The Orion Plague (37 page)

The man opened the door. “Sir?”

“Take Miss Raphaela here to…wherever she
wants. Keep two Stewards with her as long as she’s aboard
Orion
, and pass the word she’s not to be impeded as long as
she doesn’t do anything weird.”

“Weird, sir?”

“Yes, dammit, weird, and no, I don’t know
what that means. Use your best judgment.” He nodded as they left,
then reached for his desk computer and headset. Once he got through
to MacAdam he gave instructions to the Marine Colonel about
Denham’s body and Raphaela. Then he called for his officers.

Staff meeting in space; what’s the world
coming to
, he thought as he entered the intelligence fusion
center. It was the only intact meeting room big enough to hold most
of his remaining thirty-some officers, and he wanted to talk to as
many of them as he could. They snapped to attention and he told
them to take their seats. Then he laid out the current situation,
calling on key officers to give brief reports, and started to
hammer out some kind of plan.

It took hours; these kinds of things were
ugly but necessary, even in wartime, to make sure everyone was on
board and understood the whole situation. Once the meeting broke
up, Absen knew the officers would – should – go back and brief
their sections, ensuring everyone in the crew knew as much as
anyone. It kept mistakes to a minimum, made them feel valued, and
reduced the scuttlebutt.
Nothing like an unchecked rumor to
cause some kind of fiasco
, he thought.

***

On the Meme ship, Raphaela’s first priority
was to see Skull’s body...and suit. As she had asked, it lay just
where it had fallen, congealed in a pool of blood. Parts of him
were strangely pristine, showing where the nano had healed him
before it had killed him. For she knew that was what had happened;
cracking his skull and the meniscus surrounding his brain had let
them in, and the nano had run riot, trying in their clumsy way to
repair his grey matter. Like amateur painters trying to restore an
ancient masterpiece, they caused far more damage than they healed,
and it was ultimately fatal.

She reached over to the pieces of the
bio-suit, kneading a part of the helmet until it gave up a tiny
module under her fingers. Then she knelt and cried, placing her
hand on his head, on the shaven skull that she knew so well. She
stayed that way for a long while.

Major General Nguyen observed Colonel
MacAdam from the dark corner of the Marines’ empty Operations
Center where he had secreted himself. Drawing on his old skills and
his new understanding of Dadirri, he had walked past sentries
without a trace, murmuring words that clouded their minds for just
long enough to slip by. There were no mechanical impediments to
movement, such as keypads or chip-locks, at least not here. Marine
guards should have been enough.

It was the origin of his nickname “Spooky,”
this art of invisibility, now perfected.

As the
Orion
licked its gaping wounds,
he watched MacAdam sitting in his chair alone in front of the wall
of screens. Right now that wall was mostly dark, just a few pieces
with displays of status graphs, showing seas of red and yellow
indicators. The Colonel’s injured leg rested on the rail in front
of him, the cast around his foot strangely truncated.

Nguyen knew that those who lost mere pieces
and parts were the lucky ones; much of the crew had lost their
lives, many suddenly and without warning. As in naval combat on the
high seas, ofttimes death came from an unseen projectile, carrying
away life and limb with startling finality. But he was not
concerned about MacAdam’s body, only his state of mind.

The man banged one fist softly on the arm of
his chair, rhythmically for a time, then sporadically, listening to
the beat of his own internal drummer. He might have been mourning
the deaths of so many of his Marines, but his other hand roved over
the stubble of his own face as if undecided about something. That
same hand scratched at his crew-cut hair and rubbed the back of his
neck, tapped his chin or nose, or dug crusts out of eyes too long
open and awake.

If Nguyen had been a betting man, he would
wager that MacAdam was struggling with a decision. So he decided
the wisest course was to help the man make the right choice, rather
than waiting for him to commit to the wrong one and then have to
kill him. He stepped forward softly.

“Good day, Colonel,” he said quietly.

MacAdam started, twisting around to look at
the apparition in black. “Dear God. General Nguyen?” He began to
stand, but Nguyen waved him back to his seat.

“Yes, I am here.”

