The Virus

The Virus

By Steven A.
Spellman

For my wife, the only
reason I've made it thus far...

Chapter 1

“I need a heart monitor in here stat!”
the doctor yelled.

“Get me an oxygen machine!” another
demanded.

The scene was chaotic:
Nurses and assistants rushing to and fro, struggling to gather
machines and medical materials that were being demanded much more
quickly than they could be produced. Everyone was wearing
thoroughly-sanitized, impeccably clean white hospital gear. With
the bright lights and ubiquitous stainless steel surfaces, the
scene was unreal; a blur of cloudy movements against a backdrop of
colorless walls and glistening instruments. All the chaos was
because a single female patient had complained of minor shortness
of breath. But this was not just any medical facility, and this was
not just any patient. This was
the
patient, the only woman left who could save
mankind.

Chapter 2

The United States Space Quest Program
was something completely new to the nation’s wealthy elite. Russia
had been sending civilians, for a very hefty fee that is, to the
International Space Station orbiting Earth for nearly a year now.
Just as with the Sputnik crisis, the U.S. was scrambling to catch
up. Sure, there was a U.S. startup company that could broker a
private trip into the great beyond for an American at a cost of a
miniscule 25 to 30 million dollars but, like all private space
trips at the time, transport was handled solely by a Russian
government agency, the Russian Space Alliance, and thus all flights
launched from Russian soil…not very patriotic.

Then, a massive break for
the U.S. came in the form of a shrewd political maneuver on the
part of the Russian Federation. Russia’s human presence on the
International Space Station was of paramount importance to the
Federation. When the Russian men on the space station informed
their home country that they needed more men and additional
provisions, Russia was quick to act. Unfortunately for the
Federation, however, this meant that private flights to the
International Space Station would have to be temporarily halted, as
all available space on flights, private or otherwise, would be
needed to carry Russian astronauts and supplies. With so many
private entities more than willing to foot the bill to say that
they had ventured into space, this halt, even temporary as it was,
could represent hundreds of millions of dollars in lost revenue for
Russia. With America being the only other country with the
technology and money to send ordinary civilians into space, what
could they do? Would they be willing to lose their stranglehold on
the extremely lucrative fledgling space tourism industry, and, to,
of all countries,
America
? Absolutely not, was the
cumulative Russian cry.

The stalemate seemed
impossible, until some of the Federation’s top officials came up
with an ingenious plan. Through a series of secret meetings, the
United States government was presented with an interesting
opportunity. The Russian Space Alliance would temporarily concede
its monopoly on the space tourism business to the U.S., allowing
private companies in the U.S. to host flights from American soil,
but with two conditions: America would announce publicly that the
flights were still
Russian
endeavors, and pay the Russian government a
sizeable 25 percent of the proceeds. With returns of over 150
percent, 25 percent was more than reasonable, even though American
companies would have to pay 100 percent of the bill, and so, the
U.S. eventually agreed to the terms. It would seem that, at least
sometimes, American patriotism extended only to where the product
ended up…not from whence it originated.

As soon as the word spread
that private flights were leaving from American soil, the already
lengthy waiting list grew tenfold. To be the very first in outer
space was everyone’s great desire, but, it would only be awarded to
one. The lucky participant—
lucky
being a very subjective word, considering the
fact that the participant paid close to 60 million dollars for the
privilege—was a successful American entrepreneur named Lenard
Hanson. He was the well-known founder of the largest luxury hotel
and spa chain in the world, Hanson Hotels. A billionaire in his
mid-seventies, Lenard Hanson saw a trip into outer space as one of
the final accomplishments he could hope to enjoy before his life
drew to an inevitable end. He had been on the waiting list for a
number of years, and never expected the possibility of actually
taking off from his own country. Now that such an opportunity had
unexpectedly arisen, he was happy to pay a few extra million
dollars to be secretly moved up the list, and thus, Lenard Hanson
secured the glorious privilege of being the very first
non-astronaut American to be launched into space from his native
soil.

But, for all the excitement, the
milestone was not to be reached, at least not by the elder Mr.
Hanson. He had been on the waiting list for more than a few years
(twelve and a half to be exact) and back when he had first signed
up, he was in much better shape. Now, he was an old man, not
capable of handling the particular rigors and stresses associated
with being blasted through Earth’s atmosphere, as was clearly shown
by the fact that he could no longer endure the months of intense
preparations and tests that were required of any participant before
space flight. Of course, Mr. Hanson was greatly disappointed to say
the least, but there was still an option left: His daughter, his
only child. She was still young, only twenty-two and a half at the
time, and so, she could still endure what her father could not. She
could still make it possible for the Hanson name to be the first to
take advantage of this great privilege. The only thing that
remained for Lenard was to convince his privileged daughter that
this was an opportunity, as risk ridden as it was, that she would
want to take advantage of. Only time would tell if his powers of
persuasion were as capable as his business savvy.

