The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  “That’s impossible,” Raskov said.

  Elias turned to Lendra. “Would you care to explain?”

  Lendra nodded. “There are two team members besides myself—more talented with supercomputers than I am. It took us seven months to get in. We had to create a program that utilized progressive transcendentals to break the algorithmic codes. We started with a cascading transfinite . . . Never mind the details. At any rate, we can access the Las-cannons anytime we want.”

  “You’re enhanced,” Rodriguez said, “aren’t you? Genetically engineered.”

  “My parents wanted the best for me.”

  “So these Moon monsters you’ve created,” Epps said to Elias, “take over the Las-cannons. Then what? You start firing at targets on Earth?”

  “Certain specific political targets,” Elias answered.

  “Including targets inside the United States,” Estrada said. “You’d have to do that to divert suspicion.”

  Elias shrugged. “There would have to be some damage to this country.”

  “This is a necessary evil,” Lendra said, joining the discussion. “We’ve projected terrible atrocities if we don’t do this—maybe even the end of the human race.”

  Rodriguez said, “Even if you’re right and this is the only thing that will save us, does that mean we should do it? Commit an atrocity to prevent future speculative atrocities?”

  “Every nation on Earth with the capability would attack the Moon,” Estrada said.

  “Of course,” Elias nodded. “That’s the whole point. I want them to go after the cadets. Their common enemy will unite them.”

  “And what happens after the Earth blows up the Moon?” Raskov said.

  “It won’t be that simple,” Elias said. “The Moon won’t be easy to attack. The systems in place up there, the Las-cannons and radar, and the surplus of power the Moon generates make it extremely defensible. Also, they’d be able to see any attack coming. You couldn’t just shoot a missile at it. They’d blow it out of the sky.”

  “But a hundred missiles,” Raskov said, “or a thousand . . . some would get through.”

  “Probably,” Elias conceded. “Especially if they had the proper scattering technology to help them avoid detection. My plan, however, wouldn’t require that to happen.”

  “So we should just trust you?” Epps said.

  “Yes.”

  “Madam President,” Raskov said, “this is madness. What’s to stop those countries from attacking us once the threat from the Moon is gone?”

  Elias’ hands shook. Stay calm, he told himself as he placed his hands flat on the table. “There’s no other way. We’re seeing on average forty-seven major terrorist attacks per day worldwide, up from thirty-one last year and eighteen the year before. If we do nothing we’ll find ourselves in global chaos in less than a year.”

  Raskov smirked. “We’ve been hearing doomsday scenarios from you for years.”

  General Horowitz spoke almost under his breath: “Every year it gets worse.”

  “I admit it’s taken longer than I thought for the world to reach this crisis point,” Elias said, his voice barely under control, his chest tightening. “Lendra?”

  “We didn’t properly factor the complacency vectors,” Lendra said. “The tendency to put off extreme action. Partly that was a misunderstanding of the declination of social interaction. We didn’t anticipate the inertial coefficient as applied to the lowered empathic response variable—”

  “Pardon the interruption,” Vice President Rodriguez said, “but I’m not enhanced. Could you speak English?”

  “I’m saying that the inherent nature of humans is to grouse and complain about a problem for a long time before taking action. We knew that, of course. However, we believed that the recent decline in empathic responses by people would compensate for that tendency and lead to a quicker flashpoint.”

  “But humans are essentially the same as they’ve always been,” Elias said. He glanced at President Hope, feeling like he was maybe starting to get through to her. “The only way to change humans is to literally change them, turn them into a new species. That’s what the Escala are all about. They’ve become something other than human. They see the ultimate end to the human race. Like Devereaux, they’re visionaries. And they’re generally peaceful—though, like wild animals, they become ferocious when attacked. Jeremiah Jones was supposed to be that way too.” His throat began to close and he fought to continue speaking. “The transgenic surgery gave him phenomenal fighting abilities, but he always had the discretion not to use them unless absolutely necessary.”

  “Jones?” President Hope said. “Has something happened to him?”

