The Unincorporated Future (59 page)

10. This treaty will supersede the armistice signed by both sides only on the date both sides sign.

*   *   *

Three months after the signing of the armistice, the entire solar system awaited the results of the elections taking place in the Outer Alliance. In the UHF, the treaty had sailed through the Assembly. That is, it did after the Assembly had been found and thawed out. Hektor and Franklin Higgins had done a good job of hiding that pesky voice of the people within the billions of souls still suspended above the troubled boiling skies of Mars. But when the various Assemblymen and -women had been woken up from the destruction of Mars to be informed of the destruction of the Avatar Plague and then to be told the Alliance might be willing to leave and let them have the solar system after all, it wasn’t a close vote.

Some other changes had been minor. The Cabinet post of Internal Affairs was abolished to be replaced by the Ministry of Recovery. Samuel Trang resigned his commission to officially accept the office of President. Pending the approval of the treaty by the new Congress of the Outer Alliance, it was announced that the UHF would change its name to the United Solar Federation, or USF for short.

But none of these normally momentous changes would mean squat if the pro-treaty forces of the Alliance lost. Trang had quietly sent an offer of assistance that thankfully no one but Dante and Sandra found out about. They quietly but firmly told the still-named UHF to stay the hell out of it. Though Dante was more polite about it, the tone was the same.

Another thorny issue was sidestepped about whether avatars should be allowed to vote. Dante gave a speech stating that, as avatars were already represented in the Cabinet and the humans were represented on the Council, now was not the time. It could be discussed and voted on when the constitutional convention took place. The body politic breathed a sigh of relief that one major issue had been sidelined so everyone could concentrate on the election itself.

As the election entered endgame, the main opposition did not come from those wanting victory, but those not wanting to leave their homes. The opposition of the native Saturnians was especially fierce. The Alliance almost came apart on the issue of what to do with the asteroid belt, also known as the Belter League. Within weeks of the armistice, the entire Belt nominally became members of the Belter League, and order was at last restored to that longest contested and blighted area of the solar system. Many members of the Belter League still considered themselves Alliance citizens and wanted to vote in the election. Naturally, the anti-treaty forces, hoping to turn the election, would have welcomed this, as it was rightly assumed the Belters would vote to stay in the solar system, having stayed through so much thus far.

Sandra had found herself in an untenable position, when she was saved by none other than Mosh McKenzie and Joshua Sinclair. They said it was not possible to be both a citizen of the Belter League and the Outer Alliance. Citizens would have to choose in all fairness. Sandra immediately followed this up with the offer that any citizen of the Belter League who could make it to an Alliance settlement would, of course, be allowed to vote. Of course, it helped the pro-treaty party that the nearest Alliance settlement was now Saturn. All sides knew that this was almost impossible, but had to accept the fiction that it was not, as a compromise.

It was with many trials and tribulations like this that the Outer Alliance groped its way to consensus. On election night, the President was on the Grand Terrace, surrounded by her Cabinet, admirals, and the others who’d made the journey to that moment in time. They awaited the returns with a mixture of nail-biting agony and otherworldly calm. Ironically, it was the avatars, a race that technically had no say in the matter who seemed to be most on edge.

As the returns came in, there were cheers when a district was won by a pro-treaty candidate and groans when a district was lost to anti-treaty candidate. At first, the treaty seemed to be in real trouble. This was because the results from Saturn were naturally the first tabulated, and a bare majority of the delegates went to the anti-treaty coalition. But Sandra remained calm and told her supporters not to give up hope. And she was right. As the day dragged on into night, the results from the other parts of the Outer Alliance made their weight felt. Soon delegate after delegate began to win from the pro-treaty party, and by early the next morning Karen Cho, the de facto leader of the anti-treaty coalition called on the President to offer her congratulations and concede the issue. By the time all the votes were counted, Sandra’s coalition had a supremely comfortable 71 percent of the Congress, which some wags couldn’t help calling the “supermajority.”

As the news finally sank in, the balcony erupted into a frenzy of joy. Sandra had the opacity screen lowered, and the whole system saw the most powerful people in the Outer Alliance dance, cry, and hug like it was the Battle of the Cerean Rocks all over again. As the yelling was echoed by the revelers all through the Smith Thoroughfare, J.D. felt a touch on her shoulder and turned around to see her President standing there with a huge smile plastered across her face. “We did it!” the admiral managed to shout.

Sandra nodded and gave her a hug, which J.D. accepted uncomfortably. While they were close, Sandra yelled in her ear, “It’s time!”

“For what, Madam President?”

“Your face!” Sandra yelled back.

J.D. was confused. “I have something on my face?”

Sandra shook her head and then quite unexpectedly put her hand softly onto the scarred half of J.D.’s face.

J.D. instinctively grabbed the President’s hand and held it there, staring at her friend—offended, confused.

“It’s time, J.D.,” Sandra repeated softly.

The Grand Admiral gently let go of the President’s hand and then brought her own up to the gnarled skin. And as she did she felt a familiar tug on her other sleeve. Looking down she saw Katy. Her daughter was nodding solemnly in agreement.

“Please, Mommy.”

And suddenly J.D. knew that it was indeed time. The war was over.

9 Exodus

I am free and that is why I am lost.

—Franz Kafka

Residential Level
The Cliff House
Ceres
In orbit around Eris

Sergeant Eric Holke found himself doing something he hadn’t done in years—relaxing. And at that realization knew it was time to fulfill the last order of Admiral Omad Hassan. So he made a call one Sunday afternoon and waited patiently in a recliner for his visitor to appear. His head jerked up suddenly at the sound of the doorbell. Not the sound itself, but the fact that the relic had been used at all. Few knew of its existence, much less what to do with the round white protuberance near the front of his door.

