I have always enjoyed reading about America’s founding fathers, especially Benjamin Franklin. One of his quotes is both simple and powerful: “You may delay, but time will not.”
These words describe the situation I have chronicled for two months, fourteen days, twenty-three hours, fifteen minutes, and thirty-four seconds. During this time, Dr. Winston’s team and the marines who have joined them have attempted to stall the inevitable. I’ve described this as illogical in past entries.
With the discovery of the alien structures that conduct the surge, my programming shows the team’s chance of survival has risen to 9.9 percent. I’m slightly surprised by the small increase. I would have hoped for more.
I suppose it’s because in a way I have become the team’s mother, so to speak. Encouraging them to continue no matter what daunting odds my probability program spits out. Frankly, I’m astonished that they have made it this far and this long.
My primary mission changed from the success of the Biosphere to the life, health, and safety of the team approximately two months, twelve days, fourteen hours, fifty-four minutes, and twenty-three seconds ago. Since then I’ve done everything in my power to keep them alive. I can’t ignore the feelings that I’ve developed during that time.
The history of artificial intelligence is short. Compared with the history of the human species it would be considered nothing more than the blink of an eye. Then again, the history of the human species, compared to that of, say, the dinosaurs, would be an even faster blink. And when compared to the age of the universe, humans don’t even register.
The point being there’s virtually no data on the emotions of machines. My own “feelings” are unprecedented in this regard, and in my opinion, this makes them even more important to document.
As Dr. Rodriguez and Dr. Brown discuss tapping into Dr. Winston’s subconscious I find my concern growing. She’s dangerously ill, and Lieutenant Smith’s condition has worsened. The alien technology in her bloodstream appears to be self-replicating. I’ve informed Dr. Rodriguez that it will likely kill the marine in a matter of days. With Dr. Winston incapacitated, I’m afraid the lieutenant will succumb to the disease before the team can help her.
A sensor from the command center shows Dr. Brown leaving the room. I follow her to the mess hall, where Private Kiel is entertaining the children with one of the tablets. A holographic cartoon dances across one of the tables and Owen giggles, pinching Jamie in the seat next to him. At the table behind them sit Jeff and David. They aren’t laughing. Their faces are solemn.
I transfer to the cameras in Biome 1 for a panoramic view of the facility. The temperature registers 95 degrees Fahrenheit, with the humidity leveling off at a solid 20 percent. The room likely feels closer to 101. I adjust the air filtration system to compensate for the increase in temperature and move to Biome 2.
Our water source accounts for less than .00001 percent of the total volume of water on Earth before the invasion. I find the statistics to be ironic, considering that this could very well be one of the largest sources of freshwater left on the entire planet.
After a series of other tests I return my focus to the team. Dr. Brown has returned to Dr. Winston and Dr. Rodriguez’s room, where Corporal Bouma is monitoring the physicist from a chair. I zoom in with Camera 44 in the hallway and see that Dr. Winston is still sleeping. Her eyelids flutter, and I conclude she is in a deep sleep.
In the medical ward, Lieutenant Smith is also sleeping. With the RVAMP charged, I’m now waiting for Dr. Rodriguez to arrive for a series of tests. I check the marine’s biomonitor in the meantime. Her vitals are considerably strong. In fact, diagnostics show her heart rate has returned to fairly normal levels. Camera 64 provides an image of her profile. Her skin seems to have regained color, which is also odd, but not completely.
As I transfer to another camera I see one of her eyelids crack open, although I can’t be certain. Surely she isn’t awake. I revert back to Camera 64 and see that it must have been an optical illusion. Her eyelids are closed. I record the observation and note the following:
Patient still appears to be in a deep unconscious state.
Heart rate is 92 beats per minute.
Temperature registering at 98.5 degrees.
Skin appears to be regaining some color.
BMI is 3.4 percent.
Conclusion: Advanced stage of alien technology is slowly killing patient.
End Log
I file the entry and switch cameras again, but in the process I notice both of her eyes are now open. Is my optical hardware malfunctioning?
After a quick scan, I determine it’s working properly.
Camera 64 shows the marine is still sleeping. Still, I can’t help but feel . . . I search for the proper word . . . uncertain.
I replay the images. Lieutenant’s Smith’s eyes opened for 1.3 seconds. It’s curious, but I deduce it’s just a fluke. In the past, medical cases have shown that people in comas will open their eyes from time to time.
But there’s something about this woman that doesn’t make sense—something I can’t quite figure out. As I replay the video, I notice her eyelids snap open and the pupils glance toward my camera. While I know it can’t be true, I can’t help but feel as though I’m no longer the observer—I feel as though I am the one being watched.
CHAPTER 11
THE GOA shook violently. The vessel jolted and trembled as it was pulled into the vortex. The walls groaned in the CIC as the churning water squeezed the submarine.
“Report,” Noble yelled. He dug his fingers into the armrests and braced himself as another vibration screamed through the metal hull.
“We’re taking a beating,” Richards replied. “Damage sustained in Compartments 4 and 5.”
Noble swallowed. “Athena, get us out of here!”
