by Nick Thacker
“Does it hurt?” Julie asked.
“No. It hasn’t really done much at all, and it’s not itching at the moment.”
“Neither is mine,” Julie said, examining her own arms.
“So,” Malcolm said, calling them to attention. “I guess it’s just us, then?”
“Dr. Fischer, you don’t need to come along,” Julie said. “If what we’re saying is true, we’re going into an infected quarantine, looking for a massive bomb hidden below the surface somewhere. It’s not exactly a risk-free mission.”
Malcolm lifted his chin slightly. “Julie, I understand that you are concerned. And you are right to assume that this is an extremely dangerous mission. But I will not sit idly by and do nothing to right the wrongs done to me, or my students.”
His monologue over, he tensed his jaw and waited for the others’ response.
Ben looked over and shrugged. “I feel you, Doc. I wouldn’t make you sit on the sidelines.”
Julie smiled.
“Let’s get to Yellowstone.”
They sat down at the table in the small hotel room, ready to plan their trip back to Yellowstone, when Julie’s phone rang again. She grabbed it before it rang a second time.
“Hold on a sec,” she said, holding up a finger. “It’s Randy again.” She held the phone up to her ear. “Randy — what’s up?”
As she listened, the muscles in her face tightened and her back became rigid. She swallowed a few times, her mouth suddenly feeling dry. She nodded, unaware that Randy couldn’t see her, and she hung up the phone.
Ben and Malcolm were perched in their chairs, watching the one-way conversation.
“Julie, what was that about?” Ben asked.
She blinked a few times, suddenly embarrassed that she might cry.
“Liv — Livingston,” she choked out. “He’s dead.”
41
“MONSIEUR VALÈRE, THE CONFERENCE IS now available,” the voice said. It sounded metallic, hollow, and distant, and yet it was the most lifelike computerized voice system Francis Valère had ever heard.
“Merci beaucoup,” Valère responded. He waited for the computer system to check the ethernet connection, test internet speed, and finally ping the waiting room of the online web conferencing service. Within seconds, the voice emanated from the walls of Valère’s office again.
“Connection speeds are exceptional, Monsieur.” The voice had an eerily attractive component to it, Valère realized, as he waited for the two other participants’ faces to appear in front of him. She had also been upgraded to a human-like level of what they were calling “AI hyperbole,” which was, as far as Valère could tell, just a library of phrases that replaced the usual metric and clinically precise statements that plagued most artificial voice systems.
SARA — Simulated Artificial Response Array — was the Company’s latest alpha release they were testing in their offices. At this point, it was nothing more than a computerized artificial intelligence, more advanced than anything on the market, but far from deployment-ready.
The plan was, Valère had been told, to get SARA to beta and then release the code and sound sample library, alone more than ten terabytes of information, to a few universities for further development and testing. Eventually, they would either use the application for internal purposes or sell the final design schematics to the highest black market bidder. As SARA’s development was about as removed from Valère’s professional expertise as possible, he wasn’t entirely sure what she would finally become. But if the previous applications their affiliates had released were any measure, SARA would be nothing short of miraculous.
Valère was involved in a number of startup tech and pharmaceutical businesses. He was independently wealthy, thanks to the benefit of a long line of rich relatives who’d left a startlingly large inheritance, as well as his own knack for choosing investment opportunities. A few had bombed, but he had invested far and wide, amassing a fortune of interests in just about every sector related to computer intelligence and medical advancement.
“Francis, are you with us?” a man’s voice spoke from inside his computer screen.
Valère cleared his throat. “Yes, oui, I am here. I apologize for my tardiness — I have been following the latest developments in the United States.”
“As have I,” the second voice answered. The man’s face in front of Valère was enlarged on the gigantic screen. The sound emanated from the walls themselves. Audio-Enhanced Surfacing, if Valère remembered correctly. The walls of his Quebec office space were essentially made of thousands of speakers, each implanted with a computer chip that made them “intelligent” — allowing them to emulate a natural sound environment. He could play music that followed him throughout the room, providing a sonically perfect artificial surround-sound in an acoustically exceptional environment.
For now, the man’s voice, in crisp and clear stereo, was all Valère cared about. The man inside the window continued. “It appears as though our initial plan has been delayed. After your dismissal of Mr. Jefferson —”
“Nonsense,” Valère said. “Our placements were sound. Each of the departments is operating smoothly, according to their protocols, and taking no unnecessary risks or making any rash decisions.”
“Francis,” the first man, Emilio Vasquez, said, “while I admit our infiltrated agencies are doing exactly as we’ve hoped, you cannot deny the existence of a few rogue operatives. The CDC’s department head has been removed, but it still seems as though a few members of its lower ranks are curious.”
Valère thought about this a moment. “Do you honestly believe they have become a threat?”
“Hardly,” Emilio responded. “It is merely in our best interests to ensure these possible threats stay just that.”
“And how exactly do we ensure that?” Valère asked.
The other man paused for a moment. “Well, I believe it’s time for the contingency plan.”
