Breakaway: A Cassandra Kresnov Novel (v1.1)

by Joel Shepherd

  "Thank you, Ayako," Ruben told her, "helpful as always." Kazuma inclined her head, gracefully.

  "Do you?" Sandy asked him. Ruben grinned. A faint shade shift of facial temperature showed her his blush. Only faint, though.

  "I don't have your photograph stuck to the inside of my locker, if that's what you mean ..."

  "I could tell you a few Intel geeks that do," Kazuma interrupted, and it's not stuck there with adhesive, I can tell you."

  "Ayako," Ruben said with his usual quizzical sarcasm as Sandy repressed a grin, "do you have to make a complete and total mess of every conversation I try and start?"

  "Oh, you were trying to make conversation? I'm sorry, I thought you were only discussing insignificant things like the end of civilisation as we know it ... conversation is far more important. I'll shut up then."

  Ruben cleared his throat, loosening his collar with an exaggerated twist of his head.

  "This is the, um, extent of our working relationship, you'll note Strolling closer to Sandy. "... it's, um, very difficult to work with someone with such a troublesome birth defect as that, um, gaping black orifice beneath her nose ..."

  Sandy glanced at Kazuma. Kazuma sighed an amused, long suffering sigh, eyebrows raised and lips firmly closed. Looked back at Ruben, who leaned against the chair one place away.

  "So how are you fitting into the CSA?" Ruben pressed, curiously from this closer range. Taller than her, though most men were. And very handsome ... yes, that too.

  She shrugged. "Fine. I'm still technically attached to SWAT Four under Vanessa's supervision, but Intel are borrowing me a lot these days. I've been given free rein to play around with the security infrastructure across the entire government network, so that's an interesting hobby."

  A corner of his mouth curled up in delighted enthusiasm. "Wow. Considering what a piece of fine Swiss cheese the overriding protocols are in this place, that should be a pretty big job, even for you."

  Sandy smiled ... Swiss cheese, yes, that certainly fit. Ruben evidently knew the networks pretty well.

  "I could spend years on the details. Luckily they just want an overview. That takes up most of my spare time, otherwise it's SWAT drill and training, or active patrol-we go out in pairs. There's just too many targets to allow for full teams, we need to maximise coverage."

  "Combat drill must be a bit of a drag," Kazuma remarked. "Considering your capabilities?"

  Sandy shrugged again. "This is a civilian city, there's a ceiling on threat levels. They get the job done."

  "And if more GIs drop in?"

  Sandy frowned at her. "Are more GIs dropping in?"

  "Would you be disturbed if they did?" Ruben replied.

  Sandy turned to fix her frown upon him, his proximity forcing her to tilt her head a little.

  "Disturbed?" What the hell kind of a question was that? "If they're here meaning no good, of course I'd be disturbed."

  "You're not meaning no good. Neither was your friend Mahud."

  "He damn well was," she retorted coolly. "He planned a raid that would have killed the President if I hadn't been there to stop it. GIs do what they're told, that's the tragedy of it."

  "You don't."

  "I damn well do. I do what Ibrahim tells me, just like you do."

  "To what ends?"

  She stared at him for a moment, arms folded. Nerves or not, he was very calm and level when getting to a point. A point that she reckoned had better be coming real soon.

  "To do good. What else is there?"

  "Good matters to you?"

  "Good matters to everyone, Ruben. The FIA think they're saving the sanctity of the human species. Governor Dali thought he was serving the best interests of the Federation. Hell, Adolf Hitler thought he was creating paradise on Earth. Everyone's motivated by their own personal definition of "good." It's just a pity that "good" is such a subjective term."

  Ruben smiled agreeably. "Please, call me Ari. My headmaster used to call me Ruben. It brings back some ... very bad memories. Years of counselling."

  "Poor man, he must have suffered." Ari grinned crookedly. Sandy's patience exhausted itself. "Ari. What's your damn point?"

  "Point?" With an incredulous smile. "I don't have a point. Jeez, how anachronistic. I'm just curious to see what you think about this whole mess. Being the lone GI in a huge political argument that basically revolves around advanced, GI-related biotech."

