The Scarlet Empress (18 page)

“Minister Hong will take over from here,” Kyber told Cam.

Cam’s cautious blue eyes shifted from Kyber to Hong, who greeted her with a pleasant nod. “I will oversee your transition to palace residency. Come, I’ll help you get settled.”

Kyber thrust out his hand. “Not so fast, Hong. You have the goods. I want my money.”

“The goods?” he heard Cam mutter.

Kyber tried to pretend she wasn’t standing next to him, watching him with incredulity. “Where is our payment?”

Hong handed him a money card. Kyber pretended to test its authenticity by holding it up to the light before slipping it into his pocket. “Call us when the good prince is next in need of our services, Horace.” He hoisted his travel pack over one shoulder. “Ready, Nazeem? The Serpent Quarter awaits. Ah, the Hollow Heart Bar and Grill. Wine, women, and song for two weary travelers.” He turned to Cam. “Farewell, pretty one. I wish you good days and memorable nights.”

“So that’s it?” she asked. Her wide blue eyes searched his face. Her lips were curved and parted slightly. Did she not know that when she looked at him that way, when she touched his arm, she all but begged him to kiss her?

You cannot. You must walk away. Now.

“My job is done.”

“You made that part clear. Only I’d expected a little more than being dropped off like a sack of mail.”

Did she not know how she affected him? Did she not see how he wanted to take her with him and retreat to his chambers, losing himself in her, keeping her by his side until morning, and all the mornings after? Not for the first time since beginning this journey did he find himself wishing he were as free as Kublai.

Why can’t you be with her as Kyber?
A thousand reasons, he blustered silently. He was not ready to marry, for one. “Had I known you wanted special treatment, Cam, I’d have had you gift wrapped.”

Her nostrils flared, and she released him like a hot stone. “Good days and memorable nights to you, too, sir.”

He turned on a heel and strode off with Nikolai. He couldn’t get away from Cam fast enough. Nikolai was almost jogging to keep up. The chief knew better than to attempt conversation as they headed toward a private entrance into the palace, where Kyber would retreat to his quarters to bathe away the dust of the road—and the awareness that Cameron Tucker was living within the same walls as he.

The prince’s minister ushered Cam into the palace proper. She slowed to take in the sight of the almost cathedral-like grand hallway. Despite her weariness, the grandeur took her breath away—and almost made her forget Kublai’s brushoff.

The floors, the walls, even the ceiling were all made out of solid cream-colored marble. More statues like the ones guarding the gates of the city stood here, two rows of
grim soldiers, fifteen feet tall, at least, and made of gold. “The Hall of Ancestors,” Minister Hong explained.

Leaded windows framed a view of towers and turrets. Cam had slowed to take a look outside, limping badly, when the minister clapped his hands twice. “Hydro-cart.”

A robotic, supercharged wheelchair glided out of a dark alcove and stopped in front of them. “Is that for me?”

He took the handles in his hands. “If you don’t mind.”

If he was nice enough to offer, she’d be polite enough to accept. She sat down.

“I’ll be bringing you to your private quarters, where the palace physicians await you,” Hong explained. “Once they examine you and prescribe your course of treatment, you are free to move about at will.”

“I can leave the palace?” Kublai had sounded so worried about her safety.

“In fact, I encourage it. See the sights. Experience the city and all it has to offer. I shall make myself available to escort you anywhere you like. All you have to do is ask.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at the minister over her shoulder. He was somewhat older than Kublai, and a nice-looking man. And he seemed awfully accommodating.

“Breakfast is on the way from the kitchens, as well,” Hong said as he walked behind the wheelchair. The thing was running under its own power, apparently.

“I’m not very hungry.” Now,
that
was a first.

“I will request that the meal be put aside and a light snack be brought to your room instead.”

Mercy.
This treatment was top-notch. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from Prince Kyber, but it wasn’t this.

But all the politeness in the world couldn’t replace a face-to-face meeting. “Minister Hong . . .”

“Horace, please.”

“Horace. I would like to meet with the prince as soon as possible. This afternoon, preferably.”

Hong made a small choking noise similar to Nazeem’s. “It will not be tonight. I assure you of that.”

“Tomorrow, then?”

