Chapter 5: 04: INFECTED

General Olet wasn’t physically present at Arbiter Kip Madsen’s quarterly review but Elias sensed the imprint of the man’s influence at the meeting. Ten dragging hours into it, sectioned by topic and coordinated with scheduled breaks that managed to remain tense, and the hunting company executives operating in Madsen’s districts were reminded on repeat that they were abject failures of industry. The better parts of the grueling day, at least for Elias, came from rare but welcome glances from Rose who suffered along with them while seated behind Madsen in a position of privilege, maneuvering her recorders and light keyboards with full concentration as she took notes.

“Your DIF totals across the board are piss-poor,” said Madsen, mouth twisting in disdain after another lengthy breakdown of their numerical shortcomings, this time about their destroyed-in-field weapons ratios. “46% rise in emergency handgun and automatic rifle production requests from Union Arms over the past pair of quarters. Unbelievable. A nasty reminder of the amount of killing power the lot of you hold onto within our borders, and under your imperfect supervision, no less.” Madsen scoffed. “Next you’ll be requesting permits for battalions of gunships and probably claim those are for air shows to get the permits approved.”

Elias met Madsen’s gaze from across the war room table, ready to take on the arbiter first and directly. “Your Honor,” he said, rough voice booming in the quiet. “On behalf of Silatem I’ll kindly advise you yet another time that we had a major supply compound destroyed within the North-Northwest sector. The rest of the men here, well…they’ve also provided similar reports throughout this review. I’m not sure how many times we have to repeat the same details for you to get this. The meteoric rise in supply requests aren’t a fluke, there’s a direct and identifiable cause.”

Director Hodges of Veratec Security, a former captain for Union Defense like Elias who’d instead taken over a Union-backed hunting division, was less successful at hiding his irritation. The tired man rubbed his jaw, where three days of growth bristled out in need of maintenance.

“Right,” Hodges added sourly. “We catch trouble in your districts, Arbiter, but you want to wash your hands of any responsibility. I’ll tell you this much, and I’m sure the rest here will agree—we’ve got a real problem with these anti-war loons running around, protesting at our facility borders and causing chaos. Someone manages to sneak in and plant some bombs that detonate off-hours and everything we’ve got is destroyed in a flash.” He waved his arm to illustrate the point. “That’s the firepower you should be most worried about. Looking for the reason why our ratios are in a tailspin? Just as President Pendergast states, the answer’s right in front of your face if you’d bother to look.”

“Silatem, alone,” added Elias, nodding at Hodges, “has lost enough weapons and gear to supply ten thousand men. We invested for years in our NNW facility to establish it as a major producer and now…that’s all been crushed by hostile hands. After reviewing the terms of our treaties and finding Union fingerprints all over our operations by regulation you owe us some answers, sir. Retribution, too, before Silatem’s forced to file suit for these losses. Wouldn’t be the highlight of my day to tangle with MOJ but it’s a real option at this point.”

“Complaint noted, Mr. President. Justice is aware of the brewing civil unrest surrounding hunters and how it might affect you. However, there are no grounds for a suit yet nor for pointing accusations at your lifelong partners. You’d be wasting the court’s time.” Madsen primly adjusted the polished buttons on his jacket. “Residents don’t care about your excuses. All they see are the numbers of arms you carry under the flimsiest of Union banners and those numbers terrify them.”

“If residents knew half the shit we stopped—” started Hodges.

“Language, Director,” said Madsen. “You’re on the clock. Decorum is expected and required.”

Hodges cleared his throat before adjusting his tone. “All right. If residents were aware of…half of the infectious outbreaks we’ve stopped from reaching their precious society they might think we were superheroes. Maybe throw a parade. A little respect would be nice to receive and a 'thank you’ would be great to hear.”

Madsen sighed. “That isn’t a Ministry concern. I recommend recording your feelings in private company logs, or perhaps a diary. I’ll advise you that there’s a jet waiting to take me back to Capitol City where I’ll have my own review to attend, one where I’m forced to explain your dismal statistics to the commission and justify the continued existence of your elaborate storehouses. Quite a Happy Harvest waits for me.” Madsen glared at each man present, eleven in total for his zone. “I’d like to get on that jet sometime today. That won’t happen with these interruptions.”

