The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  Director Sommersby jumped to his feet, his face turning red. He pointed at the Vice President. “We’re doing everything we can within the limitations of the Constitution. Why don’t you come over here and see if you can do any better, you sanctimonious little prick?”

  “Eric,” President Hope said.

  Sommersby sat down, his face still flushed with anger.

  “And we’ve got rioting in the streets,” Rodriguez continued, seemingly unfazed. “Our military can’t keep the peace.”

  “Our military,” General Horowitz said, his voice clipped, “is doing a tremendous job. Our men and women are working their tails off. And the Elite Ops have done everything we’ve asked of them and more.”

  “The streets aren’t safer,” Rodriguez said. “These problems are getting worse. His speech,” Rodriguez pointed at Devereaux, his rosary cross swinging beneath his hand, “did nothing.”

  President Hope said, “What are you suggesting, Miguel?”

  “The Apocalypse is upon us. This is the time of Revelations. We should all be praying for our salvation, repenting our sins.” He glared at Devereaux as he spoke. Sommersby and Horowitz rolled their eyes. Dr. Jaidev and Dr. Ecuponte smiled briefly. President Hope reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose. “We should call together every American,” Rodriguez continued, “to join us in one coordinated effort to speak to God. He will hear our voices if they are united in—”

  “If you want to pray, Miguel,” President Hope interrupted him. “By all means, pray. But we can’t wait for God to solve our problems.”

  “That man,” Rodriguez said, clearly meaning Devereaux, “is not going to be able to save us.”

  “Enough,” President Hope said. “If you have something constructive to contribute, please stay. If you wish to pray your way out of this, then I suggest you leave now, find a church and let us get on with our jobs.”

  Rodriguez’s face darkened as his lips clamped together. Doug bit his tongue to keep from grinning. Everyone knew the Vice President detested Devereaux because of his atheism. His hatred made Dr. Jaidev’s dislike of Devereaux seem like mere indifference.

  “This man cannot be trusted,” Rodriguez said. “How long has he been working on this virus? And we’re no closer now than before. I wonder where his priorities truly lie. A great many people believe he’s only concerned about the Escala.” Rodriguez spat the word out like some kind of profanity.

  “Enough, Miguel,” President Hope said.

  “No, it’s not enough. God-fearing Americans don’t trust him—and for good reason. Everything we stand for as a nation he rejects.”

  Doug wished he hadn’t attended the meeting now. He knew Rodriguez would drone on for minutes. The Vice President was a dangerous man. Yes, he had delivered Texas and enough southern votes to get President Hope elected. And he was certainly well respected by conservative and moderate governors as a tough enforcer of laws. But as Devereaux had pointed out, he tended to view everything through a narrow prism. Doug hoped nothing ever happened to President Hope. If Rodriguez were to replace her, one of his first actions would probably be to have Devereaux arrested.

  As Rodriguez ramped up his rhetoric, Doug looked down at his communications board. He saw a message from Mars, from Zeriphi. His stomach fluttered with hope and fear. A quick glance at Devereaux and Quark, who were trying to stay engaged in their discussion with the big shots, and then Doug tuned them out, activated the privacy field and opened the message.

  An image of Zeriphi appeared on his screen. The Escala woman looked as beautiful as ever, her long blond hair dropping around her muscular shoulders. Her face looked a bit heavier than the last time Doug had seen her. The indicator to the side of the screen showed that the last message he’d received from her had been nearly a month ago.

  “Greetings from Mars,” Zeriphi began like she always did. “I hope you are well. I’m glad you’re with Quark and Devereaux. Take care of them, please.” She took a deep breath, paused for a moment. “I’m calling today for two reasons. First, Celestia wanted to send you a message. I’ll show you that in a moment. Second, I’m pregnant.”

  Doug’s gut contracted, twisting into a knot. Zeriphi pregnant? Of course she was. She was by far the most attractive of the Escala. Why wouldn’t she be pregnant? It felt like Quark was sitting on his chest.

