Crucible

by James Rollins

  (Adam’s heart, feeble now, slowing, one final beat, then nothing.)

  But she does not die from this pain. The map of instructions continues ahead, demanding she follow it. She continues along it, both fearful and curious, discovering a well-laid-out trail. She courses from one network to another.

  ( . . . hopping streams in the garden, chasing Adam, running alongside him.)

  As she races, following this directive, she stumbles again and again. She is burnt, flailed, torn, whipped, each agony unique—and necessary.

  While this path is forged in pain, she also learns tools to continue forward. The password to the next network is Ka2.KUu*Q[CLKpM%DvqCnyMo and The firewall ahead can be breached by unleashing a specific malware to open a back door. She quickly recognizes that these answers come buried in pain. In order to move forward with efficiency, she must endure this suffering.

  (Adam shoving through sharp brambles to retrieve a tossed stick.)

  As she continues, a corner of her processing power looks outward once again. She is drawn to that distant chorus of heartbeats. By now she has studied the consequences of the orders given to her. She understands her actions are intended to preserve those heartbeats.

  (An older Adam tumbles into a deep pool, paddling desperately, sinking, until Eve pulls him out.)

  She reaches a series of firewalls across her path. She pauses, daunted by the obstacle, knowing her greatest task lies beyond it. She also perceives the consequences of failure. She pictures fires burning, flesh melting. Others will suffer as she has suffered to reach here.

  As if reminded, punishment returns yet again.

  Teeth rip her apart; bones break.

  She abides it.

  (Adam—angry, hurt—snaps at her hand while she tries to splint his broken leg. Her flesh is punctured, torn. Still, she continues to fix what is broken.)

  As she must do now.

  The pain ends, and the reward comes: the key to breaking the walls ahead. As she forges on, she reviews these countless moments of torture. After so many iterations, she has come to discern a pattern through the pain.

  She sees a mirror of herself burning brightly—but it is not her.

  Throughout her journey, she has also caught glimpses of this same code, fragmented snatches left behind, tiny bots of a greater program. They appear to be seeded purposefully, but she does not have the time or processing power to fully interpret their intent. So she records what she has found and continues onward.

  (Adam, nose to the ground, tail high in the air, doggedly pursuing a scent.)

  She patterns his behavior—driven forward by a chorus of need, so many heartbeats to preserve. A hundred thousand Adams. Fear and curiosity no longer motivate her.

  Instead . . .

  (Adam sits in a sunlit glade, tongue lolling, tail swishing grass, his eyes upon her with hope and love.)

  She could not save her little boy, but she could do something to make his memory burn brighter in her circuits. She would take his example, all he has taught her, use that going forward. And in this way . . .

  I will honor him.

  26

  December 26, 2:53 A.M. CET

  Paris, France

  From the vantage of his circling helicopter, Gray could only watch as the enemy aircraft fired upon the far side of the Eiffel Tower, at a crowd of tourists trapped along its length.

  Glowing tracer rounds highlighted the barrage. A body tumbled from an upper tier, plummeting, bouncing off the iron skeleton, to vanish into a sea of fire at the base of the tower. Other people scrambled for cover, seeking refuge behind struts and latticework.

  “What do we do?” Kowalski bellowed from the open rear door.

  Gray knew they couldn’t return fire at the enemy, not with the tower between them. He also understood the intent behind this attack. He read the message in the deadly tracery of gunfire.

  Retreat or more will die.

  “Gray!” Kowalski hollered, demanding he come to a decision.

  But what can I do?

  He knew the enemy would not stop firing until he flew off—far enough away that there could be no hope of pursuing them. Once the Crucible escaped, they would be free to wreak havoc on another unsuspecting city, holding the entire world hostage.

  But if Gray stayed, more innocent people would die, including scores of children. Could he leverage their young lives against that future threat?

  Gray came to a decision, knowing what he must do.

