Killswitch (2 page)

"We're suddenly an arms producer, Sandy. Callay's never done that before, just two years ago we weren't even allowed to have armed forces independent from the Fleet. We're not good at all this stuff yet. Who stole the launcher?"

Sandy shook her head. "My source doesn't know."

Sudasarno gave her a wary, knowing look. "Yeah, well tell your source he'd better have some leads soon, because the press are going to be asking why you dragged the President away from an interview like that."

"Because certain political influences interfered with her supposedly politically invulnerable security." She fixed Sudasarno with a mild, firm stare. Sudasarno sighed, and stared momentarily off into space, in profound frustration.

"It never gets any easier around here, does it?"

Sandy restrained a faint smile. "Shit, you're telling me?"

Alpha Team were moving past them then, the door opening behind and Neiland emerging, flanked by several other advisors.

"Sandy," said the President, "with me, if you please."

Sandy fell in beside the elegant, long-legged President, pondering not for the first time the contrast in styles they made, herself shorter and broad shouldered in khaki-green CDF fatigues. The President's heels clacked as they walked. Sandy's boots barely squeaked.

"Damn it, Sandy," the President said in a low voice, temper still plain in her voice, "never do that in front of the media. Do I make myself clear?"

"Ms. President, never put pressure on your Alpha Chief to break with protocol for your day-to-day convenience. Do I make myself clear?"

"Fuck it all," the President muttered, "I knew there had to be a downside to making you Commander." Sandy raised an eyebrow-the President's swear words were usually limited to the tamer variety. If the f-word was in use, things were bad.

"There's a rocket launcher missing," Sudasarno explained from the President's other side. Neiland sighed.

"Another one? I swear, Sandy, soon these crazies will be better armed than you are."

"Unlikely. What was so important about that rooftop that it couldn't wait a few minutes, anyway?"

"Sudie has evidence that some of my political opponents are misusing the building's info-net."

The lead Alphas turned a corner. The next hallway was wider with tiled patterns on the floor. Well-dressed Parliament staff made way as the Presidential procession passed by, a common enough sight in these corridors lately. Sandy frowned.

"Eavesdropping?" she asked, with a glance across at Sudasarno, who shrugged.

"Some information turned up in their possession that we don't see any other way for them to have," he explained. Them, of course, being the President's political enemies. Who these days were too numerous and varied to count. Sandy thought about it for a moment.

"Ms. President, talk to me. I'm not your enemy. Coordinate with me in advance and we'll clear a location and keep it private so no one has advance warning, terrorists or Progress Party alike."

Neiland sighed, as if releasing stored tension. "Thank you, Sandy. I should have thought ahead, I've just ... I've just been so damn busy. What else has been going on?"

"Another nine hospitalisations from fights with Fleet marines on leave from orbit ..."

"Oh fuck," said the President, wearily. Sandy nearly smiled.

"I wish they would just fuck," she replied, "that's usually the main pastime of grunts on leave. But the populace is giving them a hard time, apparently."

"Damn it, we have a renegade mob of Fleet loyalists threatening to blockade our fucking stations, what do they expect?"

"We should have cancelled leave," said Sudasarno.

"Would have caused another stink," Sandy replied. "We've enough stinks with the Fleet already. The good news is that five of those hospitalisations are marines-one from a very angry kung fu blackbelt citizen, and the other four courtesy just now of Major Rice and some friends."

"Why am I not surprised?" said Neiland. "Anything else?"

"Someone sabotaged the Mekong, took out the regulator controls for the thruster injection."

Neiland actually stopped, and all Alpha Team stopped with her, plus Sandy, Sudasarno and the other advisors. The President stared at the CDF commander for a long moment.

"Seriously?" Sandy gave her a mock-reproachful tilt of the head. Neiland took a deep breath. "Damn. Captain Reichardt is not going to be happy."

"There's going to be a lot of captains leaning his way that will be unhappy."

"That's all we need," muttered the President. "A fucking civil war between competing Fleet factions in orbit."

"Ms. President, I've never heard you use such bad language so frequently."

"Oh, stick it up your arse."

