He had been ill of late. For the first time in a long, healthy life he had been confined to bed. That, too, seemed a sign. An indication that things were slipping from him. Control—it began with one's own body and spread outward.
He nodded to himself, seeing it now. This was personal. An attack upon his person. For he was the State. Was the City.
There was a sickness loose, a virus in the veins of the world. Corruption was rife. Dispersionism, Leveling, even this current obsession in the Above with longevity—all these were symptoms of it. The actions of such groups were subtle, invidious, not immediately evident; yet ultimately they proved fatal. Expectations had changed and that had undermined the stability of everything. They want to pull it down.
"What did they do here, Knut? How did they do this?"
"We've had to make some assumptions, but a few things are known for certain. Bremen Central Maintenance reports that all communications to Deck Nine were cut at second bell."
"All?" Li Shai Tung shook his head, astonished. "Is that possible, Knut?" "That was part of the problem. They didn't believe it, either; so they wasted an hour checking for faults in the system at their end. They didn't think to send anyone to make a physical check."
Li Shai Tung grimaced. "Would it have made a difference?" "No. No difference, Chieh Hsia. There was no chance of doing anything after the first ten minutes. They set their fires on four different levels. Big, messy chemical things. Then they rigged the ventilators to pump oxygen-rich air through the system at increased capacity." "And the seals?"
Tolonen swallowed. "There was no chance anyone could have gotten out. They'd blown the transit and derailed the bolt. All the interlevel lifts were jammed. That was part of the communications blackout. The whole deck must have been in darkness."
"And that's it?" Li Shai Tung felt sickened by the callousness of it all.
Tolonen hesitated, then spoke again. "This was done by experts, Chieh Hsia, Knowledgeable men, superbly trained, efficiently organized. Our own special services men could have done no better."
Li Shai Tung looked back at him. "Say it, Knut," he said softly. "Don't keep it to yourself. Even if it proves wrong, say it."
Tolonen met his eyes, then nodded. "All of this speaks of money. Big money. The technology needed to cut off a deck's communications—it's all too much for normal Ping Two funding. Out of their range. There has to be a backer."
The T'ang considered a moment. "Then it's still going on. We didn't win the War after all. Not finally."
Tolonen looked down. Li Shai Tung's manner disturbed him. Since his illness he had been different. Off-balance and indecisive, withdrawn, almost melancholy. The sickness had robbed him of more than his strength; it had taken some of his sharpness, his quickness of mind. It fell upon the Marshal to lead him through this maze.
"Maybe. But more important is finding out who is the traitor in our midst." "Ah. . ." Li Shai Tung's eyes searched his face, then looked away. "At what level have they infiltrated?"
"Staff."
He said it without hesitation, knowing that it had to be that high up the chain of command. No one else could have shaped things in this manner. To seal off a deck, that took clout. More than the Ping Tioo possessed.
Li Shai Tung turned away again, following his own thoughts. Maybe Yuan was right. Maybe they should act now. Wire them all. Control them like machines. But his instinct was against it. He had held back from acting on the Project's early findings. Even this—this outrage—could not change his mind so far.
"It's bad, Knut. It's as if you could not trust your own hands to shave your throat ,»
Tolonen laughed, a short, bitter bark of laughter. The old T'ang turned. "You have it in hand, though, Knut." He smiled. "You, at least, 1 trust."
The Marshal met his master's eyes, touched by what had been said, knowing that this was what shaped his life and gave it meaning. To have this man's respect, his total trust. Without thinking, he knelt at Li Shai Tung's feet.
"I shall find the man and deal with him, Chieh Hsia. Were it my own son, I'd deal with him."
AT THE MOMENT, on the far side of the world, Li Yuan was walking down a path on the estate in Tongjiang. He could smell the blossoms in the air, apple and plum, and beneath those the sharper, sweeter scent of cherry. It reminded him of how long it had been since he had been here; of how little had changed while he had been gone.
At the top of the terrace he stopped, looking out across the valley, down the wide sweep of marble steps toward the lake. He smiled, seeing her on the far side of the lake, walking between the trees. For a moment he simply looked, his heart quickened just to see her; then he went down, taking the steps in two's and three's.
He was only a few paces from her when she turned.
"Li Yuan! You didn't say . . ."
"I'm sorry, I ..." But his words faltered as he noted the roundness of her, the fullness of her belly. He glanced up, meeting her eyes briefly, then looked down again. My son, he thought. My son.
"I'm well."
"You look wonderful," he said, taking her in his arms, conscious of the weeks that had passed since he had last held her. But he was careful now and released her quickly, taking her hands, surprised by how small they were, how delicate. He had forgotten.
Not, not forgotten. Simply not remembered.
He laughed softly. "How far along are you?"
She looked away. "More than halfway now. Twenty-seven weeks."
He nodded, then reached down to touch the roundness, feeling how firm she was beneath the silks she wore, like the ripened fruit in the branches above their heads.
"I wondered . . ." she began, looking back at him, then fell silent, dropping her head.
"Wondered what?" he asked, staring at her, realizing suddenly what had been bothering him. "Besides, what's this? Have you no smiles to welcome your husband home?"
He reached out, lifting her chin gently with his fingers, smiling; but his smile brought no response. She turned from him petulantly, looking down at her feet. Leaf shadow fell across the perfection of her face, patches of sunlight catching in the lustrous darkness of her hair, but her lips were pursed.
"I've brought you presents," he said softly. "Up in the house. Why don't you come and see?"
She glanced at him, then away. This time he saw the coldness in her eyes. "How long this time, Li Yuan? A day? Two days before you're gone again?"
He sighed and looked down at her hand. It lay limply in his own, palm upward, the fingers gently bent.
"I'm not just any man, Fei Yen. My responsibilities are great, especially at this time. My father needs me." He shook his head, trying to understand what she was feeling, but he could not help but feel angered by her lack of welcome. It was not his fault, after all. He had thought she would be pleased to see him.
"If I'm away a lot, it can't be helped. Not just now. I would rather be here, believe me, my love. I really would . . ."
She seemed to relent a little; momentarily her hand returned the pressure of his own, but her face was still turned from his.
"I never see you," she said quietly. "You're never here."
A bird alighted from a branch nearby, distracting him. He looked up, following its flight. When he looked back it was to find her watching him, her dark eyes chiding him.
"It's odd," he said, ignoring what she had said. "This place—it's changed so little over the years. I used to play here as a child, ten, twelve years ago. And even then I imagined how it had been like this for centuries. Unchanged. Unchanging. Only the normal cycle of the seasons. I'd help the servants pick the apple crop, carrying empty baskets over to them. And then, later, I'd have quite insufferable bellyaches from all the fruit I'd gorged." He laughed, seeing how her eyes had softened as he spoke. "Like any child," he added after a moment, conscious of the lie, yet thinking of a past where it had really been so. Back before the City, when such childish pleasures were commonplace.