Ure Infectus

by Caleb Wachter

Jericho felt helpless in that moment so he sat back against the bench where he had ‘hidden’ the nuclear bomb Masozi had ‘discovered.’ He knew that in his current state he would be less than helpful, and was actually relieved to hear Eve say, “Jericho, I need you to get up here. We’ve got a problem.”

  Jericho stood and climbed into the cockpit. “What is it?” he asked as he checked the various instruments.

  “Engine Two is down,” she replied. “We can still break orbit, but that’s not the problem.” A nearby console’s display switched over to show a huge warship on an apparent approach vector. “It’s the Alexander,” she reported grimly. “They’ve jammed our communications with the Zhuge Liang; I’m still on course for our rendezvous coordinates but we’re going to be late given our engine trouble.”

  Jericho knew the Alexander by reputation, since it was the only Battle Carrier ever commissioned in the Virgin System. It was the unquestioned flagship of Virgin’s SDF, and the pride and joy of the System’s entire military. It served not only as a mobile battle platform of unparalleled power, but as the Virgin Central Military’s headquarters and base of operations.

  Seeing the massive vessel bearing down on them with what looked to be several dozen fighters—a mere fraction of its maximum complement—flanking it in formation, Jericho couldn’t help but feel a twinge of good, old-fashioned terror as the awesome engine of war drew steadily nearer.

  “Time to weapons range?” Jericho asked levelly.

  “At most, two minutes before we make rendezvous,” Even replied matter-of-factly. “I might be able to speed things up but I don’t have the runtimes necessary to fly the ship and fix the engine at the same time.”

  “Why don’t you recombine with the other Eve?” Jericho pressed as he strapped himself into the chair. Even one-handed, he was fairly confident he could fly the little shuttle passably enough to get them where they were going—so long as it didn’t turn into a dogfight with one of those fighters.

  “I can’t do that,” she replied as she began to relinquish control over the Tyson’s systems to Jericho’s station, “Benton hard-coded some control measures into my program before sending me out with you. He says separating my program was risky enough and that he would have to oversee the recombination personally.”

  “Good enough for me,” Jericho said as he began to manipulate the Tyson’s trajectory. “Keep me posted on the repairs—and see what you can do about establishing a point-to-point with the Zhuge Liang.”

  “Will do,” she said before her tiny, digital image vanished from the cockpit’s display.

  “Wait, Eve,” Jericho said quickly almost as soon as she had disappeared.

  “Yes, Jericho?” she said, her image partially reappearing on the screen.

  “What about the bioweapon,” he pressed, “has it already been deployed?”

  Eve’s eyes snapped back and forth and she cocked her head uncertainly, “Dispersal projections say the nerve toxin will have wiped out nearly two thirds of the city’s population already.” She shook her head, “But I didn’t read any evidence of the virus Captain Charles mentioned. That doesn’t mean it’s not there since this ship’s sensors are too limited for a detailed analysis, but I haven’t detected anything just yet.”

  It wasn’t what Jericho had wanted to hear, but it was more than he had known. Eve’s calculations suggested that some four hundred thousand people were already dead in Abaca, and the nerve toxin was likely not quite done working its evil on Philippa’s unsuspecting populace.

  Jericho looked over his shoulder at the medic, who was manipulating Masozi’s arms and right leg. A wave of relief washed over Jericho in that moment, as he concluded that the medic had deemed her revival was still possible.

  Just as he turned back to face the instruments on the dash, a nearby comm. screen flickered to life. “Jericho, do you read?”

  “I’ve got you, Jeff,” Jericho replied quickly, relieved to hear his cousin’s voice. “What’s your status?”

  “We’re almost in position for the containment strike,” Jeff replied quickly, “do you have confirmation of the bioweapon’s deployment?”

  Jericho shook his head grimly. “A nerve gas was released in the city, but we’ve seen nothing of the virus,” he said as he struggled to fight the craft through a bout of severe turbulence. “Eve says two thirds of the city’s populace is already dead from the gas.”

