The Orion Plague (9 page)

Suddenly he knew. Pain and pleasure. Direct
neural stimulation. Why hurt the body when you can go direct to the
seats of reward and punishment, the brain itself? That’s what they
did – push a button and he was immediately in hell or heaven:
instant fire or orgasm or seizure or opiate dreams.

Even then he felt the lure of the rewards,
the fear of the punishments. Academically he knew he might someday
be rescued, but part of him didn’t even want it. Part of him just
wanted to go find Shari and bow before her and plead with her for
more, and more, and more.

The other part was horrified and sickened at
this very weakness and at the fear and nausea, terrified of the
pain when he tried to disobey and contemplated rebellion. Even now
his stomach cramped and his head filled with a low humming, and
fire began to run through his body, recalling his first treatment
in the Burn Room.

They altered me, rewired me,
he
realized.
I’m a cyborg now, with bionic implants and nerves I
can’t shut off, that force me to feel everything they want me to
feel. But why? What do they want me to do?

Shoving the wire back into his wrist he
watched the skin scab over and heal within minutes.
Very
convenient for covert work,
he thought
. It must have
something to do with what they want me to do. Steal information?
Plant it? And you know what, I’ll do it.
He shook his head and
tears began running down his cheeks
. I’ll do it, because I can’t
take that kind of pain. No one could, because there’s no way to
run, no way to hide, no way to end it. I’m afraid of the pain, and
I’m afraid I’ll never have the pleasure again.

Oh Lord, I’m an addict. That’s what this is.
I’m addicted. They got me three ways – addiction, pain, and, I
presume, death. There has to be some kind of deader mechanism
inside me, probably big enough to destroy all the cyberware. I bet
there’s half a kilo or more of C4 in my chest. Dear God, what can I
do?

Outside in the corridor he heard footsteps,
and the lock turning. He pulled on the teal scrubs he had been
wearing, his only clothing, and sat tensely on the chair.

Shari entered the room, not in her lab coat
but wearing a body-hugging red dress that showed off all her
curves, and it drove him to his knees. He simply couldn’t help
himself; his body betrayed him. From the floor he looked up like a
dog before his mistress and a groan bled from his lips. “Please…”
He was not sure what he was pleading for.

“Oh, Rick,” Shari said, closing the door and
stepping over to him. “I missed you.” She caressed his head and he
pressed his face into her body, clinging to her like a child or a
broken lover, hugging her from on his knees.

“Please,” he said again. “Please…help
me.”

And she did. Reaching a hand into her
cleavage she extracted a pendant and pressed her thumbprint to the
tiny touchscreen on it.

Rick cried out in relief and fulfillment as
he was suffused with a feeling of love and caring and warmth that
rolled in like a wave. It subsided into the background, and he
found himself led to sit on his bunk, leaning back against the
wall, eyes dull as a lotus-eater. After a few moments the feeling
drained away, leaving only its afterglow, an imitation of intimacy
that nevertheless felt real.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Shari smiled, and
all became right with his world. He could think of nothing but her,
her presence, how much he wanted to be with her. All doubts had
been washed away.

“Yes, thank you. I love you, Shari,” Rick
said, and he believed it. He really did, even while somewhere
within him wailed a thin small boy crying
noooooo
. He
ignored the warning, focused on the woman in front of him, the only
thing that made his life worthwhile. “I really do.”

“I know you do, Rick darling. We just have a
little more work to do to get you ready. Get rid of some of those
pesky little memories that just get in your way.” She held out her
hands to him again and he came into her arms, and everything was
really and truly fine, better than it had ever been.

The Beast held four now, with Donovan gone:
Lockerbie in the driver’s seat, Butler one-handed on the gun and
Grusky backing them up in the rear. Jill could have found a
replacement but she didn’t feel like trying to fit someone in at
the last second. From the passenger seat of the monster truck she
stared at the assault aircraft.

They were MH-60 Black Hawks from the 160th
Aviation, the same kind of birds that had brought the SEALs in to
take out Bin Laden. A bit old, but much upgraded and impeccably
serviced. Other countries had helicopters more advanced than the US
did now, but she knew that once the nation got back on its feet
they would get some better ones. For now, the tried and true was
good enough.

