The Stone Within

Only when it docked, some eighty minutes later, did a gentler pair of hands release his straps and take the bulky wrap from his head. Kennedy sat up, feeling slightly nauseous, and rubbed furiously at the two welts that the wraparound's harness had left across his forehead and beneath his eyes. It had been a tighter fit than he was accustomed to. Ironically—and, again, perhaps deliberately—they had been showing an old historical saga, about the fall of the Sung dynasty before the onslaught of the Mongol generals. A heavy-handed piece of Han propaganda.

Kennedy cleared his throat and looked up at his liberator. From the touch, the faint trace of scent, he had expected a woman, but it was not. A middle-aged man, slender and finely featured, bowed and introduced himself. He was dressed in silks of salmon-pink and lemon.

"I am Ho Chang, your valet. It will be some while before the T'ang can see you. Meanwhile I shall prepare you for your audience."

Kennedy made to say something, but Ho Chang shook his head. "Wu Shih has given specific orders. You must do exactly as I say."

Kennedy smiled inwardly, understanding at once how things stood. Beneath the perfect manners ran a streak of raw hostility. Ho Chang did not like him. Nor did he mean to like him.

He let himself be bathed and dressed. The cut of the silks felt strange; far stranger than he had thought they would feel. They were elaborate and heavy, like the silks the Minor Families wore, and he felt overdressed in them. As he stood there, studying himself in the mirror, Ho Chang fussed about him, taking great care to mask his natural smell with scents.

"The very smell of you offends our noses," Ho Chang said bluntly, in response to Kennedy's unspoken query. "You smell like babies. Your skin . . ." He wrinkled his nose. "It stinks of milk."

Kennedy laughed, as if he took it as a joke, but beneath his laughter he felt real anger. Unlike many of his kind, he took great care not to touch milk products. Why then should Ho Chang insult him, unless as a foretaste of the audience to come? Was that why he had been summoned here: to be humiliated?

Ho Chang took him through to an antechamber, a great cavernous place where shadows lay on every side and dragon pillars rose up into the darkness overhead. There, insisting that Kennedy kneel, he lectured him on the proper etiquette to be followed. It was all very different from the first time he had met Wu Shih. This time full protocol was called for. He would kneel on the stone before the raised dais and strike the floor with his forehead three times. Not looking up at the great T'ang, he would stand, then repeat the process, prostrating himself three times in all before Wu Shih. This, the son kuei chiu k'ou, was the ultimate form of respect as laid down in'the ancient Book of Ceremonies; a form reserved only for the Sons of Heaven.

And afterward? Afterward he would stay there, on his knees before Wu Shih, not daring to lift his head and look upon his master until the T'ang permitted. Nor would he speak. Not unless Wu Shih said he might.

For a long time they waited there in the cool penumbral silence. Waited until Kennedy felt certain that this, too, was deliberate; a ploy to make him understand his own insignificance in the scheme of things. Then, finally, it was time. Ho Chang led him to the great doors and, bowing once, moved back, leaving him there. Slowly the doors eased open. At once Kennedy knelt, as he'd been shown and, lowering his head, shuffled forward until he came to the foot of the steps.

Wu Shih sat on his throne. Behind him giant dragons of gold and green were emblazoned on huge banners of red. Wu Shih wore yellow, the color of imperial authority, the nine dragons—eight seen and one hidden—emblazoned front and back. He watched silently as Kennedy went through the son kuei chiu k'ou, then nodded his satisfaction.

"You may lift your head, Shih Kennedy."

Kennedy looked up, surprised by the power, the resonance in Wu Shih's voice, and, at a glance, saw how things were. Here his victories in the recent polls mattered nothing. Here, knelt beneath the dragon throne, he understood.

Wu Shih stared down at him a moment, then laughed; humorlessly, imperiously.

"Things have changed since we last spoke, Shih Kennedy. You are more dangerous, more attractive than you were. How strange that seems, yet it was not wholly unexpected. Your success has merely hastened things. Has made it necessary for me to act a little sooner than I wished."

Kennedy looked for Wu Shih's hands and found them among the folds of yellow cloth. They were as he remembered them. Not soft, like his facial features, but hard and strong. The T'ang's face was deceptive, for it suggested that one might deal with this man, but not the eyes, the hands. They revealed the kind of man Wu Shih really was. A man of great power. Ruthless and uncompromising.

"I'll not prolong things, Shih Kennedy," Wu Shih said, leaning forward slightly, his omission of Kennedy's official rank the most casual of insults. "I take you for a clever man, one who can see how things are, therefore I'll not insult you with evasions, nor humor you with airy promises. No. I have brought you here for the simplest of reasons. To make a contract between us."

Kennedy opened his mouth slightly, then closed it, bowing his head.

"Good. I respect a man who understands how things really are. Such good sense saves time in explanations, and right now I am an impatient man."

From Wu Shih's smile, Kennedy understood that some irony was intended, but it passed him by. "I shall agree, of course, to whatever you ask, Chieh Hsia, but if it is to be a contract, might I know what consideration I should expect?"

The T'ang smiled tightly. "Of course." He paused, then nodded. The smile had gone. "For your part you will continue as you are, speaking out against the policies of the Seven and opposing our measures in the House. Seeming to be what you are not."

There was a moment's silence between them; a moment in which Kennedy, for the first time, understood exactly what was required of him. Feeling cold suddenly, alienated from himself, he slowly bowed his head, listening, knowing what was to come.

"You will continue to campaign as now. In fact, you will act in all respects as though no contract existed between us. Short of open insurrection, that is."

"And in return?"

"In return I will pay off all your campaign debts. More than that, I am prepared to fund an expansion of your activities and any incidental expenses that occur. Your friend Michael Levers medical bills, for instance."

Kennedy looked down, surprised, trying to make sense of things; but for the moment Wu Shih's purpose evaded him. There was a moment's silence, then Wu Shih spoke again.

"Your wife . . . how is she?"

"She is fine, Chieh Hsia."

"And your sons? Are they well after their treatment?"

He nodded, feeling a tightness at the pit of his stomach.

"That's good. I like them." Wu Shih laughed; a softer, more generous sound than before. "Indeed, I like you, Joseph Kennedy. You are a good man and I wish you no harm. However . . ."

Kneeling there, Kennedy felt that "however" hang in the air above him, like a vast weight about to fall.

"Well, let us be plain, Shih Kennedy. I am not blind to the currents of our times. I can see, for instance, that you are the man of the moment; that what you presently stretch your hand out to grasp will shortly be there within your palm."

Wu Shih leaned forward, his voice raised the slightest fraction. "Oh, and don't mistake me, either. I know how you see us. Cut off from things. Isolated behind a screen of Ministers and minor bureaucrats. Yet the truth is other than you think. Because we spend so much of our time up here you think we are out of touch. Secluded. But our history is full of events that warn of the dangers of seclusion, and we have made it our business to avoid this error—to trust no one and to know everything. This is Wu Shih you are dealing with, Shih Kennedy, not Han Huan Ti!"

For a brief moment Kennedy met the T'ang's dark, hawkish eyes and saw, rather than the scorn he'd expected, something that was almost respect.

Han Huan Ti, as every schoolchild knew, was an Emperor of the ancient Han dynasty who had ruled through his court eunuchs and had been totally cut off from the realities of his great empire. His reign had been an evil time, characterized by popular uprisings and opposed by scholars and soldiers alike. The point was not lost on Kennedy. "Then you know I have another meeting, Chieh Hsia?"

Wu Shih nodded. "Three days from now. With my old friends, the 'Sons.¹1 understand they wish to join your organization."

It was more than Kennedy knew. "Perhaps," he said. "And you would oppose that, Chieh Hsia?"

"Not at all. It would make sound political sense, after all. And with you to keep an eye for me . . ."

Kennedy's knees were beginning to ache. He shifted his weight gently. "Then this . . . contract makes no difference, Chieh Hsia?"

"On the contrary, it makes all the difference. For there will come a moment—a single moment—when you will think you have outgrown me."

Wu Shih paused, then stood up. Slowly he came down the steps until he stood there, over the American, his foot raised, touching the brow of the other.

"It is then, at that very moment, that our contract will find its meaning. Then, when you think it matters least, that it will bind you."

It had been the very lightest of touches, the merest brush of the T'ang's silk slipper against the flesh of his forehead, but behind that almost tender contact was .such a depth of brutality that Kennedy shuddered and felt his stomach tighten, his testicles contract, the naked reality of what he was doing hitting him.

"Come," said the T'ang, stepping back. "The machine is ready."

CHARLES LEVER strode about the room, red-faced and angry. He had been drinking heavily, and his temper hadn't been improved by the news his accountant had brought him.

"How much⁷." he demanded, turning back to face the sour-faced man who sat there in the chair in the corner of the room.

"About eleven million in all. Most of it drawn against bonds payable on his inheritance. High rates, but what does he care?"

Lever went to the table and poured another glass of brandy from the decanter, swilling it down thoughtlessly. "The scheming little bastard! And to think I wasted my sympathy on him!" He laughed unpleasantly. "Well, they won't see a /en! I'll disinherit the little shit! Then they can chase him for satisfaction!"

His lawyer, standing by the door, sighed and looked away, holding his tongue. There would be time later, when the old man had calmed down, to explain the difficulties of disinheriting Michael, not least of which was the fact that there was no one else to inherit. Not without tracing the most distant of relations.

"Will you see Hartmann now?" asked Lever's private secretary, poking his head around the door. It was the fourth time he had asked.

"Fuck Hartmann! What use is the bastard now?"

The head disappeared; went off to tell the ex-Representative— released pending trial on Lever's personal bond for twenty million— that his master was indisposed and could not see him yet.

Lever strode up and down, unable to rest, his whole body tense with anger, with the feeling of betrayal. At first it had hurt, seeing Michael there in his hospital bed, speaking out against him. He had stood there before the screen, shocked and frightened by the transformation in his son, as if all these years he had been sheltering a viper in his bosom. And now the snake had turned and he had been bitten.

"Well, damn him. Damn his black hide!" Lever's voice was almost hysterical, on the edge of tears. But when he turned back to face the young man his voice was calmer, more threatening than before. "Well, that's it, eh? A fine reward for a father's love. Spits in my face. Insults me. Questions my integrity." And with each statement he tapped his chest with the stiff-held fingers of his right hand. His large, double chin jutted out aggressively as he spoke and his eyes glared, challenging anyone to gainsay him. "He's not my son. Not now."

He turned to the lawyer. "Draw up the papers. Start now. I want him out! I don't want him to get a single yuan, understand? And if you need a new beneficiary, leave it all to the Institute."

The lawyer opened his mouth as if to query that, then closed it without saying a word. He nodded and turned to go.

"And Jim," said Lever, calling him back a moment. "Arrange to meet those bonds. In full. I'll have no one suffer for my son's treachery."

Alone, finally, Lever stood there by the window, looking out across the lawn toward the bright circle of the lake, seeing nothing but his son's face, younger, much younger than it was now, smiling as it looked up at him, so bright and eager and loving. He shuddered and, unseen, let the first tear fall. Not love nor money could bring that back now. Not love nor money.

AT t h at s A M E M o M E N T, in the great floating palace of Yangj ing, in geostationary orbit high above City Europe, Li Yuan was talking to his fellow T'ang, Wu Shih.

Wu Shih's face leaned in toward the surface of the screen, his features grave with concern. "The rumors are strong, Li Yuan. More than forty channels have carried something in the last few hours. And MedFac has gone so far as to declare that there is a war going on in your City."

"A war. . . ?" Li Yuan laughed, but beneath his laughter was concern. He had had General Rheinhardt report to him regularly since he had received Li Min's package, but now it seemed that the initial assessment of the situation had been wrong. There was indeed a war going on down there in the Lowers of his City, if not one which, as yet, threatened him. But if Wu Shih were growing concerned then it was time to act—firmly, decisively—to bring the thing to a quick close.

He smiled. "I am grateful for your concern, Wu Shih, but the matter is already in hand. Indeed, I hope to be able to issue a full statement to the media two hours from now; one that will reassure them and put an end to speculation."

Wu Shih smiled broadly. "I am glad it is so, cousin. It would look ill to leave the matter any longer."

"Indeed."

Li Yuan leaned across and cut the connection, then sat back, taking a long deep breath. He had held back from acting until now, adopting a course of wuwei—inaction—hoping that the matter would resolve itself. But from the latest report it seemed that the sides had reached a kind of stalemate. And that was dangerous.

So far the fighting had been limited to the Triad heartlands and to the lower fifty. Locked in a stalemate, however, one or both of the sides might look to escalate the conflict and bring in other, outside elements. And who knew where that might lead? No. He had to act, and now.

He leaned forward and tapped out the code that would connect him with Rheinhardt, then sat back, waiting for his General to appear.

"Helmut," he said without formalities. "I have a job for you. I want you to prepare the Hei for action. They are to go in an hour from now. It is time we settled this matter . . ."

standing THERE in the frame, Michael Lever looked about him. For the first time in weeks the big hospital room seemed cramped and crowded. Besides the two doctors and four attendants, others had come to see him take his first steps since the bombing. He looked across at them, smiling uncertainly, and feeling even less confident than he looked.

"Take your time," one of the doctors said, making a last check of the frame.

"Don't fuss," he said, looking briefly at the manual controls on his chest, hoping he would not need them.

At the far end of the room Kennedy was watching him, Mary and Jack Parker close by. As he met Kennedy's eyes, the older man's face creased into a smile. "Go for it," he said softly. "You can do it, Michael."

He nodded, pleased that they were there, then looked back at the doctor. "Ready?"

The doctor stepped back. "Whenever you are, Michael. But don't strain for it. The connections have to develop. Work them too hard and you'll have difficulties."

He had been told all of this before, but he listened, knowing how hard they had worked to get him here so quickly: standing, about to walk again. He turned his head and smiled at Mary. "Here goes, then."

