The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  Truman scanned the crowd, keeping his breathing under control, only a tight smile showing. Everyone was so accepting. Scientists, soldiers and even the lunar workers: they all understood the impossibility of their position and yet maintained discipline. Apparently the psych evaluations of the lunar workers were accurate.

  Truman wondered if he was more afraid than the rest of them. Because his lunar visit was an emergency and not intended to last long, he hadn’t undergone a psych evaluation. How would he hold up? You’re a professional soldier, he told himself. You chose this life. You will not tolerate fear.

  And yet he wanted to live. He wanted the opportunity to tell Lendra how he felt about her. And this wasn’t the time to do that, so if he died, she would never know how he felt. That scared him almost more than dying.

  He turned to one of the large screens as the LTV backed away from the hangar, then lifted into the air, a small yellow dust cloud exploding outward as its engines accelerated.

  One down, one to go.

  People began moving around again, most of them shuffling about and chatting quietly. Jeremiah emerged from the crowd. He nodded at Truman and said to Lendra, “We put your bag on the second LTV. You leave in fifteen minutes.”

  “Aren’t you coming?” Lendra asked.

  Jeremiah shook his head. “We’ll be fine up here—maybe even safer than you. We’ll be deep in the tunnels with oxygen generators, food, water, medicine. We’ll be able to last for weeks, if necessary.”

  “Assuming the tunnels are properly sealed,” Lendra replied.

  “The Elite Ops know what they’re doing.”

  “I could stay with you.”

  Jeremiah shook his head. “With your claustrophobia?”

  “So this is the end for us?”

  Jeremiah glanced at Truman. “We’ve been over for awhile, Lendra. Your decision to have this baby doesn’t change that. I’m fond of you, but I don’t love you.”

  Lendra sagged. Truman wrapped an arm around her shoulders. How could Jeremiah be so cruel at this moment? Jeremiah looked at Truman again. “Take care of Lendra,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I want you to go in my place. I’ll ask Zora to take you.”

  Hope surged in Truman’s chest. “You can’t—”

  The loudspeaker clicked on and Zora spoke to the crowd: “Final boarding—Curtik, Lendra Riley, Racine, Doctors Poole, Westin, Remar, Floyd and Garcia Delgado, Devereaux, Quark and Jeremiah Jones.”

  Jeremiah’s eyes widened. “What about Kyler’s family?” He turned to face Zora, who looked at him over the crowd. She caught his eye and shook her head.

  Lendra, meanwhile, looked from Jeremiah to Truman and back, frowning. Her hand lifted, as if she wanted to touch one of them, but she lowered it without making contact.

  “She won’t let you stay,” Truman said to Jeremiah.

  “I can convince her.”

  “No,” Truman said. “I can’t let you remain behind. There’s a better chance of survival on the LTVs.”

  “I’m not being noble,” Jeremiah said. “I hate flying. And if I have to fly, I’d rather wait until something larger comes to rescue us. Besides, I’d rather stay behind with Kyler and her family.”

  Truman struggled to maintain his composure as his emotions warred within: fear, hope, anxiety, relief. Would Zora let him take Jeremiah’s place? And could he go even if she did? How could he live with himself if Jones died? Jeremiah and Devereaux were the only indispensable men up here.

  Truman noticed that he’d begun staring at Crazy Vigg, who grinned and shook his head before returning to monitor his screens, still talking to himself. Had the cadet seen this coming? And why wasn’t he going? He was one of the most talented cadets, if one of the least predictable. He showed no fear, as if he’d known all along he wouldn’t be among the chosen.

  As the doctors climbed the staircase, a few of them waved at the crowd. A dozen or so people waved back, making an effort to smile. Even Truman caught himself smiling. With his peripheral vision, he saw Jeremiah and Lendra doing the same.

  Zora waited until they’d passed inside before nodding to Curtik. The cadet approached Devereaux and Quark, a Las-rifle in his hands.

  Devereaux said, “I’d rather not go.”

