The Unincorporated War (49 page)

C
ommodore Christina Sadma found herself walking along a garden path filled with all manner of flora. The smell of jasmine was strong in the early-morning air, and from her limited memory of horticulture she saw a healthy smattering of poinsettia and lotus. The feeling of soil beneath her feet was almost liberating. She was amazed that such a generous amount of land had been set aside within so small an area. But she also realized it was a true testament to the caretakers, the community of belief. The enclave was primarily Christian and of an old religious order from the pre-colonization days known as the Knights Hospitaller. They’d once been a band of fierce Crusaders whose most famous moment in history had been the siege of Malta, in which their seven hundred Knights and eight hundred soldiers repelled an army of forty thousand Turkish invaders. Over time the Knights’ mission had gone from their original charter of protecting and defending the Holy Land to the protection and defense of the sick, poor, and besieged. After the Grand Collapse the pitiful few who somehow managed to survive made the same long trek into space as their core-ligionists and founded the community within which Christina currently found herself entranced. True to their beliefs, the Knights had created an enclave of healing and faith, asking nothing of those they helped other than their goodwill and what ever spare parts they could manage.

Although the order was not considerable in terms of actual membership, it had become large as a community of healers for both the faithful and the faithless. The asteroid had been hollowed out, opened at both ends, and spun at two-thirds Earth gravity. The settlement that grew within it ultimately became known as Altamont, the second-largest hunk of rock in the 180. It was located sixty-two million miles from Eros, and the only things separating the two large bodies were millions of small-to medium-sized asteroids. And whereas Eros was on the inside of the belt closest to the core, Altamont was on the other side closest to the outer planets. With the loss of Eros, Altamont had become the only settlement large enough to handle all the traffic on the great circle trade of the asteroid belt. As a result the commune had naturally grown into the 180’s new transfer point and depot and was now one of the most strategic locations in space.

It hadn’t taken long for Christina to realize the rock’s strategic importance, not only in terms of trade but also for the continuation of the war at the 180. From Altamont she’d be able to push the war back toward Eros. She might not have had enough ships to take Eros back directly, but she could at least make it almost impossible for the UHF to move much beyond their initial beachhead. However, for any of her machinations to happen she’d have to fortify Altamont—and soon. She’d need to make the Knights’ lonely rock as rigid in its defense as Mars or risk having the UHF bypass the belt completely and attack the Alliance from behind. And so, with that thought in mind, she found herself strolling along the famed grounds of Altamont waiting for the abbot’s liaison to arrive.

“Do you like our gardens?”

Christina turned around and saw a man in simple brown robes approaching her. He had deep-set, penetrating dark eyes, an ovular face, and thin black hair combed forward.

“Yes, very much,” answered Christina. “They’re so different from the gardens on Eris, Father—”

He corrected her with a gentle smile. “It’s ‘Brother’ and the name is Sampson.” He then bent over slightly to smell a star-shaped, cream-colored flower whose tips were lightly dappled in red. He looked up and invited Christina to experience the fragrance.

Her face lit up as she took in the subtly sweet scent. “Wonderful.”

“Yes,” he answered placidly, “
Genipa clusiifolia
—otherwise known as ‘the seven-year apple.’ I’m glad you find our gardens so captivating Commodore. I’ve never had the plea sure of visiting Eris myself, or anywhere else for that matter. I’d be most curious to hear about the gardens on your world.”

Christina was dumbstruck. Absolutely everyone traveled in her world, if only to the orbital belts or the planetary systems either to mine or visit relatives or for the sheer joy of experiencing new places. The thought of someone spending his or her entire life on a rock—no matter how nice—was impossible for her to grasp.

“The gardens we have on Eris are much larger,” she finally answered, “because the gravity is so much less. You have a two-thirds spin here, but on Eris it’s a one-sixth, which makes our gardens grow much bigger. We also have most of our growth far under the surface in vast chambers. Yours are a beautiful band that I can’t seem to stop looking at. But I don’t see how they manage to get enough light for all the growth I see.”

“Your timing is impeccable,” said Brother Sampson with a wide grin, “as we’re about to experience what we here refer to as the miracle of light.”

No sooner had the words left the brother’s mouth than Christina heard a
deep grinding rumble emanating from both sides of the hollowed-out rock. She watched as large mirrors directed bands of light in a slow creep across the surface of the settlement. The bands began to rise a few hundred feet before reaching the gardens and then simultaneously shot toward the center of the hollowed-out asteroid, creating a momentary miniature star. The star began pulsating and then just as suddenly exploded into an empyreal radiance of light that gently floated onto the garden like a midsummer’s downpour. Christina stared upwards, mouth agape, eyes wide.

“Miraculous, isn’t it?” said Brother Sampson, still staring up.

“Brother, it was beautiful, truly beautiful.”

“But that’s not what you’re here to talk about,” he said, turning his gaze away from the garden and toward Christina; the wonderment was no longer in his eyes. “You wish to turn our gardens and places of healing into a base from which to wage this war that is causing so much suffering.”

“Yes.”

“I understand,” he said softly. “Our brotherhood wishes that this was not needed, but we will not stand in your way.”

“Uh, thank you, Brother” was all Christina could manage. She’d geared herself up for more of a fight.

They continued walking down the path with only the sound of the soft earth beneath their feet. “We will make our hospital facilities available for your forces,” he continued, “but we request that you not prevent us from treating all who need it, even members of the UHF.”

“I would never wish to prevent that, Brother, as long as my forces come first.”

“We would have trouble acceding to that request.”

Christina decided not to push it. She was getting most of what she’d wanted, with minimal re sis tance. “Very well, Brother, save who you will as you will.”