It was an odd sensation, like wishing, and at first, like most wishes, nothing happened. He was used now to the numbness of his body; had grown used to the ghostly, disembodied sensation of not having his legs or arms respond to the messages he sent them. This, then, was strange. A calling upon ghosts.

He tried again, the message he sent—the desire—almost tentative. There was the faintest tingling in his muscles, but no movement. Not enough, he thought. Not quite enough. He closed his eyes, resting. The frame, keeping him upright, was a comfort, but he was still afraid. What if it didn't work? What if, after all that delicate and painful surgery, the machine malfunctioned? What then?

They had warned him about this. He would feel fragile, alienated from his own body. The bioprosthetic implants would seem intrusive, maybe even hostile to him. But they were not. They were simply undeveloped. He had only to trust them.

Opening his eyes, he turned his head again, looking to the doctor. "It's hard," he said. "It feels like there's no power there. No pressure."

"There's a tingling?"

"Yes, but it's very faint."

The doctor smiled. "Good. Work on that. Bring that tingling on a bit. Develop it. But remember, your muscles have done no work at all these past weeks. There'll have been a slight atrophy. Nothing damaging, but enough to make it seem at first that you're getting nowhere. Keep trying, though, and it'll come."

He turned his head back. Then, gritting his teeth, he tried again. The tingling grew. Then, suddenly, he felt the frame lift and then settle again. He had moved his left leg forward about four inches.

There was a cheer in the room. He looked up. Everyone was smiling at him. He laughed, relief flooding in.

"That's great," said the doctor, coming closer to check on the frame. "That's really excellent, Michael."

The frame had done it, exaggerating his movement mechanically and taking his full weight, but that did not lessen the sense of achievement he felt. After so long he was connected again, linked up to his own body. He shivered and felt tears come to his eyes. As he developed the connections, the control he now had over his body, the doctors would slowly diminish the supportive power of the frame. And eventually, if all went well, he would discard the frame altogether. He would walk again.

Mary came across and held him awkwardly, one arm reaching through the frame to take his shoulder, the other caressing his cheek. "I'm so glad, my love. Really I am." She stood back, grinning widely. "I can't wait to see you walk into the House and take your seat."

He grinned back. All of the fear he had been feeling these past few days had dissipated. Slowly, conscious of the awkward, rather stilted movements of the hydraulics, he raised his left arm and moved it until his hand rested on his wife's shoulder. "Just now I feel a bit like a maintenance machine," he said, laughing.

Mary leaned forward to kiss his forehead, then moved back as Kennedy came across.

Kennedy leaned close, whispering, "I'm proud of you, Michael. You don't know how proud. It's hurt me to see you lying there, day after day."

"Thanks. . ." Then, more hesitantly. "You don't know what it's meant. I think I'd rather have been dead than lie there any longer."

"I know. . ." Kennedy made to step back, but was held there a moment longer, the arm of the frame trapping him.

"One question, Joe."

"Go on."

"Who paid for all of this?"

Kennedy was about to answer, but Michael spoke again, quickly. "Look, I know how much in debt we were after the last campaign, even after the money I raised." He searched Kennedy's gray eyes. "So?"

Kennedy hesitated, then shook his head. "It's paid for. Let's leave it at that, huh?"

For a moment Michael considered persisting, then he nodded. "All right. I'll leave it. For now." Slowly, but less awkwardly than before, he moved his arm away. "But I want to know who to thank."

There was a strange movement in Kennedy's face, then, slowly, he '• smiled again. "I can't," he said, shaking his head. "Really, Michael. Just accept it."

"Was it my father?"

"Your father?" Kennedy laughed abruptly, as if the very idea was absurd. "No . . . Look, Michael, I'm sorry, but don't ask me. Please. I just can't say. Okay?"

"Can't?"

"Can't." There was a finality to the way he said it that made Michael frown. For some reason the subject had touched Kennedy personally, and at some deep and hidden level. Why should that be?

"Okay," he said after a moment. "I won't ask again."

"Good," said Kennedy, stepping back out of his way. "Now let's see if you can get that right leg going too."

LATER, alone with Parker, he asked again.

"Don't ask me," said Parker, sitting down at his bedside and leaning across him to take his hand. "Joe saw to all that stuff. Anyway, what does it matter? It's paid for. That's all that counts."

"Is it?" He was silent a moment, then, "You know, IVe felt helpless in more ways than one, Jack. All the while IVe been here it seems as though things have been kept from me. As if there's something you haven't told me, any of you. Is there a reason for that, Jack? Is there something you haven't told me?"

Parker looked down. "Like what?"

Michael took a deep breath, then shook his head. "I don't believe this. Look, Jack, it's me, Michael, your best friend. What can't you tell me?"

Parker met his eyes. "You want to know?"

"Of course I bloody want to know. It's driving me crazy all this not knowing. Sure I'm an invalid, but don't treat me like a mental cripple too, Jack. You know me better, surely?"

"Maybe," said Parker. It was an odd thing to say. They had known each other almost twenty years.

"So?"

"They know who planted the bomb."

Michael went cold. How often had he thought about this? A thousand times? More? And he had always assumed that they didn't know. "When did they know?" he asked. Not who, but when. At that moment it seemed more important.

"Later that day. They . . . they got him almost straightaway."

Michael shuddered and looked away. There was a slight tingling in his limbs. The frame was hanging in its bracket at the far end of the room. For a while he stared at it, conscious of how large and clumsy it looked without him in it. Then he looked back at Parker. "Who was it?"

Parker smiled wearily. "Hartmann."

"Hartmann?" He laughed disbelievingly. Then, with a suddenness that took his breath, he realized what that meant. "No . . ."

Parker was watching him, a look of deep concern in his eyes. "There was a lot about it in the media those first few days. Since then it's been embargoed. Which is . . ."

"Why I hadn't heard," Michael finished. Again there was that tingling in his limbs, as if in response to some involuntary command, a tensing of the muscles, a ghostly bunching of fists. "Who placed the embargo? I didn't think anyone had enough clout."

Parker blinked and looked away. When he spoke again it was almost in a whisper. "Wu Shih. Who else?"

"Wu Shih?" Michael was confused. "Why? I mean, why should he want to do that?" Then, "Look, Jack, what's going on here? I don't understand..."

Parker smiled bleakly. "Nor me. At least, not all of it. But between us I'd say that our friend Kennedy has been making deals."

"Deals? With Wu Shih?"

Parker shrugged. "Let's just say that things have been a lot easier these past few weeks. Too smooth. And I've been doing some thinking."

"And?"

"Look, Michael, I'm sorry. I know how it seems. Your father's man tries to have you killed. It's not a nice thought. It points the ringer where you'd rather not have it pointed. But you did ask me. As for the rest. . . I'm as much in the dark as you."

Michael closed his eyes, then nodded, but his face showed the sudden bitterness, the despair he felt. When he openecTEis eyes again, Parker was looking down. "Thanks, Jack. You're right. It's not nice. But I feel better for knowing it. I ... I feel as if I can get things straight in my mind now. Before, it was . . . confused. I felt I was losing my grip on things."

Parker smiled but didn't look up. "You won't do anything?"

"Like what? Throw punches?"

Parker met his eyes. "Who knows? You're not as helpless as you look."

"No," he answered, for the first time realizing what the operations meant. "No. Not helpless at all."

He would get better, stronger. He would spend every hour, every minute of his time getting better. And then, when he was ready . . . He closed his eyes, letting the tingling fade from his limbs and chest, calming himself. It had been a long day, a hard day.

"Michael?" Parker had felt the sudden tension in the fingers of the hand he held, then the slow relaxation of the muscles. He leaned forward, listening, then smiled, hearing the soft, regular pattern of his friend's breathing. Michael Lever was sleeping.

tolonen STARED down at the ruins of Nantes spaceport a moment longer, then turned to face Li Yuan's General, Rheinhardt. It was cramped in the cruiser's cockpit, with barely enough room for the pilot and the two big men, but no other craft had been available. All else had been destroyed.

"How did it happen?" Tolonen asked, indicating the gap in the smooth face of the City, the fallen stacks.

"We're not sure yet," Rheinhardt admitted, the somber expression on his face a perfect copy of the older man's. "There are three theories we're working on. The first is that subsidence, caused by water erosion, undermined the supports and weakened them."

"Is that likely?"

Rheinhardt shook his head. "Not really. The river's course has changed over the years, and it seems the water table has risen slightly in the last decade. Even so, most of the pillars are sunk into the rock. Besides, from what we can make out, most of them are still standing. The stacks simply broke away by the look of it."

"Or were torn away?"

"Maybe. That's another of the theories. That the sheer, unprecedented force of the storm—the tidal wave, particularly—simply ripped the stacks from the surrounding sections."

Tolonen nodded. "And the third?"

"One of our experts has come up with the idea that the constant vibration of the rockets taking off from the spaceport might have weakened the connections between the stacks over the years." Rheinhardt shrugged. "It seems highly unlikely, if you ask me, but we're following it up anyway."

Tolonen sighed deeply, looking out once more at the scene of devastation below. It was worse, far worse than he'd imagined it. The City was supposed to be safe. One hundred percent safe. For a century and more it had stood, undamaged by the elements, yet in the course of less than thirty seconds, three whole stacks had slid into the Clay, taking more than two hundred and eighty thousand people with them. If news of this got out there would be panic in the levels, rioting. . .

He shuddered. Rheinhardt had been right to call him in. Right to cordon off the surrounding areas and cut communications. But would it be enough? Could they really prevent word of this from getting out?

He leaned forward, tapping the pilot's shoulder. "All right. Take us back. I've seen enough."

Rheinhardt leaned close, lowering his voice. "Well, Knut? What should I do? Li Yuan has ordered me to destroy our friend Li Min and scour the Lowers of all Triad activity. And so I would gladly do. But that was before I knew of this." He took a breath. "This . . . well, it's the kind of thing that could set off the whole City, neh? Word of it must be quashed, and at once. But IVe a problem. I haven't the manpower both to quash this and take on the Triads. You can see that, can't you, Knut?"

"I see it clear enough, Helmut. Besides, there'll be time enough to take on that scum, neh?"

"Then you'll speak to Li Yuan?"

Tolonen smiled grimly. "At once. In the meantime let's have the T'ing Wei earn their pay. Let's flood the airwaves with good news and rumors of spring. And for once let us pray that it's enough."

WONG Yl -SUN lay there, wrapped in the ancient banner, like a wasp in a spider's web. Blood from a thousand hatchet cuts had darkened the fragile cloth, obscuring the original design, but the banner had once hung in Fat Wong's hall, in pride of place.

Lehmann stood over the body of his rival, looking down at the pale, birdlike face, and heaved a great sigh. He was close to exhaustion. For more than forty hours he had fought. Fought beyond the point of hope until, in the darkest hour, help had come. A hundred thousand Hei—GenSyn half-men used by Security as riot troops— sent in by Li Yuan to reinforce him. Turning the tide of battle in his favor. Giving him victory.

He shuddered, remembering the moment, then crouched, reaching out to touch the blood-encrusted silk. Peacock blue the banner had been, a great triangle of gold at its center.. And in the blue had been embroidered a single bloodred pictogram.

Tian. Nan Jen. Tu. Heaven. Man. Earth.

It was the banner, brought from the Fu Chou monastery six centuries ago. Whoever held it led the great Council of the Hung Mun; was Head of the 4895, the "Big Boss" here in the lowers of City Europe.

Or so it had been. Until today.

Lehmann stood, then turned away, signaling to his men to take the body and burn it, banner and all. All that was ended now. Six centuries of tradition reduced to ash and dust. Now there was only he. All else had been destroyed.

He stretched, easing his tired muscles, considering what he had done. Two hundred thousand men were dead. Another eighty thousand—prisoners, taken in the early hours of the battle—would be dead within the hour. So he had ordered. And so it had to be, for he could not risk the slightest threat of opposition. Not yet. Not until he had rebuilt his organization and stamped his mark upon these levels.

He turned, looking about him, noting how his men looked at him: in awe, as if one of the ancient gods stood there among them. And inwardly he laughed. Right now he was triumphant, was king of these levels, the White T'ang, as they called him. But how long would that last? If Li Yuan took it in his mind to crush him; to turn his brutish Hei against their former allies . . .

For a moment his mind went numb. Tiredness, he told himself, but it was more than tiredness. It was like that moment on the slopes of the Otzalen Alps. That moment when he had looked down into the great crater where DeVore's fortress had been and seen only darkness. Then, too, he had felt like this, emptied of all thought, all enterprise.

He felt wasted, brittle-boned. A wraith. Victory, now that he had it, seemed a hollow thing. Hollow, because it had not been his. Because, at the final moment, he had depended on the favor of another.

"Yao Lu," he said, summoning one of his lieutenants.

The man hurried across and knelt, his head bowed low. "Master?"

"How much was in the chests you found?"

"More than two hundred million, Master," Yao answered, keeping his head lowered.

"And in the rest of the caches?"

"It is hard to say exactly, Master, but more than five hundred million, certainly."

Seven hundred million. It was a huge amount—much more than he'd expected. With such a sum at hand, what could he not do, given time? But that was it. The task of reconstruction was a lengthy one, a time-consuming one, and he had no time. Not if he wished to survive.

Just now one thing alone mattered. Placating Li Yuan.

"Yao Lu," Lehmann said finally, his decision made. "I want you to gather it all together and bring it here. Every last fen of it. And then I want you to contact the Major in charge of Li Yuan's Hei and beg an audience with him. It is time we paid the great T'ang his due. Time we paid tribute for the great service he has done us this day."

