Jade Dragon (31 page)

“No more.” she cried, her words strangled and sobbing. “I won’t do it.”
Mad elation filled her, a sudden sense of lunatic freedom.

Tze spat and drew his sword. “Very well. The King is coming, it is too
late to stop it now. If you will not obey him, you will bleed for him.”

“Listen to me!” she screamed at the cameras, begging her fans to hear
her. “The Jade Dragon will destroy you all! Don’t let it in! If you ever
loved me, don’t—”

Tze’s ceremonial blade flashed in the spilled light from the screens and
opened her throat to the air. Juno staggered backwards and fell, hands
at her neck, struggling to hold in a flood of rich, hot crimson.

There were bright flickers of pasts and lives that she had not
experienced, the death and death and death of other Juno Qwans, an
endless loop of them, lives of engineered soulnessness bereft of human
warmth. Laughter. Applause. The punishing glare of fame. In the grey
haze, her mind collapsed to a single point, to the touch of a man’s hand
on her face and the look of utter truth in his eyes.
Francis…

Voiceless, she collapsed and died there on the stage, a blossom of red
expanding about her.

“The songbird is silenced,” snorted Tze. Above, the unblinking glass
eyes watched and recorded.

Only the goggles over Professor Tang’s eyeballs had stopped him from
gouging them out when the green fires fell from the air, but now he was
pleased, giddy with the sight as he raped the corpse of the lab
assistant he had shot in the stomach. All the secret things, all the
keys to the monstrous desires in his head were free, and he had no more
need of human values.

Fixx felt his breath coming in shallow, brutal gasps. There was blood
all around him, making the stone tiles slippery. His vision was misty,
as if everything around him was made of felt. He tasted copper. The
sanctioned operative made his hands work with fierce concentration,
fishing in his coat pocket for a weapon, a touchstone. His fingers found
a ragged tear in the kevleather and nothing else. With effort, Fixx
pushed himself off the floor, leaning up.

“Looking for something?” asked Ropé. The Josephite had the ghost knife
held up high. He tipped back his head and let drops of red fall from the
shifting blades on to his tongue. The killer came closer, nodding at the
bones scattered on the floor. “Lost your precious things? How sad.” With
exaggerated care, Ropé brought his shoe down on the fetishes and ground
them into powder. “All gone. Now how will you know what to do, Joshua?
You’ll have to make your own mind up for once.”

Fixx had a dagger in his boot, but it might have well been on Mars.
Agony churned in his gut as he dragged himself backwards, pressing
against a jade pillar. Dimly, he was aware of a sour breeze sluicing in
through the broken windows, heavy with death-scents, sirens, singing and
the noises of human despair. A rough chuckle escaped his lips. “This…
not goin’ exactly how I planned.”

“You had a plan?” sneered Ropé.

“Nah,” admitted Fixx, “always been a kinda make-it-up-as-I go sorta
guy.”

Ropé toyed with the knife, flicking a glance at Frankie where he cowered
by a console. “Perhaps there’s something to your ridiculous religion,
Joshua. You might be right. Perhaps your loas did bring you here for a
reason—just not the one you thought it was.” He bared teeth. “You’re
here to die, Joshua Fixx, to fail. Look.” Ropé pointed at the d-screens
that were still functioning. The displays were fed from cameras at the
Peak. He saw the audience, the weeping black skies, the stage.

“Juno!” Frankie gasped, staggering to his feet. “Oh god, no.”

The audio feed had been damaged in the firefight, and no sound was
relayed; but they saw the anger ripple across the idol singer’s face,
her sudden surge of rebellion. Frankie’s heart leapt as she flung away
her microphone, freeing herself. “I knew you could do it!” he shouted.
“Run, Juno!”

Ropé rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you shout a bit louder, Francis? She
might even hear you… ”

The live feed shifted as the stage went dark. For a second the cameras
dithered, shifting to image-enhanced mode. In the corner of the display,
the
Live Feed
overlay changed to
Broadcast Suspended.

“Oh dear,” mocked the Josephite. “The slave has ideas above its station.
Not that it matters, too little too late.”

He could not tear his eyes from the screen as Tze, resplendent in the
cloak and finery of a Qin warlord, came into frame and berated the girl.

