Cassandra Kresnov 04: 23 Years on Fire

by Joel Shepherd

  The walk through Chawri Bazar, Ibrahim realised. She’d been navigating him through the halls of the Parliament building. He’d actually been walking, for real, like a zombie, thinking he was time-frozen in the cruiser. But she’d let immersion time run real-time, and Allah knew how she’d managed that. Time was supposed to run much slower in full immersion VR. What had happened to all the people they’d surely passed along the way? Had they been hacked, too? Was the whole Parliament building network down?

  “This VR stuff is an amazing thing,” she said, leaning forward slightly in her cross-legged pose, as though to make a point. “Regular human brains are fooled by it. I’m not. If I get it set up well like this, in systems I’m familiar with, I can just turn you off. All of you.”

  Now Ibrahim was properly alarmed. “Cassandra,” he said, “this is not ethical. You release these people at once.”

  “You’re damn right it’s not ethical,” Cassandra replied, her eyes narrowing. “I’m not built to be ethical. I’m built to dominate. I’m unequal. Understand what that means. It means that the worst fears of all the GI-haters out there are right. I could be the death of you all, should I choose, and should my friends choose with me. I could end this civilisation.”

  Ibrahim stared at her.

  “Now imagine that there’s a place out there in League space that is trying to improve on me, using unsafe technologies that could turn the next generation of GIs into psychopathic monsters. And understand that if they succeed, then not only is Callay not safe, but none of us are. I think it’s possible that what you see me do here, is just the tip of the iceberg. If I’m right, then even I can’t protect you from that next wave. They’ll take me out first, and that’ll be it. It—do you understand me? No more. No more any of this, this wonderful, free civilisation, filled with wonderful people whom I’ve grown to love so much.

  “Now, I’m sorry I’ve had to make this demonstration, but understand you’ve only seen the tip of what I can do, because I’ve only seen the tip. I’m still learning. Pray that whatever comes next from New Torah does not know more and learn faster. Now, while you’re here, will you please discuss with this damn fool of a president why we need to go hard after New Torah, irrespective of whatever threats the League makes? Or do I have to wake him up and do it myself?”

  Two months later, Vanessa was having a day off at the Tanusha Zoo when she received a message from Justice Rosa, asking if he could come and talk with her briefly. “About our mutual friend,” he said.

  Vanessa agreed. They’d spoken a few times, always about their “mutual friend,” sometimes to get a second perspective on events, and also as a character reference. Vanessa assured him that he had no chance of getting an objective opinion from her, but Justice didn’t mind. “You can tell as much about a person by their friends and enemies as you can from the person themselves,” he’d replied.

  Tanusha Zoo was amazing, with one of the biggest collections of xenobiology anywhere in the Federation. She walked the enclosures and displays with Phillippe, Rhian, Rakesh, Salman and the twins. The jungle enclosures were huge and lush, populated by amazing, multi-legged creatures that howled and whooped, and lizards that flew, and birds that changed colour before your eyes. The marine section was also superb, with great underwater viewing windows to see huge, multi-finned predators from various watery worlds, and aquapods that were like great winged squid, moving with water jet propulsion, and communicated in complex codes with electric body flashes that could be seen in dark water.

  But everyone loved the methane breathers best. Those enclosures were underground, and though viewing was restricted behind heavy glass and in atmosphere thick like soup, the creatures here were utterly alien, from ground hugging, multi-legged scuttlers to hive writhers that looked like a giant mass of snakes writhing together, but were actually just one creature. Salman stared goggle-eyed like all boys his age, and Sunita, one of the twins, got scared and began crying. Phillippe loved it every bit as much as Salman, and explained to him what crazy conditions existed on many of the worlds where these creatures lived, and how that had affected their evolution.

  “He’s good with kids, yeah?” Rakesh said suggestively to Vanessa near the enclosure for bubbleskinks, which could inflate like a giant ball, and in the low gravity of its home world, float away on updrafts. Here, giant fans were simulating the drafts and low gravity.

  “I’m sorry he’s borrowed your son,” Vanessa said diplomatically. “I promise he’ll return him undamaged when he’s finished.”

