ViraVax (26 page)

Chapter 35

Dajaj Mishwe knew that mercy was no survival trait, and he doubted that he would have shown the Caseys mercy, anyway. Mishwe was a believer, and he was the sword arm of the Archangel of Wrath. Blasphemy and betrayal had no place in the Garden of Eden, and their agents had no place amongst the faithful. So far, only Dajaj Mishwe had remained faithful to the God of Eden. The Caseys, the missionaries, all of the rest, had sold out to petty politics or cash. Vermin, barely fit for sacrifice on an Angel’s sword.

Each missionary took possession of twelve Innocents and called themselves Children of Eden. Eden required work, it was a prize to be won. Mishwe had seen how the faithful used those Innocents to stuff the corporate coffers and quench their secret lusts. Selling the labor and the organs of their twelve Innocents was greed in God’s eyes, but Casey’s eyes never blinked.

Missionaries who forced their Innocents to wait on them were slothful, disgusting beasts hardly worthy of sacrifice. How they would bellow at the burning!

Bartlett had been correct to call it slavery in his memos, while Casey had preferred the euphemism “genetically induced symbiosis.”

Mishwe knew all along it would be a Sabbath-day accident, catching the Caseys and their missionaries topside. Mishwe had his plan in force for months, and executed each stage with precision, purified with the sweet scent of sacrifice to the Lord. Good Friday was a time of entombment, and Easter a sign of resurrection of the faithful, a perfect symbol of his intent.

Now that the two Caseys steamed on the charred carpet, and the rest of the staff disintegrated into a stinking muck around him, truly there was no turning back. Within moments the first two levels would be sealed off and rendered lifeless. His precious creations, Harry and Sonja, awaited him, safely sealed off in the elevator on Level Five.

He knew that it was unlikely that Chang would take the sacrificial drink with the others. She was a pagan, in resistance to her indoctrination at the Master’s university, and for this good sense he almost admired her. Her work was meticulous, elegant, and Mishwe regretted that she would not live to see the transformation that her Sunspots would bring to his new world order, his Garden of Eden, his Earth.

Even if Chang and some outsiders survive, she’ll get the blame,
he thought.
And no one topside will survive for long.

The thought was very nearly a gloat, and gloating lacked dignity. Mishwe breathed deeply, a cleansing breath, and washed the thought away. His every act, his every thought and dream, must be framed in dignity or all was for naught. Adam and Eve lied to the Lord and their dignity fell away from them, leaving them a pair of ignorant grub-eaters in the desert.

At first glimpse, the Lord commanded His Angel to drive those lying bags of carrion from the Garden, cloaked only in the shame of their true nakedness, their lack of dignity, their lie.

Mishwe abhorred the lie as the ultimate cowardice, the seat of all betrayal, God’s reason for weeding humanity from His Garden in the first place. Neither liars nor lies would desecrate the new Eden. It was time for the Angel of Eden to heft his sacrificial sword, his hot blade of purification. Darkness would be his ally, along with the tools and opportunity provided by the Lord Himself.

Mishwe activated the correct toggles within his gloveware, then paused a moment. The pause was not out of reflection upon the immensity of the act he was about to commit, but a moment of appreciation for his hour come round at last.

Thanks to Marte Chang’s innovations, Meltdown slept on in the mitochondria of every staff member and Innocent. It hibernated now in the monthly shipment of vaccines distributed to the outside world, a shipment that lifted off from La Libertad’s airport just hours ago. Soon a few hundred thousand humans would be infected, to die under the first harsh scrutiny of the sun.

Those who were not infected by the doctored vaccine would perish soon enough, for Mishwe had added a few twists of his own to the brew. The steam from their combustion carried the new infection. This design would prove to be the most highly contagious, quickly moving AVA ever made.

Forty days and forty nights,
Mishwe estimated.
Then the soil of the Garden must lie fallow awhile, awaiting my Adam and Eve,

With his preparations, Mishwe and his two charges could live nicely at Level Five for five years, ten years, even more. His weapon was human-specific, sparing the other animals of the Garden. Only Marte Chang could identify the base, and she would not live to do so.

At the touch of a toggle, the lake behind the dam would be unleashed. The cleansing waters would wash the topside facility to the sea and scour the ground to concrete. The world would presume the entire facility lost. And the world, at least its corrupted version of humanity, would not last the month.

Dajaj knew that he and his Adam and Eve could live forever at Level Five, sealed off in the perfect ecology he had developed. But they would not have to hide forever. In two months the danger would pass. Six months should clear the stench of the dead and they could step out into a world of fresh air and opportunity. Truly, the Garden of Eden.

