by Dani Kollin
Zenobia grasped the sides of his arms. “If I were out here by myself, Sam, and you were back on Earth and I was facing Legless—and I know I could take Legless—what would you advise me to do?”
Trang smiled acidly. “I would advise you to get the hell out of here.”
Zenobia met his smile with an understanding grin and released her grasp. “Admiral, let’s get the hell out of here. We’ve hurt the Alliance badly. They have to evacuate Jupiter, and Ceres is a destroyed husk of its former self. It will be years before they get even close to what they were. But if we fight a battle out here and lose, we won’t make it back to UHF space, and the war will be over, and everything we’ve fought for will be for naught. Remember, sir, we can rebuild, they cannot.”
Trang listened, nodding very slowly.
“Let’s go home, sir. Let’s build a really big fleet and then let’s go to Saturn and beat the living shit out of Black. She’s not going anywhere now, can’t go anywhere now.”
“Okay, Zenobia. But we can’t leave just yet,” said Trang.
“Sir?”
“Have you considered,” said Trang, left eyebrow raised, “that the objects approaching might not be J. D. Black’s fleet at all?”
“You really think—?” Zenobia began.
“They’ve done it before.”
“Martian Gates and the Needle’s Eye,” Zenobia said quietly.
“They could be her ships, or they could be old ore carriers, or they could be ice with attached propulsion units. How would it look if it was discovered that we fled from a fleet of fearsome … icebergs?”
Zenobia blanched at the thought. “What do we do?”
“We prepare for battle well ahead of Ceres. Twenty million miles should do,” he said. “If it’s not J.D.’s fleet, they’ll float right by us and maybe we can cannibalize them for parts. But if it is J.D., she’ll have to burn even more of her fuel to stop and fight us or, more likely, just exchange a volley as she passes on her way to Ceres. Your analysis of our situation is, of course, correct, Zenobia, and as much as I’d like to, I won’t go out of my way to make a battle happen. After the one pass, we’ll use the last of our atomics to boost for home. We’ll have at least covered our asses, and Irma can do whatever she wants to spin it after that.”
VICTORY!!! TRANG RETREATS!
Despite taking horrendous damage during the journey from Jupiter to Ceres J. D. Black’s fleet managed to arrive in good order and just in time to battle the forces of Admirals’ Trang and Jackson. One pass, causing the enemy a significant amount of damage, was all it took for Admiral Black’s fleet to force Trang and Jackson to retreat back to Mars. Apparently, the UHF is not interested in attacking when they go up against someone actually willing to fight. Long live the Blessed One and long live the Outer Alliance.
—The Clara Roberts Show
AIR Network (Alliance Information Radio)
AWS Warprize II
Ceres orbit
Hour 95 and 55 minutes
“Fleet reports all ships have achieved orbit, Admiral.” Fatima was glowing with pride. “You did it, Admiral, by the will of Allah, you did it!”
J.D. looked at her command sphere crew and saw that they too were beaming but, all proper spacers, had suppressed their joy.
“Well, then,” said J.D. as a smile emerged from the scarred half of her face, “I suppose we should celebrate.”
All the tension, fear, hope, and struggle of the previous eight days suddenly exploded into a storm of wild cheering and applause that followed just as quickly with the rest of the fleet. The celebration then spread to the thoroughfares of Ceres, which hadn’t experienced anything of that magnitude since the Outer Alliance’s first victory all those many years ago. As word spread, everyone in the Alliance eventually took part in the hoopla, including those fleeing the destruction and even those under occupation.
J.D. nodded stiffly, forcing a wan smile to remain pasted to her mouth. The rest of the free worlds would get to have their moment of unmitigated joy and celebration; she, however, would not. While the victory had been great, the blood it had been purchased with was still too much for her to accept. J.D. listened and watched as if all were occurring in slow motion—but she was millions of miles away, standing in the darkest part of her being, screaming to no one, cursing the evil that had made her odious in both appearance and essence, and desperately seeking absolution from 179 million people whom she’d had to let die in order that the rest of the Outer Alliance could live.
3 An Eye for an Eye
Cerean Neuro
Sandra O’Toole peered through the classroom door window and had an epiphany—children of code were just as important to her as children of matter; after all, she’d reasoned, the love she felt for each was visceral and unearthly. She gathered herself and then stepped quietly into the room, unannounced.
The teacher looked up from the book she’d been reading aloud and noticed the visitor. The teacher was, noticed Sandra, the very same woman she’d scared half to death on her first encounter with avatarity and also the same woman who’d sounded the alarm about the attack on the children. However, unlike that first day where she’d become frozen in fear, this time she smiled invitingly.
“Do come in,” she said as every child’s’ head whipped around to see who’d interrupted Gulliver’s Travels.
“I am glad to see you’re all safe and sound.”
Chaos reigned as the children immediately sprang up from their seats and hugged fiercely their favorite wizard, savior, and storyteller. When the children cleared, the teacher too gave Sandra a warm embrace.
“We heard about the attempt on your life. Are you all right?”
