The Unincorporated Woman (6 page)

Trang turned his head away from the screen and sent a vexed look to whatever daemon seemed to have chosen him as the day’s chew toy. The Cabinet’s rash decision had already been responsible for two massacres, and now, sadly, there would need to be another.

On the twelfth Day of Ash, when the Children of the Stars were brought low and all hope was fleeting, two signs were delivered unto them that their lamentations had been heard. Returned to the holy city that was the chosen home of him sent by God, chosen by the miracle of his owning none and being owned by none, came the Barge of Death.

The Children of the Stars did gather in the cavern and beheld the empty hatch and knew that the Anointed Man was truly gone. And the Children did give in to despair, and the howls of their lamentations were heard in all quarters of the holy city of the stars, and yea unto every outpost and world that belonged to the Children of the Stars, and yea even into the void of space itself, where no sound can be heard. Yet so great was the despair of the Children that even unto space itself was that cry heard.

When so complete was the misery that it didst seem ready to break the will of the Children—to doom them, their children, and their children’s children unto the last generation to defeat and the enslavement of the Stock, cursed be that name—then did appear the Blessed One. Without a word did she command silence, and silence was given. Without a sound did she command attention, and attention was paid. With outstretched and withered hand did she summon the flag draped upon the rod that lo, did represent the Children in the war against the Stock, cursed be that name. This, the battle standard that the Blessed One had carried from righteous victory to righteous victory, went as if by spirit to her hand from across the cavern. And the Children did witness it thus. The battle standard held now by the Blessed One did in its cloth cover half of the Blessed One’s face, and the Children of the Stars saw that the Blessed One’s side of war was covered and thus the Children were reminded of the holy beauty and grace that inhabited the Blessed One. And yea did the Blessed One take the battle standard and touch a corner of it to that which contained the spirit of the Anointed Man, the holy reliquary, and still was the war side covered. Then she brought the battle standard to her lips, and still the war side was covered. And yea she gestured, causing her emissary to the shadow realm to come forth, and taking her sash of office did also the emissary to the shadow realm touch it to the reliquary and it to her lips. And then did the holy brother blessed of God and respected by the Children of the Stars take a holy book and touch it to the reliquary and thus bring it to his lips. And yea it came to pass that all who came to wail and grieve did instead come forth and touch upon the reliquary their holy objects and recognize the miracle of God having called his Anointed Man back to him while leaving his garb and garments for the Children to find and treasure. And thus they were comforted. For they saw that God had not abandoned them in their Days of Ash. For then it was that the Blessed One took from the Barge of Death that crypt which held the Anointed Woman and thus did the Blessed One make the Anointed Woman’s body ready, and breathed upon her, and life was restored. And it was good.

The Astral Testament

Book III, 1:27–39

Day Twelve

J. D. Black was trapped by an enemy worse than all the ships of Trang’s fleet combined. It was an enemy that couldn’t be fought with any of the tools in her arsenal, or with any of the instinct and pluck that had served her so well in her many great victories. And over the course of mere weeks, it had grown more onerous and intractable. She was tempted to curse her god and then berated herself for the seeming lack of faith. Fawa would’ve known what to do. Fawa would’ve listened and felt and intuited. But Fawa was no longer among the living, and J.D. had no such patience. This new enemy was cruel indeed in that it
demanded
patience, insisted on submission. J. D. Black, Fleet Admiral of the Alliance, had been trapped by the immutable cumber of expectation.

In the eight days she’d been on Ceres, she’d come to the realization that the only thing standing between anarchy and order had been her presence alone. As if to prove the point, what was supposed to have been a simple and dignified ceremony marking the return of Alliance One and, with it, Justin Cord’s recovered space suit almost turned into a religious riot. She’d been expected at the ceremony and had planned on staying only long enough to watch the suit removed. However, from the moment of her arrival, it looked as if the crowd was going to tear one another to shreds getting to the suit, which had apparently taken on mythical proportions.

