Originator (14 page)

“A bit.” She sipped from her bottle and wiped her face with the towel on the bench. “A couple of marine commanders, a couple of army officers, back in the war. Now confirmed separatists. It's in my reports.” All of which Shin had read, she was certain. He was fishing for something.

“Subject A was PRIDE. We can confirm it.”

“Ah. Any ID?”

“No. But a visual match from League-side Intelligence.” FedInt maintained that network still, spies all through the League. FSA HQ, based here on Callay, coordinated all the different arms and gave the instructions. But if FedInt didn't want to carry them out, FSA was a toothless tiger, with limited assets of its own. Those assets were blunt, like Special Group—Sandy and Vanessa's responsibility. And like Special Agency, the small group of Callay-based agents amongst whom Ari was now senior. FSA HQ ruled on Callay, and FedInt couldn't function without Callay. And the FSA's primary asset, its network of spies and agents elsewhere throughout the Federation and the League, were run by FedInt, and FSA HQ were just as helpless without them. Both sides were stuck, unable to work together, unable to work apart.

“So why was he talking to Pyeongwha terrorists?” Sandy asked.

Shin made a faint gesture of his head, perhaps a shrug. “Why was he talking to a Talee representative?” Pointedly. “I'm advised you have access.”

Ah. Now they came to it: Shin's real reason for being here. “He's our guest,” she said, taking another sip of water. “He doesn't want to talk to you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you're supposed to do what we say.” Her eyes flashed with barely controlled intensity. “And he talks to who's in charge.”

Shin looked thoughtful. Careful, as always. And not rising to her bait. “If I cannot conduct my own interviews, I'll need access to yours. Transcripts.”

“We'll consider it.”

Raised eyebrows. “You'll
consider
it?”

Sandy nodded. The air between them might have crackled. Sandy fixed her eyes on his, knowing this was her advantage to exploit. She barely flinched at explosions—eye contact was nothing.

“Captain Reichardt says Cresta was not as undefended as early analysis suggested,” Sandy added. “Our Fleet has sources on League Fleet no one else does.”

“I'm aware.” Drily.

“He says League reinforced Cresta's orbital defences a year ago. They were well guarded from random attack, despite the tricky lunar dynamics of those approaches. He says that a standard V-strike trajectory would typically have only a five percent chance of success against those defences.”

Shin's brow furrowed again. “He thinks it was an inside job?”

“He thinks PRIDE did it,” Sandy replied. “But he thinks someone on the inside gave them precise information on Cresta's defences.”

Sandy's IR vision detected no real acceleration in Shin's pulse. He was very cool, she gave him that.

“Interesting,” said Shin. “May I have access to
that
analysis?”

Sandy smiled, wryly calm. “You can talk to Captain Reichardt whenever you like.”

“Good,” said Shin. “I shall. I see Special Agency is now commissioning GIs. Another intake expansion, it seems.”

“That's right.”

“And Ms Togales is now FSA spokesperson.”

“Uh-huh.” With a hint of defiance.

“And for how long will this expansion of FSA HQ capabilities continue?”

“We're not sure yet,” said Sandy. “We have quite a lot of capabilities now, with all these new GIs in town.”

“Yes,” Shin agreed. “Yes, you do. And the appearance of a power imbalance does not concern you?”

“Not yet,” said Sandy. “But if you think too many GIs in the one institution makes for an imbalance, perhaps you could try recruiting some yourself?”

Shin did not look impressed at the suggestion.

“
Try not to alarm him beyond a certain level
,” Ibrahim told her after the morning's combat drills, as she showered in the women's open stalls. “
I approve of the warnings, FedInt need to know where we stand, and strong disagreements are less dangerous than meek misunderstandings. But let's not overdo it
.”

“
Did I overdo it here?
” Sandy asked, head under the water jets as she formulated silently, other women talking in neighbouring stalls.

“
No
,” Ibrahim admitted. “
But I sense the potential, given that your children are involved. And his child
.”

“
I think he exaggerated that as an excuse to come at me hard before asking his real questions about Cai
.”

