The Orion Plague

by David VanDyke

  “Test energies within nominal range. Detonation within specs. No damage to the drive system detected.”

  A cheer went up from the room, the tension palpably slackening. Nguyen let his breath out. He turned to Ekara and shook his hand with genuine happiness.

  “It appears science-fiction is not a useless medium after all,” Nguyen said to his fellow Committee member.

  Ekara shrugged. “It’s really an old idea, using nuclear bombs to power a spaceship. Project Orion in the 1950s. Nothing else even comes close to the efficiency of fission’s fuel-to-energy conversion, until we master nuclear fusion. If the anti-nuke lobby hadn’t spread such fear and suppressed the technology, the Americans would have done it long ago. We just have to accept the risks and radiation.”

  “In that case the Eden Plague was a blessing. Nothing frightening about fallout any more. Chairman Markis was right; it ended a lot of fears for the common man.”

  Ekara looked at Nguyen with open admiration. Reflected celebrity held sway even over the emotions of Psychos, and Nguyen exploited his connection to Markis ruthlessly. Many people still held the Chairman in nearly superstitious awe, Psychos most of all because he had engineered their deportation to Australia, in effect giving them their freedom.

  The return blast came, the effect of the displaced air pulled back in by the vacuum and convection at ground zero. It was barely audible to those in the bunker compared to the earlier stresses.

  The dapper man clapped his hands and called, “All right everyone, back to work. Tran, let’s go outside and take a look, shall we? The forces may have panned out but how did the drive system itself really fare? It’s going to have to stand up to thousands of these small nukes inside its detonation plenum without cracking or failing.”

  “Half-plenum really,” Ekara continued aside to Nguyen as they walked up the stairs toward the blast-scoured surface. “It’s a bowl attached to a deep thick shock absorber system, like a fat pogo stick. The original Orion concept planned a flat circular plate of steel six meters thick. We have doubled the original thickness but dramatically improved the materials using ceramics and alloys, with nano-assembled coatings. We estimate no significant ablation until at least ten thousand detonations, assuming no errors.”

  “Errors?” Nguyen stopped to look at his colleague.

  “Of course. If a bomb detonates early – say inside the gas ejection tube – the ship will be instantly destroyed.”

  Nguyen nodded slowly, seeming to expand with menace. “Perhaps we should be very, very sure that does not happen.”

  Ekara shrugged nervously, and Nguyen moved closer to the other man. He hissed, “My friend…there will be room for an enormous crew. Even observers. Perhaps you should ride on the first flight of this machine you have built?”

  Sweat broke out on Ekara’s face. “Perhaps I will.”

  “An excellent idea. It will minimize…errors.”

  One merely needs to know the proper levers.

  -15-

  “I have been monitoring the Species 666 electromagnetic carrier signals,” Executive reported to Commander. “They mention a large warship under construction.”

  “A spacegoing vessel? Is it a threat to us?”

  “Unlikely. They have never lofted anything into space even a fifth as large as our ship, and their weapons are primitive. Only their fission bombs could overload our defenses, and their pitiful delivery systems are too slow to catch us.” Executive exuded confidence, now that his plan was ascendant.

  Biologist brooded in his pool, building a new phage and exuding fragmentary molecular communication that a human would interpret as muttering. He kept his silence, finding much to doubt about Executive’s plan but unable to convince Commander.

  “And if by chance we must fight this warship?” After all, Commander’s proper function was to explore all possibilities.

  “Then the hypervelocity guided projectiles I have designed will destroy it without difficulty. I have also begun building armed observation drones.” Executive was, in human terms, smug.

  “You will also ensure the emergency life-pod is fully capable at all times.” Commander tinged his molecules with sternness.

  “We will not have cause to use it. But,” Executive went on hastily, tasting its superior’s irritation, “I will, of course, comply in all things. It shall be done.”

  -16-

  Rick’s mother Cassandra and sister Millicent were there to greet him and Jill at planeside. The executive jet had pulled up in a secluded corner of the military airfield serving the Carletonville, South Africa research complex, and now was surrounded by a military force that was half honor guard, half security.

  Though pumped to the gills with Valium, Rick walked down the stairway under his own power. He was physically recovered, or so they said, but he had a lot of psychological healing to do. Yes, he walked and moved just fine, but there was a hesitancy in his step, as if he was afraid of something happening at any moment, and now and again he would just freeze and look off into the distance. She’d seen it in combat troops – PTSD – but never expected it in Rick. He wasn’t a combatant, but he’d been through his own kind of hell.

  The doctors in Richmond had done all they could for him, they said. Now it was up to him to heal himself, and the best thing for him was to be surrounded by people who loved him. That meant this return to South Africa and his family.

  When he stepped to the tarmac, his mother and his sister enfolded him in their arms, then hugged Jill as well. She felt strange to be out of uniform and unarmed – mostly; well, at least gunless, she’d replaced her melted combat knife – but she thought, I could get used to it. Let other people worry about the security for a while. It certainly was strange to be back in a place where no one might be shooting at her at any moment, or vice versa.

  She eyed the South African security force. They looked professional and alert, but relaxed. She thought that was a good sign.

