Sunlight through the window of Mahud’s apartment. Sandy lay in bed, gazing out at a bright gleam of light reflecting off a glass tower face. The gentle murmur of morning traffic, muted through the glass.
She wondered. Wondered what Vanessa was doing. What Neiland would no doubt be scheming. What Judge Guderjaal would do, faced by legal challenge to Dali’s actions. And what Dali was up to, pretending to run a government for which he — if she read him correctly — possessed little expertise. Not to mention the totally unexpected and growing political activism from the general Callayan public, which in itself had certain politicians hopping frantically either to define or to obscure their favoured positions …
Probably, she thought, she ought to check the news or tune in to some local network connection to see how far the protests had spread during the night, and what the various politicians generally suspected of supporting the Governor were now saying, faced with mounting outrage from the public and thus the populist media. But the bed was comfortable, her eyelids heavy and her mind wandered unavoidably to other, less grave matters.
She rolled gently onto her other side. Mahud’s young, soft features nestled against the pillow. A firm, proportioned build that was very pleasing to her eye. Light brown skin. He looked peaceful. She watched him for a while, head upon the pillow alongside. Thinking everything … and nothing, a strange, calm confusion of emotion and possibility. His eyes blinked open, gazing directly into hers. Immediately aware and alert, as if he had never been asleep.
‘You’re staring at me,’ he said. Sandy shook her head against the pillow.
‘I’m not staring.’
His lips widened into a slight smile. ‘What would you call it then?’
‘I wouldn’t call it anything. I just like looking at you. You’re nice to look at.’ Mahud’s smile grew wider. He put a hand to her side beneath the sheets, feeling down to her hip. Sandy grabbed his arm and rolled over, pulling him up close behind her, the arm coming around her as she desired. Mahud got the idea and pulled her close, a smooth, warm weight pressed up against her bare back. His breath stirred at her hair. Sandy smiled, and gave a long, satisfied sigh.
‘I suppose you’ve been getting nailed a lot as a civilian,’ Mahud suggested. Sandy restrained a laugh, and it came out as a giggle instead. She bit her lip, mortified.
‘I’m just so very talented, Mahud, I even make a better civilian than most civilians.’ Mahud ran his hand down across her hard, flat stomach.
‘You’re just weird, Cap. I actually found the word for you — it’s called ‘nymphomaniac’. I found it in a dictionary.’
Sandy snorted. ‘Must have been one of those damn lousy Chinese-English dictionaries,’ she retorted. ‘A nymphomaniac is a woman whose uncontrollable sexual urges dominate every facet of her personality to the point of dysfunction. It’s actually a throwback to the pre-diaspora days when male and female gender roles were so wildly different that the sexual politics became very extreme, and sex was considered the defining element of interpersonal relationships between men and women, in some societies to the exclusion of much else.
‘My sexuality’s just a matter of getting horny a lot, that’s just the way my brain is. There’s nothing cultural or psychological about it at all.’
A silence from Mahud. Then, ‘I thought that’s what it meant.’
Sandy gave him a frowning look over her shoulder. ‘That was in the dictionary?’
He shrugged. ‘Pretty much.’
‘What were you doing reading dictionaries anyway?’ she asked with a smile as she resettled herself, a comfortable wriggle of buttocks against Mahud’s pelvis. Felt movement there, which perked her interest considerably. He shrugged again.
‘We were going undercover. I’d never done an op like that before. I read up on lots of civilian stuff. Kept running into words I didn’t know. That kind of thing.’ Sandy thought about that for a moment. Gazing out at the spreading gleam of sunlight, a slow crawl across tower glass. Busy morning air traffic, cruising and gliding the skylanes. Towers stretching off into the distance.
‘D’you like this city?’ she asked him then.
‘Yeah.’ A short, comfortable pause. Sandy could almost feel him thinking without seeing his face. She’d almost forgotten how well she knew him. How well she’d known all of them. ‘Yeah, I do. I think I understand a bit more why you were always so interested in civilian stuff. I mean … no, it’s an interesting place. I’d like to see more of it.’
‘It’s not just civilian stuff,’ she replied, matching her palm to the back of his hand, absently toying. ‘That’s an artificial distinction, civilian stuff, military stuff. It’s all the same thing. What we do … did, anyway, was a result of what went on here. Any military is just a reflection of civilian society, Mahud. We’re no different.’ Mahud rested his mouth on the back of her head. Blew softly into her hair, a gentle sigh.
‘Damn you’re smart,’ he murmured. ‘I don’t see any of that stuff. I just see towers and things, and people dress different and act different.’
‘D’you like that?’
‘Yeah. I think so. I mean, I don’t really get the point of a lot of it … and, I mean, they waste so much time on stuff, y’know? They need to get themselves organised or something, this whole city’s running way below capacity.’
‘But leisure time’s a part of the economic system,’ Sandy replied, still fiddling. Mahud shook his hand clear, but Sandy retrapped it, entwining fingers. ‘It’s an incentive for people to work harder, so they can play harder. Entertainment’s worth more cash than a full fleet expenditure each year in this city. And it recharges brain cells. People here do knowledge-based work. They use their brains a lot, not like weapons drill where everything’s automatic. They need more time off to recharge or they burn out. So it’s all just as sensible as military systems really, it’s just a different focus.
‘They’re creating wealth here. We’re just what they spend it on, like one of their infrastructure projects. We don’t create anything. We just kill things.’
She could feel Mahud tense behind her. His hand stopped resisting her attentions.
‘But the war … I mean, the war was …’ He trailed off. Sandy sighed. It was too much, she realised. Too much to dump on him like this. He respected her too much. Respected her opinions, valued her judgments. Trusted her, more than she would have considered healthy if their positions had been reversed. It was a great responsibility. She felt compelled to live up to it and show some compassion for the moment.
‘We did okay in the war,’ she sighed, rubbing his arm affectionately. ‘We did fine.’
Mahud tightened his arm about her, pulling her firmly back against his chest. His naked body pressed against her. Warm breath in her ear, face rested against her hair, watching the span of visible sky. They lay together for several lingering, unspeaking minutes, watching as the sun-gleam crawled to higher panes of tower glass and the air traffic soared and murmured.
It felt very nice, that company, Sandy considered, warm against his skin and the soft, covering sheets. Perhaps too nice. Other thoughts swam to mind unbidden. Urgent and pressing. She sighed, feeling very, very reluctant.
‘What?’ Mahud murmured by her ear.
‘Just… everything.’ An executive coupe slid by on a near lane, wide, curved and shark-looking. Her right eye tracked and zoomed, reflexive curiosity on a model she had not seen before. Impressive-looking design. Very Tanushan. ‘I mean, what are you going to do?’
