

"Kings do as they must," DeVore said, his eyes suddenly dangerous.

Karr straightened up to his full height, facing DeVore. "And kwai. As I said, Major, to be a kwai here is an honorable calling. Most are not as Chu Heng was. Nor should you confuse them with the punks and paper tigers that run with .the Triads. A kwai has inner strengths. He draws from deeper wells than greed."

DeVore laughed scornfully. He was about to answer Karr, but Tolonen stepped in between the two men. "Major DeVore, Fest, Ebert, Haavikko. Leave us a moment. I want a word with Karr."

DeVore bowed, then went outside, followed by the other three. When they were gone, the General turned to face the big man.

"You know the ways of this place, Karr. What do you think happened here?"

Karr looked about him. "It's messy. Hastily arranged and hurriedly carried out. Yet the killings . . . well, they're odd. If I didn't know better I'd say that Kao Jyan's death was a piece of Chu Heng's work. This slashing and gouging is his trademark. He was a sadist. He enjoyed inflicting pain."

"And the others?"

Karr put his head to one side. "IVe not looked at Chen yet. But whoever killed Chu Heng was good at it. Trained to kill quickly and efficiently."

"A soldier, maybe?"

Karr laughed. "I hadn't thought of that, but yes."

Tolonen smiled, pleased.

"You're a useful man, Karr, and my ensign, Haavikko, tells me you're a magnificent fighter. Intelligent too. I could use a man like you."

Karr set Kao Jyan's head down gently and looked up at the General. "I'm under contract, General. Ten fights, if I live that long."

Tolonen nodded. "I'll buy your contract out."

Karr smiled. "Maybe. But why? I don't understand, General. What use could I be to you?"

At that the General laughed. "You have a talent. An eye for things. I could see it at a glance. And you know this place. Know how its people think and act. At present we have to rely on our contacts down here. On Triad bosses. And that's not merely costly but unreliable. They'd as soon be in another man's pay as ours."

"And I'm different?"

"I'd judge so."

Karr stood and looked about him. "What happened here, General? What really happened?"

Tolonen moved across the room. He stood at the games machine, toying with its touch pad. "What do you mean?"

"You, the Major, those three junior officers outside. That's some team to investigate a small-time killing like this. So why are you all here? What's important about these men? What did they do? Or should I ask, what did they know?"

Tolonen laughed. "What they did is kill a minister. What they knew, however, remains a mystery. But someone knows. The someone who killed them."

Karr came and stood at his shoulder, looking at the game that had come up on the screen. "What's this?"

"It looks like the last stored memory. Kao Jyan was a good player, it seems."

Karr shook his head. "That's not Kao Jyan. I'd swear it. In fact, I'd say that wasn't anyone from around here. Look at those patterns. And this is an eighth-level game. Whoever was playing this was a master of wei chi."

Tolonen laughed strangely. "Our killer?"

Karr turned his head, meeting his eyes. "Well, it would be one way of filling two hours."

IT WAS A BIG five-pole sedan, its mauve er-silk banners emblazoned with black stylized dogs, symbol of the Kuei Chuan Triad. The ten shaven-headed polemen sat against the wall opposite, tucking into bowls of duck-soy soup and noodles, while in a conspicuously separate group, standing beside the sedan, in mauve and black fake-satin uniforms, were the pen p'ei—rushing daggers—numbered patches on their chests indicating their standing in the Triad hierarchy.

Ignoring the lowly polemen, Ebert strode up to the lowest-numbered of the p'ei, who immediately bowed low and touched his forehead to the littered floor of the corridor.

"Let's get going," Ebert said brusquely. He dropped a fifty-yuan coin beside the man's head. "There'll be another if you get us there in twenty minutes."

The p'ei's eyes went to the coin, then, widening, looked up at Ebert. He nodded his head exaggeratedly. "As you wish, Excellency!" He stood and turned to the polemen, barking orders in a pidgin Mandarin that none of the three young soldiers could follow. Soup bowls were dropped at once as the polemen hurried to get into position. Six of the p'ei formed up at the front. Daggers drawn, they would clear the way ahead of the sedan. Behind ran the last four of the p'ei, guarding against ambush.

Axel watched Ebert and Fest climb inside, then followed, stopping in the curtained doorway to look back at the bowed, shaven-headed polemen.

"Come on, Haavikko!" said Fest impatiently. "You don't want the man to lose his fee, do you?"

Axel ducked inside, taking the seat across from Fest and Ebert. "Why did you do that, Hans? There's no hurry to get back."

Ebert smiled. "You have to keep these types on their toes, Haavikko. It'll do them good to have a nice long run." He looked at Fest and laughed. "You should see the buggers' faces! It's worth a hundred yuan just for that!"

Axel looked at him a moment, then shrugged. He didn't like it, but they were probably used to it down here. This was how they expected the Above to behave.

The sedan lifted at once and they were away, the carriage swaying rhythmically about them, the shouts of the senior p'ei encouraging the men to run.

"What do you think of that, Hans?" Fest asked, leaning forward to draw the curtain back and look out at the runners. "It seems the General has bought the fighter's contract."

Ebert laughed dismissively. "The man's a brute! A primitive! I tell you, he'll prove nothing but trouble!"

Axel looked down. He had said nothing earlier, when Ebert had insulted Karr, but now he had had a bellyful of Ebert's arrogance. "You only say that because he stood up to you."

Ebert glowered. "I'll break him! See if I don't!"

Axel laughed and looked up, meeting Ebert's eyes. "And how will you do that, Hans? Is the General yours to command, then?"

"No!" He bit back the reply, then looked away, a dangerous expression in his eyes. "But there are others who feel as I do."

It was clear he meant DeVore. Surprisingly, the Major seemed to have been as much put out by the big man as Ebert. In the corridor outside the murdered Han's apartment he had muttered angrily about upstarts and big sacks of wind. It was clear he had not appreciated the big man correcting him about the kwcd.

"Karr will be the General's man," Axel insisted. "Answerable only to him." He paused, then, rubbing it in, added. "It seems he has need of such men."

Ebert laughed mockingly, but Haavikko's words had offended him. He turned aside angrily and beneath his breath muttered, "Gods, but what fools they give us in command!"

Fest leaned forward. "Hush up, Hans! Have a care what you say!"

But Axel had heard and was furious. This was too much. "I take it you refer to General Tolonen?"

Ebert turned on him squarely, his right fist bunched, his face dark with anger. "And what if I do, puppy? What's it to you what I say?"

Axel drew himself up in his seat. "It is discourteous, to say the least. You forget where your duty lies, and to whom. Retract your words, Hans Ebert, or I'll be forced to make you retract them!"

For a while neither spoke, but faced each other out, the sedan swaying about them. Slowly Ebert calmed, his breathing normalizing. Then, turning his face away, he laughed. "Go fuck yourself, Haavikko," he said softly.

At once Axel swung a punch at Ebert, but Fest, anticipating trouble, had moved between them. He blocked the blow with his arm, then pushed Ebert away to the far side of the carriage.

"For gods' sake, Hans, shut up!"

Then he turned on Haavikko. "As for you, Axel Haavikko, listen carefully. I don't condone what Ebert said just now. But you had best just forget it. Understand?"

"Forget it? How can I forget it? It undermines all we are. If I—"

Fest put his hand roughly over Haavikko's mouth, glaring at him.

"Forget it! Is that clear? Hans meant nothing by it. His temper was up, that's all. Understandably, I'd say. The barbarian insulted him! Spat at his feet! Would you have stood as much?"

"It doesn't excuse—" Axel began, but Fest silenced him with a look.

"Enough! Do you understand, Haavikko? No one's honor has been besmirched. What passed here ... it was only words. Nothing to get fired up about."

Axel looked across at Ebert, his face gone cold. Only words, he thought. Only words! He turned his head away, disgusted with them; aching to make Ebert eat the words he'd uttered and annoyed with Fest for interfering. And understanding now the restraint the big man had shown back in his dressing room.

"Well, Axel, some good came of the day after all."

Tolonen leaned forward across his desk, steepling his big hands together. Karr had just left the office, escorted by two elite guards. His contract had been purchased and he had sworn the oath of allegiance to the T'ang and to General Tolonen. All three junior officers had been witnesses. But now the others had gone and Axel was alone with the General for the first time since the business in the carriage.

Axel hesitated, looking down at the old man. Tolonen had treated him like a son since he had become his duty aide. Had honored him with advice and explanations. He had learned much in serving the General, but now things had changed. "Sir, there's something I wish to speak to you about." Tblonen smiled good-naturedly. "Go on, boy." "I'd . . . well, I'd like a new posting." Tblonen sat back slowly, the surprise in his face quite marked. "What's this?" He drew his hands apart and set them down on the edge of his desk. "I don't understand you, Haavikko. Aren't you happy here? Don't you like the job?"

Axel lowered his head. "I was, sir. And I did. But. . ." Tblonen was looking at him strangely. "What is it? What's happened?"

He kept silent. Kept his head lowered.

Tolonen stood up and came round the desk to him. "Tell me, boy. Tell me what's up."

He looked up and met Tolonen's eyes openly. "I'd rather not, sir. It's just that I feel I can't work here anymore."

Tolonen's disbelief surfaced as a laugh. "What am I supposed to make of that, eh? Can't work here. Don't feel like it. Tell me what happened."

Axel took a breath. "Sir, I'd rather not."

The General's bark of anger took him by surprise. "Rather not? It's not good enough, Haavikko. I'll have no secrets here. You'll tell me what happened. Why you want a new posting. I order you to tell me."

Axel swallowed. He had hoped to avoid this. He had wanted to settle his score with Ebert directly, personally. "It's Ebert, sir."

Tolonen laughed uncomfortably. "Ebert, eh? And what's wrong with young Ebert? Has he insulted you?"

"No, sir. Not directly."

"Well, then, what was it? Don't keep me guessing, boy. Spit it out."

"He was disrespectful, sir."

"Disrespectful, eh? To whom?"

Axel felt Tolonen's eyes boring into his own. "To you, sir."

Tolonen huffed. He was quiet a moment, then shook his head. "I don't believe it. His father is my oldest friend. He's like a son to me, that boy. Disrespect?" There was an ugly movement of the General's mouth. "What did he say?"

"I'd rather—" Axel began, but Tolonen cut him off angrily.

"Gods, boy! Don't 'rather not' me anymore! Spit it out, Haavikko! If you're accusing Ebert of disrespect I want to know the full details. And you had better have a witness. I'll have no unsupported hearsay."

Axel bowed his head dutifully. This was not how he had imagined it. He had thought the General would let him go— reluctantly, but without a fuss. This business of accusations and witnesses had come out of the blue.

"It was earlier today, sir. In the sedan coming back. Fest was present, sir. He heard everything."

Tolonen turned abruptly and leaned over his desk. Touching the intercom pad, he spoke to his secretary. "Have cadet officers Fest and Ebert brought back here, please. At once."

He turned back, looking at Haavikko sharply. "What did he say?"

Axel hesitated, the import of what he was doing suddenly striking him. There was much he disliked about Ebert—his arrogance and assumed superiority being the chief of them—but he had never intended to get the man thrown out of the service. If the charge of disrespect was proven he could be summarily dismissed from the force. For the first time since their exchange, Axel wished he had taken Fest's advice and forgotten the whole business.

"Well?" The General's roar brought him back to himself with a start. He looked up. Tolonen's face was red with anger. "Do I have to drag it from you word for word?"

Axel shook his head. In a quiet voice he repeated Ebert's words. Then what he had added afterward.

Tolonen had gone quiet. He looked away, then back at Haavikko. "That's it?" he asked, his voice suddenly much softer. "Those are his precise words?"

Axel nodded curtly, a shiver running down his back. So it was done. The accusation made.

The General shook his head slowly and turned away, moving toward the window. He gazed outward distractedly, then looked back at Haavikko. "You'll be silent until I order otherwise. All right?"

"Sir."

There was a knock at the door.

Tolonen cleared his throat, then turned to face the door. "Come in!"

Fest and Ebert entered. They marched to the center of the room and came to attention.

Tolonen came and stood directly before them, Fest to his left, Ebert to his right. Haavikko stood to the side, near the desk. From there he could see his two fellow cadets' faces. General Tolonen was in profile.

"Do you know why I've summoned you, Ebert?"

Ebert's eyes went to Haavikko, then back to Tolonen. "I think I can guess, sir."

Tblonen frowned. "Really?"

"It's Haavikko, sir. He insulted me. I had to slap him down."

Tolonen turned to look at Axel, astonished, then looked back at Fest. "Is this true, Fest?"

Fest bowed slightly. "It is, sir. It was coming back here from the Net. The two had an argument. Haavikko was very offensive about Ebert's father. Hans... I mean Ebert had no option but to strike him."

"I see," said Tolonen. "And there was nothing else?"

"Nothing, sir," answered Fest. "It was all very unpleasant, but we hoped it would be forgotten. Ebert feels his honor has been upheld."

"You're certain of this, Fest? You'd swear to it under oath?"

Fest looked straight ahead. His reply was instantaneous, unflinching. "I would, sir."

Tblonen considered a moment. Then he moved across until he was directly in front of Ebert. "Your father and I have been friends more than fifty years, Hans. I held you as a baby. Played with you as a child. And IVe always been proud of you as a soldier under my command. But a serious accusation has been leveled against you. One you must either admit to or deny completely."

"Sir?" Ebert looked puzzled.

Haavikko started forward, then stepped back. The liars! The barefaced liars!

Tolonen turned, looking across at Haavikko. Then, in a cold, quiet voice, he repeated what Haavikko had said to him, all the while keeping his eyes on him. Finished, he half turned, looking to Ebert. "Well, cadet Ebert? What have you to say?"

Ebert looked totally nonplussed. He said nothing, merely shook his head. It was Fest who answered for him, his face filled with indignation and anger.

"But this is outrageous, sir! Ebert said nothing of the kind! This is just malicious claptrap, sir! Pure bile! An attempt to get back at Ebert underhandedly!"

Ebert had lowered his head. When he looked up there was a tear on his left cheek. "General Tolonen . . ." he began.

"No! Enough!" Tolonen drew himself up to his full height.

"Fest, Ebert, be kind enough to leave the room. IVe heard enough."

Axel, unable to believe what had happened, watched them leave, and saw, as the General turned to face him, Ebert smile triumphantly at Fest. Then the door closed and he was alone with the General.

"You heard what they said, Haavikko. Explain yourself."

Axel shuddered. "They were lying, sir. Both of them. Fest was covering for Ebert. . . ."

Tblonen watched him coldly, then shook his head. "Take care, Haavikko. Don't compound your error. You realize I could have you court-martialed for what you've done. Dismissed from the service. The only thing that stops me is the promise I made your dead father."

The old man gritted his teeth, then looked away. His disappointment with Haavikko was written starkly in his face. "I thought better of you." He laughed—a sharp, bitter laugh— then turned away. "Get out of my sight, Haavikko. Right now. You have your posting."

THREE HOURS LATER Axel sat at the Security Desk at the lowest level of the Bremen Fortress, waiting for his new orders to come through. His kit—the sum total of his belongings in the world—was packed and stored in a back room down the hallway. To kill the time he had relieved the duty officer while he went to get ch'a for them both. The ninth of the evening bells had just sounded and it was quiet.

Outwardly he appeared quite calm as he sat there in the reception area. Inside, however, he still seethed. Anger and bitterness and regret at the General's actions filled him to bursting. The General had done what he had had to do, and, in his place, he might well have done the same. At least, so the logical, reasonable part of him argued. But seeing it that way didn't help. A gross injustice had been done him and his very soul felt bruised and raw. It was not justice he wanted but revenge. He felt like killing them. Slowly, painfully. Fest first, and then Ebert.

