The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  Aspen nodded. On the holo-projection, Guffie continued through the maze. He finally reached the end and began licking at the peanut butter there before falling over on his side. Was he dying too? With the fifteen-minute delay in transmissions he might already be dead, but he still lived on in the holo-projection. Aspen stared at it. A pair of hands picked Guffie up and placed him back in the Earth DCD, where the scanner began running.

  “Just because our rat died doesn’t mean theirs will,” Zeriphi said.

  But Aspen knew Guffie was doomed. No matter that Guffie had been a fighter. Guffie’s decline almost exactly matched Hugh’s. In moments Guffie would be dead.

  Everyone in the cave stared at the screen now, waiting for the inevitable. No one spoke. Aspen found herself wishing for Guffie to live. She closed her eyes and begged whatever higher power there was to spare Guffie. She promised to obey all Quekri’s orders without question.

  “He’s still hanging on,” Addam said. Aspen opened her eyes, watched the holo-projection, where Guffie’s legs twitched. That was different from what happened to Hugh. Hope flickered in Aspen’s thoughts. Perhaps Guffie would make it after all.

  “Aspen?” Quekri said.

  Aspen looked at the Escala leader. “Yes?”

  “Can you take the lead on this project?”

  “Oh, sorry,” Aspen replied. “Zora knows a lot more about this kind of thing than me. But yes, you can count on me.” She turned back to the holo-projection, watching Guffie continue to make feeble movements with his legs. At least he was still alive.

  Chapter 3

  Doug Robinson heard a distant explosion as a plume of smoke rose in the direction of Freedom Park, where food riots had been reported earlier. Before he could pull up the vid of the commotion, Walt Devereaux’s PlusPhone rang again. Gwendolyn Pryce-Jones was on the line. The calendar also chimed quietly with a reminder for one of Quark’s radiation treatments. Doug sent a message to Quark as he answered the PlusPhone, “Hello, Madam Prime Minister.”

  “Dougie, how are you, lad?”

  “Fine, thanks for asking. How are you?”

  “Shocked. I just heard that before you went to work for Devereaux you were incarcerated for drugs and theft. Is that correct?”

  Doug gritted his teeth. He hated having his past brought up. He felt like telling her it was none of her business, that his past didn’t matter to Devereaux so it shouldn’t matter to her, that he had been imprisoned because of prejudice in the system against those with darker skin, that whites still saw far less prison time than blacks and Hispanics, and if he’d been white he would have received a lesser sentence, maybe even a suspended sentence, and maybe the cops wouldn’t have harassed him at all, but he knew that wasn’t the complete truth, for he had broken the law. He said, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’ll be damned. I never would have guessed. You clean up nicely. Obviously Devereaux knew about your past.”

  “Yes, ma’am. He said he saw potential in me and wanted to give me a chance. Not many people will hire a convicted felon who used to be an addict and thief.”

  “I also heard that he insisted you be given the job or he wouldn’t work for the CDC.”

  “He what?” Devereaux, that greatest of men, rose even higher in Doug’s estimation. Why hadn’t anyone ever mentioned that to him? Because Devereaux would have told them not to. He probably didn’t want Doug to know. How could Doug ever repay him? “How did you—”

  “I’m the Prime Minister of Great Britain, Dougie. People tell me things. Don’t worry, this doesn’t change our relationship. Is the great man in?”

  “He’s working on the Susquehanna Virus at the moment. He told me he couldn’t be disturbed.”

  “Now don’t be an officious little bastard, Dougie. Is he aware of the havoc that’s being caused by this bloody little rodent?”

  “Yes, ma’am. But he believes the virus is almost out of control and he doesn’t have time to worry about anything else at the moment.”

  “Riots in the streets don’t matter?”

  Doug could tell she was close to a fit. “Of course they matter, Madam Prime Minister.”

  “I realize that this isn’t totally his fault, but his theories formed the foundation for this project. He and the Escala share in the responsibility for this backlash. I’m simply asking for any assistance he can provide. Perhaps a statement that this is not a further attempt to destroy religion or the status quo?”

