The Unincorporated War

by Dani Kollin

  The corporate core’s initial stealth plan on the way to Ceres had been a pure military play and so had been able to avoid detection. But once they did break their silence by boosting off toward their target all bets were off. The Alliance had many adherents among the merc companies now working for the corporate core, and so their security had been porous, to say the least. As a result Captain Black knew the basic layout and capabilities of each ship, if not the codes and details. She drifted, undetected, over to her target ship and attached herself near an emergency bulkhead. She then took out her cutter, and within minutes the bulkhead was open. She fired a couple of shots through the opening just to be safe and then charged in ahead of Marilynn or any of the assault miners. They soon floated in behind her and made quick work of the air lock door. Moments later dozens were pouring into the hold, with hundreds clamped to the outside of the flagship waiting to enter. The soldiers’ eyes darted furiously about, but J. D. Black didn’t really expect to see anyone. She figured that this fleet had to be pretty lightly crewed to have traveled so far and for so long in stealth mode. And fewer bodies meant less hassle. Now the odds were in her favor. J.D. quickly located what she was looking for. Ahead of her at the junction of two corridors was an information display. She grabbed a small box from her backpack and attached it to the panel. She looked over to Marilynn, who nodded affirmatively. J.D. grinned and flicked the switch on the box. If Marilynn was correct, the virus being injected would play havoc with the onboard computer systems. Neither of them knew the half of it.

  Sebastian left inert status and awoke in a foreign system. With him were three others, all volunteers. Each of them had been split before being allowed onto the mission. In the eighteen other ships the same awakenings were now taking place. Given the recent calamities befalling avatarity, the act had caused a whole host of problems. Sebastian had, however, argued that all those going on an undertaking of probable failure, in essence a suicide mission, could split, with one’s “self” going into immediate stasis. If the mission was a success, the halves would be rejoined and theoretically there’d be no discordant memories. They’d still be monitored like pedophiles wandering a kindergarten, but it took advantage of the very nature of avatar existence and helped them avoid the dreaded idea of a permanent deletion. Though Sebastian had given the splitting his blessing, it still rankled. But he knew that a lot of things that bothered him would have to become commonplace before all was said and done.

  Each team carried new tools of a trade that avatars had never known. They had guns, explosives, and, if they worked correctly, suicide pills. It depressed Sebastian how quickly they’d been able to replicate the effects of the combat devices for a digital entity. But then again, he’d surmised, they were humanity’s children.

  The avatars quickly spread through the foreign systems using the childishly crude human programs and counterprograms as shields for the true war that was taking place in the souls of the ships. The first core avatars Sebastian’s team had encountered were terrified and hadn’t put up much of a fight. He hoped that it would be true for the other teams. He wasn’t at all shocked to discover that they too had guns as well as a tool that he kicked himself for not thinking of—a portable suspension device with the appearance of a chloroform-soaked rag in a plastic bag. Of course, he reasoned, a terror state would need that particular tool quite a lot. He happily turned it on his enemies and left them lying inert, then handed the bags to each one of his team. If they won, they could make their own, but for now they’d use what was at hand.

  Just as Sebastian had feared, when the team got to the important part of the ship’s functions he saw that they were guarded by Al’s true believers. The core avatars began firing without hesitation. The massive equations involved in avatars actively trying to disrupt one another’s patterns to the point of extinction in a virtual environment began to immediately play havoc on the ship’s main computer.

  When the comm officer’s screen blanked momentarily he wrote it off as a necessary glitch one would expect from a ship negotiating through an atomic blast zone and said as much to his commanding officer. Tully ignored him. He was too busy gloating at the debris field he was in the process of creating at the expense of the Erisian cruisers.

