by S. D. Stuart
“He’s not really…”
Simon took a half step forward on shaky legs and held his hand out. “My name is Simon.”
She darted forward and grabbed Simon’s arm before her father could shake his hand. “He’s not well Pops.”
She shot Simon an angry look. “You might still be contagious. I don’t think you should be touching anyone.”
Simon collapsed to the ground and hugged himself with his arms as he shivered uncontrollably.
She knelt down next to him and checked his pulse with one hand while laying the back of her other hand against his forehead. “Your symptoms are exactly that of Scalars Disease. But you tested negative for Scalars.”
He looked up at her and tried to smile. It came out more like a grimace from the pain he was obviously experiencing. “I’ll be okay, I just need to rest.”
And with that, he closed his eyes and went limp in her arms.
Despite her insistence that he not touch Simon, her father helped drag him into the house and upstairs to her old bedroom. She wrapped him in a wool blanket, placed him on her bed, and pressed a cold washcloth against his fevered head.
As soon as he stopped shivering in his sleep, she went out on the porch and sat in the rocking chair that looked out over the farm where she had grown up. Within a few minutes, her father sat down in the rocking chair next to her, lit his pipe, and rocked silently as he gazed out over the family farm.
“Where did I go wrong, Pops?”
He puffed at his pipe for a few moments before replying. “Near as I figure it, you’re only just now doing something right.”
She turned toward him, the fury building up inside her, because he was continuing the same conversation they had never ended fifteen years earlier. “I am not like you Pops. I follow the rules.”
“Newswire said you helped a terrorist escape from custody.”
She closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“We all have choices to make. And we have to live with the consequences of our choices.”
“You weren’t the only one who paid the consequences of your choice, Pops. You protested against the Empire, and your family paid for it. I paid for it. I was pulled out of school, and taken away for my friends, as a little girl. We were banished out here to the middle of nowhere. Your choices affected all of us.”
He held the pipe close to his mouth. “It was a different time back then. I did what I thought was right.”
“But my choices are not your choices. It took me a long time to rid myself of the stigma you placed on me as a child. I had to fight and claw my way to where I am now.”
He puffed again at his pipe. “And just where are you now?”
She was about to tell him she was a senior researcher, at the largest hospital, in the largest city on the planet, when she remembered where she was sitting, and who she was talking to.
Her shoulders slumped. “Right back where I started.”
He reached over and placed a hand on her knee. “For what it’s worth, I’m very proud of you.”
She looked over at her father and gave him a weak smile. She was exhausted, cold and starting to feel the effects of whatever that terrorist had injected into her. She wanted to sit all night long with her father on the front porch, like she used to as a child. But if she was going to put Simon on that shuttle, and get the antidote before it was too late, she had to leave soon.
He did not smile back and looked out over the farm. “I’m sorry.”
She took his hand in hers. “No. I’m sorry. I was angry with you for so long…”
His eyebrows knitted as he continued to stare out into the distance. But he wasn’t just staring vacantly at nothing; his eyes were tracking something.
She looked in the same direction, and saw several security vehicles speeding down the dirt road toward the farmhouse.
Her father spoke just above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
Chapter 6
Elizabeth sat handcuffed to the metal chair in the small room, with her head down on the table in front of her, and awaited her fate. Every muscle in her body trembled as her skin temperature alternated between freezing and boiling.
Time had lost all meaning in this tiny room without windows or a clock. From how she felt, she knew that she was nearing the point of no return for an antidote, if that time had not already elapsed.
The door opened and she lifted her head to see which of the several interrogators she would have to talk to again, just like she had been doing for countless unknown hours. She was about to ask them to adjust the temperature in the room again when she saw who walked in.
Chief Constable Severn Blaine closed the door behind him.
She leaned forward in the chair as far as the chains would allow. “I know what you’re thinking Severn, but I had no choice. That terrorist, Croft, injected me with something. He said if I didn’t deliver Simon to him, I would die. You have to find him and get me that antidote, if it’s not already too late.”
Severn sat in the chair opposite her and placed a folder in front of him on the table. He stared at her without any hint of emotion on his face. “How long have you been working with La Guérison?”
She barked out a nervous laugh. “What are you talking about? You know me Severn. I’m not a terrorist.”
“When I first heard that it was you who helped Simon escape from custody, I refused to believe it.”
“I can explain…”
He cut her off. “I came close to losing my commission as Chief Constable over this. I had to convince my superiors that you fooled me just as easily as you fooled everyone else.”
Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “No. You have to believe me.”
“How long?”
She shook her head, the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Severn, I never…”
He slammed his fists on the table. “Stop lying to me!”
