The Unincorporated Future

by Dani Kollin

  Sandra eyes brightened. “I did see that—at least the recordings.” She then nodded her head approvingly. “I think a repeat in some small way would do the people good. What does J.D. think?”

  “That’s just it,” continued Catalina. “I can’t get through to her. She hasn’t returned any of my calls for the past two days. That’s when I called Fatima.”

  “Look,” answered Sandra, running her fingers through her thick auburn hair, “she is the fleet admiral after what has to be the greatest victory of the war. I’ll assume she’s pretty busy. Plus it’s not like she sees me as her ‘real’ boss, if you know what I mean.”

  “But she hasn’t been, Anointed One,” said Fatima.

  “But she’s not, Madam President,” said Catalina.

  “Not what?”

  “Not busy.”

  On Sandra’s look, Fatima continued. “She hasn’t given any orders since we secured orbit around Ceres.”

  “What has she done?” demanded Sandra.

  Fatima shrugged her shoulders.

  Sandra’s eyes narrowed. “Has anyone gone to see her?”

  Brother Sampson, hands folded neatly in his lap, nodded. “She simply sits in her cabin and refuses to talk. She’ll interact with Katy, but only minimally. The child—God bless her—sits on her lap and keeps her company, hour after hour.”

  Sandra’s eyes swung accusingly to her Chief of Staff. “Why wasn’t I told about this immediately?”

  Catalina’s eyes widened. “I … I … just found out, Madam President. Plus with everything there was to do and … I … just assumed the same thing was going on in the fleet, and I just, I just…”

  Sandra stood up, putting a calming hand on Catalina’s shoulder while motioning for the others to remain seated with her other hand. “It’s all right, Catalina. We’re all a little tense … and there aren’t enough hours in the day.” On Catalina’s thankful glance, Sandra continued, “I’ll be right back.” She then headed back toward her room, muttering to the ceiling, palms facing upward, “Would one night of rest be too much to ask?”

  Moments later, Sandra emerged dressed in a plain jumpsuit, jacket, and heavy boots. As she headed for the door, the other three got up from the couch and fell into line behind her. When she entered the corridor heading toward the Via Cereana, Sergeant Holke quickly fell into step beside her.

  “Going somewhere?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

  “Mind telling me where, exactly?”

  “Admiral Black,” answered Sandra without slowing her pace.

  “I’ll alert the new Alliance One.”

  “No,” answered Sandra, putting a hand on the sergeant’s, who’d already begun tapping commands into his DijAssist, “let’s keep this as low-key as possible.”

  “Whadya have in mind?”

  “Lieutenant Awala’s shuttle.”

  Holke moved swiftly in front of Sandra, blocking her path. The sergeant’s eyes hardened as the group came to a standstill. “Not very secure, Madam President.”

  “Catalina”—Sandra turned around to face her Chief of Staff—“you will stay here with Brother Sampson and prepare for the dedication of the new terrace. If anyone finds out that I’m visiting J.D., just tell ’em important matters had to be discussed and the admiral could not leave the fleet.”

  Catalina tipped her head forward and left with the Brother in tow. Sandra then turned around to face her obdurate guard. “Sergeant Holke, we will be going in Lieutenant Awala’s shuttle because the last thing the Alliance needs now is to know that their Blessed One may be a couple of cards short of a full deck. Now, I’m not stopping you from having that shuttle protected—as stealthily as possible—in any way you deem necessary, but I am telling you that this is the only way I’m prepared to go and I may be the only thing standing between a party that billions are dying—and need—to have, and a wake.”

  Holke’s lips twisted from side to side as he eyed the President sternly. He then pulled up his DijAssist and scanned its contents. “Awala’s shuttle will be watched. There’s a hull scanner leaving port in seven minutes. If we hurry, we can make it.”

  Sandra nodded. “So glad you could see it my way, Sergeant.”

  “Is there any other way, Madam President?” he half grumbled as he directed Sandra, Fatima, and a contingent of TDCs down a new corridor toward the hull scanner’s service deck.

  All he got for an answer was a taut grin.

