Jade Dragon (13 page)

Junofan14342: [frown] that stuff is jagged, rusty! Illegal u should not
read!

Rusty: just want to know about juno

I_Witness Has Entered The Chat Room.

Goth*Lolita: was ne1 at NO concert?

I_Witness: me. I was there w my sister

Junofanl4342: bet it was good

I_Witness: r u high? Concert was psycho! They freaked us out!!!

Rusty: I heard it was AAAA screw w lasers

Goth*Lolita: yeh they h8 all j-pop

I_Witness: not AAAA. Thatz bull[censored]! I saw monsters in there!!!
My sister is coma’ed!!!

I_Witness: corp cops told us to be quiet!! It was insan@\~}{*%£$£…
.

I_Witness Has Been Suspended.

RWB_Moderator Has Entered The Chat Room.

RWB_Moderator: Hello, friends! Please don’t be alarmed, but our records
have flagged the user identity [chatname–I_Witness] as a known alias
for a convicted sexcriminal.

Junofanl4342: OMG! pedo!

Rusty:WTF?

RWB_Moderator: Because of this intrusion, this chat room must now be
closed for a reboot. Please feel free to log on again at the central
JunoFans nexus. We apologise for any inconvenience. Juno thanks for your
friendship!

Halo_kisser: w8 stop what about

http://junofans.rwb.vnet/r584923921/chatroom_TERMINATED

The red taxi hurtled along Nathan Road at a speed that seemed far faster
than was sensible. On the dashboard, a warning clicker snapped at the
driver like an angry cicada. The small man behind the wheel had stuck a
piece of adhesive tape over the illuminated display that read “Slow Down
Now!”

Fixx took it in his stride, at every intersection where the chorus of
horns serenaded the wild turns the driver made. On the sunshade there
was a photo of the diminutive cabbie in his younger years, grinning out
from under a Kevlar army helmet on the bonnet of a burnt-out North
Korean jeep.

The blocky cityscape of Kowloon seemed to go on forever, flat towers of
pastel-painted apartment blocks and multi-level shopping plexes crowding
in over the street. He peered up through the plastic bubble roof. The
gaps between the buildings were festooned with huge signs folded out
like clipper sails, some of them holographic but most made from steel
plate and old-fashioned neon tubing. The riotous glow of advertising
vanished up into the night sky. Here and there he could see where the
uppermost levels were being used as apartments—long strings of washing
dangling out, dropping soapy rain on the streets far below. According to
the signs he could read, there were schools and churches up there too,
even a public swimming baths. Most of the neon was directed at more
commercial endeavours, though. At the ten to twenty floor mark there
were restaurants, nightclubs, casinos and vircades; it was only on the
levels that were in sight of the ground where the constant marketplaces
of the megastores roared, day and night streaming out goods of every
stripe. Fixx wondered where all the money came from, where all the
purchases went. There were only so many consumers in this city, he
imagined. The cab vaulted into a side road and down a narrow chasm
between two massive city blocks. The constructs loomed overhead, layered
with retrofitted floors in stripes like the layers of sediment in a rock
face. The cab turned and turned again, jarring Fixx in his threadbare
seat. He was having difficulty keeping track of where he was, the warren
of alleys challenging his sense of direction.

The vehicle screeched to a halt in the sullen glow of a shuttered door.
Fixx saw the street number he wanted over a caged lamp and he swiped a
creditchip across the pay-sensor. The red car was gone before he reached
the doorway.

The entrance led him downwards. The basement was uncharacteristically
cool, a welcome change to the blood-warm Hong Kong night. He came across
a thick hatch, the kind that submarines had to keep out the crushing
pressures of the ocean. It spat out gusts of air and opened just as he
was about to knock on it. Fixx ran a fingertip over the SunKings in
their holsters, just to be sure, and entered. The first thing he noticed
were the mixed scents; ozone, a faint whiff of old meat and cat piss.

“Hey, Fixx.” The voice was slow and agreeable. “Just hold still a
moment.”

It was dim down here, hard to see anything beyond racks of skeletal
metal shelves and the giant seedpod shapes of NeoSoviet bio-matter
processors. Fixx noticed a wall of stripped TFT screens, some of them
showing television channels, others with grainy feeds from street
cameras. An emerald laser fanned the room, washing across him.

