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

by Caleb Wachter

  “Yes indeed,” Newman agreed with overt deference, “we are greatly benefited by Lady Jessica’s presence in this matter.” He turned to face Jericho, and Masozi found that her heartbeats had quickened in the last few seconds as the tension in the room had reached its zenith. “Now, however, we must turn to the business at hand: a vote is called for and must now be tallied. As the ranking Adjuster of the local System, I will cede the first vote to our esteemed host, Edgar ‘Russo’ Barragan. On the matter of the events at Abaca, chief among them the deaths of over half a million civilians following an orbital bombardment of a premeditative fashion, how do you vote: should these’ Adjusters be executed?”

  Russo clasped his hands and leaned his elbows down onto the counter, his eyes moving between Jericho and Masozi for a long moment before he said, “I vote to kill them here and be done with it; they’ve crossed to many lines to go unpunished. If we don’t put them down, the System governments will have too much ammunition to use against the First Right—and we can’t afford any more controversy than necessary at the moment. Their blood might spare thousands of others’ from being shed in the days to come.”

  Newman nodded slowly, his eyes landing on Jericho for a moment as he turned pointedly to face Lady Jessica. “Lady Jessica?” he asked patiently.

  Lady Jessica, perfectly composed and looking more like a model—or a statue—stood motionless with only her eyes flicking this way and that before she let out a brief sigh. “Much as I agree with my local colleague’s expressed opinion, I cannot condone their execution at this time. No evidence has been presented which suggests they have misappropriated their powers as Adjusters, and neither have they acted in a fashion which we can assert, with anything approaching reasonable certainty, was against the body politic’s best interests. They may well have saved lives with their barbarism, which is ultimately the goal of the Timent Electorum itself: to improve social harmony by fighting barbarism with even more ruthless barbarism, and spare the masses from the consequences.”

  “Would you not consider those hundreds of thousands who called Abaca their homes to be a part of those masses?” Newman asked casually, as though he was debating the flavor and bouquet of an evening cocktail.

  “I will not be drawn into a debate,” Lady Jessica said, making no attempt to keep the iciness from her voice. “I have tendered my opinion: we should not execute them for the events at Abaca—at least not until further evidence is submitted in the matter.”

  Newman nodded approvingly as he turned to Jericho, allowing the deafening silence surrounding her to be filled with Masozi’s rapidly pounding heartbeats. But eventually he said, “I concur with the Lady from New Britain in saying that our authority is unclear in this matter; I vote for, at the very least, a stay of execution at this time.”

  Masozi released a short breath, hoping no one would notice her having done so, which appeared to be the case as Newman continued in his jovial tone.

  “The second matter before us, then, is the confirmation of an Adjustment,” the silken-tongued Adjuster said without missing a beat, “of one Crissa Keno, Governor of Virgin System’s sovereign state of Philippa.” He turned his gaze on Masozi, and she instantly felt the urge to recoil but she resisted the impulse to do so. She would not shrink from this man, so she set her jaw and matched his piercing gaze with a defiant one of her own, “Masozi Blanco, a former Investigator from Virgin Prime’s city of New Lincoln, did you indeed execute the Adjustment of Governor Keno?”

  “I did,” she replied, surprised that her voice very nearly failed her as the word briefly caught in her throat.

  “Understand me, Ms. Blanco,” Newman said, his visage softening slightly, “we do not dispute that you did in fact kill Governor Keno; the encrypted data contained in the Mark has confirmed this to our satisfaction. But the death of the Adjustee is only the ‘period at the end of the sentence,’ so to speak. Did you knowingly execute the Adjustment in its entirety, including the gathering and verification of the evidence contained in the Mark?”

  “Not many Adjusters gather their own data, Newman,” Russo said pointedly. “That’s not part of our mandate, anyway; all the Adjuster needs to do is verify its authenticity and then make a decision.”

  “Agreed,” Lady Jessica said coolly.

  Something in Newman’s expression flashed dangerously, but before Masozi could recognize what it was it had vanished and was replaced with what she assumed was a measure of false sincerity. “Did you verify the evidence contained in the Mark, and did you know the purpose of your doing so at the time?”

