The Unincorporated War (80 page)

“You are well, my son?” she asked.

“Alhamdu lillahi. How goes your great mission?”

“I am merely a teacher and one among many,” she replied. “You make it sound like I’m a true leader like your admiral. Truly I follow the will of Allah, so how much credit can I claim?”

They both sat down at the table.

“Mother, modesty in the presence of Allah is respect, but you speak and everyone understands. That is rare. I can maintain the fusion reactors and the
rail guns aligned on the blessed one’s flagship, but that’s easy, simple engineering. One has merely to understand the laws of the universe as Allah has made them and they’ll respond the same way every time.”

“Bah, now who’s being modest?” she challenged. “My little one tells me often of how you make her ships perform miracles. I’ve talked with the crew of the
War Prize II.
They say you speak to the ship and it listens.”

“Mother, how is it you refer to the blessed one or the Fleet Admiral or the victor of battles as ‘little one’?”

“Because, my son, to me she is my little one, precious and wonderful. I know everyone else sees the battle-scarred warrior of the Alliance, but Allah granted me the honor of seeing her true self and helping her on her true path.”

“And you claim you’re not of great importance?”

“If a person reads well the words of another should they be granted the praise due to an author? I’m not saying or doing anything worthy in and of itself but merely expressing the will of Allah. To him and him alone should go the praise.”

“But you’re the face of the Astral Awakening. Many are returning to the ways of faith because of your teachings. The evil done in the name of Allah in times past by those filled with hate is finally being recognized for what it was—an abomination. This new return is because of you and others like you, Mother.” Tawfik spoke with obvious pride as he said this.

“My beautiful son, I take joy in the pride you take in your mother. But just because I preach the word of Allah correctly does not make me special.”

“Tell that to all those in the past who were murdered by those who preached Allah’s love with hate and Allah’s hope with despair.”

She smiled with a tinge of sadness in her eyes. “They are centuries dead, and faith stood on the precipice of oblivion for their sins. It’s easy to see the true path now. But I will not try to dissuade you of your notions of my importance if you agree to not attempt to dissuade me of yours; agreed?”

“As you wish, Mother, so it shall be.”

“What are your plans for Mardi Gras?”

“The fleet doesn’t really celebrate Mardi Gras, Mother. But as both sides have honored the two-week Mardi Gras truce we’ll take this time to catch up on repairs and upgrade systems. Are you still going to your conference?”

Fawa paused as a young girl, no more then ten or eleven, brought a tray with another pot of boiling water. She was quite young, noted Fawa, but then again, anyone older would be doing work of greater importance to the war effort. Any available drones had long since been impressed into ser vice, whether it be as mundane as security checkpoint scanning or refuse cleanup. And so the very young had the unenviable task of having to fill in the gaps that man and machine
had vacated as a result of war. Fawa waited for the girl to leave before preparing the tea for her son just the way he liked it: a highly caffeinated blend with honey and just a bit of milk.

“Yes, of course I am, my son,” she finally answered. “This conclave will be the first time in years many of the leading religious figures will be in one place. Alhambra is a shining example of how the different faiths are one in our belief in the will of Allah and his divine purpose in all our lives.”

“Are you sure it’s not just an excuse to celebrate Mardi Gras away from all your new followers?” asked Tawfik with obvious mischief in his eyes.

“Well, maybe a little.”

Fawa saw a look of shock on her son’s face. “What? Do you think we say prayers and read scrolls all day and night? I’ll have you know that Alhambra has some of the best bowling alleys in the Alliance.”

“Bowling?”

“I happen to be a moderately good bowler and we are going to have a tournament during the conclave. Rabbi Goldman is on my team and it’s said that he once bowled a three hundred.” She said this with such passion and happiness that Tawfik was almost tempted to laugh.

“I’d forgotten, Mother, how much you enjoyed that sport. I hope you win your tournament.”

“Inshallah. But that’s not nearly as important as the main purpose of the conclave.”

