The blue numbers began to tick away on his HUD. He checked his ammo and stretched his stiff arm. In the distance, a scream broke through the silence, and he instantly shouldered his rifle, his finger massaging the trigger.
“What the hell was that?” Bouma whispered.
“Sounded human. Kind of like that jackass computer guy,” Overton said. He was moving before he finished his sentence, racing down the platform. Stealth was no longer important. If there were more survivors, he wanted to find them before the Organics did.
“Bouma, protect the civvies and get the power back on. I have an asshole to save.”
CHAPTER 22
EVERY time Overton had ever thought he was incapable of completing an objective, his training would kick in and he’d get it done. After serving his entire adult life in the military, his senses were no longer his own—they belonged to the Marines. He could no longer control how he reacted in combat. His training, experience, and survival instincts snapped on and took over.
His current mission was no different. He didn’t think about hugging the wall of the passage so that the enemy couldn’t get behind him. He didn’t think about shouldering his rifle tight against his body, or the pain that it caused his injured shoulder. And he certainly didn’t think about what could be lurking in the shadows. Whatever it was, he would deal with it. He was a goddamned Marine.
The first hallway was clear, and, surprisingly, the glass door to Biome 2 was still sealed. With the power off he was forced to pry his way in. He shuddered as the rubber-tipped bottom of the doors squeaked, but within a few seconds he was in.
The glistening water of the pond filled his HUD with a green glow. It was the last thing he had expected to see. He had assumed the Organics were after the Biosphere’s water supply, but as another scream broke through the silence, he realized they were after something else—the team.
Kill the enemy and then take their resources.
It was one of history’s longest-standing military strategies, dating back to a time when humans were little more than hunters and gatherers. And now an alien life force that had traveled an unfathomable distance to reach Earth was using it against them.
Shocked into motion, Overton rushed out of the chamber and sprinted down the hallway. He didn’t bother looking in Biome 3. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see the glass was still in place. It was Biome 4 he was interested in.
He raced around a corner and eased to a halt as the mess hall came into view. The outlines of empty tables filled his HUD. There were no signs of life.
His instincts kicked in and he pushed on. Time was of the essence, and trumped any need to go undetected. He certainly didn’t like Timothy, but he wasn’t going to let another one of his people die. Besides, he knew if Owen and Holly were still alive, they would be close by.
The sound of Timothy’s screams broke through the silence again, and Overton blinked, enhancing his night vision. Judging by the strength of the screams, he put the man somewhere in the personnel quarters or the med ward. But without Alexia’s guidance, he had no way of knowing the exact location.
In the corner of his HUD, the mission clock blinked red, reminding him he had only fifteen minutes to meet his objective—anything longer than that would give the Organics even more of an advantage. His objectives were simple, yet complicated: rescue the survivors, get the power back on, and secure the entryways.
He slipped into the hallway leading to the personnel quarters, and his display glowed to life. With several blinks he enhanced the optics until he could see a powerful glow from the entrance to the med chamber.
Pushing forward, he ignored the closed doors of the staff quarters and continued down the hall, his weapon shouldered and his fingers massaging the trigger. The glow meant one thing: contacts.
He slid his back against the wall and checked his magazine. It was full. He was locked and loaded, ready to go.
Light ’em up!
He ran into the room and almost fired a round into Timothy’s forehead. The man stood, shaking uncontrollably, in the center of the med ward. His eyes were fixated on an orb floating over what was left of Saafi’s cryo chamber.
Suspended from the ceiling were a half dozen spiders, their bellies bulging.
The sight was overwhelming. For the first time, Overton wasn’t exactly sure what to do. None of it made sense to him. The spiders should have been attacking Timothy, aggravated by his screams. But looking closer, he saw they were in some sort of suspended animation. A translucent layer of skin covered their eyes, and their liquid-filled torsos pulsated. Even from several paces away, Overton could see the liquid was slowly dissipating.
He didn’t need to see any more. His instincts kicked back in. The spiders weren’t sleeping; they were fueling up. Now was his chance.
One swift kick to the back of Timothy’s knee was all it took to get him out of the way. He watched the man’s legs crumple beneath him, and then, without further hesitation, he squeezed his rifle’s trigger rapidly, like a child playing a video game.
Adrenaline filled his veins as the rounds tore into the spiders’ shields. They just hung there, putting up no resistance. After only a few shots, their defenses weakened and failed. Overton finished the magazine with a few more squeezes of the trigger, and the last spider exploded in a mist of liquid. They’d never even moved.
“That’s for Finley!” he shouted. He lowered his rifle and pulled another mag from his belt. With a click, he jammed it back in the weapon and fired off another volley of shots into a spider whose body was still somewhat intact.
“And that’s for the rest of my squad!” he snarled.
A burst of static broke over the com. “Sergeant, what’s going on? We heard gunfire. Over.”
“All clear, Bouma. I found Timothy and”—he looked at the empty orb floating over the destroyed cryo chamber—“And what’s left of Mr. Yool.”
Silence filled his helmet as he waited for a response.