The splendour of the Grand Congressional Hearings Chamber had not yet entirely worn off for Sandy. She sat in her usual place at the central bench, surveying the now-familiar line of faces that looked down on her from the two rows of grand benches opposite-the Union and Progress Party congressors. To her right, also as usual, sat Mahudmita Rafasan, in a typically elegant sari, scanning through various notes on her comp-slate at rapid speed. Audience members in their hundreds shuffled and murmured at the back of the chamber, the collective sound echoing off the chamber's high, arching dome. Chandeliers gleamed within that vast mosque-style space and the dome's tiled patterns and midlevel arches were marvellous to behold.

Chairman Khaled Hassan rang the little bell on the desk before him, and announced the proceedings open. Barely had he finished when Congressor Augustino, from the Union side of the benches, launched into action.

"Commander Kresnov, I believe your weapon is in contravention of the standing orders of this Chamber-section 142, I believe-stating that no weapons shall be allowed into the Chamber that are not in the possession of authorised security agents."

Sandy leaned slightly forward to her desktop microphone, to make sure her voice carried upon the speakers throughout the Chamber. "I'm second-in-command of the Callayan Defence Force, Mr. Augustino. How much more authorised would you like me to get?"

There was a murmur of laughter through the audience behind, and noticeable smiles upon the faces of various Congressors. Sandy's assault rifle, of course, lay upon the desk to her left hand-precisely where it belonged, in Sandy's estimation. But Augustino, she knew, wasn't the slightest bit interested in the Chamber's standing orders. He had bigger fish to fry. Sandy-sized fish.

"Mr. Chairman," said the conservative Congressor, "I'd like to register my complaint at this latest breach from the Commander. In her various appearances within this Chamber she has never failed to treat the Chamber standing orders with anything less than contempt. I think we can see another clear instance of this attitude here today."

Khaled Hassan looked concerned, stroking his long white beard. And gave Sandy a patient look, inviting her to respond. Sandy smiled at him. She liked Hassan. Among politicians, it was a luxury she did not often allow herself to indulge in.

"Mr. Chairman, I'm a busy girl, I have a lot of official functions I'm trying to perform simultaneously. Foremost among them, I'm trying to get this novel experiment we call the Callayan Defence Force off the ground, in the face of some fairly stiff opposition from obvious sources. I also occasionally get out on official security duties, such as today, when I noticed the President's arrival time would be approximately that of my own, and in light of some recent security alerts I decided to provide the usual CDF escort personally. Thus the weapon, as I am here in dual capacities. Don't worry, the safety is on, and I am fairly well practised in its use."

That got another laugh from behind. Typically, when confronted by politicians in such a setting making clearly inflammatory, opportunistic attacks before the global media, a person would be advised to remain calm, straight-faced and professional-and so allow the attacker's unprofessionalism to backfire, in the eyes of those watching. Various political advisors and publicists, however, had decided that where she was concerned, too much professionalism was a bad thing.

They'd done polling, apparently. And had concluded that what scared people most about her, as a combat GI, was the image of a deadpan, unemotional, human-shaped killing machine. Smile, they'd told her. Be off-the-cuff. Keep it light, where ever possible. Oh, and try to do that while still reassuring the population that you're perfectly well qualified to hold your present position. The two requests couldn't have been more contradictory-she couldn't be cheerful and caring while demonstrating her proficiency at managing the planet's most lethal combat force. But, as in all impossible political situations, she tried ... because of course, there was no other choice.

"Before we move on to procedural matters regarding the CDF, Commander," began Congressor Selvadurai, another Union Party rep, "I'd like to get your response to the recent violent incidents between members of the Federation Fleet and the Tanushan public. Do you think that your inflammatory remarks regarding the nature of the Fleet presence about Callay at this moment have anything to do with the bad blood that evidently exists here?"

Sandy gazed at the Union rep, calm and unblinking. "Which inflammatory remarks would they be, Congressor Selvadurai?"

"You remarked that the Fleet presence about Callay was in fact a de facto blockade intending to intimidate Callay and other Federation worlds into granting concessions to Fleet hardliners."

