Cassandra Kresnov: Breakaway Part 2

"What'd you think? Cheap junk?"

"Direct immersion VR doesn't work on me, Ricey. I don't have a reflex hook-in, it's all conscious."

"I'm telling you, I tried it, it's c.r.a.p. It's like bad s.e.x, you get all excited only to be let down."

"Now bad s.e.x," said Sandy, "that's an oxymoron."

"You're an oxymoron," Vanessa retorted, grinning. "Three hours a day on adreno-glactic, six hours for that crummy magazine she works for, that's nine uplinked hours a day a And she calls friends direct, won't talk to anyone who uses a phone. People like her are what's scary about infotech, you can spend your whole life plugged into a machine and not realise the alternative a"

"Ricey," Sandy said, smiling, "you're b.i.t.c.hing."

"Of course I'm b.i.t.c.hing. That's what friends are for, they b.i.t.c.h to each other. Only you don't b.i.t.c.h anywhere near enough, it's got to be unhealthy. So I b.i.t.c.h for the two of us a it's quite an effort, you should appreciate it. You're seeing a master b.i.t.c.her at work. It's an honour and a privilege for you, if I do say so myself."

"You talk for the two of us," Sandy corrected. "If you'd occasionally shut up, I might get some more practice." Vanessa ignored her, wincing and flexing her left shoulder. "Damage?"

Vanessa nodded, rubbing with a hand and grimacing. "Feedback. I still haven't gotten that suit adjustment right." Sandy reached over with her right hand, keeping her left upon the controls. Took a firm hold of Vanessa's shoulder, and probed.

"There?"

"Further up." The hand moved further, and Vanessa winced, wriggling the shoulder. "More. More. AH! Just there a oh yes." Sandy applied gentle pressure, and felt thumb and fingertips digging in. "Ouch! Not so hard, you'll rip my arm off."

"Complainer." She ma.s.saged, gently. Was careful not to exceed the reflexive tension generated by the feedback through her fingertips. It was an accustomed reaction, around straights, and as with all hardwired reflexes, it was difficult to shake. It wasn't at all likely that she would hurt Vanessa. But she could, hypothetically at least. It was a constant concern, and she was never careless. Never.

"Oh yeah a" Vanessa leaned her head back, eyes closed and smiling. Soft, dark-brown curls fell about her brow. Slim, fine features. Beautiful, Sandy thought. Delicate. And living proof that some qualities went no further than skin deep. She ma.s.saged with careful fingers along the offending length of muscle, probing the collar bone along that slim, small shoulder. "You're good at that."

"I'm good at everything, remember?"

Vanessa's dark eyes opened slightly, and fixed her with a lidded, contemplative gaze. "If it weren't the truth, you'd be insufferable." Sandy smiled, steering them through another gentle bank onehanded, ma.s.saging Vanessa's shoulder with the other. Armour strains were always a problem a although not so much for herself. But she, of course, was the all-time leading consumer of ma.s.sage time in the entire CSA, hands down. And Vanessa was the one who usually got stuck with the duty. She never missed a chance to even it up a little.

Vanessa wriggled the shoulder again. "That's much better. You've got it. I'll have to put you up for loan, charge by the hour. I'll make a fortune."

Sandy smiled. And worked her hand carefully up the shoulder toward Vanessa's neck. Vanessa grinned, and lowered her head, allowing Sandy's fingers to press and rub at her neck muscles, generating effortless, powerful, careful pressure.

She watched Vanessa's expression in her peripheral vision, and enjoyed making her wince with pleasure. It was such an easy thing to do, with her fingers on Vanessa's neck. It amazed her that it should feel so good to do so. That's what friends are for, Vanessa had said, about her b.i.t.c.hing. With perhaps no real idea of the warm feeling that such a simple comment should provoke. It was unexplainable. Like the fingers on her neck, gently ma.s.saging. Like the smile it provoked upon Vanessa's lips, and the occasional low groan in her throat. Friend, she supposed. Perhaps that was all there was to it.

She smiled to herself. Nearly wishing, whimsically and not for the first time, that she herself was bis.e.xual, like Vanessa. That would have been interesting indeed. And sometimes, just sometimes, she suspected that Vanessa wished something similar, if only from curiosity.

But she wasn't. And try as she might, she just couldn't conceive of it. Her ever-curious mind did, it seemed, have its limits, however hard she tried to push her thoughts beyond the realm of the comfortable, or the familiar. Vanessa was beautiful. But she wasn't attractive, not to her. Women weren't, never had been, and never would be. Not s.e.xually. It was almost disappointing to realise. It was an experience that she would never have. And s.e.x with a person she merely liked was one thing a s.e.x with someone like Vanessa a well, that would have been something else. Something she'd had so rarely in her life. Something meaningful.

