The Middle Kingdom

by David Wingrove

  And Wyatt? He pushed the thought away. Wyatt was guilty. There was the evidence. Even so…

  Ebert was looking at him, fear in his eyes. ‘What does this mean, Knut? Why would they want to copy me? I don’t understand.’

  The General shuddered. Nor I, he thought, not fully, anyway, but now I’m forearmed. We can rig up checkpoints. Scan for copies. Make sure nothing like this gets into the Forbidden City.

  There would be more than a hundred thousand guests at the wedding. And not one of them could be allowed to pass through without being tested. For if just one of these… things got through, it might prove disastrous.

  He reached out and took his old friend’s arm. ‘I’m sorry, Klaus, but I think they meant to substitute this thing for you at the wedding. It was their way of getting at the T’ang.’

  ‘You mean they meant to kill me, Knut?’

  Tolonen met his eyes. ‘I think so. They know how close you are to Li Shai Tung, and this…’ He hesitated, then looked away, shaking his head. ‘Look, I don’t know who’s behind this, Klaus, but it couldn’t have come at a worse time.’

  ‘Or more fortunate?’

  Tolonen turned back. ‘What do you mean?’

  Ebert was looking down at the replicant’s left hand; at the ring on the second finger with its insignia of two separated strands of DNA – an exact copy of his own. He looked back at Tolonen. ‘It just seems odd, Knut, that’s all. Odd how easily we caught this one. And yet I can’t believe they would want us to know about this. This…’ He pointed at the corpse-like thing on the table. ‘It must have cost… what… eighty, maybe a hundred million yuan to build. And that’s without the initial R&D costs. Why, there’s memory technology involved here that we haven’t even begun to explore at GenSyn. That alone would have cost them two or three hundred million yuan minimum. And maybe three, four times that. They wouldn’t throw that away casually, would they?’

  ‘No. I suppose they wouldn’t.’

  But Tolonen was already thinking things through – aware of the huge administrative nightmare this would create. They would have to setup a network of gates in front of the Forbidden City. Secure rooms. Thousands of them, specially equipped to check for fakes. And they would need to rehearse more than twenty thousand stewards in the subtle questions of etiquette and ‘face’ involved.

  The General sighed, then tugged his uniform gloves tighter, aware that his craft had been waiting twenty minutes now. He would have to leave soon if he was to meet DeVore off the Mars shuttle. ‘This will cause a great deal of bad feeling, Klaus. But you’re right, it was fortunate. Now we know these things exist we can’t afford to take chances. The lives of the Seven are at risk, and I’d offend every last man and woman in the Above to protect the Seven.’

  Ebert laughed. ‘I do believe you would, Knut.’ He grew serious. ‘But why now? Things are good, aren’t they? We’ve built a good world, haven’t we? Why do they want to tear it down, eh? Why?’

  Tolonen looked up and saw how Ebert was watching him. Saw how, in this, he was looking to him for answers.

  ‘Because the cycle’s ending, Klaus. I feel it in my bones. Change is coming.’

  Yes, he thought. And things we thought true are no longer so. He looked at the dead thing on the table and thought of DeVore. At least this fake was honest to itself. Was built a fake. But men? Who was to say what moulded them for ill or good?

  It was just after four in the morning and Nanking Port lay in darkness, a loose-spaced ring of lights, five li from the central hub, tracing the periphery of the vast apron.

  Tolonen stood in the topmost office of the towering Port Authority Building, the duty captain at attention before him.

  ‘Gone? What do you mean, he’s gone?’

  The young captain bowed deeply to the visiting General, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

  ‘He’s not aboard the ship, sir. When our men went to arrest him, he simply wasn’t there. And no one could say where he’d gone.’

  Tolonen shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘That’s impossible! How could he get off the ship? It’s moored at the orbital station, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well? He was aboard only eight hours ago, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘So he’s either still aboard or on that station, no?’

  ‘No, sir. We’ve searched both ship and station thoroughly.’

  Tolonen’s anger exploded. ‘Incompetents! How could you let him get away?’ He snorted. ‘Where could he be, eh? Out there? In the vacuum? No! Think, boy! He must be here. On Chung Kuo. But how did he get here? Who brought him down?’

