The Orbs Omnibus

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  With a simple code I open the door to the outer Biosphere facilities. The team members and newcomers enter a hallway that leads to the cleansing compartments. The two Marines carrying Mr. Yool set him down in the middle of the chamber before retreating to retrieve Dr. Rodriguez. I cordon off the area and seal the doors, immediately starting the decontamination process.

  “Mr. Roberts, Dr. Brown, I need you at the entrance of the Biosphere to retrieve Mr. Yool. Take him to the medical bay immediately,” I say, the message repeating over the internal com.

  I return my attention to Camera 25 and watch a cloud of white mist cover Mr. Yool’s unconscious body. Several minutes later, the doors slide open. Dr. Brown and Mr. Roberts are there waiting with a stretcher. As they drag his body out of the chamber, Dr. Brown lets out a shriek and drops Mr. Yool’s body on the ground, scooting backwards toward the wall.

  “What are you doing? Mr. Yool needs medical attention immediately,” I say, my voice calm, collected, and unwavering.

  “Alexia, Saafi is . . .” Dr. Brown pauses, her eyes glued to his face. “He’s not Saafi anymore!”

  “Dr. Winston has requested that he be taken to the sick bay this instant,” I repeat in the exact same tone.

  Camera 25 shows that two Marines have returned with Dr. Rodriguez. He’s moving now, aided by Sergeant Overton and one of his men. Dr. Winston follows close behind and enters the chamber with them, whispering something into the doctor’s ear as the Marines set him down on the chamber’s white floor. I close the doors as soon as they retreat, and mist fills the room.

  * * *

  ENTRY 0011

  DESIGNEE: AI ALEXIA MODEL 11

  The medical ward is the last room in the personnel quarters wing. I’ve been running diagnostics on Mr. Yool for an hour. The results are . . . disturbing. His body composition has changed dramatically. He has suffered a loss of over 15 percent of tissue water, which in most cases would be fatal. His pulse is weak, but he is still alive.

  Utilizing one of the three cryogenic chambers, I’ve put him in a medically induced coma to prevent any seizures from his spastic muscles. In addition, I have hooked him up to multiple tubes that feed him nutrients and saline. His skin, however, has yet to respond. It is wrinkled, pale, and filmy, with a hint of jaundice. I update his chance of survival to 19 percent.

  I turn my attention to Dr. Rodriguez, who is in a bed adjacent to the cryogenic chambers. He’s sitting up, nursing a cup of water with a high volume of sodium. Dr. Winston sits by his side, her hand gripping his. The video image reveals she is still shaking. Her ears have suffered extensive damage; I have provided her with a medicated device to go inside her lobes until they heal. She should have no problems hearing now, but she may suffer headaches or vertigo as side effects.

  Dr. Brown and Mr. Roberts sit in metal chairs in the hallway outside. Their faces are flushed. Mr. Roberts twitches, picking at a hangnail. Dr. Brown is so still that I run a quick scan to make sure she has not succumbed to shock. Sergeant Overton and his men remain in the mess hall, consuming a day’s ration of packaged meals. Their expressions are tired, but not nearly as anxious as those of Dr. Winston and her team.

  At 0200, and after a considerable amount of silence, I decide it is time I share with the team what I have known for several hours. I prepare the com system so my voice will carry through the Biosphere.

  “Dr. Winston, Sergeant Overton, and teammates. Prompted by the opening of the Biosphere doors, an automated message from Dr. Hoffman emerged at approximately 2100 hours. Please relocate to the mess hall, where I will play the video on the holographic projector.”

  As the team migrates down the hall, I cannot help but experience what humans would define as curiosity. After all, the past few days have resulted in more questions than answers, and if I am correct, Dr. Hoffman’s message will only add to the list of mysteries.

  CHAPTER 13

  TIMOTHY ripped a hangnail off his index finger as his right eye twitched. “I’d like to know what the hell is going on.”

