The Unincorporated Woman

by Dani Kollin; Eytan Kollin

  “Hey, boss,” chirped his avatar, “call coming in for you.”

  “Who is it?” groused Hektor, only slightly annoyed that iago hadn’t given him the name right away.

  “It’s Irma.”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  Hektor waited while his avatar secured the connection to the Information Minister.

  “Speak when you’re ready, oh mighty one,” iago instructed.

  “Thank you, iago,” Hektor sniffed. But before he could initiate his conversation with Irma, he found that she was already on and listening in.

  “Why bother thanking an avatar?” asked Irma via the DijAssist’s voice-only transmission. Hektor laughed at iago’s temerity. The avatar had purposely left the line exposed so that Irma could hear a snippet of Hektor’s conversation. Hektor had allowed a certain amount of mischievousness on the part of iago for the simple reason that Hektor loathed the mundane almost as much as he loved surprises. He’d long since trusted his avatar to know when far had gone too far. Today was no exception, with the only damage being that Hektor would now have to be a tad quicker on his feet.

  “Force of habit,” explained Hektor. “You never know when politeness will be rewarded.”

  The silence that followed the admittedly, thought Hektor, lame response was a testament to Irma’s incredulity.

  “Would you mind if I stopped by your office?” Irma finally asked. “I have something I’d like to share with you.”

  Hektor reviewed his schedule. “I have a meeting in a few minutes. Sure it can’t wait?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Hektor’s brow shot up. “Really? What’s it about?”

  “Our plans for Jupiter.”

  “What about them?”

  “They may have a fatal flaw.”

  * * *

  Irma hung up and was immediately overwhelmed by feelings of dread. As if being responsible for making the impending death of millions palatable wasn’t bad enough, she was now about to head into the eye of the storm in order to do the unthinkable—try and get Hektor to change his mind. It would have to be done with great care, as it was important that she appear impartial. As Irma entered the Presidential suite, she gave Hektor, still sitting at his desk, a quick nod and then headed straight for the bar. There, she poured herself a cup of coffee. It was too early in the day to be drinking anything stronger, plus she knew she wouldn’t find her precious tea here—a shame because she desperately missed it. As she looked down at the dark liquid that now filled her cup, she thought back on the aroma of real peppermint leaves stewed to perfection and brought to delectable life with a touch too much honey and a dab of milk. She doubted there was a tea bag in all of Burroughs, because those had likely been confiscated by Tricia’s goons.

  As if reading her mind, Hektor said, “Can I get you some tea? I’m sure we’ve probably got a mountain of the stuff stored somewhere around here.”

  The old Irma would have leapt at the offer, but the new Irma had become more cautious. Too many close acquaintances had ended up unexpectedly “joining” the military after being charged with a relatively minor offense. From there, they’d usually get sent off to the worst of the fighting and rarely, if ever, be heard from again. Better not to risk it. “No thank you, Mr. President. I’m quite happy with a solid cup of Martian Joe.” She took the coffee mug over to the office’s small conference table and plopped down into one of the ergo chairs.

  Hektor got up from behind his computer bank and joined her at the table. “I prefer Earth-grown, myself. I know I’m probably imagining it, but I just think one-g-planet-grown tastes better.”

  Irma giggled. “You realize you’ve just parroted one of the most famous ad campaigns ever created.”

  Hektor stopped midway to the bar with a look of genuine confusion. “Really?”

  “Does this ring a bell? ‘Earth-grown coffee; naturally, better tasting.’”

  “Holy shit. You’re right. And here I thought I had discerning taste.”

  “Don’t feel too bad,” she said in attempt to assuage his feelings. “It was a brilliant campaign. We studied it at university, even. The best part was that people started to come up with their own reasons for why they thought Earth-grown was better. Some said gravity; others, the soil. There were even a few claiming that it was the Earth’s ‘natural’ pollutants that gave the beans their edge. Pretty soon, the only thing the orbital growers had going for them was price.”

