"They killed him, you know," Mach said, moving past her, heading for her bedroom. "I tried, at Nantes Spaceport, but his man—that red-eyed albino bastard, Lehmann—buggered things up for me. Killed three of my best men. But then the T'ang's man—that big man from the Net, Karr—finally got him. Smashed his head open with a rifle butt, so IVe heard."
Again she followed him through, watching as he took his things from the bottom of the wardrobe and placed them quickly but carefully into a holdall.
"I didn't know," she said. Then, "What are you doing?" He turned, still half crouched, looking back at her. "I'm moving on, Em. Fresh fields. New ventures. You know . . ."
She shook her head. "You surprise me, Jan. You always did. You're so resourceful. So flexible."
He stood, then laughed softly. "Do I detect a note of disapproval in that last comment, Emily Ascher?"
She met his eyes clearly, trying to see him through the mask of new flesh, then nodded. "We want different things, you and 1. We always did, only it took me a long while to see that."
He studied her a moment, then looked away, pressing the lips of the holdall together and hoisting it up over his shoulder. "No, Em. It isn't what we want, it's what we're prepared to do to get it. That's what makes you and me different. But now we can go our own paths, neh? Now weVe the opportunity to see whose way is best." He met her eyes again. "I'll not lie to you, Em. If you'd stood in my way, I'd not have hesitated to have had you killed. But you didn't. And I don't think you ever would. If I did, I'd never have turned up at your door two nights back. So, whether you believe me or not, let me tell you that what DeVore said simply wasn't true. I didn't want you dead. Nor do I now. And if there's anything you need—if there's any way I can help, then just call me. I owe you one, right?"
She stared at him, then shook her head. "So where are you going? Back to Europe? Or do you plan to move down-level here?"
His smile stretched the new skin about his mouth tight in what seemed almost a parody of a smile. "Neither, Em, my dear. I'm going to be a house guest. That's where I'm off to right now. I'm staying with Old Man Lever down in Richmond."
OLD MAN LEVER was standing beside the pool, drying himself, as the two men were led in to see him. He turned, relaxed, watching them approach him around the pool's edge, then threw the towel down, stretching out a hand to greet them.
"Milne . . . Ross . . . It's good to see you again. You'll have a drink, I hope?"
The two men hesitated, looking to each other, then nodded.
"Good." Lever turned, snapping his fingers. At once the Steward went across and busied himself, preparing drinks. Lever took a light silk jacket from the back of a chair and threw it across his broad shoulders, then turned, facing them again.
"Well? What have you got for me?"
"Nothing much, I'm afraid," Ross said, one hand going up to draw a thin wisp of strawlike hair across his balding pate. "She's a regular Miss Goody-two-shoes from what we can make out. Good at school. A clean College record. And not a mention of her ever appearing, even as witness, before a deck judicial hearing. In short, the public record backs up the Company file. Nu Shjh Jennings is what she says she is. It's all there, except..."
He hesitated, looking down.
"Except what?"
"Except that it doesn't make sense," Milne finished in his quick, nervy fashion. "It's all too pat. Too neatly structured. Like someone made it all up. It's . . ." He squirmed, his shoulders moving as if he had something up the back of his jacket. "Well, it's lacking anything distinctive. You know, the kind of things that shape a life. That give it its flavor."
"Hmmm," Old Man Lever nodded to himself. "But it all fits?"
"On the surface," Ross answered, lifting a hand slightly, signaling the dark-haired Milne to keep quiet. "But we could dig a little deeper, if you want. We could go back to Atlanta Canton. Speak to a few people who knew her before she moved out. Find out what she was really like."
Lever was silent for a time. Then, taking a long swig from his glass, he shook his head. "What reason could there be for those records being wrong?"
Ross looked at his companion, then shrugged. "No reason. Just that it feels wrong. WeVe been doing this job near on twenty years, Mister Lever, and you get to know the smell of wrongness. And this. . . well, this just stinks of wrongness."
Beside him, Milne nodded emphatically.
"Okay," Lever said, setting his glass down. "Let's assume the records have been doctored. Let's say that someone's done a number on her official files. Fine. But let me ask you just two questions. Who did it? And why?"
"I don't know," Ross said, meeting the old man's piercing gaze. "I just know that someone has. As Milne says, it's just too neat."
But Lever was shaking his head. "No. It makes no sense. It takes a lot of clout to change those records. A lot of clout." He laughed, then, leaning closer, added softly, "And who should know better than me, neh?"
He moved between them. "No, gentlemen. Thanks, but let's leave it at that. I was hoping you might dig up something I could use against the woman—a string of ex-lovers or something—but it looks like I'm just going to have to plain invent something." He laughed. "Hell, maybe I should just have done that in the first place!"
"And our file?" Ross asked tensely.
"I'll keep that," Lever said, meeting his eyes again. "You'll be paid well, Shih Ross. Very well indeed. But this thing is closed now, understand me? Closed."
WHEN THEY WERE GONE, Lever turned, looking up at the balcony overlooking the pool. From behind the cover of a vine, a man emerged and leaned against the rail, looking down at him. Lever called up to him. "Well, Mach? What do you think?" Mach smiled. "It's as you said, Mister Lever. It makes no sense. If this Jennings woman were a sleeper, put in by some rival of yours, she'd have stayed on where she could have done most harm, not gone to Michael."
Lever nodded. Those were his thoughts exactly. Even so, Ross's conviction had shaken him. He'd used Ross and Milne often these past ten years, and their instinct was generally sound. So what if... ?
For a moment he entertained the thought, trying to think of a reason—any reason—why her records might have been doctored, then shook his head, dismissing it again. No. It made no sense. No sense at all.
"Well, that's it, then," Milne said, cradling his ch'a bowl and squinting at his partner across the table of the low-level tea house. "Another file closed."
"Maybe," Ross said, his eyes following the progress of one of the serving women. "And maybe not."
Milne watched his face, waiting, knowing that Ross was chewing something over.
"IVe been thinking," Ross began in a lazy drawl, turning his attention back to Milne. "Thinking that we could do with a holiday. And with what Mister Lever's paid us, I reckon we could have ourselves a hell of a fun time in Atlanta."
"Atlanta . . . ?" Milne stared back at him blankly a moment, then laughed, understanding dawning on him. "Atlanta! Hell, sure. Atlanta."
"Good," Ross said, sitting back and nodding, a smile of satisfaction splitting his face. "And maybe we can do a little digging while we're there. I mean . . . what harm can it do?"
LI y u AN was at the far end of the gallery, standing beneath one of the five huge portraits that filled the midnight-blue walls. As the great doors opened, the young T'ang turned, looking toward them, then smiled, beckoning Tolonen across.
"Knut," he said, offering the ring finger of his right hand for the old man to kiss. "You are well, I hope."
Tolonen came to attention, his head bowed, his close-cropped steel-gray hair presented to his T'ang. "I am fine, Chieh Hsia. I..."
He stopped, conscious of something odd in Li Yuan's manner. Of a strange thoughtfulness in that young, unbearded face, an unnatural stillness to his bearing, that reminded him suddenly of the boy's father, Li Shai Tung. So the old man had been at times, as if something had lodged in his thoughts, like a rock in the middle of a stream.