Killswitch (28 page)

Ari left shortly before dawn, reassuring her that it was nothing serious, just another one of his numerous Tanushan contacts on his uplink. Sandy's uplinks remained disconnected, and she had to take Ari's word for it. She lay in bed for a while after Ari had dressed and departed, pondering the curiously empty sensation within her mind. Like a missing limb, she reckoned. And she recalled reading of a time before synthetic replacements when those who had lost limbs, and lived out their lives as such, had told of a "phantom limb syndrome," where they could still feel basic sensation, and even pain, from nonexistent nerve fibres. Data-withdrawal did something similar, and at times her stream of consciousness would abruptly break, darting off to access some piece of information that turned out not to exist.

She slept for another hour, rose to order breakfast on the hotel intercom, then showered once more to get her hair back into place-at its present length, if she slept directly after a shower, it stuck out like a bunbun nest the following morning. Then she sat on her bed, crosslegged before her breakfast tray, and watched the latest news on the TV ... which was also a strange experience, as her lack of uplinks compelled her to simply sit and watch, with no data-adjuncts pulled off the broadcast data stream, no clarifying tidbits, no graphical illustrations, no random searches for associated information. Up until now, she hadn't even realised how much she did such things, without noticing.

Secretary General Benale, the newscast said, had departed Tanusha for Nehru Station. Apparently, to no one's great surprise, he felt safer there. Probably the fact that numerous previously moderate Callayan politicians had referred to him as "colonial scum," in front of reporters, had reinforced this perception

"Given that the Secretary General has repeatedly failed to condemn the Fifth Fleet's imposition of a full blockade, " the TV reporter said to screen, "and has in fact appeared to almost condone it in some references, there can be little doubt now as to the sympathies of Earth's political leaders at this time . . . "

She flicked channels-manually, another strange inconvenienceand found a panel debate of academics and others seated around a table.

"... no doubt at all in my mind," a white-bearded man in Arabic robes was saying, "or indeed in the mind of any impartial observer, that the murder of Admiral Duong was nothing more than a pretext staged by certain pro-Earth forces, for the Fleet to impose a full blockade upon our world, and therefore upon the hopes and aspirations of the two-thirds of all the Federation's people who do not presently reside upon Earth itself ... "

"No, I'm not challenging that assessment, Mr Rahmin," the moderator cut in, "I merely ask what the purpose is? I mean, if the motivations are that transparent, what long-term advantage is there to Earth? This whole episode will only increase anti-Earth sentiments throughout the rest of the Federation, surely ... or even the anti-centralisation sentiment on Earth itself such as in the USA?"

Mr. Rahmin and the other panellists were unable, in Sandy's opinion, to provide a satisfactory answer to that one. They were too rational, she reflected as she munched on a fresh piece of fruit. They based their assertions upon the assumption of a rational universe. But war, Sandy knew from experience, and the concepts of loyalty and belonging that drove it, were certainly not that. They were gut instincts, primordial as the urge for sex, or the roar from a football crowd when someone was spectacularly injured upon the field.

And perhaps, she thought further, that was where the problem lay. The conflict between the League and the Federation had begun as a contest of ideas-ideas of progress, morality, and conflicting visions for the future of the human species. But it had degenerated from that relative high ground into a conflict of baser instincts, us-versus-them, the enlightened against the morally challenged.

Which worked for a little while, of course, while the war was on. But now, the organs that ran the Federation had begun to define themselves by war and conflict. War had given them meaning and purpose. War had brought them together, and made them strong. And now, what would the Federation become, without conflict? They needed it. Not technically, and certainly not economically, although there were elements of both. But emotionally, as surely as the netwave addict needed his daily shot of hallucinatory code. Admit it or not, they were hooked, and they'd do almost anything to avoid losing control of their precious Fleet.

It would be two weeks before the people of Earth even heard about the actions of the Fifth. Another two weeks for comment or orders to return. Maybe the Grand Council would give the order to stand down ... or as seemed more likely in these days of political gridlock at the highest level, maybe not. In the meantime, the Fleet could strangle the Callayan economy all they pleased. It wasn't a state of affairs that any presidential administration should be prepared to tolerate. Sure as hell the CDF wouldn't, if she had anything to do with it.

