The Orion Plague
Plague Wars Series Book 4
by
David VanDyke
The Orion Plague
Smashwords Edition
Published by David VanDyke
Copyright 2012 David VanDyke
All Rights Reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-62626-018-4
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com to purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form, or by any means whatsoever (electronic, mechanical or otherwise) without prior written permission and consent from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Books by David VanDyke
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Epilogue
Cyborg Strike preview
Acknowledgements
Thanks to my friends and fellow science-fiction authors Vaughn Heppner and B.V. Larson, for their tireless encouragement, for persevering and showing me the way.
Thanks to my readers – my lovely wife Beth, my brother Andrew, my father Chet, my friend and fellow author Ryan King, and the members of our Friday Night Writes group – Carol Scheina, R. Brian Roser, and Duane Lee, talented authors all - for their excellent critiques; their feedback has made me a better writer and this book a better novel.
Cover design by Humblenations.com
Books by David VanDyke
Plague Wars Series
The Eden Plague - Book 1
The Demon Plagues - Book 2
The Reaper Plague - Book 3
The Orion Plague - Book 4
Comes The Destroyer - Book 5, coming Summer 2013
Stellar Conquest Series
First Conquest - Book 1 a Novella, coming Spring 2013
Desolator - Book 2 coming Spring 2013
Other Works
Unfettered
Low Justice
For more information visit http://www.davidvandykeauthor.com/
Prologue
Aboard the Meme survey craft, ten months from Earth's Solar System.
Biologist reluctantly answered Commander’s queries regarding the effectiveness of its phage deployment upon the Blue Planet of Species 666, that called themselves Humans. “Although casualties have approached twenty-five percent, the indigenes have countered each phage sufficiently to survive and preserve their technology.”
“You said probability of full infection was eighty percent!”
“Unfortunately eighty percent is not certain,” Biologist whined.
“The facts are not in dispute. You are the Biologist, you must form a plan to achieve success.” Commander mused upon his role, to coordinate, motivate, and decide. Stating the obvious to its subordinates became tiresome. In fact, simply being trapped here in this ship with them was tiresome.
“Biologist has failed,” Executive broke in. “We must initiate my alternate plan.”
“We are not warriors or engineers!” complained Biologist.
“I have sufficient depth of memory to carry out the operation,” Executive said confidently. “My plan will succeed where yours has failed. My plan will wipe out species 666.”
“Then with whom shall we Blend? I grow weary of this form. I desire to achieve the next stage!” Biologist protested.
“If you are so eager to exercise your lusts, why don't you Blend with a lower life form?” Executive’s molecular voice was tinged with contempt.
“Enough!” Commander raised his volume of communication. “Biologist, you shall continue to create phages to confound or kill the Humans. Executive, once we have gathered information, we will put your plan into effect. Better to eradicate them than be punished with dissolution for allowing another Species 447.”
All three shuddered at the mention of their ancient nemesis. Executive replied, “Agreed. I shall locate a suitable asteroid as soon as we enter their star system.”
-1-
Marine Master Sergeant Jill Repeth paced back and forth in the musty canvas smell of an unused Civil Affairs Battalion tent. A few folding tables, some chairs, and an easel with a super-sized paper pad were all it held. The battalion staff had long since moved into the abandoned school next door. She resisted the urge to check outside again and told herself to have patience, but her supply was short these days.
She rubbed her hands together. Dirt and dead skin sloughed off in little rolls as the innumerable cuts and scrapes of combat healed. Slowly. She wondered if her Eden Plague was somehow running out of juice, then dismissed the idea.
Not enough sleep, not enough decent food, she thought. That’s all. The virus supercharges the body but it’s not magic. I need a break.
Then, Rick won’t get a break. It’s been weeks since he was taken.
She felt like hitting someone, kicking someone. She’d been doing a lot of that lately, and it was wearing away at her conscience. Most times whoever she’d punched deserved it. Sometimes not. Her troops always covered for her; bruises would heal, and edginess was chalked up to the stress of war.
Half of me is missing, and it’s the inside half.
She felt like her skin had thinned, reversed itself, and turned to sandpaper. Everyone and everything irritated. Colonel Muzik came to talk to her from time to time, and she appreciated it. Tolerated it. But in reality she’d been living for the day when they took her off the leash so she could go find Rick.
