Read Online The Middle Kingdom by David Wingrove - Free Book Online
Authors: David Wingrove
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of
Distribution workers—chi ch'i—stepped out, their dark,
uniformed figures dwarfed by the huge doors.
Nearer the
elevator the crowd thinned and the going grew easier. Chen slowed,
then stopped and drew Jyan around to face him. The doors were almost
fully open now. Already a number of the low-slung electric carts were
spilling out into the Main, unloading the code-marked crates.
"You know
what to do?" Chen asked, his hands gripping the collar of Jyan's
jacket tightly. "You remember what we rehearsed?"
Jyan nodded, his
eyes suddenly much clearer. "I'm all right," he shouted.
"It was only—"
Chen put his
hand to Jyan's mouth. "No time!" he yelled back. "Let's
just do it!"
There were about
thirty chi ch'i working the elevator. All of them were wearing
wraparounds—the bulky headpieces blink-ering them from all
distractions. Their close-shaven heads and the heavy, black full-face
masks gave them a somber, distinctly mechanical appearance; an
impression which their routine, repetitive movements enhanced. Chen
walked toward them casually, aware of Jyan moving away from him,
circling toward the elevator from the other side.
There were two
pan chang, or supervisors. One of them stood only a few paces
from where Chen had stopped, his back to the overhead screens, his
headphones making him deaf to the surrounding noise. From time to
time he would bark an order into his lip mike and one of the chi ch'i
would pause momentarily, listening, then respond with a brief nod.
Chen nodded to
himself, satisfied. To all intents and purposes the chi ch'i could be
discounted. Their awareness was limited to the color-coded crates
they were shifting from the elevator: crates that stood out in
simple, schematic shapes of red and green and blue against the
intense blackness in their heads.
He looked
across. Jyan was in position now, directly behind the second pan
chang. At a signal from Chen they would act.
Chen had made
Jyan practice this endlessly; ripping the mike away quickly with his
left hand, then chopping down against the victim's windpipe with his
right. Now he would discover if Jyan had learned his lesson.
Chen brought his
hand down sharply, then moved forward, grabbing his man. Savagely he
ripped the mike from the pan chang’s lips and brought the heel
of his right hand down hard against the man's throat. He felt the man
go limp and let him fall, then looked across.
Jyan was still
struggling with his man. He had ripped away the lip mike, but had
failed to finish things. Now he was holding the pan chang awkwardly,
his right arm locked around the middle of his head, his left hand
formed into a fist as he flailed frantically at the man's chest. But
the pan chang was far from finished. With a shout he twisted out and
pushed Jyan away, then turned to face him, one hand reaching up to
pull his headphones off.
Chen started
forward, then saw something flash in Jyan's hand. A moment later the
pan chang staggered backward, clutching his chest. At the same time
some of the chi ch'i straightened up and looked about blindly, as if
suddenly aware that something was going on.
Chen ran for the
elevator. At the doorway he turned and looked back.
Jyan was
kneeling over the pan chang, one foot pressing down into the dead
man's shoulder as he tried to pull the long-handled knife from his
chest.
"Jyan!"
Chen screamed, his voice almost lost in the background noise. "Leave
it!"
Jyan looked up
sharply. Then, as if coming to himself again, he stood up and began
to run toward the elevator, skirting the unseeing chi ch'i and their
carts. He had made only eight or nine paces when the first shot rang
out.
Instinctively
Chen ducked. When he looked up again he couldn't see Jyan. He took a
step forward, then stopped, backing up. There, a half Ji down the
Main, were three Security guards. They were approaching in a widely
spaced line across the corridor, moving people out of their way
brusquely, almost brutally, as they walked toward the elevator.
Distribution workers—chi ch'i—stepped out, their dark,
uniformed figures dwarfed by the huge doors.
Nearer the
elevator the crowd thinned and the going grew easier. Chen slowed,
then stopped and drew Jyan around to face him. The doors were almost
fully open now. Already a number of the low-slung electric carts were
spilling out into the Main, unloading the code-marked crates.
"You know
what to do?" Chen asked, his hands gripping the collar of Jyan's
jacket tightly. "You remember what we rehearsed?"
Jyan nodded, his
eyes suddenly much clearer. "I'm all right," he shouted.
"It was only—"
Chen put his
hand to Jyan's mouth. "No time!" he yelled back. "Let's
just do it!"
There were about
thirty chi ch'i working the elevator. All of them were wearing
wraparounds—the bulky headpieces blink-ering them from all
distractions. Their close-shaven heads and the heavy, black full-face
masks gave them a somber, distinctly mechanical appearance; an
impression which their routine, repetitive movements enhanced. Chen
walked toward them casually, aware of Jyan moving away from him,
circling toward the elevator from the other side.
There were two
pan chang, or supervisors. One of them stood only a few paces
from where Chen had stopped, his back to the overhead screens, his
headphones making him deaf to the surrounding noise. From time to
time he would bark an order into his lip mike and one of the chi ch'i
would pause momentarily, listening, then respond with a brief nod.
Chen nodded to
himself, satisfied. To all intents and purposes the chi ch'i could be
discounted. Their awareness was limited to the color-coded crates
they were shifting from the elevator: crates that stood out in
simple, schematic shapes of red and green and blue against the
intense blackness in their heads.
He looked
across. Jyan was in position now, directly behind the second pan
chang. At a signal from Chen they would act.
Chen had made
Jyan practice this endlessly; ripping the mike away quickly with his
left hand, then chopping down against the victim's windpipe with his
right. Now he would discover if Jyan had learned his lesson.
Chen brought his
hand down sharply, then moved forward, grabbing his man. Savagely he
ripped the mike from the pan chang’s lips and brought the heel
of his right hand down hard against the man's throat. He felt the man
go limp and let him fall, then looked across.
Jyan was still
struggling with his man. He had ripped away the lip mike, but had
failed to finish things. Now he was holding the pan chang awkwardly,
his right arm locked around the middle of his head, his left hand
formed into a fist as he flailed frantically at the man's chest. But
the pan chang was far from finished. With a shout he twisted out and
pushed Jyan away, then turned to face him, one hand reaching up to
pull his headphones off.
Chen started
forward, then saw something flash in Jyan's hand. A moment later the
pan chang staggered backward, clutching his chest. At the same time
some of the chi ch'i straightened up and looked about blindly, as if
suddenly aware that something was going on.
Chen ran for the
elevator. At the doorway he turned and looked back.
Jyan was
kneeling over the pan chang, one foot pressing down into the dead
man's shoulder as he tried to pull the long-handled knife from his
chest.
"Jyan!"
Chen screamed, his voice almost lost in the background noise. "Leave
it!"
Jyan looked up
sharply. Then, as if coming to himself again, he stood up and began
to run toward the elevator, skirting the unseeing chi ch'i and their
carts. He had made only eight or nine paces when the first shot rang
out.
Instinctively
Chen ducked. When he looked up again he couldn't see Jyan. He took a
step forward, then stopped, backing up. There, a half Ji down the
Main, were three Security guards. They were approaching in a widely
spaced line across the corridor, moving people out of their way
brusquely, almost brutally, as they walked toward the elevator.
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