SWITCHBLADE (Choi Ziyi Book 1)

by Mike Morris

The man snatched it up, counted it between thumb and forefinger. Satisfied it was all there, it disappeared under the counter and he threw a swipe card down in its place. "End of the corridor, last room on the right. Two hours. You want more, you pay more." His attention drifted back to the bombing. The news station had gotten hold of footage taken from eye cams, replaying the death and destruction from every possible angle. Wing had only watched the events through security camera footage and that had been bad enough. The eye cams took things to a whole new level of horror.

  Song tugged Wing's hand, and gestured down the corridor. He hobbled after her.

  At least the room was cleaner than the rest of the hotel, and the sheets on the bed looked fresh. Wing just had to ignore the smell of stale sweat ingrained into the walls. The space wasn't much bigger than the bed, with a holo-screen on one wall and a curtained off window in the other. A small bathroom was tucked away in a corner, and two head units dangled over the bed. Wing pulled one over and checked the wiring. "This is a real amateur job. No wonder they've been burning people's brains out."

  "Don't worry. I know how to fix them, make them safe." Song delved into her handbag and pulled out a small tool kit.

  "What else have you got in there?" asked Wing. "So far I've seen a gun, cash and a dozen screwdrivers. It's as if you were already prepared for this."

  "Why don't you get showered while I sort these out? Get yourself cleaned up, eh?" She glanced down at his trousers, but enough was said.

  "Yeah, well, right," mumbled Wing as he shambled to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and slumped down on the toilet seat. He shook his head at his stupidity the last time he'd been in a bathroom, racking up the slice. Madness wanting to get high when his life was in danger. Fucking madness, but he wished he still had some with him. Maybe help make it all easier to deal with. He wouldn't be surprised if the guy at the front desk had some he'd be willing to sell. After all, people who came to love hotels were probably after all sorts of shit. Good job he had no money — and he certainly wasn't going to ask Song for any.

  He peeled off his shirt, threw it in the sink, and looked himself in the mirror. "Fucking idiot," he told his reflection. His skin was every shade of black and blue and he could see burn marks where he'd been tasered. Now wasn't the time to be thinking about getting high.

  His boots took forever to get off, especially manoeuvring the one off his damaged foot little by little. He whimpered each time he jarred the ankle, tears filling his eyes, and he was glad Song was on the other side of the closed door and couldn’t see him being a child. The jeans came off next and joined the shirt in the sink.

  His ankle was a swollen mess of vicious colour — red, purple, black — far worse than any of his other bruises. The lightest touch sent hot knives of pain through him. He hoped it wasn't broken — he didn't need any more problems.

  Taking his clothes with him, he hobbled into the shower, balancing on his good foot and turned on the jets. The warm water blasted the stench of piss and vomit away, along with the dirt and grime of the night's events. He scrubbed the shirt and jeans, washing them as best he could. It'd take them awhile to dry but at least the stink would be gone.

  He almost felt human again when the hot water ran out and intense cold battered the good feelings from him. He quickly turned the jets off and stood shivering in the shower cubicle. He couldn't help but smile at his reflection in the mirror. It just about summed up the way his life was going - the moment he got comfortable, something smacked him in the face.

  The towel was worn and frayed, but did the job of drying him off. Wrapping it around his waist, he opened the door and rejoined Song.

  "I would say you're looking good," she said, "but I think 'cleaner' is nearer the mark."

  "Think I broke my ankle," Wing told her.

  "Come here, let me have a look." Song let the head kits dangle off the bed and made room for Wing to sit down. Her touch was gentle as she probed the injury. "No more basketball for you this season."

  "No shit."

  She ripped a bed sheet into strips and bandaged Wing's ankle as tightly as she could. "Best I can do for now. I know a doctor who'll fix you off the books once we're done here though."

  "And I won't ask how you found him," said Wing. "You got the kit ready?"

  "We won't have any power surges to worry about. Once we link our minds, one of us can jack into the Stream, and we both should be able to ride the current. Start finding out who's behind this madness."

