Crossover (19 page)

"Could say," Sandy replied. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been dragged." With glum exasperation. "Ought to be sleeping with the rest of my guys ... they just pulled me out of the debrief and said they'd like me to give you a rundown ..." A baffled shrug. "So I say 'hey, I'm SWAT, not security', and they say 'tough luck lady', and they give me this bloody great bag of crap, don't even offer to lend me some strapping young hunk to carry the damn thing for me, and here I am."

Sandy's brain remained fixed on 'debriefing'. "You were at the Parliament?"

Rice let out a long, hard sigh.

"That's my job. And a great, wonderful fucking job it is too." Looked her hard in the eye. There was an energy about Rice, Sandy saw. Lively most times. Darkly unhappy right then, and forcing wry humour to cover it. "Lovely mess your friends made."

"They're not my friends."

Rice cocked an eyebrow and nodded acknowledgment.

"I know. Lovely mess you made of them, too."

"Is your team okay?" Sandy asked. If Rice was a good SWAT lieutenant, it would be the only question she truly cared about, at that moment.

"
My
guys are fine," Rice replied with a hard stare, "but a friend of mine lost three in three seconds, all dead. I knew them all."

"I'm sorry," Sandy said quietly.

"And it
really
fucking shits me," Rice continued, barely controlling the anger that suddenly writhed to the surface, "because I saw the space on the debrief, I went through about three just like it when we came down on the roof. There were only about fifteen damn GIs left by then ... it could have been me or anyone but now this friend of mine's banging his damn head against the wall thinking how he could have avoided it ..." She caught herself, and exhaled hard. Shrugged. "Anyway." Again fixed Sandy with a firm stare. "We would have lost a hell of a lot more if you hadn't been there. Including the President. They said you got twenty."

Sandy shrugged. "Roughly."

Rice snorted. "So Dr-fucking-Djohan was right, you
are
a dangerous wench."

"I never claimed otherwise."

"No. No, you didn't, did you. Well fuck it, you're not drugged now, you're not restrained, I'm standing five metres away and I'm still alive. It'll do me."

Her dark eyes were intent with the lingering fire of the day's events. Sandy knew that different people dealt with it in different ways. Rice, it appeared, went into energy overload and had trouble calming down. Only she did so now, just a little, as her brain appeared to catch up with what she'd just said. Her eyes narrowed further, looking Sandy up and down. As if only now realising the significance of standing in a room alone with an undrugged, unsecured GI. And realising that only yesterday she'd not have thought it at all prudent.

"So here you are," she stated, recovering some lightness with an effort. "Upright."

"Bother you?" Sandy asked her.

Rice met her gaze. And did not flinch when she held it, unblinking. Which was rare, among straights. And rarer still in these circumstances.

"Not after today," Rice replied.

"And that's why they sent you," Sandy guessed. Having just added that piece for herself. "Because they think I might need a chaperone."

"Oh no," said Rice, "it's far, far worse than that, I'm afraid." She turned and unzipped the canvas bag on the sofa. Pulled out a black, angular firearm — a Chesu PK-7, Sandy saw — and presented it to her, held crosswise in her hands. "You've been appropriated."

Sandy just looked at her. And at the Chesu. The PK-7 was a close quarters model — low on firepower compared to what she was used to, but concealable, compact and efficient. A non-military weapon. The grip was angled towards her invitingly. Circumstances as they were, she wanted to take it. It was logical that she should be armed, after all that had happened. But she did not move.

"What's the deal?" she asked quietly.

"Congress just passed emergency powers," Rice said, folding the weapon to a comfortable hold at her side. "CSA has overriding jurisdiction on just about every security issue going. Priority being on finding who did this and stopping it from happening again. So this is your lucky break, populist politics just went down the disposal and you just got yourself declared a security asset."

"And that means arming me?" She was not at all sure of the implications. The logic made sense. But it was freedom-through-desperation. It was the CSA cutting her restraints with a gun to their head. It was not by their own free will, and she distrusted that entirely. Evidently her suspicion was showing.

