The Unincorporated War (3 page)

“We expected that. Did we get the important thing?”

Mosh allowed the corner of his mouth to curl up a bit. Justin knew it to be a smile, though not everyone else did. “Slipped it in attached to the proviso authorizing the committee on naval appointments. All volunteers are signing up for
the duration.
Not for two years like most of the colonial militias had them in for.”

“Amazing,” said Neela.

“Not one complaint,” said Mosh.

It seemed that every colony of the Outer Alliance was sending men and ships of every description to the capital settlement in order to help fight in what was being termed the “glorious” freedom war. Most seemed afraid that the war would be over before they got to the action. Justin used that knowledge to his advantage in order to get his proviso passed but secretly prayed that there would be little “action” for any of them to experience. He lived daily with the foreboding sense that his prayers would not be answered.

“Everyone thinks the war will be over the second Earth loses the first fight,” added Padamir, “so why argue over a moot point? After all, it’s common knowledge that the core planets are dependent on our raw materials. The corporations will force the corporate core to make peace. It’s the beauty of the incorporated system,” he said almost triumphantly. “Trade is more powerful than war. Always has been.”

“I pray you’re right, Padamir,” answered Justin, unconsciously tapping his fingers on a large black binder, “but if you’re not, this little amendment will save us a lot of grief.”

It was at this point that Joshua Sinclair held up his hand to speak.

“Yes, Mr. Sinclair?” asked Justin.

“Pardon me for interrupting, Mr. President, but what am I doing here?”

Justin smiled at the man’s temerity. He would never have stood for it in his first life. Protocol wouldn’t have allowed it. But that former life and the close to three hundred years he’d spent in cyronic suspension getting to this one was
well over. On top of that, the belt was a different world entirely. Its greatest strength, Justin had realized, was people just like this pilot. It was also proving to be Justin’s greatest headache.

“I believe we’re ready to move on.” Justin answered, looking to Cyrus for confirmation. Cyrus nodded in the affirmative.

Justin fixed his gaze on the impetuous pilot. “Fleet needs an admiral, Mr. Sinclair.”

Joshua Sinclair almost gagged on his drink. “Hey, now wait just a minute,” he said, slamming his glass to the table. “I agreed to command a ship. Damsah’s left nut, sir, she’s not even that big. Barely a frigate.”

“Captain Sinclair, Joshua if I may,” answered Justin, turning on the charm. Sinclair nodded, stiffly.

“Your record speaks for itself. You’re a career mercenary with a very reputable company and twenty years commanding an assortment of ships.”

“No disrespect, Mr. President, but you just described fifty other men in orbit around this rock.”

“None taken, Joshua. And of course you’re right. But there are other reasons as well. It helps that you’re from Saturn.”

“Titan, sir,” Joshua answered proudly.

Justin knew that Saturn, like Jupiter, was itself an uninhabitable gas planet—the second largest in the solar system in fact. And like Jupiter, over sixty moons surrounded it, Titan being the largest.

“I was of course referring to the neighborhood, but I can certainly understand pride of birthplace.”

Sinclair smiled even though he’d just received a platitude.

“Your planetary system has sent far more recruits and ships than any other. Also, Karen Cho’s on the committee and it’s her job to appoint all these eager officers to their posts. Saturnian officers, Saturnian admiral. Makes sense, no?”

Captain Sinclair was starting to come around. “I know Karen,” he said. “She’ll keep her word if she gives it, but count your fingers when you shake her hand and if you sign a deal don’t expect the pen back.… Why don’t you let her appoint one of those eager lads to the job?”

Justin now opened the binder he’d been tapping on and perused the first page—more for show than clarification.

“I have the report here on the Spicer ring.”

Sinclair shifted uneasily in his seat, reliving a bad memory. “All the more reason
not
to hire me, sir. It states rather clearly my insubordination and untrust-worthiness.”

“Indeed it does, Joshua. However, what it doesn’t state is your refusal to cause the death of innocents.”

“War is a terrible thing, Mr. President. I disobeyed a direct order.”

“First of all, it wasn’t war at the time,” answered Justin, “and second of all, if I ever give an order like that I’d expect you to disobey it as well.” Justin then pointed to a large image of the asteroid belt projected on the wall. “They all think it’ll be a short, easy war. I look into your eyes, sir, and see that you think different. That’s the type of officer I need leading the Alliance fleet.”

