The Unincorporated Woman Read online

  Oh God, no, she thought in horror as she ran back to the control room. When she cycled into the room, her first words through her dissolving helmet were, “How fast?”

  “Thirty thousand kilometers an hour,” choked out Corry in near despair.

  “Jesus,” observed Josh, “those projectiles won’t reach the battle front for…”

  “Over two hundred hours,” moaned Hildegard.

  Six and half million kilometers from Ceres, Main battlefront, UHFS Liddel

  Admiral Samuel U. Trang looked at the information coming in from his sensor net and was beginning to suspect that he might be the luckiest son of a bitch in the universe.

  “Sensor Officer, I want tracking data on those projectiles correlated from every damn ship in the fleet. Was this a test shot—clearing the gun, as it were—or was that their main fire sequence?”

  “The power buildup peaked with that shot and is building up again.” His eyes flittered over the display. “Sir, five more projectiles have left the Via Cereana, also at thirty-two kilometers per hour.”

  “Compute targets.”

  “Done. All fifty-five projectiles are targeted at one ship each in Admiral Jackson’s flotilla. There was a thirty-second turnaround time between shots. Estimated time to impact”—he smiled broadly—“a little under two hundred hours.”

  “Comm,” he barked.

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  “Get me Admirals Jackson and Gupta on a secure line.”

  “Link made and secure, sir.”

  Trang activated a privacy screen, and his command chair was surrounded by an opaque field that cut off all communication with the outside except for the two figures floating in the small holo-field in front of him.

  Gupta spoke first. “Did we just get lucky, or are they screwing with us?”

  “Well,” estimated Zenobia, looking tired but steadfast, “speaking for the not-dead faction of this little get-together, I’d have to vote with lucky.”

  “Not so fast,” warned Gupta. “This could be a trick. Hell, it probably is.”

  Zenobia shook her head. “To what end? Let’s not use our battle-winning weapon because…”

  “Because,” observed Trang, face lit with dawning realization, “if I don’t think the weapon is working, I’ll order my fleet to join you in the center and try to split the Alliance forces like we were going to do … before we realized they wanted us in the center.”

  “And didn’t take the bait,” chimed in Gupta. “It’s easy to see how this might be the backup. ‘If they don’t go for Omad’s feint, then make it look like the weapon’s not working and get ’em to go in that way.’”

  A look of intense calculation spread over Zenobia’s face. “Reasonable. Certainly wouldn’t put it past ’em.”

  Trang listened to his subordinates and nodded politely. “Conclusions.”

  Gupta spoke first. “I say it’s a trick, Sam, and that we get the hell out here. If they want to give us an extra few minutes playing games, I say we take it. Zenobia may even be able to get some of her ships out of the center while they’re trying to fool us. Maybe we should feint with our fleets. Make it seem like we might be going into the center, while Zenobia powers up and gives herself an atomic kick in the pants.”

  “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar,” offered Zenobia.

  Gupta’s face contorted into apoplexy. “What?”

  “What if their superweapon just doesn’t work?”

  “That would be a first,” snorted Gupta. “You willing to take that chance?”

  “Fortunately, I don’t have to.” She turned to Trang. “You do.”

  Trang smiled knowingly. “Indeed. Please continue.”

  “The way I see it, sir, they can’t keep rolling double sixes every time they throw the dice. Think about it. They create a superweapon out of the Via Cereana. But to do that without detection, because they know we have spies, it has to be done in total secrecy; they have to get people to build it, thousands of people in the middle of a war, without any of them really knowing what they’re building. They can’t test it, even once—and simulation doesn’t count. The amazing thing isn’t that it doesn’t work, it’s that they managed to get away with this crap so many times in the past.”

  “Even if that’s true, sir,” said Gupta, “there’s still no way to know if it’s a trap.”

