The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  “My guess?” Eli rubbed his chin. “Carlton was trying to develop even better Elite Ops troopers—genetically augmented as well as mechanically enhanced.”

  Jeremiah said, “And Joshua became part of this program?”

  Eli nodded. “It seems he has nearly perfect DNA for transgenic alteration.”

  Jeremiah took a step forward. “So he’s like me?”

  Eli shrugged. “Not quite. Your DNA is incompatible with nano-implants.”

  Jeremiah struggled to calm himself. He wanted to lash out, achieve the temporary peace that came with overwhelming violence. He blinked three times, centering himself in his dungeon.

  “I’ll do everything I can for you,” Eli continued. “But they’ve probably altered him substantially. He may not even know you anymore.”

  Jeremiah walked to the sofa and sat heavily. He found it hard to breathe. Wiping his eyes, he stared out the window at the lights of the city. Washington, DC: the center of power: where men like Eli, with enough motivation, could arrange anything. At least Joshua was alive. Somehow, Jeremiah would bring his son home. “Why?” he asked.

  Eli shrugged. “You should know by now that everything comes back to power. The world is an increasingly dangerous place, Jeremiah. Our national security is a paramount issue. You think we’re the only country with Elite Ops soldiers? Or even transgenic people? All the major powers are developing programs of super-fighters.”

  “When will you know about my son?”

  “Soon,” Eli said. “Get cleaned up and go home, Jeremiah. I’ll find him. Trust me. We’ll leave no stone unturned.”

  Jeremiah got to his feet. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so exhausted, so emotionally drained. He nodded to Eli as he made his way out of the office.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Jeremiah sat beside Lendra’s bed, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb until he felt movement in her fingers. When she opened her eyes, it took her a few seconds to focus on his face.

  “Jeremiah?” Lendra said.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Not much pain.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then stared into his and said, “Thank you for saving my life. They told me that without your blood I wouldn’t have survived.”

  “I’ll let you get some rest,” Jeremiah said. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” He got to his feet and tried to pull his hand away but Lendra gripped it firmly and said, “Please don’t go yet.”

  Jeremiah lowered himself back to his chair. “I suppose I can stay for a few more minutes.”

  “You’re a strange man…and yet…I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  Jeremiah closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Shaking his head, he replied, “You barely know me.”

  “I know you. You’ve killed for your country. And you think that makes you bad. But you’re not. You’re kind and gentle and smart.” Lendra pulled Jeremiah’s hand to her lips and kissed it. “Tell me you feel nothing for me and I’ll let you walk away.”

  “It’s not as simple as that,” Jeremiah said. “If I let you in, they’ll kill you.”

  “I’m not Julianna,” Lendra said, “and I’m not Catherine.”

  “You don’t know what these people are capable of.”

  “I’m not afraid of them. As long as you’re with me.”

  “We’ll talk about this later,” Jeremiah said.

  Lendra stared at him intently, as if deciding whether to let go of the topic. After a few seconds, she said, “Will you stay here until I fall asleep?”

  Jeremiah settled back in the chair with a sigh.

  * * *

  Elias watched Devereaux approach the cameras. The great man had shaved, showered and had his hair cut. He looked like the Devereaux of old, only thinner; he still had that great presence, that ability to take over a camera, or a room. His abdominal surgery had been a complete success, his recovery accelerated by Jeremiah’s blood. Elias worried about that, wondered if it was too late now to take corrective action. Perhaps he’d talk to President Hope about it.

  Even though Devereaux wouldn’t be leaving for a few days, he wore a flight suit. Next to him, Quark stood in similar costume, looking like some giant ape: still unshaven, black hair sticking out in all directions. Behind them, Lunar Transit Vehicle C reached as tall as a two-story building and nearly as long as a football field. Elias knew it was a holographic trick, that Devereaux really stood before a green screen, but it looked real enough. Elias wanted to impress upon the public that Devereaux would be leaving as soon as possible and the image of the LTV-C conveyed that idea perfectly. It looked ungainly on the ground, like some giant medicine capsule—long and cylindrical. Its wings were nowhere near big enough to provide the lift it would need to fly if it were a traditional airplane. But they were attached merely to offer stability and steerage. Four Toninato-Huxley fusion engines generated the power required for liftoff.

  Devereaux looked into the camera and said, “Friends, I know a lot of you are angry with me. I’ve said and done things that don’t fit with your views of the world. How can I deny the existence of God? Or work for the evolution of humanity beyond what you know it to be?” He paused for a few seconds.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you. Believe me, that was never my intention. I only want what’s best for this world. I want us to become better than we are. I see in each of us the potential for greatness—the possibility of perfect altruism. I see a future where we can accomplish things we never imagined, if only we trust each other and work together. Can you see us reaching out to the stars? I can. Can you see us making a heaven right here on Earth? I can see that too. But we’re not heading in either direction at the moment. We’re destroying our habitat and each other—and we all know it.”

