by A. G. Riddle
Three hours later, Paul was standing in Mary’s office, trying to understand what she was saying.
“Stop.” He held up his hand. “Is it one code or two?”
“Two,” Mary said. “But it could be the same message encoded in two formats—”
“Don’t say another word, Mare!” John Bishop, Mary’s colleague, placed his hand on Mary’s forearm and focused on Paul. “We need to talk turkey first.”
“What?”
“We want ten million dollars.” John hesitated. “No—a hundred million!” He pointed his index finger down at the table. “Seriously. A hundred million—right now or we delete this thing.”
Paul looked at Mary, confused. “Is he drunk?”
“Very.”
Paul gave the Marine a quick nod, and he and another soldier dragged John, kicking and screaming, out of the room.
Now that they were alone, Mary’s expression changed. “Paul, I appreciate you coming, really. I’m surprised. I actually was just hoping to get out of here.”
“We will.” He pointed at the screen. “Now what is the code?”
“The first part is binary. Just numbers—Earth’s location relative to the center of the galaxy and our solar system.”
“The second part?”
“I don’t know yet. It’s a sequence with four values. The first just had two values—zero and one, on and off. I think the second sequence could be an image or a video.”
“Why?”
“CMYK. Cyan, magenta, yellow, key—or black. It would be an accurate way to transmit a high-res image or video. The image could be a message or even a universal hello. A greeting. Or instructions on how to transmit a message back.”
“Uh huh. Or a virus.”
“It’s possible. I hadn’t thought of that.” Mary chewed her lip. “In the first part of the message, the binary code was readable to us. It indicates that we have binary computing ability, that we could store the CMYK image as a computer file, but I don’t see how it could—”
“No, I mean an actual virus, a DNA virus. A.T.G.C. Adenine, thymine, guanine, and cytosine are the four nucleobases that form DNA. Or it could be RNA, with uracil standing in for thymine. The code could be a genome. It could be an entire life form or a gene therapy.”
Mary raised her eyebrows. “Oh. Yeah. Maybe. That's… an interesting theory.”
“Or their DNA could be composed of other nucleobases.” Paul paced away, deep in thought.
Mary glanced around. “Did you… think of that before you decided to come here?”
“No.”
“Then…”
“I think this signal could be connected to the Atlantis Plague and possibly a war that’s starting as we speak.”
“Oh.” Mary paused. “Wow.”
“There’s someone we need to talk with. She’s probably the only person on Earth who could tell us what it is.”
“Great. Let’s call—”
“All the satellite phones are down.”
“They are?”
“We’ll have to go to her. She was in Northern Morocco last I heard.”
Twelve hundred feet below sea level, just off the coast of Northern Morocco, David Vale sat at a small metal table, staring at the flashing words on the wall panel.
Surgery in progress…
A countdown ticked the seconds away.
3:41:08
3:41:07
3:41:06
3:41:05
But David could only think of one number: 39%. A 39% chance Kate would survive the surgery.
CHAPTER 9
Immari Operations Base Prism
Antarctica
Ares was sitting at the back of the situation room with Dorian and the operations director when the analyst approached them.
“Sir, we have the Chinese response.”
“And?”
“They say, ‘There can be no peace with any enemy who threatens to destroy the Three Gorges Dam. China’s walls have held barbarian invaders at bay for centuries. This will be no different—’”
Ares held his hand up. “Okay. For future reference, a simple ‘no’ will suffice.”
“Actually, sir, we see this as an opening, a possible clue to a bargaining point—something they want in order to talk. We release the Three Gorges Dam and maybe—”
“Stop talking. You’re making everyone who can hear you dumber. It was an unconditional demand to surrender.”
The analyst nodded. “Of course, sir.”
Several minutes later, the same analyst returned. This time, he avoided making eye contact with Ares as he placed a sheet of paper on the desk in front of Dorian. “The American response, sir.”
The man was gone before Dorian looked up. He snatched the page and read the single word. The sides of his mouth curled. Fools. No, brave fools.
He handed the page to Ares, who read the single word.
“Nuts. What does that mean?”
“It’s a historical reference.”
Ares stared at Dorian.
Dorian smiled, satisfied to be the one withholding the answers for a change. He decided to give Ares some of his own treatment. “I’m afraid you don’t know enough history to understand.”
“Perhaps you could grace me with a history lesson, Dorian. If that’s not too much to ask.”
“Not at all. We’re on the same side. As you know, it’s imperative for us to share information with each other. Don’t you agree?”
Ares stared at him.
“Let’s see… In 1944, during World War II, in the Battle of the Bulge, the American 101st Airborne Division was trapped in the Belgian city of Bastogne by heavy German artillery. They received a surrender demand from the German commander. They were starving, tired, and outgunned. It was hopeless, but their response was simply: Nuts!”
