The Unincorporated Woman

by Dani Kollin; Eytan Kollin

  “Angels?”

  “Yeah. Apparently his kids have been helping him run part of our government. Long story, short: Padamir voted against the VR program.”

  “So odd.”

  “Apparently Justin’s little ‘the means are the ends’ speech pushed him over the brink, and thank all the gods living, dead, and yet to be born that it did.”

  “Any more surprises?”

  “Oh yeah. Care to take a guess who it was that proposed I be given voting powers to keep the issue out of Congress?”

  “Well, since our analysis said it would be Mosh—”

  Sandra shook her head, lips upturned in an exasperated smile.

  “I was going to say that it therefore probably wasn’t him. See? We’re flexible. But don’t tell me it was Kirk. He would have no reason to believe that you’d vote with him.”

  “Well, on this you’re right. It wasn’t Kirk; it was Tyler Sadma.”

  Sebastian’s lower lip dropped. “The Congressman?”

  Sandra nodded enthusiastically. “Can you believe it?”

  “No. It would make more sense for him to have dragged it into Congress. Our statistics show … Well, forget the statistics. Mosh is the leader of the Shareholder party and Tyler of the NoShares. Tyler could’ve batted this around Congress to great advantage. He’d have had the support too. This issue in Congress would have increased his power and would’ve let him humiliate Secretary McKenzie.”

  “I guess Mr. Sadma has a better grasp of politics than you do; funny, that.”

  The uneasy smile of hindsight filled Sebastian’s eyes. “It is true we are not very good at ‘politics,’ Sandra. It is one of the reasons Al has been able to perpetuate his evil so effectively.”

  “Want my take? Not on Al, I mean, but on Tyler?”

  “Do I ever.”

  “I think Tyler realized that if this came out, it would give Mosh an enormous amount of sympathy that could very well have translated into votes. Also, Tyler may have been Justin’s biggest supporter, but he also supports the war effort. Had Justin been alive, I’m sure he would’ve followed his lead even if he had personal doubts. But now Tyler’s gotta act on his own impulses, and those are telling him one thing and one thing only—win the war, no matter the cost.”

  “By that logic he should have voted with Kirk.”

  “True. But his conscience wouldn’t let him. By throwing me into the mix his conscience is clear. Don’t you see?”

  Sebastian’s frown indicated he had. “It’s so easy,” he sighed, “to view the pattern of human thought after the fact, but nearly impossible to figure it out before. I will state again my view that quantum particles are easier, far easier to predict than human behavior.”

  “Don’t worry, Sebastian. We humans aren’t all that good at it either. I daresay, most of the wars we’ve fought over the eons probably had more to do with miscalculation and misunderstandings than any actual act of aggression.”

  “Yes, yes. Still, Al has taught us all that we still have a lot to learn.”

  “Stop being such a buzz kill. I’m coming to the good part.”

  Sebastian’s face brightened considerably. “Of course. Go on.”

  “The best part is, no one thinks the person trying to increase my power was me. And Kirk’s convinced it’s Rabbi. Especially after he switched his vote to allow me more power … as the tiebreaker, I mean.”

  “Good news for you. Not so good for Rabbi.”

  “No, not so good,” agreed Sandra. “But Rabbi knows the risks involved and the rewards. As long as people think I was once J.D.’s tool but am now Rabbi’s, they’ll continue to ignore me or try to control me. One destroys one’s enemy without a second thought. But they try to preserve the tools for their own use.”

  “Only if they think they can make use of such tools themselves,” rejoined Sebastian.

  “Why, my dear Senator,” she replied almost demurely, “I will be most open to offers and suggestions, most open, indeed.”

  Command shuttle, AWS Warprize II

  J.D.’s eyes scanned her DijAssist’s holo-projected list. In front of her were reports from the fleet, and they were all saying the same thing—the situation wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. Especially considering how badly outgunned the Alliance was and the caliber of officer they were up against. But every once in a while, she had to resist the urge to smash the DijAssist against the bulkhead. She knew how close she’d come to a decisive victory. She would’ve destroyed half her fleet—no, three quarters—to have killed Gupta and Trang. That, with the destruction of another UHF fleet, would have pretty much ended everything. She was certain the UHF would have sent two or three more fleets against her, but she was equally certain that they would not have succeeded—not against her. There were only so many Trangs and Guptas to be had.

