Originator (13 page)

Steven frowned. “I think the science is pretty well established here, Ari.”

“No!” Agitated, in that hand-waving Ari-manner. “What you're doing here isn't . . . it's not science! It's theory . . . fuck, it's not even theory, it's
new
theory. Theory's bad enough, I mean, it's useful, sure, but it's a simulation. All theory
simulates
, it makes assumptions and generalisations on purpose, it's the only way to make a useful analytical structure without getting bogged in
detail, and that's fine. But good theorists know they're generalising and skipping over bits, and they allow for that, but it's clear that you lot
don't
know that. And worse, you're doing new theory, which means it's in its infancy, it's unevolved and almost certainly wrong about . . . well, nearly everything. . . .”

“Ari,” said Reggie with exasperation, “we just saw an institutional coup in the Federation, and in the League an entire inhabited world was destroyed. And you want more evidence?”

“Results are not evidence,” Ari retorted somewhat incredulously. “Process is evidence. That you're not aware of that is alarming in itself.” Reggie hung her head and exhaled hard. “You show me the process that caused those results, I'll be convinced, otherwise I'll tell you that babies are made by pixies in the garden, and the proof is all the babies being born—if I'm not required to explain down to the finest detail
how
babies are made, it may as well be pixies, right?”

“I think we've explained our findings quite well,” Abraham said calmly and a little condescendingly.

“Right! By concluding that there's a nasty phenomenon going on, which quite certainly is going on in the League, and then
assuming
that because some events in the Federation look somewhat like what you've seen from the League and from Pyeongwha, that it must be the same thing! And you know what that looks like? Narrative association, Compulsive Narrative Syndrome again, another version of the same thing you're studying . . . my cat has four legs, my dog also has four legs, therefore my dog is a cat.”

“Ari,” Ragi said calmly, “the tests devised to demonstrate causal effects from hyperactive Compulsive Narrative Syndrome are showing the same phenomenon increasing in the Federation. It's comparable against a timeline, it matches in critical institutions just before the coup. I think the association is quite obvious.”

“And you don't know what you're measuring. Would you apply those graphs to Talee society if you could?” Frowns. “Of course you wouldn't, you don't know the first damn thing about Talee psychology, you'd have no idea what you're looking at, whatever ‘firm results' the data showed. And all this stuff about the interactions between human psychology, neurology, sociology, and uplink technology—it's
new
. You think you know, but you don't. You think you're an expert, because that's what it reads on the blurbs of your books
and how you get introduced at university lectures, but you're fucking
not
experts. You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, any of you, and unacknowledged ignorance is dangerous.”

“And the consequences if we're right,” Abraham replied, “and nothing is done, are too horrible to contemplate. Human science exists for a reason, and that reason is to control our environment to the greatest extent possible so that we can maximise the good things while minimising the bad ones. If this current circumstance does not qualify, I don't know what does.”

Ari gave Ibrahim a “told you so” glare and slumped back in his seat. Indication that he'd said all he intended. Ibrahim's gaze turned to Sandy.

“Cassandra? Your thoughts?”

“I have a report to submit,” said Sandy, quite relaxed. “You'll find it in your constructs in a few minutes, please read soon. I've been compiling it with my fellow Callayan GIs, now that there's enough of us to make a workable subject pool. The results suggest what I've long suspected—that GIs are far less susceptible to Compulsive Narrative Syndrome than straights. The psychological depth is lacking, we don't have the connections between memory, knowledge, and emotion, the hooks and triggers don't match up. We're entirely susceptible to input dominance, as Reggie explained it, but not too much else. Give us new inputs, we can change our minds, we don't form emotional attachments to abstract concepts to the degree that straights do. Which is why League are scared of their own creations and try to shield them as much as it can.

“So maybe this is our role in Federation society. The buffer between straights and the levers of self-destruction. Here in the FSA in particular. The objective observers who, with any luck, and a lot of encouragement, will not fall for the bullshit on either side.”