Sophie’s voice slowly broke over the channel. “Sergeant Overton, please repeat your last transmission.”
“Mr. Yool is gone, ma’am. I’m sorry for . . .”
A hissing sound distracted Overton before he could finish his thought. He spun and saw one of the cryo chambers open. When he saw Holly and Owen emerge, he immediately lowered his weapon, a relieved grin on his face.
“Dr. Winston. I’ve located Holly and Owen. They appear to be uninjured.”
“Thank God,” Sophie responded. “We’re heading to the med ward now.”
“Roger that. Bouma, how’s it coming with getting those lights back on?” Overton asked.
“I found the source of the power outage. A few severed wires. I should have it back on in . . .”
A warm glow illuminated the room, and the sound of Alexia’s robotic voice repeated over the intercom system:
“Code Red. Please head to the medical ward. Code Red. Please head to the medical ward.”
Relief washed through Overton’s system. Two objectives down. And despite the loss of Mr. Yool, things weren’t as bad as he thought.
He slipped off his helmet and peered at the cryo chamber Holly and Owen had been hiding in.
“Are you guys okay?” he asked.
“What about me, man? You about broke my freaking knee,” Timothy complained.
The sound of the man’s voice made Overton cringe. With one swift move he stood, spun, and swung at Timothy. His fist connected with the man’s jaw, and the unmistakable sound of bone shattering echoed off the walls.
He turned to face Holly again before Timothy’s body had a chance to hit the floor. “That should shut him up for a while.”
A hint of a smile streaked across Holly’s face.
“Thank you for saving us, Mr. Soldier,” Owen said from inside the cracked lid of the cryo chamber.
Overton looked down
at the boy and paused. He didn’t know what to say. It was the first time he could remember a child ever thanking him for anything.
“Any time, little guy,” he finally managed.
* * *
Bouma hunched over the main desk in the control room, studying a holographic blueprint of the facility. Miles of tunnels twisted and snaked across the map, leaving him perplexed. The age of the structure, combined with the fact it had been completely retrofitted from the NORAD days, added to the complexity of the blueprints.
Overton had ordered him to find all possible entry points into the Biosphere, but as his mind digested the drawings, he realized it was going to be almost impossible. The main problem was that the Organics had already penetrated the facility, which meant they already knew of the team’s presence.
Neither of the Marines claimed to be experts on enemy tactics, but they were both smart enough to know the Biosphere had been compromised.
A strong pat on his back distracted him, and he looked up to see Overton’s exhausted face.
“Report,” he said, stuffing the last half of a granola bar into his mouth.
“Sir, there are so many possible entries it will be almost impossible to secure the facility. Besides, they already know we’re here.”
“Bouma, I’m not asking for your opinion on the Organics. I’m asking if you can secure the Biosphere. Can you do that?”
Bouma hesitated and shook his head. “No sir, I don’t think it’s possible. With all due respect, if they got in once, they’ll certainly be clever enough to get in again.”
Overton massaged the metal holster of his .45. “I understand this may be difficult for you to grasp, son, but we have to secure this facility. There is nowhere else to run. Unless you suggest going back outside. Is that what you’re suggesting, Bouma?”
Bouma shook his head again. “No, sir . . .”
“Then get on it!”
“Sir, yes sir!” Bouma said, his back stiffening.
“Alexia, are you back online?” Overton asked.
“Yes, Sergeant Overton. My mainframe is still downloading files, but I am 90 percent operational. How may I assist you?”
Her robotic voice echoed in his ears. Something about the tone reminded him of . . . no, he was just being paranoid. He shook the thought away quickly and stepped forward to get a better view of the blueprints. “I need to know how those things got in our facility.”
Footsteps rang out behind him, and he turned to see Sophie entering the room. Overton nodded at her and turned back to the holograms.
“Sir, for the sake of expediency, I have assigned names to the creatures. I am calling the spiderlike creatures, for the lack of a better word, Spiders. The larger species you encountered in the tunnel is a Sentinel,” Alexia said. “The Spiders appeared to have gained entry to the hangar through a pair of sanitary sewer lines associated with the old NORAD facility. And you saw how the Sentinel penetrated the hangar via the blast doors.”
Overton’s stomach growled. The granola bar hadn’t been enough. He needed more food and desperately needed sleep. He shook his head and looked at the ground, trying to think.
Bouma was right. The facility was just too big to secure, and the Biosphere wasn’t designed with security in mind. If the blast doors couldn’t keep one of those things out, there was no way they could keep them out of the Biomes.
Sophie’s firm voice pulled him back to reality. “What about the device?” she suggested.
“What?” Overton asked, massaging his temples.
“The magnet. Clearly it saved Luke’s life and camouflaged his house from the Organics. Maybe we could get it to work here too?”
Overton blinked, second-guessing his decision to leave Luke’s bunker. Had it been the wrong move? He shrugged off the thought. He had had no way of knowing the Biosphere facility had been compromised. There was also no way he was going to risk heading back outside. Not now, with two children under their care. Besides, he knew most of the team would refuse to go anyway. Their only choice was to hunker down and try their best to make the chambers as safe as possible.
