SWITCHBLADE (Choi Ziyi Book 1)

by Mike Morris

  The three operators passed one check point, waited for the heavy bomb-proof doors to slid open and continued onto the second one. Their slippered feet barely made a sound on the metal walkway.

  Once past the second doors, the vertigo hit him as he saw the bridge over the Pit. Song wrapped her arm tighter around his, sensing his discomfort, and they crossed with a haste that Wing wouldn't normally find possible.

  The third door opened up into more public areas and the foot traffic increased around them. No one spoke to them however. Operators weren't like any of the other workers within Control. Everyone believed them to be more machine than human, and therefore uncomfortable to be around. The irony was not lost on Wing that this was still seen as a bad thing in a world where mek implants were the ultimate signs of wealth and status.

  The fourth door took them to the workers' changing rooms. Wing said goodbye to Song and Bao Yu, and entered the men's room. Four others were changing but they all ignored Wing. For once he was glad. He didn't need an awkward conversation with a Norm tonight of all nights.

  He swapped his white uniform for his street clothes. As ever, he wore a long-sleeved shirt to cover the ports on his arms, and slipped a grey cap over his shaved head to hide the connection points. If his own colleagues found him uncomfortable to look at, it was nothing compared to how Norms out in the world perceived him. Best to hide it.

  He walked briskly through the final door and stepped outside into Hong Kong's humid air. Beads of sweat popped out on his brow instantly. There was a tang of smoke in the air, reminding Wing of the horrors elsewhere on the island.

  The streets and roads were as packed as ever, with everyone going about their business, but their attention was on the bombings, watching on their own devices or gathering around the Public Information Screens.

  Wing pulled an Ultra cigarette from the crumpled pack in his pocket with shaking hands, lit it and inhaled deeply. He watched the crowds traveling up and down on the MTE nearby, heading up to One Nine Nine and down to Eighty-Eight. After that, access to higher and lower levels elevators was by retina scan only.

  He took another lungful. The situation was insane. Whoever the traitor was, they had to be high up to get the Americans the information they needed. One thing was certain though, he knew Song and Bao Yu were innocent — he'd shared mind space with them. No way were they keeping that sort of secret from him.

  He flicked the butt in to the gutter and stepped into a vacant spot on the escalator going down, squeezing between a fat businessman and a gweilo tourist gawking at everything. Hong Kong was burning and the man was fucking sight-seeing. He hated tourists most of the time but no more so than at that precise moment.

  He lit another cigarette.

  The gweilo tapped him on the shoulder, giving him a dirty look. "Do you mind?" Even the foreigner's Mandarin grated Wing's nerves, as his American accent murdered the tones of the words.

  "I live here, man," said Wing, taking another drag. "Go take pictures in someone else's home."

  "I was born here," replied the gweilo.

  "Still don't belong here," sniffed Wing.

  The Westerner was bigger than him but Wing wasn't scared. Everyone knew to touch a local was a sure way to end up in prison. Even the foreigners living here for generations, speaking perfect Cantonese and Mandarin, maybe even with a bit of Chinese blood in them, wouldn't risk causing trouble with a pure blood. And it felt good to be give someone else attitude after his lose of face in front of the Minister.

  Wing turned his back on the gweilo but he could still feel the foreigner's eyes boring into his back. He squared up his shoulders but inside his heart raced at the thought that the gweilo might actually be stupid enough to hit him. Wing was tall but no fighter. Twelve hour shifts locked into a computer didn't do much for his physique, nor did being chemically zonked out the rest of the time.

  He filled his lungs with more smoke. The nicotine took the edge slightly off the night's events, but Wing still felt jittery. Once he got home, he'd take a hit of some real smoke, hook himself into his personal mind link, and start nosing around. No way could he just leave Ziyi to whatever madness was going on.

  He pulled his shirt from his wet skin and cursed the humidity. Twenty more minutes until he could enjoy air conditioning again. Too fucking long. He flicked the cigarette into the night, watched it fall through the levels, disappearing into the blaze of neon below. Another wave of vertigo hit him hard and he grasped the railing. He was an idiot for looking down.