Ares continued staring, waiting with an impatient look on his face.
“The Germans shelled the town, nearly leveled it, but the Americans held on. Patton’s Third Army linked up with them less than a week later. The Allies won the war.”
Ares clinched his jaws. “What does it mean, Dorian?”
“It means that they intend to fight to the very last man.”
“So be it.” Ares stalked toward the door. “Yours is a very foolish race, Dorian.”
Yes, Dorian thought. But they were brave fools. That distinction was important to him. And at that moment, for some odd reason, he felt a bit of pride at their response, as nuts as it was.
Dorian had almost drifted off to sleep when the alarms in the Situation Room rang out.
“We’ve got incoming,” one of the techs called out. “Over a hundred planes.”
The massive screens in the center of the room switched to a map of Antarctica and the Atlantic Ocean beyond. Light green dots pulsed in the blue sea, just outside a round white line that radiated out from the Immari Base. The Orchid Alliance fleet, composed mostly of American, British, Australian, Japanese, and Chinese aircraft carriers and destroyers, inched closer to the line, but none crossed it. Smaller yellow dots, which represented the planes, ticked toward the white continent.
“All the ships are still outside the rail guns’ firing radius, sir. The planes just entered. Should we engage?”
“How soon until they can fire on us?” Ares asked.
“Five minutes.”
“Launch the drones,” Ares said.
Dorian turned to him. “Drones?”
“Patience, Dorian.”
The screen changed. Three of the smaller green dots broke from the fleet, moving south, across the white line.
“Three destroyers inbound.” The tech paused, studying the screen. “We can hit them with the forward rail gun battery, sir.”
“How long before the destroyers can fire on our guns?”
The tech worked the keyboard. “Twenty minutes. Thirty tops.”
“Ignore them,” Ares said.
Two minutes passed with hardly anyone saying a word. Dorian felt the
tension in the room.
Another group of yellow dots sprang from the fleet. Hundreds of points, like sand from an hourglass, falling across the firing line, toward the white landmass and the Immari base.
“Second wave of planes. Three, no, four hundred this time.” Alarm spread across the tech’s face. “They’ve launched cruise missiles. We need to—”
“Hold your fire.”
Dorian eyed Ares. What was his plan? The rail guns could shoot the planes down but not their payload. If the first wave of planes fired, the Immari base would be essentially defenseless. And even if they survived the first wave of bombs and shot those planes down, the rail guns had a limited amount of power—and it took hours to recharge. They needed to be firing now.
“Show me the drone telemetry,” Ares said.
The right-hand section of the massive screen switched to a series of tiles that showed video feeds of the American, Indian, and British planes in the distance. Three of the video blocks were black squares.
“They’ve shot down three drones.”
Two of the lead planes launched missiles.
The tech turned to Ares and Dorian. “We’ve got incoming. They’re targeting the rail gun batteries. We can—”
Ares held up his hand. “That’s enough. Turn the drones around. Keep recording.” He walked to the front of the room and stood before the group. “They started this war. Now we will finish it—in the most humane way possible: with one strong blow. A strike that takes their very will to fight.”
Dorian took a step closer to him. What’s he talking about?
Ares tapped at a console on his wrist. The drone telemetry revealed the result. Massive fissures of light rose from the ice and then every square on the far right of the screen went black.
On the map, the hundreds of yellow dots that represented the planes went out.
The map flickered, then froze.
Dorian stared, finally realizing the truth. The drill teams. The devices Ares had buried had melted the ice along the perimeter of Antarctica, away from the Immari base, close to the fleet. The drones. The photos and video. He would try to use it as proof that the Orchid Alliance had started the war and caused the flood. Would the world believe it? How much ice had Ares melted? A flood of historic proportions would engulf the world.
Humane. That was Ares’ description. Dorian wasn’t so sure.
CHAPTER 10
Alpha Lander
1,200 Feet Below Sea Level
Off the Northern Coast of Morocco
“Hungry?” Milo asked.
“No.” David had no idea if it were true or not.
Milo nodded.
“You should go,” David said, his voice hollow, his eyes on the floor. “Bring some back. She might be hungry when it’s over.”
“Of course.”
David didn’t remember Milo leaving. He blinked, and the teenager was gone. He was only vaguely aware of himself sitting at the metal table that had risen out of the floor in the adaptive research lab where he and Milo had found Kate. Two glass vats towered in the middle of the room, and just beside them, lights flickered in the cylindrical bay where Kate lay, undergoing surgery at the hands of the mysterious ship.
David’s eyes drifted down, the room faded, and the countdown seemed to jump forward in leaps.
3:14:04
2:52:39
What’s happening to me?
David put his head on the table and glanced up at the countdown only occasionally.
2:27:28
Milo was back, sitting at the table. A series of packages spread out. He asked a question. And another.
