Sic Semper Tyrannis: The Chimera Adjustment: Book Two (Imperium Cicernus 2)

Prologue: A Clarion Call

(excerpted from the FREE bridging novella, Guarding an Angel)

Bottom line, Doctor? Jericho insisted after yet another digression into medical jargon with which he hoped to die having never become familiar.

Your left arm was too badly damaged, Maturin replied before Doctor Kowalski could do so, if you allow us to graft new nerve tissue over the next four months we can mitigate some of the losses, but even without your recent excursion there simply wasn’t enough left of what was there to provide for a full recovery.

Will I lose it? Jericho asked evenly. He had been more than slightly impressed when the duo of surgeons had successfully re-built and replaced his limb, having assumed his arm was gone permanently.

No, Dr. Kowalski cut in, slicing a harsh look over at Dr. Maturin, but you’ll never regain full functionality, and the ring finger’s sensation will never recover either.

Ballpark estimate, Jericho said, leaning back in his chair and drumming the fingers of his left hand slowly against the chair’s armrest, an act which took all of his concentration to continue with anything remotely resembling rhythm, how much usage will I get out of it?

You’re right-handed, Kowalski began in an insufferably encouraging tone that made Jericho roll his eyes, so the impact to your daily living will be minimal—

It will probably end up about half of what it was, Maturin interrupted, fixing Jericho with his steely blue eyes. There will be significant muscular atrophy, poor coordination of digits three through five, and the potential for random, mostly subtle, spasms of everything from the elbow down. You won’t be able to shoot with it reliably, and even forming a fist for a punch will be a dicey proposition without hand-wear designed to facilitate the correct posture of the extremity.

Jericho had experienced spasms a handful of times in recent days, and had feared they heralded something degenerative. But his sensation, while still sketchy, was certainly good enough for him to work with. He held Dr. Maturin’s gaze as Dr. Kowalski shook her head, suppressing a snort as she did so.

And nerve grafts are a long, drawn-out procedure, yes? Jericho asked, first of Maturin and then looking pointedly over at Dr. Kowalski.

Three months at a minimum, Maturin replied promptly, but in cases like yours, we’re realistically looking at more like seven or eight months of weekly grafts and growth stimulation therapy—therapy to be undertaken twice weekly.

During which time I would have no use of the limb? Jericho reiterated.

"Not no use, Dr. Kowalski said sharply, but strenuous activity of any kind would destroy whatever progress we might have made. And once a nerve is opened for grafting, interruption of the process causes permanent nerve ablation in over eighty percent of cases."

So my choices are, Jericho said, drawing in a breath, to take what I’ve got and learn to work with it, or sit on the sidelines for the better part of a year. That’s what I needed to know, he said with a gracious nod. I can’t sit by, hoping to recover full use of my arm, but I appreciate your professional input. What kind of physical therapy regimen should I undertake to maintain maximum possible use of what I have left?

Dr. Maturin slid a data pad across the table and shrugged. It’s nothing overly strenuous, but re-training the limb will take several weeks before you hit your peak efficiency. We have implants—

No implants, Jericho repeated for what must have been the fifth time during the meeting. Organic solutions only; I’ve made a career out of exploiting people’s overreliance on technology. I won’t fall victim to the same weakness.

Just then, Jericho’s data link chimed. He flipped it on to see he had an incoming connection request from Captain Charles. He activated it and saw his cousin’s face on the screen.

Jeff? Jericho asked, but before his cousin could reply he had already guessed what the Captain of the Zhuge Liang meant to tell him.

Switch to Virgin Public Broadcast, Captain Jeffrey Charles said grimly. It’s happening.

Thanks, Jericho said evenly, and before he could tell them to do so, one of the doctors had activated the small office’s primary viewer. The screen sprang to life with the VPB logo in the lower, right-hand corner. Featured at the center of the display was the familiar image of Virgin System’s President Han-Ramil Blanco, proudly wearing his distinctive headwear.

The images we’ve seen of the massacre at Philippa are nothing short of horrific, President Blanco boomed in his practiced baritone, his stately veneer proudly wearing a look of stern resolution over his dark, angular features. One thing is now clear to each and every one of us: Hadden Enterprises, its many subsidiaries, and several other interstellar corporate conglomerates have declared war upon the people of Virgin System—and, by extension, the rest of the Sector’s citizenry. Corporations like Hadden have abused the rule of law for far too long and, as a result, their power has gone unchecked to the point where such a tragedy was not only possible, but actually occurred.

The room in which Jericho sat was silent as they watched a video clip of the Zhuge Liang—a video which had apparently been taken from a ground-based pickup on Philippa—replace President Blanco’s features. Just a few seconds after the warship had appeared it was shown firing its antimatter torpedoes into the atmosphere over Philippa’s primary city, Abaca.

