The Unincorporated Woman

by Dani Kollin; Eytan Kollin

  “And now you want me to sit here, hold hands … maintain coalitions?”

  “Yes.”

  “And have this face,” chided J.D., pointing at her mangled features, “kissing babies?”

  “Yes, Janet. That’s exactly what we want.” Mosh looked over to his wife for support.

  Despite both Mosh’s and J.D.’s furtive glances to the Congresswoman-Elect, Eleanor remained stubbornly silent, offering help to neither.

  “What about Trang?” proffered J.D., referring to the UHF’s greatest and most disruptive admiral. “Have you given any thought to that? He’ll be here as soon as he’s done with the 180. And when he comes, it’ll be to finish this war.”

  Mosh nodded, shifting uncomfortably in place.

  Sensing a rope, J.D. grabbed for it. “I know I can beat him, Mosh. Do we have anyone else who can?”

  “No,” he admitted grudgingly.

  “Well, then,” she demanded, thumb pointing over the back of her shoulder towards Justin’s desk, “how do you propose I do it from there?”

  Mosh buried his hands in his pockets, frowning. “I don’t have that answer. But you and I also know that we can’t win this war unless you’re behind that desk.”

  The standoff was interrupted by the sound of door chimes—a relic Justin had insisted on for all his rooms. For all three present, it was yet another painful reminder of their leader’s absence. It took a moment for J.D. to realize that both Mosh and Eleanor were waiting quietly. Whether on purpose or by unconscious design, they were already forcing J.D. to exercise authority where she felt none should exist. Irritably, she leaned over the desk and stared into the holodisplay. Her annoyance was tempered by whom the display showed to be waiting on the other side of the door—her personal chaplain, Brother Sampson. His dress uniform made her realize that she’d lost track of the time.

  She opened up the communications panel. “Already?” she asked softly.

  Mosh and Eleanor both noticed the change in her demeanor.

  Brother Sampson nodded. “Yes, Admiral. Lieutenant Nitelowsen has your dress uniform waiting for you in a secure room near the landing bay.”

  “I’ll be right out.”

  The brother bowed slightly.

  While her present company bided their time, J. D. Black allowed a quick sigh and closed off the display. Then, with an effort of will, she straightened her posture, left the Triangle Office, and walked into her future.

  2 Tunnel Vision

  Day Nine—Days of Ash, Altamont Orbit

  Grand Admiral Samuel Trang was comfortably positioned. From his seat of command, he had the advantage of two distinct views—one of which gave him great pleasure. It was the sight of Altamont a mere hundred kilometers away, surrounded by his fleet. The great rock had been blasted through at various points along its circumference and was now effectively open to the vacuum of space. The fact that his fleet was still taking fire showed that Altamont’s defenders had no intention of surrendering anytime soon. He hadn’t thought they would, given the nature of their leader, but as it had taken him over four years to get to this spot, he wasn’t complaining. Altamont would fall; of that, he was certain.

  The other viewing item filled him with disgust. It was the battle report from Omad Hassan’s recent shellacking of the Alhambra flotilla. Trang was absolutely horrified at Hektor’s and his Cabinet’s decision to launch an attack on an undefended civilian outpost—no matter what the nature of those who occupied it. Had Trang known in advance of the Cabinet’s plans, he was certain he would’ve tendered his resignation. Their seemingly rash act was now going to make his job of occupying the asteroid belt that much more difficult. And for what—removing the titular heads of a religious movement already doomed to failure by its archaic logic?

  He gazed pensively at the report. The more he read, the more labored his breathing became. His eyes scanned down to the orders given to the condemned admiral. What incensed him more than anything was the fact that the idiot had complied without registering the slightest protest. If she had, or if she’d even asked for a clarification of orders, Trang would’ve gotten wind of them. It would’ve been enough to countermand the decision, Cabinet be damned. Trang was having a difficult time wrapping his brain around it. What idiot accepts an order to take an untrained crew out with a flotilla of ships so new, most of their systems haven’t even been debugged? Worse, then accepts a mission to destroy a defenseless asteroid settlement. Trang’s cinched brow was the only clue to his silent litany. The irony was that he’d purposely left Admiral Mummius on Mars, thinking the harm she could do there would be minimal. If he’d known the admiral was capable of that much stupidity, he would’ve made her his aid—if only to keep her out of trouble. Trang was hoping that Mummius would not be typical of the officer corps he’d have to work with, but suspected that hope was for naught.