"They're trusting you, Cassandra," Vanessa said earnestly. "They know they're not going to get cooperation out of you until you feel accepted. They're putting you on the team. So yes, that logically means arming you. I mean hell, you're dangerous enough without weapons. They'd drawn a line on just releasing you before. Now they're crossing that line, they reckon they might as well go all the way."

"No more politicians leaning on the CSA to block me out?"

"They've been overriden." With evident pleasure, a gleam in her eyes. "It's no longer a matter for politicians. This is where the professionals come in. On emergency legislation, we can tell the politicians to go jump."

Sandy sighed, a short, reluctant heave of robed shoulders. They felt stiff, aching with unreleased tension. Vanessa waited for a reply.

"What'll I do?" she asked eventually. Reluctantly.

Vanessa shrugged. "Help. Anyway you can. Who knows? Cassandra ... this city just fell to pieces. Psychologically. It's chaos out there, the media's going completely crazy, there are lunatics on all fringes preaching war and insanity ... This is the party town, Cassandra. This isn't a political hotspot, people aren't political here. No one realised there was a problem ..."

"What is the problem?" Sandy asked. Wondering if they knew yet. Or if they'd guessed.

"Well, Ibrahim's guessing it's your precious 'escape clause'. Only it doesn't appear to make any sense ... unless they were after you, but post-analysis doesn't indicate that at all. He'll be along to talk to you about it shortly. He thought he'd give you a chance to rest for a half hour first."

Sandy ran both hands hard through her hair, trying to clear the lingering fog from her brain. She did not yet feel entirely steady on her feet. She felt disoriented. Being asked to make commitments ... She wasn't entirely sure what she felt. Or where her loyalties lay. Or if she had any loyalties at all. The deal sounded like progress. Technically. She'd told them about the escape clause, and now, unhappily, something appeared to have come of it... and that, she guessed, had done her credibility no end of good. No more drugs, no more restraints ... trust. Or something like it, if only motivated by panicked desperation. But she wanted ... hell, she didn't know what she wanted.

Perhaps it would be enough, she thought, to know that these people were worth helping. The CSA, Tanusha and Callay more broadly. They had yet to do anything for
her
. She was uncertain if they ever would, unless their own immediate concerns were at stake. She looked at the angular, snubbed weapon in the lieutenant's hand, and wondered if she would ever feel whatever it was that one needed to feel in order to commit oneself to such obligations. Service was her habit — was, perhaps, her truest nature. It was certainly the reason she existed. But she wanted more. More than the unthought reflex, in the Parliament ambush, to protect those obviously in the right from those obviously in the wrong. Then, she hadn't had time to think it through before acting. She wanted to know she could think, and still act, aware of all implications. She wanted to know it was worth it.

"What?" Rice asked, watching with dark, sombre eyes.

"I don't know." She shook her head wearily. "I don't know why this is happening. I don't know if it's my fault, I don't know if I owe anyone here anything, I don't know what I ought to do about it. I don't know, Vanessa. I just... don't know anything."

Vanessa considered her for a moment. Turned and placed the Chesu back on the sofa. "Look," she said, folding her arms tiredly, "we've got some clothes for you in the other room ... and some other things. Why don't you get dressed, we'll have something to eat and we can talk for a while. About Tanusha. And other things."

Sandy blinked, wondering, as she gazed at Vanessa, just how much she understood of what she was feeling. Vanessa raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"Fine." She managed a small smile. "Food would be good."

The food, in fact, was excellent. The Presidential Quarters had its own staff, divided into housekeeping and catering — Alpha Team took care of all security regarding the President, including household security. One staff member brought them dinner on laptop trays, with the same careful presentation afforded genuine VIP guests. Outfitted in her new, comfortable jeans and CSA regulation heavy leather jacket, Sandy marvelled at the tray setting, with silverware, separate little magnetically adhesive bowls for sauce and spices, and a main meal of steaming Thai curry, one of her many favourites. And crisp, steaming spring rolls with soy sauce dip ... she
loved
spring rolls.

"I could get used to this," Vanessa commented on the sofa opposite, devouring a mouthful of her spaghetti. "Ever since I met you, I've been moving up in the world. I haven't been waited on since my honeymoon."

"You haven't been here before?" Sandy asked.

