Then she got the casualty reports. She stood mute for a second and then brought her hand to her mouth, stifling a cry of grief. Gone? she thought, collapsing into the chair she’d only recently sprung up from. How is that possible? Omads don’t die. They lose limbs, claw their way back, but die? Impossible! J.D. scanned the text again, looking for words of hope, like “presumed dead” or “still missing,” but found none. The report was conclusive and thorough, or as thorough as a report of a firestorm could be.
But the evidence left no doubt about what Omad had done in his final swan song. A begrudging smile formed on J.D.’s almost bloodless lips. Son of bitch died with his ship. And what a swan song it was. J.D. shook her head and wiped a tear from her eye. She’d been a fool to think him invincible. But the right bastard had survived so many battles with the odds stacked against him that even the normally skeptical J.D. had come to believe he’d not only survive the war, but survive everything. Omad Hassan was a force of nature, Allah’s dark jester to the world, and now, she was sure, causing all sorts of mayhem upstairs. Heaven’s only hope, thought J.D. ruefully, was that Christina was already up there to keep the rogue in check.
J.D. steadied herself and read on.
By the beard of the Prophet, what was Marilynn doing there? It seemed so preposterous that J.D. checked her updated dispatches from Ceres. She’d checked only the most pressing ones since reanimating before the Battle of the Hollow Moon. Sure enough, far down the list of correspondence was a message from Marilynn explaining that for reasons of great security, she was going on a mission to Earth. Included in the message was a dire warning about trusting Kirk Olmstead. That brought an acerbic smile to J.D.’s face. J.D. noted Marilynn’s self-demotion. She always hated being commodore. But it had been a prescient move, and Gorakhpur had proved a steady hand.
“Screw being a commodore,” J.D. said under her breath, “if that woman survives to make it home, I’ll make her a goddamned admiral.”
“Huh?” asked Katy, looking up from coloring a flexible palette on the floor near her desk.
J.D. peered over to the lovely girl who’d in the space of a few short days managed to upend her life. “Sorry, child. It’s nothing.”
“Then why do you look so sad, Janet?”
“Because I lost a friend, little one. A dear, dear friend.”
Katy put down her colored pens and crossed her arms in determination. “Then I will help you find him. I already know all the ship’s bestest hiding places!”
J.D. got up and went around to where her adopted daughter was standing. “We won’t find him here, little one.”
“Another ship?”
“No. He’s gone to … well—”
“Is he with Mommy and Daddy?”
“Yes, Katy. That is exactly where he is.”
“Was he the man with no legs?”
“Why, yes,” exclaimed J.D., head tilted in surprise. “How did you know?”
“You don’t have many friends.”
J.D. opened her mouth to respond but realized that the child had spoken the unmitigated truth. J.D. had always felt herself a bitter pill to swallow and so purposely had never cultivated close friendships, never asked about someone’s feelings or well-being lest they ask her about her own. She oftentimes felt that her indomitable climb to the upper reigns of power had more to do with the convenience of such a path’s expected callousness rather than any real desire for power.
She’d wanted so badly to be left alone that when she finally arrived at her vaunted position of Legal of GCI, she was the happiest in her unhappiness she’d ever been. She was feared by most and loathed by many. It was perfect. From her unenviable position, she figured she could go it alone for as long as GCI would have her, and if not GCI, then some other large corporation. Her future secured, so too, would be her insulation. Until Manny. A man so obtuse, he’d missed completely every hint thrown at him to go away. Crowds would part in Janet’s wake, but Manny barely noticed her, and when he did … when he did, he noticed her intelligence, her humor, and—most unpardonable of all—her self.
Manny had allowed Janet to feel, and in so doing had handed the Alliance its greatest war admiral. And just as J. D. Black was in danger of being engulfed by the bitterness and sorrow of the war and most recently the Jovian massacre, she had found somebody who, like Manny, had seen her only for herself. Indeed, J. D. Black, just like Janet Delgado, had few, if any, friends. And that was not something the Alliance’s admiral wanted to role-model for her daughter.
