The Unincorporated Future

by Dani Kollin

  “We can do nothing for those who stayed behind,” Sinclair said wearily. “They had their chance.”

  “While that may be true for some,” Rabbi said evenly, “it is not true for all. Many were too close to UHF forces during the initial phases of Diaspora, and had they fled, they most certainly would have died. And of those settlements in a position to flee, not all had the maneuvering thrusters that could get them on the way to the outer planets in time.”

  Sinclair gave the Secretary of Relocation a sidelong glance. “And there were plenty still, Rabbi, who refused to leave their precious orbital slots, no matter how great the danger or how persistent our warnings.”

  “And for that,” asked Rabbi with an uncharacteristically raised voice, “they must be condemned to death?”

  “And for that, Rabbi, we must risk our lives?”

  “Rabbi, Admiral, enough!” demanded Sandra. “Padamir is correct. Your brief discussion alone is a reminder of the volatility of this situation.” Sandra then looked over to Eleanor. “If you please.”

  “Madam President, based on the reports of carnage and near randomness of the atrocities, it would appear as if they are trying to start a revolt. I can think of no other reason.”

  “It would appear, then, that from a strictly moral point of view, we’d need some sort of response, most likely a military one.”

  Eleanor’s look was perfectly political: noncommittal but supportive.

  “A little dose of reality, here,” said Sinclair, his patience clearly at an end. “We have neither the manpower, resources, nor time for such an excursion.”

  “You don’t actually have to liberate the Belt, Joshua,” said Padamir, “just placate a people who’ve fought this war for six years and as of now have nothing but lost homes and destroyed lives to show for it.”

  “The fleet must guard the Outer Planets, Padamir. At least till we can rebuild an industrial base that can then rebuild the fleet. We have barely two hundred and fifty combat-ready ships, and that’s with Suchitra’s flotilla. Trang has four hundred plus with more coming online every day. It will take them time to train the crews, but Trang has a solid core of three hundred ships to build his new fleet on. When he attacks, and he always attacks, we will have to be ready”—Sinclair made a pointed look toward Rabbi—“dalliances in the Belt notwithstanding.”

  Rabbi’s face tightened. “Dalliances—notwithstanding—have, for my flock at least, resulted in pogroms, death marches, cattle cars, and gas chambers. Perhaps if you—”

  “This is obviously a bigger discussion,” interrupted Sandra, making sure to give Rabbi a reassuring nod. “For the sake of brevity, let’s move on with the knowledge that our new Secretary of Intelligence will keep us abreast of the situation and that further discussion is warranted.”

  Eleanor nodded while Rabbi and Sinclair agreed, at least across the table, to disagree.

  * * *

  After the meeting ended, Sandra asked Eleanor join her in the Triangle Office. After a brief respite and the pouring of tea, Eleanor finally asked, “So what are we going to do about the asteroid belt?”

  “Depends. How many of Kirk’s deep-cover ops have you accessed?”

  “All of ’em, I should think. But the truth is, I’ll never be one hundred percent certain.” Eleanor’s eyes narrowed as she shot Sandra a look over the rim of her teacup. “Why? How many have you accessed?”

  “All of ’em—I think.”

  Eleanor put down her teacup. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Kirk rarely messed up, but we spent month after stressful month together.”

  “Yes?”

  “Part of me assumed his ‘accidental’ slipup was purposeful, make me think he was better at his job than he actually was.”

  Eleanor listened intently.

  “An assassin. Pretty sure it’s a woman—possibly close enough to Hektor to have a shot. It’s all I know,” said Sandra.

  Eleanor McKenzie’s demeanor suddenly changed from the somewhat dowdy Congresswoman so familiar to the public and even Cabinet members to that of a woman who’d seen too much and was tired of it all. “He wasn’t lying,” she said, “not about any of it.”

  “Good, then. Because Hektor needs to die.”

  “I’m pretty sure that point is patently obvious to every citizen of the OA.”

