Wingrove, David - Chung Kuo 02 (7 page)

He went through
the air lock briskly and out into the pressurized and heated core of
the station. Two Security men were waiting for him, at attention,
clearly surprised that he was still suited up. They looked at him
expectantly, but he went past them without a word, leaving them to
follow him or not, as they wished.

He took a left
turn at the first junction into a corridor that bridged the pipeline.
As he did so an officer, a fresh-faced young Han, hurried down the
corridor toward him.

"Major
Karr. Welcome to Feng Shou. Captain Wen would like . . ."

Ignoring him,
Karr brushed past and turned off to the left, taking the narrow
stairwell down to the basement. Guards looked up, surprised, as he
came down the corridor toward them, then stood to a hurried attention
as they noticed the leopard badge of a third-ranking officer that
adorned the chest of his suit.

"Forgive
me, Major Karr, but the Captain says you must. . ."

Karr turned and
glared at the junior officer who had followed him, silencing him with
a look.

"Please
tell your Captain that, as his superior officer, I've taken charge of
this matter. And before you ask, no; I don't want to see him.
Understand me?"

The young
soldier bowed deeply and backed off a step. "Of course, Major.
As you say."

Karr turned
away, forgetting the man at once. These stations were all the same.
There was only one place to keep prisoners securely. He marched down
the narrow dimly lit passageway and stopped, facing a heavy paneled
door. He waited as one of the guards caught up with him and took a
bunch of old-fashioned metal keys from inside a thick pouch; then, as
the door swung inward, he pushed past the man impatiently.

Hasty
improvisation had made a cell of the small storeroom. The floor was
bare rock, the walls undecorated ice, opaque and milky white, like a
blind eye. The four men were bound at wrist and ankle.

Berdichev was
sitting slumped against the wall. His gray uniform was dusty and
disheveled, buttons missing from the neck; his face was thinner,
gaunter than the Security profile of him. He hadn't shaved for a week
or more, and he stared back at Karr through eyes red-rimmed with
tiredness. Karr studied him thoughtfully. The horn-rimmed glasses
that were his trademark hung from a fine silver chain about his neck,
the lenses covered in a fine red grit.

He had not been
certain. Not until this moment. But now he knew. Berdichev was his.
After almost five years of pursuit, he had finally caught up with the
leader of the Dispersionists.

Karr looked
about the cell again, conscious of the other three watching him
closely, then nodded, satisfied. He knew how he looked to them. Knew
how the suit exaggerated his size, making him seem monstrous,
unnatural. Perhaps they were even wondering what he was—machine
or man. If so, he would let them know. He lit up his face plate,
seeing how the eyes of the others widened with surprise. But not
Berdichev. He was watching Karr closely.

Karr turned,
slamming the door shut behind him; then turned back, facing them
again.

He knew what
they expected. They knew the laws that were supposed to govern an
arrest. But this was different. They had been tried in their absence
and found guilty. He was not here to arrest them.

"Well,
Major Karr, so we meet up at last, eh?" Berdichev lifted his
chin a little as he spoke, but his eyes seemed to look down on the
giant. "Do you really think you'll get me to stand trial? In
fact, do you even think you'll leave Mars alive?"

If there had
been any doubt before, there was none now. It was a trap. Berdichev
had made a deal with the Captain, Wen. Or maybe Wen was in another's
pay—a friend of Berdichev's. Whatever, it didn't matter now. He
walked over to where Berdichev was sprawled and kicked at his feet.

"Get up,"
he said tonelessly, his voice emerging disembodied and inhuman
through the suit's microphone.

Berdichev stood
slowly, awkwardly. He was clearly ill. Even so, there was a dignity
of bearing to him, a superiority of manner, that was impressive. Even
in defeat he thought himself the better man. It was how he had been
bred.

Karr stood
closer, looking down into Berdichev's face, studying the hawklike
features one last time. For a moment Berdichev looked away; then, as
if he realized this was one last challenge, he met the big man's
stare unflinchingly, his features set, defiant.

