The Unincorporated Woman (55 page)

“Negative, sir. But whatever it is, there sure is a lot of it.”

Trang’s XO floated up from a lower section of the command sphere and hung casually in the air. “What now?” asked Ross, echoing his boss’s earlier query.

“Dunno,” grunted Trang, “least not yet.”

“Sir,” proclaimed the sensor officer, “it’s … it’s … well, sir, it’s water vapor.”

“Come again?” Trang first looked at the sensor officer and then at his XO who shrugged his shoulders.

“They appear to be ionizing their ice shell, sir. Shooting out the particles at an incredible velocity.”

Ross’s face contorted. “They’re shooting ionized ice at us?”

“Sir,” interrupted the sensor officer, “I think Ceres is—” He checked his sensors again. “—I think Ceres is starting to move, sir.”

“Of course it’s moving, Lieutenant,” chided Trang. “It’s locked to the orbit of Mars and…” The admiral’s voice faded as the full meaning of what was said hit him. “Damsah’s ghost, they’re moving.”

Directive of the Relocation Department

Citizens of Ceres: Secure all belongings for variable weightlessness and acceleration. Instructions concerning specific industries, habitats, and living areas will appear on appropriate links, sites, and DijAssists.

Even though I don’t swing that way, I’d jump Hildegard Rhunsfeld in a second. But Kenji, you’re my dream guy. What will your two beautiful minds think of next?

Clara Roberts, AIR Network

Desperate ploy to save doomed asteroid by rebels doomed to fail.

NNN

*   *   *

Hektor looked at the reports coming in from both his fleet and civilian intelligence agencies. They all said the same thing. The whole fucking rock was moving. It had taken the incorporated solar system fifteen years to safely move Ceres from its old orbit and lock it to the orbit of Mars. The cost, thruster units and brainpower needed had been prohibitive, but at the time it had been considered worth it. That was until Ceres became the capital of the largest and to date most successful rebellion in the history of the race.

But that wasn’t what Hektor found most galling. What made him want to laugh and cry at the same time was the fact that the damned Outer Alliance was doing in a matter of days what had taken his civilization years to accomplish. The acceleration was very slow to start with, but in a matter of weeks, Ceres would be moving fast enough to achieve, in three months’ time, an orbit around Saturn. Hektor was less than delighted to read that when the resources of Saturn were combined with the industrial and experienced labor capacity of Ceres, it would surpass Luna as one of the solar system’s preeminent industrial centers. Add to that the hundreds of millions of refugees from the asteroid belt arriving with all their habitats intact and ready to be integrated, and what you got was more than enough resources in manpower and industry to keep the war going indefinitely. Just when Hektor thought he had the rebels where he wanted them, they managed to find a way to survive, to push the fight farther and farther afield—to make the war last longer.

If the people of the UHF realized how difficult an assault on an industrialized and defended Saturnian system would be, the war might very well be over now
, mused Hektor. He was sure that if Ceres made it to Saturn, it would bring about a cease-fire. The UHF would possess the Belt and maybe, if Gupta was successful, the Jovian system. But if the Outer Alliance
was
allowed to survive with the gas giants of Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune and the innumerable settlements of the TNO, it was only a matter of decades until the war would start again. The Alliance had to be crushed now.

And even if a UHF victory materialized tomorrow, it would still be impossible to make former Alliance citizens into contributing and accepting members of incorporated society. They would have to be treated as serfs and slaves—a sure economic drain on a modern economy. It would be generations before anyone past the orbit of Mars could be made into a high-yielding member of the incorporated system. Hektor realized it would be better for the nine tenths of humanity that was relatively pure to destroy the cancerous one tenth. But would the nine tenths he controlled accept that solution? Hektor sat back in his chair and ruminated on the new plan. The Alliance would be taught that continuing the war would bring nothing but death and ruination—a price that would hopefully be too great to bear.

“Hey, boss,” chirped his avatar, “call coming in for you.”

“Who is it?” groused Hektor, only slightly annoyed that iago hadn’t given him the name right away.

“It’s Irma.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Hektor waited while his avatar secured the connection to the Information Minister.

