Crossover: (Cassandra Kresnov Book 1)

The CSA flyer shuddered roughly through the predawn air. Sandy frowned, Leaning forward from her holding-brace behind the pilot’s seat, scanning out the canopy side. Could make out the faint outlines of scattered cloud above, barely distinct against the faint glow of the eastern sky. Tanushan weather, so frequently idyllic, could change fast. The cloud was torn and broken, frayed at the edges like wet tissue paper. Again the flyer shuddered and bounced.

The pilot craned her head round to look at her. ‘Be thankful we’re going in before dawn,’ she said loudly over the dull keening of engines. Shudder and bump, something metal clacked and rattled in the back. Indicated with a gloved finger the gathering cloud, fractured shards across the flat span of sky … like sea ice breaking up, Sandy thought, viewed from below the surface.

‘Damn northerly stream,’ the pilot half shouted, guiding the flyer one-handed through a gentle leftward bank and pointing with the other. ‘Ocean’s only fifty clicks that way,’ jabbing with the finger back toward the west, ‘warm southerly currents meet the cold northerlies … you get these rapid weather changes. Things just blow up with no warning a few hundred Ks out, maybe a few thousand. This is nothing. This is just the on-shore flow … wait three or four hours, it’ll be lightning city and pouring rain.’

She levelled out of the turn, rectangles matching, passing through on the navscreen. Bump and wobble as they flattened out, and Sandy gripped the overhead more firmly with a gloved fist. The tops of towers soaring by, spire lights and roof lights ablaze, tall and majestic beneath the ragged ceiling of cloud. Incredible sight. The looming towertops sprawled off for many kilometres in all directions above an intricate carpet of ground light. Another wobble, pulling her arm-grip tight, more equipment rattling in the back.

‘How strong’s the wind?’ she shouted to the pilot to be heard above the earphones.

‘Sixty, sixty-five knots. It’s not the speed, it’s these damn towers,’ another indicating finger as the flyer curved through yet another one-handed turn. ‘Turn a steady stream into soup. It’s like flying in a washing machine. I’d go lower, but it’s not in the profile.’

In the left seat, the co-pilot looked a lot more occupied than the pilot, eyes shaded and interfacing something complicated. Navcomp interface. Co-pilots were always busiest, inbound. Rifle at her side and headset com-plug in her ear, it was all feeling very familiar to Sandy. Not to mention head-to-toe ablative body armour, a familiar, bracing weight that was no weight at all.

She half turned to glance back at the hold, never losing the all-important grip. The rest of SWAT Four were locked in two facing rows down either side, armoured and armed, just like her. Helmeted, like her, some checking equipment or weapons, others talking. One or two glanced her way, disinterestedly curious, or appearing to be …

‘Arvi!’ shouted Lieutenant Rice from the commander’s post behind and to Sandy’s left. Barely an armspan opposite, Special Agent Arvid Singh glanced up from his graphic-slate expectantly. ‘Haven’t you memorised that damn thing yet?’ Singh grinned, a good-natured flash of white teeth within a young, brown, thin-bearded face.

‘Don’t mind me, chief, I’m a little bit stupid.’ Some laughter down the rows, and Vanessa half glared at him, lock-strapped into her swivel seat.

‘No argument here,’ she replied.

Sandy had had the introductions, hours earlier. Vanessa’s team, SWAT Four, armed and armoured civilians, for those rare occasions where civilian law enforcement required something more than tasers and wrist-tape. She’d done a brief, half-hour cram of SWAT operational, jacked into a database at CSA headquarters, and had been suitably impressed — CSA SWAT followed a basically practical, professional approach centred on training fundamentals and top-line technology. It wasn’t flashy, but civilian operations rarely were, and the recorded track record looked solid. The last thing she wanted was a last-minute detachment to an overambitious unit determined to stretch themselves beyond their basic capabilities. Vanessa, she noted, had the initials KISS rather flamboyantly emblazoned in black letters on her armoured shoulder — Keep It Simple, Stupid. Although she suspected Vanessa enjoyed the more suggestive interpretation also.

Vanessa tapped her mike function, swivelling fully about to face her troops. ‘Okay you guys, listen up. Final thoughts. We’re after data. If Tetsu’s into illegal biotech, we want the evidence. Data has priority, we get the lockdowns in place early, secure the terminals, let the automateds do the job and wait for the Intel geeks to arrive and sift.

‘Don’t discount the human element. We’re not carrying live ammo for nothing. Remember, Tetsu encryption codes were used to purchase the flyers that launched the attack on the President. Yes, we want data connecting Tetsu to the attackers, if it exists, but don’t forget the basic point — if there’s a direct connection, we’ve no idea who might be home when we come knocking. For all we know, the building itself might be harbouring armed GIs … we doubt it, Intel suggests otherwise from surveillance, but we’re not taking any risks. Intel want us data focused — I want us people focused. Data won’t put a bullet in your head. Any questions?’

There were none. No one looked particularly worried, Sandy noted. They checked equipment, weapons, com-gear, armour tensions and visor readings, occasionally exchanging brief, professional remarks. Singh, Sandy noted, had something emblazoned in Sanskrit across his helmet above the visorplate. A man named Devakul had a similar blaze, this time in Thai. And there were others, too … she wished her language skills were better. Another thing to work on at some stage. Vanessa’s was one of the few in English — a smiley face surrounded by the words ‘have a nice day’. Above what would be, when lowered, a fearsome visage of armoured visorplate and breather, in frowning, deadly intent.

An access signal registered in Sandy’s inner ear … she frowned and allowed the linkup, a brief crackling pop! in her eardrum.

‘It’s me,’ said Vanessa’s voice in her ear. Sandy spared a look at Vanessa, who had swivelled her chair back to her command post displays, monitoring while she conversed in internal formulation without apparent effort. Sandy regripped the overhead, and scanned back out the cockpit windows as the towers slid by.

‘What’s up?’

‘HQ called in five minutes back, they found a shuttle in the Verdrahn region tucked in among the hills … that’s about five thousand kilometres away. They say it looks to have come in about five weeks ago.’

‘Big shuttle?’

‘Capacity about one hundred and twenty. Enough for all the GIs who hit the President, and all the FIA involved in your abduction too, if it turns out to be the same bunch. Not that we’re allowed to speculate that the FIA and the League are working together on anything…’

‘No. Not even when it’s true.’ Her mind was racing.

‘Especially when it’s true. What d’you think? Five weeks ring any bells?’

‘I’ve only been in town about two weeks total, Vanessa. They got here three weeks before I did. If this whole thing is about me, they had some serious advance warning.’

‘True. Raises the question of how they’re getting out again‘

‘A smaller shuttle,’ Sandy replied sourly, ‘once they’ve let their GIs kill themselves off.’

‘But all of them?’ Vanessa queried.

‘Well I suppose that’s the big question, isn’t it?’ The flyer bumped again, and things rattled ominously in the back.

So it was definitely a large-scale infiltration. A capital-O Operation, in every sense. One hundred and twenty was a very large shuttle. She knew all the models personally, and the physical constraints by which such large-capacity assault shuttles operated. They were not used lightly in a military environment. In a civilian environment they were not used at all. Legally. But the security agencies on both sides of the conflict had precious little respect for interstellar law.

‘Two minutes,’ Vanessa shouted in the back, which started a flurry of final preps. Sandy scanned out the canopy, adjusting visual patterns for maximum effect. Scattered air traffic moved along various skylanes, gently curving past the lighted towers, running lights blinking. She hooked briefly into navcomp reception, found the target closing, a declining sequence of numbers. From behind came the power surge of activating armour, com-systems and tracking units, familiar sensations.

‘LT,’ the pilot said calmly over radio frequency, voice now active in Sandy’s ear.

‘Go, Sunset,’ Vanessa replied, calmly doing a final weapons check to Sandy’s right.

