Breakaway: A Cassandra Kresnov Novel (v1.1)

by Joel Shepherd

  "Oh, I hope so!" Anita said, enthusiastically shaking her hand.

  "Don't work too hard," said Pushpa, in her turn.

  Sandy smiled. "I'll try not to. Take care." And left the car to Anita's final call of, "And for godsake, don't trust the CSA!"

  Which made her grin as she joined the flow of pedestrians headed for the maglev entrance, and the car lane bumped haltingly along behind. Paranoid to the last, these hackers. And maybe with good cause. But she was flattered that Anita would automatically include her as "us" in the "us and them" equation. Unconditional love was a strange response to be facing, particularly from such intelligent people ... but any Tanushan League-sympathetic technophile would just die to meet a real GI in person, let alone the famous, super-advanced friendly GI the Neiland Administration had befriended. She didn't trust it. But it beat the hell out of the alternative.

  She tried Ari's connection again on the maglev. She was seated by the window at the very rear of the open tube, with a good, long, winding view of the people-filled interior. No response, not even an engaged signal to acknowledge the call. Busy, Ari? More secrets to pursue? Contacts to meet? She wondered. Mostly she wondered just how much she didn't know, and how much Ari hadn't told her.

  CSA uplinks showed it was pointless to try Vanessa again-she'd been rotated onto standby at the hostage crisis, and her heart sank when she saw it. Please God, no shooting. Vanessa would be fine, she was sure, but civilians, targets and high-power firearms did not mix, and such unpleasant combinations could stain the memory for the rest of a person's life. Please no shooting. But she could only hope.

  Another connection ... and a temporary hold, then an auto-recog- ition ... fuzzy static pause, then click ...

  "Cassandra?" came Director Ibrahim's voice. "Where are you?" The auto-rec rechecking her freqs and racing through a positioning analysis ... she didn't mind, there were two people in Tanusha whose systems she trusted implicitly-one was Vanessa, and the other was Ibrahim. Ari, she thought a little darkly, was a long way from qualifying. Especially after tonight. "Ari said you'd been shot?"

  "I had, but I'm fine now. Where is he, do you know?"

  "He's busy ... Cassandra, I tried to contact you earlier but you were apparently unconscious. I have spent much of today warding off queries and accusations from the SIB, Cassandra, apparently Ms. Izerovski was most upset after her agents `lost' you on your motorcycle this morning. "

  "Have they placed me at Cloud Nine?" As the possibility suddenly occurred to her-Cloud Nine was the name of the premises the GI had been chased into. The CSA were doing the follow-up investigations now, taking various mafia types into custody for questioning. Not that anyone expected them to be helpful.

  "No ... field investigation is not an SIB strong point, Cassandra, particularly not in fluid, chaotic realtime scenarios ... although I do not discount the possibility that they may place you there eventually. " He sounded calm, as was Ibrahim's habit. The slight edge to his voice may have been adrenaline. Other people functioned worse in a crisis. Some functioned better in direct proportion to the seriousness of the situation. Ibrahim was one of the latter. And she wondered if it could be his SunniAfghan ancestry, perhaps, that made such a positive out of adversity. Or predisposed him to love a good fight. "I'm afraid the situation is actually much worse than that. "

  "Of course it is," she formulated, dryly.

  "Cassandra, Izerovsky has informed the Senate Security Panel of your `escape from Senate-mandated surveillance,' to use her words." Among the many passengers on the train, Sandy refrained from swearing, or placing her head in her hands. "The Security Panel have been demanding an interview with me personally. I have declined. They have accused me of orchestrating the whole thing, and have formally placed a deposition with the Parliament, requesting my resignation effective immediately."

  Incredible. It took her breath away, the sheer, bloody-minded, single-focused stupidity. Demand the CSA Director's resignation over that small matter, in the middle of a Federation-wide crisis? Those were their priorities?

  "You're not going to accept it, I hope?"

