Chương 42: Subject E-01

Shamballa, Asteroid 2679 WLX The Singularity November 2, 2847 Being seated at his father's left hand never failed to remind Ogden Autenrieth-Fujita of precisely where he stood. The long table from which the elder Autenrieth-Fujita commanded the vast machinery of the mega-corporation was striking, in and of itself: two long slices of genuine, Terran black walnut had been carefully fitted into a rectangular slab of black marble, so that the two trunks of some once-living trees seemed to have been flayed open.

The rings and whorls of the polished wood reminded Ogden of a human body opened for surgery and put on display. There was something unnaturally naked about the table, something disturbing and repulsive. Buried within the frame that supported the structure, Ogden knew that there lurked a panoply of cutting-edge technology, updated at regular intervals by both Autenrieth-Fujita Corporation's security forces, and by their research and development division.

Artfully concealed holo-projectors waited only for the connection of an executive's neural lace and assistant AI to spring into life, filling the air above the table with profit projections, blueprints, or video clips of some new weapons test.

A panic button beneath the head of the table, keyed to his father's genetic signature, could seal the room at a touch, and drop it down through a shaft into the depths of the asteroid, far beneath Shamballa, where half a dozen layers of warship-grade armor would close above them. It was the holo-projectors which were currently in use, under the control of Andrietta Steytler, the regional director in charge of the corporation's operations within the Imperium Stellarum.

Steytler looked to be a woman no older than her middle thirties, with ash-blonde hair that was very nearly gray, and cybernetic eyes which faded from a ring of black at the outside of the iris, through a metallic silver, finally settling on an inner ring of brilliant white. Her fingernails were perfectly manicured to match, and Ogden knew that while she appeared to be youthful, Steytler was nearly two-hundred years old.

He'd always wondered whether she was sleeping with his father and found the mere idea of it nauseating.

"We know that the Na'xir swarm hit LHS 1140, named Hav'eth by the LeShaii, sometime around the middle of September," Steytler explained, as a star map focused in on a world that had only recently been shaded in imperial colors.

"By the end of the month, the Fifth Imperial Fleet sent a carrier group, under Admiral Wai, to take the planet back. We know that they reached the gate at Shai'veth on the ninth of October, after resupplying at the LeShaii home world there."

"And the results?" Ogden's father asked, tapping two withered fingers in rhythm against the surface of the table, which had been polished to almost a mirror sheen. Ogden did not miss the moment when the CEO of Autenrieth-Fujita shot another look to the empty chair at his right, where his vice president should have been sitting.

"Three imperial automated communications buoys have come back through the gate, transmitted an encrypted message, and been collected by the LeShaii," Steytler continued. The holo-projector flickered, presumably at her mental command, to display the corporation's current files on the latest model of imperial ACBs; Ogden didn't bother to read it.

"The first arrived less than a day after Wai's carrier group departed. We can assume that it was sent as soon as he arrived at Hav'eth, and contained a snapshot of the situation in system at the time of his arrival," Steytler said.

"The second came through three days after that, and the timing is consistent with what we might expect from Wai making a hard burn for Hav'eth, then sending an ACB back to the gate at L2 after an initial engagement."

"Which implies that the admiral was still alive, or at least that his command structure was to some extent intact," Lobar Shioya said. The director of Autenrieth-Fujita's security forces steepled his fingers beneath his chin.

"At least, as of the time that buoy was sent. They either won the initial engagement or at least were not utterly destroyed."

"The third and final buoy arrived at Shai'veth on October twenty-ninth," Steytler concluded.

"We don't know what it contained, but I can confirm that elements of the Imperial Second Fleet, under Vice Admiral Farragut Madine, are now moving."

"Not a complete victory, then," Shioya said.

"Wai wants reinforcements."

"What does it mean?" Ogden's father asked.

"Are they getting chased out of the system?" The old man had difficulty hiding the twinkle in his eye at the prospect of imperial forces being handed a defeat.

"He may have established orbital superiority and realized that he didn't have the ground troops to finish taking back the planet," Shioya speculated.

"Or he might have won an initial victory, only to detect additional swarm forces coming into the system. Without breaking the encryption on those transmissions, it's difficult to say. I believe that we can act under the assumption, however, that the Imperium has found itself bogged down in an operation which they expected to be quick and clean."

"You think this isn't just a border skirmish against the Na'xir," the old man said.

"You think it's going to turn into a drawn-out war." Shioya grimaced and shifted in his seat.

"I don't have enough information to say for certain," he prevaricated.

"But they wouldn't be sending in more ships for no reason."

"Good." Ogden's father leaned back in his chair.

"Excellent. It appears that my son's recent acquisition was somewhat prescient. Where there is war, there is money to be made. How soon can you have the Livingston-Baylies factories turning out replacement parts and ammunition for imperial mechs, boy?" Ogden connected to the table's holoprojectors, using the moment it took him to bring up a summary of their new manufacturing capabilities as an excuse to delay answering his father's question, or even looking at the man.

