"What do you want me to do?" She could feel him building up to it. She didn't like the implications. The whole damn thing had been his idea, after all ...
"Cassandra, the President and I feel it would help matters considerably if you could make an appearance before a full sitting of the Parliament tomorrow morning." She blinked. Should have seen that one coming too. "The President and I ..." Bloody Katia Neiland and her wild improvisations on the run. It had her smell about it, the whole thing. "You have been making some progress on your review of Tanushan security systems with regard to the threat of military-style infiltration. The President and I feel that a formal presentation from you on your findings so far would enable the Members to see for themselves the value of your presence here, and thus take the SIB's legs out from under them on this issue, so to speak."
To Sandy's vision, the interior of the maglev appeared to darken somewhat, the combat redness descending. Sounds came thickly, slurred and broken into individual vibrations ... she'd been blindsided again by officialdom. It was becoming a habit. Of course, she was supposed to leap at this opportunity, a chance to prove herself before the elected representatives of the Callayan Parliament ... she wondered if Ibrahim had planned this too, predicting the SIB's reaction when he authorised Ari to go walkabout with her. Or if the whole thing had been Neiland's idea from the beginning. Once again, she was the pawn, and she didn't like it one bit.
"Sir ... my review is very preliminary to this point, I have no detailed analysis prepared, and in fact I should remind you that the whole thing is so far beyond my regular experience and qualifications that it was little more than an experiment in the first place. "
"I am aware of that, Cassandra. The sitting will not expect a detailed presentation, only a broad overview. Your preliminary opinions, not analytical conclusions. That is all that is required of you. In the meantime, I suggest you get some rest, and perhaps make some preparations, if possible. If you give me your location I'll send someone to accompany you-the President requires it, to give her credible denial of SIB claims that you have been left improperly supervised, you understand. "
"I do understand. I'm afraid that will have to wait, I'm busy. " Pause.
"Cassandra, I do not feel that now is the time for you to be `busy.' Political events have taken a turn, and whether you like it or not. . . "
"With respect, sir," Sandy formulated, in her coldest replicated tones, "you began this. I know Ari's your boy. You put him onto this lead, and then he put me onto it, and now I'm going to finish it. If you want someone to supervise me, put me in contact with Ari and I'll tell him where to meet me."
"Ari is indisposed, Cassandra." Ibrahim knew exactly where Ari was, Sandy was sure. "Cassandra, I am under rather direct instruction from the highest civilian authority on this planet. As you might understand, such instructions are not to be taken lightly. "
"So I suppose you know everything about League operations in this city?" Sandy replied. No response from Ibrahim. "There is a delegation here. Which of course no one would ever dare have informed me of in advance, me being ex-League and all, lest my sympathies suddenly change direction. There's a delegation here, and I don't doubt they're in discussion with all relevant parties regarding the current direction of Article 42. Now obviously, if you're so eager for me to go home and sleep, you'll be fully informed as to the League delegation's present operations, their numbers, their personnel, and GIs in particular, the people they're meeting with, etc, etc. Because the GI at Cloud Nine was very pleased to see me, before he shot me, and called me by name. I had this strange, crazy idea they might talk to me, where they would not to someone else. Perhaps I could learn something. But, of course, if that particular information is of no real use to you, I could just go home and sleep, as per your recommendation. "
Still there was no reply. The maglev whined in deceleration, a station stop approaching, and some passengers got to their feet. The night-time city slowed its gleaming rush past the windows, a thick line of traffic passing below, hemmed by explosive thickets of holographic neon and sidewalk traffic.
Then, "Stay out of trouble, Agent Kresnov. Talk to them, if possible, no more. If they don't want to see you, don't push your luck, you've been shot once already today and you do not want to make that a habit in this city. I'll expect a full report at the earliest. "
"Sir, I shall exercise the utmost circumspection, cognisance and diligence, I assure you." An influence of Indian bureaucratic English, she had discovered, that led to the usual proliferation of pointless vocabulary through the back corridors of CSA officialdom. Vanessa hated it. Sandy found it amusing.