  ‘Sir?’ The captain was totally flustered now.

  ‘What service craft have visited the station in the past four hours? What ships, beside your own, have left the station since the Colony Ship docked?’

  ‘None, sir.’

  ‘None? Surely…’

  ‘We put a cordon sanitaire about the station as soon as you instructed us, General. No service craft has docked at or left the station in the past thirteen hours.’

  The General shivered. ‘Who was aboard your craft?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Sir?’ The captain stared back at him blank-faced, not understanding.

  ‘I want them brought here. Now. Everyone who was aboard your patrol craft.’

  ‘Sir!’ The captain bowed, then turned away.

  Tolonen went to the window and looked up into the circle of darkness overhead, his thoughts in turmoil.

  Then it was true what the kwai, Kao Chen, had said. DeVore was the traitor. Tolonen shuddered. It was hard to believe. DeVore… The man had been such an excellent soldier. Such a fine, efficient officer. More than that, he had been a friend. A good friend. Had been a guest in the General’s home many a time. Had held Tolonen’s baby daughter, Jelka, in his arms.

  Tolonen turned, facing the doorway. If' DeVore were to come into the room right now and swear he’d had no part in things, would I believe him? Yes! Even now I find the whole idea of DeVore as a traitor unbelievable. I would have known. Surely I would have known?

  And yet his absence…

  The captain returned, followed by a dozen others. They formed up, awaiting the General’s pleasure.

  ‘This is all?’

  The captain bowed his head deeply, then went down onto his knees. ‘Sir, I… I don’t know how this happened.’ He kept his head bent low, his eyes averted. His shame seemed to radiate from him.

  ‘They’re gone, too, eh?’

  The captain continued to kneel. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Two officers. Eight men.’

  Tolonen shook his head in disbelief. Ten men! Was DeVore’s influence that strong, then? Or was it something else? He turned away, deeply agitated. Of course. Dispersionist money. Vast sums of it. Enough to buy out two Security officers and eight underlings.

  ‘Gods!’ he said softly. How much would it have cost them? A million yuan? Ten million? Fifty? He shivered, then turned and looked down again at the kneeling officer. ‘Get up, captain.’

  The captain remained as he was. ‘I have failed you, sir. I ask permission to seek an honourable death.’

  Angered now, Tolonen reached down and pulled the man to his feet.

  ‘I’ll not have good officers killing themselves for nothing. It is not your fault. Do you understand me, Captain? DeVore was too clever for you. Too clever for all of us.’

  No, he thought, meeting the captain’s eyes. It’s really not your fault at all. But now DeVore’s at large. What mischief will he do?

  The captain backed away, white-faced, bowing. Then, at Tolonen’s curt, angry command, he turned and led his men away.

  Alone again, Tolonen let his anger drain from him. He went to the window and stood there once more, looking out over the still, dark forms of a hundred different craft, grounded at his order.

  The certainty of DeVore’s treachery sickened him. More than t
hat, it undermined him, because it contradicted all he had thought he knew about men. His thoughts ran back over the last few years, trying to make sense of things. Could he have known? Was there anyway he could have known?

  No. DeVore had been the perfect officer. The perfect copy.

  Tolonen tapped at the control blisters inset into his wrist and made connection with Major Nocenzi, half the globe away.

  ‘General?’ Nocenzi’s voice came through clear in his head. His image appeared ghostly on the General’s palm.

  ‘Vittorio. I want you to do something for me.’

  He spoke quickly but clearly, itemizing the things he wanted done. Then, finished, he cut connection, knowing time was against him.

  So it was here at last, the war Li Shai Tung had long ago said would come. A secretive, dirty war, fought in the darkness between levels. A guerilla war, where friend and enemy had the same face. A war of money and technology and, at the last, sheer cunning. And who would win?

  Tolonen smiled.

  Karr, he thought. I’ll use Karr. He found Chen. Maybe he can find DeVore.

  Wang Ti opened the door slowly, surprised to see the big man standing there, but even more surprised when her husband called out from behind her, telling her to let him in.