“Say something,” said the voice.

“How’s retirement treatin’ you, Lucy?”

There was a chuckle in the reply. “Joshua. It
is
you. That’s lovely.
Come closer.”

Fixx relaxed—but only a little—and did as Lucy asked. He had the
distinct and slightly unnerving sensation of walking into the centre of
a web. Cables as thin as hair and as thick as his arm snaked along every
surface, disappearing into holes laser-bored through the walls. They
terminated in banks of glittering LEDs, arranged in a ring around a
single object. Roughly the height of a small child, it was a khaki green
cylinder made from heavy impact plastics. The glow from the machinery
revealed hooded boxes holding numerous litter trays and pop-top cans of
cat food. Fixx became aware of lazy slitted eyes studying him, maybe a
half-dozen felines lounging on the warm spots atop the processor stacks.

“Spider to the fly…” The words came from a vocoder welded to the
cylinder’s outer casing.

Visible along the surface of the object were a string of letters:
USAMRID
and then
Mod. # LU(c).
Panels had been removed since the
last time Fixx laid eyes on the unit, and components removed.

“You lost weight?”

“Charmer. Just some modifications.”

Fixx found a folding chair and sat himself in front of the screens. He
fingered a low-hanging wire. “Nice place you got here.”

“Better than where I grew up.”

Fixx nodded. Lucy’s origins had been in a blasted wasteland in the
Dakota NoGo, assembled by government techs with a budget too large and a
shortfall of morals. They’d made her software self-aware in order to
create better and more horrifying bio-toxins, but Lucy had other ideas.

She sent invites for her coming-out party to some sanctioned operatives
who could help with her “confinement issues”. Fixx scratched his thigh
absendtly, in the place where a bullet from that night’s work had raked
him as they exfiltrated. Poor Haley Joel had died out there to liberate
Lucy’s mainframe core. “You’re keepin’ busy?”

“Yes. This part of the world is data-rich. The Chinese have a thing
about numbers. It’s a good fit for me, small beer for the most part but
then I like the low profile. I’m trading information for wattage and
bandwidth, plus my special projects.”

“Like the cats?” He gestured at a ginger tom that ambled past him with
an air of regal disdain.

“I’m doing some research, collating data. I hope to Uplift them in a
couple of years. In the meantime, I use local talent for any legwork.”

“Right.” Fixx noticed a replay on one of the screens: Juno Qwan stepping
off a bus and into a glare of publicity. His eyes narrowed.

“Joshua,” Lucy began, “You didn’t come halfway around the world to
reminisce. What are you doing out here?”

“Following an inklin’,” he said, still watching the screen. “I need to
call in a marker.”

“Okay.”

“I need a vehicle and some walkin’ around money.”

A couple of lights blinked on the khaki box. “I can do that for you.
Give me a second, I’ll talk to the boys in the Wo Shing Wo.” She paused.
“This have something to do with that planeload of women who landed in
Zhuhai?”

He flicked a glance at the machine. “You know about that?”

“Male-to-female ratios on the mainland are off the gauge, Fixx.
Fem-smugglers are coining it in up country, so naturally folks will talk
about it when a C–5 full of girlflesh goes rogue.”

“They deserved better. This way, they get to pick and choose when they
have kids, not get locked in a breeder farm.”

Lucy chuckled. “Same old Joshua. Fighter for the underdog.”

Fixx looked away. “It ain’t about the women. That was just what you
might call an ellipsis. I’m lookin’ for something different.” His eyes
strayed back to the screen.

“I pay my debts,” said Lucy. “Car’s outside now.”

“Merci, mademoiselle.” He gave the cylinder a pat.

“Hey, you like her?” Lucy brought the images of Juno on to all her
screens. “I’m running hacks of her new album for the Temple Market
pirates. You want a copy?”

Fixx shook his head. “I prefer to listen to the real thing.” He tickled
the ginger cat and wandered away toward the door. “Stay well, cheri.”

“Watch your step, Joshua,” called Lucy. “This place, they do things
differently here.”

“You know,” said Frankie, “I think every man in the room hates me.”

