Carefully the two of them carried Butler up the steps and handed him off to the medics up above. Then they went down and carried Grusky’s body up to lay it on the Beast’s hood. He’ll still be there when we get back. Lockerbie stared at the corpse for a long moment before deliberately turning away. “What now, Top?” she asked.
“Now? We load for bear. Open the back. Pull out the boxes.”
Lockerbie pulled open the rear door of the Beast, where their extra gear was stored. They unloaded a dozen cases, and Jill opened most of them up to survey what they had. She dumped out the rounds she had in her grenade launcher and methodically started loading different ones. “Armorshock,” she said as she did it. “The Needleshock charges weren’t enough, and there’s no point in pumping Eden Plague into a cyborg. This should generate enough charge to burn out its electrical systems. If that doesn’t do it, the HE should take chunks out of it. Get a launcher and load up. And put a pumped beam on it.” The super-bright flashlights were just the thing for tunnel work, when stealth was not an issue.
Lockerbie complied, and they filled their vests with more of the anti-armor rounds.
“All right. Now let’s see how they like Armorshock. Just keep firing until it’s dead. Blow their heads off if they’re down. You saw how that one got back up. They’re tough, but we can kill them if we work as a team.”
Lockerbie nodded grimly, glancing at the still body of their fallen comrade, and hefted her launcher. “Okay, boss, let’s go find your fiancé.”
***
“Are we there yet, mom?” Lockerbie whispered as they rounded another corner and shone their lights down more empty corridors. “We’ve been down here almost an hour and haven’t seen a damn thing. There must be hundreds of rooms.”
“What’s that?” Jill pulled her squadcomm earbud out of her ears and listened. “Down there. Sounds like voices.” She turned and led the way down a long corridor, shoving the plugs back in.
A light showed ahead, and now they could all hear male voices that increased in volume as they rounded two more corners. Repeth’s team broke out into a well-lit room, some kind of laboratory.
Two broken Shadows leaked all over the floor, nearly dismembered by the impact of heavy weapons. Three black-clad figures lay there as well, neatly placed, and two more reclined on hospital gurneys. The seven remaining nanocommandos covered a line of people in lab coats standing against the wall.
Only one thing interested Jill, though, as she handed off her grenade launcher to Lockerbie and marched over to face the enormous man that stood among them.
“Professor Stone. I’ve been looking for you.”
The huge blonde, looking exactly like what he was, a former professional-entertainment wrestler, smiled and put his hands on his hips. “Well, well, well. You again.” He laughed. “You found me. Whoopee.”
“Yeah. Now I need some answers.” She unclipped her PW10 from its retractable sling and handed it back to Lockerbie.
He stared at her face. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was personal, but I don’t even know your name. And my boys never got a chance to use you, such a sweet piece that you are. What’s your beef?”
“You can call me Reaper. My beef,” Jill replied, taking her PW5 pistol out of its holster and handing it back to Lockerbie, “is that you sold my fiancé Richard Johnstone to these lunatics here, and apparently you ran off to join them too. So I bet you know where he is.”
“Even if I know where he is – maybe I do and maybe I don’t – I’m not going to give it up for free. Tell the ninja turtles here to give me safe passage out of here and I’ll tell you all I know. Hell, I’ll even help you find him.” Stone cracked his knuckles together, clearly enjoying the repartee. Perhaps he was reliving his glory days of staged television bravado.
“How about this,” Jill replied, sliding her gleaming combat knife out of the sheath in her right boot. “I promise to leave that pretty face of yours alone if you tell me everything I want to know, first.”
Professor Stone laughed again, loud and long. “That’s an empty threat. You’re an Eden, you can’t torture me.”
“I can.” The Echo Team leader stepped up, pulling his mask off his head. He was a rock-jawed recruiting poster come to life, standard issue for Special Operations. “I’m no Eden.”
“No, but you’re an officer in the Yoo-nited States Army –”
“– Navy –”
“– Navy, even better, and you’re all about lawful orders and the Geneva Conventions – at least, with this many witnesses. Besides, the Eden virus will heal me. So what do you have to coerce me?”
