“But what about Hektor?”
“What about him?”
“Doesn’t he … doesn’t he love you?”
Amanda suppressed a burst of laughter. “Oh, Neels. Now that is an emotion I can assure you our dear Hektor is not well acquainted with.”
Neela straightened her shoulders, her chin jutting out defiantly. “He loves me.”
Amanda studied her friend with stoic regard. “Maybe he does. I certainly hope so. But Hektor does not keep me around for love, that’s for sure.”
“Then for what? To throw fabulous parties?”
“Yes, actually. There’s power in the world of charity balls and fashion houses, and with me around as Hektor’s de facto proxy, he can send clear messages to the targeted elite. Hektor tells me who’s to be courted and who’s to be snubbed, which loyal member of the Assembly’s husband or wife to apply pressure to and which member or members to bribe with an invitation.”
“I … I had no idea,” sputtered Neela, shaking her head. “And here I am, supposed psychological adviser to the President, yet apparently a clueless misanthrope when it comes to an entire subculture.”
“Don’t be such a ninny. If Hektor had asked you to look into my world, how long do you think it would have taken you to master its intricacies?”
“Not long, I suppose,” admitted Neela dolefully.
“Right,” affirmed Amanda with a self-satisfied grin. “We each serve our purposes, and apparently quite well. Don’t misunderstand me, dear. Hektor likes the sex too, and I’ll admit he’s quite a skillful lover—the great Hektor would not allow himself to be anything but. However, Neela, in the end I’m nothing more than a well-compensated courtesan, in the truest sense of the word.”
The implication of Amanda’s forthright admission had not been lost on Neela. She sat quietly until curiosity got the best of her. “When exactly did you realize that I was … that we were, um—”
“Around the time Hektor stopped getting kinky.”
Neela’s face went red with embarrassment. “I never used to do things like that. Justin would never—” Neela’s face twitched at the mention of her former husband’s name. “It seems to make Hektor happy,” she finished quietly.
“Of course it does,” assured Amanda, scooting even closer and pulling Neela in for another gentle hug. Missed by the aides that Amanda had her back to as well as Neela, who readily accepted her friend’s soft embrace, was the look of sheer rage that passed over the courtesan socialite’s face for the merest fraction of a second.
“Now, you dry your eyes,” Amanda said with a radiant smile while flinging the small black box from the table into the hands of a waiting aide, “while I see who I have to kill to get a cup of coffee around here.”
Executive Office, Burroughs, Mars
“And so,” finished Hektor as a sardonic smile formed along the edges of his mouth, “the twenty-three-year-old looks across at the hundred-and-fifty-year-old who’s just screwed him to within an inch of his life and then barely manages to gasp, ‘Gramma?’”
The groans and hissing only fortified Hektor’s already smug grin.
“Must we really sink to this level of depravity?” pleaded Franklin.
“As opposed to the joke you told last week?” chided Hektor.
The Cabinet’s laughter was all that was required to end Franklin’s muted protest.
The Justice Minister smiled gamely.
“For the past six months,” started Hektor after a few moments of silence, “we’ve all had a remarkable period of near peace.”
“We have, yes,” said Tricia grimly, “not so much our marines in the Belt.”
“True enough. However, our population centers are not in the Belt, and according to Irma, our tactics for suppressing the terrorist activity there are not only deemed acceptable by the general population, but actually applauded.” Hektor looked over to Irma for confirmation.
“Many even wonder why we’re being so gentle,” she added. “And now that we have some solid and demonstrable victories and a military leadership the people actually trust, even the pennies are starting to believe we can win this war. Recruiting is up.”
“Well, of course it’s up,” proclaimed Franklin with the contempt and bitterness of a scion whose family had not had a member fall from majority status in decades, “the lazy bastards want to take advantage of the government’s majority offer before the war is over.”
“Well, yes,” said Porfirio. “That and the fact that the losses we’re experiencing holding the Belt are nothing compared to the losses we suffered in taking it.”
