"Surfing never occurred to me as a sport," Neiland continued. "I played basketball. Couldn't shoot to save my life, I just liked the energy."

"There's a basketball court at the Doghouse. I tried it once. Hit my first ten shots from six out to twelve metres. Kind of lost its appeal after that."

"That's really sad." With contemplative concern, chin in hand, elbow resting on the chair arm. "It never occurred to me before I met you that being technically perfect would make everything boring. Is there any sport you find challenging?"

Sandy shook her head glumly. "Not really. Only mind games. Chess, sometimes."

"I'd imagine, given your tactical prowess, you wouldn't lose many times at chess either, would you?"

"No. I only play the computer, no one else lasts more than twenty moves. The computer tells me I'm a level below Grand Master, and I've never really played it that much." She shrugged. "It's not much to be proud of, I'm psychologically structured for spatial awareness and numerical sequencing. In chess I just count, memorise and project. Sub-level memory and processing implants carry most of the workload, I just give the directions."

"It still technically qualifies you as a genius."

"By whose standard? I can't write a concerto, paint a masterpiece or turn out a novel. I'm still struggling with chicken fettuccini. I certainly don't have much apt.i.tude for poetry, my language skills aren't much above average, and while I'm good with raw numbers, I'm sure as h.e.l.l no mathematician. I'm just good at three-dimensional s.p.a.ces and rapid-track calculation, but much of that is reflex rather than thought."

"You have a specific set of skills, Sandy. When you learn to apply them to other things, you'll discover they work equally well on things other than military strategy and network engineering, I'm very sure. It's only your lack of experience in anything non-military that makes you think you're not good at it."

"Maybe." She sipped her tea. "Or maybe it'll turn out I'm just a ma.s.s of trigger-sensitive programmed reflexes guided by an over-large ego with an ident.i.ty crisis and delusions of grandeur."

Neiland smiled. "So what's the attraction to surfing? Since you obviously don't find it difficult?"

"It's not a compet.i.tion. It's just me, and the wave. And a" She pursed her lips, thinking of how to explain it, what words would be adequate. Sipped her tea, for the inspiration of flavour. "It's like admiring a nice sunset. Or a great view from a mountain top. It's something beautiful, the force in that wave, the sound it makes and the shape as it curls and breaks, and to ride along with it somehow makes me feel a part of that force. I couldn't give a d.a.m.n how many cutbacks or floaters I pull off, though that's fun. It's a way to appreciate each wave, and get a feel for its different aspects. Technical difficulty's not the point-and it's not much more of a challenge than basketball, really. It's just a beautiful sensation."

Neiland just looked at her for a long moment, smiling at her contemplation, teacup dangled thoughtfully from long, elegant fingers.

"Must give you a good rush of blood," she stated. Meaningfully. "Get your heartrate up. Might take a while for those feelings to fade away after you get out of the water."

Sandy took a deep breath. "I don't think that's got anything to do with how I handled the SIB tail."

"No." Decidedly. "You eliminate all direct threats all the time, regardless of circ.u.mstance. It's what you do."

Another deep breath. One learned to be wary of casual chat with politicians and senior officials. One learned that disarming chitchat about weekend pastimes was often little more than the slow circling of a razorshark about a slow and unwary surfer. In deep water and a long way from sh.o.r.e.

"Ms. President, I have been instructed many times by advisors in your own staff, and senior CSA people, not to let the SIB boss me around. I am advised to conduct my affairs as I deem prudent. Security arrangements are largely my job now in the CSA, I couldn't just allow such a blatant violation of my security perimeter. It's a precedent that allows all kinds of direct threats to have that much more chance of targeting myself or those I'm guarding."

Neiland sighed. "Sandy, the political realities were explained to you a "You wanted my experience." Flatly. "You said my military background and lack of political compromise was what the CSA needed at present, that I'd help close up the loopholes that too much political compromise and lack of resolve had allowed to develop."

"Sandy, you're a soldier." More firmly this time. "A good soldier knows the need to understand her strategic environment, surely. To learn the lie of the land. I'm asking that of you now-learn how things work here, learn how the politics shape everything. Otherwise you'll just walk blind into an ambush like you did today."

