The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  It might even be where humanity made its last stand. If this Susquehanna Sally had perfected the virus so that it could wipe out the human population, only those on the Moon would be safe—and Jeremiah, probably.

  Elias shook his head. He was an Earth-bound creature. He would live and die here. But his son—and in a way he thought of Jeremiah as his son, regardless of how Jeremiah saw him—might even visit Mars someday. He checked the time on his PlusPhone, selected Dr. Taditha Poole’s number and waited for her to appear. Her mocha cheeks looked puffy, her green eyes barely visible behind sleepy lids, her nose petite, her lips sensual—another beautiful woman, another woman who made him want Manyara. She’d taken her interface off. When she recognized Elias she said, “Eli. I’m sorry. I was asleep.”

  “No need to apologize, Doctor,” Elias said. “I realize it’s late but I wanted to make certain everything is ready for tomorrow.”

  Another three-second lag. “Dr. Hackett has prepared the boy. The reaction should be perfect—subtle but sufficient. Is there any chance Jeremiah will try to rescue him tomorrow?”

  “I don’t think so,” Elias said. “He’ll want to reconnoiter. Besides, he’ll believe there’s still a chance to resolve the situation diplomatically. He’ll only resort to violence when it becomes necessary.”

  Another lag. “I hope you’re right. I’d like some time to study him. How much does he know of what he is?”

  “Only that he’s a next-generation Escala. He doesn’t know that the adaptations continue to mutate. We didn’t know it either until recently. His ability to heal himself is incredible. We don’t know how far it will go. Maybe it will stop soon. Or maybe his body will keep improving, becoming more and more efficient at fighting off potentially deadly attacks—viral, bacterial, even Las-rifle pulses. Dr. Hassan has speculated that if the mutations continue at their current pace, in a few years he might be able to regenerate a missing limb.”

  Dr. Poole tapped her fingertips together. “I can see why he’s so important to you. And why you need his son. Still, the boy isn’t quite the specimen Jeremiah is. We couldn’t attempt the full range of alterations Jeremiah received. He’s got too much of his mother in him. We had to make do with nano-analyzers and regenerators, artificial hormone and protein delivery systems. Are there no other children?”

  Elias shook his head. “Not yet. How is the other project coming along?”

  While he waited for Dr. Poole to reply, Elias reflected on the boy, Joshua—his surrogate grandson. Too bad the kid wasn’t as complete as Jeremiah. Although with the nano-technology inside him, he was almost Jeremiah’s equal—at least for now. If Jeremiah’s enhancements mutated even further, the father would outstrip the son. But at least the son would be unhindered by the fetters of morality that bound Jeremiah.

  “If you’re planning to accelerate the timetable,” Dr. Poole said, “I need to know about it as soon as I can. The children are not yet ready for their mission. You know how long it took Jeremiah to fully incorporate the changes. He’s still adapting. Some of these kids are too.”

  Elias said, “I’m not sure when I’ll need them. I’m waiting for the next big war. That could come any day. And much depends on the Susquehanna Virus, how it mutates from here, whether we can find whoever’s behind it before they cause irreparable damage, whether we can piggyback our efforts onto that threat. Just do your best, Doctor. Oh, and one other thing. I know you want to study Jeremiah. But I think you should avoid him as much as possible. He’s intuitive. Intelligent. The less you interact with him, the better.”

  After the lag, Dr. Poole said, “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And I might be able to discover something Dr. Hassan missed.”

  “You may run a few scans, Doctor, but keep your interactions with him to a minimum. Contact me after you meet with him tomorrow.”

  Elias cut the connection. He worried about the effect Jeremiah would have on Dr. Poole. Jeremiah was an attractive man. And Dr. Poole had a bit of a Superman fetish. For her, Jeremiah would be the ultimate conquest. She might even align herself with him, inform him of what he might some day become—a comic-book character sprung to life. Fiction as the author of reality—all of it forced on humanity by the need to save the species, the need to spread out into space. Evolution had to be sped up so that people could survive on distant moons and planets. For one thing was certain. Man would some day destroy his habitat.

