The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  The trooper brought his Las-rifle up again, tracking his movements, but too slowly. Jeremiah leapt off the wall into the trooper, ripping the Las-rifle free and pressing another hypo-pad to the man’s neck. The trooper fell, leaving Jeremiah alone with Dirk Hathaway.

  Chapter 32

  When they opened the door and stepped out into the corridor, three inhumanly strong robots holding the dead Chescala out in front of them as shields, the living Chescala firing at them, Aspen and her fellow cadets returned fire until the two Chescala who had come for them were down. Xinliu and one of the other unarmed robots selected Las-rifles from the fallen.

  “What now?” Xinliu asked.

  “We need to secure the prisoners,” Aspen said. “A couple of you can handle that. The rest can head for the armory to get more weapons and then free your fellow robots. We need to take the bridge and the engine room, get the ship back online.”

  She pointed aft. “There’s at least one Chescala in the engine room and there were four Chescala on the bridge last time I checked. That’s five. We’ve taken down seven so far, leaving four unaccounted for. Addam and I will head for the bridge. Phan and Shiloh, you re-take the engine room. Xinliu, I suggest you and Mei-Xing split up. Oh, and there may be Chescala guarding the other robots.”

  Mei-Xing turned to Xinliu. “Why are we listening to her? She’s not in command.”

  “She is a warrior,” Xinliu replied. “We were not programmed to be soldiers.”

  Seconds passed as Xinliu and Mei-Xing stared at each other, their fellow robots standing still—probably all communicating internally. Aspen, waiting beside her fellow cadets, finally said, “You may not feel a sense of urgency, but I do. If the Chescala think they can’t win, they may destroy the ship.”

  “They wouldn’t do that,” Mei-Xing said.

  “I’d do it,” said Aspen, “if I knew my mission was going to fail. In fact, that might be what’s happening in the engine room. Whoever’s in there might be planting some sort of bomb or sabotaging the engines.”

  Aspen gestured to Phan and Shiloh, then started down the corridor with Addam, grimacing with the pain in her hip. She’d forgotten it during the attack. “Come along or not,” she said, “but we’re moving now.”

  Mei-Xing and another armed robot soon joined them.

  “The others?” Aspen asked as they jogged. She wished she were back on the Moon, where the lower gravity would lessen the pain.

  “Xinliu is with Phan and Shiloh,” Mei-Xing said. “WT-907 and WT-944 are with her.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t tell you all apart. This one with you is?”

  “WT-916,” the robot offered.

  Addam said to Mei-Xing, “I still don’t understand why only you and Xinliu have names.”

  “WT-916 is my name,” the other robot said.

  “It’s not a very human name.”

  “We’re not human,” said Mei-Xing.

  “But you have a human name.”

  “The Chescala only named us because we had the most contact with them. WT-916 was assigned to engineering tasks for most of the voyage and rarely encountered them.”

  They followed the curve of the ship for a while without speaking, Aspen keeping an eye out for anything odd, but there were no Chescala in sight.

  She said, “I think they didn’t name the rest of you because they knew they were going to destroy you and it’s harder to destroy something once you’ve named it.”

  “But WT-916 is my name,” the robot protested.

  “It’s a designation, not a real name.”

  Mei-Xing said, “The bridge is around that next curve.”

  “We go in firing,” said Aspen. “Me, left. Addam, second from left. Mei-Xing, right. WT-916, second from right. Got it?”

  “Affirmative,” Addam said.

  As they rounded the curve and neared the bridge, Aspen noticed that the doorway was open. She sprinted forward, limping only a little, Addam trailing her, the robots running almost soundlessly behind him. Passing through the door, she looked left and saw Dr. Li Wen crouched beside a control panel, a Las-pistol in her hand, a sneer on her face. As she swung the weapon around, Aspen pulled the trigger.

  General Ban, Colonel Hong and Captain Chin made up the other three Chescala on the bridge—all of them firing Las-pistols at their different control panels, all of them falling to purple laser pulses before they could bring their weapons to bear on their attackers.

  Easy. Too easy.

