James Swallow - Jade Dragon

The would-be rapist burbled something and went slack. His killer went to work stripping his body for anything useful. The other girl-the intended victim, he wondered?-had a nasty wound on her arm. Fixx finally sheathed his weapon and dug out a pocket medipack from his coat. “You speak English?”

The girl shook her head and took the packet, tearing it open with her teeth. The plane shuddered and began to move, picking up speed. Fixx sniffed and sat down, bracing himself against the hatch. The women, some of them fretting, copied him. In moments, there was the gut-wrenching motion of take-off. Cold crept into the cargo bay as they ascended into the night.

Fixx had a couple of packets of Insta-Kibble (Swells In Your Stomach! Easy On Your Wallet!) that he’d intended to eat on the way. He tore them open, and with great care, broke them into enough pieces for everyone. The erstwhile passengers sat there in the rattling chill, chewing on morsels and regarding each other with wary eyes.

Fixx settled back and drew in his coat around him.

I will tell you, if you care to listen, something of cruelty. It is a uniquely human conceit; you will not see animals indulge in it. What of the cat, I hear you ask? The cat that torments and toys with the mouse? Ah, but Brother Cat is only training himself, using his prey to stay quick and deadly. He is no crueler than the virus that strikes down the newborn, or blinds the artist. This is simply the manner of nature. As it is the manner of man to be cruel.

And so my story. Look around in the shops selling effects of the past to visitors from over the oceans, the places that overflow with bowls in black lacquer, careworn jade and the litter of a thousand years of history. Inside one day you may see terracotta warriors, the clothes sculpted upon them the same as those worn by the swordsmen of that era. Some date back to the Qin Dynasty, when China was a feudal land and ruled by the blade and the pen.

In that time, there was a man, an Emperor, who greatly feared the world beyond death. He had killed so many of his enemies that surely they would be waiting for him when he perished, a war band of ghosts with the curse of his name as their last earthly memory. This man, this Emperor ordered an army of the red stone men made to accompany him into the other world when death came to claim its price. More than three thousand of the pottery soldiers were forged-regiments of footmen, archers, soldiers with spears or crossbows, charioteers and horses-all of them to be buried with their dead lord in a great tomb that was planted with trees and grass so it would appear to be a natural hill.

And so the man, the Emperor, died, and the army of stone was created. As this work went on, an act of cruelty came to pass.

A man, a swordsman, a simple fool with nothing of the Emperor’s greatness in him, a soldier in the real army upon which the facsimile was based, earned himself the ire of a minor warlord in the late Emperor’s service. It is not written nor remembered, what this simple fool’s misdeed was, but it was so grave-or perhaps, the warlord was so cruel-that it earned him a living death. The soldier was beaten senseless and pushed into one of the moulds used to make the terracotta men. He suffocated in there, seared to his demise and baked into the stone, bones and flesh buried along with thousands of identical mannequins.

The warlord later perished in battle and sank to the Nine Hells, as he deserved. But his cruelty extends to this day. The simple man remains lost, his bones encased in one of thousands of stone statues. Where they are, his spirit will never know. His peace is denied to him, forever.

This, then, is man’s cruelty. Better to be the cat’s mouse, neh?

Chinese Legend

There was a crackle of static on the wall screen, and the camera remote lit red to show the broadcast was going live. The woman’s face faded in. “Thank you, Shania, for that update. Now, I’m joined live by Heywood Rope, manager and psychic nutritionist for pop sensation Juno Qwan. As our viewers will know, Juno’s sold-out tour came to a alarming conclusion in the stilt-city of Newer Orleans when an apparent domestic terror incident led to the hospitalisation of several audience members. You’re watching ZeeBeeCee’s Entertainment Pulse and I’m your host, Tammy Popeldouris.” The honey-blonde woman on the screen inclined her head and smiled at Rope. “Heywood, good to have you on the show.”

“Great to be here again, Tammy.” He returned the smile, matching her tooth-for-tooth. “Juno wanted me to express her sadness at not being able to make the interview herself, but as you can understand, the events of the last twenty-four hours have been difficult for her.” Rope showed a mask of concern, dressed with a slight sadness.

The reporter mirrored him. “Indeed. And the question Juno’s fans are asking is, how is she?”

Cue reassuring smile. “She’s resting, Tammy. Even without what happened at the Hyperdome, a ten-city tour across NorthAm takes its toll! But she’s fine, really. If anything, Juno is more worried about her fans, who she loves so much. After the incident, she asked me to send a generous donation to the NOLA Medicareplex, and with the help of our friends at RedWhiteBlue we’re doing just that.” He gave a calculated shake of the head, rueful and sad. “Those poor, poor people…”

Tammy spoke to her audience. “Juno is of course at the moment on her way back to her native Hong Kong aboard her private jet-click the green spot on your d-screens for more information or to purchase a virtual replica.” Her expression became neutral. “Heywood, what’s your take on this awful event? From what the local police franchises report, it seems that a group affiliated with the America Alone Alliance Army were responsible for the sabotage of lightshow display equipment at Juno’s farewell concert.”

A frown. “I’m no political expert, Tammy, I’m just a guy who wants to bring great music to the world. But we’ve all heard of the A4 and they’ve made no secret of their dislike of foreign entertainers on their shores… Look what happened in New York, a couple of months ago…”

Tammy nodded. “You’re referring to the so-called ‘Brown Noise’ attack on a concert by the British opera singer Robert Williams at the Carnegie Bowl. Viewers can hyperlink to ZeeBeeCee’s coverage of that incident by touching red on their d-screen.”

“Frankly, I think this is a failure on the part of the American law-enforcement community to properly police their country.” He leaned forward to display his seriousness. “Tammy, let me tell you that some people suggested that Juno should not come to America… But Juno did not want to disappoint the fans, whom she cares for so very much.”

“And those fans wish her well, Heywood. Here at ZeeBeeCee we’ve been inundated with emails asking after her. But regarding the incident at the Hyperdome, how do you react to stories we’ve been hearing that several audience members were attacked by…” She glanced at a data-screen. “Here I’m quoting… ‘an angel of death’?”

Rope’s expression remained unchanged. “People under stress see many strange things, Tammy, and while our security do the best they can to screen out any attendees under the influence of illicit substances, some do sneak through…”

A nod. “An interesting point, Heywood. Only recently, I believe that the Mothers For Meddling attempted to bring a civil suit against Juno’s publisher, RedWhiteBlue, for what they alleged was ‘pro-drug use’ symbology in her songs.”

He allowed himself a moment of irritation. “Tammy, really. Those women are a group of middle-class busybodies with too much time on their hands, looking for scapegoats to blame for their poor parenting skills.” He swayed as the jet bumped an air pocket. “Let’s not forget their unfounded smear campaign against Senator Michael J Fox.”