The Unincorporated Future (13 page)

Tricia and Irma’s snorts of derision were immediately silenced by a look from Hektor, who continued to watch the performance intently.

“Kirk,” informed Sandra, “discovered a breach in our internal security system. He didn’t call it in or get someone else to do the job. Time was of the essence, and he acted. And in his final act, he managed to save us all.”

Act indeed,
mused Hektor.

“I cannot go into more details now,” insisted Sandra, “but when I can, I’ll shout Kirk Olmstead’s bravery from the rings of Saturn to the crowded Halls of Eris. He’ll forever be remembered as the hero he was. His death, as it is with all the rest of our brothers and sisters, will not be forgotten—and by the loving God they will not”—her voice quaked with passion—“have been in vain.” The holo cut out before the cheering erupted. Tricia and Irma turned to Hektor, but before they could say a word, the President of the United Human Federation and avowed champion of forced universal incorporation brought his hands together in a thunderous clap. Then he did it again, and again until he was clapping as if he were there on Ceres himself.

UHFS
Liddel
Orbit around Ceres
Hour 72

“Admiral,” Trang’s XO said, not hiding his exultation, “the last orbital batteries have been disabled.”

The XO’s joy was reflected in Trang’s face.

“Admiral,” interjected the comm officer, “call from the
Atlanta.
Admiral Jackson wishes to confer.”

Trang nodded and Zenobia’s face appeared.

“One day to spare,” Trang said, gratified.

“We won’t need a day,” countered Zenobia. “This fleet can get it done in ten minutes, now.”

“We can,” answered Trang, allowing a brief pause, “but we won’t. We’re going to maintain position and fire down both ends of the Via Cereana and destroy as much as we can for two solid hours. Then and only then we will send the minimum number of ships needed to plant our atomic gift cards and then get the hell out.”

“Permission for the
Atlanta
to be one of those ships, sir. I’d love to be the last ship to ever use the Via Cereana.”

“Permission denied, and you can stop that scowling. There is a very good chance that the ships going in will not come out. If the Cereans realize they have nothing to lose, they could blow up the Via themselves, taking Ceres and whatever ships we send in there with them. War rarely gives us the luxury of time. We will do this slowly and we will do it right.”

Zenobia’s face couldn’t hide her disappointment.

Trang looked to the weapons officer. “The fleet will fire at programmed targets. On my order.”

Bump Station 192
Via Cereana
Ceres

Sandra could only pray the information she’d input, gleaned from the avatars’ surveillance and recording of Hildegard Rhunsfeld’s activities, would work. There was no time to fix anything if this went wrong.

She waited anxiously for all the bump stations to report in, then watched with relief as the targeting program came online—in all of them. One by one, each station began to grab tens of metal ingots about the size of softballs and position them for firing.

“This is exit rail gun control,” she said calmly, staring out into the empty Via, “we are active.”

Over the intercom, Sandra heard Kenji’s voice. “Entrance rail gun control reporting. We are active. I repeat, we are active.” Then, ever so softly, she heard Kenji whisper, “This is for you, Hildegard.”

And lo it came to pass that all the mighty fortresses defending the Holy Road of the Holy City were destroyed and the enemies’ greatest warrior was joyful. His master, the devourer of souls, would feast well with the death of the Holy City and the Children of the Stars that dwelled within. But the Warrior had not realized that the Anointed Woman was a child of the Creator and she called on the guiding spirit to abandon not his children in their greatest hour of need, and lo he did not. For the Anointed Woman was given the power to control the very rocks of the Holy City and she did command them to rise up and rush out and destroy the enemy as its gathered storm swarmed in. And lo, its moment of triumph became a moment of bitter defeat. For who can stand against the righteous when the righteous stand with the Lord.

—
The Astral Testament
Book VII, 3: 107–109

UHFS
Atlanta
Orbit of Ceres
Hour 82

Zenobia paced her quarters in a rage, waiting. They’d been
so
close. All they needed was one ship and ten minutes to bore into the rock and place the atomics. Five, properly placed in the center, would have done the trick. But then as they’d tried firing down the mouth of the Via Cereana, the damn thing had started firing back. Every shot of the fleet’s was met by one from the Via. It was as if Ceres herself were spitting contemptuously at her aggressors. For hours, Trang tried every maneuver and every combination of ship and shot, but couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried, get anything through. Finally, he called off the attack and ordered the fleet to consolidate far above Ceres and away from her venomous mouth. It was only then that he’d called for a meeting with Zenobia—in person, on her ship.

When he finally came through her door, he didn’t greet Zenobia in his usual ruminative manner. Instead he entered as if giving orders on the deck of his command sphere, midbattle.

“I say we take her out now.”

“Admiral?” asked Zenobia, looking askance at the stranger standing in her room.

Trang gave Zenobia a penetrating look that made her want to melt into the floor. He smoothed the protruding vein on his forehead. “I would have thought
you,
of all people, Zenobia, would welcome the opportunity for a rematch.”

“Sir, this ground is cursed, and we’ll be fighting an enemy with too many advantages.”

“Nonsense!” barked Trang. “Black’s at only two-thirds strength, and the ships that do get here are going to be beat to hell. On top of that, her crews have got to be stretched to the breaking point after four days of all-out acceleration—gel couches or not. And finally, their gas tanks are on
E,
” he said, using the old adage.

