The Unincorporated Woman (20 page)

“Still,” offered Michael, “two out of five ain’t exactly bad.”

“We all have our hopes and dreams, Mr. Veritas, but I suppose in the end we’re forced to make due with what is, rather than dwelling in what could’ve been.”

He nodded politely and was about to ask the second question when both he and Sandra were informed that the committee’s meeting had adjourned, and therefore as a result, so had theirs. There was now a President to be sworn in.

“Guess Admiral Black gave them what they wanted,” offered Sandra almost apologetically.

“What makes you think that?”

“As long as I’m here, she gets to be out there. I daresay nothing would stand in the way of her making sure that comes to be. In short, the politicians had her backed against a wall. Whatever it was they wanted, I’m sure in her estimation it was more than a fair trade.”

“If you don’t mind my saying, Ms. O’Toole, you don’t sound like someone who’s been around for only a couple of weeks.”

“Thank you, Mr. Veritas. I’ve worked quite hard in these past few weeks to ensure that I earn the trust of the Alliance. So if you wouldn’t mind, please let your legions of readers know that the Presidency is being handed over to someone who is keenly aware of the enormous responsibility entrusted to her and that she’ll do her utmost to live up to the office. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Sandra got up from her chair. Michael did the same. He grabbed the mediabot floating near his shoulder and shoved it back into his satchel. He then bowed respectfully in Sandra’s direction.

“It will be my honor.”

Days of Ash: Last Day, Ceres Congressional Chambers

“Tyler, what are you raving about now?” demanded J.D.

“What I am ‘raving’ about is what I’ve always been raving about, Admiral. The fate of our Alliance after this war is won.”

“There
will be no Alliance
if we don’t win this war.”

“And if the Shareholders manage to regain power, what will have been the use? We’ll still be cursed with the evil of incorporation.”

“Assuming we manage to win this war
at all,
” scowled J.D., mouth formed into a hideous baring of teeth, “something made more unlikely the longer I have to put up with idiotic interruptions like this—which, by the way, is a perfect example of why I need a lint trap of a President in the first place!—” She paused for breath. “—in what possible way do you think the Shareholder party has a chance of getting back into power? No offense, Eleanor,” said J.D. to the only Shareholder present at the committee meeting.

“None taken, Janet,” said Eleanor, well aware that she was one of the few allowed to call the admiral by her first name. “I tried telling him he was being paranoid again.”

“Paranoia in the defense of liberty is no crime,” protested the congressman.

J.D. sighed in resignation. “What do you want, Tyler?” These meetings, J.D. knew, always seemed to come down to this. When she was Janet Delgado, head of legal for GCI, this kind of give-and-take was what she lived for, but her years in the military had made her hate what had once been a favorite pastime—the art of negotiation. In the fleet it was simple. She obeyed Sinclair, and absolutely everybody else obeyed her. But she was also aware that Congress’s most powerful politician was negotiating with her, asking for her blessing and not that of her superior officer. And it wasn’t because Grand Admiral Joshua Sinclair wasn’t competent; he was. It’s just that he wasn’t the “Blessed One.” J.D. knew this and knew that time was of the essence. And so, with Sinclair’s imprimatur, she had agreed to show up at the bargaining table.

“I want to attend meetings of the Cabinet as Speaker of the Congress and have unfettered access to the person of the President.”

“Why do you want that?” asked a genuinely confused J.D.

“Ms. O’Toole will be the figurative leader of this Alliance and could end up having a significant amount of moral authority. I do not want her being unduly influenced by the last bastion of Shareholder beliefs.”

“Whose bastion of what!?”

“He means my husband,” said Eleanor McKenzie, the diametric calm to Tyler and J.D.’s frustration. “He fears Mosh plans to indoctrinate that poor woman and make her his pawn in the master plan to unscramble the egg and turn back time.”

“That’s ridiculous,” insisted J.D.

“The Speaker and I along with many members of our faction feel that it is not ridiculous. In fact, we feel strongly enough about this to make it a—”

“Fine.”

“Excuse me?” said Tyler.

