The Middle Kingdom (18 page)

"He's too
slow!" Ebert hissed in his ear.

"Wait!"
Axel answered. He had been watching Hwa's face; had seen the surprise
there when the big man had bounced up again. Hwa had thought he had
him. He really had.

Hwa crouched
again, in the classic
ch'i ma shih,
the riding-horse stance,
moving side to side from the hips, like a snake. Then he moved his
feet in a little dance. From the tiers on all sides came a loud, low
shuddering as the crowd banged their feet in applause. A moment later
Hwa attacked again.

This time he ran
at Karr; a strange, weaving run that ended in a leap. At the same
time he let out a bloodcurdling scream.

But Karr had
moved.

At the instant
Hwa leapt, Karr ducked, rolled, and turned. It was a movement that
was so quick and so unexpected from such a big man that a huge gasp
of surprise went up from the crowd. As Hwa turned to face him again,
Karr was smiling.

Surprise turned
to rage. Hwa attacked a third time; whirling his body about,
thrusting and kicking, his arms and legs moving in a blur. But each
blow was met and countered. For once Hwa's speed was matched. And
when he withdrew he was breathing heavily, his face red from
exertion.

The crowd roared
its appreciation.

"It's
luck!" yelled Ebert next to him. "You see if it isn't! The
Han will have him soon enough!"

Axel made to
answer, but at that moment Hwa launched himself again, flipping over
once, twice, like an acrobat, then feinting to left, right, then left
again. He was only an arm's length from Karr when the big man acted.
But this time Karr moved a fraction too slowly. When Hwa kicked Karr
was off balance, striking at a place where Hwa had been but was no
longer.

The crack of
bone could be heard to the back of the tiers.

Karr groaned
audibly and went down.

Hwa struck again
at once, his foot kicking out once, twice, forcing the broken arm
back at an impossible angle.

Axel gasped,
feeling sick. Beside him Ebert gave a yell of triumph.

Hwa moved back,
getting his breath, a look of satisfaction replacing the frown of
concentration he had worn until that moment.

The Pit was
tense, silent, waiting for him to end it.
"Shau,"
he
said softly, looking at Karr. Burn.

Karr was down on
one knee, his face a mask of pain. Slowly, very slowly, he got up,
supporting his shattered arm with his left hand. For a moment he
seemed to look inside himself. His breathing slowed and his face
cleared. With a grimace of pure agony he wrenched his arm back, the
click of bone against bone the only sound in the whole arena. For a
moment he swayed, then seemed to gain control of himself again and
tucked the useless hand into the cloth belt at his waist, securing
it.

"Come,"
he said, lifting his chin in challenge to the smaller man. "Jt
isn't over yet."

The words were
like a goad. Hwa exploded, twirling and somersaulting, kicking and
punching in a furious rain of blows that went on for minutes. But
Karr was up to the challenge. With his good arm and both legs he
parried everything Hwa threw at him, weaving and ducking and turning
with a speed and agility that surprised everyone. It seemed
impossible for a man so big to move his weight so quickly, so subtly.

But Axel,
watching, saw how much it cost him—saw, beneath the mask of
outward calm, the agony as Karr flipped and jumped and rolled,
avoiding the constant flood of blows. Saw it in his eyes, in the
faintest movement at the corners of his mouth. Watched until it
seemed impossible that Karr could take any more.

And then, just
as Hwa was drawing off, Kan: counterattacked for the first time.

Hwa moved back,
his full weight resting momentarily— perhaps, for the only time
during the contest—on his back foot, in
hou shih,
the
monkey stance. And as he moved back, so Karr rolled forward, pushing
up off the floor with his good left arm, his wrist straining and
flexing, the whole weight of his huge frame thrust forward into Hwa.

He caught Hwa
totally off balance, his legs wrapping about the small man's neck,
his huge weight driving him down into the canvas.

For an instant
there was silence. Then, as the big man rolled over, there was a
groan of pain. Karr sat up, clutching his arm, his face rent with
pain. But Hwa was dead. He lay there next to Karr, pale, unmoving,
his back, his neck, broken, the back of his skull crushed by the
impact of his fall.