  Trang’s face was illuminated in the green and blue lights emanating from his command module, and his dark, intense eyes appeared as two reflective orbs spitting lines of data from the panels he was viewing. Zenobia, he knew, had been correct in her initial assertion. The decision was his and his alone to make, and this time it would not just be the vast number of lives on the line, it would be the vast number of lives affected if he chose wrong. The lives of those made to live under the yoke of Justin Cord’s twisted concepts of freedom and further enslaved by the religious fanatics his twisted ideology had spawned. He knew what he had to do.

  Trang spoke quietly now, but without reluctance.

  “Say what you will about J. D. Black, she goes for victory by any means necessary and takes only the gambles she needs to. Had that weapon worked as planned, she would’ve had all the tactical advantage she needed to win this battle—right now. She’d never risk a victory, even a hard-fought one, just to raise her tally.” Trang then turned toward Gupta. “Abhay, friend. You’re correct—there’s no way to know if this is a trap or even be sure that the weapon’s a bust. But this is war, and it’s not won by avoiding risk.” A few seconds hung between his words. “Therefore, we go all in,” he said with utter confidence. “Zenobia, you’re about to get both halves of the Alliance fleet smashing into you from either side. Sorry to leave you in the middle of the storm, but if you can hold out, we can split the Alliance fleet. If it stands and fights, we will destroy it in turn. If it runs for their orbital batteries, we can take each section from behind in turn. We can end this thing right now.”

  “Fuck it,” said Gupta. “I didn’t have anything better to do anyways.”

  “Gee, thanks,” chimed in Zenobia.

  “Till we meet in the center, my friends.”

  After his subordinates had signed off, Trang took a moment before giving the order to charge. In the dim glow of the green and blue lights, the face that had for too long been couched in surrender was now filled with another emotion entirely—hope.

  12 Bottom of the Deck

  AWS Warprize II, Left wing of the Alliance battle fleet

  “What happened, Admiral?” J.D. asked the floating holographic image of Joshua Sinclair.

  “We had a quench.”

  “English, please.”

  “A meltdown.”

  “Of what!”

  “Of all the magnets. Kenji said something about an eddy current causing a drag force between the conductors and the magnet. Shit, J.D., I don’t know what the hell that kid is talking about half the time, anyways. Bottom line, we ain’t got shit to work with.”

  “This is Omad,” squawked Omad’s holograph, staring at Admirals Sinclair and Black. “I’m not in right now, but if you leave a message, I’ll be happy to get back to you as soon as, say, I figure out why the hell the fireworks show I prepared twenty-five thousand hamburgers and hot dogs for has apparently been canceled! Please leave a message after the tirade.” Omad then stared blankly at his superior officers.

  “I like cold hamburger,” rejoined J.D.

  Omad laughed grimly. “We’re about to fight the battle we didn’t want to fight, aren’t we?”

  “Yup. Classic rush for center, friend. I’ll get there and get it back.”

  “Rob me of the glory, eh?”

  “It’s always been my ulterior motive, Omad,” countered J.D. “You think I really believe in all this freedom shit?”

  “I knew it!” shouted Omad in glee, then turned his head to bark at someone on the bridge. “Yo, Halbert, you owe me ten credits!”

  “No chance they’ll think it’s a trap?” asked the holo
graphic image of Sinclair.

  “Of course he’ll think it’s a trap. He thinks everything’s a trap,” said Omad, getting serious. “But in this case we’re betting that the tactical advantage will be too good to pass up.”

  “In that case, I have no choice,” said Sinclair. “You’re authorized to use the backdoor protocols.”

  J.D.’s look was particularly grim. “That’s the very last rabbit we can pull out of our hat, Admiral. Give me a chance to win without it.”

  “I’m not even sure you can survive with it,” admonished Sinclair with the dead, weary glare of exhaustion, “you have 273 ships to 407 of theirs.”

  “We’re better.”

  “I won’t argue that but as you so recently reminded us, Trang’s not Tully and he’s not Diep, or any of the others. We need to survive this battle if we’re going to win this war.…” He looked at his subordinate. “Admiral, it’s an order.”

  J.D. knew her superior officer’s logic was unassailable, and she wasn’t about to let pride get in the way of victory, especially not with this much riding on the line. “Yes, sir,” she said, resigned. “Backdoor protocols will be released.” The shrill cry of an alarm could be heard in the background. “Major fleet movement!” shouted her sensor officer.