  Devereaux paused again, lending emphasis to his previous words, before continuing: “We always seem to have good intentions, but those intentions are usually tempered by our self-interest. Almost never do we honestly ask ourselves, ‘What can I do to help others, even if it means I must sacrifice a little?’ But until we learn to do that, until we accept that we are all responsible for the whole of our world, not just our little sector of it, we will never move beyond the narrow thinking that has brought us to this dangerous point.

  “Brothers and sisters, I’m leaving this lovely planet—traveling to a cold, harsh world where I don’t expect to live a long or comfortable life. But we won’t be fighting wars on Mars, or committing acts of terrorism. We won’t be plundering our planet of its riches to satisfy our appetites at the expense of our children’s future. We won’t be seeking bigger and more dangerous weapons to destroy our enemies. We’ll be working together, cooperating to build a better world than the one we found. If there were a beautiful statue up there that combined artistic excellence with the idea that we must evolve to survive, we would not destroy it. Hopefully, in the end, you will come to realize that we as humans must do better. We must move beyond the limitations of our emotions. If we are to overcome the challenges ahead, we must become more intelligent, more rational, more peaceful. We must achieve an understanding that, united, we can accomplish great things. Yet we must never subsume our individuality to the groupthink that has often led us down the wrong path.”

  The camera moved in as Devereaux paused for a third time. When he began again, he spoke slowly: “My friends, if we try, if we really focus on developing our mental abilities, if we work every hour of every day to be better creatures, we can evolve beyond the small, short-term, warrior thinkers history proves we have been, and grow into vast instruments of peace, vessels of enlightenment, beacons of hope for a future that nurtures us all.” He raised his right hand slowly. “I hope that you fare well.”

  Elias turned off the screen. He knew the networks would immediately begin seeking reactions to the speech, undoubtedly finding a mix of people, pro and con, to discuss its
impact. Pollsters would have their results out by tomorrow. Some would be outraged simply at the fact of Devereaux’s continued existence, much less that he would presume to speak for all humanity. A few pundits would call him the Devil, evil incarnate or a misguided misanthrope. They’d call for demonstrations, hoping to speed the “God haters” offworld. Others would praise Devereaux’s ideals and integrity while wondering if his admirable goals could actually reach fruition in a world where narrow-minded religious fanatics ruled, blissful in their ignorance, happily reshaping science and history to fit their scriptural teachings. But for most it would be just a minor diversion from the day-to-day work of living. In a few months, certainly in a few self-absorbed years, Devereaux would be forgotten.

  * * *

  President Angelica Hope strode out to the Rose Garden where Elias awaited her. She wore a dress of shimmer cloth that reflected a rainbow of colors and made her appear slimmer than she was. As she approached, he renewed his awe of her figure: nearly six feet tall, with muscular legs and broad shoulders. Of course she’d been a world-class tennis player, but he wondered also if she’d secretly undergone genetic enhancement surgery. Her face looked little different than it had in the days of her second career: as an action movie star. She looked him in the eye, shook his hand with a firm grip and said, “Thanks for meeting me. Better to keep this conversation completely private.”

  As she began to stroll through the garden, taking small steps so he wouldn’t have to work hard to keep up, he fell in beside her. “What about the Elite Ops?” he said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.

  “General Horowitz is putting together a proposal on whether to keep them.”

  “And Devereaux?” he said. “You think we should let him go to the Moon?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “He could tell us so much. The weapons he’s designed—”

  “—are planet killers,” the President finished for him. “They’re lose-lose propositions.”

  “We might be able to modify them to suit our purposes—target select groups.”

  “And they might run amok, decimate the planet’s population. We’re not ready for that kind of power. And he told us he wouldn’t cooperate. If we wanted the information, we’d have to take it by force.”

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Yes,” the President said, “when it comes to him, I do. You saw his speech?”

  “I found it interesting,” Elias said. “But he’s wrong about the chance for a peaceful future.”

  “Is that why President Davis authorized the taking of Jeremiah’s son?”

  “He believed that the only way to save the people of Earth was to bring them together against a common enemy.”

  “As do you.”

  Elias shrugged. “Only the iron hand can enforce lasting peace.”

  President Hope glared at him. “I want it clear that your plan will not be put into play on my watch.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “It’s madness, you know,” she said.

  “Do you want me to return the son to Jeremiah?”

  “You’re the long-term planner. Even if I’m re-elected, I’ll only be here for a little over six more years. You can take your plan up with my successor. I don’t want to hear anything about it ever again. It’s between you and President Davis and whoever replaces me. I need plausible deniability.”

  “Of course,” Elias said. “We never discussed it. But in a more general sense, I would note that man is ultimately a fighter. That is the only constant throughout known history. We are a violent, aggressive species and without an outside target upon which to focus our energies, we soon turn on each other.”

  President Hope stopped in front of a multi-colored rosebush, pointed at its sprouting blue, pink and gold blossoms: a perfectly symmetrical hybrid. She said, “You don’t think we can change? Become enlightened and logical?”

