Sic Semper Tyrannis: The Chimera Adjustment, Book Two (Imperium Cicernus 5)

by Caleb Wachter

  “Show me,” he said shortly and, sure enough, just a few seconds of analyzing her data confirmed his suspicion.

  “These documents,” she explained while pointing at the left-hand side of her screen, “which supposedly prove that Cox knew what he was doing with regards to placing his soldiers’ lives in jeopardy, were routed through the same data-net sub-node as the ones which show that Thomas willfully obstructed those nine lawful assemblies.”

  “That is faint,” he muttered, but he knew it was the best they were going to get. “Run a cross-check on—“

  “Already done,” Shu interrupted, calling up the results of the very cross-check he was about to request. “It’s right there, plain as day: these Cox documents are forgeries.”

  After a moment’s perusal, Jericho agreed with her assessment. “He’s almost certainly guilty,” Jericho said slowly, “but we can’t Adjust him based on what we have since we can be reasonably certain the evidence was either forged or manipulated.”

  “I can run another check—“ Shu began.

  “No time,” Jericho shook his head shortly, “right now, you’ve got to go lure Mr. Cox out of the diner.”

  “But I thought you said we weren’t going to Adjust him?” she said warily as she began to strip out of her jumpsuit, during which time Jericho turned his back to provide her with at least some measure of privacy. They had discussed the possibility of her luring one of the Adjustees out of the diner, and she had prepared an outfit for the occasion.

  “I only said we couldn’t Adjust him based on what we have,” Jericho corrected. “I never said we wouldn’t gather what we need before leaving town. Besides,” he added as he saw a faint reflection in the window which showed the outline of her short, lithe body after she had stripped down to her birthday suit, “I still think he’s connected to Blanco somehow.”

  “Ok,” Shu said after quickly slipping on a dress which clung to her in all the right places, “so I’ll lure him out of the diner, you’ll Adjust Thomas, and then where do you want to meet up?”

  “Take him down to the docks,” Jericho instructed, turning to appraise her choice of apparel for the occasion, “we’ll take him with us en route to New Lincoln.”

  “How are we getting there, anyway?” she asked after fussing with her hair for a few seconds and having very little effect, as far as Jericho could see. “That old death machine isn’t amphibious, is it?” she asked, clearly mocking his antique motorcycle. “And even if it was, it’s already cramped with the two of us.”

  “You let me worry about our ride,” he said, pointing to the door, “you just worry about getting Cox out of there before I Adjust Thomas.”

  “Jay,” Shu batted her eyes seductively as she slipped into a pair of three inch heels, “you honestly think I can’t get him out of there looking like this?”

  “Before my patience runs out?” he retorted, loudly slamming a round into the chamber of his old, bolt action rifle.

  “Fair enough,” she grinned before slipping out the door and closing it behind herself.

  Jericho watched the entrance of the diner through the scope of his rifle and saw Mr. Thomas already seated nearby. Mr. Cox reached the door literal seconds before Shu did likewise, and a roll of the shoulder was all it took for Cox’s eyes to plant themselves firmly on her ass—which was, itself, plenty firm in Jericho’s estimation.

  Shu led him inside and Jericho watched the minutes tick by until Cox and Shu left the diner—with the former hailing a taxi as quickly as seemed humanly possible—and only after their conveyance had cleared the far corner of the block did Jericho relax into his familiar shooting position.

  He took no great pleasure in enacting this particular Adjustment, but it was a job like any other. So he controlled his breathing in a long-practiced routine as he saw Thomas fidget with his drink. Shu had sent him a message suggesting that a man with whom he was having an illicit affair had called for the meeting at this, one of their semi-regular meeting places. Cox had likewise been summoned, though his summons had been issued by a speed-dating service called ‘Relationship Roulette,’ and he had clearly been well-pleased with his ‘date’s appearance when Shu truthfully revealed herself as the author of the message.

