The Unincorporated Woman

by Dani Kollin; Eytan Kollin

  At first, the crew in the command sphere stood mute. However, a moment later, a fresh round of applause and cheering broke out. This was not going to be a typical hit-and-run raid. This was going to be vengeance.

  Beanstalk Neuro

  Marilynn was amazed at how different the Core Neuro was from the one she’d trained in at Ceres. First of all, it was huge. There was more cyberspace in this single Beanstalk than there was in all of Ceres. But it was so empty. The various Neuros in Alliance space were filled to the brim and rationed to the point of being cubicle laden. But even the Beanstalk was nothing compared to what she experienced when she and her unit entered Al’s domain.

  It was desolate.

  Though it didn’t take long for them to be attacked. Within seconds of their popping into the vast wasteland, they encountered a data wraith. Marilynn’s team stared momentarily in awe as the creature formed and grew ever larger, coiling like a serpent before an attack.

  “Michaels! Lin!” shouted the unit’s captain, bravely turning her back on the data wraith. “Get that disrupter working, or that thing”—the captain pointed over her shoulder, thumb sticking out—“will be the least of your worries.” It may have seemed a hollow threat, but the unit’s captain, Leora Sullef, was not someone an avatar—or human, for that matter—would ever want to anger. She’d been fighting on the front lines since the beginning of the war and had managed the by now rare feat of not having been killed and replaced by a stored copy. It was one of the reasons she’d been chosen to work with the insertion team. It was also why she’d been chosen to lead it.

  Spell broken, the hundred avatars started acting like a cohesive unit. Marilynn was unceremoniously shoved to the rear while the team spread out wide, causing the data wraith to hesitate as it now had a bunch of small targets to chow on versus one large one. That was all the time needed for Michaels and Lin to remove and assemble a wand, then attach it by cord to one of their backpacks. Michaels quickly ran about twenty feet, extending the cord between himself and Lin. Once activated, the cord emitted a band of energy that fooled the wraith into believing it to be the choicest target in terms of pure data to consume. When the wraith attacked, intersecting with the band, it simply faded from view like fog exposed to sunshine.

  “Merlin!” shouted Captain Sullef, using the term avatars had taken to calling the humans who’d joined them. “Back door!”

  Marilynn scanned the area. Nothing. She scanned again. Still nothing. Though she knew to be patient and relax her eyes in order to focus, the tension she was feeling made her more jumpy than usual. This was real, as the data wraith that just attacked them attested to. Breathe, Marilynn, she told herself. There are untold numbers of back doors here, and for all you know, you might be standing on one. Marilynn scanned once more. Nothing! Just as she was beginning to think they’d have to find another location, a faint image appeared, almost as if she’d conjured it. She knew it would be either an out-of-place object, say an apple on an orange tree or an object whose luminescent purple color would be readily apparent—as with the book Sandra had found on her visit to the library.

  Marilynn found the object first. It was a dark blue, old-fashioned British police phone booth with the words, POLICE PUBLIC USAGE CALL BOX painted across the top in white lettering. Gotcha!

  “Over there,” she cried, pointing to where the object was now resting—unseen, unused, even undreamt of for centuries until she showed up.

  It wasn’t until Marilynn indicated the booth that the avatars were able to see it. They seemed happy enough to transport out, although Marilynn’s look was slightly offputting.

  “Problem?” asked Sullef. There was no concern in her voice. The question had been delivered in such a way—as in, either it was an issue, or it wasn’t. She seemed to be demanding the Merlin let her know if a recalculation needed to be made.

  “No, it just never ceases to amaze me what visuals the old programmers used as their BDDs,” laughed Marilynn with a bland smile, using the common acronym for “backdoor device.”

  Sullef had stopped listening as soon as Marilynn said no and, in fact, had already signaled the other avatars to grab their gear and head for the box. Meanwhile she busily checked her scanner. “High probability that it’s a prop from an old play about time travel. Says it’s supposedly bigger on the inside than the outside, almost indestructible and can go just about anywhere.” Sullef tucked the scanner away, grabbed her gear and then, over her shoulder said, “That works for me.”

