The Demon Plagues (34 page)

“I bet you’re right. Oh, not the only reason,
but one of them. But the Demon Plague One vaccine worked on you;
how do you feel about that?”

“Stop it, Skull,” she snapped. “What do you
really want?”

He looked down at his iced tea, swirling it
around in his glass for a moment before lifting his eyes back to
hers. “I’m not sure. I can’t figure out why they let someone who
helped Edens escape get so close to a project like this.”

She sat back, aghast. “There are none so
blind as those who will not see. Listen to yourself – I could ask
you the exact same question. As I understand it, we both fought the
Unionists in our own way. I am not questioning your loyalty; do me
the courtesy of the same.”

His mouth twitched upward. “Fair enough. We
both fought the fascists before, so we were on the same side...and
maybe we still are. I just wanted to make sure you knew it too.
Ma’am.” With that he got up and walked casually away.

She stared after him, nonplussed.
He led
me by the nose into that little quip. But why? What other side is
there?

-43-

The ten men lay strapped to hospital beds in
the large surgical theatre. Arranged in a circle with their feet
together in the middle, medical technicians hooked up IV bags to
the hep-locks already inserted in their veins. Others stood by with
an array of drugs and machinery, all aimed at keeping them alive in
the face of any reaction.

Above them an array of cameras and sensors
recorded every move, and many of the project heads sat in the
balcony. General Tyler stood, looking down through the glass at the
test being readied.

“I still think we should slow this down, test
one by one,” grumped Carlos “Chico” Fernandez, Tyler’s chief of
administration.

“We don’t have time. Demon Plague Two falls
in one week and we can’t be sure what it will do. The test subjects
have been given Markis’ vaccine and are healthy. Now we need to
know how the bots will react.”

“But you’ve added the self-replicating
feature this time. You won’t be able to filter them out.”

“Of course we will, we just turn them off to
stop them replicating. Don’t you read your own staff’s
reports?”

The little man slumped. “Sorry, General, I’m
so damned tired anymore. I wish I had your permission to take the
Eden Plague.”

General Tyler looked at the man – really
looked, this time, and saw what he hadn’t wanted to see before.
Fernandez was on the edge of cracking from the pressure, and he was
almost sixty. He made a decision quickly, as he always did. “Have
it done. Right away. We need you too much to risk your health.”

Fernandez looked up at the General in
gratitude. “Oh, thank you, sir.” He brightened up immediately.

That’s the problem with the damned Eden
Plague, it’s so attractive. Immortality. I’ve been tempted myself.
The nanobots have to work, or we’re all going to end up helpless
pacifists in the face of these murderous aliens.

The two looked down at the ten men, now ready
to go. Tyler reached for the microphone. “All right, start the
test.”

Ten technicians stepped forward, injecting
liquid from ten syringes into the Y-set of each man’s IV line. The
liquid mingled with the IV drip, carrying the self-replicating
nanobots into each man’s body.

Skull stared up at the glass, meeting General
Tyler’s eyes. He raised his eyebrows in bravado.

Tyler nodded back, unsmiling.

Skull felt a familiar burning sensation,
faint but annoying. This was the fifth time he had been injected
with nanobots of some kind. Each type before had been just a light
dose of non-replicating machines, doomed to mayfly lives,
performing specific experimental tasks. This was a test of the Full
Monty, the prototype self-replicating wide-spectrum physical
booster: the real Tiny Fortress.

The sensation grew, and soon he itched all
over from the inside, a horrible feeling. He reported this to his
assigned tech, who added in a drug cocktail to combat the
sensation. It receded, replaced with a floating feeling.
Must
have added in some Versed or something
.

The itching finally went away, to be replaced
by warmth and well-being. The nanobots weren’t supposed to make it
across the blood-brain barrier but something was feeling good. He
was just trying to figure out what it was when he heard a hoarse
scream. It sounded like McCarthy.

From above, the supervisors saw medics
converge on one of the subjects, who thrashed in his restraints.
They jammed needles into his flesh and into the Y-set in vain, as
he broke one arm loose and pummeled the nearest tech with his fist.
The woman dropped to the ground as if poleaxed.