  “There was an accident on the Moon. Major trauma to his body.” Elias reached up and wiped his eyes. “And now—at the worst possible time—he’s had an immune system overload or something like that. In an attempt to save his life, they infected him with the Susquehanna Virus, which somehow got sent to the Moon.” He stared at President Hope, who showed no sign of remorse. “Even if he survives, he’ll probably never recover to the level he was at before.”

  President Hope looked at Lendra and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Lendra nodded as she fingered her glass bulb necklace.

  A beep sounded through the holo-projection. The people at the table in the White House glanced past the cameras. Although Elias couldn’t see what they were staring at, he knew from past experience it was a Terrorist Map. Fortunately Jay-Edgar had been monitoring Elias’ own Terrorist Map during the meeting. He brought up a view of Buenos Aires, where a Marxist group had assassinated the Foreign Minister of Paraguay. Elias nodded to Jay-Edgar, who shut off the image.

  The veins in Elias’ neck throbbed. He felt a sharp pain behind his right eye. He said, “There’s yet another example of why my program is necessary.”

  “Terrorism has always been with us,” Dr. Jaidev said, “but it won’t eliminate the entire species.”

  “Maybe the end times are finally here,” Vice President Rodriguez said as he fingered his crucifix.

  General Horowitz and President Hope stared at him. The other people gathered around the table went quiet.

  Elias said, “Terrorism and rioting will continue. And the only way to stop the killing is by following through on this admittedly horrific course of action.” Elias swallowed to get some moisture into his throat. “I’m willing to be reviled by history. But only this hard decision can save us from ourselves.”

  “You know Eli’s right,” Lendra said.

  All eyes turned to President Hope, who said, “What about Devereaux? Has he reported any progress studying the virus?”

  “Madam President,” Elias said, wondering at her sudden change of subject.

  Raskov said, “Devereaux told us he wouldn’t help us.”

  “He told us he wouldn’t give us his weapon designs,” President Hope corrected. “Presumably, even though he’s headed to Mars with the Escala, he doesn’t want to see humanity perish. And that’s a possibility if the virus continues to mutate. He’s the brightest mind we have. His research led to the creation of the Escala. He should have been asked to study the virus years ago. Now that it’s mutating, he might be the only one who can find a cure in time.”

  “Madam President,” Elias said again, his voice trembling. “You can’t just dismiss this out of hand.”

  “Let me think, Elias.”

  “And how could you send the virus to the Moon anyway?” Elias said. “That was the only secure environment left—the only place we knew the virus hadn’t spread to.”

  “It was a tiny sample,” Dr. Jaidev said, “hermetically sealed. I’m sure the virus can be controlled.”

  Elias shook his head. The throbbing behind his eyes felt strong enough to rupture an aneurysm. “You think my ideas are crazy. What you did is far mor
e dangerous. You know how many people have said that in the past and then died after a disease or weapon got free? You of all people, Doctor, should appreciate just how dangerous it is to fool around with the Susquehanna Virus.”

  “Your plan is just as risky,” Raskov said. “You’ve got a dangerous weapon in these Moon monsters. What if they were to break free?”

  “They can’t,” Elias said, struggling to see through the pounding pain in his forehead, “as long as Admiral Cho and Dr. Poole maintain the psychometric controls that guarantee loyalty and obedience, they can’t run amok.”

  “We heard similar assurances about the Elite Ops program from Richard Carlton,” General Horowitz said.

  Elias’ fury choked him. How dare they compare him with that maniac. With his peripheral vision he noticed Lendra shaking her head, mouthing the word “no.” but he couldn’t stop. “You think you know better than me? You think I’m an idiot?”

  “Elias!” General Horowitz said.

  Elias realized he was shaking his fist. His right eyelid ticked uncontrollably. He closed his eyes and rubbed the lids with his fingers. “I’m sorry, Madam President. But you should have consulted me. The ramifications if the virus should escape . . .”