  “Did they do taste tests?” asked Hektor, attempting to regain some ground.

  “Thousands. Still do ’em to this day.”

  “And?”

  “All they’ve managed to prove is that ninety-nine percent of the people couldn’t tell the difference even if a neurolizer were placed to their heads.”

  “But of course,” proclaimed Hektor, with a cherubic smile, “I’m that rare one percent who can tell.”

  “But of course, Mr. President,” Irma toasted demurely as she lifted the cup up and then to her lips.

  That seemed to satisfy the UHF President, who continued to the bar, where he poured himself his customary chilled vodka.

  “And what’s with this ‘Mr. President’ bullshit, Irma? We are alone, you know.”

  “Sorry, must have had my formal hat on.”

  The excuse seemed good enough for Hektor, who nodded and then got to the point. “So what’s this flaw we all supposedly missed?”

  “You couldn’t have known at the time, because I didn’t have any numbers to work with.”

  Hektor nodded for her to continue.

  “I ran a Spencer scan on how the new plan would play out—”

  “You used the Spencer for this?”

  “Widgets or war, Hektor, it’s all product that has to be sold.”

  “Fascinating. I’m guessing we didn’t do so well.”

  Irma shook her head. “Even with the public acceptance of the Alliance having pushed the VR plague on us, a majority said they could not abide by the government’s murder of innocents—their phrase, not mine—certainly not without military backing, which we clearly don’t have and, from my evaluation of Trang, can’t reliably expect to get. As you’ll see by the report—” Irma leaned over and handed Hektor a data crystal. “—these projections didn’t even include the numbers of permanent deaths we’ve calculated with the new plan. In short, moving forward this way could prove disastrous to you politically.”

  The room became deathly still.

  Irma brought the mug up to her mouth, and though the coffee was still too hot, she sipped nonetheless. Her heart was beating wildly and she did everything she could to remain as calm as if she’d just delivered her findings on the marketing of a chocolate bar.

  Hektor’s teeth flashed through a malevolent grin. “Tricia was so wrong about you.” He waited a beat. “You, my friend, are a frikkin’ genius!”

  Irma’s face lit up. “Thank you, I—”

  “Of course the order can’t come from us!” wailed Hektor. “We make it appear to come from the military, and since—as you’ve correctly pointed out—Trang probably won’t come on board, we’ll do it through Gupta. He’ll play ball for sure.”

  Irma had to do everything she could to keep the smile of a moment ago firmly ensconced on her face.

  “Genius!” screamed Hektor once more. “You’ve earned your credits today.”

  Irma nodded politely and stood up. “Well, I really should be going.”

  Hektor barely noticed her as he raced back to his desk to change a plan that Irma had just helped him alter to perfection.

  * * *

  A few minutes later, Irma left the President’s office. Anyone watching would not see the tension building in her neck and shoulders nor would they hear her forced and measured breaths as she walked stiffly down the corridor and out into the fresh Martian air. They would miss entirely the fear blocked by her now expressionless pale blue eyes and would never see the UHF’s Minister of Information hunched over on all fours in a priva
cy booth, mere kilometers from the seat of power, puking her guts out.

  UHFS Liddel

  Trang watched Ceres from six and half million kilometers away. He was keeping pace with the Alliance capital but nothing more. His review of the latest progress report from Chief Engineer Trzepacz was interrupted when the door signaled a visitor. After identities had been confirmed, Admiral Zenobia Jackson entered. Trang was both saddened and pleased to see the officer she’d become. The veteran in front of him could very well win the war by herself if she had to, but the artist who became his first officer by default during the Battle of Eros had long since disappeared and he was sure would never return, even if peace broke out tomorrow for a thousand years.

  “So why aren’t we blowing the hell out of the place right now?” she demanded.

  Definitely not the woman she used to be, thought Trang, suppressing a smile. “Nice to see you too, Zenobia.”