  The Escala, and particularly Jeremiah, might be the beginnings of a new species. It could be debated whether they were human, but they were necessary. Especially Jeremiah. Elias felt pride at his surrogate son. And—he hated to admit it—jealousy.

  Chapter Four

  Jeremiah awoke instantaneously. His body felt light, unencumbered—as if he could launch himself into the air, perform a flip and land on his feet with only the slightest exertion. His muscle memory believed he was still on Earth. He wasn’t yet used to weighing only thirty-five pounds. If all went well, he’d see Joshua today. He still had no idea what to say to his son, other than I’m sorry and I love you.

  Though he didn’t anticipate moving against his son’s captors today, he packed a small bag with his camo-fatigues—a pair of coveralls that contained millions of tiny sensors. When activated to maximum, they rendered the clothing invisible. He might get a chance to look around. He put in two bottles of nutri-water and a few QuikHeal bandages.

  Checking his PlusPhone, he saw that Lendra had called again. She said she loved him and hoped he was well, but there was a slight strain in both her face and voice that left him wondering what she wasn’t telling him.

  Putting that thought out of his mind, he made his way to the mess hall, where he sat with Quark. Part of his brain registered that the food was delicious, a spicy bean concoction on green rice, no doubt full of nutrients. But all he could concentrate on was that he’d be allowed into the military area at nine o’clock. Quark apparently caught his mood and remained silent. Conversation throughout the room consisted of murmurs and whispers, as if the Escala were aware of the tension.

  When he finished eating and grabbed his bag, Quark looked up and said, “Good luck.”

  Quekri walked over. “I’m sorry we can’t do more.”

  “I understand,” Jeremiah said.

  As he headed for the doorway, everyone stopped eating and stared at him—more than fifty people gone quiet. Zeriphi sat with her baby, Celestia, at the next table. She smiled at him. When he reached the door, he surveyed the room for a moment, felt the empathy coming from the Escala, the well wishes. He looked back at them, nodded silent thanks, and walked away.

  * * *

  He found the military desk manned by three soldiers—two of them obviously EOs even though they weren’t wearing their armor. Jeremiah handed over his pass and his bag, then submitted to a physical search. “Camo-fatigues,” one of the EOs said as he pulled the camos out of Jeremiah’s bag.

  “They’re legal,” Jeremiah said.

  “Modified with a scatterer to make them invisible to scanners. We’ll keep these here until you leave.” The EO checked his camos with the sergeant at the desk and motioned for Jeremiah to step into the body scanner. When he came up clean, the two EOs escorted him down the tunnel. They kept their Las-rifles at their sides and moved casually, though the one on his left crowded him a little. Reaching Admiral Cho’s door, they knocked and entered without waiting for an answer.

  Admiral Cho sat in a small gray room, at a plain desk, a transparent screen billowed out in front of him. Lining the walls were dozens of screens made of a highly conductive metamaterial. Each displayed a scene from Earth in real-time. The air contained the ionized scent of an atomizer/purifier masking the faint smell of old sweat. Cho touched the transparent screen, which folded itself shut like a napkin. Getting to his feet, Cho extended a hand. He was a tall, portly man in his late fifties, a good dozen years older than Jeremiah, with salt a
nd pepper hair and wire-rimmed glasses. As Jeremiah shook his hand, he decided the glasses were an affectation.

  “Jeremiah Jones,” Admiral Cho said, “I heard a lot about you. Frankly, from the stories, I expected you to come in here kickin’ butt and takin’ names. Talbert, here,” he nodded toward the EO on Jeremiah’s left, “saw you in action last year in Minnesota. I think he was kinda hopin’ you’d try to bust your way in.”

  Jeremiah glanced at Talbert and lifted his hands. “I just came to see my son, Admiral. I don’t want any trouble.”

  Admiral Cho took off his glasses and set them on the desk. He attempted a smile, narrow lips compressing in a tight line, then stopped. His heavy-lidded eyes moved from Jeremiah to the EOs and back. “Good. Even without their armor, these boys are plenty capable. And you don’t have your particle beam cannon anymore either.”