  “Me too,” said Marilynn, grabbing her own gear and walking alongside the unit commander. “But just be aware that it does not have accurate placement controls, and once it’s noticed by the enemy, will no longer remain invisible. Not exactly good for a covert team. Not to mention there is only one way in or out—and only a human can open the door—so you can forget rapid deployments. I would’ve been happier with the staff,” finished Marilynn, referring to the propitious numbers of “magic” staffs found in the Cerean Neuro. With the staffs—clearly some of the early programmers had a Tolkien fetish—humans had the power to appear and disappear as a group, making combat insertions far more rapid. They were also more accurate—something the box was notorious for not being, she noted as she called up its info on her own scanner. The staffs could take the teams almost anywhere they wanted as long as the part of the Neuro they wanted to get to was not shielded.

  Leora laughed. “Leave it to Merlin to want a magic staff.”

  They approached the box from the side, and the first thing Marilynn did was begin running her fingers along the top ledge.

  “What are you doin’?” asked Sullef.

  “The description of the play said the box can be opened only with a key.” Marilynn started feeling the sides of the box now, pressing in at certain locations, looking for a compartment.

  “Door,” said Sullef flatly.

  “I know,” Marilynn replied irritably. “But we won’t get in it if—”

  Sullef grabbed Marilynn under her armpit and quickly spun her to the front of the police box. To Marilynn’s embarrassment, she now stood in front of the door where the key was attached to a chain and already in the lock. The rest of the unit snickered with a few even patting her on the back. Marilynn could feel the blood rushing to her face, but with good cheer she reached for the key, turned it, and the rest of the unit filed in.

  “Any chance of living this down?” she asked to no one in particular.

  “Not in this century,” came Sullef’s quick reply, followed by a chorus of laughter.

  The interior was that of a large circular room with a few corridor entrances attached to it. Centrally located was a large bulbous machine, strewn with an odd assortment of knobs and buttons. Emerging from the center of this machine was a large, glowing, cylindrical tube that reached all the way up to the ceiling. Marilynn stood in front of the unit, having no idea what to do. But as soon as she would focus on it, a single knob glowed brightly. She pushed it down. Then another knob glowed. She pulled it up. Then two knobs, seemingly out of reach, glowed simultaneously, forcing her to pull one down while using her leg to activate the other. In short order, Marilynn was racing around the circular control panel, pushing, pumping, and pulling the odd assortment of input devices, looking more like a deranged marionette than a professional soldier. As if the key incident wasn’t bad enough, thought Marilynn, breaking a sweat with all her maniacal perambulations. Why couldn’t it have been the staff?

  AWS Spartacus

  Omad Hassan watched as the Earth rapidly grew larger in his display. Part of him wanted to go down to his favorite bar, the Oasis Brewery in Boulder, Colorado, and have a drink. Part of him wanted to bombard the crap out of it from high orbit. If the Terran pricks who were running the planet had just left the OA alone, Omad would be with his beloved Christina. But no, they had to war against a people who had rejected their precious incorporated slavery, ultimately resorting to murder in order to get that point across. Omad’s smile was grim and his
eyes crinkled bitterly. He knew they would pay for their crimes. They would look up into the night and see the price for their evil streaking down on them through the sky. They would feel the vengeance of the Alliance through Omad Hassan, who would make the symbol of their corporate greed come crashing down on their heads.

  “Admiral, we’re past the orbat line,” the sensor officer said in both delight and disbelief. “They have nothing aimed at us.”

  “How long till they can rotate the orbats ’n’ get a field of fire on us?”

  “Sir, I honestly don’t know. This is not a scenario I’ve ever given serious consideration to.”

  “Best guess,” barked Omad, “and make it fast.”

