The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  “Most of them, yes,” President Hope said. “Only extreme emergency rations have been withheld.”

  Devereaux shook his head. “Isn’t this an extreme emergency?”

  President Hope sighed. “What remains would feed very few. It’s being kept in a secure location in the event the worst happens and the leadership of this country must retreat there.”

  Devereaux glanced over at Quark. The two men smiled briefly.

  “In that eventuality,” the President said, “we would of course request your presence in the bunker.”

  “Quark and I would prefer to go to Mars,” Devereaux said, “if the Starfarer is ready to go, as promised.”

  “We can’t send you to Mars at this time,” President Hope said. “The Chinese and the Brazilians refuse to consent to the Starfarer’s departure. They’re both threatening to shoot it down if we attempt a launch. And the Chinese continue to withhold information about their Mars expedition, so we don’t know what their plans are, if they’re hostile or not. They may simply be sending their own manned mission. We can only hope they mean the Escala no harm.”

  Doug glanced at Quark, whose shoulders and chest seemed to expand, his eyes narrowing. Quark’s companion Quekri led the Mars colony. What would Quark do if she were killed or injured?

  Devereaux stared at Doug, a look of concern on his face. Though Devereaux had no family on Mars, he was the Escala’s spiritual leader. He’d also held Celestia in his arms, an experience Doug envied. Would Doug ever meet his daughter in person? Probably not. And if the Mars colony were attacked by the Chinese, Celestia might be killed. The Escala were scientists, not fighters.

  “We’re willing to take the risk,” Devereaux said. “If nothing else, we could go on the next MineStar ship. I think it’s set to depart in six months.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t allow that,” President Hope answered. “We need you.”

  “I’m just one man.”

  “The most important man on Earth,” President Hope replied.

  A beep sounded on Doug’s control board. In the small info-window came the message “Chaos in Jakarta.” Doug reached down and activated the vidlink, compacting the President’s image on the screen into a small window, while the bulk of the screen showed an external view of a train station labeled “Sudirman station: 7:14 p.m.” Bodies lay strewn about on the sidewalk; buses drove past them without stopping. One truck ran over a fallen body and swerved around a vehicle parked in the middle of the street as it made its way to an intersection, where it turned right. Dozens of people ran away from the station, trying to escape the carnage. Sirens sounded in the distance.

  “Are you seeing this, Madam President?” Devereaux asked.

  “Yes, Walt.”

  Dr. Jaidev crowded close to the screen. Quark and Devereaux each took a step forward as well.

  On the screen a woman wearing a long dress and a headscarf stumbled over a body. She managed to keep her balance, walked another few feet, then clutched at her chest and toppled to the ground. Doug’s mouth went dry. He looked out the window at the plume of smoke in the distance. Soon the virus would be here and Atlanta would look like that—people dropping in the streets. Thankfully his daughter was safe on Mars. If only he could be with her, hold her just once before he died, he would feel fulfilled. He wondered how long he had before the virus reached Atlanta.

  “My God!” Dr. Jaidev said.

  Devereaux shook his head. “We just ran out of time in Indonesia.”

  Chapter 4

  Ned Jefferson donned the sensory helmet and waited for the tech, Jenrie Roth, to adjust the settings so he could open a link with Hector Martinez. He said, “Are you sure this isn’t going to fry my brain?”

  Jenrie laughed. “I don’t know. You may become a zombie. Woooo.” She waved her hands in front of his face. “Don’t worry. All the tests worked perfectly. Hector’s implant will provide everything his brain captures, so you’ll be able to see, hear and feel everything he experiences in almost real time—like you’re in Hector’s body in addition to your own. A couple of our testers found the sensation mildly disorienting. One found it thrilling.” Jenrie gestured toward the lights. “We’ll dim those and try to hold the sound to a minimum. Now lie back.”

  Ned complied, his head on a soft pillow, the mattress firm. “I can feel the ship moving.”