  “The Mark clearly shows she verified the evidence, and that it was done in accordance with our precepts,” Jericho said, his voice threaded with iron. “The question of whether she knew what she was doing has no bearing.”

  “Oh, but I think it does,” Newman retorted calmly, but his jovial tone was now absent from his smooth, melodious voice. “An Adjustment is not merely an assassination, Mr. Bronson, and Adjusters must do more than simply process evidence like common bureaucrats.”

  “Agreed,” Russo said sourly, but Lady Jessica remained silent as she searched Masozi’s features intently.

  Newman turned his attention back to Masozi, “Did you know you were verifying evidence which was part of an active Adjustment, Ms. Blanco, and did you knowingly accept the responsibilities attached to those actions?”

  Masozi thought about the question for a long moment before realizing that, yes, on some level she had known precisely what Jericho had asked her to do. That was why it had all become so clear in that moment beneath the streets of Abaca, moments before Eve had played Jericho’s recorded message which explained everything in detail.

  “At first…I only knew that it was part of an active Adjustment, since many of the documents’ dates were current,” Masozi said, her words deliberately paced as she tried to make sure she spoke the truth—but not too much of it, “and I knew that, by helping to verify its authenticity, I was willfully becoming part of that Adjustment.”

  Newman’s visage, which had been guardedly sympathetic, went placid as his face became an unreadable mask. He leveled a short look Jericho’s way before turning his focus back to Masozi. After a moment, he nodded approvingly, “This answer is satisfactory. Does the tribunal concur?”

  “I do,” Russo said.

  Lady Jessica remained silent for several seconds before clearly shaking her head, “While the proverbial ‘letter of the law’ was indeed adhered to, I find the spirit of it to have been intentionally manipulated by the now-ranking Adjuster of Virgin System, Jericho Winchester Bronson.”

  “Do you find said manipulation to be cause for action at this time?” Newman asked politely.

  Lady Jessica looked from Jericho to Masozi, quickly giving Masozi an appraising look before shaking her head, “No…not at this time.”

  Newman nodded slowly. “A majority vote hereby confirms that the Keno Adjustment was well done,” he then declared with apparent satisfaction, “though, I argue that the RL accrued for it must be divided between these two Adjusters since Mr. Bronson was clearly the true instigator of Governor Keno’s Adjustment. Is there an objection to this division?” he asked.

  “I have no objection,” Lady Jessica said neutrally.

  “Me either,” Russo grunted.

  “Good,” Newman said happily, “that leaves the final bit of business: confirming these two as Tyrannis-level Adjusters since, after by splitting the RL from the Keno Adjustment, they will both have passed the 100,000 RL threshold required to be inducted into this particular branch of the Timent Electorum—”

  “Yet another highly unusual facet of this alarmingly unprecedented situation,” Lady Jessica interrupted coolly, and Masozi felt a rising urge to slap the woman’s perfect, rosy cheek as she repeatedly condescended with her words and their delivery.

  “Well said, Lady Jessica,” Newman agreed, making no indication of anger at being interrupted. “To that effect,” he said, producing a data slate,
“I have devised a method by which their fitness to become Tyrannis Adjusters may be properly examined. If my fellow members of the tribunal would care to peruse my suggestion?” he offered, proffering the slate to Lady Jessica.

  The exquisitely beautiful woman looked down at the slate, making little attempt to hide her disdain for Newman as she did so. She took it into her delicate-looking fingers and flipped through its contents, her fingers a veritable blur as she moved from page to page within the digital document before nodding wordlessly and handing it back to him. Newman casually slid the slate down the counter where Jericho stopped it with his hand and, without looking at it or the bistro’s proprietor, handed it to Russo behind the counter.

  The third member of the tribunal reviewed it for far longer than Lady Jessica had done before grunting, “This works.”