The last thing he wanted to use those factories for was supplying the Imperium Stellarum with replacement parts. Not when he needed the entire production capacity for his own plans. He cleared his throat and took a drink from the glass of distilled water on the table in front of him. Thankfully, a distraction was due at any moment, and he only needed to stall the meeting for a short while—just long enough to put his father off.

"There are a number of proprietary technologies and components used in third-generation imperial line mechs that we won't be able to produce at all," Ogden explained, sorting two tables of text for the projector. One he shaded in blue, and the other in red.

"The easiest to produce are the solid-state batteries, of course; those are standardized between the imperials and our own production facilities. Shells and missiles are simple enough, though I'm not certain it's either cost effective or wise to be shipping them nuclear warheads.

When it comes to things like their proprietary adaptive armor designs, of course –" The door to the suite opened, and a uniformed member of the corporation's security forces ducked into the room, made her way around the table to Director Shioya, and leaned in to whisper in his ear. The systems which secured the board-room's privacy had also prevented her, of course, from simply sending a message between their AIs.

Lobar Shioya was not a man who often showed surprise on his face; but in this instance, Ogden was looking for it. Waiting for it. A flicker at the eyes, a stiffening of the spine. Once his subordinate finished speaking, Shioya stood up from his chair.

"I'm afraid that I am going to have to interrupt this meeting," Shioya said.

"I have just received word that there has been a terrible accident. A grav-truck carrying several tons of food for the casino kitchens hit Vice President Rensburg's car while he was on his way to join us. I am told that he was dead by the time emergency services arrived." This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Ogden had the sudden thought that the performance he gave then could have won him every major acting award in either the Singularity, or the Imperium.

There wasn't a leading lady on a single holo-drama who had ever more perfectly concealed a smile of satisfaction at a job well done or painted her face in utter astonishment.

"Marten?" his father gasped, rising up from his chair instinctively. The old man's face drained of color, and for just a moment Ogden wondered whether the shock of the news would render any further actions on his part unnecessary. But no, even if his father's body had rejected the genetic virus which would have lengthened his telomeres and kept him young, the artificial heart which kept his blood pumping bore none of the weaknesses of the flesh.

"It can't be," the CEO of Autenrieth-Fujita nearly stumbled away from the table. For the first time that Ogden could remember, his father looked directionless.

"This is a horrible blow to all of us," Ogden said, rising from his own seat and stepping into the vacuum left by his father's momentary incapacitation.

"The meeting is, of course, adjourned. Director Shioya, I want a report on how this happened on my desk within forty-eight hours. Uncle Marten was not just a member of this board, he was family." He turned to the director of marketing, Fredrica Theron.

"We need a statement prepared and released immediately. Autenrieth-Fujita is shocked and saddened by this sudden, senseless loss. A retrospective on Uncle Marten's career here…"

"I'll get our best people on it right away," Fredrica promised.

"It will be released within the hour."

"Thank you." Ogden looked around the table at each of the directors in turn, meeting their eyes one by one as they stood.

"My father and I would like the room, please."

"Of course." Shioya ushered everyone out until, with the closing of the door, Ogden and his father were utterly alone. He forced himself over to where his father leaned heavily, supporting his weight on both arms, hands resting on the back of his chair. Solicitously, like a proper son, Ogden placed one hand on the old man's shoulder.

"I can't believe it." Ogden's father shook his head.

"I thought Marten would be here long after I was gone, to help steer you when you stepped into my shoes…" Which is, father, precisely why he needed to be removed, Ogden thought. 𝝮 It wasn't until that evening that he was finally able to get away. The death of his oldest friend had taken something from Ogden Autenrieth-Fujita Senior, to a degree which his son had neither hoped, nor expected, but which was, nonetheless, welcome. The old man was like a deflated balloon.

It was a fortunate thing, Ogden reflected while he rode the secure elevator down to the R&D levels, that he'd wasted no time in marrying Evelyn. The woman might detest her own husband, but she'd stepped without hesitation into the role of a dutiful daughter-in-law at the collapse of Ogden's father. She had far too much empathy for her own good. It made her easily manipulable. Useful, in her own way, but not someone he could ever trust, even if she hadn't hated him with every fiber of her being.

When he'd left them back at the penthouse suite, his father had been two tumblers of scotch in, reminiscing on the days when he and Marten Rensburg had been university roommates. How Evelyn had managed to listen to the maudlin nonsense was beyond Ogden, but his father had hardly even noticed when he'd finally slipped out. The doors of the elevator hissed open, and Ogden stalked through the corridor on the fifth level to the experimental neural lace labs.

