“Sure.” The bearded man sipped coffee. “They always think that.”
“I have contacts,” said Sinta, leaning forward, holding eye contact. She had advantages there, with heterosexual men. “Big contacts. People you can't reach now that everyone's out to get you. People who need to hear what you know, if they're going to stop 2389 reshaping the GC to pass any damn amendments they like. They're the ones doing the coup, you get that? And if those amendments pass, there won't be a damn thing anyone can do legally in the Federation to help your cause, FSA, Kresnov, hell, they'll even be able to rule that underground Federation groups with the same cause as yours are in constitutional violation and thus outlawed.”
The man grimaced and looked at big hands on the tabletop. Cracked a knuckle. “It's a fight the Federation could win,” he muttered. “Should win. Fucking cowards.”
Sinta shook her head. “No one is going to war against the League to emancipate the GIs. You guys have to understand that, no matter how bad the atrocities, it's not going to happen.”
The man rubbed his brow. “We didn't find atrocities. Or not beyond the usual.” Sinta frowned at him. He looked up at her warily. “I was hoping to speak to Kresnov. Kresnov cares about GIs. You're a brave cop, but at the end of the day you're just another Fed.”
“Kresnov was nearly killed. No one knows where she is. I'm all you've got, and if you don't give me and my friends something fast, not only are you going to lose your only potential allies in the Federation, I'm going to lose even basic democracy in the Federation. Damn right I won't die for your cause, but right now our causes are the same.”
The man looked out the window, at the blazing lights and displays of the neighbouring theatre. A couple of beat cops were moving on some wanderers—sleep walkers, the street called them, high on AR assistant drugs, wandering the night in an augmented parallel universe of simultaneous drug and uplink realities.
“I was League marines,” he said. Sinta wasn't surprised. “We never worked with GIs directly; they had their own units. Most of us didn't think much about them; they got the toughest assignments, we were glad it was them and not us.
“Then one day…eleven years ago now…we were sharing a ride with a Dark Star team. Dark Star are smart, I even talked with a few of them, a few were smarter than me.” A self-deprecating smile. “But that's not so hard.”
Sinta nodded. “Kresnov was Dark Star. And Captain Chu.”
“And then,” the ex-grunt continued, “we got hit. No idea what did it, marines never do. One minute we were playing cards, the next it's emergency manoeuvering…a couple of my guys couldn't make the acceleration slings in time, they got plastered on the walls, except for two of them, GIs grabbed them, held on all through the manoeuvers, GIs handle ten-Gs fine. Saved their lives.
“And then we were spinning and power-out, half the environmentals went, maybe half the crew died slowly, suffocated or decompressed. The rest of us were crammed into airtight compartments, trying to jury-rig what was left of the air and temperature controls to give us a few more days to live. Some of us were GIs, these Dark Star guys. They were just…just great.”
His voice was a little tight. He sipped coffee to cover it. Sinta listened, wide-eyed.
“Helpful, you know? No selfishness, no wigging out. Helped with the technical stuff, volunteered to risk airlocks into airless compartments, since they last longer without air than the rest of us. And the rest of the time, we just talked. And they were scared just like the rest of us. I'd never figured that, you know?” Looking up at her. “GIs, being scared? I mean, they're killing machines. But you get locked in a closet with someone for forty-eight hours, running out of air and slowly freezing to death, you get to know them.
“Anyhow, ship found us, we were okay. But I kept in contact with some of these GIs, forty-eight hours of hell and we were like, best buddies. Six of them, three guys, three girls. Girls real pretty too, you know?” A faint smile, remembering. “Even met up with one of the girls a year later, happened to be on the same station, she showed me a good time. Could have snapped me in half with the back of her hand, but she was gentle.
“Two years later, five of them were KIA, including that girl. Jade was her name. They just got sent into the toughest shit; command spent them like toilet paper. And then a year after that, my last buddy, Roh, just stops replying to my messages. I asked after him, but there's this blackout on Dark Star, he's disappeared, no one knows a thing about him or anyone from Dark Star. It's only after Kresnov appears here, and makes waves in the Federation, that everyone back in the League learns about what command did to Dark Star, got rid of them all. I mean, command were never allowed to build GIs that smart in the first place. All us normals who met them, we knew. But we all liked them, so we didn't want to get them in trouble. Should have guessed that would happen.