“As well as can be expected,” Sandra said, then changed the subject. “I’m so glad to see you back in the classroom, and the children”—Sandra looked at the upturned faces and wide eyes bathing her in love—“look so happy. What happened to Professor Barron? I didn’t see his name on any p.d. lists. Did he … was he…”
“Not quite,” said a female voice from behind Sandra. Sandra swung around to be greeted by Gwendolyn and the professor.
“Reports of my death,” said the professor as a sidelong smile crept up his face, “have been greatly exaggerated.”
Sandra extricated herself from the children and wrapped her arms around the professor, who gave her, at best, a tepid hug in return. Sandra stepped back and looked askance at the man who looked like but was certainly not acting like the professor she’d grown to know.
“Anna,” Gwendolyn said to the teacher, “would you mind terribly if I take Sandra away for a bit?”
“Of course, we would,” the teacher responded at once, “but we’ll survive. We’ve survived through much worse, right, children?” The children all giggled, with some even launching into growling sounds and scary monster walks. “Plus,” continued the teacher, holding up the storybook, “we’re at the best part.”
The children protested when it dawned on them their favorite human really was going to be leaving, but they all quietly ambled back to their seats when Sandra promised to tell them a story from her youth on her return.
The second they stepped out into the hallway smelling, thought Sandra, appropriately of disinfectant and worn socks, the environment changed. The three of them were suddenly standing on the edge of a butte overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The susurrus of wind through the thirty-foot-high palm trees could be heard amidst the cries of seagulls windsurfing along the cliff in front of them. Sandra didn’t bother to ask why but instead took in great big gulps of the sea breeze while running her fingers through her long auburn hair. She knew the environment couldn’t last long. If storage space had been at a premium before Al’s attack, it was at an all-time high now. And if Gwendolyn or whoever wanted to treat her to a taste of Southern California as a means of saying thanks—even if only for a few minutes—she’d take it. As Sandra turned around to thank Gwendolyn for the gift, she was shocked to see the normally implacable Counc
il member with rivulets of tears streaming down her face. Sandra instinctively went over and pulled Gwendolyn into her. Gwendolyn at first wasn’t sure what to do, holding Sandra rather stiffly. But soon she began to hug the President back so hard that Sandra was afraid Gwendolyn might actually be trying to meld with her, a thought made more alarming by the fact that in VR, it might actually be possible. It seemed like minutes before Sandra could extricate herself from the mass of emotion that Gwendolyn had uncharacteristically become. A glance at the professor did no good, as he just shrugged his shoulders.
“Gwendolyn,” asked Sandra, pulling the Council member over to a nearby bench, “what’s going on?”
The professor stayed close, leaning up against the base of one of the palm trees while making a point of staring dutifully away from the women.
“You … you … saved my son,” stammered Gwendolyn. “I never realized how much … until you…” Her voice trailed off.
“How much what?”
Gwendolyn stared blankly at Sandra as if the answer should’ve been patently obvious. “How much I loved … love him.”
“But your son—” Sandra furrowed her brow. “—Edwin, right?”
Gwendolyn nodded.
“He was backed up—all the children were—what I did was stupid, endangering my life like that. That data wraith had access to my perceptions, thoughts—to me. I could’ve stroked out.”
Gwendolyn’s face grew more taut. “There was no backup.”
Sandra’s mouth dropped.
“All the children’s backups had been destroyed by a worm.”
“I … had no idea.”
“When you stood between the children and that … that thing, if you hadn’t—weren’t there, he would have, I would have…”
Sandra put a comforting hand on Gwendolyn’s lap. “He’s safe, Gwendolyn, and I’ll do my best to make sure he stays that way.”
Gwendolyn began to regain her composure. “I don’t know why I did this.” She looked at the sun-stroked environment she’d authorized. “I’m sorry to have—”
“You have nothing to apologize for, Gwendolyn, least not with regards to this.”
“Nevertheless, I do thank you.”
Sandra bowed her head slightly. Then she changed the subject to give the woman something else to think about. “Mind if I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
Sandra looked over to the professor leaning against the palm tree. “What’s going on with him?”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s acting like we’ve never met.”
“Oh, by the Firstborn,” Gwendolyn said, raising her hand to her mouth. “That’s why I came here: to explain.”
Sandra looked at her curiously.
“It’s because you haven’t,” said Gwendolyn, motioning for John to join them. The professor ambled over to the bench and sat beside Gwendolyn.
“I’m the backup of the man you knew, Sandra. Unfortunately, I’m a very early backup. In fact, my last memory before becoming aware—just yesterday—was of standing in line at the university to be among the first to back up, but that was before we even knew of your existence, or to be more precise, you knew of ours. Suffice it to say, as a professor of human sociology, I find this encounter far more exciting than my outward demeanor may indicate.”
“It’s a pleasure to … er … remeet you, John. But tell me, don’t avatars back up all the time, or did the worm get yours like it did the children’s?”
“I’m afraid that avatars should back up, and often,” he answered with the awkward smile of a kid caught pilfering the cookie jar, “and most do, but from what I can gather, the latest regimen of backing up meant going to special centers, waiting in long lines, and praying to the Firstborn that the program wouldn’t crash—because then you’d have to start all over again.”
