‘I made a deal.’
Chen followed him across, something still and cold and hard growing in the depths of him.
Auden stopped, three, four paces from Peskova, looking about the room. Then he turned and looked directly at the man. There was something like a smile on his lips. ‘Is that how you deal with thieves out here?’
Peskova’s face had hardened. He had been worried momentarily. Now, seeing that hint of a smile, he relaxed again, misinterpreting it. His own smile widened. ‘Not always.’
‘So it was special?’
Peskova looked down. ‘You could say that. Mind you, I’m only sorry it wasn’t his friend, Teng. I would have liked to have seen that bastard beg for mercy.’ He looked up again, laughing, as if it was a joke only he and Auden could share. ‘These Han…’
Chen stared at him coldly. ‘And Pavel? What about him? He wasn’t Han…’
Peskova turned and smiled at him contemptuously. An awful, smirking smile. ‘Why split hairs? Anyway, that little shit deserved what he got…’
Chen shuddered violently. Then, without thinking, he lunged forward and grabbed Peskova, forcing the man’s jaw open, thrusting the handgun into his open mouth. He sensed, rather than saw, Auden move forward to stop him, but it was too late – he had already pulled the trigger.
The explosion seemed to go off in his own head. Peskova jerked back away from him, his skull shattered, his brains spattered across the wall behind like rotten fruit.
Chen stepped back, looking down at the fallen man, Then Auden had hold of him and had yanked him round roughly. ‘You stupid bastard!’ he shouted into his face. ‘Didn’t you understand? We needed him alive!’
Chen stared back at him blankly, shivering, his jaw set. ‘He killed my friend.’
Auden hesitated, his face changing, then he let him go. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘Yes.’ Then, angrily, ‘But we’re even now, Kao Chen. Understand me? You saved my life downstairs. But this… We’re even now. A life for a life.’
Chen stared at him, then looked away, disgusted. ‘Even,’ he said, and laughed sourly. ‘Sure. It’s all even now.’
Ebert was waiting for them at the bottom of the ramp.
‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Where is he? I’d like to see to him once more, before we send him on. He was a good officer, whatever else he’s done.’
Chen looked down, astonished. A good officer!
Beside him Auden hesitated, then met his Captain’s eyes. ‘I’m afraid there’s no sign of him, sir. We’re taking the place apart now, but I don’t think he’s hiding in there. One of the guards says he flew off earlier this evening, but if so it wasn’t in his own craft. That’s still here, as Kao Chen said.’
Ebert turned on Chen, furious. ‘Where the fuck is he, Chen? You were supposed to be keeping an eye on him!’
It was unfair. It also wasn’t true, but Chen bowed his head anyway. ‘I’m sorry…’ he began, but was interrupted.
‘Captain Ebert! Captain Ebert!’
It was the communications officer from Ebert’s transporter.
‘What is it, Hoenig?’
The young man bowed deeply, then handed him the report.
Ebert turned and looked back towards the west. There, in the distance, the sky was glowing faintly. ‘Gods…’ he said softly. ‘Then it’s true.’
‘What is it, sir?’ Auden asked, knowing at once that something was badly wrong.
Ebert laughed strangely, then shook his head. ‘It’s the Lodz garrison. It’s on fire. What’s more, Administrator Duchek’s dead. Assassinated thirty minutes back.’ Then he laughed again; a laugh of grudging admiration. ‘It seems DeVore’s outwitted us again.’
Fei Yen stood there in her rooms, naked behind the heavy silk screen, her maids surrounding her. Her father, Yin Tsu, stood on the other side of the screen, his high-pitched voice filled with an unusual animation. As he talked, one of Fei Yen’s maids rubbed scented oils into her skin, while another dried and combed her long, dark hair. A third and fourth brought clothes for her to decide upon, hurrying back and forth, trying to please her whim.
He had called upon her unexpectedly, while she was in her bath, excited by his news, and had had to be physically dissuaded from going straight in.
‘But she is my daughter!’ he had complained when the maids had barred his way.