"I'm very sure. Oh-nine-hundred tomorrow, Agent Kresnov. The Parliament shall be waiting. " Damn right they would be. She'd bet her life on it. "And Cassandra? Please bear in mind the possibility that your old comrade Chu may no longer be alive. "
The maglev began accelerating once more. Sandy gazed at the whizzing platform, lights and people in a gathering blur, then at the buildings and roads below, lines of moving, lighted traffic.
So Ibrahim was aware of her other motivation. Even if she had not yet fully admitted it to herself, Ibrahim was aware. She had not wanted to think about it so openly. Finding Mahud, only to lose him once more, had been a pain almost beyond her capacity to bear. Hoping for news of Chu was almost too painful, especially when it came this close, somewhere within the League Embassy compound. But whatever her need for useful delusions, Ibrahim had no such luxury.
"I'll bear that in mind, sir. " Quietly.
"I know you will. And I wish you luck. "
The maglev got her halfway across town. The adjoining subway got her to Zaiko, and she walked the rest of the way. Barely an hour from leaving the house, and she was there-Tanushan mass-transit was a marvel, and nearly military-like in its precision. If only, she mused, the city's people were as orderly as their machines. But then, on reflection, that would not work either. People chaos was the energy that drove the seamless technological systems, as surely as hydrogen combustion powered her motorcycle. You could cut the combustion, but doing so would cost you power.
Her bike awaited her in the cycle-park a short stroll from the riverside where she and Ari had enjoyed lunch earlier that day-it seemed eons away. People still strolled the sidewalk beneath the trees along the riverside walk, although the outdoor cafes were largely shut, tables packed away for the night as 9:00pm approached ... Zaiko was a tourist and business spot, mostly, only in the more residential regions did the cafes and restaurants stay open till the wee hours. She climbed onto the bike, unhooking the helmet from the rear lock, and pondering further if her "people-chaos theory" applied equally to Old Earth too. Of course it did. The proof could be found in the colourful confusion emanating from a broad apartment balcony across the road-an Indian wedding of one ethnic division or another. Colourful dress, flashing fabrics and jewellery, thunderingly rhythmic music and many people dancing on the balcony that overlooked the river ... no doubt some illegal fireworks would follow, they usually did at such occasions, to the police's continual dismay.
Back on Earth, China was a great power, but India ruled overall. Or would do, if they ever figured out who was really in charge. The self-professed most chaotic nation on Earth, its technological prowess was nearly as legendary as its people's love of parties, theatrics and political crises. The Chinese had never fully abandoned their fear of chaos. The Indians embraced it. And so the Chinese remained perpetually frustrated by the fact that despite their immense collective power, Indians continually outnumbered them in most truly revolutionary fields by two-to-one or more. China continued to hold itself separate from the world, as a national and ethnic entity. Indians diverged, spread, travelled and multiplied. And so when FTL truly arrived, the Indians went first, and the Chinese followed for fear of being left behind ... or in many cases to escape the conservative, Earth-bound mindset in search of alternative ideologies. The League was full of Chinese. Chinese and LEUs-for Los Estados Unidos, a
s ex United States of America residents were widely known in the League-the latter group endeavouring to confirm its cultural heritage, in search of a new great frontier, and the former group wishing to escape and start anew. The Federation held many of all cultural groups, but the Indians, equally comfortable in both the old world and the new, were particularly prominent. "Going League" implied the agreement with a particular "progressive" philosophy, and the majority of Indians felt uncomfortable in surroundings that offered no arguments, ideological battles or mad political catfights. Those that had "gone League" were derided as fanatics, extremists, or Pakistanis upset with the reunification, and looking for a new Kashmir.
Apolitical city my arse, Sandy thought, as she gunned the bike into life. Tanushans were only apolitical because their carefully constructed environment gave them no cause to be otherwise, even on the biggest issues of all, and there had been nothing overtly traumatic to argue about. Well, now they had cause, and the old cultural instincts were leaping back to life, and dragging most other ethnicities with them.
