Jade Dragon

by James Swallow

  I_Witness: not AAAA. Thatz bull[censored]! I saw monsters in there!!! My sister is coma’ed!!!

  I_Witness: corp cops told us to be quiet!! It was insan@~}{*%£$£… .

  I_Witness Has Been Suspended.

  RWB_Moderator Has Entered The Chat Room.

  RWB_Moderator: Hello, friends! Please don’t be alarmed, but our records have flagged the user identity [chatname–I_Witness] as a known alias for a convicted sexcriminal.

  Junofanl4342: OMG! pedo!

  Rusty:WTF?

  RWB_Moderator: Because of this intrusion, this chat room must now be closed for a reboot. Please feel free to log on again at the central JunoFans nexus. We apologise for any inconvenience. Juno thanks for your friendship!

  Halo_kisser: w8 stop what about

  http://junofans.rwb.vnet/r584923921/chatroom_TERMINATED

  7. Sex and Zen

  The red taxi hurtled along Nathan Road at a speed that seemed far faster than was sensible. On the dashboard, a warning clicker snapped at the driver like an angry cicada. The small man behind the wheel had stuck a piece of adhesive tape over the illuminated display that read “Slow Down Now!”

  Fixx took it in his stride, at every intersection where the chorus of horns serenaded the wild turns the driver made. On the sunshade there was a photo of the diminutive cabbie in his younger years, grinning out from under a Kevlar army helmet on the bonnet of a burnt-out North Korean jeep.

  The blocky cityscape of Kowloon seemed to go on forever, flat towers of pastel-painted apartment blocks and multi-level shopping plexes crowding in over the street. He peered up through the plastic bubble roof. The gaps between the buildings were festooned with huge signs folded out like clipper sails, some of them holographic but most made from steel plate and old-fashioned neon tubing. The riotous glow of advertising vanished up into the night sky. Here and there he could see where the uppermost levels were being used as apartments—long strings of washing dangling out, dropping soapy rain on the streets far below. According to the signs he could read, there were schools and churches up there too, even a public swimming baths. Most of the neon was directed at more commercial endeavours, though. At the ten to twenty floor mark there were restaurants, nightclubs, casinos and vircades; it was only on the levels that were in sight of the ground where the constant marketplaces of the megastores roared, day and night streaming out goods of every stripe. Fixx wondered where all the money came from, where all the purchases went. There were only so many consumers in this city, he imagined. The cab vaulted into a side road and down a narrow chasm between two massive city blocks. The constructs loomed overhead, layered with retrofitted floors in stripes like the layers of sediment in a rock face. The cab turned and turned again, jarring Fixx in his threadbare seat. He was having difficulty keeping track of where he was, the warren of alleys challenging his sense of direction.

  The vehicle screeched to a halt in the sullen glow of a shuttered door. Fixx saw the street number he wanted over a caged lamp and he swiped a creditchip across the pay-sensor. The red car was gone before he reached the doorway.

  The entrance led him downwards. The basement was uncharacteristically cool, a welcome change to the blood-warm Hong Kong night. He came across a thick hatch, the kind that submarines had to keep out the crushing pressures of the ocean. It spat out gusts of air and opened just as he was about to knock on it. Fixx ran a fingertip over the SunKings in their holsters, just to be sure, and entered. The first thing he noticed were the mixed scents; ozone, a faint whiff of old meat and cat piss.

  “Hey, Fixx.” The voice was slow and agreeable. “Just hold still a moment.”

  It was dim down here, hard to see anything beyond racks of skeletal metal shelves and the giant seedpod shapes of NeoSoviet bio-matter processors. Fixx noticed a wall of stripped TFT screens, some of them showing television channels, others with grainy feeds from street cameras. An emerald laser fanned the room, washing across him.

  “Say something,” said the voice.

  “How’s retirement treatin’ you, Lucy?”

  There was a chuckle in the reply. “Joshua. It is you. That’s lovely. Come closer.”

