Wingrove, David - Chung Kuo 02 (46 page)

Vesa had been
living in a small apartment in the Mids since their aunt had died a
year earlier. Wrapped up in his own debauchery he had not known of
her plight until recently. But now he could do something. The job
with Karr brought with it a private living unit in Bremen: four
rooms, including the luxury of his own private bathroom. "But
you'll not be there that often," Karr had warned him, "Why
not move your sister in?"

Vesa had jumped
at the idea. She had held on to his neck and wept. Only then had he
realized how lonely she had been, how great his neglect of her, and
he had cried and held her tightly. "It's all right," he had
whispered, kissing her neck. "Everything will be all right."

He tucked the
transfer document into his tunic, then hurried along the corridors,
taking a crowded elevator down to the living quarters in the heart of
the great multistack fortress.

She was waiting
for him in the apartment. As he came in, she got up from the couch,
crossed the room, and embraced him, her eyes bright with excitement.

"This is
wonderful, Axel! We'll be happy here. I know we will."

He smiled and
held her to him, looking about the room. The apartment she had been
in had been a single room—like his own, spartanly furnished and
she had had to share washing and night-soil facilities. He gritted
his teeth against the shame that welled up at the thought of what
he'd let happen to her, then met her eyes again, smiling.

"We'll get
a few bits and pieces, eh? Brighten things up a bit. Make it more
personal. More
us.
"

She smiled.
"That would be nice."

He let her go,
then stood there, watching her move about the room, disturbed by the
thoughts, the memories that insisted on returning to him in her
presence. He kept thinking of the girl in Mu Chua's House of the
Ninth Ecstasy, the singsong girl, White Orchid, who had looked so
much like Vesa. He looked down. But all that was behind him now.

"I thought
I might cook you something . . ."

He went across
to her. "Vesa, look. . . I'm sorry, but there's something I have
to do tonight. Something urgent."

She turned and
looked at him, her disappointment sharp. "But I thought. . ."

"I know.
I'm sorry, I..."

"Is it your
new job?"

He swallowed.
"Yes . . ." He hated lying to her, even over something as
innocent as this, but it was important that she didn't get involved.
It would be dangerous pinning Ebert down and he didn't want to put
her at risk. Not for a single moment.

She came across
and held his arms. "Never mind. Tomorrow night, eh? We'll
celebrate. I'll cook something special." She hesitated, watching
his face a moment, then smiled, her voice softening. "You know,
Axel. I'm proud of you, I always have been. You were always something
more to me than just my big brother. You were like—"

"Don't..."
he said softly, hurt by her words. Even so, he could not disillusion
her, could not tell her the depths to which he had sunk. One day,
perhaps, but not now. Maybe when he had nailed Ebert and the truth
was out he would tell her everything. But not before.

Her eyes blazed
with her fierce sisterly love of him. That look, like purity itself,
seared him and he let his eyes fall before it.

"I must
go." He kissed her brow, then turned away. He went to his room
and picked up the bag he had packed earlier; then he went to the
small desk in the comer and took a tiny notebook from the drawer.

"Your new
job ... is it dangerous?" she asked, watching him from the
doorway.

He looked back
at her. "It might be."

"Then you'd
best have this."

She placed
something in his left hand. It was a pendant on a chain. A circle of
black and white jade, the two areas meeting in a swirling S shape, a
tai chi,
the symbol of the Absolute—of
yin
and
yang
in balance. He stared at it a moment, then looked up at
her.

"It was
Father's," she said to his unspoken question. "He left it
to me. But now it's yours. It will protect you."

He put his bag
down and slipped the pendant over his neck, holding the jade circle a
moment between his fingers, feeling the cool smoothness of its
slightly convex surface; then he tucked it away beneath his tunic.

He leaned
forward and kissed her. "Thank you . . . I'll treasure it."

"And Axel?"

He had bent down
to lift his bag again. "Yes?"

"Thank you
... for all of this."

He smiled. Yes,
he thought, but I should have done it years ago.

* *
*

KLAUS EBERT
poured two brandies from the big decanter, offering one to his son.

"Here . .
."

Hans raised his
glass. "To you, Father."

