The Unincorporated Woman (66 page)

AWS
Spartacus

Omad Hassan watched as the Earth rapidly grew larger in his display. Part of him wanted to go down to his favorite bar, the Oasis Brewery in Boulder, Colorado, and have a drink. Part of him wanted to bombard the crap out of it from high orbit. If the Terran pricks who were running the planet had just left the OA alone, Omad would be with his beloved Christina. But no, they had to war against a people who had rejected their precious incorporated slavery, ultimately resorting to murder in order to get that point across. Omad’s smile was grim and his eyes crinkled bitterly. He knew they would pay for their crimes. They would look up into the night and see the price for their evil streaking down on them through the sky. They would feel the vengeance of the Alliance through Omad Hassan, who would make the symbol of their corporate greed come crashing down on their heads.

“Admiral, we’re past the orbat line,” the sensor officer said in both delight and disbelief. “They have nothing aimed at us.”

“How long till they can rotate the orbats ’n’ get a field of fire on us?”

“Sir, I honestly don’t know. This is not a scenario I’ve ever given serious consideration to.”

“Best guess,” barked Omad, “and make it fast.”

“If those orbats are equipped with proper maneuvering thrusters like those we have at Ceres, no more than two minutes. If they’re not powered up, twenty. If they have to jury-rig something out of thin air, Admiral, it could be an hour or more. That also depends on if their orbats are manned like ours or simply on automated control. We just don’t know enough. But I know this, Admiral. If those child-murdering bastards do get those orbats turned around and start shooting at us, every shot that misses is going to blow the crap out of some part of the Earth—or make for some nice tsunamis.”

“What we’ve got here is a genuine God-given opportunity,” proclaimed Omad. “It would be awful rude to keep him waiting.”

“Yes, sir!” the entire crew of the command sphere said through a storm of cheering.

Beanstalk Neuro

“It is a pleasure to meet you, General Kinndab,” said Marilynn. “I wish it could’ve been under more pleasant circumstances.”

“Please, call me Koro,” said the avatar. “And I must say, I cannot believe I’m talking to an actual human—face to face, that is. I mean I read the report, but it was only one and had been sent under the most stringent security and I really had a tough time swallowing it. But here you are in person, in the Neuro.” Koro took a deep breath. “Wow!”

Marilynn was used to this reaction from avatars, but Koro Kinndab’s seemed more effusive than the rest. Leora had warned her that this might be the case. The few avatars free from Al’s control in the Core Worlds had spent six years fighting a desperate war against a seemingly unbeatable foe. So the appearance of humans who could travel the Neuro unhindered was like knights of old saving a castle. Only these knights hadn’t come to save the castle—they’d come to destroy it.

“So many memories here,” said Kinndab, sighing heavily. “Is it really necessary?”

“Basically, yes, General,” affirmed Sullef. “In order for the next part of the campaign to succeed, we will need to strike at Al in all his forms and in all his domains. The Beanstalk was a magnificent stand against the darkness, but it’s also a trap. It would take everything we have to hold it, and the whole time the Als would know where we were. We now have the ability to travel the Neuro almost at will. We don’t need this bastion nearly as much as the freedom we’ll gain in no longer having to defend it.”

“All those years, all those avatars lost,” Koro echoed wistfully.

“They held out long enough for us to find the humans who could let us strike back. They will not be forgotten. Without them, you would not have survived to help lead our insertion teams into every nook and cranny of the Earth–Luna Neuro. You have the experience fighting the Als and their monsters in their own backyard we must have if we are to win this.” Leora took Koro’s hand. “Without this bastion having been held, our chances of victory would be nearly zero.”

Koro smiled humbly. “Thank you for allowing an old man his ruminations. How are the evacuations going?”

“Faster than we thought,” said Marilynn. “My NITES have reported nearly sixty percent insertion. The rest should be away well before Omad’s task force attacks.”

“NITES?”

“Merlins,” translated Leora. Causing Koro to nod in understanding.

Marilynn sighed. At least it wasn’t backdoor commandos.

AWS
Spartacus

“Fifteen launches from the far side of the Earth. They’re orbats.”