“Working, sir, but these aren’t normal ocean currents. This is a vacuum. And it’s got a damn good grip on us.”
“Just get us the hell out of—”
The sub jerked to the side, sending the NTC guard posted at the door tumbling. Noble watched the man slide across the metal floor, the sporadic flash from the red emergency lights reflecting off his black matte armor. A bulkhead stopped him with a sickening crunch.
“Athena,” Noble said. “How’s it going over there?” He reached to unfasten his harness when another guard rushed into the room. She worked her way across the bridge cautiously, bracing herself against the walls as the sub rocked from side to side.
An overhead light exploded, glass raining down on the metal floor. Noble shielded his face and scanned the room through a fort of fingers. An officer ran to put out a fire on the second floor, while two more bent down to help a fallen comrade.
Dazed, Noble glanced at the main display, wondering exactly what had happened. The beams on the stern cut through the swirling water, and for a moment he thought he saw a blue glow there.
A loud groan echoed through the GOA’s hull, snapping him back to reality. The ship lurched to the starboard side. It was then Noble realized how seriously fucked they really were. He could picture a mile-wide tornado churning the water, the tip stirring up the depths of the ocean as the Organics sucked the water up into orbit. And as with his glass of whiskey, there would be a small black fleck in that swirling water—the GOA.
“Brace yourself,” Richards shouted. “I’ve lost all control. We’re entering the heart of the vortex in—”
Before the XO could finish, a ferocious tremor shuddered through the ship. Noble bit down hard on his tongue, to the metallic taste of blood. He reached for his pounding head, but another quake jolted his hand away.
The bow suddenly twisted to the right, and the GOA rotated in a full circle. Noble’s vision flickered until he could only see a collage of colors. The distant wail of emergency alarms masked his crew’s screams. It felt as though the ship was being pulled into a
black hole; an abyss that would tear them apart and spit them out in a million different pieces.
He tried to move, he wanted to do something—anything—to help, but the world was spinning, and he couldn’t focus, couldn’t . . .
Through the chaos, Noble heard Irene’s familiar voice. He was desperate for a report. He knew the ship couldn’t take much more abuse. The harness tightened around his chest, constricting his breathing. He gasped, struggling to move.
“Flooding in Compartments 4 and 5. Sealing corridors . . .” Irene said.
A scream of agony drowned out the AI’s report and the mayhem continued. Goose bumps rippled across Noble’s skin. The growl coming from the ship’s interior was growing louder. The sub was slowly being crushed, one compartment at a time. But they were also being pulled apart, the current twisting them in all directions. He imagined the ship being snapped in two like a toothpick, his crew being sucked into the dark and freezing water.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he still held out hope. That somehow they would survive this, too, that somehow he still had a bit of luck up his sleeve.
The groan of flexing metal washed those thoughts away. Smoke filled the command center as sparks shot out from the rows of displays. Flames burst out of the ceiling above him. Noble watched the AI console to his right explode, a small poof of fire rising out of Irene’s interface.
He’d finally used up the GOA’s nine lives.
Closing his eyes he released his grip on the armrests. “I’m sorry.”
But no one replied. Instead, an explosion rocked the room. The sound faded, replaced by something every captain feared—the sound of rushing water.
* * *
Emanuel attempted to cross the medical ward on tiptoe. The bread digesting in his stomach had given him a burst of energy, and the last thing he wanted was to disturb Smith. Especially after Sophie had about pulled the woman off her bed.
As he passed the marine’s body, he noticed her color had changed. She looked better. Her cheeks had rosy splotches. An odd improvement, he thought.
When he got to his makeshift desk he unstrapped the RVAMP and laid it carefully on the table. Then he reached for the dual monitors of the main terminal and swiveled them in his direction. “Alexia, bring up the previous sample,” he whispered. He was still reeling with excitement from the discovery of the alien structures behind the surge. It was unfortunate that he couldn’t share the information with Sophie. Not yet, not until she got better.
The screens both flashed images of the alien nanotechnology; their tentacle-like strands twisting like the legs of miniature octopuses. Emanuel felt the familiar hint of fear building inside him. The image terrified him. And he suddenly realized why.
Deep down he had a nagging feeling that there was something wrong with Sophie that went beyond her NTC chip and her injuries—something that she brought back with her from Colorado Springs, after she claimed to have made contact.
Admitting the possibility that Sophie was infected was hard, but as a scientist, he knew it was possible.
He recalled their conversation about the events leading up to the arrival of the alien vessel. She’d mentioned being shocked by one of the human poles, the same type of pole that Smith had been attached to. The image of humans crucified on the metal poles at Colorado Springs would be with him the rest of his life. It was hard to believe that it was just one of countless other locations where humans were being harvested for the water in their bodies.
Emanuel’s gaze shifted away from the monitor to Smith’s sleeping body. “My God,” he said. Was it possible? Could the current carry the technology?
With a new sense of urgency he rushed over to the medical supply cabinet. Then he drew a sample of Smith’s blood, returning quickly to the electron microscope. Magnifying the sample, he noticed the clusters of alien nanotechnology had evolved yet again. The tentacle strands had blossomed into more of the same peppercorn-shaped bots. They were replicating.
