The time reads 9:15 p.m., and in Biome 4 Dr. Brown sits at a table with the children, Owen and Jamie. They are both shoveling food into their mouths while the doctor rubs their backs. Her face is strained, exhausted, and aged. She does not look like the young psychologist who entered the Biosphere a little over a week ago. Mr. Roberts is slumped in a wheelchair fast asleep and appears to be drooling on himself. It’s more than likely the result of the painkillers he took for his broken jaw.
I pull all three images onto my display. Biome 1, the control room, and Biome 4 all show the remaining team members working on securing the Biosphere. While this behavior is logical, it seems to be statistically futile.
I recalculate their odds of survival at 19 percent. I decide not to inform them of this fact unless they specifically request the information. Although, from what I have observed of Dr. Winston and her team, knowing the odds would only make them fight harder to survive.
I’ve never understood this side of humans. Even after downloading thousands of articles on human behavior and psychology, I simply do not understand why they fight so hard to survive when faced with almost certain death.
When I was designed, my purpose was simply to assist them in accomplishing the Biosphere mission so humanity would have a chance of traveling to the stars and preserving their species. The AIs that came before me were all designed to assist as well, but not in protecting life—in destroying it. Their objective was to annihilate the enemy at all costs. They were designed by men and women who only cared about winning wars.
Man has an extraordinary ability to create, from skyscrapers to state-of-the-art medical centers. And yet, in a very short time, he can ruin everything he created—poisoning the atmosphere with carbon emissions and unleashing horrific weapons on innocent civilians.
The facility in which I now work is one of humankind’s most impressive accomplishments. We are deep inside a mountain, working off the grid. It is here, where NTC pooled its resources and its last hope of creating a successful Biosphere together so humans could travel to Mars and repopulate, that the irony becomes obvious. As the three images show what’s left of the team fighting for survival, their mission becomes crystal clear, and in reality it really hasn’t changed: The mission is to preserve what’s left of the human species. Only this time the enemy isn’t humanity; it’s an invading alien intelligence.
Another sensor goes off as Sergeant Overton and Corporal Bouma finish securing Biome 1. I check a new piece of data scrolling across my display.
Interesting.
The likelihood of the team’s survival has climbed back up to 21 percent.
* * *
Overton wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead and took a seat on the cold metal bench of an empty table in the mess hall. With a loud bang he planted his rifle on the table.
His watch read 9:28. They had met their objective, securing Biome 1 in thirty minutes. Now he was waiting for Sophie and Emanuel to rejoin the group and report on the device. The clatter of metal spoons echoed throughout the mostly silent mess hall. Owen and Jamie watched him between bites.
Footsteps drowned out the sounds of the children eating, and he looked up to see Sophie and Emanuel entering the chamber side by side. Their faces were both rife with exhaustion, and Sophie’s frizzled blond hair shot out in all directions.
Overton looked down at his watch again.
9:29:49.
“It’s done, Sergeant,” Sophie said, taking a seat across from him. “The RVM is online. I’ve tasked Alexia with ensuring it has the desired effect, but from what we could tell it’s working at 100 percent.”
Overton raised a brow but didn’t speak. He was too exhausted to ask any questions. Besides, he didn’t need a long, drawn-out explanation of how the machine worked, so long as it did.
“Biome 1 is secured,” Overton said.
“Then the Biosphere is our home for the foreseeable future,” Sophie said.
Emanuel braced himself against the chamber wall and crossed his feet. “Sergeant Overton, I ask this question with all due respect. Have you reconsidered your idea of a counterattack?”
The words seemed to slap Overton in the face. His tired eyes widened and his ears perked up like a dog sensing a predator. He ran a hand over his freshly shaved head. “Since you didn’t accompany us on our last trip through hell, I’m not going to take that as a personal attack.”
“And you shouldn’t, Sergeant, but—”
Overton took his hand off his shiny skull and raised a single finger to stop Emanuel in midsentence. “It’s much worse out there than I thought. We only found two more survivors: Jamie, and a civvie named Luke who we got the RVM from. And he’s dead now. So are Private Finley and Mr. Yool.” Overton paused to shake his head.
“We didn’t see any other survivors. Got that? No soldiers, no kids. Nothing. From what Luke said, most of the other survivors were killed by the creatures hours after the initial stages of the invasion. I’m sure there are others out there, but we are cut off. There is no intelligence to indicate the military, NTC, or any government still exists. I believe . . .” Overton faltered for the first time since Emanuel had met him. “I believe we are on our own.”
The words lingered in the air for several moments. Finally, Holly kissed Jamie and Owen on their cheeks and began herding them out of the mess hall. “Come on, time for bed,” she whispered. They didn’t protest and slugged toward the first two rooms of the personnel quarters. Before they disappeared down the passage Holly turned, “Don’t worry, I’ll watch them tonight,” she said, managing a smile. “But tomorrow I’m sitting down with all of the staff members to discuss recent events. Sophie, you’re going to be first,” she said sternly.
