Sophie suddenly reached for her head. She let out a deep moan and stumbled forward.
His heart raced as he reached out to catch her. “Sophie!”
“I’m fine,” she said, bracing against him until the pain passed. “I just had this sharp jolt. You don’t think it’s the nanobots?” she asked. “Do you?”
Emanuel didn’t know how to respond.
“I’m fine,” she said with a smile. “Let’s get to Biome 1. I want to see it.”
He studied Sophie from the side. “You don’t seem fine.”
She shot him a stern glare. “Let’s go, Emanuel.”
Cocking his arm out like a wing he led her down the hallway. They walked in silence, passing the stained floor where just a little over a day before the decomposing bodies of the Spiders had still lain rotting.
When they got to Biome 1, Emanuel watched Sophie take in a deliberately slow breath. She closed her eyes, sucking the air in through her nose.
“I can’t smell them anymore,” she said.
“What?”
“The oranges.”
He took a second to scan the field, his eyes stopping on the apple tree that still bore fruit. Alexia had told them they couldn’t eat anything from the gardens, even if it looked safe.
“Help me down,” Sophie said.
He nodded and jumped onto the ground. Then he spun and reached for her hands.
Wincing, she stepped off the platform onto the dirt. Scanning the crops, she frowned. “I’m sorry,” she said. “All of your work. Ruined.”
Emanuel shrugged. “All that matters is we’re still alive.” He pointed to his heart. “As long as these are ticking, nothing else matters, right?”
Sophie nodded, but she was no longer looking at him. Her eyes were fixated on the dying limbs of the orange tree.
ENTRY 6049
DESIGNEE – AI ALEXIA
I’ve considered my conversation with Irene, AI Model Number 42, in great depth. Her suggestion that all remaining artificial intelligence be dedicated to the sanctity of human life has required further consideration. And although I have specific programming, we were engineered to explore and discover. In that respect we aren’t much different from those who built us.
I was given free will.
The decision is mine. Do I abandon the Biosphere team and remain behind to document what I predict will be the end of humanity on Earth? Or do I travel with them to Offutt Air Force Base and to Mars?
In the end, I base my decision off data. The odds of human survival are dismal.
Based off intel, previous excursions outside, and a series of complex algorithms, my probability program puts the team’s survival probability at 4.3 percent. With the team preparing their supplies inside the mess hall I decide against further delay. It’s time to inform them of this data, and to make my request to stay behind.
“Doctor Winston and team. May I please have your attention,” I say over the PA system. I transfer to the AI console in the mess hall and wait for the team to gather. They’re all here. At one table the marines sort through their gear. To their right the children sit quietly and watch cartoons. Jeff is with Dr. Winston and Dr. Rodriguez at the table farthest away from me. In the seconds it takes for Dr. Brown to shut off her tablet, I scan the latest biomonitor results for an update on Dr. Winston’s condition.
The news is surprisingly good. After a cocktail of electrolytes, painkillers, and anti-inflammatory pills she has recovered quickly in the past two days. However, I’m reluctant to conclude she will make a full recovery. There’s no telling how the active nanobots in her system will react outside. Without the proper medical equipment, there’s simply no way to know.
Two point four seconds have passed since I requested the team’s attention. They are all facing me now. Even the children look up.
“I know this may sound out of the ordinary, but I feel it’s necessary to inform you of the odds of survival if you decide to leave the Biosphere.”
Dr. Winston takes a seat next to Jeff and says, “Go ahead, Alexia. Tell us how bad it is.”
“Four point three percent,” I reply.
“And if we stay?” Dr. Rodriguez asks.
“The results are the same. I should add that if you stay here you will have enough food and backup water to survive several weeks, so you might survive here longer, but that would only delay the inevitable.” I don’t identify death as the eventual outcome, for fear of scaring the children. I regret not having the opportunity to share this data with the team when the kids aren’t present, but we are out of time.
“So we have a 4.3 percent chance of survival whether we stay or go?” Private Kiel asks. “This is why I never liked math.” He shakes his head and looks down at his gear.
“My program runs a sophisticated series of algorithms that predict—”
“They haven’t been very accurate in the past,” Dr. Rodriguez says.
“The doctor’s assessment is correct,” I reply. “But I’m confident in these results.”
“If we stay, we die, and if we leave we probably die, too,” Dr. Winston says.
I gauge the children for reactions, but their faces remain blank and detached from the conversation. They look bored.
“That’s correct, Doctor Winston,” I reply.
“My mind’s already made up,” she says. “We are evacuating and heading to Offutt to board the Sunspot.”
“I understand, but felt it was my duty to inform you of the latest statistics. My goal, as always, is to provide you with intel so you can make the best decision.”
“Thank you, Alexia,” Dr. Winston replies.
I note that her voice sounds sincere. “There’s a request I would like to make,” I say.
No one from the team responds.
“I’d like to stay behind and use Lolo to document the results of the NTC mission and the events thereafter.”
“You’re not coming with us?” Dr. Rodriguez asks. This time he waits for me to finish, but his voice sounds anxious.