Impossible, he thought bitterly. And even if he did, they would come and take all those he loved in retribution. Sisters and aunts and all. To the third generation, as the law demanded.

He looked down, momentarily overcome, then looked up again, hearing a noise in front of him.

The Han bowed low before the desk, then met Axel's eyes. He seemed close to exhaustion and his clothes stank.

"I need protection," he said. "There are men trying to kill me."

Axel stared back at him, feeling empty. "It's an evil world," he said, indicating a seat at the back of the reception area. "Sit down. The duty officer will see you in a while."

He watched the Han turn and go to the seat, then looked away, paying no more attention to the man.

A minute later the duty officer was back. "You're in luck, Haavikko," he said, handing him a bowl of ch'a from the tray, then taking a sealed packet from his jacket pocket and putting it on the desk in front of him. "It's just come through. Your new posting."

Axel stared at it a moment, then took it and broke the seal. He read it, then looked down, his face momentarily registering his disgust. England! They were sending him to England, of all the godsforsaken places!

He tucked the orders away in his tunic pocket, masking his bitter disappointment, then drained his bowl at a go. "Thanks," he said, letting the other take his seat again. "I'll get my kit and go."

"Yes, you'd better." The duty officer smiled sadly at him; an understanding smile. "Hey! And good luck!"

After he'd gone, the Han rose slowly from his seat and went across to the desk. The duty officer looked up, then set his ch'a down.

"Yes?"

"I need protection," the Han said tiredly, conscious he had used these same words earlier. "There are men trying to kill me."

The officer nodded, then reached for his lap terminal, ready to take details. "Okay. What's your name?"

"Pi Ch'ien," the Han answered. "My name is Pi Ch'ien."

CHAPTER FOUR

The Moon Dragon

Well, what are we to do?"

Lehmann turned away, looking out at the calm of the lotus-strewn lake; watching as one of the three cranes he had bought only the day before lifted its long, elegant wings, then settled again, dipping its bill into the water. Behind him DeVore was pacing back and forth restlessly, slapping his gloves against his thigh with every second step. Lehmann had never seem him so agitated or so upset. Who would have believed that Yang Lai's message carrier, his third secretary, Pi Ch'ien, would turn up again, like an envoy from the land of the dead?

"What do you suggest, Howard?"

DeVore came and stood by him at the open window. "You know what we have to do. It's what we planned for. In case this happened."

"You think it's really necessary? I mean . . . Yang Lai is dead. And Cho Hsiang and the two assassins. There seems nothing more to connect us. So what if the General has Pi Ch'ien? Pi Ch'ien knows nothing."

"Not so, I'm afraid. Pi Ch'ien has named Heng Chi-Po as his contact."

Lehmann turned abruptly, facing him. "Minister Heng? Gods! And he has proof of this?"

DeVore shook his head. "No. But it isn't a question of proof any longer. The General plans to go to the T'ang with what he knows, surmise or not, proof or not. And the T'ang will tell him to investigate. We have to act now. To preempt the investigation." He paused, taking breath. "We have to sacrifice him, Pietr. We have to give them Wyatt."

Lehmann turned back, facing DeVore. "You're certain, Howard? Certain it's the only way?"

DeVore gave a curt nod. "It's necessary."

Lehmann was silent a moment, then he nodded. "All right. Do what you have to."

DeVore reached out and touched his arm. "Keep heart, Pietr. It's a hard road, I know, but we'll triumph. I'm sure of it."

"Maybe. . . ." Lehmann looked down. "You know, I didn't think it would be like this. I thought. . ."

"You thought you could keep your hands clean, eh?"

Lehmann shook his head. "No. Not that. Just. . . well, he's a good man, Howard. If there's any other way . . . ?"

He looked up, meeting DeVote's eyes again, but the latter shook his head.

"Don't blame yourself, Pietr. There is no other way." DeVore huffed. "Our hands are tied, don't you understand? Chung Kuo itself is to blame. This world of ours . . . it's incestuous. The connections are too tangled. You have only to scratch your ass and your enemy sighs with relief."

Lehmann laughed sadly. "That's so."

DeVore pressed on. "Do you think I'd not be open if I could? Do you think I like this game of deceit and double-dealing?" He spat out neatly onto the water below. "If I was open for a moment I'd be dead. And you. And all of us. So think of that, Pietr, before you get sentimental over Edmund Wyatt. He was a good man. Maybe. But he also wanted what we want. Change. A break with the old order. Keep that in mind, Pietr. Don't waver from it. Because if you doubt it for a moment you're dead. You and all of us."

Lehmann shivered, hearing how DeVore spoke of Wyatt in the past tense. But he could not argue with him. Their course was set now. To the end.

"Then I must seem his friend?"

"And I your mortal enemy."

"Yes." Lehmann looked out, watching one of the cranes glide slowly to the bank, then lift itself up onto the pale white rocks, ruffling its feathers as it settled.

THE GENERAL waited on the central dais, holding himself stiffly upright in the tall-backed Summons Chair. To either side of the dais stood an honor guard of the T'ang's own bodyguard, resplendent in their crimson combat silks, big men with shaven heads and naked feet, while all around him the T'ang's servants moved silently through the great hall, going about their business.

Only six hours ago he had contemplated this meeting with some misgivings, but now he felt confident, almost elated, the frustrations of the past three days behind him. He held DeVore's file tightly in his lap, smiling inwardly. I've got you now, he thought. Both of you. You won't wriggle out of this one.

He gazed ahead fixedly. Facing him, some fifty paces distant, was the entrance to the Hall of Eternal Truth, where the T'ang held audience.

The double doors were massive, twice as tall as they were broad. In silver across the black leather surface, its circumference five times the height of a man, was drawn a great circle of seven dragons. At its center the snouts of the regal beasts met, forming a roselike hub, huge rubies burning fiercely in each eye. Their lithe, powerful bodies curved outward like the spokes of a giant wheel while at the edge their tails were intertwined to form the rim. It was the Ywe Lung, the Moon Dragon, symbol of the Seven. Tblonen could never look at it without a feeling of great pride—glad beyond words that it had fallen to him to play so large a part in defending that great and powerful circle; that his T'ang honored him so.

Two bells sounded, the first sweet and clear, the second deep and resonant. Slowly, noiselessly, the great doors swung back.

The General stood, then stepped down from the dais, the file and the other papers held tightly against his breast. He turned to his left, then to his right, bowing his head stiffly to the two lieutenants, then marched forward ten paces and stopped, letting the honor guard form up behind him.

The doors were fully open now. He could see the T'ang at the far end of the Hall, seated on the high throne, atop the Presence Dais.

The T'ang's Chamberlain, Chung Hu-yan, came forward, greeting him.

"General Tolonen," he said, smiling and bowing low. "You are most welcome. The T'ang is expecting you."

"It is good to see you, Hu-yan," the General said quietly, returning both smile and bow. "I hope you're well. And all your family."

"And yours, Knut," he answered softly, straightening up. "But come. YouVe waited far too long already."

Chung Hu-yan turned, facing the T'ang again. He bowed low, going down onto his knees and pressing his forehead briefly against the tiled floor. Then he stood and walked slowly into the Hall. The General moved forward, following him. Beneath the great lintel he halted and made his own obeisance to the T'ang, the whole of the honor guard behind him making the gesture at the same moment, then rising when he rose. But when he moved forward again they stayed where they were. No one—not even a member of the honor guard—was allowed into the Hall without the T'ang's express permission.

At the foot of the steps Tblonen paused, the Chamberlain to the left of him, others of the T'ang's retinue gathered to the right of the Dais.

"Chieh Hsia," he said, making his k'o t'ou a second time.

The literal translation of the Mandarin was "below the steps," but the phrase had long acquired a second, more important meaning—"Your Majesty." "Chieh Hsia" dated from those ancient days when ministers, summoned to an audience with the emperor, were not permitted to address the Son of Heaven directly, but spoke through those officials gathered "below the steps" of the high-raised throne.

The T'ang rose from his throne and started down the broad steps of the Presence Dais.

"Knut. I'm sorry I kept you waiting."

Li Shai Tung was wearing his official robes; long, flowing silks of pale gold, trimmed with black, and honey-colored boots of soft kid. His fine gray hair was pulled back severely from his forehead and bound tightly at the back of his head. He wore a simple necklet of gold and, on the fingers of his right hand, two rings; the first a simple band of thin white gold, his dead wife's wedding gift; the other a heavier, thicker ring of black iron, bearing on its face a silvered miniature of the Ywe Lung, the seal of power.

Li Shai Tung was a tall man; as tall as his General, but willowy. He came down the twelve steps briskly, his movements lighter, more energetic, than one might have expected from a man of sixty years. It was often said that the T'ang moved like a dancer, elegantly, powerfully—and it was so; his athletic grace a result of the rigorous training he put himself through each morning. But there was also a dignity to his bearing—an authority—that only those bom to rule seem to possess.

Facing his General, he reached out to touch Tolonen's arm, his pale, lined face breaking into a smile. Then the hand fell back; moved to touch, then stroke, his long but neatly trimmed beard. "I've been kept busy, Knut. This matter of the vacancy. Four families have petitioned me for the appointment. I have been seeing the candidates this very morning."

"Then what I have to say will be of interest, Chieh Hsia."

Li Shai Tung nodded, then looked about him. Besides the Chamberlain there were a dozen others in the Hall; members of his private staff. "How confidential is this matter?"

The General smiled, understanding. "It would not do for all to know it yet."

The T'ang smiled back at him. "I understand. We'll speak alone. In my grandfather's room." He motioned to his Chamberlain. "Hu-yan. You will stand at the door and make certain no one disturbs us until we are done."

They went through, into one of the smaller rooms at the back of the Hall. The T'ang pulled the doors closed behind him, then turned, looking at Tolonen, his expression unreadable. He crossed the room and sat beneath the twin portraits of his grandfather and Wen Ti, motioning for his General to come to him.

"Sit there, Knut. Facing me."

Tolonen did as he was bid, yet he felt awkward, being seated in his T'ang's presence. He looked at the nearby fire and unconsciously put out-one hand toward its warmth.

The T'ang smiled, seeing the gesture. "You have something new, then? Something more than when we last spoke?"

"Yes, Chieh Hsia. I know who ordered Lwo Kang killed."

The T'ang considered. "Enough to prove this thing in law?"

The General nodded. "And maybe cause the fall of a Great Family."

"Ah. ..." Li Shai Tung looked down, into his lap. "Then the Minister is involved in this?"

Tblonen leaned forward and passed across the file, leaving the other papers in his lap. "It is all in there, Chieh Hsia. All the evidence. Trading connections. Payments and names. Who was used and when. Yang Lai, Fu Lung-ti, Hong Cao, Cho Hsiang—a whole network of names and dates, connecting all the levels of the thing. It was well orchestrated. Too well, perhaps. But we would never have made these connections unless my man DeVore had followed his nose. Wyatt was the hub—the center of this web of dealings."

The T'ang nodded, then looked down at the document. For the next fifteen minutes he was silent, reading. Then, finished, he closed the file and looked up. "Yes," he said softly, almost tiredly. "This is good, Knut. This is what I wanted. You have done very well."

The General bowed his head. "Thank you, Chieh Hsia. But as I said, the praise is not mine. This is Major DeVore's work."

"I see." The T'ang looked back down at the document. "Then I shall see that the Major is rewarded."

"Thank you. And the Minister?"

Li Shai Tung gave a short, humorless laugh. "Heng Chi-Po is a careful man, as this document bears out. Though the finger points at him, at no point does it touch." He shook his head. "No matter the weight of circumstantial evidence, we have nothing substantial."

"Yet it was he who warned Yang Lai. Who sent the message."

"Maybe so. But it would not hold. Assumptions, that's all we have when it comes down to it, Knut. Junior Minister Yang Lai is missing and the message card Pi Ch'ien held on to was blank. It is not strong evidence."

The General was quiet a moment. It was true. The message card that Pi Ch'ien had carried from Minister Heng to Yang Lai was worthless as evidence, the message it held having decayed within thirty seconds of Yang Lai activating it with his thumb-print.

"Then you will do nothing against him?"

The T'ang nodded. When he spoke again he was more reserved, more formal, than before. "You must understand me in this, Knut. If I had a single item of evidence against him— however small'—I would break the man, and do it gladly. But as it is . . ." He spread his hands expressively. "It would not do to accuse one of my own ministers without irreproachable evidence."

"I understand."

"Good." The T'ang leaned forward, his dark eyes staring intently at his General. "For now, we'll take Wyatt, and any others that can be traced through him. Lehmann, perhaps, and that foul creature Berdichev. But before we do, make sure there's not a possibility of doubt. We must act from certainty. Chung Kuo must see us to be correct—to be perfectly justified in our actions. I want no trouble in the House because of this."

The General bowed his head, keeping his thoughts to himself. In this the Pang was right. Things had changed subtly in the last ten years. More power than ever before lay in the hands of men like Lehmann. They had money and influence and a vote in the House at Weimar. And though the House was subject to the will of the Seven, it did not do to exercise such power too frequently. The illusion of cooperation—of an independent House, working hand in glove with the Council of the Seven— needed to be preserved. In that illusion lay the basis of lasting peace.

Was that, then, the truth behind all this? Tolonen asked himself. The real reason for Lwo Kang's death? Was it all an attempt to force the hand of the Seven? To make it show its true power openly and without veils before the world? To set House against Seven and force the people to a choice? If so, he understood the T'ang's caution.

He looked up again, meeting the T'ang's eyes. "It is a loathsome business, ours, Chieh Hsia. We must deal fairly, honestly, with cheats and scoundrels." He sighed bitterly. "Those cockroaches are all bows and fair words to our faces, yet beneath that outward show they seethe with subterfuge. They smile but they want us dead."

The T'ang smiled sadly. "Yes, Knut. Yet such is the way of this world. So men are. So they act. And that itself is reason enough for the Seven, eh? Without us where would be the peace our fathers' fathers worked for? What would happen to the City of Ten Thousand Years they built? We know, you and I. The barbarians would tear it down, level by level, and build some cruder, darker thing in its place."

Tolonen tilted his head, agreeing, but he was thinking of the giant, Karr, and of the Pit below the Net where life was fought for openly, beneath the acid glare of brilliant lights. He was a cleaner kind of beast. Much cleaner than Lehmann and his like. For once the Major had been wrong—he had seen that instantly. There was honor in how a man behaved, even beneath the Net. Karr and the dead man, Chen, they were killers, certainly, but weren't all soldiers killers when it came to it? How you killed, that was the important thing. Whether you faced your adversary, man to man, letting the contest be decided on strength of arm and skill, or whether you skulked through shadows like a thief to slip a poisoned blade into a sleeping back.

Yes, he thought, in truth I should hate the indirectness of all this; the masks and the tricks and the unending layers of intermediaries. Yet I've been trained to indirectness—to be as cunning as the men I fight.

"As far as Wyatt is concerned, I'll have the warrant signed before you leave. Is there anything else, Knut?"

"There are two further matters, Chieh Hsia."

"Well?"

"The first is a request." The General handed his Tang one of the papers. "In a week Han Ch'in, your eldest son, is sixteen and becomes a man. It is my wish to give him something appropriate."

Tolonen fell silent, watching as Li Shai Tung unfolded the silk-paper deed of ownership. After a moment the T'ang looked up, a surprised smile lighting his features. "But this is too much, Knut, surely?"

The General bowed his head. "Han Ch'in will be T'ang one day. And though he has the freedom of your stables, Chieh Hsia,

I felt it time he had his own horse. Through horsemanship one learns command."

