"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 Ari, 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 similar
ly 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 Ari 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 Ari 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 trundled 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?"
Killswitch: A Cassandra Kresnov Novel (v1.1) Page 16
