realizing what he had said, he looked away again, but not before she saw the regret, the brief flash of bitterness that had crossed his features.
She looked up. In the distance, above the hills, two geese flew slowly across the sky, their wings beating silently as they headed south, toward the sea. The sight made her clench her fists, remembering that time on the lake at Tongjiang with Li Yuan, Tsu Ma, and her cousin Wu Tsai, on the tiny island, beneath the colored lanterns. The night she had played the p'i p'a for them and sang the refrain from "Two White Geese."
And now she was alone. Like grass on a lonely hill, knowing it must wither and die. The words made her shudder, then turn back, facing her father.
"Come," she said, laying her hand gently on his arm. "Let us go back inside."
After kissing him good night, she returned to her rooms; to the faint, enchanting flicker of aromatic candles and the sight of her maids busying themselves, finishing the packing for the morning. Waving them aside, she went through to where Han slept and stood there, looking down into the cot.
It was only at moments like these, when Han lay there, his limbs spread idly in sleep, his dark hair tousled, that she realized just how much she loved him. Not mildly, or casually, but with a fierce mother love that was as protective as the mother wolf's for her cubs.
She reached down, brushing the hair back gently from his eyes, then pulled the blanket up about his chest. She was selfish, she knew. The men who came to pay court to her—hollow clowns and dandies all—took up too much of her time. Kept her from him. But that would change. She would spend more time with him.
She took her hand back, slowly, reluctantly, then blew a silent kiss. Let him sleep, she thought. Let him dream his pleasant, childish dreams. For tomorrow would be a long day. A long, long day.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Distant Thunder
Kim reached across and took the ink brush from the stand. Inking the brush, he drew the document toward him and signed his name at the bottom of the final sheet. "There," he said, sitting back. It was the final touch; the last of the formalities. Now he was theirs.
He looked up and saw how Reiss was smiling. SimFic's Chief Executive, more than any of them gathered there, had wanted this. To rebuild the Company's reputation and put it back up there among the Hang Seng's top ten. Yes, and he had paid more than twice what Kim's broker had estimated to bring Kim back into the fold.
And so here he was again. In Berdichev's old office, nine years later and ninety-nine years wiser. Or so it felt.
"Welcome back to SimFic, Shih Ward," Reiss said, bowing his head and offering Kim both his hands. "I am delighted that we've signed you."
Kim stood, forcing himself to smile and take the man's hands. Two years, he was thinking, was that it all it was1. And yet, strangely, it didn't feel like it had before. Back then, he had had no prospect of being free, whereas now, at least, he had a contract. Five years—six, if he took up the bonus option—and he would be free again. And rich.
He turned back, watching as one of Reiss's men "sanded" his signature, then removed the papers into a special folder. It was a long document, twenty-four pages in all, and he had gone through it carefully with his broker yesterday, but in essence it was simple. He was their slave now. For the next five years he would do what they said when they said. That was, as long as it did not endanger his life or seriously threaten his health. And providing it was legal. Not that they had any intention of placing him in any danger; not after the fee they had paid to sign him.
He touched his tongue to his lower teeth thoughtfully. Twenty-five million yuan had been placed in an account in his name already. And there was more to come. Much more. Fifteen million a year, for five years, and a further twenty-five if he stayed on that extra year. And then there were the performance bonuses, the two percent cut on any inventions subsequently manufactured from his original patents, and the sliding scale payments for developing any of SimFic's existing patents to "manufacturing standard."
All in all, he could come out of this exceedingly well. Rich enough, if things worked out, to start again; older, wiser, and with the capital, this time, to expand. Rich enough, perhaps, to marry a Marshal's daughter.
He looked back at Reiss and smiled; a gentler, more relaxed smile. "I'm pleased to be with you, Shih Reiss," he said, conscious of the dozen or so senior executives ranged at the far end of the office, watching their exchange. "I hope our partnership will be a fruitful one."
His echo of Reiss's words from earlier that day brought a smile to the Chief Executive's lips. "I hope so, too, Kim. I really do. But come, let's go through. It's time."
Kim nodded, then allowed himself to be turned about, a faint sensation of heaviness in his limbs. In the next room the technician was waiting beside his machine. Kim, entering the room, studied it with a detached interest, conscious of the sudden feeling of hollowness—maybe even a trace of fear—at the pit of his stomach. The machine was a kind of gantry, attached by a thin coil of wire to a slim, black-cased comset. On the surface it looked fairly harmless, yet it would provide them with the means of controlling him for the next five years.
A slave, he thought. I'm going to be a slave again. A thing that thinks. A puzzle-solver. Not a person but a commodity. To be used as the Company desires.
He shivered, then stepped forward, letting the technician help him into the brace.
It took only seconds. Then he stepped back, the collar pulsing gently about his neck. He could feel its warmth, its energy, almost as if it were alive, and, though he had meant not to, he found his left hand had traveled up, unbeknownst to him, to touch and gently tug at it.
"It'll not harm you in any way," Reiss said, as if to reassure him. "We'd have preferred not to, but the legal formalities . . ." His voice trailed off, then, "Look on it as a safeguard. Company life can be hard and very competitive, as you know." He laughed awkwardly. "Well. . . it'll help us take good care of you. That way we'll all be happy, neh?"
Kim nodded, giving Reiss the best smile he could manage; but suddenly the reality of it was on him. This was his life for the next one thousand eight hundred and twenty-six days. This . . .
Reiss turned and took a folder from one of his assistants, then turned back, handing it to Kim. "Here are the details of your first assignment. We thought we'd give you something familiar to begin with. Something you can get your teeth into straightaway."
Kim took the folder and opened it. Inside were four flimsy sheets of paper. On the first were four handwritten equations. On the second was a tiny, neatly drawn diagram, the notations in a different hand from the first. The third sheet was filled with notes, some by the author of the equations, but most of them by whoever had drawn the diagram.
"Molecular switches," Kim said quietly, feeling a pulse of excitement pass through him. "It's what I've been working on."
"I know," Reiss said, watching him carefully. "We've been working on the same lines for some time now. And this is the closest weVe got. They're unstable . . ."
"Yes," Kim flicked back, studying the equations a moment, then looked at the final sheet. It was headed up with SimFic's double helix logo. Beneath it, in a neat printer face, were the details of his assignment.
"Sohm Abyss," he said, looking up at Reiss, wide-eyed. "You're sending me to Sohm Abyss!"
THE PHILADELPHIA NIGHTCLUB was almost empty. It was just after seven in the morning and the four young men sat about one of the central tables, the top buttons of their pan loosened, their jackets on the backs of their chairs. It had been a long night but a successful one and they had raised more than a million -yuan. Enough, for now, to keep the movement from bankruptcy. Kennedy had left more than two hours back, more tired than usual, the new security men he'd hired shadowing him closely. That was but one of the changes they had noticed. Small things that made them think back to what Kennedy had said to them that first time and reassess. Overnight, it seemed, the mood of things had changed.