She tapped the screen and began reading through the history of 0001. The subject was the oldest of the infants, nearly thirteen months old and the first of Applegate’s babies to survive. The baby was first discovered in San Francisco, Chinatown to be precise, and was the daughter of an immigrant Chinese family recently moved to the United States. There was no name for the baby or the parents. She began cross-referencing a variety of data between all 300 infants: geographical, hereditary, dietary, environmental. There was nothing out of the ordinary and no pattern she could discern. The babies had come predominantly from across the U.S., but there were many from all over the world; nationality covered the spectrum.
“Why are you different?” she asked the screen as she brought up the brain scans of all 300 babies. Only 0001 showed the anomalous signature. The only thing that set 0001 apart was that she was the oldest and had been at Applegate the longest. She spent another two hours searching through the current data to see if there were any other notable differences or similarities between the infants, finally shutting down her iPad when her eyes started closing of their own volition. The only thing she could come up with was that all of the babies came from metropolitan areas, which didn’t seem to be that significant. Rural areas weren’t as in-tune with CDC alerts, and there were still plenty of midwives and country doctors who simply signed infant death certificates without the rest of the world knowing. She decided to sleep on it and see if she had any revelations in the morning.
In her dream, she first heard the distant sound of the ocean. It was not the sound of surf, but an almost silent drone of currents rushing over ancient silt, the clicks of life and the faint peal of whale song. She opened her eyes to an amphitheater surrounded by ancient-looking ivory columns and a mosaic ceiling depicting Titans battling Greek gods. The illumination came from widely spaced lights set into the walls that glowed with what looked like bioluminescence. From the center of the amphitheater, she turned her gaze around the room in a full circle, and as she completed the circuit, the clear tubs of the babies from the nursery began appearing randomly, scattered about the rows of stone benches that ringed her.
Her mind was once again filled with the voice from the darkness.
There is nothing to fear.
The scream once again caught in her throat, and the room turned to darkness, closing in around her.
Chrys spent the morning pouring over data in the control room. Late in the morning, she decided she wanted to go see the infants first hand. Her biohazard suit intact, she stepped through the airlock, waited for the sterilizing gas to cycle around her, and stepped into the room beyond, scanning row upon row of comatose babies. A shudder ran up her spine. There was something truly disturbing about seeing all those innocent children numbered, catalogued, and arranged like so much data in a filing system. A deep sadness swelled up in Chrys’ thoughts as she considered what lay ahead for them all. If the cause wasn’t discovered and a solution found, they were all doomed. She clutched her iPad to her chest as if it was one of the afflicted children and began making her way through the rows of babies, weaving her way to 0001.
The bulk of the human species arrayed itself about her. A majority of the clear plastic tubs contained Caucasian babies of Irish, German, Swedish, Russian, and Baltic descent, simply as a result of being acquired in the U.S., but here and there, mixed in amongst the pale flesh, lay the swaddled form of a descendant from Africa or Asia. There were natives from both the North and South Americas. There were Polynesian and Mediterranean and Mongol children. In that one room lay a cross-section of the human genome. As dire as their situations were, something about that cross-section made Chrys feel comforted, strangely pleased that the affliction did not play favorites. It motivated her even further to find the solution and, in some small fashion, serve all of humankind.
As she walked past the subjects, she was astonished to see their closed eyes set into such peaceful faces, and something peculiar struck her about the regular breathing of them all. She paused. She stopped where she was and kneeled down, lining up her gaze across an entire row of babies stretching away from her in their tubs. It was barely perceptible through the thick blankets, but each and every chest in the line rose and lowered in exactly the same rhythmic pattern, as if the babies were breathing through the same lungs. Another shiver danced along her spine. She moved to the next row and saw exactly the same thing. She rose and stared across several rows in a diagonal, and every single baby breathed with precisely the same rhythm. Turning her gaze in the other direction, she expected to see the same, impossible result. Every baby in her field of vision breathed with the same pattern … all except the one in the far corner. It breathed more rapidly than the rest. She slowly made her way to that child and looked at the number. On the white tape affixed to the tub, written in a neat hand, were the numerals 0001.
