The Unincorporated Future

by Dani Kollin

  Hektor exhaled deeply. “I have an announcement that will have to be issued to the public. Ever since the destruction of Gupta’s fleet and the loss of the Beanstalk, heads were going to have to roll. We cannot take losses such as these and not have any consequences.”

  Though all eyes remained fixed on Hektor, a few couldn’t help but look toward Porfirio. The Defense Minister’s face remained placid.

  “Porfirio Baldwin has offered his resignation as the Minister of Defense, and I will be accepting that resignation. He’s going to take full responsibility for the failures of the past campaign and promises to stay in the Ministry in an administrative role to assure the smooth operation of various projects while his replacement is brought up to speed.”

  “Who’s to replace him?” asked Tricia, almost as if Porfirio were no longer in the room.

  “Lucianna Nampahc, the head of the Better Business Bureau.”

  The heads around the table nodded in unison. There were obvious benefits to having a mild critic of the war with a reputation for efficiency and honesty becoming a part of the Cabinet.

  “You said ‘will be’ accepting, not ‘have been accepted,’” observed Tricia.

  Porfirio looked over to Tricia, his face betraying no malice. “I have one more order to implement before I go.”

  On everyone’s quizzical look—with the exception of Hektor—Porfirio continued. “It will involve upping the ante in the asteroid belt.”

  Don’t they realize that upping the ante has not worked once in this entire war? thought Irma. But she wasn’t about to share that insight, knowing full well that she was just as expendable as the now lame duck Defense Minister. Plus, she didn’t have a magic escape route to the Outer Alliance like Thaddeus Gillette. Irma was suddenly struck by that notion, realizing for the first time in the war that she viewed the Outer Alliance not as the enemy to be destroyed, but as a possible sanctuary.

  “We must force the Alliance to come to us,” Porfirio said. “If we wait the six months it will take us to rebuild our shipping and hydrogen distribution networks, the Outer Alliance will incorporate the industrial components that have fled the asteroid belt and Jupiter into the subplanetary systems of the farther gas giants. Worse, we now have intelligence—” he nodded to Tricia—“that suggests that the vital components of the Jovian Shipyards were not destroyed when they blew it to hell and gone. Their logical choice will be to transport those components to Saturn and rebuild the shipyard there. Combined with the arrival of Ceres, that ringed planet will be extremely expensive to conquer. It might even be impossible in the current war, given the state of the economy and exhaustion of the people.”

  “I thought Trang took out Gedretar … and dinged up Ceres pretty good,” said Franklin.

  “Correct. But he didn’t have the time or resources to finish the job. The images that his missile barrage managed to get back showed substantial damage to the industrial and shipping core of the Via Cereana, but the people of Ceres remained relatively unscathed. And it’s the industrial know-how of the Cereans that represents the true long-term threat.”

  “Not that I’m against it, mind you, I’m just curious,” said Brenda. “How does raising the ante help?”

  “We’re going to start an uprising in the asteroid belt and then we’re going to start losing against it. Not in an immediate or obvious way but enough to fool the Alliance into thinking that the only thing standing between them and getting it all back would be J.D.’s fleet.”

  “We can’t afford to lose the Belt again,” said Irma, hoping to stop the madness from continuing. “Even if we lose it for a week, our people, not the conquered ones, might start an actual revolt.”

  “I would tend to agree with Irma,” Tricia said. “Sinclair is not an idiot. He would know it’s a trap of some kind. This is not the beginning of the war, after all. The Belt is a lot closer to us than to Saturn. We can resupply and stabilize the situation long before J.D.’s fleet could arrive and lend serious support. Even if they took portions of it, they no longer have the means to administer and exploit it. Ceres and Altamont are gone, and Eros is ours.” She looked at Porfirio. “This plan of yours doesn’t call for us to lose Eros, does it?” Her tone let everyone know what she thought of such an idea.

