The Unincorporated War

by Dani Kollin

  “No,” Neela said with obvious disappointment.

  “Not to put too fine a point on it, Neela, but do you think you could have been, well, you know …”

  Neela was amused to see the normally confident Amanda Snow tiptoeing around a subject.

  “… psyche-audited? No. I used to think it might be possible, but all the cases I’ve read about and observed showed immediate and obvious changes in behavior and attitude. By their very nature psyche audits are a radical and brutal form of therapy that are the equivalent of sending a herd of elephants through the brain. Also, in all the cases I know of, the patients are aware of the change in their personality, though they’re usually accepting of it. Trust me, I’ve looked for any radical change, but all the change in my thinking has been gradual and affected by what I’ve had to deal with and accept. Truth is, a psyche audit would be the easy way out to explain what I’ve been feeling of late. You know, Amanda, I almost wish he had. It would make what I’m feeling easier to comprehend.”

  “Well, then what are you dealing with, dear?” asked Amanda, her playfulness now replaced by concern.

  “Guilt.”

  Amanda’s face twisted in confusion. “What do you have to feel guilty about?”

  Neela thought for a moment before deciding to answer. She had to assume the room was bugged, that her life was bugged. If she were to confess to Amanda she might as well be confessing to the world. And it was at that moment that something snapped—she knew she no longer cared because there was no longer anything left to hide except her vanity. And with that exposed and got rid of she could be herself again. She could help rather than hurt.

  “Amanda,” Neela said in mea sured breaths, “I helped start the Alliance. I advised Justin in many delicate negotiations during its inception. Did you know that Jupiter almost didn’t join? That alone might have ended the war before it got started. I helped keep it alive. In oh so many ways I’m seeing the result of my actions, Amanda. And I’ve come to the conclusion that what ever problems we’ve had with incorporation, they shouldn’t have to be solved with bloodshed.”

  There was another long silence.

  “And that,” continued Neela, “is why I’m feeling guilty.”

  “Neela, it’s not like you were a President or an admiral. You were a medic—just trying to help.”

  “Tell that to the people in the ward, Amanda. Tell that to the parents who won’t ever see their children again. Tell them I was only ‘trying to help.’”

  Amanda leaned forward and grabbed Neela’s hand. “Neela, honey, it was a confusing time, and I must tell you that you weren’t alone in being confused.”

  A faint smile emerged from the corners of Neela’s mouth. “Amanda Snow, are you actually going to confide in me?”

  “Well, only if you promise not to tell anyone else—especially Hektor.”

  Neela looked around the room and indicated through eye movement what she felt Amanda must surely know.

  “Don’t be silly, girl. He wouldn’t bother.”

  “Why not?”

  “Doesn’t need to. Who are you going to talk to besides me and a few other people? Trust me, dear, he’s got a lot more on his plate to deal with than little old you.”

  Neela found it hard to argue with Amanda’s logic, then chided herself for her narcissism. Plus, it was Amanda who was doing the confessing.

  “In that case, do tell.”

  Amanda leaned back, smiling conspiratorially. “When the rebellion first started I gave some thought to heading for Ceres.” Amanda looked at Neela’s dubious expression. “Oh, don’t look so skeptical. There was a lot about the Alliance that seemed good. There are problems with our civilization; anyone can see that. I didn’t like how Earth-centric everything was, and the thought of being in a place that new and raw was kind of exciting.”

  “What changed your mind?” Neela asked earnestly.

  “A combination of things, really. I wasn’t comfortable with the news coming out of the Alliance. When I realized that Hektor was going to become a real leader in the Confederation … sorry … the UHF—that’s going to take some getting used to—I knew he’d make changes for the better. And I almost hate to admit it,” she said with a sheepish grin.

  “It was the shopping, wasn’t it?” asked Neela, shaking her head reprovingly.

  “Neela Harper,” gasped Amanda, “that is an awful thing to say!”

  Neela’s face registered surprise. She was about to apologize when Amanda interrupted.

