The Unincorporated War

by Dani Kollin

  He corrected her with a gentle smile. “It’s ‘Brother’ and the name is Sampson.” He then bent over slightly to smell a star-shaped, cream-colored flower whose tips were lightly dappled in red. He looked up and invited Christina to experience the fragrance.

  Her face lit up as she took in the subtly sweet scent. “Wonderful.”

  “Yes,” he answered placidly, “Genipa clusiifolia—otherwise known as ‘the seven-year apple.’ I’m glad you find our gardens so captivating Commodore. I’ve never had the plea sure of visiting Eris myself, or anywhere else for that matter. I’d be most curious to hear about the gardens on your world.”

  Christina was dumbstruck. Absolutely everyone traveled in her world, if only to the orbital belts or the planetary systems either to mine or visit relatives or for the sheer joy of experiencing new places. The thought of someone spending his or her entire life on a rock—no matter how nice—was impossible for her to grasp.

  “The gardens we have on Eris are much larger,” she finally answered, “because the gravity is so much less. You have a two-thirds spin here, but on Eris it’s a one-sixth, which makes our gardens grow much bigger. We also have most of our growth far under the surface in vast chambers. Yours are a beautiful band that I can’t seem to stop looking at. But I don’t see how they manage to get enough light for all the growth I see.”

  “Your timing is impeccable,” said Brother Sampson with a wide grin, “as we’re about to experience what we here refer to as the miracle of light.”

  No sooner had the words left the brother’s mouth than Christina heard a deep grinding rumble emanating from both sides of the hollowed-out rock. She watched as large mirrors directed bands of light in a slow creep across the surface of the settlement. The bands began to rise a few hundred feet before reaching the gardens and then simultaneously shot toward the center of the hollowed-out asteroid, creating a momentary miniature star. The star began pulsating and then just as suddenly exploded into an empyreal radiance of light that gently floated onto the garden like a midsummer’s downpour. Christina stared upwards, mouth agape, eyes wide.

  “Miraculous, isn’t it?” said Brother Sampson, still staring up.

  “Brother, it was beautiful, truly beautiful.”

  “But that’s not what you’re here to talk about,” he said, turning his gaze away from the garden and toward Christina; the wonderment was no longer in his eyes. “You wish to turn our gardens and places of healing into a base from which to wage this war that is causing so much suffering.”

  “Yes.”

  “I understand,” he said softly. “Our brotherhood wishes that this was not needed, but we will not stand in your way.”

  “Uh, thank you, Brother” was all Christina could manage. She’d geared herself up for more of a fight.

  They continued walking down the path with only the sound of the soft earth beneath their feet. “We will make our hospital facilities available for your forces,” he continued, “but we request that you not prevent us from treating all who need it, even members of the UHF.”

  “I would never wish to prevent that, Brother, as long as my forces come first.”

  “We would have trouble acceding to that request.”

  Christina decided not to push it. She was getting most of what she’d wanted, with minimal re sis tance. “Very well, Brother, save who you will as you will.”

  “Thank you,” he answered, visibly relieved. “We’ll turn over all the plans of our settlement and evacuate what ever areas you deem necessary to your effort. Our power grid is available for your use and you may make what ever alterations to the settlement you think best. Many of our brethren have also inquired about volunteering to act as medics for your units. We hope their humble efforts will be of use.”

  Christina had been afraid she’d have to ride roughshod over the settlement to achieve her ends. Had that been the case, she knew that she would’ve automatically alienated the surrounding settlements, all of whom had the greatest respect for the strange but always generous community of belief. It would’ve made her campaign against the enemies of the Alliance harder, but she would’ve done it regardless. Instead, the gentle man she’d been walking with was freely allowing her to turn his sanctuary of peace into an instrument of war.

  “Brother,” she said, stopping in the path and turning to face the man who’d just saved her a load of potential grief. “I’m truly grateful, but I must know—”

  “Why?” the brother asked for her.

  Christina nodded.

  “You’ve heard about Neela Cord?”

  Christina answered with a tauten brow and slight tip of her head.

  “Do you believe it?” he asked.

  “With all my heart. It is the nature of our enemy.”

  “We didn’t,” he answered, pausing briefly. “At least not at first. But we received a call from one of the communities’ most respected holy women, Fawa Sulnat Hamdi. She’d been talking with many people, including the blessed one,” he said, using the moniker that those of faith had most recently attributed to J. D. Black. “That, combined with other evidence gleaned from what’s happening in the core, forced us to see the truth. A conclave of many of our communities was recently held and it’s been decided that the UHF must be opposed with all of our effort.”

  “Pardon the phrase, Brother, but you do realize you’re preaching to the choir.”

  “My child,” he said, carefully pulling an intensely violet milk thistle flower from a nearby stalk, “you fight for the freedom of your planet and for the independence of the Alliance. You also fight for the camaraderie you’ve developed with those you lead and, if I may be so bold, with nearly as much devotion as you follow the blessed one. But that is not why we choose to lay down our plowshares and pick up the sword.”

  “Why then?”

