Part 7 (1/2)
It appeared no facet of the situation was beyond Nils' planning abilities and winning rhetoric. Because she admired him, because he spoke so persuasively, because she wanted to do something rather than watch her parents continue to sink in misery-riven nostalgia, she was convinced. She threw herself wholeheartedly into his brilliant strategy.
But that was then, when the excitement of her covert mission still ran hot through her veins. When she still had Nils' fiery looks and brave words to keep her going. But now....
Now Nils was far away and Lith couldn't even remember his features clearly. Was the colour of his eyes more brown or green? She couldn't remember. And what did that say about her? Was she shallow and fickle, attracted only to the nearest strong personality? Did that explain her attraction to Colonel Sie?
”She has blood on her hands,” Lith whispered, trying to bolster her own sense of righteousness. ”She's more than a killer. She's a psychopath.”
As a member of a militant, breakaway faction of the Free-Perlim Council, Lith needed to remember her mission. She had to focus, and keep all other emotional thoughts at bay. She should concentrate on what she managed to do at Bul-Guymem, build on that, and ensure that nothing else interfered with why she was here. Not pity, not compa.s.sion, and certainly not l.u.s.t.
Because, no matter how attractive she found the Colonel, no matter that the kiss they exchanged earlier in the evening was one of the most tender, filled with the most promise, of any she had ever experienced, she could not run away from the fact that she was not here to f.u.c.k Senior Colonel Cheloi Sie.
She was here to kill her.
Chapter Seven.
Day 1,511 of the War: ”Why did you join the Covert section of the Fusion's political arm?”
”We've covered this before, Doctor.”
”Humour me, please.”
Why did she think that talking to an AI construct would be any better than speaking to a real person? Maybe it was because she expected to discuss things once, have the artificial wetware record every word, then move on. She should have known better.
”You've seen my psych profile, haven't you, Doctor?”
”You know I have.”
”Then doesn't that tell you, far more efficiently than I could, why I joined?”
”It only tells me half the story, Laisen. It tells me why we chose you. It doesn't tell me why you chose us.”
”Is it really that important?”
Copan seemed to consider it as he pursed his lips. ”Yes, I think it is.” He tilted his head to one side. ”You belong to a family of five, do you not?”
Just like the real Copan, the virtual Copan was relentless. She sighed.
”Yes.” She reeled off the facts as if reciting them from an e-pad. ”Two parents, two older brothers. One brother is on the Galactic Trading Board on Anvil. The other is Chief Examiner for an artisan guild, stationed on Roamer Shun. My parents are semi-retired and holding academic posts on the Floks Nine Semi-Dyson.”
”None of your family has a military background?”
”None that I recall.” Her voice was dry.
”It's strange in a way,” he mused. ”With your skills, and your family's leaning toward service, I thought a career with the Fusion military would have been a more obvious choice. Instead, you chose the Fusion's covert arm where you've been an operative for,” he hesitated, ”twenty years, is it?”
”Twenty-one.”
”Just so. Twenty-one. In that time, if you had joined the Fleet, you would have been promoted to a comfortable desk job by now. Instead, you're still here, in a very hands-on role, risking your life for something you admit you regard more as a game. And with,” he smiled, ”an annoying AI program to keep you company.”
She answered his smile with one of her own. ”You are annoying, Doctor. Don't be in any doubt about it.”
He acknowledged her comment with a gracious nod. ”So what do you find attractive about such a position? Is it the autonomy? The variety of missions? Are you happy to be away from your family for such extended periods of time?”
”I get on well enough with my family,” she replied easily. ”We've always been an independent lot, so I see them as much as any of us would want.” That wasn't strictly true, but Laisen glossed over the thought. ”The autonomy? Yes, I suppose that's an attraction. Maybe,” she blinked a couple of times and tried to get her thoughts in order, ”maybe I like it because it's the ultimate challenge. Every mission is like a puzzle I've been tasked to solve. The question is, can I solve it and still get out in one piece?”
”But there are other challenges in the galaxy. Surely you don't need to feel you have to constantly put your life on the line in order to accomplish something meaningful?”
