Killswitch: (Cassandra Kresnov Book 3)

Ari’s idea of low visibility, secure accommodation for the night turned out to be a mega-rise fly-in hotel. They left the cruiser for the automated parking to handle, got a booking at the upper lobby with one of An’s many IDs, and took a room just one floor down from the parking bay.

An made calls and net-scanned while Sandy showered, then took his own shower, leaving her free to sit on the bed in a moment of solitude, and gaze out through broad, five-star windows and the brilliant city beyond. She wished she could talk to Vanessa, but dared not use the uplink. Besides, Vanessa would most likely be sleeping. And things were a little more complicated there than she was used to. It frustrated her, that complication, right now when she most needed Vanessa’s insight. And she wished she possessed the insight herself to know what the problem was. But she didn’t … and never really had.

It would have been easy to become frustrated with Vanessa, for dumping it on her right now … but Vanessa was lucky to be alive, and understandably upset at recent events. But Sandy couldn’t believe it was that simple … could Vanessa now feel truly uncomfortable with her simply for being a GI? Not after all they’d been through.

She was very lucky, she told herself instead, that Vanessa were alive at all. It terrified her, that close call. Somehow, despite the dangers, she’d never truly felt that Vanessa was at risk. She was so cool, so professional … almost a GI, in fact, in the degree of confidence Sandy had become accustomed to placing with her in all things operational. But that was stupid too. GIs could survive things that straight humans couldn’t. On top of all their skills, GIs had a margin for error. Vanessa did not.

And fuck it, when was she going to finally get wise, and stop making stupid assumptions about her environment and her life? Every time she thought she’d finally gotten on top of this new life of hers, something else happened that shattered all her carefully constructed truths. It was becoming alarming-not just the inevitability of the events, but the depths of her own naivety.

An emerged from the bathroom in his white hotel robe, dark hair damp and scruffy, and sat down at her side. Copied her pose, gazing out at the vast expanse of light and colour.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.

‘That Takawashi’s not telling all he knows.’ Ari nodded, but said nothing. ‘I mean, what the fuck’s he doing here anyway? I think Ramoja’s trying to find this GI as much as we are. Maybe he wants to cover the League’s arse on something. Takawashi got sent to help.’

‘Wouldn’t help the League much if it turns out a GI they had some hand in murdered Admiral Duong,’ An pointed out. ‘It wouldn’t quite re-start the war, but it wouldn’t help.’

‘Maybe.’ An slid across to kneel upon the bed behind her, and began massaging her shoulders. They were tight, as always at this hour, and his fingers moved with the assuredness of two years famil iarity. Or less than two years, she thought vaguely. She and An hadn’t started sleeping together immediately after their first meeting. Despite their continuing, deepening friendship and mutual curiosity (or in Ari’s case, fascination), it had taken three months for her to finally lose her natural suspicion of his motives, and invite him to bed. An had been pleased, but no more than that. Partly, he was just too confident a young man to start turning cartwheels at any female invitation, having had plenty of previous experience. And partly, his interest in her truly hadn’t been that kind of sexual obsession. Or not mostly, anyhow.

It didn’t bother her. They were comfortable together, and it was convenient. Had been convenient then, too, for them both-for her, because there were very few men who considered themselves her equal who weren’t terrified of her, or otherwise unattracted to her … and for him because he was always busy, always preoccupied by other matters, and simply lacked the time or inclination to spend the attention on a woman that most women demanded. She sometimes wondered if that was all it was-convenience. At times, it felt a hell of a lot more than that. At others … well, for all their closeness, Ari remained secretive, and occasionally distant.

‘Don’t try to change him,’ Vanessa had warned her, when they’d first started sleeping together. ‘That’s the most basic rule of civilian relationships, Sandy-we learn it real early, but you might not have heard it yet. Don’t think he’ll change as soon as he’s with you. He won’t.’ And she’d been right, again.

‘I keep trying to think of this GI,’ said Sandy, feeling her shoulders slowly relaxing into his firm, squeezing grasp. ‘It doesn’t make sense. First she tries to kill me with the killswitch, then she spares Vanessa and leaves a message for me to contact her.’

‘So now you don’t think she was just bullshitting?’

‘Oh hell, I don’t know.’ Air traffic hummed by on a near skylane, running lights flashing. Nearly soundless past the windows. ‘Maybe she knows. Maybe she knows her … relationship, to me. Maybe she’s curious.’

An massaged for a while in silence, working his way carefully down her spine to the small of her back. ‘Can a high-designation GI kill civilians and feel no remorse?’ he said then.

‘I don’t know,’ Sandy murmured. ‘I couldn’t. If what Takawashi says about her age is true … well.’ She didn’t need to finish the sentence. An knew only too well the implications of a preformed mind, as opposed to a randomly evolved one.

‘Ramoja’s got reports of your early years of service,’ he said instead. ‘He liberated them from Dark Star files. They said you showed remarkable care to distinguish between combatants and noncombatants even then.’

‘I know,’ Sandy said mildly. ‘I broke into all those files while I was still there. It scared me, when I was older, that I couldn’t remember much of my life in my earlier years. I had to know what I’d done. It was a relief to read that.’

‘I bet.’ Ari’s thumbs probed where buttock and hip joined, a point of frequent discomfort for her. Sandy repressed a wince. ‘What about tearing a couple of civilians apart with bare hands? Workmates that she might have gotten to know over a couple of weeks, at least, when she was working undercover?’

‘That’s what I was thinking,’ Sandy said quietly. ‘I don’t know how it’s possible for her to be stable. She’s executed her gameplan pretty well so far, infiltrated a civilian tech company for cover and probably code-access, then helped set up a bunch of extremist patsies to take the blame for Duong. That’s an awful lot of lateral thinking, even if she was just following instructions from higher up. She still had to pass the interviews at Sigill Technologies, for one thing. It doesn’t make sense-she’s too damn smart to be a drone, and too fucking murderous to be that smart.’

‘An employee Intel interviewed said she was calm and pleasant,’ said An. ‘No apparent sense of humour, no personality quirks … just mild, understated and professional.’

‘I’ve been described that way.’

