The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  Jeremiah nodded. “My father grew up on a farm. He taught me a lot.”

  “And how are you managing without Curtik? Or does Hannah help?”

  Hannah snorted again.

  Jeremiah shrugged. “The pain’s not as bad when I’m working in the garden.”

  “I want Curtik to show it to me,” Lendra said. “You stay here and watch Sophie.”

  “No.”

  Lendra ignored him. She carried the car seat up the stairs and put it on the porch beside Jeremiah. The baby looked up at him, moving her tiny fists back and forth beneath her blanket. Lendra said, “We’ll be back in a while. Keep an eye on her.” Then she walked around the back of the house, Curtik right behind her.

  “Well done,” Hannah said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Telling that obnoxious little bastard off. He needed that. Did you see the way he reacted? He stopped all his twitching and just listened to you. Maybe the message got through. Maybe he’ll stop thinking he’s so great.”

  “I didn’t mean to blow up at him. He’s just so damn frustrating at times.”

  The baby began crying. Jeremiah looked over at Hannah, who simply shrugged. “Lendra,” he called.

  No answer.

  “Pick her up,” Hannah said. “She wants to be held.”

  “You pick her up,” Jeremiah retorted.

  “She’s not my baby.”

  “Oh, hell.” Jeremiah took a deep breath. Even that hurt. Lowering himself to the porch swing, he reached for the car seat, undid the security belts and lifted the squirming Sophie. She was heavier than he’d thought she’d be, more substantial. He smelled her milky breath and the baby powder under her diaper. Holding her in the crook of his arm, he hummed quietly until she calmed. Hannah, he noticed, had backed up against the wall. The baby—his daughter—watched him, eyes bright and alert.

  From the back of the house, he heard Curtik exclaim, “Hey, look. The radishes are coming up. So’s the lettuce. And that’s cabbage. And peas. Hunh. I didn’t think the old man knew what he was doing.”

  The breeze freshened, yet Jeremiah felt oddly warmed. He bundled the blanket around his daughter more tightly, then looked into her eyes and spoke softly:

  “I can’t help you, kid. I guess I’m not much of a father.”

  “Better than my dad ever was,” Hannah muttered, so softly he wasn’t sure he heard her correctly.

  “We’ve turned the world into a cesspool,” he said, loudly enough for Hannah to overhear, “and no one knows how to fix it. The only way to spare you pain would be to wring your pretty little neck. But I can’t do that. So here we sit. Waiting for some madman to put an end to our miserable existence.”

  As he talked to Sophie, Jeremiah realized that his pain was no longer debilitating. The mere act of holding his daughter lessened the agony. How could that be? He tried not to think about that, instead simply basked in the unexpected deliverance, chatting with Sophie as she tracked his eyes. He smiled at her, then frowned, then began to make faces at her as she stared at him, occasionally smiling. Soon he was making baby sounds, just to revel in her reaction, more for his benefit than hers.

  Amazed at himself, he glanced at Hannah, who quickly looked away, her eyes glistening. She grabbed her scanner off her belt and checked it again, running another sweep of the area.

  All too soon Lendra and Curtik returned, and Sophie was lifted, protesting, from Jeremiah’s lap, leaving him cold and empty. He used to be able to seal himself away in a stone dungeon—a self-hypnotic trick that freed him from all feeling, all pain. From within that dungeon, he could endure almost anything. But the last time he’d tried it, he’d almost lost himself. So he accepted the chilled hollowness and put a calm expression on his face.

  “That’s a nice garden,” Lendra said as she fastened Sophie to her car seat. “I’m surprised they’re doing so well without a greenhouse.”

  “I divert heat from an underground pump,” Jeremiah said. “And early on, I used the solar panels to add supplemental warmth. But we don’t need them anymore. The ground’s greening up nicely.”

  “I know you hate me, Jeremiah,” Lendra said, changing the subject again, rocking the car seat to comfort Sophie. “And I can’t blame you for feeling that way.”

  “I don’t hate you,” Jeremiah said. “I’m disappointed in you.”