2:03:59
1:46:10
1:34:01
1:16:52
0:52:48
0:34:29
Milo sat silently.
David stood and paced, staring at the countdown.
0:21:38
0:15:19
0:08:55
Surgery complete
The words blinked for a moment; then, when the next words appeared on the screen, David exhaled deeply and smiled as Milo jumped into his arms.
Survival probability: 93%
Post-op Recovery Procedures Commencing
Maintaining medically-induced coma
Time to completion: 2:14:00
David hadn’t considered that there would be a post-op period. This was the first time a loved one had been operated on by an ancient Atlantean ship. He would have to do a blog post about it afterward—for everyone out there who might go through the same thing. His grin widened. His giddiness had turned to foolishness. He tried to focus. “Alpha, what happens after post-op?”
“The procedure will be complete.”
David glanced at the Immari military MREs. He realized he was famished. He grabbed the closest pack and ripped it open. “Have you eaten?”
“I was waiting for you.”
David shook his head. “Dig in. You must be starving.”
Milo shoveled a mouthful of the closest ration pack into his mouth without even reading the label.
“Want it heated?” David asked.
Milo stopped in mid-chew and spoke with his mouthful. “Don’t you eat yours cold?”
“I do. But it’s just an old habit.”
“Because your enemies could see a fire?”
“Yeah, and the dogs could smell the food. Better to eat it cold and quick, then bury it and move, if you can.”
“I like to eat mine like you eat yours, Mr. David.”
They both finished two ration packs.
David didn’t notice the countdown anymore. He felt different now. He was confident Kate would live, though he didn’t know how long. Alpha’s prognosis, the result of the initial scan, had been four to seven local days. They would cross that bridge together. For now, he knew he would talk to her again, feel her in his arms.
A flood of memories came back to him—thoughts he wouldn’t let himself think during the surgery. It was like his mind had been holding every memory of his time with her at bay. The day he met her, how they had argued in Indonesia, only hours before he had saved her. His extensive wounds in China. And then it was her saving him, practically bringing him back from death’s doorstep.
They had truly sacrificed for each other, laid it all on the line when the stakes were highest. That was the definition of love.
At that moment, he knew that whatever she was doing, she was protecting him. But from what?
When the round portal slid open, David and Milo both rushed to it.
They stepped aside as the flat table extended.
Kate opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling… confused?
Her expression changed upon seeing David and Milo. She smiled.
Milo glanced back and forth between Kate and David. “I’m very glad you’re okay, Dr. Kate. I… need to do something on the surface now.” He bowed and exited.
David was actually impressed at the young man’s intuition. Milo never ceased to amaze him.
Kate sat up. Her face was fresh, the blood gone, her skin glowing. David spotted a small area, just beyond her ear, where Alpha had shaved the hair to access her brain.
Kate quickly pulled some of her brunette locks over it and turned her head away, hiding it. “How’d you find me?”
“The power.”
“Clever.”
“I was due.” David sat on the rigid table and put his arm around her.
“You’re not angry.”
“No.”
Kate narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“I have some bad news.” David took a breath. “Alpha did a scan before your surgery. You have a neurological condition. I can’t remember the name. The life expectancy… Alpha could be wrong, but it said four to seven days.”
Kate displayed no emotion.
“You knew?”
Kate stared at him.
David hopped off the table and faced her. “How long?”
“Does it matter?”
“How
long?”
“The day after the plague.”
“Two weeks ago?” David shouted.
“I couldn’t tell you,” Kate said, sliding off the table and closing the distance to him.
“Why not?”
“I have a few days left. If you knew, every day would be agony for you. This is better. Sudden. You can move on when I’m gone.”
“I’m not interested in moving on.”
“You have to. That’s your problem, David. When something bad happens, you refuse to move on—”
“What’s happening to you?” He pointed to the vats. “What is this? Why are you dying?”
Kate stared at the floor. “It’s complicated.”
“Try me. I want to hear it all. From the beginning.”
“It won’t change anything.”
“You owe me this much. Tell me.”
“Okay. I was conceived in 1918. My mother died in the Spanish flu pandemic, a pathogen my father unknowingly unleashed when they uncovered an Atlantean ship buried off the coast of Gibraltar. He placed me in a tube, where I remained until I was born in 1978. What I didn’t know, until a few weeks ago, is that those tubes were used for resurrecting Atlantean scientists in the event that they died unexpectedly.”
“You’re one of those scientists.”
“Close. Biologically, I’m the child of Patrick Pierce and Helena Barton, but I have some of the memories of one of the scientists on the Atlantis expedition. What I didn’t know is that Janus—”
“The other member of the Atlantean research team.”
“Yes. Janus erased some of his partner’s memories. I only got some of the memories. Janus’ partner had been killed by Ares.”
