Ure Infectus (Imperium Cicernus Book 4) (12 page)

“Just making sure everything’s where it should be,” Jericho
replied as the target approached his front door. “Where was I?” he asked dryly.

“Something about side streets,” the Agent replied, his voice
a warm, encouraging tone.

“Right,” Jericho said, “anyway, this guy has a cousin who
owns a contracting company that won several bids for city street maintenance
contracts in Tsushima. Long story short, the diversion of traffic increased the
wear on an intersection this guy’s cousin maintains.”

“Come now,” the Agent quipped irritably as the target
entered the flat. At the same moment, the Agent’s icon on the three dimensional
display moved down the corridor toward the same unit. “You can’t expect me to
believe you would risk capture at this stage in the game over a little wasted
concrete?”

Jericho switched off the safety on his rifle and leaned in
tight to the butt of the rifle. “You know that, do you?”

“Of course,” the Agent replied with a long-suffering sigh,
“even my limited psych profile suggests that while you do care about the
financial burden corruption places on society, it’s not what motivates you.”

Jericho was surprised to hear the man suggest he had a psych
profile on him, but he supposed it was possible—and equally possible that it
was all a ruse. “Ok…let’s say a little girl was boarding her school shuttle the
morning after the traffic was diverted,” he said, feeling a slight surge of
anger as he did so. “And let’s also say that the human driver of that shuttle
wasn’t aware of the redirected traffic, and an overloaded cargo hauler ran
sidelong into the shuttle, killing both of its occupants while the hauler’s
driver walked away without a scratch.”

“Even if I accepted the premise that this was your real
motivation for accepting this assignment, it sounds like you’ve got a few
places you could assign the blame,” the Agent said casually as the target moved
into the kitchen and washed his hands. When he finished doing so, the Agent
sighed, “No nerve gas…interesting.”

Jericho had considered the nerve gas also, but had decided
against it for several reasons. He had used poison in the past, but there was
something about it that never sat right with him. He was an instrument of the
people’s retribution, and was decidedly against a painless death like that
afforded by most of the available nerve gases.

“I suppose you could place the blame on the driver of the
cargo hauler,” Jericho said as he relaxed his body. According to surveillance
records, three days out of four the Adjustee would sit in a chair set beside
the window on which his rifle was trained. “You could even lay the blame at the
feet of the shuttles driver…or, if you really want to stretch things, one could
fault the local traffic directors for failing to put up the requisite warning
signage. There’s probably even an argument for the people who allowed the
overloaded vehicle to operate on a public road.”

“Precisely; there are several people who deserve punishment
in that particular chain,” the Agent said, as though it explained everything.
“So what gives you the right to choose who gets punished?”

Jericho smirked as the Adjustee settled into the chair for
what would be the final time of his life. “The voters,” he replied as he
squeezed the trigger, sending a round of depleted uranium-wrapped lead powder
through the window. As it broke through the glass, the shell of depleted
uranium broke apart and unleashed its contents, turning the Adjustee’s body into
a shower of gore which covered the far wall in a shower of red.

The bullet had been specifically designed to break apart
after penetrating the transparent alloy of the window, and had delivered every
Newton of its energy into the target’s body, essentially vaporizing his upper
body in the process.

The icon representing the Agent entered the flat as soon as
the round impacted, but then the icon went dark. Jericho understood that the Agent
had deliberately cut off the signal…and that suggested the Agent had been
toying with him the entire time.

“No explosion, either,” the Agent said disappointedly as he
appeared at the window, through which a perfectly round hole a half inch across
marked the bullet’s entry path. He looked through the newly-made hole and,
seeming to make eye contact even at such a distance, smirked as he waved
invitingly with an energy pistol gripped in his hand. “A traditionalist, then…
interesting.”

Jericho pulled back from the window, switched off the link,
and initiated the countdown for a time-delayed acid shower to spray over the
room and its contents after he had left. It would not destroy the equipment
completely, but it would remove any organic trace evidence in the unlikely
event the Agent decided to investigate the scene for clues.

