The Unincorporated War (7 page)

Hektor came forward to greet her. “Irma, I probably shouldn’t be saying this to a reporter, but it’s damn good to see you.” He took her hand in his and brought it to the tip of his lips. The lingering grasp, thought Irma, was in some ways more intimate than that of a passionate kiss.

“I shouldn’t be partial either, Hektor,” she replied, pulling her hand back, “but, off-the-record of course …”

“Of course.”

“Of all the people who could’ve become GCI Chairman, I’m actually glad it was you. We need you.”

“Well, isn’t it ironic then?” he said, allowing a laugh.

“How so?”

“I called you here because
I
need
you
.”

Hektor led her past the waiting room, an executive assistant who didn’t bother to look up, and into his office. He motioned Irma into an alcove. They both sat down on two ergo chairs in front of a tall open window. Though the view was equally spectacular from what Irma had just seen, neither of them bothered to look out. The verbal parry had begun and now the facial expressions and mannerisms would make for far more interesting viewing.

Irma allowed a small grin.
Might as well throw the opening salvo
. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with changing the preamble to the Constitution, would it?”

“Not changing, Irma,” answered Hektor without missing a beat, “adding to. One word, to be precise. I assume you somehow managed to get a copy of the not-to-be-released-on-pain-of-death proposal.”

“You assume incorrectly, Mr. Chairman,” Irma answered, making sure to keep her eyes level. He wouldn’t believe her, but she was telling the truth and direct eye contact was essential.

“Call me ‘Hektor,’ please,” the Chairman insisted.

“Not for lack of trying … Hektor,” continued Irma. “Normally a Confederation assemblyman will sell you pictures of his daughter’s deflowering for a ten-credit note and a promise of favorable mention in
The Terran Daily News,
but not this time. Figuring it was you was an educated guess.”

“Good guess, then,” answered Hektor. “I’ve clearly educated you well.”

Irma ignored the patronizing remark. It was, she accepted, Hektor’s way.

“Want to know what the addition is?” he asked.

“Of course. What’s the catch?”

“No catch, dear. Remember what I said. It’s I who need you. Plus I think you’ll agree it’s important and maybe, if I’m fortunate, you’ll even try to help.”

Irma hesitated. “What about the impartiality of the press?” The question, she realized, was more for her than him.

“You know as well as I do that these are not impartial times, Irma. Too much is at stake.”

Irma nodded. She hadn’t agreed to anything but a notion.
That wasn’t breaking the reporter’s creed, was it?

“It’s a simple change,” continued Hektor. “You remember the preamble, ‘we the people of the Terran Confederation, to ensure domestic tranquility—’”

“‘—keep the peace,’” continued Irma, reciting a piece of text practically inculcated from birth, “ ‘and protect the individual from the arbitrary, unjust, and immoral depredations of society and government, do hereby enact this Constitution.’”

“Yes, that one,” answered Hektor, smiling approvingly.

Irma said nothing. Her look indicated he should continue.

“Well, the amendment I propose will change it to read: ‘We the people of the Terran Confederation, to ensure domestic tranquility, keep the peace, and protect the
incorporated
individual from the arbitrary, unjust, and’ yada, yada, yada.”

Irma stared blankly at her subject. “That’s it? One word and suddenly all our problems are over?”
How,
she thought,
was this taking charge?

“Oh yes, Irma,” answered Hektor, suddenly leaning over to slap her on the knee. “And then Tim Damsah himself will come back to life and proclaim an end to all this nonsense!”

The man’s jovial demeanor faded quickly, replaced by the arched frown and intent stare that Irma knew to fear.

“No,” he said, leaning back in his chair and exhaling deeply, “it won’t solve anything. What it will do is put the issue in the proper perspective and enable the government to act.”

“The government?” spat Irma. “Are you kidding me, Hektor? What good are they for this sort of thing?” She then leaned forward a little and her sotto voce voice spoke. “We both know who runs the show.”