  “Of course, it doesn’t help that it’s true, but it’s still an awful thing to say.”

  The two women fell into a fit of hysterical laughter.

  “Thank you for trying to cheer me up,” Neela finally said, “but I still feel that I have to make up for what I’ve done.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Dr. Gillette is going to Mars for the creation of the combat trauma reanimation center. He offered me a post as a resident.”

  “And?”

  Neela exhaled and allowed herself to sink into the tub so that her neck and shoulders were now covered by the water and bubbles. Her eyes widened as her lips formed into a self-satisfied grin.

  “I’m going to accept. I’m going to Mars.”

  Bridge of the AWS War Prize

  J. D. Black reviewed the battle. Her teeth bit down tightly on her bottom lip. Thanks to the work crews she’d managed to get her fleet strength back up to forty. The remaining four ships had been stripped for parts and were being refitted with enough new components from the shipyard to make them mobile for the trip home. She was also pleased by the discovery of sixty ship hulls freshly manufactured at the great Trans Luna ship foundry. They’d been sent to Mars for fitting out. The actual making of large hulls was the hardest and most manufacturing-intensive part of ship construction, and so this would save the Alliance a fortune in time and credits. Those hulls would eventually form the basis of an even larger Alliance fleet that J.D. would have given just about anything to have. But she didn’t have the months and years it would take to complete the task. She had what she had.

  “Lieutenant Nitelowsen, please prepare for a fleetwide broadcast.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Marilynn enabled a “flood” protocol that would fill every holo-tank and every DijAssist in the fleet with J.D.’s image and ensure that her words would be broadcast from every sound system where imaging was impractical.

  “Ready, Admiral.”

  J.D. nodded and then faced the mediabot floating in front of her. “I’d like nothing better than to tell you that what we’re about to embark on will be a surface job.” J.D. had used the miner slang for the application of resources directly onto the surface of a moon or asteroid, no drilling, blasting, or nano dissolving required. “I would … but that would be a lie. We’ll be flying into the teeth of their defenses. They have a fleet filled with trained spacers and are led well. Their orbats have some of the biggest guns in the system. But we can end the war here. If we take that orbit and control Mars, by the time the Federation, UHF, or what ever the damn corporate enslavers want to call themselves, can mount a counterattack, Mars will ours. The only way they’ll ever get it back is to acknowledge what we already know. We are free of them. Free of them now and forever. It doesn’t matter the battles or the speeches. We are free. I’m proud of you—the best damn spacers anyone has ever seen. Let’s end this thing.”

  VICTORY!

  Today Irma Sobbelgé, Secretary of Information for the new President, has announced what can only be called the greatest victory the newly named UHF has had in this war so far. In what was described as a bloody and sustained engagement, the Alliance forces led by Admiral J. D. Black, the traitorous former V.P. of Legal at GCI, were repulsed. The announcement gave few new details except to say that the President had left for Mars two days ago, in a move that was kept secret while the security of Mars was in doubt. The President is pleased by the news and has called for a day of market closu
re and celebration. He will make a prepared announcement by the end of business New York time.

  This battle has been the most viewed of any in the war so far, as it took place at the orbit of Mars with its huge satellite communications network and vast number of habitats. What was not caught directly on video we have been able to re-create digitally, thanks to the ser vices of Lucas Re-creations.

  The battle was initiated by the foolishly aggressive tactics of J. D. Black. Her simplistic plan was to hide behind a shield of large asteroids that had been set on a course toward the orbital defenses of Mars. Most of the asteroids were pulverized by the time the ships could get into range. By that time the Alliance had five ships lost or severely damaged, including the flagship of the Alliance fleet, the War Prize. It is not known if the traitor is dead or alive, but after the flagship was damaged, the fleet retreated. During the retreat seven more ships were destroyed and others were heavily damaged. Unfortunately, the War Prize was able to escape the fate she so richly deserved, but experts assure this publication that she is so badly damaged as to only be useful as salvage and scrap.