  Karr bowed his head respectfully and drew off his boots. Barefoot, he followed Wang Ti through into the back of the apartment, ducking under partitioning curtains.

  Chen was sitting on the floor by the back wall, his legs folded under him, the baby asleep in his lap. There was little furniture in the cramped room. A double bedroll was folded neatly against the wall to Chen’s right and a low table had been set up next to the kang. Wang Ti had been cooking, and the smell of it still hung in the air. From the far side of the long, dividing curtain on Chen’s left came the sound of their neighbours’ two young sons playing boisterously.

  Karr smiled and bowed again, then squatted across from Chen.

  ‘How’s the child?’

  Chen looked down at his infant son and gently stroked his brow.

  ‘He’s well.’

  ‘Good.’

  Wang Ti stood at his side dutifully, head bowed, eyes averted.

  ‘You’ll share ch’a with us, Shih…?’

  ‘Karr…’ The big man turned slightly and bowed his head, acknowledging her. ‘I thank you for your kind offer, Wang Ti, but no. I have business to discuss with your husband.’

  She nodded, then took the baby from Chen’s lap and backed away. Karr waited until she had ducked out under the curtaining before speaking again. She would hear all he said, but the illusion of privacy was necessary. It was all the face a man had at these levels.

  ‘You were right, Chen. It was DeVore.’

  Chen grunted, his blunt peasant face inexpressive. ‘So what now?’

  Karr reached into the inner pocket of his overshirt and pulled out a thin tab of ice. ‘Here,’ he said, offering it.

  Chen hesitated, remembering Jyan. He too had made deals with the Above. And where was he now? With his ancestors. Dead, his spirit untended, with no sons to burn offerings for his soul.

  ‘What is it?’

  Karr laughed. ‘Still suspicious, eh? You’ve no need to be, Chen. You gave us more than we could have asked for. This…’ He placed the tab between them on the floor. ‘This is in settlement. A blanket amnesty. Your citizenship papers. A ten-deck security pass. And a bonus. A thousand yuan…’

  Chen started. Then he was not to follow Wyatt to the block? He stared at the big man open-mouthed.

  ‘You are kwai, Chen. A tool. And a good tool. The General was surprised how good,’ he laughed. ‘We Net types, we can teach them a thing or two, neh?’

  Still Chen hesitated. Was this all some kind of elaborate ruse? Some awful taunting of him? But why should they bother?

  ‘Then I’m free?’

  Karr looked away, conscious of the woman listening beyond one curtain, the neighbours beyond another. ‘Not exactly. You’ll have to leave this place. After what happened…’

  ‘I see.’

  Karr met his eyes. ‘We’ll resettle you. Retrain you.’

  ‘Retrain me?’

  ‘Yes. You’ve a new job, Chen. You’ve joined Security. As my adjutant.’

  Chen stared, then looked down. ‘And if I say no?’

  Karr shrugged, watching the Han closely. ‘You are kwai, Chen, not a warehouseman. Leave such jobs to good men like Lo Ying.’

  Chen looked up, suddenly angry. ‘And how is Lo Ying?’

  Karr laughed, remembering how Lo Ying had jumped him. ‘A brave man, but no fighter. Oh, he’s happy now, Chen. He too has his bonus.’

  Chen looked down at the tab. ‘You plan to buy me, then?’

  Karr hesitated, then shook his head. ‘I would not insult you so, Kao Chen. We both know that you cannot buy a man’s loyalty. However, you can try to earn it.’ He sat back, then shrugged his great shoulders. ‘All right. I ask you openly, Kao Chen. Will you become the T’ang’s man? Or will you rot here at this level?’

  Chen looked down. He had a life here. A good life. There was his wife, his son now to consider. But to be kwai again… He felt himself torn in two by the offer.

  There was a whisper of cloth. Chen looked up past Karr. Wang Ti had come out from behind the curtains and was standing there, staring imploringly at him. Then, abruptly, she came round and threw herself down in front of Karr in a full k’o t’ou.

  ‘Wang Ti! What are you doing?’

  She lifted her head and glanced at Chen anxiously, then returned her forehead to the floor before the big man.