J.D. rubbed her eyes, a gesture she found herself doing with more frequency. “I said, ‘fine.’ I think you’re all nuts, but if you want to discuss paint samples on the slopes of Vesuvius, by all means go right ahead. Don’t let me stop you. You can come to as many of the insanely boring Cabinet meetings as you want and have sleepovers with Madam Lint Trap, for all I care. If you think my say-so will make the Cabinet do it, again I say, ‘fine.’” Then under her breath but clearly loud enough for all to hear, she let escape a, “For the love of Allah!” All present chose to ignore it.

“Thank you for answering our concerns, Admiral. Your presence was much appreciated. The vote can proceed accordingly.”

J.D.’s conciliatory smile was accompanied by a thinly veiled look of disgust.
The sooner I’m out of here, the better
.

*   *   *

Sandra was about to leave for the ceremony when the room informed her of a visitor just outside her chamber’s entrance. Before she could give permission to enter, the visitor strode right in.

“Ms. O’Toole,” said J. D. Black, extending her hand.

Sandra took the outstretched hand and matched J.D.’s firm grip with one of her own. “Please,” she said, pointing to the chairs, “sit down.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll keep this short and to the point. I’ve had my staff write your acceptance speech—”

“But—”

“Ms. O’Toole,” J.D. said, drawing out the “s” sound in such a way as to make the entire name a pejorative, “it would be best for the both of us if you simply followed my directions. No, I won’t be calling in to tell you what politician’s ass to kiss or how you should be whiling away your day; for that, I’ve left you in the rather capable hands of my number two, Captain Nitelowsen. You
will,
however, listen to me when I do make a direct request … such as now. I assure you, it will facilitate the running of this government, such as it is, and make your life that much easier. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly.”

“As I was saying, my staff has written your speech and it now resides in your DijAssist. All I ask is that you read it, smile for the media, and do your job.”

“Which is?”

“To not fuck up.”

Sandra nodded compliantly. With that, J.D. turned around and left the room in much the same way she’d arrived—as a gale-force wind.

*   *   *

The Congressional Hall was a large circular room with the Speaker of the Congress having his area—made up of a single seat and an assistant’s station—located directly in the center. In concentric circles around the Speaker were congressmen from each represented region of the Alliance. Those from the same planet tended to be seated in the same location—whether from opposing parties or not—which meant Jupiter and Saturn both had large conclaves all to themselves. Surrounding the entire hall was a mezzanine section for the visitors. It was in the front rows of this area that Fleet Admiral J. D. Black now sat surrounded by a coterie of high-profile VIPs. Though the fleet admiral would not be speaking, her message was loud and clear. Just by her mere presence—far from her normal theater of war, the Blessed One had not only shown the newly elected First Free her unequivocal support but she’d also managed to put her imprimatur on the whole proceeding.

The lights in the grand hall dimmed with only the Speaker’s area remaining lit. A side door opened and flooded its immediate area with a warm glow. From the open door, the figure of Brother Sampson emerged. He was wearing his fleet-issued dress robes and carrying a small book gripped firmly in one hand and tucked partially beneath his arm. He walked in an unhurried yet clearly rehearsed manner to the Speaker’s area, then upon arriving, stiffly turned to face toward the door from which he’d come.

A new piece of music written specifically for the President started to play, and as soon as it did, Sandra O’Toole emerged from behind the door and into the light. She was dressed in an elegant blue suit, simple collarless white blouse, and was wearing a pair of nondescript yet appropriate dress shoes. Her flowing auburn hair, in contrast to the staid outfit, fell loosely onto her upright shoulders. She walked toward the center of the room in a simple yet dignified manner and nodded along the way to various members of Congress.

When she arrived at center stage, Brother Sampson tilted his head slightly and then held out the book he’d been carrying.

“Please place your hand on the book, Miss O’Toole.”

She did.

“Do you swear to uphold the principles of the Outer Alliance?”

“I do,” she said in a clear, firm voice.

“Do you swear to defend the Outer Alliance in war and in peace, from enemies without and within?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to uphold the laws of the Congress of the Outer Alliance?”

“I do.”