Axel let out a
shivering breath. Beside him Ebert was suddenly very quiet. On all
sides the Pit was in uproar.

"Magnificent!"
Fest yelled into Axel's ear. "They were giving odds of
thirty-five to one! It's the biggest upset in five years, so my
friend here says!" But Axel was barely listening. He was
watching Karr, filled with admiration and respect for the big man.

"He was
magnificent," Axel said softly, turning to look at Ebert.

"He-was
lucky!" For a second or two Ebert glowered back at him. Then he
laughed dismissively and dug something out of his tunic pocket and
handed it across to Haavikko.

"It's only
money, eh?"

Axel looked down
at the thick square of plastic in his hand. It was a secure-image
holo-chip. A bearer credit for 2,500
yuan.
Axel looked up,
surprised, then remembered the wager. Two fifty at ten to one. It was
more than six months' salary, but Ebert had treated it as nothing.
But then, why not? To him it was pocket money.

Ebert was
leaning across him, yelling at Fest. "Hey! Let's go back to the
dressing room and congratulate him., eh?"

For a moment
longer Axel stared at Ebert, then he looked back at the big man. Karr
was picking himself up from the floor painfully, no sign of triumph
in his face.

Fest took Axel's
arm and began to pull him away. "Let's go. Hans has had enough."

"Come on,"
said Ebert as they stood in the corridor outside. "We'll buy the
brute dinner. He can be our guest."

They stood in
the corridor outside the dressing room, leaning against the wall,
ignoring the comings and goings of the lesser fighters. There were
bouts all afternoon—challengers for the new champion. But they
had seen enough. Ebert had sent in his card a quarter bell ago, the
invitation scribbled on the back. Now they waited.

"There's a
problem with such mechanical virtuosity," Ebert said rather
pompously. "It can so easily switch over into automatism. A kind
of unthinking, machinelike response. Totally inflexible and unable to
adapt to approaches more subtle than its own. That's why Hwa lost. He
was inflexible. Unable to change."

Fest laughed.
"Sound stuff, Hans. But what you're really saying is that you
knew the big man would win all the time!"

Ebert shook his
head. "You know what I mean." There was a slight irritation
in his voice. Then he relented and laughed. "Okay, I'm trying to
rationalize it, but we were all surprised. Even Axel here. Even he
thought his man was going to lose."

Haavikko smiled.
"That's true. He was good, though, wasn't he?"

Fest nodded.
"Impressive. Not the best I've seen, maybe, but strong. Brave
too."

Axel looked
about him. "It's another world," he said. "Rawer, more
basic than ours."

Ebert laughed,
looking at him. "I do believe our young friend is in love with
it all. Imagine, living down here, in the sweat and grime!" He
laughed again, more viciously this time. "You'd soon be
disillusioned."

"Maybe..."

He managed no
more. Just then the door opened and the big man's manager came out.
He had the same look about him. You're Karr's elder brother, Axel
thought, looking at him.

"What do
you want?"

Ebert smiled. "I
watched your man. He fought well. I'd like to take him out to supper.
My treat."

Axel saw how the
man controlled himself; saw how he looked from one of them to the
next, recognizing them for what they were, Above aristocrats, and
knew at once how it must be to live as this man did—wanting to
stay clear of their kind, but at the same time needing them. Yes, he
saw it all there in the man's face; all the dreadful compromises he
had had to make just to live down here. It rent at Axel's soul; made
him want to turn and leave.

"Okay,"
the man said after a moment's hesitation. "But Karr's not
feeling well. The contest took a lot out of him. He needs rest. ..."

Ebert held the
man's hands a moment. "It's all right, friend. We'll not keep
him. A celebration meal, and then. . ." He shrugged and smiled
pleasantly, letting the man's hands go. "We have influence.
Understand? We can arrange things for you. Make it easier. . . ."

Axel narrowed
his eyes. "What do you mean, Ebert?"

Ebert turned and
looked at him sharply. "Shut up, Haavikko! Let
me
deal
with this. I know what I'm doing."

Axel looked
down. Do as you will, he thought.