Sinclair’s lips drew back into a knowing grin. “Of course it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m a 100 percenter.”

“Officially, not at all,” answered Justin with equal sarcasm. “I, as the President, have no position on how the various governments deal with incorporation. That is a colonial matter having nothing to do with the Alliance.”

“But unofficially it don’t hurt,” added Omad, speaking the words that Justin could not. The widening split between those who wanted the incorporated system thrown out altogether and those who only wanted it reconfigured had been growing daily. But Sinclair’s point, noted Justin, was spot-on. Most Saturnians as well as those living in the farthest reaches of the belt were inclined toward disincorporation. Having their new admiral so inclined would make things run that much smoother.

“I’m sorry, Mr. President,” said Mosh somewhat gruffly, “but I will be heard.”

Justin motioned for him to continue. He knew full well Mosh’s position. In fact, Mosh was in the cabinet, not only because Justin trusted him but also for the very same reason Sinclair was now being coerced. Mosh represented a large constituency who felt that incorporation was still the best system when it came to delivering the twin benefits of peace and prosperity. That Hektor and his ilk had debauched it was beside the point.

“Most of these ‘NoShares’ or 100 percenters or what ever you wanna call ’em,” said Mosh, a chill evident in his voice, “were miners with heavy majorities and close family ties making it possible to get their parents’ shares. And from my understanding, parents unwilling to comply were ‘convinced’ otherwise.”

Sinclair grimaced at that comment but, Justin noted with appreciation, held back from saying anything.

“And the 5 percent that would normally have gone to the government,” continued Mosh, “reverted from the Terran Confederation to the colonial governments—who in turn offered it up as a recruiting bonus. But even so, most of those so-called 100 percenters have on average 10 to 15 percent unaccounted for and are therefore breaking the law of incorporation and should be made to pay just compensation.”

That had been enough for Sinclair. “And who the hell,” he bellowed, “is going to make them …
Shareholder
?”

“Gentlemen,” said Justin in a firm yet quiet voice, “enough.” Mosh and Sinclair
snapped to, realizing that now was neither the place nor time to rehash their well-trodden positions.

“Right here,” said Justin, closing the binder in front of him, “you can see the biggest threat to the Alliance. Truth is, if the Terran Confederation left us alone we’d probably end up destroying ourselves. It’s difficult enough having each colony insisting on special rights and privileges, but when you bring the emancipation question into the picture it gets downright intractable.”

“It’s an issue that won’t go away, Mr. President,” intoned Mosh.

“I’m not saying it’s not open for discussion, Mosh, only that in this room we’ll need to keep our heads.”

“My own brother’s a NoShare,” added Padamir. “I’ve tried to talk reason to him, that we simply cannot get rid of a system overnight that has worked well for centuries and replace it with the hope that something better will come along. But he insists, as I suspect does Mr. Sinclair here, that it must be now.”

“Mr. Singh,” answered Sinclair, “no disrespect, but incorporation has been very good to you. You’re hardly an objective observer. But that point aside, most of the outer colonies feel like your brother, though there is conflict among families even on Pluto and the other TNOs.” “TNOs,” Justin knew, referred to the Trans Neptunian Objects, or asteroids, in the solar system farther out than Neptune. There were thousands of them, but the most notable were the dwarf planets of Pluto and its largest moon, Charon; Eris and its sister moon, Dysnomia; as well as the larger asteroids of Sedna, Orcus, Ixion, Quaoar, and Varuna—all with sizeable and very vocal populations.

“True, Mr. Sinclair,” answered Mosh, more evenly this time. “But as you’re well aware, most of the belt is Shareholder in outlook, but … not all.”

“Which is why,” interjected the President, “we cannot allow this issue to be taken up by this government. It will split and destroy us. We have to bury it for now. Without the Alliance we have nothing; are we agreed?”

One by one all present nodded their heads.

“Good,” said Justin, “and congratulations, Admiral. Your first order of business is to plan a raid on Mars with the Alliance fleet.”

Joshua Sinclair, thinking the meeting was over, had been halfway out of his seat when the gist of his orders hit him full throttle. He quickly sat back down. “You’re shitting me, right?”

Justin shook his head. “We need to remind the people of the Alliance,
all the people
, NoShares and Shareholders alike, who the real enemy is.”