  Fixing his eyes ahead of him, he wished everyone on the elevator would disappear. He just wanted to get home, lock his door to the world, and smoke some slice.

  The escalator passed Level One Three Four. More people stepped on at the exit, filling any available slots. The fat businessman shuffled backwards, knocking Wing into the gweilo.

  "What's your problem?" shouted the gweilo, grabbing Wing and pushing him back into the fat man. It was like hitting a brick wall.

  "Get off me," shouted Wing. He slapped the gweilo's hands, trying to knock them off himself but the man's arms were rigid. Wing's blaze of indignity tuned very cold. Wing knew mek when he saw it.

  "Get off me," said Wing, quieter this time. He tried to move the gweilo's hands away again but the man had a vice-like grip.

  "How about you just get off?" said the gweilo with a smile. He jerked Wing towards the right hand railing.

  "What're you doing, man?" asked Wing. "Leave me alone." His bravado was gone. Fear ripped through him as he lurched another step closer to the railing. He struggled to loosen the man's grip, but the gweilo dug his fingers deeper into Wing's shoulders. His hip hit the side of the railing, and his chest swayed slightly over the edge. He pushed back with all his strength and, for a heartbeat, managed to get some space between himself and the edge but the gweilo just threw him forward again.

  Wing seized the rail with both hands. He locked his arms but inch by inch, his body leaned over the railing. He became aware of just how much open space surrounded them. He looked down at the neon sea below, saw himself falling like his cigarette earlier. Panic tore his mind apart. "Fuck! Get off me. Please. I've done nothing to you." He could feel his feet slipping off the ground.

  The exit for Level One Three Three moved towards them. If Wing could hold on until then, he'd be able to slip off the escalator there and get away. The gweilo saw the exit too, and with a grunt, he lifted Wing off the floor.

  Wing's fingers were the only things stopping him being flung to his death. "Help! Someone help me!" He looked up and down the escalator but the same, bored faces ignored him. His left hand slipped off the railing and he grabbed the gweilo's shirt. "I'll take you with me. I will!"

  "Like fuck you will," grunted the gweilo. Wing's other hand came free as the gweilo hauled him to a sitting position on the railing. Wing had both hands on the man's shirt, the cloth stretching between his fingers.

  "Don't," he pleaded. Tears ran down his face as the void called him. He looked down again and screamed. The gweilo pushed him once more. Wing's body was at ninety degrees as his legs swung up. He wrapped them around the gweilo's waist. Anything to delay that final moment.

  The exit drew nearer.

  Another jerk and Wing dropped a few more degrees lower. He reached for the railing again and flailed at empty space.

  "Die, you shit," said the gweilo.

  Wing didn't want to die. Not like that, not right there. He reached into his pocket, found the smooth metal, held it tight.

  "Aaaaargh!" Wing screamed and rammed his cigarette lighter into the westerner's face. The electric coil sizzled against skin. This time it was the gweilo who howled. He jumped back, trying to get away from the lighter and releasing Wing, allowing him to drop back onto the escalator. He dug the lighter as hard as he could into the gweilo's face once more as the man crumpled to the ground.

  Someone punched Wing in the back of the head. He thought his teeth were going to fly out of his mouth.

  He loo
ked up just in time for the fat man to punch him again.

  Wing scrambled backwards, trying to push through the people behind him as the fat man lunged for him again.

  The exit was ten feet away. Four slots from Wing. He hauled himself to his feet using another stranger to climb up. The man shouted at him to let go but Wing was having none of it. He threw the stranger into the arms of the fat man and jumped over the railing.

  11

  Ziyi

  Ziyi didn't know where she was. Last thing she remembered was being at a party with Xiao, at the ICBB, and it didn't take a genius to work out she wasn't there now. Judging by the heat, humidity and noise, she was outside. Sweat prickled her skin, as the hustle and bustle of Hong Kong buzzed around her.

