The Orion Plague
Page 9
He stared at Van Berson for a moment, until her eyes fell. “There is no question of efficiency, only effectiveness. We must be profligate. We must install our best weapons on our best ship with our best personnel in charge using our last drops of blood and treasure. We must expend and keep expending to ensure the survival of Earth, and thus of ourselves. And one more thing. Something even more dangerous may be coming behind this scout ship.” He sat down to a ringing silence. That was all right, he had not expected applause.
Even so, Ekara’s eyes admired him, which was gratifying. Happily, I am not homosexually inclined, Nguyen thought. It’s also good I have distractions for him, that I may avoid any need to pretend. After the meeting he pulled Ekara aside and handed him a read-once flash stick.
“What is this?” asked Nguyen’s slim ally.
“An appointment. Details of a new acquisition. I believe you will like them.”
“Them?”
“A brother and sister. Untouched by virus. Very experienced, young, but of legal age. Barely.” Infecting normals while using them seemed to be as attractive to Ekara as deflowering a virgin was to some. “And I need a favor,” Nguyen remarked, diffident.
Ekara smiled, oily. “Of course, my friend. Whatever I can do to repay such kindness.”
“Direct Action needs a supercomputer for the nano research. Perhaps you have an older model you are replacing?” Of course Nguyen already knew that Ekara’s R&D section was getting three new Chinese machines in a secret deal. His spying on his ally was low-key and careful, as he had no wish to offend, so he did not have details about any superseded models; but it stood to reason that one might be available. For the right price, already in Ekara’s hand.
The man replied with a smile. “I think that can be arranged. For you, my friend.”
Nguyen knew Ekara almost meant it, as he anticipated playing with his new toys.
***
Spooky Nguyen attended each Dadirri session with eagerness. He’d found his anticipation growing each time, to spar with the aboriginal warrior Kalti and to learn from the elder shaman Maka.
He called the practice Dadirri within his own mind, even though that was imprecise, because the aborigines had no single word to describe their martial arts. No Karate or Kung-Fu or even his own culture’s Binh Định. As far as he could tell they didn’t formalize or standardize their principles either. Rather, there were shamans like Maka, and apprentices like Kalti, who passed their skills down to whomever would learn.
To the aborigines, Dadirri actually referred to a kind of still contemplation Spooky correlated to the idea of Zen. It meant to wait for the right moment, to think and meditate, to use the minimum force to intervene and deflect, to understand oneself and one’s opponent, and much more he had not yet grasped.
All of these, when he thought about them in such verbal terms, were just variations on the underlying spiritual principles of many of the Asian martial arts Spooky had already mastered. Yet Maka could easily defeat anyone who challenged him, including Spooky himself. He had a special and mysterious understanding of something – perhaps of a layer of reality, or of strategy, deeper than anyone he had ever met.
This was what kept him returning, the puzzle of this man, an endless frustration. A lesser person would have allowed that frustration to annoy him, would have even contemplated some kind of abuse of power to put him in his place. Merely as a thought experiment, Spooky wondered what would happen if he brought a gun to practice and attempted to shoot Maka?
At that moment laughter burbled up from the old man and Spooky found Maka staring right at him from the other end of the bench, as if he had heard his thoughts.
A flash of insight exploded in Spooky’s mind. If I did so, he would somehow know my plans, and he would simply not come. That is the way of Dadirri. If there is no need to confront, he would simply avoid. As in Aikido, the master is not the one who crosses the street many times; the master is the one who avoids the street entirely.
Of even that insight he was not certain. Perhaps Maka would attend after all, and somehow avoid the shot. Perhaps he would convince me not to do it. Perhaps he already is doing so, merely with his laughter.
Perhaps I shall be the master and avoid that street. I am not absolutely certain I would emerge victorious from such a confrontation, and though I might learn something, the cost-benefit curve is too steep.
Spooky twitched his head away without thought as the old man’s stick blurred through the space it had just occupied. He did not even think about such sudden attacks anymore. His body simply took the action necessary to avoid pain, injury and defeat while his spiritual center remained calm, imperturbable. Another less avoidable strike he stepped into, minimizing the force of the attack, adding rotation and deflecting the stick near where Maka gripped it so that the old man had to move his own leg to avoid impact. Their sharp voices and breathing blended like conflicting musical instruments as they exchanged a complex series of grips, strikes and attacks. It ended as Spooky found himself rolling away, a bruise over his heart from a straight-armed thrust of the wood.
Spooky stood there staring at the old man, waiting for another attack, when he felt the touch of Kalti’s spear on his neck. The three men began to laugh again, and the rest of the students joined in. Laughter was an essential part of Dadirri, according to Kalti’s infrequent explanations of Maka’s teachings. The old man never spoke a word of English, though Spooky was convinced he understood.
Each session inched Spooky closer to something he could only think of as enlightenment. Even so, it was like trying to reach infinity, or catch the wind, a process to embrace, never a goal to achieve. The spiritual stillness and profound satisfaction from his training and meditation here, in a simple dirt circle, put to shame all of his worldly pleasures and triumphs. After every session it became more and more difficult to go back to being Brigadier Nguyen of the Committee of Nine.