  “The UHF is committing an abomination, Commodore,” he answered, beginning to pluck the flower’s thin violet strands from the bud. “They’re trying to remove from humanity that most precious of gifts—our soul. When we were convinced of what they were doing we said a prayer for Neela Cord, the prayer for the dead.”

  He paused for a moment, looking up from the half-gone flower in his hand. It was at that moment that Christina Sadma saw not the peaceful brother tending to his garden but the man descended from the warrior-priests of the ancient past. She saw that in him burned a dangerous fire banked for centuries. As he pulled the last of the beautiful petals off the bud, a crown of sharp, parlous thorns was revealed. His last words were said with the utter conviction that comes from absolute faith. “They will not be allowed to take God’s greatest gift from humanity.” He then placed the crown of thorns into the palm of Christina’s hand. “They will not take from us free will.”

  Commodore Samuel Trang viewed his collar and couldn’t help but smile. He thought he’d be either dead, in jail proofing technical manuals, or at best spending the rest of the war selling drinks to spacers on leave in dive bars around low Earth orbit. Instead he was heading back to Eros with a promotion and ten new ships. Not nearly enough to fight properly, but he wasn’t about to complain. He also knew it was only the intervention of the President that made his liberty possible. The President had also seen fit to officially promote his first officer, Lieutenant Zenobia Jackson, to the rank of Commander. Trang had already given her the rank, but it had been a battlefield promotion from a court-martialed captain and so had been rescinded once the new command structure had taken over at Eros. But now it was official, and that filled Trang with much plea sure. However, it was the captain Jackson was talking to who made Trang truly content.

  Captain Abhay Gupta had been disgraced, having lost one battle and then run from the other. No fleet really wanted him, and it was obvious he’d probably end up spending the war counting ore carts on Mercury. But Trang wanted him and no one interfered with the transfer. Gupta had been immediately assigned to the battle staff.

  Trang next reviewed the displays from the vantage point
of his command chair. He saw that it would take two weeks at constant acceleration to make it back to Eros. Once he was there the new campaign would begin. He also knew where it was all going to end: Altamont.

  Beanstalk, Earth

  Hektor was going to have to find a better way of traveling back to Earth. He could technically run the war from anywhere; however, for propaganda purposes it was best if he was on the front lines. Still, for what was about to be announced he’d have to be on Earth. He’d be needed for both what he was going to say and what he’d have to do immediately afterwards. Technically he didn’t have any right to use the Beanstalk, but the new Chairman had been gracious enough to allow Hektor use of the top levels, not that there was really any choice in the matter. The accommodations were convenient and useful, as Hektor had had all the presidential residences on Earth very publicly auctioned off to help pay for the war. He’d been scheduled to give a speech in Chairman Park soon and was hoping what he’d planned to say would turn the tide and win the war; assuming, of course, that the heads of the fifteen largest and most powerful corporations didn’t use the meeting right after his speech to feed him to a fusion reactor.

  He took the elevator down the stalk and, followed by a large security detail, caught a public transport to the park. It had proved to be a logistical nightmare but helped add to his “man of the minority” image. As he approached the park he saw with some satisfaction that the crowd had grown to a respectable size. He knew Irma could make it appear bigger if more didn’t arrive to swell the ranks. He also knew they weren’t all his loyal followers. Despite his best efforts, he hadn’t been able to cure the vast number of pennies of their love for Justin Cord, at least not entirely. But Hektor was hoping that between the speech he was about to give and the strategic use of Dr. Wong’s new techniques, large-scale shifts in sentiment would soon begin in earnest.

  Hektor’s plan was both calculated and meticulous. A person of influence, whether an admiral, CEO, or action wing rabble-rouser, would be taken in for questioning and let go after an hour or two. They’d remember nothing of particular importance during their “questioning” and if challenged by any of their associates would still hold fast to all their beliefs and values. But in a matter of weeks or months they’d begin to shift their opinions in a manner keyed to some aspect of their personality. It would appear to be an organic and perfectly natural change of heart.

  Hektor knew it would be impossible to shadow-audit, as he now referred to the newest form of psyche auditing, all the billions of people in the solar system, but he also realized that if he could get to the five hundred thousand who mattered it would give him the keys to controlling the rest. As others of influence popped up in the future they’d be shadow-audited as well and true stability would once again reign supreme. Had the Alliance not released a propaganda blitz claiming that Neela Harper had been audited in some odious new manner he’d have been able to move even quicker. The fact that what the Alliance claimed happened to be true was not a problem as far as Hektor was concerned. The research had been purposely compartmentalized and the teams being created were themselves “treated” to ensure loyalty. But Hektor would have to go slower under the nervous eye of a public that had been inculcated from birth to be paranoid about psyche audits, fearing exactly what Hektor Sambianco and Dr. Wong were now, in fact, doing. It also didn’t help that the strain of war without end was sapping all hope and feeding into delusional fantasies.

  But hope was exactly what Hektor was planning to bestow as he approached the dais at Chairman Park.