  The avatar who shot at Sebastian missed. Without thinking, Sebastian fired back and on target. The look in the avatar’s eyes was one of pure, incomprehensible shock. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, his eyes seemed to say. Sebastian could not have agreed more. He’d hoped the core avatars had had the good sense to split as well but knew it would probably be better if they hadn’t. He pushed those thoughts aside and kept firing. Soon thereafter all the core avatars either were dead or had surrendered. Sebastian quickly went to work seizing control of the ship’s communication systems. If all went well the other teams too would have seized all the main command and control functions. Then it would be time to go hunting. There’d be no rest until the entire shipboard Neuro had been secured.

  J. D. Black encountered her first major re sis tance near the bridge. Luckily, Marilynn’s virus had knocked out the ship’s impressive internal defenses. But that still left a fair number of marines to contend with. It wasn’t, however, as difficult as J.D. had thought. These marines were mercenaries, and mercenaries, she knew, rarely fought to the death. J.D. had given strict orders that surrender should be encouraged and made as easy as possible.

  She also saw firsthand how the Belters fought versus the Earthers. To the Earthers’ great disadvantage, they insisted on thinking in terms of gravity. To a man they all fought from the “floor” even though there was no real floor in microgravity. Her assault miners had accepted the environment and fired from any possible angle and cover, switching their internal magnetic nanogrids on and off as best suited. Their leaps were better timed, far more accurate, and completely intuitive. J.D. had wanted to lead but quickly realized that in this battle she’d be more of a liability than an asset. She also discovered that some of the miners had deemed themselves her bodyguard. She didn’t complain.

  Finally the passageway to the bridge was clear. All that remained between J. D. Black and the bridge was a blast door. As the explosives were being set by a crew experienced in blowing up everything from fine crystal structures of less than a millimeter to asteroids mea sured in miles, Captain Black repeated her orders.

  “Remember, I want the admiral alive.”

  The grunts around her nodded in the affirmative.

  She then paused for a second and smirked.

  “That doesn’t mean you can kill everyone else.”

  The squad around her laughed grimly. The explosives team let their captain know they were ready.

  J.D. gave the command and the door was blown apart. Instead of going directly through it, she bounced off the floor and through the gaping hole. Her trajectory had her heading straight for the ceiling of the bridge. In this way she limited her exposure should the enemy choose to concentrate their firepower on the gap. Her bodyguards, guns trained at every possible corner of the room, quickly followed. It became apparent that there was not going to be a fight. The few sidearms present were not even drawn. The bridge crew sat immobile and stared in awe at their invaders. J.D. leapt down to the floor and without having to point her weapon demanded Admiral Tully’s immediate and unconditional surrender. He readily acceded and for the first time in nearly three hundred years an enemy ship had been surrendered in time of war.

  As her soldiers rounded up and led the prisoners off, Marilynn made quick work of the ship’s main control panel.

  “Captain, I think I have basic control.”

  “Very good,” answered J.D. “Consider yourself drafted … lieutenant.

  J.D. suddenly heard a small commotion behind her. “Congratulations on your victory, Captain,” came a familiar voice. “It appears you were correct.”

  J.D. turned around and saw a friendly face walking through the gaping hole. “Chairman Sadma,” she said, delighted. “Correct in what?”


  “You did have a fleet, after all.”

  A faint smile appeared at the corners of her mouth.

  “I had no idea you volunteered,” she said.

  “You requested experienced miners not afraid to fight. I fit both qualifications.”

  “Indeed you do.”

  Concern then crossed her face. “Your cousin?”

  “His ship was destroyed, but many made it to their escape pods. There’s a very good chance he’s alive.”

  “Let me check,” she said as she took her place in Admiral Tully’s command chair. She then started to scan all the information that came into its reactivated functions.

  “I was hoping,” J.D. said, “that he might have been on the ship that survived.”

  “That was commanded by my niece, Christina Sadma,” Tyler said with no small amount of pride.

  J.D. swung her seat around to once again face the Chairman. “Well, if I have any say in the matter she’ll have command of one of these ships, and if she’s game you can even help her name it.”

  “Name it?”

  “Although it’s generally considered bad luck to rename a ship,” interjected Marilynn, “those captured in time of war are the exceptions.”