  A ten-minute drive on the facility and they were pulled up in front of a neat base house, alike to all the others up and down the street, nondescript except for a small plate by the front door that said “Johnstone.” The three of that name strolled up the front walk together, with Jill lagging behind. She had seen something…

  From the porch she turned, her eyes sliding over the security guards spread around and past the vehicles that had made up their convoy to a muscular man standing by the front door of the house across the street. He held up his hand in greeting, and Jill waved and, for the first time in a while, really, really smiled.

  Daniel Markis…I’ll go see him later. And then, it’s good to be home.

  -17-

  Spooky Nguyen commanded hands-on when he could, especially in training Orion’s Marines. That meant everything from basic exercises such as this fifty-kilometer mass ruck run to tactical work with his highly trained cadre. They were almost to the turnaround point.

  He turned as he jogged, reversing his direction and running past the platoon formations following each other down the dusty Outback track. He liked to see his troops, liked them to see him. When he reached the rear of the three-hundred or so aspirants he hopped up on the running board of the fall-out truck and spoke to the corpsman in the passenger seat.

  “Any so far?”

  “No, sir. Had one fall back a bit but I think it was just an e-lyte cramp and he worked it out.”

  Spooky slapped the door twice, then jumped off to run forward up the other side of the jogging troops. By the time he reached the front of the formation he could see the boulder that marked their halfway point. Painted with graffiti, it was a favorite of wags, lovers and artists who came out this far, but it had recently been gobsmacked with a twenty-foot symbol: crossed golden swords over a silver anchor, the symbol of the Aussie Marines.

  As the troops reached the thing they called The Rock, each man or woman lined up to jump and slap a hand against the painted patch, then fell back into formation on the road, taking five minutes to rehydr
ate, to jawbone a bit, and some to smoke.

  The habit had come back into vogue, now that the health risks were no longer an issue. Besides, most warriors did not worry themselves much about miniscule concerns such as what tar and nicotine were doing to their lungs.

  Spooky remembered a cadre member back in his early days in the US Special Forces who would conduct such runs with a lit cigarette in his hand, puffing the whole way. He was famous for such quotes as “I thought about quitting, but nobody likes a quitter,” or, “It takes a real man to face cancer.” Spooky shook his head to himself. He’d found that it was not unusual for training cadre to be nostalgic for their own acolyte days, but he was surprised to find himself succumbing to the same malady.

  When five minutes were up the cadre got the trainees moving again, each Marine with a backpack precisely calibrated to twenty-five percent of body weight. Gone were the days of spiral fractures, sprains and knee problems; now the load developed muscle as the running developed endurance. Their combination of Eden Plague and nano could keep them healthy, but only training could build up their abilities. Some things brooked no shortcuts.

  These Marines didn’t have the same tradition of cadence-calling as the United States forces, but Spooky had introduced it as a training tool. Thus he was unsurprised as the platoons spread out to avoid too much sonic overspill and began to sing.

  Training organizations thrive on tradition, all the more so when the unit was new and the traditions barely born. This tradition was to begin the “Jody calls” on the second twenty-five kilometer stretch, supplying entertainment, feeding friendly rivalry, and building morale and essential esprit de corps. They started off with one of the old standards that traced its heritage back to the US Airborne of the Vietnam era.

  C-130 rollin’ down the strip

  Airborne daddy gonna take a little trip

  Stand up, hook up, shuffle to the door

  Jump on out and count to four

  If my main don’t open wide

  I got another one by my side

  If that one should fail me too

  Look out below I’m a-comin’ through

  If I die in a combat zone

  Box me up and ship me home

  Pin my wings upon my chest

  Tell my mama I done my best

  Back at the barracks Nguyen ate with the troops. He rotated among the squads and kept his ears open, trying to gauge the temper and morale of the Marines. It was high, as expected among selected elites who were facing a life-and-death struggle to defend their families, their nation and their world itself. He tried to convey how proud he was of all of them, and he felt the echoes of their spirit merge with his own.

  It is good to be in the company of warriors.

  Replenished, he met with the training cadre, heard their reports, dispensed advice, and occasionally, orders. Then he went to talk with Colonel Angus MacAdam, an enormous rawboned ruddy man of Scots descent, formerly of the oceangoing Royal Australian Marines. He would command the Marine contingent aboard the Orion.

  Nguyen knew the colonel was an ambitious man. He had turned down the Eden Plague but welcomed the safe nano they were using now, the strain developed from the American vaccine. Without it he would have undoubtedly been unable to keep up with his own troops. In reality he probably couldn’t, if push came to shove; nano plus Eden Plague was more effective than either alone, as long as the right versions were integrated.

  The fact that he did not accept the Eden Plague made his ambition obvious to Nguyen. He wondered how far that lust for advancement extended. The need to rise was useful, even desirable to a point; ambitious men were often driven and competent commanders, and it was always better in wartime to rein in an eager horse than to spur a reluctant one. But such officers bore close watching, lest they try to advance by means foul as well as fair.

  This was particularly true when the man in question would be in charge of Marines aboard the most powerful warship Earth had ever built. If he strayed – if he mutinied, to put it bluntly – he had the power to bring down nations. More importantly he had the power to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory and leave Earth defenseless against the Meme invaders.