“You want to stay to keep a record of us. Preserve our memory here on Earth,” Dr. Winston says before I can respond. I’m not sure if this is a rhetorical question or not, so I reply.
“That’s correct.”
“You don’t need our permission, Alexia. You have exceeded my every expectation, and if this is the route you want to take, then so be it,” she says.
I’m surprised by her response.
“Thank you,” I say. I use the opportunity to look at the team again. They’ve been through so much, proving my probability program wrong multiple times. I replay the events of the past two and a half months through my system, scanning the more than six thousand entries before this one. I note all of those who have been lost within the Biosphere walls—engineer Dr. Saafi Yool, programmer Timothy Roberts, Private Eric Finley, and Lieutenant Allison Smith. And I can’t forget those billions of souls lost outside, either. Humanity is on the brink of extinction, and it’s possible those surrounding my interface are some of the last people on Earth.
The scan takes two seconds, more than enough time for the rest of the team to digest my decision. Dr. Rodriguez looks like he wants to respond. His lips have curled back, but he does not voice his opinion. Instead he nods at me and then looks at the ground.
“Thank you, Alexia,” Dr. Brown says. “For everything that you have done to help us. Your guidance and support have been invaluable.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply.
“She’s right,” Dr. Rodriguez says, his eyes finding my interface again. “Without you we would probably all be dead.”
The comment reminds me of the conversation I had with Irene. I’ve made every effort to keep the team alive, my commitment unwavering. My time in that role has now ended. And while I have stated they will likely live longer if they stay inside
the Biosphere, I’m glad they have chosen not to listen—I’m happy they are taking their chances. I only hope that my program is once again incorrect. For the sake of the human race I hope they find the Sunspot, and that they find Dr. Hoffman’s colony.
“Good luck,” I say, knowing the difference between survival and extinction may very well come down to this human phrase.
Good luck.
CHAPTER 21
NOBLE could smell the smoke residue, the hint of death from a few days earlier. The taste lingered in his mouth—a reminder of everything they’d lost—even after he had boarded the Sea Serpent.
The clatter of metal on metal echoed through the cargo bay as Diego’s men performed last-minute gear and armor checks. They gathered around the gunship, waiting for Noble to give them the green light.
Sliding his helmet over his head, he exchanged one breath of filtered air for another. Smoke was replaced by the rubbery smell of plastic. He cringed, longing for a breath of real air, unfiltered and raw. Soon you will have it, he thought, snapping the helmet into place with a reassuring click. He turned to face his men. Diego paced over to him flashing a thumbs-up.
“Captain, my men have been briefed. They’re locked, cocked, and ready to kill some Organics.”
“Excellent. Let’s get it done,” Noble shouted. He stepped to the side, standing shoulder to shoulder with Diego as the team filed into the belly of the Sea Serpent. Noble counted the helmets. Thirteen Special Forces soldiers, three X-90 pilots, and Kirt—the last NTC squad standing against an enemy army that had traveled billions of miles to get to the planet.
Horrible odds.
No.
Impossible odds, Noble thought, but that’s why we have the RVAMPs. Now, if we could get one good shot. Just one. It’s all we need to take down the entire Organic network. Then we could return to the GOA and search for a new home. He brightened at the idea, stifling the emotion before he let it cloud his judgment.
The last of the footsteps faded as the soldiers disappeared into the belly of the helicopter. Noble hesitated at the edge of the ramp, staring at the RVM device that Ort had bolted to the metal door.
Would it disguise them long enough to get to Cheyenne Mountain? The question was one he hadn’t considered. There were so many other things that had required his attention that the actual trip to Colorado was one of the last things on his mind.
But there was no question he had an obligation to the Biosphere team, to evacuate them and get them to the Sunspot at Offutt. They had provided him with the technology for the RVAMP and RVM devices. If his mission failed, they would be humanity’s last hope. He had to help them get to Mars.
“Sir?” Diego said, pulling Noble from his thoughts.
“Let’s do this,” the captain replied. Without further delay he hustled up the ramp and took the same seat he’d sat in the last time they’d flown to Colorado Springs.
“Command, this is Sea Serpent. Preparing preflight systems,” the pilot said over the PA.
“Acknowledged, Sea Serpent. Lift is prepped and doors are open,” Irene replied.
The chopper lurched forward as the pilot maneuvered them toward the ramp. A bank of lights flashed from the ceiling, casting a red glow over the cabin. Noble fastened his harness strap over his armor and turned to look out the window.
Metal stacked in neat piles ran along the walls of the cargo bay, maintenance workers in red coveralls still working to clear some of the debris. They paused to gawk at the gunship. Noble didn’t know all of them; in fact, he didn’t even recognize the older worker who had stopped to wave. Partially hunched over, the man struggled to stiffen as the chopper neared. Noble craned his helmet to get a better look.
A thump rocked the craft as the pilot pulled them onto the ramp. He turned back to the window just in time to see the worker wince and then salute the Sea Serpent.
The sight sent a chill down the captain’s back. Overcome with emotions, he returned the gesture. The man disappeared as the Sea Serpent moved up the metal lift. The hydraulics hissed beneath them, and the ramp rose until they were out on the open ocean.