“How about this, then.” Jill twirled the knife in her fingers. “You and me. You lose, you tell me all you know. You win, SEAL Team poster boy here lets you go.”
“I can’t authorize that, Master Sergeant,” objected the commando leader.
“Authorize this,” she said, drawing out the paper sealed in plastic. She slapped it against his chest until he got a grip on it, finally taking off his gloves to unfold it and read.
“Holy cow.”
“Indeed. That authority enough for you, nano-boy?”
“Yeah. But I’d appreciate you secure that crap. We both just lost good men and I’m not in the mood.”
“Fair enough. What’s your name?”
“Brian Heppner. Lieutenant, USN.”
“Well, Brian, you have your instructions. If he beats me, escort him to the perimeter and give him an hour head start. If not, and he reneges on his word, I saw a room back there where you two can have some privacy, capisce?” She locked eyes with Stone. “And here’s a tip – if a beating or some carving doesn’t convince him, inject him with some of your nano-filled blood. He’ll go berserk and probably die in agony. Now if you think those orders are unlawful, you can take it up with the President.” She rolled her shoulders. “Give him a knife.”
Heppner manifested a blade from somewhere but Stone waved it off. “I won’t need that. I’ll break you with my hands, bitch.”
Jill took a breath and shuffled forward. Stone dropped into a wrestler’s stance, his long arms low, pawing and twitching slightly. Jill held her knife in her right hand tight to her body, with a killer’s grip. Her left fist stayed closed and up to block.
She remembered Spooky’s classes on blade work. He’d said, “Knife fighting is bollocks. I’m not teaching you to knife fight. I’m teaching you to win. That way when you run up against a knife fighter, you’ll put him down like a dog.”
This was different, though. She had to make sure she didn’t kill Stone if she wanted information, and he was twice as large, three times as strong, and outweighed her by more than a hundred pounds.
So this was going to hurt. She just wasn’t sure whom.
Probably both.
Stone came out away from the wall, and the US troops fell back in a rough circle, weapons pointed in and down. His face was drawn in a tight smile, concentration in his eyes. He focused through her chest, and by that she knew he was a skilled opponent. Only amateurs look at the eyes.
She feinted a couple of times to test him, then began a disarming sequence Spooky had taught her. Only Stone had no weapon, so instead of binding up her enemy’s knife, she drew the razor-sharp blade along the inside of his elbow as her left arm locked around his right. Blood spurted and his severed tendons pulled back inside his muscles. Eden Plague or not, he would need a medic to reattach them.
The price she paid was his knuckles in her face, reminiscent of the time he had hit her before. It felt like a mule kicked her.
She had hoped and planned for this, that he liked to strike, liked to cause pain rather than being smart and trying to lock her joints up and use his superior strength to break her bones or go for a submission choke.
Her skull rocked twice with his blows and she had to let go, spinning away, shaking her head to clear the blood from her eyes. He was on her instantly, striking at her backhand then forehand with a roar of anger.
Her arms came up to block the blows, nauseated from the first strikes. Concussion…can’t go out. Scrabbling sideways toward his weakened right, she made him come after her, turning to keep his injured arm back. His instincts betray him; he isn’t used to the blade. Better for him if he used the injured arm as a shield instead of leading with the good one. She kept blocking, waiting for her vision to clear, taking the bruises he dished out on her arms, stinging him with the knife when she could, timing his swings.
Then she shot under his hands to bury her blade in his abdomen.
His huge arm came down between her shoulder blades and slammed her to the floor, but she was already driving forward with her legs like a football lineman, forcing the knife deep into his guts, so deep the handle could barely be seen.
He clutched at the hilt and tried to draw it out but couldn’t get a grip as his legs turned to water and he fell to his knees. Spinning onto her back, she kicked him across his face, then used the momentum to roll to her feet. Bouncing on her toes as if at a boxing match, she gasped, “Had enough there, blondie?”