“No,” J.D. said with a laugh, “I don’t suppose I do. Think you can help me make some new ones?”
“Oh yes,” assured Katy excitedly, “but no more sad ones.”
“Sad ones, darling?”
“I saw him over the holo-table once. He looked sad.”
“Saw who?”
“The man you were crying about.”
How did she notice? wondered J.D. I was sure she was lost in her coloring.
“He was sad, little one, but I don’t think he is anymore. He was looking for someone he loved very much, but I’m sure he found her.”
“Like you found me, right?”
“Yes,” agreed J.D., wrapping the girl in her arms, “like I found you.”
The room announced a visitor. By the distinctive tone, Katy knew at once who it was. “Fatima!” Katy extricated herself from her surprised parent, and like a flash headed for the door, palm out to release the locking mechanism.
“Katy!” J.D.’s tone was authoritative and a bit shrill with concern. The child stopped so suddenly, she almost tripped over own feet.
J.D.’s look was stern but not angrily so. “What have I told you?”
Katy looked down at her feet. “Always scan to see who it is.”
“Because?”
“The buzzer can be wrong.”
“And why do we assume that?”
“Because someday it will be,” Katy parroted, and smiled knowing she got the right answer.
J.D.’s eyes brightened with pride. “That is absolutely correct. I am so proud of how smart you are.”
Katy beamed and used the newly installed lower control panel to scan the corridor. When the door opened, the child almost bowled the lieutenant over and as a reward got lifted high up over Fatima’s head. Then she was tossed to Tawfik, who’d been right behind Fatima. When J.D. saw the chief engineer, her scarred eyebrow raised. Tawfik’s presence was unexpected. The crew had long come to realize that any expression from the scarred side of the Blessed One’s face was usually bad. Her use of it to condemn an entire fleet to die in the angry storms of Jupiter—very bad.
“Admiral,” said Tawfik, stumbling over his words, “Fatima, I mean Lieutenant Awala, I mean—” Tawfik pointed at Fatima. “—she asked if I would join her while she watched over Katy, and I had a half hour to kill, so I thought, I mean I hoped, if it would—”
“Next time, have Lieutenant Awala check with me before assuming such things concerning my d— Katy,” J.D. said, quickly recovering.
“Yes, Admiral,” acknowledged Tawfik as if he’d just been busted on the parade ground of West Point with an unpolished button.
“I have to go now, little one”—J.D. put a comforting hand on Katy’s shoulder—“but Aunt Fatima and Uncle Tawfik will be here while I’m gone.”
Katy viewed with expectant pleasure her babysitters. “They’ll be good.”
“Of course they’ll be good, child. What do—?”
“I mean they’ll be good for you—you know—to make friends with.”
J.D. burst out laughing and gave the couple an embarrassed look. “Long story. Next time.” She turned one final time to the child. “You be good, okay?”
Katy nodded and then turned to Tawfik. “Are you and Aunt Fatima married?”
“Um, no, we are not,” bumbled Tawfik, a little taken aback.
“Why not?”
“Uh…” Tawfik began.
Whatever Tawfik’s response, J.D. knew s
he wouldn’t hear it. The door sealed behind her as she headed for her command sphere. Within minutes, she’d settled into her chair. The holodisplay had reports and summaries for her to scan as well as orders awaiting her approval. High on the list was the production of enough drugs to induce a painless deep sleep in nearly 800 million people as they froze to death while stuffed into every nook and cranny of Jupiter’s few remaining asteroids. Fifteen minutes later, what was turning into a bit of slog got rescued by the retrieval of a priority communiqué from Grand Admiral Sinclair.
As J.D. read the report, her face grew taut and the lines in her skin seemed to deepen. “Damn that man to hell.” She seethed.
“Admiral?” asked her XO.
J.D. ignored him. “Comm!”
“Sir.”