"Ms. President, if I'm not allowed to be me, and utilise my strengths, what real use am I to you?"

"Sandy, please, call me Katia. At least in private."

Sandy nodded slowly, accepting that wordlessly. She wasn't sure she liked it at all. She liked Katia Neiland, whatever her judgments to the better. She wasn't the slightest bit sure that it was wise to do so. And now, the requested informality was troubling. She could deal with Katia Neiland as a superior. Rank was something she understood intimately, as a founding principle in her life's experience. She knew the boundaries, the responsibilities, what was reasonable and unreasonable behaviour for both superior and underling respectively.

Deal with Katia Neiland as just a friend? Whatever else she was, Neiland was a politician, and a d.a.m.ned accomplished one at that. Nothing she did was without an ulterior political motive. Nothing was ever just as simple as "friendship" with such a person. Inexperienced as she was in such matters, she knew enough to know that for a very certain fact.

"Sandy, look." Neiland recrossed her long legs, bare from just above the knee a indecorous of an Indian or Arabic politician, she'd gathered, yet tolerated with a decadent European. "This isn't the military. I might be President, but I can't just give orders like an admiral and expect them to be followed-it's every politician for themselves. And they're all beholden to their factions and interest groups a even within my own party, be it the religious conservatives on the Left, the moderates on the Right, or the pragmatists like me in the Centrists. And then there's the Senate, which has a different voting system. There are more minor parties, and upstaging the two big parties on populist, ideological issues is what they live for a"

"I know, I know," Sandy said tiredly, "and the Senate Security Council includes members of the Rainbow Coalition due to a political trade-off a few years back. No one thought it would matter having a few conservative religious activists on the council-because no one on Callay ever took security issues seriously before now. I have been paying attention, Katia."

"Have you really?" With a pointed expression beneath raised brows. "You do know then that the Senate Security Council sets the agenda for the SIB, and that they value their independence from the CSA and executive power more than just about anything? If I'm seen interfering in that independence, Sandy, it'll be seen as a dictatorial attack upon the Callayan const.i.tution. I have to live with them. That's why they were created, to force me to live with them."

"Ms. President a I can't think about public relations in operational circ.u.mstances. It's against everything I'm trained to be, and every instinct I have."

"You're going to have to learn. Don't think of it as PR. It's just another set of factors to include in your operational parameters, just like any tactical mission a I'm reliably informed by Shan and Krishnaswali that you're a tactical genius, Sandy. I'm certain you can do this if you try."

"And leave jobs incomplete, objectives unaccomplished?"

"Your objective, Sandy, is to be effective. If you accomplish your field objective only to cause destabilising political consequences as a result, that's a tactical failure on your part. I'm asking you to see the bigger picture. You can't change this system, no matter how stubbornly you attack it. Your only choice is to work within it."

Sandy took a deep breath. Ran a hand through her hair, and stared briefly out the broad windows of the french doors, across the view of ornate brick walls and gardens beyond. Restrained a grimace with an effort.

"Okay a if this is a public relations issue, why not let me go public?"

"Because we need you as a CSA security operative, and that role will be severely undermined if you throw yourself headlong into the media spotlight-your personal information will become fair game, people will know your face, your name, your details. It'll raise more questions for the Administration and the CSA, the whole works. Sandy, people know some good things about you-they know you saved my life, that you played a big part in stopping the Parliament Ma.s.sacre, that you're an important security a.s.set to this planet. The rest of it, the moral issues of GI technology and the policy ramifications of that a it's a hornets' nest, we can't afford it right now, it'd be a ma.s.sive distraction. It can all just wait for another, quieter day."

"You don't think the mere appearance of my pretty blue eyes and firm b.r.e.a.s.t.s in the public arena will improve public opinion?"

Neiland raised an eyebrow. "You could arrange to show them in an interview?"

"I serve at the President's pleasure."

"It's not me who'd get pleasure from it."

