The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  Truman moved to Mishra’s side, where he could keep an eye on Hicks while helping stack rocks.

  Within ten minutes, Mottz, Joffer and Hicks had dug up the remaining three bodies. Although Truman had figured they’d be dead, the certainty that came with their discovery dealt him an almost physical blow.

  “Okay,” he said. “We’ll need food, more water, spacesuits, the chem-toilet, the oxygen generators and any tools we can find. Let’s hold off on trying to open the door. Most likely the tunnel has collapsed all down its length.” He glanced up at the dust motes, still swirling and rising toward the ceiling. “And we shouldn’t dawdle trying to find the oxygen generators either. I think we’ve got a small leak.”

  “A leak?” Brian said.

  “Narg!” Hicks said. He punched the wall hard, not even wincing as he did so.

  “How do you know?” Roanne said.

  Truman explained about the rising dust motes and said, “So we’ll want to get the oxygen generators started if we can. If not, we’ll pull oxygen from next door. And we’ve still got the spacesuits. We have twelve suits for thirteen survivors, assuming the suits aren’t too badly damaged.”

  “Who doesn’t get a suit?” Hicks said. “I vote one of the Russians.”

  “We’ll worry about that if and when we have to,” Truman replied.

  Joffer said, “I’m kinda surprised you told us about the leak—expected you to keep that quiet. I’ve been checking it and I estimate we have fourteen to sixteen hours before the pressure enlarges the leak to a point where we’re losing more oxygen than we can get from next door.”

  “Can we patch it?” Mishra asked.

  Truman shook his head. “I’m not even sure we can find it.” He looked up at the dark ceiling, jagged and cracked, maybe eight feet above his head. He saw multiple fissures, any one of which might lead to the outside. “And even if we do, how do we reach it?”

  Mottz said, “Let’s get those oxygen generators and see if they’re still functional.”

  Hicks lifted a rock the size of a basketball and began turning it over in his hands as if studying it.

  “Hicks,” Truman said.

  Hicks ignored him.

  “Hicks!” Truman said. “You okay?”

  “Sharg,” Hicks said. He flung the rock at Mottz’s head. Mottz, only a few feet away, raised an arm in defense. The rock struck him a glancing blow as Kyler and Kaylee screamed. Before Truman could grab his Las-pistol, Joffer launched himself at Hicks. The cadet dove horizontally, landing a punch that caused Hicks’ head to snap backwards. The force of the blow pushed Hicks into the wall, his head striking it with a thud that made Truman cringe. Hicks fell to the ground, where he lay unmoving. Once again Truman was reminded how ordinary he himself was. Mottz—an Elite Ops trooper—had almost escaped unscathed, while Joffer was even faster than Mottz. He’d knocked Hicks out before Truman could unholster his Las-pistol.

  Kaylee began crying again. Her mother clutched her tightly and began humming to her. Kyler patted her sister’s arm and said, “It’s okay, Kaylee. He won’t hurt you.”

  Mottz touched his forehead, where a gash bled profusely. Joffer meanwhile bent over Hicks to check on him. Mishra and Brian waited, clearly frightened and unsure what to do next.

  “Here,” Li Chen said as she reached for Mottz. “Let me put a QuikHeal bandage on that for you.”

  As Li Chen bandaged Mottz, Joffer dragged Hicks over to the pile of corpses and placed him atop it.

  “He’s dead?” Truman asked.

  “A little bit,” Joffer said. “Guess I hit him too hard.”

  Truman sighed. Everyone turned to him, looking for his reaction. Was that murder or self-defense? And did it matter? It was probably necessary given the circumstances. He recalled Boyd’s death and almost wished he’d been charged with negligent homicide or involuntary manslaughter. He deserved to be punished. But Joffer was just a kid. Truman couldn’t lay that kind of guilt on him.

  “Okay,” Truman said. “That’s an unfortunate accident. But we’ve got more important things to worry about. We need to dig up the oxygen generators and the spacesuits. Mishra, you and Brian give Mottz and Joffer a hand.”

