The Unincorporated Woman

by Dani Kollin; Eytan Kollin

  But it is phase four that Rabbi is most proud of. In this phase, the convoys not only receive aid, they contribute to the war effort as well. Long before they reach their final destinations, the convoys will be receiving raw shipments of hydrogen and minerals to be used in the manufacture and shipping of tools. Tools the Alliance desperately needs to continue fighting the war. As Rabbi stated, “Many of these settlements were our most productive before the defeat at the 180. Why should we wait for them to settle in order to be productive again?” Why indeed, Rabbi, why indeed?

  Michael Veritas reporting

  AINS (Alliance Independent News Service)

  Near the orbit of Mars, heading for Jupiter, UHFS Redemption

  Admiral Gupta looked over the status reports for his 330 ships. The number boggled his mind. He remembered reading the reports of the first battle fleet that the then-named Terran Federation had sent to Ceres in the first year of the war. Those ships had attacked the rebels’ capital city with twenty ships, the largest of which was the size of a medium cruiser. The twenty ships had become nineteen ships when the now usefully deceased Admiral Tully had actually sent the then brand-new Captain Samuel Trang away from that debacle in the making.

  Gupta would get enraged when he considered that if Tully had only listened to Trang and allowed him to go after J. D. Black in her limping ship, so much of the death and destruction now being wreaked might never have occurred. But Gupta had to admit that Trang had been a too-assertive, obnoxious know-it-all back then. It had taken the Battle of Eros to convince Gupta that Sam Trang was the real deal and would be key to winning the war. Sadly, it had taken a lot more senseless loss to convince the UHF leadership of the same.

  But now the truth was that 330 ships, impressive though they might be, were no guarantee of victory. It was certainly a very well-equipped fleet, with everything from frigates to heavy battle cruisers that Gupta knew should be classed as battleships. But for some reason, the term “battleship” would effect a pay scale change in the accounting of how much the government paid for the ships, and so there was no such thing as a battleship in the UHF fleet. Gupta was happy to have the three ships, no matter what the bean counters chose to call them. He was also glad to have the marine transports, supply craft and the fuel haulers that made up nearly a fifth of his force. The auxiliary ships slowed Gupta down some, but also made it possible for him to attack targets at ever-greater distances, like the one he was headed to now.

  One of the salient facts of the war was that fleets ran on hydrogen-generated fusion. It was possible to use other sources, but to get and maintain the power needed to thrust the ever larger warships at combat speeds or even get to the ever more distant battle sites in something on the order of weeks as opposed to months, ships needed hydrogen. There were portable fusion reactors that could and did run on whatever garbage was thrown down their gullets, but their power output, though fine for home use, was not going to cut it for military operations. Only specially designed, military-grade reactors could provide the large and, more important, consistent power fleet operations demanded.

  This had made the oceans of the Earth one of the most strategic resources the UHF had. Cut off from the obscenely abundant sources of hydrogen provided by the four gas giants of the Alliance, the UHF had been forced to extract hydrogen from the oceans and use the Beanstalk to ship it out of the Earth’s atmosphere and into low Earth orbit. From there it was shipped to Mars and the Belt and anywhere else military operations were being conducted, which meant that fuel haulers had to be created in ever greater numbers as the war went on. When a fleet was measured in just twenty ships and you were attacking a single asteroid, then the war could be fought with only five of the ships. With a fleet that numbered over a thousand and with operations taking place all over the Belt and beyond, the UHF needed thousands of the haulers. Abhay Gupta, once more in command of the Martian home fleet, had needed thirty of the specially made fuel haulers to take the war to Jupiter. If all went well, Abhay would refuel his tankers at the biggest gas station in the solar system and return home a hero—after he had eviscerated everything that made Jupiter worthwhile to the Alliance. And if that meant destroying the homes and livelihood of nearly a billion people, well, war was hell.