A brief, unhappy silence from Mahud.
Then, ‘We have to talk about that now?’
‘When else should we talk about it?’
‘Come on Cap, this is good down-time. I’m not expected to be anywhere until midday. We can’t move around when we’re trying to lay low. And now you’re here.’ He trailed a hand back down her stomach again. ‘Don’t spoil it.’
‘Mahud, are you going to keep working with these people?’ The hand strayed lower, reaching between her thighs. ‘Hey.’ Sandy’s voice was firm, although she made no attempt to move his hand. ‘I’m serious.’
‘Me too.’ The fingers probed, gently stroking. Sandy winced. He knew exactly what she liked, and how. Bastard. She twisted half about within the covers, and gave him a very flat, very sombre stare. Mahud looked pained. The fingers withdrew. He sighed.
‘Mahud,’ she said gently. Firmly. ‘What are you going to do?’ A moment of brief thought.
‘What do you think I should do?’
‘Mahud, I can’t be your Captain for ever. You know what I’d like to see you do — I’d hope you’d leave these bastards and stay here with me. But it has to be your decision.’
‘You said Dali wants to lock you up,’ he pointed out. ‘You want me locked up with you?’
‘Dali won’t be in power for long. Six weeks at most. Hiding for six weeks is easy when everyone from the head of the CSA down are all determined not to find me.’
Mahud stared at her, realisation dawning slowly in his eyes, what she was asking. His look was disbelieving.
‘You want me to become a civilian?’
‘You make it sound like a disease.’
‘Jesus Cap, I … I dunno.’ Very unconvinced. Sandy rolled over to face him, head on the pillow alongside. ‘I’m a soldier.’ With pained conviction. ‘I don’t know anything else.’
‘I’m with SWAT right now. It’s practically the same thing, just the uniform’s different. I mean, I was kind of hoping for a nice, quiet programming job, but hell, I’ll take what I can get.’ Mahud looked very dubious. And worried. And confused.
‘Oh come on, Mahud!’ Exasperated, she put her hands on his shoulders, looking him intently in the eyes. ‘You can’t go back to the League. They killed our guys. Murdered them. How can you …?’
‘That’s what you say,’ Mahud interrupted stubbornly.
Sandy’s eyebrows arched. ‘You don’t believe me?’
The confused look gave way to exasperation.
‘Christ, Cap … I know your stuff about the reasons for this op is true, it all fits. What they did to you sucks.’ His eyes were fixed on hers, full of emotion. ‘But the other thing … that’s a lot to ask. You know that.’
Sandy did know that. He was right. It was a lot to ask of him. Probably too much.
‘Hell with that then,’ she said, climbing on top and straddling him, gazing into his eyes. ‘What about you, you want to keep working for these people? Knowing what you know now?’
He looked up at her kind of distantly, as if remembering things. The pain never left his expression. And she wondered, not for the first time, exactly what it was that he was thinking.
‘No,’ he said then, very quietly. ‘But I don’t know what else I can do.’
‘Mahud …’ she leaned down, forearms to either side of his head. Breasts touching his chest, nearly nose to nose. Her eyes were gleaming. ‘You can learn to live.’
Mahud stared. Nearly frightened. Concerned certainly. He looked so vulnerable. She didn’t know whether to laugh at his confusion, scream at his indecision, or burst into tears at his poor, helpless expression. Highly trained, lethal combat-GI that he was, he still made her heart melt with his unassuming innocence. She didn’t know whether to hug him or hit him.
‘It’s good here, Mahud,’ she told him, her eyes alive with enthusiasm. ‘There are so many things to see! So many new things to learn. Some of the people I’ve met are really good. Once they realise you won’t hurt them, they’ll like you. You’ll like them too, I promise. You could probably get a job training them on weapons and tactics — they’re pretty good here, but they’d still learn a lot from you. They’d value you. It’s completely different from Dark Star. People will respect you for more than just your rank, they’ll like you for who you are. You’ll never know what it’s like until you experience it …’ She broke off as Mahud began to shake his head helplessly.
‘I just don’t know if I…’
‘Shhhhh,’ Sandy told him, putting a gentle finger to his lips. ‘Just think about it. You’ve got a few hours. We can talk about it some more. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.’
Mahud nodded silently. Not looking any less confused, but now focused more on her than the things she said. She kissed him gently on the lips and pulled back to consider him again affectionately. His eyes were so nice from this range. All of him was. But mostly, it was what she saw on his face, and in his eyes in particular … he was Mahud, her comrade, her longtime friend and companion. He understood her rarely. But he was honest and conscientious, and whatever his shortcomings, he always tried to do the right thing.
It was more than she could say for many of the straights she’d met. The ones who lacked the courage to confront their flaws. The ones who were smarter and ought to have known better, but didn’t. The ones who should have grasped more than a limited, tape-trained mind like Mahud’s, the ones who possessed intellectual faculties and training that far exceeded his limited experiences, but failed to put them to any good use. Given more years, and more experiences, she was certain that Mahud could grow in many ways. But even now … well, she liked him fine just the way he was.
Impulsively she kissed him again. Like a grown woman petting an irresistibly adorable puppy, the thought occurred to her and she nearly laughed. Smothered it with another kiss, and another. Mahud was hardly responding as she might have hoped. She paused, gazing down at him from a more comfortable range.
‘Sandy?’ His voice was quiet.
‘What?’
‘I’m scared.’ She nodded, with a small, sad sigh.
‘I know.’ And settled down on top of him, wrapping him firmly in a warm, comfortable embrace, his arms enfolding her in return. ‘We all get scared sometimes. I know it’s tough. But sometimes we just don’t get a choice.’
‘Will you look out for me?’
‘Of course,’ she murmured gladly against his shoulder. ‘I’ll always look out for you. We’ve got something no civilian can understand. Probably no straight either. I’ll always be there for you. Don’t ever doubt it.’
They made love amid the tangled sheets as the golden morning spilled across the room and gleamed on the windows. Perhaps, Sandy managed to think as their bodies locked pleasantly together, she had been too prescriptive, too commanding, too Captain-like in her approach … and recalled having told him, just moments before, that he would need to make up his own mind, and that she could not be his Captain forever.
It was true, to a point. But for him to go back to the League, especially now that he knew what he did, could be suicide. They might monitor his changed behaviour, piece together the clues and decide him to be a liability, like all the others. There was no choice. The path was already chosen.
And then Mahud rolled her over and gazed wonderingly into her eyes as he entered deep inside her and it was a full ten minutes before another single, coherent thought crossed her mind.
