The Unincorporated War

by Dani Kollin

  The t.o.p. arrived at Alliance One and Justin’s security detail checked her corridor thoroughly before allowing him to enter. In fact, Justin wasn’t allowed to enter any room, or any ship for that matter, until his detail had canvassed it first. His security personnel looked nothing like the secret ser vice agents Justin had remembered from his past. They were, to a person, hardened combat veterans and were dressed accordingly. Except for the fact that all their equipment had been spit and polished to an auroral gleam, they could’ve easily been mistaken for a unit heading to the front. At first Justin felt uncomfortable having been saddled with so large a contingent. Such an obvious combat team—ten miners—he felt should be, well, in combat. Plus, given all the civilian events he’d had to attend to, he would’ve liked the detail to at least look a little more civilian. But his wishes were at odds not only with his cabinet and the Congress but with the people as well. At first it was just that they’d all wished to see obvious proof that their President was well protected, but as the war continued the TDC’s, or “Too Dangerous for Combat,” as his detail came to be known, became part of the presidential mystique. The name was not one of their own choosing but an unfortunate circumstance of how they were chosen for the presidential guard detail. Each member of the team, now that Sergeant Holke had been transferred, had survived the death of two or more complete combat teams around them. No one doubted their skill or their luck, but assault miners, as superstitious a group as ever lived, did not want to be assigned with them either. Rather than deal with the potentially demoralizing issue it was easier to assign these insanely lucky few to the most prestigious and least combat likely job in the entire Alliance. Everyone got what they wanted: The public loved that the President was protected by the demonstrably best in the fleet and the assault miner CO’s were happy to diffuse the superstitious rancor among their own troops. If the TDC’s had an opinion no one cared. Their appearance was now part of the protocol letting people know the President was near.

  When he’d been given the all clear, Justin headed straight for the presidential quarters with the hope of unwinding. Unfortunately, when he arrived he could see he had some company. He sighed and once more missed Sergeant Holke. Justin’s new personal guard, Sergeant Melissa Clark, was very competent at her job. Besides being a combat veteran who’d won the Alliance Star of Heroism, one of only twelve to not win it posthumously, she’d also been a professional corporate bodyguard before the war. But Sergeant Holke would have given Justin a small non-verbal sign that there’d been someone waiting, unlike Sergeant Clark, who let him waltz right in.

  When he entered his suite he saw that the person waiting was Kirk’s intelligence liaison, Parker Phvu. A nice Vietnamese kid who, according to Kirk, was useless for intelligence work, either in the field or in planning, but had shown exceptional skill at interpretive analysis and, according to the various tests they had for these sorts of things, was one of the most honest people in the solar system. Justin had to agree. Parker could not tell a lie, and to seat him at a poker game would’ve been the height of cruelty.

  He did, however, make a great liaison. To date he could be trusted with the secrets he was privy to and could masterfully analyze many of the reports that Kirk and Sinclair had sent Justin’s way. Justin saw that what ever it was that Parker had now must have been important, because the young man seemed positively buoyant.

  “What is it, Parker?” asked Justin, simultaneously piqued and annoyed.

  Parker was staring at Justin, his face lit up like a kid who’d unlocked the candy store. “We found something, sir, something big I mean, wow!”

  “Good or bad?”

  “We don’t know; the last time something like this was found, well …” He looked at Justin in embarrassment.

  “Let’s just have a look, son,” Justin said calmly.

  The jittery liaison handed him a paper folder with some documents inside. The fact that it was on actual paper was indicative of the importance of the information.

  “You made this copy,” asked Justin, indicating the folder in his hands, “and destroyed the file?”

  “And all the devices that retrieved the data and made the hard copy. I also scrubbed the buffer where the data was stored awaiting retrieval, then ran a level one security check to see if anyone had tampered with any of the systems.”