Once Earth is safe, perhaps I shall put off my dreams of domination and follow this man until I have learned enough. And why has Maka not taken the Eden Plague? It would be a crime for such expertise – such enlightenment – to pass from the world due to mere old age.
He resolved to ask, next time.
***
“He says that accepting immortality is not for him,” explained Kalti to Spooky at the next session. “He does not condemn it in others but why should he live longer in this state of flesh when soon enough he will rejoin the All?”
Spooky nodded, understanding. “I suppose when I am ready I also will not resist.”
Kalti laughed, which could mean anything from genuine amusement to an alternative to homicide. In this case he explained, which was something Spooky appreciated. “Perhaps at some time that will be true, but it is not now. You do not even believe in the All, much less do you feel it. You cut yourself off from it even as your yearning increases.” He said this not in the tone of a teacher but as if a friend, and bowed, backing up. Raising his spear, he nodded and attacked, initiating the dance of Dadirri.
Scant seconds later Spooky had struck the spear from Kalti’s hands, placing his own against the man’s throat. “Why did I defeat you, then?”
Kalti laughed. “Not why, but how. You learned the lesson of the many defeating the one. The spear is only a metaphor, and the body is the container for the spirit. In this case, I see it is a container for the many.”
Spooky cocked his head at the spear-master. How did he know that I have the nanites within me today? I should not be surprised if he thinks it unfair. He and the old man are purists. They will be left behind in the dust of history.
He felt vaguely ashamed that he had chosen to try out the nanites and their enhancements to speed and strength, conceding in his own mind Kalti’s point: that Spooky alone had not won. More importantly, while I have gained a certain knowledge, I gave up the ability to accurately assess myself and my progress toward parity with these men. I cheated to leapfrog over Kalti in the purely physical contest.
>
Have I lost the spiritual?
“Be not dismayed, friend Kalti. This advantage I borrowed will fade. It was an experiment, nothing more.”
“Then you have nothing to fear from Maka.”
Spooky’s eyebrows rose. “Had I something to fear?”
Kalti matched his expression, but only laughed, and took up his spear again.
-12-
Rick knew what he had to do now. It was all so clear, he wondered why he hadn’t ever figured this out before. All he had to do was please Shari and follow all her instructions and his entire life would be perfect.
Things really weren’t so bad now. It was all overlaid with a warm glow, a peace that he had never felt before except perhaps a long time ago when he was a small child and had crawled into his mother’s lap, and that was how this was, it was like being eternally in his mother’s lap only better, because he was grown up now and could do those things with Shari, things that made him shiver, and if a fly buzzed in the back of his mind, annoying him from time to time, well, he supposed life wasn’t always perfect and into it a little rain must fall.
He looked around, wondering where he was. It wasn’t a familiar location, though it wasn’t exactly unfamiliar either. Through the warm fuzzy fog of feel-good he recognized the type of place this was, even if it wasn’t anywhere he’d ever been.
Awareness grew of people around him, first as blurry figures, then as human beings. A flood of wonderful aroma reached deep inside his nostrils, his sinuses, his lungs, and he congratulated himself on finding something so nice. Eventually the smell resolved itself in coffee, roasting, brewing coffee. Overlaid with scents of sugar and chocolate and baking, he became aware he sat in a cafe, one of those chains with funny names for their drinks, with lots of corruptions and misuses of Italian.
Everything fell into place with an internal click. Now he remembered he’d been taken by truck from Fredericksburg, bound for parts unknown. On the way the truck had run off the road and into one of the swamps along Caledon Road to Dahlgren. He’d been thrown clear onto hard ground but the rest of the men inside it had been trapped under the overturned vehicle and drowned. He hadn’t mourned his captors; they had not been nice men.
It had taken him all night to walk to the town of Dahlgren, eponymous with the Navy base it served at the sharp bend of the Potomac. He must have been concussed, and badly, for he’d hung around the town for a week, getting run out of one place or another, just another homeless, shell-shocked, plague-ridden soul.
He looked down at himself, seeing dirty clothes and muddy shoes. His nails were black with filth and he itched with infestations of who-knows-what, probably chiggers and ticks from the low-lying wilderness. Rubbing at his right eye, he realized people in the coffee shop were giving him unfriendly looks. He smiled placatingly and walked out of the place into a drizzling rain. His stomach rumbled, empty. Searching in his pockets, he came up with nothing.
There must be someone that can help me, he thought. Now that I can form complete sentences, maybe I can get some kind of a job. He looked around as much of the tiny old town that he could see. People walked here and there, a few cars and trucks moved.
A uniform stood out in his consciousness, then another: some kind of military dress, blue denim with white helmets that said “MP” in crude stenciled letters. Looking around, he saw at least ten or twelve more, and realized these MPs were everywhere – on street corners, walking around, and cruising in Navy pickup trucks. And they had guns.
The base must be providing security, law enforcement, he thought. Only is it the US, or the old Unionists in control? He walked down the street, trying to look like he had a purpose in his movements. People that look like they’re going somewhere are not usually harassed.