LI YUAN STOOD on the great viewing circle, looking down at the blue-white globe of Chung Kuo, one hand gently stroking his beardless chin as he thought things through. He had hoped to have a week up here—a week free of matters of State—but it was not to be. Tolonen was right. The severity of the damage to Nantes spaceport could not be overlooked. He had to deal with the matter urgently.

He shivered and turned away, looking about him at the room, remembering how often he had seen his father standing where he now stood. His father, deep in thought, one hand tugging gently at his plaited beard. One day Kuei Jen would stand here looking down, matters of State weighing heavily on his mind. But for now the child slept peacefully, unaware of the burden he would one day bear.

The thought made him smile, but the smile was tinged with a faint sadness. There were consolations, certainly, but sometimes the burden seemed too much to bear. Some days he felt like giving it all up, as his brother Han had once proposed, and handing it over to another. But that could not be. This was his charge, his duty.

What to do, though, about Nantes? That was the question. If he went down openly, Wang Sau-leyan was sure to hear of it, and that might prove disastrous. There was another option, however. He could leave his shuttle here and travel down on the service craft that was due to leave in two hours' time. That would get him to Nantes in plenty of time to deal with matters. Yes, and maybe he could persuade Wu Shih and Tsu Ma to meet him there. Secretly of course. Because if Wang were to hear of this, he might yet find a way to take advantage of the situation. And with the Triads still at war down there, it was impor-

tant to settle things quickly, before the rumors began to spread and panic set in among the Lowers.

His decision made, Yuan climbed the steps quickly and went through, heading for the nursery.

Tseng-li was kneeling, his back to Li Yuan, when the T'ang came into the room. He was laughing, his laughter echoed back at him by the young child who clung to his outstretched arms. On the far side of the room the nursemaid, seeing Li Yuan, got up hastily, making to bow, but Li Yuan motioned to her, raising a finger to his lips and smiling. She straightened, but Tseng-li had seen the movement and half turned, realizing that someone had come into the room. Kuei Jen also turned, and, his smile widening, cried out to him.

"Papa!"

Laughing, Li Yuan came forward and bent down. Tseng-li leaned back, out of the way, as the little boy lifted his hands up to his father.

"They know their own," he said, getting up and giving a slight bow to Li Yuan.

"Some more than others," Li Yuan answered, looking from Kuei Jen to his secretary. "It is a sad thing that we who rule see so little of those who matter most to us." He looked back at his son, smiling broadly at him, then lifted him and hugged him tightly. "Like now. I have to go back down, Tseng-li, at once. Something has come up which I must attend to personally. I'll be gone two, maybe three days."

Tseng-li gave another bow. "Is there anything I should be doing while you are gone, Highness?"

"Nothing that cannot wait three days. My Ministers are capable men, after all."

Tseng-li laughed, amused by the irony in his cousin's voice.

"No, Tseng-li," Li Yuan continued. "Just take care of my son, my wives, while I am gone, neh?"

The fifteen-month-old Kuei Jen was making small burbling noises now and pressing against Li Yuan's shoulder, rubbing his small, dark head against the silk.

"He's tired," explained Tseng-li, dismissing the nursemaid with a gesture of his hand. "He has been up several times in the night."

"Then I'll hold him," said Li Yuan, with a small nod of finality. "It is rather pleasant, neh?"

"Just now," agreed Tseng-li, smiling. "But they grow so fast. My brother's children now . . ." He laughed, looking thoughtful. "They're too big to carry already. Besides, they get so independent."

Li Yuan nodded, watching his cousin carefully. Already Kuei Jen was settling against him, snuggling in against the warmth of his shoulder. "You miss your brothers, Tseng-li?"

"Sometimes."

Li Yuan sighed, smiling at the small, warm weight he carried, then looked back at Tseng-li. "A break would be good for you, neh? Maybe when I get back."

Tseng-li nodded, keeping his silence; but his eyes showed gratitude.

"Sometimes I think that family is all. The rest. . ." Yuan laughed softly, feeling the child stir gently against him with the movement. "Ill thoughts for a T'ang, perhaps, but true. Nor would I trust a man who felt otherwise."

Tseng-li, watching him, smiled and nodded. The child was asleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Circles of Dark

Captain HENSSA of the floating palace, Yangjing, moved across the room slowly, his legs drifting up as he turned and pulled himself along the guide rungs, then anchored himself beside the lieutenant at the screen.

"The codes check out?"

The lieutenant ran the signal again, then leaned back, letting his captain watch as the code broke down on the screen. Behind the sharp-etched lettering the image of the incoming craft was growing steadily larger, its complex computer-generated recognition pattern matching the programmed format perfectly.

There was total puzzlement on the captain's face. "Chi Hsing?" he said. "What would Chi Hsing want?"

The lieutenant stayed silent. This wasn't his decision. Orders or no orders, he wasn't going to shoot one of the Seven out of the skies. He had a family down below to think of.

"Send for verification."

"From whom?" the lieutenant asked, staring fixedly at the screen. He was conscious of the watching cameras, the tapes. No Board of Inquiry would find his actions reprehensible. He would act to the letter, or not at all.

For a full half minute the captain hesitated, while the craft drew slowly nearer. Then, abruptly, he leaned across and, steadying him-

501

self, tapped out a message on the touchpad. It was immediately coded and sent: With respect, please advise purpose of visit.

The lieutenant saw the worry in his captain's eyes, and, for once, felt some small sympathy for his normally overbearing superior. One did not ask a T'ang what his purpose was. Such a breach of etiquette might strip him of his rank.

For a time there was nothing. Then, as if there had been no query, the original request-for-docking signal came back. The craft was only ten minutes distant now and still closing. A decision would have to be made.

For the first time the captain looked down at his lieutenant and shook his head. "I don't like it." But he too was conscious, it seemed, of the cameras overhead and left it at that. Turning, he pushed off and drifted toward the far door. There, holding the top rung firmly, he twisted and looked back at the lieutenant. "Give them boarding clearance, but tell them there'll be a slight delay."

"And if they ask for a reason?"

The captain looked thoughtful a moment, then shrugged. "New security procedures, that's all." Then he turned and, pressing the hatch stud, slid through the irising circle into the corridor outside. The lieutenant watched him go, then turned to face the screen again, his fingers giving the clearance signal to the incoming ship.

IT WAS cramped in the shuttle. They sat in the forward compartment, six to a side, their helmets almost touching across the narrow space. Their suit systems kept them cool; even so, more than one of them had been sweating these past few minutes as the bulk of the floating palace grew larger on the screen above the hatch. They watched it in silence, knowing that these moments were the most vital of the whole mission. Here, as they approached, they were most vulnerable. One mistake and they would be so much iced debris, floating in the vacuum.

For a long time there was nothing. They could not hear the signal going out, nor did they know anything of the query sent back. Moment by moment the tension grew. Then, with a small click and a hum, the internal channel came on and the group leader's voice came across.

"We've got boarding permission. A small delay, it seems, then we're in. Good luck!"

There was a small buzz of talk, and a sense in them all of great relief. What lay ahead they had rehearsed to perfection. The worst of it was now behind them.

THE CAPTAIN had arranged the men in a semicircle about the boarding deck. They wore anchor shoes and full suits. Each held a small laser and a deflector shield. Beyond that he had said nothing to them. If he were right there would be time to give them simple orders. If wrong . . .

He smiled grimly, looking about him and listening to the sounds of the docking shuttle. If wrong he would need to trust to Li Yuan's understanding and compassion, for what he did now was an insult to Chi Hsing.

He shivered and stared straight ahead at the huge doors, waiting for them to open. His instincts told him this was wrong. Though the signals were correct, the situation felt wrong. Why should Chi Hsing visit now, and without warning? And why had he, Captain of the Watch, received no notice of the visit?

Against this strove another inner voice. Who else would use Chi Hsing's shuttle but the T'ang himself? Who use his codes? He was being ridiculous even to begin to think that something was amiss. And yet...

Perhaps this was why 1 was chosen. Perhaps they knew 1 would act this way. Whatever, he had gone too far now for half measures. He would see this through, whatever the personal cost. Whether his master understood or not, duty bade him take this action.

There was a sudden silence. The craft had docked. Then he heard a sharp hissing as the airlock filled. Thirty seconds, he thought, bracing himself, lifting his weapon and pointing it at the doors. He saw several of his men turn and look at him, then look back, not quite certain why they were there, or what was happening, but he kept silent a moment longer. There'll be time, he told himself. Whoever it is, the;y'ZZ not expect us here.

The hissing stopped. There was a low groan, then, with the slightest hesitation, the doors began to slide back. Through the gap stepped three men, fully suited, the first in a suit of gold, trimmed with imperial yellow.

"Chi Hsing . . ." he began, lowering his gun and beginning to bow. All about him his soldiers were sinking to their knees, their heads lowered. But there was a movement behind the T'ang which made the captain look and hesitate, then raise his gun again. But he was too late. The air was crisscrossed with burning laser traces, and the screams of his men were deafening in his ears. He himself was shouting now, but his voice was lost in the general noise and confusion. The three men were firing at the kneeling soldiers, cutting them apart. Only he, miraculously, stood there in the midst of it all, untouched.

Trembling, he lifted the weapon and fired, watching as the gold-tinted visor split and then exploded.

It is not Chi Hsing, he told himself, as he held the beam on the falling figure. It is not Chi Hsing. But even as the lasers of the other men caught him, burning into his chest and arms and neck, he felt a great pang of sorrow. He had killed a T'ang, a Son of Heaven! And now his clan would be eradicated, the ghosts of his ancestors unap-peased. His wife, his child . . .

He stumbled forward, then fell and lay still. One of the suited figures paused, looking down at him, then stepped over him and clumped on heavily toward the corridor. Behind him came others. Terrorists. Yu. The suited figure laughed triumphantly, then yelled instructions into his suit microphone.

They had done it! They were on board!

out ON the great mid-ocean city of Sohm Abyss it was late morning. The restaurant was quiet, only a few people scattered about the tables. Kim was sitting in his usual corner, a half-filled ch'a bowl at his elbow, when Rebecca came into the room. Seeing him, she went across and sat, facing him.

He looked up, meeting her eyes, uncertain what to say. He had not seen her since the night of the party, but had kept to himself, working longer hours than usual and sleeping in the lab. For a day or two, he had even avoided coming here, lest she track him down. But he had known all along that he would eventually have to face her. To have it out with her.

"Hi," she said softly, offering a smile. "I wondered where you'd got to. I left messages on your comset. But maybe you didn't get them. I'm told youVe been working hard."

He raised his eyebrows, as if he knew nothing about the messages, but it was untrue. He had seen them. More than a dozen in all, asking him to contact her and talk.

"IVe been worried about you," she said, leaning toward him, the scent of jasmine wafting across to him. "I thought you might be angry with me about what happened. When I woke up that morning and you'd gone . . ."

He looked down. "I'm not angry with you."

That much was true. He wasn't angry with her, he was angry with himself, for having made such a fool of himself. And now he felt ashamed. Deeply, thoroughly ashamed. He had let himself down. Himself, and Jelka.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said. "I was drunk, I..."

She laughed softly, provocatively. "Not that drunk."

"That's not what I meant," he said, meeting her eyes again, his face deadly earnest. "I mean that it was wrong what we did. If I'd have been sober I would never have gone to your room."

"You mean you didn't enjoy what happened?" Her eyes were wide, staring into his. Reaching out, she touched his fingers, then closed her own about them. "Because I did. And I can't stop thinking about it. You and me, Kim, together in the darkness. It was wonderful. Didn't you think so? You and me, doing that." She shivered, squeezing his fingers tightly.

"It was wrong," he said again, steeling himself against her touch, the soft seductiveness of her words. "There's a girl..."

He saw the movement in her eyes. The surprise and then the calculation. "A girl? Someone you like, you mean?"

He nodded. "I made a promise."

"A promise?" She smiled, then frowned, the two expressions strangely coexistent in her face. "What kind of promise?"

"She's young, you see, and her father . . . well, her father is a powerful man. He doesn't want her to see me, so he's sent her away. To the Colonies. But I made her a promise. I..."

He stopped, realizing that he had said much more than he'd intended. But he wanted Rebecca to understand, to realize why that night with her had been so wrong.

Her fingers slowly loosened their pressure about his own. She withdrew her hands, then sat back, nodding to herself, a strange look on her face.

"So you fuck me and leave me, and that's it, huh?"

He shivered. "It wasn't like that. If I'd been sober . . ."

"If yorid been sober." She shook her head, her face suddenly hard, her eyes angry with him. "Don't you see it, Kim? Don't you understand things yet? Or is it only atoms and abstract forces that you comprehend? This girl. . . she won't wait for you. Not if her father's against you. They hate us, Kim. Don't you get that yet? On the face of it they may smile as they use us, but deeper down they hate us. Clayborn we are. Different from them. And they despise us for that."

"No," he said quietly, disturbed by the sudden change in her, the pent-up anger in her tiny frame. "Some of them, yes. But not all. This girl . . •"

She stood abruptly, staring down at him, "You still don't see it, do you? You and I, we're of a kind. We know how things are. How they really are. We know about the darkness down there. Know, because it's in us, every hour of every day. And we know what it's like to suffer, to be bought and sold and treated like mere things." She shuddered, staring down at him defiantly. "We're of a kind, Kim Ward. Don't you understand that yet? You belong with me. Wards, that's what we are. A pair. A matching pair."

He sat there, shaking his head, denying her, and yet a part of him saw the truth in what she was saying. He licked at his lips, then spoke, pained that it had come to this.

"What you say, Becky . . . it's true. We are alike. But that's all. And what we did . . ." he shivered, "it was a mistake. Can't you see it was a mistake?"

She stood there, staring at him; a long, angry stare that seemed to weigh him. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, closing the door quietly, carefully behind her.

For a moment he sat there, staring at the door, conscious that it wasn't over, that he had not convinced her that it was over, then, turning his head, he realized that someone was standing there, not six paces from where he sat.