"Your suggestive hemline never helped you get elected?"

"Oh sure, my red hair too. Blonde is rare enough on Callay, redheads are downright exotic. My pollsters had taken another five centimetres off my hemline and added five new hairstyles to my repertoire by the end of the campaign. It worked wonderfully." Smiling broadly. "Sandy, public debate on Callay is not exactly advanced at this point in time. I also got elected because people liked my management style and the ideas I had for revamping the legal system regarding network protocols a People here know that stuff, it's their everyday lives and business. They don't know much about LeagueFederation politics and have only basic knowledge about the war. Give it time, they're not stupid, just under-informed."

"And the only people doing the informing are the radicals who think I'm going to break into their homes at night and murder their children."

"And whom most Callayans don't take very seriously, Sandy. The political wisdom is that whatever the prominence of religion and cultural values in people's lives, only about a third of Callayans actually vote on those issues, and only a third of them are total, close-minded conservatives. But the more ammunition you give the radicals, the easier you make it for them."

Sandy sighed. Took a biscuit from the table and bit it in half. "I just don't like being pa.s.sive."

"I know. The best form of defence is attack and all that a It's a fine philosophy for a soldier in a war, but things here are different." Neiland sipped her tea. "That's how it is. Please don't antagonise the SIB any more than they already are. Consider that a direct Presidential order. It makes my life difficult."

"I'll try." Neiland gave her a firm look, eyebrows raised. "I'll try very, very hard," Sandy amended. The President looked sceptical. "And that's the only reason you asked me out here?"

"No. I wanted to ask you in person about Governor Dali. And some things I'd rather not discuss over any network."

Sandy nodded slowly, washing down her biscuit with a sip of tea. It didn't surprise her. Dali had been a continuing thorn in the Administration's side ever since his FIA-arranged takeover of government had collapsed a month ago, setting in motion the entire present mess over Article 42 and the proposed breakaway from the Federation. No one wanted to remain a part of a federal system that allowed its shadowy intelligence agency to overthrow democratically elected governments while committing crimes and murder among the populace. In order to make an informed decision about any possibly breakaway, however, people wanted to know just how deep the whole plot with the Federal Governor of Callay had gone, and just who knew what at the highest levels of the Federal Grand Council back on Earth.

"He's still not talking?" she asked, knowing the answer well enough in advance.

Neiland shook her head. "He'd be stupid to. The moment he opens his mouth he risks implicating the entire Grand Council bureaucracy, not just the FIA. But the Grand Council a" she shrugged, "Dali's their boy. He came up all the way through the system, from Indian civil service to United Nations to Grand Council officialdom and a governorship. Only, somewhere along the way the FIA got their tentacles into him, like they've got tentacles into a lot of federal governors, we think a Eleven member worlds have already begun appointment reviews of their own governors, and are demanding full records and disclosure from the Grand Council. It's caused quite a stir."

"How much power does that give you?" Sandy asked, trying to recall as much as she knew about Federation governments and internal power relations between them. And realised it wasn't all that much, except there were fifty-seven of them, comprising roughly twenty billion people. Earth's population was hovering these days at roughly seven billion. Immensely powerful, by the standards of any individual Federation world or system. But if all the other Federation worlds stood together, even Earth's influence could be countered. Unified cooperation, however, was no more a common condition for Federation members than it had been among League members. "How many of the member worlds are behind you? Behind us?"

"Not enough." Neiland shook her head glumly. "A lot of the border worlds near the League are very hawkish still, very pro-Federation, have always accused worlds like Callay of being too withdrawn and self-interested with the war going on-with some cause too, I think. Others are totally dependent on trade with Earth and good relations. It's too risky for them to stick their necks out before they know exactly who holds what cards. Right now, it's us and about nine governments. Maybe twelve in a pinch. The other fortyfive governments are all on the fence to varying degrees."

Sandy exhaled in mild disgust. "Doesn't say much for the "brave colonial spirit," does it?"

