by Lee Bond
The King heaved the Enforcer Suit into the slot in the wall, a slot that looked like nothing more complicated than an old-fashioned fuse box.
The linking procedure began immediately. Or tried to. The mechanisms bit, then bit again, then started clicking as they failed to find the right spots.
Barnabas shut his eyes and counted to ten, wincing and grimacing each time the unresponsive machinery whined. When he reached ten, he raised a Kingly foot and booted the Suit firmly and square in the chest. The ancient suit of armor juddered around in its socket a bit and then … miracle! The linking mechs gripped hold tightly and things began properly.
Inside the socket, hundreds of mechanical arms began plucking and pulling at the impressively resilient armor of the Suit. They would continue to do so until the true nature of the Suit was revealed, whereupon those same arms would bend and fold the metal they’d pulled away into pipes that would connect the power source to The Dome. And lo, the part of The Dome that was connected to this particular Suit would undergo a transformation, revealing unto the world below the first part of a massive circuit board that would, when all was said and done, burn in the sky like an accusation.
And when the final piece, the last bit of energy that was required to make everything run properly was slotted into place, The Dome would pierce the Void and all would cease.
Barnabas bent to the task of moving the next Suit into place, wishing he could use Will to do so. But alas, Suits, even in their unpowered state, were relatively immune to the Cloud.
So by hand it would be. Barnabas didn’t mind. He’d spent thousands of years working with his hands.
A King’s work was never done.
***
Arranging meetings in secret, Chairman Herrig DuPont had learned over the years, was nearly impossible. Well, no. Wait. That thought actually implied that, given enough effort, it could be done.
No. Secret meetings in Latelyspace were impossible.
First and foremost, there was the usually tacit agreement between the two parties actually trying to have a secret meeting that each side would keep their mouths shut about the usual what/when/where/who/why.
Herrig was willing to bet half Garth’s fortune that Petros Vasco had told everyone and their grandchild that he, the system’s preeminent shipping magnate, was going to have a meeting with the Chairman. The odious man was … well… odious. In anticipation of meeting with Vasco to discuss the businessman’s many and varied complaints about how the Latelian Commonwealth and the war against Trinity was personally affecting his business, Herrig had familiarized himself with the root cause of the whole thing: Morgan ‘the Dead’ Vasco.
Morgan the Dead had been a tick fattening himself on the misery and agony of others. The perverse human being had used his father’s connections and power to shuffle humans around the solar system like cattle, exchanging sordid favor for wretched favor, sinking lower and lower with each and every year. Beyond that –not that there was anything in this or any other solar system- Morgan the Dead had been an information broker, selling secrets ripped from proteii and mains with seemingly reckless abandon. Whenever anyone had grown too close to him, or too disgusted with his personal life, that person disappeared.
Happily –at least to every rational human being in Latelyspace- Morgan the Dead had fallen afoul the legendary and quite frightening hacker known systemwide as Lady Ha. She’d ripped his bank accounts wide, hemorrhaged his personal files across every ‘LINK worldwide, had vomited the names of every single man and woman involved in the perfidious side of the man’s barely-legitimate business ventures. When his assets had been seized to pay for his crimes, well, Herrig didn’t have the stomach to go through the whole of everything, but hardened investigators had used words like ‘vile’ and –skirting public decency- ‘soul-wrenching’.
So when Herrig had agreed to meet with Petros Vasco ‘in secret’, the Chairman had automatically assumed that the other man had made plans to tell everyone who would listen that he was finally going to gain reparation for all the ills of the world done to him and his.
Beyond that, as Chairman in the middle of a protracted war of sorts against Trinity soldiers of varying mercilessness … Herrig was at least fifty percent certain someone in MoE or one of the other Ministries knew all too well what he and Sidra got up to in their personal quarters, so having a sit-down with a man publicly and volubly against everything the Chairman stood for fell even further away from ‘secret’.