Ari planted a kiss on top of her head. ‘Not by anyone who knows you.’

‘I’m calm,’ Sandy replied. ‘Most of the time. Control comes with the psychology, I’m sure. I’m goal-oriented, but only when I want to be. Maybe … hell, I don’t know. Maybe we’re not that different.’

‘Oh, shut the fuck up,’ An rebuked, and gave her a sharp cuff across the top of the head. ‘Please, bring back the calm, logical Sandy-this one’s suddenly gone all morose and pitiful.’

Sandy didn’t reply. And found a moment to hope that An wasn’t cheating on her with other women-if he was getting accustomed to whacking his girlfriends about the head, some without ferro- enamelous skulls were liable to hit him back.

‘You’ve never been the places I’ve been,’ she replied. ‘Nor done the things I’ve done. That’s not yours to judge.’

‘Sandy.’ An rested both hands upon her shoulders. ‘I’ve killed people too. Two years ago, with the shit going down, several times I found myself the only thing standing between terrorists and the people I was supposed to protect. It …’ and he took a deep breath. ‘It’s horrible. And I’m … I mean, the CSA instructors told me I had natural aptitude and everything, and even in the circles I moved in before the CSA, it’s not like I’d never seen blood before … but I had a hard time coping with that, for a while.

‘But people die, Sandy. People die all the time, the universe is this … this enormous process, and we’re just wheels in the machine. At first, I found that just … so fucking depressing. But, you know, the more I thought about it, the more it made a comforting kind of sense. I mean, I’m a part of something bigger. The process, you know? I chose the side of order, and those damn lunatics … well, they chose anarchy, or … or ballroom dancing, or some other horrible, violent extreme.’

Sandy repressed a smile. ‘And … and d’you see?’ Ari continued, with building force, hands tightening upon her shoulders. ‘It’s not just me that killed them, all this … this stuff about personal responsibility … well sure, I mean, personal responsibility’s important, modern civilisation would disintegrate without it, to say nothing of. .

‘Ari,’ Sandy interrupted gently, ‘you’re wandering.’

‘Sure. Sure.’ With a flustered attempt to refocus his typically undisciplined thoughts. ‘Where was I?’

‘Personal responsibility. Wheels in the machine.’

‘Oh, right. I mean, am I making sense?’ Sandy flash-zoomed in on his reflection in the windows, gazing over her shoulder. It was a face that seemed made for intensity, with the dark brows and deep, dark eyes. An intensity forever undercut with unpredictable, irreverent humour. ‘Personal responsibility is a selfish, self-centred notion. We … we feel guilty because we always think everything’s about us. When in fact it’s not, none of us are in control of those circumstances, we’re all a part of something so much larger, and … and just like when any two forces of nature collide, there’s damage, and suffering. But no one ever blamed an earthquake for being immoral, or a meteor shower, or some flesh-tearing reptile on a planet with interesting wildlife. Yet that’s what we are. Just another part of the natural order.’

‘That sounds dangerously like a belief system,’ Sandy murmured, as his hands resumed massaging her shoulders and neck. ‘Whatever would all your underground friends think?’

‘Well hey, you know, I’m working toward mysticism, slowly … I read in a magazine there’s nothing quite so impressive to Tanushan women as a man whose mind is as expansive as his penis.’

‘I’ve yet to see evidence of that.’

A brief pause. ‘No, actually, now that you mention it, me neither.’

‘So you killed four people, An. They were in the process of trying to kill other people at the time, and probably would have died some other way if you hadn’t been there, but even so, that’s terrible. I wish you’d never had to do it. But it doesn’t bear any moral comparison with what I’m responsible for.’

‘Responsible?’ Ari’s voice was disbelieving. ‘How can you be responsible when you weren’t given any choice in any ..

‘Phrasing,’ Sandy said quietly. ‘Simple rule of civilisation-you do something, you’re responsible for it. No, it’s not fair. But that’s the whole point. Do you know how many people I’ve killed?’

A silence from An. He brushed loose hair back from her ear. ‘I never thought to ask,’ he said at last. ‘I didn’t think you were counting.’

‘I don’t know the real figure because I didn’t see the final results of all the rounds I fired,’ Sandy replied, distantly. ‘But I know it’s more than five hundred. Straight humans. Mostly young, I think. Almost entirely combatants, at least in direct combat. Indirectly, who can say?’

An had nothing to say to that. She turned to face him, and knelt opposite on the bed. His eyes were concerned. Worried, even.

‘I agree with you,’ she told him. ‘I had no choice. Until I was about eleven, I wasn’t aware there even was a choice. That’s the League’s fault for making me what they did, and I’ve never forgiven them for it. I never even signed up. I was just born into it, and that life was the only thing I’d ever known.

‘But it doesn’t change the fact that I did it. Not someone else. Me.’ She searched his eyes, seeking … something, she didn’t know what. Understanding, perhaps. But how was that possible, when she did not entirely understand herself? ‘I’m past crying about it. I’ve done that. And I think a part of me never stopped crying, and never will. So many people died in that war, and I can’t see that tears will bring any of them back.

‘But I have to find this GI, An. I have to find her, and stop her. Maybe she’s not as bad as Takawashi says. Maybe she’s just like I wasyoung, brainwashed, and not knowing any better. Maybe … I don’t know, maybe I can salvage something of myself from all this, something of that time in my life. Know where I come from, maybe. Make sense of it all.’

Her eyes hurt. That was unexpected. She glanced aside, trying to control it, and mostly succeeding. When she looked back to An, her eyes were damp.

‘But one thing’s for sure, An. I swore to myself a long time agoall those lives I took, however innocent I was in the taking, they can’t all be for nothing. All those young men and women, who should still be alive today.’ A tear slipped down her cheek. ‘I owe them that. I owe them to try. Even if it takes a lifetime.’

An left shortly before dawn, reassuring her that it was nothing serious, just another one of his numerous Tanushan contacts on his uplink. Sandy’s uplinks remained disconnected, and she had to take Ari’s word for it. She lay in bed for a while after An had dressed and departed, pondering the curiously empty sensation within her mind. Like a missing limb, she reckoned. And she recalled reading of a time before synthetic replacements when those who had lost limbs, and lived out their lives as such, had told of a ‘phantom limb syndrome,’ where they could still feel basic sensation, and even pain, from nonexistent nerve fibres. Data-withdrawal did something similar, and at times her stream of consciousness would abruptly break, darting off to access some piece of information that turned out not to exist.