‘Yes, but I am a woman now, father, not a girl!’ Fei Yen had called out sweetly from within. ‘Please wait. I’ll not be long.’
He had begged her forgiveness, then, impatient to impart his news, had launched into his story anyhow. Li Shai Tung, it seemed, had been in touch.
‘I’m almost certain it’s to tell me there’s an appointment at court for your eldest brother, Sung. I petitioned the T’ang more than a year ago now. But what post, I wonder? Something in the T’ang’s household, do you think? Or perhaps a position in the secretariat?’ He laughed nervously, then continued hurriedly. ‘No. Not that. The T’ang would not bother with such trivial news. It must be a post in the ministry. Something important. A junior minister’s post, at the very least. Yes. I’m almost certain of it. But tell me, Fei Yen, what do you think?’
It was strange how he always came to her when he had news. Never to Sung or Chan or her younger brother Wei. Perhaps it was because she reminded him so closely of her dead mother, to whom Yin Tsu had always confided when she was alive.
‘What if it has nothing to do with Sung, father? What if it’s something else?’
‘Ah, no, foolish girl. Of course it will be Sung. I feel it in my bones!’ He laughed. ‘And then, perhaps, I can see to the question of your marriage at long last. Tuan Wu has been asking after you. He would make a good husband, Fei Yen. He comes from a good line. His uncle is the third son of the late Tuan Chung-Ho and the Tuans are a rich family.’
Fei Yen looked down, smiling to herself. Tuan Wu was a fool, a gambler and a womanizer, in no particular order. But she had no worries about Tuan Wu. Let her father ramble on – she knew why Li Shai Tung was coming to see them. Li Yuan had spoken to his father. Had done what she had thought impossible.
‘I know what you’re thinking, Fei Yen, but a woman should have a proper husband. Your youth is spilling from you, like sand from a glass. Soon there will be no more sand. And then?’
She laughed. ‘Dearest father, what a ridiculous image!’ Again she laughed and, after a moment, his laughter joined with hers.
‘Whatever…’ he began again, ‘my mind is made up. We must talk seriously about this.’
‘Of course.’ Her agreement surprised him into momentary silence.
‘Good. Then I shall see you in my rooms in three hours. The T’ang has asked to see us all. It might be an opportune time to discuss your remarriage.’
When he had gone she pushed aside her maids, then hurried across the room and stood there, studying herself in the full-length dragon mirror. Yes, she thought, you are a T’ang’s wife, Fei Yen. You always were a T’ang’s wife, from the day you were born. She laughed and threw her head back, admiring her taut, full breasts, the sleekness of her thighs and stomach, the dark beauty of her eyes. Yes, and you shall have a proper husband. But not just any fool or Minor Family reprobate. My man shall be a T’ang. My son a T’ang.
She shivered, then turned from the mirror, letting her maids lead her back to her place behind the screens.
But make it soon, she thought. Very soon.
Karr drifted in from the darkside, the solar sail fully extended, slowing his speed as he approached. His craft was undetectable – just another piece of space junk.
They would have no warning.
Twenty li out he detached himself and floated in, a dark hunched shape, lost against the backdrop of space. As planned he landed on the blind spot of the huge ship, the curved layers of transparent ice beneath his boots.
He stood there a moment, enjoying the view. The moon vast and full above him, Chung Kuo far to his right and below him, the sun between, magnificent even through
the visor of his suit. It surprised him how much he felt in his element, standing there on the curved hull of the starship, staring fearlessly into the furnace of creation, the void pressing in upon him. He laughed soundlessly and then ducked down, his movements slow at first as he climbed toward the airlock, then more fluent as he caught the proper rhythm.
He slowed himself with the double rail, then pushed into the semicircular depression. Beside the hexagonal door-hatch was a numbered touch-pad. He fingered the combination quickly, almost thoughtlessly, then leaned back as the hatch irised, its six segments folding back upon themselves.
As expected, there was no guard. He pulled himself inside and closed the hatch.
