Killswitch: A Cassandra Kresnov Novel (v1.1) Read online

  "Ms. President, I've never heard you use such bad language so frequently."

  "Oh, stick it up your arse."

  The splendour of the Grand Congressional Hearings Chamber had not yet entirely worn off for Sandy. She sat in her usual place at the central bench, surveying the now-familiar line of faces that looked down on her from the two rows of grand benches opposite-the Union and Progress Party congressors. To her right, also as usual, sat Mahudmita Rafasan, in a typically elegant sari, scanning through various notes on her comp-slate at rapid speed. Audience members in their hundreds shuffled and murmured at the back of the chamber, the collective sound echoing off the chamber's high, arching dome. Chandeliers gleamed within that vast mosque-style space and the dome's tiled patterns and midlevel arches were marvellous to behold.

  Chairman Khaled Hassan rang the little bell on the desk before him, and announced the proceedings open. Barely had he finished when Congressor Augustino, from the Union side of the benches, launched into action.

  "Commander Kresnov, I believe your weapon is in contravention of the standing orders of this Chamber-section 142, I believe-stating that no weapons shall be allowed into the Chamber that are not in the possession of authorised security agents."

  Sandy leaned slightly forward to her desktop microphone, to make sure her voice carried upon the speakers throughout the Chamber. "I'm second-in-command of the Callayan Defence Force, Mr. Augustino. How much more authorised would you like me to get?"

  There was a murmur of laughter through the audience behind, and noticeable smiles upon the faces of various Congressors. Sandy's assault rifle, of course, lay upon the desk to her left hand-precisely where it belonged, in Sandy's estimation. But Augustino, she knew, wasn't the slightest bit interested in the Chamber's standing orders. He had bigger fish to fry. Sandy-sized fish.

  "Mr. Chairman," said the conservative Congressor, "I'd like to register my complaint at this latest breach from the Commander. In her various appearances within this Chamber she has never failed to treat the Chamber standing orders with anything less than contempt. I think we can see another clear instance of this attitude here today."

  Khaled Hassan looked concerned, stroking his long white beard. And gave Sandy a patient look, inviting her to respond. Sandy smiled at him. She liked Hassan. Among politicians, it was a luxury she did not often allow herself to indulge in.

  "Mr. Chairman, I'm a busy girl, I have a lot of official functions I'm trying to perform simultaneously. Foremost among them, I'm trying to get this novel experiment we call the Callayan Defence Force off the ground, in the face of some fairly stiff opposition from obvious sources. I also occasionally get out on official security duties, such as today, when I noticed the President's arrival time would be approximately that of my own, and in light of some recent security alerts I decided to provide the usual CDF escort personally. Thus the weapon, as I am here in dual capacities. Don't worry, the safety is on, and I am fairly well practised in its use."

  That got another laugh from behind. Typically, when confronted by politicians in such a setting making clearly inflammatory, opportunistic attacks before the global media, a person would be advised to remain calm, straight-faced and professional-and so allow the attacker's unprofessionalism to backfire, in the eyes of those watching. Various political advisors and publicists, however, had decided that where she was concerned, too much professionalism was a bad thing.

  They'd done polling, apparently. And had concluded that what scared people most about her, as a combat GI, was the image of a deadpan, unemotional, human-shaped killing machine. Smile, they'd told her. Be off-the-cuff. Keep it light, where ever possible. Oh, and try to do that while still reassuring the population that you're perfectly well qualified to hold your present position. The two requests couldn't have been more contradictory-she couldn't be cheerful and caring while demonstrating her proficiency at managing the planet's most lethal combat force. But, as in all impossible political situations, she tried ... because of course, there was no other choice.

  "Before we move on to procedural matters regarding the CDF, Commander," began Congressor Selvadurai, another Union Party rep, "I'd like to get your response to the recent violent incidents between members of the Federation Fleet and the Tanushan public. Do you think that your inflammatory remarks regarding the nature of the Fleet presence about Callay at this moment have anything to do with the bad blood that evidently exists here?"