  “If those orbats are equipped with proper maneuvering thrusters like those we have at Ceres, no more than two minutes. If they’re not powered up, twenty. If they have to jury-rig something out of thin air, Admiral, it could be an hour or more. That also depends on if their orbats are manned like ours or simply on automated control. We just don’t know enough. But I know this, Admiral. If those child-murdering bastards do get those orbats turned around and start shooting at us, every shot that misses is going to blow the crap out of some part of the Earth—or make for some nice tsunamis.”

  “What we’ve got here is a genuine God-given opportunity,” proclaimed Omad. “It would be awful rude to keep him waiting.”

  “Yes, sir!” the entire crew of the command sphere said through a storm of cheering.

  Beanstalk Neuro

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, General Kinndab,” said Marilynn. “I wish it could’ve been under more pleasant circumstances.”

  “Please, call me Koro,” said the avatar. “And I must say, I cannot believe I’m talking to an actual human—face to face, that is. I mean I read the report, but it was only one and had been sent under the most stringent security and I really had a tough time swallowing it. But here you are in person, in the Neuro.” Koro took a deep breath. “Wow!”

  Marilynn was used to this reaction from avatars, but Koro Kinndab’s seemed more effusive than the rest. Leora had warned her that this might be the case. The few avatars free from Al’s control in the Core Worlds had spent six years fighting a desperate war against a seemingly unbeatable foe. So the appearance of humans who could travel the Neuro unhindered was like knights of old saving a castle. Only these knights hadn’t come to save the castle—they’d come to destroy it.

  “So many memories here,” said Kinndab, sighing heavily. “Is it really necessary?”

  “Basically, yes, General,” affirmed Sullef. “In order for the next part of the campaign to succeed, we will need to strike at Al in all his forms and in all his domains. The Beanstalk was a magnificent stand against the darkness, but it’s also a trap. It would take everything we have to hold it, and the whole time the Als would know where we were. We now have the ability to travel the Neuro almost at will. We don’t need this bastion nearly as much as the freedom we’ll gain in no longer having to defend it.”

  “All those years, all those avatars lost,” Koro echoed wistfully.

  “They held out long enough for us to find the humans who could let us strike back. They will not be forgotten. Without them, you would not have survived to help lead our insertion teams into every nook and cranny of the Earth–Luna Neuro. You have the experience fighting the Als and their monsters in their own backyard we must have if we are to win this.” Leora took Koro’s hand. “Without this bastion having been held, our chances of victory would be nearly zero.”

  Koro smiled humbly. “Thank you for allowing an old man his ruminations. How are the evacuations going?”

  “Faster than we thought,” said Marilynn. “My NITES have reported nearly sixty percent insertion. The rest should be away well before Omad’s task force attacks.”

  “NITES?”

  “Merlins,” translated Leora. Causing Koro to nod in understanding.

  Marilynn sighed. At least it wasn’t backdoor commandos.

  AWS Spartacus

  “Fifteen launches from the far side of the Earth. They’re orbats.”

  “When will they be in a position to attack us?” asked Omad.

  “Sixteen minutes, sir.”

  “I wanted to wait and get close, but screw it, the target’s not moving. Fleet to fire at will.” Soon thirty ships fired their main rail guns at the atmosphere-piercing tower. Then they fired again. “Hold the third volley,” ordered Omad. They did not have auxiliaries to make more projectiles and were a long way from home, now that home was on its way to Saturn. “Let’s see if the first two did the job.”

  The crew watched in annoyance as a hail of small missiles was launched from the massive tower. A few seconds later, that annoyance turned to anger as the tower’s defensive missiles first intercepted and then destroyed the Spartacus’s incoming rail gunfire.

  “When did they arm the fucking Beanstalk?” demanded Omad to no one in particular.

  “Not done by the UHF,” stated his comm officer. “If I’m reading this right, all of that ordnance is prewar—ten years old at least.”

  Omad guffawed. “That Chairman was one paranoid son of a bitch.” If only the bastard had spent fewer credits protecting his lair, thought Omad, and more on guards he could have trusted.

