Tom Aston - The Machine

Ying Ning opened the door. This must be her real place, entirely different from the place where they’d met. The apartment was empty, save some bare sticks of furniture and two of Ying Ning’s comrades from China21. There were introduced as Bao An, the tall biker in the shades, and Lin Xiaohong, shorter, with a shaven head. There really was nothing in that place. Kept that way no doubt so that Ying Ning could move on and there would be no evidence of what she was up to.

The room stank of stale smoke, and the two men had on the usual Hong Kong garb of trouser-legs turned up from the ankle, flip-flops and undershirts. They sat around looking at the ceiling. It smelt like a surfeit of Chinese-brand whiskey the night before had dulled their senses.

Ying Ning had wasted no time setting up a laptop to do whatever it was she was going to do. It looked like some kind of presentation.

So this was it? China21? Four people to protest the exploitation the Chinese workers, the illegal sale weapons and “Semyonov’s capitalist dogs”. Ying Ning stood in the middle, hand on hip. She pulled another cigarette from her bag, and a lighter decorated with an image of Mao Zedong. Then she got on with it, referring occasionally to the laptop and to a file marked “ShinComm” on the table. Stone was barely listening to her at first. He was checking out his situation.

Four people? And that was including Stone. In truth, Ying Ning was China21. The two guys were her lapdogs, in it for whatever reasons. Idealistic or more likely bewitched by Ying Ning.

Ying Ning looked every inch an arrogant, opinionated, intellectual bitch, in her tight-fitted top and her black jeans. Stone let his eyes flit over her once more. A slight ripple of muscle in her legs. She sensed him looking, but made no reaction at all.

Ying Ning talked on, but Stone interrupted. ‘We need to talk about the weapons production at ShinComm,’ he said bluntly. ‘ShinComm is a maker of Western products, yes? Mostly designed in USA and Japan. Smartphones, notebook computers, MP3, electronics, semi-conductor. ShinComm has quarter of a million workers in a city called Dongguan in the South, and as many at a place called Factory City in Shanghai. Work is hard, the pay not bad…now.’

That last remark was for Ying Ning. It had been her campaign that had embarrassed ShinComm in the Western media and forced a forty percent pay increase.

She was immune to flattery however. ‘You miss the point,’ said Ying Ning. ‘ShinComm is not typical Chinese factory. Chinese factory works to plans. Chinese factory does not have ideas. ShinComm was founded only five years ago, and subsidiary New Machine Technology only one year ago. Already New Machine makes its own products. In one year, it made applications for thirty-five patents in the United States. Also other technology come from ShinComm and New Machine, without even bother to patent. Including many weapon technology. This is real mystery about ShinComm.’

Stone picked up the file. Ying Ning was talking up the weapons angle — and that was probably why she wanted Stone’s help. But already it was plain to Stone that Ying Ning was right. ShinComm was a lot more interesting than just the weapons angle. It was no ordinary Chinese firm. In fact it was no ordinary firm at all. Ying Ning’s file detailed one amazing technology after another. New Machine and ShinComm were a conveyor belt of new technology. And Chinese firms just weren’t like that.

Another odd thing in the file was the randomness of it all. Innovations in so many different areas. Some stuff went to patent, some didn’t. The SmoothVision video software, with its seemingly limitless resolution — there was no patent, no copyright for that. It had practically been given away. Yet Virginia Carlisle’s man had said it was based on fractal mathematics, with no similarities whatever to any other software. A fundamental innovation.

‘Take this example,’ Ying Ning went on, and she produced a baggie containing what appeared to be about fifty grams of sugar. She poured a little pile out onto the table. She licked the tip of her finger, dipped it in the sugar, then tasted it. ‘Go ahead. Try,’ she said.

Stone tasted it. Sure enough, the sweet, bland taste of refined sugar.

Bao An appeared with a spoon. Ying Ning crushed the little pile of sugar granules with the back of the spoon, turning them into a thin white powder, then licked her finger once more, looking at Stone in an oddly provocative way. She gestured him to taste it again.

‘Cocaine?’ said Stone. Stone licked his finger and tasted once more. ‘I got a bitter aftertaste on my teeth back there, after the sugar. But no odour or taste. Cocaine, yes?’

‘Not bad, Rockhead.’ Ying Ning was impressed ‘Yes. Cocaine — high quality too. Another ShinComm idea. But how do they do it?’

‘The real question is why,’ said Stone interrupting. ‘Why do they do it? This technology is used to smuggle cocaine to China,’ he said. ‘It says here in the file they use a nanotech system to coat the drug with a layer of sugar only one molecule thick .’ The significance was just sinking in with Stone as he spoke. This was an incredible process, and light years ahead of the big food companies. Worth billions. Food companies could coat healthy food in a nanotech layer of sugar, and they would have the perfect low calorie foods. But here it was, and not even patented. All that work to disguise cocaine for smugglers? Made no sense. This technology was being given away, just like the SmoothVision digital video.

Stone flipped though the file on the table. Full of this stuff. His favourite was the car — like the one he had seen driven by Semyonov, gliding past with preternatural acceleration as Semyonov left the party. Another piece of outrageous technology. The news clipping made out that Semyonov had driven from Beijing to Shanghai in that electric sports car. A thousand miles, without charging it once. Stone had assumed it was bullshit when he first read it. But maybe it wasn’t. It could revolutionize the car industry, yet Semyonov was just driving around in a prototype, and doing nothing with the technology.

‘Do you see what this means?’ Stone said. ‘All of this work has been traced to New Machine and ShinComm, the corporation which worked with Steven Semyonov in China. But where is the innovation coming from? Where are the labs?’

Ying Ning flicked on the computer. She pointed to the screen, and zoomed in on a photo of a factory unit. Perfect resolution, Stone noticed. SmoothVision again.

‘This is ShinComm at Dongguan,’ explained Ying Ning. ‘Less than three hundred kilometres from here. Giant facility, two hundred fifty thousand workers, but…’ Ying Ning paused. ‘But nothing is happening in Dongguan. I have local people watching this place. I have contacts in factory. They make only phones, computers and semiconductors, All design in America. Same thing at ShinComm Factory City in Shanghai.’ Ying Ning flicked through images of the two giant factory sites. ‘No research workers, no labs. The ideas are coming from a secret facility. Semyonov and his capitalist whores at ShinComm are selling Chinese secrets for quick money.’

‘Sorry to spoil your story,’ said Stone. ‘But why would Semyonov do it for the money? He just committed twenty-five billion to the corporation. And he’s also dead.’ Ying Ning looked at him. ‘Bank of China confirmed they received every penny of Semyonov’s money. They said so in public. So the question is: why? Why did Semyonov pay that money?’

‘And where does the technology come from?’ said Ying Ning. ‘Including weapons?’

Ying Ning paused, as if she were unsure whether to say something. Then she took out her Mao Zedong lighter and lit another cigarette, again looking perplexed.