The Orion Plague (7 page)

Terror must have shown on his face, for Shari
stroked it with a cruelly gentle hand. “There is no need to fear.
We will take all that away from you, and there will be only
happiness, an endless sea of pleasure, as long as you do what we
wish. I hope that you will be a most important instrument in
returning the rightful Unionist government to power.”

She leaned down and pressed her soft warm
lips to his, a dry kiss that nevertheless promised much more. He
tried to squirm away but the bindings held him helpless. “Shoot him
up,” Shari said, and another white coat with a large needle
advanced on him carefully, to sting his thigh with metal
sharpness.

The pain started there, a hot sensation that
spread up his veins and through his arteries. Agony tore a scream
from his lips as Shari watched with heady pleasure. “It burns!”

“Yes,” she whispered. “It does, and it will.
You will burn, my little man. You will burn for me.”

***

He existed in the fire, aflame but not
consumed. Films of red lined his vision like celluloid curtains,
and his limbs floated on coals of pain. Glowing brands rooted
through his blood vessels, gouging channels in his muscles, through
his flesh. Nerves died and were reborn, rerouted, rekindled until
the flames warmed his bones and the touch of pain brought him to
ecstasy. Inside the chambers of his mind he sobbed, unable to
control or resist.

As he floated in the womblike furnace, Shari
was always there, always whispering. He hated himself, but she
became his anchor, his focus, the only thing he could hold onto
even as he cried out
save me
to a silent God. Her presence
brought him shivering rapture even while shriveling his soul with
hellfire.

He desperately held on to what he could,
reciting to himself,
My hope is in the Lord
and
forgive
me,
over and over, trying to absolve himself of responsibility
for what he could not control.
Not my fault,
he told
himself, then cried out as his body and brain betrayed him with
seizures of heaven and hell once again.

“The conditioning is proceeding
satisfactorily?” The voice came from an impeccably-manicured man of
young middle age, from a face well known to the viewers of the
Union News Network over the past decade: Winthrop Jenkins. No
number after his name, but he was the eldest living of the Jenkins
clan and thus should control great power and wealth. In his
estimation the Septagon Shadow program was the key to reclaiming
what he had lost with the fall of the Unionists.

“Of course,” Sharion Prandra purred. “I am
seeing to it personally. Still,” she arched one eyebrow, “nothing
is certain when dealing with such bleeding-edge techniques and
technologies.” She turned to gesture at the Burn Room visible
through the one-way glass, at Rick Johnstone strapped to the
stainless-steel table.

“So you have told me. I understand, Doctor,
you need to cover your ass in case it doesn’t work. Don’t worry,
I’m not the type of man to punish the occasional hiccup, as long as
your overall record demonstrates your effectiveness.”

“It does, and it will, Your Eminence. The
rewiring of his nervous system and the electrostimulator web we
have implanted in his brain is the most effective way we have
identified for overcoming any compunctions he may have against
obeying our directives. Pavlovian conditioning – pain and pleasure,
fed directly into the respective cerebral structures – has proven
irresistible.” She smiled, a thing of queasy satisfaction.

“I suppose if I was hammered with waves of
pain or orgasmic pleasure, I would learn to comply as well.”
Jenkins’ voice was musing, detached, belying his horrified feeling
at contemplating mind control – no, to be fair, to contemplate
anyone controlling
his
mind.

“It’s not merely the pain and pleasure, it’s
the
fear
of pain and the
hope
of pleasure that really
breaks them,” Shari answered. “Did you know that intermittent and
semi-correlated consequences – good or bad – are many times more
effective than predictable ones?”

“Really?” Jenkins raised his eyebrows in
skepticism. “That seems counterintuitive. In politics, I always
want to follow through on my threats and promises.”

“With your peers, perhaps. But what about
your subordinates? Do you always, every time give them a word of
praise for a good job, or a reprimand? Or only now and again,
keeping them guessing?”

“Point taken. So you are saying that this
strategy is more effective for those who are dependent.”