She slept for another hour, rose to order breakfast on the hotel intercom, then showered once more to get her hair back into place-at its present length, if she slept directly after a shower, it stuck out like a bunbun nest the following morning. Then she sat on her bed, crosslegged before her breakfast tray, and watched the latest news on the TV … which was also a strange experience, as her lack of uplinks compelled her to simply sit and watch, with no data-adjuncts pulled off the broadcast data stream, no clarifying tidbits, no graphical illustrations, no random searches for associated information. Up until now, she hadn’t even realised how much she did such things, without noticing.

Secretary General Benale, the newscast said, had departed Tanusha for Nehru Station. Apparently, to no one’s great surprise, he felt safer there. Probably the fact that numerous previously moderate Callayan politicians had referred to him as ‘colonial scum,’ in front of reporters, had reinforced this perception

‘Given that the Secretary General has repeatedly failed to condemn the Fifth Fleet’s imposition of a full blockade, ‘ the TV reporter said to screen, ‘and has in fact appeared to almost condone it in some references, there can be little doubt now as to the sympathies of Earth’s political leaders at this time . . . ‘

She flicked channels-manually, another strange inconvenienceand found a panel debate of academics and others seated around a table.

‘… no doubt at all in my mind,’ a white-bearded man in Arabic robes was saying, ‘or indeed in the mind of any impartial observer, that the murder of Admiral Duong was nothing more than a pretext staged by certain pro-Earth forces, for the Fleet to impose a full blockade upon our world, and therefore upon the hopes and aspirations of the two-thirds of all the Federation’s people who do not presently reside upon Earth itself … ‘

‘No, I’m not challenging that assessment, Mr Rahmin,’ the moderator cut in, ‘I merely ask what the purpose is? I mean, if the motivations are that transparent, what long-term advantage is there to Earth? This whole episode will only increase anti-Earth sentiments throughout the rest of the Federation, surely … or even the anti-centralisation sentiment on Earth itself such as in the USA?’

Mr. Rahmin and the other panellists were unable, in Sandy’s opinion, to provide a satisfactory answer to that one. They were too rational, she reflected as she munched on a fresh piece of fruit. They based their assertions upon the assumption of a rational universe. But war, Sandy knew from experience, and the concepts of loyalty and belonging that drove it, were certainly not that. They were gut instincts, primordial as the urge for sex, or the roar from a football crowd when someone was spectacularly injured upon the field.

And perhaps, she thought further, that was where the problem lay. The conflict between the League and the Federation had begun as a contest of ideas-ideas of progress, morality, and conflicting visions for the future of the human species. But it had degenerated from that relative high ground into a conflict of baser instincts, us-versus-them, the enlightened against the morally challenged.

Which worked for a little while, of course, while the war was on. But now, the organs that ran the Federation had begun to define themselves by war and conflict. War had given them meaning and purpose. War had brought them together, and made them strong. And now, what would the Federation become, without conflict? They needed it. Not technically, and certainly not economically, although there were elements of both. But emotionally, as surely as the netwave addict needed his daily shot of hallucinatory code. Admit it or not, they were hooked, and they’d do almost anything to avoid losing control of their precious Fleet.

It would be two weeks before the people of Earth even heard about the actions of the Fifth. Another two weeks for comment or orders to return. Maybe the Grand Council would give the order to stand down … or as seemed more likely in these days of political gridlock at the highest level, maybe not. In the meantime, the Fleet could strangle the Callayan economy all they pleased. It wasn’t a state of affairs that any presidential administration should be prepared to tolerate. Sure as hell the CDF wouldn’t, if she had anything to do with it.

The doorbell rang. Sandy frowned, pausing in midbite. With no uplinks, she had no way of knowing who was on the other side. Perhaps it was room service again-Ari had said he was going to leave her something at the service desk. But yelling out a question would not do-the person on the other side might only be attempting to discern whether she was actually in the room. If he was going to find out, she’d rather he did so in person.

She slid off the bed, tightened her robe and pulled the pistol Ari had given her from its holster on the bedside table. Considered peering through the eye hole, as she approached the door, but decided against it. GI eyesockets were reinforced at the back with light myomer, but if an attacker knew GIs well enough to know the required calibre … She tucked the pistol into the pocket of her robe, grasped the handle lock firmly, then thumb-pressed the release and opened a fraction in one fast move.

It was All Sudasarno, frozen in midfidget with his neck tie.

‘Cassandra?’ His eyes flicked down. ‘Is that a gun in your pocket?’

‘That’s supposed to be my line,’ Sandy quipped. Sudasarno looked puzzled. Sandy took that response as a fair sign that he was not being coerced by armed persons behind the doorframe (very few inexperienced civilians gave any response to anything superfluous, with a gun pointed at their head) and she reached out and yanked him quickly inside the door. Closed it, locked it, and dragged him further into the room.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she asked, eyes hard with mild alarm. ‘How did you know where I was?’

‘I have, um, sources.’ Sudasarno readjusted his suit lapels from where she’d pulled them out of alignment. And glanced at the halfeaten breakfast upon the bed. ‘I’m sorry, did I catch you at breakfast?’

‘Tell me how, or I’ll hurt you.’

Sudasarno gave an exasperated, youthful smile. ‘Look, Sandy … I’m really sorry I snapped at you the last time we talked, I’m not normally like that, I assure you …’

Sandy grabbed him once more, one hand upon the belt, the other by the shirt, in a flash lifted and thumped him back against the wall beside the TV. His head hit the decorative wall painting, pain adding itself to stunned disbelief upon his youthful face.

‘Sudie,’ she told him, gazing upward as she held him effortlessly suspended, ‘you’ve just put both of our lives in danger. Tell me how you found me, or I swear I’ll be forced to start breaking bones until you do.’ His eyes fixed on hers with disbelief. ‘I swear it.’

‘Your … your car’s bugged … I mean Ari’s car. The cruiser.’

