Cassandra Kresnov: Breakaway Part 22

"You sure you'll be able to sleep without your bed of nails?" someone nearby teased him in a low voice. Hiraki fancied himself as something of a modern day samurai, and led a very disciplined, frugal lifestyle by any standards, let alone Ta.n.u.shan standards.

"Sleep, vile sc.u.m," was Hiraki's reply. Everyone liked Hiraki. But they were glad Vanessa was squad CO.

Vanessa pulled off her tracksuit and stretched, a sinuous rippling of slim, wiry, muscular limbs. Someone wolf-whistled while she was bent to touch her toes, clad only in underpants and small, cut-off undershirt that left her flat stomach bare.

"Children," came Zago's deep, murmured reprimand from across the room. "I'm surrounded by immature children, one sleep-out and everyone thinks they're back in school camp." Zago was in his fifties, married with five children, and enjoyed his role as squad "senior." Someone farted. All those still awake collapsed with laughter. An enhanced visionshift through the dark showed Sandy that even Hiraki was smiling. Vanessa just sat on the floor, head in hand, shaking uncontrollably. It was a release of tension. Sandy had seen it even among supposedly tension-resistant GIs. Straights required far more, she'd discovered.

"Do GIs fart?" someone thought to ask.

"I refuse to answer," Sandy replied, "on the grounds that any statement may be self-incriminating."

"Children," repeated Zago. Vanessa resumed stretching upon her bedroll.

"Do that bending-over stretch again, LT," came Singh's voice. "I was enjoying that."

"You won't enjoy me breaking your kneecaps," retorted Rupa Sharma, SWAT Four's only other woman besides Sandy and their beloved CO.

"You could do it instead, Rupa, I don't mind either way." Some laughter and poking went on across where Sharma was lying. A smacking sound of Sharma swatting someone away.

"I knew it had to be a mistake trying to sleep in a room full of this many men," she muttered.

"Where's your sense of adventure, Rupa? This is your chance to be a s.e.xual legend! A shot at the record books!"

"I'd rather sleep in a farm yard."

"Whatever gets you going, I guess."

"Well," said Vanessa, finishing her stretching and climbing tiredly into her sleeping bag, "you guys can do what you want over there, but I warn you, any attempt to penetrate the CO will be met with stern disapproval and extra duty."

"Arvid," Sandy added over the m.u.f.fled giggles from around the room, "I'll have you know I own those record books."

"I'll believe that," Singh said agreeably. "Good night everybody, sleep well, and try not to think of the LT's tight little a.r.s.e and shapely thighs a"

"There's nothing further from my mind, I a.s.sure you," said Kuntoro, who was gay.

"Seriously," Sharma complained, "someone take him out in the cor- ridor and shoot him."

"Can't," said the usually laconic Tsing, "Requisition Order 32b, non-operations-related ammunition requested for the purposes of disposing of irritating squadmates must first be signed for against the authorisation of a"

And was cut off by exhausted, uncontrolled laughter-even Sandy found herself grinning. And reflected that most of her old Dark Star team would probably have been asleep by now a except maybe Tran and Mahud, who alone of her team might have stayed awake talking while the others followed procedure and went to sleep. Again, civilians did things differently. Perhaps, she thought, whatever the situation's difficulties, a few minutes' extra sleep were not as important as the emotional comfort of knowing one was not alone. In Dark Star, they had fought because fighting was the act that defined their existence. In SWAT Four, they fought for their homeworld against those who wished to harm it. It was a cause they all shared, even the macho types like Johnson, whose primary reason for joining was "tough-guy" self image. Even through their casual banter, they reminded each other of the togetherness, and sense of community, that drove them in their task. The togetherness was what they were fighting for. A place, a people and a cause.