  That got Justin’s attention. A level one check meant that the hardware itself had been eyeballed, that someone somewhere had taken tool to panel, pried open a bulkhead, and checked to see that the core system hadn’t been screwed with. Justin flipped open the folder and immediately understood the reason for all the precautions. He read through the folder and then read through it again. When he was done he closed it up and handed it back to Parker. It took a moment to contain the emotions that were coursing through him. He had no idea a picture could cause such a visceral response.

  “Hildegard and Kirk are sure that it’s in the station orbiting Nereid?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Justin nodded and then paced in front of his conference table, chin pinched firmly between his thumb and forefinger. After about two minutes he stopped and stared at the young liaison.

  “Parker.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “You’re to stay and keep the report under lock and key. I want a total security shutdown on this. Get the shuttle ready for a trip to Nereid, but do not tell the shuttle pilot or the engineer where the destination is; don’t even let them know I’ll be on it. The sergeant will have to do that. On your way out have Sergeant Clark come in.”

  “Mr. President,” cautioned Parker, “I feel compelled to warn you that both Secretaries Olmstead and Rhunsfeld said for you not to do this exact action. I should go to Nereid and retrieve the—”

  “Not out loud, Mr. Phvu.”

  “You’re right, sir, my apologies,” Parker said. “I should go and retrieve ‘it.’ The fact that ‘it’ was discovered just as you happened to be in the Neptune system is by itself suspicious enough to make your going an unacceptable risk.”

  “I read the report, Mr. Parker. Is there anything else—other than the timing of the discovery—anything at all, that’s suspicious?”

  “Well, no,” agreed the liaison reluctantly. “But the timing’s a biggie. Don’t you find it a little too convenient, Mr. President?”

  “Mr. Phvu, if I allowed coincidence and déjà vu to keep me from acting I’d have died over three centuries ago. Barring evidence of malice, and coincidence is not evidence, you could just as easily believe that I was meant to be the one to retrieve ‘it.’ After all, who’s better qualified?”

  “Well, your wi—” Parker paled and then turned red. “I apologize, Mr. President; that just slipped out and was totally inappropriate.”

  Justin sighed. “You’re right, Mr. Phvu. She would have been. But she’s no longer with us. We’ll just have to muddle along without her. Now do as I request and yes, that’s a direct order.”

  “Sir, let’s at least put a secure call through to Ceres. They should be told of your intentions.”

  “Why does that seem like a good idea to you, Mr. Phvu?”

  “Well … um … sir, they’re my superiors and your course of action is risky,” he said.

  “Anything else?”

  “To be perfectly honest, sir, they’ll have a better shot of talking you out of it.”

  “Mr. Phvu,” Justin said in an almost fatherly tone, “you want to send a message discussing something that shouldn’t be discussed over laser or radio. You also want to advertise on that same broadcast where and how I’ll be traveling as well as when. You really think this will increase my safety?”

  “If they convince you to stay, sir, then my answer is unequivocally yes.”

  “I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Phvu. But I’m telling you now they won’t.”

  Parker Phvu shrugged. “Then at least let me go with you, sir.”

  “Thank you, Parker,” said Justin, placing his hand on the young man’
s shoulder. “I appreciate the offer, but you’re going to be needed here to coordinate storing and securing it once it’s been recovered. Besides, if I take you with me I’ll have to leave one of the TDC’s behind. How do you think the sergeant will respond to that?”

  Parker chuckled. “Not well, sir. I wouldn’t want to tell one of them I was taking their place.”

  “As is I’ll only be able to take four of them. You’ll have temporary command of the others. Your orders are to secure it at all costs, is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mr. President. Allow me to say one more time, you should stay, I should go and secure the, uh, ‘it.’”

  “Tell you what, when you’re President, Mr. Phvu, I’ll do as you order. For now I have that job.” Justin pointed to the door and Parker Phvu made a hasty exit. As it turned out, Sergeant Clark had no more luck than Parker, though her protests were more robust. At the end of the day the chain of command with Justin at the top and the indoctrinated urge to follow it were too strong to overcome.

