The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  “And the nightmares? The headaches? You still having them?”

  Aspen glared at Addam, who shrugged.

  “He’s just trying to protect you,” Zeriphi said. “Wellon said you’re the only cadet who hasn’t been to see her since we landed. Everyone else has allowed her to make genetic modifications, adjustments for the fact that we’re now on a completely different world than you were designed for. Don’t you think you ought to allow her to examine you, make sure you’re okay?”

  “I didn’t think she had time. She’s been so busy with the miners.”

  Zeriphi put her hand on Aspen’s shoulder. “Wellon isn’t Dr. Hackett. She’s not going to subject you to painful experiments or try to induce rage and paranoia. You’re safe here.”

  “I’ll make an appointment, all right?”

  “Good.”

  As Zeriphi walked away, Benn, Addam and the three Escala teenagers approached. They watched Zeriphi until she rounded a corner. Then Addam said, “What’s our plan?”

  Aspen looked from Krall to Poon and Oggie. She sent a message via her implant: Why would you bring them in on this?

  Benn replied, They’re our friends.

  Addam sent, We’ll need everyone’s help if it comes to a fight.

  If that happens, then we’ll include them. But for now, let’s keep things among ourselves. She said, “We wait, just like Quekri said.”

  Krall looked from Aspen to Benn and Addam, then said, “You were communicating by implant. What did you say?”

  “Nothing,” Aspen replied. “Now run along. We’ve all got work to do, and your mother wouldn’t be happy if she knew you were just standing around.”

  “I won’t tell Quekri what we’re planning. I promise.”

  Aspen shook her head, indicating that the conversation was over.

  “Forget her,” Oggie said. “The bitch thinks she’s too good for us. Let’s get out of here.” He strode away, Poon following and, after a moment, Krall joined them.

  “What’s his malfunction?” Benn asked when the three Escala were out of hearing range.

  “Oggie’s?” Aspen said. “He’s mad because I won’t sleep with him.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to. Okay?”

  “I suppose.”

  Addam said, “She doesn’t have to plow him if she doesn’t want to.”

  Benn held up his hands.

  “Do you want to sleep with Quekri?” Aspen asked Benn.

  “Eew!”

  “Well, there you go. Now, I want you two and Phan to look into making some Las-rifles. Quietly. The 3-D printers will do most of the work, but I want you to see if we have enough materials to create the chem-packs. We can always take the miners’ weapons away from them, but I don’t know how good they are. And we’ll need more than they’ve got anyway if it comes down to a fight. Besides, if we let them keep their Las-rifles, we can use them as fodder for the enemy. Send them in first to draw the Chinese soldiers’ fire.”

  “Nice.”

  “What about Kammilee and Shiloh?” Addam asked.

  “Get Shiloh involved too. I don’t know if we can trust Kammilee to keep a secret anymore.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Benn said.

  “That’s your call,” Aspen said. “You know her better than I do. But if she tells Quekri what we’re doing and that interferes with our ability to defend ourselves, I’ll hold you responsible.”

  “Just because Kammilee wants to get pregnant doesn’t mean she’s not still one of us.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “She knows that you’re angry with her. She wonders if maybe you’re starting to go a little crazy.” Benn held up his hands again. “Don’t be mad. She’s just worried about you. These nightmares, and the headaches—you might be devolving. Or it might be a mental breakdown. This planet is so different from Earth, even the Moon. At least there we had similar atmospheric pressure, and Earth was close enough to feel like we were still attached to it. Now it’s finally hitting us that we’re never going back.”

  Addam touched her shoulder and said, “All the people who spent any length of time on Mars have incurred health problems—cancer and emphysema, auto-immune disorders and life-threatening allergies. And most of these miners have significant health problems as well. Wellon’s had to do a fair amount of genetic modification just to keep a couple of them alive. Our concern is that something may be happening to you too.

  “What’s that got to do with my nightmares?”