“But that means that everything you did, all the conversations we had, your new dissertation—”
“Oh, I still have the dissertation. I stored the notes and primary sources in my quarters, which apparently I’ve been sharing with four other avatars from the university. But I really have a difficult time considering the work mine.”
Gwendolyn gave John a sympathetic look. “C’est la vie de l’avatar.”
He nodded. “I was even a kindergarten teacher, if you can believe that, but I can’t conceive of how I could’ve ended up in such a job.”
“Well, if it helps any,” answered Sandra, “you are, uh, were a magnificent kindergarten teacher.”
“I know Edwin loves you,” agreed Gwendolyn.
“He was a magnificent teacher,” answered John dourly, “and your son loved him. I find that I was a wonderful avatar who sacrificed myself for others, but I’m furious at myself. How could I have been so wonderful and yet so stupid as to not back myself up?”
“You weren’t stupid,” Sandra said. “You were overwhelmed and you forgot. I can’t tell you the number of people I know who died because they didn’t bother to get a yearly medical exam. They were either too busy or too afraid. And don’t even get me started on my generation’s morbid fascination with a belief in dying—and that was with all the cryogenic, nanotech, and stem cell writing on the wall.”
John suddenly burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” asked Sandra.
“I find it rather ironic that an avatarian professor of human sociology is getting insight into avatarity from a human.”
Sandra laughed as well. “I guess that is kind of funny, actually.”
“Speaking of which,” said John, “how many humans does it take to row a boat?”
Sandra smiled inwardly. It was one of the first “human” jokes the professor had ever told her, and so she said nothing and when he was finished she laughed as if it were the first time she’d ever heard it.
Executive wing
Burroughs
Mars
Irma did not believe in such ancient superstitions as a soul, but lately she’d been looking at the material confiscated in order to form the anti-religious attacks orchestrated by her department. Though a lot of it was downright frightening, she was surprised to see that some of it had been rather compelling.
As she sat in on the Cabinet meeting, she noted that there was at least one aspect of religion that the group before her was in serious need of—a little faith. There were no jokes being bandied about, drinks being asked for, or orders being served, and the Cabinet of the UHF was decidedly grim. The damage reports coming in from Earth/Luna were worse than they’d all expected. Though not the end of the world, it was sobering to see what only thirty ships of the enemy could do if given the opportunity. The Trans-Luna Shipyards were badly damaged and would not be at full production for at least four months, six at the outside. The hulls of over four hundred warships had been damaged so severely, they would need to be decompiled and re-formed. Luna herself was relatively unharmed, as the Baby Bitch, a moniker now given to Suchitra by the UHF, had concentrated solely on the shipyard. But the grand dome over Tyco Park had been punctured and the precious ecosystem within obliterated. Though the dome was repaired almost immediately, the park would be years in the restoring.
It was, however, the destruction caused by Omad Hassan’s last act of hatred and revenge that truly shook the people currently sitting around the table. With the exception of Tricia, everyone was from Earth and so felt the lash even more harshly. Few doubted, however, that that small detail would have made much of a difference in Tricia’s case. The only thing that mattered to her was internal security; everything after that was a simple calculation. So the permanent deaths of millions from the falling debris and tsunamis created by the large chunks of the Beanstalk slamming into the Atlantic Ocean from fifty-five kilometers above were still to her just another number in a sea of them.
“I have my people making a thorough report right now,” said the Economics Minister. “I can give you the gist of it, if you’d like, Mr. President.”
&n
bsp; Hektor nodded.
“Warship production has been concentrated around Mars, so most of the shipping loss is going to be in the transports and resource carriers. Industrial production is essentially untouched, which is a blessing, as most of it is orbital around Earth or Luna. The solar arrays were untouched as well. Those were very easy targets, and if the Alliance had concentrated on those instead of the Beanstalk, they may have brought manufacturing to an effective halt. But they got the Beanstalk. I won’t go into the psychological or propaganda effects of the loss. That I leave to others,” Brenda said, nodding to Irma and Tricia. “But I can speak about the loss to hydrogen distribution. We still don’t have a gas giant, and at this point, even if we owned that big beautiful gas station called Jupiter, we don’t have the tankers to distribute it to the rest of our holdings. We can make hydrogen sufficient for our industrial, shipping, and military needs from the oceans of the Earth, but we needed the Beanstalk to transport it out of the gravity well economically. We are going to have to subsume an enormous amount of Earth’s t.o.p. launching capacity to keep the war effort going. I am already drawing up plans to ration Terran ground-to-orbit travel for civilians. It will be based entirely on importance to the war effort without regard to wealth or majority status.”
“That will actually help,” added Irma. “Anything that shows we’re all in this together helps curb discontent among the minorities.”
“We will have to have far more launch capacity to continue fighting the war. Sadly, this will be a massive malinvestment that will skew transportation pricing for decades once the war is over. We won’t see a rational market there as rates plummet and rise based on overabundance of supply and the inevitable deterioration from no follow-up investment, but…” She left the statement unsaid. What could they do except savage another major component of the UHF’s economy and move on?