  “We know how to contain a simple virus,” Dr. Jaidev said. “Our sterilization and quarantine techniques, when properly observed, have been successful over ninety-nine percent of the time.”

  “I value your opinions, Elias,” President Hope said, “but I’ve decided not to go ahead with your plan. I agree with Miguel,” she waved toward her Vice President. “Even if this proves to be the only way to save our species, I cannot condone the murder of thousands. It’s simply not an acceptable option.” She nodded to someone off camera and the connection severed.

  The pain behind Elias’ eyes reached a new level of agony. He shouted, “Fools! Imbeciles! Morons! Nothing but talk. The only time they take action is when they decide to do the exact wrong thing. I should free the children anyway. Set them loose on the world. They can’t make it any worse than it is. I can’t believe those idiots would do something so stupid as to send the virus to the Moon.”

  He felt a grabbing sensation in his chest and it suddenly became difficult to breathe. A pain shot from his groin to his head and back down—something that registered as excruciating and at the same time apart from his physical self. He turned to Lendra. She said, “Eli? Are you okay? Eli?”

  He tried to answer. No words came out.

  Chapter Nine

  Sitting with his tong, tuning out Poole’s rambles about the rules, Curtik looked across the training floor at the three Motionators—large simulator globes that allowed their occupants full movement in any direction. The feelers reaching inward from the globes’ skeletal circumferences allowed greater tactility to be brought into the virtual reality experience than the old simulators. Zora and her tong had just completed their exercise in the Motionators and the annoying bitch had received a perfect score.

  Next to the Motionators Jack Marschenko stood with three other Elite Ops troopers, all of them wearing only T-shirts and mock-gravity pants, showing off their heavily muscled torsos. They wore Las-pistols in holsters at their hips, like cowboys. Mouthy Man kept his eyes on Curtik while he talked with his comrades.

  Curtik knew Mouthy Man was sticking it to Poole every night. Not that Curtik wanted to plow her. He didn’t want to plow anybody, which was odd. He pushed that thought aside, concentrated on Mouthy Man. Throughout his whole life, for his entire ten years, Curtik couldn’t remember hating anyone as much as he hated Mouthy Man, except maybe his father, the great Jeremiah Jones.

  Why did Poole and Cho sound awed when they talked about him? He was an old man. And it was Jones’ fault Curtik’s mother killed herself. Curtik had found her obituary last year while running his usual covert search on his parents’ names. He remembered feeling a strange hollowness at the news. Now his father had gotten himself all busted up falling down a crater. How stupid was that? Up until recently Curtik had respected Poole and Cho. Along with Elias they’d given him his new life, his new power, accelerated his growth and intellectual prowess, made him into a man. But if they respected Jones, how could he still respect them?

  He hungered for his first real kill. Maybe it should be Jones.

  Of course, Jones might not live long enough for Curtik to get the chance. In the meantime Curtik just might have to rid himself of Mouthy Man.

  “Are you paying attention?” Poole asked.

  “Of course,” Curtik replied as he turned to Poole. Even though she was old, she was pretty. For an instant Curtik thought about plowing her. But that thought quickly faded. He couldn’t keep his mind on sex. And his body, so far, hadn’t been able to respond the way the vids showed it should. None of his friends had been able to maintain an erection either. Why not?

  “What did I just say?”

  “Something important.” Curtik laughed. Addam and Benn joined in.

  “She’s always saying something important,” Benn said.

  “Probably something about the sudden insight of battle,” Curtik added, throwing in one of her favorite phrases.

  “I’m telling you about this test,” Poole said. “Zora’s tong has overtaken yours. And her tactical analyses have been steadily improving. Yours have not. Do you want her to be in overall command?”

  “We all know I’m going to win, Piscine,” Curtik said. The French for pool was piscine. As an added bonus it sounded like pissing. He put out his fists and did the Tong Tap with Addam and Benn, a complicated series of bumps and slaps.

  As usual, Poole ignored the nickname. “Zora’s tong was very impressive. If you don’t concentrate on the task at hand, you’ll find yourself running the secondary assault.”

