The White Death (17 page)

Chapter 33

“How do you feel?” said Freda. Her chief scientist and friend stood before her desk looking rather sheepish. If this had been earlier, Freda knew she’d have launched into a rant at him, but that would do no good now. It was time to set aside what had happened and get back to work.

“I’ve been better, Freda,” said Peter. He was meek.

“We got him a shave and shower before coming to see you,” said Christopher. “He has one whopper of a hangover.”

“I’m sure,” said Freda. She appreciated Christopher trying to add a touch of lightness to the meeting.

“I want to offer my apologies,” said Peter.

Freda was surprised. He was like her, stubborn and unapologetic. Even if she was in the wrong, she preferred to just get on with it, without making the apology.

“We’ve all made mistakes,” said Freda. “I’m just glad we got you home before you fell.”

“My family?” asked Peter.

“We’re keeping tabs on them, but they’ve refused security,” said Christopher.

“Your sister is as stubborn as you sometimes,” said Freda. She sat down, preferring to get back to work, and they both took seats, as well.

“We’ve all messed up since this began,” said Christopher. Freda listened to him go into a marvelous speech, emphasizing the importance of family and the duty they all had to this world.

“I don’t trust the Bernay, Peter.”

“With good reason,” said Peter. “They could be putting anything into this vaccine, and we wouldn’t know without properly analyzing it.”

“Which is why I need you to get back to work,” said Freda. “Tear the vaccine apart.”

“Oh, I will,” he said, and Christopher visibly relaxed.

“Now,” said Freda. “While you two were off playing search and rescue, a Professor Ursula Barrington has been harassing the secretaries, demanding to know your whereabouts.”

“She can be rather insistent,” he admitted.

“To put it mildly,” said Freda. “Her team in London has new information for us regarding the virus. They’ve studied it and come up with some interesting facts regarding…”—Freda lifted the memo up—“…the SRGAP2 genes and how they are affected.”

“What?” said Peter.

“I thought you’d have that reaction,” said Freda. Barrington’s tone on the phone had allowed her to predict as much.

“That might cause the decrease in brain activity we see in those who are infected,” said Peter.

“I’ll not even ask what this gene is,” said Christopher. “Just get to work, Peter.”

“I know this has been a disaster, from start to finish,” she began. She looked down at the family portrait of her team, in a simple gold frame on her desk. “But we need to protect those we have left. This war isn’t over yet, and we can still win.”

Christopher looked at her, and she knew it had worked. He gave her a little smile.

“Orders, boss?” he said.

“The Bernay won’t liaise with us on a vaccine, and I’m not comfortable relying on them 100 percent. Peter, get to work on our own.”

“I’ll get started right away.”

Just then, her computer logged an incoming call, and Cecil appeared on the screen. “Freda,” said Cecil, her longtime Council friend.

“Cecil, I was about to contact you.”

The councilmember was sweating, sitting on the edge of his seat.

“We need to meet, Freda.”

“The usual spot?” she offered.

“No. Somewhere private.”

Freda could think of only one other place.

“Meet me at Earth coordinates 02.53.12.3213. When?”

“Now.”

She wasted no time, transporting into an old abandoned warehouse. It was once used by Section 51 before World War II. Now, it was dark and cold, droplets of water falling on her from the dilapidated ceiling far above. Everything seemed much simpler back when this place was headquarters. The future was bright. She never envisioned the situation the world now found itself in. Time had not been kind to this building, and it reminded her that everything and everyone eventually succumbs to it. She tapped her brooch, and it glistened to provide some light.

“Expecting someone?” asked Freda as Cecil zapped in beside her. He immediately pulled out a scanning device, checking the local area.

“Precautions,” he said.

“What has happened?” she asked.

“You need to leave Earth,” said Cecil abruptly.

“Excuse me?” said Freda, stopping in her tracks. “Why? I have no intention of leaving Earth.”

“This would go a lot easier if you didn’t ask me any questions,” he said. “Please, just do as I ask. Leave Earth, and don’t come back.”

“Never,” said Freda. “Cecil, what the hell has happened?” She gripped his shoulders.

“Why can’t you just trust I’m acting in your best interests?” he said.

“I have a planet to think about,” said Freda. “Loyalty!”

“Freda, my dear Freda,” said Cecil, pain in his eyes. “You must go. Don’t you understand? Loretta will have the Council and Supreme Court blame you for everything. All that has happened. You don’t exactly have a glistening record here to fall back on.”

“Because I know the difference between right and wrong, and I don’t hide behind rules and regulations when the situation gets sticky,” said Freda. She never had, all her life, and wasn’t about to start now.

“Head out toward the Tyson Belt or something, somewhere the Council won’t find you,” said Cecil, completely ignoring her comment. “Your life may very well be in danger. Get off Earth and don’t come back. Earth is doomed, and deep down you know it, as well.” He was shouting now, and Freda stepped back in shock. He was angry, a trait she’d never witnessed in him before.

