Breakaway: A Cassandra Kresnov Novel (v1.1) (18 page)

"Sandy!" came a terse, hard call in her ear. "Cruiser coming your way, they're onto you. Central's nearly got that disruption virus down, we've got audio now, three minutes and every damn unit within twenty zones'll be coming down on your head. "

"Oh, fucking hell," Sandy retorted as she sprinted down the side road, "aren't they so fucking efficient all of a sudden." She could hear the engines keening nearby, drawing closer. "I just got shot at twice, they'll be using sniper cannon next."

"Not if I can help it."

Back onto the river walk then, pedestrians ahead ducking aside, shouted exclamations marking her target's passage. She accelerated again. The man was over a hundred metres ahead following her brief delay, but she could eat up that distance in no time ...

Engines abruptly howled overhead, a large, dark cruiser swinging around the side of a tall building with running lights blazing, and a familiar, bulbous nose protrusion that meant electronics. It swung about sideways, slewing out over the river to the exclamation of many along the riverside. Some were now scattering, sensing trouble, the cruiser's side window winding ominously downward.

"Oh shit," Sandy complained, at full sprint and gaining fast. "I was just kidding about the sniper cannon, guys. This is silly." Her left hand itched for the pistol grip-a few quick shots at full sprint, targeting out the corner of her eye, would put a quick end to the attemptedsniper now parallel with her and matching her pace along the riverfront. A weapon muzzle appeared. "Ricey!"

A second howling engine, cutting in from the right past the towers. It cut straight toward the SIB cruiser on an intersecting trajectory, forward lights blazing off nearby windows and water. The SIB cruiser hauled up and over like a stalling acrobat as Vanessa's car went howling past in front. Sandy resisted the temptation to stare-not having been aware that you could actually do that with a civilian aircar-but now her man ahead was turning in panic with a pistol in hand ...

"Oh hell, don't do that ..." She drew fast and shot it from his grip, closed the remaining distance before he could recover from the shock and pain, and nailed him with a shoulder tackle that might have only broken ribs, if he was lucky. About them, the remaining pedestrians either fell over screaming or ran at full speed somewhere else. She rolled on top of the man, who struggled, pinned beneath her effortless grip. Stared up at her with wide, frightened eyes, gasping for air.

"You're a complete idiot," she told him testily. "You do know that, don't you?" He blinked, too stunned to reply. A young guy, no more than twenty-five. European, no identifying marks. He didn't look like a terrorist. He looked like a college student. In the air about, engines were throbbing loudly. She looked, and saw the SIB cruiser coming back around. And looked the other way, to see Vanessa doing the same in a low, flat bank across the dark water at speed. She nearly laughed. Wargames with civilian toys. How absolutely absurd. "Just don't crash into the bastard, Ricey!"

Found the requisite frequency by reflex, and found SIB voices yelling in frantic protest as Vanessa's cruiser came screaming back at them ... There were more engines from nearby, and a quick scan of restored traffic-links showed many more marks on the way, CSA, police and SIB. Vanessa missed them by a couple of metres, and again the cruiser broke away, losing the rear end in an embarrassing airborne pirouette.

"Freeze!" yelled a nearby voice, and Sandy looked with unsurprised calm at a pair of uniformed police officers emerging from a nearby lane between buildings, weapons levelled.

"I'm CSA, you moron!" she called back, pistol out in one hand, just in case. Her cunning prisoner took advantage of her one-handed distraction to lash out and struggle-Sandy grabbed him more firmly with that one hand and smashed him back against the ground, hard. He stopped struggling. "Check your links!" She re-tuned to police frequency ...

"... callsign Snowcat!" Vanessa was telling them, sounding utterly pissed off. "Yes, that's right, you check it with central, you do that right now ...

Vanessa's cruiser was coming back low, decelerating as it headed toward them, and the SIB cruiser tried to manoeuvre around behind.

Vanessa's car remained conveniently in their way.

"Ricey," Sandy said plaintively, "I think they're trying to shoot me."

`Jesus Christ, you idiot," came Vanessa's incredulous reply, "you think this is FUNNY?! You utter maniac." Slipping the car about sideways as the SIB cruiser continued to move, seeking a clear angle and not getting it. Sandy found the universal, encrypted SIB frequency and broke in.

