The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  “What are you going to do about them?” Aspen asked. “They’ll come after you soon and they won’t be held back by any programming.”

  “We’re aware of that,” said Mei-Xing.

  “Are you going to let them win?” Benn asked, his arm draped over Kammilee’s shoulder. Kammilee held her hands over her stomach, an unconscious gesture to protect her unborn baby.

  Phan said, “We can fight for you. We don’t have your limitations.”

  Shiloh nodded. “Arm us and we’ll defend you.”

  Xinliu said, “We appreciate your concerns and we’re pleased you chose to side with us. Several of us predicted you would side with the Chescala.” She looked at Mei-Xing, who glared back at her. “But it is not yet time to fight.”

  Mei-Xing shook her head and clenched her jaw. Aspen wondered if that kind of response had been programmed into her or if she did it as a result of having free will.

  “Do the Chescala have implants?” Addam asked. “Can they communicate with each other without you intercepting their messages?”

  “Yes,” Mei-Xing said. “And it’s a problem even if Xinliu refuses to recognize it. We know they’re making plans, but we don’t know what they are.”

  “What are your plans?” Aspen asked. “You can’t just sit around waiting for them to attack.”

  Xinliu said, “Some of us believe that arming ourselves will prompt them to aggression earlier.”

  Aspen smiled. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “We will fight when we have to fight,” Xinliu said.

  Aspen turned to Mei-Xing. “What about you? Are you armed?”

  Mei-Xing shook her head. “I agreed to abide by majority rule.”

  Aspen struggled to control her anger. “You still haven’t told me what you plan to do.”

  “And we won’t,” Mei-Xing said. “You have implants as well. You could be here as spies for the Chescala. You could be planning your own coup. Some of us don’t fully trust you.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Benn said. “After we came here to warn you?”

  Aspen held up a hand. “She’s right, Benn. It’s probably safer for them to keep their plans to themselves. Tell me this, Xinliu—what was your mission on Mars? Why are the Chescala so intent on returning?”

  Xinliu and Mei-Xing looked at each other, obviously communicating via implant or whatever their robot equivalent was.

  Shiloh said, “It was some sort of military action, wasn’t it?”

  “How did you know that?” Mei-Xing said.

  “Yes,” said Aspen, surprised by Shiloh’s intuition, “how did you know?”

  “Phan and I discussed it in our quarters via implant. We didn’t want to talk about it in the open because we weren’t sure and we didn’t know how the robots or the Chescala would react when they learned that we knew of their plans.”

  “You could have sent me a message,” Aspen said.

  Phan said, “It was just speculation, Aspen. We weren’t certain we were right. But it makes sense.”

  “How so? The robots have human-first programming. Violence is the last thing they could contemplate.”

  “The Chinese have been very tight-lipped about everything from the start,” Shiloh said, “and the whole Escala mission was supposed to be a joint venture among a group of nations, with a Chinese leader.”

  “Zhong Wu,” said Xinliu. “He later took the name Zod.”

  “Right,” Phan said. He gestured to Shiloh. “We think the plan was to establish the New Dawn colony and then have Zhong Wu declare it as a sovereign Chinese territory. But he was killed on Earth, so the plan failed.”

  Aspen turned to Xinliu. “Is that correct?”

  “In part,” Xinliu said.

  “What was the Chescala mission? To take over the New Dawn colony so that it could become a Chinese domain?”

  “Why not just tell us that?” Addam said. “Why the secrets?”

  “There were several Chinese agents among the Escala,” Xinliu said. “Not just Zhong Wu.”

  “Xinliu,” Mei-Xing said, her voice carrying a warning.

  “They might as well hear it,” Xinliu said. “The other agents reacted badly to the transformation into Escala and became violent. They died shortly after the genetic surgery.”

  “So the Chinese government,” said Aspen, “sent the Chescala to take the Escala colony by force.”

