The Middle Kingdom (81 page)

Berdichev
nodded.

"Then I for
one am glad to do so. But what of the copy we make? What should we do
with it? Keep it safe?"

Berdichev
smiled, meeting his friend's eyes. Ross knew. He had seen it already.
"You will pass your copy on. To a man you trust like a brother.
As I trust you. He, in his turn, will make another copy and pass it
on to one he trusts. And so on, forging a chain, until there are many
who know. And then . . ." He sat back. "Well, then you will
see what will happen. But this—this here tonight—is the
beginning of it. We are the first. From here the seed goes out. But
harvesttime will come, I promise you all. Harvesttime will come."

"Hung MAo
or Han, what does it matter? They're Above. They despise us
Clayborn."

The three boys
were sitting on the edge of the pool, their feet swung out over the
water.

Kim was looking
down into the mirror of the water, his eyes tracing the patterns of
the stars reflected from the Tun Huang map overhead. He had been
silent for some while, listening to the others speak, but now he
interrupted them.

"I know
what you mean, Anton, but it's not always like that. There are some .
. ."

"Like Chan
Shui?"

Kim nodded. He
had told them what had happened in the Casting Shop. "Yes, like
Chan Shui."

Anton laughed.
"You probably amuse him. Either that or he thinks that he can
benefit somehow by looking after you. As for liking you . . ." '

Kim shook his
head. "No. It's not like that. Chan Shui—"

Josef cut in.
"Be honest, Kim. They hate us. I mean, what has this Chan Shui
done that's really cost him anything? He's stood up to a bully. Fine.
And that's impressed you. That and all that claptrap T'ai Cho has fed
you about Han justice. But it's all a sham. All of it. It's like
Anton says. He's figured you must be important—something
special—and he's reckoned that if he looks after you there
might be something in it for him."

Again Kim shook
his head. "You don't understand. You really don't."

Anton laughed
dismissively. "We understand, Kim. But it seems like you're
going to have to leam it the hard way. They don't want us, Kim. Not
for ourselves, anyway—only for what we are. They use us like
machines, and if we malfunction they throw us away. That's the truth
of the matter."

Kim shrugged.
There was a kind of truth to that, but it wasn't the whole truth. He
thought of Matyas and Janko. What distinguished them? They were both
bullies. It had not mattered to Matyas that he, Kim, was Clay like
himself. No. Nor was it anything Kim had done to him. It was simply
that he was different. So it was with Janko. But to some that
difference did not matter. T'ai Cho for instance, and Chan Shui. And
there would be others, he was sure of it.

"It's them
and us," said Anton, laughing bitterly. "That's how it is,
Kim. That's how it'll always be."

"No!"
Kim was insistent now. "You're wrong. You're both wrong. Them
and us. It just isn't like that. Sometimes, yes, but not always."

Anton shook his
head. "Always. Deep down it's always there. You should ask him,
this Chan Shui. Ask him if he'd let you marry his sister."

"He hasn't
got a sister."

"You miss
my point, Kim."

Kim shivered and
looked away, unconsciously stroking the bruise on his neck. Shame and
guilt. It was always there in them, just beneath the skin. But why
did they let these things shape them? Why couldn't they break the
mold and make new creatures of themselves?

"Maybe I
miss your point, but I'd rather think well of Chan Shui than succumb
to the bleakness of your view." His voice was colder, more
hostile, than he had intended, and he regretted his words at
once—true as they were.

Anton stood up
slowly, then looked down coldly at his fellow. "Come on, Josef.
I don't think we're wanted here anymore."

"I'm sorry.
I didn't mean—"

But it was too
late. They were gone.

Kim sat there a
while longer, distressed by what had happened. But maybe it was
unavoidable. Maybe he could only have delayed the moment. Because he
was
different—even from his own kind.

He laughed.
There! He had betrayed himself: had caught himself in his own twisted
logic. For either they were all of one single kind—Han, Hung
Mao,
and Clay—or he was wrong.' And he could not be
wrong. His soul cried out not to be wrong.

He looked up at
the dull gold ceiling, stretching and easing his neck, then shivered
violently. But what if he was wrong? What if Anton was right?