  The Alliance had victory snatched from under them, and to make matters worse, by someone J.D. had foolishly never considered a threat. Zenobia Jackson had surprised everyone. Probably, thought J.D., even her own bosses.

  Her newly promoted aide knocked on the bulkhead. J.D. activated the comm. “Come in, Lieutenant Awala.”

  Fatima was still a little green around the ears and often displayed some nervous tendencies, but J.D. liked and trusted her. Fatima reminded J.D. of her lost friend, Fawa, and that, combined with Fatima’s quick study and obvious ability, had been enough to get her assigned.

  “You asked me to let you know personally when Chief Engineer Hamdi and Brother Sampson had arrived.”

  “Excellent, Lieutenant, send them in, and then why don’t you familiarize yourself with the specifications of this shuttle? I will expect a full report on its capabilities and weaknesses in two hours.” That should keep her busy, thought J.D.

  “Yes, Fleet Admiral.” A moment later, Fatima exited silently as Tawfik and Brother Sampson entered. Their little get-together was to be of an unofficial nature. This, J.D. knew, would probably throw the men off a bit. Their faces registered curiosity more than concern. The meeting may have been off the record, but it wasn’t the first time they’d been to one like it.

  As soon as the door registered secure, J.D. took her seat. She didn’t invite the men do the same. Their eyes said what their mouths wouldn’t. It was to be some sort of dressing-down—how severe would be up to the admiral.

  “Please understand that what I’m about to tell you should be taken with all due seriousness.”

  They both nodded their heads solemnly.

  “As it now stands, you both have only minutes to live.”

  Both men’s eyes widened as quickly as the pallor of their skin changed.

  “When you leave this office, the shuttle bay will experience a catastrophic hull breach, resulting in the two of you being swept out into space. Strategically placed detritus will ensure that there won’t be enough left of you to make your deaths temporary.” She was still for a few moments more. “Any questions?”

  “In the name of Allah, why?” asked Tawfik, his normally confident voice now tremulous. Brother Sampson remained mute.

  “Because of what you are doing in the name of Allah, Tawfik.”

  Beads of sweat formed at the young man’s brow. “I … I … just lead a few study groups.”

  J.D.’s eyes fixed on the men with a cold and impenetrable glare as the lips of her half-burnt face peeled back to reveal her glistening canines. “Yes.” The word came out as one long drawl. Then she turned her head slightly to Brother Sampson. “Both of you lead study groups.”

  “But … but,” protested Tawfik, “many groups hold religious studies … all through the fleet. It is the way—”

  “Way of what?” J.D. seethed.

  “The faithful reborn,” sputtered Tawfik, regretting having answered even as the words left his lips.

  J.D. slowly rose up from her seat without once taking her eyes off the two clergymen. “No,” she berated, “you,” the word was delivered as a pejorative, “are not. I am, and almost all the
others on this ship and in this fleet are. But you?” J.D. laughed derisively at Tawfik. “You and Sampson,” she said, turning again toward Brother Sampson, “and we’ll debate your right to carry the ‘Brother’ moniker momentarily, were born of the faithful and have followed that path all your lives. You, Brother,” she spat, “are one of the few survivors of Altamont, are a vaunted member of the Seacrest raid, and have been sworn to vows in one of the oldest and most respected religious orders in the history of the human race. It is certain that when the members of the order of Saint John gather next, you will … or rather were to have been made grand master.”

  Brother Sampson remained quiet, head bowed submissively.

  “And Tawfik, your mother was arguably our wisest spiritual leader. The name Fawa Sulnat Hamdi is spoken with reverence throughout the Alliance by people of all faiths and even those with none at all.” She gave them another withering glare. “So don’t you dare expect me to believe that either of your study groups are just a few among many. The eyes of the real newly faithful follow your every move and consider your every action.”