  "And why does my opinion matter?"

  "Because you're involved. The politicians are already using you as a reference point ..."

  "You mean a target," she interrupted.

  "Same thing. They're the ones driving all this, Sandy. That's what I was concerned was being overlooked just now in all this diversion over fringe group lunatics. What the politicians can get away with, and ... and the stances they take, is all driven by the mood of their various support groups. That's politics."

  "That's populism."

  "Same thing again." Again the crooked smile, but more intense this time. As if enjoying himself. "Everyone knows you exist now. You're an issue. Thankfully they all know about how you saved the President's life a month ago, and that you played a big role in eliminating the FIA infiltration, even if the details aren't clear yet ... but most people still assume you only helped out of duress. The anti-GI xenophobia is still pretty damn extreme. So the politicians have made you a target in the Article 42 debate, an issue they can use to play to their ideological constituencies. But no one ever bothered to ask what you thought. I thought I'd be the first."

  No one ever bothered, Sandy reckoned, because she wasn't allowed to go public. No CSA field agent was. Transmission of identity or personal information was illegal. Several individuals had been caught doing that so far, and shut down just as fast. Which suggested a leak; someone in the usually impenetrable techno-underground was feeding information to the CSA. One of the main sources of which, she guessed further, was standing directly in front of her, protecting her anonymity. As for his motivations, however ...

  "How do you know I didn't just act out of duress?" she asked him pointedly.

  Ari blinked. "Did you?"

  "Ari, look." She fixed him with a very firm stare, making very sure she had his complete attention. Where men of Ari's disposition toward her were concerned, she generally found it wasn't very difficult. "I know where you're from. The only reason this city's techies are helping keep me anonymous instead of spreading classified government data like they usually do is that they've got this strange notion that I'm some kind of "white witch." I'm not the implacable killing machine the conservatives and the religious Right think I am, but I'm not some kind of glorious superhero either. And I sure as hell don't want to get drawn into that kind of League-sympathetic politics ... hell, I left the League, remember? I think League ideology is morally bankrupt. If it all collapsed tomorrow and forced a re-amalgamation with the Federation, no one would be happier than me."

  "I'm not a League sympathiser."

  "Really? Do you agree with the biotech restrictions?"

  "No, of course not. Economic reality will knock them over eventually, and even if there were an economic niche for artificial humans beyond military roles like your own, they'll never match organic humanity for reproductive efficiency, and that puts them at a huge economic disadvantage compared to us straights. But just because I believe that doesn't mean ..."

  "And yet you've just quoted me League policy word for word. You're Jewish, right? Do you go to a synagogue regularly?"

  A deeper frown. "No, neither do a lot of Jews these days. What does that have to do with anything?"

  "But you consider yourself Jewish? You have some interest in the cultural heritage, the beliefs and customs?"

  Pause to look at her in puzzlement. "Not particularly. My mother would have kittens if I didn't marry a nice Jewish girl, but she may just have to deal with that, because the vast majority of beautiful women in Tanusha aren't Jewish ..

  "And there are just so many prior
ities beyond ancient cultural traditions that are no longer relevant in the modern societies being constructed beyond the bounds of old, irrelevant mother Earth." Looking at him very flatly. Understanding dawned in Ari's eyes.

  "Look, okay, I'll concede I have some sympathy for some basic League-ish positions ... religion gets a lot of people killed, Cassandra. Those people at the Kanchipuram Hotel most recently among them ..."

  "The biggest ideological death toll lately came from the League insistence on self-determination away from old-fashioned Federation ideology. Self-perpetuating ideologies are all the same, Ari, the intolerant, self-righteous ones all end up getting people hurt-atheism's just as bad as religious zealotry in that. Look at the League, or twentieth century communism for that matter. It's only those societies that embrace diversity and alternative points of view that have a good chance of long-lasting peace and stability. I think the old cultural antiques in cities like this one play a damn important role, they make diversity an unavoidable part of the cultural and political landscape so that people just accept diversity as second nature.

