The Unincorporated War (24 page)

Hektor now turned around and climbed back up to the podium where all could get a better view. He looked out and around and, raising one fist into the air, shouted, “Well, I say, to hell with that! I support incorporation like The Chairman before me and the wise and knowledgeable who survived the Grand Collapse before him. This is a consummate good and should be supported. I, Hektor Sambianco, candidate for the presidency of the Terran Confederation, now come out in full and complete support of The Shareholder Voting Act and will push to see it is in place by this coming election.”

The crowd’s reaction was immediate but mixed, with many applauding and many yelling in protest. But soon a chant spread from within the assembly. As soon as Irma heard it she bristled. Not because it was simple and memorable but because it was true.

“
Majority ruled, minority fooled!
” screamed the crowd over and over again.

Hektor seemed unflustered. He let the chant run for a few minutes and then held up his hands, not, noticed Irma, in a demanding way, but with head bowed as if asking for the right to speak. Slowly the crowd acquiesced and the chant simmered down. Either out of having played itself out or in deference to Hektor’s request, Irma couldn’t tell. She was just glad it had stopped.

“You’re right,” continued Hektor. “You are each and every one of you absolutely right. It’s the height of hypocrisy to propose a system that will not affect me. After all, as most of you are aware, I own sixty-three percent of my own stock. I even managed to get some back from my parents when they sold me short.”

This brought another smattering of laughter.

“So what can be done?” he asked, eyes narrowing with snarky humor. “What can be done?”

“Nothing!” someone shouted from the pack. “Leave us alone!” shouted another.

“I’ll tell you what!” Hektor shouted back. “Something can be done and something
will
be done.”

Hektor noted the sardonic looks of the audience.

“Heard it all before, have you? Tell you what,” he said, looking for all the world like a kid about to get caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Access the Neuro and look at my stock ratio.”

Hektor waited patiently. When he was convinced that most were monitoring the Neuro he continued.

“It’s easy and safe to support something without any risk or sacrifice. Well, I
say incorporation is worth that risk and sacrifice. I say it’s the best system yet devised by man for the running of human affairs. And I firmly believe that The Shareholder Voting Act is the logical and long-delayed extension of incorporation into the Political sphere.”

He heard more boos and derisions.

“But enough words. You ready for some action?”

The crowd roared its approval.

Hektor laughed. “Do you want to see this corporate executive, this
majority
own er who supposedly has the system at his feet, put his credits where his cause is?”

Now the crowd’s response was deafening.

Hektor waited a few moments more, then pulled a DijAssist out of his pocket. “iago,” he said, voice booming, “send instructions under the package: ‘Of the people, by the people, for the people.’”

“At once, Hektor.” The stage amplification made sure that all who wanted to hear the avatar’s curt reply would.

Within seconds thousands peering into their DijAssists watched as Hektor Sambianco’s stock valuation dropped from a very respectable 63 percent to a humble 40 percent. The crowd was stunned into silence. And it was into that silence that Hektor launched the thrust of his attack.

“The day I got my majority was one of the proudest days of my life. Those of you familiar with my storied past know that the way I got it was less than ideal—yeah, I know. At the time it was worthless, making me just one more Poor Majority own er. One more pomo,” he said, using the street slang for those achieving a majority of worthless shares, “in a long line of has-been pomos. But pomo or not, it was all mine. The odds were I wouldn’t keep it long, but at least I was able to say that for the first time in my life I had majority! Now as you all know, luck and perseverance allowed me to keep that majority, and I’m forever grateful to a system that allowed me to rise above my station. But trust me, I never would have guessed I’d one day be prepared to give it up. But give it up I have. Twenty-three percent of my stock is now held by charitable organizations that provide aid to both military personnel, their families, and refugees. In short, those most affected by this war. I am now a minority. Correction, I am now a
proud
minority.”

Hektor looked down from the podium to those closest to him. He could see the look of abject awe in the expressions. They thought he was either the biggest idiot to walk the Earth or the ballsiest son of a bitch they’d ever met. He’d prefer they thought the latter but felt he had nothing to lose if they thought the former.

“The needs of incorporation,” he continued, “demand something from me more important than my majority. The needs of our very civilization demand my minority. This is a small price to pay to help ensure our civilization endures. And
there is one more point I will make before I leave this stage. In all the years of the Terran Confederation there has never been a President elected who did not have majority. What were they embarrassed about? There’s no shame in being a minority. We can do anything, hold any office and do any job. Remember, my fellow minorities. I, a minority holder, am Chairman of GCI and with your help will be the next President of this great, incorporated society! Thank you all.”

Hektor left the stage to the thunderous chants of his name. And thanks to Irma he knew it was being transmitted around the world and beyond.

The Stockholder Voting Act has left the Confederation assembly in near-record time and will be sent to the President’s desk to be signed into law. The Supreme Court is expected to rule the act constitutional under the Fifth Amendment. The act has generated its fair share of controversy, as one member of the Supreme Court has already resigned and fled to Outer Alliance space. The fleeing justice has given the President an opportunity to select someone more in line with his interpretation of the law.

In related news, Hektor Sambianco has taken a huge lead over Arthur Damsah in his race for the presidency. Chairman Sambianco has made considerable gains among the minority voters, whose votes, ironically enough with the impending passage of the SVA, have become a negligible factor in the upcoming election. The war along with the string of recent defeats have led to a bear market that is having negative impact on major economic indicators….

—
3N
Election coverage

Neela was finally awake. Her heart started beating rapidly. She kept her eyes closed and tried to remember everything. More important, she tried to gauge her emotional response to her recent memories.

