Jade Dragon

17. A Better Tomorrow

They buried Juno at a hillside cemetery, not far from the place where she had died. Sifu Bruce arranged a headstone, even in the traumatic aftermath of things finding a way to get this small but important matter arranged for the dead girl. The piece of granite was simple and without scrollwork or detail. It bore only her name, no date of birth, no date of passing. Lam, the wageslave-well, ex-wageslave now-had explained, in a quiet and unsteady voice, just what she really was, where she had come from. He had her files, memory cores full of DNA patterns and zygote fabrication specs. Despite all that, the man didn’t seem to care any less about her.

Ko looked on and listened to Fixx as he made signs over the fresh grave and spoke about worlds beyond this one. The young man studied the turned earth over Juno’s coffin and wondered about all the other Junos that had come and gone before her, or the ones that had died still trapped inside tanks of amniotic fluid as the YLHI building collapsed. They would never be set to rest. In a way, this was a funeral for all of them as well.

Fixx looked under the weather, but he hid it well, insisting that he was already on the mend. The operative spoke vaguely about somebody called Lucy living over Kowloon side, who knew about medical stuff and the business of healing. The dark-skinned man had a new companion, a cat; the animal had the feral look of a stray about it, but one of its eyes was a mechanical augmentation and it watched the proceedings with more than just feline interest.

Ko said nothing as Fixx bent down and placed a single tarot card against Juno’s tombstone. He didn’t need to look to know there was a priestess with a beatific face upon it, head turned to the sky and smiling.

“Ko.” Lam approached him. He looked different out of the spidersilk suit, in casual clothes. Ko saw the hollowness in his eyes, the sadness and the loss, and felt a pang of sympathy for the man.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “If I had got there quicker-”

Lam shook his head. “It’s not your fault. You dealt with that bastard Tze. You have nothing to apologise about.” He nodded up to where the road snaked through the graveyard. There were a string of vehicles up there, among them Fixx’s black Korvette with Nikita dozing in the back seat, her head resting against the window.

They were almost alone in the cemetery. The other cars belonged to a group of shaven-headed Durdenists, chanting their death rites over a lost member of their number a few plots down the hillside. Ko let his gaze wander over the cityscape.

All across Hong Kong the streets were sparsely populated. The population stayed at home and held close to those they loved, finding solace in simple human company. There would be nightmares for a long time to come. Church congregations of all kinds would swell, as would the lines at psych clinics and Doktor-Shrink™ franchises across the city; in a few years, someone would estimate that a full eighth of Hong Kong’s citizens suffered permanent psychotic breaks in the wake of the catastrophic “Wyldsky Incident”.

Lam indicated the Korvette. “How is Nikita?”

“No better,” admitted Ko, “but no worse either. I guess when the whole thing fell apart, the pain stopped.” He tapped his head. “Up here. But she’s gotta long way to go before she’s better.”

The other man nodded. “This might help her some.” Lam produced a thick folder from a pocket in his jacket and opened it. It was a wad of share certificates from minor league multinats like Buell Tool, Inverse Smile and Titancorp. “Take these,” he said. “They’re as good as cash. You never did get paid for bringing me the truth about my brother.”

Ko accepted the bundle. “This has gotta be, what, worth twice as much as we agreed?”

Lam shrugged. “Something like that. When I bailed out from Yuk Lung, I set some contingency plans in motion, which involved wide-banding certain corporate secrets my brother had been gathering together. Before I did that, though, I made sure I channelled a big chunk of yuan from Tze’s discretionary funds into a sealed Swiss account.”

Ko chuckled. “That’s a fair enough revenge. Yuk Lung Heavy Industries will be history before the end of the week.” He pocketed the folder and produced something from his coat. “Got something for you too. Your phone.” Ko handed it back and paused, thinking. “Remember what you said, when we were on the expressway? That you used to be like me?”

“I remember.”

“I think I believe you now. Only someone Street would do what you did. You might have lost your octane for a while, but you got it back, neh? It’s in your blood, man, the need for speed.”

“Yeah,” said the other man distantly. “Listen, could you… give me a moment?” He looked at the grave.

Ko nodded and followed Fixx toward the trees. “Sure, man. Say your goodbyes. ”

“Thanks, Ko.”