‘Hover LZ has a bad crosswind — be careful on the pancake.’

‘Roger that Sunset. Team Four, affirm and copy.’ The calls came in, one at a time. An altitude dip and curving around the next looming tower, a flash of window light slipping close by to the left and suddenly the target was there, ten o’clock and coming about. One minute.

Sandy switched her links to scan, multiple sources, ground-fixed on neighbouring towers. Usual security, all unsuspecting. Clearance came in from those observers, and everything went green. The flyer continued its innocuous course along the registered lane, and the tower ahead swung gently by as they curved left across it. The rooftop was an intriguingly aesthetic mix of a large dome, a spire antenna, and a landing pad.

Very obvious, that landing pad, squarely illuminated in the ostentatious lighting from the surrounding floods and the deep, golden glow from within the dome … function rooms for important guests, luxurious beyond imagining — the Intel previews had said so. The Intel previews had also detailed the security provisions at great length — CSA had helped set the regulations governing their use and operation, after all. For people foolish enough simply to land on the rooftop pad without authorisation, there were obvious and extensive precautions. But desperate times allowed for desperate measures, and when the tactical briefing had begun Sandy had been quite surprised. And impressed. These guys didn’t mess around.

‘Go go go,’ said an unannounced voice on directional com, and the flyer came about with a hard starboard turn, breaking lanes with a flaring of navigation alarms, quickly overridden. Thrust flared as the acceleration kicked in, Sandy braced firmly, left fist gripping the overhead and feet widely spread, rifle gripped in her right fist, having done the final checks in advance of final approach, as was her habit. She always liked to take a look, if possible. She looked now, connections hooked in, watching and scanning, thinking ahead. Counting down.

Reached zero, and a thin red line from a nearby towertop targeted a point alongside the landing pad, clearly visible with a spectrum shift. By the landing pad, something flashed, and caught fire. Another line, and a big surge of power as a highly charged electrical system dissolved into flame … bang, a sudden eruption of fire from beside the pad, mushrooming skyward.

‘Flamer,’ Sandy announced, watching it rise. ‘Very pretty.’ The pad was rushing up then suddenly dropping away as the flyer flared, the pilot kicking the thrusters forward and the G forces shoving them down. Clack, and a sudden roar from outside, the rear doors fanning open. Cold wind rushed in, a swirling backdraft. Sandy felt the familiar calm descending, smooth and unhurried.

Then the pad was rushing up below, the rearmost team members unhooked and jumping, vanishing into the cold, gleaming night. The rest departed in an orderly rush, Vanessa following them out and Sandy surging after, a guiding hand along the overhead rail and then out … a moment of dizzying fall, then hit hard and rolling to a firing crouch, team members fanning out across the pad with purposeful haste as the flyer howled and thrust backwash hit them with hurricane force. Then faded, a dark, sleekly cylindrical shape, paired thruster fans angling forward as it accelerated away into the night.

Sandy got up and walked slowly forward. Hardly a textbook modern assault technique, but the other eleven troops were rushing about their allotted tasks and she was out of the coordination loop. So she did the one thing everyone trusted her to do — kept the rifle tucked to her armoured shoulder and scanned the garden-lined pad-departure zones for anyone looking to shoot at them.

Troops sprinted and covered alternately through the clearing wind-blown smoke from the laser strikes. Several went to one doorway, several to another, others crouched in support, weapons levelled. Another pair erected a receptor tripod, the big dish unfolding like a flower toward a nearby towertop. Sandy waited behind, anticipating movements as she moved to the pad perimeter, keeping her firelines clear. It dimly occurred to her that the wind was very strong and very cold, and that the view was truly spectacular. The eastern glow had grown to a clear orange line rimed with blue.

A percussive thump and the twin doors blew apart, a simultaneous blast of flying glass and frames, and the first troops disappeared into the smoke. Sandy ran, hurdling obstructing greenery, then through the smoking right-hand doorway.

Scanned the broad, decorated marble atrium, slowing to an unhurried jog as troops behind quickly laid cabling through the wrecked doorway and sprinted to the corner console, right where the Intel schematics said it would be. Fast communication and terse commands as they hooked in, laser com from the near tower feeding penetration codes to the outside dish and direct to the terminal, bypassing the tower’s impenetrable encryption barriers completely.

Luxurious entrance corridors abruptly turned a dull, emergency red, and a loud, male voice said very firmly over the intercom, ‘This is a CSA raid! Remain where you are!’ over and over again.

Nothing like physical penetration to render fancy software obsolete, Sandy found herself thinking as she jogged smoothly down across the marble atrium, tall, high, mirror-like polish on every side. Sometimes those software jocks got far too full of themselves.

Got a frequency patch on the security layout even as she approached the T-junction … empty ahead, but she slowed up and scanned for wall reflections on the marble before cornering, knowing better than to trust unsecured links. A trailing trooper covered left as she went right — Hiraki, she remembered. Both clear. From back down the hall came the sound of SWAT Six landing.

She waved Hiraki forward, covering as he raced across the left junction. Confusion on the links, invading programs overriding old controls, locking things down, preventing information transfer … another minute and the entire system would be locked. But that would do nothing to stop a well-placed axe through a terminal. Thus the haste. Hiraki arrived and covered, and she sprinted forward toward that side door, sliding in on one knee to slow herself on the slippery marble. Then up and with one kick the door simply exploded open, dual-reinforced fibrous alloy locks and all, lock fragments scattering. Rolled through and covered right as Hiraki angled left across above her. And froze for a moment, taking in their new surroundings.

The dome. It loomed high above, held with minimal support and almost entirely transparent. Above, the underlit patchwork of silvery cloud against a darkened sky. Opposite, the dome fell to the tower’s side, presenting 120 degrees of open, uninterrupted views across the dazzling city skyline. And laid out beneath their present walkway-level was a broad circular floor — crowds of tables, a performer’s stage, a step-down lounge and bar a dance floor, all decoratively segmented by lush palms and other greenery. The floor was huge — Sandy estimated seating for at least three hundred, with much room to spare. All silent and dimly lit now. And a good eight metres below their present position.

Hiraki wordlessly produced his rappelling hook and clamped it onto the railing, with no time to bother with stairs. With even less, Sandy gestured for him to cover, half hurdled the rail and pushed off, sighting a landing spot as she did. Fell for several long seconds and pushed out as she hit. Bam! as she smashed a table to pieces, hit and rolled, coming up to a firing crouch immediately and scanning for hostiles. Seconds later, a whirring screech of rope from above, then Hiraki dropped down behind her. Cut the rope and moved up beside her, weapon levelled. Spared a brief glance at the decent-sized wooden table she had reduced to kindling, legs exploded outwards and surface spit down the middle.

‘I can’t believe you did that,’ he murmured, beneath mike tolerance. ‘Such a lovely table.’

‘They can bill me,’ Sandy murmured, and moved forward, weaving smoothly between the tables. Hiraki followed his own line, closer to the stage, creating a crossfire angle. Heart thumping and half smiling, Sandy realised she was enjoying herself. What a violent, destruction loving creature she was. The half-smile grew a little broader.

Elevators at the far wall, stairs beyond. Sandy reached them first and dropped fast down the broad staircase, round the bend and down to the next level, covering the open left, then spinning right, weapon levelled on an open hallway. A security robot sat motionless on silent wheels, immobilised by the invader software. ‘Remain where you are,’ the voice continued over the intercom. The robot obeyed, tracking her with dark, suspicious scanners.

Hiraki arrived and Sandy moved off past the immobilised robot, a quick scan confirming it as harmless. Hiraki covered the rear as they advanced down the grand, well-lit hallway toward the locked staff sections.

