Stomach filled and back in his office, he reviewed his notes for a few minutes, then walked down to the basement where the secure conference room waited. He nodded to Rick Johnstone, grown strong, free of the muscular dystrophy that had made his early life a creeping hell.
“Most of them are up already. I have a few more to connect.”
“Thanks, let me know.” Markis sat down, shuffled papers for a few moments.
“All right, everyone’s up, and you’re live, Mister Chairman.”
Nodding once more, he turned to address the Council of the Free Communities. “Hello, everyone. I won’t say good day. By now most of you should have heard about Kinshasa. Here's a video of the last strike, taken from about ten miles away.”
The feed dissolved to a grainy shot of the entrance to the lab complex, then pulled back to see the scrubland between the cameraman and the target, and the city of Kinshasa, Congo, beyond. The unnamed videographer spoke as the image jumped and steadied. “Should be any time now. Hope to hell I'm far enough away.”
A few more seconds went by, then streaks of light and explosions whited out the picture. As it cleared, they could see several mushroom clouds, miniature copies of the aftermath of nuclear explosions. One billow, off target, rose deep inside the densely-populated city. Then the picture faded.
Markis spoke. “It was a sub-launched ballistic missile, another non-nuclear Trident MIRV, multiple kinetic strike. I believe this happened because someone leaked word of the research facility there. I will tell you in confidence that our science program has not been seriously damaged, because none of our scientists had occupied the facility. They attacked too soon, before the lab was in operation. But we cannot let these atrocities continue.”
He wasn’t going to tell the full council about the warning that his human intelligence network, his spies in the United Governments territory, had provided. While the video teleconference technology was secure, the Council itself, and the staffs of the members, were not.
Like any political body, it leaked like a sieve.
He selected one of the blinking lights that told him the member wanted to address the Council. This was one of his most important powers: the power to choose who would be heard, and in what order. Best to let the opposition speak first. “Yes, Ms. Farnsworth?”
“This proves what I have said repeatedly. We must shut down the research programs. There has been very little progress in the last five years, since the fertility and metabolism issues were solved; the virtue effect has proven itself uncrackable. And the high-tech weapons programs are a waste of resources and cost countless lives as they provoke the Big Three to these horrifying actions. We must bide our time. Our projections show that the Plague will eventually reach everyone. If nothing else, we will outlive our opponents.”
“Thank you.” He pressed another button, to hear from a more moderate source. “Go ahead, Mr. Ramirez.”
“Thank you Mr. Chairman. We are not responsible for the evil of the UGNA, the Soviets or the Chinese. But what are we doing to curb these leaks and security breaches? If there were none, they would have no reason to target facilities, real or imagined, with weapons of mass destruction. I cite Antigua.”
Antigua had been incinerated eight years ago, before the Nuclear Concord agreement that ended atomic weapon use, apparently because of a mere rumor of a nonexistent Free Community research facility.
Markis pressed the speaking key. “Unfortunately the virtue effect does not preclude simple foolishness and gossip. It’s human nature. We cannot and will not use heavy-handed tactics like our opponents to try to control leaks. That’s an impossible and self-destructive task. All of the Free Communities must implement their security plans in their own way. Next?”
The debate carried on for forty-five minutes; complaints and recriminations, discussion points and politesse back and forth. The only difference between this and a pre-Plague political body is that occasionally someone’s mind was changed by logic and common sense. And they were more or less civil. And there were no filibusters allowed. He supposed it was an improvement.
When the requests for the floor finally died down, Chairman Markis addressed them. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement that may provide some hope. As you know, the Central American arena has proven the UG’s current quagmire. Since seizing everything south to Panama, the drug cartels, the Maoist guerillas, the independence movements, and the simple intractable poverty consumes their resources at an alarming rate. The employment of the Security Service Psychos has exacerbated the situation for them exponentially, a tremendous blunder. Death squad tactics and gratuitous atrocities have turned the population against them.”
“The Free Communities have survived, even prevailed in Africa, South America and Australia, and the Neutral States have stabilized Europe, Southwest Asia, the Middle East, and the Indian subcontinent, but the situation has become stalemated. Millions of people languish in concentration camps, enslaved and starving. They don’t even have the benefit of the updates in the virus that have eliminated the hunger and the fertility issues. Our Armed Forces commandos have rescued as many as we can. But I am here now to tell you we have a chance to change the balance of power, to break the stranglehold of tyranny for millions.”
He checked his watch. They should be boarding the submarine just about now. Markis continued.
“I can now tell you that our intelligence service is on the verge of scoring a tremendous success. We have suborned a high-ranking official in the UGNA, an official so high that he ranks near the Triumvir-Presidents themselves. He has provided us with a data dump of the UGNA strategic targeting and activation codes. In a matter of hours, we will be able to deploy our latest cyber weapons to take control of, and selectively launch their own ballistic and cruise missiles, regardless of warhead, at targets of our choosing.”
Almost every picture on the screen flashed with a request for the floor; he had expected that, and he ignored them. “Please, let me finish, then everyone will have a chance to speak. Perhaps I can answer some of your questions right away.”