“Orders to be sent to the fleet. All ships are to be prepared to leave orbit in ninety minutes!” J.D. then flew from her chair and headed for the exit. “Have the shuttle bay prepare my ship, and tell the governor I’m coming to visit!” Jasper Lee, her acting XO, followed the orders so completely he didn’t even think about what was in the communiqué until after he’d relayed it. But by then the command crew was buzzing with the thousand and one details it took to prepare a ship and a fleet to leave on such short notice.
Governor’s office, Titan
Cyrus Anjou was looking at the report and shaking his head in disgust. According to what he was reading and seeing, the capital of the Alliance was doomed. Samuel Trang had cracked the orbat net surrounding Ceres in two hours and not the two weeks it was supposed to have taken him.
“How did he do that?” Anjou asked J.D. in near despair.
“He played us beautifully, that’s how.”
Cyrus’s face registered confusion.
“Once the Alliance had switched on the transponders within the ice blocks surrounding Ceres, Trang attacked the fake fleet as if he thought it real. Naturally, Ceres took advantage of his massed UHF Fleet by grouping a large number of their orbats to do some serious damage to Trang’s forces. And Trang, playing right along, had turned his fleet and used atomic acceleration to get out of danger. But not all of Trang’s ships accelerated away from the orbats.”
Cyrus shook his head and read, in growing horror and admiration, the rest. Trang’s auxiliary ships had accelerated toward the concentrated orbats and then exploded en masse. In mere moments, 43 percent of Ceres’s defenses were destroyed. The remaining orbats were too few to provide adequate cover for the whole asteroid and its support facilities.
“But he sacrificed all of his auxiliaries,” wailed Cyrus in confusion. “How can he hope to maintain his position so far from his supply base with all his support ships gone?”
“Because, Cyrus, he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about holding his position. All of his warships are relatively intact. He emptied most of the supplies from those supply ships before loading them up with enough ordnance to blast the crap out of our orbats. I figure he has a week’s worth of maneuvering fuel and ordnance before he’ll be forced to head home.”
“But he can’t take Ceres in a week with the forces he’s got.”
J.D.’s lips, now pressed tightly against her teeth, formed into a stiff and bitter smile. “He has no intention of taking it, Cyrus.”
“Jesus Christ.” And then Cyrus Anjou’s voice trailed off. “He’s going to destroy it.”
“My fleet is two weeks away. By the time I arrive, he’ll be long gone and Ceres will be a pile of rubble floating its way to Saturn.”
“But if we lose Ceres after losing Jupiter…”
“We won’t lose Ceres,” J.D. said with certainty.
“But you’re two weeks away,” cried Cyrus.
“And Trang needed two weeks to destroy the Cerean orbat field,” she said humorously. “That didn’t stop him either.”
“You should have left two days ago like you wanted,” Cyrus said. “I insisted you stay. This is my fault.”
Now J.D. smiled. “Cyrus, if I had taken the fleet out two days ago, the war would be over. It’s because we stayed, it’s because we’ve been helping those most in need that Allah has given us a small chance to save our capital.”
“How long do you think before Trang destroys it?”
“If it was me, given the defenses that are left and how they’re likely to be deployed? Five days.”
“How are you going to get to Ceres in five days? It’s impossible.”
J.D.’s lips curled back into a snarl. “Who said anything about getting to Ceres in five days?”
“You did!” snorted Cyrus.
“No. I said that’s how long it’ll take Trang to destroy it. Me? I plan on getting there in four.”
Cyrus’s lower lip dropped.
“Of course,” added J.D., “I’ll need to steal a plow.”
Orbit of Jupiter, AWS Warprize II: Hour One
J.D. was sitting at a small grid table in the heart of the engineering department. She loved this part of her ship. Its massive fusion reactors, the massive hydrogen feeder lines—all that raw power under the most responsive controls. Being in this place made her content in a way few other places could. Except for now.
