Orbs (5 page)

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 necessary. 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 were 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.

Sophie hesitated, looking to Emanuel for support, but he simply shrugged.

“I don't know, but they could have had untraceable implants that caused them to behave that way. I've heard of biological weapons that can cause the same reaction.” The words had hardly left her mouth before she realized her mistake.

“Biological weapons!” Timothy shouted. “That's just great. Now we have to worry about going insane and ramming our heads into a wall until our skulls are crushed?”

“There is no evidence of that,” Emanuel chimed in. “If Soph—if Dr. Winston's theory is accurate, then NTC would have used something that only affects poultry, not humans.”

Timothy rolled his eyes and took a step back from the pile of dead chickens. “Whatever you say, Doc.”

“With a large portion of our protein source gone, it's even more vital we get the seeds in the ground,” Emanuel said, ignoring Timothy.

Sophie sighed. “He's right. Let's finish cleaning this mess up and head to the garden chamber. Everything's going to work out. We just need to remember the mission. Things could be a lot worse.”

It was her job to keep the team motivated, to keep them focused, but she couldn't stop worrying. Was it a trick? A ploy Dr. Hoffman was using to test her crew? She wasn't sure how to answer her own questions. It was possible NTC would throw a wrench into their mission like this, testing them to see how they would handle being caught off guard in deep space, but only two days into the mission?

Sophie knew nothing short of a massive solar storm, nuclear war, or asteroid impact would have the power to knock out the emergency communication line. It had to be a test. It had to be part of the mission.

She shook her head. The past few days had been awful. Her mind was running on overdrive, and her brain was low on fuel. If she was right, then losing the chickens wasn't that bad. Neither was being unable to connect with the outside. The problem would be convincing her team that things were okay.

She bent down and grabbed another dead chicken. The bird's bloody eyes stared back at her. If NTC was willing to put her team through a test as sick as this one, she couldn't help but wonder what else they had in store for her.

CHAPTER 6

LOCATION: NASA JOHNSON SPACE CENTER, HOUSTON, TEXAS

YEAR: 2055

A
RED
haze lingered in the sky, creeping slowly across the horizon. It was beautiful in an almost divine way. Ten years had passed since she'd seen the green flicker of the aurora borealis dancing across the sky. Never in her wildest dreams had Sophie thought she would see the lights so pronounced, so
different
.

NASA had issued a memo to President Sandra Bolton months before, informing her that the Earth was scheduled to have its most severe solar barbeque since the Carrington Event of 1859, when solar storms fried the telegraph lines across the United States. But Bolton's administration didn't exactly get out the sunscreen. In fact, it had kept the memo secret until the sky started changing colors. When scientists around the world caught the drift of what was happening, it was already too late. The massive storm had the same effect on satellites as frying oil did on ice cream.

Sophie and Emanuel had been hired by NASA a month after the sunspots were discovered. With her expertise in solar weather and Emanuel's experience studying the effect of storms on animals, they were an obvious choice. And it had more than likely saved their lives.

They were flown out to Houston and assigned to a research facility at Johnson Space Center, where they worked in an EMP-resistant
bunker, the perfect place to ride out the most violent solar storm in recorded history.

But as Sophie and Emanuel stood on the roof of the observatory with the rest of the staff, they didn't exactly feel safe. The sky was getting more active, the crimson more vibrant and profound. It took on an eerie glow.

Early reports streaming out of computers around the world indicated the storms were more powerful than originally thought. The magnetic readings were off the charts, unlike anything the scientific community had seen. And the storm was lasting longer than predicted. Something was feeding it, giving it more juice.

Sophie had noticed an anomaly early on, spikes of radiation coming from Mars, but she hadn't had a chance to research what it meant, if anything, before the storms hit. Now, she wondered whether her anomaly had something to do with it—whether Mars could have been the source of the storm after all.