  “Are we still ‘go’ for containment?” Jeff asked, and his image began to flicker as static washed over his last word.

  Jericho didn’t hesitate to reply, “Yes, you are ‘go’ for containment. Do you read me? You are ‘go’ for containment.”

  The screen flickered for a moment and then Jeff’s image returned as he nodded, “I read you: mission is ‘go.’ I hope we’re right about this.”

  “Me too,” Jericho replied heavily. “What’s your time to launch?”

  “Twenty seconds,” the Zhuge Liang’s captain said, “after that we’re going to intercept you and then get the hell out of here before the Alexander comes into range. Kongming fights way above her weight,” he said with a shake of his head, referring to the Zhuge Liang by the nickname which its crew had taken to using, “but we’re no match for the biggest warship in the Sector in a slugfest. Adjust your heading to the following and we’ll rendezvous after we’ve contained the outbreak, Charles out.”

  Another display showed a course adjustment, and Jericho steered the Tyson along that path as he mentally counted down from Charles’ stated twenty second interval. When he reached three seconds remaining, Jericho banked the shuttle so he could see the city below.

  Several seconds passed after Charles’ stated countdown and then there was a violent, fiery blossom which spread above the city in an unrelenting wave of hellfire as the atmosphere of Philippa literally began to burn itself away.

  The ring of fire continued to spread until the entire city had been enveloped, and at the center was nothing but a steadily-growing black circle where Abaca had stood. Jericho knew that the buildings would still be there after the smoke had cleared, but every organic thing would have either been burned to ash in the inferno or, even if something managed to survive the intense heat, there would be no oxygen for several hours as the surrounding atmosphere slowly equalized the present gases.

  The fireball reached up toward Jericho’s craft, and the Neil deGrasse Tyson was rocked violently by the roaring fire but the craft fought through the turbulence and leveled itself out just as a trio of explosions went off at the periphery of the burn zone.

  Three massive, circular holes appeared in the wave of fire at seemingly irregular places. But while the fire began to die out, Jericho didn’t relax even one iota until he had visually confirmed that every part of the flaming ring had been dissipated.

  “Good work, Jeff,” Jericho muttered in relief, knowing it was very possible he had just consigned two hundred thousand people to their unnecessary deaths. He forcibly relaxed his legs, which had begun to tremble during the controlled burn of Pacific’s atmosphere, and guided the Tyson toward the rendezvous point.

  Chapter XXX: A Wet Paper Sack

  “What’s her status?” a woman asked as a quartet of people—three of which were aliens, including one ‘Popper’—surrounded Masozi’s naked form while she was placed on a rolling gurney.

  “She was exposed to an auto-corrosive nerve agent,” the medic who had accompanied Jericho replied, “the suit contained most of the agent to her lower extremity, but her peripheral nervous system seems to have been widely affected.”

  Jericho stood back and watched as they wheeled her away, continuing their dialogue as they began to place various devices around her limbs. “Clear the cryo-suite and input her physiological parameters,” the doctor shouted before the group pushing the gurney disappeared through a set of doors which led to the Zhuge Liang’s sickbay.

  Jericho wanted to sit down in that moment; his body was shaking almost uncontrollably from the immense stress h
e had been under. But he knew he needed to get to the bridge so he staggered toward the lift and slapped the icon which would take him directly there.

  When the doors opened he spotted an unoccupied chair not far from the lift and he strapped himself in as he checked the tactical display.

  “Four Hellion-class fighters are inbound, Captain,” the Tactical Officer reported. “Time to firing range is thirty seconds.”

  “Can we outrun them?” Captain Charles asked as the Zhuge Liang’s relative velocity indicators began to climb.

  “Not until they’ve already emptied their payloads,” the Tactical Officer replied tightly.

  “Damn you, Blanco,” Charles muttered as he shot a glare at the screen before straightening himself in his chair. “Helm, come about to an intercept course with the Alexander.”

  Jericho’s eyebrows rose in surprise as the Helmsman acknowledged, “Aye, sir: intercepting the Alexander.”