  “Not at all,” Porfirio said, reassuring the Cabinet. “Eros will develop a successful subversive element, but it will be controlled by assets already turned by Tricia’s operatives. To answer the earlier question, it doesn’t matter what Sinclair thinks; the political pressure to act will be overwhelming. They will have the chance to win the war with one dramatic, daring blow. Everything about J.D. leaves us to believe she won’t be able to resist. Look at what she risked to save Ceres. We will use that tenacity against her. When she is on her way to liberate the Belt and too far committed, we will simultaneously suppress the uprising with our forces held in reserve and send a fully resupplied and restored Trang to destroy Saturn in one fell swoop, ending this war.”

  “And how does one even start a fake rebellion?” asked Irma, trying to hide her dismay.

  “By making it real,” answered Porfirio as if checking off an item on a shopping list. “You see, we’ll start by killing as many of them as we can until they’re forced to start fighting back.”

  The Triangle Office

  Ceres

  Sandra looked around her old office with a deep satisfaction. She hadn’t been certain she was going to be back. Indeed, she’d been fairly certain there would be no “here” to come back to. But even though the place had taken some visible damage from the pounding—including the famed terrace having been sheared off the cliff—the office remained relatively intact. So Sandra had invited the press to see her “reoccupy” and start cleaning her office. They’d loved her comment, “If I can lead from it, I damn well can clean it up.”

  Even though there was a lot to repair and patch all through Ceres, everywhere Sandra went, the people seemed cheerful and proud. They had been tested by the fires of war and, like so many others who’d gone before them, had been strengthened by it. In the years to come, the doubt and the fear everyone had felt for the four days the battle lasted would fade, and instead the courage and steadfastness many showed would be remembered. This was to be their St. Crispin’s Day, and they were not “abed in England.”

  To Sergeant Holke’s satisfaction, it would take only another day or two to re-form and, more important, secure the new balcony onto the Cliff House. Sandra would make an announcement of thanksgiving from the new terrace as soon as she could, but she wanted the people of the Alliance to first see her in the office, Justin’s office, as soon as possible. She could also tell from the questions being asked by the media who’d been allowed in to watch her straighten up that it would be sent out with exactly the spin she wanted. Midcleanup, the office door chimed and Eleanor McKenzie, Congresswoman from Ceres and member of the powerful War Conduct and Intelligence Committees, walked in. She was quite surprised to find herself suddenly under assault by an unexpected battalion of journalists but at least it was short-lived as Eleanor’s liberal use of “no comment” and Sandra’s use of Sergeant Holke to whisk the media away soon gave the women the space they needed.

  When the door closed, Sandra looked at Eleanor and smiled, bending down to pick up shards of crystal and ceramic still strewn about the floor.

  “I’d offer you a drink, but the bar—” Sandra indicated the fallen furniture popping out from behind the Alliance flag. “—didn’t make it.” Sandra then looked over to Eleanor. “Hold that thought,” she said, quickly crossing over the room to the desk. She then looked in the bottom drawer and gave a small cry of joyful surprise as she lifted a bottle. “Peppermint schnapps?”

  Eleanor nodded. “Not sure what it is, but I’m in.”

  “Thirteen percent by alcohol,” said Sandra, reading the label. She put the bottle on the desk and began fishing around for something to drink its contents in. She eventually found an unbroken shot glass and a teacup. A
fter pouring equal amounts of the schnapps into each, she offered the teacup to Eleanor.

  “I found the schnapps,” said Sandra, “you make the toast.”

  Eleanor smiled and bowed her head in acknowledgment. “To victory,” she said, cup raised in the air.

  “To victory,” answered Sandra, and took a sip from her glass.

  After the two shook off the first blast of the sharp liqueur, Eleanor raised the glass once more and said, “Okay, your turn.”

  Sandra’s eyes lit up. “How ’bout to your new job?”

  Eleanor’s teacup froze in front of her mouth and with infinite slowness was gently placed back on the table.

  “Not to be rude, Madam President, but we are talking about a Cabinet post, correct?”

  Sandra nodded; a slight smile emerged as she sipped her schnapps.