  “Right now we have just as many questions as you do,” Overton replied, as they waited for Sophie to wheel Emanuel into the mess hall.

  “You guys are Marines. You’ve been outside. You should know what’s happening!” Timothy fired back.

  Overton continued to twirl his combat knife on his fingertips, ignoring the man’s comments. Over the years he had increasingly lost his ability to deal with men like Timothy—men who were, in his opinion, a waste of time. He’d spent his entire career as an active-duty Marine protecting men like that.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you, man,” Timothy persisted, fidgeting in his metal chair. “What is it, some kind of military thing? Is it World War Three out there?”

  Overton gave him a quick “shut your mouth or I’m going to put my boot up your ass” look.

  It worked. Timothy rolled his eyes and strolled over to help Sophie wheel Emanuel into the room.

  “Do you believe that guy? Why the hell did they let him in this joint?” Finley asked.

  “Sounds like a nut job to me,” Bouma replied with a grin.

  “Keep your traps shut. Do you know where we are?” Overton paused to scan his men’s faces, but they stared back at him blankly. “Jesus Christ! We’re at Cheyenne Mountain, one of the best protected military bases in the history of the United States. This bunker was built to withstand a direct hit from a nuclear weapon, and can support the population of a small town for months. Right now we are guests at this facility. And until we figure out what’s going on out there, I don’t want to give them a reason to kick us out. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

  The squeaking of rubber tread prompted Overton to sheathe his knife and stand. He welcomed Sophie and Emanuel to the room with a short nod. “How’s your tall friend?”

  “He’s alive, but barely. Our AI has him in a medically induced coma inside the cryo chamber,” Sophie said, sliding Emanuel’s wheelchair underneath a table. She strolled over to Overton with her hand outstretched. “I never got a chance to thank you for what you and your men did back there. So thank you,” she said, forcing a tired smile.

  He took her hand and squeezed it. “My pleasure, ma’am. Just in the day’s work of a Marine.”

  Timothy laughed. “Marines who don’t know what the hell is going on.”

  Sergeant Overton took in a short breath, calming himself before he let go of Sophie’s hand and retreated to his chair. Under normal conditions he would be removing Timothy’s teeth from his mouth with one swift punch, but not today—today he needed a place to sleep and regroup so he could have the strength to fight later.

  Sophie pulled a strand of frizzled blond hair out of her eyes and brushed it behind her ear. She shot Emanuel a glance before heading to the center of the room. The mission had gone from a failure to a complete nightmare, but she was still the team lead, and her people needed her now more than ever. They’d seen her go through many highs and lows in her career, from winning the J. J. Sakurai Prize for outstanding work in theoretical particle physics to subsequently losing grant funding for a project associated with a new particle collider funded by NTC. And they had stuck with her through it all.

  She bent over the table, placing her hands on the cold metal and scanning the faces sitting around the room. She wondered if they would still stay by her side now.

  “Listen up. I don’t know what’s happened outside. I’m not sure what we encountered on the highway or on our way back.” Sophie shook her head and sucked in a deep breath, straightening her back. “All I know is we have to move forward. But before we devise a plan, Alexia has something she wants us to see.” Sophie turned to face the console in the middle of the room.

  “One moment, Dr. Winston,” Alexia replied. Darkness washed over the team as the lights faded. A burst of light shot out of the console, forming a crisp video feed tha
t illuminated the faces of the team members.

  Sophie recognized the empty control room instantly. It was the command center at the NTC headquarters in Los Angeles. She’d been there just three months ago, signing the contract that she thought was her ticket to Mars. Dr. Hoffman walked into the control room and looked into the camera. His face was solemn, fatigued. The lines on his aged forehead were deeper and more pronounced, as if he hadn’t slept for days.

  “Dr. Winston, Alexia, and team. If you are listening to this, then it’s too late. The Doomsday Clock has finally caught up to us,” he said, pausing to look down at a page of notes in his right hand. As he reviewed the words, his nostrils flared and his eyebrows compressed to form a deep wrinkle. He crumpled the paper and tossed it on the floor.

