The Orion Plague (18 page)

Theoretically we need to get within a
thousand klicks to have a chance to be effective. Of course, we
don’t know what kind of armor, shielding or countermeasures they
have. All I know for sure is that these babies pack a punch, and
the closer, the better.

Another advantage to lasers was their
rapidity of delivery – literally the speed of light. Delay at one
thousand kilometers was only one three-hundredth of a second, which
sounded fast enough. At the speeds possible in space, however, this
might still be too far. A ship traveling at even one percent of
lightspeed would move ten kilometers in the time it took for the
beam to travel, making long-distance targeting rather like shooting
a flying bee with a rifle bullet at a mile distance.

Rubbing his hand down the barrel, Larry
thought
, I’ve done my part. Fire control is someone else’s
problem. My job is to design them, build them, power them and keep
them running. In fact, my objective is simple – just fiendishly
difficult in practice.

All weapons are just energy delivery
systems
, Larry mused.
That’s the way my team and I have had
to think. Deliver energy to a target in a destructive manner –
faster than it can be absorbed, reflected, converted, deflected, or
otherwise defeated. That energy can be in the form of chemical or
nuclear explosives – not my department – or kinetic, like a mass
driver or railgun – ditto, not my thing. Or it could be directly
imparted by some form of directed electromagnetics – beam weapons,
in common parlance. That’s my bailiwick.

His beam weapons research effort had been
expanding exponentially, intending to counter the atomic and
kinetic strikes of the Free Communities’ enemies. The nuclear
weapons of the ballistic missile submarine
Nebraska
had
stamped the Free Communities Council’s further emphasis on the
project as the world witnessed the horrible destructive power of
even one such salvo.

Larry looked down the line of hand-built
energy projectors hulking in the warehouse. Teams of technicians
and unlimited funding had yielded a plan for fourteen lasers. While
there were other possibilities – grasers, masers, particle beams –
with limited time it was a herculean effort to even provide these
prototypes.

It’s my own Manhattan Project
, he
thought proudly.
In fact, every part of this incredible ship –
the nuclear propulsion that will lift it, the engineering and
materials that ensured it would not crumple under the unimaginable
stresses, the power generation and storage capacity – constituted a
Manhattan Project by itself. For the first time in history, the
world is cooperating for its own good. Even the Russians have
gotten on board, if only so they won’t be left out. Their
contributions to the molten-salt hybrid fusion power plants and
their missiles have been tremendously helpful. Wonderful engineers,
if you can separate them from their political masters.

Given that there was no agreement or
certainty on weapons effectiveness, Orion was being loaded to the
gunwales with as many different weapons as possible. It was highly
inefficient, and on a normal warship design would be ridiculous.
But the military strategists believed – hoped – that the ship would
only have to fight and win one battle.

If they won, no amount of inefficiency would
matter. All the eggs were in one basket, and as long as crew,
power, lift capacity and room were available, the design philosophy
was “more is better.”

If they lost, they still might be able to
send back enough data to make a difference. Pieces of the
Artemis
,
Orion
’s sister ship, even now rested in a
growing park of warehouses and manufactories, ready to be carried
via truck, air and heavy rail to the nearby Assembly Area Two, but
that ship would not be ready for at least two months afterward.

The best and brightest cadres of civilian and
military experts from around the world would also crew
Orion
. Nothing was being held back, and so the complement of
the Artemis could not possibly reach the pinnacle of expertise and
experience aboard the first ship. The Earth would burn its best
capital, leaving lesser men and women behind to try to carry the
torch of war.

Larry’s musing mind startled at the sound of
footsteps behind him. He had not expected anyone in the warehouse
so early in the morning, other than the ubiquitous security forces.
Turning his muscular frame on its heels, he was surprised but not
shocked to see Major General Nguyen, decked out in his dun-colored
Australian Army uniform.

“Spooky! I wondered when you’d turn up.” The
big man swept the small up in a bear hug, then put him down.

