The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  “Six minutes, twenty-three seconds,” a female computer voice said.

  Crazy Vigg slid-hopped back toward the armory, where he grabbed two more cases and a Las-rifle, then exited the door and turned back toward the main hangar.

  On the way back he slid too far and crashed into the military desk, dropping the cases, the Las-rifle flying out of his hands. President Hope cringed as she waited for the explosion. It never came.

  General Horowitz said, “Plasma charges are extraordinarily stable. It’ll take a laser pulse to ignite them.”

  “How many cases do we need?” Zora asked.

  “Too many variables to know for certain,” Jeremiah replied. “We don’t know how powerful the missile is, so even though we know its speed, we can’t determine precisely how much counterforce is necessary to alter its trajectory.”

  Crazy Vigg got to his feet laughing, picked up the cases and maneuvered his way around the military desk over to where he’d placed the first two cases. He stacked them beside the other two and slid-hopped back to the armory yet again.

  The computer voice said: “Four minutes, nineteen seconds.”

  Curtik laughed. “Leave it to Crazy Vigg to set the timer for odd seconds.”

  President Hope felt like she was being stabbed in the stomach. As if he were reading her mind, General Horowitz handed her an antacid. “Thanks,” she said as she watched Crazy Vigg moving rapidly through the tunnel. “Is this plan at all viable?”

  General Horowitz shrugged. “It’s as good an idea as any.”

  As Crazy Vigg returned to the main hangar with two more boxes, the voice said, “Two minutes, seventeen seconds.”

  “That’s probably enough,” Zora said.

  “One more trip,” Crazy Vigg said.

  “You’ll never make it in time,” Rendela said.

  “He’ll make it,” Zora said as Crazy Vigg slid-hopped to the armory one last time. He picked up two more cases and returned to the main hangar. Skirting the military desk, he set the cases down atop the middle two, looked around and said, “Oops.”

  Zora said: “Under the orange bush.”

  “Thanks,” Crazy Vigg replied. He reached under the orange bush and came up with the Las-rifle.

  “Thirty-one seconds,” the computer voice said.

  Crazy Vigg adjusted the settings on the weapon, approached the cases he’d placed on the floor and raised his Las-rifle.

  For an instant, President Hope was there in his body, aiming at the plasma charges, seeing the inevitability of her death. “Could I do that?” she whispered.

  “What did you say?” General Horowitz asked.

  “Nothing.” My God, this kid has courage. Don’t think about it. Focus.

  “Fifteen seconds,” the computer voice said as Jay-Edgar brought up another image, this one of the Moon as seen from an orbiting satellite.

  The voice counted down the remains of Crazy Vigg’s life. “Eleven, nine, seven . . .” Crazy Vigg didn’t try to shield himself from the explosion. Standing only a few feet away from the cases, he shook his head and muttered to himself in time with the voice: “five, three . . .”

  Crazy Vigg fired a red burst at the cases. Instantly the view of the main hangar went black. President Hope felt a fist grabbing her lungs, squeezing the breath out of her. She shifted her attention to the projection of the Moon. At the bottom of the image, near the south pole, there was a tiny white flash—a flicker—a brightening almost more imagined than seen: quickly gone. But the bottom of the Moon became fuzzy. Jay-Edgar magnified the image until the haziness resolved itself into a giant cloud of dust and debris, shot out from the Moon by the explosion, slowly drifting back to the lunar ground.

  “Vigg,” Quark said in his deep rumble. “I remember—”

  The LTV connection died.

  President Hope’s eyes welled up. She blinked away the water. I will not succumb to sadness. I will not succumb to despair and anger. Later—when this is over.

  The audio channels lit up with a cacophony of voices. Before she could tell Jay-Edgar to silence them, he did it.

  “Increase magnification,” General Horowitz said.

  The image of the Moon grew larger still. Beneath the dust and debris, the lunar settlement had largely vanished, a jagged crater taking its place—a dark circle destined to become a permanent feature of the lunar landscape.

