They stumbled on, only a low murmur coming from them now, most of them awed into silence by the sight of such luxury, intimidated by the sense of openness, by the big sky overhead. But for Axel, shuffling along slowly in their midst, it reminded him of something else—of that day when he and Major DeVore had called upon Representative Lehmann at his First Level estate. And he knew, almost without thinking it, that there was a connection between the two. As if such luxury bred corruption.
Stewards herded them down a broad gravel path and out into a large space in front of the Mansion. Here another wall barred their way, the translucent surface of it coated with a nonreflective substance that to the watching cameras would make it seem as if there were no wall—no barrier—between the Eberts and the cheering crowd.
As the space filled up, he noticed the stewards going out into the crowd, handing out flags and streamers—the symbols of GenSyn and the Seven distributed equally—before positioning themselves at various strategic points. Turning, he sought out one of the stewards and took a banner from him, aiming to conceal himself behind it when the cheering began. It was unlikely that Hans Ebert would study the film of his triumph that closely, but it was best to take no chances.
He glanced at his timer. It was almost twelve. In a few moments ...
The stewards began the cheering, turning to encourage the others standing about them. "Five yuanl" they shouted. "Only those who shout will get a coin!"
As the Eberts stepped out onto the balcony, the cheering rose to a crescendo. The cameras panned about the crowd, then focused on the scene on the balcony again. Klaus Ebert stood there in the foreground, a broad beam of light settling on him, making his hair shine silver-white, his perfect teeth sparkle.
"Friends!" he began, his voice amplified to carry over the cheering. "A notice has been posted throughout our great City. It reads as follows." He turned and took a scroll from his secretary, then turned back, clearing his throat. Below, the noise subsided as the stewards moved among the crowd, damping down the excitement they had artificially created.
Ebert opened out the scroll, then began.
"I, Li Yuan, T'ang designate of Ch'eng Ou Chou, City Europe, declare the appointment of Hans Joachim Ebert, currently Major in my Security services, as Supreme General of my forces, this appointment to be effective from midday on the fifteenth day of September in the year two thousand two-hundred'and-seven." He stepped back, beaming with paternal pride.
There was a moment's silence and then a ragged cheer went up, growing stronger as the stewards whipped the crowd into a fury of enthusiasm.
Up on the balcony, Hans Ebert stepped forward, his powder-blue uniform immaculate, his blond hair perfectly groomed. He grinned and waved a hand as if to thank them for their welcome, then stepped back, bowing, all humility.
Axel, watching from below, felt a wave of pure hatred pass through him. If they knew—if they only knew all he had done. The cheating and lying and butchery; the foulness beneath the mask of perfection. But they knew nothing. He looked about him, seeing how caught up in it they suddenly were. They had come for the chance of food and drink and for the money, but now that they were here their enthusiasm was genuine. Up there they saw a king—a man so high above them that to be at such proximity was a blessing. Axel saw the stewards look at each other and wink, laughing, sharing the joke, and he felt more sick than he had ever felt among the unwashed masses. They, at least, did not pretend that they were clean. One could smell what they were. But Ebert?
Axel looked past the fluttering banner, saw how Ebert turned to talk to those behind him, so at ease in his arrogance, and swore again to bring him low. To pile the foul truth high, burying his flawless reputation.
He shuddered, frightened by the sheer intensity of what he felt; knowing that if he had had a gun and the opportunity, he would have tried to kill the man, right there and then. Up on the balcony, the Eberts turned away, making their way back inside. As the doors closed behind them the lights went down, leaving the space before the Mansion in darkness.
The cheering died. Axel threw the banner down. All about him the crowd was dispersing, making for the barriers. He turned, following them, then stopped, looking back. Was it that? Was it excess of luxury that corrupted a man? Or were some men simply bom evil and others good?
He looked ahead, looked past the barriers to where small knots of beggars had gathered. Already they were squabbling, fighting each other over the pittance they had been given. As he came closer he saw one man go down and several others fall on him, punching and kicking him, robbing him of the little he had. Nearby the guards looked on, laughing among themselves.
Laughing... He wiped his mouth, sickened by all he'd seen, then pushed past the barrier, ignoring the offered coin.
INSIDE THE MANSION the celebrations were about to begin. At the top of the great stairway, Klaus Ebert put his arm about his son's shoulders and looked out across the gathering that-filled the great hall below.
"My good friends!" he said, then laughed. "What can 1 say? 1 am so full of pride! My son . . ."
He drew Hans closer and kissed his cheek, then looked about him again, beaming and laughing, as if he were drunk.
"Come, Father," Hans said in a whisper, embarrassed by his father's sudden effusiveness. "Let's get it over with. I'm faint with hunger."
Klaus looked back at him, smiling broadly, then laughed, squeezing his shoulder again. "Whatever you say, Hans." He turned back, putting one arm out expansively. "Friends! Let us not stand on formalities tonight. Eat, drink, be merry!"
They made their way down the stairs, father and son, joining the crowd gathered at the foot. Tolonen was among those there, lean and elegant in his old age, his steel-gray hair slicked back, the dress uniform of General worn proudly for the last time.
"Why, Knut," Klaus Ebert began, taking a glass from a servant, "I see you are wearing Hans's uniform!"
Tolonen laughed. "It is but briefly, Klaus. I am just taking the creases out of it for him!"
There was a roar of laughter at that. Hans smiled and bowed, then looked about him. "Is Jelka not here?"
Tolonen shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Hans. She took an injury in her practice session this morning. Nothing serious—only a sprain—but the doctor felt she would be better off resting. She was most disappointed, I can tell you. Why, she'd spent two whole days looking for a new dress to wear tonight!"
Hans lowered his head respectfully. "I am sorry to hear it, Father-in-Law. I had hoped to dance with her tonight. But perhaps you would both come here for dinner—soon, when things have settled."
Tolonen beamed, delighted by the suggestion. "That would be excellent, Hans. And it would make up for her disappointment, I am sure."
Hans bowed and moved on, circulating, chatting with all his father's friends, making his way slowly toward a small group on the far side of the hall, until, finally, he came to them.
"Michael!" he said, embracing his old friend.
"Hans!" Lever held Ebert to him a moment, then stood back. They had been classmates at Oxford in their teens, before Lever had gone on to Business College and Ebert to the Academy. But they had stayed in touch all this time.
Ebert looked past his old friend, smiling a greeting to the others.
"How was your journey?"
"As well as could be expected!" Lever laughed, then leaned closer. "When in the gods' names are they going to improve those things, Hans? If you've any influence with Li Yuan, make him pass an amendment to the Edict to enable them to build something more comfortable than those transatlantic rockets."