Crossover (45 page)

"Are the people in the car okay?" Vanessa asked, still gazing off across the rooftop.

"Yes, she hit the rear wheel. The impact nearly took the back off the car, though. Those Prabatis are big bikes — you hit something at 200, it gets damaged. If she'd hit the door side, it would have been nasty. But," he added on reflection, "I'm informed that Central Control did excellently well, and it's unlikely that both it and she would have miscalculated by so much. A pity we could not get her to interface directly like the emergency crews do, then there would have been no problem. Damn Dali. How is Dali, anyway?"

Vanessa sighed. Thinking that Khurana liked the sound of his own voice just a bit too much. Broad-shouldered and snappily dressed, he looked like a moonlighting Indian movie star. The moustache looked suspiciously well groomed.

"He's in one piece," she replied wearily, "more's the pity. We had a job talking him and his security down, though. They didn't want to take Guderjaal's word, wanted everything filed in triplicate and stamped. The President helped."

"Yes," said Khurana with heavy irony, "she would, wouldn't she?" Vanessa shrugged. "Where is Dali now?"

"Locked up, I hope." Her eyes fell on a nearby cluster of people, kneeling and scanning, exchanging intent conversation, over the body at their feet. She could guess who that was. "Maybe we could just give him to Sandy for a few minutes," she murmured.

"Sandy?"

"Kresnov. Sandy short for Cassandra." Khurana frowned, following Rice's gaze. And realised.

"Hmm." He stroked his glossy moustache, eyes gone darkly sombre. "I'm sure that would violate a few interplanetary conventions, but I find the notion strangely appealing. I'd only worry for the person who has to clean up the mess after she's finished."

Vanessa nodded absently. Liking Khurana more for that.

"Have you heard from her?" Khurana asked. "Sandy?" Vanessa shook her head.

"Not a word. How long ago was she here?"

"I could not say precisely." Khurana stroked his moustache, frowning to himself as he considered. "Judging from the GI's time of death, I would suggest somewhere between thirty-five and fifty minutes. Forensics think she was here when he died. There was a lot of activity around then, according to eyewitnesses from downstairs." He paused. "And tears on his face, same time-date."

Vanessa turned and stared up at him. Cold emptiness in the pit of her stomach. And a growing lump in her throat. Khurana gazed back at her, grimly curious. Vanessa exhaled, a hiss between clenched teeth.

"Shit," she murmured, and looked back toward the cluster of forensics. For a moment there was no sound but the rooftop activity and the wail of sirens and crowd noise drifting up from street level.

"Friend of yours?" Khurana asked.

"Yeah." Softly. "Isn't that the damnedest thing, I only met her a few days ago. Who'd have thought that?" Khurana looked at her for a long moment. Probably wondering what kind of a person could possibly count a GI as a friend. Vanessa didn't care what he thought. Khurana unhooked his thumbs from his belt.

"Come over here," he said, and walked off toward the cluster of people around the dead GI. Vanessa followed, stepping carefully to avoid treading on anything important. Forensics made a space for him and Vanessa moved up to his side.

The body at their feet was that of a young man. Brown-skinned, of Arabic appearance. Handsome, Vanessa realised, gazing at his face. Peaceful, but for the torn scar of a bullet wound across his jaw. He lay as if at a wake, long and straight, hands folded upon his breast. Sandy's friend. She stood for a long moment at Khurana's side, gazing down at the handsome young man before her. The ache in her throat grew worse and her eyes prickled.

"See here," Khurana said with grim purpose, pointing back toward the nearest aircar in the rooftop parking space, riddled with holes. "He fell over there, covered behind the Ford. We've pieced together that much — that was the second time he was hit. First he killed his three FIA companions — the woman over there and the two men over by the doors," pointing across at the stairwell. About them, several of the forensics had paused in their examinations to listen.

"Our best information is that he refused the assault order. They hit him first, that much is clear. But they failed to kill with the first shots and it cost them their lives ... hardly surprising, considering what he is. He then took cover behind the Ford and waited for the civilians escaping from below to come up the stairs.

"We have four dead biotech employees — the two there," pointing at the two shapeless, canvas-covered forms between them and the stairwell, "and two over there, behind the cars," turning about and pointing behind, past the parking space overlooking Vento Street. "Those two were last. These two," turning back around, "were killed first, shot from behind."

