The captain hit the control that tipped his chair-couch to a more useful angle, then issued commands. “Engineering, run a prime diagnostic sequence. Take as long as you need. The enemy ship hasn’t been detected and intel says they should be able to give us a good two weeks warning. Once that’s done, spin the ship up very slowly.”
While his crew was all experienced naval personnel, they were also the greenest – the first – the only Space Navy in the solar system. Except for six cyberware-implanted military astronauts contributed by six different nations, none of them had ever left Earth’s atmosphere. The most important thing right now was to shake the crew down, to identify the inevitable problems in this wildly experimental design, and try to forge them into an effective combat team.
Absen touched an icon on his chair’s pad. “Medical,” he snapped into his comm, “give me a report in ten minutes.” Another touch rerouted his words. “Colonel MacAdam, how are your Marines doing?”
“Cycloning and dreaming of available groundsheets, sir.”
Absen could hear the faint sounds of laughter near the Aussie’s microphone. Must be some kind of obscure down-under slang. I knew I should have put more effort into establishing a relationship with him, but there was just too much to do. Well, no time like the present. “Outstanding,” Absen drawled, then switched to the man’s private channel. “Colonel, dinner’s on me in the Captain’s mess at 1800 hours. Bring any of your officers who know a fork from fornication.” Then he cut the circuit, carefully rationing his irritation.
“Sensors, full systems test and report what you see,” he went on. “Beams, you are weapons free on preselected targets as briefed. Guns and missiles, you are weapons hold, I say again, weapons hold.” The lasers soon began destroying some of the thousands of pieces of space junk swarming around the Earth, providing both practice and benefit to future travelers. Orion wasn’t going to add to the debris with its own practice projectiles until well away from Earth. Besides, ammunition was not as abundant as electricity.
So it went for hours as they ran through their procedures, tested their equipment, sorting out the painful chaos and friction of a new ship and crew.
Three unfortunate souls died within the first hour. One managed to somehow override an airlock and breathe vacuum. Two crushed themselves helping to manhandle one of the two ship’s pinnaces within its flight bay, mistaking lack of weight for lack of mass. Five hundred fifty tons of “small” spacecraft squashed weightless crewmen against a bulkhead just as easily as it would have on the ground.
If they had only waited until some spin was put on the ship, that might have been avoided. Absen made a note to reprimand the officer in charge of that detail and was soon relieved to feel a tiny bit of apparent weight returning to everyone. Orion spun up slowly, carefully, in stages, as each increase in force created new problems. Bubbles in water pipes caused pumps to spin wildly as they lost suction. Things fell and shifted. Human orientation changed as floors became bulkheads, hatches became doors, ladders were moved and reattached.
The bridge itself rotated on gimbals, a giant hamster-ball that kept “down” feeling the same, no matter what happened. Its gravity would always be a fraction of that near the ship’s skin, where most of the crew would work during combat. Set deep within the ship and off its axis, it was surrounded by extra armor, had its own auxiliary power supplies, and could be sealed off from the rest of the ship if necessary. An auxiliary CCC mirrored the real one, ready to take over in the event the main was somehow destroyed or rendered inoperable.
Captain Absen was still busy to the eyeballs when his watch chimed 1730, surprising him even as it reminded him of his appointment. He turned the bridge over to his executive officer, Commander Huen Xiaobo, Singaporean Navy. “Half shift, XO, then start the watch rotation. No need to risk fatigue yet.”
The Chinese nod-bowed, then took the Command seat and logged himself in. An extremely competent officer, thought Absen as he made his way to his quarters, but his skills are not what worries me. Loyalties…they didn’t choose me for my military talents alone, either, I know. There were others whose records were more distinguished. It’s my reputation for building crew cohesion, not to mention I speak four other languages. I suppose I need to start learning ‘Australian’ now. Nations divided by a common language indeed.
Inside the capacious Captain’s cabin he found Steward Repeth had his dress whites laid out. Superb Marine, he thought to himself. A bit grim, but so are they all. Probably hated to trade uniforms.
It was the first operational command he’d ever had that allowed, even demanded, that he bring along a full complement of uniforms. The irony of this ship was its profligacy in room and weight. Need to carry more? Build it bigger, make the bombs stronger, as long as you are willing to poison the planet with low-level radiation. But they could worry about those problems when the threat of alien genocide was dealt with.
He dressed carefully, and made sure to prominently display his South Pacific Action ribbon with V device and his Navy Cross. He had earned them for putting three Australian surface ships and two submarines on the bottom during the Three Weeks War between the UGNA and Australia. His single submarine’s record amounted to more than half of the North American ship kills and had saved the country from total embarrassment.
He looked at his sidearm nestled in its case, a custom .45, then ignored it. He wouldn’t win any friends or influence these people by being a cowboy, and the Royal Marines were sure to be nano-augmented. They would laugh at any attempt at physical intimidation, subtle or otherwise. No, he would have to win their respect and loyalty by the old-fashioned method of earning it.
If that failed, he had a few tricks up his sleeve. He wondered offhand how many Australian Marines would be enough to take on one of his Stewards. Perhaps a few rounds in the ring would defuse some tension…if they had the time.