The frenzied mob had already surrounded the ship and a few were even storming the ramp. A small group of surprised and clearly nervous-looking assault miners were guarding the open hatch. This wasn’t the welcome-home ceremony they’d been anticipating. At that moment, J.D. had acted on impulse, marching with fierce determination toward the ship. Whether through the force of her nature or the four burly guards assigned her, the crowd gave quarter, and J.D. soon arrived at the base of the ramp where the Alliance One assault miners were still hemmed in. Now, at least, all that stood between her and the hatch were a dozen or so people crazy enough to put themselves directly in the sights of some pretty big guns and a contingent of miners who knew how to use them.

J.D. made a quick scan of the room and seized upon an idea. She signaled Captain Nitelowsen, still doggedly by her side, to bring her one of the Alliance’s battle standards, ceremoniously lining the walls of the loading dock. J.D. further ordered two of her guards to force a path for the captain while J.D. and what was left of her small group momentarily prevented the rest of the swelling crowd from gaining access to the ramp. In short order, Captain Nitelowsen and the guards managed to push their way to the wall where the captain tried unsuccessfully to pull a standard from its base. Undeterred, she kept looking until she found one that gave. But what Nitelowsen saw when she turned around was a room that had doubled in human capacity in the space of minutes. She also knew, armed guards or not, it would take her too long to get the standard back to her boss in the precious few moments that were left until all hell broke loose. She caught J.D.’s eye and gave a knowing wink. Then, with the full thrust of a woman possessed, Nitelowsen threw the standard across the open area in a javelin-like fashion as a throaty grunt escaped her lips.

The standard flew across the divide while its brilliant, shimmering colors and billowing, velveteen material transfixed those who fell under its unexpected shadow. J.D. jumped up to grab it. The few remaining people on the ramp turned around when they’d heard the hushed awe of the crowd as the standard seemingly flew in from nowhere. Once it was firmly in her hands, J.D. proceeded up the ramp and demanded those behind her march in solemn procession. The small but important group included Brother Sampson, Mosh and Eleanor McKenzie, plus the two slightly bewildered but nonetheless intently serious guards, weapons at the ready. The stunned mob immediately bowed their heads as the newly formed procession slowly advanced up the ramp. The “unofficial” ceremony had begun, and J.D. was racking her brains as to how it should proceed.

“Follow my lead,” she whispered through pursed lips at the first soldier she encountered. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

“Private!” she then bellowed loud enough for all to hear. Her voice bounced around the cavernous bay, even its receding echo commanding obeisance. J.D. felt a little foolish as the battle standard, held firmly in her grasp, still covered half her face. But it was quite large, a bit ungainly, and would’ve proved too difficult to move aside. Plus, she’d reasoned, it was what the crowd had fixated on, and she’d use it to her advantage, covered face or not.

“Yes, sir!” screamed the private, equally as loud and clearly relieved to answer to any semblance of order.

“You may now present the hero’s suit!” ordered J.D, somewhat chagrined at not having coming up with something more original.

“Sir!” shouted the private once again. He then saluted and retreated back into Alliance One, barking orders to unseen others within the ship. J.D. enjoined her small procession to turn around and face the crowd while simultaneously leaving enough room for the marines to bring the pallet containing Justin’s inflated but empty suit out of the hatch. The few civilians left on the ramp had been quickly shamed and shooed off it by those standing nearest to them. In that same time, Captain Nitelowsen had found a route through the horde and took up her place by J.D.’s side. A moment later, four marines carried out the pallet on which lay the battered space suit, where it was believed the Unincorporated Man had spent his dying moments.

If the bay had been quiet before, it dropped to a whisper now. The only sound that could be heard was the intermittent weeping and gasps of both men and women witnessing their savior’s final journey. Once the assault miners had cleared the hatch, J.D. ordered them to stop. She then approached Justin Cord’s space suit and, grabbing a corner of the battle standard, first touched it to his suit and then to her lips. She called on Captain Nitelowsen to do the same. Brother Sampson came of his own accord and too kissed the suit, only this time by touching it delicately with his bible and then by bringing the bible to his lips. In this way, the crowd was made to realize that proper decorum did not include bodily violence. From that moment on, the contingent of assault miners and the unofficial funeral procession were able to make their way, albeit rather slowly, out of the landing bay and into the safer environs of a secure holding room.

