Hong Kong

by Mel Odom

  “All the way,” the guy answered. “All the way up. It’s someone on the Council.”

  “Someone on the Executive Council wants these two dead?” She spat on him. “Fuck your ancestors to the eighteenth generation. Give me the truth.”

  “It’s the truth, madam! I swear it! Whoever it was labeled them as terrorists—we’re to terminate them on sight with extreme prejudice.”

  Someone wanted to make an example of us. That didn’t make sense with anything I knew.

  Kindly Cheng caught a fistful of the man’s hair and yanked his head back. She searched his eyes with her own. “That’s all he’s got.” She released his hair and looked at me. “For whatever reason, someone on the Executive Council of the Free Enterprise Zone ordered the Hong Kong Police Force to kill you two nobodies from Seattle.” She paused, suspicion flickering in her eyes. “I find that fascinating. Don’t you?”

  Her question was the most accusing I’d ever heard, and I had the definite impression that I might die in the next few seconds.

  “I call that some messed up shit,” I said.

  “Seattle isn’t like Hong Kong,” Gobbet said. “There, the megacorps control the government. Here, the corps are the government.”

  “The Exec Council is chosen by the Corporate Board of Governors,” Is0bel said. “They’re basically the legislative and executive branches of the Hong Kong government in one tiny package. Eight people call all the shots. Neat and efficient.”

  Kindly Cheng stepped back and lit a new smoke. “For the wageslaves and the civilian sheep, the corporations are a pantheon of gods who wield ultimate power.” She nodded around the room. “But not for us.”

  She tapped ash on the kneeling man’s head. “Who else knows about my guests’ visit to Heoi, shitbird?”

  “No one, madam!” He nearly shouted, barely holding back his fear. “I hadn’t called it in yet—I wanted the kill for myself!”

  Thank god for greedy police assassins.

  “No one knows they’re here!” he went on. “I swear it!”

  Kindly Cheng turned to Strangler Bao at her side. “Mr. Bao?”

  Bao showed her a comm that had been hidden in his big hands. “He’s telling the truth. No outgoing calls on this.”

  “Very good. Thank you, Bao.” Kindly Cheng returned her attention to the undercover cop. “And thank you for your honesty.”

  He started a smile, never even had a chance to lose it before Bao drew a pistol and shot him through the head. His limp body crashed to the floor at Kindly Cheng’s feet.

  Chapter 23

  Welcome to the Shadows

  “What the hell was that?” I exploded. I’d never been part of a cold-blooded killing like this before. “That was a cop!”

  “I know, my darling,” Kindly Cheng said. “Now he’s a silent cop.” She picked up a few mahjong tiles and shook them in her hand. “It is clear our friend Raymond Black was up to something involving the Walled City. Something having to do with prosperity. And this Executive Council member wanted him dead for it. Now they want you dead for it, too. And this Plastic-Faced Man may show up on your door one day, too.”

  She fixed me with her gaze, moved to Duncan, then back to me. “I have a proposal for you, my sweets. Work for me.”

  I remained quiet for a moment, and Duncan waited for my lead.

  “With Nightjar and Gutshot dead,” Kindly Cheng went on, “I find myself with two openings. Fill them. I have need for deniable assets here—players unaffiliated with the other triads who can take care of some of the more…unsavory business needs about town. You’ve proven yourself resourceful, and you have no connections here. That can be a positive in this line of work.”

  “This line of work sounds dangerous,” I said.

  “Damn right,” Duncan agreed.

  “In exchange,” Kindly Cheng said, “I will keep you safe from pests like this one. You’ll have safe harbor here in my town, and a steady source of income. And while you dip your toe into the waters of corporate espionage, organized crime, and clandestine mercenary actions, I will employ my network to find the Plastic-Faced Man and gather information about Raymond Black. Where he’s been. Who he talked to. Who stood to gain from his death. What this prosperity could be.”

  “What’s in it for you?” I knew she wasn’t doing this out of the goodness of her heart.

