Jade Dragon

by James Swallow

  “Dead,” said Ko. “And you’ll join him soon enough.”

  Tze drew his own blade. Juno’s blood still discoloured the edge. “Be wise. Take that sword and end your own life with it, while the choice is still yours. The world you know has ended tonight. The Jade Dragon is King now, and I am his keeper.” He idly ran a finger over one of the terracotta soldiers that stood nearby like a mute honour guard.

  The action seemed to infuriate the teenager. “Maggot and shit-eater. You are blind and stupid. You sacrifice children to this foul creature and plot to set it lose on the world? Death a hundred times over is not reward enough.” He shivered and his voice altered for a second. “I’m gonna fuck you up, asshole. You and me got unfinished business.”

  Tze frowned. The thief’s odd behaviour was vexing; but no matter. He would die as easily as the clone had, and then Tze would take his leave to the castle and await the final manifestation of the Dragon Lord.

  The katana swung at him, missed. Tze made a riposte that hummed through empty air. “You’re quick,” he remarked.

  “Two thousand years of practice.” snapped his opponent.

  The swords crossed, polycarbonates and tempered steel biting. Tze snarled as he scored first blood, cutting a slash in the go-ganger’s jacket; but his victory was short lived as the boy wounded him on the arm.

  Tze spat and attacked again, all pretence at play forgotten. This commoner had dared to spill his blood? There would be no quarter now. He released a flurry of blows, beating the thief back into the circle of terracotta effigies. Fear spread across his opponent’s face. “No cocky words now, eh?” he shouted.

  “Go bugger yourself, you worthless old cashwhore.”

  He slashed and caught the boy’s temple with a small nick, ripping away the dirty hachimaki headband in his hair. The youth stumbled against the sculpture of a swordsman.

  “You are poor sport,” said Tze, drawing back for a killing blow. “No match for me, little boy.”

  “My name,” growled the thief, “is Lau Feng, soldier of his Imperial Majesty the Emperor, ghost and undead, guardian of this life…” His voice shifted again. “I am Chen Wah Ko, brother of Nikita… And you owe me blood, motherfucker.”

  “I don’t care who you are,” said Tze, and swung at his opponent’s neck.

  Frankie was trembling, babbling. “Oh, god. Oh, god. Juno… She’s dead!”

  Fixx gave a slow nod. “I’m sorry.” He had known it, somewhere deep inside. Fixx had understood that the girl’s fate was never to be a fair one. Juno’s life was a mayfly existence; bright, shining, fleeting.

  “Tze killed her. He murdered her…”

  “That’s right,” said Fixx, and he nodded at the damaged video consoles. “But it won’t mean nothin’ if nobody knows it.”

  “I don’t understand. ”

  “Show them, Frankie. Show the people the truth.”

  After a moment, Frankie nodded and ran his hands over the panels. “The replay is in memory. The live feed is still intact. I… I can wide-band it to every screen in Hong Kong.”

  “Do it,” said Fixx. “Let the city hear Juno.”

  Broadcast Resumed.

  The override from Tze’s command console had worms in every public communications protocol software across Hong Kong; advertisement screens, radio and vid, digital cinema, road signs and flickercladding. The Cabal’s reach extended everywhere, and Frankie used it to take revenge.

  The loop of Juno Qwan’s defiance and her murder spun out over the city, played and replayed endlessly into the eyes and ears of a populace who loved her.

  In the thrall of the Z3N, the gestalt needed focus, and Juno was the lynchpin; but the minds of the people at the concert and throughout the metropolis were stunned into silence as they watched Tze slit her throat again and again, in hundred-metre high, tint-corrected, high-definition ultra-colour.

  “The Jade Dragon will destroy you all.” Her words thundered through the canyons of the city. “Don’t let it in. If you ever loved me, don’t—”

  By the millions they watched Juno die, and with one voice they cried out for the idol they had fallen in love with. The potent blue surging through their minds came alight with grief, the flashing telepathic rush washing over the bay, a shockwave of misery that was anathema to the DesireGod.