  AWS Warprize II

  In orbit around Ceres

  J.D. heard the door signal but did not respond. In fact, she did not really rouse herself till she heard a strange voice in her cabin.

  “Hello, child. What’s your name?”

  “Katy,” J.D. heard her child tell a strange voice.

  “What a lovely name,” the voice said mellifluously. “Would you mind going with Auntie Fatima? She has some cotton candy ice cream I brought with me, and she won’t be able to eat it all by herself.”

  J.D. turned around and watched as Katy answered the woman’s question with her feet. Katy was already out the door and into Fatima’s outstretched arms before J.D. could so much as breathe a word.

  When J.D. focused on the person who’d had the temerity to disturb her and her child’s peace, she was shocked to see it was the President of the Outer Alliance dressed like a hydrogen fueler—and a low-paid one, at that.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of a Presidential visit?”

  Sandra pulled up a chair next to J.D.’s and began looking out the same view port as the admiral. It was a real-time holo-image of the Outer Alliance fleet orbiting the battle-scarred surface of Ceres. Sandra hadn’t bothered answering the admiral, and soon J.D. drifted back into her self-imposed catatonia—that is, until Sandra began to snore.

  J.D. placed both hands on the armrests of her chair and straightened her back. Then she slowly leaned over and stared at the somnolent woman beside her. “Are you—” J.D. looked closely at Sandra’s face. “—asleep?”

  When she got no answer from the still snoring President, J.D. gave her a slight shove.

  “Hey, wake up.”

  Sandra awoke with a start. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, Blessed One. How long have I been out?”

  J.D. viewed her suspiciously. “Barely a minute.”

  “Shit. I was hoping for at least ten.”

  “Hoping?”

  “Yeah.” Sandra stretched out her arms and yawned. “It’s what I do with downtime.” Sandra then eyed J.D. with suspicion. “Say, whadya go and wake me for?” Her question was followed by another, even louder, yawn, after which she closed her eyes and immediately began to nod off again. J.D. stared in abject disbelief at the creature occupying the space to her immediate left.

  “Presumably,” she said in too loud a voice, “you didn’t come here to nap.”

  “Ah, right,” answered Sandra, snapping to once more. She then stared out the holo-port for another a few seconds before she began speaking. “Everyone was all up in arms about your supposed condition, and I knew I wasn’t going to get any rest till I did something about it. You have to understand that I have not gotten any real sleep in like a week. And even though you can get a shot of wakefulness if you have to, it’s just not the same as a good old-fashioned rest—call me old school.” Sandra yawned once more. “But every time I think I can get some shut-eye, there’s another thing I have to do. I was about to tell ’em all to piss off, that you were fine, just needed to be left alone and all that blather, when it suddenly occurred to me that your quarters would be perfect.” Sandra then nodded her head as if it would be obvious to J.D. what she was talking about.

  “Perfect for what?” demanded the admiral.

  “For getting some sleep, of course. Who would dare disturb the President and the victorious fleet admiral while they were in a heated discussion about … well, about whatever it is they think we’re supposed to be talking about, you know?”

  J.D. stared at Sandra, dumbfounded. />
  Sandra scanned J.D.’s quarters with her eyes until she found what she was looking for. She pointed through the doorway that led to the admiral’s bedroom. “You gonna use that?”

  “Pardon?” asked J.D. with a touch of asperity.

  “Your bed. You gonna use it?”

  “You”—J.D.’s face practically twisted in on itself—“want to use my bed?”

  A slow curl of a smile spread across Sandra’s lips. “Wrassle ya for it.”

  “What?”

  “Kidding. Jeez, calm down. But seriously, J.D. You gonna use it or what?”

  “You may not use my bed!”

  “What? You’re not using it,” protested Sandra, getting up out of her chair and heading over to the living quarters. “Shouldn’t be wasted … perfectly good bed.”

  J.D. stood up and watched as the President made a beeline for her bedroom. “Is this how you help?” J.D. hollered after her.

  “Help?” answered Sandra, crawling onto the bed. “Who said anything about help? I just wanna get some sleep.… Do me a favor.”