“Speak when you’re ready, oh mighty one,” iago instructed.

“Thank you, iago,” Hektor sniffed. But before he could initiate his conversation with Irma, he found that she was already on and listening in.

“Why bother thanking an avatar?” asked Irma via the DijAssist’s voice-only transmission. Hektor laughed at iago’s temerity. The avatar had purposely left the line exposed so that Irma could hear a snippet of Hektor’s conversation. Hektor had allowed a certain amount of mischievousness on the part of iago for the simple reason that Hektor loathed the mundane almost as much as he loved surprises. He’d long since trusted his avatar to know when far had gone too far. Today was no exception, with the only damage being that Hektor would now have to be a tad quicker on his feet.

“Force of habit,” explained Hektor. “You never know when politeness will be rewarded.”

The silence that followed the admittedly, thought Hektor, lame response was a testament to Irma’s incredulity.

“Would you mind if I stopped by your office?” Irma finally asked. “I have something I’d like to share with you.”

Hektor reviewed his schedule. “I have a meeting in a few minutes. Sure it can’t wait?”

“I don’t think so.”

Hektor’s brow shot up. “Really? What’s it about?”

“Our plans for Jupiter.”

“What about them?”

“They may have a fatal flaw.”

*   *   *

Irma hung up and was immediately overwhelmed by feelings of dread. As if being responsible for making the impending death of millions palatable wasn’t bad enough, she was now about to head into the eye of the storm in order to do the unthinkable—try and get Hektor to change his mind. It would have to be done with great care, as it was important that she appear impartial. As Irma entered the Presidential suite, she gave Hektor, still sitting at his desk, a quick nod and then headed straight for the bar. There, she poured herself a cup of coffee. It was too early in the day to be drinking anything stronger, plus she knew she wouldn’t find her precious tea here—a shame because she desperately missed it. As she looked down at the dark liquid that now filled her cup, she thought back on the aroma of real peppermint leaves stewed to perfection and brought to delectable life with a touch too much honey and a dab of milk. She doubted there was a tea bag in all of Burroughs, because those had likely been confiscated by Tricia’s goons.

As if reading her mind, Hektor said, “Can I get you some tea? I’m sure we’ve probably got a mountain of the stuff stored somewhere around here.”

The old Irma would have leapt at the offer, but the new Irma had become more cautious. Too many close acquaintances had ended up unexpectedly “joining” the military after being charged with a relatively minor offense. From there, they’d usually get sent off to the worst of the fighting and rarely, if ever, be heard from again. Better not to risk it. “No thank you, Mr. President. I’m quite happy with a solid cup of Martian Joe.” She took the coffee mug over to the office’s small conference table and plopped down into one of the ergo chairs.

Hektor got up from behind his computer bank and joined her at the table. “I prefer Earth-grown, myself. I know I’m probably imagining it, but I just think one-g-planet-grown tastes better.”

Irma giggled. “You realize you’ve just parroted one of the most famous ad campaigns ever created.”

Hektor stopped midway to the bar with a look of genuine confusion. “Really?”

“Does this ring a bell? ‘Earth-grown coffee; naturally, better tasting.’”

“Holy shit. You’re right. And here I thought I had discerning taste.”

“Don’t feel too bad,” she said in attempt to assuage his feelings. “It was a brilliant campaign. We studied it at university, even. The best part was that people started to come up with their own reasons for why they thought Earth-grown was better. Some said gravity; others, the soil. There were even a few claiming that it was the Earth’s ‘natural’ pollutants that gave the beans their edge. Pretty soon, the only thing the orbital growers had going for them was price.”

“Did they do taste tests?” asked Hektor, attempting to regain some ground.

“Thousands. Still do ’em to this day.”

“And?”

“All they’ve managed to prove is that ninety-nine percent of the people couldn’t tell the difference even if a neurolizer were placed to their heads.”

“But of course,” proclaimed Hektor, with a cherubic smile, “I’m that rare one percent who
can
tell.”

“But of course, Mr. President,” Irma toasted demurely as she lifted the cup up and then to her lips.