"No," Neiland agreed, with a faint grimace. "If someone's going to take a hit for this, it'll be us, not them. But if we look like winning, things will change. This is why we need to beat that extradition order so badly. If the Feds get Dali back on Earth, it'll be the last we ever see of him or his evidence. If we can keep him here on Callay, we can try him here under Callayan law and get some answers from him."

"He'd answer?"

"If we're proved right in Federation law, according to Federation statutes he won't have a choice. He's still the Governor, he's legally bound by Federation statutes. For him to refuse to answer would be incredibly embarra.s.sing for the Grand Council, it raises the question of what good the present Federation system really is if its own appointed guardians won't even play by the rules a which is our entire point in threatening to break away. And if he does answer, and we establish once and for all the Grand Council's degree of complicity in this whole mess, then the whole Federation system is discredited before everyone's eyes and all the power swings to us. Dali's the key, Sandy. Trying him on Callay would give us the proof we need. The leverage."

"To do what? Break away?"

"If need be." Neiland shrugged. "We'll decide when we get to it. Any breakaway needs to go to a popular vote, anyway, it's not just up to the politicians. But public opinion would swing enormously if all Dali's evidence were revealed. We'd have the Grand Council and all the vested Old Earth interests wrapped around our finger."

"And what do you want to know from me?"

"What do you think the League will think about the prospect of him testifying?"

d.a.m.n. She didn't like being mistaken for an expert on the new League Government. She'd only seen them in opposition, challenging the old wartime guard, and only then from the greatly removed distance of a frontline soldier.

"Ms. President, I don't think I'm the best person to ask . .

"Sandy, there's no one else I can ask, everyone else is just as removed as you are, and no one yet knows what to make of the new leadership. Except that you've been there, you've spent most of your life as a soldier in League forces. I don't want accurate intelligence, just gut instincts. You've got more of that than any of the GSA's Intel a.n.a.lysts."

Sandy thought about that for a moment. It made sense. And something else occurred to her. An unpleasant thought.

"Have the League been talking to you? Is their amba.s.sador here?"

Neiland smiled. "I couldn't tell you if they were."

She understood that well enough. League never talked to anyone in the Federation on serious policy matters without the condition of total secrecy.

"I really couldn't tell what they'd think. There are some factions in the League who want to see a divided Federation, member worlds weak and bickering among themselves. Others fear a divided Federation would tear up the ceasefire treaty and cause Federation hardliners to come to the fore. They don't want a new leadership here when they've just made peace with the old one.

"I think the only thing you can guarantee with the League is that if they talk to you a" Pause to look at the President with meaningfully raised eyebrows. The President looked serenely back. "a it'll be with only one set of interests at heart-their own. The economy's in shambles. They'll be wanting a possible loosening of the trade embargoes, especially if Callay becomes independent and starts making her own decisions on these things separate from the Grand Council. Right now that self interest might go well beyond any concerns about what Dali's testimony might do to the Federation. And thus to Federation relations with the League.

"My guess is the League's had enough adventures for now. They're pragmatists, they'll be wanting a nice, slow, quiet period to rebuild the economy. Any diplomacy they do will be simple little queries, feeling out the possibilities. But, on the other hand, I can't see them missing an opportunity to stick their nose into this present mess and sniff around for a bit." She gave Neiland an accusing look. "They are talking to you, aren't they? You wouldn't be asking me otherwise."

"I ask a lot of people a lot of things, Sandy," Neiland said mildly. And smiled at her. "But I appreciate your insight. You really were wasted in Dark Star, weren't you?"

"So I've been told." She sipped at her tea. It was cooling, and she reached for the pot, and a refill.

"And do you feel fully utilised at the CSA?"

Sandy smiled, pouring tea. "I'm happy enough." She settled back, and took a pleasant, hot sip, savouring the mild fragrance. "I am still essentially a grunt, Katia. I always will be."

"And I'll always essentially be a politician. But that doesn't mean I can't aspire to greater things."

"Do you?"

"Sometimes. Then I get over it."