Juno smiled, watching as his face wrinkled a little as he spoke,
watching the look in his eyes that reminded her of a playful child. “Oh
really? Are you such a bad guy? Should I not be dancing with you?” She
let him lead her around the room, orbiting the musicians on their dais.

He returned the smile. She liked it. He had an easy way about him that
came through when he stopped being nervous. “No, it’s just that every
one of them wishes they were me, and they’d love to see me trip or
impale myself on some potted plant.”

Juno laughed. “If it makes you feel any better, every woman in the room
hates me too.”

“Maybe. But that’s because you’re the most gorgeous person here, not
because
you’re
dancing with
me
.”

She gave him a mischievous look. “Are you sure?” It was strange. She’d
met him tonight and yet she felt like they had been friends for years,
that she knew all about him. The moment she stepped from the elevator,
she’d wanted to be with him.

He laughed back at her, and it made her feel good to share that. “Aren’t
I supposed to be nattering you?”

Juno shrugged. “I hear it every day. It’s nice to be nice to someone
else for a change.”

Frankie swallowed hard. “You, uh, you can do that any time you want.”

And she was smiling again. There was something about this man, something
that hovered at the edge of her thoughts, ephemeral and ghostly. He drew
her, and Juno couldn’t be sure why. She tried to probe the impulse but
it fell away, down into dark places where she didn’t want to follow.

He saw the shadow pass across her face. “Are you all right?”

She shook her head. “A little tired. It’s been a busy few days.”

“I’ll say. I’m surprised to see you here, straight off the plane and up
for a party. I thought you’d rest a while first, get over your jet lag.”

“There are pills for that,” she said with an airy wave. “And I wanted to
celebrate coming home.” They swung past one of the windows and she took
in the city beyond the tower with a sweep of her hand. “I love Hong Kong
so much. I feel like I’m seeing it for the first time.”

Frankie followed her gaze. “Yeah. I… I know how you feel.”

“I’m just so glad to be back.” She felt it like an ache in her chest. “I
don’t ever want to leave again.”

He frowned, and it spoiled his face. “I heard at your last concert…
There were problems.”

“Would you mind if we didn’t talk about it?” she replied automatically.
“I don’t want to dwell on… on dark things.” The gloom at the corners
of her mind shifted and she blinked it away. Remnants of memory, faint
and fading like afterimages, glistened in her thoughts. The droning
murmur of the jetliner engines. A grey numbness. Water on her lips and
face. Juno shuttered the pieces of recall, turning away from them. Back
here. Back to Francis.

She let herself fall into his gaze. He had kind eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, the words catching in his throat.

“You’re not happy,” she said. “Tell me why.”

And he did; he spoke about Alan, about the way he’d been torn from the
comfortable-but-mundane life he knew in America and spirited back to his
homeland, about his fears and uncertainties. It spilled out of him in a
rush, and Juno listened to it all. Frankie needed someone to confide in,
and she found herself touched that he chose her. On an impulse, she
leant in and stole a kiss from him.

“Wah,” he managed. “Uh. Thanks.”

“You seemed to need it.”

He smiled again. “You’re not what I expected. In Los Angeles, I dealt
with people from the entertainment sector sometimes, stars. They were
always so hostile, so anxious. But you… You’re alight. It’s like
you’re radiating warmth.”

“There’s that flattery,” She blushed. “Those people? I feel sorry for
them. They’re afraid—of losing, of falling out of favour, of wearing the
wrong clothes. But not me. I have exactly what I want. I get to do what
I love.” Of its own accord, her hand traced his cheek. “Make people
happy.”

Frankie coloured. “It, ah, it’s working on me.”

“Juno, darling,” The music came to a gentle finale and Ropé was there,
nodding politely. “I hate to press you, but there are people here—”

“Oh, of course,” said Frankie, disengaging. “I, uh, I’m sorry if—”

Juno drifted away from him, and sent him a dazzling smile. “Don’t be.
We’ll talk more later.”

Frankie watched her melt into the partygoers and blew out a breath. He
licked his lips. His palms were sweaty and his pulse was racing. The
moment Juno was gone from him he felt almost a physical need to have her
close again. He shook off the sensation and snared a drink from a
passing waiter. The tumbler of Glen Fujiyama went down in a single jolt.