There was an audible gasp throughout the press conference room when the torpedoes exploded, igniting Philippa’s volatile atmosphere as they did so. The President’s features, schooled into a look of grim resolution, returned to the image. These corporations wield undue power throughout the Sector, due to their manipulation of our most fundamental laws. I am joined by several other System Presidents in expressing our categorical desire to see justice done for this, and other, crimes against sentience—including, we have learned in recent days, the wholesale enslavement of millions of alien individuals by these same corporations. This previously undocumented labor pool’s activities have played havoc with our economic system, and I will see to it that these aliens are remunerated fairly for their efforts before I step down from this office. The beneficiaries of this slavery have been none other than the same corporations who so callously opened fire on a colony which, until only recently, had enjoyed a mutually beneficial relationship with Hadden Enterprises.

Bastards, Jericho heard Dr. Maturin seethe, and he turned to see the other man’s fists clenched white-knuckle tight before himself as he kept his eyes fixed on the screen.

Moreover, Blanco continued, the foundational principle of our Sector’s society has come under fire from these same elements. The right of the citizenry to sanction its leaders is the First Right of our great society, and it is a right which must be cherished and respected… he trailed off, sweeping the room with his nearly black eyes, but we now have evidence to suggest that the Timent Electorum agency itself has been unduly influenced by the corporations. Entities like Hadden Enterprises have manipulated these noble defenders of our most sacred rights—often without the Adjusters’ knowledge—and we now believe that centuries-old agency no longer fills the essential role it once did. Blanco leaned across the podium, the impressive breadth of his body becoming apparent as he did so, I am therefore instructing all Adjusters throughout the Chimera Sector to temporarily cease and desist in their activities until the damage done to their august order can be assessed and corrected. With the universe’s blessing, that damage will be repaired so they may continue to carry out their sacred duty on behalf of us all, wrapped in the same cloak of transparency which pervades every other aspect of our great society!

There was a loud cheer, followed by a cacophony of applause as the entire room stood to applaud him, and Jericho could not help but smirk contemptuously at the sight of people applauding the dissolution of their most fundamental civil liberty.

He knew that the Adjusters of the Chimera Sector would never follow the unilateral edict of President Blanco—or any other official, regardless of their relative power—but Jericho also knew that the President was fully aware of that fact. Blanco was all but inviting assassination attempts, as he had just publicly declared the First Right of the Chimera Sector’s body politic to be under his office’s direct jurisdiction—an absolute impossibility according to the Sector’s Bill of Rights.

The President schooled his features as he stood to his full, imposing, height, Now, therefore, I, Han-Ramil Blanco, President of the Virgin System, by virtue of the power in me vested by the laws which every loyal Chimera citizen holds dear, have thought fit to call forth our honorable military defenders, and hereby do call upon the loyal populace of this System to support their efforts, in order to suppress said corporations, and to cause those same laws for which we have all bled, suffered, and died, to be duly executed as they were truly intended.

Jericho felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach as he heard the statement for what it truly was. It was a declaration of war, but not against corporations. Blanco—apparently with the support of several other System leaders—was attempting to restructure the Sector’s government from the ground up, and the people whose lives would be most affected were those with the least power. The corporations would survive in some form or another, but the liberties which the citizens of Chimera Sector had enjoyed were now under direct fire from a man with the podium, charisma, and opportunity to undo everything which had given those citizens life after the wormhole collapse.

I appeal to all loyal citizens to favor, facilitate and aid this effort, Blanco continued as the applause nearly drowned out his powerful voice, to maintain the honor, the integrity, and the existence of our System and, indeed, our Sector entire, and the perpetuity of the popular government which saw us cast off the yoke of Imperial tyranny; and to redress wrongs already long enough endured.

The feed then panned back as President Blanco stepped away from the podium to face a group of military officials. There were at least a dozen of them and, judging from their insignia, they appeared to be ranked Generals or Admirals to the last. They took turns shaking hands with the towering Blanco as the video feed split the screen in two images side by side.

In addition to the President shaking the hands of his war cabinet, the view also included the assembled throng of reporters—which had literally packed an auditorium generally reserved for major policy announcements—applauding as loudly as they were able. Tears streamed down the faces of several members of the crowd, but each droplet of moisture was one born of joy rather than despair.

The feed went dark, and Jericho realized Dr. Maturin had deactivated the display with trembling hands which were no longer white with tension. The man’s face had turned as red as an engine exhaust manifold and he stormed out of the room without another word, leaving Jericho and Dr. Kowalski alone.

