DeVore looked down. Gods! Then the harvest was untouched, City Europe's vast granaries still intact. He could not have had worse news.
He shuddered. This changed things dramatically. What had been designed to weaken the Seven had served only to make them more determined.
He had known all along what the probable effect of a single strike against Bremen would have. Had known how outraged people would be by the assault on the soldiers' living quarters, the killing of innocent women and children. That was why he had planned the two things to hit them at the same time. With the East European Plantations on fire and the safe haven of Bremen breached, he had expected to sow the seeds of fear in City Europe. But fear had turned to anger, and what ought to have been a devastating psychological blow for the Seven had been transformed into its opposite.
No wonder Wei Feng had spoken as he had. That sense of great moral indignation the old man had conveyed had been deeply felt. And there was no doubting that the watching billions would have shared it. So now the Seven had the support of the masses of Chung Kuo. Sanction, if they wanted it, to take whatever measures they wished against their enemies.
DeVore sighed and looked down at his hands. No. Things could not have turned out worse.
But how? How had they known? Despair turned to sudden anger in him. He stood abruptly. Wiegand! It had to be Wiegand! Which meant that the report of his death was false; a fabrication put out for them to overhear. Which meant. . .
For a moment he followed the chain of logic that led out from that thought; then he sat again, shaking his head. No, not Wiegand. His instinct was against it. In any case, Wiegand didn't have either the balls or the imagination for such a thing. And yet, if not Wiegand, then who?
Again he sighed, deciding to put the base on full alert. In case he was wrong. In case Wiegand had made a deal and was planning to lead Tolonen back here to the Wilds.
EMILY ASCHER was angry. Very angry. She trembled as she faced her tour compatriots on the central committee of the Ping Tiao, her arm outstretched, her finger stabbing toward Gesell, spitting the words out venomously. "What you did was vile, Bent. You've tainted us all. Betrayed us." Gesell glanced at Mach then looked back at his ex-lover, his whole manner defensive. The failure of the attack on the plantations had shaken him badly and he was only now beginning to understand what effect the Bremen backlash would have on their organization. Even so, he was not prepared to admit he had been wrong.
"I knew you'd react like this. It's exactly why we had to keep it from you. You would have vetoed it."
She gave a high-pitched laugh, astonished by him. "Of course 1 would! And rightly so. This could destroy us."
Gesell lifted his hand, as if to brush aside the accusation of her ringer. "You don't understand. If our attack on the plantations had succeeded—"
She batted his hand away angrily. "No. I understand things perfectly. This was a major policy decision and I wasn't consulted." She turned her head, looking across at the other woman in the room. "And you, Mao Liang? Were you told?"
Mao Liang looked down, shaking her head, saying nothing. But that wasn't sc surprising: since she had replaced Emily in Gesell's bed, it was as if she had lost he own identity.
Emily looked back at Gesell, shaking her head slowly. "I understand, all right It's back to old patterns. Old men meeting in closed rooms, deciding things for others." She huffed, a sound of pure disgust. "You know, I really believed we were beyond all that. But it was all lip service, wasn't it, Bent? All the time you were fucking me, you really despised me as a person. After all, I was only a woman. An inferior being. Not to be trusted with serious matters."
"You're wrong—" Gesell began, stung by her words, but she shook her head, denying him.
"I don't know how you've the face to tell me I'm wrong after what you've done." She turned slightly. "And you, Mach. I know this was all your idea."
Mach was watching her, his eyes narrowed slightly. "There was good reason not to involve you. You were doing so well at recruiting new members."
Again she laughed, not believing what she was hearing. "And what's that worth now? All that hard work, and now you've pissed it all away. My word. I gave them my word as to what we were, and you've shat on it."
"We're Ko Ming," Gesell began, a slight edge to his voice now. "Revolutionaries, not fucking hospital workers. You can't change things and have clean hands. It isn't possible!"
She stared back at him witheringly. "Murderers, that's what they're calling us. Heartless butchers. And who can blame them? We destroyed any credibility we had last night."
"I disagree."
She turned, looking at Mach. "You can disagree as much as you like, Jan Mach, but it's true. As of last night this organization is dead. You killed it. You and this prick here. Didn't you see the trivee pictures of the children that died? Didn't you see the shots of those beautiful, blond-haired children playing with their mothers? Didn't something in you respond to that?"
"Propaganda—" began Quinn, the newest of them, but a look from Gesell silenced him.
Ascher looked from one to the other of them, seeing how they avoided her eyes. "No? Isn't there one of you with the guts to admit it? We did that. The Ping Two. And this time there's nothing we can do to repair the damage. We're fucked."
"No," Mach said. "There is a way."
She snorted. "You're impossible! What way? What could we possibly do that could even begin to balance things in our favor?"
"Wait and see," Mach said, meeting her eyes coldly. "Just wait and see."
devore SAT BACK on the sofa, looking about him at the once opulently furnished room, noting how the fabrics had worn, the colors faded since he had last come here. He picked up one of the cushions beside him and studied it a moment, reading the Mandarin pictograms sewn into the velvet. Here men forget their cares.
He smiled. So it was, once. But now?
He looked up as Mu Chua entered, one of her girls following with a fully laden tray. She smiled at him, lines tightening about her eyes and at the comers of her mouth.
"1 thought you might like some ch'a while you were waiting, Shih Reynolds."
He sat forward, giving the slightest bow of his head. "That's kind of you, Mother."
As the girl knelt and poured the ch'a, DeVore studied Mu Chua. She, too, was much older, much more worn than he remembered her. In her sixties now, she seemed drawn, the legendary ampleness of her figure a thing of the past. Death showed itself in her; in the sudden angularity of her limbs and the taut wiriness of her muscles; in the slackness of the flesh at neck and arm and breast. He had known her in better days, though it was unlikely she remembered him.
She was watching him, as if aware of how he looked at her. Even so, when she spoke again, her smile returned, as strong as ever. He smiled back at her. Though the body failed, the spirit lived on, in spite of all she'd suffered.
"Shall I let him know you're here?"
He shook his head, then took the offered bowl from the girl. "No, Mu Chua. I'll wait."
She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the girl, then back to him. "In that case, is there anything you'd like?"
Again he smiled. "No, Though I thank you. Just let him know I'm here. When he's finished, that is."
He watched her go, then looked about him, wondering. Mu Chua's old protector, Feng Chung, the Triad boss, had died three years earlier, leaving a power vacuum down here below the Net. Rival Triads had fought a long and bloody war for the dead man's territory, culminating in the victory of Lu Ming-shao, or "Whiskers Lu," as he was better known. No respecter of fine detail, Lu had claimed Mu Chua's House of the Ninth Ecstasy as his own, letting Mu Chua stay on as Madam, nominally in charge of things. But the truth was that Lu ran things his way these days, using Mu Chua's as a clearinghouse for drugs and other things, as well as for entertaining his Above clients.