“Cassidhe, honey!” he shouted from the blissful comfort of the chair. “Could you get that?”

“What,” came her playful retort from somewhere in the house, “you don’t have legs?”

“Pookie,” he needled, using just the right tone to melt her heart.

“All right, all right,” she groused, slapping him on the knee as she passed him by. “But only because I was up already.” He gave her a wink, knowing she hadn’t been.

He heard the sound of their door sliding open and then his wife calling out, “Schnoo-magoo, it’s your … friend.”

Eric’s eyebrow rose and half a second later so did he, making his way to the front door.

Cassidhe smiled politely at Dante, who smiled back, and then she gave Eric a knowing look. She had, over the years, heard enough of her husband’s talks with Dante to know they were of the same mind and could spend hours on any topic, so long as it wasn’t something important. It was one of the things that had cemented their friendship. “I’ll leave you two men to discuss your ‘important’ affairs. If you need me,” she sang, giving Eric a peck on the cheek, “I’ll be down at Lannihan’s.” She left the house, making sure to sidestep Dante. Walking through him would have been bad form.

Eric gave Dante a quizzical look. “The doorbell?”

“Just trying to make it easier on your wife. She’s never really liked me just beaming in—even with the warning chime. Come to think of it, I don’t believe she’s ever really liked me.”

“She’s not as bad as all that,” he argued as they headed over to the living room.

“Didn’t she call avatars, ‘creepy creatures of light and magic’?”

Eric laughed. “(A) She was drunk, and (B) you
are
creepy creatures of light and magic, but,” he then threw in as an aside, “she has gotten to like you more than you know.”

“I’m glad, but something tells me you didn’t invite me over to talk about your wife’s evolving attitudes to avatarity.”

“Oh, she still doesn’t trust you guys. It’s just you she’s willing to put up with. But you’re right, I didn’t ask you here for that.”

Eric pointed Dante over to the couch and went into the bedroom. He returned a moment later holding a secure lockbox. The arming light was red. Eric placed it on the coffee table between Dante and himself and sat on the edge of his easy chair.

“The last time I saw Admiral Hassan, he gave me this and asked me to hold it for him. Had no idea why, but after his death, the box sent a message to my DijAssist.” Eric activated the message, and both Dante and Eric heard the long-dead voice of the admiral.

“Yeah, I’m dead. By Allah, that feels good to say. I figure I’m either with Christina or I’m nowhere, and either is better than where I am now. In this box is pretty much that last thing I care enough about to see that it rests safely in the hands of others. But here’s the thing, Sergeant Holke. Consider it my last order to you. If the war is won and we’ve driven the UHF away from our territory or better yet destroyed the motherfuckers completely, then open it up. But if we lost this war, I’d ask that you please key the destruct sequence. I don’t want any of those UHF sons of bitches to have even a hint of what’s in there. That’s it, lad. Give my regards to your missus and keep the President safe. Good luck to you, and may God, Allah, or whoever it is you believe in, bless the Alliance.”

The two men sat in companionable silence for a moment. “So,” Dante finally asked, “you gonna open it or what?”

“Well, that’s just it.”

“That’s just what?”

Eric scratched his head. “I don’t know if we’ve won or lost.”

The avatar considered it. “That
is
an interesting question. What’s your thinking?”

“Well, knowing Omad, this would be a loss. The UHF not only survives but the Alliance is being forced out of the solar system.”

“Okay, then why is that box still here?”

“Because I want to know what’s in it, dammit! The thing’s been driving me crazy for years. But simple curiosity can’t be a good enough reason if, in fact, we lost. I won’t dishonor the memory of the man.”

Dante chuckled.

“What’s so damned funny?” barked Eric.

“Rest assured, friend. You’ve won this war as completely as you could have hoped.”

“But the UHF—”

“—is gone, Eric. It couldn’t survive the war. It’s been replaced by the USF. And I think we can all agree that the United Solar Federation is a much better entity.”

“But we are leaving.”

“And that’s the best evidence of all. Yes, we’re leaving, but with our people, our ideals, and most important of all, our freedom intact. Our having this conversation in the open is more proof than any words I can give. The Alliance survived and has become something greater than its parts. And now we have an entire galaxy to claim. No one in the history of the solar system has ever won a greater prize.” Dante smiled broadly at his friend. “Open the damn box, Eric. We won.”

Eric Holke considered his friend’s words, then finally nodded, flashing a relieved grin. He leaned over the secure box and input the victory code. In seconds, a simple beep was followed by a soft click. Eric lifted the lid and smiled. After reaching in, he took out a bottle of vodka a little less than half full.

“Is that—?” began Dante.

“Indeed it is, my friend. Indeed it is. I’m going to have you scan it, and you see if you can replicate the stuff on the Neuro.” Eric got up to get a glass. “We have to drink a toast.”

“To what?”

“Victory, my friend. “Ever-loving, motherfucking victory.”

Jerusalem
Earth
USF

Rabbi would have felt uncomfortable in his heavy radiation garb, but was too overjoyed to notice. He was inside the holy city of Jerusalem. Well, not exactly
in
the holy city so much as
on
the holy city. And not really the holy city per se, but rather the fused glass surface that
used to be
the holy city of Jerusalem. But he was the first observant Jew to have done so in centuries. He’d been hoping that when he reached the site, he would somehow
know
that he was standing next to the Kotel, otherwise known as the Wailing Wall—a sacred structure that had once been a retaining wall to the Holy Temple, and a place where Jews had prayed for millennia. Unfortunately, it all pretty much looked like a large mound of fused glass, as did many other significant spots around the holy city.