The Middle Kingdom (73 page)

Both men bowed
deeply and looked at each other briefly.

Two more cases
followed. The first was an accusation of theft. Two men claimed that
another had robbed them, but a Security film showed they had falsely
accused the man. The two men, protesting violently, found themselves
held by Security guards and sentenced. They were to be demoted five
decks. Amid wailing from the two men and their families and rejoicing
from the falsely accused man and his, the permits of the two were
taken from them and they were led away.

The fourth case
involved a charge of violent assault by a middle-aged man on his
wife's father. Both families were in court, and for the first time
there was real tension in the air. The matter was in dispute and it
seemed there was no way to resolve it. Both men were deeply respected
members of the community. Both swore their version of events was the
truth. There was no Security film to solve the matter this time and
no impartial witnesses.

The elders
conferred a moment, then Hsien Judge Hong called the two men forward.
He addressed the older of them first.

"What began
this dispute?"

The old man
bristled and pointed contemptuously at the younger. "He insulted
my family."

Judge Hong was
patient. It was, after all, a matter efface. For the next half hour
he slowly, cleverly, drew the threads of circumstance out into the
daylight. At the core of it all lay a trivial remark—an offhand
comment that the younger man's wife was like her mother, idle. It had
been said heatedly, carelessly, in the course of a disagreement about
something entirely different, but the old woman had taken great
offense and had called upon her husband to defend her honor.

"Do you not
both think that things have got out of hand? You,
Shih
T'eng,"
he looked at the younger man, "do you really believe your
mother-in-law an idler? Do you really have so little respect for your
wife's mother?"

Shih
T'eng
lowered his head, then shook it. "No, Elder Hong. She is a good,
virtuous woman. What I said, I said heatedly. It was not meant. I"—
he hesitated, then looked at his father-in-law—"I
unreservedly apologize for the hurt I caused his family. I assure
him, it was not intended."

Judge Hong
looked at the old man and saw at once, from his bearing, that he was
satisfied. Their dispute was at a close. But the Elder had not
finished with the two men. He leaned forward angrily.

"I am
appalled that two such good, upright men should have come before me
with such a—a petty squabble. Both of you should feel deeply
shamed that you let things come to this."

Both men lowered
their heads, chastened. The hall was deathly silent as Judge Hong
continued.

"Good. In
the circumstances I fine you each five hundred
yuan
for
wasting the time of this tribunal." He looked at the two men
sternly, "if I hear any more of this matter I shall have you
before us again. And that, I guarantee you,
chun tzu,
will be
to neither of your likings."

The two
"gentlemen" bowed deeply and thanked the court, then went
meekly to the clerk to pay their fines.

T'ai Cho turned
to his pupil. "Well, Kim? Do you still think the Han way so
bad?"

Kim looked down,
embarrassed. T'ai Cho's discovery had made things difficult between
them. It would have been easier had he been able to say, No.
I
did not invent the world you read about,
but sometimes the
truth was stranger than a lie and far harder to accept.

"I have
never thought the Han way a bad way, T'ai Cho. Whatever you believe,
I find you a highly civilized people."

T'ai Cho stared
at him a moment, then shrugged and looked back down into the body of
the hall. The crowd had dispersed now and only the five elders
remained, talking among themselves and tying up any remaining items
of business. T'ai Cho considered a moment, then smiled and looked
back at Kim.

"There are
no prisons in Chung Kuo. Did you realize that, Kim? If a man wishes
to behave badly he may do so, but not among those who wish to behave
well. Such a man must find his own level. He is demoted."

He paused, then
nodded to himself. "It is a humane system,

Kim. The most
severe penalties are reserved for crimes against the person. We might
be traders, but our values are not wholly venal."

Kim sighed. It
was a direct reference to something in the file— to the greedy
and corrupt Hoi Po, or Hoppos, as the Europeans knew them, who had
run the Canton trade in the nineteenth century. He had not meant his
comment to stand for all the Han, but saw how T'ai Cho could easily
mistake it for such.

Damn Matyas! he
thought. And damn the man who left the files for me to find and piece
together!