  “Should we say something?” Roanne said. “A prayer?”

  “We can take a moment of silence,” Truman said. He bowed his head and noticed the others doing the same—even Joffer.

  But a few seconds later Joffer said, “You hear that?”

  “What?” Truman asked. Then he heard it. “That hissing sound?”

  Joffer nodded. “The leak’s getting worse.”

  Truman studied the dust motes spiraling upward. Yes, they appeared to be moving faster.

  “Stop what you’re doing,” Truman called out to the next room. “We’ve got a leak here to the outside. You need to seal off your room from ours. Do whatever you can to patch that crack. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Dr. Lee called back. “Good luck.”

  “You too,” Truman called. He lowered his voice. “All right, let’s see if those oxygen generators are working and let’s dig up those spacesuits just in case.”

  It took them ten minutes to find the first oxygen generator. But it was smashed and useless. The second one looked hardly any better. Mishra tried to start it, but it only made a small coughing sound. The third and final oxygen generator looked less damaged, but it too wouldn’t start.

  “Looks like we need those spacesuits,” Mottz said.

  Truman turned to Mishra. “Can you look at the oxygen generators?” he said. “Maybe get one of them working?”

  “I’ll give it a shot,” Mishra said. “But even if I get one running, it might not provide enough oxygen to offset what we’re losing.” He grabbed the toolkit that had been unearthed with the third generator and began taking the machine apart. Li Huan and Li Chen moved over to help him, having done all they could for Gregor and Maria.

  “Let’s get back to it,” Truman said. His knee twinged as he stepped to the pile of rocks, but he refused to succumb to the pain.

  Mottz and Joffer distributed stimulants from the medkit, but Truman decided to forego taking anything else at the moment. The neo-dopamine combining with the anesthetics left him feeling somewhat detached and he was afraid a stimulant would give him a heart attack. Plus the image of Raddock Boyd solidified his desire to avoid taking more drugs.

  They worked more slowly now, pacing themselves as they dug up the spacesuits, stopping every few minutes to look at the ceiling, as if they might be able to determine whether the leak was getting worse. It took a couple hours to get the last suit clear of the rubble. Five of them were ripped in places and another’s regulator was damaged beyond repair, which meant they were six suits short.

  “We need that oxygen generator,” Truman said to Mishra.

  “We’re working on it,” Mishra said. “We swapped out the voltostats and the transducers but we still have a few parts that are shot. We’ll either have to repair them or find something to use as a replacement.”

  Joffer said, “Can I give you a hand?”

  “We got enough people. What we need are parts.”

  Li Chen held up a damaged spacesuit. “What about using parts from this?”

  “Good idea,” Truman said. “Let us know what we can do to help.”

  He glanced down at Gregor and Maria. “Mottz,” he said, “Can we construct some sort of pocket using tarps that we could fill with air from an oxygen generator?”

  “Be hard to seal it off, sir. But I suppose we could use a Las-knife to weld the edges. Put people in spacesuits and have them checking the seals while we wait for a rescue. But who goes inside the tarp and who gets the suits?”

  Joffer said, “The Russians go in the tarp. We couldn’t take care of them inside suits anyway.”

  Mottz nodded. “That’s logical. I volunteer for the t
arp as well.”

  Truman shook his head. “No. We need you in a suit. Joffer too. And the engineers and Mishra.”

  Brian said, “I guess that leaves us in the tarp. The girls won’t fit in the suits anyway.”

  Truman said, “I’ll go in the tarp with one of you. The other one can have a suit.”

  Roanne said, “No. We’ll stay with our daughters in the tarp.”

  “We don’t have to decide right now,” Truman said. He shivered. He also noticed that he was having to take slightly deeper breaths. “It’s getting cold in here.”

  “Because we’re losing oxygen,” Joffer said. “I think there’s a portable heater in the corner over there.” He stepped through the rocks toward the back of the room.

  “What about trying to get into the tunnel?” Mottz said. “Maybe it hasn’t been compromised.”

