The White Mountain

DeVore leaned across the table and took a stone from the bowl, holding it for a moment between his fingers, finding its cool, polished weight strangely satisfying; then set it down in £>mg, the east, beginning a new play.

He stood and went to the window again, looking out across the lambent hemisphere of the dome to the darkness beyond.

He had never returned from Mars. What had landed at Nanking ten years ago had been a copy—a thing so real that to call it artificial questioned definition— while he had remained here, perfecting his plays, watching—from this cold and distant world—how the thing he had made fared in his place.

It was impressive. Indeed, it had exceeded all expectations. Whatever doubts he had harbored about its ability had quickly vanished. By all reports it had inherited his cunning along with many other of his traits. But in the end its resources had proved insufficient. It was but a single man, fragile in all the ways a single man is fragile. Karr's rifle butt had split its skull and ended all its schemes. And so it was if one were single. But to amend the forgotten poet Whitman's words, he would contain multitudes: would be like the dragon's teeth, which, when planted from the dragon's severed head, would sprout, producing a harvest of dragons, each fiercer, finer than its progenitor.

He breathed deeply, then turned to look at the morph again. Soon it would be time. They would take this unformed creature and mold it, mind and body, creating a being superior to those it would face back on Chung Kuo. A quicker, more cunning beast, unfettered by pity or love or obligation. A new model, better than the last.

But this time it would have another's face.

He went across, placing his hand on the creature's shoulder. Its flesh was warm, but the warmth was of the kind that communicated itself to the senses only after a moment or two: at first it had seemed cold, dead almost. Well, so it was, and yet, when they had finished with it, it would think itself alive; would defy God himself had He said, "I made you."

But whose face would he put to this one? Whose personality would furnish the empty chambers of its mind? He leaned across the creature to play another stone, furthering his line in ping, extending out toward tsu, the north. A T'ang? A General? Or something subtler—something much more unexpected?

DeVore smiled and straightened up, squeezing the creature's arm familiarly before he moved away. It would be interesting to see what they made of this one, for it was different in kind from the last. It was what his own imperfect copy had dreamed of. An inheritor. The first of a new species. A cleaner, purer being.

A dragon's tooth. A seed of destruction, floated across the vacuum of space. The first stone in a new, more terrifying game. He laughed, sensing the creature move behind him in the semidarkness, responding to the noise. Yes, the first. . . but not the last.

The White Mountain

Chi K'ang Tzu asked Confucius about government, saying, "What would you think if, in order to move closer to those who possess the Way, I were to kill those who do not follow the Way?"

Confucius answered, "In administering your government, what need is there for you to kill? Just desire the good in yourself and the common people will be good. The virtue of the gentleman is like wind; the virtue of the small man is like grass. Let the wind blow over the grass and it is sure to bend."

—confucius, The Analects, Book XII

"All warfare is based on deception."

—SUN tzu, The Art of War, Book I, Estimates

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Between Light and Shadow

cHEN KNELT patiently before the mirror as Wang Ti stood over him, brushing out his hair and separating it into bunches. He watched her fasten three of them at the scalp, her fingers tying the tiny knots with a practiced deftness. Then, with a glancing smile at his reflection, she began to braid the fourth into a tight, neat queue. As ever, he was surprised by the strength of her hands, their cleverness, and smiled to himself. A good woman, she was. The best a man could have.

"What are you thinking, Kao Chen?" she asked, her fingers moving on to the second of the bunches, her eyes meeting his in the mirror.

"Just that a man needs a wife, Wang Ti. And that if all men had wives as good as mine this world would be a better place."

She laughed; her soft, rough-edged peasant's laugh that, like so many things she did, made him feel warm deep down inside. He lowered his eyes momentarily, thinking back. He had been dead before he met her. Or as good as. Down there, below the Net, he had merely existed, eking out a living day by day, like a hungry ghost, tied to nothing, its belly filled with bile.

And now? He smiled, noting the exaggerated curve of her belly in the mirror. In a month—six weeks at most—their fourth child would be born. A girl, the doctors said. A second girl. He shivered and turned his head slightly, trying to look across at the present he had bought her only the day before, but she pulled his head back firmly.

"Keep still. A minute and I'll be done."

He smiled, noting the tone in her voice, that same tone she used for the children when they would not do as they were told, and held still, letting her finish.

"There," she said, stepping back from him, satisfied. "Now put on your tunic. It's on the bed, freshly pressed. I'll come and help you with your leggings in a while."

Chen turned, about to object, but she had already gone to see to the children. He could hear them in the living room, their voices competing with the trivee, his second son, the six-year-old Wu, arguing with the "baby" of the family, Ch'iang Hsin, teasing her, as he so often did. Chen laughed, then went across to the table, picking up the lacquered bowl he had bought her and rubbing his ringer across its smooth surface, tracing the raised figures of the household gods, remembering her expression of delight when she had taken it from the paper.

Things were good. No, he thought; things had never been better. It was as if the gods had blessed him. First Wang Ti. Then the children. And now all this. He looked about him at the new apartment. Eight rooms they had. Eight rooms! And only four stacks out from Bremen Central! He laughed, surprised by it all, as if at any moment he might wake and find himself back there, beneath the Net, that all-pervading stench filling his nostrils, some pale, blind-eyed bug crawling across his body while he slept. Back then, simply to be out of that hell had been the sum total of his ambitions. While this—this apartment that he rented in the upper third, in Level 224—had seemed as far beyond his reach as the stars in the midnight sky.

He caught his breath, remembering, then shook his head. That moment on the roof of the solarium—how long ago had that been now? Ten years? No, twelve. And yet he remembered it as if it were yesterday. That glimpse of the stars, of the snow-capped mountains in the moonlight. And afterward, the nightmare of the days that followed. Yet here he was, not dead like his companion, Kao Jyan, but alive: the T'ang's man, rewarded for his loyalty.

He set the bowl down and went through, pulling on his tunic, then looked at himself in the mirror. It was the first time he had worn the azurite-blue ceremonial tunic and he felt awkward in it.

"Where's that rascal, Kao Chen?" he asked his image, noting how strange his hair looked now that it was braided, how odd his blunt, nondescript face seemed atop such elegant clothes.

"You look nice," Wang Ti said from the doorway. "You should wear your dress uniform more often, Chen. It suits you."

He fingered the chest patch uncomfortably, tracing the shape of the young tiger there—the symbol of his rank as Captain in the T'ang's Security forces—then shook his head. "It doesn't feel right, Wang Ti. I feel overdressed. Even my hair."

He sniffed in deeply, unconsciously mimicking the Marshal, then shook his head again. He should not have let Wang Ti talk him into having the implants. For all his adult life he had been happy shaving his scalp, wearing its bareness like a badge, but for once he had indulged her, knowing how little she asked of him. It was four months now since the operation had given him a full head of long, glistening black hair. Wang Ti had liked it from the first, of course, and for a while that had been enough for him, but now his discontent was surfacing again.

"Wang Ti. . . ?" he began, then fell silent.

She came across, touching his arm, her smile of pride for once making him feel uncomfortable. "What is it, husband?"

"Nothing . . ." he answered. "It's nothing . . ."

"Then hold still. I'll do your leggings for you."

the woman was leaning over the open conduit, reaching in with the fine-wire to adjust the tuning, when Leyden, the elder of the two Security men, came up with a bulb of ch'a for her. She straightened up and set the wire down, looking across at him as she peeled off her elbow-length gloves.

"Thanks," she said softly, and sipped at the steaming lip of the bulb.

"How much longer, Chi Li?"

Ywe Hao looked up, responding to the false name on her ID badge, then smiled. It was a beautiful smile; a warm, open smile that transformed her plain, rather narrow face. The old guard, seeing it, found himself smiling in return, then turned away, flustered. She laughed, knowing what he was thinking, but there was nothing mocking in her laughter, and when he turned back, a trace of red lingering in the paleness of his neck, he, too, was laughing.

"If you were my daughter . . ." he began.

"Go on. What would you do?" The smile remained, but fainter, a look of unfeigned»curiosity in the young woman's eyes. Still watching him, she tilted her head back and ran one hand through her short dark hair. "Tell me, Wolfgang Leyden. If I were your daughter ..." And again there was laughter—as if she hadn't said this a dozen times before.

"Why ... I'd lock you up, my girl. That's what I'd do!"

"You'd have to catch me first!"

He looked at her, the web of wrinkles about his eyes momentarily stark in the brightness of the overhead light, then he nodded, growing quieter. "So I would. . . . So I would. . . ."

Their nightly ritual over, they grew silent, serious. She drained the bulb, then pulled on her gloves and got back to work, crouching there over the conduit while he knelt nearby, watching her clever hands search the tight cluster of filaments with the fine-wire, looking for weak signals.

There was a kind of natural fellowship between them. They were both out of their level, here at the top of the stack, both uniformed; his the pale-green fatigues of Patrol Security, hers the yellow and orange of Maintenance. From the first—

almost three weeks ago now—he had sensed something different in her; in the way she looked at him, perhaps. Or maybe simply because she, twenty years his junior, had looked at him; had noticed him and smiled her beautiful smile, making him feel both young and old, happy and sad. From that first day had come their game— the meaningless banter that, for him at least, was too fraught with meaning to be safe.

"There!" she said, looking up. "One more of the fiddly little buggers done!" _v Leyden nodded, but he was still remembering how her top teeth pulled down the pale flesh of her lower lip when she concentrated; how her eyes filled with a strange, almost passionate intensity. As if she saw things differently. Saw more finely, clearly than he.

"How many more?"

She sat back on her heels and drew in a deep breath, considering. "Eighty-seven junctions, one hundred and sixteen conduits, eleven switches, and four main panels." She smiled. "Two weeks' work. Three at the outside."

She was part of a team of three—two women and a man—sent in to give the deck its biannual service. The others were hard at work elsewhere—checking the transportation grid for faults; repairing the basic plumbing and service systems; cleaning out the massive vents that threaded these upper decks like giant cat's cradles. Their jobs were important, but hers was the vital one. She was the communications expert. In her hands rested the complex network of computer links that gave the deck its life. There were backups, of course, and it was hard to cause real damage, but it was still a delicate job—more like surgery than engineering. She had said as much herself.

"It's like a huge head," she had told him. "Full of fine nerves that carry messages. And it has to be treated like a living mind. Gently, carefully. It can be hurt, you know." And he recalled how she had looked at him, a real tenderness and concern in her face, as if the thing really were alive.

But now, looking at her, he thought, Three weeks. Is that all? And what then? What will I do when you're gone?

Seeing him watching her, she leaned across and touched his arm gently.

"Thanks for the ch'a, but hadn't you better get back? Shouldn't you be checking on things?"

He laughed. "As if anything ever happens." But he sensed that he had outstayed his welcome and turned to go, stopping only at the far end of the long, dark shaft to look back at her.

She had moved on, further in toward the hub. Above her the overhead lamp, secure on its track and attached to her waist by a slender, weblike thread, threw a bright, golden light over her dark, neat head as she bent down, working on the next conduit in the line. For a moment longer he watched her, her head bobbing like a swimmer's between light and shadow, then turned, sighing, to descend the rungs.

CHEN SAT there, watching the screen in the comer while Wang Ti dressed the children. The set was tuned to the local MidText channel and showed a group of a dozen or so dignitaries on a raised platform, a great mass of people gathered in the Main in front of them. It was a live broadcast, from Hannover, two hundred li to the southeast.

At the front of the group on-screen was the T'ang's Chancellor, Nan Ho, there on his Master's behalf to open the first of the new Jade Phoenix Health Centers. Behind him stood the Hsien Ling, the Chief Magistrate of Hannover Hsien, Shou Chen-hai, a tall man with a patrician air and a high-domed head that shone damply in the overhead lights. The Chancellor was speaking, a great scroll held out before him, outlining Li Yuan's "new deal" for the Lowers, dwelling in particular upon the T'ang's plan to extend health facilities considerably over the coming five years by building one hundred and fifty of the new Health Centers throughout the lower third.

"About time," said Wang Ti, not looking up from where she sat, lacing up her young daughter's dress. "They've neglected things far too long. You remember the problems we had when Jyan was born. Why, I almost gave birth to him in the reception hall. And that was back then. Things have gotten a lot worse in the years since."

Chen grunted, remembering; yet he felt uneasy at the implied criticism of his T'ang. "Li Yuan means only well," he said. "There are those who would not do one tenth as n»uch."

Wang Ti looked across at him, a measured look in her eyes, then looked away. "I'm sure that's so, husband. But there are rumors. . . ."

Chen turned his head abruptly, the stiff collar of his jacket chafing his neck. "Rumors? About the T'ang?"

Wang Ti laughed, fastening the lace, then pushed Ch'iang Hsin away from her. "No. Of course not. And yet his hands . . ."

Chen frowned. "His hands?"

Wang Ti got up slowly, putting a hand to her lower back. "They say that some grow fat on the T'ang's generosity, while others get but the crumbs from his table."

"I don't follow you, Wang Ti."

She tilted her head slightly, indicating the figures on the screen, then lowered her voice a fraction. "The big one. Our friend, the Hsien Ling. It is said he has bought himself many things these past six months. Bronzes and statues and silks for his concubines. Yes, even a wife—a good wife, of First Level breeding. And more besides..."

Chen's face had hardened. "You know this, Wang Ti? For a certainty?"

"No. But the rumors . . ."

Chen stood, angered. "Rumors! Kuan Yin preserve us! Would you risk all this over some piece of ill-founded tittle-tattle?"

The three children were staring up at him, astonished. As for Wang Ti, she lowered her head, her whole manner suddenly submissive.

"Forgive me, husband, I—"

The sharp movement of his hand silenced her. He turned, agitated, and went to the set, jabbing a finger angrily at the power button. At once the room was silent. He turned back, facing her, his face suffused with anger.

"I am surprised at you, Wang Ti. To slander a good man like Shou Chen-hai. Who put this foolishness into your head? Do you know for a fact what the Hsien Ling has or hasn't bought? Have you been inside his mansion? Besides, he is a rich man. Why should he not have such things? Why are you so quick to believe he has used the T'ang's money and not his own? What evidence have you?"

He huffed impatiently. "Can't you see how foolish this is? How dangerous? Gods, if you were to repeat to the wrong ear what you've just said to me, we would all be in trouble! Do you want that? Do you want us to lose all we've worked so long and hard to build? Because it's still a crime to damage a man's reputation with false allegations, whatever your friends may think. Demotion, that's what I'm talking about, Wang Ti. Demotion. Back below the Net."

Wang Ti gave a tiny shudder, then nodded, When her voice came again it was small, chastened. "Forgive me, Kao Chen. I was wrong to say what I did. I will say no more about the Hsien L'ing."

Chen stared at her a moment longer, letting his anger drain from him, then nodded, satisfied. "Good. Then we'll say no more. Now hurry or we'll be late. I promised Karr we'd be there by second bell."

SHOU CHEN-HAI looked about him nervously; then satisfied that everything in the banqueting room was prepared, he forced himself to relax.

The T'ang's Chancellor had departed an hour past, but though Nan Ho was high, high enough to have the ear of a T'ang, Shou's next guest—a man never seen on the media, his face unknown to the billions of City Europe—was in many ways more important.

For Shou it had begun a year back, when he had been appointed to the chair of the finance committee for the new Health Center. He had seen then where it might lead . . . if he was clever enough, audacious enough. He had heard of the merchant some time before, and—his mind made up—had gone out of his way to win his friendship. But it was only when Shih Novacek had finally called on him, impressed more by his persistence than his gifts or offers of help, that he had had a chance to win him to his scheme. And now, this afternoon, that friendship would bear its first fruit.

Shou clapped his hands. At once the serving girls went to their places, while in the kitchen the cooks began to prepare the feast.

Novacek had briefed him fully on how to behave. Even so, Shou's hands trembled with a mixture of fear and excitement at the thought of entertaining a Red Pole, a real-life 426, like on the trivee serials. He called the Chief Steward over and wiped his hands on the towel the man held out for him, dabbing his forehead nervously. When he had first considered all this he had imagined a meeting with the 489 himself; had pictured himself at a large table somewhere below the Net, facing the big boss, some special delicacy in a porcelain bowl by his elbow as he spelled out his scheme, but Novacek had quickly disillusioned him. The Triad bosses rarely met the people they dealt with. No. They were careful—very careful—to use intermediaries. Men like Novacek, or like their Red Poles, the "Executioners" of the Triads; cultured, discreet men with the manners of Mandarins and the instincts of sharks.

As he was fussing with one of the table decorations, the curtains at the far end of the long room twitched back and four young, muscular-looking Han entered, Novacek just behind. They wore yellow headbands with a wheel—the symbol of the Big Circle Triad—embroidered in blue silk above the forehead. Novacek looked across and smiled reassuringly. Again, Shou had been prepared for this— even so, the thought of being "checked out" by the Red Pole was faintly disturbing. He watched the young men spread out, their eyes searching for anything suspicious; looking under tables, checking the walls for false panels where assassins might hide, even lifting up the bowls of flowers on each table to make sure there were no tiny devices hidden away. They worked with an impressive thoroughness, as if this were much more than simple precaution. If what Shih Novacek said were true, theirs was a cutthroat world down there, and those who succeeded were not merely the strongest but the most careful.

Finished, two of the men stood in the room while the others went into the kitchens to continue their search. While they did so, Novacek came across, bowing to Shou Chen-hai.

"You have done well, Hsien L'ing Shou," he said, indicating the spread Shou had prepared for his guest.

Shou returned Novacek's bow, immensely gratified by the merchant's praise. "It is but the humblest fare, I am afraid."

Novacek came closer, lowering his voice. "Remember what I said. Do not smile at our friend when he comes. Nor should you show any sign of familiarity. Yao Tzu, like most Red Poles, is a proud man—he has great face—but understandably so. One does not become a Red Pole through family influence or by taking exams. The HungMun, the Secret Societies, are a different kind of school—the very toughest of schools, you might say—and our friend the Red Pole is its finest graduate. If any other man were qualified for the job, then he would be Red Pole and our friend Yao Tzu would be dead. You understand?"

Shou Chen-hai bowed his head, swallowing nervously, made aware once again of the risks he was taking even in meeting this man. His eyes went to the Hung Moo's face. "You will sit beside me, Shih Novacek?"

Novacek smiled reassuringly. "Do not worry, Hsien L'ing Shou. Just do as I've said and all will be well. I'll be there at your elbow all the time."

Shou Chen-hai gave a tiny shudder, then bowed again, grateful that the merchant had agreed to this favor. It would cost him, he knew, but if his scheme succeeded it would be a small price to pay.

At the entrance to the kitchen one of the runners appeared again, giving a brief hand signal to one of his compatriots. At once the young man turned and disappeared through the curtain.

"All's well, it seems," Novacek said, turning back. "Come, let's go across. Our friend the Red Pole will be here any moment now."

Little was said during the meal. Yao Tzu sat, expressionless, facing Shou Chen-hai across the main table, one of his henchmen seated on either side of him. If what Novacek said were true, the Red Pole himself would be unarmed, but that didn't mean that he was unprepared for trouble. The henchmen were big, vicious-looking brutes who sat there, eating nothing. They merely stared at Shou; stared and stared until his initial discomfort became something else—a cold, debilitating dread that seeped into his bones. It was something Novacek had not prepared him for and he wondered why. But he let nothing show. His fear and discomfort, his uncertainty and self-doubt were kept hidden behind the thickness of his face.

He watched the Red Pole wipe at his lips delicately with the cloth, then look across at him. Yao Tzu had tiny, almost childlike features; his nose and ears and mouth dainty, like those of a young woman, his eyes like two painted marbles in a pockmarked face that was almost Hung Moo in its paleness. He stared at Shou Chen-hai with an impersonal hostility that seemed of a piece with the rest of him. Meeting that gaze, Shou realized that there was nothing this man would not do. Nothing that could ever make him lose a moment's sleep at night. It was this that made him so good at what he did—that made him a 426, an Executioner.