"Why are you trying to shoot me?" she asked them. "What'd I do?"

Who the hell ... ?"

"Who's on the frequency? Who's speaking ... ?"

"It's her, you idiots, she broke in ..." And a mad scrambling of alternative subroutines and encoded adjustments ensued.

"I don't think they want to talk to me, Ricey," she said, back on her private channel.

"I don't want to talk to you either, you're crazy. "

"Oh, please?" Her prisoner, she realised, was staring up at her as she apparently talked to herself, not bothering to formulate. "You think I'm crazy too, don't you?" Blink. "What's your name?" Another blink. "You like blowing people up? You think it's funny?"

Nearby, the cops were walking over, weapons still drawn but no longer pointed. Satisfied, she guessed, that she was CSA, but confused as to everything else. For which she could hardly blame them. And her prisoner was now staring up at her with an entirely different expression. Absolute, unadulterated terror. Well, she supposed, the synthetic ferocity of her grip, at this range, could only be mistaken for basic augmentation for so long.

"Oh." She smiled pleasantly at him. "You just figured out who I am, huh? That's flattering, really. I might just stay down like this for a while and let you shit yourself." In truth, she had no desire to stand up again while that be-damned SIB cruiser was still circling. Vanessa's engines were very loud now, as the cruiser came in for a landing alongside. The two cops arrived. One crouched beside her.

"Got a badge?" he asked, nonchalantly. Looking curiously at the young man pinned beneath her.

"Inside left pocket," Sandy told him.

He reached and removed it from her jacket. Looked at it, eyebrows raised.

"Well, Agent Cassidy," he said, "I reckon you can get up now."

"That cruiser's trying to kill me."

"Them? They're SIB."

"That's what I mean."

More footsteps were running up. Vanessa's engine was fading down, and more aircars could be heard in approaching hover from around about.

"Get out of the way!" shouted a new woman's voice. The cop stood up. "SIB! You! Put the gun to one side now, and get up slowly." Sandy looked up. It was one of the two SIB women from back at the car wreck. On the surrounding frequencies, clamorous queries were calling for information. Someone nearby was hovering low. She hoped they didn't collide. Unless it was with those bloody SIBs.

"This man just blew up the riverside back in Derry," she said mildly. "Don't you think you'd be better off pointing your gun at him instead of at a registered CSA agent?"

"Shut up and put the gun to one side! NOW!" The woman was joined by her partner. Both pistols trained on her face. They looked very serious. And very scared, she thought. And the absurdity was no longer quite so amusing.

There was a heavy clacking sound from the other direction. Both SIB women looked up. Sandy glanced carefully about.

"You've got five seconds to stop pointing those guns at my partner," Vanessa said from the other end of a massive SWAT-issue assault rifle, "or I'll blow you both into very small pieces."

At this range, Sandy's links had a clear sense of the weapon's powered armscomp, ranging ominously. Both women stared at the lean, dark muzzle. At the mean, beautiful face of its wielder. Two male cops stood by in utter silence, and offered no comment.

"We can't just ..." one of them blurted, and stopped as Vanessa raised the rifle to her shoulder and sighted manually down the barrel.

"One," she said.

Double-click, both pistol safeties went on, both pairs of hands were raised, and both women placed their pistols carefully on the ground.

"Don't ever fuck with SWAT," Vanessa told them. Her voice was nearly trembling. Sandy had never seen her so furious. "Ever. You got that?"

Two nods, slow and careful.

Sandy got up, amid the standing, unmoving SIBs, the cops, and the very slight, very angry and massively armed SWAT lieutenant. The air throbbed with hovering aircar engines, a mass of blinking running lights flared off the building sides and lit the dark river waters in a brilliant, multi-coloured display. She handed the stunned young man to the cops. Then scooped up both the SIBs' pistols. Lifted them casually to eye level, and broke the trigger mechanisms, one after another, with a hard compression of her thumb. Metal and plastics shrieked and popped, very loudly. Then Sandy handed them back to the two SIB agents, who took them with reluctant, trembling hands.

And she paused a moment longer, staring them curiously in the face. She saw the fear there. The pale faces, the dilated eyes. A shift to infrared showed blood pulsing very fast, hearts racing. She was between them and Vanessa's cannon. It wasn't Vanessa they were scared of. And she shook her head, with faint amazement.