India, she recalled, was also called the most ideological country on Earth ... that and chaos, apparently, went hand-in-hand. It had condemned them to what in hindsight was unbelievable poverty for a full half-century after nationhood, many centuries ago, when the rest of the world was developing fast. Then the ideology had switched to capitalism-a supposedly "western" concept, it had then been thoughtwhich the Indians in conjunction with the Chinese had absorbed and "Indianised" as thoroughly as they'd absorbed and Indianised the genteel English sport of cricket, or cups of tea, or the English language itself. And by 2050, she recalled from her historical readings, the great "western" capitalist powers were complaining bitterly about the Indi- anisation of global economics, and the threatened trade sanctions against European nations who failed to fight against the encroaching "cultural sterility" of the modern economy ... a western phenomenon that Indians, East Asians and Africans recoiled from in horror to this day. Cultural ideology, the western powers complained, had no place in economics. To which the Indians had responded that cultural ideology was about what was good for the soul, and if western economics had nothing to say on this matter, then who needed it? And so the entire apparatus of the global economy had never been the same since ... and, Sandy couldn't help but think, thank God for it. Thank God for culture, and thank God for the perspective it brought upon the dry, rational worlds of science and finance.
Here, and now, the ideology was yet to be decided. Biotech. GIs. The value of organic, human life. The nature of humanity itself. The deciding issues that separated League from Federation. With her in the middle, trying to help them make up their minds.
She flicked on the headlight, helmet in place, and cruised smoothly out along the road. Colourful party-pops lit the streetside behind her, a cascading fall of blue, green and saffron light, and the angular officefront windows bloomed in spectacular reflection as she passed.
The League Embassy did not appear on any map. Not in those words, anyhow. From her pagoda view atop the temple, Sandy had a good view of the grounds across the avenue, though somewhat obscured by leafy trees before and within the grounds. Behind the high, wroughtiron fence lay an estate in miniature-a wide grassy lawn with a Uturn driveway that swept in front of the columns of the patio before the main entrance. The building itself was two-storey, rectangular and whitewashed end to end. Building and grounds together reminded her of the images she'd viewed of old British colonial properties in India, dating from the time of the occupying Raj. Only the scale was smaller-squeezed between a pair of modest, low-key office buildings. A casual passer-by might dismiss such a building as another of Tanusha's many pieces of historical nostalgia, and not spare it a second thought. And not notice that the gates were locked, the physical and network security intense, and there was no sign or advertisement to announce the building's purpose to the street. A light, civilian-level query of the net-presence came back to her as "government building," with no more information provided.
There were a lot of those, of course, and high security was hardly rare among them. Of course, discovering which was the League Embassy was easy enough, if you knew who to ask. Previously, it had not been an issue. Now, she watched on full-zoom/infrared, and counted the soldiers on the roof, laid flat behind the lining flowerbeds with rifles at ready. There were eight visible, and doubtless more inside and about the grounds. They'd been receiving a lot of "interested queries" lately, she guessed. And that being League property in there, they were allowed to provide their own firepower as insurance to keep the natives at arm's length.
Her preliminary scanning done, she descended the stone staircase and into the temple proper, leaving the pagoda's several other occupants to enjoy the night air alone. Candles and coloured lamps lit the main floor, red light misty with the fumes of burning incense amid the many rows of ceiling pillars that held up the roof. Many people moved between, barefoot and leisurely, and queued before various iconic statues or alcoves, to pray or make offerings, or light more incense. Red and saffron flower petals littered the stone floor, alternately rough and smooth underfoot. A sadhu in robes, with a long beard, swept the floor clear amid the throng, immersed in his endless task.
She ducked a hanging flower-banner, and avoided a random clump of devotees praying before a two metre, many-armed icon, adorned with many garlands of coloured flowers. Her route took her past an adjoining decoratively styled doorway, through which she viewed a broad room, and perhaps a hundred people seated cross-legged upon an enormous carpet. On a low platform in front sat a yogi, robed and tangle-bearded, leading a meditation. Hands outstretched and palms out, murmuring incantations through his beard, an assistant seated to one side, a small gong before her crossed ankles. Sandy had only a very vague idea of what that was all about. But it looked peaceful, in the still of that broad, stone-walled room, surrounded on all sides by tapestries, flower decorations and icons, with only the light, unearthly chime of the gong to break the silence, and the yogi's unceasing murmurs. A light wind blew incense, sent tapestries drifting sideways, a light scattering of flower petals across the stone floor.
