by Dave Swavely
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To Alfred Bester and Howard Chaykin,
who fueled a young imagination with their “kaleidocide”
of ideas and images in the graphic-novel version of
The Stars My Destination
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
1. Beijing
2. Sausalito
3. Kaleidocide
4. Exit
5. The Ruins of Oakland
6. Impressed
7. Napa City
8. Prey
9. Enigma
10. New York
11. Ghost Stories
12. Saving Lives
13. Bodies
14. Exit Interview
15. Only Your Life
16. Savior
17. Fired and Hired
18. Love Nest
19. Makeover
20. Home Invasion
21. Hegemon
22. Insertion
23. Meant to Be
24. Special Hell
25. Dreams
26. Qingdao
27. Graveside
28. Armed to the Teeth
29. Fire
30. The Chosen One
31. Confrontations
32. Extraction
33. Finally
34. Brain Damage
35. One Flesh
36. Innuendo
37. Polyamory
38. Destiny
39. Dream Come True
40. Bad Feelings
41. Ears to Hear
42. Jailbreak
43. The Bridge
44. The Big Picture
45. Secrets Revealed
46. Betrayal
47. Blood and Dust
48. Debts
49. Celebrations
50. Help
Acknowledgments
Also by Dave Swavley
About the Author
Copyright
1
BEIJING
The xing lu cai se was now ready, and it was the best possible time for Michael Ares to die.
General Zhang Sun had decided to take his revenge in this manner a year earlier, when he had first received the information, but it took six months for the complex preparations to be completed. Then he had to wait for the fall season, when the leaves began to change, so that the assassination could be the most successful according to his ban lan jiao, or “religion of powerful colors.”
He stood next to the transteel wall in his twentieth-floor office, staring down at the trees in the middle of the Beijing City Center and noting with satisfaction that they were indeed the epitome of xing lu cai se—a many-colored death, where the numerous shades of green, red, and gold on the leaves marked the end of their lives, and made it a beautiful thing. Sun knew that his target, on the other side of the world but in the same hemisphere, would also be surrounded by such majesty at this time of year. The trees and vineyards dominating the landscape around Michael Ares’s home in Napa Valley would be adorned with the same hues, and Sun knew this was no mere coincidence. This was a sign that the ancient spirits were ready to use the modern technology at his disposal to balance the justice of the universe by the satisfaction of this blood debt.
The thought of modern technology reminded him that he still wore the net glasses that he had just used to issue the final orders for the xing lu cai se, and that they were still set in the secure mode that was necessary because those orders could not be public, owing to the factions within his country that he did not yet fully control. He had nearly absolute power in the ironically named “People’s Republic,” but only nearly. Yet Sun considered any risk he faced to be a small price to pay for the pleasure of seeing Michael Ares suffer.
To bolster his confidence, he took the glasses off and surveyed the impressive City Center with an unobstructed view. His tower and twenty other skyscrapers of various heights surrounded the trees and water in the massive park, under which was a geothermal heat-exchange system used to passively heat and cool all of the district’s buildings. This was the crowning achievement of China’s building craze in the years before and after the turn of the century, when they were in a race with the United States for the world’s largest Gross Domestic Product. After building the infamous “ghost cities” (which now provided housing for Sun’s growing army), the government hired the eminent architectural firm SOM to transform the Dawangjing District into a “sustainable city” that would be an urban center impressive enough to symbolize China’s ascendancy among the nations.
The new Beijing did symbolize that reality well, and drinking it in assured Sun that there were few limits to what he could achieve with his power as supreme leader of his Baquan empire. And he was absolutely sure that even those few limits would be effectively removed by the ban lan jiao ritual he was about to perform. The demise of his enemy was a foregone conclusion in his mind, for the xing lu cai se had never failed to accomplish it.
He strode excitedly across the room, stepped into the elevator, and rode it twenty-two stories down to another of the architectural marvels of new Beijing, the reconstructed Underground City. Built during the Cold War by Chairman Mao Zedong to shelter or evacuate prominent residents in the event of a nuclear attack from Russia, the original complex included about thirty kilometers of tunnels, a thousand bomb-proof rooms, and seventy well sites. As the nuclear threat receded after the collapse of the Soviet Union, many of the tunnels were sealed off, a few remained in secret use by the highest officials, and still fewer were opened to the public as a tourist attraction. But when the new City Center became the seat of government, making it a target for terrorism or outside aggression, many of the tunnels were re-opened and improved to serve their original purpose again, as well as to provide exclusive transportation for the elite.
It was the latter purpose that General Sun appreciated the most, especially when he had discovered that one of the tunnels under his building led to the Western Hills, a quiet and picturesque area outside the city that both the twentieth-century builders and their twenty-first-century heirs thought would serve as a good evacuation destination for their influential customers. What they did not know, but was obviously no surprise to the spirits that guided Zhang Sun, was that one of the tunnels ran to Fragrant Hills Park, which contained the Temple of Azure Clouds. This Buddhist holy site was one of the few that actually had a color in its name, and was therefore a veritable capacitor for supernatural power in Sun’s religion. And the general was able to leave his office building at any time and be in the temple within twenty minutes, by way of the tunnel and the miniature maglev train that was propelled by the same technology as the larger ones in the subways and on the surface.
