Chung Kuo - The Marriage Of The Living Dark Part 16

"Are you okay, sir?"

But Zelic didn't answer, merely turned and lay, facing the wall as the cruiser flew on through the desert night.

CHAPTER-7.

acts of kindness.

Daniel stopped, his left hand raised. At once the patrol came to a halt, the younger boys looking about them nervously. It was midday and the town was directly below them, the river bisecting it like a line of molten steel. Behind them a wooded slope climbed to meet the lower slopes of the great range. A road led down toward the bridge. For the first few hundred metres it was merely a strip of tarmac, running through the untended scrubland, and then the houses began, only one or two at first, and then, as the ground flattened out nearer the river, a solid ma.s.s of buildings - traditional Han houses with red-tiled roofs and high walls - intersected by endless little alleyways. China on the Rhine.

Through the longsight of his visor, Daniel studied the streets alongside the river, noting how little activity there was down there. Normally those same streets would be crowded at this time of day, the traders' stalls surrounded by bustling life, but today there was barely anyone about Something was wrong Rebels. It had to be.

Daniel turned, looking to his boys. It was hot in the suits and they were sweating, and not merely from the heat, but all eyes were on him now. He was their leader and they trusted him. Worshipped him, if the truth be told. "Come," he said simply. "We're going down."

There was no need to tell them to be careful. They knew that And they knew as well as he that something was wrong.

You could tell that by the absence of the golden-eyed. They knew when something was about to happen - knew and got out of the way. As they started down, the boys fanned out, two at the front, four in the middle, two at the back, forming a broad hexagonal shape, as Daniel had taught them. Daniel himself was on the right at the front, Robbie, a twelve-year-old, to his left If they were going to be ambushed, it wouldn't be here, it would be deeper in. The rebels would use alleyways and balconies and windows. Two, maybe three, of his patrol would be dead before they even knew they were in a fight Which was what made this worse, in many ways, than the Garden. There, at least, you knew that the threat was ever-present Here it was the longueurs that killed. You could only remain tensed and alert for so long, and then you would relax. Your attention would drift And at that moment they would hit you. Unseen a.s.sa.s.sins. Snipers.

They pa.s.sed the first few houses. The town below them seemed deserted, but one could sense the people behind their shuttered windows, or lying on their floors, silent and fearful, listening as they pa.s.sed by. Daniel glanced back. They looked good. Confident. Professional. More like men than the boys they were. That much he could be proud of. But they had yet to face a real fire-fight Tests. That seemed to be all there was to their lives. The thought brought back a memory, something from when Daniel had been in de-briefing. It was towards the end of the process when, his interrogation at an end, they had given him the freedom to exercise in the gym. Under the watchful eyes of the guards, he had spent that last month slowly working his way back to fitness. After the inactivity of the cells the exercise made him feel good; made him feel human once again. But there was another reason why he liked those sessions, for if he climbed to the very top of the rope he could see out through the narrow windows and glimpse the prison's cobbled yard and the gate. That tiny glimpse of life - of a world carrying on outside -lifted his spirits after the long months of isolation. The world,for him, had shrunk to the length of a single corridor. Now it expanded again, hinting at unlimited horizons. It was at one of those moments, while he hung at the top of the rope, gripping it tightly, that he saw one of the young guards - a blue-eyed young man who, while he'd never spoken to Daniel, seemed somehow less hostile than the others - go to the gate and, putting his hands to the bars, appear to take something. For a moment Daniel hadn't understood. What the guard held was small and white, yet he didn't make any attempt to stash it away in a pocket. Only when the young guard lowered his mouth to it and kissed it did Daniel realise what it was. A hand. It was a young girl's hand. And now that he knew what to look for, he could make out the shape of her on the far side of the barred gate. That moment's tenderness had shocked him more than if the guard had put a gun into the girl's mouth and blown her head off. Shocked him, because he himself had never known such tenderness. The nearest he had come was the comfort of another boy's arm about him as he slept, the brief physical pleasure of another boy's c.o.c.k inside him. Nothing permanent Nothing ... deep. And certainly no love.

No love. Yes, that was what shocked him. The realisation that he lived in a no-love universe. That he existed ... and nothing more. He and several thousand boys like him. Surviving day by day in the camps. Again and again, he saw the young guard's lips come down and kiss that tiny white hand. And each time the shock of it seared him for, like the tiny glimpse of the world outside he got each time he climbed to the top of the rope, it hinted at a great world outside of himself that he did not know. A world filled to overbr.i.m.m.i.n.g with love.

