Steiger, the installation's Director, hurried to greet Lehmann as he bore down on the entrance to the new wing, bowing elaborately, but Lehmann swept past him as if he weren't there, making his way through to the laboratory where the copy had been taken.
Soucek was inside, standing over the part-dissected corpse, watching the four-man team of technicians at work. As Lehmann entered, he stepped back, allowing his Master to take his place beside the operating table.
Lehmann studied the body a moment, then looked to Soucek, indicating that they should go into the next room.
Inside, the door closed, Lehmann went to the observation window. "So what do we know?"
"Nothing," Soucek said. "If I didn't know better I'd say that thing out there was real. A human being, born to a regular human mother."
"Then maybe he was."
Soucek looked surprised. "You think they know?"
Lehmann stared at the corpse thoughtfully, then turned to face his lieutenant. "More than us, perhaps. I'm beginning to wonder if these really are Li Yuan's creatures."
"They have to be. We know Ward was working on these long before the war began. He's had a long time to perfect them."
"Maybe. But word is he hasn't been working for Li Yuan for some while. And what happened yesterday makes no sense."
"Unless the thing just panicked."
Lehmann considered that, then shook his head. "I don't believe that. Its actions were too controlled. Too . . . planned. The coat it was wearing . . . the thing that made it trace-invisible . . . what was that?"
Soucek shrugged. "We don't know."
"We didn't recover it, then?"
"No. I took that place apart but there was no sign of it. They must have taken it to Bremen."
There was the slightest twitch of irritation on Lehmann's otherwise emotionless features.
"You want us to try to get it?"
Lehmann nodded. "Just so long as it doesn't affect any of our other schemes. Can we spare an operative?"
"I'll have two men on it at once."
"Good. Now about this body. If it's not one of Ward's—if that's not where they're coming from—then where are they from? What do we know about its movements before we chanced on it?"
"Not a lot. We've traced it to the south—to Almeria, in fact—but we can't be certain that's where it came in."
"Then let's find out for sure. Make that a priority, Jiri. If these are coming in from Africa, then it's more serious than I thought. If the Mountain Lords have copies . . ."
Soucek laughed. The idea was absurd. "But Fu Chiang buys technology off us! Why, if he'd developed these—"
He stopped. Lehmann was not listening. The albino had turned and was staring at the copy, his mouth fallen open.
"What is it?"
But Lehmann was shaking his head. "No," he said quietly. '%
couldn't be ..."
"Couldn't be what?"
"DeVore ..."
"DeVore?" Soucek shrugged. Who the fuck was DeVore?
"It wasn't Ward," Lehmann said, meeting Soucek's eyes, his pale face burning with certainty. "We've been looking in the wrong direction. It's DeVore. Howard DeVore. He's back. The bastard's back!"
UNCLE PAN HAD GONE. Lin came back into the apartment and looked at her, letting a sigh of relief escape him. He was late now, she knew—had lost a precious hour of trading—but there was no sign of impatience, only a smile that seemed to say, All, well . . .
"Can I help you?" she asked softly, looking to his cart.
His eyes followed hers, then looked back at her. "Would you like to come with me this time?"
She stared at him, surprised. He had never asked before. Always, before now, he had gone to the market on his own, bringing her back some small gift at the end of the day, just to let her know he'd been thinking of her.
"Can I?" she said, her face lit up by the thought of it.
He nodded, his broad answering smile distorting the right-hand side of his face.
"Clear the dinner things. I'll pack the cart."
STEWARD GUI let Kim into the darkened Mansion, placing a finger to his lips, then took Kim's jacket.
"He's resting right now," he said in a whisper, "but come through. I'll see if he's awake."
Kim looked about him at the shadowed hallway, remembering the last time he had been here. Then it had seemed a bright and bustling place—filled with Jelka's presence—but now the air was musty and the rooms had the feel of death about them. Even the boy, Pauli Ebert, had been taken from him—given into the care of a younger, healthier man. So Tolonen was alone now. Kim shivered. How long had he been living like this?
"Shih Ward . . . If you would come ..."
He followed Cui down a long, dark corridor and out across a second hallway. Stairs went up into the darkness. Everywhere he looked doors were closed, as if the old house had been locked up.
Cui stopped before an imposing doorway and turned to Kim. "If you would wait just a moment, Shih Ward."
"Of course."
While Cui slipped inside the room, closing the door behind him, Kim turned, looking down the corridor. Military paintings filled the walls—portraits of famous generals and scenes from famous battles.
All lies, he thought, studying one that showed the victory of the Han armies at Kazatin, the Emperor Domitian—Kan Ying—bowing before the conquering general, Pan Chao. It was a familiar image and hung in schoolrooms throughout the levels, but it was a lie, for the battle had never been fought. In fact, no Han army had ever marched upon the Ta Ts'm—the Roman Empire—let alone defeated it. Not in this reality. The truth was that Pan Chao and his handful of followers had reached the Caspian in 92 B.C. and withdrawn, leaving Europe to shape its own destiny. In this reality it had been fully two millennia before the Han returned as conquerors.
Lies. It was all built on lies. What he had said to Sampsa the other evening was the truth: the City was nothing but a box of dreams—the dreams of an evil god.
And now he must defend those dreams, lest they come crashing down. For in waking they might all die.
"Shih Ward. If you would step inside, the Marshal will see you now."
He went into the darkened room, his heart beating fast in his chest. How often he'd imagined this moment, how often he'd rehearsed which words to say; but his first glimpse of the old man robbed him of speech.
Aiya, he thought, pained by the sight.
Tolonen was propped up on his pillows. His mottled, shrunken head was completely bald and only his left arm—its golden surface polished brightly—showed above the dark blue silken covers. The whole of his right side was paralyzed and had atrophied—the result of the stroke he had suffered six years before. As for his face . . . Kim bit his lip, moaning softly at the sight. The old man's face was thin and drawn—a grotesque caricature of what it once had been. About his neck hung what looked like a thick black brace. Kim recognized it at once. It was a speech-enhancer; one of the inventions he had worked on while he was a commodity slave for SimFic.
Beside Tolonen, on the bedside table, was the black case of the holo Kim had left the day before. "Shih Ward . . . ?" The voice was thin, almost metallic: a perfect representation of the man.