Jade Dragon

by James Swallow

  A grim-faced woman in a blue Highrider jumpsuit drifted forward a little; the distance it had travelled from LaGrange orbit made her signal grainy. “What about the field test? I’m eager to hear the results.”

  “Your keenness is appreciated,” said Tze. “Data is still in the midst of collation,” he threw a look at Hi, “but early signs are good.”

  The Highrider nodded, her image pixellating. “Encouraging.”

  “But, the replacement…” said another man, a rotund Japanese in a Happi coat emblazoned with corporate logograms. “The quality is adequate, neh?”

  “Very good,” said Hi, unable to stop herself from blurting it out. “I would go so far as to say superior, even.”

  Tze silenced her with a gesture. “I have given Ms Hi my leave to ensure that the pattern continues to unfold as it must. The resources of my humble clan are at the disposal of this Cabal through myself and through her.”

  “And what about the Americans?” said the Chinese general. “This man Nguyen Seth in the Utah wasteland with his plans?”

  “They call it Deseret now,” corrected the Highrider. “It is of serious concern. Additionally, the Catholic Church is deploying more agents and there are incidents of Unknown Events in Rio Verde, Krakow and Swindon. ”

  Tze’s face turned into a sneer. “Oh, the arrogance of it. The Road to the Shining City must be marked out for the Dark Ones, yes? But marked by who?” He stabbed a finger at the air. “By them? Or by us?” He showed his teeth. “This is not the time for their empty words.” Tze coiled his fingers into a ball, and where the blood still flowed from his ripped skin, it ran in red lines about his fist. “It is time for our potent deeds.”

  When the city-state of Hong Kong returned to Chinese sovereign control in 1997, the farewell to British Governor Timothy Brooke-Taylor was an emotional affair. Like all births, it carried pain and glory within it. That simple moment—the exchange of flags on a rainy night—was the dawn of a new age b3ginning 0f the end and a bold future for this cessp00l of lies vibrant city. But that future did not come without struggle. The twin epidemics of avian flu and N-SARS they Set it up0n us that swept the globe forced China to look outward and offer hands of peace bu11ets & hyp0crisy to her neighbour nations. In the first decade of the Twenty-first century, as lawlessness threatened the cherished freedoms of millions of people cattle worldwide, Hong Kong’s unique status was endangered. China’s leaders understood they w3r3 afraid that to go forward meant taking a leaf from the city’s glorious past. In partnership with $ell ¥0ur $oul 2 them her international corporate partners, Hong Kong was reborn destroyed. The creation of the Hong Kong Free Economic Enterprise Quadrant (HKFEEQ) opened the door to the c0rp0rates and l3t them turn this city in2 their private playground we ha7e lo5t 0ur tiny fr33doms and we must liv3 with @ GUN 2 our heads where the law is as flexible as the creditchip in y0ur pock3t. Hong Kong is a city to be proud afraid of, and together the People’s Republic of China and her m0neypimp friends will lead it to a future of death RUIN des0lation greatness.

  Excerpt from A Fragrant Destiny: A History of the Hong Kong Free Economic Enterprise Quadrant by Brian Holt Lik a c0rp0rate lack3y and ca5hwh0re.

  5. Heroes Shed No Tears

  Old Yee showed him a mouth of yellow tombstone teeth and gave Ko double the normal portion of curry noodles, taking the fold of yuan with his clawed fingers. Yee was from the mainland and refused to speak in anything but a thick dialect of Mandarin. Ko understood maybe one word in three, but he mosdy got by on the fact that the old geezer liked him. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but Yee made good noodles and his mobile stand always seemed to be open whenever Ko was hungry. He took a plastic bottle of Tsingtao and saluted Yee with it, then skirted the snake-buses as he crossed Hennessy Road. He made for the plaza, past the tourists being funnelled into large armoured people-carriers, great blocky things painted in gaudy tropical colour patterns that hid the snouts of stun nozzles.

