"I am afraid so, Chieh Hsia."
Ah, he thought; then the afternoon is almost done. He looked about him, savoring the sights that met his eyes; the servants playing in the lake, his wives, his sleeping son. There must be more days like this, he thought. Days of ease and happiness. For without them, what is K/e?
Nothing, came the answer. Less than nothing.
He turned back, facing his Master of the Inner Chambers. "Thank you, Master Chan. Go now and tell the Marshal that I will be with him in a while. I must have a final word here."
Chan Teng bowed, then backed away, turning and hurrying off toward the great sweep of steps and the palace beyond. Li Yuan watched him go, then turned back, looking at his wives. It would have been nice to have gone with them tomorrow, to spend a few more days with them before duty called him back, but that was not to be. There was far too much to do, down here on Chung Kuo: the GenSyn Hearings were due to start shortly, and then there were the preparations for the reopening of the House.
A copy ... He laughed, remembering what had been said. Yes, it would have been good to have had a copy—a twin—of himself these past few years. One to work and one to play. Two selves to share the joys and burdens of this world.
He turned. Mien Shan was watching him, smiling, real love there in her eyes as she held the sleeping child. He went across and held her, kissing her brow, then, bending down, carefully took Kuei Jen from her.
For a moment he closed his eyes, lulled by the gentle warmth of his son pressed close against him, then, with a final, tender kiss on the infant's cheek, he handed him back, smiling at Mien Shan.
"Ten days," he said, a faint sigh escaping his lips. "Ten days, that's all, my love, and then I'll join you up above."
THIS far into United Bamboo territory, Fat Wong's runners seemed to outnumber the common people by two or three to one. Young men wearing the emerald-green headbands of the Triad moved past Lehmann constantly as he walked the packed corridors, while in the great thoroughfare of Main, groups of young affluent-looking Han, their green silks displaying the hand and bamboo cane symbol of the United Bamboo, sat around tables, relaxed, drinking and playing Chou or Mah'Jongg, for all the world like young aristocrats.
He had heard that Fat Wong was the biggest of his rivals and now, through the false lenses he wore to mask his true identity, he could see it was so. Here, in the cluster of stacks that formed the heartland of the United Bamboo, the wealth of the brotherhood was on open display. A dozen great cinnamon trees rested in massive ornamental bowls along the central aisle of Main, while to either side the balconies were festooned with bright red slogan banners and garlands of colorful flowers, as if in celebration. The shops along the central mall were full, the products cheap—a fifth the price you'd find anywhere else in the City—while everywhere he looked there was an underlying sense of orderliness he had seen nowhere else in the City at this low a level.
Indeed, if he had not known better, he might have thought himself a good twenty decks higher, up near the top of the City.
Lehmann looked about him as he went, his eyes taking in every-thing, the tiny cameras, implanted into the cornea of the lenses, recording every detail.
He had read the secret Security report the Major had obtained for him. At the last reckoning Wong Yi-sun's annual turnover had been more than one hundred and twenty billion yuan. It was a massive sum; one that, to be frank, had surprised him, for it dwarfed his own turnover by a factor of twenty to one. That was worrying, true, but no cause for despair. No, for if anything it made his task easier. Only the Wo Shih Wo and Dead Man Yun's Red Gang could compete with the United Bamboo in terms of market share and the two of them combined were only half Fat Wong's size. It was little wonder, then, that his spies had reported back that the other Bosses were growing a little wary of their erstwhile friend. Indeed, after what had happened to Iron Mu, they were right to be suspicious of Wong Yi-sun's motives.
So much so, in fact, that, after their dinner at Dead Man Yun's, three of the Bosses had met again, hours later, to discuss their own secret agenda. An agenda that, had he known of it, would have outraged the birdlike Wong.
At the gateway between the stacks, Lehmann waited at the barrier to show his documentation to one of the guards. As before, the regular Security men were shadowed all the while by United Bamboo officials who checked their work and made their own unofficial checks on who went through into their territory. Thus far Lehmann had passed through all five gates with only the minimum of fuss, but this time, as the guard made to hand him back his card and pass him through, one of the officials—a bald-headed Han with a deeply scarred chin and a short, slightly corpulent figure—took the card from the guard's hand and, pushing him aside, placed himself directly in front of Lehmann.
He glanced down at the card, then looked back at Lehmann, his whole manner hostile. "What are you doing here, Shih Snow? What is your business in this stack?"
Lehmann lowered his head, as if in respect, and held out the papers he had had prepared, offering them to the Triad official. "Forgive me, Excellency, but I have a routine maintenance call to make. The documents will explain."
From beneath his lashes, he saw how the man deliberately ignored the papers, disdaining to take them.
"Who asked you to come? Which official did you speak to?"
"It was Yueh Pa. He informed our office two hours back that there was a malfunction in one of the junction boxes. In the east stack, Level 34."
That much was true. Indeed, he had been waiting three weeks for something to go wrong so that he might pay this visit. But once in, he had no intention of putting the fault right. At least, not in the sense they wanted it done.
"Yueh Pa, eh?" The Han turned, offering a few words of Mandarin to his colleague, then turned back to Lehmann, letting the card fall from his fingers. "You can pass through, Shih Snow, but I will have one of my men assigned to you all the while you are here, understand? I do not like strangers. Especially Hung Mao. So keep your eyes to yourself, do your job, and go."
I understand, pig's ass, Lehmann thought, bowing low to retrieve his card, then maintaining the bow as he circled the man and ducked under the half-raised barrier. Not that it would help them, even if they attached a dozen runners to watch him.
He waited there, head lowered, while the official called across a young thin-faced runner and gave him his instructions. Bowing low to his Master, the young Han turned and, coming across to Lehmann, barked at him in Mandarin, showing him the same contempt his Master had shown. With a bow, Lehmann handed his papers across to the young brute, showing nothing of what he felt, then followed on behind the man. On into the very heart of Fat Wong's territory.
"Shih Kennedy! Shih Kennedy! Is it true what you said in your speech tonight about the so-called Euthanasia Bill?"
Kennedy stood on the rostrum of the Press Room, elegant and powerful, facing the crush of media men and reporters. Remotes buzzed about his head like giant bugs, hovering in the bright, overhead lights, their hungry lenses capturing his every word, his every gesture, but it was to the men below that he played, addressing them by name, leaning toward each questioner as he framed his reply, as if confiding in them.
"It's true, Ted," he said, his features stem, responsible. "They'll deny it, naturally, but we have copies of the study documents. Fascinating stuff it is too. Like I said, this is no brief memorandum we're talking about here, but a report of near-on six hundred pages, detailing every little circumstance. Moreover, they've costed the exercise down to the last fen. And why do that if it's merely—and I quote—'an option we're considering'?"