  The report of the battle itself was what he’d expected. The war-hardened Alliance fleet, though heavily outnumbered, had been in no real danger of defeat. Conversely, the untrained crews of the UHF had been so misbegotten that they somehow managed a twelve-ship collision. There’s a reason, thought Trang, shaking his head in disgust, that they call it “space.” There’s plenty of it. Only a moron of superior talent could manage a collision of that magnitude. Hell, it might even be a record.

  As he scanned further, it became quickly obvious how the thing had spiraled out of control. Systems had crashed or hadn’t worked at all, because various safeties had not been removed, live programs had been incompatible with one another, and emergency protocols had not been implemented, much less taught. The entire fiasco was yet another demonstration of what Trang had been saying all along—only properly trained crews, properly led, should actually engage the enemy. Otherwise, all you’d get was unmitigated slaughter. Mummius’s defeat was a perfect case in point.

  The fact that not one UHF marine had been taken alive spoke to a more disturbing suspicion—they probably weren’t given the opportunity to surrender. The truth was, Omad Hassan had probably saved him the trouble of trying to court-martial the bastards himself, which, realized Trang, would have put him in direct confrontation with the Defense Secretary. But none of that mattered now. The marines who’d died were still his people, and their wanton slaughter by Admiral Hassan, no matter how justified, could not be without consequences; otherwise, morale would suffer.

  Before he could work it out, his DijAssist informed him of a call from his number two. She was, he saw by the display readout, bringing up the line approximately forty thousand kilometers away. Even through the interference of radiation, debris, and residual jamming, he could tell that something wasn’t right.

  “Zenobia,” he said, trying to force a smile through a face grown rigid by the past hour’s ruminations, “why do I have the feeling this is not good news?”

  “Because, sir,” came the scratchy static replication of her voice, “it’s not.”

  “Proceed,” Trang commanded grimly.

  “My intelligence … eam picked … up … ansmission a few hours ago. I just finished reviewing it. It was go … to be … your afternoon debriefing, but I thought … ou’d better have a look at … now.”

  She transmitted the file.

  A few seconds later, his display notified him of its arrival. “Got it,” confirmed Trang as Zenobia’s image saluted and then disappeared. He quickly scanned the headline:

  UHF INTERNAL REPORT

  TO: GRAND ADMIRAL SAMUEL TRANG

  FROM: ADMIRAL ZENOBIA JACKSON

  SUBJECT: MASS EVACUATION

  SOURCE: TERRAN/CORE-BASED TRANSMISSION

  RELIABILITY: CONFIRMED

  Perfect, Trang mused, beginning to feel the veins on his temples bulge ever so slightly. He read further:

  RELIGIOUS FIGUREHEAD CALLS FOR MASS EVACUATION

  A LITTLE-KNOWN RELIGIOUS FIGURE REFERRED TO AS “RABBI” HAS CALLED FOR A MASS EVACUATION OF THE BELT. BECAUSE RABBI IS ONE OF THE FEW RELIGIOUS LEADERS LEFT AFTER THE ELIMINATIO
N OF ALHAMBRA, HIS MESSAGE HAS BEEN TAKEN VERY SERIOUSLY BY MANY OF THE ASTRAL AWAKENING’S NEWEST BELIEVERS. RABBI’S ARGUMENT APPEARS TO BE PRIMARILY RELIGIOUS AND AS SUCH IS HAVING A PROFOUND EFFECT ON THE DEBATE NOW TAKING SHAPE WITHIN THE HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF SETTLEMENTS THAT OCCUPY THE BELT. MANY APPEAR TO HAVE ALREADY HEEDED RABBI’S CALL FOR “DIASPORA,” ABANDONING ORBITAL SLOTS OF GREAT VALUE AND LONG STANDING AS THEY AND THEIR ASTEROIDS SLOWLY MAKE THEIR WAY TO THE OUTER ORBITS. SO FAR, THE OFFICIAL RESPONSE FROM THE CARETAKER GOVERNMENT AT CERES HAS BEEN UTTER SILENCE.