-30-
“Sensors have detected critical fission reactions on the target planet,” Executive reported, turning its eyeball to examine the neutron radiation scanner.
“Again? Perhaps we shall be fortunate and the humans will do our work for us,” Biologist speculated.
“Do your work for you,” Executive retorted. “It is your failure that has brought us to this.”
“It is also his failure that has provided your opportunity to succeed,” reminded Commander. “Perhaps you should express your appreciation by focusing on your work.”
“Yes, Commander.” Executive cheerfully returned to his tasks. If Meme had throats it would have been humming; after hundreds of years of boredom it was busy, and it was favored. Perhaps it would be given its own Command after this.
-31-
Dinner passed and fingers loosed collar buttons. Colonel MacAdam had imbibed quite a lot of Captain Absen’s best port and still seemed dead sober, except for the heightened flush of his ruddy skin. His five company commanders and his executive officer were not so stable, except for the hatchet-faced one on his left, Major Stallers. That man sipped from his glass and kept his counsel, and Absen thought he, among the Colonel’s subordinates, would be the one to watch. The fact that he had been chosen Alpha Company commander reinforced that impression; MacAdam’s dossier had made note of his proclivity for ranking his favorites within his commands, so everyone knew where they stood on his list. And Absen knew Alpha Company was designated “Guard Marines,” some kind of elite status he supposed.
His Stewards kept their glasses filled with impeccable attention. Despite the alcohol and the company, the Aussie Marines had been exceptionally well-behaved. On one hand Absen felt relieved; on the other, he hadn’t identified any weak spots, problems or levers among them. That could be very good or very bad, he thought. All or nothing, all with me or all against me, if it came down to it.
He decided to take it as a good sign, and act as if there was no question in anyone’s mind that the Australians would support the skipper appointed over them, despite the history between them. Absen was su
re MacAdam had noticed the medals he wore, but had not remarked on them. He knew the Colonel had never fought directly against any North American forces.
Absen hoped the fact that he dined alone – except for his Stewards, of course – with them would communicate confidence and trust. After all, if the Australians wanted to commandeer the most powerful piece of military hardware the world had ever produced, armed with thousands of nuclear weapons, nothing would be easier than that the Captain have an unfortunate accident. Even though by international agreement Commander Huen would take over, if MacAdam was willing to get rid of a North American he was unlikely to then take orders from a Chinese.
No, he had to get the Marines on his side – or at least on the side of strict adherence to military law and discipline – as soon as he could.
“So, Colonel, now that the pleasantries and the excellent food,” – not an exaggeration, he thought, for he had bought and paid for a healthy private stock – “is out of the way, I have a few questions for you gentlemen about your understanding and interpretation of the Standing Orders our nations agreed to…”
***
Absen shrugged off his dress jacket into Tobias’ capable hands, and then rolled his neck. It had been a long evening, and for a man less patient it would have been torture. Longsuffering and dogged determination were among his best qualities, though, and he had used them to slowly grind out an approximation of the truth. He’d check his impressions with the watching US psych/intel team in the morning. He knew they’d be up all night reviewing the video and interviewing the Stewards for any observations.
Along with the relative bounty of allowable physical possessions, the crew complement was enormous, larger than any naval ship before it. Granted, aircraft carriers floated with more people aboard, but more than half of those were the air wing, not ship’s crew. This had allowed Absen to hand-pick his staff and slip in people with all sorts of functions – like a separate intel cell.
With five hundred Marines added to the mix, Absen commanded a battleship, with one and only one purpose: to destroy other spaceships. Alien spaceships.
Meme spaceships.
For the thousandth time Absen cursed that damned nanocommando Denham who had kidnapped the alien and flew off in her spaceship. It must have been a case of the madness of the early combat nano versions. It made him sick to think of it. Better to get the Eden injection than trust his body to a bunch of quirky microscopic machines, but the thought of either one made his skin crawl.
At the same time he wished he could contact the man, if he still lived, but they were running silent, except for tightbeam laser communications with the ground. He couldn’t go broadcasting out into space without giving Orion away.
As he got into his shower and let the hot water run over his neck he thought about his crew. Most were Edens, those that psych testing had assured were not averse to blowing some aliens to hell. A few were nano-augmented, especially his eleven Stewards. These had the very latest, along with the training to employ it…and some other, very special modifications. He hoped he would not have to use them in the political powder keg of the Orion.
Barely dry after the shower, Absen threw himself into his bunk. I’ve been thinking about this for months; one more day won’t bring any revelations. That was his last thought before consciousness faded.
His Steward gently closed the Captain’s cabin door and took up his position outside. By force of habit he checked his seven weapons and three major embedded systems before settling into his vigil.
-32-
Skull awoke and rolled over, clutching at the blanket and pillow. Then he sat up suddenly. Free! I’m free. He sprang out of bed naked, reveling in the sense of liberty and unconfinement, turning handsprings from the ceiling and floor in the low gravity. It feels like more than before. Perhaps she found a way to spin up the comet a bit, give us more weight.