“I'm not some crazy bleeding heart, Detective, not like some of this group. I still love the League. But the League can't be what I want it to be unless we stop treating GIs like shit. And until we apologise for what we did to those others. Can't blame Kresnov for leaving. Couldn't blame any of them.”
He reached into an inside pocket and pulled a chip. Sinta took it on the table top, covering with her hand. “What's on it?” she asked. Making an uplink connection wasn't safe. In a city of sixty million she could stay undetected indefinitely so long as she resisted the Tanushan compulsion to stay permanently uplinked. Autistic, she was safe.
“Inside footage,” he said. “A new production facility. We still don't know where; it's an inside job. But the vision is real.”
Sinta frowned. “A production facility? For GIs?” The man nodded. “New GI production is outlawed by the Five Junctions Treaty.”
“That it is.” Another sip of coffee.
“How big a facility?”
“Production maybe ten thousand a year. Mostly high-des.” Sinta nearly gasped, hand to her mouth. “New tech. Rumour is there's a way to make GIs that don't think as much but are still high-designation. Keep them loyal.”
“Ten thousand high-designation wouldn't violate the treaty,” Sinta breathed. “It would smash it.”
“And if the Federation's still serious about anything, restart the war.”
“Only 2389’s trying to stop us from ever fighting another war unless we get attacked first. And you guys come along with this info at the worst possible moment, Idi Aba's preparing to go public, so they kill him. Only maybe it was the League, League would want him dead as badly as 2389…”
“No.” Her company shook his head. “Internal Federation politics is too far away, local League operatives might have helped plan it, tell them when that other attack would take place so they can use it as cover. But League Gov's never going to authorise that themselves on such short notice, how can they? Takes two months each way for a message, Idi Aba was killed on short notice.”
“And ISO's lost their main operatives and facilities when the League embassy closed,” Sinta finished. “Much easier to plan long-term hits on orders from League Gov than short-term reactive ops, their decision-making processes aren't there anymore. Dammit, if you guys had only gone straight to the FSA, Ibrahim would have heard before any of this happened. He'd have stopped it.”
“Detective, I understand you're normally dealing with gang bangers, jealous spouses, and drug addicts, so this Federal-level stuff isn't really your go. But think for a moment. Who does the FSA answer to?”
Sinta blinked. “The Office of Intelligence Directorate. Shit.”
“Who are probably behind this whole fucking thing.”
“But Ibrahim doesn't have to tell OID everything, does he? He can operate alone if he wants?”
“Sometimes, sure. But how does Ibrahim get his information? Especially from the League?”
“Federal Intelligence.”
“And FedInt is run by Chief Shin, who is very likely in on this as well.”
“How do you know?”
“Shin's the real power in the Federation. The
thing with interstellar civilisation, there's this communication gap between worlds. In the old days, with just one world, easy, communications lasted seconds. Here it's months. Messages don't hit with the same force, getting a month-old recording isn't the same as being yelled at real time by your superior. And foreign events can't be monitored real time, you just see them in bursts, like trying to watch a football game from the cheap seats as people keep walking in front of you, you see bits and pieces, but it's hard to put it all together, figure out what's really going on.
“But, Shin.” Another sip, finger raised for emphasis. “Shin's job is ferrying those messages, all through the Federation. He controls appearances. And he knows exactly what's going on, because he's the only guy with the whole picture. He's the guy who controls what Ibrahim sees and doesn't see. And he's the guy who knows what goes on in Fleet, because Fleet ferry a lot of the most sensitive data. You think Fleet could land a bunch of foreign troops on the Federation capitol to fight this ‘coup’ without Shin knowing? Hell, he probably made it happen.”
Sinta knew enough war stories to know the entire League were paranoid about FedInt, and thought they caused everything from cricket scores to nosebleeds. Yet in parts, it sounded all too plausible.