“All of that is true, sir,” Zenobia answered, “but our ships are damaged as well. And maybe we haven’t been flying across the solar system at idiotic speeds, but we have been fighting hard this entire time. Our fuel gauges might not be on empty, but they’re a long way from full and we’re a long way from home—not to mention dangerously low on ordnance. We have hardly any atomics, rail gun shot, or missiles left. All of which means we’d have to win that battle in three passes, maybe only two.”

“I’ve won against worse odds, Zenobia.”

“Not against her, Sam,” Zenobia said, purposely using Trang’s name, desperate for a means to break through to the man. She saw anger flash across his face, an emotion that seemed so unnatural there. She’d seen him mad, but this was different.

Zenobia grasped the sides of his arms. “If I were out here by myself, Sam, and you were back on Earth and I was facing Legless—and I know I could take Legless—what would you advise me to do?”

Trang smiled acidly. “I would advise you to get the hell out of here.”

Zenobia met his smile with an understanding grin and released her grasp. “Admiral, let’s get the hell out of here. We’ve hurt the Alliance badly. They have to evacuate Jupiter, and Ceres is a destroyed husk of its former self. It will be years before they get even close to what they were. But if we fight a battle out here and lose, we won’t make it back to UHF space, and the war will be over, and everything we’ve fought for will be for naught. Remember, sir, we can rebuild,
they cannot.
”

Trang listened, nodding very slowly.

“Let’s go home, sir. Let’s build a really big fleet and then let’s go to Saturn and beat the living shit out of Black. She’s not going anywhere now, can’t go anywhere now.”

“Okay, Zenobia. But we can’t leave just yet,” said Trang.

“Sir?”

“Have you considered,” said Trang, left eyebrow raised, “that the objects approaching might not be J. D. Black’s fleet at all?”

“You really think—?” Zenobia began.

“They’ve done it before.”

“Martian Gates and the Needle’s Eye,” Zenobia said quietly.

“They could be her ships, or they could be old ore carriers, or they could be ice with attached propulsion units. How would it look if it was discovered that we fled from a fleet of fearsome … icebergs?”

Zenobia blanched at the thought. “What do we do?”

“We prepare for battle well ahead of Ceres. Twenty million miles should do,” he said. “If it’s not J.D.’s fleet, they’ll float right by us and maybe we can cannibalize them for parts. But if it is J.D., she’ll have to burn even more of her fuel to stop and fight us or, more likely, just exchange a volley as she passes on her way to Ceres. Your analysis of our situation is, of course, correct, Zenobia, and as much as I’d like to, I won’t go out of my way to make a battle happen. After the one pass, we’ll use the last of our atomics to boost for home. We’ll have at least covered our asses, and Irma can do whatever she wants to spin it after that.”

VICTORY!!! TRANG RETREATS!

Despite taking horrendous damage during the journey from Jupiter to Ceres J. D. Black’s fleet managed to arrive in good order and just in time to battle the forces of Admirals’ Trang and Jackson. One pass, causing the enemy a significant amount of damage, was all it took for Admiral Black’s fleet to force Trang and Jackson to retreat back to Mars. Apparently, the UHF is not interested in attacking when they go up against someone actually willing to fight. Long live the Blessed One and long live the Outer Alliance.

—The Clara Roberts Show
AIR Network (Alliance Information Radio)

AWS
Warprize II
Ceres orbit
Hour 95 and 55 minutes

“Fleet reports all ships have achieved orbit, Admiral.” Fatima was glowing with pride. “You did it, Admiral, by the will of Allah, you did it!”

J.D. looked at her command sphere crew and saw that they too were beaming but, all proper spacers, had suppressed their joy.

“Well, then,” said J.D. as a smile emerged from the scarred half of her face, “I suppose we should celebrate.”

All the tension, fear, hope, and struggle of the previous eight days suddenly exploded into a storm of wild cheering and applause that followed just as quickly with the rest of the fleet. The celebration then spread to the thoroughfares of Ceres, which hadn’t experienced anything of that magnitude since the Outer Alliance’s first victory all those many years ago. As word spread, everyone in the Alliance eventually took part in the hoopla, including those fleeing the destruction and even those under occupation.

J.D. nodded stiffly, forcing a wan smile to remain pasted to her mouth. The rest of the free worlds would get to have their moment of unmitigated joy and celebration; she, however, would not. While the victory had been great, the blood it had been purchased with was still too much for her to accept. J.D. listened and watched as if all were occurring in slow motion—but she was millions of miles away, standing in the darkest part of her being, screaming to no one, cursing the evil that had made her odious in both appearance and essence, and desperately seeking absolution from 179 million people whom she’d had to let die in order that the rest of the Outer Alliance could live.

3 An Eye for an Eye

Cerean Neuro

Sandra O’Toole peered through the classroom door window and had an epiphany—children of code were just as important to her as children of matter; after all, she’d reasoned, the love she felt for each was visceral and unearthly. She gathered herself and then stepped quietly into the room, unannounced.

The teacher looked up from the book she’d been reading aloud and noticed the visitor. The teacher was, noticed Sandra, the very same woman she’d scared half to death on her first encounter with avatarity and also the same woman who’d sounded the alarm about the attack on the children. However, unlike that first day where she’d become frozen in fear, this time she smiled invitingly.

“Do come in,” she said as every child’s’ head whipped around to see who’d interrupted
Gulliver’s Travels
.