  “What about me?” Curtik asked. “I hope you’re disappointed in me too. Running away from home to join the ghosts.”

  “I still don’t understand all that,” Jeremiah said. “The courts say you aren’t responsible for your actions on the Moon because you’re a minor, under a compulsion, and then they legally emancipate you as an adult.”

  “It was a complicated ruling,” Lendra said.

  “Oh, it was twisted, certainly. You need him to reinstate your ghost program, so you make sure that he’s absolved of his prior crimes while ensuring that he’ll be available to commit new ones in the name of almighty CINTEP. I’m only surprised you didn’t figure out a way to get all the cadets put under your authority.”

  “If you’re so concerned, you could return to us. As our head of operations, you would have supervisory authority over him.”

  Curtik startled, as if he hadn’t considered that possibility before.

  “Of all the people I know,” Lendra continued, “you’re the one who might be able to save the world. You see things we don’t. You make connections we can’t. Are you going to withhold your gifts out of self-pity? Are you going to condemn your daughter to a life of misery out of selfishness?”

  Curtik shook his head as he fidgeted from foot to foot, frowning.

  “I have nothing left to give,” Jeremiah said.

  “You know where to find us,” Lendra said. Carrying Sophie to the limo, she opened the door and secured the car seat. Curtik followed her. He looked back at Jeremiah before seating himself beside Lendra and closing the door.

  His face carried a look of sadness that Jeremiah had never seen on it before. Tears welled up as the air seemed to remove itself from the world. God, I’m a terrible father. My two children are leaving me and I won’t do anything to stop it. I’ll just let them go.

  The car door closed as Sophie cried out. Jeremiah wanted to run to her, hold her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right, even though he knew it wouldn’t. He wanted to grab Curtik in a giant hug and say, I believe in you, son. And I love you. Some day you’ll understand that, I hope.

  Instead, the limo drove away. Jeremiah walked down the stairs, following it a short distance down the driveway, imagining he could still smell his daughter, welcoming the knife-like piercing in his joints that came with each movement—fair retribution for his sins. Hannah trailed him quietly.

  She said, “I trained with him.”

  “Curtik?”

  “Martinez. He was a good man.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “What about you?”

  “I can’t bring him back.”

  “I saw you playing with your daughter. You can’t pretend that didn’t happen.”

  “What can I do?” Jeremiah said.

  “Sitting out here in the cold? Nothing.”

  Steeling himself for the agony of movement, Jeremiah walked around the house to the garden, Hannah a step behind. He hadn’t been back here for days, the pain of movement no longer seeming worth it after Curtik left for CINTEP. He saw that Curtik had been right; the garden looked good—the neat rows reaching skyward, the lettuce nearly ready to pick, although a haphazard pattern of weeds attacked them from the sides.

  He knelt beside the radishes and began plucking weeds. “I suppose I should thank you for not trying harder to convince me to return to the old life.”

  “Would you have done anything besides shut me out if I had?”

  “No.” He pulled another few w
eeds. “Aren’t you going to help me?”

  “What’s the point? They’ll only grow back. You can’t hold them back forever.”

  He laughed. “Well played.”

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong to refuse them. I see the pain you’re in. I get it. But they’re not wrong in wanting you back, either. You have a gift and you’re squandering it.”

  “Shut up and help me with this or you’ll be out here all day.”

  Chapter 8

  As Trogan Brosk stirred beside her, Sally23 nestled her head against his shoulder. He came awake with a quiet laugh. “Wow,” he said.

  “Mmm,” she replied, rubbing her hand across his naked chest.

  “What did I do to deserve such happiness?” he asked.

  “Not a thing,” she answered. “You’re a devil. You’re a bad, bad boy.” She lifted her head and twisted to look into his dark brown eyes, the pupils dilated by drugs. Even so, they looked upon her with warmth. She could melt in those eyes. “Are you ready to be bad again?”

  He grinned as he pulled her on top of him. “I suppose I could manage another go.”

