Ure Infectus

by Caleb Wachter

  Frankly, Masozi tended to agree with the notion that entities like Hadden Enterprises were essentially unaccounted for in the Sector’s two centuries old codex of laws. It had been convincingly argued that H.E., and similar entities, had taken advantage of loopholes in the system in order to vastly increase their own individual power—power which was essentially unchecked. It appeared that this would continue to be the case for as long as the corporations’ lawyers were able to fend off the unending lawsuits brought against them which invoked anti-trust, equal access, and myriad other fundamental laws on which the Sector had been built.

  Masozi tore her eyes from the emblem of the blue planet and looked down the corridor to see what looked to be a lift tube at the end. She made her way to it and the door opened just before she was able to press the activation panel.

  Inside was a man who appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties, wearing a two-piece uniform with the same color scheme as the corridor. “Investigator Masozi,” he said crisply with a professional nod, “your presence is requested in the Observation Lounge. Please,” he invited, stepping aside and gesturing for her to enter the tube.

  She did as he suggested, noting with surprise that the man’s features were sharp, angular, and wholly unlike those of anyone she had ever met of Virgin origin. He gave her outfit a brief, appraising look before closing the door with a swipe of his hand across the activation panel. “The Director will approve,” he said neutrally, and Masozi was genuinely uncertain if the remark had been of a sexual nature or something altogether less unprofessional.

  Judging by the man’s stoic and composed demeanor as the lift accelerated upward, she concluded it was more likely to be the latter.

  When the door opened, Masozi’s breath was taken away at the sight before her. She was inside a massive, flattened-dome-shaped chamber that had to measure at least a hundred meters across and stretched thirty meters high at the peak. The entire dome above was transparent, and she looked out to see the familiar rings of Chambliss—the Virgin System’s largest gas giant—framing the incredible sight of Chambliss itself.

  The gas giant was mostly brown in coloration, but several bright, red storms violently churned the planet’s surface gases with wind-speeds that would destroy any unprotected, man-made objects in just a few seconds. As if the wind-speed wasn’t bad enough, the electrical discharges taking place within the three dozen documented storms would overpower even the most advanced shielding in seconds.

  As she stepped out onto the observation deck, she realized that the entire facility in which she was housed had been built into one of the smaller moons which orbited Chambliss. A few of those moons—whose names she could not recall—orbited at a slightly different angle from Chambliss’ rings, and this appeared to be one of them.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” the man who had invited her into the lift said after nearly a minute of Masozi’s silent gaping at the awe-inspiring sight. “The station is currently at its northern zenith relative to the ring-plane—this is the best view we’ll get for the next two months until we pass to the southern zenith. Please, the Director is waiting,” he gestured toward a nearby staircase, which led up to a platform in the center of the chamber, before proceeding to climb those stairs himself.

  As Masozi followed him up the stairs, she saw that there were hundreds—perhaps thousands—of people in the Observation Deck. They wore variations of the same uniform her escort was wearing, and they appeared to be working out problems on data pads, socializing, eating, or just relaxing.

  But the most surprising aspect of the Observation Deck’s denizens was that only half of them appeared to be human! There were aliens of every kind with which Masozi was familiar present and several species she had never even glimpsed in a xenobiology text, let alone seen up close. Those aliens appeared to be working hand-in-hand with their human counterparts, and Masozi was utterly speechless at the sight of it. It all seemed so natural, and yet she had heard nothing but propaganda about how only a select few aliens could be ‘incorporated’ into society to live alongside humans.

  She also marveled at the sheer scope and complexity of the engineering required to hollow out the small moon—which was clearly what had been done. Several rocky outcroppings—artifacts of the moon’s original composition, which quite possibly were still directly connected to the moon’s rocky body—jutted out artistically between the perfectly machined plates of metal and ceramic which comprised the rest of the massive chamber’s man-made features.

  The shape of the Observation Deck’s ‘floor’ was actually more like a short, broad pyramid than a flat surface. And as she ascended the stairs behind her escort, she quickly deduced that the ‘Director’ was awaiting her at the top.

  When they reached the topmost platform of the pyramidal structure, there was a red velvet rope-line which her escort unfastened at one end and gestured for her to pass through. “The Director will see you,” he said with a professional nod, and she passed through the rope line as she took stock of the platform beyond.

  She immediately caught sight of Jericho atop the platform. He was seated in a padded, red-upholstered chair opposite a much larger chair—and that second chair contained a strange, yet oddly familiar sight.

  The ‘man’ seated in the massive, ornate, complicated, throne-shaped mechanism had unnaturally pale skin, vaguely pink-colored irises, and facial features which she actually recognized—even though this person was nowhere near as obese as what Masozi now took to be his offspring. Quite the opposite, in fact, as this man appeared to be emaciated almost to an impossible degree. His arms and legs were locked into contractures and his head was leaned slightly to one side as his body had become a crooked mockery of the human form.

  “Welcome to my home, my dear,” a synthesized, but mostly human-sounding voice came from the chair as it turned. She saw that the man seated within had not moved even one inch when he—or, the chair—had spoken. “I am delighted you were able to join us. Please, have a seat.” A chair was brought forward by another uniformed man, who looked remarkably similar to the one who had brought her to the Observation Deck, and it was placed beside Jericho’s seat.