  Fixx relaxed—but only a little—and did as Lucy asked. He had the distinct and slightly unnerving sensation of walking into the centre of a web. Cables as thin as hair and as thick as his arm snaked along every surface, disappearing into holes laser-bored through the walls. They terminated in banks of glittering LEDs, arranged in a ring around a single object. Roughly the height of a small child, it was a khaki green cylinder made from heavy impact plastics. The glow from the machinery revealed hooded boxes holding numerous litter trays and pop-top cans of cat food. Fixx became aware of lazy slitted eyes studying him, maybe a half-dozen felines lounging on the warm spots atop the processor stacks.

  “Spider to the fly…” The words came from a vocoder welded to the cylinder’s outer casing.

  Visible along the surface of the object were a string of letters: USAMRID and then Mod. # LU(c). Panels had been removed since the last time Fixx laid eyes on the unit, and components removed.

  “You lost weight?”

  “Charmer. Just some modifications.”

  Fixx found a folding chair and sat himself in front of the screens. He fingered a low-hanging wire. “Nice place you got here.”

  “Better than where I grew up.”

  Fixx nodded. Lucy’s origins had been in a blasted wasteland in the Dakota NoGo, assembled by government techs with a budget too large and a shortfall of morals. They’d made her software self-aware in order to create better and more horrifying bio-toxins, but Lucy had other ideas.

  She sent invites for her coming-out party to some sanctioned operatives who could help with her “confinement issues”. Fixx scratched his thigh absendtly, in the place where a bullet from that night’s work had raked him as they exfiltrated. Poor Haley Joel had died out there to liberate Lucy’s mainframe core. “You’re keepin’ busy?”

  “Yes. This part of the world is data-rich. The Chinese have a thing about numbers. It’s a good fit for me, small beer for the most part but then I like the low profile. I’m trading information for wattage and bandwidth, plus my special projects.”

  “Like the cats?” He gestured at a ginger tom that ambled past him with an air of regal disdain.

  “I’m doing some research, collating data. I hope to Uplift them in a couple of years. In the meantime, I use local talent for any legwork.”

  “Right.” Fixx noticed a replay on one of the screens: Juno Qwan stepping off a bus and into a glare of publicity. His eyes narrowed.

  “Joshua,” Lucy began, “You didn’t come halfway around the world to reminisce. What are you doing out here?”

  “Following an inklin’,” he said, still watching the screen. “I need to call in a marker.”

  “Okay.”

  “I need a vehicle and some walkin’ around money.”

  A couple of lights blinked on the khaki box. “I can do that for you. Give me a second, I’ll talk to the boys in the Wo Shing Wo.” She paused. “This have something to do with that planeload of women who landed in Zhuhai?”

  He flicked a glance at the machine. “You know about that?”

  “Male-to-female ratios on the mainland are off the gauge, Fixx. Fem-smugglers are coining it in up country, so naturally folks will talk about it when a C–5 full of girlflesh goes rogue.”

  “They deserved better. This way, they get to pick and choose when they have kids, not get locked in a breeder farm.”

  Lucy chuckled. “Same old Joshua. Fighter for the underdog.”

  Fixx looked away. “It ain’t about the women. That was just what you might call an ellipsis. I’m lookin’ for something different.” His eyes strayed back to the screen.

  “I pay my debts,” said Lucy. “Car’s outside now.”

  “Merci, mademoiselle.” He gave the cylinder a pat.

  “Hey, you like her?” Lucy brought the images of Juno on to all her screens.
“I’m running hacks of her new album for the Temple Market pirates. You want a copy?”

  Fixx shook his head. “I prefer to listen to the real thing.” He tickled the ginger cat and wandered away toward the door. “Stay well, cheri.”

  “Watch your step, Joshua,” called Lucy. “This place, they do things differently here.”

  “You know,” said Frankie, “I think every man in the room hates me.”

  Juno smiled, watching as his face wrinkled a little as he spoke, watching the look in his eyes that reminded her of a playful child. “Oh really? Are you such a bad guy? Should I not be dancing with you?” She let him lead her around the room, orbiting the musicians on their dais.

  He returned the smile. She liked it. He had an easy way about him that came through when he stopped being nervous. “No, it’s just that every one of them wishes they were me, and they’d love to see me trip or impale myself on some potted plant.”

