The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  Poole reached over and touched Marschenko’s arm. “Something’s going on between you two.”

  “We’re lovers.”

  She laughed. “Seriously . . .”

  Marschenko got to his feet and began pacing: an oversized animal cooped up in a cage. Poole crossed her legs and waited.

  Marschenko reached the far wall for the third time and finally stopped. He turned to face her. “All right, here’s the deal. When he locked me up in his basement, he removed all the hormones, all the drugs from my system, broke me down and ran a hypno-program on me, trying to turn me into his lapdog. What he didn’t realize was that my nano-analyzers and regenerators combine with my psychological conditioning to prevent brainwashing. So I was able to pretend he’d turned me. But in reality I’m spying on him for the Elite Ops.”

  Poole clapped her hands. “What a lovely story.”

  “It’s the truth, Doc.”

  “Jack, I’m on your side. I don’t like keeping his son from him. I have my orders, but if I can figure out a way to help you two, I will. I assume you’re feeding him intel.”

  Marschenko took a deep breath and nodded. “Schedules, access codes, security placements.”

  “Okay. Keep doing what you’re doing. Give him whatever help he needs to rescue the boy.”

  Marschenko frowned. “Why?”

  “We know he’s going to make an attempt eventually. It’s not in his nature to give up. And when you see him, I’ll be monitoring everything—not just the conversation but his emotional responses too. I’ll wire you up before you go.”

  “You play a dangerous game, Doc.”

  Poole leaned back and re-crossed her legs so that the hem of her skirt slid back, exposing a few more inches of thigh. “We both play a dangerous game, Jack. It’s what adds excitement to an otherwise boring existence. And if you don’t do what I say, I’ll turn you into a eunuch.”

  Marschenko smiled. “You don’t have a big enough knife.”

  Poole laughed. “Perhaps we can have dinner tonight?”

  “Of course,” Marschenko said.

  “Seven o’clock at my quarters,” Poole said. “Don’t be late.”

  After Marschenko closed the door behind him, she got up and went to her desk to call Eli. He said, “How did the meeting between father and son go?”

  “Jones believes the boy is his. The recognition we built into Damon worked perfectly—subtle but effective. Also, Jones is working with an Elite Ops trooper named Jack Marschenko.”

  As Poole waited three seconds for Eli to respond, she opened the Marschenko data on her tablet, noting the conflicted emotional nature of his responses.

  Eli said, “I assume you plan to make good use of Marschenko. How about the boy? Is he going to be a problem? I don’t want Jeremiah to discover they’re not related until they’re back on Earth.”

  Poole shook her head. “Not to worry. I used a neural transmitter on Jones. The data indicates he’s certain the boy is his. As for Marschenko, I’ll distract him as best I can. With respect to Jones, you were right. He’s perceptive. Too bad I can’t study him more closely. At any rate, I don’t think they’ll attempt a rescue quickly enough to be away on this LTV. Jones will have to wait for the next one. Do you have any idea what his plans are?”

  Another three-second delay. Poole noticed several spikes on Marschenko’s data graph, indicating that he found her attractive. Might it be more than that?

  “No,” Eli interrupted her thoughts. “I only know he’ll try to avoid killing anyone. I’ll dig up what I can on Marschenko in case you need another lever against him, though I have the utmost faith in your ability to charm him. Elias out.”

  * * *

  By the light of a half-dozen glow globes, Taditha Poole examined herself in the mirror. One nice thing about the Moon was its decreased gravitational pull. Her breasts looked as firm as they had when she was in college. She carefully applied a pheromone accentuator in the valley between them, then dabbed a little behind each ear.

  Apart from breasts that didn’t sag, however, there was little to embrace about the Moon. Its necessary austerity, combined with her need to maintain emotional distance from her co-workers, left her feeling isolated.

  As she dressed, she remembered again Eli’s promise that she’d only be on the Moon for a year. With the two-year anniversary coming up next week and no sign of going home anytime soon, she felt herself getting a little space crazy. Perhaps she should remind Eli of his promise. On the other hand, she’d heard stories of his ruthlessness. And she had no doubt they were true.

