Chung Kuo - The Marriage Of The Living Dark Part 25

The drug - if drug it was - was coursing through him now, making his nerves spark and tingle, as if firecrackers were going off inside his blood. He felt his consciousness expand to take in not merely the room in which he stood, but the whole of Nineveh. And as it did he saw the spire and with it, next to it, the great pit into which we was to descend.

Yes, a voice inside him said. You must go down inside yourself, Li Yuan. Only then can you make the journey up into the light. He laughed, but the laughter was only in his head. And then he was walking, Ishtar at his side, like the Queen of the Night, proud and terrifyingly beautiful. Out they went. Out from the caverns where they had prepared him and up into the great bowl of Nineveh.

Crowds had formed to watch his pa.s.sing - a whole host of people, naked as himself - and as he pa.s.sed so their hands brushed against him and on all sides faces smiled and voices wished him well.

And so they came to the pit And there, as they stood beside it, a great hush fell - a quiet of awe and understanding. And then, with a tenderness that surprised him, hands lowered himslowly backwards into the dark. For the briefest moment he thought that he would fall, but other hands reached up for him, holding him, welcoming him, their bodies closing about him as he was embraced and taken, whole and naked, into the living darkness. A mouth closed on his, soft hands caressed his b.u.t.tocks while yet others gently stroked his legs and chest and groin. And as they did, he understood at last And shuddered, and let go, his old self slipping from him like a snake's discarded skin.

And with that last, bright-sparking moment of understanding came oblivion - that great darkness of the senses he had wished for all his life and never known. And then the darkness swallowed him.

Harding threw on a gown, then went through to see who could have come at this hour.

His Steward, Levitch, was standing in the shadows of the hall. For a moment he did not realise that Harding was there, then, with a start, he turned and smartly bowed.

"Master..."

"Whaf s happening, Levitch?"

Levitch took two steps towards Harding, then, bowing again, held out a book-sized package.

"This came, Master. From Shepherd."

"Shepherd? Ben Shepherd?"

"Yes, Master."

Harding took the package, frowning. He had never met Shepherd, yet he had had some dealings with SimFic in the past and had made some money out of distributing copies of The Familiar throughout City North America. But for Shepherd to send him something direct seemed unusual to say the least "Was there no note with this?"

"Nothing, Master."

"And you've screened it?"

"Naturally, Master."

THE WELL AND THE SPIRE.

And now that he looked, he could see that that was what Levitch had been doing.

The scanner was on, its screen glowing faintly behind his Steward. Harding studied the package and shook his head. It was in a strange covering that looked like paper - that may even have been paper - but was a curiously dark colour, his name and address written in a small neat hand directly onto the surface.

Turning, he walked through to his study and sat at his desk, switching on the lamp.

He stared at the package, surprised. It was wrapped in paper. Brown paper. As in the rhyme his mother had sung to him as a child. Now, how did it go?

And went to bed, to mend Ms head, With vinegar and brown paper.

f.u.c.k knew what vinegar was, but this ... he recognised this, though he hadn't actually seen its like before.

Reaching across, he opened the top drawer of his desk and took out the knife he kept there, then slit the package open.

Tipping it out onto his desk, he felt a little s.h.i.+ver of excitement A sh.e.l.l! Shepherd had sent him a sh.e.l.l!

He picked it up and read the handwritten label, speaking the words aloud: "A Perfect Art. A Tragedy in Three Acts."

Again he frowned. It sounded somehow ... archaic. But a new sh.e.l.l, by Shepherd - that in itself was a major event He looked up, wondering who else had received such a package, or whether he was the only man in America to have a copy of this. Whatever, it couldn't have been many -not if Shepherd were packaging these up himself and sending them out The thought made him grin with pleasure. It was clearly a compliment to him. Someone - Neville perhaps - must have told him what he'd done for The Familiar out here, and this was his way of saying thank you, by getting a preview copy to him: for there was no doubt that this, with its handwritten label, was a preview.And if it was even half as good as The Familiar... Harding turned, meaning to switch on his screen and contact Neville, when the screen came on of its own accord.

"Jim?"

"Horton? What the f.u.c.k do you want?"