  “They might be a manifestation of a physical problem.” Addam shuffled his feet and cleared his throat.

  “Go ahead,” Aspen said. “What else?”

  “Well, we’ve researched mental health issues too. After all, we weren’t made for Mars. We might not even have been made for Earth. At any rate, we haven’t found much in the way of severe mental problems among miners or astronauts, but that might be because only the psychologically fit were chosen.”

  “So you think I’m cracking up?”

  “No,” Addam replied, “but I can tell you’ve got another headache right now. Don’t try to deny it. I think you should see Dr. Wellon.”

  “I said I would.”

  “Yes, you did. You also told me you’d see her last week and you still haven’t done it.”

  “Tomorrow,” Aspen said. “I promise. Meanwhile, I have to get back to the lab, check on my results.”

  “We’ll hold you to your promise. If you don’t see Wellon tomorrow, we’ll drag you there by your feet.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. See you later.”

  Aspen left them standing at the cave entrance and returned to the lab. The first thing she did was swallow three more pills. Then she checked to make sure that Guffie was still alive on Earth. And he was, at least as of fifteen minutes ago. His motor coordination problems, however, lingered. Aspen examined the bio-scans the computers had run, trying to isolate why Guffie survived while Hugh died. Once again she compared the genomic sequences of the two rats, before and after the mind transfer. Finally, she programmed in a study of the scans of the two rats’ minds after the transfer, even though she had only been able to capture eighty-eight percent of Hugh’s post-transfer mind prior to his death.

  She could make no sense of the discrepancies. But she knew she was missing something vital. If only she had Zora and Rendela here to help. But Zora had deserted her, Rendela had sacrificed herself for Zora, and Aspen was stuck on this dead planet with no one she cared about.

  Enough. Concentrate. Focus.

  She set aside her self-pity and returned to the data. Sifting through images and formulas, she fought to stay awake, the pills making her drowsy. She took a stimulant, knowing from past experience that it would likely turn her headache into a migraine within a couple hours. Despite the stimulant, as she was examining a complex equation, her eyes fluttered shut. She kept them closed for a moment, telling herself she wouldn’t drop off into sleep. Some time later, seconds or perhaps minutes, an idea popped into her head. She opened her eyes, excited by the prospect of finding an answer, spent the next twenty minutes confirming her suspicions, and then called Quekri.

  “What have you found?” Quekri asked when she walked into the lab, Zeriphi and Dr. Wellon behind her.

  “I think it’s here in the mind scans,” Aspen said, laying out the data so they could examine it for themselves. “See how the myelin inside Guffie’s new brain—Hugh’s old brain—begins to break down in certain areas and build itself up in others? It seems to be reverting to the patterns of least resistance of Guffie’s old brain here on Mars, as if the brain is trying to re-wire itself to the preferred circuitry that Guffie had up here. And then over here,” Aspen pointed to a different set of data, “we see Hugh’s new brain—Guffie’s old one. See these favored synaptic pathways predominant with Hugh but not Guffie
? There’s a degradation of neuronal circuitry—as if both rats were struggling for control of the brain even though Guffie’s mind should have been on Earth in Hugh’s brain.”

  “That shouldn’t be possible,” Quekri said.

  “I know,” Aspen replied, “but it’s the only solution that makes sense.”

  Dr. Wellon nodded slowly as she stared at the screens. “Interesting. Is there any way we can test that further? Maybe with the Earth rat? Or do we need to do another transfer to get sufficient data?”

  “We’ll need to do another transfer,” Aspen said. “But I’m pretty sure the data will reflect this regression next time as well.” She reached for a tablet and pulled up some figures. As Dr. Wellon studied them, Aspen said, “I’m still running various analyses, but all the data so far point to the same probable results.”

  “Then why didn’t the Earth rat die?” Zeriphi asked.