  In an instant, the Jade Dragon’s psychic bridge for rapture and elation shattered, ripping the demon-serpent apart. Screaming, clawing at the world, the thing tore towers down as the sky dragged it back into the darkness.

  It left only destruction and mourning in its wake, as the citizens wept.

  In the tower, Frankie spoke. “Listen,” he said, catching the sounds on the wind. “Hong Kong cries for her.”

  Tze’s blade bit deep, but Ko was not there. He moved like lightning, and the killer’s sword cleaved through the terracotta warrior. The statue shattered like glass, spilling broken red rock across the pathway.

  Among the ancient fragments there were bones, human skeletal remains sealed inside. Fragments of flesh, metal and leather centuries old puffed into dust on contact with the air. The ashen remains were caught by wind and gusted upward. Tze coughed as the choking dust stung his face and eyes. “Aiii! I cannot see!”

  Ko felt Feng there beside him, the swordsman’s skill bleeding into his mind. The weak points in the corporate s armour were suddenly obvious to him, and he turned the katana into a stabbing strike, pushing the sword into a mortal wound.

  Tze flailed backward and swung at dead air with his blade.

  “Finish him!” Feng’s voice came from somewhere distant and faraway. Ko understood that the dead man was giving him the right to take Tze’s life, to assuage the failure of before. Ko smashed Tze’s sword from his grip and stabbed him again, drawing a scream.

  Tze stumbled, eyes focussing on the main screen atop the distant stage. On the vast display, the killing of the singer played with a chorus of anguish as accompaniment.

  Ko saw the panic in Tze’s dark eyes, the sudden understanding that his life’s work was going to be undone within a heartbeat of succeeding.

  The katana flashed in the air and Ko sliced through spine and throat. For the brief span of seconds the severed head remained aware, Tze’s last experience was the hooting screech of the Jade Dragon cursing him into the darkness.

  Wave-Net: with broadcast to be giving worldly factoids!

  From the Tokyo Sim-Centre Virtual News Environment, this is FarEastEye with your v-anchors Dorothea Matrix, Raymondo Trace and Webber Caste.

  “Good Clockset. Our main stories tonight, a massive terrorist incident rocks the Hong Kong Free Economic Enterprise Quadrant, claiming hundreds of lives and leaving disaster in its path.”

  “America’s President Estevez comes to blows in a White House press conference with a reporter, after allegations of financial irregularity turn ugly.”

  “A diplomatic storm erupts as the Nippon Space Agency steps in to rescue a crew of Chinese taikonauts after an accident in orbit.”

  “Residents in the city of Cologne report the apparent spontaneous formation of an insect group mind.”

  “And the Neo-Aum Shinrikyo group officially announce their dissolution and absorption into the growing international faith known as the Church of Joseph.”

  “But first, breaking news from the city-state of Hong Kong (please touch the blue dot on your d-screen for direct neural input of the raw info-feed. Infra-red and Greentooth settings are supported).”

  “Today, this vibrant metropolis stands traumatized and silent after what General Jet Li of the Army of the People’s Republic of China called ‘an unprovoked and ruthless attack on this peaceful city’. At a press conference in Shenzhen, General Li, commander-in-chief of Hong Kong’s Domestic Security Directorate and Police Battalion, described how an anti-corporate faction launched a multi-pronged assault via internet denial-of-service attacks, the detonation of several timed bombs and the release of powerful hallucinogenic compounds into Hong Kong’s
municipal water supply. Victims of this psychological onslaught suffered traumatic visions and mass hysteria, although the effects appear to be temporary. Mobile APRC medical squads have been deployed throughout the area to deal with the catastrophe, and crisis-management units from several major corporations are en route, although Beijing has flatly refused to allow United Nations MediForce teams to enter Hong Kong airspace. Among the key targets for the terrorists was the headquarters of Yuk Lung Heavy Industries, which was wiped off the map by a massive explosion. Yuk Lung’s reclusive CEO is among the dead at this hour. While the perpetrators of this terrible act have yet to be identified, some intelligence analysts suggest that the America Alone Alliance Army may have had a hand in the incident, after their failed attack on the Cantonese idol singer Juno Qwan earlier this month. Qwan, along with several thousand of her fans, perished at the Wyldsky free concert, which was taking place on Victoria Peak at the time—yet more victims of this terrible event. Other theories lay the blame upon anti-corporate factions who may have used the concert as a cover for the attack. Reports coming out of the city are sketchy; eyewitness blogs suggest that the destruction of the Yuk Lung skyscraper occurred several hours after the terrorist strike, some even claiming that the tower was obliterated not by an internal detonation as the APRC statement suggests, but by a missile fired from an unknown location. There are also unconfirmed rumours that elements within the Yuk Lung Corporation may have been fully aware of the attack and yet did nothing to prevent it. We will bring you more on this story as it unfolds. Over to you, Dot.”