For his part Nguyen looked pleased but
humble, bowing to Larry and not at all discomfited by the indignity
of the greeting. “Good to see you too, Doctor Lawrence. Or shall I
say Commander? I hope you don’t mind if I still call you
Larry?”

“Call me anything but late to dinner, Major
General Nguyen. Congratulations on your second star.” Nightingale
cocked his head. “I still can’t get over the way you talk.”

“You want I talk like this again?” Nguyen
said, reverting to a near-cartoonish Asian-American accent.

“Hell no, I like it! Make these Ozzies take
you seriously, fo’ sho’. I’m proud of you, settlin’ down here with
your girl and all. When do I get to meet her?”

Spooky reddened slightly and sighed.
“Unfortunately, my friend, that will be difficult, since she has
since found other company.” The convenient lie came easily to his
lips. “But I have my fair share of lady friends, while it is you
who have ‘settled down’ as they say. You used to be quite the
bird-chaser.”

“Yeah well, they say you only need one if
she’s the right one. Sorry about yours not workin’ out.”

“Perhaps then I shall find my ‘right one’
someday. Fortunately I now have time, with the wonderful Eden
Plague in my favor.” Nguyen smiled again, a genuine-seeming grin
that must have warmed Larry’s heart.
It feels good to lie so
well, to make my friend happy. And why should I not? What a flaw it
must be to think that joy is finite and must be rationed, or that
if another has more, I must somehow have less. Pleasure exists to
be enjoyed, a tool to be dispensed to one’s allies and useful
slaves and necessary supervisors.

Just like pain
.

Too many Psychos fell into the trap of the
short-term view, he thought, poisoning their surroundings with the
detritus of destructive pleasure. Like seizing and tearing
half-grown roses, they damaged the plant and missed out on the full
ecstasy of the judicious application of power. Put another way, it
was the ability to dispense horror and joy that gratified, not the
emotions themselves.

Spooky went on, “And how is Shawna and the
family? No permanent harm from the children’s little adventure, I
trust?”

“Not at all. I don’t think they even knew
they were in much danger. Daniella talks nonstop about how much fun
it was to fly on the airplane. Now she says she wants to be a
pilot. Even so,” he said, putting a huge hand on Spooky’s shoulder,
“thanks for gettin’ ‘em back safe. I heard a few reports of how you
handled those dirtbags, jerry-rigging that electromagnetic field to
scramble their nanos. That was genius, maybe saved their
lives.”

“I just tried to think of what my friend
Larry Nightingale would do, and did that.” He patted Larry’s paw,
then slid out from under it to walk slowly down the row of hulking
lasers. “Of course, I did not do the actual technical work. I have
people to do that. But I remembered one of your papers published on
nonlethal electrical fields and took my inspiration from it.”

“You read my work?” Larry said with
surprise.

“Of course. It is important to the Free
Communities, your engineering skill. Forgive me – I should say, it
is vital to the entire Earth. Since I have some status within the
special operations community here, I try to stay current on the
latest developments in weaponry.” Spooky ran one hand over a laser
housing and tapped it idly.

“Well until you Australians got this Orion
thing going I thought nonlethals would be all I’d ever do. With
aliens…it’s interesting, but I don’t have any problem burning them
like snails. Less, really. I mean, I’d never burn a snail just for
fun, but these Meme have murdered over a billion people.” His voice
dropped harshly. “Sons of bitches.”

“Yes, we are in a life and death struggle. I
have thrown my small influence behind the ship, and have done what
I can to smooth the way for international cooperation.”

“The way I hear it, you were real important,
talking with the Russians and Chinese. They respect someone with a
reputation like yours.” Larry nodded unconsciously and joined
Spooky in laying hands on the lasers. They were tangible proof of
his own vital role, and they meant hope for the future, hope that
his family would be safe.

As safe as anyone in this world of horrors
and death.

“My reputation as a killer, you mean?” Spooky
looked pained.

“For strength, that’s what. They know you’re
a man who means what he says, who keeps his word and backs it up. A
man of honor.”