Jericho wanted to contact Masozi, but she had been quite specific in her desire not to interact with him until after her surgery, and immediate recovery from said surgery, had been completed.

So he stood from his chair and Dr. Kowalski did likewise before saying in a tight voice, I hope you kill that man.

Jericho stopped and gave the woman a quizzical look. That’s a strange thing to hear a doctor say, he said levelly.

I got into medicine to fight disease, and any good physician understands what disease really is, she said as she raised a finger to point at the now darkened screen. That man is a cancer unlike anything our Sector has seen; I just wish I had the right scalpel for the job…because I’d use it to cut him out right now if I could.

Jericho couldn’t help but snicker as his data link lit up, showing an incoming call from Masozi. Doctor, he said as he activated the link and accepted the incoming call, that scalpel is standing right in front of you.

She nodded curtly as Jericho saw Masozi’s features appear on the screen of his wrist-mounted data link.

All right, you smug son of a bitch, the dark-skinned woman said, and in that moment the familial resemblance between herself and President Blanco was striking, let’s kill that piece of shit.

For reasons he was unable to comprehend in that moment, Jericho felt a wave of relief wash over him. He nodded slowly and said, Glad to have you onboard, Masozi.

That’s ‘Adjuster’ to you, she spat before severing the link and, while her rebuke pained him in ways he hadn’t expected, he knew he deserved every bit of it—and then some.

Still, he did need to explain to her that she wasn’t a fully-fledged Adjuster just yet…but that could come later. And in light of Jericho’s recent discovery regarding his left arm’s diminished utility, he was doubly grateful to have Masozi on his side.

Even if they weren’t on a first name basis.

Chapter I: Setting a Course

As soon as S.R. Hadden’s secretary—and highly-trusted legal counsel—Ms. Schmidt left Captain Jeff Charles’ ready room, Jericho moved past her while making brief eye contact and stepped through the door before it even closed behind her.

You have your own orders, I assume? Jericho asked as he settled into the chair opposite his cousin’s. Jericho winced as his ruined arm spasmed of its own accord, causing an unusual, deep pain to fill the limb for several seconds before dissipating.

I do, Jeff grudged, though I’m more offended by their delivery than by their content.

Jericho breathed a short sigh of relief. Glad to hear we’re of the same mind on that particular count.

So, Jeff mused, shaking his head in bewilderment, "let me see if I’ve got this straight: I retain operational command over the Zhuge Liang’s actions, but overall directives have to be issued by you and confirmed by Investigator Masozi? How exactly is that supposed to work? he scoffed. A warship can’t be run by committee."

We’re just going to have to feel our way around it, Jericho said with a shrug. I never anticipated anything like this, and I can assure you neither did the new Adjuster.

Ah, Jeff quipped, "that—how exactly will that work, anyway? I mean, if she’s an Adjuster just like you, doesn’t that mean that you’re her boss?"

Jericho shook his head, It’s not like that. Once she’s confirmed, we’re more or less equals—in fact, given that she’s the Adjuster of record for the Keno Adjustment, if anything she’s got a major advantage on me in terms of Redeemed Lives.

Jeff rolled his eyes. The more I hear about your organization, the less organized I find it to be, he said with a wistful sigh. I prefer things simple: there’s the bad guys, go kill them.

We all prefer things to be black and white, Jericho retorted easily. But the higher up we go in life, the more everything turns grey.

Jeff eyed him skeptically before slowly nodding, Looks like the Director had us figured pretty much perfectly. It seems I lack the very moral flexibility that you appear to have in abundance, he said and though his words were pointed, his tone was anything but. But how does Masozi figure into all of this, aside from her family ties to President Blanco?

Jericho cocked his head, having pondered the same thing in the half hour since he, himself, had received Director Hadden’s final directive. I’m still trying to figure that out, at least from Hadden’s perspective, but from my own I can say that she might prove instrumental to bringing that tyrant down once and for all.

Including Abaca, Captain Charles’ brow lowered darkly, Blanco’s been responsible for over a million civilian deaths in the last three years. Most of it has been more or less supported by the Virgin media as reasonable, but if they knew the truth about Abaca—

He was always going to get to frame Abaca on his terms, Jericho interrupted pointedly. Without irrefutable evidence, we can’t go public with our suspicions of his involvement.

Suspicions?! Jeff blurted. "The Alexander just happened to be in the area, did it? That ship hasn’t left orbit of Virgin Prime but three times in the last two years."

It’s all circumstantial evidence, Jericho shook his head sourly. We have to gather more information before making our move in the court of public opinion.

I wish you were wrong, Captain Charles grumbled, but you’re not. Even if every single piece of hardware that wasn’t already under his control lined up with us, the best we could hope for is a coin flip. Which I guess brings me to another question: what exactly is your plan for rallying the other corporations and Star Systems to our cause?

