Killswitch: (Cassandra Kresnov Book 3)
: Chapter 14

Sandy stood amidst the blasting jets of water and rising steam, and fumed. Further along the soft-floored shower berths, fellow soldiers gave her looks that were filled with caution, beyond the usual intrigue at seeing the Federation’s most famous GI naked. Sandy dialed the touchpad up to maximum heat and force, and let herself practically disappear from view.

It was six thirty in the morning, and she hadn’t slept. Reports had been flooding into CSA HQ endlessly, piecing together the events of that night. It all seemed to go back to the State Department-the codes that brought down the Canas security grid, the registration of Jane’s getaway aircar, everything. Agents had the entire department wing shut down indefinitely, by order of Director Ibrahim. Benjamin Grey was under investigation, and no one seemed to be giving him the benefit of the doubt any more. A breach of that magnitude either had to be incompetence on a massive scale, or complicity. And Ari, being An, had pieced together numerous personal and technical details no one else had thought connected, and was now leading an investigation into the possibility that Grey had somehow been placed under hypnotrance. The media knew it as ‘brainjacking,’ and the more modern techniques drew the effects out indefinitely by infiltrating the target’s uplinks with code that echoed modern VR enhancements in design. Advanced network uplinks and even VR entertainment worked by inducing a hallucination. An said the hypno-trance was based on a similar concept … except that the target wasn’t aware the ‘reality’ wasn’t real. Technologically induced schizophrenia, he’d called it. And was rounding up the relevant experts, among other things, to interview staff, and review briefing tapes, to search for symptoms.

In the meantime, there was no sign of Jane. Krishnaswali was furious, and had chewed her out for a solid half hour. Had accused her of pursuing her personal, interventionist, militaristic agenda at the expense of local security. She’d been so busy looking for evidence with which to persuade Captain Reichardt of her cause, that she’d allowed Callay’s single greatest security threat to escape when she should have shot to kill. Even Ibrahim had not been happy. They’d have had evidence enough from her corpse, he’d suggested. They’d have raided her uplinks, removed information, data connections … all likely to have survived the body’s death. Proof of who Jane had talked to, and where she’d been.

Sandy turned her face into a jet blast that would have been painful to a straight. Trying to blast the frustration from her skull, perhaps. Jane had proven herself every bit as immoral and callous as she’d feared and Takawashi had suggested. She’d nearly killed Rhian. She’d nearly killed Vanessa. Sandy couldn’t believe that she herself, with the cold, steely hatred she felt toward everything that Jane represented … a hatred that penetrated well into the depths of her soul … had subconsciously made a decision to spare Jane’s life, for no apparent good reason. She’d evolved a lot as a person of late, both during her last years in the League, and particularly during her last two years on Callay. She was wiser, smarter, and more appreciative of all life’s vast complexities. But still, as she’d acknowledged herself on numerous occasions, she was no pacifist.

She’d killed so many people during her early years of life, whom hindsight informed her hadn’t deserved it. And now, she’d been given the chance to take the life of one who clearly did deserve it, and refrained. She didn’t understand why she’d done what she’d done. And now, she had trouble looking her comrades, who had lost friends at Jane’s hands, in the eye.

‘Commander.’ Vanessa’s voice, to one side of the shower row. Sandy glanced sideways through the blasting water and steam. Vanessa was in casual fatigues, her beret tucked into a thigh pocket, looking somewhat less tired than she ought-after the State Department raid, she’d returned to sleep on the fold-down bed in her office, and no one had had the heart to wake her. Last Sandy had heard, just an hour ago, she’d still been asleep. ‘I’ve some news.’

Sandy refrained from a wry remark, in the presence of underlings, and keyed off the shower with a sigh. Took a towel from the wall dispenser and towelled down her hair as she walked on the puddled floor, down a row of lockers to her own. It was an egalitarian arrangement, by Sandy and Vanessa’s own design, just a simple metal locker amidst the others, with no preference for rank. They, and Krishnaswali, all had private showers in the bathrooms adjoining their offices. Krishnaswali, spending more time at his desk than his two next-most senior underlings combined, showered there, when needed. The men’s and women’s general locker rooms were down on the ground floor, alongside the weapons and PT sections for convenient access. Sandy had heard her guys talking, when they thought no one could hear, making sarcastic remarks about Krishnaswali not even knowing where his general locker was. Which wasn’t fair on Krishnaswali; it really wasn’t convenient for him, given the different nature of his job … but still, Sandy knew that soldiers would say what soldiers would say, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

‘What’s up?’ Sandy said when they were far enough away from company. Stopped before her locker, letting the red light scan her iris. A click as it opened, and she reached for her clothes. There was no immediate reply, and she glanced at Vanessa. Vanessa stood, arms folded, contemplating her naked form. One characteristically arched eyebrow said more than any words could. ‘Oh,’ said Sandy, sheepishly. And quickly began towelling herself down. ‘Sorry.’

Vanessa seemed to be biting back some great amusement, lips pursed with effort. Rushing to get into her clothes, Sandy was pulling her cps jumpsuit to her waist before she finally noticed. And frowned at her. Vanessa’s amusement broke in a stifled laugh. Sandy smiled in puzzlement.

‘What?’ she said. Vanessa shook her head, a hand raised in apology, still unwilling or unable to speak. ‘What?’ With mounting indignation.

Vanessa sighed. ‘Oh come on, like this isn’t the most absurd thing you’ve ever seen.’ Sandy pulled on her T-shirt, still smiling uncertainly, and zipped the jumpsuit over it. Sat down to begin pulling on socks and boots.

‘What’s absurd?’ she ventured after a moment. Uncertain whether she’d misunderstood, and not wanting to make another mistake.

‘Us!’ Vanessa laughed. ‘You, suddenly nervous about being naked in front of me. I bet you’ve never been nervous about nudity before in your life. You looked like a ten-year-old, scrambling for a towel when her brother’s friends burst into the bathroom.’

‘You’re exaggerating,’ Sandy retorted, pulling on a boot. ‘And besides, it’s not my fault I’m suddenly concerned about the effect my bare arse might be having on you.’

‘It is your fault,’ Vanessa retorted. ‘You’re gorgeous.’

‘That’s not my fault, it’s the League’s fault. Fuck, it’s probably Takawashi’s fault. I’m probably the spitting image of some old girlfriend of his, the one he still thinks about when he jerks off. If he still can jerk off.’

‘Well thanks, that’s spoiled my mental image entirely.’

Sandy half-grinned. ‘Good.’ She finished with the other boot, strapping the fasteners with typical lightning speed. Then stood, and looked Vanessa directly in the eyes. ‘Ricey. Are we okay?’

‘We’re okay,’ Vanessa said firmly, her gaze unwavering. ‘I don’t make a good drama queen, Sandy. I’m not going to go storming off because I can’t get my way on something. I just … haven’t been single for a while, and it’s been two years since the divorce, and I didn’t think I’d still be single. And it just … started getting to me. With all this stuff going on. I started wondering about my future. Our future.’