"Here?" Incredulously. "Hell no. SWAT-rats don't get found in places like this. The closest I've got to political power before was when the Vice President gave me my university degree ... but that was Abdul Hussein, he was several administrations ago."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-six." Winding up another spaghetti mouthful around her fork. One of the household staff put another log on the open fire, sparks showering up the 'chimney'. "Graduated fifteen years ago. Want to know what I studied?"

"Mmm." Sandy nodded past her mouthful.

Vanessa smirked. "I did an MBA." And popped the full fork into her mouth.

"You wanted to get into business?" Sandy asked with amazement. Vanessa nodded, chewing heartily. "How well did you score?"

"Uh-uh," Vanessa waved a finger at her reproachfully, "don't cast aspersions upon my academic achievements, young lady, I was third in my year ... that's at Jayasankaran University too, that's prestige for you. I had about twenty headhunters chasing me then, big firms too. I'd be rich if I'd stuck with it."

"Why didn't you?" With fascination, her meal temporarily forgotten. Even the shock of recent ground-shaking events faded, in such surroundings, in company she was admittedly beginning to find of increasing interest. Not forgotten. Just postponed. If she hadn't learned that skill early, in Dark Star, she would have gone insane long, long ago.

"I did, for two years. One of the least emotionally satisfying things I've ever done. They're a pack of self-centred bastards, I'm telling you ... it's this city, they have their corporate ladders, their damn expensive dinner parties, trophy girlfriends and boytoys ... they don't talk about anything but work. They've got their own little egocentric world. They spend their entire lives immersed in this trivial bullshit and nothing touches them. After two years I was climbing the walls."

"But why SWAT?"

Vanessa rolled her eyes. "You know," she said, jabbing her fork for emphasis, "that's the really weird thing ... When I was young and stupid, I just thought I wanted independence and power. You know, I reckoned I'd make a stack of money, buy my own stuff, sleep with whoever I wanted ... y'see I'd always been over-independent if there's such a thing, had screaming rows with my parents since before puberty even, that kind of thing. If you'd suggested SWAT or even CSA to me when I was in school, I'd have laughed in your face — I thought authority only existed to give decent people the shits.

"Then I saw the alternative. There's a broad section of people in this city that just don't give a shit. War with the League? That's lightyears away, doesn't affect anyone here, who cares? Spreading underworld activity? Natural side effect of liberal-market policies, just grin and bear it. I mean, it's not like I thought business circles would be full of humanistic enlightenment or anything, I just didn't realise they'd be that
hollow
. And I didn't realise how activist I actually was until I went somewhere where I was starved of it ... it drove me mad. So I started looking around for ways to get involved in things that actually interested me ..." Pause for a sip of her drink. "... and I soon discovered that the only major organisation that has any real influence over issues I thought were important was the CSA. So I joined."

"Just like that?" Sandy was still gazing, chewing slowly on her food.

Vanessa smiled crookedly. "Just like that. That's my motto. I'm not much on deliberation."

"They wanted people with MBAs?"

"Sure, financial crime's the ten-headed monster here, not to mention someone has to figure out their own budgets. Only I'd listed martial arts, scuba diving and general sports among my proficiencies, so they gave me the full physical and found reflexes and coordination in the top two percentile, so they sat me down and politely asked me if I'd ever thought of SWAT. So I thought, heck, accountancy, tax evasion, special weapons and tactics, what's the difference?"

Sandy actually managed a grin, much to her surprise. "You ever regretted it?"

"Sure, heaps of times. Like today. But the day after, I always find myself feeling kind of proud that I'd been there, however horrible it'd been at the time. I need that ... I need to feel I actually matter, that I'm doing something useful, whatever it is. I didn't really realise that until I went into corporate business. I didn't realise just how useless ordinary people can get. And ... God, there are times I just feel
so
superior to all of them." She grinned at Sandy, an abrupt flash of lively energy. "It's a huge ego thing but I love it. We have these public open days sometimes. You get all these suited wonders coming and gaping when we show 'em armour drills and demos. I ran into an old business acquaintance there once, real popular bigshot, queen of the in-crowd ... we spent fifteen minutes chatting about all the things I'd done since then, and all the things she'd done, and Christ — she walked away from there feeling absolutely, totally inadequate, it was wonderful."