She was part of a team of three—two women and a man—sent in to give the deck its biannual service. The others were hard at work elsewhere—checking the transportation grid for faults; repairing the basic plumbing and service systems; cleaning out the massive vents that threaded these upper decks like giant cat's cradles. Their jobs were important, but hers was the vital one. She was the communications expert. In her hands rested the complex network of computer links that gave the deck its life. There were backups, of course, and it was hard to cause real damage, but it was still a delicate job—more like surgery than engineering. She had said as much herself.
"It's like a huge head," she had told him. "Full of fine nerves that carry messages. And it has to be treated like a living mind. Gently, carefully. It can be hurt, you know." And he recalled how she had looked at him, a real tenderness and concern in her face, as if the thing really were alive.
But now, looking at her, he thought, Three weeks. Is that all? And what then? What will I do when you're gone?
Seeing him watching her, she leaned across and touched his arm gently.
"Thanks for the ch'a, but hadn't you better get back? Shouldn't you be checking on things?"
He laughed. "As if anything ever happens." But he sensed that he had outstayed his welcome and turned to go, stopping only at the far end of the long, dark shaft to look back at her.
She had moved on, further in toward the hub. Above her the overhead lamp, secure on its track and attached to her waist by a slender, weblike thread, threw a bright, golden light over her dark, neat head as she bent down, working on the next conduit in the line. For a moment longer he watched her, her head bobbing like a swimmer's between light and shadow, then turned, sighing, to descend the rungs.
CHEN SAT there, watching the screen in the comer while Wang Ti dressed the children. The set was tuned to the local MidText channel and showed a group of a dozen or so dignitaries on a raised platform, a great mass of people gathered in the Main in front of them. It was a live broadcast, from Hannover, two hundred li to the southeast.
At the front of the group on-screen was the T'ang's Chancellor, Nan Ho, there on his Master's behalf to open the first of the new Jade Phoenix Health Centers. Behind him stood the Hsien Ling, the Chief Magistrate of Hannover Hsien, Shou Chen-hai, a tall man with a patrician air and a high-domed head that shone damply in the overhead lights. The Chancellor was speaking, a great scroll held out before him, outlining Li Yuan's "new deal" for the Lowers, dwelling in particular upon the T'ang's plan to extend health facilities considerably over the coming five years by building one hundred and fifty of the new Health Centers throughout the lower third.
"About time," said Wang Ti, not looking up from where she sat, lacing up her young daughter's dress. "They've neglected things far too long. You remember the problems we had when Jyan was born. Why, I almost gave birth to him in the reception hall. And that was back then. Things have gotten a lot worse in the years since."
Chen grunted, remembering; yet he felt uneasy at the implied criticism of his T'ang. "Li Yuan means only well," he said. "There are those who would not do one tenth as n»uch."
Wang Ti looked across at him, a measured look in her eyes, then looked away. "I'm sure that's so, husband. But there are rumors. . . ."
Chen turned his head abruptly, the stiff collar of his jacket chafing his neck. "Rumors? About the T'ang?"
Wang Ti laughed, fastening the lace, then pushed Ch'iang Hsin away from her. "No. Of course not. And yet his hands . . ."
Chen frowned. "His hands?"
Wang Ti got up slowly, putting a hand to her lower back. "They say that some grow fat on the T'ang's generosity, while others get but the crumbs from his table."
"I don't follow you, Wang Ti."
She tilted her head slightly, indicating the figures on the screen, then lowered her voice a fraction. "The big one. Our friend, the Hsien Ling. It is said he has bought himself many things these past six months. Bronzes and statues and silks for his concubines. Yes, even a wife—a good wife, of First Level breeding. And more besides..."
Chen's face had hardened. "You know this, Wang Ti? For a certainty?"
"No. But the rumors . . ."
Chen stood, angered. "Rumors! Kuan Yin preserve us! Would you risk all this over some piece of ill-founded tittle-tattle?"
The three children were staring up at him, astonished. As for Wang Ti, she lowered her head, her whole manner suddenly submissive.
"Forgive me, husband, I—"
The sharp movement of his hand silenced her. He turned, agitated, and went to the set, jabbing a finger angrily at the power button. At once the room was silent. He turned back, facing her, his face suffused with anger.
"I am surprised at you, Wang Ti. To slander a good man like Shou Chen-hai. Who put this foolishness into your head? Do you know for a fact what the Hsien Ling has or hasn't bought? Have you been inside his mansion? Besides, he is a rich man. Why should he not have such things? Why are you so quick to believe he has used the T'ang's money and not his own? What evidence have you?"
He huffed impatiently. "Can't you see how foolish this is? How dangerous? Gods, if you were to repeat to the wrong ear what you've just said to me, we would all be in trouble! Do you want that? Do you want us to lose all we've worked so long and hard to build? Because it's still a crime to damage a man's reputation with false allegations, whatever your friends may think. Demotion, that's what I'm talking about, Wang Ti. Demotion. Back below the Net."
Wang Ti gave a tiny shudder, then nodded, When her voice came again it was small, chastened. "Forgive me, Kao Chen. I was wrong to say what I did. I will say no more about the Hsien L'ing."
Chen stared at her a moment longer, letting his anger drain from him, then nodded, satisfied. "Good. Then we'll say no more. Now hurry or we'll be late. I promised Karr we'd be there by second bell."
SHOU CHEN-HAI looked about him nervously; then satisfied that everything in the banqueting room was prepared, he forced himself to relax.
The T'ang's Chancellor had departed an hour past, but though Nan Ho was high, high enough to have the ear of a T'ang, Shou's next guest—a man never seen on the media, his face unknown to the billions of City Europe—was in many ways more important.
For Shou it had begun a year back, when he had been appointed to the chair of the finance committee for the new Health Center. He had seen then where it might lead . . . if he was clever enough, audacious enough. He had heard of the merchant some time before, and—his mind made up—had gone out of his way to win his friendship. But it was only when Shih Novacek had finally called on him, impressed more by his persistence than his gifts or offers of help, that he had had a chance to win him to his scheme. And now, this afternoon, that friendship would bear its first fruit.
Shou clapped his hands. At once the serving girls went to their places, while in the kitchen the cooks began to prepare the feast.
Novacek had briefed him fully on how to behave. Even so, Shou's hands trembled with a mixture of fear and excitement at the thought of entertaining a Red Pole, a real-life 426, like on the trivee serials. He called the Chief Steward over and wiped his hands on the towel the man held out for him, dabbing his forehead nervously. When he had first considered all this he had imagined a meeting with the 489 himself; had pictured himself at a large table somewhere below the Net, facing the big boss, some special delicacy in a porcelain bowl by his elbow as he spelled out his scheme, but Novacek had quickly disillusioned him. The Triad bosses rarely met the people they dealt with. No. They were careful—very careful—to use intermediaries. Men like Novacek, or like their Red Poles, the "Executioners" of the Triads; cultured, discreet men with the manners of Mandarins and the instincts of sharks.