The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  “Yes, but . . .”

  Winterman punched him in the gut again.

  “Shut up,” Wilcox said. “You think we couldn’t figure it out? These pseudos, they want Mars to themselves, so they decided to infect us, hoping we’ll all die and MineStar won’t send any more workers up here. They want to take over the mining concession, make all the money themselves, keep us down. And when they get strong enough, they’re going to attack Earth and wipe out humans.”

  “That’s . . . crazy,” Doug managed to say between gasps.

  “It’s obvious to anybody who hasn’t been brainwashed.”

  “Even if what you say is true,” Doug took another few breaths, “and it’s not, you’ll never get away with murder. When Enright reports you to MineStar headquarters, they’ll arrest you as soon as you return to Earth, if you survive that long. And they won’t pay your families anything either. This was all for nothing.”

  The miners shared a look that might have been indecision.

  “We’re already dead,” Sanders said. “Nothing makes any difference now. All we can do is seek justice.”

  Doug said, “Killing a helpless man is justice?”

  “He’s a murderer,” Wilcox said.

  “No, he’s not. How did you reach this outrageous conclusion anyway?”

  “It’s common knowledge among the miners. We heard things. Word gets around. You can’t hide the truth forever.”

  “Where did you hear it?”

  At that moment, Enright strode into the sickbay and said, “What’s going on here?”

  “What took you so long?” Doug asked.

  “There was a problem with the number two excavator,” Enright said. “Now what’s going on?”

  “These men were about to kill Quark,” said Doug. “They’re spouting off fantasies about Quark infecting us.”

  Wilcox said, “We know the truth, sir. We know Quark infected us. He’s a murderer. We just haven’t died yet.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Enright asked.

  “I don’t know. All over.”

  Poli said, “I think I heard it from Sullivan.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Winterman said.

  Sullivan? Doug tried to recall the man’s face. Average looking, quiet, barely talked to Doug on the occasions he had joined the miners during the flight up here. He’d seemed friendly enough but with almost no personality. Someone Doug would never have suspected, just as Dr. Wellon had predicted.

  “Go get Sullivan,” Enright said, “and bring him here.”

  Poli and Winterman left with Sanders. Wilcox remained behind. Doug, stepping to Quark’s side, checked the Escala’s vital signs. He was still alive and at least semi-conscious. His eyelids continued to flutter but he seemed asleep or perhaps in some sort of drug-induced coma. The AutoLife machine, Doug noticed, continued to work, maintaining Quark’s breathing and heartrate, although at reduced levels.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Enright added.

  “This is crazy,” Wilcox said. “I still say Quark infected us on the ship.”

  “That seems unlikely,” Enright said. “Why would he bring this disease to Mars? His family is here, his people.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know he had it,” Wilcox said.

  “In that case, he didn’t deliberately infect us.”

  “But it still started with him, and the Escala are covering for him.”

  “No,” Doug said. “It has to be Sullivan. He’s the one who’s been spreading the rumors. He’s the one who must have infected us all.”

  When the three miners returned with Sullivan, Doug looked the man over. He seemed as harmless as ever: insignificant. How could he be the murderer?

  Enright said, “Sullivan, did you tell these men that Quark infected us on the ship?”

  “I might’ve,” Sullivan replied as he looked from Doug to Quark to Enright, frowning in confusion.

  “Did you infect us?” Doug asked.

  “No.” Sullivan’s eyes widened. “No way.” He tried to back up, but Poli and Winterman held him firmly.

  Enright said, “Where did you hear that Quark infected us?”

  “Don’t remember. People were talking.”

  “Which people?”

  “I told you, I don’t remember.”

  “That’s not good enough,” Doug said. “I think you’re behind it. I think you infected us all.”

  “We’re going to search your quarters again,” Enright said. “Thoroughly. And if we find anything, you’ll be held accountable once we return to Earth.” He gestured to Poli and Winterman. “Bring him to the commons and keep an eye on him while we search his quarters.” He turned to Doug. “You coming?”