Sandy smiled to herself in the dark, feet up on the table and reading from her screen as the conversation continued in hushed, laughing tones a feeling that something very significant had slipped profoundly into place. This was what it felt like to belong to something. To be willing to fight, and even to die for it. And for the first time in her life, she knew what she was fighting for-it was messy, it was complicated, it was often exasperating and downright infuriating. But it was something worth protecting, and something that was in evident need of her protection. And after so many years of uncertainty, regret and doubt, this sudden, delightful onset of clarity felt like a liberation.

he Grand Congressional Hearings Chamber was as impressive to sit in as the name suggested it ought. Located on the fifth floor of the ma.s.sive nine-storey Parliament complex, the ceiling extended all the way up to the roof in a grand, arching dome, patterned with tiles and inlays of Islamic inspiration. The lighting setup reminded Sandy of mosques she had ventured into, a circular arrangement of long, suspended lamps that formed a clear circle above the middle of the huge room between ceiling and floor. The lamps themselves were more in the style of European chandeliers, though, as were the wall panelling, and the enormous, wooden altar-like benches at the front of the room.

Sandy sat at the centre of the long table before the elevated, arching semi-circle of benches with their carved panelling and plush chairs, her laptop set before her as she waited for the huge, noisy crowd in the chamber seats behind to arrange itself into some kind of orderliness. She estimated seating for perhaps six hundred. Some, she'd been informed by Rani Bannerjee, the President's new senior advisor, were being filled by congressors or senators not presently occupied with other matters. Most were taken by yet more lemmings, members of one or another off-world delegation, along with the many interested Callayan onlookers. Visitors' pa.s.ses to the Parliament were rare these days, and most journalists had been banned from the room for this occasion, but still, milling behind her this jostling, unsettled crowd a she caught s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation, some of it technical, but much of it, as she'd feared, specifically about her.

"a wish she'd turn around a" was the gist of many conversations, as eager, curious, wary civilians strained for a look at this most significant of curiosities to descend upon their world of late. She had no intention of turning around. She'd gotten here early, straight from the small VIP flyer pad at the side of the complex, and sat in her required seat specifically in order to get here ahead of the gallery crowd and sit like this with her back to them as they entered. Not that she cared if they saw her face or not-the closed-circuit TV would, and would transmit these proceedings all through the corridors of power. Closed-circuit transmissions ran on fancy embedded encryption that erased themselves at any attempt to copy and disseminate, and did so in ways that could also melt the utilised equipment. She'd studied the software herself, briefly, and had been satisfied. This broadcast would only be seen once, and that only in select offices of power.

"Nervous?" asked Mahudmita Rafasan from alongside. The President's senior legal advisor was dressed rather conservatively today, in a dark outfit that looked almost as much dress as sari, with silvery tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs and only a patterned orange shoulder-sash for the obligatory flash of colour. Earrings, bangles and other jewellery were untypically spa.r.s.e and modest, and her gleaming black hair was bound conveniently short at the back.

"Wishing I'd sat in on the security checks," was Sandy's only com ment, uplinked to the room's security systems, for what little she could access past the impenetrable barriers that enclosed all the Parliament complex's systems.

"The, um, detectors and searches in the corridors are quite thorough," Rafasan rea.s.sured her, with a familiar nervous fidget at the bangles upon her left wrist. There was a ring there too, on the fourth finger, where a wedding ring might be upon a European. This ring, Rafasan had told her some time before, was a mark of graduation from her law school, some fifty years before a Rafasan was seventyfive years old, though it was impossible to tell to look at her. She could have been a young thirty, and a very attractive one at that. Not all biotech advances, Sandy reflected, were disdained in Ta.n.u.sha. It was the kind of hypocrisy in the Federation's antibiotech stance that the League never failed to point out at every opportunity.

"Even so," Sandy replied, running her eyes across the lower front bench before her, "I'm never comfortable with so many people at my back." The congressors were all in place and seated, some examining notes, some taking in the scene before them. The second, upper bench held fifteen, the lower one eleven. Elected representatives, seated here in numbers reflecting the numbers of the lower house-seventeen for Union Party, and nine for Progress Party. A two-party system in the lower house, with their preference system and elimination ballots. Only in the proportional representation of the Senate, housed in the second point of the Callayan governmental triangle but a kilometre from here, did the minor parties run amok.

Security stood at various strategic points about the room, armed and alert. Most were facing the crowd a whiteshirted uniforms with gold badges upon their chests. All members of the gallery were VIPs of a sort, security cleared, sifted, and further checked in the outside hall before entry a standard procedure these days with or without the presence of controversial, ex-Dark Star GIs. In truth, Sandy reflected, she was less concerned at the possibility of rogue terrorists in the gallery than at the presence of several leading Ta.n.u.shan journalists of whose presence Rani Bannerjee had also informed her. There might be no legal means to broadcast her image or voice, but there was nothing to stop print or broadcast media from transmitting her words secondhand when she spoke in a public setting.