In truth, Jericho admitted, the main issue ahead of us is getting approval for the Blanco Adjustment. I have no idea how we’re supposed to win a war of public opinion with one of the most influential, charismatic politicians in the history of the Chimera Sector.

Well, Jeff said with apparent resignation as he leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his belly, have you figured out our next stop, at least?

Jericho nodded, knowing precisely where they needed to go, The Manticore System.

Can you hear me, Masozi? she heard a man’s voice ask, and her eyes rolled around dreamily for several seconds before settling on the face of an unfamiliar doctor. She blinked in confusion for a few seconds before recognizing who he was.

Doctor Maturin? she asked drowsily, feeling as though every part of her was filled with helium and slowly rising from the medical bed.

Good, he said with a nod, pulling down his surgical mask and saying, do you know where you are?

"The…the Zhuge Liang, she said, shaking her head to try clearing it of the oddly persistent mind fog as she looked around her surroundings, I’m in the Zhuge Liang’s surgical suite."

Good, good, he said with an approving nod, and do you remember our conversation before we began the procedure?

She nodded as bits and pieces of it came back to her. My leg, she said numbly, immediately looking down and seeing that her lower half was covered with a plain, white sheet. It was gone.

It still is, the doctor said patiently, but the operation to integrate your new prosthetic was just completed. You won’t feel anything in your new limb for a few days, since the nerve blocks we employed will take some time to wear off, but I wanted to have Doctor Kowalski assess your neurological functions before we take you to recovery. It’s possible we’ll need to resume surgery if there was unforeseen damage to your pelvis’ nerves, and if you’re feeling up to it now would be the best time to perform that examination.

Masozi nodded shortly, equally excited and concerned about their having completed the traumatic procedure and were now going to check for collateral damage.

Doctor Kowalski, Doctor Maturin beckoned, stepping back from the bed as the Zhuge Liang’s Chief Medical Officer moved forward with a small, slender device.

Hello, Masozi, the woman in the surgical gown and cap said, do you remember me?

Of course, Masozi replied tersely, wishing they would just get on with it.

I’m going to check your nerves below your pelvis for sensitivity to gentle, electrical stimulation while gauging your tactile senses, Doctor Kowalski explained. I’d like you to close your eyes and relax; just tell me when you feel anything below the belt, and tell me where you feel it.

Masozi nodded and closed her eyes, her heartbeat quickening in anticipation as the Doctor lifted the sheet from her legs and placed the probe against her right knee. It caused a warm, tickly sensation at once, and Masozi said, That’s my right knee.

Good, Doctor Kowalski said, and a moment later Masozi felt another warm, almost itchy sensation midway up her thigh.

Inner right thigh, Masozi said.

Good, the Doctor repeated, and then the sensation moved to her inner groin.

Right groin, Masozi said tightly, having never enjoyed her pelvic examinations and getting the distinct impression that was the direction this particular examination was heading.

I apologize for the intrusion, Doctor Kowalski said, that’s as far as I have to go.

The sensation mirrored on the other side of her groin, and after another dozen or so tests of the area around her left leg, Doctor Kowalski stood with a satisfied look on her face.

I see no collateral nerve involvement, she declared.

Excellent, Doctor Maturin said with satisfaction as he turned to face Masozi once again—he had kept his back to the series of tests which Doctor Kowalski had performed—and he gave Masozi a mischievous smile as he said, Would you like to see your new leg?

Masozi’s discomfort of the previous minutes vanished as she nodded eagerly. She had already come to grips with the loss of her leg after the events on Philippa, and she felt strangely excited about the prospect of acquiring a replacement—especially one of her chosen prosthetic’s caliber.

Doctor Maturin seemed to genuinely share at least a significant portion of her excitement, as he carefully withdrew the sheet from her lower half to reveal a leg which, at first glance, appeared very nearly identical to the one she had lost to the auto-corrosive nerve agent.

That’s amazing, she breathed as she leaned forward to inspect it more closely. Every detail was perfectly re-created—right down to a birthmark on her inner thigh, and a handful of scars she had earned during her amateur kickboxing days while tempering her shins against wooden practice dummies.

We tried to recreate the aesthetics, Doctor Kowalski explained, by using the photographic models created during your examination on H.E. One.

She leaned down to touch her new leg and Doctor Kowalski quickly reached out to stop her. But Doctor Kowalski’s hand was intercepted by her counterpart, Doctor Maturin. It’s my professional opinion that she can handle it, Doctor, he said with calm certainty.

Handle what? Masozi asked, looking between the two of them in concern.