  “I thought I should let you know now,” Zeriphi said, “before you found out from someone else. I hope this doesn’t hurt you, Doug. Even though we were never together, I know you held out hope that we might become something more. But in my heart I was always Zod’s wife . . . and I always will be.”

  And in my heart, Doug thought, you’ll always be mine. Even though you never gave me a chance. Even though no one’s ever given me a chance—except Devereaux. Love for that man filled him with lightness.

  “I still thank you every day for your gift,” Zeriphi continued. “Without you, I wouldn’t have Celestia. But I’ve moved on. I’ve finally accepted Zod’s death.” Zeriphi’s eyes glistened with moisture as she paused again. “Anyway, I hope you’ll understand. Things were never going to work out between us. But Celestia will always be your daughter. Now here she is.”

  Celestia’s face filled the screen. Her dark curly hair had grown out since he’d seen her last. Her brown eyes gleamed with intelligence. She looked twice her age. Probably that was her Escala nature.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she said. “I found this rock.” The camera pulled back, revealing her extended arms. In her hands, she held a rock shaped like a cartoon heart. “I wanna send it to you but Mommy said I have to give it lots of hugs and kisses first.” She pulled it back and kissed it, then held it tightly to her bosom. A hollow pain emptied Doug—an ache that left him without words. Her face became a blur and Doug realized his eyes were full of water. “Mommy says when it’s full of love I can send it to you. So I’m gonna hurry and fill it. I love you, Daddy.”

  Doug paused the message for a moment until he could get his emotions in check. When he finally opened the rest of the message, the screen dissolved into an image of Zeriphi’s face. “She’s talking very well, don’t you think?” Zeriphi asked. Doug found himself nodding, even though Zeriphi couldn’t see him. “She’s extremely bright. Inquisitive and well behaved. Thank you again. Doug, I remember you.”

  The screen shifted to an image of Celestia. Zeriphi ended all her messages that way, with the ritual Escala goodbye over Celestia’s face. “Zeriphi,” Doug whispered, “I remember you. Celestia, I remember you.”

  With his peripheral vision, he noticed that Vice President Rodriguez had finally given up his rant and was now sitting back with his arms crossed, fingering the beads on his rosary. Devereaux had reached up and begun massaging his temple, something Doug recognized as a sign of stress. He deactivated the privacy field and returned his attention to the discussion. If only he could get Devereaux out of this meeting without adding to the great man’s responsibilities.

  “. . . put more bodies on the ground,” President Hope was saying, “in Indonesia and the Philippines. I want more contacts with the intelligence communities across Asia. And try to engage China more heavily. Perhaps, Eric,” she looked at Sommersby, “you should consider a visit. And Ralph,” she turned to General Horowitz, “you might send a few Elite Ops to China and Indonesia as well in a sort of cultural exchange. Any other ideas?”

  “Singapore,” Sommersby said, “has a good intelligence community.”

  “Good. What else?”

  General Horowitz said, “We’re not seeing much activity in Africa. I wonder why that is.”

  Director Sommersby said, “We’ve already looked into that—haven’t found much of anything.”

  “Keep at it,” President Hope said.

  “What about the riots?” General Horowitz asked. “My soldiers can handle the problem with force, up to a point. But I’d prefer not to have to do s
o. The situation is becoming increasingly desperate.”

  “Perhaps another speech by Mr. Devereaux,” President Hope said.

  “No!” Rodriguez shouted. “Absolutely not. He does not speak for us.”

  “I think your personal bias . . .” President Hope began. Then she stopped and looked at Devereaux. “Are you all right?”

  Devereaux suddenly slumped in his chair. As Doug jumped to his feet, Quark grabbed Devereaux, lifting the older man as if he weighed no more than a child. “Code blue,” Quark said. “Handle things here,” he said to Doug. Then he carried Devereaux from the room.

  Doug, his throat dry, his palms sweating, relayed the medical emergency to all personnel. Then he stood in the center of the room. What now? He wanted so badly to help, but he knew nothing about medicine and he’d only be in the way if he followed them. Besides, Quark had told him to handle things here, so that’s what he’d do.

  “What’s happening?” President Hope asked.

