The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  “Your white cell counts rose dramatically,” Dr. Wellon said, “as if your immune system was triggered by the laser pulses your body absorbed, though I don’t know how that’s possible. Leveling off now though. Pain levels . . .” She shook her head. “How are you still conscious?”

  “A tad uncomfortable,” Jeremiah acknowledged. He took a few more ragged breaths. “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Apparently that laser strike created some sort of temporary overload. For a little while there, you were making T cells at an accelerated rate.”

  Devereaux and Zora looked at each other.

  “What?” Jeremiah asked.

  “This may be a solution to the problem of transfusing your blood,” Zora said. “If you got shot a few more times, maybe you could produce enough blood for more transfusions.”

  “Unlikely,” Devereaux said. He stepped over to Dr. Wellon’s side. “I think this was an aberration. There’s no guarantee that shooting him again would produce a similar result.”

  “There are other problems with the laser strikes,” Dr. Wellon said. “Decreased lung function, muscle tetany, and your heart nearly stopped. Another laser strike might kill you.”

  Jeremiah coughed. He glanced down at Lendra, whose eyes were wide open. Jeremiah said, “How do you feel?”

  “Tired. Jeremiah, what kind of creature are you becoming?”

  “I don’t know.” Jeremiah turned to Dr. Poole. “How is she?”

  “She’ll be fine. So will the baby. They just need some rest and electrolytes.”

  “Okay,” Zora said, in control of herself again. “Let’s all head to the lab. We’ll get some blood from Jeremiah—test it on Curtik and maybe Aspen.”

  “No,” Devereaux said. “We need to give it to you.”

  “I don’t have time. I have to check on Earth. We need to monitor them—be ready to attack—because they’re doing something sneaky. They’ll be coming after our Las-cannon. And if we lose that, we’re dead.”

  “Let Rendela or Wee Willie handle that,” Devereaux said. “You’re about the only indispensable person we’ve got up here. You’re the one keeping the cadets under control. If something happens to you, who knows what they’ll do?”

  “He’s right, Zora,” Dr. Poole said. “You have to be the one.”

  “I still don’t like it,” Dr. Wellon said. “We don’t know how much Jeremiah can safely give, especially in his weakened state.”

  “You can’t kill yourself, Jeremiah,” Lendra said.

  As Quark lifted Lendra, Jeremiah said, “I’m not trying to kill myself. We need Zora more than me right now. Take what you need.”

  Dr. Wellon eased Jeremiah into his wheelchair, then pushed him, while Quark carried Lendra, the others trailing behind. Jeremiah sat as still as possible, trying to minimize the pain in his joints, taking shallow breaths.

  When they reached the lab, Jeremiah saw Curtik thrashing about in the next room, tugging at his bonds and practically levitating off the bed. Curtik didn’t say a word as he threw his body against the restraining straps over and over. My son! This brutal and twisted beast is my son. For an instant Jeremiah wished Damon had been his real son. What a terrible thought! How could I have considered that? Maybe that’s why Curtik is so homicidal, because he inherited my facility for killing.

  Stop it, Jeremiah told himself. You’re his father and you’ll act like it and eventually you’ll find the good in him.

  On the bed beside Curtik, Kyler lay unconscious, an oxygen tube running to her nostrils. She looked so tiny and vulnerable. Jeremiah rubbed his eyes. Why did he feel so much more concern for her than he did for Curtik? What kind of father was he? He wheeled himself into their room, his self-directed anger stemming the pain.

  “Hello, Curtik,” Jeremiah said.

  Curtik stopped thrashing and stared at Jeremiah. “Shh,” he whispered. “I’m hunting wabbits.”

  Aspen laughed as Curtik resumed his fight against the straps, flinging his arms and legs about while Quark settled Lendra into a chair.

  Dr. Poole said, “We’re going to give you a transfusion of your father’s blood, Curtik. Hopefully that will reverse the devolutionary process.”

  Again Curtik stopped moving. He jerked his head in Kyler’s direction. “Give it to her.”

  “We’ll give her some too,” Jeremiah said.

  “You’re not a vending machine,” Dr. Wellon said.

