Soucek narrowed his eyes, fitting another piece into the puzzle. Lehmann hadn't told them yet what he was up to. The first Soucek had known about this was when Lehmann had handed him a special clearance pass and sent him up to Level 180 to meet with a Company Broker. All the documents and payment certifications had been in a sealed package. Soucek had only to ensure that the broker handed over the two men; Lehmann could do all the rest from his newly installed desk console. But Soucek had glimpsed the figure the broker had tapped into his comset and had whistled to himself. Why, they had paid more than two months' profits for a year's contract on each man!
"There's a lot to do here," Lehmann was saying, "but I want you to familiarize yourself with the details of our operation before you get down to things. And 1 want your input, understand? If you see that a thing can be done better, I want to know how, okay?"
The strangers, still more intimidated than reassured by the look of the tall albino, nodded hastily.
"And understand this . . . I've added an extra clause to your contracts." Lehmann paused, looking from one to the other. "It's very simple. You do well for me and I look after you. You help me increase my profits and you get a cut. A small one, but significant. And it's nondeductible against your lessee's contract."
Soucek saw how that changed things. The two men glanced at one another, then looked back at Lehmann, smiling.
"Good," Lehmann said, turning away, retreating behind his desk. "Now get some rest. We'll start tomorrow. My lieutenant here will show you your quarters. He'll get you anything you want."
Lehmann sat, leaning forward to touch the screen, bringing it alive. The audience was over. Soucek ushered the men out.
Walking back to the special area, one of them, a fair-haired man in his early twenties, turned to Soucek and asked him who Lehmann was.
Soucek shrugged. "He runs things down here."
"You mean he's a Deck Magistrate?"
"No. Judges he can buy by the dozen."
He saw how thoughtful they were. How their initial disgust had turned to puzzlement and to a new kind of respect.
Yes, thought Soucek. After all, he had the clout to bring you two down here. Why, 1 don't yet know. But I shall soon.
"And what are you, ch'un tzul"
It was their turn to laugh. "You mean you don't know?" the blond-haired one said, stopping. "I thought you understood. We're commodity slaves." He touched the flickering band at his neck. "That's what this means. Your boss has bought our services for a year."
Soucek drew in a breath. He didn't like to be thought ignorant. "I know that," he said, brazening it out. "I meant, what do you do?"
"Whatever he wants us to do. But our specialties are computers and drugs synthesis. I'm the computer man."
Ah, thought Soucek, so that's it. But why does he want specialists? What is he planning?
They walked on, coming to the special area. Guards let them into corridors that had been newly carpeted at great expense. The walls were freshly painted, the two suites furnished with pieces brought down from the Above. It was all in stark contrast to the corridors and rooms through which they had passed. Here it was cool and quiet. No crowds of people crushed against each other. No ragged urchins tugged at you, their dirty faces pleading for a coin, or for something to eat. Now that he had seen it for himself, Soucek saw how like the Above this was. Ordered. Elegant in its simplicity. And Lehmann had known that. Had known what K'ang had only guessed at. As if he had experienced it himself.
Later, alone in his room, stretched out on his bunk, he thought things over. He had known Lehmann only weeks now, but in that brief time he had had the opportunity to study him better than he'd studied anyone before. Even so, Lehmann remained something of an enigma, forever hidden behind those glassy, blood-pink eyes. At times he felt like asking him right out, "What are you thinking?" but knew how it would be. Lehmann would turn and look at him, then look away, saying nothing. As if to say, "What business is it of yours?" And yet, for all that, he respected Lehmann more than he respected any man. Maybe even loved him in some strange way. But what was Lehmann? Who was he?
He had not seen it at first. Only slowly, gradually, had he begun to notice all the things that were different about him. Not the immediate, obvious things—his height and gauntness, the color of his skin, his eyes—but other, less readily discernible things. Things seen in contrast only. His scorn for luxuries. His innate austerity. Things that contrasted sharply with the other tong Bosses. Unlike them he had never even considered moving up the levels. He had laughed contemptuously when Soucek had suggested it. "They'll pay for their softness," was all he'd said. But Soucek had thought long and hard about the meaning of those words and had heeded them. Copying Lehmann, he had given up alcohol, drugs, and meat, and had begun to spend more time in the practice rooms, honing his fighting skills.
After the meeting with the other nine Bosses, Lehmann had sent him up to see Ni Yueh alone, with gifts and letters of friendship. He recalled sitting in Ni Yueh's plush offices and seeing it all with Lehmann's eyes, noting the waste—the "fat" as Lehmann called it. And he had looked at Ni Yueh anew—perhaps even as Lehmann saw him—seeing not merely his strength and brutality, but also the softness, the small signs of weakness. "Desire is a chain," Lehmann had said. "Only will and discipline can break it." Well, he had looked at Ni Yueh now and seen a man in whom desire was stronger than will. And had said nothing. That too he had learned from Lehmann. The weak man babbled his thoughts to any that would listen. The strong man kept his silence.
Ni Yueh had liked the gifts, the letters, and he, Soucek, had returned with other gifts and written promises. But Lehmann had scorned the presents and pushed them aside, more concerned with Soucek's view of things. He had listened attentively, then turned away suddenly, nodding to himself. "We'll bait him," he had said. "Hook him and draw him in." And though Soucek had not understood the exact meaning, he got the drift of it. "How far can you trust him?" he had asked, and saw how Lehmann turned, studying him closely. "Trust?" he'd answered. "I trust no man, Jiri. Not even you. If it were a matter of life and death, a question of choice—of my life or yours— could I trust you? Could I redly trust you?"
He had wanted to say yes, but with Lehmann's eyes upon him he had not wished to answer glibly, insincerely. He had hesitated, then bowed his head. "I don't know... I..." But Lehmann had only shaken his head and taken his arm, as if to console him. "Have no illusions, Jiri. Strip what you feel bare. Look hard at yourself. All else means nothing."
It was the closest he had come to Lehmann, and the moment had seared itself into his memory, but it was the closeness of utter strangers. Even at that moment, he had sensed the utter cold of the vacuum that surrounded Lehmann and kept them separate. Where there were no illusions there could be no warmth. And love, even love, became a thing of ice.
WHISKERS lu's face filled the big overhead screen, his left eye staring down blankly from the pink, crab-mottled rawness of his melted face, his narrow, lipless mouth formed into a fierce grin.
"Wong Yi-sun! Welcome! Come inside! We are all here now."
Fat Wong hesitated, then, with a nod to his bodyguards, passed beneath the great lintel of the House of the Ninth Ecstasy, entering Lu Ming-shao's territory. Inside, he looked about him, surprised by the understated elegance of the place. When he had first heard that the meeting of the Council was to be held in a singsong house he had been outraged, wondering whether this were some subtle insult on Whiskers Lu's part, but his advisors had reassured him that this was where Lu Ming-shao did most of his business from these days, and so he had accepted the invitation. Now, seeing it for himself, he understood. Lu's First Level contacts would feel at home in a place like this. It was a good place to do business. Even so, it was of a piece with Lu Ming-shao that he should run the Black Dog Triad from a whorehouse.