Ari sidestepped his way briskly through the crowd on _Rue Bercy, headed from the metro station toward number 1489, which his observation of street numbers above building doorways told him should be several blocks up ahead. The crowds grew even thicker, a sea of humanity across a four-lane road that would normally be filled with evening traffic. The Rue Bercy cafe and restaurant staff manned the front of their premises, customary tables and chairs cleared well back from the moving throng lest they be overturned or swept away.
It was not a uniform protest by any means, Ari observed as he strode, hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his long coat. There was no single chant, no collective purpose nor apparent organisation, just a varied diffusion of different people in different kinds of clothes, some carrying placards, some shouting in accompaniment to a nearby audiophone, some singing, and some merely marching, simply to be there, and to take part. Rue Bercy was one of Tanusha’s more popular nightlife streets, particularly here where it ran through the downtown mid-high-rise of Quezon district in northwestern Tanusha. The road ran long and mostly straight for several kilometres. As far as Ari could see, the entire length was now filled with a slow-moving river of people.
Ahead, a major intersection bore an enormous, ten-by-ten metre holographic display screen that appeared to project its brilliant image in three dimensions a full two metres out from the building wall. There was no sound, but the prominently displayed name of the electronics company beneath the screen also advised of quality uplink sound as well … An allowed his own uplink to browse the local advertising frequencies, and the screen freq was most obvious among them.
‘… and you can see when we zoom in here,’ a newsperson was saying, that this small dot coming down the side of the tower is actually a person.’ Ari frowned up at the enormous screen. As he reached a better viewing angle on the screen, the image began to make sense. A soaring, megarise tower in late evening, airtraffic passing in random flares of light, and a circular portion of the screen image graphically enlarged to track the progress of a small, fast-moving dot that hurtled down the tower’s side. A dot with limbs. Limbs that were not flailing in frantic panic, as might be expected from someone falling off a tower. A large section of the crowd on the street were pausing to watch, blocking the path of those behind-luckily there were other screens, large and small, at various points ahead and behind, to prevent a major pileup.
‘Now whoever this person is,’ the newsperson continued, ‘he or she seems to have had some skydiving experience before … see the way they’re leaning to control the direction of descent? And now here … here comes the fun part. See this express elevator?’
They’d been running this image for the last four hours, along with unconfirmed reports of Commander Kresnov’s disappearance, but even so, Ari could feel the surrounding crowd take in a collective breath. The screen image looked like it might be some kind of security or air traffic monitor, accidentally catching sight of something it wasn’t designed for. The hurtling freefaller closed on the side of the tower, almost hitting it, then smacked onto the top of the racing elevator. Exclamations rose from the street, both alarmed and excited. A group of young people started chanting ‘Kresnov! Kresnov!’ over and over, as if she were a star of the latest Bushido championships. Some others booed them.
‘Pity she didn’t kill herself!’ someone shouted loudly, and was in turn greeted by a chorus of protests and cheers. Ari was marginally surprised that the protests were louder.
Animated debate erupted across sections of the crowd, then others marching from behind started to push through, breaking up the congestion and starting the procession flowing again.
‘If it hadn’t been for Kresnov,’ someone yelled a parting blow, ‘Earth would have torn us to pieces by now!’ And that got more cheers than boos.
Such was the debate among the public, An reflected as he resumed walking. Earth versus Callay. Earth versus the Federation. And no wonder all the old anti-League people were increasingly worried that all the anti-homeworld feeling might translate into an increasingly proLeague sentiment … particularly when much of the anti-homeworld movement rallied so strongly around Callay’s most promiment defender against the predations of the powerful, arrogant homeworld-Cassandra Kresnov, an ex-League GI. Earth was not yet a bogeyman to rival the scale of the League. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend?’ An wondered. No. Not yet. But maybe soon, if things continued this way.
Number 1489 Rue Bercy was a midsized office tower. Ari walked along the broad, paved pathway between gardens, uplinks scanning the surrounding network. On a whim, he tried a broadscan, the kind of wide-ranging interface that Sandy performed so reflexively in this environment … the sheer scale was overwhelming, a profusion of fixed and mobile links, data-nodes and multidirectional traffic. On a purely visual level, it was a whole universe of gleaming, pulsing light. On a data-specific schematic, the sheer volume of information came crashing in like a wave, and even his automated processing software protested at the required parameters. He shook his head in disbelief, cancelling that scan and reverting to his more familiar, site-specific searches before he lost balance and started staggering. How Sandy did it, he had no idea. What must it look like to her? Psychologically, she was as human as anyone. How was that possible, given the mental complexity required to process such enormous data-flows? Surely there must be some overlap between the conscious self and the subconscious processes? And he recalled, momentarily, those times on peaceful evenings, when he could come home to find her reading in her comfortable chair with some music on the audio, and that distant look in her eyes, as if she were in some far removed mental dimension that he could never reach nor comprehend …
And then she would look up at him, with those calm blue eyes, and smile. There was something in that smile that still took his breath away and baffled his better judgement.
At the revolving door to 1489’s foyer, where no one should be at this hour, stood a man in a suit, watching him. An kept walking, betraying no surprise, mentally rehearsing the tape-taught impulse to rip the pistol from its holster within his jacket and pull the trigger. From the man’s posture, it took little guesswork to figure he was doing the same. But An had faith in his own tape-teach. He got his neural tech from a place most suit-wearing heavies in Tanusha couldn’t access. Then the man seemed to recognise him.
‘Ruben?’ Ari’s uplink registered an incoming ID signature, tentatively offered. He accessed … and damn it all, it was CSA Intel. It was the first time in nearly twelve months that Intel had beaten him to a site. Egotist that he was, Ari didn’t like it. He offered his own ID back, pausing at a safe distance. And watched the Intel man’s eyes widen at the signature.
‘Curious coincidence to find Intel here,’ Ari remarked. ‘What’s the occasion?’
The man shrugged. ‘No occasion. Did Ibrahim send you?’