  It is hoped that the newly promoted Admiral Diep, victor of the second Battle of the Martian Gates, will sally forth and destroy the remnants of the Alliance fleet and end this war once and for all.

  N.N.N.

  Medical recovery bay of the Alliance Medical Ship (AMS) Salk

  J.D. came slowly back to awareness. The last thing she remembered was ordering her main batteries to fire on the orbital gun platform that was just coming into effective range. In a blaze the asteroid in front of the War Prize seemed to dissolve and her amazing and beautiful ship shuddered under a hail of multiple explosions. Before she could give an order, the holo-tank in the center of her bridge flashed and disintegrated.

  J.D. saw that Marilynn Nitelowsen, Christina Sadma, and Omad Hassan were all standing around her bed.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “We got our asses handed to us,” answered Omad. “That’s what happened.”

  “How bad?”

  “We lost twelve ships,” answered Marilynn. “Of the twenty-eight that survived, maybe eight are able to fight. Some are so bad it may be easier to scrap them and start over. I’m afraid the War Prize is one of those. We’ve fallen back to the shipyard and are covering the salvage operation.”

  “Who ordered the retreat?”

  “I did,” Omad replied without a second’s hesitation.

  “You should have pressed the attack,” J.D. managed through labored breaths. “It may be … be years before we get another chance.”

  “Admiral, you can fire my ass right now if you want, but I hope we never get another chance like that again. It was a slaughter house. We lost twelve ships, and this fleet is not operational.”

  “Keep your job, Omad,” answered J.D., smiling weakly. “When I fire people … for doing what they think is right, and possibly being right, well … that’s the day I need to lose my job.” She coughed, then focused her attention on Christina. “Captain Sadma, why so silent?”

  “Admiral, I don’t see how we’re going to survive this. Most of the fleet and the salvage operation just can’t move at battle speeds. If the core fleet attacks now we’re done.”

  J.D. nodded. “How long have I been out?”

  “Nearly two days,” said Marilynn.

  J.D. absorbed that information for a moment with her eyes closed. When she opened them again, they were clear and purposeful. “Christina, take three of the ships and go to the resource belt and seed the space surrounding us with asteroids of all sizes.”

  “Admiral, we don’t have anything left to mine them with.”

  “They won’t know that.” She slowly sat up and began to put her feet on the floor. When Omad, Marilynn, and Christina began to protest she cut them off.

  “Listen to me! The fleet is in danger. Whether it’s my fault for ordering the attack or bad luck that our command structure was taken out in the beginning of the assault doesn’t matter anymore. The fleet … the fleet is in danger. Frankly, I don’t know what the hell they’re waiting for. For what ever reason, Commodore Diep is hesitating.”

  “She’s an admiral now, at least since the ass kicking,” said Omad with a sideways grin.

  “Whatever. She doesn’t want to attack. We must encourage her in this course of action. I want every ship we have that can move, to participate in maneuvers. If they can only go slow, I want the rest of the fleet to practice with them on shipboarding exercises. I want a kid with a ten-credit telescope from the surface of Mars to be able to see what we’re doing.”

  Marilynn spoke what they were all thinking. “We will do that, ma’am, but you don’t need to be out of bed for that to happen.”

  “I need to be seen, Lieutenant. The fleet, the corporate core civilians, anyand everyone needs to see me. They need to see me preparing the fleet for the third Battle of the Martian Gates, that is, if we’re going to avoid the third Battle of the Martian Gates.”

  “But ma’am,” answered Marilynn, head slightly bowed, “the scars.”

  J.D. was confused but then had an intimation of what Marilynn was saying and touched her hand to her face. Instead of the soft skin she was used to feeling, her hand felt a hard, gnarled hide that was surprisingly painful to the touch. Almost as if that one reminder was all her body needed, the entire left side of her face started to throb and she felt a low-level burning sensation. She looked at the back of her left hand and saw that it too was scarred and blotchy with red and white tissue where her hand was exposed from the gown. “Mirror,” she ordered.