Sophie frowned, but agreed with a simple motion of her hand before changing the subject. “With Alexia’s security systems back online and Biome 1 secured, I’m going to suggest we all get some sleep. We can discuss strategy in the morning.”
Overton nodded. “Bouma, you and I will trade watch shifts tonight here in the mess hall.”
“Yes, sir,” Corporal Bouma said, his back stiffening.
Sophie pulled herself off the bench and joined Emanuel by his side. “Thank you for everything, Sergeant Overton. I’m truly sorry for the loss of Private Finley. He seemed like a good man. A good Marine.”
Overton nodded again and grabbed his rifle off the table. “See you in the morning, doctors,” he said with uncharacteristic softness, his voice fading as he turned and headed to retrieve bedding and a pillow from the personnel quarters.
Emanuel grabbed Sophie’s hand and twined his fingers with hers. He pulled her close, wrapping his other arm around her waist. “Promise me something,” he whispered into her ear.
She studied his restless eyes. “I’m not sure we live in a world where I can promise anything anymore, Emanuel.”
“I know Saafi’s death is hard for you to accept. It’s hard for me, too. So is the loss of the mission and the trip to Mars. I know this is all so much to bear, but promise me you won’t give up,” he said. “Promise me you won’t give up on the team’s survival. Or on us.”
Sophie tilted her head back, a smile playing on her lips. She hadn’t expected to hear him use the word us ever again.
“I won’t,” she said, relaxing into his arms. A sense of relief washed over her body. It wasn’t just a feeling of temporary safety, though. It was something deeper—something more intense.
It was love.
* * *
Sophie stirred, trying to stretch her legs. The beds had specifically been designed for one person, and she was forced to literally wrap herself around Emanuel. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, if she had actually been able to sleep. She eyed the clock.
11:18 p.m.
With a sigh she pulled one leg off Emanuel and swung it over the side of the bed. The instant her toes touched the cold floor, the
chill sent a shiver up her spine. She wanted to stay with Emanuel, wrapped up in the warmth of their bed. But there was work to do.
Darkness blanketed the room. The red glow from the clock’s display was the only guide for her tired eyes. She rubbed the sleep out of them and stood. It was deathly silent, and she was tempted to wake Emanuel to have some company. But even through the darkness, she could tell he was deep in REM sleep. If anyone needed it, he did.
A silent growl from her stomach reminded her she had gone to bed without much of a dinner. She grabbed her headset and, like a zombie, lurched forward, stumbling toward the automatic door.
By the time she got to the kitchen, her eyes had started to adjust to the darkness. The vague outlines of two figures appeared as she walked into the mess hall. She assumed the lump wrapped in blankets on the floor was Bouma and the figure sitting on a bench staring at her was Overton.
She was right; Overton’s rough voice sliced through the silence. “Everything okay?”
“Just hungry,” Sophie responded. “Pay no attention to me.” She continued on and began clawing through the contents of the cupboards as if she hadn’t eaten in days.
She retrieved a box of prepackaged meals without reading the label. The faint scent of bacon coming from a half-open package was enough. She tore into it, grabbed several of the bars, and jammed one into her mouth, chewing rapidly.
The more she ate, the hungrier she got. Soon, her throat was begging for water. She opened the cooler behind her, snagged one of the bottled waters, and gulped it down. Excess water ran freely down her white shirt. The thought of wasting a dwindling resource didn’t faze her. She drank until the entire bottle was gone and her shirt was drenched.
Sophie coughed and took in a few breaths through her nose before plopping another two bacon bars into her mouth. With every bite, the hunger grew. It seemed insatiable.
A crack rang out in the distance. She froze, a half-eaten bar still lodged in her mouth. Another bang followed a few seconds later, and she spit the chunk of food into an automatic trash dispenser next to the cooler. She tiptoed into the dimly lit mess hall and saw the silhouettes of Bouma and Overton standing with their rifles pointed at the entrance to Biome 4.
“What is it?” she whispered.
Overton ignored her.
Sophie flinched and put on her headset. The banging sound shattered the silence again. “Guess your device didn’t work after all,” Bouma said.
“Alexia, what are your sensors showing?” Sophie asked.
There was no response, just the sound of static over the airways.
The banging got louder and then subsided. They waited for several agonizing minutes for the sound to return. An eerie silence filled the room. Maybe the device had kicked on after all and confused the Organics. Sophie couldn’t be sure, and that bothered her. Whatever the case, the sound was gone.
Her stomach growled, reminding her that she was still starving. She glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen. “Do you think it’s safe?” she asked.
No response. She whipped her head around to look at the Marines.
They were gone.
“Sergeant Overton? Corporal Bouma?” she whispered.
Her eyes darted around the room, searching for them, but the space was empty.
She froze, suddenly feeling completely isolated and alone. Fear gripped her and she wanted to run back to her quarters where Emanuel slept.
Her feet, however, wouldn’t budge. In the corner of the chamber, where the passage led to Biome 3, she could see a faint blue glow. She squinted and watched the glow become more intense.
Not again, please not again.
Sophie blinked several times, hoping that the glow was nothing more than an optical illusion and that Overton and Bouma would be back. At this point, she’d be happy to be hallucinating. She closed her eyes and counted to ten.