  “Troubling times, indeed, Web. Now, with more on that swarm of superintelligent wasps in Cologne, here’s our German correspondent, Sieben AufNeun.”

  bip bippa bip bip bip scree beeep bippa hip zzzzt

  “We’re sorry, but Sieben appears to be experiencing technical difficulties. Back to you, Ray.”

  17. A Better Tomorrow

  They buried Juno at a hillside cemetery, not far from the place where she had died. Sifu Bruce arranged a headstone, even in the traumatic aftermath of things finding a way to get this small but important matter arranged for the dead girl. The piece of granite was simple and without scrollwork or detail. It bore only her name, no date of birth, no date of passing. Lam, the wageslave—well, ex-wageslave now—had explained, in a quiet and unsteady voice, just what she really was, where she had come from. He had her files, memory cores full of DNA patterns and zygote fabrication specs. Despite all that, the man didn’t seem to care any less about her.

  Ko looked on and listened to Fixx as he made signs over the fresh grave and spoke about worlds beyond this one. The young man studied the turned earth over Juno’s coffin and wondered about all the other Junos that had come and gone before her, or the ones that had died still trapped inside tanks of amniotic fluid as the YLHI building collapsed. They would never be set to rest. In a way, this was a funeral for all of them as well.

  Fixx looked under the weather, but he hid it well, insisting that he was already on the mend. The operative spoke vaguely about somebody called Lucy living over Kowloon side, who knew about medical stuff and the business of healing. The dark-skinned man had a new companion, a cat; the animal had the feral look of a stray about it, but one of its eyes was a mechanical augmentation and it watched the proceedings with more than just feline interest.

  Ko said nothing as Fixx bent down and placed a single tarot card against Juno’s tombstone. He didn’t need to look to know there was a priestess with a beatific face upon it, head turned to the sky and smiling.

  “Ko.” Lam approached him. He looked different out of the spidersilk suit, in casual clothes. Ko saw the hollowness in his eyes, the sadness and the loss, and felt a pang of sympathy for the man.

  “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “If I had got there quicker—”

  Lam shook his head. “It’s not your fault. You dealt with that bastard Tze. You have nothing to apologise about.” He nodded up to where the road snaked through the graveyard. There were a string of vehicles up there, among them Fixx’s black Korvette with Nikita dozing in the back seat, her head resting against the window.

  They were almost alone in the cemetery. The other cars belonged to a group of shaven-headed Durdenists, chanting their death rites over a lost member of their number a few plots down the hillside. Ko let his gaze wander over the cityscape.

  All across Hong Kong the streets were sparsely populated. The population stayed at home and held close to those they loved, finding solace in simple human company. There would be nightmares for a long time to come. Church congregations of all kinds would swell, as would the lines at psych clinics and Doktor-Shrink™ franchises across the city; in a few years, someone would estimate that a full eighth of Hong Kong’s citizens suffered permanent psychotic breaks in the wake of the catastrophic “Wyldsky Incident”.

  Lam indicated the Korvette. “How is Nikita?”

  “No better,” admitted Ko, “but no worse either. I guess when the whole thing fell apart, the pain stopped.” He tapped his head. “Up here. But she’s gotta long way to go before she’s better.”

  The other man nodded. “This might help her some.” Lam produced a thick folder from a pocket in his jacket and opened it. It was a wad of share certificates from minor league multinats like Buell Tool, Inverse Smile and Titancorp. “Take these,” he said. “They’re as good as cash. You never did get paid for bringing me the truth about my brother.”

