The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  Eli said, “You think I’m Susquehanna Sally?” His jaw worked angrily, his muscles bunching up in his forearms.

  Hannah inched a little closer to him, crouching: a coiled spring.

  “That would tie things up neatly,” Jeremiah said.

  “This is insane,” Eli said.

  “Your last plan wasn’t?”

  “You know I’m not Sally.”

  “It could be another of your crazy schemes to unite the world against an outside enemy—in this case, a virus.”

  “Think about it for a minute,” Eli said. “I’ve helped you with this analysis. I’ve provided data that helped you reach the conclusion that there might be a mole in CINTEP.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t spot this anomaly when I plugged your data into what we already knew.”

  Poole said, “I hate to say this because it would be nice if Eli was the mole, but you’ve made quite an intuitive leap. The data isn’t that conclusive.”

  “Exactly,” Eli said. He tried to get to his feet, but Hannah pushed him back into his chair.

  Jeremiah shrugged. “On the other hand, it might be Jay-Edgar.”

  Eli scoffed. “Ridiculous. All he did was help me. This whole thing is crazy.”

  Poole said, “I suppose it could be Jay-Edgar. He’d have the technical expertise to figure out dispersal patterns we couldn’t track. And he’d be able to manipulate the incoming data to make sure we didn’t find Sally cells. But we found cells in Jakarta and London.”

  “I’m telling you you’re wrong,” Eli said. “You brought me here for my help. Listen to me. It’s not Jay-Edgar.”

  “I admit it’s a puzzle,” Jeremiah said. “The mole could even be Lendra.”

  Eli snorted. “Next you’ll say it could be President Hope.”

  Jeremiah held up his hands. “I’m just saying we don’t know. Lendra could be feeding them information, though you and Jay-Edgar are more likely candidates. Perhaps the data from Jakarta and London reached a point where Jay-Edgar couldn’t hide it anymore because Lendra was receiving Intel from other sources. Or perhaps Lendra had to find the cells in Jakarta and London because the information Jay-Edgar was providing would inevitably lead us there.”

  “If you’re right . . .”

  “I don’t know that I am,” Jeremiah said. “It might not be Lendra or Jay-Edgar or even Eli.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying,” Eli shouted, his face red.

  “It could be someone else at CINTEP—the most likely candidates being the people in Analytical.”

  “That could be dozens,” Poole said.

  “Not really,” Jeremiah replied. “It would have to be someone who knew we were sending agents when we did. There can’t be more than a handful who fit that description.”

  Lendra appeared in the doorway, scowling, her hands clenched at her sides. She said, “You think I might be involved with Susquehanna Sally?”

  “You’re one suspect,” Jeremiah said, “Where’s Jay-Edgar?”

  “I took away his toys—no electronic access—and left him under guard. And I’m insulted that you would think I had anything to do with this.”

  “I’m exploring every option. That’s my job. Frankly, what I really wanted from this discussion was to see your reactions, both yours and Eli’s. And though I can’t clear you completely, I’m beginning to doubt either of you is the mole.”

  Poole said, “What about Jay-Edgar? Do you want to talk to him?”

  Jeremiah shook his head. “He’s nervous and twitchy. Too hard to read.”

  Lendra said, “We should lock him up and throw away the key.”

  “He’s not the mole,” Eli said again. “All he did was help me so that I could help you.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Lendra said. “He helped you escape and helped you elude capture. He’s a criminal, and when this is all over, whether he’s been passing information to Sally or not, he’s going to prison for a long . . .” Lendra looked at Jeremiah. “What?”

  “I don’t think we should be focused on that right now. Let him leave at the end of the day. Remind him that we’re watching him. Let the other Analytical suspects leave too. Tell them nothing. We’ll track them all, see if anything pans out.”

  “Why tell Jay-Edgar anything?”

  “He knows something’s going on anyway. If you don’t tell him, he’ll assume the worst.”

  Eli said, “I’m telling you you’re making a mistake. I’d trust Jay-Edgar with my life. He was just helping me. Loyalty is his only crime.”

  “Extremely covert surveillance,” Jeremiah said. “We may get lucky.”

  “What about me?” Lendra asked. “You planning to track me too?” She pointed at Poole. “Or Taditha?”

  “For now I’m focusing on the likely candidates,” Jeremiah said.

  Chapter 22

  Doug Robinson sat beside Devereaux in the operating room, still wearing scrubs, faintly nauseated by the smell of antiseptic in the air, reading aloud from Stranger in a Strange Land—one of Devereaux’s favorite science fiction books. How could the great man be brain dead? Yet the doctors all said he was gone. Quark had even brought in a minister to pray for Devereaux’s soul, sensing Doug needed that kind of closure, and though Doug wasn’t certain God existed, he was still grateful.

  As Doug read, Quark worked on the robot, which stood about six feet tall: almost a foot shorter than the Escala. It had honey-colored plasticized skin and a smooth mannequin-like face with large black eyes. It wore “clothing” that shimmered vaguely, designed to absorb energy from both the movement of its limbs and any external light sources. Quark had told him that the robot was the only one available with an organic computer and that even though the robot didn’t look advanced, it was actually much more sophisticated than anything else Doug had seen.

