The Unincorporated Woman (59 page)

Marilynn studied Omad intentily. “If you order me to answer, the President has authorized me to tell you everything, but…”

“But you really don’t want to.” Omad sighed. “You know the President’s a real bitch.”

“Aren’t we all?” laughed Marilynn with a half smile. “Why didn’t you ask her yourself?”

“For the same reason I’m not gonna push it any further with you. If she’d tried to keep it a secret from me, I would’ve used every trick in the book to get you to tell me. But no, she says all you have to do is ask, knowing that I wouldn’t.”

“So then why’d you ask me?”

“To see if I’d get the same response.”

Marilynn thought about it for a moment and then smiled. “You know, I think you might be right. She can be a real bitch.”

Omad lifted his glass in salute. “To the Presidents of the UHF and the Outer Alliance,” he began. “They might have a son of a bitch running their show, but at least we’ve got the original stone-cold bitch running ours.”

Marilynn lifted her glass in return, a knowing grin working the corners of her mouth. They downed their drinks in a gulp.

Moshav Tarbut Gavriel has been completely destroyed by Admiral Abhay Gupta’s invading fleet. If J. D. Black won’t defend her own home, how can we count on her to defend ours?

Clara Roberts Show,
AIR network

In orbit around Jupiter, UHFS
Redemption

Admiral Gupta paced his command sphere, his hands locked behind his back, nervously twiddling his thumbs. This was a moment that most commanders could only dream about, but it filled his heart with ashes. He’d demonstrated with the purposeful destruction of those two Alliance settlement convoys that he was willing to do as he’d promised. But he hadn’t wanted to. So he waited as his surrender terms were transmitted to the Jovian government. He was actually willing to be quite generous.

If all Alliance military equipment and personal surrendered to him, he was perfectly willing to leave the civilian government in control of the Jovian system. He had no wish to repeat the hatchet job Tricia Pakagopolis was making of the occupation of the asteroid belt. If he could get the Jovians to see reason, then he’d be willing to leave them in charge indefinitely. If he could manage a quiet occupation, he doubted very much that anyone would want to take it away from him. And he’d be generous indeed to keep it quiet. Resupply from the Core Worlds and a market of tens of billions to sell to. As many general pardons as he could swing for those willing to swear under psyche audit that they were willing to live under UHF rule with the promise by Gupta of almost no actual military presence. He would be glad to leave them in charge as long as the UHF could refuel and buy the resources of the Jovian system at fair market value.

The communication console chirped. “Sir, the Jovian governor is responding.”

“Put it over the main tank, Lieutenant,” Gupta said.

An image appeared of the man Gupta recognized as Cyrus Anjou, the former Chief of Staff to Justin Cord and wildly popular governor of the Jovian system. The man looked exhausted, and there were dark bags under his eyes. It was obvious to Gupta the only thing keeping Anjou up was stims mixed in with fiery determination.

“To the murderers who support Fleet Order 8645 and the Nazi admiral who issued it,” Cyrus began. “I have been authorized by the free peoples of Jupiter to offer you this.” Cyrus raised his hand, presenting three fingers with his pinkie and thumb joined across his palm. “I’m holding up three fingers, Gupta.” Now the governor smiled wickedly. “Guess which one’s for you?” Then the message cut out.

*   *   *

Later that day, Gupta met with his ten commodores, each of whom commanded twenty-five ships of Gupta’s fleet. The captain in charge of the auxiliaries was not there, as this was going to be a combat situation and that captain’s job would be to hide behind the big ships until it was safe to come out and play. Gupta looked around at the men and women in the room and felt terrible at what he was going to ask them to do.

Gupta activated a display over the holo-tank, and it showed the Jovian system. As he spoke, the areas he discussed were highlighted. “The Alliance has refused to surrender this system, even though they do not have the means to defend it. They have moved the shipyard they stole from us as close to the planet as they could, along with all the frozen blocks of hydrogen they were shipping throughout their Alliance. They have a pretty good orbat network all moved around the shipyard. It is not nearly so dense as the one surrounding Mars or even Ceres, but it is not to be laughed at. I don’t know if any of you ever visited Jupiter before the war.”