Admiral Heywood, who’d remained silent for most of the proceedings seated to Madsen’s left, cleared his throat and gestured to the arbiter. “Please, Arbiter. Continue. Defense is also anxious to close for the day.”

Madsen turned to Rose, whose dark ponytail bobbed along with the thump-thump of her fingers against the projected keyboard. She raised her head, peering at the back of the arbiter’s head over the frame of her small round glasses.

“Strike Mr. Hodge’s offensive commentary from the minutes, Ms. Desjard,” he said. “Please.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied with a short nod.

She swiped her finger across the display hovering before her, tapping it once before returning to her thump-thumps. Her gaze fell on Elias for just a fraction of a moment and she broke into a slight smile, which he acknowledged with his own.

“Union’s raw materials industry could be put to better use over creating weapons of destruction,” said the arbiter to the executives. “Regardless of whether your companies are an exclusive arm of the Union Galactic Alliance or not, your performance numbers are factored into our Defense statistics. That means you represent Union first as long as your treaties are active. That’s if you’d like to continue operating within our borders.”

Elias coughed to conceal an escaped chuckle. Madsen’s attention streaked toward Elias.

“Mr. Pendergast?” he said. “Something wrong?”

“Ah…no.”

“You seem restless.”

Restless. Elias paused to think to himself. His response should be according to protocol, because over two hundred thousand denizens of Silatem worldwide—the hunters, the operating staff, and their residing families—depended on him to maintain Silatem’s success. Everything he did and said had to be in their best interests and not his own. However, on days like today, his normal filter slipped a bit and he nudged the line.

“How do you expect us to defend against another attack when UIA can’t provide a suspect on this matter?” he said. “We’re not authorized to conduct our own intelligence on those explosives, not without a verified work order. To get that work order, we have to wait on your approval. But you won’t grant us the access, because the culprits are your residents and you’ll never give them over to Silatem. I presume the official line from your agencies will be that you have no idea who’s behind this but you've got it under control. Right?”

“We could end this today if MOJ had the guts,” said Director Tota seated a few spaces away from Elias at the war table. “We know who’s doing this. I’d bet good gilar UIA knows who did this too. We have to stop pretending extreme politics are just ideas and not action. That god-damned flower power group—what’s their name again?”

“Monkshood,” finished Millburn, a captain seated a meter away from Tota. “Monkshood Militia. Been watching them too from my end.”

“That’s right—that’s what they’re called.” Tota nodded. “Growing fast. Stirring trouble. Organizing loud protests to ruin everyone’s day, leaving a mess wherever they congregate.”

Millburn leaned back in his seat. “That name. Monkshood. If I remember correctly from Wildlife Biology all those years ago, Junior level, matter of fact, Monkshood’s not a pretty little plant to admire. It’s poison. Group’s telling us exactly what they are.”

“Right. So—” Tota’s tense focus rested back on Madsen. “Your Honor, it’s time you tasked Civil Defense to rustle Monkshood’s feathers. I’m sure you can find plenty of ordinances they’ve broken. Save us a lot of future trouble until this matter’s cleared up. Lot of money too.”

“No.” Madsen shook his head. “Unfortunately for all of you, Monkshood Militia is registered as a legal community organization, one with a platform that many, many Union residents agree with. Most people don’t want violence anywhere near them, we’ve had enough at this point and many of us lived through the Time Of Trouble. If the attacks on your facilities were public knowledge you’d likely see residents celebrating them.”

“What does that mean then, Arbiter?” asked Heywood. “The hunters deserve protection and justice for their dedicated service. There has to be guarantee of Union support when their livelihoods are threatened. The amount of their losses remains incalculable in full scope, both current and future projections for time lost. This can’t continue without an agreeable resolution.”