Is this love? She wondered about that. Or is it just loss, frustration, lust for vengeance? No one had ever affro
nted her like Scott Stone, the Psycho they called the Professor.
It wasn’t the manhandling, or the threats of rape. Not even the utter disregard and disrespect he showed for her. No, he had stolen her soul mate, and that she could not abide.
In her more reflective moments she knew her thinking was suspect. Real love was not possessive. Love is patient, love is kind, is not puffed up, seeks not its own. Well she sure as hell was seeking her own and if that violated divine principles, then Saint Paul could stuff it. She thought about trying to get through to Christine Forman, but frankly she didn’t think she wanted to hear what her chaplain friend had to say.
When Rick had first been captured she’d told herself they would run across him eventually, but with every other success came the news that he was nowhere to be found. She’d mentally prepared to come upon him lying dead somewhere. She’d stayed focused, on task, and had not let personal concerns get in her way until Fredericksburg and its slaves were freed. But the report that he had been sent away, traded or sold to some “shadow men” with “burn rooms” had eaten away at her. She’d worked like a demon to complete the tasks given her, waiting weeks for the day she would be freed to do what she must.
That day had come.
“Master Sergeant?” A short, slightly fleshy soldier poked his head into the tent.
“Grusky. Good to see you. I see you put on SFC.”
“Yes I did.” He slapped his chest where the three-up, two-down insignia of Sergeant First Class, E-7, showed. “Thanks to your fitness report and the Bronze Star.”
“You earned it. Listen, can you look outside and see if anyone you know is wandering around?” She checked her watch. “It’s still five till, but I would have expected more to show by now.”
“Sure, Master Sergeant.” He looked puzzled but walked out. Five minutes later he led three more people in.
“Lockerbie, Donovan, good to see you. Butler, sorry about Shute.”
“Yeah, thanks, Master Sergeant. But we kicked their asses.” The young sergeant swallowed his grief for his best friend and glared hotly around, as if looking for something to attack.
“Yes, we did.” Jill took a deep breath. “Sit down, everyone.” She motioned toward the chairs, then took one herself.
“What’s this all about?” asked Grusky. “I got pulled off my next security mission and got told to report here. Them too.” He hooked a thumb at the rest.
“That’s because I asked for you. I need some people I can trust, to help me go after Rick Johnstone.”
“The liaison officer? Why is that our job?” Grusky stared at her for a moment as realization set in. “Ooh, right.”
Air Force Staff Sergeant Lockerbie smirked, then smoothed her face when Repeth glared at her. “Sorry, Master Sergeant, I wasn’t smiling at you, just at what he said.” She nodded at Grusky.
“What?” asked Butler. “I don’t get it.”
“You wouldn’t, you corn-fed hick.” Lockerbie punched Butler in the shoulder. He blushed.
Grusky’s eyes lit up wickedly. “Ooh, right. You guys too? Looks like Donovan and I are the only ones not got the bug.”
“Yes, and if you boys fell in love with each other we’d all be symmetrical,” Repeth snarled, bringing shocked looks to everyone’s faces. “Now let’s dispense with the bullshit and get our heads in the game, shall we? I’ve been given authority to put together a team, and you’re it.”
“A rescue team?” Grusky asked carefully. “We’re MPs, Master Sergeant, not spec ops. Don’t you want some of those new nanocommandos we keep hearing about?”
“Even if I could get some, which I can’t, I wouldn’t want them. They’re unreliable. Too many go berserk. I don’t think people were made to have tiny machines running around in their bodies. At least not yet.”
Donovan raised his hand, like a kid in class. “We all have them, though. We’s all Edens and we got the nanovaccine.”
“I know that,” Repeth ground out patiently, “and I hope to God we don’t have any of those kinds of problems. I haven’t heard about any. Probably because our vaccine has only one function, to kill the Demon Plague viruses. The cyber-nano is about a thousand times stronger, and I think it’s too smart for its own good. So it’s us or it’s nobody.”
Grusky looked askance at Repeth, then around at the rest. As the senior man he knew he was responsible for asking the tough questions. “Ah, Master Sergeant…pardon me, but I’ve never seen you like this before. I mean, when you took over and we were training you were one hardass lady, pardon my French, but everyone knew it was, you know, professional. This…this is personal. You sure you’re okay?”