  "After the League, I can't tell you what a goddamn relief that is ... they've gotten so impressed with their scientific capabilities and logical thought processes that they've almost managed to take all the fun out of life. And they're so fucking convinced that their way is best that they're unable to spot their own failures, even when they're right under their noses ... they're nowhere near as self-critical as the Federation is, Ari. That's why they lost the damn war. They just assumed that the use of GIs would give them such an extensive personnel advantage, and they completely failed to realise the shortcomings of GIs, with their limited imaginations. Not to mention the enormous economic cost of having to make soldiers instead of just recruiting them ..."

  "Wait wait wait a second ..." Ari waved both hands, shaking his head. Sandy stopped. He looked at her incredulously. "You agree with Federation biotech restrictions? Bans on artificial humanity in all forms?"

  "Would that surprise you?"

  He blinked rapidly, still looking amazed. "As civilisation's most advanced artificial human yourself, yes, that would surprise me."

  Sandy sighed. "Ari, don't get me wrong, I like you and your kind of people." With a nod at the silently watching Kazuma. "I've found most of you smart, funny and interesting-and Tanusha needs people like you to even out the balance. But please, don't classify me into some kind of political or ideological group just because of what I am. I get enough of that from the radicals without having to contend with it from the people who actually like me."

  Ari outright grinned at her. Ran both hands through his thick dark hair, the med-cast showing transparently within his left coat sleeve. Sandy stood with her arms firmly folded, hoping he'd got the message. He needed to, for everyone's sake. A sideways glance at Kazuma showed the small Japanese woman watching with silent intrigue.

  Ari exhaled sharply. "Jeez," he said, with wry, flat humour, "you make it sound like I'm trying to recruit you for something."

  "Aren't you?" Ari looked offended. "N'Darie doesn't like you. I've found her very consistent where League-ists are concerned, she doesn't like any of them. And your kind of Intel work is all about contacts, isn't it? I bet you could use a contact like me. With what I know about League-side, I mean."

  "You know, you are very suspicious." Fixing her with a mock-hard stare and jabbing a finger at her chest. "I'd heard you were an idealist."

  "I am, I'd ideally like not to get mistaken for something I'm not. Everyone in this city seems to, one way or another."

  "We do important work, Cassandra." Kazuma interrupted for the first time in the argument. Sandy looked across at her. She looked very sincere, and totally unbothered by the whole thing. "Not just me and Ari, but our friends too. There are things that go on in this city that the CSA has no jurisdiction over. Officially. That's where we come in. If you ever need our help ... and I have a feeling that you probably will at some point ... you only need to ask. No favours, no return promises, just ask. We'll help."

  Sandy targeted the other woman with her most penetrating, merciless stare. Kazuma never flinched. "Trusting," it occurred to her. She wasn't sure she liked that. Unconditional trust. It didn't seem any more safe or reliable than unconditional hate. And she didn't understand either very well at all, as far as this city and its politics went. Neither group knew who she was. They only knew what she was, and based their tenuous understanding upon that.

  "Look," Ari sighed, "Cassandra." And to her disbelief he stepped forward and placed a hand upon each shoulder, looking down at her face. She wasn't sure she liked that, either. The "military spec ops officer" part of her brain objected quite strongly. "You're operating in a civilian environment now. I know you must find that disconcerting."

  "You're a shrink too?"

  "I can understand why you're so suspicious," he continued, ignoring her. Which she definitely didn't like. "I respect that you don't like to be categorised, and that your opinions and politics are yours alone and none of anyone else's business ... but like Ayako says, we're your friends. We do share a lot of common concerns. I just wanted to let you know that no matter how badly things gang up against you, you do have some friends in this city. That's all."

  Sandy stared up into his handsome, sincere dark eyes, and found it was all she could do to keep herself from grabbing his other arm and twisting until it hurt, and warning him never to forget what she was. And that she wasn't half as pretty on the inside as she was on the outside. She didn't trust the sincerity for a moment ... he believed it, obviouslythe prospect of a natural, self-evident alliance between like minds in service of like causes. But "just friends"? No return commitment?