She sighed. And thought, just then, that she recognised the wry, contemplative smile upon Vanessa's face, eyes closed with calm pleasure. It was their private joke. That a ma.s.sage was as close as they would get, in that respect. A subst.i.tute. And she was suddenly certain, in a way she rarely was with civilians, and straights in general, that she knew what Vanessa was thinking, right at that moment.

"It's not c.u.n.n.i.l.i.n.g.u.s," she ventured, "but I bet it's pretty d.a.m.n good."

Vanessa's smile grew to a grin. And she broke up laughing, doubled up against the restraining belt. Sandy stopped ma.s.saging, hand on her friend's back as she shook with laughter. Grinning broadly herself at Vanessa's controlled hysterics.

Finally Vanessa recovered herself. Wiped her eyes and leaned back in her seat. Sandy put both hands back on the controls, still grinning.

On an impulse, Vanessa unhooked her belt, leaned over and kissed Sandy firmly on the cheek. And leaned back, in the corner between the seat and the door, to contemplate her.

"No," she sighed, "it's not as good as c.u.n.n.i.l.i.n.g.u.s." Grinned. "But what is?"

"Penetration," Sandy retorted playfully.

"Nonsense. You've got a phallocentric brain."

"No, I've got a phallocentric v.a.g.i.n.a."

Vanessa found that hysterically funny, and laughed for another twenty seconds straight.

"Which is kind of a pity," Sandy ventured further, once Vanessa had stopped. Vanessa sighed.

"Yes, your phallocentric v.a.g.i.n.a is rather a pity. I feel sorry for it."

"Please don't, it has too much fun."

"I know, I can hear it laughing." Grinning broadly. Vanessa gave Sandy a rough shove on her shoulder. "Don't you go feeling sorry for me, Sandy. Me breaking up with Sav isn't the end of the world, I'll find someone else to keep me happy. Or someone else's."

"I wasn't feeling sorry for you," Sandy retorted, "I can't imagine a one-man life, anyway. Leaving Sav is the first thing I'd have done."

"Gee," Vanessa snorted, "thanks for your concern."

"I was thinking," Sandy pressed on, "that I like you just about enough to want to make you happy by s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g you senseless, but the catch is that I don't find you the slightest bit attractive s.e.xually. Which is a pretty big catch."

"Yeah," Vanessa sighed. "You'd be as much fun as a cold trout. But thanks for thinking of me." With amus.e.m.e.nt. "That's what makes you such a cool friend, Sandy, you don't know the rules yet. No other girlfriend I know would have brought it up."

Sandy snorted. "Well, h.e.l.l, what would I know? I'm just a glorified kitchen appliance, after all."

"I said I like that about you, you moron," Vanessa retorted. "Don't change."

"Hmmph. That'll be a task."

"Yeah," Vanessa sighed. "Yeah, it sure will." Silence for a moment. Headquarters was approaching. Another minute ahead, and the designated lane began angling downward.

"You want your neck done again?" Sandy suggested brightly. Vanessa grinned.

"No thanks. It was making me h.o.r.n.y."

entral Briefing was a fair walk from the Doghouseas the SWAT compound was known. Not much on design, Sandy reckoned, gazing about as she reclined in the leather cushions about the long central table. There were no windows, for one thing. Most un-Ta.n.u.shan. But then Central Briefing was neighbours to Central Ops, deep in the bowels of the Central admin complex. "Central," she reckoned, was a word in danger of being over used in these parts.

"Least the chairs are comfortable," Vanessa murmured, mimicking Sandy's reclining posture. A typical pair of SWAT grunts, they were, reclined and lazily informal among the gathered high ranks and senior suits. Though, these days, Sandy had noted, everyone was looking a little more rumpled than usual.

Twenty-three people in all, a large gathering by any measure. a.s.sistant Director N'Darie sat at the far end to the left, leaning her small frame forward on the table, hands clasped, in serious conversation with a.s.sistant Administrative Director Fung. Intel Director Naidu leaned against the wall by the doorway in conversation with two junior Intels. Others talked, scanned desktop monitors, carried out uplinked conversations or otherwise made use of the time. Only the two SWAT grunts sat and waited.