  Sophie had never imagined him as the type of leader who would let his emotions take control of him so radically. This meant, more than likely, that whatever he was about to say was earth-shattering. She strained her battered ears, her gut clenched, preparing for the worst.

  “You all remember the solar storms of 2055. The solar flares turned the sky red and played havoc with communication systems worldwide before emitting a coronal mass ejection that turned the Midwestern region of the United States into a radioactive dead zone. These are things no one will ever forget. However, what you don’t know about this catastrophic cosmic destruction is its true origin.”

  Dr. Hoffman grabbed a glass of water from a nearby table and took a sip. “The sun was not the only culprit responsible for these events. Dr. Winston, your team discovered a magnetic disruption while working in Houston. Something that was feeding the storms. You encrypted the data and sent it to us. And I’m guessing you were told to forget about it, that the information was classified.”

  Sophie glanced over her shoulder at Emanuel, who gave her a confused look. He had lost both of his parents in the storm, and she had lied to him about its true source. While it broke her heart, the future of her career depended on the lie. She realized she had some explaining to do.

  “In any case, the magnetic disruption was caused by an organic force—a force no scientist in the world could possibly understand. Until now.” Dr. Hoffman halted and stepped back from the camera so that a 3D hologram had room to enlarge over a metal console.

  “I hope you can all make this out,” he said, flicking the blue shapes with his index finger.

  Sophie gasped. It was the image of the ship from her dreams—the same ship they had encountered outside the mountain before Sergeant Overton and his men had rescued them.

  “Meet Eve, the first extraterrestrial organic drone ever discovered. She’s made mostly of water, along with an electronic force field and a couple of elements that won’t show up on your high school chemistry teacher’s periodic table. We are calling these invaders the Organics. We found Eve submerged in an uncharted lake in the remote wilderness of Alaska in 2055. It was around the same time scientists realized the magnetic interference during the solar storms had originated from beneath the surface of Mars. Now, we still don’t know what’s down there. President Bolton’s administration refused to fund any research vessels, so we can only guess that Eve and the source of the magnetic interference are related. What we do know is this: 2055 was their first attempt at exterminating us. We have all seen enough B movies to know how the story goes. Aliens come to Earth for our resources and we fight back, finding a way to kill them through bacteria, nukes, or good old-fashioned hand-to-hand combat. Well, not this time.” Dr. Hoffman paused again to take another sip of water and glance at his watch.

  “I’m sorry; time is of the essence, and I am running out of it. I’ll make the rest of this quick. We got lucky in 2055. The Organics failed at their first attempt, but they won’t fail in their second. This is why we have put so much funding into the biosphere projects. After the failure of their first mission, all our hope is riding on you. If you are getting this message, then it’s too late for the rest of us. My role model as a child, Stephen Hawking, was right when he compared a modern alien invasion to the European invasion of North America. It did not end well for the indigenous people, and it won’t end well for us. The storms of 2055 made it very clear. They want us dead.”

  A staffer rushed into the room behind him, interrupting the presentation. “Dr. Hoffman, they’re coming!”

  The command center’s lights flickered and began to fade as the doctor turned to face the camera again. “You must go—”

  Before Dr. Hoffman could finish his sentence the image vanished and darkness flooded over the room.

  “The Organics? What the fuck!” Timothy yelled, running both hands through his curly hair.

  “We must go where?” Holly asked, her pale face almost glowing in the dim room.

  Sophie stood and placed her hands on both aching ears, massaging the small medical devices inserted there. “Alexia, is that the entire message?”

  “I’m afraid so, Dr. Winston. It must have been recorded and sent shortly before the disruption happened outside.”

  “What’s that mean?” Timothy asked, his eye twitching frantically.

  “Mr. Roberts, sit the fuck down before I have my men restrain you,” Sergeant Overton bellowed, rising from his metal seat. “Sounds like it wasn’t the Chinese after all, Finley,” he said, shooting the young Marine a quick grin. “What we have on our hands here is an invasion. And what do Marines do during an invasion?”

