The Unincorporated Woman (26 page)

“We’re as secure as three hundred years of paranoid technology can make us. I suggest we begin. You’ve all seen the report, I presume.”

Everyone nodded.

“Comments?”

“So let me get this straight,” tried Kirk, diving right in, “for this—” He struggled for the word. “—
thing
you’ve created to work, you’re saying all we’ll need is to get Trang’s fleet directly into the path of the Via Cereana?”

“Yes,” affirmed Sinclair.

“Is it just me,” asked Kirk, looking around at the other Cabinet members, “or does that strike anyone else as slightly suicidal?”

“We’re outmanned, outgunned, and outsupplied just about everywhere,” barked J.D. “If Kenji’s brain fart works, as I have no doubt it will, then Trang’s entire fleet will be taken out in this one battle.”

“Far be it from me to cast doubt on Kenji’s mad genius, Admiral, but this is different. Everything else Kenji’s created for us has been used millions of kilometers from here. But this, this can only work with Trang parked right outside our door.” Kirk fixed his eyes on the Technology Secretary. “Have you even tested this thing?”

Hildegard shook her head. “We can’t. If Trang gets even a whiff of this, he won’t touch us with a ten-meter pole or a one-meter Erosian.… We get one shot on goal.”

“So then, how do propose to get him here? Invitation?”

J.D. laughed. “In a manner of speaking, yes. I’ll be taking my fleet on a little cruise to Mars; along the way, we’ll be blasting out their orbats.”

“Didn’t have much luck with their orbital batteries the first time,” balked Kirk. “Nearly killed you, if I recall.”

“Yeah,” agreed J.D., gently running her fingers over the scarred grooves in her face, “I’m not anxious for a repeat performance any more than you are. We got that one worked out this time.”

“Good to know.”

“We also plan on dropping some very large rocks onto their President’s head.” J.D. allowed a brief smile. “Should be fun.”

“As long as we’re not destroying civilian targets,” cautioned Mosh.

“We’ll be sure to coordinate our attack with all the local tour group operators. That should suffice to clear your conscience.”

Kirk unexpectedly guffawed.

Mosh ignored Kirk’s outburst and regarded J.D. coolly. “It’s not a joke, Janet. Nor is it just my conscience. We’re not
them,
and I very much doubt Justin would want us to win the war on their terms.”

Kirk’s smile faded, and his voice was thick with anger. “Justin is no longer running this show, Mosh. And the admiral has already conceded your point—even if somewhat callously.”

J.D. tipped her head.

Mosh’s eyes were cold but he retreated under the soundness of Kirk’s logic.

“We’re here to find out two things,” Kirk pressed. “Will this meat grinder of a weapon work, and can we get Trang to stick his dick in it?”

“I can’t answer the first,” said J.D., “but I can all but guarantee the second.”

“You seem pretty confident.”

J.D. smiled alluringly. “I’m prepared to offer him something no other UHF admiral has ever had—my defeat.”

“He’s not like the other admirals you’ve fought, J.D.,” Mosh warned. “That man can smell a trap a light-year away.”

“And a damn good thing he can,” she added. “It’s that very skill and confidence that will allow me to beat him.”

“Just don’t let it be the other way around,” cautioned Sinclair.

“You keep warning me, sir. Trust me, I hear you.”

It was, however, clear by everyone’s worried expressions that while she may have heard her nominal superior, she wasn’t really listening.

*   *   *

With Admiral Omad Hassan’s return to Ceres, the feeling of anticipation loomed large. His menacing fleet was to join with that of Admiral Black’s, and the two thus far invincible warriors were rumored to be joining forces for one great battle—quite possibly, rumor had it, the war’s last. There was, decided Captain Marilynn Nitelowsen, now pacing anxiously in the transport bay outside her boss’s shuttle, a palpable feeling of urgency that seemed to pervade every facet of the ship. Even small talk, a natural part of the ship’s ebb and flow, seemed out of place. There was just too much to do, and as usual, not nearly enough time to do it. The spacers and assault miners around her moved with a fire in their bellies inconceivable to anyone not in the service.

That fire was in some ways, mused the captain, even more addicting than VR, a shelved predilection that had once almost killed her. In the whirlwind of activity, the captain’s pacing made her feel even more useless, accomplishing nothing other than to vent an infinitesimal amount of the anger that had only recently welled up inside.

