The Unincorporated Woman

by Dani Kollin; Eytan Kollin

  J.D. noticed that the normally paunchy Cyrus looked quite svelte. She found that to be disturbing only because Cyrus had been the only man she’d ever met in the Outer Alliance who looked overweight. It was true, nanites were supposed to be able to keep you at a healthy weight no matter how much you ate, but Cyrus seemed to take that as a challenge, and a challenge he’d been winning. J.D. gave him an appraising look as she took the seat he’d beckoned her toward.

  “Have you even eaten anything in the past two weeks?” she asked.

  Cyrus, sitting comfortably behind his desk, waved the question away as if it were a bug. “Weren’t you the one who told me I have to go on a diet? And by the way, nice to see you too.”

  “You’re talking like Rabbi now. Don’t answer the question with a question. When was the last time you ate?”

  He sighed. “Maybe two weeks ago, but I have supplement pills that provide me with all the basics. That, combined with my ample reserves, gives me at least a month or two.” He smiled briefly, but the smile flattened out. Even he knew it to be disingenuous.

  “I’ve ordered all the food my ship can transport to this complex.”

  “It’s not enough, J.D. I have two hundred and twenty thousand people in a small government complex designed to house a maximum of thirty thousand, and it’s like that on every complex on Titan. This rock has maybe life support for eight million from pole to pole, and we’ve got a hundred and five. It’s the same for each one of the moons and habitable asteroids we have left.”

  “Then we’ll send as much food as we can transport to wherever you tell us,” J.D. offered.

  Cyrus laughed. “Do you realize what your ship reducing itself to half rations will do for us?” Cyrus fiddled with his DijAssist. “Hold on.… Ah! I have worked it out. Your two weeks’ worth of rations for the thirty-one hundred crew members on your ship comes to a little over half a ration bar for every man, woman, and child here.” Though he wore a smile, it was tinged with sadness. “You can’t do for them what you did for that child, J.D.”

  Now it was J.D.’s turn to laugh. “News travels fast.”

  “My dear, it was on the Neuro.”

  “But it didn’t happen more than ten minutes ago!”

  Cyrus shrugged. “Guess someone in the crowd recorded it. By my newly found faith in Jesus Christ, I cried, woman. I didn’t think it was possible for the Alliance to love you more, but they will.”

  “I didn’t help the kid out so the Alliance would love me, Cyrus. That’s preposterous. I did it because—” J.D. clenched her teeth as she fumbled for a reasonable explanation. “—well, because—”

  “Because it was the only acceptable response a decent human being could have in the face of so much tragedy,” offered Cyrus. “And you, Janet Delgado Black, are a decent human being.” He held up his hand to stifle her openmouthed protest. “Oh, you’re still the scariest SOB I’ve ever met, and I never, ever want to get on the list of people you don’t like, but you showed everyone just how much you cared. The people of the Alliance will need to know that if we’re to survive this war.”

  J.D. sighed and nodded. If the people wanted an uplifting moment, then who was she to deny them? Cyrus was right, and even if he wasn’t, it wasn’t like it would make an iota of difference trying to argue with him.

  “But there are millions of children like her around Jupiter,” argued Cyrus, “You cannot possibly adopt them all.”

  J.D.’s head jerked backwards as her eyes opened wide. “What?”

  “I said, you cannot possibly adopt—”

  “Stop right there!” she demanded. “I … I haven’t adopted anyone.”

  Cyrus burst out laughing. “Of course you did, woman. What do you think happened?”

  J.D.’s mouth hung open. She attempted to speak a few times, but only gibberish came out. She decided not to say a word as she played the scene back in her head. Never once did she remember saying the word “adopt.” “Help,” maybe; “adopt” never.

  “Listen, Cyrus. I just had to make sure she was all right—that she’d find a better place. That woman she was with could hardly take care of herself, let alone Katy. I assure you I had no intention…” J.D. stopped talking, flabbergasted at the mess she’d gotten herself into. She almost never acted without considering some of the ramifications.

