Chapter 28

A GAME OF STATIC PATTERNS

Fifth bell was sounding when Major DeVore reported to General Tolonen in his office at the top of the vast fortress-like barracks that housed Security Central. The General stood as he came into the room and came round his desk to greet DeVore, a broad smile on his chiselled face.

‘Good morning, Howard. How are things?’

DeVore bowed at waist and neck, then straightened up, meeting the old man’s eyes. ‘Not good, sir. Our investigation of the Minister’s death is proving more difficult than I thought.’

The General looked at him, then nodded. Briefly he rested a hand on the Major’s arm, as if to reassure him, then turned and went back behind his desk. Ensconced in his chair again he leaned forward, motioning to DeVore to take a seat. ‘Still nothing, eh?’

DeVore gave the smallest hint of a bow then sat. ‘Not quite, sir.’

Tolonen tilted his chin back, interested. ‘I see. What have you got?’

‘Nothing certain. Only rumour. But it may prove a lead.’

‘Anything I should know about?’

DeVore took the tiny tape from his tunic pocket, wiped it on the cloth then handed it across the desk. Tolonen sat back and pushed the wafer-thin cassette into the input socket behind his left ear. For a minute or two he sat there, silent, his eyes making small, erratic movements in their sockets. Then, as if coming to again, he looked directly at his Major.

‘Interesting, Howard. Very interesting.’ Tolonen squeezed the narrow slit of skin behind his ear and removed the tape. ‘But how reliable is this?’

DeVore tilted his head slightly, considering. ‘Normally I’d say it was highly reliable. But the circumstances of this case – particularly its political importance – make it more complex than usual. It would be unwise to take things at face value. For now I’m having the sources checked out. Playing ear. However…’ He hesitated, then spoke again, studying the General more closely than before. ‘There is something else, sir. Something perhaps more important in the long run.’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, sir. I’m almost certain this involves Security. Maybe at Staff level.’

Tolonen nodded soberly, his expression unchanged. ‘I agree. Though with great reluctance, I must say. The very thought of it makes me shudder.’

‘Then…’

Tolonen stopped him with a look. ‘Let me outline the situation as I see it, Howard. Then we’ll see how this new information fits with what we have.’

DeVore sat straighter in his chair, his eyes watching the older man intently as he outlined the situation.

‘First – what kind of weapon was used, and where and by whom was it manufactured?’ Tolonen pulled broad, long fingers through neatly cut grey hair, his deeply blue eyes fixing DeVore. ‘We’re working on the assumption that it was some kind of ice derivative. An ice-eater. Research into ice derivatives has been banned by the Edict, but we’re not dealing with legitimate activity here. It’s possible that someone has come up with such a thing.

‘Second – who knew Lwo Kang would be there at that time? Most of those we might have suspected – Lwo’s own Junior Ministers – died with him. Only Yang Lai is unaccounted for.’

‘No trace yet, sir. But we’re still looking.’

‘Good. Now, third – who took the Security squad off duty? Are we safe in assuming it was the duty captain, or was someone higher up the chain of command behind the decision?’ Tolonen paused and shook his head. ‘It seems almost inexplicable to me that the officer concerned acted independently. His record was without blemish and his suicide would seem to confirm it. But he was a frightened man, Howard. I believe he was acting under threat.’

‘I agree, sir. I knew the man as a cadet and I’d vouch that he would not have acted as he did without good reason. Our assumption is that his immediate family was threatened. We haven’t yet located them – but whether that’s because he placed them in hiding or whether they were taken we don’t know. Even so, we mustn’t rule out another motive. Gambling debts, perhaps. Or some kind of addiction. Women, maybe. Even the best men have their weaknesses. In any case, I have a squad investigating it.’

‘Good. Then, fourth – who were the actual assassins? As you know, our first idea was that it was done from the air – from a craft over-flying the dome. But now we’ve ruled that out.’

‘Sir?’ DeVore tensed slightly, suddenly more alert.

‘A search of the area surrounding the dome has brought a number of new items to light, chief amongst which is a corpse.’

‘A corpse?’

‘Yes. We found the body crammed into a narrow feed tunnel, not far from a ventilation shaft that comes out close by the dome. A Hung Mao. Male. Aged thirty-five. He’d been stabbed twice with a large-bladed knife. Very expertly, so I’m told.’

‘Then we’ve got one of the assassins?’

Tolonen shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t rule that out, but it’s more likely that the man simply stumbled onto things. His ID shows him to have been a maintenance engineer, cleared for First Level Security.’

DeVore considered that. ‘It sounds the ideal profession for gaining access to the dome.’

‘My own first thought, only it doesn’t check out with anything else. We can account for his movements up to the time he got into that ventilation tunnel. We’ve checked. He’s on camera, climbing into the access hatch only twelve minutes before the dome went up. He made one check – timed and logged – halfway up the tunnel. That accounts for the first five minutes. That would leave him only seven minutes to climb the rest of the way, meet his partner, set the charges and get back down.’

‘Time enough. And anyway, what if his partner set the charges?’

‘That’s possible. But then why would he be needed? And why killed? It doesn’t fit. And anyway, we have something else.’

DeVore blinked. ‘You have been busy, sir.’

Tolonen laughed. ‘Yes, well, I did try to get you, Howard. Anyway, it’s possible we have our men. Two low-level sorts. They were involved in an incident with Security guards in one of the nearby stacks at Level 11. A CompCam unit noticed that one of the men had no ID match and had Security investigate. There was an exchange of shots and the two men got away.’

‘But you have them now?’

‘No. Not yet. But listen to this, Howard. You’ll never believe it. Do you know how they got out?’

DeVore shook his head.

‘Well, our men thought they had them cornered in a Distribution lift. They’d called up a burner, ready to melt the doorlocks, but the two suspects did something to the lift. They overrode its circuits, then rammed the whole thing through the floor and into the Net! The whole deck had to be sealed and cleaned out. A messy business. Thousands hurt. More than a hundred and fifty dead. We’ve had to put out a story about systems failure. But think about it, Howard. Our two friends must have had inside information. There aren’t that many people who know those lifts go down another ten levels. Just as important, however, is the fact that they had a device that overrode the circuitry.’ He paused. ‘It makes sense of other things, too. My guess is that they were dropped in. Picked up at one of the under-Net gates – perhaps near one of the agricultural processing stations – and landed on top of the City. They did the job, made their escape down the ventilation shaft–killing our maintenance man on the way – then emerged at Eleven.’

DeVore nodded. ‘It makes sense.’

‘I’m glad you think so. In which case there are a few other questions that need answers. Who were their contacts? Who gave them the information? Who trained them? Who physically landed them on the roof? This kind of operation would have needed a lot of planning. A substantial number of people would have been involved.’

Again DeVore nodded, but this time there was an air of distraction about him.

Tolonen leaned forward excitedly. ‘Just think. If we could get to just one of those involved – just one! – we could blast the whole thing open!’ He laughed, then slammed his hands down firmly on the desktop. ‘And in order that we can do just that, I’ve been to see the T’ang.’

‘Sir?’ DeVore seemed surprised by this new development.

‘Yes, and the T’ang has given me the authority to cut through bureaucratic tape, to make deals, grant pardons, whatever’s necessary, providing we get information on the people who were behind this.’ He smiled broadly. ‘So you see, Howard. What you brought me was of great interest. If Wyatt was involved, either as principal or as agent… Well, I want him. Understand? I want to know what his motive was, who his connections were.’

‘So you think it might be him?’

The General shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I thought… Well, you know what I thought. I listened to the tape of your conversation with Lehmann. He’s an unpleasant specimen, but I agree with you. He’s too bluff, too careless in what he says to have been behind this. As for Wyatt, I’ve met him more than once, and I liked him.’ Again he shrugged. ‘Still, do what you must. The T’ang wants answers, and he wants them fast.’

When DeVore had gone, Tolonen summoned his ensign, Haavikko.

Axel Haavikko was a tall, broad-shouldered young man of nineteen years, his blond hair cut severely short. On his jacket he wore the insignia of the elite military school from which he had graduated only eight months previously, on his chest the embroidered sea horse patch of a ninth-grade military officer. He marched briskly across the room and came to attention before the desk.

‘Sir?’

The General smiled. ‘At ease, boy. Have you got the tape?’

‘Yes, sir. But I thought…’

Tolonen raised an eyebrow. ‘I know. But I decided against it. Major DeVore doesn’t need to know everything. He’s tired. I could see it myself. He’s taking on too much, trying to keep abreast of everything.’

He leaned back in his chair, studying the young man; observing that he too was showing signs of strain. ‘We could all do with some rest, neh, Haavikko? A break from things. But the evil of this world goes on, whether we’re there to deal with it or not.’ He smiled kindly. ‘Okay, let’s see what we have.’

The cadet bowed, then turned and went over to the viewer, placing the flimsy transparent card he was carrying onto the viewing surface. Immediately the wall-screen above his head lit up, showing two men pushing their way through a broad but crowded corridor. The tape sheet had been put together from segments of hundreds of individual tape sheets, then edited to make it seem as though a single camera had followed the suspects the whole length of the Main.

‘These are the two men, sir. The one on the left was addressed as Jyan. The other is unnamed. There’s no entry on either in Security Central Records.’

The General sniffed. ‘Hold that a moment.’

The image froze. A sign behind the first of the men read ‘Level 11, South 3 Stack, Canton of Munich’, the English in blocked black figures above the blood-red Mandarin pictograms. Crowds packed the Main. The second man – better built than the first; the telltale bulge of a knife at his waist – had turned to left profile, revealing a short, livid scar on his neck just below the ear.

‘Interesting types, neh, Axel? From the Net. There’s no doubt about it. If Security Central has nothing, then I’m certain these are our men. Can we tell where they appeared from?’

Axel tapped the controls. At once the picture changed – showed a smaller corridor; dimly lit, almost empty.

‘Where’s this?’

‘Up five levels, sir. At Sixteen. It’s a maintenance corridor, not used by the public. Watch.’

As they watched, a hatch dropped down from the ceiling and two men lowered themselves into the corridor, one after the other. The two Han from the other shots.

‘Where does that lead?’

‘There’s a long vertical shaft, about twenty ch’i back from that hatch. It comes out at Forty-One. There we lose them.’

‘Any reason why?’

‘Camera malfunction. Vandalism. It seems genuine. They’d been having trouble with that section for weeks.’

‘Okay. So let’s get back to Eleven. See what kind of men we’re dealing with.’

For the next ten minutes they watched in silence as the situation unfolded. They saw the fight. Saw Jyan draw and use his knife, then drive the loader into the lift. Then, less than a minute later, the screen went blank.

‘That’s all that survived, sir. When the quarantine seals came down most of the cameras blew. We’ve pieced this together from Central Records’ copies.’