  “Besides the money and the benefits of helping others in my community?” She smiled. “I need to learn who killed one of my clients, and then ordered the cops to execute my team of shadowrunners.” Her voice dropped into a lower register and filled with threat. “That is a brazen disregard of my power. Face dictates it must be confronted, or I stand to lose everything.”

  “How would the arrangement work?” I asked.

  “I find the right jobs for people with your…talents. You do what our clients cannot do for themselves. I take a finder’s fee and a small percentage of your earnings. You make a lot of nuyen very quickly.” Kindly Cheng shrugged. “It’s all very civilized.”

  Except what she was talking about was dangerous and risky, and my and Duncan’s necks would always be on the chopping block.

  “Work with me,” she enthused. “Allow me to help you make money. Let my network help you and find out what you’ve gotten yourselves into.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Without my help, you won’t last a day out there. You are completely out of your depth, I’m afraid. You need a partner. Kindly Cheng will be your partner.”

  Duncan shook his head. “I gotta wrap my brain around this. Things are moving too fast. There’s a lot to process.”

  I felt bad for him. He’d tried to leave the hustle and uncertainty behind him, first with the old man, then with Lone Star. My brother preferred a black and white arena where all the rules were known to everyone.

  We were way past that. And he needed to realize that—the sooner, the better.

  “Think about it, Duncan,” I said. “This gives us freedom to find out what happened to Ray.”

  “I know. I get it. I just gotta reconcile this whole…” Duncan blew out a big breath. “Ah, fuck it. I’m not a cop anymore. That guy’s dead, and down the memory hole he goes. I’m in.” He stared at me. “What about you?”

  “I think Ray’s still alive, too,” I answered. “Let’s run the shadows and figure out what happened to him.”

  “Raymond’s alive,” Duncan repeated, sounding more certain than he had before. “So I’ll run the shadows as long as Auntie Cheng here—” He nodded at the gangster. “—keeps her end of the bargain and helps us figure out what really happened to him. Then I’m gonna find my father.”

  Kindly Cheng nodded in satisfaction, and she might have even looked a little excited. “Then it’s done. Heoi is now open to you. First order of business is getting street names for yourselves.”

  Duncan frowned. “Yeah, okay. I’ll think of something.”

  Gobbet grinned. “I think we already got you covered, Gun Show.” She turned to Is0bel. “Fits, doesn’t it?”

  Is0bel grinned back and nodded. “Indeed.”

  Duncan shook his head. “I knew that was gonna stick.”

  “It has stuck,” Kindly Cheng said, finishing the baptism. “Gobbet, Is0bel, we’ll handle this the same way we did with…all your other paperwork.”

  I knew she’d thought of Nightjar. Pain flashed in her eyes for just a heartbeat, then winked out of existence.

  “All the jobs I line up for you,” she said as she looked at me, “will be sent to your computer on the squat-boat.”

  “Why me?” I asked.

  “It’s a simple process of elimination. Is0bel isn’t the leader type.”

  “You got that right,” the dwarf decker said.

  “As for Gobbet…” Kindly Cheng paused. “Let’s just say that she doesn’t have a head for business.”

  The shaman shook her head, giving no sign of having taken offense. “Not my thing.”

  “And then there’s Gun Show.” Kindly Chen
g raised an eyebrow. “The jury’s still out on Mr. Gun Show.”

  Duncan glowered at her. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning there’s a lot going on in that head of yours right now, and I’m not sure that I can trust you.”

  “Gun Show will be fine,” I said. “Trust me.”

  The triad woman locked eyes with me and didn’t say anything.

  “Don’t worry,” Duncan said beside me. “I’ll be cool.”

  “Okay, then.” I took a breath. “Guess I’m running the show.”

  Duncan grinned. “Gonna be weird calling you by your street name again. Haven’t done that since we were kids.”

  “I guess this is our new crew.” Gobbet looked pleased. Rats peered out from under her clothing. “Welcome to the shadows.”

  Welcome to the shadows. I thought about that for a moment.