Ebert had a
reputation for being headstrong. For doing what others would never
dare to do. But it was understandable. He had been born to rule. His
father, Klaus Ebert, was head of Chung Kuo's second largest company.
A company that had existed since the first days of the City; that
provided all the body servants for the Great Families—sweet,
intelligent creatures, scarcely distinguishable from the human; that
provided a range of taste-sculpted servants for the richest of the
rich, and armies of mindless automatons for the Seven. A company that
produced over a third of all the synthesized food eaten in the
levels.

Hans Ebert was
heir to GenSyn, second only to MedFac on the Hang Seng Index. Rumor
was his father could buy the Net twice over. What, then, if he should
haggle with the manager of a small-time fighter? Even so, Axel found
himself annoyed. Hadn't Ebert
seen?
Hadn't he realized how
fine, how powerful, the man was?

"We'll go
in, then?" Ebert said, his tone insistent. Commanding. The
manager lowered his head, then bowed to the waist, letting them pass.

So power is,
thought Axel, moving past him. So power acts.

Karr was sitting
at the far end of the room, his right arm strapped to his chest, a
bowl of soup balanced in his left hand. He looked up at them sharply,
annoyed at their intrusion.

"What do
you want?"

Ebert smiled,
ignoring the big man's hostility. "You fought well. We'd like to
celebrate your success. To honor you."

Karr laughed. He
set down the soup and stood up, then came across the room until he
stood two paces from Ebert.

"You want
to honor me?"

For the briefest
moment Ebert seemed intimidated by the big man. Then he recovered,
turning to smile at his fellows before looking back up at Karr. "Why
not? It was a great victory."

"You think
so?" Karr smiled, but his voice was sharp and cold. "You
don't think it was the triumph of
meat
over intelligence,
then?"

Ebert's mouth
worked ineffectually for a moment. Then he took a step backward. But
as he did so, Karr spat on the floor between Ebert's feet.

"Fuck off!
Understand? I don't
need
you."

Ebert's face
turned ashen. For a moment he struggled to form words. Then he found
his voice again. "How
dare
he!"

The words were
high pitched, almost strangled.

Fest held his
arm tightly, whispering urgently in his ear. "Don't make trouble
here, Hans. Please! They suffer us down here. But if we start
anything we'll spark a riot."

"I'll kill
him," Ebert said, under his breath.

Karr heard and
smiled mockingly.

"He'd as
like break both your arms," Fest said quietly.

Ebert sneered.
"I think my father would have something to say about that, don't
you?"

Fest pulled on
Ebert's arm, drawing him back. "The less said about your father,
the better, Hans. These fellows know only too well who manufactures
the
Hei
they send in to crush any sign of an uprising. GenSyn
and your father are about as popular here as Genghis Khan."

Karr was
watching them hawkishly. At the mention of Gen-Syn his eyes narrowed.
"So you're
Ebert's
son?"

Ebert threw off
Fest's hand and took a step forward, his head raised arrogantly to
face out the big man. "You understand what it means, then?"

Karr smiled
tightly. "Oh, I know what it means up
there.
But you're
not up there now,
Shih
Ebert. This isn't your kingdom and you
should mind your manners. Understand?"

Ebert went to
speak again, but Karr lifted his good hand sharply to cut him off.
His face was bitter. "Let me explain it simply for you. Today I
killed a man I admired greatly. A man who taught me much about honor
and necessity." He took a step closer to Ebert. "He was a
man, Ebert. A master."

"You were
lucky," said Ebert quietly, provocatively.

A faint smile
played on Karr's lips briefly, but his eyes were cold and hard. "Yes.
For once you're right. I was lucky. Hwa underestimated me. He thought
as you think. And because of that he's dead."

"Is that a
threat?"

Karr laughed,
then shook his head. He was about to say something more, but at that
moment there was a noise in the corridor outside. An instant later
the door swung open. Two uniformed officers of the Special Security
squad stood there, their standard-issue
deng
rifles held
against their chests. Behind them came the General.

Tolonen strode
into the dressing room, then stopped, looking about him. Fest, Ebert,
and Haavikko had come sharply to attention. They stood there, heads
bowed, awaiting orders, but the General ignored them a moment. He
walked up to Karr and looked him up and down before turning his back
on him.