The technicians pulled back, hoping the drugs
would work in time, and two strapping MPs tried to get the man’s
arm back in the padded cuff. Two snapping motions of that arm later
the men lay broken on the floor, and the test subject freed his
other arm by the simple expedient of ripping the nylon strap in
half.

Those straps are thousand-pound test
,
Tyler thought. He grabbed the microphone. “Shut him down!”

One of the controllers slammed his hand onto
a large button and a visible flash of electricity surged through
the man’s metal-framed hospital bed. This only served to enrage
him, as he tore his legs loose and lunged for the nearest door.

“Protocol Zulu, now!” yelled Tyler over the
PA.

As soon as the escapee ripped open the door,
several shots rang out. The man staggered forward into a storm of
gunfire from the military police. He reached out to one of them,
grasping the guard’s arm. The MP screamed as his tibia and fibula
snapped under the pressure of the maniac’s grip. Another MP put his
pistol against the attacker’s head and ended it with a sickening
blast of brains.

“Jesus,” muttered Tyler as Fernandez vomited
onto the floor beside him.

“Dad, did you see that?” JT stepped up beside
his father, excited. “Did you see how much it took to put him
down?”

“Son, we just lost a good man because we’re
in a hurry. I can accept the casualty, but have some respect.”

JT eyed his shiny boots. “Sure, dad,” he
whispered, barely containing himself. “I’m sorry, but if all the
rest are okay, and they are all like that…”

“I get it. We may just have our
super-soldier.”

Below, Skull held himself in check through
the chaos. Once it was calm, he cleared his throat. “Uh, hey, you.
Med-tech. I think I got hit.”

His assigned tech let out a gasp. “Crap,
you’re right.” The medic grabbed a pair of surgical scissors and
cut a hole in the scrubs Skull wore. “Looks like a pistol
round.”

The technicians gathered and stared at the
torn flesh. “What’s it doing?” There came a faint thud, then a
rattle as something fell from the bed. “Expelling the bullet, looks
like,” one said.

“Let me see,” Skull ground out. “It’s all
right, I’m in control of myself.”

The technician looked up at Tyler, who
nodded. He loosed Skull’s head restraint first, then his arms.

Skull sat up, probing at his own leg. “It’s
healing up fast. Just like the Eden Plague. And I feel fantastic.
Do I look any different?”

The technicians shook their heads, backing
out of arm’s reach.

“Calm down, people. I’m fine. What about the
rest? And who was that?”

“It was McCarthy, sir. He’s dead.”

The other subjects started speaking, asking
to be let go as well. Tyler gave the thumbs-up and soon nine men in
hospital scrubs stood around, slapping each other’s backs, doing
one-armed pushups and handstands, looking like a bunch of
steroid-pumped circus acrobats.

“All right, Fortress team, calm down and let
the techs process you. Then we’ll see what you can do.”

***

The forensics team leader turned his tablet
around and around in his hands. “Sir, I have the results of the
analysis of the one who, uh, didn’t work. McCarthy.”

“Yes?” Captain JT Tyler sat straighter up
behind his desk. “Let’s have it.”

“Well, sir…he was a Plague carrier.”

“We knew that. He got the vaccine.”

“No, sir, I’m sorry.” The team leader wilted
under the head of security’s glare. “He was an Eden Plague carrier.
That’s why he went berserk. The nanobots and the Plague...he was in
agony. It would feel like being ripped apart from the inside.” The
man looked like he wanted to throw up.

“Why didn’t the shutdown protocol work?”

“We’re not sure. The electrical field should
have turned to bots off and then we could have saved him, I
assume.”

“You
assume
? Did you get a line on
what Eden strain it was? Could it be from any one of our Edens?
Could it be from Forman?”

“Uh…no sir. It doesn’t exactly match any of
ours.”

JT expelled a sound of frustration, then
stood up and stalked over to seize the swaying man. “Pull yourself
together. Now, you tell anyone who worked on this to keep their
mouths shut. Compartmentalize it. It’s my job to find out how and
why this happened, not yours. I don’t want people worried about it,
you understand me?”