  The big holoscreen on the side of the CloudReach Shopplex was showing highlights from the day’s endorsed track duels at Happy Valley, and Ko winced around a mouthful of noodles as it slo-moed the horrific impact kill of a G-Mek V12 Interceptor striking the barrier at three hundred kilometres per hour. The car gently disintegrated into metal shavings, and an overlaid graphic pointed out the instant when the steering column speared the driver. The betting results faded away and up came the BloodPool sweepstake. Ko fished in his pocket for his ticket and realised with a frown that he’d forgotten to get one that morning. He chugged a gulp of beer to wash down the annoyance. Around him, foot traffic slowed as other people stopped to see the lottery numbers. Ko was always fascinated by the way that people from the States or the EU went crazy with their hooting and cheering when they gambled. That kind of behaviour was alien to the Chinese mindset. Games of chance required the most serious mind, not the loutishness that the gwailos displayed, scaring off the spirits of good fortune with all their noise. The tickertape ran the numbers. Low fatalities during the race day were balanced by an industrial accident at Quarry Bay and a restaurant boat hijacking that went bad out at Aberdeen. Hong Kong’s daily death toll was green for good, but without a ticket the score was meaningless to Ko. The holo-screen showed a streetcam view of the winner—a little woman in a viddysilk cheongsam—and the hesitant crowd around him broke up and melted away. Ko watched a little longer as the display went on to post scores for the state-sponsored manhunt going on over in Macao. That’s how to make money here, he thought. Win it, steal it or kill for it.

  He finished the cooling noodles on the way toward the Causeway Bay metro station, crossing the road through a plastic tunnel. The tube glowed as he entered it, the walls fading into a grainy CGI model of a sun-kissed beach. It was meant to seem like Ko and the other pedestrians were ambling along the edge of a tropical island but the swearwords and flyposters dotting the walls spoilt the image. Ko watched a poorly rendered copy of Juno Qwan smile at him from the tree line. She had her hands cupped and glittering indigo liquid ran over her fingers. He blinked as the sublims kicked in, making him feel twitchy, and stared at the fake sand beneath his feet until he reached the other end of the tunnel.

  Ko had never seen a blue ocean. A memory popped in his head, bright and hard. The day Dad had taken them on a trip up to the Peak so they could look out beyond Hong Kong Island and out into the haze. Ko had expected blue, the azure glitter they showed on the vid; but instead it was all the same dirty bottle green that lapped at the piers on the Kowloon side.

  Blue. Ko wanted a blue sea, a blue sky, an endless road. He wanted freedom, if there was such a thing, but the idea of it was so ephemeral and directionless he couldn’t hold it in his mind for long. He was only sure of one thing. It would cost him money to get to the blue. He needed a big score to take him there, not the pissant pocket change he got from runs and road challenges. Ko sighed, crumpling the beer bottle in his hand. It wouldn’t be enough to get there alone, though. Ko thought of Nikita and the drug packet. He had to get her away too, before the city saw her weakness and killed her with it.

  He went over the road with the metallic woodpecker of the crossing indicator rattling in his ears, and just for a moment he felt his black mood lift a little. There, on the shallow concrete bank where they always gathered, he saw Gau, the Cheungs and Poon clustered around one of the public benches. As ever, a string of hyped-up subcompact cars filled the roadside parking spaces. Second’s green Kaze with its black-tinted windows was there at the front of the rank, but Ko couldn’t see him or hear his braying laugh.

  Gau had a magazine foldout in his hands, and the rest of the gang were engrossed in it. Ko saw a wide expanse of pale female flesh.

  “Not real,” Little Cheung was saying. “You can see it’s just a render.” He pointed at one visible breast. “The tits are too good.”

  “Too good is never too bad,” broke in Ise, tugging at his orange quiff. “I’d nail that, oh yeah.”

  “Can you find your dick with both han
ds?” Gau asked. “Naw, Little Brother is right. You can see this is a fake. They mocked it up using pictures of her from that photo shoot she did in Free Malaysia.”

  The image was of Juno Qwan, naked on a hardwood floor, cupping her breasts and wearing an incongruous little-girl smile. The image seemed off to Ko, too. It wasn’t uncommon for the tabloid screamsheets to make digitals of the idols-of-the-moment and then put them in compromising positions, just to sell a few more issues. Big Cheung patted his belly and leered at Ise. “You wanna see them boobies for real, I gotta sense-disc of her. Load it inna skin suit and you could have her all night long…”

  Ise snorted. “That’s jagged, man. You keep your sick fantasies to yourself.”

  “Hey,” said Ko as he approached them.

  It was as if a switch had been flipped. The mood changed instantly, the air becoming chilly by degrees. People looked away, composing themselves.