  “He brought camo-fatigues,” Talbert said.

  Admiral Cho raised his eyebrows. “Planning a little reconnaissance mission?”

  Jeremiah shook his head. “It’s a demonstrator model, Admiral. Look, I didn’t come here to fight.”

  Admiral Cho turned to Talbert. “You take his camos?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Admiral Cho swiveled back to Jeremiah. “Just so we understand each other, Mr. Jones. I run a tight ship here. And even though LB3 is a separate entity with its own command structure, I handle all security on the Moon. All access to LB3 comes through this facility. I heard you got a tendency to play by your own rules and we all know what you can do. I respect you. I know you done a lot for our country and I thank you for that service. But I don’t trust you to just walk away from your son. And I got orders to keep you from taking him. My men are prepared for most anything you can try. They won’t underestimate you again. Please remember that.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jeremiah said as he stared at Cho, noting the small movements in his eyes, the barely visible increase in his pulse rate, the almost imperceptible hesitation when he spoke of keeping Jeremiah away from his son. What was the purpose behind his deception?

  “You don’t believe me?” Cho asked.

  “You’re holding something back, Admiral. Insincerity drips off you like sweat.”

  Cho took a deep breath, as if trying to rein in his temper, but the fractional lifting of his eyelids and the ever so slight pursing of his lips suggested surprise. He stared at Jeremiah for several seconds, then said, “On your way, Mr. Jones.”

  Leaning forward, Cho placed his right hand on a pad atop his desk. A section of the back wall slid forward and to the side, exposing a platform and a dimly lit tunnel, bringing a cool breeze with a metallic odor into the room. Beyond the platform, Jeremiah saw three personal transit cars standing on the tracks. Cho lifted his left hand, gesturing toward the opening.

  “Thank you, Admiral,” Jeremiah said. “By the way, how is Devereaux doing?”

  “Devereaux?” Admiral Cho said. “He’s fine. But until them folks head to Mars I’m keeping him under wraps. These boys’ll escort you to Dr. Poole. She’ll take it from there.”

  Jeremiah nodded and stepped through the door onto the platform. The two EOs followed and the door closed behind them. Jeremiah climbed into the lead car. Though the car had three seats and could hold up to nine people, the two EOs crowded in on either side of him in the front seat. Talbert sealed the car—a safety precaution, Jeremiah knew. Each car could provide an extra hour of oxygen in case of a tunnel breach.

  The car accelerated away.

  As they rode, Talbert and the other EO studied Jeremiah through the mirror-effect of the front window. They didn’t speak. He felt the rage building up inside him, a desire to reach up and snap their necks. Without their armor, they were vulnerable. Were they baiting him, hoping he’d attack? Jeremiah exhaled, relaxed his shoulders, arms and hands, finally wiggling his fingers to release the tension.

  Where was Joshua right now? On some sort of training exercise? In the mess hall? After a minute, he glanced up at the mirror window, saw the EOs still staring at him, realized again how tense he was. It took more effort to relax this time, as if the growing proximity of LB3 was having a physical effect on him. He closed his eyes, listened to the rush of air past the car, felt the warmth of the EOs’ arms and legs against him, and smelled the unpleasant, slightly acrid odor coming off their nano-enhanced bodies.

  As the car slowed, Jeremiah felt an almost uncontrollable urge to lash out with his fists, crushing their larynxes. He opened his eyes.

  The car stopped at an opening in the tunnel. Talbert stepped out and Jeremiah followed. The two EOs marched him out to a large room carved out of the rock and braced with graphene-aluminum—a training court fifty feet wide and twice as long, about twenty feet high with plants growing along the walls—where sixteen young men and women fought each other in a style that borrowed heavily from the Eastern disciplines. The men wore black; the women, white. They looked much like cadets anywhere: the men stronger; the women more limber. Both flowed through the movements beautifully—smooth and lightning quick. They wore mock-gravity suits, no doubt set at 1.5 or 2Gs, as they danced across the training floor. They all appeared much older than Joshua, in their late teens or early twenties, yet genetic surgery and hormonal therapy could rapidly speed the aging process. And Eli had told Jeremiah that Joshua might be substantially different. One of them might be Joshua. Jeremiah studied them as the EOs herded him along the side of the room.

