The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  Curtik stopped, turned to face the guard. “Yes?” he said in English. “Is there a problem?”

  “Step over here, please,” the guard switched to accented English as he directed Curtik toward an alcove inside the center.

  It had to be Mouthy Man pulling this crap. And even though it wasn’t real, Curtik felt annoyed. He was going to have time deductions and if the stupid guard tried to search him, he was going to have to kill the fool.

  “What’s going on?” Curtik asked.

  “Just come with me, sir,” the guard said.

  Curtik followed the guard into the alcove, behind a folding screen, where another guard stood next to a scanner.

  “Screw it,” Curtik said as he pulled the Las-pistol from its hidden holster and fired two quick shots. At the low setting, the observers would only feel a minor sting. As the guards fell, an alarm sounded throughout the shopping center, ordering people to evacuate in Japanese and English.

  Curtik swore as he re-holstered the Las-pistol, opened his false stomach and removed the bomb. He armed it, covered it with the two bodies, then slipped out the doors with panicking shoppers and strode away, taking the alternative route provided by the helmet’s map. He soon reached the rendezvous point. Addam and Benn hadn’t yet arrived.

  He was standing by a statue when the explosion hit: a mammoth blast. The Motionator hammered him, nearly knocking him off his feet. He received electrical impulses in his inner ears, affecting his balance and making him slightly nauseated. He smelled charred plastic and metal, and possibly human flesh.

  People ran past in all directions, some screaming, many staring at him. He took a casual defensive stance, not knowing which might be hostile. He wished he were actually there, so he could taste the deaths, experience the thrill. Simulated kills brought little pleasure. He forced himself to stay focused on the mission, wishing he could check his implant for Addam and Benn’s whereabouts, but the implants didn’t work that way during virtual reality sessions.

  Turning his head left and right, he finally spotted the fat Benn sauntering along the sidewalk less than a block away, trying to look casual amid the chaos. Or maybe his helmet was showing that everything was okay. No, his eyes were huge. He was just trying to look cool. He stopped next to Curtik and nodded.

  “Any problems?” Curtik asked.

  Benn shook his head. “No security there to speak of. It should blow any second. Couldn’t have been easier. What happened to you?”

  “Later,” Curtik said. “Where’s Addam?”

  “Haven’t seen him.”

  Curtik accessed the implant again and sent a message to Addam to hurry.

  Security forces began to close in from different directions. Some were Elite Ops troopers wearing heavy armor, shields set to maximum, their helmeted heads swinging back and forth as they scanned the crowd. Curtik pulled Benn off the sidewalk, into the park they’d chosen for their exit. Where the hell was Addam? Curtik couldn’t afford to leave him behind.

  They reached a crowd of people just as the second explosion hit—farther away. More screams filled the air. Curtik looked back. Two Elite Ops troopers were closing in. He grabbed Benn, ducked behind some shrubs, and they took off running. They didn’t look out of place among the dozens of other citizens who were running and screaming, but the Elite Ops troopers continued to follow them.

  When they reached the edge of the park, Curtik experienced a flash of an idea, what Poole called the sudden insight of battle. Through his implant he told Benn to keep running. He stopped and unsheathed his Las-pistol and Las-knife. He activated the Las-knife and rammed the blue blade inside the barrel of the Las-pistol, holding the grip of the Las-pistol. Within seconds, he detected the stench of the troopers’ nerve gas. His nose wrinkled in disgust; fear flooded through him. This was the first time the observers had used the full dosage of neurotoxins. Instinctively Curtik shrank back. But when a trooper’s hand grabbed his wrist, he turned and fired the Las-pistol at the trooper’s face. Despite the minimum settings, the resulting overload caused a small explosion.

  The Elite Ops trooper cried out and let go. But Curtik’s hand went numb and his ears rang. God, he hoped his opponent was Mouthy Man. As the trooper fell to the ground, Curtik kicked his helmet. He stomped on the trooper’s hand, breaking his fingers with a satisfying crunch and making the trooper grunt.

  At that moment the buzzer sounded, ending the simulation, and the view vanished, the streets of Tokyo gone. They were back on the training floor. Curtik looked down at the trooper before him—damn! Not Mouthy Man—who cradled his injured hand, got to his feet and glared at Curtik as he walked away.

