"Subtle," Vanessa said dryly. Then, "Shit. Oh well, makes things a bit exciting, I suppose."
"That's the Dark Star concept of surveillance, Ricey. If you don't know where the bastards are, send them a mail bomb and watch where the smoke rises."
"This is a flammable environment, Sandy. Everything burns. "
"Not me," Sandy told her, taking another sip of her drink. "I'm resistant. Didn't you know?"
"I could have guessed." Still dryly. "Since you're airborne, you want to give me a lift?"
Vanessa came jogging across the landing pad to the rear of her apartment building, two gearbags bundled under her arms. Tossed both in through the open rear door, and climbed in the front, up beside Sandy.
"Hey-ya." Looked at Sandy's wetsuit-clad lower half, loose arms tucked between her back and the seat. The doors closed, and Sandy fed on the power. "Good waves?"
"Excellent waves." Throbbing vibration, and the flyer heaved off the pad. The rooftop awning flapped in the downdraft, above empty rows of car space. Sandy noted Vanessa's government cruiser, alone in her spot. Next to Sandy's vacant space. Rows of garden ferns rippled and waved, dropping away below as they gained altitude. "They ought to be just about perfect right now."
"Oh well, we all have our sacrifices to make." Vanessa stretched. And silenced the blinking panel light by buckling her seatbelt. The apartment building's approach lane began to turn horizontal, and Sandy angled the engines once more. The rooftop slipped away below, giving way to now familiar neighbourhood roads beneath a spreading canopy of trees.
Further down Tago Road were the stores at which she now did her shopping, and got takeaway when it suited her. Further on still, beyond the Leung Street intersection, was the Santiello swimming complex, rectangles of blue water in a break in the trees, surrounded by decorative green gardens. In the opposite direction, Romanov Park, sports ovals about a central garden of lakes and drooping native willows. Beyond, the Subianto Stadium, grandstands looming in the middle distance.
Suburban Santiello. Vanessa had lived here for the past four years, and liked it. The only serious highrise was over to the south-east corner, where the Lantou Tower loomed skyward, and the cross-streets converged into full-on mega-density downtown. But mostly, Santiello was mid-to-low density suburbs, residential living, and an eclectic mix of architecture that largely did what it pleased. Some complained of a lack of ethnic-chic ... but for the odd mosque or church ... but Sandy thought it little to complain about. And Vanessa declared that she did not want to live in a postcard.
It had been Vanessa who had suggested Sandy take an apartment near her own. In the same building, as it turned out, that being specialised for government employees. And it had made certain official, bureaucratic types happy that the reliable, security-approved and "rising star" (a term she hated) SWAT Lieutenant Vanessa Rice was living next door, and taking care of her. Making sure, Sandy had supposed, that she did not assault the occasionally noisy neighbours, disembowel the somewhat coarse-mannered grocer on Tago Road, or, as Vanessa herself had suggested, bring home bevies of pretty, innocent Tanushan boys to molest in her apartment at her leisure. God save her from bureaucrats. And social conservatives in general. And representatives from the Ministry of Social Justice and Welfare. Those most of all.
"How did lunch go?" Sandy asked, remembering. The airlane climbed toward a merge with a lower altitude lane. The flyer cruised ahead, engines fully swept, as towers loomed in a sky scattered with traffic.
"Awful," said Vanessa, quite pleasantly. "Just awful. I've never been so glad to receive a callback in my life." Vanessa, Sandy had noticed, was prone to exaggeration. "I swear, I have the most obnoxious relatives in Tanusha, did I tell you?"
"Many times."
"My aunt-in-law ... good grief, ninety-four years old ... is suing her surgeon for some pointless hearing enhancement she had done two weeks ago-she claims it's given her insomnia. She can hear the bats squeaking to each other in the trees outside the bedroom."
"I can," said Sandy.
"Hearing enhancement, at ninety-four! Cost her half her savings ... she doesn't eat well as it is. She thinks she'll make a hundred and thirty on enhancement alone. Doesn't believe she still has to worry about trivial things like diet and exercise ... spends half her life on immersion hookup ... you seen that adreno-glactic sim?"
