He shuddered. Rheinhardt had been right to call him in. Right to cordon off the surrounding areas and cut communications. But would it be enough? Could they really prevent word of this from getting out?
He leaned forward, tapping the pilot's shoulder. "All right. Take us back. I've seen enough."
Rheinhardt leaned close, lowering his voice. "Well, Knut? What should I do? Li Yuan has ordered me to destroy our friend Li Min and scour the Lowers of all Triad activity. And so I would gladly do. But that was before I knew of this." He took a breath. "This . . . well, it's the kind of thing that could set off the whole City, neh? Word of it must be quashed, and at once. But IVe a problem. I haven't the manpower both to quash this and take on the Triads. You can see that, can't you, Knut?"
"I see it clear enough, Helmut. Besides, there'll be time enough to take on that scum, neh?"
"Then you'll speak to Li Yuan?"
Tolonen smiled grimly. "At once. In the meantime let's have the T'ing Wei earn their pay. Let's flood the airwaves with good news and rumors of spring. And for once let us pray that it's enough."
WONG Yl -SUN lay there, wrapped in the ancient banner, like a wasp in a spider's web. Blood from a thousand hatchet cuts had darkened the fragile cloth, obscuring the original design, but the banner had once hung in Fat Wong's hall, in pride of place.
Lehmann stood over the body of his rival, looking down at the pale, birdlike face, and heaved a great sigh. He was close to exhaustion. For more than forty hours he had fought. Fought beyond the point of hope until, in the darkest hour, help had come. A hundred thousand Hei—GenSyn half-men used by Security as riot troops— sent in by Li Yuan to reinforce him. Turning the tide of battle in his favor. Giving him victory.
He shuddered, remembering the moment, then crouched, reaching out to touch the blood-encrusted silk. Peacock blue the banner had been, a great triangle of gold at its center.. And in the blue had been embroidered a single bloodred pictogram.
Tian. Nan Jen. Tu. Heaven. Man. Earth.
It was the banner, brought from the Fu Chou monastery six centuries ago. Whoever held it led the great Council of the Hung Mun; was Head of the 4895, the "Big Boss" here in the lowers of City Europe.
Or so it had been. Until today.
Lehmann stood, then turned away, signaling to his men to take the body and burn it, banner and all. All that was ended now. Six centuries of tradition reduced to ash and dust. Now there was only he. All else had been destroyed.
He stretched, easing his tired muscles, considering what he had done. Two hundred thousand men were dead. Another eighty thousand—prisoners, taken in the early hours of the battle—would be dead within the hour. So he had ordered. And so it had to be, for he could not risk the slightest threat of opposition. Not yet. Not until he had rebuilt his organization and stamped his mark upon these levels.
He turned, looking about him, noting how his men looked at him: in awe, as if one of the ancient gods stood there among them. And inwardly he laughed. Right now he was triumphant, was king of these levels, the White T'ang, as they called him. But how long would that last? If Li Yuan took it in his mind to crush him; to turn his brutish Hei against their former allies . . .
For a moment his mind went numb. Tiredness, he told himself, but it was more than tiredness. It was like that moment on the slopes of the Otzalen Alps. That moment when he had looked down into the great crater where DeVore's fortress had been and seen only darkness. Then, too, he had felt like this, emptied of all thought, all enterprise.
He felt wasted, brittle-boned. A wraith. Victory, now that he had it, seemed a hollow thing. Hollow, because it had not been his. Because, at the final moment, he had depended on the favor of another.
"Yao Lu," he said, summoning one of his lieutenants.
The man hurried across and knelt, his head bowed low. "Master?"
"How much was in the chests you found?"
"More than two hundred million, Master," Yao answered, keeping his head lowered.
"And in the rest of the caches?"
"It is hard to say exactly, Master, but more than five hundred million, certainly."
Seven hundred million. It was a huge amount—much more than he'd expected. With such a sum at hand, what could he not do, given time? But that was it. The task of reconstruction was a lengthy one, a time-consuming one, and he had no time. Not if he wished to survive.
Just now one thing alone mattered. Placating Li Yuan.
"Yao Lu," Lehmann said finally, his decision made. "I want you to gather it all together and bring it here. Every last fen of it. And then I want you to contact the Major in charge of Li Yuan's Hei and beg an audience with him. It is time we paid the great T'ang his due. Time we paid tribute for the great service he has done us this day."
LI YUAN STOOD on the great viewing circle, looking down at the blue-white globe of Chung Kuo, one hand gently stroking his beardless chin as he thought things through. He had hoped to have a week up here—a week free of matters of State—but it was not to be. Tolonen was right. The severity of the damage to Nantes spaceport could not be overlooked. He had to deal with the matter urgently.
He shivered and turned away, looking about him at the room, remembering how often he had seen his father standing where he now stood. His father, deep in thought, one hand tugging gently at his plaited beard. One day Kuei Jen would stand here looking down, matters of State weighing heavily on his mind. But for now the child slept peacefully, unaware of the burden he would one day bear.
The thought made him smile, but the smile was tinged with a faint sadness. There were consolations, certainly, but sometimes the burden seemed too much to bear. Some days he felt like giving it all up, as his brother Han had once proposed, and handing it over to another. But that could not be. This was his charge, his duty.
What to do, though, about Nantes? That was the question. If he went down openly, Wang Sau-leyan was sure to hear of it, and that might prove disastrous. There was another option, however. He could leave his shuttle here and travel down on the service craft that was due to leave in two hours' time. That would get him to Nantes in plenty of time to deal with matters. Yes, and maybe he could persuade Wu Shih and Tsu Ma to meet him there. Secretly of course. Because if Wang were to hear of this, he might yet find a way to take advantage of the situation. And with the Triads still at war down there, it was impor-
tant to settle things quickly, before the rumors began to spread and panic set in among the Lowers.
His decision made, Yuan climbed the steps quickly and went through, heading for the nursery.
Tseng-li was kneeling, his back to Li Yuan, when the T'ang came into the room. He was laughing, his laughter echoed back at him by the young child who clung to his outstretched arms. On the far side of the room the nursemaid, seeing Li Yuan, got up hastily, making to bow, but Li Yuan motioned to her, raising a finger to his lips and smiling. She straightened, but Tseng-li had seen the movement and half turned, realizing that someone had come into the room. Kuei Jen also turned, and, his smile widening, cried out to him.
"Papa!"
Laughing, Li Yuan came forward and bent down. Tseng-li leaned back, out of the way, as the little boy lifted his hands up to his father.
"They know their own," he said, getting up and giving a slight bow to Li Yuan.
"Some more than others," Li Yuan answered, looking from Kuei Jen to his secretary. "It is a sad thing that we who rule see so little of those who matter most to us." He looked back at his son, smiling broadly at him, then lifted him and hugged him tightly. "Like now. I have to go back down, Tseng-li, at once. Something has come up which I must attend to personally. I'll be gone two, maybe three days."