  “True, but you and I both know the advantages of keeping the enemy you know from being replaced by the enemy you don’t. Suffice it to say, I think we’re past that time. Every instinct I have tells me with Sambianco dead, the UHF will make a deal. With him alive, the war will continue even if it comes down to chucking spears.”

  Eleanor nodded grimly. “Because it’s personal.”

  “Yes. Frankly, it would be better if the UHF were battered some more for a deal to have the maximum chance of success, but I cannot order the deaths of more human beings, even if they’re the enemy, when there’s another way.”

  “You do realize, Madam President, that we’ll lose one of the most productive sources of information and one of the best support elements we have in the UHF.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re really willing to sacrifice this source, knowing we’ll really get only one shot on goal?” Eleanor gave Sandra a hard look. “Madam President, I must ask this. Are you giving this order for the right reason?”

  “You’re asking if the decision is based on my animus toward Hektor?”

  Eleanor nodded.

  “Then the answer is yes, it is.”

  Eleanor shifted uncomfortably and was about to speak when Sandra, with a motion of her hand, indicated she was not finished.

  “Is that a factor in wanting him dead now?” Sandra paused. “I honestly don’t know. But if I let my anger at him keep me from acting when I should, he’ll have been just as successful as if he got me to act on something when I shouldn’t have. The only thing I can say is this: I honestly believe if Hektor had never said a word, I would have come to this exact same conclusion for the reasons I gave earlier. Will I take a great deal more pleasure out of it than I should? Hell yes. But it’s still the right thing to do. Am I wrong, Eleanor?”

  “No, I don’t think so, Madam President. But that doesn’t make it an easier order to follow.”

  Sandra looked at the woman sitting across from her. You turned the man you loved into something he was not to save his life, thought Sandra, and then you had to sit for year after year and smile at the same table with the woman who developed the process. And now you have to pull the trigger on the woman you considered a daughter.

  “Kill the bastard,” she said without mercy.

  Oasis Brewery

  Boulder, Colorado

  Earth

  The woman sat surrounded by three empty bottles and a mountain of empty upside-down shot glasses. The droids working the bar had long since given up trying to either refill or replace the empty glasses. Further, they’d been ordered to leave the bottles, once finished. The woman, over years of prescription, had made it patently clear she wished to keep a visual accounting of her slide into depredation, and other than begrudging her the small part of the bar she took up to do it, no one seemed to complain.

  “Hello, Nadine,” a dulcet voice said.

  Nadine slowly swung her head around, and her bloodshot eyes registered surprise. Sitting next to her on the barstool was a rather ordinary-looking woman who Nadine would swear had not been there even moments before. A second later, Nadine, using her forearms as a pillow, rested her forehead on the bar.

  “Who da fick aar ooh?” she burbled into the polished oak counter.

  The stranger sighed with the slightest hint of annoyance and then applied a small patch matching the drunkard’s skin tone to her exposed forearm. Less than one minute later, Nadine’s eyes widened and now her previous slouched figure had unfurled itself like a cobra arching for attack.

  “A sober patch?” she growled. “By Damsah’s left nut, what did I ever do to you that you’d fuck me
with a sober patch?”

  The woman smiled back acidly. “You know what you’ve done to me, Nadine. It’s the same thing you did to yourself. It’s the reason for”—the woman’s eyes indicated the copious amount of shot glasses—“that.”

  Nadine’s eyes grew larger as a look of fear passed over her face. She did not yell at the woman or attempt to strike her. Instead, she reached over the bar and grabbed the first bottle she saw. Without even looking at the label, she twisted open the top and prepared to upend the contents down her throat.

  The stranger put her hand over the bottle’s mouth. “You won’t find salvation in there, Nadine, and you know it.”

  “And I suppose you’ve got a place where I will?” she asked with a knowing leer.

  The woman didn’t answer.

  “Knew it. Fucking perv.”

  The stranger slapped a thin rectangular crystal onto the surface of the bar. “This is a ticket for a coach class accommodation on the Martian Express, the fastest civilian transport in the UHF. You want salvation? You’ll find it on Mars. Or you can stay here in the hell you so richly deserve.”