Jericho picked up the grocery bag which contained Benton’s
requested pasta—which was a small price to pay for interrupting the man’s
legendary privacy, especially for the entire voyage to Aegis Port City—and left
the apartment, grateful for having successfully completed the first leg of what
he was certain would be an increasingly dangerous journey.

Masozi had examined the local news feeds at length after
coming to terms with the fact that she had been framed by Chief Afolabi and an
off-world Agent whose identity was still very much a mystery. She still had
little in the way of concrete information, but she had corroborated most of the
images Benton had shown her inside his secretive hideout.

“
Ain’t
nuthin’ to be worked up
over, girlfriend,” Benton said after several hours. He had gone for nearly an
hour without speaking after helping her access several public news sources—as
well as a few private ones, including the Investigator’s update channel. “Just
think on it like you be gettin’ a fresh start; not many people be so lucky, you
feel me?”

She refrained from a biting remark, which required a
not-insignificant amount of willpower on her part since her entire life had
just been turned upside down in less than a day.

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” she said evenly as she
flipped through a recent wave of reports that had just hit the feeds. Her heart
sank when she saw that three more people had died as a result of the explosion
at her apartment building, bringing the total to forty two.

“It ain’t your fault,” Benton said, and she turned sharply
toward him and saw his eyes—eyes with pale, pink irises—snap back and forth
across the myriad displays arrayed above his bed. “They took advantage of your
trust and set you up, yo. Only way you can get back at ‘em be by keepin’ your
head down and servin’ up an ice-cold plate of good, ol’ fashioned, revenge.”
Before she could reply with something scathing, there was a soft, clanging
sound from below and Benton slapped his hands together before rubbing them in
anticipation. “A-ha, dinner; I hope you like pasta, shorty.”

She liked pasta very much, but she doubted she could work up
an appetite. Still, the smell of veal and fresh, genuine, mozzarella cheese
carried into the chamber as Jericho appeared at the door to the room with the
medium-large parcel under his arm. The parcel was marked with the logo for the
world-famous Casa Mia restaurant, which was far more expensive than Masozi had
ever been able to afford—even for a major occasion. A single meal with drinks
would likely cost as much as her entire month’s salary.

“My favorite,” Benton said eagerly as Jericho brought the
parcel to the obscenely large man’s bed. As he approached, a small table folded
up from the bed’s side and Jericho placed the parcel on it. The horrifically
obese man opened the parcel as Jericho pulled up a nearby chair—of which there
were only two in the entire room, as Masozi had previously noted to herself.
Benton produced a trio of disposable, thermal containers and said, “Dig in,
y’all; this be the last real cookin’ we get ‘til Aegis.”

Jericho waved off the proffered food and Masozi did
likewise. Although…despite the turmoil going on between her ears over the day’s
events, the food really did smell delicious.

“Suit
yourselves
,” Benton said as
he opened the first thermal container and delicately skewered its contents with
a provided utensil. He drew a large forkful of crisp, green lettuce with tiny,
pink shrimps speared on the tips of the fork and placed the bite of salad
carefully into his many-chinned mouth. He chewed loudly, and Masozi was quite
certain that her resolve to avoid eating would soon disintegrate in the
presence of such gourmet food.

“You have questions, Investigator,” Jericho said into the
brief silence. “I promised I would answer however many of them I am able.”

She focused on the man sitting on the other side of Benton’s
bed, and studied his features. His eyes were the same, grey-blue color that she
remembered, his skin was barely a shade darker than white, and his jaw was
squarely-shaped with a pronounced dimple at the point of his chin—none of which
traits were common to Virgin. His hair was significantly more salt than pepper,
and was cut in a flat-top, military style. It was obvious from the way he moved
and held himself that he was a powerful, agile specimen.

She took a short breath and made her first query, “Why?”

Benton, who had been chewing loudly on the delectably crisp
lettuce—the last bit of which had been joined by tiny slivers of mozzarella
cheese—stopped and cast a curious look her way while Jericho merely held her
with his steely eyes.

“Too vague,” Jericho said after a few, tense moments, during
which time Benton’s eyes went back and forth between the two of them with open
amusement.