“
Exactly
,” said Ibrahim. “
You moved automatically to a defensive position regarding your children, as every good parent does. Thus my concern
.”

“
I understand
.” Another GI paused at her stall but guessed she was uplinked and refrained from whatever she'd been going to ask. “
He thinks FSA HQ are loading ourselves up with new GIs to build up our military capabilities for whatever shape the Federation looks like after Ranaprasana's committee work is finished
.”

“
And he'd be right
,” said Ibrahim. Lucky there was no chance anyone was hacked into this call, Sandy thought.

“
He thinks we're in danger of becoming the new autocratic power
.”

“
It is a danger. If I were removed, or you were. But the situation has left us little choice, and that's Chief Shin's fault as much as ours
.”

It was still unclear just how much of a role FedInt had played in Operation Shield, but it was unthinkable they hadn't been heavily involved. Shin being Shin, he'd covered his tracks very neatly, and word was the ongoing investigations from FSA, CSA, or Ranaprasana himself weren't finding anything conclusive. Shin, and much of the Federation-wide intelligence network he ran, didn't want to be run by a central organisation on Callay dominated by former-League combat GIs, and run by a Director who didn't worship at the altar of established doctrine. And Shin believed, no doubt, that Ibrahim
would pursue Sandy's own interest in GI-emancipation, perhaps simply to gain more manpower.

Federation had fought a war to protect the human race from unconstrained synthetic biology. Sandy had tried explaining to various people away from Callay, where attitudes changed more slowly, that GIs in the FSA did not signal that the League had actually won the war. On the contrary, no one was more concerned about how synthetic technology had been misused in the League, than GIs who had defected out of disgust at their personal experiences. And now, League was paying for its misuse of the technology in the most frightening way imaginable.

But what if GI production stopped completely? Certainly it remained illegal in the Federation and would remain so for indefinite years to come. A certain percentage of those GIs commissioned in the League would continue to trickle into the Federation, and that would keep the numbers here rising, though manageable. To date, Federation GIs were limited exclusively to Callay, though it was theoretically legal for them to move elsewhere—they simply chose not to for fear of less-adjusted attitudes elsewhere in the Federation. Amongst these Federation GIs, a sense of community was growing, a sense of “us.” It was not at all chauvinistic, and Sandy was determined it would not become so, but certainly not all were happy at the prospect of an indefinite ban on making GIs.

Did any GI want to see the “species,” such as they were, die out completely? They dodged the issue neatly in the Federation, condemning League for mistreating GIs but relying on them too for new members of the community. What if she and the others were growing old, many years from now, with all League production shut down, and no young GIs anywhere? Could she sit still and let her people fade into oblivion? Even if it was, by some metrics, the best outcome for the human race as a whole?

Captain Reichardt appeared and leaned on the tiled wall alongside her stall. Sandy raised an eyebrow at him and continued to rinse her hair. He wore full uniform as always—FOG, they called it, for Fleet-On-the-Ground. FOG protocol said that among high-ranking non-Fleet, he was required to identify himself at all times. In strategic terms, a warship overhead changed everything.

“Hi, Arron,” said Sandy through the steam of many showers. “Wanna come in?”

“Hi,” he said. “No thank you.” And produced a memory stick in a plastic cover. Placed it on top of the soap dispenser; no doubt it was waterproof. He indicated to it, then used his hand to mime conversation. Indicated himself, then mimed his throat being cut. Sandy nodded. Not a word, then. And the showers were smart, especially the female showers, sensitivities being what they were toward visual monitors here. But audio was always possible. “Just came to say thanks for the Scarlotti. It was fantastic.”

Sandy smiled, dunking her face in the water stream. “Sure. They're the best secret in the Goyal Valley. They don't have too many vines so they don't want to mass produce. But I haven't found a better red for that price on Callay.”