‘Who bugged it?’

‘I … someone who works for Secretary Grey, I’m not sure …’ and saw the narrowing of her eyes, ‘… look honestly, I don’t fucking know! Sandy, you’re hurting me! My belt …’

‘Who monitors the bug?’

‘Kalaji … he … he works for the Secretary.’ Desperately. ‘Sandy, I needed to know where you were! I was instructed to keep in contact with you and now you won’t answer your uplinks ..

‘Your calls least of all, I don’t want to get fried.’ She dumped him back down. Sudasarno gasped, grabbing his belt and loosening. Sandy turned to where she’d left her clothes last night, neatly stacked for easy dressing, placed the pistol upon the bed and untied her robe.

‘What do you mean `my calls least of all’?’ Sudasarno protested. ‘Sandy, I work for the President, I’m no threat to …’ And stopped with a gulp as Sandy dropped the robe before him and began dressing quickly.

‘There’s been a lot of things happening in this city lately that couldn’t have happened without some real senior help,’ Sandy said darkly as she pulled on underwear and pants-the same clothes as yesterday, unwashed, and too bad if they smelled. ‘My bet is Secretary Grey’s department’s involved; as Secretary of State he’s certainly got all the resources and talents at his disposal.’

Sudasarno looked incredulous. ‘You’re accusing Secretary Grey of…?’

‘I’m not accusing him of anything,’ Sandy snapped, pulling on her shirt and jacket. ‘I’m saying there’s a better than even chance that his department’s been infiltrated. Which means that you’re not the only person who could have found out where I am.’

She tucked the pistol and holster into the pocket of her jacket, and grabbed a last handful of fruit from the breakfast tray, stuffing it into her mouth and chewing powerfully. Grabbed a bewildered Sudasarno by the arm and hauled him to the door.

‘Ever done a basic combat course?’ Sandy asked around her mouthful as she grasped the latch, releasing Sudasarno’s arm to hold the pistol within her pocket. ‘Escape and evasion?’

‘Sure.’ He nodded. Past the light brown skin, he looked a little pale. ‘After the Parliament Massacre they were compulsory.’

Sandy swallowed her fruit. ‘Then you’ll know the basics. If I say `down,’ you get down. If I say `run,’ you run. Don’t crowd me, don’t grab me, don’t obstruct my field of fire. Got it?’

He nodded, very nervously. ‘Got it. Sandy, who do you think … ?’

‘And save the questions.’ With a firm stare. Sudasarno shut up, swallowing hard. Sandy yanked the door and slid through, just enough to double-check both ways along the hall. Then gestured quickly to Sudasarno, who followed, shutting the door behind him. A man appeared down the end of the long, door-lined hall. Sandy remembered the shades in her pocket, and put them on … it looked suspicious to be wearing them indoors, of course, but not extravagantly so in fashion-obsessed Tanusha. And dark hair or not, she didn’t want to risk being recognised just now.

The man approaching was wearing a business suit and carrying a briefcase. Of Indian appearance, plus athletic build and stride. Shorter than the average, as with most GIs … Sandy flashed her vision to infra-red, and registered the heat shades of his body … and found them normal for a straight human.

‘He’s okay,’ she murmured to the nervous Sudasarno. Of course, it didn’t guarantee he wasn’t a hostile, it just meant she could handle him in a split second without having to pay him too much attention in the meantime … They walked past, barely making eye contact. Natural enough in any big city, Sandy had long ago gathered.

‘I have a cruiser,’ Sudasarno said in a low voice as they approached the end of the corridor.

‘Not safe,’ Sandy replied in a similar tone. Snapped a quick look both ways at the T-junction, then led him right, toward the elevators. ‘Might explode the moment you start it up.’

Sudasarno stared at her. ‘Hold on … why am I suddenly a target? Hell, why am I even coming with you … no one’s after me, just you!’

‘And if they make an attempt on me now, and you survive, you’ll be able to join the dots right back to whoever planted that bug.’

‘Well, hey, I can do that right now …’ From his suddenly distant gaze, Sandy guessed he was connecting an uplink, probably to call for help. She grabbed his arm as they walked, warningly.

‘Don’t,’ she told him. ‘A GI can monitor the entire hotel network. If you make any kind of call, she might assume help’s on the way and attack immediately.’

They arrived at the elevators, and Sandy pressed the upward call button. The corridor in both directions remained empty, as her hand remained fixed about the pistol grip in her pocket. Unable to access the network, she felt blind. She wasn’t going to have any advance warning if attacked this time. The temptation to just briefly access an uplink was extreme, to catch a glimpse of what lay beyond. But it was a glimpse that could cost her her life.

The elevator arrived, and they rode it up two floors to the hotel main lobby. There were people around, patrons and bellhops, and automated luggage trolleys that trundled cautiously across the carpet as new arrivals came in. Sandy surveyed the surroundings coolly as she and Sudasarno walked toward the service desk at one end of reception … ‘Don’t gawk around,’ she told him, ‘you’ll draw fire.’ And to the lady at the service desk, ‘Hello, I’m Asma Goldstein, I believe my husband left me something?’

‘And what was his name?’

‘Dori Goldstein.’ And handed the lady a credit card … with Tanushan registration, it passed for multipurpose ID. And she found time to reflect that it wouldn’t have been so easy if Parliament had managed to pass the Citizens’ Card bill, but even after recent horrors, the Callayan public weren’t quite ready for mandatory, all-purpose ID cards. Evidently quite a few of them had read Orwell. Or maybe they just knew what An always told her-that hackers and forgers were so competent these days, a comprehensive ID system would only work against petty violators, while the big players continued to go where they liked throughout Callay in total anonymity. After a moment of searching beneath the desk, the hotel lady found a small handset and placed it on the counter.

‘There you are, compliments of Mr. Goldstein.’

‘Thank you.’ It was a mobile phone, Sandy reckoned from the look of it-they weren’t very common in Tanusha, filling just a niche in the electronic gadget market. She departed, pulling Sudasarno after her. ‘Don’t stare around!’ she told him in a low voice. ‘This is a terrible ambush spot, even this GI seems to have some idea of covert activities. The target environment’s not primed, she’ll have no advance plan or surveillance. Very tricky if she wants to get away.’