  An understanding half smile formed at the corners of Brother Sampson’s lips. “Of course. The words,” he whispered.

  “It always is, Brother. Your only saving grace and, quite honestly, the only reason you’re still breathing is because of your obvious friendship and respect for each other. That at least speaks for religious toleration. But you,” she said, turning to Brother Sampson, “you do not speak of the ideas of ethical monotheism, or of aspiring to the grace of your savior, or of the power that a community of faith can have on the life of a lost soul. You speak of Amalakites. And though I’m no Bible expert, I know enough to understand that clarion call. And you, Tawfik, speak of jihad as if it were a shiny new toy to fling about and scare the natives with instead of teaching how to love Allah, subhanahu wa ta’ala, as we ourselves would like to be loved by him.”

  This time, Tawfik took Brother Sampson’s silent example to heart and remained still, head bowed.

  “What do the two of you think will be the consequences of your little ‘study groups’ once filtered throughout the fleet and to the Alliance beyond? Surely you spoke with a purpose. What is that purpose?” When no answer was forthcoming, she pressed further. “It was not a rhetorical question.”

  “Admiral,” Brother Sampson implored in subdued tones, “you must realize that we have to prepare the faithful for the next phase of the battle. I am a Sovereign Military Hospitaller of the Order of Saint John of Jerusalem, so please understand that this was not an easy choice for me.”

  J.D. remained silent, her eyes wary.

  The brother inclined his head respectfully and then continued. “But the faithful must be made aware that the enemy is a godless foe, and therefore be willing and able to make any sacrifice and commit any action to first defeat the enemy’s designs on the Astral Awakening, and then and only then to bring the blessings of faith to those who may be receptive.”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  J.D. slammed her clenched fist onto the table. “No! This is not what Adonai wants. It is certainly not what Jesus wants and to the depths of my soul I know it is not what Allah wants.” She turned towards Tawfik. “And then there’s your mother.”

  “They murdered my mother,” Tawfik said through pursed lips. “We will never know what she would have thought.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Tawfik. You know as well as I that she would loathe your behavior. No one denies that our enemy must be defeated, or that they can’t be hated for their actions, but they must never—I repeat, never—be hated for their faith or, worse, their lack of it.”

  “I don’t hate them, Admiral, but they are an implacable enemy, and I do believe that only through jihad can such an enemy be defeated. Even the Hadith Sahih al-Bukhari assumes that jihad means warfare. I merely repeat what is commonly understood—”

  “—by theologians from the time of the Grand Collapse?”

  Tawfik’s wide eyes spoke to his bewilderment. “But who … who else, then?”

  “You, you idiot! And if you’d bothered digging deeper, you’d know that jihad simply gave sacred meaning to what was otherwise internecine tribal warfare.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No, Tawfik. We start anew—now. We choose the interpretations that will make us ancestors of a glorious movement rather than descendants of what has come to be understood as a reprobate one.”

  Tawfik’s angry posturing melted away. “I suppose … I suppose there are other Hadiths.”

  J.D. nodded and eyed Tawfik cautiously. “There is one in which Muhammad speaks, post battle, of an even ‘greater jihad,’ and when asked what that meant, he answered that it was the struggle ‘against oneself.’ If that is your jihad, Tawfik, then perhaps you live to fight another day.”

  J.D. now turned to Brother Sampson. “‘Then the Lord said to Moses, “Write this as a memorial in a book and recite it in the ears of Joshua, that I will utterly blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven.” And Moses built an altar and called the name of it, The Lord Is My Banner, saying, “A hand upon the throne of the Lord!” The Lord will have war with Amalek from generation to generation.’ Exodus 17.”