The T'ang was still smiling. A horse was a princely gift. There were two thousand thoroughbreds at most in the whole of Chung Kuo. To purchase one would have cost even a fabulously rich man like the General more than he could easily afford. Li Shai Tung looked at Tolonen a moment longer, then did what he rarely did and bent his head. "Then it shall be so, old friend. My family is honored by your gift. And Han Ch'in will be delighted."

The General lowered his head, his face burning with pride and pleasure. Across from him the T'ang folded the paper again. "And the second matter?"

"Ah . . . that is a gift to myself." He hesitated, then handed the second of the papers over. "There is a man I want to use. His name is Karr."

THAT EVENING, Under Secretary Lehmann summoned all those delegates and representatives sympathetic to his cause to his suite of rooms in the penthouse of the House of a Thousand Freedoms in Weimar. There was a brooding silence in the long, packed room. Lehmann sat in his chair, one hand tugging distractedly at his pigtail, a copy of the warrant open on the desk before him, an expression of sheer disbelief and outrage building slowly in his face.

"I don't believe it," he said finally, his voice soft, controlled. Then he picked the paper up and held it out to the rest of them. "Does anyone here believe this?"

There was a deep murmur of denial and a shaking of heads.

"But there must be some kind of evidence, Pietr. Even the T'ang would not dare to act without clear evidence."

Lehmann laughed sourly, then turned slightly in his seat and looked across at the delegate who had spoken, a tall, heavily built Hung Moo in a pale green pau. "You think so, Barrow Chao? You think the small matter of evidence will stop a T'ang from acting?"

There was an indrawing of breath in some quarters. A T'ang was a T'ang, after all. Lehmann saw this and made a mental note of those who had seemed outraged by his words, then pressed on. He stood up slowly and came around the table, facing Barrow.

"I've known Edmund Wyatt all my life, Chao. I knew him as a child and I've been honored to know him as a man. I can vouch there's no more honest man in the Above, nor one with less malice in him. For Edmund to have done what this says he did . . . well, it's laughable!"

He was facing Barrow now, only an arm's length from him. Barrow shrugged. "So you say, Pietr. And before today I would have said the same. But I repeat, the T'ang must have evidence. And not just any evidence, but proof positive. He would be mad to act without it."

"Maybe," Lehmann said, turning aside. "But maybe not. Just think about it. In the last five years this House has won more freedoms than in the whole of the previous century. We managed to extend the boundaries of trade and win huge concessions in respect of legitimate research and development. In doing so we brought a refreshing and much needed breath of change to Chung Kuo."

There were murmurs of agreement from the delegates. Lehmann turned back, facing them.

"Change. That's what the Seven hate above all else. Change. And in the last three years we have seen them act to kill those freedoms we so rightly fought for. At first covertly, with whispered words and meaningful glances. Then with 'gifts' for those who would be their friends. Finally, through the alternatives of patronage or the turned back."

There were nods of angry agreement, the agitated whisper of silks as the delegates turned to talk among themselves. There was not one here who hadn't suffered from the backlash. Not one who, as an advocate of change, however limited, had not found, himself "out of favor" and thus out of pocket.

Lehmann waited for things to quiet down, then smiled tightly. "But that was only the start of it, wasn't it? Having failed to check things by covert means, they decided to be more direct. Ministerial appointments, previously and rightly determined by family connections and the commonsense measure of financial power, were suddenly made on some nebulous sense of New Confucian worthiness."

There were guffaws of laughter at the look of utter disgust on Lehmann's face.

"Worthiness . . . well, we all know what that really means, don't we? It means a new breed of minister, as efficient as a GenSyn domestic and every bit as limited when it comes to making a real decision. But we knew what they were from the first, didn't we? Dams set up against the natural flow. Mouthpieces for the Seven, programed only to say no to change."

Again there was a murmur of agreement; but louder this time, more aggressive. Lehmann raised his hands, palm outward, begging their silence, then nodded his head slowly.

"We know their game, eh? We understand what they are trying to do. And we all know what has been happening in the House this last year. WeVe seen to what lengths they'll go to oppose change."

It could not be said openly, but all there knew what Lehmann was implying. From the first days of the House the Seven had always maintained a small but influential faction there—men whom the T'angs "kept" for their votes. Such men were known as tea—"pockets"—and, historically, had served a double function in the House, counterbalancing the strong mercantile tendencies of the House and serving as a conduit for the views of the Seven. In the past the Seven had chosen well; their ted had been elderly, well-respected men: charismatic and persuasive—their tongues worth a dozen, sometimes as many as fifty, votes. As agents of consensus they had proved a strong, stabilizing influence on the House. But with the new liberalization things had slowly changed and their influence had waned. For a long while the Seven had done nothing, but in the past twelve months they had bought their way heavily, indiscriminately, into the House, trading influence for the direct power of votes.

Now there was a new breed of "pocket": brash young men who owed their wealth and power not to trade or family but to their sudden elevation by the Seven. Rival candidates had been paid off or threatened. Elections had been rigged. Campaign money had flowed like the Yangtze flood. Of the one hundred and eighty delegates elected to the House in the last six months alone, more than two thirds had been tai.

The effect had been to crystallize the factions in the House, and to radicalize the demands for changes to the Edict of Technological Control—that keystone in the great wall of state; or, as some saw it, the dam restraining the gathering waters of change.

"Change will come," Lehmann said softly, "whether they wish it or not. Change must come. It is the natural order of things. They cannot build a wall high enough to contain it."

Lehmann paused. There was a noise at the doorway as some of the men gathered there moved aside. Edmund Wyatt pushed through.

"I heard you wanted me, Pietr," he said, then looked around, seeing how everyone was suddenly watching him. He dropped his voice. "What is it?"

Lehmann took his arm, then led him across to the chair and sat him down.

"General Tolonen was here. He brought a copy of a warrant."

Wyatt looked blankly at Lehmann. "So?"

There was a strong murmuring from the men in the room. Lehmann looked back at them triumphantly, then turned to Barrow. "There! There's your proof, surely, Barrow Chao? Was that the reaction of a guilty man?"

Behind him Wyatt laughed. His cheeks were pink with embarrassment. "What is it, Pietr? What am I supposed-to be guilty of?"

Lehmann looked down at the paper in his hand, hesitating, then handed it across. For a moment Wyatt was silent, his right hand holding down the paper as he read. Then he looked up, a startled expression in his eyes. "1—I don't believe it."

Lehmann had gone round the back of him. Now he stood there, leaning over Wyatt, but looking up at the other men in the room as he spoke.

"It's what it appears to be. A warrant. Signed by the T'ang himself. For your arrest, Edmund. For the murder of Lwo Kang."

Wyatt turned and stared up into his face. His bewilderment, his total incomprehension, were there for everyone in the room to see. "But it can't be, Pietr. I mean, I never. . ."

His voice gave out again and he looked down sharply, shuddering.

"Then this is real," he said after a moment.

There was a tense silence in the room, then Lehmann spoke again. "Well, Barrow Chao? What do you reckon?"

Barrow dropped his head and nodded. The room was deathly quiet.

Lehmann straightened, sighing. "Then the question is this. How do we fight this?"

Wyatt looked up at him. "Fight it?"

Lehmann was quiet a moment, concentrating, then gave the slightest nod. "Yes," he said. "We'll hide you. All of us. We could do it. We could keep Tolonen from serving the warrant."

Lehmann gazed about him defiantly, looking from face to face, challenging anyone to gainsay him, but the mood was in his favor now.

"No!" Wyatt got up, then came around and stood there, facing Lehmann. "No, Pietr. I won't hide. That's what he wants. That's why he came here first. Don't you see? He wanted that. Wanted me to run. That way he could put another warrant out. Have me killed without trial. No, let him serve his warrant. IVe nothing to fear. I've done nothing."

Lehmann laughed sourly. "And what does that mean, Edmund? The T'ang wants payment for his Minister's life. Retribution. Right or wrong is an irrelevance in this instance. It doesn't matter that you're innocent. He wants you. Don't you see that?" His voice was stern now, unyielding. "And he'll find all the evidence he needs to get you."

There was a loud murmuring, but no disagreement.

Wyatt turned away. "When does he plan to serve the warrant?"

Lehmann looked about him, seeing how open each man's face now was; how starkly etched their anger and resentment, their concern and indignation. Then he turned back. "Midday tomorrow," he said. "At your apartment."

"I see." Wyatt looked down. "Then I'll be there. T'ang or not, he's wrong, Pietr. I'm innocent. You know I am."

Lehmann turned, looking back at him, then reached out and touched his shoulder. "I know."

"Minister Heng."

The T'ang's Chamberlain, Chung Hu-yan, bowed stiffly, his face expressionless, then turned, inviting the Minister to follow him.

Astonished, Heng returned the Chamberlain's bow. He had barely arrived a minute before, and here was Chung trying to rush him into an audience. Was there to be no ritual of preparation? No honor guard? He stood there a moment longer, as if he had not heard the words, looking about him, surprised by the emptiness of the great entrance hall. It was strangely disconcerting; as if the T'ang's servants had been sent elsewhere. But why? And why the unseemly haste?

"Please . . ." Chung Hu-yan bowed a second time, then repeated the gesture of invitation, making it clear that it had been no mistake.

"Forgive me," Heng said, bowing again, his composure slipping. "Of course . . ."

He followed the Chamberlain through, under the great lintel and into the Hall of Eternal Truth. But he had taken only three steps into the great hall when he stopped, taken aback. There, alone beneath the empty Presence Throne, stood General Tblonen; tall, white haired, and elegant in his peacock blue dress uniform. Heng Chi-Po frowned, then walked on, conscious for once of the unfavorable contrast he made to the haughty Hung Moo, his hand momentarily straying to the crane patch on the chest of his dark blue pau, symbol of his status as an official of the first rank.

Coming opposite the General, Minister Heng stopped and bowed, but Tolonen stared through him coldly, not even the smallest flicker of recognition in his eyes.

The T'ang's Chamberlain waited, watching the exchange carefully. Then, rather stiffly, he bowed. "Forgive me, Minister Heng, but the T'ang awaits you. Please ... if you would follow me."

Heng turned angrily and followed Chung Hu-yan into a room to the right of the throne. The T'ang was waiting for him there, standing among the tall-leafed plants at the edge of a small decorative carp pond.

"Chieh Hsia," he said, bowing deeply, "I hope you are in good health."

Li Shai Tung turned from his contemplation of the fish. "Come in, Minister Heng. Please, take a seat. WeVe business to discuss."

Heng sat, his back to the unlit fire, looking about him, noting with pleasure the simple luxuries of the room. There was a tall screen across the center of the room; a delightful thing of brightly colored silk, and next to it a low, squat vase, rounded like the belly of a wrestler, its glaze the sweetest, softest lavender he'd ever seen.

"This is a beautiful room, Chieh Hsia."

"Yes," said the T'ang, smiling. "It was my grandfather's favorite room. His picture hangs behind you."

Heng turned and looked up, first at Wen Ti, then at the painting beside it, conscious at once of the strength, the raw vitality, of the man portrayed. "Ah, yes. He has your eyes, Chieh Hsta."

"My eyes?" The T'ang looked down, thoughtful. "They say he had perfect vision all his life. That at seventy he could see what type of bird was nesting in a tree more than two U distant. But there's seeing and seeing, eh, Heng?" He met the Minister's eyes again, a wry yet challenging look in his own.

Heng bowed, conscious of the exaggeration and suddenly wary of its meaning. "As you say, Chieh Hsia."

"Yes ... as I say." The T'ang looked past him, up at the painting of his ancestor. "And if I say Heng Yu is not appointed in Lwo Kang's place?"

Heng Chi-po stiffened in his seat, then forced himself to relax. "Then that, too, is as you say. One does not question the word of a T'ang."

Li Shai Tung sat back. "No," he said, watching his Minister closely. "But that is what you came for, is it not?"

Heng looked up again. "It was, Chieh Hsia. But as you've made your decision. . . ."

The T'ang raised his chin slightly. "There was nothing else, then? No other matter you wished to speak to me about?"

Heng kept his face a blank. "Nothing that cannot wait for the next meeting of the Council of Ministers. I thought to plead on my nephew's behalf. To put his qualities before you. He is a good man, a capable man, Chieh Hsia."

Strangely, the T'ang laughed. "You are quite right, Minister Heng. He is a good man. Which is why I saw him this very morning."

The look of surprise on Heng's face was unfeigned. "Chieh Hsia?"

"And appointed him."

Heng's mouth fell open. "But you said—"

The T'ang clicked his fingers. Two guards came in and stood there at either end of the screen. Heng looked across at them, frowning, not understanding, then looked back at the T'ang.

"Yes. I spoke to him at length. I questioned him about the five classics. Then, finally, I set him a riddle."

"A riddle, Chieh Hsia?"

Li Shai Tung stood up and went over to the screen. "I put this problem to him. If one knows a man is guilty yet has no proof, how can one act and yet be considered just?"

Heng lowered his eyes.

"You see my drift, Minister Heng? You understand me?"

The T'ang's voice was suddenly harsher, colder.

Heng glanced up; saw how closely the T'ang was watching him now. No proof, he thought. You have no proof!

The T'ang continued. "Your nephew considered a moment, then asked me how it was I knew and yet could not prove the matter? Was I, then, not witness to the guilty act? No, I had to answer. What then? he asked. Was there another, perhaps, whose word meant less in the eyes of the world than that of the guilty man? Were the scales of accusation and denial tipped unevenly in the latter's favor? I smiled and nodded. But so it ever is. How balance them?"

Heng had gone cold.

"And do you know what he said?"

The Minister looked up. He hesitated, then found his voice. "No, Chieh Hsifl."

The T'ang laughed sourly. "No, you wouldn't, would you, Heng?"

He snapped his fingers again, then moved aside as the guards lifted and carried the screen away.

Heng gasped. His face blanched. Then he looked down sharply, swallowing loudly.

The T'ang came closer and stood over him. "You're a clever man, Heng Chi-Po. Too clever to leave your print on things. But I know you for what you are. I've seen it here, with my own eyes. Your guilt is as clear on you as the glaze on this vase."

He turned and looked across to where Pi Ch'ien sat, hands in his lap, silently watching, then looked back down at his Minister.

"Over there, in the comer, is a desk. On the desk you will find an ink block, brushes, writing paper, and your seal of office. I want you to write a letter to me explaining that you have been suffering from ill health these last few months. So much so that you must, with great sadness, naturally, resign your post."

There was the smallest movement of Heng's head as if to protest, then he nodded.

"Good. In which case there will be no loss of pension, no public loss of face. As for your family, they will gain a better man as minister. Heng Yu will be appointed in your place."

Heng Chi-Po looked up mutely, miserably, then bowed his head again and stood to do as he was bid.

HENG K O U waved the servant away, then leaned across to lock and seal the carriage.

"What is it, first brother? What has happened?"

For a moment Heng Chi-Po was unable to speak. His face was mottled with fury and his hands pulled convulsively at each other. Then he leaned forward across the gap between them until his face was almost touching Kou's.

"This is Tolonen's doing." Heng Chi-Po blinked angrily, then leaned back again. For a moment he was silent, staring away into the distance, his whole face fixed in a mask of purest hatred. Then he turned and faced his brother again. "I saw it in his eyes. That man has never liked me, Kou. And now he has poisoned the T'ang against me."

Kou frowned. "Poisoned . . . how?"

"The insect tricked me. Trapped me. . . ." Heng Chi-Po's chest rose and fell violently now. Sweat beads stood out on his forehead.

Heng Kou began to understand. Gods! Heng Chi-Po was out. That was it, wasn't it? For some reason he was out. Nothing else could have brought him to this state. But was this a tragedy for Chi'Po alone or for the whole family? Was all lost? Or could the damage be contained? He had to know.

Heng Kou calmed himself and leaned forward, forcing his brother to look at him. "Tell me what happened, eldest brother. What misfortune has befallen our great family?"