As his custom car sped through the tunnel, Sun rehearsed in his mind the twist of fate that was perhaps the greatest gift provided by the ban lan spirits in regard to his worship in the temple: an effective alibi. He could not openly practice his cultic faith in the current political atmosphere because atheism, Buddhism, and Christianity were still the most prevalent worldviews among his rivals and the voters. But fortunately he had an acceptable reason for his frequent excursions to the blue cloud temple, because inside it was a memorial hall dedicated to Sun Yat-sen, a government leader from the early twentieth century who was China’s most famous populist icon. His body had been entombed in the temple pagoda for several years before being relocated to Nanjing in 1929, and it had been replac
ed by an empty crystal coffin that the Soviet government had given as a gift “in memory of the great man.”
Sun smiled at the thought of the autocratic Soviets honoring a democratic hero, for he knew they did it only for show. And it was for that same reason he himself told people that he had changed his name to Sun (pronounced “soon”) in honor of Sun Yat-sen, and that his frequent visits to the temple were to meditate at the shrine of his “hero.” But in fact he was practicing the advice of his real hero, the ancient war strategist Sun Tzu, who said, “When seeking power, make it appear that you are not doing so.” It was Sun Tzu whom he secretly honored by the new name he had chosen when he first became a general, but it was useful to have his people think that he was cut from the mold of the other famous Sun.
When he arrived at the surface entrance near the temple, he waved off the security detail greeting him there and made his way through the courtyard and gardens toward the temple pagoda. As he did, he passed several of the resident monks, who were working in the gardens, but mostly working to conceal their perplexity or disgust at his latest visit. He wondered how many of the monks knew what he was really doing in the room he had commandeered in the temple, and was sure at least some of them did know and considered it a defilement of their holy site. But they wouldn’t dare say anything publicly, of course, for fear of losing their government sanction, access to the temple, or much more.
Soon he reached the base of the Vajrasana, or Diamond Throne Pagoda, which was by far the most impressive structure on the temple grounds, and the largest of its kind in the world. Sun took in the intricate carvings in the brick and marble as he climbed the stairs to the top of the pagoda’s base, and began to feel intoxicated when he stood at its edge with the five towers rising into the sky behind him and the exquisite view of miles and miles of brightly colored fall foliage filling the hills and valleys in front of him. Just as his high view of the Beijing City Center earlier had symbolized the modern technology available to him, this one represented the timeless occult power that would tip the scales in his favor and make his plans invincible. His enemy might have the former, but the ban lan forces were only Sun’s to command.
Eager to do that, he left the crest of the temple and stepped into the small dark room with the altar, which he had chosen precisely because it was a tight space that enabled him to better absorb the primeval energies summoned by the ritual. As he fumbled to remove the first item from the small bag he carried, he began chanting the names of the ban lan colors and the foundational elements they represented.
“Hēi sè … hóng sè … bì … bái … huáng,” he whispered. “Jìn … jiǒng … zhǎn … lún … rǎng.”
As he repeated the words, he brought his OutPhone from the bag and opened two files on it, then sat it on the altar in the center of the chamber. The phone’s projector soon filled the space with the colors he had named, switching locations every few seconds on the walls and ceiling above the little machine. Each one was a darker version than the basic color, because black was the most important one and it had to be mixed in with all the others.
The other file was being projected now as well, and a single stationary screen appeared on one spot of the wall in front of Sun, where a biographical clip lifted from the net began to play. It showed various pictures of his enemy as it described him, and Sun enjoyed the effect as the colors from the other file alternately tinted his face. The xing lu cai se was now being applied to its target, and there would be no escape from it.
“A little more than a year ago,” the narrator of the bio piece said, “Michael Ares was virtually unknown outside the city-state of San Francisco, except in his home country of England, where as a young man he had been knighted by King Noel I for his distinguished military service in the Taiwan Crisis…”
“Hēi sè … hóng sè … bì … bái … huáng,” Sun continued to whisper, but more forcefully now. “Jìn … jiǒng … zhǎn … lún … rǎng.”
“But Michael Ares has now ascended to what is arguably one of the most prominent positions in the new world order of our fast-approaching future. As the new CEO of the Bay Area Security Service, known more popularly as BASS, he now controls not only the government of that young city-state, but the exclusive rights to the most coveted scientific and technological breakthrough of our generation: the Sabon antigravity system, which was developed by a Silicon Valley firm under contract with BASS.”
The screen now showed footage of the BASS “aerocars” floating above landmarks like Alcatraz Island, the Golden Gate Bridge, and the Bay Bridges, the last of which had been destroyed by the big earthquake and then rebuilt bigger and better. Sun grimaced a bit at this reminder of the prized technology that his country would probably not have anytime soon, because of what he was about to do to Michael Ares. But the Chinese leader knew that he had the power to procure it eventually, even despite whatever recriminations might occur. And the postponement was a minor inconvenience compared to the gratification he was already beginning to experience.