Doctor Kowalski shot her male counterpart a cold look before replying, "The nerve grafts are not yet complete. You won’t feel anything; in thirty percent of cases depression follows the first realization that, while it looks correct, it is not the leg you lost."

"It’s my professional opinion, however, Doctor Maturin cut in, based in no small part on my conversations with Jericho—the foremost authority on psychology aboard this vessel—that she will not be counted among that particular statistic."

Seeming to ignore him, Doctor Kowalski continued, It’s not just that the leg won’t have any sensation of its own for several days, but the fact that while it looks similar to your old leg, it will not feel the same to your fingers.

Masozi nodded slowly as she processed their differing opinions on the matter. I appreciate the concern, Doctor Kowalski, she said, but I think that the sooner I come to grips with the reality of my situation, the faster I can learn to deal with it in a healthy fashion.

Doctor Maturin’s face took on a triumphant look, while Doctor Kowalski scowled, and Masozi leaned down to touch the skin of her new, prosthetic leg.

Her leg’s sensory nerves did not register the caress of her fingers, but her fingers felt her own skin beneath them and she breathed a sigh of relief at the sensation. When she pressed with her fingers, however, it was clear that while the dimensions were apparently identical to those of her old leg, this new leg was harder, heavier, and colder—at least, it was colder at that particular moment. There was no soft, squishy layer of tissue beneath the skin, and she felt her remaining original leg to compare the sensations.

After a few moments of gawking at the new limb, she gathered her wits and nodded her thanks to the doctors. I…I suppose I didn’t live without a limb for long enough to truly appreciate your efforts, she said, fixing them both with gracious looks, but I do understand that, under any other circumstances, I would not have been afforded such skilled care. Thank you—to both of you.

The doctors nodded before wheeling her out of the surgical suite toward the general sickbay. The nerve integration sequence will take a few days, Doctor Maturin explained, but after that you should regain most, if not all, of your sensation—though there will be mostly subtle differences between your new senses in the limb and your old ones. After that, you can begin a regimen of physical exercises which, more than anything, will help you acclimate to your newer, heavier, stronger, and faster leg.

I can’t wait, Masozi said, feeling a flash of excitement fill her eyes as she leaned back in the bed.

Chapter II: A Sparring Session

Masozi leapt in with a flurry of attacks, some high punches mixed with some low kicks and finished by a high kick with her left leg.  Jericho blocked all of her attacks expertly, save for the two kicks from her new, mechanical left leg. Those attacks he dodged by stepping out of range and then ducking beneath.

Too predictable, he growled, filling Masozi with a surge of anger as she pressed forward, determined to land a meaningful blow against the manipulative old bastard. But before she could follow up, he turned the tables on her by stepping around her left side and snapping a trio of left jabs into her jaw. None struck with enough power to daze or stun her, but each kept her body relatively motionless as she tried to slip her head out of each punch’s path.

Then, before she had realized he was doing it, Jericho leapt forward and planted a knee into her solar plexus while clotheslining her with his left arm. She managed to fight off the arm while staggering backward, but Jericho lashed out with his right foot and hooked her ankle just enough that she tripped and fell to the floor of the Zhuge Liang’s gym.

Again, Jericho instructed, his bare, sweaty chest heaving up and down with practiced control as he beckoned for her to stand.

Masozi felt the urge to scream in frustration at having been bested by the grey-haired, but superbly well-conditioned man—who was somewhere between fifteen and twenty five years her elder—but she kept her tongue pressed against the back of her teeth as she regained her footing. They had been going at it for over an hour, and if appearances were any indication then he was in even better shape than she was.

Nice trip, she grudged as she shifted her weight back and forth between the balls of her feet.

It did the trick, he shrugged. When you’ve fought as much as I have, the way a victory looks is a lot less important than just getting the job done and walking away in one piece.

Just like an Adjustment? she scowled, knowing he was taking the opportunity to patronize her with yet another in a series of lessons he apparently thought were important for her to learn.

"Just like anything, Adjuster, Jericho retorted evenly as he took a dry towel and wiped the sweat from his long, muscular arms before doing likewise on his flat-topped, vertical-standing hair which looked like something which a drill sergeant from a bad military vid would sport. That new leg gives you an incredible edge over me in a match like this, he said, gesturing to her new, almost completely mechanical leg, but so far you seem determined to only capitalize on its durability when you could be using it for so much more."

What are you talking about? she snapped.

Jericho sighed, nearly rolling his grey-blue eyes in exasperation as he stretched his left shoulder by pin-wheeling his arm slowly, alternating between clockwise and counterclockwise motion. I thought that a week of sparring would have taught you, but I appear to have been mistaken. When he was finished rolling his shoulder around, he gestured to his own left leg as he planted it behind himself in a left-handed stance—a stance which mirrored Masozi’s own with alarming detail. My left leg and right leg weigh almost an identical amount, he explained before snapping a swift, precise front kick toward her face.