  Farther along, another group of perhaps twenty cadets engaged in what looked like laser tag. They also wore black and white, their uniforms glowing faintly with protective shields, and they carried Las-pistols in each hand, firing at each other as they ducked and weaved through various obstacles. The Las-pistols, set on low, produced blue stun pulses and made only a tiny sizzling sound. One trainee in black looked bigger than the rest, more muscular. He hit every opponent as he flowed over the obstacle course with almost as much grace as the women.

  As Jeremiah approached, the cadets stopped to watch him. Jeremiah searched faces as he passed, hoping to see something familiar. The trainees had a similarity of appearance. All were beautiful, almost angelic, as if they’d been chosen for their looks. The big cadet was the first to turn away. He barked out a command and the others resumed their training.

  “Creepy,” Talbert said as they passed.

  In a few moments Jeremiah and his escort entered a corridor that led to a steel door. Talbert knocked, then opened the door and nudged Jeremiah inside. A woman with mocha skin sat behind a desk, her black curly hair cropped short, her green eyes bright, her button nose seeming out of place. Jeremiah guessed her to be in her forties, but who could know these days? Her skin was unlined, her smile almost seductive, and an interface on her left temple reminded him of Lendra. Standing next to the desk was Jack Marschenko, sans armor, but with his Las-rifle at his side. He glared at Jeremiah, already smelling like his fellow EOs.

  Marschenko said, “Jones. I couldn’t break your neck on the LTV, but I can do it now if you like.”

  “Jack,” the woman said, “be a professional. You kidnapped his son. In fact we abducted a good many children, but only one whose father was capable of tracking us down. I’m impressed.” She turned to the EOs flanking Jeremiah. “I don’t think you gentlemen need stay. Jack, here, can protect me if necessary, though I hardly think Mr. Jones intends violence.”

  Talbert said, “He’s a tricky one. I’ve seen him in action.”

  “Yes, so you’ve told us,” the woman said. “We’ll be fine.”

  Talbert and the other EO departed, closing the door behind them. Jeremiah looked from Marschenko to the woman. He kept his face calm.

  The woman said, “I suppose you’re expecting to break your son out of here.”

  Jeremiah said, “I just came to see him.”

  “Yes, that’s what I keep hearing,” the woman said. “I’m Dr. Taditha Poole.
I run this program. And I’m the one who decides what to do with your son.” She leaned forward, lowered her voice. “Frankly, he’s become a bit of a problem.”

  “That’s a lie,” Jeremiah said almost before he understood why. More than the slight hesitation between words, he caught the change of inflection, the feigned conspiratorial tone, the almost invisible tensing of the shoulders. “But I’ll accept it as true. And I’ll take him off your hands.”

  Dr. Poole’s nostrils flared as her eyelids rose. Then she smiled. “I almost wish you could.” She sounded sincere. Her voice, eyes, breathing: no indication of deception. When she stood and worked her way around the desk, wiggling her hips more than necessary, the scent of jasmine trailed her. “It might be interesting to see what you could do in our program. You’re not as advanced as our people—no nano-technology—but impressive nonetheless.” She leaned back against her desk, arching her back, her breasts jutting out. “No, you see, your son has suffered a setback.”

  “If you can’t use him, there’s no reason for you to keep him.”

  Dr. Poole crossed her arms over her chest, as if no longer interested in flirting with him. “His mind has . . . He’s not just five years older, you know. He’s dependent on hormonal treatments and nano-cleansers. And he doesn’t know you. This is the only home he remembers.”

  This time her voice, her demeanor, carried no hint of a lie. A bitter taste filled Jeremiah’s mouth. “I’d still like to see him.”

  “Of course.”

  Marschenko took a step forward. He glared at Jeremiah and in a stage whisper said, “I wouldn’t mind if you tried something.”