  Zora smiled. “I know. Everyone here knew you’d volunteer to stay behind. But I’m in charge. You either board under your own power or we carry you up.” She gestured toward the stairs. A stillness settled over the hangar. Devereaux shrugged and headed for the LTV, Quark following.

  Zora and Curtik moved toward Truman, Jeremiah and Lendra. She pointed at Lendra. “You’re next, Witchy Poo.”

  Lendra hugged Truman, her body shaking as she did so. Truman glanced at Jeremiah, who smiled and nodded, as if he knew how Truman felt about Lendra. Perhaps he did. Then Lendra released Truman, turned to Jeremiah and opened her mouth. But instead of speaking, she turned away and walked to the LTV’s stairs. When she reached the top, she gave a brief wave and stepped inside.

  “And now you,” Zora said to Jeremiah.

  “How can you leave the Verlorens behind?” Jeremiah said.

  “I can’t justify taking tourists in place of scientists. And I need Racine as a backup pilot. Besides, as you pointed out, we don’t know if the LTVs will be safer.”

  “Let me stay. I’ll help take care of the kids.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish I could let you. But I can’t. They’ll be as safe as we can make them. We’ll put them at the back of LB3—the deepest tunnel.”

  “Can Colonel Truman take my place?”

  Zora looked at Truman, but he shook his head. “Jeremiah has to go.”

  “I agree,” Zora said. “You’re the right man to lead these people, Colonel. I trust you. Sorry, Jeremiah. You go.”

  Curtik raised his Las-rifle and pointed it at Jeremiah’s chest. “Well, Papster,” he said, “do I get to shoot you?”

  “I’m coming,” Jeremiah said. He turned to Truman. “I wish you were going. You’re good for Lendra. I think the two of you would make a fine couple.”

  “What . . .” Truman shook his head. His stomach roiled. “I’m married.”

  “But you’re in love with Lendra. I wish you could be there to take care of her.”

  “Well,” Truman said, “I guess you’ll have to do it for me.”

  Jeremiah held out his hand. “Get as deep as you can. Protect the Verlorens. Good luck.”

  Truman shook his hand, then watched Jeremiah walk away, still favoring his injured legs. Passing the Elite Ops troopers who guarded the stairway, who ignored him as if he were nothing, their hatred of him still obvious, he climbed to the LTV and disappeared inside without a backward glance.

  “Let’s go,” Zora said to Curtik. She handed her Las-pistol to Truman, butt first, and said, “You might need this. Hopefully you won’t. Get to LB3 and LB2 as soon as you can. Seal everything behind you. Crazy Vigg will remain out in the main hangar.”

  “But he’ll be killed,” Truman said as he secured the Las-pistol to his belt by its magnetic connector.

  Zora shrugged. “The best way to ensure the tunnels seal properly is from the hangar side. He’ll also be able to implement any last-second ideas we may come up with for how to save you.”

  Truman looked over at Crazy Vigg. The young cadet continued muttering to himself as he checked the screens in front of him. But otherwise he seemed calm.

  Zora followed Curtik to the LTV stairs and up to the platform. Raising her hand, she spoke to the assembled crowd: “We’ll do everything in our power to assist you, but there’s not much we can do. Obey Colonel Truman and his designees. There aren’t enough spacesuits to go around, so find small rooms as far from here as possible and seal yourselves in. Hopefully someone on Earth will realize the stupidity of blowing up this place and will stop the mi
ssile.” Then she entered the LTV and sealed the door.

  Truman, as the ranking military officer, knew he ought to get the people moving out of the main hangar, but he had no desire to order them out. Like everyone else left behind, he wanted to watch the LTV take off.

  The LTV’s engines hummed. Less than a minute later it backed away. On the screens, another small yellow cloud of dust arose as the LTV lifted off the surface of the Moon.

  After giving everyone a few seconds to absorb the finality of it, Truman said, “All right, people. You know your assignments. Remember, Captain Sharon Englin, Elite Ops trooper Wilson and cadet Lydene are in charge at LB2. Elite Ops trooper Mottz and cadet Joffer will work with me at LB3. Let’s move.”