"What d'you think I'm going to do?" she asked incredulously, over the whining racket of hovering air traffic echoing off the surrounding buildings and out over the water. "You think I'm going to hurt you?"

There was no reply. Just a couple of pale, staring faces, listening to her voice, but not hearing a thing. Sandy repressed a wince of disbelief.

"What's wrong with you people? Why do you just refuse to get it?"

"They'll never get it, Sandy," Vanessa said from behind, her voice hard. "Some people are just like that."

Sandy turned and looked at her, ignoring the two SIBs entirely. "Someone has to get it."

"I get it. That's enough."

Sandy gazed at her for a long moment. At the small, dark-haired lieutenant in the obligatory patch-and-pocket-lined ops jacket, hair tossed in a gusting breeze, rifle now lowering along her forearm grip. Flaring light from many aircars lit her face from many angles. Her dark eyes were smouldering. And honest, beyond the anger. Watching her.

"Yeah," Sandy murmured, beneath the echoing whine of many hovering aircars, shouts, running footsteps and approaching sirens. "I suppose it is."

The guard on duty outside Senate Chamber 5-C looked nervous as Sandy and Vanessa arrived from down the long, echoing hallway. For a brief moment, Sandy thought he was going to ask for their weapons. Or her weapons, more likely. A long, flat stare convinced him otherwise, and he opened the doors instead.

A broad waiting room, polished wooden floor, grand paintings and furniture. Filled with waiting agents, politicos, advisors and civil set- vants, most deep in discussion or engrossed in ongoing dialogue with their portable terminals. All fell silent as the new pair entered. Footsteps soft on the broad carpet, then squeaking on the wood before the door. The door handle clacked, deafening in the sudden silence. And drowned, abruptly, by the harsh exchange of voices from the room beyond.

Senate Chamber 5-C was like the Senate Hearing Chamber in miniature. Seven senators were seated behind a long, wood-panelled bench. Before the senators, seats for the accused. Although, Sandy thought as the adjutant closed the doors behind them, they probably didn't call them that. Half of the argument stopped as they came in. The other half lingered, in forceful self absorption. Sandy walked the aisle through the small seating gallery and stood before the accuseds' benches. Vanessa joined her. The last argument died a surprised, fading death. Senators, officials and agents stared at them. Sandy stood at ease, and felt decidedly unimpressed with the entire situation.

"Agent Kresnov," she announced flatly, "reporting as ordered."

"Ms. Kresnov." The head senator blinked. Reorienting his brain, evidently, away from the recent argument. Several senators regained their seats. Most were staring. To Sandy and Vanessa's right, Ulu N'Darie, CSA second-in-command, was scowling furiously. Another woman, tall and blonde, folded her arms and looked stonily unpleasant. Izerovski, Sandy remembered, with less than glee. The head of SIB, in her natural, political environment. Oh Joy.

Then she spotted Naidu among the other agents scattered about and felt a little better.

"Ms. Kresnov," Izerovski said coldly, "where is your guard?" Sandy just looked at her. Waiting for that cryptic remark to be more fully explained. There was no hurry.

"I'm her guard," Vanessa said. And Sandy reconsidered the wisdom of letting Vanessa do the talking.

"You, Lieutenant Rice, are most certainly not a suitable guard. You are her partner. You have demonstrated yourself to be nearly the threat to peace and civil security tonight that she has. I have two good SIB agents in hospital, each with severe gunshot wounds to both legs, and the shooter is walking free about the corridors of power, fully armed by the look of her, and accompanied by her partner in crime. Senators, this is a disgraceful indication of the depths to which CSA policy regarding this particular individual have sunk-she is utterly out of control, and the CSA ..

"You grandstanding, two-faced fucking liar!" N'Darie exploded.

"... And the CSA," Izerovski continued loudly, "are so completely lost and desperate in their present messed-up situation that they've just given her the keys to the castle, and this is the result ..."

"Who caught the damn bomber, you lunatic?" N'Darie retorted. "SIB's only contribution is to open fire in a public space upon the one person genuinely attempting to apprehend the suspect ...

"After she caused a major traffic accident in which three innocent civilians were needlessly injured, and refused to account for her activities when requested ...

"So she needs to report her every movement for SIB's approval, even when the damn SIBs haven't a lucid clue what the hell's going on?"