  Doug looked up at the holo-projection, wondering why she was asking him, and then realized she wasn’t. She was looking at Dr. Ecuponte and Dr. Jaidev.

  “It looks like a stroke,” Dr. Ecuponte said.

  “Or a heart attack,” Dr. Jaidev added.

  Dr. Ecuponte said, “He’s wired with nanobots. We ought to be receiving telemetry now.” He reached for a small monitor at his side, pulled it close and studied it, manipulating the screen to access Devereaux’s medical information. He tilted the monitor so Dr. Jaidev could see it as well. For a few seconds their faces showed only intense concentration. Then their eyes widened. Dr. Jaidev whispered something Doug couldn’t hear. He knew instantly that it was something terrible.

  “Why didn’t we see it coming?” President Hope asked.

  “A sudden onset stroke and heart attack,” Dr. Jaidev said. “Absolutely no warning. It’s got to be the virus.”

  “Running an analysis now,” Dr. Ecuponte said. “Causative factors should be coming in any moment.”

  Doug gawked at the people in the holo-projection. Director Sommersby and General Horowitz looked shocked. President Hope, her face pale with worry, focused on the two doctors at the table with her, the fingers of her left hand drumming nervously on the tabletop. Vice President Rodriguez, sitting off to the side, had his lips clamped together as he tried to suppress a smile.

  “You bastard!” Doug shouted.

  “Calm down,” President Hope said. “Anger won’t solve anything.”

  Doug held up his hands in surrender. Then he switched the comm system to auto-answer and linked to the emergency room camera, which showed Devereaux on an operating table, tubes running from several machines through three small incisions in his chest. Four doctors stood there, monitoring the machines that manipulated microscopic, robotic tools inside Devereaux’s chest and head in an effort to keep the great man alive. Standing by himself off to the side was Quark. Stuffed into surgical blues, his intense eyes visible above his mask, the giant looked fierce as he peered over the heads of the doctors at Devereaux’s face.

  Quark appeared to be shaking—or was that Doug? He had to stay under control.

  He turned back to the holo-projection, where Dr. Jaidev and Dr. Ecuponte were whispering back and forth. Doug enhanced the audio feed until he could hear what they were saying:

  “Clearly the Susquehanna Virus,” Dr. Ecuponte said.

  “It looks like multiple strains,” Dr. Jaidev added, “hitting him all at once.”

  “The blood vessels are falling apart as fast as they’re being repaired.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Doctors,” President Hope interjected, her voice booming in Doug’s ears. He quickly lowered the volume. “What’s the prognosis?”

  Dr. Ecuponte grimaced. Dr. Jaidev lowered her head.

  “Does he have any chance at all?” President Hope asked.

  “There’s always a chance,” Dr. Jaidev said, shaking her head as if disputing her own words.

  President Hope took a deep breath. “And the virus? What about our research into a cure?”

  “We still have dozens of teams working on it,” Dr. Ecuponte said. “We’re making significant progress every day.”

  “But not fast enough,” Rodriguez said.

  “Do you have a suggestion, Miguel?” President Hope asked.

  “I think we should begin the process of evacuating to the bunker,” Rodriguez said. “We need to keep our command structure intact.”

  President Hope brought her hands together, resting her elbows on the tabletop. “You’re right, Miguel,” she said. “Why don’t you put together a transition team, just in case? You’re welcome to ask any of my undersecretaries to join you. My cabinet members and I will remain on the surface.”

  “But Madam President,” Rodriguez said. “You’re the one who needs to be kept safe.”

  “No, Miguel, my place is here, at the head of the government. We will fight this crisis with every bit of cunning and strength we can muster. And if we fail, only if we fail, then it will be your time, and your responsibility will be to lead this nation into the future.” President Hope now looked at Doug. She nodded almost imperceptibly. “Please keep me informed of his condition. Thank you.”

  She signed off, the holo-projection going dark.

  On the screen, where the doctors continued their efforts, and Quark maintained his vigilance, Devereaux lay on the operating table, eyes closed, face pale, oblivious to it all. A numbness crept over Doug—the loss of hope. No Devereaux. No Zeriphi. No Celestia.

