"Do you have the DSU?"
"It's got a bullet hole in it," she said, holding it up for closer examination. "But yeah, I got it." There was some kind of ID patch on the side of it, maybe a fingerprint patch. "Looks like she might have been trying to erase it or something."
"I'm guessing Intel will be very interested in looking at that. Please keep it relatively undisturbed. And the bodies. We'll pick up the pieces."
Vanessa gazed bleakly about through the smoke, and wondered if Krishnaswali realised just how literally appropriate those words were.
* * * *
The coffee should have tasted good. She usually liked Naidu's coffee. But this tasted sour in her mouth. Her tongue tasted of sweat, bile and that slightly acrid inside-the-helmet smell that hung around after having worn armour for too long.
"Not good?" Naidu asked with dismay, seeing her expression.
"It's fine." Wincing slightly and wrinkling her nose. "It's just the taste in my mouth that stinks."
"Indians should neither make nor drink coffee," Krishnaswali added from his seat over by the window blinds, long legs crossed, cradling a steaming cup of tea in his lap. "Very bad form."
Naidu said something derisive in a language Vanessa didn't know ... Telugu, maybe. Or possibly Tamil. Naidu was Old Earth, born in Bangalore. Krishnaswali was Tanushan born and bred, less than half Naidu's age. He held to a notion of Old India Naidu found pathetically unrealistic, and typical of offworld romanticism of the 'mother country' they'd never visited and knew only from stories and news-bytes. Whatever he'd said, Krishnaswali only smiled and sipped carefully at his tea past his handsome, clipped moustache. Naidu gave Vanessa's shoulder an affectionate pat and walked back around the side of the main desk.
They were gathered in Naidu's main fifth-floor office amid the networking maze that was Intel. A nice office, large and roomy, blinds drawn across the broad windows that otherwise overlooked the CSA compound interior. Krishnaswali occupied a comfortable spot on the big-cushioned sofa by the windows. Hiraki and Kuntoro at the back of the room, behind Vanessa. At the front of the room various Intel Agents gathered about Naidu's desk, now crowded with scanning and other electronic gadgetry Vanessa's SWAT-grunt training supplied neither recognition nor interest for. The centre of their attentions was a single black, hard-shelled rectangle, pierced off centre by a single high-velocity bullet hole.
Vanessa stood in the centre of the room, coffee in hand, and surveyed the group with bland interest. Naidu, Intel Chief, at one side, looking even more rumpled than usual, suit and unbuttoned shirt collar in disarray, a cup of his own coffee steaming in hand. Zhong and Suarez crouched over the desk in fascinated absorption—both Intel techs, hardware, software, security gadgetry in general. Chopra standing over them, supervising—with a planetary and military security brief, he usually complained Tanusha had little need for him and spent his time researching things happening in the war just ended far away. Now his eyes gleamed with delight and he positively bounced with enthusiasm.
As usual, Vanessa reflected, sipping determinedly at the sour coffee, she was the only woman in the room. No, not usual. Just all too damn frequent. She'd learned long ago not to unleash that particular frustration upon her male colleagues, it wasn't their fault. Just the fault of an Indian-Arabic-African prominent society where women aimed for 'sophistication' and anything vaguely sweaty was 'men's work'. The CSA was very sweaty. Academia, politics, education and general civil services, on the other hand, were crawling with women. They thought it natural. And protested with vague, generalised indignation about 'mad scientists' whenever someone presented the latest piece of League research that stated clearly it was not.
League scientists were well ahead of Federation research on such things. They did, Vanessa reflected wryly, have at least that much right—science in behavioural fields did move much faster when not held down by the weight of cultural bias and expectation. Sandy, she supposed, was proof enough of that. And it annoyed her, no question. She remembered further what Sandy had said, after the Tetsu raid, about how she sometimes argued like she was from the League, while Sandy felt more comfortable with Federation values. And she wondered, really, where she belonged. Where she would be, if she'd had the good or bad fortune to be born elsewhere within the vast domain of human civilisation. Cultural silliness often exasperated her. She was too pragmatic. But then, if all the pragmatists gathered in the League and the romantics in the Federation, that would only breed extremism, surely? Maybe she was meant to be here. Maybe Tanusha, Callay and the Federation needed her where she was. But sometimes she wondered.