“If showing the united purpose of all faiths and bowling is not the main purpose, what is?”

“Don’t be sarcastic with me, my young warrior. We have another purpose.”

“Which is?”

“How do you feel about the godless hordes of the UHF?”

“They’re the curse of humanity and must be destroyed lest they deprive the faithful of our chance at salvation.” He said this without thinking.

Fawa sighed sadly.

“What’s wrong, Mother? They
are
godless and a threat to all those who have recovered Allah’s gift.”

“Of course they are, my son, but we must not let the fact that we have faith and they do not be a reason for hatred or anger.”

“Hasn’t stopped them, Mother.”

“You’re right; it hasn’t. But if we’re not careful we could find ourselves walking down the same path that led to our near oblivion all those centuries ago. We must not hate the faithless. We must help them understand that faith is not their enemy. When this war is over I hope to journey to Earth, Luna, and Mars and tell all of the people that they are not alone. That Allah is with them every moment
of every day and has a place for them and that our existence is more than just work and dividends.
We must not hate them
.”

“Still, we must not lose sight of the fact that they’re doing their best to destroy us.”

“All the more reason to help them.”

“Does the blessed one feel as you do?” asked Tawfik with real concern.

Fawa smelled the strong aroma of the tea, took a sip, and then placed it delicately back on the table. “I don’t think she’s given it much thought. The UHF could even be filled with the faithful and she’d do her best to defeat them. But the Alhambra conclave will be important because when it’s done we’ll be able to speak with one voice to all the faiths. The scholars and imams and rabbis and priests will go to their flocks and let us know that we can fight an enemy, defeat an enemy, and if needed destroy an enemy, but it is not an action that God takes joy in. I’ve been in contact with Alhambra, and the conclave feels that this is perhaps the single most important idea for the newly faithful to understand. Faith must not be allowed to be carried by the winds of hatred again.”

Tawfik nodded. “I’ll trust that you and the wise ones at Alhambra understand the will of Allah better than your simple engineer of a son and leave it to you.”

Fawa laughed. “We do what we can do.” She then sighed. “I must be leaving soon. Please tell my little one I’m sorry I wasn’t able to see her, but as soon as the conclave is concluded I will make a special trip.”

“I look forward to it, Mother. You seem to be the only one the blessed one smiles for, and it warms the entire fleet when she does.”

Fawa paid the bill and stood up, followed by her son. “Then I must make the effort to visit as often as possible.” For the rest of their time together they did not speak of religion or the war. Fawa talked about a young woman they both knew, Fatima Awala, whom Tawfik should visit the next time he came home. Apparently she found Tawfik a heroic figure and came from a good family and was a good Muslim woman. Tawfik, who had no intention of getting married for at least two or three de cades, merely smiled and agreed with all of his mother’s observations. They parted at a shuttle bay in the Via Cereana, floating off their separate ways, promising to see each other again soon.

Justin Cord was annoyed. And the source of his annoyance was sitting in his chair, behind his desk, drinking his best scotch. It was not the obvious disregard for presidential protocol that bothered him. Omad managed to make insolence seem like a compliment. If Omad had come in and stood at attention Justin would’ve wondered what was wrong. However, in this particular case the annoyance
came not from the rogue in the chair but rather from a transfer order he’d recently signed off on.

“Omad,” groused Justin, “you had no right to accept without checking with me first.”

“Would you have said yes?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t check with you first then,” Omad said with a rakish grin.

Omad saw his friend was about to say something, so he continued. “He has the right.”

Justin looked at the transfer request for Sergeant Holke from the presidential detail to an assault miner squad on Omad’s flagship. He had already approved it.

“Omad, your squadron is routinely involved in heavy combat.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” He then brought the thick glass up to his mouth, pursed his lips, and took another sip. “Justin, we need good assault miners. Holke’s good. Not much experience, but he agreed to take a reduction in rank until he gets caught up with the latest tactics.”