  Cabinet Room, Ceres

  Kirk Olmstead was feeling pleased with himself. On every major issue, the malleable President had sided with him. Or to be more accurate, had sided with Rabbi, a man still pretending to be a novice at the art of politics, but Kirk was no longer fooled. Besides, the President was willing to do what Rabbi wanted, and Rabbi seemed content to do what Kirk wanted—at least on the important issues. The war was being fought with a ruthlessness that Justin Cord could not have envisioned. The VR plague was starting to show its efficacy, given the recent spate of poorer-than-usual performances by the UHF economy. Of course, the UHF’s propaganda department was blaming it on the Outer Alliance, as they should, given that the Outer Alliance was actually to blame. But all traces had been covered and all witnesses had been silenced. The Alliance too had busted VR rings of its own and, as had the UHF, proclaimed it in its own press and implicated the UHF as the likely culprit.

  Kirk loved knowing the truth and lived for being at the center of the web, where the real decisions were made and where real power was wielded. Eventually he would have to eliminate Mosh, Rabbi, and Sinclair and replace them with more pliant stooges like the President. But there was no need to rock the boat just yet. When everyone’s rowing in your direction, it would be folly to kill the rowers. Kirk would wait until they’d gotten the boat where he needed it. He was good at being patient. In the meantime, he would line up his pawns and prepare his traps.

  * * *

  Sandra waited for Catalina to seal the door and take a seat. This was to be her first Cabinet meeting as Sandra’s official Chief of Staff, but Cat, as she liked to be called, had been doing the job for months now. It also helped that she’d once been Justin’s first executive assistant. Anyone who’d been Justin’s anything found that they were the new aristocracy of the Alliance, and therefore it came as no surprise that with the exception of Rabbi, all those currently in the meeting had known and worked with Justin at some point in time.

  Sandra cleared her throat. “Kirk,” she said in tone suggesting subservience, “would you mind starting the meeting?”

  Kirk’s bottom lip dropped slightly in surprise, though he recovered quickly as a slight smile graced his face. Mosh, noted Sandra, barely flinched but she could sense his displeasure.

  “Abhay Gupta,” began Kirk, “and a large fleet of over three hundred vessels have left the Belt and are boosting for Jupiter. We must assume that they’ll arrive at their destination in two to three weeks, depending on how much fuel they’re willing to expend.”

  “Well, which is it? Two or three weeks?” prodded Mosh. “Hell of a discrepancy when hours can make a difference.”

  Sinclair nodded his agreement. “Tully took two weeks to make the same journey, but he arrived at Jupiter on empty. It limited his tactical choices in the battle that followed and contributed to his defeat.”

  “Being a dumb-ass didn’t help either,” chortled Mosh.

  “No,” agreed Sinclair, “thank Damsah, it didn’t. But I don’t see Gupta making the same mistake. If he could surprise us, sure he’d burn every last liter of hydrogen and coast the rest of the way. But we know he’s coming and will have weeks to prepare. Given that he knows that we know, we can rest assured he’ll take that extra week and arrive with enough hydrogen to give him more room to maneuver in battle.”

  “In that case, it’s time to initiate Operation … er … Panty … Hose,” announced Hildegard, looking toward Sandra to see if she’d said the long-out-of-use word correctly. Sandra confirmed the name with a reassuring grin.

  “It seemed applicable,” offered Sandra to the mute Cabinet members. “Panty hose were very sheer nylon stockings women used to wear. I figured an obsolete word would be good.”

&nbs
p; “But,” wondered Mosh aloud, his brow forming into a V shape, “I fail to see the connection.”

  Sandra’s eyes sparkled on her answer. “You never knew when they were going to run.”

  The Cabinet continued to stare dubiously at their President.

  “Run means ‘rip, tear.’” More blank stares. “Oh, never mind,” she finally blurted, rolling her eyes. “All in favor?”

  The vote was unanimous.

  Six and half million kilometers from Ceres, UHFS Liddel

  Grand Admiral Trang was in his command sphere, cursing the fact that half his fleet had problems with their new propulsion units. It seemed that the affected ships would be able to accelerate only at half thrust and would be severely hampered in their maneuverability. Trang also knew that the prime culprit in the current fiasco was none other than himself. He’d demanded that the overhauls be completed in six months, and to be fair, they had been. Just not to his specifications. The fleet yards around Mars had done an extraordinary job, practically creating from scratch the rear-firing rail guns that had proved so decisive for the Alliance in the Long Battle. But given the time constraint, the shipyard had to cut corners. How deep they’d been cut was only now becoming evident. Luckily, the main impediments seemed to mostly be with the code, some with hardware, and thankfully, not all with the structure. However, the biggest problem facing Samuel U. Trang, savior of Eros, hero of the Long Battle, and Grand Admiral to the largest military force ever assembled in the annals of human history, just so happened to be standing right in front of him.