  The head kits didn't look much safer after Song's tampering but Wing had no choice but to trust her. He shifted along to the far side of the bed and took one of the kits in his hand. A short cable separated it from its twin.

  "They're meant to be worn during sex. No real need for more distance than that," said Song, enjoying his discomfort. "I'll try to control myself while we're connected."

  "How much of our minds will we be sharing?"

  "Depends. Just where ever our thoughts take us. Keep your mind on what we need to do, then no more than that. Start thinking about what that bad man did to you when you were four, and I'll know that too."

  "How many times have you done this?"

  "Once or twice. I like sex. Sue me."

  Wing concentrated on the kit in his hands while his heart raced. He liked sex too, but the last time he'd done it was a distant memory, and then nothing kinky. Would Song find that out? Or the drugs, or his obsession with Ziyi? Shit, he'd even masturbated thinking about Song a few times. And now he had to let her into his brain. He'd never be able to look her in the face again. He should've let the cops shoot him after all.

  Song slid next to him. "What you waiting for?"

  "There are things about me. Things I'd rather you didn't know."

  "Then don't think about them. But now's not the time to get shy, whatever's happening out there is more important than me finding out what a freak you really are." She settled her kit over her head, pulling Wing closer. She plugged in the neural points, gave him that look again that dared him not to be a pussy. "Let's do it."

  "Fine," replied Wing. He slipped the kit over his head as he tried to clear his mind of sex, drugs and every other depraved thing he normally thought about. "Who's getting plugged in?"

  "First timer's privilege," said Song. "Lie back, I'll be gentle."

  "Get on with it," sighed Wing. He shut his eyes. Felt the scrape of the plug against the port at the rear of his head. Tried not to flinch when it slipped into place, like an itch deep within his brain. The left temple was connected next, followed by the right. "Tell me when you're going to switch it..."

  Data rushed at him from every direction, threatening to overwhelm his mind, but Wing knew where he was. He fought the initial panic that always came with being plugged in. This was something he was used to. He rode the rush, breathing deeply, controlling it, enjoying it. The data flowed through him, restoring and rebuilding him by the second. The pain from the real world left him, leaving only his virtual self — pure, strong.

  He belonged in the Stream. This was his world. The fear left him for the first time that night.

  He felt a hand slip into his. Song stood beside him. She too glowed with strength and confidence, like a beautiful angel.

  "No one's ever called me an angel before," chuckled Song.

  "What? How?" His thoughts. She could read them. Shit.

  "Don't worry. I'm flattered."

  Her teeth shone as she smiled. Thoughts of sex stirred within Wing. He needed to think of something quickly. "Where have we hacked into?"

  Song gazed at the streams drifting past. "We're in the public data flows at the moment. We'll not find anything useful. We need to hack into Control's systems first."

  "That'll be impossible. We might as well try and walk to the moon."

  "Everywhere has a back door."

  "A door? Control doesn't..." But, before he could finish the sentence, he saw the faint edges of a doorframe appear. They were just slight variations of the
white, easily missed. As he looked at it, the definition became stronger and stronger. The glow of data hummed behind it. "Wow."

  "That's not the only one," said Song, indicating all around them. Doors appeared everywhere. Millions of them. "We can go wherever we need to."

  "Which one should we take?"

  "It doesn't matter. They all lead into Control for now, if that's where you want to go. Once we're in the system, we can swim where ever we need to go."

  "Let's do this," said Wing, wishing he felt braver. He reached for the door handle and then stopped. "Promise me one thing."

  "If I can," replied Song.

  "Get me out of here alive."

  She glanced at the floor again, and did that half-smile thing of hers that always came before a lie, before looking back at him. "We can do this, Wing."

  As scared as ever, Wing opened the door and stepped through.

  The data hit them in another rush, a thousand times more powerful than before. It battered his senses and his mind bulged. Get it together, he told himself. He was in charge of the data, not the other way around.

  Song struggled too, feeding on his own discomfort as well as her own. He pulled her tight, concentrated on her face, and she his, while the storm around them settled.