“I have not gone mad, nor have our intelligence specialists. No one will be launching these weapons against human targets. But in the narrow window we expect to have before the UG regains control of their arsenal, we intend to retarget and launch as many missiles as possible, to strike in harmless, empty places. These weapons are expensive, and they are deadly; if we can expend hundreds or even thousands of them, we can substantially reduce our vulnerability. There will be no nuclear detonations. We do not have the Permissive Action Link codes to activate the weapons themselves. But in one stroke we might just destroy more than half their strategic weapons.”
Now if they’ll just believe this necessary lie.
-3-
Larry Nightingale rolled over in the gentle morning’s light. He gazed for a time at the perfect curve of his wife Shawna’s waist and hips hiding under satin sheets. He wondered how he could ever have been so lucky, and sent a prayer of thanks skyward. His Baptist faith, never very strong, had taken a beating for a while. Now, despite the struggles he saw miracles everywhere, mostly in the love of a woman he knew was far too good for him.
Aware of his contemplation, she stirred and rolled over to face him.
He reached out to touch the notch at her throat, the mark of a master craftsman, he had always thought. How could anyone think that something as beautiful as this woman came about by random natural forces?
“Hey, hunky-dory.”
“Hey.”
“Penny?”
Larry blinked. “Just thanking God for you every day.”
“You say the sweetest things.” She leaned closer to enfold herself in his arms, and his passion rose. The world went away for a while.
Some time later they sat together at the breakfast table, with scrambled and toast between them. “Remember how this used to be? Three dozen eggs just for you?” Shawna laughed.
“Sure glad Elise got the metabolism
thing worked out.”
“Elise and her team, you mean.”
“Yes, sorry, all of you guys.”
“Oh, not me. I’m not claiming credit, I’m just an administrator.”
Larry laughed. “And I just blow stuff up. Without you, the research program would fall apart into a thousand little jealous factions with redundant and wasteful efforts.”
“Lesouer wouldn’t agree with you.” She made a face.
“Too bad the Plague doesn’t cure sticks up the ass.”
“I don’t think there is a cure for that.” Her laugh was hearty and feminine, but not in the least ladylike, as befit her big, brash personality – dominating anywhere but here. With Larry, she melted.
“So,” he asked, idly poking at a fraying part of the tablecloth, “how is the research program going?”
“Which part? No progress on the virtue effect – if you can call it progress.”
“It would help to make them a bit more afraid of us.”
“I’m not so sure. We get so many refugees just because they know we will treat them well; that we don’t torture or abuse them.”
“I don’t want to abuse anyone. I just wanna be able to use kinetic weapons, especially against combat vehicles, without feeling like a murderer. Do you know the UG is retrofitting their Wraith combat drones to put a man in? They announced it on the news. They know our options are much more limited without lethal force.”
“Our EMP and charged particle beam weapons are coming along.”
“I been hearing that for a while.”
She pouted. “We’re doing the best we can.”
“I know you are. What about the space program?”
“It’s a catch-22. We need to be able to test things – engines first, then actual rocket bodies – but the last two centers we established got nuked. We buried the scientists deep enough so we didn’t lose many, just a few that were going in or out – but we can’t do anything aboveground with all their overhead coverage.” ‘Overhead’ meant satellite reconnaissance.
“So without rockets we can’t make missiles to knock down the spy satellites that keep us from making rockets.”
“I have some hopes for the beam weapons project. The Australians –“
“The Australians saved their own bacon. The only FC state to give the Big Three a bloody nose – and they killed a lot of people to do it. I’m still not sure how. And I’m not sure we’re not going to pay for it later. But they won’t talk about it.”
“Maybe it’s because if we knew, we wouldn’t want to know. It almost split the FC and brought down the Council as it is.”
Larry sighed. “But it stopped the Big Three from striking Australian soil, so now our most important research facilities are being moved there. Somehow they jury-rigged a solution to the virtue effect. I’ve been runnin’ it over in my head and I can only think of a few ways, and all of them scare me.”
Sounds of sleepy bare feet slapping on the tile floors echoed down the hallway from the bedrooms. Hands rubbing eyes led pajamas into the kitchen as Daniela and Ellis, nine and seven, padded over to the breakfast table. Ellis grabbed a piece of toast, began to butter it, while Daniela sat down primly and said, “Tea please.”
“Tea please coming right up. Larry, I have to get going.”
“Woman works from sun to sun…”
She laughed. “You got that right. Have a good day.” She poured the tea and then kissed Larry soundly, leaving him to his Mister Mom routine.
He didn’t mind; schools were good now that South Africa was a Free Community run by Edens, the telework infrastructure was excellent, and he had his weight room handy whenever he felt like taking a break. They were far enough out from any facility that he believed – he hoped – that no one would initiate a strike on them. The FC research effort was widely dispersed, depending on virtual space and online collaboration.