  Nobody knew how many people were buried out there in the shadows.

  Chapter 24

  Racter

  We returned to the trawler and everybody turned in to catch up on sleep. Except me. I noticed the hatch in the main room was open, and guessed that our downstairs “neighbor” had left it open. I decided to let him know he now had new neighbors before a lethal mistake was made.

  Especially since one of the HKPF had already found us.

  At the bottom of the steps, the garish red lights pulled a lanky figure out of the darkness. Dressed in a black trench coat, he stood with his back to me and didn’t bother to turn around.

  Synthetic oil and grease stink overlaid everything. Metal and composite surfaces gleamed, showing recent attention and care. Several new machines stood around the area, all of them manufacturing devices, and not many of them I recognized.

  “Ah, I was wondering when I would meet the new neighbor,” the man said in a deep voice with a thick Russian accent. Despite the harsh syllables, he sounded cultured and restrained. “Please stay where you are. I’ll be with you in just a moment. And unless you fancy a trip to Chrome Alley, don’t touch anything. There are all manner of tools in here that could take your hand clean off.”

  I drew my arms in a little closer to my body. Chrome Alley was street slang for doctors who performed cyber enhancements for clients. Not all of those were legal establishments. “Thanks for the warning.”

  “Don’t mention it. I have no interest in seeing anyone hurt in my shop, especially not my upstairs neighbor.”

  I peered over his shoulder at the screen he was working on. I couldn’t make sense of any of the design work there. Whatever this guy was working on, he was light years ahead of me.

  “Very good,” the guy said softly. “Yes, that’s coming along nicely. Very nicely indeed.”

  He turned to look at me. His thick, Slavic features looked gray in the red light, like he didn’t see the sun much. Of course, most shadowrunners and techies didn’t. Still he was about ten years older than me, and handsome. The cherry end of a cigarette glowed as he inhaled, then the obnoxious stench of Russian tobacco filled my nose.

  “So sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr….”

  I gave him my street name because it wouldn’t mean anything to him. “It’s no problem. Don’t worry about it.”

  “You’re too kind,” he replied. “Now tell me, what can I do for—”

  Quick movement to our side caught his attention. I watched as an armed drone scuttled out of the shadows under the work table. Once clear, it reared back on its back legs like a tarantula.

  The man nodded to the drone and looked—for a moment—like an affectionate father. “Please, don’t mind the drone. He can be…territorial. But so long as you remain civil, he will not bite.”

  I held up my hands, showing the drone they were empty.

  “My name is Racter.” The man extended his hand. “My mechanical counterpart here is called Koschei.”

  I shook his hand, which was rough and warm. A working man’s calluses covered his palm. “A pleasure.”

  “I am very pleased to meet you, my friend. In a community such as Heoi, it’s important to be on good terms with one’s neighbors.”

  “Agreed. Speaking of which, I’d like to ask you some questions, if you have the time.”

  He rolled a sleeve back to reveal a metallic bracer around his forearm. A technical display flared to life and winked out. “Very well. This morning’s casting should still be cooling for a few minutes yet. That’s time enough to talk.”

  Busy man, this Racter guy.

  “You’ve got some interesting machinery in here,” I said. “Not the kind that you typically see outside of corporate settings.”

  “The same could be said of many in Heoi, I’m sure. This is a smuggler’s den, is it not? Our entire economy is based on people having things they shouldn’t. Is there a particular device that interests you, out of curiosity…”

  “I’m mostly interested in that drone you have there.” I’d known riggers back in Seattle, and they were always a breed apart. Yang Zizhuang was a runner, but he only operated with drones he built himself. He’d lost a crew, and didn’t want to go through that again.

  “Koschei? Ah, but my friend, you are wrong…you will never find his like in any corporate factory or lab. He is mine. My own creation, from the top of his sensor array to the tips of his claws. I designed him, fabricated his components, and built him by hand.”

  “Impressive,” I told him.

  Racter shrugged. “No more so than anyone else who follows his passions and perfects his craft.”

  “Koschei is an interesting name for a drone.”