  "You good?" he asked.

  Song stepped back. "Intense." The flush left her cheeks quickly and she was all business again. Unstoppable. Like Ziyi in many ways.

  She stopped that thought with just a raised eyebrow. "You don't want to go there."

  "Where do we start?"

  She pulled a stream towards her. "Anderson's video demand." It was shot in an anonymous room. At first it was just Anderson and Xiao. The heir was petrified; his eyes bulged and you could see him trying to scream behind the gag in his mouth. He zoomed in, adjusting the lightness and contrast to pick out the details.

  It was only at the end when the camera man pulled back when Ziyi appeared in frame, bound and gagged as well. Wing's heart jumped into his throat. "I can't believe it's her - she'd never let herself be captured. They've faked it somehow." Wing delved into the film, pulling it apart and analysing every detail. "Not CGI either. The film's not been manipulated in any way. That's a real person."

  "You sure it's not her?" asked Song.

  He stared at Ziyi, surrounded by the terrorists. Could it be her? The bio-scans said it was. Everything about her looked right, except something wasn't. "I know her Song — better than anyone. She’s too good to get captured."

  "That's serious surgery if it's not her. Face-changing mek," replied Song.

  Wing stared at her. It was the only option he found believable. "Like the Americans fooling the retina scans." He checked every inch of her, looking for something out of place. Even amongst all the madness that was going, she could take his breath away. If he didn't know better, he'd swear it was her. It was amazing work. "It’s not Ziyi."

  "Who's paying for this? Who's got the skills?" asked Song.

  "They'd need access to her personnel files. That's serious security clearance in itself." Wing manipulated the data stream, pulling more information to him like a fisherman pulls in his nets. "There's no sign of any external breach so there's at least one person on the inside, helping them. I'm pulling up her files. See who's been looking at them."

  He skimmed through her early life, through the start of her career, until he reached the last year. Seven names remained next to her file. Three of those were registered in the last twelve hours, so Wing struck them off.

  He was left with an odd list. Deng, Bao Yu, Chien Hwang - who was the head of Imperial Human Resources, and Rex Rui of all people. What the fuck was he doing looking at her files?

  "Rui. Nasty piece of work," said Song.

  Wing pulled Rui's picture and information up. "He's Xiao best friend - they've been together since they were both children. There's no one more loyal. He'd never betray Xiao."

  "You can say that after tonight?" asked Song.

  Wing watched her absorb all the agent's data. "Can we be sure about anyone?"

  "Then what about Bao Yu? Why's she checking Ziyi out? Why didn't she ask you to look up whatever she needed if it was legit? You were her handler."

  "She's dead. I think she's safe to cross off as a suspect," replied Wing.

  "Did you see a body?"

  "No... but it was all over the news... They killed her when they tried to kill us..."

  Song raised an eyebrow. She didn't have to question Wing's naivety anymore. He felt stupid enough.

  "Fuck," he said, turning back to the list. "What about Deng?"

  "It could be any of them. All of them."

  "What motive would they have to work with the Americans?"

  "Deng? He's as hard line as they come. Rui? I wouldn't be surprised if he did it for the fun. Maybe they paid Bao Yu? It's not like they pay us enough. They could've..." Song choked back a sob. "Wing. You need to see this."

  "You've found something?"

  "Nothing I was looking for." Song's eyes were filled with tears. "But I was monitoring the news feeds in the background and I saw this." She brought up images from a multitude of news stations. "A nuclear bomb has gone off in Washington. Most of the city's gone. The White House's been wiped from existence. The Governor's dead. The Imperial Government."

  "Shit."

  "We're running out of time, Wing."

  "That's the understatement of the fucking year."

  19

  Ziyi

  Ziyi hit the door with all the strength of her mek, ripping from its hinges and shattering the lock. She threw herself into the room before it had the chance to hit the floor.

  The first thing she saw was Anderson's dead body. The second was Rui standing over the corpse. Xiao nor her double were anywhere to be seen.

