Cassandra Kresnov 04: 23 Years on Fire (33 page)

“Asking them to surrender.”

“We can’t do that remotely?”

“The way these guys backward-hack transmissions? It’s too risky with the new construct still so young. They could find a loose code thread and unravel the whole thing. Besides, this is about psychological pressure. they’re already defying Ibrahim and Chandi simply by not coming to work. Directly evading arrest is another step up.”

They trotted up the steps to the temple, its huge trapezoid tower soaring overhead, replete with rows of carved statues and decoration. Then up to the main floor, which was open to anyone, like most Tanushan temples. A forest of square pillars, endless rows above a smooth marble floor. Ayako and MoB moved quickly on the diagonal, peering down each long avenue between pillars. Down the far end there were quite a few people, offering garlands and incense to the main statue. Here to one side was a shrine to Lakshmi, surrounded by offerings, and a small queue of worshipers. Tanushan temples were more democratic than old world temples, with their inner sanctums where only Hindus could venture. Old timers and recent immigrants complained of the missing authenticity, while long time Tanushans retorted that the success of Hinduism across the human galaxy was down to its flexibility.

Ayako was a Kresnov fan, and always had been. What she was being asked to do now did not make her happy. But she was also a professional, and knew that Kresnov would not respect her if she refused these orders. Plus, she’d always loved the adrenaline. Despite her serious doubts that any of the GIs would use force against their employers, the mere possibility had her heart thumping, eyes darting to every movement. Kresnov was not only deadly, she was smart. What was she thinking?

“
We’re sure she came in here?
” someone asked on tacnet. Ayako could see the other figures, marked on a temple layout. Ten in all, all CSA Investigations. Not much firepower against GIs, but like she’d said, if they’d all been SWAT in full armour, it wouldn’t have made much difference.

“
Keep your eyes open,
” she replied. The circle on tacnet was closing. “
We know Poole came in here, and he didn’t leave. Poole hardly ever goes anywhere away from his piano.
”

She passed another statue, trailing fingers upon the cool stone as she peered about a corner. Nothing down the next avenue between pillars, just some wandering locals, clearly not GIs. At the next corner were two more agents, she could see them on tacnet, so there wasn’t much space left in between. Would the GIs really be hiding? If so, it spoke of ambush. Were their intentions really peaceful? What if they were more desperate than anyone realised?

She leaned around the next corner to gesture to the two agents . . . and found a couple of old folks instead, arranging garlands and incense sticks. Ayako blinked. Tacnet showed two agents here, and ten in total, but what the hell was this . . . ?

“
Mark One!
” she announced, the agency code no one ever wanted to hear. “
Mark One, we have been compromised! Tacnet is compromised, reform in temple center for a headcount!
”

But she hadn’t seen any of the icons shift or disappear, she thought as she ran through the pillars to the central, open space. Here was a water feature in a square pool, the space surrounding filled with people relaxing, old folks retired on this workday, some parents with kids splashing in the pool. CSA Agents ran in . . . ten agents, but only five dots. Even now, as they watched, on tacnet the other five dots not gathered in the temple’s center disappeared. They stared at each other.

“How the fuck did they do that?” one exclaimed. “Did anyone see the shift?”

“We’re missing five markers,” MoB observed, “and we’re chasing five GIs. That’s just great.”

Ayako couldn’t restrain a smile. “That’s incredible. Has to be Kresnov. She’s amazing.”

“So let’s get after them!” another agent pressed. “Where did they go?”

“We’re not going to find them,” Ayako sighed. “I don’t know how she broke through tacnet barriers so quickly, but once she can do that, we can’t trust any of our systems. She could pretend to be anyone, tell us anything . . .”

She didn’t need to say more. This was why Ibrahim had rebooted the entire CSA and FSA constructs in the first place, because Kresnov and friends knew every code and could make fools of them. This shouldn’t have been possible. Ibrahim had been assured the new system was water tight, unseen by anyone save a few elite network techs. And even then, much of the code had been randomised, changing itself unpredictably until the moment of propagation. How the hell had she done it?

“If I were you,” said a female voice behind them, “I’d let her go.” They turned to look, and found an Indian woman in a business suit leaning against a nearby pillar.