She stepped toward him, grabbing his lapels to drag him to his feet with a growl. He didn’t flinch this time, didn’t gobble or show any fear. “Jill,” he said quietly, “please. We want to help you. You know I’ll follow you to hell and back. I just need to know that you’re all right. That this is you talking and not some…imbalance. We’ve all seen too many crazies in the last month.”
Repeth let him go, patting his collar back smooth. “Sorry, David. You’re right, I am close to the edge. I need some sleep and some food that didn’t come out of an MRE packet, and you all deserve to know that I’m not going off half-cocked. When we go, we’ll all be sane and ready, me included. Assuming everyone is in?” Suddenly she looked uncertain, leaking vulnerability.
They all nodded, and the relief welled evident to her face. “All right, then as of now you all report to me, and I report to Captain LeBrun, and he reports to Colonel Muzik, and we’re on detached duty.”
“In other words, they’re going to cover for us, but we’re actually off the reservation.” Grusky smiled crookedly.
“Something like that.” She resisted the urge to pat her breast pocket, where a very special piece of paper rested.
Over the next thirty-six hours Jill Repeth made her team ready. She drew some military scrip from the paymaster, ate salad and vegetables and pasta and fresh meat – expensive, but worth every penny – at the best restaurant that survived in Fredericksburg. Then she bummed a sleeping pill from Doc Horton and slept a big black dream-filled slumber, about fourteen hours long.
She spent the morning talking over plans and ops, swapping out worn equipment and drawing more. Then she took her team to lunch and spent more of her pay on healthy food. She knew they were eating better than almost everyone in the relief zones, but felt little guilt. They’d been doing far more than their fair share. That’s what she told her conscience anyway.
Sometimes she frightened herself, when she saw her drawn face in the latrine mirror or caught herself thinking about roasting the Professor over a slow fire. It wasn’t the thoughts that scared her, exactly. It was that she so easily crushed her own inhibitions. Next time I see him, I’m going to…she didn’t really want to finish the thought, for fear of what it revealed about her, and about the Eden Plague. Does this mean that if the excuse seems powerful enough, conscience is no obstacle? What about the love of Christ and the presence of the Holy Spirit within me that I’m supposed to have? Have I been using the Eden Plague and God as an excuse to do the right thing? And now I don’t want to do the right thing. I just want to kill the bastard.
But will I? Or is this just wish-fulfillment fantasy? What if I rescue Rick first?
And what will Rick think of me now?
She pushed these thoughts out of her mind, told herself to just do the job. Be the professional you are, Jill. Not the cop, no matter what Captain LeBrun wants.
Be the commando. Be Reaper.
Put aside the last two months, the civil affairs and the relief and vaccination effort, where every act of violence was carefully calculated and measured, a cop’s response. Take back the mantle of the special operator, where you shoot first and straight, where decisions are easy because everyone in front of you is an enemy and a target. Put it back on like the cape of a crusader, a relentless superhero who can get shot and stabbed and bludgeoned and still come ba
ck every time.
To exist within the mission: simple, so simple.
Not the complex and painful world of reality, where mothers accept government food to save their children’s lives but try to refuse their Reaper Plague vaccination for fear of some wacked-out conspiracy. Where diseased reprobates enslave their fellow citizens because they have a different color or gender or because they just think violence and domination by fear is fun. Where a tribe of primitive brain-damaged mutes is the best example of peace and harmony around.
A special operation is simplicity itself compared to the hell of living without Rick. Why didn’t I see that before? Why did I take him for granted? Add him to my trophy case, the perfect guy for me, but change nothing. How many guys have I spit on for thinking that way? Did I just want a wifey, a Mr. Mom to stay home and raise my kids? No wonder they think I’m a dyke; I’m a bad caricature of a man.
And if it didn’t work out, there was always another one sniffing around, like Swede Gunderson. Fallback positions. Only there’s nothing behind me. I have no fallback position.
There’s nowhere to retreat that isn’t made of Rick.
Is this what Cassandra felt when she lost Zeke? Dear God, I had no idea. How do people live with things like this? Love is so damned risky. Even if they don’t betray you sometime, they might die or be taken, like now. Can I really put up with a thousand years of this kind of uncertainty?
She grabbed the commando, the Reaper, and wrapped it tight around her again, stuffing her fears and her doubts down where they belonged. If I can’t put all that aside, just like I’ve told many troops before, just FIDO, forget it and drive on, then I don’t deserve these stripes.
So she buckled down and prepped her team, ate again, took a hot shower and went to bed early, setting her watch for 0430.
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