She slipped her head to the side instinctively, but there had been no need since he held up the attack before shifting his weight and repeating the attack with his right leg.

As such, he continued clinically, "I don’t suffer any disadvantages from using either my left or my right; it’s just a matter of timing, relative position, and whether or not I’ve trained sufficiently with both legs that determines the efficacy of my kicks. But you, he gestured to her left leg, have one leg that weighs almost ten kilos more than the other, and while the heavier leg is many times faster and more powerful than its home-grown mate, if you use it to kick then you’re sacrificing its primary advantage: drive force."

Masozi’s eyes narrowed as she failed to see his point, but she decided to keep from overtly antagonizing him as she considered what he was saying. "So…what you’re saying is I shouldn’t kick with it?"

Jericho shook his head patiently. "I’m just saying that you shouldn’t make it so obvious that you’re setting up left kicks with just about every combination. If I had that leg, he explained, once again adopting a stance which perfectly mirrored her own, I’d use it to power my punches and right kicks, only using it as a primary weapon if the situation was perfect."

Masozi realized he was probably right. Her new leg, being significantly heavier than the original, was more difficult to bring into a fight to deliver kicks than its counterpart. She had already performed several tests of the limb, under the guidance of Dr. Maturin, and had been nothing short of amazed to find its raw strength. Doing one-legged squats, she could lift over a thousand pounds with that leg alone—an unthinkable amount which had required several days for her to come to grips with.

It was also markedly faster than her other, original leg, whereas its responsiveness had become so good that she only occasionally remembered it was an artificial leg.

Of course, the leg had its own onboard computer which attenuated the signals it transmitted to her ‘home-grown’ neurophysiology. If that computer went offline for any reason whatsoever she would be left with a leg that was not only heavier than its counterpart, but only possessed roughly half the strength of its opposite.

The doctors aboard the Zhuge Liang had done incredible work, even going so far as to cultivate and grow new musculature from what little remained of her old leg. Those muscles had been integrated into the prosthetic, augmented limb to provide her with direct neural control over the leg’s actions just as though it was the real thing. The mechanical musculature—or whatever it was called—simply enhanced what her organic muscles and nerves directed them to do, so in many ways it really was almost identical to her old leg.

Ok, she said tersely, we’ll try it your way. But if you let me hit you just to prove a point—

I wouldn’t do that, Jericho assured her, and she grudgingly had to admit that ever since he had returned from the alarmingly dangerous mission to retrieve Eve’s ‘fiddly bits’ from her old home, Jericho had not once lied to her as far as she could tell. He had, since that time, answered every question Masozi had asked—often in far greater detail than she would have preferred.

Masozi lowered herself into a fighting crouch, which Jericho mirrored, and she quickly began to circle to her right. She fired a jab which Jericho ducked beneath—clearly inviting a knee to the face, which she deigned to oblige—and then the big man made a series of practiced weaves from left to right and back again as Masozi lashed out with a left hand, a right kick, and a right cross.

She missed with each blow but, just as Jericho was about to snap a kick into her right thigh, she leapt back using her left leg to provide most of the motive force. After doing so, she found herself fully clear of Jericho’s brutal attack which had been aimed at her thigh.

Better, Jericho grunted after regaining his balance and launching a new wave of attacks, most of which were punches and elbows that Masozi blocked or dodged with long-practiced ease. Her years as an amateur kickboxer were paying greater dividends than she could have ever hoped they would when she had taken up the sport as a young woman—originally having done so with no intention other than to find a physical outlet for stress.

Jericho threw another leg kick, and this time Masozi switched her weight while pulling her right leg out of the kick’s path. The old man’s leg struck her left leg, not nearly as hard as it would have done to her right, but it was enough to make him grimace as it made an audible, cracking sound as it struck the ceramic plating of the leg. That plating was covered with a layer of Masozi’s own skin, which made it completely indistinguishable from the real thing at a glance—but easily distinguishable when an ordinary shinbone struck it full-force.

Better… Jericho growled again as he moved back, adopting something of a defensive stance which Masozi began to attack with a series of quick, low-power attacks aimed more at making him move his hips than actually hurting him.

But Jericho had too much experience, and he seemed all too glad to accept the pitter-patter of jabs and crosses aimed at his jaw. When her thinly-gloved fists struck his face it was like they were hitting a chunk of carved wood, but she knew everything about Jericho was natural. During his entire life he had steadfastly refused any treatments which would leave him with any artificial components, so Masozi knew that his skull was simply more well-built than most men’s—and she had plenty of experience cracking her fists against men’s thick heads, primarily owing from her competition in several open gender kickboxing and wrestling tournaments.