They headed past the broad stairway leading to the upper carpark, headed instead for the outer wall express elevators. There were glass doors and polished surfaces ahead, and at extreme, motion-sensitive visual enhancement, Sandy could see just about everything in the lobby that she needed to see. Or nearly.

‘You’re posing as Ari’s wife now?’ asked Sudasarno, as if trying to distract himself from the situation.

‘One of many conveniences. You don’t think I look Jewish?’

‘Not enough for the Tanushan Jewish community.’ Glancing about once more, anxiously. ‘They’re pretty conservative in a lot of places, don’t intermarry much, try to keep the bloodlines intact. The scourge of genetic dispersal, and all that.’ As a political advisor to the President who tracked voting trends would surely know. And he spared her a glance, taking in the dark hair and shades, the dark jacket, and the effortless poise of her stride. ‘Frankly, Sandy, I think you’re a Jewish mother’s worst nightmare.’

‘And how do you figure that?’

‘Because you’re an Indonesian Muslim mother’s worst nightmare too. If I took you home to meet my mother, I’d be disowned.’

Sandy managed a faint shrug past the deadening calm of combatreflex. ‘Sure, but it’d be worth it for all the great sex, huh?’

‘Spoken like someone who doesn’t have a mother.’

‘Don’t rub it in.’

None of the four express elevators were presently docked. Sandy and Sudasarno waited to one side of the gathering crowd before the elevator doors, confronted by a vast panorama of Tanushan morning cityscape beyond the glass walls.

‘Shit,’ Sudasarno muttered under his breath as the tension began to get the better of him, ‘I can’t believe this is … are you sure?’

‘Sudie,’ Sandy said calmly, gazing straight ahead and covering both ends of the hallway with her peripheral vision, ‘in my business, there’s no such thing as ‘sure’. If you don’t play the odds, you’ll die. You’ll notice I’m still alive, and I plan to stay that way.’

‘Why the express elevator? Couldn’t we have taken the smaller …’

‘We’d have to change halfway, and if a GI’s locked into the local network, she might be able to hack that elevator car, make it stop where she wants it. Express elevators are pretty much unhackable.’

‘We’re not endangering these people?’

‘It’s a civilian environment,’ said Sandy. ‘Everyone’s endangered no matter what we do. That’s the bitch of these FIA arseholes.’ One trusted that even an FIA-raised and bred GI had enough civility not to fire into a car full of civilians. One trusted any hostile act would wait for a better opportunity, to ensure she got away. But if the mind in question was as cold as Takawashi had suggested … Well, in that case, who was safe anywhere?

The car arrived. Sandy waited until the last of the small waiting crowd were in, and then followed with Sudasarno. It deprived them of a view, standing by the doors as the group of perhaps thirty people jostled to grasp the side railings, and gaze out at the breathtaking vista of morning cityscape beyond the transparent shell of the elevator car. Sandy took a casual hold of one of the leather straps upon the ceilingto-floor synthetic ropes that were arranged in a circle within the car. Sudasarno did likewise, as the doors closed with a final, warning bell, and a friendly voice announced on the intercom (in English and then Mandarin-the most common tongue of non-English-speaking tourists) that the express elevator would fly down the side of the tower at a hundred kilometres an hour, and internal gravity would be reduced effectively by a third. Some children clutching to the outer railing, and staring half a kilometre straight down, squealed in delighted anticipation. Another little boy howled in distress, clawing at his mother’s leg. Sandy thought briefly of Rhian, and smiled, faintly.

‘I hope no one lands on top of us when we’re halfway down,’ a nearby tourist with some unidentifiable off-world accent remarked. People laughed. Sudasarno gave Sandy a wary sideways glance, which Sandy chose to ignore. The car began to descend, with a gathering rush of muffled sound. As gravity grew steadily lighter, and the tower wall began to rush by at blurring speed, Sandy felt the strange, surreal sensation of time appearing to slow. The natural-light colour and texture of the surrounding people, their clothes and hair and skin tones, vanished into a blur of bodytones, temperatures and flash-registered motion as an eyelid blinked, or a parent grasped a child’s hand more tightly.

And she turned her head, sharply, to find one humanoid shape amidst the crowd that was not moving, nor grasping tightly upon a rail or strap, nor even admiring the view. Female, about her own height, and gazing straight at her. Of a cooler, nonbiological body temperature. No visible pulse at the jugular.

Sound ceased to register. All extraneous information flows stopped. There was just her, and the other GI, standing perhaps three metres apart with stares locked. No move was made. Slowly, Sandy phased her vision back to regular light, overlaying that imagery on top of the hairtriggered, combat hues. The other GI’s eyes were pale blue, her shortish hair a light, straw-blonde, protruding beneath a baseball cap. She wore comfortable cargo pants with thigh pockets, and a light, waterproof jacket over a T-shirt. The collar on the jacket was raised. From behind, that plus the cap would block any clear perception of body temperature. At least one pocket of jacket and pants appeared to bulge with weight, the exact nature of which was difficult to tell-you could do so with straight humans, because weapons were heavy, and posture altered just minutely to compensate. A GI’s posture was rarely so affected.

There was a child, clasping his father’s hand, directly alongside the GI. Gazing outward and down, in the opposite direction. Sandy realised she couldn’t move. A GI on hair-trigger reflexes might have weapon in hand and be pulling the trigger, before a conscious decision to change her mind could register. Two GIs, facing each other, suffered from a mutually reinforcing ‘no return scenario’ … as they’d called it, studying such phenomena in Dark Star. It had been a purely hypothetical scenario, then. Two GIs, facing each other … impossible, since the League was the only side to produce or deploy GIs. But the scenario was a constant in training, where the first move, once made, was far too fast for the conscious mind to easily halt … and when reinforced by the reflexive response of the opponent, the momentum toward the kill-shot became unstoppable. The other GI might be merely shifting weight, or turning her head to look another way … if it triggered a draw, the other GI had to retaliate. Had to. And a firefight in a crowded elevator car would be a disaster. Unarmed combat would be even worse.

