by Dani Kollin
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to see her for me,” conceded Sandra. “And I knew that that was never a good enough reason. I checked up on her, though, kept tabs. But I never mentioned her to anyone I knew. She deserved her own life.”
“Did you ever see her again?”
“Once,” and for the first time Sandra smiled. “It was her graduation from college. She looked so beautiful and happy. I saw the couple that adopted her. They were her true parents and deservedly so. They raised a good kid.”
“No regrets?”
“For myself,” answered Sandra wistfully, “many. But for her? None whatsoever. She had a better life than I could ever have given her.”
Gwendolyn offered a comforting smile. “How come you never had any more?”
“How could I? I was so busy, Gwendolyn. There was always something that needed doing, and only I seemed able to do it.”
Gwendolyn appeared dubious. “And?”
“And,” sighed Sandra, “I didn’t feel like … still don’t feel like I deserve a second chance. I knew I had a child and grandchildren, knew that they were happy. The only time I ever intervened in their lives was to get most of them to Alaska before the Grand Collapse made that impossible. But by then, the Alzheimer’s was playing havoc with me as much as the Grand Collapse was playing havoc with the world. When I woke up to find that Alaska had not only survived but had led the incorporated revolution, I was sorely tempted to find out about what happened to my progeny. But as is my bane—no matter which century I’m in—there was so much to do in those first few months and so little time to do it. Plus, and this had been my private conceit, I loved thinking that some of them had made their way out here. That at any given moment, I could be talking to any one of my offspring. And then—” Sandra’s face suddenly clenched into a ball of hatred. The change had been swift and severe. “—that motherfucker Sambianco took it all away. Turns out, he’s right,” she mocked. “I’ve been doing my level best to kill my own goddamned family.” Sandra took another deep breath, then drew her lips into her face so tightly, her mouth appeared as a single bloodless slit.
Gwendolyn’s response was steady and even, but just as determined. “They were free to choose, Sandra. You cannot in any way be responsible for them having chosen to murder in the name of slavery.”
“Maybe not me, Gwendolyn, but certainly Hektor.” With renewed fire in her belly, Sandra stormed over to the waiting group. “Why is it that Hektor is still alive?” she demanded of no one in particular.
“It’s complicated, Madam President,” said Dante.
“Complicated, my ass! We all know he’s the one keeping the war going. Iago is his personal fucking avatar. Why not just have Iago do the job for us? They got to Justin with far fewer advantages.”
“We know all of this, and there are reasons,” said Sebastian.
“What reasons!” the President bellowed.
“Sandra, you needn’t yell. I will tell you.”
Sandra listened intently.
“One, it’s not a guarantee that Iago or any avatar could kill Hektor. He’s a very paranoid individual. Anything that could kill him is not allowed to run on automatic. It’s checked and operated by multiple human secret servicemen who spend vast amounts of time thinking up the most outlandish ways to kill the President and then plugging those loopholes.”
“But they don’t know you exist.”
“And we’d like to keep it that way. If Hektor is assassinated, they’ll check everything down to the line code and they might discover us or, worse, Al.”
“Good, let them kill each other.”
“And what if they don’t?” challenged Sebastian.
“Of course they will.”
“Madam President,” interjected Marilynn, “they might not. They might do the exact same thing we’ve done—make a treaty and begin to act on it. Especially if they realize that we’ve already done it. And if that happens, we’re all truly fucked.”
“And,” added Dante, “if they replace Hektor with Tricia Pakagopolis or, worse, Trang, the war might not only continue but continue with a President who would make fewer mistakes.”
“How so?”
“One of our big advantages,” said Sebastian, “is that Hektor believes himself to be logical but is, more often than not, driven by his emotions. He hated Justin Cord, and that drove him to do things that made it worse for everyone. And now, he’s apparently fixated on you. It was bound to happen. Your secret could not have been kept forever, certainly not from someone like Hektor. His renewed hatred will drive him to make mistakes. Mistakes we’ll be ready and waiting to take advantage of. His is a problem that the Alliance Leadership, with you at the helm, has fortunately managed to keep in check. We stand here today, avatar and human in the Neuro because of that striking rationale, because of your hootspa.”