“By the power vested in me,” said Brother Sampson, grinning exuberantly, “I now pronounce you President.” As the hall erupted into loud and sustained applause, Sandra was surrounded by a group of prominent politicians, with Tyler Sadma placing himself as front and center as he could manage, given the confined space. Sandra warmly shook everyone’s hands and then made sure to thank each of them by name. When the applause showed no sign of abating, Tyler picked up a small gavel that had been sitting ceremoniously on his desk and brought it down on the wood block it had been resting on. The noise was transmitted to the hall in an almost thunderous volume that acted to quiet everyone down and restore order. The politicians left the center and assumed their seats while Tyler took his just to her right and Brother Sampson took the seat normally reserved for the assistant. The new President was now standing alone, bathed in the circle of light.

“Allow me to … er…,” she stumbled, “um … damn, and I was doing so well,” she said, chuckling to herself, as if unaware the gaffe was being viewed by billions. A gentle, forgiving laughter rang through the hall.

“Start over!” yelled someone from the back of the mezzanine section, “Damsah knows, we all did!”

Another round of laughter erupted. Tyler’s face was unable to hide the rage he felt at the impudence, and he was about to get up from his seat when Sandra put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Indeed,” she replied, “and I more than most!” The hall broke out in applause. Sandra waited for it to subside.

“Okay, let’s try this again, shall we?” She cleared her throat. “Allow me to express my gratitude for the fact that, well, thanks to you,” she said in a deadpan voice, “I’m no longer dead…” She waited for the laughter to subside. “I look, and you’ll have to trust me on this, soooo much better than before! And best of all, I can remember what I had for breakfast this morning—oatmeal, thank you very much—but truly, thank you also for the fact that you’ve chosen to put your trust in me. Please, don’t think for even a moment,” she implored, dropping her folksy tone, “that I will not take this job seriously.” Her eyes narrowed as the gravity of her words became clear. “I can only hope that, like my friend and mentor, and your past President, Justin Cord, I too possess the best attributes from the past that are still so desperately needed in the present.”

Another round of applause broke out, but it was only in the face of Tyler Sadma that she was able to gauge how she was doing. She saw that there was none of the cunning in the Speaker’s eyes now. They were open, and almost pleading. He wanted to believe.

“I’ll be perfectly honest with you. I was given a choice when they woke me. I could’ve easily begged off this obligation. Even though you and I both know it’s mostly ceremonial, it’s not without its dangers. And the reason for that is simple. Like Justin, I represent something anathema to Hektor Sambianco and his psyche-auditing ilk.” Sandra laughed as the mezzanine whooped it up—decorum be damned. She looked down and noticed Tyler grinning too. This time she used her outstretched hands to calm down her cheering section. “Apparently I represent something threatening enough that the UHF already had me incorporated—” A smattering of boos interrupted her. “—rumor even has it there are already any number of death threats out on my life!” There followed another burst of outrage and catcalls. “How’s that for irony? Those morons are prepared to alter my mind, rob me of my freedom, and incarcerate me just for refusing to sign on the dotted … give a thumbniture. Are you kidding me? If that’s not already a death sentence, then I ask you fellow citizens of the Alliance,
what the hell is
?” She began laughing once again as the chorus of cheers filled the hall. She shook her head at the absurdity, encouraging more cheers. “As I was saying, I was given a choice, but it couldn’t have been easier, because I pay my debts. And I owe every person here and every person who lost their life in this war … and I owe Justin Cord for the freedom that I now possess. And I intend to pay it back,” she said, shouting over the ruckus, “in full!”

“All right, all right,” she said, hands out once more to silence the room. “Reality check. From what I understand, we had our butts kicked recently. I’ve read the lists, seen the casualty reports. Lot of good civs, miners and spacers who paid the ultimate price, they won’t
ever
be returning home, and there are a lot of refugees out there right now who’ll forever be leaving theirs. That’s a hell of a sacrifice. And though I am so very, very proud to be standing here, let me tell you, it’s not easy. Me? I’m barely two weeks alive. And all the while I remained suspended, it was you who suffered, you who lost loved ones, and you who gave up everything to hold on to your freedom and by doing so secured mine. And for that, I’ll forever be in your debt. It may have taken One Free Man to shown us the path, but know that this newly free woman will continue to forge that path—no matter what the price. Thank you.”