The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  Zora moved to the front of the LTV. As she passed, Poole noted the tension lines around her eyes and the rigidity of her posture. She hadn’t slept in the two days since they’d left the Moon. Probably she hadn’t slept for a week. Fortunately her implant allowed her brain to mimic sleep when she was resting. Otherwise Poole suspected she wouldn’t be able to function at all right now.

  Poole wondered how Rendela was holding up in the other LTV. She found that she missed Rendela, her guard and near-constant companion for the past many days. Now that she thought about it, Poole couldn’t remember Rendela ever doing anything horrible. She’d been a remarkably decent captor.

  There was a lot to admire about all these kids. Live or die, they’d all excelled in some way or other: Curtik with inventive cruelty, Crazy Vigg with insight and courage, Wee Willie with intelligence, Rendela with steadfastness and calm loyalty, Zora with brilliant leadership. Some day, someone would take note of that fact and use the techniques Poole, Hackett and others had pioneered to design better people.

  Poole shifted her attention to Zora, bent over Racine, her back tense as she gripped the handrests on her chair, and stared at the instrumentation in the LTV’s cockpit.

  Zora pressed the screen in front of Racine. Then she turned around to face the LTV’s passengers. She gestured toward the back of the LTV, where Quark, Jeremiah and Devereaux stood. “We’ve been monitoring communications into and out of hi-tech military facilities. We’ve sent out distress calls through regular channels, and the camera feed is being broadcast via satellite. No one’s threatened us yet. But signal traffic out of a dozen nations is suspiciously quiet. Someone’s going to fire on us soon.”

  Dr. Garcia Delgado said, “You can’t blame them. You blew up half the planet.”

  Curtik spun around. “Oh, come on. Half? Really? A tiny smidgeon. A minute sliver. A fingernail.”

  “What about Singapore and Istanbul? You’ve killed millions.”

  “Under a compulsion,” Devereaux said.

  “Their actions were still unforgivable,” Dr. Westin said. “They knew they were murdering innocents.”

  “We can debate the question later,” Zora said, “like at our trials. Though we won’t have to worry about it if they blow us out of the sky.”

  “The United States is requesting safe passage for the LTVs,” Lendra said, tapping her interface to indicate that she’d picked up the transmission. “And President Hope is warning all nations that there will be consequences for firing upon us.”

  “What does that mean?” Dr. Floyd asked.

  “Not much,” Jeremiah answered. “It just confirms that the attack will come from countries with poor economic and diplomatic ties to the United States.”

  “My analysis,” Lendra said, “shows that Pakistan is the greatest threat, followed by Nigeria, Sudan, Egypt, the rest of the Middle East, then parts of the Far East and the rest of Northern Africa. They all consider themselves victims of First World oppression. And they all have sufficient military arsenals—mostly purchased from China and Russia—to attack us as we near the planet’s surface.”

  Zora said, “We’ll be coming in over the South Pole. That’ll make any attack more difficult.”

  Curtik said, “Entering orbit.”

  Poole checked her screen. Sure enough, they’d reached Earth’s outer atmosphere and were circling the planet, north to south.

  “This is when it starts to get dangerous,” Rendela spoke from her ship.

  “We’ll lead you in,” Wee Willie added. “Stay on a forty-degree vector to avoid the potential debris field.”

  “We go in together,” Zora said.

  “Negative,” Wee Willie said. “It makes more sense to maximize our chances of survival. That means separating. Tell her, Curtik.”

  “He’s right,” Curtik said.

  Zora shook her head. “You make assumptions that may not be correct. There’s no guarantee that the first LTV will be the most likely target. There’s no guarantee that a forty-degree vector will ensure our survival. I say we go in together. We live or die together.”

  “Doesn’t matter to me,” Curtik said. “I’ll fly it any way you want. But we need a decision now.”

  Rendela said, “We have to do it, Zora. Your LTV has the more important people. We’ll provide whatever cover we can.”

  Zora sighed. “Fine.”

  Rendela said, “Try to keep up with me, Curtik.”

  “Oh, this is war!” Curtik yelled. “Strap yourselves in, people. We got ourselves a roller coaster.”