  Ko accepted the bundle. “This has gotta be, what, worth twice as much as we agreed?”

  Lam shrugged. “Something like that. When I bailed out from Yuk Lung, I set some contingency plans in motion, which involved wide-banding certain corporate secrets my brother had been gathering together. Before I did that, though, I made sure I channelled a big chunk of yuan from Tze’s discretionary funds into a sealed Swiss account.”

  Ko chuckled. “That’s a fair enough revenge. Yuk Lung Heavy Industries will be history before the end of the week.” He pocketed the folder and produced something from his coat. “Got something for you too. Your phone.” Ko handed it back and paused, thinking. “Remember what you said, when we were on the expressway? That you used to be like me?”

  “I remember.”

  “I think I believe you now. Only someone Street would do what you did. You might have lost your octane for a while, but you got it back, neh? It’s in your blood, man, the need for speed.”

  “Yeah,” said the other man distantly. “Listen, could you… give me a moment?” He looked at the grave.

  Ko nodded and followed Fixx toward the trees. “Sure, man. Say your goodbyes. ”

  “Thanks, Ko.”

  “You’re welcome… Francis.”

  He reached out a hand and let his fingers wander over the stone. It was cool and solid, and the action made his eyes prickle with tears. Frankie had hoped that his fingers would pass through the marker, ghost-like, that perhaps he might suddenly realise that all this was in his head. He wanted so much for it to be some horrible dream, a broken fragment left over from Tze’s invasion of his thoughts.

  But no. Juno was gone, the dancing, laughing sparkle in those haunted eyes snuffed out. The tragedy of her life brought to the inexorable closure that had been written into her DNA from the start.

  Numbly, in the hours after he and Fixx escaped from the tower, Frankie paged through the reams of data he had drained from Tze s computers. There, bereft of the security lockouts that had blocked his path before, was the scope of Project: Juno in all her synthetic glory. Yuk Lung and RedWhiteBlue had manufactured her from raw flesh, manipulated and changed her to make the perfect idol. With callous precision, they adjusted her look and personality to touch a baseline of human attraction across the broadest spectrum. She was made so everyone who saw her, everyone who heard her voice would find something to like about Juno. Something to love.

  He recalled Tze’s words: Quite something, isn’t she? It’s hard not fall for a woman like that.

  It wasn’t en
ough that they had used the girl, and not just her but a whole rank of clone-sisters, treating the Junos as disposable assets just to sell records; Tze had perverted her further, making her the face of his scheme, using her to spread the use of Z3N.

  Frankie took a shuddering breath. Tze was correct; Juno was created to make people fall in love with her, and Frankie had, harder and deeper than ever before. But did she love him too? Perhaps, he told himself, perhaps she was so carefully machined that he only thought she cared for him. It was obvious now that the Hi woman and Tze had brought the two of them together to keep Frankie distracted from what was really happening. So easy to see it now in hindsight.

  His vision blurred a little, and for a second there was the ghost of her face before him, smiling up from the silk sheets, meeting his lips in a kiss.

  In that moment, he knew it for sure. Frankie gave Juno the one thing she had never found in her lonely, sad existence. Truth, and she loved him for it.

  Frankie bowed his head and wept silently.

  Fixx put the cat on his shoulder and the animal made a short purr in its throat. “Hush up, Pinkeye,” he told it.

  “Cute pet,” said Ko, in a way that showed he didn’t mean it.

  “Just walking him for a friend. ”The op pulled a small metal rod from his pocket. “Here.”

  Ko took it and his eyes widened. “The key to the ’Vette?”

  “Yeah. It’s just a loaner, mind. Get you over the boundary into China, to someplace where you can use those jet tickets and not get spiked. She’s pre-programmed, just let her go when you’re done and she’ll find her way back to me.”

  The youth weighed the key in his hand, studying the little chrome skull dangling off the ring. “What you gonna do without any wheels?”

  “Ah, don’t worry ’bout me.” Fixx took a deep breath of the morning air. “I kinda like this place. They do things different ’round here. Gonna stay put for a while, rest up. See how the cards play.”