Tolonen nodded, satisfied. ‘You’ve done a good job, Haavikko. It shouldn’t be difficult to trace these two. We have arrangements with certain of the Triad bosses beneath the Net. They’ll find them for us. It’s only a question of time.’

‘Then we do nothing, sir?’

‘Nothing until we hear from our contacts. But I want us to be ready, so I’ve arranged something. It’ll mean that we’ll have a squad down there, under the Net in Munich Canton, when news comes. It’ll allow us to get to them at once. I’ve put Fest in charge. He has strict orders to take the men alive if possible. You and Hans Ebert will make up the squad.’

‘What are we to do down there?’

‘Until you’re called on, nothing. You can treat it as a paid holiday. Ebert knows the place quite well, apparently. I’m sure he’ll find something for you to do. But when the call comes, be there, and fast. All right?’

Haavikko bowed his head. ‘Anything else, sir?’

‘Yes. One last thing.’

‘Sir?’

‘I want you to compile a list of all those who might have planned this, anyone who might conceivably have been involved. Not just those with a clear motive but anyone who might have had the right contacts.’

‘Anyone?’

The General nodded sternly. ‘Leave no one out, however absurd it might seem.’

The cadet bowed deeply, then clicked his heels together. ‘Sir.’

Alone again, Tolonen stood, then went to the window. Far below, the wide moat of the Security Fortress seemed filled with an inky blackness. In the early morning light the two watchtowers at the far end of the bridge threw long, thin shadows across the apron of the spaceport beyond.

He would not act. Not yet. For a while he would trust to instinct and let Wyatt be. See if Wyatt’s name appeared on Haavikko’s list. Wait for DeVore to gather something more substantial than the tattle of Above. Because deep down he didn’t believe that Wyatt was involved.

He turned back to his desk, putting his fingers lightly to the intercom pad.

His secretary answered at once. ‘General?’

‘Play me that tape again. Major DeVore and Under Secretary Lehmann. The part where Lehmann talks about suffocating and bad blood. A few lines, that’s all.’

‘Yes, General.’

He turned back to the window, looking down. As he watched a tiny figure emerged from the shadow and marched quickly but unhurriedly across the bridge. It was DeVore.

Major DeVore was a clever officer. A good man to have on your team. There was no fooling him; he saw things clearly. Saw through the appearance of things. And if he believed that Lehmann wasn’t involved…

‘The tape’s ready, General.’

‘Good,’ he said, not looking round; continuing to watch the figure far below. ‘Let me hear it.’

At once Lehmann’s voice filled the room, urgent and passionate.

‘We’re suffocating, Howard! Can’t they see that? Biting at the leash! Even so, violence… Well, that’s a different matter. It hurts everyone and solves nothing. It only causes bad blood, and how can that help our cause? This… act. All it does is set us back a few more years. Makes things more difficult, more…’

The voice cut out. After a moment the General sniffed, then nodded to himself. He had heard the words a dozen times now, and each time they had had the power to convince him of Lehmann’s innocence. Lehmann’s anger, his callousness, while they spoke against him as a man, were eloquent in his defence in this specific matter. It was not how a guilty man behaved. In any case, he was right. How would this serve him? Li Shai Tung would merely appoint another Minister. Another like Lwo Kang.

Down below, DeVore had reached the far end of the bridge. Two tiny figures broke from the shadow of the left-hand tower to challenge him, then fell back, seeing who it was. They melted back into the blackness and DeVore marched on alone, out onto the apron of the spaceport.

The General turned away. Perhaps DeVore was right. Perhaps Wyatt was their man. Even so, a nagging sense of wrongness persisted, unfocused, unresolved.

‘I’m tired,’ he said softly to himself, sitting himself behind his desk again. ‘Yes, tiredness, that’s all it is.’

‘Wait outside, at the junction. You know what he looks like?’

The Han nodded. ‘Like my brother.’

‘Good. Then get going.’

The Han did as he was told, closing the door behind him, leaving DeVore alone in the room. DeVore looked around, for the first time allowing himself to relax. Not long now. Not long and it would all be done. This was the last of it. He looked at the sealed bag on the floor by the bed and smiled, then sat on the end of the bed next to the corpse’s feet.

The kwai, Chen, had been hard to kill. Stubborn. He had fought so hard for life that they had had to club him to death, as if strangling the man hadn’t been enough. His head was a bloodied pulp, his features almost unrecognizable. The Han had enjoyed that. DeVore had had to drag him off.

Like animals, he thought, disgusted, promising himself he’d make the Han’s death a particularly painful one.

For a while he sat there, head down, hands on knees, thinking things through. Then he looked up, looked about himself again. It was such a mean, shabby little place, and like all of this beneath the Net, it bred a type that matched its circumstances. This Kao Jyan, for instance; he had big dreams, but he was a little man. He didn’t have the skill or imagination to carry off his scheme. All he had was a brash impudence; an inflated sense of self-importance. But, then, what else could be expected? Living here, a man had no perspective. No way of judging what the truth of things really was.

He got up and crossed the room. Inset into the wall was an old-fashioned games machine. A ResTem Mark IV. He switched it on and set it up for Wei Chi; an eighth-level game, the machine to start with black.

For a time he immersed himself in the game, enjoying the challenge. Then, when it was clear he had the advantage, he turned away.

The General was sharper than he’d thought he’d be. Much sharper. That business with the dead maintenance engineer. His discovery of Kao Jyan and the other kwai. For a moment DeVore had thought their scheme undone. But the game was far from played out. He’d let the General find his missing pieces. One by one he’d give them to him. But not until he’d done with them.

He glanced at the machine again. It was a complex game, and he prided himself on a certain mastery of it. Strange, though, how much it spoke of the difference between East and West. At least, of the old West, hidden beneath the levels of the Han City, the layers of Han culture and Han history. The games of the West had been played on similar boards to those of the East, but the West played between the lines, not on the intersecting points. And the games of the West had been flexible, each individual piece given breath, allowed to move, as though each had an independent life. That was not so in Wei Chi. In Wei Chi once a piece was placed it remained, unless it was surrounded and its ‘breath’ taken from it. It was a game of static patterns; patterns built patiently over hours or days – sometimes even months. A game where the point was not to eliminate but to enclose.

East and West – they were the inverse of each other. Forever alien. Yet one must ultimately triumph. For now it was the Han. But now was not forever.

He turned from the screen, smiling. ‘White wins, as ever.’

It had always interested him; ever since he had learned how much the Han had banned or hidden. A whole separate culture. A long and complex history. Buried, as if it had never been. The story of the old West. Dead. Shrouded in white, the Han colour of death.

DeVore stretched and yawned. It was two days since he had last slept. He crossed the room and looked at his reflection in the mirror beside the shower unit. Not bad, he thought, but the drugs he had taken to keep himself alert had only a limited effect. Pure tiredness would catch up with him eventually. Still, they’d keep him on his feet long enough to see this through.

He looked down. His wrist console was flashing.

DeVore smiled at his reflection. ‘At last,’ he said. Then, straightening his tunic, he turned to face the door.

Jyan came laughing into his room. ‘Chen…’ he began, then stopped, his eyes widening, the colour draining from his cheeks. ‘What the…?’

He turned and made to run, but the second man, following him in, blocked the doorway, knife in hand.

He turned back, facing the stranger.

‘Close the door,’ DeVore said, looking past Jyan at the other. Then he turned to face Jyan again. ‘Come in, Kao Jyan. Make yourself at home.’

Jyan swallowed and backed away to the left, his eyes going to the figure sprawled face down on the bed, the cover over its head. It was Chen. He could tell it from a dozen different signs – by the shape of the body, the clothes, by the black, studded straps about his wrists.

For a moment he said nothing, mesmerized by the sight of those two strong hands resting there, lifeless and pale, palms upward on the dark red sheet. Then he looked up again. The stranger was watching him, that same cruel half-smile on his lips.

‘What do you want?’ Jyan asked, his voice barely audible.

DeVore laughed, then turned to face the games machine, tapping in his next move. Jyan looked at the screen. The machine was set up for Wei Chi, the nineteen by nineteen grid densely cluttered with the small black and white stones. From the state of the game it looked as though the stranger had been waiting for some time.

DeVore turned back, giving Jyan a strangely intense look. Then he dropped his eyes and moved closer. ‘It’s a fascinating game, don’t you think, Kao Jyan? Black starts, and so the odds are in his favour – seven out often, they say – yet I, like you, prefer to play against the odds.’

He stepped closer. Jyan backed against the wall, looking away.

‘You have the envelope, Kao Jyan?’

Jyan turned his head, meeting the other’s eyes. Only a hand’s width separated them now. He could feel the other’s breath upon his cheek. ‘The… envelope?’

‘The offer we made you.’

‘Ah…’ Jyan fumbled in the inside pocket of his one-piece, then drew out the crumpled envelope and handed it to him. The stranger didn’t look at it, merely pocketed it, then handed back another.

‘Go on. Open it. It’s our new offer.’

Jyan could see the body on the bed, the man waiting at the door, knife in hand, and wondered what it meant. Was he dead? He looked down at the sealed letter in his hand. It was identical to the one Cho Hsiang had given him.

His hands shaking, he opened the envelope and took out the folded sheet. This time there was nothing on it. The pure white sheet was empty.

DeVore smiled. ‘You understand, Kao Jyan?’

Jyan looked from one man to the other, trying to see a way out of this. ‘The tape…’ he began, his voice trembling now. ‘What about the tape?’

The stranger turned away, ignoring his comment, as if it had no significance. ‘I’m sorry about your friend. It was unfortunate, but he was no part of this. The deal was with you, Kao Jyan.’

Jyan found he was staring at the body again. The stranger saw where he was looking and smiled. ‘Go on. Look at him, if you want. He’ll not mind you looking now.’ He went across to the bed and pulled the cover back. ‘Here…’

The stranger’s voice held a tone of command that made Jyan start forward, then hesitate, a wave of nausea passing through him.

DeVore looked up from the body. ‘He was a hard man to kill, your friend. It took both of us to deal with him. Chu Heng here had to hold him down while I dressed him.’

Jyan shuddered. A cord had been looped about Chen’s bull neck four or five times then tightened until it had bitten into the flesh, drawing blood. But it was hard to judge whether that had been the cause of death or the heavy blows he’d suffered to the back of the head; blows that had broken his skull like a fragile piece of porcelain.

He swallowed drily then looked up, meeting the stranger’s eyes. ‘Am I dead?’

DeVore laughed; not cruelly, but as if the naivety of the remark had genuinely amused him. ‘What do you think?’

‘The tape…’ he said again.

‘You don’t understand, do you, Kao Jyan?’

The Han in the doorway laughed, but shut up abruptly when DeVore looked at him.

Jyan’s voice was almost a breath now. ‘Understand what?’

‘The game. Its rules. Its different levels. You see, you were out of your depth. You had ambitions above your level. That’s a dangerous thing for a little man like you. You were greedy.’