  Zenobia allowed an erstwhile grin to suffice for pleasantries. Trang accepted gracefully.

  “For starters,” he pointed out, “half my fleet cannot maneuver at full speed and won’t be able to for at least a week, maybe more.”

  “Ceres is barely accelerating at a quarter g. Our ships can take her.”

  “If that were the only issue, I would gladly risk it, but in case you haven’t noticed, Ceres is not escaping by itself. It’s taking its suburbs with it.” Implicit in the slight rebuke was the fact that those suburbs contained a massive number of asteroids that orbited the capital, providing everything from additional living and storage space to manufacturing facilities and rest stops for transports waiting to get docking berths in the Via Cereana. “Need I also remind you,” he cautioned, “that amongst those suburbs lies the densest orbital battery network this side of Mars.”

  “Also moving at a quarter g,” Zenobia protested. “I know we’ll take losses, sir, but we’re in a position to take them. I read the studies you ran showing that orbital batteries unsupported by ships cannot hold out for long, and I honestly believe our losses would be minimal.”

  Trang sighed. “Studies are a lovely way to bide one’s time, Zenobia. If you checked the date on those studies, you’d see that they were done well before the war and in fact are entirely theoretical. They have as much validity as did the belief that Tully would make a fine admiral. But the truth is, a major fleet has not attacked unsupported orbital batteries in this or any war. The closest we have to a real event was J. D. Black’s bold assault on Mars in the Second Battle of the Martian Gates—and we all know how well that turned out for her. But another truth is the orbat field around Ceres is way bigger than the one Black faced. So the final truth is that we don’t know what will happen when a fleet this size attacks an orbat field that size. And barring a compelling reason to do so, I will not attempt that experiment with the ships of my fleet and the lives of my crew and certainly not on half thrusters.”

  “The thing is, sir,” argued Zenobia, her stridency having shifted to a softer edge, “we’re getting deeper into Alliance space every second. In another week, we’ll be a hell of a lot farther from our supply base.”

  Trang got up and placed a comforting hand on Zenobia’s shoulder. “You needn’t worry, Zenobia. Our supply lines are not being harassed. Legless has gone a-courting in fields afar.”

  “But that’s what gets me. If the Alliance knew we’d be having to stretch our supply lines, why send the one man they have who’s best at harassing supply lines so far away?”

  Trang nodded, his lips momentarily pursed tightly together. “That is a very good question that should be worrying me more, except that I have to worry about the other thing that’s worrying me more.”

  “Where has that bitch got to?”

  “That is the operative question. She’s been gone over four months with her fleet. How do you hide a fleet of over three hundred ships? And with her missing, attacking Ceres remains a possible suicide.”

  He stepped up to his desk and activated the holo-tank. Instantly an image of Ceres and its encircling orbat field appeared over his desk. “We cannot seriously attack that field without committing a majority—and I mean a large majority—of the fleet.” He fiddled with the controls, and the UHF fleet was shown breaking into fifteen small clusters and attacking the orbital system at great range. “As you can see, the fleet must break itself into small and easily attackable clusters in order to keep the orbats from giving each other mutual support. They will, of course, be firing back.” Trang gave Zenobia a penetrating look. “But have you realized the new difficulty we’ll face?”

  After a few moments of studied silence, Zenobia shrugged, the frustration showing on her face. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m just not seeing it.”

  To her confusion, he pointed to the orbats around Ceres. “You may have noticed that Ceres is moving away from its former orbit.”

  “Yes,” said Zenobia, still unsure until the truth hit her like a bat to the head. “I should be sold for penny share prices, how could I have missed that?”

  “That being?” tested Trang, taking on the role of the West Point academy instructor he still occasionally wished he could be.

  “That the orbats are keeping pace with Ceres as it accelerates toward the outer system, which means they must have independent maneuvering thrusters.” Zenobia sighed. “Which means taking them out will be a lot harder, as they can maneuver away from many of our shots.”