“Admiral,” Madsen said, sighing once more in that boorish way Elias despised that indicated systemic incompetence was somehow everyone else’s fault. “You know the process well. If we discover through legal means that the group, or any group, participates in domestic terrorism we’ll launch an investigation. Until that happens it’s in everyone’s best interest to move on and improve security.”

“How you propose they do that?”

“A few ideas. Increase staffing and surveillance. Install continuous live stream remote monitoring. Apply for permit upgrades to increase the number of armed guards authorized to patrol the facilities. Infrared shields would help too—and we have permits available for that as well.”

“Of course there are permits,” grumbled Tota. “Probably permits for applying for permits, along with the honor of employing more Union contractors to monitor our private wares.”

“It’s how things get done, Director. How things stay organized. Professional and through regulation, protecting all parties involved.”

“That costs a hell of a lot for protection that’s yet to be seen,” said Elias. “Not counting the wait time for those permits—during Harvest, no less, if they’re even approved the first time around.” He folded his hands in front of him, his stare steady on the arbiter. “Your Honor, Silatem has its own operating budgets. I’ve got to stick to my guidelines. I doubt Defense is going to kick back more to our insurance claims any time soon.”

“Maybe if you shared your science our Treasury would be friendlier to you. The more you involve your work with Union’s the more that expenses in your direction are justified. It’s only fair. This is the part of our business that requires human understanding between parties. Otherwise, we’d let any foreign entity do as they please and give nothing back as they benefit from us.” Madsen straightened the equipment in front of him without looking at Elias. “Not to mention, as an additional plus, partnership with Union leads to cheaper and faster production. Faster approvals. A win for everyone involved. Don’t you agree?”

Elias concealed more quiet humor within another quick cough. “No disrespect intended to the men here,” he said, “but there’s a reason Silatem’s been around since the launch of this settlement. It’s not because we give away what makes us who we are. People join us for the explicit purpose of making what we do better. We focus efforts to study the nuances of the infection in a lot of different ways, not just for war. You purchase our excellent sedation therapies, last I checked, so you benefit greatly from what we do on your end.”

Madsen smiled. “Well,” he said. “That may be true. There’s another alternative to lower Silatem's costs, too. Your company’s privately owned between yourself, your brother, and your mother. That executive board of yours is just a formality to alleviate command strains. You can order your company officers to approve personal investments into Silatem’s coffers and lo, they’d do as you ask, because you’re the boss and that’s all that matters. You’re worth…billions, aren’t you? Just on your own. Wealthy man.”

“Our work proves our rewards. I’m not ashamed of what we accomplish. What I earn.”

“Nor should you be. But it’s not out of bounds for you to give back to the company that made you what you are. Please keep your options in mind while you complete the terms of your suspension.”

Elias smiled openly at last. “Thanks, Arbiter. I appreciate the input.”

“My pleasure, Captain.”

Madsen called the end to the meeting after a final review. Rose stopped typing at his word and flicked off her projectors while he collected his devices. He addressed the men again, standing before them.

“Do whatever you need to do to bring your ratios to an acceptable standard,” he said. “Preferably before the close of next quarter, to prevent another meeting like this.”

“Like what?” grunted Millburn. “Let parasites feed and infect in RedSect so we get better kill numbers? That would justify the request spike for arms. Just…look the other way for a while before cleaning house.”

“Well,” said Madsen. “I don’t know how your kind runs this business but I’ll tell you this—your association with Union should always enhance, not tarnish, the reputation of our alliance.” He straightened his jacket and stood tall. “Keep that in mind while you navigate possible solutions. Good day, gentlemen.”

The arbiter exited without a goodbye and Rose followed, glancing at Elias before she left. His eyes followed her for a few moments, scanning her swinging ponytail and hips, before turning his attention to the other executives all voicing their objections to Heywood.

“This is bullshit!”

“You’re not going to do a damn thing, are you Shawn?”

“I’m not dealing with another one of these. You better fix this.”

