The Unincorporated War (11 page)

Any humans bothering to look at the Neuro would, for all intents and purposes, think that some heavy virus and anti-virus programming was going on, which, given modern warfare, was to be expected. Fortunately, thought Sebastian, humanity had been conditioned by generations of training to think of it as nothing more.

In addition to the outbreak of war, Sebastian had been distracted by a ritual most men, physical or virtual, could commiserate with. He’d decided that when he and Evelyn got back to Ceres he’d ask her to join him in a pairing—an event in avatarity more or less like marriage. Less because it was without a contract, more because unlike humans, avatars could share
everything,
including their memories and thoughts. Action, not ceremony, made the binding absolute. It was never done all at once and usually took years of real, as opposed to virtual, time. Pairings could end in a minute or last over a century. But ultimately a successful pairing could result in the coalescence of the two avatars into a brand-new identity—a rare event. More typically the pairing would create a bond of trust and sharing of knowledge on a level unmatched by any human. Alternatively, the avatars could also end up hating each other with that same heightened degree of passion. That was the reason why the process was done so rarely and slowly. Sebastian had been amused by the rumors that he and Alphonse had once been paired, given their current state of animus. But the truth was that Sebastian had never been paired and only now had it entered into the realm of possibility. He’d known Evelyn for a long time, and some of his most cherished memories had involved her. He was also beginning to realize that Evelyn had probably been manipulating him on that score. He wasn’t sure which was more amusing, her machinations or the fact that it had taken him over one hundred years to finally figure it out. It was only when he’d seen how the recent risks he’d been taking had caused her more than concern that the lightbulb had switched on. Sebastian had some secrets he hadn’t been ready to share, but now seemed as good a time as any. Knowing that one avatar, Al, bore him so much hatred as to want his death made Sebastian realize how important it was to accept an avatar who actually loved him.

“Hello, sebastian?” asked Justin impatiently. “Have you connected yet?”

“Stand by, Justin. I’m breaking through now.”

Justin’s DijAssist revealed a holodisplay of Kenji Isozaki. He could see the chief engineer but could barely hear him for all the shouting going on in the background.

“Mr. Isozaki, what on Earth … um … Mars… is all that racket?”

“I’m sorry for the noise, Mr. President,” shouted Kenji above the fray, “but Omad is explaining to some recruits the way not to be thrown out an air lock.”

Justin was taken aback. “I don’t understand, Mr. Isozaki. We’re on a planet.”

“Ah yes, Mr. President, but if they don’t do what Omad-san has politely requested he is promising to take them with him when he leaves and
then
kick them out an air lock. He is also promising to find their ancestors and descendants living, dead, and yet to be born, show them what an incompetent job the sorry representatives of their families are doing, and let them throw the incompetent ones out the air lock to save him the trouble.”

Justin laughed. “Sounds like Omad.”

“I must admit, sir,” answered the chief engineer, “he is the most inventive man I have ever met in the art of the rant.”

“More to the point, Mr. Isozaki, how is the project going?”

“On schedule, Mr. President.”

“Then let’s not disturb Omad on his motivational lecture. Whatever he’s doing seems to be working.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that Justin signed off.

Neela’s unit had found themselves in a seaside village at the northern end of the island. The enclave had a population of about forty thousand, with a main industry of tourism, primarily offering fishing charters and bed-and-breakfast accommodations. The climate was decidedly Mediterranean and the local vineyards were, according to Neela’s research, supposedly quite good, with cuttings from Northern California and Oregon. She’d already purchased a few of the select varietals for her husband. He was a bit of a wine snob and insisted that he could taste the difference between grapes grown with centrifugal versus planetary gravity. She was going to see how one-third Earth normal affected his braggadocio.

Neela was sitting atop a large unopened stack of ordnance. The tower of armaments had been piled neatly at the far end of a central square. She’d climbed, or rather, given the low gravity, leapt up to the top of the boxes to take a break.

