"Shit!" he swore, coming to a halt. He must have dropped it back at the club, or on the way here. Still, Catherine would open up. He'd wake the bitch.

He looked up and frowned. The door was open. He could see into the apartment.

"Wha . . . ?" He stepped unsteadily across, then pushed the door open wide. The hallway was empty, but there was a light on in the living room. He turned, closing the door quietly behind him, then, as quiet as he could, tiptoed exaggeratedly toward the living room door.He peeked inside, not certain what he'd find, but the room was empty. Then, as he stood there, holding on to the jamb, the baby began to cry.

"Fuck it!" he mumbled. "Where is the fucking woman?"

There was another noise beneath the baby's crying; something he couldn't quite make out. He turned, looking back into the darkened hallway, then went out, making his way along the wall toward her room.

He stood there, sniffing the air. The bitch! The fucking bitch! He knew that smell. She'd been having men in here while he was out! He staggered across and felt for the bed in the darkness, half stumbling over it.

It was unmade, the sheets crumpled. He put out a hand, looking for confirmation of his fears . . . and found it in the dampness of the sheet.

He sat, nausea making him swallow hard.

"You bitch!" he muttered. "You fucking bitch!"

A sudden anger washed through him. So this was what she did while he was out. Well, fuck her-he'd make her pay for this!

He pulled himself up and staggered out, looking for her. As he came into the living room again, she was standing across from him, framed by the kitchen doorway. The baby was still howling, but she seemed unaware of it. Her eyes were red, as if she'd been crying.

"You!" he said, pointing an accusing arm at her. Then, with a bellow, he launched himself at her.

She yelped and tried to get away but, drunk as he was, he was still too fast for her. Grabbing her hair he pulled her down savagely onto her knees, then leaned over her, putting his face almost into hers.

"Who was it? Who've you been screwing in my bed, you fucking bitch?"

She made to shake her head, but he tugged at it hard, making her cry out.

"It was Ben," she said, her eyes glaring at him venomously now. "Ben Shepherd."

He let her go, then staggered back. "Shepherd . . ." The name seemed to deflate him. He stood there, swaying, his eyes shocked. "Ben Shepherd?"

"That's right!" There was a pure hatred in her eyes now. "And he wasn't screwing me. We made love.

Love, Sergey . . ."

He swung his arm and felt his hand connect, hard.

"He's used you. Used you like the cheapest whore to get back at me!"

Her laughter stung him.

"You? You think he cares about you?" Holding her swollen jaw she glared up at him. "He came for me, Sergey. Not you. He came to take me back with him."

He swung again, knocking her down, then crouched over her, his hand raised. "I'll kill you! I'll see you dead before he touches you again!"

He drew his hand back and saw her flinch, then stood, backing off a pace, as if he'd finished with her.

Then, with a savagery that surprised them both, he turned and kicked her in the stomach.He stood over her, watching her gasp with pain, then leaned in, pointing at her, his fingertip directly under her nose. "You're dead, woman! You're fucking dead, hear me?"

Sergey moved back, trembling now, the thought of what had happened making the muscle beneath his eye twitch violently. He turned, looking back at the darkness of the doorway, and wiped his mouth, his eyes full of imagining. For a moment he was somewhere else, and Catherine, seeing that, reached up and, taking the heavy lamp from the table beside the sofa, pulled herself up.

"Wha . . . ?" he began to say, turning back toward her, but it was too late. As his face came around, the lamp caught him on the side of the head and shattered.

For a moment she stared at him where he lay, the blood bubbling from the deep gash in his skull, her hand out, her mouth open in shock. In a daze she went through into the baby's room and lifted her from the cot. Then, knowing there was nothing for her there, she began to walk, out of the room and down the darkened corridor, heading for the transit.

"What can you see?"

The pilot shifted in his seat, then lifted his visor. "The satellite's there all right, but . . . well, it's just dead.

And from the infrared readout it's cold as a piece of rock. It's as if it's been frozen."

He waited as his craft slowly drifted in an arc about the satellite, wondering what ground control would ask him to do next.