Jyan shivered. It was what Chen had said.

‘You’ve… how should I say it… inconvenienced us.’

‘Forget the whole thing. Please. I…’

DeVore shook his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly, looking at Jyan with what seemed almost regret. ‘It’s not possible.’

‘I’ll say nothing. I swear I’ll say nothing.’

‘You give your word, eh?’ DeVore turned and picked up the bag on the floor by the bed. ‘Here. This is what your word means.’

DeVore threw the bag at him. Jyan caught it and looked inside, then threw the bag down, horrified. It was Cho Hsiang’s head.

‘You understand, then? It’s necessity. We have to sacrifice some pieces. For the sake of the game.’

‘The game…?’

But there were no more explanations. The Han’s knife flashed and dug deep into his back. Kao Jyan was dead before he hit the floor.

In Mu Chua’s House of the Ninth Ecstasy it was the hour of leisure and the girls were sprawled out on the couches in the Room of the Green Lamps, talking and laughing amongst themselves. Mu Chua’s House was a good house, a clean house, even though it was below the Net, and catered only for those who came here from Above on business. Feng Chung, biggest of the local Triad bosses and Mu Chua’s one-time lover, gave them his protection. His men guarded Mu Chua’s doors and gave assistance when a customer grew troublesome. It was a good arrangement and Mu Chua had grown fat on it.

Mu – it meant mother in the old tongue, though she was no one’s mother and had been sterilized at twelve – was in her fifties now; a strong, small woman with a fiery temper who had a genuine love for her trade and for the girls in her charge. ‘Here men forget their cares,’ was her motto and she had it written over the door in English and Mandarin, the pictograms sewn into every cushion, every curtain, every bedspread in the place. Even so, there were strict rules in her House. None of her girls could be hurt in anyway. ‘If they want that,’ she had said to Feng Chung once, her eyes blazing with anger, ‘they can go down to the Clay. This is a good house. A loving house. How can my girls be loving if they are scared? How can they take the cares of men away unless they have no cares themselves?’

Mu Chua was still a most attractive woman and many who had come to sample younger flesh had found themselves ending the night in mother’s arms. Thereafter there would be no other for them. They would return to her alone, remembering not only the warmth and enthusiasm of her embraces, but also those little tricks – special things she kept a secret, even from her girls – that only she could do.

Just now she stood in the arched doorway, looking in at her girls, pleased by what she saw. She had chosen well. There were real beauties here – like Crimson Lotus and Jade Melody – and girls of character, like Spring Willow and the tiny, delicate-looking Sweet Honey, known to all as ‘little Mimi’, after the Mandarin for her adopted name. But there was more than that to her girls; she had trained them to be artisans, skilled at their craft of lovemaking. If such a thing were possible here in the Net, they had breeding. They were not common men hu – ‘the one standing in the door’ but shen nu – ‘god girls’. To Mu Chua it was an important distinction. Her girls might well be prostitutes, but they were not mere smoke-flowers. Her House was a land of warmth and softness, a model for all other Houses, and she felt a great pride in having made it so.

Crimson Lotus and Sweet Honey had settled themselves at the far end of the room and were talking with another of the girls, Golden Heart. Mu Chua went across to them and settled herself on the floor between them, listening to their talk.

‘I had a dream, Mother Chua,’ said Golden Heart, turning to her. She was Mu Chua’s youngest girl, a sweet-faced thing of thirteen. ‘I was telling Crimson and little Mimi. In my dream it was New Year and I was eating cakes. Nian-kao – year cakes. Above me the clouds formed huge mountains in the sky, lit with the most extraordinary colours. I looked up, expecting something, and then, suddenly, a tiger appeared from out of the West and came and mated with me.’

The other girls giggled, but Golden Heart carried on, her face earnest. ‘Afterwards I woke, but I was still in the dream, and beside me on the bed lay a pale grey snake, its skin almost white in places. At first it moved, yet when I reached out and touched it it was cold.’

Mu Chua licked at her lips, disturbed. ‘That is a powerful dream, child. But what it means…’ She shrugged and fell quiet, then changed the subject. It would not do to worry Golden Heart. ‘Listen. I have a special favour to ask of you girls. We are to have visitors. Three important men from the Above. Soldiers.’

Crimson Lotus clapped her hands in delight. ‘How wonderful, Mother Chua! Soldiers! They keep themselves so fit, so trim!’ She gave a low, seductive laugh and looked across at Sweet Honey. ‘If Mother Chua weren’t here to look after us I’m sure I’d do it for nothing with a soldier!’

Mu Chua joined their laughter. ‘Yes. But these are not just any soldiers. These are the Great General’s own men, his elite, and you will be paid three times your usual fee. You will entertain them in the Room of Heaven and you will do whatever they ask.’

‘Whatever they ask?’ Sweet Honey raised an eyebrow.

Mu Chua smiled reassuringly at her. ‘Within the rules, of course. They have been told they are not to harm you in any way.’

‘And if they are not pleased?’ asked Golden Heart, her face still clouded from the dream she’d had.

Mu Chua reached out and stroked her cheek tenderly. ‘They are men, child. Of course they will be pleased.’

Ebert stopped at the curtained doorway and turned to face them. ‘Here we are, my friends. Mu Chua’s. The finest beneath the Net.’

Fest laughed, delighted, but at his side Haavikko looked uncertain. ‘What is this place?’

Fest clapped his shoulder and pointed up at the sign of the lotus and the fish above the doorway. ‘What does it look like, Axel? We’re in Flower Streets and Willow Lanes here. In the land of warmth and softness. At home with the family of the green lamps.’ He saw comprehension dawn on Haavikko’s face and laughed again. ‘Yes, Axel, it’s a Sing-Song House. A brothel.’

He tried to go forward, his arm still about Haavikko’s shoulder, but the young ensign held back.

‘No. I don’t want to go in.’ Haavikko swallowed. A faint colour appeared in his cheeks. ‘It… isn’t my thing.’

Ebert came back to him. ‘You’re a man, aren’t you, Haavikko? Well, then, of course it’s your thing.’

Haavikko shook his head. ‘You go in. I’ll wait for you.’

Ebert looked at Fest and raised an eyebrow. Then he looked back at Haavikko. ‘That’s impossible. I’ve booked us in for the night. We’re staying here. This is our billet while we’re down here. Understand?’

‘You mean they do more than…?’

Ebert nodded exaggeratedly, making Fest laugh once more, then he grew more serious. ‘Look, Haavikko, if you don’t want to screw one of the girls you don’t have to. But come inside, eh? Mu Chua will bring you a meal and show you to a room. You can watch a trivee or something while Fest and I enjoy ourselves.’

Haavikko looked down, angered by the slightly mocking tone in Ebert’s voice. ‘Isn’t there somewhere else I could stay?’

Ebert huffed, losing his patience suddenly. ‘Oh, for the gods’ sake, Fest, order him inside! Don’t you understand, Haavikko? We’re a squad. We need to be together when the call comes. What’s the fucking good if you’re somewhere else?’

Haavikko looked to Fest, who smiled apologetically. ‘It’s true, Axel. My orders are to keep us together at all times. Look, why don’t you do what Hans has suggested? Come inside and take a room. Then, if you change your mind, you’ve not far to go.’

‘I’ve told you…’

‘Yes, yes. I understand. Now come inside. I order you. All right?’

Inside Mu Chua greeted them expansively, then led them through to a large room at the back of the House where three girls were waiting. As they entered the girls knelt and bowed their heads, then looked up at them, smiling, expectant, as if waiting for them to make their choice. Axel stared at them, surprised. They were not at all what he had expected, neither was this place the gaudy den of harlotry he had so often seen in vid dramas.

‘What is this room called?’ he asked, surprising both Ebert and Fest by being the first to speak.

The girl on the far left looked briefly across at her companions, then looked up at Axel, smiling radiantly. ‘This is the Room of Heaven. Here a man may dream and live his dreams.’

She was beautiful. Even for these tiny Han types she was quite exceptional, and Axel felt something stir in him despite himself. She wore a bright red satin ch’i p’ao patterned with tiny blue flowers and cranes and varicoloured butterflies, the long, one-piece dress wrapped concealingly about her dainty figure. Her hair had been cut in a swallowtail bang, the two wings swept down over a pale ivory brow that would have graced the daughter of a T’ang, a clasp of imitation pearls holding the dark flow of her black hair in a tight, unbraided queue. Her hands, small as a child’s, were unadorned, the nails varnished but unpainted. She was so astonishing, so unexpected, that he could not help but stare at her, his lips parted, his eyes wide.

‘What do they call you?’

She bowed her head again, a faint smile playing on her tiny, rosebud lips. ‘My name is Crimson Lotus.’

‘Well!’ said Ebert, laughing. ‘I see Haavikko has made his choice.’

Axel broke from the spell. ‘No. Not at all. I… I meant what I said. This…’ He looked about him again, surprised anew by the tastefulness, the simple luxury of the room and its furnishings. ‘This isn’t my thing.’

He looked back down at the girl and saw, behind the surface smile, a faint hint of disappointment in her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. At once he felt upset that he had hurt her, even in so small a way, by his inadvertence. ‘I’m sorry…’ he started to say, but Ebert spoke over him.

‘Ladies, please forgive our friend. We thought we might change his mind by bringing him to your most excellent house, but it seems he’s adamant.’ Ebert looked to Fest and smiled. ‘I should explain. My friend is ya, you understand? A yellow eel.’

Haavikko frowned, not understanding. His knowledge of basic Mandarin included neither term. But the girls understood at once.

‘My pardon, honourable sir,’ said Crimson Lotus, her face clear, her smile suddenly resplendent, showing her pearl-white perfect teeth. ‘If you will but wait a moment I shall call back Mother Chua. I am certain she could provide you with a boy.’

Axel turned to face Ebert, furious.

Ebert roared with laughter, enjoying the confusion on the faces of the girls. Ignoring the edge in Axel’s voice, he reached out and touched his shoulder. ‘Only a joke, my friend. Only a joke.’

The girls were looking from one to the other of the soldiers, their faces momentarily anxious. Then they too joined in with Ebert’s laughter, their heads lowered, one hand raised to their mouths, their laughter like the faint, distant laughter of children.

Axel turned away from Ebert and looked at them again, letting his anger drain from him. Then he smiled and gave the slightest bow. No, he thought. Make nothing of it. It is Ebert’s way. He cannot help it if he is ill-bred and ill-mannered. It comes from being who he is: heir to one of the biggest financial empires in Chung Kuo. He does not have to behave as Fest and I. We serve, but he only plays at being a servant. He, after all, is a master.

Yes, but watch yourself, Hans Ebert. One day you’ll make one joke too many, speak out of place once too often, and then your riches will not help you. No, or your connections.