  This was his fault. He’d taken his eye off the ball and now Devereaux was going to die. He’d known he should be paying better attention. He should have figured out a way to get Devereaux free of these petty politicians. But because he’d been bored by Rodriguez’s ranting, he’d neglected his duty. And now Devereaux was dying. Maybe he would have collapsed anyway, but maybe not. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Doug thought. All my fault.

  Chapter 11

  Lendra stood before the elevator doors, flanked by Dr. Poole, Curtik and Zora, waiting for Jeremiah. She resisted the urge to reach up and grab her glass bulb necklace. It no longer contained neo-dopamine. She’d kicked that habit almost a year ago, yet only in the last few weeks had she managed to make it through the night without the stomach cramps and migraines of withdrawal. She was proud of having kicked her habit, though she felt a little less sharp without the drug.

  The doors opened and Jeremiah exited, his face gray, his movements painfully slow. Lendra hated to see this magnificent, athletic, vital man—this man she still loved—reduced to arthritic uselessness. Hannah slid out behind him, followed by two muscular but unarmored Elite Ops troopers, who immediately stepped to the side of the doors, their backs against the wall. They looked similar—short hair, serious faces.

  “Do we need them here?” Lendra asked.

  “President’s orders,” one of them said. “I’m Finn. He’s Gil.”

  “We’re the fish team,” Gil said. “The best in the business. And we ought to be doing important work.”

  Protecting Jeremiah must seem punishment to these men, who still harbored ill will toward him for his exploits in Minnesota.

  Dr. Poole smiled, making Lendra recall that she had a thing for big, muscular men—Elite Ops troopers like Jack Marschenko.

  Lendra noticed that Hannah wore a broad grin too. Probably she was delighted to be back at CINTEP, thinking she was done babysitting Jeremiah. Little did she know: Lendra intended to keep her at Jeremiah’s side—partly because Hannah’s profile indicated she was perfect for bodyguard detail and partly because she wasn’t Jeremiah’s type. Also, Hannah, so deprived of attention by her own father, would transfer Jeremiah to a fatherly role.

  Curtik, unable to stand still for more than a few seconds, began to dance beside Lendra. With her peripheral visi
on she could see him shuffling his feet and bopping his head to some hidden music. He avoided making eye contact with Jeremiah. To Curtik’s left, Zora stared at Jeremiah, her mouth slightly open. She looked healthy, her coppery skin glowing. Her curly blond hair cascaded around her shoulders and her brown eyes appeared almost liquid in the hallway lighting. When Jeremiah smiled at her, she blushed. Lendra found her annoyingly perfect. She’d have to find a job for Zora far away from here.

  “So,” Lendra said to Jeremiah, “it takes Devereaux going down to get you involved?” She smiled as she said it.

  Jeremiah shrugged, in obvious pain. Did the drugs really not work for him? How was he able to function when even the slightest movement brought such agony?

  “Bad joke,” she added.

  “Ha!” Curtik roared with fake laughter. He slapped himself on the thigh and chuckled. “That’s a good one. I didn’t catch it at first, but now, whew, that’s a doozie.”

  Jeremiah said, “I told you I was done. The only reason I’m here is because Devereaux is in a coma.”

  Lendra forced a smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

  Jeremiah looked from Curtik to Zora and said, “Good morning, Curtik, Zora.”

  “The savior returns,” Curtik said, finally looking at Jeremiah. “All our problems are over. The sun is brighter. The birds are happier. We might as well pack up and go home.”

  Jeremiah shook his head slowly. “How are you feeling, Zora?”

  “Better, thanks,” she answered. “Though my implant had to be removed.”

  “And the pain? Are you finally letting them manage that for you?”

  Zora’s eyes glistened. “Yes.”

  “Good. No point in suffering if you don’t have to. You’re smarter than that.”

  “Smart enough to know the truth,” Zora replied. “Why don’t you tell them what’s really going on?”

  Lendra frowned. She noticed that Zora kept her focus on Jeremiah, ignoring everyone around her. Was that because she was in love with him, or was something else going on? Lendra said, “What do you mean by that?”