The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  “I don’t understand why you need to be linked to them,” Weiss said. “Couldn’t a machine monitor them just as well?”

  “As we discovered in Rochester,” Carlton said, “machines can be deceived. To this day, we don’t know who breached our defenses, allowing the pseudos to escape. We suspect it was Devereaux, though we can’t be sure. But now that I’m linked to every member of the Elite Ops, I’ll be in position to observe and repel any attempt to infiltrate the system.”

  “It sounds to me,” Weiss said, “like that’s another serious weakness of the Elite Ops.”

  Carlton shook his head. “Not really, Gray. Major Payne’s men could function equally well without me. It’s just that with me linked to the network, they can concentrate all their efforts on the task at hand, without having to devote any effort to monitoring the system.”

  “All right,” Weiss said. “You may leave, Miss Riley. But please stay within the confines of the shelter.”

  “Hold it,” Major Payne said. He stepped to the side, positioning himself in front of Lendra. “Where are the pseudos?”

  Lendra looked up at his helmet and said, “I don’t know.”

  When she tried to walk around him, Major Payne grabbed her arm. She struggled against his grip.

  “Stop that,” Truman ordered.

  “The more you struggle,” Major Payne said, “the more it will hurt.”

  Truman took a step forward but Major Payne pushed him back. Truman fell over a chair and experienced an adrenaline rush of anger. But before he could get to his feet, Weiss was standing over him, hands outstretched, signaling caution. As Weiss helped him to his feet, Truman glared at Major Payne, who seemed not to notice. Truman longed to plant a fist squarely in that arrogant face, again heard Emily’s voice saying, “Don’t be a fool. Do you want to get yourself killed?” For some reason he flashed on an image of his older brother Ned, who disappeared in South America years ago on an assignment for the CIA. Why had he suddenly thought of Ned? Maybe because Ned also would have counseled caution. He straightened his uniform, wondered how tough the major would be without all his equipment. Probably still damn tough.

  Major Payne pressed a button on his right glove and took Lendra’s hand in his. She stared at his opaque visor, eyes wide, a slight tremble running down her frame, while he asked her name, address and occupation, waiting a few seconds after each response. Truman had heard the Elite Ops could detect lies. He realized Major Payne was establishing a baseline.

  “Do you know where the pseudos are?”

  “No,” Lendra said.

  Major Payne held Lendra’s hand for several more seconds, then released her. “Go,” he said as he stepped aside.

  Weiss pointed to Carlton and Major Payne. “You two may leave now as well. I have some things to discuss with Colonel Truman.”

  “I think I’ll stay,” Carlton said.

  Weiss said, “Sorry, RC, Justice Department business.”

  Carlton stared at Weiss through his sunglasses, his jaw clamped shut. Truman edged forward, his fists clenched at his side, almost hoping Carlton would make an aggressive move. He noticed that Major Payne had turned slightly, facing him. The four of them stared at each other for several seconds, nobody moving. Then Carlton said to Weiss: “I don’t like your lackey.”

  Truman said, “I don’t like yours, either.”

  Weiss held up his hands. “Please, Richard, this is a sensitive matter. And as you yourself pointed out, you’re a civilian.”

  Carlton’s eyes were invisible behind his sunglasses but the anger in his face was easy to read. After another few seconds, he pivoted and headed out the door, Major Payne following him.

  “We have a problem,” Weiss said when they were gone.

  “Sir?”

  “They’re arrogant bastards, aren’t they? I thought bringing the Elite Ops in would simplify things—force Jeremiah’s hand, make the pseudos move before they were ready, possibly even drive Devereaux out into the open. But I also thought I had a handle on them. I thought Carlton would be on my side. I was wrong.”

  “You think Carlton’s planning something?”

  “I’m certain of it. I used to think he was in this to help me make a positive change for our country. We talked about replacing a broken system with a new kind of leadership. I thought he just wanted to use his influence to increase his wealth but I see now that he’s been playing both sides—working with the President as well as me. Not to mention becoming one of those things.”