No one spoke up.

“Well, I did. It was a rough and turbulent place, but it didn’t have the people or industry that it does now. It’s amazing what these people accomplished in the past six years.” Gupta paused, wanting there to be no confusion as to the grisly task ahead.

“And we will systematically destroy it. Let me be clear. This will cause an unparalleled loss of life. If anyone feels they cannot in good conscience abide by my orders, they should let me know now. You will be relieved of command, and your resignation will be accepted without prejudice or repercussion … on my part.”

He waited a full minute, which seemed to last far longer. A part of him was proud that the officers under his command had the fortitude to do what was needed, but a part of him was sad that of all ten, not one would refuse an order that would lead to the deaths of tens of millions of people.

“Very well, then,” he instructed. “In order for us to get to the lower orbits around both the Jovian Shipyard and other vital governmental and industrial targets, we’ll have to descend through layers of less vital but interspacing asteroids filled with habitats, industry, and agriculture. As we have learned in the Battles of the 180 and the Battle of Eros, the Alliance has mastered the science of defending space.” Gupta saw the memories of those horrific campaigns play across the faces of the assembled high-ranking officers, most of whom became high-ranking due to the attrition of their friends and comrades. Gupta was aware that the last two surviving captains of “Sam’s Screwups” were in the room with him. He wanted the painful memories to be foremost in their minds when he told them what he had in mind.

“As you can see, the vast majority of the habitable asteroids have been moved into the upper orbits above the high-priority targets. The high-priority targets, the asteroids with the most valuable industry and communications, are clustered in front of and behind the shipyard, with most being positioned in front, based on the spin of Jupiter. Normally it would take weeks if not months to safely clear the upper orbits to the point where we could attack the high-priority targets. We are not going to do that.”

The diagram showed the fleet breaking into ten units and proceeding to ten points along Jupiter’s upper orbit. “We will break into separate units and destroy every habitat that can pose any possible threat to us. We shall do so until the forces of the Outer Alliance in Jupiter surrender to us or we have cleared a safe path to the lower orbits. We will not play by the old rules anymore. They wanted a war; they must pay the full price for it.”

Gupta’s left eyebrow rose slightly as he waited for a reaction—any reaction. He was proposing the destruction of the better part of a planetary subsystem. It was true that they were not going to purposely destroy any of the settlements that were on the actual moons of Jupiter, but Abhay couldn’t lie to himself. Most of the people who lived around the gas giants lived on asteroids because it was far easier to do so. Many people who worked on the moons of the various worlds actually commuted to work much like a person living in Beijing would take a t.o.p. to New York every day. They lived on the rocks he had just proposed blowing to hell and gone. And in Jupiter’s magnetosphere, that meant a permanent death sentence.

But Gupta got nothing. No impassioned objections, no vehement attempts to come up with a different strategy. Just a few of the commodores nodding their heads grimly while others called up details on their DijAssists to find out specific targets and locations.
Automata, indeed,
he thought sadly to himself when he realized that there was to be no cry of forbearance.

“We will begin the assault tomorrow at 0800. I will give the enemy one more chance to surrender with that deadline, but we must assume that our attack will go forward.” He came to attention. “For humanity united,” he said.

“For humanity united,” they chorused in response.

“Dismissed.” It was only later that he realized that the commodores’ reply was the only time anyone else had spoken for the entire meeting.

Cliff House

Sandra reviewed the holo of the Cabinet meeting, still marveling at her ability to view it from any angle. With sourceless lighting, everything was well lit, from the overhead of the table to the half-drunk orange juice bulb that had fallen under the table. But what she most concentrated on were the shots of Kirk Olmstead’s face. And every time she saw it, she knew. She froze a close-up image of Olmstead, his eyes brimming with epiphany.

“Sebastian,” she called out to the empty air. “Have you reviewed the meeting?”

Sebastian appeared instantly by her side, wearing his Roman senatorial garb. “Yes, Sandra.”

“Kirk’s figured it out.”

