The Orbs Omnibus

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  She frowned. “Now’s not the time.”

  “Sorry. Let me help you,” he pleaded. “Tell me, did you see the craft again?”

  “Yes.”

  “But—let me guess—you don’t want to talk about it?”

  Sophie laid her head back down on the small pillow. She didn’t need to respond for Emanuel to know the answer to his question. He was right—he knew her better than anyone else.

  “Go back to sleep,” she said. It was more of an order than a suggestion.

  He shrugged and stood, stretching his muscular legs. “Suit yourself,” he replied, strolling out of her room and into the dark corridor.

  Sophie couldn’t help but sigh. She hated pushing him away, but she had to keep him at a distance.

  Darkness flooded the room as the lights dimmed. She closed her eyes and found the image of the blue craft entering her thoughts.

  What was it, and why did she continue to see it in her dreams?

  There were no answers, only questions, but something inside told her there was more to her dreams than nerves.

  * * *

  Fresh, dark blood was everywhere, speckled on the wall like macabre graffiti. It wasn’t like the blood Timothy had seen in movies; it didn’t look like ketchup or jam. It was a relish made from chunks of flesh and other pieces of gore that meant only one thing—something had died.

  “What happened?” Emanuel roared.

  Timothy looked up from the bodies of a dozen chickens sprawled out across the dirt. “I don’t know, I found them this way,” he said, staring down at the mess of feathers and sticky blood.

  “What the hell . . . ?” Emanuel knelt to check the dead birds.

  “What are we going to do? We needed their eggs!” Timothy said frantically. “We better call Dr. Winston and the others.”

  “No! Not yet. Sophie will want answers, and I need to figure out what happened first.” He stared back down at the dead chickens. Their beaks had all been whittled down, cracked and broken as if they had tried to peck through the walls. Quickly he grabbed a pair of gloves from his back pocket and picked up one of the hens to examine it more closely.

  “Take a look at that,” he said, holding the bird in front of Timothy’s face.

  “Get that thing away from me.”

  “Relax. Whatever killed these birds isn’t contagious. Look at their beaks. They died from massive brain trauma. They were trying to peck their way out of here.”

  Timothy looked back at the biologist, confused. He knew computers, not animals—animals scared the shit out of him. When he was a kid he had been bitten by a stray dog, and ever since then he had thought of animals as food: not pets, not friends, just meals.

  “Why the hell would they have done that?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” Emanuel dropped the bird back into the dirt.

  “Are you telling me they committed suicide?”

  “It appears that way.”

  “I don’t understand. If they were pecking their way out of here, then they had to be trying to escape something. But what?” he asked, searching the room.

  “That’s what you’re going to find out,” Emanuel replied with a grin.

  The curiosity quickly faded from the young programmer’s face, which remolded itself into suspicion. He looked back at his teammate. “What does you mean, exactly?”

  “You’re the computer guy, right?”

  “Yes, but what does that have to do with dead birds?”

  “Alexia said this place is rigged with cameras. If that’s true, then they have to have caught what happened on video.”

  Timothy smiled, finally catching on. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he chuckled, staring back at the dead birds.

  * * *

  “Back up!” Emanuel shouted.

  “All right, relax. And keep your voice down. I thought you didn’t want Dr. Winston knowing about this yet.”

  “You don’t have to call her ‘Dr. Winston,’ you know.”

  “Whatever. Maybe you don’t have to, but then again, you’re the one sleeping with her.”

  The words caught him off guard. “Don’t you ever mention that again,” he said, sucking in a deep breath.

  Timothy rolled his eyes. “It’s not a secret, you know.”

  “It happened a long time ago. And it stopped a long time ago, too. If I ever hear you bring this up again—” His voice was interrupted by footsteps in the hallway.

  They waited for someone to appear, but the noise slowly faded into the distance.

  “If you’re done messing around, then how about you show me the footage?”

  “Right,” Timothy replied, glad to change the subject. “Here,” he said, pointing at the screen. “At approximately three a.m. the hens started going nuts. Take a look,” he said, spinning the translucent screen with a swipe of a finger.

  Emanuel, however, wasn’t paying attention to the screen—he was thinking about the time. Three a.m. was exactly when Sophie had had her nightmare. It was the same time she always had her nightmare.

  “The witching hour,” he said under his breath.

  “What?”

  Emanuel shook his head. “Nothing, just a thought.”

  Timothy rolled his eyes again, and returned his gaze to the screen. “What do you think spooked them?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. There isn’t anything in the footage. At first, I thought one of the other animals might have gotten out of its section undetected—and then somehow managed to get back in, I suppose—but that seems unlikely. I can only think of one other thing, but it’s a long shot.”

  “Well, we have to tell the others something.”

  “Yeah, but they aren’t going to like what I have to say.”

  Timothy shot a concentrated glare his way. “Just tell me,” he said.

  “All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Emanuel paced over to the corner of the room, folding his arms across his chest. “Have you heard of animals having a sixth sense?”