His voice sounded tight, as if he were clenching his jaw. “It is difficult to arrange an audience with the prince. He is a busy man.”

“Look, he sent Rim Riders all the way to Mongolia to bring me here. I think he wants to see me.”

“I will endeavor to arrange it.”

“Thank you.” She closed her hands over the armrests. “I would have thought the prince would have been waiting at the back door, the way he was so anxious to get me back to the palace.”

“The prince waits for no one.”

“I’m getting that impression. He probably doesn’t have time, what with all the micromanaging, ordering who rides on whose horse and all that.”

Horace probably thought her irreverent, and not as respectful as she ought to be about royalty. “I’m an American,” she explained.

The man made another sound in his throat, the kind that meant nothing and everything at the same time. “On the subject of the prince,” he began.

“Yes? Yes?”

“If the reason you wish to speak with him is on the subject of Banzai Maguire, the UCE may be in a better position to assist you in your queries.”

The UCE? Hmm.
She hadn’t thought of that. She got the impression everyone here hated the UCE. As for her, the jury was still out. She didn’t yet know enough to form an opinion. What did anger her tremendously was the United States for becoming the UCE. How could the government have allowed that to happen?

“Though . . .” the minister went on thoughtfully, “Prince Kyber doesn’t care to reach out to other nations for help.”

To Cam, it sounded as if the Kingdom of Asia were as isolationist as the UCE was imperialist. Yin and yang. What a world!

Horace wheeled her through a set of massive double doors, three feet thick, at least, and carved with scenes from Oriental folklore. Doors off to each side looked like they led to bedrooms. Bedrooms upon bedrooms. Enormous paintings hung from the walls. By Salvador Dalí, she realized, recognizing
The Persistence of Memory
immediately, the painting of the melting clock. Prince Kyber, the richest, most powerful man in the world, would not fill his walls with prints. The paintings had to be real. Money, it was obvious, was not a factor in the interior decorating.

Horace stopped at one of the bedroom doors and stuck his fingers into a recess in the wall. The door slid aside to reveal a large room both comfortable and high-tech.

It contained everything Zhurihe had told her no longer existed. Cam’s lingering hurt at the girl’s lies stung even more now that she saw the proof of her friend’s deception.

A smiling woman dressed in white physician’s clothes
met her at the door. “Welcome, Miss Tucker,” she said. “I am Dr. Park. Your physician.”

Cam’s heart lodged in her throat.
Speak of the devil.
“Zhurihe?” Minus the braids, it was her! No, Cam thought, taking a closer look; this woman was a good twenty years older, and with more elegant features, but, mercy, they could be twins.

The woman’s smile was kind. “My first name is Dae. You may call me that if you like.”

“Whatever you prefer, ma’am,” Cam said. “It’s . . . it’s . . . it’s just that you look like someone I know.”

“Perhaps you have already met one of us.” The woman turned. “Min, come. Meet Miss Tucker.”

The new woman also wore the white clothes of a physician and was, like Dr. Park, an older, taller, more beautiful and sophisticated version of Zhurihe. “This is Dr. Park. Min Park.”

“The pleasure is mine, Miss Tucker.” The sister wore her black hair long and loose. She tossed it over her shoulder and bent her head in greeting. “As a psychiatrist, I look forward to assisting you in your recovery.”

“Thank you,” Cam said, almost robotically. This was too weird, the resemblance to Zhurihe.

The Parks brought her to a comfortable chair. Other women worked in various capacities around the large bedroom, assisting the doctors, cleaning up. Dressed in plain gray scrubs, they were even closer in age and appearance to Zhurihe. They were shorter than the Park doctors, but unlike Zhurihe, their eyes were dull, their mouths slack. Were they mentally disabled? Was that why they worked at menial tasks?

“Is there anyone here named Zhurihe?” Cam asked the doctor.

She thought she saw one of the worker girls lift her head. By the time she focused on the group again, all of them were bent to their tasks. Cam narrowed her eyes, suspicion pricking her. Did one of them know who Zhurihe was? Did they recognize the name? She decided to keep an eye on the girls.

Dr. Park shook her head. “I can have the staff do a search for you. In what sector of the city does she reside?”