  “Bravo. You are only the second one to figure that out.”

  “It shouldn’t count if you had to give me a clue. Did Gupta need one, or did he figure it out on his own?”

  “He called about four hours after it occurred to me. If you factor in the time it took for his message to get to me, he was even closer.”

  “I’m not as good as he is—” She paused and smiled. “—yet.”

  “In some ways, you’re better than either of us, Zenobia. Your strength is your weakness—like J.D.—” He smiled reassuringly at the grimace she’d made. “—like J.D., you’re bold, able to see a situation, and despite its weaknesses come up with a way to make it to your advantage. You’re not as good as she is yet, but that will come with experience.”

  “Admiral, if the Alliance has made their orbats maneuverable—”

  “—we should do the same,” finished Trang. “I agree, Zenobia, but our boss, the Defense Minister does not.”

  “Well, then, tell the miserable bureaucrat to spend the extra credits,” she bellowed. “He’ll listen to you, won’t he?”

  “I’ve been overruled on this, Zenobia.”

  “Demand the son of a bitch be fired! The President would do it, sir. He needs you more than that snake.”

  “Zenobia, I’ll say this here and only here, but what you’ve just proposed is treason.”

  “How?”

  “Sit down, please.” It wasn’t a request, and Zenobia, concern evident in the dark, probative nature of her eyes, sat down immediately.

  “When a military officer, no matter how important he may seem to be, can tell his civilian superiors what to do, then you have a bigger problem than the enemy in front of you. If they were treasonous, then I might have some basis to act based on my oath. But that is not the case. They’re working under extreme conditions using a socialist structure to make a capitalist economy fight a war. They’ve created a military and political infrastructure that enables us to fight. That held the UHF together despite defeat after defeat. Porfirio did not say no, even though it was his right. The Defense Minister explained to me that the UHF has the densest orbat fields around Mars and Earth–Luna. If an attack seemed imminent, it would be different, but he took great delight in pointing out to me that the Alliance was getting farther and farther away from the Core Worlds even as we were speaking. He then explained what it would take to add maneuvering thrusters to every orbat around the Core Worlds and what programs would have to be cut back in order to make it work. He hinted all supply transport production would have to be curtailed.”

  �
�That’s a load of crap,” she fumed, followed by a contrite, “sir. They could requisition more thruster units from the civilian sector. You know they would scream loudest if anything happened to one of the Core Worlds.”

  “I know that, and so does Porfirio. If he felt it was a real threat, he’d find a way, but he doesn’t. Let’s not forget he lives on Mars. I don’t think he’d take an action that would leave the capital of the UHF vulnerable to attack.”

  Zenobia obserbed her boss shrewdly. “What exactly would you do, sir?”

  “Me?” Trang laughed out loud. “I’d make the damn orbats maneuverable. You never know what the Alliance has planned next. For Damsah’s sake, we’re chasing Ceres across the bankruptcy-prone solar system. But it is not my call, and you are in no way to hint that it should be. We serve the civilian government, not the other way around. Besides, we have enough troubles right here.”

  Zenobia took a deep breath and tipped her head toward her boss. The half smile on her face indicated her disappointment but also spoke to her resolve. “If we attack that orbat field, it will have to be all out for a week,” she asserted. “If we don’t give it our best effort, we won’t breach that field, and if we do, we’ll have damaged ships and low fuel and ammunition stocks.”

  “Which is when…,” began Trang.

  “Which is when the bitch queen herself will attack and blow the living crap out of our fleet,” finished Zenobia. “So we have to wait here while Gupta wins the war for us.”

  “Now you understand. As long as J.D. is trapped here waiting for us to attack, she can’t move. If she does, we can take her anywhere from here to Jupiter and away from her orbats. If not, then Abhay will win the war for us and we’ll just have to accept our place in history as the finger that held the string while another tied the bow.” Trang’s mouth formed into self-satisfied grin. “I can live with that.”