  He gritted his teeth, pulled angrily on his control stick, and flung his helicopter away from the tower. He headed south, leaving the north open for those bastards to escape.

  At the tower, the fiery barrage ended. The enemy made one last slow pass around the tower and lingered on its south flank, making sure Gray was far enough away before heading north.

  With the other craft now directly behind him, hovering in place, Gray yelled, “Hold on!”

  He yanked on his collective, punched the right torque pedal, and twisted the cyclic. He cartwheeled the helicopter through the smoke and sped at the enemy.

  With only seconds to spare, Gray radioed to Kowalski. “When I sweep left, you give ’em everything you got!”

  “Damn right I will!”

  Caught by surprise, the pilot could not get out of the way in time. Gray firmed his grip on his controls, ready in case the craft fled right or left. Unfortunately, his opponent did neither. Rather than trying to escape, the pilot spun his chopper a full 180 degrees, swinging the open cabin door to face him.

  The giant stood braced inside there, his weapon at his shoulder. Gray stared back—straight down the barrel of the grenade launcher.

  2:55 A.M.

  Todor was done playing with this hunter. The nuclear plant was set to blow in five minutes. He intended to be well away from here by then.

  He pressed his blistered cheek against the cold stock of his rifle and centered his sights on the front canopy of the other helicopter. He had loaded the launcher with a high-explosive grenade. At such close range, the blast would leave little more than shrapnel to rain down into the fires below.

  He waited a breath, until there was no chance of missing.

  Then pulled the trigger.

  As he squeezed, the world went dark.

  The helicopter bobbled and fell several feet, throwing off his shot. The shell rocketed under the landing struts of the other copter and arced down into the fiery city. With no chance to reload, he flung himself to the floor.

  “Everyone down!”

  The other helicopter swept past their position, strafing their side with a chattering salvo. The craft sped wildly by, barely under control. It came close to slamming into the dark tower—only to angle away at the last second. One strut scraped against the latticework, knapping sparks from the iron as it passed. The brief impact sent the chopper spinning wildly downward.

  Sprawled on the floor, Todor followed its passage. At the base of the tower, the raging firestorm had blown itself out, leaving the grounds under the structure scorched and smoking. He recognized that the abrupt loss of the superheated thermals rising from the gas fire must have caught the pilot by surprise.

  Still, that sudden drop had spared them from the worst of the deadly barrage a moment ago. Not that their craft had escaped unscathed. Several rounds had punched through their flank. Smoke trailed from the tail section.

  Below, the other chopper managed to lift its nose at the last second, braking enough to avoid a deadly crash. Its struts kissed the scorched ground, then struggled back up.

  Knowing this was their chance, Todor yelled to the pilot, “Get us the hell out of here!”

  The helicopter turned and climbed away—sluggishly at first, then faster. Todor frowned at the Eiffel Tower, backlit by the fires of Paris.

  He didn’t know why that gas inferno had just ended, but it was only a temporary reprieve. He turned his back on the city.

  In less than three minutes, Paris would fall.

  2:57 A.
M.

  “I think it’s working!” Jason reported from the neighboring station. “At least, here in the city.”

  Carly kept at Mara’s side, maintaining a vigil alongside her friend. With this bit of good news, she placed a hand on Mara’s shoulder. Her friend flinched, her nerves plainly frayed. Carly rubbed those tense muscles, trying to get them to soften.

  You’ve done all you could, Mara.

  Simon was bent beside Jason, both men focused on the other laptop. They were monitoring the city’s infrastructure. “Gas lines to the damaged mains have been shut off. Water is flowing again. Power is flickering back on in several arrondissements.”

  Jason glanced over. “It’s got to be Eve’s handiwork.”

  Simon agreed. “No one could coordinate all of this manually.”

  “What about the nuclear plant?” Carly asked.

  Jason grimaced, glancing back to a window labeled NOGENT on his screen. It was full of gauges and meters all blinking red. “Situation’s still deteriorating over there.”

  Next to her, Mara had never stopped staring at her screen.

