by Dani Kollin
Cyrus was talking with his old friend Padamir; Tyler Sadma was sitting alone at the table, contentedly paring a Granny Smith apple; and Eleanor Rocheforte, formerly McKenzie, had just arrived, deep in conversation with Rabbi. Marilynn watched as Rabbi’s bodyguard, Agnes Goldstein, first checked in with Sergeant Holke. With a quick tip of the sergeant’s head, Marilynn watched the agent do a cursory sweep of the Grand Terrace and, clearly satisfied, dart out as quickly as she’d darted in. The Rabbi went over to the buffet and took only fruit, and even that, noticed Marilynn, on a separate plate he’d brought along.
When Sandra came in with Dante by her side, all conversation came to a sudden stop. A look from the President let everyone know they were being rude, and conversation quickly resumed—even if with furtive glances—at a slightly lower volume. Sandra did not get anything at the buffet, though, much to the surprise of everyone else, Dante did. As he approached the table, a plate appeared in his hand, and when he left he had a good-sized portion of eggs and sausage. This led Cyrus to ask the avatar a question about the eating habits of an avatar, and soon the two of them were engrossed in deep conversation.
As Marilynn watched the two in morbid fascination, Sandra sidled up to her new Secretary of Defense and in sotto voce asked, “So how long have you and the Secretary of Avatar Affairs been sleeping with each other?”
Marilynn paled. “I … you…”
Sandra smiled good-naturedly, waiting for her tongue-tied friend to recover.
“When did you find out?”
“Just now,” answered Sandra, equally as good-naturedly.
“Wow, am I ever off my game,” said Marilynn, chiding herself for being had so easily.
“Oh, please. I saw how you looked at him the moment we came in. Just because it’s inconceivable to most doesn’t mean it’s inconceivable to me. Remember,” she said with a wink, “I’m not from around these parts. But you still haven’t answered my question.”
“Since that night at the theater,” confessed Marilynn. “Am I in trouble, here?”
“Dunno,” answered Sandra, eyes sparkling humorously, “are you pregnant?”
Marilynn hiccuped a laugh. “Is that even possible?”
Now Sandra’s smile became mischievous. “In this, my dear, you are the expert.”
Marilynn’s face turned beet red, and since Sandra knew there were plenty of eyes on them at the moment, she covered for her friend by calling everyone to the table.
“I wish to welcome the latest member of the Cabinet, Dante, the new Secretary of Avatar Affairs. On behalf of all of us, I’d like to wish you all the best in your new office.” The comment was greeted with a smattering of polite applause as Dante shifted his torso forward and bowed in acknowledgment of the blessing.
After that, the Cabinet dived into the nuts and bolts of how the rebuild of the Alliance industrial capacity in the outer planets was going. The conclusion: slow, but the pace was accelerating.
The second part of the meeting dealt with the nascent Belter League and specifically how it was they’d managed to survive the Avatar Plague mostly intact. Interestingly, it was a result of the help they’d received from the UHF, a government that had only recently been murdering them in droves. Hektor had been prescient enough to send them the same programs he’d sent Trang, figuring in his eventual showdown with the Outer Alliance, he could use all the chits he could get. It also helped that for the long-suffering survivors of the asteroid belt, their information systems were so old, basic, and faltering that not many avatars bothered to live in them anymore. There were still some devastating losses, but nowhere near as bad as it could have been had the UHF not come to their aid. That singular act by Hektor had, strangely enough, made the asteroid belt a place of true neutrality. They didn’t forgive the UHF for what it had done, but they also knew the Alliance hadn’t done much to help out, either. The Belter League had control of one quarter of the Belt, but if left alone—at least according to the Security Secretary’s estimates—they’d control the whole thing in less than a year. Of course, if things got out of hand, a flotilla of twenty Alliance ships could always take care of the problem.
“It would be easy to deal with the Belter League, but pointless,” offered Sandra. “The real question is, what are we going to do about what’s currently going on in the UHF?”