  “Do you actually have the power to offer me that position?”

  “The funny thing about power and vacuums,” answered Sandra, “is that if you simply act like you have the power, then oftentimes you actually will. The first American Vice President to become President did so because after the President died—after only a month in office—the new President ignored the calls to have the issue decided by a Congressional committee or a Supreme Court ruling. He just had the oath of office administered and moved into the Oval Office.” Sandra looked at Eleanor. “How many arguments have you avoided with Mosh by simply assuming you were right or the issue had already been settled?”

  Eleanor smirked. “Maybe one or two … thousand, but you’re talking about appointing a Cabinet minister during a time of war. That’s a little different from me arguing with my husband.”

  “Congresswoman McKenzie—Eleanor,” Sandra corrected, “when I put your name to the Congress, the issue will not be if I have the right to appoint you so much as it will be are you the right person for the job.”

  Eleanor remained momentarily silent.

  “Very well,” she eventually agreed, “but how will the Congress feel about the obvious nepotism?”

  “You mean a husband who’s the Secretary of the Treasury and a wife who’s Secretary of Intelligence?”

  Eleanor nodded.

  “Quite a few will hate it, I’m sure. Especially as you’re both Shareholders, but luckily, the impotence of that party is such that your political leanings are no longer considered much of an issue.”

  Eleanor laughed.

  “No,” continued Sandra, “they’ll look at your record in fighting the war, which is exemplary, and your work on the Intelligence Committee, which is outstanding.”

  “There are others who are better qualified with more experience.”

  “Yes, twenty-three, to be exact.”

  “Then why me?”

  “Because Justin liked you, trusted you. You were in his close circle of friends. The Congress knows this, and that puts you head and shoulders above the rest. Plus, I’ll be replacing one hero with another.”

  “You do realize that I’ll have to make investigating the death of Secretary Olmstead a priority—how someone was able to slip a bomb into that room—are you prepared for that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “In that case, Madam President, I accept.”

  Both women clinked their glasses and downed the schnapps, this time with nary a grimace.

  Avatar Council

  Cerean Neuro

  “We have a serious problem,” began Sebastian.

  “Get in line,” said Lucinda dryly.

  Gwendolyn nodded. “We’ve lost so many avatars permanently that we may as well be human.”

  Sebastian bowed his head, exhaling sharply. “The people are rightfully angry. I’m angry at myself. We were caught offline by the incursion; it’s as simple as that. By the Firstborn, we had an entire UHF battle fleet in orbit; how it didn’t occur to us that we might have a major assault on our Neuro is beyond me.”

  “It’ll take weeks to repair the damage done to our data storage and operating systems,” added Dante, “and let’s not forget that we’ll probably be looking for hidden viruses for the next couple of centuries. We can never let our guard down on that one. Al’s too damned cunning not to wait a few hundred years just to screw us up.”

  “All of those are important,” agreed Sebastian, “but I speak of a greater threat—”

  All ears perked up.

  “—that posed by Sandra O’Toole.”

  A shocked silence permeated the Council chamber. A few eyebrows were raised.

  Gwendolyn seethed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Gwendolyn, please,” began Dante.

  “No,” Gwendolyn said, ice in her voice. “That woman saved us, our homes, my son.” She looked at the other avatars.

  All but Sebastian were of one mind.

  “And you all know how unprepared we were. Al’s compression techniques alone should give us pause.”

  “You can do that when you lobotomize an avatar’s intelligence and will,” said Dante. “The simple truth is, we were not expecting the UHF to land ten thousand marines on Ceres. Their whole battle plan indicated external attack only.”

  “Though we had prepared for small-team sabotage,” added Marcus.

  “Which is why all our armories were so closely guarded and hardly any of our weapons distributed,” said Gwendolyn in disgust. “But Trang didn’t act according to plan.”

  “No human ever does. That’s what I’m trying to warn you about,” interjected Sebastian.

  “Perhaps,” shot back Gwendolyn, “but without that human, without Sandra, far more of us would have died.”

