From the hallway came the regular buzzing signal of the vid-phone. “That’ll be Bremen,” Karr said, meeting Chen’s eyes. “You answer it, I’ll tell the women. We may be gone some while.” Chen nodded. Releasing Jyan gently, he went to answer the call. Wang Ti and Marie had come to the bedroom doorway to see what was happening. Karr ushered them back inside and closed the door. Only then did Chen make the connection.
“Yes?” he said, facing the uniformed figure who appeared. “Major Kao here.
What is it, Captain?”
“ChiehHsia. . “
Li Yuan turned from the darkness of the cruiser’s window and looked toward his Chancellor.
“Yes, Master Nan?”
“He’s on. He wants to talk to you.”
He, undoubtedly, was his cousin, Wang. Nor was the reason for his call a mystery. Li Yuan sighed. “All right. I’ll come and speak to him. Give me a moment to compose myself.”
Nan Ho bowed, then turned and ducked back through the hatch.
Li Yuan sat back, closing his eyes, saying the chen yen for inner peace.
But it was no good—the thoughts still filled his head. Whatever he says, I shall hold my tongue and keep my temper. There is no proof he manufactured this crisis. No proof at all. But I would not put such a thing past him. He would destroy us all, and what better way than this?
He opened his eyes again, nodding to himself, determined not to incite his cousin. Yet he knew how hard it was going to be. Faced by that odious moon-faced creature, he always felt something snap within him. He stood, brushing himself down, more from an unaccustomed nervousness than need. Then, taking a long, deep breath, he walked through to the cockpit. “Cousin . . .” he said, taking his seat before the screen, Nan Ho to one side of him, out of view of the transmit camera. “How can I help you?” Wang leaned close to the screen, his grotesque features filling the whole of it. “You might begin, Cousin, by opening the ports again. And by paying me full recompense for loss of trade and damage on the markets.” “Forgive me, Cousin, but it is not so simple. There is an epidemic in my City. And in yours, too, I believe, though no certain word of it has come from your Ministers.”
Wang drew back slightly, anger making his features seem more than usually malicious. “That’s scurrilous nonsense, Yuan, and you know it! If there were any sign of this sickness in my City I would know of it! No! This is merely a pretext... an excuse to insult me and damage my interests!” Li Yuan went to speak—to snap back some cutting answer—then checked himself. He took a breath. “It is no pretext, Cousin. Nor is any insult meant. The epidemic is real enough and threatens both our interests. If it subsequently proves that the disease did not originate in your City, I shall, of course, recompense you fully for any losses. I would not see my cousin harmed in any way by these . . . necessary actions.” Wang stared at him belligerently a moment longer, then, as if mollified somewhat, nodded. “I suppose this means the tournament is off?” Li Yuan hesitated, realizing he hadn’t even considered the matter. “No. I—I think it would be a good idea if we continued with it. It might be useful to have something to ... distract our citizens. As you might have heard, I have imposed a strict curfew over the whole of my City. It would be good, in the circumstances, to give the people something to take their minds off present troubles.”
Wang grunted.
“You will still come, I hope?” Li Yuan asked, after a moment. “Oh, I shall be there, Li Yuan. You can be certain of it.” And, leaning forward, he cut the connection.
less than half the guests had arrived when details of the curfew were announced. Michael had had a big screen set up in the Main Hall, and a crowd had gathered beneath it, watching developments anxiously. Mary, watching with Gloria Chung from the balcony, shuddered as the latest pictures came through. She had never felt so helpless, so impotent. This was her City, and it was tearing itself apart. “It’s happening again,” she said quietly, seeing the images of riot on the screen as Hsien after Hsien declared itself for Chaos. “No . . .” Gloria answered her, “it’ll be all right,” yet her fingers gripped Mary’s arm fearfully.
Down below Michael was going among the crowd of dignitaries, trying his best to reassure them and to deal with all their questions, yet it was a hopeless task. A squad of elite guards had been posted at the interlevel transit, but there was no chance that anyone would be allowed to go home, not for some hours yet, if then. From the images on the screen things seemed to be getting worse by the minute, with no sign of the official requests for calm being heeded. Reports had come in in the last hour of First Level Mansions being attacked and burned, and of the murder of several prominent officials.
And of the common people? What of them?
But the First Level media weren’t concerned with the fate of the people in the Lowers. What if a million people died? Or five hundred million, as had reputedly been killed when City North America fell? What of it? They were concerned only for themselves—a fortress mentality which had been best exemplified by one of the North European Representatives who, witnessing the carnage on the screen, had lifted his wine cup and, in a raised voice, said, “Let’s hope they do a good job of it, neh?” Which was why Michael had sent her up here, before she said something she’d regret.
Not that I’d really regret putting some of these bastards in their place!
“Are you all right, Em?”
She let the breath she’d been holding escape her, then nodded. “I’m fine. It’s just”—she turned, facing her friend—“acch, it’s just that it sickens me. Those people down there in the Lowers . . . they’re frightened. This sickness, it’s a new thing, and the gods know how it’ll all turn out, but these people here”—she turned, looking out across the crowd below, conscious of how richly, how elegantly, they were dressed—each costume worth at least a year’s salary to a worker in the Lowers—“well, just look at them, Gloria. All they’re worried about is whether their Mansions and their factories will be okay. But when it comes to those people on the screen . . . they don’t care if they live or die. It’s all the same to them.”
“And you? You care?”
She turned back, staring at her friend, surprised she could even ask. But was it so surprising? After all, she had been bom to this too. For her it was easy to forget how much things cost. She had never had to think about the value of things. The real value of things. “I’ve been there,” she said, trying to contain the anger, the frustration, she felt. “I know how they must be feeling.” She made a sound of disgust and moved away from the balcony. “I was wrong to do this. I knew it. These people ... at heart they’re totally indifferent to all that suffering. As long as they’re okay, then things are fine. It can bum down there, people can die by the tens of millions, and as long as their little enclave remains untouched, then it’s just as if nothing has happened! Isn’t that the truth?”
Gloria was staring at her now, shocked. “You don’t mean that, Em. There are good people down there in the Hall. Friends of yours. Friends of Michael’s. It’s not that they don’t care. . . .” “No? Then why don’t they get off their asses and do something? They’ve got the means. They’re rich beyond all need. So why don’t they use that wealth to do some good? Why do they use it to buy statues and paintings and other useless shit? Why don’t they spend it on people? After all, they’ve got a choice, haven’t they?”