Masozi took an unconscious step forward. “Why would you save
me? While profoundly shocking to me—in a manner which someone of your ilk is
likely incapable of comprehending—I can at least understand several possible
motives behind framing me for the various crimes of which I am now publicly
accused.” She took another step forward, and stopped herself after realizing
she had been unconsciously seeking the food which Benton had proffered. Masozi
had the brief thought that she may never get another opportunity for such a
fine meal, but she kept her focus on the mysterious man whose intervention had
inexplicably spared her life.

“Someone of ‘my ilk’?”
Jericho
repeated as a twinkle of amusement flashed across his eyes. He shook his head
before sighing, “I suppose I can’t blame you that. There was a time I felt the
same as you…but I’ve since opened my eyes to the realities of human existence.
Still, to answer your question,” he said as he reached out to take one of the
salad dishes Benton had offered, “I saved you because, simply put, it would be
a waste of everything you are to let a man like Afolabi frame you…especially
since several of the ‘crimes’ you are accused of were actually committed by
me—”

“And me!” Benton cut in, as though in comic protest and
Jericho nodded shortly in acknowledgment.

“None of what I do would be possible without the assistance
of like-minded people,” Jericho said with a note of gratitude, which Benton seemingly
ignored as he continued to devour the exquisite salad.

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” Masozi said evenly,
forcing her eyes to stay locked with his and not stray to the increasingly
tempting food on the opposite side of the bed.

“I imagine it doesn’t,” Jericho allowed with a shrug as he
held the salad easily in one hand. “But I can say that someone of your
qualities would be of great benefit to me in what I aim to do next. Beyond
that, you’ll have to prove that you’re worthy of more clarification on the
subject.”

“Not good enough,” Masozi retorted sharply, turning his own
words against him.

Benton chuckled and Jericho sighed softly after casting a
reprimanding look at the now-jiggling mass of humanity lying in the bed. “Due
to your current bargaining position, that’s simply not the case,” he said as he
popped open the salad dish and leaned his face down toward it as he inhaled
deeply of its aroma. “You’re a wanted fugitive, and I’d imagine that by now
your case file has been uploaded to the Planetary Investigators.”

“Why?” Masozi asked, her curiosity overriding her desire to
present a strong appearance. Chief Afolabi’s press conference had made no
mention of a planet-wide fugitive alert, and she pointed at one of screens over
Benton’s bed—a screen which had a real-time readout of classified law
enforcement updates for New Lincoln on one side, and the entire planet on the
other. “There’s nothing on the official wires to indicate a planetary effort is
underway.”

Benton chuckled again and this time Jericho smirked almost
piteously. “Don’t tell me you believe everything you see on the newsfeeds…or
that everything actually gets
put
on the newsfeeds?” he chided. “A
certain degree of naiveté can actually be healthy, but you can’t actually
believe in Universal Transparency, can you?”

Universal Transparency had been the Second Right afforded
the people of her world, and indeed, the entire sector. “If I don’t believe in
Universal Transparency, why
should I
believe in the
Timent Electorum?” she challenged.

Jericho chuckled softly. “Because you’ve got supporting
evidence for one, and a lack thereof for another, all within a few meters of
each other—and you,” he said with a pointed look before taking a fork and
spearing it through the center of the salad.

She noticed the smell of her favorite salad dressing as he
lifted the first bite to his lips, and she reached across Benton’s bed and
snatched the third salad for herself.

“My girl,” Benton said with a warm laugh as he reached into
the parcel. He had finished his own portion of salad and dropped the empty box
on the floor beside his bed before producing another trio of containers.

It had been nearly fourteen hours since she had eaten, and
Masozi was absolutely famished, so she ate in silence for several minutes while
doing her best to savor what would very likely be the finest meal of her entire
life. She only wished it could have come under different circumstances. The
ingredients were all of the highest quality, and for a moment she understood
how such a ridiculously expensive restaurant could remain in business through
the high, and the low, economic times New Lincoln had endured. In truth, that
salad had been a more pleasurable experience than at least half of her life’s
various sexual encounters.

“Fine, so there’s some evidence—most of which I can’t verify
independent of you,” she said after devouring the salad and washing it down
with a carbonated drink which she would have normally never considered
touching.