The doorbell rang. Sandy frowned, pausing in midbite. With no uplinks, she had no way of knowing who was on the other side. Perhaps it was room service again-Ari had said he was going to leave her something at the service desk. But yelling out a question would not do-the person on the other side might only be attempting to discern whether she was actually in the room. If he was going to find out, she'd rather he did so in person.

She slid off the bed, tightened her robe and pulled the pistol Ari had given her from its holster on the bedside table. Considered peering through the eye hole, as she approached the door, but decided against it. GI eyesockets were reinforced at the back with light myomer, but if an attacker knew GIs well enough to know the required calibre ... She tucked the pistol into the pocket of her robe, grasped the handle lock firmly, then thumb-pressed the release and opened a fraction in one fast move.

It was All Sudasarno, frozen in midfidget with his neck tie.

"Cassandra?" His eyes flicked down. "Is that a gun in your pocket?"

"That's supposed to be my line," Sandy quipped. Sudasarno looked puzzled. Sandy took that response as a fair sign that he was not being coerced by armed persons behind the doorframe (very few inexperienced civilians gave any response to anything superfluous, with a gun pointed at their head) and she reached out and yanked him quickly inside the door. Closed it, locked it, and dragged him further into the room.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked, eyes hard with mild alarm. "How did you know where I was?"

"I have, um, sources." Sudasarno readjusted his suit lapels from where she'd pulled them out of alignment. And glanced at the halfeaten breakfast upon the bed. "I'm sorry, did I catch you at breakfast?"

"Tell me how, or I'll hurt you."

Sudasarno gave an exasperated, youthful smile. "Look, Sandy ... I'm really sorry I snapped at you the last time we talked, I'm not normally like that, I assure you ..."

Sandy grabbed him once more, one hand upon the belt, the other by the shirt, in a flash lifted and thumped him back against the wall beside the TV. His head hit the decorative wall painting, pain adding itself to stunned disbelief upon his youthful face.

"Sudie," she told him, gazing upward as she held him effortlessly suspended, "you've just put both of our lives in danger. Tell me how you found me, or I swear I'll be forced to start breaking bones until you do." His eyes fixed on hers with disbelief. "I swear it."

"Your ... your car's bugged ... I mean Ari's car. The cruiser."

"Who bugged it?"

"I ... someone who works for Secretary Grey, I'm not sure ..." and saw the narrowing of her eyes, "... look honestly, I don't fucking know! Sandy, you're hurting me! My belt ..."

"Who monitors the bug?"

"Kalaji ... he ... he works for the Secretary." Desperately. "Sandy, I needed to know where you were! I was instructed to keep in contact with you and now you won't answer your uplinks ..

"Your calls least of all, I don't want to get fried." She dumped him back down. Sudasarno gasped, grabbing his belt and loosening. Sandy turned to where she'd left her clothes last night, neatly stacked for easy dressing, placed the pistol upon the bed and untied her robe.

"What do you mean `my calls least of all'?" Sudasarno protested. "Sandy, I work for the President, I'm no threat to ..." And stopped with a gulp as Sandy dropped the robe before him and began dressing quickly.

"There's been a lot of things happening in this city lately that couldn't have happened without some real senior help," Sandy said darkly as she pulled on underwear and pants-the same clothes as yesterday, unwashed, and too bad if they smelled. "My bet is Secretary Grey's department's involved; as Secretary of State he's certainly got all the resources and talents at his disposal."

Sudasarno looked incredulous. "You're accusing Secretary Grey of...?"

"I'm not accusing him of anything," Sandy snapped, pulling on her shirt and jacket. "I'm saying there's a better than even chance that his department's been infiltrated. Which means that you're not the only person who could have found out where I am."

She tucked the pistol and holster into the pocket of her jacket, and grabbed a last handful of fruit from the breakfast tray, stuffing it into her mouth and chewing powerfully. Grabbed a bewildered Sudasarno by the arm and hauled him to the door.

"Ever done a basic combat course?" Sandy asked around her mouthful as she grasped the latch, releasing Sudasarno's arm to hold the pistol within her pocket. "Escape and evasion?"