  Kaylee Trzepacz was standing erect, arms folded defiantly. The auburn in her hair, pulled back in a ponytail, perfectly matched the smattering of freckles on her nose. Amber eyes flecked with sprinkles of light green were staring warily at the man who’d given her a job but also, she always seemed to give the impression, wasted her time.

  “Kaylee,” complained Trang, “enough with the Enginese. I’m only an admiral and can’t be expected to understand words with more than three syllables.”

  “If I really believed that, sir, I wouldn’t have bothered to explain. However, in the spirit of dumbing it all down—two weeks.”

  Trang opened his mouth to argue but Kaylee shot him a look from over the arch of her flaring, button nose. Trang could argue all he wanted, the answer would still be the same, so he bit his tongue. He wanted to curse, to demand better. But one of the reasons he’d chosen Kaylee from a cadre of the fleet’s finest was because when she said “two weeks” or “ten minutes” or “no way in this universe,” she meant exactly that. Other engineers had the habit of doubling or tripling their estimates in order to appear as geniuses. Such inefficiency angered Trang to no end. Still, just this once, Trang had wished that Kaylee wouldn’t be so … so … damned precise! Her expression, however, remained stoic, bordering on impertinent. Trang sighed heavily. It would be two weeks until his fleet was back up to full speed and not a moment less.

  “Let’s get started, then.”

  Kaylee saluted curtly and turned to leave, barking orders into her DijAssist before she’d even exited the command sphere. The room breathed a palpable sigh of relief when she was finally gone. It wasn’t that they didn’t like her—most did—it was that they could never, ever be that keyed in. When Kaylee was on, word was, you’d better be as on as well. Trang noticed the crew’s reaction and was pleased. He may not have gotten his ships as early as he would’ve liked, but damned if he hadn’t picked the right person for keeping them up to speed. At least, thought Trang, we don’t really have anything to do for the next few weeks—except wait out Black.

  “Admiral,” barked the sensor officer, “we’re detecting a major energy spike at the Via Cereana.”

  Had to open your big mouth, eh, Sam? thought Trang, disconsolately shaking his head. Since when does thinking count? He allowed one more sigh and then got to work. “Are they preparing to fire, Lieutenant?”

  “It is a massive energy buildup, sir. Certainly bigger than what they tried during the Long Battle.”

  “Wonder what the bastards have planned this time? Alert the fleet, and let’s make sure we’re prepared to move—just in case they’ve figured out how to aim the damned thing.”

  It was her idea that saved us. You must remember that Hildegard and I had only recently been saddled with perhaps the greatest technological flop the solar system had ever seen. Our “giant rail gun” idea had failed spectacularly, and though we had a few other ideas up our sleeve, nothing came close in terms of scale or magnitude. Had the gun worked properly, it could’ve easily won the war. And don’t think we didn’t spend every minute of every day chewing on that bitter fact. And then there she was. Sandra O’Toole, DijAssist in hand, pep speech at the ready. She didn’t just kick me and Hildegard out of our despair, she stomped it dead. I knew she’d been an engineer in her past life, but come on, she was still a good three hundred years behind the eight ball. But the diagrams! My goodness, you would not believe what she tossed up into the holo-tank that day. What she showed us, the sheer chutzpah of the project, made me and Hildegard gain a new appreciation for the people’s President. I’m not ashamed to admit it—Sandra O’Toole outengineered the supposedly genius engineers. But even more important, she gave us something to focus on. That damned project took so much of our time, we were too tired to feel sorry for ourselves. And the best part was, the damned thing worked! What I would’ve given just to see the faces of the UHF fleet when we started that sucker up.