“A fair point,” Jericho conceded after downing his own
bottle of the bitter, carbonated beverage. “But the truth is you’re beating
around the box; you’ve seen first-hand the nature of what you’ve stumbled
across. You don’t need either of us to tell you what that is.”

Benton, who had taken a break from the meal after producing
the second trio of food containers in order to peruse a few dozen data feeds,
adjusted slightly in his bed before saying under his breath, “She’s back,
everyone.”

Just then, the same hover drone which had ‘rescued’ Masozi
from her leap of faith swung into the room and declared, “Hey all, it’s me:
Eve!”

“Hey, baby!” Benton said buoyantly, but Masozi suspected it
was something of an act—the same act she had seen countless ‘couples’ go
through when reuniting.

That particular connection made her shake her head in a
mixture of awe and barely-concealed disgust.
How low can a human being get
?
she
thought in bewilderment.
I can understand
owning a pet, but a sexbot—without the body, no less
?!

“You’ve got visitors,” Eve said as though in surprise as she
hovered over beside Benton’s bed, but Masozi recognized her voice as the same
one which had come from the autocannon outside the container. So she very much
doubted that Eve had been unaware of Benton’s ‘visitors’—especially since it
had been Eve’s voice which had not-so-politely told Masozi to ‘make like a bad
sector and frag’ at gunpoint.

Seemingly from nowhere, a small, claw-like appendage
attached to an articulate, metal tube lowered itself from the bottom of the
hover drone’s bulbous, circular body and snatched up the empty salad box. Eve’s
avatar on the front-mounted screen wagged a finger reproachfully at the huge
man, “You are such a slob, Johnny Wladimir Benton!”

“Eve,” Benton interrupted with a wild gesticulation of his
hands as his speech patterns changed to something approaching normalcy, “I
don’t have time for this right now. I’ve got seventeen simultaneous data dumps
I’m managing; I’ve got to wipe every trace of these two cowboy’s—and girl’s,”
he added belatedly, “rampage through the city, and I’ve got to do it all before
I lose my hard lines at castoff in twenty minutes.”

Eve’s virtual image put her hands on her hips and Masozi saw
Jericho roll his eyes slightly. “Ohhhh, so not only do I have to pick up after
you,” she said hotly, “but now I have to go back outside and disconnect the
lines
four hours
earlier than scheduled?!”

“That would be great, Eve,” Benton said agreeably as he
deliberately returned his focus to the screens above him. “Shouldn’t take you
longer than an hour to put all of it away—and don’t forget to depolarize the
linkage this time. We were down for almost six hours last time,” he said
chidingly before adding, “
besides…
you still owe me.”

“Well…I never,” she fumed before spinning around and
whirring out of the room amid a stream of decidedly angry-sounding bleeps and
data static which emanated from her hover-drone’s speakers.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Benton apologized as his accent returned
with a vengeance, “but she
be
a
little…high-maintenance. She would’ve crashed and burned a long time ago
without me, and I gotta…you know,
gently
remind her of that every now
and then or she’s liable to get uppity—and that would be good for
nobody
,
feel me?”

Masozi boggled at the notion of Benton carrying on a
‘relationship’ with what amounted to little more than a sex toy program he had
transplanted into the hover drone. The sheer ludicrousness of it strained her
imagination, but as she looked around the decidedly abnormal environment which
Benton had built for himself, she realized that Eve was likely the least
disturbing thing about the man.

“Look,” she said as Benton began to open up the next
take-out box, and the overpowering smell of creamy, buttery pasta wafted into
her nostrils as he did so, “I’m not convinced that going with the two of you is
any safer option than marching back down to the precinct and pleading my case.”

“That might actually work,” Jericho mused with a thoughtful
nod.

“Yeah,” Benton said, “’cept for this.” The massive bank of
screens lining the far wall flared to life, and Masozi turned to see Agent
Stiglitz’s image appear in several different perspectives, taken by what
appeared to be public surveillance equipment. “I done tried to dig up some dirt
on him, Jericho,” Benton said as though in apology, “but this bitch is
tight
,
know what I’m sayin’? I didn’t even get
no God-damned name
after cross-checkin’ every, single, database on Virgin—and
then some
more besides! This mo-fo
be
a gen-u-ine ghost, dog.”