This part was easy. He had done it a hundred, two hundred times in simulation. He had been trained to do this thoughtlessly. But at some point he would need to act on his own: to use his discretion and react with immediacy. Until then he went by rote, knowing every inch of the huge craft as if he had built it.
The airlock filled and the inner door activated. He went through quickly, his weapon searching for targets, finding nothing, no one. But somewhere an alarm would be flashing. Unauthorized entry at airlock seven. A matter for investigation. Security would be buzzing already. There would be guards at the next junction of the corridor.
Karr removed the two heat-seeking darts from his belt and pressed a button on his suit. In seconds the ice of his suit was minus ten. He hurled the darts ahead of him and raced down the corridor after them.
Explosions punctuated the silence up ahead. The darts had found their targets. Coming to the ruined corpses he leaped over them without stopping and ran on, taking the corridor to his left and going through the two quick-irising doors before he paused and anchored himself to the ceiling, the short, securing chain attached to the back of his sturdy helmet.
He swung up and kicked. The inspection hatch moved but did not open. His second kick shifted it back and he hooked his feet through, scrambling up into the narrow space, releasing the anchor chain.
Here his size was a handicap. He turned awkwardly, putting back the hatch, knowing he had only seconds to spare.
He had cut it fine. He heard guards pass by below only a moment later, their confusion apparent. Good. It was going well.
Karr smiled, enjoying himself.
He moved quickly now, crawling along the inspection channel. Then, at the next intersection, he swung out over the space and dropped.
He landed and turned about immediately, crouching down then working his way awkwardly into a second channel. This one came out at the back of the Security desk. Timing was crucial. In a minute or so they would have guessed what he had done.
Maybe they had already and were waiting.
He shrugged and poised himself over the hatch, setting the charge. Then he went along to the second hatch. The explosion would blow a hole in the room next door to Security – a sort of recreation room. There would be no one there at present, but it would distract them while he climbed down.
He lifted the hatch cover a fraction of a second before the charge blew and was climbing down even as the guards turned below him, surprised by the explosion.
He landed on the neck of one of them and shot two others before they knew he was there amongst them. Another of the guards, panicking, helped Karr by burning two more of his colleagues.
Confusion. That too was a weapon.
Karr shot the panicking guard and rolled a smoke bomb into the corridor outside. Then he turned and blasted the Security communications desk. The screens went dead.
He waited a moment. The screens flickered into brief life, showing scenes of chaos in corridors and rooms throughout the starship, then they died again, the backups failing. The inside man had done his job.
Good, thought Karr. Now to conclude.
He went out into the corridor, moving fast, jumping over bodies, knocking aside confused, struggling guards. All they saw was a giant in a dark, eerily glowing suit, moving like an athlete down the corridor, unaffected by the thick, black choking smoke.
He went right and right again, then fastened himself to the inner wall of the corridor, rolling a small charge against the hull.
The spiked charge almost tore his anchorage away. He was tugged violently towards the breach. The outer skin of the starship shuddered but held, beginning to seal itself. But it had bled air badly. It was down to half an atmosphere. Debris cluttered about the sealing hole.
He released the anchor chain and ran on down the corridor, meeting no resistance. Guards lay unconscious everywhere. Many had been thrown against walls or doorways and were dead or badly wounded. It was complete chaos.
The engine was inside, in the inner shell. A breach of the hull could not affect it.
This was the difficult part. They would be expecting him now. But he had a few tricks left to show them before he was done.
He ignored the inner shell airlock and moved on to one of the ducts. It would have shut down the instant the outer hull was breached, making the inner shell airtight. Thick layers of ice were interlaced like huge fingers the length of a man’s arm. Above them a laser-protected sensor registered the atmospheric pressure of the outer shell.
Karr unclipped a rectangular container from his belt and took two small packages from it. The first was a one-atmosphere ‘pocket’. He fitted it over the sensor quickly, ignoring the brief, warning sting from the laser. The second of the packages he treated with a care that seemed exaggerated. It was ice-wire: a long thread of the deadly cutting material. He drew it out cautiously and pulled it taut, then swiftly used it to cut the securing bolts on each of the six sides of the duct.