  No way. Whatever else he was, Ari Ruben was too smart for that, and far too dedicated. Dedicated to what, she hadn't figured out yet. But she reckoned she would, sometime soon. And she was damned if she was going to get caught up in his agendas without knowing exactly what they were in advance.

  "I'm a soldier, Ari," she told him, "not a politician."

  "Oh sure, and soldiers aren't political in the League either." He jabbed her casually in the chest with a forefinger. "You need a support base. We're it." Clapped her on both shoulders, and smiled at her cheerfully. "Think about it." And he turned and left, his smaller, similarly black-clad partner swaggering jauntily in tow, sparing her a sly, parting smile as she left.

  "I'm not his damn cuddle-bunny," she muttered to Vanessa a half hour later in armament prep, deep in the bowels of Doghouse Testing and Training-T&T, in SWAT lingo. Doing a fast reassemble on a KT6 multi-function close-assault weapon, hands sure and rapid as barrel, stock, sighter, comp and magazine slotted quickly and efficiently back into place. B Range echoed with the hard-alloy clack-ker-chack! of weapons coming apart and going back together ... SWAT Seven had C Range, SWAT Four's usual haunt, but schedules were tight and messy these days, and no one complained.

  "Should have flattened him," Vanessa said helpfully, peering down the sight of her own heavy pistol. Aligning armscomp electronics between targets on the far range wall, the pistol in her uplinked right glove, and the headset eyepiece strapped across her brow and uplinked to the insert socket in the back of her skull. "Usually works for me, people have this idea that because I look like a cross between a stuffed baby animal and a teenage bikini slut, everyone can line up and have a pat. I find a short, bone crushing left jab to the solar plexus usually does the trick."

  "Look, sorry, LT," said Johnson from Sandy's left, reading armscomp diagnostics off his booth screen, "you need tits to be a teenage bikini slut."

  "You'll need a windpipe to keep breathing," Vanessa replied, sighting calmly. "You think he's just hot for you?"

  "Damn, I wish," Sandy muttered. "Thinks I'm a fellow techiegeek-long live the march of rational scientific progress. I don't need it." Finished the reassembly, activated armscomp and shoved her right hand into the sighting-glove. Pulled the headset off the hook on the wall of her booth, slid it on,
inserted the connection beneath her increasingly unruly hair (she'd never had it so long), flipped down the eyepiece and raised the gun.

  She didn't need all the gear, she had enough direct interface crammed into her unadorned skull to make a far cleaner shot than the armscomp link could possibly calculate. But it was weapons check, and so she was checking weapons, gear included, the basic SWAT rule being that everyone checked everyone else's gear too, not just their own. Sighting down the open, eighty metre, low-ceilinged space, the targets showed bright and clear on comp-vision, a range of holographic spheres and highlighted trajectories across the range's virtual imagination. Lowered the short, snub-nosed rifle, a mental deactivation of comp-viz, and the long, empty underground range turned blank and dull once more, lit only by the reinforced inset glow-lights for depth perception down the length.

  Warning call down the row of booths, and then someone fired, four short, staccato bursts that assaulted the eardrums with a familiar rhythm. Clusters of vicious dark holes erupted in quick succession across four solid target outlines on the far wall, like swarming black insects. Echoes racketed, then silence. The riddled targets replaced themselves.

  "Not bad," called Hiraki's voice, a softer echo after the gunfire. "Uneven rhythm, third out at point two, fourth scattered, adjust recoil, target acquisition down and left point four. Sandy?"

  "Trigger tension down five," she yelled down the line of booths, "RPS up one. Comp it and watch the recoil on your transition, that Panchi-3 kicks like a horse. Use a bigger mag if you like, keeps the nose down."

  "Gotcha, Sandy." Zago's voice, deep and strong. No one ever questioned her fire analysis, she was quite literally the walking armscomp on such things. She had no idea how straights saw it, though even augmented straights seemed to struggle. How were these things difficult? Trajectories in a three-dimensional space ... it was only data. Data was easy. Visual, graphical data in particular. And of course if there was a firearm in League or Federation space she hadn't seen, tested, stripped and written field reports on ... she would have been surprised.