Thoughtful looks around the room. A thinking frown from Abraham. A delighted smile from Steven.

“And how does that relate to our current discussion?” Ibrahim asked carefully. Knowing well that Sandy did not raise new issues at random.

“I'm increasingly certain that this is my own role in these discussions,” said Sandy. “I understand the tech nearly as well as Ragi, but I know the functions and dysfunctions of human institutions better than nearly everyone here except you, Director.” Ibrahim pursed his lips and did not disagree. “I have a
balance. And I'm command senior of a large group of very capable combat GIs who are completely sick of political tyranny in any form.

“I see in this research the potential for a new political tyranny. Particularly given the new relationships I see being formed within the current provisional Grand Council. And while I don't agree with Ari on everything, I agree on this—that the imposition of a new political tyranny to deal with newly perceived threats is unacceptable. I don't care if you think the universe is ending. There's always an excuse. Every tyrant in the past has always had a sound logical reason that made perfect sense to him. Now we have
proof
. Today you promise me conclusively proven proof. I don't care. I'm for liberty. If that makes me an unreasonable obstacle, so be it.

“Just know this. I have great affection for you all personally. But any attempt to impose new authoritarian controls, even in the name of saving humanity, will first have to deal with me and every weapon at my disposal. I'm watching you. I'll only warn you once.”

There was no smiling comradery now. Only consternation on some faces. And sadness on others. Steven looked upset. Ari, grimly satisfied. Ibrahim observed the new silence thoughtfully. His expression, as usual, gave nothing away.

Chief Shin walked in on Sandy's morning physical, black suit, slick hair, cool and calm as ever. Half-past six and God-knew what hours the Federal Intelligence Chief was working these days; Sandy had never seen him other than alert and immaculate.

She stood on a sense-pad in the middle of the medical room's floor, wearing tight gym clothes and sensor-bands around limbs and joints, reading every electrical impulse through her synthetic muscles. Instant analysis flashed across a wall screen, multiple scanners studying her every move, every shift of balance. She flicked the screen off, now with Shin here for company. They were otherwise alone, FSA medical staff not quite so dedicated to turn up at dawn, and Sandy not needing any help to set up this simple structural analysis.

“Commander,” said Shin in that neatly accented English of his. It was an original Chinese accent, from Beijing, where Shin had been born. Homeland Chinese were often not well received by colonial Chinese, who thought them arrogant. Shin had that reputation, though Sandy did not know him well enough to know if it was warranted. And she'd not heard from local Chinese about him, because Callay had so few local Chinese—Chinese often avoiding settlement on worlds with too many Indians, and vice versa. Callay's settlement had been conceived and executed by predominantly South Asian business interests, and most Chinese settlers had gone elsewhere. “Is this a good time?”

“For what?” asked Sandy. She did basic Tai Chi. It gave the sensors good feedback on her muscles, coordination, and balance, the whole 3D structure flashing in multicoloured real time to her uplink vision, now that she'd turned the screen off. She'd not share that data with Shin, not even a glance.

“A personal matter,” said Shin. Sandy frowned. Really? “My daughter Yu attends Canas School, as you know.” She did. As a high-profile, security-
sensitive individual in Tanusha, Shin and family lived in Canas, just a few hundred meters from Sandy. “She tells me that yesterday, your boy Danya and your girl Svetlana approached her. She said she felt threatened.”

Sandy thought about that, continuing through a flowing motion. She didn't really know what all the movements were called, nor, tragically, any of the rich heritage behind it all—she just learned the forms and repeated them, as her synthetic brain did so well, to millimetre precision.

“Does she say my kids threatened her?” Quite calmly.

“No,” Shin admitted. “But she said they asked questions about me, and about my attitude toward you.”

“They do their research, Chief,” said Sandy. “These are kids accustomed to looking out for themselves. Present them with a strategic situation, they'll look into it.”

“They've not mentioned it to you?”