Doctor Addis had, as Ogden had instructed, been warned to expect him, and he waited nervously just outside the labs with two of his assistants, nervously wringing his hands. Ogden took it as a sign of how thoroughly brow beaten the doctor had become—a good thing. He had no use for minions with intact spines.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Mr. Autenrieth-Fujita?" Doctor Addis asked. His hair was an unkempt mess.

"I wish to see the subjects," Ogden said, walking straight past the doctor and through the doors, forcing the man to scurry after him or fall behind.

"My AI has gone over your most recent reports. I'm pleased at your success in reconstructing the neural tissue."

"I would caution you that we are in, to be plain, uncharted territory," Addis said, from a place just behind Ogden's elbow.

"Many of the specimens delivered to us by Miss Royce were not in the best condition upon arrival. While the degrees of brain damage varied between one subject and the next, I wouldn't call any of them whole…" Ogden paused, just outside of a door marked 'Ward 1,' and turned to face the doctor. The sudden motion forced Addis and his helpers to stop abruptly, or risk running into him.

"But they are functional, as you said in your report?"

"Oh, yes," Addis assured him.

"Physical capability is, to be frank, the most easily restored using extensive networks of lace. No, what they've lost the most of is memory. Memory, and language," he admitted.

"We have them running training programs to help with the second, but there's simply no way to restore the first." Ogden waved a hand as if swatting an insect.

"I don't need their memories," he said.

"In fact, the less they have the better. I'll see them now."

"Of course." Addis moved past him, and the doctor's AI interfaced with the lock on the door. The light above the handle switched from red to green, and the man swung the door open, then stepped through and held it open, bowing his head as if Ogden was some imperium aristocrat. In the ward, Ogden saw, there were two rows of hospital beds, set against each wall and leaving a long walkway down the rectangular room.

Each bed was enclosed by curtains which could be opened or closed with a simple tug, granting the bare minimum of privacy. Medical monitors quietly beeped and glowed, one for each patient.

"We sedate them at night," Addis explained, closing the door behind them and lowering his voice.

"Many of the subjects retain symptoms of post-traumatic stress, in spite of their memory loss and rebuilt neural tissue. Ironically, memories reinforced by trauma seem to be almost more durable than those of their loved ones… in any case, this prevents the worst of the nightmares."

"I want a few that can be trained," Ogden said.

"I require high reflex scores and good physical health, as well as the ability to learn quickly. The less their memories are intact, the better."

"Trained in what?" Addis asked, and Ogden shot him a look.

"I don't need to know the specifics," the doctor stammered.

"But the more detail you can give me, the better choice I'll be able to help you make." Ogden frowned for a moment and then sighed. He could always have the man disposed of when he was no longer necessary, of course.

"I need more pilot training data," he said. The Erinyes program had proved particularly voracious, and what he was pulling every few months from Annie Royce simply wasn't enough to build a model of sufficient complexity. Addis nodded.

"Let me show you a few that might suit your needs, then. This way." He led Ogden down the rows of beds, until he reached a closed curtain that seemed to have no particular distinguishing feature to mark it out from any other. Addis, however, gave a satisfied nod and pulled the curtain open. There, sleeping on the bed, was a young woman whose hair had only just begun to grow back. She might have been pretty, under different circumstances, Ogden decided, but the scars on her scalp put an end to that.

Her left arm was missing from the elbow down.

"This subject was a trained pilot prior to being collected," Addis assured him.

"Cargo ships, I believe. You should be able to build on those skills, that muscle memory."

"She'll need a new arm," Ogden pointed out.

"That won't be a problem," Addis promised.

"So long as you sign off on the requisition, I can have the latest model installed within, say, forty-eight hours. A short period of physical rehabilitation, and you can have her." Ogden nodded, slowly. She didn't look like much, but he supposed that she would do.

"I'll need more than one," he told Addis.

"How many can you give me?"

"This subject is in the best condition for what you want," Addis said.

"But I think there are three or four more in reasonable shape. Let me show you the next—across the aisle and two beds down. He was a dock loader, and trained in using a wide variety of industrial exoskeletons…" Rather than follow the doctor immediately, Ogden stepped over to the flat screen that displayed the woman's medical information. He tapped at the screen until he found her biographical data and frowned when he saw that there was a name still listed.

"These subjects don't require names any longer, Doctor Addis," Ogden declared.

"I want them all deleted immediately. Nothing to trigger their memories." And no records that could ever be used against us by the Imperium.

"Of course," Addis said, once again wringing his hands.

"I'll personally see to it that all such data is removed from our records immediately."

"Good." Ogden reached out one last time and stabbed his finger at the woman's name. For just a moment, it blinked there: Phoebe Marielle Sandhurst. Then he deleted the data and typed in a number: 'E-01.' With a satisfied nod, he turned, tugged the curtain closed, and followed Doctor Addis to the next bed.