Killswitch (24 page)

"What a horrible design," Sandy formulated upon Ari's tailorencrypted tac-net. It linked, he said, into particular subroutes within the local Tanushan network, and built those narrow-access protections into its tight encryption base. She couldn't uplink into the network herself, nor download vast quantities of data other than what Ari fed to her via relay, but it did allow verbal communication between them without (Ari insisted) leaving her vulnerable to the killswitch codes. "Mathematicians and geometricians should leave architecture to real architects. "

"I like it," came Ari's predictable reply in her ear.

"Looks like something out of Orwell," Sandy retorted.

"Who?"

"Never mind," Sandy replied, with as close as uplink formulation allowed her to come to a sigh. Sometimes she couldn't help but think that multicultural, vibrant, artistic Tanusha was somewhat wasted on Ari.

Sandy entered through the main lobby-an enormous, highceilinged space with cutaway hotel levels ahead, and a broad, sunken lounge-restaurant to the left. Sandy panned her vision across the broad reception desk to the right as she walked, letting Ari see the security guard at the far end, scanning the lobby.

"Ari, I'm going to take off my sunglasses, this guy's going to ping me."

"Yeah, okay ... I'm into it, you're clear." "It," of course, was the security system monitoring the lobby by remote, which included facial recognition. It would also tend to register anyone wearing sunglasses inside as worthy of double-checking, as would the guard by reception. Exactly how Ari managed to fool a high-grade visual security system into not recognising her, Sandy didn't know-her own uplinks (when she could use them) were superior where simple hack-and-disable routines were concerned, but those kinds of sledgehammer routines were of little use to a covert operator like Ari. This kind of thing required subtlety ... something an alarming number of her friends had accused her of lacking, at one time or another.

She removed the shades and pocketed them, her gaze wandering disinterestedly as she walked. Hotel guests wandered the lobby, heading in from a meal, or heading out for late-night drinks or shows. None of their outfits appeared to cost less than a CDF officer's monthly salary. Or yearly salary, she reflected with a glance at several outrageous gowns with enough jewellery to fill a small store at the Rawalpindi gold souk. Callayan tourism had fallen during the initial troubles two years ago, and then soared once the relocation was announced. Now, Sandy thought sourly, the continuing troubles appeared almost a part of the package-come visit Callay for the wide spaces of the outback, for the unrivalled nightlife of Tanusha, and for the thrills and excitement of a genuine political crisis, complete with assassinations, intrigue, and more tension than ten holovid dramas.

She made it across the lobby without the guard or anyone else recognising her, and slipped the sunglasses back on as one of numerous elevators opened to admit a new group directly before her. One of those, she noted with relief, was a similarly dressed underground-noir type, with a long black coat, boots and a tall, spiky mohawk. So at least she wasn't going to look totally out of place. She ducked into the empty elevator and pressed the door-close before the next group of guests could arrive.

"The central elevator would have taken you up further," Ari said reprovingly in her ear.

"And more people use it. I don't want to be recognised. "

"Hold on ... no, okay, I see another way. Take it to the top and turn left. "

The elevator made it to the thirtieth floor without interruption, and Sandy exited to find that left was the only way she could go-to the right, the hall ended with the angled glass of the hotel's exterior, beyond which the city lights shone blurrily through the falling rain. Sandy passed a well-dressed couple too engaged in hilarious conversa tion in the hall to notice her, and glanced at the holographic wall displays at the next T-junction. A display of the entire pyramid structure stood on a low podium cut into the intersecting corner, shimmering with light, its main thoroughfares and attractions highlighted in red, blue or gold.

"Ignore that," Ari told her, seeing what she saw through their encrypted link. "That doesn't tell the half of it."

She walked to the end of the hall, hearing strained on maximum trying to filter echoing conversation and footsteps from the throbbing hum of the aircon vents.