  Removing his helmet, Curtik signaled to Benn and Addam to do the same as Poole and Mouthy Man approached. Curtik bared his teeth in a half-smile, half-sneer until Poole grabbed his arm.

  “What happened?” Poole said.

  “He panicked,” Mouthy Man said.

  “You cheated,” Curtik said. “There’s no way that guard should’ve stopped me.”

  “It was a random search. Haven’t you ever heard of such a thing?”

  “You deliberately sabotaged me.”

  “Of course,” Mouthy Man admitted. “That was the whole point of the exercise, to see how you would react.”

  “We still blew the targets,” Curtik said. “Right?” He turned to Addam, who nodded. “So,” he continued, “full points, right?”

  Mouthy Man shook his head. “Full points for your teammates but you incur a five-point deduction.”

  “No way,” Curtik said. “I’m the best. Everybody knows it.”

  “It’s not just about destruction,” Poole said. “It’s about keeping a cool head. Avoiding unnecessary losses. Knowing when to forgo a target to wait for a better chance at it. You left Addam behind. And you would not have escaped the park.”

  “It’s his fault.” Curtik pointed at Mouthy Man. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I’m sorry,” Poole said. “Zora is now in first place. As of this moment she becomes the new brigade leader.”

  “No!” Curtik shivered. Everything looked red. He stepped from the Motionator and gestured for Mouthy Man to attack him. All he could think to do was kill. “Come on, Mouthy Man.”

  “Curtik!” Poole stepped in front of him as a group of watching cadets formed a rough circle. They began chanting: “Curtik, Curtik, Curtik.”

  The other two Elite Ops troopers began to move the cadets back.

  Curtik said, “Stay out of this, Piscine.”

  “Stand down, Curtik.”

  Curtik wanted to obey. Years of conditioning told him to back away. But the hatred inside his chest overpowered his will. In his mind, Mouthy Man’s face was turning to mush under his furious assault. A warmth grew in the pit of his stomach.

  “It’s okay, Doc,” Mouthy Man said, grabbing Poole’s arm and stepping forward. “This punk kid needs to be taught a lesson.”

  “You don’t understand,” Poole said. “He’s dangerous.”

  “So am I, Doc.”

  “I will not have this fighting. If you won’t listen to reason, I’ll call Admiral Cho for reinforcements.”

  “Maybe you should run away,” Curtik taunted, knowing Mouthy Man’s adrenaline would be flowing—his fight-or-flight response engaging—giving Curtik the edge, for he’d been engineered only to fight, never to flee.

  In answer Mouthy Man pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it aside, displaying his muscular chest. Curtik laughed as Mouthy Man handed his Las-pistol to one of the Elite Ops troopers. The cadets crowded in closer, the ring around Curtik and Mouthy Man shrinking, as the Elite Ops troopers struggled to push them back.

  “I mean it,” Poole said. “Stop this now or there will be serious consequences. Fully armored Elite Ops troopers are on their way.”

  The cadets continued chanting Curtik’s name. He sh
oved the noise aside and went completely still for a second, focusing his mind. He began to move to the side, keeping his pose relaxed. He chose not to attack right away, instead studying his opponent. Mouthy Man held back too, doing the same. They circled—a feint here, a quick punch parried there—testing each other’s capabilities. As they did so, Curtik held back a little. He always held back a little, not wanting anyone to know just how fast he was.

  When Mouthy Man finally attacked, Curtik anticipated his movements correctly. No deception by the big trooper; instead, he came straight on. Slipping to the side, Curtik threw a jab that broke Mouthy Man’s nose even as Mouthy Man’s punch landed solidly on his left shoulder. Curtik’s left arm went numb. But blood streamed from Mouthy Man’s nose. He wiped his hand across his mouth and came at Curtik again, attempting to close the distance so he could use his greater strength and nullify Curtik’s speed. But what he failed to grasp, what everyone failed to grasp, was just how fast Curtik was.