  Eli pursued a noble goal. His analysts predicted a coming mega war—a world war to end all world wars. The ultra wealthy, the people who ruled the world, had been concerned about revolt for years, as the masses grew increasingly frustrated by the lack of opportunity. The powers had devised a simple strategy to maintain their grip: get the people to fight among themselves, Republicans fighting Democrats, Muslims fighting Christians and Jews and even fellow Muslims, Indians fighting Chinese. The powers promoted an increasing lack of respect for diversity and the closing off of whole societies, getting people to fear the different—us against them. The problem was, that way led to global war. Eli sought to defeat that outcome. He claimed his brutality was the only way to achieve the larger goal of uniting and preserving humanity.

  But why couldn’t this project take place on Earth? Surely Eli could have found a training ground of total seclusion in America. Even Canada. Yet he’d insisted on the Moon.

  She’d met Eli while still a student, doing a doctoral dissertation on neuro-psychology in chimeras. He’d been fascinated by her research, courted her to work in one of his laboratories. She’d refused. Yet when she’d been accused of falsified research and unethical behavior—charges that were ultimately dropped after suspicion shifted to her research assistants, who fled to China—he had stood by her and offered her a job. And she had finally agreed to run this program. Not that she’d had many options.

  Why was she so introspective today?

  Seeing Jeremiah Jones had shaken her. Anyone could see he was a good man. Misleading him felt wrong. How could she let him rescue a false son who would survive only a few more months at best? What was the point of it? It felt cruel. Yet Eli maintained it was necessary.

  She put those thoughts aside for a moment and again studied herself in the mirror. She wished her breasts were a little larger and her hips a bit smaller.

  At seven o’clock precisely, Marschenko arrived at her quarters. She let him wait outside for one minute, removing her interface before opening the door. He wore a gold shirt of sheer silk that clung to his washboard stomach. His pants were made of shimmer cloth—changing colors with the light. Perfect for hiding a flawed body, though Marschenko certainly had no cause to feel insecure about his. More likely, he wore shimmer cloth because it was fashionably expensive. She gestured him into the room, admiring his bulging arms, narrow waist, muscular thighs and round bottom.

  Marschenko reached the table, empty except for a bottle of LunaWine that had been breathing for the past hour, its fruity aroma wafting throughout the room, mingling with the soft Ethiopian string music. Then he turned and stared at her, taking in her short red dress and her long legs, moisturized to give off a fine sheen of cocoa richness. He nodded toward the wine and said, “Trying to seduce me, Doc?”

  “I think we’re both aware of our mutual attraction,” she replied, “I’ve got the meal warming. I didn’t know if you wanted to eat now or later.”

  Marschenko ran his eyes down her body again, swallowed. “Later might be best.”

  “I agree. Will you pour the wine?”

  Marschenko picked up the bottle and stared at the label. “LunaWine?”

  “It’s made from grapes and raspberries here on the Moon with an accelerated fermenting process. One of my staff brews it, gives me a
bottle every few weeks. Too sweet for my taste but it provides a wonderful kick. Helps me forget the loneliness.”

  Marschenko poured carefully, bottle touching glass, as if afraid the wine would shoot out in defiance of the Moon’s lesser gravity. Poole smiled, remembering how she’d done the same her first few days up here. He set the bottle down and stepped over to her. Putting a glass in her hand, he said, “You know, Doc, if you’re lonely, it’s only because you want to be. A woman like you could have any man up here.”

  Poole looked up into his eyes. He smelled masculine but not overly macho. She said, “You don’t understand. It’s not just a physical thing.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  Poole shook her head and drank. He took a sip, his face wrinkling, making her laugh. “It’s best if you drink it quickly.” Taking long swallows, she emptied her glass.

  Marschenko copied her, grimacing as he finished. “Maybe it would be better if you injected it intravenously.” He reached out, took the glass from her hand and put it on the table. He stood before her, smiling, his brown eyes penetrating. Tentatively, he reached out and stroked her shoulder.

