The Unincorporated Woman (69 page)

Report on the Great Raid

Defense Ministry, UHF

Most Secret

Orbit of Jupiter, AWS
Warprize II

In the four days after the Battle of the Hollow Moon, as J.D. had decided to call her latest engagement, she’d been torn by a need to help the refugees of Jupiter and the need to boost for Ceres as soon as was humanly possible. Given the distance between Saturn and Jupiter, it would take two weeks to intercept Ceres on its way to the ringed gas giant. Any faster, and the fleet would end up taking more damage from the debris of the solar system than anything Trang could do to them.

But Rabbi had been adamant in his orders. The Alliance fleet must stay and coordinate the evacuation of the citizens to the remaining hardened asteroids, and those asteroids must be allowed to freeze, turning them into huge mobile suspension units. The calculations were dense, but by using every cubic meter of interior space, and Rabbi’s teams had gone as far as using ventilation shafts and drawers for small children and babies, it might, just might be possible to evacuate all but forty million citizens to Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune. Those left behind would be mighty hungry until the remaining hydroponics labs could grow more food, but they should be able to avoid outright starvation.

J.D. had wanted to tell the Secretary of Relocation to stuff it, but in the end, couldn’t. She owed the Jovians and as long as Trang was not attacking, she had a good two- to three-week window to work with. At least that’s how long she and her staff had figured it would take Trang to break down the Cerean orbat net.

In reviewing the data, J.D. had been anguished that the total number of murdered was, as previously estimated, correct: 179 million. That was how many parents and children, friends, lovers, and spouses the Jovians had lost to give J.D. her “glorious” victory. Why, she thought, couldn’t it have been off by a million? A half a million? A hundred thousand, even. But such was the advancement of technology that a life extinguished could, to the exactness of the microscopic machinery coursing through that person’s veins, record every detail—including that life’s permanent extinction.

J.D. had met with many Jovians who’d entertained, once the war was over, coming back to their “little enclave of the solar system.” An idea, J.D. thought, about as preposterous as her moving back into her New York City condo. She knew that by the time the Jovians were transported, thawed, and settled in their new homes, it would be difficult if not impossible to get most of them to move back. Especially given that they’d be even farther away from the corporate Core, with new industries being built around their considerable skill sets. They would find new lives and new jobs and new homes. They’d probably still call themselves Jovians and hold remembrances, sing the old songs, and tell the old jokes, but she saw it in their eyes as they prepared for their long, cramped slumber: For most, Jupiter would remain a distant dream, long after they reawakened.

And then
the
news arrived. Omad’s flotilla had managed to conduct the greatest raid of the war on the core of the Core: Earth itself. J.D. scanned the damage reports. Eight ships lost out of thirty, high for one of Omad’s raids. But when she saw what it had wrought, the felling of the Beanstalk, she jumped up out of the chair she was sitting in and let out an uncustomary whoop of joy, eliciting a look of curiosity from Katy, who’d been mindlessly drawing in her coloring palette. The war-weary admiral watched as the grande dame of buildings first was breached, then sundered by what was clearly a well-timed and perfectly placed gray bomb.

To add salt to the UHF’s wound, Omad’s flotilla had used their position within the Earth–Luna orbat network to attack the Trans-Luna Shipyard. J.D.’s eyes positively sparkled with joy as she watched the almost irreplaceable docking yards and their adjacent component-filled warehouses get blown to all hell and gone. Omad’s flotilla, she noted, took its greatest damage as it was fleeing the orbit of the Moon, but as far as J.D. could see, the escape was as well executed as she or anyone could have hoped to accomplish. Between the constant formation-busting blasts of the atomics and a hail of orbat fire so thick, there appeared more discharge than space, J.D. wondered how anyone got out of there at all, much less alive.

Then she got the casualty reports. She stood mute for a second and then brought her hand to her mouth, stifling a cry of grief.
Gone?
she thought, collapsing into the chair she’d only recently sprung up from.
How is that possible? Omads don’t die. They lose limbs, claw their way back, but die? Impossible!
J.D. scanned the text again, looking for words of hope, like “presumed dead” or “still missing,” but found none. The report was conclusive and thorough, or as thorough as a report of a firestorm could be.