  Trang turned his head away from the screen and sent a vexed look to whatever daemon seemed to have chosen him as the day’s chew toy. The Cabinet’s rash decision had already been responsible for two massacres, and now, sadly, there would need to be another.

  On the twelfth Day of Ash, when the Children of the Stars were brought low and all hope was fleeting, two signs were delivered unto them that their lamentations had been heard. Returned to the holy city that was the chosen home of him sent by God, chosen by the miracle of his owning none and being owned by none, came the Barge of Death.

  The Children of the Stars did gather in the cavern and beheld the empty hatch and knew that the Anointed Man was truly gone. And the Children did give in to despair, and the howls of their lamentations were heard in all quarters of the holy city of the stars, and yea unto every outpost and world that belonged to the Children of the Stars, and yea even into the void of space itself, where no sound can be heard. Yet so great was the despair of the Children that even unto space itself was that cry heard.

  When so complete was the misery that it didst seem ready to break the will of the Children—to doom them, their children, and their children’s children unto the last generation to defeat and the enslavement of the Stock, cursed be that name—then did appear the Blessed One. Without a word did she command silence, and silence was given. Without a sound did she command attention, and attention was paid. With outstretched and withered hand did she summon the flag draped upon the rod that lo, did represent the Children in the war against the Stock, cursed be that name. This, the battle standard that the Blessed One had carried from righteous victory to righteous victory, went as if by spirit to her hand from across the cavern. And the Children did witness it thus. The battle standard held now by the Blessed One did in its cloth cover half of the Blessed One’s face, and the Children of the Stars saw that the Blessed One’s side of war was covered and thus the Children were reminded of the holy beauty and grace that inhabited the Blessed One. And yea did the Blessed One take the battle standard and touch a corner of it to that which contained the spirit of the Anointed Man, the holy reliquary, and still was the war side covered. Then she brought the battle standard to her lips, and still the war side was covered. And yea she gestured, causing her emissary to the shadow realm to come forth, and taking her sash of office did also the emissary to the shadow realm touch it to the reliquary and it to her lips. And then did the holy brother blessed of God and respected by the Children of the Stars take a holy book and touch it to the reliquary and thus bring it to his lips. And yea it came to pass that all who came to wail and grieve did instead come forth and touch upon the reliquary their holy objects and recognize the miracle of God having called his Anointed Man back to him while leaving his garb and garments for the Children to find and treasure. And thus they were comforted. For they saw that God had not abandoned them in their Days of Ash. For then it was that the Blessed One took from the Barge of Death that crypt which held the Anointed Woman and thus did the Blessed One make the Anointed Woman’s body ready, and breathed upon her, and life was restored. And it was good.

  The Astral Testament

  Book III, 1:27–39

  Day Twelve

  J. D. Black was trapped by an enemy worse than all the ships of Trang’s fleet combined. It was an enemy that couldn’t be fought with any of the tools in her arsenal, or with any of the instinct and pluck that had served her so well in her many great victories. And over the course of mere weeks, it had grown more onerous and intractable. She was tempted to curse her god and then berated herself for the seeming lack of faith. Fawa would’ve known what to do. Fawa would’ve listened and felt and intuited. But Fawa was no longer among the living, and J.D. had no such patience. This new enemy was cruel indeed in that it demanded patience, insisted on submission. J. D. Black, Fleet Admiral of the Alliance, had been trapped by the immutable cumber of expectation.

  In the eight days she’d been on Ceres, she’d come to the realization that the only thing standing between anarchy and order had been her presence alone. As if to prove the point, what was supposed to have been a simple and dignified ceremony marking the return of Alliance One and, with it, Justin Cord’s recovered space suit almost turned into a religious riot. She’d been expected at the ceremony and had planned on staying only long enough to watch the suit removed. However, from the moment of her arrival, it looked as if the crowd was going to tear one another to shreds getting to the suit, which had apparently taken on mythical proportions.