When the shuttle’s entry hatch finally opened, signifying Admiral Black’s availability, every fiber of Marilynn’s body snapped to attention. She could feel her heart pounding against her chest as she rushed up the gangway and into the ship, forgetting her customary knock on the bulkhead to announce her presence.

On Marilynn’s entry, J. D. Black looked up from the counter where she’d just finished preparing herself some tea. “I take it you got your new orders,” she said, lifting the cup as a toast. “Congratulations on the promotion,
Commodore
.”

Marilynn stood in place, desperately trying to contain the pent-up frustration and anger she was feeling. She’d never felt this way toward her boss before and desperately wanted to be sure that when she did speak, it wouldn’t come out as vitriol. When words arrived, they were soft but uncharacteristically tinged with an edge of gruffness.

“I don’t want the promotion, Admiral. I’d much prefer to stay with the fleet … with you, sir.”

“Commodore, I think this is the first time you’ve ever disagreed with me.”

“That’s because up until now, you haven’t been wrong … sir.”

J.D. sat down and invited Marilynn to do the same. “I wasn’t sure it was possible.”

“Your being wrong?”

“No, Marilynn, your being this angry. I’ve never seen you like this.”

Marilynn smiled briefly but just as quickly retreated back to form. She was also a little taken aback that J.D. had used her first name—something the admiral rarely did.

“I want you with me for this battle, Marilynn. For every reason you can imagine and maybe even a few you can’t, but my gut’s telling me to leave you here with our new President.”

“Why?” started Marilynn, deflated.

“Because I need someone I can trust, Marilynn. Someone to watch this one closely. In all my planning, the only thing unpredictable is
her
—which is why you’re going to accept that promotion and be made the fleet liaison to the President.” J.D. drew the cup up to her pursed lips and sipped. The argument that had never really begun was now over.

Marilynn nodded solemnly.

“Did you make a mistake, sir?”

“Dunno. On one hand, she’s doing exactly what I needed—even better than I could’ve expected.”

“But?”

J.D. shook her head. “What is it with these unincorporateds? I’ve seen only two of them, and both have been way too smart for their own good … maybe even for
our
own good, if I’m allowed a little heresy.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, sir.”

“I gave her a good speech—thanks to you. Told her to just read the damn thing. Let me tell you, Marilynn, if I’d used even one tenth the intimidation effort on the toughest assault miner that I used on her, that miner would’ve popped an air lock.”

“I’m well familiar, sir.”

“Bitch just smiled ’n’ said, ‘yes, ma’am,’ and did exactly what she damn well pleased. Tell you what, Commodore. The first one of them unincorporateds to pop out of a fancy suspension capsule just wanting the sports page and a pizza …
that’s
the one I’ll marry.”

Marilynn laughed. “You’ll probably have to get in line, sir.”

J.D. sighed.

“You really think she’ll try something, sir?”

“Frankly, Marilynn, I’ll be disappointed if she doesn’t.”

9 Shields Braced and Swords in Scabbard Loosened

Triangle Office

Sandra O’Toole, warmly wrapped in her favorite shawl, held a rough sketch in her hand. She was pleased. The artist had rendered to perfection Michael Veritas’s now famous photograph of Justin Cord speaking to a large group of assault miners after the Battle of the Needle’s Eye. Even though the transport bay’s harsh lighting should have washed all nuance and emotion from Justin’s face, the artist had managed to reach through the unforgiving glare and reveal the man behind the mythos. Justin was pallid and his countenance war weary, but what emanated, as much from the painting as from the man himself, was the obvious respect and affection he had for all those around him. It was almost as if
he
were there breathlessly listening to
them
and not the other way around.

Sandra noted the time and tucked the image into a compartment within her desk. She then readied herself for the mental challenge she knew would soon be barreling through the door.

She felt sorry for Marilynn’s predicament, but also understood the decision. Yes, the new commodore was obviously a spy, but at least she was an inherently honest and competent one. And if what Sandra suspected was true about the nature of the avatarity, those attributes would soon come in handy.

“I can assure you, Commodore,” began Sandra once Marilynn stood rigid before her, “that I’m not any more happy about this than you are. I’m a bit old to be needing a babysitter and certainly not worthy of relieving Admiral Black of one of her most trusted advisers.”

