be seen. Where
Security could see them. And with Jyan going funny on him.
He leaned close
to Jyan and shouted into his ear. "Just stay beside me. Hold on
to my arm if necessary, but don't leave my side."
Jyan turned his
head and looked back at him, his expression vacant for a moment.
Then, as before, he seemed to come to and nodded. "Okay,"
he mouthed. "Let's go."
Main, the huge
central concourse of Eleven, was a Babel of light and sound, a broad,
bloated torrent of humanity that made Pan Chao Street seem a sluggish
backwater. Along its length people crowded about the stalls, thick as
blackfly on a stem, haggling for bargains, while high above them
massive view-screens hung in clusters from the ceiling, filling the
overhead. On the huge, five-level walls to either side of the
concourse a thousand flickering images formed and reformed in a
nightmare collage. Worst of all, however, was the noise. As they
stepped out into the crush the noise hit them like a wave, a huge
swell of sound, painful in its intensity, almost unbearable.
Chen gritted his
teeth, forcing his way through the thick press of people, holding on
tightly to Jyan's arm and almost thrusting him through the crowd in
front of him. He looked about him, for the first time really anxious,
and saw how the long'time natives of Eleven seemed to ignore the
clamor; seemed not to see the giant, dreamlike faces that flickered
into sudden existence and followed their every movement down the
Main. They knew it was all a clever trick; knew from childhood how
the screens responded to their presence. But to a stranger it was
different. Nowhere in the City was quite like Eleven. Here, in the
first level above the Net, life seemed in perpetual ferment; as if
the knowledge of what lay sealed off just below their feet made them
live their lives at a different level of intensity.
Jyan was turning
his head from side to side as he moved through the crush, grimacing
against the brute intensity of the noise, the awful flickering neon
brightness of the screens. Then, abruptly, he turned and faced Chen,
leaning into him, shouting into his face.
"I can't
stand it, Chen! I can't hear myself think!"
Jyan's face was
dreadful to see. His mouth had formed a jagged shape; his round and
frightened eyes held a neon glimpse of madness. It was clear he was
close to cracking up. Chen held his arms firmly, trying to reassure
him through his touch, then leaned close, shouting back his answer.
"Two minutes, Jyan, that's all! We're almost there!"
Jyan shuddered
and looked up, away from Chen, his eyes wide. From one of the larger
screens a huge face turned and focused on him. It was a classically
beautiful Oriental face, the eyes like almonds, the skin like satin,
the hair fine and straight and dark. Meeting Jyan's eyes she smiled
and, somewhere else, a computer matched the face she looked down into
against its computer memory of all the faces in that sector of the
City.
"You're a
stranger here," she said, after barely a pause, the wire-thin
stem of a speaker appendage snaking down to a point just above their
heads. "Are you just visiting us, or have you business here?"
Jyan had frozen.
Chen, too, had turned and was looking up at the screen. "Come
on," he said tensely. "It's dangerous here."
As the seconds
passed, and Jyan did not move, the computers spread their search,
looking to match the face and find a name. It was good sales
technique. This time, however, it came up with nothing. Fourteen near
likenesses, but nothing to match the retinal print of the man
standing beneath its screen. In a Security post five levels up a
warning message flashed up on a screen.
"Come on,
Jyan!" Chen said urgently, tugging Jyan away; ignoring the
curious looks of passersby, pulling him along roughly now.
At the end of
Main, only a quarter Ji away, the doors to one of the huge delivery
elevators were opening. Chen increased his pace, glancing from side
to side. As the doors slid slowly back, a number of Ministry
Security could see them. And with Jyan going funny on him.
He leaned close
to Jyan and shouted into his ear. "Just stay beside me. Hold on
to my arm if necessary, but don't leave my side."
Jyan turned his
head and looked back at him, his expression vacant for a moment.
Then, as before, he seemed to come to and nodded. "Okay,"
he mouthed. "Let's go."
Main, the huge
central concourse of Eleven, was a Babel of light and sound, a broad,
bloated torrent of humanity that made Pan Chao Street seem a sluggish
backwater. Along its length people crowded about the stalls, thick as
blackfly on a stem, haggling for bargains, while high above them
massive view-screens hung in clusters from the ceiling, filling the
overhead. On the huge, five-level walls to either side of the
concourse a thousand flickering images formed and reformed in a
nightmare collage. Worst of all, however, was the noise. As they
stepped out into the crush the noise hit them like a wave, a huge
swell of sound, painful in its intensity, almost unbearable.
Chen gritted his
teeth, forcing his way through the thick press of people, holding on
tightly to Jyan's arm and almost thrusting him through the crowd in
front of him. He looked about him, for the first time really anxious,
and saw how the long'time natives of Eleven seemed to ignore the
clamor; seemed not to see the giant, dreamlike faces that flickered
into sudden existence and followed their every movement down the
Main. They knew it was all a clever trick; knew from childhood how
the screens responded to their presence. But to a stranger it was
different. Nowhere in the City was quite like Eleven. Here, in the
first level above the Net, life seemed in perpetual ferment; as if
the knowledge of what lay sealed off just below their feet made them
live their lives at a different level of intensity.
Jyan was turning
his head from side to side as he moved through the crush, grimacing
against the brute intensity of the noise, the awful flickering neon
brightness of the screens. Then, abruptly, he turned and faced Chen,
leaning into him, shouting into his face.
"I can't
stand it, Chen! I can't hear myself think!"
Jyan's face was
dreadful to see. His mouth had formed a jagged shape; his round and
frightened eyes held a neon glimpse of madness. It was clear he was
close to cracking up. Chen held his arms firmly, trying to reassure
him through his touch, then leaned close, shouting back his answer.
"Two minutes, Jyan, that's all! We're almost there!"
Jyan shuddered
and looked up, away from Chen, his eyes wide. From one of the larger
screens a huge face turned and focused on him. It was a classically
beautiful Oriental face, the eyes like almonds, the skin like satin,
the hair fine and straight and dark. Meeting Jyan's eyes she smiled
and, somewhere else, a computer matched the face she looked down into
against its computer memory of all the faces in that sector of the
City.
"You're a
stranger here," she said, after barely a pause, the wire-thin
stem of a speaker appendage snaking down to a point just above their
heads. "Are you just visiting us, or have you business here?"
Jyan had frozen.
Chen, too, had turned and was looking up at the screen. "Come
on," he said tensely. "It's dangerous here."
As the seconds
passed, and Jyan did not move, the computers spread their search,
looking to match the face and find a name. It was good sales
technique. This time, however, it came up with nothing. Fourteen near
likenesses, but nothing to match the retinal print of the man
standing beneath its screen. In a Security post five levels up a
warning message flashed up on a screen.
"Come on,
Jyan!" Chen said urgently, tugging Jyan away; ignoring the
curious looks of passersby, pulling him along roughly now.
At the end of
Main, only a quarter Ji away, the doors to one of the huge delivery
elevators were opening. Chen increased his pace, glancing from side
to side. As the doors slid slowly back, a number of Ministry
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