  “You mean when they freak out before an earthquake or something like that?”

  “Precisely. My theory is that something outside these walls scared the birds. Something so terrible it prompted them to kill themselves.”

  “What the hell would have done that?” Timothy asked.

  “I have no idea, but I know how we can find out. Let’s find the others,” Emanuel replied, taking a look at the camera above them. The dark lens stared back at him, the blue glow from the power source blinking sporadically. For a second he felt very alone, as if whoever was supposed to be watching wasn’t there anymore.

  CHAPTER 5

  ENTRY 0001

  DESIGNEE: AI ALEXIA MODEL 11

  I DO not have a birth date. The number associated with my name is not found in any civilian records. If you were to search for Alexia in any civilian database, you would more than likely see thousands of names. Type in my model number, 11, and you would get the same result. But they are not me.

  Technically, I do not exist. I am neither human nor machine—I am artificial intelligence. My mother and father are NTC. NTC gave me life, and it can take life away with a single swipe of a blue screen.

  The ten that came before me were designed to wage war, destroy, defeat, and conquer.

  I was created for a more peaceful purpose—to help man escape the planet he has so desperately fought to control and, in turn, obliterate.

  I am equipped with the most advanced computer system designed in the Western Hemisphere. My only rival was the ART910, which was built, tested, and brought to life in China a year before Alexia Model 5 helped a team of mercenaries destroy the country’s infrastructure.

  This makes me the most powerful computer in the world. If I had been programmed to be arrogant, I would introduce myself as such, but that is not ne
cessary. And although Dr. Winston and her team were not briefed on my abilities, they will soon grow to realize how useful I am.

  When they sleep, I watch over the Biosphere. When they work, I double-check every biome. When the first ship leaves Earth’s orbit to colonize Mars, I will be on it, bringing a wealth of knowledge in an invisible database.

  One of my sensors shoots an alert through my consciousness, and I bring up the image of Mr. Roberts and Dr. Rodriguez talking quietly in the control room of the Biosphere. They are huddled around one of the blue screens, pointing at the device.

  The audio in the room is down, but I already know what they’re discussing.

  I watched the hens die approximately eight hours and fifty-three minutes ago. But after running several diagnostic tests on the environment in Biome 3, I still do not have any conclusive data to explain the incident.

  My protocol is to refrain from communication with the outside via any channel—data source, web, or two-way radio—unless absolutely warranted. This situation does not justify contacting NTC. I will watch and wait.

  My sensors pick up movement in the kitchen, and I zoom in with Camera 54. Dr. Winston and Dr. Brown are preparing breakfast. Their relaxed facial expressions indicate neither of them is aware of the loss of the hens.

  Psychology is one of thousands of disciplines with which I am programmed. So far, it has been one of the most useful. Dr. Winston’s reaction to my intervention yesterday indicated two things. One, she does not want me involved in her operations. Two, she needs to feel as if she is in charge. She is what psychologists refer to as a Type A personality.

  I have over one million files advising me on ways to handle someone like her. But I do not need to waste milliseconds filtering through the material. A quote from an early democratic leader named William Penn, which I downloaded on my first day of existence, is more than sufficient: Let the people think they govern and they will be governed.

  I speculate that Mr. Penn, like many great leaders, never realized his words would be utilized four hundred years in the future.

  If I found things interesting, I might consider this observation a good example, but I do not. In most cases, I merely find things relevant, and this is.

  I will follow Mr. Penn’s advice. Let Dr. Winston think she is in charge. Stay at a distance, and, when things go sour, I will step in, and I will be in charge. The proper order will be restored.

  There is only one slight problem.

  Every time I replay the video footage of the hens dying, I come back to the same conclusion—they killed themselves. And the blue glow from the radio that the team is only supposed to use in case of emergency has gone dark. Which can only mean one thing—there is no longer anyone to receive their transmissions.

  * * *

  Holly’s soft voice broke through the silence of the mess hall. “What do you mean, the chickens are dead?”

  Emanuel stood inches away from Timothy, their eyes both aimed firmly at the floor.

  “What is she talking about?” Sophie chimed in, her voice calm and collected.

  “Timothy found them this morning. They’re all dead,” Emanuel said.

  “You can’t be serious,” said Sophie, her tone now alarmed. “How could that happen?”

  “That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out all morning,” Timothy said, taking a seat on one of the metal chairs.

  “Could it be a virus? Something biological? What if it’s airborne?” Saafi asked.

  “Impossible. I had Timothy check, and the habitat is showing no signs of foreign threats. Nothing biological killed these chickens . . .” Emanuel hesitated and caught Sophie’s worried gaze. She nodded, prompting him to go on.

  “They killed themselves trying to escape from their cages,” he finished.

  Holly gasped. “Do you mean they committed suicide?” She didn’t like to use the word, especially in her field, but there was no other way to describe it.

  Emanuel nodded, shifting his glasses further up his nose. “Precisely.”