“Treasury’s gonna need some credits happening here—”

“Enough,” said Heywood, silencing the outbursts from the hunters. “I hear you and you know what this is. The standards are part of your treaties. Like the arbiter said, there’s not much we can do until we have verified intelligence to keep your actions legal. It’s a joke. I know. But I’ll work on that and this won’t be the end. For now, I need you to keep moving and do your jobs. We’ll settle this as we proceed.”

Tota folded his arms, shaking his head. “So we’ve got to eat shit with a smile. Got it.”

“That’s where we are,” repeated Heywood. "I don't like it either."

Hodges anchored a sedasig in the corner of his mouth and inhaled, releasing smoke from his nostrils as he broke away from the others. “Happy fucking Harvest everyone,” he grumbled, heading to the door.

Heywood’s narrow stare settled on Elias as the hunters exited the war room and Elias nodded, acknowledging that he remembered Heywood’s earlier request. He stood aside, waiting for the others to leave.

The look on Heywood’s face was familiar, one Elias recognized from his days working for Union Intelligence and providing clandestine services above and beyond his duties as a Defense captain. Heywood needed a favor, one that could only be communicated via a secure method, and the admiral was about to make that request using the privileged clearance they both shared.

“Elias,” said Heywood when the door zipped shut, enclosing them with privacy. The admiral lost formality immediately as they’d been down their current road too many times before. “Got one for you. Hunt in your region. Strict discretion necessary. Class A1-5.”

Elias scowled. A1-5. A fucking hunt. That was it.

“You contacted me at the crack of nothing for an A1-5 hunt,” he rasped, already irate. “You’re out of your fucking mind, Shawn. Don’t waste my time. Silatem might be suspended, for now, but I’m not scrounging for work. I guess someone needs to remind you I’m still the fucking president no matter what our status is—”

“The class is a technicality to get things moving without red tape or excessive oversight. I’ll bonus you myself from the treasury, triple rate, and credit it toward any permits you may need. Expedited service. I’ll also get the fucking suspension lifted by bending every friendly ear I’ve got, which should tell you how serious I am about this.”

“You’ll get the suspension lifted because you know they screwed me.” Elias narrowed his gaze with bitterness. “It’s a game. I’d bet good fucking gilar Concord orchestrated that whole scene to get a rise out of me, crossing the lines in ways that would have gotten me removed for much less, to make Silatem look bad. I don’t operate for Peace or Concord or any fucking party but they’ve got it in for me anyway. Delaurin had no reason to insult my father. He needled me the minute I walked into the room looking to start trouble. I’m not a fucking politician and he learned that fast.”

“I know,” replied Heywood. “And I agree. He hates anything and everything Pendergast by default. Even your brother, I bet, and he’s one of those damn Concords. Silatem, too. Personal axe to grind but it’s over. I can help you. Just need to know if we’re still talking.”

Elias nodded, agreeing officially to continue their discussion. “Yeah. We’re talking. Intelligence transfer acknowledged, UIA to Free Agent. I’m logging the hour and minute of this interaction. Got a host you need handled?”

“Case isn’t from UIA today. The client’s Home Base.”

“Home Base?” Elias spat the name of the administrative agency, tempted to walk away from the offer regardless of Heywood’s promise to help with the suspension. Working with Home Base, the dispatch arm for CDPD, meant increased layers of infuriating Union bureaucracy for nearly every action he completed on the field. “I don’t do maid service for cops,” he said. “You know that. You’re insulting me and my position.”

“This one’s a pet project but its worth your while, since you’ve been hit by those beatnik terrorists. CDPD was hit too except they’re hiding their losses. That gag order came from MOJ before the start of the investigation.”

“Madsen forgot to mention that fun fact during ten hours of that meeting. Made it seem like it’s only hunting companies suffering from this.”

“Everyone’s ordered to keep it quiet,” said Heywood.

You are reading story Native Blood: The Cursed Planet (Book1) at novel35.com

“Means someone inside’s guilty.”

“Interesting take.”

Elias chuckled. “Sure is. MOJ will be crushed with lawsuits the minute the culprit’s detected if it’s an internal conspiracy committed under the cover of our treaty. Should check if there’s an overlap between Monkshood’s ranks and CDPD.”

