"I'm sorry," Chen began. "I didn't know—" But Pavel interrupted him once more,
"There's something else." The young man hesitated, then shivered and went on. "It's the way you look at us, Kao Chen. I noticed it before. But now I think I understand. It's like we're a dream to you, isn't it? Not quite real. Something picturesque."
Chen was about to say no, to tell the boy that it was just the opposite—that all of this was real, and all the rest, inside, no more than a hideous dream to which he must return—but Pavel was looking at him strangely, shaking his head; denying him before he had begun.
"Maybe," he said finally, setting his jug down. But he still meant no. He had only to close his eyes and feel the movement of the air on his cheeks. . . .
"You came at the best time," Pavel said, looking away from him, back toward the dancers. "Just now the air smells sweet and the evenings are warm. But the winters are hard here. And the stench sometimes . . ."
He glanced back at Chen, then laughed, seeing incomprehension there.
"What do you think the City does with all its waste?"
Chen sipped at his beer, then shrugged. "I'd never thought—"
Pavel turned, facing him again. "No. No one ever does. But think of it. Over thirty billion, they say. So much shit. What do they do with it?"
Chen saw what he was saying and began to laugh. "You mean . . . ?"
Pavel nodded. "They waste none of it. It's stored in vast wells and used on the fields. You should see it, Kao Chen. Vast lake-like reservoirs of it, there are. Imagine!" He laughed strangely, then looked away. "In a week from now the fields will be dotted with honey carts, each with its load of sweet dark liquid to deposit on the land. Black gold, they call it. Without it the crop would fail and Chung Kuo itself would fall."
"I always thought—"
Chen stopped and looked across. The dull murmur of talk had fallen off abruptly; the music faltered and then died. He searched among the figures, suddenly alert, then saw them. Guards! The Overseer's guards were in the square!
Pavel had turned and was staring at him, fear blazing in his eyes. "It's Teng!" he said softly. "They must have found Teng!"
"No. . . ." Chen shook his head and reached out to touch the young man's arm to calm him. No, not Teng. But maybe something worse.
The guards came through, then stood there in a rough line behind their leader, a tall Hung Mao.
"Who's that?" whispered Chen.
"That's Peskova. He's Bergson's lieutenant."
"Gods ... I wonder what he wants?"
It was quiet now. Only the crackle of the fires broke the silence. Peskova looked about him, then took a handset from his tunic pocket, pressed for display, and began to read from it.
"By the order of Overseer Bergson, I have a warrant for the arrest of the following men. . . ."
Chen saw the guards begin to fan out among the peasants, pushing through the crowd roughly, their guns in front of them, searching for the faces of thoSe Peskova was naming, and wondered whether he should run, taking his chance. But as the list of names went on, he realized Tong Chou was not among them.
"What's going on?" he asked Pavel.
"I don't know. But they all seem to be friends of Field Super-
visor Sung and his wife. Maybe they forced him to make a list before they killed him."
Chen watched the guards gather the fifteen named men together and begin to lead them away, then looked about him, realizing how quickly the shadow had fallen once again.
"An hour," he said softly, more to himself than to Pavel. "If they can only wait an hour."
THE BODIES LAY heaped up against the wall. They were naked and lay as they had fallen. Some still seemed to climb the barrier of stone, their bodies stretched and twisted, their limbs contorted. Others had knelt, bowing to their murderers, facing the inevitability of death. Chen looked about him, sickened by the sight. Pavel stood beside him, breathing noisily. "Why?" he asked after a moment. "In the gods' names why? What had they done?"
Chen turned and looked to his left. The moon was high, a half-moon partly obscured by cloud. Beneath it, like the jagged shadow of a knife, the Overseer's House rose from the great plain. Where are you? thought Chen, searching the sky. Where the fuck are you? It was so unlike Karr.
It was two hours since the arrests. Two hours and still no sign of them. But even if they had come a half hour earlier it would have been too late to save these men. All fifteen were dead. They had all heard it, standing there about the guttering fires. Heard the shots ring out across the fields. Heard the screams and then the awful silence afterward.
"Peskova," Pavel said, bending down and gently touching the arm of one of the dead men. "It was Peskova. He always hated us."
Chen turned back, staring down at the boy, surprised, realizing what he was saying. Pavel thought of himself as Han. When he said "us" he didn't mean the peasants, the ko who worked the great ten-thousand-mou squares, but the Han. Yes, he thought. But DeVore is the hand behind this. It was he who gave permission for this. And I will kill him. T'ang's orders or no, I will kill him now for what he's done.
He looked back. There was a shadow against the moon. As he watched, it passed across, followed a moment later by a second.
"Quickly, PaVel," he said, hurrying forward. "They've come."
The four big Security transporters set down almost silently in the fields surrounding the Overseer's House. Chen ran to greet the nearest of them, expecting Karr, but it wasn't the big man who jumped down from the strut, it was Hans Ebert.
"Captain Ebert," he said, bowing, bringing his hand up to his chest in salute, the movement awkward, unpracticed. Ebert, the "Hero of Hammerfest" and heir to the giant GenSyn corporation, was the last officer Chen had expected.
"Kao Chen," Ebert answered him in a crisp, businesslike fashion, ignoring the fact of Chen's rank. "Are they all inside the House?"
Chen nodded, letting the insult pass. "As far as I know, sir. The Overseer's craft is still on the landing pad, so I assume DeVore is in there."
Ebert stared across the fields toward the house, then turned back to him, looking him up and down. He gave a short, mocking laugh. "The costume suits you, Kao Chen. You should become a peasant!"
"Sir!" He tried to keep the sourness from his voice, but it was hard. He knew instinctively that Ebert was the reason for the delay. He could imagine him waiting until he had finished dining. Or whoring, maybe. He had heard such tales of him. Karr would never have done that. Karr would have been there when he'd said.
Men jumped down from the craft behind Ebert. Special unit guards, their hands and faces blacked up. One of them came over to Ebert and handed him a clipboard.
Chen recognized him from the old newscasts about the Hammerfest massacre. It was Ebert's chief lieutenant, Auden.
Ebert studied the board a moment, then looked up at Chen again. "You know the layout of the Overseer's House?"
Chen bowed his head. "I do, sir."
"Good. Then you can play scout for us, Kao Chen. Auden here will be in command, but you'll take them in, understand?"
Chen kept his head lowered. "Forgive me, Captain, but I am unarmed."
"Of course. . . ." Ebert reached down and drew the ten-shot handgun from his holster. "Here."
Chen took the weapon and stared at it in disbelief. "Forgive me, sir. But they've automatics and lasers in there."
Ebert was looking at him coldly. "It's all you'll need."
Chen hesitated, wondering how far to push it, when Ebert barked at him.
"Are you refusing my orders, Kao Chen?"
In answer Chen bowed to the waist, then turned to Auden. "Come. We'd best move quickly now."
Halfway across the field a figure came toward them, Auden Stopped, raising his gun, but Chen put a hand out to stop him.