  Sandy gazed at the Union rep, calm and unblinking. "Which inflammatory remarks would they be, Congressor Selvadurai?"

  "You remarked that the Fleet presence about Callay was in fact a de facto blockade intending to intimidate Callay and other Federation worlds into granting concessions to Fleet hardliners."

  "I did say that it was a de facto blockade," Sandy replied, "and in doing so, I was merely echoing remarks made by many others in this building and beyond, including my own President. If you check my exact words, you'll find that I did not speculate as to the intent of the blockade. That is not my place."

  "But it is your place to provoke hostile feeling toward the Fleet within sections of the Callayan population by mischaracterising its actions in this manner?"

  At Sandy's elbow, Mahudmita Rafasan gave a snort of exasperation. Sandy spoke before things got ugly.

  "Look, Congressor, we have a situation in orbit right now, I'm sure we're all only too well aware of that. It is not my intention here today, nor at any other time, to make statements that may inflame the situation, or make things worse. But clearly the presence of leading ele ments of the Fifth Fleet at our various orbital facilities is unhelpful at best, and provocative at worst. The Fifth's actions are not sanctioned by Federation law, nor by Fleet operating procedure under any circumstances that I am aware of. . . "

  "Fleet Admiral Duong of the Fifth has stated many times, Commander," interrupted Congressor Selvadurai, "that the present state of political flux on Callay places us in a precarious situation vis-a-vis our security. The leaders of approximately a quarter of the entire Federation are presently here, negotiating with our own President Neiland plus Earth's senior representative in Secretary General Benale, to hammer out the new rules and workings of the Federation Grand Council now that it is just a year from being relocated permanently to our planet. We have indigenous and off-world extremist and other groups all focusing upon this world as the centre of their concerns. Our local security is improved but remains imperfect at best, and the degree of weaponry and sophisticated network technology available to these various sources of instability is truly alarming. Would you not say, Commander, that under these circumstances, Fleet Admiral Duong is perfectly correct to state that Callay's security is in question, and in need of assistance?"

  "Congressor, as second-in-command of the CDF, I've stated many times that we'll take all the genuine help we can get. We've had many offers of assistance from friendly worlds who supported us in the referendum, who are staunch supporters of the relocation, and we truly welcome their contributions. We are strengthening our various security operations on the ground, Parliament and other dedicated security groups are vastly advanced on where they were two years ago, and the CDF gives us the extra punch we may need if faced with heavier weaponry than the police, the Callayan Security Agency or aligned security have the capability to handle. What we are not at risk from is an assault with warships from orbit. Or if we are, then I would suggest that (a) the Fleet should inform us immediately so we can make prepa rations, and (b) that they'd be an awful lot more effective defending us against that assault if they were to position themselves somewhere mid-system as is customary when defending against inbound attackers. They certainly won't do any good snuggled up to our space stations with their noses clamped in dock."

  "Commander," cut in Congressor Augustino, "we are at serious risk of being flooded by waves of militants, terrorists, foreign agents and sophisticated weaponry from around the Federation and beyond ..." That's right, Sandy thought, never miss a chance to ra
ise the spectre of the League. "... and you don't think it's a good idea for our overworked station staff and customs to receive some help filtering all this inbound traffic?"

  Sandy restrained an exasperated smile. "Sir, the Fleet are soldiers. Damn good ones, but soldiers nonetheless. They blow stuff up. Or they hold onto facilities to stop other people from blowing stuff up. They're not customs officers, they're not criminal investigators, they don't have access to files on wanted persons, have limited experience in countersmuggling, and wouldn't know what the hell to do with any of this information if they received it. We have professionals up there in orbit right now, doing the jobs for which they are specifically equipped and trained, to the best of their considerable abilities.