  “Whose?” she demanded.

  “It’s Admiral Hassan, sir.”

  J.D. concentrated her attention on Omad’s image as the furrow of her brow acted as a silent recrimination. “You just couldn’t wait.”

  “Seconds could count, Janet,” he quipped without a trace of remorse.

  “Go fight your battle, J.D.,” interrupted Sinclair, and his image blinked out of her tank.

  She studied the tactical display. Omad was heading straight for the center with 130 ships to Admiral Jackson’s 55. That left J.D. with 143 to somehow deal with the 352 ships of Trang and Gupta’s wings.

  “Omad.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Change your bearing.”

  “But—”

  “Just listen, will you?”

  Omad nodded his assent.

  “Continue your drive on Zenobia’s center position, but make sure to curve away from Gupta’s wing. Nothing extravagant, maybe five degrees or so.”

  “As long as I get to kick some UHF ass, Your Highness.”

  “And then some.”

  Main Engineering, AWS Warprize II

  Tawfik Hamdi saw the orders come down and was both pleased and concerned. He’d been one of the few who knew about the backdoor protocols, having helped with their creation and installation in many of the ships of the fleet. He’d been wanting to use them for years, but knew they would be used only in a moment of supreme victory or, conversely, desperation. He had an uneasy feeling that this wasn’t victory.

  “Okay, people,” he said to his gathered engineering crew, “until now you’ve had a nice, relaxing vacation.” A smattering of uncomfortable laughter echoed through the room. “Well, the Blessed One needs us to work for our pay. If you’ll kindly look at your DijAssists.” The crew was presented with the comprehensive list, which they greedily read. Tawfik purposely waited an extra few seconds before giving the go command in order to unloose the coiled spring that was his crew. He watched in satisfaction as the engine compartment stormed to life like a beehive whacked by a stick. Approximately eleven minutes after he’d given the order, the weapons indicator at his control panel started blinking. When the last one transformed itself from red to green, he opened up a communication line to the bridge.

  “Engineering,” came the professional yet slightly nervous voice of Fatima Awala, “you have the bridge.”

  Tawfik had a strong urge to ask her how she was doing, but he quashed it. “Inform the admiral that backdoor protocols have been implemented.”

  “She will be informed, Taw … Engineering,” she quickly cut the communication.

  Tawfik looked around and noticed a few errant smirks.

  “Our task demands supreme concentration,” he said with a throaty growl and voice full of anger. “We can’t rely on those morons at the helm or the grunts in the belly of this ship. We rely only on us! And therefore the life and death of the entire Alliance rests on us … yet still, still you miscreants have time to waste on the supposed affairs of my personal life? As Allah is my witness, when this battle is over, I will personally cancel all your leaves for the next hundred years! Now get back to work!” Tawfik then lowered himself into his command module and busied himself with preparing the ship for the next phase of the battle.

  His crew, however, ignored the tirade. They’d only become worried if he spoke to them with thoughtful consideration.

  Bridge, UHFS Liddel

  Trang watched as Omad’s wing rushed for Zenobia’s center. She was outnumbered nearly two to one, and half her ships were facing the wrong way to deal with an attack from two sides. But Omad was bringing his ships in so quickly that it was obvious his first attack was going to be a quick pass with his main rail guns blasting. This would give Zenobia’s rear-facing ships a chance to shoot at Omad’s force as it streaked by without his being able to shoot back.

  But Trang was concerned about what J.D. was doing with her 140 ships, and so far, that amounted to nothing. It seemed she was content to happily wait for him, but he couldn’t wait any longer. Not with Zenobia facing two-to-one odds in the center against a more skilled opponent. For a moment, Trang felt something he’d not felt in battle before. It was such a strange sensation that he allowed a few seconds to experience it. So this is what doubt feels like, he thought. That’s why so many people lose to her. And then with a force of will, he banished the sensation and got back to work.