Someone was walking toward them along the bar, calm as you like. Sinta looked…and stared. It was Agent Ruben, smart jacket, cool stride. Dark shades, even before sunrise…but not uncommon for the Big R. The ex-grunt reached into his jacket, looking alarmed, but Sinta raised a placating hand. Ruben stopped at the booth and leaned in.
“We have to go,” he said. “Now.”
“Who the hell are you?” Then an accusing look at Sinta. “Not tailed, you say?”
“I was tailing the Feds who were tailing you,” Ruben replied. “They're close, we have to leave.”
“Agent Ruben, he's CSA,” Sinta explained, climbing from her seat. And saw two men had followed Ruben in, both in suits, following him around the L-curve of the bar. At the rear entrance, another two, pushing through the door. Her heart hammered. She wasn't trained or equipped for this. She didn't have these men's augments, nor their weaponry and backup. Panic threatened.
“Come on,” said Ruben, straightening his jacket and walking back the way he'd come quite calmly. Sinta followed, eyeing the men behind, hand itching for her pistol but knowing that as soon as she drew it, the others would draw faster, and be far more numerous. Her contact hesitated, as though sizing up the situation.
One of the two men approaching Ruben lunged as he came around the L-bend. Ruben countered with both arms, blocking and driving an elbow, smashing that man aside. The other came at him hard, Sinta missed it as the first bounced off barstools and landed at her feet, where she proceeded to kick the shit out of him.
Turned on the two behind, saw their guns out, seeking targets without hitting their own guy. She dropped low, pressed hard against the bar, fumbling for her pistol, was suddenly hit from behind by a huge weight as Ruben's opponent fell over her, struggling to bounce back up, but finding that hard with his face split open and ribs broken. But he gave her more cover to scramble around the L-bend, as Ruben's fire sent the other two diving low.
Back to the bar, Sinta found herself staring at the booth opposite, the dancing girls cowering and screaming as the big window behind them blew out…an exit! She scrambled up for it, but Ruben grabbed her collar and slammed her back, whack! as she hit her head on the bar. Ruben dragged her instead for the entry door, doubled low for cover, dazed and seeing stars and trying to turn in case the men behind rounded the L-curve behind…and where the hell was her contact?
The roar of an engine, tires squealing, then a car smashed through the front door, taking much of the wall with it, and the man covering behind the doorframe.
“Go!” Ruben yelled at her, shoving her past, shooting behind as one of their two pursuers tried the L-curve…Sinta ran, skidding under collapsed door frame and ceiling, scrambling low as she kept the carside for cover…the car was empty, Ruben must have uplinked it, crazy trick in mid-firefight.
Random street traffic was stopped on the road, some reversing as traffic central tried to get civilians out of the danger zone, light pedestrian traffic rapidly taking cover. A cruiser hovered low, coming closer, turning side-on, window down…and Sinta ducked back hard and rolled as bullets punched through the car body.
A flash, and the shooting stopped…Sinta popped up in time to see the cruiser going sideways, all aflame, hit a building side, flip, fall, and pancake into the road with horrid force.
“Ayako!” Ruben exclaimed with pleasure, leaping out beside Sinta, as another cruiser appeared, higher and behind the one just killed. “Bitchin’ girl!” As a groundcar roared up, high performance, lights blazing and doors up. “This one's ours, go go!”
Firing behind as Sinta ran from cover, flinching against the expected blaze of agony as bullets would surely find her. Reached the car and dove in with such force she nearly broke her arm, scrambling into the driver's seat. Ruben followed, gunfire now crackling overhead from the newly arrived cruiser, into the bar doorway, keeping heads down behind.
He hit the seat and saw she was preparing to drive. “Hey! Move out!”
“No way, buddy.” She put the doors down and skidded off in a 270-degree howl of power, reverse-steered out of the slide, darting neatly between two immobilised cars up a crossroad. “This, I can do.”
Ruben stared, then shrugged. “Cool. Take the L35, please. Let's go south.”
Sinta put them squarely in the middle of the road, wheels dividing the centerline, making it easier for traffic central to avoid them, saw cars ahead sliding across to avoid. “Dammit, they're going to track us on central, central's got us pinged as off-grid.” Slid around a corner with suicidal confidence, trusting central to keep obstacles aside. “That your friend up there?”