Heng Chi-Po tried to meet his eyes, then looked down sharply, his voice suddenly bitter with shame. He was close to tears.

"I am no longer minister. Li Shai Tung has stripped me of my office."

"Stripped you. . . ." Heng Kou feigned speechlessness. Then he found his voice again. "He forced you to resign, you mean?"

Heng Chi-Po nodded, the first tears rolling down his cheeks. "But there's more, Kou. He has appointed nephew Yu in my place. Can you believe that? The humiliation of it! We shall be laughingstocks!"

Heng Kou's mind reeled. Nephew Yu! After the first shock of it he wanted to laugh aloud, but he hid both his delight and his relief. "That's outrageous!" he Said. "It is an insult, elder brother. A slur upon the whole family." But he was already considering how to act to minimize the damage to the family.

Heng Chi-Po leaned forward again, his red-rimmed eyes suddenly angry again. "I'll have him, Kou! I'll have the carrion dead, understand?"

For a moment Heng Kou was too shocked for words, but then he saw that his brother didn't mean the T'ang.

"Leave it, brother. Please. It's done. You can't undo it thus."

Heng Chi-Po shook his head violently. "No, Kou. I want Tblonen dead. By tomorrow evening. Understand me? I want that bastard obliterated. I want him nonexistent. I want. . ."

Heng Kou shivered, then bowed his head. "As you wish, my brother."

"Do you think they'll incarcerate me, Pietr? Do you think theyVe proof to hold me until the trial?"

Lehmann smiled and touched Wyatt's shoulder. "WeVe the best advocates in the seven cities, Edmund. I'm sure they'll keep you from the cells. But even if they can't, it won't be so dreadful. Privilege is privilege, even behind bars. You'll not lack for comforts."

Wyatt smiled, but shadows gathered beneath the firm and pleasant line of his mouth, clouding the attractive sparkle of his eyes. Many old friends had come to visit him this morning. More friends than he'd thought he had. For a time he had let himself be buoyed by their good wishes, but now they were gone and he was alone with Lehmann.

"You know, this frightens me, Pietr. I couldn't sleep last night thinking of it. Wondering how I would handle myself. How I would bear up before all these lies and smears. Wondering what kind of man I would be at the end of it."

"You'll be your father's son, Edmund. You're like him. You have his strength."

Wyatt looked down. "Maybe."

He said no more, but Lehmann, who knew him as well as any man, could sense what he was thinking. Wyatt's father had been strong but inconsiderate, his mother weak and conciliatory. She had died when Edmund was only five, leaving him almost defenseless against his hectoring father. That he had grown up such a sane and balanced individual was testimony to the influence of his sisters and aunts.

Lehmann glanced down at the ornate timepiece inset at his wrist. "The General will be here soon, Edmund. We should get ready for him."

Wyatt nodded abstractedly, then turned to face him. "It's not myself I'm afraid for, it's them." He shivered, then wrapped his arms about himself. "It's why I couldn't bear to have them here with me today. If I lose this—if, inexplicably, they find me guilty of Lwo Kang's murder. . ." He looked down, all color gone from his cheeks. "Well, their lives would be forfeit, too, wouldn't they? It's the law. A traitor and all his family ..."

Lehmann breathed shallowly, forcing himself to meet Wyatt's eyes. "That's so. To the third generation."

"Still"—Wyatt forced a smile, then came across and held Lehmann to him tightly—"I'm grateful, Pietr," he said more quietly. "Truly I am. However this turns out, I..."

Lehmann felt Wyatt's body shudder in his arms and steeled himself against all feeling. Even so, he answered Wyatt gently.

"You would have helped me, wouldn't you?"

Wyatt moved slightly back from him. There were tears in his eyes. "I'd kill for you, Pietr. You know I would."

Necessary. He heard DeVore's voice saying it and felt a shiver run down his spine. It's easy for you, Howard, he thought; you never liked him.

Lehmann smiled. "Let's talk of living, eh?"

There was a pounding on the mansion's huge front doors.

Wyatt looked up, past him. "They're early. I didn't think they'd be early."

They went through, out into the marbled hallway. Wyatt's Chamberlain, a stout, middle-aged Han, greeted them with a bow.

"Shall I open the door, master?"

Wyatt shook his head. "No. Let them wait, Fu Hsien."

There were footsteps on the stairs overhead and a murmur of talk.

"Ch'un tzu.'" Lehmann went to the foot of the stairs and greeted the three elderly Han as they came down to him. It had cost him over a million yuan simply to bring them here this morning. If the case went on for months, as it was likely to do, it would cost his faction somewhere between thirty and fifty million. Wyatt had been told nothing of this, but his sisters and aunts had been briefed already. In time they were certain to let Wyatt know whose money it was that was paying for his defense.

Lehmann turned, smiling, and watched the three graybeards greet Wyatt once again. At the introduction, earlier, all three advocates had seemed impressed by Wyatt's protestations of innocence. As indeed they ought. Edmund didn't merely seem innocent, he was. The full force of his self-belief had carried any remaining doubts the three had had. They had agreed to take the case.

But things were not as simple as they seemed. On paper Wyatt's case seemed good. In court he would make a fine impres-

sion. Public sympathy was sure to be in his favor. But Wyatt had to lose. He had to be made to seem a victim of conspiracy and power-brokering.

New evidence would be introduced as and when necessary, for his good friend Edmund Wyatt was to be a martyr.

The hammering came again. A voice shouted from behind the door. "Open up! We come on the T'ang's business!"

Again the Chamberlain looked to Wyatt. This time he nodded.

Tolonen came through first, in full dress uniform, the chi (ing, or unicorn patch of a first-rank officer, resplendent on his chest. Behind him strode two officers and an elite squad of eight armed soldiers.

"General Tolonen," said Wyatt, with cold politeness, offering his hand. But Tolonen walked past him, ignoring him.

"Who represents the prisoner?" he demanded brusquely.

One of the three Han stepped forward. "I am Advocate Fou, General. I act for Shih Wyatt in this matter. And I'll remind you that my client is not a prisoner but should be addressed as the accused."

Tolonen snorted and turned away. One of the officers at once handed him a long silvered tube. He hefted it a moment, then passed it to the advocate.

"Please read the document. All three of you, if necessary. Copies will be provided at your offices."

Advocate Fou tipped the scroll out into his hand, passed the tube to one of his colleagues, then unfurled the document. Wyatt moved past Tolonen and stood at the advocate's side, trying to make sense of the sheet of blood-red pictograms.

"It's in Mandarin," he said. "That's illegal, isn't it?"

Advocate Fou shook his head, then muttered something in Han to his colleagues and rolled the document up again.

"What is it?" Lehmann asked, coming up beside Wyatt.

The advocate looked across at Tolonen, then back at Lehmann. "I am afraid we cannot help you, Under Secretary. I am most sorry. This matter has been taken out of the jurisdiction of the courts. Please . . ." He handed the document across to Wyatt. "Our apologies, Shih Wyatt. We wish you luck. If innocence has weight in law you will triumph yet."

As one, the three Han bowed and took their leave.

Wyatt stood there a moment, dumbfounded, watching them go. Then he turned to Lehmann. "What in the gods' names is happening here, Pietr?" He thrust the document into Lehmann's hand. "What is this?"

Lehmann looked away. Gods! he thought. This changes everything.

He turned back. "It's an edict, Edmund. The Seven have passed a special edict." He unfurled the white, silken roll. "See here." He pointed out the rigid line of hardened wax. "These are their seals. The Ywe Lung, symbol of their power. All seven of them. They must have met in an emergency session and agreed to this."

Wyatt had gone very quiet, watching him, a new kind of fear in his face.

"An edict?"

"Yes. You are to be tried in camera, by a council of the T'ang's ministers." Lehmann swallowed then looked across at Tolonen, an unfeigned anger in his eyes. "This changes things, Edmund. It changes everything. It means they want you dead."

HENO KOU paused in the doorway, then knelt down and touched his brow to the cold floor.

"Nephew Yu. I am most sorry to disturb your afternoon sleep. I would not have come, but it is a matter of the utmost urgency."

Heng Yu tied the sash to his sleeping robe and came across the room quickly. "Uncle Kou, please, get up at once. In private you are still my uncle."

Heng Kou let himself be drawn to his feet, then stood there, embarrassed, as Heng Yu bowed to him in the old way.

All that has changed, he thought. The T'ang gave you years when he gave you power. Now you are our head and the family must bow before you. So it is. So it must be. Or Chung Kuo itself would fall.

Heng Yu straightened. "But tell me, what brings you here, Uncle?"

"I'm sorry, Yu, but I bring bad news. Your uncle Chi-Po is unwell."

Heng Yu started. "Unwell?"

"Please . . ." Heng Kou bowed and moved aside. "I felt you should come yourself. At once. My own doctors are seeing to him even now. But..."

Heng Yu gave the slightest nod. "I understand. Please, lead me to him."

Heng Chi-Po's bedroom was dimly lit. The four doctors stood at one end of the room, beside the only light source. Seeing the two men in the doorway, they came across.

"How is my uncle?" asked Heng Yu at once, concerned.

The most senior of them bowed low, then answered him.. Like all four of them he had been briefed beforehand concerning Heng Yu's new status in the household.

"I regret to say that your uncle passed away five minutes ago. His heart failed him."

Heng Kou, watching, saw Heng Yu's mouth fall open, his eyes widen in surprise; saw the real pain he felt at the news and knew he had been right not to involve him in the scheme. Let him believe things are as they are. That disappointment killed my brother. Only I and these four men know otherwise.

Heng Yu had a servant bring them a lamp, then they went over to where Heng Chi-Po lay on his oversized bed. His eyes had been closed and his face now was at peace. The flesh of his arms and chest and face was pale and misted with a fine sheen of sweat.

"Did he suffer much?" Heng Yu asked.

Heng Kou saw how the doctors looked at htm, then looked away.

"Not at all," he lied, remembering how it had taken all five of them to hold him down while the poison had taken effect. "Of course, there was pain at first, but then, thankfully, it passed and he lapsed into sleep."

Heng Yu nodded then turned away with a tiny shudder.

Heng Kou remained a moment longer, looking down at the brother he had always loathed; the brother who, since he had been old enough to walk, had bullied him and treated him like the basest servant. He smiled. You would have had us kill Tolonen, eh? You would have brought us all down with your foolishness?

Yes, but you forgot who held the power.

He turned, indicating to the doctors that they should leave. Then, when they were gone, he went to where Heng Yu was standing. He was about to speak when Heng Yu surprised him, raising a hand to silence him.

Heng Yu's whole manner had changed. His voice was low but powerful. "Don't think me blind, Uncle Kou. Nor dull witted. I know what happened here."

"And?"

Kou held his breath. If Heng Yu insisted, all would be undone.

"And nothing, Uncle. Understand me?"

Heng Kou hesitated, studying the smooth lines of his nephew's face; seeing him for the first time as the T'ang must have seen him.

He smiled, then bowed low. "I understand, Minister Heng."

THE DOOR slammed shut. DeVore turned and looked back across the .cell at Wyatt. They were alone now. Just the two of them.

"Shouldn't there be others?" Wyatt said, watching him warily. "I thought it was usual for there to be several officers at an interrogation."

DeVore laughed. "You don't understand, do you? You still think you're safe. In spite of all that's happened."

Wyatt turned away. "If you mistreat me—"

DeVore interrupted him. "You really don't understand, do you?"

He moved closer, coming around the side of Wyatt until he stood there face to face with the slightly taller man. "Let me explain."

Wyatt had turned his face slightly, so as not to have to meet DeVore's eyes. But the suddenness of the slap took him by complete surprise. He staggered backward, holding his cheek, staring at DeVore, his eyes wide with astonishment.

"Strip off!" DeVore barked, his face suddenly mean, uncompromising. "Everything. Top clothes. Underclothes. Jewelry. We'll remove your electronic implants later."

Wyatt shook his head uncertainly. "But you can't do this."

"Do what?" DeVore laughed. "You're a murderer. Understand? You killed the T'ang's minister. You'll be tried and found guilty. And then we'll execute you."

DeVore took a step closer, seeing how Wyatt flinched, ex-, peering another blow. His cheek was bright red, the weal the shape of DeVore's hand, each finger clearly delineated. "That's the truth of this, Edmund Wyatt. You're a dead man. When you killed Lwo Kang you stepped outside the game. You broke all the rules. So now there are no rules. At least, none that you would recognize."

He reached out and took Wyatt's wrists, savagely pulling him closer, until Wyatt's face was pressed against his own.

"Are you beginning to understand?"

Wyatt shivered and made an awkward nod.

"Good." He thrust Wyatt back brutally, making him fall. "Then strip off."

He turned his back. The cell was bare. He could almost see Wyatt look about him, hesitating. Then he heard the jingle of his thin gold bracelets as he set them down on the floor, and smiled. I have you now, my proud false Chinaman. I'll strip the Han from you, pigtail, pau, and all. Yes, and we'll see how proud you are when I'm done with you.

When he turned back. Wyatt was naked, his clothes neatly bundled on the floor beside him. His white, soft body seemed so frail, so ill suited to the trial that lay ahead: already it seemed to cower, to shrink back into itself, as if aware of what was to come. Yet when DeVore looked up past the narrow, hairless chest and met Wyatt's eyes he was surprised to find defiance there.

So, he thought. That first. They say the Han are strong because they resign themselves to fate. In thirty centuries they have never fought fate, but have been its agents. Flood, famine, and revolution have all been as one to them. They have bowed before the inevitability of death and so survived, stronger for their long and patient suffering. So it will be with you, Edmund Wyatt. I'll make a true Han of you yet—stripped bare of all you were; resigned and patient in your suffering.

He smiled. "You knew Yang Lai? Lwo Kang's junior minister?"

Wyatt looked up sharply, real hatred in his eyes. "He's dead. You know he's dead. He died with Lwo Kang in the solarium."

"That's not what I asked. Did you know him well?"

"He was a friend. A good friend. I was at college with him."

DeVore laughed coldly. "How good a friend, would you say?"

Wyatt swallowed, then lowered his head. "He was my lover."

"You admit it?"

Angered, Wyatt yelled back at him. "Why not? I expect you knew already! Anyway, what has Yang Lai to do with this?"

DeVore smiled and turned away. "Yang Lai was murdered. Three days after the assassination. The only thing we found on the body was a small hologram of you."

Wyatt had gone very still. When DeVore next looked at him he was surprised to find tears in his eyes.

"There," said Wyatt softly. "Surely that says something to you? Would I kill a man I loved, then leave my hob on him?"

DeVore shook his head. "You don't understand."

Wyatt frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He had it up his ass."

Wyatt looked away. A shuddering breath racked his body.

"Oh, and there's more. Much more. Kao Jyan's tape. Your trading connections with Hong Cao and Cho Hsiang. The internal flight schedules which coincide perfectly with our reconstruction of the attack on the solarium. Your company's experiments with harmonic triggers. And, of course, your secretary Lung Ti's evidence."

Wyatt looked back at DeVore blankly. "Lung Ti?"

This was DeVore's masterstroke; the thing that had cemented it all in place. Lung Ti had been with Wyatt from his tenth year. He was his most trusted servant. But eight years ago DeVore had found Lung Ti's weakness and bought him. Now Lung Ti was his creature, reading from his script.

DeVore let the silence extend a moment longer, then lowered his head. "Lung Ti has confessed to his part in everything. He is to give evidence under the T'ang's pardon."

Wyatt's mouth worked loosely, but no sound came out.

"Yes," DeVore said softly, moving closer. "And now you do understand, eh?" He reached out and put his'fingers gently to the weal on Wyatt's cheek. "We'll find the truth of this, you and I. We've time, you know. Plenty of time."