  “I’d like to wait until we don’t have any choice,” Truman said. “If it’s got a leak, it’ll only make things worse.”

  A crack sounded from up above.

  “More shifting rock?” Truman said.

  “Probably,” Mottz replied.

  “Maybe it helped us,” Truman said. “Maybe the shifting rock partially sealed the leak.” Though he knew he was likely wrong, he thought it might help morale to accentuate the possibility of something good happening.

  Then the oxygen generator started and a cheer went up.

  “We’ve got air,” Mishra said as he hooked the generator up to a pile of rocks. “Not sure how long this thing will run. We had to patch a couple of systems. We’ll keep it going as long as we can.”

  “Good job,” Truman said. “Now we wait and hope for the best.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Elias Leach entered his old office. The Elite Ops trooper who had escorted him stopped outside the door, while his comrade stood inside the doorway—unarmored thankfully. Perhaps the President had taken his phobia into account. Or maybe they just didn’t perceive him to be a threat. He might show them differently.

  His skin itched—a psychological reaction, he told himself—just fear of the nanobots inside him. If he could only control the fear, the discomfort would go away. President Hope stood beside General Horowitz in front of Elias’ desk, almost as if she feared sitting behind it. Or maybe she just wanted a position of power over him. As always, she looked magnificent.

  Why had she sent for him? Did she need advice? Had she finally realized that he was right, that this action had been necessary? If so, he was prepared to be magnanimous—to help her out in this difficult time.

  “Madam President,” Elias said as he came to a halt. “General Horowitz.” He nodded to Jay-Edgar, who turned away, devoting his attention to the holo-projections against the far wall: various news reports, all silenced. Was Jay-Edgar still on his side? “How may I help you?”

  “I think you’ve helped us enough,” President Hope said.

  “Then why did you call for me?”

  “We’re sending you away.”

  “To The Hague?” If so, the people of the world would soon hear why he’d created the cadet program in the first place. The failures of their leaders necessitated his actions. He could picture himself speaking out in righteous indignation.

  “I’m afraid not,” President Hope said. “We’ve decided to hand you over to the Chinese in return for their assistance.”

  “The Chinese?” Elias shivered again. How could she hand him over to the Chinese? “But they . . .”

  “They won’t put you on trial publicly, no.” President Hope read his mind. “So you won’t get the bully pulpit you seek.”

  Elias’ knees weakened, his chest tightened, his heart raced. Despite the nanobots inside him, he could swear he was having a heart attack, or another stroke. The Chinese would bury him deep, torture him over many years, making sure to keep him alive so that he suffered the maximum amount. How could President Hope surrender him to that kind of future?

  “I can still help you,” Elias said. “I understand the twisted minds of the Russian and Chinese leaders better than anyone else.”

  “You probably do,” President Hope replied.

  “I can get them to pay reparations and promises of future assistance in rebuilding the lunar settlement as a penalty for refusing to allow the orbiting Las-cannon to shoot down the Nigerian missile.”

  “Go for the jugular, eh?”

  “There will never be a better time. This is the last best chance for America to be the preeminent leader of the world. Don’t throw it away because of my errors. Don’t succumb to some misguided notion that America deserves to do penance.”

  President Hope smiled. “Now is the crucial time to take charge, to dictate the direction Earth will take for the next century. An Ameri-centric view is necessary to guide humanity’s growth properly. Otherwise, the chaos that reigns on Earth will spread to the solar system and the galaxy. There will be a Chinese planet and a Russian one and a Brazilian one. Humanity’s future requires a more diverse expansion that benefits all people.”

  “You say that ironically,” Elias said. “But it’s true.”

  “Perhaps,” President Hope conceded. “I’m tempted to keep using you—to rely on your vast knowledge of the way the world works, and to take advantage of your many contacts. But that road only leads where we’ve been. You’re a dangerous man, Elias. I’m sorry, but I have to wean myself off you.”