Do not, Bannerjee had further counselled her just minutes before, under any circ.u.mstances, say anything controversial. Be dull, boring and listless if necessary.

Exactly what const.i.tuted a controversy, Sandy remained unsure. She suspected it rather depended upon who was listening. And on a world like Callay, surely the only way to avoid offending anyone was to say nothing at all. It was all Neiland's problem now. She was surprised at exactly how cool she was about it. She only wished there'd been some way of keeping her gun a but, of course, she remained technically suspended due to the SIB's investigation, and it would not do to be seen wielding a weapon in direct defiance of that suspension in the Parliament complex itself. Her weapon remained with an Agent Odano, a junior recruit from Investigations who'd been a.s.signed to run this errand, and was presently seated in the gallery some short distance behind. He also had her badge. "Don't throw them to me if there's trouble," Sandy had told him on the flyer ride in. "I'll get to you first, believe me." He'd believed her.

A bell rang, a clear, rapid chiming. How anachronistic, Sandy thought, watching with interest as the sound emanated from a small, silver bell in front of the chairman. He was seated in the centre of the front row, a man of Arabic appearance, clad in the white robe permissible in Ta.n.u.shan politics for those politicians who liked to display their cultural heritage instead of settling for the universal blandness of suits and ties. He wore a thick, black beard, which gave Sandy some indication as to his political leanings. Although, she'd been learning in Ta.n.u.sha not to take anything for granted.

"The records shall note that the time is ten thirty-five on Central Time Monday the fifteenth of March, 2543."

League time, it occurred to Sandy in idle thought, was tri-monthand-twelve when converted to the universal League calendar-decimals and averages-the general average of League-world years made convenient for the time-dilation of travelling starships and peoples a long, long way from Earth's rotational schedules. It made more sense than Callay's system of cramming a 325-day year into the same twelve Earth months, with months running to twenty-six or twenty-seven days to compensate. But none of the League's months were named after great Roman emperors who had lived more than two thousand years before, and were thus, in Sandy's estimation, rendered quite dull by comparison. Long live inefficiency and pointless complexity. She was certain that the reminder of past eras and histories was far more valuable than any gain in basic numerical efficiency.

"I," the chairman continued, "Khaled Ha.s.san, declare this special Congressional Hearing open, and the speaker today is one a Ms. April Ca.s.sidy." With emphasis that Sandy thought might be wry sarcasm. A murmur echoed from the cl.u.s.tered gallery behind. Some muted laughter. t.i.ttering, nervous excitement. Rafasan spared her a nervous glance. Sandy sighed. "Ms. Ca.s.sidy a just a procedural thing, could you please make sure you speak directly into the microphone so everyone can hear?"

"Yes, sir."

Another t.i.ttering murmur from the gallery. She wondered if maybe she'd said the wrong thing, reminding people of her military past a well, she couldn't help that, calling people in positions of authority "sir" was as unshakeable a habit as breathing. She determined to keep her tone polite and deferential, free from the drill instructor formality that would surely intimidate a crowd such as this, however formal the occasion. She'd never been keen on drill anyhow.

"Now, Ms. Ca.s.sidy a I understand you have a presentation for us, on behest of the President herself a in order to demonstrate to us all, I gather, the nature and a well, importance of your more recent work here on Callay a" in the slow, pausing, long-winded manner of a professional bureaucrat, "a but first, if you would allow, of course, I would like to ask the freedom as chairman to ask you a few questions a on behalf of my colleagues here, who will of course have their turn, as per the standing orders of this hearing chamber, to ask of you their own questions upon your completion of this a presentation of yours. Is this sequence of events a acceptable to you?"

"Yes, sir, perfectly acceptable."

