The Unincorporated War (82 page)

But after Kirk examined those feelings and even acknowledged them, in the end he knew they made no difference. Kirk could lie to many people, but he tried not to lie to himself. The truth was, Justin could be his own brother and best friend combined and Kirk would still do what he had to do. Justin, however, would
not
do the “necessary” things a real leader had to do in order to win, and that in turn was going to destroy Kirk’s life. The President had to die. All that was left was laying out the bait.

Even that would not link directly to Kirk. Ever since Hildegard had become the new secretary of technology she’d been looking over all the old files from the research stations of the corporations in the Alliance. Some of them were in actual hard copy—from a time before hard copy signified the highest level of security. Most of those files were deemed of little value. They mainly documented the storing of old prototypes that had failed or experimental findings that were possibly copyrightable but of no real use. But now a report about an old base orbiting the Neptunian moon of Nereid was about to be moved to the top of Hildegard’s stack. Kirk knew that the diligent technology secretary reviewed at least two or three of the top-secret, if dated, reports each morning before she began her day. He also knew that she’d do it more out of curiosity than any actual hope of finding something useful. According to her profile, it gave her a wonderfully sanctimonious reason to peruse the stuff she’d never been allowed to look at when she was just a lowly assistant director.

Kirk spent the rest of his dark meditation forgetting, to the best of his ability, all that he’d done. He put all of the effort of the past weeks into a compartment of his brain. He then filled that time with other activities, activities not involving the confirmation of others. He reviewed the created memories, doing his best to live them over and over again, until all his plotting was in a part of his brain that he’d never access directly. When his time in the dark was up Kirk began his normal routine, including sending off his many directives. He went home and enjoyed an eve ning playing chess with his avatar, and when Kirk came into work the next morning he actually found himself wondering what Hildegard wanted to talk to him about that was so important she’d insisted on coming to see him personally. So complete were his mental preparations that the outer part of his mind was quite surprised by what she’d revealed. That she would swear to when asked about it during the investigation.

They say that it’s a great honor for the President to come to you and an even greater privilege for Neptune to act as my host. Well, I’m the President and let me tell you: Once again they’re wrong. I’ve been invited into your homes and made welcome in your places of relaxation. I’ve been restored and made confident by your places of industry and I’ve been comforted by your places of worship. You may think you’re a small way station in the middle of a vast Alliance. Some may point out that your numbers are insignificant and your contribution to our righteous struggle minimal. But they’d be wrong. What I’ve seen in this station is everything the Alliance stands for, everything the Alliance is, and, in the fullness of time, everything she will become.

I see children born and raised in a freedom that will never know the incorporated collar or hold an incorporated leash.

I grew up learning a mantra of freedom. “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all the people are created equal. They are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights. Amongst these rights are Life, Liberty, and Property.”

What’s been remembered in our great struggle is that people have the right, fundamental and vital, to own property. And it’s a right that must be protected by governments instituted by the people. But what we must never allow ourselves to forget is that people are not, cannot, and now will not
be
property. That is what this struggle is about. Never again shall we accept whispered promises of ease and security for the liberty that is the birthright of every man, woman, and child in the human race.

We have much to do still. But now we’re asking the right questions.
With your help and the help of everyone in the Alliance I promise you we’ll find the answers, together.

May God bless Neptune and all who orbit her.

—President Cord’s last speech
given on the Triton moon of Neptune,
fourth day of Mardi Gras,
fifth year of the war

Justin sighed as he prepared to take the t.o.p. from the surface of Triton to
Alliance One
circling in high orbit around the moon. He was leaving a little early, but he needed to relax before he went into suspension. The joy of the vias was that you got there quick; the inconvenience was that you needed to be in suspension while you did it. It wasn’t that Justin couldn’t remain active during the constant high-g acceleration and deceleration involved in the Alliance’s rapid-movement system. Modern techniques of cushioning and nano-prepared physiology made it possible, but nothing could make it pleasant. In fact, technicians and pilots who by necessity had to stay aware during the process were becoming acknowledged as having the worst jobs in the Alliance. Fortunately, it had been decided that Justin didn’t need to remain “up” during the trip. If for some reason there was something critical he’d need to attend to, the pilots could always decelerate and bring the President back to awareness—all within an hour’s time.

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.”