The Orion Plague Read Free Page A

combat situation, when certain
things happened, and happened in combination.
    At which point the user might die.
    That’s the hardest thing to overcome, this
belief I might cause death. But only if these subroutines are used
for weapons, and personal bionic weapons at that, will these sets
of conditions show up. If someone is using them to walk or run
normally, or to control a loader or bulldozer, no problem. But if
they are using their servos to full or emergency capacity – such as
in combat – their nerve-data will twist, their machines will betray
them, and they will become vulnerable.
    So I am not killing them unless they are
already killing someone else. I have to believe I will be saving
the lives of their targets by undercutting their ability to inflict
harm. Simply put, I’m gambling that more good people are saved by
this Trojan worm than will die from it.
    He couldn’t do anything more to help his
cause. Their four workstations were networked and theoretically any
one of his minders could see what he was doing. Only by working
subtly, and carefully watching who was distracted and when – Bennie
liked to play an unauthorized shooter video game on his break,
Marvin tended to doze after lunch, and Stanley had a secret stash
of porn – was he able to painstakingly build his virtual time
bombs.
    If only he could ever log on to a system that
could access the internet, he could get a message out. But as far
as he could tell there was no wireless network in the area he was
allowed, and very few portable computers of any type. No one talked
or texted on phones or tapped on touchpads, nor set up laptops on
their lunch breaks. He saw more actual paper books here than he had
in a long time. Rick presumed that all personal devices were
prohibited and official ones were tightly controlled. Governments
may change but bureaucratic mindsets seldom did. In this case the
procedures served his slave-masters well.
    So he joked with his minders, he didn’t cause
the guards trouble, and he filed away everything he could in his
memory as the days went by. And every night before he fell asleep,
he prayed for his spymaster mother to uncover this place, for Jill
to come after him, and for divine help for both.
     
     

 
     
-3-

    Inside the orphaned tent Jill Repeth found
her team waiting. A battery lantern hung from the long pole, and
Grusky had somehow gotten his hands on a pot of coffee and a dozen
doughnuts, a testimony to his senior-NCO procurement skills. She
let him have his moment of glory as he gestured toward the luxury
food, taking a cruller and nodding appreciatively. It went down in
five bites, chased by a half a cup of scalding black. Another
benefit of the Eden Plague: no lasting tongue-burns.
    Once she’d paid due homage to breakfast, she
tipped her duffel carefully until the goodies spilled out. The
others gathered around, laying out the gear on the canvas
floor.
    “Interesting mix you have here, boss,” Butler
commented as he picked up a kilo brick, turning it over to inspect.
“C-4, blasting caps, clacker. Claymores. Grenade launchers. NVGs,
night sights, infrared laser designators…some of the new
squadcomms?”
    “And this is just the small stuff. Lay it out
nice, organize it functionally, distribute it among our five
rucks.”
    “Uh, Master Sergeant, how are we getting
there? Wherever ‘there’ is?”
    Repeth swept her eyes around the small
circle. “I think you guys have earned the right to call me ‘Top’.
Fair enough?”
    They all broke out in grins, though Grusky
quickly hid his. “Thank you, Top,” he said quietly. “But our
transport?”
    “Our ride’s outside, Grusky. Lockerbie, you
still shit-hot behind the wheel?”
    “Never better, Top. Been doing nothing but
driving these past weeks.”
    “Well, you’ll appreciate this. Leave that
there.” They walked outside and Repeth buttonholed a passing
Marine. “You, Marine, you are now on guard duty. Go in that tent,
guard the contents,