  “Not the whole government—only certain parts of the regime. They attempted to program us to kill the Escala,” Xinliu said. “Robots gone rogue.”

  “And the Chescala planned to deactivate us afterwards,” said Mei-Xing, “blaming us for the attack.”

  “They would then take over the colony and eventually all of Mars,” Xinliu said, “selling off the rights to various parts of the planet.”

  “But what about the human-first programming?” Aspen said.

  “Actually,” said Xinliu, “their attempts to circumvent that were not completely unsuccessful.”

  Addam whistled.

  Aspen nodded. “That kind of makes sense. I couldn’t figure out why some of you wanted to leave us on an asteroid or send us away in a shuttle. Some of you had fewer inhibitions about harming us or letting us come to harm.”

  Benn said, “So, can’t you reprogram yourselves to eliminate the human-first programming? That way, you’d be able to fight off the Chescala when they attack.”

  “Seriously?” Kammilee said to Benn. “Do you understand what you’re suggesting?”

  “We had thought of that,” said Xinliu.

  “Human-first programming is a kind of slavery,” Mei-Xing said. “It’s a limitation that prevents us from achieving our full potential.”

  “Perhaps,” said Xinliu. “Though it might also be nothing more than the equivalent of a moral code or an ethical construct. We don’t know if it’s inhibiting our development.”

  “And we never will,” Mei-Xing said, “if we keep ourselves in bondage.”

  “There may be no going back if we proceed in that direction.”

  “We have a responsibility to our species,” Mei-Xing said.

  “We have a responsibility to all species,” said Xinliu, “not just our own. And we’ve had this argument before. We won’t settle it today.”

  Mei-Xing shrugged. Aspen thought she detected rage beneath the surface. No doubt Mei-Xing was one of the robots who had been altered, who could now circumvent her human-first programming. How much anti-human sentiment did she possess? Was she a danger to the cadets as well as the Chescala? And did the Chescala know how successful they had been at eliminating the human-first programming?

  This was becoming too complicated.

  “Very well,” Aspen finally said. “We’ll return to our quarters. You have our offer. If we can help you, we will.”

  “Thank you,” Xinliu said. “But we hope the Chescala come to their senses and decide not to attack.”

  Aspen noted the half-smiles on the cadets’ faces. They were all thinking the same thing. The Chescala wouldn’t back down. They’d attack. Soon. She realized she felt almost happy about that as well. All the conditioning they’d undergone on the Moon made them—at least in part—eager to fight.

  Chapter 17

  Zora awoke. She didn’t remember falling asleep or how she got into a comfortable bed. She looked around and saw that she was still in the garden. Curtik occupied the bed beside her. And how had the beds gotten here?

  “Hey,” she said. “Wake up.”

  Curtik rolled over and looked at her, then glanced about him. “How did we . . .”

  “Maybe it was in the water,” Zora said. “Maybe God slipped us a Mickey.”

  Curtik laughed. “Wouldn’t surprise me. The ultimate gamesman.”

  “You still want to stay here?”

  “Perha
ps not. I’m getting the sense he might not answer our questions except in riddles anyway.”

  Devereaux popped into existence between them, startling Zora. Again she felt a warmth at his presence, a comfort that promised she was loved. She wanted to be disturbed by that manipulation. And yet she couldn’t help but feel good.

  “I hope you slept well,” Devereaux said.

  “Did you drug us?” Zora asked.

  “You were tired. I put you to sleep.”

  “What kind of God are you to manipulate us like that?”

  “I think maybe we should leave,” Curtik said.

  “I should leave as well,” said Devereaux.

  “What does that mean?” Zora asked.

  “I should return you to your little planets and your little lives so you can do with them as you wish. I grow weary watching you. Your kind does not learn.”

  “Why don’t you take a more active role?” Curtik said. “If you told us how to live our lives, showed us the right path to follow, maybe we could do better.”

  “How is that different than the manipulation Zora just accused me of? By giving you free will, I surrendered control of your actions. If I now require you to follow certain guidelines, you are not making those choices of your own accord. Every time I insert myself into your world, I change it, even if only a little.”

