The Unincorporated War (6 page)

Hektor smiled sadly and with a deep but not obvious breath began to impart what he’d really come to say and what the crowd had truly wanted to hear. “What world would he see if he could view it today? A world safe and content? No. A world where the fear of war and destruction was only a holovision nightmare out of the past, a thing argued about by historians in dusty halls? No. A world where humanity,
all
humanity, had been united and where no one looked at his neighbor in fear and distrust? Again, no. He would see no such world. He would see the world created by Justin Cord. A world of theft and fear and the permanent division of humanity into warring halves and thirds and quarters and more and more little fractions until just one of those little fractions could cause the deaths of countless humans. It is not surprising that Justin Cord would like this world; after all, it’s the one he came from. But it’s so very sad that this deluded and dangerous man could fool so very many others into following him along his doomed path. How is it that this one man can lead billions of our fellow compatriots into war and rebellion against their mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters? How,” he asked, once again looking around his podium at the riveted crowd, “did we end up here?”

Hektor paused to let his last question sink in. He saw that it had the desired effect. It was a question everyone had been trying to articulate in the weeks of rapid change. The year Justin had been awake had been the most frenzied any of them could remember. But the weeks since The Chairman had died had brought riots and destruction on Earth, what could only be characterized as a civil war on parts of Mars, and the outright rebellion of most of the colonies from the asteroid belt outward. From most reports it was obvious that all major points of civilization past the belt would become independent.

“I’d like to tell you that the worst is over,” continued Hektor. “I’d like to tell you that even with all the mess out in the belt and on Mars it’s not really our problem. I’d love to say that it’s going to be alright. At best the Belters are as optimistic as parents during a child’s first IPO.” This brought a smattering of laughter, as most could recall hearing about how someone’s child was going to be the greatest and they should “buy now” and then of course those parents saying the exact same thing when it was time for their child’s IPO.

“I would,” continued Hektor, “but I can’t. That would be lying and I won’t lie to you. The truth is … Justin Cord will not stop. He cannot stop until he’s destroyed the basis of our civilization and restored his own. He cannot stop until the human
race is divided and at each other’s throats. He must destroy our soul. He must destroy incorporation.”

A chorus of protest lifted from the mass. Hektor waited and then nodded his head gravely. “But he must! He knows that an incorporated humanity is the best defense against hunger, strife, ignorance, and tyranny. If incorporation is allowed to exist anywhere, it will eventually triumph everywhere. Mark my words, people. He will come to Mars and he will come to Earth just like he went to the belt. And just like he did in the belt, he will destroy us.”

Hektor had to once again wait for the angry tirades and shouts to subside before continuing. “Oh, maybe not now. Now he’ll probably proclaim his wish for peace and trade, but it will only be to bide his time. It will only be to build up his strength and in a generation or two the rebels, the thieves, the pillagers of profit and property will be back to ensure that humanity stays locked in darkness and misery for centuries to come.” Hektor could feel the anger building steadily in the crowd. He wanted it to build, needed it to.

He pointed to the statue. “This man knew what Justin Cord was. He knew what he represented. He was preparing to deal with the so-called Unincorporated Man and save us all the misery we’re currently experiencing. For his knowledge and his desire to save us he paid with his life. Is it any coincidence that on the very day he died Justin declared his revolution?” Hektor now heard cries for Justin’s head in various iterations, not all of them civil. So confident was the new Chairman of what his speech would elicit that he’d ignored the pleas of his assistants to have plants in the crowd. They were as angry and focused as Hektor wanted them to be and knew that the entire system was now also getting the message.

“Well,” continued the Chairman, “I promise you this.
Justin Cord will fail
.” The crowd cheered wildly. “I will not stop until the system of incorporation is once more the protective bond that unites the whole human race. It will not be easy and of our generation much will be asked, but for the sake of our children and our children’s children it’s a small price to pay.” Hektor felt stealing that line from Justin would be the perfect insult. “We
must
not fail. We
will
not fail.”

