Killswitch (15 page)

All three were now looking at Sandy with varying degrees of amazement, concern, or in Ari's case, mild exasperation.

"Poor Sandy," Ari remarked. "It's just no damn fun being a GI, is it, Sandy?"

"Shut up, Ari," Sandy sighed. "I was trying to get away clean, break from the network. I didn't see another way."

"Landing on an elevator full of people on the way down. Very inconspicuous."

"Damn it," Sandy retorted, "word would have got out about the attack in the maintenance bay anyway, I would have had to go underground at some point. This just accelerates the process a few days. I don't mind the media. I think it might help."

"The media? Help?" Ari looked incredulous, and walked around to the front of Sandy's reclining chair to look her in the face. Sandy looked up, reluctantly. "This is Tanusha, Sandy. The media don't help! Ever! You don't think maybe the hysteria of having some mad GI loose in the city will play right into the hands of all the conservative morons who said we should have locked you away and shipped you off to Earth when we had the chance?"

"They don't know for sure it's me," Sandy said calmly.

"There just aren't that many blonde, female GIs in League service in this city, Sandy ..."

"Ari," she cut him off, "the population's gotten wiser than you think. Certainly the analysts have. There's old-guard League active too, we don't know if they have the odd GI about. Or it might have been new-guard League GIs behaving badly and running around outside the embassy. People will be concerned. They will contact the government, and the CDF, to check on my whereabouts and status. To which Krishnaswali and co. can either outright lie," she ticked off a finger on her good hand, "or they can obfuscate and mislead, thus creating even more confusion and questions of what they have to hide, or they can tell the truth-that they don't know, and that someone tried to kill me.

"There are people in the general public out there who actually like me, Ari. They'll question why the government can't protect me, why I felt I had to go totally underground ..."

"They won't know that, Sandy, no one will know anything about where the hell you are."

"I'll make a statement." Flatly. Ari was frowning hard, arms folded. A dark, stylish figure, radiating disapproval. "To everyone-government, CSA and CDF. If they don't relay it, I'll tell it straight to the media."

"Damn it, Sandy ... you'd ... you'd break the chain of command?"

"When did Mr. Anti-Establishment get so damn conservative?" she asked him with a faint, creeping smile. Ari blinked in disconcertion ... partly at her words, she guessed, but partly at the smile, too. She knew what that smile looked like, when she was in this mood. It was neither cuddly, nor amused. "The establishment is the problem, Ari, you said it yourself. As long as I played by their rules, I was a sitting duck and they'd have the upper hand. I'm going to let them know that the old rules no longer apply. Let them sweat. Maybe push them a little. Make them wonder just how far I'll go. Maybe they'll make a mistake."

"And how far will you go?"

Sandy reclined back into her seat, and let her gaze slide back over the broad stretch of river. "As far as I need to," she said.

Click, and the line opened. Connection established, with Anita's new ID signatures to confuse the receiver. Sandy waited, reclined on her chair by the penthouse windows, eyes fixed upon the flatscreen wall TV. Rami Rahim was doing his usual show, handsome and flamboyant, in cool clothes on a colourful set. The audience howled at a joke, beyond her immediate attention.

"Hello." A cautious voice at the other end of the connection. A real voice, vocal cords and all, not a simulated formulation.

"Vanessa. It's me." She spoke aloud herself. Internal formulations could be simulated. Vocals could be too, of course, but good friends could tell the difference in the tones and inflections. Theoretically. Tojo's fingers massaged her wet hair, the towel about her neck keeping water from running down her spine.

"Sure it's you. A little proof please."

"I still think you were wrong to dump Rudy. He had potential. You're just obsessive about small personal details."

"Sure, I heard that once upon a time they believed in electro-shock therapy, maybe that'd cure a compulsive dullard. Do you need anything?"

"I'm fine, thanks. How secure is this reception?"

"It complies with Ari's specifications." With dry irony. "Sorry I took so long to set up, it's been a little crazy around here. Krishnaswali tried to keep me out of it, but Hitoru told me about the ambulance, and then your new secretary Private Zhang let me hook into his loop. " Sandy blinked in astonishment. Maybe the kid really would have his uses. Certainly he had guts, Krishnaswali could have busted him down to storeroom duty if he'd found out. "Then Naidu let slip about the whole thing at Prasad Tower. Apparently his buddy Chandaram told him some interesting things about what you'd said before the skydiving act ... I had a look at the map and guessed where you'd end up.