His sword would have beaten itself into a plowshare long before then. Meanwhile, cradled in the cellular fluids, Meltdown would spark a conflagration that would make Nero look like a child waving a sparkler against the night.

Mishwe imagined the holy moment, now at hand, when everyone at Level One and Two burst to flame, becoming candles to light the way of the Lord. He flicked his right index finger inside his gloveware, and relaxed. The preinfected would die today, killed by ice water with no more sensation than an electrical
snap
in the solar plexus.

Dajaj began the seal-off program for the top two levels, spiraling the precious life support inward, downward, to maintain the core for the Angel of Eden, a support crew of selected Innocents and his Adam and Eve. Like a body in mortal danger, Mishwe did it methodically, regretlessly.

If his plan went wrong and they dug him out, he would be a hero for his quick action at containment and for broadcasting the proper Mayday messages. All hardware of the world would remain intact, displaying the same discrimination as the old neutron bomb but without the mess. The Garden came with an infinite supply of free tools.

Mishwe wanted to kill Marte Chang and Colonel Toledo himself. Chang, because his plan could not abide her accidental survival. She was a smart one, perhaps even smarter than himself, and he knew she could easily construct a vaccine because she developed the vehicle. No one else would have the luxury of this head start. Toledo he wanted just because it would feel good.

He shook off the feeling, reminding himself of all the histories that went wrong because someone chose the path that felt good over the true path, the well-laid plan. Mishwe reaffirmed that his history would not be one of those.

The body that waits, loses.

He triggered the timing devices at the dam and felt like a sporting figure, come out on the playing field of the gods. Mishwe wondered if he would feel the departure of all those souls, as an amputee feels the limb cramp at night, as a mother grieves over the entombment of her sons.

Did they have souls?

The Innocents, of course, did not. But the missionaries shared in the knowledge of good and evil, the ultimate failing of Adam and Eve. To be soulless, and to sit in judgment on good and evil, that is the ultimate enemy. It must be destroyed at once.

Mishwe had to make sure with Harry and Sonja. He wanted to believe that he’d been faithful to them, his chicks. That he’d thought of them daily, done everything possible to keep them within observation range. He hadn’t, and he’d agonized over his remission, and if this rare squander of feeling came to naught, if he created an infidel—worse, a devil—and squandered feeling on it, then surely there was no god merciful enough to save him.

Chapter 36

The Colonel flexed his fingers and toes carefully, testing his musculature. He had regained sensation throughout his body, but the slightest movement brought on tremors that punctuated his general weakness. Neither guard seemed worried about him, and neither suspected yet that he was from the outside. Rico’s eyes were still taped shut, but he positioned the nearby guards from their conversation.

I’ll get the sergeant first,
Rico thought.
The other one shouldn’t be a problem.

“They get out once in a while,” the sergeant was saying. “Rain washes holes under the fence. This one was probably sent out there to fix it and got himself mixed up. Flip a note to Blue, tell them there’s still a hole someplace and this time they should send a brain along. It can wait till daylight.”

Rico heard the rapid clicking of fingers in control gloves, then the
beep
that went with transmission. A chair swiveled.

“Seems like it’s pretty hard to do,” the younger man said. “I don’t think
I
could figure a way out of here.”

“Well, you could see how bad he wanted back in,” the sergeant said. “They don’t think like we do. They get afraid of everything. You know that one who brings the bread? Well, he’s afraid of paper. Crumpling paper. Puts his hands over his ears and howls like a coyote.”

“What’ll we do with this one?”

“Give him an hour or so. After bread, we’ll take him over to Blue, they’ll know what to do with him. We’ll have to tie him up in a little bit. That toxin makes ‘em pretty twitchy when they come around. Hey, here’s Gordon with the grub. Watch this.”

Feet shuffled through the double doorway, accompanied by the
squeaksqueaksqueak
of a cart, the clink of ice water and rattle of utensils.

Rico risked a left hand to his left eye. Two straps circled his body at the chest and legs. All of Rico’s strength and concentration went to prying the tape loose from his eyelid. He let it hang free so his guards wouldn’t notice. After a few deep breaths, he had the strength to loosen the right one. As soon as he did so, his body broke out in a profuse sweat, and tremors rippled through the muscles of his arms and legs. Cramps seized his belly and he was afraid he was going to foul himself.

Relax,
he told himself,
just relax. Slow, deep breaths.