Four birds cranked up their rotors, and she
watched forty nanocommandos load up. She ground her teeth, wishing
she was going in with them, but then again, they couldn’t exactly
fly the Beast along.

Her team was going in with the ground
assault. That was supposed to start as soon as the commandos were
down, and was mostly there to surround the place and keep anyone
from getting away.

We’ll see
, she thought.

The helos lifted in two pairs, each lead and
trail about one hundred meters laterally separated. They
disappeared into the dawning sky, barely visible with all their
running lights off. On top of their surfaces they had faint green
glow-strips so they could see each other, invisible from the
ground.

Intel had detected no radars or air-defense
weapons, so they had a good chance of dropping the assault teams
off safely. Getting out might be another issue, but the aviators of
Task Force 160 were the best in the world, dedicated support for
the Delta hostage rescue teams and other special operations
forces.

In fact, Jill had heard that once the
commando nano was fully stabilized, Delta would be the next ones to
get it.
More power to ‘em
, she thought.
Gotta respect the
D-boys after what they laid down in Mogadishu.
Besides, she had
a better plan for taking the next step up, and it was waiting in
front of her.

The go-code crackled over the squadcomm and
Lockerbie cranked up the Beast. They were parked behind a monstrous
M1A4 tank with “Big Daddy” painted in white on its rear end. The
laser antimissile R2D2 fitted to the turret made it look like
something from a sci-fi movie.

They were supposed to let the tank, and its
fellows strung out left and right of her, charge forward across the
open fields and pasturelands outside of the Pax River complex. The
Navy and Marines were making a similar assault on the Solomons
Island complex across the narrow strait. Bill had given them all he
knew but he’d never been to this area, the heart of Septagon
Shadow, so a simultaneous assault was the best bet to rescue
prisoners, capture scientists and take as much of the technology
intact.

The big tank lurched forward and Lockerbie
pulled in directly behind it as per orders. Dawn was just breaking
to the east but the driver had the Beast’s infrared sensors linked
into her squadcomm helmet and drove like it was daylight.

“See that next open field?” Repeth asked

“Sure, Top.”

“As soon as Big Daddy in front of us squashes
that fence, pass him on the left and punch it.”

“Ah…okay, Top. Hope he doesn’t decide to put
a round up our ass.”

“Naw, we got IFF on, right?”

“Right,” answered Grusky from the back seat
after checking the comms stack.

“Fine. I want to be in on the kill.”

“Funny, Top, I thought you might say that. I
didn’t need my next stripe anyway.” As the tank flattened the
fence, Lockerbie accelerated and roared around the behemoth,
bouncing over the ruts and bumps. “Shit!” she yelled as suddenly
some hills grew legs. “They didn’t say anything about cows!” She
wrenched the wheel hard to the right, then left again.

“Intel always sucks, you know that,” Repeth
said dryly as the black-and-white milk cattle scattered in all
directions.

In front of the Beast they could see the
target complex, a low line of buildings now lit by flashes of
gunfire. Whirlybird shapes appeared briefly above the treeline to
their left before disappearing into the night at nap-of-the-earth
height, wheels brushing the treetops.

“All right folks, let’s get in there and give
the glory boys some help. Butler, you are weapons free, but be damn
sure what you’re shooting at. Use Needleshock to start with in case
it’s our guys.”

“Roger,” came Butler’s laconic reply. “Uh oh,
here we go.” He ripped off a burst with his gun, a sound like steel
cans going through a wood chipper. Yellow fire reached out from the
Vixen as the tracers among the shells lit their path. An enemy SUV
burst into flame and rolled to a stop, men bailing out.

“Cut them down,” Repeth ordered. “They might
be Shadows. Needleshock will give them a fighting chance.”

“You got it, boss.” More light stabbed out,
short bursts that touched the figures and threw them like puppets
to the ground.

Then they were in among the buildings, and
the weakness of Repeth’s rogue plan became apparent. There was a
bewildering array of structures. Some looked like offices, some
like hangars or utility sheds or warehouses. Remembering the Noman
Cole plant, she said, “Keep a lookout for a building with skinny
windows and concrete walls, like the other one we hit.”