“You’re welcome… Francis.”

He reached out a hand and let his fingers wander over the stone. It was cool and solid, and the action made his eyes prickle with tears. Frankie had hoped that his fingers would pass through the marker, ghost-like, that perhaps he might suddenly realise that all this was in his head. He wanted so much for it to be some horrible dream, a broken fragment left over from Tze’s invasion of his thoughts.

But no. Juno was gone, the dancing, laughing sparkle in those haunted eyes snuffed out. The tragedy of her life brought to the inexorable closure that had been written into her DNA from the start.

Numbly, in the hours after he and Fixx escaped from the tower, Frankie paged through the reams of data he had drained from Tze s computers. There, bereft of the security lockouts that had blocked his path before, was the scope of Project: Juno in all her synthetic glory. Yuk Lung and RedWhiteBlue had manufactured her from raw flesh, manipulated and changed her to make the perfect idol. With callous precision, they adjusted her look and personality to touch a baseline of human attraction across the broadest spectrum. She was made so everyone who saw her, everyone who heard her voice would find something to like about Juno. Something to love.

He recalled Tze’s words: Quite something, isn’t she? It’s hard not fall for a woman like that.

It wasn’t enough that they had used the girl, and not just her but a whole rank of clone-sisters, treating the Junos as disposable assets just to sell records; Tze had perverted her further, making her the face of his scheme, using her to spread the use of Z3N.

Frankie took a shuddering breath. Tze was correct; Juno was created to make people fall in love with her, and Frankie had, harder and deeper than ever before. But did she love him too? Perhaps, he told himself, perhaps she was so carefully machined that he only thought she cared for him. It was obvious now that the Hi woman and Tze had brought the two of them together to keep Frankie distracted from what was really happening. So easy to see it now in hindsight.

His vision blurred a little, and for a second there was the ghost of her face before him, smiling up from the silk sheets, meeting his lips in a kiss.

In that moment, he knew it for sure. Frankie gave Juno the one thing she had never found in her lonely, sad existence. Truth, and she loved him for it.

Frankie bowed his head and wept silently.

Fixx put the cat on his shoulder and the animal made a short purr in its throat. “Hush up, Pinkeye,” he told it.

“Cute pet,” said Ko, in a way that showed he didn’t mean it.

“Just walking him for a friend. ”The op pulled a small metal rod from his pocket. “Here.”

Ko took it and his eyes widened. “The key to the ’Vette?”

“Yeah. It’s just a loaner, mind. Get you over the boundary into China, to someplace where you can use those jet tickets and not get spiked. She’s pre-programmed, just let her go when you’re done and she’ll find her way back to me.”

The youth weighed the key in his hand, studying the little chrome skull dangling off the ring. “What you gonna do without any wheels?”

“Ah, don’t worry ’bout me.” Fixx took a deep breath of the morning air. “I kinda like this place. They do things different ’round here. Gonna stay put for a while, rest up. See how the cards play.”

After a moment, Ko said, “I’ve never been out of Hong Kong, not really. Trips to Bangkok, a week here or there. I don’t know anything else.”

“Yeah, you do,” said Fixx. “You got what you need to get by, slick. Never doubt that.” He tickled the cat under the chin. “Me and Pinkeye, we’re gonna take a stroll. You look after your sis, now.” He turned and walked away down the gentle slope.

“Hey,” called Ko, “maybe I’ll, uh, see you around?”

Fixx spoke without looking back. “Never can tell.”

Feng sat cross-legged on the bonnet of the Korvette, watching the skyline. Ko found a smile unfolding on his face at the sight of the swordsman; after taking Tze’s head in the statue park, it had felt like something had gone missing from his soul. He hadn’t seen the warrior since.

“Hey,” he began, patting his pockets, “you wanna smoke? Think I got a pack of Peacefuls here-”

“I quit,” said Feng. “Filthy habit.”

Ko blew out a breath. “You saved my life up there. ”

“Perhaps I did.” The soldier jumped off the car. “Or maybe you did it. Maybe that festering turd Second Lei was right all along, that I don’t exist. Perhaps, I’m all in your head.”

“No,” said the youth. He didn’t like where the conversation was going.