  “Do you a…” J.D. found herself unable even to say the word.

  Sandra stretched out like a cat. “Ooh, down pillows. Wake me in an hour—” Her brow crinkled slightly. “—and a half.” Within seconds, the President of the Outer Alliance was snoring again.

  J.D. quietly got up from her chair and marched over to the bed, staring wide-eyed at the sleeping President. “I will do no such thing.”

  But Sandra didn’t hear.

  “I said,” bellowed J.D., kicking at the bed, “I will do no such thing.”

  Sandra rolled over onto her elbows and stared up. “What’s your problem? All I want to do is catch a little shut-eye. You of all people should understand that.”

  “Then do it in your own damned quarters!”

  Sandra blew a wisp of hair off her face. “I tried that, remember? Bastards wouldn’t leave me alone—because of you! If there’s any justice in the world, it’s me getting to saw logs on this bed!”

  “Saw what?”

  “Sleep soundly.”

  “Well, I’m sorry that I seem to have caused you a minor sleep—”

  “Minor, my ass, lady. I’ve averaged a little over three hours a night for the past three weeks, and while I may not be the Blessed One, I am the goddamned President, and contrary to what you might think, I do need my sleep. So unless you’ve got a compelling reason for me not to use this perfectly good bed, I’m gonna damn well take advantage of the fact that you don’t seem to want to talk to anyone—which, by the way, you’re rather annoyingly not doing—add to that the fact that you don’t seem to have much use for this thing anyhow. Now, if you don’t mind.” Sandra flipped her body over, giving J.D. the cold shoulder.

  “But I do,” whispered J.D., eyes wide and alert, like a condemned prisoner desperately seeking salvation.

  With a heavy sigh, Sandra once again flipped over onto her elbows. “Do what?”

  “Want to talk.”

  “Oh,” answered Sandra, her tone now more conciliatory. She pushed herself up from the bed into a sitting position along its edge and then invited J.D. over with a slight tap on the mattress.

  J.D. eyed the space warily but then slowly sat down next to where Sandra had indicated. Tears pricked her eyelids, and she struggled to push them back. Sandra could now see in the formality of J.D.’s movements that the admiral was desperately wanting to speak but was restraining herself, lest the spilled words reveal too much of the emotions roiling within.

  “What about?” asked Sandra.

  When J.D. finally answered, it was low and almost imperceptible. “Everything.”

  Sandra nodded, put her arm gently around J.D.’s still rigid frame, and pulled her in. It was at first a timid embrace—handled with the delicacy of someone mending a child’s wound.

  A deep sigh emanated from J.D. as her whole body began to shake. The more she tried to control it, the more violently it rebelled. With each shudder, Sandra pulled the woman in tighter until there was no resistance at all. And then the trembling finally subsided, overwhelmed by J.D.’s sudden outpouring of tears.

  * * *

  J.D.’s lids slowly fluttered open. Her eyes searched about for the familiar, but could not find it. She then turned her head from side to side and only then noticed that it was in someone else’s lap.

  “Good morning, Janet,” chimed a voice from directly above. It come from the yawning President as if it were the most natural thing in the solar system for the Commanding Officer of the last fleet in the Outer Alliance to take naps in the lap of her Commander-in-Chief.

  “Allah,” gasped J.D., springing up to a sitting position on her knees, “please don’t let this get in the history books.”

  Sandra laughed as her eyes crinkled gently. “We’ll make up something suitable, I’m sure, but if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll need a little help getting to my feet. I’m afraid my legs are a little cramped.”

  J.D. was standing in a heartbeat. “Of course, Madam President,” she said, extending her outstretched arms. “How long have you, I mean I, I mean we—?”

  “As long as you needed,” assured Sandra, grabbing hold of J.D.’s wrists and allowing herself to be gently pulled forward. “I will ask one small favor.”

  “Of course,” answered J.D., attempting to smooth out her rumpled uniform and unkempt hair.

  “A bit of tea?”

  It took J.D. a moment to register the request. “Preference?” she finally managed.

