The Unincorporated Future (16 page)

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Don’t be naïve, Gwendolyn. If Al had managed to bring down the Cerean Neuro, the humans wouldn’t have been able to keep on fighting. Hell, they might not have been able to keep breathing. She saved herself and her humans—nothing more, nothing less.”

“What about my son?” countered Gwendolyn. “She threw herself in front of a data wraith with no idea what that would do to her. How did
that
help humanity? My son was not in a primary location, nor much of an important avatar, other than being the child of a Council member. By all rights—and your theory—Sandra shouldn’t even have been there or at a minimum, fled and come back later with a properly equipped response unit, but she didn’t. She stayed and saved his life. How dare you suggest she’s a threat to us.”

“Perhaps, Gwendolyn,” said Lucinda, putting a hand on her fellow Council member’s shoulder, “we should at least hear Sebastian out.”

“To what end? We already know what he’s going to say: ‘She’s grown too popular. The common avatar loves her. Look at the power she has in our world and now knows she has. We must be careful, we must be ready for the worst. We must be prepared to do what is necessary for the good of avatarity.’ Tell me I’m wrong, Sebastian. Tell me that was not what you were going to say.”

“It’s not wrong, Gwendolyn,” he replied. “You know it’s what I was going to say, and you were able to say it because you sense it too. I suspect that a part of you recognizes her as a threat—in some ways, a bigger threat to us than Al.”

“Pshaw! What have you become, Sebastian? I will not dignify these unsupported fears with Council discussion. Not on the groundless fears of an avatar who has allowed his pain to cloud his vision. Sebastian”—Gwendolyn’s voice became more subdued—“we are grateful for all you have done for us. And yes, the universe is a dangerous place. But if we assume that all powerful things and people are dangerous, we will never trust or hope again. We will find only enemies because that is all we will see. We have friends in this universe, Sebastian, friends who have proved themselves beyond all doubt. I will not see doubt cast on them by groundless fear.”

Sebastian looked at the faces of each of his children and knew that his words would find no favor. He would have to bide his time.

Presidential quarters
Ceres

Sandra was just settling into her bed, snuggled up next to her favorite oversized body pillow, eyes closing languidly, when the door chime rang.

“Justin,” she groused to the empty air after springing up, heart pounding. “I swear I’m going to rip that goddamned bell out of the goddamned wall one day.” She then took a deep breath. “Who is it?”

“Sergeant Holke, Madam President,” came the room’s ever-alert voice. Then, “Accompanied by others.”

Doesn’t that man ever sleep?
she thought.

“What is it, Sergeant?” She could not keep the hint of annoyance out of her voice.

“Catalina, Fatima, and Brother Sampson are here to see you, Madam President.”

Sandra found the combination of both her and J. D. Black’s assistants at her doorstep so late at night intriguing. The fact that the Grand Master of the Order of St. John, and J.D.’s personal chaplain, was with them only added to that intrigue.

“Send them in, Sergeant.”

“Yes, Madam President,” came the crisp reply.

Sandra donned a robe, straightened her hair, and then went to the reception room. When she entered, she saw her three visitors sitting patiently on a couch.

“Madam President,” they said in unison as they rose to their feet.

She went to the chair opposite the couch and motioned them to sit. When they were settled back down she began. “I believe it’s safe to assume”—Sandra pointedly looked at Brother Sampson and Fatima—“this has something to do with your boss.”

Fatima and Brother Sampson nodded.

“I’ve tried contacting her,” said Catalina. “We need to arrange a media op—essentially the two of you on the new terrace.”

“Yeah,” agreed Sandra, “that’ll be an op, all right.”

“You familiar with the Cerean Rock media op?”

“Should I be?”

The group laughed.

“Well,” said Catalina, “it was the first ‘official’ meeting between J.D. and Justin post the Battle of the Cerean Rocks, and let’s just say the party was big enough that a lot of babies were born nine months later.”

Sandra eyes brightened. “I
did
see that—at least the recordings.” She then nodded her head approvingly. “I think a repeat in some small way would do the people good. What does J.D. think?”

“That’s just it,” continued Catalina. “I can’t get through to her. She hasn’t returned any of my calls for the past two days. That’s when I called Fatima.”

“Look,” answered Sandra, running her fingers through her thick auburn hair, “she
is
the fleet admiral after what has to be the greatest victory of the war. I’ll assume she’s pretty busy. Plus it’s not like she sees me as her ‘real’ boss, if you know what I mean.”

“But she hasn’t been, Anointed One,” said Fatima.

“But she’s not, Madam President,” said Catalina.

“Not what?”

“Not busy.”

On Sandra’s look, Fatima continued. “She hasn’t given any orders since we secured orbit around Ceres.”

“What
has
she done?” demanded Sandra.

Fatima shrugged her shoulders.

Sandra’s eyes narrowed. “Has
anyone
gone to see her?”

Brother Sampson, hands folded neatly in his lap, nodded. “She simply sits in her cabin and refuses to talk. She’ll interact with Katy, but only minimally. The child—God bless her—sits on her lap and keeps her company, hour after hour.”

Sandra’s eyes swung accusingly to her Chief of Staff. “Why wasn’t I told about this immediately?”

Catalina’s eyes widened. “I … I … just found out, Madam President. Plus with everything there was to do and … I … just assumed the same thing was going on in the fleet, and I just, I just…”

Sandra stood up, putting a calming hand on Catalina’s shoulder while motioning for the others to remain seated with her other hand. “It’s all right, Catalina. We’re all a little tense … and there aren’t enough hours in the day.” On Catalina’s thankful glance, Sandra continued, “I’ll be right back.” She then headed back toward her room, muttering to the ceiling, palms facing upward, “Would one night of rest be too much to ask?”

