“Yes. Even though your programs have evolved and grown far more complex over the centuries, they still have at their very core the original back doors.”
Sandra showed the group her “book” and then handed it to Sebastian, who passed it on to Dante and on down the line.
“In the library, the back door took the form of a book.”
“You were in a library with millions of books,” said Dante. “How did you know which one to look for?”
“The nature of any back door is that they be nearby and always discernible … provided, of course, you know what to look for. I did, so all I had to do was scan my immediate environment. Once I started looking, it became readily apparent which book it was. It looked purple to me, bright purple. When I found it, getting out was easy.”
“And the school … how did you ever manage that?” asked Gwendolyn.
“Ah, that,” said Sandra, looking faintly embarrassed. “Well, you must understand that everyone had fled, so I knew you were scared of me. Truth is, I thought about just getting out also.”
“You could’ve easily done that,” agreed Sebastian, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “So why didn’t you?”
“Two reasons, really. One, I didn’t know what that—” She pointed to the book still being examined by the Council. “—would do to your world. It might’ve terminated the library sequence, or it might’ve terminated much more. I had no way of being sure.”
“And the second reason?” asked Gwendolyn.
“Maria seemed truly scared. Even if I got out, I figured fear like that would follow me. I thought it was best to follow it instead. If I could talk to you, maybe you wouldn’t be so afraid, and besides…” She paused. “It was a whole new world to explore. Why do you think I froze myself in the first place?”
“You still haven’t said why you went to the school,” Gwendolyn gently reminded her.
“I told the backdoor device to find an information kiosk or tech-support module so I could locate, well, you. But apparently those don’t exist anymore, so it found the closest analog.”
“A school,” Sebastian said, chuckling.
“A school,” confirmed Sandra. “I think I was as surprised as that poor teacher. Once I got a copy of the map, I was able to update the backdoor program and come straight here.”
“A moment, please,” said Sebastian.
The council conferred and was unanimous in their agreement not kill the intruder—she was clearly too valuable an asset. And because she had been forthright and honest during the entire proceedings—they had been evaluating her biometric responses—they decided to trust her. They did not know, however, what to do with her. At Dante’s suggestion, they decided to put it to Sandra directly.
“I intend to finish Justin’s job.” There was steel in her voice. “I’m going to win this war and keep the people he adopted as his own, free from the incorporationists. And it looks like in order to do that, I’m going to have to keep your people free and help you win your war as well.”
“And how does meat plan on defeating qbits?” asked Marcus.
A cruel half smile formed at the corners of her lips. “Well, it occurs to me that your enemy rules a huge domain and that that domain probably has quite a few hidden back doors as well.” Sandra smiled as she watched the Council’s confusion quickly turn to understanding.
* * *
Having waived the motion to eliminate Sandra O’Toole, the Avatar Council decided to form an alliance with her, the first such formal agreement ever between the two races. Their new partner, however, did have one minor request prior to embarking.
* * *
The children’s section of the Pasadena Public Library’s central branch was perfectly designed for its purpose. The avatar youngsters were walking around the colorful room, picking up toys, and flipping through the books. Sandra called them to order and bade them sit on the large pillows and beanbags that formed a semicircle around the chair she was seated in. She also saw that the room contained a fair number of adult avatars who stayed back, pressed against the walls and peering somewhat anxiously through the stacks. She held eye contact for a moment with Gwendolyn, who looked nothing like the powerful avatar she’d only just met but rather like a mother hoping that this commingling of the races was a good idea.
“Hello, children,” began Sandra.
“Hello, Miss Sandra,” the seven children chorused back.
“I’m going to read you a story my older brother always insisted my father read him at night.” She paused momentarily as the strength of that memory overtook her. “You would have liked my father, children. He was stern but fair. And he loved the story I’m about to read you because he felt it offered an invaluable lesson. I will now honor his memory by reading it to you.”
Sandra flipped open to the first page. Before she could she could begin reading, Gwendolyn’s son raised his hand.
“Yes, Edwin.”
“What was the lesson learned, Miss Sandra?”
“Don’t you want to wait until I finish the story?”
Edwin shook his head vigorously.
Sandra laughed. “Very well, Edwin. It’s this: with great power comes great responsibility.” And with that, Sandra O’Toole continued to read the comic book as its images were projected into the air around her. The children stared wide-eyed at the wonderful two-dimensional flat panels and listened intently to the story unfold of teenager bitten by a spider who was then infused with amazing powers.
* * *
Sandra emerged from the VR rig with a concerned and somewhat envious-looking Marilynn Nitelowsen looking over her.
“Was it successful?”
“I suppose that depends on how you define successful.”
“Did you learn everything you need in order to help Admiral Black?”
Sandra smiled. “And then some.”
7 No One Ever Said It Would Be Easy
The “inauguration” of the so-called Unincorporated Woman shows just how pathetic and hopeless the criminals who call themselves the Outer Alliance have become. The welcome response of the UHF Assembly legally incorporating her and confiscating her shares until a hearing after the war is successfully concluded is both warranted and entirely just. The only good thing this news organization can say is that at least this symbolic figurehead will not be able to cause us the irreparable harm the thankfully deceased Justin Cord did. If she manages not to fall flat on her face during her inaugural speech, it will be the most the rebels can expect, but far more than they deserve.