  “Never gonna happen, Piscine. Bring it on. Is Mouthy Man observing?”

  “He’s refereeing.”

  “No fair!” Curtik jumped to his feet, the mock-gravity suit keeping him from flying into the air. “He hates me.”

  “Why do you think that is, Curtik?”

  “Cuz he’s a buttweed.”

  Addam and Benn laughed.

  Poole leaned forward and said, “You don’t think it has anything to do with the fact that you’ve harassed him almost constantly since you met.”

  “Don’t care.”

  “Look, Curtik, I know you’re attracted to me but you’re not ready for sex. And I’m much too old for you. Plus, I like Jack. So put aside your feelings and worry about the test.”

  “He’s gonna favor Zora, just like you.”

  “We always judge the sims fairly. Just do the best job you can on the test so he can’t deduct any points. Okay?”

  Curtik looked over at Mouthy Man. The bastard had a smile on his ugly pig-head. It needed a fist smashed into it. And if the son of a bitch gave Zora a higher score, Curtik would kill him.

  “Okay, Piscine. Let’s do it.”

  “You know the objective. Plant all three bombs in the target areas. Bonus points for getting in and out undetected. Bonus points for getting your people out safely. Bonus points for time. Standard deductions apply. Move to the Motionators and put your simulator helmets on.”

  Curtik checked the Las-pistol and Las-knife handed to him by Mouthy Man, noted the minimum settings, holstered the pistol and sheathed the knife. He stepped onto the center Motionator, knowing that at some point a number of feelers would retract, so an Elite Ops trooper could get at him. He wished he could fight Mouthy Man for real instead of in some lame simulation.

  Putting on his helmet, Curtik adjusted the holoprogram’s specs. Beside him, Benn and Addam appeared, looking like fat teenagers, and he couldn’t help but laugh. They laughed back. When he glanced down, he noted his distended stomach. He reached up and touched his puffy cheeks. The three of them stood on a street corner in Tokyo, people moving all around them, avoiding them
: actually avoiding the camera crew that had shot the vid. He smelled fish and the sea and the odors of a thousand cooked meals, and his stomach flipped a little.

  Curtik touched the bomb hidden beneath his paunch. The bomb wasn’t real of course, though it felt real enough. Yet virtual reality always disoriented him a little. The visual and aural signals bothered him far less than the tactile and olfactory ones.

  After a few seconds the targets popped up on his helmet. Addam and Benn would be seeing the same ones: the Hie Shrine, the Ginza Shopping Center and the Tokyo Tower. Simple.

  Curtik quickly went through the details of the plan, giving Addam the shrine and Benn the tower, keeping the Ginza Shopping Center for himself. It would be the most difficult target from which to escape undetected, though it still presented no challenge. When he gave the order to go, Benn and Addam melted away in the crowd. Curtik could keep in contact with them through the implant behind his left ear, which transmitted signals to his visual cortex whenever he consciously thought to display them. He tested the system briefly, gave Addam and Benn a raspberry and laughed when they both made farting sounds in return.

  As he walked, Curtik noted again how his sense of time was skewed, as if he were in a dream. Poole had explained that none of the other cadets experienced the sort of time slippage he did. She attributed it to some facet of his genetic makeup, blaming it on his remembrance of his past. At any rate, following the map to the Ginza center, he lost several chunks of time. A few passers-by jostled him: contacts from the feelers. Was Mouthy Man running the Motionator?

  Before entering the complex, Curtik waited outside, watching for anything that looked out of place, any wrong movement. He sensed someone staring at him and caught the eye of a security guard at the door. That had to be one of the observers. He maintained a calm demeanor as he passed, engaging the odor-masking fragrance that would defeat the bomb sniffers. It smelled like the sweat of a fat man, sweet and rancid at the same time.

  “Halt,” the guard said in Japanese—instantly translated into English by Curtik’s universal translator—putting out his hand to reinforce the command.