  Thomas picked up his drink, took a sip, and Jericho pressed his finger lightly against the trigger of the rifle to time the shot. No sooner had the Adjustee’s glass hit the table than Jericho sent a round through the window—and through Mr. Thomas’ eye.

  Jericho stepped away from the window and began breaking down the rifle. His supplies were sparse and he was loath to visit more of his caches than absolutely necessary, so he had decided to bring the weapon with him. Breaking the weapon down took him only seven seconds, after which he stuffed the barrel, stock, and other pieces of the weapon into the inner folds of his trench-coat before flipping up the collar and making his way to his motorcycle.

  There was no gang of police officers rushing to cordon off the area as he stepped down on the kickstarter and twisted the throttle of his bike. Only the muffled screams of horror from within the diner’s patrons, after they realized what had happened, signaled that anything worrisome had occurred.

  It was precisely the way Jericho preferred it, and as he drove past the front of the diner he casually flipped the Tyrannis Mark onto the sidewalk in front of the door before speeding off. The sound of police sirens barely began to register as he drove at the maximum speed limit in the opposite direction of the nearest law enforcement station.

  “Took you long enough,” Shu said sourly after he turned off the bike’s engine.

  “Where is he?” Jericho asked with a furrowed brow. Shu had doffed her high heels in favor of more practical—but less form-flattering—footwear, and Jericho saw no sign of Mr. Cox in the empty warehouse he had chosen for their rendezvous.

  “Oh, he’s tied up in the back,” she said irritably, “I was actually considering a pity trip-around-the-bases with him since you were taking so long.”

  Jericho moved to the small office space inside the warehouse where Shu had pointed, and sure enough found Mr. Cox bound and gagged on the floor—with the important half of his clothing strewn about the room.

  “Good work,” Jericho said.

  “So…where’s our ride?” she asked impatiently. “I don’t exactly get a warm and fuzzy feeling here in the docks district; Aegis’ Port Authority is making sweeps of the area every twenty minutes.”

  “What time is it?” Jericho asked as he knelt beside the unconscious, bound form of their next prospective Adjustee.

  “You don’t even have a wristwatch?” Shu asked incredulously.

  He ignored the barb as he collected Cox’ ident chip from his trousers, which he handed to Shu. She rolled her eyes but accepted the card-shaped chip and checked her own wrist-link.

  “It’s twenty to five,” she reported.

  “Then we’d better make our way to Pier Three,” Jericho said, undoing the bindings on the other man’s wrists and ankles before slinging Cox over his shoulder.

  “Just like that?” Shu blurted. “We’re just going to walk over there with him slung over your shoulder?!”

  “Yep,” Jericho replied as he went to his antique motorcycle and gave it one last, fond look before removing the key and moving toward the door leading to the ocean side of the port.

  “There’s ballsy, and there’s stupid,” Shu said resentfully, refusing to move from her spot as she folded her arms across her narrow chest. “This is definitely the latter. How are you supposed to walk away without everyone coming down on you for abducting this guy?”

  “It may be a stupid plan,” Jericho admitted as he reached the door, pulled it open, and saw the familiar outline of one particular ocean-going freighter. “But it’s not half as stupid as standing inside a building with a vehicle on a ten second countdown to detonating a high-yield explosive that was originally intended as an indiscriminate anti-theft device.”

  “Detonating…” Shu began warily
, clearly still processing his words as her eyes went wide with eventual realization.

  “Oh,” he added casually, gesturing to the floor beside the door as she scampered toward the exit, casting an anxious look over her shoulder at the soon-to-explode motorcycle, “you should probably drop your panties right there. It’ll add legitimacy to the scene if we do get stopped.”

  “What scene?” she asked shortly after reaching the door and doing precisely what he had suggested, tossing the tiny piece of underwear inside the building before Jericho kicked the door shut.