As Hektor lowered the hover disk the crowd surged forward shouting his name over and over until it became a deafening roar. The new Chairman made his exit from Chairman Park surrounded by securibots but with a wide enough cordon to manage a few clasps and hugs. As he piled into his personal flyer, protected from the prying eyes of the crowd and mediabots, a smile slowly revealed itself.
It has begun.

Irma Sobbelgé waited in Hektor’s office;
the Chairman’s office
, she had to remind herself. It had been a week since
the speech,
as it was now being referred to,
and only a few days since getting a call from one of his assistants asking if she’d take a meeting with, “the boss.” Shortly thereafter she found herself in his office. Irma realized, as she looked over and out the window from the top of the Beanstalk, that she’d unconsciously taken the same position as the recently unveiled statue in Chairman Park.
It does make the world seem like your own private possession,
she thought. She looked out toward space and wondered where Michael was. He’d also been invited to the meeting but would not be in attendance. She couldn’t help remembering why.

Irma and Michael stood remembering over the grave, watching the holodisplay loop endlessly in sixty-second spurts. It would stop when they left, but neither of them could. They stood transfixed as scenes of the young girl’s life played out over and over again. The weather was cruelly beautiful. The rustling leaves of the nearby trees were full of birdsong; the air was pleasant and the sky clear. The gravecrystal, like the message etched into it, was simple and economic: “Saundra Morrie—a good friend, terrific lover, and diligent reporter.” Unfortunately, Saundra had been caught in the cross fire while reporting about the rebellion on Mars. Though she’d been wearing the appropriate garb identifying her profession, she’d been cut down just the same. It was only later discovered that she’d been felled by a neurolizer, rendering her death permanent.

“You can’t go, Michael,” blurted Irma, staring intently at the holodisplay but no longer hearing Saundra’s infectious laughter.

“I have to, Irma. The story’s no longer here.”

“What story?” Irma said through gritted teeth. “Justin Cord is a murderer and a rebel. He’s caused the death of millions, if not more. I curse the day I broke that story and will not lose another member of my team. I … I … won’t allow it.”

Michael took Irma’s hand in his, staring directly at her until she finally looked up. He was surprised to see she’d been crying. All the while she stood next to him she hadn’t made a sound.

“Irma,” he said in as soothing a tone as he could muster, “you’re upset. Don’t blame yourself for breaking the story.”

“But … I did.”

“No, you figured it out first. Hektor broke it.”

“Small consolation, Michael,” Irma said while wiping away tears with her sleeve. “Saundra’s still dead.”

“Yes,” answered Michael as he briefly eyed the holodisplay, “yes, she is. But she was a grown woman. She knew the risks. And we both know she would’ve gone regardless. So would you and so would I.”

Irma managed a small nod.

“We’ve known each other for de cades, Irma. And we’re even pretty good reporters, judging from the trophy room at
The Terran.
Given that, can you honestly tell me that Justin Cord, the man we both spent so much time with, is a bloody revolutionary? That he planned all the death of the gray bomb, orchestrated the action wing, and somehow managed to get into the very heart of the Beanstalk, kill The Chairman, and then miraculously escape to launch a revolution? It sounds preposterous just saying it!”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you, Michael,” answered Irma, moving away from the noisy distraction of the holodisplay and the memory of her friend and apprentice. Michael followed as Irma continued to speak. “Why can’t you accept that he fooled us? I know you might think it difficult, Michael, but I’m convinced. He didn’t do it all on his own; I’ll give you that. He contacted or was contacted by dangerous people and he used them to get what he wanted. I don’t like to admit it, but he fooled me too. The evidence is quite compelling.”

“Irma.” Michael grabbed her shoulder to stop her in place. The reporter whipped around, seething in anger. Michael remained undeterred by her glare. “That evidence,” he continued, “is at best circumstantial. Perhaps you’re biased.”

“Me? That’s a laugh, Michael. You know me, there’s not a biased bone in my body.”