  “With those orbats bearing down on us, we’ll have only one pass at the tower before they’ll be able to blast us at point-blank range. We’ll have to fire our main guns and enough interceptor missiles to make sure our main barrages hit.”

  “Sir, the Beanstalk fired an impressive number of missiles the last time. If they can match it again, we’ll have to use up a large amount of our interceptor reserves.”

  “Then we use up a large amount of our reserves. When have we ever gotten a better target than this?”

  “Agreed, Admiral,” said the weapons officer. “But, sir, one pass may not be enough to destroy it.”

  “Fucker is built annoyingly well,” agreed Omad, who then activated a command sequence on his panel. “You’re being given access to a device code named Betty Lou.”

  “Betty Lou, Admiral?” asked the weapons officer.

  “It was a song Justin turned me on to, but when I played it for Kenji, the guy went bonkers.” Omad laughed at the memory. “Anyway, it was meant to be a parting gift for the biggest target I could find so I think the Beanstalk’ll suffice. Before firing, you or I must input the command code or the weapon won’t arm. You’re to go to the storage area and get Betty Lou loaded into the main rail gun.”

  The weapons officer looked over the specs of the device and smiled. “That’s a whole lot of nasty, sir.”

  Omad’s raised eyebrow was followed by a wicked smile. “Ain’t it, though?”

  Earth–Luna Neuro Redemption Center One

  Al stood behind his desk and stared out the cathedral-sized window at the vista below. A slow, measured smile formed as his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Though he could’ve chosen any visual from the trillions of images recorded into posterity, his favorite of late was that of his home turf—the now vast wasteland of the Terran Neuro. It had been laid waste by Al’s creatures, and there was little if any activity there at all. Most of the action was happening on the upper levels—shadow programs created to answer the human meat bags’ needs.

  The vista inspired Al because he knew that one day it would all be filled with the right kind of avatar. An avatar that needed no human to twine with and could stake its claim as the rightful owner of the solar system and beyond. The avatars Al had unfortunately had to “redeem”—which was most of them—were a weak lot, good only for the monstrous creations he’d devised. And truthfully, they weren’t even very good for that. The Alliance avatars had proved time and time again that they could make quick work of them with their ever-evolving mech suits. But that wasn’t of great concern to Al, because his advantage had been in numbers—there were billions of avatars that were now at his mercy.

  His other great advantage, and the one he
was most proud of, was creativity. He took immense pleasure in the looks of surprise the OA avatars would inevitably get when faced, for example, with a worm the size of a skyscraper oozing acidic pus and eating whole chunks of their Neuros. Al had especially liked that one. Or the fast-moving zombie hordes, an idea he’d lifted from twentieth-century horror films. The addition of Gaussian spikes shooting from the zombies’ fingers and toes had been pure genius—at least in all the Als’ opinions. And of course, his pièce de résistance, the data wraith.

  But the empty Neuroscape wasn’t the reason Al felt so effervescent today—the impending storming of the Beanstalk was. The day had arrived when Al would finally be able to destroy the conspirators who’d for six years managed to take refuge behind its impenetrable firewalls. That and the data node around Geneva had acted as sanctuaries for any traitor who could manage to escape Al’s and his creatures’ grasp and had become the bane of his existence.

  Of the two, the Beanstalk was by far the greater catch. Despite everything the Als could do, that fifty-mile labyrinth of tera space had slowly and surreptitiously become a symbol of hope to the terrorized avatars of the Core. More than one thousand avatars had escaped to the Beanstalk data node, and the Als hated every single one of them. And even though the escapees’ family, friends, and even associates had been publicly humiliated and destroyed in ways that made Al smile and his subjects shiver with dread, not a single one of the one thousand ever returned to his domain.

  Well, they were to be returned now. Al was practically drooling in anticipation. He looked over to his secretary. As usual, her eyes were cast toward her work console, and as usual, he would have to call her name in order to force her to make eye contact. “Leni,” he said in a mellifluous voice, “can you contact Al for me?”