Ure Infectus

by Caleb Wachter

  “But he’s one of the wealthiest men in the Sector,” she argued. “He could back anything he wants and, essentially, you’d be nothing more than his own private assassin.”

  Jericho gave her an assessing look before replying, “Thankfully there are protocols—too many to go into right now—which prevent such an arrangement. One of the restrictions is that a financier has to prove a direct connection to the targeted official’s offense; for example, an out-of-system businessman would have a hard time justifying the funding she provided for a local magistrate’s Adjustment. At the end of the day, the burden lies largely with the Adjuster accepting the funds—if the Adjuster accepts funding which was either unjustified or exceeded the Adjustment’s actual cost then that Adjuster is, himself, Adjusted.”

  “Who decides what an Adjustment will cost?” she asked, more than a little relieved to be discussing anything other than her bodily functions.

  “There’s a formula,” he replied, “it’s not airtight, but it does a good job of providing a guideline based on the target’s position on the bureaucratic ladder, severity of their crimes, whether they’re currently in office, et cetera. Generally there isn’t much cause for concern, though; if a financier isn’t coerced into providing exorbitant sums of money, we don’t look too deeply into it. Not many Adjusters consider themselves public servants, after all—there are as many mercenaries in the T.E. as there are those who actually believe what they’re doing is for the good of society.”

  Masozi was surprised—or maybe the proper word was ‘pleased’—to hear him speak so frankly about a nagging issue which had arisen in her thoughts about the T.E.

  “But to answer your question more directly,” Jericho said as the lift’s doors opened and they emerged into a giant cavern of some kind. It was hundreds of meters across, roughly spherical, and filled with all manner of buildings, vehicles, and other equipment the purposes of which Masozi could guess. “I’m actually an employee of Hadden Enterprises,” he said as he took several steps into the cavern before stopping and turning to her as she exited the lift herself.

  “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” she asked guardedly as she looked around the cavern, which was illuminated by hundreds of separate lights scattered throughout the chamber.

  “Not really,” Jericho replied, “everyone has to have a day job. Mine gives me access to these facilities,” he swept the cavern with his hand, “which serve as Hadden Enterprise’s testing grounds for many of their products—a process in which my official position requires I participate.”

  “Wait,” she stopped, unable to resist the opportunity, “you’re a product tester?”

  He shrugged noncommittally, “As I said: everyone has to have a day job. I just happen to be doing what I love.”

  She looked up at a nearby building which stood nearly two hundred feet tall, and saw several ropes dangling from its windows at varying heights. She soon realized that building was in fact a scale model of the Mayor's building in New Lincoln, and immediately understood how Jericho had planned his exit from Mayor Cantwell’s office. “Impressive,” she said with genuine appreciation.

  He looked around the cavern and nodded before gesturing to the lift tube. “I just wanted you to see it before we left,” he said as he made his way to the lift, “we really should go meet Stephen—he despises tardiness.”

  After they stepped into the lift, she cocked an eyebrow, “As an employee, shouldn’t you be calling him ‘Director’?”

  Jericho snorted softly. “Stephen and I have an…understanding which goes further than most people will know. I consider him, and his son, true friends and colleagues when it comes to my work and my life. I’m fortunate that they appear to feel the same.”

  “Right on time,” Director Hadden said as soon as they entered his office. It was surprisingly sparse in its appointments, with only a large aquarium serving to break the blue-on-white motif of the walls and the giant, blue planet-shaped emblem at the center of the circular office. “And while I would like nothing more than to explore every nook and cranny of your rich, fertile mind, Investigator,” he said and, though the words themselves sounded lascivious, Masozi felt oddly complimented by them, “things have taken an unexpected turn.” He moved his chair moved toward the center of the room and said, “Please step onto the emblem and I will explain en route.”

  Masozi could almost feel the tension which Jericho had suddenly begun to exude, but he did as Director Hadden suggested and she did likewise. When they were standing on the eight meter wide emblem—the diameter of which was half that of the entire room—the floor surrounding it began to recede like an iris. As the iris on the floor receded, Masozi understood the purpose for the sparse appointments of Hadden’s office. In perfect unison with the floor's iris, an identical one ind the ceiling above began to do likewise.

  The planetary emblem on which they stood slowly rose and the ceiling above them opened to reveal a long, perfectly cylindrical shaft which was illuminated from the far end at least a hundred meters above.

  “It would seem our good friend, President Blanco, has decided to pay me a visit,” Hadden said casually, and as he spoke a holographic display sprung to life from his chair. It was a graphical representation of Chambliss’ rings, with a blue icon at the center Masozi assumed to be Hadden Enterprise’s moon base where they currently were. However, there were dozens of red icons converging on their position, and Masozi’s jaw fell open when she saw that the icons had attached descriptions.

  One of those descriptions read ‘V-SDF Destroyer: Monitor,’ while another read ‘V-SDF Heavy Cruiser: Cumberland,’ and yet another read ‘V-SDF Battleship: Congress.’

  It was the largest fleet assembled in Virgin’s recent history—at least it was the largest fleet she had ever heard of according to official records…which begged the shocking question of whether or not the citizens of Virgin had even been made aware of the fleet’s formation and deployment.

