Originator (24 page)

“We don't know that.” Her combat reflex was up but calm. Shin knew he couldn't win a shooting match here. It was a hostage play, take Takewashi
on the flyer, and FSA wouldn't dare shoot it down. Maybe they'd even take someone else along for safety.

“
Cassandra
,” Ibrahim cut in, “
you are authorised to take all measures to prevent Takewashi falling into sole FedInt custody
.”

“Understood.” It was the first time in her life she'd found Ibrahim's advice unhelpful. The runways were rushing past now, the flyer's weapons tracking on multiple possibilities. An alternative-access vehicle was pressing its walkway to the shuttle's opposing side door. They'd take Takewashi off that way, down stairs to the flyer on the tarmac, then back to FedInt HQ in Tanusha. “Amirah, how's it coming on Chief Shin?”

“
No response, Cassandra, I'm trying everything
.”

“
I could take out that access vehicle?
” the pilot suggested.

“Okay, I want everyone to stop making suggestions and do what they're told,” said Sandy. “Orbit at five hundred, please.”

The flyer went into a low orbit around the shuttle, five hundred meters out. Sandy diverted enough of her attention to the network to get a full picture of FedInt HQ construct, a huge multilayered thing, as all security net constructs were. All barriers were up, gleaming trails of data now dead and blocked. Parts of that system had to respond to external signals, that was why hackers existed, and there were few more effective hackers of A-grade code than herself, when she had to. But unlike more subtle hackers, if she broke in, she'd truly break it. Plus it would take her long minutes that she didn't have.

“This is SO1,” she said, blinking her vision back on the scene before her. “We are deactivating weapons. Pilot, increase orbital diameter to a thousand, thank you.” The pilot was slow responding. She overrode and deactivated the flyer's weapons for herself, just to make the point.

Baffled silence on the coms. The pilot levelled out to find his new circling perimeter. Ibrahim came back. “
Cassandra, please explain your
. . .”

A signal from FedInt HQ, via some very fancy relays. “Just shut up for a second,” Sandy told her boss, and connected. “Chief Shin.”

“
Cassandra
.” Nothing more. No explanation. It was possible she was wrong, it occurred to her. But she didn't think Shin was suicidal, and if he'd hurt Ari or Vanessa . . .

“Our weapons are off, and you appear to have won this round. Congratulations. I'd like to discuss round two.”

“
I'm not sure there will be a round two, Cassandra. FSA's recent actions suggest them incapable of acting in the Federation's best interests. I'm sorry to have to do this, but under the circumstances I've had little choice. Your agents on the shuttle are fine, they have not been harmed. Please do not pursue Mr Takewashi further. Mr Ranaprasana is expecting your full cooperation on this matter
.”

Great. Ranaprasana was backing FedInt. Shin would not use that as a bluff. If Ranaprasana got angry at Shin, Shin was history—FedInt answered to Earth factions above all others.

“Fine,” said Sandy. “We'll have a little talk with Ranaprasana, about how we'd all be better off if he took his sides
before
we get to drawing weapons, instead of after.”

“
Cassandra, please tell your boss that threatening Ranaprasana would be the worst and last mistake of his career
.”

“We're all well aware of that,” Sandy said calmly. “You have your assets, Chief, and we won't mess with them. Neither should you forget ours.”

Already the flyer was backing away, engines powering. It climbed rapidly, then tilted and began its flight. SO1 turned and moved into formation alongside, three hundred meters off the flank. Fast, Sandy thought with suitable respect. FedInt had quality people who executed well. She wondered how they'd pulled it off.

“
We shall not forget, Cassandra. And FSA are welcome to speak to Mr Takewashi once we have finished questioning him ourselves
.”

“Oh, he won't tell you anything,” said Sandy dismissively. “You forget that I'm his baby. He'll only talk to me.”

Federal Intelligence Tanushan Headquarters (FITH-Q in security par-lance) was located in one of Tanusha's stranger buildings. In the style of a French eighteenth-century chateau, it was originally built with private money as a place of entertainment by business interests and as a six-star hotel for VIPs. But most VIPs, it turned out, liked to stay in Tanusha's multitude of thriving commercial hubs, not here amidst the leafy, quiet suburbia beside a lovely walking park. The chateau had been used variously since as an art gallery, a museum, and a performing arts school until someone in the Callayan government had offered it to FedInt as a new base following the relocation of Federation government to Callay. They'd been joking, the story went, but FedInt had snapped it up, and occupied it thoroughly the past five years.