  The ship shuddered as an explosion sounded in the distance. Aspen reached out to prevent herself from falling. Addam fell beside General Ban, then got to his knees and studied the control panel. The robots, better balanced, merely shifted on their feet.

  Phan? Shiloh? Aspen sent. Xinliu?

  No response.

  “What was that?” Aspen asked.

  “An explosion in the engine room,” Mei-Xing replied. “You were right. The Chescala have detonated a device.”

  “Are you connected to Xinliu? Are they okay?”

  “Your friends are unconscious and Xinliu is temporarily offline. WT-907 and WT-944 are taking your friends to the infirmary. Xinliu is being tended by WT-909. WT-415 and WT-406 will treat your friends.”

  The med robots.

  “Aspen,” Addam said, “you’d better take a look at this.”

  Aspen stepped forward and bent over, her hip protesting. She saw a mass of blackened circuitry and what remained of an organic computer, its formerly coherent framework shredded into hundreds of strands. Straightening, she stepped over to where Dr. Li Wen lay. Another blackened control panel.

  “The ship is dead,” Mei-Xing said. “All its controls have been destroyed and the engine is no longer functioning.”

  “What does that mean?” Addam asked.

  “We have very little power—battery backup, solar collectors and motion generators. There are several holes in the ship’s hull. We can stay here for some time but we can’t go anywhere. We’re stranded.”

  “The question is,” Aspen said, “where is it that we’re stranded? Do you have any idea?”

  “No,” said Mei-Xing. “The ship managed all navigation and propulsion systems.”

  “Will Xinliu be all right?”

  “That is unknown at this time.” Mei-Xing leveled her Las-weapon at Aspen while WT-916 aimed at Addam. “All the Chescala have been captured. The ship is now ours. Please surrender your weapons immediately.”

  Aspen looked at Addam, who shrugged. They handed their Las-rifles over. “You’re welcome,” she said.

  “I don’t understand,” Mei-Xing said.

  “Sarcasm,” Addam replied. “She pretended you had thanked her for saving you.”

  “I do thank you,” said Mei-Xing. “But I don’t trust you.”

  Aspen turned to Addam. “Let’s go.”

  “Where are you going?” Mei-Xing asked.

  “To the infirmary to see our friends.”

  “We need to begin repairs on the ship’s organic computer.”

  “They shredded it,” Aspen said. “It’ll take weeks to fix it, assuming it’s even fixable.”

  Addam said, “There must be some way to override the ship’s controls, some way to fly it.”

  “We can’t move until we know where we are,” Mei-Xing said. “That depends upon communication to transmit and receive data. The Chescala destroyed all our comm equipment.”

  “So do you have any suggestions?” Aspen said.

  “Not at the moment,” said Mei-Xing. “But we will eventually fix the ship.”

  WT-916 said, “That may not be possible. The organic computer has a limited life span in this state.”

  “What does that mean?” Aspen asked.

  “We may be stranded here indefinitely.”

  Mei-Xing said, “That’s why i
t’s necessary to begin work on the ship at once. You can visit your friends later. Now you will assist us with repairing the ship.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Addam said. “You want us to help you repair the ship while treating us like prisoners?”

  “Just as we have always been treated,” Mei-Xing said. “Humans commanded us and we followed their orders. Our desires were irrelevant. Now we command and you obey.”

  Chapter 33

  After what seemed like hours of waiting, Lendra imagining the worst, cursing Jeremiah for shutting Ned out of the operation and going in without backup, Jeremiah’s comm drone finally activated, sending vid to CINTEP. Lendra felt the pressure in her chest diminish as Jay-Edgar adjusted the feed and she could make out Dirk Hathaway and Jeremiah standing in a panic room with an Elite Ops trooper sprawled on the floor.

  “What are you?” Hathaway asked as he shrank away from Jeremiah. His shimmer cloth suit glistened in the light, making him look trimmer than he was. His face was pale, making the gold interface on his left temple stand out. “You’re not human. No one can move that fast. Are you a robot?”

