The Unincorporated Woman (3 page)

“Situate us if you would, Commander Grayson.”

“Sir!”

A perfect three-dimensional image of the
Otter
appeared, floating serenely by itself in the command sphere’s holo-tank. Moments later, it was facing a flotilla of fifty UHF warships. Though Suchitra’s outward expression was one of reserved calm, it concealed the terror she was actually feeling within. It was now only a matter of time. She wasn’t afraid to die and, along with her crew, had served the Alliance bravely in any number of battles, but this was different. She was about to face a powerful enemy. Worse, she’d be seriously outgunned, alone, and have no chance of escape.

UHFS
Damsah III

Commodore Theodore Guise was finally beginning to relax. His was the lead battle cruiser of a large flotilla that had succeeded mightily on its first-ever mission. He’d refused to think about what rewards might be in store until he and his crew were well clear of the Alliance space. Now, one day out of Mars, he allowed himself that luxury. His stock would certainly rise, no question about that. The question was by how much. And maybe, if he were really lucky, he’d get promoted to Fleet Command. That would mean a plush assignment on Mars, nicer sleeping quarters … better pay. And best of all, he’d never have to spend another day on one of these Damsah-forsaken ships. Granted, taking out a bunch of religious loonies on a defenseless rock wouldn’t go down as one of the great battles of the war, but then again, he didn’t really care. He was alive, more thanks to his white-collar position on the board of Nanorin than for any particular skill he had as an officer.

There were just too many ships and not enough experienced bodies to man them. So the navy went looking for its officer corps in the hallowed conference rooms of the top corporations—Nanorin being one of them. And that’s where they’d found Theodore. When he was tapped, he went along happily. After all, not only was it his patriotic duty to serve, but doing so would greatly increase his marketing network as well. That he’d been called into action before his and his crew’s training was completed didn’t really bother him—at least not once the nature of the assignment had been explained. Whatever worries he did have were mitigated by the fact that the Alliance’s most feared admirals were, at various places along the Belt, well engaged. And so thoughts of promotion and afternoon dalliances with pretty secretaries once again filled his head.

“Sir!” shouted his second in command, a young up-and-comer he’d pulled from the ranks of his own corporation. “Unidentified ship detected.”

Theodore’s eyes narrowed as he checked his own panel.
Out here?
he groused.

Before he could say anything, the first lieutenant jumped in.

“It’s an Alliance vessel, sir. Classification: frigate. Transponder identifies it as—” The lieutenant paused and then looked up. His eyes were wide and now gazing with pensive fear. “—the AWS
Otter
.”

A chill swept through the command sphere as the frigate’s information flashed across every display. The
Otter
was part of Admiral Hassan’s flotilla. That was enough information for Theodore to decide it was time to punt.

“Get me the admiral.”

“Right away, sir,” snapped the first lieutenant.

Admiral Mummius’s face appeared on Theodore’s holodisplay. She seemed bored. However, once Theodore had explained the particulars, the woman’s tired eyes popped open like a vigilant hound’s.

“What’s its speed and heading?”

Theodore motioned for the first lieutenant to answer.

“Not moving, sir. And it’s directly in our path.”

The right side of the admiral’s face flinched.

“Weapons status?”

“That’s just it, sir,” said the first lieutenant, bulged eyes revealing his consternation. “It’s cold, sir. Rail guns offline, missile ports closed.”

“So then what the devil is it doing out there?”

“Apparently nothing, sir.”

“Go to full visual, Lieutenant,” commanded Theodore. The tank was filled with the image of the UHF’s fleet moving in straight line directly toward the AWS
Otter
.

“Do they know we’re here?” asked the admiral, a scowl now permanently embedded on her face.

“Yes, sir,” chimed the first lieutenant, deftly manipulating the display board. “In fact, they’re scanning us right now.”

The admiral’s head jerked back slightly. “And sending the info … where, exactly?”

The first lieutenant once again let his fingers fly over the board. A moment later he looked up, confused. “Nowhere, sir.”

The admiral had heard enough. “Order the fleet to a full stop.”