  Truman looked out to the lobby and said, “Perhaps I should call General Horowitz, see if he’ll recall the Elite Ops.”

  Weiss shook his head. “He won’t. Carlton has the President convinced he’s on her side. I’m sure he’s also explained the necessity of using the Elite Ops. Any request to remove them would only reinforce the President’s determination to keep them here.” He picked up a pen and began tapping on the desk. “We need to find Devereaux and get out of here. After this is over, we’ll conduct a complete re-evaluation of the Elite Ops program. Until we leave, I want your men ready for anything.”

  “Sir,” Truman said, “my soldiers are willing to fight. But they’re no match for the Elite Ops. Maybe if we had a working particle beam cannon.”

  “Hopefully, it won’t come to that. If I’m not mistaken, the pseudos and the Elite Ops will soon be at each other’s throats. When that happens, Devereaux will reveal himself.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because Devereaux was the one who helped the pseudos in Rochester.”

  “How do you—”

  “We can’t prove it. But we know Devereaux helped them. He was the only one with the expertise to breach the system and cause the kind of havoc that occurred. Plus, he’s the only one who had a motive for doing so. After all, he created them. They’re his children.”

  “His children?”

  “Didn’t you know, Colonel? It was Devereaux’s research into transgenic modification that led to the creation of the pseudos.”

  “I knew he was involved in work on brain-muscle-computer connectivity, which sped up the development of the Elite Ops.”

  Weiss nodded. “Yes, that’s true. But he left that work relatively early, claiming that the future was in evolution of the species. He said man-machine technology was not ultimately self-sustainable.”

  “So he’ll show up to save the pseudos?”

  “Exactly.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Sister Ezekiel knelt before the body of Julianna Wentworth and gave her a blessing, noting the perfectly aligned white teeth of Dr. Mary, which removed any doubt about her identity. This young woman would have made a great doctor. Sister Ezekiel’s eyes drifted across the room to Rock Man, who looked at her with piercing intensity. She shook her head, indicating that he should not yet give himself up.

  Rock Man stood beside Flyer, flanked on either side by Elite Ops troopers. Half a dozen of the big soldiers dominated the lobby. Huge, faceless: they inspired fear by their very presence, and killed without remorse. She thought of Ruberg and Hanson, corpse-piled out there with a number of other separatists, and shivered.

  Forcing her eyes away from the giant soldiers, she glanced at Jeremiah, who stood motionless, staring at Julianna’s face with a sadness that caused a pain in her chest. He looked as if his whole world had collapsed. Finally he turned and stared at Rock Man, and Sister Ezekiel knew that Jeremiah had somehow figured out Devereaux’s identity.

  At that moment Lendra emerged from the office and moved toward Jeremiah. The Elite Ops trooper guarding him prevented her approach, stepping between them, his weapon barring the way.

  “You can’t deny him medical attention,” Lendra said loudly.

  Sister Ezekiel pushed herself to her feet. She walked toward Jeremiah, noticed the gold cross on the Elite Ops trooper’s chest, and nodded
to him. He let her pass. When Jeremiah looked at her, Sister Ezekiel asked, “How are you feeling?”

  He smiled briefly and said, “I’m fine, Sister.”

  She grabbed his shoulder and turned him slightly away from her, gasping as she saw his burned and bloody back. “You need medical assistance. Medic.”

  Jeremiah looked over her shoulder. She turned and saw Carlton and Major Payne striding over, focusing on Jeremiah.

  “This man needs medical attention immediately,” Sister Ezekiel said.

  Carlton ignored her. Major Payne put a hand on her shoulder and moved her aside as Carlton grabbed Jeremiah by the shirt and said, “Where are the pseudos?”

  “And where is Jack Marschenko?” Major Payne asked.

  Jeremiah stared straight ahead, his back held stiffly.

  Sister Ezekiel said, “Can’t you at least put a QuikHeal bandage on him?”

  “No,” Major Payne said. “I want him just like that.”