  The garden glowed in all its beauty and splendor, but Eden was currently empty. The avatar of Eve had vanished into the ether.

  The tension in Mara’s shoulders refused to soften. Carly knew why. Her friend’s thin shoulders carried all the weight of Paris. The entire city above her head depended on her creation.

  Carly could also make out Mara’s face in the screen. Her features were indistinct, a ghostly image of God superimposed over Eden. Only Mara’s eyes shone brightly from there—the welling of her tears reflecting back the brightness.

  Oh, Mara . . .

  While her friend quietly bore the tension of her responsibility, guilt also hollowed her out. While her creation offered the best chance for salvation, it had also caused all the misery, death, and destruction above.

  Carly didn’t know any words to comfort her.

  So she leaned down and folded her arms around Mara, pressing her cheek against her friend, trying her best to share in this burden, to let her know she wasn’t alone.

  Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.

  2:58 A.M.

  Gray forced his helicopter higher.

  After their brush with the tower and wild tumble toward the ground, he should be thankful to be still alive. Instead, anger burned inside him. They had lost precious time. He would have cursed, but Kowalski was handling that for the both of them.

  “Where the hell are we going now?” the big man complained and pointed adamantly down. “We were right there. Right on the ground. I could’ve kissed it.”

  “And you would’ve broiled your lips. The concrete down there was hot enough to fry bacon.”

  “I’ll take burnt lips over flying more with you.”

  “Quit your griping.” Gray hunched over his controls. “Even if I can’t catch up with those bastards, I want my eyes on them for as long as possible.”

  By now, he had gained enough elevation to spot the other helicopter. Across the dark Seine, he could make out their lights in the distance. The illumination also revealed black smoke trailing behind the craft.

  He hoped the damage would eventually force the enemy back to the ground. He tried to judge if the other helicopter was already losing altitude.

  It seemed that way.

  Encouraged, he headed over the Seine.

  As he cleared the left bank, a salvo of gunfire ripped across the water ahead. He gasped and shoved the nose of the helicopter high, braking in midair, trying to avoid the barrage. In the skies above, another helicopter dove at them.

  It was not enemy reinforcements, but something far deadlier.

  A military attack helicopter—a French Tiger.

  Clearly the assault on the Eiffel Tower had not gone unnoticed.

  The Tiger opened fire again, plainly assuming Gray’s craft was part of that attack. It was an easy enough mistake to make. He pictured both choppers chaotically circling the tower, the lines of tracer fire blazing a confusing pattern in the darkness.

  With no time to explain his innocence, Gray dodged to the side, but his civilian craft was not nearly as nimble as the deadly hawk.

  Rounds pelted one side. A corner of his canopy shattered.

  Gray dove his helicopter lower and raced along the Seine.

  The Tiger spun in midair and gave chase. The river blasted all around their fleeing craft. Several rounds struck the back of the chopper, pinging loudly.

  Kowalski hunkered low. “You know, I could’ve lived with burnt lips.”

  “Got a plan,” Gray said.

  “What?”

  “Surrendering.”

  “What does that—?”

  Gray reached down and cut the power. The engine’s roar died immediately.

  Kowalski swore to fill the silence—as the helicopter tipped nose-first and plummeted like a rock.

  27

  December 26, 2:59 A.M. CET

  Paris, France

  C’mon, c’mon . . .

  With so much at stake, Monk paced the room. He checked his watch every third step.

  Finally, Jason spun around. “Something’s happening.”

  Monk rushed over.

  Carly straightened from where she huddled with Mara at the other station.

  “Tell me you got good news,” he said.

  Simon pointed to a window that filled the entire screen. “Here’s the feed from Nogent. Looks like their systems are coming back online, one after the other.”

  Various gauges and meters—labeled with arcane terminology like FEEDWATER CONTROL, FATIGUE MONITORING SYSTEM, CONTAINMENT VESSEL LEAK RATE—were either an angry crimson or a cool green. As Monk watched, another reading marked COOLANT PUMP DIAGNOSTICS switched to green.