"No."
He was determined. "They'll not make me think like that. Not
now. Not ever." He looked down at his clenched fists and slowly
let the anger drain from him. Then he stood and began to make his way
back. Another morning in the Casting Shop lay ahead of him.

THE MACHINE
flexed its eight limbs, then seemed to squat and hatch a chair from
nothingness.

Kim laughed. "It
seems like it's really alive sometimes." Chan Shui, balanced on
his haunches at Kim's side, turned his head to look at him, joining
in with his laughter. "I know what you mean, Kim. It's that
final little movement, isn't it?"

"An
arachnoid. That's what it is, Shui!" Kim nodded to himself,
studying the now inert machine. Then he turned and saw the puzzlement
in the older boy's face.

"It's just
a name I thought of for them. Spiders—they're arachnids. And
machines that mimic life—those are often called androids. Put
the two together and . . ."

Chan Shui's face
lit up. It was a rounded, pleasant face, A handsome, uncomplicated
face, framed by neat black hair.

Kim looked at
him a moment, wondering, then, keeping his voice low, asked the
question he had been keeping back all morning. "Do you like me,
Chan Shui?"

There was no
change in Chan Shui's face. It smiled back at him, perfectly open,
the dark eyes clear. "What an absurd question, Kim. What do you
think?"

Kim bowed his
head, embarrassed, but before he could say anything more, Chan Shui
had changed the subject.

"Do you
know what they call a spider in Han, Kim?"

Kim met his eyes
again. "Chih chu, isn't it?"

Chan Shui seemed
pleased. "That's right. But did you know that we have other,
more flowery names for them. You see, for us they have always been
creatures of good omen. When a spider lowers itself from its web they
say, 'Good luck descends from heaven.'"

Kim laughed,
delighted. "Are there many spiders where you are, Chan Shui?"

Chan shook his
head, then stood up and began examining the control panel. "There
are no spiders. Not nowadays. Only caged birds and fish in artificial
ponds." He looked back at Kim, a rueful smile returning to his
lips. "Oh, and us."

His bitterness
had been momentary, yet it was telling. No spiders? How was that?
Then Kim understood. Of course. There would be no insects of any kind
within the City proper—the quarantine gates of the Net would
see to that.

Chan Shui pulled
the tiny vial from its slot in the panel and shook it. "Looks
like weVe out of ice. I'll get some more."

Kim touched his
arm. "I'll get it, Chan Shui. Where do I go?"

The Han
hesitated, then smiled. "Okay. It's over there, on the far side.
There's a refill tank—see it?—yes, that's it. All you
have to do is take this empty vial back, slip it into the hole in the
panel at the bottom of the tank, and punch in the machine number.
This here." Chan Shui pointed out the serial number on the
arachnoid's panel. "It'll return the vial after about a minute,
full. Okay?"

Kim nodded and
set off, threading his way between the machines. Returning, he took
another, different path through the machines, imagining himself a
spider moving swiftly along the spokes of his web. He was halfway
back when he realized he had made a mistake. Chan Shui lay directly
ahead of him, but between them stood Janko, beside his machine, a
cruel smile on his face "Going somewhere, rat's ass?" He
stepped out, blocking Kim's way.

Kim slipped the
vial into the top pocket of his scholar's robe, then looked about
him. One of the big collection trays had moved along the main gangway
and now barred his way back, while to the left and right of him
stacks of freshly manufactured furniture filled the side gangways.

He looked back
at Janko, unafraid, concerned only not to break the vial. If he did
there would be a fine of a day's wages for both him and Chan Shui.
For himself he didn't mind. But for Chan Shui...

"What do
you want, Janko?"

Janko turned,
facing Chan Shui's challenge. "It's none of your business, Han!
Stay out of this!"

Chan Shui just
laughed. "None of my business, eh? Is that so, you great bag of
putrid rice? Why should you think that?"

Surprisingly
Janko ignored the insult. He turned his back on Chan Shui, then faced
Kim again. His voice barked out. "Come here, you little rat's
ass. Come here and kneel!"

Kim bent his
knees slightly, tensing, preparing to run if necessary, but there was
no need. Chan Shui had moved forward quickly, silently, and had
jumped up onto Janko's back, sending him sprawling forward.

Kim moved back
sharply.

Janko bellowed
and made to get up, but Chan Shui pulled his arm up tightly behind
his back and began to press down on it, threatening to break it.

