The Unincorporated War

by Dani Kollin

  Christina had never thought of J.D. as anything other than “the admiral.” And even though Christina had only wanted her approval, in some ways even more than from her own parents, she’d felt it necessary to speak of her unease.

  “You’ll do fine, Captain Sadma,” she remembered the admiral saying. “You have amazing instincts; trust them.” And that was all Christina needed to accept her first independent command.

  She reviewed the operational details in her head once more. She was to take command of a squadron of ten high-speed frigates, all stolen from the UHF or constructed from their recently purloined hulls. She still couldn’t believe that Gedretar had been able to turn around four new ships within two weeks of the hulls’ arrival. But the wunderkind of that particular yard had a long list of accomplishments, and this most recent one would only add to their well-earned cache.

  Omad was pleased with his promotion to commodore and equally pleased to give his quartermaster position to another officer not as likely to go on extended dangerous missions like this one. He would also take ten equally fast ships. Both squadrons were to leave together and piggyback on each other in order to make the twenty ships appear as ten. They were then to head straight toward the sun. Federation intelligence would get a “leaked” report that an Alliance fleet was going to attempt a raid on the Trans Luna shipyards, just a quick in and out doing as much damage as possible. The disinformation was to make the attack appear to be an attempt to raise the morale of the Alliance over the loss of Eros, nothing more. Further, the UHF was also to know that the attacking fleet had orders not to engage should they be faced with a counterforce of equal or greater strength.

  However, the true nature of the plan was far more ambitious. While the raiding party was being slung-shot around the sun, Christina’s squadron of ten ships would break off and shadow a robot convoy of empty ore freighters heading toward Eros. Now that Eros was under UHF control, a steady stream of the pilotless barges had begun the long journey to the only part of the belt deemed UHF friendly. The freighters were meant to be filled with desperately needed resources for the hungry industries of the core that had had to find other means of subsistence during the initial phases of the war.

  Omad’s part would be that of the guinea pig. His squadron would continue to Luna, but under strict orders not to attempt a raid even if it looked like the place was as wide open and willing as a drunken miner on payday. He could shoot if he had to but not engage. While Omad was busy “attacking” Luna, Christina and her ships, crammed full of suspended assault miners, would attempt to retake Eros and above all capture or kill Captain Samuel Trang. The timing had to be perfect. If Omad was to attack too early, Trang would get wind of it and smell a rat. If Omad attacked too late, then Christina would be vulnerable as a ship originally meant to defend Luna might be sent with all due haste to reinforce Eros.

  Omad had initially been bent out of shape that he’d been relegated to the Luna raid. He’d argued that he was just as good a fleet captain as Christina, if not better. Justin and J.D. hadn’t argued with him on that point but had overridden him nonetheless. His talent for working with Kenji Watanabe, the Gedretar genius and technical innovator, had done him in. The powers that be could risk him in a spectacular and relatively brief raid, but not in what could possibly turn into a long campaign at the 180.

  “Lieutenant,” said Christina, tucking her DijAssist in her pocket and with it the plans she’d been eyeing intently for the last few days, “signal the admiral that all is ready and the squadron can depart as scheduled.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the lieutenant, fingers flying across the control pad. “Captain,” she then continued, voice rising, “the admiral acknowledges your message and wishes you good luck and Godspeed.”

  Christina straightened her shoulders and stood resolute. She thought about what Admiral Black had said. Had that phrase been dropped six months earlier it probably would have been met with a fair amount of scorn and derision. But now, Christina had to admit, it had brought her a small mea sure of comfort. She smiled appreciatively before letting that thought slip quietly from her mind.

  Mars, Island of Barsoom, newly created UHF capital of Burroughs

  All in all, Hektor Sambianco was pleased with what had transpired. No sooner had he arrived on Mars than he was informed of the liberation of Eros. At least that’s how Irma had suggested he spin it to the press.

  Since arriving he’d been working as conspicuously as possible in a temporary structure made out of some prefab programmable polystyrene. He’d jokingly referred to it as his executive mansion—light. The effect he’d had on the Martians was incalculable. He knew that a large contingent of the planet still had a strong lean toward the Alliance and Justin Cord—even after the Alliance’s assault on the planet. Hektor also knew that if the UHF lost Mars the war was effectively over. And so his decision to move the capital off Earth and personally come to the planet on the front line of the war had had a profound impact.

  He’d made sure to tour all the relevant orbital batteries, battleships, supply depots, and barracks. He’d then moved his way down and across the planet, seizing every media holo-op he could get. But perhaps the place he’d been most gratified visiting had been the partially built trauma center. Not because of the center itself but because of who’d taken up residence within it. Just having Neela Harper—she’d thankfully no longer insisted on using her married name—was proving to be a major propaganda coup. He couldn’t wait for the day he’d be able to graduate her to doing live broadcasts. He knew, however, that it was best not to push these things.

  He also suspected the war was going to be longer and bloodier than anyone imagined, but he still believed he could win it. And he believed he could win it because of an ace up his sleeve. Actually, he thought, forcing a crooked grin, on his sleeve. Justin Cord would be the reason the Alliance would lose, because in the end Justin’s “strong moral fiber” would prevent him from doing what ever was necessary to win. Hektor reveled in the justice and irony of that. Then he shook off the thought and got back to work.