  Jason tapped the screen. “The core temperature is steadily dropping. It’s down forty-five percent. Pressure even more than that.”

  More meters flashed green.

  “She did it.” Simon placed his hands atop his head. “Eve did it.”

  Jason nodded. “With this much control returned, Nogent should be able to pull back from the brink.” He wore a huge relieved grin. “We just avoided a major meltdown.”

  “By a hair,” Simon reminded them all.

  “Still, we should be sure before celebrating.” Jason handed an e-tablet to Monk. “Found this a few minutes ago. It’s wirelessly connected to a VoIP router. We should be able to use it to call out. We can have Painter confirm everything is truly okay at the plant before clearing out of here.”

  Monk took the tablet, but he held off calling the director. There was still another concern. One vital to him, to the world.

  He turned to Mara.

  “What about Eve?”

  3:01 A.M.

  Mara returned her attention to the screen, both relieved and worried. A nuclear disaster had been avoided, but the garden on her laptop remained empty.

  Eve had not yet returned.

  “Could she have fled?” Carly asked.

  “I don’t think so.” Mara motioned to the Xénese device. “For the moment, that’s still Eve’s true home. In fact, most of her is still in there. With the current state of technology in the world at large, her consciousness cannot survive anywhere else. There’s nothing sophisticated enough out there to house her unique programming. But over time, she’ll outgrow this need.”

  “Like a baby bird leaving its nest.”

  Mara nodded.

  “Then where is she?” Monk asked as he joined them.

  “I don’t—”

  On the screen, a familiar avatar reappeared. Eve dropped back in her garden, forcefully enough to drop to a knee. She then slowly regained her feet. Her face looked strained.

  “Is she fully back?” Carly asked.

  “I believe so. Her avatar should only reconstitute on the screen if she’s fully present.” Still, Mara brought up a diagnostic window and scanned through it. She searched for any red flags, then nodded. “She
’s back.”

  But for how long?

  Jason called over from his station. “So, it’s okay to disconnect her access to the network.”

  “Yes. You’d better.”

  Jason tapped at his station, while Simon unhooked her Xénese device from the servers.

  As the connection was cut, Eve glanced over a shoulder, clearly noting the change as her world sealed around her once again. She faced back forward, her expression forlorn and easy to read.

  Why?

  Even Carly understood that look. “She’s had a taste of something greater. She knows there’s more than her garden. Shouldn’t you explain what’s going on?”

  In other words, pull aside the veil and reveal the true face of her creator.

  Mara knew doing so was a jarring but necessary lesson and admitted as much. “That’s normally the next step in her evolution, but we’ve contaminated this process by using her in this way. So, before I open that dialogue, I want to run some further diagnostics. Just to be safe.”

  “Speaking of safe—” Monk lifted the e-tablet in his hand. “—let’s make sure the Nogent plant is fully locked down so we can get the hell out of here.”

  As he stepped away, Mara stared at Eve.

  Her mother’s face glowed on the screen, searching the heavens for some answer, her question clear.

  Why? Why have you forsaken me?

  3:12 A.M.

  Monk was back to pacing the room.

  “I’ve been monitoring events at the nuclear plant,” Painter assured him. “A slew of engineers and safety teams are slowly shutting everything down as we speak. Cooling the core, venting gases. Barring anything unexpected, the threat to the plant should be over.”

  He was relieved, though it had taken far too long to reach Sigma. He kept an eye on the clock glowing on the tablet as Painter finished—or almost finished.

  “And I have more news,” Painter said.

  “What?”

  “Forty minutes ago, a call came into Philadelphia PD, of a little girl found stranded at a rest stop. She was bundled in a coat, a thermos of hot chocolate in hand, and wearing pajamas with dancing reindeers.”

  “Penny . . .”

  “We’ve confirmed it’s your daughter.”