“That is why—as far as everyone in the Core Worlds of Mars, Earth, and Luna is concerned—these past six months have been a well-earned dividend.”
“Indeed, it has been,” confirmed Hektor, “and we’ve come up with a plan that will ensure it continues to pay out.” Hektor shifted his gaze over to the Defense Minister. “If you wouldn’t mind, Porfirio.”
“Gladly, Mr. President.” Porfirio activated the holo-tank, and soon the entire solar system was seen floating serenely above the conference table. “The three main sources of Alliance resistance are here in Ceres, Jupiter, and Saturn.” As he mentioned them, all three areas lit up and expanded in size to be more easily seen. “Ceres is a substantial industrial hub, but its value is primarily political, cultural, and increasingly symbolic. To take the capital would be a serious blow to the morale of the Alliance.”
“I thought taking Altamont and the Belt were supposed to be a serious blow to their morale,” snipped Brenda.
Her sarcasm was missed by no one, especially Porfirio, who greeted the remark with a muted half smile. “What can I say? The bastards have a lot of morale. But it’s one thing to lose a fortress or even a bunch of rocks. Ceres is the biggest city and a symbol of five years of triumphant resistance. Even our failure to take it in the Long Battle will only aid us all the more when it falls in the end.” Porfirio brought the image of Jupiter to the fore. “Now, Jupiter has by far become the center of Alliance industry and commerce. Because of the intense radiation belt surrounding the planet, working environments have always been well built. The easy access to the hard resources of all those moons and the unlimited energy of the hydrogen clouds plus its location relatively close to the Belt made it the logical place to build an industrial base. Our taking of the Belt has put a crimp in their grand plan, but not a big one. Further, Jupiter is where our stolen shipyard resides—greatly expanded since the initial theft, I might add.”
“How significantly?” asked Irma.
“Four to five times its original size.”
“Damsah, that makes it bigger than the Gedretar Shipyards of Ceres!”
“Or put another way,” added Hektor, “almost as large as the Trans-Luna Shipyard.”
“All true,” confirmed Porfirio, “and as of now, Jupiter also has the largest population of the Outer Alliance.”
“All of which is about to change,” said Tricia with unbridled malevolence. She played her fingertips over a control panel, and Jupiter receded from the center of the table only to be replaced by Saturn. “The refugees from our victory in the Belt—”
“In case you were interested,” interjected Porfirio, “the OA calls those refugees the Diaspora.”
“That’s funny,” sneered Tricia. “I just call it running away.”
The group broke out in a smattering of laughter.
“To where, exactly?” asked Franklin.
“The big planet you’re staring at in the middle of the table,” chided the Minister of Internal Affairs. “Now if you’d let me finish…”
“How many are we talking about?” prodded Franklin, ignoring the taunt.
Tricia shrugged her shoulders, resigned. “Over seven hundred and fifty million on the run, with about fifty mil heading for Jupiter, fifty for Neptune, and another fifty for Uranus. An insignificant number are heading for the Kuiper Belt and beyond. But nearly six hundred million Belters and their aster
oids are heading for Saturn. Luckily for us, most of them are going to take a long while to get there. But if they have the time to get to Saturn, which also has vast amounts of hard resources and nearly unlimited hydrogen supplies with no pesky deadly radiation field, they will industrialize that planet’s numerous moons in very short order and turn it into an even bigger industrial center than Jupiter.”
“An industrial center, I might add,” concluded Hektor with concern evident in his voice, “that will be very difficult for us to deal with, given its distance from the Core Worlds.”
“Mr. President,” grumbled Brenda, “all these victories are good, but if we have to conquer the solar system one planetary system at a time, it could take fifty years, even with all our resources.”
“You have a shorter timeline, I presume,” Hektor said with a sly grin.
“Yes, I do. This war has to be effectively over in four years or the economy will simply collapse. Key industries and services are starved for competent personnel. Resources are being diverted from far too many infrastructure programs, both new and maintained. If we lose a couple of orbital stations, orports, or fusion reactors to poor maintenance—” Brenda reconsidered. “No, when we lose them to poor maintenance, fighting the war will get hard, harder, and then impossible.”