T'ai Cho
continued. "There are exceptions, naturally. Treason against the
T'ang, for instance, is punishable by death. The traitor and all his
family, to the third generation. But ours is a fair system, Kim. It
works for those who wish it to work. For others there are other
levels of existence. In Chung Kuo a man must find his own level. Is
that not fair?"

He was tempted
to argue, to ask whether it was fair for those born into the Net, or
into the Clay like himself, but after all the damage he had done with
the file he felt it would be churlish to disagree. He looked past
T'ai Cho at the elders. "What I saw today. That seemed fair,
T'ai Cho." T'ai Cho looked at Kim and smiled. It was not a full
capitulation, but still, there was good in the boy. A great deal of
good. When he smiled, for instance, it was such a fierce, sincere
smile—a smile from the very depths of him. T'ai Cho sniffed and
nodded to himself. He realized now he had taken it too personally.
Yes, he understood it now. Kim had been talking of systems. Of
philosophies. He had let the abstract notion carry him away. Even so,
he had been wrong.

"About the
files, Kim. I had to tell the Director." Kim looked across at
him, his eyes narrowed. "And?" T'ai Cho lowered his head.
"And he has ordered their destruction, I'm afraid. We must
forget they ever were. Understand?" Kim laughed, then bowed his
head. "I am ordered to forget?" Tai Cho looked up at him,
sudden understanding in his eyes. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
"Why, yes. I never thought. . ."

Forget, Kim
thought, then laughed again, a deep, hearty laughter. As if I could
forget.

THE
BIG MAN came at Chen like an automaton, swinging and punching,
kicking and butting, making Chen duck and bob and jump to evade the
furious rain-of blows. Back and back he was pushed until his
shoulders thudded painfully against the wall. He ducked, then kicked
off from the wall, head first, aiming for the stomach of the big man.
But he was too slow. The big man parried him, linking both hands to
form a shield and thrust him down onto the floor. Then, before Chen
could get his breath, he was yanked up by one huge hand and pinned
against the wall.

Chen chopped
down against the arm desperately, but it was like hitting an iron
bar. The arm quivered but held him firm. Chen swallowed and met the
big man's eyes, conscious of the power there, the control.

The big man drew
back his free arm, his fist forming a phoenix eye—a
feng
huang yen ching
—the knuckle of the first finger extended,
ready to strike and shatter Chen's skull.

Chen closed his
eyes, then laughed. "It's no good, my friend. I have no counter
to your strength and skill."

Karr held him
there a moment longer, his fist poised as if to strike, then relaxed,
letting Chen slide down onto the floor again.

"Then we
must work at it until you do."

Chen squatted on
his haunches, getting his breath. He looked up at Karr, smiling now.
"I can't see why. There's only one of you, Shih Karr. And you're
on my side. For which I thank the gods."

Karr's sternness
evaporated. "Maybe now, Chen, but one day they'll make machines
like me. I guarantee it. Things like those copies that came from
Mars. Even now, I'd warrant, they're working on them somewhere. I'd
rather find an answer now than wait for them to come, wouldn't you,
Kao Chen?"

They had spent
the morning working out extensively, first with stick and sword and
spear—
kuai chang shu, too shu,
and ch'iang shu—then
with their bare hands, concentrating on the "Hand of the
Wind"—
feng
shou
kung fu
—style that
Karr favored. It was the first time the two men had seen each other
in several months and they had enjoyed the friendly tussle, but
Kan-had not asked Chen here simply to polish his skills.

After they had
showered they sat in the refectory, a large jug of hot sweet almond
ch'a
on the table between them—a delicacy Chen's wife,
Wang Ti, had introduced them to.

"How is
young Jyan?" Karr asked. "I've meant to visit, but the Tang
has kept me busy these past months."

Chen smiled and
bowed his head slightly, but his eyes lit at the mention of his son.
"Jyan is well. Only four and already he knows all the stances.
You should see how well he executes the kou shift. Such balance he
has! And when he kicks he really kicks! You should see the bruises on
my legs!"