  “I believe it’s got to do with dominant personality types,” Aspen said. “The stronger the personality of the transferring mind, the greater chance it can exercise dominion over the receptive brain. And the stronger the mind from the receptive brain, the more likely that brain will reject the transferring mind. Guffie had a strong personality. That’s why his body rejected the mind transplant from Hugh. And that’s also why he was able to survive the transfer to Hugh’s body.”

  “That’s a pretty sweeping conclusion to draw from these numbers,” Quekri said. “And what about the Patterson formula? This data seems to discount that theory.”

  “Well,” Aspen replied, “I have to admit that I don’t really know how the two tie together.”

  Quekri smiled. “Take a stab at it.”

  “Okay.” Aspen took a deep breath, hoping the throbbing in her head would recede. “I think the Patterson formula might still apply over a longer period of time. So the favored patterns of the old mind still might result in a decrease in neuronal activity in the new brain. We’ll probably see degeneration of myelin and synaptic pathways over time, but it’s still early days. Plus, the two rats were about the same age, so we may not get any usable data on that aspect until we transfer the mind of an old rat into a young one. And Hugh died too quickly for us to get good readings on him. Perhaps if we do another scan on Guffie in a few weeks, we’ll see a reversion occurring.”

  “Wellon?” Quekri turned to look at the big Escala doctor.

  Dr. Wellon nodded. “Sound reasoning. Very well done.”

  “Thanks,” Aspen said, an unexpected warmth stealing over her. In fact, she felt more than warm—almost hot.

  “But it doesn’t solve the larger problem,” Zeriphi pointed out. “We still can’t make the transfer work. And if Aspen’s right, it creates an even bigger obstacle than we envisioned.”

  “True,” Quekri said, “but understanding the problem . . .”

  “Is the first step to finding a solution,” Zeriphi finished with a grin.

  “We’ll have to test it,” Dr. Wellon said, “with a dominant and a submissive mind as well as an old and young one. Let’s transmit the data and Aspen’s conclusions to Earth, see if they agree with the results. But first . . .”

  She looked at Aspen.

  “What?” Aspen looked up at the Escala surrounding her. Quekri, Dr. Wellon and Zeriphi all wavered before her eyes, as if an enormous heat wave separated them from her, its shimmering currents turning them into holo-projections, making them insubstantial.

  “You’re not well,” Zeriphi said.

  “How much medication have you taken?” Dr. Wellon asked.

  “Just a few pain pills.”

  Dr. Wellon glared at her, as if looking right inside her brain, as if she could see the synaptic pathways and the pulsing pain, the electrical impulses darting from region to region. “How many?”

  “In the last four hours? Seven pills and a stimulant,” she replied as her knees began to buckle.

  “Idiot,” Quekri said as she scooped Aspen up in her strong arms.

  Chapter 10

  Doug Robinson sat in the back of the room at his communications console, out of the way, trying not to be pissed off. He didn’t expect people to trust him, so he wasn’t surprised that FBI Director Eric Sommersby had sought to have him excluded from the meeting. But Devereaux had insisted that Doug be present. Why? Just to let these power brokers know that Doug was a real person and not some cog in a bureaucratic machine? Or was it a message to Doug that he mattered, that he should pay attention and learn from what they were saying? At any rate, Doug was grateful.

  Through the holo-projection, Vice President Miguel Rodriguez and HHS Secretary Dr. Chandrika Jaidev occasionally glared at him. The Vice President held a rosary that he continuously fingered. A pious man, a law-and-order former governor of Texas, he knew of Doug’s criminal past and resented Doug’s presence. In the center of the room the frail Walt Devereaux sat beside Quark, conferring with the big shots by holo-projection.

  Also attending via holo-projection were Chairman of the Joint Chiefs Ralph Horowitz and President Angelica Hope. Those two, at least, didn’t seem angry.

  Devereaux looked so pale, so thin, so exhausted, that he ought to be in a hospital bed rather than subjecting himself to yet another stressful meeting, at which nothing was likely to be resolved. These damn politicians could talk all day.