She knew where this was leading. She had already built up a certain type of reputation within the covert arm. If there was any dirty work to be done, any potential for remorseless execution, n.o.body could do it better than Laisen Carros. Maybe twenty years ago, at the beginning of her career, she was an agent like any other. But then something happened. Something that flipped her from a cautious agent to someone relentless. If Copan continued this line of questioning, it was inevitable her record would be discussed. And that would wind its way to Eys. She didn't want to talk about Eys. The Fusion, Copan, knew about her, but the vault that contained her innermost feelings for the woman she'd once loved was locked tight against Copan's probing. She would happily even discuss Lith, but not Eys. Not yet.
”You mentioned the military,” she cut in. ”Can I tell you why I didn't join the Fleet, Doctor?”
”Please do.”
”Have you ever treated Fleet personnel?”
”A few.”
”Believe me when I tell you that they're all the same. Whether they're Fusion, Nedron, Braan, they just can't keep a secret.”
”Secret?” He looked puzzled.
”It's the same here with the Perlim Ground Forces. There isn't a military structure anywhere in the universe that's airtight. They leak news, gossip and cla.s.sified orders the way an antique s.p.a.cesuit leaks atmosphere. When I'm on the opposite side of a proper army, I try to take advantage of it. When I'm in one, it irritates the h.e.l.l out of me. If I had joined the Fleet, I'm sure I'd be in a very comfortable position right now, but only if I could weld shut the mouths of every subordinate under my command.”
Copan chuckled. ”An astute observation.”
She shook her head. ”It's an impossible situation, being placed in a position of weakness through no fault of your own. Every indiscretion, real or imagined, gets pa.s.sed along, dissected, commented upon, exploited. But here, on a covert mission, the only person who can betray me is myself.”
He sobered. ”And that's a very real possibility. This is the longest mission you've ever been on and only the fifth time a psych-kernel has been inserted in an operative's brain.”
And the time Copan referred to, the years she'd already spent on Menon IV, didn't include the months she spent waiting for the opening in the first place. It took almost three years before the Fusion found a good enough subst.i.tution for her. Three years while she slogged through Perlim language and culture, history and military tactics, absorbing as much information as she could on the prominent political and military players so she couldn't be tripped up. The last year was the worst because it came down to nothing more than revision and waiting. Waiting until her a.s.signed target could be killed under the right circ.u.mstances. Until the secret doc.u.ment traces could ensure proper revision. Until a capable officer with a solid combat record by the name of Cheloi Sie could be replaced by an impostor who would take the Fusion's objectives to the next level.
If the real Cheloi Sie had died prematurely during the planning stages of the switch, Laisen would have been stood down and someone else closer to the next-best target would have been ramped up and the cycle repeat itself. This was no action from a young and impetuous conglomerate. If there was one thing she could always depend on, it was the thoroughness of Fusion thinking.
From the moment she had been stealth-displaced into the Thirty-Five, all communication with the Fusion ceased, as much for her own protection as for theirs. But for such an extended mission, they didn't just drop her in and forget her. They knew there would be crus.h.i.+ng pressure coming from many sides. So they added a neural psych-kernel to give her an outlet for her thoughts, instructed her on how to activate the wetware in her sleep and, after repeatedly asking her to confirm she wanted to be a part of this, altered her, sent her in and wished her the best of luck.
There was only one circ.u.mstance under which she would contact the Fusion again, and that was when she was ready for extraction. The signalling hardware, crafted from bone matrix, was concealed in her left wrist and programmed to burn out in fifteen seconds, after it completed sending three brief bursts of location information into the ether. From the moment she sent the signal, the time to rescue was measured in minutes. She didn't know how the Fusion managed to pinpoint and remove someone so quickly but they had never failed, never in her twenty-one years of field work.
Days ago, she thought she would ask Copan about the likelihood of finally retiring. But the idea of extraction brought up a subject she felt was much more immediate.
”You're sure I can't take anyone away with me?”
She was thinking of Rumis.
”Major Swonnessy belongs to a different society, Laisen.” The real Copan would have been irritated with repeating himself so many times, but the wetware version was relentlessly polite and understanding. Maybe that's why Laisen kept bringing up the subject. The virtual Copan never seemed to know when to say enough was enough, and she still harboured the faint hope she could talk it around to her point of view.
”I know it's very difficult to live a life for several years and not become attached to the surrounding people, but you must resist. Perhaps after this conflict is over, you can consider approaching him, but I would still caution you to leave such contact for a few years until he's had a chance to adjust to a new life and create some mental distance between himself and his past. A personality can become dangerously volatile if confronted by a shocking revelation so soon after a period of extended trauma.”