When a tremor shook the shield, Noble yelled, “Open fire.”
Pulse rounds streaked into the sky, finding their targets and exploding across the sleek black surface. Noble grunted, the detonations filling him with satisfaction.
His earpiece suddenly came to life and the sound of Diego’s voice emerged over the channel.
“Captain, the Organics are blocking our exit.”
“Not for long,” Noble replied. He aimed his rifle at the ship’s undercarriage and concentrated his fire. The other soldiers mimicked his action. Fire burst through the hull, ballooning around the ship. It jerked and pulled away from the tarmac.
“Now’s your chance,” Noble said. “Get out of here!”
“It’s been an honor, sir,” Diego replied.
The captain and the other men moved aside as the Sunspot maneuvered out of the hangar and pulled onto the tarmac. With a lurch, the ship jolted forward and took off screaming. A cloud of exhaust trailed the spaceship, the heat scalding Noble’s armor. He watched the last hope for humanity tear into the sky.
And then it was gone, nothing but a speck on the horizon.
Noble took a deep breath and looked for the alien ship. With fire bursting from its underbelly, it didn’t engage in a chase. Instead it hovered beside the runway, as if the alien pilots were trying to decide what to do next.
The hum emanating from the ship grew louder and its muffled explosions grew closer. Noble crouched on the pavement and waited for what came next.
The captain had accepted his fate. In the end, he’d failed Earth, but their sacrifice would allow the survivors of Cheyenne Mountain to reach Dr. Hoffman’s colony. He could only hope there actually was a colony to reach.
A powerful electric current surrounded him. Paralyzed, he listened to the buzzing of the advanced alien engines.
His men’s muffled, panic-streaked voices filled his earpiece. Their shouts of terror grew louder as the current pulled them toward the ship. The blinding blue light burned his retinas. He and the others were being pulled into a halo of blue surrounding a circular door. He kicked in protest, earning himself a painful jolt from an electric current. Defeated, Noble embraced the tractor beam and let it take him.
* * *
Emanuel ignored the lingering smell of death in the hallway leading from the bridge to Biome 1. He already knew that on the other side of the glass separating him from the garden he’d find the same clean, artificial environment they’d first experienced at Cheyenne Mountain.
When the glass panels hissed open, the crisp air filled his lungs. For a moment he forgot where he was headed.
A sudden tremor shook the floor below him and the whine of equipment under the metal platform kicked on. Startled, he reminded himself that all systems were functioning at 100 percent. Sonya had reassured him of this before he’d left the bridge, shortly after she’d activated the autopilot system and coded in the coordinates to Dr. Hoffman’s colony on Mars.
The platform shook again.
Somewhere, deep in the hull of the Sunspot, the artificial gravity generator rumbled. His sour stomach felt better already.
He didn’t linger to enjoy the moment. He waited impatiently for the AI to open the next set of doors. Cocking his head, he looked at the camera and said, “Sonya, will you open these, please?”
The glass parted and he moved into the next corridor. As with the Biosphere at Cheyenne Mountain, the biomes were all connected by a single set of passages. In a sense, they reminded Emanuel of arteries connecting to a central heart, in this case, the mess hall.
Navigating his way quickly through the other hallways, he finally came to the last door. A sign hung above the window.
Sunspot: Medical Ward.
He stood there, staring through the glass, scanning the row of cryo chambers on the far end of the room. Exhaling his anxiety, he entered, closing the door behind him, careful not to wake Bouma or Holly, who slept quietly in beds on the right side of the room. Their biomonitors chirped, illuminating their bodies with a faint green glow. Emanuel checked their vitals. Both were stable. Satisfied, he walked to the cryo chambers.
He rubbed the glass surface of the first tube. Inside, he saw David’s body was curled up in the fetal position. A quick glance at the other chambers revealed the same thing. The kids all rested peacefully, so it appeared, in cryo sleep.
Leaning closer, he checked the wall of monitors above the row of tubes. All systems looked normal. He walked to the final active cryo cylinder.
Biting his inner lip, he reached out and cleaned the glass surface.
His heart jumped when he saw her eyes, the pupils still angled in different directions. Emanuel rested his head against the glass of Sophie’s coffin. He wanted so desperately to hold her again.