“We don't talk shop at home unless it's serious. And probably they'd know I'd disapprove. Why does Yu say she felt threatened?”

Shin put hands in pockets, watching her motions. He had the manner of a man accustomed to getting his own way and comfortable with power. A face like a shield, revealing only what he chose. “She said it was inappropriate,” he said. “She says they should have known better.”

“Oh, they do know better, all the time.”

“So you will reprimand them?”

“No. My kids will look out for themselves on matters concerning their security or my security. If they threatened your daughter, I'd reprimand them. But I don't believe they would.”

“Commander,” Shin said firmly, coming about to see her face better. He was frowning, very serious. “Your eldest two children are no strangers to violence. The presence of two of them together, asking questions of a slimmer and less experienced girl, can surely be taken by my daughter as threatening.”

“I suppose that depends what your kid has been told about my kids.” She paused the Tai Chi and did a sudden lunge-punch. Shin may have jumped back, just a little. New data flashed across her inner vision, muscle groups, reaction densities, little flurries of feedback-and-response. “My kids don't bully. They know it upsets me. Your daughter will always be completely safe with them.”

It was bullshit, and she knew it. “Always” was a long time, things between FSA HQ and FedInt were rocky, her kids knew it, and purely civilised morality was not always foremost in their minds when they, or she, were threatened. Dammit, she'd have to talk to them.

“I ask you very seriously, Commander, to warn your children away from my daughter. I do not wish to make an issue of this, but I will.”

“Good,” said Sandy. She did a fast combination, more data flashing back. Shin frowned, as Sandy glanced at him. “Good,” she insisted. “My kids are reasonable, Chief. If I can tell them you're upset, and they can see the negatives in what they've done in making the FedInt Chief mad at them, they'll stop. If you're genuinely concerned, I'd invite you to talk to them yourself.”

Shin blinked. She was inviting him to confront her kids in person? She saw fast recalculation. They're not scared of you, Chief. Not unless you try to hurt them. But who would dare, given their mother?

“I may do that,” he said.

“Great,” said Sandy, with a faint smile. “I'm sure they'll learn something.” Whether it was what Shin wanted them to learn, she highly doubted.

“You've seen League Affairs' latest analysis of Cresta?”

“Yes.” League Affairs were a separate department of the FSA, under Chief Boyle. They were now reporting that PRIDE, the collectivised term for the League resistance, were claiming responsibility for Cresta. Boyle was of the opinion that the only target worth PRIDE's killing on Cresta was League ex-President Edwin Balasingham. “What do you think?”

She did another fast combination, elbows, fists, and forearms flying. Something twinged above her hip, a short flash of pain across her middle. Graphics showed the right shoulder restricted at the rotator cuff. Old injuries that had never healed a hundred percent. Ninety-eight, maybe.

“In the absence of more information, it's impossible to be sure.” Shin watched her carefully. She may have turned the wall monitor off, but he knew why she was here, why she had to watch all these old injuries. GIs were high maintenance, and she was no exception. Against a clever opponent, who played a long and indirect game, it could be a weakness. “It seems a stretch to suggest that PRIDE destroyed an entire moon, and a quarter of a million people, to kill one man.”

“It would play to the nature of the disorder,” said Sandy, resuming Tai Chi. “Emotive targeting, rather than strategic. Balasingham was a leader of the Centralists, the Worlders never liked him. Killing him is a statement, PRIDE are all about statements.”

“You're suggesting this is not actually a military act, but the largest-ever act of terrorism?”

“Semantics.” She blew hair from her eye, never losing posture. “All irregular warfare has elements of terrorism, whatever we think of the cause. But I wouldn't put it past PRIDE. League was founded on uncompromising idealism, stands to reason their breakaway splinters will employ the same in a different form.”

“You had any direct experience?” Shin asked. “With PRIDE?”

Sandy gave up the exercises and went to get some water. She was hot and sweaty; maintaining muscular density for long periods could generate nasty temperatures.