In another universe to this ...

"Keep tight," he said quietly, reminding himself where he was. To either side the houses were dosing in. A high grey wall was to their left now, on their right a row of shops, their shutters down. Just ahead the first of several alleyways crisscrossed the road.

Daniel raised a hand. At once they stopped.

Why go straight down? Why not cut across?

He narrowed his eyes, thinking it through. They had to cross the river, for their orders were to report to the camp at Abendorf, and that was on the far side of the river, but that didn't mean they had to go straight there. They could make for the great square beside the yatnen, then head back along the waterfront That way, at least, they'd have the river at their back and only one side to defend. If the rebels didn't hit them before they got there. He decided he would take the risk.

Daniel gestured toward the left and made the signals which meant "form up tight" and "at a trot". There were nods.

"Okay. Lefs go."

The alleyway was deserted. As they came out into the next street, they had a glimpse of someone disappearing into a doorway, otherwise it too was empty. A single shot rang out. Distant. Down by the river, if he was any judge, though the echo from the surrounding hills made it hard to be sure. Daniel pulled the patrol up. They crouched there, their eyes searching the surrounding windows and balconies, their gun barrels searching for movement. For a moment nothing, and then another shot rang out Snipers, Daniel thought, a shiver going down his spine. A count of five, and then the rapid stutter of automatics opening up, followed by the booming concussion of a grenade. A patrol. There had to be another patrol down there.

"Come on!" he yelled, turning and heading down the street, the river directly below him. "Someone's in trouble down there!"

As they came within fifty metres of the river, Daniel stopped. The gunfire had been heavy, but now, suddenly, it ceased.

Too late, he thought, unclipping a grenade from his belt

"Stay there," he whispered, indicating that they should take cover and keep low.

'Til go look."

Crossing over to the nearest house, Daniel went through an open gate and up a set of stairs. Then, crawling along abalcony, he peeked out through a gap in the stone bal.u.s.trade. Bodies. Two, no three of them, lying in the road between the Customs House and the river. They had already been stripped and were semi-naked. Daniel moved a little, altering his view, and saw a fourth body, suited this time, two young Han crouched over it, removing the suit Nearby was a cart On it were several combat suits and a pile of weapons. Careful to make no noise, Daniel eased back a little, slipping the barrel of his gun into the gap. His finger brushed the trigger, putting the most gentle pressure on it as he squinted through the sight Two shots should do it "Lin Pei!"

One of the crouching Han looked up at the call, combing his black hair away from his eyes as someone came across.

Daniel felt a moment's elation. The woman was wearing a fighter's one-piece and her greying hair was tied back in a bun at the back of her head. Even so, he recognised her from the films they'd been shown. It was her! As she stepped into the cross-wires of his sights, he felt a little tremor go through him. "Look!" she said, pointing down at the body. "Boys! The b.a.s.t.a.r.d's sending out boys against us now!"

Daniel tensed. One shot, through the head - that's all it would take. And then he'd be a hero. Again.

Unexpectedly, the body groaned. Daniel watched the woman kneel, her face filled with sudden concern.

"Get Wu Ye over here at once! This one's alive!" Daniel moved the sight marginally, so that he now had it trained directly on the boy's head. He didn't know the boy, but he was determined not to let the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds take him. He was about to fire when the woman did something strange. She put her hand under the boy's head and, lifting it gently, cradled it in the crook of her arm.

"Lin Pei, give me some of your water."

The young Han handed her a water bottle, then crouched, watching as the woman placed the lip of the bottle to the boy's mouth. He drank a moment, then lapsed back, against her.

As Daniel watched, she handed back the bottle, then, turning to look down at the boy again, began to gently stroke his brow.

"There," Daniel heard her say, "you're going to be all right now." There was something about the way she said it, something about the way she looked at him and smiled, something in the movement of her fingers against the boy's sweat-beaded brow, that made Daniel groan inwardly. His hand trembled now, making the cross-wires joggle.

One shot That was all it took.

He lowered the gun and sat, his back against the wall of the house. Lifting his visor, he removed his glove, then reached inside his helmet and rubbed at his eye. A slow, sighing breath escaped him.

