For a while she was perfectly still, then she wiped the tear away impatiently and stood up, coming down to him.
"Please forgive me, brother-in-law. I should greet you properly."
Fei Yen embraced him briefly, then moved away. At the opening to the balcony she stopped and leaned against one of the pillars, staring out across the pool toward the distant mountains.
Li Yuan followed her and stood there, next to her, not knowing what to say or how to act.
She turned and looked at him. Though eight years separated them he was not far from her height. Even so, she always made him feel a child beside her. Only a child. All that he knew—all that he was—seemed unimportant. Even he, the future Pang, was made to feel inferior in her presence. Yes, even now, when her beauty was clouded, her eyes filled with resentment and anger. He swallowed and looked away, but still he felt her eyes upon him.
"So now you will be T'ang."
He looked back at her, trying to gauge what she was thinking, for her words had been colorless, a statement. But what did she feel? Bitterness? Jealousy? Anger that no son of hers would one day be T'ang?
"Yes," he said simply. "One day."
Much earlier he had stood there in his father's study, staring up at the giant image of Europe that filled one wall—the same image that could be seen from the viewing circle in the floating palace, 160,000 li above Chung Kuo.
A swirl of cloud, like a figure 3, had obscured much of the ocean to the far left of the circle. Beneath the cloud the land was crudely shaped. To the east vast plains of green stretched outward toward Asia. All the rest was white; white with a central mass of gray-black and another, smaller mass slightly to the east, making the whole thing look like the skull of some fantastic giant beast with horns. The white was City Europe; glacial, in the grip of a second age of ice.
From up there the world seemed small; reduced to a diagram. All that he saw his father owned and ruled. All things, all people there were his. And yet his eldest son was dead, and he could do nothing. What sense did it make?
He moved past her, onto the balcony, then stood there at the stone balustrade, looking down into the pale green water, watching the fish move in the depths. But for once he felt no connection with them, no ease in contemplating them.
"You've taken it all very well," she said, coming up beside him. "YouVe been a brave boy."
He looked up at her sharply, bitterly; hurt by her- insensitivity; strangely stung by her use of the word bay.
"What do you know?" he snapped, pushing away from her. "How dare you presume that I feel less-than you? How dare you?"
He rounded on her, almost in tears now, his grief, his un-assuaged anger, making him want to break something; to snap and shatter something fragile. To hurt someone as badly as he'd been hurt.
"I . . ." She looked back at him, bewildered now, all bitter-
ness, all jealousy, drained from her by his outburst. "Oh, Yuan. Little Yuan. I didn't know. . . ." She came to him and held him tight against her, stroking his hair, ignoring the pain where he gripped her sides tightly, hurting the bruises there. "Oh, Yuan. My poor little Yuan. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. How was I to know, my little one? How was I to know?"
THE STAIRS led up to a wide landing cluttered with crates. Three corridors led off. Two were cul-de-sacs, the third led to another, much longer stairwell. Auden went up again, his gun poked out in front of him, the safety off, his trigger finger aching with the tension of preparedness. Ebert was a numbing weight on his left shoulder.
Near the top of the steps he slowed and looked about him, his eyes on the level of the floor, his gun searching for targets. It was a vast open space, like the floor of a warehouse, broken here and there by huge, rectangular blockhouses. The ceiling was high overhead and crisscrossed with tracks. Stacks of crates stood here and there and electric trolleys were parked nearby. Otherwise the place seemed empty.
"I don't like it," Auden said quietly for Ebert's benefit. "All that back there. And then nothing. We can't have got them all. And where are our men?"
"What is it?"
"Some kind of loading floor. A huge big place. And there are blockhouses of some kind. They look empty, but they might easily be defended."
Ebert swallowed painfully. His head ached from being carried upside down and he was beginning to feel sick. His voice was weak now. "Let's find somewhere we can shelter. Somewhere you can set me down."
Auden hesitated. "I'm not sure, sir. I think it's a trap."
Ebert's weariness was momentarily tinged with irritation. "Maybe. But weVe little choice, have we? We can't go back down. And we can't stay here much longer."
Auden ignored the sharpness in his captain's voice, scanning the apparent emptiness of the loading floor once again. Noth-
ing. He was almost certain there was nothing out there. And yet his instincts told him otherwise. It was what he himself would have done. Hit hard, then hit hard again and again and again. And then, when your enemy expected the very worst, withdraw. Make them think they had won through. Allow them to come at you without resistance. Draw them into the heart of your defenses. And then . . .
Ebert's voice rose, shattering the silence. "Gods, Sergeant, don't just stand there, do something! I'm dying!"
Auden shuddered. "All right," he said. "We'll find shelter. Somewhere to put you down."
He breathed deeply for a few seconds, then hauled himself up the last few steps, expecting at any moment to be raked with heavy automatic fire or cut in half by one of the big lasers, but there was nothing. He ran as fast as he could, crouching, wheezing now, the weight of Ebert almost too much for him.
He made the space between two stacks of unmarked boxes and turned, looking back at the stairwell. For a moment he could have sworn he saw a head, back there where he had just come from. He took two shuddering breaths, then put his gun down and gently eased Ebert from his shoulder, setting him down on his side.
"We need to get help for you, sir. You've lost a lot of blood."
Ebert had closed his eyes. "Yes," he said painfully, his voice a whisper now. "Go on. Be quick. I'll be all right."
Auden nodded and reached behind him for his gun. His hand searched a moment, then closed slowly, forming a fist. Instinct. He should have trusted to instinct. Raising his hands he stood up and turned slowly, facing the man with the gun who stood there only three paces away.
"That's right, Sergeant. Keep your hands raised and don't make any sudden movements. Now come out here, into the open."
The man backed away as Auden came forward, keeping his gun leveled. He was a tall, gaunt-looking Han with a long horselike face and a wide mouth. He wore a pale green uniform with the SimFic double-helix insignia on lapel and cap. His breast patch showed a bear snatching at a cloud of tiny silken butterflies, signifying that he was a fifth-rank officer—a captain. As Auden came out into the open other guards came from behind the stacks to encircle him.
"Good," said the Captain. Then he signaled to some of his men. "Quick, now! Get the other one to the infirmary. We don't want him to die, now, do we?"
Auden's eyes widened in surprise and he half turned, watching them go to Ebert and lift him gently onto a stretcher. "What's happening here?" he asked, looking back at the SimFic captain. "What are you playing at?"
The Captain watched his fellows carry Ebert away, then turned back to Auden and lowered his gun. "I'm sorry, Sergeant, but we couldn't take risks. I didn't want to lose any more men through a misunderstanding between us." Unexpectedly, he smiled. "You're safe now. The base has been liberated. The insurrection has been put down."