  As Mouthy Man closed, Curtik threw a vicious jab, hoping to crush Mouthy Man’s windpipe. But his injured shoulder hindered him and Mouthy Man absorbed the blow to his chest, at the same time hitting Curtik on the side of the head. Flashes of light cluttered his vision. Son of a bitch! Was Mouthy Man that fast, that tough?

  Curtik let Mouthy Man close again. He shook his shoulder, trying to get the feeling back. Mouthy Man hit him in the stomach just as Curtik punched his jaw, almost breaking his hand. Damn! The trooper’s blow knocked Curtik off his feet, the pain agonizing. God, the beast was strong.

  Curtik got to his feet and vomited. His left shoulder felt like it had been struck with a hammer, and his right hand throbbed. Trying to ignore the pain, Curtik slid to the side, avoiding the slick contents of his stomach, and waited for Mouthy Man again.

  “That’s enough,” Poole said.

  “No.” Curtik and Mouthy Man spoke at the same time.

  “Curtik, Curtik, Curtik,” the cadets continued chanting as they hopped around while the two unarmored Elite Ops troopers held their Las-pistols up in warning.

  “You can patch him up when we finish,” Mouthy Man said.

  “You can bury him when I finish,” Curtik said.

  No holding back now, Curtik thought as Mouthy Man closed for a third time. When the trooper entered fighting range, Curtik pushed off with his legs, putting everything he had into a blow that caught his enemy underneath the jaw line. Mouthy Man tried to block it, but he moved with the speed of a sloth. His eyes rolled back in his head. As he fell, Curtik followed up with another shot to Mouthy Man’s nose, putting everything he had behind the blow, driving Mouthy Man’s broken nose into his brain. Curtik hit him in the throat again with a long fist, his fingers folded in tightly to form a sharper edge. The blow crushed Mouthy Man’s windpipe. He drove Mouthy Man to the floor, hitting him half a dozen times, his fists driving the trooper’s smashed nose ever further into his brain.

  “Jack!” Poole screamed as the light went out of Mouthy Man’s eyes, the smell of blood and urine combining to form a rich bouquet. Curtik paused, inhaling deeply as his body shuddered with delight.

  Four armored Elite Ops troopers strode into the room and fired blue laser pulses into the crowd. One of them grabbed Curtik hard, yanking him off Mouthy Man’s corpse, his Las-pistol jammed against Curtik’s temple. Curtik held up his bloody hands in surrender. “What?” he said. “It was a fair fight.”

  “Bastard!” Poole screamed as she dropped to her knees beside Mouthy Man. She searched for a pulse. “What have you done, you little monster? Oh, Jack,” Poole sobbed.

  “Shouldn’t we get him to the infirmary?” Zora asked as she and Rendela stepped forward with a stretcher.

  “Yes, immediately,” Poole replied. “Thank you.”

  Benn stared at Curtik and said, “Cool.”

  “Good speed,” Addam said.

  Two troopers placed Mouthy Man on the stretcher and carried him away as the one guarding Curtik handcuffed him.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” Curtik said. With the glow of the kill fading, Curtik twisted his neck to look up at the trooper’s mirrored helmet.

  Curtik looked at his fellow cadets. “What did I do?” he asked.

  Some of them shrugged. Others simply stared at him. A few nodded encouragement. Curtik turned to Poole. “Piscine, what the hell? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You murdered him,” Poole said. “How could you . . . I can’t stand to look at you. Take him to the holding cell.”

  “Why am I being punished?” Curtik turned to Benn and Addam, watching him with their mouths open. “What did I do?”

  Chapter Ten

  Jeremiah lay in his hospital bed trying to remain still. Every movement brought the agony of a thousand bee stings. Dr. Hackett and Nurse Manuella—both wearing masks for some reason—had given him anesthetics that had been useless against the pain, and Dr. Hackett had deferred all his questions to Dr. Poole, who wouldn’t arrive until morning. So Jeremiah listened to the humming of the machines around him and fought to control the rage inside.

  When Dr. Poole finally arrived with Admiral Cho, they wore masks as well. Dr. Poole’s eyes were red, as if she’d been crying, while Admiral Cho glared out from under a furrowed brow.