  "Hello little sister. You took your time getting here." He grinned, his scar catching a glint of neon. "And look at the state of you. What on earth happened to your ear?"

  "Where's Xiao?" asked Ziyi, fighting a touch of panic. Her locator said he was in the room with her despite the physical evidence to the contrary. "Where is he?"

  "Safe. No thanks to this man." Rui stepped over Anderson's corpse to stand by Ziyi's side. "And, of course, no thanks to you."

  "What?" said Ziyi as the world went black. She toppled to the floor, unable to move to break her fall in any way. Her face smashed into the ground and she lay there on her side, unable to even blink.

  Rui bent down into her line of sight and held a small device in front of her face.

  "This little beauty shuts down all that wonderful mek inside you, turns you into nothing more a glorified paperweight. Another zap would knock you unconscious, but I want you awake for what's next." He leaned in and kissed her lips. "I want you to experience everything. Years of planning are coming to fruition tonight." With Ziyi's assault rifle in his hands, he wandered over to the window and gazed out over the harbour. "Of course, it would have been so much easier if you'd just died earlier in when the flyer crashed or let yourself be arrested. Then we could've let my friends here live a little while longer. Their little distractions would've been useful but I suppose they've already done enough."

  Ziyi struggled, desperate to move, desperate to get back on her feet and attack Rui. The bastard was behind Xiao's kidnapping. And a plan years in the making? How far did the conspiracy go?

  Rui fired a burst through the window, shattering it. Glass fell into the darkness as a wind off the ocean raced in, pulling the heat of the night in with it. He threw the weapon out into the harbour and brushed non-existent dirt from his hands.

  "Little sister, you look so angry," said Rui, moving behind her. "Why, I could fry an egg on your head right now. You really need to learn to relax." He slipped his hands beneath her armpits and hauled her onto her feet. She nearly toppled back down but Rui steadied her. He manoeuvred her from side to side until she tottered on the edge of the window. The wind twisted around her, reminding her of the emptiness waiting out
side. A space ship took off on Lamma, the roar of its engines drowning the city until it left the atmosphere.

  Rui stared deep into her eyes, his face only an inch from hers. "I just want you to know I always hated you. So virtuous in everything you did. Always acting like you better than everyone else while you stared all puppy-dog eyed at Xiao. I'm just sorry I can't make you suffer more but, before I let you go, know that Xiao will soon be dead." He leaned closer, until their cheeks touched. His lips brushed her ear. "Goodbye, Ziyi. We have Empires to seize."

  He kissed her on the cheek, and let go. She fell backwards, a dead weight. Her head dropped, and the world tipped upside down. The trash-filled, oil-dark waters churned hungrily below, bashing up against the side of the building.

  She strained every part of herself, begging her body to respond. Faster and faster she dropped with her arms locked to her side. So this is how it ends, she thought, just as she hit the water hard.

  It smashed the air out of her lungs and the sense out of her head. Debris battered her as she went down, the weight of her mek dragging her straight to the bottom, settling amongst the centuries of trash that covered the sea floor. A rusted wire basket, full of empty tins of long forgotten brands, scratched her face. A few bubbles of oxygen drifted from her mouth upwards. As her air left her behind, she wondered how long her mek would remain rusting down in the depths after her flesh had rotted away. Such a dishonourable death. She'd failed Xiao, her family and her empire.

  She closed her mouth to save whatever air she had left, realising only then that she'd moved. She closed her eyes, finding another gem of hope in that small victory.

  It blossomed deep inside as she resumed the battle with her body's paralysis. She concentrated on her extremities — her fingers and toes, seeking any victory, praying with all her heart to her ancestors for help. Frustration mixed with anger and fear as her body refused to cooperate. The edge of her vision crumbled as another bubble of precious oxygen slipped past her lips.

  The pressure in her lungs threatened to burst through her chest. Move, she screamed in her mind. Panic was the only sensation that seemed to exist. She was going to die. More air burst from her lips and she watched them escape to the surface, so far away.