  "The one thing Callay is not yet particularly good at is security and the application of military or paramilitary force, although we are improving fast. The one thing we are remarkably good at is commerce. The customs requirements you are speaking of are a matter of bureaucratic commerce, Congressors-there have been plenty of restrictions on certain items of trade for a long time now, both for security, and commercial and legislative reasons. The commercial system has gotten pretty good at it, and now that the circumstances have changed to expand the number of prohibited items and persons, they've adapted marvellously. It's a job for civilian workers in overalls or suits and ties. It's not, and I'll stress this, not a job for grunts with guns in armour. I've been a grunt myself, and by many measurements I still am. I recall that nothing irritated me more than being called upon to perform civilian tasks for which I and my people were neither equipped nor trained. Not only did I consider that unfair on us, I considered it unfair on the people we were attempting to serve.

  "We didn't ask for Fleet help, and we don't need it. In fact, I'm having great difficulty getting a straight answer on exactly who did order the Fleet out here. And even more difficulty getting an answer on why there are also elements of the Third Fleet here as well, in the temporary command of Captain Reichardt of the warship Mekong, who are not participating in the activities of the Fifth, nor appear to be answerable to their leader in Admiral Duong. It's obvious to all of us that the Fleet are not united on the question of the relocation. From my perspective in the CDF, such divisions only make the local security environment more precarious, not less. I personally would much prefer that they held their private disagreements well away from Callay, and let us all get on with our jobs."

  At Sandy's side, Mahudmita Rafasan gave her a slightly bewildered, worried look. The look she'd given on various occasions before, when the newly appointed CDF Commander had overstepped the official line, and said things that weren't polite. Well, screw it, she thought to herself, it was only one small faction that would be annoyed at her voicing such sentiments, anyhow. They happened to include the President ... so that was a problem. But not rocking the boat was a part of any Presidential job description. There were many others, whom the President was presently resisting, who thought she should throw the book at Admiral Duong and his hardline captains. Federation law was on their side after all, whatever the increasingly isolated, alienated Earth majority thought about it ...

  "Commander Kresnov," Congressor Augustino said angrily. "The great and honourable Federation Fleet is far too great an institution to be so easily divided, as you and various media scaremongers have been suggesting! It is only thanks to the heroic sacrifices made by the men and women of the Fleet that the war against the League was won, and all humanity saved from rampant techno-liberalism and political fragmentation and disintegration! I for one do not think that it is either right or fitting for a public figure in a position such as your own to be belittling that achievement, nor the honour and unity of the Fleet today!"

  The only problem, Sandy continued her previous line of thought, was that the most outspokenly conservative wing of Callayan politics were all within the President's own Union Party, like Augustino and Selvadurai. They were loud because they could afford to be. Praising the Fleet's heroism was, she recalled Vanessa recently remarking, something of a motherhood statement-you praised it, and everyone nodded and applauded, and opponents could not possibly raise voices in protest because what politician could be against motherhood, and expect to win an election? The Fleet had until very recently been a sacred cow in Callayan politics. And she barely managed to restrain a smile at the memory of what her favourite media personality, Rami Rahim, had remarked just the other night on that subject-no longer a sacred cow, the Fleet was now more of a sacred goat. A mangy one with a limp, fleas and a bad case of flatulence. Any more incidents, and it might not be more than a sacred rat. Or one of those small winged insects that tried to bite beneath your collar at outdoor parties every summer ...

  "Congressors," she said, in the calm and unhurried manner she assumed in the presence of people she didn't respect, "since this part of my brief is to keep you all informed as to the ongoing security situation regarding the CDF, I think this could be a good time to overstep my bounds a little and relate to you the most recent news of all from orbit. Apparently the warship Mekong, commanded by Captain Reichardt of the Third Fleet, has been sabotaged."

  There was a deathly silence from the benches. Busy politicians simply weren't in the loop for that kind of information ... doubtless this was the first they'd heard. From the audience seats behind the ornately carved partition, there came a shifting and murmuring. Particularly from that part of the seating reserved for media.