HI.

ate evening in downtown Baidu. Sandy jogged briskly along the sidewalk, dodging raincoated pedestrians beneath huddling umbrellas. Rain fell along the wet gleaming street, the mirror reflection of blazing light and neon broken by the hissing pa.s.sage of pa.s.sing cars. Streetlights ribbed the roadside far down its length, and colour sprawled from a mult.i.tude of huge, designer window front displays.

Fancy fashion labels, Sandy noted as she jogged. Clothes, perfumes, jewellery, luggage, furniture, accessories a even in the rain, the broad sidewalk was smothered with shoppers, browsers and strollers, gazing in the windows and wondering at the price. She ducked past another group, leather boots splashing on the pavement puddles, and wished that Vanessa had thought to bring an umbrella. There were no ped covers along the broad main shopping strips of districts like Baidu. It spoiled the neon view.

Another block, another fast illegal sprint over a cross street, and she finally found the place-Rajastan Curry Heaven, a small sign leading down a sidewalk staircase. She jogged briskly down, squeezed past a pair of customers emerging from the doorway, and went inside. There was a big restaurant floor to the right, with many people seated. And three presently waiting alongside, sitting on benches. Indian decorations everywhere a she gazed about, marvelling at some of the designs and patterns, and at the uniquely styled tapestry of elephants about a paG.o.da on the far wall.

"Yes, Madam," said the man behind the near counter, in thickly Ta.n.u.shan-Indian accent, "can I be of service?"

"Um a" She recovered her attention, wiping damp hair from her brow. "Order for Rice, we called in half an hour ago."

"Oh yes, Rice a" The man turned to a nearby counter, stacking containers into a bag. "a we were having much trouble, wondering if Rice was just your name or possibly your order too a" Grinning at her as he put the bag on the counter. Sandy smiled back, extracting her CSA card from her wallet. "Is this a traditional European name, by any chance?"

"Very traditional." She handed him the card for him to swipe, thinking it lucky that she'd come instead of Vanessa. She didn't want to spend the next half hour fending off a verbal spray about "b.l.o.o.d.y arrogant Indians." Vanessa, Sandy thought, tended to overreact to such things. "I think we adopted it some time in the 1800s when all of Asia and India lay crushed and helpless beneath our heel."

The Indian man laughed. "My daughter just recently dyed her hair blonde, like you. Small exoticisms from cultural minorities are so fashionable these days a before the hair, it was Senegalese gowns and Russian furry hats, whatever they're called, it's so difficult to keep track these days. You're very lucky to be the genuine fashionable article, so to speak."

It was sometimes fun to pretend, she pondered with a smile as she jogged back to the carpark, to be the genuine, ethnic-European that she appeared to be. Not that it was always safe to do so, as so much of the cultural and ethnic baggage in a city like Ta.n.u.sha remained well beyond her grasp. But reminding an Indian of a time when Europeans ruled all India and Asia held much the same humour as a resident of Rita Prime reminding a Ta.n.u.shan of a time when RP held sway as the predominant colony in the Federation, and Ta.n.u.sha was just a farfetched architects' plan, and a swathe of messy construction sites cutting through the forests of the inner Shoban Delta. Of course, criticsincluding many Indian cynics-now proclaimed that no one actually governed India, that it was so huge, diverse and powerful that it was essentially ungovernable, and effectively ran itself like some mythical beast with many heads. Which made smaller powers like Russia, Brazil and the USA effectively more powerful (well, relatively) in political terms, because the huge, decentralised Indian system could never agree on anything, and was largely ineffectual. Sandy thought it a small price to pay for sharing global dominance with the Chinese. Who were more politically cohesive than the Indians but, after five hundred years of trying, still hadn't managed to close the considerable technology gap the Indians loved to laud over their heads like an unattainable prize a The elevator arrived at parking bay level, where the cruiser was already waiting on the main ap.r.o.n, in a s.p.a.ce only a high-level government vehicle could reserve a The door whined open as she ran to it and clambered in. Vanessa waited for the door to close, and gunned them immediately out the exit. The retail strip appeared below, an endlessly long, gleaming wet profusion of light and people. Then gone as the exit lane steered them over the smaller building ahead, and into a long, accelerating climb to the right, engines thrumming comfortably through the seat leather. Vanessa clicked on the autopilot and Sandy handed her a container.