Not that Herrig minded. The offer of secrecy, the gesture of utter privacy, had been for Petros’ benefit. He was Chairman and would remain so until the Heuristic Intelligence Model decided there was someone better suited for the job. Huey kept insisting there wasn’t a person alive capable of doing as he was. Then, if his mood was light, the AI would relent, saying instead that the only one possibly able to fill his particular shoes was a tiny little Latelian ballerina.
If the AI’s mood was dark –and it grew darker every day- Huey intoned there could be no new leader for The Commonwealth until after Darkness Fell and the Light Rose.
That was something that Herrig did mind. Huey was becoming … distracted. As a systemic AI in his own right –Herrig didn’t know precisely how that worked- there was so much going on inside Latelyspace that the bulk of Huey’s time now seemed to be spent whisking himself all over the damn place. Hamilton Barnes’ resurrected flesh was a modern miracle, easily the equivalent of a God soldier’s immaculate structure, but …
The door opened and Sidra ushered Petros Vasco into the offices.
Herrig immediately wanted to punch the man in the face. He didn’t even feel guilty about the urge. The dour look on his ladylove’s face suggested that she, too, had come close to pummeling the smug bastard into the ground.
In every conceivable way possible, Petros Vasco was the mold from which Morgan the Dead had been cast. Looking at the older business magnate was an exercise in seeing Morgan fifty, sixty years down the road; from the rich obesity of the man’s waistline to the overindulgent smirk crossing overly fleshy lips, to the artfully concealed receding hairline and the wafting cologne that drenched anyone who stood too close, Petros Vasco was clearly a man who’d known his share of illicit delights in his time.
“Sa DuPont.” Petros dipped his head.
“Chairman.” Sidra barked. “The man standing before you is Chairman of the Latelian Commonwealth.”
Petros turned a seedy smile on Sidra before looking back to the short, fat man who presumed so much. “There was never an official swearing in, si. Latelian Law …”
Herrig stepped in. “Latelian Law on the matter of who becomes Chairperson is largely a fabrication, Sa Vasco, as you well know by now. Your attempts in using the political arena to oust me from office have surely revealed to you a number of shocking truths. The first dozen men and women who became Chair did so by literally ripping the First Proteus from their competitor’s lifeless body. The regulations and ceremonies and pageantry involved are themselves just that; pageantry. The proteus itself has chosen who will wear it, and as it has been, so shall it ever be.”
In truth, the majority of the ‘shocking truths’ Petros had discovered during his efforts to displace him out of office had been at his urging; in fact, it’d taken issuance of several incredibly difficult to parse orders to the Ministry of Examination before Si Paulson would allow Petros’ avatars anywhere near those ancient documents.
Common sense had won the day with Paulson, though, for which Herrig had been and still was quite grateful. Owing to her position on the very heartbeat of Latelyspace, the redoubtable and incurably honest woman and her team knew more than anyone how beneficial the non-Latelian ruler was for the overall health and sanity of every man, woman and child in the solar system.
Petros’ lips quirked oddly. He’d been under the impression that he’d discovered long-forgotten secrets. He dipped his head again, this time in acknowledgement of a hand well-played. Then his eyes fell on the proteus just off
to one side of Herrig’s hand. Quite unbidden, his eyebrows shot right up.
Herrig smiled blandly. “Yes, this is the First Proteus. Sadly, it’s built for a much larger person. It keeps falling off.” He brandished his own personal prote, which was slaved to the infinitely more powerful device. “But we have figured out a way to make things work.”
Petros couldn’t keep his eyes off the thing. It was just sitting there. The ultimate token of power, the keys to the Latelian Regime. Sitting on the man’s desk like a paperweight. His mind riffled through the various things he’d learned about those olden times, when Chairmen and Chairwomen had literally beaten one another to death in order to hold true power in Latelyspace.
Everything he knew pointed to one undeniable truth: whoever could hold on to the legendary First Proteus was, in every way that mattered, ruler over all the people of Latelyspace.