Horton's face smiled back at him. "I want what you want, remember?" Harding, fearing they were being overheard, reached to cut the line, but Horton leaned towards him.

"No, don't cut me off. We're on a discreet line."

"Discreet, b.o.l.l.o.c.ks. He listens to everything." "Not to this, he won't I've made sure. Your house communications system developed a fault thirty seconds back. This is tight-beam, local. My man is switching the signal through from across the road to you." Harding stood and went to the window, drawing down the narrow blinds momentarily. There, two hundred metres away, beyond the high security wall of his compound, a man squatted in the bushes, holding a receiver dish. He s.h.i.+vered, realising suddenly that, just as Horton could get a message to him this way, so he could probably kill him if he wanted. Sitting again, he composed himself, spreading his hands on the desk. "Okay," he said, far more calmly than he felt, "so what do you want?"

Horton grinned unpleasantly. "As I said. I want what you want. I want young Egan out"

"And Coover in?"

"Did I say that?"

"No, but he's your sponsor now."

"And yours. And don't forget it But no. Coover doesn't want to make Egan's mistake. He's happy with what he's got But he wants someone he can trust on his eastern border. Someone who's got no grudge against him, or doesn't feel he has to even the score."

"You, in other words."

"Thafs right"

"So where do I fit in?"

"Where you've always fitted in. As Chancellor. But with additional responsibilities. For a start, Pll need someone to run the new house." Harding blinked. What the f.u.c.k was he talking about now? "I'm sorry. I don't follow you."

"If s simple. We're going to give the people the vote. And Representatives. The whole lot" Harding was flabbergasted. Why bother to take power if you were only going to give it away? "But..."

"Don't you see?" Horton went on, speaking over him. "As things are, if push comes to shove and we've a civil war situation, people are going to stick with what they know, and that's Egan, even if they don't like the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. They'll see me as Coover's puppet and they'll resent that, especially if Egan finally lets them know just what Coover did to their precious Western Army. But if I put myself forward on a platform of reform - of power-sharing - then thaf s a whole new ball game."

"I see. And the House . .."

" Will be a sham. And thaf s your job, Jim. To make sure that the f.u.c.king thing doesn't work" Harding smiled. For a moment he had thought Horton was going soft on him. "Okay," he said. 'Til wait for instructions."

Horton winked at him. "Right I'D be in touch. And Jim?"

"Yes?"

"Look out for the Old Man."

"Josiah? You heard about that, then?"

"Heard? Coover's full of it Seems he sent his own man in to target the old f.u.c.ker."

"And?"

"He failed. So mind your back. He's a malicious old c.u.n.t I remember him from the old days. And he may still harbour delusions of grandeur. So look out for him, right?"

"Right"

The screen went black Harding sat there for a time, thinking through what Horton had said, particularly that last bit, about Josiah Egan. Perhaps he underestimated Old Man Egan. If the old b.a.s.t.a.r.d did stillwant power, then he could prove troublesome, and not only to his grandson.

Still, he would think about that in the morning. Right now he would see what Shepherd had sent him.

He picked up the tape and stared at the wording on the label a moment, wondering what it meant. A Perfect Art. Now what was that about? Then, feeling a strange, almost intoxicating excitement, he got up and walked through to his Ents Room. There, beneath a silken sheet in the very centre of the dimly-lit chamber, lay his own personal sh.e.l.l-player; a great sarcophagus-like case with a finish of black and red lacquer inlaid with silver and pearls.

Throwing off the sheet, Harding touched the catch and stood back, watching as the huge, wing-like lid lifted back. As it did, the tape compartment emerged from the flank of the case. Smiling now, he placed the tape into the compartment; then, slipping off his robe, he slid into the interior of the machine, the electrodes attaching themselves automatically to the special nodes on his skin and at the base of his skull.

The machine hummed warmly about him, like a womb, embracing him. Slowly the lid came down, like an artificial sky, shutting out the mundane world. And then, with an abruptness that took his breath, he was there, in the garden, the sunlight pouring down on him as he crouched beside the flower's gaping mouth, watching the bee.

Li Kuei Jen yawned and stretched, then rolled over, putting his arm out across the ma.s.sive double bed. But the sheets beside him were empty. "Mark?"

