by Dani Kollin
So now there was a new government with Justin at its head but no real means to enforce its rule. Sure, there were committees aplenty, but nothing ever came out of them except for the occasional sound bite. Justin’s new government did not have vast fleets of warships or impressively armed legions ready to go forth and do battle or, more important, maintain order. Alternatively the Terran government and its chief supporter, the corporations, had spent the last year clamping down with vicious abandon on the inner systems. They’d achieved control to a degree Justin secretly envied. They’d corralled, locked up, and stifled their malcontents; Justin had an entire asteroid belt of malcontents. While he harbored no desire to treat his troublemakers in the same manner, he often wished he could throttle a few just to get them to see eye to eye on an issue—any issue.
There was, however, one great advantage to the surliness of his flock. The skills needed to be an expert miner were remarkably similar to those needed to be a first-rate soldier—expert handling of dangerous nanites and explosives, ingenuity, self-reliance, and finally determination; all taught and tested within the cold confines of space. The O.A. also had hundreds of thousands of spaceships built up over centuries of colonization. Not a one could really be used in combat; but at least, realized Justin, getting experienced pilots was not going to be a problem. Building the warships, however, would be. Ceres was starting the process of making space docks, but it would be years before they could hope to replicate the facilities in orbit around Earth. The truth of the matter was that the manufacturing facilities on Luna were far greater than all those of the O.A. combined.
A wistful chime reminded Justin that his cabinet meeting was about to begin. He turned around and there to greet him was his Chief of Staff, Cyrus Anjou, standing next to Omad. Cyrus was a Jovian who, mused the President, was actually quite jovial. The Chief of Staff’s roots were almost as critical as his Political ability. While Jupiter itself proved uninhabitable, its many moons—seventy in all, including the seven man-made—were rich in mineral deposits, usable gasses, and water. Cyrus hailed from one such moon and Mosh had vouched for him from the days when Cyrus was director of GCI’s Jovian mining operations and Mosh was his boss. Unlike most corporate climbers, Cyrus took his majority and stayed near his native Io rather than follow the ladder back to Earth where the real power lay. But that merely helped hide the uncanny Political instincts the man had. The moons of Jupiter were made up of a large and powerful constituency and there was no better person to see to its needs than the current Chief of Staff. Justin never made it a policy to ask why Mosh vouched for anyone; he just accepted it gratefully and moved on to the next task. And there was always a next task.
“Mr. President,” Cyrus said, bowing accordingly, “I’m glad this miserable excuse for a human being found you.”
“Don’t listen to the Jovian,” Omad shot back. “It’s that big red eye talking. They stare at it long enough and eventually go loopy.” He then looked over to Cyrus. “Case in point.”
“That big red eye, Mr. President, as you may well know, is a storm that’s been raging on Jupiter for well over one thousand years and, I would argue, is only slightly less volatile than my good friend Mr. Hassan.”
“Eye sore,” snapped Omad.
“Tall words for a pebble dweller.”
The last insult was meant to demonstrate the Jovian disdain for belt dwellers whose planetoids were but a fraction the size of any one of Jupiter’s larger moons. Omad wasn’t deterred and Justin tuned out the banter, realizing that the worse the insults got, the more solidified the relationship became. He only stopped it once it got to the breeding habits of their respective grandmothers. The cease-fire lasted long enough for him to hear Neela enter the room from an adjoining hall. He turned around and greeted her with a smile.
“Is the First Free ready?” she asked.
Justin winced at his wife’s use of the phrase but knew he was powerless to stop it. Neela was the one exception to many of his rules. He’d only wished she would use that particular designation more judiciously.
“He is, of course, always ready to see you, most dear and delightful lady,” answered the Chief of Staff, again bowing politely. Cyrus, noticed Justin, had the knack of making the most effusive language seem natural.
Neela smiled at the compliment. “The others are waiting in the dining room and after this meeting we’re going to the fleet officers ball. We have the first dance.”