As she stared down from her perch at the hustle and bustle below, she realized just how much she’d come to think of the unit as her own. They were typical
of most grunts found in the mining community: mostly gruff, unkempt as a point of pride, and with seemingly more brawn than brains. But she’d found that, true to the cliché, they were equally the most sincere and honest group of people she’d ever had the plea sure of spending time with. She’d always dreaded the prospect of getting sent to do basic cryonic revive work in the belt. The idea of dealing with miners like these on a day-to-day basis had actually inspired her to work harder so that she’d never have to face that prospect. But life interfered with her plans; Justin interfered with her plans. And now she’d come to the realization that her errant viewpoint had been the result of a lifetime of prejudice. It was the strangest thing about the world that Justin and, she begrudgingly had to admit, she herself were in the process of creating. Neela had never really known how much incorporation had influenced her every precept until it was gone. When she thought about it, she’d realized that she’d almost always judged a person by either their stock or, conversely, the stock of others that they’d owned. The irony was that the reanimationist had been, in a way, reborn by the patient. Neela now had a new last name, as well as a new life and a new job, both taking shape within the confines of a new philosophical system. And on top of everything, the grunts now laboring below were closer in some ways than the family she’d left behind. And she didn’t own a single share of any of them. They too were all well aware of the celebrity in their midst, and short of the occasional request for a photo op, Neela had been given no special treatment and had been required to fulfill all the duties incumbent on her rank and station. It had been, she realized in the quiet space she’d managed to carve out for herself, downright liberating.

Though she’d signed on as a medic, her skills had rarely been called on. Skirmishes were light if non-existent, and the unit, as in her husband’s case, had been met more with curiosity than with gunfire. For most on the island any opportunity to sell tchotchkes was fine with them, no matter which side of the solar system someone decided to drop in from. In fact, the only real serious injury had come about when one young man had accidentally shot himself. He’d apparently been showing off on a tele-link for his chums back home. His leg had been mangled and shattered beyond recognition. In order to perform a clean cauterization, Neela had used a vibrating molecular cutter and sliced off the wreckage that was the end of the leg. It took all of eleven seconds. She then made sure he got a blood transfusion, and once she saw him safely on his way she headed straight for the nearest latrine and promptly threw up. Reviving a suspendee was one thing; closing up mangled flesh was quite another. Fortunately, the only other injury of note was the broken ankle caused by a woman’s jumping from a transport ship. The soldier should have known better, thought Neela at the time. But the low gravity of Mars versus that of the soldier’s home asteroid made her
cocky. The gravity was less, but the mass of her body, field kit in tow, had remained the same.

And that had been about all the “action” Neela had so far encountered. She would’ve contacted Justin directly in order to ease his worry, but all intracommunications had been strictly prohibited. Her husband, she realized fretfully, would have to find out her status by normal channels just like everyone else. She took one last look around and was about to leap off the stack of armaments when she spotted someone from across the square that stopped her cold.

Couldn’t be,
she thought.
Does she live here now?
Neela leapt off the stack of ordnance and made a beeline for the person in question. An observant sergeant quickly sent two grunts after her. Not so much for who she was but for the fact that he knew it was never wise to walk alone—even in such amiable “enemy” territory.

No sooner had Neela jumped than the object of her attention made a hasty retreat. The woman didn’t get too far, tripping over the cart of a local fruit vendor and sending baskets of guavas, persimmons, and berries crashing to the pavement. Neela was at the scene in a flash.

“Nadine?” she asked the woman who was now bent down trying to gather up what was left of the fruit from the pavement.

No response.

“You know this woman?” fumed the irate vendor. “That’s at least thirty credits’ worth she’s destroyed!”

“Yes,” answered Neela. “She’s my sister.”

Justin stared out toward the distant ridge, mouth agape. A protective sound-proofing helmet covered his head. When he finally turned around, Chief Engineer Kenji Isozaki was looking at him nervously. Omad was smiling broadly.

