The truth was that like most clergymen, Gedalia Wildman had been a rabbi-slash. Which in his case meant rabbi/propulsion specialist. With around forty thousand practicing Jews, there were only so many full-time rabbis needed, and only the most intelligent and charismatic could support their learning without the necessity of added income. Such was not the fate of Gedalia Wildman. No one would argue that he wasn’t a skilled Talmudist or that like those who’d studied the ancient analysis of the Bible’s words and meanings, he couldn’t extrapolate with the best of them. Likewise, they couldn’t argue that he wasn’t generous of spirit. But what they could argue, and brook no disagreement from the man himself, was that Rabbi Wildman was not pulpit material. The fact that so large a crowd was now gathering around his cave could mean only one thing, thought the rabbi. Something must have gone horribly wrong. He put both hands on the ground as if to reassure himself that the asteroid was still stable. It was. No underlying or abnormal vibrations, he thought. Well, at least there’s that.
“Rabbi,” said the group’s apparent spokesman too reverentially for Gedalia’s liking.
“Since when am I ‘Rabbi’ to you, Mordechai?” asked Gedalia, getting himself up and dusting off his trousers. Gedalia looked over the shoulder of his friend and was met with a crowd of forlorn faces.
Gedalia’s longtime friend responded with stricken eyes. Moments later, Gedalia found out why. Alhambra, the greatest center of learning for all the communities of belief, was gone. The UHF had destroyed it utterly—no chance of survivors. Gedalia stood, looking toward but through the gathering crowd. Though he had no idea what he was going to do, he knew what must be done. He checked his DijAssist to see in which direction Jerusalem lay, then turned around to face it. The crowd mimicked his movements.
“Yisgadal, v’yisgadash…” he began. It was the prayer for the dead.
* * *
A few minutes later, Gedalia headed for the yeshiva, an institution that for most of his life held answers to mysteries both within his universe and without. The crowd, he noticed, followed silently behind but held itself back when he approached the ancient school’s grand entrance—a large cave mouth ten meters tall. He entered. Everything was as he’d last remembered. The old leather-bound texts filling up row after row of shelves carved neatly into the rock, the phylactery cases nestled in small bored-out coves, the haphazard piles of prayer books jutting out and precariously balanced at the edges of the already too full shelves. And of course, the tables of learning: small rectangular slabs that could accommodate at most four bodies. It was to these tables that students of every level would come to argue over mundane passages of the Bible and attempt to glean meanings from the nuance of every word. Everything, noted Gedalia, was where it should be. Everything except those who’d bequeathed it with life. He’d entered looking for answers but instead found … ghosts. And it was then that he gave way to his grief. For an hour, he let the misery wash over him and to a certain extent cleanse him. In another realization of how his world had changed, he understood that his entire community was now dependent on him. Waiting for the answers, hope, guidance, and reassurance he was not at all sure he could give.
Gedalia Wildman had walked into the yeshiva as a rabbi/propulsion specialist, but after he emerged, he was to forever be known as the Rabbi.
* * *
Under the soft, dim glow of his command module and with the knowledge that no one would really notice, Admiral Omad Hassan took the opportunity to do something rather uncharacteristic—he prayed. It certainly wasn’t out of belief. He was too old and too acerbic to entertain notions of higher spiritual planes and all such nonsense, but he’d also been around the block enough times to know there was no sense in counting things out that might take offense at not being counted. Plus it seemed to work well for his boss. And the deception he’d planned would have rightfully been labeled foolhardy. So much so that under normal circumstances, even he wouldn’t have ordered anyone to do it. He recalled how the admiral had made it all sound so perfectly sensible.
And now his flotilla moved with abandon through a Cerean sector exquisitely mapped and cleared. There would be no ships lost to asteroid detritus or errant space junk. Though even that wouldn’t have stopped him. Omad was now a man possessed, with a crew caught in his spell. All aboard knew what Justin Cord had meant to the Alliance, but they especially knew what Justin Cord had meant to their commanding officer. Omad had dug up the Unincorporated Man and by so doing had set in motion the revolution now sweeping through the system and beyond. But that wasn’t what pushed him on, what made him stretch the limits of both ship and crew in his mad dash across the Belt. Justin Cord had been Omad’s friend—his one true friend. And now the bastards who’d played a part in his death would pay.
Omad’s face was placid. His eyes darted along the command panel, watching for any signs of trouble. Nothing. And he knew with certainty there wouldn’t be, at least not until the trap was set. His orders had been explicit: exact revenge on the murderers of the righteous. But first he’d have to intercept them. The problem was they’d soon be finding shelter behind the orbital batteries of Mars, and that was a gauntlet even Omad had no desire to challenge. J.D.’s shellacking at the second Battle of the Martian Gates had taught them all a lesson no one was eager to repeat. He’d have to dissuade the UHF marauders from entering Mars’s orbit without the benefit of actually being there, and he’d have to do it with just one ship.
AWS Otter – One day from Mars orbit
Captain Suchitra Kumari Gorakhpur entered the command sphere and stood silently. As with all new warships from frigates on up, the command sphere, which had replaced the traditional bridge, was located within the bowels of the ship and fortified by nanorealigned hull plating. The enemy could blow up almost any part of the Otter, and the command sphere would continue to function, continue to bark orders and lead even if crippled. But now, mused Suchitra, staring at her resigned crew, there are no other vessels to lead—just us. The sphere’s amphitheater-like design meant that all eyes were on her. She tilted her head slightly in acknowledgment. Then, in slow, measured steps, circumnavigated the room and took a seat in the command chair directly opposite the entryway. The chair’s placement afforded her a view of the surroundings. She sat slightly forward, elbows leaning on the console, fingers locked. She looked over to her number two.
“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 the
m. 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.
The Unincorporated Woman Page 2