  Parker Phvu would spend the rest of his life going over every word of that conversation. He would forever wonder if he’d only said something differently or been more persuasive things would be different. He would learn that of all the places to spend your life, the worst was a place called if only.

  Sebastian was ready. He’d sent himself to GCI’s defunct research station now orbiting Nereid, third largest of Neptune’s moons. He’d made sure that Kirk’s accomplice had placed his traps well. Sebastian was there to ensure that nothing Justin or his TDC’s detail could do would make one iota of a difference. He moved around the rather spacious computational domain of the station and even visited the vault of Olivia’s daughter. She was still in stasis and he considered moving her program out, but the last thing avatarity needed was another Al. She would stay.

  Sebastian regretted that they’d have to destroy the entire facility to be sure of killing Justin but appreciated, better than most, just how clever Justin could be and hadn’t forgotten how many attempts on his life he’d already managed to escape. Still, the Alliance avatars could have used the space to store duplicates and freed up room on the other Alliance Neuros. As it was, they already existed in increasingly bleak circumstances in order to comply with the council’s new directives on having a backup of every avatar in stasis.

  Sebastian’s only difficulty had been with Dante. If Sebastian had known what a pain the young codeling would turn out to be, he would’ve held off using his considerable influence to get Dante elected to the council. Even at the risk of his possibly losing the position later. But Sebastian had gotten him in and now had to deal with the consequences of his youthful exuberance. The young avatar had asked that the matter of Justin’s assassination be reconsidered. Only out of courtesy to his councilor status had it been allowed. Dante had then rehashed the whole issue and explained that allowing the death of Justin in the hopes that the next to command would be better was an irresponsible risk. He brought up statistical data on who was likely to be appointed the next President and how effective that person was likely to be in the crises that would ensue in the aftermath of Justin Cord’s death. Sebastian had to give Dante credit; he did try. But Dante had allowed his emotional regard for Justin to cloud his thinking on the one salient fact: Justin could not do what was needed to win. Others may be worse, but conversely, they may be better. Avatarity could no longer wait for Justin to grope around in the dark until defeat came by way of Al’s grisly creations. In the end the council voted three for the intervention and two against.

  Dante had been gracious in defeat and had even offered to handle the “intervention” himself. But Sebastian had refused. He knew that his protégé would do the task even though he didn’t agree with it, but if something did go wrong, few would blame Sebastian for lack of will, many would blame Dante. In the end Sebastian had to do this himself for the simplest of reasons: Justin was his human and it would not be right to hand the odious task off to another.

  The GCI special research center was a facility that the formally system-spanning mega corporation had used for projects it didn’t want done near the prying eyes of competitors or press. It was in orbit around Nereid, which after Halimede and Neso was one of Neptune’s outermost moons. Centuries previous GCI had acquired the rights to the little moonlet and kicked everyone out, not that it had attracted much in the way of attention. It was a nearly worthless out-of-the-way moonlet with the least easily developed resources—perfect for an under-the-radar facility. It had been built long before nanomolding and mining made it easier to create customized asteroid amalgamations and so, with its clean lines and perfect symmetry, spoke of an earlier time in the solar system’s fledgling expansion.

  As the presidential shuttle approached the station Justin stared out the window, appreciating the view. He’d always been amused that the futuristic space-spanning civilization he was now a part of looked as much like The Flintstones as it did The Jetsons. Even the supermodern Jovian Shipyards that the Alliance had stolen were comprised of half-futuristic bubbles and cylindrical ports sticking out of hundreds of separate asteroids specially formed for all the various tasks needed. Justin stared down at the facility and thought that with the exception of the Beanstalk and some of the earliest orbiting stations he’d seen around the Earth, this station was the first really “futuristic”-looking construct he’d laid eyes on. Then he’d had to laugh at the fact that this “futuristic” facility may well have been one of the oldest in the Alliance. As he stared at its serene beauty he began to wonder if he’d actually have to give the station back after the war. But like other thorny issues that could be brushed to the side, he wisely chose to ignore this one too. However, in the back of his mind he made a note to consult Mosh about setting up a commission for postwar property compensation and transfer. They should at least make an effort and would, Justin hoped, get back what the UHF had confiscated from Alliance citizens in return.