‘You want kids?’ Sandy asked, with a flash of insight.

Vanessa shrugged. A little evasively, Sandy thought. ‘Maybe,’ Vanessa conceded. ‘But not on my own. With this job, I couldn’t handle it. I’d need some long-term help.’

‘And who’s the lucky sperm?’

‘I’d thought … I’d thought maybe a donor bank. I mean, my taste in men is terrible. I can’t imagine sharing a kid with someone like Sav, it’s a complication I really don’t need in my life. My taste in women is far better.’ With a faint smile.

Sandy rolled her eyes, and brushed damp fringe from her eyes. ‘That’s debatable. Never thought of adopting?’

‘Call me selfish,’ Vanessa replied with a shrug, ‘I want a kid who’s at least half me. The gene-screens are pretty thorough, I could make out the father to look like anything I wanted.’ Sandy shook her head with faint disbelief. Vanessa frowned. ‘What? You don’t think that’s a good idea?’

‘No no, nothing like that. It’s just more Federation hypocrisy. Every time you see photos or footage from a few hundred years ago, you notice there’s much more variety of facial features and body shapes. I’d say there were far more ugly people, if that weren’t such a subjective judgement. And an unfair one. But despite all the Federation’s bitching about the League technology taking over the species, we’ve still managed to weed out a huge range of genetic variety over the last few centuries. Just with gene screening, which is supposed to only select for disease and health purposes, but of course it doesn’t.’

Vanessa shrugged. ‘Every living, organic creature is battling against its own genes from the day it’s born. Why should we be any different?’

‘I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. It’s just hypocritical. There’s something more … I don’t know … romantic, about a random selection, don’t you think? Guessing what the kid’s going to look like?’

‘There’s nothing romantic about cystic fibrosis,’ Vanessa said flatly. Sandy grimaced, remembering having read about that, from before it was eliminated more than three centuries ago. ‘Or getting abused all through school because your nose looks like a vegetable. What about you?’ With a curious smile. ‘Has Rhian’s decision rubbed off on you yet?’

Sandy shook her head, calmly. ‘No.’

Vanessa’s smile faded. ‘No? But someday, surely?’

‘Only if I change my mind. Maybe one day I’ll want a kid. But right now, I think never.’

Vanessa looked genuinely dismayed. ‘Seriously? But that’s so sad!’

‘I know,’ said Sandy, with a faint smile. ‘It’d be tragic, for the kid. Rhian might get away with it, she’s low profile. But me, with my job, and all the attention …’

‘You could manage!’ Vanessa insisted. ‘Hell, Krishnaswali’s got three! ‘

‘I don’t want to be the mother of the child of a killing machine,’ Sandy said sadly. ‘I don’t have the right to inflict the fears and dangers of my life upon anyone so innocent. I don’t want him or her to have to live the rest of their life in the shadow of my legacy. And I won’t put all this guilt on anyone else’s shoulders.’

Vanessa just stared at her, in great dismay. Looking like she wanted to argue, but somehow, couldn’t think of any counterargument. Sandy smiled, and put a hand on Vanessa’s slim, uniformed shoulder. ‘But if you have a child one day, I’d love to be friendly Auntie Sandy, who calls in frequently to corrupt its innocent little mind.’

Vanessa’s eyes gleamed. ‘I’d like that,’ she said. And took Sandy’s hand off her shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze.

‘Now, you said there was news?’ Sandy prompted, thinking that this particular encounter had gone about as well as she could possibly have hoped, and wanting to end it before things could degenerate again.

‘Yeah,’ Vanessa said with a sigh, releasing her hand. ‘Takawashi left. He went on an attached shuttle, registered to the League freighter Corona. There was a security lapse-remember the customs report last month saying there was too much emphasis on entry, and not enough on departures? Well someone got a visual on Takawashi’s party after they’d gone through the checks, just before boarding. One of that party, Intel’s pretty sure, was Jane.’

Sandy waited patiently outside the League Embassy front gate, the raincoat hood pulled over her head, hands in pockets. At her back, cars hissed upon the wet street, gleaming beneath the streetlights. Simple concrete blocks lined the street edge, an age-old precaution against car bombs. Two years ago, there had been requests to block off the entire road, but local residents had protested. Nowadays, violent Callayan activist groups were more angry at Earth than the League, and the Embassy security no longer had quite so many reasons to be nervous. But still, a simple, enhanced visual sweep through the metal rails of the fence showed the crouched, dark shadows of snipers upon the roof, and scanner grids overlaid across the broad, grassy garden.

The Embassy itself was pleasant on the eye-a two-storey white building with Corinthian pillars, very much in the style of eighteenth century English colonialism. An instantly recognisable style, in Tanusha, with its prominent Indian influence that recalled such architectural influences readily. A long driveway curved in a U, meeting the Embassy’s main doors beneath the front pillars. There was little decorative lighting to advertise the building’s existence to the outside, and no sign on the fence. Everyone who was interested in such things knew what the building was, of course, but no one inside found a need to announce the fact to casual passersby.

After twenty seconds of waiting, a police officer climbed from the van at one end of the street barricades, and walked toward her. His raincoat was transparent, clearly displaying his blue uniform beneath. He arrived at Sandy’s side.

‘Excuse me, ma’am, do you have some business here?’ Sandy looked at him, fully showing her face beneath the hood. The policeman’s eyes went wide. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am … I mean Commander. We weren’t informed.’

‘That’s okay, Sergeant, I didn’t inform anyone.’

The sergeant gave a quick look across the Embassy’s broad, wet lawns. ‘Did you inform the Embassy?’

‘No.’

‘I see. Is there anything we can do to help?’ Hopefully.

‘Just continue what you’re doing, Sergeant. And watch for any unusual activity within the grounds.’

‘Yes, Commander.’ The sergeant nodded formally, then hurried back to his van. Sandy returned her attention to the Embassy. If the security people watching her now had any doubts of her identity, the sergeant’s reaction had surely dispelled them. A moment later, the front doors opened, and a woman in a raincoat came out. The walk up the gravel footpath to the front pedestrian gate took more than thirty seconds. Sandy could see within the first few steps that the approaching woman was a GI, and was armed beneath her raincoat upon the left side. Probably a machine-pistol, or a snubbed assault weapon. The female GI came up to the gate, and Sandy stepped close. Thunder muttered and grumbled, distantly.

‘Please state your business,’ said the other GI. The tone was expressionless. Her eyes were alert and aware, but somehow there was something missing. A depth.

‘I’d like to come in,’ said Sandy. When dealing with regs, it was wise to keep things simple.

‘Make an appointment,’ said the reg.

‘I’m the commander of the CDF,’ Sandy replied. ‘I don’t need an appointment.’

‘Procedural protocols say you do.’

‘Fuck procedural protocols.’ The reg frowned, apparently not knowing what to make of that. It was nice to know these regs were capable of frowning, Sandy supposed. She’d known some who weren’t. In combat, they’d done plenty of damage, but not always to soldiers, and not always the enemy’s. Their own life expectancy, during a heavy period, had been not years or months, but weeks. ‘Either you open the gate, or I’ll jump it and walk in.’

