The Broken Wheel

by David Wingrove

  ‘Forgive me, Fu Jen, but have you a reserved ticket for that seat?’

  She turned, straightening up, then held out her ticket for inspection, looking the man up and down as she did so. He was a squat, broad-shouldered Han with one of those hard, anonymous faces some of them had. She knew what he was at once. One of those minor officials who gloried in their pettiness.

  He made a great pretence of studying her ticket, turning it over then turning it back. His eyes flicked up to her face, took in her clothes, her lack of jewellery, before returning to her face again – the disdain in them barely masked. He shook his head.

  ‘If you would follow me, Fu Jen…’

  He turned, making his way back down the aisle towards the cramped third- and fourth-class seats at the tail of the rocket, but she stood where she was, her stomach tightening, anticipating the tussle to come.

  Realizing that she wasn’t following him, he came back, his whole manner suddenly, quite brutally, antagonistic.

  ‘You must come, Fu Jen. These seats are reserved for others.’

  She shook her head. ‘I have a ticket.’

  He tucked the ticket down into the top pocket of his official tunic. ‘Forgive me, Fu Jen, but there has been a mistake. As I said, these seats are reserved. Paid for in advance.’

  The emphasis on the last few words gave his game away. For a moment she had thought that this might be DeVore’s final little game with her, but now she knew. The steward was out to extract some squeeze from her. To get her to pay for what was already rightfully hers. She glared at him, despising him, then turned and sat. If he just so much as tried to make her budge…

  He leaned over her, angry now. ‘Fu Jen! You must move! Now! At once! Or I will call the captain!’

  She was about to answer him when a hand appeared on the steward’s shoulder and drew him back sharply.

  It was a big man. A Hung Mao. He pushed the Han steward back unceremoniously, a scathing look of contempt on his face. ‘Have you left your senses, man? The lady has paid for her seat. Now return her ticket and leave her alone, or I’ll report you to the port authorities – understand me, hsiao jen?’

  The steward opened his mouth then closed it again, seeing the Security warrant card the man was holding out. Lowering his eyes, he took the ticket from his pocket and handed it across.

  ‘Good!’ The man handed it to her with a smile then turned back. ‘Now get lost, you little fucker. If I so much as see you in this section during the flight…’

  The Han swallowed and backed away hurriedly.

  The man turned back, looking at her. ‘I’m sorry about that. They always try it on. A single woman, travelling alone. Your kind is usually good for fifty yuan at least.’

  She looked at her ticket, a small shudder of indignation passing through her, then looked back at him, smiling. ‘Thank you. I appreciate your help, but I would have been all right.’

  He nodded. ‘Maybe. But a mutual friend asked me to look after you.’

  ‘Ah…’ She narrowed her eyes then tilted her head slightly, indicating the warrant card he still held in one hand. ‘And that’s real?’

  He laughed. ‘Of course. Look, can I sit for a moment? There are one or two things we need to sort out.’

  She hesitated then gave a small nod. No strings, eh? But it was just as she’d expected. She had known all along that DeVore would have some reason for helping her out.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, turning in her seat to study him as he sat down beside her.

  ‘These…’ He handed her a wallet and a set of cards. The cards were in the name of Rachel DeValerian; the wallet contained a set of references for Mary Jennings, including the documentation for a degree in economics, and a letter of introduction to Michael Lever, the director of a company called MemSys. A letter dated two days from then.

  She looked up at him. ‘I don’t understand.’

  He smiled. ‘You’ll need a job over there. Well, the Levers will have a vacancy for an economist on their personal staff. As of tomorrow.’

  How do you know? she was going to ask, but his smile was answer enough. If DeVore said there was going to be a vacancy, there would be a vacancy. But why the Levers? And what about the other identity?

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked, holding out the DeValerian cards.

  He shrugged. ‘I’m only the messenger. Our friend said you would know what to do with them.’

  ‘I see.’ She studied them a moment then put them away. Then DeVore meant her to set up her own movement. To recruit. She smiled and looked up again. ‘What else?’

  He returned her smile, briefly covering her left hand with his right. ‘Nothing. But I’ll be back in a second if you need me. Enjoy the flight.’ He stood. ‘Okay. See you in Boston.’