  It had been a long time since Poole had allowed herself pleasures of the flesh. This community was too small, rumors too rampant for her to indulge affairs with her subordinates. But Marschenko, damn, he was her type, much more so than Jeremiah. She liked them big. She shut her eyes, enjoying the nearness of him, swaying to the beat of the music.

  “You ever made love on the Moon?” Marschenko asked.

  Poole opened her eyes, felt herself drawn into Marschenko’s stare. “No.”

  “I hear it’s wild, like being in a gravity swing.”

  “Your fellow Elite Ops troopers tell you that?”

  “Mmm.” Marschenko caressed her face. “Maybe we should conduct an experiment.”

  “A scientific inquiry?” Poole murmured as Marschenko leaned down and kissed her.

  “You’re the doctor. How should we proceed?”

  Poole stepped away, dimmed the lights and moved to the bed. Turning her back to him, she said, “Would you mind?”

  He reached for the static seam and ran his finger down it, then separated the fabric and slid his hands around her. She lifted her head back and inhaled, leaning against his chest. She felt so light in his arms, lighter even than the Moon made her. A feather. She slid out of her dress and lay on the bed.

  Marschenko removed his clothes and joined her. They faced each other, his bulk dominating the mattress. He stared at her, his eyes never leaving hers, not looking at her body but rather into the heart of her. Finally he reached out his right hand, palm outward and whispered, “I could fall for you, Doc. And I’m not just saying that. I can sense you feel the same way.”

  “We barely know each other,” Poole said. She placed her left hand against his right, imagining she could feel an electric spark as skin touched skin. Her fingers reached only halfway to his fingertips. How easily this man read her.

  “I know what I’ve seen the past two days,” Marschenko said. “I know you’re a kind person stuck in a job that requires you to do things you regret. That’s why you feel lonely. I do too. I kidnapped Joshua, took him away from his father—a man I respect. And you . . . you keep the boy away from him. The two of us are the same, Doc. Neither of us in control. We’re both in too deep. No way out.” He spoke softly. What kind of power did he have that he could make her want him so badly? She closed her eyes. He was just a man—nothing worth becoming silly over. “Tell me,” he said, “is Jeremiah’s son really dying?”

  She opened her eyes, her stomach twisting. What if he was playing her? She said, “I’m doing everything I can for him. But the devolution of his genetic structure is progressing rapidly. Every week his cells degenerate a little more. Eventually, he’ll reach a critical point from which he won’t be able to recover.”

  Marschenko took her chin between finger and thumb until she looked him in the eye. “I can understand you being angry, but I promised him I’d ask,” he said. “And I keep my promises, especially to a man like Jones. Duty and honor—lonely companions. Now can we forget about the world outside for a few minutes?”

  He smiled but made no move toward her. She reached for him.

  * * *

  She awoke first and studied the man sleeping beside her. He’d brought such tenderness that first time, his movements firm but gentle, almost like they were suspended in air as they made love—weightless and tentative. The second time they’d ratcheted up the intensity—two hungry bodies thrusting at each other, desperate to be filled. He’d been everything she’d imagined. And now she feared loving him—not that she was in love with him yet. Still, she felt herself knocking on love’s door. She hated being vulnerable. What if he wasn’t drawn to her as much as she was to him?

  She was definitely getting space crazy.

  Marschenko opened his eyes. “Thanks, Doc,” he said in a gravelly whisper as he pulled her close. “Hey, why so tense? I thought I took care of that.”

  He smiled, rubbed noses with her. She concentrated on relaxing her muscles, noting the smell of sex and sweat, the warmth of his body. She said, “Are you hungry?”

  “No. Just lie with me a bit, would you, Doc? I want to forget the world a little longer.”

  Poole luxuriated in the warmth of his embrace for a while. Then she forced herself to ask: “Are you playing me, Jack?”

  Marschenko lifted his head off the pillow and stared at her. “No, Doc. I admit I’m supposed to distract you just like I know you’re supposed to distract me. But I can’t help the way I feel. There’s a connection between us. Don’t deny it.”

  “I wish I could trust you, Jack.”