  Jericho reached back over his shoulder to accept the slate, and Newman gestured for him to keep it as the smooth-tonged Adjuster said, “There is, naturally, a time limit on this test. Since we can safely assume that your intention is to execute the Han-Ramil Blanco Adjustment with all due haste, it would behoove you to complete this test as quickly as possible. When you have finished, file your results in the fashion indicated on that slate and then return here so this tribunal might decide whether or not you are fit to discharge such an important duty.” Newman turned to Lady Jessica, “Do you have anything to add, milady?”

  Lady Jessica shook her head, “That will suffice…for now.”

  “And to our esteemed host,” Newman turned to Russo, “do you have anything to add?”

  Russo shook his head as knelt below the counter, prompting Masozi’s entire body to tense as she prepared for him to come up with a weapon of some kind. But instead of a weapon, he bore a covered plate in each hand and he smiled as he said, “For the road, Adjusters Bronson and Blanco; I’m sure you’re about to work up an appetite.”

  Jericho nodded graciously and accepted the plates, which stacked neatly on top of each other. “We’ll return when we’re finished,” he said pleasantly, and Masozi was more than a little shocked to see that the one member of the tribunal to vote that Jericho and she be summarily executed was now offering food ‘for the road.’ What was at least as surprising as the offer was the good humor with which Jericho had accepted the offering.

  “Then this tribunal is adjourned,” Lady Jessica declared before turning on her heel—which, judging from her gait and posture, was delicately propped on a stiletto shoe at least three inches in height—and leaving the taco stand.

  “Indeed,” Newman said warmly, his jovial demeanor returning as soon as he stood from the stool. He stepped through the door, belatedly calling over his shoulder, “Good hunting, Adjusters.”

  Chapter V: A Division of Labor

  “Well, how’d it go?” Eve demanded as soon as the Neil deGrasse Tyson’s door had locked shut behind the trio. “Come on; I’ve been locked up in here for two hours with nothing but the station’s grabby—and I mean ‘grabby’ in the sense that I feel personally violated every time I come into contact with it—security program to keep me company. Spill them beans, will ya!?”

  “You sound more like Benton every day, Eve,” Jericho quipped as he sat down in the co-pilot’s chair.

  “I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment, you old fuddy-duddy,” Eve snapped as her digital avatar’s hands went to her hips on the main viewer in the cockpit.

  “Who’s she?” Shu asked warily.

  Eve threw her digital hands in the air as Jericho perused the contents of the slate, “What are we, an interstellar charity case here? What’s with the runaway slant?”

  “What did you call me?!” Shu asked dangerously, and even Masozi was alarmed by the casually hurled racial epithet which Eve had employed.

  Eve giggled. “Just foolin’, Shu,” she said with a dismissive gesture before her avatar’s image was replaced by a stream of documents—most of which bore a picture of Shu, and some of which looked to have been taken during her childhood, “it’s gonna be a pleasure to work with ya. Benton used to say you were number three on the Virgin most-wanted list—he never agreed with Jay-man over here’s preference,” her digital image returned to jerk an annoyed thumb in Jericho’s direction, “for predictability, vis-à-vis his choice of ol’ Baxter over you. Big Daddy Wladdy was all about upward mobility, and you were spunky enough to catch his attention on more than one occasion.”

  Before Shu could speak, Jericho interrupted, “It doesn’t look like you’re going to be working together just yet, Eve. Download the information on this slate but keep it encrypted; it’s got sensitive Adjustment-related files,” he said, placing the slate which Newman had given him into a nearby data port.

  “Sure thing, boss man,” Eve said, snapping a hilariously bad salute—during which gesture Jericho noticed that her digital breasts, while still considerably larger than average, were markedly smaller than they had been the last time he had seen her digital avatar several weeks earlier. The data port’s lights came on and Eve’s eyes snapped side to side for a few seconds before she gave a ‘thumbs up’ sign. “Got it. Now, let’s see…” she mused before sighing in disappointment, “looks like the geezer’s right, Shu.”

  “What are you talking about?” Masozi demanded after strapping herself into the pilot’s chair and activating the shuttle’s pre-flight routine. This seemed odd to Jericho, since Eve could pilot the craft more efficiently than Masozi could, but he supposed that a little practice was a good thing.