The smallest of the girls rose with a bow and came towards them, head lowered. ‘Would the gentlemen like ch’a?’

Ebert answered for them. ‘Gods, no! Bring us something stronger. Some wine. And something to eat, too. I’m ravenous!’

Embarrassed by Ebert’s brash, proprietorial manner and awkward on his own account, Axel watched the others sit on cushions Crimson Lotus brought for them. ‘Will you not sit with us?’ she asked him, coming much closer than she had before. The sweet delicacy of her scent was intoxicating and her dark eyes were like a lover’s, sharing some secret understanding.

‘I’d best not,’ he said, rather too stiffly. My sister… he had almost added. He looked down, suddenly embarrassed. Yes, that was why. He had promised his sister. Had sworn on his honour that he would keep himself clean. Would not do as other men did.

He shuddered then met the girl’s eyes again. ‘If you would send for Mu Chua. Perhaps she would find me a room. I’ll eat there and take my rest.’

Crimson Lotus smiled, unoffended, nothing behind her smile this time. Her disappointment had been momentary; now she was the perfect hostess once more, all personal thoughts banished. ‘If you will wait a moment, I shall summon her.’

But Mu Chua had been watching everything. She appeared in the doorway at once, knowing what to do, what to say in this instance. She had been told beforehand that it might be so.

‘Please follow me, Shih Haavikko. There is a room prepared. I will take you there.’

Axel bowed, grateful, then looked across at Ebert and Fest. Fest met his eyes and gave the briefest nod, acknowledging his departure, but Ebert ignored him, concentrating on the young girl – she looked barely ten – who sat beside him now.

‘What is the young girl’s name?’ Haavikko asked Mu Chua, keeping his voice low.

Mu Chua smiled. ‘That’s Golden Heart. She’s the baby of the house. A sweet young thing, don’t you think?’

He stared at the girl a moment longer, then turned back to Mu Chua. ‘If you would take me to my room.’

Mu Chua smiled, all understanding. ‘Of course.’

Axel woke to find the room dark, a strange smell in the air. He sat up suddenly, alert, his training taking over, then remembered where he was and forced himself to relax. But still he felt on edge. Something was wrong.

He heard it. Heard the second thread of breathing in the silent darkness. He felt to his left. Nothing. Then to his right. His hand met a soft warmth.

He swallowed, recognizing the musky smell for what it was. What had they done? Drugged him? And what else? He had seen too many covert operations not to feel vulnerable. What if Ebert had set this up? What if he’d had him drugged, then taped what he’d subsequently done? He shivered and slowly edged away from the girl – was it a girl? – who lay there next to him in the bed, then felt behind him for a lighting panel.

His hand met the slight indentation in the wall. At once a soft light lay across the centre of the bed, blurring into darkness.

Axel gasped and his eyes widened, horrified. ‘Kuan Yin preserve me!’ he whispered.

The girl was Hung Mao. A tall, blonde-haired girl with full breasts and an athletic build. She lay there, undisturbed by the light, one hand up at her neck, the fingers laced into her long, thick hair, the other resting on her smoothly muscled stomach, the fingers pointing down to the rich growth of pubic hair.

Axel stared at her, horrified and yet fascinated, his eyes drawn to her ice-white breasts, to the soft, down-covered swell of her sex. Then he looked at her face again and shuddered. So like her. So very like her.

He turned away, then looked back, his eyes drawn once more to those parts of her he’d never seen. Never dreamed he’d see.

It couldn’t be. Surely…?

‘Vesa…’ he whispered, leaning closer. ‘Vesa…’ It was his sister’s name.

The head turned, the eyes opened. Astonishingly blue eyes, like his sister’s. But different. Oh, so thankfully different. And yet…

He pushed the thought back sharply. But it came again. Like Vesa. So very like his darling sister Vesa.

The girl smiled up at him and reached out for him, making a small sound of pleasure deep in her throat.

Instinctively he moved back slightly, tensed, but he was betrayed. Slowly his penis filled with blood until, engorged, it stood out stiffly. And when she reached for it and took it he could do nothing but close his eyes, ashamed and yet grateful.

As he entered her he opened his eyes and looked at her again. ‘What’s your name?’

She laughed softly, and for the briefest moment the movement of her body against his own slowed and became uncertain. ‘Don’t you remember, Axel? I’m White Orchid. Your little flower.’ Then she laughed again, more raucously this time, her body pressing up against his, making him cry out with the pleasure of it. ‘And he said you were ya…’

‘Shall I wake him?’

‘No, Mother Chua. Let him sleep a little longer. The fight is not for another two hours yet. There’s plenty of time. Did he enjoy himself?’

Mu Chua smiled but did not answer. Some things she would do for money. Others were against her code. Spying on her guests was one of them. She studied Ebert a moment, trying to establish what it was made him so different from the others who came here. Perhaps it was just the sheer rudeness of the man. His ready assumption that he could have anything, buy anything. She didn’t like him, but then it wasn’t her job to like all of her clients. As it was, he had brought her something valuable – the two Hung Mao girls.

‘Have you made your mind up yet?’

Ebert did not look at her. There was a faint smile on his lips. ‘I can choose anyone?’

‘That was our deal.’

‘Then I’ll take the girl. Golden Heart.’

Mu Chua looked down. It was as she had expected. ‘She’s untrained,’ she said, knowing it was hopeless but trying to persuade him even so.

‘I know. That’s partly why I chose her. I could train her myself. To my own ways.’

Mu Chua shuddered, wondering what those ways would be. For a moment she considered going back on the deal and returning the two Hung Mao girls, but she knew that it made no sense either to throw away such a certain attraction as the barbarian shen nu nor to make an enemy of Hans Ebert.

‘Are you certain she’s not too young?’

Ebert merely laughed.

‘Then I’ll draw up the contracts. It will be as agreed. The two girls for the one. And this evening’s entertainment free.’

‘As we agreed,’ said Ebert, smiling to himself.

Mu Chua studied him again, wondering what game he was playing with his fellow officer. She had seen the way he bullied and insulted him. Why, then, had he been so insistent that she drug him and send the Hung Mao girl to him? There seemed no love lost between the two men, so what was Ebert’s design?

She bowed and smiled, for once feeling the hollowness of her smile, then turned and went to bring the contract. But she was thinking of Golden Heart’s dream. Ebert was the tiger come out of the West, and last night he had mated with her. Insatiably, so Golden Heart had said: wildly, his passion barely short of violence. And though there was no chance of Golden Heart conceiving, Mu Chua could not help but think of the image in the dream – the image of the grey-white snake. In most cases it was an auspicious symbol – sign that the dreamer would bear a boy child. But the snake in the dream had been cold and dead.

She shuddered. The first part of the dream had proved so right, how could the second not come about in time? And then, what misery for Golden Heart. Eat your year cakes now, thought Mu Chua as she took the contract from the drawer in her room and turned to go back. Celebrate now beneath the rainbow-coloured clouds, for soon Golden Heart will be broken. And I can do nothing. Nothing at all.

When he woke the second time he knew she would be there, beside him in the bed. He turned and looked at her, all shame, all horror purged from him, only love and a vague desire remaining. For a moment he was still, silent, watching her, a faint smile on his face. Then, as he watched, there was movement at the mouth of her sex. A dark and slender shape seemed to press up between the soft, pale lips of flesh. Slowly it emerged, stretching a thumbnail’s length and more into the air, its blind snout moving purposively, as if sniffing the air. Axel stared at it, fascinated and horrified. It was alive – a living thing! He gave a small cry of shock and surprise and the thing vanished, as though it had never been, burrowing back down into the soft, moist folds of flesh.

His cry woke her. She sat up abruptly, her eyes as blue as a northern sea, heavy with sleep. ‘Axel… What is it?’

She focused on his face and seemed to come awake suddenly, seeing the horror there.

‘Gods, what is it?’ She got up and moved towards him, but he backed away, fending her off with his hands. She stopped still, her body tensed, and lowered her head a fraction, staring at him. ‘Tell me what it is, Axel. Please. Was it a bad dream?’

He pointed at her. ‘Something…’

It was all he could say, but it seemed she understood. She sat back on the bed, folding her hands in her lap. ‘Ah… I see.’

She let out a deep breath. ‘What you saw…’ She shrugged and looked up at him, strangely vulnerable. ‘We all have them.’ Her look was as much as to say, Surely you knew about this? Surely you’ve heard?

‘I…’ he swallowed. ‘I don’t understand.’

She stared at him a moment longer, then reached down into the folds of her sex and gently began to coax something from within. Axel watched, wide-eyed, as she lifted the thing with her fingers and placed it gently in the palm of her right hand, extending it towards him so that he could see it clearly.

‘Look. It’s all right. It won’t hurt you. It’s perfectly harmless.’

It was an insect of some kind. Or so it first appeared. A dark, slender, worm-like shape half the length of a finger. It was smooth and perfectly black. Unsegmented. Unmarked. It seemed blind; devoid, in fact, of all sensory equipment. And yet it had reacted swiftly to his cry.

‘What is it?’ he asked, coming closer, unable to conceal a shudder.

‘As I said, we all have them. All of the girls, that is. They keep us clean, you see. GenSyn developed them. They live off bacteria – special kinds of bacteria. Aids, herpes, venereal diseases of all kinds.’

He wrinkled up his nose. ‘Gods,’ he said. ‘And it’s been there all the time. While we were…?’

‘All the time. But it never gets in the way. It lives in a special sack in my womb. It only comes out when it senses I’m asleep or perfectly relaxed. It’s a parasite, you see. A benevolent one.’ She smiled and petted the thing in her hand, then gently put it back.

There was a knock on the door. Axel looked about him.

‘Here,’ said the girl, handing him a robe, but taking nothing for herself.

He wrapped the er-silk pau about him, then turned to face the door. ‘Come in!’

It was Mu Chua. ‘I heard a noise,’ she said. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yes. Yes, it’s fine.’ He glanced at the girl, who sat there on the bed, looking away from him, then turned back to face Mu Chua. ‘It was nothing. Really. Nothing at all.’

Mu Chua met his eyes and held them just a moment longer than was natural, making him wonder what she was thinking as she looked at him; re-awakening, for the briefest moment, his fears of being taped and betrayed. But then she smiled – a warm, candid smile that held no subterfuge. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Then dress and come through. I’ve prepared a breakfast for you.’

Her smile warmed him, cleared away the shadows in his head. ‘Thank you, Mother Chua. You run a good house. A very good house.’

The Pit was a riot of noise and activity, its tiered benches packed to over-flowing. On all sides men yelled and waved their arms frantically, placing bets, dark, faceless figures in the dim red light, while down below, in the intense white light of the combat circle, the two men crouched on their haunches, in the wa shih stance, facing each other silently.