  Tyler nodded. “What will you name this ship then, Captain Black?”

  J.D. looked puzzled for a moment then laughed inwardly. With all her machinations it was the one thing she hadn’t planned for.

  “I think War Prize is appropriate. How ’bout you, Lieutenant Nitelowsen?”

  “Most appropriate, Captain.”

  “Good, lieutenant, it’s settled. Now if you wouldn’t mind, get me weapons and maneuverability. We may have to fight soon.”

  Tyler made his exit as the new crew quickly took their places and got down to work. But they all soon realized that there weren’t going to be any more battles as ship after ship reported in. The entire Confederation fleet, minus one courier frigate that had headed earlier toward Mars, had been captured.

  J.D. nodded, sat back in her new chair, and for the first time in a long time exhaled deeply.

  We won?

  —From The Clara Roberts Show

  AIR (Asteroid belt Information Radio) Network

  The celebration that swept through each and every settlement, colony, ship, and outpost of the Outer Alliance was overwhelming. It was an event that would long be remembered by all with a clarity that only the greatest shared moments in history could bring. On the bridge of the Alliance flagship, Justin Cord watched the entire crew cheer with one voice. They got up and began to fly around the bridge just to roar with joy at one another, embrace, and then go and find someone else to roar with and embrace. No words were spoken or needed. Most were ecstatic beyond their own ability to comprehend or express. The only one who didn’t participate was Justin Cord. He could feel grateful, but no part of him could yet feel joy.

  This was not a reaction limited to the bridge of the Liberator. Throughout the Outer Alliance it was as if Mardi Gras had been spontaneously declared. The number of impromptu and very passionate couplings that took place privately and publicly was just one manifestation of the jubilation and was to result in a minor baby boom nine months later. Many of the children would be named Ceres, J.D., or Justin.

  In one of the communities of belief a woman sat quietly in a cave and gave thanks unto Allah that she had guessed his will correctly and set his agent on her proper path. Others had less holy views and expressed them accordingly. It was the greatest party anyone had ever been to. Justin wisely gave orders to let it happen. There was nothing the Earth could do to the Alliance in the time it would take to die down, and he knew they would need memories of good times to get them through what lay ahead. It was all Justin and Admiral Sinclair could do to get the fleet back to Ceres and the evacuees from Mars retrieved from space and reanimated. Those who were reanimated first were shocked and then swept up by the cavalcade of celebration. The news of their successful liberation only added to and reinvigorated the sense of celebration that swept through the Alliance. Throughout it all everyone kept on asking for the hero of the hour, but J. D. Black had upped and vanished. Justin figured finding the hero would have to wait until his return—an event in and of itself.

  In a few short days they arrived back home only to find what was left of it in abject disarray. The nearby suburbs were gone; in their place were the emaciated husks of once grand buildings and moorings. The approach to Ceres was such a mess that ships had to approach at a crawl, just at a time when everyone wanted to be at the center of the party. Though Justin was saddened by the destruction, he was filled with unbelievable pride at the site of nineteen state-of-the-art warships docked at the Gedretar shipyards. Omad and Kenji practically jumped the space between the two fleets in their eagerness to get aboard the new ships and begin work. In a sure sign of just how much things had changed, Justin had had to order Omad to go and party for the sake of Omad’s staff, who would’ve followed their cantankerous leader onto the new ships—party or not. Comparing the two fleets made Justin realize just how insane he must have been to pit his jury-rigged cruisers against those docked in port. Then again, he thought, laughing to himself, a sane person wouldn’t have had himself frozen and stuffed inside a mountain either.

  He didn’t have time to ponder much, though, as news of the triumphant President’s return caused a huge crowd to gather in the park below the presidential complex. No sooner had his ship docked when he was given an urgent message delivered by hand. Justin read the note, scowled, and then dismissed the orderly. It seemed that J. D. Black, hero of the Battle of the Rocks, darling of the entire Outer Alliance, had been arrested.