“Do we have to do anything?” asked Rabbi. “It seems to me they have enough problems of their own. And we certainly have enough that we won’t be running out any time soon. They’re concentrated around Earth; we’re here at Saturn. Between the greater distances that separate us and the tsuris we both share—” On some Cabinet members’ blank stares, he realized he’d slipped into his Yiddish vernacular. “—sorry, ‘troubles’ we both share, maybe they’ll see reason and leave us alone.”
“Rabbi,” said Eleanor sadly, “you may be a reasonable man but seem to be making the mistake of assuming others are as well.” With the flick of a finger across the face of her DijAssist, Eleanor shot the other Cabinet officers a file she’d compiled of news reports and observations coming from what was left of the UHF. “As you can see,” she continued, “the UHF is blaming us for this, in its entirety.”
“Why aren’t they blaming the Core avatars?” asked Ayon.
Though everyone immediately looked to Dante, whose mouth had already opened to respond, it was Padamir who jumped in first. Surprised, all heads immediately swung toward the Secretary of Information.
“I’ve given this question a lot of thought. Despite all that’s happened, avatars still don’t seem quite real to the UHF. It’s far easier for them to believe that somehow the Alliance corrupted their avatars, turning them against the UHF.”
“It would also fit neatly,” added Ayon, “into the comfortable belief that the enemy that did this to them is the same one they’ve been fighting all along.”
“Denial, then,” said Marilynn.
“Yes. You have to understand the mass psychosis of a people living under the thumb of oppression. It’s a well-documented phenomenon that over time the rage and anger resulting from that oppression must find an outlet other than their own leaders; blaming them would clearly be counterproductive.”
“Which,” said Cyrus, “a permanent death or a shadow audit would decidedly be.”
Ayon nodded. “Hitler had the Jews, gypsies, and homosexuals; al-Bashir had the black West Africans; and Sambianco has us—”
“The rather despicable propagators of personal liberty and expressive freedom,” added Cyrus. “My deepest apologies,” he said with a slight bow, “for interrupting.”
Ayon smiled. “Blaming this all on us, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, is unfortunately a well-trodden path.”
“Surely not all of the UHF can believe that?” asked Rabbi.
“Well,” answered Padamir, “there are those who feel the Alliance has been taken over by our avatars.” On noticing the smirks of some Cabinet members, he raised his brow. “Really. I’m not joking. They honestly believe that we’re doing the bidding of evil VR demons.” Padamir looked over to Dante. “No offense.” Dante nodded in understanding. “But they are the minority. Either way, it means that a majority of the population hates us and fears us like they never have before. Even those we might have once counted on to be reasonable.”
The room remained deathly silent for some time as everyone absorbed the new paradigm shift; even if the Alliance would be prepared to sue for peace, there was now no longer anyone to sue for peace with—even if they did get rid of Hektor Sambianco.
“So now what?” asked Rabbi.
“No choice,” answered Marilynn in swift response. “We attack, finish them off once and for all.”
“But—”
“Sorry, Rabbi. They’ve left us no choice. Do nothing, and they slowly rebuild, their hatred simmering with every generation, each with its own Hektor Sambianco. Cripple them now when they’re weak and at their lowest, and we might … just might have a shot of winning
this thing and getting them off our backs for good.”
Though it was Marilynn who’d spoken, all eyes now rested on Sandra. Her face remained placid. Her nonresponse was answer enough, and no sooner had everyone turned to look at her than J. D. Black strode onto the Grand Terrace. Without thought, the entire Cabinet rose to its feet. Tellingly, only Sandra remained in her chair, and it was clear by J.D.’s bowed head in the direction of the President that that was just fine with her.
All business, J.D. pointed her DijAssist toward the table, bringing up a holographic display of the current theater of war. “Madam President, members of the Cabinet,” she began, “we have them.”
“Have whom?” asked Cyrus.
J.D.’s mouth parted slightly into savage grin. “Our enemy, Mr. Secretary. We can bring them to battle at a time and place of our choosing, and once there, eviscerate what’s left of their fleet.”
“And you’re absolutely certain you can win?” asked Ayon.