Klaus smiled and
lifted his glass in acknowledgment. He studied his son a moment, the
smile never leaving his face; then he nodded.

"There's
something I wanted to speak to you about, Hans. Something I didn't
want to raise earlier, while Mother was here."

Hans raised his
eyebrows, then took a deep swig of the brandy. "The Company's
all right, isn't it?"

His father
laughed. "Don't you read your reports, Hans? Things have never
been healthier. We're twice the size we were five years ago. If this
continues . . ."

Hans reached out
and touched his father's arm. "I read the reports, Father. But
that isn't what I meant. I've heard rumors about trouble in the
mining colonies."

"Yes . . ."
Klaus eyed his son with new respect. He had only had the reports
himself last night. It was good to see that, with all his other
duties, Hans kept himself astride such matters. He smiled. "That's
all in hand. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. It's
something more personal."

Hans laughed,
showing his fine, strong teeth. "I thought we'd settled that.
The Marshal's daughter seems a fine young woman. I'm proud of the way
she handled those assassins. She'll make me a good wife, don't you
think?"

Klaus nodded,
suddenly awkward. "Yes . . . Which is why I felt I had to speak
to you, Hans. You see, I've been approached by Minister Chuang."

Hans's look of
puzzlement warmed him, reassured him. He had known at once that it
was only vicious rumor. For his son to be involved in such an
unsavory business was unthinkable.

"I saw the
Minister this morning," he continued. "He insisted on
coming to see me personally. He was . . . most distressed. His wife,
you see . . ."

He hesitated,
thinking that maybe he should drop the matter. It was clear from
Hans's face that he knew nothing about the allegations.

Hans was shaking
his head. "I don't follow you, Father. Is his wife ill?"

"Do you
know the woman?"

"Of course.
She's quite a popular figure in social circles. I've met her, what?,
a dozen, maybe fifteen, times."

"And what
do you make of her?"

Hans laughed.
"Why?" Then he frowned, as if suddenly making the
connection. He put his glass down, anger flaring in his eyes. "What
is this? Is the Minister alleging something between me and his wife?"

Klaus gave the
slightest nod, grateful to his son for articulating it, gratified by
the anger he saw in his son's face.

"Well, damn
the man!" Hans continued. "And damn his wife! Is this the
way they repay my friendship—with slurs and allegations?"

Klaus reached
out and held his son's shoulder. "I understand your anger, Hans.
I, too, was angry. I told the Minister that I found his allegations
incredible. I said that I would not believe a son of mine could
behave as he was alleging you had behaved." He shuddered with
indignation. "Furthermore, I told him to either provide
substantive proof of his allegations or be prepared to be sued for
defamation of character."

Hans was staring
at his father wide-eyed. "And what did the Minister say to
that?"

Klaus shivered
again; then he gave a small laugh. "He was most put out. He said
his wife had insisted it was true."

"Gods ... I
wonder why? Do you think . . . ?"

"Think
what?"

Hans let out a
long breath. "Perhaps I spurned the woman somehow. I mean,
without knowing it... She's always been one to surround herself with
young bucks. Perhaps it was simply because I've never fawned over her
or flattered her. Maybe her pride was hurt by that. Did the Minister
say how or why she broke this incredible news to him? It seems most
extraordinary."

Klaus shook his
head. "I never thought to ask. I was so outraged . . ."

"Of course.
Perhaps the Minister had a row with his wife and to wound him she
used my name. After all, you'd not expect the woman to use the name
of one of her real lovers, would you?"

Klaus shrugged,
out of his depth. "I guess not."

"Still . .
. the
nerve
of it! To drag me into her sordid affairs. I've a
mind to confront her and her husband and have it out with them."

Klaus's fingers
tightened on his son's shoulder. "No, Hans. I'd prefer it if you
didn't. I think it best if we keep the Minister and his wife at a
distance."

"But
Father—"

"No. I felt
I had to mention it to you, but let this be the end of it. All
right?"

Hans bowed his
head. "As my father wishes."

"Good. Then
let us talk of more pleasant matters. I hear young Jelka is being
sent home tomorrow. Perhaps you should visit her, Hans. You could
take her a small gift."