  Nadine viewed the crystal with some trepidation, but her hand, almost of its own free will, slid across the top of the bar and picked it up. Her eyes darted fearfully from the bottle in one hand to the ticket in the other. Finally, she looked up at the stranger. “What’s … what’s on Mars?”

  “Your sister, Nadine.”

  Before the flabbergasted sibling could even register a protest, the stranger had disappeared into the already swelling crowd.

  UHF Capitol

  Burroughs

  Mars

  Once again, Neela Harper had stayed out late “helping” Hektor—and once again, she’d been late getting back to her apartment. Had she truly given it much thought, she would’ve realized it had been a while since the President actually asked for her advice on problems of state.

  The only thing she had done of professional versus sexual service was that business with Sandra O’Toole’s family, and Neela did not want to think about that. And like most things she didn’t like to think about, she let it drift from her thoughts.

  Lately when he called on her, it was only because he was “lonely” and “troubled,” and that meant only one thing. And even that wouldn’t have been so bad except for the fact that their recent trysts had become less about sex and more about debasement—particularly hers. But she knew, just knew Hektor was a good man at heart and humanity needed him if the war was to end as soon as possible. She was prepared to do her part just like everybody else, but was still secretly glad when he hadn’t asked her to stay longer.

  Lately she’d come to love her one-bedroom apartment in Burroughs. It was not in the best part of town, though not in the worst either. It was in a section that was mainly used by midlevel bureaucrats who, for various reasons, chose not to reside with their families. Though she was wealthy enough to live wherever she pleased, being among “the people” pleased her most. Perhaps when the war was over, she’d give in to her baser instincts and purchase a fluid property, but for now the little space felt like home. She’d filled it with plants and simple furniture created from old-fashioned magnetic adhesion parts made to look like cherry wood. She’d built her big four-poster bed with plenty of drawers beneath. Though it would take time to fill them all, choosing each item as the universe saw fit to present was part of the fun. And she had plenty of time.

  She kicked off her shoes, allowed a deep yawn, stretching her arms over her head, and was just about to flop into bed when the apartment announced a visitor.

  Neela rolled her eyes. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “At this hour?”

  “At this hour.”

  Neela sighed. “Who is it?”

  “Wish I could say. The whole building’s still infected.”

  “I thought they fixed that bug last week.”

  “Apparently not.”

  Neela looked at her old-fashioned phosphorous clock on the wall and her warm and inviting bed, seriously debating whether or not to tell the uninvited guest to piss off.

  Seconds later, she went to the front door and checked the security vid. A smile lit up her face when she saw who it was. “Nadine! Amanda!” she exclaimed. “Come in, come in.”

  The two women entered and were each greeted by a warm hug, but neither one of them seemed glad to be there.

  Neela’s eyes narrowed and her head tipped slightly sideways. “All right, who died?”

  Nadine looked at her sister and then turned to Amanda. “Do we really have to? I mean just look at her.” Nadine pointedly looked toward her sister. “This isn’t so bad, is it?”

  Amanda’s face grew taut. “If someone had done that to you”—her irises seemed to blaze in azure flames—“wouldn’t you want to be yourself again?” She swept farther into the apartment, just behind Neela. “Even if only for an hour?”

  Neela was shocked to see Nadine suddenly burst into tears. “Hello,” insisted Neela, “I’m right here.”

  “No, child,” she heard Amanda say from right behind her, “you’re not.” She then felt a small pressure on the back of her neck and whirled around to face her friend holding a hypo in her hand. There were tears in Amanda’s eyes as well. Neela began to go faint, and as she did, she heard the soothing denouement of her best friend’s last words. “And you haven’t been for a long, long time.”

  And then Neela Harper’s shadow was gone forever.

  * * *

  Amanda looked at the figure on the floor and spoke perfunctorily. “Quit crying, and help me get her to the couch.”