‘On the floor!‘ she heard someone yell over the intercom, and ‘CSA!‘ That was Singh and Bjornssen, her links told her, probably with an early-rising employee. After a raise, Sandy thought as she found the red-badged Staff Only door and punched it clean off its hinges with a ferocious front kick. Sparks flashed and alarms sounded as she entered with rifle levelled, quickly suppressed by racing attack-element functions. Down a narrow corridor at high speed, smashing doorways left and right with ruthless force, Hiraki following, scanning what she’d exposed.

More intercom shouting, some terse conversation — the ground floor teams had run into some bigwigs on their way up who were demanding answers to problematic questions. She hammered the last locked door and spun through — a quick weapons scan showed no tampering, just banks of stacked computer hardware inset in the walls with comfortable chairs before fancy access screen/interface modules.

Flipped the protective cover on the interface unit hooked to her armour webbing, jacked herself in and tuned through the frequencies as the attack elements told her the required adjustment … flash, and she was in, leaning against the seat back as the information flows rushed over her, branchways locked down, massive database entry points, multipoint storage … huge, huge system. Enormous didn’t even begin to describe it.

‘Is it okay?’ Hiraki called from the doorway behind, braced in comfortable cover position by the wreck she’d made of the double-locked alloy door.

‘I think so,’ she replied, mike deactivated to avoid channel clutter. A further scan, racing at mind-blurring speed, searching for telltale activity that the attack elements should have painted nice and clearly … ‘No access or transfers that I can see.’ Her mouth was working on autopilot, her attention racing rapidly elsewhere. ‘Have to check the AI for anything preprogrammed, though.’

‘Nothing in the other rooms,’ Hiraki told her. ‘Hardware and equipment, maintenance units, a security station. As advertised.’

Sandy nodded absently. In one ear, arguments continued with the folk downstairs, who probably had master codes that could halt this search very quickly if they got close enough. Vanessa was stalling them, reading the warrant. Another, nearby link opened, multi-level and intricate …

‘Hello,’ said a voice from the walls, ‘you must be a GI.’

‘Oh great,’ Hiraki muttered, ‘the bloody AI’s come out to play.’

‘Is this a problem?’ asked the mildly androgynous voice. ‘I sense that your activities are legal, I have taken no obstructive measures but to safeguard the rights of the Tetsu Corporation according to the corporate constitution and recent Tanushan law.’

‘I thank you for your cooperation,’ Sandy murmured, still racing. ‘You’ve performed quite admirably under difficult circumstances, and I’m sure the Tetsu board will appreciate your efforts.’ Final sweep … a scan of associated linkages … it was no diversion. The Tetsu network AI seemed to genuinely want to talk. It wasn’t usual, not on networks of this size. Network admin AIs generally only answered to their respective corporate heads and kept all non-essential contact with those messy, awkward outsiders to a minimum. Sandy suspected that most of them found the outside world rather boring.

‘That’s exceedingly polite of you,’ the AI said, genuinely appreciative where a human might be sarcastic. ‘I hadn’t expected that from a GI. What model are you?’ Small talk. God.

‘It’s classified,’ Sandy replied, unhooking herself and winding the cord back into the interface. Suspicious, as she turned to look at Hiraki, of coincidence of the AI’s sudden appearance with that of the Tetsu bigwigs downstairs. Hiraki spared her a sardonic glance, mostly lost behind his faceplate, then focused back down the corridor. Still, she had to hold this position for now, and there was nothing else to do. ‘My name’s Cassandra,’ she told it … it would know that anyway, monitoring their communications. ‘What’s yours?’

‘Cody,’ said the AI. ‘Amusingly suggestive, yes?’

‘Definitively.’ As always, it was difficult to tell exactly what AIs were thinking. It did amuse her, though. ‘As you’ve probably guessed, we’re looking for some information, Cody. Has there been any transfer or deletion of information during the last several minutes?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’ Sounding slightly puzzled. ‘Why did you knock all the doors down? They’re very difficult to fix, you know.’ In the physical, outsider world, where things were not constructed from electronic code to be reassembled at will. Sandy nearly smiled.

‘It’s considerate of you to think of that, but I was instructed to make interface as quickly as possible in case any information was lost.’

‘Well, I don’t control the entire system, you know. I only monitor it … I think you could call me a librarian. I’d offer to check for you if you wished, but I really must await instructions from the board. I’m not sure of the legal situation regarding any of this.’ Sandy held up a placating hand, which would doubtless register on one scanning unit or another.

‘No, waiting would be correct. I hope that our infiltration software is no threat to your systems?’

‘Oh no, it’s perfectly harmless to me, thank you for asking. It’s rather fascinating, actually … do you know who wrote it?’

The smile broke Sandy’s control. ‘No. But I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun trying to figure it out.’

‘I’m sure I will.’ With considerable enthusiasm. Old cliche that it was, AIs just loved processing data, the more complicated the better. She’d heard of some AIs actually constructing their own non-essential databases of analytical processes on data processing on various levels of manifestation … ‘philosophy’, certain intellectuals had called it. Other expressions of spatial relationships were defined as ‘art’.

And she suffered another twinge of sour amusement that it was AIs, of utterly inhuman and mechanical construct, that should be popularly upheld as representing the ‘nobility of sentience’, while GIs — human imitations — were regarded with such fear and loathing. Perhaps, she thought, it wasn’t that people were scared of non-human sentience at all. Perhaps they feared that she was too much like them, not too little.

‘Garden is secured,’ Hiraki announced into his mike at her signal, weapon still levelled down the corridor through which they’d come, strewn with pieces of broken doors and security frames.

‘Roger. Garden is secured,’ came the affirmation.

‘Cody,’ Sandy said, ‘you won’t tell anyone that I’m a GI, will you? It’s a security secret at the moment, with the lockdown legislation in place.’

‘Sure,’ replied the disembodied voice from the walls. Monitor screens were blank, save for a few operation lights on the various interface stations. Nothing to suggest a living, thinking sentience, hiding somewhere in the surrounding network. ‘But you understand that I’ll have to tell Mr Milanovic, the Tetsu executive chairman. He’s my boss, you know. He’s just downstairs now, waiting for permission to come up.’

‘That’s okay,’ said Sandy. ‘I think I’m going to tell him myself.’

Milanovic was not helpful and pointedly refused to talk to any lowly SWAT grunt, choosing instead to wait until someone ‘important’ arrived. Looking on disdainfully as more armour and weapons invaded his pleasantly civilised building, while his varied advisors hovered at his elbow and communicated on secure, silent uplinks that Sandy could have monitored if she’d wanted, but she was legal now, and felt it incumbent upon her at least to go through the motions of legality, even if she wasn’t entirely sure what that meant yet. After several minutes’ arguing with a wall of suited, patronising sneers, Vanessa gave up trying and had them herded into a private office section with tight-lipped disregard of their outraged protests, explaining several more times in increasingly dark tones that the building facilities were now quarantined, you understand, and left them there with Zago to guard the door. Zago was a one hundred and ninety centimetres tall African who was built like a starship haulage container. In pre-op, Sandy had found him intelligent, funny and charmingly good natured. She now discovered that he did a very convincing job of hiding those qualities when needful. Arguments from the suits ceased, and Vanessa departed with Sandy in tow, determined to personally effect the quarantine before the herds of CSA Intel, investigations and others descended from the heavens and found fault with her procedures. Intel, Sandy gathered, had little faith in SWAT’s intellectual subtlety on various procedures, and Vanessa was determined not to give them any further ammunition.

There was little to be found on database. The storage units were so huge even Sandy, with her dramatically enhanced data-processing capability, had few ideas where to start. Cody did, and eagerly awaited legal instruction to carry out a search through his beloved data for offending and illegal material (a notion that appeared to intrigue him), but legal instruction, besides shutting off all unauthorised access or transfer, was yet to arrive, so there was little else to do with the local network systems. That left physical storage.