“Thank you,” he answered, visibly relieved. “We’ll turn over all the plans of our settlement and evacuate what ever areas you deem necessary to your effort. Our power grid is available for your use and you may make what ever alterations to the settlement you think best. Many of our brethren have also inquired about volunteering to act as medics for your units. We hope their humble efforts will be of use.”

Christina had been afraid she’d have to ride roughshod over the settlement to achieve her ends. Had that been the case, she knew that she would’ve automatically alienated the surrounding settlements, all of whom had the greatest respect for the strange but always generous community of belief. It would’ve made her campaign against the enemies of the Alliance harder, but she would’ve done it regardless. Instead, the gentle man she’d been walking with was freely allowing her to turn his sanctuary of peace into an instrument of war.

“Brother,” she said, stopping in the path and turning to face the man who’d just saved her a load of potential grief. “I’m truly grateful, but I must know—”

“Why?” the brother asked for her.

Christina nodded.

“You’ve heard about Neela Cord?”

Christina answered with a tauten brow and slight tip of her head.

“Do you believe it?” he asked.

“With all my heart. It is the nature of our enemy.”

“We didn’t,” he answered, pausing briefly. “At least not at first. But we received a call from one of the communities’ most respected holy women, Fawa Sulnat Hamdi. She’d been talking with many people, including the blessed one,” he said, using the moniker that those of faith had most recently attributed to J. D. Black. “That, combined with other evidence gleaned from what’s happening in the core, forced us to see the truth. A conclave of many of our communities was recently held and it’s been decided that the UHF must be opposed with all of our effort.”

“Pardon the phrase, Brother, but you do realize you’re preaching to the choir.”

“My child,” he said, carefully pulling an intensely violet milk thistle flower from a nearby stalk, “you fight for the freedom of your planet and for the independence of the Alliance. You also fight for the camaraderie you’ve developed with those you lead and, if I may be so bold, with nearly as much devotion as you follow the blessed one. But that is not why we choose to lay down our plowshares and pick up the sword.”

“Why then?”

“The UHF is committing an abomination, Commodore,” he answered, beginning to pluck the flower’s thin violet strands from the bud. “They’re trying to remove from humanity that most precious of gifts—our
soul
. When we were convinced of what they were doing we said a prayer for Neela Cord, the prayer for the dead.”

He paused for a moment, looking up from the half-gone flower in his hand. It was at that moment that Christina Sadma saw not the peaceful brother tending to his garden but the man descended from the warrior-priests of the ancient past. She saw that in him burned a dangerous fire banked for centuries. As he pulled the last of the beautiful petals off the bud, a crown of sharp, parlous thorns was revealed. His last words were said with the utter conviction that comes from absolute faith. “They will not be allowed to take God’s greatest gift from humanity.” He then placed the crown of thorns into the palm of Christina’s hand. “They will not take from us free will.”

Commodore Samuel Trang viewed his collar and couldn’t help but smile. He thought he’d be either dead, in jail proofing technical manuals, or at best spending the rest of the war selling drinks to spacers on leave in dive bars around low Earth orbit. Instead he was heading back to Eros with a promotion and ten new ships. Not nearly enough to fight properly, but he wasn’t about to complain. He also knew it was only the intervention of the President that made his liberty possible. The President had also seen fit to officially promote his first officer, Lieutenant Zenobia Jackson, to the rank of Commander. Trang had already given her the rank, but it had been a battlefield promotion from a court-martialed captain and so had been rescinded once the new command structure had taken over at Eros. But now it was official, and that filled Trang with much plea sure. However, it was the captain Jackson was talking to who made Trang truly content.

Captain Abhay Gupta had been disgraced, having lost one battle and then run from the other. No fleet really wanted him, and it was obvious he’d probably end up spending the war counting ore carts on Mercury. But Trang wanted him and no one interfered with the transfer. Gupta had been immediately assigned to the battle staff.

Trang next reviewed the displays from the vantage point of his command chair. He saw that it would take two weeks at constant acceleration to make it back to Eros. Once he was there the new campaign would begin. He also knew where it was all going to end: Altamont.

Beanstalk, Earth

Hektor was going to have to find a better way of traveling back to Earth. He could technically run the war from anywhere; however, for propaganda purposes it was best if he was on the front lines. Still, for what was about to be announced he’d have to be on Earth. He’d be needed for both what he was going to say and what he’d have to do immediately afterwards. Technically he didn’t have any right to use the Beanstalk, but the new Chairman had been gracious enough to allow Hektor use of the top levels, not that there was really any choice in the matter. The accommodations were convenient and useful, as Hektor had had all the presidential residences on Earth very publicly auctioned off to help pay for the war. He’d been scheduled to give a speech in Chairman Park soon and was hoping what he’d planned to say would turn the tide and win the war; assuming, of course, that the heads of the fifteen largest and most powerful corporations didn’t use the meeting right after his speech to feed him to a fusion reactor.

He took the elevator down the stalk and, followed by a large security detail, caught a public transport to the park. It had proved to be a logistical nightmare but helped add to his “man of the minority” image. As he approached the park
he saw with some satisfaction that the crowd had grown to a respectable size. He knew Irma could make it appear bigger if more didn’t arrive to swell the ranks. He also knew they weren’t all his loyal followers. Despite his best efforts, he hadn’t been able to cure the vast number of pennies of their love for Justin Cord, at least not entirely. But Hektor was hoping that between the speech he was about to give and the strategic use of Dr. Wong’s new techniques, large-scale shifts in sentiment would soon begin in earnest.