  Sister Ezekiel shivered at the callousness. She wondered how much pain Jeremiah felt. With his enhancements, he might have a much greater tolerance than most people.

  “We’ll get answers from you very soon,” Carlton said to Jeremiah. “Though we may have to damage your brain to get them.”

  “And you’ll pay for what happened to Julianna,” Jeremiah answered, glancing down at Carlton’s hand on his shirt. Then he looked back up into Carlton’s eyes. “And for taking my son.” Jeremiah stood quietly, making no threatening move forward. But for all his inertness, he looked dangerous, like he might suddenly erupt in violent action. Major Payne saw something in his eyes too, for he pulled Carlton away.

  “You’d better hope nothing happens to me,” Carlton said, poking a finger in Jeremiah’s direction, “or the wrath of the Elite Ops will rain down on you all.”

  Weiss and Truman emerged from Sister Ezekiel’s office and made their way over. “What’s going on here?” Weiss asked.

  “We’re taking custody of this man,” Carlton said.

  “No,” Weiss and Lendra said at the same time.

  “And we’re going to find the pseudos,” Major Payne added.

  “Jeremiah is here on the President’s orders,” Lendra said.

  “Enough,” Rock Man said, his voice forceful and controlled. He stepped forward.

  Sister Ezekiel held up her hands to stop him, knowing the gesture was futile even as she made it. The mere act of speaking had given him away.

  Rock Man reached up and slid his fingers under the skin—the false skin—at his neck. Slowly he lifted the mask up, removing the face of Rock Man and becoming again the great and charismatic figure who somehow managed to be larger than life. Sister Ezekiel heard gasps and murmurs as people finally accepted what they were seeing—Walt Devereaux was here! His face looked painfully thin. He held the mask out to Weiss and said, “I’m surrendering to you. Now please take your troops with you and go.”

  Weiss took the mask from Devereaux, studied it for a moment, then nodded slowly and lifted his eyes back to Devereaux. “Colonel,” Weiss said, “I want you to place Mr. Devereaux under arrest for treason.”

  As Truman grabbed Devereaux’s arm, Devereaux said, “Please call off the Elite Ops. They’ll massacre the Escala.”

  “That’s rather the point,” Carlton said.

  Major Payne turned to Devereaux and said, “Where are the pseudos?” But even as he asked the question, his body stiffened. Carlton’s head jerked to the left. Both men stood still for a second or two. At almost the same time, Sister Ezekiel heard a loud but distant explosion.

  “The pseudos,” Carlton said.

  “What’s happening, Richard?” Weiss asked.

  “The pseudos have just launched an attack on the Elite Ops in the woods.”

  Major Payne and five of the Elite Ops troopers bolted out the door, leaving Carlton and a single guard behind—the one with the gold cross. He kept his weapon trained on Jeremiah, ignoring everyone else.

  Carlton smiled as he pointed to the screens that Colonel Truman’s soldiers had placed along the wall by the ruined front door. “The pseudos,” he said, “are about to be destroyed. I’ll put it up so you can watch.”

  * * *

  The Escala filled the monitoring room. Although they showed little strain outwardly, they had to be anxious over the fate of their friends and relatives. Doug looked for Zeriphi, but she was either resting or receiving medical attention. Temala was there, however, staring at him as usual. Perhaps she didn’t trust him, or maybe she just didn’t like him. Whatever the reason, he quickly looked away. She made him uneasy.

  Along the far wall, the battle with the Elite Ops played out on the projections. An Elite Ops had his shield blasted away, then fell heavily after an Escala fired once more. Several Escala nodded grimly. The teenagers whooped, while Doug jumped in the air, pumping his fist and yelling, “Yes!” This brought bigger smiles. On another projection, two Elite Ops found themselves facing four Escala and quickly turned tail. The Escala let them go with a few parting shots.

  “We’re kickin’ some serious ass, here,” Doug said.

  “Patience,” Quekri reminded him. “We have a long ways to go.”