  President Sambianco has announced a major new proposal. Using his executive authority, the President has proposed a Majoritization Proclamation. The essence of the proposal is simple. Any person who serves in the war in some military capacity will be given a majority of their stock at the successful completion of the current hostilities. Those who already have majority will be given an additional 5 percent. The only exception to this policy will be the President himself, who as commander in chief is part of the military chain of command. “Those who are bearing the brunt of this war to save incorporated civilization must be shown the tangible benefits of this civilization and the reward for their bravery and sacrifice.” With those words the President has set off a firestorm of protest and praise.

  The minorities have exploded in wild celebration loudly praising “the minority President” and the “penny President,” not using these titles as intended insults, but rather as titles of pride. The President’s stock with the lower orders has never been higher.

  This is a fact not lost on many Political/economical commentators. If the proclamation becomes a fact, it will create many new majority voters who will owe their newly won status to Hektor Sambianco and his branch of the Libertarian Party. It could secure their hold on the newly empowered federal government for de cades to come.

  But of more immediate concern is how the major corporations will view what is being called by many a blatant theft of property. So far none of the major corporations or their CEOs has commented beyond stating they will study the proposition.

  —N.N.N.

  In order to get back to the Beanstalk as quick as he could manage, Hektor didn’t bother with public transportation. He needed to be in the main conference room before any of the gathered CEOs could say anything stupid or irrevocable. He didn’t want to have to arrange an “unfortunate” action wing terrorist attack if he could avoid it.

  “It would be simpler to shadow-audit the lot of them,” he groused as he hurriedly made his way toward the room, but it would take too long and their security was not to be taken lightly. That would have to be a last resort with careful planning.

  As Hektor entered the room he saw staring directly at him fifteen of the most powerful women and men in the solar system. At one time they’d all been people into whose ranks Hektor had dreamed of being accepted. They once held all the power and thus had been a source of endless fascination. But now they were just another obstacle that he needed to overcome.

  Thankfully, they hadn’t all ripped into him at once as he’d expected. In fact, it appeared as if they’d all agreed to a common spokeswoman. Hektor was not surprised when the CEO of American Express got up. She was particularly upset because with the collapse of so much intersystem travel and entertainment, her company’s short-term profits had taken a considerable hit. But they had a long-term advantage based on the huge number of shares in people they’d developed over the de cades. Hektor’s plan was a direct threat to not only hers but every-one’s corporation.

  “Hektor,” she began as soon as he took his seat. “Sorry, Mr. President. What makes you think your proposal will ever happen?”

  Hektor looked around the room. “If it doesn’t we’ll lose the war.”

  “Then let’s lose the war,” said American Express flatly.

  Hektor saw that this statement made some of the CEOs angry, but not all. Some were even looking dangerously supportive. Hektor slowly got up out of his chair, walked right up to the CEO of American Express, and by the sheer ferocity evident in his glare made her stumble backward into her seat. When she made no move to get back up he started to circle the table slowly.

  “Let’s lose the war,” he repeated, voice emanating an eerie calm. “Let’s just stop fighting. As a matter of fact, why don’t we just look at the expense involved in fighting the war versus the benefit of simply stopping.” Hektor paused and had a bemused smile on his face. Then with a sudden fury he slammed his clenched fist down onto the table, causing a few gasps.

  “Of course we looked at that option!” he seethed. “Do you have any idea how much time and money we would save if we just stopped fighting? So we lose 10 percent of humanity. We have stock options on the other 90 percent. So we lose most of the resources of the outer orbits. They have to sell us those resources at prices we can determine. They don’t have another market. In some ways it’ll be better if we lose because we’ll get the resources without having the attending problem of
policing the vast beyond that is the beyond.”

  Hektor looked at their befuddled faces. He was purposely making their case, throwing them off balance.

  “Every single one of these arguments has the unequivocal backing of the truth,” he continued. “There’s more that you may not have considered. The social stresses of winning this war will be onerous. Our civilization will have to accept things that would’ve been treasonable, psyche-auditable offenses a mere three years ago. Have you really considered the effects of our new government bonds?” He said the word with such contempt that had they not known better, each and every person in the room would have thought that Hektor was the most vehement opponent of the fiat currency he’d only recently introduced, as opposed to being its strongest supporter. “It will take de cades for the government to pay them off, and that’s if we actually use some backdoor versions of taxation.” He saw the assembled group go pale as the blood drained from their faces. “Yes, I said it, taxation. Thank you, Mr. Cord. But let’s not forget the fact that hordes of individuals will be given financial ability beyond their actual ability. Something that our system was designed to prevent. They will cause problems of spending and credit when the less able will buy what they shouldn’t and get educations they don’t deserve and are incapable of using properly. Imagine how many medics will actually think they have the right to be doctors and will sadly have the stock shares to fund it. The social mess with the inferiors will be a tragedy we’ll all have to deal with. Even with everything I’ve just described, we’ll still need to prosecute this war … we’ll still need majoritization.”

  “Why?” asked Toshiba. “It seems to me you’ve done an adequate job of justifying our not prosecuting the war.”

  “Because once this war stops we can never get it started again. For one thing, neither side will want to continue, barring the most extreme circumstances. Plus peace will pay more than war. But consider what will be the end result of peace now.”