‘Hey Sandy,’ Bjornssen said as they entered the 65th-floor lab, ‘need a spare?’ Standing beside a transparent cylinder of clear, red-tinged liquid, within which an extremely human-looking leg hung suspended. Vanessa gave him a dark look, and clumped off past rows of other cylinders toward the stowage lockers. Sandy made a more graceful armoured progress to Bjornssen’s side, and peered at the limb.

‘Won’t do me any good,’ she said mildly. ‘It’s made for you. My brain doesn’t speak the same language. You stick that on me it’ll be useless.’

‘What is the red stuff?’ asked Sharma, moving further along the row, gazing at yet more suspended body parts with morbid fascination, heavy rifle balanced over her armoured shoulder.

Sandy thought back over what little she knew of human biosynth. ‘Bio-environment, I guess. See the monitors?’ Pointing a gloved finger at the cap seal on each cylinder end. ‘I guess it’s a way of acclimatising each part before attachment. That’s a full synthetic-biological environment in there, lots of micro-thingys floating about. I guess that’s the red tinge.’

‘Micro-thingys,’ said Bjornssen, raising a blonde eyebrow in her direction. ‘That’s a technical term, is it?’

‘I’m a grunt, Sven, not a biotechnician. Besides, this is supposed to be based on your biology — it’s got nothing to do with me.’

‘Yes, but you are the GI,’ Sharma replied with a theatrical head-tilt, ‘you are supposed to know these things. I mean, logically, just as Sven, being a regular organic human, can doubtless recite the technical terms for each and every part of his own physical anatomy.’

‘I was just asking,’ Bjornssen replied, hands up, signalling a strategic withdrawal. Sandy thought that wise. Indian women were good with words. Some were lethal. Bjornssen evidently had the sense to know when he was outmatched. Uplinked, Sandy sensed an active probe in the regional security net and turned to see Vanessa fiddling a direct connection to a wall panel between rows of cold stowage racks in sliding shelves.

‘That any good?’ Sandy asked. Vanessa made a face, tapping buttons.

‘Sure. Deny all access to uncleared company personnel. What good’s it going to do if the FIA’s got people in senior middle management on the payroll?’ Disconnected her insert plug and folded the coil to a loop, one end hooked into the collar socket where the helmet connection would normally go. Walked along the aisle of stowage racks, checking lighted lock displays with a critical eye. Paused at one, tapped in a code, and yanked at the shelf. It slid open, and Sandy strolled over to look.

Beneath clear, hard plastic were circular partitions. In each, things appeared to be growing. Micro-things, in weird patterns and colours.

‘Nano?’ Vanessa wondered.

‘More likely synth,’ Sandy replied, shifting to maximum zoom … it didn’t help much, micro was micro and her zoom didn’t even get close. ‘That’s where the money is these days.’

‘Yeah, it’s also where the restrictions are. I don’t like this security much, doubt it’s going to pass inspection.’

‘What would? If the FIA were helping get League tech in this far?’ With a questioning look at Vanessa, vision doing a fast readjustment. Vanessa gave an exasperated shrug.

‘You can tell the powers that be their grand campaign for the preservation of natural human biology is doomed to failure no matter what they do. I just collect my pay-cheques.’ And gazed back down at the shelf-display. ‘I can’t even see the difference. Looks like a bunch of regular cell cultures to me.’

‘That’s the point.’ Some streaked across their circular solution-dishes in straight lines, others in fuzzy masses, some colourful, some bland. ‘If you could tell the difference, it wouldn’t work. This is the important stuff, though … big structures are important, but for serious synthetic biology it’s all these small systems that really matter. Anyone can make a replica human limb — making it function like a real limb is the real trick. And that’s all microsystems. Where the League’s real edge is, of course.’ Silence for a moment as Vanessa considered that, but for the clumping of armoured footsteps in further parts of the lab as Sharma and Bjornssen continued their once-over.

‘How much of this kind of stuff would they have got from you?’

‘Plenty.’ She was nearly surprised that she could think on it so calmly. But she was armed, armoured and operational, which meant calm came naturally. ‘Nerve endings, feedback mechanisms … the whole self-regulatory system, it’s all micro. Can’t study it on dead war casualties — you need a live subject. And my neurology’s different from any other GI’s. Interacts differently with my physical systems. Using me for an active comparison against what they’ve already gathered from other GIs … yeah.’ She shrugged, mostly invisible within the armour. ‘Invaluable, I guess.’ She looked up. Found Vanessa looking at her, slightly incredulous.

‘Pretty expensive for a grunt, aren’t you?’

Sandy managed a faint smile in return.

‘I’m worth it.’ The smile faded. ‘At least the FIA seem to think so.’

‘The last time a BT company cornered a major market segment like that was Zhangliang Inc. fifty years ago with self-replication programming. That’s corporate folklore. They got such a monopoly the Federation government had to split the company. They created a whole new market field almost overnight. Trillions of Feddie dollars. And they wonder if BT corps fiddle around the restrictions at all… Christ, it doesn’t take a genius when you figure the money. And the fear of someone else getting there first.’

Sandy sighed. ‘I dunno. If it weren’t for the FIA, maybe the restrictions would work.’

‘Centrally imposed restrictions haven’t had a huge record of success in market economies. Decentralisation creates wealth. Wealth rules.’

‘And you think about this a lot?’ Looking at the small SWAT lieutenant curiously.

Vanessa smiled. ‘I did an MBA remember? It’s a hard conclusion to escape.’

‘I don’t know.’ Glumly, stretching her achingly stiff shoulders. ‘Human systems exist to serve human ideals and principles — they always have.’

‘The systems determine the ideals, Sandy,’ Vanessa said firmly. ‘That’s humans. We’re adaptive, we don’t cling indefinitely to things that don’t work in new environments.’

‘That’s ideological determinism,’ Sandy replied. And gave her another curious look. ‘You’re arguing like you’re from the League.’

Vanessa smiled. ‘And you like you’re from the Federation. Fancy that.’

She completed a physical inspection of several floors of security systems, searching for blind triggers that weren’t hooked to the central network. Official personnel were descending in droves and the corridors were increasingly filled with departmentals, some in suits, others in Labs & Research in white coats and lugging gearbags of analysis equipment. She watched the people with as much attention and more interest than the security systems, noting their uniforms, official or otherwise, their gear, their manner, ID tags and general efficiency. Civilian personnel. She’d never seen so many, not working on the job like this. Not while armoured and armed in the aftermath of a raid. But they seemed efficient enough and spared her barely a glance in the corridors, evidently accustomed to working in the presence of SWAT.

Up on the executive floors, her uplinks showed the meetings with Milanovic and the Tetsu bigwigs were intensifying. Already the upper landing pads were a constant traffic snarl of incoming and outgoing government flyers and cruisers. About them, and on the surrounding networks, media were clustering like carrion eaters on the scene of a fresh kill. They kept their distance for now — the hunters were still feeding — but that would not last. The prospect made her nervous. And impatient, as she completed yet another section of corridor, past labs and test-spaces, squeezing past a large piece of equipment several whitecoats were wheeling between offices.

‘Ricey,’ she radioed on basic SWAT freq, ‘how long’s this interrogation going to last?’

‘Dunno,’ came the voice in her earpiece, ‘could be hours. There’s the whole CSA Intel to get through then the specs from tech-gov …’ That, Sandy had gathered, was the department in charge of enforcing biotech restrictions. ‘… then cross-exam from the evidence we find, if any, and then the corporate squad might want to grill them about cashflow technicalities and the like. That’s how they catch half this illegal stuff when they do — it shows up in the books somewhere.’

‘That sounds like it could take days.’ The lab corridors opened into a floor entrance foyer, big elevators and electronic displays for guidance. A secure transparent wall, centred by a scan-equipped door, blocked the labs from new arrivals. Big, gold letters on the fake-marble walls opposite the elevators read TETSU LIFE SCIENCES. And below it, in more subdued lettering, Research Division. Several suits and whitecoats clustered there beyond the secure-wall, deep in conversation.