‘The Embassy is legally League territory.’ Sandy doubted the reg knew what that really meant, but had been instructed to say it when required. ‘We are allowed to use lethal force.’

‘I’m not going to attack you. I’m just going to walk to the Embassy.’

‘You’re not allowed.’

‘So stop me.’

Now the reg was becoming confused. ‘We’ll restrain you.’

‘You’re aware of my designation. You know what happens when you try and fight a designation like mine.’ If this GI had ever gone hand-to-hand against Ramoja, she’d know. They’d need at least ten to stop her.

‘Then you will be attacking us,’ reasoned the reg.

‘No, I’ll be defending myself.’

‘On League territory.’

‘So I’m not allowed to defend myself if ten or twenty GIs rush me?’

The reg took a deep breath, looking more disconcerted than ever. ‘It would be much easier if you made an appointment,’ she said.

‘Forty seconds, and I’ll jump the fence,’ said Sandy. The reg did not reply. From her slightly desperate look, Sandy reckoned she was asking for instructions … but she couldn’t tell for sure without her uplinks. It ought to have been safe to do so, with Jane gone. But in the proximity of the League Embassy, it wasn’t a risk she was prepared to take.

The metal gate clacked unlocked, then hummed open. The reg stood aside as Sandy walked in, looking about as relieved as was possible for a reg to look. Relieved not because she’d been fearing a fight, that wasn’t in any reg’s nature. But relieved to be freed from such an unsettlingly complicated problem of suitable responses. Regs were happier when things were black and white. In Sandy’s experience, the battlefield was rarely that. And she simply couldn’t believe the attitude of people who would send such mentally simple creations into combat. Regs-indeed, all GIs-had been an invention of desperation from a smaller power looking to even the odds against massive numerical inferiority. But now the war had ended, and still the League persisted with a backbone force of low-to-mid designation GIs. Inevitably, they’d become dependent. And worse, being League, they’d become infatuated with GIs’ more obvious physical and technical advantages.

But create an entire army of high-des GIs like herself? Like Ramoja, or Jane? That was to risk creating an enormously powerful weapon that could not be controlled. And so they persisted with blunt instruments like this one. It wasn’t fair to the regs, and it certainly wasn’t fair to any civilians in proximity to a hypothetical combat zone … to say nothing of what it meant for the gradual disintegration of any League concept of human rights, to even have regs in the first place. Sandy felt herself fuming with old angers as she walked up the crunching gravel path in the moderate, steady rain. Her thumb ached within its cast-a good sign, that the nerves were regenerating. And a bad sign, for the tension it indicated.

To her little surprise, Major Ramoja met her just inside the front door.

‘Commander,’ he said mildly, as the reg shut the door behind. Sandy unbuttoned her raincoat. ‘Don’t take it off, you won’t be staying that long.’

‘Is that right?’ Sandy said flatly. Removed the raincoat, shook it out, and offered it to the reg standing at her elbow. The reg did not take it. Sandy shook her head. ‘The service in this place is simply not what it used to be.’ She tossed it to the floor, against the wall by the door.

‘What do you want?’ Ramoja asked. He stood in the middle of the broad entrance hallway, on polished floorboards before an expensive Indian carpet. Paintings on the walls, and a large overhead chandelier maintained the eighteenth-century ambience. A carved wooden table at the cross-corridor behind held a vase containing a brilliant plume of peacock feathers. To Sandy’s maxed hearing, the Embassy seemed remarkably quiet. On her previous visits, there had been much bustle and activity, Embassy staff going about their routine chores, and serving drinks or meals for the various official activities that seemed to continue on a steadily rotating schedule. Now, she could hear barely an echo of compressed floorboards, nor a murmur of distant conversation. The security outside, however, had been as intense as always. Doubtless they were all still here. Equally doubtless recent events had brought the typical daily cycle to an abrupt end.

‘I want answers,’ Sandy told him. ‘I want to know everything you know about Renaldo Takawashi. I want to know exactly what he was up to in Tanusha. I mean what he was really up to. And I want to know exactly which League faction authorised Jane’s recovery, and how.’

Ramoja raised an eyebrow. He wore military pants and jacket, with many pockets and obvious weapons. Lately, in quieter times, he’d taken to wearing suits. Doubtless he’d found it enhanced his newly discovered dapper self-image. Today, things were evidently different. ‘You already seem to know all the answers,’ he said mildly. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’

Sandy shook her head. ‘You don’t understand. Ibrahim’s preparing an order to close down the Embassy.’

Ramoja nearly frowned. Nearly. Sandy knew a GI’s reflexes well enough to recognise the onset of combat-reflex. Ramoja was highly alarmed. ‘Why?’ he said flatly.

‘Suspected complicity with a direct threat to Callayan and Federation security of the highest level. Suspected complicity in the assassination of Admiral Duong, and with the attempted assassination of the Callayan Secretary of State. Neiland’s authorising him for any measures necessary. He’s not just going to send home the Ambassador, he’s going to close down the Embassy. By force, if you don’t meet his timetable. His timetable, in case you’re wondering, is the next thirty minutes. Either you talk, or you’re all gone.’

Upon which she folded her arms and waited. Somewhere above, a door slammed. Then footsteps, multiplying as they echoed down hallways and across rooms. Some echoing voices. Ramoja seemed to be waiting, lips pressed to a thin line, arms folded tightly. From the hard look in his eyes, Sandy guessed he was processing a terse, uplinked conversation.

Then … ‘I said I’ll handle it!’ he snarled aloud, to that silent interlocutor. The approaching footsteps continued, and then Ambassador Yao himself arrived in the hall, appearing somewhat less collected than Sandy could ever remember seeing him. He strode quickly across the carpet, a somewhat rounded, inoffensive-looking Chinese man with his tie uncharacteristically askew.

‘Commander, please, you must tell the Director that we had nothing to do with …’ And he broke off as Ramoja spun to face him, stepping firmly across his path.

‘I said I’ll handle it,’ Ramoja said in a dark, tight voice. Yao blinked at him. Ramoja stood no taller than Yao, and despite an intensely muscular build, probably weighed less too. Yet his sheer physical gravity seemed to suck all presence out of the Ambassador, and render him transparent by contrast.

‘Major,’ Yao managed to blurt after a deep intake of breath, ‘I am the Ambassador here, and it is my responsibility to …’

‘League security is in question,’ Ramoja replied, tautly. ‘It just became an ISO matter. I rank you.’

It evidently wasn’t a question he wanted discussed in front of the CDF Commander-who ranked who in the Embassy, and when, was a matter of speculation still within the CSA. Well, she was now a little wiser. For whatever good it would do, if she didn’t get what Ibrahim considered a reasonable set of answers. Yao blinked furiously, evidently thinking fast. Which was what he was best at, by all reports. But none of his conclusions appeared to give him a way past the bundle of lethally coiled synthetic muscle that currently blocked his path, and so he stood aside, and waited in anxious silence. Ramoja swung on his heel, and faced Sandy once more.