Zago interrupted her dazed, half-sighted contemplation by opening the door. The men about the desk glanced up briefly, then returned to their work as Zago made for Vanessa.
"Ricey," he said, trying to keep his deep voice low and not quite managing it, "we've got three mis-ops—two will need full refit, I've got full specs on mech if you need 'em."
"How's Arvid?" she asked, not really caring about the team's maintenance problems right then, however tight the rotation schedule. Arvid Singh had been very near the fireball when the HE grenade had struck the mall side, the APL barrage that followed hadn't helped. As soon as his helmet had come off, he'd gone into severe shock, pale, shaking and breathing with difficulty. No one held it against him. It happened. After that barrage, she was amazed Singh was the only one.
"He's okay. Docs say the tape will help, could take a few days though. He might have relapses, might not." A shrug of broad shoulders within his patched and rumpled duty jacket. "Should be okay. Just have to see."
Vanessa glanced up at him. A long way up, even for her. Zago was massive, at over one hundred ninety centimetres and nearly one thirty kilos. Jet black and handsome. Married with five kids. Pity, she'd always thought. The sexiest man in her unit by far. Brute force, she knew, with self-directed sarcasm, was her big weakness. Muscle was irresistible. Size turned her on. God help her.
"How about you?"
Zago flashed a charming wry smile. "Hey, no holes, no damage."
"Arvid's just as tough as you," Vanessa said sombrely, her gaze unwavering. "It's just his turn, that's all."
Zago's face fell. "I know. I didn't mean it like that."
"I know." She patted him on the arm. "I know you didn't."
"Why don't you take a seat, Lieutenant?" Naidu suggested, over the murmured conversing around the main desk. "Surely even SWAT lieutenants rest occasionally?"
"She never sits," Hiraki replied from the back of the room, eyeing her with calm, impassive eyes. Naidu frowned in concern. Zago flashed him a warning look. Naidu raised his eyebrows and turned his attention back to the desktop. Vanessa ignored them all, gazing ahead blankly, gently sipping at her sour coffee, trying to get a reasonable semblance of taste back. Zago stepped behind her, put his arms comfortably about her, and pulled her back against his broad chest. Too tall even to rest his chin on the top of her head. She rested her head back with a sigh and closed her eyes.
Recalled unbidden Sandy's arms about her, a playful embrace. So much smaller than Zago. And infinitely more powerful. Yet she'd felt safe then, if indignant, like she felt safe now. And restrained a half-smile at the memory. She'd been thinking about Sandy a lot lately. A crazy development in an otherwise sane life, that was certain. A friendship with an AWOL League GI. It was nuts. And yet somehow... it worked. She sighed, and opened her eyes to gaze at the wall above the men's heads. And hoped like hell the occasionally undisciplined portion of her brain that registered such things would remember that she was presently married, that Sandy only liked men and that totally regardless, any kind of 'relationship' with a person who was regarded in some circles as not even technically human was definitely not a good idea under any circumstances ...
And she recalled the power in those bare shoulder muscles flexing, the steel-hard tension of the neck tendons beneath her hand, and felt any slight sense of attraction dissipate very fast. Good, she thought to herself with so
me relief. Just remember what she is, you idiot. That'll keep your groin in check.
"Yeah," Suarez said from his crouch behind the desk equipment with rising excitement. "Yeah, that's definitely it, you've got it." Zhong grinned in triumph, focused with intense concentration on the small control screen of what looked like a las-grid reader—an automated digi-decipherer, the small finger probe held closely suspended over an opened portion of the flat black rectangle. Code raced across another smaller monitor screen amid the pile, and other readouts flickered confusingly.
"Oh man!" Suarez gasped breathlessly, switching stares between graphical construct and raw codage screens. "Sweet Mother Mary that's a P-H class gridrunner ... look here, that's an execution bracket suite, right there ..."
"English!" Naidu snapped, "I speak nine languages more or less fluently but techno-babble is not one of them."
"Oh ..." Suarez blinked, staring about, eyes then darting back to his precious screens, "... well, it's not a retarded series nine like I thought, it's multi-lock compatible, it can replicate remotely across any Dexxie-type grid ..."