‘It’s been known to.’ With the flippant disregard she’d expect of a SWAT grunt for Intel chicanery.

Sandy triggered the secure-door with a mental uplink signal, the side panel light blinked green and beeped. Several of the whitecoats glanced her way as the transparent door swung … beyond the glass in the office adjoining the foyer, she noted, several more suits were going through desks and drawers. Beyond sprawled the city, darkening beneath black morning clouds. So much plexiglass, she pondered, breaking up the marble and hard walls. Tanushans loved their views.

‘We don’t have days. I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask now.’

‘Um, yeah, well, clever folk in Intel can get real touchy about their territory … I’d suggest you wait until there’s a break in the schedule.’

‘Ibrahim didn’t put me on this job so I could wait my turn.’ Paused by a water fountain and bent for a sip … not an easy manoeuvre in armour.

‘Sandy, Intel know you’re here, Ibrahim told them … I’m sure they’ll invite you up when they’re ready…’

‘At the speed the FIA could be moving, any wasted time is too much.’ Leaning one glove-armoured hand on the drink fountain, watching the suits stripping the office behind adjoining glass walls. ‘Ibrahim put me here to make use of my judgement. Do you want to come with me, or should I just go in there alone?’ That last because it was prudent, and she had no wish to be a loose cannon … such things went down badly in civilian and military environments both.

Vanessa gave an exasperated snort. ‘Look, can you wait just five minutes?’

‘No.’ Headed for the elevator. Prudence did not, however, impact upon her sense of efficiency. ‘Get there when you can. Don’t worry, I won’t kill anyone.’

‘Gee, you promise?’

The elevator paused several times on the way up, admitting or expelling passengers. Some wore less formal civvies — some government departments, she knew, were less strict on dress codes than others. Most of the less formal wore salwar kameez or saris. Exceptions, she guessed, were granted on cultural grounds above most else. All the civvies kept a respectful distance from the sinister-looking armoured figure in the elevator’s rear corner. Which was only prudent.

There were three CSA agents in the car when it hit the main Executive Level — Investigations, she guessed from the chatter, which concerned legal technicalities that went entirely over her head. She gestured them ahead of her when the doors opened, and followed. This elevator foyer was no bigger, but decorative … hell, it was patterned glass and wood panelling on the walls, polished floors, tasteful corridors and a number of intent-looking personnel on the move. Uplinked to the general location, she guessed a direction and followed the three suits to the left. They all turned into a broad meeting room … a glimpse as she passed of a huge, gleaming table for perhaps twenty, massive graphical display screens for presentations … the ostentation told its own story — of a corporate culture not ashamed to openly display such profligate wealth. Everything gleamed and caught the eye, from polished windows to paintings on the walls, a small sculpture upon a miniature table inset in a corner … she turned another corner and was in the main northside hall, broad and panelled, big glass doors at the far end that led to the Executive Office.

And who said civilian societies didn’t recognise rank, she thought sourly as she advanced. The whole grand passageway was constructed like a temple, stairs ascending to the grand altar. Kneel before your God. Overcast morning light gleamed grey beyond the glass doors ahead, silhouetting the two CSA guards who flanked it. And those would be the great lord’s guardian angels, she reckoned. Both men, tall, broad and impassive. ‘Heavies’, in civvie lingo.

‘Any problem?’ one of them asked as she approached with a clump of armoured footsteps on the broad, polished floor.

‘I’m Cassidy,’ she told them. Even Ibrahim wasn’t using her real name about the CSA. The old identity served well enough. The civilian one. ‘I’ve come to see Milanovic.’ Stopped before them. They stared at her closely. Both a full head taller, despite her armour.

‘You’re Cassidy.’ The shaved-headed agent. Like he didn’t believe her. She gave him a look. To his credit, he didn’t flinch. Maybe he really didn’t believe her.

‘I’ve got some questions,’ she said calmly. ‘Ibrahim’s business.’ That unfroze them, after a pause. One reported into his headset mike, terse and businesslike. Both continued to stare at her. A moment later the big doors opened and a new agent appeared — young and European with slicked black hair. To her irritation, he stood before her and let the doors shut behind him. His gaze was just as wary as those of the two guards.

‘You’re Cassidy?’

No, I’m the Porn-a-Sim cyber hump-bunny of the month. Are you deaf?

‘Yes,’ she said instead. The man’s gaze furrowed, as if slightly incredulous. Or more than slightly. A half-exasperated grin escaped his control then was quickly swallowed. Sandy watched this procession of expressions, halfway between curiosity and the unpleasant, sinking feeling that things here were a hell of a lot more complicated than they ought to be.

‘And what do you want?’ the young agent asked, resuming a fair approximation of a straight face. He was deaf.

‘I have questions for Milanovic,’ she replied. She was not often afflicted by impatience. But this was different. Urgent. ‘I’m on this raid because Ibrahim put me here personally, I need to put these questions to him and I need to do it fast.’

‘Look, um … Ms Cassidy.’ Scratching his jaw, as if wondering how to put it. ‘There’s, um, kind of a busy schedule right now, as you might see …’ She glanced past him and the glass doors. The office beyond opened onto an immense span of city-view windows and was crammed with people, sitting and standing, milling and talking in groups, conferencing around data screens inside and outside the main office. ‘I’m afraid you’re really just going to have to wait your turn. Everyone’s business is equally important here.’

‘Tell that to Ibrahim.’

‘Lady, we all work for Ibrahim. Take a number.’ Sandy stared at him. In Dark Star she had rank on her shoulder to get past these obstacles. Plus no one messed with Dark Star, let alone a Captain. And if that failed, she could simply push her way in — Dark Star were expected to be slightly crazy, and no one was stupid enough to retaliate with like force — they’d just throw their hands up with resigned disgust. If she tried that here, someone might just be stupid enough to try to stop her. Which would not do at all. And she couldn’t just contact Ibrahim. He was no doubt busy, and it surely would do her own credibility no good to be calling on the boss at the first sign of an obstacle … Civilians. How the bloody hell did one deal with protocol nonsense like this?

‘What’s your name, kid?’ came Vanessa’s voice from back down the hall, above the muffled thump of approaching armour, a fast, light stride. The young agent frowned over Sandy’s shoulder.

‘My name is Agent Patziano,’ with an emphasis suggesting a dislike at being called ‘kid’. ‘Lieutenant…?’

‘Rice,’ Vanessa drawled, ‘I led the raid that got you armchair wonders in here without getting your pretty suits creased. How’d you like to feature on my report to Krishnaswali — all about how you blocked Ibrahim’s special addition to my team from doing the job she was personally assigned by him to perform? I reckon that’d hit Ibrahim’s vision within about five minutes of my submission.’

Patziano stared at her. The towering guards to either side offered no comment. Vanessa stopped before him, and gave a pleasant smile.

‘Well?’

Patziano blinked and looked at Sandy. Sandy waited. She was good at that, given something to wait for.

‘I’ll, um …’ A quick, nervous glance back over his shoulder at the milling crowds in the office beyond.

‘You realise,’ Vanessa said pleasantly, ‘that you’re standing toe-to-toe with the most dangerous killing machine in the known universe and telling her to go jump in a lake?’ Patziano blinked again. ‘Kid, you don’t need a medal, you need a brain transplant.’ He stared at Sandy. Sandy tried to look innocent. Back at Vanessa. Vanessa flicked her head toward the crowds. Patziano swallowed.

‘I’ll just… um … go and tell them …’

‘Just let us in, huh?’ He blinked again and nodded. An invisible signal, and the glass doors opened. An audio channel triggered Sandy’s uplink reception as they followed Patziano inside … Vanessa’s frequency. She opened it.