“She . . .” Cam thought of all of Zhurihe’s questionable activities and nixed the idea. “She lives out of town. Do you have any sisters who live outside Beijing?”

Dr. Park made a small frown and shook her head. “We all reside here. Inside the palace. Seven living, all told.”

“Are y’all sisters? The younger ones look like a set of quintuplets.”

“No.” Dr. Park lowered her voice, hinting at embarrassment. “They’re clones, not sisters.”

Clones. Mercy.
“Clones . . . of you?”

“The emperor said he wanted more of me—and so he had more made.”

“Prince Kyber manufactures clones?” That was almost as bad as eating peasants, in her opinion.

The doctor shook her head as she took readings from Cam and fed them into a handheld computer. “It was his father, the emperor. Price Kyber is acting emperor.”

That’s right. The emperor was in a vegetative coma.

“He made six copies of you. . . .” The thought boggled.

“There were nine altogether, each with varying degrees of capability. Min, the first clone, is brilliant. Her
hand–eye coordination wasn’t quite perfect enough for her to become a surgeon, but her talents are well suited for the field of psychiatry.”

Min nodded, smiling at Cam’s wide-eyed wonder.
A clone. Imagine that.

Again, Cam peered at the group of gray-clad server clones. The one Cam had noticed looking at her was busy pouring liquid into a larger jug. Her hand was small. All her fingers were wrapped around the pitcher’s handle except the pinkie she held straight out. Just like Zhurihe!

Cam narrowed her eyes. Coincidence?

“My second genetic copy became an excellent medical technician,” Dae explained. “The fourth, fifth, and sixth, with decreasing levels of abilities, were fit to be servants only, as you see.”

Cam glanced at the Zhurihe look-alikes and counted. “Where are the other three?”

“They are no longer with us.” Dr. Park was taking a scan of Cam’s heart. Her head was forward, hiding her expression from view. “They were put down in childhood. Inadequate brain function.”

“Put down?”

“Euthanized.”

Cam stared at the servant girls, who appeared oblivious to the conversation. What kind of place had she come to? “You kill people for low IQ?”

“They were not people,” Dr. Park said, pleasantly, as if talking about something as harmless as flower arranging. “They were clones.”

Her dismissal of these humans, no matter what their genetic makeup, was horrifying. Yet Cam sensed no evil in the doctor. Had she any right to judge a culture in
which she was a stranger, an outsider? Sure she did. To ignore something was the same as supporting it. She didn’t know how or when, but she vowed to do something, anything, to change the attitude toward clones.

Both doctors moved toward Cam, and the tests began.

After several rounds of therapies that actually left her feeling better, Dr. Park lifted a device Cam had learned administered medication like the needles of her time, only much less painfully. “One more thing to do, and then we are done for today, Miss Tucker. Tomorrow we will meet and discuss the results of the exams. From there, we’ll design a program to increase your muscle mass and strength.”

“And coordination? My balance isn’t very good.”

“Do you not feel the results our initial treatment already?”

Cam opened and closed a hand. “Maybe, yes, a little.”

“You will notice even more as the day wears on. Now, hold still, please.” The doctor gently moved Cam’s head to the side, lifting her hair away from the back of her neck. Cam winced as something sank into her nape. “Ow. That one burned.” She rubbed the skin. There was a small lump. “What was that for?”

“It is a prox-beacon. Harmless, really.”

A flicker of alarm went through her. “What does a prox-beacon do?”

“It assures the prince that you will remain within the city walls.” The woman flashed a kind smile. “He really is quite worried about you.”

“Enough to make me a prisoner. Tell me more about what you put in me. Will it reveal my whereabouts? My thoughts?”

Park’s laughter was almost musical, this physician who didn’t object to copies of herself being put to sleep with no more thought than one swatted flies. “If that were the case, every husband and every wife in all the empire would be requesting one for their spouse. A prox-beacon simply causes discomfort should you move outside the protected area.”

Cam frowned, rubbing the lump on her neck.

“Please,” the doctor urged. “You will irritate the incision. Once the swelling goes down, you will forget all about it.”

“Until I try to scale the city walls and get out,” Cam said irritably.

“I am certain that if you need to depart the area, the prince will be happy to deactivate the beacon.”