Chrys lay the iPad down on the corner of the tub and picked up the small baby. In the few hours she’d spent in the lab, she’d seen that none of the technicians had ever picked up any of the children. She cradled 0001 lovingly in her arms and took in the distinct features of a Chinese heritage topped by a thick head of silky black hair. Careful not to disturb the IV in the child’s arm, despite knowing that the babies were not using them for sustenance, she gently opened the baby’s eye and slowly moved in and out of the strong shaft of light cutting through the darkness from above. She watched for the pupil response and realized that it was normal. A truly comatose baby would show a slower response, but the iris contracted and expanded normally. 0001 seemed to be more like a sleeping baby, not a sick one. She cocked her head to the side, considering the possibilities.
Her conversation with Dr. Hayes had been most revealing. He and Drake had run every test imaginable. Blood, brain, physiological, neurological, chemical … everything. A physical cause for the babies’ malady did not exist, yet the evidence lay all around her. She cast her mind back to a professor she had at Harvard.
Professor Kelekolio was an ancient Hawaiian biochemist and criminologist by trade. He was also a philosophy-wielding hemp-head. There was a phrase he used often in his classes that he said he’d learned from an old physicist-friend. She closed her eyes and could see his long, wild silver hair as he said, “If you have eliminated everything possible and still not found a solution, then the impossible must be the truth. Remember, what is impossible today may not be impossible tomorrow. The impossible is ever fluid, a seething target forever in motion.”
She looked down at 0001, smiling warmly and gently placing the little girl back in the tub. “Don’t worry, little one. I’ll figure it out. I promise.” For a second, she thought she saw the corners of 0001’s mouth curl up into a smile. She blinked her eyes and, looking again, saw the same peaceful face as before. She shook her head, thinking it must be fatigue, and then picked up her iPad. She hit the screen and tried pulling up all of the data on the child before her. In a flash, the indicator showed that it did not have any Wi-Fi signal. Must have hit a dead spot in this corner of the building, she thought to herself and took several steps away from 0001. The signal jumped back up to full strength, but it was as if it had been turned on. She stepped back towards the baby and the signal went dead. She repeated the process and found that the signal died approximately four feet from 0001’s crib. She considered what Kelekolio had taught her, so she began repeating the experiment, attempting to discern where the edges of the dead-zone lay.
As she proceeded, her skin started to crawl. The dead-zone existed in a perfect circle around 0001. “What the hell?” She repeated the experiment and got precisely the same result. Stepping once again into the field of Wi-Fi signal, Chrys started making a full report. She saved it to the server and sent a copy marked URGENT to Dr. Hayes’ email. Just as she sent off the mail, she received one in her inbox. She brought up the email client and read the subject line.
From : WEI
Subject: What you seek …
She opened t
he email and gasped. The message simply read, “34.660322N, 18.0615223E.”
The ship that had been searching for Atlantis reported its last position at 35 degrees north by 19 degrees east. The email had to refer to Atlantis, but Chrys had no idea who Wei was or why he or she would know the location of the lost city. She’d met quite a few Chinese people in her time, and the name certainly seemed to be of Chinese origin. She shuddered as she suddenly considered the impossible. She turned slowly and looked at 0001. Atlantis virtually forgotten, she realized she needed to know the baby’s name more than anything. She gripped the iPad and strode quickly out of the nursery. She tapped her foot impatiently as she cycled through the airlock. She slipped the mask off and peeled herself out of the suit.
One of the lab technicians stood in the control room, going over the infants’ bio-signs one by one. She’d been introduced to him the previous day by Dr. Hayes while she listened to her mentor go over the details of Project Danaë.
“Xiong, isn’t it?”
The man turned and smiled at her with friendly, almond-shaped eyes set in an Asian face. “Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?”