Walking from the cruiser, boots crunching on driveway gravel, Sandy had to admit that FedInt had done a very nice job of maintaining the place. The stonework looked old and heavy, though modern laser cutters and robotic construction would have taken a fraction of the time of its predecessors in France. Lights gleamed from old wrought iron lanterns, about which darted a flicker of moths. She trotted up the stone steps, and someone inside opened the heavy wooden door.

The entrance hall sported a black-and-white checkered floor, old furnishings, and chandeliers. Sandy handed over her pistols to the FedInt agents on duty, then followed one's lead from the anteroom to the main ballroom. Here was a double-arched staircase to die for and some distractingly high-tech desk displays across an open floor, processing a lot of interesting data. Nothing sensitive, Sandy was sure, as she walked down the center aisle. Not with her visiting.

FedInt agents watched her pass. Most here were data processors, like Intel
operatives anywhere. Analysts, selected for their attention to detail, ability to work in groups, and tendency to keep their mouths shut when required. At least half, Sandy knew from FSA reports, were from Earth.

Her guide led her up one of the staircases, then down another hall, where open doors showed smaller offices for higher-ranking operatives. Interesting that the doors were all open, Sandy thought—considering FedInt was in the business of secrecy. But then, truly secret meetings could be done uplinked or on VR. Face-to-face time was best for conversation and sharing ideas. The FSA under Ibrahim worked in a similar way.

At the end of the hall was a closed door. The agent knocked and entered. Within was a beautiful room, high-ceilinged with extravagant wall panels, all in eighteenth-century style. Wooden floors, old furnishings, only some framed paintings gave lie to the ancient feel—watercolours of sunrise on a moon mining base, and another of some alien reptilian bird in flight. Sandy thought it must have been quite nice to be noble, and French, in the eighteenth century. Right up until the people who unwillingly gave the nobility all this wealth started chopping their heads off, anyway . . .

Renaldo Takewashi rose from his grand embroidered armchair with difficulty and the help of a cane. He looked no more gaunt and skeletal than when she'd last seen him six years ago, but much weaker all the same. Though maybe that was just the recent travel.

“Cassandra!” he exclaimed in that thin, reedy voice. Narrow-eyed, his scalp close-shaven and pepper-grey, looking every one of his hundred-plus years. “Dear girl, you came. How good of you.”

The other chair was occupied by Chief Shin, immaculate in his dark suit, sipping a drink. Another man in a tuxedo appeared from the adjoining door, through which Sandy could see a bed and possibly a kitchen. VIP accommodation, then. The butler (Sandy thought, never having seen an actual butler before) stood by the door, as Shin also stood.

Sandy went to Takewashi and took his frail hand, wrist draped in purple kimono sleeves. Takewashi smiled at her—at this range like the grin of a corpse. But that was unfair, she told herself. She must try to be fair. Much depended on her being so. Even now, the smile flickered, then abruptly vanished, like the dropping of a mask.

“Cassandra,” he rasped. “You must help. They're trying to kill me!”

Sandy glanced at Shin. The FedInt Chief was impassive as ever. “I'm sure Chief Shin will do his best to protect you from the League, Mr Takewashi,” she said. “Though his resources are limited, against League GIs.” Drily. “That you helped to build,” she could have added. Doubtless the irony was not appreciated. “I'm quite sure you would be safer with the FSA.”

“Not the League!” the old man hissed. “Well . . . yes, the League, but you can guard me well enough against them.”

“Who then?”

“The Talee!” Sandy blinked. And looked at Shin. Again, there was no response. “The Talee are coming! They may even be here, now! You must have me moved to a more secure location, somewhere without net access, somewhere so hidden not even your top operatives know where it is! Net access is death against them! Death!”