"It appears that Kresnov's friend here covered the first two civilians to come up the stairs and told them to take cover behind the cars. The second two were caught halfway when the first FIA ... or our first murderer, I should say ..." Here his assured, analytical tone turned particularly cold. "... reached the top of the stairs and shot them in the back. He was in turn killed by this young man." Indicating the GI. "Thus the third dead FIA man by the stairwell.

"Then there was a firefight, during which this brave young fellow was further wounded, evidently his wounds to this point were troubling him gravely, or else the entire FIA team may well be dead, and he still alive. A pity." He stroked his moustache, looking down at the body. "The FIA then executed the two civilians he had been trying to protect, at point-blank range, and made sure of the GI with a chemical pellet containing something called Terrascovine, or more commonly T-5. Specially formulated chemical to disrupt GI nerve function. Like nerve gas for GIs, since they're largely immune to the chemicals that will kill you or I. Evidently the FIA had anticipated trouble earlier, either from him or from the assault team that struck the President."

A sombre pause. Down on the street another siren its wail echoing from the surrounding buildings. A clatter of equipment from across the rooftop — a new scanner being set into position.

"The end result of which," Khurana concluded, "is that we are four down on the twenty-four fuckers we are looking for. 'Fucker'," he added with a mild glance at Vanessa, "being the present investigative jargon for FIA. That leaves us with twenty fuckers still to find and hopefully kill. This young man did a very good, very brave thing. I intend to see to it that he is treated with the respect and dignity he has earned. Did he have any religious inclinations, do you know?"

Vanessa shook her head.

"No," she said tiredly, rubbing her eyes with a gloved hand. "I don't know, but I doubt it. Well leave all that stuff to Kresnov when we find her. Just don't let any government pricks start poking about for research. She wouldn't take that very well."

"I can imagine," Khurana said soberly. He put a hand on Vanessa's armoured shoulder. "Are you all right? You've been on activation a long time, Lieutenant. Perhaps you should take a rest."

They knew about the Berndt incident, Vanessa realised. Word had been spreading. And now the standoff with Dali, tensions at the Parliament ... weapons ready and not knowing if Guderjaal's order would be resisted with force ... God, what an insane situation. Civil war indeed. In the end, she suspected, it had only been the realisation that he would surely lose any confrontation that had forced Dali's hand. He had simply lacked the support among the men and women who carried the guns. So much technology, so much progress, and still it came down to guns. She rubbed her eyes for a while longer, as if to remove the memory of recent days from her brain. Khurana, she realised, was still waiting for a reply.

"No," she sighed, "I'm okay. I can sleep later. It looks like this won't last very much longer, one way or another." The observation met with grim silence on all sides. She lowered her hand, looking blankly ahead, past the gathered forensic experts. All were looking at her, awaiting her words. Even then, she couldn't help but feel some amazement. Being a hero wasn't something she'd ever given much consideration to. She wasn't sure she liked it.

"We have to find Kresnov again," she said to no one in particular. "I don't think she's going to be real happy right now." And immediately felt disgusted at herself for such a glib remark. She knew with a dark certainty what her new friend's present state of mind would be ... and it was painful to think about. And frightening. Please God, they had to find her, and soon. Before anything irreversibly horrible happened.

"She made direct interface with the GI before he died," said a nearby forensics man. "We found traces. It's possible that she managed to copy some of his codes ... how good is her interface function?"

Vanessa blinked. "Full neural integration, no messy fiddling between organic and synthetic brain-function ... how good do you
think
she'd be?" There were some incredulous murmurs from the surrounding technicians. It evidently meant something to them.

"Well then," he continued, taking a deep breath, "I think it's possible that she's copied some of this GI's codes. Maybe even enough to get traces of that damn encryption they're using to move around. Maybe enough to track them. If she's as good as you say."

"She is." Vanessa thought about it, arms folded and chin in hand, a gloved finger tapping absently at her jaw. "If she's got any leads, though, she hasn't told us yet."

"Considering what the fuckers did to her friend," Khurana said mildly, "and considering what she is capable of doing to them ... would you tell anyone?"

