Cassandra Kresnov 5: Operation Shield (19 page)

She looked about at them. Waiting to see which one of them got it first. Admiral Hoi looked quite unsettled. Points to Fleet for always being the first to understand what armageddon meant.

“You think Ragi that much of a threat?” Ibrahim asked, deadly intent.

“I don't know,” she said. “Probably not, if he's not actually Talee he won't be as capable as Cai. But you've seen the reports. Can you imagine Cai loose in this city? Taking control away from us in city-scale networks, like taking toys from a baby? You guys were all scared of me when I arrived, but I'm nothing compared to that. I can do physical damage, sure. But the network encompasses everything. It's our civilisation's technological life support, and we're all wired to it. Everything is. If a single entity ever got that much control over it, well, you can see why Ragi might not
need
to be a combat model.”

Returning home in her cruiser, she called back Justice Rosa.

“
Cassandra!
” he said, sounding genuinely pleased to hear from her. She quite liked Justice but was not yet prepared to judge whether that pleasure was mostly for her sake or mostly for the sake of the book he was writing and would no doubt gain great wealth and fame from. “
Glad to see you're back safely
.”

“Glad to be back safely, Justice.”

“
And I hear your little gang of friends has grown by three?
”

“You hear correctly.” Far too correctly, she thought sourly. Though it was too much to hope that news might have been silenced. Family details of high-security individuals like herself were repressed, so she wouldn't have to answer crap from any tabloids about it—and any tabloids who tried would likely end up in prison. But she'd have to answer
something
, sometime, she supposed.

“
A very remarkable development. I understand you'll be a little busy in the near term, but can we meet a bit later?
”

The previous routine. Sandy wasn't sure if she was looking forward to it or dreading it. Probably both. “Sure. How about give me a week, then try me again.”

“
Of course. Schools?
”

“Being organised.”

“
The psychology bureaucracy giving you their usual bullshit?
”

“Very much so,” Sandy sighed.

“
Ages. Can I just know their ages?
”

Sandy had to smile. Justice liked to hold himself above the Tanushan tea house chatterati but now trafficked in personal gossip like any other. No doubt he could impress others with his level of access to her life. Still, better
him than some others, and drip feeding the beast was probably smarter than starving it. “Two boys, six and thirteen, and a girl, ten. All wonderful.”

“
Siblings?
”

“Yes. Orphans.”

“
From Droze, wow. Well, best of luck to you, Sandy, it's a very noble thing you're doing
.”

“You know, it's really not.” Justice had adopted a League orphan himself, she recalled. Having been a war correspondent there and seen the horrors.

“
I know what you mean. Oh, one more thing. Emancipation. Your idea?
” Oh, yeah, sure, Justice. Just slip it in there, I'll never notice.

“An independent development.”

“
I do understand it's causing quite a stir in the human rights circles. Since it came from a rebellion on Droze, I put two and two together
.”

“You know if you do that long enough,” said Sandy, “you can arrive at quite a large number that bears no relation to anything real.”

“
The rebellion was League GIs left behind when the League pulled out five years ago?
”

“Yes.”

“
And you happening to be there at the time is pure coincidence?
”

“Something like that.”

“
What's happening to the rebels? We hear it's a standoff, so they haven't been wiped out yet…they captured the headquarters of Chancelry Corporation? This is New Torah Chancelry, right, the bit that remained behind, not main League Chancelry?
”

“Right again.”

“
And they weren't wiped out, and now Federation is in there negotiating. Must be very important for the Federation to be there already. Unless there's more to the story than just some uprising of synthetic people, because as much as we all value synthetic rights, that does seem a thin reason for the Federation to be intervening in what is still technically League space, yes?
”

“Interesting,” said Sandy.

“
Well, if you feel the need to get anything off your chest prior to a week's time, call me
.”

“I'll certainly do that.”

“
Oh, and Sandy. I think I've settled on the title for the book
.”

“Yes?”

With the faintest trace of anxiety.
Heavily Armed Nympho
had been Vanessa's suggestion. “What, you don't think that would sell?” she'd replied to Sandy's disapproval, all innocence.