Hektor didn’t respond but rather sat in place with a provocative grin. Irma knew he wasn’t one to rush his answers, preferring an awkward silence to a hasty assertion. It was interminable, but over the years she had gotten used to it.

“Irma,” he finally offered, “I wish what you said was true, but it’s gone beyond
what the corporations can do.” He suddenly stood up and walked the few paces to the window overlooking the Earth. “Even,” he continued as he stared out at the vista, “those as big as GCI.” Just as suddenly he swung around. “My dear woman, a government created the system we have now and then had the good grace to get out of the way. But Mr. Damsah and the other greats of the past never could have foreseen a Justin Cord. Our Unincorporated Man is now beyond the power of the corporations alone to stop him. We need to unite the majority of humanity behind one goal: the complete destruction of everything Justin Cord believes. In history there are only two organizations capable of uniting a vast majority to do anything in a short period of time: government and religion; and I don’t know how to make religion effective again, nor would I care to if I could.” Hektor then slowly made his way back to his seat, crossed his legs, and outstretched his arms on the wide chair. “As distasteful as it is, that leaves government.”

Irma mulled it over. She was actually beginning to enjoy the brief respites between conversations. “I don’t argue,” she said, “that it would be wonderful to unite all our energies in order to end this mess.” Her face had twisted into an almost misbegotten shape. “But government?”

Hektor nodded in the affirmative.

“How,” she continued, “do you know it’ll even work?”

“I don’t.”

“I mean you’re really going to put all that power into a bureaucrat’s hands and … and …” Irma stopped talking. A sly grin formed as she began to shake her head slowly. “You’re a real piece of work, Sambianco.”

Hektor got up from his chair and clapped his hands twice. “Bravo, Ms. Sobbelgé. Bravo. In a year’s time there is going to be a new President of the government. I intend to run for the office and win. And Irma, I’m going to need your help to do it.”

The Fifth Amendment to the Terran Confederation Constitution changing the preamble has passed. Ironically, it was only with the secession of the outer orbits that the three-fourths needed to pass it was obtained by the remaining areas of the Confederation. In related news, the province that formally made up the area of the Alaskan Federation has called a meeting of its legislature to announce plans for secession. Hektor Sambianco, Chairman of GCI, has arranged to speak to the Alaskan assembly to, in his words, “reason with them and turn back the Cordian challenge to the unity of the Earth itself.”

—Irma Sobbelgé
The Terran Daily News

Irma found herself standing in a cold, dank staircase nervously awaiting a speech. The building she’d entered had once been the city hall of Anchorage, Alaska. It had become over time as famous as Carpenters’ Hall in Philadelphia, home of the First Continental Congress of the United States of America. And it had become so by virtue of any number of historic speeches Tim Damsah, found er of the incorporation movement, had made from its hallowed halls. The building, she mused, was about as chilly as the surly audience now awaiting the Chairman in the filled-to-capacity auditorium. The edifice, she noted upon entering, was in the mode of classical architecture, including the small square-like protrusions beneath the cornices, the simulated two-tone rustic exterior walls, and the circular arched entranceway.

What had once housed everything from the mayor’s, police, and firemen’s offices to a jail with a drunk tank had now become the pivotal center for all things Political in the Alaskan territories. To night’s speech, as evidenced by the standing-room-only crowd, was expected to be one such event. Though Irma wasn’t giving the speech, she was nervous just the same. Over the past few weeks she’d busied herself subtly supporting the new Chairman’s every move. Choosing which stories to run and which to hold. Assigning skeptical reporters to puff pieces and pliable ones to critical events. To night’s was important enough that she’d chosen to cover it herself. And so she paced nervously at the foot of a staircase waiting for Hektor to show up. He’d said that he wanted to meet her briefly before speaking.

A side door squeaked open and a large burly man poked his head around, looked back, and then quietly entered. Hektor followed quickly and then another guard slipped in behind him. Both guards took up positions on either side of the door as Hektor made his way over to Irma. She smiled gravely.