  “We’re trying to hold it steady. I’d prefer to do this on land, but the Indonesian government has refused to grant permission for the Elite Ops to operate in Jakarta. We could have put you there with Hector, but we decided to keep you onboard in case there are any unforeseen problems.”

  “You mean like a heart attack or a stroke or something?”

  “You’ll be fine, Ned. It’s just a precaution. As soon as we get confirmation that we’ve found a Sally cell, we’ll send the Elite Ops out. As the old saying goes, better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

  “How long to get them into the city on a jet-copter?”

  “Eight, ten minutes, tops.”

  “Okay. Connect me with Hector.”

  “Remember, I’ll be right here beside you so if you need anything, let me know.”

  Jenrie made the connection. Ned immediately felt hot and sweaty. Every joint hurt. Through Martinez’s eyes he saw the famous flea market of Jalan Surabaya. Superimposed over the ceiling of the darkened room, it made him feel as if he were standing rather than lying down. He took a moment to orient himself to the surroundings, noting the colorful awnings rising above the stalls, the thousands of people chattering in Indonesian as they passed him by, the smells of cooked fish and nuts infused with allspice and cardamom and ginger, and beyond that, deeper than that, the odor of decay and death. A few meters away, he spotted a corpse on the sidewalk. How could these people ignore it? How could Martinez?

  “I’m live, Hector,” Ned said.

  “About time. She’s still moving through the market, but I think she’s getting ready to leave. Hey, Ned, what’s it feel like to be connected to me? It must be the greatest thrill you’ve ever had.”

  Martinez chewed and swallowed a neo-dopamine pill and within a few seconds Ned felt the quick rush. “Weird,” Ned replied. “Like I’m you and me at the same time.”

  “Lendra there too?”

  “No, she’s busy with important administrative details.”

  Martinez laughed. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “She’s probably hooked up to London or Athens or Cairo or East Nowhereville. I’ll send her a report if we find a Sally cell.”

  “Only ghost she ever cared about was Jeremiah.”

  “And look where that got him.”

  “Yeah,” Martinez said. He paused, as if remembering Jeremiah’s situation. “Yeah. I think I’ll just slip out of the flow my way.”

  “Not today, Hector.”

  Martinez adjusted his heavy backpack and stepped into the crowd. Ned almost moved his arms and legs in sympathy. His head ached, his throat felt parched, his stomach twisted itself into little flips that threatened to erupt in vomit. Much of that was Martinez, but some was his own body reacting to the link. God, did Hector feel this bad all the time now?

  Another corpse lay on the sidewalk. Martinez skirted it, his knees throbbing with every step. Damn this Susquehanna Virus. The poor man had days, at most, to live. Would Martinez really end it all today? Would Ned get in trouble for failing to inform Lendra that Martinez was suicidal? It didn’t matter. He couldn’t do it. And if he were in Hector’s shoes, he wouldn’t want Martinez doing it either.

  “Where is she?” Ned asked. Though he was using Martinez’s eyes, he couldn’t see their target yet.

  “Up ahead,” Martinez said, “wearing the green and white sarong—long black hair.” He stepped past another body as Ned spotted the young woman. She blended into the crowd as if she were a native. “I c
an’t believe these crazy bastards,” Martinez continued, “in complete denial, continuing to sell their merchandise while people drop in the streets.”

  “People have to eat, so they go about their business as if tomorrow and the next day will come, as if they aren’t doomed. What else can they do?”

  “Nothing, I guess,” Martinez said. “Particularly when their government tells them the bodies aren’t contagious, though I would think the stench would make them want to clear the streets a little quicker.”

  Ned tried to ignore the smell. His stomach felt queasy enough without the added odor of death.

  In front of Martinez, a middle-aged man suddenly staggered. Ned flinched as if he might run into the man, who toppled over and hit the concrete with a thud. Is he dead? As Martinez glanced at him, Ned noted that the man’s dark face was contorted in pain. His stomach fluttered. He used to be able to distance himself from the dead. But after his brother Dez died last year, never knowing that Ned was still alive, he could no longer separate himself from destruction, and he’d returned to CINTEP.

