Jade Dragon (9 page)

“That is gratifying to hear,” said a figure in the uniform of a general
in the APRC. “Contemplation of other conclusions was very nearly
implemented.”

Tze studied the man for a moment. Other conclusions, indeed. He knew for
a fact that the general had prepared an attack by stealth bomber on this
building, in case Tze did not give the answer he wanted. The executive
bowed. “We move forward along the path the Dragon cuts for us. His
ascendance is cemented.”

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.

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 hands?” 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?”