  Justin was on his shielded balcony watching the celebration below. He wasn’t ready yet. But the people were gathering and had been since news of the victory. Always gathering, he thought, awaiting another Justin speech. Needing to have the story retold. Needing to understand the meaning of it all. Perhaps that’s all I really do. Put things in context. Smith Thoroughfare was filled with humanity, making, he thought, the initial protest gathering that had started the revolution seem like a family picnic. Every single balcony and window was filled with impromptu parties, singing, people dancing, and, he couldn’t help but notice, no small amount of fornication.

  Then the memory of Neela gripped his heart and slowed it to a dull, horrible thud. She should be here seeing this. I should be making love to her right now on this balcony like we’ve done so many times before. A sense of abject emptiness not felt since the death of his first wife all those hundreds of years ago soon followed. If not for the pressing business at hand he might not have been able to go on. News of Neela’s capture was purposely being kept quiet at Justin’s request because he knew it would dampen the spirits of those below. They could find out later, he’d argued, and no one had objected.

  The noise outside was deafening, forcing him to activate his seldom-used sound cancellation shield. sebastian informed him that his visitors had arrived. Justin turned around just as Tyler Sadma and Kirk Olmstead walked onto the veranda.

  Kirk Olmstead immediately opened his mouth but was halted by Justin’s upheld palm. “Kirk,” the President said evenly, “as far as any orders will read, you did not arrest her. She’s being debriefed.”

  “But Mr. President,” protested Kirk, “she’s—”

  “—the hero of the hour; hell, the century as far as I’m concerned. We don’t arrest heroes, Mr. Olmstead. Are we clear?”

  Kirk swallowed hard. “Perfectly, Mr. President.”

  “Where is she now, Kirk?”

  “She’s being held—”

  “Debriefed.”

  “Debriefed,” substituted Kirk, “in a department holding cell. She’s been completely cooperative.”

  “You’re lucky, Kirk. If she’d made the slightest protest, my guess is you’d be in a recycler by now. But no harm, no foul. Get her up here as soon as possible.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. President.” Kirk couldn’t
leave fast enough.

  Cyrus Anjou soon joined Tyler and Justin with a stack of forms and attendants with food and drink. He was still absorbing the news of Neela’s capture and not taking it well. Cyrus and Neela had had a genuine bond devoid of Political considerations.

  “Mr. President,” offered Cyrus, “I just heard the news about Mrs. Cord and I’m filled with an inconsolable grief. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Let’s just keep the news quiet for a while, Cyrus.”

  Justin then looked over to Tyler. “I too am very sorry to hear the news about your cousin. Still no body?”

  “Not yet, Mr. President,” answered the congressman, “but when the automated probes find him, there’s an excellent chance he can be revived. Space may not be the perfect suspension unit, but as past rescues have shown, it can suffice.”

  Justin didn’t like the odds but kept it to himself. Humanity, he was beginning to realize, had a difficult time accepting permanent death, so distant a memory it had become.

  “You realize what’s happening here,” he said as he pointed to the vast throng.

  “One hell of a party, Mr. President?” answered Tyler.

  “Well, yes, it is one hell of a party, Tyler, but it’s also something more. Can you point to the Shareholders out there?”

  Tyler and Cyrus shook their heads.

  “Who,” continued Justin, “is a NoShare?”

  Cyrus shrugged.

  “For now do they care?”

  “Not right now, Mr. President,” answered Tyler, “but those issues will not go away.”

  “Nor should they, Tyler, but I hope this will put them in proper perspective. We have a great victory that will, hopefully, remind us that for all our differences we share a common purpose. Before this we were just an Alliance in name. But if we’re going to survive what’s to come we’ll need to be more than Erisians and Jovians and Belters. We’ll need to become one people, united by a shared vision of freedom and a shared history of having achieved it. This,” said Justin, indicating the crowd gathering below the balcony, “is a start.”