The tremors drummed his heels slightly against the steel surface beneath him, but the sergeant chose that moment to crumple a wad of paper and send the retarded servant into a panic.

The poor man fled without his cart, waddling backwards, hands over his ears and eyes closed, crying like he’d been whipped.

Jesus!
Rico thought.
Some fun!

Rico risked a glance at his guards. The corporal poured out their ritual ice water while the sergeant broke the bread. Both men swept off their caps while the sergeant offered a mumbled grace.

“Too bad we’ll miss the Master’s sermon this evening,” the corporal said. “I’ve never seen him in person, only on-screen.”

“You’ll see plenty before your tour’s through,” the sergeant said, talking through a mouthful of dry bread.

He gulped down a glass of water and poured himself another.

“This is my third tour,” he went on. “I like it here. I rode escort for him last time from the airport.”

“You get all the luck,” the corporal said. “I got to ride with yesterday’s shipment and back. What’s he like?”

“Like the father you wish you’d had,” the sergeant said. “Funny, too, but not like one of the guys. He’s different. He sure made me feel good, just riding with him.”

Rico craned his neck a little to see if he could spot his tool kit. He didn’t see it, but the effort sent his body into spasm once again. This time, it was like a full epileptic seizure except he was completely conscious.

“Shit!” the sergeant said. “We should’ve cinched that dummy down better. Give me a hand here.”

The two of them cinched Rico tight to the gurney, then the sergeant leaned close and removed the loose tape.

“Something’s funny here,” he said. “This guy doesn’t look right.”

Oh, shit!
Rico thought.

“What do you mean?”

“Look at his eyes,” the sergeant said, “the shape of his head.”

He held Rico’s forehead with one hand, ripped the tape off his mouth and spread his jaws wide.

“Look at his tongue. And where did he get gold in his dental work? Look at those fingers. Shit, I should have paid attention.”

The sergeant put the tip of his nose against Rico’s nose, and Rico was tempted to bite it off.

“Who are you?” he asked. “Who sent you?”

Rico grunted and shook his head, hoping to rescue the masquerade.

“Hit the intruder alarm,” the sergeant ordered. “There might be more than one of them. Then get the chief on the horn, tell him we’ve got one here dressed like a Triple from Blue. And toss me that tool kit.”

The corporal activated the intruder sequence on his Sidekick and tossed Rico’s tool kit to his partner. Before he could reach the radio, a series of alarms sounded from the direction of the main office complex, summoning fire, aid and security personnel.

“Disaster drill,” the corporal shouted.

“It’s no drill,” the sergeant shouted back. “And I’ll bet our company here knows all about it.”

The sergeant slapped Rico across the face.

“Don’t you?” he asked.

He slapped again.

“Don’t you?”

The man pulled his fist back for a punch when a puzzled expression crossed his face. He gasped a couple of times and the exhalations threw a hot wave over Rico’s face. The sergeant staggered back a couple of steps, mouth agape, and dropped to his knees.

“Sergeant?”

The corporal came to help but he, too, staggered and fell. He dropped face down on the concrete, his face making a heavy, wet
thuck
as he hit. The sergeant toppled onto his back without a word, the only sound a wet popping and crackling. Rico’s tool kit was underneath him.

Rico was conscious of a sickly smell that reminded him of rancid bacon in hot grease. He exhaled as deeply as he could and squirmed his left arm free. He unclasped the catch on one strap, then had to lie still for a few moments, fighting the tremors that racked his body.

“Better,” he told himself. “Getting better.”

Rico didn’t know what felled his two guards or what set off the disaster alarm, and that scared him a lot more than the guards themselves.

In this place, it could be anything,
he thought.

If it was another bug, he didn’t want to get it. He didn’t want Harry and Sonja to get it, either.

A thick, liquid sound, something like boiling oatmeal, emanated from the floor beside him. Rico managed to turn his head enough to see what was happening to the sergeant at the foot of his gurney. Rico knew immediately that he was witnessing the manner of his friend Red Bartlett’s death. This time it was faster, but every bit as ugly.

Rico felt a heat coming off the sergeant’s body, intensifying the odor of hot, rancid meat. His own muscles refused to work, and he was forced to watch the sergeant’s body suppurate in its rapid decay. The flesh melted from the bone slowly at first, like cold ketchup from a bottle. Then it became more runny, hotter, and as the tissues pulled away from the bones he saw the first little tongues of blue flame.

Rico looked out the doors and saw other flickers of blue flame there in the darkness. He used the rest of his strength to turn his face away, then a dizziness overcame him, the alarms faded out and darkness swallowed him whole.