Chapter 3

Delilah Hanson was an
exceptionally beautiful young lady. Her creamy shade of coppered
skin always glistened as if freshly polished. Her hair was always
freshly pressed or curled into the most up-to-date styles
available, and her face had the high, perfect cheekbones and
enviable symmetry of a supermodel. If a book
could
be judged by its cover, then
this one would certainly not disappoint. Delilah was every bit as
spoiled and superior as her fabulously good looks suggested. Her
face was gorgeous, all the more so when she flashed those
well-choreographed smiles of hers, and her body…well, suffice it to
say, she was a complete knockout in every respect. Just as she had
been born with exceptionally beautiful looks, so she had also been
birthed into the great privilege that comes with ridiculous wealth.
Since the day she was born, her father saw to it that she had
anything she asked for, as well as a great many things that she
hadn’t asked for. The few things his money could not purchase for
her—and which, consequently, she didn’t desire—were discipline and
substance of character. But who needs such trivial things? It
wasn’t like intrinsic worth was nearly as important as high limit
credit cards.

Delilah had been named so
by her mother. Her father, who didn’t often oppose the wishes of
his wife, did, however, protest at this. Such a name, he reasoned,
came with undoubtedly negative connotations, and besides, the name
Delilah meant ‘impoverished’, which the Hansons most emphatically
were
not
.
Lenard’s wife, however, was the very personification of a
strong-willed woman and the fact that her husband told her no on
something signified to her that it was the right move to make.
Later, when Delilah was teased in school and wanted to know why she
had been named thus, her mother kindly and patiently informed her
that her namesake embodied strength.

“The world is meant to be ruled by
women, My Darling.” said her mother, “The strongest man who ever
lived was conquered by a woman, and I named you Delilah because I
want you to remember that there is no man so strong that you cannot
conquer.”

From that point on, Delilah was proud
of her name. It was a faithful reminder that she was the rightful
ruler of the world. There was nothing she could not possess and no
one who could deny her whatever her pompous heart desired.
Thereafter, whenever she was teased by the other girls about her
name, she would proudly explain to them that they were weak and
frail, destined to be ruled over by men even more weak and frail
than they, and that she alone was worthy to be called woman. Any of
her female peers who listened to her long enough, would usually end
up feeling inferior for not being taught as she was, to know their
rightful place of being able to subvert any man. Since the Hanson’s
money made Delilah very popular wherever she went, she was sure to
turn the tide in her favor among the other impressionable youths in
whatever private school she happened to be. As time went on, she
began to see arrogance not as a vice but as an extreme virtue that
everyone save the elite were just too misled to properly
appreciate. When her mother died, she knew that she had to
appreciate the virtue doubly so.

Delilah’s mother had smoked expensive
cigarettes in the same long, elaborately-engraved, and polished
ivory cigarette holder for as long as anyone could remember. The
sight of such fashion accessories were extremely rare in modern
society and whenever anyone would inquire about the practice, she
would kindly inform them that she was a woman of uncommon class,
like Marilyn Monroe and the debutantes of old, who also practiced
such extravagances, and that such class never went out of style.
She believed herself so resolutely that it was difficult for anyone
else to not believe, or at least not admire her as well. It was
this ‘high fashion’ that brought on the throat cancer that spelled
her demise a few years before her husband was medically rejected
for his scheduled space flight. As per her ardent demand, she was
buried with her cigarette holder and custom-made silk gloves with
which she always used to hold it.

One of her mottos was that she had
“Lived by my own damn rules, and will damn well die by them too.”
And so, even in her coffin, she was dressed to the hilt and
accompanied by some of her closest and truest friends: Her dazzling
gloves and her expensive cigarettes.

Initially, she was supposed
to have accompanied her husband into outer space (or rather, it
was
he
who was
doing the accompanying, if you had asked her) and it was not too
long after her passing that Lenard began trying to convince his
daughter to take her place. Now that he found out that he could not
go either, convincing his daughter to assume the torch, so to
speak, was doubly important. For one thing, the newly-forged
American space tourism project was just getting off the
ground—literally—and a strict no refund policy was instituted,
which meant that if Delilah didn’t take the trip, Lenard would
simply be out of tens of millions of dollars. Even more important
than the money though, was Lenard’s reputation. How could he ever
face the guys at the country club once word got out that he had
forked over a fortune for an opportunity that he was now too old
and out of shape to take advantage of? It was already a sensational
back alley truth among his peers that it was his wife who had worn
the pants in the Hanson household, and now, with her gone and him
unable to complete this trip, it would certainly look like he
wasn’t man enough to do
anything
without her.