He backed up to sit on her desk, still watching her carefully. “One thing I always admired about you is that you knew when to back down, try again another day. Cut your losses, make a deal, or so I thought. But now I fear I have offended you too much for that. No matter what you say, as soon as I leave I know you will try to have me killed, and that will precipitate a civil war that will tear the Nine apart and threaten the Orion project.”
“I give you my word I will do nothing,” she replied, brushing off her blouse and sleeves. “As you say, I will be happy to be rid of you and wish you godspeed on your way to fight the aliens.”
“If only I could believe in your word…but I have a way to ensure you keep your part of the bargain.” He plucked a button from his jacket, pressed a tiny switch on it with an audible click, and held it up for her perusal.
“What is it?” she asked suspiciously.
“Lunch,” he quipped, and blurred to motion.
With his left he slapped her solar plexus backhanded, interrupting her startled cry and leaving her mouth wide open, gasping for air. With his right he popped the button into her gaping maw, then held her nose closed with one hand while brutally massaging her throat with the other.
“Swallow…swallow…come now, it won’t hurt you, unless I let it.” Once he was certain she had ingested the button he stepped back, leaving her choking and retching. “Don’t bother trying to vomit it back up. As soon as it senses stomach acid its nanites attach to the nearest tissue. You’ll need surgery to remove it. The only problem is,” he went on, holding up his lighter, “if anything non-organic gets anywhere near it in the next twenty-four hours…pop!” He made a bursting motion with one hand.
“You bastard!”
“Hmm, no, my parents were certainly lawfully wedded. Yours, however, my investigations tell me…but never mind that. You’ve just swallowed a bit of my insurance.” He shook the lighter. “This is a deadman switch. If I cease pressing it just so, it stops transmitting, and you explode. If I get out of range, you explode. If anything happens to threaten my life between now and liftoff, you explode. Do I make myself clear?”
“Abundantly,” she gasped, convulsively rubbing at her neck.
“Then I suggest you follow along, and tell your people to back away and remain calm. You’ll need to stay within a mile of me until the launch, and keep out of any buildings with high metal content. You wouldn’t want the signal to be blocked.” Holding the lighter high, he reached for the door. “After you.”
Smoothing her skirt and face, Smythe marched unsteadily forward and exited her office. Outside were a startling array of armed men and women, all poised with weapons drawn. “Stand down,” she said firmly. “I will be fine.” As the weapons slowly dropped she said more forcefully, “Remember your nondisclosure agreements. You are not to discuss this incident with anyone not already privy to it, under pain of long imprisonment.”
Once he was sure all the weapons were put away, Nguyen stepped out from behind Smythe. “All right, let’s go. Everyone back away and give us a corridor, otherwise you’ll be mopping up your boss and everyone within ten meters with sponges.” He raised his voice as they moved slowly. “Move. Back. Now!”
Most did. One hapless or misguided uniformed guard hovered too close and Nguyen snatched his handgun from his holster in a blur of motion. He thumbed the hammer back with a click. “Hmm. SIG P220? Nice old gun. But even the best weapon is useless when someone takes it from you.” Nguyen slowly crushed the weapon in his grip, leaving it a twisted wreck. The man blanched and stumbled backward.
Together the two of the Committee of Nine marched out of the building, followed by a mob of confused underlings. At the door Nguyen turned to Smythe. “Tell them to take no action, or…”
“Yes, I explode. Listen, staff. This is just a minor misunderstanding. It will all be over by tomorrow. If any of you go beyond your instructions you may precipitate a dangerous struggle. I order you to take no action until I call with instructions, or until the Orion ship is launched.”
As they approached Nguyen’s armored SUV, newly-minted Colonel Alkina hopped from the driver’s seat to open the door for them. “Any trouble sir?” she asked as he shoved Smythe into the back seat.
“None whatsoever,” he said. “And Colonel?”
“Yes, sir?”