Feng smiled. He looked better than usual. No stubble, clear-eyed, standing up straight, armour polished. Ko imagined this was how he would have looked on some feudal parade ground, noble and proud. “Or maybe not. It’s a strange world, Ko. I have as many questions about it as you do.”

“The bones in the statue… That was you.”

“Indeed.” Feng pointed toward the peak. “Buried up there now with all those other luckless fools. Not quite the funeral I wanted, but I’ve learned not to be choosy. After all this time, an end is an end.”

Ko’s chest felt tight. “You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m free,” he said. “Free to go.” Suddenly, Ko couldn’t find any words. Feng nodded down the road a way. “Look there!”

Ko saw Frankie at the door of a car belonging to the Durdenists. In a moment, the man had bypassed the lock and slid inside. With deft movements, he disabled the alarm, and as the irate owners came running, Frankie gunned the engine and roared away in a snarl of smoke. The shaven-headed men spat and swore, and the car vanished over the hill, sounding its horn three times.

When Ko looked back at the Korvette there was only Nikita, sleeping fitfully in the back seat.

He took the road over Tai Mo Shan at twice the posted speed limit, turning into corners and switchbacks until Hong Kong vanished beneath the tree line. The Korvette blazed through warning signs shouting to slow down. Ko ignored them all, a wolfish grin forming on his lips as the needle on the dashboard moved inexorably toward the redline. Skirting the fake folk villages and tourista snares, he aimed the black bullet of the car at the Shenzhen border crossing, allowing the vehicle’s on-board navigator system to construct a route deeper into China. “Guangzhou,” he told the drive-brain. “Plot us a speed course to the airport there. I don’t want to stop for anything.” He saw strobes in the rear-view as two APRC jeeps struggled to catch up with him.

“Ko?” said a sleepy voice. “Where are we going?” Nikita shifted on the edge of wakefulness.

“Just a little country drive, Niki,” he told her, “Everything’s fine.”

She pointed out through the windscreen. “Look, Ko,” she said dreamily. “I can see blue. ”

Above, through the clouds, he saw it too; a pale cobalt sky, drawing them towards it. “Yeah. That’s where we’re going.”

Ko pressed the accelerator to the floor and left the jeeps choking on exhaust fumes.

Colonel Tsang walked gingerly through the cavernous interior of the wrecked building; the engineers assured him the stone stub that was all that remained of the Yuk Lung tower was in no danger of collapsing. Still, he was wary. The ruined skyscraper reminded him of an ancient burial mound, heavy with dust and the scent of death. There were pieces of torn cloth everywhere, and his boots crunched on shards of plastic. He nudged something with his toe; it appeared to be part of a porcelain mask. Tsang glanced at the sergeant and his men, each bearing a rifle and a sensor wand. “Anything?”

The sergeant frowned at the scanning device in his hand. “Sir, I’m not sure.”

The man came apart in a ripping shower of gore, cut in two. Tsang cried out in shock as a tattered shape like a heap of rags flashed through the other greenjackets, cutting them down. The colonel was rigid with shock, his hand an inch from his holstered pistol.

The thing slowed and approached him. It was human, after a fashion, a broken agglomeration of smashed skeleton and torn flesh. Tsang’s stomach twisted as he realised that the attacker was using a blade made from the bones of its right arm. The thing replaced the makeshift sword and flexed it experimentally. With care, it knelt and tore off the sergeant’s face, chewing on it.

Finally, Tsang’s instincts caught up with him and he grabbed at his pistol, but there were a mouthful of teeth in his neck before the gun ever cleared leather.

For a while there was only the sound of eating and tearing. Then through damaged and torn lips, the killer spoke aloud. “The Path of Joseph,” said Heywood Rope, “is thorny.”

About the Author

James Swallow’s novels include the Warhammer 40,000 novels Faith and Fire, Deus Encarmine and Deus Sanguinius; among his other works are the Sundowners series of “steampunk” Westerns, the Judge Dredd novels Eclipse and Whiteout, Rogue Trooper: Blood Relative and the novelization of The Butterfly Effect. His non-fiction features Dark Eye: The Films of David Fincher and books on genre television and animation; his other credits include writing for Star Trek Voyager, Doctor Who, scripts for videogames and audio dramas. He lives in London, and is currently working on his next book.