‘Fear and greed, Sandy,’ came Vanessa’s voice in her ear as they walked. ‘In the world of civvies, those are the two best levers. Promotions, reputations, personal advancement, those are the weak spots. But you gotta make it personal, don’t let him hide behind his rank …In the military it’s all impersonal, here you’ve gotta figure the difference. It’s all who you know and what they think of you.’

‘Most dangerous killing machine in the known universe?’ Sandy formulated in silent reply, with mild indignation.

‘GIs are more dangerous than straight humans,’ Vanessa replied matter-of-factly, ‘and you’re the most dangerous GI.’

‘Oh.’ Glumly, as Patziano opened the interior office doors and let the pair of armoured SWAT operatives inside. ‘I suppose I am, aren’t I?’

Milanovic, she noted, was seated on a large leather sofa before a panoramic vista that stretched about the entire office in a giant semicircle. Up here at the tower’s peak, the structure tapered, allowing for wrap-around views. A procession of towers under an increasingly ominous sky, a view so clear and sharp she could almost feel the chill wind.

Advisors and other executives conferred in low tones about the room, examining their data-slates with full uplinks running, arguing heatedly with various CSA suits about them. This giant melee was just the beginning, sorting out the order of battle. The real action, Sandy guessed, would start later, when each side retired to private quarters to scheme and counter-scheme ad infinitum. That part would doubtless go on for months. Or probably years.

She moved in Milanovic’s direction, shouldering daintily past suits who started in alarm to find a pair of armoured women pushing into the room. The junior execs and advisors who flanked the Tetsu chairman on the sofa and stood before the windows looked up from a group of CSA questioners seated opposite, several of whom turned.

‘What’s the problem?’ one asked, half-rising from her seat. Armour meant trouble, and was evidently rarely seen in analysis and briefings.

‘No problem,’ Sandy said, ‘I’m Cassidy, I’ve got some questions.’ Some incredulous looks from CSA suits.

‘Excuse me,’ one said testily, ‘you can’t just come in here and …’

‘Yes she can,’ said a new voice at her side. Sandy glanced across and found Naidu there. ‘Top priority, if she believes it to be so … Mr Milanovic, do you mind?’

Milanovic returned a cold stare. A heavy-set man with a thick neck and sharp features under black, wavy hair.

‘How many levels of executive security clearance do you have within your personnel structure,’ Sandy asked him.

‘Fourteen,’ Milanovic said blankly.

‘What designation, format and serial code?’ Milanovic glanced aside at an aide…

‘Vector-star, Triple HT Overlock, serial code command Eight-Star-Ninety.’ A young woman from behind the sofa, data-slate in one hand. ‘Subnumeracy is classified, private Tetsu property protected even under emergency legislation …’

‘That’s yet to be decided,’ a CSA agent objected. ‘We’ve never tested this legislation on subnumeracy serial codings …’

‘No matter,’ Sandy interrupted, beginning to get some idea why so many people were here in the room. She knew some basics of corporate law and civilian security legislation, and in a peaceful place like Tanusha it was all untested … the legal uncertainties would run all the way down. Not for the first time she suffered the disorienting realisation of just how far over her head so much of this situation went … ‘Are you certified secured against anything in the K-Nova series? Or the Hex-2s?’

The young woman blinked. ‘That’s … not commonly found around here.’ Looking slightly bewildered.

‘Software’s not my strong point,’ Naidu said from beside her. Watching the Tetsu network expert’s face with sharp, narrowed eyes. ‘What are K-Novas and Hex-2s?’ Sandy halted her reply on sudden inspiration. Looked at the woman.

‘You tell him,’ she said. The Tetsu tech blinked again, uncertainty growing, shifted her weight. In this part of the room, beyond the surrounding confusion all was still. Agents watched, eyes mercilessly intent, searching for any unwitting clue. Sandy figured she’d asked a good one.

‘Well …’ the tech said eventually, ‘they’re reputed to be League infiltration programs. I’ve never seen one.’ Recovering her confidence with blunt honesty. ‘They’re sometimes talked about … industry talk, gossip and rumours, mostly. Some people even think they’re just rumours … stories invented by someone.’

‘They exist,’ Sandy said calmly, more for the agents’ benefit than the Tetsu crowd’s. ‘They’re very common in Dark Star. Military construct, direct from League military science labs. There are so many mutations and variations by now that even the designers have lost count, there’s only the macro-patterns to identify them.’

Several of the agents were looking at her now. But she didn’t mind that.

‘They have carrier-bands,’ she continued. ‘Quantum-encryption disguises stored data. It’s a parasite program, like a smart virus, runs through large databases like these corporate ones, gathers security data, passwords, encryption, facilitates its own movement further and further into the network and passes all data out hidden in regular traffic. Nearly impossible to detect.’

‘There’s not a parasite program Cody can’t trace,’ Milanovic objected with a dark frown. ‘League biotechnology is well beyond Federation, but they have no such infotech advantage.’

‘Um … actually, sir,’ the young tech nervously intervened, ‘that may be true, but there’s a lot of military and security-apparatus funded programming activity, especially in the quantum and AI fields, that has diverged very sharply over the last eighty years or so … they’ve had almost no contact with each other. They’ve been kept very secret because Federation/League relations were bad from about then, so there’s been no cross-pollination, and both streams of research have become very alien to each other … The result is they cant really stop ours, and we can’t really stop theirs.’

‘So I take it,’ Sandy said, ‘that you’re not proofed?’

The tech grimaced. ‘Well, it is fairly hard to be proofed against something we’ve never seen and is generally beyond the technology of our best net corporates to counter.’

‘Considering the degree of League biotech infiltration in Tanusha,’ one agent said, ‘I find that a pretty remarkable attitude.’

‘There has been no infiltration of League agents or data into Tetsu Consolidated,’ one of the corporates stated blankly. Which no one even bothered to respond to.

‘Can you actually stop a K-Nova?’ one of the agents asked Sandy.

‘Stop, no, I doubt it, not with present Federation resources. Deflect, confuse, block and generally engage in damage limitation … yes. But only if you know it’s there, and if you prepare for it. Or you could flush the entire system, but obviously we can’t expect them to do that… much.’

‘Systems flush requires the shutdown of essential services,’ another agent commented. ‘That’d be as good as admitting there was an infiltration. And of course there’s no infiltration.’ Sarcastically. There was, Sandy realised, something unexpected going on. They were coming over to her side. All the CSA, backing this line of attack. It surprised her. Doubtless it surprised them too.

‘Wait a minute,’ said the young Tetsu tech from across the low table, frowning deeply, ‘if you know all this stuff about League infiltration runners, why haven’t you told us? Government departments are legally obligated to pass on any security information to private companies …’

‘Who ask for assistance,’ said an agent, ‘first you have to ask…’

‘No way. Matters of national security are the Callayan government’s job to predict, research and counter…’

‘And the enforcement of biotech policy is a matter of individual corporate responsibility, to be monitored by tech-gov…’

‘How do you know all this?’ Milanovic interrupted. Arms heavily folded across his broad chest. His dark eyes were narrowed, staring straight at Sandy. ‘A SWAT agent. Not even an officer.’ So he could read the shoulder pips. ‘Who the hell are you? Barging in against the initial wishes of even your own people?’ With a glare at the agents seated across from him. Looking for leverage, Sandy reckoned. Divisions within the CSA. Splits. Politics, to be exploited at higher levels. Parliament, Senate reviews, elected reps …

‘You underestimate SWAT, Mr Milanovic,’ said Naidu, coming to the rescue. ‘They read much intelligence on League capabilities — that is one of Callay’s primary threats.’

‘Have you made any attempt,’ Sandy cut in, ‘to defend, isolate, locate or otherwise search for such League infiltration software?’

‘I told you,’ the tech retorted with growing frustration, ‘no one in Tanusha’s sure these programs even exist. How can we defend against them?’