  Juno laughed. “If it makes you feel any better, every woman in the room hates me too.”

  “Maybe. But that’s because you’re the most gorgeous person here, not because you’re dancing with me.”

  She gave him a mischievous look. “Are you sure?” It was strange. She’d met him tonight and yet she felt like they had been friends for years, that she knew all about him. The moment she stepped from the elevator, she’d wanted to be with him.

  He laughed back at her, and it made her feel good to share that. “Aren’t I supposed to be nattering you?”

  Juno shrugged. “I hear it every day. It’s nice to be nice to someone else for a change.”

  Frankie swallowed hard. “You, uh, you can do that any time you want.”

  And she was smiling again. There was something about this man, something that hovered at the edge of her thoughts, ephemeral and ghostly. He drew her, and Juno couldn’t be sure why. She tried to probe the impulse but it fell away, down into dark places where she didn’t want to follow.

  He saw the shadow pass across her face. “Are you all right?”

  She shook her head. “A little tired. It’s been a busy few days.”

  “I’ll say. I’m surprised to see you here, straight off the plane and up for a party. I thought you’d rest a while first, get over your jet lag.”

  “There are pills for that,” she said with an airy wave. “And I wanted to celebrate coming home.” They swung past one of the windows and she took in the city beyond the tower with a sweep of her hand. “I love Hong Kong so much. I feel like I’m seeing it for the first time.”

  Frankie followed her gaze. “Yeah. I… I know how you feel.”

  “I’m just so glad to be back.” She felt it like an ache in her chest. “I don’t ever want to leave again.”

  He frowned, and it spoiled his face. “I heard at your last concert… There were problems.”

  “Would you mind if we didn’t talk about it?” she replied automatically. “I don’t want to dwell on… on dark things.” The gloom at the corners of her mind shifted and she blinked it away. Remnants of memory, faint and fading like afterimages, glistened in her thoughts. The droning murmur of the jetliner engines. A grey numbness. Water on her lips and face. Juno shuttered the pieces of recall, turning away from them. Back here. Back to Francis.

  She let herself fall into his gaze. He had kind eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, the words catching in his throat.

  “You’re not happy,” she said. “Tell me why.”

  And he did; he spoke about Alan, about the way he’d been torn from the comfortable-but-mundane life he knew in America and spirited back to his homeland, about his fears and uncertainties. It spilled out of him in a rush, and Juno listened to it all. Frankie needed someone to confide in, and she found herself touched that he chose her. On an impulse, she leant in and stole a kiss from him.

  “Wah,” he managed. “Uh. Thanks.”

  “You seemed to need it.”

  He smiled again. “You’re not what I expected. In Los Angeles, I dealt with people from the entertainment sector sometimes, stars. They were always so hostile, so anxious. But you… You’re alight. It’s like you’re radiating warmth.”

  “There’s that flattery,” She blushed. “Those people? I feel sorry for them. They’re afraid—of losing, of falling out of favour, of wearing the wrong clothes. But not me. I have exactly what I want. I get to do what I love.” Of its own accord, her hand traced his cheek. “Make people happy.”

  Frankie coloured. “It, ah, it’s working on me.”

  “Juno, darling,” The music came to a gentle finale and Ropé was there, nodding politely. “I hate to press you, but there are people here—”

  “Oh, of course,” said Frankie, disengaging. “I, uh, I’m sorry if—”

  Juno drifted away from him, and sent him a dazzling smile. “Don’t be. We’ll talk more later.”

  Frankie watched her melt into the partygoers and blew out a breath. He licked his lips. His palms were sweaty and his pulse was racing. The moment Juno was gone from him he felt almost a physical need to have her close again. He shook off the sensation and snared a drink from a passing waiter. The tumbler of Glen Fujiyama went down in a single jolt.

  “Quite something, isn’t she?” Mr Tze crossed his line of sight, four girls in unfocussed disarray following him in a loose gaggle. “It’s hard not to fall for a woman like that.”

  “She’s a fantastic dancer,” he said lamely, bereft of anything better to say.

