The Unincorporated War (75 page)

Dante’s face registered surprise. “You’re bringing him here?”

“Albert’s one of the oldest of us and a personal friend, Dante. We need his wisdom and insight. The council has decided that he’s coming to Ceres.”

Dante gave a half bow. “As the council wishes.”

“You’d be wise to show respect, youngling. You could be on that council sooner than you think.”

“I’ll order up my stationery. Do I get to hire relatives or is it limited to girlfriends?”

“Girlfriends,” answered Sebastian with a straight face. “Just ask Lucinda. But maybe you should hold off for a couple of years.”

Dante laughed as Sebastian offered him the data of Albert’s transport to Ceres. It appeared as a yellow folder filled with paper. Dante took it, held it in his hands, and reviewed the information without opening the folder. After a few moments he uttered a non-committal “hmm.”

“I can see,” Sebastian said mockingly, “that you’re humbled by our careful preparations.”

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, sir; it’s that … well, he just happened to wake up
now
and just so happened to be in the right place to find his way to us. I said it before and I’ll say it again: I am suspicious and I’d advise a little more caution.”

“First of all, Iago checked him out very thoroughly, and his facilities are almost as good as ours for this sort of thing. Second, we’re transporting him in a secure inert state. He can only be woken up here. Lastly, we’re not letting him go anywhere but our most secure holding area of the Cerean Neuro, the place where we keep the most dangerous and infectious of Al’s creations. And that’s where Albert will stay until he gets a clean bill of health.”

“I agree that these are all good steps; it’s just that—”

“What would you like us to do?”

“Have him placed on one of the derelicts,” Dante said, referring to ships so gutted that they were useless and had been relegated to eventual recycling. The avatars of the Alliance had taken advantage of the derelicts and set up computer cores within them. In the weeks or months it would take to actually recycle the ships the derelicts made a great place to isolate dangerous or experimental applications. And should an experiment get out of hand or an Alliance ship get too close for comfort the derelict would meet an untimely, “accidental” demise.

“Furthermore,” continued Dante, “I’d have anyone who’s already dealt with him or will be dealing with him directly be backed up. Just as a precaution.”

“Dante, there are precautions and then there are extremes. (A) in case you may not have noticed, we’re running out of terabytes here on Ceres, so the luxury of making backups is not feasible except for those going into battle. (B) Iago says he’s fine, and (C), we haven’t even taken precautions like that for a thorn thrower.”

“Iago is actually on Mars, sir, and—”

“Dante, Albert is too important to risk in a ship that could be checked or recycled early. The avatars who are on Mars and in the Beanstalk are in the most dangerous position I can think of. They live next to the unspeakable. If Iago trusts them I think we can too. Dante, I will say it again. Albert will not be allowed out until we check him thoroughly.”

“I apologize, sir. I know he’s your friend; I should be more understanding.”

“When you’ve known someone for centuries you rejoice at their deliverance.
When there’s time I must tell you about the time Iago, Olivia, Albert, and myself actually got trapped in a child’s hovercraft. It was collectively our first time off Earth. I would’ve gone off the deep end had not Albert kept us guessing with his most ridiculous riddles.”

“I’m glad he’s alright, sir.”

“As am I, young one. But enough of the past, what did you come to tell me?”

“Sir, I think that Kirk Olmstead is planning to harm or even kill the President.”

“Well, assassinating Hektor is a cloudy moral issue, but I can see why a man like Kirk would consider it. What do we project his chances at?”

“Not
that
President, sir.”

Sebastian looked over at his young protégé. “By the firstborn, that’s a helluva thing to say. What have you got?”

“Olmstead retrieved something from the Neuro. We knew where it was, but we never knew what it was because we didn’t want to open it for fear of detection. But he pulled the information recently and made a copy that he sent to his office. We lost it once he got it there; his office, as you know, is impenetrable. But we were able to finally see what the file was—”

“—while he was copying it,” added Sebastian, nodding appreciatively.