  “What about the people at LB2 and LB3?” President Hope asked. “Are they still alive?” Please let them be alive. Let Crazy Vigg’s death not be in vain. Unbidden, she heard Elias Leach’s voice in her mind: You know, if they’re alive, you might be able to use that to your advantage.

  Jay-Edgar brought up image after image, all black. “Cameras are no longer transmitting,” he said. “All power lost. All satellite transmissions offline. And both bases are buried under tons of rock. But if we superimpose the schematics of LB2 and LB3 onto the crater formed by the bomb . . .” Jay-Edgar brought up several images and placed one atop the other on the screen. “If we adjust for geographic elevation . . .” He manipulated another schematic, and pointed at the screen, where two pockets had been highlighted. “We can see that both LB2 and LB3 survive in parts.”

  “The LTVs?” President Hope said.

  “Nothing. We’re not seeing any signs of a crash, but if they went down on the far side of the Moon, we wouldn’t.”

  “Any way to scan LB2 or LB3 without satellites?” General Horowitz asked.

  Jay-Edgar shrugged. “We can try with an Earth-bound satellite, but it will be hard to verify life forms over that much distance and beneath that much rock. Madam President, we’re getting urgent calls from all over the world.”

  “Try a scan. Let them wait.”

  President Hope had to know if there were survivors first, before she could deal with the rest of it.

  “I’ve got multiple life signs,” Jay-Edgar said. “Not sure how many, but there are at least some survivors.”

  “Excellent,” President Hope said. She felt like pumping her fist, having won a big point. “Get that information out to every nation.” She shook her head. “Odd, isn’t it?”

  “What’s that, Madam President?” General Horowitz said.

  “This stupid plan Elias concocted to bring the nations of the world together. It might actually work now. China, Russia, Brazil, India: they all have citizens up there that need to be rescued.”

  “A rescue mission would take days. Anyone still alive up there,” General Horowitz shook his head, “won’t be for long. And we can’t just dock up there. We’ll have to dig them out.”

  “We’ll find a way,” President Hope said. “The whole world saw this footage. People will pressure their governments to help. I want to make sure that young man’s sacrifice wasn’t wasted. I don’t care what we have to do. I also want those LTVs to return safely. A great many nations harbor ill will toward us—if not for our ideas, then for our pre-eminent place in the world—but we might be able to bring them together to accomplish this rescue mission. Imagine a truly global initiative. If we do it right, if we push hard enough, we can still salvage something from this mess. Let’s set up a conference. I want every nation with spacefaring capability on the line.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” General Horowitz said.

  While Jay-Edgar activated multiple screens with images of foreign leaders—China, Russia, India, Brazil, France, Germany—President Hope sat for a moment and closed her eyes, saying a prayer for the soul of that brave child.

  * * *

  China’s President, Chen Hui, led off the discussion after glaring at India’s Prime Minister: “Our country has suffered the worst. We’ve lost more people than any other nation. And we demand justice. We will not discuss any rescue mission until you transfer this Elias Leach to us for prosecution. If you refuse, be advised that we haven’t ruled out a military response.”r />
  “According to our records, China has twenty-three people on the Moon,” President Hope replied. “Don’t you want to save them? And Elias Leach has been arrested. We haven’t decided what to do with him yet. He’s caused deaths across the world, not just in China. We lost thousands here as well. What’s to be done with him is a question for another time. What we need now is a multi-national rescue effort to save those innocents.”

  “Perhaps we should just rescue our own people,” Russia’s Navrakov said, his voice metallic as the translator converted his words into English. “We have eighteen citizens on the Moon. They’re innocent. How many of your people can say that?”

  “Most of the people on the Moon are innocent,” England’s Pryce-Jones said. “Britain has sixteen citizens trapped there. And we will attempt to rescue them, no matter the cost. But their nationalities are irrelevant.”

  She paused for a moment. “Unfortunately, our joint program with Australia has suffered some setbacks recently and we cannot launch for at least one week.”