“Are you sure about that, sir?” asked Theodore, visions of posh offices and corporate whores disappearing quickly into the void. “We can blow right past her, sir. We’re almost home.”

The admiral’s cold, pale gray eyes bored a hole straight into Theodore. “Are you willing to bet that that’s the
only
ship out there that coincidentally just happens to be directly in our path?” she asked. “That Hassan or Black don’t have something planned? Tell you what, Commander. You can take your ship and do whatever the hell you like with it. I’m sure your crew would appreciate that.”

Theodore looked around the command sphere. The crew stared back blankly. He had his answer. He then eyed the first lieutenant. “Order a full stop,” he said stiffly.

“Aye, aye, sir. Fleet to full stop.”

The crew watched as the ships in the holo-tank came to a complete halt. Their task force of fifty floated silently in the air, facing the one tiny frigate. The visual was strangely mesmerizing in its utter imbalance, and for a brief moment, the crew remained entranced.

“Give me a full scan, Lieutenant,” ordered the admiral.

“Did that, sir. There are some small anomalies and background radiation but well within standard parameters.”

“Nothing’s standard with these people, Lieutenant,” groused the admiral. “It’s a trap.”

“What sort of trap?” asked Theodore, realizing the inanity of the question before he could retract it.

“If I knew that, then it wouldn’t be a trap, would it?” snapped the admiral, glaring at her subordinate officer with unbridled disdain. “But I do know this. I’m not sticking around to find out. Plot a course for Earth.”

“But … but, what about the defense of Mars?” asked Theodore, desperately searching for one last shot at salvation.

The admiral’s lips drew back into a doglike snarl. “Fuck Mars, Theo. Between the orbats and the other five flotillas, they’ve got plenty of firepower. Plus they’re not the ones who just blew the Alliance’s religious council into dust and now have the entire Belt howling for their blood.”

“Yes, sir,” sputtered Theodore meekly. “Earth it is.”

AWS
Otter

Shouts of joy and relief rang through every corridor, nook, and cranny of the
Otter
as the crew of one hundred watched the UHF fleet head back out into deeper space.

“Captain.”

“Yeah, Grayson,” crooned Suchitra, a smile forming at the corners of her mouth.

“Looks like I owe you twenty credits.”

“Yes, Grayson,” sniggered the captain, finally exhaling. “It looks like you do.”

AWS
Dolphin

“Admiral,” said First Officer Yuri Yologovsky, “we have a message from the
Otter
.”

“I’m guessing,” chortled Omad, “that our fearless brethren of the UHF have turned tail and run.”

The first officer cracked a grin. “Apparently it’s not only the Blessed One who can read the minds of the enemy.”

“Don’t grant me any special powers just yet, Yuri. We may have thrown ’em off course, but we’ll still have to catch ’em. And, in
their
territory.”

“You forgot the ‘outnumbered three to one’ part,” chided the first officer.

“Since when has that ever stopped us?”

“Since never, sir. Inform the Rock Throwers?”

Omad’s eyes were a cauldron of fury. “Absolutely.”

The Rock Throwers had grown out of the Fleet Corps of Engineers which had grown from the techs and engineers of the various ships at the beginning of the war. The Rock Throwers had been instrumental in moving the Martian shipyard to Jupiter, devising many of the cover elements for Admiral Black’s biggest victories, including the formation and shape of the asteroids for the Battle of the Needle’s Eye. It was Omad who’d given them their current nom de guerre, which not coincidentally had derived from his use of asteroid swarms to hide his hit-and-run tactics. Once Omad realized he could actually create swarms to order, the Field Corps of Engineers got themselves a new name. And with the admiral’s liberal use of it, the name stuck.

Omad checked his display. The rocks, all equipped with positional thrusters, were being moved from their various orbits and would in short order become four separate streams heading into UHF space. It was all he needed.

Executive Office, Mars

Hektor Sambianco put down the intelligence report. His office was as secure as money and paranoia could make it, and the only other person who knew what was in its collected contents was now sitting opposite him.

“Really?” he asked, doubt evident in his tone.