"Tuan Wen-ch'ang!"

The tall Hui bowed his head and smiled, showing his imperfect teeth. "Kim . . . May I sit with you?"

"Of course. Please . . ." Kim half stood, giving a tiny bow of greeting.

Tuan sat, setting his chung down in front of him, then looked across at Kim.

"You look disturbed, my friend. Is something troubling you?"

Kim looked down. If Tuan had come in while Rebecca was talking to him, he would have seen, maybe even overheard something of what had passed between them. Yet that was not what Tuan had meant. He was asking Kim if he wanted to talk about his troubles, to share them with him.

For the briefest moment Kim hesitated, wondering whether he should keep this to himself, but then, seeing the look of sympathy, of understanding in the tall Hui's face, he nodded and leaned toward him.

"It's like this..."

"What's happening up there?"

Tseng-li stood at Li Yuan's desk, staring down at the screen set into the table's surface. He had been disturbed by the echoing metallic sound of the shuttle docking, and had come here quickly, not stopping to consult any of the others.

The lieutenant's face looked up at him, concerned. "I'm not sure, my Lord. Chi Hsing's shuttle has docked. About three minutes back. Captain Henssa went to greet him."

"Chi Hsing?" Tseng-li laughed, but his features formed an uncertain frown. "Are you certain?"

"The coded signals were current and correct. No one but Chi Hsing's personal Security could have known them, my Lord."

Tseng-li nodded, but he was thinking, This is wrong. Li Yuan would have warned me. He would not have gone had he known Chi Hsing was coming. For a moment he stood there, leaning forward as if in a trance, then, "Have they boarded already?"

The lieutenant looked away at another screen. "Yes, they're coming through even now. I..." His head jerked back, as if he had been punched, his cheeks visibly paler, his eyes wide. "Arya......"

The screen went black.

Tseng-li ran. Out down the slow curving corridor and on, into the second room on the left, nodding to the guard. There, he bent over the cot and unceremoniously lifted the sleeping infant from among its covers and ran on, out through the far door. People were stirring now, lifting their heads as he ran through their quarters, or coming out to call after him, but there was no time to stop and warn them. His duty now was to Kuei Jen alone. Already it might be too late.

At the hatch that led through into the kitchens, a guard raised his rifle and challenged him.

"Let me through!" he yelled, batting the rifle down. "Your prince's life depends on it!"

The guard watched him go through, his mouth open, then nodded and turned to defend the hatch, knowing now, if he'd not before, that something was badly wrong.

The kitchens were empty. Tseng-li ran through the long, echoing rooms, conscious of his own hoarse breathing, and of the half-dozing weight of the child against his chest. He was cradling Kuei Jen awkwardly, holding his tiny body firmly against him, afraid to drop or knock him.

On the far side of the kitchens he stopped, taking deep breaths, then listened. There were clear sounds of fighting now—explosions and distant shouting, then the harsh but muted sound of someone screaming. He thumbed the hatch's manual controls awkwardly and clambered through into a narrow, rounded corridor where he had to stoop and move more slowly. It all depended now on how quick the intruders were, how well they knew the layout of the palace. If they traveled straight up the hub they might have gotten there already,

but he was gambling on them not doing that. The private quarters were at the front end of the palace, on the rim. If they were interested in the T'ang and his family they would go there first. Or so he hoped.

As he moved along this narrow tunnel all sound was masked from him. But at the end, he came out into the brightly lit well, and the noise came back. Voices. Uncultured, Mid-level voices. He swallowed, understanding at once. Terrorists!

It was hard to judge how far away the voices were. They could be down at the far end of the hub still, or they might be directly above him, at this end. If the latter, then he and Kuei Jen were dead.

He crossed the open space, then set the child down carefully in its blankets, praying that it would not wake and cry. He straightened up, breathing heavily, then opened one of the dozen or so lockers built into the wall and took out the infant-sized pressure suit. Quickly he fitted and sealed it, checking that the oxygen supply was working before fastening the helmet. Then, reaching up into another of the lockers, he took down his own suit and pulled it on.

He had wasted more than two minutes getting suited up. Now it was more important than ever to be quick.

Here, at the "lower" end of the palace, there was only the narrowest of connecting tubes from the rim to the hub. It was an emergency and maintenance run, with a single stretch of laddering up the inside of a plain metallic pipe. Clutching the child to him, he began to climb. It looked simple, but he was climbing away from the fast-rotating rim toward the hub. As he progressed along the rungs he would grow steadily more weightless. Carrying the child he would need to be careful. The last part of the climb would be awkward, difficult.

And maybe, just maybe, they would be waiting for him.

KI m WAS SITTING on the edge of the desk, going through the latest batch of results with Feng Wo-shen and another of his assistants, when the doors at the far end of the laboratory swung open violently.

"Becky..."

He stood, looking across at her. Little more thari an hour had passed since he had last seen her, yet Rebecca looked quite awful. Her eyes were dark and puffy, her hair disheveled. She had torn her silks—ripped or cut them—and they hung raggedly from her, like the clothes of a low-level beggar. But these were as nothing compared to the strangeness of her stance, to the tense, animal poise of her, the fierce hostility in her eyes.

She stood there a moment, staring at him, then, slowly, very slowly, she began to come toward him, a strange awkwardness to her movements that he recognized at once. So Luke had been, before they'd come for him. And Will. And finally Deio. Each one in turn, like unstable formations of atoms, spinning violently out of shape.

She had regressed, Returned to what she'd been, down there in the darkness of the Clay. Or almost so, for there was still a spark of sanity in her eyes, the merest glint of light where once the bright fire of intellect had shone out.

Feng Wo-shen touched his arm. "Should I call Security?"

"No," Kim said, putting out a hand, as if to physically stop him. "No, Feng, I'll deal with this."

Slowly Feng backed away, drawing the assistant with him.

Rebecca had stopped, three paces from Kim, her body tensed, as if about to spring. Looking at her, he could almost see the darkness flowing from her. Darkness, like a great force of negativity, pouring from her eyes, her mouth, the corded muscles of her limbs. And yet there was still an element of control. Something still held her back— one tiny, quivering cord of reason held her.

Reason ... or obsession.

She raised her chin slightly, as if sniffing the air, then lifted her arm, pointing at him.

"You were wrong, Kim Ward. You didn't understand."

Her hand was trembling, its frailty exaggerated by the movement, as if at any moment it would disintegrate. For a moment her mouth struggled to make shapes, as if some vital link between it and her inner self had been severed; then, freeing itself, it spoke.

"It should have been us. You and me. Together, like Yin and Yang, until the end of things." She shivered, an unnatural intensity making her tremble. "You're mine, Kim Ward, don't you understand that yet? Mine. It was meant"

She came closer, her eyes staring fiercely, defiantly into his. A muscle in her cheek was twitching now, jumping violently, as if something had got in behind the flesh.

"But you didn't want that, did you? You wanted something better than that, neh? Something finer." She laughed coldly, her face ugly, sneering now, her voice filled with a sudden venom. "You think you're something special, don't you? You think they really want you here. But it's not true. We're different from them. We're Clay, Kim. Clay. And they never let us forget it.

"Every smile they give us is a lie. Every word a deception. But you can't see that, can you? You're dazzled by the light of this place. So much so that you can't see the darkness underlying everything."

She tilted her head slowly, lifting it, looking back at him from a strange, unnatural angle. "Everything. Even your precious girl. But then, you wouldn't have heard, would you?"

He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

She smiled; a hideous, triumphant smile. "IVe watched you. . . you know that? Followed you all these years. Kept tabs on what you've done, who youVe met. That's how I knew."

The smile slowly faded. Beneath it lay a bleak, hard bitterness.

"It was Tolonen, wasn't it? Tolonen who sent her away. I checked, you see. I found things out."

He was silent, but her words made him afraid.

"Tolonen," she said again, her face hardening. "Jelka Tolonen. Your paragon of light. But do you know what she did? She nearly killed a man, that's what. A young cadet. Kicked him to death, almost."

He shook his head. "You're lying."

"Am I?" She gave a bitter laugh. "From what I've heard, your darling Jelka's a right little monster. Why, IVe heard . . ."

The sound of the slap startled Kim. He was conscious of Rebecca stumbling back, of Feng's cry behind him, but before that there had been a moment of utter darkness. Of forgetting.

He gave a little shake of his head, as if coming to, then looked across at her again. Rebecca was standing there, one hand raised to her face, a startled, angry look in her eyes.

What had she said? What was it now?

He looked down at his hand. The palm stung, as if it had been sprayed with antiseptic. Then he looked back at her, at the red welt on her cheek. For a moment there was no connection, only a kind of numbness, a blackness where things ought to have been joined, and then he understood. He had struck her. Because of something she had said. Because . . .

She crouched, facing him, every cell, every atom of her being set against him now. In that brief moment of darkness something had changed in her. Whatever had been light in her was gone, extinguished by the blow. What confronted him now was more animal than human. Even so, the core of her obsession remained intact, undamaged. It was that which drove her now. That and nothing else.

Her voice too had changed; had shed the veneer, the polish it had had only moments before. It was harsh now and guttural, the words falling awkwardly from her lips, like shards of broken pottery.

"Yuu erhh mae-en," she said, one hand making a clawing motion at him. "Yuu aan mee, Kih-m. Turr-ge-thuur. Cle-ya. Wee urrh Cle-ya."

"No," he said, appalled by the dreadful sound that was coming from her. "No, Becky, please . . ." But it was too late. Snarling, she threw herself at him, teeth bared.

He beat her off, hurling her back against the desk, winding her momentarily, but she was at him again in an instant, her fingers clawing at his eyes.

"Becky!" He thrust her away a second time, barely aware of Feng moving around him and running for the door. "For the gods' sakes, Becky, no!"

But she was beyond words. With a savagery that frightened him, she leapt at him again, coiling her arms about him tightly, as if to drag him down into the depths she now inhabited. And this time he knew he would have to hurt her if he was to stop her.

Choking, he struck out at her blindly, hitting her in the face and neck and chest, surprising her with the viciousness of the blows, forcing her to loosen her hands from about his neck. As she staggered back, he brought his fists down hard, knocking her onto her knees. He was about to finish it, to strike her one last time, when there was a shout.

'Ward; No.'"

Kim stopped, looking across. Administrator Schram was standing there on the far side of the lab, Feng Wo-shen and two armed guards just behind him.

"Come away, Ward. Now. We'll deal with this."

Kim looked down. Rebecca was kneeling just beneath him, her face tilted up toward him, but her eyes were blank now, unseeing. As he watched, a tremor seemed to go right through her, and then, slowly, her tiny frame slumped, collapsing in upon itself.

I've killed her, he thought, horrified. Killed her ...

Schram was beside him now, taking control of things; ordering the guards to bind the unconscious girl and take her, then turning to point at Feng, instructing him to clear things up. But Kim was aware of none of it. He was back there, suddenly; back in Rehabilitation, kneeling beside the damaged cage, staring in at the lifeless bird, the vision so real that he felt he could almost reach out and touch it.

Again, he thought, letting a shivering breath escape him. Events like ripples in the great ocean of Time, circles of darkness stretching out toward the distant shoreline of the future.

He groaned, thinking of the friends he had lost. First Luke, then Will and Deio, and now Rebecca. Clay, they had been, each one of them, formed from the earth and molded by dark circumstance. But to what end? What point was there to all that death and suffering? What reason? So that he might go on? No. It made no sense. No sense at all.

"Ward!"

Schram was staring at him, concerned, and shaking him. "Snap out of it, Ward! It's over now. She's gone. We've taken her."

"Taken her?"

Kim turned, looking at Schram, seeing, behind the surface of the eyes, the savage delight the man took in this tragedy. For him this sad display had been a kind of triumph; proof positive that he was right— that Clay was Clay and could never be raised, never be made truly human. But Schram didn't understand. No, nor would he ever understand. He would have had to have been there, first in the darkness and afterward in the unit, with Luke and Will, Deio and Rebecca.

Kim sighed, realizing for the first time the depth of his loss. They had been something. Something bright and fine and wonderful. For a time they had promised everything. Like a beautiful, golden-eyed bird. A caged bird that had never flown.

"Come on now, back to work," Schram said, touching his arm, but Kim batted his hand away.

"Don't touch me," he said, glaring at the man. "Don't you ever touch me."

He saw the anger flare in the man's eyes and felt something harden deep within him in response. Slave or no slave, he would not suffer this kind of thing a moment longer. From here on he would fight it, wherever he came up against it, not just for himself, but for those who were no longer there to fight it. For the children of the dark he'd come to love . . . and had lost.

For Luke and Will and Deio, and, finally, for Rebecca.

"Call Campbell," he said, staring back at Schram defiantly. "Now! Tell him I want to speak to him. Tell him I want out of here."

THE EDGES OF THE HATCH were still hot from where they'd burned their way through. The Yu squeezed through delicately, then twisted and pushed as she'd been taught. The movement took her across the room, to where the lifeless body of the Security lieutenant rested in the chair, his arms floating out in front of him. Big globules of blood and visceral matter were drifting out from the shattered mess that had been his head. Unconcerned, the Yu swept it aside and pulled herself down beside the corpse.

A quick inspection showed that the man had had no chance to damage the desk. She turned and looked back at the hatch. One of her colleagues was looking through the jagged hole into the room.

"Well?" she said impatiently, using the narrow-band frequency that linked them all.

"All functional," the woman by the desk answered. "Vesa can put the power through again. I've got the tapes."

Leaning over the corpse, she took two small tapes from a pocket at the neck of her suit and slotted them into the surface of the desk. Power had been out only two and a half minutes, but it was time enough to sound warning bells down below on Chung Kuo. A squadron of fast and heavily armed fighters would be heading toward them already. The tapes might confuse them, maybe hold them a while, until things were more advanced.