  “He’s welcome, I’ve got my hands full.” Rakesh had Sunita in one arm, offering a broad chest she could press her face into when she didn’t want to look at any of the scary animals. Maria, less timid than her sister, was with Rhian, face pressed to the glass. “But maybe he wants a boy of his own?”

  Vanessa shook her head. “We’ve got a girls’ club, it’ll be a girl.”

  And that made her sad, because the girls’ club was incomplete at the moment. Sandy loved the zoo, and loved spending casual time with her best friends. Vanessa missed her terribly.

  Justice contacted again to say he’d arrived, and Vanessa directed him to the methane breathers’ enclosure exit. He was waiting there when they came out, blinking in the sunshine. Vanessa suggested the others grab an ice cream with the kids, but Phillippe recognised the tall man in the cycle shorts, leaning on his twenty-four speed road bike.

  “That’s Justice Rosa!” he exclaimed. “Is that who you’re meeting?”

  “He’s writing a book on Sandy, remember?” Like a lot of brilliant people, Phillippe was occasionally forgetful. “I’ve spoken with him a few times.”

  “Well I want to meet him,” Phillippe insisted. And put a finger to her lips before she could think of a reason otherwise. “Come, I’ve read everything he’s written. You can’t have all the interesting life to yourself, you know.”

  “Yeah, like your superstar musician’s life is so boring,” Vanessa retorted as Phillippe led her over. “Pretty girls fawning over you at every expensive function.”

  “I know, isn’t it a drag? Sometimes I even have to marry them.” Vanessa laughed, and elbowed him.

  Certainly her husband was no shrinking violet. “Hello!” he said brightly, with an outstretched hand to Justice. “I’m Phillippe Hurot, Vanessa’s husband. You’re one of my favorite writers, I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  “And likewise,” said Justice. “I was at your concert two weeks ago, the Vivaldi one. Just marvellous.”

  Phillippe beamed, and they talked music and writing for a little. Not for the first time, Vanessa found herself wondering how a SWAT grunt had come to move in such circles. When she’d entered the business world out of college, she’d imagined climbing the great heights of Tanushan society, and meeting people like these at expensive parties. When she’d abandoned that world for the CSA, she’d thought she was abandoning all of those high society dreams in the process. But the universe played funny games sometimes.

  “Well,” said Justice, sipping at his bicycle’s water bottle, “I don’t have news on Sandy, exactly.” Vanessa wasn’t certain when Justice had begun referring to Sandy by her nickname. She hoped it was a sign of affection, and that his book would reflect it. “But I was just at the Ahimsa Hotel, meeting with the League Under Secretary of Trade, who’s in town at the moment.”

  “I know,” said Vanessa. “His security plan’s a pain. Lots of unreasonable demands. You’d think he’s never been somewhere where people would like to kill him before.”

  “Given he’s from the League, that does seem unlikely,” Justice agreed. “Anyhow, I was asked a lot of questions about Sandy. Too many questions. It seems the League have heard about my book.”

  “Our protection offer remains open,” Vanessa said flatly. “You’ve been told it could be trouble, we weren’t kidding.”

  “I’m thinking on it,” Justice admitted. Vanessa was surprised. She’d expected Justice to continue to refuse CSA protection o
utright.

  “You don’t think . . . ?” Phillippe began, concerned and puzzled. “Why would the League want to threaten a writer writing a book?”

  “Sandy knows things she hasn’t spoken of yet that the League will find embarrassing,” Vanessa explained patiently. “And they might just want to find out what she knows, for which a writer is a far easier target than she is.”

  “There were questions in particular about the President’s Office incident,” Justice added.

  “The what incident?” asked Phillippe.

  “Oh, great,” Vanessa sighed. “You’re not supposed to hear that. I’m going to have to take you to our lab and have your brain erased.”

  “You wouldn’t,” said Phillippe. Then looked at Justice, amusement fading. “She can’t, can she? I mean, they don’t have any technology like that?”

  “Oh, it exists,” Justice assured him. “In a mild form. Whether they actually use it is another matter.”

  “Please stop corrupting my husband,” Vanessa said sternly.

  “But you know I like to be corrupted,” her husband teased. “What’s the President’s Office incident?”

  Vanessa just looked at him. She wasn’t amused at all. They’d had this discussion before, and he’d agreed—he wouldn’t ask questions where she judged it could cause trouble, for both of them. But Phillippe was born curious.