  The frenzied mob had already surrounded the ship and a few were even storming the ramp. A small group of surprised and clearly nervous-looking assault miners were guarding the open hatch. This wasn’t the welcome-home ceremony they’d been anticipating. At that moment, J.D. had acted on impulse, marching with fierce determination toward the ship. Whether through the force of her nature or the four burly guards assigned her, the crowd gave quarter, and J.D. soon arrived at the base of the ramp where the Alliance One assault miners were still hemmed in. Now, at least, all that stood between her and the hatch were a dozen or so people crazy enough to put themselves directly in the sights of some pretty big guns and a contingent of miners who knew how to use them.

  J.D. made a quick scan of the room and seized upon an idea. She signaled Captain Nitelowsen, still doggedly by her side, to bring her one of the Alliance’s battle standards, ceremoniously lining the walls of the loading dock. J.D. further ordered two of her guards to force a path for the captain while J.D. and what was left of her small group momentarily prevented the rest of the swelling crowd from gaining access to the ramp. In short order, Captain Nitelowsen and the guards managed to push their way to the wall where the captain tried unsuccessfully to pull a standard from its base. Undeterred, she kept looking until she found one that gave. But what Nitelowsen saw when she turned around was a room that had doubled in human capacity in the space of minutes. She also knew, armed guards or not, it would take her too long to get the standard back to her boss in the precious few moments that were left until all hell broke loose. She caught J.D.’s eye and gave a knowing wink. Then, with the full thrust of a woman possessed, Nitelowsen threw the standard across the open area in a javelin-like fashion as a throaty grunt escaped her lips.

  The standard flew across the divide while its brilliant, shimmering colors and billowing, velveteen material transfixed those who fell under its unexpected shadow. J.D. jumped up to grab it. The few remaining people on the ramp turned around when they’d heard the hushed awe of the crowd as the standard seemingly flew in from nowhere. Once it was firmly in her hands, J.D. proceeded up the ramp and demanded those behind her march in solemn procession. The small but important group included Brother Sampson, Mosh and Eleanor McKenzie, plus the two slightly bewildered but nonetheless intently serious guards, weapons at the ready. The stunned mob immediately bowed their heads as the newly formed procession slowly advanced up the ramp. The “unofficial” ceremony had begun, and J.D. was racking her brains as to how it should proceed.

  “Follow my lead,” she whispered through pursed lips at the first soldier she encountered. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

  “Private!” she then bellowed loud enough for all to hear. Her voice bounced around the cavernous bay, even its receding echo commanding obeisance. J.D. felt a little foolish as the battle standard, held firmly in her grasp, still covered half her face. But it was quite large, a bit ungainly, and would’ve proved too d
ifficult to move aside. Plus, she’d reasoned, it was what the crowd had fixated on, and she’d use it to her advantage, covered face or not.

  “Yes, sir!” screamed the private, equally as loud and clearly relieved to answer to any semblance of order.

  “You may now present the hero’s suit!” ordered J.D, somewhat chagrined at not having coming up with something more original.

  “Sir!” shouted the private once again. He then saluted and retreated back into Alliance One, barking orders to unseen others within the ship. J.D. enjoined her small procession to turn around and face the crowd while simultaneously leaving enough room for the marines to bring the pallet containing Justin’s inflated but empty suit out of the hatch. The few civilians left on the ramp had been quickly shamed and shooed off it by those standing nearest to them. In that same time, Captain Nitelowsen had found a route through the horde and took up her place by J.D.’s side. A moment later, four marines carried out the pallet on which lay the battered space suit, where it was believed the Unincorporated Man had spent his dying moments.

  If the bay had been quiet before, it dropped to a whisper now. The only sound that could be heard was the intermittent weeping and gasps of both men and women witnessing their savior’s final journey. Once the assault miners had cleared the hatch, J.D. ordered them to stop. She then approached Justin Cord’s space suit and, grabbing a corner of the battle standard, first touched it to his suit and then to her lips. She called on Captain Nitelowsen to do the same. Brother Sampson came of his own accord and too kissed the suit, only this time by touching it delicately with his bible and then by bringing the bible to his lips. In this way, the crowd was made to realize that proper decorum did not include bodily violence. From that moment on, the contingent of assault miners and the unofficial funeral procession were able to make their way, albeit rather slowly, out of the landing bay and into the safer environs of a secure holding room.