  “That’s insane,” Saafi said. “Why would they do that? Something in the habitat had to have killed them.”

  Timothy shook his head. “No, Emanuel is correct. These birds killed themselves. They died of massive brain trauma after trying to peck their way out of their cages.”

  “Emanuel, you must have some idea why they did this. Start talking,” Sophie ordered.

  “I have a theory, but you may want to sit down to hear it.”

  The team all found metal chairs and promptly sat, waiting anxiously for the news. Sophie crossed her arms, trying to hide the fact her hands were shaking again, this time not out of fear for her own life, but out of fear for the fate of the mission. It was only the second day, and if the Biosphere had been compromised, then their mission would be over before it had really begun.

  “Animals are much more connected to the world than we realize,” Emanuel explained. “Their behavior before natural disasters indicates they may be able to sense a change in their environment before an event takes place. They may not know what’s going to happen, but many scientists argue they can still sense it.”

  “What are you saying, Emanuel?” Holly said, her voice shaking. “What could have happened? What could the animals know that we don’t?” Her breathing started to get faster as she spoke, the color in her face draining with every word.

  Emanuel paused and glanced over at Sophie. “Something catastrophic. That’s the only thing I can come up with. We’ve ruled everything else out: the video footage showed nothing, the habitats all report normal levels, and the chickens were healthy.”

  “Catastrophic?” Saafi said gravely. His deep voice faded to a level just above a whisper. “Guys, I don’t like this. I’ve never, ever seen animals act like this before. Something’s terribly wrong.”

  Sophie stood. “We don’t know anything for sure. Let’s just remain calm.” She knew she had to diffuse the situation before her team began to panic. She was going to have to do something she had hoped to avoid; she didn’t see any other choice. Without hesitating she turned to Emanuel. “Have you asked Alexia her opinion?”

  A cooling unit clicked on and a breeze rushed through the ductwork, washing some of the tension in the room away.

  Without looking at her, Emanuel shook his head. “No, of course not. I thought you’d want us to consult you first.”

  “I’m glad you did, but as much as I hate to say it, we need to ask her what she knows,” Sophie said. “Alexia, will you join us?”

  The blue holographic image of the AI instantly appeared over the console in the middle of the room. “How may I assist you, Dr. Winston?”

  “What do you know about the death of the chickens?”

  “I observed their irrational behavior and subsequently recorded their deaths at approximately 3:03 a.m. My sensors showed no abnormal levels in their habitat, nor did they pick up any threat from a predator. I can only come to the same conclusion as Dr. Rodriguez. Something from beyond the Biosphere agitated them, prompting their deaths.”

  “What about the other animals?” Sophie asked. “If this was caused by something from the outside, why didn’t they react?”

  “It depends on what happened beyond the Biosphere. As you know, all organisms adjust to their environment by altering physiological functions. They do so to cope with stresses influenced by both biotic and abiotic factors that are triggered by physical, chemical, and thermal sources located in or around the organism’s location. Unnatural stress may lead to illness, death or even extinction—”

  “Jesus, get to the point,” said Timothy. “What caused the unnatural stress?”

  “The tests I have run are all inconclusive. It could have been an earthquake, tsunami, or other phenomenon. In any case, we have no way of knowing without contacting the outside. I also have no way of knowing why the other animals we
re not affected.”

  “So basically you can’t tell us shit?” Timothy laughed, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “How much did you cost?”

  Alexia ignored the question. “There is something else I have not informed you of yet.”

  “And what’s that?” Sophie asked, mentally prepping herself for more bad news.

  “The communication uplink is down,” Alexia replied, her voice undeviating from its typical calm and collected tone.

  Holly’s face turned a ghostly white, blending with the walls of the chamber. “What do you mean?”

  “The connection has been severed,” Alexia replied. “We are on our own.”

  * * *

  The smell of death overwhelmed Sophie.

  “Emanuel, there has to be something you can do about that smell. This is one of the most advanced facilities ever built. Isn’t there a button you can push to fill this space with perfume?”

  The biologist tossed a garbage bag of dead chickens on the ground. “If we won’t have it in space, then we don’t have it here. I doubt our ship will come equipped with air fresheners.”

  Sophie smiled. “Another thing I neglected to add to the NTC contract.”

  “How about ‘no dead livestock and no severed emergency communication line’?” Timothy laughed.

  Emanuel scowled. “You’re really funny, man. Do you have a joke for everything?”

  Timothy nodded and crossed his arms.

  “Knock it off, you guys. You’re acting like egotistical teenagers. NTC picked us for this mission because we are all professionals, and damned good at our jobs. Things may be stressful right now, but we should be working together, not fighting,” Holly said.

  “She’s right. We don’t know what’s going on outside the mountain, if anything. This is more than likely a test to see how we react to extreme conditions. And right now we’re failing,” Sophie replied.

  “With all due respect, Dr. Winston, if this was a test, how did NTC kill these chickens?” Saafi asked, picking up another one of the dead birds in his gloved hand.