Vanessa Rice sat on the sofa in her Santiello apartment, watching the news on TV while eating an early lunch of samosas and sauce. She wore her operational fatigues, drab-green slacks with pockets, utility belt, T-shirt under her regulation jacket. Her field boots were the second-smallest size the CSA had on inventory. Her guys often asked her which school-cadet she’d borrowed them from. She frequently replied by leaving a boot-print on one or another backside.
The TV news spoke of absolutely nothing but the present constitutional crisis and the tumultuous events that surrounded it. There were legal experts dissecting the constitution, political debates between Union and Progress Party representatives over whether Dali was justified in taking his extraordinary step, and much excited speculation as to how it all fitted into the picture of the broader investigation into the ‘Parliament Massacre’, as it was now being called.
Vanessa found it disturbing to watch, and spent much of her meal frowning as she chewed. It was disturbing because it revealed just how little the media actually knew about any of these matters. She lost count of the number of times that CSA operational policy was misrepresented, or the extent of the President’s powers exaggerated, or events in the Federation/League conflict taken way out of historical and political context.
Vanessa had never considered herself much of a political expert. Only now, watching the media’s feeble efforts to make sense of the turmoil, did she realise just how much political knowledge she possessed and took completely for granted. It was a part of her everyday awareness as a SWAT unit leader. Political differences spilled into civil rights council debates, which in turn governed how much force she could use under specific situations, which in turn determined many of her operational considerations. It governed privacy laws, thus controlling CSA taps on network sources. It governed legal and procedural rules, the evidence required for an arrest and the legal framework within which her unit’s operations were contained. However much she tried to focus solely on the tactical concerns, she could never entirely escape the political context. Strange how she’d always ignored the implications, and derided politics as something that neither concerned nor interested her.
And the media, she thought as she bit into another crispy samosa, was about fifty percent business-oriented. Everyone knew that. Business or ‘human interest’. Truth was, as Hiraki had said, nothing much ever really happened in Tanusha. The stock market rose, the city expanded, high-life celebrities went to court over divorce proceedings and occasionally some underworld types killed each other in brief, spectacular gun battles, some of which Vanessa had seen first-hand — three times she had participated in directly. But none of this had prepared the local media for the sudden explosion in constitutional, legal and historical complexity that everyone was presently up to their necks in. Some of the interviewer’s questions were laughable.
No damn wonder she’d wanted to join SWAT, Vanessa thought sourly as she finished her last samosa, wiping her fingers on her fatigue pants. It was a refuge from entrepreneurial greed and blind self-importance. A place where respect was earned, not bought, and big issues really mattered. Vanessa loved Tanusha, but sometimes she longed for a population transplant.
Her audio implant beeped warningly and she pulled a headset from a jacket pocket. Equalised through the implant, finding the matching frequency … and frowning when she failed to recognise it. Serious encryption. Seriously clever too, and subtle … she searched, but found no clue to its origin. Audio only though. It should be safe. She received and felt the pattern tune into alignment with a tangible, melding click…
‘Nice implant Ricey,’ said a familiar voice in her ear. ‘I think I recognise the pattern. When did you get it done?’
‘Cassandra?’ She sat fully upright, silencing the TV. ‘Is this connection safe?’
‘Should be. I’ll take my network interface back to the League and ask for a refund if it isn’t.’ She sounded, Vanessa thought, to be in a most inappropriate good humour. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Right now?’
‘Yep. I’m sitting by a window watching the view, if that’s any help.’
‘I’m watching TV and I’ve just finished eating lunch,’ Vanessa replied, feeling slightly perplexed. ‘Where the hell are you? And more importantly, why are you in such a ridiculously good mood?’
‘Just got nailed,’ the GI replied. Vanessa could hear the grin in her voice and laughed in surprise. ‘You should try it some time.’
‘I’d love to.’ With great sarcasm. ‘I only saw you about twenty hours ago — your genitals must work like a heat-seeking missile.’ Happy laughter from the other end. ‘Who with?’ A short sigh. Prelude, Vanessa thought, to something more sober.
‘His name’s Mahud. I was his squad commander back in Dark Star.’
‘Oh.’ Humour faded. ‘So he’s a GI?’
‘Yeah. High model. Nice guy, you’d like him.’
‘I’m sure. Tell me everything.’
‘Is that a tactical request, or do you just want to get off?’
Vanessa smiled. ‘Business first. The rest can wait.’
‘If you say so. Well first, obviously, he survived what the rest of my team didn’t. Seems my superiors wanted to keep a few higher models for special operations during peacetime. Like this one. He was the main tactical coordinator on the attack to kill the President.’ Wow. Vanessa felt the breath catch in her throat. And wondered, in an instant of sudden fear, if Cassandra Kresnov was truly as sensible and stable as she seemed in person.
‘He knew nothing about me,’ Sandy said firmly, as if reading her mind through the linkup. ‘He’s a very loyal guy. He’s never known anything but service to the League. I’ve tried to fill him in on everything that’s been going on, but it’s difficult. He’s still working with them, lying low. I don’t want him to get upset or nervous in case they see his behaviour changing. But he can’t leave now without alerting them that I’m onto them.
‘He knew I was coming here when he accepted the mission. I think that’s part of the reason why he wanted to do it, to see me again. He just never guessed I was the reason for the mission in the first place.’
Vanessa could feel her brain starting to race. The implications were enormous. One of the main people in the FIA operation, potentially about to turn over. Or maybe he could be their mole. Give information to the CSA. Help them capture the bastards. Good God, what an opportunity!
‘He says they do have infiltrator software in Tetsu — he was using it for a covert search during our raid there, seeing what we were up to. He found some traces of the stuff I was using when I was helping out Intel, searching the database and showing them what to look for … League software, he recognised the key-codes immediately, knew there was only one person who could use it like that. Which is how he knew to send Cody the message.’
‘Do you trust him?’ Vanessa asked.
A pause.
‘Where I’m concerned, yes. With my life.’ Another pause. A deep breath. ‘The rest of it, politically …I dunno. I don’t want him to get hurt, Ricey. I only just found him again. I cant put him into anything too dangerous.’
Vanessa could hear the emotion in her voice. Jesus. Who would have thought that the League’s most dangerous, advanced GI ever brought to life would turn out to be such a mass of emotional dramas?
She knew what she ought to do. What the CSA would no doubt like to do, given the chance. Use this Mahud to give them the rest of the FIA team on a platter, no matter what else it cost. Ibrahim would not like it, but Ibrahim knew where his priorities lay. Ibrahim would sacrifice Sandy’s friend to get the others, no question. Damn. And she could suddenly see, at that moment, why Sandy had contacted her and not Ibrahim. It was trust that Sandy was showing. Trust in her. But her priorities … lay where? What the hell was she going to say?