He sat up, knuckling his eyes, then slipped from between the sheets, making his way across to the bathroom.

"Mark?"

There was no sign of him. Kuei Jen yawned again, then looked down at the timer inset into his wrist. It was not even seven yet Where in the G.o.ds' names could he have got to at this hour?

He showered quickly, then dressed. As he was brus.h.i.+ng out his long dark hair, the screen in the comer of the room came alive. "Kuei Jen?"

He turned to face the screen. "So there you are. Whaf s up? Couldn't you sleep?"

"My Steward woke me. It seems there was an attempt on my grandfather's life last night"

"And?"

"He thinks I was behind it"

"Were you?"

"You know I wasn't"

"But you were thinking of it"

"Yes, but..."

"Are you in the throne room?"

Egan nodded.

"Good. Then I'll meet you there in ten minutes. Have you summoned Han Ch'in?"

"Should P"

"Yes, and Harding and Chalker, too."

"Chalker^ here already."

"Good. But get Harding there, too. He knows your grandfather. If we need an intermediary he might be the man."

"Okay." He was about to turn away and cut contact, when something else occurred to him. "Oh, and Kuei Jen?"

"Yes, husband?"

"Watch yourself. We're all vulnerable now."

Zelic looked about him at the abandoned settlement taking in the signs of a hurried departure. Perhaps they had heard the cruiser coming across the sands, or maybe they'd had a warning. Whichever, it looked as if they had simply left what they were doing and walked off into the desert. He turned, looking back at the shadowed pool below where he stood, thinking what a pleasant place this was, and wondering what kind of life they lived out here, away from the cities. He would never have guessed that so many lived out here where life seemed impossible. Yet they seemed well-organised, yes, and well-fed, too. Certainly their store cupboards were well stocked. Zelic raised the apple to his mouth and bit into it, savouring its sweet taste. There was a beautiful silence to this place, too. A silence that even the soft drone of the cruiser - a sound that was m.u.f.fled by the barrier of rocks that surrounded the settlement - could not dissipate. As he bit again, the communicator on his lapel crackled and a voice - scratchy, the treble turned too high - filled the air.

"Captain? ... Are you okay?"

Unclipping the communicator, he answered Lanier. "I'm fine, Major. There's no sign of life, but they were here. And recently, too."

The communicator clicked, then crackled again. "Then they can't have gone far.

Twenty k at most, I'd say. Stay right there. We'll pick you up."

Zelic tucked the communicator back into the clip, then walked out into the open. Considering the circ.u.mstances, Major Lanier had been most helpful. For almost thirty hours they had scoured the desert, but until now they'd not found a thing.

Taking the gold stud from his tunic pocket, Zelic studied it a moment. He had noticed this pinned to Li Yuan's ceremonial gown a number of times, and the Han inscription on its reverse was unmistakable. It was his, without a doubt, and to find it here seemed to suggest that he had dropped it here - by design or accident.

There was, of course, the possibility that it had been planted, put here to make them pick up a false trail, but he thought that unlikely. No. The manner of Li Yuan's kidnap had been too direct Whoever had done this - and he could not accept Lanier's simplistic description of them as malcontent rebels - they had had a special reason for targeting Li Yuan.

Or so he felt He had no real proof of that, as yet, but the more he looked about him, the more unsatisfied he was with THE WELL AND THE SPIRE.

Lanier's simple political answers. This did not have the look of a terrorist training camp. In fact, there was something almost ... well, mystical about the place.

The drone of the cruiser grew louder, becoming a steady whine as it lifted above the rock wall and then drifted towards him, slowly settling onto the flat rock platform fifty metres away.

He walked across, arriving just as the hatch hissed open and Lanier popped his head out "I've just been on the radio, Captain. I've re-directed all the other cruisers out here. We'll use this as our focal point and work our way out If they're here we'll find them. And when we do..."

Zelic knew what the Major would like to do. He'd like to destroy the "rebels" for all the trouble they'd put him to over the years. But he'd been given strict orders not to do so. At least, not on this mission. His brief was to find and rescue Li Yuan.

Briefly Zelic wondered if Li Yuan were still alive. Certainly, when no ransom demand had come, they had begun to fear the worst for him, but who knew what these people wanted -Lanier least of all.