“But…why? You’re not supposed to be...”
Nguyen could see thoughts churned in his head. “Why didn’t you show
yourself earlier?”

“I should think that would be obvious.”

The big Australian rubbed his face yet again.
“I’m really tired, sir. I’d appreciate it if you get to the
point.”

Interesting…he has some doubts, or some
fears. He may doubt himself and his own intentions, or he may fear
mine.

“So be it. Colonel, you are a man on a knife
edge. You must decide who and what you are.”

“Bloody hell, I hate all this Eastern mystic
crap. Just what is this all about?”

“You know very well what it is about. Smythe
approached you, probably in the last month before launch, perhaps
as late as the day prior, and offered you a deal. Is that Western
and direct enough for you, Colonel?”

MacAdam clawed for his sidearm, a look of
fear on his face, and Nguyen did nothing at all to impede him. The
big handgun pointed at the smaller man’s chest, shaky but unlikely
to miss at such point-blank range. “And if I kill you, I can take
the deal.”

“Correct. You can.” Nguyen waited,
impassive.

MacAdam waited too, then got tired of it. “I
don’t understand you. With your skills you could have tried for the
gun, maybe taken it from me. Or you could have a gun trained on me
instead.”

“You ask me why? You are not a stupid man,
Colonel. Knowing me as you do, why do you think I am standing here
now?”

“I don’t know! I don’t understand politicians
like you. All I ever wanted to do was serve my country and the
world.”

Spooky shook his head. “That’s not all you
want. You want to rise high. You want General’s insignia on your
shoulders and all the prestige that comes with them. You want to be
glorified as the hero of the first battle of the defense of Earth.
But now a serpent has tempted you with a shortcut. She holds out
the fruit of her favor. Will you take it?”

The shaking in MacAdam’s hand grew, until
finally he placed the weapon flat on the table beside him.
“Dammit…you’re half right. She also has my family. She says they’ll
only be safe if I do as she told me.”

“Ah. Your family.” Nguyen reached inside his
jacket for an envelope. “Here are some photographs that may relieve
your mind. Sorry about the quality, I had to use a low-density
transmitter.”

MacAdam looked at the printouts one by one,
showing his wife and children smiling, holding the Sydney newspaper
of the day after the launch, Colonel Alkina with a forced smile off
to the side. The photos sagged into his lap as he put his head back
against the chair and closed his eyes in defeat and relief. “All
right,” he whispered. “Thank you. I’ll resign.”

“Nonsense. I won’t let you shirk your duty so
easily. You led your men into combat. They followed you, not me.
You are the hero who stormed and captured the enemy ship. I forged
the weapon, you wielded it with pride and honor.” Nguyen stepped
forward to hold out his hand. “Well done, Colonel.”

MacAdam stared at the hand for a moment, then
took it with solemn wonder and gratitude.

“Now get some sleep,” Nguyen ordered, “and
keep my presence secret for now.” He left the Ops Center as spooky
as he came in.

Master Helmsman Okuda stood at attention
outside Captain Absen’s office door.

Tobias looked at him curiously, but kept his
mouth shut. It was a good trait in a bodyguard, keeping silence.
Still, he wondered what was making the Congolese cue-ball nervous.
From what he’d seen the man was calm and imperturbable, highly
professional. Scuttlebutt said he was a hero, had saved the ship
with his piloting. He shrugged within himself. There were many
mysteries to what went on around any senior officer. Sometimes
Security knew, sometimes they didn’t. He’d gotten used to it.

“Send him in,” Tobias heard, and did that
thing. The door shut behind Okuda. That was the Captain’s business
as well, being alone with subordinates. He hated being even a
second away from defending his principal, but he knew Absen was a
fine hand with that .45 he kept within reach, so he just stayed
relaxed. After all, the door wasn’t locked.

Inside the office Absen looked Okuda up and
down with a certain amount of surprise. “What can I do for you,
Master Helm?” he asked the man. He was clearly uncomfortable.

“Sir, I am reporting for discipline.”

