She threw the case down and crossed the room, standing beside the open door, clicking the spent clip from the handle of her gun. Outside the footsteps stopped.
"Edel? Is that you?"
She nodded to herself, then slipped a new clip into the handle. The longer she waited, the more jittery they'd get. At the same time, they might just be waiting for her to put her head around the door.
She smiled. It was the kind of dilemma she understood.
She counted. At eight she turned and went low, the gun kicking noisily in her hand as she moved out into the corridor.
OVERHEAD, tiny armies, tens of thousands strong, fought against a hazed background of mountains, the roar of battle faint against the hubbub of noise in the crowded Main. The giant hologram was suspended in the air above the entrance to the Golden Emperor's Palace of Eternal Dreams.
Crowds were pushing out from the Holo-Palace while others—young and old alike—lined up to get in, their necks craned back to watch the battle overhead. As Kao Chen pushed through, ushering his son before him, he smiled, seeing how his head strained up and back, trying to glimpse the air show.
"Well, Jyan? What did you think?"
The ten-year-old looked up at his father and beamed a smile. "It was wonderful!
That moment when Liu Pang raised his banner and the whole army roared his name. That was great!"
Chen laughed, holding his son to him briefly. "Yes, wasn't it? And to think he was but Ch'en She, a poor man, before he became Son of Heaven! Liu Pang, founder of the great Han Dynasty!"
Jyan nodded eagerly. "They should teach it like that at school. It's far more interesting than all that poetry."
Chen smiled, easing his way through the crowds. "Maybe, but not all poetry is bad. You'll understand that when you're older."
Jyan made a face, making Chen laugh. He, too, had always preferred history to poetry, but then he'd never had Jyan's chances, Jyan's education. No, things would be different for Jyan. Very different.
He slowed, then leaned close again. "Do you want to eat out, Jyan, or shall we get back?"
Jyan hesitated, then smiled. "Let's get back, neh? Mother will be waiting, and I want to tell her all about it. That battle between Liu Pang and the Hegemon King was brilliant. It was like it was really real. All those horsemen and everything!" Chen nodded. "Yes ... it was, wasn't it? I wonder how they did that?" "Oh, it's easy," Jyan said, pulling him on by the hand. "We learned all about it in school ages ago. It's all done with computer images and simulated movement."
"Simulated movement, eh?" Chen laughed, letting himself be pulled through the crowds and into one of the quieter corridors. "Still, it seemed real enough. I was wincing myself once or twice during some of those closeup fight scenes." Jyan laughed, then fell silent, slowing to a halt. "What is it?" Chen said, looking up ahead.
"Those two . . ." Jyan whispered. "Come. Let's go back. We'll take the south corridor and cut through."
Chen glanced at Jyan, then looked back down the corridor. The two young men—Han, in their mid-teens—were leaning against the wall, pretending to be talking.
Chen bent down, lowering his voice. "Who are they?"
Jyan met his eyes. "They're senior boys at my school—part of a tong, a gang.
They call themselves the Green Banner Guardians." "So what do they want?"
"I don't know. All I know is that they're trouble." "You've not done anything, then, Jyan? Nothing I should know of?" Jyan looked back at him clear eyed. "Nothing, Father. I swear to you." "Good. Then we've nothing to fear, have we?" He straightened up. "Do you want me to hold your hand?" Jyan shook his head.
Chen smiled, understanding. "Okay. Then let's go."
They were almost level with the two when they turned and stepped out, blocking their way.
"Where do you think you're going, shit-brains?" the taller of them said, smirking at Jyan.
"What do you want?" Chen asked, keeping the anger out of his voice.
"Shut your mouth, loo jen," said the second of them, moving closer. "We've business with the boy. He owes us money."
Chen made himself relax. So that was it. They were out of funds and thought they could shake down one of the junior boys. He smiled and touched the tiny eye on his tunic's lapel, activating it. "I don't think my son has any business with you, friend. So be on your way."
The first youth laughed; a false, high laugh that was clearly a signal. At the sound of it, four more youths stepped out from doorways behind him.
"As I said, the boy owes us money. Twenty yuan."
Chen put his left arm out, moving Jyan back, behind him. "You have proof of this?"
"Not on me," the first youth said, his face ugly now, his body movements suddenly more menacing. "But he does. And I want it. So unless you want to call me a liar . . ."
Chen smiled, moving his body slightly, so that the camera would capture all| their faces. "Oh, I'm sure there's no need for that, friend. But I'm afraid my son doesn't have a single fen on him, let alone twenty yuan."
The youth's eyes flickered to the side, then looked back at Chen, a smile coming to his lips. He was enjoying his game. "Well, what about you, loo jen7. They say a father is responsible for his son's debts. I reckon you're good for twenty yuan."
Chen smiled and shook his head, taking a step back. "I've spent my money, friend. Now let us pass. Our home is up ahead."
There was a peal of mocking laughter from behind the two youths. The taller of them stepped forward, resting his hand lightly on Chen's shoulder.
"I'm sorry. . . friend. . . but that's not possible. You see, I don't believe you. I saw the note you paid with at the picture house. You can't have spent all of that, can you?"
Chen looked at the hand on his shoulder. It was a thin, ugly hand. It would be easy—and immensely satisfying—to take it from his shoulder and crush it. But he could not do that. He was an officer of the T'ang. And besides, Jyan had to leam the right way of doing things.
Chen took a breath, then bowed his head, taking the slender, crumpled note from his pocket and handing it to the youth.
"Good. . ." The youth squeezed Chen's shoulder reassuringly, then stepped back, grinning. He turned, holding the note up triumphantly for his friends to se They whooped and jeered, making face and hand gestures at Chen. Then, with a final mocking bow to him, the youth turned and strolled arrogantly away, his friends parting before him then forming up behind, one of them turning to send a final gesture of contempt back at Chen.
Chen watched them go, then turned, looking down at his son. Jyan was standing there sullenly, his head turned away, held stiffly.
"I had to—" Chen began, but Jyan shook his head violently.
"You let them piss on us!"
Chen felt himself go still. He had never heard Jyan swear in front of him before. Nor had he ever heard that tone of anger—of hurt and fierce disapproval.
"There were six of them. Someone would have got hurt."
Jyan looked up, glaring at him. "You, you mean!"
It wasn't what he'd meant, but he didn't argue. He took a breath, spelling it out clearly, trying to make his son understand. "I am an officer of the T'ang's Security forces, Jyan, and I am off duty. I am not empowered to brawl in the corridors."
"They pissed on us," Jyan said again, glaring at his father, close to tears now. "And you let them get away with it. You just handed the money over to them, like some low-level oaf!"
Chen lifted his hand abruptly, then let it fall. "You don't understand, Jyan. I've got it all on camera. I—"
Jyan gave a huff of derision and turned, beginning to walk away.
"Jyan!. Listen to me!"
The boy shook his head, not looking back. "You let them piss on us!"
Chen stood there a moment longer, watching him, shaking his head, then began to follow.