“Is there an easy way to find out the names of the children, specifically, subject 0001?”
“All that stuff is classified, ma’am, and I don’t have access. Only Dr. Drake and Mr. Graebel would be able to get that data for you, if at all.”
“Do you know where I could find either of them?
Xiong looked at his watch. “One or both of them will probably be in the cafeteria.”
“Thank you,” she said and turned towards the door. Something made her stop. She turned and was about to ask him something, but she paused.
“Ma’am?”
“Please don’t think I’m being rude, but might I ask where you were born?”
He smiled. “Seattle. And why would that be rude?”
“Well,” she fidgeted. “I was wondering what nationality you are.”
“Chinese, ma’am.” He smiled easily, assuaging her nervous-ness.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anyone named ‘Wei,’ would you?”
He scratched his head. “Can’t say that I do. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, just something I read recently. It’s nothing.” She turned and stepped up to the airlock.
“Dr. Sarantos?”
Turning, she said, “Yes?”
“The word ‘wei.’ It is a surname in China, albeit a fairly rare one, but it’s also a verb.”
“Really? What does it mean?”
“The most common usage, depending on the pronunciation, means ‘to be.’”
Chrys tilted her head, trying to figure out what it all might mean. “Interesting. I’ll remember that. Thank you, Xiong.”
“No problem. Hope you find Dr. Drake. I’m sure he can help you.”
“I hope so. Thanks again.” She turned and passed through the airlock.
Starting with the cafeteria, Chrys spent the afternoon looking for Dr. Drake and Mr. Graebel throughout most of the building, at least the places she had access to, but they were nowhere to be found. She’d called multiple times and left messages for both of them, but so far, her cell phone had remained silent. As she passed through the halls, she occasionally spotted men in lab coats or black suits moving in and out of the main entrance, rolling equipment from several white vans parked in front of the building. All of the carts were basically gray boxes on wheels, so she had no idea what they were moving. Frustrated, she made her way back to the cafeteria, got herself a cup of coffee and sat at a table in the corner, away from the other personnel. She laid her iPad on the table and started an Internet search on the term ‘wei.’ She pulled up entries for the Western Energy Institute, a state in China, several periods in Chinese history and then a whole list of historical figures named Wei. There was also reference to the verb ‘to be’ or ‘become.’ Although none of the information was specifically helpful to answering any of her questions, the additional data formed pieces to an as yet larger puzzle that was only beginning to take shape in her head. As she continued her research, another email came in. She pulled up the email client and saw that it was another message from WEI.
From : WEI
Subject: Hayes Needs You.
The message was a simple one, but the implications were disturbing: “Come to the nursery.”
She stood quickly and made her way to the elevator. Who or whatever Wei was, it was in the nursery along with Dr. Hayes, and that could mean only one thing at this point. Chrys was certain of a connection between 0001 and Wei, although what it was, she could not yet be certain. As she reached the elevator, three of the Danaë technicians stepped out of the elevator with worried looks on their faces, among them Xiong.
“Xiong, what’s wrong?”
“We were asked to leave and then locked out. Graebel had some cloak-and-dagger guys set up a bunch of emitter equipment in the nursery, and both Hayes and Drake were having a pretty heated argument as Graebel escorted us out. The lockout covers Level Six clearance and below, so I don’t think you’ll be able to get in.”
Chrys’ stomach churned with worry for her mentor... and the children. “I’ve got to go up.”
“I understand, Dr. Sarantos, but it’s totally locked down. And watch out for Graebel if you run into him. I don’t trust that guy one bit.”
“Thank you, Xiong. I’ll be careful.” Chrys stepped into the elevator and hit the button for level four. The doors slid closed, and she began her ascent. Halfway up, the lights dimmed and flickered just slightly, quickly returning to normal. She reached the fourth floor, and the doors slid open. She walked down the short hallway and turned the corner to stand before the security door to the lab and nursery. The amber letters LOCKDOWN glowed on a panel above the door, and the palm reader light flashed a blinking red.