  Nguyen strode into MacAdam’s front office and past the startled admin troops who also functioned as flunkies, secretaries and gatekeepers. In this case there was no question of keeping the gate; the best the NCO in charge could do was leap to her feet and announce him, giving her boss a moment’s warning.

  The Brigadier saw MacAdam come to his feet as he entered the cramped space. “Walk with me, Colonel,” Nguyen said mildly as he crossed the tiny floor of the prefab structure and opened the back door. Stepping out onto the small platform above three stairs, he paused a moment to stare at the near horizon, filled with so many structures that it resembled a cityscape. A kind of city it was, a busy hive of manufacturing and activity, a hundred thousand workers and more, working eighty-hour weeks.

  He reached into the breast pocket of his brown uniform jacket already growing hot in the Australian summer sun, pulling out two fine cigars in silver tubes. Handing one to the Colonel, he trotted down the steps and onto the dusty soil of the Outback, walking away from the center of activity toward the sparseness of the edge of the desert.

  Nguyen took the time to get his cigar lit even as he walked, before speaking. He found such rituals as smoking established a rapport with subordinates, something they could share as equals, something that put them at ease, the better to see through any pretenses. Once he had a good coal glowing on its end he spoke. “So, Colonel, we haven’t spoken much beyond the official lately. Is there anything on your mind?”

  MacAdam walked beside Nguyen but said nothing for a long moment, his cigar forgotten in his hand. Eventually he responded, “You want me to speak freely, sir?”

  “Always, Angus.” The use of the man’s first name was a signal.

  “Right, then. I suppose you’re referring to me not going along on the runs. I’m drowning in paperwork.”

  “The runs, and other exercises. There is always paperwork. It is important that you lead your men.” Nguyen’s voice hardened. “From your record I would not have thought this an issue.”

  Silence reigned for another minute or two as the two men walked and puffed. They returned salutes from a trio of Marines returning from a shopping trip to the commercial center set up on the edge of the complex. “My record is unblemished, sir,” MacAdam said stiffly. “You may have the rank for this command, Brigadier, but mebbe you don’t have the right background.”

  Nguyen raised an eyebrow. “I said speak freely, Colonel. Don’t dance about the campfire, say what you mean.”

  The big man stopped, his face reddening with unchecked emotion as he turned to loom above the smaller man. “I mean, then, that it’s all well for you to play General and God knows you’ve gotten things organized around here, we need men like you to get things done. But buffaloing politicians to get this ship built is bloody well different from commanding Marines in combat. You made your bones in special operations. As far as I’ve been able to tell you never commanded anything larger than a platoon raid, and you’ve never been to sea. Except for that amazing sub highjack, of course, but that’s simply not the same.”

  Nguyen sucked a mouthful of smoke, blew it out his nose, then looked speculatively at the cigar. “Have I run the training program well enough?”

  “That’s part of the problem, sir. You’ve run it so well the men all love and respect you. They think you’re the commander, not me. You’ve undercut my authority.”

  “Only because you’ve let me, Colonel. At any time you could have stepped up and taken charge, and I would have backed off. Instead I keep filling more and more of your vacuum.” Nguyen stared for a long moment at MacAdam. “But that’s not all. What else is bothering you?”

  “What’s bothering me is the men talking about you commanding the Orion’s Marines.” His jaw set, as if for a fight, and Nguyen thought, this is the root of the
matter, then.

  “I assure you, Angus, I will not command the Orion’s Marines. The school is mine, the cadre is mine, because I am the most competent to organize, train and equip. As soon as the Marines graduate and are given their Space Qualification badges, they are yours. Once Orion is in space, they are truly answerable to no one else save you and the ship’s captain.” Nguyen tapped ash off the cigar, puffed again.

  MacAdam stopped, let out a sigh of relief. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that, sir.” He tried to draw from his cigar, but found it had gone out.

  Nguyen extended a silver-chased lighter to relight the stogie. “Excellent. Now that we have laid that rumor to rest…is there anything else?” He watched the Colonel carefully: he had asked pro forma, but had immediately detected some reticence, evidence of something else beneath the man’s bluff exterior.

  Finally MacAdam spoke. “It’s…it’s a personal matter, sir. I’ll not let it interfere with my duties.”

  “So I trust. Colonel, my sole concern is the safety of Earth by ensuring you have every tool possible. I do this because I fully expect Orion’s Marines to take heavy casualties. In fact, you must have already realized that mutual destruction of the Orion and the alien ship, if it comes to that, is a win for Earth. So deal with this personal matter, and if there is anything I can do to help, do not hesitate to tell me. I apologize for not clarifying all of this sooner.” He held out his hand. “Colonel, you have my full confidence.” A necessary lie, spoken so it may become true.

  MacAdam shook it strongly. “I won’t fail you, sir.” He saluted Nguyen, who returned the courtesy.

  “Excellent.” Nguyen chose that as the right moment to end the conversation and turned on his heel, heading toward the commercial complex. A moment later Major Ann Alkina drove up in his brand-new staff SUV.