And in the end, he thought, even you will believe you ordered Lwo Kang's death.

FROM HIGH ABOVE it seemed insignificant, a tiny circular blemish in the vast field of whiteness, yet as the craft dropped the circle grew and grew until it seemed to fill the whole of the viewing window with its blackness.

The big transporter set down on the roof of the City, close to the circle's edge. Only paces from its struts the surface of the roof was warped, the ice dented and buckled by the vast heat of the explosion. Seen from this close the huge dark circle revealed another dimension. It was a dish—an enormous concave dish, like some gigantic alchemist's crucible; the dark and sticky sludge of its residue already sifted and searched for clues.

They climbed down from the transporter, looking about them; sixty men from the lower levels, white-cloaked and hooded. Others handed down tools from inside the big, insectile machine; shovels and brushes; sacks and other containers. Old-fashioned tools. Nothing modern was needed now. This was the simplest part of all. The final stage before rebuilding.

They got to work at once, forming three chains of twenty men, three from each chain filling sacks at the edge of the sludge pool and handing them back to the others in the line. And at the top two anchormen moved backward and forward between the human chain and the big machine, passing the sacks up into the interior.

A wind was blowing from the mountains. At the top of the right-hand work-chain one of the men—a big shaven-headed Han—turned and looked back at the distant peaks. For a moment he could relax, knowing no sack was on its way. Taking off a glove he pulled down his goggles and wiped at his brow. How cool it was. How pleasant to feel the wind brushing against the skin. For a moment his blunt, nondescript face searched the distance, trying to place something, then he shrugged.

Looking down he noticed something against the dark surface. Something small and green and fragile-looking. He bent down and picked it up, holding it in his bare palm. It was a budding seed.

He looked up, hearing the cry of birds overhead, and understood. It was from the mountainside. A bird must have picked it up and dropped it here. Here on the lifeless surface of the City's roof.

He stared at it a moment longer, noting the shape of its twin leaves, the hardness of its central pip. Then he crushed it between his fingers and let it drop.

Kao Chen, kwai, onetime assassin, looked up. Clouds, mountains, even the flat, open surface of the City's roof—all seemed so different in the daylight. He sniffed in the warm air and smiled. Then, hearing the grunts of the men below him, pulled up his goggles, eased on his glove, and turned back.

PART I SPRING 2I9l

Beneath the Yellow Springs

When I was alive, I wandered in the streets of the

Capital;

Now that I am dead, I am left to He in the fields. In the morning I drove out from the High Hall; In the evening I lodged beneath the yellow springs. When the white sun had sunk in the Western Chasm I hung up my chariot and rested my four horses. Now, even the Maker of AH Could not bring the life back to my limbs. Shape and substance day by day will vanish: Hair and teeth will gradually fall away. Forever from of old men have been so: And none born can escape this thing.

—MIU HSI, Bearer's Song (from Han Burial Songs)

CHAPTER FIVE

Brothers

IT WAS SPRING in Sichuan Province and the trees of the orchard at Tongjiang were ablaze with blossom beneath a clear blue sky. The air was clear, like a polished lens. In the distance the mountains thrust into the heavens, knife-edged shapes of green and blue.

At the orchard's edge four servants waited silently, their heads bowed, heavily laden silver trays held out before them.

Beneath the trees at the lake's edge the two princes were playing, their laughter echoing across the water. The eldest, Li Han Ch'in, evaded his little brother's outstretched arm and, with a swift, athletic movement, grasped an overhead branch and swung up into the crown of the apple tree. Li Yuan rushed at the tree, making trial jumps, but the branch was too high for him to reach.

"That isn't fair, Han!" Yuan said breathlessly, laughing, his eyes burning with excitement. In the tree above him Han Ch'in was giggling, his head tilted back to look down at his brother, a sprig of pure white blossom caught in his jet-black hair.

"Come up and get me!" he taunted, letting one leg dangle, then pulling it up quickly when his brother jumped for it.

Yuan looked about him a moment, then found what he was looking for. He turned back. "Come down! Come down or I'll beat you!" he threatened, one hand holding the thin switch, the Other on his hip; his expression part stern, part amused.

"I won't!" said Han, pulling himself up closer to the branch, trying to work his way farther up the tree.

Laughing excitedly, Yuan stepped forward, flicking the leafy switch gently against his brother's back. The older boy yelled exaggeratedly and kicked out wildly, his foot missing by a breath. The boy on the ground screeched, enjoying the game, and hit out harder with the branch. There was another yell from above and again the foot struck out wildly. But this time it connected, sending the small boy crashing backward.

Han Ch'in dropped down at once and went over to where his brother lay, unmoving, on the earth beside the bole.

"Yuan! Yuan!"

He bent down, listening for his brother's breath, his head dropping down onto the small boy's chest.

Yuan rolled, using his brother's weight, as he'd been taught, and came up on his chest, his knees pinning down Han's arms. For a moment he was on top, his face triumphant. Then Han pushed up, throwing him off sideways. Yuan turned and began to scramble away, but Han reached out and grabbed his leg, slowly dragging him back.

"No, Han ... no ... please!" But Yuan's protestations were feeble. He could barely speak for laughing.

"Say it!" Han demanded, pinning the small boy's arms against his sides, his arms wrapped tightly about his chest. "1 order you to say it!"

Yuan shook his head violently, his laughter giving way to hiccups. But as Han's arms squeezed tighter he relented, nodding. The grip slackened but remained firm. Yuan took a breath, then spoke. "You are my master"—he coughed, then continued—"and 1 promise to obey you."

"Good!"

Han Ch'in released him, then pushed him away. The small boy fell against the earth and lay there a moment, breathing deeply. For a while they were quiet. Birds called in the warm, still air.

"What do you think of her, Yuan?"

Li Yuan rolled over and looked up at his brother. Li Han Ch'in was kneeling, looking out across the lake toward the terrace. The sprig of blossom still clung to the side of his head, pure white against the intense blackness of his hair. There was a faint smile on his lips. His dark eyes looked far off into the distance. "Do you think she's pretty?"

The question brought color to Yuan's cheeks. He nodded and looked down. Yes, he thought. More than pretty. Fei Yen was beautiful. He had known that from the first moment he had seen her. Fei Yen. How well the name fitted her. Flying swal' low. . . .

He looked up to find Han Ch'in staring at him, his brow furrowed.

"I was thinking, Yuan. Wondering what it would be like to have several wives. A different woman, perhaps, for every night of the week." He laughed strangely, a tense, high-pitched sound, then looked down, pulling at the grass. "I'm sorry. I forget sometimes. You seem so old. So full of wisdom. Like father." Han fell silent, then looked up again, smiling. "I guess it doesn't touch you yet. Never mind. You'll understand it when you're older."

Li Yuan watched his brother a moment longer, then looked down. Sunlight through the branches dappled the earth beside his hand. Leaf shadow lay across his flesh like a discoloration of the skin. He shivered and closed his eyes. Sometimes he felt he understood too well. If he were in Han's place, Fei Yen would have been enough for him; he would have needed no other. He looked back at his brother, keeping his thoughts to himself, knowing that Han would only tease him if he knew. You're only eight, he would say. What could you possibly know of love?

"Even so," Han said, looking at him again, "Fei Yen will be special. My first wife. And her sons shall inherit." He nodded, satisfied with the justice of the words. Li Yuan saw how his brother was watching him—smiling, a deep love in his eyes— and looked down, warmed by it.

"They'll be fine sons, Yuan. Good, strong sons. And the first of them will have your name."

Han Ch'in reached out and held his brother's ankle. "He'll be strong, like me. But I hope he'll also be wise, like you."

"And pretty, like Fei Yen," Yuan said, looking up at his brother through his long, dark eyelashes.

Han looked away into the distance, a faint smile on his lips, then nodded. "Yes . . . like Fei Yen."

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

Wang Ti blushed and looked down, cradling the child to her and rocking it gently. All four tiers of Chang's Restaurant were packed, few spaces remaining at the tables. Her table, on the second tier, overlooking the bell tower, was one of the few not fully occupied.

"No. Please do."

She had seen the man much earlier, moving between the crowded market stalls at the end of Main. Like the others in the crowd, she had watched him momentarily, then turned back to her shopping, impressed by the sheer size of him. Now, as he sat across from her, she realized just how big he was; not just tall but broad at the shoulder and the chest. A real giant of a man.

"What's good here?"

She looked up and met his eyes. Blue Hung Moo eyes.

"It's all good. Chang's is the best here on Twenty-six. But you might try his green jade soup."

The big man nodded and half turned in his seat, summoning the nearest girl.

"Master?"

"I'm told the green jade soup is good. Bring me a large bowl. Oh, and some chicken drumsticks and noodles."

The girl bowed, then turned and went back inside to the kitchens.

"Do you eat here often?"

He was facing her again, a faint, polite smile on his lips.

She looked down at the sleeping child, safe in the harness at her chest. "When I can afford to," she answered quietly. "Which is not often, I'm afraid."

The man followed her gaze, smiling. "He's a good child. How old is he?"

She stroked the child's brow, and looked up, her smile broadening momentarily. "Ten months."

He leaned forward, looking into the child's sleeping face. "I bet he's his father's darling."

She laughed. "Yes! Chen's like a child himself when he's with Jyan."

"Jyan? A pretty name for a child."

She smiled. "And you? You speak like a man who has sons."

The big man sat back and laughed. "Me? No . . . one day, perhaps. But for now . . . well, my job keeps me on the move. It would not do to have ties."

She looked at him sympathetically a moment, noticing his features properly for the first time. He had a big, open face, the long nose blunted at its tip, his jaw pronounced and his lips full. His dark hair was cut brutally short, making her wonder for a moment what it was he did. But it was not an unkind face. When he smiled it softened. She decided she liked him.

"And that's what brings you here?"

"My job? No, not this time. I'm looking for someone. A relative."

She laughed again; softly, so as not to wake the child. "I think I'd have seen any relative of yours about."

His smile broadened. "Oh, don't judge all my clan by me. This"—he put one hand on his chest—"they say I inherited from my grandfather. My father's father. My mother was a small woman, you see. Small in size, I should say, for she was a giant to her sons."

She looked down, pleased by his filial piety. "And your father?"

For a moment the big man looked away. "I never knew my father. He left before I was two years old."

"Ah . . . like my Chen."

The giant looked back at her, his eyes narrowed slightly. "You understand, then?"

She bowed her head slightly. "It^rs sad. ..."

"Yes, well. . ."He turned. The serving girl was standing at his side, a tray of steaming food balanced on one hand. He moved back from the table, letting her set out the bowls in front of him. "You've eaten?" He looked at the woman facing him, concerned. "If not, might I buy you lunch?"

She shook her head hastily. "Please, I ... well, I thank you kindly, but Chen would not permit it."

He raised a hand. "I understand. Forgive me. ..."

She looked up, smiling. "Thank you. But we have eaten. And now.. ."

The big man was already spooning his soup down vigorously. "Hmm. This is delicious. As good as anything I've tasted."

She smiled, watching him, enjoying his enjoyment. "As I said. Chang's is the best."

He looked across at her, then set down his spoon and stood, seeing she was getting up. "Can I help you?"

She shook her head. "No, please. I can manage. I'm quite used to it, I assure you."

He gave a slight bow with his head. "Then take care. It was a pleasure talking with you."

"And you."

Karr sat there a moment, watching her go. Then, nodding to himself, he looked down at the soup and began to eat again. Reaching for one of the drumsticks he paused, laughing softly to himself. Jyan! He'd named the boy Jyan! Then, more thoughtfully, he gazed back across the broad corridor, remembering the woman's face, her smile; but mostly remembering what she had said.

There's time, he thought. Time enough for all things. Even sons.

HAN C H' IN approached the fence at a gallop, the Arab flying beneath him, its sleek neck pushing forward with each stride, its jet-black flanks moving powerfully, effortlessly across the hillside, its tail streaming behind it in the wind.

Yuan, watching from the pavilion half a li away, held his breath. It was the biggest of the fences, almost the size of the horse; a construction of stone and wood, with the ground dropping away beyond. Han had fallen here before, the last time he'd attempted it. Fallen and bruised his ribs badly. Now, fearlessly, he tried the fence again.

Without checking his pace Han spurred the Arab on, yelling wildly as it stretched and leapt. For the briefest moment it seemed he had misjudged. The horse rose mightily, its forelegs climbing the air, but, at its highest point, its pasterns seemed to brush the fence. As it hit the ground on the far side it stumbled and threatened to go down.

Yuan cried out, putting his knuckles to his mouth. The horse seemed to stagger, its momentum threatening to topple it dock over poll. In the saddle Han Ch'in hung on grimly, pulling tightly at the reins, straining to keep the Arab's head up, drawing the horse to the right, into the gradient. The Arab fought back, fear making its movements desperate. Its nostrils flared and it whinnied noisily, contesting with Han's sharp yells of command. Slowly its rump came round, its long, dished face flicking to the left as if in pain. As Han Ch'in eased off, its head came up sharply, and it seemed to dance, then settle, slowing to a canter.

Yuan turned, looking up at his father. "He's done it! Han's done it!"

"Yes. . . ." Li Shai Tung was smiling, but his eyes revealed just how worried he had been.

Han Ch'in turned the horse again, reaching down to pat its neck, then spurred it on toward them. Drawing up in front of them, he threw his head back proudly, then reached up to comb the hair back from his eyes, looking to his father for approval.

"Well done, Han. You proved yourself the master of the beast!"

Han laughed, then looked down at the Arab's face. "Maybe. But she's a fine horse, Father. Any of the others from our stables would have fallen back there. A rider is sometimes only as good as his horse."

"Or the horse his rider." The T'ang was looking seriously at his son now. "I don't say this lightly, Han Ch'in. I was worried for you. But you showed great character. You did not let the beast have her own way. You controlled her." He nodded and momentarily looked at his younger son. "Control. That's the key. To beasts and men."

For a moment longer Han Ch'in stared down at his horse's face, petting the animal, calming her. Then he looked up again and met his father's eyes. "I didn't think you would be here, Father. I thought you would be arranging things. The reception. ..."

The T'ang smiled faintly at his son, then grew more serious. "That's all in hand. No, I came because I need you both, two hours from now, in the Hall of the Seven Ancestors. It will be formal, so dress accordingly."

Han frowned. "What is it, Father?"

Li Shai Tung studied his eldest son a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of him proudly. "Later, Han. I'll explain things when you're there."

Han Ch'in bowed in the saddle, answering for them both. "As you wish, Father. We shall be there."

"Good. But before then you've a visitor." He smiled. "Fei Yen has arrived. She's waiting for you in the Palace."

Yuan looked across at his brother, watching him. Han bowed to his father, then, unable to hide the grin that had settled on his face, turned his horse and began to move away across the hillside toward the river and the bridge. Halfway down he turned in his saddle and called back.

"I'll see you there, Yuan! Bring Hsueh Chai and old Chou. In the meadow by the lake. We'll have a picnic."

FEI YEN was standing on the bridge, her maids surrounding her. One stood behind her, shading her mistress with a huge silk umbrella. Another stood at her side, languidly waving a large fan. A third and fourth, their pastel greens and blues matching the colors of the day, waited nearby. Thirty paces off, in the shade of a great willow, stood her aunts and great-aunts in their dark silks and satins, watchful, talking quietly among themselves.

Fei Yen herself was looking out across the lake; watching the warm spring breeze ruffle the water and bend the reeds at the shoreline. Her face, in the sunlight filtered through the umbrella, seemed like a silken screen of pinks and oranges, her dainty features hidden from Li Yuan, who stood on the bank below, looking up at her.