Stone tried to put his right hand down to brace himself but he forgot that he had no tendons in his elbow, and he fell over on his face. Rolling over onto his back, he held up his one good hand. “All right. You win. Just get this pigsticker out of me.”
“Allow me,” Lieutenant Heppner said, stepping past Jill and pulling his gloves back on. “Try not to move, sir. This might sting a bit.” He grasped the bit of the hilt still showing with his fingertips and wiggled.
Stone grunted, then roared as the commando got a grip. Slowly he pulled the knife out, and then wiped it on the wounded man’s khakis. “You’ll be fine, sir,” Heppner said as he squatted and looked the wrestler in the eyes. “And if you think getting your ass kicked by a girl was fun…try me. Please.” He stared at Stone until he was satisfied with the defeat in his eyes, then stood up. “Now I believe the lady wants to ask you a few questions.”
Jill cuffed him just in case, and he started talking. He talked for a while. Lockerbie took notes.
-11-
Brigadier Tran Pham “Spooky” Nguyen finally felt comfortable in this tenth weekly meeting of the secret Committee of Nine, the shadow government of Australia that controlled the true strings of power.
He had become an accepted and respected part of the Nine, all the more so because of the disappearance of one of his recent challengers. Despite the lack of any hint of proof, he had let it be known that in this case, “disappearance” meant a horrible death. Because death terrified every man and woman at that long oval table, every day.
Everyone but one.
The untimely termination of their potential immortality seems to them ever more frightening, Nguyen thought. The more they have to lose, the more they have to fear. The antidote to such an attitude is that of warriors from antiquity: like Musashi, I count myself already dead. Every new day is a gift from the gods.
I simply refuse to fear.
Ariadne Smythe called the meeting to order and Nguyen divided his mind. One part listened to the routine business while the other carefully watched his colleagues for anything useful. Like a master poker player, he constantly evaluated their mental states, their strengths or weaknesses, their needs and desires.
His eyes rested briefly on Under-Minister of Research James Ekara. Smythe had procured him the official title, a favor to be exchanged later. Nguyen was not worried. Spooky had a much stronger hold, a much more powerful relationship with the dapper half-aborigine. As the secret supplier of Ekara’s pleasure, Nguyen held the whip hand.
Unlawful chemicals and pharmacologicals were the least of his leverages. Those were simple to obtain, and the Eden virus fended off physical addictions as effectively as disease. Sex and infatuation were much more effective, and the secret brothel staffed with carefully-selected deviants gave him levers to move anyone foolish or weak enough to accept its services.
Like Ekara.
But I’ve never had to threaten or push him. He swallows the hook with the bait and a gentle tug is all I need to lead him where I wish him to go. Thus I effectively control both Direct Action and Research and Development.
Nguyen’s attention focused when one of Ekara’s experts made his daily report on the Plague situation. Displaying his ever-present PowerPoint charts, the analyst reported the statistics of horror. “The current estimates stand as follows:” he concluded, “Fifty-eight percent of humanity is now infected by Eden Plague. Twenty-two percent are functional Demon Plague One infectees; seven percent have Demon Plague Two. Both of those numbers are dropping steadily except in Russia and parts of Central Asia. The remaining thirteen percent is uninfected. Note that these percentages reflect only live human beings, and change daily according to Reaper Plague deaths, which presently stand at something over one point five billion.”
“And of Australians?” Smythe snapped. “Get on with it.”
“Yes, ma’am. Current population stands at approximately thirty-five million, of which ninety-three percent are Edens or Outliers.” That was the polite term they had come up with for Psychos. “Six percent are normals, as government policies have recently been adjusted to stabilize this number, to ensure an adequate research pool. The remaining one percent or less represents small outbreaks of the various alien plagues, but the Health Service has been effective in quick containment.” At a nod from Smythe, the man sat down with a pleased expression.
