Jeff Carlson - Plague War

Ruth was astonished. She had wondered long and hard why Cam asked these three to escort her and only these three, excluding Ballard and Mitchell. She wouldn’t have thought that Estey could let go of his authority, and yet Cam had been very right about him, his exhaustion and his grief. Estey wanted to believe that she knew some way out.

Foshtomi acted alone. Foshtomi grabbed Ruth’s hair and spun her sideways, chopping her arm down on Ruth’s hand. She knocked Ruth’s phone into the row of computer consoles. Then she slammed Ruth’s hip and shoulder blades down onto the hard shapes of the desk, a keyboard, two card cases, and a PDA.

“No,” Foshtomi said. Her lovely face was twisted with fury as she cocked one ‚st high behind her own ear. Ruth tried to block it and missed. Foshtomi’s knuckles glanced off her teeth, cracking her skull back against the messy surface of the console.

Goodrich clawed at Foshtomi, but he was dragged back by another man. Estey didn’t even get that close. One of the other soldiers clubbed Estey with his pistol and Estey banged into an overturned chair.

“Wait—” Ruth coughed, spitting blood.

“You crazy bitch. We died for you,” Foshtomi shouted, and it was true. Wesner. Park. Somerset. Ruth didn’t know how many more had been hurt or killed with Hernandez in the ground assaults out of Sylvan Mountain, but that number must be in the thousands. They were exactly why she was here.

“Nanotech,” Ruth said.

Foshtomi only struggled to hit her again, wrestling with the men who’d surrounded them. “No!” Foshtomi yelled, not at the soldiers but still trying to deny Ruth. Cam had misjudged her— maybe because she was cute. Maybe she’d never invested as much hope in Ruth as the rest of them. It didn’t matter. Foshtomi’s left hand was snarled in the front of Ruth’s shirt, bumping and pulling at the buttons Ruth had altered with liquid glass, creating miniscule air bubbles against the plastic.

“I’m wearing nanotech!” Ruth screamed. “Get her off! Get her off me now !”

The USAF colonel threw Foshtomi aside but leaned into her place himself. He pressed his weapon against the underside of Ruth’s jaw, forcing her head back. She was too scared to hold still. She tried to pat at her shirt to see if the buttons were there and the colonel immobilized her wrist with his other hand, bent over her body and the computer console. He twisted her arm — her bad arm — and Ruth cried out. Then someone else caught her other hand. She saw Estey pinned to the computers beside her, a submachine gun at the back of his head. No less than a dozen USAF commandos stood behind the colonel, and yet Ruth grinned at them over the smooth-edged bulk of his pistol.

“Let me up,” she said.

“Where is Cam!?” Foshtomi yelled, imprisoned herself by three soldiers. “Where’s her friend?”

“The war is over,” Ruth told them, bleeding and desperate. She licked at the coppery warm gore on her lips as if the wounds belonged to someone else. She was even glad for the pain, because it hurt less than the ice in her heart. “Listen to me,” she said. “There’s no other way. I have nanotech that will push the Chinese all the way back to California, but unless you do exactly what I say it’ll kill our side, too.”

The colonel did not release her, although he glanced down at her shirt. “Oh, shit,” he said.

Ruth Goldman had turned traitor again.

* * * *

“Why are you doing this?” Shaug asked, and General Caruso said, “Think what you’re doing. It’s not too late. We could use this to surprise them.”

“No.” Ruth tried to hold still in her chair. She wanted to project only strength, but she couldn’t get comfortable. Her back was covered with bruises. Her lips were torn and swollen. A medic had treated her quickly, putting one stitch in her upper lip and then covering it with gauze and tape. The bandage felt awkward against her nose. She kept lifting her good hand to ‚dget with it.

“If we had time to coordinate,” Caruso said. “If you just gave us a few days.”

“No.” Ruth was anxious, but that worked in her favor. They were jumpy, too, because she held one of the buttons between her ‚nger and thumb. With every gesture, they †inched.

Shaug had been the ‚rst to recover after the colonel let her up. We can get someone to take care of you, he’d suggested. He wanted to move her into the glass-walled of‚ce, but Ruth declined. She needed witnesses. She needed the leadership to have as little control over this information as possible.

The data tech who’d joined the struggle was back at his console, and the girl beside him never stopped talking into her headset, coordinating with ‚ghter teams out over Nevada. Everywhere in the large room, people had returned to their tasks — but they were aware of Ruth. The din of voices continued to lull. They were talking about her. Some of them had heard what she’d said. They told the rest, and from here the truth would eventually reach U.S. and Canadian populations up and down the Continental Divide. From here, she could reach the enemy.

“This is treason,” Caruso said.

This is the real start of it, Ruth thought. Not the bombing. Not the invasion. Today. This is peace.

The pride she felt was inescapable. It burned brightly inside her, competing with her fear and her shame, because more people would die because she hadn’t been able to do this sooner. Her anguish reminded her of her time in Nevada, thirsty and hyper-aware of her connection with everything around her.

Everything she’d done in thirty-six years had led her to this point. All of the false turns and mistakes seemed not to be mistakes in the end. Each discovery had added to her skill set, no matter how small. This was the reason for her life.

She badly wanted to convince these men of it, but if necessary she would force them instead.

“I want that cell line open,” she said.

“You haven’t thought this all the way through,” Shaug said, trying again to distract her.

“Open that cell line now. Are you listening to me? If I don’t talk to my friends in the next twenty minutes, the nanotech will hit us ‚rst. It’ll work in the enemy’s favor. Please. Put me on the phone.”

The command bunker was too far down. Her phone was useless, but she knew they could connect her to the cell towers outside through any of a hundred comm lines. They were dragging their feet. They’d run her request over to a man in the next row of equipment, distancing it from her. Then another soldier came back to say the towers were overloaded and they’d patch her in as soon as they could interrupt the call traf‚c up top.

They were probably searching for the physical location of the two cell numbers she’d given them. Was that even possible? She had to assume yes. If they couldn’t trace those phones electronically, they would be organizing troops and helicopters. It was a mistake to let them have any more time.

Ruth got to her feet. “Don’t push me,” she said, looking for Estey and Goodrich. She’d demanded their release and the two Rangers stood nearby.

Foshtomi was gone. Foshtomi had cursed all three of them until Shaug cut his hand through the air and the USAF commandos led her away, wild with scorn. Why are you helping her? Foshtomi shouted. Goodrich especially seemed to be uncertain. Estey looked straight ahead, nearly holding himself at attention, whereas Goodrich watched the †oor, unable to meet the eyes of the other soldiers gathered in front of them.

Ruth didn’t doubt that both men regretted what they’d done, but she was hopeful. History was behind them. Today was July 2 nd, close enough to the Fourth, the birthday of their nation, and in a very real sense their actions were a revolution. If they could end the war, it meant freedom, not only from the Chinese but from their own leadership.