Moments later, Sandra emerged dressed in a plain jumpsuit, jacket, and heavy boots. As she headed for the door, the other three got up from the couch and fell into line behind her. When she entered the corridor heading toward the Via Cereana, Sergeant Holke quickly fell into step beside her.

“Going somewhere?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“Mind telling me where, exactly?”

“Admiral Black,” answered Sandra without slowing her pace.

“I’ll alert the new Alliance One.”

“No,” answered Sandra, putting a hand on the sergeant’s, who’d already begun tapping commands into his DijAssist, “let’s keep this as low-key as possible.”

“Whadya have in mind?”

“Lieutenant Awala’s shuttle.”

Holke moved swiftly in front of Sandra, blocking her path. The sergeant’s eyes hardened as the group came to a standstill. “Not very secure, Madam President.”

“Catalina”—Sandra turned around to face her Chief of Staff—“you will stay here with Brother Sampson and prepare for the dedication of the new terrace. If anyone finds out that I’m visiting J.D., just tell ’em important matters had to be discussed and the admiral could not leave the fleet.”

Catalina tipped her head forward and left with the Brother in tow. Sandra then turned around to face her obdurate guard. “Sergeant Holke, we
will
be going in Lieutenant Awala’s shuttle because the last thing the Alliance needs now is to know that their Blessed One may be a couple of cards short of a full deck. Now, I’m not stopping you from having that shuttle protected—as stealthily as possible—in any way you deem necessary, but I am telling you that this is the only way I’m prepared to go and I may be the only thing standing between a party that billions are dying—and need—to have, and a wake.”

Holke’s lips twisted from side to side as he eyed the President sternly. He then pulled up his DijAssist and scanned its contents. “Awala’s shuttle will be watched. There’s a hull scanner leaving port in seven minutes. If we hurry, we can make it.”

Sandra nodded. “So glad you could see it my way, Sergeant.”

“Is there any other way, Madam President?” he half grumbled as he directed Sandra, Fatima, and a contingent of TDCs down a new corridor toward the hull scanner’s service deck.

All he got for an answer was a taut grin.

AWS
Warprize II
In orbit around Ceres

J.D. heard the door signal but did not respond. In fact, she did not really rouse herself till she heard a strange voice in her cabin.

“Hello, child. What’s your name?”

“Katy,” J.D. heard her child tell a strange voice.

“What a lovely name,” the voice said mellifluously. “Would you mind going with Auntie Fatima? She has some cotton candy ice cream I brought with me, and she won’t be able to eat it all by herself.”

J.D. turned around and watched as Katy answered the woman’s question with her feet. Katy was already out the door and into Fatima’s outstretched arms before J.D. could so much as breathe a word.

When J.D. focused on the person who’d had the temerity to disturb her and her child’s peace, she was shocked to see it was the President of the Outer Alliance dressed like a hydrogen fueler—and a low-paid one, at that.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of a Presidential visit?”

Sandra pulled up a chair next to J.D.’s and began looking out the same view port as the admiral. It was a real-time holo-image of the Outer Alliance fleet orbiting the battle-scarred surface of Ceres. Sandra hadn’t bothered answering the admiral, and soon J.D. drifted back into her self-imposed catatonia—that is, until Sandra began to snore.

J.D. placed both hands on the armrests of her chair and straightened her back. Then she slowly leaned over and stared at the somnolent woman beside her. “Are you—” J.D. looked closely at Sandra’s face. “—asleep?”

When she got no answer from the still snoring President, J.D. gave her a slight shove.

“Hey, wake up.”

Sandra awoke with a start. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, Blessed One. How long have I been out?”

J.D. viewed her suspiciously. “Barely a minute.”

“Shit. I was hoping for at least ten.”

“Hoping?”

“Yeah.” Sandra stretched out her arms and yawned. “It’s what I do with downtime.” Sandra then eyed J.D. with suspicion. “Say, whadya go and wake me for?” Her question was followed by another, even louder, yawn, after which she closed her eyes and immediately began to nod off again. J.D. stared in abject disbelief at the creature occupying the space to her immediate left.

“Presumably,” she said in too loud a voice, “you didn’t come here to nap.”

“Ah, right,” answered Sandra, snapping to once more. She then stared out the holo-port for another a few seconds before she began speaking. “Everyone was all up in arms about your supposed condition, and I knew I wasn’t going to get any rest till I did something about it. You have to understand that I have not gotten any real sleep in like a week. And even though you can get a shot of wakefulness if you have to, it’s just not the same as a good old-fashioned rest—call me old school.” Sandra yawned once more. “But every time I think I can get some shut-eye, there’s another thing I have to do. I was about to tell ’em all to piss off, that you were fine, just needed to be left alone and all that blather, when it suddenly occurred to me that your quarters would be
perfect
.” Sandra then nodded her head as if it would be obvious to J.D. what she was talking about.

“Perfect for what?” demanded the admiral.

“For getting some sleep, of course. Who would dare disturb the President
and
the victorious fleet admiral while they were in a heated discussion about … well, about whatever it is they think we’re supposed to be talking about, you know?”

J.D. stared at Sandra, dumbfounded.

Sandra scanned J.D.’s quarters with her eyes until she found what she was looking for. She pointed through the doorway that led to the admiral’s bedroom. “You gonna use that?”

“Pardon?” asked J.D. with a touch of asperity.

“Your bed. You gonna use it?”

“You”—J.D.’s face practically twisted in on itself—“want to use my bed?”

A slow curl of a smile spread across Sandra’s lips. “Wrassle ya for it.”

“What?”