  “We got them on the ropes. If we had a few more people out there, we could finish them off.”

  Quekri, silent, kept her eyes on the projections.

  “You can’t hide forever,” Doug said.

  “True,” Quekri answered. “But we hope to buy ourselves time. They don’t know how many of us are here. If we can make them believe there are only a few, we might be able to escape detection long enough for our plan to work.”

  “What plan is that?”

  “To get the Mars Project reinstated.”

  “This is a big underground complex. I can’t believe you ain’t been found already.”

  “It used to be smaller. We expanded it.” Quekri said. “Years ago this was an electrical substation for a power company. Devereaux went into the archives and erased all records of the place. This cave will be located soon. But it’s served us well so far.”

  “Here they come,” one of the technicians said.

  The Elite Ops spread out in groups of twos and threes, moving more slowly now, more carefully. Three who had converged on their fallen comrade now moved off in the direction the Escala had gone. They took great running leaps, jumping out of camera view on one occasion. Doug followed their progress as they shrank on one camera and grew on another. Being unused to the projections, he found them disorienting—almost as if he were there, watching it all happen from a great height.

  On one of the projections, two Escala moved quickly. Even so, the three Elite Ops caught up with them in less than a minute. As they spotted the Escala, the Elite Ops began firing. They drove the two Escala down an overgrown road. When the Escala reached an intersection, two more Elite Ops stepped out from behind trees and fired their weapons. The Escala exploded.

  “Nall,” the technician who had spoken earlier said, “and Jork.”

  That was it. That was all anyone said about the loss of two of their number. Doug shivered. These were astronauts and scientists, not warriors. The Elite Ops began moving faster, more confidently. And Doug could see now that the Escala were fighting a lost cause. His companions must have known it from the start. Even the teenagers seemed to have grasped the inevitability of defeat. They stared at the projections blankly. Yet no one showed fear or anger. Neither Quekri nor anyone else issued orders to retreat. Maybe they’d already resigned themselves to these deaths.

  On another projection, a female Escala ran down a road, pursued by Elite Ops. Doug put his hands to his eyes. He didn’t want to see this. And yet he opened his fingers enough to peek through—as if his brain demanded that he record the moment. Every time the woman attempted to leave the road, laser fire kept her moving toward another intersection.
When she reached it, two Elite Ops stepped out and fired at her, blew her apart in a thousand pieces. Doug shut his eyes.

  “Tellera,” the technician said, the reaction the same as for the two males who had been killed.

  Doug thought he might retch. He clenched his teeth tightly, removed his hands and opened his eyes, forcing himself to follow the action, to witness the Escala fighting the impossible fight. On the third projection, an Escala jumped from a pile of rubble to a tree, pulling herself up as laser blasts surrounded her. Soon, the tree was enveloped in flames. Three Elite Ops stood below the pyre, waiting for the body to drop. After a few seconds, it did. They fired a series of laser blasts into it.

  “Vona,” the observer said.

  The stillness in the room ate at Doug. He smacked a fist into a palm and said, “How can you be so calm? You just lost four people. Don’t that bother you?”

  Quekri smiled, not without sadness. “They are doing what any of us would do—sacrificing themselves for the greater good. We honor them by accepting their gift.”

  “So their job is to die?”

  “We’ve led the Elite Ops to a place of our choosing.” Quekri pointed to the first projection, where a group of three Escala sprinted along, pursued by four Elite Ops. Occasionally, one of the Escala would turn and fire a laser pulse but they mostly just ran, their shields absorbing laser fire as they moved toward a huge pile of rubble. Behind it, another Escala crouched. Zod. Doug could barely make out his face.

  Just before the Escala reached the shelter of the rubble, the Elite Ops fired their weapons. As the Escala blew up, Zod stepped from cover and threw a large object high in the air. From off to the side, a single laser pulse pierced the object and a tremendous explosion followed. Even underground, Doug felt it—a small quake that rumbled throughout the cavern. Something fell to the floor. On the projection he saw nothing but blackness, the cameras gone dark.