But the evidence left no doubt about what Omad had done in his final swan song. A begrudging smile formed on J.D.’s almost bloodless lips.
Son of bitch died with his ship
. And what a swan song it was. J.D. shook her head and wiped a tear from her eye. She’d been a fool to think him invincible. But the right bastard had survived so many battles with the odds stacked against him that even the normally skeptical J.D. had come to believe he’d not only survive the war, but survive
everything
. Omad Hassan was a force of nature, Allah’s dark jester to the world, and now, she was sure, causing all sorts of mayhem upstairs. Heaven’s only hope, thought J.D. ruefully, was that Christina was already up there to keep the rogue in check.

J.D. steadied herself and read on.

By the beard of the Prophet, what was Marilynn doing there?
It seemed so preposterous that J.D. checked her updated dispatches from Ceres. She’d checked only the most pressing ones since reanimating before the Battle of the Hollow Moon. Sure enough, far down the list of correspondence was a message from Marilynn explaining that for reasons of great security, she was going on a mission to Earth. Included in the message was a dire warning about trusting Kirk Olmstead. That brought an acerbic smile to J.D.’s face. J.D. noted Marilynn’s self-demotion.
She always hated being commodore
. But it had been a prescient move, and Gorakhpur had proved a steady hand.

“Screw being a commodore,” J.D. said under her breath, “if that woman survives to make it home, I’ll make her a goddamned admiral.”

“Huh?” asked Katy, looking up from coloring a flexible palette on the floor near her desk.

J.D. peered over to the lovely girl who’d in the space of a few short days managed to upend her life. “Sorry, child. It’s nothing.”

“Then why do you look so sad, Janet?”

“Because I lost a friend, little one. A dear, dear friend.”

Katy put down her colored pens and crossed her arms in determination. “Then I will help you find him. I already know all the ship’s bestest hiding places!”

J.D. got up and went around to where her adopted daughter was standing. “We won’t find him here, little one.”

“Another ship?”

“No. He’s gone to … well—”

“Is he with Mommy and Daddy?”

“Yes, Katy. That is exactly where he is.”

“Was he the man with no legs?”

“Why, yes,” exclaimed J.D., head tilted in surprise. “How did you know?”

“You don’t have many friends.”

J.D. opened her mouth to respond but realized that the child had spoken the unmitigated truth. J.D. had always felt herself a bitter pill to swallow and so purposely had never cultivated close friendships, never asked about someone’s feelings or well-being lest they ask her about her own. She oftentimes felt that her indomitable climb to the upper reigns of power had more to do with the convenience of such a path’s expected callousness rather than any real desire for power.

She’d wanted so badly to be left alone that when she finally arrived at her vaunted position of Legal of GCI, she was the happiest in her unhappiness she’d ever been. She was feared by most and loathed by many. It was perfect. From her unenviable position, she figured she could go it alone for as long as GCI would have her, and if not GCI, then some other large corporation. Her future secured, so too, would be her insulation. Until Manny. A man so obtuse, he’d missed completely every hint thrown at him to go away. Crowds would part in Janet’s wake, but Manny barely noticed her, and when he did … when he did, he noticed her intelligence, her humor, and—most unpardonable of all—her self.

Manny had allowed Janet to
feel,
and in so doing had handed the Alliance its greatest war admiral. And just as J. D. Black was in danger of being engulfed by the bitterness and sorrow of the war and most recently the Jovian massacre, she had found somebody who, like Manny, had seen her only for herself. Indeed, J. D. Black, just like Janet Delgado, had few, if any, friends. And that was not something the Alliance’s admiral wanted to role-model for her daughter.

“No,” J.D. said with a laugh, “I don’t suppose I do. Think you can help me make some new ones?”

“Oh yes,” assured Katy excitedly, “but no more sad ones.”

“Sad ones, darling?”

“I saw him over the holo-table once. He looked sad.”

“Saw who?”

“The man you were crying about.”

How did she notice?
wondered J.D.
I was sure she was lost in her coloring.

“He was sad, little one, but I don’t think he is anymore. He was looking for someone he loved very much, but I’m sure he found her.”