He almost smiled, but stopped himself, waiting, as he'd been told, for Yao Tzu to speak first. But instead of speaking, the Red Pole half turned in his seat and clicked his fingers, summoning one of his runners. At once the man came across and placed a slender case on the table by Yao Tzu's left hand.

Yao Tzu looked up, then pushed the case toward him.

Shou glanced at Novacek, then drew the case closer, looking to the Red Pole for permission to open it. At the man's brief nod, he undid the catches and lifted the lid. Inside, embedded in bright-red padded silk, were three rows of tiny black-wrapped packages, Han pictograms embossed on the wrappings in red and blue and yellow—a row of each color. He stared at them a moment, then looked up, meeting the Red Pole's eyes, understanding dawning on him. Again he had to fight down the impulse to smile—to try to make some kind of personal contact with the man facing him—but inside he felt exultant. If these were what he thought they were then it was already agreed. He glanced at Novacek for confirmation, then looked back at the Red Pole, bowing his head.

For the first time in over an hour, Yao Tzu spoke.

"You understand then, Shou Chen-hai? You have there the complete range of our latest drugs, designed to suit every need, manufactured to the very highest quality in our laboratories." He leaned forward slightly. "At present there is nothing like them in the whole of Chung Kuo. We will supply you with whatever you require for the first two months, free of charge, and you in turn will provide the capsules without payment to your contacts in the Above. After that time, however, we begin to charge for whatever we supply. Not much, of course—nothing like what you will be charging your friends, neh?—but enough to keep us both happy." Shou Chen-hai gave the smallest nod, his throat dry, his hands trembling where they rested on either side of the case. "And my idea?"

Yao Tzu looked down. "Your scheme has our approval, Hsien L'ing Shou. It accords with our plans for future expansion. Indeed, we had been looking for some while to move in this direction. It is fortunate for us both that our interests coincide so closely, neh?"

Shou felt a shudder of relief pass through him. "And the other bosses . . . they'll not contest you over this?"

It was his deepest worry—the one thing that had kept him sleepless night after night—and now he had blurted it out. For a moment he thought he had said the wrong thing, but beside him Novacek was silent, and there was no sign in the Red Pole's face that he had been offended by the words; even so, Shou sensed a new tension about the table.

"It will be dealt with," Yao Tzu answered stiffly, meeting his eyes. "When the well is deep, many can draw from it, neh? Besides, it is better to make money than fight a war. I am certain the other bosses will feel the same."

Shou took a long breath, letting the tension drain from him. Then it was agreed. Again he felt a wave of pure elation wash through him.

Yao Tzu was watching him coldly. "You, of course, will be responsible for your end of things. You will take care of recruitment and marketing. You will also provide all tea money."

Shou bowed his head, concealing his disappointment. He had hoped they would help him out with respect to "tea money"—bribes; had assumed that they would pay well to buy his contacts, but it was clear they saw things differently. His funds were large, admittedly, since he had tapped into the Health Project finances, but they were far from infinite and he had had extensive experience already of dealing with officials. They were like whores, only whores were cheap.

He kept his eyes lowered, thinking it through. Meeting the bill for squeeze would stretch his resources to the limit, but he would cope, even if he had to borrow steeply; for the return, when it came, would be tremendous. He would be the Big Circle's man in the Above, buying into legitimate concerns on their behalf, making friends, gaining access where even men like Novacek could not go. And this other matter—this unexpected business with the drugs—that, too, could prove quite lucrative. He saw it now. He would recruit gamblers—would finance their debts, then agree to pay off what they owed in exchange for their becoming his men, dealing on his behalf. Yes, he could see it clearly; could picture a great web of connections with himself at the center.

He looked up, meeting the Red Pole's stare with a sudden confidence, knowing he had not been wrong all those months back. He, Shou Chen-hai, was destined for great things. And his sons would be great men too. Maybe even ministers.

When they had gone he sat there, alone at the table, studying the contents of the case. If what he had heard were true, this lot alone was worth half a million. He touched his tongue to his teeth thoughtfully, then lifted one of the tiny packages from its bed.

It was identical in size to all the others, its waxy, midnight-black wrapper heat-sealed on the reverse with the blue wheel logo of the Big Circle. The only difference was the marking on the front. In this instance the pictograms were in red. Pan shuai ch'i, it read—"half-life." The others had similarly strange names: leng tuan—"cold leg"; ting tui—"shutdown"; hsian hsiao ying—"yield point." He set the package carefully in its place and sat back, staring thoughtfully into the distance. He was still sitting there when Novacek returned.

"What are these?"

Novacek hesitated, then laughed. "You know what they are."

"I know they're drugs, but why are they so different? He said there was nothing like them in Chung Kuo. Why? I need to know if I'm going to sell them."

Novacek studied him a moment, then nodded. "Okay, Shou Chen-hai. Let me tell you what's happening . . . what's really happening here."

"It's all pipes now," said Vasska, his voice coming from the darkness close by. "The shit goes down and the water comes up. Water and shit. Growth and decay. Old processes, but mechanized now. Forced into narrow pipes."

A warm, throaty laugh greeted Vasska's comment, the darkness hiding its source. "Don't we just know it," said Erika, her knees rubbing against Ywe Hao's in the cramped space.

"They fool themselves," Vasska continued, warming to his theme. "But it isn't a real living space, it's a bloody machine. Switch it off and they'd die, they're so cut off from things."

"And we're so different?"

Ywe Hao's comment was sharp, her irritation with Vasska mixed up with a fear that they might be overheard. They were high up here, at the very top of the stack, under the roof itself, but who knew what tricks acoustics played in the ventilation system? She glanced at the faintly glowing figure at her wrist and gritted her teeth. "Yes, we're different, all right," said Vasska, leaning closer, so that she could feel his breath on her cheek. "We're different because we want to tear it down. To level it and get back to the earth."

It was close to an insult. As if she had forgotten—she who had been in the movement a good five years longer than this . . . this boy I Nor was it what she had really meant. They, too, were cut off. They, too, had lived their lives inside the machine. So what if they only thought they were different?

She was about to respond, but Erika leaned forward, touching her arm gently, as if to say, Don't mind him. We know his kind. But aloud she said, "How much longer, Chi Li? I'm stifling."

It was true. The small space at the hub hadn't been designed for three, and though it was well ventilated, it was cramped, hot, and rich with a mixture of mildly unpleasant smells.

"Anotrter five at least," she said, covering Erika's hand with her own. She liked the woman, for all her faults, whereas Vasska . . . Vasska was a pain. She had met his sort before. Zealots. Bigots. They used the Yu ideology as a substitute for thinking. The rest was common talk. Shit and water. Narrow pipes. These were the catch phrases of the old Ping Tiao intelligentsia. As if she needed such reminders.

She closed her eyes a moment, thinking. The three of them had been together as a team for only six weeks now—the first three of those in training for this mission and in what they termed "assimilation." Vasska, Erika—those weren't their real names, no more than her own was Chi Li, the name on her ID badge. Those were the names of dead men and women in the Maintenance Service; men and women whose identities the Yu had stolen for their use. Nor would she ever leam their real names. They were strangers, brought in from other Yu cells for this mission. Once they were finished here she would never see them again.

It was a necessary system, and it worked, but it had its drawbacks. From the start Vasska had challenged her. He had never said as much, but it was clear that he resented her leadership. Even though there was a supposed equality between men and women in the movement, the men still expected to be the leaders—the doers and the thinkers, the formulators of policy and the agents of what had been decided. Vasska was one such. He stopped short of open dissent, but not far. He was surly, sullen, argumentative. Time and again she had been forced to give him explicit orders. And he, in return, had questioned her loyalty to the cause and to the underlying dogma of the Yu ideology; questioned it until she, in her quiet moments, had begun to ask herself, "Do 1 believe in what I'm doing? Do I believe in Mach's vision of the new order that is to come once the City has been leveled?" And though she did, it had grown harder than ever to say as much—as though such lip service might make her like Vasska.

For a while there was only the sound of their breathing and the faint, ever-present hum of the life systems. Then, prefacing his remark with an unpleasantly insinuating laugh, Vasska spoke again. "So how's your boyfriend, Chi Li? How's. . . Wbl/-gang?" And he made the older man's name sound petty and ridiculous.

"Shut up, Vasska," said Erika, defusing the sudden tension. Then, leaning closer to Ywe Hao, she whispered, "Open the vent. Let's look. It's almost time."

In the dark Ywe Hao smiled, grateful for Erika's intervention, then turned and slipped the catch. Light spilled into the cramped, dark space, revealing the huddle of their limbs.

"What can you see?"

For a moment it was too bright. Then, when her eyes had focused, she found she was looking down into Main from a place some fifty or sixty ch'i overhead. It was late—less than an hour from first dark—and the day's crowds had gone from Main, leaving only a handful of revelers and one or two workers, making their way to their night-shift occupations. Ywe Hao looked beyond these to a small doorway to her left at the far end of Main. It was barely visible from where she was, yet even as her eyes went to it, a figure stepped out, raising a hand in parting.

"That's him!" she said in an urgent whisper. "Vasska, get going. I want that elevator secured." Dismissing him, she turned, looking into the strong, feminine face close to her own. "Well? What do you think?"

Erika considered, then nodded, a tight, tense smile lighting her features. "If it's like last time, we have thirty minutes, forty at the outside. Time enough to secure the place and get things ready."

"Good. Then let's get moving. There won't be another opportunity as good as this."

YWE HAO looked about her, then nodded, satisfied. The rooms seemed normal, no sign of the earlier struggle visible. Four of the servants were locked away in the pantry, bound hand and foot and sedated. In another room she had placed the women and children of the household; Shou's two wives, the new concubine, and the two young boys. Those, too, she had drugged, taking care to administer the exact dosage to the boys. Now she turned, facing the fifth member of the household staff, the Chief Steward, the number yi—one—emblazoned in red on the green chest patch he wore on his pure white pau. He stared back at her, his eyes wide with fear, his head slightly lowered, wondering what she would do next. Earlier she had taped a sticky-bomb to the back of his neck, promising him that at the slightest sign or word of warning, she would set it off.

"Remember," she said reassuringly, "it's not you we want, Steward Wong. Do as I say and you'll live. But relax. Shou Chen-hai must suspect nothing. He'll be back from seeing the girl soon, so run his bath and tend to him as normal. But remember, we shall be watching your every movement. At the least sign . . ."

The Steward bowed his head.

. "Good." She turned, double-checking the room, then patted the pocket of her tunic. The papers were inside—the pamphlet explaining their reasons for the execution and the official death warrant, signed by all five members of the High Council of the Yu. These would be left on Shou's body for Security to find. Meanwhile, friends sympathetic to the cause would be distributing copies of the pamphlet throughout the Lowers. More than fifty million in all, paid for from the coffers of the long-defunct Ping Tiao. Money that Mach had sifted away after Helmstadt and before the debacle at Bremen that had brought about the Ping Tioo's demise.

"Okay. You know what to say? Good. Then get to work. I want things prepared for when he returns."

She joined Erika at the desk in the tiny surveillance room. At once she picked up the figure of the Chief Steward as he made his way down the corridor to the main bathroom. Keeping an eye on what he did, she glanced at the other screens, once more appalled by the luxury, by the sheer waste of what she saw. Shou Chen-hai's family was no bigger than many in the Mids and Lowers, and yet he had all this: twenty-four rooms, including no less than two kitchens and three private bathrooms. It was disgraceful. An insult to those he was meant to serve. But that was not why she was here, for there were many who l$ed as Shou Chen-hai lived, unaware of the misery and suffering their greed relied upon. No, there were specific reasons for singling out Shou Chen-hai.

She shuddered, indignation fueling her anger. Shou Chen-hai was a cheat. And not just any cheat. His cheating was on a grand scale and would result in untold suffering: in children not receiving treatment for debilitating diseases; in good men bleeding to death in overcrowded Accident Clinics; in mothers dying in childbirth because the facilities promised by the T'ang had not been built. She laughed coldly. That ceremony earlier had been a sham. The T'ang's Chancellor had been shown around the new wards and operating theaters as if they were typical of what existed in the rest of the facility. But she had seen. With her own eyes she had seen the empty wards, the unbuilt theatres, the empty spaces where real and solid things ought to have been. Only a fifth of the promised facility had been built. The rest did not exist—would never exist—because Shou Chen-hai and his friends had taken the allocated funds and spent them on their own personal schemes. She shook her head slowly, still astonished by the scale of the deception. It was not unheard offer officials to take ten, even fifteen, percent of any project. It was even, in this crazy world of theirs, expected. But eighty percent! Four billion yua.nl Ywe Hao gritted her teeth. It could not be tolerated. Shou Chen-hai had to be made an example of, else countless more would suffer while such as Shou grew bloated on their suffering.

She turned, looking at Erika. "Who is Shou seeing?"

Erika smiled, her eyes never leaving the screen. "One of his underling's daughters. A young thing of thirteen. The mother knows but condones it. And who can blame her?"

"No . . ." Yet Ywe Hao felt sick at the thought. It was another instance of Shou's rottenness; of his corrupt use of the power given him. Power . . . that was what was at fault here. Power, given over into the hands of petty, unscrupulous men. Men who were not fit to run a brothel, let alone a hsien. Men no better than her Uncle Chang.

She drew her knife, staring at it a moment, wondering what it would feel like to thrust it into Shou Chen-hai, and whether that would be enough to assuage the anger she felt. No. She could kill a million Shous and it would not be enough. Yet it was a start. A sign, to be read by High and Low alike.

She turned the knife in her hand, tested the sharpness of the edge, then sheathed it again. "Are you ready?"

Erika laughed. "Don't worry about me. Just worry whether Vasska's done his job and covered the elevators."

"Yes . . ." she said, then tensed, seeing the unmistakable figure of Shou Chen-hai at the far end of the approach corridor. "Yes. But first our man . . ."

the CEREMONY was far advanced. In the small and crowded room there was an expectant silence as the New Confucian official turned back, facing the couple.

Karr was dressed in his ceremonial uniform, the close-fitting azurite-blue tunic emphasizing his massive frame. His close-cropped head was bare, but about his neck hung the huge golden dragon pendant of the chia ch'eng. It had been awarded to him by the T'ang himself at a private ceremony only two months earlier, and Karr wore it now with pride, knowing it was the highest honor a commoner could attain outside of government, making him Honorary Assistant to the Royal Household.

Beside Karr, soon to be his wife, stood the woman he had met at the Dragon Cloud teahouse six months before, Marie Enge. In contrast to Karr she wore bright scarlet silks, a simple one-piece, tied at the waist. The effect, though simple, was stunning. She looked the perfect mate for the big man.

Karr turned, meeting her eyes briefly, smiling, then turned back to face the official, listening attentively as the wizen-faced old man spelled out the marriage duties.

"I must remind you that in public it is neither seemly nor appropriate to show your love. Your remarks must be restrained and considerate to the feelings of those about you." The old man looked about him severely. "Love must be kept in bounds. It must not be allowed to interfere with the husband's work nor with his duties to the family." He gave a little nod, then looked at the bride. "As for you, Marie Enge, you must perform your household duties as a good wife, without reproach or complaint. In social gatherings you should not sit with your husband but should remain aloof. As a wife, all ties of blood are broken. You will become part of your husband's household."

The old man paused, becoming, for a moment, less formal. "I am told that among the young it has become unfashionable to view things in this light, but there is much to be said for our traditions. They bring stability and peace, and peace breeds contentment and happiness. In your particular case, Gregor Karr and Marie Enge, I realize that there are no families to consider. For you the great chain of family was broken, from no fault of your own. And yet these traditions are still relevant to your situation, for in time you will have children. You will be family. And so the chain will be reforged, the ties remade. By this ceremony you reenter the great tidal flow of life in Chung Kuo. By taking part in these most ancient of rituals, you reaffirm their strength and purpose."

Chen, looking on from Karr's left, felt a tiny shiver ripple down his spine at the words. So it had been for him, when he had married Wang Ti. It had been like being reborn. No longer simply Chen, but Kao Chen, Head of the Kao family, linked to the future by the sons he would have. Sons who would sweep his grave and enact the rituals. In marrying he had become an ancestor. He smiled, feeling deeply for Karr at that moment, enjoying the way the big man looked at his bride, and knowing that this was a marriage made in Heaven.

After the ceremony he went across and congratulated them, holding Karr to him fiercely. "I am so pleased for you, Gregor. I always hoped—" He stopped, choked by the sudden upsurge of feeling.

Karr laughed, then pushed him back to arm's length. "What's this, my friend? Tears? No . . . this is a time for great joy, for today my heart is fuller than it has ever been."

He turned, raising a hand. At the signal the doors behind him were thrown open, revealing a long, high-ceilinged room, all crystal and lace, the tables set for several hundred guests.

"Well, dear friends, let us go through. There is food and drink, and later there will be dancing." He looked across at his bride, smiling broadly, holding out his hand until she joined him. "So . . . welcome, everyone. Tonight we celebrate!"

THE GOLDEN EYE of the security camera swiveled in its dragon-mouth socket, following Shou Chen-hai as he approached. Moments later the door hissed back. Beyond it, in the tiled entrance hall, the Chief Steward was waiting, head bowed, a silken indoor robe over one arm.

Shou Chen-hai went inside and stood there, letting Wong Pao-yi remove his outside garments and help him on with the lightweight pau. For a moment he breathed deeply, enjoying the cool silence of the anteroom, then turned, looking at his servant. "Where is everyone?"

Wong Pao-yi lowered his head, repeating the words he had been told to say. "Your first wife, Shou Wen-lo, is visiting her mother, Excellency. She will be back in the morning. Your second wife, Shou He, has taken the boys to buy new robes. She called not long ago to say she would be another hour."

Shou nodded, satisfied. "And Yue Mi?"

The old servant hesitated. "She is asleep, Excellency. Would you have me wake her and send her to your room?"

Shou laughed. "No, Steward Wong. Later, perhaps. Just now I'd like a bath."

Wong Pao-yi bowed his head again. "It is already poured, Excellency. If you will come through, I will see to your needs personally."

"There's no need. Just bring me a drink."

Alone in the bathroom, he kicked off his thin briefs, then set the wine cup down and peeled the pau over his head. Naked, he stretched, feeling good, enjoying the sight of his own well-muscled body in the wall mirror, then picked up his wine cup again, toasting himself. The girl had been good. Much less tense than before. Much more willing to please him. Doubtless that was her mother's doing. Well, perhaps he would reward the mother. Send her some small gift to encourage her efforts. Or maybe he would have them both next time, mother and daughter, in the same bed.

The thought made him laugh, but as he turned he slowed, sensing another presence in the corridor outside.

"Wong Pao-yi? Is that you?"

He took a step forward, then stopped, the heavy porcelain wine cup falling from his hand, clattering against the side of the bath.

"What the fuck ... ?"

It was a man, dressed in the orange and yellow work fatigues of Maintenance, standing there, a handgun raised and pointed at him.

"Wong Pao-yi!" Shou called, staring back at the man, conscious of his nakedness, his vulnerability. "Wong Pao-yi, where are you?"

The man laughed softly and shook his head. "Been having fun, Shou Chen-hai? Been fucking little girls, have we?"

Anger made Shou take two more steps before he remembered the gun. He stopped, frowning, seeing the odd look of enjoyment on the man's face.

"What do you want?" he asked. "All I have is in the safe in the study. Cards, cash, a few other bits and pieces—"

The man shook his head. "I'm no robber, Shou Chen-hai. If I were, I'd have taken you earlier, in the corridors."

Shou nodded, forcing himself to stay calm. If this were one of the rival Triad bosses trying to muscle in on the deal he had made with the Big Circle, then it would not do to show any fear in front of one of their messenger boys. He puffed out his chest, wearing his nakedness like a badge of courage.

"Who sent you? Fat Wong? Li the Lidless? Or was it Whiskers Lu?"

The man waved the gun impatiently and thrust a piece of paper at Shou. Shou Chen-hai turned his head slightly, not understanding, but at second prompting took the paper. Looking down at it, his stomach turned over.

It was a terrorist pamphlet. Itemizing his crimes. Saying why they had had to kill him.