  Masozi approached the center of the platform, knowing she was well out of her depth if the man in the bio-chair was who she suspected, and silently sat in the proffered seat.

  “Would you like refreshment, Investigator?” the chair’s synthesized, distinctly male voice asked. Another uniformed person—this one a woman, whose sharp nose and platinum blonde hair would have been the envy of every woman in New Lincoln—brought an actual, paper menu for Masozi to peruse. Masozi accepted the menu with a nod of thanks but was unable to tear her eyes from the incredible chair housing the shriveled, desiccated man who was apparently her host.

  “Thank you…” she said uncertainly before adding, “Director.”

  “Please,” the man replied, as the barest hint of a smile tugged at his thin, violet lips, “only my employees use that title. I would appreciate if you called me ‘Stephen,’ ‘S.R.’ or, if you insist on formality, ‘Mr. Hadden’.”

  “Very well…Mr. Hadden,” she said tensely. She realized her fingers had begun to tremble and she quickly clamped her hand into a fist to stop the sensation.

  “You have been asleep for several days, Investigator,” Director Hadden said, and Masozi thought she detected an amused note in his voice, “please…indulge your appetite.”

  Masozi looked at the menu and hardly knew where to begin. It was filled with delicacies which made the Casa Mia pasta she had shared with Jericho and Benton seem like street-side takeout by comparison. She actually had to double-take at several of the listed items before shaking her head. “I wouldn’t know where to begin,” she admitted before handing the menu back to the woman.

  Hadden’s body was wracked with a soft series of convulsions which initially alarmed Masozi, but she came to realized he was laughing as his lips had peeled back into a broad grin.

  “Clever girl,”
his digital voice said approvingly while his lips remained bowed in a silent grin, “it is my considered opinion that menus have no place in civilized society. Bring her a sampler of the kitchen’s latest creations,” he said casually, and the platinum blonde woman nodded curtly before heading off down the stairs toward the far base of the Observation Deck’s pyramidal floor.

  “Thank you,” Masozi belatedly called after the woman, and then realized she had given Director Hadden another cause for laughter.

  “Forgive me, Investigator,” he said warmly as his body continued to twitch with laughter, “I so rarely receive guests in my home, and admit that I find myself quite taken with you. It is a pity we could not meet under less turbulent circumstances.” His chair turned slightly and Hadden’s pinkish eyes looked up to the transparent dome above, through which Masozi could see the awe-inspiring rings of Chambliss. Her gaze followed his and she marveled in the beauty of the place. “I have dedicated my life to mastering the stars by bringing them within our collective grasp,” Hadden explained. “But as I approach the end of that life, I find my thoughts have turned from extending our reach to mastering that which is already within it. This view reminds me of our place in the cosmos and I only hope it has the same, profound effect on my guests.”

  Masozi was acutely aware that Jericho had said nothing to that point in the conversation, and she stole a glance at him. He was studying her intently and she instantly came to the conclusion that all of this was some sort of test.

  “A month ago,” she began after considering her reply, “I would have considered myself lucky to eventually afford just one cruise to the Rings of Chambliss during my entire life.” She shook her head in wonderment as the reality of her next words sank in while she said them, “I’m honestly not sure if I should be grateful for this…this majesty you’ve decided to share with me.”

  “Well said, Investigator,” Hadden said seriously, “well said. Without meaningful pursuits, what is life but a sequence of increasingly predictable stimuli? And what then becomes of us when we exhaust the horizon of imagination?”

  “Stephen,” Jericho interrupted dryly, “you know I could listen to you philosophize until the stars wink out, but we’re on a schedule.”

  Hadden rolled his eyes as he turned his massive chair to face Jericho. “You must forgive him, Investigator,” the chair-bound Director quipped, “whatever imagination he may have once possessed has long-since been exhausted. I suppose, then, one could surmise that we have the answer to my posited question sitting right here before us.”

  Masozi snickered, “Now there’s a depressing thought.”

  Hadden’s body was wracked with another series of laughter spasms, and even Jericho couldn’t keep half of a short-lived grin from his face. “You are absolutely delicious, my dear,” Director Hadden said as the platinum blonde woman appeared at the far rope-line bearing a large platter with a transparent cloche. “Please indulge yourself; being unable to enjoy the creations myself, I can only ever experience them vicariously.”

  The blonde woman set the tray down on a nearby table, and Masozi stood to examine its contents. The array of food was stunning, ranging from the exquisite, to the wondrous, to the truly bizarre. Being an inquisitive soul, she selected a handful of inexplicable pieces—in addition to a few of the safer options—and resumed her seat as the blonde woman brought a container with some sort of fruit juice cocktail in it.

  As Masozi ate, she felt the weight of Director Hadden’s gaze on her and she became more than a little self-conscious.

  “How fares my son, Jericho?” Hadden asked suddenly, and Masozi almost choked on a bite of sushi—which she had assumed to be octopus, but was both disturbed and surprised by the wholly foreign flavors which greeted her mouth after biting into it.