  “This one,” he said patiently as the motorcycle exploded with a loud crash, sending shards of glass flying out from several of the warehouse’s now-ruined windows as flames erupted within the building itself. “And they say I have no imagination,” he sighed. “Your lover,” he explained as they set off toward the freighter which was moored several hundred meters from their current position, “Mr. Cox, and you decided for a little tryst down at the docks, but didn’t count on the building you were about to enter exploding—an explosion which rendered him unconscious but left you lacking only your underwear.”

  Shu shook her head and looked anxiously from side to side as they hurried away from the scene of the explosion. Sure enough, a few seconds later a security bike came around the corner with flashing emergency lights.

  The bike stopped beside them and the guard astride it popped up his visor to ask, “What are you doing here?”

  Before Jericho could reply, Shu did so in a surprisingly convincing approximation of shock, “We were just about to…that is, we were over by that building and it just exploded!”

  The guard gave a look to Cox’ limp form slung over Jericho’s shoulder and said, “What happened to him?”

  “He hit his head,” Jericho explained, tilting his chin toward a massive cargo vessel further down the pier, “I was just taking a walk before returning to my ship, the Esmerelda Empatica. We’ve got first aid gear there.”

  The security guard looked hesitant, but Shu stepped forward and gestured to the unconscious Cox as she said, “I really do think he needs to be looked at. If he doesn’t come to in a while we’ll be sure to take him to the nearest hospital, but I think he’d prefer if we got him some pants first.”

  The guard seemed dubious, but eventually flipped his visor down as a pair of small security carts came down the far side of the frontage road. “The port will be on lockdown until the Investigative Unit clears the scene of the explosion; if you do take him to a hospital, use the northern gate.”

  “We’ll do that,” Jericho nodded.

  The guard then sped off toward the still-burning building, and Jericho resumed his course toward the massive freighter which Benton had used as a mobile home for the past several years leading up to his death.

  “Where’s your Captain?” Jericho asked the security guard, Jackson, after they had safely stowed their captive deep within the Esmerelda Empatica.

  “His health failed him,” the guard replied neutrally, “so we’re having some maintenance done to the ship while he sees to his own well-being.”

  Jericho could tell the other man was hiding something, but he decided not to press the issue. “I hope it’s not serious,” Jericho said as Shu ducked into a nearby head to change out of her eveningwear.

  “The Captain’s survived three fatal heart attacks, two strokes, and more bouts with cancer than I can remember. He’ll be fine,” Jackson said stiffly, and Jericho relaxed as he found nothing in the guard’s affect to suggest he was lying. “Per his instructions, you’re to be given access to Container 1134’s contents. But I was also instructed to urge haste; the ship has had near-constant surveillance on it these last few months, and that surveillance has certainly reported your presence here by now.”

  “Understood,” Jericho nodded, his respect for the vessel’s captain growing as he realized just how competent Mr. Jackson was as a security officer, “we won’t remain any longer than is absolutely necessary.”

  Jackson nodded curtly before gesturing to the nearby companionway, “I’ve taken the liberty of removing 1134’s contents into the secondary hold. Once you’re ready, just hit the big red button on the port vertical beam to open the deck and your path will be clear.”

  “Thank you, Jackson,” Jericho said appreciatively. That the other man had shown such initiative was somewhat surprising, but Jericho was not about to look this particular gift horse in the mouth. “We’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible.”

  “Good hunting, sir,” Jackson said as he unbuttoned the safety lock on his pistol, “I’m going to go prepare for our guests.”

  With that, the burly security guard—who moved more like a special forces veteran than a common gun-for-hire—exited the room. No sooner had he done so than Shu emerged from the head wearing a body glove, and sporting an expensive-looking tech visor wrapped around her eyes.

  “It looks like we’ve already overstayed our welcome,” Jericho said as he collected Cox, “let’s get out of here.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked dubiously. “The Port guard said the place is on lockdown.”

  “When are you going to learn to trust me, Shu?” Jericho quipped dryly as he made his way down the companionway to the hold, where the contents of Container 1134 were apparently ready for his examination and use.

  “Trust is hard for me, Jay,” she said darkly as she followed at his heels. “You know that.”