"I did say that it was a de facto blockade," Sandy replied, "and in doing so, I was merely echoing remarks made by many others in this building and beyond, including my own President. If you check my exact words, you'll find that I did not speculate as to the intent of the blockade. That is not my place."

"But it is your place to provoke hostile feeling toward the Fleet within sections of the Callayan population by mischaracterising its actions in this manner?"

At Sandy's elbow, Mahudmita Rafasan gave a snort of exasperation. Sandy spoke before things got ugly.

"Look, Congressor, we have a situation in orbit right now, I'm sure we're all only too well aware of that. It is not my intention here today, nor at any other time, to make statements that may inflame the situation, or make things worse. But clearly the presence of leading ele ments of the Fifth Fleet at our various orbital facilities is unhelpful at best, and provocative at worst. The Fifth's actions are not sanctioned by Federation law, nor by Fleet operating procedure under any circumstances that I am aware of. . . "

"Fleet Admiral Duong of the Fifth has stated many times, Commander," interrupted Congressor Selvadurai, "that the present state of political flux on Callay places us in a precarious situation vis-a-vis our security. The leaders of approximately a quarter of the entire Federation are presently here, negotiating with our own President Neiland plus Earth's senior representative in Secretary General Benale, to hammer out the new rules and workings of the Federation Grand Council now that it is just a year from being relocated permanently to our planet. We have indigenous and off-world extremist and other groups all focusing upon this world as the centre of their concerns. Our local security is improved but remains imperfect at best, and the degree of weaponry and sophisticated network technology available to these various sources of instability is truly alarming. Would you not say, Commander, that under these circumstances, Fleet Admiral Duong is perfectly correct to state that Callay's security is in question, and in need of assistance?"

"Congressor, as second-in-command of the CDF, I've stated many times that we'll take all the genuine help we can get. We've had many offers of assistance from friendly worlds who supported us in the referendum, who are staunch supporters of the relocation, and we truly welcome their contributions. We are strengthening our various security operations on the ground, Parliament and other dedicated security groups are vastly advanced on where they were two years ago, and the CDF gives us the extra punch we may need if faced with heavier weaponry than the police, the Callayan Security Agency or aligned security have the capability to handle. What we are not at risk from is an assault with warships from orbit. Or if we are, then I would suggest that (a) the Fleet should inform us immediately so we can make prepa rations, and (b) that they'd be an awful lot more effective defending us against that assault if they were to position themselves somewhere mid-system as is customary when defending against inbound attackers. They certainly won't do any good snuggled up to our space stations with their noses clamped in dock."

"Commander," cut in Congressor Augustino, "we are at serious risk of being flooded by waves of militants, terrorists, foreign agents and sophisticated weaponry from around the Federation and beyond ..." That's right, Sandy thought, never miss a chance to raise the spectre of the League. "... and you don't think it's a good idea for our overworked station staff and customs to receive some help filtering all this inbound traffic?"

Sandy restrained an exasperated smile. "Sir, the Fleet are soldiers. Damn good ones, but soldiers nonetheless. They blow stuff up. Or they hold onto facilities to stop other people from blowing stuff up. They're not customs officers, they're not criminal investigators, they don't have access to files on wanted persons, have limited experience in countersmuggling, and wouldn't know what the hell to do with any of this information if they received it. We have professionals up there in orbit right now, doing the jobs for which they are specifically equipped and trained, to the best of their considerable abilities.

"The one thing Callay is not yet particularly good at is security and the application of military or paramilitary force, although we are improving fast. The one thing we are remarkably good at is commerce. The customs requirements you are speaking of are a matter of bureaucratic commerce, Congressors-there have been plenty of restrictions on certain items of trade for a long time now, both for security, and commercial and legislative reasons. The commercial system has gotten pretty good at it, and now that the circumstances have changed to expand the number of prohibited items and persons, they've adapted marvellously. It's a job for civilian workers in overalls or suits and ties. It's not, and I'll stress this, not a job for grunts with guns in armour. I've been a grunt myself, and by many measurements I still am. I recall that nothing irritated me more than being called upon to perform civilian tasks for which I and my people were neither equipped nor trained. Not only did I consider that unfair on us, I considered it unfair on the people we were attempting to serve.