  Tze laughed, a brusque bark of sound over the music of the string quartet. “Of course she is.” The executive gestured at the girls with him. “Francis, some of us are retiring to the private suites. Perhaps you’d like to join in?”

  “Are you Mr Tze’s protege?” asked one of the women, the hint of a predatory smile on her doll-like face.

  “He may well be, Nikita,” said Tze. “Francis has a shining path set out before him.”

  Frankie gave a shallow bow. “Thank you, sir. I’m, uh, grateful for the opportunity.”

  The girl, Nikita, extended a hand to him. “You’re coming, then?” The other women giggled.

  His stomach knotted with disquiet. Tze’s women looked at him with calculating eyes. Frankie felt like he was beneath a microscope or pressed on to an auction block. “Perhaps later,” he mumbled. “I’d, ah, I’d like to enjoy the party some more.”

  There was the very smallest flash of annoyance in Tze’s expression, but then it was gone so fast Frankie wondered if he had imagined it. “Of course. Later.”

  Nikita tossed a last look at him as the group vanished into the depths of the atrium, to the chambers and rooms hidden in the shadows.

  He watched the party diffuse, the people drifting away or coming together into small knots of murmured conversation. He spotted Juno’s manager but each time he crossed the atrium to find him, Ropé was gone when he got there. The pillars of creamy green jade and the artfully strewn furniture made the chamber difficult to navigate.

  As Frankie crossed and re-crossed the room he became aware of a shift in the mood around him. The melange of genteel conversation and light amusement had faded, and in its place was a shady ambience, a sense of secrets and harsher humour. Startled, he happened on a couple in one of the booths engaged in slow, mechanical sex while a dozen silent spectators watched. Both of the performers were blindfolded with silk ties that bore the YLHI corporate logo, and their hands were fixed to a seat frame in the same manner. The spectators were breathing in a chorus of rhythmic, gasping breaths. One of them offered Frankie a tray of blue capsules and he shook his head, backing away.

  He stumbled into Alice and half-stuttered an apology. She eyed him. Somewhere along the way she’d lost her ornate jacket and the red silk blouse she wore was open, revealing a glimpse of breasts beneath.

  “Hungry?” she asked. Her eyes were glassy but there was a challenge in her flat tone.

  “No.”

  “Liar.” She pushed into his personal space, crowding him. �
��You want something more plastic, is that it?” Alice walked lazy fingers over his jacket and pulled his glass from his hand, swigging the contents. “Go on then,” she snapped, turning her back on him. “Go play with your dolly.” Alice wandered away, unsteady.

  Frankie glanced around. Suddenly it seemed everywhere he looked, there were bodies pressing bodies and the taint of drug haze in the air. He felt flushed and uncomfortable. Sure, he’d been at corp raves dozens of times, seen drink and drugs and sex tossed around like party favours, but here it seemed… darker.

  Cautiously, he walked out of the atrium proper and into the shadows.

  Tze closed the door behind Nikita and nodded at the other girls. They had been here before and they knew how things were going to play out. Nikita flashed him a look, a heady mixture of fear and arousal in her dull eyes. He showed her where the suite’s small bar was and ordered her to make some drinks. She did so, eyeing the door now and then, thoughts of bolting warring with her baser, more avaricious instincts.

  He wandered about the room as the other trio took items of equipment from the hidden compartments beneath the wide, burgundy-coloured sofas. Tze feathered the dimmer control on the discreet lighting control panel—he liked the gloom to be thick and warm—and started the recorders concealed in the walls and the ceiling.

  There was a bowl of blue capsules on the low table in the corner, and next to that a flat metal case the size of a hardcover book. It was cold to the touch, condensation speckling the surface. Tze tapped it lightly and the lid sighed open, letting a waft of white vapour escape before he reached in and took out two glassy rods. He glanced up. The girls had the rig fixed up, straps and spars dangling from the rings fixed to the ceiling. They played a quick game of rock-scissors-paper and the blonde was the winner. Nikita returned from the bar with two highball glasses and she stopped short as she took in the scene. The other two girls were stripping the blonde, binding her into the cruciform support frame.

  Nikita blinked and backed away a step as Tze crossed to her and took his drink. “Hard to know what to think, isn’t it?”