There was a click and then the disembodied voice sounded again. "Is there any obvious sign of tampering?"

He put his visor down again and readjusted the tracking cameras, trying to get as clear a view of the inert satellite as he could. See for yourselves, he'd have liked to have said, but audio was the only thing working right now. Someone was jamming all the other wavelengths.

"I can't see anything," he said, after a moment. Then again, if whoever did this was any good at what they did-and there was no reason to assume they weren't-then there would be no sign. AH it would take was a few bursts of accurate laser'fire and . . .

"Oh, shit!"

"Pardon? Can you repeat that message?"

"I said . . ." He fell silent, watching as the ships peeled off-huge, saucer-shaped ships, as white as the autumn moon; hundreds of the fucking things, coming out of deep space like stones falling from a giant's hand.

"Oh, shit! Oh, fucking shit!"

DEVORE STOOD ON THE EDGE of the sandstone outcrop, looking out across the rugged gorge of Olduvai as the great ships came down.

A gift of stones, he thought and laughed, remembering the time when he had sent Li Yuan a betrothal gift of three hundred and sixty-one white wei ch'i stones-stones carved from the bones of his victims, symbolizing death.

Yes, and now for delivery on that promise.Three hundred and sixty-one bone-white ships, sailing out of Charon, the ice moon, Pluto's twin.

He laughed, watching them come down. Each ship a stone, and within each ship a hundred thousand copies of himself, cloned in the body factories of Charon-conjured from ice and chemicals and the structured dance of atoms: a vast army of the unborn.

He watched them march in lines of ten down the broad white ramps, forming up in the early morning heat, parading openly before the final battle; the cameras hovering overhead, letting the great world know just what had fallen on them from the darkness.

Olduvai . . . The significance of it had been lost, the truth of it buried beneath the Han's great Cities, but it was here, five million years ago, that Man had taken his first steps on his long journey toward the stars.

And hers, he thought, turning to look at his companion.

In the glaring African light Emily's pallor seemed an unnatural perfection. Toward this those ancient apes had striven. Toward this high peak of physical perfection.

He took her hand, examining it. Like Adam and his companion, he thought, grinning: only, this had been grown not from Adam's rib, but from the severed finger of the original.

And where are you now, Emily Ascher? he wondered. Are you still alive? Do you still burn with such a pure, fine flame?

The only woman he had ever wanted.

He put the thought aside and looked toward his generals, gathered by his tent.

"Are you ready?" he asked, knowing the answer. Then, turning toward the great army that was gathered beneath him, he raised his arms and uttered the words he'd long prepared, knowing the young T'ang was watching him.

"Alas! alas! thou great city, thou Mighty City, Babylon! In one hour has thy judgment come."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

Copies of Some Greater Thing.

AKED, THE GREAT T ' A N G Stood before the mirror; last of the Seven, the One Man under Heaven, Son of the Celestial Emperor himself. He had washed and now he waited for his maids to dress him, perhaps for the final time, in the dragon robes of imperial yellow silk.

In his thirty-second year he had begun to fill out. Regular exercise had kept his muscles firm, his stomach trim, yet time had left its mark, even on him, in the lines about his eyes and mouth.

The cares of kingship, he thought, and tried to smile, but it was impossible. Behind him his maids were sobbing as they went about their work, their faces wet with tears. Indeed, the whole palace had a strange funereal air about it. Servants and their families had been fleeing throughout the night, abandoning him.

Yes, and he had had to order his guards not to fire upon those who chose to run rather than face what Fate had ordered for them.

He nodded to his image, as if acknowledging a stranger. And maybe there was an element of truth in that.

As a younger man he had often stood before the mirror, studying his own face, staring into his own eyes,asking himself questions. But lately?

He stepped up to the mirror and, placing the fingers of his left hand to the glass, met his own eyes, trying to look through into himself.

Do you still know who you are, Li Yuan? Are you still so sure about things? Or has the world eroded more than your trust in your fellow creatures?