Did he know
whose gaze he met across the vastness of space? Did he guess in that
final moment?

Karr picked him
up and broke his neck, his back, then dropped him. It was done in an
instant, before the others had a chance to move, even to cry out.

He stepped away
then stood there by the door, watching.

They gathered
about the body, kneeling, glaring across at him, impotent to help the
dying man. One of them half rose, his fists clenched, then drew back,
realizing he could do nothing.

Karr tensed,
hearing noises in the corridor outside—Captain Wen and his
squad.

He took a small
device from his belt, cracked its outer shell like an egg, and threw
the sticky innards at the far wall, where it adhered, high up, out of
reach. He pulled the door open and stepped outside, then pulled it
closed and locked it. His face plate still lit up, he smiled at the
soldiers who were hurrying down the corridor toward him as if
greeting them; then he shot Wen twice before he could say a word.

The remaining
four soldiers hesitated, looking to the junior officer for their
lead. Karr stared from face to face, defying them to draw a weapon,
his own held firmly out before him. Then, on the count of fifteen, he
dropped to the floor.

The wall next to
him lit up brightly and a fraction of a second later, the door blew
out.

Karr got up and
went through the shattered doorway quickly, ignoring the fallen men
behind him. The cell was devastated, the outer wall gone. Bits of
flesh and bone lay everywhere, unrecognizable as parts of living men.

He stood there a
moment, looking down at the thermometer on the sleeve of his suit.
The temperature in the room was dropping rapidly. They would have to
address that problem quickly or the generators that powered the pumps
would shut down. Not only that, but they would have to do something
about the loss of air pressure within the station.

Karr crossed to
the far side of the room and stepped outside, onto the sands. Debris
from the blast lay everywhere. He turned and looked back at the
devastation within.
Was that okay?
he asked silently. Did that
satisfy your desire for vengeance, Li Shai Tung? For the T'ang was
watching everything. All that Karr saw, he saw— the signal sent
back more than four hundred million
li
through space.

He shrugged,
then tapped the buttons at his wrist, making contact with the pilot.

"I'm on the
sands to the west of the pipeline, near where the explosion just
happened. Pick me up at once."

"At once,
Major."

He turned back
and fired two warning shots into the empty doorway, then strode out
across the sands, positioning himself in a kneeling stance, facing
the station.

Part of him saw
the craft lift up over the massive pipeline and drop toward him,
while another part of him was watching the doorway for any sign of
activity. Then he was aboard, the craft climbing again, and he had
other things to think of. There was a gun turret built into the side
of the station. Nothing fancy, but its gun could easily bring down a
light two-man craft like their own. As they lifted he saw it begin to
turn and leaned across the pilot to prime the ship's missiles, then
sent two silkworms hurtling down into the side of the dome.

A huge fireball
rose into the sky, rolling over and over upon itself. A moment later
the blast rocked the tiny craft.

"Kuan
Yin!!" screamed the pilot. "What in hell's name are you
doing?"

Karr glared at
the young Han. "Just fly!"

"But the
station . . ."

The big dome had
collapsed. The two nearest domes were on fire. People were spilling
from the nearby buildings, shocked, horrified by what they saw. As
Karr lifted up and away from the settlement, he saw the end of the
fractured pipeline buckle and then lift slowly into the air, like a
giant worm, water gushing from a dozen broken conduits, cooling
rapidly in the frigid air.

"Ai
ya!"
said the young pilot, his voice pained and anxious. "It's a
disaster! What have you done, Major Kan:? What have you done?"

"I've
finished it," Karr answered him, angry that the boy should make
so much of a little water. "I've ended the War."

* *
*

FOUR hundred
million
li
away, back on Chung Kuo, DeVore strode into a room
and looked about him. The room was sparsely furnished, undecorated
save for a flag that was pinned to the wall behind the table, its
design the white stylized outline of a fish against a blue
background. At the table sat five people: three men and two women.
They wore simple, light-blue uniforms on which no sign of rank or
merit was displayed. Two of them—one male, one female—were
Han. This last surprised DeVore. He had heard rumors that the
Ping
Tiao
hated the Han. No matter. They hated authority, and that was
good enough. He could use them, Han in their ranks or no. "What
do you want?"