“If you have any doubts,” replied J.D. without any hint of reproval, “I strongly suggest you air them now.”
Ayon nodded respectfully. “You’re outnumbered nearly two to one, and while it’s true this is the last fleet the enemy has, it’s equally true it’s the last one we have.”
“I understand your concern, Madam Secretary. While indeed we are outnumbered, we happen to have the enemy at a distinct disadvantage. Yes, they have twice as many ships, but most of those ships are in wretched shape. The Avatar Plague appears to have destroyed a significant number of important systems within each ship, causing the enemy fleet to cannibalize itself in order to stay afloat. It has been maneuvering with obvious difficulty, and they’re scrambling to make repairs in a manner that is haphazard and rushed.”
“You mean like us,” said the Rabbi with just enough of a grin to take the sting out of the comparison.
“Yes, Rabbi, but we’re better at it.”
“How do we know it’s not a trap?” asked Padamir. “After all, you’ve pulled similar stunts many times, especially to lure in unsuspecting glory seekers.”
J.D. grinned at the memory of all those wishing to bring her head back to the UHF on a pike. “Yes, I have. But I’m no glory seeker, Mr. Secretary, just an opportunist. Regarding whether it’s a trap or not, the answer is that we can’t be sure. We have to assume that Trang got hit by the plague, but the fact that he’s got most of his ships up and moving, even if tepidly, means he probably avoided the worst of it. But he can no longer fake the telltale signatures of what’s working and what isn’t. Our sensors can pick up the blood of a wounded ship millions of kilometers away, and they’re telling us he’s bleeding. On top of that, half his crews are still green, which means no matter how good Trang is, he and Jackson can’t possibly think for everyone. And with green crews, mistakes will happen and we’ll be there to exploit them. Now, I’m not saying he isn’t going to put up a fight or that it’ll be an easy one for us to win, but if ever there’s a time to go after him, it’s now. Plus,” she said, lips turned up into an impish smile, “we have it on good authority that it’s not a ruse.”
“Whose?” demanded Eleanor.
“Mine,” said Dante. “Pardon my interrupting.”
“I do like new Cabinet members,” chortled Cyrus. “They’re so polite—in the beginning.”
“Good point,” chimed in Padamir. “Then before you know it, they’re as obnoxious as the rest of us. Best to enjoy it while we can.”
Both Cyrus and Padamir then looked over to Dante with wide toothy smiles: round one.
Marilynn wasn’t sure, but she could’ve sworn Dante blushed slightly. He’d always said what he loved best about humans was their unpredictability, and she was sure he hadn’t expected the good-natured ribbing. In fact, he’d been boning up on protocol—even having Marilynn test him—so as not to “blow it” for avatarity by saying something offensive in his first-ever official appearance as a Cabinet secretary. Well, the two elder statesmen had just thrown down. To Marilynn’s inestimable pride, so too did Dante.
“In that case,” offered the Secretary for Avatar Affairs, “I will endeavor to lose my innocent veneer of civility as soon as the mitigating circumstances permit.” He ended with an ostentatious flourish of his hand and an overly formal bow. The avatar had said it in such a perfect homage to Cyrus’s verbose speech and mannerisms that the new Secretary of Treasury at first seemed flabbergasted and then actually applauded.
“As I was saying,” continued Dante, clearly cheered on by the positive response, “the authority was mine. As you all know, we’ve been fighting the Core avatars for years and are well aware of how they manifest themselves in systems they wish to destroy. With that knowledge and with the collusion of the Defense Secretary and the grand admiral, we used our now greater access to the Neuro”—Dante was making a clear reference to the fact that the OA avatars no longer had to hide in buried nodes—“to create an exact virtual copy of Admiral Trang’s fleet. After running numerous tests, which involved the removing and replacing of various systems on each ship as well as applying the various forms of sabotage commonly used by the Core avatars and then matching them with what we’ve observed in the physical world, we’ve come to the conclusion that the UHF’s fleet is pretty well screwed. Complete results are with your fleet.”
“How screwed is the question,” said Sandra.