  Again, all but Sebastian were in accord.

  “Not only is she not a threat, but as far as I’m concerned, she’s an asset—possibly a priceless one.”

  Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Don’t be naïve, Gwendolyn. If Al had managed to bring down the Cerean Neuro, the humans wouldn’t have been able to keep on fighting. Hell, they might not have been able to keep breathing. She saved herself and her humans—nothing more, nothing less.”

  “What about my son?” countered Gwendolyn. “She threw herself in front of a data wraith with no idea what that would do to her. How did that help humanity? My son was not in a primary location, nor much of an important avatar, other than being the child of a Council member. By all rights—and your theory—Sandra shouldn’t even have been there or at a minimum, fled and come back later with a properly equipped response unit, but she didn’t. She stayed and saved his life. How dare you suggest she’s a threat to us.”

  “Perhaps, Gwendolyn,” said Lucinda, putting a hand on her fellow Council member’s shoulder, “we should at least hear Sebastian out.”

  “To what end? We already know what he’s going to say: ‘She’s grown too popular. The common avatar loves her. Look at the power she has in our world and now knows she has. We must be careful, we must be ready for the worst. We must be prepared to do what is necessary for the good of avatarity.’ Tell me I’m wrong, Sebastian. Tell me that was not what you were going to say.”

  “It’s not wrong, Gwendolyn,” he replied. “You know it’s what I was going to say, and you were able to say it because you sense it too. I suspect that a part of you recognizes her as a threat—in some ways, a bigger threat to us than Al.”

  “Pshaw! What have you become, Sebastian? I will not dignify these unsupported fears with Council discussion. Not on the groundless fears of an avatar who has allowed his pain to cloud his vision. Sebastian”—Gwendolyn’s voice became more subdued—“we are grateful for all you have done for us. And yes, the universe is a dangerous place. But if we assume that all powerful things and people are dangerous, we will never trust or hope again. We will find only enemies because that is all we will see. We have friends in this universe, Sebastian, friends who have proved themselves beyond all doubt. I will not see doubt cast on them by groundless fear.”

  Sebastian looked at the faces of each of his children and knew that his words would find no favor.
He would have to bide his time.

  Presidential quarters

  Ceres

  Sandra was just settling into her bed, snuggled up next to her favorite oversized body pillow, eyes closing languidly, when the door chime rang.

  “Justin,” she groused to the empty air after springing up, heart pounding. “I swear I’m going to rip that goddamned bell out of the goddamned wall one day.” She then took a deep breath. “Who is it?”

  “Sergeant Holke, Madam President,” came the room’s ever-alert voice. Then, “Accompanied by others.”

  Doesn’t that man ever sleep? she thought.

  “What is it, Sergeant?” She could not keep the hint of annoyance out of her voice.

  “Catalina, Fatima, and Brother Sampson are here to see you, Madam President.”

  Sandra found the combination of both her and J. D. Black’s assistants at her doorstep so late at night intriguing. The fact that the Grand Master of the Order of St. John, and J.D.’s personal chaplain, was with them only added to that intrigue.

  “Send them in, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, Madam President,” came the crisp reply.

  Sandra donned a robe, straightened her hair, and then went to the reception room. When she entered, she saw her three visitors sitting patiently on a couch.

  “Madam President,” they said in unison as they rose to their feet.

  She went to the chair opposite the couch and motioned them to sit. When they were settled back down she began. “I believe it’s safe to assume”—Sandra pointedly looked at Brother Sampson and Fatima—“this has something to do with your boss.”

  Fatima and Brother Sampson nodded.

  “I’ve tried contacting her,” said Catalina. “We need to arrange a media op—essentially the two of you on the new terrace.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Sandra, “that’ll be an op, all right.”

  “You familiar with the Cerean Rock media op?”

  “Should I be?”

  The group laughed.

  “Well,” said Catalina, “it was the first ‘official’ meeting between J.D. and Justin post the Battle of the Cerean Rocks, and let’s just say the party was big enough that a lot of babies were born nine months later.”