Absen sat back, running a hand over his thin
crew cut. “For what?” He saw Okuda hesitate. “Come on, man. You
saved the ship many times. Whatever it is, I think you have
mitigating circumstances on your side.”

“Yes, sir.” He took a deep breath. “I used
your authorization to let deLille out of her quarters.”

“Oh? Why? I’m not going to press any charges.
Being kept out of the battle was punishment enough, I think.”

“That’s just it, sir. She wasn’t kept out of
the battle.”

“Really?” Absen leaned forward, putting his
elbows on his desk. “Tell me.”

“I had her released before we closed with the
enemy. I used your codes and recorded voice to tell the guards to
escort her to the auxiliary bridge for duty, and return her to
quarters afterward.”

Absen cupped his chin in one palm.
“Interesting. And you did this because you two are lovers?”

Okuda’s jaw dropped for a moment. “You knew?
No sir. I mean, yes we are, but that wasn’t why. It’s because she’s
the best pilot this ship has.”

“But not the best Helmsman.”

Okuda blinked, nostrils flaring to a deep
breath. “Perhaps not. But she worked with me the whole battle,
picking up my slack when I was overloaded with tasks, so she fought
too. And if the main bridge was destroyed, we needed the best we
had to take over in the auxiliary CCC. I know she gets along well
with Commander Huen.”

“All right, you’ve informed me, thank you.
Now go get some sleep; you’re about to fall over from fatigue.”

“Captain…can you release her now?”

“No, Chief, I think my leniency has been
tested enough. Let her think about the error of her ways for a
while. And next time you visit her, you can tell her well done, but
I suggest she find another ship just as soon as she can. Perhaps
Commander Huen will take her when they give him one.”

“But Captain –”

“Dismissed, Mister Okuda. Go. Mitigation does
not always mean forgiveness.”

“Yes, sir.” Snapping to attention, Okuda
turned on his heel and exited Absen’s office, holding his sigh of
relief until he was well into the corridor.
That could have been
much worse
. Then he followed his captain’s orders and fell into
his bunk, stopping only to relieve himself on the way.

“I love you,” Skull told Raphaela as they
floated in the void together.

“I know you do. That’s why I saved this piece
of you.”

“Piece of me?” His disembodied presence tried
to look around, but found he could do nothing but hover, and
perceive the woman he loved.

“Yes. I’m talking with an engram your suit
recorded on a data module. I’m sorry, Alan, but you’re gone.”

“I remember…but I don’t feel gone. Can’t you
keep me…like this?”

“I can, and I will. But it’s only a piece of
you, all I could save. You’re loaded into the nervous system of the
Meme ship, as am I. This is just a virtual construct.”

“Okay…so what now?”

“I wanted to talk to you this way for a bit.
To make sure you were sane.”

He tried to shrug, but there was no result.
“I feel sane.”

“Do you remember when we were talking about
Blending, and what it meant to share minds or bodies?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Do you want to be a ship?”

“What are my choices?”

“This, or oblivion. I can’t countenance
trying to load your memories into a human brain. Maybe someday,
when we know more. But for now, you can be awake, and your mind can
learn to run the ship – be the ship – or you can go to sleep, and
I’ll wake you up later, when I figure something else out.”

“I’ll be the ship.” He tried to smile, tried
to reach for her, but could do nothing. “You knew, didn't you?”

“Knew what?”

“That this would happen.”

Raphaela sighed. “I thought it might. You
seemed bent on an heroic death. To expiate your guilt, I
guess.”

“You plan well for a girl in her
twenties.”

She laughed, painfully, ironically. “All it
took was for you to die to make you finally believe I'm human?”

Skull laughed flatly. “It was a joke. Sorry.
I'm not myself lately.” He tried to do...
anything
, again,
but failed. “What now?”

“We’ll take it slow. Let’s start with a
little scenery.” She began to manipulate the mental environment,
and suddenly they seemed to be sitting in a room in the Meme ship.
Skull acquired a ghostly body, a kind of transparent sketch instead
of a real solid figure.

“I figured out what you did,” he said once he
got used to the situation. “Back when we started, on the way out,
when all that…happened.”