‘If you would be kind enough to wait here, Shih Shepherd, we’ll try not to keep you too long. The tests are quite routine, but they take a little time. In the meantime, is there anything one of my assistants can bring you?’
‘You want me to wait out here?’
‘Ben...’ Meg’s eyes pleaded with him not to make trouble.
He smiled. ‘All right. Perhaps you’d ask them to bring me a pot of coffee and a newsfax.’
The Consultant smiled and turned to do as Ben asked, but Meg was looking at him strangely now. She knew her brother well. Well enough to know he never touched a newsfax.
‘What are you up to?’ she whispered, as soon as Tung T’an was out of the room.
He smiled; the kind of innocuous-seeming smile that was enough to make alarm bells start ringing in her head. ‘Nothing. I’m just looking after my kid sister, that’s all. Making sure she gets to the Clinic on time.’
She looked down, the evasiveness of the gesture not lost on Ben.
‘I’ll explain it all, Ben. I promise I will. But not now.’ She glanced up at him, then shook her head. ‘Look, I promise. Later. But behave yourself while you’re here. Please, Ben. I’ll only be an hour or so.’
He relented, smiling back at her. ‘Okay. I’ll try to be good.’
A young girl brought him coffee and a pile of newsfax, then took Meg through to get changed. Ben sat there for a time, pretending to look at the nonsense on the page before him, all the while surreptitiously looking about him. As far as he could see he was not being observed. At the outer gates security was tight, but here there was nothing. Why was that? It was almost standard for companies to keep a tight watch on their premises.
He stood up, stretching, miming tiredness, then went across, looking closer at the walls, the vents, making sure. No. There was nothing. It was almost certain that he wasn’t being observed.
Good. Then he’d delve a little deeper. Would answer a few of the questions that were stacking up in his head.
He went out into the corridor and made his way back to the junction. Doors led off to either side. He stopped, listening. There was the faintest buzz of voices to his right, but to his left there was nothing. He tried the left-hand door, drawing the sliding door back in a single silent movement. If challenged he would say he was looking for a toilet.
The tiny room was empty. He slid the door closed behind him, then looked about. Again there seemed to be no cameras. As if they had no need for them. And yet they must, surely, if they had a regular clientele?
He crossed the room and tried the door on the far side. It too was open. Beyond was a long, narrow room, brightly lit, the left-hand wall filled with filing cabinets.
Eureka! he thought, allowing himself a tiny smile. And yet it seemed strange, very strange, that he should be able to gain access to their files so easily.
As if they weren’t expecting anyone to try.
His brow wrinkled, trying to work it out, then he released the thought, moving down the line of cabinets quickly, looking for the number he had glimpsed on the card Meg had shown at the gates. He found it without difficulty and tried the drawer. It opened at a touch.
Meg’s file was missing. Of course... they would have taken it through. Like a lot of private clinics most of the work was of a delicate nature, and so records were kept in this old-fashioned manner, the reports handwritten by the consultants, no computer copy kept. Because it would not do...
He stopped, astonished, noting the name on the file that lay beneath his fingertips. A file that had a tiny acorn on the label next to the familiar name.
Women’s business...
And then he laughed, softly, quietly, knowing now why Tung T’an had been so flustered earlier. They were here! They were all here! He flicked through quickly and found it. His file, handwritten like all the rest, and containing his full medical record – including a copy of his genetic chart.
He shivered, a strange mixture of pain and elation coursing through his veins. It was as he’d thought – Augustus had been right. Amos’s experiment was still going on.
He stared at the genetic chart, matching it to the one he held in memory – the one he had first seen in the back of his great-grandfather’s journal that afternoon in the old house – the day he had lost his hand.
The two charts were identical.
He flicked through the files again until he came across his father’s. For a time he was silent, scanning the pages, then he looked up, nodding to himself. Here it was – confirmation. A small note, dated 18 February 2185. The date his father had been sterilized. Sterilized without him knowing it, on the pretext of a simple medical.
A date roughly five years before Ben had been born.