More murmuring. And it occurred to her in a flash a it was her voice. A good voice, to be sure, firm and strong. But high, clear, and unmistakably female. Wow. It amazed her that they were amazed. Just her luck to end up on one of the few worlds left in all human s.p.a.ce where the idea of women as fighters still raised some eyebrows. They d.a.m.n well knew the rest of human s.p.a.ce had largely moved on, they simply didn't care, and women themselves were among the loudest objectors. And now this a not only a GI, but a female one. And blonde. In Ta.n.u.sha, when a teenage Indian, Arabic or Chinese girl wanted to upset her father, she dyed her hair blonde and wore European-style skirts several sizes too short. Blonde women were the s.e.xually exotic, or, as Vanessa would say with a snort, the archetypal decadent, cultureless European morality vacuum. Not that anyone had noticed any shortage of libidinous activity among the Ta.n.u.shan population in general of late, but some ethnic stereotypes died harder than others. It didn't seem something that most European Ta.n.u.shans were trying very hard to fling off. Sandy empathised.

"Very well, then, Ms. Ca.s.sidy a" Ha.s.san paused for a moment, reading from the screen before him, stroking absently at his ample beard. "a first of all, could I perhaps inquire if "April Ca.s.sidy" is in fact your real name? There was some conjecture earlier, among my colleagues a some said it was only a CSA-given pseudonym."

Sandy smiled. "April Ca.s.sidy is a pseudonym, Mr. Ha.s.san." Her voice echoed clearly through the chamber, projected from invisible speakers with great clarity. "My real name remains protected for now, as do my other personal details."

"I see." Another beard stroke, watching her with curiosity. He seemed, Sandy reckoned, a rather mild sort of man. Union Party Leftist, Bannerjee had briefed her. Muslim, of course, but in the measured, secular way of most mainstream Callayan politicians where religious affiliations were concerned. "And how did you come about this a rather curious pseudonym, if I may ask?"

"Of course." Repressing a broader smile. "I chose it myself. From a couple of public figures back League-side. Something I didn't think anyone would automatically a.s.sociate with me."

"Which pair of public figures?"

"If you must know, Mr. Ha.s.san, from a pair of holovid p.o.r.nstars."

Utter, disbelieving silence for a moment. Then a surge of laughter, building to general commotion. Fading just as quickly as people remembered they weren't supposed to make any noise. To her left, Sandy saw that Rafasan was staring at her with a somewhat stricken expression a poor woman, she'd been hoping her administration's tame GI would make this session easy on her, what with her usual chaotic schedule now including the injunction proceedings against Governor Dali's extradition as well. Sandy managed with difficulty to stop her smile turning into a grin.

"I remembered one male soldier under my command in Dark Star," she continued with unfazed amus.e.m.e.nt, "once made the observation to me that this one particular p.o.r.nstar looked rather like myself a it was a long, boring period with nothing much to do, you understand, and they were looking for various entertainments to pa.s.s the time." More amus.e.m.e.nt from the gallery. "Anyhow, this lady's name, I believe, was something-or-other Ca.s.sidy. Her partner's name was April." Outright guffaws from directly behind her. Rafasan was just staring, in utter disbelief. "I put the two together. I thought it catchy."

And she sat for a long moment, and surveyed the carnage she had wrought upon the sombre, orderly proceedings in just a few short moments, with laughter and hubbub from the gallery, and numerous congressors exchanging disbelieving looks, and sometimes laughter, in their utter surprise.

"Well," said a woman on the Progress Party side of the benches, this hearing has started absolutely nothing like I'd expected." Which provoked even more laughter, a continuing release of built-up tension. On the Union side of the benches, the mirth was considerably more subdued. Although suspicious of Progress Party motives in general, she was certainly happy to have them there. They were the ones, generally speaking, who were not scared of her. Some were using her to attack Neiland and Union in general, but attacks on herself were comparatively rare from Progress.

"You realise that you'll never live this down?" asked another Progress rep with a broad smile.

"Sir," Sandy replied, "right now, that's the least of my problems."

From there it was details and procedure. She was fine with thatshe'd done her share of briefings before this, before panels of very senior League military officers, and occasionally League Government bureaucrats or elected representatives. This, of course, was entirely different, both in surroundings and content. But concentration had always been a strong point of hers, and she simply focused on the information upon the laptop screen before her, and shut out the rest of the room.