Abruptly the power came on again. On one of the screens she saw two of her team, firing down a corridor, the bullets arcing with the Coriolis effect they had been warned about. On another screen she saw a figure in silks, floating motionless, facedown in the ornamental pool, a dark red stain spreading out from among the long black strands of its hair. A third screen showed two guards, waiting, their backs to a large, heavily ornamented door. They looked scared to death, but determined.

She watched a moment longer, fascinated, then looked away, busying herself, getting down to work.

KRIZ STOOD on the viewing plate, looking down past her feet at the image of the world. Often, in the run-throughs, she had paused and, for the briefest moment, looked down. But this was different. This time it was for real. She could feel the long, cold drop beneath her. It was like standing with only a sheet of transparent ice between you and all that space. She shuddered and looked across the room toward the stairs, listening to the constant stream of messages in her ear.

It had gone well. Better than they'd hoped. Two minutes more and it would be all theirs.

"Kriz! Kriz! Are you there?"

It was Donna, her lieutenant. Right now she should be in Li Yuan's quarters. * "YouVe got him?"

"No! He's not here! We've missed him!"

Kriz frowned. It wasn't possible. His shuttle was still in the dock, and his schedule showed that he was here. "No," she said quickly. "Search everywhere. He has to be here!"

Donna came back to her at once. "And Kuei Jen too. He's not here either!"

"What?" Disturbed and angered, she hesitated, then rushed across the room and up the steps. "I'm coming through. Hold tight where you are." Then, changing frequencies, she spoke quickly to the three team members who had been left to hold the hub. "Anne, stay where you are. Vesa and Joan, move down the hub to the end. And be careful. There may be someone there."

She ran on, past fallen guards and through smoldering, damaged rooms, until she came to Li Yuan's private suite. Here, where they had expected the fighting to be hardest, things were untouched. That, more than anything, convinced her that Li Yuan had not been here.

"The wives?" she asked.

"Farther down," Donna answered, coming across. "We had to torch the rooms. The guards fought hard."

"AndKueiJen?"

"He was here. The cot bedding was disturbed. His nurse knew nothing though. She was asleep. When she woke he was gone."

"Then he's still here." She smiled, reassured by the news. "Good. Then let's find the little bastard!"

TSENG-LI SHIVERED. He could hear them coming, their heavy, weighted boots clanking with each step. "Another minute!" he hissed softly through his teeth. "Just give me another minute!"

Kuei Jen was already wedged inside the tiny craft they called "the coffin," attached by a web of cords in the niche where, normally, the engineer on duty would keep a spare air bottle. There was neither time nor room for finesse how, though, so it would have to do. And if they failed, well, it was better than dying here. And death grew more certain with every passing moment.

He was outside, in the cramped maintenance area beside the blister that held the small, beetlelike maintenance craft. For more than a minute now he had been working at the catch of the manual controls, trying to force it open with a wrench. But time was running out fast. Even if he managed to get it open and operate the override, there was no guarantee that he'd get back to the craft. He had visions of it drifting out slowly on its two-ii tether, the outer hatch open to the vacuum. If Kuei Jen didn't freeze to death he would suffocate eventually. Unless Tseng-li could clamber back in somehow and close the outer hatch manually. And even then they had only twelve hours of air.

Things were bad. And getting worse by the second. He grunted and hit out at the heavy catch viciously, swearing beneath his breath. "Give, you bastard, give!" For a moment longer it held, then, with a hiss, it gave, the automatic controls springing the plate back so that it banged against his face plate.

"Well, sod you too!" he said, laughing, halfway between relief and sheer panic. Quickly he reached in and turned and pulled out the handle. At once he heard the dull concussion of the seals as they moved into place. The maintenance room was now an airlock, both of its access doors sealed off. It made him feel better, safer. It would take them minutes to cut through them. And in minutes . . .

He was about to turn away, when another of the controls caught his attention. A dial. It was calibrated finely, from o through to 2. At present it was set just over i. A second set of figures gave rotational speed. He knew at once what it was. Smiling, he turned the dial slowly to the right. Then, with an abruptness that was almost vicious, he slammed the dial back to the left and left it there, turning to face the opening blister.

KRIZ WAS BY THE POOL when it struck. There had been a moment's sensation of heaviness, of pressure, then, slowly at first but with gathering speed, things began to happen. At first the feeling was quite pleasant, a kind of lightness that was as much of the spirit as of the body. Then, before she knew what had hit her, the huge sheet of water in front of her began to lift and break apart.

In her ear-mike there was a gabble of sudden panic. The palace was slowing down! Someone had stopped its spin!

"Anne!" she screamed, her feet coming away from the floor momentarily. "What the fuck are you doing?"

There was a moment's radio silence, then Anne's voice came through. "What's going on? Aiya! What's happening?"

Kriz understood at once. The override. Someone had got to the end of the hub before them. Even as she thought it, Vesa's voice came through loudly in her ear.

"It's sealed! Someone's sealed it off!"

"Use explosives!" Kriz yelled back. By now she was floating several feet from the floor. Huge lumps of water were drifting out and up, away from the pool. She could imagine the chaos elsewhere. "Once you're inside, there'll be a control panel. Try not to damage it. Reset the dial for one atmosphere."

She could feel herself shedding weight by the moment as the great palace slowed, its huge engines reversing its spin and bringing it to a complete halt. Soon it would be as weightless all around the rim as it was at the hub.

Suddenly it had all gone wrong. Badly wrong!

"Vesa, I..."

The ship shuddered. It was as if something had hit it. Something huge. Kriz felt herself thrown across the pool, big gouts of water colliding with her and turning her about. She was buffeted and slowed. Then, when she thought things had died down, there was a second, far bigger detonation, that seemed to pick her up and shake her about, then cast her down, like a huge hand pressing her firm against the bottom of the pool, flattening her.

FROM A HUNDRED LI out the first of the fighters saw it happen and caught it on camera. There was a flicker and a blurring of the starlight surrounding the tip of the hub. Slowly, almost gracefully, the spokes of the lower end fell away, severing the hub from the rim. Then, only moments later, the whole structure seemed to shudder and slowly buckle, a strange electric tracery surrounding the docking nodule at the top. The opposite end of the hub was swinging inward now, toward the rim, but even before it struck, the whole palace seemed to quiver, then shatter, like a fragile shape of glass.

For a moment the fighter's screen was incandescently bright. Then, very slowly, it faded to a flickering, ember-strewn black. There was a strong hiss of static on the audio band.

"What's happened?" said a voice, cutting through the distortion. "What in the gods' names is going on up there?"

"It's gone," said the pilot softly, disbelievingly. "Kuan Yin preserve us, it's gone!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The Stone Within

SEE, " said Tsu Ma, nodding gravely. He sat, all color drained from his face. "And has any wreckage been found yet?"

The man on the screen seemed to concentrate a moment, then nodded. He was wired to the console in front of him and was receiving reports by the moment. "Most of the wreckage appears to have stayed up there, but a lot of it has been falling. There have been reports of large chunks coming down into the sea off the Guinea coast."

Tsu Ma looked away a moment, then back at the screen, his whole face grown stiffer, a sudden anger making his eyes flare. "Who did this?"

There was no hesitation this time. "It was the Yu. Kiev had two minutes of taped material sent out from Yangjing before its systems cut out."

"Yu. . ." he said under his breath. Then, "How did they get on board?"

The Security man shook his head. "We don't know that yet, Chieh Hsia. Tracking reports certain . . . difficulties."

"Difficulties?" He was suspicious at once. "What kind of difficulties?"

"Well. . ." The man's hesitation showed his discomfort. He knew all the old adages about the bearers of ill news. "It seems we have half a day's tracking transmissions missing for that sector."

"Missing?" Tsu Ma laughed harshly. "That's impossible. There are backups to the backups, surely?"

The man bowed his head. "That is so, Chieh Hsia, but there is no stored record. Only a gap."

Tsu Ma was quiet, thinking, WangSau-kyan. This was his doing. But how prove it? How tie him to this foulness? Then, like a cold wave, dousing his anger, it struck him what this meant for Li Yuan: his whole family gone. Tsu Ma shivered and half turned, hearing the voices from the other room—hearing, at that very moment, as if in hideous mockery of events, Li Yuan's strong and vital laughter. Laugh no more, Li Yuan, for your wives are dead, and your infant son.

With difficulty he returned his attention to the matter in hand. "Put me through to Tracking. I want explanations."

There was a four-second delay, then a worried face replaced that of the Security man. "Gerhardt, Chieh Hsia. Head of Tracking, North-em Hemisphere."

Tsu Ma launched in at once. "What's happening, Gerhardt? I am told that you are missing half a day's transmissions. Is that possible?"

"No, Chieh Hsia."

"But true."

"Yes, Chieh Hsia."

"Then how do you explain it?"

Gerhardt swallowed, then spoke up. "It has been erased, Chieh Hsia. Someone here has removed it from the record."

"Someone?" Tsu Ma's voice was suddenly pitiless.

The official bowed his head submissively. "It is my responsibility, Chieh Hsia. I know my duty."

"Are you saying that you did it?"

Gerhardt hesitated, then shook his head.

Tsu Ma took a deep breath, then spoke again, his patience close to snapping. "This is no time for honor, man. I want to know who did it, and at whose instigation. And I want to know as soon as possible. Understand? We'll talk of duty then."

Gerhardt made to speak, then simply bowed. Tsu Ma cut the connection and sat there, staring blankly at the empty screen. Then, grunting, he stood up heavily and turned to face the doorway.

Wu Shih was standing there, looking in. Seeing the color of Tsu Ma's face, he took two steps into the room. "What in the gods' names is it?"

Tsu Ma licked at his dry lips, then, coming forward, took Wu Shih's arm and led him back through. There, on a couch on the left of the room, Li Yuan was sitting, a cup of dark wine in one hand. Tsu Ma looked to Wu Shih, then indicated that he should take a seat. Li Yuan, looking up, smiled, but his smile quickly faded.

"What has happened?"

"I have bad news," Tsu Ma answered him directly, knowing there was no way of softening what had to be said. "Yangjing is destroyed. There are no survivors."

Li Yuan opened his mouth, then looked down sharply. Carefully he put his wine cup down. Then, ashen-faced, his eyes avoiding theirs, he got up and left the room.

Wu Shih stared at Tsu Ma, his face a register of the horror he was feeling. "This is true?" he asked softly, then, shaking his head, he laughed bitterly. "Of course . . . You would not joke of such a thing." He took a breath, then, "Kuan Yin! How?"

Tsu Ma's voice trembled now. It had finally got to him. Seeing Li Yuan; having to tell him. "Yu terrorists. They got aboard somehow."

Wu Shih shook his head. "It is not possible."

"No?" Tsu Ma's voice was sharp. Too sharp. He waved a hand uncertainly at his fellow T'ang, then sat beside him. "I'm sorry ... but yes, it is possible."

"Wang Sau-leyan . . ." Wu Shih said quietly, looking past Tsu Ma at the empty doorway.

"Yes," Tsu Ma answered him. "It could be no other. It has his mark."

"Then what?"

Tsu Ma laughed, the full horror of the irony striking him. "Then we must do as Li Yuan said. Nothing. Until we have conclusive proof."

Wu Shih got up angrily. "But that was before!"

Tsu Ma looked down at his hands. "Nothing has changed. Not even the fall of Yangjing could justify us acting without proof. Even Li Yuan would say as much."

Wu Shih snorted. "It fits you ill to be so reasonable with other's hurts. He has lost a son."

"And wives . . ." Tsu Ma added, remembering sharply his own part in affairs. "But we are T'ang as well as men. We must act by law, not instinct."

"What law does Wang Sau-leyan follow that he can butcher us and we do nothing?" Wu Shih strode across the room, then came back. "I cannot simply do nothing, Tsu Ma. I would choke on my own bile were I not to act."

Tsu Ma looked up at him, his eyes wet with tears. "You think I do not feel the same, Wu Shih? Gods, I would break him with these hands were it so simple. But we must be certain. We must act with justice. No man must fault us."

Wu Shih huffed again. "And if we find nothing?"

Tsu Ma was silent a long while. Then, meeting Wu Shin's eyes again, he smiled bleakly. "Then I shall kill him anyway."

WANG SAU-LEYAN sat up irritably and tore the black velvet covers from his eyes.

"Well? What is it?"

The servant kneeling in the open doorway lifted his head marginally. "It is Chi Hsing, Chieh Hsia. He begs an audience."

Wang glanced at the bedside timer and shook his head. Then, as if suddenly more awake, he got up quickly and wrapped his silks about him, then made for his study.

Chi Hsing's angry face filled the big screen above the desk. He barely waited for Wang to come into the room before he began.

"What is the meaning of this, Wang Sau-leyan? M;y shuttle! You have used my shuttle!"

Wang Sau-leyari frowned, confused, then came closer to the screen, raising a hand. "Hold on, cousin. I don't know what you mean. What about your shuttle? What has happened?"

Chi Hsing laughed cynically. "No games, cousin. This is serious. It could mean war."

Wang Sau-leyan's puzzlement was genuine, and Chi Hsing, seeing it, frowned and seemed to lean back away from the screen.

"You mean you do not know?"

Wang shook his head, feeling a sudden tightness in his stomach. "No . . . Something has happened, then?"

Chi Hsing took a breath, then, more calmly, answered him. "I had the news only minutes ago. Li Yuan is dead. With all his family. Yangj ing has fallen. Blown from the skies."

Wang Sau-leyan felt a powerful surge of exultation pass through him, but kept his face a rigid mask. "Ah . . ." was all he said. But the news was like a sweet wind blowing after centuries of drought, sign of the refreshing rain to come.

Chi Hsing-spoke again. "Then you knew nothing of this?"