She was dimly aware, then, that Sudasarno had asked her a question. She moved the tip of her little finger, just a fraction. The GI’s gaze did not alter. Nothing did. Sandy accelerated the motion, moving the entire little finger, then ever so slowly allowing all the fingers on her left hand, grasping the leather strap, to join in. She had no other notion of what to do if the GI drew, or otherwise attacked, than to attempt to grab and restrain her from lashing around, hopefully saving thirty innocent tourists from being smeared all over the car’s interior. Perhaps she could smash a hole in the transparent wall, and leap out, thus depriving the GI of a motivation for violent action. Somewhere in the distant background of her hearing, a child squealed laughter … the tops of smaller towers were passing now, gravity was low, and it was doubtless very exciting.

Slowly, her entire hand moved, a part of that gradual, flowing motion. Then, without any sudden movements, or rapid extensions, she extended the arm, and grasped Sudasarno’s suit lapel as best she could, with the thumb still immobile and bound. Still it was steely strong.

‘Don’t move,’ she said calmly, just loudly enough to be heard above the hum of descent, and the babble of excited children. No one was paying them any attention. ‘Don’t say a word, don’t move, and don’t panic. If you can do that, we’ll be just fine.’

Sudasarno neither moved nor spoke. Sandy guessed he was summing up the situation, although she could not turn her head to see. She could imagine well enough his eyes following the rigid line of her stare, and realising who the object of attention must be. And the terror that would follow. Dimly, past the combat-focus, she realised she was mad at herself. Should have taken the stairs. Should have called for an air-taxi. Should have done anything other than lead to this standoff, in a crowded elevator, where the very people she’d sworn an oath to protect were going to be the first to die, if something went wrong. But the first step to lessen risk was to remove yourself from the situation. And she’d done that, the fastest way she’d had available. It had been the right thing to do. Hadn’t it?

The hum of descent began to ease as the ground neared. A passing elevator flashed by, on its way back up. The GI simply stood, backside leaned gently against the handrail behind, utterly unconcerned with the expansive view to her back. Just gazing, with pale blue eyes within a face that was somewhat attractive, but less so than Sandy might have expected, of a GI. In fact, it occurred to her, this was quite possibly the ugliest GI she’d ever seen. Which wasn’t saying much, against the uniform beauty of League GIs. It was a face that could still attract male attention, in passing. But would tend to get overlooked beside herself, or Rhian, or most other female GIs she’d known. Somehow, that rang alarm bells. Hadn’t her creators wanted her to be pretty? League philosophy held that uniform good looks would help with socialisation and self-confidence, and thus inspire a counterreaction of good feelings toward those around him or her. A virtuous circle, they’d called it. Had the FIA altered her original, League-designed appearance? To what ends? What, in their eyes and plans, was this GI for?’

The ground approached, and the elevator slowed. A standoff in an emptying elevator, with its short turnaround time for new passengers to crowd on board, could create even more unwelcome attention. Possibly even the intervention of security officials. Sandy decided she had to take a risk.

‘Are you getting off here?’ she asked the GI. ‘Or are you just joyriding?’

The GI raised an eyebrow, as if curious at this approach. Sandy’s heart sank. She’d known lower-designation GIs to sometimes raise both eyebrows. Rarely one. It was an expression that, in most cultures, seemed to imply a degree of subtlety, or irony, that lower-des GIs usually failed to grasp. But given what she already knew about this GI, it was hardly a surprise.

‘I heard it was a fun ride,’ said the GI. Her voice was very ordinary. Female, mild, and clearly spoken. Her enunciation was perfect, down to the syllable. ‘Though I’ve heard that some people like to come down faster.’

Oblique, ironic reference. Damn. Even Rhian didn’t do that. Although her old League buddy Tran might have. Tran had been about Rhian’s designation-damn clever, with loads of personality, but not the creative, lateral thought process of herself … or maybe Ramoja. Although Ramoja hadn’t entirely convinced her yet. Quoting Shakespeare was one thing. Understanding it was another. Being able to quote it, understand it, and still find it tedious, as Sandy did herself, was to her mind the greatest sign of intellectual depth yet found. In a GI, anyhow.

The hyper-analytical time dilation of combat-reflex created such tangential lines of thought. When operating at such furious speeds, her brain was very bad at just doing nothing.

‘If you want to talk to me,’ Sandy said, ‘that’s fine. I’d like to talk. I just think we should leave these other people out of it, and go somewhere private.’

‘I think that would be fine,’ the GI replied agreeably. For the first time, her eyes flicked away from Sandy, to fix on Sudasarno. Even through the lapel of his suit, Sandy could feel him tremble. ‘Friend of yours?’

‘Maybe,’ said Sandy.

‘He’s a liability to you,’ the GI continued. The elevator slowed steadily, the ground coming nearer, walkways about the tower’s base, and people moving by. ‘He led me straight to you. You should get rid of him.’

Sudasarno’s eyes were wide. The GI’s tone remained mild. Sandy saw nothing on her face to suggest she was joking.

‘No one’s getting rid of anyone right now,’ Sandy replied, her gaze fixed with unblinking determination. The GI just considered her. The elevator arrived. The crowd’s excited babble continued about them, unaware. A child said loudly that she felt so heavy now. They turned from the glass, and clustered back toward the door. Sandy remained unmoved, her left hand clasped upon Sudasarno’s shoulder as people milled and pushed past, and the door opened. She was between the GI and the door, but she couldn’t turn her back. Didn’t dare.

The GI pushed gently off the rail, and strolled calmly past, dawdling as the crowd slowly cleared. Gazed Sandy directly in the eyes, from point-blank range, hands innocently in pockets. It was so tempting-a quick strike with the right fist, a snatch for the gun, something to end it right then and there … but she dared not, considering all those still in the crossfire. And more than that. She wanted to know.

The GI moved on as the crowd cleared, Sandy walking after with a hand upon Sudasarno’s shoulder, past the new crowd gathered behind the entry barrier in the waiting hall. As soon as they were clear, the GI fell back to walk at Sudasarno’s other side, keeping him between them as they strolled across the broad, high foyer floor toward the mega-rise tower’s looming, revolving doors.