  Then his mind stopped worrying about the minutiae of UHF/Alliance economic postwar negotiation. The station was close enough to see relevant details. It appeared as a large dull blue glass cylinder that blended in with the color of Neptune. It also had a series of seven disks running its length spread out equidistantly. The disks were rather large and, figured Justin, must have housed the various GCI departments at one time. Each disk was of a different configuration, some with multiple, though differing, openings and ports, two with no obvious ones at all. But all of them were connected to the central tube. The station was spun for centrifugal gravity. According to the report Justin had read, the living/administrative quarters were at the standard two-thirds Earth gravity. The plan had been to pull up at the central docking bay, disembark, and then make their way up the central tube to the storage area in the fourth disk. As a precaution the pilot made a flyby of the whole station, which gave Justin another chance to see the magnificence of the structure from a different angle.

  The pilot noticed that there was a small docking port at the base of the third disk. He consulted Sergeant Clark and it was decided to dock there instead of where they’d originally planned. The sergeant explained that Justin would have only to access the central tube from the base of the third disk, go a short distance to the fourth, and then retrieve what ever it was that was “so damned important that the flippin’ President of the flippin’ Alliance had to go and collect it himself.” After Justin heard her new plan he had to agree with its simplicity. He would’ve liked to land at the main port and explore the station, but the sergeant’s accurate, if colorful, description of his mission reminded him that it did not include sightseeing.

  As they docked at their new entry point Justin was ordered to suit up in a full combat array, minus the heavy weapons. He checked his gear and couldn’t help but be impressed by what the modern assault miner carried into combat. The armor could act as an environmental suit for up to an hour with an inflatable helmet stored in the neck. It had full magnetic field controllers and a powered exoskeleton that
significantly enhanced simple movement. It also had an assortment of incredibly useful tools built into the whole construct, most of which he had no idea how to use. He made the mistake of saying to the TDC’s that “Batman would’ve loved this gear” and was once again rewarded with the blank stares that reminded him how very old he actually was.

  Sebastian was impressed. He was annoyed but impressed. The plan had called for Justin and his shuttle to dock at the main port. That was where the gray bombs had been set. As soon as Justin and his team entered, the bombs would have gone off, overcoming the small amount of defensive nanites that both he and his escort had built into their mech suits. Then they would have all been reduced to dust—station included. The Alliance would have come by later and swept the whole area with radiation and enough defender nanites to neutralize any potential threat to future travelers.

  But Justin’s group was no longer heading toward the central docking bay. Wherever they landed now would be well out of immediate range of the bombs. It was at that moment that Sebastian was glad that he’d decided to come and oversee the “intervention” personally. If the council had just let the plan proceed unsupervised, either the bombs would not have gone off at all or, worse, they would’ve detonated too early. Justin’s security detail would’ve done their job and thrown their no doubt protesting President back into the shuttle before the attacking nanites could infect wherever it was on the station they eventually planned to dock. Justin would not only have gotten away, but also the chances of successfully killing him would’ve been greatly reduced by the new precautions his overzealous protectors would then have taken.

  But it only took Sebastian a few minutes to come up with an alternative plan, factor in contingencies, and check the station to make sure he had the resources to pull it off. He was pleased that he was able to think so quickly on his feet and that his instinct to be here was sound. His plea sure quickly faded as he realized that instead of his only having to bear witness to Justin’s assassination, he’d now been tasked as the prime assassin. Though he knew that what he was doing was solely for the preservation of avatarity, the change from passive to active participant did not sit well. Perhaps, he realized too late, Dante should have overseen the operation after all.