“Uh, yes sir. Fine by me, sir.”

“I didn’t ask you your
God-damned opinion,
you useless geek
, now get the hell out of my office and just do
what I told you!” JT shoved the shaking scientist out the door to
stumble down the hall while he stood, quivering with rage.
Can’t
anyone do anything right around here? First that fiasco in Geneva,
now this. Much more and people will suspect I can’t do my job, and
there’s no way I’m going to let Dad see me fail.

He took several deep breaths to calm himself,
then went to report the news to the General.

“We must have some kind of spy or mole in
here,” General Tyler mused.

“The forensics says it wasn’t Forman or any
of the other Eden test subjects.”

“Right. Have everyone in the program
retested. Everyone! I want to know if any of the staff is a new
Eden carrier and if so, compare the strains. You know the
drill.”

“Yes, sir.” JT did an about-face and got out
of his father’s office before the old man could think of anything
else.

***

Christine unlocked her door and went in to
see Jill with a grim expression on her face. “We just had a test of
the prototype super-soldier nano. Your boyfriend is dead.”

Jill toweled off wet hair. “My what? Who’s
dead?”

“That guy you walked home the night you got
here. You said he kissed you, right?”

“Yes. What happened?”

“The nanobots worked on everyone but him. He
died in agony.”

Jill sat down, slamming a palm on the chair
arm. “Dammit! Dammit dammit dammit!” She grasped her short brown
hair with both fists and pulled, as if to drag it out by the roots,
making a strangled, inarticulate sound in her throat.

Forman soothed, “Not your fault. You’re still
a Marine and you’re still at war, remember that.”

“Who am I at war with?” she screamed. “Dumb
lunks of SEALs that I lead on with my feminine wiles? Or millions
of innocent civilians that I burn to ash with the push of a button?
One minute I feel like I should be eating a shotgun and the next I
know I can’t do it. How am I supposed to deal with this guilt, and
oh by the way, thanks for bringing me more.” She wiped tears with
the backs of her hands.

Christine sighed. “We’ve talked about that a
lot. This kind of burden is unbearable for any one person, even any
two people. You have to turn to God.”

“Nice formula! You’re supposed to say that,
you’re a chaplain.”

Christine’s voice softened as she enfolded
the younger woman in her arms. “I don’t
believe
because I’m
a chaplain. I’m a
chaplain
because I believe. I’m not just
trying to help you out of duty. I’ve told you I’m ready to pray
with you whenever you are ready to unload your soul onto the only
person who can bear all that guilt – because He already bore it and
more on the Cross.”

Jill gasped, failing to hold back sobs. “I
think I’m ready.”

Christine sat down and held Jill’s hands.
“Then let’s pray.”

-44-

Master Sergeant Huff rapped lightly on the
jamb of Skull’s open cell door. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Close the door and sit down, Huff.”

Huff closed and sat.

“I’ve been notified we have a mission.”

“What we, sir? And what mission?”

“We nine. Fortress Team, or whatever you want
to call us. Short notice, hard fast and ugly. I’ll give you the
details as soon as I am allowed, hopefully tomorrow morning.”

Huff looked speculatively at Skull, stroking
his chin with his thick-fingered hand. “So what’s this little chat
about?”

Skull settled back on his bunk, cocking an
eyebrow at the squat black man. “Because this team is yours. We all
know it. It doesn’t matter what got pinned on my collar. It doesn’t
even matter that I have more experience. Now if we had time – weeks
at least, like we usually would to prep for an op – I’d work on all
that stuff they talk about in training schools. Situational
leadership. Problem solving process. Sources of power and
influence. Team building, stages of group dynamics, all that crap.
But it looks like we go in just a few days – probably right when
Demon Plague Two falls. So I don’t have time to do it the hard way.
The easy way is, you and me, we come to an understanding.”

“Hah hah haaaa. That all seems like a one-way
street – I be your nigga, massah, sho’ ‘nuff boss.”

“All that racist guilt crap won’t work on me,
Huff. I see through you. You’re a street-smart guy that moved up to
book smarts but never forgot where he came from, I get it. And you
think you hold all the cards.”