It was, of course, about the previous night's commotion at the Kanchipuram Hotel a it was the lead story on the news networks for the moment, the broader debate of Article 42 supplanted for now by the more exciting events of a major a.s.sa.s.sination attempt gone wrong in a very public gathering. There had been an alarming number of such cases lately, and the CSA was catching h.e.l.l for it.

The door opened and Director Ibrahim entered. Directly behind, and continuing a conversation from the hallway, were a lean young man and a smaller woman. Both wore nonregulation clothes, with a predominance of black. Conversation about the room paused, attention shifting to the new arrivals.

"You think they shop at the same store?" Vanessa murmured, eyeing the Director's two companions. She spoke barely loud enough for Sandy to hear unamplified, but the woman fixed them both with an immediate, direct stare from narrowed oriental eyes. A flare of recognition, and the gleam of a smile. "Nice Jacket," Vanessa added, volume unchanged and utterly unfazed. "They make synthetic leather look so real these days, don't they?"

The woman (j.a.panese, Sandy was guessing the ethnicity) gave a slight, gracious nod as the Director took his empty chair by the end of the table, and people about the room made for their seats. Gave a faint twist as she took her own seat, showing off the gleaming black jacket. Sandy watched on with amus.e.m.e.nt a very, very serious hearing enhancement for a straight, to hear Vanessa's low tones across a room filled with conversation. That, plus the clothes, gave her some clue as to who the two arrivals were.

"Ruben and Kazuma?" she asked Vanessa with similar volume. No matter if they were overheard. She knew something about these two and their ilk. She in particular was safe with them.

"The temperature up the far end just dropped a few degrees," Vanessa affirmed. Sandy looked at her. Vanessa's eyes flicked down to the table's far end a Sandy looked beyond, and saw that Fung and several admin colleagues were glowering silently down the long table. a.s.sistant Director N'Darie, too, looked far from thrilled. Sandy looked back at Ayako Kazuma, whom she knew only by reputation. Kazuma's return smile was sly, eyes fixed on Sandy in particular, as if pleased to see her. She looked, Sandy reckoned, like trouble. Trouble seated only one place away from the Director's right hand.

Immediately at the Director's right hand was An Ruben, Kazuma's occasional partner a informality in operational arrangements went with the territory with agents like these, she'd gathered. The dark sleeve of Ruben's jacket bulged at the left forearm where the reports had said he'd been injured last night. He had short, thick dark hair, heavy-lidded dark eyes, and prominent black eyebrows that gave his gaze a certain serious intensity. Handsome, was her immediate, predictable conclusion. Not fashion-model handsome. Boyish, off-the-wall, intelligent handsome.

"How old is he?" she asked Vanessa on their private channel. Enhancement, of course, made age difficult to tell a but there was something about Ruben, particularly, that suggested youth. Kazuma, she wasn't so certain of.

"Oh, he's just a wee lad, most of the new ghosties are barely more than kids. That's part of why some of their elders are so little pleased to see them. "

Sandy frowned. "I didn't think anything in Ta.n.u.sha worked on a seniority system?"

"It doesn't. But that doesn't mean people have to like it. Ari's a kid, he's from a whole different world, and he's real d.a.m.n good at finding trouble. Like last night. Some people aren't sure if he's finding it, or if it's finding him. "

"Ibrahim doesn't appear to have a problem." Watching the ongoing conversation between the CSR's chief and the young, upstart agent.

"No," Vanessa agreed. "Ibrahim's never minded trouble."

It had, Sandy knew, been Ibrahim's idea. Ta.n.u.sha had a ma.s.sive resource in the many thousands of largely self-employed netsters, hackers and network jockeys who const.i.tuted the city's enormous techno-underground. Anti-authority and anti-inst.i.tution, they were a force unto themselves, and were said by most to have a firmer finger on the pulse of Ta.n.u.sha's swirling confusion of tech politics than CSA Intel.

For a man of Ibrahim's pragmatism, the conclusion was obvioussuch skills would serve the interests of the CSA better on the inside than without. And so, as of two years ago, Ibrahim had ordered a recruitment drive through the underground, with special terms for anyone showing the skills, and willing to make the commitment.

Most had laughed at the offer. But a small few, for their own reasons, had accepted. Ruben was the most prominent of these, and in the two years since his full-time inclusion in GSA's ranks, his star had risen at enormous velocity. Ibrahim, it was rumoured, gave him jobs to handle personally, Director to agent. Such intimate access to the Director was yet another reason the CSA old guard disliked him. That and the fact that he was an independent, young, intelligent know-all who was part of an anti-authority grouping well known for its dislike of the CSA and government in general, and with whom he continued to a.s.sociate in shady, undercover ways that only made the old guard even more nervous.