  Marilynn, knowing the character of the woman she now served, had a hand mirror at the ready. What J.D. saw was the same as the back of her hand. She must have turned her head from the blast, because the burn was on almost half her face. But the left side was grotesque. Most of the hair on that side of the skull was gone or burned to stubble. Her eyebrow was gone, but she saw that her eyelid still had its pink, healthy skin, a fact that was strangely more disturbing than if her lid had been as scarred as the rest of her face.

  “Graft?” she said, pointing to her left eyelid.

  Marilynn nodded.

  “Makes no difference; get me a uniform.”

  “Admiral,” asked Omad, “you sure the spacers should see you like this?”

  “Captain.” She coughed, steadying herself slowly as she got to her feet. “They need me now. As for how I look, they’ve earned the right.”

  It took another fifteen minutes getting the medic’s approval to let her go, on the condition that she wore a microscanner and let him check in every four hours. Once his permission had been secured, J.D. headed out. Wherever she went she tried to apologize for what her actions had caused, but every single time, whether alone or in groups, the spacers refused to listen. Most times, they tried to apologize for failing her.

  She came close to letting the pain and suffering of it all overwhelm her only twice in that week. Once was the first time she visited the wounded who, though their wounds were serious, were not being suspended, in hopes of getting them mobile enough to help the fleet. They’d turned one of the spent munitions lockers into a large ward containing over a hundred patients. When she came in on her cane and with her slight limp the entire ward, patients and staff, broke into thunderous applause. She saw people missing legs cheering, people with only one arm pounding their bunks. J.D. stopped and was unable to continue. The closest she’d ever come to running from a battle was this one, where she felt all this love from her spacers and thought herself unworthy of it. She knew that if she had the chance to do it again she would order another battle and another and another until these people were free of the threat posed by the evils of the corporate core. The other time she let it get to her was when she received a text message from the assault miner who’d written earlier to ask about J.D.’s doing the honors at her wedding. The woman had written to let J.D. know that her fiancé, the comm officer on the Lucky Strike, had p
.d.’d in the fleet action, but she was at least thankful that the admiral had survived and would forever be grateful for the admiral’s initial pledge to officiate at her wedding. When Marilynn saw the look on J.D.’s face she took the DijAssist from her boss’s outstretched hand and read it. Marilynn immediately left the admiral alone and made sure she stayed undisturbed for at least an hour.

  UHFS Star blazer—Mars orbit

  Newly promoted Admiral Diep was waiting to enter a secure conference room on board her ship. She’d just completed a tour of every vessel in her fleet and the orbital batteries as well. Everywhere she went she was applauded by her spacers and the civilians who insisted on coming up to visit. If it was up to her, she would’ve banned all the civilians, but they were corporate bigwigs. To make matters worse, many of her officers were also corporate executives who were planning to go back to the corporate world after the war was over, and so tended to bend over backward when one of their own asked for a favor or a photo op.

  She herself was forced to go down to the capital of Mars for two hours to receive an idiot honor as the savior of Mars. She accepted it on behalf of her fleet. It was at that ceremony three days before that she was first asked the question: “When will you attack?”

  Diep had always thought that Admiral Gupta was overly cautious when he refused to attack the Alliance and J. D. Black, but he’d always said they weren’t ready. Then J. D. Black had launched an attack and destroyed two-thirds of the fleet that had been carefully built up over all those months and then captured the biggest industrial prize this side of Luna. Although none of her officers would admit it now, Diep knew how close some of her captains had been to breaking orbit and abandoning Mars altogether. But now all of a sudden they wanted to attack immediately.

  She even had communications from an old West Point colleague of hers, Samuel Trang, who had messaged from practically the other side of the belt on the Eros line. He seemed to think that she should attack immediately as well. As a matter of fact, he’d been pretty adamant about it. But it took her nearly a week just to get her ships ready for combat and then to get the damn civilians extricated from them. She’d decided to wait for a solid intelligence report before deciding what to do next. She hadn’t gotten as far as she had by allowing herself to be bossed around by others. She’d make her decision in her own good time.