  The exodus began. Every carload would carry an Elite Ops trooper or a cadet to ensure order. Yet all their precautions appeared unnecessary. All the workers acquitted themselves with dignity, which helped Truman keep his composure as well.

  “How much time until the missile hits?” a woman asked.

  “Forty-four minutes,” Mottz replied.

  Truman stood beside Crazy Vigg at the entrance to the military area so he could look down the tunnel that led to Cho’s office, where the tunnel to LB3 began. From this spot, he could also see the tunnel to LB2 across the hangar. As the rail cars sent people to their bases, Truman took a few deep breaths and prepared for what he had to do.

  Beside him, Crazy Vigg muttered to himself, too softly for Truman to understand what he was saying. Was he going over his final instructions from Zora? Or was he really crazy? Either way, Truman admired him.

  Joffer hopped on the second to last railcar with the Verlorens, leaving only Mottz and Truman behind. Mottz quietly said, “Thirty minutes.”

  “Right,” Truman said. He turned to Crazy Vigg. “You go with them. I’ll stay behind to check the seals.”

  Crazy Vigg laughed. “I don’t think so, madam.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What is it with you humans? Why are you so eager to sacrifice yourselves? Do you think it’s noble, Colonel False-Girl?”

  “It’s my duty as senior officer to ensure the safety of everyone on the Moon to the best of my ability, particularly the civilians. That includes you.”

  “If you want to save everyone, I’m the logical choice to stay behind. I know the main hangar’s weaknesses and strengths better than you. And I’m smarter and way more handsome. You might screw up and kill us all.”

  “I can’t allow you to sacrifice yourself.”

  “No one’s asking you to.” Crazy Vigg shook his head. “Can you calibrate the necessary shock wave of a secondary plasma detonation? Do you know precisely where to place a charge to ensure the integrity of a seal? Can you do it all in your mind without the help of a computer?”

  Truman felt a rush of gratitude at Crazy Vigg for giving him an out, allowing him to live, if only for a little while longer. But he wondered if the young cadet knew death was inevitable. “I just . . .”

  “I’ll be fine,” Crazy Vigg said. “I’m tired of people anyway. I’m not crazy, just . . . Besides, I’d only get on everyone’s nerves if I was locked up with all of you. Anyway, I’m curious as to what’s on the dark side.”

  “Thank you, Vigg,” Truman said.

  “Go on, get outta here. I’ve got work to do.”

  Truman raised his hands in surrender. He walked to Cho’s office with Mottz, Crazy Vigg following. When Truman boarded the last car with Mottz, Crazy Vigg stood beside the airlock. As the car pulled away, Truman held up his hand in farewell, and just before the car rounded a corner, he saw Crazy Vigg’s face fall, as if the cadet finally understood that he was about to die alone. Then the curve of the track took them out of view.

  They rode to LB3 without speaking, the hum of the car on the rails the only intrusion.

  When they reached their destination, Truman led them away from the car, past the training court and down a long hallway through another airlock to the cadets’ quarters—a group of eight rooms where they would make their last stand. Dozens of people were crowded inside. All the doors were open, the people staring out.

  “Time?” Truman asked.

  Mottz said, “Twenty-two minutes.”

  Truman pointed back at the airlock they’d passed. “Seal that up. Let’s see what’s happening on screen.”

  Truman entered the farthest room—a storage room about twenty feet deep and fourteen wide with a pile of supplies stacked against the back wall beside a portable chem-toilet. The Verlorens stood inside the door, the parents holding their daughters’ shoulders. Truman smiled at them and looked up at the screen, where the rocket continued to grow.

  Joffer slid-hopped down the corridor to the airlock and hit the button to seal them off. Then he returned to the group, where everyone stood watching the rocket, shuffling about.

  “Eighteen minutes,” Mottz said.

  Truman stepped out into the hall and activated the general broadcast intercom so he could speak to the people at LB2 as well:

  “The cadets and the Elite Ops have done everything they can to protect us. I trust their work to keep us safe. We may have to dig our way out when this is all over, but we’ve got plenty of food and water. We’ve got oxygen generators to keep the air fresh. A rescue will come from Earth eventually. We just have to hold on, maintain our composure and we’ll be fine.”