The Best Artificial Tits in Town
had been Ari's effort. “I liked Vanessa's better,” she'd told him drily.

And her various grunt squadmates had voted for
Blonde Ambition
. Had made a fake paperback cover of it, propped it up in the briefing room with all of them assembled, title over a photo of her arriving at some CSA formal function, a black-tie dinner, of all things. And poor, dumb GI Sandy, with little knowledge of how to exit a car in a fancy dinner dress, had managed to give the photographer a great look at thighs and underwear, now splashed across the book cover for all to see. “Fuck off, the lot of you,” she'd told them with a smile, as the briefing room had fallen about laughing.

“
Twenty-Three Years on Fire
,” said Justice. “
As we discussed before
.”

“Oh, okay.” They
had
discussed it before. It was a touch more dramatic than she'd have liked, but what kind of idiot invited a self-promoter like Justice Rosa to write a book about her and was then surprised by a dramatic title?

“
Kind of catchy, isn't it? Good luck with the Tanushan education department, dealing with them can be worse than the CSA
.”

Disconnected. Sandy sighed, cruising along her skylane, a gentle bank between towers, and mulling things over. The thing with being home, as much as she loved it, was that everything got so complicated again so quickly.

She put in a call. Most people couldn't get through on this connection, but she would, once Ibrahim saw who was calling.

“
Hello, Cassandra
,” said the FSA Director.

“I hate to be all big brother on my biographer,” she said, “but he was just asking me questions, and he's a very smart guy. He doesn't know anything he shouldn't, but if anyone was going to solve this one soon, it might be him.”

“
Hmm
.”

“The whole line of questioning was designed to show how much he knew, and he's got all his reasoning in very straight lines, no curves at all. I thought you should know.”

“
You've a recording?
”

“Of course.”

“
Well, I recall that he's an author, not a day-by-day reporter. Books don't come out often, so perhaps we can buy some time with a briefing
.”

“He does the other kind too. Might work though, he does enjoy an exclusive briefing.”

“
Don't they all
.”

“He's got a book title too.” All her employers were nervous about the book and had requested to be kept in the loop. “
Twenty-Three Years on Fire
.”

A pause. “
You know
,” said the Director, “
I think that's quite good
.” Which surprised her, because Ibrahim was hardly the type to go for commercial and catchy. “
What do you think?
”

“So long as I'm not in flames on the cover, or naked, I'll live with it.”

“
Or naked and in flames. One can hope. Thank you, Cassandra
.” He disconnected.

She had to fight the impulse for gratitude. “Journalists,” Ibrahim had once told her. “At your feet or at your throat. Never trust them.”

Danya had baked a cake. Sandy was astonished. It was banana cake and smelled wonderful—half-eaten, the kids had already polished theirs off for lunch, with some baguette sandwiches Danya had also directed them in making.

“Where did you learn to bake a banana cake?” Sandy asked him, cutting her own slice and tasting. It was delicious.

“I don't know,” Danya said with a shrug, sitting alongside Kiril on the sofa to help him read something. “I have this memory of baking things with Mama. I can't remember any recipes, I just always had this idea that I'd like to bake something again sometime. If I ever…well, you know.”

He looked almost embarrassed. Not at baking, rather at admitting that he'd ever once dared to dream of a comfortable life. Maybe baking for him was like some kind of exercise, designed to convince his brain that he was actually here and things were better.

Sandy grinned, feeling happier than happy, and eating. “Danya, this is wonderful.”

“I can follow a recipe, it's not hard.” And he still remembered something of previous civilisation, before everything collapsed. It was what separated him from his siblings more than anything else. He knew what it was like to lose something and never to trust in solidity again.

“Oh, I know what would go perfectly with this,” said Sandy around a
mouthful. “The guy down at the restaurant makes his own ginger beer, you'll love it.”

“We can have beer?” asked Danya.

“No, it's got no alcohol, it's fine for kids.”

“Well, Kiril's reading,” said Danya with irony. Kiril had barely looked up since she'd come in, eyes locked on the page, tongue in one corner of his mouth. Such concentration. “He's doing amazingly well.” And Danya liked to supervise when that happened; Kiril's education had been a mission for him the past few years. Once, they'd hoped it might get them out of poverty, if Kiril could get a good job.