“Can’t comment on that speculation. What I can say is what I’m authorized to communicate. Home Base tracked incidents occurring at CDPD warehouses and found five targeted over the past ten years with total losses reported. Two of those hits happened within the past few months coinciding with your issues, which is what sparked their attention. Whoever’s behind this is escalating in an alarming way but Justice is dragging feet on a response. They refuse to connect the dots, which is why Home Base submitted their reports to UIA for follow-up.” Heywood’s shrewd gaze remained unblinking as he studied Elias. “Still talking?”

“Aye,” replied Elias.

“UIA forensics teams examined evidence from the NW and NTN sector warehouses after the explosions. No trace of any service weapons in the aftermath. None. Not even a piece of metal or a busted tank. Everything disappeared. Or rather, as the reports describe—vaporized.” Heywood waved a hand in the air to stress the point. “Just piles of structural debris, ash, and broken polymer fragments to comb through. Much like what you reported happened to your facilities.”

“The inventory was stolen,” said Elias, calm. “Not destroyed. The warehouses were raided first and the explosions were a cover. I knew that shit didn’t make any sense and I didn’t want to accept it either.”

Heywood nodded. “Off-hours surveillance feeds at both locations were disabled. Alarms were deactivated with no sign of the source. Monitoring feeds looped the same thirty-second clips on repeat captured hours before the explosions.”

“Someone needs a lot of high level access to arrange something like that.”

“Yep. There’s no record of the incidents themselves. Everything was perfectly fine and then…nothing.” Heywood’s voice lowered. “We processed the data from Home Base and think we’ve pinpointed an insider. UIA would like you to pay him a visit, see if our trail of evidence is leading in the right direction. This might be huge.”

“You think a high-ranking head at CDPD is stealing arms and supplies for…what? Monkshood?” Elias shook his head, unconvinced. “Sounds more like hostile native behavior, especially with the quantity gone. We’ve been down this road before. Not sure why we’re assuming Monkshood—or any Union group—is behind this mess. They wouldn’t want to fight a war right where they live.”

“As far as I’m concerned, whoever did this is hostile. Their methods and reasons don’t matter, or what hole they call home to squat in and take a piss. Even if it’s native the intelligence is solid. We’ve got a hot target that needs expert response now.”

“I don’t kill people anymore, Shawn. That’s what it sounds like you’re asking me to do if this visit goes south. I’m done with that line of work. I have an open industry I stand behind—hunting bloodsucking parasites. Simple shit.”

“I understand.”

“Maybe UIA does need to handle this from start to end.”

“The man’s infected so you wouldn’t be cornering a human. Technically.”

“Infected?”

“Yeah. His headcount belongs to a hunter. That hunter should be you.”

“What’s his stage?”

“He’s new. Gestating. Pinged a couple weeks ago but due to that gag order we can’t add him to Open Call. He’s Stage One.”

Stage One. Meant the target was pinging within thirty days of the genetic change, a mutation that could take up to six months to devolve into rabidity if left untreated. Still human in almost every way, except for the alien parasite slowly snaking its way through his insides and into his brain.

“What do I need to know?” said Elias.

“Name’s Willem Grimley,” said Heywood. “An executive administrative specialist for CDPD Central. He audits inventories for the entire sector and you’ll want to catch him at home after his work day. He’s got a place in NW, right in the middle of the mountains, about five hundred kilometers east of your own residence by the border to North.”

“Great,” remarked Elias.

“Seems like he was siphoning weapons out slowly over time, altering CDPD records to hide the discrepancies in field damage logs. A slow drain—more of a whimper than the bang they used to hide the crimes.”

“Piece of shit.” Elias shook his head, looking aside. “Get my suspension lifted. Now. I need full access to audit my own records and make correlations. If a Union traitor's involved in my losses while I’m forced to have your officials in my spaces—”

“Noted.” Heywood laughed without humor. “Grimley thought he’d get away with it since Union’s so dependent on automated intelligence analysis. Old-fashioned detective work wins where the computer mind fails.” The admiral's demeanor was serious once more. “We need to stop the flow of weapons. Find out where he’s sending them. Sniff out any other partners he might have hiding within CDPD. Whoever’s above him, too.”