“Like that one?” Grusky pointed over his
shoulder to the left.

“Good eyes.” Repeth could not see any
activity at that building, but the windows glowed with internal
light and it was clearly occupied. “What do you think, Lock? Will
the Beast take the hit?”

“The front entrance? Uh…no, I don’t think so.
That’s reinforced concrete. This isn’t a tank.”

“Hmm. Good thinking, Lockerbie. Put you in
for a medal.”

“I think you already owe me one or two,
Top.”

“I’ll make sure you all get one good one, I
promise. Now turn this puppy around and go find Big Daddy.”

***

“He’s not here.” Repeth kicked her prisoner
in the butt, causing him to stumble.

“Boss, throttle down, okay? There are
civilians.” Grusky hurried alongside her to keep up.

“They’re Unionist pigs, that’s what they are.
Here, Corporal, got another one for you.” She shoved the hapless
man with the Unie patch in the direction of the MPs and their
makeshift stockades, then turned back toward the building and the
Beast.

Big Daddy had rammed the front door of the
building, after a bit of persuading on her part. The tank commander
had waved as he pulled back to his position in the breaking dawn.
Nobody was likely to have noticed their little deviation from the
op plan.

The team had searched the building over the
past half hour, and had cleared it of all resistance on the first
floor. Now Repeth and Grusky returned to the Beast, which was now
half-inside the structure with the Vixen pointed at an armored
door. It was the only one they hadn’t been able to open, even with
blasting charges. Whatever it guarded had to be important.

“You sure you don’t want to get some backup?”
Grusky asked.

“Ask forgiveness, not permission,” Repeth
growled. “Our answers might be behind that door, and I’m not
waiting.”

“But how are we going to open it?”

“Go get Big Daddy again. Tell them it’s
another case of beer each.”

“But Top, if you blast down the door it might
kill everyone inside!”

Repeth looked Grusky up and down with evident
disgust. “And they say women have no spatial sense. Follow me.” She
led Grusky in a fast circuit of the room the door guarded, a twelve
by twelve cube. “That’s either some kind of vault, or it’s an
entrance to the basement, where the real facility is. Either way I
doubt there’s anyone on the other side of the door to be killed.
And I’m not waiting around for engineers to get it open; it will
take them hours.”

“Okay, boss. On my way.” Grusky trotted off
to look for their favorite M1 tank and crew.

***

The slap on her shoulder startled Repeth, and
she turned to snarl at Grusky. “What!” She was about to tell him to
use the damn squadcomm when she saw who was attached to the
arm.

A midnight-black figure in head-to-toe
spidersilk armor, articulated plates making him look like a
laminated medieval knight, spoke through the cloth over his mouth.
“Let me go first, Master Sergeant.”

“Back off, nano-boy,” she said, trying to
jerk her shoulder out from under his hand. It felt like a clamp,
and she didn’t go anywhere.

“We only found half a dozen cyborgs, and they
weren’t that scary,” the man went on. “Aren’t you Repeth? The one
who hit the other facility, and wrote the report?” He let go of her
shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s me, so what?”

“Remember what the guy you snagged said. They
had some boosted guards. I think that’s all we found. Not the real
Shadow Men.” He gestured down the stairwell on which they were
standing. “If these things are anywhere, they’re down here.”

“Or they got away. Okay, you go first, meat
shield.”

“Right. Echo Team, let’s go.”

Suddenly there came a rapid fluttering of
black all around her as five nanocommandos leaped the rails,
bypassing Repeth and her team. “Right,” she muttered, and led the
way down as fast as her legs would take her. Her grenade launcher
bounced on her back as she descended the stairs: one, two, three
landings, then an open door.

The sound of gunfire echoed down the corridor
to their front, and in the glow of emergency lamps she saw black
figures flicker, fire and leap. Something swung into jerky motion,
picked up one of the figures and whirled it once over its head to
slam it against a wall like a child with a bean-bag doll. A
sickening crunch reached her ears and the man lay still.