“I have nothing to hide,” she said. “But I’ve plenty to tell. I didn’t create the Eugenics Virus—the Bernay did. I will not take the fall for this.”

“Freda, it won’t matter who created the virus. You’re the one who continually blocked the Council from taking action year after year. Loretta will argue humanity wouldn’t be in this position if you had allowed the Council to act.”

“That’s speculation,” said Freda, frowning. She knew he was lying to her. “It would never hold up in court. What the hell is this really about?” She marched up to him, furious to think he was involved in a cover-up.

“We knew humanity was always going to be a shot in the dark, Freda. We missed, and now it’s time to clean up our mess and move on.”

“You’re not talking about the Eugenics Virus anymore, are you?”

Cecil refused to comment, which was confirmation enough for Freda. He went to continue walking, but she stopped him.

“Are we talking about the destruction of a race?”

“Freda, I have no answers to give you. I’m here as your friend, not your boss. Please, leave Earth, run, and don’t come back.” Cecil shoved a data chip into her gloved hand. “Everything you’ll need to escape,” said Cecil. “Transporter, fake travel papers, everything. There’s a shuttle craft waiting at these Earth coordinates. Take it and go. I’ve arranged for someone to meet you at the Tyson Belt.”

“The belt?” said Freda. She recognized the coordinates and knew Cecil wouldn’t make such a foolish mistake by accident.

“Freda, the Tyson Belt is on the edge of the abyss. No one will find you there. Live out your retirement in peace. Go,” he said, refusing to blink, again staring deep into her. He vanished. Freda stood alone in the cold, dark warehouse, hearing only the rain pelt down outside. She kept replaying the twenty-second part of her conversation with Cecil in her mind. She didn’t know the coordinates of the Tyson Belt, but she certainly knew the ones Cecil had gave her were not anywhere near Tyson.

The light from her brooch began to slowly dim and fade out.

Darkness overtook her.

Chapter 34

Peter downed a strong cup of caffeinated coffee with full-fat milk. His waistline and health wasn’t top of the agenda at the moment.

“Ready for transport,” said CIM. He had to requisition a transporter favor from the
Experian
. Grace had been more than willing to help.

“Transport,” he said, pouring another cup. She would be transporting straight into his office.

“Dr. Roberts,” said Ursula loudly. “I shall need a very good explanation. Where have you been?”

“On leave,” he said, feeling uncomfortable. Her hawkish gaze could frighten anyone.

Her eyebrow curled up, letting him know of her total disbelief in his comment. “Let’s move on, Doctor.”

“Very formal.”

“Keeps things focused,” she replied. Peter admired how she never changed, even in fashion sense. The same long white coat, spectacles, and tight hair bun. She was always so efficient and ready for work.

“That was a rather interesting experience.”

“Transportation?” he said.

“Indeed.”

“It takes a while to get used to,” he laughed. As usual, she took it all in her stride. “Welcome to Section 51.”

“I always suspected,” said Ursula. “And your office is just how I expected it. Untidy, unkempt, and with coffee mugs everywhere.”

“You know me too well. And I think you knew from day one,” said Peter. “But protocol.”

“Say no more,” she said, holding a hand up. “Protocol is gospel, sometimes.”

He felt better about their chances already; she was simply the smartest person he knew.

“Well, I’d give you the grand tour, but…”

“We don’t have time for that, Peter,” she said right away. “Let’s get to work. Computer system.”

“How did you know…?” he asked, about to offer her tea.

“Futuristic scientific laboratory,” she replied, removing her coat. “Why wouldn’t you have a voice-activated computer?”

“Fair point.”

“Hello,” said CIM.

“CIM,” said Peter. “Grant Professor Barrington full access to the computer system.”

“Granted,” said CIM. “Welcome, Professor Barrington.”

“Thank you, CIM. Interface with my laptop and display file 759C.”

“Loading,” said CIM.

“You’re just like a colleague of mine,” remarked Peter, standing beside her. “Treating the computer as if it’s alive.”

“Manners cost nothing,” said Ursula, fixing a lose strand of hair behind her ear.

“How long does it take the virus to render the SRGAP2 genes defunct?” said Peter. “If they’re only disabled, then we might be able to reactivate it again.”

“This is the moment,” said Ursula. “Watch carefully.”

CIM displayed in stunning colorful detail the moment the virus swarmed a sample of brain tissue, destroying almost everything in its path. For Peter and Ursula, it was unbelievable—they had no idea how this was even possible.

“Destroyed, along with almost everything else,” she said once the simulation was over. “We have no way of repairing that kind of damage.”

“Replace it maybe?” asked Peter.

Ursula laughed.

“Peter, you’ve been underground for far too long. We don’t have that kind of technology, nothing we’re even theorizing about.”