"Sandy, Krishnaswali dragged me into his office and chewed me out real good. He ordered me to tell you to return to duty at once, knew damn well you'd contact me. Wasn't stupid enough to ask me to turn you in if you refused, though. "

Vanessa's calm, rational tone filled Sandy with relief. She'd been half-expecting the occasionally irrational, emotional Vanessa Rice, filled with concern and worry. But Vanessa Rice, she sometimes forgot, was also the third-in-command of the CDF.

"What do you think about Krishnaswali?" she asked Vanessa.

"Damn, I don't know. That's one of those nasty political questions, right?"

"Isn't everything?"

"Fucking nightmare," Vanessa muttered. On the TV screen, Rami Rahim was now doing his Fleet Admiral Duong impersonation ... something about having had lunch with him just the other day, only to find he couldn't have any baartroot on his daal and rice, because the Fleet deemed baartroot too progressive. Most of Rahim's routines began with "I did lunch with such-and-such the other day." Tanushans always "did" lunch, even with family. The mostly young audience were in stitches. "Krishnaswali's so busy crawling up various politicians' arseholes it's difficult to tell what his actual opinion is."

"We can't trust him?"

"Silly question. Sandy, I got a call from your buddy Sudasarno, wanting to know what the hell's going on. Apparently your friendly President is very concerned. She has a meeting with Admiral Duong and Secretary General Benale in two days' time, and both of them are going to want to know what's going on with you. Ironic. I know, since those two bastards are among the prime suspects who'd want you dead, but I've yet to see a political operator in this city who couldn't talk bullshit with a straight face."

"I don't know that they're the prime suspects, that list is too long to start picking favourites at this stage." Rahim was now in a pitched battle across the lunch table with the Admiral over the baartroot grinder. Admiral Duong pulled a gun and shot the baartroot stone dead. "Look, I've got a few of the usual suspects here helping check leads for me."

"That's nice of them." A little warily. Vanessa liked Ari, Anita and that particular crowd just as much as Sandy did. They'd certainly been frequent enough visitors at the house over the last two years. But, like Sandy, she had her own suspicions about motivations on matters like this.

"Yeah, well, you know this lot, they like their fun and games. Ricey, here's a couple of things. First, you take care. If people are after me, we can't assume they won't make the connection between me and you, which would make you target number two."

"I know, I'm at Hitoru's apartment now. I've told everyone concerned about the Canas security ... it's caused quite a stir, some VIPs are suddenly wondering if they should sleep in their own beds tonight. "

"I know, we're watching that too. Interesting to see which VIPs are concerned and which aren't. Those that aren't might know something."

"Good thinking. "

"Ari's idea. So you haven't been home? What about Jean-Pierre?"

"Oh no, I brought him too! You wouldn't think I'd abandon my baby, would you?" Sandy smiled. On the screen, Rami had launched into a frothing Fleet Admiral diatribe about the evils of baartroot, tight pants and VR pornography, the right hand occasionally snapping up in a Nazi salute, to be dragged hastily back down by the left hand, apparently without Rami's notice. Amazing how something as old as Nazism remained an historical reference point so many centuries later. Time faded some memories, and enhanced others, it seemed. His audience, having doubtless bottled up much fear and confusion in recent months about the Fleet presence in orbit, were letting all the tension out in a rush-some of them were nearly falling out of their chairs laughing. It was, Sandy observed, a curious civilian reaction to stress. And a much preferable one to some of the alternatives.

"The other thing is that you're now in charge of the CDF on the ground."

"I know." There was, for the first time, a brief pause. "So what are you going to do?"

"I've got some leads. Or I'm in the process of getting some, rather. Some things here don't make sense, and I think that if I can find out why, it'll tell me what the hell's going on."

"Sandy?" Another pause, waiting for a reply.

"Yes?"

A longer pause. Then ". . . Never mind. Take care of yourself. I've got some calls to make, all the senior officers need to be rebriefed."

"Okay. Love you."

Again the pause. "Yeah, me too." Then a click as the line went dead. Sandy frowned. Two years she'd been acclimatising to civilian surroundings and civilian thinking, but still she often had that feeling she'd missed something. Something another natural-born civilian wouldn't have missed. Tojo had finished rinsing her hair into the bowl on the desk-edge behind her head, and now produced a hair drier.