  President Hope turned to General Horowitz. “How many days will it take us?”

  General Horowitz repeated the question into a PlusPhone. After a few seconds, he replied, “We have two companies with LTVs that could launch a rescue mission in the next week, but neither can be ready in the next forty-eight hours.”

  “Not soon enough,” President Hope said. “Can anyone launch earlier? President Chen Hui?”

  The Chinese President shook his head. “I have not yet decided whether China will assist,” he said, the translator making his voice sound exactly like the Russian President’s. “If we choose to help, we might rescue only our personnel. And since you refuse to hand the mass murderer over to us, we feel no obligation to extract your people.”

  “This is an easy decision,” President Hope said as her stomach continued to burn. “The people trapped on the Moon aren’t the people who attacked us. Even the cadets are victims of Elias Leach’s machinations. Regardless of the fact that some maniac created this problem, we all have an obligation to save them.”

  “Of course we are concerned,” Chen Hui said. “But the cost of such a mission would be extremely high. I am inclined to let you deal with the Moon. China will focus its energy on our more immediate problems. If you were to hand this Elias Leach over to us, we might reconsider assisting with a rescue.”

  “This is partly your fault,” President Hope reminded him. “You chose not to destroy the Nigerian missile. You voted against UN action. And even though you completed work on a ground Las-cannon, you still didn’t destroy the missile. So this problem is not just of our making. You contributed to it as well.”

  The Chinese President shook his head. “Our Las-cannon has not been properly tested. What about yours? You didn’t fire on the missile either.”

  “Enough,” Pryce-Jones said. “We must act swiftly. We can debate culpability at a later date.”

  “You’re right,” President Hope said. “What about you, President Penela?”

  “We can launch a lunar transit vehicle in seven hours,” the Brazilian President said.

  “Seven hours? That’s fantastic.”

  “We will of course take the lead.”

  “Of course,” President Hope agreed. “And is this the LTV with the drilling equipment onboard?”

  President Penela’s eyes narrowed. “You know about this?”

  President Hope nodded. “But we were not aware you’d tested the system yet.”

  “We’ve only tested it locally. Not on the Moon, obviously.”

  “What help can we provide?”

  “Brazil requires no assistance,” President Penela said. “Except for your money.”

  “We too,” India’s Prime Minister Sitmandesh said, “have been developing such a system. We could launch an LTV in two days. Our engineers could coordinate with your people. We could send an LTV to the other base.”

  President Penela nodded. “Very well.”

  France’s President Montesquieu said, “We will be happy to contribute to the rescue effort to help subsidize costs, but we don’t have an LTV ready.”

  “We will also contribute to the costs,” Pryce-Jones said.

  “Russia will pay too,” Navrakov said.

  “President Chen Hui?” President Hope said. “Can we count on your assistance as well?”

  The screens went quiet as everyone focused on the Chinese President. It was a measure of China’s economic might and its tenuous connection to the world’s other superpowers that no one broke in to try to further persuade him.

  “Fine,” he finally replied. “We will help. But this matter of Elias Leach is not over.”

  With the rescue flights agreed to, President Hope disconnected, then called her cabinet together via holo-conference. “Let’s focus on assisting the two companies that can launch an LTV the soonest. Get them whatever help we can to speed up the process.”

  “Madam President,” Jay-Edgar interrupted her, “I’ve got one of the LTVs calling.”

  “Connect us,” President Hope replied.

  Zora’s image came through. Behind her, Curtik manned the controls.

  “Well, howdy,” Zora said. “Beautiful day for a bombing, isn’t it?”

  “Are you all right?”

  Seconds passed without a response. For a moment President Hope thought Zora was ignoring her. Then she remembered the delay in transmissions.

  “We’re just doing a little sightseeing,” Zora replied.

  “The other LTV?”

  Another pause as the signal traveled across half a million miles. “They haven’t been able to restore communications but we’re keeping in contact via implant.”