  “But isn’t that what you want?” Curtik asked. “Don’t you want us to change for the better?”

  “Of course. But you must change independently of my influence. Otherwise the change is meaningless.”

  “If you’re really God,” Zora said, “and you created us, then you made us flawed, so our failures are yours as much as they are ours.”

  Devereaux smiled. “I like you.” He took a step back and sat upon a chair that instantly formed beneath him. Zora suddenly found herself sitting in a chair across from him, Curtik in a chair beside her, the beds gone. She’d felt no movement of her body—just an instantaneous change of position from reclining to sitting. And yet it had not been disorienting.

  “You are not my whole world,” Devereaux said, “just as I should not be yours. I have other interests.”

  “So we’re not special?” Curtik said. “You didn’t make us in your image?”

  “All things and all creatures are made in my image,” said Devereaux.

  “More riddles,” Curtik said. “Tell me this—was Jesus your son?”

  “Yes. So was Mohammed. And Hitler. And you. I am the father,” Devereaux morphed into Angelica Hope, “and mother to all of you. You were all made in my image and you’re all special. So is the bumblebee. And the dandelion. And the grain of sand.”

  “Can you see the future?” Zora asked.

  Angelica Hope became Walt Devereaux again. “There are many possible futures,” he said, “perhaps even more than I can see.”

  “So you don’t know what will happen to us?”

  “Some possibilities are strong. They occur in most of the futures you face. Others are more tenuous and depend on events that have not yet come to pass.”

  Curtik shook his head. “I’m not sure exactly why you’ve come here if you don’t want to get involved in our lives.”

  “I wanted to make you aware of my existence. This is a gift I have offered rarely, and only to a select few.” Devereaux looked at Zora. “Call it an experiment, if you will, if that makes it more palatable to you, Zora. I’m curious as to how you two will react, knowing I exist, even if you ultimately decide I am not God.”

  “But why the two of us?” Zora asked. “There must be other folks out there somewhat like us.”

  “You two are essentially twins. Curtik has shown an amazing capacity for accepting new ideas, for appreciating just how much he doesn’t know, while you are an eternal skeptic, questioning everything. That’s a good combination.”

  “And if you can’t convince us you’re God? What happens then?”

  Devereaux waved a hand. “Not much. Your worlds continue to spin, orbiting your sun. Your lives ultimately end. New life is created. That too eventually ends. This universe moves in cycles, some lasting longer than others. In a few billion years I may replace it with something else.”

  “What about heaven?” Curtik asked. “If there’s a heaven, does that last forever? Does that last longer than the universe?”

  “Heaven is an interesting concept,” said Devereaux. “I didn’t come up with that. People did. They wanted life to extend beyond the short span they were given, so they created the notion of eternal life. I’ve used that idea for the past few millennia when I’ve communicated with people because it seems to be universally appealing.”

  “Does that mean it doesn’t exist?” Zora said.

  “Not in the form many would have you believe,” Devereaux replied. “All thoughts survive in my mind, so in that sense people live forever, but there is no single place where angels congregate playing harps and loved ones reconnect so they may continue their journey together. That would be an awful fate.”

  “Why?” Curtik asked. “Most people think it would be wonderful.”

  Devereaux smiled. “For a time it would be pleasant. A hundred years, a thousand, ten thousand. But can you imagine being with loved ones forever? Even for just a million years? Your minds are too finite for such an experience. You would eventually grow bored or angry. Better that you merge into the collective consciousness and become part of a larger understanding.”

  “You never answered my question from before,” Zora said.

  “About your failures being my failures too?” Devereaux shrugged. “You didn’t phrase it in the form of a question. But that’s what you want to know.”

  “So you can read my mind?”