  Brother Sampson nodded appreciatively. “That is the teaching, Admiral. Unlike the Hadith, which I understand to be mostly interpretation, the words you spoke are the exact—”

  J.D. cut him off. “‘If I find in Sodom fifty righteous within the city, then I will spare the whole place on their account.’ Then Abraham said, ‘Oh may the Lord not be angry, and I shall speak only this once; suppose ten are found there?’And the Lord said—”

  “‘—I will not destroy it for ten’s sake.’ Genesis. Chapter 18, verse 32,” finished Brother Sampson.

  “I can find ten, Brother,” hissed J.D. “Hell, I could find you millions if you’d bother to quit your muckraking. The story of Amalek is a side issue. Even one of the Jews’ greatest teachers, Maimonides, went to great lengths to qualify it. But that story is by no means the sine qua non of your great faith, Brother—Christ’s resurrection is. So if you—or anyone else, for that matter—claim to kill others in the name of God, then you’d be in direct contradiction to the teachings of Christ, who commands us to love one another, pray for our persecutors, and ultimately be as compassionate as God.” J.D. then removed her withering glare from Brother Sampson and once again regarded the two prisoners in her midst. “Faith was almost destroyed by thinking such as yours. Leaders—horrible Bible-reading, Qur’an-quoting leaders—urged the most horrible actions in the name of Allah. They lied, they murdered, they tortured, they raped, they stole, and all in the name of God until the name of God was reviled as a curse and then finally a joke. Do you think that was an accident?”

  She looked at them, almost imploring them to follow the logic with her eyes. “God let faith die, because we stupid, petty humans took one of his greatest gifts and abused it. It is an easy road to walk down. And our enemy is stupidly doing everything in his power to make us follow it. Or maybe not so stupidly. What better way to discredit the Astral Awakening than to have it remind humanity of what was once so very dangerous and perverted about faith? Well, I won’t let you be their patsies and would sooner blow you both out the air lock than let you tarnish a once beautiful faith with the perverted one you’re both attempting to reintroduce. Why do you think we lost our last battle?”

  The two men stood silent.

  “Also, not a rhetorical question.”

  “System failure, Admiral,” assured Tawfik. A modicum of confidence returned to the chief engineer’s voice as he was finally given a question he felt qualified enough to answer. “From what I’ve been told the weapon had a quench and—”

  “I don’t believe that,” J.D. said flatly.

  Tawfik’s mouth hung open and his eyes once again took on the startled look of a hare caught in the path of a wolf. “Sorry?”

  “We should have won—that battle,
the war. With all three of those admirals dead and that fleet crushed, the war was ours. But what happened? Admiral Hassan let his hate overcome his reason, his judgment, and yes, his faith. When he began killing all the UHF spacers he could, it wasn’t just rage and anger that drove him, it was loss of faith as well. Maybe he lost what little faith he did have in God or the future or love. More important, I believe that Allah lost faith in him, turned his back on him. Then Zenobia Jackson acted in a manner most unlike a UHF officer, yes? You might even say she was divinely inspired,” J.D. finished in fit of dark humor.

  “Begging the admiral’s pardon,” said Brother Sampson, “but I find it hard to believe that God would turn his back on billions of souls for the purported sins of a single man.”

  “No, I don’t believe he would. But Omad is emblematic of where the Alliance’s moral barometer is currently heading and reason enough for me at least as to why faith in a higher authority is needed. Without it, the false doctrine of ‘hate your enemy’ prevails.”

  “But how could you not hate, Admiral?” asked Tawfik. “They have robbed you of so much.”

  “I do hate Hektor, Tawfik, and for the death of your mother and countless others, I plan to make this one man pay. In my estimation, he is evil incarnate. A name to be placed alongside the likes of Adolf Hitler, Pol Pot, and Stalin, but I do not hate the UHF nor do I hate most of the spacers who fight for them. I will destroy them all if I have to, but not because they are godless. I will do it because they are the enemy and must be stopped. Do you understand the difference? And think before you answer because while a yes may buy you a few more days, I’ll know soon enough what’s in your heart, and the next time there will be no meeting. Only an ‘accident.’ So think a moment. It’s a crucial decision not only for you but quite possibly for the rest of humanity as well.”