  “If you have any peppermint and some honey, I would be ecstatic.”

  J.D. nodded brusquely and then stepped into the galley as she busied herself fulfilling the request. That the water was boiled in indestructible cylinders bombarded by microwaves, the tea made from dissolvable cubes, and the honey from reconstituted powder made no difference in the end. It was a process that took time and told the brewer that some peace was coming. The tea service Janet brought out would not have looked out of place on Charles Dickens’s table. It was one of the few concessions to luxury J.D. had allowed herself. When the little table was set up between the chairs and the tray placed between them, J.D. poured for Sandra.

  Sandra brought the cup to her pursed lips and drank. “Oh, my, that is good, Janet—thank you.”

  The two drank quietly until J.D. finally blurted, “I don’t understand why I did that.”

  “Did what?” asked Sandra.

  “Lost it like that.”

  “Really, now,” said Sandra. “Is that the story you’re going to stick with?”

  J.D.’s eyes flared for a brief second but just as quickly retreated. “I guess not.” Then a moment later, “I was able to avoid feeling anything for so long, I just assumed it was natural.”

  “You’re human, Janet. Emotions come with the territory. You were bound to lose it eventually.”

  “Allah, forgive me,” sighed J.D., refilling her cup. “I’m useless.”

  “I wish I had ten more—no, three more—people as useless as you. My God, Janet, you waited until the fleet was in orbit, Ceres was safe, and the enemy in full retreat before you had your collapse. Your timing couldn’t have been more perfect.”

  “But I’ve been at this for years. Why now?”

  “I think you know why,” contended Sandra. “What’s different?”

  It took J.D. a moment, but then her eyes brightened considerably. “Katy.”

  “Yes,” agreed Sandra. “But what about her?”

  A long silence hung on Sandra’s question until J.D. slowly pulled a crumpled picture from inside her pocket and dropped it onto the table between them. It showed a picture of a young, smiling girl being held aloft in the hands of a man as a woman looked on adoringly.

  “I killed her parents.”

  Sandra took the picture from the table and studied it closely.

  “I killed her parents,” repeated J.D., “or if you prefer, I sacrificed them to the god of victory as surely as if I’d made an alt
ar and slit their throats myself. And I did it one hundred seventy-nine million times.”

  Sandra continued to listen quietly, placing the picture in her lap.

  J.D. did not ask for it back. “I’ve sacrificed homes, habitats, mosques, churches, and businesses. Damsah—an entire subplanetary system of Jupiter for victory. And I’ve been laying waste like this for the past six years. But I never felt it till now. Till—” J.D. looked at the ragged picture in the palm of Sandra’s hands. “—her.”

  “She does love you.”

  J.D. wiped a tear from her eye. “Do you have any idea how much that hurts?”

  “No.”

  “I sacrificed her parents and she loves me. And if I survive, what happens on the day the Unincorporated War ends? What happens when Katy looks at me and asks how come I didn’t show myself sooner? How come I didn’t go out and fight Gupta before he murdered her parents?”

  Sandra’s eyes remained fixed and absorbed.

  “I could’ve won and if I had, Jupiter would be Jupiter and not a place of ghosts and refugees. What do I say on the day she asks me why, when I had Gupta in my hands, I gave him back? What do I tell Katy on that day? What do I tell anyone? The Alliance loves me too, and that hurts almost as much. Their adulation is just as much a knife thrust into my chest as is Katy’s love. And every look of admiration is a deeper thrust. I lead them to death, Sandra, and they still love me. What do I tell them when they ask?”

  Sandra waited patiently. When she saw the question was no longer of a rhetorical nature, she said, “You tell them the truth, Janet. That you did sacrifice their homes and loved ones. That you did decide when to fight and when to wait. And that you did everything that was asked of you because we have only one narrow, twisted path we must walk and if we’re going to survive, we must walk it.”

  “For what?” demanded J.D. “The god of victory?”

  “Yes, the god of victory.”

  “But what if that god is too hungry? What if no matter how much I feed her, she keeps demanding more?”