“Who are you?” Ayako asked, snap-freezing an image of her face and sending it to network scans.

“Rashmi Chakraborty,” said the woman, a moment before the network replied to Ayako’s query, telling her just the same thing. “I’m the priestess here.”

“You’re a friend of hers?”

Rashmi smiled, and walked closer. “Let me tell you this,” she said, as though she were doing Ayako a favour. “Only fools and demons pick fights with Durgaji. You would be wise to be neither.”

“She’s not a Goddess,” MoB snorted. “She’s an artificial person, and a self important bitch.”

“Durgaji is described the same way by her enemies,” said Rashmi. “You may not see it, but I swear she is the avatar herself. Pray that you do not meet her darker face.”

Hindus and Buddhists had always had fewer problems with GIs than the monotheistic faiths, believing that eternal souls could change vessels and that the vessel’s composition was not especially important. The avatar, Rashmi said? A manifestation of Durga then, if not the real thing. Ayako could see how some Hindus might see that in Kresnov.

And her “darker face” would be Kali. Most frequently seen adorned with a necklace of skulls, blades dripping blood in each of her eight hands. Ayako could see how some might see that in Kresnov, too.

Ibrahim strode to the landing platform on the HQ rooftop in the darkening evening. “Reschedule my late appointments,” he told the aide following him. “And tell the technical staff that I want plans B and C before my eyes as soon as they have them.”

“Yes Director. Do you want me to call your wife and say you won’t be home?”

“No,” said Ibrahim as the cruiser appeared in the near sky, growing larger against the orange glow of sunset and the silhouettes of a hundred near and distant towers. “That I always do myself.”

President Singh demanded to see him. Normally the head of a Federal agency could refuse the Callayan president anything, but this time, as so many times of late, local Callayan security and Federal security were overlapping. With the CSA leading, the FSA were dragged into it whether they liked it or not, and after a day of stalling, President Singh had finally twisted Chandi’s arm hard enough to force Ibrahim’s compliance as well, if just to keep Chandi’s arm in its socket.

The cruiser landed and Ibrahim got in. Immediately it lifted, heading for the Callayan Parliament, some ten minutes flight time through heavy evening traffic. Lost in thought, he barely noticed the agent alongside, in the backseat, turn to look at him. He returned a glance . . . and was almost unsurprised to find Cassandra Kresnov barely an arm’s breadth away. Almost.

He nearly laughed. “Oh Cassandra,” he sighed. “How in the world, I almost don’t want to ask.”

“But you will anyway,” said Cassandra. “Because you’re you.”

“Where are the cruiser’s crew?”

“I imagine they’re fine. This isn’t your cruiser, it’s an identical one we picked up. You’ve been compromised, and nothing is safe. Not cruiser transponders, not identification codes, not basic communications. We gave your real cruiser a false message and placed a com bubble around them. They won’t realise all their incoming traffic is false for a while yet.”

Ibrahim tilted his head back to stare at the roof for a moment in exasperation. “The FSA’s systems are in that bad shape?”

“No,” said Cassandra, mildly. She was wearing a CSA agent’s suit with a pronounced female cut to it. She wore it well. “Your systems are actually quite good. Especially this new reboot, first class stuff. Unfortunately, I’m quite good at sequencing widely dispersed pattern encoding. I’ve been with you guys for a long time now.”

Ibrahim frowned. Network systems weren’t his specialty, but he knew enough. “There’s not enough pattern repetition in our systems for you to find any security variable in the new reboot. I was assured of it. The statistical likelihood against it was in the trillions.”

Cassandra pursed her lips. Nodded. “Thing with statistical predictions is they’re based on models, and your models are only as good as what you know. You guys don’t really know me that well.”

“You hacked in.” Her blue eyes just gazed at him. “In a few hours? That’s impossible.”

“Said the caveman to the simtech.” Something about her expression bothered him. Not alarming, just disconcerting. Utterly calm, yet faintly amused. Like a scientist studying a rat in a cage, wondering what it would do. “There’s a lot of things I haven’t been allowed to do, working for the CSA and FSA. I’m not feeling so restrained right now. In seven years a girl can accumulate a lot of experimental ideas. I’ve been working on coding routines of dubious legality for a while. Naidu’s seen a few of them.”