  Jericho hesitated and Masozi shot him a wary look. She had come to expect him to reply directly and promptly, and hearing him fail to reply quickly was surprising…and intriguing.

  “He’s doing what he loves,” Jericho replied carefully with a shrug of his shoulders. “If only we could all be so fortunate.”

  Hadden’s synthesized voice sighed. “Even though he refuses to take my place in the corporation, as his father I believe that I should provide for his lifestyle for as long as I am able—the stars only know that I am more than capable of doing so.”

  Jericho ground his teeth silently, and Masozi could tell there was something else he had wanted to say but was uncertain. Eventually he leaned forward and said, “He’s not taking the gene therapy you suggested, if that’s what you’re really asking, Stephen.”

  There was a tense silence for several seconds. “That was indeed among the queries I would have answered, Jericho,” Hadden replied as Masozi bit into an egg which contained some sort of half-developed, reptilian embryo within. It was surprisingly good, although the crunching of the bones was a little off-putting. “I have long given up hope that he would carry my family name forward, but I cannot say I disagree with his decision entirely since I, myself, have been less than well-pleased with the experience of this chair.” Silence lingered for several, unexpectedly tense moments before Hadden added, “I appreciate your honesty, Jericho—of all the men I have known, I have never been given cause to doubt your integrity. I would not take advantage of that…peculiar attribute.”

  Jericho nodded, seemingly satisfied that the subject had been navigated correctly but the truth was Masozi had little idea what the other two were talking about. She had deduced that Wladimir Benton had been Hadden’s son the moment she had laid eyes on the elder, but the subtext of the interplay between Director Hadden and Jericho was utterly lost on her.

  “I have made a decision,” Hadden said unexpectedly, “as soon as you are finished with your meal, you should both make your way to my Medical Sciences division. Jericho can complete his orthopedic repairs there, and my doctors can give the Investigator a thorough going-over to ensure that her system is fully recovered from its recent tribulations. When you have finished there, I will arrange transport for the two of you to your next destination.”

  Jericho stood from his chair and nodded in thanks. “You know that in my current capacity, I—we,” he corrected with a look toward Masozi, “can’t accept anything from you beyond room, board, and transport.” He said it as though such was a well-known fact—which, to Masozi, it was not.

  “Of course,” Hadden replied warmly, “but as guests in my sovereign territory, you must comply with my medical protocols. Failure to do so will result in immediate ejection via the nearest airlock.”

  Masozi’s food—a portion of what looked like pasta but was, in fact, a smattering of cleverly-separated and blanched meat fibers which tasted distinctly like pork—caught in her throat at Hadden’s off-handed mention of possible summary execution.

  But Jericho bowed at the waist, appearing totally unfazed. “We will happily comply with your facility’s medical protocols, Director.”

  “Good boy,” Hadden said, and Masozi saw a flash of annoyance cross Jericho’s face. “Until later, my dear,” the chair-bound man said before turning and making his way down the far stairs, his chair’s hover-field generators allowing him to glide down the gently decline.

  When he had gone, Jericho turned to Masozi and smirked. “I think he likes you.”

  Chapter XVIII: A Blast from The Past

  After nearly ten hours of being poked, prodded, measured, stripped, clothed, stripped again, and clothed again in increasingly bizarre outfits, Masozi stepped out of the Medical Sciences laboratory with more aches and pains than she had thought possible.

  The ‘doctors’ inside that particular department had made her undergo rigorous physical exercises, pushing her body to the breaking point before conducting strange neurological examinations the purpose of which Masozi could not hope to guess.

  “Turn your head and cough,” she heard Jericho say from down the hall, and she turned to see him seated on a bench a dozen meters or so away. He was smirking, but judgi
ng from his sweat-stained shirt they had subjected him to a similar battery of tests—which seemed odd since he was supposed to have just undergone hip surgery.

  “If I never see another doctor…” she muttered as she rubbed her wrist, grateful to have the Auto-Doc attachment finally removed.

  “They’re a necessary evil,” Jericho quipped as he got to his feet, “probably the most necessary evil.”

  “If I’d wanted to get disrobed, poked, prodded, groped, photographed in the act of doing so, and then made to feel ashamed about it all afterward,” she grumbled, “I would have gotten drunk, stripped my clothes off and wandered down to the nearest frat-house. At least then I might not have been conscious for the experience.”

  Jericho, surprisingly, didn’t laugh at her dark humor but instead nodded grimly. “At least that’s behind us. Let’s go see what our benefactor has in store for us—if we’re going to get ahead of the people who keep trying to have us killed then we need to stay moving.”

  They entered the lift at the end of the corridor, and after it had begun its ascent Masozi ventured to ask a question which had made her brain itch throughout the ‘medical examination.’ “How do you know Hadden?”

  Jericho nodded, as though he had expected the question—a mannerism which was beginning to wear rather thin on Masozi’s already frayed patience. “An Adjuster isn’t granted access to public funding,” he explained. “All Adjustment-necessary assets have to be acquired by using privately-donated funds which are provided by willing members of the body politic. I suppose it goes without saying that Stephen Hadden is my top financier.”