Shattered Throne

Miles tried to remember if his department had recently committed any errors. Other than the exploration teams themselves, Research and Information was one of the busiest areas in TF, the one gathering data for the survey/inspection units, giving them everything they could possibly discover beforehand about a certain planet, its topography, minerals, flora and fauna, etc., and if it was inhabited, the customs and social mores, before the crew left Terra.

Afterward, they collated whatever intelligence was sent back and submitted it to the Board that in turn made a decision of whether or not to pursue interaction with the subject.

Research and Information generally knew more about things off-planet than the teams themselves, and as far as Miles knew, his unit had a ninety-nine point seven percent accuracy rating for the past five years. Whatever was bothering C.J., his department couldn’t be at fault.

The VP stopped in front of the window facing the TF Building’s north car park. Below, nestled in its stall, Miles’s LAZER-3000 was visible. There were only three of the craft in the country, all belonging to TF employees.

Without looking at Miles, he said, “How do you like the 3000?”

“It’s all right,” Miles answered, a little surprised, and wondering why he’d been called in to talk about his new car. “A little unsteady on the higher levels.”

“I hear it gets good air-mileage.”

“It does. Makes up for the bumpy rides because we get there quicker.” Rather than continue with small talk, Miles decided to just ask, “C.J., what’s—”

“I don’t believe there’s anyone at TF who isn’t aware of your unique relationship with the margravine of Arcanis,” C.J. interrupted, finally getting to the point.

“I supposed that’s true,” Miles’ answer was cautious.

He’d never tried to hide it. Never bragged either and certainly hadn’t capitalized on it.

He could’ve used the fact that he was the margravine’s uncle to start at the top with TF after his return to Terra, but he wanted any promotion he got to be on his own merits.

C.J. turned to him. He was a short, stout man, dressed in the height of masculine fashion, in a three-piece suit consisting of open-lapel tunic and vest, ascot and shirt, and straight-legged trousers, unlike Miles who usually bummed around in Levis and sweatshirt under his lab coat.

“How long has it been since you’ve heard from your niece?”

Miles considered. “About…damn, nearly two years now.”

He couldn’t believe it had been that long?

He’d gotten so involved with work he hadn’t realized it. In her last communication, Pallas told him he might not hear from her for a while. A project her husband, the First Officer to the Court, was working on was nearly completed, and there were a few things to take care of.  Then, Miles involved himself in some project and he simply…forgot. The fact that Arcanis was so far away, and Terran spatial mails to other galaxies still primitively slow had helped.

“What is it? Has something happened?”

“We got word this morning. Apparently, there’s been civil war on Arcanis.” C.J. returned to the desk, sitting down again.

Miles looked startled.

“About three months ago, one of our relay stations picked up a transmission. It was pretty garbled, but from what they could decipher, they’ve been fighting for almost two years.”

Miles realized he was gripping the grid so tightly the plasticon bent under his fingers. He forced his hands to relax.

“Why did they wait so long to forward the information?” It wasn’t the place of any station to suppress information. All data was to be sent to the South Carolina HQ immediately.

“They wanted to get it verified.”

“Did they?”

Stupid question. Of course, they did, or C.J. wouldn’t be telling him.

C.J. nodded. “Apparently, the First Officer to the Crown accused the Council of Elders of sedition and called for their arrests.”

An icy shock zinged through Miles, so sharp he actually flinched. He did it. Aric actually carried out his threat.

“They managed to keep it confined to the Inner Planets where none of our teams would find out, but according to all we’ve been able to discover, the entire planet immediately broke onto Pro-Royal and Pro-Council factions. Fighting involved the planet and the spaceways around it. The Pro-Council forces were using the other planets as arming bases.”

“Were using? It’s over then?”

“Yes, but I don’t think anyone’s claiming a victory. There’s a plague loose on Arcanis. Platan Fever.”

“Platan Fever’s unknown in the Emeraunt.” Miles the Researcher kicked in. Platan Fever was nasty, causing the victim a long, lingering, and disfiguring death.

“There’s never been a case documented past the Solar System. How—”

“That breakout at the Centrus Penal Asteroid six months ago. One of the inmates was in Isolation with the fever. He escaped with the others, and they made their way to the Emeraunt to hide out.”

“The Arcanians…probably none of them are vaccinated against it. They’ll be wiped out.”

“Not if we can help it.” C.J. smiled slightly. “TF has been accused of being all about credits, but we do have a humanitarian side.”

Miles let himself react mentally to that.

TerraFormation had interests in many aspects of business, as well as having a finger in a good many political, technological, and entertainment pies. On more than one occasion, the conglomerate had been accused of industrial espionage, bribery, and monopolies as well as being in cahoots with the Federation. Allegations were denied by both the company and the government and never proven. While a good many might actually have a basis in fact, the consensus of the general public was that anything said against the company was mere jealousy on the part of lesser businesses.

Miles had worked for TerraFormation long enough to appreciate the good the organization did for the galaxy, as well as the way it took excellent care of its employees, no matter whatever else it did to succeed. He was an example of that…an orphan, raised by TF retirees, educated by the company and employed by it upon graduation. He’d risen through the ranks to his current position.

…and I’m certainly not going to upset my own applecart by saying anything against the hand feeding me. 

That might be mixing metaphors or something, but it was the way he felt, with absolutely no guilt involved.

“TF’s outfitting a hospital ship with supplies and plenty of vaccine,” C.J.’s explanation broke into his thoughts. “…to leave in three days, and we want you in charge, Miles. You know the Arcanians. You’re more or less one of them.”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

“Close enough,” C.J. dismissed his disclaimer. “Whatever custom or rules have to be adhered to in order to get this vaccine to them, they may listen to you quicker than to a stranger. Besides, Research and Information will be involved, anyway, if only to supply information.”

Miles thought about that. Leaving would mean abandoning his project, but it wasn’t so important it couldn’t be delayed, especially when human lives were involved. He had to admit, just thinking of being in the field again, brought a sudden stirring of excitement.

“If the plague gets off-planet, which it very well may with those scattered rebel bases, the entire galaxy could become unfit for human existence…and there are our own holdings to think about.”

“I should’ve known this wasn’t a purely humanitarian effort.” Miles allowed himself a slight laugh, having no recrimination in it. It was practically a standing joke within the company that TF wanted all it could get but at the same time, it would help any time it could.

He decided to ignore the commercial aspect of the trip and concentrate on the humanitarian.

Let someone else think about the credits.

“So, we’re to help the Arcanians and at the same time keep the Emeraunt safe for TF’s operations. Right?”

“I won’t say we’re not looking out for our own interests.” C.J. was nothing if not blunt, and he didn’t take offense at Miles’ sarcasm.

TF was shameless in the way it practically thumbed its corporate nose at notoriety while endearing itself to the public.

“May as well admit it. TerraFormation has a lot of money and manpower invested in commerce with the Emeraunt. It’s in everyone’s interest to do what we can. One would almost certainly follow the other.”

“Three days doesn’t give me much time.”

“You’ve an assistant. Now’s the time to find out how good he is,” C.J. said.

I wasn’t talking about work. Miles didn’t say that aloud.