"I have." Turning the music volume up, still soft enough to talk over. The engine noise was a gentle thrumming, erasing all higher tones to Sandy's ear-she had to tune consciously through it to grasp higher sounds. Not all GI sensory enhancements were perfect.
"What'd you think? Cheap junk?"
"Direct immersion VR doesn't work on me, Ricey. I don't have a reflex hook-in, it's all conscious."
"I'm telling you, I tried it, it's crap. It's like bad sex, you get all excited only to be let down."
"Now bad sex," said Sandy, "that's an oxymoron."
"You're an oxymoron," Vanessa retorted, grinning. "Three hours a day on adreno-glactic, six hours for that crummy magazine she works for, that's nine uplinked hours a day ... And she calls friends direct, won't talk to anyone who uses a phone. People like her are what's scary about infotech, you can spend your whole life plugged into a machine and not realise the alternative ..."
"Ricey," Sandy said, smiling, "you're bitching."
"Of course I'm bitching. That's what friends are for, they bitch to each other. Only you don't bitch anywhere near enough, it's got to be unhealthy. So I bitch for the two of us ... it's quite an effort, you should appreciate it. You're seeing a master bitcher at work. It's an honour and a privilege for you, if I do say so myself."
"You talk for the two of us," Sandy corrected. "If you'd occasionally shut up, I might get some more practice." Vanessa ignored her, wincing and flexing her left shoulder. "Damage?"
Vanessa nodded, rubbing with a hand and grimacing. "Feedback. I still haven't gotten that suit adjustment right." Sandy reached over with her right hand, keeping her left upon the controls. Took a firm hold of Vanessa's shoulder, and probed.
"There?"
"Further up." The hand moved further, and Vanessa winced, wriggling the shoulder. "More. More. AH! Just there ... oh yes." Sandy applied gentle pressure, and felt thumb and fingertips digging in. "Ouch! Not so hard, you'll rip my arm off."
"Complainer." She massaged, gently. Was careful not to exceed the reflexive tension generated by the feedback through her fingertips. It was an accustomed reaction, around straights, and as with all hardwired reflexes, it was difficult to shake. It wasn't at all likely that she would hurt Vanessa. But she could, hypothetically at least. It was a constant concern, and she was never careless. Never.
"Oh yeah ..." Vanessa leaned her head back, eyes closed and smiling. Soft, dark-brown curls fell about her brow. Slim, fine features. Beautiful, Sandy thought. Delicate. And living proof that some qualities went no further than skin deep. She massaged with careful fingers along the offending length of muscle, probing the collar bone along that slim, small shoulder. "You're good at that."
"I'm good at everything, remember?"
Vanessa's dark eyes opened slightly, and fixed her with a lidded, contemplative gaze. "If it weren't the truth, you'd be insufferable." Sandy smiled, steering them through another gentle bank one-handed, massaging Vanessa's shoulder with the other. Armour strains were always a problem ... although not so much for herself. But she, of course, was the all-time leading consumer of massage time in the entire CSA, hands down. And Vanessa was the one who usually got stuck with the duty. She never missed a chance to even it up a little.
Vanessa wriggled the shoulder again. "That's much better. You've got it. I'll have to put you up for loan, charge by the hour. I'll make a fortune."
Sandy smiled. And worked her hand carefully up the shoulder toward Vanessa's neck. Vanessa grinned, and lowered her head, allowing Sandy's fingers to press and rub at her neck muscles, generating effortless, powerful, careful pressure.
She watched Vanes
sa's expression in her peripheral vision, and enjoyed making her wince with pleasure. It was such an easy thing to do, with her fingers on Vanessa's neck. It amazed her that it should feel so good to do so. That's what friends are for, Vanessa had said, about her bitching. With perhaps no real idea of the warm feeling that such a simple comment should provoke. It was unexplainable. Like the fingers on her neck, gently massaging. Like the smile it provoked upon Vanessa's lips, and the occasional low groan in her throat. Friend, she supposed. Perhaps that was all there was to it.
She smiled to herself. Nearly wishing, whimsically and not for the first time, that she herself was bisexual, like Vanessa. That would have been interesting indeed. And sometimes, just sometimes, she suspected that Vanessa wished something similar, if only from curiosity.