“Excellent circumstances indeed. The Plagues have barely affected us, because of the wise leadership of this Committee. Australia is truly a leader in the Free Communities,” Smythe declared smugly, “rivaled only by South Africa. Not that there is any actual rivalry. We are all friends in the FC, under the illustrious Chairman Markis.” The rest of the table chuckled at her heavy-handed joke, and went on with its routine business.
When his turn came to speak, Nguyen bowed his head humbly. “Thank you, Madame Chairman.” While she technically denied the title, he knew it pleased her nonetheless. He made it sound as if she was co-equal with Markis.
Another lever.
“I would like to report a modest success. My technicians have succeeded in modifying the US-supplied nanovaccine, which is compatible with the Eden Plague, to provide a human performance boost of ten to twenty percent. Once testing is complete, in perhaps two months, we should be able to distribute the update to all of our combat forces.”
Mathilde Van Berson spoke up suspiciously. “Are there any side effects or disadvantages?”
He responded blandly to the wealthy transport magnate, “We will not release anything with serious side effects. A mild and probably inevitable effect will be increased caloric intake. The nanobots must have energy, and they are parasitic upon the body’s resources. Another issue is that the modification cannot at this time be made permanent. It will fade as the reprogrammed nanobots fail and are replaced by the basic models.” And will keep users dependent on Direct Action for periodic infusions.
She grunted. “How much increased intake? Won’t that complicate our logistics?” Her adipose jowls and neck quivered as she shook her head in disapproval.
How much must you eat to overcome the desperate ministrations of your virus and sustain that obesity, he wondered. And how ironic it is for you to quibble about the troops’ need for food to sustain that which makes them effective. “We believe the cost-benefit analysis will prove favorable.” He left it at that. Sometimes an argument simply draws attention, and opposition.
Smythe nodded and moved on to the next piece of business. Nguyen put his mind on autopilot until Ekara made his report regarding the Orion, the space warship he had proposed scant months ago.
The R&D minister began, “As you may have gathered from the media, the Orion effort is proceeding ahead of schedule. The countries of the world have been surprisingly forthcoming with resources and personnel.”
Personnel are resources, thought Nguyen with hidden amusement. That is why I will always control y
ou, James.
Ekara went on, “We have chosen from among basic plans offered, and have selected a ten-million-ton design.” He smiled as those who understood the numbers gasped. “A hundred times as heavy as an aircraft carrier, and it will fly into space. And it will be simple, though not easy. Controlled thermonuclear explosions will power it. It is so big because all our eggs are in one basket, and we will achieve economies of scale. It will have every weapon we can devise aboard, and further ships of its class will follow in mere months.”
Nguyen was impressed in spite of himself. Even he had not thought on such a grand scale. “How soon will this…space battleship be ready?”
“With weeks to spare, if we are on schedule. Perhaps sooner.”
Smythe spoke up. “And can this monstrosity do the job? Can we beat the Meme ship that’s on its way?”
Nguyen saw Ekara prepare to waffle so he spoke up, saving his colleague the difficulty. “I have obtained reports from Daniel Markis’ own intelligence files that indicate, though vaguely, that the Meme scout ship is, perhaps, the size of a naval frigate. One or two thousand tons.”
Van Berson replied grumpily. “So aren’t we overdoing things just a bit? Sending an elephant to stomp a gnat?”
Funny you should speak of elephants, Nguyen thought to himself. He stood up, placing his knuckles on the table. “Raphael’s small spaceship travelled easily within our solar system, something humans have been unable to do up to now. Even that little craft possesses technologies far beyond ours, and from observations, its drive system is six or seven times as efficient than even our thermonuclear drive will be. If Meme weapons systems are equally effective, the contest between our representative champion vessels may look something like a bullfighter versus a rhinoceros – and we are the latter. We will need the enormous weight and ability to take punishment to offset their speed and advanced weapons. There are so many unanswered questions that we simply cannot make an accurate prediction. While I am not in charge, I am perhaps the most experienced military person here, and I for one would want our one throw of the dice to be heavily weighted in our favor.”
The Orion Plague Page 8