The Unincorporated Future (27 page)

She ordered her battle cruisers to lay down a line of fire in order to keep J.D.’s frigates occupied. She then used an atomic bomb to force her ship broadside to J.D.’s attacking frigates. Then with whatever firepower her ship had left, which was still considerable even without her main rail gun, she blasted away at the opposing force while her fleet repositioned behind her dying vessel. Finally, noted Suchitra, J.D.’s frigates were taking appreciable damage. Suchitra’s eyes narrowed as a pit formed in her stomach.

“Sensor Officer!”

“Sir?”

“I’m seeing on your display twenty cruisers as part of the enemy formation, but on the confirmed sighting I’m only getting ten. Where are the other goddamned cruisers?”

The sensor officer’s face grew taut as he frantically played the console. “Nowhere they should be, sir.”

“You’re not getting paid to look where you
think
you should, Solepi. You’re getting paid to look in my goddamned laundry basket if something’s hiding there. Now, where—?”

“Sir! Cruisers, quadrant H!” Almost as if Suchitra had ordered them herself, the missing ships appeared from behind a clump of previously blasted hydrogen blocks and tore into the side of her formation.
How did she get them to go cold without my knowing?
thought Suchitra, even as she realized the battle was lost.

Officers’ Club
AWS
Warprize II

Though Suchitra was technically the winner, still having a few ships left to the almost total annihilation of J.D.’s forces, it was not a victory she felt she could be proud of—on any level. To add insult to injury, her flagship had ultimately been destroyed by none other than her beloved AWS
Otter.
Therefore, the “honor” of buying drinks that should have been accorded to J.D. as the loser was upended by Suchitra, who insisted on covering the tab. Further, Suchitra saw to it that each one of her, albeit temporary, officers did the same for their counterparts.

J.D. raised her glass. “To the victors!”

“To the victors!” repeated the crowd.

“Who were nice to soften our loss by covering this round!”

The comment was followed by more cheering, and then the officers returned to their small groupings and their retelling of individual exploits and myriad what-ifs. Suchitra and J.D. occupied their own small table.

“So,” asked Suchitra, raising a glass to her lips, “how’d you make those cruisers disappear?”

J.D. laughed. “You really want me to tell you, or would you like to figure it out for yourself?”

Suchitra nodded, accepting the challenge. “I assume you piggybacked the cruisers onto some frigates and then shut the cruisers down.”

“Correct.”

“And you must have done it while you were busy blasting away at the hydrogen cubes and laying down your ECMs.”

“Also correct,” said J.D., raising her glass, then taking another small sip.

“But for the life of me, what I can’t figure out is how you made it appear as if those cruisers were part of your attacking force when in fact they weren’t.”

“Was that a rhetorical question?”

Suchitra finally gave up. “No. I’ve worked it out every which way but Sunday, and I’m still not sure how you did it.”

“I hacked into your mainframe.”

“You did what?”

“She’s my ship, remember? I’ve got all her pass keys.”

“But that’s … that’s cheating.”

J.D. smirked. “Indeed. Remember, Suchitra: any advantage. If you can cheat in battle, then do so. Most of my wins are not based on numbers or Kenji’s miracles but rather on how I exploit those numbers or exploit those miracles.”

Suchitra shook her head, grimacing.

“I also feel the need to remind you that you failed to use one of your assets well.”

The young admiral’s brow knotted in the center as she played back the battle in her head. Not a single ship had been left out of the action. She’d even used her auxiliaries as space junk to deflect incoming fire and had, at least according to the postmortem, used up almost all her ordnance. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, as much as it pains me to admit it.”

“Assault miners.”

“But there were no assault miners used.” Even as she said it, Suchitra realized her mistake. “By Vishnu, I’m the most dung-headed fool there ever was. I may as well be a Tully. I had a huge advantage in assault miners. I should have used them, if only—”

“—if only to distract me and possibly cost me a ship or two,” agreed J.D. “You would’ve lost a lot of ’em, but you had a lot to lose.”

Suchitra nodded. “J.D., are you sure I’m the spacer you need?”

