Wu Shih laughed. ‘And much to do tonight, neh?’
There was a momentary hesitation in Li Yuan’s face then he returned Wu Shih’s smile tightly, bowing his head slightly to his fellow T’ang before he cut contact.
Tonight. He shivered. Tonight he wished only to be alone. But that was not his fate. He was married now. He had duties to his wives. And to his ancestors. For it was up to him now to provide a son. To continue the line. So that the chain should remain unbroken, the ancestral offerings made, the graves tended.
Even so, his heart felt dead in him. Ever since this morning he had kept thinking of the new child, seeing it in his mind, resting in Fei Yen’s arms as she lay there propped up in bed on her father’s estate.
He shook his head then stood. It hurt. It hurt greatly, but it was behind him now. It had to be. His life lay ahead of him, and he could not carry his hurt about like an open wound. Neither could he wait for time to heal the scars. He must press on. For he was T’ang now. T’ang.
He stood with his hands resting against the edge of the desk, staring down at the package, still undecided whether he should send it, then leaned forward, pressing the summons bell. ‘Send in Nan Ho.’
The boy’s debriefing had proved more successful than any of them had dared hope and had put the lie to what Director Spatz had said about Ward’s ‘nil contribution’ to the Project. Ward had remembered everything. In fact, the extent of his knowledge about the Wiring Project had surprised them all. With what he had given them, they would be able to reconstruct the facility within months. A facility that, in theory anyway, would be far more advanced than the one Spatz had so spectacularly mismanaged.
This time he would do it right. Would ensure that the right men were appointed, that it was adequately funded and properly protected. No, there would be no mistakes this time.
Mistakes. He shook his head. He had misjudged things badly. He ought to have trusted to his instinct about the boy, but he had been off balance. That whole business with Fei Yen had thrown him. He had been unable to see things clearly. But now he could put things right. Could reward the boy. Indeed, what better way was there of making Ward loyal to him than through the ties of gratitude? And he needed the boy to be loyal. He saw that now. Saw what he had almost lost through his inadvertence.
Such talent as Kim possessed appeared but rarely in the world. It was a priceless gift. And whoever had the use of it could only benefit. Change was coming to Chung Kuo, like it or not, and they must find a way to harness it. Ward’s skills – his genius, if you like – might prove effective, not in preventing Change, for who could turn back the incoming tide, but in giving it a shape better suited to the wishes of the Seven.
For now, however, Li Yuan would use him in a different role. As an eye, peering into the darkness of his enemies’ hearts. As an ear, listening to the rhythms of their thought. And then, when he was done with that, he would fly him on a long leash, like a young hawk, giving him the illusion of freedom, letting him stretch his wings, even as he restrained and directed him.
There was a faint knock. ‘Come,’ he said.
‘You sent for me, Chieh Hsia?’
He picked up the package and offered it to his Chancellor. ‘Have this sent to Shih Ward at once. I want it to be in his room when he returns tonight.’
‘Of course, Chieh Hsia.’ Nan Ho hesitated. ‘Is that all?’
As ever, he had read Li Yuan’s mood. Had understood without the need for words.
‘One thing, Nan Ho. You will carry a note for me. Personally. To Fei Yen. To wish her well.’
Nan Ho bowed his head. ‘Forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but is that wise? There are those who might construe such a note to mean…’
Li Yuan cut him off. ‘Nan Ho! Just do it. Wise or not, I feel it must be done. So, please, take my message to her and wish her well. I would not be bitter about the past, understand me? I would be strong. And how can I be strong unless I face the past clear-eyed, understanding my mistakes?’
Nan Ho bowed, impressed by his master’s words. ‘I will go at once, Chieh Hsia.’
‘Good. And when you return you will find me a new Master of the Inner Chambers. A man who will serve me as well as you have served me.’
Nan Ho smiled. ‘Of course, Chieh Hsia. I have the very man in mind.’