  "It happened at dock," Sandy continued, "and was only reported to me half an hour ago. I have never been shipcrew, ships to me were just a means of transport when I was a grunt, so I don't claim to be an expert on the matter, but from what I do know, such sabotage had to be carried out by someone with considerable expertise."

  "This was targeted sabotage?" asked Congressor Zhou, leaning forward on her bench with an expression of great concern. One of the Union Party right wing, and thus a staunch ally of Neiland's. Sandy nodded. "Targeted to do what?"

  "To disable the engines, possibly to force Mekong to conduct an extensive overhaul. It could have taken them out of action for weeks ... although thankfully the problem was detected in the last systems check by Mekong's engineers, preventing serious damage. Given the security of any warship at dock, during times of war or peace, it seems unlikely that the person responsible could have been anyone other than a member of the Fleet ... particularly when you account for the expertise involved.

  "My Job in the CDF is to maintain Callay's security. This task will become exceedingly difficult if we have warring Fleet factions docked to our stations in a state of political stand-off, without any clear idea of lines of command. I am particularly concerned about this, considering the present disorganisation in the Grand Council. There appears to be no effective civilian oversight at present to direct the Fleet in its actions. Fleet HQ is running the show entirely on its own, except that Fleet HQ appears to be divided.

  "Furthermore, since the Grand Council began downsizing the Fleet following the conclusion of the war three years ago, we've seen clear evidence of a kind of political stacking going on within certain parts of the Fleet structure-particularly within the Fifth Fleet. As ships from other units have been mothballed, their crews are broken up and the most hardline, pro-Earth officers have been moved into the Fifth, filling gaps left by the departure of long-serving officers from other parts of the Federation who finally had a chance to go home. The Fleet has been warned of this development many times in the past, as has the Grand Council, but no action has been taken. And now we have Fifth Fleet marines on leave in Tanusha who seem more interested in picking fights with the local populace than they do with relaxing and having fun, as crews usually do during downtime.

  "Ladies and gentlemen ... I'm CDF. I have big guns and professional soldiers at my disposal. I can't deal with civil disturbances. I can't stop them blowing up into bigger political issues that inflame passions on all sides and only make the present state of negotiations far more precarious. Thes
e are political issues. Your issues. I can only sit here before you today, and ask that you recognise the increasing threat to Callayan security that these factors, in combination, create today."

  Ten minutes later, in response to an invitation, Sandy entered the waiting room to Senator Lautrec's office. A man seated upon one of the stylish leather chairs, to the left of the Senator's doors, caught her immediate attention. The man smiled as he saw her, and rose cordially to his feet, a hand extended in welcome, perfect white teeth flashing within a handsome African face.

  "Commander." His tone was deep, cultured, and very self-assured. Sandy stepped across and took the offered hand, eyeing Major Mustafa Ramoja up and down, warily. He looked good in his civvie suit. Although she'd often thought that attractive African men and women would look good in anything. No other race seemed to have that luxury. Not that Ramoja, a GI like herself, belonged to an actual race any more than she was the genuine, pale European she appeared to be. "Nice speech. How long until Krishnaswali chews your ear off for that one?"

  "As soon as I step in his door," Sandy replied, still warily. "They let you out of your cage. Why?"

  Ramoja only smiled, well used to her casual provocations. "The Vice-Ambassador is inside. Senior Embassy staff are allowed to have GIs as bodyguards now. I appointed myself, naturally."

  "Naturally. I'm sure all your friends in the CSA were real thrilled to hear that." Ramoja's smile grew broader, and he nodded across the room. Sandy looked, and saw a man and a woman reading from compslates, trying to look inconspicuous. Groomed and clipped with athletic poise, and uplinked into some seriously encrypted network feeds, Sandy's uplinks informed her, they weren't about to fool anyone.

  "I call them Number One, and Number Two," Ramoja said smugly. "They vary, of course. Don't worry, I shan't hurt them. They're very well behaved." The two CSA agents could easily overhear, but remained expressionless.