Kim smiled. "No. I think we've waited long enough."

THE MADMAN WALKED through the market quickly, his head back, his shouts, his manic whoops of laughter, carrying above the normal hubbub of the place. Emily, sitting alone at one of the tables in the Blue Pagoda, turned to watch him pass, then frowned and sipped from her half-empty chung. A madman was a common sight these days. Then again, it was a wonder they weren't all mad, things being as they were.

She sighed, then looked back at the documents she'd been reading. So many things she'd seen these past ten years-so many awful, dreadful things-but this was by far the worst. And the most awful aspect of it was that it proved the old men-the Seven and their servants- right, for such a thing would never have been thought of before the Edict had been relaxed. Now it was almost commonplace. Almost . . .

for thank the gods there were still some people with a shred of decency-of humanity-left in them.

Emily closed the file with a shudder. Tonight they would hit the place. Oberon's it was called, a club up on the Twenty-fifth level of the fashionable Augsburg stack, the haunt of the super-elite of the First Level, the "Above-the-Above," as they called themselves, the "Supernal."

It would not be easy, for the place had its own guards-ex-Security, for the most part-and a state-of-the-art laser defense system, but it could be done. And they would do it, whatever the cost.

She finished her ch'a, then set the chung down, recalling the difficulty she'd had getting Pasek to agree.

He had been against it, wanting to carry on with his petty wars against his rivals, but she had put her foot down, insisting on this as a price of her continued loyalty, and he had given in. But if she fucked up ...

Emily laughed quietly, then looked up, signaling for Yu I to bring more ch'a.What did it matter if she fucked up-if she didn't get out of there alive? At least she would have done something. At least she would have sent a warning to these monsters that they couldn't do such things without paying the price.

Her smile faded, the anger burning in her again. They thought their money made them immune. They thought that it lifted them above all human decency. But she would teach them otherwise.

Yu I brought back a fresh-filled chung and set it beside her with a bow, taking away the empty. She watched him go, knowing it might be the last time she would witness the sight. The thought didn't upset her. Rather, it lifted her. These past few weeks had been like a dream; she had been going through the motions like a hireling, but now she had a chance to act, to do something real, and that made her feel alive again.

She looked up at the cages overhead. The birds were quiet, dozing on their perches, like old men in the late afternoon. She smiled, then tensed, feeling a hand on her shoulder. Two men slipped onto the bench either side of her, hemming her in.

"Rachel . . ." the one to her left said. "We were told we'd find you here."

She turned, meeting his dark Han eyes. "What do you want, Ts'ao Wu?"

Ts'ao Wu smiled unpleasantly and looked past her to his companion, a tall, shaven-headed Hung Mao named Peters. Both were Hand. Both were cell leaders. Both, as far as she knew, were Pasek's men.

"We've had enough," Ts'ao Wu said quietly, his face close to hers, his bad breath making her want to choke. "This new spate of killings * . . these cruci/jxions. They've gone too far."

"Yes," Peters said, leaning in from the other side. "And we want to know what you're going to do about it?"

"Do?" She sat back slightly. "I don't intend to do anything. You don't like what's happening, you speak to Pasek. ... Or leave the Hand."

Ts'ao Wu laughed sourly, his pocked face humorless. "The only way you leave the Hand is through the Oven Man's door. You know that. So I ask again. What are you going to do?"

She looked down at her untouched chung. "You don't like what Pasek's doing?"

Ts'ao Wu turned and spat on the floor, then looked back at her, raising the middle finger of his left hand.

"That to his great 'crusade.' That to his talk of the One God and Judgment Day!"

"The man's mad," Peters said, his face glowing strangely. "He's gone too far. We have to stop him before he destroys the Hand entirely."

"Or changes it?"

Her comment caught them off-guard. She saw them exchange looks, and knew suddenly that they were serious. For a moment she had thought this a trap, an attempt by Pasek to test her loyalty, but that brief eye exchange-revealing, as it did, their uncertainty, their sudden fear that they had miscalculated-told her she'd been wrong. Setting aside personal dislike, she put her arms about their shoulders and drew them in, looking from one to the other, her voice a whisper.

