The Orion Plague (15 page)

Though pumped to the gills with Valium, Rick
walked down the stairway under his own power. He was physically
recovered, or so they said, but he had a lot of psychological
healing to do. Yes, he walked and moved just fine, but there was a
hesitancy in his step, as if he was afraid of something happening
at any moment, and now and again he would just freeze and look off
into the distance. She’d seen it in combat troops – PTSD – but
never expected it in Rick. He wasn’t a combatant, but he’d been
through his own kind of hell.

The doctors in Richmond had done all they
could for him, they said. Now it was up to him to heal himself, and
the best thing for him was to be surrounded by people who loved
him. That meant this return to South Africa and his family.

When he stepped to the tarmac, his mother and
his sister enfolded him in their arms, then hugged Jill as well.
She felt strange to be out of uniform and unarmed – mostly; well,
at least gunless, she’d replaced her melted combat knife – but she
thought,
I could get used to it. Let other people worry about
the security for a while.
It certainly was strange to be back
in a place where no one might be shooting at her at any moment, or
vice versa.

She eyed the South African security force.
They looked professional and alert, but relaxed. She thought that
was a good sign.

A ten-minute drive on the facility and they
were pulled up in front of a neat base house, alike to all the
others up and down the street, nondescript except for a small plate
by the front door that said “Johnstone.” The three of that name
strolled up the front walk together, with Jill lagging behind. She
had seen something…

From the porch she turned, her eyes sliding
over the security guards spread around and past the vehicles that
had made up their convoy to a muscular man standing by the front
door of the house across the street. He held up his hand in
greeting, and Jill waved and, for the first time in a while,
really, really smiled.

Daniel Markis…I’ll go see him later.
And then,
it’s good to be home.

Spooky Nguyen commanded hands-on when he
could, especially in training Orion’s Marines. That meant
everything from basic exercises such as this fifty-kilometer mass
ruck run to tactical work with his highly trained cadre. They were
almost to the turnaround point.

He turned as he jogged, reversing his
direction and running past the platoon formations following each
other down the dusty Outback track. He liked to see his troops,
liked them to see him. When he reached the rear of the
three-hundred or so aspirants he hopped up on the running board of
the fall-out truck and spoke to the corpsman in the passenger
seat.

“Any so far?”

“No, sir. Had one fall back a bit but I think
it was just an e-lyte cramp and he worked it out.”

Spooky slapped the door twice, then jumped
off to run forward up the other side of the jogging troops. By the
time he reached the front of the formation he could see the boulder
that marked their halfway point. Painted with graffiti, it was a
favorite of wags, lovers and artists who came out this far, but it
had recently been gobsmacked with a twenty-foot symbol: crossed
golden swords over a silver anchor, the symbol of the Aussie
Marines.

As the troops reached the thing they called
The Rock, each man or woman lined up to jump and slap a hand
against the painted patch, then fell back into formation on the
road, taking five minutes to rehydrate, to jawbone a bit, and some
to smoke.

The habit had come back into vogue, now that
the health risks were no longer an issue. Besides, most warriors
did not worry themselves much about miniscule concerns such as what
tar and nicotine were doing to their lungs.

Spooky remembered a cadre member back in his
early days in the US Special Forces who would conduct such runs
with a lit cigarette in his hand, puffing the whole way. He was
famous for such quotes as “I thought about quitting, but nobody
likes a quitter,” or, “It takes a real man to face cancer.” Spooky
shook his head to himself. He’d found that it was not unusual for
training cadre to be nostalgic for their own acolyte days, but he
was surprised to find himself succumbing to the same malady.

When five minutes were up the cadre got the
trainees moving again, each Marine with a backpack precisely
calibrated to twenty-five percent of body weight. Gone were the
days of spiral fractures, sprains and knee problems; now the load
developed muscle as the running developed endurance. Their
combination of Eden Plague and nano could keep them healthy, but
only training could build up their abilities. Some things brooked
no shortcuts.

