"You know what to do?" Chen asked, his hands gripping the collar of Jyan's jacket tightly. "You remember what we rehearsed?"
Jyan nodded, his eyes suddenly much clearer. "I'm all right," he shouted. "It was only—"
Chen put his hand to Jyan's mouth. "No time!" he yelled back. "Let's just do it!"
There were about thirty chi ch'i working the elevator. All of them were wearing wraparounds—the bulky headpieces blink-ering them from all distractions. Their close-shaven heads and the heavy, black full-face masks gave them a somber, distinctly mechanical appearance; an impression which their routine, repetitive movements enhanced. Chen walked toward them casually, aware of Jyan moving away from him, circling toward the elevator from the other side.
There were two pan chang, or supervisors. One of them stood only a few paces from where Chen had stopped, his back to the overhead screens, his headphones making him deaf to the surrounding noise. From time to time he would bark an order into his lip mike and one of the chi ch'i would pause momentarily, listening, then respond with a brief nod.
Chen nodded to himself, satisfied. To all intents and purposes the chi ch'i could be discounted. Their awareness was limited to the color-coded crates they were shifting from the elevator: crates that stood out in simple, schematic shapes of red and green and blue against the intense blackness in their heads.
He looked across. Jyan was in position now, directly behind the second pan chang. At a signal from Chen they would act.
Chen had made Jyan practice this endlessly; ripping the mike away quickly with his left hand, then chopping down against the victim's windpipe with his right. Now he would discover if Jyan had learned his lesson.
Chen brought his hand down sharply, then moved forward, grabbing his man. Savagely he ripped the mike from the pan chang1 s lips and brought the heel of his right hand down hard against the man's throat. He felt the man go limp and let him fall, then looked across.
Jyan was still struggling with his man. He had ripped away the lip mike, but had failed to finish things. Now he was holding the pan chang awkwardly, his right arm locked around the middle of his head, his left hand formed into a fist as he flailed frantically at the man's chest. But the pan chang was far from finished. With a shout he twisted out and pushed Jyan away, then turned to face him, one hand reaching up to pull his headphones off.
Chen started forward, then saw something flash in Jyan's hand. A moment later the pan chang staggered backward, clutching his chest. At the same time some of the chi ch'i straightened up and looked about blindly, as if suddenly aware that something was going on.
Chen ran for the elevator. At the doorway he turned and looked back.
Jyan was kneeling over the pan chang, one foot pressing down into the dead man's shoulder as he tried to pull the long-handled knife from his chest.
"Jyan!" Chen screamed, his voice almost lost in the background noise. "Leave it!"
Jyan looked up sharply. Then, as if coming to himself again, he stood up and began to run toward the elevator, skirting the unseeing chi ch'i and their carts. He had made only eight or nine paces when the first shot rang out.
Instinctively Chen ducked. When he looked up again he couldn't see Jyan. He took a step forward, then stopped, backing up. There, a half Ji down the Main, were three Security guards. They were approaching in a widely spaced line across the corridor, moving people out of their way brusquely, almost brutally, as they walked toward the elevator. Chen cursed beneath his breath and slammed his hand hard against the elevator's control panel.
Slowly—very slowly—the doors began to slide shut. "Jyan!" he screamed. "Jyan, where are you?" A second shot rang out, ricocheting from the back of the elevator. Out in the corridor there was chaos as people threw themselves down. Only the three Security men and the masked c/ii ch'i were standing now. As Ghen watched, one of the electric carts trundled toward the narrowing gap. Angry with Jyan, Chen pulled out his gun and aimed it at the cart, then lowered it again.
It was Jyan. He was crouched over the cart, making as small a target of himself as possible.
There were two more shots, closely spaced. The second ricocheted, clipping a crate on its exit from the elevator, and flew up into a nest of screens. There was a sharp popping and spluttering and a strong burning smell. Glass and wiring cascaded down among the unseeing chi ch'i.
With a painful slowness the cart edged between the doors. Seeing what was about to happen, Chen slammed his hand against the controls once, then again. The huge doors shuddered, made to open again, then slammed shut. But the delay had been enough. The cart was inside.
Jyan climbed down quickly and went to the panel. "Hurry!" Chen's voice was low and urgent in the sudden silence. "They'll bring up burners for the locks!"
Jyan gave the slightest nod, then got to work. Pulling the panel open, he put his fingernails underneath the edges of the thin control plate and popped it out. Behind it was an array of smaller plates, like tiny squares of dark mirror. Only two of them were important. Gingerly, he eased them out, careful not to damage the delicate circuitry behind. At once a voice boomed out from an overhead speaker, warning him not to tamper. Ignoring it, Jyan felt in his pocket for the two replacement panels and carefully fitted them. Then he slipped the top plate back and closed the panel. "Going down!"
Jyan hammered the manual override and felt the huge elevator shudder. For a moment there was a terrible groaning noise, as if the machine were going to grind itself to bits. Then came the sound of something very big and very solid breaking underneath them. With that the floor beneath the elevator floor gave way and the elevator plunged a body's length before jerking to a halt. For a moment there was silence. Then, with a click and a more normal-sounding hum, it continued its descent.
Across from Jyan, Chen picked himself up. "We're through!" he said elatedly. "We've broken through the Net!"
Jyan turned. "That should keep them busy, eh, Chen?"
Alarms were sounding overhead, back where they'd come from. Jyan could almost see what it was like up there. Right now they'd be panicking, afraid of the sudden darkness, the blaring sirens; packing the lightless corridors that led to the transit elevators; screaming and fighting one another blindly; trying to get up and out, away from the breach, before the quarantine gates—the Seals—came down.
Jyan counted. At fifteen the elevator shuddered again. The sound was like a huge, multiple explosion; muffled and distant, yet powerful enough to shake the foundations of the City. "There!" he said, grinning at Chen. "The Seals! They've brought down the Seals!"
Chen stared back at Jyan blankly, the elation draining from him. He was sobered suddenly by the thought of what they'd done. "That's it, then," he said softly. "We're safe." But he was remembering the feel of a small, dirty hand tugging at the sleeve of his one-piece as he walked down Pan Chao Street; the sight of a woman nursing her baby in a doorway; the faces of ordinary men and women going about their lives.
"We dfd it!" said Jyan, laughing now. "We fucking well did it!" But Chen just looked away, giving no answer.
EIGHT HOURS LATER and two hundred and fifty ii to the northwest, two Security officers waited outside the huge doors of a First Level mansion. Here, at the very top of the City, there was space and silence. Here the only scent was that of pine from the crescent of miniature trees in the huge, shallow bowl at one end of the long, empty corridor; the only sound the soft, shimmering fall of water from the ornamental fountain in their midst. Major DeVore faced his ensign, his eyebrows raised. He had seen the look of surprise on the young officer's face when they had stepped from the elevator.