“Precisely, sir. You have gone to the root of
it, forgive my imprecision, I only spoke of my own…discipline.” She
smiled again, obsequious.

I know when I’m being played
, Winthrop
thought,
but it doesn’t matter. She’s the best at what she does.
Better to let her think I swallow her clumsy manipulations, as if
I’m one of her subjects.
He shivered inside at that thought.
That’s one thing I’ll never do, put myself under her
knife.

Waving airily, he responded, “Nothing to
forgive, Doctor. Your work is excellent, and will be rewarded.” He
raised one eyebrow. “Intermittently.”

“Ah, very amusing, sir. We do appreciate the
resources lavished on us and endeavor to do our best. Speaking of
resources…”

“I am sorry I can’t increase your budget
right now. As the illegitimate government asserts more control, I
am finding it harder and harder to acquire what we need. Some units
and people are still loyal, but we need to get the kinks worked out
of your Shadow Men and put them to use. They must be made
reliable!”

“Yes, it is hard to instill fear in a cyborg,
and too much pain will make them timid. We are continuing to test
approaches.”

Jenkins smacked a fist into his palm for
emphasis. “This is even more important as Unionist currency is now
worthless. If I did not have substantial holdings in the Neutral
States we would have nothing at all, remember that. Also, Doctor,
should you ever consider hosting me in one of your Burn Rooms, I
will remind you that I have had some very effective psychological
blocks put in to my mind. I also have some loyal men who would
investigate…and they have weapons and tools that even your Shadows
would find…effective.”

He saw her face grow still as she nodded.
She is more correct than she knew
, he thought.
Fear of
consequences
is
more effective than
punishment itself
.

“Of course, sir. We are all loyal to you and
the Unionist Party here.”

“I am the Party now, Doctor, and the Party
values your loyalty in the exact measure you extend it. Now, shall
we discuss how we will employ this tool you are creating?”

“Of course, sir.” She opened the door to exit
the observation room, then led him to her well-appointed office.
They sat on her soft black leather sofa, deliberately set low so
her short legs were comfortable but bigger, taller people felt odd.
Jenkins got up after a moment and perched on its arm, a slightly
more appropriate seat for his tall frame.

Shari folded her hands on her knees and
asked, “What did you have in mind for him, sir?”

Jenkins rubbed his neck tiredly. He wished
there was a simple way to get rid of the Eden Plague virtue effect
without all this cyberware, which would compromise his free will
even more than the virus itself. He could use some healing and
energy right about now. “I presume network cyber-warfare is not an
option.”

She shook her head. “He will retain his
skills, but I cannot speak for his motivation, his drive, his
‘edge.’ Creative talents cannot be bludgeoned into achievement,
only coaxed. My methods are not sufficiently refined to make him an
effective hacker for us. At least, no more effective than the
others working for us.”

“Then my hope is that we can use him as a
mole. Release him, let him escape or be rescued. Use your
hypnoconditioning to make him forget his alterations.”

The Doctor looked skeptical. “Such hypnotics
will only hold for a brief time. A week, perhaps two. Then the
memories of what we have done will break through. If he reports
himself, we will immediately lose him. We will also be providing
our enemies with some of our technology to examine, and they have
an extensive research program.”

Jenkins stood up to pace. “Then you will wire
him with some kind of self-destruct that will automatically burn
him out, slag all the cyberware inside him, either when we send him
a signal or when he exhibits certain proscribed behavior. You can
do that, can’t you?”

Shari laughed. “A simple matter. We can’t
control his thoughts, but we can match his actions, including
things he sees, to a heuristic decision matrix that will –”

“Spare me the details, Doctor. I have full
confidence that you can do what you promise. Just…do not
overpromise. I would rather be told honestly you cannot do
something, than to be misled. That,” he said heavily, “would
displease me greatly.”