  Doug turned to go but Quark reached out and grabbed his wrist.

  “No,” Doug said. “I’ll be staying here with Quark. Let me know what you find.”

  “En,” Quark whispered.

  “Yeah,” Doug acknowledged. “It’s over.”

  Chapter 43

  Zora awoke in her hospital bed with Devereaux’s ivory robot standing over her, staring at the screen above her head. Her shoulder burned and she felt like she had to focus on each breath to get her lungs to work. A light film of sweat covered her as her heart beat raggedly, an indicator that her body was still fighting the cellular degradation. Dr. Poole stood beside the robot and Curtik had somehow gotten out of bed and taken a chair beside her.

  “Anything?” she asked him.

  “Sorry,” Curtik replied.

  “How long?”

  “A little over three days now.”

  “Three days.” Zora shook her head. A little over three days since Jeremiah had disappeared and they’d found nothing. Plus, this God character had ignored all her requests, all her prayers for answers. He hadn’t talked to Curtik either.

  She’d collapsed shortly after Jeremiah disappeared, drifting in and out of sleep. Every time she’d awakened she’d asked about Jeremiah but they’d found no sign of either his vehicle or him. He’d simply vanished, as if he no longer existed. She’d watched the vid of his final moments over and over until the images branded themselves into her mind.

  “How does your shoulder feel?” Dr. Poole asked.

  “Like it’s burning,” Zora said.

  “Good. That means the treatment is working. We’re actually freezing the tissue to kill the cells that are damaged and re-inserting new cells into the area, essentially growing new heart, lung and shoulder muscles around the dead ones. It will take a few days to complete the treatment, but it looks like you’ll be fine. Devereaux’s robots have been amazing.”

  The robot said nothing. It stood motionless, its black eyes glowing slightly.

  “What are you doing to find Jeremiah?” she asked.

  Curtik shook his head. “We’re working on it. That’s where Lendra is right now, along with Hannah and Ned and even Eli.”

  “Eli?”

  “Lendra got him out of confinement to see if he could assist in the search. So far though, they’ve come up empty.”

  “What about the President?”

  Curtik looked at Dr. Poole, who said, “We won’t be getting any help from her. In fact, if they find Jeremiah first, he’ll be arrested for treason.”

  “Or killed,” Curtik added.

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Scott Wilson and White Knight Security are pressing charges,” Dr. Poole said, “accusing him of violating national security by forcing the disclosure of classified information. Even though Wilson was knocked unconscious by the overdose of truth drugs, some information leaked out. And all his co-conspirators spilled what they knew. Every police officer in the country is looking for Jeremiah, every FBI agent. His photo is everywhere. White Knight put out a ten-million-dollar reward for his apprehension, dead or
alive.”

  “What is this, the wild west?”

  “They’re not playing around,” Curtik said. “When he forced them to release the truth about what they’d done with the virus, he started a revolution. There’s been fighting in the streets, riots, total chaos.”

  Curtik sounded wistful, making Zora smile.

  “Yeah,” Curtik said, smiling in return, “it’d be cool to be out there dispensing a little violence.”

  “What about you?” Zora asked, ashamed of herself for not thinking of his condition sooner. “The poison?”

  “They’re still working on it,” Curtik said. “I’m not allowed to exert myself while the various antitoxins do their thing.” He gestured toward the ivory robot. “This one’s partner has been injecting me with lots of stuff. I’m starting to feel better, but it could be another week before I’m back to normal, which is to say, spectacular.”

  Zora smiled. “I’m glad. What about the Elite Ops and Major Payne?”

  Curtik looked at Dr. Poole, who said, “Major Payne has been relieved of duty pending a court martial for his refusal to stop Jeremiah.”

  “He couldn’t have stopped Jeremiah,” Zora said.