“Chutzpah,” Sandra corrected.
“Chutzpah,” repeated Sebastian with a sidelong grin. “I know of no other human who could have or even would have gotten us to this point, Sandra—not even, I dare say, the very emotional Justin Cord.”
Sandra stood quietly as a silent litany played itself out with the gnawing of her bottom lip. When she spoke, it was a single word: “Shit.”
Sebastian’s eyes glimmered with hope. “You see my point, then?”
Sandra deflated. “Too clearly by a mile … kilometer. He tried to make me act like him.”
“And succeeded,” stated Dante flatly. “What?” he blurted defensively at the castigating looks of Sebastian, Gwendolyn, and Marilynn.
“For a while,” admitted Sandra, coming to his rescue. “And even for a while longer.” Sandra turned to face Gwendolyn. “I need a place to stay—just for a bit, a day at most—human time. A place where I can sit and cry and yell and sleep—Lord allow me some sleep! I’ll need to be left alone except for you four, of course.”
“Of course, Sandra,” answered Sebastian.
“Because when that day is done, I can’t allow myself to be like what you’ve seen of me today. Not if we’re going to win this war.”
Gwendolyn took Sandra in her arms. “I know just such a place.” And with that, Sandra and her friend disappeared from the ruins of Tuscan Park.
* * *
Dr. Ayon Nesor’s shuttle landed in the section of the Via Cereana reserved for government ships and put down near the remains of the former Alliance One. Significantly, the President’s ship was the only one in the landing bay that had been destroyed. Ayon admired the message Trang had sent by the selectiveness of his target.
As soon as her shuttle landed, Ayon was ushered out and practically carried to the elevator that would take her directly to the level of Ceres the Cliff House occupied.
She was met at the Presidential suite by a familiar face.
“Sergeant Holke,” she said, earnestness in her voice, “it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“It’s good to see you again as well, ma’am,” he replied as she walked through a whole-body scanner. After she’d passed through, Holke began checking her travel bag and jacket pockets, even running his fingertips along the lining.
“Is that really necessary, Sergeant?” asked Ayon, looking purposely back toward the scanner she’d just traversed.
“It’s not till it is, ma’am,” he said, mouth forming itself into a half smile. “She’s clear,” he told the two TDCs standing nearby. Though the two women had never once taken their fingers off their ARGs triggers, they did seem to relax slightly at the sergeant’s confirmation. Holke then looked back to the psychotherapist. “The President will see you now.”
Ayon put a hand on the sergeant’s shoulder, causing him to pause. “How is the President doing?”
Holke played dumb. “What do you mean, ma’am?”
“The attack on her was brutal and expertly wielded. It had Neela Harper’s imprimatur all over it.”
“Ma’am?”
“She used her training in order to hurt our Pre
sident at her psychological core.” Ayon’s eyes now drilled deeply into the sergeant. “I need to know—did she succeed?”
Holke considered for a long moment. “For a couple of days there, ma’am, it was best to be scarce. She was angry. There’s no denying it hit home. But she’s better now.”
Ayon’s brow rose slightly. “Really?”
“Really,” confirmed the sergeant. There was not a hint of uncertainty in his voice, and the psychologist finally bowed her head slightly.
“We should proceed, ma’am.”
A moment later, Ayon found herself left alone in the Triangle Office.
“I hope the good sergeant was not too strident in his security checks,” said a smiling Sandra O’Toole, who got up from behind the corner desk.
“We can’t be too careful, Madam President.”
Sandra nodded sadly. “Kirk.”
“There’s talk of naming one of the subrings of Saturn after him, right next to the one for Hildegard.”
“Really?” Sandra asked with a hint of amusement in her voice. “I think he would’ve appreciated that.”
