The Orion Plague (5 page)

“Let’s go.”

The Beast roared through the front entrance
to the Noman M. Cole Jr. Pollution Control Plant and almost
immediately faced a choice. “Right or left?” yelled Lockerbie over
the squadcomm.

“Right,” ordered Repeth, choosing the smaller
of the roads, “and you don’t have to yell with these things.”

“Right, right,” she acknowledged, and turned
right. They raced past shattered buildings with fried vehicles
melted in place in the parking lots. The nukes’ EMP had immobilized
them, then the thermal radiation had ignited almost everything that
would burn. Atmospheric shockwave had blown some of the fires out,
fed others.

It was an ugly mess.

Behind the buildings they could see rusting
industrial machinery on a grand scale – holding tanks, square
ponds, and enormous pipes linking cinderblock buildings. “Pollution
control” in this case meant waste water treatment, decontaminating
sewage until it was clean enough to be poured into the Potomac.

“Stay on the edge of the complex, keep it on
our left,” barked Repeth. “Grusky, Butler, Lockerbie, you’re on the
left, look for any signs of occupation – operational vehicles, or
fresh tire tracks. Donovan, keep watch on the right along the
treeline. Lock, slow down at each of these little roads, I want to
see if anyone has used them since Plaguefall.”

They rumbled along counterclockwise, circling
the huge installation generally leftward. The multibarrel nose of
the Vixen quested for a target but Butler could see nothing to
shoot. His left hand rested on the selector lever that chose his
ammo – Needleshock, Armorshock, penetrators. Right now he had the
latter feeding the gun. He ignored the disturbing thought of what
they would do to a human being and focused on scanning his forward
arc.

“Turn right,” called Repeth at the next fork.
This sent them rumbling off through a thin screen of dead trees,
away from the waste treatment plant. Once on the other side they
could see an enormous elongated cement structure, more pipes
leading across its roof and into its walls, some stabbing downward
into the ground.

“Over there, left, take that left,” Grusky
called, his voice rising, and Lockerbie complied. The Beast
careened leftward, down a gravel road closely shadowed by scrubby
trees. “Look ahead. Those are tracks. This road has been used
recently.”

Repeth grunted assent, then yelled along with
the rest of them as they rounded a curve to find themselves facing
a fresh new twelve-foot gated fence topped with razor wire. “Take
it out –” she yelled, but Butler had already mashed his thumbs down
on the butterfly trigger of the Vixen.

The gun roared like a jet fighter on
afterburner, a wall of sound that would have deafened the team had
they not been wearing their squadcomm earphones. Bright lines of
projectiles like some science-fiction death ray speared the steel
fencepost to the right of the gate, concentrating on the base of
the white-painted pole. It sagged, cut through by the hail of
tungsten.

The Beast crashed through.

“Yee-haw!” Lockerbie cried. Six tons of
vehicle crushed the weakened gate, climbed over it, and with a
thump continued down the unmarked asphalt road on the other side.
No one guarded the entrance, though there was a tiny shack. Still,
the newness, the impression of recent use, and the fresh-posted
signs they left in their wake argued that they had found something
more interesting than a sewage plant.

The fence followed them, lining each side of
the road as they roared down its length. Two more quick twists
inside the woods and then they broke out into a clearing. That
impressive, prison-like fence ran along the inside of the open
space, well back from the concealing trees.

Within the cleared space, two hundred yards
across, squatted a pair of low, one-storey buildings. Though both
were made of ugly grey concrete and mirrored glass, one had large
windows, and the other only very small thin ones. This latter
structure had an extra fence surrounding it, similar to the one
they had crashed through.

“That looks like a jail,” remarked Grusky as
they drove toward it. “Windows too small to squeeze through.”

“I got targets, Top, want me to light them
up?” Butler asked, sounding eager. His incredible weapon quivered
like a live thing, pointing toward the dozen or so vehicles parked
in front of the office building.

“By all means,” Repeth replied in a droll
voice, “but spare your ammo.”

Butler thumbed the selector switch that chose
his burst length. The electric Gatling fired much too fast for mere
human control; at 150 rounds per second, he would be lucky to guess
burst size within 20 shots. So he clicked on “10” and put ten
rounds into each vehicle in turn. “There’s an underground parking
garage,” he warned as a tunnel leading down hove into view.