"Stairwell on the left," said Ari. "Down two flights." Sandy entered, and rattled down at speed. And paused at the level twenty-eight door as Ari said, "Wait. Two security passing near, they're fully integrated. " And gave a faint whistle. "Very fully integrated. I could get you their Acred-file numbers if you wanted. "

`Just try sticking to the job, Ari. "

"Sorry. Old habits. You're clear, they went past." Sandy entered the hall, and went left. "Now, you've got a maintenance door coming up on your left. I can get you a ... three-second window to open that door and close it again before the sweepers reconfigure my integration module and notice the hack. "

"Got it. " She saw the door, on the left, clearly marked NO UNAUTHORISED ADMITTANCE. An's signal counted toward the threesecond window as she approached. And she saw the guest room door click open just ten metres further on. The departing man-African, in a loose, flashy blue outfit-was still chatting loudly with someone inside the room as he backed out. Sandy grasped the door handle, opened as Ari's signal hit zero, and slipped inside without the distracted guest appearing to notice. Closed the door behind her, well inside Ari's parameters, and continued within.

Inside was a dark maintenance passageway. A large bundle of pipes and wires ran across the ceiling ahead, and built-in ladders climbed the walls into crawlways along the sides. She ducked under the pipes, not hearing any other activity beyond the relative din of aircon and pumping machinery, here away from the soundproofed guest areas. The lighted doorway beyond stood open to what looked like empty air.

Sandy arrived, and found that she stood on a metal grille footway, twenty-eight storeys above the open hotel floor. From far below, music blared, and lights flashed. The floor was huge, one entire side of the pyramid structure devoted to entertainment and, by the looks of at least half of it, gambling. Casino tables sprawled, surrounded by milling crowds of the well dressed and affluent, and several hundred bodies danced on a nightclub floor beneath the soaring, sloping glass ceiling. To the right, along the vertical inner wall, the footway led to a crossbridge, where angled wall met the vertical. Intervening, however, was a metal grille security door.

"That's not on the graphic," said Ari.

Sandy sighed. "I could climb around."

" Um ... no, that's all tripwired, you'll set it off. Just wait, I'll find it. "

Sandy crouched in the shadow of the doorway and waited, watching multiple directions at once in case of wandering maintenance staff. From the audible deep rush of ventilation systems, it seemed to her that the building was massively overpowered. Being an assault commander made her something of an expert on modern architecture, if from a slightly different perspective than the average citizen. Most Tanushan buildings of this scale possessed remarkably low energy requirements, thanks again to strict central regulations encouraging "environmental sensibilities." Not, of course, that Tanusha's twentyfive underground and peripheral fusion reactors meant that the city could ever be short of cheap, zero-polluting energy. But "environmental sensibilities" was one of those codewords for that peculiarly Tanushan aestheticism that one found everywhere, meaning natural sunlight, convection-assisted ventilation, and the absolute minimum of what the planners liked to call "structural imposition" ... meaning, at its most simplistic, anything that got in the way of a view. "Organic building," was the other codeword. Buildings that breathed, and dispersed heat and energy, and people, like a natural, living organism.

This damn pyramid only seemed to live on life support, as evidenced by the noisy machinery pumping air, water and heat through its unstreamlined bowels. Sandy wondered how the hell anyone had gotten this design past the planners. Unless "variety," that other much-loved concept of the planners, dictated that there should be at least one ugly, inefficient, League-style monstrosity in the city. A landmark. Architects, Sandy thought, like artists, seemed to suffer from the illusion that uniqueness was a value in itself. As far as she could see, a unique piece of shit was still a piece of shit, by any other name.

"I still don't like this damn building," she muttered.

"Oh, come on," Ari said mildly. The distraction would not bother him, she knew-he liked to talk while he worked. It was something they had in common-multiple-track brains. "Look at that enormous, sloping sheet of glass, cascading with rain and all lit up with internal lights and external lightning and the city lights outside ... " Showing off, to demonstrate exactly how good his visual feed was. "Isn't that an amazing sight?"

"It's amazingly inefficient. Spectacle is the shield behind which insubstantial people hide. "

"Oh, so this is an ideological objection. Nice to have some company in my irrational, ideological frenzies ... "

Sandy snorted, and gazed over at the crossbridge. It disappeared into what looked like another open doorway like the one she was presently in. She could jump the distance comfortably, but someone might see it. Given Ari's network capabilities, it seemed a pointless risk to take.

"At least we know why they wanted you dead," Ari said after a moment.

"We do?"

"To kill Duong. It wasn't ideological at all. They just wanted you out of the way so they could kill him. "

"Vanessa did a great job," Sandy said firmly.