"He's good, though?" Sandy asked.

"Sure. As Intels go." As if Vanessa, a SWAT grunt, would either know or care. "Word is Kazuma's the guns, Ari's the brains. "

Kazuma, Sandy noted, was still watching them. A moment's concentration, and Sandy could detect the active scan from across the room, monitoring the fact of their silent conversation if not the words. Contact, as Kazuma registered Sandy's counter scan. Smiled again, curiosity gleaming in narrow, dark eyes.

"So, people," Ibrahim said, and all conversation abruptly ceased. Ibrahim never spoke loudly. His quiet, impenetrable cool and effortless authority ensured that he never needed to. "You've all seen the prelims and studied the details. Let's get to the business. Agent Ruben."

"Um a" Ruben rubbed his brow with his good hand, a nervous, energetic mannerism. "a fine. Okay. The um a" Another rub, and a twitch at his smart collar. "a the group at the hotel were Christian Vanguard. They were formed about six years ago, breakaway from an independent sect that in turn broke away from the main Ta.n.u.shan Mormon Church three years before that a that's the, um, Central Mormons, not the East Delta Mormons a" Another fidget at his collar, confronted by blank stares and frowns. "a I know, it gets confusing, I swear they pick up their bad habits from the Hindus."

"Which bad habits would they be, Agent Ruben?" came Personnel Administrator Tirupati's interjection from down the table, a raised eyebrow wrinkling the red spot upon her brow. Ruben looked up directly for the first time, a sudden, unapologetic fix of intelligent dark eyes.

"Fragmentation, disorganisation and general ideological chaos." Deadpan, but Sandy got the distinct impression he was pulling Tirupati's leg. "It catches, you know. Every religious organisation that has arrived on this planet from the founding has split itself at least four ways over the subsequent period a it's a very Hindu state of affairs."

"Typical Indian shambles," someone else commented. Tirupati realised she was being made fun of, and smiled benignly. Sandy did a fast mental count, and arrived at seven Indians or part-Indians around the table. Minorities making fun of the majority, she'd gathered, was acceptable sport. Only when it turned the other way around did the risk of offence become serious.

"Now, I and a my colleagues," with a nod to Kazuma, "have been watching Christian Vanguard for some time now. Their threat a.s.sessment was always quite high. Their leader, Claude Christophson, has been a regular on the cult-net for the last three years. Psych had him tagged as a risk almost immediately a"

"Psychopathic?" asked Intel a.n.a.lyst Pangestu. Ruben's eyes registered mild surprise.

"Um, no, actually. Cattalini insists he's borderline sociopathic, but I think that's a stretch in a heavily religious society already suffering this degree of delusional removal. Most of these guys are just linear thinkers with a persecution complex. But then I think that pretty much sums up Christian radicals everywhere a"

Uncomfortable shifting in several of the seats down the long table. "Or Jewish radicals, for that matter, Mr. Ariel Ruben," added N'Darie from the far end, with telling emphasis.

Ruben coughed, and scratched at the back of his head. "My people don't, um, have a persecution complex, a.s.sistant Director. It's just that everyone's always out to screw us." Some people grinned. Some did not. Ruben barely appeared to notice. "The point is that while the type is pretty rare, it's not so rare that you won't get a lot of them in this city's population profile among 57 million people."

"Your critique of the SIB's last SCIPS on the matter was considerably more robust than that," Pangestu reminded him. A SCIPS, Sandy recalled, was a Statistical Crime Intervention-Prevention Survey. Typical a.n.a.lyst's jargon-ese, ignored by all but those who compiled them. Ruben restrained an exasperated half smile, it turned into a wince.

"Abi, I've seen more attempts to statistically quantify this city's predilection for various kinds of criminal activity than I can remember a I mean, religion doesn't even matter much to most people. South Asian theology is mostly inconsistent, anyway, the interactions between various ethnic groups, language groups, philosophies, religions, histories, generation gaps, backlashes, historical nostalgia, politicisation .. He shook his head in exasperation. "a you can't quantify it. You'd be nuts to try. If I deal in broad generalisations, it's because any attempt to quantify the minutiae will immediately be contradicted.

"Now a Vanguard are right on the fringe, the far lunar-right, but they're not crazy. They're just extreme. It's an extremist culture we've got here, in some sections. The diversity ensures it, the fragmentations just bounce off each other, push each other further to the brink, and of course infotech means everyone's a f.u.c.king expert a "Why that gathering?" Ibrahim interrupted calmly. "Why Progress Party? Why those senators?"