The speaker was
the man at the center of the five; a short stocky man with dark
intense eyes, fleshy lips, and a long nose. His brow was long, his
thin gray hair receding. DeVore knew him from the report. Gesell was
his name. Bent Gesell. He was their leader or at least the man to
whom this strange organization of so-called equal individuals looked
for their direction.

DeVore smiled,
then nodded toward the table, indicating the transparent grid that
was laid out before Gesell. "You have the map, I see."

Gesell narrowed
his eyes, studying him a moment. "Half of it, anyway. But that's
your point, isn't it,
Shih
Turner? Or am I wrong?"

DeVore nodded,
looking from face to face, seeing at once how suspicious they were of
him. They were of a mind to reject his proposal, whatever it might
be. But that was as he had expected. He had never thought this would
be easy.

"I want to
make a deal with you—the other half of that map, and more like
it, for your cooperation in a few schemes of mine."

Gesell's
nostrils dilated, his eyes hardened. "We are not criminals,
Shih
Turner, whatever the media says about us. We are
Ko Ming
.
Revolutionaries."

DeVore stared
back at Gesell challengingly. "Did I say otherwise?"

"Then I
repeat. What do you want?"

DeVore smiled.
"I want what you want. To destroy the Seven. To bring it all
down and start again."

Gesell's smile
was ugly. "Fine rhetoric. But can you support your words?"

DeVore's smile
widened. "That packet your men took from me. Ask one of them to
bring it in."

Gesell
hesitated, then indicated to the guard who stood behind DeVore that
he should do so. He returned a moment later with the small sealed
package, handing it to Gesell.

"If this is
a device of some kind . . ." Gesell began. But DeVore shook his
head.

"You asked
what proof I have of my intentions. Well, inside that package you'll
find a human ear. The ear of the late T'ang of Africa, Wang Hsien."

There was a gasp
from the others at the table, but Gesell was cool about it. He left
the package untouched. "Half a map and an ear. Are these your
only credentials,
Shih
Turner? The map could be of anything,
the ear anyone's."

He's merely
playing now, thought DeVore; impressing on the others how wise he is,
how cautious. Because he, at least, will have had the map checked out
and will know it is of the Security arsenal at Helmstadt Canton.
Likewise with the ear. He knows how easy it is to check the
authenticity of the genetic material.

He decided to
push. "They might. But you believe otherwise. It must interest
you to know how I could get hold of such things."

Gesell laughed.
"Perhaps you're a thief,
Shih
Turner."

DeVore ignored
the insult but stored it in memory. He would have his revenge for
that.

"The ear is
easy to explain. I had Wang Hsien assassinated."

Gesell's
laughter was harder; it registered his disbelief. "Then why come
to us? If you can have a T'ang murdered so easily, what need have you
for such"—he looked about him humorously "—small
fish as we
Ping Tiao
?"

DeVore smiled.
"I came here because the War has entered a new phase. And
because I believe I can trust you."

"Trust us?"
Gesell studied him closely, looking for any trace of irony in the
words. "Yes. Perhaps you could. But can we trust you,
Shih
Turner? And should we even consider trusting you? I mean, what are
your real motives for coming here today? Is it really as you say—to
ally with us to bring down the Seven? Or do you simply want to use
us?"

"I want to
share what I know with you. I want to fight alongside you. If that's
using you, then yes, I want to use you,
Shih
Gesell."

Gesell's
surprise was marked. "How do you know my name?"

DeVore met his
stare openly. "I do my homework."

"Then
you'll know we work with no one."

"You used
not to. But those days are past. You've suffered substantial losses.
You need me. As much as I need you."

Gesell shrugged.
"And why
do
you need us? Have your Above backers pulled
out, then,
Shih
Turner?"

He feigned
surprise, but he had known Gesell would raise this point. Had known
because he himself had passed the information on to his contact
inside the
Ping Tiao
.