  "Only if Allah should command it, Cassandra." With a dry, deadpan, implacable resolve. "To the best of my knowledge, Allah cares little for the workings of the Senate Security Panel, and has no seat at the table. "

  Nor did Allah have a place in the Neiland Administration, Sandy thought. Which meant Ibrahim was not intending to step down for any politician. Not now. The very prospect of changing horses in midstream was horrifying in its implications for planetary security. That anyone senior should possibly suggest such a thing, over any matter, was completely incomprehensible to her.

  "News of this has spread through the major political parties, Cassandra. They cannot leak to the press without breaching security guidelines, but I cannot guarantee that the unofficial rumour mill will not carry this further. " No, he certainly could not. She'd discovered just today, with Ari's friends, how far and wide the rumour mill spread. "However, the President herself is of the opinion that this could prove sufficient distraction in tomorrow's debating session to effectively derail the day's proceedings. Some Members have threatened to withdraw from the process indefinitely until the Neiland Administration makes its position clear on this matter. "

  "What do you want me to do?" She could feel him building up to it. She didn't like the implications. The whole damn thing had been his idea, after all ...

  "Cassandra, the President and I feel it would help matters considerably if you could make an appearance before a full sitting of the Parliament tomorrow morning." She blinked. Should have seen that one coming too. "The President and I ..." Bloody Katia Neiland and her wild improvisations on the run. It had her smell about it, the whole thing. "You have been making some progress on your review of Tanushan security systems with regard to the threat of military-style infiltration. The President and I feel that a formal presentation from you on your findings so far would enable the Members to see for themselves the value of your presence here, and thus take the SIB's legs out from under them on this issue, so to speak."

  To Sandy's vision, the interior of the maglev appeared to darken somewhat, the combat redness descending. Sounds came thickly, slurred and broken into individual vibrations ... she'd been blindsided again by officialdom. It was becoming a habit. Of course, she was supposed to leap at this opportunity, a chance to prove herself before the elected representatives of the Callayan Parliament ... she wondered if Ibrahim had planned this too, predicting the SIB's reaction when he authorised Ari to go walkabout with her. Or if the whole thing had been Neiland's idea from the beginning. Once again, she was the pawn, and she didn't like it one bit.

  "Sir ... my review is very preliminary to this point, I have no detailed analysis prepared, and in fact I should remind you that the whole thing is so far beyond my regular experience and qualifications that it was little more than an experiment in the first place. "

  "I am aware of that, Cassandra. The sitting will not expect a detailed presentation, only a broad overview. Your preliminary opinions, not analytical conclusions. That is all that is required of you. In the meantime, I suggest you get some rest, and perhaps make some preparations, if possible. If you give me your location I'll send someone to accompany you-the President requires it, to give her credible denial of SIB claims that you have been left improperly supervised, you understand. "

  "I do understand. I'm afraid that will have to wait, I'm busy. " Pause.

  "Cassandra, I do not feel that now is the time for you to be `busy.' Political events have taken a turn, and whether you like it or not. . . "

  "With respect, sir," Sandy formulated, in her coldest replicated tones, "you began this. I know Ari's your boy. You put him onto this lead, and then he put me onto it, and now I'm going to finish it. If you want someone to supervise me, put me in contact with Ari and I'll tell him where to meet me."

  "Ari is indisposed, Cassandra." Ibrahim knew exactly where Ari was, Sandy was sure. "Cassandr
a, I am under rather direct instruction from the highest civilian authority on this planet. As you might understand, such instructions are not to be taken lightly. "

  "So I suppose you know everything about League operations in this city?" Sandy replied. No response from Ibrahim. "There is a delegation here. Which of course no one would ever dare have informed me of in advance, me being ex-League and all, lest my sympathies suddenly change direction. There's a delegation here, and I don't doubt they're in discussion with all relevant parties regarding the current direction of Article 42. Now obviously, if you're so eager for me to go home and sleep, you'll be fully informed as to the League delegation's present operations, their numbers, their personnel, and GIs in particular, the people they're meeting with, etc, etc. Because the GI at Cloud Nine was very pleased to see me, before he shot me, and called me by name. I had this strange, crazy idea they might talk to me, where they would not to someone else. Perhaps I could learn something. But, of course, if that particular information is of no real use to you, I could just go home and sleep, as per your recommendation. "

  Still there was no reply. The maglev whined in deceleration, a station stop approaching, and some passengers got to their feet. The night-time city slowed its gleaming rush past the windows, a thick line of traffic passing below, hemmed by explosive thickets of holographic neon and sidewalk traffic.