‘Where is he now?’ she thought to ask.
‘He’s gone out to a rendezvous point. Nothing serious, just a head count and review. I’m at his apartment. Rented under a false name, buried under a mass of encrypted transactions, you’d never find it unless I told you. The encryption they’re using lets them make all kinds of network transactions without anyone seeing. Very corporate‘
‘Did he tell you whose?’
‘Nope. I’m not pushing. I’m just happy to have found him. He’ll have to make his decisions for himself.’
‘Yeah … no, I agree. Damn. It’s a tough one, isn’t it?’
‘Tough on you too … hey, I’m sorry to drop this on you, I know it’s a problem at your end. Like right now you’re wondering if you ought to push me for more information to bust some asses right now, or leave me here and wait to see if I can come through with something more substantial.’
Vanessa sighed. ‘Yeah. Well shit, I’ll have to tell Ibrahim at least as much as you’ve told me …’
‘That’s okay, I want you to. Just… leave Mahud to me. I need to do this my way. And if I push him before he’s ready, he might just bug out on me. Just give me some time, huh?’
‘Sure.’ Vanessa smiled reluctantly. ‘Sure I will. I’ll recommend that much to the boss, too … it’s the best lead I’ve heard of so far. I think he’d recommend you keeping your head down for now. We want the top people. I reckon he’d want you to stay with Mahud until he’s ready to give them to you.’
‘I hope so.’
‘So,’ Vanessa sighed. Stretched out her legs, leaning back in the sofa. ‘You really like this guy, huh?’
‘Not the way you’re thinking‘ The humour was back in her voice. ‘I think he’s more like … I dunno, d’you have a brother?’
‘Two of ’em,’ Vanessa replied with a smile. ‘Small difference though — I haven’t screwed either of them, and I’m not gonna start.’
‘Oh hell, you know what I’m like — even if I had a real one I’d probably be screwing him too.’ Vanessa grinned. ‘No, Mahud’s … he’s just nice. I think so, anyway. Maybe he’d scare other people, I don’t know. But you’d be surprised just how harmless he can be.’
‘No I wouldn’t be, I’ve got you as a measure.’
‘I’m not a good measure, Ricey. I’m not a good indication of anything, GIs least of all.’
‘Yeah, the rest of them probably all make a lot more sense than you do, Cassandra.’ Another frequency bleeping. Vanessa recognised this one immediately, and her heart rate rose fractionally. ‘Sandy, I’m getting an emergency call, I gotta go.’
‘Sure Ricey… take care, huh?’
‘You too. I’ll be seeing you.’ Click to static. Readjust to new frequency, then a fast, reflexive tuning. It was code, no words, sending as soon as she connected. She noted it down with little surprise, made a few fast, mental translations with the help of her implant, then disconnected as it began to repeat.
She refolded the headset into her jacket pocket, went straight for her gearbag on the table and strode out the door, heavy weight of rifle, armour harness and attachments thumping against her back as she went.
The shots started when they were only halfway in. Vanessa thudded sideways into the nearest mall-side, the glass shattering with a crash across her armour. The remaining few civilians screamed, ducked, fell or ran, amid yells from her foremost team to ‘Get down! …’ another second and she discerned that the shots were not directed at them, and darted forward instead, dodging between panicked and scrambling civvies, yelling at them to keep moving in the other direction, away from the firing.
‘S-5, under fire, random cover, targets are moving.’ That was Kuntoro. Tac-net had him mapped and she figured his position clearly enough as she ran, tac-sim postulating firing positions from available audio and topographical data … she dodged past the last of the civvies, Devakul already up and running ahead, armoured, lithe and weapon-ready, heavy feet pounding over the brick-paved walk, dodging café tables and chairs upended in the recent rush. If she’d had time, she would have sworn. It was no place for a firefight. But she had no time …
‘S-2,’ she snapped, ‘move, grid-fiver, seven, level three and four, keep it blocked, we can’t let ’em through …’ The mall opened to an indoor food court, Devakul skidded for cover behind a corner and potted indoor palm … ducked in abruptly as fire blew the palm to bits, tile fragments showering amid shredded greenery as Vanessa cut left, still sprinting, hurdled an umbrella-shaded table that crashed over, then ploughed through an angled shop window that afforded her a right-angled view across the nearest port of the food hall. Saw nothing moving, propped on her left arm amid still-falling debris, rifle ready, fire ripping past Devakul’s position … Devakul held his rifle around the corner and fired by remote-sight in short, popping bursts. She heard the launcher’s muzzle-pop even as she rose, and ducked fractionally before the grenade hit the wall not four metres in front with a shock that nearly knocked her over.
‘Central!’ she yelled on all fours amid the showering dust and debris, ‘they are armed, full military-spec, get me everything you’ve got and all civvies out! This is a fucking war!’ And for her team, ‘People, watch for civvies, no random firing, this is a shopping district, not a battlefield!’ Or at least it had been.
Devakul was still firing amid the blinding dust, she leapt across the line of fire behind him, slid flat behind the raised podium of the central eating area, then popped up to scan between the clustered table legs … ducked back as target-warning flashed and fire sent chairs and tables smacking around the open hall like tenpins, plastic and wooden pieces crashing and clattering all about. She rolled behind the podium, headed away from Devakul, then Bjornssen arrived and laid down fire — she popped up, managed a brief burst at the glimpse of a departing figure, hitting nothing.
‘Get him! Watch the angles, no rushing!’ as Bjornssen hurdled forward through the dust, Singh behind and Devakul after … she saw brief movement on her right as she followed, spun fast and found a very unthreatening man lying flat on a restaurant floor where the glass front had collapsed in on him, looking stunned and terrified. ‘That way!’ she yelled at him, a fast flick to audio, pointing back the way she’d come, then turned and raced after her guys.
Another grenade shattered windows up ahead, Bjornssen ducking and rolling through the smoke … more firing on tac-net, the position showed clear on visor and internal-vision, Kuntoro returning fire somewhere on levels up above. She held herself back, more sporadic fire smacking walls and breaking glass up ahead, checking through tac-net and tac-sim, measuring the angles, watching the distances … a grenade took out a shopfront ten metres away, window frames collapsing on Singh’s helmet with a heavy crash … they were falling back to a major thoroughfare, she saw in that moment of frozen time, multi-level shopping that connected to the nearby major hotel where they’d been staying and had apparently been surprised.
‘Singh, Dev, first right turn, right flank and hold! Work it forward! S-5, flank left! Don’t let them get past tac-C-2!’ Heavy fire in front, Bjornssen and Devakul covering for Singh’s dash across to the right-hand corridor ahead. ‘S-2, forward and spread, I want a crossfire on that atrium hall! Box and hold people!’