“You did have a special affinity for The Chairman, Irma, and let’s be honest, a certain comfort, for lack of a better word, with the new one.”

“And you’re not a little biased,” she answered, choosing to ignore his challenge, “because of your connection with Justin Cord, Mr. First Interview?”

Michael paused. “Maybe I am. But there’s more to this. I don’t buy Hektor Sambianco as the good guy.”

Irma smiled. “Oh, trust me, Michael. Hektor is many things, but a good guy is not one of them. But Justin Cord
is
a bad guy and Hektor has been the only one saying so from the very beginning. As if a murdered Chairman and half of New York lying in ruins wasn’t evidence enough.”

“Again, Irma, circumstantial. We only have Hektor’s word on the murder, and there was nothing linking Justin Cord to the gray bomb.”

“Right,” she answered, “as if leading the Liberty Party absolves him. If anything, Michael, it implicates him further.”

“If the incorporation movement is so good, why are so many people against it?” “Ten percent, Michael.

Ten percent. Hardly ‘so many people.’”

“Now we’re splitting hairs, friend,” he answered. “Four billion is hardly negligible. Yes, mostly in the outer system, but we both know Belters are not easily manipulated or led. Cord, as famous as he is, couldn’t have just waltzed right in and become their President. There was discontent all along. Much like what we saw on Mars and even to a degree here on Earth.”

“Michael,” she answered, almost pleading. “There will always be discontent. Don’t you see that? Our system managed to mollify it … for the first time in centuries.” Her face grew stern once more. “We both helped unleash this … and caused …,” she said, motioning back toward the fresh grave, “that. We can’t give it … him … any more legitimacy. I won’t.”

Michael looked over at Saundra’s resting place. “That doesn’t sound very impartial, and it’s certainly not what Saundra would’ve done.”

“We don’t know what Saundra would’ve done, Michael,” answered Irma, once again moving away from the grave and toward the waiting flyer. “She’s not here to tell us.” Irma then stopped and turned around. “And you’re right about one thing, by the way.”

“Really? And what would that be?”

“When it comes to protecting our very way of life, I’ll admit it. I’m not impartial. Justin Cord represents a past that can’t be allowed to return or everything we’ve learned about the VR plague, the Grand Collapse, Tim Damsah, everything … was for naught. He doesn’t need to be understood, Michael, or explained or interviewed. He needs to be stopped. I didn’t understand that until it was too late. I will not lose any more people to this insanity, especially you. As long as you’re my reporter you are not going after that story, is that understood?”

Michael saw the determined look on his boss’s face and didn’t bother to answer. She’d already done that for him.

Two days later Irma had Michael’s resignation in her hand. She’d planned on confronting him personally. They’d both said things they regretted; of that she was sure. It wasn’t the first time they’d had a spat, and there’d been worse. The last thing she wanted was to lose one of the best reporters in the system and one of the few close friends she had, all over a difference of opinion. And yet she couldn’t help but notice that her situation wasn’t unique. She’d read, heard, even written about and now experienced firsthand how the war was creating a demarcation line right down the center of society. She’d thrown out the 10 percent figure to Michael in the heat of battle, but his response had been spot-on. A billion is still a billion, especially times four. And those who hadn’t declared but were debating Cord’s ideas,
they
numbered in the tens of billions. Those debates were pitting brother against brother and, in Irma’s case, friend against friend.

Despite her considerable contacts, Irma hadn’t been able to find Michael anywhere. And now she found herself alone atop the world wondering if perhaps some of what he’d said had been correct. Perhaps she was too biased; maybe there was a story. But she still felt in her gut that the path the world was heading
down was just that, down. Well, Michael had made his choice and she’d made hers. They’d both have to live with the consequences. She turned when she heard the sound of a door being opened. Hektor suddenly appeared before her. He was dressed in casual clothing: nice slacks, mock turtleneck, and his trademark cowboy boots. Nothing he wore indicated the power he held. It was the rare man who could pull that off, she thought.