Ice and Fire: Chung Kuo Series (20 page)

‘Most of the time.’ Chan Shui sipped his
ch’a
, thoughtful a moment, then he looked across at Kim again and smiled. ‘But don’t let
it get to you. I’ll
see he doesn’t worry you.’

Berdichev sat back in Director Andersen’s chair and surveyed the room. ‘Things are
well, I hope?’

‘Very well, Excellency,’ Andersen answered with a bow, knowing that Berdichev was
referring to the boy; that he had no interest whatsoever in his own well-being.

‘Good. Can I see him?’

Andersen kept his head lowered. ‘I am afraid not,
Shih
Berdichev. Not at the moment, anyway. He began socialization this morning. However,
he will be back by one o’clock, if
you’d care to wait.’

Berdichev was silent a moment, clearly put out by this development. ‘Don’t you feel
that might be slightly premature?’

Andersen swallowed. He had decided to say nothing of the incident with Matyas. ‘Kim
is a special case, as you know. He requires different handling. Normally we wouldn’t
dream of
sending a boy out so young, but we felt there would be too much of an imbalance were
we to let his intellectual development outstrip his social development.’

He waited tensely. After a while Berdichev nodded. ‘I see. And you’ve taken special
precautions to see he’ll be properly looked after?’

Andersen bowed. ‘I have seen to matters personally,
Shih
Berdichev. Kim is in the hands of one of my most trusted men, Supervisor Nung. He
has my personal instructions to take good
care of the boy.’

‘Good. Now tell me, is there anything I should know?’

Andersen stared back at Berdichev, wondering for a moment if it was possible he might
know something. Then he relaxed. ‘There is one thing, Excellency. Something you might
find very
interesting.’

‘Something to do with the boy, I hope.’

‘Yes. Of course. It’s something he produced in his free time. A file. Or rather a
whole series of files.’

Berdichev’s slight movement forward revealed his interest. ‘A file?’

Andersen smiled and turned. On cue his secretary appeared and handed him the folder.
He had added the sub-files since T’ai Cho had brought the matter to his attention,
and the stack of
paper was now almost twice the size it had been. He turned back to Berdichev, then
crossed the room and deposited the folder on the desk beside Berdichev before withdrawing
with a bow.

‘“The Aristotle File”,’ Berdichev read aloud. ‘“Being The True History Of Western
Science”.’

He laughed. ‘Says who?’

Andersen echoed his laughter. ‘It is amusing, I agree. But fascinating, too. His ability
to fuse ideas and extrapolate. The sheer breadth of his vision…’

Berdichev silenced him with a curt gesture of his hand, then turned the page, reading.
After a moment he looked up. ‘Would you bring me some
ch’a
, Director?’

Andersen was about to turn and instruct his secretary when Berdichev interrupted him.
‘I’d prefer it if you did it yourself, Director. It would give me a few moments to
digest
this.’

Andersen bowed deeply. ‘Whatever you say, Excellency.’

Berdichev waited until the man had gone, then sat back, removing his glasses and wiping
them on the old-fashioned cotton handkerchief he kept for that purpose in the pocket
of his satin jacket.
Then he picked up the sheet he had been reading and looked at it again. There was
no doubt about it. This was it. The real thing. What he had been unearthing fragments
of for the last fifteen or
twenty years. Here it was – complete!

He felt like laughing, or whooping for joy, but knew hidden cameras were watching
his every movement, so he feigned disinterested boredom. He flicked through, as if
only casually interested, but
behind the mask of his face he could feel the excitement course through him, like
fire in his blood.

Where in the gods’ names had Kim got all this? Had he invented it? No. Berdichev dismissed
the thought instantly. Kim
couldn’t
have invented it. Just a glance at certain
details told him it was genuine. This part about Charlemagne and the Holy Roman Empire,
for instance. And here, this bit about the subtle economic influence of the Medici
family. And here, about
the long-term effects of the great sea battle of Lepanto – the deforestation of the
Mediterranean and the subsequent shift of the shipbuilding industry to the Baltic
where wood was plentiful.
Yes. He had seen shards of this before – bits and pieces of the puzzle – but here
the picture was complete.