She was beautiful. He had no need to see her clearly to know that. He had only to remember the last time she had come here to the orchard. Had only to recall the way she smiled, the way her bright pink tongue poked out from between those pearled and perfect teeth. How dark her eyes were, how delicate the contours of her face.

He looked across at Han and saw how his brother looked at her. Saw both the awe and the love there in his face. And understood.

Servants had set up a small rounded tent in the middle of the water meadow. The Arab was tethered just beyond it, its head down, grazing. In front of the tent they had set down stools and a low table, on which was placed a wine kettle and three small glazed tumblers. Farther off, conspicuous in the center of the meadow, stood an archery target.

Han Ch'in came forward, striding purposefully across the short grass, like some strange upright, elegant animal. He had changed from his riding clothes into looser silks of peach and vermilion. Hsueh Chai had braided his hair with golden thread and he wore a simple gold necklet of interwoven dragons. Watching him, Yuan felt all his love for his brother swell up in him. How fine Han was; in his own way, how beautiful. How his dark eyes flashed as he came to the stone flags of the narrow bridge. Eyes that never for a moment left his future bride.

Fei Yen turned, facing Han Ch'in, and came out from beneath the shade.

Again Yuan caught his breath. She was like china. Like perfect porcelain. Her skin so pale, so perfectly white; her nose, her lips, her delicate ears so finely molded that, for a moment, she seemed like a sculpture come to sudden life. Such diminutive perfection. Then, as she met Han on the gentle downslope of the bridge, he saw her smile, saw how her dark eyes filled with fire and knew, with all the certainty his young soul could muster, that he was lost to her. She was Han's. But he would love her even so. As he loved Han. And maybe more.

Over tea their talk was of court matters. Yuan, silent, looked up at Fei Yen through his lashes, strangely, overpoweringly abashed by her proximity. When she leaned forward, the pale cream of her sleeve brushed against his knees, and he shivered, the faint sweet scent of jasmine wafting to him from her.

"They say Wang Sau-Leyan has been up to mischief," she said softly, looking up past her fan at Han Ch'in. "Ten years old! Can you imagine it! His eldest brother caught him . . ."

She hesitated, giving a soft, delicious laugh.

"Go on. . . ." said Han, leaning forward on his seat, his booted feet spread, like two young saplings planted in the earth, his hands placed firmly on his knees.

"Well. . ." she said, conspiratorially, "it's said that he was found with a girl. Stark naked in his father's bed!"

"No!" said Han, delighted. "His father's bed!"

Wang Sau's father was Wang Hsien, T'ang of City Africa. Wang Sau-Leyan was his fourth son and his youngest.

"Yes!" Fei Yen clapped her hands together. "And listen . . . the girl was only a child. And Hung Mao too!"

Han Ch'in sat back, astonished; then, slowly, he began to laugh.

Yuan, meanwhile, was watching her. Her voice was so sweet, so pure in its tones, it sent a shiver down his spine. He was oblivious of the sense of her words; to him her voice seemed divorced from all human meaning. It had that same, sweet lyrical sound as the erhu; the same rich yet plaintive contralto of that ancient instrument. And as she talked he found himself fascinated by the movement, by the very shape, of her hands. By the strange pearled opalescence of her nails, the delicacy of her tiny, ice-pale fingers, no bigger than his own. He looked up into her face and saw the fine, cosmetic glaze of her cheeks and brow, the silken darkness of her hair, threads of fine silver catching the afternoon's sunlight.

Han Ch'in leaned forward, still laughing. "What happened?"

Fei Yen sat back demurely. Thirty paces off, the group of aunts, waited on by servants from their own household, were fanning themselves vigorously and straining to hear what was making Han Ch'in laugh so lustily.

"His father has banished him for a year. He's to stay in the floating palace. Alone. With only his male servants for company."

Han Ch'in looked down, sobered by the news. He shook his head, then looked up at Fei Yen again. "That's rather harsh, don't you think? I mean, he's only a boy. Not much older than Yuan here. And after all, it's nothing really. Just a bit of high spirits."

Fei Yen fanned herself slowly, her eyes briefly looking inward.

Then she smiled and tilted her head, looking directly at Han. "But his father's bed ... Surely, Han . . .?" She raised her eyebrows, making Han guffaw with laughter once again.

"Listen," he said, getting up. "I plan to issue a challenge. After the wedding. To all the Families, Major and Minor. To all the sons and cousins." He glanced across at Hsueh Chai, who was standing with the maids beside the entrance to the tent. The old servant came across at once, bringing a short hunting bow and a quiver of heavy, steel-tipped arrows. Han Ch'in took them and held them up. "Twelve arrows. And the highest score shall win the prize."

Fei Yen looked past him at the target. "And you think you'll win?"

Han, Ch'in laughed and looked at the bow in his hand. "I don't think I'll win. I know I will."

Her eyes flashed at him. "My three brothers are good shots. You must be very good if you're better than them."

Han Ch'in drew the strap of the quiver over his shoulder, then turned and marched to a point marked out on the grass. Taking an arrow from the quiver, he called back to her. "Watch!"

He notched the arrow quickly to the bow and raised it. Then, without seeming to take aim, he drew the string taut and let the arrow fly. There was a satisfying chunk as the arrow hit and split the wood, a hand's length from the gold.

"Not bad. . ." Fei Yen began. Her fan was momentarily forgotten, motionless. Her face was suddenly tense, her whole body attentive to what Han was doing.

Han Ch'in drew a second arrow, notched it, and let it fly as casually as before. This time it landed at the edge of the gold. Han turned, laughing. "Well?"

"Again," she said simply, lifting her chin in what seemed an encouraging gesture. "It might have been luck."

"Luck?" Han Ch'in looked surprised, then laughed and shook his head. "Luck, you think? Watch this, then!"

He notched the arrow, then turned back to face the target. Raising the bow, he twisted it sideways, as if he were on horseback, and let fly. This time the arrow hit the gold dead center.

Yuan was on his feet applauding wildly. Behind him Fei Yen set down her fan and stood up slowly. Then, without a word, she walked up to Han Ch'in and took the bow from him, drawing an arrow from the quiver on his back.

"You want to try?" he said, enjoying the moment. "I'll wager you my horse that you can't even hit the target from here. It's fifty paces, and that's a heavy bow to draw."

She smiled at him. "I've drawn heavier bows than this, Han Ch'in. Bows twice this length. But I'll not take your horse from you, husband-to-be. I've seen how much you love the beast."

Han Ch'in shrugged. "Okay. Then go ahead."

Fei Yen shook her head. "No, Han. Some other prize. Just between us. To prove who's master here."

He laughed uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"

She looked at the bow in her hands, then up at him. "This, maybe. If I can beat you with my three arrows."

For a moment he hesitated; then, laughing, he nodded. "My bow, then. And if you lose?"

She laughed. "If I lose you can have everything I own."

Han Ch'in smiled broadly, understanding her joke. In two days they would be wed and he would be master of all she owned.

"That's fair."

He stepped back, folding his arms, then watched as she notched and raised the bow. For a long time she simply stood there, as if in trance, the bowstring taut, the arrow quivering. Yuan watched her, fascinated, noting how her breathing changed; how her whole body was tensed, different from before. Then, with a tiny cry, she seemed to shudder and release the string.

The arrow flew high, then fell, hitting the wood with a softer sound than Han's.

"A gold!" she said triumphantly, turning to face Han Ch'in.

The arrow lay like a dash across the red. Han's arrows had hit the target almost horizontally, burying themselves into the soft wood, but hers stuck up from the gold like a fresh shoot from a cut tree.

Han Ch'in shook his head, astonished. "Luck!" he said, turning to her. "You'll not do that twice." He laughed, and pointed at the target. "Look at it! A good wind and it'll fall out of the wood!"

She looked at him fiercely, defiantly. "It's a gold, though, isn't it?"

Reluctantly he nodded, then handed her the second arrow. "Again," he said.

Once more she stood there, the bowstring taut, the arrow quivering; her whole self tensed behind it, concentrating. Then, with the same sharp cry, she let it fly, her body shuddering with the passion of release.

This time the arrow seemed to float in the air above the target before it fell abruptly, knocking against the third of Han's.

It was another gold.

Fei Yen turned to Han Ch'in, her face inexpressive, her hand held out for the third arrow.

Han Ch'in hesitated, his face dark, his eyes wide with anger, then thrust the arrow into her hand. For a moment she stood there, watching him, seeing just how angry he was, then she turned away, facing where Yuan sat watching.

Yuan saw her notch the bow, then look across at him, her face more thoughtful than he'd ever seen it. Then, to his surprise, she winked at him and turned back to face the target.

This time she barely seemed to hesitate, but, like Han Ch'in before her, drew the string taut and let the arrow fly.

"No!" Yuan was on his feet. The arrow lay a good five paces from the target, its shaft sticking up from the ground, its feathers pointing toward the bull.

Han Ch'in clapped his hands, laughing. "I win! I've beaten you!"

Fei Yen turned to him. "Yes, Han," she said softly, touching his arm gently, tenderly. "Which makes you master here. ..." <

REPRESENTATIVE BARROW huffed irritably and leaned forward in his seat, straining against the harness. "What do you think the T'ang wants, Pietr, summoning us here five hours early?"

Lehmann looked down through the window, watching the ground come slowly up to meet them. "What do you think he wants? To keep us down, that's what. To tie us in knots and keep us docile. That's all they ever want."

Barrow looked at him sharply. "You think so? You're certain it has nothing to do with the wedding, then?"

Lehmann shook his head, remembering the alarm he'd felt on receiving the T'ang's summons. Like Barrow he had been told to present himself at Tongjiang by the third hour of the afternoon at the latest. No reason had been given, but he knew that it had nothing to do with the wedding. If it had they would have been notified a good month beforehand. No, this was something else. Something unrelated.

"It's bloody inconvenient," Barrow continued. "I was in the middle of a House committee meeting when his man came. Now I've had to cancel that, and the gods know when I'll get a chance now to get ready for the reception."

Lehmann looked at him, then looked away. Whatever it was, it was certain to make a small thing like a House committee meeting seem of no consequence whatsoever. The T'ang did not send his personal craft to bring men to him without good reason. Nor did he use the warrant system lightly. Whatever it was, it was of the first importance.

But what? His pulse quickened momentarily. Had something leaked out? Or was it something else? A concession, maybe? A deal? Something to guarantee his son's inheritance?

Lehmann laughed quietly at the thought, then felt the craft touch down beneath him. For a moment the great engines droned on, then they cut out. In the ensuing silence they could hear the great overhead gates sliding back into place, securing the hangar.

He undid his straps, then stood, waiting.

The door opened and they went outside. The T'ang's Chamberlain, Chung Hu-yan, was waiting for them at the foot of the ramp.

"Ch'un tzu." The Chamberlain bowed deeply. "The T'ang is waiting for you. The others are here already. Please . . ." He turned, indicating they should go through.

Lehmann hesitated. "Forgive me, but what is all this about?"

Chung Hu-yan looked back at him, his expression unreadable. "In time, Under Secretary. The T'ang alone can tell you what his business is."

"Of course." Lehmann smiled sourly, moving past him.

The Hall of the Seven Ancestors was a massive, high-ceilinged place, its walls strewn with huge, opulent tapestries, its floor a giant mosaic of carved marble. Thick pillars coiled with dragons lined each side. Beneath them stood the T'ang's private guards; big vicious-looking brutes with shaven heads and crude Han faces. The small group of Hung Moo had gathered to the left of the great throne, silent, visibly awed by the unexpected grandeur of their surroundings. Across from them, to the right of the throne and some fifteen paces distant, was a cage. Inside the cage was a man.

"Under Secretary Lehmann. Representative Barrow. Welcome. Perhaps now we can begin."

The T'ang got to his feet, then came down the steps of his throne, followed by his sons. Five paces from the nearest of the Hung Mao, he stopped and looked about him imperiously. Slowly, hesitantly, taking each other's example, they bowed, some fully, some with their heads only, none knowing quite what etiquette was demanded by this moment. They were not at Weimar now, nor in the great halls of their own companies. Here, in the T'ang's own palace, they had no idea what was demanded of them, nor had the T'ang's Chamberlain been instructed to brief them.

Li Shai Tung stared at them contemptuously, seeing the ill-ordered manner of their obeisance. It was as he had thought; these Hung Mao had fallen into bad habits. Such respect as they owed their T'ang was not an automatic thing with them. It was shallow rooted. The first strong wind would carry it away.

Slowly, deliberately, he looked from face to face, seeing how few of them dared meet his eyes, and how quickly those who did looked away. Hsiao jen, he thought. Little men. You're all such little men. Not a king among you. Not one of you fit to be my chamberlain, let alone my equal. He ran his hand through his ice-white plaited beard, then turned away, as if dismissing them, facing the man in the cage.

The man was naked, his head shaven. His hands were tied behind him with a crude piece of rope. There was something ancient and brutal about that small detail; something that the two boys at the old man's side took note of. They stood there silently, their faces masks of dispassionate observation. "This now is a lesson," their father had explained beforehand. "And the name of the lesson is punishment."

The trial had lasted nineteen months. But now all evidence was heard and the man's confession—thrice given as the law demanded—had placed things beyond doubt.

Li Shai Tung walked round the cage and stood there on the far side of it, an arm's length from its thick, rounded bars. The cage was deliberately too small for the man, forcing him to kneel or bend his back. He was red eyed, his skin a sickly white. Flesh was spare on him and his limbs were badly emaciated. The first two months of incarceration had broken his spirit and he was no longer proud. His haughty, aquiline profile now seemed merely birdlike and ludicrous—the face of an injured gull. All defiance had long departed from him. Now he cowered before the T'ang's approach.

The old man pointed to the symbol burned into the caged man's upper arm. It was the stylized double helix of heredity, symbol of the Dispersion faction.

"Under Secretary Lehmann. You know this man?"

Lehmann came forward and stood there on the other side of the cage, looking in.

"Chieh Hsia?"

There was the blankness of nonrecognition in Lehmann's eyes. Good, thought the T'ang. He is not expecting this. All the better. It will make the shock of it far sharper.

"He was your friend."

Lehmann looked again, then gasped. "Edmund. ..." he whispered.

"Yes." The T'ang came around the cage again and stood there, between Lehmann and the throne. "This prisoner was once a man, like you. His name was Edmund Wyatt. But now he has no name. He has been found guilty of the murder of a minister and has forfeited all his rights. His family, such as it was, is no more, and his ancestors are cut adrift. His place and purpose in this world are annulled."

He let the significance of his speech sink in, then spoke again.

"You disown him? Your faction disowns his actions?"

Lehmann looked up, startled.

"Do you disown him, Under Secretary?"

It was a tense moment. At the trial Lehmann had been Wyatt's chief advocate. But now it was different. If Lehmann said yes he sanctioned the T'ang's actions. If no ...

The silence grew. Lehmann's face moved anxiously, but he could not bring himself to speak. Across from him the T'ang held steady, his arm outstretched, his head turned, staring at the House Deputy. When the silence had stretched too thin, he broke it. He repeated his words, then added. "Or do you condone murder as a political option, Under Secretary?"

Li Shai Tung raised his voice a shade. "Am I to take it, then, that your silence is the silence of tacit agreement?"

"Under the force of the old man's staring eyes Lehmann began to shake his head. Then, realizing what he was doing, he stopped. But it was too late. He had been betrayed into commitment. He need say nothing now. Li Shai Tung had won.

"This man is mine then? To do with as I wish?"

The T'ang was like a rock. His age, his apparent frailty, were illusions that the hardness of his voice dispelled. There was nothing old or frail about the power he wielded. At that moment it lay in his power to destroy them all, and they knew it.

Lehmann had clenched his fists. Now he let them relax. He bowed his head slowly, tentatively, in agreement. "He is yours, Chieh Hsia. My—my faction disowns his actions."