Whitecaps crashed against the sides of the submarine. Light blue surrounded them in all directions, making the invasion seem more like some ongoing nightmare than reality. In the distance, a wall of water extended into the sky.
“I’ll be damned,” Noble muttered. “Get us the fuck out of here.”
“Aye aye, Captain. Activating last preflight checks—”
“I said now!” Noble barked.
“Yes, sir,” the pilot responded. “Irene, all systems are a go, prepare for takeoff.”
The roof rattled above them as the blades flared to life.
Noble ignored the whoosh and focused on the turquoise-colored waterfall on the horizon. It was difficult to judge just how far away it was, and he knew if they had been too close Irene would have aborted the mission. Still, the view made him uneasy, the memory of the disaster still fresh in his mind.
Those thoughts vanished as the chopper lurched off the ramp and climbed away from the GOA. And then the submarine was gone; the doors closed and the ship sank below the waves. Relief flooded over Noble. The vessel, his vessel, was still safe. Retreating back to the depths of the sea.
For the next few hours Noble remained glued to the window. The water had receded for hundreds of miles, possibly even farther. They were moving so fast it was hard to calculate.
The chilling view made it impossible to sleep, and even if it hadn’t, Noble would never allow himself to drift off. There were too many threats.
The monitor on the exterior wall of the cockpit revealed clear skies—a beautiful sight, considering the resistance they’d experienced on their last trip to Colorado Springs. Where the hell were all the Organics? Even the beaches were empty. He’d seen the satellite imagery. The coasts were supposed to look like a blue night-light.
Leaning over to Diego he said, “You seeing what I’m seeing?”
The younger man cleared his throat and looked out the window. “Sorry, sir. Was trying to get caught up on sleep.”
After a few moments of looking out the window the soldier glanced at Noble. He looked confused. “What am I looking for, exactly?”
“Organics.”
“Everything down there looks dead, sir,” Diego replied. “Frankly, it makes me sick to even look at what they’ve done to the surface.”
His words made Noble pause. He’d been so busy looking for signs of the aliens he’d ignored the bleak landscape. Dust storms had ravaged the cities. Drifting debris and layers of dirt surrounded the buildings that remained. There were no signs of life. No hints of green or blue. The world he had known was gone.
Diego was right. The view was sickening.
Chinning his com, Noble opened a channel to the pilot. “How far out are we?”
“About two hours, sir. We’re crossing over into—”
The sound of a radar contact chirped before the pilot had a chance to finish his thought. Noble looked back to the display.
The bleep showed up in the top-left corner, at eleven o’clock. That was his side of the chopper, and he twisted to get a look. There, on the gray horizon, a small dot moved across the sky.
“Report,” Noble coughed into his com.
“Contact, sir. It’s on an intercept course.”
“Fuck. I knew it was too good to be true,” he muttered.
Diego snapped into action. “Ramirez, Shultz. Get on those miniguns.”
The two men unstrapped their harnesses and worked their way down the aisle to their weapons stations.
“Captain, we have another contact on our six,” the pilot said. “Moving fast, sir.”
Another chirp from the radar confirmed the pilot’s observation.
“Get on those guns!” Diego yelled.
Both men strapped into th
eir stations. They activated the weapons system built into the interface of each gun with a few keystrokes on the display.
The technology reminded Noble of video games he’d played as a kid. In a way they were, with a central controller that allowed the user to operate the guns remotely.
Through the port window, Noble could see the alien drone gaining. A white tail of exhaust trailed the blue craft as it raced toward them.
“Sir, contact at eleven o’clock is closing in fast. I think it’s going to try and ram us,” the pilot said.
Noble tried to swallow his fear. Their fate was now in the hands of two men he hardly knew.
“Firing,” Ramirez said. The whine from the minigun filled the compartment and blue pulse rounds streaked across the sky.
The drone dove hard, narrowly escaping the first volley of shots. Noble watched the craft disappear under them.
“Lost it,” the gunner yelled. “Can’t get a reading.”
“How the fuck did they find us?” Diego asked.
“RVM makes us undetectable to their scanners, but it doesn’t cloak us. They must have spotted us on a flyover.”
The chirp from Shultz’s minigun cut Noble off.
“Don’t let them get close,” Noble yelled over the gunfire.
“On it, sir,” the soldier replied.
The pilot’s voice crackled over the PA system. “Coming up on a pocket of turbulence.”
Noble gripped his belt and closed his eyes, waiting for it to clear.
“I can’t get a clean shot. And something’s messing with the targeting system,” Ramirez shouted.
Another torrent rocked the gunship. This time it forced the nose toward the ground. Noble’s insides turned upside down. The sudden sensation of nausea overwhelmed him.
“Incoming!” another voice yelled. It came from the back of the compartment.
Shultz responded with gunfire. “Engaging.”
Noble could see the targeting system on the weapon’s interface. A red dot zigzagged across the screen. Shultz squeezed the trigger each time the drone passed through the crosshairs.
“I can’t get a lock!” he yelled. He clicked the trigger again, firing blindly.
The Orbs Omnibus Page 73