"Article 42," said Pangestu immediately. "Killing two Progress Party senators and a Progress rep would put a big dent in the probreakaway numbers."

Ibrahim looked at Ruben, who was shaking his head.

"No, that's not how they think. They're not thinking of the numbers. They don't like the system and they're not prepared to play that game. They don't like it, don't trust it, and don't really understand it. It's a statement. Allesandra Parker was there, Arjun Mukherjee was there a all the people who represent high-power, big business biotech, all the people who'd most like to see the biotech restrictions lifted. It was a big, moral statement. They think they're doing G.o.d's work to smite the evildoers and save humanity from the corruption of unnatural technologies and soulless machines."

Flicked a brief glance at Sandy. Sandy gazed back, eyes unblinking.

"How can you be so sure?" Pangestu appeared in an argumentative mood, his stern, angular Indonesian features etched in a serious frown. "Like you said, these groups aren't stupid. The infiltration and a.s.sault as outlined by your own report was expertly done and suggested some serious expertise. If they can do that, why can't they figure out the present state of the Article 42 debate, figure the numbers required by either side for the pre-referendum vote, and work out who they need to kill in order to affect the outcome? It's a conscience vote, An, the politicians aren't just going to vote along party lines, so we can't just count on Union Party's numbers carrying the day as usual a that means some of the core Progress Party people become convenient targets. Kill a few Progress Party pollies, you lessen the breakaway vote dramatically."

Sandy watched Ruben as he listened, chewing absently on a fingernail. He had, she noted with interest, a curiously absent, unflappable demeanour. A purposeful blandness. But too purposeful. As if hiding an implacable intellectual drive that burned just beneath the surface. And he shook his head to Pangestu's a.s.sertions, abandoning the fingernail.

"No, no, if they kill senators or congressmen, there's an immediate by-election a" Tapping the table with a fingertip for emphasis. "It'll only put the vote back a few weeks and they haven't finalised a date yet anyway, no big deal. Plus the politicians' vote is just a preliminary on whether or not to submit it to a popular Callayan vote and under what terms a it's the popular vote that determines the final outcome. Christophson's not stupid, he knew that. He was just doing the good old-fashioned terrorist thing-scaring people into voting the way Vanguard wanted. Or as he saw it, reminding them of G.o.d's wrath."

"The by-election could cause a const.i.tutional crisis, it's all untested under emergency legislation," Pangestu retorted. "That could hold up the vote itself. What makes you so sure that has nothing to do with it?"

"He told me."

Pangestu didn't reply immediately. No one did. His frown grew deeper.

"Who told you?"

"Claude Christophson." Very mildly. "Old buddy of mine, we go way back. About a month ago, just after Article 42 was tabled for debate, he told me that any attempt to directly alter the technical process of the vote by violence would be pointless, that the only thing that could work would be to appeal to people's greater moral instincts, the aspects of people's humanity that transcended the technicalities of the process."

"Claude Christophson made a direct threat against this world's elected representatives a month ago," N'Darie said disbelievingly, "and you neglected to tell anyone?"

"He didn't make a direct threat, he was speaking hypothetically." With utter disregard for the a.s.sistant Director's bluntness. "And I did tell someone, I filed a report."

"Lost among how d.a.m.n many hundreds of Intelligence reports a"

"If people don't read my reports, I can't help that." Meeting her gaze calmly down the full length of table. N'Darie glared back. "People who value my reports tend to prioritise them for reading. Those that don't a well, they can set their own operational priorities. I'm in no position to dictate to them what they ought to find important."

"And if we prioritised every report about every person who threatened violent action against Article 42 a" Kazuma spoke up for the first time, "a you'd all be swimming in them up to your ears."

"Already there," someone muttered.

"Ari," Intel Director Naidu intervened, "what's your risk a.s.sessment of the religious extremist groups in general at this point? And what do you think we can learn from this attack?"

Ruben nodded thoughtfully for a moment, as if mildly thankful to receive what he considered a useful question.

"Umm a unfortunately the risk is pretty high right now, ninetyfive per cent of them are all hot air, but considering how many groups there are, five per cent still adds up to a lot of trouble. Mostly they're focused on the public supporters of advanced biotech, or anyone deemed sympathetic to League causes a most high-level stuff should be safe, though. There's not much expertise out there in hard-target infiltration, just the kind of bureaucratic screw ups we saw at Kanchipuram."