  After Quark escorted the CDC surgeon-technicians from the room, he locked both operating room doors from the inside. Now he was checking connections and testing the robot’s responses.

  Was this really possible? Had they really transferred Devereaux’s cloned mind to an organic computer inside a robot? Maybe the experiment had failed. The robot showed no sign of life.

  Quark hunched over, using a tablet to examine circuitry and test the organic mass that made up the robot’s brain. Turning away from the robot, Doug studied Devereaux’s pale face, the hollow cheeks and gray beard. The great man’s brain no longer swelled outside his skull, though Doug could still see the gray matter if he leaned over. He wondered why they hadn’t replaced the top of Devereaux’s shaved head, instead leaving it in a sterile tray beside the bed—a three-inch circle of skin and bone.

  A loud grunt came from the robot.

  Doug jumped in his seat.

  “Sorry,” Quark said, “my fault. Adjusting some circuits.”

  Doug looked past the robot and out the room’s single window at the nighttime sky, at the lights of Atlanta. All those people working late: did any of them know what was happening right now, the kind of moment that might change the world forever? “Are you sure it worked?” Doug asked. “It’s been hours.”

  “Devereaux’s mind is . . . complicated,” Quark said. “And this organic computer doesn’t work exactly like a human brain, so it’s going to take time to absorb Devereaux’s mind properly.”

  Doug shifted in his chair so he could keep a better eye on the robot. How could someone so important, so much larger than life, now be trapped inside this motionless, plastic thing? Its black eyes remained dark. Maybe failure was for the best. No one except Quark seemed confident that it had worked. In fact, all the screens on the far wall had gone black. Doug had no idea whether the scientists or the Escala on Mars were still conducting tests.

  According to Devereaux, there was no God. So if the experiment had failed, and man possessed no soul, then all that remained of Devereaux
existed in the shell that lay before him, kept “alive” by machines.

  And if Devereaux was wrong, if there was a God, where was Devereaux’s soul now? Had it ascended to another plane of existence? Or had it moved into the robot?

  Quark knelt beside the robot and examined the servomotors that enabled the robot’s movements.

  The CINTEP screen lit up with an image of Lendra Riley. A beep—a request for audio—began, at first tentatively, then more insistently, until Quark finally paused his work and opened the connection.

  “Yes?” Quark said.

  Lendra Riley said, “I’m sorry to disturb you, but it’s been four hours. We need to ascertain how much of Devereaux’s mind successfully uploaded. I think we need to bring the computer techs in.”

  “I’m working on it,” Quark said. “You can check my progress remotely.”

  “It would make things much simpler if we had physical access.”

  “No.” Quark reached over and cut the audio feed. Lendra glared at him for a moment before turning to her console.

  “Why not let ’em help?” Doug asked. “They might be able to tell if the procedure worked.”

  “They’ll take the robot away,” Quark said. “We’ll never see Devereaux again.”

  “What makes you—”

  “I know how they think.” Quark returned to his work, scanning for electrical activity. “Break those door locks. We need as much time as we can get.”

  “But—”

  “They’ll be reasonable at first,” Quark said. “Then they’ll get aggressive. Now break those locks.”

  Doug moved to comply. “But they can’t just take ’im against his wishes,” he said as he grabbed a metal cylinder and smashed the locking mechanism beside one of the doors.

  “Under the law,” Quark said as Doug moved across the room and shattered the second locking mechanism, “he’s not Devereaux anymore. This robot is the joint property of CINTEP and the United States Government.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I suspected it might come to this,” Quark said. “I researched it and made arrangements accordingly.”

  “What kinda arrangements?”

  A heavy knock came at the door. “Open up,” Dr. Jaidev called from the other side.

  Doug froze. Quark ignored the command and continued working with his tablet.

  “Remember when I insisted on examining the robot before the transfer?” Quark asked. “I programmed in a self-destruct virus that can only be accessed internally, so the only one who can activate it is Devereaux.”

  “So he can kill himself?”

  “I can’t unlock it,” someone said from the other side. “We’ll have to break it down.”

  The sound of shoulders bouncing off the metal door merged with frustrated curses. Quark smiled. After a few seconds the noise on the other side of the door quieted.

  Quark turned his attention to the monitor before him. “Technically,” he said, “Devereaux is brain dead. This robot is a construct created by others. At best it contains a cloned mind, not the real Walt Devereaux. And I suspect that CINTEP and the government may have the legal right to do with it as they please.”

  “It’s still Devereaux’s mind. You can’t own another person’s mind.”

  “Did you know that the Patent Office used to allow companies to patent individual genes? The actual genes people have in their bodies. All because these companies isolated and identified the genes. So they got the exclusive rights to conduct genetic testing.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Bureaucracies do crazy things,” Quark said. “And any time some new scientific or technical achievement arises, the potential to exploit it also occurs. The law is always trying to catch up to science.”

  The lights flickered. Odd. There’d never been a power shortage in this facility before, not with all the generators hooked up to ensure a continuous electrical supply. Quark turned to look at the robot. Doug followed his gaze and saw the robot slowly lift its right arm.