He shuddered. Andersen was a fool. And thank the gods for it. If he had known what
he had in his possession. If he’d had but the slightest inkling…

Berdichev looked down, stifling the laugh that came unbidden to his lips. Gods, he
felt elated! He flicked back to the title page again.
The Aristotle File
. Yes! That was where it all
started. Back there in the Yes/No logic of the Greek.

He tapped the stack of papers square, then slid them back into the folder. What to
do? What to do? The simple possession of such information was treasonous. Was punishable
by death.

There was a knock on the door.

‘Come in!’

Andersen bowed, then brought the tray over to the desk and set it down on one side,
well away from the folder. Then he poured the
ch’a
into a bowl and held it out, his head slightly
lowered.

Berdichev took the bowl and sipped.

‘How many people know about this?’

‘Four, including yourself and Kim.’

‘The boy’s tutor… T’ai Cho, isn’t it? I assume he’s the other?’

‘That’s correct, Excellency. But I’ve already instructed him to mention it to no one
else.’

‘Good. Very good. Because I want you to destroy the files at once. Understand?’

Andersen’s smile drained away, replaced by a look of utter astonishment. He had thought
Berdichev would be pleased. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I want all evidence of this foolishness destroyed at once, understand me, Director?
I want the files closed and I want you to warn Kim not to indulge in such idle fancies
any
longer.’ He banged the file violently with the flat of his hand, making Andersen jump.
‘You don’t realize how much this worries me. I already have several quite serious
misgivings
about the whole venture, particularly regarding the matter of the boy’s safety. I
understand, for instance, that there was a fight, and that you’ve had to send one
of the older boys
away. Is that right?’

Andersen blanched, wondering who Berdichev’s spy was. ‘That is so, Excellency.’

‘And now this.’ Berdichev was silent a moment, the threat implicit in his silence.
The purpose of his visit today had been to make the latest stage payment on Kim’s
contract.
There had been no mention of the matter so far, but now he came to it. ‘My feeling
is that the terms of our contract have not been fully met. You are in default, Director
Andersen. You have
failed to adequately protect my investment. In the circumstances, I feel I must insist
on some…
compensation
. A reduction of the stage payment, perhaps?’

Andersen lowered his head even further. His voice was apologetic. ‘I am afraid I have
no discretion,
Shih
Berdichev. All contractual matters have to be referred to the
board.’

He glanced at Berdichev, expecting anger, but the Head of SimFic was smiling. ‘I know.
I spoke to them before I came here. They have agreed to a reduction of one hundred
thousand
yuan.’ He held out the document for Andersen to take. ‘I understand it requires only
your signature to make it valid.’

Andersen shivered, suppressing the anger he felt, then bowed and, taking the brush
from the stand, signed the paper.

‘We’ll verify this later,’ Berdichev said, his smile fading. ‘But with regard to the
files, you’ll do as I say. Yes?’

‘Of course, Excellency.’

He reached for the folder, but Berdichev held on to it. ‘I’ll keep this copy. I’d
like my company psychiatrists to evaluate it. They’ll destroy it once they’ve done
with it.’

Andersen looked at him, open-mouthed, then hastily backed off a pace, bowing his head.

‘Good,’ said Berdichev, reaching across for the
ch’a
kettle. ‘Then bring another bowl, Director. I believe you have some money to collect
from me.’

‘And how’s little rat’s arse this morning?’

Kim kept his eyes on his plate, ignoring the figure of Janko, who stood beside him.
Chan Shui had gone off to the toilets, saying he would only be a moment, but Janko
must have seen him go and
had decided this was his chance.

He felt Janko’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing, not hard as yet but enough to make
him feel uncomfortable. He shrugged it off, then reached out to take the biscuit.
But Janko beat him to
it. Laughing, he crammed it in his mouth, then picked up Kim’s bowl to wash it down.

Kim went very still. He heard Janko’s cronies laugh, then heard the unmistakable sound
of the boy hawking into his bowl.

Janko set it down in front of him with a bang, then poked him hard. ‘Drink up, rat’s
arse! Got to keep our strength up, haven’t we?’

The inane laughter rang out once again from beyond Janko. Kim looked at the bowl.
A nasty greenish gob of spit floated on the surface of the
ch’a.