  Then, "Stay out of trouble, Agent Kresnov. Talk to them, if possible, no more. If they don't want to see you, don't push your luck, you've been shot once already today and you do not want to make that a habit in this city. I'll expect a full report at the earliest. "

  "Sir, I shall exercise the utmost circumspection, cognisance and diligence, I assure you." An influence of Indian bureaucratic English, she had discovered, that led to the usual proliferation of pointless vocabulary through the back corridors of CSA officialdom. Vanessa hated it. Sandy found it amusing.

  "I'm very sure. Oh-nine-hundred tomorrow, Agent Kresnov. The Parliament shall be waiting. " Damn right they would be. She'd bet her life on it. "And Cassandra? Please bear in mind the possibility that your old comrade Chu may no longer be alive. "

  The maglev began accelerating once more. Sandy gazed at the whizzing platform, lights and people in a gathering blur, then at the buildings and roads below, lines of moving, lighted traffic.

  So Ibrahim was aware of her other motivation. Even if she had not yet fully admitted it to herself, Ibrahim was aware. She had not wanted to think about it so openly. Finding Mahud, only to lose him once more, had been a pain almost beyond her capacity to bear. Hoping for news of Chu was almost too painful, especially when it came this close, somewhere within the League Embassy compound. But whatever her need for useful delusions, Ibrahim had no such luxury.

  "I'll bear that in mind, sir. " Quietly.

  "I know you will. And I wish you luck. "

  The maglev got her halfway across town. The adjoining subway got her to Zaiko, and she walked the rest of the way. Barely an hour from leaving the house, and she was there-Tanushan mass-transit was a marvel, and nearly military-like in its precision. If only, she mused, the city's people were as orderly as their machines. But then, on reflection, that would not work either. People chaos was the energy that drove the seamless technological systems, as surely as hydrogen combustion powered her motorcycle. You could cut the combustion, but doing so would cost you power.

  Her bike awaited her in the cycle-park a short stroll from the riverside where she and Ari had enjoyed lunch earlier that day-it seemed eons away. People still strolled the sidewalk beneath the trees along the riverside walk, although the outdoor cafes were largely shut, tables packed away for the night as 9:00pm approached ... Zaiko was a tourist and business spot, mostly, only in the more residential regions did the cafes and restaurants stay open till the wee hours. She climbed onto the bike, unhooking the helmet from the rear lock, and pondering further if her "people-chaos theory" applied equally to Old Earth too. Of course it did. The proof could be found in the colourful confusion emanating from a broad apartment balcony across the road-an Indian wedding of one ethnic division or another. Colourful dress, flashing fabrics and jewellery, thunderingly rhythmic music and many people dancing on the balcony that overlooked the river ... no doubt some illegal fireworks would follow, they usually did at such occasions, to the police's continual dismay.

  Back on Earth, China was a great power, but India ruled overall. Or would do, if they ever figured out who was really in charge. The self-professed most chaotic nation on Earth, its technological prowess was nearly as legendary as its people's love of parties, theatrics and political crises. The Chinese had never fully abandoned their fear of chaos. The Indians embraced it. And so the Chinese remained perpetually frustrated by the fact that despite their immense collective power, Indians continually outnumbered them in most truly revolutionary fields by two-to-one or more. China continued to hold itself separate from the world, as a national and ethnic entity. Indians diverged, spread, travelled and multiplied. And so when FTL truly arrived, the Indians went first, and the Chinese followed for fear of being left behind ... or in many cases to escape the conservative, Earth-bound mindset in search of alternative ideologies. The League was full of Chinese. Chinese and LEUs-for Los Estados Unidos, as ex United States of America residents were widely known in the League-the latter group endeavouring to confirm its cultural heritage, in search of a new great frontier, and the former group wishing to escape and start anew. The Federation held many of all cultural groups, but the Indians, equally comfortable in both the old world and the new, were particularly prominent. "Going League" implied the agreement with a particular "progressive" philosophy, and the majority of Indians felt uncomfortable in surroundings that offered no arguments, ideological battles or mad political catfights. Those that had "gone League" were derided as fanatics, extremists, or Pakistanis upset with the reunification, and looking for a new Kashmir.