These Marines didn’t have the same tradition
of cadence-calling as the United States forces, but Spooky had
introduced it as a training tool. Thus he was unsurprised as the
platoons spread out to avoid too much sonic overspill and began to
sing.

Training organizations thrive on tradition,
all the more so when the unit was new and the traditions barely
born. This tradition was to begin the “Jody calls” on the second
twenty-five kilometer stretch, supplying entertainment, feeding
friendly rivalry, and building morale and essential
esprit de
corps
. They started off with one of the old standards that
traced its heritage back to the US Airborne of the Vietnam era.

C-130 rollin’ down the strip

Airborne daddy gonna take a little trip

Stand up, hook up, shuffle to the door

Jump on out and count to four

If my main don’t open wide

I got another one by my side

If that one should fail me too

Look out below I’m a-comin’ through

If I die in a combat zone

Box me up and ship me home

Pin my wings upon my chest

Tell my mama I done my best

Back at the barracks Nguyen ate with the
troops. He rotated among the squads and kept his ears open, trying
to gauge the temper and morale of the Marines. It was high, as
expected among selected elites who were facing a life-and-death
struggle to defend their families, their nation and their world
itself. He tried to convey how proud he was of all of them, and he
felt the echoes of their spirit merge with his own.

It is good to be in the company of
warriors.

Replenished, he met with the training cadre,
heard their reports, dispensed advice, and occasionally, orders.
Then he went to talk with Colonel Angus MacAdam, an enormous
rawboned ruddy man of Scots descent, formerly of the oceangoing
Royal Australian Marines. He would command the Marine contingent
aboard the Orion.

Nguyen knew the colonel was an ambitious man.
He had turned down the Eden Plague but welcomed the safe nano they
were using now, the strain developed from the American vaccine.
Without it he would have undoubtedly been unable to keep up with
his own troops. In reality he probably couldn’t, if push came to
shove; nano plus Eden Plague was more effective than either alone,
as long as the right versions were integrated.

The fact that he did not accept the Eden
Plague made his ambition obvious to Nguyen. He wondered how far
that lust for advancement extended. The need to rise was useful,
even desirable to a point; ambitious men were often driven and
competent commanders, and it was always better in wartime to rein
in an eager horse than to spur a reluctant one. But such officers
bore close watching, lest they try to advance by means foul as well
as fair.

This was particularly true when the man in
question would be in charge of Marines aboard the most powerful
warship Earth had ever built. If he strayed – if he mutinied, to
put it bluntly – he had the power to bring down nations. More
importantly he had the power to snatch defeat from the jaws of
victory and leave Earth defenseless against the Meme invaders.

Nguyen strode into MacAdam’s front office and
past the startled admin troops who also functioned as flunkies,
secretaries and gatekeepers. In this case there was no question of
keeping the gate; the best the NCO in charge could do was leap to
her feet and announce him, giving her boss a moment’s warning.

The Brigadier saw MacAdam come to his feet as
he entered the cramped space. “Walk with me, Colonel,” Nguyen said
mildly as he crossed the tiny floor of the prefab structure and
opened the back door. Stepping out onto the small platform above
three stairs, he paused a moment to stare at the near horizon,
filled with so many structures that it resembled a cityscape. A
kind of city it was, a busy hive of manufacturing and activity, a
hundred thousand workers and more, working eighty-hour weeks.

He reached into the breast pocket of his
brown uniform jacket already growing hot in the Australian summer
sun, pulling out two fine cigars in silver tubes. Handing one to
the Colonel, he trotted down the steps and onto the dusty soil of
the Outback, walking away from the center of activity toward the
sparseness of the edge of the desert.

Nguyen took the time to get his cigar lit
even as he walked, before speaking. He found such rituals as
smoking established a rapport with subordinates, something they
could share as equals, something that put them at ease, the better
to see through any pretenses. Once he had a good coal glowing on
its end he spoke. “So, Colonel, we haven’t spoken much beyond the
official lately. Is there anything on your mind?”