"Look, I..." Shou began. But there was no arguing with this. No way of dealing with these bastards. His only chance was to jump the man. But as if he knew this, the man took a step backward, pulling back the safety. He was watching Shou intently, his eyes gloating now.

"Been having /un?" the man insisted, jerking the gun forward, making Shou jump and give a tiny whimper of fright. "Been fucking little girls?"

Was that it? Was it someone hired by his underling Fang Shuo? And was all this business with the pamphlets merely a cover? He put out one hand, as if to fend off the man.

"I'll pay you. Pay you lots. Much more than Fang Shou paid you. Look, I'll take you to the safe now. I'll—"

"Shut up!"

The man's mouth was formed into a snarl, but his eyes were cold and pitiless and Shou Chen'hai knew at once he had been mistaken. He was a terrorist. There was no mistaking that mad gleam, that uncompromising fanaticism.

"Your kind revolt me," he said, raising the gun and pointing it at Shou's forehead. "You think you can buy anything. You think—" He stopped and turned abruptly, following Shou's eyes.

A second figure had come into the corridor. She, too, wore the orange and yellow of Maintenance. Taking one look at how things were, she raised her gun and came forward.

"You stupid bastard! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" The man gave a visible shudder of anger, then turned back, facing Shou Chen-hai. Even so, his face had changed, had lost its look of hideous amusement. Shou could see immediately how things stood between the two—could sense the acid resentment in the man—and at once began working on a way to use it. But it was too late.

Ywe Hao pointed her gun and fired twice, then, a moment later, a third time, standing over the slumped, lifeless body to make sure it was dead. There was blood on the ceramic tiles. Blood in the glasslike water of the bath. She turned and looked at Vasska, her anger making her voice shrill.

"You fucking idiot! I've had to send Erika to do what you should have done. Now go! Go and link up with her. Now!"

The man huffed out his resentment, but lowered his gun and began to turn away. He was two steps across the room when he stopped and turned back.

"Someone's coming! I can hear footsteps!"

She looked up at him, shaking her head. He was such a fool. Such a bloody amateur. Why had she had to get him on her team? Quickly she placed the papers on the corpse. Then, straightening up, she went out past Vasska and into the corridor. At the far end a man had come into view—barefoot, it seemed, and in his indoor clothes. As he came closer, she recognized who it was. It was the old Security guard, Leyden.

"No . . ." she said softly. "Please no . . ." But he kept coming. A few paces from her, he stopped.

"Chi Li... What's going on? 1 thought I heard shots. I..."

His voice tapered off. He was frowning and looking at the gun in her hand, part of him understanding, another part refusing to understand.

She shook her head. There wasn't time to tie him up. No time even to argue with him. Training and instinct told her to shoot him and get out, but something held her back. Vasska, coming alongside her, looked at the man and raised his gun.

"No . . ." she said, reaching out to restrain his hand. "Let him go. He's not armed."

Vasska laughed. "You're a fool. Soft too," he sneered, forgetting what she had done in the other room. "Let's kill him and get out."

Leyden was looking frightened now. He glanced from one to the other and began to back away. Vasska stepped forward, throwing off Ywe Hao's arm, and aimed his gun. But he didn't have a chance to fire it. Two more shots rang out and he fell forward, dead.

Leyden looked at Ywe Hao, his eyes wide, his mouth open.

"Go!" she said, her eyes pleading with him. "Go, before I have to kill you too!" And she raised her gun at him—the gun that had killed Shou Chen-hai and Vasska. He hesitated only a moment, then turned and ran, back up the corridor. She watched him go—heard his footsteps sound long after he was out of sight— then, stepping over Vasska's corpse, walked slowly down the corridor, the gun held out in front of her.

THE LIGHTS had been dimmed in the reception room, a space cleared for dancing. A small troupe of Han musicians had set up their instruments in one corner and were playing a sprightly tune, their faces beaming as they watched the dancers whirl about the floor.

Chen stood to one side, watching as Karr led his new wife through the dance. He had never seen the big man so happy; never seen that broad mouth smile so much, those blue eyes sparkle so vividly. Marie, facing him, seemed almost breathless with happiness. She gasped and laughed and threw her head back, screeching with delight. And all about them the crowd pressed close, sharing their happiness. Chen grinned and turned his head, looking across at his own family. Jyan and young Wu were sitting at a nearby table, sipping at their drinks through straws, their eyes taking in everything. Beside them sat Wang Ti, her heavily swollen belly forcing her to sit straight-backed, her legs apart. Even so, she seemed not to notice her discomfort as she held Ch'iang Hsin's hands, twirling her baby daughter this way and that to the rhythms of the music.

Chen smiled, then took a deep swig of his beer. It felt good to be able to let go. To relax and not have to worry about what the morning would bring. The last six months had been murderously busy, getting the new squad ready for active service, but after tonight both Karr and he were on a week's furlough. Chen yawned, then put his hand up to smooth his head, surprised, for the briefest moment, that his fingers met not flesh but a soft covering of hair. He lowered his hand, frowning. A lifetime's habits were hard to shift. He was always forgetting. . . .

Chen drained his glass, then went across to the bar to get a refill, glancing at the presents stacked high on the table as he passed. Tolonen had sent a bolt of the finest silk, the T'ang a silver platter, engraved by the Court's own Master Silversmith. But there were hundreds of others too—evidence of the esteem in which Karr was held.

He took his beer and made his way back, catching Karr's eye as he circled the dance floor, lifting his glass in salute.

"Are you all right?" he asked Wang Ti, crouching at her side. "If you're feeling tired . . . ?"

She smiled. "No, I'm fine. Just keep an eye on the boys. Make sure they don't drink anything they shouldn't. Especially Wu. He's a mischievous little soul."

Chen grinned. "Okay. But if you want anything, just let me know, eh? And if you get tired . . ."

"Don't nag me, husband. Who's carrying this thing—you or me? I'll tell you straight enough when I want to go. All right?"

Chen nodded, satisfied, then straightened up. As he did the door at the far end swung open and a uniformed guard came into the room. Chen narrowed his eyes, noting at once that the man was a Special Services courier. In one hand he held a Security folder. As he came into the room he looked about him, then swept off his cap, recognizing Karr.

Chen went across, intercepting the courier.

"I am Captain Kao," he said, standing between Karr and the man. "What is your business here?"

The courier bowed. "Forgive me, Captain, but I have sealed orders for Major Karr. From Marshal Tolonen. I was told to give them directly into the Major's hands."

Chen shook his head. "But this is his wedding night. Surely . . . ?" Then he caught up with what the man had said. From Tolonen . . . He frowned. "What has been happening?"

The courier shrugged. "Forgive me, Captain, but I am not aware of the contents, only that it is a matter of the most extreme urgency."

Chen stood back, letting the man pass, watching as he made his way through the dancers to stand before Karr.

Karr frowned, then with a shrug tore open the wallet and pulled out the pririted documents. For a moment he was silent, intent on what he was reading; then, grim-faced, he came across.

"What is it?" Chen asked, disturbed by the sudden change in Karr's mood.

Karr sighed, then handed Chen the photostat of the terrorist pamphlet that had been among the documents. "I'm sorry, Chen, but for us the party's over. We have work to do. It looks like the Ping Tiao are active again. They've assassinated a senior official. A man named Shou Chen-hai."

"Shou Chen-hai . . ." Chen looked up from the pamphlet, his mouth fallen open. "The Hsien L'ing from Hannover?"

Karr's eyes widened. "That's right. You knew him?"

But Chen had turned and was looking at Wang Ti, remembering what she had said only that morning—the argument they had had over the rumors of the man's corruption. And now the man was dead, murdered by assassins. He turned back. "But your wedding night. . . ?"

Karr smiled and held his arms briefly. "Marie will understand. Besides, it will be sweeter for the waiting, neh?" And, turning away, the big man went across to his bride.

the first corpse lay where it had fallen, faceup on the bathroom floor. The face was unmarked, the eyes closed, as if sleeping, but the chest was a mess. The first two high-velocity shells had torn the rib cage apart and spattered the heart and most of the left lung over the far wall, but whoever had killed him had wanted to make absolutely sure. A third shot had been fired into the man's gut after he had fallen, hemorrhaging the stomach and large intestine and destroying the left kidney.

Chen had already seen the computer simulation produced by the Medical Examiner on the scene, but he had wanted to see the damage for himself; to try to picture what had happened. He knelt there a moment longer, studying the dead man, fingering the fine silk of his bathrobe, then he looked across at the fallen wine cup, the faintly pink water of the low-edged marble bath. The medical report showed that Shou Chen-hai had recently had sex. He had not had time to wash himself before he was killed. As for the wine, he had barely sipped at the cup before he had dropped it, presumably in surprise, for it lay some way from the body, the thick stoneware chipped.

He stood and took a step back, taking in the whole of the scene, then turned, looking out into the hallway where the second corpse lay, facedown, the back of the orange and yellow Maintenance work suit stained red in a figure eight where the wounds had overlapped. Chen shook his head, trying to piece it together, but as yet it made no sense. The second corpse was supposedly a terrorist. His ID was faked and, as expected, they had found a fish pendant around his neck, a copy of the pamphlet in his pocket. But was that what they had been meant to find? Was this, in fact, a Triad killing and the rest of it a front, meant to send them off on the wrong track? It would certainly make sense of the explicit mention in the pamphlet of Shou's dealings with the Big Circle. If a rival Triad boss wanted to discredit Iron Mu, or more likely, to frighten off those who might think of dealing with him, what better way than to resurrect old fears of fanatical terrorists who struck like ghosts between the levels?

Because the Ping Tiao were ghosts. They had been destroyed—their cells smashed, their leaders killed—less than six months ago. It was not possible that they could have rebuilt themselves in such a short time.

Chen took the copy of the pamphlet from his tunic pocket and unfolded it. There was no mention of the Ping Tiao anywhere on the pamphlet, but the Han pictogram for the word "fish"—Yu—the symbol of the old Ping Tiao was prominent in several places; and the printing and style of the pamphlet were unmistakable. Even if the Ping Tiao itself had not survived, one important aspect of it—one man, perhaps, the brain and eye behind the original organization—had come through. Unless this were an intricate fake: a mask designed to confuse them and throw them off the scent. But why do that?

He walked through, skirting the corpse. First Level was meant to be immune from attack—a haven from such violence. But that myth had just been blown. Whoever it was, Ko Ming or Triad, had just sent a ripple of fear throughout the whole of City Europe.

Karr was coming out of a room to his right. Seeing Chen, he beckoned him inside.

They had set up an operations room here by the main entrance. The room had been a store-cupboard, but they had cleared it and moved in their own equipment. Karr's desk was at one end of the tiny room, piled high with tapes and papers. In a chair in front of it sat a middle-aged man wearing the uniform of Deck Security. "This is Wolfgang Leyden," Karr said, taking his seat on the far side of the desk. "It seems he knew the team who were responsible for this. More than that, he was witness to one of the killings."

Chen stared.at the man in disbelief. "I don't understand." Karr looked to the man. "Leyden, tell Captain Kao what you just told me." Slowly, and with a faint tremor in his voice, Leyden repeated his story. "Well?" Karr said. "Have you ever heard the like?"

Chen shook his head. "No. But it makes sense. I had begun to think this was some kind of Triad operation. One of the big bosses muscling in on another's deals, but now . . ."

Now he understood. The Ping Tioo really were back. Or something like them. "What else have we got?"

Karr looked up. "Surprisingly little. The woman did a thorough job on the deck communications system. For the three weeks they were here there's no visual record of them."

Chen laughed. "That isn't possible."

"That's what I thought. You've got Security guards checking the screens all the time. They'd notice if anything were being blanked out, neh? But that's not what she did. The cameras were working, but nothing was being stored by the deck computer. The term for it is a white-out. It would only get noticed if someone wanted to refer back to something on the tapes, and with so little happening at this level, it's rare that Security has to check on anything. I looked at their log. It's almost nine weeks since they last called anything from memory. There's no crime this high up. At least, nothing that would show as being crime. So, as long as Security keeps the wrong people out of these levels . . ."

Chen frowned. "You said 'she' just then when you were talking about the tampering with the computer system. How do we know that?"

Leyden spoke up. "She was good. I've seen them before, many times, but none of them were as good as her. I sat and watched her while she was at work. It was like she was part of the system." He paused, looking away, a sudden wistfulness in his face. "She was a nice girl. I can't believe . . ." He looked down at his trembling hands. "Why? I don't understand____"

Chen leaned toward him. "You're certain it happened as you said. The other—

Vasska, you say his name was—he had already drawn his gun when she shot him?"

Leyden nodded. "He was going to kill me, but she wouldn't let him. His gun was pointed at me. At my head." A faint shudder went through him, then he looked up, his eyes searching Chen's face. "You'll kill her, won't you? You'll track her down and kill her."

Chen looked down, disturbed by the accusation in Leyden's voice. "I've read their pamphlet," Leyden went on, "and it's true. I've seen them come here for meetings. Businessmen. And others. Others who had no legitimate business to be here. And I've seen the things he's bought these last eight months. Things beyond his means. So maybe they were right. Maybe—"

Karr raised a hand, interrupting him. "Take care what you say, friend. Captain Kao here and I... we understand how you feel. The girl saved your life and you're grateful to her. But there are others who will be much less understanding. They will take your gratitude for sympathy with the girl's ideals. I would advise you to keep your opinion of the Hsien Ling to yourself, Shih Leyden. As for your account. . ."

Karr hesitated, noting the guard who had appeared at the door. "Yes?"

The guard snapped to attention, bowing his head. "Forgive me, Major, but an official from the T'ing Wei has arrived."

"Shit," Karr said under his breath. "So soon?"

The T'ing Wei was the Superintendent of Trials, and his department was responsible for keeping the wheels of justice turning in City Europe; yet it was in the department's other role—as the official mouthpiece of the State—that it was most active.

Karr turned to Leyden. "Forgive me, but I must attend to this. However, as I was about to say, your account will be entered in the official record, and if the matter comes to trial, will be offered in mitigation of the woman's crime. That said, I'm afraid I can't vouch that she'll ever come to trial. State policy toward terrorism is, and must be, of the severest kind. To have exposed Shou Chen-hai would have been one thing, to have murdered him is another."

Leyden shuddered, then stood, bowing his head first to Karr and then to Chen. As he left, Chen looked across at Karr.

"The T'ing Wei were bloody quick getting here. What do you think they want?" Karr snorted in disgust. "To meddle in things, as ever. To bugger things up and muddy the clearest of streams. What else are they good for?"

Chen laughed. "Then we'll be giving them our full cooperation?" Karr nodded. "And dropping our pants for good measure, neh?" The two men roared with laughter. They were still laughing when the official from the T'ing Wei entered, trailing four youthful, effeminate-looking assistants. All five were Han, and all had that unmistakable air of self-contained arrogance that was the hallmark of the T'ing Wei—a kind of brutal elegance that was reflected in their clothes and manners.

The official looked about him distastefully, then began to speak, not deigning to look at Karr.

"I understand that a pamphlet has been circulated linking the Hsien L'ing with certain nefarious organizations."

Karr picked up a copy of the pamphlet and made to offer it, but the official ignored him.

"Our task here is to make sure that the truth is known. That this scurrilous tissue of lies is revealed for what it is and the reputation of the late Shou Chen-hai returned to its former glorious condition."

Karr stared at the official a moment, then laughed. "Then I'm afraid you have your work cut out, Shih . . . ?"

"My name is Yen T'ung," the official answered coldly, turning to take a folder from one of his assistants, "and I am Third Secretary to the Minister, Peng Lu-hsing."

"Well, Third Secretary Yen, I have to inform you that it seems the accusations are true. Our friend, the Hsien L'ing, has been having meetings with people that a man of his . . . reputation . . . ought not to have been seeing. As for the funds relating to the Phoenix Health Center—"

Yen T'ung stepped forward, placing the folder carefully, almost delicately, on the edge of Karr's desk.

"Forgive me, Major Karr, but inside you will find the official report on the murder of Shou Chen-hai. It answers all of the points raised as well as several others. Moreover, it paints a full and healthy picture of the dead man." Yen T'ung stepped back, brushing his left hand against his silks, as if to cleanse it. "Copies of the report will be distributed to the media at twelfth bell tomorrow. Shortly afterward I shall be making a statement regarding the capture of those responsible for this heinous crime."

"A statement?" For once Karr looked nonplussed. "Are you saying that we have until twelfth bell tomorrow to find the culprits?"

Yen T'ung snapped his fingers. At once another of his assistants opened the case he was carrying and handed a scroll to the Third Secretary. With a flourish, Yen T'ung unrolled the scroll and read.

"We have been informed by our Security sources that the four-man Triad assassination squad responsible for the murder of the Hsien L'ing of Hannover, Shou Chen-hai, was, in the early hours of this morning, surrounded by forces loyal to the T'ang, and after a brief struggle, subdued and captured."

"I see," Karr said, after a moment. "Then we're to let things drop?"

"Not at all, Major Karr. Your investigations will continue as before. But from henceforth any discoveries made will be screened by my office. I have the authority to that effect right here." He took a document from another of his assistants and handed it across.

Karr studied the authority a moment, noting that it was signed by the T'ang's Chancellor, Nan Ho, and countersigned by Tolonen, then looked up again. "Then we're to paint black white, is that it?"

Yen T'ung was silent, a fixed smile on his lips.

"And the guard Leyden's account?"

Yen T'ung raised an eyebrow in query.

"We have a witness who saw exactly what happened. His account—"

"Will be screened by this office. Now, if you will excuse me, Major Karr, there is much to be done."

Karr watched the Third Secretary and his retinue depart, then sat back heavily, looking up at Chen.

"Can you believe that? The arrogance of the little shit. And they've got it all worked out beforehand. Every last little detail."

Chen shook his head. "It won't work. Not this time."

"Why not? The T'ing Wei are pretty good at their job, and even if you and I don't like what they do or the way they go about it, it is necessary. Terrorist propaganda has to be countered. It softens public opinion and that makes our job easier."

"Maybe, but this time I've got a feeling that they're up against people who are better at this than they are."

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

Chen hesitated, then said what had been on his mind all along. "Wang Ti. She knew about Shou Chen-hai. When we were getting ready this morning, she commented upon him—on his corruption. It was most unlike her. Usually she has nothing to do with such tittle-tattle, but it seems that the rumors were unusually strong. I suspect someone seeded them long before the assassination. And then there are the pamphlets."

Karr nodded. Yes, it would be hard to counter the effect of the pamphlets. In the past they had been circulated on a small scale, but reports were coming in that millions of the things had been distributed throughout the Lowers. All of which spoke of a much larger scale of activity than before. And the assassination itself was far more subtle, far better planned than previous Ping Tiao attacks. Far more audacious. Whoever was behind all this had learned a great deal from past mistakes. Chen had gone to the door. He pulled it shut, then turned, looking back at Karr. "So what now? Where do we begin?"

Karr lifted the pamphlet. "We begin with this. I want to know how much of it is true and I want to know how our friends the terrorists got hold of the information." "And the two women?"

Karr smiled. "We've got good descriptions on both of them from several sources—Leyden, the wives and servants, the three guards who tried to intercept them at the elevator. We'll get one of our experts to run a face match and see what comes out of the computer files. Then we'll dig a little deeper. See what turns up."

"And then?"

It seemed an innocuous question, but Kan- knew what Chen meant. If they got to the girl, what would they do? Would they kill her? Would they hand her over, to be tortured and disposed of at the whim of the T'ing Wei official, Yen T'ung? Or was there something else they might do? Something that was not strictly by the book?

Karr sat back, sighing heavily. "I don't know, Chen. Let's find her first, neh? Then we'll decide."

IT WAS A DARK and empty place, echoing silent, its ceiling lost in the blackness overhead. They were gathered at one end, a single lamp placed at the center of the circle of chairs. There were nine of them, including Ywe Hao, and they spoke softly, leaning toward the lamp, their faces moving from darkness into light, features forming from the anonymity of shadow. Just now the one called Edel was speaking.

"Is there any doubt?" he said, looking across at Ywe Hao as he spoke. "There are many who have heard the guard's story. How she killed my brother—shot him in the back—and spared the guard."