“Lockerbie, as soon as we dismount, push some
of these hulks to block that tunnel. Butler, I see windows. I don’t
like windows.”

Butler grinned. “Roger that, Top.” He flipped
the gun back to full auto and walked a stream of rounds from the
building’s corner to corner, holing every window and the front
glass doors as well. They didn’t come apart the way they should,
though. “Armored glass. Bulletproof. Good thing these ain’t
bullets,” Butler muttered.

Profligate with ammo this time, he sprayed
the penetrators along the top and bottom of the window line, and
great gaps appeared as chunks of the hardened crystal fell to the
ground by the hundredweight. “Ammo!” he yelled, and Donovan
scrambled to reach over the seat and pull up several 200-round
cases of 20mm penetrator. Grusky helped him manhandle the
fifty-pound shell holders into the turret hoppers.

Without windows the rooms beyond were
visible, well-lit offices with computers, shelves, desks, chairs.
Tiny blue lightnings popped from broken electronics. Here and there
a small fire started, smoke curling up toward the ceiling to
activate the suppression system. In several places inverted
fountains of halon gas poured down, obscuring their view.

And a few things, once human, twitched redly
in the wreckage. The hundreds of penetrators had probably sliced
all the way through the building to burst out the other side,
slaughtering everything in their path.

Jill’s conscience banged on its box lid,
trying to get out.
Shut up
, she said to that piece of
herself.
I’m not wrong about this place. Whatever is going on
here, it’s evil. The only thing I am going to regret is if there’s
no one left to give me intel.

“Hurry up!” she barked as she shoved the
Beast’s heavy door open and dismounted. Her PW10 snugged on its
retractable sling under her right arm, and in her hands she hefted
the rotary grenade launcher. “Butler, finish loading the Vixen
yourself, and keep an eye on that jail. There may be armed guards
in there, but there may also be prisoners, so don’t perforate it.
Grusky, Donovan, you’re with me. Get moving, go go go!”

The three burst out of the vehicle and
followed Repeth as she jogged toward the shattered front door of
the office building. Behind them, Butler reloaded his depleted bin
as Lockerbie bulldozed wrecked cars to block the underground
garage.

Repeth saw movement in a gutted room and
resisted the urge to fire a grenade.
I need information, not
revenge,
she scolded herself. For now, that other self
listened. She clambered over the sill into the office and through
the mess.

Legs struggled weakly beneath a heavy
overturned desk. Repeth pointed and the two men heaved the thing
off the body while she covered them. Beneath the wreckage lay a man
in shirt and tie, bloodied and dazed. She reached down to haul him
to a seat in a surviving chair. Grabbing his hair to look him in
the face, she lifted an eyelid. Running her half-gloved fingers
over his torso, she searched for the wound that had produced all
the blood.

She found a moist, bloody but rapidly-closing
hole in his abdomen, and she put her grenade launcher down on the
desk behind her to pull up her PW10. She set its muzzle to his
head. “He’s healing. Nano or bio of some kind. That’s good, he
won’t die on us. Cuff his hands, then tie his feet with that lamp
cord, Donovan.” Once he was secured and his eyes were starting to
clear, she slapped him gently. “Hey, you. You. What’s your
name?”

They heard a burst of Vixen fire, then
silence. The man looked around wildly, realizing his
predicament.

“Hey you,” she repeated. “Focus. What’s your
name?”

“Bill,” he said dazedly.

“Okay, Bill, are you an Eden?”

A sly look crossed his face before it
smoothed. “Yeah, Eden. It’s legal now, you know.”

“Liar.” Repeth kicked him in the stones, her
heel crunching down on his groin.

“Top!” cried Grusky as the man choked and
gagged in pain.

“Shut up, David. He’s healing, but he’s not
an Eden. He doesn’t deserve your sympathy. I told you, what’s in
here is
evil
. Even if he is just a paper-pusher, he’s part
of it. If you don’t want to watch this, go keep an eye on the
corridor, make sure no one is creeping up on us.”

“Come on, Donovan,” Grusky said with a
sickened expression, grabbing the younger man’s sleeve and pulling
him to the office door to watch for enemy.