  The final person at the meeting was Dr. Mittrandur Ecuponte, the Surgeon General, who sat beside Dr. Jaidev and rattled off the rising statistics of dead and dying in Indonesia, Thailand, Burma and the Philippines while images from Jakarta continued to run on the screen behind him. No longer were government workers collecting bodies for disposal. Corpses were now piled up on the sidewalks. Fires burned, unmoving vehicles clogged the streets. Occasionally Doug spotted groups of young men running from building to building.

  As Dr. Ecuponte’s voice droned on, President Hope tapped her fingers on her desk. After a while she began to roll her eyes. Finally, she interrupted him.

  “I can see it’s terrible. I can see it’s getting worse,” she said. “What’s the bottom line? How long before it hits here?”

  “Here?” Doug said without thinking. When everyone turned to stare at him, he mumbled an apology.

  “Did you have something to say?” Director Sommersby asked, his eyes narrowing.

  Doug shook his head.

  Devereaux actually smiled, which made him look a little less skeletal. “I believe Doug was thinking that it’s typical of politicians to worry only about America, forgetting the rest of the world.” He reached up with a shaking hand and dabbed at his left eye with a handkerchief. Couldn’t these people see that they were killing him? Slowly, a small piece at a time, they were wearing him down to nothing.

  “I’m not just concerned with America,” President Hope said. “But my sphere of influence does not exceed this nation’s borders. I’m worried about the whole world. But I can only control what I can control. Understand?”

  Doug nodded.

  “What I meant was, how long before the situation gets as bad here as it is in Indonesia?”

  Director Sommersby glared at Doug.

  Devereaux gave Doug a wink before turning back to the holo-projection images. He took a deep breath, as if gathering his energy, and said, “The projections vary depending on the models we run. Some have the virus raging out of control as early as next month. Others show it holding off for as much as a year. It depends on how quickly Susquehanna Sally decides to hit us. For some reason, she seems to be attacking Asia first. All indications are that China is having a major problem with the virus too, though their media haven’t been as open about the numbers of deaths and infections.”

  “And a cure?”

  “I can’t guarantee one,” Devereaux said, “until we acquire all the versions of the virus out there. Even then I don’t know if I could eliminate it completely. But what I can say is that eac
h new version released by Susquehanna Sally makes the probability of eliminating the virus that much more unlikely.”

  “We can’t keep working like this,” Quark said. “Professor Devereaux is exhausted. He’s working far too hard. And don’t forget that he’s been infected with the virus too. Even though he’s got some of Jeremiah’s blood in him, he may not have full immunity.”

  Devereaux put his hand on Quark’s arm. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

  He looked more than a little tired to Doug. He looked three inches from death. His hours in the lab had cost him whatever extra weight he’d been carrying. And he hadn’t been a heavy man to begin with. Doug wished he could somehow cut everyone off—sever the connection and relieve some of the burden on the great man but he knew if he did it, Devereaux would disapprove.

  “I still don’t understand,” Vice President Rodriguez interjected, scowling, “how the virus is continuing to slip past our security. How come we can’t figure out a way to stop these people?”

  Although Doug didn’t care much for the Vice President, he’d been wondering about that too. These people claimed they were leading the greatest country in the world. Yet they couldn’t find the terrorists who were spreading the virus.

  Dr. Jaidev said, “The delivery mechanism keeps changing. We’ve seen the virus dispersed through the water supply, through food products.”

  Director Sommersby added, “A few times it’s been delivered via air vents in public places. We found empty canisters last month in air ducts at the King of Prussia Mall and the South Coast Plaza. It took us nearly three weeks to discover them because no one got sick right away.”

  “The virus in those cases was a slow-acting version, designed for maximum dispersal before the manifestation of symptomology,” Dr. Ecuponte said.

  “I get that,” Rodriguez said, waving his rosary-filled hand. “What I want to know is why the hell our law enforcement agencies, our spies and informants, can’t find these people? What are they doing? Sitting on their asses while the world falls apart?”