Axel Haavikko, sitting on the front bench between Fest and Ebert, narrowed his eyes, studying the two combatants. They seemed an ill-matched pair; one Hung Mao, the other Han; one a giant, the other so compact and yet so perfectly formed he looked as though he had been made in a GenSyn vat. But there was a stillness, an undisguised sense of authority about the smaller man that impressed at once. He seemed immovable, as if grown about a central point of calm.

‘The Han’s name is Hwa. I’m told he’s champion here,’ said Fest, leaning forward and speaking into his ear. ‘Seventeen bouts, he’s had. Two more and it’ll be a record.’

Axel turned and yelled back at Fest. ‘And the other?’

Fest shrugged and indicated the small Han next to him. He leaned forward again, raising his voice. ‘My friend here says that no one knows much about him. He’s a local boy, name of Karr, but he hasn’t fought before. He’s something of a mystery. But worth a bet, maybe. You’ll get good odds.’

Axel turned to look at the other combatant. Crouched, Karr was taller than most men. Seven ch’i, perhaps. Maybe more. Standing, he had been close to twice the size of Hwa; broad at the shoulder and heavily muscled, his oiled skin shining slickly in the brilliant whiteness. Such men were usually slow. They depended on sheer strength to win through. Yet Axel remembered how the crowd had gone quiet when the giant entered the arena and realized that Karr was something unusual, even by their standards.

For a moment he studied the tattoos on Karr’s chest and arms. On each arm a pair of dragons – one green, one red, their long bodies thick and muscular – coiled about each other sinuously. Their heads were turned inward, face to face, wide, sharp-toothed mouths snarling, huge, golden eyes flashing. On his chest a great bird spread its wings, its powerful, regal head thrown back defiantly, its cruel beak open in a cry of triumph, a terror-stricken horse held fast in each of its steel-like talons.

Axel looked away, feeling suddenly quite awkward. His silks, his braided hair, his necklaces of silver and jade. Such refinements were an impertinence down here. There was no place for such subtleties. Here everything was bared.

It was warm in the Pit and unbearably stuffy, yet he shivered, thinking of what was to come.

‘Look at him!’ yelled Ebert, leaning close to join their conversation. ‘Meat! That’s what he is! A huge sack of meat! It’s a foregone conclusion, Haavikko! I’d not waste a single yuan on him! It’ll be over in seconds!’

‘You think so?’

Ebert nodded exaggeratedly. ‘See our man here.’ He indicated Hwa. ‘I’m told he’s a perfectionist. An artist. He practises eight hours a day, sometimes doing nothing but repeating one single movement.’ Ebert laughed and his blue eyes gleamed red in the dull light. ‘Such training pays off. They say he’s so fast you daren’t even blink while he’s fighting!’

Axel shrugged. Maybe it was so. Certainly there was something different, something obsessive about the man that was quite chilling. His eyes, for instance, never moved. They stared ahead, as if in trance, boring into his opponent’s face, unblinking, merciless in their focus. Whereas the other…

Even as he looked he saw Karr turn his head and look directly at him.

It was a fierce, insolent gaze, almost primitive in its intensity, and yet not wholly unintelligent. There was something about the man. Something he had seen at once. Perhaps it was the casual, almost arrogant way he had looked about the tiers on entering, or the brief, almost dismissive bow he had greeted his opponent with. Whatever, it was enough to make Axel feel uneasy with Ebert’s brusque dismissal of the man. On balance, however, he had to agree with Ebert: the small man looked like an adept – a perfect fighting machine. Height, weight and breadth were no concern to him. His strength was of another kind.

‘Of course,’ continued Ebert, raising his voice so that it carried to the giant, ‘brute strength alone can never win. Intelligence and discipline will triumph every time. It’s nature’s law!’

Axel saw the giant’s eyes flare, his muscles tense. He had heard.

He leaned close to Ebert. ‘I’ll wager a hundred yuan that the big man wins.’

‘I’ll give you five to one.’

‘You’re sure?’

Ebert laughed arrogantly. ‘Make it two fifty, and I’ll give you ten to one!’

Axel met his eyes a moment, conscious of the challenge in them, then gave the barest nod.

Just then, however, the fight marshal stepped out into the combat circle and the crowd hushed expectantly.

Axel felt his stomach tighten, his heart begin to thud against his rib cage. This was it then. To the death.

The two men rose and approached the centre of the circle. There they knelt and bowed to each other – a full k’o t’ou, heads almost touching. Then they sat back on their haunches, waiting, while the marshal gave their names and read the rules.

The rules were short and simple. One. No weapons were permitted but their own bodies. Two. So long as the fight continued they were to keep within the combat circle. Three. Once begun the fight could not be called off. It ended only when one of them was dead.

Axel could feel the tension in his bones. All about him rose a buzz of excitement, an awful, illicit excitement that grew and grew as the moments passed and the two men faced each other at the circle’s centre, waiting for the signal.

Then, suddenly, it began.

The small man flipped backwards like a tumbler, then stopped, perfectly, almost unnaturally still, half-crouched on his toes, his arms raised to shoulder level, forearms bent inward, his fingers splayed.

Karr had not moved. He was watching Hwa carefully, his eyes half-lidded. Then, very slowly, he eased back off his knees, drawing himself up to his full height, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet.

Hwa feinted to the left, then sprang at Karr, bounding forward then flipping his body up and sideways, one foot kicking out at the big man’s groin.

There was a roar from the crowd. For a moment Karr was down. Then he was up again, his feet thudding against the canvas flooring, a hiss of pain escaping through his teeth. Hwa had missed his target. His foot had struck Karr on the upper thigh. The skin there was a vivid red, darkening by the moment, and as Karr circled he rubbed at the spot tenderly, almost absent-mindedly.

‘He’s too slow!’ Ebert hissed in his ear.

‘Wait!’ Axel answered. He had been watching Hwa’s face, had seen the surprise there when the big man had bounced up again. Hwa had thought he had him.

Hwa crouched again, in the classic ch’i ma shih, the riding horse stance, moving side to side from the hips, like a snake. Then he moved his feet in a little dance. From the tiers on all sides came a loud, low shuddering as the crowd banged their feet in applause. A moment later Hwa attacked again.

This time he ran at Karr; a strange, weaving run that ended in a leap. At the same time he let out a bloodcurdling scream.

But Karr had moved.

At the instant Hwa leaped, Karr ducked, rolled and turned. It was a movement that was so quick and so unexpected from such a big man that a huge gasp of surprise went up from the crowd. As Hwa turned to face him again, Karr was smiling.

Surprise turned to rage. Hwa attacked a third time, whirling his body about, thrusting and kicking, his arms and legs moving in a blur. But each blow was met and countered. For once Hwa’s speed was matched. And when he withdrew he was breathing heavily, his face red from exertion.

The crowd roared its appreciation.

‘It’s luck!’ yelled Ebert next to him. ‘You see if it isn’t! The Han will have him soon enough!’

Axel made to answer, but at that moment Hwa launched himself again, flipping over once, twice, like an acrobat, then feinting to left, right, then left again. He was only an arm’s length from Karr when the big man acted. But this time Karr moved a fraction too slowly. When Hwa kicked Karr was off-balance, striking at a place where Hwa had been but was no longer.

The crack of bone could be heard to the back of the tiers.

Karr groaned audibly and went down.

Hwa struck again at once, his foot kicking out once, twice, forcing the broken arm back at an impossible angle.

Axel gasped, feeling sick. Beside him Ebert gave a yell of triumph.

Hwa moved back, getting his breath, a look of satisfaction replacing the frown of concentration he had worn until that moment.

The Pit was tense, silent, waiting for him to end it. ‘Shau,’ he said softly, looking at Karr. Burn.

Karr was down on one knee, his face a mask of pain. Slowly, very slowly, he got up, supporting his shattered arm with his left hand. For a moment he seemed to look inside himself. His breathing slowed and his face cleared. With a grimace of pure agony, he wrenched his arm back, the click of bone against bone the only sound in the whole arena. For a moment he swayed, then seemed to gain control of himself again and tucked the useless hand into the cloth belt at his waist, securing it.

‘Come,’ he said, lifting his chin in challenge to the smaller man. ‘It isn’t over yet.’

The words were like a goad. Hwa exploded, twirling and somersaulting, kicking and punching in a furious rain of blows that went on for minutes. But Karr was up to the challenge. With his good arm and both legs he parried everything Hwa threw at him, weaving and ducking and turning with a speed and agility that surprised everyone. It seemed impossible for a man so big to move his weight so quickly, so subtly.

But Axel, watching, saw how much it cost him – saw, beneath the mask of outward calm, the agony as Karr flipped and jumped and rolled, avoiding the constant flood of blows. Saw it in his eyes, in the faintest movement at the corners of his mouth. Watched until it seemed impossible that Karr could take any more.

And then, just as Hwa was drawing off, Karr counter-attacked for the first time.

Hwa moved back, his full weight resting momentarily – perhaps, for the only time during the contest – on his back foot, in hou shih, the monkey stance. And as he moved back, so Karr rolled forward, pushing up off the floor with his good left arm, his wrist straining and flexing, the whole weight of his huge frame thrust forward into Hwa.

He caught Hwa totally off-balance, his legs wrapping about the small man’s neck, his huge weight driving him down into the canvas.

For an instant there was silence. Then, as the big man rolled over there was a groan. Karr sat up, clutching his arm, his face rent with pain. But Hwa was dead. He lay there next to Karr, pale, unmoving, his back, his neck broken, the back of his skull crushed by the impact of his fall.

Axel let out a shivering breath. Beside him Ebert was suddenly very quiet. On all sides the Pit was in uproar.

‘Magnificent!’ Fest yelled into Axel’s ear. ‘They were giving odds of thirty-five to one! It’s the biggest upset in five years, so my friend here says!’ But Axel was barely listening. He was watching Karr, filled with admiration and respect for the big man.

‘He was magnificent,’ Axel said softly, turning to look at Ebert.

‘He was lucky!’ For a second or two Ebert glowered back at him. Then he laughed dismissively and dug something out of his tunic pocket and handed it across to Haavikko.

‘It’s only money, neh?’

Axel looked down at the thick square of plastic in his hand. It was a secure-image holo-chip. A bearer credit for 2500 yuan. Axel looked up, surprised, then remembered the wager. Two fifty at ten to one. It was more than three months’ salary, but Ebert had treated it as nothing. But then, why not? To him it was pocket money.

Ebert was leaning across him, yelling at Fest. ‘Hey! Let’s go back to the dressing room and congratulate him, neh?’

For a moment longer Axel stared at Ebert, then he looked back at the big man. Karr was picking himself up from the floor painfully, no sign of triumph in his face.

Fest took Axel’s arm and began to pull him away. ‘Let’s go. Hans has had enough.’

‘Come on,’ said Ebert as they stood outside. ‘We’ll buy the brute dinner. He can be our guest.’