  Cyrus saw the confusion on her face and smiled reassuringly. “You’ve spent so much time being everybody’s perfect soldier, you forgot what it’s like to be human. Don’t worry, the child will teach you. Just don’t be so proud that you don’t let her.”

  “Cyrus—” J.D. looked around the room, even though there was no one present. “—I can’t possibly be that girl’s mother. I can barely take care of me, for Allah’s sake.”

  Cyrus got up from his chair and came around the desk. He sat on the chair next to J.D. and put a reassuring hand on her knee. “Of course you can, Janet.” He’d used her familiar name for effect, and both he and J.D. knew it.

  “For goodness’s sake, Cyrus, what kind of mother could I be to her? Shlepping from one end of the solar system to the other, gone for months at a time? Always putting myself in harm’s way? That’s no life.”

  “As opposed to this?” asked Cyrus, using his arms to indicate the chaos just outside the door. “I’ll tell you right now what kind of mother you’ll be, Janet—the best kind. Because you’ll love that little girl no matter what. For goodness’s sakes, woman, you love her already; that much was clear just from watching the vids. And one day this war will be over. I have a feeling it’ll be sooner rather than later, and then it will be just the two of you—that is, until you find another Manny. Girl needs a father figure.”

  J.D. mulled over Cyrus’s words. Bastard was two for two. Though J.D. had no experience being a parent, Cyrus had been correct—the love she felt for that child was visceral, and it was undeniably real. She could be the mother to that child, whether it terrified her or not, and J.D. would, to the best of her ability, see that the child, now her child, was raised free from the corporate bastards who’d done their level best to first enslave and then murder … her daughter. For some reason, Allah had placed the delicate bird into the palm of J.D.’s hands in much the same way that J.D. had dropped into those of Fawa. The fleet admiral smiled, shaking her head in disbelief. “Allah’s will be done.”

  Cyrus patted her on the knee and reclined into the chair, lips curled up into a contented smile. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

  J.D. laughed. “When have I not?”

  Cyrus gave a deep-throated guffaw.

  “Speaking of letting others help,” said J.D.

  Cyrus’s laughter came to a crashing halt. He knew why she was in his office.

  “I cannot countenance such a position.”

  “So you’ve read the communication from the Secretary of Relocation.”

  “Abandon Jupiter?” Cyrus shouted. “But we won!”

  “No, Cyrus. We survived. And if we’re going to keep on surviving, we’re going to have to make more sacrifices.”

  The Governor’s eyes were now downcast, his voice forlorn. “But how can we just leave our home?”

  J.D. put a hand on his shoulder. “We can always come back.”

  “No,” Cyrus muttered, resigned. “I have the terrible feeling most of us never will. And we have no choice.”

  Executive offices, Burroughs, Mars

  Porfirio stood, arms clasped behind his back, frame rigid at attention. He was in front of a man whom no one—at least no one living in the corporate core of the solar system—ever wanted to piss off.

  “How can we not know what’s happening, Porfirio?” demanded Hektor. The meeting had purposely been kept to two, as Hektor didn’t want to face the media or his Cabinet without first having gathered the necessary information.

  “Mr. President, there is a fleet around Jupiter. That much we can make out, but we can’t be sure if it’s ours, theirs, or a bunch of ore haulers. That being said…”

&nb
sp; “Out with it, Porfirio.”

  “Gupta and his fleet are gone.”

  Hektor gritted his teeth, took a few deep breaths, and motioned for Porfirio to continue.

  “We’ve gotten images over the past four hours, and whatever those ships are, they’ve been clustered around the last remaining high-value asteroids of Jupiter for over three hours.”

  “Three hours, huh?”

  Porfirio nodded his head. “I’m sorry to say, yes.”

  “Shit.”

  Both knew that if Gupta had still been around, the high-value asteroids would not have been.

  “What does Trang say?”

  “The grand admiral concurs. He hopes that some of Gupta’s ships will escape, but says not to count on it.”

  “And J.D.?”

  “He believes, as do I, that if it is J.D., there will be no mercy—not after Fleet Order 8645.”

  “Say anything about how he plans to counter this?”

  “Unfortunately—” Porfirio’s left cheek rose slightly. “—no.”