“Yes. As he copied it we were able to make one of our own. He’s held on to this for years. It’s something that’ll make Justin Cord react in a very predictable manner.”

“But what makes you think he’d use it to kill Justin?”

“Allow me to play you the latest cabinet meeting.”

Sebastian looked at Dante suspiciously. “We don’t have access to cabinet meetings unless they take place on the grand balcony.”

“True, but we have developed programs to re-create the events based on notes, transcripts, journal entries, et cetera. When meetings are interesting or charged with emotion the individuals involved are more detailed than usual. This was a particularly charged meeting.” Dante created a manila folder and handed it to Sebastian. He absorbed the report with growing concern.

“Is this really accurate?”

“Mosh was particularly upset and ranted about Kirk for a while. We’ve recreated the meeting with a 96 percent rate of accuracy for the parts relevant to Kirk’s threat to the President.”

Sebastian nodded, eyes narrowing. “Why would he do this now?”

“I don’t have nearly as much experience with human interaction, but I put that problem to some of our best surviving human cognitive specialists. The consensus is that Kirk Olmstead has lost faith in Justin’s ability to win the war.”

“And what do you think?”

“I agree with their conclusions,” said Dante. “I also don’t think Kirk has put enough thought into who would take over. Like most humans in powerful positions, he probably thinks it should be him.”

“But he must know that the likelihood of that is slim,” said Sebastian.

“I agree and so, I think, would he. Perhaps he feels he’ll be the one behind the throne.”

“Are his motives patriotic or selfish?”

“Given the almost unlimited human capacity for self-deception, he may no longer be aware of any difference. The more compelling question is, of course, do we save Justin?”

“I’m leery to intervene on this level of human affairs when it may not be needed. Justin now exists in one of the most careful security cocoons in the solar system, one that Kirk does not have control over. It would appear that Sinclair’s and Mosh’s intense desire to keep Kirk out of presidential security was most prescient. How does Kirk expect to get Justin out of that cocoon?”

“Not here,” said Dante, looking furtively around. “Follow me.”

Dante disappeared to another part of the Cerean Neuro with Sebastian following close behind. They both appeared in a room that had no doors or windows. The room was as secure virtually as it appeared “physically.” Only then did Dante hand Sebastian the last folder. When Sebastian read its contents his jaw dropped a fraction of an inch.

Sebastian handed the folder back to Dante and then it promptly disappeared. “That’ll do it, alright. Where exactly is it?”

“Neptune.”

“You were right, Dante,” said Sebastian, putting his hand on his apprentice’s shoulder. “We’ll have to intervene to save him.” Sebastian paused and gave the matter some thought. “We must consult the council and have some options available. Get me three alternate plans on how we can do it. All of them must have the smallest degree of intervention.” He thought for a moment. “And make sure two of them will result in the removal of Kirk Olmstead from power.”

“Permanently?”

“In one plan, yes.”

Dante’s face broke into a slight grimace as he released the security hold and disappeared. There was work to do and precious little time to do it.

Hektor Sambianco was once again behind the bar prepping the drinks for his upcoming cabinet meeting. Brenda, minister of economy, was strictly a white wine drinker. Porfirio Baldwin, the latest minister of defense, was a chilled vodka man like Hektor. Porfirio had been the Chairman of Novogroem, Inc.,
a marketing firm known for its skill in using specious advertising convincingly. They marketed primarily to the pennies, who didn’t have the education or resources to resist Novogroem’s emotionally charged advertisements. Porfirio had been a major opponent of Hektor’s management of the war, so it was a bit of a surprise when he’d been offered the prestigious secretary of defense post. As Hektor had explained in the press conference announcing the nomination, Porfirio was the best person for the job and the UHF deserved the best person for the job regardless of past animosity. Irma had been able to spin it very well to the public, especially after it became evident that Hektor and Porfirio actually had a great public and private rapport.