He saw the kids off on their bus and then sat down at his bank of screens. Right now he was modeling shaped explosives in hopes of developing a nonlethal kinetic weapon to use against armored vehicles. It was an enormous technical challenge; how do you strike a tank with a projectile smart enough to disable the vehicle but not kill the crew? Targeting was a big part of it, though that had largely been solved. By using top-attack missiles and aiming at the engine compartments or the tires or treads, most of the time you got a mobility kill with no crew death.
But most of the time wasn’t good enough for FC politics. The Eden Plague had enhanced some of the populace’s tendencies to stick their heads in the sand, turned them into what used to be called lefties and treehuggers and peaceniks and the enhanced revulsion to killing made ‘most of the time’ unacceptable to those Edens. Even the Council members, who tended to be more pragmatic, realistic and hard-nosed, were as kill-phobic as uninfected humans used to be nuke-phobic.
He sighed, rubbing his head. His idea to develop a high-shock, low-temperature round – almost the opposite of the usual shaped charges designed to cut through armor – was hard to put into practice. He’d like to be able to hit any part of the vehicle and have the smart shell precisely calibrate the force of the explosion to transmit the right amount of shock and concussion to the crew to render them combat ineffective without killing them. It was the age-old problem – the politicians and the populace wanted guarantees that the weapons would work perfectly as advertised.
But there were no guarantees in war.
***
Shawna Nightingale drove through the quiet, well-tended streets of Carletonville to her South African administrative office. She could have set up a telework station at home with Larry but if she did she would never get anything done. Besides, she and her small staff worked better with some personal contact.
Her title was ‘Chief of Integration.’ What she really did was try to coordinate and rationalize the entire far-flung research program of the Free Communities. This meant a lot of work on elimination of redundancies, negotiations on budgets and resources, and personnel issues. It also meant she and her staff had tremendous visibility across the spectrum of development efforts, from the genetic engineering and improvement of the Eden Plague, to the foundational work on the fledgling FC space and missile program.
As soon as she got there she logged into a secure link with Elise Markis. The chairman’s wife headed up the Free Community’s Eden Plague improvement effort, and had been instrumental in eliminating its major problems. All except the virtue effect. That had never been overcome. Shawna sometimes suspected that it never would be, and perhaps shouldn’t be.
Maybe the scientists working on it have suppressed information; if they tweaked the virus to overcome the virtue effect, we’d be back to a lot of the same old crap – crime, vicious politics, domestic abuse – that is mostly gone now. If the price is difficulty defending ourselves…tough call. Can’t force them to cough it up.
The microbiologist’s face popped up on her screen. “Hey, Shawna, How are you? You look fresh and bright.”
“You do too; no more all-nighters? How’s Cape Town?”
Elise smiled. “It’s all right. Though I get a lot more done if I work straight through. Research is a creative endeavor.”
“Yes, you’ve fed me that line before. Any news? You’re late on your last report.” Shawna put on her best no-nonsense boss face.
“Sorry about that. I let a lot of the staff take some time off. Tinker should be back today. No, nothing new. Has you-know-who come up with anything on you-know-what?” Elise was talking about Cassandra Johnstone, Markis’ chief spymaster and confidante.
Shawna wondered how Elise could avoid worrying about the close working relationship those two had, but she never seemed concerned. “No, sorry.”
Elise shrugged. “Well, frankly we’ve gone about as far as we can on the EP. It unravels the Devil Plague - the original alien virus - almost perfectly now, and it augments the immune system against just about any known germ. But we have no idea of how it will do against a Von
Neumann nano-infection, assuming there even is such a thing.” She was talking about theoretical self-replicating machines tiny enough to inhabit a human body and affect it just as germs did. “We need a sample of a real threat before we can defend against it.”
“I hear you, just like I heard you last week. I’ll ask again,” she said resignedly. “Anything on the airborne front?”
“The usual.” Elise shrugged.
“Elise, are you sure…” Shawna ground down, exasperated. “Look, I’m no microbiologist but I do know that viruses mutate and become airborne all the time. It’s always a big worry with any deadly new one. How hard can it be?”
“Shawna, are you asking me whether I’m lying to you?” Elise’s eyes were wide with surprise.
“I’m just asking what others ask me, Elise. I don’t think you’d lie to me unless you thought it was very, very important…life and death, in fact. Some people think if the FC makes the Plague airborne, the Big Three will initiate an all-out nuclear strike…so are you sure none of your team is suppressing a discovery out of that fear?”
Elise’s brow furrowed. “No, I can’t be absolutely sure. We have scattered and distributed operations, we have a lot of quirky personalities, and we have way too many leaks.” She sighed. “I’ll try to keep my eyes open, but you know what? I’m exhausted. Tomorrow my second-in-command will be returning from his week off. I was thinking of going to visit DJ.”
Shawna frowned. “I’m sorry, Elise…” She chewed the inside of her lip. “DJ asked me to tell you in case it came up that he thinks it’s too dangerous for a while. Something he wouldn’t tell me about, some kind of big thing that really worried him. In fact, he said if you had time off, you should go camping with the kids. Somewhere away from populated areas.”
The Demon Plagues Page 2