As soon as they cleared the bay, J.D. handed off the battle standard to the nearest soldier and ordered Alliance One’s
other
precious cargo, the newly found sarcophagus, to a safe location. She then strode out of the room, barely dignifying Justin Cord’s empty space suit with a passing glance.

Day Fourteen

Admiral Christina Sadma, defender of Altamont and commander of a once superior fighting force now whittled down through warfare and attrition, stared unblinking into a darkened, empty crevice through the scratched pane of a battered helmet. Standing on a small ridge overlooking the silent thoroughfare, she breathed in her suit’s stale, processed air and realized with sad portent that she could no longer remember the last time she’d been out of the damned thing. Yes, it was an incredibly well-designed machine wearable for weeks on end with nothing worse developing than an aversion to a tenacious ozone odor that seemed to linger despite the best efforts of the Alliance’s engineers. The smell had, amusingly, spawned a whole new industry in “suit scents,” the most popular of which was called “new suit.” The odd, tree-shaped stickers had been quite the rage as the outfits wore down and their filters wore out, but now the stickers too had disappeared. The supplies of everything had dwindled to almost nothing.

However, her current disquiet wasn’t a result of having spent too much time in the suit. She’d been born and raised on Eris, past the Kaiper Belt, and—like most in the Outer Alliance—had spent weeks “in suit” on one job or another. No, the thing that irked her most was what she was staring at: a horridly scarred and pitted landscape that only a few short weeks ago had been more fit for the donning of a summer dress than wearing the stifling, stale-air contraption she’d been forced to live in now.

As Christina looked out over the great rock’s once pristine interior, her heart grew heavy. Gone was the settlement’s famous “miracle of light,” in which large, strategically placed mirrors had been used to create a glimmering star in the asteroid’s center. Gone too were the abbey’s famous gardens, growing a thousand and one impossible things in perfect harmony—testament to the gentle care and patience that eons of such tranquil endeavors could produce. Gone as well were the notions of life and peace. Christina even missed the Altamont she’d had to create to fight the war. True, “her” Altamont did not have the beautiful gardens. They’d long ago been replaced by kilometer after kilometer of uniform soy plantations and all manner of other staple foodstuffs. “Her” Altamont also had much heavier traffic than the asteroid had ever been used to, with ships and personnel coming and going at all times. There’d been such purpose, though, to the place. Christina’s Altamont, fueled by a hatred of incorporation and infused by the passion to fight it, inspired a life all its own. Though the asteroid’s once idyllic interior had been transformed with the abbey’s permission, that hadn’t stopped Christina from dreaming of the day she could eventually return it to its Godly purpose. But now, standing amongst its ruins and degradation, she realized that that day would never come and that this current grotesque iteration was to be its last.

It had indeed become a dark world. So much so that the windowpane of her helmet needed both infrared and ultraviolet enhancing just to see what the natural human eye could not. It was a darkness relieved only by the occasional spark of an exposed wire or the momentary sputter of an emergency light. It had, at first, been fascinating to watch the exposed wires fizzle out in lonely protest amidst the blackness. Eventually, though, it had grown depressing—a reminder of the dying rock itself. The vast interior chamber had also grown cold now that the vacuum of space had made itself a permanent, and unwelcome, guest. All sorts of detritus—some macabre, some not—could be seen floating in quiet ignominy. Depending on her position, Christina could also make out the shimmering brilliance of random stars through the gaping holes that Trang’s guns had opened up. Sadder still was the fact that those stars did not move past those unnatural openings, but rather stayed fixed in frozen immobility. Altamont had ceased to spin, and centrifugal gravity, the wellspring of its human activity, was no longer available: yet another consequence of the enemy’s unrelenting assault. Magnetization kept whatever was needed and whoever was alive firmly in place. The walking was sluggish but in no way debilitating.