“I — we — don’t need a contingency plan,” Valère responded. “This plan is sound — it always has been.”
“I’m not saying it hasn’t been, Valère. But there’s always room for improvement.”
“But these rogue operatives have been working outside of our target organizations. They are no more a threat to us than the local police.”
“But you’re wrong, Valère. They are far more of a threat to us, especially now. They are mobile, and we are still unsure of their capabilities. Borders mean nothing to them, nor do their organization’s standards. We’ve worked far too long on this project to lose the investment entirely.”
Emilio’s face was growing slightly red, though his voice betrayed no raise of emotions. Valère knew the man was moments away from growing indignant, but the man stopped himself just short.
Valère sighed. “These deaths are unnecessary,” he said. “They are inevitable, but must they come from our hands?”
“Valère,” Emilio said. “As you know, these deaths are nothing when measured against what we will accomplish.”
“I agree, but—”
“And their deaths will not be ‘by our hand,’ as you say. Far from it.”
Valère nodded.
“Let us see this through to the end, Valère. Let us complete our mission.”
He nodded again.
No one spoke at first. Finally, SARA’s voice boomed through the walls. “We will need your verbal commitment, Monsieur Valère. Please provide verbal confirmation of your agreement to the chosen contingency.”
Good Lord, she was remarkable. SARA had parsed, compiled, and transcribed the conversation, as she had been instructed, but she had also extrapolated from the silence that the other man was waiting for Valère’s confirmation, as per the contract, as well as the fact that he didn’t want to specifically ask for it.
Technology. Incroyable.
“Yes,” he stammered. “Yes, I confirm. We shall commence with a contingency that merely supports our overall direction, as discussed in previous commun
ications. SARA, please transcribe, encrypt, and archive this discussion into your database, and remove all references therein.”
“Oui, Monsieur Valère,” SARA said. As Valère stood from his computer desk, the woman’s computerized voice followed the location of his head with pinpoint accuracy, causing Valère to feel as though she were inside his head, not just talking to it. “I will alert you of any updates.”
He nodded, knowing SARA could see that, too.
42
“HOW FAR ARE WE FROM the lab?” Julie asked. She had her feet up on the dashboard. One of Ben’s pet peeves, but he didn’t say anything. He was driving, again, but rather than responding with one of the myriad of retorts he’d been constructing, he found himself grinning instead.
“We’re almost at the park border, and then there’s another half hour or so to the lab.”
She nodded once, then focused again on her laptop. Malcolm sat in the back seat, reading through a stack of papers Julie had printed at the hotel’s business center, all on infectious diseases, viral outbreaks, and bacterial infections. It was internal CDC documentation, mixed with reference material and some medical applications, but most of it was the type of information that existed publicly online, through sites like WebMD and Wikipedia.
Malcolm was specifically looking for research into anthrax-type infections, where the originating material was powdery, dry, or airborne. A fast reader, he had almost made it through the entire stack when they finally reached the gates of Yellowstone’s northeast entrance, with nothing intriguing to show for his efforts.
Julie looked out the window to see a welcome sign with the “Yellowstone National Park” title and the National Parks Service arrowhead logo. The wooden sign had been placed atop a log display, surrounded by a freshly manicured garden of flowers, shrubs, and small trees. Behind it, the sprawling landscape lay in invitation, beckoning the three-million-plus visitors each year into miles of protected forests and open terrain.
The road narrowed slightly and pointed them toward an entrance area with a service building standing sentry nearby. In front of the building, Julie saw two police officers and a few rangers and park personnel milling about. Two police cruisers were parked facing each other on the road, blocking the entrance. Outside the service building, a white tent had been constructed, and Julie could see that it was meant for hazmat teams from her own organization for the mobile treatment of any infected individuals found inside the park.
“Are they going to let us in?” Julie asked.
“The north and northeast entrances are open year-round, so we should be able to get in. I’ve got my access badge, but I’m not sure about you.”
One of the police officers had seen their truck coming toward them and walked into the road, standing in front of the police vehicle. He held up his arms and began waving them down.
“Well, maybe I was wrong,” Ben muttered under his breath as he slowed the truck to a stop and rolled down the window.
The police officer almost had to stand on his toes to see into the truck’s high window, but he removed his sunglasses and spoke loudly over the rumble of the engine. “Park’s closed,” he said. “No access in or out.”
“I understand,” Ben answered, removing the ID badge from his wallet. “I work here though, and she’s —”
“Doesn’t matter.” The police officer cut him off, curtly. “No one in or out. You can turn around right here, then head back on this road…” His voice trailed off as he pointed in the direction from which they’d come.
“Officer, I’m going to need to get into the park. We’ve got information on this virus, and —”
“Son, I’m not going to ask you again. Park access is prohibited. Get home, stay inside, and keep watching the news.”
Ben gritted his teeth and revved the engine. As the officer stepped backward, Ben spun the truck around him and accelerated onto the north-bound side of the road.
“That was helpful,” Julie said.
Malcolm called up from the back of the truck. “Now what?”