"And how's the lovely Vanessa doing?" Tojo asked over the whistle of the drier, teasing out her wet hair with a brush.

"She's a lot like me-the more dangerous it gets, the calmer she becomes. She's fine with the bullets flying around, but if she burns her toast or stains a good blouse, it's best to just leave the vicinity for a while."

"You're too hard on her," Tojo retorted, in his characteristic deep singsong. That, plus his taste for personal decoration, had raised the hopes of many a single gay man before ... but Tojo, to the great disappointment of many, was married (to a woman) with two children. Still, he was Anita's obvious first choice for Sandy's makeover-Tojo was a fashion designer with his own small, exclusive label. There were hundreds of such in Tanusha, Sandy had gathered. They had their own wild, underground scene, private fashion shows for the knowledgeable "in-crowd," decadent parties and plenty of designer VR or chemical stimulant. The dull, predictable, market-driven "mainstream" were definitely not invited. Although, of course, where the "underground" left off, and the "mainstream" began, was a matter for constant and acrimonious debate.

"She's my best friend, I'm allowed to be hard on her."

"No, you're not." Tojo gave her a gentle, backhanded whack on the shoulder. "You mean so much to her, Sandy, sometimes I just don't think you realise how much. I mean, just because she's so confident and gregarious in most things, it doesn't mean she's like that with everything. Underneath, she's really very soft and fragile."

Sandy tipped her head back to look up at him. "So am I."

Tojo rolled his eyes with a smile, and gave a shake of his head. The penthouse light caught the gleaming gold of an earring, brilliant against his black skin. There were likewise gleaming studs through lips and nose, and faint traces of lavender eyeshadow that shone with holographic depth, a curious effect against the reflective curve of his shaved scalp.

"That's a new earring," Sandy remarked. "That's a Catholic cross, right?"

"I don't suppose there are many other kinds," Tojo retorted.

"But you're not a Catholic."

"Nor even a Christian, I'm afraid."

"It doesn't bother you to be appropriating a symbol of deep spiritual meaning for billions throughout the Federation?"

"The most meaningful symbols are always the best to appropriate, that's how artistic statements are made."

"So you've taken the symbol of humankind's salvation at the hands of the Christian Messiah," Sandy continued implacably, "and turned it into a fashion statement."

"Of course." Tojo shrugged. "The spirit of artistic challenge to the powers of the day should know no fear, Cassandra, and no boundaries."

"And the fact that there's hardly any Catholics in Tanusha to get pissed at you is just coincidence, huh? When's one of your artistic buddies going to do a sculpture of some Hindu deity screwing a goat? In the true spirit of artistic subversiveness? I bet he'd make a pretty cool sculpture himself, hanging from a tree by his heels with his head shoved up his arse."

"You," Tojo said cheerfully, "are such a cynic."

"No, I just vote differently to you."

"An anti-League, cultural-conservative android," Tojo sighed. "You know, I think you're just trying to be complicated in order to impress me."

"Uh-uh, I've decided I find the term `android' demeaning and insulting. I'm an artificial person, if you please, or a GI."

"You're a wonderful pain in the arse," Tojo retorted, teasing out her last wet piece of fringe.

"That sounds kinky," said Sandy.

"It is if you do it right." Tojo turned off the drier. "Come on, up." Sandy moved from her seat, following Tojo to a floor-to-ceiling mirror upon the penthouse wall near the entrance, where guests could check their appearance before heading out the door, Sandy guessed. "Well," said Tojo, with theatrical pleasure. "What do you think?"

Sandy looked herself over in the mirror. The first, pleasing thing to notice was that she hardly recognised herself. Her hair, for one thing, was now jet black. The obligatory dark coat came down to her knees-Tojo had suggested the longer, leather one was more stylish, but Sandy had insisted on the one that wouldn't entangle her legs, and had plenty of strategically located pockets. Beneath that, a thick, dark shirt tucked into comfortably soft, black, hard-wearing pants, made of some denimlike material she couldn't identify. And light ankle-boots of flexible fit ... they were new, Tojo had warned her, and would chafe a new occupant. But Sandy had assured him it wasn't likely to be a problem for her.