“By using atomic acceleration, we can slingshot the fleet toward a rendezvous with Ceres by way of Saturn—if it’s still there when we arrive,” she added with dark humor. “The orders have already gone out for the Saturnians to prepare blocks of frozen hydrogen for launch. They’ll fire them at the precise course and speed needed for us to intercept as we leave Saturn’s orbit. Without that fuel, we will not be able to slow down enough to be effective when we reach Ceres at the intercept point.”
Tawfik looked at her calculations and nodded. “Trang would be most pleased if we arrived at Ceres going too fast.”
“Yes, he would,” agreed J.D., “though I suspect we’d at least get a wave from him as we shot past.”
Tawfik twitched a smile. “Admiral, by my calculations, we’ll arrive at Ceres with barely fifteen percent of our max fuel load, and that’s if nothing goes wrong, and as you and I both know, something always goes wrong. I’d hate to have to face Trang’s fleet with a fifteen percent or less fuel load.”
“We have no choice, Tawfik.”
Tawfik nodded, mouth locked in a tight grimace. “But we do. Why not go directly there? It’s the fastest route.”
“Because it’s the only obvious route. Forgetting the fact that we’d be transmitting our arrival. And even if we found another way to get our fuel, don’t you think Trang’s already mined that route? Don’t forget he’s got enough ships to spare. Thirty would be all he’d need to shoot at us like apples in a barrel as we decelerated down the pike.”
“Admiral, he won’t have to fire a shot,” Tawfik objected. “If we go the way you’re proposing, the solar system will be doing his shooting for him. The route you propose is not a via. It’s not even near one except for when we actually get to Saturn. It was going to be one, but the loss of the Belt and the Diaspora put it on hold.” Tawfik stepped back a little and put his hand on his chin, viewing the route through doubting eyes. “You’re correct in that it would take almost no effort for Trang to shoot all sorts of nasty detritus into the more direct route now that Ceres has moved. Truth is, the route was too dangerous to use unless absolutely necessary, even when Ceres was there. Trang was always too close, and all he’d have to do to truly screw us up was empty his garbage into the via’s lane. It’s no different now. It’s a devil’s choice. We either fly down Trang’s gullet and face his war machine or travel through an uncharted, detritus-filled via and get chewed up and blasted to pieces long before Trang has to fire a shot.”
J.D. crossed her arms, sporting a look of profound satisfaction. “I have stolen a via plow.”
Tawfik’s face lit up. “You what? You did? How?” J.D. had referred to the huge ice barges used to sweep the vias clear of debris, making the high-speed corridors possible.
“The Jovians had plans for a Via Jovia. However, after the evacua
tion, that is no longer going to be a priority.”
The light of understanding appeared on Tawfik’s face. “You’re going to create a brand-new via as we go.” He studied the path again. “The barge should intercept most of the debris. But what are you going to do about objects shearing in from the side?”
“Not much,” J.D. said grimly. “The fleet will launch every shuttle and combat transport it has and keep them moving in a pattern on the sides of the fleet. If we’re lucky, they’ll intercept some of the stray debris coming in, but the truth is, we’ll take hits and lose ships along the way. We can only pray we won’t lose too many and that the ones we lose will only be damaged and not destroyed.”
“May it be the will of Allah,” Tawfik said.
J.D. nodded. “Now, make sure the rest of the fleet’s engineers understand the plan. Their ships are going to undergo the stress of a high-speed jaunt through an uncharted via and arrive at Ceres to take on the one admiral in the UHF who’s actually worth a damn.”
“Well,” offered Tawfik, “it’s not as if Trang’s going to be at full loads. Plus we’ll be arriving with a ton of something he’ll be well short of.”
J.D. merely nodded. They both knew Trang would be low on ordnance by the time they arrived. Unfortunately, he’d be low because of what he’d have expended it on.
“Not the best way to gain an advantage,” admitted J.D., “but it’s an advantage nonetheless. So our battle plan will make use of the fact that we can fire our guns until the angels sing and he’ll have to count every shot.”
Tawfik nodded. “All will be as you wish, Blessed One.”
The Unincorporated Woman Page 54