Ebert was leaning across him, yelling at Fest. "Hey! Let's go back to the dressing room and congratulate him., eh?"
For a moment longer Axel stared at Ebert, then he looked back at the big man. Karr was picking himself up from the floor painfully, no sign of triumph in his face.
Fest took Axel's arm and began to pull him away. "Let's go. Hans has had enough."
"Come on," said Ebert as they stood in the corridor outside. "We'll buy the brute dinner. He can be our guest."
They stood in the corridor outside the dressing room, leaning against the wall, ignoring the comings and goings of the lesser fighters. There were bouts all afternoon—challengers for the new champion. But they had seen enough. Ebert had sent in his card a quarter bell ago, the invitation scribbled on the back. Now they waited.
"There's a problem with such mechanical virtuosity," Ebert said rather pompously. "It can so easily switch over into automatism. A kind of unthinking, machinelike response. Totally inflexible and unable to adapt to approaches more subtle than its own. That's why Hwa lost. He was inflexible. Unable to change."
Fest laughed. "Sound stuff, Hans. But what you're really saying is that you knew the big man would win all the time!"
Ebert shook his head. "You know what I mean." There was a slight irritation in his voice. Then he relented and laughed. "Okay, I'm trying to rationalize it, but we were all surprised. Even Axel here. Even he thought his man was going to lose."
Haavikko smiled. "That's true. He was good, though, wasn't he?"
Fest nodded. "Impressive. Not the best I've seen, maybe, but strong. Brave too."
Axel looked about him. "It's another world," he said. "Rawer, more basic than ours."
Ebert laughed, looking at him. "I do believe our young friend is in love with it all. Imagine, living down here, in the sweat and grime!" He laughed again, more viciously this time. "You'd soon be disillusioned."
"Maybe..."
He managed no more. Just then the door opened and the big man's manager came out. He had the same look about him. You're Karr's elder brother, Axel thought, looking at him.
"What do you want?"
Ebert smiled. "I watched your man. He fought well. I'd like to take him out to supper. My treat."
Axel saw how the man controlled himself; saw how he looked from one of them to the next, recognizing them for what they were, Above aristocrats, and knew at once how it must be to live as this man did—wanting to stay clear of their kind, but at the same time needing them. Yes, he saw it all there in the man's face; all the dreadful compromises he had had to make just to live down here. It rent at Axel's soul; made him want to turn and leave.
"Okay," the man said after a moment's hesitation. "But Karr's not feeling well. The contest took a lot out of him. He needs rest. ..."
Ebert held the man's hands a moment. "It's all right, friend. We'll not keep him. A celebration meal, and then. . ." He shrugged and smiled pleasantly, letting the man's hands go. "We have influence. Understand? We can arrange things for you. Make it easier. . . ."
Axel narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, Ebert?"
Ebert turned and looked at him sharply. "Shut up, Haavikko! Let me deal with this. I know what I'm doing."
Axel looked down. Do as you will, he thought.
Ebert had a reputation for being headstrong. For doing what others would never dare to do. But it was understandable. He had been born to rule. His father, Klaus Ebert, was head of Chung Kuo's second largest company. A company that had existed since the first days of the City; that provided all the body servants for the Great Families—sweet, intelligent creatures, scarcely distinguishable from the human; that provided a range of taste-sculpted servants for the richest of the rich, and armies of mindless automatons for the Seven. A company that produced over a third of all the synthesized food eaten in the levels.
Hans Ebert was heir to GenSyn, second only to MedFac on the Hang Seng Index. Rumor was his father could buy the Net twice over. What, then, if he should haggle with the manager of a small-time fighter? Even so, Axel found himself annoyed. Hadn't Ebert seen? Hadn't he realized how fine, how powerful, the man was?
"We'll go in, then?" Ebert said, his tone insistent. Commanding. The manager lowered his head, then bowed to the waist, letting them pass.
So power is, thought Axel, moving past him. So power acts.
Karr was sitting at the far end of the room, his right arm strapped to his chest, a bowl of soup balanced in his left hand. He looked up at them sharply, annoyed at their intrusion.
"What do you want?"
Ebert smiled, ignoring the big man's hostility. "You fought well. We'd like to celebrate your success. To honor you."
Karr laughed. He set down the soup and stood up, then came across the room until he stood two paces from Ebert.
"You want to honor me?"
For the briefest moment Ebert seemed intimidated by the big man. Then he recovered, turning to smile at his fellows before looking back up at Karr. "Why not? It was a great victory."
"You think so?" Karr smiled, but his voice was sharp and cold. "You don't think it was the triumph of meat over intelligence, then?"
Ebert's mouth worked ineffectually for a moment. Then he took a step backward. But as he did so, Karr spat on the floor between Ebert's feet.
"Fuck off! Understand? I don't need you."
Ebert's face turned ashen. For a moment he struggled to form words. Then he found his voice again. "How dare he!"
The words were high pitched, almost strangled.
Fest held his arm tightly, whispering urgently in his ear. "Don't make trouble here, Hans. Please! They suffer us down here. But if we start anything we'll spark a riot."
"I'll kill him," Ebert said, under his breath.
Karr heard and smiled mockingly.
"He'd as like break both your arms," Fest said quietly.
Ebert sneered. "I think my father would have something to say about that, don't you?"
Fest pulled on Ebert's arm, drawing him back. "The less said about your father, the better, Hans. These fellows know only too well who manufactures the Hei they send in to crush any sign of an uprising. GenSyn and your father are about as popular here as Genghis Khan."
Karr was watching them hawkishly. At the mention of Gen-Syn his eyes narrowed. "So you're Ebert's son?"
Ebert threw off Fest's hand and took a step forward, his head raised arrogantly to face out the big man. "You understand what it means, then?"
Karr smiled tightly. "Oh, I know what it means up there. But you're not up there now, Shih Ebert. This isn't your kingdom and you should mind your manners. Understand?"
Ebert went to speak again, but Karr lifted his good hand sharply to cut him off. His face was bitter. "Let me explain it simply for you. Today I killed a man I admired greatly. A man who taught me much about honor and necessity." He took a step closer to Ebert. "He was a man, Ebert. A master."
"You were lucky," said Ebert quietly, provocatively.
A faint smile played on Karr's lips briefly, but his eyes were cold and hard. "Yes. For once you're right. I was lucky. Hwa underestimated me. He thought as you think. And because of that he's dead."
"Is that a threat?"
Karr laughed, then shook his head. He was about to say something more, but at that moment there was a noise in the corridor outside. An instant later the door swung open. Two uniformed officers of the Special Security squad stood there, their standard-issue deng rifles held against their chests. Behind them came the General.