“Tried that already, Madam President. She wasn’t buying.”

“No,” laughed Sandra, inviting Marilynn to have a seat, “I don’t suppose she would. On the bright side, Commodore, you’re getting to play a part in history, right?”

“I’m actually not very comfortable with that, Madam President. Circumstance seems to have surrounded me with great leaders, most of whom I’m sure will be written about for centuries if not millennia. But I’m not foolish enough to imagine myself as part of them.”

“But you
are
, whether you like it or not. What you choose to do about it is up to you.”

“Yes, Madam President. I help where I can.”

“But,” observed Sandra, “you prefer to observe from the shadows?”

Marilynn tipped her head.

“And I,” continued Sandra, “would’ve preferred to continue my studies and remain on the beach your world so wonderfully laid out for me, but circumstance did not give me that choice, Commodore.”

Marilynn flashed an accepting grin. And as she did, her body quite unexpectedly shuddered. She viewed with morbid curiosity the goose pimples that had formed on the exposed parts of her flesh. Her eyes, at first wide with surprise, flittered across the room, seeking a reasonable explanation. When she could find none, she looked back at the President.

“Pardon me, Madam President, but I can’t remember the last time I actually shivered. Why, it must be twenty-seven percent below Cerean norm in here.” Then she noticed the President’s outfit. “By the Buddha, you’re wrapped in a blanket!”

“Not a blanket, Commodore, a shawl, and I don’t mind the cold—it sets a good example.”

“Of what?”

“If I keep the room a little colder, it will save on energy.”

Marilynn giggled and then covered her mouth in the form of an apology.

“Mind letting me in on the joke, Commodore?”

“It’s a nice gesture, Madam President, but not very logical. You see, we have to warm our atmosphere not from a planetary norm, but from the absolute cold of space. Which is roughly minus 270 Celsius.”

Sandra rolled her eyes, realizing the stupidity of her comment. “Making fifteen or twenty degrees in any direction statistically insignificant.”

Marilynn nodded supportively. “Wouldn’t even qualify as a drop in the proverbial bucket. We do have abundant fusion power, and the gas giants of the outer planets provide us with all the hydrogen we could ever use. So you see, Madam President, it’s really not necessary for you to freeze in your own office.” Marilynn took out her DijAssist, playing her fingers along its lithe shape. “By accessing the environmental controls, I can readjust—”

“I like shawls.”

“Madam President?” Marilynn said in confusion.

Sandra sighed. “I
said
I like shawls. For goodness’s sakes, I packed six of them in my suspension unit. You’d think with everything else I could’ve brought along for the ride, someone would’ve gotten a clue.”

“Madam President, I’m not sure what this has to do with—”

“My damn nanites won’t let me get cold the way I used to!”

“Ah.”

“It gave me great comfort,” Sandra smoothed out the wool along her arm, “to just wrap myself in one of these and relax. They’re all handmade, you know—each with its own story.”

“And the one you’re wearing?”

“Given to me by my mother,” she boasted, then paused for a moment, lost in reflection. “It reminds me of her.”

“You do realize that you can easily have your avatar adjust your internal nanites.”

Sandra’s eyes widened. “No, I didn’t.”

“That way, you could be cold and others wouldn’t.” Marilynn smiled, then crossed her arms in happy triumph.

“Are you
sure,
” Sandra paused for a moment, “that there isn’t any other way?”

Marilynn absorbed the odd question with a look of surprise. “I suppose so. I could always have Kenji send up one of his lab rats to jury-rig something. But wouldn’t an avatar be easier?”

“Maybe, but I think I’d still prefer the lab rat.”

“Okay.” Marilynn quickly scanned her DijAssist. “Most of them are at the Oberon Settlement, but they should be back in … let’s see, four days. I’m sure we can get you one then.”

“Oberon Settlement?” asked Sandra.

“On your daily briefing, Madam President, but I didn’t flag it as important.”

Sandra scanned her DijAssist and found it right away. It read, “Diaspora class settlement: Oberon. Status: passing near Ceres for the next three days.” Sandra grunted in annoyance at the near total lack of useful information—she’d have to rectify that in future reports—and proceeded to dig up something more informative using her recently acquired Neuro surfing skills. “Says here that they’ve got over thirty major asteroids settled?”