Sidra moved to stand behind Herrig. Everything was playing out just as the man she loved had surmised. He’d taken to the role of Chairman with a passion, picking up the tactics of manipulation and the motivation-divining skills with relative ease. All the best avatar models suggested that now, right now, Petros Vasco would reach across the table to grab hold of the First Proteus, neatly and quickly ending the whole charade they were going through in a matter of seconds; since properly being hooked up to the HIM, the proteus worn by the Chairman was now an extension of the truly mythical machine.
Anyone attempting to take hold of it would find themselves –if they were lucky-imprisoned in shield not dissimilar from the one surrounding their solar system. If they were unlucky, the HIM took a disliking to the man or woman attempting to wrest control and they wound up dead.
Sidra was siding with the avatars. They were rarely wrong. They’d forecasted Petros’ intentionally late arrival and a number of other things she’d had to deal with already.
Herrig, though … Herrig believed that the repulsive excuse for a human being would skip the attempt.
Petros looked from the God soldier to the man who’d usurped the Latelian, then to the First Proteus. By Law, she would be powerless to stop him should he be able to take the prote from the desk. As a God soldier, and someone who was clearly a Foursie, Sidra should follow that Law to the letter. After all –if the rumors were true- she and all her kind had been around for longer than most. If there were any beings in Latelyspace who played by the book, so to speak, it would be they.
The shipping magnate licked his lips, twiddled his fingers. Ultimate power and authority, just sitting there. He plastered a smile on his fleshy face and seated himself, noting Sidra’s displeasure at his resilience.
“Disappointed?” he wondered aloud as he made himself comfortable.
Sidra flashed a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I owe the Chairman a dollar.”
So unsuspected was the comment that both Herrig and Petros barked with laughter, the former blushing furiously to the top of his bald head and the latter simply astonished that Herrig would be so … so … Latelian.
“I take it then,” Petros gestured to the powerful device, “that something untoward would have happened to me? There are rumors here and there in the ancient history books, but nothing concrete.”
A smile flickered across Herrig’s lips as he seated himself. His shoulder tensed up in anticipation of the solid strength and enduring warmth of Sidra’s hand, relaxing instantly when it fell there. Petros’ face flashed irritation mingled with disgust, but the Latelian quickly took hold of his emotions.
“That is what is said, yes.” Herrig settled back in his chair cautiously, glad for Sidra’s hand on his shoulder; years of dealing with people, first in Trinityspace as a lawyer, then in Latelyspace as a bank manager, then as CFO and CEO of UltraMegaDynamaTron to finally rest as Chairman for the entire people had not given him the ability to restrain the urge to leap across the table and tear Petros Vasco’s throat out with his teeth.
How anyone could have ever dealt with him, or his son, was beyond Herrig’s wildest flights of fancy. Chairwoman Doans had given the bastard child of this monumental walking asshole a free pass to do whatever he wanted so long as political funds were funneled into the gaping black hole that’d been her reign.
Doans deserved what’d she’d gotten, as had Morgan. But Petros … Herrig hated the fact that they were even having this sit-down in the first place. Every other ‘obstacle’ –be they outdated and antiquated policies and procedures or greedy men and women or a combination of both- had ultimately conceded their stand, recognizing in short order that there were greater things happening in Latelyspace now than had ever been dreamed of in their entire five thousand year history. Wasting their time trying to rid themselves of a man who’d proven he wasn’t going anywhere was just that … a waste of time.
But Petros Vasco remained. His cries of foul play had grown louder and longer. His demands for justice filled the ‘LINKs. He got an unconscionable amount of time on the Screens because Latelian news reporting was nothing if not jaded and easily bored; virtually every person who had anything to do with news did whatever they could to not cover the war, and so they fell to the … the blister sitting there, smug and far too pleased with himself.
“I would like to thank you for meeting with me today, Chairman DuPont.” Petros didn’t mind firing the first salvo. “It is good to see that you can be reasoned with.”
Sidra’s hand tensed, so Herrig put his own atop it. “The Chair is nothing if not reasonable.”