Ari smiled, strolling closer. Regular CSA always asked that question. ‘No, no, I just have his authority. He’s too busy, he doesn’t direct me around.’ In other words, he could do what he liked, on his own initiative, with Ibrahim’s personal blessing. Go places. Bend rules. The suit’s eyes widened a little further.
‘Why are you here?’
‘You first.’
An unconvincing shrug. ‘No reason. Just making sure the damn protesters don’t leave the road.’
An cocked his head on one side, and made a face. ‘Why don’t you contact whoever your boss is, up on the seventeenth floor there, and ask if he’d be so kind as to let me in. Callsign Googly. I’m sure he’ll make an exception.’
The seventeenth floor was dark but for the blaze of night light through the broad windows overlooking the office space of desks, terminals and partitions. An strolled along an aisle between desks, moving aside for Intel personnel with projection cameras and spectrum analysers. There were at least twenty Intel present, he counted, sweeping exposed surfaces with pulsing blue light, treading carefully on the single lines of red tape along the aisles, denoting a ‘safe’ surface, free from clues to be spoiled. Much of the activity was centred near the broad windows, where four scanner wands composed the corners of a rectangular space, four metres by two. A spectrum shift into ultraviolet showed the faintly pulsing, rotating waves of laser-light, scanning methodically over the intervening space. The result, in short order, would be a three-dimensional, multispectrum graphical picture. Hopefully it would reveal clues. To one side of the scanning rectangle, An recognised the chief investigator, in dark blue suit and tie, flanked by several others as he gazed upon the scene within the scanner parameters.
An walked over, and finally saw what lay within-two bodies, bloody and broken. Only then did he realise that the pale tinge to many surrounding faces was not just the absence of immediate light. He paused, forcing himself to peer more closely at the human carnage that lay between windows and desks. The pool of blood appeared a surreal, luminescent blue. Entrails … well, they all tended to look the same, in any light. And he was annoyed when he felt his own stomach begin to twist and complain. The chief investigator looked over at him.
‘Mr. Ruben,’ said Anil Chandaram. ‘What brings you here?’
‘I thought I had a lead on a contact,’ An replied. He strolled to Chandaram’s side. The woman who presently occupied that space wisely vacated it. ‘Now I have the, um, nasty feeling one of those two …’ he pointed to the mess, ‘… might have been it. There are two?’
‘Yes.’ Chandaram nodded grimly. ‘Just two. I wasn’t sure myself when I first saw it.’
An impact stain showed briefly upon the window opposite the mess, illuminated by rotating laser-light. Ari frowned, peering closer … and saw blood on the corner of one partition. And gathered in small globules on the fronds of a leafy potplant by a workdesk. This work hadn’t been dragged in from elsewhere. It had happened on the spot.
‘GI, huh?’ An observed with a very profound sinking feeling. Chandaram nodded.
‘Couldn’t be much else. This was done with just a couple of blows, but there’s no collateral damage, nothing else broken, no sign of forced entry, no one lugging heavy equipment, no blood trails …’ He shrugged. ‘Two people, standing close together, turned into that .. with a nod toward the gruesome object of attention, ‘… within the space of a second or two.’
‘Not even flung across the room,’ said the man on Chandaram’s other side, who Ari did not recognise.
‘If a GI hits you hard enough,’ An replied, ‘the fist goes straight through you.’ Both men looked at him. An decided against telling them that Sandy had informed him of that particular fact, in no uncertain terms, during one of their debates over sexual positions. He shoved both hands deep into his pockets, and glanced distractedly out the windows. On the street below, the vast river of protesters continued to march past, alive with banners, waving lights and occasional fireworks. A media cruiser hovered nearby, running lights flashing on special privilege from Traffic Central. Little wonder Chandaram hadn’t turned the lights on at floor seventeen-no one wanted to draw attention to this crime scene just yet. Particularly not with the evidence lying in plain view of the windows, and media cruisers going up and down nearby, covering the march. ‘You have an ID?’
‘We think the one on the bottom is Devon Mitchell.’ ‘Dewon,’ Chandaram pronounced it, with his Indian-Tanushan accent. Anglo names weren’t the most common in Tanusha, where Europeans were barely twenty percent of the population, and Anglos only forty percent of those. ‘He’s an employee here at Sigill Technologies, services division management. We got a call an hour ago, telling us to …’ Across the office floor, someone finally lost control of their stomach, and vomited. ‘Look, for god’s sake people,’ Chandaram said in loud exasperation, ‘the bathroom is just down there. We’ve got enough problems trying to manage the crime scene without you putting your dinner all over it! If you’re going to lose it, go to the bathroom! Heroics just make you look more stupid, right?’ With a hard glare at the shamefaced young Investigations woman who wiped her mouth and then ran fast for the bathroom … probably to throw up again and then get paper towels, Ari reckoned. Another man followed her. Then another.
Chandaram tucked his shirt in, mouth set with hard displeasure. ‘Anyway,’ he resumed, ‘we got a call an hour back from someone our voice analysis just matched to the same Devon Mitchell, telling us to meet him here, he had something very important to tell us. I got here forty-five minutes ago, and found this. The whole Sigill Technologies database has been fried by someone or something skilled and powerful. We’ve got people looking, but it doesn’t look like anything survived. I’m thinking that whoever Mr. Mitchell was about to expose could maybe have been employed here. Maybe a sleeper. Maybe that sleeper had the system bugged and monitored Mitchell’s call, and got here before I did.’
An hadn’t had much experience working directly with Investigations-he was far more familiar with Chief Naidu’s people in Intelligence. He only knew of Chandaram by reputation, as the guy most Intel people wanted to be working on their particular projects, when Investigations involvement was required. Sandy in particular had recommended him highly, having passed on much information on League network capabilities to Investigations, which Chandaram had used to unravel a large chunk of the old League regime’s remaining underground network in Tanusha. Now, he was further impressed.
‘Isn’t that how Commander Kresnov first survived when she arrived in Tanusha?’ Chandaram asked, appraising him with an offhanded look. ‘Taking a job in a technologies firm under false identification?’