  Gau met his gaze. “Hey Ko. You drive in?” It was the standard conversation-starter in go-ganger circles, but it seemed stilted and forced.

  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “In the shop. ”That was a lie; Ko’s Ranger was parked in a multi-story a few blocks away, hidden behind a ferrocrete stanchion. He hadn’t wanted to turn up on the street with it sporting the busted headlights that were Nikita’s payback for destroying her Z3N stash.

  “Huh,” said Gau. “Right. Didn’t think we’d see you tonight.”

  “Not after what happened…” added Ise, without looking him in the eye.

  The air of easy banter had evaporated the moment Ko opened his mouth; now the vibe was frosty and strained. Everyone there wanted him gone.

  “I’m missing something.” Ko said in a low voice, the first flickers of annoyance catching inside him.

  “Got that right,” Poon said it so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.

  Ko fixed Gau with a hard look. “You want to help a guy out?”

  Gau looked away. “Don’t think I can, man.”

  Ko opened his mouth to speak, but Little Chung bounced to his feet and broke in. “Look, Ko. Out at the airport, that was off-book.”

  “What?” he retorted. “Like to see you jack a corp ride like that!”

  “Yeah, but it was zero, chummer! You never did something so airhead!”

  “Ko, man,” said Gau, “Rikio was by earlier tonight. He said about what Hung did. You’re giving us a bad rep. You shouldn’t have popped a corp’s car, that makes shit for the rest of us.”

  “You gutless fuckers,” whispered Ko. “You’re always on about a big score, but you never do anything except…” He swallowed hard as the conversation he’d had in the Vector came back to him. Making yuan off races and taking pinks where you can. “All I’m saying is,” Gau continued, ignoring the outburst, “you might want to go dark for a little while, man. Just… Stay off the scope.”

  “Stay away from us,” added Poon, just in case the point hadn’t been made strongly enough.

  “Shit like racing we can get away with,” said Ise, “boosting the wheels off some ubersuit gets us all ass-screwed.” He finally looked at him. “You make it risky, Ko. You oughta cool.”

  He backed off a step and looked at the group. Poon, her face hard with dislike; Gau, morose and obdurate; the Cheung brothers indifferent to all; Ise angry with him. In that moment, Ko had never felt so disconnected from them, these people he called his friends. They were turning away from him to protect the stupid little bubble of their road-tribe.

  The doors to Second Lei’s Kaze gull-winged open and released a pulsing musical beat. Ko recognised the chorus to “Doppler Highway”. Lei emerged from the car buttoning up his shirt, two girls in Mongkok Sabre colours following him out. Their lipstick was smeared and their eyes distant. Second spat into the gutter and rolled something small and glassy between his fingers. Even from a distance, Ko could see it was an injector syrette.

  Lei threw him a snide look and grinned. “Lost your way, spooky? Want me to call you a cab?”

  “You’re a cab!” chorused the Sabre girls, giggling in breathy unison.

  “Or maybe you’d like something else?” Lei approached him, rolling the injector over his fingers. He sniffed. “Just in. Better than gel caps. Just pop it to your neck and—”

  “Ooooh.” the two girls mimed the action. “I’m the pretty voice… ”

  “Pure,” he grinned. “First one’s free.”

  “Get lost,” Ko snarled.

  Lei’s grin widened. “You should take a page from Niki-Niki’s book, Chen. Be polite like your sister.” He licked his lips. “Do me a favour? Tell her I got a new shipment, I’ll give her a discount for her regular custom—”

  Ko’s punch landed squarely on Second’s jaw and he staggered backward, bouncing off a parking meter. Ko’s vision hazed red. “You give that poison to my family, you piece of shit?”

  Second recovered and sneered. “Don’t give it to her, spooky. She pays for it.”

  Ko threw himself at the bigger youth and swung out, his anger making the attack clumsy and poorly aimed. Second deflected the blow and landed a heavy fist in Ko’s stomach. Ko recoiled, coughing.

  “Is this guy not the dumbest fucker in the world?” Second asked the assembled gangers. “Brains of a wooden duck!”