Repeth continued. “Now, Bill, I know you can
heal from that, and you know I can make it happen over and over. Or
I can just pop you in the head right now and goodnight whatever you
are. You’re either a Psycho or a Nano and either way you’re only
staying alive if you give me information. What is this place?”

The man raised his head to look into Repeth’s
eyes and all resistance died. She could see self-preservation
overrule any qualms he had about betraying his employer. “Look,
I’ll tell you everything, just let me live. Once I’ve talked
they’ll want me dead so you gotta get me out of here.”

She nodded. “My word on it.”

He took a shuddering breath. “Septagon
Shadow. It’s a black cyberware program. Cyberware, implants,
enhancements, human augmentations. It’s Triumvir Jenkins’
alternative to Tiny Fortress.”

“Winthrop Jenkins survived?”

“Yeah, from what I hear, in some kind of
bunker for the Unie leadership. Scary guy, I met him once. Always
going on about how he was going to pay Daniel Markis back for
killing his brother Jervis in that first West Virginia nuke.”

“Yeah, he ran the internment camps for a
while on his climb toward the top. So…this Septagon Shadow.
Cyborgs. Bionic man stuff. Terminators.”

He nodded. “Yeah, kind of. Not machines made
into people, but people made into machines.”

“How far along are they?”

A prolonged burst of Vixen fire overrode the
conversation, and through the squadcomm Repeth heard Butler say,
“Back up, back up. Top, I got some light weapons fire coming from
the jail. Returning fire…these people are getting over their
surprise.”

“Bill!” Repeth snapped. “Are there prisoners
in that jail? And are they above ground?”

“Some are. There are three levels underneath
both of these buildings. Listen, we got to get out of here. If they
let the Shadows loose, we’re all dead.” She could see the fear in
his eyes.

“Cyborgs?”

“Yeah. But they’re hard to control, hard to
stop. Listen, I’ll tell you all about it but we have to get
out
of here
. If we leave soon enough maybe they won’t have time to
let them loose. They’re normally locked down pretty tight.”

Repeth grabbed Bill by his throat. “There’s a
man I’m looking for. His name is Rick Johnstone. Ring any
bells?”

“Yeah, he tried to claim diplomatic immunity
when they brought him in here. Said he wasn’t a US citizen anymore.
You don’t know these people. That was the wrong move. Now he’s up
at Pax River.”

“Where?”

“Patuxent River, Solomons Island. Naval
facility. That’s where the main labs are. This is just an auxiliary
facility. Dammit, I can tell you all about it but we have to go
now
.” Another burst of Vixen fire punctuated his words.

“Top, we got company working their way into
the back of this building,” called Grusky. He fired off a burst
with his PW10.

Repeth made the easy decision. “All right,
exfil now. Lock, pull up here close. Butler, put some more
penetrators into the building off to the side of us or over our
heads. You, Bill, on your feet, now.” She sliced the lamp cord
holding his feet with her knife, then grabbed him by one bound arm
and shoved him toward the opening.

The Beast pulled up next to the broken window
and she pushed Bill inside. “Donovan, secure this guy. Search him
for weapons, and you watch him close.” She lifted the grenade
launcher and fired three rounds in quick succession back into the
office building. They made muffled
whump
sounds and spread
dust and fine debris into the air. Over their heads the Vixen
roared.

Bullets spanged off the open armored door,
and one struck Repeth in her forehead. Her lightweight helmet
jerked with the impact so she ducked instinctively into cover. She
loosed six more grenades, aiming at the front of the jail building
where she could see muzzle flashes coming from the thin windows.
They burst harmlessly against the concrete facing, but the cloud of
pulverized cement hid them from fire for a few precious seconds.
“Get in, Grusky!” She ran to the back of the Beast and flung open
the rear loading door. Grabbing a heavy wooden box, she hauled it
around and back through the window into the shattered office.

Flinging open the box, she quickly fitted two
pressure detonators on the enormous antitank mines inside, and then
jumped back out the window. Once inside the Beast, she yelled, “Go
go go! Lockerbie, get us the hell out of here! Butler, weapons
free, use it up, we’ll resupply later.”