“That's okay, I'll take Svetlana. Svet!”

They walked together to the store. The kids had already been out walking around the neighbourhood together; Sandy said it was okay so long as they didn't leave the Canas walls. The automated security systems all knew them on sight and would track them and make sure they were safe.

“It's so pretty!” said Svetlana as they walked up the footpath of rough old stone, past stone walls, climbing vines, and thick overhanging greenery. “Why did they build it like this? I mean, everything else is so modern, but this looks old.”

“It's what the architects call ‘historical memory.’ This is what lots of old stuff looks like on Earth. They thought the colonies shouldn't forget what old Earth looked like, where we all came from. So you have neighbourhoods that look like this, old Europe, old India, old China. This one's Spanish.”

“What's Spanish?”

“Spain, it's a country in old Europe. You know flamenco music?” Svetlana shook her head. “Oh, I have to take you to see some. It's wonderful.”

They crossed the little road bridge over one of Tanusha's minor streams. On the far side was the eatery they'd passed before in the car, people sitting outside having a late lunch by the water. Someone Sandy knew from the neighbourhood said hi, and Sandy was pleased enough to stop and talk—it was a high court judge, in Canas due to his proximity to sensitive information. She'd lunched with him and his wife before and enjoyed it. Svetlana wandered inside the eatery, intrigued by the old stone walls and delicious smells.

Two minutes later, a scream and some yelling. Sandy rushed the door as glass broke and found Svetlana beside an overturned table, one beer mug
already hurled and another on its way, a table knife in the other hand. A man in a suit, security, was ducking the glass and coming at her.

Sandy caught his arm, pivoted him into a wall, and pinned him there by the throat. “I wouldn't,” she warned, with a look back at his comrade, who was frozen in a shock of recognition. Local security, clearly. The comrade ducked again as Svetlana threw the second mug at him anyway, then rushed him with the knife.

“Hey!” Sandy abandoned the first man to whip Svetlana quickly off her feet, still one-handed, and nimbly removed the knife.

“No!” Svetlana was yelling. “Let's kill him, let's rip his fucking head off!” And other, most un-little-girl-like things.

“Svet, shush,” said Sandy, carrying her effortlessly away with a rapid stride, back across the bridge. With everyone staring and in commotion behind. That didn't bother her for herself, she'd given up caring a fig for her reputation long ago…but Svetlana's reputation was something else. Then, as soon as they were around a corner, she put her down against a wall and crouched before her. “What happened?”

“They didn't recognise me!” Furious and tear streaked, breath coming in gasps. “Him and his fucking
friend
, they asked me to stand still for an ID scan, and I don't want to stand still for any fucking ID scan, and they said I had to or I'd be in trouble! I didn't do anything wrong and they were saying I was in trouble just for walking into the restaurant! And I…I called him some names, and he called me something back, and I got angry!”

“Svet, Svet…it's okay, it's okay. Don't be upset, you didn't do anything wrong.”

“But they did!” Furiously. Such anger in those pretty young eyes. “Let's get them, you can get them, right?” Expectantly. Because that's what protectors did. Sandy just looked at her sadly. “Okay, so maybe we can't kill them…can we get them fired or something? Sandy, I don't want them here, I don't want to live here with them still here…!” as the panic threatened again, and tears.

“Oh, hush, hush.” Sandy hugged her. She was so skinny, so slight, her body heaving. “Svet, it's my fault, I shouldn't have let you go in there alone, I didn't think security would be there. But they sometimes are, and it's their prerogative to check whomever they like, even kids. It's no big deal, Svet,
they just do a vid feedback to HQ and run recognition software, takes ten seconds…”

“Why do they have to do that? Don't they know I'm with you?”

“I'll talk with them. I'll talk with them very hard, so they'll know you guys on sight and won't do all the procedure. I'll tell them you don't like it. But they were just doing their jobs, Svet, you have to stop being scared of people who are just doing their jobs, they weren't trying to hurt you at all. If anything they were trying to protect you.”