  The war was going to last, and that meant it was going to cost. And if Hektor was going to win he’d need to find more creative ways of funding. But that too would have to wait. There was, he could see, another delegation of Martian politicians to greet, and then after that some more babies to kiss. Before he could open his antechamber to let the delegation in, his avatar called.

  “Fleet priority message, boss.”

  “Well, we’re in a secure room, iago; what is it?”

  “It’s a small room that allows you to talk in secret without fear of being overheard.”

  Hektor’s eyes narrowed. “iago.”

  “You used to laugh at the crap,” answered Hektor’s avatar. “This whole presidency thing’s changed you.”

  “iago, so help me …”

  “I know, I know,” iago said dryly. “You’ll reformat me back to my factory settings, blah blah blah. But you know how this works. I don’t have enough clearance to actually read it. I’m amazed they let a lowly avatar such as I know there’s even a message.”

  “Can it, iago. (A) You don’t even exist to be trusted, and (B) like all software, you can be hacked into.”

  “Versus the diamond-hard consistency shown by human beings?”

  Hektor laughed, then applauded. “Touché, but you still can’t read the message.”

  “Very well,” answered iago, resigned. “Your faithful genie shall go back into his bottle until called upon.”

  A very faint buzz in Hektor’s ear told him that iago was gone, just as a slightly different buzz would unobtrusively announce his return. Hektor enabled the report. With its reading came a disquieting sigh and a call to his assistant to cancel the pending holo-op with the Martian delegation. Hektor then ordered an emergency meeting with Fleet Command. It was to be on Admiral Diep’s flagship, as no one had yet gotten around to creating an orbital platform to house the heads of the military.

&n
bsp; AWS Ajax—passing the orbit of Mercury

  Christina was awed by the presence of the sun. She’d been born and bred on Eris—just about as far out as one could get in human space and still have it be called civilization. To her the sun had always been just another star in a field of millions, if only a little brighter. It was not nearly as impressive as the cloud of the Milky Way. But as her fleet passed the orbit of Mercury and gained speed, the bright ball of fiery light was more than making up for its former insignificance. And when the ensign at the engineering console muttered, “Why would anyone in their right mind live within 250 million miles of that thing?” Christina had to silently agree. To have done so publicly would have insulted a large number of Belters, many of whom actually did live within 250 million miles of the “thing.”

  So far the raid had been a success. The ten piggybacked ships had left quite a path of destruction in their wake, taking out a slew of automated freighters as well as dozens of satellites used for UHF communication and navigation. It would take the enemy weeks to unsnarl all the damage they’d caused so far. Of course that meant the Alliance squadron was leaving a very clear trail of destruction to plot their course, but that had always been part of the plan. When Christina’s squadron finally broke from the backs of Omad’s squadron, he would continue his scorched-space policy on his way past the sun toward Earth/Luna. That alone would give the ten detached ships enough cover to meld with the convoy headed toward Eros.

  Dad would have loved this, thought Christina sadly. Of course, she reckoned, Samuel Sadma would have loved anything that would’ve made the corporate bastards howl, and this would have them baying to their moon. Then his loss hit her again. It had taken her months to realize that her father was gone, truly gone. His ship had practically evaporated in the first great battle of the war. Her family had spent weeks combing space looking for him, holding out hope for the slightest chance that maybe they’d be able to find his body, repair what ever damage had been done, and then revive him. Though there were plenty of cases of marines pulled lifeless from space only to be repaired and revived, in nearly every one of those cases the marine had been found hours later and only by virtue of having set off a homing beacon. The problem was that space was unbearably large and even if Samuel Sadma had somehow managed to survive the blast, finding him grew exponentially more difficult with each passing day. For all Christina knew, her father could be out there somewhere floating peacefully alone, lost forever. Her only consolation was that his body had most likely been vaporized with his ship—that clunky converted rock hauler he’d always been so proud of.

  They’d kept him on the list of missing long after the others had been declared p.d.’s because of who he was and what he’d meant to the Alliance. There’d been no love lost between her “uncle” Tyler and her dad, as they’d managed to spend most of their lives in opposition, but even given the animus that had driven so much of their lives, Tyler Sadma had still been incapable of thinking of his cousin as gone. It had been Admiral Black who’d helped her deal with the loss—if somewhat unconventionally. The conversation they’d had was the only time Christina had ever hated the admiral, but when it was over she’d finally released the pain that had been tormenting her. J.D. had managed to make Christina accept the dull, horrible irrefutable truth: Her father was dead, and though the corporate core had pulled the trigger, he’d given them the gun. Christina remembered the last thing the admiral had said that night.