  “We’re not roses,” Elias answered. “We’re ruled by our emotions—always have been, always will be. We like to believe we can change, that we can grow into better, more intellectual beings, but our true nature is immutable. We do what we do because we’re driven by anger or fear or lust or envy or some other emotion—each of them stronger than rational thought. Emotion-driven action is why there have been so many wars in our past. Did you know that there has never been a decade in all our known history without a war somewhere in the world? Probably not a single year. Ever. The only way to make us peaceful is to make us something other than human.”

  “Perhaps,” President Hope said. She stared at the bush for a few seconds, as if distracted by its beauty, then continued along the path so that Elias had to walk quickly to catch up. He said:

  “People are getting more dangerous all the time. And we’re getting closer to Armageddon every year. By sending Devereaux to the Moon, and eventually Mars, we’re only putting off the development of a super-weapon. I don’t suppose we need it anyway. We already have weapons that can wipe out an entire planet—the orbiting Las-cannons, for example. And others will come along…until that day—I’m not sure when it will be, but I’m certain it will come—when one of those weapons gets used. Humanity as we know it will perish. We can only prolong the inevitable.”

  “That’s a depressing thought, and too distant for me to worry about. I’m concerned with the here and now.”

  “Which brings me back to Devereaux,” Elias said. “As long as he’s alive, he’s a threat.”

  President Hope shook her head. “I don’t want any accidents on the journey to Mars. If I thought Devereaux intended to build any of the weapons he’s designed, I would argue differently, but I truly believe he’ll take his secrets to the grave.”

  “I happen to agree that he has no intention of building a weapon. But anyone who has the knowledge he has must be taken seriously. And if he refuses to provide us with the information, perhaps we should ensure that no one else can possess it, either.”

  The President sighed. “I have no desire to harm him, Elias. President Davis contemplated killing him. Gray Weiss did too…yet another reason to keep him alive.” When Elias nodded, the President smiled. “Good meeting,” she said.

  Elias lifted his arms and spread his hands. “You’re the President.”

  Angelica Hope laughed. Then she turned away and resumed her walk. Elias followed again, watching the prismatic effect of her dress as they made a circuit through the garden. He found shimmer cloth almost disorienting the way it shifted colors so quickly. The President did not stop again. Nor did she speak.

  * * *

  Carrying a peace offering of a hamburger, fries and a Coke, Jeremiah descended the stairs to the basement, dreading the battle he was bound to have with the big EO. He doubted the food would be enough to quell Marschenko’s rage. And Jeremiah no longer wanted to fight at all. Devereaux had made him see the senselessness of violence. Yet if Marschenko forced his hand, Jeremiah would do what was necessary to survive. However, when he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw the heavily bearded Marschenko sitting on the toilet looking lethargic and shrunken, his muscles no longer showing that sharp bodybuilding definition. “What happened?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Water,” Marschenko rasped.

  Jeremiah reached for the nutri-water tube and immediately saw that it had been chewed on and kinked. Jeremiah opened the Coke, which he handed to Marschenko, staying clear of the big man’s reach.

  Marschenko gulped greedily.

  “Easy,” Jeremiah said.

  Marschenko nodded, drank more slowly.

  “If you feel up to it,” Jeremiah said, “I’ve brought you some lunch.”

  “Thanks.” Marschenko took the proffered bag and began eating the fries, one at a time.

  On the television, the newscasters continued their reporting on Devereaux’s speech, the imminent departure of the Escala and the
Elite Ops’ recent deployment around the Capitol. Jeremiah glanced at the screen, where talking heads discussed rumors that the Elite Ops had nearly taken over the country. A government official maintained that the whole thing had been a secret military exercise.

  Then footage of Sister Ezekiel’s death played yet again as commentators discussed her saintly life and the tragedy of her murder. Marschenko dropped the bag and turned his head away, his eyes welling up. Jeremiah focused on the screen, letting Marschenko have his privacy.

  The footage shifted to the destroyed statue, and a commentator opined that a new statue should be erected in the spot—one honoring Sister Ezekiel rather than the nameless man promoting evolution that had been there previously. “We don’t need another tribute to Godlessness from the atheistic left. They’re the reason our society has the problems it does. They’re why we’ve created creatures who aren’t even human anymore. Good riddance to them. And good riddance to Devereaux. Any fool can see that it was Devereaux’s teachings that accelerated the moral decline of our nation. If it had not—”

  “That’s just more of the same,” another commentator interrupted. “Religious zealotry. And it’s an obvious misunderstanding of the importance of ‘Emerging Man’ as a metaphor for the human condition. Further, Devereaux teaches that humanity can become better than we are. That’s what the Escala are—enlightened humans who are better for encompassing more of nature. How does that worsen our moral condition?”

  “By ignoring the essential truth that God intended us to be pure and wholly human—”

  “All Devereaux did was try to lift us up. And the sad thing is that now he’s abandoning us.”

  “Good. I want him to give up on us.”

  “Don’t you see? We need to work for a world with more unity, not less.”

  “Unity’s fine. But not without God.”

  “Gentlemen,” the moderator said, “let’s get back to our discussion about the Elite Ops and whether that program should be dismantled.”

  Jeremiah muted the sound, then pointed to the nutri-water tube and said, “What happened?”