“Hēi sè … hóng sè … bì … bái … huáng.” His voice rose higher. “Jìn … jiǒng … zhǎn … lún … rǎng.”
“So far Michael Ares has kept his scientific secrets to himself, continuing the miserly policy of his predecessor Saul Rabin, who had become the dictator of the Bay Area after the devastating earthquake, when he was the only one able to restore order to the crippled city. The former chief of police did so by handpicking a trusted and skilled force of cops and soldiers who were given a license to kill and came to be known as ‘peacers,’ probably because of Rabin’s most famous saying, ‘We will keep the peace.’ British war hero Ares was brought in a few years later by the aging mayor to command the peacer corps, along with his son Paul and former star athlete Darien Anthony. These three executive peacers ended up as key players in the succession drama that became headline news just over a year ago…”
“Hēi sè … hóng sè … bì … bái … huáng. Jìn … jiǒng … zhǎn … lún … rǎng.”
At the other times when Sun had performed this rite, he had pulled the drug out of his bag at this point. But he hadn’t brought it along this time because he wanted to see the spirits do more than they had ever done before, and to rely on them alone to provide the ecstatic confirmation of the xing lu cai se. So he grasped the only other object in the bag, a very special one, and waited for the right moment to open it.
“When Darien Anthony, Darien’s young son, and Michael’s own young daughter Lynette were brutally murdered, Michael barely survived a plot to frame him, which was perpetrated by Paul Rabin. He was cleared by the intervention of the older Rabin, who sacrificed his own life to save Michael and recorded his son’s confession in a dramatic scene that was released to the public and certified as genuine by Reality G. From the parts of the confrontation that are decipherable to those not involved, it appears that the senior Rabin was already dying, and that the gauntlet Michael had to endure in his final days was a test of his qualifications to inherit the throne of BASS. In some of his last words, Saul referred cryptically to Michael as ‘the true peacer,’ hinting at some mysterious destiny for the man.”
Michael Ares has but one destiny, thought Sun as he repeated the chant louder, and it has nothing to do with peace. As he did this, he lifted the ecotube in his hand and moved his finger toward the button on the side. The vidclip was now over, and a picture of his enemy’s face was frozen on the screen, the colors from the projector alternating on it with increasing frequency.
“Hēi sè … hóng sè … bì … bái … huáng!” He was shouting now. “Jìn … jiǒng … zhǎn … lún … rǎng!”
Sun pressed the button on the ecotube and one end of it slid out on two thin rods, separating from the rest and providing an escape route for what was inside. As he waited for it to discover this and emerge, he felt his heart beating hard and broke into a cold sweat, probably more from excitement than fear of being injured. He shouted the chant again, to draw the little dragon forth, and
sure enough its darting tongue, and then its head, soon poked cautiously through the hole. Then part of its small body appeared, and on it the many colors that matched the ones playing on the walls and ceiling.
Sun’s heart beat even faster as he slowly lifted his left hand to a spot just below the snake’s head and tried not to flinch in fear—he must have faith the spirits would protect him. The serpent proceeded down his arm and half-coiled its body around it. Soon its tail was out of the tube and its whole body was resting on him completely. He raised his arm slightly so that the creature’s head was near his face, and gazed at it with wonder. The colors were impressive, but what really amazed him was that he could have asked for no better accoutrement for the rite. A fellow devotee of the ban lan jiao, one of the few souls privy to this practice, had given it to him as a gift and explained that it was not only native to the area where his enemy lived, but it actually bore the name of his city. On top of that, its species was almost extinct. Yet this one lived and allowed him to handle it without harm.
“Hēi sè … hóng sè … bì … bái … huáng! Hēi sè … hóng sè … bì … bái … huáng!” Sun was now chanting only the names of the colors, so that they would be all in all, with the elements themselves being consumed by their power.
“Hēi sè … hóng sè … bì … bái … huáng! Xing … lu … cai … se … Michael Ares!”
He speared the image on the wall with a hateful stare, focusing all his spiritual energy in its direction, and then he felt the confirmation, as he knew he would. Without any chemical assistance, and with only the spirits themselves to thank, his whole body shuddered with an ecstatic rush that was something like a sexual climax, and just as rapturous.
Zhang Sun was convinced that his faith in the ban lan jiao had brought him to the throne in China, through circumstances that not even the most hardened skeptics could deny, if only they had experienced it. Every time he had performed this ritual and invoked xing lu cai se in the past, his enemies had died in prompt fashion, long before all the contingencies had been exhausted. So he was already a sincere believer, but the confirmation experience was so overwhelming that now, more than ever, he knew that his faith was real and that the multiple murder methods could not possibly fail. The ban lan spirits had made this clear in so many ways already, through the shared fall season, the snake, and the unprecedented feeling he had during the ceremony. Beyond that, the traitor in his employ had already borne the marks of the ban lan long before being enlisted, and would be close enough to the target to succeed even without the many other means unleashed upon him.