  “Remember him and the hole his loss has created. But also remember that that hole didn’t have to be there, Christina, because your father’s death was in vain. It wasn’t bravery; it was stupidity. He could have easily ejected with his troops but instead chose to turn a crippled ship directly into enemy fire and be incinerated. So the next time you decide to do something that could get you or your crew killed—like that stunt you pulled on Mars—think about what your loss would mean to this cause, not to mention all the families of the crew members you almost took with you. I may send people to die, Christina, but so help me God, I would never order their deaths in vain. I could accept the hole your loss would create if it was needed, and you have every right to avenge your father’s loss, but not as a stunt. If it’s vengeance you’re after, then make it mean something. Make it count.”

  Christina called off the search for her father the next day over her uncle’s objections. Her dad had fought and died for an Alliance he wasn’t even sure he’d liked, and the President had enshrined his death in history. But she didn’t need a hero; she needed a father. Barring that, she’d settle for revenge.

  Eros

  Captain Trang sensed something was wrong. The reports he was getting from Fleet were too clipped and unresponsive. He had his comm officer check the Neuro for anything, but the UHF was doing a good job of corralling all the main media outlets toward the government line and the amateur news lines were so fragmented as to be useless. He was sure one of them was right, but between them either the Alliance had pulled back to Eris, a fleet was approaching Earth, or the UHF was launching a secret offensive on Ceres. The problem with the Neuro was that there was too much data and not enough time to make any sense of it all. Not without a large staff of dedicated intelligence officers, or at least an effective one. Trang had neither and Fleet wasn’t telling him squat. That left him with his gut feeling. A feeling that told him something was wrong with nothing to do about it.

  So he did the only thing he could. He trained his command, constant drills and maneuvers to integrate the fleet with the assault marines. He needed to get his command operating, if not on par with, then at least near the level of the Alliance soldiers he’d be fighting. His instinct told him that this war would be fought hand to hand as much as ship to ship, and in that the enemy had a huge advantage. He sighed and paced the bridge nervously. He’d have to wait on events, just like everyone else.

  Bridge of the AWS Ajax—Eros

  Christina Sadma was done waiting. She saw before her the Eros settlement. Much to her joy the Feds, as she’d taken to calling the UHF, were off doing an exercise on the side of the suburbs by the O’Brian Waterworks. Her cover convoy entered the suburbs on the other side of Eros by a series of asteroids that made up an entertainment complex: seven different spinning cylinders formed of rock about a half mile long, each devoted to a different historical era.

  Christina had always wanted to visit the complex, especially California Land, where drag racing, surfing, and simulated earthquakes were its specialty. She’d also heard that Renaissance Land was quite pop u lar. She’d try not to destroy them.

  Once the convoy was at the edge of the suburbs Christina sent in her raiding parties, sixteen squads of trained teams, all with veteran miners. They were flying typical short-jump transports just like the thousands seen around any settlement of decent size. They quickly made their way into the maze of rocks that was the suburbs of Eros. They knew they’d have to hurry. Someone was bound to notice them soon.

  Assault bay of the UHFS Pegasus—Eros

  Trang was checking to see that the last of the marines were back in the Pegasus bay. It was a simple maneuver. Jettison from the assault platform onto the asteroid, collect your gear once firmly attached to the asteroid, make your way over to the waterworks, infiltrate the factory for a set amount of time, and then get out. The first time they’d tried it some of the marines had actually been ejected from the assault platform so fast they hit the side of the asteroid, resulting in quite a few temporary deaths. But, thought Trang, no t.d.’s today, which meant they were finally learning the manuever. Getting the new contingents up to speed had taken a while, but after they’d seen how much Sam’s Screw ups had improved, unit pride did the rest. Trang was careful to make sure that he trained with all the units on a rotating basis. Where practical, he switched officers and noncoms to help integrate his command. He was just reflecting that in another couple of months he’d have his troops ready for a real fight when his comm box burst to life.

  “Captain Tra
ng,” crackled the voice. It was Commander Liddel at the Eros command post.

  “What is it, Liddel?”

  “Sir, that autopiloted convoy has just arrived.”

  “They’re arriving all the time now, Lieutenant.

  “Well, sir, this one was difficult to get a lock on. Sometimes happens with haulers that get too close to the sun. I did a visual and it looked like there were more than ten ships, but I couldn’t be sure. They were jumbled together in a strange pattern; then I lost visual as they entered the edge of the settled area. That’s when I called you.”

  Trang only took a moment. “Let’s bring us to full alert, Lieutenant. Goes for all Federation forces. It’s probably nothing, but you know me, any excuse for a good drill.”

  “And what if it’s—”

  Trang was cut off by a painful burst of static. He immediately hit a button on his comm box that sent out a signal for a full alert. Every Federation communications node would pass it on. As he was doing this, he took off for the bridge of the Pegasus, which would have to suffice as his command ship until he could better determine the situation.

  By the time he got to the bridge he saw that the crew had dutifully brought the ship to full battle stations. That sight alone had made him thankful for the long hours of training. The captain and first officer, he’d been immediately informed, were on Eros, one on three-day leave and the other volunteering at a community veterinary clinic. The veterinary gig, thought Trang as he made his way to the captain’s acceleration seat, had actually been great PR—people could believe the worst of a man until they saw him handing a cured kitten to a little girl. Unfortunately, the timing of it had proved lousy for the ship.