She clamped her mouth shut and could not believe this was happening.
Severn fiddled with the folder in front of him and laughed. “We stood in line together for the annual immunization. I held your hand while you endured the pain of the treatment. You did all that to keep your cover?”
“Severn, you’re not making any sense.”
“You certainly didn’t do it because you had Scalars.”
“What are you talking about?”
He opened the folder and slid it across the table at her. “We ran the test like you asked. To find out what you claim was injected in you. It was a nice diversion, but I wasn’t going to let you fool me again. I had them take an extra vial; and look what I found.”
She blinked away the tears and focused on the lab report in front of her. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the test for Scalars Disease. Next to it was a single word in all capital letters that should not be there.
He motioned to the folder in front of her, the rage building in him spilled out onto his face. “You tested negative for Scalars!”
She looked up at him and shook her head. “That’s impossible.”
The unemotional detachment of the interrogator took over in his eyes. “You tell me which of these scenarios is impossible. You are a terrorist working with La Guérison, and came here to distract me from my duties so you could start an underground terrorist transportation system or, as you say, you were injected with an antidote for Scalars by the system’s most notorious terrorist himself, and were an unwilling participant in the attempt to extract a terrorist from my custody.”
She could tell he had already made up his mind as to which he believed.
“Your father finally understands that the Empire has everyone’s best interests at heart. You can thank him for intervening before you made the biggest mistake of your life.”
She stared back down at the report that showed she did not have Scalars.
Something that was impossible stared her right in the face.
No, not impossible.
There was one
explanation.
Croft had not injected her with a virus that would kill her. He had injected her with a virus that targeted Scalars. But it didn’t just kill Scalars; it eradicated it completely, as if it had never been there in the first place. Then she remembered what Croft had said after he injected her.
She looked up at Severn. “Can you tell me one thing?”
He frowned at her. “What?”
“How long have I been in this room?”
“I know it may feel like days, but you’ve only been in here for nine hours.”
She spit in his face before he could react.
He wiped her spittle out of his eyes and stared hard at her. “Your father may have prevented you from making one mistake, but it seems that you want to make all new ones.”
He closed the folder and picked it up as he stood. “We will get the rest of your friends, and remand you to the Empire Marshals. After a swift trial, you will all die a horrible death.”
She watched him intently as he knocked on the door to be let out. As the door opened, she called out to him one more time. “Severn?”
He turned around, but said nothing.
She nodded at him as a smile spread across her face. “Your nose is bleeding.”
Chapter 7
Emperor Augustus strode in to the war planning room and sat at the head of the long table. Every one of his trusted advisers was already seated around the table.
He did not apologize for getting everyone out of bed for this emergency meeting. “Tell me about the situation on Voltaire.”
General Bacchus Cole cleared his throat.
“I received confirmation from one of our moles within La Guérison that this was part of their ongoing terror campaign against the Empire. We believe one of their agents injected himself with the virus and spread it to the population. Before we blacked out the planet’s communication network, word spread around the system that people were getting sick with an unknown disease in increasing numbers. Our main office has denied thousands of requests for communication exceptions to Voltaire.”
“Good. Continue to deny all requests. Nobody off-planet knows that everyone is recovering without any casualties?”
“No, your Majesty.”
“And did I read my briefing correctly that this virus somehow eliminated Scalars from among those infected?”
“I have personally verified that information is correct, sir.”
“I want a contingent of warships in orbit to keep anyone from getting off of Voltaire.”
“Several are already en route.”
“Excellent. As always, you anticipate me perfectly General.”
The General bowed his head. “I live to serve.”
“Voltaire is still a level four colony, correct?”
“Yes. They are not yet self-sufficient and still rely on imports from the other colonized worlds to survive.”
“Inform the newswire immediately that we will begin daily supply drops for the people of Voltaire while we search for a cure. In one month, inform the newswire that supply drops have been stopped because the entire population of the planet is dead from the plague.”
“Yes your Majesty.”
“And then I want you to bombard the planet until the entire surface has been reduced to ash.”
Also by Steve DeWinter
Inherit The Throne
The Warrior’s Code
The Red Cell Report (COMING SOON)
Written as S.D. Stuart
The Wizard of OZ: A Steampunk Adventure
The Scarecrow of OZ: A Steampunk Adventure
Fugue: The Cure
Be the first to know about Steve DeWinter’s next book, and get your exclusive limited-time discount for each hot new release, the same day it hits shelves. In fact, receive your first exclusive anytime discounts in the “Welcome” Email.
Follow the URL below to subscribe for free today!
http://bit.ly/BookReleaseBulletin
