Crossover (39 page)

"The present government are our lords and masters," said Krishnaswali. Vanessa turned and glared at him. He sat as he'd been sitting the past half hour, long legs crossed, calmly sipping his tea. "We swore an oath to uphold the lawful government. Right now, that means Dali."

"My team didn't nearly just get its ass shot off for Mr-fucking-Dali!" Vanessa retorted. "Arvid's not lying down there in sickbay being force-fed trauma tape for Mr Dali! I swore an oath to serve and protect the people of Callay and Tanusha,
not
Federal Governor Dali!"

"Then change the law," Krishnaswali said. Met Vanessa's glare impassively above the rim of his teacup, taking another calm sip.

"How?"

The CSA's head SWAT officer shrugged. "Don't ask me, I'm a grunt. Ask the Chief."

"I don't have access to the ..." and trailed off as something occurred to her, her eyes widening slightly, past the hard thumping in her chest.

"Naidu does," said Hiraki from the back of the room. Vanessa looked at him, seated with equal calm to Krishnaswali, but coolly disciplined to his superior's languid professionalism. The look in his heavily slanted eyes was hard. "Ibrahim knows. He must remove Dali. We cannot catch the FIA with him in power." With a conceding nod to his commander. "Chief Justice Guderjaal does have the power to remove Dali if the laws by which he came to power have been broken. There was insufficient evidence before. Now, there is the box." He nodded toward the desk, where Zhong and Suarez were still crouched and working, oblivious to the debate going on around them. Vanessa's eyes widened further.

"Jees ... if we could trace the origins directly back to Dali and show Guderjaal the proof..."

Hiraki nodded. His expression was dangerous.

"Naidu will inform Investigations. They will trace. We will act when the time comes."

"But ... but ..." Chopra had straightened behind the desk, his expression somewhat horrified, "but... I mean, by all means, justice must be done and justice surely lies in the hands of Mr Guderjaal ... but Mr Guderjaal does not possess the Governor's key-codes! He cannot remove the Governor's key-codes at will. He ... he must..."

"He must empower us to take them from him," Hiraki finished. "By force if he resists." Silence in the office. Screenlight flickered on drawn blinds. Krishnaswali sipped at his tea.

"Good show," he murmured. "Wouldn't miss it."

CHAPTER 15

It was a Friday, as Callayan calendars went. Sandy gazed down on the evening crowds along Ramprakash Road in Velan. The train was crowded, the carriage a mass of stylish clothes and hairstyles, glittering jewellery and flamboyant extravagance. The wide road they cruised above was even more colourful. Everywhere were lights, flashing holographic displays erupting along the broad sidewalk, flaring down the sides of buildings from twenty storeys high.

President Pital Ramprakash, Sandy remembered hearing, had been a connoisseur of expensive parties, the more extravagant the better. He would have been very proud, she thought now as she gazed down at the street that now bore his name. There were other roads like it around Tanusha, but Ramprakash Road was the one with the reputation. Road traffic was heavy and the wide sidewalks were crammed with a constant, flowing mass of humanity. The train made a stop, exchanged one crowd of people for another and moved on silently. Did the same at the next stop, and the next, and still Ramprakash Road continued, with not a bend along the way.

Finally they came to her stop, and she eased past her neighbour and into the shouldering masses in the aisle. Emerged onto the platform connecting to a main pedestrian walkway running parallel to the rail line. It too was crowded, and she merged carefully into the semi-orderly flow. Marvelled at the aesthetic planning as she walked by the pedestrian rail, at the way walks and elevated rail lines merged into the streetside buildings, and at the clever use made of open spaces and transparent materials. And even here there was always a view, she realised as she walked, trailing a hand along the railing. Tanusha was definitely the least claustrophobic mega-city she'd ever seen.

A level below, walkways crossed the road every few hundred metres. She headed for one, down a broad stairway, past a busker with some form of robotic mimic/sculpture that amused a gaggle of watching pedestrians, and crossed the road. Down into the teeming street amid the shouts and laughter of excited nightlifers, the whine of car engines and the thump-and-shrill of many-sourced music. Colour assaulted her vision, shiny-smooth outfits in synthetic or leather, wild hair in many colours, short skirts, transparent skirts, heels, high boots, traditional outfits of many different cultures ... all walking shoulder to shoulder amid the flaring lights and displays, soaking in the energy.

Despite her serious business, Sandy found time to be fascinated. There were nightclubs, restaurants, holographic cinema complexes, bars, VR gaming joints, full immersion VR with plush interiors and loud signs that offered 'simulated sensory experiences beyond your wildest dreams ...' Sandy wasn't sure about that — some of her dreams were pretty wild, but she got the idea. Display screens broadcast the action inside as living advertisements — massed dancers on nightclub floors, dizzying robot battles on sims, movie-clips, lasciviously dressed couples or groups doing lascivious things ... Olfactory replicators throwing 'real time' food smells into the sidewalk air outside the fancy restaurants with the intention of making the mouth water ... it worked too. Sandy firmly told her stomach to be still and moved on through the pressing crowds.