"So you say," said Mach, his long, thin face stretching toward the light. "But have you witnesses to bring forward? Written statements?"

Edel laughed scathingly, moving back into shadow. "As if they'd come here! As if they'd risk their names on paper to satisfy a Yu court!"

"No Yu, even?" Mach insisted. "Or is it only your say-so? Chi Li here denies your charge. Without proof it is her word against yours. Your dead brother has no voice here."

"Send someone. Get proof."

A woman leaned forward, one of the Council of Five. Her face, etched in the light like a woodcut, showed strong, determined features. Her voice, when she spoke, was hard, uncompromising. "You know we cannot do that. You know also that you broke our strictest orders by going yourself." "He was my brother*." "We are all brothers." "Not all, it seems. Some are murderers."

There was a moment's silence, then Mach leaned forward. "You asked for this hearing, Edel. As was your right. But you have made accusations without supporting evidence. You have brought the reputation of a good and proven comrade into question. She has answered your charges fully and still you persist. Such, one might argue, is your duty as a brother. But do not add insolence to the list of things against you."

Edel stood. His voice boomed, echoing in the dark and empty space. "So it's wrong to want justice, is it? Wrong to want to unmask this murdering bitch?"

His finger pointed unerringly across the circle at Ywe Hao, who kept her head lowered, the lamplight shining in the crown of her dark, neat hair. This tableau held for a moment, then without another word, Edel sat back again, putting his trembling hands on his knees. From the fierce look of hatred in his eyes there was no doubting he believed what he said.

"Chi Li?" asked the woman, looking at her. "You stand by your account?"

Ywe Hao looked up, the lamp's light catching in her dark, liquid eyes. "Vasska was a fool. Erika and I barely got out alive. There was a patrol at the elevator he should have secured. We had to shoot our way out. Erika was badly wounded. These are facts. If I could, I would have killed him for that. For risking others' lives. But I didn't. Shou Chen-hai killed him. Killed him before I could get to him."

So ran the official Security report, given to the media. Edel had done nothing, provided nothing, to seriously counter this. His evidence was rumor, hearsay, the kind of romantic legend that often attached itself to this kind of event. The Five made their decision and gave it.

"I find no case proven," said Mach, standing. "You must apologize, Edel, or leave the Yu. That is our law."

Edel also stood, but there was no apology. Instead he leaned forward and spat across the lamp at Ywe Hao. It fell short, but at once Veda, the female Council member, stepped forward and pushed Edel back. She spoke quickly, harshly now. "That's it. You have proved that there's no place for you here. Go! And remember. Say nothing. Do nothing to harm the Yu. The merest word and we shall hear of it. And then . . ." She raised one finger to her throat and drew it across. "So be silent, and go."

Sullenly, glaring back at Ywe Hao, Edel left the circle and walked slowly across the factory floor, stopping only in the brightness of the doorway at the far end to look back, as if to say it wasn't over yet.

When he'd gone, Mach signaled to one of the men at his side to follow Edel. "Best do it now, Klaus. Veda's warning will have no effect on him. He is past reasoning."

The man nodded, then ran across the dark floor, following Edel, his knife already drawn. Mach turned, facing Ywe Hao.

"I'm sorry, Chi Li. This has been a sad day for us all."

But Ywe Hao was watching the man disappear in pursuit of Edel and asking herself if her lie had been worth the life of another man; if this baiter, his life for hers, could in any way be justified. And as if in answer, she saw Leyden again, standing there, terrified, facing Edel's brother, the man she had only known as Vasska, and knew she had been right to spare the guard and kill her comrade. As right as she had been in killing Shou Chen-hai.

The woman Veda came and stood by her, taking her hand, her words soft, comforting. "It's all right, Chi Li. It wasn't your fault."

But the thing was, she had enjoyed killing Vasska. Had wanted to kill him. And ^n^d^dMat:±n_gc.ose, turn,, her to face him, "I have another task for you Ve's a place the younger sons use. A place called the Dragonfly Club . . ."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Dragonflies

THE PAVILION of Elegant Sound rested on a great spur of pale rock, the delicately carved tips of its six sweeping gables spread out like the arms of white-robed giants raised in supplication to Heaven. To either side, twin bridges spanned the ravine, the ancient wood of the handrails worn smooth like polished jade by a million pilgrims' hands.

A dark, lush greenery covered the flank of Mount Emei surrounding the ancient building, filtering the early morning sunlight; while below, long, twisted limbs of rock reached down to a shadowed gorge, their dark, eroded forms slick with the spray of the two tiny falls that met in a frenzy of mist and whiteness at their foot. Farther out, a great heart-shaped rock, as black as night itself, sat peacefully amid the chill, crystal-clear flow.

Standing at the low wooden balustrade, Li Yuan looked down into the waters. For more than a thousand years travelers had stopped here on their long journey up the sacred mountain, to rest and contemplate the perfection of this place. Here two rivers met, the black dragon merging with the white, forming a swirl of dark and light—a perfect, natural tai ch'i.

He turned and looked across at his host. Tsu Ma stood by the table on the far side of the pavilion, pouring wine. They were alone here, the nearest servants five hundred ch'i distant, guarding the approaches. From the gorge below came the melodious sound of the falls, from the trees surrounding them the sweet, fluting calls of wild birds. Li Yuan breathed in deeply, inhaling the heady scent of pine and cypress, cinnamon and paulownia, that filled the air. It was beautiful: a place of perfect harmony and repose. He smiled. It was like Tsu Ma to choose such a place for their meeting.

Tsu Ma came across, handing Li Yuan one of the cups. For a moment he stood there, looking out past Li Yuan at the beauty of the gorge, then turned to face him, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Life is good, neh, Yuan?"

Li Yuan's smile broadened. "Here one might dream of an older, simpler age."

Tsu Ma grunted. "Things have never been simple for those who have to rule. Some problems are eternal, neh? Why, it is said that even the great Hung Wu, founder of the Ming Dynasty, slept poorly at night. Population pressures, famines, civil unrest, the corruption of ministers, court intrigues, the ambitions of rivals— these were as much his problems as they are ours. Nor was he much more successful at solving them."

Li Yuan frowned. "Then you think we should do nothing?"

"On the contrary. As T'ang, it is our purpose in this life to attempt the impossible—to try to impose some kind of order on the chaos of this world. There would be no justification for our existence were it not so. And where would we be then?"

Li Yuan laughed, then took a sip of the pale yellow wine, growing serious again. "And in Council tomorrow? How are we to play that?"

Tsu Ma smiled. Tomorrow's was an important meeting; perhaps the most important since Li Shai Tung's death nine months earlier. "With regard to GenSyn, I think you are right, Yuan. Wang Sau-leyan's proposal must be opposed. His idea of a governing committee of seven—one member appointed by each T'ang—while fair in principle, would prove unworkable in practice. Wang's appointment would be but a front for his own guiding hand. He would seize upon the slightest excuse— the most petty of internal divisions on policy—to use his veto. It would have the effect of closing GenSyn down; and as few of GenSyn's facilities are based in City Africa, our cousin would escape relatively unscathed, while you would be harmed greatly. Which is why I shall support your counterproposal of a single independent stewardship."

"And my candidate?"

Tsu Ma smiled. "I can see no reason why Wang should object to Wei Feng's man Sheng, taking charge. No. It's the perfect choice. Wang would not dare suggest that Minister Sheng is unsuited for the post." He laughed, delighted. "Why, i would be tantamount to a slur on Sheng's master, the T'ang of East Asia! And even our moon-faced cousin would not dare risk that."

Li Yuan joined in Tsu Ma's laughter, but deep down he was not so sure. Wang Sau-leyan made much of his power to offend. His sense of Hsiao—of filial submission—was weak. If the man had dared to have his father killed, his brother driven to suicide, what else might he not do? And yet the question of GenSyn was the least of the items that were to be discussed. As Tsu Ma knew, Li Yuan was prepared to concede ground in this instance if Wang in his turn would give way on more important matters.

"Do you think the balance of Council will be against us on the other measures?"

Tsu Ma stared into his cup, then shrugged. "It is hard to say. I have tried to sound Wu Shih and Wei Feng on the question of the proposed changes, but they have been strangely reticent. On any other matter—even the reopening of the House— I think we could guarantee their support, but on this I am afraid they see things differently."

Li Yuan huffed, exasperated. Without those concessions provided by the changes to the Edict and the reopening of the House, there was no chance of striking a deal with the Above over population controls. The three items worked as a package or not at all. The Edict changes were the sweetener in the package, creating new prosperity and new opportunity for the merchant classes; whereas the reopening of the House would not only satisfy the growing call for proper representation of the Above in government but also provide the vehicle for the passage of new laws. Laws controlling the number of children a man might have. Laws that the Seven might find it difficult to implement without Above support.

Tsu Ma looked at Yuan ruefully, knowing what he was thinking. "And the perversity of it is that Wang Sau-leyan will oppose us not because he disagrees— after all, he has made it quite clear that he would like to see changes to the Edict, the House reopened—but because it is his will to oppose us."

Li Yuan nodded. "Maybe so. But there is something else, Cousin Ma. Something I have not mentioned before now."

Tsu Ma smiled, intrigued, conscious of a darker tone in Yuan's voice. "Which is?"

Li Yuan laughed quietly, but his expression was somber, almost regretful. "First fill my cup, then I will tell you a tale about a nobleman and a T'ang and a scheme they have hatched to make all plans of mine mere idle talk."

IT WAS ALL much dirtier than she remembered it. Dirtier and more crowded. Ywe Hao stood there, her back to the barrier, and breathed out slowly. Two boys, no taller than her knee, stood beside her, looking up at her. Their faces were black with dirt, their heads covered in sores and stubble. Their small hands were held up to her, palms open, begging. They said nothing, but their eyes were eloquent. Even so, she shooed them from her, knowing that to feed two would bring a hundred more.

Main had become a kind of encampment. The shops she remembered from her childhood had been turned into sleeping quarters, their empty fronts covered with sheets. There were crude stalls in Main now, though what they sold seemed barely worth selling. There was rubbish everywhere, and the plain, clean walls she had glimpsed in memory were covered with graffiti and posters for a hundred different political groupings. And sometimes the symbol of a fish, done in blood-red spray paint.

Everything stank here. Urchins with shaved heads ran about between the milling adults. As she watched, an old woman pushed an empty soup-cart back toward the elevators. Loose wiring hung from its empty undercarriage and a worn sign on its scratched and battered side showed it had been donated by one of the big Above companies.

There was no sign anywhere of Security, but there were other groupings here. Men wearing armbands and looking better fed than the others, stood at the intersections and about Main itself, wielding ugly-looking clubs. Against the walls families huddled or lay, mother and father on the outside, children between. These last were mainly Han. They called them "little t'ang" down here, the irony quite savage, for these t'ang had nothing—only the handouts from Above. And an unfair share of that.

It had been only eight years since she had come from here. How could it have changed so much in that brief time?

Ywe Hao pushed across Main, jostled by surly, ill-featured men who looked at her with undisguised calculation. She glared back threateningly. On the far side one of them came across and took her arm. She shook herself free, reached out with a quicksilver movement that surprised him, and held him beneath the chin, pushing his head back firmly. "Don't. . ." she warned as she pushed him away. He backed off respectfully, understanding what she was. Others saw it too, and a whisper went out, but she was gone by then, down a side corridor that, unlike the rest, seemed little changed. At the far end was her mother's place.

The room was squalid. Three families were huddled into it. She knew none of them. Angry, worried, she came out into the corridor and stood there, her heart pounding. She hadn't thought. . . .

From across the corridor an old man called to her. "Is that you, Ywe Hao? Is that really you?"

She laughed and went across, stepping over a child crawling in the corridor. On either side people were watching her, standing in doorways or out in the corridor itself. There was no privacy anywhere down here.

It was her Uncle Chang. Her mother's brother. She went to him and held him tightly to her, so glad to see him that for the moment she forgot they had parted badly.

"Come in, girl! Come in out of the way!" He looked past her almost haughtily at the watching faces, sniffing loudly before ushering her inside and sliding back the panel.

It was quieter inside. While her uncle crouched at the kang, preparing ch'a, she looked about her. Most of the floor was taken up by three bedrolls, made neatly, tidily. To her left, beside the door panel, was a small table containing holos and 2-D's of the family. In a saucer in front of them was the stub of a burnt candle. The room smelled of cheap incense.

"Where's Mother?" she asked, seeing her presence everywhere.

Her uncle looked around at her and smiled. "At market. With Su Chen."

"Su Chen?"

He looked away, embarrassed. "My wife," he said. "Didn't you hear?"

She almost laughed. Hear? How would she hear? For years she hadn't known a thing. Had lived in fear of anyone finding out anything about them. But she had never stopped thinking of them. Wondering how they were.

"And how is she?"

"Older," he answered distractedly, then grunted his satisfaction at getting the kang to work. Ywe Hao could see he did little here. There was a Vid unit in the corner, but it was dead. She looked at it, then back at him, wondering how he filled his days.

She had been right to get out. It was like death here. Like slow suffocation. The thought brought back the memory of the last time she had been here. The argument. She turned her face away, gritting her teeth. How could they live like this?

The tiny silver fish hung on a chain about her neck, resting between her breasts, its metal cool against her flesh. It was like a talisman against this place; the promise of something better. And though it was foolish to wear it, she could not have faced this place without it.

Her uncle finished pottering about and sat back on the edge of the nearest bedroll. "So how are you?" His eyes looked her up and down. Weak, watery eyes, watching her from an old man's face. He had been younger, stronger, when she'd last seen him, but the expression in the eyes was no different. They wanted things.

He was a weak man, and his weakness made him spiteful. She had lived out her childhood avoiding his spitefulness; avoiding the wanting in his eyes. From his pettiness she had forged her inner strength.

"I'm fine," she said. And what else? That she was an expert killer now? One of the most wanted people in the City?

"No man? No children, then?"

Again she wanted to laugh at him. He had never understood. But something of her contempt must have shown in her face, for he looked away, hurt.

"No. No man. No children," she said, after a moment. "Only myself."

She moved away from the door and crouched beside the table, studying the small collection of portraits. There was one of her, younger, almost unrecognizably younger, there beside her dead brother.

"I thought Mother didn't need this."

Her uncle breathed out deeply. "She gets comfort from it. You'd not deny her that, surely?"

There was a holo of her father; one she had never seen before. No doubt her mother had bought the image from the public records. There was a file date at the foot of it that told her the holo had been made almost eight years before she had been born. He would have been—what?—twenty then. She shivered and straightened up, then turned, looking down at her uncle. "Do you need money?"

She saw at once that she had been too direct. He avoided her eyes, but there was a curious tenseness in him that told her he had been thinking of little else since she'd shown up. But to admit it... that was something different. He was still her uncle. In his head she was still a little girl, dependent on him. He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. "Maybe ... It would be nice to get a few things."

She was about to say something more when the panel behind her slid back and her mother stepped into the room, a middle-aged Han female close behind her.

"Chang, I—"

The old woman paused, then turned to face Ywe Hao, confused. At first it didn't register; then with what seemed a complete transformation, her face lit up. She dropped the package she was carrying and opened her arms wide. "Hao! My little Hao!"

Ywe Hao laughed and hugged her mother tightly, having to stoop to do so. She had forgotten how small her mother was. "Mama . . ." she said, looking into her eyes and laughing again. "How have you been?"

"How have I been?" The old lady shook her head. Her eyes were brimming with tears and she was trembling with emotion. "Oh, dear gods, Hao, it's so good to see you. All these years. . ." There was a little sob, then with another laugh and a sniff, she pointed to the beds. "Sit down. I'll cook you something. You must be hungry."

Ywe Hao laughed, but did as she was told, squatting beside her uncle on the bedroll. From the doorway Su Chen, unintroduced, looked on, bewildered. But no one thought to explain things to her. After a while she pulled the door closed and sat on the far side of her husband. Meanwhile, the old lady pottered at the kang, turning every now and then to glance at her daughter, wiping her eyes before turning back, laughing softly to herself.

Later, after eating, they sat and talked. Of things that had happened long ago, in her childhood; of happier, simpler times, when it had seemed enough simply to be alive. And if their talk steered a course about the darker things—those great unmentionables that lay like jagged rocks in the flow of time—that was understandable, for why destroy the moment's happiness? Why darken the waters with the stain of ancient agonies?

For a time, it seemed almost as though the long years of parting had not happened; that this day and the last were stitched together like points on a folded cloth. But when, finally, she left them, promising to return, she knew at last that there was no returning. She had gone beyond this, to a place where even a mother's love could not keep her.

Looking back at Main she saw the changes everywhere. Time had injured this place, and there seemed no way to heal it. Best then to tear it down. Level by level. Maybe then they would have a chance. Once they had rid themselves of Cities.

Shivering, more alone now than she had been for many years, she turned from it and stepped into the transit, going up, away from her past.

the DARK, heart-shaped ROCK was embedded deep in the earth beneath the pool, like the last tooth in an ancient's jaw. Its surface was scored and pitted, darker in places than in others, its long flank, where it faced the Pavilion, smoother than those that faced away; like a dark, polished glass, misted by the spray from the tiny falls. At its foot the cold, clear waters of the pool swirled lazily over an uneven surface of rock, converting the white-water turbulence of the two rivers' convergence into a single, placid flow.

From the rock one could see the two figures in the Pavilion; might note their gestures and hear the murmur of their words beneath the hiss and rush of the falling water. Tsu Ma was talking now, his hand moving to his mouth every so often, a thin thread of dark smoke rising in the air. He seemed intensely agitated, angered even, and his voice rose momentarily, carrying over the sound of the falls.

"It is all very well knowing, Yuan, but how will you get proof? If this is true, it is most serious. Wang Sau-leyan must be called to account for this. His conduct is outrageous! Unacceptable!"

Li Yuan turned to face his fellow T'ang. "No, Cousin Ma. Think what damage it would do to confront Wang openly with this matter. At best he might be forced to abdicate, and that would leave us with the problem of a successor—a problem that would make the GenSyn inheritance question a mere trifle, and the gods know that is proving hard enough! At worst he might defy us. If he did, and Hou Tung-po and Chi Hsing backed him, we could find ourselves at war among ourselves."

"That cannot be."

"No. But for once the threat to expose Wang might prove more potent than the actuality. If so, we might still use this to our benefit."

Tsu Ma sniffed. "You mean, as a bargaining counter?"

Li Yuan laughed; a hard, clear laughter. "Nothing so subtle. I mean we blackmail the bastard. Force him to give us what we want."

"And if he won't?"

"He will. Like us all, he enjoys being a T'ang. Besides, he knows he is too weak, his friends in Council unprepared for such a war. Oh, he will fight if we push him to it, but only if he must. Meanwhile he plays his games and bides his time, hoping to profit from our failures, to build his strength while eroding ours. But this once he has overstretched himself. This once we have him."

Tsu Ma nodded. "Good! But how do you plan to use this knowledge?"

Li Yuan looked outward, his face hardening to a frown of concentration. "First we must let things take their course. Hsiang Shao-erh meets with our cousin Wang on his estate in Tao Yuan an hour from now. My friend in Wang's household will be there at that meeting. By tonight I will know what transpired. And tomorrow, after Council, we can confront Wang Sau-leyan with what we know. That is, if we need to. If we haven't already achieved what we want by other, more direct means."

"And your. . . friend? Will he be safe? Don't you think Wang might suspect there is a spy in his household?"

Li Yuan laughed. "That is the clever part. I have arranged to have Hsiang Shao-erh arrested on his return home. It will seem as if he had . . . volunteered the information. As, indeed, he will."

Tsu Ma nodded thoughtfully. "Good. Then let us get back. All this talking has given me an appetite."

Li Yuan smiled, then looked about him, conscious once more of the beauty of the shadowed gorge, the harmony of tree and rock and water. And yet that beauty was somehow insufficient. It wasn't enough to set his soul at peace. Too much was happening inside. No. He could not break the habit of his being; could not free himself from the turmoil of his thoughts and let himself lapse into the beauty of the day.