Ari’s return look was hard. Chandaram appeared not to notice. Loaded question, it was. Calling her ‘Commander Kresnov,’ knowing all too well the far less formal relationship between them. Not to mention the present situation. Ari knew exactly what he was being asked to do. And he didn’t enjoy being used as a part of some other investigator’s agenda. He wasn’t sure Sandy would either.
‘Sandy didn’t come here looking for trouble,’ he replied in a low tone. ‘She was looking for peace and quiet. Whoever did this was differently motivated.’
‘I have nothing but respect for Commander Kresnov,’ Chandaram replied. ‘Not only is she a first-rate soldier and a patriotic Callayan, I also happen to think she’s a very nice girl. I could use her help here.’
‘Secretary Grey’s standing order is that she is absent without leave.’
‘Screw Secretary Grey,’ said Chandaram. Ari raised both eyebrows at the senior investigator. Chandaram’s expression did nothing to indi- care he was other than entirely serious. ‘The CSR’s had to put up with that little shit for years as a sop to the hardliners on the left, since they’re all so concerned that Ibrahim’s a pro-League radical. He might dictate general policy, but I’ll be fucked if I’m about to start taking direct orders from him. That’s Ibrahim’s job. If Grey doesn’t like that, he can remove Ibrahim. But he doesn’t have the balls.’
An glanced about the office floor at that frank admission. Chandaram had spoken plenty loud enough for others to hear. All about, Investigations personnel continued about their business unfazed. Evidently they’d heard it all before, and were in total agreement. No question about it, he reflected silently, the pro-Earth, anti-League arseholes on the Left were right in one thing-the supposedly apolitical CSA was definitely not on their side. Figure that into any equation, when the shit really hit the fan.
An took a deep breath, and decided to divulge some information. ‘We’re working on some leads. This was one-I got it from the maintenance bay ambush. There was a trace of code left over that matched some Sigill Technologies work when we ran a scan. I’ve been trying to find a certain sleeper for the last two months, haven’t found a damn thing. This might be it … or maybe not. Maybe there’s more than just this. I didn’t even know it was a GI until now … so maybe this is something else entirely, I don’t know.’
‘Old League?’ Chandaram asked. ‘But how could it be?’ he corrected himself. ‘Unless the old administration still has ties to the League’s military apparatus?’
‘That’s Intel territory,’ said An, ‘not mine. Sandy thinks they’d like to, but the League military’s going to be far too busy covering their arses for all the atrocities and other things that happened during the war. The investigations are still going on over there, plenty of heads have yet to roll. There’re a lot of senior League officers too scared of their own government’s review boards and investigations to be trying anything new against the Federation at this stage.’
And he paused, chewing his lip to gaze distractedly out the windows once more. Chandaram waited with a frown.
‘So what’s the problem?’ Chandaram finally asked.
‘The sleeper I was looking for,’ said An, ‘was from Earth.’ Chandaram’s frown grew deeper.
‘Earth? That’s like saying a fish is from somewhere in the ocean. Specifically?’
‘I don’t know. The FIA pretty much disintegrated last year with the Dali trials …’ he shrugged, ‘. . . we’d be stupid to think that’s all the old powers there ever had. They still haven’t found half the old FIA leaders, after all. They’re out there somewhere.’
Chandaram blinked, eyes momentarily distracted, but not by the view. ‘And if this is the sleeper you’re looking for?’ An met his gaze, grimly. ‘A GI?’
‘From Earth. Yes.’
Chandaram pursed his lips with an inaudible whistle, and ran a hand through his black hair. ‘Have you told the Commander yet?’
‘No.’ And forced a wry smile. ‘I’m about to.’
‘Good luck.’
‘No shit. And you guys thought I got all the best jobs, didn’t you?’
‘Major Ramoja says it’s absolutely not one of ours.’ Rhian sat across the circular table from Sandy, back to the large potplant that spread its fronds above their heads. Multicoloured lights lit the dark, and wallto-ceiling holographic displays shimmered with dancing shapes and figures about the dance floor. On the open floor itself, perhaps fifty young Tanushans were dancing (or thrashing, Sandy reckoned) to the thunderous, pounding beat.
‘Not one of the reform government?’ Sandy pressed. ‘What about the old Callahan administration?’ She sat herself with her back to the wall, having selected the table in the furthest corner beside the rear staff door at the end of the bar. Tucked away amidst the confusion of light and bodies, the odds of being recognised seemed pleasingly slim. Except, of course, if one of the people who habitually tailed Rhian about the city saw them together. The dark shades felt slightly ridiculous upon her face either way, but it was a legitimate Tanushan ‘look,’ particularly for someone going for the head-to-toe ‘noir’ she presently was. The dark tints were just another layer of distraction for her visual shifts to cut through, in this environment.
Rhian shrugged, lean and svelte in a tight leather jacket and stretch pants. ‘He says both. The ISO knows where all the League’s GIs are. That’s what he told me. And there’s not one running wild in Tanusha at the moment.’ And she paused. Made eye contact past Sandy’s shades, with a faint smile. ‘Or at least there’s not another one.’
‘What do you think?’ Sandy asked her pointedly. Rhian’s mild expression never changed.
‘I’m just a humble operative. I’m learning the rules of the Intelligence game, they’re rather different from spec ops. I do what I’m told and try not to think too much.’
‘I don’t believe that any more than I believe the ISO knows where all the League’s GIs are.’ She took a small sip of her makani-and- vodka-it wouldn’t do to be seen in such a club without drinks. Sobriety, in these surroundings, was always suspicious. ‘Have you heard anything about this Cognizant Systems?’
‘Renaldo Takawashi?’ Rhian said, surprised. ‘Sure, the Embassy’s helping to organise the entire tour. It’s been very popular among a lot of the Tanushan biotech companies. And a lot of the local health authorities, especially those in neurology. Do you think that’s connected somehow?’
