Breakaway: A Cassandra Kresnov Novel (v1.1) (40 page)

It got them going again, with a few remaining nervous sideways glances. Someone was helping the man she'd kicked back to his feet, helping him get his breath back.

"Leaping on a GI barehanded, Senior Constable," Sandy called, you itching for a promotion or just looking to get your name in the paper?" Dialling up her connection, waiting for the security net to confirm it.

"How 'bout a raise?" someone quipped.

"He okay?" Sandy pressed.

Ari acknowledging hand raised from the man himself, bent over and recovering, a hand to his middle.

"I'm okay."

"Next time try using a cannon," she advised. He spared her a wary sideways look. She returned a crooked smile. And was nearly surprised at the return smile, slight as it was. But not greatly surprised. She'd commanded forces most of her life. GIs were different from straights, but some things remained in common. Like compliments only carrying as much weight as the person who delivered them. From her to these guys ... she'd just made the Senior Constable a hero. All power, she recalled, came from the barrel of a gun-or something like thatsurely it applied to violence generally ... Now who'd said that? Someone she'd read, she couldn't remember. Violent species. But that wasn't her fault, she was what she was. The trick was applying it prop erly. Irrational macho impulses sure didn't help.

Her call connected. It would flash as an insignificant suggestion light somewhere on Vanessa's visor display, nothing distracting. Vanessa would get to it when she felt ready. Sandy was somewhat surprised when the link clicked active almost immediately.

"Hey, babe." Vanessa's voice, hard-edged but cool. "Was wondering how long you'd take. "

"Ricey, what's happened?"

"Three point insertion, points four and five to cover the lower bridgeway. Got five of the original eight almost immediately but couldn't find the last three, they were inside somewhere ... " Pause for a hard breath, talking at a calm, steady volume, ". . . bloody architecture, there's no human way to cover all the routes. They're in a lower crossover between Ceta five-nine-A and nine-nineC ..." Flash of three-dimensional graphic on the OSA, a red-light spot near the base of the second central atrium. "... and they've got a kid for a hostage. "

"You're Joking."

"I wish. It happened in the morning, I think someone'd brought him to work first before school. Six years old. You want active?"

"Yes, please." An associated link opened up. She accessed and data rushed in, full realtime schematic, comp-sim of all available data from all active units inside the building and out, shot back to HQ then out again. You couldn't trust all of it, some was guesswork, but once you knew the software parameters, you could figure which guesses were more accurate than others.

Vanessa and all SWAT Four had them surrounded, spread on several levels in typical crossfire pattern. Unable to fire because of the kid. Stand-off. Someone was trying to bring in a negotiator but there didn't seem much to negotiate. Negotiations, from what she'd seen of case files, were fraught with difficulties ... fine for distraught, suicidal civvies and isolated lunatics whose lives had taken a turn for the worse-if they weren't susceptible to persuasion, they usually wouldn't have gone nuts in the first place. These guys didn't seem particularly persuadable. And having just seen five of their comrades killed, they weren't likely to buy any line about how "we don't want anyone to get hurt."

And they'd killed a hostage, she noted. Point-blank shot to the head, and dumped the body, when they figured they were being stalled. That'd been the trigger for Secretary Grey to order the assault. Even so, motivation remained an elusive variable ...

"Sandy, hold on a second, I've got to check on something ..." And the connection blanked out, temporary hold. Crouched in her armour somewhere in that building, Vanessa no doubt had many other things to think about. Sandy pulled the headset speaker from her mouth, and gestured to the lieutenant ... the Commander was busy again, talking on another connection, possibly about her, she didn't care. The lieutenant approached, a little gingerly. Probably he reckoned she was picking on him.

"What's Human Salvation Jihad and what have they asked for?" He took a deep, nervous breath ... not a bad-looking guy, she considered vaguely. European, square-jawed and hunky. Seated up on her console, she could just about look him in the eye.

"Um, well they're Islamic extremists ..."

"Yeah, I got that." Dryly.

He swallowed again. "The Muslim League's denounced them, of course. Says they're an affront to all Muslims and pretty much urged us to kill 'em all ..."