He grasped the smooth wood of the rail, looking out at the great heart-shaped rock that rested, so solid and substantial, at the center of the flow, and felt a tiny tremor pass through him. This place, the morning light, gave him a sense of great peace, of oneness with things, and yet, at the same time, he was filled with a seething mass of fears and expectations and hopes. And these, coursing like twin streams in his blood, made him feel odd, distanced from himself. To be so at rest and yet to feel such impatience, was that not strange? And yet, was that not the condition of all things? Was that not what the great Tao taught? Maybe, but it was rare to feel it so intensely in the blood.

Like a dragonfly hovering above the surface of a stream.

Tsu Ma was watching him from the bridge. "Yuan? Are you coming?"

Li Yuan turned, momentarily abstracted from the scene, then with the vaguest nod, he moved from the rail, following his friend.

And maybe peace never came. Maybe, like life, it was all illusion, as the ancient Buddhists claimed. Or maybe it was himself. Maybe it was his own life that was out of balance. On the bridge he turned, looking back, seeing how the great swirl of white drifted out into the black, how its violent energy was stilled and channeled by the rock.

Then he turned back, walking on through the shadow of the trees, the dark image of the rock embedded at the center of his thoughts.

IT was midday and the sky over Northern Hunan was the cloudless blue of early spring. In the garden of the palace at Tao Yuan, Wang Sau-leyan sat on a tall throne, indolently picking from the bowls of delicacies on the table at his side while he listened to the man who stood, head bowed, before him.

The throne was mounted on an ancient sedan, the long arms carved like rearing dragons, the thick base shaped like a map of the ancient Middle Kingdom, back before the world had changed. Wang had had them set him down at the very heart of the garden, the elegant whiteness of the three-tiered Pagoda of Profound Significance to his right, the stream, with its eight gently arching bridges, partly concealed beyond a stand of ancient junipers to his left.

To one side Sun Li Hua, newly promoted to Master of the Royal Household, stood in the shadow of the junipers, his arms folded into his powder-blue sleeves, his head lowered, waiting to do his Master's bidding.

The man who stood before Wang was a tall, elegant-looking Han in his mid-fifties. He was wearing expensive dark-green silks embroidered with flowers and butterflies; unfashionable, traditional clothes that revealed he was of the Twenty-Nine, the Minor Families. His name was Hsiang Shao-erh and he was Head of the Hsiang Family of City Europe, Li Yuan's bondsman—his blood vassal. But today he was here, speaking to his Master's enemy. Offering him friendship. And more . . .

For an hour Hsiang had prevaricated; had talked of many things, but never of the one thing he had come to raise. Now, tiring of his polite evasions, Wang Sau-leyan looked up, wiping his fingers on a square of bright red silk as he spoke.

"Yes, Cousin, but why are you here? What do you want from me?"

For the second time that day Hsiang was taken aback. Earlier he had been terribly put out when Wang had invited him outdoors to talk. His mouth had flapped uselessly, trying to find the words that would not offend the T'ang; that might make clear this was a matter best discussed behind closed doors or not at all. But Wang had insisted and Hsiang had had to bow his head and follow, concealing his discomfort.

Now, however, Hsiang was feeling much more than simple discomfort. He glanced up, then looked away, troubled by Wang Sau-leyan's directness. For him this was a major step. Once taken, it could not be reversed. Even to be here today was a kind of betrayal. But this next. . .

With a tiny shudder, Hsiang came to the point.

"Forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but I am here because I can do you a great service." He lifted his head slightly, meeting Wang's eyes tentatively. "There is one we both . . . dislike immensely. One who has offended us gravely. He ..."

Wang raised an eyebrow, then reached across and took another slice of the sickly scented durian, chewing it noisily.

«„,„

"Go on, Hsiang Shao-erh . . ."

Hsiang looked down. "You know what happened, Chieh Hsia?"

Wang nodded, a faint smile on his lips. He did indeed. And, strangely enough, it was one of the few things he actually admired Li Yuan for. Faced with similar circumstances—with an outbreak of a deadly strain of syphilis—he would have acted exactly as Li Yuan had done, even to the point of offending his own Family Heads. But that was not the issue. Hsiang Shao-erh was here because—quite rightly—he assumed Wang hated Li Yuan as much as he did. But though Hsiang's loss efface before his peers had been a great thing, it was as nothing beside this act of betrayal.

Hsiang looked up, steeling himself, his voice hardening as he recalled his humiliation; his anger momentarily overcoming the fear he felt. "Then you understand why I am here, Chieh Hsia."

Wang's smile broadened. He shook his head. "You will have to be less opaque, Cousin. You talk of one who has offended us both. Can you be more specific?"

Hsiang was staring at him now. But Wang merely turned aside, picking a lychee from one of the bowls and chewing leisurely at the soft, moist fruit before looking back at Hsiang.

"Well?"

Hsiang shook his head slightly, as if waking, then stammered his answer. "Li Yuan. I mean Li Yuan."

"Ah . . ." Wang nodded. "But I still don't follow you, Cousin. You said there was some great service you could do me."

Hsiang's head fell. He had clearly not expected it to be so hard. For a time he seemed to struggle against some inner demon, then he straightened, pushing out his chest exaggeratedly, his eyes meeting Wang's. "We are tied, you and I. Tied by our hatred of this man. There must be some way of using that hatred, surely?"

Wang's eyes narrowed slightly. "It is true. I dislike my cousin. Hatred may be too strong a word, but. . ." He leaned forward, spitting out the seeds. "Well, let me put it bluntly, Hsiang Shao-erh. Li Yuan is a T'ang. Your T'ang, to be more accurate. My equal and your Master. So what are you suggesting?"

It could not have been put more explicitly, and Wang could see how Hsiang's eyes widened fearfully before he looked down again. Wang reached out and took another fruit, waiting, enjoying the moment. Would Hsiang dare take the next step, or would he draw back?

"I . . ." Hsiang shuddered, his unease showing in the way his body swayed, his hands pulled at the silk over his thighs. Then, after another titanic inner struggle, he looked up again.

"There is a substance I have heard of. An illegal substance that was developed, I am told, in the laboratories of SimFic."

"A substance?"

la Hsiang moved his head uncomfortably. "Yes, Chieh Hsia. Something that destroys the female's ability to produce eggs."

"Ah . . ." Wang sat back, staring up into the blueness. "And this substance? You have it, I take it?"

Hsiang shook his head. "No, Chieh Hsia. As I understand, it was taken in a raid on one of Shih Berdichev's establishments. Your late father's Security forces undertook that raid, I believe, yet the substance—"

"Was destroyed, I should think," Wang said brusquely. "But tell me, Cousin. Had it existed—had there been some of this substance remaining, held, perhaps illegally, in defiance of the Edict—what would you have done with it?"

Again it was too direct. Again Hsiang shied back like a frightened horse. Yet the desire for revenge—that burning need in him to reverse the humiliation he had suffered at Li Yuan's hands—drove him on, overcoming his fear. He spoke quickly, nervously, forcing the words out before his courage failed.

"I plan to hold a party, Chieh Hsia. In celebration of Li Yuan's official twentieth birthday. He will accept, naturally, and his wives will accompany him, as they do to all such functions. It is there that I will administer this substance to his wives." Wang Sau-leyan had been sitting forward, listening attentively. Now he sat back, laughing. "You mean, they will sit there calmly while you spoon it down their throats?"

Hsiang shook his head irritably. "No, Chieh Hsia. I... The substance will be in their drinks."

"Oh, of course!" Wang let out another burst of laughter. "And the she t'ou, the official taster—what will he have been doing all this while?"

Hsiang looked down, biting back his obvious anger at Wang Sau-leyan's mockery. "I am told this substance is tasteless, Chieh Hsia. That even a she t'ou would be unable to detect any trace of its presence."

Wang sniffed deeply, calming himself, then sat forward, suddenly more conciliatory. He looked across at Sun Li Hua, then back at Hsiang Shao-erh, smiling.

"Let me make this absolutely clear, Hsiang Shao-erh. What you are suggesting is that I provide you with a special substance—an illegal substance—that you will then administer secretly to Li Yuan's three wives. A substance that will prevent them from ovulating."

Hsiang swallowed deeply, then nodded. "That is it, Chieh Hsia."

"And if our young friend marries again?"

Hsiang laughed uneasily. "Chieh Hsia⁷."

"If Li Yuan casts off these three and marries again?"

Hsiang's mouth worked uselessly.

Wang shook his head. "No matter. In the short term your scheme will deny Li Yuan sons. Will kill them even before they are born, neh?"

Hsiang shuddered. "As he killed mine, Chieh Hsia."

It was not strictly true. Hsiang's sons had killed themselves. Or, at least, had fallen ill from the yang mei ping—the willow-plum sickness—that had spread among the Minor Families after the entertainment at Hsiang's estate. If Li Yuan had helped Hsiang's sons end their worthless lives a few days earlier than otherwise, that was more to his credit than to theirs. They had been fated anyway. Their deaths had saved others' lives. But Wang was unconcerned with such sophistry. All that concerned him was how he might use this to his benefit. Hsiang's sense of humiliation, more than the death of his sons, drove him now. It made him useful, almost the perfect means of getting back at Li Yuan. Almost.

Wang Sau-leyan leaned forward, thrusting out his right hand, the matte-black surface of the Yu>e Lung, the ring of power, sitting like a saddle on the index finger.

Hsiang stared at it a moment, not understanding, then, meeting Wang's eyes, he quickly knelt, drawing the ring to his lips and kissing it once, twice, a third time before he released it, his head remaining bowed before the T'ang of Africa.

KARR HAD WASHED and put on a fresh uniform for the meeting. He turned from the sink and looked across. Marie was in the other room, standing before the full-length mirror. In the lamp's light her skin was a pale ivory, the long line of her 1 backbone prominent as she leaned forward. 7

For a moment he was perfectly still, watching her, a tiny thrill of delight rippling through him. She was so strong, so perfectly formed. He felt his flesh stir and gave a soft laugh, going across.

He closed his eyes, embracing her from behind, the warm softness of her skin, that sense of silk over steel, intoxicating. She turned, folding into his arms, her face coming up to meet his in a kiss.

"You must go," she said, smiling.

"Must I?"

"Yes, you must. Besides, haven't you had enough?"

He shook his head, his smile broadening. "No. But you're right. I must go. There's much to be done."

Her smile changed to a look of concern. "You should have slept. . ."

He laughed. "And you'd have let me?"

She shook her head.

"No. And nor could I with you beside me."

"The time will come ..."

He laughed. "Maybe. I can't imagine it, but. . .

She lifted her hand. "Here."

He took the two pills from her and swallowed them down. They would keep him awake, alert, for another twelve to fifteen hours—long enough to get things done. Then he could sleep. If she'd let him.

"Is it important?" Marie asked, a note of curiosity creeping into her voice.

"It is the T'ang's business," he answered cryptically, stone-faced, then laughed. "You must learn patience, my love. There are things I have to do ... well, they're not always pleasant."

She put a finger to his lips. "I understand. Now go. I'll be here, waiting, when you get back."

He stood back from her, at arm's length, his hands kneading her shoulders gently, then bent forward, kissing her breasts. "Until then . . ."

She shivered, then came close again, going up on tiptoe to kiss the bridge of his nose. "Take care, my love, whatever it is."

"Okay, Major Karr. You can take off the blindfold."

Karr removed the green silk headband and looked about him, surprised. "Where are we? First Level?"

The servant lowered his head respectfully, but there was a smile on his face. He was too wary, too experienced in his Master's service, to be caught by such a blatant attempt to elicit information, but he was also aware that, blindfolded as he was, Karr knew he had been taken down the levels, not up.

"If you would follow me . . ."

Karr smiled and followed, taken aback by the elegance of the rooms through which they passed. He had not thought such luxury existed here just above the Net, but it was not really that surprising. He had read the report on the United Bamboo; had seen the financial estimates for the last five years. With an annual turnover of one hundred and fifteen billion yuan, Fat Wong, the big boss of United Bamboo, could afford luxuries like these. Even so, it was unexpected to find them in such a setting. Like finding an oasis on Mars.

It was nothing like the palace of a T'ang, of course; even so, there was something impressive about this place, if only that it was set amid such squalor.

Karr looked down, noting that the floor mosaic mirrored that of the ceiling overhead. Nine long, thick canes of bamboo were gripped by a single, giant hand, the ivory yellow of the canes and the hand contrasted against the brilliant emerald green of a paddy field. Karr smiled, thinking of how often he had seen that symbol, on the headbands of dead runners trapped in Security ambushes, or on the packaging of illicitly smuggled goods that had made their way up from the Net. And now he was to meet the head behind that grasping hand—the 489 himself. The servant had stopped. Now he turned, facing Karr again, and bowed deeply. "Forgive me, Major Karr, but I must leave you here. If you would go through, my Master will be with you in a while."

Karr went through, past a comfortably furnished anteroom and out into a long, spacious gallery with a moon door at each end. Here, on the facing walls, were displayed the banners of the thirty or more minor Triads that the United Bamboo had conquered or assimilated over the centuries. Karr made his way down the row, stopping at the last of the banners.

He reached up, touching the ancient silk gently, delicately, conscious that it was much older than the others hanging there. The peacock blue of the banner had faded, but the golden triangle at its center still held something of its former glory. In the blue beside each face of the triangle was embroidered a Han word, the original red of the pictograms transformed by time into a dull mauvish-brown, like ancient bloodstains. He gave a little shudder, then offered the words softly to the air.

"Tian. Nan Jen. Tu."

Heaven. Man. Earth. He turned, meaning to study the banners on the other wall, then stopped, noticing the figure that stood inside the moon door at the far end of the gallery.

"You walk quietly, Wong Yi-sun. Like a bird."

Fat Wong smiled, then came forward, his cloth-clad feet making no sound on the tiles.

"I am delighted to meet you, Major Karr. Your reputation precedes you."

Karr bowed, then looked up again, noting how the smile remained even as Wong's eyes looked him up and down, assessing him.

Contrary to public expectations, Fat Wong was not fat at all. Quite the contrary—he was a compact, wiry-looking man, who in his peach silks and bound white feet looked more like a successful First Level businessman than the reputedly savage leader of one of the seven biggest Triads in City Europe. Karr had read the file and seen holos of Wong; even so, he found himself unprepared for the soft-spokenness of the man, for the air of sophistication that seemed to emanate from him.

"1 am honored that you would see me, Wong Yi-sun. A thousand blessings upon your sons."

"And yours, Major. I understand you are recently married. A fine, strong woman, I am told." Wong's smile broadened. "I am happy for you. Give her my best regards. A man needs a strong wife in these unhappy times, neh?"

Karr bowed his head. "Thank you, Wong Yi-sun. I will pass on your kind words." Fat Wong smiled and let his eyes move from Karr's figure for the first time since he had entered the room. Released from his gaze, Karr had a better opportunity of studying the man. Seen side-on, one began to notice those qualities that had made Wong Yi-sun a 489. There was a certain sharpness to his features, a restrained tautness, that equated with reports on him. When he was younger, it was said, he had gone into a rival's bedroom and cut off the man's head with a hatchet, even as he was making love to his wife, then had taken the woman for his own. Later, he had taken the name Fat Wong, because, he claimed, the world was a place where worm ate worm, and only the biggest, fattest worm came out on top. From then on he had worked day and night to be that worm—to be the fattest of them all. And now he was. Or almost.

"I noticed you were admiring the ancient silk, Major. Do you know the history of the banner?"

Karr smiled. "I have heard something of your history, Wong Yi-sun, but of that banner I am quite ignorant. It looks very old."

Wong moved past Karr, standing beneath the banner, then turned, smiling up at the big man.

"It is indeed. More than four hundred years old, in fact. You say you know our history, Major Karr, but did you realize just how old we are? Before the City was, we were. When the City no longer is, we shall remain."

Wong's smile broadened, and Karr, watching him, remembered what Novacek had told him—that the higher officials of the Triads never smiled in the company of strangers—and felt wrong-footed once more.

Wong Yi-sun moved down the row of banners, then turned, facing Karr again.

"People call us criminals. They say we seek to destroy the social fabric of Chung Kuo, but they lie. Our roots are deep. We were founded in the late seventeenth century by the five monks of the Fu Chou monastery—honorable, loyal men, whose only desire was to overthrow the Ch'ing, the Manchu, and replace them with the rightful rulers of Chung Kuo, the Ming. Such was our purpose for a hundred years. Before the Manchu drove us underground, persecuting our members and cutting dff our resources. After that we were left with no choice. We had to improvise."

Karr smiled inwardly. Improvise. It was a wonderfully subtle euphemism for the crudest of businesses: the business of murder and prostitution, gambling, drugs, and protection.

"So you see, Major Karr. We have always been loyal to the traditions of Chung Kuo. Which is why we are always pleased to do business with the Seven. We are not their enemies, you understand. All we wish for is to maintain order in those lawless regions that have escaped the long grasp of the T'ang."

"And the banner?"

Fat Wong smiled, then lowered his head slightly. "The banner comes from Fu Chou monastery. It is the great ancestor of all such banners. And whoever leads the Great Council holds the banner."

Wong's smile tightened.

"And you. . ." But it didn't need to be said. Karr understood. But why had Wong told him? Not, surely, to impress him. Unless . . .

Wong turned slightly, his stance suggesting that Karr should join him. Kan-hesitated, then went across, his mind racing. Fat Wong wanted something. Something big. But to ask for help directly was impossible for Wong: for to admit to any weakness—to admit that there was something, anything, beyond his grasp—would involve him in an enormous loss of face. And face was everything down here. As Above.

Karr shivered, filled with a sudden certainty. Yes. Something was happening down here. In that veiled allusion to the Triad Council and the banner, Fat Wong had revealed more than he'd intended. Karr looked at him in profile and knew he was right. Fat Wong was under pressure. But from whom? From inside his own Triad, or from without—from another of the 4895? Whichever, he had seized this opportunity to broach the matter—to approach it subtly, without having to ask directly.

But what precisely was going on?

Wong looked back at the banners, then with the briefest smile, moved on. "Come, Major," he said. "We have much to say and it is far more comfortable within."

He followed Wong through, up a broad flight of steps and out into a huge, subtly lit room.

Steps led down into a sunken garden, at the center of which was a tiny, circular pool. Within the pool seven golden fish seemed to float, as if suspended in glass. But the garden and the pool were not the most striking things about the room, for the eye was drawn beyond them to where one whole wall—a wall fifty ch'i in length, ten in height—seemed to look out onto the West Lake at Hang Chou, providing a panoramic view of its pale, lacelike bridges and pagodas, its willow-strewn islands and ancient temples. Here it was perpetually spring, the scent of jasmine and apple blossom heavy in the cool, moist air.

From somewhere distant, music sounded, carried on the breeze that blew gently through the room. For a moment the illusion was so perfect that Karr held himself still, enthralled by it. Then, realizing Wong was watching him, he went down the steps and stood at the edge of the pool.

"You know why 1 have come here, Wong Yi-sun?"

"I understand you want some information. About the Ko Ming who assassinated the Hsien Ling."

"We thought you might know something about this group—for instance, whether or not they were related to the Ping Tiao."

"Because they share the same symbol?" Wong sniffed, his face suddenly ugly. "1 don't know what your investigations have thrown up, Major Karr, but let me tell you this, the Hsien L'ing was meddling in things he ought never to have been involved in."

Karr kept his face a mask, but behind it he felt an intense curiosity. What was Shou Chen-hai involved in that could possibly anger Fat Wong? For there was no doubting that Wong Yi-sun was furious.

"And the Ko Ming?"

Fat Wong gulped savagely at his drink, then took a deep breath, calming himself. "Your assassins are called the Yu. Beyond that I cannot say. Only that their name echoes throughout the Lowers."

Karr nodded thoughtfully. "That is unusual, neh?"

Wong met Karr's eyes steadily. "You are quite right, Major Karr. They are something different. We have not seen their like for many years. I—"

Wong paused, looking beyond Karr, toward the arched doorway. "Come," he said brusquely, one hand waving the servant in.

The servant handed Wong something, then leaned close, whispering. Then he backed away, his head lowered, his eyes averted.