“Frankie,” said Fixx, “look away. Don’t… ”

The ghost of Tze’s blow made Frankie choke; he felt it as keenly as if
it had been him that was struck. He saw the sword, and shook his head.
“No, no, no, no—”

Juno looked into the camera, directly at him. He read her lips.
If you
ever loved me, don’t—

“No!” Frankie’s body went rigid with rage and shock. Juno fell away,
life ebbing from her eyes, crashing to the stage.

Ropé made an amused noise. “Your turn now Joshua. Take solace in knowing
that your vitae will be put to good use. I’m going to paint a mural with
it.” The knife fell and Fixx caught it, pushing all his strength into
holding the razor tip away from his throat.

Ropé licked his lips. “Don’t fight it. Believe me, this is a kindness I
do for you… I’m sparing you the endless agonies of living in a world
where the Dragon rules. ”

The blade pressed into Fixx’s skin; he felt his strength ebbing, and at
the corner of his vision he saw movement. A flash of wet steel.

“Any last words?” said Ropé, his breath hot and pungent.

“Yeah,” Fixx coughed. “Look behind you.”

“Bastard!” screamed Frankie, and sank Fixx’s sword into the Josephite’s
back. The blade punctured Ropé’s heart and burst from his chest.

Fixx kicked him away and fell back, forcing himself to his feet. Frankie
was gasping, tears streaking his face. Black blood covered his hands and
he stared down at them, shaking.

Incredibly, Ropé was not dead. The ghost knife was forgotten as he
fingered the blade, trying in vain to get a grip on the sword and pull
it out.

Fixx hobbled to him and yanked on the hilt. “Mine, I think.” The sword
came free and oily fluids spurted from the entry and exit wounds.

“Nuh…” Ropé twittered, eyes misting. “No.”

“Yeah,” said the operative, and with effort Fixx gathered up the
Josephite and hurled him through the broken window.

Ropé fell a hundred storeys, plunging into darkness and fire.

“Tze.” The executive turned at the sound of his name to see the ragged
thief crossing the statue park. He paused before the idling
spidercopter. There was something different about the boy, a glint in
his eye that had been absent there in the car park when he blundered in
with guns blazing. A certainty, he decided. A surety of purpose.

“I’ll say this for you, lad. You’re a survivor.” Tze eyed the bloodied
katana. “My servant?”

“Dead,” said Ko. “And you’ll join him soon enough.”

Tze drew his own blade. Juno’s blood still discoloured the edge. “Be
wise. Take that sword and end your own life with it, while the choice is
still yours. The world you know has ended tonight. The Jade Dragon is
King now, and I am his keeper.” He idly ran a finger over one of the
terracotta soldiers that stood nearby like a mute honour guard.

The action seemed to infuriate the teenager. “Maggot and shit-eater. You
are blind and stupid. You sacrifice children to this foul creature and
plot to set it lose on the world? Death a hundred times over is not
reward enough.” He shivered and his voice altered for a second. “I’m
gonna fuck you up, asshole. You and me got unfinished business.”

Tze frowned. The thief’s odd behaviour was vexing; but no matter. He
would die as easily as the clone had, and then Tze would take his leave
to the castle and await the final manifestation of the Dragon Lord.

The katana swung at him, missed. Tze made a riposte that hummed through
empty air. “You’re quick,” he remarked.

“Two thousand years of practice.” snapped his opponent.

The swords crossed, polycarbonates and tempered steel biting. Tze
snarled as he scored first blood, cutting a slash in the go-ganger’s
jacket; but his victory was short lived as the boy wounded him on the
arm.

Tze spat and attacked again, all pretence at play forgotten. This
commoner had dared to spill his blood? There would be no quarter now. He
released a flurry of blows, beating the thief back into the circle of
terracotta effigies. Fear spread across his opponent’s face. “No cocky
words now, eh?” he shouted.

“Go bugger yourself, you worthless old cashwhore.”

He slashed and caught the boy’s temple with a small nick, ripping away
the dirty hachimaki headband in his hair. The youth stumbled against the
sculpture of a swordsman.

“You are poor sport,” said Tze, drawing back for a killing blow. “No
match for me, little boy.”

“My name,” growled the thief, “is Lau Feng, soldier of his Imperial
Majesty the Emperor, ghost and undead, guardian of this life…” His
voice shifted again. “I am Chen Wah Ko, brother of Nikita… And you owe
me blood, motherfucker.”