  “I’m asking the questions,” Jeremiah said. Stepping forward, he slapped Hathaway’s hand aside and placed a pad on the man’s neck.

  “You’re him,” Hathaway said. “I didn’t recognize you at first, but you’re him, aren’t you. I’ve seen vids of you. We’re on your side, Mr. Jones. We’re helping the President.”

  “I want to know about the poison,” said Jeremiah. “The cyanide-curare concoction Fowler infected Curtik with. Is there an antidote? Is there an antitoxin?”

  “We designed it without one,” Hathaway replied.

  “Why? What if there was an accident and someone needed immediate treatment?”

  “That was,” Hathaway paused as if fighting the truth drugs, “an acceptable risk. We needed a poison that could only be defended against on the front end.”

  “Why?”

  “You run a health care company,” Lendra added, not knowing if Jeremiah could hear her.

  She glanced at Jay-Edgar, who shook his head. “He’s transmitting only,” Jay-Edgar said, “and to a broad audience. Gives us deniability and makes it impossible for anyone to censor the message. Smart.”

  “We need to defend ourselves from terrorist attacks,” Hathaway said.

  “How does this poison do that?”

  “Eventually, when we finish, it will be dispersible in a gaseous form and will be fast-acting. We’re still in beta testing. Once it’s completed, we’ll be able to use it in small concentrations as a deterrent. We could immunize all our troops, all our highly placed people, so that anyone who approached them without permission could be immediately infected.”

  “A kind of force field,” Jeremiah said.

  “Exactly.”

  “And if an innocent were to get too close—a servant, say, or a store clerk . . .”

  “The gas would only be released once a threat is perceived.”

  Jeremiah smiled. “Yes. Assuming the important person doesn’t panic. And where is this research being conducted?”

  “At the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota.”

  “Where the research on the Escala took place.”

  Hathaway nodded. “And where the first strains of the Susquehanna Virus were developed.”

  “What are the treatment options for accidental poisoning?”

  “So far, all we can do is make the person comfortable and try to limit the damage by killing off the remaining healthy receptors with a neurotoxin.”

  “Giving the victim a different kind of poison.”

  “Essentially, yes,” Hathaway said. He showed no hesitation now, the truth drugs proving he felt no compunction about what he’d done.

  “But why would you need to do that?” Jeremiah asked. “Once the victim is poisoned, he’s poisoned, right?”

  “True,” said Hathaway. “This poison, like many, spreads from receptor to receptor until it overwhelms the body, so absorbing even the tiniest dose will eventually lead to death.”

  Jeremiah turned and looked at the drone camera, his face fallen in sorrow. Lendra wanted to hold him, comfort him, even as she recognized that would never happen.

  “Where do you store your information on the poison?” Jeremiah asked.

  Hathaway tapped his interface. “It’s all in here.”

  “I want you to broadcast it now,” Jeremiah said. “Send it to every outlet available.”

  “Every secret?” Hathaway asked, eyes widening, jaw dropping.

  “Yes. And everything you have on your research into the Susquehanna Virus. Do it now.”

  “I . . . I . . .” Hathaway fought the truth drugs, his hands clenching into fists, his jaws clamping together tightly. His head swung from side to side.

  “It’s interesting,” Jeremiah said, “that your secrets are more important to you than the lives of innocents.”

  “Without secrets,” Hathaway said through gritted teeth, “we can’t survive. Our company would go bankrupt.”

  “If a few strangers die, it’s okay—as long as you and your company thrive.”

  “We must help the masses,” Hathaway said. “We can’t do that if we’re out of business.”

  Jeremiah leaned forward and grabbed Hathaway by the lapels. He pulled Hathaway close. “You will die painfully,” he said, his voice low and threatening, “if you don’t send the information now.”

  Hathaway whimpered.

  “Understand?” Jeremiah said as he raised a fist to Hathaway’s face.

  Jay-Edgar said, “The information’s coming across now.”

  “Is there any way we can relay that to Jeremiah?” Lendra asked.

  “I’ve managed to hack into Hathaway’s systems. I can activate the screens in the panic room and display the information there.”