"That's pretty much how I'm thinking." She'd read reports suggesting that martyrdom needed a critical mass of popular support in order to flourish in Islamic society. It didn't get that in Tanusha, where the concept of religious war was very passe. What they had here was another nostalgic lunatic fringe cult harking back to days long gone. She reckoned most Tanushans, and Muslims in particular to judge from those she'd met, would want to keep it that way-in the past. The first step to doing so was to make this kind of murderous lunacy non-survivable. She got the impression most Tanushans were still somewhat ignorant of just how good their top law enforcement was (meaning SWAT) at the application of lethal force ... prior to recent times the SIB had gotten all the press, all legalistic and "civilised," doubtless some fools in the present mess thought they'd get a prison cell and a media platform from which to continue their "grand movement." The fact that crazy civvies with rifles were just target practice for Tanushan SWAT was not yet widely appreciated. The sooner they got the message, the better. Martyrdom as a possible outcome could be romantic. As a one hundred per cent guaranteed death sentence, it became less so. Tanushans enjoyed life too much to volunteer for an execution, whatever their political beliefs. And ninety-nine-point-nine per cent of Tanushans, and Tanushan Muslims in particular, would have precisely zero sympathy for people who murdered innocents and threatened small children in the name of their enlightened, merciful religion. "What do they want?"

"So far they've demanded that Callay stay within the Federation, that President Neiland renounce all possible moves toward liberalising the biotech regime, that you yourself be put on trial for crimes against humanity, the standard ultra-Federation stance."

Her uplink showed her a fast scrawl of personal detail ... several confirmed names, a couple of university degrees, some odd jobs, a few faces ... nothing remarkable, just ordinary Tanushans. Four men and four women, which she wouldn't have expected from extreme Islamic conservatives-maybe they hadn't read up on the full program in their history books. Running conversation on the audio ... Bird Two has no visual on Ceta five-nine ... Hector Three, can you get a laser track on Ceta- five-nine windows? ... Hector One has field of fire across Ceta, good visual, no obstructions ... SWAT Four, further confirm, frequency secure, access AZ three nineteen ... This is SWAT Four, confirm frequency clearance ...

That last was Hiraki, Vanessa's second. He listened to more of the chatter than Vanessa did, filtered for her ... click, and the headphones came back to life.

"Hey, Sandy, I just changed position here, I got a nice view across the atrium from level three ... Let's see, I can't gas 'cause they've got masks, can't neuralise 'cause the walls are resistant, can't charge 'cause of the kid ... I reckon a basic sneak-and-shoot would solve it, but I'm figuring a thirty per cent chance the kid will get hit in the process. He deserves better odds if we can get 'em for him. I'll take any advice you've got right now. "

"They said anything lately?"

"Uh ... `Death to fascist unbelievers,' I think was the last one."

"So you can't see any happy reconciliation happening here?"

"Sandy, if they were scared of dying, they'd be screaming for mercy about now, it got real graphic on the top floor. It's not like they don't realise the consequences. Wu from Intel tells me he thinks they're drugged up, judging from the voice patterns. " She remembered Wu, another bookish type, specialist in psycho-interface and mind-altering effects. She'd been impressed by him. "Why you asking, you think you wanner talk to them personally?"

"No. Can't let them know it's hopeless, they might just kill themselves and the kid too." Down the van's length, faces were turned her way. The Commander among them, watching intently. Listening on Vanessa's channel. "I've got a solution. I can't guarantee it. If you want to wait and look for something softer, that's fine, you're in charge, it's your call. But if they want to be martyrs and they've been tapepsyching themselves, they might not value that hostage very much at all. What's your call?"

The power was down in the building, but it didn't trouble her vision any. Up several flights of the near stairwell, then along the level three corridor, newly acquired boots squeaking on the shiny floor. The boots weren't all that she'd newly acquired. Light armour encased her torso, basic arm and leg guards, power-neutral, for protection only. A bare helmet, no faceguard. She needed neither the breather nor the visor, just the armscomp interface and the single external sight before her left eye. A gloved hand gripped a Sanda 40 light assault weapon-an electro-mag shooter, on full V it could put holes in armourplate. She'd used bigger. For now, against unarmoured civilians, it felt like overkill. The whole situation was overkill. All the commotion, the hovering aircraft and crowds of official onlookers. For a handful of brain-tranqued civvies with self-inflicted delusions of Godly virtue.