He flicked through again, looking now for his mother’s file, then pulled it out. He knew now where to look. Anticipated what it would say. Even so, he was surprised by what he read.
The implant had been made seven months before his birth, which meant that he had been nurtured elsewhere for eight weeks before he had been placed in his mother’s womb. He touched his tongue to his teeth, finding the thought of it strangely discomfiting. It made sense, of course – by eight weeks they could tell whether the embryo was healthy or otherwise. His embryo would have been – what? – an inch long by then. Limbs, fingers and toes, ears, nose and mouth would have formed. Yes. By eight weeks they would have been sure.
It made sense. Of course it did. But the thought of himself, in utero, placed in a machine, disturbed him. He had always thought...
He let his hands rest on the edge of the drawer, overcome suddenly by the reality of what he had found. He had known – some part of him had believed it ever since that day when he had looked at Augustus’s journal; even so, he had not been prepared. Not at core. It had been head-knowledge, detached from him. Until now.
So it was true. Hal was not his father, Hal was his brother. Like his so-called ‘great-great-grandfather’, Augustus, his ‘great-grandfather’, Robert and his ‘grandfather’, James. Brothers, all of them. Every last one the seeds of Old Man Amos. Yes. Sons of Amos and his wife, Alexandra.
He flicked through until he found her file, then laughed. Of course! He should have known. The name of the clinic – Melfi. It was his great-great-great-grandmother’s maiden name. No. His mother’s maiden name.
Which meant...
He tried another drawer. Again it opened to his touch, revealing the edges of files, none of them marked with that important acorn symbol. And inside? Inside the files were blank.
‘It’s all of a piece,’ he said quietly, nodding to himself. All part of the great illusion Amos built about him. Like Augustus’s town in the Domain, filled with its android replicants. Like the City Amos had designed to Tsao Ch’un’s order. All a great charade. A game to perpetuate his seed, his ideas.
And this, here, was the centre of it. The place where Amos’s great plan was carried out. That was why it was hidden in the Mids. That was why security was so tight outside and so lax within. No one else came here. No one but the Shepherd women. To be tested and, when the time was right and the scheme demanded it, to have Amos’s children implanted into their wombs. No wonder Tung T’an had been disturbed to see him here.
He turned, hearing the door slide back behind him.
It was Tung T’an.
‘What in hell’s name...?’ The Consultant began, then fell silent, seeing the open file on the drawer in front of Ben. He swallowed. ‘You should not be in here, Shih Shepherd.’
‘No, I shouldn’t. But I am.’
‘If you would leave now...’
‘Of course. I’ve seen all I needed to see.’
The Han’s face twitched. ‘You misunderstand...’
Ben shook his head. ‘Not at all, Tung T’an. You see, I knew. I’ve known for some time. But not how. Or where. All this...’ He indicated the files. ‘It just confirms things.’
‘You knew?’ Tung T’an shook his head. ‘Knew what, Shih Shepherd? There’s
nothing to know.’
‘As you wish, Tung T’an.’
He saw the movement in the man’s eyes, the assessment and reassessment. Then Tung T’an gave a reluctant nod. ‘You were never meant to see any of this. It is why...’
‘Why you kept the Shepherd males away from here.’ Ben smiled. ‘Wise. To make it all seem unimportant. Women’s business. But old Amos wasn’t quite so thorough here, was he?’
‘I’m sorry?’
Ben shook his head. No, Tung T’an knew nothing of just how thorough Amos could be when he wanted to. The old town was an example of that, complete down to every last detail. But this... In a sense this was a disappointment. It was almost as if...
He laughed, for the first time seriously considering the idea. What if Amos had wanted one of them to discover all this? What if that, too, were part of the plan? – a kind of test?
The more he thought of it, the more sense it made. The boarded-up old house, the hidden room, the enclosed garden, the lost journal. None of these were really necessary unless they were meant to act as clues – doors to be passed through until the last door was opened, the final revelation made. No. You did not preserve what you wished to conceal. You destroyed it. And yet he had stumbled on this by accident. Coming here had not been his doing, it had been Meg’s. Unless...