“Am I going to need to pull a squad?”

“I’d deem you capable enough on your own but you might want to bring your mission navigator along to facilitate the catch. An extra set of hands—and an extra muzzle on the target—always helps. A waiting pilot in a covert vessel could give you a quicker, cleaner exit as well, streamline the deal. I can authorize all of the above.”

“All right. Go ahead.”

They shook hands in a discreet method, a rapid interlocking of hands and digits that sealed the agreement for the hunt—a seal that, if broken, resulted in death for one or both of them by UIA assassins.

“You’re doing us a huge favor,” said Heywood when they separated. “If anyone can get Grimley to talk it’d be you.”

Elias nodded, easing his sedasig into his mouth as he shifted his mindset for coming action. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Data will be transferred directly to your COM. I don’t think this will take long so you should be able to make it to your mother’s fundraiser. I heard that the priestess—Kazrut and Nigel’s kid, the young one they’re shipping off to marry thr Bheti prince—was scheduled to sing a special hymn in tribute to your father and for the lives lost during the Time Of Trouble.”

“We’ll see.”

“Got it.”

Elias activated the sedasig and took a puff, watching Heywood leave the meeting room first. He remained alone for a short while and enjoyed the flood of synthetic native chemicals in his system, a mild dose compared to the countless real, savage bites he’d suffered on the field.

Rose was still around when he left the war room, appearing before him like a shadow from one of the empty offices that lined the outer hallway. She adjusted her glasses as she paused in front of him and a whiff of her sweet perfume caught his nose—some kind of flower water women liked to wear.

“Can’t get enough, huh?” he said.

“You’d think that,” she replied, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. “You’d say that too.”

“Yeah. I would. Better slow down, Ms. Desjard—I lose interest fast. Don’t let me see you around too much. Aggravates me.”

“You think highly of yourself.”

“Yet you’re here, waiting. For me. I think my opinion of myself is right. You’re the only one who's surprised.”

“Ha.”

He exhaled out of the corner of his mouth. “Thought you and Kippy were in a rush for that jet.”

She tossed her dark ponytail. “1815. Not long from now but ol’ Kippy exaggerated the time crunch. He’s so annoying.”

“Sure is.”

He glanced down when she smoothed the front of his suit jacket.

“So, Captain…where are you off to now?” she asked.

“Work.”

“Work?” She perked with surprise. “Not your mother’s fundraiser? You were invited, weren’t you?”

“Looking to tag along?”

“God, no. Headlines screaming I’m your latest flavor don’t do it for me. I’ll keep issues like you to myself.” She pulled him close. “What are you working on? Something to do with those warehouses, I bet. I know you hunters work fast…you’re the best at what you do.”

“Again, babe—it’s none of your fucking business. You’re way too interested in your job.”

“Right. Hint taken.”

She lingered. So did Elias.

“Looks like you’ve got some time to kill,” he said. “Do you?”

“Few minutes," replied Rose. "Just wanted to see if you had time to kill too, before we go our separate ways.”

“Few minutes. Means another quick one.”

"Yeah. Quick. Dirty." Her touch grazed his waistband. “Where?”

“Hm.” He glanced at the rows of closed doors, including the one that Rose had appeared from. “Place is deserted for the holiday,” he said. “Good as anywhere.”

He guided her back to the empty office as her fingers grazed lower. She smiled, allowing him to ease her back into the quiet room.

“Are you sure about this?” she said. “Not worried about surveillance—or people seeing us together?”

He touched her chin. “This is the penthouse, sweetheart. Special rules. Just you and me right now.”

“Oh. The penthouse. That’s what you call this floor. Bet you say that to all your women.”

“Prefer not to say anything.”

“Even better.”

He guided her face to his and she craned her head to meet him, pulling him into the office as he closed the door. Rose Desjard ended up being the softest thing he touched for a while.

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