“They’re trying to run heavy cruisers with linked DijAssists,” said J.D.
“Yeah,” said Sandra with a short laugh. “I guess that’s pretty screwed.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” said Padamir.
Again Cyrus grinned expectantly. “With pleasure.”
“Then it should be twice as pleasing, since the question is directed toward you.”
Cyrus bowed.
“Given what we discussed previously vis-à-vis our resources and the fact that we’ve emerged from the Avatar Plague intact, won’t we be an industrial power again shortly?”
“Correct,” answered Cyrus. “By my estimation, in just under a year or about how long it’ll take the UHF just to find enough food to feed its survivors.”
“So,” added Rabbi, “for the first time in a long time, isn’t time on our side?”
J.D. took a deep breath. “Your suppositions are correct; it’s your conclusions that I believe are faulty. At this very instant, Trang is devising new methods and training his crews to operate their ships as best they can with the data systems they have. The UHF fleet that Trang has, while green, is still good—damn good, Madam President. In six months’ time, I predict that they’ll be able to use their ships with very little combat liability. They may even pull it off in four. Once that happens, Trang will come hunting. He knows that if he doesn’t destroy the Alliance within a year, it’s over.” J.D. now focused her attention solely on the President. “Madam President, the odds are with me now. Therefore, we should strike now.”
Sandra nodded and, thought Marilynn, did a masterly job of pretending to weigh the options—considering the President had already heard the arguments that morning and had already informed both Marilynn and J.D. of her decision.
“Do you have a name for this operation?” asked Sandra.
“Actually, yes, Madam President: Operation Endgame.”
“Most appropriate,” agreed Sandra. “Do it.”
My sisters and brothers, I saw the faith of our people this day. I was trying to decide what my sermon should be, and as if guided by the very hand of Jesus himself, found myself walking toward the temple. You know the one of which I speak. The lines around the temple of the holy vessel have been so long, they stretch to the beginning of the thoroughfare. As it stands, priority has been given to members of our divinely led fleet now about to leave for what many sense is the final battle of this long and terrible struggle. Each spacer has been given only twenty seconds to touch the battle suit that the Chosen One, Justin Cord, transcended into heaven with; for there are hundreds of thousands of spacers in the fleet and onl
y so much time before that fleet leaves this holy city. And it is thus fair that those spacers be given priority, for the presence of the Holy Justin brings peace to our warriors and may it bring peace to us all. The divine has touched us and shown us and tested us. Let us be worthy of the guidance. Let us be worthy of victory. Let us be worthy of peace and let us say us say, amen.
—Sermon heard before the temple on the day the war turned seven years old
Grand admiral’s quarters
Ceres
“Why do I have to stay?”
The little girl’s voice held such heartbreak and pain that for a moment J.D. wavered—but only for a moment.
“Because, little one,” she answered, crouching low, “this is the last battle of the war, and you are so very precious to me, more precious than anything.”
“I know,” sniffed Katy, bottom lip pushed forward.
“And it’s important that I fight my best, right?”
Katy managed a single brave nod through her tears.
“But I may not be able to fight my best if I didn’t know you were safe here on Ceres.”
J.D. was not prepared for what happened next. Katy cannonballed into her and then grabbed her with such fierce determination that it seemed to J.D. as if the child were holding on to her for dear life—which Katy was. “But you’ll die if you go without me!”
“Why do you say such a thing, little one?”
J.D. could feel the warm tears mixed with mucus on the lapel of her jacket and the nape of her neck. “Because it’s the last battle, Mama Bo.”
“Yes. But that’s a good thing.”
“No!” shrieked Katy into the scruff of J.D.’s neck. She then pulled back and stared forlornly at the woman who’d swept in and saved her, who’d taken her in from the cold and desperate halls of a dying asteroid and whisked her away to the sheltered confines and clockwork predictability of a warship, filled with food and uncles and aunts and angels and floating rolled-up balls of socks. “No,” Katy said with downcast mouth and water-filled eyes. “The hero always dies in the last battle.” And the tears began to flow anew.