  “They fight, sir!” Bouma barked.

  “Oorah,” Sergeant Overton replied, his rough voice echoing through the mess hall. “Dr. Winston, before the presentation you mentioned a plan. Now the way I see it, nothing short of the grace of God spared our asses. And after seeing what happened to the rest of the poor souls in Colorado Springs, I figure we lived for a reason. So whether it’s divine intervention or just a coincidence, you and I need to work together. With your scientific brain power and my”—he paused and looked at the archaic metal .45 hanging off his belt—“my firepower, if you’ll pardon the cliché, I believe we have a fighting chance at taking some of these alien bastards with us. We already know they don’t react well to rockets.”

  Sophie took a deep breath, mulling over the Marine’s words before shrugging. “Doesn’t look like we have a choice, but let me be very clear.” She caught Overton’s gaze and held it, unwavering. “This is my facility, and I am in charge.”

  Sergeant Overton waited a few seconds before responding. “Works for me, ma’am.”

  “All right then. We have all had an extremely long day, so let’s get some rest. Sergeant, you and your men are free to sleep in Saafi’s room. I’ll have Holly bring you some extra bedding and pillows.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Bouma said.

  “Get some sleep. We start at 0700,” Sophie said, returning to Emanuel. “Oh, and Sergeant,” she added, “one of you can take my room.”

  Overton raised an eyebrow and then managed the first real smile that he could remember since this whole mess began. With a laugh, he pushed Finley and Bouma toward the private quarters. “Let’s go, you shitheads.”

  Sophie motioned Emanuel toward the hallway. “I know I have some explaining to do. But before I do, please know I’m sorry. I had to keep the information about the solar storms from you for the sake of my career. For your career.”

  “I know,” he said, looking up at her. He managed a smile. “Honestly, I understand. Besides you had no way of knowing what the magnetic disruption was. Or that it would lead to this.”

  Sophie sighed and bent down to whisper into his ear. “It’s the end of the world. You know what that means?”

  “You’re my new bunk mate?”

  “You got it,” she said, wheeling him into the dark passage.

  CHAPTER 14

  THE alarm tore through the early morning silence. Sophie shot up, narrowly avoiding punching Emanuel in the gut. Fear raced through her as she tos
sed the sheets off the bed and rushed to grab her headset. Her stomach lurched when her feet hit the cold floor.

  She felt like she’d been hit head-on by a truck, and then backed over.

  Everything hurt.

  Her head pounded, her vision was cloudy, and worst of all, she couldn’t think. Brainpower was the one thing that had gotten her through a laundry list of dicey situations in the past. Without it she was nothing more than another blonde in a lab coat.

  “Alexia, what’s going on?”

  “Dr. Winston, there is something I think you may want to see.”

  “Can’t you just tell me over the com? It’s only”—Sophie paused to look at her watch—“0800. Shit, I overslept. I’m on my way.”

  The red glow from the emergency lights lit the room, illuminating Emanuel’s tired eyes. Sophie fumbled for her clothes in the dim light.

  “Stay put,” she barked.

  “Is it Saafi?” he asked, sitting up.

  “I don’t know. I’m headed to the control room to find out.”

  Sophie rushed into the hallway, where she collided with Finley. She fell to the ground in a tangled mess.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am!” he said, offering his hand to help her up.

  Sophie managed to sit up, rubbing her throbbing head, and politely declined his hand. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you su—”

  “I said I’m fine, Finley. I just need to get my bearings.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, but he hesitated for a moment. Sophie glared at him until he left and then clambered stiffly to her feet, gripping the wall for support.

  The command center was packed by the time Sophie arrived. Her team and the Marines stood huddled around a monitor showing video footage from Camera 1, directly outside the blast doors. Standing in the morning sunlight was a child no older than five. He was gripping a filthy blanket and had lost a shoe.