  As Devereaux, Jeremiah and Quark returned to their seats, Jeremiah hobbling painfully, Zora strapped herself in to the chair immediately behind the cockpit and said, “Keep your eyes on the monitors and the areas I’ve assigned you to. Even though we expect the attack to come from the regions Lendra identified, that doesn’t mean we won’t see an attack from somewhere else.”

  Jeremiah said, “There’s also the possibility that someone will fire at us from a submarine or a ship, so watch the oceans too.”

  “Right,” Zora said. “Dr. Poole, Lendra, you keep monitoring communications. Curtik, Rendela, Racine, Wee Willie, put on your spacesuits.”

  Despite the mock gravity flight suit, Curtik practically bounced to the back of the LTV cabin, a huge grin on his face.

  “Not the helmets yet,” Zora added. “But bring them with you.”

  After Curtik returned in his spacesuit, Racine donned hers. Because they’d left spacesuits for the people staying at LB3, they only had two per LTV. And the suits were reserved for the pilots, though it didn’t matter. Any direct strike against either LTV would mean certain death for the occupants, spacesuit or not. But if there were a small leak, pilots wearing spacesuits might be able to land the LTV. The passengers would simply have to make do with oxygen masks, and hope that the inside of the LTV didn’t become a vacuum.

  “We’re suited up,” Rendela said from the other ship, “and rarin’ to go.”

  Zora laughed. “So are we.”

  Poole suddenly felt love for them all, all these fragile humans struggling to survive. Even Curtik. Even Lendra. Out here in the vacuum of space, they were all equal. Quark, Jeremiah and the cadets—they were just as dependent on the bubbles of oxygen inside their crafts as Poole was. One laser strike, one direct hit by a rocket and they’d all be dead. And that would be a terrible thing, for they were good people; they all had much to offer the world. She herself was the worst of them—or perhaps Lendra. But Poole would change if she got the chance.

  Shaking her head, she concentrated on her screen. Beside her, Lendra tensed up. Poole looked around and saw that the other doctors aboard all gripped their armrests tightly, while Quark and Devereaux appeared unconcerned.

  “I can’t believe they’re not afraid,” Poole said, tilting her head to indicate Quark and Devereaux.

  “Oh, they’re afraid,” Lendra said. “They’re just acting brave for us.”

  “Maybe,” Poole said. But she wondered if that was true. Perhaps they had conquered their fear. She knew Jones was afraid, but she couldn’t see him because he was seated directly behind her.

  “Helmets on,” Zora said. “Prepare to execute de-orbit burn.”

  “Copy that,” Rendela said.

  Curtik put on his helmet and began the de-orbit burn to slow the LTV. Poole felt increasing pressure. Her nausea, a constant for two days, lessened as the increased gravitational pull dropped her stomach to its rightful place. No matter how advanced the mock gravity flight suits, they were no match for Earth’s gravity.

  Thank you, God, she thought. Now just get us down to the ground without some idiot firing at us.

  The chatter coming through Poole’s interface took all her attention. It increased to where she couldn’t track anywhere near all of it, so she had to scan it rapidly, searching for patterns and changes tha
t might indicate a threat. Her work prevented her from catching the beautiful colors of reentry but she heard Quark pointing them out to the doctors across the aisle.

  “Okay,” Zora said, “We’ve reached re-entry. Now’s when the attacks are most likely. Stay sharp.”

  “I’m getting increased chatter from Nigeria,” Lendra said. “And they’re broadcasting telemetry on our position.”

  “I got a missile launch,” Wee Willie said, his voice sounding slightly metallic because of his helmet. “Pakistan.”

  “I see it,” Zora said. “Broadcasting to the U.N. Stay focused. There’ll be others.”

  “Righto,” Wee Willie answered.

  “I’m picking up telemetry on our position in Sudan too,” Lendra said.

  “Correcting course,” Rendela said.

  “These vehicles weren’t built like fighter planes,” Curtik said, his voice also sounding metallic. “Should be interesting. Hang on.”