“Gentlemen, that is my dear wife’s way of saying that I can’t be late.”
“Indeed,” confirmed Cyrus. “We should start.”
Neela smiled in agreement and unconsciously smoothed a line in Justin’s jacket, though no such line was obvious to anyone in attendance.
The four made their way to the adjoining room, where they were greeted by the newly acting cabinet. Justin took his place at the head of the table with Cyrus sitting to his right. Neela, overly conscious of her special relationship to the President, preferred to sit opposite him. Omad sat near his old friend on the left and Mosh to the right of Omad. Eleanor’s seat was left empty as she, Mosh informed the group, was currently volunteering with a paramedic unit of the Cerian fleet militia. Kirk Olmstead, the acting head of Special Ops, was also in attendance and as usual sat where he pleased, not caring if he ruffled anyone’s feathers. Today he found himself between Neela and Joshua Sinclair, a Saturnian pilot who was visiting for the first time and, it was clear to all, unsure as to why.
Olmstead had long ago made peace with his former nemesis, now President. Given the fact that Kirk had at one time tried to have Justin assassinated, his inclusion in the cabinet was controversial to say the least. But Justin had overruled his trusted compatriots under the old adage of “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” It also helped that Olmstead had been one of the first to declare his support for Justin’s fledgling movement and had been instrumental in getting others in the Outer Alliance to sign on. Padamir Singh was Justin’s press secretary but in truth was more of an advisor on all matters Cerian. Padamir knew the colony inside and out, having been born and raised there, as well as enriched by a small fortune from many of his private ventures. Or, as Omad would recount to anyone willing to listen, Padamir was the most successful smuggler the asteroid belt had ever seen. Finally, pacing anxiously in the hall just outside of the meeting room was the congressman from Eris, Tyler Sadma. But he, reckoned Justin, would have to wait.
As drinks were served by a few attendant drones, Justin called the meeting to order.
“I’m afraid I can’t take as much time in this meeting as I’d like. It seems the congressman from Eris is waiting outside.”
“Yeah, I noticed that,” said Mosh. “To what end?”
“Apparently his colony is on the verge of declaring immediate, universal, and unequivocal disincorporation.” Justin held up his hand as everyone tried to speak at once. “Please, no matter how you feel, I have to deal with this issue very carefully. Don’t throw any more fuel on the fire than you have to.”
Per Justin’s wish, all held their tongues.
“Now to the business at hand,” he continued. “How did the first meeting of Congress go?”
“The military bill was proposed and passed,” answered Padamir. “All colonial forces will be fighting under the command of one unified fleet.”
“Well, that went easy,” said Justin.
“Too easy,” said Omad
“No reason it shouldn’t have,” answered Mosh. “Everyone wants to put on uniforms and salute each other. They figure the best way to win elections after the war is a nice command or two. But so you know, Mr. President, there will be a congressional committee to ‘advise’ you on choices for various ships.”
“We expected that. Did we get the important thing?”
Mosh allowed the corner of his mouth to curl up a bit. Justin knew it to be a smile, though not everyone else did. “Slipped it in attached to the proviso authorizing the committee on naval appointments. All volunteers
are signing up for the duration. Not for two years like most of the colonial militias had them in for.”
“Amazing,” said Neela.
“Not one complaint,” said Mosh.
It seemed that every colony of the Outer Alliance was sending men and ships of every description to the capital settlement in order to help fight in what was being termed the “glorious” freedom war. Most seemed afraid that the war would be over before they got to the action. Justin used that knowledge to his advantage in order to get his proviso passed but secretly prayed that there would be little “action” for any of them to experience. He lived daily with the foreboding sense that his prayers would not be answered.
“Everyone thinks the war will be over the second Earth loses the first fight,” added Padamir, “so why argue over a moot point? After all, it’s common knowledge that the core planets are dependent on our raw materials. The corporations will force the corporate core to make peace. It’s the beauty of the incorporated system,” he said almost triumphantly. “Trade is more powerful than war. Always has been.”