She wasn't sure at all about this whole God business. But she reckoned she knew enough to make a few basic judgments. God was no politician. God took no sides, and played no favourites. God stopped no bullets. If God worried over his flock, it was because his flock's behaviour gave him good reason to. She wondered how he'd explain it all to these three fools, when they met him in several minutes' time.

Bloody waste. She didn't feel good at all. Her stomach was tense, and hurt to the point of cramping. The tension gripped all over. But it was more than the injury. She was scared. And revolted. Imagining such lives, in happy Tanusha, and all the other things one could have chosen to do with them. Family, friends, arts, travel, adventure. Instead of religiously inspired murder and a violent death. And if Allah was up there, waiting for them ... man, was he going to be pissed. She remembered, with the fleeting dance of a stress-filled mind, a recent case in Tanushan courts where a major theological movement had sued a bunch of radical extremists for tarnishing God's reputation ... But God, for better or worse, was no lawyer either. She couldn't remember who'd won.

She followed the tac-grid layout of the building, accurate to the nearest millimetre, past open doors and planned office space. Cups of tea and personal gear left lying on desktops where they had been left when the chaos broke out and emergency evacuation had sent everyone racing for the exits. She met Vanessa at the corridor end that looked out over the atrium. She knew it was Vanessa because she recognised the armour suit, supple-flexed ceramic over corded myomer. Crouched by the corner with a rifle to her shoulder that looked big enough to bring down small aircraft. The smaller anti-personnel gun fixed to the back of her shoulder ... she'd thought ahead to the heavy stuff. Probably she'd seen this coming.

She peered over Vanessa's shoulder. Open atrium, a hole that descended through all floors from the skylight high above. An aircar passed over, running lights out, a dark shadow against the invisible stars. A static crackle on her inner ear, not the headset ... she accessed, private frequency, away from prying ears.

"What's the plan, hotshot?" Her and Vanessa's secret encryption, her own League issue. In all her memory, she couldn't recall having shared it with anyone outside Dark Star before. "Something cunning and subtle, no doubt?"

"No," she sighed. Leaned her back against the wall and squatted. Rested there for a moment, gazing sightlessly at the opposite wall. "Not even particularly clever. Definitely not subtle. "

"Then why haven't I thought of it?"

"If you possessed my capabilities, you would have. Good commanders only think within their capabilities. "

Silence from Vanessa. To Sandy's side, the armoured firing posture never altered. The faceless armoured visor glared emotionlessly down the extended muzzle of the rifle.

"What's the problem then?" Vanessa missed little. Even on active ops.

"I don't want to do this. " Helplessly. The Sanda braced effortlessly across her knees. Rested the helmet against the wall. It felt strange. She had more hair now, and it sat differently than she remembered.

"Why not? You seriously thought you could serve here with the CSA and SWAT without having to take lives again at some point?"

It was a less comforting response than she'd hoped for. But then, it was stupid to have wanted comforting. She never had before. What was wrong with her? She snorted distastefully and moved to regather herself. Vanessa grabbed her arm, a hard, cool, armoured grip. Dan gerous with any unarmoured person but her.

"Sorry. Didn't mean that. I just saw the guy they shot up there, I'm not feeling real remorseful right now. "

"Me neither. Not like that. It just feels like ... murder."

"You'll feel worse if they kill the kid while we delay. You're that sure it's going to work?" Sandy sighed, and pulled herself painfully to her feet.

"It's me, Ricey. They're already dead."

The three targets were in the level two corridor opposite the atrium. The corridor ran tangentially away from the curved atrium wall-typical geometrically inspired design by a bunch of architects who worked in terror of straight lines and right angles. It was a silly place to get trapped, considering the ballistic possibilities it offered ... one thin, curving wall between half the corridor's length and Vanessa's cannon. With just three people, they lacked the numbers to cover more than the one corridor, or break out with any covering fire. They were stuck, taking periodic potshots blind around the corners from either end.