That seemed to satisfy the UHF President, who continued to the bar, where he poured himself his customary chilled vodka.

“And what’s with this ‘Mr. President’ bullshit, Irma? We
are
alone, you know.”

“Sorry, must have had my formal hat on.”

The excuse seemed good enough for Hektor, who nodded and then got to the point. “So what’s this flaw we all supposedly missed?”

“You couldn’t have known at the time, because I didn’t have any numbers to work with.”

Hektor nodded for her to continue.

“I ran a Spencer scan on how the new plan would play out—”

“You used the Spencer for this?”

“Widgets or war, Hektor, it’s all product that has to be sold.”

“Fascinating. I’m guessing we didn’t do so well.”

Irma shook her head. “Even with the public acceptance of the Alliance having pushed the VR plague on us, a majority said they could not abide by the government’s murder of innocents—their phrase, not mine—certainly not without military backing, which we clearly don’t have and, from my evaluation of Trang, can’t reliably expect to get. As you’ll see by the report—” Irma leaned over and handed Hektor a data crystal. “—these projections didn’t even include the numbers of permanent deaths we’ve calculated with the new plan. In short, moving forward this way could prove disastrous to you politically.”

The room became deathly still.

Irma brought the mug up to her mouth, and though the coffee was still too hot, she sipped nonetheless. Her heart was beating wildly and she did everything she could to remain as calm as if she’d just delivered her findings on the marketing of a chocolate bar.

Hektor’s teeth flashed through a malevolent grin. “Tricia was so wrong about you.” He waited a beat. “You, my friend, are a frikkin’ genius!”

Irma’s face lit up. “Thank you, I—”

“Of course the order can’t come from us!” wailed Hektor. “We make it appear to come from the military, and since—as you’ve correctly pointed out—Trang probably won’t come on board, we’ll do it through Gupta. He’ll play ball for sure.”

Irma had to do everything she could to keep the smile of a moment ago firmly ensconced on her face.

“Genius!” screamed Hektor once more. “You’ve earned your credits today.”

Irma nodded politely and stood up. “Well, I really should be going.”

Hektor barely noticed her as he raced back to his desk to change a plan that Irma had just helped him alter to perfection.

*   *   *

A few minutes later, Irma left the President’s office. Anyone watching would not see the tension building in her neck and shoulders nor would they hear her forced and measured breaths as she walked stiffly down the corridor and out into the fresh Martian air. They would miss entirely the fear blocked by her now expressionless pale blue eyes and would never see the UHF’s Minister of Information hunched over on all fours in a privacy booth, mere kilometers from the seat of power, puking her guts out.

UHFS
Liddel

Trang watched Ceres from six and half million kilometers away. He was keeping pace with the Alliance capital but nothing more. His review of the latest progress report from Chief Engineer Trzepacz was interrupted when the door signaled a visitor. After identities had been confirmed, Admiral Zenobia Jackson entered. Trang was both saddened and pleased to see the officer she’d become. The veteran in front of him could very well win the war by herself if she had to, but the artist who became his first officer by default during the Battle of Eros had long since disappeared and he was sure would never return, even if peace broke out tomorrow for a thousand years.

“So why aren’t we blowing the hell out of the place right now?” she demanded.

Definitely not the woman she used to be,
thought Trang, suppressing a smile. “Nice to see you too, Zenobia.”

Zenobia allowed an erstwhile grin to suffice for pleasantries. Trang accepted gracefully.

“For starters,” he pointed out, “half my fleet cannot maneuver at full speed and won’t be able to for at least a week, maybe more.”

“Ceres is barely accelerating at a quarter g. Our ships can take her.”

“If that were the only issue, I would gladly risk it, but in case you haven’t noticed, Ceres is not escaping by itself. It’s taking its suburbs with it.” Implicit in the slight rebuke was the fact that those suburbs contained a massive number of asteroids that orbited the capital, providing everything from additional living and storage space to manufacturing facilities and rest stops for transports waiting to get docking berths in the Via Cereana. “Need I also remind you,” he cautioned, “that amongst those suburbs lies the densest orbital battery network this side of Mars.”