“Ayako Kazuma, old buddy.” And paused, receiving something on uplink that Sinta couldn't hear. And laughed hysterically, gripping door handle and dash as Sinta's driving slammed him around. “You just watch your cute ass, you hear?” And to Sinta, “Doesn't care she might go to jail, just wants to shoot stuff, as usual.”
“You got a plan?” Sinta asked, taking another corner even faster as her rhythm kicked in. “We'll have air support on us any second, and even you can't get net superiority against these guys.”
“Get the chip your friend gave you to FSA HQ.”
“That's thirty Ks, we'll never make it.”
“Help's coming, no choice but to try.” Wincing at something unseen. “They've got us fucking net bracketed, I can barely make connection. I'd send the fucking chip data to someone else, but they'd just trace it and nail them…can't even see HQ, they're completely cut off.”
“Hard job without your net tricks, huh?” Sinta said edgily, howling around a wide bend, holding the difference between over and understeer with little flicks of wheel and accelerator, just missing several vehicles.
“Holy crap, where'd you learn to drive?”
“Racing sims, loved ’em since I was little. Ruben, they're not just going to let us get there, if that chip has what the guy said it did, it blows them out of the water…”
“Lemme guess, ramp up GI production again? Restart the war?”
“How'd you know?” Hard braking, crazy right turn past a bus, leaping a low median, twitch to miss overpass pylons accelerating back past 170 kph.
“Holy fu…” as Ruben held on for dear life. “Nice. Just a guess.” And received something on uplinks and grinned. “Ayako, quote, says you drive like a motherfucker. Compliment from her. If we get on the L35 we've got a chance; it goes nearly straight there, at those speeds it's only a few minutes and there's always a fair bit of traffic, they'll not risk shooting up the freeway.”
“Huh,” said Sinta, unimpressed. “You reckon?” The upramp was ahead, on the far side of a commercial district, more big towers. Sinta indicated right so central knew she was diverting to the ring road, slowed approac
hing cars and gave her a free shot up the road past green parks and a blur of low rise commercial at 200 plus.
“Ayako, still there?” Ruben twisted around in his seat to try to see her, up and behind somewhere, keeping an eye on them. “Watch those towers, huh? Good cover spot.”
Sinta saw the road drop to an underpass ahead, gunned it hard through the tunnel that followed, then up the exit ramp to the surface, squeezing past a truck with centimeters to spare, and here ahead with towers on either side was the L35 elevated expressway. Leaped all four wheels in the air as the road levelled off, bounced, then swung wide left without slowing, timing that arc neatly across wildly avoiding oncoming traffic and directly onto the onramp.
Ari laughed. “Ayako says she wants you on her team the next sim challenge night…” And his eyes widened as ahead, coming just into view as they rose up the ramp, hung an A-12 combat flyer, full missile racks deployed, hiding behind the overpass. “Ayako, watch front!”
It fired, and behind them, something blew up. Sinta howled onto the expressway, fishtailing as they straightened out and accelerated. Ruben was fully turned around in his seat, staring out the rear window. Sinta did not have time to look, but her rearvision display glimpsed something flaming, falling from the air like a comet. Then out of view.
Ruben turned back around, pale and silent. Wiping his eyes. Sinta accelerated in the right lane past 300 kph and kept going, a wide open lane ahead as central moved all traffic left, only the gentlest bend to negotiate. Nav said they still had twenty Ks to go.
“If you want to surrender,” said Ruben, voice tight and strained, “we can do that. That thing'll be onto us any minute.”
“No chance.” And she was astonished at herself. She was terrified, and she was far too young to die. But the fury astonished her even more. This was her city, and her world, and her Federation, and no, damned if she'd stop. Fuck them all.
“We gotta send that chip data somewhere they won't expect and can't trace,” Ruben muttered. “I can't get through to anyone properly, just audio. We gotta keep moving; if we stop they'll bracket us completely and shut down all local net receptors. If we keep moving we've got a shot.”
Cassandra Kresnov 5: Operation Shield Page 39