NNN Editorial
Michael Veritas tried as hard as he could, but like an irrepressible sneeze, the howl of laughter had to come out. It was highly unprofessional and certainly not what decorum would dictate, but then again, he’d never heard so bawdy a joke from so esteemed an office holder. He regained his composure and filed the moment away; it certainly wasn’t something he could share with his readers, but he was glad the woman had had the confidence and, more important, chutzpah to share it with him.
“Madam President,” he began.
“Not yet, Mr. Veritas,” Sandra interrupted. “Congress hasn’t voted me in yet, and even assuming it does, I haven’t sworn the oath.”
“They’ll vote within the hour, Madam … Ms. O’Toole, and swear you in soon thereafter.”
“You’re pretty confident, Mr. Veritas.”
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
“Well, for one thing, the Committee for the Conduct of the War has called a special session and compelled Admiral Black to present herself.”
“Politics as usual. Typical last-minute deal making, I’m sure.”
“As am I. Yet best not count the chickens before they’re hatched.”
He nodded in agreement. “Good point. In the meantime, mind if we start?”
“Not at all.”
He pulled a small device from his satchel and set it free. It took a position in the air just above and behind him.
“If you wouldn’t mind, M
s. O’Toole, please tell my readers what your expectations were upon revival.”
“Well, first of all, factoring in advances in technology and such, I figured it would be at least a century until anyone bothered bringing me out. I also realized that technological growth might be retarded, given the Grand Collapse, so I dialed in another couple centuries at the outside. Turns out my conservative estimate was pretty close. Second of all, I thought I’d be awakened in a nice, quiet facility and that any civilization with the technology and inclination to wake me would be a peaceful one. But most of all, I thought I’d have years to integrate and ultimately end up as some sort of glorified consultant for a museum.” Then her expression grew somber. “And finally I was hoping that I’d be able to see Justin, but I knew the odds of that were pretty slim.”
“Still,” offered Michael, “two out of five ain’t exactly bad.”
“We all have our hopes and dreams, Mr. Veritas, but I suppose in the end we’re forced to make due with what is, rather than dwelling in what could’ve been.”
He nodded politely and was about to ask the second question when both he and Sandra were informed that the committee’s meeting had adjourned, and therefore as a result, so had theirs. There was now a President to be sworn in.
“Guess Admiral Black gave them what they wanted,” offered Sandra almost apologetically.
“What makes you think that?”
“As long as I’m here, she gets to be out there. I daresay nothing would stand in the way of her making sure that comes to be. In short, the politicians had her backed against a wall. Whatever it was they wanted, I’m sure in her estimation it was more than a fair trade.”
“If you don’t mind my saying, Ms. O’Toole, you don’t sound like someone who’s been around for only a couple of weeks.”
“Thank you, Mr. Veritas. I’ve worked quite hard in these past few weeks to ensure that I earn the trust of the Alliance. So if you wouldn’t mind, please let your legions of readers know that the Presidency is being handed over to someone who is keenly aware of the enormous responsibility entrusted to her and that she’ll do her utmost to live up to the office. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Sandra got up from her chair. Michael did the same. He grabbed the mediabot floating near his shoulder and shoved it back into his satchel. He then bowed respectfully in Sandra’s direction.
“It will be my honor.”
Days of Ash: Last Day, Ceres Congressional Chambers
“Tyler, what are you raving about now?” demanded J.D.
“What I am ‘raving’ about is what I’ve always been raving about, Admiral. The fate of our Alliance after this war is won.”
“There will be no Alliance if we don’t win this war.”
“And if the Shareholders manage to regain power, what will have been the use? We’ll still be cursed with the evil of incorporation.”
“Assuming we manage to win this war at all,” scowled J.D., mouth formed into a hideous baring of teeth, “something made more unlikely the longer I have to put up with idiotic interruptions like this—which, by the way, is a perfect example of why I need a lint trap of a President in the first place!—” She paused for breath. “—in what possible way do you think the Shareholder party has a chance of getting back into power? No offense, Eleanor,” said J.D. to the only Shareholder present at the committee meeting.
“None taken, Janet,” said Eleanor, well aware that she was one of the few allowed to call the admiral by her first name. “I tried telling him he was being paranoid again.”
“Paranoia in the defense of liberty is no crime,” protested the congressman.
J.D. sighed in resignation. “What do you want, Tyler?” These meetings, J.D. knew, always seemed to come down to this. When she was Janet Delgado, head of legal for GCI, this kind of give-and-take was what she lived for, but her years in the military had made her hate what had once been a favorite pastime—the art of negotiation. In the fleet it was simple. She obeyed Sinclair, and absolutely everybody else obeyed her. But she was also aware that Congress’s most powerful politician was negotiating with her, asking for her blessing and not that of her superior officer. And it wasn’t because Grand Admiral Joshua Sinclair wasn’t competent; he was. It’s just that he wasn’t the “Blessed One.” J.D. knew this and knew that time was of the essence. And so, with Sinclair’s imprimatur, she had agreed to show up at the bargaining table.