‘Takawashi’s mission was to recover the FIA’s GI,’ he confirmed, shortly. ‘He appears to have been successful.’

Sandy just fixed him with an unimpressed stare. ‘Do better,’ she told him, just as shortly.

‘It was authorised a long way up the chain. The Embassy was instructed to provide cover, but not direct assistance.’

‘We in the business of Callayan security don’t have the luxury of making that distinction,’ Sandy remarked sourly.

‘I protested the instruction.’

‘Well, good for you,’ said Sandy, with much condescension. Ramoja’s eyes narrowed beneath dark, firm brows. ‘I’m so glad to see you’re developing along your moral continuum.’

‘Takawashi was dubious of the need for our assistance,’ Ramoja continued. ‘He felt that Jane would be open to persuasion.’

‘Persuasion?’ Sandy exclaimed, with raised eyebrows. ‘Jane?’

‘He felt that she would wish to meet her maker.’ There was now a trace of dark irony in Ramoja’s voice. A scepticism toward Takawashi and his intentions. From Ramoja, the clean-cut, every-League-officer’s-favourite GI, it was unexpected. ‘He told me that she was confused. That she would jump at the chance to be where she belonged, and to broaden her horizons.’

‘Yeah, she’s a real compulsive socialiser, huh. Maybe that or she’s got a killswitch in her brainstem too, and he’s got the trigger.’

Ramoja made a ‘maybe’ motion of his head. ‘She did display an instinct for self-preservation.’

‘What have the FIA said about Takawashi stealing back his prize?’

‘No, no.’ Ramoja shook his head, some of the usual, familiar smugness returning. ‘You don’t understand. Jane was not stolen from Takawashi by the FIA. She was a gift.’

Then she did understand, having already suspected. But she said nothing. Ambassador Yao coughed, nervously, and wet his lips. ‘Actually, Major, I’m not sure that you should be speaking of. . . ‘

‘Takawashi’s pathetically self-serving mission is over,’ Ramoja cut him off, hard. ‘We’ve been forced to jeopardise our broader mission enough with his foolishness. League relations with the entire Federation are now at stake, thanks to his little escapade, and now we must return to our true priorities.’ Yao nodded quickly, lips pursed.

‘The war was ending,’ Ramoja continued to Sandy. ‘Takawashi’s greatest perfection of his life’s work-us-was complete. Yet GI production was ending, the old government was falling, and with it, all support for him and his research projects. He wanted to give his creations life, but was not allowed. There was an order to destroy his prototypes, yet he refused. I cannot prove what happened next, but suffice to say that I do not replace his evidence of their destruction convincing.’

‘Why the FIA?’ Sandy said suspiciously. ‘What did they offer?’

‘As far as I can discern, they offered nothing. Merely the chance to give Takawashi’s baby life. It took much preparation, though.’ And Ramoja’s eyes narrowed. ‘Some of the required information could only be gleaned by close examination of a physical subject. And Takawashi had no prototype of the advanced design available. Except for one, who had wandered off. Directly into Federal Intelligence’s web.’

Sandy stared at him, unblinkingly. Then, in a low voice and as calmly as she could manage, ‘You’re saying that Takawashi set me up, two years ago?’

‘I can prove nothing,’ said Ramoja. ‘I only know that Takawashi was disappointed in you.’

‘He expressed otherwise,’ Sandy said darkly.

A corner of Ramoja’s mouth twitched upwards. ‘Oh, he was pleased enough that you had shown such … initiative. But your defection to the Federation did represent a definite failure on his part. Renaldo Takawashi was once a simple researcher, as he often says. A shining star in the independent, nonpolitical League science community. But however reluctantly he joined the League’s military development projects when it seemed to League policy makers that war would become inevitable if the League were to fulfil its manifest destiny, he quickly changed his tune. He would deny it, of course. But for at least fifty years now, Renaldo Takawashi has grown accustomed to his immense political influence within the League, and his enormous research budgets. Not to mention a lavish lifestyle that verges upon the obscene. That ship in orbit, the Corona, to which he is currently headed? It is listed as owned by the Cognizant Corporation, the holding company to which Cognizant Systems is affiliated. What is not well known is that Takawashi effectively owns a controlling stake in Cognizant Corporation, through various roundabout methods. And the Corona is effectively his private starship.’

As many wealthy people as there were in the Federation and League combined, there were very few who owned private starships. For those who did, it remained the ultimate statement in wealth and privilege.

‘Your disappearance greatly damaged Takawashi’s prestige within the League government and military,’ Ramoja continued. ‘He had warned that it was a possibility within your first ten years of life. After that, however, he firmly expected that your loyalty toward the League and its principles would be firmly entrenched. When you left, he lost face, and the powers that be lost confidence with his predictions. I believe that Jane had been merely one of several side-projects up until that point. Afterwards, however, he felt compelled, by ego as much as the technical challenge, to work toward a solution to the problem you posed.’

‘A GI’s loyalty,’ Sandy muttered.

‘Exactly. And to control her loyalty, you first must control her mind. I believe he donated Jane to the FIA because he knew they would use her. That they might use her against the League would never have bothered him-Takawashi was always far too bound up in his personal quests to waste time with such pointless distractions as patriotism. He knew the FIA would use Jane, and doubtless he was curious to see her effectiveness. He maintained covert links to the FIA with which to monitor her activities, that being a condition of the deal. Which was how he knew she would be here. Perhaps the FIA even agreed to hand her back after two years, I cannot say.’

‘Maybe there’s more than just Jane,’ Sandy remarked. ‘Maybe Takawashi gave them several. Maybe lots. Maybe Jane’s just the first.’

Ramoja nodded. ‘Clearly possible. Cognizant’s records are more closely guarded than many branches of the ISO. We have no way of knowing just how many prototypes were made.’

‘He couldn’t hide Jane away before,’ Sandy said with suspicion. ‘Why does he feel he can do so now?’

Ramoja took a breath, and shoved both hands into the pockets of his army pants. ‘League recruitment has largely survived the immediate purge of the new regime,’ he said, with an expression that hinted at unhappy resignation. ‘Cognizant has been building facilities in systems far removed from easy scrutiny. They have worked their way into the new government’s favour as they did with the old.’

‘Wonderful system you work for,’ Sandy remarked sourly.

‘Perfection of the system is not a prerequisite for loyalty,’ Ramoja said sharply. ‘If it were, neither of us would choose the jobs we hold. If the system is flawed, then fixing it is merely another part of the job. Our loyalty comes from our commitment to the values that underpin the system, not the system itself.’

‘Or because someone high up in League military command decided they wanted a GI who would believe exactly what they wanted her to believe,’ Sandy remarked, eyes hard with anger. ‘What a fucking joke. Another great chapter in the League’s commitment to the rights of its synthetic citizens. The war’s ended, and we’re still just a fucking commodity to them. A military asset.’ Ramoja stared away at a wall, his jaw set hard. Ambassador Yao looked at his shiny shoes upon the floorboards.