She had come a week early. Why? What reason could she have had for doing that? A week. Surely it would have made no difference?
Tung T’an was still staring at him. ‘You place me in an impossible situation, Shih Shepherd.’
‘Why so, Shih Tung? You can’t erase what I’ve seen, or what I know. Not without destroying me. And you can’t do that.’ He laughed. ‘After all, it’s what all of this here is dedicated to preserving, isn’t it? You have no other function.’
Tung T’an lowered his head. ‘Even so—’
Ben interrupted him. ‘You need say nothing, Tung T’an. Not even that I was here. For my own part I will act as if this place did not and does not exist. You understand me?’ He moved closer to the Han, forcing him by the strength of his will to look up and meet his eyes. ‘I was never here, Tung T’an. And this conversation... it never happened.’
Tung T’an swallowed, aware suddenly of the charismatic power of the young man standing before him, then nodded.
‘Good. Then go and see to my sister. She’s like me. She doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Ah, but you know that, don’t you, Tung T’an? You, of all people, should know how alike we Shepherds are.’
Meg sat across from Ben in the sedan, watching him. He had been quiet since they had come from the clinic. Too quiet. He had been up to something. She had seen how flustered Tung T’an had been when he’d returned to her and knew it had to do with something Ben had said or done. When she’d asked, Ben had denied that anything had passed between him and Tung T’an, but she could tell he was lying. The two had clashed over something. Something important enough for Ben to be worrying about it still.
She tried again. ‘Was it something to do with me?’
He looked up at her and laughed. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’
She smiled. ‘Not when it concerns you.’
He leaned forward, taking her hands. ‘It’s nothing. Really, sis. If it were important, I’d tell you. Honest.’
She laughed. ‘That doesn’t make sense, Ben. If it’s not important, then there’s no reason for you not to tell me. And if it is, well, you say you’d tell me. So why not just tell me and keep me quiet?’
He shrugged. ‘All right. I’ll tell you what I was thinking about. I was thinking about a girl I’ve met here. A girl called Catherine. I should have met her, two hours back, but she’s probably given up on me now.’
Meg looked down, suddenly very still. ‘A girl?’
He squeezed her hands gently. ‘A friend of mine. She’s been helping me with my work.’
Meg looked up at him.
He was watching her, a faint, almost teasing smile on his lips. ‘You’re jealous, aren’t you?’
‘No...’ she began, looking down, a slight colour coming to her cheeks, then she laughed. ‘Oh, you’re impossible, Ben. You really are. I’m curious, that’s all. I didn’t think...’
‘That I had any friends here?’ He nodded. ‘No. I didn’t think I had either. Not until a week ago. That’s when I met her. It was strange. You see, I’d used her as a model for something I was working on. Used her without her knowing it. She was always there, you see, in a café I used to frequent. And then, one day, she came to my table and introduced herself.’
A smile returned to her lips. ‘So when are you going to introduce her to me?’
He looked down at her hands, then lifted them to his lips, kissing their backs. ‘How about tonight? That is, if she’s still speaking to me after this morning.’
Ben was sitting with Meg in the booth at the end of the bar when Catherine came in. He had deliberately chosen a place where neither of them had been before – neutral ground – and had told Meg as much, not wanting his sister to feel too out of place. Ben saw her first and leaned across to touch Meg’s hand. Meg turned, seeing how Catherine came down the aisle towards them, awkward at first, then, when she knew they had seen her, with more confidence. She had put up her flame-red hair so that the sharp lines of her face were prominent.
Looking at her in the half-light, Meg thought her quite beautiful.
Ben stood, offering his hand, but Catherine gave him only the most fleeting of glances. ‘You must be Meg,’ she said, moving round the table and taking the seat beside her, looking into her face. ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.’ She laughed softly, then reached out to touch Meg’s nose gently, tracing its shape, the outline of her mouth.
‘Yes,’ she said after a moment. ‘You’re like him, aren’t you?’ She turned, looking at Ben. ‘And how are you?’
‘I’m well,’ he said noncommittally, taking his seat, then turning to summon a waiter.