“I pray you’re right, Padamir,” answered Justin, unconsciously tapping his fingers on a large black binder, “but if you’re not, this little amendment will save us a lot of grief.”
It was at this point that Joshua Sinclair held up his hand to speak.
“Yes, Mr. Sinclair?” asked Justin.
“Pardon me for interrupting, Mr. President, but what am I doing here?”
Justin smiled at the man’s temerity. He would never have stood for it in his first life. Protocol wouldn’t have allowed it. But that former life and the close to three hundred years he’d spent in cyronic suspension getting to this one was well over. On top of that, the belt was a different world entirely. Its greatest strength, Justin had realized, was people just like this pilot. It was also proving to be Justin’s greatest headache.
“I believe we’re ready to move on.” Justin answered, looking to Cyrus for confirmation. Cyrus nodded in the affirmative.
Justin fixed his gaze on the impetuous pilot. “Fleet needs an admiral, Mr. Sinclair.”
Joshua Sinclair almost gagged on his drink. “Hey, now wait just a minute,” he said, slamming his glass to the table. “I agreed to command a ship. Damsah’s left nut, sir, she’s not even that big. Barely a frigate.”
“Captain Sinclair, Joshua if I may,” answered Justin, turning on the charm. Sinclair nodded, stiffly.
“Your record speaks for itself. You’re a career mercenary with a very reputable company and twenty years commanding an assortment of ships.”
“No disrespect, Mr. President, but you just described fifty other men in orbit around this rock.”
“None taken, Joshua. And of course you’re right. But there are other reasons as well. It helps that you’re from Saturn.”
“Titan, sir,” Joshua answered proudly.
Justin knew that Saturn, like Jupiter, was itself an uninhabitable gas planet—the second largest in the solar system in fact. And like Jupiter, over sixty moons surrounded it, Titan being the largest.
“I was of course referring to the neighborhood, but I can certainly understand pride of birthplace.”
Sinclair smiled even though he’d just received a platitude.
“Your planetary system has sent far more recruits and ships than any other. Also, Karen Cho’s on the committee and it’s her job to appoint all these eager officers to their posts. Saturnian officers, Saturnian admiral. Makes sense, no?”
Captain Sinclair was starting to come around. “I know Karen,” he said. “She’ll keep her word if she gives it, but count your fingers when you shake her hand and if you sign a deal don’t expect the pen back.… Why don’t you let her appoint one of those eager lads to the job?”
Justin now opened the binder he’d been tapping on and perused the first page—more for show than clarification.
“I have the report here on the Spicer ring.”
Sinclair shifted uneasily in his seat, reliving a bad memory. “All the more reason not to hire me, sir. It states rather clearly my insubordination and untrust-worthiness.”
“Indeed it does, Joshua. However, what it doesn’t state is your refusal to cause the death of innocents.”
“War is a terrible thing, Mr. President. I disobeyed a direct order.”
“First of all, it wasn’t war at the time,” answered Justin, “and second of all, if I ever give an order like that I’d expect you to disobey it as well.” Justin then pointed to a large image of the asteroid belt projected on the wall. “They all think it’ll be a short, easy war. I look into your eyes, sir, and see that you think different. That’s the type of officer I need leading the Alliance fleet.”
Sinclair’s lips drew back into a knowing grin. “Of course it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m a 100 percenter.”
“Officially, not at all,” answered Justin with equal sarcasm. “I, as the President, have no position on how the various governments deal with incorporation. That is a colonial matter having nothing to do with the Alliance.”
“But unofficially it don’t hurt,” added Omad, speaking the words that Justin could not. The widening split between those who wanted the incorporated system thrown out altogether and those who only wanted it reconfigured had been growing daily. But Sinclair’s point, noted Justin, was spot-on. Most Saturnians as well as those living in the farthest reaches of the belt were inclined toward disincorporation. Having their new admiral so inclined would make things run that much smoother.