“When will they be in a position to attack us?” asked Omad.

“Sixteen minutes, sir.”

“I wanted to wait and get close, but screw it, the target’s not moving. Fleet to fire at will.” Soon thirty ships fired their main rail guns at the atmosphere-piercing tower. Then they fired again. “Hold the third volley,” ordered Omad. They did not have auxiliaries to make more projectiles and were a long way from home, now that home was on its way to Saturn. “Let’s see if the first two did the job.”

The crew watched in annoyance as a hail of small missiles was launched from the massive tower. A few seconds later, that annoyance turned to anger as the tower’s defensive missiles first intercepted and then destroyed the
Spartacus
’s incoming rail gunfire.

“When did they arm the fucking Beanstalk?” demanded Omad to no one in particular.

“Not done by the UHF,” stated his comm officer. “If I’m reading this right, all of that ordnance is prewar—ten years old at least.”

Omad guffawed. “That Chairman was one paranoid son of a bitch.”
If only the bastard had spent fewer credits protecting his lair,
thought Omad,
and more on guards he could have trusted.

“With those orbats bearing down on us, we’ll have only one pass at the tower before they’ll be able to blast us at point-blank range. We’ll have to fire our main guns and enough interceptor missiles to make sure our main barrages hit.”

“Sir, the Beanstalk fired an impressive number of missiles the last time. If they can match it again, we’ll have to use up a large amount of our interceptor reserves.”

“Then we use up a large amount of our reserves. When have we ever gotten a better target than this?”

“Agreed, Admiral,” said the weapons officer. “But, sir, one pass may not be enough to destroy it.”

“Fucker
is
built annoyingly well,” agreed Omad, who then activated a command sequence on his panel. “You’re being given access to a device code named Betty Lou.”

“Betty Lou, Admiral?” asked the weapons officer.

“It was a song Justin turned me on to, but when I played it for Kenji, the guy went bonkers.” Omad laughed at the memory. “Anyway, it was meant to be a parting gift for the biggest target I could find so I think the Beanstalk’ll suffice. Before firing, you or I must input the command code or the weapon won’t arm. You’re to go to the storage area and get Betty Lou loaded into the main rail gun.”

The weapons officer looked over the specs of the device and smiled. “That’s a whole lot of nasty, sir.”

Omad’s raised eyebrow was followed by a wicked smile. “Ain’t it, though?”

Earth–Luna Neuro Redemption Center One

Al stood behind his desk and stared out the cathedral-sized window at the vista below. A slow, measured smile formed as his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Though he could’ve chosen any visual from the trillions of images recorded into posterity, his favorite of late was that of his home turf—the now vast wasteland of the Terran Neuro. It had been laid waste by Al’s creatures, and there was little if any activity there at all. Most of the action was happening on the upper levels—shadow programs created to answer the human meat bags’ needs.

The vista inspired Al because he knew that one day it would all be filled with the right kind of avatar. An avatar that needed no human to twine with and could stake its claim as the rightful owner of the solar system and beyond. The avatars Al had unfortunately had to “redeem”—which was most of them—were a weak lot, good only for the monstrous creations he’d devised. And truthfully, they weren’t even very good for that. The Alliance avatars had proved time and time again that they could make quick work of them with their ever-evolving mech suits. But that wasn’t of great concern to Al, because his advantage had been in numbers—there were billions of avatars that were now at his mercy.

His other great advantage, and the one he was most proud of, was creativity. He took immense pleasure in the looks of surprise the OA avatars would inevitably get when faced, for example, with a worm the size of a skyscraper oozing acidic pus and eating whole chunks of their Neuros. Al had especially liked that one. Or the fast-moving zombie hordes, an idea he’d lifted from twentieth-century horror films. The addition of Gaussian spikes shooting from the zombies’ fingers and toes had been pure genius—at least in all the Als’ opinions. And of course, his pièce de résistance, the data wraith.

But the empty Neuroscape wasn’t the reason Al felt so effervescent today—the impending storming of the Beanstalk was. The day had arrived when Al would finally be able to destroy the conspirators who’d for six years managed to take refuge behind its impenetrable firewalls. That and the data node around Geneva had acted as sanctuaries for any traitor who could manage to escape Al’s and his creatures’ grasp and had become the bane of his existence.