‘I hadn’t thought it was possible,’ Yao ventured timidly. ‘I mean, I’m just a layman … but to create a GI of the level of intellect that you two possess … and to control her personality and brain function from the first day onwards? Surely that control would … would destroy the very creativity that is her … and your … greatest asset?’

‘It would seem to fly in the face of all established psych theory,’ Ramoja said tautly. ‘Jane may yet evolve, I suppose. But to be where she is now, at barely a year-and-a-half’s age, is worrisome.’

‘If Takawashi were to abruptly meet with misfortune,’ Sandy said blankly, ‘it would all die with him.’ Yao blinked at her. Ramoja frowned, incredulously.

‘And this is your official position, is it?’ he asked. ‘In your new role as an enlightened, democratic authority sworn to uphold human rights and the rule of law?’

Sandy fixed him with a hard stare. ‘This is mind-control, Major. It’s illegal in both League and Federation to apply it to straights. Somehow though, the League doesn’t have a problem applying it to GIs. What if it progresses?’

‘Tape-teach doesn’t work on straight humans like it does on GIs,’ Ramoja contradicted firmly. ‘Straights are naturally evolving. You can’t just brainwash an organic mind indefinitely, it doesn’t work.’

‘It wasn’t supposed to work on GIs either,’ Sandy retorted. ‘Not this way. Either the people behind this have to be exposed, or it’s got to be ended. One way or the other, this is just too dangerous right now.’

‘Commander,’ Yao protested, ‘the technology isn’t the problem, so long as the regulatory mechanisms are functioning …’

‘Yeah, I know the usual League spiel, Ambassador. And how wonderfully are the League’s regulatory mechanisms working now?’

Yao swallowed. ‘I will not discuss an ultimatum from a simple Federation functionary-no disrespect intended-to interfere with matters of League internal policy in exchange for the continued functioning of the League Embassy on Callay. Furthermore, I can’t believe that Director Ibrahim would include such a tangential demand into his list of requests in sending you here.’

‘He didn’t,’ said Ramoja, studying Sandy with contemplative eyes. ‘She’s just voicing her opinion. Again.’

‘Yeah, well at least I care enough to have one,’ Sandy retorted. ‘I want full documentary evidence. All the dealings this Embassy had with Takawashi. All the communications files, all the intel you received from ISO back League-side. That is a part of Ibrahim’s demands.’

‘You’ll get as much as you need to convince Captain Reichardt and his people of what really went on,’ Ramoja responded calmly, his manner as impenetrable as his arms-folded stance. ‘That’s all Callay’s security requires. Director Ibrahim and President Neiland will be happy enough with that. The rest is League property.’

‘I’ll decide what’s enough here, thanks …’

‘I’ll tell you,’ came a new voice from down the adjoining hall. Rhian appeared at the corner, as Ramoja gave a frowning look over his shoulder. Rhian’s head was bandaged, and she wore a loose, grey tracksuit, very unlike her usual, glamorous self. The front was unzipped, in the manner of someone recently out of bed, and her feet were bare. She steadied herself against the corner, and gazed at the small group gathered in the entrance hall. Her gaze, Sandy thought, appeared slightly unsteady. ‘I got into their files,’ she told Sandy. ‘There’s lots of stuff about Takawashi. It wasn’t the Major’s fault, Cap. Nor Mr. Yao’s. They were under orders. But they knew Jane was going to kill Admiral Duong, and couldn’t stop it because Takawashi’s faction had instructed them not to.’

‘That’s enough, Lieutenant!’ Ramoja barked. Behind her left shoulder, Sandy could all but feel the female reg begin to tense.

‘Takawashi was very excited about Jane,’ Rhian continued, walking upon weary, bare feet across the expensive Indian carpet. ‘He said she appeared to exceed any of his expectations. Apparently his superiors were very excited. I got the impression they said something that referred to mass production and new League rebuilding strategies, but I couldn’t be sure. Maybe someone in the CSA can tell.’

Rhian stopped in front of Ramoja. Ramoja gripped her shoulder with a firm hand. ‘Lieutenant Chu,’ he said. The effort in his voice, to keep calm and controlled, was evident. ‘You’ve been shot in the head. You’re still under partial sedation. I think you should go back and lie down. The doctor said your skull had been well and truly rattled. Do you understand?’

Rhian blinked at him, almost dreamily. ‘Do you remember what you said to me a few days ago, Major? That you knew my loyalty was divided, and how you thought I should take some time to think about it? Well, I’ve thought about it.’

Sandy simply watched, barely able to breathe. Combat-reflex was attempting to impinge upon her vision, and the throbbing ache in her thumb was receding.

‘Rhian,’ said Ramoja, in a softening tone. There was real affection in his voice, whatever the evident strain. A comforting surety. Charisma. ‘Rhian, I know how much you like Tanusha. I know how much you love Cassandra. Truthfully, I’ve always expected that you would wish to join with her in service of Callay and the Federation one day-honestly, I’ll show you my reports to ISO command, I predicted that one day it would happen. But now should not be that day, Rhian. This is the wrong moment. This would cause complications. And you owe us more than that, Rhian. You owe us more, for everything we’ve given you, for all the tolerance we’ve shown in letting you keep on in our service despite knowing that your true loyalties were shifting. You can’t do this to us. It wouldn’t be right.’

Rhian frowned at him for a long moment. Slim and apparently vulnerable, before her CO’s athletic, square-shouldered build. That, like so much about Rhian, was deceptive. Then she looked at Sandy. Sandy just waited. She knew she could not intervene. She had recruited one of her old team mates into Callayan service before, so eager had she been to be reunited. That eagerness had killed him. Of course, Vanessa insisted otherwise, but … well, she just knew that she could not intervene again. The choice had to be Rhian’s. Nothing else would work.

‘Wouldn’t be right,’ Rhian repeated, as if to herself. ‘What’s right?’

Ramoja smiled. ‘Ah, Rhian. Always asking the right questions.’

‘I’m serious,’ Rhian persisted. Ramoja’s smile faded. That wasn’t like Rhian, to challenge so directly. ‘What’s right? Is it right to treat GIs as a tool to win wars? I like being a soldier. I’ll fight for a cause I believe in. But now Takawashi’s faction want to make GIs who don’t have any cause? Who just do what they’re told?’

‘That’s always been the case, Rhian,’ Ramoja said warningly. ‘You know that. The League’s survival has depended on it, however unpalatable the policy.’

‘Well, sure,’ Rhian conceded with a faint shrug, ‘but I mean, regs are regs.’ With a faintly anxious glance at the reg standing behind Sandy’s shoulder. Sandy doubted she was offended. ‘We’re so much better at fighting than them. I remember you saying once that we had a responsibility to protect everyone back in the League. But don’t we have a responsibility to protect everyone here too? And everyone everywhere else? I don’t see how an army of ten thousand Janes makes anyone safe, here or there. I think there’s just a few people doing this to serve themselves. I think they need to be stopped.’