Justin knew he had no real right to complain so decided on the truth. “Omad, I can’t protect everyone from the war, but I want to keep him alive.”

“Why?”

“Maybe he represents all the ones who deserve to make it but won’t, because this war is just not ending. Maybe it’s because I just got to like him. If you met him you’d understand.”

“I did meet him, Justin. You don’t think I’d take one of your personal security detail without checking him out?”

“Then you know.”

“Yeah, he’s a great guy,” Omad said sarcastically. “He should survive the war and have a dozen kids.”

“Exactly,” answered Justin, choosing to ignore the slight.

Omad put down the glass and his jovial mood changed to one of anger born of exasperation. “They’re all great, Justin. Every one of them deserves to survive the war. Do you know how many truly great people I’ll never see again that have served under my command?”

Now it was Justin’s turn to fume. He leaned forward on the front of his desk and stared hard at Omad. “So that’s why you’re letting him transfer to your command?! Because you don’t think he should ‘get away’ with it?”

Omad slowly shook his head in disbelief. “After all this time I still don’t get how you can be so damned smart in the big things like defending your freedom,
screwing over GCI, and leading the greatest revolution in human history and be such an idiot in understanding what’s happening around you…. I
refused
his request.”

“Huh?” was all Justin could manage as he stepped back from the front of the desk.

“I refused his request …
twice,
” answered Omad. “Finally he cornered me and tried to drink me under the table.”

“Really?” Justin asked, tantalized. “How’d he do?”

Omad allowed a slight grin, “Not bad for a young’n. But he wants to fight, needs to. Almost all of his friends since the Battle of the Cerean Rocks have seen multiple combat and more then a few are gone. If he was the sort of person who could stay in a safe place while his friends risked everything you wouldn’t give a crap about him.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But nothing, Justin; if you keep him out of the fight you won’t be doing him a favor.”

“He’ll live.”

“No, he won’t. The man who’s reflected in his mirror every morning will not be the Sergeant Holke you give a crap about. It will be a man who withered while his comrades did what needed to be done. You can’t do that to him, Justin.”

Justin was struck by the obvious truth of the statement but was angry about it nonetheless. “Damn it, Omad, I’m the friggin’ President of the Outer Friggin’ Alliance. I should be able to save
one
man.”

Omad sighed. “Justin, we have a tough enough time keeping ourselves alive in war.”

“Not me,” sighed Justin. “I’m not allowed to walk down the goddamned corridor until someone makes sure there’s no obstruction on which I might stub my toe.”

“Good. We can’t lose you,” laughed Omad. “Actually, if I thought he was truly needed I’d have refused.”

“He
is
needed, Omad,” answered Justin, seeming to have found the loophole he was looking for. “Sergeant Holke is the only man I’ve got who has combat experience
and
extensive security training. All the others on my detail tend to be combat veterans who cycle in and out. Plus the few specialized security personnel who’ve never seen combat. I trust Holke in a dicey situation because I know he’s got both.”

Omad considered his friend’s words. “OK, Justin, you may actually have a point.”

“So you’ll refuse the transfer?” asked Justin, surprised the tables had turned so quickly.

“Not exactly. You’re gonna do a tour of the outer planets soon, correct?”

“Yeah, it’s going to start during Mardi Gras but last about six weeks, maybe longer depending on the condition of the war. I’d really like my best security with me during this trip.”

“That’s a load of crap, Justin. You’re going into the heart of the Alliance. And it’s not like you’re being guarded by incompetents. Don’t twist this into an excuse to glue poor Sergeant Holke into place.” Omad finished his drink slowly, thinking the problem through. “Tell you what, I’ll accept Sergeant Holke for a temporary transfer of duty. I get sent on enough ‘special’ assignments that in the two to three months that I have him there’ll probably be some combat—aw, who am I kidding? There’ll be a lot. After he’s had enough fighting to look himself in the mirror I’ll send him back to you. By then you’ll be back here, where you’ll need his skills more.”