“Positive,” J.D. answered without the slightest hesitation, “especially after today.”

“Today you kicked my ass.” It was said loudly enough for the other spacers to hear. Polite chuckles arose from those close by.

“So what? I’m better at this than you are—for now. But it’s not that you lost; it’s how you dealt with it. You were commanding your forces till the end. No matter how I surprised you, you always remained in command, always attempting to strike at me any chance you got. And though a bit roughshod, it worked: you eventually wiped out everything I had. I’m guessing the next time we battle, I’m not gonna have it so easy.”

Suchitra bowed respectfully. “I
will
earn my victory over you.”

“I don’t doubt it, but there’s only one victory that will matter, Suchitra.”

“Trang.”

“Trang,” agreed J.D. as both raised their drinks in a toast to their enemy.

“Excuse me,” J.D. said, pulling a DijAssist from her pocket. A dullish yellow glow pulsed from the unit until she spoke. “What is it, Jasper?” J.D. nodded as her eyes fixed on Suchitra. “Yes, I understand.” She then slipped the DijAssist back into her pocket.

“Admiral, you are to head back to the
Otter
immediately. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

Both admirals rose to their feet, and as they did, the din of the officers’ club came to a halt.

Soon both Suchitra and J.D., followed by their entourages, filed out of the officers’ club, celebration over. The two admirals, walking shoulder to shoulder, finally split off—one turning left at the hatch while the other turned right.

*   *   *

In perfect synchronization, Jasper Lee got out of the command chair as J.D. slid in. The fleet, per her orders, had been put on standby alert. J.D. scanned the sensor reports on the approaching ship. It was a standard UHF military shuttle built for a max complement of eight, though for an extended trip, only four could really use it comfortably. What a short-range shuttle was doing this far away from a UHF base or capital ship was a real mystery, and J.D. was ruthlessly suspicious of mysteries—especially those arriving out of nowhere and at the doorstep of an Outer Alliance fleet on its way to the enemy’s capital.

Marilynn Nitelowsen looked up from her display console. “Admiral, I have some information that may have bearing on this.”

J.D. nodded and beckoned the fleet’s newest intelligence officer over. She was aware that Marilynn’s loyalties had been divided, and suspected that if push came to shove, the President would probably win out. Sandra O’Toole demanded loyalty, and now J.D. understood not only why but also how she got it. It helped that the scales had finally started to tip in the Alliance’s favor—due in no small part to the President’s machinations. There was simply no way in hell that the UHF had 0.003 variance in accuracy, no matter how much it seemed like a programming glitch—Sandra. No way Kirk Olmstead wouldn’t have tried to unseat the President, but now he was gone—Sandra. No way J.D. should be heading toward Mars, even—Sandra. When J.D. had confronted the President about it Sandra promised with the assuredness of a prophet that when J.D. needed to know, Marilynn was under full orders to tell her. J.D. didn’t press it. The logic was sound, and the results, readily apparent. She’d agreed—even if somewhat begrudgingly—to trust her and therefore put her life as well as the lives of her spacers into the hands of not only a veritable stranger but also that stranger’s emissary.

Marilynn stood respectfully next to J.D.’s command chair, awaiting orders.

J.D. activated a privacy field. “Okay, what’ve we got?”

“Have you received the intelligence briefing on Neela Cord?” Marilynn’s face was unusually somber.

“Yes,” answered J.D. with equal solemnity.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Porfirio Baldwin is dead and Angela Wong is missing, Admiral.”

“No, it’s not. But neither of them were the intended targets, so it also means Neela must have missed.”

“Agreed.”

“What does any of this have to do with—” J.D. turned her head to stare at the incoming shuttle on her sensor array. “—that?”

“It could be the sleeper.”

J.D. nodded for Marilynn to continue.

“The timing is right from when Porfirio Baldwin was killed. If the sleeper fled that night and had a shuttle modified for long-term operations, this is about how far they would’ve gotten going slow enough to play it safe.”

“A lone shuttle this far from anything is not exactly what I’d call, ‘playing it safe.’”