‘I’m damn suspicious, that’s what. An found out about the killswitch at that big function thrown by Cognizant Systems. His usual contacts among League-friendly techies, I don’t doubt. Now there’s talk of another GI loose in the city. One that An says he’s been chasing for a long time … or has suspected of existing, anyhow. One from Earth. How does any Earth-based organisation make an advanced GI? And why does that timing tie in so neatly with someone trying to use the killswitch to kill me? I’ll bet anything there’s a connection to Cognizant Systems in this, and Takawashi in particular. And I bet An knows it too.’
‘Ari hasn’t told you?’ Rhian sounded quite surprised.
Sandy repressed a tired, not-entirely-happy smile. ‘Rhi, there’s a lot An doesn’t tell me. I’ve learned the hard way not to bother asking.’
‘I would,’ said Rhian with certainty. ‘If I were him.’
‘You’re not him,’ Sandy challenged. ‘How do you know what you’d do?’
‘Priorities,’ said Rhian. Sandy gazed at her for a moment. And decided not to tackle that one right at this moment. Ari and Vanessa weren’t the only two confusing people in her life.
‘All right,’ she said instead, ‘what does Ramoja think about this rogue GI? Does he have any ideas?’
‘None that he told me. Except to say that it’s theoretically possible that the FIA were developing some kind of secret laboratory somewhere, there were rumours about it during the war. A laboratory experimenting with GI technology.’
‘The Federation doesn’t have any damn GI technology, Rhi,’ Sandy said in frustration. ‘If the FIA had that kind of knowledge, they wouldn’t have devoted so much effort during the war to finding new ways of killing GIs.’
‘Maybe they recovered a body,’ Rhian countered. ‘A corpse. Maybe they patched it together, found a way to make it work.’
‘Gee, the Frankenstein solution, what a comforting thought.’ Sandy was grateful the idea was such a long shot-it gave her the creeps. The kind of creeps that probably only a GI could get. Or one with her imagination, anyhow.
‘Frankenstein?’ Rhian was frowning.
‘A very old book,’ Sandy explained. ‘A crazy doctor creates a living being by stitching together the body parts of dead people. It doesn’t work out real well. Find it in a library one day when you’ve got time, it’ll explain a lot about why people are scared of GIs. Gave me nightmares when I read it.’
Rhian looked troubled by that. ‘A book gave you nightmares?’
‘You get nightmares too, surely?’
‘Sure.’ Still the troubled look, eyes fixed frankly upon hers. Honest and open, in a way she rarely found with straights. Except Vanessa, anyhow. ‘I had nightmares in the war. You know when.’ Sandy remembered an incident with dead civilians, and a little girl dying in Rhian’s arms. And other incidents besides. ‘I still have nightmares, sometimes. About that time, and other things.’ A cloud then seemed to lift from her dark, oriental eyes. ‘There are children at the Embassy. I play with them sometimes. They like that. I don’t think they’ve ever known a GI who plays with them.’
No, Sandy didn’t suppose they would have. Certainly she couldn’t picture the trim, clipped and proper Major Mustafa Ramoja taking the time to play games with children, whatever his supposedly superior mental faculties.
‘What do you play with them?’ Sandy asked, gazing at her.
‘There’s a swimming pool,’ said Rhian with a glow of pleasure. ‘I like to swim. I give the children lessons, sometimes. And sometimes we have races, and sometimes we throw a ball around, or dive for things on the bottom.’ Sandy smiled, finding that strangely very easy to picture. And how ironic, that the very same patience, even temper and precise attention to detail that had made Rhian Chu such an effective soldier, would also make her one of the galaxy’s best childminders. ‘I really like children, Cap. Do you think they’d let me have one?’
Sandy nearly spat out her next mouthful of drink. And blinked at her old friend in astonishment. ‘Have one?’
‘You know. A child.’ Rhian seemed perfectly serious. And Sandy found the time to wonder, briefly, how it was that every time she tried to talk immediate, serious business with Rhian, they ended up getting so utterly distracted.
‘You don’t think your total lack of a uterus or ovaries might mitigate against that?’ she managed at last.
‘I meant adoption,’ Rhian said patiently, as if she thought Sandy a little dense. ‘People at the Embassy tell me how good I am with children. They say their children talk about me, and say they like playing with me. I think I’d be a good mother.’
‘I think you’d be a great mother,’ Sandy agreed, wondering how the hell she was going to approach this one. It suddenly felt like she was back in the League once more, seated upon a bunk in quarters aboard a military station or warship, explaining to her troop of lowerdesignation GIs various things about the universe that she somehow understood, while they did not. She’d always been happy to oblige, then. And she was happy enough to advise her good friend. But now, something about it gnawed at her, frustratingly. ‘But you couldn’t do it here. You’d have to go back to the League and ask for special consideration there. They don’t let just anyone adopt, each case is judged on merits. And you’d be the first GI, if you asked.’
Rhian thought about that for a moment. Then, ‘They won’t let me, will they? I was designed to fight.’
Sandy nodded, slowly. ‘That’s right,’ she said, cautiously. ‘It’s the kind of question the GI-advocates in the League never wanted asked. That’s why they had most of our team killed. When there’s no war, what are we for? It’s okay with GI regs, they’d never want to do anything other than what they’re told. But us higher-des GIs … we want to do other stuff. We want to make choices in life. Maybe we’ll even want to adopt a child. So they’re real scared of high-des GIs. Even Ramoja, I’m sure, despite all his denials. We could upset the entire League ideology-progress at no moral or ethical cost. They’re chickenshit, Rhi, they think they can have it all without suffering the downside consequences. That’s why there are so few of us.’
Rhian frowned at the rim of her glass, tilting it about so that the liquid swirled just short of spilling. Flashing light caught the glass, made the bubbles gleam. The thumping beat made the surface jump and buzz. Without GI-standard hearing enhancement, the conversation would not be nearly so easy. But it was wonderful for covering their words against any potential spies, without forcing them to resort to uplinks … which for Sandy, given recent events, were at least hypothetically dangerous, even here. ‘What if I came here?’ Rhian said then. ‘What if I joined the Federation? Became a citizen, like you?’