  “Tactical,” Captain Charles continued, “blast those fighters out of my path and give me a firing solution on the Alexander using a full spread of our tactical complement—including the Tier One weapons.”

  As the Zhuge Liang swung around to face down the massive warship, a salvo of white plasma fire erupted from her forward batteries and there was a quartet of explosions in the space between the Alexander and the Zhuge Liang. “All four fighters neutralized, Captain; only one fired its payload.”

  “All hands,” Captain Charles called over the ship-wide, “brace for impact in four…three…two…one…”

  Jericho just managed to grab the arm of his chair when the ship shuddered slightly, and the shield strength indicator fell by nearly thirty percent.

  “Get those shields back up,” Charles barked, “and give me a damage report!”

  “Reports coming in, Captain,” another officer said snappily, “two casualties reported on Deck Four near the anti-matter torpedo’s point of impact. Structural integrity is uncompromised; all other sections report clear.”

  “They want to fire anti-matter torpedoes?” Captain Charles sneered. “Show the Alexander how it’s done, Tactical.”

  “Time to firing range: one minute ten seconds,” the Tactical Officer reported crisply. “Full spread of six torpedoes locked and loaded; forward batteries charged to maximum and ready for a strafing run.”

  “Engineering,” Charles called over to the far side of the bridge, “we’ll need a maximum speed burn of the primaries once we fire those torpedoes; I don’t want to sit in the Alexander’s sights any longer than necessary.”

  “Primary engines standing by, Captain,” the engineer reported snappily. “Gravity control systems are aligned and ready for tactical maneuvers.”

  “Jeff,” Jericho said just loudly enough that he got his cousin’s attention, “I’m not sure we should be doing this. The Alexander’s way out of our league; shouldn’t we run?”

  Captain Charles shook his head grimly as he tilted his chin toward the main screen, and as Jericho looked he saw a three dimensional tactical overlay appear which showed the relative positions of the ships. “The Alexander’s fighters surrounded us while we were picking you up,” Jeff explained. “We’re reading one anti-matter torpedo on each of those fighters; if we try to run through them, we’ll almost certainly suffer crippling damage to our engines. The only way out of this is to go at them like they least expect: right up the middle.”

  “Cousin,” Jericho protested as the countdown to firing range passed thirty seconds, “that ship’s got more firepower than any other two ships in the Sector combined. Is the Zhuge Liang really that tough?”

  Charles smirked as he removed the three dimensional overlay from the main viewer by manipulating his chair’s controls. “That information’s only available on a ‘need-to-know’ basis,” he said as he opened up a concealed control panel built into the arm of his chair and the countdown to firing range neared zero, “and you don’t need to know.”

  When the countdown reached zero, the Tactical Officer reported, “All weapons firing.” The image of the Alexander on the view screen—easily the most intimidating engine of war in the entire Sector—was enveloped in a wreath of white-blue fire as the Zhuge Liang’s forward cannons hammered into the larger vessel’s shields. “Torpedoes away,” she said when the plasma cannons had ceased their previously unbroken barrage, “primary cannons firing now.”

  A pair of yellowish beams slammed into the Alexander’s shields, and Jericho saw a handful of power icons represented alongside the main viewer decrease demonstrably—one of which was now below half while it had been at full prior to the firing of the fusion cannons.

  The violent cascade of energy dancing across the Alexander’s shields began to dissipate, and Jericho was stunned to see that the ship itself appeared to have been utterly unaffected by the Zhuge Liang’s vicious assault. But as he watched, the Alexander was once again enveloped in a nova of energy which was so bright that the display darkened for several seconds before the image of the Alexander returned. This time when the image clarified, the Battle Carrier appeared to have taken a significant amount of damage to its stern quarter.

  Then the mighty Battle Carrier returned fire, and the bridge of the Zhuge Liang erupted into chaos as the ship’s axis tilted violently to starboard.

  “Forward shields have collapsed!” the Tactical Officer yelled as a fire broke out near the engineering station. “I’ve got cascade failures along the secondary and tertiary systems; life support is offline throughout the ship.”