“All of Ms. Smythe’s little spies will have accidents. Tonight. Be kind, though; do not kill them unless you must. A nice bit of maiming will be fine.” Nguyen turned to Smythe. “I suggest you remember this little mercy and do not challenge Colonel Alkina in my absence. She may not have my personal combat skills, but as a woman, she is naturally more dangerous and spiteful. And she has my proxy for Committee meetings.”
Alkina smiled, glancing at Smythe in the rear-view mirror.
“One more thing, Colonel. Make sure all of Ms. Smythe's ‘leverage’ is…recovered.”
Smythe blinked, opening and closing her mouth.
“Did you think we didn’t know about your little hostage facility?” Nguyen made a tsk-tsk sound, mocking. “Very naughty, kidnapping civilians. The Colonel will take charge of them.”
“You’re a fool to let them go!” Smythe snapped.
“Who said we would let them go? It is your inefficiency, not your methods, which I despise.” He turned his gaze back to the front, enjoying the rest of the ride in silence.
When they arrived at a nondescript trailer Nguyen handed his prisoner off to two of his Guard Marines. “Hold her in place until one hour to launch, then join the contingent. Don’t let her go, just leave her locked in. Her people will break her loose after the ship lifts.”
As they drove away Alkina smiled at her lover. “The button with the switch?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think she knows it’s a bluff?”
Nguyen snapped his lighter open to fire the end of a slim cigarillo. “Not a chance.”
***
“I have one more task for you, my dear, before you are free of me,” Nguyen said, running a finger up Ann's naked spine.
She shivered and smiled, pulling her pillow in tight with sharp-nailed fingers. “I will never be free of you, Tran. When you return, I will be waiting.”
“I know. But until then you must maintain my power base, and if I do not return, use it for the good of all. You must not forget this, Ann.” He rolled her over to look in her eyes, compelling. “The narcissism of our kind is as a black hole in space, always ready to drag us in and destroy us. You must not give in to it, or it will turn the merely amoral into evil. Do you understand?”
“I think so. As you have said, evil always destroys itself, substituting short-term solutions for wisdom.”
“Yes,” he said, caressing her face and brushing back her dark hair from perfect cafe-au-lait skin. “The end really does justify the means, but now you must think in terms of centuries, and what end will suit yourself and me over the long term. Only by bringing benefit to millions of grateful Edens will we in turn rise. It is our own kind who threaten us. Exploit, but do not ruin. It is said a sheep may be shorn many times, but slaughtered only once.”
“I understand.” She gazed with admiring eyes on her mentor. “And the task?”
Nguyen kissed her tenderly. “A mission of mercy. As soon as we are finished here, you will take a hand-picked team to the trailer of Larry Nightingale, the Chief Engineer for the beam weapons. Discreet inquiries should allow you to find it easily. You will subdue him without injury, you will drug him and bind him, and you will ensure he does not board Orion. Release him after launch. There is an envelope for him there on the side table.”
“It will be done.” Ann lay back against the pillows of Nguyen's bed. “He is not worthy to go?”
Nguyen shook his head. “He is eminently worthy. But he is my friend, and in this case I know what is best for him. His family needs him more than Orion does. More importantly, Earth needs him to continue his advanced weapons program.”
“Tran, you
are so arrogant to decide the fate of others this way.” Her smile was full of teeth. “It excites me.”
He drew himself closer to her. “Then let us share joy one more time.”
-27-
Captain Absen sat in the rearmost and highest chair-couch of Orion’s Combat Control Center, rather like the projectionist of an old-fashioned movie theater. He looked over the shoulders of his officers and could see most of their screens, which plastered the inside of the half-sphere with glowing displays. Despite all efforts to the contrary, the crew had taken to calling the CCC “the bridge” as if they were on an old-fashioned oceangoing ship conning by eyeball – or perhaps the set of a TV space show.