"Sure." He nodded. Past the light brown skin, he looked a little pale. "After the Parliament Massacre they were compulsory."

Sandy swallowed her fruit. "Then you'll know the basics. If I say `down,' you get down. If I say `run,' you run. Don't crowd me, don't grab me, don't obstruct my field of fire. Got it?"

He nodded, very nervously. "Got it. Sandy, who do you think ... ?"

"And save the questions." With a firm stare. Sudasarno shut up, swallowing hard. Sandy yanked the door and slid through, just enough to double-check both ways along the hall. Then gestured quickly to Sudasarno, who followed, shutting the door behind him. A man appeared down the end of the long, door-lined hall. Sandy remembered the shades in her pocket, and put them on ... it looked suspicious to be wearing them indoors, of course, but not extravagantly so in fashion-obsessed Tanusha. And dark hair or not, she didn't want to risk being recognised just now.

The man approaching was wearing a business suit and carrying a briefcase. Of Indian appearance, plus athletic build and stride. Shorter than the average, as with most GIs ... Sandy flashed her vision to infra-red, and registered the heat shades of his body ... and found them normal for a straight human.

"He's okay," she murmured to the nervous Sudasarno. Of course, it didn't guarantee he wasn't a hostile, it just meant she could handle him in a split second without having to pay him too much attention in the meantime ... They walked past, barely making eye contact. Natural enough in any big city, Sandy had long ago gathered.

"I have a cruiser," Sudasarno said in a low voice as they approached the end of the corridor.

"Not safe," Sandy replied in a similar tone. Snapped a quick look both ways at the T-junction, then led him right, toward the elevators. "Might explode the moment you start it up."

Sudasarno stared at her. "Hold on ... why am I suddenly a target? Hell, why am I even coming with you ... no one's after me, just you!"

"And if they make an attempt on me now, and you survive, you'll be able to join the dots right back to whoever planted that bug."

"Well, hey, I can do that right now ..." From his suddenly distant gaze, Sandy guessed he was connecting an uplink, probably to call for help. She grabbed his arm as they walked, warningly.

"Don't," she told him. "A GI can monitor the entire hotel network. If you make any kind of call, she might assume help's on the way and attack immediately."

They arrived at the elevators, and Sandy pressed the upward call button. The corridor in both directions remained empty, as her hand remained fixed about the pistol grip in her pocket. Unable to access the network, she felt blind. She wasn't going to have any advance warning if attacked this time. The temptation to just briefly access an uplink was extreme, to catch a glimpse of what lay beyond. But it was a glimpse that could cost her her life.

The elevator arrived, and they rode it up two floors to the hotel main lobby. There were people around, patrons and bellhops, and automated luggage trolleys that trundled cautiously across the carpet as new arrivals came in. Sandy surveyed the surroundings coolly as she and Sudasarno walked toward the service desk at one end of reception ... "Don't gawk around," she told him, "you'll draw fire." And to the lady at the service desk, "Hello, I'm Asma Goldstein, I believe my husband left me something?"

"And what was his name?"

"Dori Goldstein." And handed the lady a credit card ... with Tanushan registration, it passed for multipurpose ID. And she found time to reflect that it wouldn't have been so easy if Parliament had managed to pass the Citizens' Card bill, but even after recent horrors, the Callayan public weren't quite ready for mandatory, all-purpose ID cards. Evidently quite a few of them had read Orwell. Or maybe they just knew what Ari always told her-that hackers and forgers were so competent these days, a comprehensive ID system would only work against petty violators, while the big players continued to go where they liked throughout Callay in total anonymity. After a moment of searching beneath the desk, the hotel lady found a small handset and placed it on the counter.

"There you are, compliments of Mr. Goldstein."

"Thank you." It was a mobile phone, Sandy reckoned from the look of it-they weren't very common in Tanusha, filling just a niche in the electronic gadget market. She departed, pulling Sudasarno after her. "Don't stare around!" she told him in a low voice. "This is a terrible ambush spot, even this GI seems to have some idea of covert activities. The target environment's not primed, she'll have no advance plan or surveillance. Very tricky if she wants to get away."