All along the ground leading up to a mountain ridge were hundreds of parallel cylindrical rails spaced fifty yards apart. The rails, which Justin reckoned to be about one hundred feet in length each, ran from below the nearby detention center all the way to the top of the butte. Flying along those rails at a dizzying pace were the cylindrical pods containing within them the precious cargo that Justin had come to rescue.

The center had been taken in less than an hour. It had not been well protected because it didn’t have to be. With over a million detainees waiting for psyche audits in suspended animation, all the authorities had to do was encrypt the individual suspension unit designations. While it was certainly possible that someone might try to rescue a good friend or close relative, their chance of success
would be close to nil. Even if they managed to overpower the minimal security in place, finding their loved ones among a million encrypted units would’ve proved daunting, to say the least. And as for liberating the entire facility, nothing short of an army prepared for months of entrenchment could reasonably consider such a task. The effort, coordination, and personnel needed to revive a million suspended souls, some in need of dire medical attention, would be beyond impractical. If the Outer Alliance had wanted to move the units out of harm’s way that too would’ve proved impossible. It simply did not have the resources to carry one million suspension units back to the belt while simultaneously holding off a corporate core counterattack. Which was why Chief Engineer Kenji Isozaki figured out a way of having the units bring themselves.

Kenji knew the make of the tubes being used in the detention center. They were essentially the exact same make and model as those used all over the solar system. He also knew that they were made from very durable nano-strengthened composites and that the individuals encased within would be surrounded by a protective seal of FBLN, or foam-based liquid nitrogen. These units, Kenji had explained to Justin, were far superior to what the President originally created for his three-hundred-year-long sleep. The shielding benefits of the lava-hardened igneous rock that had acted as Justin’s protector could now be found in the stronger, lighter, and more versatile materials of the nano-enhanced composites.

Justin patted Kenji on the shoulder and smiled. The chief engineer’s face lit up and he bowed respectfully. Justin then turned back to watch the magnificent choreographic feat taking place up the side of the mountain. Almost too fast for him to perceive, suspension units were flying out of the underground facility between the rails, gaining speed with every yard traveled. By the time they reached the end of the line they were mere blurs disappearing out of sight into the clear Martian sky above.

“How many?” he said into his helmet mike.

Kenji looked confused for a moment and then understanding dawned on his face. “Nearly two thousand per hour, but now that we have the application process bug free and have seen the MPUs, er … magnetic propulsion units in operation we should be up to six thousand units an hour by this time tomorrow.”

“Estimated time of completion, Mr. Kenji?” asked Justin.

“Barring any unforeseen glitches, Mr. President, we’ll have the entire facility evacuated inside of a week.”

A week,
thought Justin. Then he focused on one suspension unit slowly rolling along in a column of hundreds. He chose to follow its singular journey as it headed toward the magnetic rails. The pod, thought Justin, was like a leaf caught in an eddy next to an onrushing stream.
You’ll be free soon, whoever you
are.
The unit got caught in the magnetic pull and accelerated quickly away, propelled on its uncertain journey into space.

“They’re met in low Mars orbit,” said Kenji, “by unmanned spaceships with magnipulsers.”

Though Justin had been briefed on the operation, he wasn’t yet familiar with all the terminology. His face indicated as much.

“The giant pinball paddles,” said Omad with a knowing grin.

“Right.” Justin nodded remembering Omad’s earlier description of the process.

“They’re then redirected by the magnipulsers,” continued Kenji, “to a set location in the belt. I’ve sent a small flotilla of empty cargo haulers to those coordinates. We’ve placed magnetized iron in the holds in order to draw in the pods, which’ll then float right into the bays of the waiting haulers. Once they’re in the hold, robots will stack them neatly. Actually, it’s how we send and receive bulk shipments to and from the core planets.”