The world had been caught off guard, and just when President Bolton decided to finally hold a press conference to discuss the rare event, the solar flares were accompanied by the largest coronal mass ejection the Earth had ever experienced, bringing with it a dose of cosmic radiation stronger than all of the world's nuclear weapons combined. The solar wind carried the ejection straight through Earth's upper atmosphere, cutting it like a scalpel. It made landfall outside Chicago before evacuations could even be ordered.

Most scientists had argued this could never happen, but like many scientists before them, they were wrong.

Sophie had had a front-row seat to the destruction. With Emanuel by her side, she had watched in horror as the swirling red flares licked the sky.

By the time the emergency broadcast system began issuing alerts, it was too late for those living in the Midwest dead zone; transformers and power lines in every major city west of the Mississippi River and east of the Rocky Mountains were lighting up like bottle rockets. The result was massive fires raging out of control. They were too much for fire departments to handle. Within hours, entire cities were burning.

Emanuel had grabbed Sophie's hand when the first transformer exploded, sending a spire of flame into the air somewhere in the middle of South Houston. Another pop followed a few seconds later, and before long the entire city sounded like it was having a massive Fourth of July celebration.

When the air raid sirens went off, Emanuel clenched her hand even tighter. The sirens made an odd sound—an archaic sound, one that seemed as if it should be reserved for a twentieth-century action movie with nuclear missiles raining down from the sky. As Sophie surveyed the horizon, she realized something much worse than nuclear-tipped missiles was raining down on them. This was hell itself.

Dr. Tsui, an elderly astrophysicist and the leader of their project, started herding their team back into the building. “Stay calm, don't rush, we have plenty of time,” he said, his tiny arms flailing about. With his lab coat, pocket protector, and large, black-rimmed glasses, he looked more like a pediatrician who refused to retire than the head of one of NASA's most well-funded programs.

But Sophie didn't want to leave. The view was captivating. A million trails of smoke rose into the sky, and a red haze danced across the horizon—it was the most beautiful and frightening thing she had ever seen. It took Emanuel's strong grip to pull her away from the sight.

“My wife, my kids—they're out there! I have to leave!” shouted one of the research assistants. Sophie knew him only as Henry; she hadn't bothered to learn his last name. He was young, not more than thirty years old. Just a kid in a field dominated by fossils like Dr. Tsui.

“It's not safe. Chances are they're hunkered down and waiting out the storms like everyone else,” Emanuel said, trying to reassure the man.

“No. I told them to go to my in-laws if things hit the fan. They're probably trying to evacuate the city. I have to find them!” he yelled, his voice getting more frantic.

Dr. Tsui stopped in the middle of the stairway leading to the basement. “No one goes anywhere. You stay here and work until the storm passes.”

“That's my family out there, Dr. Tsui! What if I can't find them after the storm passes?”

“We all have families. But we also have work. What if all the police officers and firefighters abandon their posts?” said a heavyset woman who worked in programming. She was one of the newer scientists whom Sophie hadn't yet met. “Society will collapse if the most important people fail to do their duty,” she continued, her double chin bobbing up and down as she spoke.

Sophie brushed a strand of sweaty hair out of her eyes. “She's right. We need to ride out the storm and do our jobs. Leaving isn't going to do any good, anyways; it's too dangerous.”

The young scientist started to reply but hesitated, opting to refrain from further argument. He continued down the narrow stairway, his head lowered in defeat.

The stairway led to a command center in the bowels of the basement. It was unbearably hot. A state-of-the-art air-conditioning unit was built to cool the room, but the engineer who had designed it failed to take into account the juice the computers would need when working at full capacity. Dr. Tsui was forced to reroute power from the cooling unit to the computers, which were sucking the backup generators dry. By midnight the temperature in the bunker was nearly ninety degrees.

The heat didn't seem to bother Tsui. He nursed a cup of coffee in the corner, staring intently at the dozens of monitors attached to the concrete wall. He was sucking the information in like a leech, analyzing it every second.