Klaus nodded to
himself, then drained his glass. Yes, it was probably as Hans said:
there had been a row and Chuang's wife had used Hans's name to spite
her husband. It was not Minister Chuang's fault. He had reacted as
any man would. No, the woman was clearly to blame for everything. In
the circumstances it would be inadvisable to allow bad feeling to
develop from such shadows. Worse still to make an enemy of the
Minister. Tomorrow he would send a gift—one of the new range of
creatures, perhaps—to smooth things over.

He looked at his
son again and smiled, pleased by what he saw. He could not have made
a finer creature in his own vats. Though he said so himself, Hans was
a masterpiece of genetics—the end product of two centuries of
breeding. Like a god, he was. A king among men.

His smile
softened. It was as the Seven said, there were levels among men; and
Hans, his son, was at the pinnacle. He watched him drain his glass
and smile back at him.

"I must get
back. You know how it is. . ." Hans hesitated, then came forward
and kissed his father's cheek. "But thank you."

Klaus grinned.
"For what? I am your father, Hans. Who, if not I, should defend
you against such slanders? Besides, who knows you better than I,
neh?"

Hans stepped
back, then gave a small bow. "Even so . . ."

Klaus lifted his
chin, dismissing him. "Go on, boy. Duty calls."

Hans grinned,
then turned away. When he was gone Klaus Ebert went across to the
decanter and poured himself a second brandy. In times like these he
was fortunate to have such a son. The kind of son a man could be
proud of. A king. He smiled and raised the glass, silently toasting
his absent son, then downed the drink in a single, savage gulp. Yes,
a king among men.

* *
*

HAAVIKKO WAS
SITTING in Wang Ti's kitchen, Kao Chen's two-year-old daughter,
Ch'iang Hsin, snuggled in his lap. Across from him Chen busied
himself at his wife's side, preparing the meal. At his feet their
five-year-old, Wu, was waging a ferocious battle between two armies
of miniature dragons, their tiny power packs making them seem almost
alive.

Looking about
him, it was hard to imagine anything quite so different from the
world he had inhabited these past ten years, a world as divorced from
this simple domesticity as death is from life. He shuddered, thinking
of it. A world of swirling smoke and smiling wraiths.

Wang Ti turned
to him, wiping her hands on a cloth. "And your sister, Axel? How
is she?"

He smiled.
"She's fine, Wang Ti. Never happier, I'd say."

She looked at
him a moment, as if to read him, then smiled. "That's good. But
you need a woman, Axel Haavikko. A wife."

Chen laughed and
glanced round. "Leave the poor boy alone, Wang Ti. If he wants a
wife he'll find one soon enough. After all, he's a handsome young
man. And if an ugly fellow like me can find a wife . . ."

Wang Ti shook
her head. "Ugly is as ugly does. Never forget that, husband.
Besides, if I close my eyes you are the handsomest of men!"

Husband and wife
laughed, real warmth—a strong, self-deprecating humor—in
their laughter.

"Anyway,"
Chen added after a moment, "marriage isn't always such a good
thing. I hear, for instance, that our friend Ebert is to be married
to the Marshal's daughter."

Haavikko looked
down, his mood changed utterly by the mention of Ebert.

"Then I
pity the girl. The man's a bastard. He cares for nothing except his
own self-gratification. Ask anyone who's served with him. They'll all
tell you the same."

Chen exchanged a
brief look with Wang Ti as she set the bowls down on the table, then
nodded. "Or would, if they weren't so afraid of crossing him."

Haavikko nodded.
"That's the truth. I've been watching him these past few
weeks—spying on him, you might say—and I've seen how he
surrounds himself with cronies. A dozen or more of them at times. He
settles all their Mess bills and buys them lavish presents. In return
they suck up to him, hanging on to his every word, laughing on cue.
You know the kind. It's sickening. They call him 'the Hero of
Hammerfest,' but he's just a shit. A petty little shit."

Chen wiped his
hands, then sat down across from Axel, his blunt face thoughtful. "I
know. I've seen it myself. But I can understand it, can't you? After
all, as the world sees it he's a powerful man—a
very
powerful man—and those sucking up to him are only little
men—
hsiao jen.
Socially they're nothing without him. But
they hope to grow bigger by associating with him. They hope to rise
on his coattails."