Sandy felt her breath catch in her throat. How many times had she suggested this to Rhian? Asked her flatly. Nearly demanded it, even. Her reasons then had been moral and political. But Rhian had been comfortable with what she knew best, where her life made the most sense. And it had been a comfortable arrangement. The best of both worlds, in fact-she could live with Sandy, and experience all the joys of the Federation, while still working for the League Embassy. Both sides got a vital conduit of intelligence and insight into the workings of the other, and the League government got Rhian out of their hair, away from where newly inquisitive League journalists and Parliamentary committees could ask her troubling questions about the fate of her teammates, and the reasons for her vaunted captain’s defection. This sudden change of heart from Rhian was unexpected, to say the least.
Sandy took a deep breath. ‘You’d have a chance here,’ she said, nodding slowly. ‘In Tanusha, at least. The law here respects artificial sentience far more than the League. That’s the irony, Rhi-this is exactly why the Federation opposes the creation of GIs. It wasn’t right of the League to make you a soldier. They should have given you a choice to be whatever you wanted. By making you what they did, they violated your rights, do you understand that? My rights too. The creation of any GI, with a predetermined role in life, is an automatic violation of human rights.’
‘I like being a soldier.’ Rhian’s gaze was utterly honest and calm amidst the blazing confusion of light and colour.
Sandy sighed. ‘Of course you do. You’ve never known anything else. But you’ve suffered for it. Haven’t you?’
Rhian shrugged. ‘Major Ramoja says most civilians are unhappy because they don’t know what their lives are for. So they come to places like this to dance and enjoy mind-altering substances …’ with a nod toward the commotion on the dance floor, ‘… and then they go home at night, and have sex, and then go to work the next morning and repeat it all over again. After a while, they feel empty, like there’s something missing. I don’t have that. I know who I am. I know what I’m for. I don’t have to wonder.’
Sandy leaned forward on the table, tilting her head forward to fix Rhian with an intense gaze above the rim of her shades. ‘Then why do you want a child, Rhi? If you’re so content?’
For the first time, Rhian blinked. And appeared, for a moment, slightly confused. ‘I’m good at it. Motherhood. Or I think I would be. Maybe it’s like soldiering. Maybe it’s just something I was meant to do. That’s what it feels like.’
Philosophy, from Rhian Chu. She never stopped surprising. Sandy knew that she ought to have been happy for her. This sudden desire for parenthood was unprecedented among GIs, as far as she knew. It marked a major milestone in her old friend’s personal growth, and a groundbreaking one at that. But still something nagged, frustratingly. Something tense, and hard and urging to be let free.
‘And what would you tell the child, Rhi?’ she asked, leaning her chin upon a hard fist. ‘How would you explain what you are to an organic, un-synthetic child who has to live in a society very different to anything you’ve known?’
‘I’d tell her the truth.’ With frowning earnestness. ‘Her,’ Sandy noted. So Rhian wanted a daughter. Somehow that didn’t surprise her. ‘She’d accept that. Children accept anything. And she’d love me, and look up to me.’
Sandy nodded slowly, her stare holding firm. ‘And when she looks up to you, how will you explain that she can’t hope to measure up to your standards? That she’ll never be so strong, or so capable? That if she tries the things you do, she’ll only get hurt? What if she comes to fear that she’ll never be able to truly make you proud?’
‘She would.’ Rhian was slightly indignant now, the unflappable calm beginning to slip. ‘I wouldn’t want her to be a soldier, she wouldn’t be designed for it. She could do anything. I wouldn’t care. So long as she was happy, I’d be happy.’
‘And what about when she gets teased, Rhi? When the kids say she’s Frankenstein’s daughter? When children she’d like to have as friends get told by their parents after school that her mother is a murderous killing machine with the blood of hundreds on her hands?’
‘They wouldn’t say that!’ In a raised voice, now, a look that was not quite anger, not quite fear in her eyes. Dawning desperation. ‘They’re not all like that. And those that are … I wouldn’t let them say it!’
‘How would you stop them? The whole planet’s saying it, Rhian.’
‘I’d get her educated privately,’ Rhian said stubbornly. ‘She wouldn’t need to get teased.’
‘And so she’d become isolated from other kids. Alone. The media would call her a freak. She’d hate them for saying bad things about her mother. She’d hate herself for causing you so much trouble. And you’d have to deal with your love for her being the thing that slowly tears her apart.’
Rhian stared away at the dance floor, swallowing hard to restrain obvious emotion. If she weren’t synthetic, Sandy reckoned her face might have flushed red. Her dark eyes shimmered with moisture, the upset of frustration. Or fear. Rhian Chu was fearful of little. Sandy leaned further forward across the table, her fist clenched tightly beneath her jaw.
‘It’s unfair what they did to us, Rhi,’ she said in a low, harsh voice. ‘We can’t ever be entirely at home. We can’t ever be entirely happy. We serve society, but we can’t ever entirely participate in it. We protect its benefits, but can’t ever be allowed to entirely enjoy them. It’s time you realised that. Realise what you are, and where you are, and stop assuming that everything will just be all right. D’you hear?’
Rhian looked back at her. Upset. Affected by her words, and her opinions, in a way that no straight ever would be. Sandy realised her fist was clenched painfully tight, and slowly relaxed it open, leaning back from the table. Rhian continued to stare at her, in helpless pain. Sandy took a deep breath, and found she was tight all over. Her gut hurt, and her shoulders were stiff and painful. The look on Rhian’s face slowly began to dawn on her, with creeping horror. Damn it all, where the fuck had that come from? She took another deep breath and stared down at the tabletop, regaining wits and composure that had somehow fled in that last, harsh outburst.
‘Rhi,’ she managed again, in a low, soft voice that barely carried above the thundering rhythm. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just … I get scared sometimes. And I just don’t want to see you …’
‘You don’t think I should have a child?’ asked Rhian, as clear and plain as ever, fighting the emotion down with great determination. Sandy could only admire her bravery. Rhian did not run away from unpleasant possibilities. She confronted them directly, as was her nature.