They stood in the corridor outside the dressing room, leaning against the wall, ignoring the comings and goings of the lesser fighters. There were bouts all afternoon – challengers for the new champion. But they had seen enough. Ebert had sent in his card a quarter bell ago, the invitation scribbled on the back. Now they waited.

‘There’s a problem with such mechanical virtuosity,’ Ebert said rather pompously. ‘It can so easily switch over into automatonism. A kind of unthinking, machine-like response. Totally inflexible and unable to adapt to approaches more subtle than its own. That’s why Hwa lost. He was inflexible. Unable to change.’

Fest laughed. ‘Sound stuff, Hans. But what you’re really saying is that you knew the big man would win all the time!’

Ebert shook his head. ‘You know what I mean.’ There was a slight irritation in his voice. Then he relented and laughed. ‘Okay, I’m trying to rationalize it, but we were all surprised. Even Axel here. Even he thought his man was going to lose.’

Haavikko smiled. ‘That’s true. He was good, though, wasn’t he?’

Fest nodded. ‘Impressive. Not the best I’ve seen, maybe, but strong. Brave, too.’

Axel looked about him. ‘It’s another world,’ he said. ‘Rawer, more basic than ours.’

Ebert laughed, looking at him. ‘I do believe our young friend is in love with it all. Imagine, living down here, in the sweat and grime!’ He laughed again, more viciously this time. ‘You’d soon be disillusioned.’

‘Maybe…’

He managed no more. Just then the door opened and the big man’s manager came out. He had the same look about him. You’re Karr’s elder brother, Axel thought, looking at him.

‘What do you want?’

Ebert smiled. ‘I watched your man. He fought well. I’d like to take him out to supper. My treat.’

Axel saw how the man controlled himself; saw how he looked from one of them to the next, recognizing them for what they were, Above aristocrats, and knew at once how it must be to live as this man did – wanting to stay clear of their kind, but at the same time needing them. Yes, he saw it all there in the man’s face, all the dreadful compromises he had had to make just to live down here. It rent at Axel’s soul; made him want to turn and leave.

‘Okay,’ the man said after a moment’s hesitation. ‘But Karr’s not feeling well. The contest took a lot out of him. He needs rest…’

Ebert held the man’s hands a moment. ‘It’s all right, friend. We’ll not keep him. A celebration meal, and then…’ He shrugged and smiled pleasantly, letting the man’s hands go. ‘We have influence. Understand? We can arrange things for you. Make it easier…’

Axel narrowed his eyes. ‘What do you mean, Ebert?’

Ebert turned and looked at him sharply. ‘Shut up, Haavikko! Let me deal with this. I know what I’m doing.’

Axel looked down. Do as you will.

Ebert had a reputation for being headstrong. For doing what others would never dare to do. But it was understandable. He had been born to rule. His father, Klaus Ebert, was head of Chung Kuo’s second largest Company: a Company that had existed since the first days of the City; that provided all the body-servants for the Great Families – sweet, intelligent creatures, scarcely distinguishable from the human; that provided a range of taste-sculpted servants for the richest of the rich, and armies of mindless automatons for the Seven. A company that produced over a third of all the synthesized food eaten in the levels.

Hans Ebert was heir to GenSyn, second only to MedFac on the Hang Seng Index. Rumour was his father could buy the Net twice over. What, then, if he should haggle with the manager of a small-time fighter? Even so, Axel found himself annoyed. Hadn’t Ebert seen? Hadn’t he realized how fine, how powerful the man was?

‘We’ll go in, then?’ Ebert said, his tone insistent, commanding. The manager lowered his head, then bowed to the waist, letting them pass.

So power is, thought Axel, moving past him. So power acts.

Karr was sitting at the far end of the room, his right arm strapped to his chest, a bowl of soup balanced in his left hand. He looked up at them sharply, annoyed at their intrusion.

‘What do you want?’

Ebert smiled, ignoring the big man’s hostility. ‘You fought well. We’d like to celebrate your success. To honour you.’

Karr laughed. He set down the soup and stood up, then came across the room until he stood two paces from Ebert.

‘You want to honour me?’

For the briefest moment Ebert seemed intimidated. Then he recovered, turning to smile at his fellows before looking back up at Karr. ‘Why not? It was a great victory.’

‘You think so?’ Karr smiled, but his voice was sharp and cold. ‘You don’t think it was the triumph of meat over intelligence, then?’

Ebert’s mouth worked ineffectually for a moment. Then he took a step backwards. But as he did so, Karr spat on the floor between Ebert’s feet.

‘Fuck off! Understand? I don’t need you.’

Ebert’s face turned ashen. For a moment he struggled to form words. Then he found his voice again. ‘How dare he!’

The words were high-pitched, almost strangled.

Fest held his arm tightly, whispering urgently in his ear. ‘Don’t make trouble here, Hans. Please! They suffer us down here. But if we start anything we’ll spark a riot.’

‘I’ll kill him,’ Ebert said, under his breath.

Karr heard and smiled mockingly.

‘He’d as like break both your arms,’ Fest said quietly.

Ebert sneered. ‘I think my father would have something to say about that, don’t you?’

Fest pulled on Ebert’s arm, drawing him back. ‘The less said about your father, the better, Hans. These fellows know only too well who manufactures the Hei they send in to crush any sign of an uprising. GenSyn and your father are about as popular here as Genghis Khan.’

Karr was watching them hawkishly. At the mention of GenSyn his eyes narrowed. ‘So you’re Ebert’s son?’

Ebert threw off Fest’s hand and took a step forward, his head raised arrogantly to face out the big man. ‘You understand what it means, then?’

Karr smiled tightly. ‘Oh, I know what it means up there. But you’re not up there now, Shih Ebert. This isn’t your kingdom and you should mind your manners.’

Ebert went to speak again, but Karr lifted his good hand sharply to cut him off. His face was bitter. ‘Let me explain it simply for you. Today I killed a man I admired greatly. A man who taught me much about honour and necessity.’ He took a step closer to Ebert. ‘He was a man, Ebert. A master.’

‘You were lucky,’ said Ebert quietly, provocatively.

A faint smile played on Karr’s lips briefly, but his eyes were cold and hard. ‘Yes. For once you’re right. I was lucky. Hwa underestimated me. He thought as you think. And because of that he’s dead.’

‘Is that a threat?’

Karr laughed, then shook his head. He was about to say something more, but at that moment there was a noise in the corridor outside. An instant later the door swung open. Two uniformed officers of the Special Security squad stood there, their standard issue deng rifles held against their chests. Behind them came the General.

Tolonen strode into the dressing room, then stopped, looking about him. Fest, Ebert and Haavikko had come sharply to attention. They stood there, heads bowed, awaiting orders, but the General ignored them a moment. He walked up to Karr and looked him up and down before turning his back on him.

‘I’m sorry to have to break things up, but we’ve heard from our Triad contacts. I’d have notified you before but the matter’s no longer urgent.’

‘Sir?’ Fest straightened up, his face expressing his confusion. He had been told this was a matter of the utmost urgency and that he would be notified at once.

Tolonen turned his head and looked at Fest. ‘I’m sorry, lieutenant, I should explain. They’re dead. Someone got to them before us. The Kuei Chuan Triad are sending a man to take us to the place. I’ve arranged to meet them here in an hour.’

‘Is it far?’Fest asked.

‘I’m not sure. They don’t use grid references down here. But it’s a place called Ammersee.’

Behind him, Karr laughed. ‘I know it well. It’s quite a warren. You’ll need a guide.’

Tolonen turned and looked at the fighter again. He was a big man himself, but Karr was head and shoulders taller than him. ‘Who’s this?’ he asked.

‘His name is Karr, sir. He was the winner of the combat.’

Tolonen stared at Karr, then nodded. ‘Yes. He doesn’t look like a loser.’ Then he addressed the big man directly. ‘How far is this place?’

‘Ten, maybe twelve li.’

‘And how long would it take us to get there?’

Karr shrugged. ‘By foot forty minutes. By rickshaw fifteen, maybe twenty.’

‘And you’ll take us?’

Karr looked at Ebert. ‘I’m not sure I’d be welcome.’

Tolonen looked from Karr to Ebert. ‘Oh? And why’s that, Hans?’

Ebert lowered his head, not looking at Karr. ‘Just a small disagreement, sir. Nothing serious.’

‘Good,’ said the General. ‘That’s settled then. The sooner we get there the better. I want to sort this out.’ He turned back to Karr. ‘I’m indebted, Shih Karr. I’ll make sure you’re well paid for your help.’

Karr bowed, then turned to get his cloak.

DeVore met them in the corridor outside Kao Jyan’s apartment. ‘I came as soon as I heard, sir.’

‘Well, Howard?’ said Tolonen. ‘What have we got?’

‘Three men, sir. Low-level criminals. I’ve checked with our contacts. They weren’t members of any of the local Triads. Two of them were kwai. Hired knives. The other – Kao Jyan, who owned the apartment – was a small-time racketeer. Drugs, stolen goods, nothing big.’

Tolonen nodded. ‘Nothing to connect them with anyone higher up?’

DeVore shook his head. ‘Not yet, sir. But we’re still investigating. Kao Jyan was known to frequent a place known as Big White’s. He’d do some of his business there, it seems. But the place was gutted yesterday. Victim of one of the local gang wars. Big White himself is dead, so that avenue’s closed to us, too.’

‘It all seems too convenient. Too systematic.’

DeVore gave a brief nod. ‘As if someone’s tidying up after them.’

‘Yes,’ said Tolonen, touching his shoulder. ‘That’s my thought exactly.’

‘In this case, sir, it seems genuine enough. Big White was playing off one Triad against another. It looks like he was a victim of his own greed.’

‘Hmm.’ Tolonen still seemed unhappy with the coincidence. ‘Dig deeper, Howard. It might be genuine, but then it might not. Someone high’s behind all of this. Someone high enough to pay off Triads as a matter of course.’

DeVore bowed, obedient, then turned towards the guarded doorway. ‘Shall we go in, sir?’

Axel, watching from the doorway, saw the General move about the room; saw how he looked at everything, trying to fit it all into place. In the rickshaw coming over, Tolonen had turned to him, explaining.

‘Sometimes, Axel, you need to see things for yourself. Sniff them out first-hand. Sometimes it’s the only way. You see things that another might have missed. Understand things. Bring things to light that would otherwise have remained hidden.’

He saw now how the General went about that. How he looked from one thing to the next, his eyes sharp, alert for the hidden connections.

‘This is odd, Howard. Very odd.’

Tolonen was leaning over the corpse that lay face down on the bed, holding the surgeon’s tag between his fingers. DeVore went over to him.

‘Sir?’

‘Look at this. The time of death. Two hours before the other two. Why’s that?’

‘I’d guess they were waiting for them in the room. That they picked them off as they came in.’

