“Well, you ignore them. It wasn’t you who went back on your promises. And it wasn’t you who voted for the reduction of the subsidy.”
“No. Even so, I can’t help thinking—“
She took his face in her hands and held it, forcing him to look at her. “Get this clear, Michael Lever. It wasn’t your fault. It’s as absurd as apologizing for having been blown up that time. It wasn’t you. Don’t you understand that? It wasn’t you.”
But she could see from his face that he was only half convinced.
gloria chung came an hour later, a small train of servants carrying boxes and bags and a wrapped gift that smelled of roses. She hugged Mary, then stood back, letting one of her entourage take her wrap.
“I’m so glad you could come,” Mary said, conscious of the contrast they made, Gloria so tall and elegant, herself so austere. “Don’t be silly,” Gloria answered, looking about her with a wide-eyed delight. Then, with a tiny laugh, she took her friend’s arm, letting herself be led through. “You know, the first time I came here I was eight. It was a big party and Michael’s father. . . well, he frightened me even then. He was such an ogre. But Michael. . .” She smiled, then squeezed Mary’s hand. “I’m glad you two got married. I knew from the first moment I saw you together.”
Mary lowered her eyes, but she was smiling. “Michael told me. It seems I’m indebted to you.”
“Nonsense! You should know Michael well enough by now to know that nothing can make him do what he doesn’t want to do. Marrying you . . . he just had to be nudged, that’s all!”
“Even so ... two million yuan. It was quite a wedding gift!” She looked down, serious suddenly. “If it had been ten times that, I’d have helped him out, you know that.”
“I know. That’s why you’re here.”
Gloria stopped and turned, staring at Mary. “What. . . money? You, the richest woman in North America . . . you want my money?” Mary laughed. “No. Not this time. But your help, that I do need.”
“You?”
“That’s right. Not Michael this time. Me. There’s something I have to do, and if it’s going to work, then I’m going to need all the help I can get to set it up. That’s where you come in.” She smiled, then returned the pressure on Gloria’s arm. “But come through. Let’s talk about it over lunch!”
kemp lay on his back, the younger of the girls riding him slowly, deliciously, while the other knelt behind him, leaning over him to caress his neck and chest, her bare legs pressing warm against his shoulders, her tiny breasts brushing against his cheeks and hair. He was close now, very close, and as he began to come he pulled her down onto him and, with a groan, sank his teeth into the soft flesh, her cries making him spasm fiercely.
Afterward, as he lay there watching the big screen in the comer of the room, a shiver of satisfaction rippled through him. That was the one good thing about being his age: one had no illusions about the world, and therefore no restraints. What one wanted one took, and no apologies. If he had only known when he was younger. Imagine it! To have that power and this knowledge!
He looked across to where the younger of the two was tending her friend and smiled. They had been good girls and he would reward them well. Indeed, after what had happened earlier he could afford, perhaps, to buy them from the Madam and have them installed in his Mansion. After all, such good, uncomplaining girls were hard to come by these days. When the ad appeared again, he sat up, watching it more carefully this time.
“Wonderful!” he said, pressing his right fist hard into his cupped left.
“Fucking wonderful!”
His boardroom ploy had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. Why, Michael Lever hadn’t just bought the idea of keeping the Institute running, he had transformed it. For the last two hours these ads—with details of the forthcoming launch of the new Immortality 3000 Project—had appeared on four different channels. And from his own sources within the Institute had come news that Lever had agreed to a comprehensive refunding program: a financial package which, while it seemed sound now, would—in time—bring ImmVac crashing down, as Lever tried frantically to recoup some of the funds to defend his falling market share. “I’ve got you,” he said gleefully. “I’ve fucking got you!” Only an hour back Fairbank’s man, Jackson, had called to say that his Masters were very pleased with what Kemp had achieved, and that a bonus had been placed to his account. Now it was time to put the second phase of things into effect—to start that long, painstaking process of attrition that would, six months from now, have Lever humbled, the young man crushed for all time.
He climbed from the bed and stood, looking about him. When had he last felt like this? When had life last promised him so much? Never. And who knew . . . when this was all over and they came to share out the ruins of ImmVac’s great empire, maybe he’d buy himself a share in the Institute and have some of the new treatment. To live forever, he didn’t believe that was possible, but another twenty, thirty, even forty years, that would be worth trying for.
“Champagne!” he said, feeling magnanimous. “Let’s have some champagne, neh, girls?”
And afterward? Afterward he would have the older one again. From behind, perhaps, while she made love to the younger one. Kemp smiled, watching as the younger of the two ran to do his bidding, then went and sat beside the other, tracing the wound gently with a fingertip before pulling her down onto his lap. Old . . . who says I’m old?
out in the center of Main the crowd was going berserk. Many were dead already and it looked like it was developing into a full-scale riot. Those shops that had still been trading were ruined now, their goods stolen, their fronts smashed and burned. Behind a reinforced barrier, blocking off the main route to the interlevel transit, a Security Captain crouched, yelling urgently into his handset.
“Send me some backup! Now! They’ve gone fucking mad down here!” There was a squeal, an awful screeching, and then the sound of one of the big lighting sections overhead shattering, segments raining down. The Captain popped his head up over the parapet, looking. If this went on, the whole of Main would be in darkness before long. He’d thought the lighting sections were indestructible, but they’d got hold of something—something that made the ice they were made of fragile—and were spraying it everywhere. Holes were appearing in the walls and floors, cabling was shorting, and who knew what other damage. Two men were swinging from one section to the next, fifty ch’i up, hanging from the ceiling seemingly without fear. Black Hand, he thought; fucfeing Black Hand. But there was nothing he could do. If he shot them down they’d target him. And with only two dozen men to contain five thousand rioters, he didn’t fancy their chances.
There was an urgent buzzing on the handset. He clicked it on again and stared down into the tiny screen. This time it was Major Seymour, his line commander.
“Captain Wells? What the hell’s going on down there?” Wells put his head down as a shower of debris came over the top of the barrier.
“There’ve been some deaths, sir. Bizarre things. Some of the local troublemakers were hit. Mutilated, it seems. Word got out and they’ve gone crazy down here. There’s been a lot of burning and looting. Not only that, but they’ve got hold of chemicals. Ice-eaters.” “Ice-eaters!” The Major turned away, consulting someone close by, then turned back, facing Wells. “Okay. I’ll get some men down there. But we’re stretched thin. This operation against the Black Hand ...” He sighed. “Oh, shit. . . ice-eaters, huh? That’s all we need!” “Sir?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“I’ve a prisoner, sir. I pulled him out before they got to him.”