For a moment Wong stared at the three tiny packages, his hand trembling with anger, then he thrust his hand out, offering them to Karr.

"These are yours, I understand."

Karr nodded, but made no attempt to take the three tiny, waxen packages from the 489. "We found them in the Hsien L'ing's apartment. I thought they might interest you."

Wong narrowed his eyes. "You know what was in them?"

Again Karr nodded. They had had them analyzed and knew they were something special. But what did Fat Wong know about them? Karr watched the movement in his face and began to understand. Wong hadn't been sure. He had only suspected until he had seen the packages. But now he knew.

Wong turned away and stood there, as if staring out across the lake. A wisp of his jet black hair moved gently in the breeze. "They have overstretched themselves this time. They have sought to destroy the balance . . ."

Then, as if he realized he had said too much, he turned back, giving a tiny shrug. But though Fat Wong smiled, his eyes gave him away. This was what had been worrying him. This was the big something he could not deal with on his own. He had been the biggest, fattest worm until now. The keeper of the ancient banner. But now the Big Circle was making its bid to oust him; a bid financed by the revenue from new drugs, new markets.

But what did Fat Wong want? Did he want help to crush the Big Circle? Or did he want something else—some other arrangement that would keep the Big Circle in their place while keeping him supreme? And, beyond that, what would his own master, Li Yuan, want from such a deal? That was, if he wanted anything but to keep the Triads in their place.

Li Yuan's father, Li Shai Tung, had tried to make such a deal. To forge some kind of order in the Lowers by granting concessions to men like Fat Wong. But would it work? Would it not merely give them too much power? And, in the end, would they not have to crush them anyway? Or see themselves displaced.

Fat Wong closed his hand over the three tiny packets, then threw them down into the water. Reaching inside his silks, he withdrew a slender envelope.

"Give this to your T'ang," he said, handing it across.

"And what am I to say?"

"That I am his friend. His very good friend."

ON THE TABLE by the bed was a holo plinth. Mach knelt, then placed his hand on the pad. Nothing. He turned slightly, looking up at Ywe Hao, curious. She leaned across him, holding her fingertips against the pad. At once two tiny figures formed in the air above the plinth.

"My brother," she explained. "He died in an industrial accident. At least, that's what the official inquiry concluded. But that's not the story his friends told at the time. He was a union organizer. Eighteen he was. Four years older than me. My big brother. They say the pan chang threw him from a balcony. Eight levels he fell, into machinery. There wasn't much left of him when,they pulled him out. Just bits."

Mach took a breath, then nodded. For a moment longer Ywe Hao stared at the two tiny images, then drew her hand back, the pain in her eyes sharp, undiminished by the years.

"I wanted to see," he said, looking about him again. "I wanted to be sure."

"Sure?"

"About you."

"Ah ..."

He smiled. "Besides which, I've got to brief you."

She frowned, then stood, moving back slightly. "About what?"

"The attack on the Dragonfly Club. We're bringing it forward." He stood, then went over to his pack and took out a hefty-looking folder, holding it out for her to take.

She looked down at the folder, then back at Mach. "What's this?"

"It's a full dossier on all those involved." He grimaced. "It's not pleasant reading, but then it's not meant to be. You have to understand why we need to do this. Why we have to kill these men."

"And the raid? When do we go in?"

"Tonight."

"Tonight? But I thought you said it would take at least a week to set this up."

"That's what I thought. But our man is on duty tonight. And there's a meeting on."

She shuddered, understanding. "Even so, we've not had time to rehearse things. We'd be going in blind."

Mach shook his head, then sat on the edge of the bed, indicating that she should sit next to him. "Let me explain. When I spoke to you the other day—when I gave you this assignment—I had already allocated a team leader. But after what happened I wanted to give you a chance. An opportunity to prove yourself."

She made to speak, but he silenced her.

"Hear me out. I know what happened the other day. I know you killed Vasska. But it doesn't matter. You were right. The other matter—his brother—that's unfortunate, but we'll deal with it. What was important was that you did the right thing. If you'd let him kill the guard . . . well, it would have done us great harm, neh?"

She hesitated, then nodded, but he could see she was unhappy with his oversimplification of events. Which was good. It showed that she hadn't acted callously. He took the folder from her lap and opened it up, turning one of the still photographs toward her.

"This is why we're going in tonight. To put an end to this kind of thing. But it has to be done carefully. That's why I've drafted you in to lead the team. Not to organize the raid—your team knows exactly what they have to do; they've rehearsed it a hundred times. No, your role is to keep it all damped down. To make sure the right people are punished. I don't want anyone getting overexcited. We have to get this right. If we get it wrong, we're fucked, understand me?"

She nodded, but her eyes stayed on the photo of the mutilated child. After a moment she looked up at him, the disgust in her eyes touched with a profound sadness. "What makes them do this, Jan? How in the gods' names could anyone do this to a little boy?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. It's how they are." He put his hand gently to her cheek. "AH I know is that all that anger you feel, all that disgust and indignation . . . well, it's a healthy thing. I want to harness that. To give it every opportunity to express itself."

He let hisliand fall away, then laughed softly. "You know, you remind me of an old friend. She was like you. Strong. Certain about what she did."

Ywe Hao shivered, then looked down again. "What about my cover?"

Mach smiled, impressed by her professionalism, then turned, pointing across at the pack beside the door. "It's all in there. All you need to do is read the file. Someone will come for you at eleven. You go in at second bell."

He sat back. "There's a lot there, but read it all. Especially the statements by the parents. As I said, you need to know why you're there. It'll make it easier to do what you have to do."

She nodded.

"Good. Now I must go. My shift begins in an hour and I've got to get back and change. Good luck, Ywe Hao. May Kuan Yin smile on you tonight."

IN THETORCH-LiTSiLENCEofthe Hall of Eternal Peace and Tranquillity, Li Yuan knelt on the cold stone tiles, facing the hologram of his father. Thin threads of smoke from the offering sticks drifted slowly upward, their rosewood scent merging with the chill dampness of the ancient room. Beyond the ghostly radiant figure of the dead T'ang, the red lacquer of the carved screen seemed to shimmer, as if it shared something of the old man's insubstantiality, the Yuie Lung at its center flickering, as if, at any moment, it might vanish, leaving a smoking circle of nothingness.

Li Shai Tung stood there as in life, the frailty of his latter days shrugged off, the certainty he had once professed shaping each ghostly gesture as he spoke.

"Your dreams have meaning, Yuan. As a boy I was told by my father to ignore my dreams, to focus only on what was real. But dreams have their own reality. They are like the most loyal of ministers. They tell us not what we would have them say, but that which is true. We can deny them, can banish them to the farthest reaches of our selves, but we cannot kill them, not without killing ourselves."

Li Yuan looked up, meeting his dead father's eyes. "And is that what we have done? Is that why things are so wrong?"

Li Shai Tung sniffed loudly, then leaned heavily on his cane, as if considering his son's words, but tonight Yuan was more than ever conscious of what lay behind the illusion. In the slender case beneath the image, logic circuits had instantly located and selected from a score of possible responses, preprogrammed guidelines determining their choice. It seemed spontaneous, yet the words were given—were as predetermined as the fall of a rock or the decay of atoms. And the delay? That, too, was deliberate; a machine-created mimicry of something that had once been real.

Even so, the sense of his father was strong. And though the eyes were blank, unseeing—were not eyes at all, but mere smoke and light—they seemed to see right through him; through to the tiny core of unrest that had robbed him of sleep and brought him here at this unearthly hour.

"Father?"

The old man lifted his head slightly, as if, momentarily, he had been lost in his thoughts. Then, unexpectedly, he gave a soft laugh.

"Dreams. Maybe that's all we have, Yuan. Dreams. The City itself, was that not a dream? The dream of our ancestors made tangible. And our long-held belief in peace, in order and stability, was that not also a dream? Was any of it ever real?"

Li Yuan frowned, disturbed by his father's words. For a moment his mind went • back to the evening of his father's death, recalling how sickly thin his body had \ been, how weak and vulnerable death had found him. He shuddered, realizing that | the seed of his father's illness had been sown long before the virus finished him. No. i He understood now. His father had been dead long before his heart had ceased I beating. Had died, perhaps, the day his brother, Han Ch'in, had perished. Or was| it before? Had something died in his father that night when he, Yuan, had forced his way prematurely from his mother's womb? Had all his father's life since then been but a waking dream, no more substantial than this shadow play?

The question hovered close to speech, then sank back into the darkness. He returned to the matter of his dream. The dream that had awakened him, fearful and sweating in the coolness of his room.

"But what does it mean, Father? How am I to read my dream?" The dead T'ang stared at his son, then gave a tiny shudder. "You say you dreamed of dragonflies?"

Li Yuan nodded. "Of great, emerald-green dragonflies, swarming on the riverbank. Thousands upon thousands of them. Beautiful creatures, their wings like glass, their bodies like burnished jade. The sun shone down on them and yet the wind blew cold. And as I watched, they began to fall, first one, and then another, until the river was choked with their struggling forms. And even as I watched they stiffened and the brilliant greenness was leached from their bodies, until they were a hideous gray, their flesh flaking from them like ash. And still the wind blew, carrying the ash away, covering the fields, clogging every pool and stream, until all was gray and ashen." • "And then?"

"And then I woke, afraid, my heart pounding."

"Ah . . ." The T'ang put one hand to his beard, his long fingers pulling distractedly at the tightly braided strands, then shook his head. "That is a strange and powerful dream, erh tzu. You ask me what it means, yet I fear you know already." He looked up, meeting his son's eyes. "Old glassy, he is the very symbol of summer, neh? And the color green symbolizes spring. Furthermore, it is said that when the color green figures in a dream, the dream will end happily. Yet in your dream the green turns to ash. Summer dies. The cold wind blows. How are you to read this but as an ill omen?"

Li Yuan looked down sharply, a cold fear washing through him. He had hoped against hope that there was some other way to read his dream, but his father's words merely confirmed his own worst fears. The dragonfly, though the emblem of summer, was also a symbol of weakness and instability, of all the worst excesses of a soft and easy life. Moreover, it was said that they swarmed in vast numbers just before a storm.

Yet was the dream anything more than a reflection of his innermost fears? He thought of his father's words—of dreams as loyal ministers, uttering truths that could not otherwise be faced. Was that the case here? Had this dream been sent to make him face the truth?

"Then what am I to do?"

The dead T'ang looked at him and laughed. "Do, Yuan? Why, you must wear stout clothes and leam to whistle in the wind. You must look to your wives and children. And then . . ."

"And then, Father?"

The old man looked away, as if he'd done. "Spring will come, erh tzu. Even in your darkest hour, remember that. Spring always comes."

Li Yuan hesitated, waiting for something more, but his father's eyes were closed now, his mouth silent. Yuan leaned forward and took the burning spills from the porcelain jar. At once the image shrank, taking its place beside the other tiny, glowing images of his ancestors.

He stood, looking about him at the torch-lit stillness of the Hall—at the gray stone of the huge, funerary couch to his right, at the carved pillars and tablets and lacquered screens—then turned away, angry with himself. There was so much to be done—the note from Minister Heng, the packet from Fat Wong, the last few preparations for Council—yet here he was, moping like a child before his dead father's image. And to what end?

He clenched his fist, then slowly let it open. No. His anger could not be sustained. Nor would the dream be denied that easily. If he closed his eyes he could see them—a thousand bright, flickering shapes in the morning sunlight, their wings like curtains of the finest lace. Layer upon layer of flickering, sunlit lace—

"Chieh Hsia . . ."

Li Yuan turned, almost staggering, then collected himself, facing his Chancellor.

"Yes, Chancellor Nan. What is it?"

Nan Ho bowed low. "News has come, Chieh Hsia. The news you were waiting for."

He was suddenly alert. "From Tao Yuan? We have word?"

"More than that, Chieh Hsia. A tape has come. A tape of the meeting between Wang and Hsiang."

"A tape . . ." Li Yuan laughed, filled with a sudden elation that was every bit as powerful as his previous mood of despair. "Then we have him, neh? We have him where we want him."

THE doorman had done his job. The outer door slid back at her touch. Inside it was pitch black, the Security cameras dead. Ywe Hao turned, then nodded, letting the rest of the team move past her silently.

The doorman was in the cubicle to the left, facedown on the floor, his hands on his head. One of the team was crouched there already, binding him hand and foot.

She went quickly to the end of the hallway, conscious of the others forming up to either side of the door. She waited until the last of them joined her, then stepped forward, knocking loudly on the inner door.

There was a small eye-hatch near the top of the reinforced door. She faced it, clicking on the helmet lamp and holding up her ID card. The call had gone out half an hour ago, when the outer power had "failed," so they were expecting her.

The hatch cover slid back, part of a face staring out from the square of brightness within.

"Move the card closer." She did as she was told.

"Shit . . ." The face moved away, spoke to someone inside. "It's a fuckiri woman."

"Is there a problem?"

The face turned back to her. "Well, it's like this. This is a mens' club. Women ain't supposed to come in."

She took a breath, then nodded. "I understand. But look. I've only got to cut the power from the box inside. I can do the repairs out here in the hallway."

The guard turned, consulting someone inside, then turned back. "Okay, but be quick, neh? And keep your eyes to yourself or there'll be a report going in to your superior."

Slowly the door slid back, spilling light into the hallway. The guard moved back, letting Ywe Hao pass, his hand coming up, meaning to point across at the box, but he never completed the gesture. Her punch felled him like a sack.

She turned, looking about her, getting her bearings. It was a big, hexagonal room, corridors going off on every side. In its center was a circular sunken pool of bright red tile, five steps leading down into its depths.

The young men in the pool seemed unaware of her entrance. There were eight of them, naked as newborns. One of them was straddling another over the edge of the pool, his buttocks moving urgently, but no one seemed to care. Behind him the others played and laughed with an abandon that was clearly drug induced.

She took it all in at a glance, but what she was really looking for was the second guard—the one her fallen friend had been speaking to. Unable to locate him, she felt the hairs on her neck rise; then she saw movement, a brief flash of green between the hinges of the screen to her right.

She fired twice through the screen, the noise muted by the thick carpeting underfoot, the heavy tapestries that adorned the walls, but it was loud enough to wake the young men from their reverie.

The others stood behind her now, masked figures clothed from head to toe in black. At her signal they fanned out, making for the branching corridors.

She crossed the room slowly, the gun held loosely in her hand, until she stood on the tiled lip of the pool. They had backed away from her, the drug elation dying in their eyes as they began to realize what was happening. The copulating couple had drawn apart and were staring wide-eyed at her, signs of their recent passion still evident. Others had raised their hands in the universal gesture of surrender.

"Out!" she barked, lifting the gun sharply.

They jerked at the sound of her voice, then began to scramble back, abashed now at their nakedness, fear beginning to penetrate the drug haze of their eyes.

She watched them climb the far steps, awkward, afraid to look away. One stumbled and fell back into the water. He came up, gasping, wide-eyed.

"Out!" she yelled again, making him jump, one hand searching for the steps behind him as he backed away.

She knew them all. Faces and names and histories. She looked from face to face, forcing them to meet her gaze. They were so young. Barely out of childhood, it seemed. Even so, she felt no sympathy for them, only disgust.

There were noises from the rest of the club now; thumps and angry shouts and a brief snatch of shrieking that broke off abruptly. A moment later one of the team reappeared at the entrance to one of the corridors.

"Chi Li! Come quickly. . . ."

"What is it?" she said as calmly as she could, tilting her head slightly, indicating her prisoners.

He looked beyond her, understanding, then came across, lowering his voice. "It's Hsao Yen. He's gone crazy. You'd better stop him." He drew the gun from his belt. "Go on. I'll guard these."

She could hear Hsao Yen long before she saw him, standing over the young man in the doorway, a stream of obscenities falling from his lips as he leaned forward, striking the prisoner's head and shoulders time and again with his rifle butt.

"Hsao Yen!" she yelled. "Ai yal What are you doing!"

He turned, confronting her, his face livid with anger, then jerked his arm out, pointing beyond the fallen man.

She moved past him, looking into the room, then drew back, shuddering, meeting Hsao Yen's eyes almost fearfully. "He did that?"

Hsao Yen nodded. He made to strike the fallen man again, but Ywe Hao stopped his hand, speaking to him gently. "I understand, Hsao Yen. But let's do this-' properly, neh? After all, that's what we came here for. To put an end to this."

Hsao Yen looked down at the bloodied figure beneath him and shivered, "All right. As you say."

She nodded, then looked past him, torn by what she saw. "And the boy? He's dead, I take it."

Hsao Yen shuddered, his anger transformed suddenly to pain. "How could he do that, Chi Li? How could he do that to a child?"

She shook her head, unable to understand. "I don't know, Hsao Yen. I simply don't know."

They were lined up beside the pool when she returned, three dozen of them, servants included. The masked figures of the Yu stood off to one side, their automatic pistols raised. She had two of their number hold up their beaten fellow, then went down the line, separating out the servants.

"Tu Li-shan, Rooke . . . take them through to the kitchens. I want them gagged and bound. But don't harm them. Understand?"

Ywe Hao turned back, facing the remaining men. There were twenty-three of them. Less than she had hoped to find here. Looking down the line she noted the absence of several of the faces from the files. A shame, she thought, looking at them coldly. She would have liked to catch them all; every last one of the nasty little bastards. But this would do.

"Strip off!" she barked angrily, conscious that more than half of them were naked already, then turned away, taking the thickly wadded envelope from within her tunic. These were the warrants. She unfolded them and flicked through, taking out those that weren't needed and slipping them back into the envelope, then turned back, facing them again.

They were watching her, fearful now, several of them crying openly, their limbs trembling badly. She went slowly down the line, handing each of them a single sheet of paper; watching as they looked down, then looked back up at her again, mouths open, a new kind of fear in their eyes.

They were death warrants, individually drafted, a photograph of the condemned attached to each sheet. She handed out the last, then stood back, waiting, wondering if any of them would have the balls at the last to say something, to try to argue their way out of this, perhaps even to fight. But one glance down the line told her enough. Hsao Yen was right. They were insects. Less than insects.

For a moment she tried to turn things around; to see it from their viewpoint; maybe even to elicit some small trace of sympathy from deep within herself. But there was nothing. She had seen too much; read too much: her anger had hardened to something dark, impenetrable. They were evil, gutless little shits. And what they had done here—the suffering they had caused—was too vast, too hideous, to forgive.

Ywe Hao pulled the mask aside, letting them view her face for the first time, letting them see the disgust she felt, then walked back to the end of the line and stood facing the first of them. Taking the paper from his shaking hands, she began, looking directly into his face, not even glancing at the paper, reciting from memory the sentence of the Yu Inner Council, before placing the gun against his temple and pulling the trigger.

fifth BELL was sounding as Wang Sau-leyan stood at the head of the steps, looking down into the dimly lit cellar. It was a huge, dark space, poorly ventilated and foul smelling. From its depths came a steady groaning, not from one but from several sources; a distinctly human sound, half-articulate with pained confession. The semblance of words drifted up to him, mixing with the foul taste in his mouth, making him shudder with distaste and spread his fan before his face.

Seeing him there, Hung Mien-lo tore himself away from the bench and hurried across.

"Chieh Hsia," he said, bowing low. "We are honored by your presence."

The T'ang descended the uneven steps slowly, with an almost finicky care. At the bottom he glared at his Chancellor, as if words could not express the vulgarity of this.

It was old-fashioned and barbaric, yet in that lay its effectiveness. Torture was torture. Sophistication had nothing to do with it. Terror was of the essence. And this place, with its dank, foul-smelling miasma, was perfect for the purposes of torture. It stank of hopelessness.

The bench was an ordinary workman's bench from an earlier age. Its hard wooden frame was scrubbed clean, and four dark iron spikes—each as long as a man's arm—jutted from the yellow wood, one at each corner, the polished metal thick at the base, tapering to a needle-sharp point. The prisoner's hands and feet were secured against these spikes with coils of fine, strong chain that bit into the flesh and made it bleed. Across his naked chest a series of heated wires had been bound, pulling tight and searing the flesh even as they cooled, making the prisoner gasp and struggle for each breath; each painful movement chafing the cutting wires against the blood-raw flesh.