Tolonen looked up at him grimly. ‘Maybe. But that would take some nerve. To sit with a man you’d murdered, for two hours.’

DeVore said nothing.

‘Which one was this?’

‘We don’t have a surname, sir, but he was known as Chen.’

Tolonen nodded, then carefully moved the bloodied head. It lay there, its shattered left profile upward on the sheets. For a while the General stared at it, as if trying to remember something. He touched the smooth skin beneath the ear and frowned, then shrugged and got up.

‘This one.’ He pointed down at the corpse of Kao Jyan. ‘I recognize him from the tape.’

‘The tape?’ DeVore looked up sharply.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Howard. I should have said. We had a tape of the two men. A copy from the CompCam files.’

‘Ah, yes,’ DeVore said hurriedly. ‘Of course.’

Tolonen had moved on. He stood over the third of the bodies, one hand stroking his smooth-shaven chin. ‘So who was this, then? And how did he fit in?’ He looked up and across at DeVore. ‘Whose side was he on, I wonder? Was he with these two, or did he come to kill them?’

DeVore met his gaze steadily. ‘His name was Chu Heng, sir. A local thug. It seems…’

Karr, in the doorway, interrupted him. ‘Excuse me, but he was quite well known in these parts, General. A handy man with a blade. Too handy. It’s good to see him dead.’

DeVore looked at the big man curiously, then turned to the General. ‘Who’s this, sir?’

Tolonen indicated that Karr should come in. ‘This is Shih Karr, Howard. He’s a fighter – what they call a “blood”. He’s champion, it seems. For the time being.’

DeVore gave the slightest bow, acknowledging the giant. ‘You know these parts, then?’

Karr was kneeling over the corpse, looking at the wounds to Chu Heng’s neck and chest with a professional interest. After a moment he looked up at DeVore. ‘I was born in Ammersee. Until four years ago I lived here. I know its people and its business.’

‘So you knew these men?’

‘Kao Jyan? Well, I knew of him. Chen I didn’t know. He must have taken up with Kao Jyan quite recently. But he was a good man. He had honour.’

‘A good man, eh? You can say that, not knowing him?’ DeVore laughed, his eyes weighing up the big man. ‘But he was kwai, a killer. Do killers have honour?’

Karr met his eyes firmly. ‘Some do. You, for instance. Haven’t you had to kill in your line of work?’

DeVore smiled. ‘Ah, but that’s different.’

‘Is it?’ Karr straightened up, moving to the second of the bodies, giving it the same scrupulous examination as the first. ‘Are people so very different below the Net?’ He glanced up at DeVore, then back at the body. ‘Do you know what kwai is, Major?’

‘They kill for profit. What more do I need to know?’

Karr laughed but did not look up. ‘I thought you’d be curious, if only professionally. You see, Chu Heng was kwai, too, but he wasn’t typical. He was what they call a “twisted blade”. Most kwai would have spat on Chu Heng.’

‘A knife’s a knife.’

Karr shook his head. ‘Not so. Some weapons are better made than others. And some are made by masters. So with a good kwai. You see, to become kwai one must study long and hard. It is a discipline. A way of life.’

‘Down here? The only way of life I’ve seen down here is grab what you can and kill to keep it.’

Karr looked up, his grey eyes calm, controlled. ‘Tsao Ch’un was Son of Heaven.’

For once the old saying carried rather too much meaning. Tsao Ch’un was the tyrant who had united Chung Kuo and built the great City. He, in his time, had grabbed and killed to keep what he had taken. Until the Seven – his chief ministers – had deposed him.

‘Kings do as they must,’ DeVore said, his eyes suddenly dangerous.

Karr straightened up to his full height, facing DeVore. ‘And kwai. As I said, Major, to be a kwai here is an honourable calling. Most are not as Chu Heng was. Nor should you confuse them with the punks and paper tigers that run with the Triads. A kwai has inner strengths. He draws from deeper wells than greed.’

DeVore laughed scornfully. He was about to answer Karr, but Tolonen stepped in between the two men. ‘Major DeVore, Fest, Ebert, Haavikko. Leave us a moment. I want a word with Karr.’

DeVore bowed, then went outside, followed by the other three. When they were gone, the General turned to face the big man.

‘You know the ways of this place, Karr. What do you think happened here?’

Karr looked about him. ‘It’s messy. Hastily arranged and hurriedly carried out. Yet the killings… Well, they’re odd. If I didn’t know better I’d say that Kao Jyan’s death was a piece of Chu Heng’s work. This slashing and gouging is his trade mark. He was a sadist. He enjoyed inflicting pain.’

‘And the others?’

Karr put his head to one side. ‘I’ve not looked at Chen yet. But whoever killed Chu Heng was good at it. Trained to kill quickly and efficiently.’

‘A soldier, maybe?’

Karr laughed. ‘I hadn’t thought of that, but yes.’

Tolonen smiled, pleased.

‘You’re a useful man, Karr, and my ensign, Haavikko, tells me you’re a magnificent fighter. Intelligent, too. I could use a man like you.’

Karr set Kao Jyan’s head down gently and looked up at the General. ‘I’m under contract, General. Ten fights, if I live that long.’

‘I’ll buy your contract out.’

Karr smiled. ‘Maybe. But why? I don’t understand, General. What use could I be to you?’

At that the General laughed. ‘You have a talent. An eye for things. I could see it at a glance. And you know this place. Know how its people think and act. At present we have to rely on our contacts down here. On Triad bosses. And that’s not merely costly but unreliable. They’d as soon be in another man’s pay as ours.’

‘And I’m different?’

‘I’d judge so.’

Karr stood and looked about him. ‘What happened here, General? What really happened?’

Tolonen moved across the room. He stood at the games machine, toying with its touch pad. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You, the Major, those three junior officers outside. That’s some team to investigate a small time killing like this. So why are you all here? What’s important about these men? What did they do? Or should I ask, what did they know?’

Tolonen laughed. ‘What they did was kill a Minister. What they knew, however, remains a mystery. But someone knows. The someone who killed them.’

Karr came and stood at his shoulder, looking at the game that had come up on the screen. ‘What’s this?’

‘It looks like the last stored memory. Kao Jyan was a good player, it seems.’

Karr shook his head. ‘That’s not Kao Jyan. I’d swear it. In fact, I’d say that wasn’t anyone from round here. Look at those patterns. And this is an eighth-level game. Whoever was playing this was a master of Wei Chi.’

Tolonen laughed strangely. ‘Our killer?’

Karr turned his head, meeting his eyes. ‘Well, it would be one way of filling two hours.’

It was a big, five-pole sedan, its mauve er-silk banners emblazoned with black, stylized dogs, symbol of the Kuei Chuan Triad. The ten shaven-headed pole-men sat against the wall opposite, tucking into bowls of ducksoy soup and noodles, while in a conspicuously separate group, standing beside the sedan, in mauve and black fake-satin uniforms, were the pen p’ei – rushing daggers – numbered patches on their chests indicating their standing in the Triad hierarchy.

Ignoring the lowly pole-men, Ebert strode up to the lowest-numbered of the p’ei, who immediately bowed low and touched his forehead to the littered floor of the corridor.

‘Let’s get going,’ Ebert said brusquely. He dropped a fifty-yuan coin beside the man’s head. ‘There’ll be another if you get us there in twenty minutes.’

The p’ei’s eyes went to the coin, then, widening, looked up at Ebert. He nodded his head exaggeratedly. ‘As you wish, Excellency!’ He stood and turned to the pole-men, barking orders in a pidgin Mandarin that none of the three young soldiers could follow. Soup bowls were dropped at once as the pole-men hurried to get into position. Six of the p’ei formed up at the front. Daggers drawn, they would clear the way ahead of the sedan. Behind ran the last four of the p’ei, guarding against ambush.

Axel watched Ebert and Fest climb inside, then followed, stopping in the curtained doorway to look back at the bowed, shaven-headed pole-men.

‘Come on, Haavikko!’ said Fest impatiently. ‘You don’t want the man to lose his fee, do you?’

Axel ducked inside, taking the seat across from Fest and Ebert. ‘Why did you do that, Hans? There’s no hurry to get back.’

Ebert smiled. ‘You have to keep these types on their toes, Haavikko. It’ll do them good to have a nice long run.’ He looked at Fest and laughed. ‘You should see the buggers’ faces! It’s worth a hundred yuan just for that!’

Axel looked at him for a moment, then shrugged. He didn’t like it, but they were probably used to it down here. This was how they expected the Above to behave.

The sedan lifted at once and they were away, the carriage swaying rhythmically about them, the shouts of the senior p’ei encouraging the men to run.

‘What do you think of that, Hans?’ Fest asked, leaning forward to draw the curtain back and look out at the runners. ‘It seems the General has bought the fighter’s contract.’

Ebert laughed dismissively. ‘The man’s a brute! A primitive! I tell you, he’ll prove nothing but trouble!’

Axel looked down. He had said nothing earlier when Ebert had insulted Karr, but now he had had a belly full of Ebert’s arrogance. ‘You only say that because he stood up to you.’

Ebert glowered. ‘I’ll break him! See if I don’t!’

Axel laughed and looked up, meeting Ebert’s eyes. ‘And how will you do that, Hans? Is the General yours to command?’

Ebert bit back the reply, then looked away, a dangerous expression in his eyes. ‘No, but there are others who feel as I do.’

It was clear he meant DeVore. Surprisingly, the Major seemed to have been as much put out by the big man as Ebert. In the corridor outside the murdered Han’s apartment he had muttered angrily about upstarts and big sacks of wind. It was clear he had not appreciated the big man correcting him about the kwai.

‘Karr will be the General’s man,’ Axel insisted. ‘Answerable only to him.’ He paused, then, rubbing it in, added, ‘It seems he has need of such men.’

Ebert laughed mockingly, but Haavikko’s words had offended him. He turned aside angrily and, beneath his breath, muttered, ‘Gods, but what fools they give us in command!’

Fest leaned forward. ‘Hush up, Hans! Have a care what you say!’

But Axel had heard and was furious. This was too much. ‘I take it you refer to General Tolonen?’

Ebert turned on him squarely, his right fist bunched, his face dark with anger. ‘And what if I do? What’s it to you what I say?’

Axel drew himself up in his seat. ‘It is discourteous, to say the least. You forget where your duty lies, and to whom. Retract your words, Hans Ebert, or I’ll be forced to make you retract them!’

For a while neither spoke, but faced each other out, the sedan swaying about them. Slowly Ebert calmed, his breathing normalizing. Then, turning his face away, he laughed. ‘Go fuck yourself, Haavikko.’

At once Axel swung a punch, but Fest, anticipating trouble, had moved between them. He blocked the blow with his arm, then pushed Ebert away to the far side of the carriage.

‘For gods’ sake, Hans, shut up! As for you, Axel Haavikko, listen carefully. I don’t condone what Ebert said just now, but you had best just forget it. Understand?’