  Technically Speaking: The Kenji Isozaki Story

  Six and half million kilometers from Ceres, UHFS Liddel

  “Admiral something or things appear to coming out of the Via Cereana.”

  “Can you identify it?” demanded Trang, rubbing the now protruding vein at his temple.

  “Negative, sir. But whatever it is, there sure is a lot of it.”

  Trang’s XO floated up from a lower section of the command sphere and hung casually in the air. “What now?” asked Ross, echoing his boss’s earlier query.

  “Dunno,” grunted Trang, “least not yet.”

  “Sir,” proclaimed the sensor officer, “it’s … it’s … well, sir, it’s water vapor.”

  “Come again?” Trang first looked at the sensor officer and then at his XO who shrugged his shoulders.

  “They appear to be ionizing their ice shell, sir. Shooting out the particles at an incredible velocity.”

  Ross’s face contorted. “They’re shooting ionized ice at us?”

  “Sir,” interrupted the sensor officer, “I think Ceres is—” He checked his sensors again. “—I think Ceres is starting to move, sir.”

  “Of course it’s moving, Lieutenant,” chided Trang. “It’s locked to the orbit of Mars and…” The admiral’s voice faded as the full meaning of what was said hit him. “Damsah’s ghost, they’re moving.”

  Directive of the Relocation Department

  Citizens of Ceres: Secure all belongings for variable weightlessness and acceleration. Instructions concerning specific industries, habitats, and living areas will appear on appropriate links, sites, and DijAssists.

  Even though I don’t swing that way, I’d jump Hildegard Rhunsfeld in a second. But Kenji, you’re my dream guy. What will your two beautiful minds think of next?

  Clara Roberts, AIR Network

  Desperate ploy to save doomed asteroid by rebels doomed to fail.

  NNN

  * * *

  Hektor looked at the reports coming in from both his fleet and civilian intelligence agencies. They all said the same thing. The whole fucking rock was moving. It had taken the incorporated solar system fifteen years to safely move Ceres from its old orbit and lock it to the orbit of Mars. The cost, thruster units and brainpower needed had been prohibitive, but at the time it had been considered worth it. That was until Ceres became the capital of the largest and to date most successful rebellion in the history of the race.

  But that wasn’t what Hektor found most galling. What made
him want to laugh and cry at the same time was the fact that the damned Outer Alliance was doing in a matter of days what had taken his civilization years to accomplish. The acceleration was very slow to start with, but in a matter of weeks, Ceres would be moving fast enough to achieve, in three months’ time, an orbit around Saturn. Hektor was less than delighted to read that when the resources of Saturn were combined with the industrial and experienced labor capacity of Ceres, it would surpass Luna as one of the solar system’s preeminent industrial centers. Add to that the hundreds of millions of refugees from the asteroid belt arriving with all their habitats intact and ready to be integrated, and what you got was more than enough resources in manpower and industry to keep the war going indefinitely. Just when Hektor thought he had the rebels where he wanted them, they managed to find a way to survive, to push the fight farther and farther afield—to make the war last longer.

  If the people of the UHF realized how difficult an assault on an industrialized and defended Saturnian system would be, the war might very well be over now, mused Hektor. He was sure that if Ceres made it to Saturn, it would bring about a cease-fire. The UHF would possess the Belt and maybe, if Gupta was successful, the Jovian system. But if the Outer Alliance was allowed to survive with the gas giants of Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune and the innumerable settlements of the TNO, it was only a matter of decades until the war would start again. The Alliance had to be crushed now.

  And even if a UHF victory materialized tomorrow, it would still be impossible to make former Alliance citizens into contributing and accepting members of incorporated society. They would have to be treated as serfs and slaves—a sure economic drain on a modern economy. It would be generations before anyone past the orbit of Mars could be made into a high-yielding member of the incorporated system. Hektor realized it would be better for the nine tenths of humanity that was relatively pure to destroy the cancerous one tenth. But would the nine tenths he controlled accept that solution? Hektor sat back in his chair and ruminated on the new plan. The Alliance would be taught that continuing the war would bring nothing but death and ruination—a price that would hopefully be too great to bear.