Kim stared at it a moment, then half turned in his seat and looked up at Janko. The
youth was more than half as big as him again. He would have made Matyas look a weakling
by comparison. But
unlike Matyas, he wasn’t dangerous. He was merely flabby and stupid and a touch ridiculous.

‘Go fuck yourself, windbag,’ Kim said, loud enough for Janko alone to hear.

Janko grabbed at Kim, half lifting him from his seat, then thrust the bowl at his
face. ‘Drink, you little piece of shit! Drink, if you know what’s good for you!’

‘Put him down!’

Janko turned. Chan Shui had come back and was standing there on the far side of the
room. Several of the boys glanced up at the cameras nervously, as if expecting Nung
to come in and break
things up. But most of them knew Nung well enough to guess he’d be jerking off to
some PornoStim, not checking up on what was happening in the refectory.

Janko released Kim, then, with an exaggerated delicacy, let the bowl fall from his
fingers. It shattered on the hard tile floor.

‘Best clear it up, rat’s arse. Before you get into trouble.’

Kim looked across at Chan Shui, a faint smile on his lips, then turned and went to
the counter to get a brush and pan.

Chan Shui was standing there when he came back. ‘You don’t have to do that, Kim.’

Kim nodded, but got down anyway and started collecting the shattered pieces. He looked
up at Chan Shui. ‘Why don’t they make these out of ice?’

Chan Shui laughed, then knelt down and began to help him. ‘Have you ever tasted
ch’a
from an ice bowl?’

Kim shook his head.

‘It’s revolting. Worse than Janko’s phlegm!’ Chan Shui leaned closer, whispering.
‘What did you say to him, Kim? I’ve never seen Janko so mad.’

Kim told him what he had said.

Chan Shui roared with laughter, then grew quiet. ‘That’s good. But you’d better watch
yourself from now on. He’s a fool and a windbag, yes, but he doesn’t want to
lose face. When I go for a pee, you come too. And fuck what these bastards think about
that.’

When T’ai Cho met him, just after twelve, he had two guards with him.

‘What’s happening?’ Kim asked when they were outside.

T’ai Cho smiled reassuringly. ‘It’s okay, Kim. Just a measure the Director is insisting
on from now on. He’s concerned for your safety outside the Centre, that’s
all.’

‘So we’ve got them every day?’

T’ai Cho shook his head. ‘No. It’s not necessary for the Casting Shop, but we’re going
somewhere special this afternoon, Kim. There’s something I want to show you.
To set the record straight, if you like.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I know. But you will. At least, much better after this.’

They went up another twelve decks – a full one hundred and twenty levels – until they
were in the heart of the Mids, at Level 181. Stepping out of the lift, Kim noticed
at once how
different things were from the level where the Casting Shop was. It was cleaner here,
tidier, less crowded; even the pace at which people moved seemed more sedate, more
orderly.

They waited at a Security barrier while a guard checked their permits, then went inside.
An official greeted them and took them along a corridor, then up a narrow flight of
stairs into a viewing
gallery, its front sealed off from the hall below by a pane of transparent ice.

In the hall below five desks were set out in a loose semi-circle. In front of them
were a number of chairs, grouped in a seemingly random fashion. Five grey-haired Han
sat behind the desks, a
small comset – or portable computer – in front of each.

‘What is this?’

T’ai Cho smiled and indicated two seats at the front of the gallery. When they were
sitting, he turned to Kim and explained. ‘This is a deck tribunal, Kim. They have
them once a week
throughout the levels. It is the Han way ofjustice.’

‘Ah…’ Kim knew the theory that lay behind Han justice, but he had never seen it in
action.

T’ai Cho leaned forward. ‘Note how informal it all is, Kim. How relaxed.’

‘A family affair,’ Kim said, rather too patly.

‘Yes,’ T’ai Cho said at once. ‘Exactly that.’

They watched the hall fill up, until not a chair was free and latecomers had to squat
or sit on the floor. Then, without anyone calling anything to order, it began. One
of the elders leaned
forward across his desk and began to speak, his voice rising above the background
murmur. The other voices dropped away until the elder’s voice sounded alone.

He was reading out the circumstances of the first case. Two cousins had been fighting.
The noise had woken neighbours who had complained to Deck Security. The elder looked
up, his eyes seeking
out the two Han youths. They stood at once.