But she wasn't. And try as she might, she just couldn't conceive of it. Her ever-curious mind did, it seemed, have its limits, however hard she tried to push her thoughts beyond the realm of the comfortable, or the familiar. Vanessa was beautiful. But she wasn't attractive, not to her. Women weren't, never had been, and never would be. Not sexually. It was almost disappointing to realise. It was an experience that she would never have. And sex with a person she merely liked was one thing ... sex with someone like Vanessa ... well, that would have been something else. Something she'd had so rarely in her life. Something meaningful.
She sighed. And thought, just then, that she recognised the wry, contemplative smile upon Vanessa's face, eyes closed with calm pleasure. It was their private joke. That a massage was as close as they would get, in that respect. A substitute. And she was suddenly certain, in a way she rarely was with civilians, and straights in general, that she knew what Vanessa was thinking, right at that moment.
"It's not cunnilingus," she ventured, "but I bet it's pretty damn good."
Vanessa's smile grew to a grin. And she broke up laughing, doubled up against the restraining belt. Sandy stopped massaging, hand on her friend's back as she shook with laughter. Grinning broadly herself at Vanessa's controlled hysterics.
Finally Vanessa recovered herself. Wiped her eyes and leaned back in her seat. Sandy put both hands back on the controls, still grinning.
On an impulse, Vanessa unhooked her belt, leaned over and kissed Sandy firmly on the cheek. And leaned back, in the corner between the seat and the door, to contemplate her.
"No," she sighed, "it's not as good as cunnilingus." Grinned. "But what is?"
"Penetration," Sandy retorted playfully.
"Nonsense. You've got a phallocentric brain."
"No, I've got a phallocentric vagina."
Vanessa found that hysterically funny, and laughed for another twenty seconds straight.
"Which is kind of a pity," Sandy ventured further, once Vanessa had stopped. Vanessa sighed.
"Yes, your phallocentric vagina is rather a pity. I feel sorry for it."
"Please don't, it has too much fun."
"I know, I can hear it laughing." Grinning broadly. Vanessa gave Sandy a rough shove on her shoulder. "Don't you go feeling sorry for me, Sandy. Me breaking up with Sav isn't the end of the world, I'll find someone else to keep me happy. Or someone else's."
"I wasn't feeling sorry for you," Sandy retorted, "I can't imagine a one-man life, anyway. Leaving Sav is the first thing I'd have done."
"Gee," Vanessa snorted, "thanks for your concern."
"I was thinking," Sandy pressed on, "that I like you just about enough to want to make you happy by screwing you senseless, but the catch is that I don't find you the slightest bit attractive sexually. Which is a pretty big catch."
"Yeah," Vanessa sighed. "You'd be as much fun as a cold trout. But thanks for thinking of me." With amusement. "That's what makes you such a cool friend, Sandy, you don't know the rules yet. No other girlfriend I know would have brought it up."
Sandy snorted. "Well, hell, what would I know? I'm just a glorified kitchen appliance, after all."
"I said I like that about you, you moron," Vanessa retorted. "Don't change."
"Hmmph. That'll be a task."
"Yeah," Vanessa sighed. "Yeah, it sure will." Silence for a moment. Headquarters was approaching. Another minute ahead, and the designated lane began angling downward.
"You want your neck done again?" Sandy suggested brightly. Vanessa grinned.
"No thanks. It was making me horny."
entral Briefing was a fair walk from the Doghouseas the SWAT compound was known. Not much on design, Sandy reckoned, gazing about as she reclined in the leather cushions about the long central table. There were no windows, for one thing. Most un-Tanushan. But then Central Briefing was neighbours to Central Ops, deep in the bowels of the Central admin complex. "Central," she reckoned, was a word in danger of being over used in these parts.
"Least the chairs are comfortable," Vanessa murmured, mimicking Sandy's reclining posture. A typical pair of SWAT grunts, they were, reclined and lazily informal among the gathered high ranks and senior suits. Though, these days, Sandy had noted, everyone was looking a little more rumpled than usual.
Twenty-three people in all, a large gathering by any measure. Assistant Director N'Darie sat at the far end to the left, leaning her small frame forward on the table, hands clasped, in serious conversation with Assistant Administrative Director Fung. Intel Director Naidu leaned against the wall by the doorway in conversation with two junior Intels. Others talked, scanned desktop monitors, carried out uplinked conversations or otherwise made use of the time. Only the two SWAT grunts sat and waited.