Justin signaled to Kirk Olmstead, who handed Sinclair a binder. “In there is hard-copy evidence of the rounding up and forcible suspension of suspected enemies of the Terran Confederation on Mars.” Olmstead paused for a second.

“They will,” continued Kirk, “all be psyche-audited at the corporate core’s
leisure. Soon thereafter they’ll all be found to be loyal and returned to the local population singing the glories of incorporation. This is how the core works. Unfortunately,” he said, making reference to his past position as a board member of GCI, “I know from personal experience.”

Sinclair was still perusing the contents of the folder and didn’t bother to look up. “How many we talking, Mr. Olmstead?”

“Over a million.”

“You sure?” he asked, pulling his face out of the file.

“The facts are right there … Admiral. They’re incontrovertible.”

“That’s just the beginning,” added Justin. “We’re going to rescue those people, whose only crime was questioning the corporate system. They
will be
rescued and taken to the belt. The Alliance needs to know the level of barbarism they face if we lose.”

The new admiral put down the packet, took a deep breath, and set his gaze on the cabinet members. “The most I could muster is fifteen ships capable of the acceleration and fighting you need. If we take enough haulers with planetary lift capacity to carry a million capsules our fleet will be slow and huge. It would hardly qualify as a raid. More like a sitting duck announcing its presence with a loud quacking sound.”

Omad suddenly stood up. “Come with me, Admiral. I have an idea about how to rescue those poor souls without using every t.o.p. and tug in the Alliance. But my memory works much better with a drink.”

Sinclair looked over to the President, who nodded.

“You know what ‘t.o.p.’ stands for on Titan, don’t ya?” Sinclair asked Omad as he got up from his chair.

Omad shook his head. “I’m guessing it ain’t transorbital pod.”

“Terran Oppression Pod,” Sinclair answered, grinning. “At least until we start manufacturing them on our own.”

As Omad and Sinclair exited, Justin took the opportunity to bring the meeting to a close.

“Everyone, if you wouldn’t mind, I have a rather pressing matter … and if I leave him waiting any longer I’m afraid this meeting will seem tame by comparison.”

The cabinet rose in unison, paid their respects, and left the room only to be surrounded by a throng of attentive assistants. Each moved to their respective offices, pack in tow. Neela was the last to leave. She came around the long table, allowed her arm to drift slowly across her husband’s shoulder, gave him an encouraging smile, and departed via another exit. Unlike the other cabinet members, there was
no one waiting for her on the other side of the door. Her position was unofficial and thus she hardly ever spoke at the meetings. But at night she would give her husband detailed insight on everyone’s actions and reactions. She was especially adept at seeing subconscious cues, a skill which helped Justin craft his encounters with greater insight. Many people were so enamored of the romantic image of Justin and Neela’s once-forbidden love that they’d forgotten just how good a therapist Neela had been and still was. But if the citizens of the Alliance wanted to confuse diligent for dutiful and cunning for kind, Neela and Justin were glad to let them. Justin had wanted his wife to stay for the forthcoming meeting, but after studying the man in question she had decided the Sadma fellow would respond better to Justin alone.

Tyler Sadma, lawyer and now congressman, paced back and forth in the waiting area. It was his default behavior. He never sat unless it was absolutely called for and was incapable of lying down unless going to sleep—in his mind a necessary nuisance. Tyler also had the advantage of many colonists in being short and stocky, which made it easier to slip into ships, suits, and habitats. His dark hair was showing gray—a feature he felt suited him well and which had become a sort of trademark back home. Tyler’s heart and soul belonged to Eris—a planetoid whose initial claim to fame was that it had been responsible for demoting Pluto from planet to planetoid status by virtue of its greater size. Eris was also unlike the terrestrial planets and gas giants, whose orbits were all roughly in the same plane as Earth’s. And had the distinction of being one of the most distant known planetoids from the sun. For that reason alone Tyler’s home and its sister moon, Dysnomia, were viewed by most people—Belters and Terrans alike—as the pitch of pitch-black. But to Congressman Sadma and his fellow colonists, Eris was the greatest outpost man had ever produced. In size and population it was comparable with Ceres. True, he could admit, it wasn’t nearly as pampered as the Earth, that corrupt bastion of incorporation, but it was so much freer. His little corner of the system was far enough from the corporate core that most of the time the colonists there could believe they were on their own, away from the credit counters and stockholders who would tell a human how to work, live, and, if they thought they could get 10 percent of the action, make love.