One eye had been put out. Burned in its blackened socket. The shaved head was crisscrossed with razor-fine scars. Both ears had been severed. All four limbs were badly scarred and bruised, broken bone pushing through the skin in several places. There were no nails on hands or feet and the tendons of each finger had been cut neatly, individually, with a surgeons skill. Lastly, the man's genitals had been removed and the amputation sealed with a wad of hot tar.

Wang Sau-leyan looked, then turned away, moving his fan rapidly before his face, but Hung Mien-lo had seen, mixed in with the horror and the revulsion, a look of genuine satisfaction.

The prisoner looked up, his one good eye moving between the two men. Its movements seemed automatic, lacking in curiosity, intent only on knowing where the pain would come from next. All recognition was gone from it. It saw only blood and heat and broken bone. Wang Sau-leyan, looking down at it, knew it from childhood. It was the eye of his father's Master of the Royal Household, Sun Li Hua.

"You have his confession?"

"Yes, Chieh Hsia," Hung answered, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the bench. "He babbled like a frightened child when I first brought him down. He couldn't take much pain. Just the thought of it and the words spilled from him like a songbird."

And yet he's still alive, Wang thought. How can he still be alive when all this has been done to him?

The thought brought him to a new realization, and his anger at the man's betrayal was softened by a new respect for him. Even so, he deserved no pity. Sun Li Hua had sold him to another. To Li Yuan, his enemy.

Just as he sold my father to me.

Wang leaned over and spat on the scarred and wounded body. And the eye, following the movement, was passive, indifferent to the gesture, as though to say, "Is that all? Is there to be no pain this time?"

They moved on, looking at the other benches. Some were less damaged than Sun Li Hua, others were barely alive—hacked apart piece by piece, like hunks of animal product on a butcher's table. They were all old and trusted servants; all long-serving and "loyal" men of his father's household. And Li Yuan had bought them all. No wonder the bastard had been able to anticipate him in Council these last few times.

Wang Sau-leyan turned, facing his Chancellor.

"Well, Chieh Hsia?" Hung Mien-lo asked. "Are you pleased?"

There was an unpleasant smile on the Chancellor's features, as if to say there were nothing he liked better than inflicting pain on others. And Wang Sau-leyan, seeing it, nodded and turned quickly away, mounting the steps in twos, hurriedly, lest his face betray his true feelings.

It was a side of Hung Mien-lo he would never have suspected. Or was there another reason? It was said that Hung and Sun had never got on. So maybe it was that. Whatever, there would come a time of reckoning. And then Hung Mien-lo would really learn to smile. As a corpse smiles.

Li yuan STOOD at the window, letting himself be dressed. Outside, the garden lay half in shadow, half in light, the dew-misted top leaves of the nearby rhododendron bushes glittering in the dawn's first light. He held himself still as the maid drew the sashes tight about his waist, then turned, facing his Master of the Inner Chamber.

"And have you no idea what they want, Master Chan?"

Chan Teng bowed low. "None at all, Chieh Hsia. Only that the Marshal said it was of the utmost urgency. That I was to wake you if you were not awake already."

Li Yuan turned away, hiding the smile that came to his lips at the thought of Tolonen's bluntness. Even so, he felt a ripple of trepidation run down his spine. What could Chancellor Nan and the Marshal want at this hour?

They were waiting in his study. As he entered they bowed, Tolonen stiffly, Nan Ho more elaborately. Impatient to hear what had happened, he crossed the room and stood before them.

"Well, Knut? What is it?"

Tolonen held out a file. Li Yuan took it and flicked it open. After a moment he looked up, giving a small, strange laugh. "How odd. Only last night, I dreamed of dragonflies. And now this . . ." He studied Tolonen a moment, his eyes narrowed. "But why show me this? It's nasty, certainly, but it is hardly the kind of thing to wake a T'ang over, surely?"

Tolonen bowed his head, acceding the point. "In ordinary circumstances that would be so, Chieh Hsia. But this is a matter of the utmost importance. The beginning of something we would do well to take very seriously indeed."

Li Yuan turned, looking at his Chancellor. "So what makes this different?"

Nan Ho lowered his head again. "This, Chieh Hsia."

Li Yuan set the file down on a nearby chair, then took the pamphlet from his Chancellor. It was a single large sheet that had been folded into four, the ice paper no more than a few mols thick, the print poor, uneven. He realized at once that it had been hand set; that whoever had produced this had wanted to avoid even the slightest chance of being traced through the computer network.

He shrugged. "It's interesting, but I still don't understand."

Nan Ho smiled tautly. "Forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but it is not so much the pamphlet, as the numbers in which it has been distributed. It's hard to estimate exactly how many copies went out, but latest Security estimates place it at between a quarter of a billion and a billion."

Li Yuan laughed. "Impossible! How would they print that number? How distribute them? Come to that, how on earth would they finance it?"

And yet he saw how grave the old man looked.

"This is something new, Chieh Hsia. Something dangerous. Which is why we must deal with it at once. That is why I came. To seek your permission to make the elimination of this new group our number-one priority."

Li Yuan stared at his Marshal a moment, then turned away. A billion pamphlets. If that were true it was certainly something to be concerned about. But was Tolonen right to be so worried, or was he overreacting? He went to his desk and sat, considering things.

"What is Major Karr doing right now?"

Tolonen smiled. "Karr is on their trail already, Chieh Hsia. I put him in charge of investigating the murder of the Hsien L'ing Shou Chen-hai."

"And?"

Tolonen shook his head. "And nothing, I'm afraid. Our investigations have so far drawn a blank." "Nothing even from our Triad friends?"

"I am afraid not, Chieh Hsia."

Li Yuan looked down. "I see." Then Karr had told Tolonen nothing about his meeting with Fat Wong. About the message he had passed on from the Triad leader. That was interesting. It spoke lucidly of where Karr's ultimate loyalty lay.

"All right. But I want Karr in charge, Knut, and I want a daily report on my desk concerning any and every development. You will make sure he gets whatever resources he needs."

"Of course, Chieh Hsia."

He watched Tolonen go, then turned his attention to his Chancellor.

"Was there something else?"

The Chancellor hesitated, as if weighing something, then came forward, taking a small package from within his robes and offering it to his T'ang, his head lowered, his eyes averted. "I was not certain whether to give this to you, Chieh Hsia."

Li Yuan took the package, smiling, then felt his breath catch in his throat. There was the faintest scent from the silk. The scent of Mei hua. Of plum blossom.

"Thank you, Nan Ho. I. . ."

But the Chancellor had already gone. Even as Li Yuan looked up, the door was closing on the far side of the room.

He sat back, staring at the tiny package on his desk. It was from her. From Fei Yen. Though there were no markings on the wrapping, he knew no other would have used that scent. No one else would have used his Chancellor as a messenger.

He shuddered, surprised by the intensity of what he felt. Then, leaning forward, his hand trembling, he began to unfasten the wrappings, curious and yet afraid of what was inside.

There was a note, and beneath the note a tiny tape. He unfolded it and read the brief message, then lifted the tape gingerly, his eyes drawn to the gold-leaf picto-grams embossed into the black of the casing. Han Ch'in, they read. His son.

He swallowed, then closed his eyes. What did she want? Why was she doing this to him? For a moment he closed his hand tightly on the tiny cassette, as if to break it, then loosened his grip, letting the tension drain from him. No. He would have to see it. Suddenly he realized just how much he had wanted to go to the estate at Hei Shui and simply stand there, unobserved, watching his child at play.

Even so, the question still remained. What did she want? He went to the long window. Already the sun was higher, the shadows on the eastern lawn much shorter. He breathed deeply, watching the sunlight flicker on the surface of the pond, then shook his head. Maybe she didn't know. Maybe she didn't understand what power she had over him, even now. Maybe it was a simple act of kindness. . . .

He laughed quietly. No. Whatever it was, it wasn't that. Or not simply that. He turned, looking across at the tape, the note, then turned back again, staring outward. Whatever, it would have to wait. Right now he must prepare himself, clearing his mind of everything but the struggle ahead. Tonight, after Council, he could relax; might let himself succumb to his weakness. But not before. Not until he had dealt with Wang Sau-leyan.

He sighed and turned from the window, making his way back to his rooms and the waiting maids.

Out on the pond, in the early morning light, a dragonfly hovered over the water, its wings flickering like molten sunlight, its body a bright iridescent green.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

In a Darkened Eye

IT WAS just AFTER seven in the morning, but in the Black Heart business was brisk. At the huge center table a crowd of men pressed close, taking bets on the two tiny contestants crouched in the tight beam of the spotlight.

They were mantises, brought up from the Clay, their long, translucent bodies raised threateningly, switchblade forelegs extended before their tiny, vicious-looking heads as they circled slowly. To Chen, watching from the edge of the crowd, it was an ugly, chilling sight. He had seen men—Triad gangsters—behave in this manner, their every movement suggestive of a deadly stillness. Men whose eyes were dead, who cared only for the perfection of the kill. Here, in these cold, unsympathetic creatures, was their model; the paradigm of their behavior. He shuddered. To model oneself on such a thing—what made a man reduce himself so much?

As he watched, the larger of the creatures struck out, its forelegs moving in a blur as it tried to catch and pin its opponent. There was a roar of excitement from the watching men, but the attack faltered, the smaller mantis struggling free. It scuttled back, twitching, making small, answering feints with its forelegs.

Chen looked about him, sickened by the glow of excitement in every face, then came away, returning to the table in the corner.

"So what's happened?"

Karr looked up from the map, smiling wearily. "It's gone cold. And this time even our Triad friends can't help us."

Chen leaned across, putting his finger down where the map was marked with a red line—a line that ended abruptly at the entrance to the stack in which the Black Heart was located. "We've tracked them this far, right? And then there's nothing. It's a—what did you call it?—a white-out, right?"

Karr nodded. "The cameras were working, but the storage system had been tampered with. There was nothing on record but white light."

"Right. And there's no trace of either of them coming out of this stack, correct? The records have been checked for facial recognition?" Again Karr nodded.

"Then what else remains? No one broke the seals and went down to the Net, and no one got out by flyer. Which means they must be here."

Karr laughed. "But they're not. We've searched the place from top to bottom, and found nothing. We've taken the place apart."

Chen smiled enigmatically. "Which leaves what?" Karr shrugged. "Maybe they were ghosts."

Chen nodded. "Or maybe the images on the tape were. What if someone tampered with the computer storage system farther down the line?" He traced the red line back with his finger, stopping at the point where it took a sixty-degree turn. "What if our friends turned off earlier? Or went straight on? Have we checked the records from the surrounding stacks?"

Karr shook his head. "I've done it. A sixty-stack search. And there's nothing. They just disappeared."

At the gaming table things had changed dramatically. Beneath the spotlight's glare the smaller mantis seemed to be winning. It had pinned the larger creature's forelegs to the ground, trapping it, but it could not take advantage of its position without releasing its opponent. For a long time it remained as it was, moving only to prevent its foe from rising. Then, with a suddenness that surprised the hushed watchers, it moved back, meaning to strike at once and cripple its enemy. But the larger beast had waited for that moment. The instant it felt the relentless pressure of the other's forelegs lapse, it snapped back, springing up from the floor, its back legs powering it into the smaller insect, toppling it over. The snap of its forelegs was followed instantly by the crunch of its opponent's brittle flesh as it bit deep into its undefended thorax. It was over. The smaller mantis was dead.

For a moment they looked across, distracted by the uproar about the central table, then Karr turned back, his blue eyes filled with doubt. "Come . . . let's get back. There's nothing here."

They were getting up as a messenger came to their table; one of the Triad men they had met earlier. Bowing, he handed Karr a sheet of computer printout—a copy of a Security report timed at 4:24 A.M.

Karr studied it a moment, then laughed. "Just when I thought it had died on us. Look, Chen! Look what the gods have sent us!"

Chen took the printout. It was a copy of the first call-out on a new terrorist attack. On a place called the Dragonfly Club. The details were sketchy, but one fact stood out—a computer face-recognition match. He looked at Karr, then shook his head, astonished.

"Why, it's the woman . . . Chi Li, or whatever her real name is!" "Yes," Karr laughed, his gloom dispelled for the first time in two days. "So let's get there, neh? Before the trail goes cold."

YWE HAO WOKE, her heart pounding, and threw back the sheet. Disoriented, she sat up, staring about her. What in the gods' names . . . ?

Then she saw it—the winking red light of the warning circuit. Its high-pitched alarm must have woken her. She spun about, looking to see what time it was. 7:13. She had been asleep less than an hour.

Dressing took fifteen seconds, locating and checking her gun another ten. Then she was at the door, breathing deeply, preparing herself, as the door slid slowly back.

The corridor was empty. She walked quickly, her gun held out before her, knowing that they would have to use this corridor if they were coming for her.

At the first intersection she slowed, hearing footsteps, but they were from the left. The warning had come from her friends—the two boys at the elevator—which meant her assailants would be coming from that direction; from the corridor directly ahead. She slipped the gun into the pocket of her one-piece and let the old man pass, bowing, then went to the right, breaking into a run, heading for the interlevel steps.

Even as she reached their foot, she heard urgent whispering in the corridor behind her—at the intersection. She flattened herself against the wall, holding her breath. Then the voices were gone—three, maybe more of them—heading toward her apartment. -^

Vasska's brother Edel. She was certain of it. She had no idea how he had traced her, but he had.

She was eight, nine steps up the flight when she remembered the case.

"Shit!" she hissed, stopping, annoyed with herself. But there hadn't been time. If she'd stopped to dig it out from the back of the cupboard she would have lost valuable seconds. Would have run into them in the corridor.

Even so, she couldn't leave it there. It held full details of the raid; important information that Mach had entrusted her with.

People were coming down the steps now; a group of Han students heading for their morning classes. They moved past her, their singsong chatter filling the stairwell briefly. Then she was alone again. For a moment longer she hesitated, then went on up, heading for the maintenance room at the top of the deck.

karr looked about him at the ruins. It was the same pattern as before— broken Security cameras, deserted guard-posts, secured elevators, the terrorists'

trail cleverly covered by white-outs. All spoke of a highly organized operation, planned well in advance and carried out with a professionalism that even the T'ang's own elite would have found hard to match.

Not only that, but the Yu chose their targets well. Even here, amid this chaos, they had taken care to identify their victims. Twenty-four men had died here, all but one of them—a guard—regular members of the club, each of them "tagged" by the Yu, brief histories of their worthless lives tied about their necks. The second guard had simply been beaten and tied up, while the servants had again been left unharmed. Such discrimination was impressive and rumors about it—passed from mouth to ear, in defiance of the explicit warnings of the T'ing Wei—had thus far served to discredit every effort of that Ministry to portray the terrorists as uncaring, sadistic killers, their victims as undeserving innocents. Karr shook his head, then went across to Chen.

"Anything new?" he asked, looking past Chen at the last of the corpses. "Nothing," Chen answered, his weary smile a reminder that they had been on duty more than thirty hours. "The only remarkable thing is the similarity of the wounds. My guess is that there was some kind of ritual involved."

Karr grimaced. "You're right. These men weren't just killed, they were executed. And, if our Kb Ming friends are right, for good reason."

Chen looked away, a shudder of disgust passing through him. He, too, had seen the holos the assassins had left—studies of their victims with young boys taken from the Lowers. Scenes of degradation and torture. Scenes that the T'ing Wei were certain to keep from popular consumption.

Which was to say nothing of the mutilated corpse of the child they had found in the room at the-far end of the club.

Karr leaned across, touching Chen's arm. "It'll be some while before we can move on what we know. We're waiting on lab reports, word from our Triad contacts. There's little we can do just now, so why don't you get yourself home? Spend some time with that wife of yours, or take young Jyan to the Palace of Dreams. They tell me there's a new Historical."

Chen laughed. "And Marie? I thought this was supposed to be your honeymoon?"

Karr grinned. "Marie understands. It's why she married me."

Chen shook his head. "And I thought I was mad." He laughed. "Okay. But let me know as soon as something happens."

Karr nodded. "All right. Now go."

He watched Chen leave, then stood, feeling the emotional weight of what had happened here bearing down on him. It was rare that he was affected by such scenes, rarer still that he felt any sympathy for the perpetrators, but for once he did. The Yu had done society a great service here tonight. Had rid Chung Kuo of the kind of scum he had met so often below the Net.

He breathed out heavily, recalling Chen's disgust, knowing, at the very core of him, that this was what all healthy, decent men ought to feel. And yet the T'ing Wei would try to twist it, until these good-for-nothing perverts, this shit masquerading as men, were portrayed as shining examples of good citizenship.

Yes, he had seen the holes. Had felt his guts wrenched by the distress in the young boys' eyes, by that helpless, unanswered plea. He shuddered. The Oven Man had them now. And no evidence remained, but for that small, pathetic corpse and these mementos—these perverse records of a foul desire. And was he to watch it being whitewashed? Made pure and sparkling by a parcel of lies? He spat, angered by the injustice of it. Was this why he had become Tolonen's man? For this?

He looked about him. There was a tray of carapaced insects in a glass-topped case like those one found beneath the Net, but these were bright, sparkling, gaudily colored. Beside them was an ancient radio set, shaped like a woman's private parts. He shook his head then reached up, pulling a heavy, leather-bound volume down from a shelf.

He stared at the cover, trying to make out the design—that of a yellow eel curled about a fish—then caught his breath, understanding. The book was a trade catalog, the trade in question being that of young male prostitutes.

He thumbed through the pages. On each was displayed the naked figure of a young man—Han or Hung Moo—each of them handsome, athletic, well endowed. Fine young men, upright in their bearing, they had the look of ancient heroes, yet for all their beauty they were somehow tainted. One saw it in the slight curl of a lip or the expression in the eyes. The beauty here was all outward. Curious, Karr touched his fingers to the page and was surprised to find the flesh of the model warm, the background cold. As he drew his fingers back there was the slightest tingling of static.

He closed the book and put it back on the shelf, wiping his fingers against his shirt as if they'd been sullied, then moved back into the center of the room. He had seen enough. Enough to know he had been right about these young men. It was not the eccentricity but the soft luxury, the corruption of it, that nauseated him—that made him shudder with a deep inner revulsion. They had no idea, these people. No idea at all.

Everywhere he looked he found the signature of decadence; of sons given everything by their fathers—everything but time and attention. No wonder they turned out as they did, lacking any sense of value. No wonder they pissed their time away, drinking and gambling and whoring and worse—for inside them there was nothing. Nothing real, anyway. Some of them were even clever enough to realize as much, yet all their efforts to fill that nothingness were pointless. The nothingness was vast, unbounded. To fill it was like trying to carry water in a sieve.

Karr sighed, angered by the sheer waste of it all. He had seen enough to know that it was not even their fault; they had had no choice but to be as they were— spoiled and corrupt, vacuous and sardonic. They had been given no other model to emulate, no stamp to mark them out differently, and now it was too late.

He found the sheer sumptuousness of the room abhorrent. His own taste was for the simple, the austere. Here, confronted by its opposite, he found himself baring his teeth, as if at an enemy. Then, realizing what he was doing, he laughed uncomfortably and turned, forcing himself to be still.

It would be no easy task tracking down the Yu, for they were unlike any of the other Kb Ming groups currently operating in City Europe. They were fueled not by simple hatred—that obsessive urge to destroy that had fired the Ping Tiao and their like—but by a powerful indignation and a strong sense of injustice. The first Ko Ming emperor, Mao Tse-tung, had once said something about true revolutionaries being the fish that swam in the great sea of the people. Well, these Yu— these "fish"—were certainly that. They had learned from past excesses. Learned that the people cared who died and who was spared. Discrimination—moral discrimination—was their most potent tool, and they took great pains to be in the right. At least, from where he stood, it looked like that, and the failure of the T'ing Wei to mold public opinion seemed to confirm his gut instinct.