Wang shook his head mutely. But now that he had heard, he knew. Mach! Mach had gone in early! "Who knows of this apart from you?"

"My private servants. A few of my Security staff."

"Then there is no problem. The shuttle will have been destroyed in the explosion. No one could trace it back to you, surely?"

Even as he said it, he knew the steps to be taken. Who to bribe, what records to destroy. There would be traces. The movements of the shuttle would be recorded. But action could be taken—if taken now—to erase such things. "There were no survivors?"

"None."

Again he fought to hide the intense pleasure he felt at the news. He took a breath, then nodded. "Leave it to me, Chi Hsing. I shall ensure that no trace remains."

"You swear you had no knowledge of this, Sau-leyan?"

Wang let his anger show. "Do not insult me, cousin. I knew nothing. And though this news pleases me, it brings me no pleasure to leam of your own fears. I feel it my duty to help you, cousin."

Chi Hsing was silent a moment, then gave the slightest of nods. "I do not like this, Sau-leyan. Nor do I share your pleasure at the news. This strikes to the heart of us all. I know your hatred for Li Yuan, but think. It might have been you or I. Whoever did this struck out at the Seven—at us—not only at Li Yuan."

Wang dropped his head, as if chastened. "I am sorry. You are right, Chi Hsing. But I'll not weep when I feel joy."

Chi Hsing stared at him a moment, then looked away, presenting Wang Sau'leyan with a profile. "You realize the problems this will cause us?"

He did. And when Chi Hsing was gone from the screen, he sat there torn between anger and joy—joy at the news and anger at Mach's preempting the new proposals in the House. Mach's impatience would cause him problems—major problems. Still, if only each day would bring such problems! Quickly he tapped out a discreet code which, he knew, would worm its way to Mach, erasing all trace of its passage. It would ensure no contact between them in the delicate weeks to come.

It remained, then, only to deal with the matter of the shuttle. And that, like all else, he would do through certain men in Chi Hsing's own household. They knew not who they dealt with, only that such dealings made them rich. Let them attempt to cover his traces. And if they failed?

Wang Sau-leyan got up and walked back through to his dead father's bedroom, too excited now to sleep. If they failed to clear Chi Hsing's name it mattered little. The Seven would be Five. And with Li Yuan gone . . .

He laughed, then went briskly to the window and drew back the curtains. Outside it was dark, the moon low in the sky. It would be morning in two hours. He held his hands out before him, palms open, and looked down at them. Such smooth, white hands. For a long time he held them there, staring at them, then closed them slowly, smiling to himself.

Let them make their accusations. He, Wang Sau-leyan, would have clean hands.

He turned from the window, picturing himself there, in council, facing the angry faces of Tsu Ma and Wu Shih, his own anger tightly harnessed. "You do me wrong," he heard himself say. "I knew nothing of this."

It was the truth. He laughed, delighted. Yes, for once it was almost the truth.

LI YUAN lay THERE in the darkened room, grieving, the hurt a vast weight, pressing down on his chest, crushing him; a dark and heavy millstone, beneath which he lay, helpless. To move was an effort, each hard-won breath a betrayal. They were dead.

In a moment of stillness, of unthinking nullity, someone crept into the room and knelt beside him. It was Tsu Ma. He felt the older man's hand at his neck, in the dark hair there; felt a wetness on his brow, then the softest pressure of his cheek against his own. Eyes closed, he held the other man tightly, letting the smothered grief escape. Then, when the pain of it seemed to have lessened, he felt Tsu Ma move back and release him. He sat, feeling hollow, staring sightlessly into the shadows.

"This much loss . . ."

Tsu Ma did not complete his words. Li Yuan turned his head slowly, facing him. There was such a pressure in his upper chest, such a need to say something, yet nothing came. He coughed, almost choking, then bent his head suddenly, succumbing to the sharpness of the feeling.

At the far end of the room the door slowly opened.

"Chieh Hsia . . . ?"

Tsu Ma turned his head, then stood and went across. "Yes," he said quietly. "What is it?"

There was a brief whispered exchange, then Tsu Ma came back. "Yuan ... if you would go through and wash your face. General Rheinhardt is here. He has news."

Li Yuan stood slowly. In the light from the open door he could see Tsu Ma's face clearly; see the redness of the eyes, the wetness of his cheeks. "Rheinhardt?" he said hoarsely. "I thought no one knew. . ."

He frowned, and looked past Tsu Ma, toward the servant in the doorway. If Rheinhardt knew they were here, it meant their security was breached. Only Tseng-li had known.

Tsu Ma reached out and took his arm. "Freshen up, cousin. Then come to my study."

Li Yuan looked at him steadily, then shook his head. "No. I shall come as I am. Tears are no cause for shame."

They went through, servants and guards looking down, not daring to look. All knew how things stood. The rumor had gone out around the palace an hour back. Even so, they could not help but notice how Li Yuan bore himself. Such dignity in grief. Such strength.

In Tsu Ma's study, Wu Shih came to him and held him a moment before leaving. Then, with a nod to his private secretary, Tsu Ma also left the room. The secretary gave a deep bow, then went to the far door and opened it, letting Rheinhardt into the room. "I shall be here if you need me, Chieh Hsia," he said, bowing again, then left, closing the door behind him.

Li Yuan was alone in the room with his General.

"Who told you I was here, Helmut?"

"It was Tseng-li, Chieh Hsia."

Li Yuan was silent a moment, puzzled. Rheinhardt was unarmed, but he still suspected a trap—some kind of trickery. "When did he tell you this?"

"Less than an hour back, Chieh Hsia."

Li Yuan shivered. Haven't you heard? he almost said, then realized that Rheinhardt would have heard all, before even he had been told. He started forward. "What do you mean?"

"Just that I spoke to him, Chieh Hsia. He told me where you were. It was . . ." The General hesitated, venturing a smile. "It was a great relief to me, my Lord."

At once he understood. "You thought me dead?"

"The whole world thinks you dead."

"And Tseng-li?" Li Yuan took a step closer, his face caught between doubt and hope.

"He is alive, Chieh Hsia. As is Kuei Jen."

Li Yuan laughed, openly astonished. "Kuei Jen? Alive?"

"A scoutship picked them up. Their craft was damaged, but they were unharmed."

"Their ship?"

"A little maintenance craft. It survived the explosion. But they were lucky. It seemed like just another piece of debris. Only a visual contact saved them."

But Li Yuan was barely listening. He crossed the room quidkly and stood over Tsu Ma's desk, studying the controls. Then, impatiently, he turned to Rheinhardt. "Where are they now? How can I contact them?"

The General came across and punched in the access code, then stepped back, away from the desk, leaving Li Yuan alone, looking down into the screen.

A soldier's face appeared and, with a quick bow, turned and called someone forward. It was clear that they had been waiting for this moment.

"Tseng-li!" said Li Yuan joyfully, as the familiar face came onto the screen. "How are you?"

Tseng-li bowed, smiling, his eyes wet. "We are alive, Highness."

"And my son? Where is my son?"

Another soldier brought Kuei Jen and handed him to Tseng-li, who turned back to face the screen, cradling the sleeping child. The movement disturbed Kuei Jen. He stretched and began to cry, one arm struggling against Tseng-li's neck briefly before he quieted and grew still again.

"Kuei!" Li Yuan called softly, tears of joy rolling down his cheeks. "My little Kuei. . ."

Tseng-li was silent a moment, strong emotions crossing and re-crossing his face. Regaining control, he spoke again.

"They were Yu, Highness. I heard them. But the craft. . ." He hesitated, then said it. "It was Chi Hsing's shuttle. His Security codes."

Li Yuan straightened up, a shudder passing through him. He had gone cold. "You are certain, Tseng-li?"

"Your guards were thorough, Highness, but they were betrayed."

Li Yuan moaned. His momentary relief at finding them alive had masked all else from him. Yet his wives were still dead, his palace destroyed. And now, he found, Chi Hsing had betrayed him.

"Not Wang Sau-leyan, then?" He said the words quietly, shivering, a sudden bitter hatred replacing the grief and happiness.

"I have no reason. . ." began Tseng-li, then stopped, seeing the look on Li Yuan's face. "Li Yuan, I..."

"Do your brothers know you live?" Li Yuan asked suddenly, changing the subject.

"They . . . No, they do not know yet, Highness."

"Then I will let them know myself. I would not have them grieve while you live."

Tseng-li opened his mouth, then bowed, understanding. ,

"And Tseng-li..."

He looked up again, meeting Li Yuan's eyes across the distance. "Yes, Highness?"

"I do not know how you managed it, but my debt to you is great. Whatever you want, you shall have it."

Tseng-li smiled bitterly. "There is but one thing I want now, cousin Yuan. I want him dead."

"Who? Chi Hsing?"

The bitter smile remained. "Not him. The other one . . ."

"Ah yes . . ." Li Yuan took a deep breath. "Yes. And I too."

TSU MA WAS WAITING for him in the anteroom. "Well?" he said, coming forward anxiously.

"Tseng-li lives," Li Yuan said, smiling at the news. "And my son, Kuei Jen."

There was a look of delight on Tsu Ma's face. He embraced Li Yuan tightly, then stepped back, a sharper expression on his face. "Then we know what happened!"

"Yes," said Li Yuan, looking down. "We were wrong, it seems."

"Wrong?"

"It was not our cousin Wang. Not directly, anyway. This was Chi Hsing."

"Chi Hsing?" Tsu Ma laughed, disbelievingly. "Why, he hasn't the guts!" Then, seeing how Li Yuan continued to stand there, the same expression on his face, Tsu Ma shook his head. "What proof is there?"

Li Yuan looked up. "They used his shuttle to board. His codes. What more do we need?"

Tsu Ma stared at him a moment longer, then nodded. "I'll call a Council, then . . ."

But Li Yuan reached out and took his arm. "No. Not this time. This time we do things my way."

CHI HSING WAS bowed at Li Yuan's feet, one hand pressed to the cold tiled floor, the other clutching the hem of the young T'ang's robes. He was pleading now, almost in tears.

"What can I do to convince you, Yuan? I was betrayed . . ."

Wang Sau-leyan looked on from across the room, bitter and silent. He had been made to seem a fool. His own face had betrayed him. But surprise was not evidence and Chi Hsing had kept silent about their meetings. It did not matter what Li Yuan or the others thought privately. Before the world they needed proof, and they had none.

"You were betrayed?" Tsu Ma's voice was heavy with sarcasm. He made a sound of disgust and turned away, going across to where Wu Shih and Wei Chan Yin stood watching.

Li Yuan bent down and tugged the silk from Chi Hsing's hand. It was a savage, ugly gesture. Chi Hsing looked up at his fellow T'ang briefly, then lowered his head once more, humbling himself. All majesty had gone from him. He was a supplicant now, begging for his life. Li Yuan, on the other hand, seemed almost demonic in his power. His face was like a hawk's, pitiless, almost inhuman in its abstract cruelty. His eyes rested on Chi Hsing's topknot a moment, then he moved his head sharply and stared angrily across at Wang.

"And you swear Wang Sau-leyan knew nothing of this? You are certain of this, Chi Hsing?"

Wang made to speak, but Wu Shih barked at him. "Hold your tongue, Wang Sau-leyan! Chi Hsing must answer this!"

Incensed, he nevertheless did as he was told, glowering at Wu Shih. If the sight of Li Yuan's living face had been a shock, this now was almost more than he could bear. How dare they speak to him this way!

Chi Hsing shuddered, then shook his head. "Wang Sau-leyan knew nothing. I spoke to him, only moments after I had heard. I thought..."

"You thought what?" The cold anger in Li Yuan's voice was terrible to hear.

Chi Hsing took a breath, then spoke again, looking all the while at a spot just in front of Li Yuan's feet. "It is no secret that he hates you, Li Yuan. And so I thought—this is his work."

"And was it?"

"Take care," said Wang, taking a step forward. But he could see how things stood. All etiquette had been forgotten. Li Yuan, as ever,

had ridden roughshod over tradition. These others were his dupes. His accomplices.

They were all awaiting Chi Hsing's response.

"He knew nothing. I swear it. His surprise was unfeigned. There is a tape of my call to him. I..."

"Enough!" Li Yuan said suddenly. He turned from Chi Hsing and came across, stopping in front of Wang Sau-leyan. Giving the slightest bow, he spoke again. "Chi Hsing, though disgraced, would hardly say such a thing lightly. And the tape—I am sure that it shows what he claims." He lifted his chin. "So, cousin, I must apologize for what I asked."

Wang Sau-leyan's face was red with anger now, his nostrils flared, his whole expression indignant, yet still he said nothing. Even in apologizing, Li Yuan had insulted him and made a mockery of tradition. And all the while his fellow T'ang had looked on, saying nothing.

Li Yuan turned away sharply, his back to Wang Sau-leyan, and looked across at Chi Hsing. "What, then, of you, Chi Hsing? What should we do?"

"This is a nonsense . . ." began Wang, but before he could say any more, Li Yuan had turned and placed one hand roughly, almost brutally over his mouth, pushing his head back. He spoke fiercely, as if to a vassal.

"Be quiet, Wang Sau-leyan! You have nothing to say here! Understand?"

Li Yuan removed his hand abruptly, glaring at Wang, then turned away again, leaving Wang to touch his bruised lip tenderly. There was murder in Li Yuan's almond eyes.

Li Yuan crossed the room again and stood over Chi Hsing. There was a look of disgust on his face now. "Speak up, Chi Hsing. What should we do with you?"

"Do?" Chi Hsing turned his head and looked past Li Yuan at the others, his eyes imploring them, but their faces were as hard as Li Yuan's. Seeing this, Chi Hsing dropped his head again, submissive. "There is no precedent," he said quietly.

"Nor for the destruction of a palace," said Wu Shih, but Li Yuan was uncompromising now.