  Ko spat and hauled himself up. Second beckoned him to keep going. In the back of Ko’s mind there was a voice that begged him to do what he always did whenever he ended up facing off with Second. Let it go. Walk away. If he took his licks and went home, if he stayed off the streets for a couple of weeks, they would take him back in and nothing would change. It had happened before, it could happen now. If he just walked away. If he just let Second keep his top dog place, if he just took the easy way out. He glanced at the others. They made no move to intervene, content to let the conflict play out and follow the dominant alpha.

  “Be smart, spooky,” said Lei, licking his lips. “Just walk away.”

  “I am sick of the easy way,” said Ko, earning him a confused look from his opponent. With a jerk of his legs, Ko spun about and struck Second with a spin-kick that hit like a tornado, knocking Lei off-balance. Ko heard Gau swear under his breath.

  The other ganger hit out blindly and Ko caught it, air blasting out of his lungs in a whoosh of sound. Lei’s girls released a short twin scream, like the bark of a vixen. Second came up and retaliated with a showy foot-sweep that missed by inches; Lei’s fighting was all style and no substance, based on the repeated viewings of a million fight films. Ko, on the other hand, had been sent to a Jeet Kune Do school by his father when Second Lei was still in shorts watching Seizure Monster anime. Ko’s style was all about application of force, hard, direct and instant. He threw punches inside the “gate”—the zone of body mass where the nerve points congregated—and felt a satisfying crunch as a dozen expensive plastic ampoules shattered inside Second’s pocket. He shouted at Ko and hit him across the cheek with a glancing, sideways blow.

  Ko rocked back, stars of pain glittering in his vision. He chewed them down and sent a sharp kick at Second’s shin. The bigger youth shrieked as Ko’s shoe tore open the skin and fractured bone. Ko followed up with a strike that impacted Lei on the cheekbone and slammed his face into the driver’s side window of his emerald Kaze. Glass shattered and the car alarm began to wail.

  The sound was the cue for the gang to disperse, and suddenly Gau and Poon and the others were running for their vehicles, but Ko was ignorant of all that. He was on Second as the drug dealer tried to stagger away, hands clutched to the cuts on his sour moon face.

  “No—” Second said, but Ko ignored him. Ko’s mind was somewhere else now, in a place where every insult and hurt he had ever weathered was now being paid back tenfold on his tormentor.

  By the time the police pulled Ko off and tasered him, Second’s expensive Soloto mocksilk shirt was a blood-streaked ruin. The greenjackets threw him in the back of the drunk-tanker and the robot patrol wagon drove him into the holding cells.


  Fixx got to the fence of Barksdale Field without tripping any of the Air Force surplus scent-sniffers that ringed the compound. Like almost everything within the chain link barrier, Barksdale was a junkyard of elderly and dysfunctional leftovers from the American military machine of the Nineties; barely fifty per cent of the hardware worked correctly, but the trick was knowing which half did and which didn’t.

  The sanctioned operative left nothing to chance. His quick communion with Papa Legba on the approach road led him off into the shallow scrub, and presently brought him to the fence at the north-west end of the airfield. Fixx removed his flexsword from its holster inside the long coat and gave the weapon an experimental twirl. It looked like a fat dagger in its collapsed state. He pushed the rocker switch in the hilt to “active” and held it horizontally in front of him. The blade warmed up and began to unfold, clicking and twitching. The memory-metal remembered the shape it had been forged in and became a long, thin streak of dull titanium alloy. It reset itself in less than ten seconds, and when Fixx was happy with that, he made two fast cuts in the fence, the blade blinking in the lacklustre starlight. No alarm bells rang; no barking e-dogs came running. He smiled and slipped into the compound, crossing the end of the runway in low, loping steps. He made a zigzag course towards the hangars, where harsh sodium floodlights bled their glare into the sultry Louisiana night.

  There had been a time when a man would have been stripped and on his knees for daring to penetrate the security at Barks-dale. Forty years ago, the USAF had flown fighter planes, bombers and tanker jets out of this concrete nest, going about the business of defending the United States of America. That had been before the Fuel Crash and the Food Crash and the Welfare Crash and… well, before it had all gone to shit. In a time when it was hard enough to keep Americans secure from other Americans, the military turned their power inward and left everything they couldn’t afford to maintain rotting in the sun. Overnight, military bases became scrapyards as the government burned what they wouldn’t recycle. It was only when the corporations stepped up to bail them out that places like Barksdale went from defending the nation to being a new piece of commercial real estate.