  “Shit, Porfirio. Gupta was the second best we had. Whatever Trang’s got planned, I hope it’s pretty fucking spectacular.”

  “As do I, sir.”

  “I suppose I should get Irma in here to figure out how to spin this thing.”

  Porfirio nodded. “Mr. President, it’s bad. Possibly ‘my head on a platter’ bad.”

  Both men shared a look whose rough translation amounted to, Whatever happens, it’s business, not personal.

  “On the bright side, the Alliance has effectively lost Jupiter. They lost nine tenths of their habitable asteroids. According to Gupta before he—” Porfirio paused. “—before he lost contact, most of those were relatively empty. That means Jupiter is experiencing a life support problem vaster than anything in history. We’re talking seven, eight hundred million people to prevent from slowly starving to death, suffocating, or both. If they’re lucky, they’ll be able to evacuate the bulk of the population, if not…” Porfirio let the last statement hang. “Either way, that stretch of the woods is finished as an effective base of resistance. Thanks to Gupta, our enemies now have half the population they started the war with, and their industrial capacity is crippled. While our population is as strong as ever and now outnumbers them twenty to one. We just have to keep pounding that message home to the pennies. Let them know that we’re winning.”

  Porfirio’s DijAssist blinked to life. He looked to Hektor for permission to answer.

  Hektor tipped his head.

  “Well,” said Porfirio, eyes focused on the incoming data, “that is interesting.”

  Hektor rolled his eyes. “What now?”

  “It appears our friend Omad Hassan has chosen now to reappear.”

  “Where?”

  “Earth—he’s three days out.”

  Hektor leaned forward, clasping his fingers. “Well, that is very interesting, indeed.”

  “Looks like a task force of thirty ships.”

  Hektor flipped on his holo-tank so that the image of Omad’s fleet now floated above his desk. He zoomed the display onto the AWS Spartacus. Hektor then used his index finger to slowly spin the ship around from bow to port, port to bow. “What are you doing, old man?” A thin, cruel smile appeared on Hektor’s lips as he eyed the ship with morbid fascination. “What’s Old Legless gotten himself up to, eh?”

  “Sir,” said Porfirio, interrupting Hektor’s brief reverie. “The orbat defenses of Earth–Luna will shred that fleet before they can so much as spit. He’s done this before. He comes and raids a few slow-moving transports and outlying satellites, then gets the hell out. It’s mostly to harass us and make for good headlines back in the Alliance.”

  “Fuck him, then.” Hektor made the holographic fleet disappear. “Let Legless make his pathetic gesture. What’s the worst he can do?”

  21 Betty Lou

  Let us build ourselves a city and also a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a celebrated name for ourselves.…

  Genesis, Chapter 11

  “I received confirmation,” Marilynn said with obvious pride. Once again, the normally loud revelry of the officers’ club had been rendered mute by Omad’s device. “My agents are now in position.”

  Omad eyed her suspiciously. “But we deployed them only a few weeks ago.”

  “Kudos goes to the enemy, then. They have speedy transports positively everywhere.”

  “Normally I’d be happier if their transports were destroyed instead of transporting, but if it lets us fly right in and blow the crap out of them from Earth orbit”—Omad raised his glass—“well, I’m all for it.”

  A few moments hung on Omad’s toast. Marilynn’s face showed obvious concern. “Who said anything about flying in and blowing stuff up from Earth’s orbit?”

  “This is a raid, Commodore. Blowing shit up is traditionally what we do on raids.”

  “I’m sorry. Of course you do. If I may be so bold, what was it you were planning on blowing the shit out of?”

  Though they were in a secured space Omad leaned over and whispered into her ear. Marilynn’s brows shot up immediately. She then shook her head vigorously.

  “I’ll need the orbats down if I’m to succeed.”

  Again, Marilynn shook her head. “No way.”

  “Are you telling me you can’t disable the UHF orbat net around Earth–Luna?”

  “Oh, we can disable ’em, all right, but fuck all if we will.”

  “Why the hell not?” demanded Omad, as confused as he was angry. “What’s the use of having a crack team this deep into UHF territory if we can’t use ’em? I assume most are trained in some kind of network disruption.”