  “How long?” Jericho asked evenly.

  “Three hours,” Hadden replied calmly, “which means that if you two are to escape, it must be now. Age has, some might say, ‘unfortunately’ not dulled my wits. Fortified though my home may be, we have no chance of defeating the combined strength of this fleet. I have already ordered a general evacuation of the facility, and several of my warships have set out to buy the evacuees a few more minutes before Blanco's fleet enters firing range. With any luck, the bulk of Hadden Enterprise’s sentient resources will survive this act of barbarism…but I have little doubt what this attack signals.”

  “A complete dissolution of Hadden Enterprises,” Jericho concluded tightly. “He’s declaring war on the autonomous rights afforded corporations—and their employees—under the Chimera Sector Bill of Rights.”

  “Indeed. And the precedent will not be limited solely to corporate entities, since by deploying this fleet he has declared martial law over any in-system region, or entity, which he deems to be in rebellion. It appears there was significant resistance in the System’s Senate due to this very issue,” Hadden said casually, “but we all knew this day would arrive sooner or later. Our contingency plans have been in place for decades; he will not achieve the victory he desperately seeks…at least,” his almost purple lips twisted defiantly, “not this easily.”

  The platform rose through the well-lit portal above their heads and slowed until finally stopping when it was flush with the floor around them. They were inside a ten meter square chamber, with five meter ceilings, which had a roughly egg-shaped vessel a few meters in diameter set on its side. The egg-shaped vessel was set on what looked to be the tracks of a giant rail gun.

  “You do not have much time,” Hadden urged as he approached the egg-shaped vessel, which was barely large enough for two people to squeeze into. “Your window will close in three minutes; you must enter the vessel and begin the launch sequence as quickly as you are able.” Hadden’s chair turned deliberately toward Masozi and he said, “In another life, you and
I may have been something much more than friends, Investigator. But that is not to be, so instead I will say that I would consider it a personal favor of great value if you would speak well of me whenever you are able.”

  Masozi was taken aback by his odd request, but nodded slowly. “You’ve given me no reason to do otherwise, Mr. Hadden.”

  “Good,” Hadden said as Jericho entered the tiny craft and strapped himself into one of the seats. The Director then lowered his artificial voice and said, “And please…look after yourself in all things. I would hate for the universe to be unduly deprived of one of its brightest stars simply due to a marked absence of imagination on the part of a particularly dim one, if you take my meaning.”

  Masozi felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Hadden was all but telling her not to trust Jericho, but why would he do that? She nodded slowly, uncertain how to reply, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “See that you do,” he said seriously before his chair turned and made its way to a nearby tube. “I must prepare what will be my final, riotous act of defiance against the inexorable forces of entropy,” he said. “I do so hope you enjoy the view when I give my final gift back to the universe I have so dearly loved.”

  Having no idea what he meant, Masozi quickly entered the tiny craft and closed the hatch before strapping herself into the seat beside Jericho. “Are you ready?” he asked sharply after making eye contact with her.

  She held his gaze longer than she likely should have before nodding, “Yes.”

  He appeared to pay her hesitation no mind because he plunged his finger down on a flashing green icon, causing a ten second countdown timer to appear on the main screen which was just a few feet from their faces.

  Masozi felt a literal thrum of energy when the maglev brackets engaged with the tiny pod’s hull. “What exactly is this thing?” she asked warily.

  “Beats me,” Jericho shrugged almost playfully as he gestured to a nearby rack, “but there’s the manual if you’re into some light reading.”

  Masozi saw the indicated book but decided against reading it—at least not until the launch sequence had completed.

  When the countdown reached zero, her head was snapped back into the headrest and Masozi felt as though the acceleration’s g-forces were going to suffocate her. The screen which had displayed the countdown now showed what appeared to be a frontal view from the ‘top’ of their egg-shaped craft as it rocketed up through a gently curved tunnel with multiple, magnetically-active lines running parallel to each other.

  She knew that maglevs and rail guns had been used for launching people and materials into space before the advent of modern propulsion systems—or even before the discovery of materials which made space elevators feasible—but she had never expected she would be riding in a vehicle propelled by one. And as the incredible weight of their acceleration threatened to cave her chest in, she understood why they had fallen out of favor despite their supposedly economical nature.

  The trip through the drive tube seemed to last forever, but then the acceleration abruptly ceased and she felt completely weightless, her body held in place only by the harness which kept her secure. The view screen showed the giant, turbulent orb of Chambliss surrounded by its majestic rings, and their craft was on what looked to be a parabolic course set for near the gas giant’s horizon.

  Masozi took several, deep, breaths before focusing intently on the view screen while Jericho adjusted the feeds. He quickly found the rear-facing camera, and it showed the slightly irregular sphere of Hadden Enterprise’s moon base. As she watched it shrink before their eyes, Masozi saw a pair of vessels launch from a recess that looked like a natural crater before speeding off toward the planet on a course similar to their own.

  “A pity,” Jericho said neutrally, “H.E. One was the only home I’ve known for the last twenty years.”