“You realize, Brenda,” suggested Porfirio, “that the occupation could last for decades.”
“Occupation, though expensive, is not economically destructive—if you’re willing to pay the price. Our occupation troops tend to be filled with the most expendable parts of society. We don’t need huge fleets to engage the enemy. Small fleets are enough to maintain control and demonstrate superior firepower. We should be able to equip our occupation forces with war surplus for decades to come. But I repeat, the war must be effectively over in four years, and that is the best-case scenario.”
“We do have a plan to win; there’s just one small problem.”
“Black,” was all Tricia managed to utter. It was enough to convey the animus the Information Minister had reserved for the OA’s preeminent warrior.
“That fleet had nearly three hundred ships in it,” exclaimed Franklin. “How could it have just up and disappeared?”
“They hoodwinked us,” revealed Porfirio.
“How?”
“By making us believe something was there that wasn’t.”
“An entire bloody fleet?” gasped Franklin. “The main battle fleet?”
Porfirio nodded grudgingly. “You see, when a fleet is stationary, it’s not simply standing at station. There’s movement around it all the time. Ships are coming and going—some military, some civilian. Many are small, and some are bloody huge. Plus the OA tries to interrupt and distort our ability to see the area clearly. The space around Ceres is filled with ECMs, massive amounts of reflective particle beams, and projected imagery. If only it were as simple as moving a probe and taking a Damsah-cursed picture. The truth is, we didn’t suspect what they were doing till we noticed a drop-off in ancillary movement. By the time we knew enough to be suspicious, the fleet was gone. That was three months ago.”
Porfirio zoomed the holodisplay in and then highlighted Ceres’s multiple shipping and travel lanes.
“The Outer Alliance has so much ship traffic going to and from all their main settlements using their specially cleared regions of space.”
“You’re talking about the vias, correct?” asked Brenda.
“Yes. Ships in the vias can accelerate to impressive speeds, which means that the OA could’ve easily snuck that fleet out two or three ships at a time and parked them anywhere in the Alliance. The truth is, they could still be right at Ceres, where we always thought they were. I wouldn’t put it past Delgado—who, by the way, seems to have vanished as well. Not one interview, sighting, or holo of her in months. Nor of most of her command staff or fleet personnel, for that matter.”
“Figures they’d all disappear and leave the one guy we all wish woulda joined them,” said Trisha.
“Indeed,” said Porfirio, bringing Omad Hassan’s grizzled face front and center. Even in holo-form, as a still image the infamous tunnel rat turned warrior seemed to be mocking them. “Son of a bitch has been very publicly attacking our supply lines from Mars to Trang’s fleet near Ceres, as well as making forays into the Belt to aid the resistance.”
“Terrorists,” grumbled Trisha.
“Whatever. If anything, Old Legless”—it was a pointed reference to Omad’s recent addition of cybernetic legs as a result of losing his originals in battle—“is even more of a pain in the ass now than at any other time of the war.”
“He’s a distraction,” stated Tricia, “nothing more, nothing less.”
“In that case, I’d say he’s an effective one,” added Irma. “He’s keeping the Alliance press and public busy with his exploits.”
“A rather clever diversion, then,” noted Hektor. “Omad distracts; the bitch bails. Nicely done.”
Irma looked askance at Hektor. “But how will she call the shots if she’s cloaked herself? Getting a few messages in to Ceres, maybe. Playing a critical role in government?” Irma shook her head.
“That’s assuming she’s been calling them from the outset,” argued Franklin, left eyebrow raised in unison with a slightly upturned nose. “But if she’s not, then who is running the Triangle Office?”
Irma’s lips pulled back like a stretched bow. “Please refrain from using that term.”
“What term?” started Franklin.
“Triangle Office. By calling it that, you give the place too much symbolic power. You make it a real place of authority.”