When she opened them again, she wished she hadn’t.
Standing where the Marines had been were dozens of Spiders and three of the Sentinels. They surrounded her on all sides, their heads tilted, studying her.
Scratch. Scrape. Scratch. Scrape.
The Spiders lurched at her, their claws coming within inches of her exposed flesh. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. Her eyes widened as she realized she was paralyzed.
One of the Sentinels slithered forward, flinging metal tables out of its path like a child tossing aside toys. Several of the Spiders screeched in protest, scrambling out of the way.
Sophie’s ears throbbed with pain. She closed her eyes again, desperately pleading for the Organics to go away. When she opened them the Sentinel was towering above her, licking its thin black lips with a long, blue tongue. The creature tilted its head as if it were studying her, the pair of reptilian-like eyes blinking rapidly. Then its mouth cracked into what looked like a wicked smile full of jagged black teeth.
Luke had mentioned that some of the Organics were smarter than the others. Was this one of their leaders?
Sophie didn’t know. She didn’t care. All she could think about was escape. She tried to move but she was still paralyzed, her limbs frozen against her sides. Her eyes were locked with the Sentinel’s gaze. And then something took over her mind. Images raced through her subconscious. Hundreds of them. She saw the world from above—first Paris, then New York and Tokyo, and finally Moscow. The cities were filled with thousands of glowing orbs.
New images flooded her mind: long stretches of desert, as far as the eye could see. Speckled throughout were what looked like boats, and the bones of some sort of animal.
It only took a second to recognize the skeletal outline was that of a whale. She knew she was looking at what had once been the ocean.
The image disappeared and was replaced by a mountain range. Above the tree line, the rock was dry, void of any ice or snow.
Next she saw dried-up riverbeds and lakes. She saw dying forests with naked branches pointing toward the cloudless sky. The images continued, and she felt tears welling up in her eyes, unable to blink them away.
Why was she seeing these things? Why her? Why now?
The questions were replaced with more images. More death, more emptiness—a world void of life. No humans, no animals, no trees. Nothing.
She screamed inside her mind, and the scenes finally vanished. When she opened her eyes, the Organics were gone. She was back in bed with Emanuel.
He was shaking her violently, whispering so he didn’t wake anyone else.
“Sophie, wake up! It’s just a dream!”
She blinked and shook her head, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her tongue swished around her mouth and came back free of the taste of bacon. The thought of it disgusted her now.
She sat up and embraced Emanuel, silencing him with her grip.
“I saw it. I saw it all,” she whispered.
“Saw what?”
“The world, or what the world will look like when the Organics are done with it.”
“What do you mean?” Emanuel asked, pulling free of her hug so he could study her face.
“They aren’t just after us—they’re after the oceans! That’s why the temperature is rising outside. They must be slowly draining the seas.”
Emanuel reached for his glasses. “The salt must be slowing them down.”
“Or the fact they cover over 70 percent of the Earth’s surface.”
“Didn’t stop them from getting all of the surface freshwater on day one,” he replied.
“There isn’t enough information to hypothesize. We don’t know that they did. And we also don’t know how fast they are draining the oceans.” Sophie paused and caught his gaze. “All I know is nothing will survive. They won’t stop until every ounce of water is gone.”
CHAPTER 24
RAYS of light danced across the walls of Biome 2. Sophie crouched ne
xt to the water, staring into the clear depths and wondering how much was really left outside the walls of the Biosphere.
“Are you ready?” a voice said from behind her.
Sophie didn’t budge. The sight of the pond was calming, and after the chaos of their short stay in the facility she welcomed the escape.
“Is this really necessary?” she finally said, turning to see Holly in the doorway.
“You know it is. You can’t keep going on like this. These dreams are not good for your mental health. You have to address them.”
Sophie stood and paced down the metal platform. “All right,” she said, studying the young woman’s face. Unlike the others, Holly didn’t look fatigued. Her eyes were warm, welcoming, still filled with . . .
Hope.
“I have to admit, I’m surprised by how well you’re holding up,” Sophie said.
Holly smiled. “I’m glad I learned something after accruing that mountain of student loan debt.”
“I don’t think that it matters much anymore.”
“No. No, I suppose you’re right. I won’t be getting a call if I miss a payment,” she said with a laugh. “So how are you doing?”
Sophie turned back to the pond, clasping her hands behind her back. “I’m okay. Honestly. I mean, for the most part. I’ve come to accept that everyone beyond these walls I have ever known and loved is dead. All I can do now is try to move on, to take care of those who are left.” She watched a ray of light sparkle across the surface of the water. “Especially now that we have the children.”
“You’re right. There isn’t anything we can do for those we have lost. As team lead, you’re faced with deciding the best path forward for all of us.”
The words echoed in Sophie’s ears. She was well aware of her responsibilities, but hearing them from someone other than Emanuel caught her slightly by surprise. “What would you have me do?”
“That’s up to you, Sophie. You and only you can make that decision, but just remember, your mental health will affect your decisions, which in turn affect all of us.”
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