And now this. Karr looked about him. Last night's raid—this devastatingly direct strike against the corrupt heart of the Above—would do much to bolster the good opinion of the masses. He smiled, imagining the face of the T'ing Wei's Third Secretary, Yen T'ung, when he had seen the Yu's pamphlet. He would have known that word had gone out already: a billion pamphlets this time, if reports were true. Karr laughed, then fell silent, for his laughter, like the tenor of his thoughts, was indicative of a deep inner division.

His duty was clear. As Tolonen's man he owed unswerving loyalty. If the Marshal asked him to track down the Yu, he would track them down. Every last one of them. But for the first time ever he found himself torn, for his instinct was for the Yu, not against them. If one of those boys had been his son . . . He shivered. Yes, and he shared their indignation too, their passionate belief in justice.

But he was Tolonen's man; bound by the strongest of oaths. Sworn to defend the Seven against Ko Ming activity, of whatever kind.

He spoke softly to the empty room. "Which is why I must find you, Chi Li. You and all your Yu friends. Even if, secretly, I admire what you have done here. For I am the T'ang's man, and you are the T'ang's enemy. A Ko Ming."

And when he found her? Karr looked down, troubled. When he found her he would kill her. Swiftly, mercifully, and with honor.

the first OF them was facing Ywe Hao as she came through the door, his head half-turned, laughing at something. He fell back, clutching his ruined stomach, the sound of the gun's detonation echoing in the corridor outside.

The second was coming out of the kitchen. She shot him twice in the chest, even as he fumbled for his weapon. Edel was behind him. He came at Ywe Hao with a small butcher's knife, his face twisted with hatred. She blew his hand off, then shot him through the temple. He fell at her feet, his legs kicking impotently.

She looked about her. There had been five of them according to her lookouts. So where were the others?

There was shouting outside. Any time now Security would investigate. She went through to the kitchen, then came out again, spotting the case on the bed. Nothing appeared to be missing.

She went across and took the case from the bed. It was only as she lifted it that she realized she had been wrong. They had taken something. She flipped the case open. It was empty.

"Shit. . . ."

So she'd killed them for nothing. She shuddered, trying to think, trying to work out what to do. Where would they have taken the dossiers? What would they have wanted them for?

There were footsteps, coming down the corridor.

She threw the case down and crossed the room, standing beside the open door, clicking the spent clip from the handle of her gun. Outside the footsteps stopped.

"Edel? Is that you?"

She nodded to herself, then slipped a new clip into the handle. The longer she waited, the more jittery they'd get. At the same time, they might just be waiting for her to put her head around the door.

She smiled. It was the kind of dilemma she understood.

She counted. At eight she turned and went low, the gun kicking noisily in her hand as she moved out into the corridor.

OVERHEAD, tiny armies, tens of thousands strong, fought against a hazed background of mountains, the roar of battle faint against the hubbub of noise in the crowded Main. The giant hologram was suspended in the air above the entrance to the Golden Emperor's Palace of Eternal Dreams.

Crowds were pushing out from the Holo-Palace while others—young and old alike—lined up to get in, their necks craned back to watch the battle overhead. As Kao Chen pushed through, ushering his son before him, he smiled, seeing how his head strained up and back, trying to glimpse the air show.

"Well, Jyan? What did you think?"

The ten-year-old looked up at his father and beamed a smile. "It was wonderful!

That moment when Liu Pang raised his banner and the whole army roared his name. That was great!"

Chen laughed, holding his son to him briefly. "Yes, wasn't it? And to think he was but Ch'en She, a poor man, before he became Son of Heaven! Liu Pang, founder of the great Han Dynasty!"

Jyan nodded eagerly. "They should teach it like that at school. It's far more interesting than all that poetry."

Chen smiled, easing his way through the crowds. "Maybe, but not all poetry is bad. You'll understand that when you're older."

Jyan made a face, making Chen laugh. He, too, had always preferred history to poetry, but then he'd never had Jyan's chances, Jyan's education. No, things would be different for Jyan. Very different.

He slowed, then leaned close again. "Do you want to eat out, Jyan, or shall we get back?"

Jyan hesitated, then smiled. "Let's get back, neh? Mother will be waiting, and I want to tell her all about it. That battle between Liu Pang and the Hegemon King was brilliant. It was like it was really real. All those horsemen and everything!" Chen nodded. "Yes ... it was, wasn't it? I wonder how they did that?" "Oh, it's easy," Jyan said, pulling him on by the hand. "We learned all about it in school ages ago. It's all done with computer images and simulated movement."

"Simulated movement, eh?" Chen laughed, letting himself be pulled through the crowds and into one of the quieter corridors. "Still, it seemed real enough. I was wincing myself once or twice during some of those closeup fight scenes." Jyan laughed, then fell silent, slowing to a halt. "What is it?" Chen said, looking up ahead.

"Those two . . ." Jyan whispered. "Come. Let's go back. We'll take the south corridor and cut through."

Chen glanced at Jyan, then looked back down the corridor. The two young men—Han, in their mid-teens—were leaning against the wall, pretending to be talking.

Chen bent down, lowering his voice. "Who are they?"

Jyan met his eyes. "They're senior boys at my school—part of a tong, a gang.

They call themselves the Green Banner Guardians." "So what do they want?"

"I don't know. All I know is that they're trouble." "You've not done anything, then, Jyan? Nothing I should know of?" Jyan looked back at him clear eyed. "Nothing, Father. I swear to you." "Good. Then we've nothing to fear, have we?" He straightened up. "Do you want me to hold your hand?" Jyan shook his head.

Chen smiled, understanding. "Okay. Then let's go."

They were almost level with the two when they turned and stepped out, blocking their way.

"Where do you think you're going, shit-brains?" the taller of them said, smirking at Jyan.

"What do you want?" Chen asked, keeping the anger out of his voice.

"Shut your mouth, loo jen," said the second of them, moving closer. "We've business with the boy. He owes us money."

Chen made himself relax. So that was it. They were out of funds and thought they could shake down one of the junior boys. He smiled and touched the tiny eye on his tunic's lapel, activating it. "I don't think my son has any business with you, friend. So be on your way."

The first youth laughed; a false, high laugh that was clearly a signal. At the sound of it, four more youths stepped out from doorways behind him.

"As I said, the boy owes us money. Twenty yuan."

Chen put his left arm out, moving Jyan back, behind him. "You have proof of this?"

"Not on me," the first youth said, his face ugly now, his body movements suddenly more menacing. "But he does. And I want it. So unless you want to call me a liar . . ."

Chen smiled, moving his body slightly, so that the camera would capture all| their faces. "Oh, I'm sure there's no need for that, friend. But I'm afraid my son doesn't have a single fen on him, let alone twenty yuan."

The youth's eyes flickered to the side, then looked back at Chen, a smile coming to his lips. He was enjoying his game. "Well, what about you, loo jen⁷. They say a father is responsible for his son's debts. I reckon you're good for twenty yuan."

Chen smiled and shook his head, taking a step back. "I've spent my money, friend. Now let us pass. Our home is up ahead."

There was a peal of mocking laughter from behind the two youths. The taller of them stepped forward, resting his hand lightly on Chen's shoulder.

"I'm sorry. . . friend. . . but that's not possible. You see, I don't believe you. I saw the note you paid with at the picture house. You can't have spent all of that, can you?"

Chen looked at the hand on his shoulder. It was a thin, ugly hand. It would be easy—and immensely satisfying—to take it from his shoulder and crush it. But he could not do that. He was an officer of the T'ang. And besides, Jyan had to leam the right way of doing things.

Chen took a breath, then bowed his head, taking the slender, crumpled note from his pocket and handing it to the youth.

"Good. . ." The youth squeezed Chen's shoulder reassuringly, then stepped back, grinning. He turned, holding the note up triumphantly for his friends to se They whooped and jeered, making face and hand gestures at Chen. Then, with a final mocking bow to him, the youth turned and strolled arrogantly away, his friends parting before him then forming up behind, one of them turning to send a final gesture of contempt back at Chen.

Chen watched them go, then turned, looking down at his son. Jyan was standing there sullenly, his head turned away, held stiffly.

"I had to—" Chen began, but Jyan shook his head violently.

"You let them piss on us!"

Chen felt himself go still. He had never heard Jyan swear in front of him before. Nor had he ever heard that tone of anger—of hurt and fierce disapproval.

"There were six of them. Someone would have got hurt."

Jyan looked up, glaring at him. "You, you mean!"

It wasn't what he'd meant, but he didn't argue. He took a breath, spelling it out clearly, trying to make his son understand. "I am an officer of the T'ang's Security forces, Jyan, and I am off duty. I am not empowered to brawl in the corridors."

"They pissed on us," Jyan said again, glaring at his father, close to tears now. "And you let them get away with it. You just handed the money over to them, like some low-level oaf!"

Chen lifted his hand abruptly, then let it fall. "You don't understand, Jyan. I've got it all on camera. I—"

Jyan gave a huff of derision and turned, beginning to walk away.

"Jyan!. Listen to me!"

The boy shook his head, not looking back. "You let them piss on us!"

Chen stood there a moment longer, watching him, shaking his head, then began to follow.

Back at the apartment, he went through to the end bedroom. Wang Ti was sitting on the bed, packing his kit.

"Where is he?" he said quietly.

She looked up at him, then pointed to the closed door of Jyan's room. There, she mouthed. But leave him be.

He looked at her, then looked down, sighing heavily. Seeing that, she stopped and came across, holding him to her. "What is it?" she asked quietly.

He closed the door, then told her what had happened, explaining what he planned to do. If he acted now, they could trace the note to the youths. That and the evidence of the camera eye would be enough to have the boys demoted to a lower deck. It was the proper way of doing things. The effective way, for it rid the level of that kind of scum. But for once he felt a strong sense of dissatisfaction.

"You were right, Chen," she said softly, her face close to his. "And what you did was right. There must be laws. We cannot live as they did in the old days. It would be like the Net up here if it were otherwise."

"I know," he said, "but I let him down. I could see it in his face. He thinks I am a coward. He thinks I didn't have the guts to face them out."

Wang Ti shook her head, a momentary pain in her eyes. "And you, Chen? Do you consider yourself a coward? No. And nor do I. You are kwai, husband. Whatever clothes you wear, beneath it you will always be kwai. But sometimes it is right to step back, to avoid trouble. You have said so yourself. Sometimes one must bend like a reed."

"A* ya . . ." He turned his head aside, but she drew it back gently.

"Let him be, Chen. He'll come around. Just now his head is filled with heroics. That film you took him to see. His imagination was racing with it. But life is not like that. Sometimes one must concede to get one's way."

He stared back at her, knowing she was right, but some part of him couldn't help thinking that he should have acted. Should have crushed the boy's hand and broken a few of their hot heads. To teach them a lesson.

And impress his son . . .

He looked down. "It hurts, Wang Ti. To have him look at me like that. To have him say those things . . ."

She touched his cheek tenderly, her caress, like her voice, a balm. "I know, my love. But that, too, is a kind of bravery, no? To face that hurt and conquer it. For the good. Knowing you did right." She smiled. "He'll come around, Chen. I know he will. He's a good boy and he loves you. So just leave him be a while, neh?"

He nodded. "Well... I'd best get Deck Security onto it. I've got to report back in a few hours, so there's not much time."

She smiled and turned away, returning to her packing. "And Chen?"

"Yes?" he said, turning at the door, looking back at her.

"Don't do anything silly. Remember what I said. You know what you are. Let that be enough, neh?"

He hesitated, then nodded. But even as he turned away he knew it wasn't.

Damn them! he thought, wondering what it was that twisted men's souls so much that they could not exist without tormenting others.

IN the LONG, BROAD HALLWAY that led to the Hall of the Serene Ultimate it was cool and silent and dimly lit. From the dark, animal mouths of cressets set high in the blood-red walls, naked oil-fed flames gave off a thin watery glow that flickered on the tiled mosaic of the floor and gave a dozen wavering shadows to the slender pillars that lined each side. The long shapes of dragons coiled upward about these pillars in alternating reds and greens, stretching toward the heavens of the ceiling, where in the flicker of dark and light a battle between gods and demons raged in bas relief.

Between the pillars stood the guards, unmoving, at attention, in seven rows of eight, the variations of their ceremonial uniforms noticeable even at first glance. Light glimmered dimly on their burnished armor, revealing the living moistness of their eyes. They faced the outer doors prepared, their lives a wall, defending their lords and masters.

At their back was a second double door, locked now. Beyond it, the Seven sat in conference. There it was warmer, brighter. Each T'ang sat easy in a padded chair, relaxed, his ceremonial silks the only outward sign of ritual. Wang Sau-leyan, host of this Council, was talking now, discussing the package of proposals Li Yuan had set before them.

Li Yuan sat facing Wang, a hard knot of tension in his chest. Earlier, he had been taken aback by the unexpected warmth of the young T'ang of Africa's greeting. He had come expecting coldness, even overt hostility, but Wang's embrace, his easy laughter, had thrown him. And so now. For while his words seemed fair—seemed to endorse, even to embrace Li Yuan's scheme for the days ahead—Li Yuan could not shed the habit of suspicion. Wang Sau-leyan was such a consummate actor—such a natural politician—that to take anything he did or said at face value was to leave oneself open, unguarded, vulnerable to the next twist or turn of his mood.

Li Yuan eased back into the cushions, forcing himself to relax, trying to see through the veil of Wang's words. Beside him, he could sense Tsu Ma shift in his chair. He had glanced at him earlier and seen his own unease mirrored in his cousin's face.

"And so . . .*^Wang said, looking across at Li Yuan again, his smile clear, untroubled. "My feeling is that we must support Li Yuan's ideas. To do otherwise would be unwise, maybe even disastrous." He looked about him, raising his plump hands in a gesture of acceptance. "I realize that I have argued otherwise in the past, but in the last six months I have wrestled with these problems and have come to see that we must face them now, before it is too late. That we must deal with them, resolutely, with the will to overcome all difficulties."

Li Yuan looked down, aware of how closely Wang's words echoed his father's. But was that deliberate on Wang's part or mere unconscious echo? He drew a long breath, deeply uncertain. He had come prepared to fight Wang, to lay siege to his fortress and batter down the door, but Wang had put up no fight. His fortress was unmanned, the great door open.

He looked up, noting how Wang was watching him, and nodded.

"Good," Wang said, turning his head, looking first to Wu Shih, then to Wei Feng, understanding that those two alone remained to be convinced. "In that case, I propose that we draft a much fuller document to be agreed and ratified by us at the next meeting of this Council."

Li Yuan looked to Tsu Ma, surprised. Was that it? Was there to be no sting in the tail?

Tsu Ma leaned forward, a soft laugh forming a prologue to his words. "I am glad that we see eye to eye on this matter, Cousin, but let me make this clear. Are you proposing that we adopt Li Yuan's package of measures, or are you suggesting some . . . alteration of their substance?"

Wang Sau-leyan's smile was disarming. "In essence I see nothing wrong with Li Yuan's proposals, yet in matters of this kind we must make sure that the fine details—the drafting of the laws themselves—are to our satisfaction, neh? To allow too little would be as bad as to allow too much. The changes to the Edict must be regulated finely, as must the laws on population growth. The balance must be right, would you not agree, Wei Feng?"

Wei Feng, addressed unexpectedly, considered the matter a moment. He was looking old these days, markedly tired, and for the last meeting he had let his eldest son, Wei Chan Yin, sit in for him. But this time, in view of the importance of the meeting, he had decided to attend in person. He sat forward slightly, clearly in pain, and nodded.

"That is so, Wang Sau-leyan. And I am gratified to hear you talk of balance. I have heard many things today that I thought not to hear in my lifetime, yet I cannot say you are wrong. Things have changed these last ten years. And if it takes this package of measures to set things right, then we must pursue this course, as my cousin Wang says, resolutely and with the will to overcome all difficulties. Yet we would do well to take our own counsel on the extent and nature of these changes before we make them. We must understand the likely outcome of our actions."

Wang bowed his head respectfully. "1 agree, honored Cousin. There is great wisdom in your words. And that is why I propose that a joint committee be set up to investigate the likely consequences of such measures. Moreover, might I suggest that my cousin Wei Feng's man, Minister Sheng, be appointed head of that committee, reporting back directly to this Council with his findings."

Li Yuan stared at Tsu Ma, astonished. Minister Sheng! It was Sheng whom he and Tsu Ma had planned to propose as the new steward for GenSyn, Sheng who was the linchpin of their scheme to keep the company from financial ruin; yet somehow Wang Sau-leyan had found out, and now he had preempted them, robbing them of their candidate, knowing they had prepared no other. Wei Feng was nodding, immensely pleased by the suggestion. A moment later a vote had carried the decision unanimously, bringing them to the next piece of business, the question of GenSyn and how it was to be administered.

"But first let us eat," Wang said, lifting his bulky figure from the chair. "I don't know about you, cousins, but I could eat an ox, raw if necessary."

There was laughter, but it was not shared by Li Yuan or Tsu Ma—they were still reeling from the shock of Wang's final twist. Li Yuan looked across, meeting Wang's eyes. Before they had been clear, but now there was a hardness, a small gleam of satisfaction in them.

Li Yuan bit back his anger, then leaned forward and picked up the silk-bound folder, gripping it tightly as he made his way across and out onto the balcony. Only minutes ago he had decided not to use what he knew—not to play his final card— but now he was determined.

No. He was not finished yet. Let Wang Sau-leyan savor his tiny victory, for this day would see him humbled, his power in Council broken for all time.

And nothing—nothing—would stop him now.

AT THAT moment, twenty thousand Ji away, at Nanking spaceport a tall Han, wearing the outworld fashions of the Mars Colony, was stepping down from the interplanetary craft Wuhan. He had been through one exhaustive security check on board the ship, but another lay ahead. Ever since the attempt on Marshal Tolonen's life, security had been tight here.

He joined the queue, staring out across the massive landing pit dispassionately. The tests inside the ship had interested him. They were looking for abnormalities; for differences in the rib structure and the upper chest; signs of unusual brain scan patterns. He had had to produce a sample of his urine and his fecal matter. Likewise, he had had to spit into a small ceramic dish. And afterward the guard had looked up at him and smiled. "It's all right," he'd said, laughing as if he'd cracked the joke a thousand times, "you're human."

As if that meant anything. "Tuan Wen-ch'ang . . ."

He stepped forward, presenting his papers. The guard ignored them, taking his hand and placing it onto a lit-up pad on the desk in front of him. After a moment the guard released his hand, then brought around a swivel arm, indicating that he should put his eye to the cup. He did so, holding there a moment longer than was necessary for the machine to take a retinal scan.

"Okay," the guard said, then leaned across, taking Tuan's papers. Holding them under the high-density light he looked for signs of tampering or falsification. Satisfied, he slipped the pass into the slim black box at his side. A moment later it popped out again. At Security Central in Bremen the computer had entered Tuan Wen-ch'ang's personal details into the mainframe.

"All right. You're authorized for unobstructed passage in the four Cities in which you have business, full access granted between Level 150 and First Level."

Tuan gave the slightest bow then walked on, pocketing his papers.

Deep inside he felt a mild amusement. It had been much easier than he had expected. But he understood why. This whole society had been conditioned not to anticipate; to think of how things were and had always been, not of their potential. Their security procedures, for instance. They were testing for something that was already redundant; that was as outmoded as the tests they used to find it. On Mars things were different. There the pace was faster. Things had moved on.

He climbed aboard the courtesy train and sat there, waiting, his patience inexhaustible, his path through the great labyrinth of the City mapped out clearly in his head, as if already traveled. It was four hours by bolt to Luo Yang, then another hour and a half north to Yang Ch'ian on the edge of the City, only a hundred It from Wang Sau-leyan's palace at Tao Yuan. But the central computer records would show something else; would show him traveling south down the coast to catch the intercontinental shuttle from Fuchow to Darwin. And if the central computer said it were so, who would argue with it? Who would bother to check whether it reflected anything real—anything happening in the solid, physical world?

Tuan Wen-ch'ang's face remained placid, almost inscrutable in its masklike quality, yet deep down he was smiling. Yes, they had had all kinds of things bred out of them down here. Things that the species needed if it were to evolve beyond its present state. And that was why he was here. To remind them of what could be done. To shake them up a little.