So that was her. His enemy. The one they'd been taught to hate and despise. He closed his eyes and saw her, cradling the boy's head and placing the water bottle to his lips, then, afterwards, stroking his forehead and smiling down at him. Only now the boy was Daniel.

He shuddered and flicked his eyes open, then crawled back to the gap and looked out She was still there. Still she cradled the boy's head and crooned to him, even as the doctor crouched over him, cutting at his armour to get to his bloodied chest Daniel watched, grimacing as the boy's body spasmed, one leg kicking, before he slumped and lay still, dead.

The doctor moved back slightly, shaking his head, and as he did, Daniel saw the woman's face, saw the loss there, and marvelled at it Why, she hadn't even known the boy. And her eyes.

He caught his breath. She was crying. The woman was crying, holding the boy tight against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and crying.

"You poor boy," she was saying, "you poor, poor boy." Daniel jerked back, away from the gap, as if he was watching something that was forbidden. Then, trembling, afraid lest he drop his gun, he crawled over to the stairs, hurrying away.

DeVore stood on the balcony, his hands resting loosely on the stone bal.u.s.trade, watching his creatures at play.

In the shadowy darkness of the ancient hall they seemed more like giant moving pillars than living beings, their great torsos bending and stretching, their great arms moving like whips as the tiny missiles flew between them, whistling in the half-dark.

It was a game they often played, and DeVore never tired of seeing it, for it demonstrated the skill and agility of the morphs as nothing else did. There were six of them in all, and they had formed a circle in the centre of the floor, roughly ten metres from each other. At the start of the game each was given two tiny b.a.l.l.s, made of sewn black leather and filled with tiny metal beads. Once the game began, they were to throw these at their fellows - each throw to be accurate, and between knee and shoulder height -the object being to try and force an error.

A dropped ball and you were out, and to signal that you were out, you dropped to your knees and lowered your head.

A simple game. Indeed, a child's game. But not when played by morphs. Between morphs this became a game of speed and dexterity ... and cunning. For at times the attention of all might be drawn to one, and that one would find not two but ten b.a.l.l.s hurtling towards him.

Right now only four of the six were standing and the whizz and whistle of the b.a.l.l.s through the darkness was like the singing of bullets in the heat of a fire-fight. There was the slap-slap-slap of caught b.a.l.l.s, the grunts and groans of the morphs as they hurtled them back at each other. Faster it went and faster, until another cried out in dismay and knelt, bowing his head. Only three then, and the pace seemed to get faster yet, the whistle of the missiles like the circling of a bolas.

A groan. Only two were standing now.

DeVore leaned forward, excited, intent on seeing which would win as they hurled the missiles at each other like two ancient gun-fighters. Back and forth the missiles whizzed, back and forth at an ever-increasing pace. Then, suddenly, there was the slap as a ball whacked off a cheek, and that was it There was a cry of triumph, a groan of dismay. "Bravo!" DeVore cried, making them look up at him as one. "Well done, my children! But I've another game for you. A better game." He went down the broad marble steps. They were all standing again, shaking themselves loose after their exertions, yet as DeVore stepped out among them - their comparative statures making him seem like a child among adults - they stopped and turned to face him, watching him attentively, their heads bowed in respect "I think if s time we paid our friend, Emily Ascher a visit."

There was a murmur of delight at that "In the Wilds?" one of them - Jerud - asked.

"Yes," DeVore said. "I've decided to sweep the whole northern section, valley by valley until we find them. Then we go in ... and eradicate them." "If 11 take a month at least," another - Hiuden - said.

"Yes. But once if s done, if s done. And then ... America." DeVore saw how they liked the sound of that Via hidden cameras he had watched them talk among themselves and knew that they longed for action - that they hated being cooped up here in the city - but there had been little he could do until now.

But now, if what he'd heard was right, things were about to change. America was in turmoil once again. Young Egan had lost the western seaboard and power was daily slipping from his hands. With the help of Coover and Horton - and others -he might destabilise things to the point where they'd have to call off their blockade of Europe's airs.p.a.ce. And when they did... DeVore smiled inwardly. The moment they opened the skies to him he had won. For in that moment they would have surrendered their one and only advantage This, then, was the endgame. And in the endgame he was supreme. Why, even that great Master of wei chi, Tuan TiFo, had not been as good as him when it came to this final nip and tuck.

"Okay," he said, looking about him at his creations with pride and a grim satisfaction. "Go and shower. And after, meet me in the War Room. There we shall make our plans."