The ship’s Master Helmsman, an experienced astronaut with implanted cyberware, sat in the center of the bridge in a pit in the floor, surrounded by a permeable sphere of displays. Sweat showed between the electrical contacts set into his shaven skull. Absen knew that this specially trained and augmented pilot and his five compatriots were the only people really able to fly the ten-million-ton monster he commanded, and so he matched the man sweat for sweat.
Once in space, others could maneuver Orion clumsily from the standard helm board if they had to. Several of the bridge crew cross-trained in its use, a more complex version of submarine controls, with massive computer augmentation. But true effectiveness in combat, not to mention the all-important launch, could only be done by these astronaut cyborg-pilots with chips in their heads.
The launch countdown crossed six minutes, grinding inexorably toward zero. Officers and technicians murmured into their headsets, and Absen marveled at the complexity of the thing he was about to fly. Fly, he thought. I don’t fly; I’m a sub driver, a bubblehead. So were many of the men of his crew, and most of the rest were naval personnel, with a smattering of air services people. And those Marines. Yet who better to go blasting off into space in a metal canister than people used to the sight of metal bulkheads and decks for months at a time?
Captain Absen’s one function until T-zero was to observe and, if necessary, decide to abort. If launch was go, the automated sequence would begin the controlled series of nuclear shaped charges that would provide the unimaginable motive power to lift ten million tons of warship from Earth’s gravity well.
His eyes flicked from display to display, seeing all in the green as the traditional final ten-count came over the intercom. Ten…Nine…Eight… When the dispassionate voice of Ground Control called “Ignition,” Absen relaxed the way he had been trained to, and waited for the hammer blow of the first explosion.
This first blast was literally four kilotons of explosives – not one of the precious 4KT nuclear bombs, but four thousand actual tons of C-8 blasting compound stacked beneath the ship like bricks. This popped the warship off the ground like a monster firecracker under a soup can – a rather heavy, full soup can. Orion lifted some two hundred feet, obscured by fire and smoke, before it started to slow, soon to fall.
As powerful as this explosion was, it still represented a far gentler, safer way to give the ship its first push than its primary propulsion system. When the first nuke went off the sound changed from bongo to kettledrum, the sensation as if a god standing beneath Orion struck the soles of her feet with a sledgehammer. Each one after was an echo that failed to fade.
Fifty miles away an old man stood with a staff, staring at the new suns that climbed like a ladder of stars into the night. His retinas burned out instantly by the sleeting ultraviolet; nevertheless he turned his sightless face to follow the heat of Orion as she rose. Laughing and capering he shook his gnarled staff above his head until the first of the shockwaves reached him, and so he rejoined the All.
As the roar of the metal god receded, Kalti crawled out of the hole he had dug, to wave goodbye at the thing in the sky. Once he found what was left of Maka, he grieved with laughter above the smiling body of his mentor.
-28-
Alan “Skull” Denham awoke groggy, soon vomiting a thin stream of bile. It splashed onto the floor and the front of his cocoon. He watched it fade away as the base absorbed it. Complete recycling, he thought distractedly, then: What’s going on?
“Raphaela…you there?” He struggled but found himself just as immobilized as yesterday. Or whenever it was. How long have I been out? “Raphaela!” he yelled.
The door to the chamber irised open and a naked goddess walked in. His mind was foggy and he had to do a double-take before he realized it was really her. He cursed her inwardly for using such a blatant weapon of mass distraction against him but determined to follow his own self-declared resolution to remain emotionally distant.
“Your birthday?” he asked lightly.
She looked down at herself and started, reaching for the blanket on the sleeping platform. “Sorry. I’ve had no need for clothing these past months.”
“How long has it been?”
She compressed her lips, gazing at Skull reproachfully until he understood.
She isn’t showing. Not pregnant anymore. She looks like a Victoria’s Secret model. “So…nine months? Is it…is he…”
“Our son is fine. The base is taking care of him. He’s a clever little thing.” She continued to watch him for signs of…what?