Ayon regarded Sandra through a pair of highly stylized horn-rimmed glasses.
“I’ll cut to the chase,” said the President. “You’re going to be appointed the new Secretary of Technology.” Sandra held up a plate of cookies. “Oreo?”
Ayon’s left eyebrow rose slightly. She stared down at the plate and shook her head. “I don’t know anything about advanced technology.”
“You did help develop the psychological auditor, did you not?”
“That was something that I had to do and to this day deeply regret—not the outcome, mind you, just the fact that we had to resort to it.”
“Understandable.”
“It’s nothing like the miracles that Hildegard and Kenji produced, practically on demand.”
“I agree.”
“Then why not appoint Kenji?”
Sandra choked back a laugh. “No.”
“Madam President, why would you appoint me to a job I’m clearly not qualified for?”
“What makes you think you’re not qualified? I don’t want you because you’re a genius, Ayon; I want you because you’ve shown you can run a large organization as well as the occasional geniuses found within it.”
“Thaddeus,” Ayon said with a slight smile that went immediately to her eyes.
“Is the best in his field, possibly ever,” added Sandra. “You’ve enabled him to do what many consider his best work.”
“As opposed to what? Guys like Thaddeus—you leave them mostly alone. I can’t take credit for doing nothing.”
“No, you can’t. But you can take credit for not sabotaging his work, which plenty of others might have done.”
Ayon shrugged her shoulders at the truth of the President’s observation.
“I don’t need another genius in the department of technology, Ayon. Trust me, that department has plenty. What it needs now is leadership, which you’ve clearly demonstrated.”
“And it won’t hurt to have a Saturnian nominated to make getting Congressional approval that much easier,” added Ayon ruefully.
Sandra tipped her head in respect. “I won’t lie. It was certainly a consideration.”
Ayon smiled. “You don’t have to answer this question, but it would help me arrive at my decision.”
“Shoot.”
“When did you know you were going to try to become the President? And I mean in fact, not just in name.”
Sandra’s mouth formed into a knowing grin. “The second I accepted the job.”
Ayon looked at the woman in front of her for a long minute and thought back on all the encounters that not only she but also almost everyone she’d met in the past few months had had with the new President—from Ayon’s patients to the Cabinet members to the TDCs standing guard just outside the door. And it was only then that the psychotherapist from Saturn realized for the first time in a long time that the war might just be winnable after all.
“I’ll need full control of my department.”
“How could you do your job otherwise?” agreed Sandra.
“Very well, Madam President, I accept.”
Cabinet room
The Cliff House
Ceres
Sandra scanned the faces of all those present. This was their third meeting in as many days with the newly appointed Secretaries of Technology and Security, and the dynamic of the meetings was still in flux. This was no longer Justin’s Cabinet, even if three of the officers were from the Unincorporated Man’s time. Those present served Sandra, and now everyone knew it—even if some were still having a difficult time coming to terms.
She turned her head toward the Treasury Secretary. “What’s the good word?”
Mosh wasn’t the only one to notice that Sandra was starting all the meetings with him the way she’d started them with Kirk; it was a mark of respect. But given what had happened to Mosh’s former adversary, the suspicious side of him was not particularly happy or thrilled with the honor.
“Wish I had a few, Madam President. Much as I hate to say it, the Outer Alliance can no longer be considered an industrial power. The combined loss of the asteroid belt and now Jupiter’s and Ceres’s industrial and shipbuilding capacity, has taken all our sources of manufactured goods out of play. We have some small operations past the Kuiper Belt, but they can barely produce enough to provide maintenance of their own basic needs, much less the rest of the Alliance. Given the lack of personnel and needs of the war, it’ll take years before they could seriously begin to export the manufactured goods in the quantities required to keep the war effort going.”
A deathly silence filled the room.
“Besides that,” riffed Sandra, “how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?”
The comment was followed by grim laughter.
