Chen stared at him. "You're sure?"
Lo Ying hesitated, then nodded. "The big one ... he was sitting across from us. I noticed him. Before it happened. . . ." He shuddered and looked down.
Chen turned slowly and glanced at the men as casually as he could, then looked back at Lo Ying, speaking as softly as he could. "Lo Ying? Have you your knife on you?"
Lo Ying nodded. As pan chang he was permitted to carry a knife for his duties.
"Good. Pass it to me. Don't let them see."
Lo Ying did as he was told, then clutched at Chen's shirt. "Who are they, Chen?"
Chen took a deep breath. "I don't know. I don't think IVe seen them before. Perhaps it's just a coincidence."
But he knew it wasn't. He knew it was all tied in somehow. It was no coincidence that Wyatt had been executed tonight. And now they had come for him. Tidying up. He wondered vaguely how they'd traced him.
"Stay here. I'll go down toward home. If they follow me, whistle."
Lo Ying nodded once, then watched as Chen turned away from him and, seeming not to notice the two men waiting twenty paces off, made for his home corridor.
Chen had only gone three or four paces when the men pushed away from the wall and began to follow him. Lo Ying let them turn into the corridor, making sure they were following, then put his fingers to his lips and whistled.
Chen turned abruptly, facing the men.
"What do you want?"
They were both big men, but the younger of them was a real brute, a giant of a man, more than a head taller than Chen and much broader at the shoulders. Like a machine made of flesh and muscle. The other was much older, his close-cropped hair a silver-gray, but he still looked fit and dangerous. They were Hung Mao, both of them. But who were they working for? Berdichev? Or the T'ang?
"Kao Chen," said the older of them, taking two paces nearer. "So we meet at last. We thought you were dead."
Chen grunted. "Who are you?"
The old man smiled. "I should have realized at once. Karr here had to point it out to me. That stooge you used to play yourself. The man who died in Jyan's. You should have marked him." He pointed to the thick ridge of scar tissue beneath Chen's right ear. "Karr noticed it on the film."
Chen laughed. "So. But what can you prove?"
"We don't have to prove anything, Chen." The old man laughed and seemed to relax. "You know, you're a tricky bastard, aren't you? Your brother, Jyan, underestimated you. He thought you dull witted. But don't go making the same mistake with me. Don't underestimate me, Chen. I'm not some low-level punk. I am the T'ang's General, and I command more kwai than you'd ever dream existed. You can die now, if you want. Or you can live. The choice is yours."
A ripple of fear went through Chen. The T'ang's General! But he had made his choice already, moments before, and the old man was only two paces off now. If he could keep him talking a moment longer.
"You're mistaken, General," he said, raising a hand to keep the General off. "Jyan was not my brother. We only shared the same surname. Anyway, I—" He broke off, smiling, then let out a scream. "Lo Ying!"
The big man began to turn just as Lo Ying jumped up onto his back. At the same moment Chen lunged forward, the knife flashing out from his pocket. Grasping the old man's arm he turned him and brought the knife up to his throat;
Karr threw his attacker' off and feiied him with a single punch, then turned back, angry at being tricked. He came forward two paces then stopped abruptly, seeing how things were,
"You're a fool, Chen," the General hissed, feeling Chen's arm tighten about his chest, the knife's point prick the skin beneath his chin. "Harm me and you'll all be dead. Chen, Wang Ti, and baby Jyan. As if you'd never been."
Chen shuddered, but kept his grip on the old man. "Your life ... it must be worth something."
The General laughed coldly. "To my T'ang."
"Well, then?"
Tolonen swallowed painfully. "You know things. Know what Jyan knew. You—you can connect things for us. Incriminate others."
"Maybe."
"In return we'll give you an amnesty. Legitimize your citizenship. Make sure you can't be sent back to the Net."
"And that's all? A measly amnesty. For what I know?"
The General was silent a moment, breathing shallowly, conscious of the knife pressed harder against his throat. "And what do you know, Kao Chen?"
"I watched him. Both times. Saw him go in there that first time. He and the Han. Then watched him come out two hours later, alone, after he'd killed Kao Jyan. Then, later, I saw him go back in again. I stood at the junction and saw him, with my own eyes. You were there too. Both of you. I recognize you now. Yes. He was one of yours. One of you bastards."
The General shuddered. "Who, Chen? Who do you mean?"
Chen laughed coldly. "The Major. That's who. Major De-Vore."
CHAPTER SIX
The Light in the Darkness
THE FIRST THING to see was darkness. Darkness colored the Clay like a dye. It melted forms and recast them with a deadly animation. It lay within and I without; was both alive and yet the deadest thing of all. It breathed, and yet it stifled.
For many it was all they knew. All they would ever know.
The settlement was on the crest of a low hill, a sprawl of ugly, jagged shapes, littering the steep slope. Old, crumbling ruins squatted among the debris, black against black, their very shapes eroded by the darkness. The walls of houses stood no taller than a man's height, the brickwork soft, moist to the touch. There were no roofs, no ceilings, but none were needed here. No rain fell in the darkness of the Clay.
The darkness seemed intense and absolute. It was a cloth, smothering the vast, primeval landscape. Yet there was light of a kind.
Above the shadowed plain the ceiling ran to all horizons, perched on huge columns of silver that glowed softly, faintly, like something living. Dim studs of light crisscrossed the artificial sky; neutered, ordered stars, following the tracks of broad conduits and cables, for the ceiling was a floor, and overhead was the vastness of the City; another world, sealed off from the fetid darkness underneath.
The Clay. It was a place inimical to life. And yet life thrived there in the dark; hideous, malformed shapes spawning in obscene profusion. The dark plain crawled with vulgar life.
Kim woke from a bad dream, a tight band of fear about his chest. Instinct made him freeze, then turn slowly, stealthily, toward the sound, lifting the oilcloth he lay under. He had the scent at once—the thing that had warned him on waking. Strangers . . . strangers at the heart of the camp.
Something was wrong. Badly wrong.
He moved to the lip of the brickwork he had been lying behind and peered over the top. What he saw made him bristle with fear. Two of his tribe lay on the ground nearby, their skulls smashed open, the brains taken. Farther away three men— strangers, intruders—crouched over another body. They were carving flesh from arm and thigh and softly laughing as they ate. Kim's mouth watered, but the fear he felt was far stronger.
One of the strangers turned and looked directly at the place where Kim was hiding. He lidded his eyes and kept perfectly still, knowing that unless he moved the man would not see him. So it proved. The man made a cursory inspection of the settlement, then returned to his food, his face twitching furtively as he gnawed at the raw meat.
For a moment Kim was blank; a shell of unthinking bone. Then something woke in him, filling the emptiness. He turned away, moving with a painful slowness, his muscles aching with the strain of it as he climbed the rotten sill; each moment begging that it wouldn't crumble beneath his weight and betray him. But it held. Then, slowly, very slowly, he eased himself down the cold, broad steps. Down into the cellar of Baxi's house.