‘Sudie,’ Sandy said without looking at him, as they emerged into the early morning sunshine. ‘Go home. Whatever you wanted to tell me can wait.’

‘I’d rather he stayed,’ the GI said calmly, as they strolled together. Outside, a security guard paced, unaware that anything was wrong. ‘He might call for help.’

‘He won’t,’ said Sandy. ‘Where do you want to talk?’

‘Just up here will be fine.’ Another fifteen strides and the GI stopped. Sandy stopped and Sudasarno too, thin, quiet and very pale. Sandy strolled a couple of paces, to make certain the frightened young advisor was not in the line of sight. On the broad, paved space before the enormous glass foyer wall, people stood and conversed, or awaited those they’d arranged to meet. Stairs led down across a broad, quartercircle curve, interspersed with pockets of urban greenery. At the bottom, between two flights of stairs near an artificial waterfall, business people and tourists clustered at cafe tables for breakfast. Beyond, a cross-road met a major Tanushan highway, six lanes filled with zooming traffic, tightly packed and interlocking with the ease of collective automation. The sidewalks were busy with morning traffic, a seething mass of people.

It all seemed eerily calm and orderly, despite all the world’s events. People went about their lives, on streets that had just recently been jammed with protesters, and lined with armoured cordons of riot police. Perhaps, the thought flashed across Sandy’s hyper-speed mind, some of these folk had been at the protests themselves. One uniform by night, another by day-such was the Tanushan way, in good times and bad. The mega-rise tower soared high overhead, reaching for a clear, unattainable blue sky. The morning air was crisp and fresh in a way that off-world visitors from cities with less than Tanusha’s zeroemission controls always remarked on. People passed on all sides, oblivious to the identities of those among them.

‘Strange, isn’t it?’ said the GI, with a faintly curious glance about. ‘Hiding here is so easy. The best way to hide is don’t. Trying to hide will only attract attention. You hide in plain sight. Like everyone else does. All these people, hurrying about their busy little lives, not knowing shit from gold. Just stand in their midst, as plain as you can. It makes you invisible.’

‘You’re wrong,’ said Sandy. ‘Two things Tanushans always differentiate between-shit and gold.’

The GI might have smiled, but faintly. A stray gust of breeze caught her hair, lifting loose strands. To an untrained, unaugmented eye, she might have looked average, plain and human. And without Sandy’s need for disguise, she dressed less self-consciously too. She looked like she fit in, Sandy realised. Like she could blend effortlessly into a crowd. The perfect covert operative. And exceptional good looks would only attract attention. Only custom-design combat ops could afford to be distractingly pretty-a small pleasure to counter an alarmingly short life expectancy during the war. It didn’t necessarily make this GI any less dangerous, however.

‘Do you have a name?’ Sandy asked.

‘Do I have a name?’ the GI replied, with slow, sceptical contemplation. And glanced slightly away to one side, eyes narrowed in thought. ‘There’s a philosophical question. What constitutes a name? We’re not born with them-they’re imposed upon us. Like everything else.’

‘As GIs, that’s something we’re stuck with,’ said Sandy. ‘It doesn’t make names any less significant for us than straights. All identity is self-constructed, ours and theirs.’

‘I’m not self-constructed,’ the GI replied easily. ‘I was born this way.’

Sandy’s eyes narrowed. ‘What way?’

The GI smiled. ‘You of all people should know, Cassandra Kresnov.’ With a mild irony, voicing that name. ‘You trained the CDF at the Parliament, didn’t you? They’re very good, for straights. Not that it made any difference … but you had to know that too. If you need a name, call me Jane. It’s plain and simple. Like me.’

Sandy was glad for the combat-reflex. Its deadening calm hid the growing, cold dread in her gut.

‘The FIA activated you?’ Sandy asked.

‘Sure did.’ With cool, utter nonchalance.

‘And how do you feel about that?’

‘About existing? I’m grateful, naturally.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s good to be alive, wouldn’t you say?’

‘That depends on what you do with the experience,’ Sandy replied.

‘I think I make pretty good use of the time,’ said Jane.

‘I think you could do better.’

Again the faint, narrow-eyed smile. ‘You think you’re better than me, is that it?’

‘It’s not a contest.’

Jane shook her head faintly, in mild disbelief. Gazed about at the sunny urban sprawl about them. A police car cruised by on the side street, and stopped at the lights, to Jane’s utter unconcern.

‘You’re kidding yourself,’ she said finally. And looked back at her, coolly. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

‘Enlighten me.’

‘This place. All these people. This system. It sucked you right in, didn’t it? You think you’re one of them now. But you’re not.’

‘You went to all this trouble just to tell me that?’ Sandy didn’t bother to disguise the rising disgust in her voice. ‘I’d rather you just ambushed me in my sleep. It would have saved me the trouble of pretending to be interested.’

‘I was instructed to kill you,’ Jane replied with an utter lack of emotion. ‘If I got the chance. But I’m learning. I’ve this profession, do you see? I was born to it. I’m not all that old yet, and you know how GIs mature. If I’m going to improve, and expand my horizons, I need to study others. That’s why you’re not dead.’ And nodded to Sudasarno. ‘Him too. But I’m told you’re rather like me. I was based upon your design, they said. And so I wanted to know. To see the older me, as it were.’

‘And what do you think?’

‘I’m disappointed.’ Very calmly. Sandy could not remember ever having felt so pleased to be insulted. ‘You don’t know who you are. You’re delusional. Happiness is accepting your true nature. It’s not here, in this city, not for you. Certainly not for me.’

‘Listen, junior,’ Sandy told her, not bothering to restrain the rising edge to her voice, ‘I’m just a kid myself compared to a lot of these people you look down your nose at, but compared to you, I’m ancient. Let me fill you in about a thing or two that might have escaped your vast perception.

‘You’re very young, less than two years old, if what you say about being based on my design is right. I’m seventeen, and I can’t remember a thing from when I was that age. These are your formative years, do you understand that? When you reach my age, if you do,’ (heaven forbid, she barely managed to avoid saying) ‘you won’t remember anything about this. Not this meeting, not this operation, not Tanusha or Callay itself, get it? Your mind is immature. Undeveloped, no matter what your intellect.