“But there is some good news,” said Eleanor, looking over to Mosh. “Right, dear?”
Her comment elicited a round of smiles except from Mosh. It was obvious he was used to a certain amount of insult and hectoring from the chair his wife currently occupied, but it would take him a while to accept endearments from it. “As my wife”—he pointedly glared at Eleanor—“the Security Secretary, has so helpfully pointed out”—Eleanor returned his glare with an infuriatingly cheerful wave—“ours is not a position of permanent loss. The vast majority of the Belt’s manufacturing capacity has been rescued and is beginning to arrive in orbit around Saturn. What’s survived is being integrated into the Saturnian supply and traffic control belt. But it’ll be six more months or more before all the asteroids from the Belt are brought in and up to full capacity, even longer for the asteroids heading for Uranus and Neptune. We’ve also gotten extremely lucky with the Jovian Shipyards. The physical structure was destroyed, but all the components and personnel were prudently saved. As soon as we can get them here and in new asteroids, we’ll have the Jovian Shipyards back up and running.”
“Shouldn’t they then be called the Saturnian Shipyards?” asked Sinclair, harking back to an earlier political imbroglio.
“As a fellow Saturnian,” interjected Ayon, rewarding Admiral Sinclair with a pointed look, “I can think of nothing more appropriate than keeping the honorable, well-earned, and appropriate name of Jovian Shipyards, no matter where it chooses to make its home.”
Sinclair’s mouth dropped open as if to speak, but he was interrupted by the President.
“I move that an executive order be issued stating that the Jovian Shipyards will remain so named regardless of location. All in favor, signify by saying, ‘aye.’”
The vote was unanimous, with Admiral Sinclair’s “aye” trailing last.
“Rabbi,” said Sandra, pushing forward, “how long till the Jovian refugees are safely around Saturn and, more important, reintegrated with the Alliance economy?”
“Three to four months, depending on if the Holy One Blessed Be He chooses to give us the opportunity to overcome any more diffi
culties.”
Sandra, along with a few others in the room, laughed. “Please elaborate.”
Rabbi nodded. “We’re going to take the plow Admiral Black used to get here and send it back to Saturn, then use it to tidy up the path to Jupiter. Then we’ll escort the Jovians in one large convoy back to Saturn. Like I said, three to four months.”
Sandra threw out the next question to the room. “Do we have any news on how long it’ll take Ceres to reach orbit around Saturn?”
“Yes, Madam President,” Ayon answered. “At present, we’ll arrive in approximately one and half months. Trang did a lot of damage to the surface infrastructure, but it’s kinda hard to stop a rock of this size once in motion. And any damage he did to the surface channels that were ionizing the ice were quickly repaired by the malleability of the nano-created channels themselves.”
“It’ll be good to be home,” added Sinclair, “but it was never the way I thought I’d get there.”
“Secretary McKenzie,” Padamir said.
“Yes,” both Eleanor and Mosh answered.
From the look on Padamir’s face, it was obvious he’d gotten the result he wanted. “Secretary Singh,” chastised Sandra through the thin wisp of a smile, “a Secretary of Information should be more precise.”
“Of course, Madam President,” he said without a hint of contrition. “My humblest apologies to the husband and wife. I had meant to address the newest McKenzie”—Padamir looked directly at Mosh—“as opposed to the old … er one.”
Mosh smiled amiably. “I can assure you, Padamir, in our marriage, there’s very little opposition.”
“And how may I be of assistance?” asked Eleanor, the hint of mirth in her eyes.
“We’re receiving numerous reports of atrocities in the Belt. I need to know if the reports are true.”
“Could it be propaganda?”
“Yes. Much of which I’ll admit to fanning the flames of, but not this. If what my sources are telling me is true, we might be in trouble.”
“How so?” asked Sandra.
“If the UHF is indeed committing these atrocities and we do nothing, while it will certainly cause rage against their government, it will also cause resentment against ours.”