'The Waterhole', the club was called. There was a patterned glass atrium, several storeys high, a double layer of walled glass and falling between, a shimmering curtain of water. Hologram light flickered and danced across the glass-painted palms, swirling figures, dancers, patterns, alive as falling water. A queue lined at the double brass doors, and Sandy walked along it, through a clutch of oncoming pedestrians, a very drunk, hysterically laughing group she took to be a work party, and shouldered up to the front. The two big, turbaned Sikhs looked stonily at her ... she drew the CSA badge from her jacket, waited as the nearest bouncer's eye-enhancement tracked the S-seal, nodded and unclipped the rope to let her pass.

"Are you on duty?" he asked curiously, as some annoyed exclamations rose from the queue.

"Would it matter?" she asked pleasantly.

"No, of course not. But we just like to know ... you know ..."

"Nothing's happening," she assured him. "I just arranged to meet someone on business. Lucky you," and gave the big man a pat on a bulging bicep as she passed, tucking the badge back into her jacket.

She wondered, as she passed through the water-wall, what kind of regular jobs those two bouncers would have. And what kind of business they'd be concerned about ... she knew there was some underworld activity in Tanusha. Naturally they'd be concerned about any security actions going down in their club. She wished Vanessa was with her.

Through a hallway, corridors branching to either side, then out into the main club ... The place was massive, the ceiling over ten metres high. The entire joint was shaped like a giant arch, with herself at the apex looking down. Aisles curved away to either side of her past lines of table-booths, low walled and stylish, screened by palms and greenery. The tables circled the dance floor in ascending rings, shielded by an excess of flashing dance-light and by the balcony roof overhead. The balcony ran right around the walls, and beyond the side rails more tables. Out on the dance floor, a surging mass of humanity, waving arms and tossing heads, illuminated in lightning flashes of kaleidoscopic brilliance in the inky darkness. On the far wall, a good eighty metres away, a stage, and a band. What they were playing, Sandy did not know, but it was loud, techno, aggressively rhythmic and it reverberated in her bones. The combined assault of light, sound and vibration was almost overpowering, and she reflexively modulated reception as she went down the central aisle. Retinas adjusted for multiple intensity shifts, hearing tuned down the thumping bass and cut disruption ... she couldn't help but stare at the throbbing masses on the dance floor, though. She guessed maybe twelve hundred people, all pressed together, blending in motion, staccato movement in the flashing lights. Around the tables another three or four hundred, talking, drinking, eating ... the damn place was a restaurant too. More hundreds on the top balcony ... maybe twenty-four hundred people all told. Jesus.

She walked along a side aisle, past tables of diners, clubbers coming the other way. Then up a staircase by the side wall. The balcony was much the same, except that the aisles were stepped down more steeply, giving each table row a good view of the dance floor. Along the highest aisle, vision tracking, sidestepping waiters with piled trays of food and drinks, she caught a brief transmission, a flashburst from nearby ... eyes flicked across and found him at a table further along the aisle, at the very top of the arch. He'd seen her first evidently. She smiled as she finally approached.

"Hello darling." Mahud rose to meet her and she kissed him firmly on the lips, like one lover to another. "Lovely place."

"Yes dear," he deadpanned past a creeping smile. They sat. "You wanna eat?"

"No no no," she said, "you're supposed to compliment me on how I look, that's how civilians do it." Mahud frowned.

"You're wearing jeans and a jacket. That's not very impressive," with an indication to the dance floor.

"I didn't say you had to mean it," Sandy replied with amusement, "you just have to say it."

"Why don't you compliment me then?" He did, Sandy reflected, look rather flash in his colourful sports jacket, track pants and expensive walker shoes. It was a particular, legitimate look, one of thousands in Tanusha. Someone must be advising him on what to wear, she decided.

"Because the man's supposed to compliment the woman first."

"No," he levelled a finger at her, dance floor pyrotechnics half-lighting his grin, outlining his jaw and cheek, "you've got that wrong. I've seen plenty of women going after men like they've got bullseyes on their crotches."

"I know, but that's not the traditional custom. I'm trying to teach you the basics ... then you can start the advanced course." He half frowned at her.

"What's the advanced course?"

"We point you at some girl out on that dance floor, and we see if you can get her into bed without offending her." A perplexed look from Mahud.

"Have sex with a straight? What if I hurt her?"

"You mean you never did?" Sandy asked, eyes widening.

"No way... you were the only one, Cap. You see, I told you you were a nymphomaniac ..."

"That's crap, I know Raju did." Enjoying this exchange immensely. "Who the hell was it ... oh yeah, you remember Lieutenant Li, armoury monitor?"

"Raju would screw anything," Mahud said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Hell, he was nearly as bad as you." Sandy gaped at him, mock horrified. "My point is that most
normal
GIs, Cap, stuck entirely with other GIs. Straights are all soft and squishy ... you'd have to have a serious zipper malfunction to want to screw straights, Cap. Raju was a walking penis."