"I understand. I ... share some of your fears. But now is not the time. We must plan things carefully.

Make soundings. See how deep the current of mistrust runs."She saw once more the uncertainty in their faces and squeezed their shoulders as if to reassure them.

"It will not be easy, but it can be done. You must be watchful, brothers. Sensitive to the moods and expressions of your fellow Hand members. And patient. You must approach only those whose eyes and gestures reveal their . . . unhappiness."

"But Pasek-"

"Pasek sees only what he wants to see. Likewise his lieutenants. They are like blind men, neh? They see only what he wants them to see, say what he wishes them to say. That is their weakness. We need not fear them. We need fear only ourselves. So go to it. But carefully."

Emily took her arms from their shoulders, then leaned between them to take the file. She stood, stepping out from the bench.

"And you?" Peters asked, both men turning to look up at her. "What will you be doing?"

"Me?" Her smile was like a hawk's, fierce and cold. "Don't worry about me, brothers. When the time comes, I shall be there for you. Yes, and Pasek will rue the day he let me live."

If I survive, that is, she thought, turning away. If I get out ofOberoris alive.

JELKA STOOD BEFORE the full-length mirror, holding out the voluminous folds of the lilac ball dress and frowning at herself.

It's not me, she thought, wondering how her mother had felt about wearing it. But then, her mother had not been brought up by the T'ang's General. Her mother had had a normal childhood, been a normal woman.

She grimaced at her reflection, then, lifting her arms, twirled about, as she had seen dancers do on the trivee.

No. It was grotesque. Utterly grotesque. How could she possibly wear such a thing in front of people?

The very thought of it made her want to crawl away and hide.

"Jelka?"

It was her father.

"Jelka? Why is the door locked? Are you all right in there?"

"I'm fine, Daddy. I won't be long."

She could hear his sigh of exasperation through the door.

"Okay," he said. "But our first guests will be arriving anytime now. You ought to be at the door to greet them."

"I'll be there. Just give me a minute."

She listened to his footsteps fade, then let out her breath. What was she to do? What on earth was she to do?

If she didn't wear it he would be upset. He would think it an insult to her mother's memory. But if she did . . .She sighed. Aiya! Why hadn't she tried it on before? Why hadn't she faced this problem weeks ago and settled it then?

Perhaps because she'd known what a fuss her father would make. These past few weeks she had avoided arguing with him, afraid to give him any excuse to cancel the party. But now she had to face it.

"Shit!" she said, making a face at her image. Was this really how she wanted Kim to see her? Was this-this garish, silly image of silk and lace and bows-really what he'd been waiting seven years to see?

"It isn't me," she moaned softly. "Can't you see that, Daddy? It simply isn't me!"

But he wasn't there to answer her. This one she'd have to sort out by herself. She blew out a long breath.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!"

From the front of the Mansion she heard the summons bell sound. The first guests were at the gate. Their sedan would be making its way up the drive even now.

Jelka glared at herself, then, turning side-on to her image, stuck out her tongue.

"If he laughs, I'll cut him dead!" she said defiantly. "If he laughs . . ."

THE HOURS PASSED, the guests arrived, and after a while her sense of self-consciousness began to fade, blurring into a kind of numbness in which she laughed and smiled and mouthed inoffensive answers to questions from people she barely knew. And yet all the while, beneath it all, some part of her was kept separate. Every time the summons bell sounded she would look to the entrance arch expectantly, her stomach muscles tensed, only for her hopes to be dashed.

Now it was after nine, and still he hadn't come.

Where ore you, Kim Ward? she asked herself anxiously. Why aren't you here?

"Jelka? You look wonderful. That dress. Why, it looks marvelous on you. . . ."

Jelka turned, for a moment not recognizing the luxuriously dressed young woman who stood before her.