The Doctor bowed her head in apparent
submission, carefully hiding a smile. Such threats did not concern
her much; all powerful men made them. The trick was to be so
valuable to them that they could not afford to dispense with her
services, and also to never show disrespect to their faces. Such
men were far more sensitive to the responses of their underlings
than they would admit. Was she not a psychiatrist of the first
order? She understood human motivation better than anyone,
including Winthrop Jenkins.

At Battalion HQ Repeth turned Bill over to
the confinement platoon, who had converted the old Dormitory into
their new stockade. She understood that the hardware was already
there to keep prisoners, but it still bothered her.

When she reported to Colonel Muzik, the first
thing out of her mouth was, “We need an interrogation team. Pros.
This Bill guy has a window on something we knew nothing about. But
in the meantime I’m going to question him. He promised me to spill
his guts in exchange for his life, so I need everything I can get
from him, before he decides to get cute.”

“And then?”

“And then we go to Pax River.”

Colonel Muzik cleared his throat. “Not alone,
you’re not.”

Repeth’s shoulders set stubbornly. “I have a
good team, sir.”

“And you can keep them. But five people and
one souped-up Hummer is not enough for an assault. I’ve already
asked for some stealth drone imagery and once we get it we’ll have
an idea what we’re up against. You did fantastic work but this is
now bigger than either of us.”

“So we do all the hard stuff and the regulars
go in and get the attaboys.”

Muzik looked at Repeth, appalled. “You never
used to care about who got the glory, as long as the mission got
done.”

She slammed a fist into the wall, leaving a
hole in the drywall. “And I don’t really care about that now. I’m
just tired of us line doggies doing all the scut work while others
sit back and wait for the sexy jobs. And,” she took a deep breath,
“I have to be there. If Rick is there, I have to be there.”

Muzik nodded slowly. “You know, Jill, you’re
not making it any easier for me to have confidence in your state of
mind.”

“What, you don’t trust me all of a
sudden?”

“What I don’t trust is your objectivity. It
may not be my call anyway. Look, go interrogate your prisoner.
Don’t wreck him; he may hold the key to getting Rick back. I’ll see
what I can do about getting you in on the Pax River op. And Jill?”
he said as she turned to go. “Remember, Professor Stone is still
out there. You’re a cop now. Tracking down criminals is your main
job, not rescue. It would be better for everyone if you thought
about that.”

The door slammed behind her. “Don’t tell me
what my freakin’ job is,” she muttered under her breath as she
stomped down the hall. “My job is to find my boyfriend. Fiancé.
Whatever.” Shoving her way into the womens’ latrine, she glared at
the Spec-4 washing her hands there. “Get out,” she snarled. “GET
OUT!”

The woman bolted, and Jill locked the door.
Turning both faucets on full blast, she plunged her face into the
water just in time to convince herself she wasn’t crying.

Half an hour later, puffy-eyed but composed,
she walked in to the stockade for the first time since she had been
prisoner there. The place they called theDormitory had been cleaned
up, sanitized, given a new coat of whitewash – but a prison is a
prison is a prison, once it has been used for caging people. An
oppressive spirit lingered there, echoes of beatings, rapes, and
the casual abuse of power that no amount of paint could cover. She
shivered, soulstruck.

“I need to see the prisoner I just brought in
an hour ago. Goes by Bill,” she said to the guard.

“You’ll have to get a pass from the
Commander,” the MP sergeant there said.

He was one of the new ones, probably a
reservist called in as augmentation.
Another one comes in late
after the hard work is over,
she sneered inside. “How’s
this
pass work?” She held out the piece of paper that
usually rested near her heart, beneath the body armor inside a
plastic cover.

The man looked at the printing and the
signature, until his face went white. He tried to take it from her
hand to examine it more closely.

“It’s real,” she said as she twitched it out
of reach.

“All right,” he said with a nervous swallow.
“But you’ll have to leave your firearms. Frank, bring that new one,
William Lilly, to a visit room.”

Once inside the designated chamber, Repeth
paced until the guards brought Bill in. When he sat down, he held
up his cuffed hands. “Come on, is this really necessary?”