"What does that make me?" Mahud grinned at her. Leaned forward and dusted something imaginary from her shoulder ... took that imaginary thing between his fingers and peered at it curiously.

"Pubic hair," he identified it for her benefit. Sandy kicked him under the table — softly, to avoid breaking anything if she missed. But she was impressed at the humour. And very pleased. The Mahud she remembered from Dark Star would never have made a joke like that. Could never. The subtlety would have been utterly beyond him. He was learning, evidently. Seeing the world in a new light. It was expanding his mind, and as Sandy sat there looking at him she just felt ... happy. It was just so wonderful to have him back.

"So," she said. The sound was good, up on the balcony. She could clearly sense the nearby hum of repression acoustics, damping the dance floor cacophony down to something manageable. "What's the occasion?"

"The occasion," Mahud replied, "is that we're moving out shortly." Sandy frowned. Looked closely at him, searching for clues. There were none to be found in his calm, handsome brown eyes. He held her gaze without effort, matter-of-fact.

"Moving out?"

"That's what my superior says. Tomorrow. Something's going down."

"What kind of something?" She didn't like it. Didn't like relying on Mahud's tenuous grasp of events. "Is the operation winding up?" Mahud shrugged.

"Pretty much. But something's happening. It's an emergency withdrawal plan ... a whole lot of stuff I don't understand, but I think the CSA's getting close. Apparently we've lost one of our Read Only Matrixes. Infiltration for the Plexus grid. Some SWAT raid."

"When?" Eyes unblinking.

"Few hours ago." He gestured to a passing waiter, and ordered two glasses of champagne. Flash of memory, champagne in a bunk-party, smuggled aboard. A good memory. "That's why I wanted to talk to you. We've been put on isolation stand down until tomorrow. I don't know if we're leaving tomorrow or not ... but we're doing something tomorrow. Morning, I think."

"Mahud." Firmly, leaning forward on the table. Not liking the deep, cold feeling in her stomach. "Mahud ... what about what we talked about? Are you going to stay with these people?"

He inhaled deeply. Held it for a long moment, looking at the tabletop, at his hands there, splayed upon the smooth surface. Sandy wanted to hold those hands, to touch him, to help him in whatever he needed her help in ... but sensed that this was not the right time. Nor, perhaps, was it the right man.

He exhaled, long and deep.

"No." He looked up, and his eyes met hers. Mild, as if the decision gave him no trouble at all. "No, I won't go with them. That's why I called you here. I want to help you. If you bring these guys in, you'll get your citizenship from the CSA. I want to help you get them."

For one of the very few times in her life, Sandy could not think of anything to say. Her eyes locked with his in a kind of hypnotic bond that neither of them seemed able to break. The two champagne glasses arrived, and the waiter departed. Sandy tried to regather her racing thoughts. It was difficult.

"You feel you can do that?" she asked him very quietly.

A nod. "I'll be on the inside, they won't suspect a thing. We've got interface levels they don't, we can interface without them knowing anything. I can keep you updated on what's going on, and you can tell the CSA. We'll get them."

"Mahud ... that's not what I'm asking. I know you can do it technically. But... I mean, do you
like
these guys?" A disbelieving frown.

"
Like
them? They're FIA." Like that explained everything. Which it did, she supposed with dazed logic.

"So ... I mean, you wouldn't have a problem ... bringing them down?" Betray was not a word she wanted to use. He had always been so loyal. He answered with an emphatic shake of the head.

"Cap, they've made it plenty plain they don't like me. I don't like them either. They just keep me around to do the job. And I stick around because I was ordered to do what they say."

"It'll mean breaking that order, Mahud." Still quietly. It was a hell of a thing to ask of any GI. Especially Mahud. "It'll mean going AWOL. Leaving the League. Being branded a traitor, probably. Can you do that?"

She gazed at him, oblivious to the pounding music, and the epileptic pandemonium of lights from the dance floor. And was surprised when it was he who reached across the table, and held her hands firmly in his own.

"Cap ... what'd they
do
to you?" Looking her over, eyes narrowed with powerful feeling. "They cut you up, Sandy. I've been thinking about it, and ... I mean, I just can't
stop
thinking about it. And I helped them do it."

"No you didn't ..." but he held up a hand, forestalling her protest.

"Bullshit. Of course I did. I planned the assault that gave them cover ... cover to distribute their damn database they'd gotten from cutting you up, then hide everything so no one would ever find where it went. I've
been
doing that, that's what they've been up to just now. I go into their meetings, wherever they are, and that's what they've been doing.

"And ... and I've been thinking, Sandy." His eyes were intent, more forceful than she'd ever seen of him. Like he was taking charge. It was definitely a first and his gaze held her mesmerised. "I've been thinking ... I mean, what's it all for, anyway? I used to love the League so much, but you know what I really loved? It was you guys, you, Raju, Tran, Chu ... that was why I loved the League. Because being a part of the League made me a part of you guys ... and that was what it was all about.