“I don’t know,” she muttered, taking sips from a coffee cup she’d been using more as a hand warmer than a receptacle. “Let’s just say they’re not exactly a happy audience in there.”

Hektor could make out the sounds of the rumbling crowd on the other side of the door, but didn’t appear the least bit worried.

“Nice to see you too,” he answered.

“I don’t see how you can convince them to stay in the Confederation,” she replied, pointedly ignoring the Chairman’s stab at humor.

He looked at her, bemused. “I can’t.”

“So you’re here to see them secede and then be the first person arrested by the reborn Alaskan Federation? That’ll make it difficult to run for a presidency that you haven’t even announced yet. Though I should thank you in advance.”

“For what?”

“Helping me sell a helluva lot of downloads.”

Hektor laughed. “My dear, sweet Irma, I can’t convince them to stay in the Confederation. That’s why I plan to offer them a bribe.”

Now it was Irma’s turn to laugh.

“They’re Alaskans, Hektor. They don’t care about your money or your stock, so what’s left? Power sharing? Do that and they’ll stymie your every attempt to nail Justin to the wall.”

“Don’t worry, Irma,” answered Hektor with a dev ilish grin. “I’m not going to bribe them with power. Just the hope of achieving it.”

With that, Hektor, followed by his guards, headed toward the door that led directly out to the auditorium. Irma could hear a halo of boos and various shrieks of anger greeting him from the other side of the now-closed door. She waited a moment and then slipped out the same door, unnoticed by the crowd that had focused their anger on her “story” making his way to the dais. She took a position against the far wall of the stage, out of the spotlight.

She saw that Hektor had already transformed into his grave but dignified persona. When he got to the podium he waited for the jeers to quiet down.

“You’re angry,” Hektor said, through clenched teeth. “Well, damn it, you have every right to be!”

The crowd quieted somewhat, surprised at the Chairman’s tone.

“If I was an Alaskan,” shouted Hektor, “I’d be angry too!”

There were more shouts but this time less so. Hektor, Irma could see, was slowly throwing them off their game.

“What you created three hundred years ago,” the Chairman continued, “is being demolished in front of your very eyes. The gift of unity and peace is being demolished in your lifetime.”

Again he waited, and again the derisive comments became more sporadic.

“You think the system is broken. Many of you want to abandon what
you
created. So I’m asking you as merely one recipient of perhaps the greatest gift your state has ever given to mankind, do you really mean to abandon us when we need you the most!” Hektor was interrupted with cries of “The Fifth’s a farce!” and “The pre-am’s a sham!” the latter of which turned into a raucous chant that went on for many minutes.

Once again Hektor was the epitome of calm. “You may be right!” he shouted back. “Maybe the new preamble
is
a sham.”

The hall quickly simmered down.

“Well, I certainly didn’t propose it,” he continued, “and I’ll even admit to having my own reservations, but I will tell you that in the end … in the end I did support it.”

This brought about more cries of outrage. “Men, not stocks” was heard at various eddies in the large crowd as well as, noticed Irma, a few less appropriately expressed sentiments.

“Well, guess what, people?” taunted Hektor. “If you don’t like the amendment, change it! In less than nine months there’ll be an election for the assembly and the presidency. Propose a slate of candidates and tell the peoples of this Confederation that you’re willing to lead again.”

The crowd grew silent.

“That’s right,” he continued. “Let the Alaskans lead again and retake the mantle they so richly deserve.”

“Damned straight!” someone shouted from the back of the hall. Hektor wasn’t sure if it was one of his shills who had done the shouting but didn’t really care. It was all the impetus he needed.

“Why, in this very assembly,” he said, looking for where he knew his unwitting mark would be sitting, “you have an heir of Tim Damsah himself. A man so modest that the only post he’s ever accepted is that of assemblyman, like his father and grandfather before him.” What Hektor left out was why—the man was an idiot, only given a public office because he’d descended from Political royalty. In Arthur Damsah’s forty-eight years in office he’d never proved to be an effective anything, much less a politician.