How did she feel about Justin?

I love him.

Hektor?

Scum-sucking leach.

The Alliance?

Home.

The Terran Confederation?
The enemy.

Her sister?

Bitch!

She started to breathe easier but still felt uneasy.
Good,
she thought,
all systems still functioning.
The problem with a psychological audit, at least as she understood it, was that P.A.’s were for the most part untraceable. Some high-def brain scans might indicate foul play, but she wasn’t in any position to order any up. She’d have to rely on self-evaluation. It wasn’t foolproof, but it was all she had to go on.

She opened her eyes.

Her room was Spartan, ordinary, and strangely familiar. In fact, she realized, it looked very much like the VIP revivification suite at her old clinic in Boulder, Colorado. The bed and nightstand were just as she’d remembered them. The door and window were accurately positioned as well. As she slowly swung her legs over the edge of the bed she realized that if she’d been suspended, then she’d been woken up with great care and expense. It was possible, she knew, to revive someone from a cold sleep without their being aware, but it would have taken a level of constant monitoring from an exquisitely trained staff to pull it off. All of which, she realized, were at Hektor’s disposal. She shrugged, knowing there was nothing she could do about it.

Neela noted the sluggishness in her legs.
Gravity,
she remembered.
Damned gravity
. She’d almost forgotten what one g was like. In the Alliance she’d done all she could to stay in one-g shape, but the truth was, most places, including Mars, did not have many one-g environments. Neela trudged over to the window and, grasping the sill for support, looked out. It
was
the compound of the Boulder, Colorado, revival clinic. She was back where it had all started.

When the door chimed behind her she knew, without even looking, who it was going to be.

Justin was in the midst of another stormy debate with a delegation from Congress. He’d chosen to have the meeting take place in his office rather than any of the tens of designated conference rooms available to him. In this particular circumstance he’d wanted the vestiges of his position to weigh into the conversation as well. To the bemusement of his friends and most visitors, Justin had made the shape of the room triangular, with his desk positioned at the apex, facing the two opposite corners. Each corner had a doorway, with one the designated entrance and the other an exit. There was a triangular coffee table in front of his desk, around which were two medium-sized couches. When asked about the unique shape of the room Justin would explain that he’d designed it so that all information flowed toward him.

Preeminent in the room was a thumbprinted, framed original copy of the Articles of Allegiance. There were over three hundred thumbnatures from representatives
all over the Alliance. Every thumbprint signature represented a man or woman willing to put his or her life as well as the lives of his or her constituents on the line for the cause of freedom. Justin owned one of the three original documents that had seen an actual thumb pressed to paper. One was located in the Freedom Museum on Smith Thoroughfare and the last had been placed in a government vault for archival purposes. His office also had busts of Tim Damsah and Abraham Lincoln, as well as an entire wall covered with a full-sized twelve-foot by twenty-one-foot reproduction of Leutze’s
Washington Crossing the Delaware.
Behind Justin’s desk was a large, open flag of the Alliance. The graphic was that of a fiery star on a black background surrounded by seven expanding rings. Each ring represented the orbits of the major population centers of the Alliance: Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto, Eris, and the asteroid belt. Behind the large flag was a small wet bar reserved for the entertainment of a select few. On Justin’s desk was a picture of him and Neela from a brief foray into the Alaskan wilderness. They were holding each other tight and laughing—at what, Justin could never seem to remember. And finally there was a large jar filled with a type of candy Justin had had Padamir Singh go to great lengths to procure and then have reproduced. The chalky, flat flavors of the NECCO Wafers were a throwback given the variety of “live” candy available, but the children who visited Justin’s office couldn’t seem to get enough.

The surroundings, however, seemed lost on the current occupants, who, sitting around the coffee table with Justin at the head, were too busy arguing about those recently rescued from Mars to give much notice. Justin had already been briefed and knew that the overwhelming majority of the rescued were grateful to stay in the Alliance and many, after passing though a very thorough internal security check, had already been sent to live with various friends and relatives. The issue was with those who’d wanted to return, numbering close to one hundred thousand. It had been patiently explained to these holdouts that they’d be under even greater scrutiny if they went back and that they’d quite possibly be psyche-audited given that they’d just come from Alliance space. Still, to the befuddlement of their rescuers, they had their hearts set.

Most Belters, as well as the delegates who were in Justin’s office representing them, felt the group’s stance was an insult to those who’d risked life and limb to ensure their freedom. Given the current predicament and the logistical nightmare involved in returning so large a group into enemy territory, the consensus was to put, in the words of one delegate, “the ungrateful bastards” into suspension until the war was over. Still others in the room felt they could be “useful idiots” and exchanged for relatives who had been trapped on Earth, Luna, or other core strongholds. Justin had come down firmly on the rights of the Martians
to return home, no strings attached. The delegation he now faced was none too pleased. The only good news was that Justin’s stand had united members of the NoShare and Shareholder factions alike who soon after the victory of the Cerian Rocks had once again been at each other’s throats. Now, mused Justin, at least they were united in their disdain of his position.

“Mr. President, we can’t just let them leave,” said Narsey Yesran, a delegate from Eros. For the life of him Justin couldn’t tell if Narsey was a he or a she, and had forgotten to check with Cyrus beforehand. Eros, as the second-biggest asteroid, had become a major center of Belter activity all its own and was positioned on the opposite side of the belt from Ceres. It had also decided to live up to its mythological name and had become home to the most libertine practices, wildest clubs, and most extreme forms of human carnality in the entire system. Justin sometimes thought that the Erosians made Cerians, no slouches in the sybarite department, seem like Erisians.