  Jeremiah looked at Devereaux, who said, “She’s already infected, so she can’t be harmed by the virus. It might work. We’ve already put her on the whole package of anti-virals, but she’s not progressing as well as we’d like.”

  “I can’t be responsible for your health if you do this,” Dr. Wellon said.

  “We could shoot him again,” Aspen said. “See if that helps.” She aimed her Las-rifle at Jeremiah.

  “No!” Lendra yelled.

  Jeremiah tensed, expecting Aspen to fire, but Zora raised her hand.

  “I’ll shoot him,” Curtik said. “He looks like a wabbit.” Curtik reached toward Aspen. “Give me the gun. Gimme the gun. Gimme the Goddamn gun!”

  He began screaming unintelligible sounds of outrage as he stretched against the restraining straps. Dr. Poole moved over to his bedside and reached for a hypo pad as he continued to roar. Within a few seconds he grew quieter, struggling less as the sedative kicked in. In under a minute he was asleep.

  Dr. Wellon began transfusing Jeremiah’s blood. She ran it through a filter-analyzer and into Curtik’s arm, while engaging the monitors so Doctors Nakamura and Srinlangshiran could study how his body reacted.

  As the blood drained out of him, Jeremiah felt increasingly weak and cold. The room began to spin and the people in it grew blurry. He struggled to keep his eyes open as fatigue overcame him.

  It almost felt like he was falling. His mind began to wander. He visualized the response he would make if given the ultimatum the cadets had given Earth and suddenly realized what the politicians there must be doing.

  “Las-cannons,” he said as Dr. Wellon moved to Kyler’s side and gave her some of Jeremiah’s blood.

  “Las-cannons?” Dr. Poole said.

  “They’re building Las-cannons.”

  “Impossible.” Lendra shook her head. “That would violate the Berlin Treaty.”

  “It makes sense,” Zora said from her chair beside Kyler’s bed, where she waited for her turn at a transfusion. “I should have thought of that before.” She shivered as she looked down at her shaking hands. “I didn’t realize how anxious I was. I guess I need your blood after all.”

  “But building Las-cannons would be suicidal,” Lendra protested. “It would start an arms race. And all it would take would be one faulty Las-cannon to set off an explosion greater than any nuclear bomb. That’s why the only ones allowed are in orbit.”

  “It should be easy enough to check,” Jeremiah said, his breathing returning to normal. “You can monitor the sat-feeds. As the Las-cannons get closer to completion, the scanners should show spikes in radiant energy consumption levels. I estimate the levels would at least quintuple at the military bases where they’re building them.”

  Devereaux nodded. “And a radio-spectrum-assay analysis should confirm the electro-chemical reactions of the charging process, though we would have to wait until they’re essentially completed before we could detect that emission.”

  “I’ll get Wee Willie on it,” Zora said as Dr. Wellon initiated the transfusion into her arm. Dr. Wellon gripped Zora’s arm tightly to keep it from shaking while she inserted the needle. The two of them grew more distant as the transfusion progressed. Jeremiah thought Zora was no longer shivering, though his vision had become foggy, as if he were seeing everything through a gauzy curtain. Even sound began to diminish.

  “Jeremiah,” Lendra said. “Jeremiah, you have to stop
. Doctor!”

  Jeremiah tried to answer, but he felt too weak, too indifferent. He struggled even to breathe.

  “He can’t give anymore,” Dr. Wellon said as she cut off the flow. “His heart is in fibrillation.” She attached an external pacemaker to his chest and he began to breathe easier.

  “I’ll get Jeremiah some blood,” Dr. Poole said. “It won’t be special like his, but it will help replenish what he’s lost.”

  Devereaux put his face down close to Jeremiah and said, “How do you feel?”

  Jeremiah blinked his eyes a couple times and opened his mouth, but no words came out.

  “Well done,” Devereaux said. He laid a hand on Jeremiah’s shoulder. “How about you, Zora? How do you feel?”