  Marilynn smiled ruefully. “Like you wouldn’t believe, Omad.”

  “So, then?”

  “It’s a limited ability that we have mostly because both our enemies don’t know we have it. But what do you think will happen if their orbat net goes down just as an Alliance task force comes calling?”

  Omad remained silent, mulling over something Marilynn had just said. “What do you mean by both our enemies?”

  Marilynn chided herself for the slip up. “Admiral,” she said, recovering, “do you really want to go there? Especially given what’s on your plate already?”

  Omad’s teeth flashed through a wide smile. “I can’t get at my plate, Commodore, so I may as well know everything.”

  Marilynn bit her lower lip as the fingers of her right hand tapped softly on the table. Omad knew she’d been given orders to bring him in, but only if Marilynn had no other options. Well, he’d called her bluff, and to protect him and her secret she’d have to give a little.

  “Admiral, what if I could offer you a way to get you your opening attack without compromising our new abilities?”

  Omad regarded her with a healthy dose of skepticism as he leaned back in the chair grasping his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You really don’t want to tell me, do you?”

  “No, sir, I do not.”

  At Omad’s boisterous laugh, Marilynn began laying out her new plan. After a time, Omad nodded slowly and then finally, his eyes sparkled in excitement. The plan was so devious and underhanded that he almost forgot about the “enemies” Marilynn had mentioned earlier; almost.

  Earth–Luna outer orbits, AWS Spartacus

  Normally jumpy and sometimes even sexually aroused prior to a raid, Omad was now surprisingly calm—taciturn, even. His breathing was measured and his heart rate was normal. They were approaching the world he once thought of as home. He toggled his communication switch.

  “How’s the Otter holding up, Suchitra?”

  “She’ll do the job, sir, but we’re taking the bigger risk here.” Suchitra was referring to their target, Armstrong Station, the farthest orbiting space platform from Earth. Though it would be at an extreme range for both sides of the upcoming battle, it still meant that the Alliance fleet would be up against the considerable might of the Earth–Luna orbats.
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br />   “We’d need a miracle to do any real damage, sir.”

  Omad thought of Marilynn and her seemingly inexorable power. “A miracle, indeed.”

  * * *

  “Admiral, enemy is firing at long range.”

  Omad had to work not to smile when his ship’s automatic interceptor fire did not trigger. Interceptor fire was left to computer control because it was almost impossible for a human to fire accurately at all the shots that could be coming in from multiple vectors.

  “Lieutenant,” asked Omad with his best game face on, “why didn’t our interceptor fire activate?”

  “Admiral, it didn’t activate because they uh—” The lieutenant looked up from his display panel at Omad. “—missed, sir.”

  “Helm,” barked Omad, “were we using evasive maneuvers? ’Cause I sure as hell didn’t feel it.”

  “No, Admiral,” said the helmswoman, equally confused. “At this range, it’s easier to just shoot them down before they get too close.”

  The ensign manning communications spoke up. “Admiral, all the ships in the flotilla report that the enemy shots missed as well.”

  “All of them?” asked Omad in mock disbelief. “I know the UHF is not anywhere up to our standards, but how could all their shots have gone astray?”

  “Dunno, sir,” the tactical officer broke in, “but according to my readings, all the shots were off by exactly .003 percent at origin.”

  “All shots fired by the orbat closest to us, correct?”

  “No sir, all the orbats,” the tactical officer said, excitement building in his voice. “They have a bug in their system, sir.”

  “Analysis,” ordered Omad.

  “My guess? They’ve never fired these guns in actual combat, probably just in simulations. It’s gotta be some glitch they didn’t account for.”

  “Well, then,” said Omad with a panther’s grin, “we had better take advantage of this opportunity before they figure out what the problem is. I say, let’s make ’em howl.” The command sphere crew broke out into a chorus of whooping and cheering. Omad then opened communications with the whole flotilla. “Okay, boy and girls, the gods of war have given us a gift that we’d be rude to refuse. Flotilla, prepare for atomic acceleration and set course for the Beanstalk on my mark.”