  Masozi had nothing she could say to him on that matter, so rather than sitting in awkward silence she took out the manual he had indicated and began to read about the craft they found themselves in. Her eyes bulged halfway through the first page and she blurted, “This is a high-pressure diving vessel—it’s designed to conduct experiments inside Chambliss’ atmosphere!”

  “I thought the egg shape would play into it,” Jericho remarked dryly. “I assume we don’t have much in the way of propulsion?”

  Masozi flipped through a few pages before finding that he was largely correct. “It has attitude adjusters and enough braking thrust to keep it at a given depth for anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours.” She suppressed the urge to gulp as she added, “But on our current trajectory it looks like we’re on a one-way trip into the atmosphere…there’s not enough power in this thing’s engines to achieve a stable orbit even if we started firing now.”

  “Which means that either this is Stephen’s idea of a really good parting joke,” Jericho said with a shrug, “or someone’s waiting for us between here and crush depth.”

  “Status reports?” Hadden asked calmly as he entered the command center of H.E. One for the final time.

  “The Virgin System Defense Fleet has engaged the HEV’s Galileo, Copernicus, and Pythagoras,” retired Rear Admiral Emil Berggren reported crisply. “The incoming vessels have been harried but their allies continue to close distance in an effort to cut off our remaining vessel’s escape routes.”

  “How many ships are awaiting liftoff?” Director Hadden asked as he pulled up the primary control codes for H.E. One’s most critical self-defense systems.

  “Eight freighters and two courier ships, Director,” Berggren replied promptly. “Estimated time to evacuate all remaining critical Hadden resources is two hours forty minutes.”

  “Too much time,” Hadden mused as he activated the primary power plant controls. He initiated a system-wide increase in power output in preparation for the battle. “Re-prioritize all technical and material assets to evacuation plan Theta-Two; repeat, Theta-Two.”

  “Yes, Director,” Admiral Berggren acknowledged before issuing the appropriate orders through the chain of command.

  “Bring all weapon systems online, Admiral,” Hadden instructed as he released the safety protocols on H.E. One’s most secretive defensive systems. They were likely less than the equal of the Imperial Navy, which had not been seen in the Sector since the wormhole’s collapse, but they would prove more than a match for the technological level of President Blanco’s fleet resources.

  Still, he had spoken truly to the wonderfully surprising Masozi when he had said there was no hope for victory over the fleet arrayed against him. His weapons had longer range than theirs, which meant that they were committed to coming in hard and fast to minimize that edge while exploiting H.E. One’s lack of mobility.

  Once enough of H.E. One’s defensive systems had been neutralized in a given area, it would be a simple enough matter for the fleet to tear the rest apart from extreme firing angles which the ground-based systems could not hope to match.

  “Embedded defense systems are online, Director,” Admiral Berggren reported crisply, his demeanor that of the consummate professional, “all three hundred detached units are functional and awaiting your orders.”

  “Very well,” Hadden replied, glad for the Admiral’s steady presence. “You should join your crew aboard the Isaac Newton, Admiral.”

  Berggren stood to attention, which was an endearing if altogether unnecessary display in Hadden’s view. “H.E. One’s communication systems are superior to those of the Newton, Director, and the base is unlikely to be compromised before the battle is over. I can do more good in here than I can on the bridge of the Newton,” he said in a wholly expected protest. “Captain Kotcher is more than capable of commanding her during the battle.”

  “As you wish, Admiral,” Hadden relented, having anticipated as much from the man. Some officers would prefer to go down with their crews, but Berggren had always been primarily focused on efficiency. “I will cede control over the embedded resources to your auth
ority so you might support our warships to maximum effect.”

  “Thank you, Director,” the other man replied before snapping off an absolutely perfect salute and returning to his duties. It was a gesture of respect which Hadden had not anticipated and it warmed what remained of his shriveled, increasingly useless heart.

  President Blanco’s fleet continued to bear down on H.E. One, and after little more than half an hour the detachment which had engaged Hadden’s warships had destroyed the Galileo, Copernicus, and Pythagoras.

  With the majority of their resources deployed near H.E. One, it was down to waiting for the fleet to enter H.E. One’s zone of control.

  No more than ten minutes before that happened Hadden’s chair alerted him to an incoming communication. He had expected as much, and accepted the incoming transmission.

  A man with a dark-skinned, angular, bearded face appeared. He was seated behind a desk which was surrounded with the various ornaments and seals afforded the highest office in the Virgin System, and he leaned forward in his chair with a smug look on his face.

  Hadden’s own communication’s program presented a youthful, vibrant, digital representation of himself from some hundred years earlier. It was vanity, and he knew it, but he also knew it would weaken his corporation’s image to project his real image—and that would place the people who depended on him in grave danger.

  “President Blanco,” Hadden said with false cordiality, “to what do I owe the honor?”

  “Cut the act, Hadden,” Blanco said in his gravelly voice. “I’ve got the support of the System Senate and all three of Virgin’s Fleet Commanders. If you surrender now, I’ll see to it that your people are relocated to an isolated colony where they can live out their days.”