‘Thank you,’ Sandy said. Took Naidu’s arm with a gloved hand (carefully) and led him over to an empty area by the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows. To her surprise, several other agents gave up their strategic seats and hurried over to join them, forming yet another cluster in the spacious office. Beyond the plexiglass, Tanusha sprawled, the lights of the airborne traffic flashing beneath the dark and wind-torn ceiling of cloud.

‘There’s no way they haven’t heard of K-Novas or Hex-2s,’ she told Naidu, her voice just loud enough to carry to the several others who gathered close by. From the lack of carrying, recognisable sound from about the room, she knew it had been suppressed … portable devices could do that, neutralise voice-width sound by counter pulse so that soft voices would not carry more than three or four metres — even to bio-enhanced hearing, that being the main danger. ‘It’s more than just a rumour, it’s standard knowledge for League Intel ops. If they’re aware of League biotech policy they’ll know the infiltration software.’

‘Do you know?’ Naidu asked the agent at Sandy’s armoured elbow.

‘I know Hex and Nova, how they’re used and some running examples, but the details are impossible … I doubt even the FIA know. Ms Cassidy,’ turning to Sandy, ‘we really need to have a long talk. I can’t believe no one thought to mention that side of your knowledge to me.’

‘April,’ Naidu said with deadpan irony, ‘meet Ying Tuo, CSA Network Security head.’ They shook hands carefully. ‘We only got her cleared from custody last night, Tuo.’ With mild reprimand. ‘You’ll all get your chance eventually.’

‘Do you think you could find traces?’ Tuo pressed her. A tall man, she had to look up to meet his gaze. She considered.

‘Maybe. I’m more interested to see what action they’ve taken against that infiltration. If there’s a League or FIA plant somewhere in Tetsu, or both, I’m guessing someone will have got hands-on with that system somewhere. That’s what we can find traces of.’ Tuo’s eyes lit up, nodding fast in comprehension.

‘Of course. Can you help us Look?’ Earnestly. Sandy blinked, glanced around and found Vanessa standing nearby, watching the small scrum she’d attracted with a vaguely raised eyebrow. Vanessa shrugged offhandedly.

‘Sure,’ she told Tuo. ‘I’ll work on com relays and theft-translations. That has to be how they’re using corporate encryption to move around Tanusha.’ And where she was also, she knew, most likely to find traces of any FIA/League activity in Tanusha itself… personnel traces, active com codes. The means to trace covert people hiding in Tanusha. Possibly. Her heart beat harder at the prospect. ‘Can you fit me in?’

Tuo grinned. ‘Only if you can fight your way through all the techs who’ll want to meet you.’ Gave her a slap on her armoured shoulder and left quickly to organise yet more personnel. Sandy looked quizzically at Naidu, uncertain what had just happened. Naidu gave her a rumpled smile.

‘Agent Cassidy. Welcome to the CSA.’

‘Seems weird that the League would be helping their biggest enemies find ways to counter their greatest technological advantage,’ Singh commented from the back seat of the big government cruiser.

Four SWAT agents sat in full armour, crammed into the cruiser’s undersized seating, designed for unarmoured bodies. Seatbelts stretched across powered armourplate. The SWAT flyer in which they’d arrived was unable to make it back to the rooftop pad, which was now crowded with official vehicles. And the media had now surrounded the tower, watching from rooftop vantages and circling aircars and flyers far above the official skylanes, monitoring rooftop traffic through telescopic lenses. There were SWAT experts the media could conceivably contact, a friendly young Intel woman had explained to Sandy, who might count armoured bodies, read personalised helmet markings and wonder who the extra trooper was in SWAT Four. Thus the civilian aircar, which departed from the internal bay midway up the tower’s side.

Data analysis had lasted all morning, and it was now approaching midday, although any notion of sunshine remained securely hidden behind darkening clouds and sporadic showers. There had been traces of collusion by Tetsu middle management. From those traces Sandy had been able to guess what the League programs they were accessing might have been. She’d passed on her hunch and suggestions to the CSA specialists, and they would now track the problem for as long as it took. Now, attached to SWAT with a vaguely defined brief referring to ‘assistance and advice’, she was headed back to Headquarters.

‘League’s full of weird ideas, Arvi,’ Vanessa replied, gloved hands on the cruiser’s controls, following a gentle, predetermined course between towers. A nearby flicker of lightning lit up the darkened sky, a blue flare across a nearby tower’s windows. ‘It’s a weird idea kind of place.’

‘Old history,’ said Sandy, eyes wandering to a spectacular looking mosque in a leafy suburb below, fantastic patterns on its blue and gold tile domes. ‘Like Old China, back on Earth. Used to be a reclusive country. Didn’t like democracy, didn’t like market economies, didn’t even like the proper rule of law. Which meant they were totally impoverished, of course, and getting trodden on by every major World power with big enough boots. So to make themselves more powerful they adopted what were then known as ‘Western practices’, like markets and legal systems, basic capitalism. They thought the only way to fight the West was to adopt their greatest strengths and make them Chinese strengths too. And they got enormously powerful doing that, and in the process inevitably turned into a democracy over time, because the old totalitarianisms just weren’t capable of handling the modern market system effectively. At which point you have two major powers, China and the West — or most notably the United States of America — looking at each other and realising, hey, we’re both capitalist, we’re both democratic, what’s left to fight about?.

‘The League sees itself as the West and the Federation as Old China. The FIA accepts biotech advancements to even the League’s advantage. But biotech was what the war was about in the first place, or mostly. So if both sides end up with similar attitudes to biotech, what’s left to fight about?’

Vanessa snorted in amusement. ‘Conquest by ideological stealth. That’s cunning, really… they talk about that a lot over there?’

‘Oh yeah,’ Sandy sighed wearily, ‘it’s a tireless refrain. What they never mention is that China had the last laugh. Markets and democracy didn’t make them more Western at all — if anything it ended up making the West more Chinese. And Indian. Which was a good thing obviously, but a lot of Westerners thought it was their so-called victory coming back to bite them.’

‘You are pretty well read,’ Vanessa said approvingly. Sandy smiled.

‘I do try.’

‘Two Western white people in the front seat, I notice,’ Hiraki commented. ‘Asiatics in the back.’

‘That’s a clear illustration of female superiority over men, ‘Vanessa retorted. ‘Race has nothing to do with it.’

‘The new colonialism,’ Hiraki commented. ‘Perhaps we should start a revolution.’

‘Don’t be crazy,’ said Singh, ‘where would I get pussy?’

‘A good question even now,’ Vanessa told him, smiling.

‘You’re so mean, LT.’

‘I’m always available, Arvid,’ Sandy thought to venture. Glancing over the seat back at him. Singh blinked.

‘Available for what?’

‘Pussy.’ With her best, dazzlingly clear-eyed gaze. Singh blinked again.

‘This must be what male spiders feel like,’ he commented after a moment, ‘just before the female mounts and then eats him.’ Sandy grinned. ‘Both extremely aroused and really fucking frightened.’

She had to laugh. And found herself pondering just what it would take to get the handsome young Indian into bed.

‘Guys,’ Vanessa announced from the driver’s seat, ‘reintroductions.’ Having watched that exchange with considerable amusement. ‘This is Cassandra Kresnov. She’s done a job with us, that makes her at least an honorary SWAT Four now, although she may have cause to regret that later.’

‘True,’ said Hiraki.

‘Cassandra, this is Hitoru ‘The Knife’ Hiraki. It’s a stupid nickname, I know, but he insists on it. Be nice and he might show you his tattoos one day.’

‘I live in hope,’ Sandy told him, extending a gloved hand past the seat back, which he shook.

‘I don’t even like the nickname,’ he said calmly. ‘I am merely surrounded by those who would trivialise and demean an artist such as myself for the sake of mere amusement. I pity them.’