It was dark when they got to Abendorf and the gates of the camp were closed, but the Commandant seemed delighted to see them even so. Daniel saluted, then walked straight past the man, wanting only to find a bunk and the refuge of sleep. Behind him his patrol sneaked in, tired and bewildered, not quite sure what was going on.

On Daniel's orders, they had hidden in the bas.e.m.e.nt of a shop, waiting more than two hours before they ventured out to the sight of the ambush. The bodies were gone. At first Daniel thought that maybe scavengers had had them. But then, walking over to the gra.s.s walkway that ran beside the river, he saw freshly-turned earth - a patch six metres by two - and understood. The rebels had taken the time and trouble to bury their victims. That, too, he had found something of a shock, for they had been taught that the rebels often tortured and then ate their victims. They had been told that they were vicious and heartless and that nothing was beyond them. But he had seen her with his own eyes now. He had seen that look on her face -a look of such suffering and regret that it had reversed in an instant all he had previously believed about her.

Lies. He knew now. It was all lies.

Daniel sat there on the edge of his bunk, in full armour, staring straight ahead, while all about him the boys removed their combat suits, moving silently, loath to disturb him. He was still sitting there when the Commandant came in. "Mussida? Are you all right?"

Daniel looked up, then stood, coming to attention. All about him his boys did the same.

"Well?" the Commandant asked, trying to make sense of his mood. "Did something happen out there?"

Daniel's eyes met the Commandant's briefly. It was impossible to tell the truth.

"Nothing, sir. I felt... fatigued, thaf s all"

"Ah..." The Commandant seemed satisfied with that "We lost a patrol," he went on. "At least, there's no sign of them yet" Daniel nodded.

"Is there... anything I can get you, Daniel? For your team?" He almost smiled at that It was strange how things had changed since he'd come back from Eden. Now they deferred to him.

"They're hungry, sir. Maybe ... something special?" The Commandant grinned broadly. "Of course! I'll send something down from my own kitchen." He hesitated, then, "Well, we'll leave the report to the morning, neh? You must be tired."

"Sir."

When he'd gone, Daniel sat again. But if he thought that was it, he was wrong.

Closing the door, his twelve-year-old lieutenant, Robbie, turned to face him.

"Daniel?"

Daniel sighed. He could sense all the others listening, and knew what they wanted. "Yes, Robbie?"

"What did happen out there?"

He looked up and smiled sadly. "Why should anything have happened?" Robbie glanced about him, then, steeling himself, looked back at Daniel. "After the shooting. You left us to see what was going on, and when you came back... well, you were changed. It was like ..."

"Like what?"

Robbie shrugged.

He hated lying to them. Even so, it was lie or tell the truth, and he dared not tell the truth. He might as well put a gun to his own head. "The truth is," he began, "I saw something sickening. So sickening that ... well, I'd rather not mention it It ... disturbed me."They were staring at him now, shocked. Only a moment before they had thought him invulnerable, more a machine than a man, and now ...

"What... kind of thing?" Robbie asked.

But Daniel shook his head. "You don't want to know." But he knew they would speculate; would fill the gap he'd left with the most lurid imaginings. Something so hideous that it would instantly become "the truth". But the truth was worse in a way. For the truth was that they were all living a lie. It was not The Woman who was their enemy, it was The Man. The truth was they were all living in some hideous inverted mirror of reality, wherein black and white had been reversed.

Out, he told himself, looking down at his gloved hands. I've got to get out. But how? And even if he did get out, how did he stop them following him? How did he get the tracing wire out of his head?

If there's a way to put in, there's a way to get it out.

He just had to find out how. Yes, and where it was done. And who did it And then ...

Daniel looked up. They were still all watching him, taking their mood from him -patterning themselves on him. He was their hero. Their model. What he did mattered to them.

"I'll be okay," he said, looking from face to face and smiling. "A good meal and we'll all be okay, neh?"

And slowly, tentatively, their faces began to mirror his, until everyone was smiling.

Daniel nodded, letting the smile remain on his lips. Yes. All was well again.

All was ...

DeVore cried out even as he sat up, the dream so vivid that for a moment he felt the blow strike the side of his skull and split it. Emtu, sleeping beside him, sat up and, reaching across, held him as he calmed.

"What was it?" she asked, her eyes searching his.

"Karr. It was Karr. He ...

"Killed you again?"