  The pain came next. It hit everywhere hard, so much so that she thought she must be dying. Memories of the crash quickly followed and a small part of her brain thought crashing in a flyer at high speed was a good way of discovering the limits of her mek. She tried moving, slowly, carefully, expecting nothing to work, and was relieved to find herself in one piece.

  Something hot and sticky covered her eyes and it took her another moment to work out it was her blood. She wiped it away as best she could but the gash that ran across her forehead was deep.

  "Get the girl." It took her a moment to recognise the words were English and to translate what they meant. The voice had come from outside of the wrecked flyer. American.

  Terrorists.

  "Move it. We're on the clock here."

  She struggled to her feet, ignoring the ringing in her ears, aware that she was thinking too slowly, probably concussed. Her left leg gave way on her but she hauled herself back upright. She didn't have time to be injured.

  There wasn't much left of the flyer — the cockpit had been sheared off in the crash — and only the legs remained of the pilot in his seat, but the blast box was still intact. She stumbled over and pulled herself up to the window, expecting to find Xiao, petrified, staring back at her.

  The box was empty.

  Ziyi pulled the door but it was still locked. Nausea swamped over her as her brain tried to process Xiao's absence. It should have been impossible. Without her retina scan, only the security services had the codes. She clicked on the GPS tracker so she could locate him, but there was no signal. She couldn't even read his vitals.

  The lack of data terrified her more than anything. Was Xiao dead? She forced herself to be still, and not think that. The ramifications for the Empire were too immense. If he was just out of range of her scanner, it meant he'd been taken off world. If that were so, finding him again would be impossible. Her only hope was someone had disabled the tracker and Xiao was still alive but only a few people high up in the government knew about her mek. It wasn't the sort of knowledge the AFA would have. All bad options but some were worse than others.

  She struggled to control her rising panic while she clicked on the phone embedded in her ear. "Wing, this is Ziyi." Static filled her ear in response. "Wing, this is Ziyi. Come in."

  Strangely, the silence actually gave her some relief — perhaps her mek had been damaged in the crash and that caused her internal monitoring systems to malfunction. Perhaps even at that moment, Wing was trying to contact her to let her know help was on its way. The alternative was too horrific to contemplate.

  She spotted movement out the corner of her eye and spun around to find a man clambering over the lip of the flyer. She threw herself at him before he had a chance to bring his weapon to bear and slammed him to the ground. She followed through with a palm strike to the base of his nose, driving the bone deep into his brain, killing him instantly. Again he wasn't one of the terrorists identified by Control. How many people did the AFA have in Hong Kong? How'd they manage to get to the crash site ahead of the emergencies services? The scale and scope of their operation was beyond comprehension.

  She couldn't stay where she was though. Snatching up the terrorist’s machine pistol, Ziyi hauled herself out of the flyer. She came face-to-face with a blonde woman as she scrambled up the side of the flyer, but a quick burst from the pistol took the woman’s head off before she'd even realised Ziyi was there.

  She swung her legs over the edge and slipped down the nose of the flyer, chased all the way by rounds fired by a third man. She hit the ground hard and rolled into cover behind some smashed up concrete. The bullets, loud and angry, tried to hammer their way through to her. Ziyi did her best to ignore them, protected as she was, and scanned for any other terrorists.

  The flyer had made it to the harbour's edge. A long time ago, they called it the Fragrant Harbour, but now even the rats in Hong Kong avoided it. The air stunk of diesel, sewerage, and only a hint of ocean. A small armada of sampans bobbled away in the water in front of her and their owners watched her from the decks of their boats, no doubt waiting for an opportunity to come and salvage what they could from the crash site.

  A main road was twenty feet away to the West, leading from the harbour to Wan Chai, where another crowd had gathered, drawn from the shops, hawker stalls, flesh parlours and dive joints that made up every part of the Zeros, their signs blazing twenty-four seven. Ziyi couldn't expect any help from there — only more danger.

  Behind and above her was Central. The flyer's descent had left a clear trail of destruction in its wake, having blown its way through flyovers and lower levels alike on its way down. The Heavens only knew how many more innocents had been killed.

  The only good news was there were no signs of any other terrorists.