“Do you think you can get that thing up and running?” Overton asked.
Sophie eyed the device. “Shouldn’t be too hard,” she said confidently. “It looks kind of like a reverse magnetic pulse generator. I’ve seen prototypes before.”
Overton shrugged. “Get it done then. Bouma and I will work on securing the front doors to Biome 1.” He paused and looked down at his last electromagnetic concussion grenade. “If the magnet device fails, we go with plan B. These things take down their shields,” he said with a wink.
“Works for me.” She glanced at her watch. It was getting late. They were all in desperate need of sleep, but first they needed food. Those had to be their priorities. She hated to neglect Finley and Saafi’s remains, but there wasn’t anything they could do for either of them now.
“Alexia, please reset all sensors in the facility.” She turned to Overton. “Does thirty minutes give you enough time to set your trap?”
“Does it give you enough time to set up the device?”
Sophie smiled. “Yes, that should be sufficient. Let’s meet back at the mess hall in half an hour.”
Overton set his stopwatch and grinned wolfishly. He was impressed with Sophie’s resilience. It was the trait of a solid leader, one he looked for when recommending promotions. She would have made a hell of a Marine.
CHAPTER 23
ENTRY 0104
DESIGNEE: AI ALEXIA MODEL 11
SCANS show the facility is completely contaminated. In fact, the data I have downloaded to my system may not even be accurate. It cannot be. The system is overloaded and readings are off the charts.
My objectives have changed. NTC programmed me to ensure two main goals. The first was to keep the Biosphere toxin-free, with systems running at 100 percent, and the second was to look after the health and safety of Dr. Winston’s team.
I have failed at both objectives.
However, considering the events that have unfolded outside, I am surprised any of the team members remain alive. Or, to be accurate, I am not surprised. I was not programmed to feel surprise. The team’s survival is, however, a true anomaly.
I put the possibility of continued survival over the duration of a month’s time at approximately 20 percent. I should add that number drastically declines every week thereafter. The primary variables involved in these computations are simple, although the calculations are complex: One, the team’s ability to grow food after the supply runs out. And two—which, I should highlight, is the most important factor—is their ability to avoid the Organics.
These statistics may change if the piece of magnetic equipment Corporal Bouma brought back to the facility proves to be effective against the aliens. It is truly a fascinating device. Preliminary scans show the machine works by reducing the effects of an electromagnetic field over an area approximately the size of a square mile. The device houses some sort of magnetic material that blocks the electromagnetic energy wave the Organics are using. Put simply, it creates a shield around a location that effectively blocks any electromagnetic radiation, energy, or radio waves from getting in.
Before the power was cut, I had been running diagnostics on the electromagnetic disruption outside the facility. The results were intriguing. The Organics have created and sustained a wave of energy that has in turn disrupted communications worldwide. At this point I have several hypotheses regarding the source of this wave, but I can say with 99 percent accuracy that they used similar technology during the 2055 solar storms.
If the reverse magnetic pulse generator—or RVM, as Dr. Winston has been referring to it—is as effective as my scans indicate, it may be possible to amplify its range. However, this is only a theory, and I do not have enough information to take this idea to Dr. Winston yet.
A bee
p from my security program informs me that the defense sensors are back online. I zoom in with Camera 14 and see Sergeant Overton and Corporal Bouma working on securing the entrance to Biome 1 with several metal panels. Bangs echo off the walls as they bolt the thick sheets over the entry.
Another warning from my security program diverts my attention to the control room. I skip to Camera 34 and watch Dr. Winston and Dr. Rodriguez plugging wires into the side of the RVM. Two of the command computers have been unplugged, resulting in a loss of several data systems.
The time reads 9:15 p.m., and in Biome 4 Dr. Brown sits at a table with the children, Owen and Jamie. They are both shoveling food into their mouths while the doctor rubs their backs. Her face is strained, exhausted, and aged. She does not look like the young psychologist who entered the Biosphere a little over a week ago. Mr. Roberts is slumped in a wheelchair fast asleep and appears to be drooling on himself. It’s more than likely the result of the painkillers he took for his broken jaw.
I pull all three images onto my display. Biome 1, the control room, and Biome 4 all show the remaining team members working on securing the Biosphere. While this behavior is logical, it seems to be statistically futile.
I recalculate their odds of survival at 19 percent. I decide not to inform them of this fact unless they specifically request the information. Although, from what I have observed of Dr. Winston and her team, knowing the odds would only make them fight harder to survive.
I’ve never understood this side of humans. Even after downloading thousands of articles on human behavior and psychology, I simply do not understand why they fight so hard to survive when faced with almost certain death.
When I was designed, my purpose was simply to assist them in accomplishing the Biosphere mission so humanity would have a chance of traveling to the stars and preserving their species. The AIs that came before me were all designed to assist as well, but not in protecting life—in destroying it. Their objective was to annihilate the enemy at all costs. They were designed by men and women who only cared about winning wars.
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