  Switching off the general broadcast function, he stepped back inside the first room to watch the incoming missile, which loomed impossibly close, seemingly still accelerating, as if eager to destroy them. On another screen Crazy Vigg, ignoring the warhead that was about to obliterate him, welded the seals to the main hangar, ending any chance of saving himself.

  Did he understand the finality of his actions? Yes, he was smart. But did he fully grasp the significance of what he’d done? Did he not care whether he lived or died? Perhaps his teenage brain, unfinished as it was, benefited him as he prepared for death.

  “Fourteen minutes,” Mottz said.

  Truman wondered how safe they’d be back here in the tunnels. Since no one knew for certain how large the detonation would be, no one could say if they were within the kill zone. Oddly, he no longer felt afraid. Perhaps that was because there were no more decisions to make, no more possible avenues of escape. All he could do was wait for the missile to strike. He wished he’d told Lendra how he felt about her. What a strange thought to be having as a bomb rocketed toward his head.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  President Angelica Hope stood beside General Horowitz in the middle of Elias Leach’s office gazing at the screens that Eli’s tech specialist, Jay-Edgar, displayed. Her stomach burned and her knees felt rubbery, like she’d just played a three-set tennis match in ninety-degree heat. She’d run out of time trying to convince China to allow the U.N. Security Council to fire the orbiting Las-cannon at the missile. Even though Russia had finally granted its approval, the launch codes couldn’t be activated without a unanimous vote. And there were less than fifteen minutes until the missile struck the lunar colony. She reached up a hand and massaged herself just below the sternum as if she could fight back the acid externally.

  “Twelve minutes,” Jay-Edgar said.

  “The LTVs?” President Hope asked.

  “On the far side of the Moon,” Jay-Edgar replied. He pressed the panel in front of him and a screen showed the two LTVs orbiting the Moon. Another screen displayed the inside of one of the LTVs. President Hope spotted Quark, Devereaux, Zora, Lendra Riley and Jeremiah Jones.

  On yet another screen, she saw the main hangar of Lunar Base One and the cadet Jay-Edgar had identified as Crazy Vigg. The cadet straightened from his inspection of the seal on the tunnel to LB3.

  “Both tunnels sealed,” Crazy Vigg said. “No air flow, no weaknesses to structural integrity. These babies will withstand a nuclear bomb.”

 
; “They’ll have to,” Rendela said from her LTV.

  From the other LTV, Jeremiah Jones said, “What if we blow up the main hangar before the missile strikes?”

  Zora answered: “What are you thinking?”

  “If we could detonate the hangar roof a few seconds before the missile arrives, the outward explosion might divert enough of the blast to increase the odds of survival for the people at LB2 and LB3.”

  Zora shook her head. “Slim odds of that. What do you think, Crazy Vigg?”

  Crazy Vigg grunted. “It’s so skinny it’s invisible.” He laughed. “But what the hell, I’ve got nothing better to do.”

  Zora said: “Let’s try it. Assume a two-second differential.”

  “Can we contact them?” General Horowitz asked.

  “We can try,” Jay-Edgar said. “They’re broadcasting to every nation.”

  “Do you have a suggestion?” President Hope asked.

  General Horowitz opened his mouth to reply, but then shook his head.

  “Perhaps we should just observe,” the President said.

  Jay-Edgar switched the primary image to a room at LB3. Inside were dozens of people—Colonel Truman standing beside what had to be an Elite Ops trooper and a cadet, surrounded by a number of people, including a family with two young girls. They were staring at the camera, or more likely at the screen next to the camera. Another room showed a similar scene—then a third and a fourth. Jay-Edgar dropped those images to secondary status and returned the image of Crazy Vigg to primary status.

  Crazy Vigg moved in a curious slide-hopping gait down a tunnel, where another camera picked him up as he reached the armory. The cadet lifted two cases of plasma charges and slid-hopped back to the main hangar. He placed the cases in the center of the hangar. “May as well clean out the armory,” he said, turning away. As he passed his computer station, he punched in a command.