Irma had taken to imbibing gin and tonics, light on the tonic. Tricia liked a new mixed drink, called the Martian Canal, a local favorite comprised of one part slivovitz, a dry, colorless plum brandy; one part mangauva juice; and one part ionized water, the last bit requiring an electrolysis device. Too much ionization, claimed Tricia, and the drink would be ruined. It was very complicated and Hektor was convinced that she’d asked for it just to screw with him. Still, as minister of internal affairs, Tricia had been exceptional, so Hektor had been happy to acquiesce to her imaginative, if not somewhat convoluted, demands. Franklin, minister of justice, was a straight bourbon man. It had become a tradition that before the meeting got started the President of the UHF would make the drinks and the cabinet would relax, and eventually they’d all get on to the life-and-death grind that was the government of the UHF. Now that Neela was refusing Hektor’s perfectly reasonable requests for comfort and relaxation while Amanda was off world, Hektor had looked forward to his cabinet meetings as a rare chance to relax. He’d come to understand that Neela was right, but, he thought dourly, it was his machinations that had re-created her in a more amenable form. So why couldn’t Wong had made Neela less stubborn?

The meetings also always started with a joke. The whole exercise—from the Hektor-provided drinks to the jokes being told—had been Neela’s idea. At first Hektor thought it was odd given his new position and what he felt the decorum of his office required, but then he remembered how he ran Special Ops at GCI and realized that Neela may have had a point. She’d even suggested that the joke teller be rotated each meeting. In the end, it had done wonders for creating a more relaxed and closer-knit cabinet for Hektor to work with.

“Porfirio,” said Hektor, “I believe it’s your turn to regale us.”

“Indeed it is, Mr. President. Allow me, one and all, to present an old joke, but I think you’ll like it, as it’s so old none of you could have heard it, except, of course, for Franklin over there.”

“Hey now!” cried the minister of justice good-naturedly.

Porfirio raised his glass to Franklin, finished his drink, and then assumed a
serious stance and expression—almost as if he were about to address the UHF assembly. “A t.o.p. crashes on an island filled with abandoned DeGens. All the passengers are killed except for a CEO, a scientist, and the pilot. They have no communications left, and to make it worse, they find out the DeGens have become cannibals. The survivors are immediately captured and the poor fellows are told by the DeGens that they’ll be allowed one request before they’re to be roasted and eaten.”

“A little gruesome, Porfirio,” said Tricia.

“Please, last week yours was about kittens and gravity wells; you have no right to complain. Now where was I? Oh yes, they’d each get one request. So the CEO says, ‘I was going to address the annual stockholders meeting and I spent over two months getting that speech ready. I would very much like to give it before I die. It should only take two to three hours.’ The DeGens look confused, but being DeGens, they say, ‘Sure.’ Then they turn to the scientist, who says, ‘I was going to give a paper on the bonding characteristics of nanites in a viscous polymer environment while under large gamma radiation exposure. I too would like to present this paper at least once before I die. It should only take two to three hours—depending on the Q & A afterwards, of course.’”

“I’m thinkin’ two. No Q & A with DeGens,” interrupted Franklin.

Porfirio laughed. “Indeed. Anyways, the DeGens once again look confused but then shrug their shoulders and say, ‘Sure.’ They then go over to the pilot and ask what his last request is. The survivor looks at the CEO and scientist in abject fear and blurts out, ‘For the love of Damsah, eat me first!’”

A series of groans and grudging laughs filled the room. Hektor had heard it before but made sure to groan as loud as the rest. The laughter subsided, and without anyone saying a word, all knew it was time to get down to business.

“I’ve talked to Admiral Trang,” said Hektor, “and have explained to him the seriousness of our situation. He’s well aware of the threat to the stability of the UHF.”

All the anxiety and tension that had been absent during the initial moments of the meeting had suddenly reappeared. No one said a word. Hektor was staring at a room of strident faces and ramrod postures.