*
It was after midnight and Archimedes Kitchen was packed. The club was dimly lit, like the bottom of the ocean, the air heavy with exotic scents. As one stepped inside, under the great arch, the deep growl of a primitive bass rhythm obliterated all other sound, like a slow, all-pervasive heartbeat, resonating in everything it touched.
The architecture of the club was eccentric but deliberate. All things Han were absent here. Its fashions looked backwards, to the last years of the American Empire, before the Great Collapse.
From its position at the top edge of the City, the Kitchen overlooked the dark green, island-strewn waters of Buzzard Bay. Through the vast, clear windows of the upper tiers you could, on a clear day, see the south-western tip of Martha’s Vineyard, distant and green, unspoiled by any structure. Few were so inclined. For most of the time the magnificent view windows were opaqued; arabesques of vivid colour swirling across their blinded surfaces.
Inside, the place was cavernous. Tier after tier spiralled up about the central circle of the dance floor, a single, broad ramp ascending smoothly into the darkened heights. Along the slowly winding length of this elegantly carpeted ‘avenue’, tables were set. Ornate, impressive tables, in ‘Empire’ style, the old insignia of the sixty-nine States carved into the wooden surfaces, bronzed eagles stretching their wings across the back of each chair. Gold-and-black-suited waiters hovered – literally hovered – by the rail to take orders. Their small backpack jets, a memory of the achievements of their technological past, flaunted the Edict. Like bees, they tended the needs of the crowded tiers, fetching and carrying, issuing from the darkness high above their patrons’ heads.
In the centre of all was a huge light sculpture, a twisting double band of gold stretching from floor to ceiling. It was a complex double helix, detailed and flowing, pulsing with the underlying bass rhythm, by turns frail and intense, ghostly thin and then broad, sharply delineated, like a solid thing. This, too, bordered on the illicit; was a challenge of sorts to those who ruled.
Membership of the Kitchen was exclusive. Five, almost six thousand members crowded the place on a good night – which this was – but five times that number were members and twenty times that were on the club’s waiting list. More significantly, membership was confined to just one section of the populace. No Han were allowed here, or their employees. In this, as in so many other ways, the club was in violation of statutes passed in the House some years before, though the fact that every one of the North American Representatives was also a member of the Kitchen had escaped no one’s notice.
It was a place of excess. Here, much more was permitted than elsewhere. Eccentricity seemed the norm, and nakedness, or partial nakedness that concealed little of importance, was much in evidence. Men wore their genitalia dressed in silver, small fins sprouting from the sides of their drug-aroused shafts. The women were no less overt in their symbolism; many wore elaborate rings of polished metal about their sex – space gates, similar in form to the docking apertures on spacecraft. It was all a game, but there was a meaning behind its playfulness.
Of those who were dressed – the majority, it must be said – few demonstrated a willingness to depart from what was the prevalent style: a style which might best be described as Techno-Barbarian, a mixture of space suits and ancient chain-mail. Much could be made of the curious opposition of the fine, in some cases beautiful, aristocratic faces and the brutish, primitive dress. It seemed a telling contrast, illustrative of some elusive quality in the society itself. Of the unstated yet ever-present conflict in their souls. Almost a confession.
It was nearly two in the morning when Kim arrived at the ‘Gateway’ and presented his invi
tation. The sobriety of his dress marked him out as a visitor, just as much as his diminutive status. People stared at him shamelessly as he was ushered through the crowded tunnel and out into the central space.
He boarded a small vehicle to be taken to his table – a replica of the four-wheeled, battery-powered jeep that had first been used on the moon two hundred and thirty-eight years before. At a point halfway up the spiral it stopped. There was an empty table with spaces set for five. Nearby two waiters floated, beyond the brass and crystal rail.
Kim sat beside the rail, looking down at the dance floor more than a hundred ch’i below. The noise was not so deafening up here. Down there, however, people were thickly pressed, moving slowly, sensually, to the stimulus of a Mood Enhancer. Small firefly clouds of hallucinogens moved erratically amongst the dancers, sparking soundlessly as they made contact with the moist warmth of naked flesh.
