Chiang made no move to take the coin. "I thank you, Shih Ward, but it is enough that you honor us with your presence at our humble tea house. If you will allow me, I will bring a fresh chung of the min hung."
Kim stared at Chiang a moment, surprised, wondering what he had heard, then smiled. "That would be most pleasant, Master Chiang. It is a most excellent brew."
Chiang bowed, pleased by the compliment, then turned away, leaving Kim alone.
For a moment Kim sat there, staring at the blank face of the message card, tempted to throw it away unread. Old Man Lever had made over a dozen "offers" this last year, each one more outrageous than the last. It was five weeks since the latest and Kim had been expecting something any day. So what was the old tyrant offering now? A partnership? A half share in his empire? Whatever it was, it wasn't enough. Nothing—not even the whole of ImmVac's vast holdings—could persuade him to work for Lever.
Kim looked out across the smoke-wreathed floor and sighed. When would Lever finally understand that he didn't want to work for him? Why couldn't he just accept that and leave him alone? What drove the old man that he kept on upping the terms, convinced that it was only a question of finding the right price?
Death, Kim thought. The fear of death, that's what drives you. And you think I can find an answer to that. You've convinced yourself that 1 can succeed where a hundred generations of taoists and alchemists have failed, and unlock that last great secret. Andmaybeyou'reright. Maybe I could. Or at least some counterfeit of immortality—a hundred years of youth, perhaps.
Yes, but the truth is that I wouldn't, even if I could. Not even if it meant that I too could live forever.
He shuddered, the strength of his aversion for the old man surprising him; then, curiosity overcoming his anger, he pressed his thumb against the release pad.
For a moment a combination of tiredness and false expectation made him sit there blankly, a look of incomprehension on his face. Then, with a laugh, he understood. Michael. . . The message was from Michael Lever, not his father.
Even so, it was fifteen months since he had last seen Michael Lever, that night of the Thanksgiving Ball, and though they had been friends, much had happened between times. He could not be certain that the man he had known was the same as the one who wanted to see him now. Indeed, if the rumors were true, he had changed a great deal. But for good or ill?
Besides which, Michael wanted to meet him tonight; at ten o'clock. Normally that wouldn't have been a problem, but after a night without sleep...
Kim smiled. There were pills he could take to keep him awake. Besides, it would do him good to have an evening off to see an old friend. And maybe Michael could give him some advice. He'd been out of circulation, sure, but things hadn't changed that much while he'd been away. What he knew about the market was still valid. So maybe. . .
Kim set the card down, watching the message slowly fade, then looked across. At the ch'a counter, Master Chiang was setting out his tray with careful, precise little movements that were characteristic of the man. Kim watched him a while, then looked down, smiling. Yes, it would be good to see Michael again. Very good indeed.
THE DOOR WAS OPEN, the tiny reception room empty save for a dust-strewn desk and an unpainted stool. Emily Ascher stood there in the doorway, holding tight to the stack of files and boxes that was balanced beneath her chin, wondering if she had come to the right place. For a moment she thought of checking the note Michael had sent her, but there was little point; she knew what was written there. Suite 225, it read; East Corridor, Level 224, North Edison stack. Turning, she nodded to her guide, dismissing him, then went inside, putting the files down on the desk.
She straightened up and looked about her, noting the shabbiness of the place. The walls were strewn with old posters, the floor bare, unswept in months. It had the look of a repossession.
"So this is it, neh?" she said softly and smiled to herself. She had expected something grander; something more in keeping with the Michael Lever she had worked with before his arrest. But this . . .
She went across and closed the door, then turned, hearing voices from beyond the inner door. Male voices, laughing.
She slid the door open and went through, into a big, open-plan office. Michael was sitting on the edge of a long laboratory-style desk on the far side of the room. Nearby, sprawled in a chair, sat a second man; a short-haired athletic-looking man of about Michael's age. Seeing Emily, the two men fell silent, looking across at her.
"Mary. . ." Michael said, pushing up from the desk and coming across, clearly delighted that she was there. "You found us all right, then?"
She smiled, barely conscious of the use of her adopted name. "It was no trouble. IVe been down this way before ... on business."
"I see . . ." He stood there a moment, simply smiling at her, then turned suddenly, as if he had forgotten, and put his arm out, indicating the other man. "I'm sorry . . . look, IVe forgotten hpw to do all this. This here is Bryn. . . Bryn Kustow. He's an old friend. He was at College with me. And. . . well, other things. And this, Bryn, is Mary Jennings."
Emily met the young man's eyes and gave a brief nod, understanding. By "other things" Michael meant that Kustow had been arrested. He too had been one of Wu Shih's "guests" these past fifteen months. She could see it in his eyes. Could see how much the experience had changed these young men.
"It's not much as yet," Michael went on, looking about him at the big, unfurnished room, "but we're going to make it something." He looked back at her. "That's if you're going to join us."
She narrowed her eyes. "Pardon?"
He took a step closer. "Look, I know how it is. It's a big decision. And you might think that you don't want to risk making an enemy of my father, but. . ."
"Hold on," she said, laughing. "You're not making sense. What decision? And why should I be making an enemy of your father?"
There was a moment's puzzlement in his face, and then he laughed. "Shit... I didn't say, did I?"
"No. You just told me to come here. Friday, first thing. And to bring what I'd need to start work at once. I thought. . ."
"You thought this was just another of my father's Companies, neh? You thought you'd still be on the payroll." He looked away, embarrassed now. "Look, I'm sorry. I'll spell it out. Then, if you don't like what you hear, you can just turn round and leave, and no one will be the wiser, okay?"
She stared back at him a moment, then looked across at Kustow, seeing how closely he was watching her; as if recruiting her for some secret brotherhood.
"You're setting up on your own, aren't you?" she said, looking back at Michael. "A partnership. You and Shih Kustow here. Is that right?"
He nodded.
"And you want me to join, right? As what? Personal assistant to you both?"
Kustow sat forward. "At first, yes. But hopefully it won't stay that way. We plan to run things differently. We'll match your present salary, of course. But you'll also be on bonuses. A share of profits. If things go well, you can buy in. Become a partner."
"I see. And all I have to do is break contract with ImmVac and make an enemy of the most powerful businessman in City North America?"
Michael reached out and gently touched her arm. "Look, it's okay. You can say no. And we won't blame you if you do. But just consider things a moment. It's a whole new venture. Something that won't come along twice in your career. To be in at the start of something like this . . ."
"And my contract with ImmVac? There's a hefty breach clause, you realize?"
"We've budgeted for that," Kustow said, matter-of-factly. He stood up and came across, standing next to Michael. "All you've got to do is decide whether you want in or not."