  An itch developed behind his right eye, deep inside the skin. He reached up and massaged his temple. He glanced at the Elite Ops trooper guarding the door. “When are you planning to turn me over to the Chinese?”

  “That’s why I’ve called you here,” President Hope said. “The only way they’ll guarantee that their allied nations won’t fire on the incoming LTVs is if we hand you over immediately.”

  “So this is the end?” Elias trembled. He couldn’t allow himself to be locked away forever, with no chance of escape, no future except pain and loneliness. That would drive him mad. He had no choice. Catching Jay-Edgar’s eye, he gave an almost imperceptible nod and moved toward his chair. “May I sit for a moment?”

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” President Hope said. “They’ll be coming for you soon.”

  “If I’m handed over to the Chinese,” Elias said as he sat, “they’ll force me to tell them what I know about this country’s secrets. I don’t wish to betray America. You know that. But I won’t be able to hold out for long against their truth serums and torture. I will spill what I know, sooner rather than later. Even more terrifying, there are always new drugs, new treatments that can compel obedience. We proved it with the Elite Ops and the cadets. Which means that I might be compelled to work against this country’s best interests.”

  President Hope nodded. “That is certainly possible.”

  “So how can you do it?”

  President Hope blushed. “There are ways to ensure you don’t betray us.”

  No! Elias imagined the worst thing he could think of, the greatest punishment he could ever receive. “You’re going to lobotomize me?”

  President Hope held up her hands in apology. “I can’t in good conscience destroy your mind. However, there are drugs that will destroy your memory and limit your Intellectual Potential.”

  Breathe, Elias told himself as he pushed the chair back a few inches, putting himself only a couple feet away from the secret exit, wondering what was taking Jay-Edgar so long. Perhaps the young man hadn’t noticed his signal. Dare Elias make it more obvious?

  “This is your fault,” President Hope continued. “You played God far too often. And there’s no excuse for that, no matter how noble your intentions. You don’t get to choose the future for nine billion souls.”

  Elias scratched his arms and chest; the itching had become almost unbearable. He felt dizzy, lightheaded. Had Jay-Edgar betrayed him? It wasn’t possible. El
ias had to struggle not to look at the boy, not to notice his presence.

  He waited. He hoped.

  The President stared at him, no hostility in her eyes. No warmth either. Just determination. Elias’ hands rose toward his face, his fingers curling into claws.

  Jay-Edgar said, “Excuse me, Madam President. I’m getting a strange transmission here.”

  Elias’ hands stopped moving. A surge of adrenaline—a tingling—pulsed throughout his body. He’d never doubted the boy.

  “What is it?” the President asked.

  “It’s some kind of—”

  Jay-Edgar’s voice became a scream of agony as a surge of electromagnetic particles filled the room.

  Elias braced himself. Even though he was sitting in the “eye” of the discharge, and despite the fact that he was prepared for it, he was nearly overcome by the intensity of the burst. It pressed on him with physical, almost suffocating force. Disoriented, he blinked rapidly, trying to figure out where he was. The Elite Ops trooper fell to the floor, screaming. The President and General Horowitz collapsed, crying out. Elias hoped they’d be okay. He slid out of his chair and knelt beside the wall. The Elite Ops trooper outside banged on the office door. It would give way any moment. Elias placed his palm on a slightly discolored patch of wallpaper.

  A small door opened in the wall and Elias crawled through. When the door snapped shut behind him, the disorienting effect of the electromagnetic particles vanished. His vision and balance were restored. He was on all fours in a small room that was actually an elevator. It dropped, his stomach lurching as he fell toward the sub-basement. This escape route had been designed a decade ago. Elias had never expected to need it.

  Taking a deep breath, he fought the fear and surprise that threatened his ability to think. He needed to concentrate on the precise sequence of events that would help him disappear. Jay-Edgar had perfected the system in the past two years but it still required Elias to follow the instructions perfectly.

  The elevator reached bottom and the door opened to complete blackness. Elias grabbed onto the handles placed there to help him to his feet and stepped out.