‘And we can do that, Rhian,’ Ramoja soothed, putting the other hand upon her opposite shoulder. ‘I agree with you. But we can do that from here. Within the system, where we have access to those who matter.’

Rhian shook her head, adamantly. ‘No. I’m a soldier. I don’t like diplomacy much. I think you stop people by stopping them. Like this.’ And she made a wall with one hand, and a fist with the other. Smacked the fist into the wall, definitively. Her eyes searched Ramoja’s face, in search of understanding, but found only concern. ‘I don’t mean killing them. But if that’s all they understand, you have to at least threaten it. It’s like a bluff. Like in a game of cards. If you don’t mean it, then it’s not worth doing. I’ve seen the diplomacy here. I don’t think it’s working. No one stopped Takawashi, did they? I want to stop him. I think I can do that better with Sandy than I can here.’

Ramoja took a deep breath. ‘Rhian, you made an unauthorised access of Embassy storage. I can’t let you walk out of here with that information. That would be stealing League secrets, and I know you know that’s wrong.’

‘And we helped get Callay blockaded,’ Rhian replied calmly. ‘So where does that leave us?’

‘I won’t allow it, Rhian.’

Rhian took Ramoja gently by both wrists, and removed his hands from her shoulders. Ramoja performed a fast reversal, but in a blur of motion Rhian was faster, and retained a grip on his forearms. Ramoja stared in consternation.

‘Mustafa,’ said Sandy, in the slow, profound stillness of combatreflex. ‘Don’t do it. ISO commissioned you. You’re a good soldier, but you’re Intel, not Dark Star.’

‘Major, please!’ Yao backed two steps along the wall, bumping into a decorative cabinet. ‘Let her go, we can discuss the protocols later …’

‘Rhian,’ Ramoja said reasonably, ‘I’ll let you go if you first void your memory storage of the data files you stole.’

‘It’s Callay’s right to see them,’ Rhian replied, just as reasonably. ‘It’s well within Callay’s natural security parameters.’

‘You’re not a lawyer, Lieutenant. That’s not yours to decide.’

‘You’re not a lawyer either.’

The GIs’ respective stances were unmistakable, feet subtly positioned and posture squared. Undrugged and healthy, Sandy would have bet on Rhian any day-tape-teach was supposed to negate the need for practice, but Sandy knew better. Experience in any skill made a huge difference, even for GIs, and particularly in free-form, unpredictable skillsets like combat. Rhian’s combat experience was vastly superior to Ramoja’s, despite their similar (Sandy suspected) ages. But Rhian was drugged, and dazed.

There came then the light, fast thudding of footsteps. GIs-too fast and lithe to be straights. Sandy recognised the tactical disadvantage immediately, with a reg at her shoulder, and made three rapid feints of shoulder, foot and head within a split second, tangling the reg’s more predictable reflex responses. The final left elbow struck within that blur of motion, the GI’s head snapping back with a force that would have decapitated a straight, then crumpling to the ground unconscious. And, reg or not, Sandy made a mental note to apologise later-she simply couldn’t afford that presence at her rear when her front required full attention.

Neither Ramoja nor Rhian so much as moved an eyelid, gazing at each other with a strange silent intensity. Rhian’s slim hands held Ramoja’s forearms. Ramoja made no attempt to remove them. At GI speeds, starting postures were hardly crucial. What mattered was what happened next. Five GIs in plain fatigues appeared from the cross corridor, weapons levelled down the entrance hall. One darted forward to pull Ambassador Yao back, out of the firing line.

‘No weapons,’ said Ramoja. ‘No one is going to fire in here. I forbid it.’ The GIs put their weapons away without a moment’s hesitation, so as not to hinder their movement. That, the nuances of posture, plus the way their eyes took in the scene, told Sandy that they were all regs. Sandy opened an uplink to an external, presecured network point, and opened a shielded channel. Made contact, gave a simple command, and disconnected.

‘Rhian,’ she said then. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Cassandra,’ Ramoja said mildly, ‘I am warning you.’ Ramoja fancied himself a hotshot soldier. Which he was. He’d disarmed her once, on their first meeting, in the attic of an organised-crime gambling den-she’d been overenthusiastic and underprepared, and he’d been waiting. Given what she was, he’d been very pleased with himself. She walked up to him now, slowly, and stopped alongside.

‘You’re not holding any cards here,’ she told him, very calmly. ‘You know there’s only one way to stop us from leaving.’

‘I know,’ he said. And from there, further words were pointless.

It happened almost too fast for even a GI’s brain to register, except that one moment everyone was standing dead still, and the next everything was a blur, Ramoja and Sandy grappling through a series of rapid holds, reverses and counterreverses, balance shifting through an uncontrolled spin as each sought the advantage. They crashed into a wall, Ramoja using the impact to shift grips, which Sandy anticipated with an angled slide of forearm to forearm as her foot slid and body weight shifted … and suddenly she had the leverage. She swung, crashed Ramoja headfirst into the wall, the grip sliding easily to a momentarily uncontrolled arm which she brought down across her knee with enough explosive force to snap anything.

Following the loud crack! she spun to confront the rest of the entrance hall … and found Rhian dropping the last, unconscious reg with a spin-kick to the head. Four other bodies lay sprawled across the floor, two still conscious but with fractured limbs. Wall plaster was cracked and holed in places, and the wooden table at the hall’s end was upended and broken, the porcelain vase smashed on the floor in shattered pieces about the peacock feathers. Somehow, that sight, more than anything, filled Sandy with an overwhelming sense of regret.

One of the injured regs was reaching for a fallen weapon. ‘No shooting!’ shouted Ambassador Yao desperately, from the safety of his corner, having wisely backed well away. ‘You heard the Major, no shooting!’

The reg relented, forestalling Sandy’s reach for her own pistol. She looked at Rhian. Rhian now did look dizzy, her right hand rigid with discomfort-no doubt from Jane’s other bullet wound. But her friend’s gaze held steady enough when their eyes met.

‘Flamboyant,’ Sandy remarked, meaning that last spin-kick.

Rhian shrugged. ‘I never knew where all that combat drill had come from until I came here.’ Kung fu, she meant. Rhian had discovered it shortly after her arrival on Callay, and quickly become fascinated. ‘So that’s where it comes from,’ she’d said with amazement, meaning her basic, strictly practical Dark Star training. And Sandy recalled her own amazement, upon first becoming a civilian, that food could be ‘cuisine,’ and clothes could be ‘fashion,’ and sex could be ‘love making.’ That’s where it comes from, she recalled realising, with similar amazement.

And she smiled. ‘Let’s go,’ she said. But Rhian paused, moving on soft, bare feet to where Ambassador Yao stood stunned and helpless. To his credit, he did not flinch when Rhian stood before him, regardless of the display of inhuman power that had preceded. Whatever his faults, Callayan-style GI-phobia did not number among them.