"Autopilot activated," said a gracious female voice from the console.

"Blow it out your ear," Vanessa told it, cracking the lid and digging about with the fork provided. Sandy did likewise, and the cruiser interior filled with the fragrance of steaming hot curry and rice. "You know, I've had this ship for three years and I haven't yet figured out how to shut up that annoying voice."

"Easily done," Sandy told her, taking a hot, delicious mouthful. Wiped wet hair from her face with a free hand, gazing out at the sprawling, wet spectacle of night-time Ta.n.u.sha. A blurring ma.s.s of light through the water streaked windows. Above, the scudding grey cloud glowed palely luminescent, trapping the ma.s.s of light below. Everything glistened and shone for as far as the eye could see. "Anything happen?"

"The river party at Tianyang consumed another hundred litres of chardonnay," Vanessa said around a mouthful. That was the Andaman Corporation delegation and a.s.sociates, one of the Federation's biggest shipping and construction companies. All one hundred and twelve of them, cruising happily down the Pesh, a central-southern branch of the meandering Shoban River Delta. "Three smaller parties broke up and went home, the Tsang meeting is now two hours over time and counting, Swami Ananda Ghosh has rejected CSA cover, claiming that his supporters and "metric karma" will provide him with all the protection that he needs a" She swallowed a portion. "a and the new lemmings are still delayed at Gordon s.p.a.ceport."

"Lemmings" were what bureaucracy and media alike were now calling the innumerable delegates from the mult.i.tude of interested parties who were descending from the heavens to partic.i.p.ate in the Federation-shaking debate over Article 42. A ma.s.s migration of mindless herd animals into a potentially calamitous circ.u.mstance. Lemmings indeed.

It was of course impossible for Federationwide governments, companies and other organisations not to come-communications between Federation member worlds only travelled as fast as the next intersystem freighter, and negotiations could only take place in person. Governments and corporations alike sent out senior delegates with the power to negotiate in the name of the organisation in question. But people who could make up their minds could also change them. Or have their heads blown off by desperate people who didn't like their conclusions.

Lots of security out tonight.

Especially given that half the major delegations from Earth itself were just crawling with Federal Intelligence Agency personnel, armed with "official" Federal pa.s.sports that CSA Intel had become increasingly good at spotting. No proof, no means of challenging a visa, just clear and all-but-proven suspicion. What they were doing here was anyone's guess. Intel had some ideas. Mostly, Sandy suspected, there were big moves afoot in Ta.n.u.sha, and the FIA were loath to miss a chance to influence it, or at least to keep very close tabs for their political masters back on Earth. Exactly what they'd do, and under what circ.u.mstances, the brightest brains in the CSA could only guess at. But the FIA had not been reticent about interfering in Callayan affairs before. All Earthbased delegations were under particularly close watch tonight-and all nights-especially those multi-national inst.i.tutions such as the United Nations, the Pan-African Union and Earth Gov itself, where joint security was less solid.

The CSA made no attempt to be discreet in their surveillance of such groups. Rumours of rumblings within CSA elements of revenge hits upon suspected FIA personnel had been spread within those delegations, with Ibrahim's blessing. It kept the FIA off the streets, and discouraged them from wandering. Ibrahim apparently liked it better that way. And could not, in all seriousness, give any guarantee that the rumours in question were not in fact true. Sandy had heard some genuine rumours in circulation that indicated otherwise.

She shook her head in disbelief, and washed down a mouthful of curry with her makani juice. "This isn't a diplomatic gathering," she said. "This is a zoo."

"It's a f.u.c.king circus," said Vanessa.

Sandy frowned, remembering something. "'Metric karma'?" she said curiously. "What's that?"

"Our certified whacko swami has apparently devised a foolproof method of measuring karma via electronic database. Thus "metric karma." I think he's got copyright on it."

Sandy shrugged. "Pretty tame, by Ta.n.u.shan standards."