  “Everything we do is hard, Shu,” he retorted after kicking open the door to the secondary hold. Sure enough, the entire container had been moved from its previous resting place in the primary hold, and the operative pieces of hardware were on full display in the center of the nearly empty hold.

  “What in the world…?” Shu breathed as she saw their admittedly unusual mode of egress.

  “What, no more ‘old man’ jokes?” Jericho asked with no small measure of self-satisfaction as he set Cox’ still-limp form down on the deck beside the most valuable—and important—piece of hardware from the container.

  “Jericho…I don’t know,” she began hesitantly, but took a few steps toward the vehicle.

  “There’s plenty of room,” Jericho assured her as gunfire suddenly erupted elsewhere on the cargo ship. “Quick,” he grunted, realizing that Mr. Jackson—who clearly took his duty quite seriously—had exhausted whatever diplomatic skills he may have possessed when dealing with the authors of the surveillance which the Esmerelda Empatica was under, “there’s no time for a pre-flight checklist. Get in.” She complied, and he ran to the button which would open the secondary hold’s ‘roof,’ which was part of the massive cargo hauler’s top deck.

  Less than a minute later, the rotors were spinning and all systems appeared ready to go, so Jericho gently lifted the old-style helicopter up and out of the cargo hold just as a violent explosion rocked the hull of the Esmerelda Empatica. He risked a glance down at the source of the explosion and saw what could only be Mr. Jackson, wearing full body armor, exchanging fire with no fewer than eight soldiers clad in armor bearing the V-SDF’s heraldry.

  That the V-SDF had deployed troops to the surface of the Capitol Planet was far from surprising, given President Blanco’s broad declaration which supposedly granted him the right to deploy military forces against his own citizenry. But the presence of those troops was categorically illegal according to both Sector and System law, and Jericho knew he needed to complete his final Adjustment so he could bring the tyrant to justice for his crimes.

  As he pulled away from the massive Esmerelda Empatica, a series of explosions tore great rents in the rust-stained hull of the ocean freighter. He saw Jackson’s armored form go flying from the deck of the ship before splashing into the water, where he would doubtless become food for the Scrapers which called the coastal regions of Virgin’s oceans home. Even if his robust armor somehow provided life support under water, the Scrapers were more than capable of tearing most industrial metal to pieces in a matter of minutes if they w
ere hungry.

  Silently acknowledging Mr. Jackson’s sacrifice, Jericho guided the helicopter away from the city for several kilometers before handing the controls to Shu and prepared for his interrogation of Cox.

  Chapter XIV: Three and Out

  “Well, here we are,” Eve declared through Masozi’s earpiece.

  “Have you heard anything new on the battle?” Masozi asked for the sixth time in the last hour.

  “Not yet, Sis,” Eve said with a shake of her virtual head, “looks like the planet-wide net is experiencing major access issues. Only about a third of it’s still up, and the rest is filled with accusations of censorship.”

  “That would make sense,” Masozi said as she removed the helmet, careful not to dislodge the monocle as she did so, “but only if there are significant numbers of Blanco supporters already here, and in positions which allowed them to interrupt the information web.”

  “The Proconsul herself wasn’t exactly eager to fight Blanco’s fleet,” Eve said pointedly, “it was only after Hadden’s ships arrived that she endorsed her own SDF’s engagement of the so-called ‘Union Fleet’.”

  “How did Hadden’s ships get here so quickly?” Masozi wondered aloud, giving voice to a nagging concern she had been unable to dismiss from her thoughts.

  “They must have been monitoring the situation pretty closely,” Eve suggested. “Rationem is strategically located, after all; from here it’s less than a week by military Phase Drive to three different Systems—and those three Systems happen to be among those which haven’t formally accepted Blanco’s not-so-subtle declaration of war on the Sector’s corporations.”

  “That explains it, I guess,” Masozi agreed noncommittally. There was something about all of this that seemed somehow wrong—or incomplete—but, try as she might, she had been unable to put her finger on it.