“Like you found me, right?”

“Yes,” agreed J.D., wrapping the girl in her arms, “like I found you.”

The room announced a visitor. By the distinctive tone, Katy knew at once who it was. “Fatima!” Katy extricated herself from her surprised parent, and like a flash headed for the door, palm out to release the locking mechanism.

“Katy!” J.D.’s tone was authoritative and a bit shrill with concern. The child stopped so suddenly, she almost tripped over own feet.

J.D.’s look was stern but not angrily so. “What have I told you?”

Katy looked down at her feet. “Always scan to see who it is.”

“Because?”

“The buzzer can be wrong.”

“And why do we assume that?”

“Because someday it will be,” Katy parroted, and smiled knowing she got the right answer.

J.D.’s eyes brightened with pride. “That is absolutely correct. I am so proud of how smart you are.”

Katy beamed and used the newly installed lower control panel to scan the corridor. When the door opened, the child almost bowled the lieutenant over and as a reward got lifted high up over Fatima’s head. Then she was tossed to Tawfik, who’d been right behind Fatima. When J.D. saw the chief engineer, her scarred eyebrow raised. Tawfik’s presence was unexpected. The crew had long come to realize that any expression from the scarred side of the Blessed One’s face was usually bad. Her use of it to condemn an entire fleet to die in the angry storms of Jupiter—very bad.

“Admiral,” said Tawfik, stumbling over his words, “Fatima, I mean Lieutenant Awala, I mean—” Tawfik pointed at Fatima. “—she asked if I would join her while she watched over Katy, and I had a half hour to kill, so I thought, I mean I hoped, if it would—”

“Next time, have Lieutenant Awala check with me before assuming such things concerning my d— Katy,” J.D. said, quickly recovering.

“Yes, Admiral,” acknowledged Tawfik as if he’d just been busted on the parade ground of West Point with an unpolished button.

“I have to go now, little one”—J.D. put a comforting hand on Katy’s shoulder—“but Aunt Fatima and Uncle Tawfik will be here while I’m gone.”

Katy viewed with expectant pleasure her babysitters. “They’ll be good.”

“Of course they’ll be good, child. What do—?”

“I mean they’ll be good for you—you know—to make friends with.”

J.D. burst out laughing and gave the couple an embarrassed look. “Long story. Next time.” She turned one final time to the child. “You be good, okay?”

Katy nodded and then turned to Tawfik. “Are you and Aunt Fatima married?”

“Um, no, we are not,” bumbled Tawfik, a little taken aback.

“Why not?”

“Uh…” Tawfik began.

Whatever Tawfik’s response, J.D. knew she wouldn’t hear it. The door sealed behind her as she headed for her command sphere. Within minutes, she’d settled into her chair. The holodisplay had reports and summaries for her to scan as well as orders awaiting her approval. High on the list was the production of enough drugs to induce a painless deep sleep in nearly 800 million people as they froze to death while stuffed into every nook and cranny of Jupiter’s few remaining asteroids. Fifteen minutes later, what was turning into a bit of slog got rescued by the retrieval of a priority communiqué from Grand Admiral Sinclair.

As J.D. read the report, her face grew taut and the lines in her skin seemed to deepen. “Damn that man to hell.” She seethed.

“Admiral?” asked her XO.

J.D. ignored him. “Comm!”

“Sir.”

“Orders to be sent to the fleet. All ships are to be prepared to leave orbit in ninety minutes!” J.D. then flew from her chair and headed for the exit. “Have the shuttle bay prepare my ship, and tell the governor I’m coming to visit!” Jasper Lee, her acting XO, followed the orders so completely he didn’t even think about what was in the communiqué until after he’d relayed it. But by then the command crew was buzzing with the thousand and one details it took to prepare a ship and a fleet to leave on such short notice.

Governor’s office, Titan

Cyrus Anjou was looking at the report and shaking his head in disgust. According to what he was reading and seeing, the capital of the Alliance was doomed. Samuel Trang had cracked the orbat net surrounding Ceres in two
hours
and not the two weeks it was supposed to have taken him.

“How did he do that?” Anjou asked J.D. in near despair.