"Now, just
leave him alone, Janko. Because next time I
will
break your
arm. And we'll blame it on one of the machines."

He gave one
last, pain-inducing little push against the arm, then let Janko go,
getting up off him.

Janko sat up,
red faced, muttering under his breath.

Chan Shui held
out his arm. "Come on, Kim. He won't touch you, I promise."

But even as Kim
made to pass Janko, Janko lashed out, trying to trip him, then
scrambled to his feet quickly, facing Chan Shui.

"Try it to
my face, chink."

Chan Shui
laughed. "Your verbal inventiveness astonishes me, Janko. Where
did you learn your English, in the singsong house where your mother
worked?"

Janko roared
angrily and rushed at Chan Shui. But the young Han had stepped aside,
and when Janko turned awkwardly, flailing out with one arm, Chan Shui
caught the arm and twisted, using Janko's weight to lift and throw
him against the machine.

Janko banged
against the control panel, winding himself, then turned his head,
frightened, as the machine reared up over him.

The watching
boys laughed, then fell silent. But Janko had heard the laughter. He
looked down, wiping his bloodied mouth, then swore under his breath.

At that moment
the door at the far end of the Casting Shop slid open and Supervisor
Nung came out. As he came down the gangway he seemed distracted, his
eyes unfocused. Coming closer he paused, smiling at Kim as if
remembering something. "Is everything okay, Chan Shui?" he
asked, seeming not to see Janko laid there against the machine.

Chan Shui bowed
his head, suppressing a smile. "Everything is fine, Supervisor
Nung."

"Good."
Nung moved on.

Back at their
machine Kim questioned him about the incident. "Is Nung okay? He
seemed odd."

Chan Shui
laughed briefly, then shook his head. "Now, there's a man who'll
be his own ruin." He looked at Kim. "Supervisor Nung has a
habit. Do you understand me, Kim?"

Kim shook his
head.

"He takes
drugs. Harmless, mainly, but I think he's getting deeper. These last
few weeks . . . Anyway, hand me that vial."

Kim passed him
the vial, then looked across, letting his eyes rest briefly on
Janko's back.

"By the
way, thanks for what you did, Shui. I appreciate it. But really, it
wasn't necessary. I'm quick. Quicker than you think. He'd never have
caught me."

Chan Shui
smiled, then looked up at him again, more thoughtful than before.
"Maybe. But I'd rather be certain. Janko's a bit of a head case.
He doesn't know quite when to stop. I'd rather he didn't get near
you, Kim. Okay?"

Kim smiled and
looked down. He felt a warmth like fire in his chest. "Okay."

"Is
everything all right?"

Kim looked up
from his desk console and nodded. "I'm a little tired, that's
all, T'ai Cho."

"Is the
work too much for you, then?"

Kim smiled. "No,
T'ai Cho. I've had a few restless nights, that's all."

"Ah."
That was unusual. T'ai Cho studied the boy a moment. He was a
handsome boy now that the feral emaciation of the Clay had gone from
his face. A good diet had worked wonders, but it could not undo the
damage of those earliest years. T'ai Cho smiled and looked back down
at the screen in front of him. What might Kim have been with a proper
diet as an infant? With the right food and proper encouragement? T'ai
Cho shuddered to think.

T'ai Cho looked
up again. "We'll leave it for now, eh, Kim.
⁷
A tired
brain is a forgetful brain." He winked. "Even in your case.
Go and have a swim. Then get to bed early. We'll take this up again
tomorrow."

When Kim had
gone, he sat there, thinking about the last week. Kim seemed to have
settled remarkably well into the routine of the Casting Shop.
Supervisor Nung was pleased with him, and Kim himself was
uncomplaining. Yet something worried T'ai Cho. There was something
happening in Kim—something deep down that perhaps even Kim
himself hadn't recognized as yet. And now this. This sleeplessness.
Well, he would watch Kim more closely for the next few days and try
to fathom what it was.

He got up and
went across to Kim's desk, then activated the memory. At once the
screen lit up.

T'ai Cho
laughed, surprised. Kim had been doodling. He had drawn a web in the
center of the screen. A fine, delicate web from which hung a single
thread which dropped off the bottom of the screen.