Something caught his eye and he turned a corner. Computer Repair, said the sign on the little shop, and the glowing word “OPEN” beckoned him in. He stepped through the door.
Inside he heard, “Kin ah help you?” An older man with a bushy salt-and-pepper beard sat at a workbench behind the front counter, and the smell of solder and ozone filled the air.
“Yes, sir. I hope we can help each other. I’m a computer technician but I haven’t had work or even a meal in a while. I’d be happy to work for some food and a place to sleep.” Rick leaned over to crane his head at the workbench. “Blown motherboard?”
The man looked him up and down, not unkindly, then nodded. “Right the first time. All right. I'll give you a try. Business is pickin’ up now that the real Feds is back around. But first, I think we’ll get you a hot shower and some clothes. You kin have some of my son’s he left, looks like you’re about his size.” The man came out from behind the counter to shake Rick’s hand. “Walter Secourt’s my name.”
“Rick…I can’t remember my last name. Sorry about the dirt,” he said as he shook the man’s hand firmly.
“Don’t mind. Look like you been through the mill, boy.” Walter looked Rick over carefully. “But I don’t see no wounds. You got the stuff?”
“The stuff?”
“The Eden stuff. They tried to make me get it but I told them I ain’t ready for no immortality. I took their vaccine shot on account of those epidemics but hell, I’m still a young man, and I hear that stuff makes your pecker soft.” Walter slapped his chest, partly covered by his long beard.
Rick laughed. “I don’t think that’s true, but I’d be happy to find out, if I can only find my girlfriend again.”
“What’s her name?” Walter asked as he turned off the Open sign.
“Shari. She’s really pretty. I really love her. She’s a doctor, but I lost track of her in Fredericksburg.”
“That where you’re from?”
“I’m not sure. Like I said, I’m having trouble remembering things.”
Walter nodded sagely. “Lots of that goin’ around. All right, let’s get you fixed up.” He led Rick out the back of the shop, toward the little white clapboard house behind.
***
Rick was just finishing replacing a hard drive on an ancient laptop when the Marines showed up. He figured they were Marines because the woman that jumped out wore one of those sharp octagonal caps, and she seemed to be in charge, all business. And she kept her finger flat alongside the trigger guard of the short nasty-looking gun snugged into her shoulder, ready to shoot anyone who got in her way. So he was surprised when she barged through the door and stopped dead in her tracks, staring at him.
“May I help you?” he asked politely.
“Rick! Thank God!” She moved toward him, dropping the gun onto its retractable sling.
“You know me?” he asked in puzzlement. The woman looked somewhat familiar but he couldn’t dredge up her name. “I think I know you from somewhere…” he said, then almost fell off his stool as she embraced him.
“Umm…miss…”
“Jill. I’m Jill.” She held him at arm’s length, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s true?” she asked, swallowing. “You can’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
She reached for her neck, pulling out a chain with a ring on it, to hold it up in front of her. “Remember this. You gave it to me.”
He reached out to touch it in wonder. “I…I can’t recall. I’m sorry. But I can’t remember a lot of things. I can’t even remember where I’m from or what I’ve been doing for a while. But I can fix computers!” He disengaged himself to show her the finished laptop. “I’m damn good at that.”
“Oh yes you are, Rick, you’re damn good at that. But it’s time to go now.”
“Go? I kind of like it here. Walter feeds me good and his cat’s friendly. Her name is Misty. What’s wrong with me staying here?”
Jill turned all the way around in frustration, hands working helplessly. “You have to trust me, Rick. You have a job, you have friends who love you, you have family. Your mother, your sister...you can't stay here. You need to come with me. You'll start to remember soon.” She reached out for him gently.
“Oh, God, what do I do?” Jill whispered to herself. Then she straightened, to hold her hands up at shoulder level. “Rick, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“This.” And she slugged him, a sharp straight right that ended on the hinge of his jaw and put his lights out instantly. Catching him as he fell, she repeated, “I’m so sorry, Rick. But I’m not going to lose you again. You’ll thank me later.”
-13-
Three ugly days later Jill watched Donovan and Doc Horton load a groggy Rick into the Beast. She nodded at Lockerbie behind the wheel, and then climbed into the shotgun seat. Donovan went around to the other side and got into the back seat with Rick.
She was sure the medic-in-training hadn’t expected to be back with his old boss so quickly but this was a medical mission, so it seemed natural to ask Horton to let him accompany them when she’d seen him at Grusky’s funeral.
Butler was still in the hospital getting his ribcage reset. Rapid healing had its drawbacks; broken bones settling into new, unnatural positions was one of them. She couldn’t see Donovan manning the Vixen, so once they got on the road she climbed up to the manual turret and strapped herself in to the harness.
They had offered her an ambulance but she had declined. It wasn’t Rick’s body that was injured, mostly, it was his mind, and she felt a lot more comfortable with the Beast as their courier to the big medical center in Richmond. With the Eden Plague killing a lot of business for doctors specializing in the body, psychiatry was an exploding field. There was some trauma even the virus couldn’t fix. And then there were the Demon Plague Two infectees, the “Twosies,” who had lost their language skills and, once cured of their illness, sometimes needed help with their mental health.