  “Both Alpha and Beta Wings to the center. Position Alpha Wing to block J.D.’s wing if she tries something cute,” he demanded, and demonstrated his commands with visual confirmation in the holo-tank. The crew, hearing and seeing his orders, made the necessary commands flow through the fleet. Trang felt the power of the ship vibrate through the hull. He saw both sections of the fleet move in the holo-tank and wasn’t surprised to see J.D.’s wing of the fleet move almost the second his started.

  He took a moment to compare the enemy fleets, and he had to admit that his wasn’t quite as crisp as the Alliance’s was. His was doing very well, and when the fleets met in combat, he knew that his spacers and marines would do just fine. Of course, having an extra 134 ships helped. But he saw that J.D.’s fleet moved with near perfect precision. Hundreds and hundreds of ships of various classes and hundreds of thousands of spacers, and they moved in a perfect ballet. The software integration and debugging alone showed an attention to detail and experience that was breathtaking. He felt a sigh at the sheer artistry and skill that he knew were behind that fleet’s movement. It’s a real shame I have to blow them to hell and gone, but they’re just too dangerous to leave in our solar system, he thought.

  He saw that J.D.’s wing was actually diverting toward his. Part of him was overjoyed to be in actual combat with the best the enemy had to offer. But part of him couldn’t help wondering what she was up to.

  He got an incoming holo from Abhay Gupta.

  “She’s going straight for you, Sam. Should I change course?”

  Trang had already considered this, so his answer was instant. “No. I’ve got her outnumbered, and Omad will destroy Zenobia if we let him have a half hour.”

  “You know I like Zenobia, Sam, but it might be worth it if we can get the bitch goddess of war in exchange.”

  “If Black saw you changing course, she’d just play cat and mouse. By the time we could maneuver your wing to force her to engage, Zenobia would be space dust and Omad Hassan would be attacking our flanks.”

  Gupta nodded solemnly. “Don’t you ever get tired of being right?”

  “No time for ‘tired,’ friend. You go pull Zenobia’s bacon out of the fire and then see what you can do about Hassan. And Abhay—”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t get fancy. Trade whateve
r you have to.” One more life I’m ordering to die, thought Trang. “I don’t care if you’re left with two ships at the end of this and he has three.” One more life at the head of millions. “Grind him to nothing—whatever the price.” But maybe, just maybe—Damsah willing—the last. Trang saluted.

  Gupta returned his salute, eyes lit with fierce resolve. “I’d rather die young than die bored. Thank you, sir.”

  AWS Dolphin

  Admiral Omad Hassan viewed both enemy formations: the one motionless in front of him like so much bait and the one led by Abhay Gupta that was coming up fast using atomic acceleration. Omad felt grateful to the man. Gupta’s value had been deemed so high that early on in the war he’d been swapped in a prisoner exchange for Omad’s now martyred fiancée, Christina. But it was also Gupta’s brilliant victory at the Battle of Mercury that had kept the war going and so doomed the very woman his exchange had saved. For that, Omad knew he would do his level best to kill him, and he would not go out of his way to take prisoners either. He was going to give the corporate bastards everything they deserved plus a little extra for interest.

  “Swing the flotilla in past the UHF center and coordinate with Admiral Black’s flotilla,” he commanded. “We have one chance for surprise. Let’s make the best of it.”

  AWS Warprize II

  J. D. Black viewed the onrushing enemy as she would the inevitability of rain following an oncoming storm. And once again, she was trying with all her strength to control that storm. She didn’t do it by praying to her god, or by bargaining with that god for his services as so many of her faith had done before her. No, Janet Delgado Black was speaking to the enemy and praying that her god was listening, praying that her god might be persuaded by her version of the battle’s result. What had years before started out as a nervous habit had now taken on a life of its own and a belief to buttress it. “That’s right, Trang,” she said with the voice of a seductress, “you have me figured out, don’t you? Our wonder weapon didn’t work, and now I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation, aren’t I? You’re going to use your overwhelming force to whittle me down, aren’t you? Nothing would give you greater satisfaction than to beat me in battle, nothing … nothing.”