Jericho swept his foot toward her right leg as her balance briefly left her after she missed with a left hook, and it was all Masozi could do to keep from falling to the ground yet again.

While they were on the feet, Masozi had a reasonable chance against Jericho, but when they were on the ground there was simply nothing she could do against his larger size, greater overall strength, and decades of experience.

She managed to keep her feet beneath her, but Jericho thundered a body kick into her liver which made her limbs briefly feel as though they had lost all of their vigor. She gasped for breath, but found none as Jericho cracked a right cross into the side of her head and pushed a kick at the inner thigh of her new leg.

Masozi nearly overbalanced from the clever attack sequence, but managed to keep her feet beneath her as she made a split second decision. With her stance at that very instant, she could either try to fire a left kick into Jericho’s body or she could step back before launching a right knee at his incoming chin.

She opted for the latter, and even Jericho seemed surprised when she drove with her left leg and slammed her right knee into his jaw after her body rose nearly two feet off the ground—a height only possible due to her augmented leg's superhuman explosiveness.

His eyes briefly went off-target following the hit, and Masozi knew she had the advantage. The pain in her gut, and the weakness in her limbs, seemed to vanish as she went on the offensive with sharp, cracking punches and elbows aimed at Jericho’s head.

Nearly every attack struck home and, while Jericho could have opted to grapple with her, he had agreed not to do so for this particular session. So he backpedaled, blindly blocking with his arms and the occasional knee, but Masozi was simply too fast for him. She hammered a left hook into his gut and then brought a right elbow into his left eye. She followed those with a left knee aimed at his chin, which he managed to partially avoid as he moved his head out of the knee’s path, but she still landed the blow on his shoulder.

As they neared the wall—where several pieces of stationary equipment were neatly stacked—Masozi cocked a left hand which she intended to deliver directly to his ear so she could put the mind-bending old man down for the first time since their sparring sessions had begun.

Jericho unexpectedly planted his feet and fired a right hook at the same time she delivered the overhand left, and his punch was a fraction of a second quicker to arrive on target.

Masozi’s world exploded into stars, and she was vaguely aware of crashing into something metal before even those stars winked out and she was unconscious.

Jericho staggered to a knee as Masozi’s potentially bone-crushing left hand connected with his upper chest, driving him into an exercise bike just after his own punch had connected with the dark-skinned woman’s jaw.

She fell forward, her body’s momentum no longer directed by her will as she crashed into a treadmill which, thankfully, broke her fall far better than the bike had broken Jericho’s. Still, he shook the cobwebs from his mind and went to her side to see if she was all right.

There was a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth, but he saw no teeth missing and her relatively hard landing had seemingly not cost her anything but a bruise to her forehead. Jericho was briefly envious that her beautiful, black skin would hide the bruise far better than his own, pasty skin would ever do.

Good job, Masozi, he grunted as he looped her arm around his neck and moved toward the door which would lead them to the Zhuge Liang’s sickbay. Another couple days of practice and you’d have had me.

She groaned something unintelligible—in a clearly defiant tone—but Jericho knew precisely what she had meant.

I’m sorry, he corrected, knowing that they were still not on a first-name basis—a status which had been entirely her preference, and had also been entirely understandable given how he had manipulated her prior to the Keno Adjustment, I meant to say ‘good job, Adjuster’.

She grunted something and her eyes began to focus just as they entered sickbay. The looks on Drs. Kowalski and Maturin’s faces could not have been further from each other. The former’s expression was a scrunched up scowl, while the latter’s was one of muted amusement tinged with curiosity.

"This is the fourth time this week," Dr. Kowalski snapped as she directed a nearby nurse to help her get Masozi into a bed.

I’m not going to refuse her requests to help with her rehab, Jericho said evenly—a reply which he had made three times previously during their prior visits to sickbay following Masozi’s discharge from the Zhuge Liang’s medical ward. And, frankly, if she wasn’t asking for it I’d probably be demanding she accept it. We’ve got too much in front of us to waste what little time remains before we arrive at our destination.

Dr. Kowalski pointedly ignored Jericho, focusing completely on Masozi as she began a quick neurological assessment as the former Investigator’s consciousness slowly returned.

What about you? Dr. Maturin asked after Jericho had helped Masozi into the bed, with the assistance of Dr. Kowalski and the nurse, and began to turn to leave sickbay.

I’m fine, Jericho said dismissively, rubbing his jaw with his right hand to find that hand come back covered in blood. Only then did he realize that the vision of his right eye was beginning to narrow.