“I don’t care who you are,” said Tze, and swung at his opponent’s neck.

Frankie was trembling, babbling. “Oh, god. Oh, god. Juno… She’s dead!”

Fixx gave a slow nod. “I’m sorry.” He had known it, somewhere deep
inside. Fixx had understood that the girl’s fate was never to be a fair
one. Juno’s life was a mayfly existence; bright, shining, fleeting.

“Tze killed her. He murdered her…”

“That’s right,” said Fixx, and he nodded at the damaged video consoles.
“But it won’t mean nothin’ if nobody knows it.”

“I don’t understand. ”

“Show them, Frankie. Show the people the truth.”

After a moment, Frankie nodded and ran his hands over the panels. “The
replay is in memory. The live feed is still intact. I… I can wide-band
it to every screen in Hong Kong.”

“Do it,” said Fixx. “Let the city hear Juno.”

Broadcast Resumed.

The override from Tze’s command console had worms in every public
communications protocol software across Hong Kong; advertisement
screens, radio and vid, digital cinema, road signs and flickercladding.
The Cabal’s reach extended everywhere, and Frankie used it to take
revenge.

The loop of Juno Qwan’s defiance and her murder spun out over the city,
played and replayed endlessly into the eyes and ears of a populace who
loved her.

In the thrall of the Z3N, the gestalt needed focus, and Juno was the
lynchpin; but the minds of the people at the concert and throughout the
metropolis were stunned into silence as they watched Tze slit her throat
again and again, in hundred-metre high, tint-corrected, high-definition
ultra-colour.

“The Jade Dragon will destroy you all.” Her words thundered through the
canyons of the city. “Don’t let it in. If you ever loved me, don’t—”

By the millions they watched Juno die, and with one voice they cried out
for the idol they had fallen in love with. The potent blue surging
through their minds came alight with grief, the flashing telepathic rush
washing over the bay, a shockwave of misery that was anathema to the
DesireGod.

In an instant, the Jade Dragon’s psychic bridge for rapture and elation
shattered, ripping the demon-serpent apart. Screaming, clawing at the
world, the thing tore towers down as the sky dragged it back into the
darkness.

It left only destruction and mourning in its wake, as the citizens wept.

In the tower, Frankie spoke. “Listen,” he said, catching the sounds on
the wind. “Hong Kong cries for her.”

Tze’s blade bit deep, but Ko was not there. He moved like lightning, and
the killer’s sword cleaved through the terracotta warrior. The statue
shattered like glass, spilling broken red rock across the pathway.

Among the ancient fragments there were bones, human skeletal remains
sealed inside. Fragments of flesh, metal and leather centuries old
puffed into dust on contact with the air. The ashen remains were caught
by wind and gusted upward. Tze coughed as the choking dust stung his
face and eyes. “Aiii! I cannot see!”

Ko felt Feng there beside him, the swordsman’s skill bleeding into his
mind. The weak points in the corporate s armour were suddenly obvious to
him, and he turned the katana into a stabbing strike, pushing the sword
into a mortal wound.

Tze flailed backward and swung at dead air with his blade.

“Finish him!” Feng’s voice came from somewhere distant and faraway. Ko
understood that the dead man was giving him the right to take Tze’s
life, to assuage the failure of before. Ko smashed Tze’s sword from his
grip and stabbed him again, drawing a scream.

Tze stumbled, eyes focussing on the main screen atop the distant stage.
On the vast display, the killing of the singer played with a chorus of
anguish as accompaniment.

Ko saw the panic in Tze’s dark eyes, the sudden understanding that his
life’s work was going to be undone within a heartbeat of succeeding.

The katana flashed in the air and Ko sliced through spine and throat.
For the brief span of seconds the severed head remained aware, Tze’s
last experience was the hooting screech of the Jade Dragon cursing him
into the darkness.

Wave-Net: with broadcast to be giving worldly factoids!

From the Tokyo Sim-Centre Virtual News Environment, this is FarEastEye
with your v-anchors Dorothea Matrix, Raymondo Trace and Webber Caste.

“Good Clockset. Our main stories tonight, a massive terrorist incident
rocks the Hong Kong Free Economic Enterprise Quadrant, claiming hundreds
of lives and leaving disaster in its path.”