luck or hard work; of climbing the levels to a better place
than this. Below the Net there was nothing. Only chaos.
Below this level
the City had been sealed. That seal was called the Net. Unlike a real
net, however, there were no holes in it. It was a perfect, supposedly
unbreachable barrier. The architects of City Earth had meant it as a
quarantine measure: as a means of preventing the spread of
infestation and disease. From the beginning, however, the Seven had
found another use for it.
They had been
wise, that first Council of the Seven. They had known what some men
were; had seen the darkness in their hearts and had realized that,
unless they acted, the lowest levels of the City would soon become
ungovernable. Their solution had been simple and effective. They had
decided to use the Net as a dumping ground for that small antisocial
element on whom the standard punishment of downgrading—of
demoting a citizen to a lower level—had proved consistently
unsuccessful. By that means they hoped to check the rot and keep the
levels pure.
To a degree it
had worked. As a dumping ground the Net had served the Seven well.
Below the Net there was no citizenship. Down there a man had no
rights but those he fought for or earned in the service of other,
more powerful men. There was no social welfare there, no health care,
no magistrates to judge the rights or wrongs of a man's behavior. Nor
was there any legitimate means of returning from the Net. Exile was
permanent, on pain of death. It was little wonder, then, that its
threat kept the citizens of Pan Chao Street in check.
Chen knew. It
was where they came from, he and Jyan. Where they had been bom. Down
there, below the Net.
And now they
were returning.
At the mouth of
one of the small alleyways that opened onto Pan Chao Street, a group
of young men had gathered in a circle, hunched forward, watching
excitedly as a die rolled. There was a sudden upward movement of
their heads; an abrupt, exaggerated movement of arms and hands and
shoulders accompanied by a shrill yell from a dozen mouths, a shout
of triumph and dismay, followed a moment later by the hurried
exchange of money and the making of new bets. Then the young men
hunched forward again, concentrating on the next roll.
As they passed
the entrance, Jyan turned and stared at the group. He hesitated,
then, catching their excitement, began to make'his way across to
them.
"Kao Jyan!"
Chen hissed, reaching out to restrain him. "There's no time! We
must get on!"
Jyan turned
back, a momentary confusion in his face. His movements seemed
strangely feverish and uncontrolled. His eyes had difficulty
focusing. Chen knew at once what was wrong. The drug he had taken to
tolerate the conditions outside the City was wearing off.
Too soon, Chen
thought, his mind working furiously. You must have taken it too
early. Before you were told to. And now the reaction's setting in.
Too soon. Too bloody soon!
"Come on,
Jyan," he said, leaning closer and talking ihto his face. "We've
got to get to the elevator!"
Jyan shivered
and seemed to focus on him at last. Then he nodded and did as Chen
said, moving on quickly through the crowd.
Where Pan Chao
Street spilled out into the broad concourse of Main, Chen stopped and
looked about him, keeping a grip on Jyan. The bell tower was close by
and to his left, the distribution elevator far to his right, barely
visible, almost two U in the distance.
Shit! he
thought. I was right. WeVe come out the wrong end! He glanced at
Jyan, angry now. He knew they had been in there too long. He had told
him they had come too far along the shaft, but Jyan would not have
it. "The next junction," Jyan had said when Chen had
stopped beside the hatch: "Not this one. The next." Chen
had known at the time that Jyan was wrong, but Jyan had been in
charge and so he had done as he'd said. But now he wished he had
overruled him. They had lost valuable time. Now they would have to
backtrack—out in the open where they could
than this. Below the Net there was nothing. Only chaos.
Below this level
the City had been sealed. That seal was called the Net. Unlike a real
net, however, there were no holes in it. It was a perfect, supposedly
unbreachable barrier. The architects of City Earth had meant it as a
quarantine measure: as a means of preventing the spread of
infestation and disease. From the beginning, however, the Seven had
found another use for it.
They had been
wise, that first Council of the Seven. They had known what some men
were; had seen the darkness in their hearts and had realized that,
unless they acted, the lowest levels of the City would soon become
ungovernable. Their solution had been simple and effective. They had
decided to use the Net as a dumping ground for that small antisocial
element on whom the standard punishment of downgrading—of
demoting a citizen to a lower level—had proved consistently
unsuccessful. By that means they hoped to check the rot and keep the
levels pure.
To a degree it
had worked. As a dumping ground the Net had served the Seven well.
Below the Net there was no citizenship. Down there a man had no
rights but those he fought for or earned in the service of other,
more powerful men. There was no social welfare there, no health care,
no magistrates to judge the rights or wrongs of a man's behavior. Nor
was there any legitimate means of returning from the Net. Exile was
permanent, on pain of death. It was little wonder, then, that its
threat kept the citizens of Pan Chao Street in check.
Chen knew. It
was where they came from, he and Jyan. Where they had been bom. Down
there, below the Net.
And now they
were returning.
At the mouth of
one of the small alleyways that opened onto Pan Chao Street, a group
of young men had gathered in a circle, hunched forward, watching
excitedly as a die rolled. There was a sudden upward movement of
their heads; an abrupt, exaggerated movement of arms and hands and
shoulders accompanied by a shrill yell from a dozen mouths, a shout
of triumph and dismay, followed a moment later by the hurried
exchange of money and the making of new bets. Then the young men
hunched forward again, concentrating on the next roll.
As they passed
the entrance, Jyan turned and stared at the group. He hesitated,
then, catching their excitement, began to make'his way across to
them.
"Kao Jyan!"
Chen hissed, reaching out to restrain him. "There's no time! We
must get on!"
Jyan turned
back, a momentary confusion in his face. His movements seemed
strangely feverish and uncontrolled. His eyes had difficulty
focusing. Chen knew at once what was wrong. The drug he had taken to
tolerate the conditions outside the City was wearing off.
Too soon, Chen
thought, his mind working furiously. You must have taken it too
early. Before you were told to. And now the reaction's setting in.
Too soon. Too bloody soon!
"Come on,
Jyan," he said, leaning closer and talking ihto his face. "We've
got to get to the elevator!"
Jyan shivered
and seemed to focus on him at last. Then he nodded and did as Chen
said, moving on quickly through the crowd.
Where Pan Chao
Street spilled out into the broad concourse of Main, Chen stopped and
looked about him, keeping a grip on Jyan. The bell tower was close by
and to his left, the distribution elevator far to his right, barely
visible, almost two U in the distance.
Shit! he
thought. I was right. WeVe come out the wrong end! He glanced at
Jyan, angry now. He knew they had been in there too long. He had told
him they had come too far along the shaft, but Jyan would not have
it. "The next junction," Jyan had said when Chen had
stopped beside the hatch: "Not this one. The next." Chen
had known at the time that Jyan was wrong, but Jyan had been in
charge and so he had done as he'd said. But now he wished he had
overruled him. They had lost valuable time. Now they would have to
backtrack—out in the open where they could
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