He walk-floated to the waste closet door and was stunned to find a human-style bathroom-spa the size of a handball court. It was beautiful. A steaming tub of water bubbled within a clear floor-to-ceiling tubelike enclosure, like a huge cylindrical aquarium. A shower, a toilet, a bidet, a set of sinks, vanity cabinets, mirrors, and thick rugs of what he could swear were animal skins. The towels looked like plush terry.
He felt in need of a good cleaning. No matter how perfect the biotech, there was nothing like soap and hot water to make a man feel human again. He really did feel like he had nine months of grime on him.
Walking carefully over to the bathing facility, he searched for a way in. Finally he thumped the thing up near the top and an iris big enough to ease through opened. He boosted himself up and through without difficulty in the low gravity. It closed after him and he settled carefully into the water, trying not to send it sloshing too much.
It felt wonderful.
Afterward, he found a set of pajama-like garments back in the sleeping chamber and put them on, prepared to face his…what? He had no idea what to label Raphaela. But now that he felt clean and human again, one thought filled his mind.
His son.
He strode out into the spacious main base area, then stopped and turned slowly, looking. A lot had changed in nine months. Or rather, she had changed things a lot in nine months, he assumed. Raphaela was nowhere in sight. He would have thought she would be waiting for him, or would meet him there. He would have thought the base would have told her he was up and around.
Suddenly alert for trouble, he padded quietly from chamber to chamber, ignoring humming and burbling biomachines. Soon he entered a well-equipped human-normal kitchen, and searched the storage shelves for some quick food. He found what looked like cheese and bread and ate, and drank from a water bottle as he searched. She – they – were nowhere to be found.
Of course they could be in some chamber sealed with an indistinguishable iris. Once he had searched the whole place he could see, he decided sneaking around was pointless.
First he yelled, and then began banging on walls. He found more rooms as his thumping caused irises to form. Most were darkened and filled with incomprehensible facilities like the insides of living things, until finally he found one unlike the rest.
At first he thought the doorway somehow opened to naked space, but after looking carefully he realized that it was enclosed by a crystal-clear half dome, set into the edge of the base. Gingerly he stepped forward under a canopy of pinpoint stars, hard-edged in the vacuum. It occurred to his suspicious nature that it wouldn’t take much to have the door close behind him and the room vent its air into space, but he dismissed the idea. If Raphaela had wanted him dead, she’d have done it when he was immobilized. But never again would he let himself be caught that way. Not if he could help it. She says she loves me – okay, she implies it, and says she could – but that’s not real. It’s just an ancient being’s desire for control filtered through a desperate young woman’s immaturity.
Yes his inner voice sounded unconvincing even to himself. He desired to believe it, wished to cease depending on her or anyone, wanted to return to relying on no one but himself. But he couldn’t go back, as long as he was out here in space surrounded by biomachines she controlled. It’s your own damn fault, Skull. You got yourself into this mess. Man up and deal with it.
Isn’t that what she said to you before?
The door opened behind him and he turned in the darkness. He could see her outline against the machines’ glow. Slowly she glided forward, holding a bundle in her arms. She held it out to him, a soft wiggling creature.
It spoke. “Da-da.”
Impossible. It – he – is less than a month old. Skull moved toward Raphaela and she backed up, not to refuse him but to step into the dim warm light of the interior base. She touched a control and the glow increased, and he saw the baby – his child – for the first time.
All of his resolve and self-control crumbled as those shining grey-blue eyes met his. So clear, so innocent, so knowing. “Da-da,” the boy said again, reaching his tiny han
ds out. Skull held out his own, touching a finger to each. The little fists closed, locking on tight, son to father. “Da-da-da-da.”
Raphaela smiled, tearful, looking with approval at Skull, at the unfamiliar tender expression on his face, hoping with the oft-vain hope of women everywhere that a child of two bodies would somehow make them one again.
“How can he be speaking already? He can’t be a month old.”
“I am a Blend, more than human, and he’s half a Blend. I accelerated the pregnancy a little: he’s ten weeks, actually. I also transferred a huge store of Meme genetic memories to him. I also…well, the process also may have unlocked some of yours.”
Skull looked at her in confusion. “What?”
“You contributed your genetic material. One sperm contains the equivalent of about seven hundred fifty megabytes of data. Some of that is racial genetic memory. That’s just one cell’s worth, the one that fertilized the egg. Then my Blend biology provided many times as much during the gestation.”
“How much of me is really in him?”
Her face dimpled in a smile. “More than the average child has of his father. He’ll be tall. He already shares that schnozz of yours, and my eyes. He already knows you. And he’s an Eden, of course, so he’ll be healthy. And smart.”
“So he’s some kind of genius?”
Raphaela smiled further, nearly blinding him with her perfect white teeth. “He should develop to the apex of human capacity, as well as having access to a great deal of stored knowledge, bypassing the need to learn it. So yes, in one sense, he will be a genius. More like a human being operating near the upper limits of his mind.”
Struck speechless, Skull could only stare at the mobile little face. “So small…What’s his name?”
The Orion Plague Page 17