  Jericho was still working through some of the math associated with their ‘tests’ which Newman had given them. After a few seconds, and a triple-check of his mental arithmetic, he shook his head, “We’re going to have to split up, and we’re going to have to do it soon.”

  “Will someone fill me in?” Masozi asked sharply as the Tyson’s docking collar disengaged and the shuttle began to drift slowly away from the station.

  “We’ve been given a list of Adjustments to make in the next six weeks,” Jericho explained, “eight of them, in fact, spanning three Star Systems.”

  Masozi’s angry look—one which Jericho found thoroughly delightful on a purely aesthetic level—quickly melted away as she concluded, “And we can’t visit all three systems in six weeks if we stick together.”

  “Correct,” he nodded as he considered how best to divide the tasks. He had no wish to dance to the tribunal’s tune any more precisely than was absolutely necessary, so he considered dozens of different travel methods and resources they could call on in order to keep a step ahead of Mr. Newman’s cleverly-conceived plan.

  But the truth was that, given the distances between those three systems, there was only one possible way to divide the job in two and get it done in time—even assuming they could verify the Adjustments’ evidence packages in just a few days per Adjustment.

  “We can make the first leg of the trip together, but after that we’ll have to split up. You’ll stay aboard the Zhuge Liang,” he decided, turning to Masozi as she fired the shuttle’s engines and manually directed the craft toward their rendezvous coordinates, “and proceed to your first stop: Rationem. I’ll head in the opposite direction.”

  “The opposite…” Masozi began only to catch herself, “you’re going back to Virgin?”

  “Looks that way,” Jericho grunted.

  “Why do you automatically get to go there while I have to go to Rationem?” Masozi demanded. “Virgin is my home—Rationem is a slum by comparison!”

  “It’ll be good for you to get out and see the rest of the Sector,” Jericho quipped, hiding a grin as he pretended to rub his jaw. “Besides, this way we’ll be even.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked cautiously. “I don’t owe you anything, Jericho.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” he retorted easily, “and, since I’ve got seniority, mine is the only one that counts at the moment. Besides, your face is going to be all over the planet-wide security nets on Virgin; you couldn’t get
within a hundred paces of a vid pickup without being logged and surrounded by a tactical team three minutes later. But more important than that is the fact that you took an opportunity from me that I can never get back when you killed Governor Keno; the least I can do is repay you in kind. ”

  Masozi looked sour and then her expression turned confused for a moment. When recognition dawned on her face, she turned to him abruptly—causing the Tyson to slew off-course for a moment before she regained control of the craft. After she had done so, she set her jaw and asked, “Who is it?”

  Jericho allowed his grin to broaden as he replied, “Your old boss: Chief Investigator—and New Lincoln’s newest Vice Mayoral candidate—Adewale Afolabi.”

  Masozi looked ready to explode with outrage, but she managed to maintain control of her emotions and avoided a violent outburst. After several deep, loud breaths blasted out through her nostrils, she growled, “You are a bastard; you know that, right?”

  “A bastard with seniority,” he amended.

  “Invoking the age card to get your way?” she snorted derisively, before adding with unmistakable sarcasm, “Nice.”

  Jericho actually agreed with her critique, but he had planned much of his adult life around the idea that he would one day get his hands on a high-ranking member of Philippa’s Keno clan. Now that the opportunity to do that had been taken from him, it had left an unexpectedly vacuous void which he actually yearned to fill.

  He could only hope that Chief Afolabi provided him with a means to do precisely that.

  His fingers unconsciously worked their way to the edge of the plates which Russo had given them, and he opened the lid of the first one to find a plate with a dozen tacos arranged artistically. There were fresh limes, miniature radishes, and a squirt bottle with a green sauce which smelled like some sort of guacamole.

  Jericho prepared one for each of the craft’s occupants, knowing that the only person he could truly trust from that meeting was Russo—even though the man had initially voted to have them killed—so he led by example and took a large bite of the savory-smelling, heavily-spiced taco. By giving them the food—and by volunteering his vote to have them killed ASAP when there had been no compulsion to do so—Russo had been communicating his intention to support their efforts, assuming they survived the tribunal.