Ahead Devakul followed Singh’s dash and Vanessa ran up through shattered debris and smoke, ploughed headlong through a protruding side display window, kicked her way through mannequins and display shelves into the store proper. And had the surreal experience of running down a fashion store aisle parallel to the mall, full armour thumping the carpet … ducked and fell as shots hammered the surrounding walls, kicking clothes out and stands crashing over, hit the ground amid a hail of shredded fabric and wallboard … tac-net showed Bjornssen already running at the distraction … then all vision blanked as a grenade went off somewhere over her head and brought half the ceiling down.
Up and struggling, some indeterminate split-second later, through flames and smoke, ruptured water-pipes and malfunctioning spurts of foam retardant, smashed a damaged partition wall aside with her rifle arm, burning fabrics clinging like so much bonfire ash … tac-net showed a target down in the main hall ahead, several troops covering, and now fire zipping up and down from right to left in front of her position.
She scrambled further forward, found the dividing wall to the next shop to the left and kicked it — her foot went through with a massive thud, took a square metre of brick wall with it. She aimed two more kicks to clear space then squeezed through the crumbling hole. Rolled low, now finding herself in a fancy net-interface monitor display shop, and ran at a low crouch between elaborate stands and displays … tac-net calculated fire positions, acquired an exact fix from Hiraki’s arms-comp (it was Hiraki on the next level up, she gathered), and from that she guessed the required angle for herself. Stopped scrambling by the shop’s far wall, crouched and aimed out the display windows, past the holographic interference of window dressing. Outside was the broad mall, ten metres wide, the multi-level, glass atrium overhead and flanked by balcony walks. A man in a dark coat crouched behind the foundation support for the overhead crosswalk, edged close to the corner, weapon ready, unaware he’d been flanked. She shot him, close enough to see the blood spraying as he spun.
Leapt out through the windows in a crash of collapsing glass, rolling on the floor … fire whipped past, tac-net showing two other targets further up, sheltering behind the sporadic cover of stone flower boxes before the opposite side of the broad mall’s windows. She fired one-handed as she ran, low and crouched, shots erupting fragments and dust about flower boxes and splintering wooden bench seats … abruptly outflanked on another angle as the target tried to change cover, shots knocked him flying before Vanessa could adjust. She skidded in behind the overpass support, flipped to audio, full volume …
‘This is the CSA! Surrender to arrest now or you will die!‘
The reply was a volley of fire, aimed blindly over a further row of decorative flowerpots and miniature trees. Return fire shredded the greenery in seconds, erupting concrete and tile fragments sharding the air through curtains of dust … she noted even as she fired that the last target behind her was down — Kuntoro and Tsing had got him. She hadn’t entirely taken her eye off that potentially fatal threat from behind since the firing started, especially not now in the main mall surrounded by overlooking balconies …
‘Watch!‘ came Hiraki’s warning yell a fractional second before something whooshed past at speed and the entire right side of the mall exploded. A shocking confusion of concussion, flame and debris and she was shooting without targets, more blind fire hammering about … dimly realised through the flaming chaos that something was cutting the air like a saw, staccato blue light flaring through the debris as everything it touched exploded … she rolled frantically back behind full cover as the light swung her way, and half the ferrocrete support detonated in a spray of flaming wreckage.
Fire converged heading the other way, leaping red tracer, tac-net showed the fix … she spun left around the support, locked and firing as the far mall end collapsed beneath the hail. Ran, because that was textbook, directly at the target, spraying fire to cover possible invisibles, adjusting her suited stride to the recoil as she accelerated through the smoke, spreading destruction before her at will. Got far enough forward to see pieces of another bloody corpse where tac-net said the last should be, and slid to a skidding halt amid a confusion of broken chairs, flower banks and snack vendors, covering the last position of the previous target… empty.
‘Cease!‘ she yelled, and the carnivorous hail of tracer above her head abruptly vanished. Propped to her knees and scanned on full motion/multi-light, easier now things were no longer disintegrating, and saw … nothing. Things collapsing in delayed shock, displays, windows, plants, walls … smoke everywhere and things burning. Target-IDed corpses. Nothing else. Someone had evidently surprised them. There could be more. But nothing that end of the mall had survived that last barrage. So she was one corpse short.
‘Missing one.’ Tac-net showed Sharma, Kuntoro and Hiraki already converging along the flanks up the far end, and more following — even without her order they blocked the exits. She rose and walked, a clear enough view now to have faith in vis-scan’s warnings if surprised. Feet crunched over rubble, avoiding upturned tables and mall-walk attractions not so much bullet riddled as eviscerated. No sign. A measured, steady pace up the centre of the wreckage, rifle braced, a visor display warning of barely 220 rounds left in the magazine. The dismembered corpse was strewn about something that looked like a V-9 APL. Anti-Personnel Laser. Not merely military, but frontline. That had been the blue light. What had made the five-metre crater at the mall wall back there she didn’t care to guess.
Blood-trail, she saw then, through the drifting smoke. Heat residue, past the sporadic fires and round-impact spots. Held up a fist, the several marks moving behind in cover formation halted on tac-net, covering with interlocking, integrated fields of fire. Stepped carefully forward, looking right, the location of the blood trail. It made a right turn after barely a metre, and entered a doorway recess. This one was metal framed, and afforded more protection. Another step, and she saw the booted feet sticking out, and a hand limply dangling. Another, and she saw a woman seated, curled up as if for protection. A warm body, and much blood. Vis-scan detected no pulse on IR. A short, snubbish machine gun lay alongside, muzzle warm. Something unidentifiable in her lap, small and apparently plastic. Or something like.
‘Got one,’ she said calmly, rifle levelled unerringly. ‘Hit and unmoving. Something in her lap. Could be a bomb.’ Tac-net showed more of her team sweeping, covering. She heard their comments, terse and brief. Someone’s horror at discovering several civvies, huddled in a corner. But there were always some. Vis-scan read her voice, analysed the visuals and went into threat assessment without her urging. And came up negative on the bomb.
She paused. Trust it? Only if she was feeling suicidal. She wasn’t. Took another step forward across the mall. Another. Bjornssen went past behind, ignoring her target, covering further up the mall. Smoke drifted, fires burning, localised fire retardant hissing, adding to the clouding mist. A situation light blinked on her lower side-visor, someone off-net wanting an update.