  “I’m sorry,” Dr. Poole said, her voice sounding strained. “But your immune system went into a kind of hyperactive state. You suffered massive trauma to your kidneys, spleen, liver, pancreas, heart and even your brain. Dr. Wellon figured out how to divert your white blood cells from attacking your body. You’ll likely experience a great deal of pain, but you will survive.”

  Jeremiah shook his head. “I can’t believe I was so careless—totally forgot about the Moon’s lower gravity.”

  “We’ve quarantined you,” Dr. Poole said.

  “Why? Broken bones aren’t contagious.”

  “Didn’t Dr. Hackett tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  Dr. Poole exchanged a look with Cho. “We had to infect you with the Susquehanna Virus.”

  Jeremiah opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t think of anything to say. As Dr. Poole explained why they’d deemed it necessary to infect him, his mind drifted in disbelief. How the hell could he be infected?

  “Since the virus hides in the immune system,” Dr. Poole concluded, “we can’t be certain you’ve completely vanquished it. You may be a carrier.”

  Jeremiah focused on Dr. Poole’s eyes, which began to well up. He doubted her distress related to his condition. When she turned her face away from him, he said, “There’s something else wrong. What is it? Is it Joshua?”

  “Damon is fine,” Dr. Poole said. She turned back to Jeremiah. “It’s Jack Marschenko. He’s dead.”

  “Jack?” Jeremiah’s face flushed as his heart began to pound. A shiver worked its way down his body, but when he tried to sit up, the pain nearly caused him to black out. He lay back down, a hollow numbness working its way through him. “How?”

  “On the training floor,” Dr. Poole said. “He . . .” she closed her eyes, dropped her head.

  Cho continued: “One of the kids attacked him.”

  “Who?” Jeremiah asked. He felt a desperate urge to lash out and for a second he forgot the pain. “Did you order this?”

  “Me?” Cho shook his head. “Why would I want Jack dead?”

  “You figured out he was my friend.”

  Cho’s eyes widened. “The man who kidnapped your boy?”

  “We made our peace over that.” Jeremiah clamped his jaw tight, fought to keep his expression neutral. “He was a good man. Honorable. The Elite Ops corrupted him.” Jeremiah rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “But he’d put that behind him. Who killed him?”

  “A boy named Curtik,” Dr. Poole said.

  “Doctor,” Cho warned.

  Dr. Poole lifted her hand to ward off his objec
tions.

  “How did it happen?” Jeremiah asked.

  Cho shook his head. “You’re askin’ for trouble,” he said to Dr. Poole.

  “The hell with the plan,” Dr. Poole said. “The kids aren’t ready. They might never be. The world’s falling apart. And we’re still stuck up here on this rock. We’re not going to be heading home anytime soon. Did you know that?”

  “What are you talkin’ about?” said Cho.

  “We have to be here for the plan to work,” Dr. Poole said. “Without us, there’s no way to control the children, so we’re not going anywhere.”

  “Who told you that?”

  Dr. Poole faced Cho, shoulders back in defiance, fists clenched at her sides. “The psychometric controls embedded in the children only guarantee their loyalty to a few people. And we’re the only two on the Moon. So we’re stuck up here.”

  “That doesn’t bother me,” Cho said.

  “Well, it bothers me.” Dr. Poole took a seat next to Jeremiah’s bed. She said, “Jack and Curtik had words a few times. I knew Curtik wanted to kill him, but he wants to kill everyone. That’s what we trained him for—what I trained him for.” Dr. Poole put her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook for a while as she sobbed quietly.

  Jeremiah glanced at Cho, who shifted his feet and avoided eye contact.

  It took a few moments for Dr. Poole to collect herself. She said, “After Jack finished testing Curtik’s team and deducted points from him, Curtik attacked him. I never saw anyone move that fast. His hands were a blur. Jack couldn’t defend himself. No one could have. All the training sessions Curtik’s been through, all the tests—he never showed that kind of speed. I don’t know if he’s that much better than the other kids or if they’re all holding back. Either way, he’s too dangerous. We had to lock him up.”

  Tears ran down the side of Dr. Poole’s nose onto her mask. “I never expected to fall for him.”

  Jeremiah, despite his anger at what she’d done to his son, decided to be kind. He said, “I think he found happiness with you.”