  “Obviously. Even Wilson knows that, but since White Knight provides the hardware for the Elite Ops program, he has tremendous power over national security policy. He insists on making an example of Payne, to keep the Elite Ops in line. He’s afraid Jeremiah will come after him again to find out what he knows and force him to disclose it. He wants to make sure the Elite Ops will be willing to do anything to stop Jeremiah.”

  “Do you think he’s still alive?” Zora asked.

  Dr. Poole shrugged. “If anyone could survive that kind of attack, it would be Jeremiah. But we re-ran the vid and counted forty-seven strikes that connected with him, most of them las-weapon pulses, but nine of them were blasts from Infernos. I just don’t see how it’s possible.”

  “He’s alive,” Curtik said.

  “Have you talked to God?” Zora asked, noting her choice of words, how she referred to the entity as God, partly to appease Curtik, who believed it was God, and partly because she wished it was God, someone who had the power to fix everything.

  “Still silence on that front. It’s a little annoying. But I know Jeremiah’s alive.”

  The room dissolved before Zora, everything vanishing except Curtik and an image of Walt Devereaux walking toward them through a field. Zora found herself standing, wearing a black silk shirt and tan slacks like Curtik, her body suddenly feeling strong, that familiar comfortable warmth enfolding her again.

  “About time you showed,” Curtik said to the image of Devereaux. “Where is Jeremiah? Is he alive?”

  “You humans,” Devereaux said, “are so impatient. You want answers immediately. You expect me to drop everything and come to you whenever you beckon?”

  “If you have unlimited or almost unlimited power, it should be no hardship to come when we call you.”

  Devereaux said, “You have no idea what challenges I face, what demands are placed upon me.”

  “We just want to know about Jeremiah,” Curtik said.

  “You do not want the truth,” Devereaux said.

  “Yes,” said Zora, “we do. No matter how painful, we want to know.”

  “You say that, but you don’t really mean it. What you actually want is for me to show you Jeremiah safe and alive.”

  “You’re right. That’s what we want. But we’ll settle for seeing him.”

  Devereaux shook his head.

  “I’ll believe you really are God if you’ll show me him.”

  Devereaux smiled and gestured behind them. When she turned around, Zora saw Jeremiah lying on a slab, his body blackened and shriveled, burned to a crisp. She barely recognized him. His eyes were closed, his facial muscles relaxed. He wasn’t hooked up to any machines. For a blink she thought she saw his chest rise ever so slightly, though she realized almost immediately that she only hoped she’d seen it. Anger infused her.

  “Is he dead?” Curtik said. He stepped forward and reached for Jeremiah, but his hand passed through the holo-projection.

  “By your definition, yes.”

  “Can’t you save him somehow?” Zora asked.

  “His body has been destroyed. It cannot be repaired.”

  “Where is he?” Curtik said.

  “Safe. Where humans cannot reach him.”

  “We need to go to him,” Zora said.

  “That is not possible.”

  “Is this what his body looks like?” Curtik said.

  Devereaux nodded.

  “So you can’t help him at all?” Curtik said.

  “There is nothing left to help.”

  “What about his mind?” Zora asked, noting that Devereaux hadn’t said anything about that, clinging to this last hope. “Could you put it into a robotic shell, like Devereaux? Or perhaps regrow his tissue from his genetic remains and provide a new body that he could use?”

  “The mind is a product of the brain,” Devereaux said, “which is bound to the body. And the body is irretrievably lost. His soul, on the other hand, continues to exist. It lives in me and in this universe I created. His consciousness has merged with the great consciousness of all life.”

  “You could save him if you wanted to,” Curtik said.

  Devereaux shrugged. “There are many things I can do. I could return a representation of him to you, an avatar. But that would be unwise for many reasons. He would just become a target again. Too many people in power desire his death. Like Devereaux, he no longer belongs to your world.”

  “If all that remains is his soul,” Zora said, the beginnings of a plan forming in her mind, “can we speak with him? Can you show us a different representation or manifestation, like you’ve done with Curtik’s mother or like you’re doing now with Devereaux?”