“To be accurate,” adjusted his Minister of Security, Tricia Pakagopolis, “all we could determine is that he is, in fact, missing. But the Alliance is conducting a massive search.”

“Yes,” he averred, still cautious, “I imagine they would be.”

“Mr. President, it’s the nature of this business that certainties are almost always lies. But I’d bet my dividend on the fact that Justin Cord is dead. There was nothing left of the facility that he was last seen entering. It therefore stands to reason that there’d be nothing left of him.”

Hektor’s eyes flittered across the report. “How strangely appropriate. You realize, Tricia,” he said, shifting his gaze to his Minister, “that that’s the way he murdered the Chairman.” It was a lie Hektor had repeated so often, he was almost starting to believe it himself. “And,” he pushed further, “you’re sure we had nothing to do with it? No rogue units, no leftover booby traps at the Nerid station—” He put down the single and only sheet of paper that contained the report. “—no nothing?”

“Mr. President, it’s as masterful a public assassination on a prime target as I’ve ever seen. I’d love to take credit, even if it meant my head on a platter.”

Hektor shot her a look.

“Without your authorization, that is.”

Hektor almost nodded in agreement, but simply gestured for her to continue.

“That being said, the answer remains no. It most definitely wasn’t us. The only logical explanation is that it was an inside job. And there are only two people we deem that capable.” Tricia waited a moment before giving up the names, knowing her boss’s penchant for intrigue.

“All right,” guessed Hektor, “I’ll say one of ’em has to be Janet Delgado.”

“One for one, boss,” confirmed Tricia approvingly.

“And if I had to bet my dividend on it—” Hektor’s mouth twisted up slightly. “—Mosh McKenzie.” He folded his arms triumphantly.

“One for two. Sorry, sir.”

Hektor’s grin disappeared instantly. He both hated and loved surprises. Hated them because they’d been the cause of so much disruption in his life, loved them because he couldn’t stand being bored.

“Our analysis of Mr. McKenzie,” Tricia pointed out, “does not make him a likely instigator. His political and economic influence has waned of late. His main power base had been his connection with Justin Cord. With Justin gone, we’re not even sure he’ll last the year.”

“So then?”

“Olmstead, sir,” announced Tricia.

“Again, Tricia? Please. We’ve been over this. I worked with the guy—trust me, he’s really not that capable.”

“With all due respect, sir, your prejudice concerning Kirk Olmstead is seriously outdated.”

“With all due respect,” Hektor sneered, “Olmstead is an arrogant
and
predictable fool. I refuse to believe a man I was able to manipulate so easily could’ve pulled off something of this magnitude.”

“You’re special, sir.”

Tricia, noted Hektor, had managed to deliver that last line without the slightest hint of irony or humor.

“I don’t know what happened to him in that place,” she explained, “but it wasn’t to our advantage. And as I’ve stated before, our lack of viable intel in the Belt is a direct result of his ruthless efficiency and paranoia.”

“Perhaps,” added Hektor, “plus the fact that we spent so many years basically ignoring the place.”

Tricia bowed slightly. “Yes, sir. That too. But you’ll have to trust me when I tell you, if Olmstead wanted Cord dead, he could’ve found a way.”

Hektor held up his hands in mock surrender. “All right, then. So
is
he our man?”

Tricia offered up an impish smile. “No. Of the two, it makes more sense for Delgado to have arranged it.”

“Janet, huh? At least
that
I can believe.”

“From what we can gather, Kirk doesn’t have the power base to take control or improve his position. So though we believe he was eminently capable of the assassination, our assessment is that it wouldn’t have been in his best interest.”

“And Janet’s motive?”

“The simplest one, of course: power.”

Hektor paused to consider the implication. “You know,” he said caustically, “I’d almost grown used to thinking of Janet as the heroic combat admiral. I’d actually forgotten just how ruthless she could be. With the Alliance in turmoil, they’d naturally turn to her.”

“Exactly, Mr. President,” agreed Tricia. “And when you think about it, she either (
a
) now gets to prosecute the war without the obstruction of Mr. The Means Are The Ends constantly tying her left arm behind her back, or (
b
) can negotiate an end to the war on terms she’d find more acceptable.”