Sandy held that image with her as she descended the stonewrought staircase, keeping in the downward stream as more people ascended the stairs upon the opposite side. She was still pondering the mass, silent meditation and murmured chants as she retrieved her boots from the simple wooden rack, and inserted a basic credit deposit into the temple's one concession to technology-a visitor's cardscanner, for upkeep donations. Wondering if, one day, she could join such a session herself, just for curiosity. One day, perhaps, when circumstances would allow her to do as she should have done tonight, in all honesty, and leave her gun with a holy man at the door. And with her boots refastened, she departed into the street, through the gathering throng at the entry gate, and the cries of the mystic doomsayer upon his box, largely ignored by the mostly (but not entirely) Indian patrons, who gathered and chattered with friends and family-temples were common enough gathering spots for the socially inclined.
"The decadence of Tanusha has angered the Gods!" the holy man yelled above the voices and occasional traffic, in clear Tanushan English. A young man, with scarcely a beard nor a blemish upon his face, and dressed only in a pile of old robes. European, Sandy noted with interest. His tone seemed suspiciously Christian-sermonising. Probably a convert, getting his delivery styles confused, raving like a missionary. Most Tanushan Hindus disdained them. "Rama is displeased, yes, hear me, displeased and angry at our politicians and their conniving ways! His emissary shall descend upon us, and that emissary will be the Goddess Kali, and she shall descend upon us all with the very wrath of Heaven, and smite the wickedness of all ungodly folkthe followers of Mohammed, Christ and the Buddha too, yes, no one shall be saved from their descent into base greed and consumerism, and the vile lust for credit, and for wicked twists of mortal shape beyond our natural means! All that is living and ungodly shall be punished, and shall suffer eternal condemn
ation for all incarnations ever onward!"
His cries rolled on, over the heads of the unheeding masses, as the only person who was perhaps truly listening, and pondering the content of his words, strolled unhurriedly away up the sidewalk. A pistol in her side-holster and determination upon her mind, on her way to meet the devil.
The "backdoor" was easy enough to find for someone with intimate knowledge of League network security formulations. The electronic trail led her to a small office building nearby, and the floor of Denzler Securities, which registered as a small, niche-specialty network security business. A few words with the polite lady on reception there, and a brief mention of the name "Cassandra Kresnov," saw her hurried to a big, black street-cruiser with tint-out windows and armoured bodywork, and driven into the Embassy grounds through the main gate. Uplinked and sensitive to adjoining link codes, Sandy had a clear sense of the massive security integration as the car hummed up the driveway-the multiple overlaying network scans, the grounds surveillance, the interlocking fields of fire of many well placed marksmen ... The car continued past the front entrance and onto the less official rear driveway that curled around the side.
It stopped at the rear, which was even more impressive, with a broad, bannistered verandah overlooking lush, green lawns and a thick covering of trees. Sandy paused for a moment as she climbed from the open door and surveyed the grounds on a multiple-spectrum sweepa high wall surrounded the Embassy to the sides and rear, and thick tree-cover blocked a clear view from higher office windows. Besides which, the entire, picturesque grounds were a cross-grid of trigger sensors. Puzzlingly, several peacocks wandered the maze with impunity ... intelligent sensors, perhaps, with a preference for peacocks. She gazed more closely at a pair of the birds as she was escorted by two guards up the path to the verandah steps, marvelling at the male's gorgeous plumage ... very easy to see why females could not resist. If she hadn't known the birds were real Earth natives (no doubt imported under some special enviro-friendly protections), she would have thought them a fanciful, customised concoction from some bio-lab. League-side, of course, as such things were likewise illegal in the Federation, much to the black market's delight.
Breakaway: A Cassandra Kresnov Novel Page 25