  “You’re different than every other woman I’ve known, Doc.” His eyes began to fill with water, and he blinked a few times until they cleared. “Maybe it’s your intelligence. Maybe it’s purely physical. Hard to know at this early stage. But I think we can be good together. And I’m going to do my damnedest to prove it to you.”

  He kissed her and dropped his head. She caressed his cheek as he drifted off. If he was playing her, he was a masterful performer. Poole lay in his arms enjoying the dormant strength of him. As a doctor, she realized that her romantic feelings were nothing more than a chemical reaction in her brain. But that didn’t make them any less real.

  Chapter Six

  Jeremiah soldered the last few connections on the crude RVM emitter he’d assembled. He glanced around the storage area that Quekri had offered. It contained extraneous lab equipment and an old 3-D printer he’d used to build various specialized equipment. He’d left the surveillance camera functional, so he expected one of Admiral Cho’s minions soon. Three days ago Cho had sent an Elite Ops trooper to confiscate a scanner. Two days ago it had been an improvised Las-rifle.

  Yesterday Jeremiah had met with Marschenko at the café in the main hangar, where sharing a table was common and the surveillance was minimal. Marschenko had given him updated information on access codes, security procedures, troop strength and other details of lesser importance. Throughout the meeting Marschenko had been stiffly formal, almost hostile, and Jeremiah wondered if he had succumbed to the pressures of the drugs and the daily conditioning that were part of the Elite Ops’ regimen.

  “You set, Frank?” he’d asked.

  “I’ll do my part,” Marschenko replied, ignoring Jeremiah’s jibe. “You do yours.”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “Don’t concern yourself with me.” Marschenko drained his coffee cup and sauntered away, leaving Jeremiah with a hollow feeling in his gut.

  He had to trust Marschenko.

  As Jeremiah finished the RVM emitter, he heard footsteps approach from behind. He dropped the emitter and turned.

  “Admiral Cho. I’m surprised. Thought you’d send one of your boys.”

  Cho held ou
t his hand. “Some kind of microwave transmitter?”

  Jeremiah handed the emitter over. “Exactly. A random variable microwave emitter.”

  Cho nodded as he turned it around in his hands. “Ah, yes. Excellent for disrupting communications. It probably wouldn’t survive more than a single usage but it’d do a helluva lot of damage. Where were you gonna get a power source sufficient to run this?”

  “I never planned to use it,” Jeremiah said.

  “Just a hobby, eh? Makin’ scanners and Las-rifles and microwave emitters? Well, you got my attention, so talk.”

  Jeremiah’s muscles tensed. He rolled his neck, relaxed his shoulders, his arms, hands and fingers. He said, “Did you ever consider, Admiral, that I’m letting you see what I’m doing for a reason?”

  Cho nodded. “And that reason would be?”

  “I don’t want to hurt anybody, but if you keep tying my hands behind my back, you’ll leave me no choice. I’ll have to kill a lot of your men when I free my son.”

  “You ain’t gonna give up, are you?”

  “You wouldn’t give up if it was your son.”

  Cho shrugged, tapped the emitter against his palm. “Anything else you’re workin’ on, somethin’ you ain’t lettin’ me see?”

  “You’ve had me under surveillance twenty-four hours a day.”

  Cho sighed, rubbing his chin with the emitter. “You’re makin’ things awful tough for me, Mr. Jones.”

  Jeremiah pointed a finger at Cho’s chest, but he kept his tone light. “And you’re holding my son illegally. I could have gone to the press. I could have gone to the President or Congress. Somebody would have listened, put pressure on you. I might even have attempted a rescue. Maybe it wouldn’t have succeeded, but you and a dozen others would be dead if I’d tried. Just know this—nothing personal—but I’m losing patience.”

  Cho opened his mouth to reply, then shut it. He gave Jeremiah a long, considering look. Jeremiah waited, rage floating beneath the surface, ready to explode into action. He felt jittery, as if the act of holding back the violence moved him closer to madness. He struggled to locate his sense of wrongness, as Quark had described it. Fought to stay human. He realized he was clenching his fists again.