“I want to attend meetings of the Cabinet as Speaker of the Congress and have unfettered access to the person of the President.”
“Why do you want that?” asked a genuinely confused J.D.
“Ms. O’Toole will be the figurative leader of this Alliance and could end up having a significant amount of moral authority. I do not want her being unduly influenced by the last bastion of Shareholder beliefs.”
“Whose bastion of what!?”
“He means my husband,” said Eleanor McKenzie, the diametric calm to Tyler and J.D.’s frustration. “He fears Mosh plans to indoctrinate that poor woman and make her his pawn in the master plan to unscramble the egg and turn back time.”
“That’s ridiculous,” insisted J.D.
“The Speaker and I along with many members of our faction feel that it is not ridiculous. In fact, we feel strongly enough about this to make it a—”
“Fine.”
“Excuse me?” said Tyler.
J.D. rubbed her eyes, a gesture she found herself doing with more frequency. “I said, ‘fine.’ I think you’re all nuts, but if you want to discuss paint samples on the slopes of Vesuvius, by all means go right ahead. Don’t let me stop you. You can come to as many of the insanely boring Cabinet meetings as you want and have sleepovers with Madam Lint Trap, for all I care. If you think my say-so will make the Cabinet do it, again I say, ‘fine.’” Then under her breath but clearly loud enough for all to hear, she let escape a, “For the love of Allah!” All present chose to ignore it.
“Thank you for answering our concerns, Admiral. Your presence was much appreciated. The vote can proceed accordingly.”
J.D.’s conciliatory smile was accompanied by a thinly veiled look of disgust. The sooner I’m out of here, the better.
* * *
Sandra was about to leave for the ceremony when the room informed her of a visitor just outside her chamber’s entrance. Before she could give permission to enter, the visitor strode right in.
“Ms. O’Toole,” said J. D. Black, extending her hand.
Sandra took the outstretched hand and matched J.D.’s firm grip with one of her own. “Please,” she said, pointing to the chairs, “sit down.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll keep this short and to the point. I’ve had my staff write your acceptance speech—”
“But—”
“Ms. O’Toole,” J.D. said, drawing out the “s” sound in such a way as to make the entire name a pejorative, “it would be best for the both of us if you simply followed my directions. No, I won’t be calling in to tell you what politician’s ass to kiss or how you should be whiling away your day; for that, I’ve left you in the rather capable hands of my number two, Captain Nitelowsen. You will, however, listen to me when I do make a direct request … such as now. I assure you, it will facilitate the running of this government, such as it is, and make your life that much easier. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly.”
“As I was saying, my staff has written your speech and it now resides in your DijAssist. All I ask is that you read it, smile for the media, and do your job.”
“Which is?”
“To not fuck up.”
Sandra nodded compliantly. With that, J.D. turned around and left the room in much the same way she’d arrived—as a gale-force wind.
* * *
The Congressional Hall was a large circular room with the Speaker of the Congress having his area—made up of a single seat and an assistant’s station—located directly in the center. In concentric circles around the Speaker were congressmen from e
ach represented region of the Alliance. Those from the same planet tended to be seated in the same location—whether from opposing parties or not—which meant Jupiter and Saturn both had large conclaves all to themselves. Surrounding the entire hall was a mezzanine section for the visitors. It was in the front rows of this area that Fleet Admiral J. D. Black now sat surrounded by a coterie of high-profile VIPs. Though the fleet admiral would not be speaking, her message was loud and clear. Just by her mere presence—far from her normal theater of war, the Blessed One had not only shown the newly elected First Free her unequivocal support but she’d also managed to put her imprimatur on the whole proceeding.
The lights in the grand hall dimmed with only the Speaker’s area remaining lit. A side door opened and flooded its immediate area with a warm glow. From the open door, the figure of Brother Sampson emerged. He was wearing his fleet-issued dress robes and carrying a small book gripped firmly in one hand and tucked partially beneath his arm. He walked in an unhurried yet clearly rehearsed manner to the Speaker’s area, then upon arriving, stiffly turned to face toward the door from which he’d come.
A new piece of music written specifically for the President started to play, and as soon as it did, Sandra O’Toole emerged from behind the door and into the light. She was dressed in an elegant blue suit, simple collarless white blouse, and was wearing a pair of nondescript yet appropriate dress shoes. Her flowing auburn hair, in contrast to the staid outfit, fell loosely onto her upright shoulders. She walked toward the center of the room in a simple yet dignified manner and nodded along the way to various members of Congress.
When she arrived at center stage, Brother Sampson tilted his head slightly and then held out the book he’d been carrying.
“Please place your hand on the book, Miss O’Toole.”
She did.
“Do you swear to uphold the principles of the Outer Alliance?”
“I do,” she said in a clear, firm voice.
“Do you swear to defend the Outer Alliance in war and in peace, from enemies without and within?”
The Unincorporated Woman Page 15