Meg studied her in profile. Ben had said nothing, but she understood. The girl was in love with him.
She looked, as Ben had taught her, seeing several things: the fine and clever hands, the sharpness of the eyes that missed little in the visual field. An artist’s eyes. And she saw how the girl looked at Ben: casual on the surface, but beneath it all uncertain, vulnerable.
Ben ordered then turned back, facing them. ‘This, by the way, is Catherine. She paints.’
Meg nodded, pleased that she had read it so well. ‘What do you paint? Abstracts? Portraits?’ She almost said landscapes, but it was hard to believe that anyone from here would pick such a subject.
The girl smiled and glanced quickly at Ben before answering. ‘I paint whatever takes my interest. I’ve even painted your brother.’
Ben leaned across the table. ‘You should see it, Meg. Some of her work’s quite good.’
Meg smiled. If Ben said she was ‘good’ you could take it that the girl was excellent. She looked at Catherine anew, seeing qualities she had missed the first time: the taut, animal-like quality of her musculature and the way she grew so very still whenever she was watching you. Like a cat. So very like a cat.
The waiter brought their drinks. When he had gone, Ben leaned forward, toasting them both.
‘To the two most beautiful women in the City. Kan pei!’
Meg looked sideways at the girl, noting the colour that had come to her cheeks. Catherine wasn’t sure what Ben was up to. She didn’t know him well enough yet. But there was a slightly teasing tone in his voice that was unmistakable, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. His mood had changed. Or, rather, he had changed his mood.
‘This painting...’ Meg asked, ‘is it good?’
Catherine looked down, smiling. There was no affectation in the gesture, only a genuine humility. ‘I think it is.’ She looked up, careful not to look at Ben, her cheeks burning. ‘It’s the best thing I’ve done. My first real painting.’
Meg nodded slowly. ‘I’d like to see it, if you�
�d let me. I don’t think anyone has painted Ben in years. If at all.’
The girl bowed her head slightly. There was silence for a moment, then Ben cleared his throat, leaning towards Meg. ‘She’s far too modest. I’ve heard they plan to put on an exhibition of her work, here in the college.’
Meg saw how the girl looked up at that, her eyes flying open, and knew it was not something she had told Ben, but that he had discovered it for himself.
She looked back at Catherine. ‘When is it being held?’
‘In the spring.’
‘The spring...’ Meg thought of that a moment, then laughed.
‘Why did you laugh?’ Catherine was staring back at her, puzzled, while from across the table Ben looked on, his eyes almost distant in their intensity.
‘Because it’s odd, that’s all. You say spring and you mean one thing, while for me...’ She stared down at her drink, aware of how strangely the girl was looking at her. ‘It’s just that spring is a season of the year, and here...’ She looked up, meeting the girl’s deeply green eyes. ‘Here there are no seasons at all.’
For a moment longer Catherine stared back at her, seeking but not finding what she wanted in her face. Then she looked away, giving a little shrug.
‘You speak like him, too. In riddles.’
‘It’s just that words mean different things to us,’ Ben said, leaning back, his head pressing against the wall of the partition. It was a comment that seemed to exclude Catherine, and Meg saw how she took one quick look at him, visibly hurt.
Hurt and something else. Meg looked away, a sudden coldness in the pit of her stomach. It was more than love. More than simple desire. The girl was obsessed with Ben. As she looked back at Ben, one word formed clear in her head. Difficult. It was what he had said earlier. Now she was beginning to understand.
‘Words are only words,’ she said, turning back and smiling at the girl, reaching out to touch and hold her hand. ‘Let’s not make too much of them.’
Six hours later, Catherine finished wrapping the present, then stood the canvas by the door. That done, she showered, then dressed and made herself up. Tonight she would take him out. Alone, if possible; but with his sister, if necessary. For a moment she stood there, studying herself in the wall-length mirror. She was wearing a dark green, loose-fitting wrap, tied with a cord at the waist. She smiled, pleased by what she saw, knowing Ben would like it, then looked down, touching her tongue to her top teeth, remembering.
An Inch of Ashes (CHUNG KUO SERIES) Page 33