‘Hitoru,’ she said calmly, ‘talk to central for me would you?’ He did, the blinking stopped. Another step. The pool of blood beneath the curled woman had grown larger. The body fractionally cooler. And the black, flat plastic whatever-it-was had a bullet hole in it. She knew some forms of bomb didn’t mind that. But it lessened the odds drastically, and she closed the remaining distance. At close range she could look down on it, beyond the woman’s obscuring hand and folds of her long coat. Definitely no bomb. More like … data storage? ‘I got it, Hitoru. I’m clear here.’
Knelt on one knee — squatting was mostly impossible in armour — and pulled the flat plastic square from the woman’s unresisting hand. Noted only one bullet hole, and that only in the stomach. Apparently. Grabbed the woman’s face in one armoured hand, pulled the jaw open … foam, saliva, general unpleasantness — self-inflicted, probably in capsule form. Jesus.
‘Lieutenant?’ Krishnaswali’s voice, invited now on tac-net. ‘Vanessa, what happened?.’
‘I just wrote off a mall.’ With forced humour. Only realising now as she spoke just how hard her heart was hammering. She felt suddenly out of breath. ‘I hope that’s okay.’
‘Fuck the mall,’ said the CSA’s head-SWAT, with typically clear pronunciation. ‘What happened?’
‘Um … well,’ she took a deep breath. The woman’s blank eyes stared into hers. European, not unattractive and now very dead. The unsteadiness deepened. ‘They had basically a military arsenal holed up around here somewhere … God knows how in a hotel district… and they basically blew up the mall.’ Krishnaswali at least did not need to ask if her team was okay — he had all the vitals in front of him. ‘And I got a dead girl here I’m guessing might have been in charge, she took a non-fatal round, crawled off to try and do something to what looks like a data-storage unit, then it looks like she topped herself. So it’s not just GIs that are expendable, looks like.’
‘Do you have the DSU?’
‘It’s got a bullet hole in it,’ she said, holding it up for closer examination. ‘But yeah, I got it.’ There was some kind of ID patch on the side of it, maybe a fingerprint patch. ‘Looks like she might have been trying to erase it or something.’
‘I’m guessing Intel will be very interested in looking at that. Please keep it relatively undisturbed. And the bodies. We’ll pick up the pieces.’
Vanessa gazed bleakly about through the smoke, and wondered if Krishnaswali realised just how literally appropriate those words were.
The coffee should have tasted good. She usually liked Naidu’s coffee. But this tasted sour in her mouth. Her tongue tasted of sweat, bile and that slightly acrid inside-the-helmet smell that hung around after having worn armour for too long.
‘Not good?’ Naidu asked with dismay, seeing her expression.
‘It’s fine.’ Wincing slightly and wrinkling her nose. ‘It’s just the taste in my mouth that stinks.’
‘Indians should neither make nor drink coffee,’ Krishnaswali added from his seat over by the window blinds, long legs crossed, cradling a steaming cup of tea in his lap. ‘Very bad form.’
Naidu said something derisive in a language Vanessa didn’t know … Telugu, maybe. Or possibly Tamil. Naidu was Old Earth, born in Bangalore. Krishnaswali was Tanushan born and bred, less than half Naidu’s age. He held to a notion of Old India Naidu found pathetically unrealistic, and typical of offworld romanticism of the ‘mother country’ they’d never visited and knew only from stories and news-bytes. Whatever he’d said, Krishnaswali only smiled and sipped carefully at his tea past his handsome, clipped moustache. Naidu gave Vanessa’s shoulder an affectionate pat and walked back around the side of the main desk.
They were gathered in Naidu’s main fifth-floor office amid the networking maze that was Intel. A nice office, large and roomy, blinds drawn across the broad windows that otherwise overlooked the CSA compound interior. Krishnaswali occupied a comfortable spot on the big-cushioned sofa by the windows. Hiraki and Kuntoro at the back of the room, behind Vanessa. At the front of the room various Intel Agents gathered about Naidu’s desk, now crowded with scanning and other electronic gadgetry Vanessa’s SWAT-grunt training supplied neither recognition nor interest for. The centre of their attentions was a single black, hard-shelled rectangle, pierced off centre by a single high-velocity bullet hole.
Vanessa stood in the centre of the room, coffee in hand, and surveyed the group with bland interest. Naidu, Intel Chief, at one side, looking even more rumpled than usual, suit and unbuttoned shirt collar in disarray, a cup of his own coffee steaming in hand. Zhong and Suarez crouched over the desk in fascinated absorption — both Intel techs, hardware, software, security gadgetry in general. Chopra standing over them, supervising — with a planetary and military security brief, he usually complained Tanusha had little need for him and spent his time researching things happening in the war just ended far away. Now his eyes gleamed with delight and he positively bounced with enthusiasm.
As usual, Vanessa reflected, sipping determinedly at the sour coffee, she was the only woman in the room. No, not usual. Just all too damn frequent. She’d learned long ago not to unleash that particular frustration upon her male colleagues, it wasn’t their fault. Just the fault of an Indian-Arabic-African prominent society where women aimed for ‘sophistication’ and anything vaguely sweaty was ‘men’s work’. The CSA was very sweaty. Academia, politics, education and general civil services, on the other hand, were crawling with women. They thought it natural. And protested with vague, generalised indignation about ‘mad scientists’ whenever someone presented the latest piece of League research that stated clearly it was not.
League scientists were well ahead of Federation research on such things. They did, Vanessa reflected wryly, have at least that much right — science in behavioural fields did move much faster when not held down by the weight of cultural bias and expectation. Sandy, she supposed, was proof enough of that. And it annoyed her, no question. She remembered further what Sandy had said, after the Tetsu raid, about how she sometimes argued like she was from the League, while Sandy felt more comfortable with Federation values. And she wondered, really, where she belonged. Where she would be, if she’d had the good or bad fortune to be born elsewhere within the vast domain of human civilisation. Cultural silliness often exasperated her. She was too pragmatic. But then, if all the pragmatists gathered in the League and the romantics in the Federation, that would only breed extremism, surely? Maybe she was meant to be here. Maybe Tanusha, Callay and the Federation needed her where she was. But sometimes she wondered.
Zago interrupted her dazed, half-sighted contemplation by opening the door. The men about the desk glanced up briefly, then returned to their work as Zago made for Vanessa.
‘Ricey,’ he said, trying to keep his deep voice low and not quite managing it, ‘we’ve got three mis-ops — two will need full refit, I’ve got full specs on mech if you need ’em.’
‘How’s Arvid?’ she asked, not really caring about the team’s maintenance problems right then, however tight the rotation schedule. Arvid Singh had been very near the fireball when the HE grenade had struck the mall side, the APL barrage that followed hadn’t helped. As soon as his helmet had come off, he’d gone into severe shock, pale, shaking and breathing with difficulty. No one held it against him. It happened. After that barrage, she was amazed Singh was the only one.