Skull relaxed inside his immobilizing cocoon, suppressing his frustration. “So what now?”
“I’m going to let you out. I just want you to realize that I am not the same woman you knew nine months ago.”
He realized it was true. There was something else about her, something more self-possessed, more confident, more certain. He found it very attractive. He wondered whether it was her confusion and former weakness, and his own similar traits, that had made him so…reactive. “I believe you. And I’m not the same man.”
“I’m not foolish enough to believe you have suddenly grown up while in stasis. That you’ve suddenly become more reasonable.”
“No, but you have. And I have no doubt you have prepared for this moment for that whole time, and you came in naked deliberately, and you wouldn’t have woken me up if you intended to just put me to sleep again. So please, would you release me so I can see him?” Skull had no idea why, but at that moment he felt it was the most important thing in the world to see their child. He wanted to remain stoic but he couldn’t help himself; his eyes pleaded with her.
“You’re right. I’m going to let you out. And you’re right, I am prepared. If only you’d been willing to be friends instead of enemies.”
“I’m not your enemy. I never was. I just didn’t want to be your lover on your terms.” He made the word sound like an epithet. “Look,” he said, “we’re both unusual people in a very unusual situation. Can we make peace here, settle things, let bygones be bygones and all that?”
“You broke my trust, Alan.”
“Did I really? Or did I just fail to meet your fantasy expectations? Instead of insisting I be what you want me to be, can’t you just accept me for who I am?”
“Who are you then?” she asked defiantly.
“A man who will never hurt his own child. Nor will I ever harm you again. Come on, Raphaela. Forgive me. I’m not asking to kiss and make up. Just forgive me and trust me to be who I am, and stop fooling yourself about who that is.”
She stood up, wrapping the blanket around herself and tucking it in. “I’ll think about it,” she said as she walked out.
“Power is addictive, isn’t it!” he yelled after her.
The iris stayed shut for a moment, then opened again as she stepped back through. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. We’re both used to having a lot of power. It’s addictive. When I thought I had you in my control I…took liberties. Now how about you?” He didn’t go so far as to make a direct accusation.
She came closer to listen.
“There’s an old saying, Raphaela. ‘We become what we hate.’ The boy grows up to be an abusive alcoholic like his dad, the neglected junkie’s girl grows up to stick needles in her arm and turn tric
ks for her next high. I’m sorry for treating you badly. I haven’t had a woman in my life since…since I lost someone very special to me. I replaced all that energy with killing. I can’t instantly exchange twenty years of dealing death to become what you want me to be. If Ilona can’t understand that, ask Raphael. Ask what he knows about his observations of humanity. Ask him what he would do.”
After a long moment she whispered, “I will.” She walked out again.
His consciousness remained. With nothing else to do, he thought about what she had said. Eventually he slept.
-29-
The shaking lashed through Orion in waves, one slamming shudder per second. Captain Absen was very happy with his deep, gel-infused chair-couch.
On the way up the crew felt as if they were repeatedly starting to fall, as each pulse fooled their inner ears into thinking they were being caught and flung back upward, only to slow and drop again. They’d been warned about it. The engineers had dubbed it “pogoing,” and the crew was thankful when it finally ended.
After eight hundred seconds and nearly eight hundred nuclear explosions, the city-sized ship reached bare escape velocity, heading slowly out into the solar system. It was lined up on the Plague probes’ reverse course; they assumed this was their best chance to intercept the Meme scout ship.
Absen felt less confident – for example, what if the enemy came from a different direction from the Plague probes? If he had been in the aliens’ shoes – if they had shoes – he would have had the biological torpedoes deliberately approach from another angle.
As soon as Brisbane ground control turned the ship over to him, Absen ordered the Master Helmsman to cease acceleration and begin his post launch checks. The people aboard sighed with relief. For many of them this mood was short-lived as they reached for and used motion-sickness drugs and emesis bags in the weightlessness of microgravity.
The Orion Plague Page 16