  “I will certainly ask him, ma’am,” Doug said, “as soon as he gets a free moment.”

  “Thanks, Dougie. That’s a good lad.” Pryce-Jones disconnected.

  Whoa, Doug thought. So intense. Glad I’m not married to her.

  His eye drifted to the small vid-picture on the corner of his desk. It displayed a vid of his daughter, Celestia, who lived with her mother. Although she was only fifteen months old, she was already talking like a two-year-old. Doug treasured the half-dozen vids he’d received from Zeriphi. She didn’t have to do that for him, but he was grateful she had. In every one Celestia babbled on about some new thing she had seen or learned, causing Doug to marvel at the hollowness she could generate inside his chest. This tiny child who was born on the Moon and now resided on Mars held a power over him he wouldn’t have believed possible two years ago. He wondered what it would feel like to hold her.

  Three more calls came in on Devereaux’s PlusPhone. He didn’t recognize two of the senders, so he diverted them to the system’s automated answering/screening service—probably more threats. The number of irate callers had grown exponentially since the Cambridge Experiment on the rats began. The program Devereaux had set up automatically diverted each threatening message to the FBI.

  The third call, he saw, was from Dr. Chandrika Jaidev, the Secretary of Health and Human Services. This was the second time she’d called this morning and it wasn’t yet seven o’clock. What was she so worked up about? She was another of those women Doug couldn’t imagine being married to—pushy, self-righteous, humorless. He sent the call to Devereaux’s personal answering system rather than speak with her again. What could he tell her that was different from last time?

  These people treated Devereaux like their personal assistant, placing horrible demands on his time. Well, not today. Doug could repay his debt at least a little by restricting access to only those people Devereaux really wanted or needed to speak with. He would do the best job he could so that Devereaux’s workload wouldn’t be quite so dreadful.

  Doug was just about to check on the plume of smoke in the distance when Quark entered the room. Seven feet tall and three hundred pounds, with black hair, a full beard and overly snug blue lab clothes, Quark looked a little like Cookie Monster, the character from the old Sesame Street shows, especially when he smiled. Quark was the sole remaining Escala on Earth. When his people left for Mars, Quark decided to stay behind with Devereaux. Despite his wild appearance, he was a gifted scientist—not in the same league as Devereaux, but brilliant all the same.

  “You sent for me?”

  “It’s time for your radiation treatment,” Doug said.

  When Quark scowled, Doug added: “Devereaux insisted you follow the schedule. You know it’s the only thing keepin’ you healthy. Don’t make me call him.”

  Quark held up his hands. “Okay, in a minute. What’s the situation in Indonesia?”

  “Thousands more dead this morning,” Doug said. “Maybe tens of thousands. Reports are sketchy. So far the virus doesn’t seem to have spread to the Philippines, though it’s worked its way into Thailand, Malaysia and Borneo.”

  “It’s in the Philippines too,” Quark said. “It’s all over the planet. It’s just more concentrated in Indonesia right now.

  “How is that possible? The whole country’s a bunch of islands. Seems like it’d be the last place the virus would spread quickly. And a full quarantine’s in effect.” />
  “Clearly terrorists are spreading it. We don’t yet know how—possibly as suicide infectors. We’ve identified over forty varieties to date. The most recent variations have apparently originated in Jakarta. Also, the symptoms appear to vary depending on the strain infecting the individual. Most start with a headache and joint pain, plus a light fever. Some escalate rapidly from there to heart attacks and strokes while others linger in the body for weeks. Those deaths are the beginning of a major outbreak.”

  “You mean it’s gonna get worse?” Doug pointed toward the screen. “There’s already reports of bodies in the streets.”

  “Devereaux thinks the terrorists are trying to prove that even the most remote locations can be targeted effectively. He believes we’re days away from a massive outbreak.”

  “I can’t believe people are doin’ this on purpose. How’s the cure comin’?”

  Quark shrugged. “The virus is very hardy. And there are so many different strains that no single vaccine can be utilized.”