He stared and stared, yet there was a wall, a barrier of consciousness he could not penetrate. He might look forever and not see what he was searching for, for it was he himself who was hiding it, he who directed his eyes away from the dark corners where what he sought was hidden.

"Chieh Hsia?"

He drew his hand back, watching as the four moist circles where his fingertips had touched faded and disappeared, then looked to the maid who stood behind him.

"What is it, Sweet Fragrance?"

The young girl met his eyes in the glass, then quickly looked away, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "We are ready to dress you, Chieh Hsia. If you would come across?"

He sighed, then answered her softly, feeling a great compassion for her. "Of course."

Sweet Fragrance was only fifteen. She had not seen life, and now it was ending. By evening she could be dead.

He turned, then, on whim, drew her to him, holding her close and warm against him, and as he did his thoughts went out to his first wife, Fei Yen. He had tried to find her, or at least to get some news of her, but his efforts had come to naught. East Asia was in a state of constant turmoil as the Warlords fought for dominance, and there had been no word.

Where are you? he wondered, closing his eyes, pained that he would die without ever knowing what had befallen her. Are you even stiU alive? You who caused me so much pain, yes, and yet gave me so much joy. And the boy? Is my son with you where you are? Are you some Warlord's concubine?

Or did some peasant conscript rape you and gut you with his bayonet?

Not that it mattered now. Not that anything mattered. He had seen those dreadful images from Olduvai.

Forty million DeVores! He shuddered at the thought.

He released the girl, then went across and stood there, letting them dress him. And as each article of clothing was placed on him, he nodded inwardly, as if to say, This is the last time this shall be done.

Finally two of them carried across the dragon robes, holding the silks out as he stepped into them. And as they buttoned them he felt the certainty of his situation harden in him.

This, then, was what my father dreamed, the night I was born. This is his vision-the City burning and his old friends dead, their children's bodies torn and bloody on the nursery floor. And darkness . . . darkness bubbling up into the bright-lit levels.

He shuddered at the thought and gritted his teeth against the pain he felt remembering it, for that was the night he had killed his mother and robbed his father of all earthly joy.

It was not my fault.Maybe not, but he did not feel that. He had never felt it. Impatient to come into this world, he had sent her from it. And all that had followed-everything-had stemmed from that.

"Chieh Hsia?"

He looked down. Sweet Fragrance was staring up at him, surprised.

"Chieh Hsia . . . why are you weeping?"

THE LAST OF THEM had gathered in the Great Hall, beneath the steps of the Throne. As Li Yuan stepped into the huge, high-ceilinged chamber, they knelt and bowed their heads, like a single creature, subservient to his will.

As he took his place above them on the dragon throne, he cast his eyes over those that had remained.

There were no more than four hundred in all-friends, courtiers, and retainers. So few they seemed, huddled together between the great stone pillars, and yet he felt inordinately pleased to see so many familiar faces.

In the end this was all that remained. Friendship and loyalty. The rest meant nothing.

He lifted his chin proudly, recalling who he was-a Son of Heaven, last of the Seven who had once ruled the great empire of Chung Kuo-and saw how they responded to the gesture, pleased that he was their Lord.

"Kuei Jen," he called, looking to his son. "Come stand behind me."

The young man did as he was told, his father's shadow.

"Master Nan . . . the screen."

Down below, Nan Ho turned and instructed his assistant to lower the great screen. Slowly the lamps in the great hall faded, the glowing screen came down.

Olduvai. The images were from Olduvai.

He watched as the cameras panned across that mighty host, sensing the fear that rippled through the watching crowd below as they saw what had fallen out of the dark upon them. Only Pei K'ung seemed unafraid. She stood there at the foot of the steps, looking up at him, concerned, alone in all that crowd in not watching the screen.

He met her eyes briefly, then looked back at the screen, all hope, all spirit draining from him. Look! the images demanded. Look and despair!

He saw the great ships waiting on the far side of the plain, their hatches open, ready for embarkation, the fluttering pearl-white banners of the waiting army, and felt his stomach tighten.