“Ndaja and a few of the grunts are down that way touring,” said Reichardt. “I'll tell them to check it out.” Sandy couldn't quite imagine Lieutenant Ndaja of the
Mekong
's marine complement touring wineries on her shore leave . . . but then, she of all people should know better than to prejudge. “And I'll wire them a procurement order from Fleet allowances to bring back an extra box or two.”

“Ah, officer surplus wine supplies,” Sandy reminisced. “I made good use of it, League-side. I was the black market's top customer.” Whatever his innocent intentions, Reichardt's gaze was straying. She turned. “Do my back?”

He grinned. “No . . . no, I think I'll um . . .” He jerked a thumb back toward the exit. “I'll just go.”

“If you must,” she sighed and resumed washing herself. Reichardt turned and made way for Amirah, wearing that friendly grin as she passed and nothing else.

“Hi, Captain,” she said, padding to her locker as she towelled her hair. Just because she was lately on an administrative track didn't mean she neglected her combat exercises.

“Dear Lord,” said Reichardt as he walked to the exit, speaking loudly enough for most nearby to hear. “Thank you for female GIs.”

A 42 series named Lata paused at Sandy's stall, observing Reichardt's departure with disapproval. “You let him go,” she observed. “Why?”

“Steady girlfriend,” Sandy explained.

“Straights!” Lata exclaimed, walking on with an exasperated shrug.

When she got home, the kids had already made and eaten dinner and were
now doing homework together at the kitchen table—all under Danya's supervision. Other parents sometimes asked her what they could do to induce similar behaviour from their kids. Send them to Droze for five years to be terrified and starved, she'd replied. If they survive, they'll come back so mutually dependent and desperate for normalcy that even cooking and homework would seem a joy.

“Wow, guys,” she said as she ate her fish with vegetables on the table amidst their homework. “This is delicious.”

“Svetlana made it,” said Danya, looking up from his physics problems. His hair was a mess after swimming at the Canas School pool, his arms bare and tanned. He'd grown ten centimeters since he'd come to Callay, and though he'd never be more than average sized, he would still be taller than her in another year or two. In four or five years, she'd probably barely make his shoulder. It still amazed her, teenagers and their growth spurts. Teenagers and everything, in fact. Her lack of familiarity made even the things most parents complained about seem interesting.

“Nice job, Svet.”

“It was Danya's recipe,” Svetlana said with a shrug, stylus paused between math sums. “He bought everything on his run this morning, I just followed the recipe.”

“I made the sauce!” Kiril insisted. He was halfway through a page of meticulous handwriting, which Tanushan schools still insisted on. People like Ari thought it a stupid anachronism, of course. “The sauce is the best bit!”

“It is the best bit, Kiril,” said Sandy. “You're right.” His brother and sister smiled and did not protest. “I hear you guys talked to Shin Yu the other day.”

“You mean Yu Shin,” said Kiril.

“She's Chinese, Kiri,” said Svetlana. “Surname comes first.” Suddenly concentrating very hard on her tablet.

“Who told you?” asked Danya. Carefully.

“Her dad.” She looked at him, waiting for the explanation she was not sure would come.

“Are you angry?”

“I don't know yet,” said Sandy with mild amusement. “Should I be?”

Danya looked a little relieved that she was at least not
immediately
angry.
Not that her anger with them was ever real, just occasionally projected for effect. “Kids sometimes say more than adults,” he explained. “I wanted to see if she let anything slip, about her dad and FedInt.”

Sandy bit another mouthful. “And?”

“Not really. She doesn't talk much.”

“She's a really good student,” Svetlana piped up. “She's top of her classes in nearly everything. And she keeps to herself and has almost no friends.”

“Thing is,” said Sandy, “her dad says she felt threatened.” Undeterred by Svetlana's attempts at distraction. “And tried to get me to reprimand you.”

“She's lying!” Svetlana protested.

“We didn't threaten her,” said Danya very seriously. “Not even close.”

“I know,” Sandy said mildly. “I told her dad I didn't believe you would. And I think he was probably exaggerating, just so he had some leverage on me.”

“He's an asshole,” Svetlana complained. “It's no wonder she looks unhappy all the time, with a father like that.”