She started with the Plexus Grid. Built by Plexus Corporation to make the Callayan system navigable to the frequent traffic of freighters and pa.s.senger liners that plied the lanes, it had undergone numerous upgrades in the two hundred years since Callay had been first settled. The most extensive upgrades, of course, had occurred between seventyfive and fifty Callayan years ago, when the newly founded technologybased centre of Ta.n.u.sha had been first commissioned upon the Shoban River Delta, just south of the coastal fringe of the Tuez Range, on the eastern coast of Taj, the second largest of the northern continental landma.s.ses. No one had quite predicted just how successful an experiment in urban planning the new settlement would become, nor were they quite ready for the implications on what had been a mostly agricultural, low-intensity-development world up to that point.

The Grid, she told the a.s.sembled listeners, was serviceable, made particularly so by some clever autonomous-function software and precision laser-com systems developed in Ta.n.u.sha itself over the last few decades. But even now the systems were not equipped to the overlapping second-and third-level redundant sensitivity required to provide adequate protection from stealth raiders, who, given adequate advance knowledge of the Grid layout, could slip between the gaps. And further still, the pa.s.sive sensory systems on the buoys overly relied upon doppler-effect measurements to monitor target velocities, which were notoriously unreliable in the face of phase-shifting attacking craft headed in-system carrying high-V from jump a which did a number of things to Einsteinian physics of light that she didn't pretend to entirely understand, except to say that it could render elements of the doppler-effect misleading a supra-light technologies could do that, especially on the later-model vessels in either the League or Federation fleets, something about wave effects and bending light from jump fields a anyhow, she waved a hand dismissively, she was not a physicist, just an ex-grunt, and she was certain that Callayan engineers could give a better explanation of the systems that were needed for an upgrade than she could herself.

"You never had to deal with the technical complexities of such things yourself, Ms. Ca.s.sidy?" asked a Union Party rep.

"Not really, sir. The physics of s.p.a.ce combat are an extraordinarily complex business that require all Fleet officers to spend four years and hundreds of hours of tape-teach to understand with any degree of practical certainty. As a special forces commander I had the luxury of allowing them to worry about the technicalities while I concerned myself with operations within the target environment. I'm more interested with the practical implications of what the equipment does than how."

"You were involved in s.p.a.ce battles yourself?" s.p.a.ce battles. He managed to make it sound like a VR simulation game.

"Yes, sir. My operational environments varied from stations and other s.p.a.ce-based facilities to ships and planet-bound targets. Planets are still something of a novelty to me, actually a I'd guess something like seventy per cent of my life has been off-world, either on stations or being transported from place to place on ships."

"And how does it feel to be now living on a planet? Do you miss your old environment?"

"Not even a little bit."

Dead silence from the gallery behind. As if they dared not breathe, lest they missed some vital clue from her lips. A clue to what, she was not sure.

"That's hardly the response I'd expect from a veteran s.p.a.cer."

"I'm not a veteran s.p.a.cer, sir. I never had much to do with the hour-by-hour operations of s.p.a.cecraft or stations. They were a platform from which I operated as a League soldier. On military facilities you didn't even get much of a view, viewports weren't a high priority in the designers' schematics." She shrugged faintly. "I welcome the s.p.a.ce down here. And the sunlight. And the weather. Weather's wonderful. My best friend claims the greatest present threat to my life is lightning, she's always dragging me inside when a storm front comes through. Lightning's amazing."

"Please, Mr. Selvadurai," said Chairman Ha.s.san, "allow Ms. Ca.s.sidy to finish her presentation. There will be plenty of time for questions later."

Then came her notes on local network security systems, which were difficult to translate for a non-expert audience, but she tried as best she could, detailing several of the more notoriously gaping holes, and outlining precisely why it had been so easy for FIA operatives to remain undetected on the system for as long as they had. Then emergency response systems a several of the biggest problems were glaring, most notably the lack of training for serious emergencies. The debacle at the Derry riverside had demonstrated that clearly enough, and from the reluctant nods and wry expressions of several members along the benches, she knew she'd struck a chord.