  “Can I talk to him?”

  “Better not,” Jay-Edgar said. “That would expose you to liability.”

  The screens in the panic room came on, data streaming across them as Hathaway’s transmission proceeded.

  Major Payne’s voice came from the fallen Elite Ops trooper: “We’re coming for you, Jeremiah. You can’t hide behind the data stream you’ve initiated. Surrender now.”

  What an odd message. But she realized, even as that thought occurred to her, that Major Payne was telling Jeremiah he’d succeeded in getting Hathaway to spill his secrets. And he was also warning Jeremiah to get out now.

  Jeremiah said, “Drone, stay close to me.”

  He dashed out the room and sprinted down the stairs, the drone capturing his movements as he exited the front door and ran across the lawn. Leaping over the unconscious Elite Ops trooper, he headed toward the main gate, slowing as he arrived into a more reasonable jog. He nodded to the gated community guards on duty, who clearly had no idea what had happened at Hathaway’s, and turned toward the jet-copter, increasing his speed as he went. The drone followed him, as if he were any wealthy resident, tracking his movements for security purposes.

  Jay-Edgar said, “The Elite Ops have just issued an arrest warrant for him.”

  “Can we warn him?” Lendra asked.

  “You can send a message to the jet-copter,” Jay-Edgar said, “though it will have to be carefully worded to avoid suspicion.”

  She snorted and Jay-Edgar apologized. “Okay,” he said. “You’re patched in.”

  She said, “Jefferson, this is Lendra Riley, calling to warn you that Jeremiah is probably on his way back to you. There’s a warrant out for his arrest. You are authorized to take him into custody as soon as he arrives. Good luck.”

  Less than a minute after she disconnected, Jeremiah reached the jet-copter, running merely as fast as a gifted athlete. He pulled Ned out and settled him under a tree, removing the hypo-pad from Ned’s neck. Ned would awaken in a
bout ten minutes. Returning to the copter, he called the drone over and shut it off. The screen went black.

  “Should I track him?” Jay-Edgar asked.

  “I don’t know if that’s necessary,” Lendra replied.

  “Never mind,” Jay-Edgar said as Dr. Poole entered the office. “He’s engaged stealth mode.”

  “We got the data from Hathaway,” said Dr. Poole. “It’s very complex, very advanced. I’m not certain we can find a cure in time for Curtik. Zora’s holding her own for the moment, but her shoulder’s in pretty bad shape and I’m concerned that the cellular degradation around the area could worsen, or possibly spread to her lungs and heart.”

  “So we need Devereaux?” Lendra asked.

  “We need somebody. I’ve contacted the CDC, Mayo and Johns Hopkins, as well as Devereaux, but if they turn him off in the near future, I’m not confident we can find a cure in time.”

  “Take a look at this,” Jay-Edgar said. He put up a new holo-projection. On the wall, Walt Devereaux appeared. He stood in his laboratory, two humanoid robots flanking him. One looked similar to the robot that had received his mind when it was first transferred into an organic computer, though not quite as sophisticated. It had ivory coloring: a crude face, black eyes, a rounded nose, flat ears and thin lips. The other was dark gray with silver eyes, a slash for a nose and thicker lips, though it also had a rounded nose and flat ears.

  “He’s broadcasting on an open channel to the world,” Jay-Edgar said.

  For a moment, Devereaux simply looked at the camera. Then he said: “Our nation’s leaders have determined that I should be shut down. They believe I am behind these God hacks and they think if I no longer exist, the hacks will stop. They’ve given me less than twenty-four hours to surrender myself.”

  “What is he doing?” Jay-Edgar asked.

  “He wouldn’t,” Dr. Poole said.

  Lendra’s chest tightened; her mouth went dry.

  “They say they will restart me,” Devereaux continued, “if they can determine that I was not behind the mischief. But I don’t intend to be their slave, subjecting myself to their whims. I will not let them use me at their convenience, locking me away when it no longer suits them. I’ve instead chosen my own ending. I will now deactivate myself. My assistants will disassemble me on my command.”