  “It’s too early. I wouldn’t feel any . . .” Zora stopped and nodded. “Oh, I see. You’re wondering if there’s a psychological benefit from just knowing I’ve got his blood in me.” She lifted her hands and stared at them. They shook slightly but not as badly as before. “But I don’t feel any different. How long do you think it will take?”

  Devereaux shrugged. “I don’t know—maybe hours or days. But I was hoping that with the nanobots in your system, it would take effect more rapidly.”

  “And if it doesn’t help?”

  “We might still find a cure. And Earth will be looking too. Besides, you might have weeks before you fully devolve.”

  Zora got to her feet and shivered. “I can feel the pressure building. All of us can. Apart from myself, the only cadets I can trust with the Las-cannon anymore are Wee Willie and Rendela.” She shot a glance at Aspen. “I’m afraid anyone else might start shooting.”

  “Isn’t that where we’re headed anyway?” Lendra said, her voice sounding higher than normal. “It’s inevitable. Earth will attack. You’ll fire the Las-cannon. We’ll all die. What difference does it make if you fire first?”

  Dr. Poole said, “Are you okay, Lendra? You seem distressed.”

  “No, I’m not okay.” Lendra looked at the walls and ceiling, then took a deep breath. “We’re all going to die up here. This place is going to become a mass of cinders when Earth is done with it. When they finish building their Las-cannons, we die—as simple as that.”

  “Calm down,” Dr. Poole said.

  “I can’t.” Lendra got to her feet and moved toward the doorway. “I feel like the walls are closing in on me.” She stepped over to Jeremiah’s wheelchair. “Help me, Jeremiah.” She reached for him.

  Zora said, “Sorry, Witchy Poo. We need him to find out who’s building Las-cannons.”

  Aspen grabbed Lendra by the arm and walked her back to her chair.

  “That’s not it. You just want to drain him again. You vampires!”

  “If you don’t relax,” Zora said, “I’ll strap you down like Curtik. Do you want that?”

  Jeremiah found the energy to speak: “You can’t strap her down. She has claustrophobia and a mild case of obsessive-compulsive disorder, which she used to be able to control with neo-dopamine. But now that she’s pregnant she can’t take it. Perhaps Colonel Truman can be of assistance.”

  “Witchy Poo is claustrophobic?” Zora said.

  “Jeremiah!” Lendra said as she stared at him.

  Jeremiah shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lendra. Would you rather they strap you down?”

  Lendra shook her head and scrunched back into her chair as far as she could. “How could you? They’re going to lock me in a tiny room.”

  Aspen grinned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “No,” Jeremiah said. “You will not torture her. She can help you.”

  “You can’t stop them,” Lendra said. “They’re insane and they’re getting worse. We’re all going to die. And there’s nothing you or your precious Zora can do about it.”

  Jeremiah must have looked confused, for Lendra said. “Don’t bother to deny it. I’ve seen the way you look at her. And she’s totally smitten with you too. You disgust me, both of you. She’s a child.”

  Zora laughed. “You’re a crazy one, Witchy Poo. Get some rest. We’ll let Colonel Truman visit you.” She suddenly stretched out her arms and lurched toward a chair. Grabbing the back of it, she said, “Whoa! Unbelievable. This feels bizarre.” She looked over at Jeremiah. “Is this what it’s like to be you?”

  Dr. Wellon aimed her scanner at Zora. “Are you feeling the effects of the transfusion?”

  “I feel great,” Zora said. “Full of energy, but sort of off-kilter—like I might jump into the ceiling. And my joints feel kind of warm and itchy.”

  “Me next,” Aspen said. “Do me.”

  “Not yet,” Dr. Wellon said. “Jeremiah can’t give any more blood right now. Plus, we have to study this and see how it progresses. We’ll need to check with Doctors Nakamura and Srinlangshiran to see if they’re tracking the changes as well. There may be side effects we haven’t foreseen. It would be better if we can synthesize a cure that will align more closely with your nanobots.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lendra walked through the main hangar, Colonel Truman by her side. Phan followed them, Las-rifle in hand. Every few meters she stopped to smell a raspberry bush or an orange shrub or a row of the hybrid beans that did so well on the Moon. She could almost pretend she was out for a stroll and not trapped here waiting to be killed. Without meaning to, she found herself looking up through the plas-glass window at Earth. She told herself her claustrophobia wasn’t getting worse while fingering her glass bulb of neo-dopamine.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Colonel Truman asked.