And then there was CSA and SWAT itself a there was the whole event on Park Street, with its ma.s.ses of people to stand around, make notes and pour tea, yet somehow still a shortage of weapon-trained forces to clear neighbouring buildings, and a police force that didn't read CSA priority reports, which significantly reduced its ability to a.s.sist on CSA-run operations because it was largely out of the procedural loop on extra-irregular protocols. And of course there was SWAT procedure and training, inter-operational communication between the various CSA departments, the undersupply of airborne vehicles and certain unnecessary procurement delays that cost money, time and valuable manpower. And then of course there were recommendations a not that she had any specifically planned, of course, as all things needed to be carefully planned in advance before suggestions could be made, but would the panel care for a general overview in advance?

Glazed looks from the congressors. She noted the time a 12:30, she'd been talking for better than two hours now. No one had said how long she should speak for, she'd been told to demonstrate her thorough knowledge of relevant security systems in need of an upgrade, and she'd done that. But maybe she'd been a bit long on technical detail?

"Well a" said Ha.s.san, a little wearily, "a Ms. Ca.s.sidy a perhaps, I feel, a list of recommendations would be more well suited to another time a and perhaps a panel more expert on such matters than this one, for them to judge the merit of your proposals. But I a thank you greatly for your insight here today a it has given us all much food for thought, I'm sure everyone will agree."

Much shifting and coughing from the gallery. Pa.s.sing lunchtime now, and no food allowed in the hearing room. Doubtless, it occurred to her, they'd been hoping for something considerably more s.e.xy than what she'd just delivered. Good. As a public figure, she didn't want to be s.e.xy. She wanted to be dull, bland, and sensibly utilitarian.

"I would convene the hearing for lunch," Ha.s.san resumed, shifting back to a properly upright posture in his big leather chair, "but given the a pressing nature of everyone's schedules at this time, I feel we should perhaps proceed immediately to questions, if there are no objections?"

"Ms. Ca.s.sidy," a Union Party rep said immediately from the left end of the long double row of benches, "you are technically under suspension at this moment, are you not?"

Silence descended once more upon the shifting, coughing gallery.

"Yes, ma'am." No one used that feminine anachronism in the League, nor in the CSA. But here in the grand houses of Parliament, it remained, she'd been informed, the required mode of address to powerful women.

"Why are you under suspension?" Seated on the very far left of the front bench. Sandy had to turn her head across to look at the woman directly. Distractingly, numerous of the gallery across that side began to lean forward, seeking a better view of her face.

"There was an incident." And thought to glance across at Rafasan. Rafasan nodded for her to continue. "The bombing on the Derry riverside two nights ago. I caught the bomber. The SIB thought I took unnecessary measures in doing so, and placed me under suspension on a technicality of my Callayan citizenship conditions, pending further review."

"You caught the bomber?" someone else asked. All twenty-six pairs of eyes across both rows of benches fixed unerringly upon her, with a mix of incredulity and surprise.

"Yes, ma'am."

"How?"

"I'm afraid," Rafasan intervened, leaning forward to her microphone, "that that information remains cla.s.sified for now a"

"Isn't it true," said the first Union Party woman, "that you shot and wounded a pair of SIB investigators in the process of this a apprehension?" Dead silence. Sandy looked at Rafasan. The President's senior legal advisor gave a long, dark look in the direction of the Union Party woman. And then shrugged to Sandy, helplessly. A go-ahead.

"After they opened fire on me in an attempt to kill me for failing to stop when they said stop," Sandy replied. "I disobeyed because I was chasing the bomber, who was getting away. Upon coming under what I perceived to be an attack intended to be lethal, I responded by aiming to wound both of my pursuers, which I achieved, whereupon I resumed pursuit of the bomber and caught him."

Another, building wave of murmuring from the gallery. It had been on the news, she knew. Lots of eye witnesses. The news media hadn't guessed it'd been her in pursuit, however, and the CSA had done a good job of confusing the issue, claiming multiple agents in pursuit a technically true, but not exactly clarifying. Thankfully most people had been too confused or frightened, and the media too wrapped up in sensationalism, to get very close to the truth a although that too would have been just a matter of time, even for the Ta.n.u.shan press. The Union woman stared hard at her for a moment. Evidently it didn't correlate with what she'd been told.