"Sure. Sure she did." A little anxiously. "But you're the only one who could have stopped that GI. "

"Maybe. So Callay Rashtra were set up to take the blame?" Callay Rashtra were the latest local extremist group to be splashed all over the news. Several senior CSA people had immediately issued gloating "told you so"s, having trumpeted warnings about Callay Rashtra for the last several years. Ari, who of course had met several members personally, didn't believe a word of it. They were not, he'd insisted, anywhere near organised enough to pull off operations of such complexity as a rocket attack upon a major summit. Where such judgements were concerned, Sandy took Ari's opinions over all others as a matter of policy.

Of course, not even the Fifth Fleet, led by the particularly incensed Captain Rusdihardjo, and cheered on from the sidelines by Secretary General Benale, had been able to link Callay Rashtra's attack with the GI who had killed Admiral Duong. Instead, they questioned whether there had been a GI at all, implying that it was all a fabricated plot by shadowy Callayan authorities to deny complicity. Given how little information regarding internal security workings anyone in power was actually allowed to reveal to the public, it was a difficult charge to counter. Not that it would have made any difference, Sandy reckoned.

"And invite everyone to blame it on Callayan extremists, sure," said Ari. "And affirm to right-minded people everywhere that the Fleet is only here for our own protection ... I mean clearly, Callayans just can't be trusted with their own affairs."

"Let alone control of the Fleet."

"Exactly. Try that. "

Sandy grasped the handle on the security gate, and multiple locks clicked open. She ducked through quickly, closed it behind her, and walked along the footway and across the crossbridge. Below, the band were playing something hyper-techno, with lots of electronic harmonics and a skirting, unpredictable rhythm. Damn, this really was Ari's kind of place. No one seemed to notice the dark shape upon the overhead walkways, and she ducked through the end doorway ... and into what appeared to be a maintenance room for the automated window cleaners. Several of the insectoid, sucker-footed robots awaited in maintenance cradles.

Sandy flitted from shadow to shadow, pressing herself to one corner wall and listening hard ... heard the faint, electronic manipulation of controls further along the passage beneath the sloping glass, and the weight of a body shifting in a control chair.

"Ladder ten metres to your front," said Ari. A maintenance worker emerged from a doorway, turning unawares to resume work on one of the glass cleaners. Sandy darted silently across to the ladder, and rapidly climbed several levels. From there it was a relatively simple matter for Ari to override the controls for the maintenance elevator, into which she climbed. The maintenance elevator rode up the side of the pyramid at a forty-five-degree angle, suspended by overhead rails and passing through maintenance levels along the way. Sandy sat upon the lowest row of seats provided, the elevator floor sloping before her at that same forty-five degrees, and saw through the porthole the face of one worker who was waiting for the elevator, and was evidently surprised when it didn't stop.

At level forty-nine, at the top of its rails, the elevator did stop. The doors unfolded outward, and Sandy jumped lightly from her seat to the ground, and headed along the short, dimly lit passage toward where the pyramid's central elevator shaft would be. Part way along, the end security door opened with Sandy not five metres away.

"Oh, shit," said Ari. "Hide. " The corridor here was straight, and the nearest doorway was five metres behind her. Even with her speed, Sandy knew it was impossible.

"Can't," she said. The maintenance worker-a round-faced man of Chinese appearance with a thin beard-stopped and frowned at her.

"Damn," said Ari. "Do something."

"Like what?"

"Who are you?" the worker demanded, suspiciously. Sandy supposed it wouldn't help much to put her hands in her pockets and whistle nonchalantly. "What are you doing in here?"

"I dunno!" Ari retorted. "Punch his lights out!"

"Ari," Sandy formulated, somewhat testily, "I'm not about to go around putting civilians in hospital. Jam his uplinks, if he's got them. "

And the maintenance worker's suspicion turned to frowning puzzlement, indeed as if he'd just attempted to raise the alarm, and found his uplinks strangely nonfunctional. On a flash of inspiration, Sandy whipped off her sunglasses, and strode forward. The worker took a pose that suggested he did know how to fight (fight-tape was a popular expense among many blue-collar Tanushan workers), and Sandy ran a purposeful hand through her hair, brushing back the wet fringe to give him a good look at her face. He froze, eyes widening.