Sophie watched from the cot she was sharing with Emanuel, trying to drown out the sound of the crying, the hushed voices, and the prayers from the dozen other scientists throughout the room. She laid her head down on the tiny pillow, turning to face him. His lips parted and revealed his perfectly aligned teeth. A chill crept down Sophie's spine, making its way to her toes. She returned his smile and gripped his hands underneath the covers. As the lights faded and darkness carpeted the room, she slowly slipped out of her pants. He bent in to kiss her, pulling her chin toward his with his index finger.

Sophie hesitated, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching. But the darkness shrouded them. With a silent sigh she pulled him closer until she could feel his warm breath on her neck.

Another chill raced down her legs. This time is didn't make its way to her toes, but stopped just below her abdominals, lingering. She kissed him deeper, her hands running through his mop of dark, unkempt hair.

There was something about the world going to shit that made her want him even more, as if it were the last time she would ever feel intimacy. When she was in high school, she had had a conversation with a friend about things they would do if the world was ending. “I'd have sex with the cutest boy I could find,” her friend had said.

Sophie, on the other hand, had said she would spend the night staring at the stars—and yet, with the real possibility of the world ending, the thought of stargazing no longer appealed to her. Tonight she didn't want to be a scientist; she wanted nothing more than to feel Emanuel, to wrap her legs around him. If the world was going to end, she wanted to share it with him.

The next morning Tsui woke them. “The storms have passed!” he yelled, flailing his arms in the air.

Emanuel reached for his glasses, while Sophie struggled to find her pants. Seconds later they were crowded around the monitors, watching the data stream in from stations around the world. He was right; the storm was over, but the damage to the Midwestern states was severe. Radiation levels were extraordinary. Those who had perished in the fires were the lucky ones; any survivors would die horribly painful and prolonged deaths from radiation poisoning.

“My parents,” Emanuel whispered.

A sudden chill ran down Sophie's back. Emanuel's family lived in Chicago, and by the looks of it the Windy City was dead center of the damage.

“Millions will die,” Tsui whispered, taking a long sip of his coffee.

Emanuel scowled, suddenly ripe with anger. “Bolton's administration never took this storm seriously!”

“The damage is done. We need to continue to analyze the storm's data and send it to the Department of Defense,” Tsui replied.

Sophie took a seat at her terminal, logging in with a swipe of her
index finger. The stream of data was constant; new statistics were feeding into their system by the second from locations around the world. The dead zone appeared to run from the edge of the Rocky Mountains to the Mississippi. Houston was on the border of the destruction, and while the city was busy being burned to the ground, the radiation levels appeared to be minimal.

A muffled voice rang out across the room. Sophie turned to see a middle-aged man with a mop of gray hair staring out at them from a screen hanging in the corner of the room. She recognized him instantly as General John McKern, a Department of Defense official and advisor on NTC's payroll.

“Good morning, Dr. Tsui and staff; glad to see you all weathered the storm safely. It appears you just missed the worst of it.”

“Good morning, sir. How did Washington fare?”

McKern shrugged. “We were better prepared than most. The military has been hardening facilities, communications, and vehicles for decades.” He lit a cigar and blew a puff of smoke at the monitor. “As you know, it's the Midwest that took the brunt of it. Which is why I am contacting you. My superiors want a module showing radioactivity patterns. Which cities are lost causes, which ones may be salvageable. You know the drill,” he said, taking another drag of his cigar.

“No problem, sir. We'll upload the data within the hour,” Tsui said, motioning Emanuel and another scientist to a pair of computers against the far wall.

“Very good. I'll check back later,” McKern said, his image quickly fading.

Henry, the young scientist who had panicked the previous evening, hesitantly motioned Dr. Tsui over to his monitors. “Sir, there's something I think you should see.”

“What is it?”

“Do you remember how the storms seemed to be lasting longer than our initial models predicted?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“So you recall that it seemed as if something was feeding the storms?”

Tsui nodded. “What's your point, Henry?”

“I think I've found out what was feeding them. Take a look at this. It's from the past few days.”

The group gathered around Henry's terminal. A row of numbers hovered over the console.

Sophie recognized the data immediately. It was hers.

“That's impossible,” Henry said under his breath, before telling the team what Sophie already knew. “The disruption is coming from . . . Mars.”