Ben didn’t answer. He drove another mile and turned left onto a dirt road leading back to the southwest, and sped up again. They bounced over the uneven, rocky road and swerved between trees that jutted out over their heads. “This is a private access road. There are four other public entrances to the park, just like the one back there. But there are a thousand little roads like this one that crisscross the entire area. I doubt they’ll be monitoring these smaller ones, at least not at the park borders.”
“Won’t they still find us? There are probably hazmat and outbreak teams from every branch of government and local police forces inside the park.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Malcolm answered. “They’ll know soon enough that we’re here, but if we don’t get to that lab and figure out what makes this thing stop, it will be too late anyway.”
As a confirmation, Ben poked at the radio until he found a news station. It didn’t take long — one station was playing a prerecorded commercial, but the second he tried was broadcasting a nationwide message. He turned the volume up as an anchor’s voice solemnly dictated the latest update.
“…Reports are in that the viral outbreak has extended as far south as Albuquerque, New Mexico, and as far east as Wichita, Kansas. Experts from the CDC and other sources suggest that if the outbreak can be contained, the death toll will rise to around 10,000 people, but if not, that number could skyrocket to more than a million. Estimates predict that number to be far too conservative, especially if the trajectory of the disease places it anywhere near the western seaboard.
“As a reminder, please stay inside, try not to interact with anyone outside of your immediate family, and stay tuned to news and radio updates.”
The anchor signed off, promising another update in an hour, and went to a commercial break. Ben punched the power button.
“Well that’s dire,” Julie said. Her voice was hoarse, weak.
“It is, but we can change it. They don’t know how large-scale this could be, and they don’t understand the virus like we do. They’re doing what they’ve been trained to do — throw resources at this problem until it goes away, trying to limit the fatalities as much as possible. We don’t need more people studying it, just the right ones, with the right information.”
“That’s why we need to get to the lab,” Ben said. He smashed the gas pedal, sending the already fast-moving truck hurtling over potholes and bumps as if they were no more than pebbles on the road.
Minutes later, they reached the lab facility. It was a brownish-tinged building, painted to blend into the surrounding forest and not stick out to any vacationers camped nearby. Ben pulled the truck onto the long driveway, relieved to find that it was paved, flat, and straight. He parked outside the main entrance. The building was dark and appeared unoccupied — not a surprise, considering the park’s staff had been released shortly after the explosion.
Julie opened her door and prepared to step out of the truck when her phone rang. She answered it.
“Stephens? You want to explain to me what the hell happened back —”
“Julie, listen. I’m sorry about that. That was Livingston’s decision, not mine. I’m back at the office, and I just found out that he put a redirect on my outgoing emails…”
The mention of David Livingston’s name caused Julie to choke up. She remembered Randy’s words as he delivered the news. A suicide, the gun lying next to his head on his desk at home. She still couldn’t believe it.
“Where are you?”
“We — I’m at Yellowstone. We’re trying to —” She felt a hand on her arm and looked up. Ben was staring at her, shaking his head.
“What?” she mouthed the words.
“Trying to what, Julie? What are you up to? You need to get away from there, before this gets out of hand.”
She looked back at Ben, meeting his eyes. Again, slowly, he shook his head.
“Sorry — Benjamin, I can’t. We’re close. I can’
t give you an update right now, but I —”
“Julie! You can’t afford to keep gallivanting around. If Livingston finds out…”
The words tumbled from her mouth before she could control them. “Stephens, where have you been? What are you doing?”
There was a pause.
“I’m — I’m… working on this, too, Julie. What do you mean?”
She waited a moment, then continued. “Okay, I know. I’m sorry. Just… don’t worry about Livingston. Listen, we need to go. Okay? I’ll check in tonight, after we leave.”
“Okay…” the voice was shaky, uncertain. “Okay, you’re right. Keep at it, Julie. Let me know what you need.”
She thanked him and hung up, then looked at the other two passengers in the truck.
“He doesn’t know already?” Malcolm asked.
“I… I guess not.”
Ben frowned. He thought for a few seconds, then put the truck in park and opened his door, still shaking his head. He looked up sharply and caught Julie’s attention.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Look,” Ben said. He held out his left arm and pulled his sleeve up. The rash had disappeared from his exposed hand, and his arm looked almost completely normal, replaced by his natural skin tone. His right arm looked similar. Julie checked out her own rash and found the same to be true.
“It’s gone,” she said.
“Almost. Come on, we need to get in there. Whatever’s left of the virus in our systems is the only hope we have left to figure out what this is.”
“But why’s it going away? I feel fine, too.”
Malcolm had exited the truck and was helping Ben examine the open skin on his hands and arms. “It appears as though it’s naturally run its course and is now dying on its own.”
“Is that what happened to you?” Julie asked.
“No,” he replied. “I never had an actual rash outbreak, at least not as I remember. I could have been sedated, or comatose. But most likely I was injected with a small amount of the stuff to test its effects and find a cure. That was enough to inoculate me.”