"Oh," Naidu exclaimed, "that's much easier, I understand it all now..."
"Um, sir," broke in Chopra, a thin, bookish, dark-skinned man in a tweedy jacket too large for his narrow shoulders, "if I might, sir ..." He licked his lips in nervous excitement, fidgeting fingers interlocked. "This is definitely an imprinted matrix like we thought, it is unalterable, hardwired software, you ... you cannot alter the basic imprinted code. The entire matrix unit will erase itself and ... and probably your infiltrator software too, I might think it likely." Blinked rapidly, and licked his lips again, eyes darting back to the readout screens.
"An ... an infiltrator team such as this FIA group might be issued with such a unit within their possession with which to access particular mainframe security systems. A unit such as this could provide breakthrough codes, that such an infiltrator team could perhaps utilise to provide themselves with cover for their personnel and their operations within the broader systematic network..."
"You're talking about this network?" Naidu asked. Pointing to the floor, meaning the entire, monstrous expanse of Tanushan info-net.
"Yes sir." A small nod. "The Tanushan infotech infrastructure."
"Why put those codes onto an imprinted matrix?"
"So they cannot be lost, infiltrated or stolen. This is a key to the city of Tanusha." Vanessa blinked. Zago's arms were suddenly loose. But for the rapid flicker of visual data scattering across the desktop screens, the office was still.
"But if they're under biotech corporate network protection," Naidu said slowly, frowning sharply under heavy brows, "they're already safe. Especially if they're being protected from within the Governor's office, even if not specifically by the Governor himself. Why a separate key? For what function?"
Chopra heaved a deep breath. "That, I am not certain..."
"This is government encryption," came Zhong's voice from the desk. His vacant stare told Vanessa he was uplinked and accessing, doubtless rerouting various analytical data functions on CSA central mainframe toward this particular unravelling of code from the small, black rectangle on the desk. "This imprint software was made in a government facility. Local Tanushan, no question."
Vanessa glanced hard at Naidu. The Intel Chief's lips twisted into a grimace. Coffee held forgotten in one absent hand.
"Dali?" Vanessa ventured. "Dali made this software and ... and what? Gave it to the FIA?" Naidu ignored her.
Chopra gave her a distracted glance. "Of course." In a condescending tone reserved for ignorant SWAT lieutenants who blurted the obvious. "But not Dali. One of his several FIA-trained and -appointed aides. Their files are fake, but I have resources." Smugly.
"So what's the damn stuff do?" She freed herself from Zago's unresisting arms, walked over and leaned on the desk, staring down at the maze of minor cables, hookups and laser-brace, the reader scanning the rectangle's interior. "What's the software for?" No reply from the absorbed Zhong and Suarez.
"I would guess the Plexus grid," said Chopra. Sounding increasingly smug, with the air of one well pleased finally to be presented with an opportunity to demonstrate his life's work and skills. "Access to the Tanushan information network was, as Mr Naidu rightly pointed out, already guaranteed by the FIA's plants in this city's biotech industries. But the info-network is only one level of electronic security any infiltrating team must penetrate to make good. Far more important is the Plexus grid—Callay is a planet like any other, Lieutenant, with advanced planetary defences and navigation systems. I would guess that this unit should provide the FIA team with access to the Plexus grid, and thus the means to monitor and if necessary control their evacuation details via any incoming ships. This would of course require the assistance of..."
"Yeah yeah, I gotcha Pops." Chopra blinked. Gave her a disapproving look, then turned his attention back to the monitor screens. "So that was what that FIA woman was trying to do before she killed herself. Erase it." With a glance across at Naidu. "That'd imply it's not the only one."
"No." Naidu ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "They'd have a redundancy. But we've now limited their options severely. They can't be flexible with their extraction now. They have to keep whoever uses the other unit in reserve. They can't afford to lose the second one."
"Why didn't this one erase?"
"Bullet hole," said Zhong absently, eyes distant as he uplinked through a massive data-load. "Lucky shot."
"Lucky indeed," Naidu rumbled. "About damn time we had a bit of luck go our way." Straightened himself, nearly spilling the coffee as he remembered it just in time. "I have to brief the boss—tell me if anything significant comes up." And gave Vanessa's shoulder an approving shake as he passed. "Terrific job, Lieutenant. You too Agents, all of you." And he left, on his way to Ibrahim's office.