Karr laughed.
"And Wang Ti?"

Chen looked
down, his smile broadening. "Wang Ti is Wang Ti. Like the sun,
she is there each morning. Like the moon she shines brilliantly at
night."

Again the big
man laughed, then grew quiet. "I hear you have news, Chen. The
very best of news."

Chen looked up,
surprised, then smiled broadly. "Who told you, Shih Karr? Who
ruined my moment? I wanted to tell you myself!"

Karr tilted his
head. "Well. . . let's just say I heard, eh? You know me, Chen.
There's little that escapes my notice."

"Or your
grasp!"

Both men
laughed.

"Anyway,"
said Karr, lifting his bowl in salute, "here's to your second
child! May he be strong and healthy!"

Chen raised his
bowl. "Thank you, my friend." He sipped, then looked
directly at Karr. "This is very pleasant, Shih Karr. We do this
too little these days. But tell me, why am I here? Is there a job for
me? Something you want me to do?"

Karr smiled.
"There might be."

"Might be?
Why only might?"

The big man
looked down, then reached across and filled his bowl again. "I’ve
a lead on DeVore. I think I know where he is."

Chen laughed,
astonished. "DeVore? We've found him?"

"Maybe.
I've trailed him three years since he evaded us at Nanking spaceport.
Three years, Chen. I've tracked down eight of the ten men who helped
him get away that day, but not one of them knew a thing, not one of
them helped me get a fraction closer to the man I wanted. But now
things have changed—now I think I have him."

Chen frowned.
"Then what's the problem? Why don't you just go in and finish
him off?"

Karr sniffed
deeply. "It's difficult. The T'ang wants him alive, you see. He
wants DeVore to stand trial. If possible to provide us with
conclusive evidence against the other Dispersionists."

"I see.
Even so, what stops you from taking him?"

"The House.
The stink they would make if we went in and took the wrong man."

Chen shook his
head. Still he didn't understand.

"The man we
believe to be DeVore is an overseer. Understand me, Chen? On one of
the big East European plantations. And that's a House appointment. If
we go barging in there mistakenly, the Dispersionists would have a
field day attacking us for our heavy-handedness. And things are
critical at the moment. The House is finely balanced and the Seven
daren't risk that balance, even for DeVore. So we must be certain
this Overseer Bergson is our man."

"How
certain?"

"As certain
as a retinal print could make us."

Chen looked down
into his ch'a and laughed. "And how do we do that?" He
looked back up at Karr. "Do you think DeVore will sit there
calmly while we check him out?"

Karr hesitated,
then he gave a tiny laugh and nodded, meeting his friend's eyes
again. "Maybe. Maybe that's
just
what he'll do. You see,
Chen, that's where I thought you might come in."

TOLONEN watched
his nine-year-old daughter run from the sea, her head thrown back,
exhilarated. Behind her the waves broke white on the dark sand.
Beyond, the distant islands were dim shapes of green and brown in the
haze. Jelka stood there at the water's edge, smoothing her small,
delicate hands through her hair. Long, straight hair like her
mother's, darkened by the water. Her pure white costume showed off
her winter tan, her body sleek, childlike.

She saw him
there and smiled as she came up the beach toward him. He was sitting
on the wide, shaded patio, the breakfast things still on the table
before him. The Han servant had yet to come and clear it all away. He
set down his book, returning her smile.

"What's it
like?" he called to her as she came near.

"Wonderful!"
Her laughter rippled in the air. "You should join me. It would
do you good."

"Well. . ."
He shrugged. Maybe he would.

She sprawled in
the lounger opposite him. A young animal, comfortable in her body.
Unselfconscious. He looked at her, conscious more than ever that she
was the image of her mother. Especially now, like this.

He had met her
mother on an island much like this. On the far side of the world from
where he now sat. One summer almost thirty years before.

He had been a
general even then. The youngest in the service of the Seven and the
ablest. He had gone to Goteborg to see his father's sister, Hanna. In
those days he made the trip twice a year, mindful of the fact that
Hanna had looked after him those times his mother had been ill.