“True, but keep in mind we’re taking this route for a reason.”

“It’s the quickest path to Mars.”

“And the reverse is also true. This is the quickest path from Mars into Alliance Space. A shuttle moving too fast is an obvious target, slow enough and it’s just another dawdler straying too close to the border.”

“And the fact that their escape path perfectly intersects with ours?”

“Not perfectly, Admiral.” Marilynn’s finger drew a line across the array. “The shuttle had been following this path—the most logical for escape—until it became aware of us. It then altered course to intercept.”

J.D. listened attentively, silently considering. “So, no concerns, whatsoever?” she finally asked Marilynn.

“Actually, many. I only point out another possible variable.”

“If it is the sleeper,” asked J.D., her curiosity finally getting the better of her, “any ideas as to who it might be?”

“I wasn’t told, sir. I’m not even a hundred percent certain the UHF knows.”

“But you do have a suspicion.”

Marilynn nodded. “I find it interesting that Angela Wong disappeared at the same time as the attempt on Hektor’s life.”

“The brain drainer?” J.D.’s voice betrayed her skepticism.

“I admit it’s rather far-fetched, but talk about above suspicion.”

J.D. sighed heavily. “I really hope you’re wrong, Marilynn.”

“So do I, Admiral.”

J.D. ran her hand over another part of her console. “Get me Lopez of the
Claim Jumper.
”

The captain’s hologram suddenly appeared. “Lopez here, Admiral.”

“Hektor,” J.D. began.

“Please, sir. If you don’t mind, I prefer to be called by my last name.”

J.D. had forgotten the captain’s odd predicament; Hektor Sambianco Lopez had grown to hate his first and middle names but refused to change them out of pride. That didn’t mean, though, that he enjoyed hearing them spoken.

“My apologies, Captain Lopez. Please have the
Claim Jumper
intercept that shuttle. I want it scanned and boarded by your best insertion team. Till you know otherwise, assume it’s packed full of nukes and gray bombs. If it can be done
safely,
bring the shuttle into your landing bay. When you get an ID on the occupants, assuming there are any, let us know at once.”

For the next twenty minutes, J.D., along with the crew of the command sphere, watched in morbid fascination as the shuttle was boarded, a job made easier by its hatch opening at the exact moment of the insertion team’s arrival. There was one occupant, female. But the woman’s visor was shielded. In short order, the insertion team determined that both the shuttle and her occupant were of no danger to any Alliance ship and as such it was brought into the
Claim Jumper
’s cargo hold. The hatch opened, the four assault miners from the insertion team poured out and took up positions waiting patiently for the shuttle’s sole occupant to emerge. Three minutes later she did, pausing momentarily before removing her helmet. As she lifted it up, a thick fold of long, vibrant white hair fell down onto her shoulders—Amanda Snow had arrived.

Her keen, cerulean eyes canvassed the bay, looking right past the insertion team and then past the even larger contingent of assault miners—all of whom had their fingers hovering near the triggers of their ARGs—as if the lot of them were bellhops at a swank hotel and she was an invited guest looking for a concierge. When a young lieutenant approached and had the apparent temerity to demand identification, Amanda glared at him with such assumed authority that the poor lieutenant momentarily forgot his station and tripped over his own words. As the lieutenant collected himself, Amanda slowly and quite methodically began stripping out of her space suit. J.D. and Marilynn watched in amusement as the lieutenant was made practically apoplectic by Amanda’s purposeful and very public striptease act. She soon emerged wearing, presumably, what she’d had on at the time of her escape—a stylish black mini cocktail dress, none the worse for the wear, accompanied by a pair of light gray suede ankle boots with taper pointed toes and three large decorative matching leather buttons down the outer sides. Once she was clear of her space suit, four-inch matching leather-covered stiletto heels emerged from the bottoms of the shoes, adding a few extra inches to her already leggy frame. Satisfied, she ordered the baffled lieutenant to take her luggage from the ship and bring her to, “whoever’s in charge around here.” The poor man, clearly out of his depth, actually took a half step up the ramp before remembering to call in the situation to his commanding officer.