  As Curtik veered the LTV to the left, a red streak slashed through the air from the orbiting Las-cannon. The missile, miles away, exploded in a jagged burst, flames shooting out in a dozen directions from the epicenter.

  “Missile incoming from Nigeria,” Lendra said.

  “And another from Pakistan,” Zora added.

  Two more red streaks split the sky. Two more missiles blew up, showering the lower atmosphere with burning shards of metal, looking almost like a fireworks display. Curtik had the LTV yawing, seemingly out of control, but whooping with delight as he flew toward the incoming fire.

  “We’ve got more launches,” Wee Willie said. “Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Egypt, Bangladesh. Hell, there’s dozens of ’em.”

  Now the United States’ Las-cannon fired as well, in clear defiance of international law, striking missiles before they got near the LTVs. Blown-up rocket parts scattered across the sky. Curtik, dropping rapidly, laughed as the LTV jolted left and right, barely swerving past deadly obstacles.

  I am not terrified, Poole said to herself. If my time has come, so be it. Yet she could smell the acrid fear in the cabin and her throat was so dry she had to cough.

  “This bird flies better than I thought,” Curtik yelled.

  Beside them, Rendela matched Curtik’s line of flight, a task made possible by the fact that the two cadets could communicate via implant.

  Poole gave up monitoring communications and simply stared at the viewscreen in front of her. She could tell Lendra had done the same. Yet the Las-cannons above and below them continued to fire, knocking out rocket after rocket. Curtik continued to holler as he made the LTV twist and dive. Rendela maneuvered her LTV expertly, matching Curtik’s flying with perfect synchronicity.

  As Curtik and Rendela steered past a large chunk of metal, the viewscreen showed a lethal shield of burning debris and incoming missiles ahead—a barrier that looked impassable.

  “Oh-oh,” Rendela said from the other ship.

  “Now it gets a little tough,” Curtik admitted.

  “We’re not getting past that,” Lendra spoke so softly Poole almost didn’t hear her.

  “Hang on!” Curtik yelled.

  Poole clutched her armrests and fought to keep herself from screaming. Curtik and Rendela would never be able to penetrate that wall of metal. All this way, Poole thought, from the Earth to the Moon and back, through the rigors of training the cadets, and she was going to die here only a few miles up. Not even the Las-cannons could shoot down all the incoming missiles, for they were so close to the LTVs that a direct hit might detonate them into the LTVs. Yet the Las-cannons continued firing. Missile after missile exploded. But three loomed straight ahead, impossible to avoid.

  Poole winced. And now I die, she thought. Where are you, God?

  Her viewscreen showed Rendela and Wee Willie at the controls of their LTV, leaning over in their seats as they struggled to turn. Meanwhile, Curtik twisted in his seat, manhandling the LTV sideways as he accelerated up. Poole’s body pressed back into her seat. The viewscreen filled with an image of Rendela’s LTV leaping forward and down, directly into the path of the incoming missiles, blowing apart. The explosion took out all three warheads.

  “Rendela!” Zora cried out.

  Rendela! Poole thought. The best and sweetest of the cadets. Is this how you save me, God? By sacrificing the one cadet who absolutely deserved to be saved?

  “I remember you, Rendela,” Quark said. “Wee Willie. Toma.” Each name came separately, distinctly. “Yulee. Dr. Nakamura. Dr. Srinlangshiran. Hong. Dobbitz. Roze. Salma.”

  Poole shook her head. Quark hadn’t even known those people and he mourned them. Poole knew she ought to grieve too, but instead her mind recalled Jack and his gentle touch, so incongruous compared to his phenomenal strength.

  Curtik put the LTV into a dive, straight down.

  Another missile came at them. No escape. Then a laser strike pulverized it and Curtik flew through the debris, which clunked against the tiles of the vessel.

  A loud roar came simultaneously with a warning alarm, indicating a hole in the cabin and depressurization. Oxygen sucked out rapidly. A mask dropped towards Poole’s face. She managed to get it over her head.

  “Racine!” Zora yelled. “Racine!”

  “What’s the matter with Racine?” Poole called out. “Has she passed out?”