  He saw her look, and sighed. “Okay. Very well.” And his face just kind of . . . closed off. That upset her. She loved Phillippe for his enthusiasm and love of life. Now she had to step on that enthusiasm, and it hurt like a physical pain.

  “They know rather a lot,” said Justice. “More than I do.”

  Vanessa didn’t bother asking where Justice got his sources. Intel was of the opinion that he was safe enough, for as long as he saw personal profit in maintaining exclusivity. Plus he had a reputation for integrity, but Intel was full of suspicious characters who didn’t trust that kind of thing.

  “What did you tell them?” she asked.

  “Nothing. I smiled politely and changed the subject.”

  “Did they ask where Sandy is now?”

  “Oh, I think they know. They’re not stupid. And why else would they be asking about the President’s Office incident?” He sipped his water bottle. “They’re still there. The Ahimsa Hotel. They’ve set up a bear pit on the lower business level, I got the impression they’d be there all day. I saw various important officials calling in, some government, some private. League officials are very popular these days.”

  Phillippe’s downcast mood only lasted until Justice had pedalled off. “You want to go to the hotel, yes?”

  “I won’t get authorisation,” said Vanessa, thinking hard as they walked toward the refreshment outlet. Somewhere in the crowd of visitors were Rhian, Rakesh and the kids. “It’s an Intel job, not for SWAT.”

  “But Intel will already be there, yes? They will not miss an opportunity to poke around the League delegation and see what questions they are asking?”

  Vanessa gave him a sideways look. Not stupid, her husband, and reading lots of spy novels actually could give someone a few ideas of how these things worked. A lot of those authors were retired agents and pretty good; she’d read a few herself.

  “I’m worried they’ll miss something.” She stopped, gnawing at her lip. Phillippe stopped with her. “Obviously the League knows Sandy’s gone to New Torah, which means they know FSA and CSA are lying to them. So now they send a high level delegation and ask questions of everyone except the FSA and CSA. It’s pretty fucking brazen.”

  “Maybe they know how tight security is for them now,” Phillippe offered. “Maybe it’s easier to operate in plain sight than to try and sneak around.”

  Not stupid at all. Phillippe didn’t know much about Mustafa and the ISO, who were even now helping with whatever Sandy was doing in New Torah. But unwittingly he was right—without the ISO’s help, any non-ISO League operatives would find it very hard to move around Tanusha quietly. And to the best of anyone’s knowledge, the ISO and the current League administration were still not on speaking terms.

  “Look,” said Phillippe, eyes lighting up, “how about we go and talk to them?”

  “Phillippe,” she began.

  “No!” he cut her off, all animation. “I’m the superstar famous musician, yes?” Vanessa raised an eyebrow. “I go and say that my friend Justice was just here and said that the League Minister of Trade would like to meet with me . . .”

  “Under Secretary of Trade,” Vanessa corrected.

  “Exactly, yes, that he would like to meet with me, and you can make with me a tacnet link, and I can get you preliminary intelligence, yes? Scout out the hotel, because of course they have your face on record, but not mine . . .”

  “But a simple net search will show you’re my husband.”

  “And so what?” His hands spread wide. “You will be outside somewhere! Maybe they suspect I’m spying, but I am an inexperienced agent, they are experienced agents, maybe they think I’m out of my depth . . .”

  “With reason.”

  “Yes, but you can monitor me, and the moment there is anything you don’t like, you say leave and I leave. I’ll make them tasty bait though, if they think they can trick me into saying things, you know, the inexperienced agent recruit who knows too much?”

  Too many spy novels indeed. God help her, it was actually not a bad plan. Agencies did this sort of thing all the time, recruiting non-agents as intelligence sources. This was very safe ground, in a big public hotel in Tanusha—lots of security around, them knowing they were being watched every second . . . and yes, knowing he was the husband of Tanusha’s senior-most SWAT agent was a very tasty opportunity for them, because he knew things that might be valuable, yet lacked the training to defend what he knew.

  Vanessa pulled at her face with a hand, thinking. Phillippe waited with puppy dog excitement. She couldn’t tread on his enthusiasm again. The long term view of what would happen to their marriage if she made a habit of it was not something she enjoyed looking at.