‘You’ve been tape-taught. Stored knowledge, pre-constructed and formulated for someone else’s purposes. It’s not reliable because it’s not yours. The Federal Intelligence Agency made you what you are. They hate GIs. You’re an experiment to them. Your whole psychology is an experiment. You speak as if you’re making a free choice of lifestyle. Your body is not your own, your future is not your own, your life is not your own and your mind is definitely not your own. You’re not a free person. Your opinions aren’t worth a thumbnail full of earwax to anyone. You’re not a person. You’re just an empty, walking, talking shell. And the saddest thing of all is you don’t even realise it.’

‘I kill because it’s my nature,’ Jane replied in a low, harsh voice. Her unblinking stare was intense. Somehow, Sandy hadn’t expected a reaction. It surprised her. ‘You think you’re civilised, but you’re still a soldier. You’re still looking for your next fight. Anticipating it. You couldn’t function any other way. And yet you reject your true self, and live your life as a lie.’

‘You kill,’ Sandy retorted, ‘because you’re programmed for it. The FIA don’t believe GIs have any other purpose, they wouldn’t have given you any other kinds of tape because they wouldn’t have believed you capable of anything more anyway. You think that pseudo-philosophical crap you’re feeding me represents intellect on your part? It’s a manipulative rationalisation designed to stop you from questioning. All intelligent beings question, unless given believable rationalisations within which to construct the parameters of their personal reality. Everything you think you know has been predetermined by the people who made you, including your rationalisations. And you think you can lecture me on life? You pathetic little moron, you don’t know what life is.’

‘And yet I have the codes to the killswitch,’ said Jane, with quiet menace. ‘It’s hard to be right when you’re dead.’

Sandy nearly laughed, contemptuously. ‘You idiot, most of humanity’s most correct and righteous people have been dead for centuries. You think you can make me less right by killing me? You’d only prove my point.’

‘Why do you think … ?’

‘Excuse me,’ someone interrupted to one side. Sandy, Jane and Sudasarno all turned to look at the new arrival-a tourist, presumably, to judge from the large photo-map he held in both hands, the backpack over his shoulders, and four people who seemed to be a wife and three children waiting behind. All appeared Chinese. The man smiled as he approached. ‘Hello, sorry to bother you … could any of you please direct me to the Vandaram ferry service? My wife and I … we wanted to take a river cruise, the rivers here are so pretty.’

Looking askance at Jane, much to Sandy’s alarm. But perhaps given the choice between a dark ‘noir-chick,’ a starch-collared young suit, and a mild, ordinary-looking young woman, the choice wasn’t so strange after all.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jane said mildly, ‘I’m a tourist too. These two are locals.’ The man looked at Sudasarno and Sandy, expectantly. Sandy wondered once more at her shades, and if tourists were as familiar with her face as local Callayans had become.

‘Oh, right …’ said Sudasarno, with forced congeniality. Sandy’s enhanced hearing heard the strain in his throat. ‘That’s the Vandaram River down there, yes? I don’t know this area well, but I remember clearly the ferry terminal is just ten minutes’ walk from here. If you just head down this road until you hit the river, and then turn left, it’s a pleasant walk along the bank.’

‘Wonderful,’ said the man, in one of the Federation’s several distinct Chinese accents, ‘thank you very much.’

He beamed a smile and departed, as Sudasarno and Sandy wished him a happy holiday.

Jane gave her a sardonic look. ‘You would give your life for people like him?’

‘If it came to that.’

‘What a waste,’ Jane said softly. ‘There’s so many of them. And so few of us. We’re special.’

‘Everyone’s special.’

The other GI shook her head. ‘I’d rather not have to kill you.’ The Chinese tourist and his family went past, waving thanks as they headed off toward the river. Sandy and Sudasarno waved back. ‘We could come to an understanding.’

‘There’s no deals here,’ said Sandy. ‘You oppose everything I believe in.’ Her stare fixed upon Jane’s face. ‘And you’re right enough about my nature in one thing-you threaten me, you threaten the things and people I love, and I’ll kill you.’

Jane gave a faint, dangerous smile. ‘You try that here, in public, and I’ll unload a clip into this crowd. You know I don’t miss. How many lives is it worth to you, to stop me?’

‘I don’t plan on making a trade,’ Sandy said coldly. ‘You can go. I won’t follow you. Not here. But know this … if you don’t behave yourself, I’ll catch you. I’m original League technology. You’re a cheap copy. I’ll kill you, and I’ll make it slow, and painful. That’s a fact, not a threat.’

Jane considered her for a moment longer. Her pale blue eyes were unreadable. Perhaps she regretted. Perhaps she hated. Or maybe she merely considered, adding equations of probability and strategy in her doubtless capable mind. It was too much to hope that she actually considered the content of her words. She wondered if Jane actually heard her words at all, or if she was as blind to the underlying moral arguments as deep-sea creatures were to colour. One image, two realities. One sentence, two understandings. With such a person, reason became impossible. The software that processed the words was so utterly different, they may as well have been speaking different languages. She watched the GI named Jane turn on her heel, and stride coolly from the scene, with a dread that numbed her to her soul.

‘Oh dear lord,’ she murmured beneath her breath, watching that departing back mingle and fade into the flow of streetside pedestrians. ‘What in the hell have they gone and done now?’

‘You’re just going to let her go?’ asked Sudasarno then, recovering his voice with an abrupt, startled terror. ‘You’re just going to let her walk off like that?’

‘I can’t track her covertly without uplinks,’ Sandy said quietly. ‘She’s not making idle threats, Sudie. She’ll kill civilians just to warn me off. No way I call anyone else onto her tail. They don’t know what she’s capable of. It might trigger a massacre.’

‘Then how the hell else are you going to catch up with her again?’ Sudasarno’s voice was high with barely restrained panic, hands waving. ‘After what she’s already done? By the Prophet himself, Sandy, you can’t just let her walk away!’

‘I can’t take the risk, Sudie.’ She fixed him with a very direct gaze. ‘You know the stuff the xenophobes all said about me, when they first found out about me? All the fear, all the hatred? I never deserved it. I think she might.’