‘And that,’ Vanessa continued with amusement, ‘is Arvid Singh, the resident village idiot. Don’t let the beard fool you — puberty’s still many years away.’ Sandy leaned around and shook his hand.

‘And beside you,’ said Singh, pointing at Vanessa, ‘is our beloved squad leader Vanessa Rice, once married and three times divorced …’

‘Watch it,’ said Vanessa.

‘… if that’s possible,’ Singh continued, unperturbed. ‘She’s vicious at poker, terrible at mahjong…’

‘Am not.’

‘… and is the only person in SWAT Four who actually makes more sense when she’s drunk.’ Vanessa fought back a smile. ‘Just don’t call her ‘Midge’, or she’ll hurt you.’

‘Hi,’ Sandy said, and held out her hand. Vanessa took it. Glanced at her sideways for a moment, as if suddenly realising exactly whose hand she was shaking. ‘I’m Cassandra Kresnov. When I’m not eating human flesh and decapitating small furry animals, I like listening to music, reading books and fucking.’ A cheer from Singh. Vanessa’s eyebrows went up.

‘Don’t get any ideas, LT,’ said Singh.

Sandy blinked, and looked at Vanessa, Vanessa looked annoyed, removing her hand to grasp the controls.

‘Yes, I am,’ she replied to Sandy’s unspoken question shortly. ‘My husband’s a man, though.’ Which struck Sandy as interesting. Interesting that Vanessa hadn’t told her, and interesting that she hadn’t guessed anyway. Which was biased thinking, she realised even as she thought it. There was no guarantee that Vanessa’s sexuality made any observable difference to her behaviour. As if a Dark Star GI was going to be any good at picking up such things among straights anyway, whatever her intellect.

‘Wish I was like that too sometimes,’ she replied with amusement. ‘Half the population gone to waste.’ Vanessa grinned somewhat self-consciously.

‘Got that right.’

‘Why do GIs even have sexual preferences?’ Singh asked, incurably curious. He was starting to remind Sandy of Tran.

‘She’s an imprint, you moron,’ Vanessa replied testily before Sandy could speak. ‘Her neural structure is copied directly from a human subject. Everything we’ve got, she’s got.’

A hard shudder as the cruiser hit a rough patch where the wind reflected off a nearby tower. Navcomp flickered and beeped, warning of more ahead, displaying topography sections in 3D, their projected course weaving in and out. It was much smoother down here at mid-level than up among the towertops, though. Another flash of lightning. The veil of rain was much closer, blotting out all visibility several towers to their left.

‘Some I knew were gay,’ Sandy affirmed. ‘Mostly bi, for some reason, rarely single preference. About the same as the usual average though, all told.’ Sudden communication signal, blinking urgently at the edge of her consciousness. She accessed cautiously. Read the heading code in a flash … Tetsu Consolidated, full encryption. Curious, she hooked it up.

‘Cassandra Kresnov?’ asked a recently familiar voice, linked impressively to her inner ear. Clear signal, very clean. Focus and isolate, she concentrated her reply.

‘This is Cody, am I right?’

‘That is correct, yes. I hope I’m not disturbing you?’

‘No. Please go ahead.’

‘Very well …I have a message for you.’ Sandy frowned. Aware that from the back of the cruiser, someone had asked her a question. Vanessa was looking at her. Told Singh that she was accessing, looking curious.

‘Who is the message from, Cody?’

‘I don’t know.’ The frown grew deeper. ‘Shall I tell you the message? I’m sure it is meant for you, and I’d like to know what it means.’

‘Yes, please tell me the message.’

‘Very well. Message reads, ‘Tell Sandy I miss her’. End message.’ Suddenly Sandy felt strangely, inexplicably cold. Several interminably long seconds crawled by. Hair prickled on the back of her neck.

‘Where did this message come from, Cody?’

‘I don’t know.’ A cold, tense feeling tightened her stomach. ‘Do you know what this message means? I am very puzzled about its location, since I can usually detect such things. It has aroused my curiosity.’

‘No. No Cody, I’m not certain what it means.’ A brief pause.

‘Was I correct in assuming that the message was intended for you?’

‘Yes.’ The cold feeling grew worse. A shudder as the cruiser gently turned, and then rain was hammering over the windshield, obliterating all visibility, turning the entire world to wet, sheeting grey. ‘Yes, I think this message probably was intended for me. If I come to understand what it means, I’ll be sure to inform you.’ A shudder on the transmission as lightning flickered and leapt, illuminating the dark shadow of a nearby tower through the pouring rain. ‘Thank you for passing this on to me.’

‘You’re welcome. I’ll be very interested. Goodbye.’ The connection cut out. Sandy stared into the blinding grey, her head suddenly empty of sound.

‘Sandy?’ Vanessa asked. The navcomp feed now displayed a lighted space across Vanessa’s side of the windshield, a comprehensive head-up display. The course curved away in front, and Vanessa followed it with a gentle shift of her hands. Numbers flickered and changed — speed, altitude and associateds. ‘What did the AI want?’

Vanessa, Sandy realised, must have some very fancy enhancements to know who was calling her.

‘Gave me a message,’ she said, staring vacantly into space. Tell Sandy I miss her. Sandy. The only people who might miss her, and who had once called her Sandy, were dead. She’d thought. Until just yesterday.

‘What kind of message?’

Cody hadn’t known where the message had come from. Tracing and analysing data was Cody’s specialty. Until that moment she hadn’t been certain if it was possible to send messages to an AI of Cody’s sophistication and not have the location pinpointed. Damn right Cody was curious. It was a ghost.

The word gave her a shiver. ‘Trick’ occurred to her abruptly … but Cody had been very principled, very thoughtful, and was simply not allowed to behave in such a manner. Not likely, no. The message was very real, her instincts told her. Her mind raced.

‘Cassandra?’

Of course they were watching the CSA’s movements. Somehow they’d found out she was working with them. Or someone had. Well. She took a deep breath. She’d suspected. Now she knew. And the abrupt certainty hit her with an unexpected, jarring force.

She stared across at Vanessa, snapping abruptly back to reality. Vanessa looked concerned, watching but glancing back at the display. What could she tell her? Suddenly her mouth was reluctant and her throat was tight. It was alarming. She was on the right side, she knew she was. There was the promise of a new life held out before her. Citizenship and equal rights. And her beliefs … she thought back to her conversation with Ibrahim, and found it suddenly difficult to recall what she’d told him.

She’d believed in … peace? That the war had all been pointless and the League had been wrong to start it? What had any of that mattered, when she was with her team? Happiness had been a few days of uneventful transit, a few bottles and a game of poker down in the ship’s bowels. Maybe a vid, maybe a VR sim, and afterwards she and one of the guys could have some fun in her bunk or his …

All gone then, when League command had decided her group had outlived its usefulness and, with the war winding down, had in fact become a liability … What had she been thinking, before that time? That they would come with her? Oh God, she’d been so stupid … they didn’t share her politics, didn’t share her drive, her passionate intellect. They simply didn’t care — League was good, Federation was bad, and that was the end of it. The war had created them, given them a home and a life, and a meaning to it all. They had a purpose, however little they’d understood it, and it had been enough. Strangely, so strangely, they’d been happy.

She’d wanted to save them, wanted it so badly. But they didn’t want to be saved, and it had nearly torn her apart. Please God, let one of them still be alive. Tell Sandy I miss her. She felt cold all over, hair on end and stomach in knots … they were going to break her heart all over again. Vanessa was still waiting for an answer.

‘l think,’ she said hoarsely, in a voice that was suddenly reluctant to work, ‘I think … it might be someone I knew.’ Pause. ‘A GI.’

‘A GI?’ Vanessa stared at her. The cruiser shuddered, buffeting through a new patch of turbulence. ‘What was the message?’