Tsu Ma laughed. “You can always hope! Myself, I’d have trusted more to simple bribery!”
“Oh, I have done all I can in that regard! Even so, this worries me, Tsu Ma. Bad news . . . there seems nothing but bad news these days.” “Well, then, the timing of this could not be better, neh? If you must give the people bad news—and the reduction of the subsidies is certainly that—then it’s always best to sweeten it with something brighter. People don’t mind suffering if there’s the prospect of better times ahead.” “Maybe so. And yet I fear we must tread carefully. What happened on Mars ...” He shuddered, then shook his head. “Besides, Li Yuan’s is not the only City where there is unrest these days. My Security forces are busier than they ever were.”
“And mine,” Tsu Ma confessed. “But what can we do? I have doubled the size of my forces, but still they barely cope. It is the times, cousin. We are fated to ride the tiger.”
Wu Shih nodded, as if resigned, but his eyes, which had always been so clear, so determined, seemed bewildered by events. Tsu Ma watched him a moment longer, his own eyes narrowed, then he turned away, looking out across the sunlit garden.
“Listen to this,” Mary said, looking up from the page and meeting Michael’s eyes across the room. “When the Chinese—the Han, that is—first came to North America in the 1840s, they called it Amo Li Jia . . . the Land Without Ghosts.”
He stared at her distractedly. “Pardon?”
“America, they—“ She closed the book. “You’ve not been listening to a word, have you?”
He smiled apologetically.
“Okay. What’s on your mind?”
He shrugged. “I was thinking about the deal . . . you know, with Kemp and the others. And all this stuff that’s going on at Weimar. I should have been there, Em.”
“Joe has your proxy, hasn’t he?”
He nodded.
“Well, then, what’s the worry? I thought you trusted Joe.”
The irony in her voice was hard to miss.
“And you don’t? Come on, Em, tell me the truth. Don’t you trust him?”
“You know how I feel.”
“Do I?” He looked away. “Sometimes I think I don’t know you. Sometimes it’s . . . well, it’s like you’re a stranger to me.” She looked down, then, setting the book aside, she went across. Sitting next to him she took his hands, forcing him to look at her. “I’m sorry. It’s hard sometimes, that’s all. Living like this—I’m not used to it. You were born to it. It’s natural for you. But for me . . .” She squeezed his hands. “As far as Joe’s concerned, I’ll try a little harder, okay?” She smiled, coaxing an answering smile from him. “Now tell me honestly—what’s bothering you?”
“The deal,” he said, looking directly into her eyes, his boyish innocence troubled. “I’ve agreed to keep the Institute open.” “You’ve what?”
“I had to. I. . .” He freed his hands, then reached across and took a file from the table nearby, handing it to her. “Kemp’s report,” he said, watching her open it suspiciously. “I’ve had Dan check the figures and Kemp’s right. We’ve no option. We have to make it work or ImmVac sinks without a trace. And if ImmVac goes we’ve got nothing, Em. Nothing whatsoever.”
“It’s evil,” she said, her eyes scanning the figures. “Old men wanting to live forever . . . it’s just plain evil.” She looked up at him again. “No option, huh?”
He stared at her, silent, waiting.
“Okay,” she said, relenting, her voice softening. “But make sure they keep their part of the bargain. We get those changes through, right?” “Okay,” he said, a relieved smile lighting his features.
“Good. Now put the screen on. Our good friend Joe’s on any minute.” He laughed, then turned, addressing the air. “House . . . let’s have the MedFac news channel. Mr. Kennedy’s address. Copy and store.” As the screen lit up, he sat back, putting his arm about her shoulders.
“Next time he should do it live. More impact that way.”
“Shhh . . .” she whispered, pointing at the screen. “I want to hear this.” On the screen was a view of an imposing First Level Mansion not so different from their own. Guards clustered about the gate to the grounds, looking up at the floater camera and smiling. On the gravel path nearby three bodies lay facedown. As the camera closed in, it could be seen that they were dead. Bullet holes riddled their backs and legs. Congealed blood was pooled beneath them. The commentary ran on.
“... is only the latest attempt by the Black Hand to infiltrate First
Level and cause maximum damage to life and property. Asked today what
steps he was taking to eradicate this problem, Security General Lowe said
...”
“They’re scum,” Michael said, speaking over the commentary. “They got what they deserved.”
She stared at him, surprised, then moved back, pushing his arm away. “You know that, do you? I mean . . . you knew those three personally?” He shook his head. “Hey, what are you getting so upset about? Those are terrorists lying there dead, not charity workers. They knew the risks. Besides, what did the guy who owns the Mansion do to them? It could have been him lying there dead. Or us, come to think of it!” “Maybe,” she said quietly, “but they’re not scum. They just want a better life, that’s all.”
“Sure, and a funny way they have of getting it.” He raised his hand, as if about to lecture her, then, realizing what he was doing, he sat back, shaking his head. “My father . . . my damn father! Sometimes I think his ghost’s in me.”
She was still staring at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Look. Maybe they’re not scum. Maybe they do have their reasons, but I can’t see how murdering and robbing innocent people furthers their cause. It’s all so ... destructive. Why can’t they do something positive?”
“Maybe they do, but you never get to hear about it. It’s all—“ “Hey, listen...” he said, interrupting her, as Wu Shih’s face appeared on the screen. “What the hell is this?”
She turned, listening, her mind still on what he’d said, only half attending to the announcement.
“Kuan Yin preserve us!” Michael said, then whistled. “Three new orbitals.
That’ll set him back . . . what, sixty billion?” “It’s good news,” she said, as the commentator began to introduce the next item, Kennedy’s speech at Weimar. But she couldn’t get the earlier image from her mind—that close-up on the last of the fallen terrorists. It had been a woman, a Hung Mao, her blond hair caked with her own blood, a gold ring prominent on the second finger of her left hand. Scum . . . and he’d called her scum. She shivered and sat back, trying to push the image from her mind as Kennedy’s face filled the screen, his powerful voice echoing out across the packed tiers of the House and into their room.
kemp turned in his chair, looking away from the frozen image on the screen, then raised his brandy glass in a toast. “Now, there’s one bastard I’d celebrate the death of!” There were yells of approval from all around—from the old men who were seated at the big table to either side of Kemp and from the younger men who sat at tables in the shadows beyond.
Kemp stood and turned to face the dinner-suited crowd, waiting for the noise to subside before he spoke again.
“However, it’s his paymaster, Lever, we need to see off first. And that’s why I’ve asked you all here tonight. To talk tactics.” His knowing smile brought a roar of laughter from all sides. Kemp let it roll on a moment, then raised his hands again. “We all know what’s at stake. If Kennedy and Lever get their way we’ll all pay for it. They’ll strip our Mansions bare to pay for health care for some jughead’s scrawny litter. Why, we’d be feeding every damn loin-jerk in the Lowers!”