The whole thing dropped a hand’s length as the lasers blinked out. There was a soft exhalation of air. The sound a lift makes when it stops.
Karr waited a moment, then began cutting into the casing with small, diagonal movements that removed pieces of the ice like chunks of soft cheese. As the gap widened he cut deeper into the case and then pulled back and set the thread down.
He climbed up onto the casing and kicked. Three of the segments fell away. He eased himself down into the gap.
It was far narrower than he had anticipated and for a moment he thought he was going to be stuck. The segments had wedged against the internal mechanism of the duct at an awkward angle, leaving him barely enough room to squeeze by. He managed, just, but his right arm was trapped against the wall and he couldn’t reach the device taped to his chest.
He shifted his weight and stood on tiptoe, edging about until his hand and lower arm were free, then reached up and unstrapped the bomb from his chest.
Another problem presented itself. He could not reach down and place the device against the inner casing of the duct. There was no way he could fasten it.
Did it matter? He decided that it didn’t. He would strengthen the upper casing when he was out. The explosion would be forced inward.
It was such a small device. So delicate a thing. And yet so crude in its power.
He placed the bomb between his knee and the duct wall, then let it slide down between leg and wall, catching it with his foot.
He didn’t want it to go up with him there.
He touched the timer with his boot and saw it glow red. Eight minutes to get out.
He began to haul himself up the sides of the duct, using brute force, legs and back braced, his thickly muscled arms straining to free himself from the tight-packed hole.
At the top he paused and looked around. What could he use? He bent down and picked up the ice-wire, then went to a nearby room and cut machinery away from the desks, then brought it back and piled it up beside the breached duct.
Three minutes thirty seconds gone. He went to the doorway and cut a huge rectangle of ice from the wall. It was thin – insubstantial almost – but strong. It weighed nothing in itself but he could pile all the heavy machinery up on top of it.
It would have to do.
There was just short of two minutes left to get out.
Time for his last trick. He ran for his life. Back the way he’d come. Without pause he pulled the last of his bombs from his belt and threw it, pressing the stud at his belt as he did so.
The outer wall exploded, then buckled inward.
Karr, his life processes suspended, was thrown out through the rent in the starship’s outer skin; a dark, larval pip spat out violently.
The pip drifted out from the giant sphere, a thin trail of dust and iced air in its trail. Seconds later the outer skin rippled and then collapsed, lit from within. It shrivelled, like a ball of paper in a fire, then, with a suddenness that surprised the distant, watching eyes, lit up like a tiny sun, long arms of vivid fire burning a crown of thorns in the blackness of space.
It had been done. War had been declared.
EPILOGUE
MOSAICS
SUMMER 2203
What is it whose closing causes the dark and whose opening causes the light? Where does the Bright God hide before the Horn proclaims the dawning of the day?’ —T’ien Wen (‘Heavenly Questions’) by Ch’u Yuan, from the Ch’u Tz’u (‘Songs Of The South’), second century BC
A BRIDGE OVER NOTHINGNESS
And so they began, burying the dark; capping the well of memory with a stone too vast, too heavy to move. The machine watched them at their work, seeing many things their frailer, time-bound eyes were prone to miss – subtle changes of state it had come to recognize as significant. At times the full intensity of its awareness was poured into the problem of the boy, Kim. For a full second, maybe two, it thought of nothing else. Several lifetimes of normal human consciousness passed this way. And afterwards it would make a motion in its complex circuitry – unseen, unregistered on any monitoring screen – approximate to a nod of understanding.
While the two theoreticians began the job of mapping out a new mosaic – a new ideal configuration for the boy’s mental state, his personality – the Builder returned to the cell and to the boy. His eyes, the small, unconscious movements of his body, revealed his unease, his uncertainty. As he administered the first of the drug treatments to the boy he could not hide the concern, the doubt he felt.
Ice and Fire: Chung Kuo Series Page 32