  He read her face. “Yes?” Vanessa sighed, glumly. “Yes, yes, yes!” He hugged her. “Come on, we can do this together. Very romantic.”

  “Babe,” she warned him, “I stopped thinking this was romantic the first time I saw an Intel operative get plugged between the eyes when the operation went bad.”

  “Yes,” he said, sobering fast. “Okay. Very serious, I understand.”

  Vanessa didn’t believe a word of it. Though if she thought for a second that it might be genuinely dangerous, she’d never have said yes. This was a government delegation, as physically harmless as they came. And they knew that these days, Callay’s temper with all visiting potential troublemakers was short.

  Intel had several people in the Ahimsa Hotel, and were worried that they didn’t have enough bases covered. Plenty of shooters and snoops, Chandi told her, but not enough bait. Phillippe fit their needs perfectly.

  “Okay, you’ve been greenlit,” she told him as the maglev zoomed over Tanushan suburbs. Phillippe beamed, and tugged his nice, open collar jacket down neatly. “Chandi says nothing stupid, they’ve got the whole place watched, don’t ask silly suspicious questions, just be yourself and make small talk.”

  “You know, darling, I’m very good at small talk.” He kissed her.

  “I know.” It would be just like one of those soirees that Vanessa mostly disliked, and Phillippe excelled at. Truthfully, he got tired of them also, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t good at them. “Remember who you are, you’re a famous musician, your curiosity was sparked by your friend Justice Rosa, and of course your other friends Cassandra Kresnov and Rhian Chu . . .”

  “. . . and I’m interested in the music scene in the League,” Phillippe continued, “because maybe I could even do some concerts there one day, and the possibilities for travel arrangements and visas, maybe something to do with these peace and reconciliation tours the Federation Department of Arts is al
ways arranging. And I’ll also be interested in the humanitarian concerns about the League’s GIs, since my friend Cassandra is obviously upset about it, so naturally I am too.”

  “Yes,” Vanessa affirmed. “Perfect. Don’t show interest in anything you can’t explain your interest in. Another thing—the President’s Office incident.”

  Phillippe looked surprised. “Yes?”

  “I’m authorised to tell you, since they’re already asking questions. It’s something Sandy did, with a few GI friends. No one knows exactly what, but evidently it changed Ibrahim and Chandi’s minds about New Torah, and that’s why Sandy’s out there now with full support.”

  “Something happened in the President’s Office?”

  Vanessa nodded. “No one involved will say. Whatever she did, it scared the shit out of them.”

  “No one knows what?” he asked. Vanessa shook her head. “A demonstration maybe? Of what?”

  “I think I know,” Vanessa said grimly. “But that, dearest, is a GFS.”

  A Genuine Fucking Secret. It was their own personal acronym, and Phillippe held up his hands, conceding with a smile. “That’s okay. I don’t need to know that.” He grasped her hand. “Sandy will be all right. You know how tough she is. She can survive anything. She will be back shortly and she’ll be fine, I promise.”

  He meant it as reassurance, and that was nice. But he couldn’t promise anything of the sort, and Vanessa only smiled, wanly, and gazed out the window.

  Vanessa went and got a coffee in the groovy establishment across the road from Ahimsa Hotel. It had an upstairs section with tables, and big windows with a view across a crowded city road. This was downtown Subianto, big towers and crowds everywhere, it made surveillance and security operations tricky.

  Internal vision showed tacnet, and Phillippe entering the upstairs lobby and talking to people. There was a big cocktail set here, cordoned off by ropes, manned by local hotel security—nothing official from either side here, that she could see through Phillippe’s eyes. Frustratingly, he only had standard civvie uplinks, the kind you could get installed in an hour at a local clinic, then leave to propagate over perhaps a month and monitored by a network overseer. It meant his processing speeds were slower, and the vision feed kept fuzzing, starved of pixels. There were times she’d realised that he didn’t really understand how much more advanced her systems were, especially after recent upgrades. CSA neuroscientists did papers on her, she was one of the best integrators they’d ever seen. She’d seen graphic modelling of her brain lately, showing synaptic increase of up to forty percent in high-traffic regions—an entirely natural phenomenon to deal with increased traffic. Brains weren’t so different from muscles—exercise them frequently, and they would grow.