  As he kissed her, the bedroom door slammed open. Sally23, knowing who was behind her, tried to go numb in preparation for what was to come. She turned as Brosk stared at the intruder.

  “Jeremiah!” Brosk exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Trogan,” the man replied with a nod. He stood inside the door, a dark-haired man with hazel eyes and a nose that had been broken at least once. He held a Las-pistol in his right hand, aimed at Brosk’s face. “I heard you went over to the other side.”

  “No,” Brosk said. “I’m infiltrating this cell.” He giggled. “I’ve already infiltrated her several times.”

  The man fired his weapon, a red laser pulse hitting Brosk squarely in the face. Brosk screamed and passed out. Sally23, pressed up against Brosk’s body, felt a surge of electricity run through her too, her body absorbing the residue from the simulated Las-pistol strike.

  “Damn, that hurts,” Sally23 said as the man with the gun winked out of existence, the holo-projection shutting off.

  This whole project was starting to piss her off—being forced to have sex with Brosk over and over, watched the entire time by Sally2 and the Wallys—though she had to admit that she enjoyed Brosk’s touch. He was a gifted lover. If only his attentions were real and not forced by drugs and conditioning. She could easily find herself falling for him. In the same moment, she recalled that seduction was Brosk’s gift. It was what he did. So he undoubtedly had no emotional attachment to her. But wow: it felt real.

  Aside from being used as a sex object, she shuddered every time she saw the holo-projection of Jeremiah Jones. He had an intensity about him, much like Sally2, that bespoke of single-mindedness: a man who would not be dissuaded from completing his mission, no matter the cost. Was he really that way, or had Sally2 created him like that?

  A few seconds later Sally2 entered the room and looked at Brosk, shaking her head. “We’re still not getting a fear response from him,” she said, “though we’re detecting an increase in the loyalty response toward you. We’ll run it again, only this time we’ll focus the threat on you. Let’s try to reinforce that connection. Tell him you love him—whatever—just continue to build that bond. And when Jones fires at you, you scream and pretend to faint. With all the drugs pumped into him, Brosk won’t be able to tell you’re faking.” Sally2’s eyes narrowed. “You all right?”

  Sally23 said, “I need a break. I’m not some porn star.” She reached for her bathrobe, then climbed out of bed and walked slowly to the bathroom, turning on the fan and the faucet before sitting on the toilet. Her body began to shake. She knew this cruelty was necessary, part of the process of breaking Brosk down, reprogramming him. Yet he’d suffered at least a dozen of these simulated deaths already, maybe more outside of Sally23’s presence, and she was beginning to feel panicky.

  How could she have feelings for Brosk? He was a killer, a human, part of the long-term disease that infected Mother Earth. He had to be annihilated, just as every other human had to be destroyed. What would death be like? Would it be nothingness, or would she emerge into some other plane of existence? And was she really destined to die or would Sally2 save her?

  A knock came at the door. “We’re ready for you,” Wally5 said.

  Sally23 took a deep breath. When she emerged from the bathroom, she said to Sally2, “Can’t you just simulate the sex? Make him think we just did it? Do we have to do it over and over again?”

  Sally2 frowned. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself. And you know the simulation can’t duplicate the intensity of the actual experience.”

  “I’m tired and sore. We’ve done it practically nonstop for three days.”

  “We’ve come up with a twist we think will be much more effective. Once more, then you can have a break, okay?”

  “Fine.” Sally23 took off her robe and climbed into bed beside Brosk, nestling herself into the crook of his shoulder and waiting for the technicians to bring him awake again.

  He awoke laughing softly. He pulled her in tight and caressed her face. “You little minx,” he said. “You’ve got me so I can barely think.”

  “Me too,” she replied, trying to keep her voice light. “I never thought I’d feel this way about anyone.”

  “We’d make a great team. If you could figure out a way to break me out of here, I could keep you safe. We could get back to CINTEP, give them the location of this cell, and maybe figure out who your leader is. She doesn’t look exactly like the doctor I remember from CINTEP, but she might have had surgery to make herself like an Escala. What do you really know about her?”