‘He’s okay. Docs say the tape will help, could take a few days though. He might have relapses, might not.’ A shrug of broad shoulders within his patched and rumpled duty jacket. ‘Should be okay. Just have to see.’
Vanessa glanced up at him. A long way up, even for her. Zago was massive, at over one hundred ninety centimetres and nearly one thirty kilos. Jet black and handsome. Married with five kids. Pity, she’d always thought. The sexiest man in her unit by far. Brute force, she knew, with self-directed sarcasm, was her big weakness. Muscle was irresistible. Size turned her on. God help her.
‘How about you?’
Zago flashed a charming wry smile. ‘Hey, no holes, no damage.’
‘Arvid’s just as tough as you,’ Vanessa said sombrely, her gaze unwavering. ‘It’s just his turn, that’s all.’
Zago’s face fell. ‘I know. I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘I know.’ She patted him on the arm. ‘I know you didn’t.’
‘Why don’t you take a seat, Lieutenant?’ Naidu suggested, over the murmured conversing around the main desk. ‘Surely even SWAT lieutenants rest occasionally?’
‘She never sits,’ Hiraki replied from the back of the room, eyeing her with calm, impassive eyes. Naidu frowned in concern. Zago flashed him a warning look. Naidu raised his eyebrows and turned his attention back to the desktop. Vanessa ignored them all, gazing ahead blankly, gently sipping at her sour coffee, trying to get a reasonable semblance of taste back. Zago stepped behind her, put his arms comfortably about her, and pulled her back against his broad chest. Too tall even to rest his chin on the top of her head. She rested her head back with a sigh and closed her eyes.
Recalled unbidden Sandy’s arms about her, a playful embrace. So much smaller than Zago. And infinitely more powerful. Yet she’d felt safe then, if indignant, like she felt safe now. And restrained a half-smile at the memory. She’d been thinking about Sandy a lot lately. A crazy development in an otherwise sane life, that was certain. A friendship with an AWOL League GI. It was nuts. And yet somehow… it worked. She sighed, and opened her eyes to gaze at the wall above the men’s heads. And hoped like hell the occasionally undisciplined portion of her brain that registered such things would remember that she was presently married, that Sandy only liked men and that totally regardless, any kind of ‘relationship’ with a person who was regarded in some circles as not even technically human was definitely not a good idea under any circumstances …
And she recalled the power in those bare shoulder muscles flexing, the steel-hard tension of the neck tendons beneath her hand, and felt any slight sense of attraction dissipate very fast. Good, she thought to herself with some relief. Just remember what she is, you idiot. That’ll keep your groin in check.
‘Yeah,’ Suarez said from his crouch behind the desk equipment with rising excitement. ‘Yeah, that’s definitely it, you’ve got it.’ Zhong grinned in triumph, focused with intense concentration on the small control screen of what looked like a las-grid reader — an automated digi-decipherer, the small finger probe held closely suspended over an opened portion of the flat black rectangle. Code raced across another smaller monitor screen amid the pile, and other readouts flickered confusingly.
‘Oh man!’ Suarez gasped breathlessly, switching stares between graphical construct and raw codage screens. ‘Sweet Mother Mary that’s a P-H class gridrunner … look here, that’s an execution bracket suite, right there …’
‘English!’ Naidu snapped, ‘I speak nine languages more or less fluently but techno-babble is not one of them.’
‘Oh …’ Suarez blinked, staring about, eyes then darting back to his precious screens, ‘… well, it’s not a retarded series nine like I thought, it’s multi-lock compatible, it can replicate remotely across any Dexxie-type grid …’
‘Oh,’ Naidu exclaimed, ‘that’s much easier, I understand it all now…’
‘Um, sir,’ broke in Chopra, a thin, bookish, dark-skinned man in a tweedy jacket too large for his narrow shoulders, ‘if I might, sir …’ He licked his lips in nervous excitement, fidgeting fingers interlocked. ‘This is definitely an imprinted matrix like we thought, it is unalterable, hardwired software, you … you cannot alter the basic imprinted code. The entire matrix unit will erase itself and … and probably your infiltrator software too, I might think it likely.’ Blinked rapidly, and licked his lips again, eyes darting back to the readout screens.
‘An … an infiltrator team such as this FIA group might be issued with such a unit within their possession with which to access particular mainframe security systems. A unit such as this could provide breakthrough codes, that such an infiltrator team could perhaps utilise to provide themselves with cover for their personnel and their operations within the broader systematic network…’
‘You’re talking about this network?’ Naidu asked. Pointing to the floor, meaning the entire, monstrous expanse of Tanushan info-net.
‘Yes sir.’ A small nod. ‘The Tanushan infotech infrastructure.’
‘Why put those codes onto an imprinted matrix?’
‘So they cannot be lost, infiltrated or stolen. This is a key to the city of Tanusha.’ Vanessa blinked. Zago’s arms were suddenly loose. But for the rapid flicker of visual data scattering across the desktop screens, the office was still.
‘But if they’re under biotech corporate network protection,’ Naidu said slowly, frowning sharply under heavy brows, ‘they’re already safe. Especially if they’re being protected from within the Governor’s office, even if not specifically by the Governor himself. Why a separate key? For what function?’
Chopra heaved a deep breath. ‘That, I am not certain…’
‘This is government encryption,’ came Zhong’s voice from the desk. His vacant stare told Vanessa he was uplinked and accessing, doubtless rerouting various analytical data functions on CSA central mainframe toward this particular unravelling of code from the small, black rectangle on the desk. ‘This imprint software was made in a government facility. Local Tanushan, no question.’
Vanessa glanced hard at Naidu. The Intel Chief’s lips twisted into a grimace. Coffee held forgotten in one absent hand.
‘Dali?’ Vanessa ventured. ‘Dali made this software and … and what? Gave it to the FIA?’ Naidu ignored her.
Chopra gave her a distracted glance. ‘Of course.’ In a condescending tone reserved for ignorant SWAT lieutenants who blurted the obvious. ‘But not Dali. One of his several FIA-trained and -appointed aides. Their files are fake, but I have resources.’ Smugly.
‘So what’s the damn stuff do?’ She freed herself from Zago’s unresisting arms, walked over and leaned on the desk, staring down at the maze of minor cables, hookups and laser-brace, the reader scanning the rectangle’s interior. ‘What’s the software for?’ No reply from the absorbed Zhong and Suarez.