Kim looked up. His hosts had arrived. They stood there on the far side of the table: two big men, built like athletes, dressed casually in short business pau, as if to make him more at ease.
The older of the two came round the table to greet him.
‘I’m glad you could come,’ he said, smiling broadly. ‘My name is Charles Lever.’
‘I know,’ Kim said simply, returning his smile.
Old Man Lever; he was Head of the biggest pharmaceuticals company in North America, possibly in the whole of Chung Kuo. The other man, his personal assistant, was his son, Michael. Kim shook Lever’s hand then looked past him at his son, noting how alike they were.
They sat, the old man leaning towards him across the table. ‘Do you mind if I order for you, Kim? I know the specialties of this place.’
Kim nodded and looked around, noting the occupants of the next table down. His eyes widened in surprise. Turning, he saw it was the same at the next table up.
A group of aristocrats now sat at each table. They had not been there before, so they must have slipped into their places after the Levers had arrived. There was nothing especially different about the way they dressed, yet they were immediately noticeable. They were bald. That absence of hair first drew the eye, but then another detail held the attention: a cross-hatching of scars, fine patterns like a wiring grid in an ancient circuit. These stood out, blue against the whiteness of each scalp – like some alien code.
Kim studied them a moment, fascinated, not certain what they were, then looked back to find Old Man Lever watching him, a faint smile of amusement on his lips.
‘I see you’ve noticed my friends.’
Lever rose and went from table to table, making a show of introducing them. Kim watched, abstracted from the reality of what was happening, conscious only of how uniform they seemed despite a wide variation of features; of how this one thing erased all individuality in their faces, making things of them.
‘What you see gathered here, Kim, is the first stage of a grand experiment. One I’d like you to help me in.’ The old man stood there, his arms folded against his broad chest, relaxed in his own power and knowledge, confident of Kim’s attention. ‘These here are the first to benefit from a breakthrough in ImmVac’s research programme. Trailblazers, you might call them. Pioneers of a new way of living.’
Kim nodded, but he was thinking how odd it was that Lever should do this all so publicly; should choose this way of presenting things.
‘These…’ Lever paused and smiled broadly, as if the joke was all too much for him. ‘These are the first immortals, Kim. The very first.’
Kim pursed his lips, considering, trying to anticipate the older man. He was surprised. He hadn’t thought anyone was close enough yet. But if it was so, what did it mean? Why did Lever want to involve him? What was the flaw that needed ironing out?
‘Immortals,’ the old man repeated, his eyes afire with the word. ‘What Mankind has always dreamed of. The defeat of death itself.’
There was a whisper from the nearby tables, like the rustle of paperthin metal streamers in a wind. At Kim’s back the coiled and spiralling threads of light pulsed and shimmered, while waiters floated between the levels. The air was rich with distracting scents. It all seemed dreamlike, almost absurd.
‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘I assume…’
He paused, holding the old man’s eyes. What did he assume? That it worked? That Lever knew he was flouting the Edict? That it was ‘what Mankind had always dreamed of’? All of these, perhaps, but he finished otherwise. ‘I assume you’ll pay me well for my help, Shih Lever.’
The son turned his head sharply and looked at Kim, surprised. His father considered a moment then laughed heartily and took his seat again.
‘Why, of course you’ll be paid well, Shih Ward. Very well indeed. If you can help us.’
The waiters arrived, bringing food and wine. For a moment all speech was suspended as the meal was laid out. When it was done Kim reached across and poured himself a glass of water from the jug, ignoring the wine. He sipped the ice-cool liquid then looked across at Old Man Lever again.
‘But why all this? Why raise the matter here, in such a public place?’
Lever smiled again and began to tuck into his starter. He chewed for a while then set his fork down. ‘You aren’t used to our ways yet, are you? All this…’ he gestured with his knife ‘…it’s a marketplace. And these…’ He indicated his friends. ‘These are my product.’ He grinned and pointed at Kim with his knife. ‘You, so I’m told on good authority, come with a reputation second to none. Forget connections.’ There was a brief flicker in the corner of one eye. ‘By meeting you here, like this, I signal my intention to work with you. The best with the best.’ He took a second forkful and chewed and swallowed. Beside him his son watched, not eating.