He blinked forcefully, finding that his right eye had begun to swell. Dr. Maturin’s grin returned as he picked up a cryo-suture device and gestured for Jericho to lie down on a nearby bed.

Jericho sighed with audible frustration as he complied with the doctor’s advice. After he sat down on the bed, the doctor began to clean his eye—which apparently had a two inch long cut to the side of it, with a golf-ball sized knot above that—and Jericho grumbled, I’m getting too old for this shit.

Chapter III: History Lessons & A Cry For Help

Not long after Dr. Maturin had finished his work on Jericho’s eye, Jericho and Masozi left the sickbay in silence as they made their way to the galley. Jericho knew that Masozi was still angry about his having deceived her during their previous mission, but he also knew that a person with a psychological profile like hers would be unable to hold onto a grudge for too long.

His conversations with her had confirmed that she was a pragmatist, which was why she had accepted her role in Jericho’s mission—a mission which had been personally handed down to him by Stephen Hadden. Director Hadden had, prior to his death at the massacre of H.E. One, enlisted Jericho’s aid for a task so dangerous, so secretive, and so important that only a handful of people even knew about it. And the truth was that even Jericho did not know everything which Stephen Hadden had known.

Not even the Zhuge Liang’s captain, who was Jericho’s cousin, knew the nature of Jericho’s mission. Only Director Stephen R. Hadden, Hadden’s son—who had abandoned the family name prior to his death—Jericho, and possibly Hadden’s personal assistance, Shirley Schmidt, knew enough of the mission to possibly compromise it.

Jericho knew it was time to include Masozi in that group, so he wordlessly led her to the galley where they each collected a tray of food which they took to the far end of the room before sitting opposite each other.

The waves of indignation and anger pouring off Masozi were almost palpable, though she hid those feelings better than she had done just a few days earlier. Still, Jericho didn’t have time to coddle her; they were nearly at their first stop, which meant she would need to be briefed quickly so that she would be ready for the tribunal.

You know that we’ve accepted the Adjustment for Han-Ramil Blanco, Jericho said matter-of-factly as he stabbed his spork into the lumpy pile of starch—which was likely supposed to emulate mashed potatoes but failed spectacularly in terms of texture and taste.

I know that you were going to kill my cousin, Han-Ramil Blanco, even before we met, Masozi fired back as she skewered the only genuine article on the platter of food: sliced carrots with string beans. "And I know that you involved me in this because you think I can be of some use in that effort. What I don’t know is how you think I can help, she said hotly after chewing the mouthful of vegetables. You’ve been doing this for quite a while, and it’s clear you don’t lack financial support," she added with a pointed look at the warship’s galley.

Jericho nodded, glad that she had driven straight to the heart of the matter. It’s true that Blanco’s Adjustment—

Assassination, Masozi cut in harshly, let’s not cloak what we’re going to do in verbiage that makes it seem less barbaric. I may have accepted the title of Adjuster, but that doesn’t mean I need to hide behind it.

Jericho met her deep, brown eyes with a piercing, unyielding glare from which she almost imperceptibly recoiled. He wouldn’t have noticed her do so had he not spent so much time with her and studied her mannerisms so intently but, after seeing he had achieved the desired effect, he relaxed fractionally and shook his head.

"No, it’s not an assassination. An assassination suggests personal motive, either on the assassin’s part or on the part of the one who directs the assassin. Firstly, he explained as he bit into the protein loaf—which somehow managed to be even less palatable than the fake mashed potatoes, we don’t get paid—or, at least, we’re not supposed to profit financially. We’re public servants, he said as he swallowed the pasty, flavorless protein, and we don’t have any personal stake in initiating an Adjustment. That process is entirely up to the voters."

You had a stake in Governor Keno’s death, Masozi retorted, you even admitted that you wish it had been you, rather than me, who ended her life.

Jericho shook his head evenly, A prior connection to an Adjustee doesn’t preclude an Adjuster from executing the public’s will. In fact, it’s generally preferable for someone with at least a distant connection to the Adjustee to be directly involved in the Adjustment. Such a connection compels the Adjuster to take a longer, harder look at the Adjustment than he or she would if it was a simple assassination.

Is that why Infectus level Adjustments can only be carried out by a local Adjuster? Masozi asked, her inquisitive nature blooming before Jericho’s eyes and overshadowing the previously gloomy, sullen mood which had dominated her affect since their training sessions had begun.

That’s part of it, yes, Jericho confirmed, "probably even most of it. But the truth is we don’t know exactly why many of the protocols which are in place for the Timent Electorum were put there. There’s no official author of record for the First through Fifth Rights, he explained, nor is there a complete list of contributors, which is markedly different than the rest of the founding Rights of the Chimera Sector’s society. There are examples of similar—more poorly worded