MacAdam walked beside Nguyen but said nothing
for a long moment, his cigar forgotten in his hand. Eventually he
responded, “You want me to speak freely, sir?”

“Always, Angus.” The use of the man’s first
name was a signal.

“Right, then. I suppose you’re referring to
me not going along on the runs. I’m drowning in paperwork.”

“The runs, and other exercises. There is
always paperwork. It is important that you lead your men.” Nguyen’s
voice hardened. “From your record I would not have thought this an
issue.”

Silence reigned for another minute or two as
the two men walked and puffed. They returned salutes from a trio of
Marines returning from a shopping trip to the commercial center set
up on the edge of the complex. “My
record
is unblemished,
sir,” MacAdam said stiffly. “You may have the rank for this
command, Brigadier, but mebbe you don’t have the right
background.”

Nguyen raised an eyebrow. “I said speak
freely, Colonel. Don’t dance about the campfire, say what you
mean.”

The big man stopped, his face reddening with
unchecked emotion as he turned to loom above the smaller man. “I
mean, then, that it’s all well for you to play General and God
knows you’ve gotten things organized around here, we need men like
you to get things done. But buffaloing politicians to get this ship
built is bloody well different from commanding Marines in combat.
You made your bones in special operations. As far as I’ve been able
to tell you never commanded anything larger than a platoon raid,
and you’ve never been to sea. Except for that amazing sub highjack,
of course, but that’s simply not the same.”

Nguyen sucked a mouthful of smoke, blew it
out his nose, then looked speculatively at the cigar. “Have I run
the training program well enough?”

“That’s part of the problem, sir. You’ve run
it so well the men all love and respect you. They think you’re the
commander, not me. You’ve undercut my authority.”

“Only because you’ve let me, Colonel. At any
time you could have stepped up and taken charge, and I would have
backed off. Instead I keep filling more and more of your vacuum.”
Nguyen stared for a long moment at MacAdam. “But that’s not all.
What else is bothering you?”

“What’s bothering me is the men talking about
you commanding the Orion’s Marines.” His jaw set, as if for a
fight, and Nguyen thought,
this is the root of the matter,
then.

“I assure you, Angus, I will not command the
Orion’s Marines. The school is mine, the cadre is mine, because I
am the most competent to organize, train and equip. As soon as the
Marines graduate and are given their Space Qualification badges,
they are yours. Once Orion is in space, they are truly answerable
to no one else save you and the ship’s captain.” Nguyen tapped ash
off the cigar, puffed again.

MacAdam stopped, let out a sigh of relief.
“You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that, sir.” He
tried to draw from his cigar, but found it had gone out.

Nguyen extended a silver-chased lighter to
relight the stogie. “Excellent. Now that we have laid that rumor to
rest…is there anything else?” He watched the Colonel carefully: he
had asked pro forma, but had immediately detected some reticence,
evidence of something else beneath the man’s bluff exterior.

Finally MacAdam spoke. “It’s…it’s a personal
matter, sir. I’ll not let it interfere with my duties.”

“So I trust. Colonel, my sole concern is the
safety of Earth by ensuring you have every tool possible. I do this
because I fully expect Orion’s Marines to take heavy casualties. In
fact, you must have already realized that mutual destruction of the
Orion and the alien ship, if it comes to that, is a win for Earth.
So deal with this personal matter, and if there is anything I can
do to help, do not hesitate to tell me. I apologize for not
clarifying all of this sooner.” He held out his hand. “Colonel, you
have my full confidence.”
A necessary lie, spoken so it may
become true.

MacAdam shook it strongly. “I won’t fail you,
sir.” He saluted Nguyen, who returned the courtesy.

“Excellent.” Nguyen chose that as the right
moment to end the conversation and turned on his heel, heading
toward the commercial complex. A moment later Major Ann Alkina
drove up in his brand-new staff SUV.