  “Shh,” Sally23 said. “It’s dangerous to talk like that. And I can’t get you out. Whenever I visit you like this, they lock me in. There are always two armed guards outside that door.”

  “Think, darling,” Brosk said. “There must be a way. Meanwhile . . .”

  He pulled her up on top of him again, drew her into a deep kiss that exhilarated and drained her at the same time. For a long time, he kissed and caressed her body. She fought the pleasure for a while, irked that everyone was watching. But eventually she surrendered to Brosk’s attentions. He brought her to the edge of ecstasy, then backed off, teasing and tormenting her until she begged him to end it, which he finally did.

  As they lay on their backs, breathing deeply, recovering, the bedroom door slammed open again. Brosk sat up. “Jeremiah? How did you get in here?”

  “Trogan,” the holo-projection of Jones replied with a nod. He aimed his Las-pistol at Sally23’s face. “Get dressed. I’ll take care of this slut.”

  “No,” Brosk said. “She’s not with them. She can help us.”

  Jones shook his head. “Sorry. I’m taking no chances.” He fired the Las-pistol at Sally23, who felt the sizzling fire of an electrical current. She screamed as Brosk threw her off him and dove into the line of fire. He too screamed, then passed out.

  “What the hell?” Sally23 asked, shivering, as the holo-projection winked out again.

  Sally2 entered the room. “I decided to make it more realistic.”

  “You could have told me you were going to shock me.”

  “I wanted you to be surprised.” Sally2 offered a smile that touched her lips, her eyes remaining cold. “Better reaction. It worked too. Got a good fear response from him that time.”

  “I’m not your puppet,” Sally23 said, glaring at Sally2. “I’m not just some tool. I’m a computer expert. I used to help with the virus modification project. Now you’re treating me like a stupid schoolgirl.”

  Sally2 tapped her foot on the floor. “You’re bright. But you question too much. I sometimes wonder about your loyalties.”

  “Then maybe you should kill me and be done with it.”

  “We’ve all been tested many
times. It isn’t personal.”

  “It feels personal.”

  Sally2 rubbed her temple. “Brosk may not even be salvageable. We have to move slowly, break down the hypno-commands delicately or he could dissemble completely.”

  “I thought we were running out of time,” Sally23 said. “After what happened to Sally6 in Jakarta—”

  “Sally6 got careless,” Sally2 interrupted. “Too many people knew the location of that cell. And Sally16 never should have been allowed near it. There was always the possibility that she was going to be followed.”

  “If she was, perhaps they know our location.”

  “We’re preparing a new site. Meanwhile, no contact with anyone outside this cell, not even the trusted. From now on, we operate as our own unit. And I want minimal traffic out front—no one coming or going unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “Are you saying I can’t leave?” Sally23 asked.

  Sally2’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you need to go out?”

  “You pimp me out and zap me full of electricity. You make me pretend I’m on Brosk’s side. You want me to keep him calm. Well, I’m not calm. I’m already infected with the virus—”

  “We all are.”

  “Maybe that’s making me edgy. I need to relax. So I need to go out. Besides, how are we supposed to continue distributing the virus if we can’t access any of our agents on the outside?”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “Well, it’s absolutely necessary that I get out of here for a while,” Sally23 said. “If you really don’t trust me, then kill me. Let the Wallys help you with the virus, and let Wally2 handle communications. But you’re wasting my talents and we both know it.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” Sally2 smiled in that odd way she had, a slight lift of her lips that served only to distort her cold face. “You should go see your mum. You may not get another chance. We need to let Brosk recover for a while anyway.”

  Sally23 grabbed her robe and belted it around her waist, then walked out of the room. An hour later, dressed in jeans, a sweater and her heavy coat, she went upstairs and took her scooter from its place by the front door. Andre, Sally2’s pet security guard, watched her as she wheeled it outside, but he made no effort to detain her. No doubt he’d been watching her have sex with Brosk too. Degenerate.