  ‘Boston? I thought we were going to New York?’

  He shook his head then leaned forward. ‘Hadn’t you heard? New York is closed. Wu Shih is holding an emergency meeting of the Seven and there’s a two-hundred-li exclusion zone about Manhattan.’

  She frowned. ‘I didn’t know. What’s up?’

  He laughed then leaned forward and touched his finger to the panel on the seatback in front of her. At once the screen lit up, showing a scene of devastation.

  ‘There!’ he said. ‘That’s what’s up.’

  The two men sat on the high wall of the dyke as the dawn came, looking out across the flat expanse of blackened fields, watching the figures move almost somnolently in the darkness below. The tart smell of burned crops seemed to taint every breath they took, despite the filters both wore. They were dressed in the uniform of reserve corps volunteers, and though only one of the two wore it legitimately, it would have been hard to tell which.

  Great palls of smoke lifted above the distant horizon, turning the dawn light ochre, while, two li out, a convoy of transporters sped westwards, heading back towards the safety of the City.

  DeVore smiled and sat back. He took a pack of mint drops from his top pocket and offered one to his companion. Mach looked at the packet a moment then took one. For a while both men were quiet, contemplating the scene, then Mach spoke.

  ‘What now?’

  DeVore met Mach’s eyes. ‘Now we melt away. Like ghosts.’

  Mach smiled. ‘And then?’

  ‘Then nothing. Not for a long time. You go underground. Recruit. Build your movement up again. I’ll provide whatever finance you need. But you must do nothing. Not until we’re ready.’

  ‘And the Seven?’

  DeVore looked down. ‘The Seven will look to strengthen their defences. But they will have to spread themselves thin. Too thin, perhaps. Besides, they’ve their own problems. There’s a split in Council.’

  Mach stared at the other man a moment, wide-eyed, wondering, as he had so often lately, how DeVore came to know so much. And why it was that such a man should want to fight against the Seven.

  ‘Why do you hate them so much?’

  DeVore looked back at him. ‘Why do you?’

  ‘Because the world they’ve made is a prison. For everyone. But especially for those lower down.’

  ‘And you care about that?’

  Mach nodded. ‘Out here… this is real, don’t you think? But that inside…’ He shuddered and looked away, his eyes going off to the horizon. ‘Well, it’s never made sense to me, why human beings should have to live like that. Penned in like meat-animals. Hemmed in by rules. Sorted by money into their levels. I always hated it. Even when I was a child of five or six. And I used to feel so impotent about it.’

  ‘But not now?’

  ‘No. Not now. Now I’ve a direction for my anger.’

  They were silent again then Mach turned his head, looking at DeVore. ‘What of Ascher?’

  DeVore shook his head. ‘She’s vanished. I thought we had her, but she slipped through our fingers. She’s good, you know.’

  Mach smiled. ‘Yes. She was always the best of us. Even Gesell realized that. But she was inflexible. She was always l
etting her idealism get in the way of practicalities. It was inevitable that she’d break with us.’

  ‘So what will you do?’

  ‘Do? Nothing. Oh, I’ll cover my back, don’t worry. But if I know our Emily, she’ll have found some way of getting out of City Europe. She was always talking of setting up somewhere else – of spreading our influence. She’s a good organizer. I’d wager good money we’ll hear from her again.’

  DeVore smiled, thinking of her – at that very moment – on the jet to America, and of her left index finger, frozen in its medical case, heading out for Mars. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We shall. I’m sure we shall.’

  They stood there on the high stone balcony, the seven great lords of Chung Kuo, the sky a perfect blue overhead, the early morning sunlight glistening from the imperial yellow of their silks. Below them the great garden stretched away, flanked by the two great rivers, the whole enclosed within a single, unbroken wall, its lakes and pagodas, its tiny woods and flower beds, its bridges and shaded walkways a pleasure to behold. A curl of red stone steps, shaped like a dragon’s tail, led down. Slowly, their talk a low murmur barely discernible above the call of the caged birds in the trees, they made their way down, Wu Shih, their host, leading the way.