  “Tell me that was you,” Doug said.

  A grunting noise came from the robot.

  “Not me,” Quark replied. “Devereaux.”

  Goosebumps formed on Doug’s arms. His mouth went dry. He stared at the robot, waiting for it to do something. After a minute passed with no further sound or movement from the robot, Quark continued:

  “They’ll take this clone to use as a slave. All they want is the use of his mind.”

  “But,” Doug swallowed to get some moisture into his mouth, “you helped with the transfer.”

  “Indeed.” Quark sighed. “But I wanted Devereaux to have the chance to decide for himself, after due deliberation, not in a rush, under excruciating pain. If he still wants to end his . . . existence, he can do so at any time.”

  The robot took one step forward.

  Doug backed up. “You sure this thing is safe?”

  “I’m seeing an exponential increase in bio-electrical impulses in the robot’s organic computer.”

  “And that’s good?”

  “Definitely,” Quark replied. “It means Devereaux’s mind is beginning to familiarize itself with its new matrix.”

  “Argh, rech, vawkwish, hojj,” the robot said, its black eyes glowing slightly.

  Doug retreated to the edge of the gurney where Devereaux’s body lay. This robot was wrong somehow—maybe because Devereaux was so much more than a machine: so full of compassion. And this plastic-covered machine could never be the same as the real Walt Devereaux, no matter if it did contain a clone of Devereaux’s mind.

  “Now we’re making progress,” Quark said. “Devereaux’s mind is assisting with the uploading process, accelerating the timeline.”

  “I, don’t, understand,” the robot spoke in a male voice, its black eyes flashing briefly. Its head swiveled as if it were examining the room.

  “Professor?” Quark said. “Can you hear me?”

  “Am I alive?” the robot asked.

  “We’ll leave that debate to the philosophers.”

  “Is that really you?” Doug asked. “Are you Devereaux?”

  “I don’t know,” the robot answered, now using Devereaux’s voice.

  Doug shivered again. “You sound just like him—I mean, just like you used to.”

  “I can speak in many voices,” the robot said. “This one is the most familiar, though it reminds me of a past I no longer have.”

  “Are you well?” Quark asked.

  “I feel like I’m in a dream,” the robot said. “Outside myself. This body doesn’t feel right. I guess it worked. Am I the first person in the world to do this? I suppose I am.”

  “Can you move?” Quark asked.

  The robot took a tentative step forward and lifted its arms in a series of staccato movements. It walked haltingly toward the window, arms extended, as if for balance. When it reached the window, it looked out for a moment and said, “I can see a long ways. If we were higher up, I could see Stone Mountain.”

  The robot slowly lowered its arms and turned around, then walked back toward Doug, toward Devereaux. It stared at the body on the gurney. “We’ve all heard the stories,” it said, “of people who have almost died, looking down at their own bodies. This feels somewhat like that.” The robot turned to Quark. “I just discovered an integrated organic shredder hidden in a metadata subroutine. Do I have you to thank for that?”

  Quark nodded. “I wanted you to be able to make a reasoned decision, free from pain and the pressure to act immediately.”

  “Is that the self-destruct program?” Doug asked.

  When neither the robot nor Quark answered, Doug said, “You can’t do that.” He looked from Devereaux’s face to the robot’s. He still wasn’t sure this robot was Devereaux, but he needed more time to process it all.

 
The robot went silent and completely still. Was Devereaux ending his existence? And if he was, did Doug have any right to stop him?

  After a long moment, the robot said, “Things are coming online quickly now. It helps to have the processing speed of an organic computer.”

  The sound of creaking metal came from the hall and one of the doors bulged inward before pulling away from its frame and opening wide. Framed in the ruined doorway, two Elite Ops troopers stood, weapons pointed at Quark. Dr. Jaidev stepped between them and entered the room, scowling, her gold interface flashing in the light.

  “Move away from the robot,” she said.

  Quark raised his hands and backed away.

  “What’s going on here?” the robot asked in Devereaux’s calm voice.

  “Professor Devereaux.” Dr. Jaidev halted in mid-stride. “You’re . . . the transfer worked!”

  “Obviously,” the robot said.

  “This man,” Dr. Jaidev pointed at Quark, “was preventing us from entering the room to ascertain whether the procedure was a success. How are you, sir?”

  “I’m fine. Perhaps the Elite Ops troopers should leave.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Dr. Jaidev replied. “They’re here for your safety.”

  “I’m quite safe, Doctor. This new shell is almost indestructible.”

  “Nevertheless, they stay. I have my orders from the President.”

  Again the robot went silent and completely still, unlike a human. And again Doug wondered if it was shutting itself off.

  “Very well,” the robot finally said, its voice sounding angry now, nothing like Devereaux’s usual warm tones. “But I should warn you that I will not be controlled by you or anyone. If you try, I’ll kill myself.”

  Doug suppressed a smile. Those words sounded so strange coming from a robot.

  Dr. Jaidev turned to Quark, her body quivering with rage. “What did you do?”

  Quark glared back at her. “I gave Devereaux the opportunity to decide his own future. I couldn’t risk letting his mind be taken over by outsiders.”