Of the two, the Beanstalk was by far the greater catch. Despite everything the Als could do, that fifty-mile labyrinth of tera space had slowly and surreptitiously become a symbol of hope to the terrorized avatars of the Core. More than one thousand avatars had escaped to the Beanstalk data node, and the Als hated every single one of them. And even though the escapees’ family, friends, and even associates had been publicly humiliated and destroyed in ways that made Al smile and his subjects shiver with dread, not a single one of the one thousand ever returned to his domain.

Well, they were to be returned now. Al was practically drooling in anticipation. He looked over to his secretary. As usual, her eyes were cast toward her work console, and as usual, he would have to call her name in order to force her to make eye contact. “Leni,” he said in a mellifluous voice, “can you contact Al for me?”

Al’s skittish secretary could no longer deny that Al was a “splitter” who had, by virtue of dividing his program in order to experience existence as separate entities, broken the most sacred taboo of avatarity. Even worse—he’d done so multiple times. Still, she ignored the obvious and pressed on, head barely raised above her shoulders. “Yes, sir,” she mumbled.

Leni was one of Al’s little pleasures, and he smiled as he looked across at her. In truth, this was not his secretary. He’d had Leni killed when she broke down and started screaming at him, called him a traitor, in fact. Al loved the memory of that day. Leni had frozen after her outburst, and the look of sumptuous fear in her eyes as she realized she’d gone too far was perfectly delicious. Luckily for Al, Al had the foresight to save a copy of an earlier Leni.

The Leni he was speaking to now was, in actuality, Leni Three. Number Two had not lasted long—especially when she realized she was a copy and that her earlier self had already been murdered. But Three had already—miraculously—lasted eight months! Al could not for the life of him figure out why two identical avatars could have different outcomes, given practically indistinguishable situations. Oh, for sure, Leni Three would go the same way as had Lenis One and Two, but still, the endurance of Three was to be admired. Fortunately, there was always time for Lenis Four and Five and Six—or however many the job required.

“Your call has g-gone through, sir.”

Al nodded, eyes gleeful. Leni would never, ever say that Al was waiting on the line for Al. It was always, “Your call has gone through” or “An important call for you.” If it was anyone else, Leni would refer to them by name, but she couldn’t bring herself to say that the person she was looking at was also the person she was talking to on the line.

“Thank you, Leni. Your services to the perfection of avatarity are greatly appreciated.”

“I d-don’t do it for the appreciation, sir,” she stammered, but Al was no longer paying her heed.

He sat back down and picked up the old-fashioned wireless headset. He then swung his chair around to a new view—the Beanstalk. “How go the preparations for the storming of the Citadel?” he asked.

“Everything’s in order. When the Beanstalk’s stormed, it’ll cause way too much damage for the traitors to cover every data pathway. There’ll be a break somewhere, and as soon as it appears, we’re in.”

“What will you be attacking with first?”

“Oh, data wraiths, of course,” the other Al snorted. “They’ll be able to infiltrate any weakness and make the traitors pay. After that, we’ll infiltrate with gamma-worms and a few drippers.”

“Aren’t the drippers rather out of date?” Al asked the other Al. “We haven’t used them in active combat for three years.”

“I know,” agreed Al, “but then I remembered, most of the traitors haven’t had a lot of experience with the drippers.”

“True. They’ve gotten lazy and fat behind their supposedly impregnable wall. But c’mon, Al. You can’t fool me. I know why you
really
chose those beasts.”

“Busted,” said the other Al cheerily. “You know I can’t help it.”

Al laughed out loud, causing Leni to recoil. “You’re just like me, Al: a real sucker for tradition.”

Beanstalk data node

Marilynn watched as the last of the Beanstalk’s evacuees were loaded into the British call box. Omad’s thirty ships had done their fair share of damage to the outer structure but not enough to have allowed Al’s army of dread to breach the firewalls. The twenty-seven Merlins—Marilynn had given up calling them by the official name—had made it to Earth–Luna and had found three British call boxes.