This time Hannah made sure she got in first. “There was a criminal, Stepmother Huang ... a revolutionary! A troop of the Majors soldiers chased him through the corridors and trapped him, but he put up a fight and they had to shoot him. There was blood everywhere. . . .” Huang Hui sank back into her cushions, an expression of sheer horror on her face. “Aiya!” she muttered, fanning herself with a vigor that was surprising for one so clearly invalided.
Hannah turned, a strange gleam in her eyes, and looked directly at the Major. “If you would come through, Major Kao, I shall arrange for a servant to bring ch’a. Have you had breakfast?” The Major hesitated. “Yes, I—I had some earlier. I...” Then, as if remembering himself, he turned, bowing low to Huang Hui. “Madam Shang. It was kind of you to receive me. Please give my regards to your husband, the Junior Minister, when he returns. May I also say how much I hope your health improves. However, if you would excuse me now. . .” A wan smile appeared on Huang Huis face. “Major Kao . . .” Kao Chen turned back, looking to the girl, who smiled and turned away. He followed, stopping at the door to look back. The pale-faced invalid was recumbent in the huge upright bed of red cushions. Now that the audience was over, Huang Hui seemed to have collapsed in upon herself, her frail figure losing its last glimmer of animation. As he watched, two servants hurried to her, plumping up her cushions and tending to her. He watched a moment longer, then, with a tiny shudder, went out into the corridor to join the waiting girl.
“Well?” she asked, turning to face him.
Chen looked about him at the room, taking it all in. Everywhere he looked there were signs of wealth, of a luxury he could never aspire to. The left-hand wall and the end wall were lined with shelves, the shelves crowded with ancient-looking leather-bound books that he could smell even from where he stood. In the right-hand corner was a huge wooden desk, not unlike the one that stood in General Rhein-hardt’s office. Next to it was a big, glass-fronted cabinet containing all manner of small, exotic-looking objects, few of which he recognized. Behind that, in a case on the wall, was a banner of some kind, showing a blood-red cross on a white background. The rest of that wall was filled with sketches and paintings of various sizes, unusual only in that they showed scenes from the levels. Chen studied them a moment, then looked down. Beneath his feet was a thick, richly woven rug that would have carpeted three rooms in his own apartment, while to his right, only a ch’i or so from where he stood .
. .
“Major Kao?”
He jerked his head up, meeting the young woman’s eyes. Strong, hazel-colored eyes that could have been Han. “Forgive me,” he began, “but should we be in here? Your father ...” She smiled pleasantly. “You misunderstand, Major Kao. This is my study, not my father’s.”
“Ah . . .” Chen blushed. Already he was showing his gaucheness. The truth was he had met many great men and their families, but never, before this moment, had he been inside one of their Mansions. That had always been someone else’s job—someone more senior and less Han than he. But this time he had been determined. He was going to let no one take this case out of his hands.
He hesitated, looking about him once more, then, faintly embarrassed, pointed to the large hemisphere close by that had caught his attention. “Forgive me, Nu Shi Shang, but just what is that?” She laughed and came across. “It’s known as a HoloVisual Imager, but I call it my Magic Theater. It’s a miniature stage, you see. The actors are tiny holograms. It’s programmed to perform most of the major Han plays, but you can program it yourself if you like. You can write your own plays, make your own characters ... do what you want with it, really.” She stared at the hemisphere fondly, one hand resting lightly on its curved glass surface, then looked back at Chen, smiling broadly. “I’d show you, Major, but I’m sure you’re busy, neh?” “Indeed ...” But he was unable not to answer her smile with his own, her youthful enthusiasm reminded him so much of his own daughter. “It is a very simple matter, Nu Shi Shang, I—“ “Hannah,” she interrupted him. “Please, call me Hannah.” Chen nodded. “Okay . . . Hannah. All I need is your verbal statement about what happened yesterday. Once that’s done I’ll get that transcribed and we’ll send you two copies, one for your signature and return, the other to keep.”
“I understand. Well. . . shall we go over to the desk, Major?” He hesitated. “It is Chen. Kao Chen. I...” He looked away briefly, then looked back at her. “All these things . . . I’ve not seen anything like them. They . . .” He shrugged, not quite knowing what he meant. “They’re just things,” she said offhandedly, clearing a space on the desk, then pulling out a chair. “My father has collected a lot of things across the years. If I like them, he lets me keep them.” She turned, looking back at him. “They come from all over. His office, you see ...” Chen raised a hand, indicating that he understood and really didn’t wish to know. What the Thousand Eyes did—what they sanctioned— really wasn’t his business.
“I have a tape,” he said, going across. “You can either speak directly into it, or I can prompt you with questions.” She indicated the chair, then went around the desk and sat, facing him.
“You ask, I’ll answer. That’s probably the best way, neh?” Chen nodded, then sat, placing his bag down beside the chair. Taking the tape from his tunic pocket he snapped the seal, then placed it on the desk between them. From this moment on it would record all that was said between them. Chen looked down at the timer at his wrist and spoke. “The date is the fifteenth day of March, 2212, and the time is twenty-seven minutes after eight in the morning. My name is Major Kao Chen of the Tang’s Security Service and I am in the Mansion of Junior Minister Shang Mu, interviewing his daughter, Shang Han-A, concerning the incident that took place yesterday afternoon in the Mid levels of Rathenow stack.” Chen looked across the desk and met her eyes. “So, Nu Shi Shang, what exactly were you doing in the Mids at Rathenow?” “I go to College at Rathenow. When there are no lectures, I often go down the levels. I like to see what’s happening down there.” “College?” Chen frowned. “But I thought you were only sixteen?” She smiled. “I graduated early, Major Kao. If you had checked my personal records, you’d have seen that I’ve been there a year and a half now.” “Ah . . .” He’d known about the College. In fact the dead man had been a graduate of Rathenow. All of his known associates there had already been arrested for questioning, but Chen had not thought to check on the girl. He’d assumed, because of her age, that she was still at school. Besides, he’d been loath to pull her file from Central records, just in case the Thousand Eyes had security tags on all their employees’ families’ files. The last thing he wanted was for the Thousand Eyes to come down hard on him.