  At the foot of the steps he turned, looking back. Beyond the gathered T’ang his palace sat atop its artificial mound, firmly embedded, as if it had always been there, its pure white walls topped with steep roofs of red tile, the whole great structure capped by a slender six-storey pagoda that stood out, silhouetted against the sky. He nodded, satisfied, then put out his arm, inviting his cousins into his garden.

  There was the soft tinkling of pagoda bells in the wind, the scent of jasmine and forsythia, of gardenia and chrysanthemum wafting to them through the great moon door in the wall. They stepped through, into another world – a world of ancient delights, of strict order made to seem like casual occurrence, of a thousand shades of green contrasted against the grey of stone, the white of walls, the red of tile. It was, though Wu Shih himself made no such claim, the greatest garden in Chung Kuo – the Garden of Supreme Excellence – formed of a dozen separate gardens, each modelled on a famous original.

  Their business was done, agreement reached as to the way ahead. Now it was time to relax, to unburden themselves, and where better than here where symmetry and disorder, artistry and chance, met in such perfect balance?

  Wu Shih looked about him, immensely pleased. The garden had been built by his great-great-grandfather, but, like his father and his father’s father, he had made his own small changes to the original scheme, extending the garden to the north, so that it now filled the whole of the ancient island of Manhattan.

  ‘It is a beautiful garden, cousin,’ Wang Sau-leyan said, turning to him and smiling pleasantly. ‘There are few pleasures as sweet in life as that derived from a harmoniously created garden.’

  Wu Shih smiled, surprised for the second time that morning at Wang Sau-leyan. It was as if he were a changed man, all rudeness, all abrasiveness gone from his manner. Earlier, in Council, he had gone out of his way to assure Li Shai Tung of his support, even pre-empting Wei Feng’s offer of help by giving Li Shai Tung a substantial amount of grain from his own reserves. The generosity of the offer had surprised them all and had prompted a whole spate of spontaneous offers. The session had ended with the seven of them grinning broadly, their earlier mood of despondency cast aside, their sense of unity rebuilt. They were Seven again. Seven.

  Wu Shih reached out and touched the young T’ang’s arm. ‘If there is heaven on earth it is here, in the garden.’

  Wang Sau-leyan gave the slightest bow of his head, as if in deference to Wu Shih’s greater age and experience. Again Wu Shih found himself pleased by the gesture. Perhaps they had been mistaken about Wang Sauleyan. Perhaps it was only youth and the shock of his father’s murder, his brother’s suicide, that had made him so. That and the uncertainty of things.

  Wang Sau-leyan turned, indicating the ancient, rusted sign bolted high up on the trunk of a nearby juniper.

  ‘Tell me, Wu Shih. What is the meaning of that sign? All else here is Han. But that…’

  ‘That?’ Wu Shih laughed softly, drawing the attention of the other T’ang. ‘That is a joke of my great-great-grandfather’s, cousin Wang. You see, before he built this garden, part of the greatest city of the Americans sat upon this site. It was from here that they effectively ran their great republic of sixty-nine states. And here, where we are walking right now, was the very heart of their financial empire. The story goes that my great-great-grandfather came to see with his own eyes the destruction of their great city and that, seeing the sign, he smiled, appreciating the play on words. After all, what is more Han than a wall? Hence he ordered the sign kept. And so this path is known, even now, by its original name. Wall Street.’

  The watching T’ang smiled, appreciating the story.

  ‘We would do well to learn from them,’ Wei Feng said, reaching up to pick a leaf from the branch. He put it to his mouth and tasted it, then looked back at Wang Sau-leyan, his ancient face creased into a smile. ‘They tried too hard. Their ambition always exceeded their grasp. Like their ridiculous scheme to colonize the stars.’

  Again Wang Sau-leyan gave the slightest bow. ‘I agree, cousin. And yet we still use the craft they designed and built. Like much else they made.’

  ‘True,’ Wei Feng answered. ‘I did not say that all they did was bad. Yet they had no sense of rightness. Of balance. What they did, they did carelessly, without thought. In that respect we would do well not to be like them. It was thoughtlessness that brought their empire low.’

  ‘And arrogance,’ added Wu Shih, looking about him. ‘But come. Let us move on. I have arranged for ch’a to be served in the pavilion beside the lake. There will be entertainments, too.’