It was, of course, about the previous night's commotion at the Kanchipuram Hotel ... it was the lead story on the news networks for the moment, the broader debate of Article 42 supplanted for now by the more exciting events of a major assassination attempt gone wrong in a very public gathering. There had been an alarming number of such cases lately, and the CSA was catching hell for it.
The door opened and Director Ibrahim entered. Directly behind, and continuing a conversation from the hallway, were a lean young man and a smaller woman. Both wore non-regulation clothes, with a predominance of black. Conversation about the room paused, attention shifting to the new arrivals.
"You think they shop at the same store?" Vanessa murmured, eyeing the Director's two companions. She spoke barely loud enough for Sandy to hear unamplified, but the woman fixed them both with an immediate, direct stare from narrowed oriental eyes. A flare of recognition, and the gleam of a smile. "Nice Jacket," Vanessa added, volume unchanged and utterly unfazed. "They make synthetic leather look so real these days, don't they?"
The woman (Japanese, Sandy was guessing the ethnicity) gave a slight, gracious nod as the Director took his empty chair by the end of the table, and people about the room made for their seats. Gave a faint twist as she took her own seat, showing off the gleaming black jacket. Sandy watched on with amusement ... very, very serious hearing enhancement for a straight, to hear Vanessa's low tones across a room filled with conversation. That, plus the clothes, gave her some clue as to who the two arrivals were.
"Ruben and Kazuma?" she asked Vanessa with similar volume. No matter if they were overheard. She knew something about these two and their ilk. She in particular was safe with them.
"The temperature up the far end just dropped a few degrees," Vanessa affirmed. Sandy looked at her. Vanessa's eyes flicked down to the table's far end ... Sandy looked beyond, and saw that Fung and several admin colleagues were glowering silently down the long table. Assistant Director N'Darie, too, looked far from thrilled. Sandy looked back at Ayako Kazuma, whom she knew only by reputation. Kazuma's return smile was sly, eyes fixed on Sandy in particular, as if pleased to see her. She looked, Sandy reckoned, like trouble. Trouble seated only one place away from the Director's right hand.
Immediately at the Director's right hand was Ari Ruben, Kazuma's occasional partner ... informality in operational arrangements went with the territory with agents like these, she'd gathered. The dark sleeve of Ruben's jacket bulged at
the left forearm where the reports had said he'd been injured last night. He had short, thick dark hair, heavy-lidded dark eyes, and prominent black eyebrows that gave his gaze a certain serious intensity. Handsome, was her immediate, predictable conclusion. Not fashion-model handsome. Boyish, off-the-wall, intelligent handsome.
"How old is he?" she asked Vanessa on their private channel. Enhancement, of course, made age difficult to tell ... but there was something about Ruben, particularly, that suggested youth. Kazuma, she wasn't so certain of.
"Oh, he's just a wee lad, most of the new ghosties are barely more than kids. That's part of why some of their elders are so little pleased to see them. "
Sandy frowned. "I didn't think anything in Tanusha worked on a seniority system?"
"It doesn't. But that doesn't mean people have to like it. Ari's a kid, he's from a whole different world, and he's real damn good at finding trouble. Like last night. Some people aren't sure if he's finding it, or if it's finding him. "
"Ibrahim doesn't appear to have a problem." Watching the ongoing conversation between the CSR's chief and the young, upstart agent.
"No," Vanessa agreed. "Ibrahim's never minded trouble."
It had, Sandy knew, been Ibrahim's idea. Tanusha had a massive resource in the many thousands of largely self-employed netsters, hackers and network jockeys who constituted the city's enormous techno-underground. Anti-authority and anti-institution, they were a force unto themselves, and were said by most to have a firmer finger on the pulse of Tanusha's swirling confusion of tech politics than CSA Intel.
For a man of Ibrahim's pragmatism, the conclusion was obvioussuch skills would serve the interests of the CSA better on the inside than without. And so, as of two years ago, Ibrahim had ordered a recruitment drive through the underground, with special terms for anyone showing the skills, and willing to make the commitment.
Breakaway: A Cassandra Kresnov Novel (v1.1) Page 4