  As he spoke, Dr. Jaidev stormed through the open doorway, her shimmer cloth dress swirling about her with rainbow brightness, her forehead dark with anger. She wore a shiny gold interface on her right temple and touched it briefly as if to say, Look at me. I’m important.

  She stopped two feet in front of Quark and tilted her head up at the Escala. “Where,” she spoke slowly but forcefully, “is Walt Devereaux?”

  “He’s in the lab,” Quark replied in his usual quiet manner, seemingly unaware of her anger, “working on a vaccine for the virus. We only have enough for several hundred people at the moment. And none of the vaccines work against all strains, especially the more recent varieties we’ve identified. They’re more lethal than any of their predecessors.”

  “I’ve been trying to reach him. And this man,” Dr. Jaidev indicated Doug with a flip of her wrist, “has been putting me off. I’m not happy about that.”

  “Well,” Quark said, “he’s good at his job. He’s only doing what Devereaux asked him to do.”

  Doug felt a rush of warmth at Quark’s kindness—another man he could never repay.

  “There are riots on the streets,” Dr. Jaidev said. “Do you know how upset people are by this Cambridge Experiment?”

  Doug said, “They’re also rioting over food and heat and health care and jobs.”

  Dr. Jaidev glared at him. “Those are not my concerns.” She stopped herself, closed her eyes for a second, and said, “Of course I’m worried about that. The global winter brought on by the Las-cannon attacks is of great concern, but that will resolve itself over the next year or two. My concern at the moment is handling the riots over this rat transfer.”

  “We haven’t been focused on that,” Quark admitted.

  “We’ve had to put Elite Ops troopers outside the building to keep the protesters away.”

  Doug shivered.

  The Elite Ops terrified him.

  He glanced up at Quark to see how the Escala was taking the news.

  The Elite Ops had killed quite a few Escala over the years—many of Quark’s closest friends. They’d tried to kill Quark too. But Quark showed no concern or even surprise at having his enemies protecting him now. How could he be so calm? Like Devereaux, he was a rock of stability. I can be a rock too. If Quark, who lost so much, can do it, then so can I. Doug took a deep breath and held himself a little more erect as he stared at Dr. Jaidev.

  “I don’t see what that has to do with the virus,” Quark said.

  “The virus is an urgent matter,” Dr. Jaidev said. “No one has pressed harder than I for a solution to that problem. But we have civil unrest.”

  “That’s why you have Elite Ops troopers,” Quark said. “That’s why the law was changed to allow the Army to help maintain order inside the borders of this country. Besides, what can Devereaux do to prevent further unrest? He’s the one they’re mad at.”

  “That’s exactly why we need him,” Dr. Jaidev said. “He’s the one who started all this, trying to take religion away from the people.”

  “Here we go again,” Quark replied. “He merely said we have to move beyond God if we wish to reach our full potential. Blaming him for the Cambridge Experiment is illogical.”

  “His research led to the creation of your people. Now scientists and your Escala have used his research to transfer a rat’s mind. Next it’ll be a human. The media keep harping on Devereaux’s influence, on how if he was right about mind transfer, and right about transgenic creatures, perhaps he was right about there being no God. That’s stirred up old trouble. People think this is somehow a precursor to the destruction of souls, condemning us all to hell. They want it stopped . . . now.”

  Quark held up his hands. “But Devereaux can’t fix all that. They won’t listen to him anymore.”

  Doug added, “He still receives hundreds of threats a day. How will a message from him help anything?”

  Dr. Jaidev shrugged. “I don’t know. But the President wants to speak to him. She’s running out of patience. Now will one of you fetch him or shall I?”

  While Quark went to retrieve Devereaux, Dr. Jaidev stepped in front of Doug and changed the wall screen to its vidphone setting so she could place a call. No, Doug thought, please don’t ask my permission to take over my communications area. Feel free to just jump in and do as you please, you annoying bitch.