‘So it’s all publicity?’
‘Of a kind.’ The son spoke for the father. ‘It does our shares no harm. Good rumour feeds a healthy company.’
Old Man Lever nodded. ‘Indeed. So it is, Kim. And it won’t harm your own career one jot to be seen in harness with ImmVac.’
Yes, thought Kim, unless the Seven start objecting to what you’re doing and close you down. Aloud he said, ‘You know I’ve other plans.’
The old man nodded. ‘I know everything about you, Kim.’
It sounded ominous and Kim looked up from his plate, momentarily alarmed, but it was only a form of words. Not everything.
‘It would be… theoretical work,’ continued Lever. ‘The sort of thing I understand you’re rather good at. Synthesizing.’
Kim tilted his head, feeling uneasy, but not knowing quite why he had the feeling. Perhaps the words had simply thrown him. He didn’t like to be known so readily.
‘We have a drug that works. A stabilizer. Something that in itself prevents the error catastrophe that creates ageing in human beings. But we don’t want to stop there. Longevity shouldn’t just be for the young, neh, Kim?’ There was a slight nervousness in his laughter that escaped no one at the table. The son looked disconcerted by it, embarrassed. To Kim, however, it was the most significant thing Lever had said. He knew now what it was that drove him.
You want it for yourself. And the drug you have won’t give it to you. It doesn’t reverse the process, it only holds it in check. You want to be young again. You want to live for ever. And right now you can’t have either.
‘And your terms?’
Again Lever laughed, as if Kim was suddenly talking his own language. ‘Terms we’ll discuss when we meet. For now just enjoy this marvellous food. Tuck in, Kim. Tuck in. You’ve never tasted anything like this fish, I guarantee.’
Kim took a bite and nodded. ‘It’s good. What is it?’
There was laughter at the surrounding tables. Lever raised a hand to silence it then leaned across the table towards the boy. ‘They only serve one kind of fish here. Shark.’
Kim looked across at the watchful faces of the new immortals then back at the Levers, father and son, seeing how much they enjoyed this little joke.
‘Like
Time,’ he said.
‘How’s that?’ asked the old man, sitting back in his chair, one arm curled about the eagle’s wing.
‘Time,’ said Kim, slowly cutting a second mouthful from the fish steak in front of him. ‘It’s like a shark in a bloodied sea.’
He saw their amusement fade, the biter bit, a flicker in the corner of the old man’s eye. And something else. Respect. He saw how Lever looked at him, measuring him anew. ‘Yes,’ he said, after a moment. ‘So it is, boy. So it is.’
Tolonen climbed the twist of stairs easily, two at a time, like a man half his age, yet as he turned to say something to the leader of the honour guard, he realized he was alone. The stairs behind were empty, the door at their foot closed. Up ahead the corridor was silent, dimly lit, doors set off either side. At the far end a doorway led through to the central control room.
‘What in hell…?’ he began, then fell silent. Something had not been right. His instincts prickled, as if to alert him. Something about their uniforms…
He reacted quickly, turning to shoot the first of them as they came through the far door, but they were moving fast and the second had aimed his knife before Tolonen could bring him down.
He fell to his knees, crumpled against the right-hand wall, blood oozing from his left arm, his gun arm, his weapon fallen to the floor. He could hear shooting from below, from back the way he’d come, but there was no time to work out what it meant. As he pulled the knife from his arm and straightened up, another of the assassins appeared at the far end of the corridor.
Grabbing up the gun, he opened fire right-handed, hitting the man almost as he was on him. The assassin jerked backwards then lay there, twitching, his face shot away, the long knife still trembling in his hand.
He understood. They had instructions to take him alive. If not, he would have been dead already. But who was it wanted him?
He barely had time to consider the question when he heard the door slide open down below and footsteps on the stairs. He swung round, a hot stab of pain shooting up his arm as he aimed his gun down into the stairwell.
The Broken Wheel Page 33