‘Rhian, I’d love to see you adopt a child.’ And Rhian looked as puzzled at that as she’d ever looked in all the time Sandy had known her, some of the emotion slowly draining away. Sandy sighed. ‘It’s not about what I want, Rhi. I’m trying to make you think. I’m scared you don’t see all the possibilities. I don’t claim to be brilliant at everything, but you know I’m good at seeing possibilities.’
‘Sure. You’re the best tactician in the universe.’
Sandy restrained a small, modest smile. ‘Maybe. Rhi, let’s be sure we understand each other. I don’t trust Ramoja. I think he’s a decent man with an impeccable value system. Unfortunately, that value system allows him to do anything in the name of the greater good, do you get that?’
‘He’d sacrifice minor assets to achieve the final objective,’ Rhian confirmed.
‘Exactly.’
‘Wouldn’t you?’
‘With you guys back in Dark Star?’ With a faint, sad smile. ‘My combat record was hardly perfect, Rhi. A few big objectives, I just failed.’
‘Andres Junction,’ Rhian volunteered, thoughtfully.
‘Exactly. I could have taken the whole facility. We could have, rather. If I’d been prepared to lose half my unit. There were other Dark Star commanders who were, their strike records were better than mine and HQ knew it.’
‘Captain Zhou.’
Sandy nodded. ‘He’s one.’
‘He was an arsehole.’
Sandy smiled. ‘He’s also dead, as were most of his unit before HQ could even bother making a decision to get the rest of them killed. Zhou saved them the trouble. And that makes me a much better commander than him, because it’s an awful waste of training and experience for senior combat officers to get themselves and their people killed after just a few missions. Survival is my highest function, Rhi. It’s also my highest priority when it comes to my friends, whether it’s you, or Vanessa, or An, or Anita, or whoever. But you have to think, Rhi. You have to consider worst case scenarios. You have this infallible knack for just ignoring bad things, and getting on with your life no matter what gets thrown at you. That’s something wonderful about you. But it’s also a blindness.
‘I think you could have a child. I think she, or he . . . ‘ with suggestive, raised eyebrows at Rhian, who shrugged, ‘… could grow up to be a wonderfully well-adjusted young man or woman, and actually benefit from such an unusual upbringing. No question it would broaden her mind, and make her look at things differently from other children. That could be a big advantage for her. But to avoid the traps, you first have to know where they are. Right?’
Rhian nodded, slowly. Then, ‘It’s not easy for me, Cap, I’m not as smart as …
‘And that’s bullshit, right there,’ Sandy cut her off, levelling a forceful finger at Rhian’s nose. ‘There’s no such thing as `smart.’ The difference between our psychologies is structural; raw intellect has nothing to do with it. You can structure your thoughts similarly to mine if you try. If you learn. Can you do that?’
‘You want me to be careful of Ramoja?’
‘Always.’
Rhian bit the inside of her lip, thinking hard. ‘And I also have to be careful of everyone in Tanusha? The CSA?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Then who do I trust?’
‘Me,’ said Sandy firmly. ‘And Vanessa and An and the others. Your friends.’
‘I have friends in the Embassy, too.’
Sandy shrugged. ‘Then trust them also. The trick is to be aware of where everyone’s real loyalties lie. When the bullets start flying, and they have to choose between you, or their other loyalties, which way will they go? Even friends can have conflicting loyalties.’
Rhian nodded, thinking that over. ‘I think Major Ramoja might know more about this new GI than he’s saying,’ she said then. ‘He has contacts around. He doesn’t tell me some things because he knows I’m your friend. Some things, I don’t think he wants you to know.’
Truly, Sandy nearly said, but didn’t. Sarcasm directed at Rhian, even the good humoured kind, was simply not fair. She’d meant exactly what she’d said about Rhian not lacking intelligence. She just spoke, and thought, the way that she did. It was that most treasured of GI traits-character. Confusing it with stupidity was stupidity itself.
‘If I can find out,’ Rhian continued with great seriousness, ‘I’ll tell you.’
Sandy paused for a moment. ‘You’d do that?’
‘It’s your city, not Ramoja’s,’ Rhian said reasonably. ‘If there’s something the League knows that can stop this GI, then Tanusha deserves to know about it.’
Sandy nodded. ‘I agree.’ Sandy reached with her good hand, and grasped Rhian’s upon the table. Squeezed it, and felt the steely, crushing tension in return. ‘So you’re serious? You’d like to become a Federation citizen?’
Rhian made a thoughtful face. ‘Maybe. There are all kinds of hidden traps. Bad possibilities on all sides. I’ll have to think about it.’
Sandy smiled broadly, with great affection. ‘You do that. And whatever you decide, I’ll always be here if you need me.’
‘I know,’ Rhian said mildly. As if anything otherwise had never occurred to her.
Rhian left by the front exit, blending perfectly as she moved through the crowd of partygoers. Sandy waited several minutes, then got up and went through the staff access door. Down a corridor, she found two Arabic men seated at a small table, guarding the rear door while playing backgammon.
‘Tashiq, Mohammed.’ She thanked them, clasping hands with each in turn. ‘Thank you, guys. I owe you one.’
‘Hey, hey …’ Mohammed waved her off, theatrically. ‘No problem. Come back any time. Maybe when things get quiet you and An can bring some friends, we have a party, yes?’
Sandy returned his smile, gave further thanks and retreated into the narrow laneway at the club’s rear. Her boots splashed in puddles as she made her way along the lane, sidestepping a utility sweeper that trun- died past on thick tires, a yellow warning light strobing along the alley’s length. The alley adjoined a narrow side road, where council bins lined the sides, carefully colour-coded for the automated pickup trucks. Sandy paused in the shadow of one bin, scanning toward the busy road at the far end, alive with road traffic and passing late-night pedestrians.
A large, sleek groundcar sat in the middle of the lane, its windows blank. Sandy pressed her shoulder against the bin, and pulled the pistol from within her jacket, scanning up and about her. Without her uplinks, she felt vaguely blind … but she could not rule out the possibility of any ambusher having tripwired the local network receptors in anticipation of precisely her usual, network-scanning reaction. On the dark walls above, her sharpened vision could distinguish several small windows and a couple of fire escapes. None appeared to be occupied.