  No one answered her. Poole tried to connect with Racine’s implant via her interface, but got no signal. She saw blood spreading on the side of Racine’s helmet and she thought she saw red droplets speeding past her up the aisle.

  The LTV hurtled earthward, plummeting like a stone.

  Lendra, Poole saw, had seated her mask over her mouth and nose.

  Down the LTV dropped, the G force increasing.

  Quark, his mask also seated over his face, struggled with the free mask next to him—the one designated for Devereaux—pulling on the hose that tethered it to the oxygen tank. Somehow it had kinked and couldn’t reach Devereaux, who gasped for breath. Quark ripped off his mask and seated it on Devereaux’s face. Then he unbuckled himself and, fighting against the G force that held him to his seat, managed to stand so that he could take a breath through the mask.

  The rush of wind intensified until it became a continuous roar. A loud crack echoed as the ship’s tiles broke away and the roar became even greater. The viewscreens went black.

  Poole gripped the armrests even more tightly. Lendra reached over, placing her free hand over Poole’s, and smiled encouragingly. What the hell?

  “At least you won’t have to kill me now,” Poole said.

  “I never intended to,” Lendra said. “I respect you, Taditha. I like you. I was never going to kill you. I was simply going to find another way to carry out my mission.” Lendra wrapped her fingers around Poole’s hand and squeezed gently. She smiled. Poole felt her hand relax slightly. She felt something in Lendra’s touch: the faint stirrings of calmness: as if the two babies inside them were communicating with each other, reassuring each other.

  Curtik cursed repeatedly as the LTV plunged, free falling in a crash dive. “I guess this damn thing isn’t as maneuverable as I thought.”

  Zora yelled, “Our dive is too steep. We’re losing structural integrity.”

  Curtik yelled back: “I can’t pull the LTV out without breaking it apart.”

  So close, Poole thought. So close to home.

  Zora took off her mask, unstrapped herself and lurched toward the co-pilot’s seat, her body straining against the G-force. She managed to grab an overhead strap with one hand and unbuckle Racine with the other. Pulling Racine’s body out of the chair, she ducked as Racine’s body sped past Poole toward the rear of the LTV. For long seconds Zora struggled to pull herself into the chair. Finally Curtik released the controls and aided her. But in just that short time, the LTV plunged into a vertical dive. When Zora got herself strapped in, she grabb
ed the controls to help Curtik pull up the nose.

  Another crack sounded, impossibly loud over the rush of wind. Poole imagined another piece of the LTV tearing itself away. She closed her eyes against the pressure. A distant scream sounded in her ears. She wasn’t sure of its source. It could have been any of them. Her stomach, rebelling against the forces acting on it, required her to put all her effort into not vomiting. Lendra’s hand squeezed tighter.

  The LTV lurched again and again as Curtik and Zora pulled on the steering columns. Out the front window, the Australian desert loomed—miles of dry flat sand. Curtik and Zora each had their hands wrapped around the controls, pulling back and twisting to the left, gradually, ever so slowly easing the LTV out of its dive. They’re not going to make it in time, Poole thought.

  Curtik practically stood in his seat, pulling back on the controls, Zora right with him, straining to level the ship.

  Poole told herself to relax. But she couldn’t help herself. She tensed as the impact became imminent.

  And then they hit the ground. Hard.

  They bounced three times before the LTV even slowed enough to be noticeable. One of the wheels apparently gave way, for the LTV lurched down to the left, that wing hitting the ground and breaking away. The LTV flipped just as the stabilizers kicked in and the airbags deployed. Poole felt a burning pain in her shoulders from the restraining straps that held her in place. Quark flew into the ceiling, then bounced toward the back of the cabin. The stabilizers flipped the LTV again, completing its somersault and enabling the LTV to land on its belly, scraping the ground as it trenched forward with a thunderous grating.

  Finally the ship shuddered and came to a stop, its floor canted at an angle.

  Only a hissing sound intruded into the silence. Poole, gasping, realized she’d been holding her breath. She took off her mask, wincing at the pain in her shoulders, and smelled burning metal and plastic. Quark, on his hands and knees, shook his head, his shaggy black hair flying left and right, pushed himself to his feet and made his way unsteadily forward.