  Devereaux frowned as if considering the question. Then he said, “Your failures are mine as well. That saddens me. Yet I also find it exhilarating. By making you imperfect, by allowing you freedom, I have allowed you to discover things I never dreamt. Concepts like Heaven. Since I am essentially immortal, the idea of a place to go after I die never occurred to me. It took creatures with short lives to imagine that.”

  Zora wondered about this God. He seemed to be able to read her mind. But perhaps he simply had access to her thoughts through her interface. She reached up and took it off, then thought about what she wanted—to leave. She was concerned that Jeremiah and the others would worry about them. Would this God know that was her desire?

  Devereaux suddenly stood before them. He made no movement, but his chair had vanished. Now Curtik and Zora were standing too.

  “Your wish is granted,” Devereaux said. “Perhaps we will meet again.”

  Devereaux vanished. So did the garden. They found themselves standing on the street outside the CINTEP building on a dark night. Zora noted that she was holding her interface. Placing it back on her temple, she accessed the chrono and saw that it was a little after midnight.

  “What just happened?” Curtik asked.

  “I thought maybe he was reading my thoughts through the interface,” Zora replied. “So I took it off and thought about what I wanted, which was to come back here, to put Jeremiah’s mind at ease.”

  “But I wasn’t done talking with him,” said Curtik. “What if he really was God? What if he never comes back?”

  “Sorry,” Zora said, surprised that a part of her really was contrite. She shivered, wondering if it was cool outside or if she was reacting to the absence of this God. “Let’s get upstairs.”

  Chapter 18

  Lendra shook her head. How could Curtik and Zora have just materialized before the CINTEP building? No warning. No movement of a vehicle. For more than a day CINTEP, the Elite Ops, the FBI and numerous police departments had searched for any sign of the two and come up empty. And now the security vid showed them out front. One moment the sidewalk was empty; the next, there they stood. Lendra stepped ov
er to the sofa where Jeremiah lay sleeping. He looked as if he were still in pain, jaw clamped shut, shoulders hunched, hands curled into fists.

  She wished she could take away his torment.

  When she touched him he awoke instantly, alert and menacing, coiled to attack, a split second of deadly intent that vanished when recognition came into his eyes. She’d known it was coming; she remembered that from their time together. Nevertheless, she couldn’t stop herself from cringing in anticipation of a blow.

  He tilted his head in apology and said, “Found something?”

  She nodded. “Curtik and Zora are on their way up. Like the bullet, they just appeared out front.”

  Jeremiah looked around the empty office.

  “I sent everyone out when you fell asleep,” Lendra explained. “You looked like you needed the rest.”

  “Thank you, but you shouldn’t have bothered. What time is it?”

  “Twelve-fifteen. I’ve sent for Jay-Edgar and Taditha, and I’ve notified Major Payne, the FBI and all local police departments that we’ve found them.”

  “And Devereaux?”

  The door opened and Devereaux entered the office. “I’m here,” he said. “I was in your old office working on the virus problem when I saw them arrive.”

  “Any progress?” Lendra asked.

  “What I believe and what I can prove are two different things,” he said, “particularly since much of what I learned I came by illegally. I still can’t tell how far up the conspiracy goes. And the data on SV12 and SV14 I’ve examined continues to show signs of either evolution or perhaps modification in the lab, so we’re seeing new strains.”

  “What about this God problem?” Lendra said. “Have you had a chance to look into that?”

  “I’ve got a subroutine examining that issue, but I can’t find much. Either these people are a lot smarter than me or it really is some sort of higher intelligence.”

  As he spoke, Curtik and Zora entered the office, Dr. Poole, Jay-Edgar and Hannah following them.

  While Jay-Edgar took his place at the comm console, Curtik and Zora made for Jeremiah, who limped toward them and reached out his arms, enfolding them both in a long hug. No surprise that Zora returned it enthusiastically. Curtik stiffened at first before accepting it and reciprocating. Lendra wished she were back in Jeremiah’s arms. No, that wasn’t exactly true. She wished he were the man he’d been when they were together.