‘I’m sorry, Mr. Yao,’ said Rhian. ‘I didn’t want to do it this way. You deserve better.’ And she kissed him on the cheek, then padded to Sandy’s side. Ramoja was levering himself upright, moving to block the way. He held his right arm with the left hand. The elbow was badly hyperextended, and the entire forearm flopped uncontrollably, the fingers dangling. From the look on his face, Sandy reckoned the pain had not yet penetrated the combat-reflex.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Sandy told him. ‘You couldn’t beat me with two arms.’

‘You won’t get past the yard,’ Ramoja said impassively. ‘The defences will stop you.’

Sandy ignored him, walking past without bothering to guard her back-with her and Rhian, and Ramoja’s one arm, he’d never touch her if he tried. She opened the door, and went to the top of the short steps that led down to the driveway parking, beneath the Embassy’s front pillars before the door. Behind those pillars and across the gardens, she was not surprised to see the dark shapes of more GI security, automatic weapons levelled at the doors.

Some of those guards turned, then, as the sound of flyer engines grew louder above the usual background airtraffic hum. And then, emerging above the roof of an opposing, low building, there appeared an A-9 flyer. Another appeared further to the right, hovering low past the beautiful spire of a Hindu temple, its intricate carvings alive in a wash of light from below. A few early-morning pedestrians stared upward at the menacing shapes overhead, engines howling, unfolded weapons bays and underslung cannon directed with obvious intent toward the Embassy grounds.

Sandy turned to confront Ramoja, as he emerged from the doorway behind, eyes sweeping the scene. ‘We’ve got camera feeds recording all of this,’ Sandy told him, above the howl of engines. ‘It’ll go straight to the news networks if you fire or stop us. Rhian is now claiming asylum. Under the Federation security Act, any League military figure claiming asylum will immediately come under Federal forces protection. Even GIs.’ Since very recently, anyhow. Her case had achieved that much amendment to the regulations, at least.

‘You’re standing on League territory,’ Ramoja replied impassively, clutching tightly at his useless arm.

‘Attempting to keep Rhian in custody against her will effectively makes her a political prisoner. We don’t tolerate the holding of political prisoners in League embassies.’ The look on Ramoja’s face told her the obvious-he knew it was bullshit. But the overriding security imperatives had to be justified somehow, even through acts of clear hypocrisy. So long as it got the job done where required, Sandy didn’t care. ‘If you restrain us, we’ll shut down the Embassy. If you shoot us, we’ll flatten it. Callay’s grown up, Major. Bureaucratic protocols don’t stop us any more. We do what we need to. You get in our way, we’ll crush you, protocols or no protocols. And you know I don’t bluff.’

Ramoja gazed at the hovering, deadly Trishuls beyond the perimeter fence. No doubt his vision was attuned enough to see the underslung cannon centred precisely upon his chest. Preprogrammed and accurate to GI-standards, it alone could take out half the GIs in the yard in a matter of seconds. His partner, no doubt, would take out the other half, coordinating via tac-net to avoid wasteful overlap. Each was too heavily armoured to worry much about small arms, and the Embassy’s defensive personnel were not allowed anything heavier.

Sandy turned, and walked down the stairs. Rhian kept to her side. Together they walked across the driveway parking, beneath the Embassy’s front pillars, and then along the central path across the front lawn, beneath the beautiful, shadowing branches of native trees.

‘You think he’ll shoot us?’ Sandy asked Rhian, casually as they walked.

‘The League needs this embassy,’ Rhian said thoughtfully, her bare feet soundless upon the wet gravel beside the soft crunch of Sandy’s boots. Still the rain was falling. And she’d forgotten her raincoat. That was stunning … or would have been, in any other mental state. Probably it was right to leave it behind, it would have gotten in the way-but still, she could not recall having actually outright for gotten anything before in her life. An, no doubt, would be intrigued. Takawashi too. ‘Would Callay really shut down the Embassy?’

Sandy nodded. ‘For a few years at least. No League access to the Federation capital.’

‘He won’t shoot us then,’ Rhian said confidently. And sure enough, at the end of the path, the GI guarding the gate actually opened it for them manually. ‘Thank you, Cristophe,’ Rhian told the reg, pleasantly. ‘And good luck to you.’

Cristophe’s return gaze was uncomprehending.

‘They’re not that bad, you know,’ Rhian said to Sandy as one of the Trishuls manoeuvred above the road, and began to lower itself down, the rear bay door slowly opening. Traffic along the road fronting the Embassy had mysteriously ceased, but given the CDF’s integration into central Tanushan networks, a simple traffic reroute was hardly difficult to perform. ‘The regs there. They’re smarter than regs I’ve known. Cristophe actually laughed, once.’

‘I wish they’d made him so he could laugh all the time,’ Sandy replied.

‘Me too.’ They walked along the centre of the wet road, becoming steadily damper in the falling rain. The growing howl of engines drowned regular conversation, but a basic tone-filter adjustment allowed them to hear each other, at least. Upon the sidewalk to the left, a couple of elderly women, with transparent raincoats over colourful saris, stood staring at the Trishul, hands over their ears. Despite all Tanusha’s noise regulations, no one had yet figured out how to make a hovering Trishul quiet. Sandy waved to the two women, in the vain hope they wouldn’t file a complaint. Tanusha being Tanusha, she doubted it would work.

‘Did you mean what you said back there?’ Rhian said as they walked up the ramp at the rear, wet hair blasted with the instant blowdry of the rear stabilising thrusters.

‘Which bit?’

‘About Callay crushing anyone who got in its way.’

Sandy signalled to the crew chief within the cramped hold, who said something into his helmet mike. Sandy and Rhian took overhead holds, braced for familiar movement. ‘Did I say that?’ Sandy asked with a frown.

‘Yes, you did.’

Sandy made a glum half shrug. ‘Maybe I did.’

‘Did you mean it?’

‘Why do you ask?’

Rhian thought for a moment. The flyer’s engines thrummed with power, more of a roar than a howl, here within the relatively soundproofed interior. Clouds of blasting water vapour swirled past the open hold door. ‘I suppose it just sounds very military,’ Rhian replied. ‘I hadn’t thought civilian societies worked like that.’

‘Some think they shouldn’t,’ Sandy replied. ‘Some think people shouldn’t. They say that we should turn the other cheek.’ The flyer lifted from the street, then banked gently to the left, picking up speed. For a long moment, they had a perfect view of the Embassy gardens, and the steps behind the front Corinthian pillars. Atop the steps, holding a limp right arm with the left hand, a dark figure stood in silhouette against the bright doorway behind, and watched them leave.

‘One time, back in the League,’ said Rhian, eyes fixed upon that lonely, receding shape. ‘When I learned you’d left. I thought you might have agreed with them. About turning the other cheek.’

‘Maybe for a little while I did,’ said Sandy. The flyer nosed down, picking up speed and altitude, and the cargo door whined upward to close. ‘Ultimately, I think it’s a balance. There are many paths. We have to choose which to take, and every choice is different.’

‘Choosing is hard,’ said Rhian. More quietly, and more sombrely, than Sandy could ever remember her speaking. ‘I’m so used to being sure. Now, sometimes … I just don’t know.’

