Hannah leaned forward, looking back at Sao Ke. “I’m not so sure. I think they must suffer down there. It must be dreadful—“ “Bullshit!” Sao Ke answered, making a dismissive gesture of his hand, as if the very idea were absurd. “They’re animals, that’s what they are! Less than animals, some of them! All they do is eat, drink, and fuck! We’d be better off without them.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Andre said, lifting his wine cup unsteadily. “If I had my way I’d gas the lot of them. Rig up something in the ventilation system and get the buggers while they’re sleeping. That’d solve all our problems, neh? There’d be food enough for everyone then.” Sao Ke, who had drunk little, looked down, smiling. “It’s a somewhat radical suggestion, I’d say. Then again, maybe it’s time for something radical. Something we’d have no need for in ... well, in better times. You know, they have a slogan down there, I’m told—‘Life is cheap, flesh plentiful.’ Well, maybe it’s time to put a higher value on life. Market rules, and all that.”
Christian turned, looking at Sao Ke. “What do you mean?” “It’s simple. The laws of the market say that if a products rare, its price is normally high. Likewise, if it’s a commonplace—easily acquired, easily replaced—then its value is minimal. And right now I’d say life has never been cheaper, neh? The problem’s a simple one. Too many bodies. Too many mouths to feed. The solution is obvious.” “And who decides?”
It was Hannah who had asked the question. She was smiling, leaning toward Sao Ke as if encouraging him, but behind the smile was a hardness Chen had not noticed before.
“Draw a line, I say,” Christian said, banging the table enthusiastically.
“Anyone below the . . . oh, the top hundred gets the chop.”
“Top fifty!’^Andre chimed in.
There was laughter; long, unhealthy laughter. But Chen, watching, saw how Hannah didn’t laugh but turned her face slightly toward him, as if conscious that he was watching.
“That’s more than eighty percent of the population,” she said. “Thirty-two billion people, or thereabouts.”
“Give or take a million,” Andre added, making them roar anew.
“So who’d get rid of the bodies?”
Sao Ke shrugged and sat back. “Oh, it’d all be planned, of course.
Everything thought through thoroughly.”
“Thought through thoroughly ... I like that!” Andre chirped in, and again they were off, their laughter filling that tiny corner of the Golden Carp. But Chen had had enough. There was a tightness at the pit of his stomach, a tension in his muscles, that was almost unbearable. He would have to say something, to answer them, or he would burst. He leaned forward, meaning to answer Sao Ke, to throw his vile obscenities back in his face, but Hannah was watching him. As he opened his mouth, he felt her kick his shin—hard—under the table. “There’s talk,” she said brightly, steering the conversation away from the abyss into which it had strayed, “that Huang Min-ye is to perform at the College Hall this summer.”
it seemed an age, but finally he was outside, breathing fresher, cleaner air. He stood there a moment at the foot of the steps, conscious of Hannah watching him; of the press of young, elegantly dressed people milling all about him, filling the great green that was at the heart of this First Level deck. Reluctantly, he let her take his arm and lead him through the crowd, across the green and toward the inter-level transit, keeping his thoughts, his anger, to himself; yet as soon as they were out of it—as soon as they were in a quieter, less public place, he turned on her. “Those are your friends?”
Hannah shook her head. “No, Kao Chen. Those are the people I’m obliged to spend my time with. My social equals.” She hesitated, her dark eyes boring into him intently. “I wanted you to see. To understand how they think up here. And I ... well, I want you to do the same for me. To take me down-level.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to know. To understand how it is. Because”—she took a long, shuddering breath—“well, because 1 want to let people know. To be a voice. A still, clear voice, telling people how it is. How it really is.” He stared at her a long time, then shook his head. “No,” he said softly.
“It isn’t possible.”
“No?” She smiled, then reached out, touching his arm. “Maybe not. But I can try, neh? I can always try.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ministries of Death
CHEN TRAVELED WITH HANNAH as far as Erfut stack, then saw her into the transit, assigning a young guard from the nearby Security post to escort her to her door. It was an hour by fast-bolt to his own stack in West Bremen, but, alone again, he knew that he couldn’t go home—couldn’t face another night like the last. Where to, then? he asked himself, turning away, surprised by how down he felt. Down. Maybe that was the answer. Maybe, for once, he should simply trust to instinct and let go. After all, things couldn’t possibly get worse than they already were.
Very well, he thought, but not here. No. He’d catch a bolt south to Munich Hsien, to his old haunts. But first he’d call in, let his office know he was going off-duty. And off-call? Strictly speaking he wasn’t supposed to do that, but who’d miss him this once? Rheinhardt? No. Rheinhardt would be off socializing somewhere—he and the rest of the senior staff. Only he, Kao Chen, worried about such matters these days, and tonight he felt like letting it all hang. Quickly he made his way back to the Security post and sent the message through, signing off with his personal code. There, he thought, satisfied. Eight hours. Nothing could happen in eight hours. And even if it did, let someone else worry for a change. Let someone else save Chung Kuo from anarchy and old night. He’d had enough.
The bolt terminus was quiet, echoing empty. From the board he saw he’d missed one of the high-speeds by ten minutes, but there was another in an hour. Plenty of time to get himself a drink and a bite to eat. The terminus bar was closed, but a porter directed him to a bar six levels down. It was a big place with a dance floor at one end and a long, curving bar, backed by a wall-length mirror. The lighting was subdued, the place three quarters empty. Music played softly in the background, as if coming from somewhere down below.
Chen pulled out one of the stools and sat, then called the bartender over.
“What’ll you have?”
Normally he didn’t drink, or if he did it was something nonalcoholic, but he was feeling half drunk from the wine he’d had already. “A Yao Fan Te,” he said, recalling as he did that it was all of fourteen years since he’d last tasted a bulb of Yao Fan Te beer. He smiled, remembering. Back then he’d been a wanted man, a criminal, forced into taking a menial job to keep Wang Ti and his baby son. He took a long, deep breath, nodding to himself. Yes, the last time he had tasted Yao Fan Te had been that evening in the bar with Supervisor Lo—the evening of the public execution of Edmund Wyatt. The same evening Tolonen and the big man, Karr, had come for him and changed his life. “You all right?” Chen looked up and smiled. “Sure.” He put a five^yuan note down beside the open bulb, then picked up the drink. After the wine it tasted sour, unpleasant even, but it was cold and after a second swig it didn’t seem so bad.