“But if we did,” he insisted.

“Even if we did, it would require a level of personalization for each individual that would make the task impossible. Peter, for the first time in the history of our planet, the needs of the few must trump the needs of the many. When we get this under control, infection will have passed the fifty percent mark,” said Ursula. “As long as there is one infected human or animal on this planet, then we are at risk. They must all be destroyed, and the remaining population vaccinated.”

“Like animals,” said Peter.

“But that’s exactly what they are now, Peter. Animals. Prehistoric animals with a gene pool so primal, so basic. Our only hope is to put them out of their misery. If I turned into one of those things, I’d want to be put down.”

“Said by someone in the safety of a lab,” he retorted, sitting back behind his desk.

“Don’t you dare accuse me of such cowardice,” said Ursula. “It was me out among the sick and the dying the last thirty years. I traveled across Asia and the Middle East, cataloguing every virus strain thought to be a possible threat to humanity. I didn’t hide in an underground bunker.”

“I don’t know why we’re having this argument. The Council agrees with you about exterminating the infected,” said Peter.

“I’m worried about further infection first and foremost. We can debate total extermination later on. Right now, we need to at least hold back the tide.”

“You mean bomb the furthest reaches of the virus?” said Peter. Despite his opposition, there was no denying it made a good argument. Ursula always did bring simple common sense to the table.

“For now,” said Ursula. “How long until this Council begins their own extermination?”

“Same time as vaccine release.” Each time he received a message from the Bernay, it was to inform them that they had encountered another unforeseen problem and were working as quickly as possible. “They are fine-tuning a toxic nerve agent to make sure it eradicates the virus entirely and does not harm the planet,” said Peter. He knew each second that passed, more innocent people were becoming infected. Millions across Europe would now be in a state of panic, fighting for their very existence. He would have to support her short-term immediate plan.

“We can’t wait that long. We need to act now. Every second that passes kills more people.”

“We have a meeting with the president at seven tomorrow morning,” said Peter, checking his email. “If you’re really wanting to suggest bombing runs of European cities and land, we don’t have much time to fine-tune it.”

“We can’t save them, Peter,” said Ursula. “I know you don’t want to hear that, but face facts.”

Peter undid his tie, propping his head up. “Okay, what do you propose?” he said.

Ursula stood up and began talking him through the information on her laptop presentation.

“My studies show that once the infected die, the virus dies with them. So to speak, of course. We know a virus isn’t really alive to begin with, but if you remove the host, then the virus ceases to function.”

“I’m surprised by this. Considering the rather complex structure of the virus, I always suspected it to have a backup mechanism,” said Peter.

“I expected a backup as well, but we’re due one bit of fortune,” said Ursula.

“What do we have in our own arsenals, in enough quantity, for that kind of killing?” said Peter.

“Sarin,” said Ursula. “The United States and Britain kept large stockpiles after the Third World War. We can modify it.”

“And America has facilities up and down the country that could manufacture more as quickly as we needed it.” Section 51 had a few chambers that could create sarin as well.

“So at least we have the production capacity there,” said Ursula. “I presume your transporter technology can be used for the sarin as well?”

“Yes,” said Peter. They could transport stockpiles to Britain in a flash, ready to be loaded onto planes. “You’re totally certain about the sarin?”

“100%. We tested it on the virus, and there weren’t even trace amounts. It’s safe. The more infected we kill now, the better chance we give to those still free,” she said.

“I just wish we could do more to save them.”

“We can’t wait on the Bernay. It’s up to humans to sort out this mess. We can act now and save a few million.”

She marched up and down his clinically white office, not missing the tiniest details on all his displays.

“So sarin-43 dispersal on the outer reaches of the virus outbreak, to drive it back?” he said.

“We’ll hit the infected along the edges, hopefully reducing the transmission rate.”

“What about a carrier?” said Peter, the idea just coming to him.

“A what?” she asked.

“A carrier,” said Peter.

Ursula laughed. “Have you heard of one?”

He shook his head.

“If I got a carrier, then we’d have a far better shot at developing our own vaccine. Being able to study the virus in full action, seeing how the human was actively fighting it off … well, it would be worth any risk. That being said, I doubt one exists.”

“Why?” said Peter.

“This virus is so deadly,” said Ursula. “It’s vicious, and it’s a destroyer. We can only defeat it by killing every infected host. We must fight fire with fire. It has the ability to adapt. You said even the Council was having trouble developing a vaccine?”

“They are, but between us, it’s turned political, which is never good.”

“Politics,” cursed Ursula. “In every society, it still exists.”

“We’ll need to prepare a plan of action for the president,” said Peter. “I’ll buzz Freda down here.”

“I do have one other suggestion, and it does involve saving people. It would complement the bombing…”

“I’m all ears,” he said, not yet dialing the number.

“It’s bold, and we’ll have to be, too.”