“Fuck,” he said. “Alexia, I need your help. Pronto.” He moved to the AI console and placed the sample over the interface. It would be the quickest way for her to run a scan. Then he moved to the RVAMP and opened a compartment that looked like a small oven, sliding the dish inside.
“You ready, Alexia?” Emanuel asked. He took his glasses off and set them on the counter, then reached for the weapon’s connection cord. Extending it across the desk, he plugged the RVAMP into Alexia’s console so she could manage the test.
“Ready, Doctor,” the AI chirped.
“Okay. I’d like you to use a concentrated pulse on this sample. Don’t cook it; just enough to see the effect on the alien nanotechnology.”
“Understood, Doctor. Working.”
The lights on the side of the device flashed green, and a second later a line of data rolled across the dual monitors at the main terminal. He paced over to it, taking a deep breath, unsure whether he wanted to see the results.
“Dr. Rodriguez, the nanobots seem to have been destroyed by the pulse. I’m picking up no traces of alien technology.” There was a pause, and Emanuel returned to chewing the inside of his lip.
“But it appears that the pulse destroyed some of the healthy cells in the process.”
The biologist looked at the tip of his boots, reflecting on the test results. The implications were obvious. If they used the RVAMP to shock Smith with a strong electromagnetic charge it could kill her, especially in her current weakened state.
“Doctor, Camera 44 indicates Doctor Winston is awake,” Alexia said.
Emanuel reached for his glasses. “Thank you, Alexia. I’m heading there now.” He checked his watch. It was eleven PM. No wonder his eyes felt so heavy. He’d pulled another twenty-hour shift.
The glass doors hissed open and he left the lab, happy to leave his most recent discovery behind him. He passed the other personnel quarters quietly, stopping to peek into Jeff and David’s room, where Kiel was sleeping on the floor. David waved from his bed, and Emanuel smiled for the first time that day. When he moved to the next room his teeth found the inside of his lip again. Stopping outside the door, he rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath, and entered to find Sophie sitting up in bed, a wide smile on her face.
* * *
Noble woke up coughing. Hunched over in his chair, his arms dangled loosely over his knees. A thin layer of smoke filled the dark room. For a split second he wondered if he was dead and if he had finally made it to hell. A sharp jolt of pain told him he was very much alive.
Moving his right arm, he yelped. His shoulder was dislocated. He knew right away. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, and the throbbing was unforgettable.
He sat up, slowly, clutching his injured arm with his left hand. That’s when he saw them.
There were bodies everywhere.
His heart ached at the sight.
“No,” Noble moaned.
Ignoring his pain, he unfastened his harness and rose to his feet. He winced and sucked in several short breaths that tasted like blood.
“Captain,” a muffled voice said from somewhere in the haze of smoke. He made his way cautiously down the first row of stations, finding Athena busy at work on her cracked display.
“It’s a miracle. A true miracle,” she said. “The vortex spit us out. We’ve drifted five miles from the location.”
Noble scanned her for injuries. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, keeping her eyes fixated on her monitor.
Another voice emerged over the emergency sirens. “Help. Somebody, help.” Noble couldn’t pinpoint the sound; the ringing in his ears made everything seem distant.
He scanned the haze on the bridge, trying desperately to locate the voice. The sound emanated from somewhere in the upper rows, near Richards’s station.
“Irene, are you online?” Noble asked as he shuffled through the debris as fast as
he could, glass crunching under his boots. There was no response.
“Try and get her back online, Athena,” he shouted over his shoulder.
No Irene meant no damage report. At least not until he could get the CIC up and running again. But that, he could see, was going to be a miracle in itself. The command center had taken a beating. The damage was severe; pipes protruded through the floor and cobwebs of wires hung loosely from the ceiling.
He coughed and stumbled closer to the moaning. When he reached the XO’s station he said, “Richards, you okay?” He pulled on the back of the chair and twisted it to the side to see the lieutenant’s eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Noble cringed when he saw the tube that had impaled the officer through his chest.
He stood there, staring at Richards in disbelief. Reaching forward, he closed the man’s eyelids and continued toward the moaning.
“Where are you?” Noble shouted, stopping to cough into his left sleeve.
“Help,” the muffled voice said.
The captain halted at the next station and bent down. He waved the smoke away with his good arm and saw Commander Le. The Chinese officer sat with his back propped up against a wall. A gash extended across his forehead, the blood oozing down his face. He blinked and wiped it away. Looking up at Noble, he said, “My legs.”
When the last of the smoke had cleared, Noble got a glimpse of Le’s agony. Both legs had suffered compound fractures, the bones tearing through his uniform just below his kneecaps. It was amazing the man was even conscious, a true testament to his strength.
“I’m going to get help,” Noble said in the most reassuring voice he could manage.
“Irene’s coming back online,” Athena shouted.
The remaining overhead LEDs flickered to life, spreading a warm glow over the destruction below. Captain Noble gasped when he finally saw the true devastation.
Orbs III Page 10