  “Are you able to contact anyone on the Moon?”

  Though she understood that the laws of physics demanded the three-second delay, President Hope still wished she could have instantaneous communications. She glanced at Jay-Edgar, who raised his hands in apology.

  “I’m afraid not,” Zora said. “Their communications were damaged in the blast. And they’ve lost all power, so they’re on batteries only. But our scanners show that quite a few people survive.”

  “We’re sending up a rescue mission,” President Hope said. “Brazil and India will lead. The United States can send up reinforcements in a few days.”

  After the delay, Zora said, “We can’t wait here for you to rescue us.”

  “You may be shot down if you try to land on your own. A number of rogue nations might decide to take advantage of the situation. And many nations have the capability of launching missiles into low-Earth orbit. Your chances are much better if you wait for us to retrieve you.”

  “That might work,” Zora said eventually, “if we hadn’t sustained electrical damage in that explosion. Even though we were on the far side of the Moon, there was a massive electromagnetic pulse in that explosion. That’s probably what destroyed the power cells on the Moon. It also wiped the satellites.”

  “Are your LTVs safe to fly back to Earth?”

  President Hope looked at General Horowitz, who said, “Perhaps you could start for Earth and offload Devereaux and Jones to one of the rescue LTVs at the halfway point.”

  This time the delay lasted almost a minute. President Hope saw Zora speaking with people outside the range of the vid pickup, but the audio had been turned off.

  When she turned back to the camera, she said, “So you can save the important people? I’m afraid neither Jeremiah nor Devereaux is willing to leave the LTV. They say either we all live or we all die.”

  “We could transfer all of you to the rescue LTV,” President Hope said.

  Again Zora turned away. More time elapsed. President Hope, after a glance at General Horowitz, stared at the screen.

  “That might get other people killed,” Zora finally said. “As you pointed out
, there are no guarantees. We’d rather take our chances alone than jeopardize the brave folks coming to rescue the survivors. We’ll be there in two days. Either we’ll see you then or you’ll get a fantastic fireworks show.”

  The connection severed, the screen going black.

  “What do we do now?” General Horowitz asked.

  “We try to convince the world not to shoot them down,” President Hope replied. She felt another twinge of nausea and put her hand to her stomach. Devereaux and Jeremiah Jones had to survive. Surely even rogue nations like Nigeria understood that. Didn’t they? This was about saving humanity, not revenge. Pressure would have to be exerted, not just by the United States, but by the entire developed world. “We’ve got two days until they reach Earth,” she said. “We need to convince everyone that these LTVs must be allowed to land safely. Contact every nation with the capacity to strike against them. I want all our diplomats on this. We’ got a lot of work ahead of us.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Colonel Truman coughed as dust saturated his throat. The ground felt cold. He heard his companions coughing and sneezing as well. The two little girls were crying, their parents comforting them. The room was pitch black. When he reached for his PlusPhone, he felt like he’d been stabbed in the back. His right knee hurt too. Some of the rocks from the ceiling collapse must have struck him. The damn PlusPhone was dead, so he couldn’t use its flashlight setting. He managed to stop coughing long enough to say:

  “Anyone’s PlusPhone working? Any lights at all?”

  “Hang on,” Joffer said, his voice thick. “There’s an emergency light somewhere by me.”

  As he waited for Joffer to find the light, Truman pictured Raddock Boyd, the man he’d killed in Minnesota last year—the mole on Boyd’s cheek, the Semper Fi tattoo, the crew cut. Whenever he was alone in the dark he thought of Raddock Boyd. How he wished he could erase that memory.

  A yellow light suddenly shone through the dust. More than half the space was covered by a pile of rubble—boulders and jagged rocks that stretched almost to the ceiling at the back end of the room, twenty feet away. The Russian tourists, Gregor and Maria Dmietriev, lay beside Truman, partially covered by rocks. They appeared to be unconscious. “How many people are buried under that pile?” Truman asked.