  “Maybe she’s not really gone,” said Nadine, still sobbing as she easily—by virtue of having just arrived from Earth’s 1 g environment—hoisted her sister to where Amanda had pointed.

  Her suggestion was met with silence.

  “The evidence … it … it could be wrong.” Nadine straightened Neela’s legs on the couch as she looked back toward Amanda for salvation.

  “She was gone the moment you delivered her into Angela Wong’s hands, care of Hektor Sambianco. You knew it was true before I showed you the evidence you now question. If you had any real doubt, you would’ve already turned me in.” Amanda closed in on the crying woman. “When was the last time you visited your dear little sister? When was the last time you even called or wrote to her? When, Nadine, did you realize that that husk—” Amanda savagely grabbed the sobbing woman by the hair and forced her to look at the inert form on the couch. “—was not your sister, but Hektor Sambianco’s fuck toy! ’Cause it sure as shit wasn’t when I called on you for a visit two days ago. So when was it, Nadine?”

  “Alhambra.” Nadine sobbed quietly. “When she made an excuse for Alhambra. That’s when I knew.”

  “Then that’s your evidence. This creature was made by and for Hektor Sambianco. I condemn this shadow to death on the orders of those who are, at best, the lesser of two evils. But you brought this parody”—Amanda looked toward Neela’s body—“into our universe.” She then looked back at Nadine. “And now you’ll take her out of it.”

  Amanda reached into her backpack. “We don’t have much time.” She took out a portable cranial scanner and a modified VR headset and placed them on the small table near the couch. She reached in once more and pulled out some vials.

  “Listen closely. I’m going to make a detailed scan of Neela’s current neural pathways. Then I’m going to do an overlay.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of her former pathways. That unit”—her head motioned to the cranial scanner—“has in its flash memory a scan taken of Neela before…” Amanda didn’t finish her words; she just pursed her lips and stared accusingly at Nadine. Amanda exhaled and continued. “The modified rig will, in essence, disconnect her brain from her body. Then comes the fun part.” Amanda’s sarcasm was tinged with sadness. “These vials”—she opened her palm—“contain neuronans.”

  Nadine shook her head in confusio
n.

  “Nanites programmed for a specific neurological task. When given the overlay of what Neela Cord was as opposed what Neela Harper is”—Amanda’s eyes grew hard again—“well, they’ll work very hard and very quickly to reorient her brain to what it once was. Included in the surgery, if you like, will be a brief explanation of everything that’s happened since the psyche audit.”

  “But her pathways will decompile. She’ll … she’ll die.”

  “Yes,” answered Amanda without the slightest trace of emotion. “From the time of injection, she’ll live for approximately one hour, after which she’ll suffer a psychotic break. It’s possible her heart will stop beating, so she may get lucky and die. It will, I can assure you, be as permanent a death as if someone had shot her with a Neurolizer at point-blank range.”

  Amanda smiled sadly as she stared past Nadine.

  “You should know I watched her die, day by day—your sister, your beautiful, wonderful Neela. She and I could’ve been friends. Do you know how few friends I have in this world? But she … she left me, bit by psyche-audited bit till there was nothing left but a cunt for Hektor Sambianco to screw and a propaganda machine for the UHF to exploit. I read about how people before the Grand Collapse used to watch their loved ones slip away from them due to the ravages of cancer. I couldn’t imagine it, no matter how hard I tried. How could someone slip away? What did that even mean? Well, now I know. Now I feel the hollowed-out pit of despair in my chest as surely as if Neela had been taken from me by the cancer.”

  Amanda watched as her sorrow was reflected in Nadine’s eyes.

  “As soon as I realized what was going on, I made my choice. From that day forward, I had to pretend that this—” Amanda once again looked over to Neela and grimaced. “—thing was my friend. And I had to pretend that I enjoyed sleeping with her necrophiliac boyfriend. And I had to pretend that the government I’d defended was the harbinger of all that was good in the world. And you have the gall to say to me that she’ll die? Oh, honey,” Amanda said, her rage finally spent, “don’t you get it? I can’t kill her, because you already did.”