Then she put her hand to her mouth in surprise. "Yi Pang-chou?"

The woman beamed and reached out to take her arm, leaning close in a familiar manner. "It's Madam Heng now. I married the Minister three years ago ... or hadn't you heard?"

"No, I ..." Jelka laughed, embarrassed, wondering vaguely what had happened to her first husband.

"Anyway, how are you, Pang-chou? It's ages since I last saw you."

"Seven years," Madam Heng said, straightening up. Her peacock-blue silks looked fabulously expensive and a small fortune in jewelry rested on her fingers and about her wrists and neck. She had obviously married well the second time around.

"And your children? Are they well?"

"Very well, thank you. I have five now. ..."

"Five. . . ." Jelka stared at her, stunned, then nodded vaguely. Yet it made sense. Pang-chou had married and had her first child even before they left College. So had many of her friends. As she was finding out, the anomaly lay not in them, but in herself. She alone of her schoolfriends was unmarried, childless.

She turned, glancing at the door."Bachman's here," Madam Heng continued. "You remember Lothar Bachman? He's a Captain now.

They say he'll make Major within the next two years."

Jelka looked back at her. Bachman? Now, where had she heard that name? Then it hit her. She stared at Heng Pang-chou, alarmed. "You mean . . . ?"

"Didn't you realize?"

She shook her head. "My father must have invited him. I ..."

Bachman. He'd been the cadet officer at the College Graduation Ball who'd tried to kiss her-the young man whose legs and arms she had broken. . . .

Jelka swallowed, then bowed her head slightly. "Forgive me, Heng Pang-chou, but I have to see to something. I'll speak to you later."

She moved away, making for the entrance arch, nodding and smiling as she went, noticing, once again, the young man who seemed to have been shadowing her all night.

Probably Security, she thought. Something my father's arranged.

Outside in the corridor it was cooler. Smiling at a pair of guests who had just arrived, she went across to the House Steward, Huang Peng, who stood beside the great outer doors welcoming each guest.

"Has he come yet?"

"Shih Ward?" Steward Huang looked across at his assistant, who hastily consulted a list, then shook his head. The Steward turned back and bowed. "I am afraid not, Nu Shi Tolonen."

"Has he sent a message?"

"We have heard nothing, Mistress. Should I . . . ?"

"No."

She turned away. He was late, that was all. He would be here soon. If he loved her he would be here.

For a moment she hesitated, hearing the great swell of voices from the Reception Hall, then turned to the right, making for her rooms. Ten minutes. No one would miss her for ten minutes. But she had to know.

The uncertainty was driving her mad.

As she reached her door she heard soft footsteps behind her. She whirled about.

"You? What do you want?"

"I . . ." The young man gave a nervous bow, then swept his hair back from his eyes and offered her a smile. "My name is Emil. Emil Bartels. I-"

"Did my father send you?"

He hesitated, then nodded. She sighed. A soldier. He looked every inch a soldier.

She put a hand up. "Okay. It's not your fault. Come in. You can wait in the outer room. There's something I must do."

She went inside, not looking to see if he followed. Going through to her study, she went behind the deskand sat, the folds of the gown getting in her way. Cursing, she arranged the dress beneath her, getting herself comfortable, then leaned forward, switching on the comset.

She knew the code. As soon as she'd heard he'd bought the Mansion, she had made it her business to discover it. But she had never used it before now. Never dared.

What if he isn't coming? What if he's ill?

But he wasn't ill. She knew that. If he'd been ill, he would have sent a message. So what was keeping him? Why hadn't he come?

She took a deep breath, then pressed out the coded sequence. As the screen rose from the desk to face her, she sat back a little, trying to compose herself, to steel herself against the possibility of rejection, but her hands were trembling now and her mouth had gone dry at the thought of actually talking to him.

There was a moment's hesitation and then a face appeared. A young Han face, female, very pretty.

"Nu Shi Tolonen?"