It was a full capitulation. For Li Shai Tung and the Seven it was a victory, an admission of weakness on the part of their opponents. Yet in the old man's face there was no change, nor did his outstretched hand alter its demanding gesture.

The two boys, watching, saw this, and noted it.

At last Li Shai Tung lowered his arm. Slowly, uncertainly, the Hung Mao turned away and began to make their way out of the Hall. It was over. What the T'ang did with the man no longer concerned them. Wyatt was his.

When they were gone, Li Shai Tung turned to his sons. "Come here," he said, beckoning them closer to the cage.

Li Han Ch'in was seventeen; tall and handsome like his father, though not yet fully fleshed. His brother, Li Yuan, was only eight, yet his dark, calculating eyes made him seem far older than he was. The two stood close by their father, watching him, their obedience unquestioning.

"This is the man who killed Lwo Kang, my Minister. By the same token he would have killed me—and you and all the Seven and their families. For to attack the limbs of state is to threaten the body, the very heart."

The man in the cage knelt there silently, his head bowed.

Li Shai Tung paused and turned to his eldest. "Considering such, what should I do, Han Ch'in? What punishment would be fitting?"

There was no hesitation. "You must kill him, Father! He deserves to die." There was a fiery loathing in the young man's eyes as he stared at the prisoner. "Yes, kill him. As he would have killed you!"

Li Shai Tung was silent, his head tilted slightly to one side, as if considering what his eldest son had said. Then he turned, facing his second son. "And you, Yuan? Do you agree with your brother?"

The boy was silent a moment, concentrating.

Li Yuan was less impetuous than his brother. He was like the current beneath the ocean's swell, his brother the curling, foaming waves—all spray and violent show. Magnificent, but somehow ephemeral. Li Shai Tung, watching his sons, knew this and hoped the younger would prove the voice of reason at the ear of the elder. When it was time. When his own time was done.

Li Yuan had come to a decision. He spoke earnestly, gravely, like an old man himself. "If you kill him you will bring only further hatred on yourself. And you kill but a single man. You do not cure the illness that he represents."

"This illness"—the T'ang brought his head straight. The smile had gone from his lips—"is there a cure for it?"

Once more the boy was silent, considering. Again he gave an earnest answer. "Immediately, no. This illness will be with us a long while yet. But in time, yes, I believe there is a way we might control it."

Li Shai Tung nodded, not in agreement, but in surprise. Yet he did not dismiss his youngest's words. Li Yuan was young, but he was no fool. There were men ten times his age with but a fraction of his sense, and few with a Jiang of his intelligence.

"We must speak more of this"—he waved a hand almost vaguely—"this means of control. But answer me directly, Yuan. You feel this man should be spared, then, to alleviate the short-term hatred, the resentment?"

The small boy allowed himself the luxury of a brief smile. "No, Father, I suggest nothing of the kind. To spare the prisoner would be to exhibit weakness. As you said to us earlier, it is a lesson, and the name of the lesson is punishment. The man must be killed. Killed like the basest piece of Clay. And all hatred, all resentment, must be faced. There is no other way."

At his side Han nodded emphatically.

"Then it is right, as Han Ch'in said, to kill this man?"

"Not right, Father. It could never be right. Necessary." The boy's face showed no emotion. His features were formed into a mask of reason. "Moreover, it should be done in public, for it must be seen to be done. And it must be done dispassionately; without malice and with no thought of revenge—merely as evidence of our power. As a lesson."

Li Shai Tung nodded, profoundly satisfied with his youngest son, but it was his first son he addressed. "Then it is as you said, Han Ch'in. We must kill him. As he would have killed us."

He turned and looked back at the man in the cage, something close to pity in his eyes. "Yes. But not for revenge. Merely because we must."

HAN ch'in laughed, then clapped his hands, delighted by the gift. "But Father, they're marvelous! Just look at them! They're so strong, so elegant!"

The four creatures stood in a line before the royal party, their long heads bowed, their broad oxlike bodies neatly clothed in rich silks of carmine and gold. Nearby, their creator, Klaus Stefan Ebert, Head of GenSyn—Genetic Synthetics— beamed, pleased beyond words at the prince's reaction.

"They are the first of their kind," Ebert said, giving a slight bow. "And, if the T'ang wishes it, they shall be the last."

Li Shai Tung looked at his old friend. Ebert had been one of his staunchest supporters over the years and, if fate decided, his son would one day be Han Ch'in's general. He smiled and looked at the ox-men again. "I would not ask that of you, Klaus. This gift of yours pleases me greatly. No, such marvels should be shared by others. You shall have a patent for them."

Ebert bowed deeply, conscious of his T'ang's generosity. His gift to Han Ch'in was worth, perhaps, two hundred million yuan, but the T'ang's kindness was inestimable. There was no one in the whole of City Europe's elite who would not now want such a creature. To a more mercenary man that would have been cause for great delight, but Klaus Ebert counted such things of trivial worth. He had pleased his T'ang, and no amount of money could buy the feeling of intense pride and worthiness he felt at that moment.

"I am deeply honored, Chieh Hsia. My great joy at your pleasure reaches up into the heavens."

Han Ch'in had gone closer to the beasts and now stood there, looking up into one of their long bovine faces. He turned and looked back at Ebert. "They're really beautiful, Shih Ebert. Strong, like horses, and intelligent, like men. Do they talk?" Ebert bowed to the T'ang once more, then went across and stood beside Han Ch'in. "They have a form of language," he said, his head lowered in deference to the Prince. "Enough to understand basic commands and to carry trivial messages, but no more than a human three-year-old would have."

Han Ch'in laughed. "That depends on the three-year-old. My brother Yuan could talk a counselor to a halt at three!" Ebert laughed. "So it was! I remember it only too well!" Li Shai Tung joined their laughter, then turned to General Tolonen, who was standing to his left and slightly behind him. "Well, Knut, are things ready within?"

The General, who had been watching the exchange with real pleasure, turned to his T'ang and was silent a moment, listening to a voice in his head. Then he bowed. "Major Nocenzi advises me that all the guests are now assembled and that full security measures are in operation. We can go inside."

The ceiling of the Great Hall was festooned with broad silk banners that hung in elegant sweeps between the dragon-encircled pillars. Huge, man-sized bronze urns were set at inter-

vals along the walls, each filled to overflowing with giant blooms. Beneath the banners and between the blooms the floor of the Great Hall was filled with guests. Han Ch'in stood at the top of the steps beside his father, looking down on everything. Two colors dominated, red and gold; auspicious colors—red for good fortune, gold for a future emperor.

At their appearance the great buzz of conversation died, and at a signal from the T'ang's Chamberlain all below the steps knelt to the T'ang and his first son, their heads lowered.

Tolonen, behind them, watched the huge crowd rise again, a low buzz of expectation rising from their midst. Then Li Shai Tung began to descend, his son three steps behind him.

Li Yuan was waiting at the bottom of the steps to greet his father formally with a full k'o t'ou. Behind him stood his uncles—his father's brothers and half-brothers—and with them a dark-haired Hung Moo; a slender, handsome man, unfashion-ably bearded. An "Englishman" as .he liked to term himself. These were the T'ang's chief advisors. As Li Yuan rose, so the three brothers bowed, bending fully to the waist before they straightened up. Only the Hung Moo remained unbowed, a faint smile on his face. The T'ang smiled, acknowledging all four, then turned to let Han Ch'in come up beside him.

Tolonen, following them, paused halfway down the steps and looked out across the mass of heads. Everyone who was anyone in City Europe was here today. Representatives and heads of corporations, chief magistrates and administrators, ministers and executives, men of power and their consorts. Li Yuan was the only child there.

Below the steps all formalities were over for the moment.

"Have you seen them, Yuan?" Han asked eagerly. "They're huge. Three times your size!"

Li Yuan's eyes lit up. "Is it true what Hsueh Chai said? Do they smell?"

In answer Han Ch'in bent down and whispered something in his brother's ear. Yuan laughed, then glanced guiltily at the Englishman, who was now deep in conversation with the T'ang. "Like Hung Moo," Han had whispered. And it was true of most. But some—like the General and Hal Shepherd—refrained from eating milk-based products. They smelled like Han, not beasts.

"What will you do with them?" Yuan asked. "Will you give them to Fei Yen?"

Han Ch'in looked aghast. "Gods! I never thought! What will she say?"

"You could always ask her. After all, she'll be here anytime now."

Han Ch'in made a face, then laughed again. Both knew what ritual lay before him. All that bowing and nodding. All that c/i'un tzu insincerity as he and his future wife accepted the best wishes of almost three thousand loyal subjects.

He was about to make some comment on the matter when all about them the crowd grew quiet again as Fei Yen appeared at the head of the stairs on her father's arm. This time, as she descended, the guests remained standing. Only the T'ang and his eldest son bowed to her, honoring her.

Li Yuan gazed at Fei Yen, stilled by the beauty of her. It was as though a craftsman—a master artisan—had given her some final, subtle touch—one single deft and delicate brushstroke— that made of her perfection. Her hair had been put up, its fine coils of darkness speared by slender combs of ivory shaped like dragonflies. Beneath its silken splendor her face was like the radiant moon, shining cold and white and brilliant, the fineness of her cheekbones balanced by the soft roundness of her chin and the unmarked perfection of her brow. She wore a simple erh tang of red jade and silver in each lobe and a ;ying lo of tiny pearls about her neck, but in truth her face needed no adornment.

He stared at her as she came down the steps toward him, fascinated, drinking in the sight of her.

Her ears were tiny, delicate, her lips like folded petals, softly roseate, as if awaiting the dawn's moist kiss, while her nose was so small, so fine, the roundness of the tip so perfect, it seemed unreal, like porcelain. All this he saw and noted, pierced by the beauty of it, yet all the while his gaze was drawn to her eyes—to those dark, sweet, almond eyes that were unearthly in their beauty. Eyes that seemed to stare out at him from the other side of the heavens themselves, fierce and strong and proud. Eyes that seemed to burn within the cold and fragile mask of her face, making him catch his breath.

He shivered, then looked down, noting the pale lilac silks she wore, the fine layers of material specked with tiny phoenixes in a delicate dark blue lace. He studied her tiny, perfect hands and noticed how she held the ceremonial fan, her fingers gently curled about the red jade handle, each one so fine and white and delicate. Again he shivered, overcome by her. She was magnificent. So small and fine and perfect. So unutterably beautiful.

The crowd's dull murmur rose again. Li Yuan felt a touch on his arm and turned to see who it was.

"Hal.

Hal Shepherd smiled and inclined his head slightly, as if amused by something. "Come, Yuan," he said, taking the boys hand. "Let's seek our entertainment over there."

Yuan looked, then mouthed the word. "Berdichev?"

Shepherd nodded, then leaned forward slightly, speaking in a whisper. "Your father wants me to sound the man. I think it could be fun."

Yuan smiled. Shepherd had been his father's chief advisor for almost twenty years, and though he was some years the T'ang's junior, Li Shai Tung would not act on any major issue without first consulting him. Shepherd's great-great-grandfather had been architect of City Earth and had been granted certain rights by the tyrant Tsao Ch'un, among them the freedom from bowing to his lord. When the Seven had deposed the tyrant they had honored those rights to the last generation of Shepherds. They alone could not be ordered. They alone could talk back to the T'ang as equal. "Only they, of all of them, are free," Li Shai Tung had once said to his sons. "The rest do not own the bones in their own skins."

Yuan glanced at Fei Yen momentarily, then looked back at Shepherd. "What does my father want?"

Shepherd smiled, his dark eyes twinkling. "Just listen," he said softly. "That's all. I'll say all that needs to be said."

Yuan nodded, understanding without needing to be told that this was what his father wanted. For the past four months he had worked hard, studying thousands of personal files, learning their details by heart until, now, he could put a name to every face in the Great Hall. A name and a history.

Berdichev was with his wife, Ylva, a tall, rather severe-looking woman some ten years younger than he. Beside them was one of the Eastern sector administrators, a covert Disper-sionist sympathizer named Duchek. Making up the group was Under Secretary Lehmann.

"Shepherd," said Berdichev, on his guard at once. "Li Yuan," he added quickly, noticing the Prince behind Shepherd and bowing deeply, a gesture that was copied immediately by all in the immediate circle.

"We're not interrupting anything, I hope?" said Shepherd lightly, disingenuously.

"Nothing but idle talk," Lehmann answered, smiling coldly, his manner matching Shepherd's.

"Idle talk? Oh, surely not, Under Secretary. I thought such important men as you rarely wasted a word."

"It was nothing," said Berdichev touchily. "But if it interests you so much, why not ask us? We have nothing to hide."

Shepherd laughed warmly. "Did I say you had? Why no, Soren, I meant nothing by my words. Nothing at all. This is a social occasion, after all. I meant merely to be sociable."

Yuan looked down, keeping the smile from his face. He had seen how Berdichev had bridled when Shepherd used his first name; how his eyes had lit with anger behind those tiny rounded glasses he so affectedly wore.

"We were talking of the world," said Lehmann, meeting Shepherd's eyes challengingly. "Of how much smaller it seems these days."

Shepherd hesitated as if considering the matter, then nodded. "I would have to agree with you, Under Secretary. In fact, I'd go further and argue that weVe actually lost touch with the world. Consider. What is City Earth, after all, but a giant box on stilts? A huge hive filled to the brim with humanity. Oh, it's comfortable enough, we'd all agree, but it's also quite unreal—a place where the vast majority of people have little or no contact with the earth, the elements."

Shepherd looked about the circle, half smiling, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "Isn't that how it is? Well, then, it's understandable, don't you think, that feeling of smallness? Of being contained? You see, there's nothing real in their lives. No heaven above, no earth below, just walls on every side. All they see—all they are—is an illusion."

Lehmann blinked, not certain he had heard Shepherd right. What had been said was unorthodox, to say the least. It was not what one expected to hear from someone who had the T'ang's ear. Lehmann looked across and saw how Berdichev was looking down, as if insulted. His company, SimFic—Simulation Fictions—provided many of the "illusions" Shepherd was clearly denigrating.

"Men have always had illusions," Berdichev said fiercely, looking up again, his eyes cold behind their glasses. "They have always made fictions. Always had a desire for stories. Illusion is necessary for good health. Without it—"

"Yes, yes, of course," Shepherd interrupted. "I'm sure I worry far too much. However, it does seem to me that this world of ours is nothing but illusion. One giant complex hologram." He smiled and looked away from Berdichev, focusing on Lehmann once again. "It's all yin and no yang. All male and no female. WeVe lost contact with the Mother, don't you agree, Under Secretary?"

It was Duchek who answered him, his eyes flaring with passionate indignation. "It's all right for you, Shi/i Shepherd. You have the Domain. You have your mother!"

For a moment there was a tense, almost shocked silence in their circle. It was a fact, and all of them knew it, but it was rarely mentioned in polite company. The Domain, where Shepherd lived, like the estates of the Seven, was an exception. Barring plantation workers, no one of any stature was allowed to live outside the City. There was, of course, good reason for this, for most of the land outside the City was under intense cultivation, organized into huge ten-thousand-mou fields planted with superhybrids, not a mou wasted. Even so, a great deal of jealousy existed in the Above. There were many, Berdichev and Lehmann among them, who would have given half their wealth to live outside, under the sun.

"Well, it's true!" said Duchek after a moment, embarrassed by his slip, but unapologetic. "It's easy for him to criticize. He can get out!"

Lehmann studied Duchek a moment, then turned back to Shepherd, still intrigued by what he had heard him say. "I'm surprised to hear you talk this way, Shih Shepherd. You sound"— he laughed—"almost dissatisfied."