Of their own volition, both the inner and outer doors of the airlock slid open, something that was supposed to be impossible. Chrys immediately heard Hayes’ voice raised in anger.
“Graebel! God damnit! You can’t just kill them!”
“They hacked the Pentagon, the CIA, the White House, Beijing, and the Kremlin, to name only a few, you imbecile! If there was ever a threat to global security, it’s in the next fucking room! Now get away from the panel. I’m warning you.”
Chrys stepped through the open airlock. Hayes stood before a new control panel installed near the bio-readout screens. Power cables ran from the electrical panel, through the box, along the floor and then disappeared through a hastily installed panel in the wall between the lab and the nursery. A quick glance into the nursery showed that the room was surrounded by a series of strange-looking emitters spaced every twenty feet or so. Drake held Hayes’ arm, and Graebel was pointing a gun at Chrys’ mentor.
“Would someone like to explain to me what the hell is going on?” All three men turned and stared at her with astonished faces as the doors closed behind her.
“How’d you get in here?” Graebel barked.
“The doors just opened for me. I didn’t even use the reader.” Chrys slowly approached the three men, but their gazes had turned towards the sleeping infants in the next room, realization dawning on their faces.
Drake turned towards the babies. “It must have been them,” he said with a palpable level of fear. “They’re helping her.”
“Do you see, Hayes?” Graebel said quietly. “They can even control this facility, not just hack data across the Internet. Imagine what they’ll be like when they grow up? We can’t control them!”
“Graebel.” Chrys’ voice was calm but filled with urgency. The man turned stern, frightened eyes towards her. She rested her gaze upon Graebel’s pistol and then raised her eyes to meet his. “Put the gun away.”
He laughed. “You’re out of your fucking mind, Dr. Sarantos. You have no idea what’s going on here. Those things in there … they’re not sick. They’re connected … to the Internet … and to each other
.”
“You’ve known all along, haven’t you?” she asked with a dawning awareness as the pieces started to fall into place.
It was Drake’s turn to speak. “Not all along, Dr. Sarantos. We discovered only a few weeks ago that they were connected to the Internet and learning from it. It was an accident, really.”
“Stafford … and Wilson,” Hayes said with mixed horror and anger. “They figured it out, didn’t they?”
Drake’s eyes snapped to Dr. Hayes and then dropped to the floor, embarrassed. “I’m sorry … but yes. They were going to the press.”
“You bastard,” Hayes hissed.
“Enough!” Graebel shouted. “Those things are a clear and present danger!”
“Graebel, please. Put the gun down,” Chrys implored.
Graebel’s tone went saccharine-sweet, mimicking Chrys’ earlier tone. “I’m sorry, Dr. Sarantos. I won’t be putting the gun down. I’ll tell you what I will do, though.” The barrel dropped a few inches, and he pulled the trigger. The thud of the gunshot filled the room, followed by a scream from Dr. Hayes as the slug ripped into his leg and he fell sideways, collapsing on the floor.
“NO!” Chrys screeched and jumped towards Graebel. The pistol leveled at her in the blink of an eye, and she stopped cold.
“Graebel!” Drake hollered. “Are you out of your mind? I’m in charge of this project, and you’re way beyond your limits here!”
“Were in charge of this project.” Graebel grinned like a snake about to feed on a clutch of mice. “My orders come from the President. And the order is, terminate Project Danaë … effective immediately. Now back away! And pull that idiot out of there as well. I don’t want to have to shoot him again.”
Drake glared at Graebel but did as instructed. Hayes was panting heavily on the floor and had his hand clamped over the bullet wound in his thigh. Blood seeped through his fingers, soaking through his pants and pooling on the floor. Drake leaned down, slipped his arms under Hayes’ shoulders and pulled him back towards the entrance to the nursery.
Out Through the Attic Page 17