  She checked the machine pistol's magazine. Eight rounds remained. They'd have to be enough. As bullets continued to pound the ground around her, she waited for the American's weapon to run dry — knew it had to be soon.

  The moment the world went silent, she moved, pivoting around the left side of the concrete block. She spotted the terrorist ten yards away as he slammed in a fresh magazine into his assault rifle and she snapped off a three round burst, cursing as they went wide.

  Time slowed. He brought his weapon up, already firing, not caring where they went as he mowed a pathway towards her. Adrenaline ripped through her body, urging her to do the same, but she could hear her shifu's voice in her mind — control. She forced herself to be calm, aimed at the man's bald head and put another three round burst between his eyes.

  She crouched alone amidst the wreckage of the flyer, tensed, ready for more danger as the echoes of the gunfight lingered in her ears. One second passed. Two. Three. She allowed herself to breathe. Fours seconds. Five. She slowly uncoiled and moved her finger off the trigger. Still the thought of something kept her on edge. Something not right. Why couldn't she see it?

  She spun around at the sound of crunching metal from the East. Ziyi sighed with relief at the familiar shape of an Armoured Personnel Carrier, flashing blue and white lights from its roof, rumbled down a slip road from the lower levels of Admiralty. She had no idea why help had taken so long to get there but blame for the delay could wait though. She needed to get her systems back on line so she could track Xiao.

  The locals weren't so keen to see the armoured beast as it rolled over anything in its way, crushing vehicles and structures indiscriminately. The crowd watching from the Wan Chai side hurled abuse, offering to show those inside the dangers of the Chai if they were brave enough to venture out. A petrol bomb sailed down from one of the levels above and exploded harmlessly against the APC's shell. A machine gun, one of four outer weapons, swivelled around to trace the bomb's origin but fired no shots. Good job too for the fools who threw the bomb. Shells from those guns were capable of ripping a building apart in seconds.

  Leaving the machine pistol with the American dead, Ziyi stepped out into the middle of the street and waved to get the APC driver's attention. Five more minutes and she'd be cleaned up while Control worked out who was going to get a world of payback.

  The APC stopped twenty yards from where Ziyi stood. All four guns turned and locked on her. She hadn't been expec
ting that. Crowds were growing in every direction, watching the sideshow and getting ready for whatever was going to happen next. She could see people had recognised her. So why hadn't the APC?

  "Choi Ziyi. Place your hands on your head and drop to your knees, or we will fire on you. I repeat, we will fire on you," a voice called out over the loudspeaker. Fear spread through Ziyi. It was a sensation she wasn't used to and one she didn't like. Even her mek couldn't withstand a burst from just one of the APC's guns.

  "I'm a friendly," she called out.

  The tank stared back at her, the guns unwavering, leaving her no choice but to comply. Ziyi locked her fingers over her head and dropped to her knees.

  The concrete was cold against her skin and Ziyi felt very alone as she waited.

  The doors of the APC swung up and troops sprung out, dressed in full combat gear, visors down and weapons ready and quickly surrounded her.

  A boot caught her squarely in the middle of her back and knocked her to the ground. The trooped followed in with his knee, pinning her with all his weight as he wrenched first one hand, then the other, behind her. She didn't fight back as he snapped plexi-cuffs on and yanked them as tight as he could, cutting into her skin. The pain was nothing after all.

  "Target secure," radioed in the trooper as he returned to his position.

  A man, with steel grey hair and a gaunt face, stepped out of the carrier. The skin had a very subtle hint of plastic. Hiding mek. He wore a Police General's uniform but no ordinary police officer, no matter what the rank, could afford skull work. Only the military had that kind of cash. He smiled as he looked down on her, all trussed up, and Ziyi knew things were only going to get a whole lot worse.

  "Choi Ziyi, you are under arrest for the kidnapping of His Imperial Highness, Xiao Jia, son of Dai Yu." The General smiled as he spoke. "Any attempt to resist will be met with extreme force."

  "You fool. I'm his bodyguard," said Ziyi. "I didn't kidnap him — the Americans did."