Shepherd glanced briefly at Li Yuan, noting how intently the young boy was following things, then smiled and answered Lehmann. "Should I be satisfied? Should I, as a man, just accept what is without question?" He laughed softly. "Why, we would still be in the caves, or in the woods, if that were so. There would be no civilization. No Chung Kuo."

Yuan, whose eyes caught everything, saw how Lehmann made to answer, then checked himself, as if he had suddenly realized what was happening. Hal Shepherd's words, while passionately spoken, were suspiciously close to Dispersionist orthodoxy and their creed of "Change and Expand." Lehmann hesitated, then laughed casually and turned to take a fresh tumbler of wine from a passing servant.

"So you advocate change?"

Shepherd's face changed subtly; the smile, the patina of charm, remained, but behind it now lay something much harder and more ruthless. "You mistake me, Pietr. I do not like change, nor do I welcome it. But if I could change one thing, I would change that. I would give men back their contact with the earth." His smile hardened, and a trace of sadness and regret lingered momentarily in his eyes. "However, the world is as it is, not as it ought to be. There are too many of us now. The earth could not support us in the old way."

Again it was a fact. Even though every cultivable piece of land outside the City was in use, still only sixty percent of Chung Kuo's demand was met that way. The rest was synthesized within the City or grown in the giant orbital farms. And as the population grew, the problem grew with it. How feed the many mouths of Chung Kuo?

Yuan felt himself tense, knowing that Shepherd was coming to the nub of it. Through Shepherd, his father was fishing for something here; some concession, maybe. Some way of healing the anticipated breach; of keeping Chung Kuo from war.

"But there are other ways, eh?"

Lehmann let the words lie there between himself and Shepherd. He sipped at his wine and looked across at Berdichev, a faint smile on his lips.

Shepherd tilted his head slightly, as if considering Lehmann's words. Then he sighed and shook his head. "The T'ang himself has tried to make changes. For three years now he has tried to persuade the Council to take certain measures. But they are reluctant. They do not feel the House would give its full support to such changes."

Yuan had seen how Lehmann's eyes had widened at Shepherd's use of the word changes in the context of his father and the Council; had seen how surprised both Berdichev and Duchek also were.

Lehmann spoke for them. "Changes? I don't understand you, Shih Shepherd. What changes?"

"Controls. Concessions. A deal, you might call it."

"A deal?" Lehmann's mouth twisted almost scornfully. "I thought the Seven were above deals. What could they possibly want from the House?"

Shepherd loojced at each of the men in turn, then smiled. "Population controls. Perhaps even reductions?"

Lehmann's laughter made heads turn nearby. He leaned toward Shepherd and almost spat the word back at him. "Impossible!"

"So you say, but what if—"

But Shepherd never got to finish his sentence. Yuan felt a touch on his shoulder and knew at once it was Han Ch'in. No one else would have dared lay a hand on him.

"Hal! Hal! Have you seen them? Have you seen my ox-men? They're marvelous!"

Shepherd drew back from the edge. Calmly he turned to Han Ch'in and smiled. "So that's what they were, Han. I did wonder. I thought perhaps you had invited a few brutes up from the Clay!"

The rest of the circle had bowed at Han Ch'in's sudden entry into their ranks. Now Shepherd's comment drew their laughter. But Han Ch'in himself was more thoughtful.

"It must be awful, Hal, being born down there."

Berdichev, who, with Lehmann and Wyatt, had been beneath the City's floor into the Clay and seen it for himself, bowed again, then answered Han.

"It would be, were they really conscious of their misery. But it's all they know. In any case, they're really little more than animals. They don't live long enough to consider how awful their lives truly are."

"We should gas them," said Duchek. "We should pump the Clay full of gas and clean it up."

Han Ch'in looked sharply at the Administrator but said nothing.

"It would, perhaps, be best," said Lehmann, coming to Duchek's aid. "After all, it would ease their suffering. And we could use the land down there for other things."

"So I understand," Han Ch'in answered, his distaste for Lehmann quite open. "You have argued for it in the House often enough."

Lehmann bowed his head, then looked to Shepherd, his frustration at being interrupted at such a crucial moment threatening, for an instant, to goad him into an impropriety. Then he relaxed again and smiled at the T'ang's eldest son.

"I am honored that the Prince pays such attention to my humble affairs. You may be sure I am no less your own admirer."

Han Ch'in stared back at him a moment, nothing but coldness in his eyes, then he turned to Shepherd and laughed.

"You know, Hal, I can't get over how marvelous my ox-men are. They even talk. Baby talk, admittedly, but it's talk of a kind, eh? And you should smell them. Rich, they are! Ripe!" He looked meaningfully around the circle, then back at Shepherd. "Perhaps I should have Uncle Klaus make more of them for me. Then I could form my own House and watch the beasts debate."

TOLONEN's EYES took in everything about him. He had a sense of where each person was within ten paces of the T'ang; how far away the nearest of them were; how casually or otherwise each stood. As for himself, he stood there, seemingly at ease, a drink in his left hand, his right hand resting against his thigh. Casual. Listening, or so it seemed, to every word that was being said. Indeed, at any moment he might have repeated anything that had just been said by the T'ang and his party, yet his attention was split. He watched, attentive to every sign, knowing that this, the safest place, was also the most dangerous. They could never take Li Shai Tung by force. But surprise?

Earlier that afternoon he had checked out the servants for himself, trusting no one. He had had every servo-mechanism checked for program quirks, every GenSyn neuter for behavioral deviancy. And then, at the last moment, he had brought in his own guards. It was they who now went among the guests, serving drinks and offering spiced delicacies. At any moment Tolonen could tune in to any conversation and hear whatever was being said through the direct relay in his head. His guards picked up all talk, positioning themselves so that not a word in the Great Hall would be missed. It would all be replayed and investigated for significance later. For now, however, only one thing mattered. He had to keep Li Shai Tung alive.

For years now he had learned to outguess his enemies; to anticipate their next move. But now things were changing, the situation escalating, and in his heart of hearts he knew that the tenuous peace that had existed for more than a century was about to be broken. The Dispersionists, a covert, loosely knit organization before the arrest of Edmund Wyatt, were now an open faction in the House; not merely respected but heavily supported. Their strength had upset the traditional balance. In the last two years they had radicalized the House and brought the clamor for change to a head.

It was time to come to an agreement. To make concessions. But first they would have justice. For Lwo Kang's death and the insult to the Seven.

Tolonen breathed deeply, hearing Lehmann's voice sound clearly in his head. In two hours the smile would be wiped off that bastard's face.

He had been listening to the conversation between Shepherd and the others, amused by the way Shepherd ran them, like fish upon a line, only to reel them slowly in. But Han Ch'in's sudden interjection had snapped the fragile line. Tolonen looked across and saw the young prince leaning forward, one hand on his younger brother's shoulder, and heard his voice clearly, transmitted to him by the waiter at Berdichev's side.

"It must be awful, Hal. Being born down there."

"Knut!"

He turned at the T'ang's summons and went across to him, the fingers of his right hand surreptitiously moving across the control panel beneath the cloth of his uniform trousers, shutting off the voices in his head. "ChiehHsia?"

The circle about the T'ang made room for the General.

"Klaus was asking me about Major DeVore. He's back tomorrow, isn't he?"

"He was due then, Chieh Hsia, but the flight from Mars was delayed. He docks the morning of the wedding."

"Good. Klaus was saying how much his son would like to serve the Major again. I hope he'll be granted the opportunity."

Tolonen bowed his head. What the T'ang "hoped" for was tantamount to a command. "I shall see to it personally, Chieh Hsia."

"He has done well out there, I understand."

Again the T'ang was being diplomatic. He knew perfectly well how DeVore had performed as Chief Security Officer to the Martian colony. He had seen all the reports and discussed them at length with Tolonen.

"Indeed he has, Chieh Hsia. And I have put his name before the Marshal to fill the next vacancy for general."

"Your own?" Li Shai Tung smiled.

"If the T'ang no longer feels he needs me."

"Oh, that will be some time yet, Knut. A good long time, I hope."

Tolonen bowed deeply, profoundly pleased.

Just then Major Nocenzi appeared at the edge of the group, his head bowed, awaiting permission to speak.

The T'ang looked at him. "What is it, Major?"

Nocenzi kept his head lowered. "There is a message, Chieh Hsia. For the General."

Tolonen turned to the T'ang. "You'll excuse me, Chieh Hsia?"

"Of course."

He bowed and turned away, then followed Nocenzi across to an anteroom they were using as coordination center for Security. When the door was closed behind them, Tolonen faced his Major.

"What is it, Vittorio?"

"Karr has been on, sir. He says he's traced his man."

"What?"

"He's waiting to talk to you, sir. On the switching channel."

At once Tolonen reached down and touched the relevant button on the panel inset into his thigh. "Well, Karr?" he said, knowing Karr would hear him, wherever he was in the City. Karr's voice came back to him at once; as clear in his head as if he stood in the same room with him.

"Forgive me for disturbing you, General. But I'm certain I've found him. He fits the profile perfectly, right down to the scar. I'm following him right now."

Tolonen listened carefully, making Kart repeat the coordinates three times before he cut connection. Then he turned to Nocenzi, "I must go, Vittorio. Take charge here. Ensure by your life that nothing happens."

Nocenzi looked down. "Are you sure you should go personally, sir? It could be dangerous. The man's a killer."

Tblonen smiled. "I'll be all right, Vittorio. Anyway, Karr will be with me."

"Even so, sir . . ."

Tolonen laughed. "If it makes you easier, Vittorio, I order you to take charge here. AH right? In this instance I have to go. Personally. It's too important to leave to anyone else. Too much has slipped through my hands as it is, and this man's the key to it all. I know he is. I feel it in my bones."

Nocenzi smiled. "Then take care, Knut. I'll make certain all's well here."

Tolonen reached out and held Nocenzi's shoulder briefly, returning his smile. "Good. Then I'll report what's happening to the T'ang."

"Well, Chen? Would you like a beer?"

Chen looked up at the brightly pulsing sign over the door. FU yang's BAR, it read. His mouth was dry and the thought of a beer was good. It was some while since he'd allowed himself the luxury. Even so he looked down and shook his head. "Thank you, Pan chang Lo, but I should be getting back. It's late and Wang Ti will have to cook."

Supervisor Lo took his arm. "All the better. You can get a meal at the bar. Call her. Tell her you'll be a bit late, and that youVe eaten. She'll not mind. Not this once. Come on, I'll treat you. YouVe helped me out and I appreciate that."

Chen hesitated, then nodded. Lo was right; it wasn't as if he made a habit of this. No, Wang Ti could hardly complain if he had a few beers for once; not after he had worked a double shift. Anyway, he had bought her something. He traced the shape of the necklace in his overall pocket and smiled to himself, then followed Lo Ying into the crowded bar, squeezing in beside him at one of the tiny double booths.

Lo Ying turned to him, his deeply lined, wispily bearded face only a hand's breadth away. "What'll you have? The soychicken with ginger and pineapple's good. So's the red-cooked soypork with chestnuts."

Chen laughed. "They both sound excellent. We'll have a large dish of each, eh? And I'll share the cost with you."

Lo Ying put his long, thin hand over Chen's. "Not at all, my friend. As I said, you did me a good turn tonight. It was good of you to work the shift at short notice. I was in a hole and you helped me out of it. It's the least I can do to buy you a meal and a few beers."

Chen smiled, then looked down, rubbing at the red marks at the back of his head and on his forehead where he had been wearing the wraparound. Lo Ying was a good man. A bit dull, maybe, but fair and reliable, unlike most of the pan chang he'd encountered up here. "Okay," he said. "But I was glad of the extra shift. We've not much, Wang Ti, baby Jyan, and I, but IVe ambitions. I want better for my son."

Lo Ying looked at him a moment, then nodded his head. "I've watched you often, Chen. Seen how hard you work. And I've wondered to myself. Why is Chen where he is? Why is he not higher up the levels? He is a good man; a good, strong worker; reliable, intelligent. Why is he here, working for me? Why am I not working for him?"

Chen laughed shortly, then looked up, meeting Lo Ying's eyes. "I was not always so, Lo Ying. I was a wild youth. A waster of my talents. And then . . . well, a wife, a son—they change a man."

"Ah, yes. So it is."

A girl came and took their order, then returned a moment later with two bulbs of Yoo Fan Te beer. Lo Ying handed one to Chen, then toasted him.

"To your family!"

"And yours, Lo Ying!"

He had told no one of his past. No one. Not even Wang Ti. For in this, he knew, he was vulnerable. One careless word said to the wrong person and he would be back there, below the Net. Back in that nightmare place where every man was for himself and men like Lo Ying were as rare as phoenix eggs.

Lo Ying put his beer down and wiped the froth from his wispy moustache. "Talking of work, I've been meaning to ask you . . ." He looked sideways at Chen. "As you know, Feng Shi-lun is up for a pan chang's job. I happen to know he'll get it. Which means there's a vacancy as my assistant."

Lo Ying fell silent, leaving unstated the meaning of his words. Chen took a deep draft of his beer, studying the old Han beggar on the label a moment. Then he wiped his mouth and looked up again. "You're offering me the job?"

Lo Ying shrugged. "It's not up to me, Chen, but. . . well, I could put a word in higher up."

Chen considered a moment, then looked directly at him. "How much would it cost?"

"Two hundred yuan."

Chen laughed. "I haven't twenty! Where would I find such money?"

"No, you don't understand me, Chen. I'd lend you it. Interest free. I'd"—he hesitated, then smiled—"I'd like to see you get on, Chen. You're worth a dozen of those useless shits. And maybe someday..."

Again, it was left unsaid. But Chen had grown used to the ways of these levels. Favors and bribes—they were the lubricants of this world. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. You pay squeeze, you move up. Refuse and you stay where you are. It was the way of the world. But Lo Ying was better than most. He offered his help interest free and with only the vaguest of strings. Chen looked at him and nodded. "Okay, but how would I repay you? My rent's eight yuan. Food's another six. That leaves eleven from my weekly pay to see to clothing, heating, light. I'm lucky if I save five yuan a month!"

Lo Ying nodded. "That's why you must take this opportunity. Pan chang's assistant pays thirty a week. You could pay me the difference until the debt is cleared. You say you've twenty?"

Chen nodded.

"Good. Then that's one hundred and eighty you'll need from me. Thirty six weeks and you're free of obligation. Free . . . and five yuan better off a week."

Chen looked at him, knowing how great a favor Lo Ying was doing him. If he went to a shark for the money it would be two years, maybe four, before he'd be clear. But thirty-six weeks. Nine months, give or take. It was nothing. And he would be one step higher.

He put out his hand. "Okay, LoYing. I'm grateful. If ever—"

"Yes, yes—" Lo Ying smiled, then turned. "Look, here's our food."

They dug in, looking at each other from time to time and smiling.

"It's good, eh?" said Lo Ying, turning to order two more beers. Then he frowned. "Hey, Chen, look. . . ."

Chen turned, his mouth full of chicken, and looked. On the big screen over the serving counter the Yuie Lung had appeared. AH over the bar people were turning to look and falling silent.

"It's nothing," Chen said. "Just another announcement about the wedding."

"No. . . look. The background's white. Someone's dead. One of the Seven."

A low murmur went around the packed bar. A few got up from their seats and went to stand at the bar, looking up at the screen.

Chen looked at Lo Ying's face and saw the concern there. There was still a strong feeling for the Seven at this level, whatever was happening Above or far below. Here they identi-.fied with the Seven and were fiercely loyal. "Trouble for the Seven is trouble for us all"—how often he'd heard that said in the last year and a half. And something of that had rubbed off on him, he realized, as he sat there, his pulse raised by the ominous white background to the imperial symbol.

Martial music played. Then, abruptly, the image changed.

"What's that?" said Lo Ying softly.