“I’m sorry, Mr. President,” said Mosh somewhat gruffly, “but I will be heard.”
Justin motioned for him to continue. He knew full well Mosh’s position. In fact, Mosh was in the cabinet, not only because Justin trusted him but also for the very same reason Sinclair was now being coerced. Mosh represented a large constituency who felt that incorporation was still the best system when it came to delivering the twin benefits of peace and prosperity. That Hektor and his ilk had debauched it was beside the point.
“Most of these ‘NoShares’ or 100 percenters or what ever you wanna call ’em,” said Mosh, a chill evident in his voice, “were miners with heavy majorities and close family ties making it possible to get their parents’ shares. And from my understanding, parents unwilling to comply were ‘convinced’ otherwise.”
Sinclair grimaced at that comment but, Justin noted with appreciation, held back from saying anything.
“And the 5 percent that would normally have gone to the government,” continued Mosh, “reverted from the Terran Confederation to the colonial governments—who in turn offered it up as a recruiting bonus. But even so, most of those so-called 100 percenters have on average 10 to 15 percent unaccounted for and are therefore breaking the law of incorporation and should be made to pay just compensation.”
That had been enough for Sinclair. “And who the hell,” he bellowed, “is going to make them … Shareholder?”
“Gentlemen,” said Justin in a firm yet quiet voice, “enough.” Mosh and Sinclair snapped to, realizing that now was neither the place nor time to rehash their well-trodden positions.
“Right here,” said Justin, closing the binder in front of him, “you can see the biggest threat to the Alliance. Truth is, if the Terran Confederation left us alone we’d probably end up destroying ourselves. It’s difficult enough having each colony insisting on special rights and privileges, but when you bring the emancipation question into the picture it gets downright intractable.”
“It’s an issue that won’t go away, Mr. President,” intoned Mosh.
“I’m not saying it’s not open for discussion, Mosh, only that in this room we’ll need to keep our heads.”
“My own brother’s a NoShare,” added Padamir. “I’ve tried to talk reason to him, that we simply cannot get rid of a system overnight that has worked well for centuries and replace it with the hope that something better will come along. But he insists, as I suspect does Mr. Sinclair here, that it must be no
w.”
“Mr. Singh,” answered Sinclair, “no disrespect, but incorporation has been very good to you. You’re hardly an objective observer. But that point aside, most of the outer colonies feel like your brother, though there is conflict among families even on Pluto and the other TNOs.” “TNOs,” Justin knew, referred to the Trans Neptunian Objects, or asteroids, in the solar system farther out than Neptune. There were thousands of them, but the most notable were the dwarf planets of Pluto and its largest moon, Charon; Eris and its sister moon, Dysnomia; as well as the larger asteroids of Sedna, Orcus, Ixion, Quaoar, and Varuna—all with sizeable and very vocal populations.
“True, Mr. Sinclair,” answered Mosh, more evenly this time. “But as you’re well aware, most of the belt is Shareholder in outlook, but … not all.”
“Which is why,” interjected the President, “we cannot allow this issue to be taken up by this government. It will split and destroy us. We have to bury it for now. Without the Alliance we have nothing; are we agreed?”
One by one all present nodded their heads.
“Good,” said Justin, “and congratulations, Admiral. Your first order of business is to plan a raid on Mars with the Alliance fleet.”
Joshua Sinclair, thinking the meeting was over, had been halfway out of his seat when the gist of his orders hit him full throttle. He quickly sat back down. “You’re shitting me, right?”
Justin shook his head. “We need to remind the people of the Alliance, all the people, NoShares and Shareholders alike, who the real enemy is.”
Justin signaled to Kirk Olmstead, who handed Sinclair a binder. “In there is hard-copy evidence of the rounding up and forcible suspension of suspected enemies of the Terran Confederation on Mars.” Olmstead paused for a second.