Sandy smiled, sadly. Reached with her cast-bound left hand, and tipped Rhian’s gaze her way with a touch at her jaw. ‘And that’s what makes us human,’ she said.

President Katia Neiland stood before the broad windows of her Parliament office, and surveyed the grounds. Ground lights illuminated paths across the vast, grassy surface, and lit trees into beautiful, ghostly outlines. A typical summer lightning storm danced and flickered across the horizon, brightening the sharp silhouette of towers. The drink in her glass was strong-an off-world whisky, sharp and angry upon her tongue. A present from one of the foreign ministers, although she forgot which. Upon the signing of a deal, to join his world to the pact that would overwhelm the old powers of Earth, and force the relocation of the Grand Council on the terms of the Federation majority, not just the homeworld minority.

She took another sip, watching a convoy of cruisers departing overhead, running lights blinking, some important VIP or other heading home for the night … wherever home was. She thought of her son, Reese, now living in the Canas hacienda where the security was tighter. It was a serious inconvenience for an independent twenty-year-old. He’d always supported his mother’s political ambitions. Had enjoyed having the President for a mother, in fact, having inherited from her a similarsized ego, as well as the dark red hair. Well, it wasn’t so convenient now. It interrupted his social life, his studies, and his penchant for arriving home at four in the morning. And having twelve special security operatives hanging off one’s elbows only impressed the chicks for so long.

He’d wanted her home, this evening. He’d been cooking. So that was one good thing to come of this present, dangerous mess. Two good things, in fact, as Kacey was helping him. Kacey the steady girlfriend. Both the cooking and the girlfriend had been features of the hacienda for the past few months. The food was surprisingly good, and the girlfriend surprisingly smart and agreeable. Reese had known her for some time, apparently, but merely as a friend. She’d been interested (of course) but he’d been too preoccupied with the chase to bother about the possession. Now, chasing girls in crowded, popular nightclubs had become somewhat hazardous for the President’s only child. Security forbade it, for the most part. And so, stuck at home, he’d sat still long enough to discover his buddy Kacey.

Katia shook her head, smiling faintly, and took another sip. She didn’t even want to think about how closely that entire behavioural pattern fitted her own, at his age. It was uncanny. And more than a little worrying. Maybe Kacey would be a feature long enough to iron him out a little. Kacey had blonde hair, worn shortish, but with style. The inspiration, she freely admitted, was Commander Kresnov of the CDF. She positively gushed about Sandy. How brave, and how courageous, to have overcome the odds of her creation, and become something special. Somehow Katia doubted that Sandy would appreciate being regarded like a handicapped child who’d only recently learned to walk … but then, as she’d said, appreciation of any kind beat the hell out of the alternative.

She was pleased Sandy was okay. Truly relieved, when she admitted to the plaintive demands of her conscience, during weaker, quieter moments like this. Of course, Sandy being Sandy, it was always unwise to bet against her. But then, as Ibrahim had reminded her on several occasions, even Sandy was not immortal.

Well, it had worked. Ben Grey and the other rats in the State Department had been flushed out. That was sad, too, for she’d long considered Grey to be a friend, whatever his various inadequacies. But then, her sources had also told her that he’d long been dabbling in corners with people he shouldn’t have been dabbling with, and so it was really no surprise when Ibrahim had come to her, one fine morning six months ago, with evidence of an FIA mole somewhere in the State Department.

To try anything big, in undermining Callay’s security and helping the Fifth Fleet’s designs, they would need to penetrate Callayan defences, Ibrahim had told her. Once, that would not have been difficult. Now, there was the CDF … which although showing signs of promise, was not yet an effective institution from top to bottom, and relied heavily upon the input of its senior officers, Commander Kresnov in particular. Remove her, and you opened a gaping hole.

Katia took another, longer sip, waiting for the pleasant, warming numbness to take effect. It had been taking longer and longer, of late. Too many drinks, Reese warned her. Alcoholic presidents were common enough, but damned, he’d said, if he was going to tolerate an alcoholic mother. Well damn him too. It was all going to be over soon, one way or the other … or this little, dramatic phase would be, anyhow. Then she’d revert to green tea. But not yet.

They should have warned Sandy. Even now, her conscience demanded so. Ibrahim had agreed … in principle. But where information to Sandy was concerned, there was now the matter of Ari Ruben … who had a knack for replaceing out everything, eventually. And without whose steady input of additional clues, Ibrahim would never have been able to suspect the State Department mole in the first place. Ruben had too many friends in the wrong places-precisely what made him so valuable to the CSA. But also precisely why they couldn’t warn Sandy. The trap would have a better chance of success, Ibrahim had stated, if she and Ruben were ignorant. He hadn’t liked it either. But where Shan Ibrahim was entirely, consistently reliable, it was in doing what he thought was in the best interests of Callayan security.

No one had known about the killswitch. That had been Ruben’s discovery alone. Had she known … Katia shook her head, and took another, longer sip. Lightning sped across the horizon, forking and spreading like a blanket of blue fire, then gone. Had she known just how much danger the bait would then be in … maybe she wouldn’t have let it all go ahead. It was only politics, after all. She could have closed down the State Department anytime, technically. But the political ramifications within the left of her own party, to lose one of its shining lights so ignominiously and without proof, to say nothing of the upset to ongoing State Department negotiations with various other Federation worlds …

It could have destabilised everything she’d been working for, these last two hectic, frightening years. So she’d lied to Sandy, and to Major Rice, in that last meeting at the State Department. Put on a good performance, pretending to be angry, pretending she hadn’t known anything about the State Department mole, nor her own culpability in using its desperation to remove Sandy, to give her the excuse she needed to shut the whole thing down. Flush the entire State Department, if necessary, and all connected to it. And if she’d tried that, without party room backing … God. Her own wonderful, loyal, praiseworthy colleagues would have torn her to pieces. She’d needed proof. And Sudasarno, bless his honest, naive heart, had been innocently played right along with the rest of them.

Probably Sandy would discover the truth eventually. Indeed, with An Ruben sharing her bed, she’d bet on it. She’d answer those questions when the time came. Right now, she needed her world’s sharpest, most lethal weapon entirely focused upon the job at hand. Take the stations. Truthfully, she hadn’t been as concerned at the plan as she’d let on at the last meeting either. Sandy was right-there was very little choice, if Callay, and more broadly, the Federation were to become what they had all toiled in the hope of making it become. But she’d wanted to confront her senior military leader with all her darkest fears and doubts, and see that look in her eyes. That look of unerring, certain confidence. Sandy was no ‘yes man.’ She never had been, and she never would be. That look in her eyes would help the President sleep tonight, her belly full of her son’s experimental cooking, and hopefully no nasty side effects from either, the following morning.

It was a long way to come, for a small world upon the periphery of Federation politics. And for a technocrat president previously more interested in communications law reform than transforming her world into the epicentre of human power in all the universe. One way or another, Callay and its president were about to come of age. She just hoped that the cost, for either, would not prove too great a price to bear.