  “All hands: brace for maximum primary engine burn,” Captain Charles called over the intercom as another salvo rammed home against the Zhuge Liang’s forward hull, causing the ship to lurch forward violently. The force of the acceleration nearly launched Jericho from his seat, but he managed to keep himself in place using his one, remaining, hand.

  Then the lone power indicator beside the main viewer, which had still read as one hundred percent, began to lower as the Zhuge Liang hurtled forward.

  The g-forces began to climb, and Jericho was afraid the gravity generators would soon be unable to compensate for the acceleration. But the engineering crewman worked frantically, and soon the apparent gravity returned to something resembling normalcy. “Gravity systems compensating, Captain,” the engineer reported, “we’re operating just above maximum spec tolerances.”

  “Status of the Alexander?” Captain Charles growled as the Zhuge Liang’s icon on a tactical overlay began to pass that of the massive Battle Carrier.

  “We’re stern-to,” the Tactical Officer reported unnecessarily as her fingers flew across her console, “the Alexander’s drive unit has sustained serious damage; she should only get off one more salvo before we’re in the clear.”

  “How are my shields?” Charles asked tightly.

  “Stern shields are over eighty percent,” Tactical replied confidently, “we can take anything they throw at us while we break away, Captain.”

  “We’ve got another dozen casualties reported, Captain,” another officer reported. “Two confirmed fatalities and several others are listed in critical condition.”

  “As soon as we’re clear of their firing arc, I want all hands to form emergency damage control teams,” Charles said grimly. “We’re going to need this ship ready for another fight quicker than we might have expected.”

  “Captain,” the alien Comm. officer interrupted, “I’m getting a request from sickbay. The doctor is asking for priority on the new patients versus Investigator Masozi; even with the extra medic from Philippa, they’re not equipped for this level of triage and the Investigator’s wounds will require extensive attention.”

  Captain Charles shot Jericho a hot look, and Jericho met his gaze. “She’s important, Jeff,” he said somberly, “maybe even more important than me.”

  The Captain held Jericho’s gaze for several silent moments before replying, “Tell the doctor that the Investigator takes priority if there’s a conflict; she’s a mission-critical asset.”


  The Zhuge Liang shuddered, but this time it was significantly less violent than the previous attack. “Aft shields holding at sixty percent,” the Tactical Officer reported, “the Alexander might get one more light salvo off before we’re out of range but that’s it. We’ll be outside effective anti-matter torpedo range in twenty seconds.”

  Captain Charles snorted derisively, “I doubt they would fire another round even if they managed to sight us in. Those things are too valuable to fire on a ship that’s clearly going to escape.”

  “I concur,” the Tactical Officer said. “Sensors read nothing ahead, Captain; we’re in the clear.”

  The minutes ticked by until the Zhuge Liang exited the Alexander’s firing range completely, during which time the Battle Carrier didn’t author so much as another shot at the fleeing corporate warship.

  “Stand down from Condition Zero; set Condition Two throughout the ship,” Captain Charles commanded, and the lighting around the bridge adjusted slightly while at least half of the bridge standers made for the lift. “All nonessential personnel are instructed to report to their respective Damage Control heads and begin repairs according to the Chief Engineer’s instructions.”

  Captain Charles unfastened his chair’s harness, and Jericho stood from his seat to meet his cousin halfway across the bridge.

  The Captain looked down at Jericho’s ruined stump—which had already saturated its bandage with dark, red blood—and then appraised the rest of him. “You look like hell,” he said stiffly.

  Jericho forced a tight smile. “I’m afraid this isn’t over just yet,” he said in a low voice.

  Captain Jeffrey Charles snickered and shook his head before turning to the helmsman, “Helm, set a course for the Phase Limit; contact me once we’ve reached it.”

  “Phase Limit in…” the helmsman began before running some calculations, “two hours, Captain.”

  Captain Charles nodded, “Very good.” He then turned to Jericho and gestured to his ruined arm, “You should have our doctor look at that.”