"Alita Bhattacharya," Rafasan leaned over to whisper in Sandy's ear, "Union Right." Sandy nodded, knowing what that meant. Religious groups and extreme, anti-League positioning. In this city, her ideological worst enemy. Doubtless the Senate Security Council had been talking to her.

"You can corroborate your story?" asked Bhattacharya, with extreme disbelief.

"It's on tape," Rafasan replied for her. "CSA protocols have recov ered traffic-control sensors which recorded the event. It correlates with Ms. Ca.s.sidy's recollection of events entirely."

"And why haven't you released this tape?" Bhattacharya replied suspiciously.

"Because the CSA and the Administration," Rafasan replied frostily, "are more concerned with performing the task circ.u.mstance has a.s.signed to us, in accordance with the laws governing security restrictions and non-disclosure, than we are with scoring political points. Instead we are faced with a circ.u.mstance where one of this world's finest a.s.sets has been suspended for doing her job with excellence, while the SIB has been rewarded for doing its job extremely badly."

"Speaking personally, Ms. Rafasan," said a man sitting two seats along from Bhattacharya, "I find this incessant CSA bashing of the SIB and its agents extremely disturbing, particularly under these circ.u.mstances, where a couple of SIB agents have actually been shot, to apparently very little remorse from the person who shot them, or the CSA, or indeed the Neiland Administration in general."

"Sir," Rafasan said very coldly, nervous fingers clasping hard together on the table as she leaned forward, "if you care to examine my own personal record of statements in legal and academic arenas, you will find that my own att.i.tude toward the SIB has generally been extremely positive for a great many years. As the President's senior legal advisor, you can trust that I have frequently supported the SIB's procedures on many things, often against the President's own feelings, or that of her various other advisors or ministers. I felt that the SIB possessed a degree of intellectual, academic sophistication worthy of the city that Ta.n.u.sha, and the planet of Callay, was aiming to become.

"Recent events have come as something of a shock to me, I now most readily confess. They have revealed stark flaws in the SIB's operating procedure, most notably that its links to the Senate, and particularly the Senate Security Panel, have held its agenda hostage to narrow, often extremist and unrepresentative interests that in this case have sent it on the most disgraceful witch hunt that I have ever had the disgust to observe in all my years in the legal profession. The degree of extremist xenophobia a"

"Ms. Rafasan a" the chairman said loudly.

"a and the accompanying dangerously irrational attempts to interfere with legal government process," Rafasan continued, her accent lilting in a p.r.o.nounced, angry rush, "have as far as I can see worked only to the detriment of law-abiding people across this planet "Ms. Rafasan, if you please a"

"a and to the broader security circ.u.mstance in general, much to the endangerment of everything that all law enforcement agencies upon this world should hold dear and sacred in the extreme."

"Thank you, Ms. Rafasan, I believe your point has been made a"

"Ms. Rafasan," from the Union side, "I really can't believe what I'm hearing here a"

Sandy glanced across at the senior legal advisor, who sat flushed and angry, her jaw set at a stubborn angle. She'd gotten to know Rafasan reasonably well over the last month of consultations on one legal matter or another, but she'd never seen her this worked up. Demure South Asian femininity indeed a quite against the popular media images of delicate Indian beauty queens and a.s.sorted glamour princesses, she'd always thought Indian women among the most formidable people in Ta.n.u.sha. Whenever they opened their mouths, that was.

"Please, please, people," cut in Chairman Ha.s.san wearily before Rafasan could reply to the Union congressor's disbelief, "this hearing was not convened to discuss the strengths and failings of the Special Investigations Bureau, but rather to hear a presentation and ask questions of Ms. Ca.s.sidy here, who is doubtless extremely busy, as are we alla"

"Ms. Ca.s.sidy," spoke up another man from the Union side, "my name is Aramel Afed, I am a member of what you will know as the Union Left." A narrow-faced, dark-skinned man. North African, Sandy guessed. "I feel this might be an opportunity for us, the elected representatives of Callay, to actually get to know you, at least a little a after all, we've heard so much about you, but until now have had no opportunity to attach a face, or indeed a personality, to this person of whom we've been hearing. So if you will allow me, I will begin by asking you to tell us all a little about yourself. What are your first memories, if I could begin at that early stage of your life?"