  President Angelica Hope appeared on the monitor. Sitting at a desk before a blue curtain, she wore a shimmer cloth blazer that danced in the light, changing colors with every slight movement of her body, her blond hair framing her still-beautiful face as she stared at the camera. Doug wondered if she was in a bunker somewhere or in her temporary office at the FBI building. The White House, destroyed by an orbiting Las-cannon last year, had only been partially rebuilt. “Hello, Chandrika,” the President said in her smoky voice, sounding every bit the movie star she had once been. “Is Devereaux there?”

  “He’s coming,” Dr. Jaidev said.

  “And who’s that with you?” President Hope asked.

  Dr. Jaidev nodded to Doug, who said, “Doug Robinson, ma’am. Walt Devereaux’s communications liaison.”

  President Hope said, “Ah, the find of the century. I hear great things about you.”

  “Me, ma’am?”

  “You’re our greatest hope for the future, Doug. You and people like you—ordinary folks who have discovered how to improve themselves and inspire the people around them, how to work for a cause greater than themselves. Oh, we need people like Devereaux too. We can’t survive without them. But we’ll never be like them either. They’re too different, too advanced. You and I, however, we ordinary humans, we are the future of humanity.”

  Doug felt heat suffusing his face. Her sincerity created that electric spark people talked about, the connection that made you believe she cared about you. “You’re far too modest, Madam President. You’re an extraordinary woman too.”

  “Only because people like Devereaux have inspired me, just like he inspired you. I may be extraordinary, but you are too. Perhaps you’d like to come work for me.”

  “Oh, Madam President,” Doug answered, his stomach fluttering, “I could never leave Professor Devereaux.”

  “Loyalty. I like that. And did I hear you’ve taken up tennis?”

  “I took some lessons, ma’am. But I haven’t had much time to play lately, what with the world going to . . . I saw the highlight of your U.S. Open victory. You were amazing.”

  President Hope held up a hand and said, “That was a long time ago.” But she smiled at him, a real smile that brought out the wrinkles around the corners of her blue eyes. God, he could love a woman like this! No chance of that.

  At that moment, Devereaux and Quark entered the room. Devereaux looked more stooped each time Doug saw him. He nearly disappeared beside Quark’s massive bulk. His blue lab clothes hung loosely
on his skeletal frame and his face was gray with exhaustion. Doug wanted to grab him by the arm and lead him to a chair, offer him something to drink and remind him that he needed to slow down, but he knew Devereaux wouldn’t follow his advice, might not even appreciate the effort. So Doug just smiled at Devereaux, who winked as he passed. The great man’s eyes still shone brightly. “You wanted to see me?” Devereaux said to Dr. Jaidev. Then he spotted President Hope on the screen. “Madam President.”

  “What are we going to do about this mess?” President Hope asked.

  “Are you asking me to put my research on hold?” Devereaux asked. “The future of humanity is at risk and you want me to make a speech?”

  “I understand your reluctance,” President Hope said. “But we must maintain order. Food supplies are dwindling. Already tens of thousands have died here, millions around the world, if not due to the virus, then to toxins in the air and water. Religious figures are calling it the beginning of the end—the apocalypse. Today, I reluctantly issued an order allowing National Guard and Army units to use lethal force against the thousands of protesters and looters who keep growing by the day, mostly because of this Cambridge Experiment. I’ve appealed to the nation for calm. You’ve seen that it’s had no effect. We need another solution. We need a miracle.”

  Devereaux closed his eyes for a moment. “As someone once said, ‘I’m afraid I’m all out of miracles.’”

  “As foolish as this may seem to you,” President Hope continued, “it is absolutely imperative that we maintain the infrastructure necessary to deliver services to our citizens. If the forces of anarchy succeed, then even if we discover a vaccine, we won’t have the means to efficiently inoculate the population.”

  “Okay.” Devereaux held up his hands. “If you think it will help, I’ll make a statement, urge my brothers and sisters to cooperate. But I fear we’ve reached a point where there simply aren’t enough resources to support our population. Starving people will do what they must to survive. Have you released all the nation’s stockpiled food supplies to alleviate the famine?”