  “You think if you can speak with him you’ll be able to convince him to return to your world,” Devereaux/God said, reading her mind. “But that decision is not his to make. It is mine.”

  Zora felt her hopes dash. It was impossible to fool this entity. He knew all her thoughts as soon as she did.

  “Can we visit him?” Curtik asked. “I mean, can we visit what’s left of his body?”

  Devereaux smiled. “You wish to know his exact location so you can send people to retrieve it. I understand your desire for closure and I know you have no ulterior motive at the moment, though you are beginning to formulate a plan, which you have not yet fully realized. But his body, his tissue, is valuable to many nations. People would use it to further their own ends. It might, in time, become a weapon. This I cannot allow.”

  “What are you going to do with him?” Zora asked.

  “Nothing. He is at peace. Safe. You, however, are not. They will come for you soon because they see you as the path to capturing him. They will come for all of you.”

  A fleeting image crossed Zora’s mind: dozens of Elite Ops troopers converging on the CINTEP building. Before she could ask if it was real, Devereaux and Jeremiah vanished, leaving Zora back in her hospital bed, wearing her hospital gown, looking over at Curtik, still sitting beside her, Dr. Poole standing at her feet and the robot now looking down at her.

  “Something just happened,” the robot said, “a small passage of time in which I was frozen and unable to access anything.”

  “Yes,” said Dr. Poole. “I felt like I blacked out for a second.”

  “We saw Jeremiah,” Curtik said. “God showed us his body.”

  “Jeremiah?” Dr. Poole said. “Is he dead then?”

  Zora sighed. “I’m afraid so.”

  She looked at Curtik, who nodded. “We don’t know where his body is being kept,” Curtik said, “or even if what we saw was real. All we saw was a hologram of a charred corpse. God said it was Jeremiah and it l
ooked like him, but we have no proof.”

  Dr. Poole said, “We’d better tell Lendra.”

  “We’ve also got another problem,” said Zora. “God,” she used Curtik’s term to avoid argument, “told us that they’ll be coming for us soon, hoping we’ll lead them to Jeremiah.”

  The robot turned to Curtik and said, “Time for your next treatment. Robot Two will see you now.”

  “Get well,” Zora said to Curtik as he got to his feet.

  “You too,” Curtik replied.

  Dr. Poole helped Curtik out the door, leaving Zora alone with the ivory robot, which seemed to ignore her, its black eyes flashing as it communicated with the machines that worked to repair her body.

  She had no way of knowing for certain whether Jeremiah was dead. But she suspected he was. She’d seen the vid, the dozens of Las-strikes hitting his body, and just before the door of the jet-car closed, she’d seen his body being flung forward by the force of the blasts. She hadn’t wanted to believe the truth, but this entity she suspected was the real Devereaux had not lied to her yet. Ultimately it didn’t matter. Jeremiah had left her; he’d left all of them behind.

  She’d seen the vids of him after his treatments, after he’d become like he was on the Moon: feral and dangerous, barely controlling himself from the animalistic forces that pulled on him. He’d been right to fear the genetic surgery for it had done more than just take away his pain. It had transformed him into something distant and aloof.

  He was gone. He couldn’t help them anymore. They were on their own now and the Elite Ops would be coming soon. She closed her eyes, steeling herself for the truth, knowing she had to accept it despite her hope to the contrary.

  Chapter 44

  Lendra sat at her desk, listening to Dr. Poole’s summary of Curtik’s most recent experience with the God hacker. As she listened, she looked over at Hannah and Eli, sitting beside Ned and Jay-Edgar, all of them focused on Taditha’s words. Hannah bit her lip as if to keep herself from crying while Ned smiled sadly.

  Curtik, while the gray robot performed another treatment on him, had told Taditha about the “visit” to God and Jeremiah. Zora had confirmed everything he’d said. As Dr. Poole explained that Jeremiah had to be dead, Lendra nodded. She knew it was true. After all, she’d seen the vid.