  “Yes, I suppose that it is. Not many riggers would name their most prized possession after a villain in a fairy tale. A nod to my heritage, I suppose.”

  I’d read a lot while in lockdown. Somewhere in there I had read about Koschei. He’d been a wizard, supposedly immortal as long as he kept his soul separate from his body and hidden in a needle, inside an egg, inside a duck, inside a hare, under a tree on an island. Or maybe somebody had told me the story. I couldn’t remember. It was a name that had evidently stuck in my head and Racter’s.

  “Your drone is as deathless as Koschei was supposed to be?”

  His eyebrows raised in surprise, and he smiled. “You are familiar with the story?”

  I nodded.

  “Wonderful. In a manner of speaking, I suppose he is. I have redundant pieces of his architecture, and his core programming is stored on a disc in a secret location. Should he ever suffer critical damage, I can easily bring him back.” He paused. “I had a plan, once, to automate the self-repair process. I must confess, it was really quite ingenious. But alas, my research was lost. One day I will reclaim it, and Koschei will become as deathless as the stories claim. But it will not be today.”

  “Are you Russian? I thought I recognized the accent.”

  He nodded. “You have a good ear. I’m impressed. Yes, I grew up in Nizhny, Novgorod…went to school there, started my career there in the industrial sector. A fairly common story, I’m sure.”

  I was pretty certain there was nothing fairly common about Racter.

  “But I have also traveled a great deal,” he went on, “and in so doing, I have absorbed a number of other languages and dialects.”

  “If you were born and raised in Russia, what brings you to Hong Kong now?”

  “The same thing that attracts many to the Free Enterprise Zone.” Racter spread his long-fingered hands. “Opportunity. You, yourself, are a recent transplant, are you not? Your Cantonese is heavily accented in the style of many UCAS expats. That isn’t a criticism, mind you…just a statement of fact.”

  “Yeah, I’m new here. Not by choice.”

  “Then I am sorry for you. But not overly sorry. There are a great number of places in this world that would be far worse to end up in. If you have to be marooned somewhere, you’re lucky to be in Hong Kong. Trust me on that, my friend. I have traveled broadly enough to know.”

  “When you said ‘this morning’s casting,’ what did you mean?”


  “Exactly what I said.” Excitement flared in his eyes. “A casting that I made of a new locomotive assembly for Koschei. A biomimetic design, as you can see. This one is inspired by the walking legs of a decapod crustacean.The mangrove crab, to be specific.”

  “You’re designing drone parts in here?”

  “And fabricating them, yes.”

  “Wouldn’t it be simpler to outsource the fabrication?”

  “Simpler? Yes. But not better. Here, I have control over the entire process, from start to finish. And I have the skills to make good use of that control. Drone architecture was once my profession, you see. Now that I have freed myself from the shackles of corporate servitude, I see little reason to rely on outsiders for anything.”

  I agreed with the sentiment. I didn’t like relying on others either. Which was one of the reasons I’d wanted to get away from the old man. And that little bit of suspicion I had that never went away niggled at me.

  “You said you used to work for a corp. Whose payroll were you on?”

  Sadness pulled at his face. “That is something of a sore subject. My departure was involuntary, you see. I did not part ways with my employer under the best of terms. I will tell you that I worked for Grishin-Aviakor, but you’ll forgive me if I don’t want to go into detail.”

  I’d heard of them, but only tangentially. Grishin-Aviakor developed transport vehicles—land, sea, and air—and robotic combat systems. That was interesting.

  I waved around the room. “All of this has gotta be expensive. Where do you get the money to support your work?”

  “Freelance.” He smiled. “At the risk of sounding immodest, I’ve commodified myself rather well. There are always corporations in need of design consultations. You’d be surprised at how lucrative such work can be. And there is always…other work I can turn to in a pinch.”

  “Care to tell me what kind?” I said, though I was pretty sure what that work was.

  His eyes narrowed and, at his side, the drone shifted restively. “A rather personal question, wouldn’t you say?”