He gasped and regained his balance with a weight on his cane. Sandy grasped his arm to steady him. And regretted it, as Takewashi managed a shaky smile and patted her hand. Sandy felt the slow spread of pins and needles, a flush of cold, creeping dread. She did not like Takewashi. But he was no fool and would not get this worked up over ghosts and demons.

“I will say no more,” he said, and sank back into his chair. “I cannot talk here. It is too dangerous. Everything net connected, far too dangerous.”

“He told you this?” Sandy asked Shin, her heart thumping in slow acceleration. Combat reflex red-tinged her outer vision, uncertain of just how far to spread. Combat reflex was for immediate threats. What Takewashi was suggesting was . . . existential.

Shin nodded. “And no more. I asked for you.”

Smart move. Sandy nodded, more respect than appreciation. A shift to IR showed Shin's pulse, hot and thumping somewhat faster than normal. Her vision detected a faint tremble of the hands. Fear.

She took a knee beside Takewashi. It put her eyes on a lower plane, but she did not care. “Renaldo. Why are the Talee trying to kill you?”

He shook his head. “I cannot. This is not the place.”

“Renaldo, I was on Pantala. I saw. I know where we come from.”

Takewashi smiled sadly and reached a gnarled, brown hand to her cheek. “Yes. Sweet child. That is the origin.”

A thousand accusations boiled up. A thousand hatreds. All were irrelevant now.

“So why are the Talee trying to kill you?” she persisted. “Did you steal something? Do something to them? You used their technology to make us, to make GIs. Are they angry?” But how could they be angry, they'd known about it for as long as humans had made GIs, and done nothing, indicating no displeasure.

“Mr Takewashi,” said Shin. Again, Sandy's hearing registered the faint tremor in his voice. “We have a suitable location for you. Will you discuss it when we get there?”

“Yes. Yes, with Cassandra. She will understand.”

“Renaldo,” Sandy tried again, but Shin was shaking his head. He indicated the door. Evidently he'd tried pleading, and other things. Sandy got up and followed Shin's direction to the door.

Shin shut the door, crossed the hall to the next door, and opened it. Within was a much smaller room, tasteful but not extravagant, with a modern desk and holographics. The night view, past garden trees, was the park and path lights on green grass.

“We're preparing a location now,” said Shin, walking to his desk. Sandy closed the curtains. Shin lit a cigarette. That old habit still thrived on Earth; it was barely seen on Callay. Shin's lighter was silver and stylish, like his watch. He took a puff and sat against the desk. “If he's right, it will have to be total information blackout. Given what Cai can do.”

His gaze asked questions. “I can't call HQ about Cai,” she answered. “If Takewashi's right, we can't stop Cai from hearing.” Cai. Dear God. How did you fight someone who hacked eyes in real time? Who put entire collective networks into involuntary VR? “Shin, we're going to have to work together on this.”

“Can you?” Regarding her, serious and skeptical. “Can Ibrahim?”

“Ibrahim is the most fair-minded man I've ever met.”

Shin smirked and took another puff. “Yes. Well, you should meet more men.”

“You're plotting to remove us,” said Sandy. Shin said nothing, smoking warily. “I get it. FedInt is the long-term structure, FSA HQ is short-term, the head of the snake. We're more replaceable than you. Your problem is that this is the relocation all over again. Earth interests dominating Federal interests.
That's why the Grand Council is now here and not there. Your institutional base is far broader than ours, but we have more popular support off-Earth, where it matters.”

“You really think this is the time for such discussion?” Shin suggested with some disbelief.

Sandy walked to him, face-to-face. His wariness increased. He did not believe she would hurt him, or he'd never have allowed himself to be alone with her. But a man sensitive to mortal threats could not help but recall what she was, at this range.

“It's okay,” she said. “We're plotting to remove you too. Eventually. And to reshape FedInt into something less Earth-centric and more FSA friendly.”

Shin tapped ash into his desktop ashtray. “This I already knew. I'm a spy.”

“No, you're
the
spy.” A faint smile from Shin. She couldn't say she thought much of his nasty habit's smell. “My theory is Compulsive Narrative Syndrome. FSA and FedInt. GIs are less susceptible to it. The non-GIs in FSA were becoming convinced you were the enemy; you were becoming convinced we were the enemy.”