"You have broken the most sacred trust, Chi Hsing—that which binds us who must rule Chung Kuo. For myself I would see you dead and your sons beside you in the ground. But this is not a personal thing. We must consider how best to act for those we represent."

Li Yuan paused and turned to face the others who stood apart from him. "We must decide now, and act at once. In this we must not be seen to be indecisive. There are those who would take advantage of our apparent disarray." He took a deep breath, then said it. "Chi Hsing must stand down."

"No! You cannot do this!" Wang Sau-leyan said, outraged. "There are but six of us here. We must wait for Hou Tung-po. A Council must be called."

Li Yuan tensed, but did not look at Wang Sau-leyan. When he spoke again his words were measured, and it was as if Wang had said nothing. "Chi Hsing must do this for us. He must appear before the world and confess what he has done. Then, before all, he will stand down. And his lands will be forfeit to the Seven. We shall rule the Australias as a colony, with a governor who will report directly to us in Council."

Both Chi Hsing and Wang Sau-leyan were silent. It was Wu Shih, the eldest of them, who spoke next. "So it must be. For the sake of us all. And you, Chi Hsing, must be a sleeping dragon. You will retire to your estate and take no more part in the doings of this world. Your wives, your sons, will live, but they will not inherit."

At this Wang Sau-leyan came forward and stood between Li Yuan and the others. "Again, this cannot be! This is a matter for Council!"

"Are you opposed to this?" Tsu Ma demanded angrily.

"There are forms . . ." Wang began, but Li Yuan interrupted him.

"We shall vote on this. Right now."

Wang Sau-leyan faced him angrily. "No! This is not right! Hou Tung-po is not here. We cannot act like this!"

"Right.⁷" Li Yuan sniffed. "You have not understood me yet, have you, cousin? My wives are dead, my palace blown out of the sky. And you talk of forms, tradition . . ." He laughed scathingly. "If you are so worried, let us meet form this way. Let us count cousin Hou as opposed to what we do. Would that be fair, Wang Sau-leyan? Would it be right?"

Wang bristled visibly. "And Chi Hsing?"

Li Yuan shook his head. "Chi Hsing has no say in this."

"No say?"

Li Yuan spoke angrily, each word clearly and separately enunciated. "It is as I said. He has no say."

Wang Sau-leyan stood there facing him a moment longer, then turned away sharply. "Do as you will, then. I'll have no part of this."

"Your hands are clean, eh, cousin?" It was Tsu Ma who taunted him. But it did not matter now. It would be as Li Yuan said.

"You will do this?" Li Yuan asked, looking down at Chi Hsing.

"I have no choice?"

"No," corrected Li Yuan. "We have no choice. For myself, as I said, I would kill you now."

Chi Hsing hesitated, then bowed lower, placing his forehead to the ground miserably. "Then I shall do as you ask."

LI YUAN STOOD on the balcony outside his dead wives' rooms, a thick cloak draped about his shoulders. It was dark and chilly. Overhead a thin, ragged cloud blew fitfully across the sky. Through screens of leafy vine the light of the crescent moon cast a mottled silver over everything.

Kuei Jen was sleeping. Tseng-li had been sent home to his brothers. Below Li Yuan, in the palace grounds, a doubled guard patrolled silently. Only he, it seemed, was restless. He turned, sighing, and looked back into the empty, silent rooms, remembering.

How strange it was. Before, if he had been asked, he would have said that it was not love he felt for them, more a kind of warm familiarity, a feeling of physical comfort, and he might have smiled wistfully and shaken his head, as if puzzled by the question. But now he realized just how foolish he had been. How childish. Only now, through grief and loss of them, did he finally understand just how much they had meant to him.

Love. How clearly his father's words came back to him now. Love was the thing that failed. Love ... a thing too insubstantial, too fragile to hold and keep, and yet, in the end, there was nothing stronger, nothing more real than love.

He shuddered, then stretched, feeling tired beyond words. In the greater world huge changes were taking place even at that moment. Under Wu Shih's direction, Chi Hsing was standing down and a Governor was being appointed to run the Australian continent. Yet those changes, great as they were, seemed as nothing compared to the changes in his heart. There was no measuring such changes. They blotted out the stars themselves, casting vast, dark shadows on the perceiving eye.

Yes, he thought, bowing his head. Death not Love is master of this uiorld.

As he stood there, looking in at the empty rooms, small memories of them returned to him. Against the emptiness he saw his second wife, Lai Shi, turn and look across at him, laughing, that strange, flirtatious movement of her mouth, special to her alone, making him smile. Beyond her, the youngest, Fu Ti Chang, sat reading an old romance, her jet-black hair like a fine veil over the pallor of her face. As she turned to face him he caught his breath, finding the innocence of her dark eyes suddenly quite beautiful. And if he turned, he could see Mien Shan, there on the far side of the room, the great mirror behind her, smiling as she cradled her son and gently sang to him. How much he had liked that curious pursing of her lips when she sang. How much he missed it now.

The memories faded, vanished. Empty rooms, he thought. That's all I have now. Empty rooms.

He placed his hand against his neck, the warmth of his fingers strange against the night-chilled flesh. He pressed, then gently tugged at it, feeling the strength of muscle, the hardness of the bone beneath; all of it so tenuous, so transient. All of it dust before the wind. Perhaps, then, it was best to go as they had gone, in one brief and sudden burst of pain. Pain, and then . . . nothingness.

"Best. . ." he said softly, letting his hand fall away, and gritting his teeth against the sudden upsurge of feeling. Best? Who knew what was best? And yet he was charged to know—or, at least, to seem to know. It was what made his grief so different. So special. And yet it was only grief, for all that, no different from the grief of countless millions who had suffered since the dawn of Man.

But was grief all? Was there no more to it than this? Li Yuan drew the cloak tighter about his shoulders, then offered the words to the chill and silent air.

"Must it always be like this? Must the heart become a stone?" He stood there for a long time after that, feeling a kind of disgust for what he was. Then, abruptly, he crossed the room and went through to where Kuei Jen was sleeping and woke his nurse, telling her to prepare the child to travel.

/P>

fei yen MET HIM in the Great Room at Hei Shui. He had given her no notice of his coming and she had had no time to ready herself. She had thrown a pale blue gown about her and tied back her long, black hair, but her face was unmade, her nails unpainted. It was years since he had seen her look so natural. Hesitantly, her face showing deep puzzlement, she crossed the room to him, then knelt at his feet, her head bowed, awaiting his command.

"YouVe heard?" he asked her softly.

She gave the smallest nod, then was still.

"I. . ."he looked about him, conscious of the guards by the door, the nurse behind him, holding Kuei Jen. Abruptly, he turned and dismissed them. Then, bending down, he lifted her chin and made her look at him. "I have to talk to you. I..."

Her eyes, always the most beautiful thing about her, robbed him of words. For a moment he knelt there, close to her, conscious of her warm, sweet smell, of her nakedness beneath the gown, and wanted only to hold her; to close his eyes and hold on tight to her.

She moved back, away from him. "Why?"

Her eyes looked briefly at his hand where it yet hovered, awkward, between their faces, then met his own again, their intensity surprising him.

He drew his hand back, looking down. How explain what had made him come? It was more than sudden impulse, yet even he knew how unreasonable it seemed. This had ended years ago. And to come here now . . .

"What do you want, Li Yuan?"

Her voice was softer than before. He looked up at her, not knowing what to expect and found her watching him strangely, her eyes trying to fathom him.

"I thought. . ." she began, then fell silent. Her mouth had fallen open slightly, its wet softness there before him, as in his dreams.

"IVe been thinking of you," he said. "Of us."

He saw the pain in her face and, for the first time, understood what she had suffered; saw the emptiness that no number of casual lovers could fill. Slowly, tenderly, he reached out and touched her cheek.

"Don't," she said, but the slight pressure of her cheek against his fingers gave the lie to the word.

He shivered. "They're dead."

Again there was a moment's pain in her face, awful to see. Then she nodded. "Did you love them?"

His fingers grew still. "I did not think so. But I must have. It... it hurts."

She bowed her head. There were tears in her eyes now. "Is that why you are here? Because of them?"

He took a long, deep breath. "I do not know."

For a moment he thought of telling her of that moment earlier— out in the dark, beneath the moon—when he had seen things clear, then shook his head.

"No," he said at last. "It isn't that. Or not just that. I... I missed you."

"You missed me?" she said, a trace of her former bitterness surfacing. She saw him wince and at once was contrite. "Li Yuan, I. . ." She dropped her head, swallowed. "I am sorry. It is hard. Harder than I can bear some days."

He gave a single nod. "I know."

He looked at her more carefully now and saw the faint crow's feet about her eyes, the lines at mouth and neck and remembered that she was eight years his elder. His dead brother's wife, and once his own. But she was still beautiful. Still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Again he wanted to kiss her and hold her, yet he felt constrained. Death came between them, darkening their understanding of how things were.

He stood, turning away from her. "I do not know what I want. I am confused. I thought... I thought that if I came here it would all come clear again. That maybe it would be as it was."

For the first time she laughed; a bitter, ugly sound. He turned, looking at her, and saw how all softness had gone from her face.

"Do you mean to be so cruel, Li Yuan, or is it still some sickly innocence that makes you so insensitive?"

"I didn't mean to ..."

"You never mean to. You just do."

She sat back, glaring at him, all humility gone from her now; more, suddenly, the woman he had known and lived with. His equal. Ever his equal. "Are you such a fool that you cannot see it?"

He shook his head, but already he was beginning to understand.

"It cannot be as it was," she said, getting up slowly and coming across to where he stood. "There is more than death between us. More than other wives, other husbands. Time has changed us, Li Yuan. It has made you what you are, me what I am. Only the outward forms remain—time-ravaged things that look like we once were." She paused, looking up into his face. "We cannot go back, Li Yuan. Not ever."

He was silent, uncertain.

"Do you still love me?" she asked suddenly. Her face was fierce, uncompromising, but in her eyes he could see something else, deep down, hidden maybe even from herself. A fragility. A need. And for the first time he smiled; a tender, pitying smile.

"I have never stopped loving you."

Her whole face seemed to twitch and then reform, more ugly, more pained than before, but somehow also more beautiful. She had not expected this. Whatever she might have hoped for, his answer had surprised her.

She looked down, then turned away, all fierceness gone from her suddenly. Her chest rose and fell violently and her hands clutched at her waist as if to hold in all that she was feeling. But when she turned back there was anger in her face. "Then why? Why all of this if that was true?"

I don't know, he thought, and for the first time knew it was true. It could have been repaired. This, where they were now, was all his fault. Oh, she had been unfaithful, yes, but what was that? He had been hard on her—much too hard. Was it her fault if she had proved less than perfect? Had he loved only her perfection?

"I was young, Fei Yen. Maybe too young. I wronged you. I realize that now."

She made a small noise, then shook her head hesitantly. "What are you saying?" Her whole face was tensed against him, mistrustful now. She was afraid of what he was saying; fearful of being led by him and then discarded once again. These were old wounds, deep wounds. Why open them again unless to heal them?

"I am tired," he said finally. "And hurt. But that is not why I am here, Fei Yen. Nor do I wish to hurt you." He shook his head, genuinely pained. "That is the last thing I want, believe me."

Her voice was tiny now, tremulous. "So what then? What do you want?"

He looked at her; saw her again as he had once seen her, clearly, his vision purged of all hatred and jealousy. "I want you back. I want to try again."

She turned from him, hiding her face. "No, Yuan, that cannot be."

"Why?" He was astonished. Had he read her wrong? He had thought. . . "Fei Yen? What is it?"

She half turned to look at him, then turned and ran from the room. But in that momentary look he had seen. In some small way she was still in love with him. He took three steps toward the far door, then stopped, pain and confusion making his head whirl. But if she loves me ...

For a moment longer he stood there, undecided, then he turned and went back out into the entrance hall. A guard came at his summons, then rushed off to bring the nurse and Kuei Jen. While he waited, Li Yuan went to the entrance arch and looked out down the steps toward the eastern slopes, remembering how he had once gone hunting there, in the woods, with his brother Han Ch'in.

The memory was ill—was like bile in his throat. He turned angrily and yelled, bidding the nurse to hurry. Then, with unconcealed bitterness, he pushed out through the doors and, ignoring the guards, ran across the grass toward his skimmer.

"Where to, Chieh Hsial" his pilot asked, looking around at him, then back at the nurse hurrying across the grass, Kuei Jen bundled in her arms.

Home, he almost said, but even as he thought it he realized that there was nowhere now he could really call home. "Fukien," he said, finally. "Contact Tsu Ma. Tell him I have changed my mind. That I would like to stay with him awhile."

EPILOGUE AUTUMN 2210

After Rain

At Heaven's border, the autumn clouds are thin and driven from the west by a thousand winds.

The world is beautiful at dawn after rain, and the rains won't hurt the farmers.

Border willows grow kingfisher green, the hills grow red with mountain pears.

A Tartar lament rises from the tower. A single wild goose sails into the void.

—Tu Fu, After Rain, eighth century a.d.

IT WAS LATE. Kim stood to one side of the landing pad, the tall figure of Tuan Wen-ch'ang beside him, as the cruiser came in across the ocean from the northwest, its lights sweeping the dark waters. In one hand he held his pack—a lightweight holdall containing his notebooks, a portable comset, and a change of silks. In the other he clutched the envelope he had been given only twenty minutes back. Inside it were details of his new posting.

The craft lifted and circled to the north, hovering there half a li out while Security checked out its codes, the faint drone of its engines filling the still night air. Then, like a bee moving from flower to flower, it lifted up, over them, and settled on the pad with a gentle hiss of hydraulics.

Tuan looked down at Kim and smiled, indicating that he should go first. Kim returned his smile, pleased that Tuan had been posted with him, and turned, making his way across as the hatch irised open, the ramp unfolding onto the pad.