‘Forget it? How can I forget it? It undermines all we are. If I…’

Fest put his hand roughly over Haavikko’s mouth, glaring at him.

‘Forget it! Is that clear? Hans meant nothing by it. His temper was up, that’s all. Understandably, I’d say. The barbarian insulted him! Spat at his feet! Would you have stood as much?’

‘It doesn’t excuse…’ Axel began, but Fest silenced him with a look.

‘Enough! Do you understand? No one’s honour has been besmirched. What passed here… it was only words. Nothing to get fired up about.’

Axel looked across at Ebert, his face gone cold. Only words, he thought. Only words! He turned his head away, disgusted with them, aching to make Ebert eat the words he had uttered and annoyed with Fest for interfering. And understanding now the restraint the big man had shown back in his dressing room.

‘Well, Haavikko, some good came of the day after all.’

Tolonen leaned forward across his desk, steepling his big hands together. Karr had just left the office, escorted by two elite guards. His contract had been purchased and he had sworn the oath of allegiance to the T’ang and to General Tolonen. All three junior officers had been witnesses. But now the others had gone and Axel was alone with the General for the first time since the business in the carriage.

Axel hesitated, looking down at the old man. Tolonen had treated him like a son since he had become his duty aide. Had honoured him with advice and explanations. He had learned much in serving the General, but now things had changed.

‘Sir, there’s something I wish to speak to you about.’

Tolonen smiled good-naturedly. ‘Go on, boy.’

‘I’d… Well, I’d like a new posting.’

Tolonen sat back slowly, the surprise in his face quite marked. ‘What’s this?’ He drew his hands apart and set them down on the edge of his desk. ‘I don’t understand you, Haavikko. Aren’t you happy here? Don’t you like the job?’

Axel lowered his head. ‘I was, sir. And I did. But…’

Tolonen was looking at him strangely. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

He kept silent. Kept his head lowered.

Tolonen stood up and came round the desk. ‘Tell me, boy. What’s up?’

He looked up and met Tolonen’s eyes openly. ‘I’d rather not, sir. It’s just that I feel I can’t work here any more.’

Tolonen’s disbelief surfaced as a laugh. ‘What am I supposed to make of that? Can’t work here. Don’t feel like it. Tell me what happened.’

Axel took a breath. ‘Sir, I’d rather not.’

The General’s bark of anger took him by surprise. ‘Rather not? It’s not good enough. I’ll have no secrets here. You’ll tell me what happened. Why you want a new posting. I order you to tell me.’

Axel swallowed. He had hoped to avoid this. He had wanted to settle his score with Ebert directly, personally. ‘It’s Ebert, sir.’

Tolonen laughed uncomfortably. ‘Ebert, eh? And what’s wrong with young Ebert? Has he insulted you?’

‘No, sir. Not directly.’

‘Well, then, what was it? Don’t keep me guessing, boy. Spit it out.’

‘He was disrespectful, sir.’

‘Disrespectful, eh? To whom?’

Axel felt Tolonen’s eyes boring into his own. ‘To you, sir.’

Tolonen huffed. He was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I don’t believe it. His father is my oldest friend. He’s like a son to me, that boy. Disrespect?’ There was an ugly movement of the General’s mouth. ‘What did he say?’

‘I’d rather…’ Axel began, but Tolonen cut him off angrily.

‘Gods, boy! Don’t “rather not” me any more! Spit it out – if you’re accusing Ebert of disrespect I want to know the full details. And you had better have a witness. I’ll have no unsupported hearsay.’

Axel bowed his head dutifully. This was not how he had imagined it. He had thought the General would let him go – reluctantly, but without a fuss. This business of accusations and witnesses had come out of the blue.

‘It was earlier today, sir. In the sedan coming back. Fest was present, sir. He heard everything.’

Tolonen turned abruptly and leaned over his desk. Touching the intercom pad, he spoke to his secretary. ‘Have Cadet Officers Fest and Ebert brought back here, please. At once.’

He turned back, looking at Haavikko sharply. ‘So what did he say?’

Axel hesitated, the import of what he was doing suddenly striking him. There was much he disliked about Ebert – his arrogance and assumed superiority being the chief of them – but he had never intended to get the man thrown out of the service. If the charge of disrespect was proven he could be summarily dismissed from the force. For the first time since their exchange, Axel wished he had taken Fest’s advice and forgotten the whole business.

‘Well?’ The General’s roar brought him back to himself with a start. He looked up. Tolonen’s face was red with anger. ‘Do I have to drag it from you word for word?’

Axel shook his head. In a quiet voice he repeated Ebert’s words. Then what he had added afterwards.

Tolonen had gone quiet. He looked away, then back at Haavikko. ‘That’s it?’ he asked, his voice suddenly much softer. ‘Those are his precise words?’

Axel nodded curtly, a shiver running down his back. It was done. The accusation made.

The General shook his head slowly and turned away, moving towards the window. He gazed outward distractedly, then looked back at Haavikko. ‘You’ll be silent until I order otherwise. All right?’

‘Sir.’

There was a knock at the door.

Tolonen cleared his throat, then turned to face the door. ‘Come in!’

Fest and Ebert entered. They marched to the centre of the room and came to attention.

Tolonen came and stood directly before them, Fest to his left, Ebert to his right. Haavikko stood to the side, near the desk. From there he could see his two fellow cadets’ faces. General Tolonen was in profile.

‘Do you know why I’ve summoned you, Ebert?’

Ebert’s eyes went to Haavikko, then back to Tolonen. ‘I think I can guess, sir.’

Tolonen frowned. ‘Really?’

‘It’s Haavikko, sir. He insulted me. I had to slap him down.’

Tolonen turned to look at Axel, astonished, then looked back at Fest. ‘Is this true, Fest?’

Fest bowed slightly. ‘It is, sir. It was coming back here from the Net. The two had an argument. Haavikko was very offensive about Ebert’s father. Hans… I mean Ebert, had no option but to strike him.’

‘I see,’ said Tolonen. ‘And there was nothing else?’

‘Nothing, sir,’ answered Fest. ‘It was all very unpleasant, but we hoped it would be forgotten. Ebert feels his honour has been upheld.’

‘You’re certain of this, Fest? You’d swear to it under oath?’

Fest looked straight ahead. His reply was instantaneous, unflinching. ‘I would, sir.’

Tolonen considered a moment. Then he moved across until he was directly in front of Ebert. ‘Your father and I have been friends for more than fifty years, Hans. I held you as a baby. Played with you as a child. And I’ve always been proud of you as a soldier under my command. But a serious accusation has been levelled against you. One you must either admit to or deny completely.’

‘Sir?’Ebert looked puzzled.

Haavikko started forward, then stepped back. The liars! The barefaced liars!

Tolonen turned, looking across at Haavikko. Then, in a cold, quiet voice, he repeated what Haavikko had said to him, all the while keeping his eyes on him. Finished, he half turned, looking at Ebert. ‘Well, Cadet Ebert? What have you to say?’

Ebert looked totally nonplussed. He said nothing, merely shook his head. It was Fest who answered for him, his face filled with indignation and anger.

‘But this is outrageous, sir! Ebert said nothing of the kind! This is just malicious claptrap, sir! Pure bile! An attempt to get back at Ebert underhandedly!’

Ebert had lowered his head. When he looked up there was a tear on his left cheek. ‘General Tolonen…’ he began.

‘Enough!’ Tolonen drew himself up to his full height. ‘Fest, Ebert, be kind enough to leave the room. I’ve heard enough.’

Axel, unable to believe what had happened, watched them leave, and saw, as the General turned to face him, Ebert smile triumphantly at Fest. Then the door closed and he was alone with the General.

‘You heard what they said, Haavikko. Explain yourself!’

Axel shuddered. ‘They were lying, sir. Both of them. Fest was covering for Ebert…’

Tolonen watched him coldly, then shook his head. ‘Take care, Haavikko. Don’t compound your error. You realize I could have you court-martialled for what you’ve done. Dismissed from the service. The only thing that stops me is the promise I made your dead father.’

The old man gritted his teeth, then looked away. His disappointment with Haavikko was written starkly in his face. ‘I thought better of you.’ He laughed – a sharp, bitter laugh – then turned away. ‘Get out of my sight, Haavikko. Right now. You have your posting.’

Three hours later Axel sat at the Security Desk at the lowest level of the Bremen Fortress, waiting for his new orders to come through. His kit – the sum total of his belongings in the world – was packed and stored in a back room down the hallway. To kill the time he had relieved the duty officer while he went to get ch’a for them both. The ninth of the evening bells had just sounded and it was quiet.

Outwardly he appeared calm as he sat there in the reception area. Inside, however, he seethed. Anger and bitterness at the General’s actions filled him to bursting. The General had done what he had had to do, and, in his place, he might well have done the same. At least, so the logical, reasonable part of him argued. But seeing it that way didn’t help. A gross injustice had been done him and his very soul felt bruised and raw. It was not justice he wanted but revenge. He felt like killing them. Slowly, painfully. Fest first, and then Ebert.

Impossible, he thought bitterly. And even if he did, they would come and take all those he loved in retribution. Sister and aunts and all. To the third generation, as the law demanded.

He looked down, momentarily overcome, then looked up again, hearing a noise in front of him.

The Han bowed low before the desk, then met Axel’s eyes. He seemed close to exhaustion and his clothes stank.

‘I need protection,’ he said. ‘There are men trying to kill me.’

Axel stared back at him, feeling empty. ‘It’s an evil world,’ he said, indicating a seat at the back of the reception area. ‘Sit down. The duty officer will see you in a while.’

He watched the Han turn and go to the seat, then looked away, paying no more attention to the man.

A minute later the duty officer was back. ‘You’re in luck, Haavikko,’ he said, handing him a bowl of ch’a from the tray, then taking a sealed packet from his jacket pocket and putting it on the desk in front of him. ‘It’s just come through. Your new posting.’

Axel stared at it a moment, then took it and broke the seal. He read it then looked down, his face momentarily registering his disgust. England! They were sending him to England, of all the godsforsaken places!

He tucked the orders away in his tunic pocket, masking his bitter disappointment, then drained his bowl at a go. ‘Thanks,’ he said, letting the other take his seat again. ‘I’ll get my kit and go.’

‘Yes, you’d better.’ The duty officer smiled sadly at him; an understanding smile. ‘Hey! And good luck!’

After he’d gone, the Han rose slowly from his seat and went across to the desk. The duty officer looked up, then set his ch’a down.

‘Yes?’

‘I need protection,’ the Han said tiredly, conscious he had used these same words earlier. ‘There are men trying to kill me.’

The officer nodded, then reached for his lap terminal, ready to take details. ‘Okay. What’s your name?’

‘Pi Ch’ien,’ the Han answered. ‘My name is Pi Ch’ien.’