Spooky clasped his hands behind his back and
sniffed, turning around.

Larry thought he saw tears actually well up
in his old friend’s eyes before Spooky faced away.
He really has
changed. God bless the Eden Plague
. This triggered another
thought, which he mulled for a moment to allow Spooky to regain his
composure. When he thought the time was right he asked, “Any word
on Skull or the alien?”

“No, not that I know of.” Spooky said, still
with his back to Larry. “I believe DJ has received text messages
from time to time, but no video or audio, and he has not shared
their contents with me. Actually, I have not asked. If there was
something I needed to know, he would tell me.”

“You really trust him, don’t you?” Larry
asked.

Spooky spun about with widened eyes. “Of
course. Don’t you?”

“I do. I do, my kids play with his, and
Shawna and Elise are inseparable…”

The smaller man looked sidelong at Larry.
“But?”

“No ‘but’…well, perhaps. You know how they
say power corrupts. Like the Roman emperors had someone to whisper
in their ear, ‘remember you are mortal’ or something like that. But
who does DJ have?”

“Elise? You? His other friends? But why do
you say this? Is there something you have seen, something you have
noticed about him?”

Larry shook his head. “Not really. Just a
feeling…like, he used to say he would be happy to step down as soon
as the crisis is over. He doesn’t say that anymore. He just
kinda…assumes he’ll always be the chairman. I mean, he’s won every
yearly election hands-down.”

Spooky laughed, waving a hand in the air.
“But he
held
the elections. If he ever fails to do so, then
you have something to worry about. I think he is just growing into
his role after all this time. Once the crisis is ended, you will
probably see real political challengers emerge, and then we shall
see how he reacts. No, my friend, do not worry about Chairman of
the Free Communities Council Daniel John Markis. Without him and
his constant politicking, the Orion project would not be on
schedule and fully resourced.” He seized Larry’s sleeve for a
moment and leaned in close. “And keep this in mind if you ever
think about spreading these thoughts: to save the world, we should
embrace the Devil himself. DJ is far from that. Speak with care. If
we were to lose him, we might well lose Earth.”

Larry’s knees knew a moment of weakness as he
realized the truth of Spooky’s words.
I take DJ for granted,
don’t I, because I see him every day back home. But he is probably
still the single most important individual in the world, and there
are still people out there that want him dead. Hell, there are
people who think we should welcome the aliens and their conquest.
Lunatics.
He patted Spooky’s clutching hand and sighed. “I got
you, Spooks. I got you. I’ll remember.”

“Good.” He let go of the sleeve. “Now, come,
let’s go get some food at a place I know nearby. Anderson’s. Really
good noodles.”

Larry laughed. “Asian food. I’ll be hungry
again in an hour.”

“Then you can eat again in an hour. Australia
is a prosperous country. We have enough food for even your
appetite.”

They laughed as they walked out of the big
steel barn into the noisy Outback night.

US Navy Captain Henrich J. Absen’s
appointment to command the ship had been a hard-fought political
battle; much of the world still did not want an American in charge.
Eventually the “best man for the job” argument won out. The fact
that the crew came from over a hundred nations helped soothe their
fears as well.

It also might have had something to do with
the common knowledge that he and his submarine had taken a heavy
toll on the Australians in battle, and that an Australian Psycho
enabled by a Free Communities special operation had killed his wife
and children. He was unlikely to be a puppet to them or anyone.

Balances of power. The world’s political
leaders were not stupid. They recognized what control of the
world’s most puissant warship ever built meant, and the crew
manifest was heavily scrutinized, trying to ensure no one nation or
power bloc could take over.

Absen thought to himself how odd it was that
very little had been made of the Aussie Marines. Perhaps the fact
that they could not run the ship themselves was deemed sufficient
to thwart a takeover, but in his experience a gun to the head was a
damned fine motivation for cooperation. He put a few bugs in a few
ears but he didn’t have enough influence to force anyone to listen,
not as close-run as his own appointment had been.