“It is a real place of authority,” insisted Hektor. “From that place, fleets battle to oppose us, resources are allocated to hold us back. That place commands the loyalties of four billion human beings, one billion of whom would listen to ‘that office’ over us if not for the fact that we have fleets and occupation troops holding guns to their heads. We may as well admit it and feel all the better when we take it away from them. Irma, when the UHF sees a picture of me sitting behind the desk of that office, when what’s left of the Alliance sees that picture, then everyone will know the war is almost over. But we’re not here to dream; we’re here to take action. And so the question remains—and it’s a good one, Franklin—who’s actually running the show?”
Everyone looked toward Tricia.
“I believe I have our answer,” she declared authoritively. “The Outer Alliance has not imploded the way our models predicted.”
“Well, there’s a shocker,” scoffed Franklin.
“When that happens,” Tricia pressed on through the smattering of laughter, “you have to look for an X-factor. The one element you may not have considered.”
Brenda looked askance at Tricia. “So you think it’s this O’Toole woman, then.”
“At first,” confirmed Tricia, “yes.” Tricia positioned an image of Justin Cord standing next to his sarcophagus in the center of the holo-display. “After all, the first person to pop out of a box was a nightmare. It only made sense that if there were an X-factor involved,” she replaced Justin’s image with that of Sandra O’Toole, “it would be the second one out.”
Hektor laughed. “Why do I have the feeling we’re being led down the garden path?”
“Because, Mr President,” explained Tricia, “you are. Or to be more precise, we all were. We’ve been so blinded by unincorporated fever we forgot that Sandra O’Toole is not the only new addition to the Outer Alliance’s government.” Tricia now replaced the image of Sandra with that of Rabbi. “He was lost in her glare and not by accident either.”
“The religious figurehead they brought into the cabinet to keep the fanatics happy?” gasped Irma. “He’s a nutjob.”
Tricia nodded. “That’s what we assumed as well. He seemed a perfect fit because unlike Muslims, Christians and Hindus, his fanatical sect is small in numbers and so that made him a good compromise to represent the so-called Astral Aw
akening.”
“I’ve been studying the history of these Jews,” piped in Hektor. “They have a reputation of causing trouble throughout history. Everyone from the ancient Greeks to the Europeans of the Union complained about them endlessly. There have been repeated attempts to destroy them and yet, and yet…” Hektor paused.
“And yet what?” asked Franklin, intensely curious.
“And yet they’ve somehow managed to survive.”
Porfirio’s face was grim. “By worming their way into positions of power and influence, it would appear.”
“According to the records,” stated Irma, looking up from her DijAssist, “these Jews seem to have had significant roles in countries that have played a part in major historical events.”
“Oh yes,” confirmed Hektor, “they seem to thrive alright—in chaos. From what I’ve read those countries and civilizations they were a part of fell; every one of them. Not that Jews don’t provide some sort of boost, look at the Outer Alliance. But for civilization in general … well,” he scoffed dismissively, “history seems to have judged them quite poorly.”
“The President is correct,” added Tricia. “We have discord, anarchy, even disease in the occupied zones. Zones, I might add, the Rabbi’s people lived in. It should come as no surprise that these Jews have a history of spreading disease and disorder. Can that be a coincidence?”
No one said a word. Not for lack of opinion but rather for lack of any real authority on the topic.
“No,” Franklin charged, “I don’t think it is. In fact, the more I think about it the more this Rabbi appears a rat. Unless you would have us believe that a woman can arrive from the past and with no experience whatsoever start running the Alliance as effortlessly as a fusion generator. Much more likely is Tricia’s suppositon. One man from a group of religious fanatics gets himself into a position of power, which, lo and behold, his people seem to have been doing for millennia. Is it really so hard to believe that Rabbi’s really the X-factor hiding behind the skirt of the Unincorporated Woman?”
“Not at all, Franklin,” agreed Hektor. “In fact, it makes perfect sense. I’d suggest we all keep an eye on this one. And in your copious spare time it wouldn’t hurt to bone up on some reading about these people. A book called Protocols of the Elders of Zion seems as good a place as any to start.”
The Unincorporated Woman Page 38