"So," said Kuntoro, walking up to a place beside Vanessa, looking down at the inoffensive rectangle on the desk. "LT saves the world, hmm?" Put an arm about her shoulders and squeezed. Vanessa made a face.
"Lucky," she snorted. Wishing they would leave off patting her for a moment, and treat her like they would any one of the other heroic SWAT stud-commanders after a successful op. Kuntoro let go, only for Zago to move up behind and ruffle her hair with both big hands, as if to a small child. Dammit. She could handle being female in a majority-male environment. She was at peace with being small. But being 'cute' was a curse. If they'd merely wanted to fuck her, that was one thing. But rank and her reputation for volatility ensured they didn't ... well, not actively anyway. Instead there was this, halfway between informal affection (which was her own damn fault for encouraging between her troops as part of her natural command style) and professional respect. She didn't look like a SWAT commander—she looked like a kitten. Being mistaken for one made her fume. Thus the reputation. And if she made too big a fuss about it, it would create tension and uncertainty, which was her responsibility as commander to prevent. She was stuck with all of it and she knew it.
"So what happens now?" she asked nobody in particular, ignoring them all as she stared at the mess of gear upon the desk.
"Well," said Chopra, enjoying his own cleverness on this subject as he bent squinting beside Zhong, watching the monitor screens, "there is a chance that an examination of this data will allow us to determine how the FIA are managing to infiltrate the Plexus grid, thus perhaps allowing us to detect any extraction vessel that infiltrates our spacelanes ..."
"No I know that," Vanessa interrupted. "I mean what happens to Dali?" Chopra blinked. Glanced up at her.
"Does that matter?"
"What d'you mean, does that matter? How can we catch the damn FIA if their buddies in the Governor's Office are running the whole damn government?"
"Lieutenant," Chopra said with sarcasm, "the last thing we need is to turn this into a political event. If we can discern the correct codes and perform a proper intelligence job of it, we should certainly be able to carry on our w
ork without the active knowledge or interference from the Governor's Office ..."
"Fuckin' horseshit." With increasing temper. Chopra blinked. "We're not getting anywhere without a clearcut chain of command. I can't function without it. SWAT can't. It's not optional." Chopra coughed. Wetted his lips nervously. Evidently not accustomed to such intimidatory behaviour from attractive European females who barely came up to his shoulder.
"Well," he said, with more caution, "with any luck, if we play our cards correctly, the services of SWAT will no longer be required and we can do the rest through proactive Intelligence-guided network operations without a need for further violence."
"Huh." She folded her arms hard. "If you believe that, I've got a nice pyramid scheme you might like to invest in."
"The present government are our lords and masters," said Krishnaswali. Vanessa turned and glared at him. He sat as he'd been sitting the past half hour, long legs crossed, calmly sipping his tea. "We swore an oath to uphold the lawful government. Right now, that means Dali."
"My team didn't nearly just get its ass shot off for Mr-fucking-Dali!" Vanessa retorted. "Arvid's not lying down there in sickbay being force-fed trauma tape for Mr Dali! I swore an oath to serve and protect the people of Callay and Tanusha, not Federal Governor Dali!"
"Then change the law," Krishnaswali said. Met Vanessa's glare impassively above the rim of his teacup, taking another calm sip.
"How?"
The CSA's head SWAT officer shrugged. "Don't ask me, I'm a grunt. Ask the Chief."
"I don't have access to the ..." and trailed off as something occurred to her, her eyes widening slightly, past the hard thumping in her chest.
"Naidu does," said Hiraki from the back of the room. Vanessa looked at him, seated with equal calm to Krishnaswali, but coolly disciplined to his superior's languid professionalism. The look in his heavily slanted eyes was hard. "Ibrahim knows. He must remove Dali. We cannot catch the FIA with him in power." With a conceding nod to his commander. "Chief Justice Guderjaal does have the power to remove Dali if the laws by which he came to power have been broken. There was insufficient evidence before. Now, there is the box." He nodded toward the desk, where Zhong and Suarez were still crouched and working, oblivious to the debate going on around them. Vanessa's eyes widened further.
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