"One of the FIA's rifles is missing," a woman added, and paused as Khurana gave her a hard look. "One of the fuckers' rifles, I mean." Khurana looked appeased. "Magazines too."

"Shit," Vanessa muttered. It looked like trouble. Big trouble. But... maybe a solution, too. It was a dark, nasty thought. But a logically sensible one also.

"Good work," Khurana advised his people, "I'll pass it on." And paused as he turned to go, looking at Vanessa. "Do you know this man's name?" Vanessa looked at him. And looked down again at the GI. At the young, handsome face. At the eyes that should have been open, the mouth that should have been smiling ... And for a brief, frightening moment, she thought she could feel the faintest ghost of his Captain's grief.

"Mahud," she said quietly. "His name's Mahud."

Khurana spared Mahud one last, lingering glance. Murmured something in Arabic quietly and departed. Vanessa stood where she was, as the forensic team moved off about their various tasks. Arms folded about her small, armoured self, as if to ward off the gathering cold.

May your light shine with glory in Paradise, Mahud.

With a reflex unfelt since seventh grade, Vanessa crossed herself with one gloved hand. An unfitting symbol to go with an Islamic thought, perhaps, she thought as she refolded her arms and shivered. But fitting, perhaps, that he whom faith had deserted in life should be embraced by all faiths in death. Upon the young man's cheek, Vanessa felt she could detect the slightest trace of moisture.

Sandy, she thought desperately. Where are you?

Katia Neiland wearily walked the familiar route down the Parliament's central corridor. Armed security were everywhere. Local Parliament guards stood by the ornate major doorways that led to Congress House, weapons at port arms. SWAT personnel strode with brisk purpose across the further end. Harried interns scurried in all directions, rapid footsteps up the huge marble stairs at the far end. And in front and behind her walked four members of Alpha Team in pairs, dark-suited, com-wired and terminally, professionally suspicious. The usually immaculate red carpet that ran the length of the enormous floor was scuffed beneath the traffic of heavy-duty boots. The huge, ostentatiously ornate hallway echoed with urgent activity.

Katia wanted a bath. Followed by a long rest in her favourite chair back at the Quarters, a relaxing raga on the stereo and a glass of something strong. Judging from the present circumstances, however, she guessed it would be a while before these wishes could be fulfilled.

An intern gave her a wary, concerned look as he passed. Katia straightened her jacket self-consciously and brushed at her hair with a tired hand. In difficult circumstances the President more than ever needed to appear in control. She flexed shoulders that were aching from too much nervous sitting on the edge of a chair, hunched over a control screen back at the Presidential Quarters while Guderjaal and Ibrahim had attempted negotiation with Dali and aides and SWAT flyers circled the Parliament once more, explicit threat in a situation whose manoeuvres had long since ceased to be subtle.

It had not been easy. There had been communications problems at conveniently inconvenient moments. Threats from Dali to make media announcements regarding the Neiland administration's involvement with a dangerous and unstable League GI who was presently on an uncontrolled, government-approved, vendetta-style rampage through the city. Of illegal and improper contact between President and Adjudicator. Of criminal conduct and abuse of power by the Director of the CSA. Of threats, information theft, grandstanding and general grave misconduct from the Neiland administration. Of a widespread conspiracy among senior Tanushan parties to undermine the constitution and the rule of law.

In the end, Neiland thought wearily as she matched her stride to the Alpha Team agents in front of her, he had only refrained from acting on those threats because of the realisation that in the long run, no one really cared. To be sure, there were those in the Progress Party who were only too keen to make political mileage from the already prevalent perception of an arrogant, dictatorial President ... but out among the general public, such political machinations counted for little.

Dali was a Federal representative. Every citizen in Tanusha understood the pact through which the Federal Governor's presence was tolerated. Callay was one world of the Federate Alliance of Worlds. Membership had considerable benefits. The majority of people on all member worlds believed in the importance of some form of central governing body, overseeing the affairs of all humanity and making sure that the species did not split itself off into separate, alienated groups, who would over a period of centuries become unrecognisable to each other. Dali's presence was the sacrifice that the people of Callay made of their own sovereign independence for the greater good of interstellar human civilisation.