‘I would guess the Plexus grid,’ said Chopra. Sounding increasingly smug, with the air of one well pleased finally to be presented with an opportunity to demonstrate his life’s work and skills. ‘Access to the Tanushan information network was, as Mr Naidu rightly pointed out, already guaranteed by the FIA’s plants in this city’s biotech industries. But the info-network is only one level of electronic security any infiltrating team must penetrate to make good. Far more important is the Plexus grid — Callay is a planet like any other, Lieutenant, with advanced planetary defences and navigation systems. I would guess that this unit should provide the FIA team with access to the Plexus grid, and thus the means to monitor and if necessary control their evacuation details via any incoming ships. This would of course require the assistance of…’
‘Yeah yeah, I gotcha Pops.’ Chopra blinked. Gave her a disapproving look, then turned his attention back to the monitor screens. ‘So that was what that FIA woman was trying to do before she killed herself. Erase it.’ With a glance across at Naidu. ‘That’d imply it’s not the only one.’
‘No.’ Naidu ran a hand through his unkempt hair. ‘They’d have a redundancy. But we’ve now limited their options severely. They can’t be flexible with their extraction now. They have to keep whoever uses the other unit in reserve. They can’t afford to lose the second one.’
‘Why didn’t this one erase?’
‘Bullet hole,’ said Zhong absently, eyes distant as he uplinked through a massive data-load. ‘Lucky shot.’
‘Lucky indeed,’ Naidu rumbled. ‘About damn time we had a bit of luck go our way.’ Straightened himself, nearly spilling the coffee as he remembered it just in time. ‘I have to brief the boss — tell me if anything significant comes up.’ And gave Vanessa’s shoulder an approving shake as he passed. ‘Terrific job, Lieutenant. You too Agents, all of you.’ And he left, on his way to Ibrahim’s office.
‘So,’ said Kuntoro, walking up to a place beside Vanessa, looking down at the inoffensive rectangle on the desk. ‘LT saves the world, hmm?’ Put an arm about her shoulders and squeezed. Vanessa made a face.
‘Lucky,’ she snorted. Wishing they would leave off patting her for a moment, and treat her like they would any one of the other heroic SWAT stud-commanders after a successful op. Kuntoro let go, only for Zago to move up behind and ruffle her hair with both big hands, as if to a small child. Dammit. She could handle being female in a majority-male environment. She was at peace with being small. But being ‘cute’ was a curse. If they’d merely wanted to fuck her, that was one thing. But rank and her reputation for volatility ensured they didn’t … well, not actively anyway. Instead there was this, halfway between informal affection (which was her own damn fault for encouraging between her troops as part of her natural command style) and professional respect. She didn’t look like a SWAT commander — she looked like a kitten. Being mistaken for one made her fume. Thus the reputation. And if she made too big a fuss about it, it would create tension and uncertainty, which was her responsibility as commander to prevent. She was stuck with all of it and she knew it.
‘So what happens now?’ she asked nobody in particular, ignoring them all as she stared at the mess of gear upon the desk.
‘Well,’ said Chopra, enjoying his own cleverness on this subject as he bent squinting beside Zhong, watching the monitor screens, ‘there is a chance that an examination of this data will allow us to determine how the FIA are managing to infiltrate the Plexus grid, thus perhaps allowing us to detect any extraction vessel that infiltrates our spacelanes …’
‘No I know that,’ Vanessa interrupted. ‘I mean what happens to Dali?’ Chopra blinked. Glanced up at her.
‘Does that matter?’
‘What d’you mean, does that matter? How can we catch the damn FIA if their buddies in the Governor’s Office are running the whole damn government?’
‘Lieutenant,’ Chopra said with sarcasm, ‘the last thing we need is to turn this into a political event. If we can discern the correct codes and perform a proper intelligence job of it, we should certainly be able to carry on our work without the active knowledge or interference from the Governor’s Office …’
‘Fuckin’ horseshit.’ With increasing temper. Chopra blinked. ‘We’re not getting anywhere without a clearcut chain of command. I can’t function without it. SWAT can’t. It’s not optional.’ Chopra coughed. Wetted his lips nervously. Evidently not accustomed to such intimidatory behaviour from attractive European females who barely came up to his shoulder.
‘Well,’ he said, with more caution, ‘with any luck, if we play our cards correctly, the services of SWAT will no longer be required and we can do the rest through proactive Intelligence-guided network operations without a need for further violence.’
‘Huh.’ She folded her arms hard. ‘If you believe that, I’ve got a nice pyramid scheme you might like to invest in.’
‘The present government are our lords and masters,’ said Krishnaswali. Vanessa turned and glared at him. He sat as he’d been sitting the past half hour, long legs crossed, calmly sipping his tea. ‘We swore an oath to uphold the lawful government. Right now, that means Dali.’
‘My team didn’t nearly just get its ass shot off for Mr-fucking-Dali!’ Vanessa retorted. ‘Arvid’s not lying down there in sickbay being force-fed trauma tape for Mr Dali! I swore an oath to serve and protect the people of Callay and Tanusha, not Federal Governor Dali!’
‘Then change the law,’ Krishnaswali said. Met Vanessa’s glare impassively above the rim of his teacup, taking another calm sip.
‘How?’
The CSA’s head SWAT officer shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me, I’m a grunt. Ask the Chief.’
‘I don’t have access to the …’ and trailed off as something occurred to her, her eyes widening slightly, past the hard thumping in her chest.
‘Naidu does,’ said Hiraki from the back of the room. Vanessa looked at him, seated with equal calm to Krishnaswali, but coolly disciplined to his superior’s languid professionalism. The look in his heavily slanted eyes was hard. ‘Ibrahim knows. He must remove Dali. We cannot catch the FIA with him in power.’ With a conceding nod to his commander. ‘Chief Justice Guderjaal does have the power to remove Dali if the laws by which he came to power have been broken. There was insufficient evidence before. Now, there is the box.’ He nodded toward the desk, where Zhong and Suarez were still crouched and working, oblivious to the debate going on around them. Vanessa’s eyes widened further.
‘Jees … if we could trace the origins directly back to Dali and show Guderjaal the proof…’
Hiraki nodded. His expression was dangerous.
‘Naidu will inform Investigations. They will trace. We will act when the time comes.’
‘But … but …’ Chopra had straightened behind the desk, his expression somewhat horrified, ‘but… I mean, by all means, justice must be done and justice surely lies in the hands of Mr Guderjaal … but Mr Guderjaal does not possess the Governor’s key-codes! He cannot remove the Governor’s key-codes at will. He … he must…’
‘He must empower us to take them from him,’ Hiraki finished. ‘By force if he resists.’ Silence in the office. Screenlight flickered on drawn blinds. Krishnaswali sipped at his tea.
‘Good show,’ he murmured. ‘Wouldn’t miss it.’