  ‘My husband accepts your kind offer, Shih Karr. He will be honoured to work with you.’

  Han Ch’in stood there silently in the darkened room, his back to the doorway. Outside the two assassins waited. He breathed deeply, calming himself, remembering what he’d been taught. The still man has advantages. He hears better. He has choice of action. The moving man is committed. His strength, his very movement can be used against him.

  Let them come to you, then. Feign unawareness. But let your body be as the dragon’s, alive, alert to every movement of the air behind your back.

  Outside they hesitated. Then the first of them came through.

  Han turned when the man was only an arm’s length away, ducking low, sweeping his leg out, his left arm straight-punching upwards. As the man went down Han rolled backwards and flipped up onto his feet, facing the second assassin.

  The dark, masked figure feinted, kicking to Han’s left, making shapes with his hands in the air, each movement accompanied by a sharp hiss of expelled breath.

  Han shadowed the assassin’s movements, knowing he could not afford to do otherwise. He was alone now. Death awaited him if he made the smallest mistake. He had only winded the man on the floor, so time now was precious. He would have to dispense with the man before him, then deal finally with the other.

  He saw his chance. The assassin had put his full weight on his right foot. It anchored him. Han feinted further to the right, then leapt, turning in the air and kicking high, aiming for the man’s chin.

  His foot brushed air. Then he was falling.

  The assassin was on him in an instant, his forearm locked about Han’s neck. Han cried out.

  The lights flicked on at once. The two assassins backed away, bowing deeply, respectfully. Han turned over and sat up, gasping for breath. Shiao Shi-we was standing in the doorway, looking in at him, his expression hard to read.

  ‘Again!’ he barked finally. ‘How many times, Han? Have you learned nothing from me?’

  Han knelt and bowed to his instructor. Shi-we was right. He had been impatient.

  ‘I am sorry, Master Shiao. I was worried about the second man.’

  Shiao Shi-we made a small sound in his throat, then lifted his chin. Han Ch’in got to his feet at once.

  ‘You are a good fighter, Han Ch’in. Your reflexes are as good as any man’s. Your body knows how to move. How to kick and punch.
How to block and fall and roll. You have real courage. A rare thing. Yet for all these qualities you lack one vital thing. You have not learned to think as your opponent thinks.’

  Han bowed again, chastened.

  ‘What then should I have done, Master Shiao? Should I have waited for him to attack?’

  Shiao Shi-we was a small man, almost a head shorter than his seventeen-year-old pupil. His head was shaved and oiled and he was naked but for a small, dark red loincloth. His chest and forearms and legs were heavily muscled, yet as he crossed the room he moved with the grace of a dancer. He was sixty-five years old, but looked forty.

  He stood in front of Han Ch’in, looking up at the T’ang’s heir, but there was no deference in his posture. In this room Shiao Shi-we was as a father to Han Ch’in. Once, ten years before, he had put the young boy across his knee and spanked him for his impertinence. When Han Ch’in had gone before his father to complain, the T’ang had merely laughed, then growing stern, had ordered the punishment repeated, so that the lesson should be learned. Since that time Han Ch’in had known better than to argue with his tutor.

  ‘Three things,’ began Shi-we. ‘Discipline, patience and control. Without them even a good fighter is certain to lose. With them…’ the tutor lifted his head proudly, the muscles of his neck standing out like ridges of rock, ‘…the good becomes the supreme.’

  There was a noise in the doorway. Without turning, Shiao Shi-we lifted a hand. ‘Please wait there a moment, Yuan. I must finish talking to your brother.’

  Li Yuan made a tiny bow to the instructor’s back, amazed, as ever, that the old man could tell, without looking, who it was behind him. Each man has his own sounds, Shi-we once said. How he moves, who he is – these things can be distinguished as distinctively as the grain of a man’s skin, the identifying pigmentation of the retina. Still yourself, listen, learn to tell the sound of your friend from that of your enemy, and such skills might one day save your life.

  So it might be, but try as he had, Li Yuan had found he could not distinguish the sound of his brother from that of one of his servants. If it’s a skill, he thought, it’s one few men possess. Better to have a good man at one’s back.