  He counted twenty-six corpses as Martinez weaved his way toward the bus stop where the young woman waited. Martinez stumbled as he reached the young woman’s side. Bumping into her, he deposited a small handful of dust on her short dark hair as he steadied himself. “Mengampuni,” he said. “Forgive,” he repeated in English, holding up his hand in apology before backing away. Ned noticed the woman’s button nose and a small beauty mark to the left of her mouth. No doubt about it: Ivra Golonea—the one they were after.

  She stared at Martinez as he retreated, her face scrunched up in a frown. Did she know they were on to her? And how did such an attractive young woman get involved in the Sally movement anyway? As Martinez reached the intersection, Ivra walked away from the bus stop.

  “Damn,” Martinez said. “She might have made me.”

  “No,” Ned replied, “she’s never seen you before. She’s just very careful—almost paranoid. Find Santoso. He’ll have a change of clothes for you.”

  “Right.” Martinez hurried down the block until he reached Santoso, the CINTEP contractor serving as his Indonesian guide. Santoso waited for him on an Ojek—a motorcycle taxi—and held up a bag of clothes as Martinez approached.

  “Getting a transmission from her?” Martinez asked.

  “It’s working perfectly,” Ned replied. “Well done.”

  Martinez changed his shirt, just in case the young woman spotted him again. Then he activated his scanner/tracker and studied the screen. “She’s taking an Ojek,” Ned said, “instead of the bus.” The target on the screen moved away from Martinez.

  “Thanks, Ned.”

  “You need anything else?”

  Martinez shrugged. “An antidote?”

  Ned laughed, trying to sound chipper. “You want to live forever?”

  “Well, another few years would be nice. I’d like to die between the legs of an Olympic gymnast.”

  Ned laughed again. “I’m sorry, Hector. I don’t know why the vaccine didn’t work for you.”

  Martinez said, “Tell that bastard Jeremiah he’s worthless.”

  “I suspect he knows that already.”

  Martinez stepped to the Ojek and settled himself behind Santoso. It felt like Ned was pressed up against Santoso’s body. Martinez gave Santoso the scanner/tracker and said to Ned, “If you see or hear anything that will help me . . .”

  “I’ll let you know,” Ned said. “Good luck.” What a stupid thing to say. Still, one had to observe the social protocols. “I’ve always admired your courage.”

  “You don’t need to suck up to me,” Martinez said. “I won’t be around to reciprocate. Okay, Santoso.”

  Santoso hit the accelerator and sped off in the direction the target had taken, toward the Monas Monument in the center of the city. As they weaved their way through traffic, Santoso occasionally veered onto the sidewalk to get around a congested area. Ned’s body shifted on the cot almost against his will, reacting to the movement of Martinez and the sensation that he was really moving through space. He could actually feel the hot breeze on his skin as Santoso drove him between crowded vehicles. Once Ned felt his shoulder brushing a bus. He smelled the acridity of burned fuel and human waste mingling with cooked food, heard the blare of horns and the growls of engines past the roar of Santoso’s Ojek. He hoped he never had to do this again.

  Martinez said, “What’s the deal with the Elite Ops?”

  “We can’t bring them ashore yet,” Ned replied. “Might cause an international incident. They’re standing by, awaiting your signal. If you find the cell, we’ll have them there in less than ten minutes.”

  “Okay. It’s easier now, with the end in sight.”

  So. Martinez didn’t plan to survive this mission. Ned kept his voice light. “Maybe it’s just the joy at having me with you in spirit.”

  “No, it’s not that. For sure it’s not that, you demented old bastard.” Martinez spoke into Santoso’s ear: “Make sure we don’t lose her.”

  Santoso snorted. “We’re a block behind her.”

  “Good man.” Martinez patted him on the shoulder, then reached into his pocket and removed another neo-dopamine pill, which he chewed and swallowed. Ned felt another little rush. An overdose of neo-dopamine would fry Martinez’s brain, but he no doubt needed the energy boost. And it wasn’t like he had to worry about long-term damage to his neurons—unless he found an antidote to the virus. That was still theoretically possible.