  There were smiles at that. It had been some time since they had had the chance for such indulgences. Wu Shih turned, leading them along the lang, the covered walkway, then up a twist of wooden steps and out on to a broad gallery above a concealed lake.

  A low wooden balustrade was raised on pillars above a tangle of sculpted rock, forming a square about the circle of the lake, the wood painted bright red, the pictogram for immortality cut into it in a repeated pattern. The broad, richly green leaves of lotus choked the water, while, in a thatched ting on the far side of the lake, a group of musicians began to play, the ancient sound drifting across to where the Seven sat.

  Li Shai Tung sat back in his chair, looking about him at his fellow T’ang. For the first time in months the cloud had lifted from his spirits, the tightness in his stomach vanished. And he was not alone, he could see that now. They all seemed brighter; refreshed and strengthened by the morning’s events. So it was. So it had to be. He had not realized how important it was before now; had not understood how much their strength depended on them being of a single mind. And now that Wang Sau-leyan had come to his senses they would be strong again. It was only a matter of will.

  He looked across at the young T’ang of Africa, and smiled. ‘I am grateful for your support, cousin Wang. If there is something I might do for you in return?’

  Wang Sau-leyan smiled and looked about him, his broad face momentarily the image of his father’s when he had been younger, then he looked down. It was a gesture of considerable modesty. ‘In the present circumstances it is enough that we help each other, neh?’ He looked up, meeting Li Shai Tung’s eyes. ‘I am a proud man, Li Shai Tung, but not too proud to admit it when I have been wrong – and I was wrong about the threat from the Ping Tiao. If my offer helps make amends, I am satisfied.’

  Li Shai Tung looked about him, a smile of intense satisfaction lighting his face. He turned back to the young T’ang, nodding. ‘Your kind words refresh me, cousin Wang. There is great wisdom in knowing when one is wrong. Indeed, I have heard it called the first step on the path to true benevolence.’

  Wang Sau-leyan lowered his head but said nothing. For a while the
y were quiet, listening to the ancient music. Servants moved among them, serving ch’a and sweetmeats, their pale green silks blending with the colours of the garden.

  ‘Beautiful,’ said Tsu Ma, when it had finished. There was a strange wistfulness to his expression. ‘It is some time since I heard that last piece played so well.’

  ‘Indeed…’ began Wu Shih, then stopped, turning as his Chancellor appeared at the far end of the gallery. ‘Come, Fen…’ he said, signalling him to come closer. ‘What is it?’

  Fen Cho-hsien stopped some paces from his T’ang, bowing to each of the other T’ang in turn before facing his master again and bowing low. ‘I would not have bothered you, Chieh Hsia, but an urgent message has just arrived. It seems that Lord Li’s general has been taken ill.’

  Li Shai Tung leaned forward anxiously. ‘Nocenzi, ill? What in the gods’ names is wrong with him?’

  Fen turned, facing Li Shai Tung, lowering his eyes. ‘Forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but no one seems to know. It seems, however, that he is extremely ill. And not just him, but his wife and children, too. Indeed, if the report is accurate, his wife is already dead, and two of his children.’

  Li Shai Tung looked down, groaning softly. Gods, was there no end to this? He looked up again, tears in his eyes, the tightness returned to his stomach.

  ‘You will forgive me, cousins, if I return at once?’

  There was a murmur of sympathy. All eyes were on the old T’ang, noting his sudden frailty, the way his shoulders hunched forward at this latest calamity. But it was Wang Sau-leyan who rose and helped him from his chair; who walked with him, his arm about his shoulder, to the steps.

  Li Shai Tung turned, looking up into the young T’ang’s face, holding his arm briefly, gratefully. ‘Thank you, Sau-leyan. You are your father’s son.’ Then he turned back, going down the twist of steps, letting Wu Shih’s Chancellor lead him, head bowed, back down Wall Street to the dragon steps and his waiting craft.

  Kim woke and lay there in the darkness, strangely alert, listening. For a moment he didn’t understand. There was nothing. Nothing at all. Then he shivered. Of course… That was it. The silence was too perfect. There was always some noise or other from the corridors outside, but just now there was nothing.