She recalled the memory of the vehicle’s licence number … found it, shifted it to an internal data implant, and ran a quick search against all those she had on storage. It took only a split second to find a match, with names, photographs and detailed files to follow, most of which she recognised immediately.
‘Damn it,’ she muttered softly to herself. There was no chance that it was a coincidence, to be finding this particular car parked in the lane beside the club she’d been visiting. As to who had tipped him off … well, she’d have to have a word with the cousins Tashiq and Mohammed later. It would be easy enough to walk in another direction. But most people in these circles knew better than to threaten her. If he’d made the effort to get here, it could be important.
She stepped around the side of the bin and walked calmly toward the car, pistol held comfortably to one side in her good hand. A series of multispectrum vision shifts determined that there appeared to be four people inside, though the complete tint-out made it difficult to be sure. The car remained silent as she approached. When she reached the driver’s side window, it hummed downward. An Indian man with rough features and heavy brows gazed at her from within, head resting lazily on the headrest, chewing on something that Sandy suspected would be considerably stronger than traditional pan. He grinned at her, lazily between chews, revealing perfect, off-white teeth. Doubtless they wouldn’t have looked so good if it weren’t for the various available treatments that covered for the full range of chewing addictions.
Sandy scanned about the lane, equally unhurried, then looked down at him.
‘What’s up, Paras?’ she asked him. Paraswamy grinned more broadly, evidently finding something amusing.
‘You’re always so cool, Sandy,’ he said admiringly. ‘You’re just the coolest, most gorgeous babe on the delta, you know that?’
‘What do you want?’ Flatly. Paraswamy grinned again. Jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
‘Guy in the back wants to see you.’ Sandy raised an eyebrow. Paraswamy was running a taxi service? In person? The person in the back seat must have had some serious clout. The rear window hummed down also, Sandy’s vision comfortably accounting for the gloom to make out All Sudasarno, looking nervous, uncomfortable, and totally out of place in his formal dark suit and tie. Sandy bit back a very bad word. Sudasarno opened the door and moved over on the seat. Sandy spared the alley one last look around, then got in.
The groundcar was certainly big, with seats facing each other limousine-style, and a dividing window separating the front seats from the rear. Also prominent were a display screen … no, two display screens, a small refrigerated bar built into the dark leather side panelling, an uplink terminal, and numerous control buttons along the sides that no doubt did all kinds of decadent and useless things. Sandy took the rearfacing seat opposite the Presidential advisor as the door locked automatically behind her … that didn’t bother her, it wasn’t like they could lock her in if she wanted out.
‘Close the divider please,’ said Sudasarno to the front seats, where another man sat at Paraswamy’s side, watching in the rear-view mirror … which was probably there specifically for viewing the rear compartment, Sandy reckoned, given that all rear-view assistance to the driver came in the form of wide-view vid displays. ‘We had a deal,’ Sudasarno said more firmly, when the divider did not close immediately. A humming sound, and then it did.
‘We’re still being bugged,’ Sandy remarked as the divider slotted firmly into place in the ceiling. Sudasarno rummaged in a coat pocket, and removed a small, black, disk-shaped device. Pressed a few buttons, flipped a switch, and Sandy instantly registered a frequency-surge that jammed much of her own, subconscious reception. Those weren’t uplinks, but rather simple, integrated implants that could register the operation of electronic or magnetic devices in various proximities depending on their output. The smothering sensation emitted by the little electronic jammer was not pleasant.
‘Now we’re not,’ said Sudasarno. And turned his anxious, concerned gaze upon Sandy, loosening his tie with his free hand. His eyes did a fast double-take at the new look, dark hair, shades and all. ‘How are you, Sandy?’
‘I’m busy,’ she replied pointedly, removing her shades and folding them into the pocket of her jacket. ‘What’s so important to Neiland that she has you employing notorious underworld figures to track me down?’
‘You’re not answering your uplinks and we didn’t know who else to call…’
‘You can leave me a message with Ibrahim or Vanessa,’ she told him, knowing well in advance what the answer would be.
‘The President wanted me to talk to you directly.’ Meaning that neither Neiland, nor anyone within her immediate circle, trusted either of those two people to pass on a message precisely as delivered. Nor within the timeframe required. ‘She’s not happy, Sandy.’ With a pained look that made it clear that if Neiland was not happy, sure as hell no one else was allowed to be. ‘Sandy, if there was a security threat within the system, why the hell didn’t you just stay put and let us fix it?’
‘Let you fix it? You mean the Neiland Administration can fix something that no security expert I’ve yet spoken to knows how to fix?’
‘Sandy, you’ve caused a mess!’ Sudasarno burst out, with building exasperation. ‘We’d just gotten you to a point of political neutrality, and now you’ve gone and made media headlines all through the Federation … or at least they will be headlines, when they reach the other worlds. Now you’ve split everyone into people who think either that you’ve finally lost the plot and gone nuts, thus implying that Neiland was crazy to let you come as far as you have, or those who think the entire government system is now suspect because it can’t even keep the second-in-command of the CDF safe! The media are openly speculating that there’s some kind of plot to kill you within the President’s own staff … I mean, damn it, we’re only trying to negotiate the future of the entire Federation here, Sandy, you don’t think a little advance warning would be out of the question?’
Sandy watched him for a long moment. She really didn’t like being lectured by any young, know-all political whizz kid … and never mind that Sudasarno was actually far older than she was, in simple years lived. Often necessity demanded that she grit her teeth, and bear it. Now, however, was not one of those times.
‘Sudie.’ Firmly, making sure that his entire attention was upon her. ‘First of all, there is someone within your government trying to kill me. In all likelihood, it’s someone allied with the pro-Earth hardliners-your enemies, Sudie. Katia’s enemies. I don’t see how that hurts you-find the bastard, or bastards, show them to the press, it only makes your enemies look bad.’
‘You ran away, Sandy! Without Neiland’s knowledge, without your immediate superior’s knowledge …’
‘What’s Krishnaswali been saying about me?’ Sandy cut in, suddenly suspicious of exactly what the President might have been hearing.