  As Martinez passed by the Monas Monument—the 450-foot tall testament to Indonesia’s independence, he looked up at the flame-shaped top. Ned was glad he was lying down. The view was disorienting. He’d always wanted to ride the elevator to the observation area and look out over the city. That probably wouldn’t happen now. Maybe someday he’d take a balloon ride over Jakarta. Santoso kept the Ojek headed north toward the massive levees that kept out the sea. Even though global winter had begun rebuilding the polar ice caps temporarily, ocean levels were still high enough to make flooding a common event in Jakarta.

  “Ned,” Martinez said, “how the hell have you managed to stay uninfected?”

  “Clean living. I never place myself between the legs of Olympic gymnasts.”

  “You know what I wish? I wish Lendra was here in my place.”

  “Yeah. There must be something about running CINTEP that turns you into an ass. You got Ivra in sight yet? She’s less than a block away from your position.”

  Martinez relayed the information to Santoso, who kept the bike moving at the same pace through the heavy traffic.

  Ivra, the young woman they were tracking, worked for Susquehanna Sally. Ned had been on her trail for months. Unfortunately, she had spotted him twice during the course of his surveillance, and he’d had to back off. Lendra then put Martinez on the case. If Martinez could confirm the location of Sally’s Indonesian cell, they could send the Elite Ops in, political consequences be damned. But so far Ivra had only led them to a series of drops—never the same one twice. And no one ever came to a drop after she left it. All they’d ever found at any of them were empty containers. Her paranoia or radar was incredible. Today, though, Ned had a feeling she might return to the cell. That was part of her pattern—drive around for three days, then vanish. And today was the fourth day. That’s why Ned had hooked himself up to Martinez.

  Santoso and Martinez neared the north end of the city, where the flooding tended to be the worst and where warehouses and older office buildings stood.

  Ned noticed an increase in the bodies lining the streets here. The smell reminded him of an abattoir. As Santoso pulled to the curb Ned saw Ivra stopped around the corner of the next intersection, rummaging through her bag.

  He tried to read her lips and thought she said, “I don’t see anything suspicious.” A pause followed. Then she might have said, “Good idea
. Where should I leave it?” After a few seconds, she hopped back on the Ojek.

  “Any clue where they’re headed?” Martinez asked. “I thought maybe we’d arrived at our destination.”

  “Probably another drop,” Ned replied. “Or maybe she’s just being paranoid. Frustrating. I thought for sure she’d return to the cell today. Stay with her. Be patient.”

  Martinez and Santoso followed her again, maintaining a one-block distance. The tracking transmitters in Ivra’s hair continued to provide Ned with her location.

  “She been to this neighborhood before?” Martinez asked.

  “Not while I’ve been on her,” Ned replied. “That’s why I thought maybe she was returning to her base.”

  Ivra now backtracked toward the city center and Martinez let her build the gap between them a little more. Ned had been positive the cell was located in the northern part of the city, which had become rundown in recent years. Rent was cheap and scrutiny was lax. But so far, except for her brief excursion just now, Ivra hadn’t ventured into the north end at all. Where are you going, little girl? Why the hell won’t you return to your people?

  Ivra stopped at a train station as Santoso closed the gap. If she tried to board a train, Ned might order Martinez to capture her, hope they could somehow get the cell location out of her before her comrades could disappear. When Martinez reached the station, Ned spotted her Ojek parked at the curb, the driver waiting for her to return.

  “Should I follow her inside?” Martinez asked.

  “Just take a quick look from the door,” Ned answered. “If she boards a train, we’ll track her and pick her up at the other end.”

  “We could lose her.”

  “It’s a risk we have to take. She’s a clever little thing. If she gets any whiff of you at all, she’ll bolt.”

  Martinez hopped off the Ojek and slipped inside the station. He caught sight of Ivra by the locker area. She was placing her bag inside one of the medium-sized lockers.

  Ned said, “Looks like another drop. We’ll keep an eye on it. Get back to the Ojek. I think she might still be in play.”