  “Probably not,” Lendra replied. “I wonder where Jeremiah is. Zora hasn’t let me see him for two days. Do you think they’re still draining him of his blood?”

  “Whatever they’re doing, it seems to be working. The cadets are calmer. They’re still jumpy, but I don’t get the sense that they might attack any second.”

  “Is Jeremiah even alive?”

  “I’m sure he’s fine.” Colonel Truman draped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her gently.

  She smiled in gratitude and said, “So what were you thinking?”

  “I was wondering about Earth. The latest news reports indicate that the Susquehanna Virus has become more aggressive in the past few days. They think it has something to do with the Las-cannon strikes stirring up particulate matter in the air.”

  “Are you worried about your wife?”

  “Actually, I was worried about my daughter. She’s in Portland. And they said the Virus hit Seattle hard.”

  “Zora won’t let you call her?”

  Truman shook his head.

  “At least she doesn’t hate you,” Lendra said. “I haven’t been permitted to do anything more than simple calculations. Zora forwards a problem to my interface to solve within an hour. Then I’ll get a break for an hour or so before she provides another challenge. Every time I finish one, I expect her to kill me.”

  Lendra glanced across the hangar at Wee Willie, who manned the military desk. He alone seemed to be immune to the devolutionary process, so Dr. Poole occasionally took samples from him. Lendra had double-checked various tests on the samples Zora provided but so far she’d found no real difference between his samples and those of the other cadets. Lendra suspected that he was simply less stressed because he’d been allowed to kill Dr. Hackett and now was placed in a position of relative importance but with little responsibility for making difficult decisions.

  “The Escala,” Colonel Truman said, “except for Dr. Wellon and Quark, seem to have vanished.”

  “They’re working nonstop on the Pilgrim,” Lendra replied, “hoping to get it ready for the launch to Mars before . . .”

  Colonel Truman looked up through the plas-glass ceiling toward Earth. “It’s frustrating being kept in the dark. I wonder what Zora’s planning.”
/>   “She’s engaging in classic captor-hostage behavior, keeping us in the dark.” Lendra caressed the glass bulb. She refused to give in to the temptation to take a dose. Her baby’s well-being was more important than her discomfort.

  “Do you think she’s planning to leave for Mars with the Escala?”

  “It’s possible.” Lendra accessed the information available on the Pilgrim from her interface. “But the ship wasn’t designed to transport that many people. In addition to the vast amount of equipment and biological material necessary for long-term survival on Mars, the ship might accommodate up to seventy-five people.”

  “There are less than sixty Escala.”

  “Fifty-seven,” Lendra replied. “But adding almost forty cadets plus the extra supplies needed to sustain them would severely overtax its resources.”

  “Unless Zora’s planning on taking the Pilgrim herself, leaving the Escala behind?”

  “Perhaps,” Lendra conceded.

  “But incorrect,” Zora spoke through Lendra’s interface, startling Lendra.

  Colonel Truman reached out to steady her. “What is it?”

  “Zora just told me that she’s not planning to steal the Pilgrim.”

  “She’s still monitoring us?”

  “Of course,” Zora said through the interface.

  Lendra shivered. She felt an anxiety building in her depths, a tension that spilled over into a nervous tic in her right eye. I will not take neo-dopamine. “How can I help you? More calculations?”

  “No. Jeremiah wants to see you. Turn around.”

  Across the hangar Jeremiah stood next to Zora. Lendra hurried toward him, Colonel Truman by her side, Phan following.

  When she reached Jeremiah, Lendra noticed dark circles under his eyes and lines of fatigue creasing his forehead. Zora appeared exhausted too—thinner and paler than Lendra remembered. She longed to wrap her arms around Jeremiah, breathe in his masculine scent. But the stiffness in his posture told her he didn’t reciprocate her feelings.

  “Are you all right?” Jeremiah asked. “Are they treating you well?”