Sudasarno looked away through the side window, holding something back. ‘Look, I’m not at liberty to discuss anything like …’
‘That’s okay,’ said Sandy, ‘I’ll find out another way.’ Sudasarno stared at her. It was a direct threat to the administration’s power base, and they both knew it. ‘There are people in high places who are more committed to me and my goals than to you and your President,’ she was telling him. And the President could fight it, for sure … but in the glare of the media spotlight, replacing senior CDF and CSA personnel would have caused a huge row, not to mention the damage to planetary security in such a sensitive period. Sudasarno held up both hands, taking a deep breath.
‘I don’t want to fight with you, Sandy. That wasn’t my intention in coming here. I wanted to warn you.’
‘Of what, specifically?’
‘Fleet Admiral Duong has expressed grave concern at your unexpected ‘AWOL status’ … his words. So has Secretary General Benale. We think it’s going to be brought up at the meeting tomorrow. A lot of very influential people back on Earth are demanding your removal as the barest precondition to any kinds of talks …’
‘The Fleet don’t want their HQ based on Callay,’ Sandy countered, her eyes narrowing at him with what she hoped was intimidating effect. ‘They want to remain an Earth Fleet, not a Federation Fleet. That’s big stuff, Sudie. Do you really think it’ll matter two tiny turds to that agenda whether I’m in the CDF or not? What’s the CDF to the Fleet, anyway? Just a goddamn planetary militia rabble. We only interest them on ideological grounds, they think they should have all the military power in the Federation bar none. They’re bullshitting you, Sudie, they’re just looking for a political agenda with which to scare people into thinking the same way they do. ‘Oh look, that dangerously progressive Neiland character lets a GI into her precious CDF and now she’s run amok.’ It’s a headline grabber. You can’t ask me to make strategic decisions based upon simple political grandstanding that won’t make any difference to the Fleet’s true agenda in the long run anyway.’
‘And since when were you the one in politics?’ Sudasarno was actually getting angry now, his dark eyes flashing. ‘Your job is to take orders within the system, Sandy …’
‘My job description has contained an enormous amount of latitude ever since I first signed on,’ Sandy shot back, ‘simply because no one else knew what the fuck they were doing!’
‘We signed on an expert advisor, Sandy, not a goddamn loose cannon! ‘
‘We can’t just let them kick us around, Sudie,’ Sandy replied calmly. ‘The worst security scenario we face is them thinking that we can’t and won’t fight back.’
‘This is politics, Sandy,’ Sudasarno said firmly, leaning forcefully forward in a way that very few work acquaintances would dare with her. ‘Your analogies are all military. They’re two different worlds, and they don’t often translate.’
‘On the contrary,’ Sandy replied, just as firmly. ‘Everything’s a conflict, Sudie. The very laws of the universe themselves. The collision of hydrogen atoms in every sun to make the fusion that makes all life possible. Every part of the universe is constantly in conflict with every other part. The reason I’ll never be a pacifist is because it’s not always all bad.’
And Sudasarno could think of nothing to say to that at all.
Paraswamy opened his driver’s side door as Sandy climbed out of the rear, and walked with her to the garbage bins at the end of the lane, where the shadows would hide them from a casual glance from the far end.
‘I can’t remember the last time you did anything for the government, Para,’ said Sandy, with great irony.
Paraswamy grinned toothily, still chewing. ‘It’s the government, girl-they pay good money.’
‘I’ll bet they did. All cash.’
Paraswamy shrugged, still grinning. Looked her up and down, rubbing his bristly chin with a gold-ringed hand. ‘Nice look. You going to Ari’s tailor now?’
‘If you want some chitchat, why don’t you try me again in about a year? I might have a spare minute or two then.’
‘City might not be here in another year,’ Paraswamy countered cheerfully. Sandy just looked at him. Paraswamy’s look turned shrewd. ‘I have a friend in customs,’ he said then. No great news there, from a master of the Tanushan blackmarket. ‘She says she found an irregularity just a few days ago. A consignment somehow made it through the security screens without a proper inspection seal. She halted it and called a superior to deal with it, but word came down not to worry with it. The next day, the consignment had disappeared.’
Sandy’s eyes narrowed slightly-it was as much of a curious frown as she was prepared to allow herself, in this company. Never a good idea to let on how much you were interested, An had told her often enough. ‘Happens often enough, I gather,’ she said. It didn’t, actu- ally-Callayan customs were generally excellent, by high Federation standards. But the volume of intersystem trade was such that the inevitable few consignments here and there would not be missed …
‘This consignment was addressed to a government department.’
Which did get Sandy’s attention. ‘Which one?’ she asked.
‘Silent address,’ said Paraswamy. Meaning that for security reasons, the precise identity of the intended recipient was not publicly listed. Such deliveries would be taken by general government mail, then sorted in-system, where there was no chance of anything unpleasant being planted on the delivery in-transit, nor any chance of outsiders keeping notes on which department or government employee had received what deliveries.
‘Well, that’s very interesting,’ Sandy remarked, ‘but not in itself alarming.’
‘You check it up,’ said Paraswamy, knowingly. Spat out his pan on the rain-wet lane. The red colour stained a puddle. Paraswamy reached into a pocket of his jacket, rummaged in a plastic packet for another, and popped it into his mouth. ‘I think you’ll find it very interesting.’
‘What else do you know?’ Paraswamy shrugged. Sandy grabbed him by the front of the shirt, in no mood for games. ‘Don’t tempt me.’
‘Tempt you to do what?’ Again the toothy smile. Infuriatingly unworried. ‘I know you too well, Cassandra Kresnov. Some people are still scared of you, huh? I think you’re just a pussycat. What are you going to do, hurt me?’
It was tempting. But not tempting enough. Sandy let him go with a push. ‘If this delays me, or costs anything, I’ll get back to you.’ Pointing warningly at his chest. Paraswamy shrugged, adjusting his shirt and jacket.
‘You just can’t get enough of me, can you, baby?’ And he cackled, toothily.