  Apolitical city my arse, Sandy thought, as she gunned the bike into life. Tanushans were only apolitical because their carefully constructed environment gave them no cause to be otherwise, even on the biggest issues of all, and there had been nothing overtly traumatic to argue about. Well, now they had cause, and the old cultural instincts were leaping back to life, and dragging most other ethnicities with them.

  India, she recalled, was also called the most ideological country on Earth ... that and chaos, apparently, went hand-in-hand. It had condemned them to what in hindsight was unbelievable poverty for a full half-century after nationhood, many centuries ago, when the rest of the world was developing fast. Then the ideology had switched to capitalism-a supposedly "western" concept, it had then been thoughtwhich the Indians in conjunction with the Chinese had absorbed and "Indianised" as thoroughly as they'd absorbed and Indianised the genteel English sport of cricket, or cups of tea, or the English language itself. And by 2050, she recalled from her historical readings, the great "western" capitalist powers were complaining bitterly about the Indi- anisation of global economics, and the threatened trade sanctions against European nations who failed to fight against the encroaching "cultural sterility" of the modern economy ... a western phenomenon that Indians, East Asians and Africans recoiled from in horror to this day. Cultural ideology, the western powers complained, had no place in economics. To which the Indians had responded that cultural ideology was about what was good for the soul, and if western economics had nothing to say on this matter, then who needed it? And so the entire apparatus of the global economy had never been the same since ... and, Sandy couldn't help but think, thank God for it. Thank God for culture, and thank God for the perspective it brought upon the dry, rational worlds of science and finance.

  Here, and now, the ideology was yet to be decided. Biotech. GIs. The value of organic, human life. The nature of humanity itself. The deciding issues that separated League from Federation. With her in the middle, trying to help them make up their minds.

  She flicked on the headlight, helmet in p
lace, and cruised smoothly out along the road. Colourful party-pops lit the streetside behind her, a cascading fall of blue, green and saffron light, and the angular officefront windows bloomed in spectacular reflection as she passed.

  The League Embassy did not appear on any map. Not in those words, anyhow. From her pagoda view atop the temple, Sandy had a good view of the grounds across the avenue, though somewhat obscured by leafy trees before and within the grounds. Behind the high, wroughtiron fence lay an estate in miniature-a wide grassy lawn with a Uturn driveway that swept in front of the columns of the patio before the main entrance. The building itself was two-storey, rectangular and whitewashed end to end. Building and grounds together reminded her of the images she'd viewed of old British colonial properties in India, dating from the time of the occupying Raj. Only the scale was smaller-squeezed between a pair of modest, low-key office buildings. A casual passer-by might dismiss such a building as another of Tanusha's many pieces of historical nostalgia, and not spare it a second thought. And not notice that the gates were locked, the physical and network security intense, and there was no sign or advertisement to announce the building's purpose to the street. A light, civilian-level query of the net-presence came back to her as "government building," with no more information provided.

  There were a lot of those, of course, and high security was hardly rare among them. Of course, discovering which was the League Embassy was easy enough, if you knew who to ask. Previously, it had not been an issue. Now, she watched on full-zoom/infrared, and counted the soldiers on the roof, laid flat behind the lining flowerbeds with rifles at ready. There were eight visible, and doubtless more inside and about the grounds. They'd been receiving a lot of "interested queries" lately, she guessed. And that being League property in there, they were allowed to provide their own firepower as insurance to keep the natives at arm's length.