North America. That was where they were sending him this time. Back to the East Coast. Moreover, they wanted him to apply himself to something new—to genetics, the very field that Old Man Lever had tried so long and hard to win him to. He smiled at the irony, able, after all he'd been through, to see the funny side of that. More so because of the news that had come through only an hour past from Philadelphia.

Halfway up the ramp he stopped and turned, looking back, trying to fix this final image of Sohm Abyss in his mind. He had grown here. More here, perhaps, than anywhere else, for it was here that he had finally got back in touch with himself. Here where he had made himself whole. Or as whole as he could be without Jelka. The future now seemed far less threatening than it had been only weeks ago. His planned life with Jelka was no longer an unattainable vision but merely a promise delayed.

Tuan put a hand on his shoulder. "What are you thinking, Kim?"

"That I'll miss this place."

Tuan gave a surprised laugh. "Really? After all that happened?"

"Maybe because it happened. But it's not just that. I felt in touch with things here. Really in touch. Look at it, Tuan. You've the great ocean below and the sky above. It's magnificent, don't you think? And so open. So connected. Besides . . ."

Tuan raised an eyebrow, but Kim just smiled, letting it pass.

"I hear that our new boss is a good man."

Kim shrugged. "Curval's certainly the best in his field, if that's what you mean. From all accounts he's revolutionized genetics single-handedly these last twenty-five years. SimFic must have paid a fortune to wean him from ImmVac."

"As much as for you?"

Kim laughed. "YouVe seen my file, then, Tuan Wen-ch'ang?"

"No. But I've heard the talk . . ."

Kim looked away thoughtfully, then looked back at Tuan, smiling. "Whatever, it'll be interesting, neh?"

"And challenging . . ."

Yes, he thought, turning to go inside. Even so, he knew it was only a filling of time, a distraction, until she returned. Until he could see her blue eyes smiling back at him again.

Jelka stood at the window of the Governor's apartment, looking out. Beyond the reinforced glass the surface of the moon was dark, the sun a pale and tiny circle low in the sky, glimpsed through a thick orange haze. To the east, along the shoreline of the great ethane lake, the spires of the refineries reached up into the darkness, their slender, needlelike forms lit by a thousand bright arc lamps. Beyond them the sprawl of Cassini Base, a city of four hundred and eighty thousand people, stretched to the foot of the ice escarpment; a towering wall of crystalline nitrogen. Clathrate, she had heard it called, and had noted the word in her diary. To tell Kim, when she saw him again.

She turned, accepting the glass that was offered her, and smiled. It was their last day on Saturn's largest moon. Tomorrow the Meridian sailed for Mars. So, tonight—if "night" was a term that made any sense in a place like this—the Governor had thrown a special reception, inviting the leading citizens from each of the nine colonies. They had been arriving here the last six days, all manner of strange craft cluttering the big hangar to the south of the town.

Jelka looked about her momentarily, taking it all in. They were a strange, austere people out here, sparsely fleshed and taut-muscled beneath the pressure suits they wore at all times. A tall, angular-looking race whose movements were slow, considered. A product of the harsh environment, she realized, and felt, once more, a kind of awe at it all. Over two million people lived out here in the Saturn system. Two million mouths that needed feeding. Two million pairs of lungs that needed air. Two million bodies needing water, warmth, and protection from the unforgiving elements.

One hundred and seventy-nine degrees below zero it was beside the great ethane lake. An unthinkably bitter cold that brought with it no end of technical problems for the men—and women—who worked Saturn's moons, mining and manufacturing, or harvesting the rich soup of complex hydrocarbons that lay within the great ethane lakes of this, Titan, the largest of the colonies.

She moved through the packed crowd, smiling, offering a word here and there, making her way across to the Governor, who stood with a small group of Security officers on the far side of the great circular room, beside the ancient orrery. She had met most of the people there on her travels about the colonies. Only tiny Mimas, closest to Saturn, had proved impossible to visit. Otherwise she had seen it all. And recorded it—for Kim.

"How are you, Jelka? Have you enjoyed yourself?"

She stopped to answer the query, smiling, remembering the man from lapetus Colony.

"I'm fine, Wulf Thorsson," she said, clasping his hand momentarily. "And I have enjoyed myself greatly. I will be sad to go. But one day I will come back here, maybe."

The big man smiled broadly, placing both his hands over hers, as if to enclose them, or keep them warm. "With your husband, eh?"

"Maybe," she said thoughtfully, then, with a brief nod, moved on. Yes, they were good people out here. Reliable, trustworthy people. And so they had to be. If you couldn't trust your fellow man out here you were dead. Sooner or later.

She squeezed through between the last few people and came out beside the Governor. Helmut Read was an old friend of her father's; a big man, made from the same physical mold. The same mold, she realized, that Klaus Ebert and his son—her onetime fiance—Hans Ebert had been cast from. The thought disturbed her briefly, then it passed. Like her father and Old Man Ebert, Read emanated an aura of certainty, of ageless, infinite capacity. There was no problem too great for him; no wrong that he could not somehow put right. So it was with her father, she realized. Even so, sometimes such men were wrong, however good their intentions.

Read turned and, seeing Jelka there, grinned broadly, welcoming her. "Come through, my love. Come and talk to us!" he said, taking her hands and drawing her close to hug her, then setting her there next to him, her hand clasped tightly in his.

He had taken her under his wing from the moment she had entered Saturn's system, three months back, and since then had gone to great trouble to show her everything he could. She could picture clearly the pride with which he had shown her the great hollowed shafts of the mining operation on Tethys, the enthusiasm with which he had talked of the expansion going on on tiny Phoebe, and of the plans to build a whole new city on the far side of Titan, where Huygens Base now stood. Things were happening out here, and far from being bored, she had found it all quite fascinating. But then, she had always felt that she was seeing it for two, and had tried to ask the questions Kim might ask.

And sometimes, just sometimes, the sheer beauty of it touched her.

As if, in this rawness, she had a glimpse of that same austere beauty that had once been Kalevala, the place from which her own people had come two thousand years ago, the land of lakes and rocks . . .

The Governor turned to her, squeezing her hand gently. "I am sorry you have to go tomorrow, Jelka," he said, looking at her sadly, as if she were his daughter. "I cannot express how much I have enjoyed having you here. Why, if I were twenty years younger . . ."

"And unmarried," added one of the officers, to general laughter.

"And unmarried," Read acknowledged, his smile broadening, "I would have found a way to keep you here."

"I shall leave with a sad heart," she said quite genuinely. "I had no idea what I would find out here, but I can see now why so many stay here. It is a beautiful place. Perhaps the most beautiful in the system."

"Then you do not mind the danger?" one of the officers asked, his slightly stilted accent typical of the Colonies.

"No," she answered, clear-eyed. "Indeed, that's part of its beauty, neh? That sense of living on the edge of things. These suits . . ." She tugged gently with her free hand at the strong but supple cloth beneath the rigid neck and smiled. "IVe grown rather fond of mine. Why, I think I'll continue wearing one when I get back to Chung Kuo. Who knows, it might set a new fashion among the warm-worlders!"

There was delight at that, and laughter. Many times on her travels she had heard how soft they thought the "warm-worlders" of Chung Kuo; it being confided, at the same time, that they thought her different from the others who came out on the big tour ships like the Meridian. Totally different.

And so she was. Back there, close to the sun, she had felt cut off from her fellows; a stranger among "friends," always the outsider. But out here she felt strangely in her element and had found herself drawn—instinctively drawn—to these big, slow, fiercely independent people.

She smiled, looking about her at their finely sculpted faces. It took a special kind of person to come and live out here, two billion li from the sun; a special kind of mentality. The intense cold, the pressure, the fact that everything—food, water, air, everything—had to be manufactured: these factors had forged a whole new race. Or remade the old. She wasn't sure which.

For a moment she looked down, studying the ancient brass orrery nearby. Four tiny planets circled the sun closely—Mercury, Venus, Chung Kuo, and Mars. Beyond them, some way out, was Jupiter and then, the same distance out again, was Saturn, where she was now.

She had come a long way these past fifteen months. Was ten times farther from the sun than when she'd started. But her father had been wrong. She had not forgotten Kim. Not at all. In fact, the farther out she came, the more she thought of him; the more she tried to see things through his eyes and think of them as he might think of them. The films she took, the things she noted in her diary—all were for him. And if it took six years before she could see him again, nonetheless she would wait, holding herself prepared; saving herself for him. For the time would come. The time would surely come.

Three days ago his "letter" had arrived. At first she had set it aside, confused by the official-looking nature of the package, by the SimFic logo on the reverse. It was only some fifteen hours later, after a long and tiring tour of the Great Escarpment, that she returned and finally opened it.

It was the first time she had heard from him since that day when she had been hustled aboard the Meridian at Nanking spaceport. But not, it seemed, the first time he had written. From the things he said, it was clear he had written often to her. The thought of that angered her, even now. The thought that her father had been meddling again, keeping things from her, trying to run her life the way he wanted it and not as she would have it.

But now she knew. What her father had said, the last time she had spoken to him, had been a lie. Kim had not forgotten her. Far from it. And if her father thought she would change her mind, then he simply did not understand her. Not the way Kim understood her, anyway.

She looked up again, smiling at the thought. Yes, he alone, perhaps, understood her—perfectly, instinctively—and trusted her, the way these people out here trusted each other. In the face of everything.

Six years they would have to wait. Six years until she came of age. But she would wait. And in the meantime she would make her slow way back to him. Inward, ever inward toward the great sun of her being.

Knowing he would be waiting. Knowing he would be there, his dark eyes watching for her.

MORE than A HUNDRED sedans filled the lawn before the Lever Mansion, their pole-men crouched quietly, waiting, while servants from the house went among them, offering bowls of noodles and tiny cups of rice wine.

Inside the house, the invited guests had gathered in the great library, talking in a hushed, slightly shocked tone. Only the day before, in the selfsame room, Old Man Lever had addressed them at a fund-raising meeting, his robust, no-nonsense manner inspiring many of them to believe he would be there a century from then, still urging them on. But now he was dead, and no end of rhetoric would bring him back. Not in this cycle of existence.

He lay now in a great casket at one end of the room, his gray hair combed neatly back, his massive chest unmoving beneath the pure white silks. For the first time in many years he seemed at peace, no longer striving for something that forever evaded him. No longer angry.

The guests had been arriving for the last four hours to pay their respects, coming from every comer of the great City. Last to arrive, tired by his journey from the clinic, was Lever's son, Michael.

For Michael, too, the news had come as a great shock. Like the rest, he had thought the Old Man would live forever. For an hour or two he had toyed with the idea of boycotting the funeral, of playing the part of the spurned son to the bitter end, but he had not felt right about that. No, for the truth was he still loved his father. The news of the old man's death had shaken him to the core. He had stood there, astonished; then later, alone with Mary, he had broken down, crying like a child while she held him. Now, solemn and dignified, he walked beside her through the door to his dead father's house, his biopros-thetics giving him an awkward, stilted gait.

"Steward Dann," he said, greeting his father's "Number One" in the great entrance hall. "I am most sorry that we have to meet again like this."

The Steward bowed his head low, clearly moved that Michael had come. "And I, Master Michael. I had hoped to welcome you back in happier circumstances."

Michael smiled tightly, then walked on, Mary silent at his side, as strong and supportive as ever.

At the entrance to the library he halted, turning to look at her, suddenly fearful. In answer she reached out, squeezing his arm gently, encouraging him to face what lay ahead.

He took a long, deep breath, then went on, the servants pushing the great doors open before him. Seeing him, the crowd within grew silent, all heads turning to watch as Michael crossed the room, making for his father's casket.

Looking down at the old man, Michael felt a wash of pain and longing so fierce, so intense, that it threatened to sweep him away. Then, with the faintest shudder, he bowed his head low and reached out to touch and briefly hold his father's hand.

So cold it was. So cold and hard.

He looked up, seeking Mary's eyes, for a brief moment a young boy again, fearful and bewildered; then, taking another long shuddering breath, he looked about him, smiling his thanks, his gratitude to all those friends of his father who had come to see him in this, his final moment on the Earth.

"Thank you," he said brokenly. "Thank you all. My father would have been touched. And I... I am greatly moved by your presence. He was a great man, my father. A great, great man."

Many looked down, moved by his tiny speech, but some stared at him openly, as if wondering what his game was; why he came now, the obedient son, when before he had denied his filial duty.

As he backed away from the casket, a faint murmur rose from all sides. Already that morning a rumor had gone about that Wu Shih would place a Steward in charge of the Company until a buyer could be found for ImmVac, either as a whole, or broken down into its composite parts. If the latter, many there hoped to benefit from Old Man Lever's death.

At the doorway, Michael looked back briefly, then walked on,

willing himself forward, Mary half running to catch up with him. Out on the lawn he stopped, among the pole-men and runners who had stood and bowed before one of the Masters. Mary caught up with him there and held him to her tightly while he sobbed.

Finally, he pushed back, away from her. "All right," he said softly. "We're done here. Let's go."

"Shih Lever?"

They turned. It was Ainsworth, Old Man Lever's lawyer.

Michael looked down. "What is it? Is there something I have to sign?"

Ainsworth shook his head, then held something out to Michael. Michael took it and studied it a moment. It was the original of the Disinheritance Statement, the final page signed with an angry flourish by his father.

"I have one," Michael answered coldly, drawing himself up straight and holding out the document for Ainsworth to take back, something of his father in him at that moment.

"No. You misunderstand. He signed it, but he never registered it. He wouldn't let me. Which means that it's all yours, Michael. ImmVac and all the rest. Yours."

Michael Lever narrowed his eyes a moment, eyeing the man as if he saw him for what he was. Then, throwing the paper down, he turned and stomped away, Mary hurrying to keep up with him as he made his way between the rows of sedans and out toward the transit.