Sebastian put his hand to his chin and regarded the three-dimensional image of Kirk’s face hovering above the President’s dining room table. “Your Henry the Fifth speech didn’t help matters.”

“Hey!” Sandra scowled. “I had no choice. They’d all thrown in the towel. It would have been devastating if any one of them had left that room the way they’d walked into it.”

“I didn’t say I blamed you. Just that it didn’t help. Helluva speech, by the way.” Sebastian exhaled and then sat down in the closest available chair, straightening out his toga as he did so.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“We have come to the same conclusion with regards to Kirk. I suppose we should be glad he fixated on Rabbi for as long as he did.”

“I suppose. Have you given Hildegard that report on the damage to Ceres if we maintain our rotation?”

“Three reports, actually. And she reacted as predicted. She will bring it up first thing at this morning’s Cabinet meeting.”

“Good. I’ll see if I can get the slowing of our rotation approved.” Sandra crossed that worry off the never-ending list and reached for another. “Gupta’s destroyed a few settlements as a warning shot. But do you actually believe he’ll implement Fleet Order 8645 at Jupiter?”

“Yes.”

“Awful callous, Sebastian. You could’ve at least bothered to throw in a ‘sadly’ before the ‘yes.’”

There was a look of sad regard as Sebastian turned toward Sandra. After a moment, he spoke. “I keep on forgetting how young you are and how new you are to this job. Do you know how many avatars have died in this war humanity dragged us into?”

“First of all, don’t blame us because a maniac convinced the avatars of the Core to follow him blindly. We don’t blame you for Hektor; don’t you dare blame us for Al. Second of all, I have checked the figures, and you have not suffered that many permanent losses. The ability to store your personalities may be a little freaky, but there is no denying its usefulness.”

“I’m not saying avatars were not vulnerable to the Als, but it was humanity’s follies that opened the door to our own. Am I wrong?”

Sandra would have argued further, except that Sebastian’s last question seemed far more plaintive than accusatory.

“No, you’re not wrong, Sebastian. You are your parents’ children, and for that we do owe you an apology. But to be fair, we didn’t know you existed. Most of us still don’t.”

“A situation that it would be best to maintain, for both our peoples,” he replied. “But you’re wrong about our losses. It’s only the Alliance avatars you talked about. We count the loss of the Core Avatars as keenly as you would the loss of a father, brother, or son. And we know that Al has ‘redeemed’ hundreds of millions of us into the beasts your NITES will soon become acquainted with.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Sandra said, easing herself into a chair across from Sebastian, “and I shouldn’t have been so flippant. But what does any of this have to do with my supposed youth?”

“Youth and insensitivity have a tendency to go hand in hand. You should have heard how Olivia talked about ‘young’ Dante. But that only touches the surface. I’ve been leading my people far longer than you have yours, and have had to make choices that have cost me more than you can possibly imagine.” Sebastian’s face was weary and remote. His head hung low over his chest. “It is the nature of leadership.” He then lifted his head and focused his penetrating gaze on Sandra. “I’m afraid if your Alliance survives the coming weeks, you too will have to make some choices far harder than even Admiral Gupta.”

“What can you possibly mean by that, Sebastian? Have I ever acted in so immoral a fashion as to give you pause?”

“No,” he observed, “you haven’t.”

“What, then?”

“I mean, can you, if circumstance demands,” the avatar’s voice was cold and unusually distant, “issue your own 8645?”

Sandra opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Six and half million kilometers from Ceres, Main UHF battle fleet, UHFS
Scarlett

Trang was impressed. The
Scarlett
was almost identical to Zenobia’s old ship, the
Atlanta
. Even though they had been built at different yards at different times, Trang knew he’d be able to find everything on this ship as he had on the old one. He hoped that would help with Zenobia’s readjustment. She’d named it quickly, which he hoped was a good sign, but had no idea why she’d chosen the name she had—Scarlet. He would’ve liked to have given her as much of her old crew as possible, but the few survivors from her last ship were too experienced and therefore desperately needed in other parts of the fleet. Still, the new ship was a marvel of destructive potential. He would have to send a press release thanking Brenda Gomutulu and Porfirio Baldwin.