Petros eyed the shining, glittering prize he’d turned down wryly, saying nothing about the trap he’d skirted. Time to carry on. He who seized the day got what he wanted, more often than not. “First, I would like to talk …”
“The Chairman has asked you to come here today to discuss with you the terms of your surrender.” Sidra interrupted smoothly, enjoying every single nanosecond of it. The look of pure outrage, of unadulterated hostility oozing from the man was glorious. Impishly, Sidra allowed her own feelings of joy to flood through Harmony.
Brothers and sisters throughout Latelyspace chuckled. Why, she even felt oft distant Nalanata’s dry amusement.
Herrig allowed Petros a moment or two of red-faced blustering as he tried to find his tongue. When the Chairman was certain Petros would be able to respond without resorting to backroom behavior, he spoke. “What my personal guard meant to say is, I believe I have come to an idea that should allow everyone in the room to feel as though their needs and demands in a way that is mutually beneficial to both parties. Naturally, as is ever the case, one party will come away slightly better off than the other, but that is the nature of deals. Is it not?”
Petros glared daggers at the female Foursie. He clenched his jaw for a moment. “Naturally.” He ground the word out.
Herrig gestured, and the wall behind him sprang into life, displaying for Petros a completely accurate and –if the slowly dawning look of utter shock and comprehension at what he was looking at was any indication- brutally concise breakdown of Vasco Enterprises.
Petros stared at the wall. It was swimming with information. Bank accounts, withdrawals, payments, bribes. Hidden money. Ships. Cargo manifests. Loading and unloading schedules. Contacts, both public and private. Political contacts. Military. Land documents. Here and there, the magnate’s eyes fell on things he’d forgotten all about.
Herrig continued. “I can see from your expression that you know what it is you are looking at?”
Petros was not without ammo. “Under Latelian Commonwealth laws, the acquisition of this data is strictly illegal, as is displaying it, even in private. I …”
Herrig interrupted, loving the fact that his avatars had shown him time and again that the best way to dominate Petros was to do nothing more than cut the man off midsentence. “The information presently being displayed, Sa Vasco, was acquired during the last days of the Latelian Regime. Following the disappearance and eventual discovery of your son’s body, Chairwoman Doans deemed it necessary to have … something to d
eal with. She accurately predicted your present attitude towards the Latelian government, though she could not, of course, have predicted the scope of your demands. At the end of this meeting, and should you request it, I can provide you with documentation to prove my claims.”
“Avatar stamps can be manipulated.” Petros grunted angrily.
Herrig nodded affably. “In times past, you could guarantee with one hundred percent accuracy that anything benefitting the Latelian Regime while completely screwing the other person over was, indeed, faked. Except I am not a Regimist Chair. What I say is the truth.”
Infuriatingly enough, Petros already knew this. He’d spent hundreds of thousands, possibly reaching into the millions, in doing research of Herrig DuPont. It paid to know your enemies.
It was safe to say that Petros Vasco knew as much about Herrig as Herrig did, and there was one glaring, impossible-to-deny certainty: the Chairman didn’t lie. He didn’t prevaricate, he didn’t filibuster.
Naturally, this put everyone on edge. Or, those who’d benefited from knowing the nature of the beast, so to speak; when you’re dealing with corruption, you knew what to expect. When dealing with a shining beacon of honesty and integrity, Petros found you were always at an extreme disadvantage. Honest people had a tendency to ignore certain aspects of less than reputable behavior if it didn’t inconvenience them, always making sure to take note of what it was that was being should it later prove to be a bother. A Regimist Chair would leap –had leapt- onto anything of worth without hesitation.
Petros couldn’t take his eyes off the data flowing behind the … Sa DuPont and his … whatever she called herself. He’d heard of the secrets Doans could dig up, but this was … ridiculous. He wanted desperately to run a hand across his neck, to soothe the sudden not of tension.
Herrig poked away at his prote, dealing with Commonwealth affairs, perfectly content to let Petros sit there, trying to think his way out the situation.
“I would like to eat out tonight.” Sidra said quietly.