Ibrahim remembered. Naidu discussing with some incredulity the latest surveillance routines that Cassandra had introduced to CSA Investigations as a point of conversation, she insisted, nothing more. That conversation had become a full on controversy, ethics and lawyers all scratching their heads well into the night. Those routines had run stress patterns over vulnerable construct segments, measured results and compiled them in way that allowed a user to run what were effectively psychological profiles on the creator of any significantly large network software, like reading a novel to determine a psychological profile on the author, only far more accurate. Statistically, alarmingly accurate, it turned out.

Even Ariel Ruben had called it “crazy voodoo shit,” and found the implications a little scary, in the hands of security agencies. That particular routine still languished in the too hard basket. Cassandra had just shrugged, expressing unconcern either way. Ibrahim had found that concerning, that the ethical issues hadn’t seemed to alarm her, when she was usually so careful. Or perhaps, he thought now, she’d merely been testing them. She had that look now. The look of an interrogator, judging his every reaction.

Ibrahim looked to the driver’s seat. “Is that Han up there?”

Han waved without looking back. “Hello, Director. I hope this won’t count against me in my performance review.”

“Goodness, no, you’ve just kidnapped the FSA Director,” Ibrahim said with mild exasperation. “Why should that count against you?”

“We’ve done no such thing,” said Cassandra. “We’re just giving you a ride to the Parliament. When we get there, you’re free to carry on your business. I just wanted to talk, face to face.”

“Cassandra,” said Ibrahim with a frown, “you know very well that had you wished to arrange it, I would have allowed that at any time. You’re like a daughter to me. We currently find ourselves at odds, but should you wish to meet under a flag of truce, I would have come alone.”

“You know I don’t work that way.”

“No, you seek every advantage. It’s what makes you formidable.” The cruiser banked through darkening skies, towers passing, lights just now brightening their soaring glass facades. “Cassandra, whatever my affection for you, I cannot stress enough my disappointment. I feel you’ve taken advantage of our relationship, and taken your duties lightly. This is effectively a coup. A coup against Federal security policy. I cannot on principle allow it to succeed. And as such, you cannot hope to win this struggle, for you know that even should you do me harm, I would never change my position.”

Cassandra looked for a moment out the windows, at the sprawling, endless city. As though sighting something far distant, that no one else could see.

“I’m sorry for all of this,” she said quietly. “Lately I’ve been wondering if my emotions are the same as those of normal humans . . . I mean, when I say ‘love.’ and you say ‘love,’ do we truly mean the same thing? And how would we know, without personal experience of exactly what the other person is feeling?”

“Not merely a problem between synthetic and organic,” Ibrahim agreed. “A problem between all human beings, and that surely includes you.”

That seemed to touch her. For all her control, Ibrahim knew her to be actually quite bad at hiding her emotions. She expressed them calmly, almost placidly at times, but when they shone, they shone bright.

“Well whatever I or you might call it, I love you,” she said simply. “But you’re killing me. You’re killing all of us. Every time GI technology advances, it finds us. And we’re easy to find, here on Callay, center of the Federation. Jane came to find me. Mustafa did. Eduardo. Even these, my friends. They all come to find me eventually. The new generation from New Torah will come too, eventually, because in my position I’m a threat. And this time I’m not just going to sit here and wait.”

“That may be your choice,” Ibrahim replied, forcing his tone to calm. Her words made sense, but did not change what needed to be done. “But you do not have the right to drag the rest of the Federation into your personal war, however much I or others may sympathise. Please understand, Cassandra, that if this were up to me personally, and what I believe in my heart to be right and good, I would have us committed to solving the New Torah problem in an instant. But my heart is not in consideration here. It is my head that must rule these decisions. And my head says that whatever New Torah’s potential threat, the League has demonstrated that it views any preemptive action against New Torah as verging upon a new declaration of war. Considering what the last war cost us all, that is too high a price, and the price is not mine to pay.”

“Do you understand why I’m a threat?” She gazed at him closely. Those pale blue eyes were so full of life.