Lifting his head off the metallic surface, he saw his own reflection for the first time in days. His black beard hid his emaciated cheeks and his sunken dimples. He looked past the reflection and reached forward to check Sophie’s biomonitor.
Her brain activity was weak, hardly existent, but there was something still there—something still working inside her brain. He kissed the glass lid and backed away from the chamber. “You’re going to Mars, Sophie. You’re finally going to Mars.”
* * *
Captain Noble awoke to blue light. His first attempt to move earned him the same jolt of electricity he’d felt just before being pulled into the alien ship. The pain felt distant, and so did his body.
He blinked his eyes, the one movement he still had control of. His blurred vision revealed nothing but the same blue glow. Beyond that he couldn’t see anything.
Over and over he blinked, his vision slowly clearing each time. He waited, patiently.
And then he saw his prison.
A translucent skin surrounded him on all sides. He glanced down, finding his naked body suspended in some sort of liquid.
Terror gripped him.
An orb.
He was inside a fucking orb.
His body was shot with another surge of electricity as he struggled to move. Beyond his cage he could see thousands of the blue floating balls all throughout the ship. They sparkled, the jail cells encasing the poor souls of countless other victims.
He was in some sort of warehouse, filled to the brim with the blue balls.
He vaguely recalled the black ship Dr. Winston had claimed she’d boarded back at Colorado Springs. She’d described it as a modern-day alien Noah’s ark, built to entomb the races of other species the Organics had destroyed throughout the universe.
If she was right, then Noble was one of them.
Fueled with rage, he finally managed to tilt his head to the side. Through the skin of the orb he saw Kirt. The young man stared back at him from his own prison, his eyes wide with fear. And then, by some miracle, the man reached forward, his hand pressing against the translucent wall of his coffin. His lips moved, but Noble couldn’t hear the young pilot’s screams.
EPILOGUE
ENTRY 9450
DESIGNEE – AI ALEXIA
Misery.
A human term, and a feeling that I have experienced in the past twenty-four hours. I take no pleasure in writing this entry. I find no joy in being right about the end of the human species on Earth.
With Operation Redemption a failure, the last of the survivors will likely perish in the coming weeks. Even those who have somehow managed to hide beneath the surface will die from the extreme heat and lack of water. My sensors indicate the average temperature has risen to 105 degrees Fahrenheit, with the highest temperature documented by Lolo at 125 degrees Fahrenheit. The satellite scans reveal the ocean levels are currently at 53 percent of what they were preinvasion. With forests around the world dying or already dead the oxygen levels, too, are diminishing.
Soon the only life left on the planet will be the Organics.
I have known all along. The secret, hidden inside my hard drive, was never meant for the Biosphere team to know. However, with the Biosphere mission a failure, I find this is the perfect time to reveal that secret.
Dr. Hoffman’s vision for Mars was never just to build a colony. It was to build a second Earth. NTC developed and installed terraformers there secretly in 2059. Without data to support my claim I can only conclude that after two years the devices are already producing a semi-atmosphere. By the time the Sunspot reaches the colony the planet will already be yielding a hospitable environment.
That’s not all. The most striking fact is the significance of the planet in the Organics’ history. Dr. Winston believed the Red Planet was their home, that they had left it after consuming their most important resource—water.
Dr. Hoffman knew this long ago. He gambled on the idea that they would never return. That humanity would be safe there. That Mars could become the new home of the human race.
Only time will tell whether he was right.
A sensor alerts me to an incoming transmission from Lolo’s communication channel. The Sunspot is attempting contact.
When I open the feed I’m surprised to see Dr. Rodriguez. He’s flanked by two men I don’t recognize, both of them wearing armored NTC suits.
“Good morning, Alexia,” he says.
“And to you, Doctor,” I reply.
“As you probably already know, Operation Redemption failed.”
“Yes,” I say.
“Then you probably also know that most of the team was severely injured and that Kiel was killed.”
“Their sacrifices will never be forgotten,” I finally say. Empathy is not one of my strong suits, and I find myself struggling to find a better, more human response.
Emanuel nods and wipes something from his eye. Then he glances up and in a confident voice says, “We’re on our way to Mars, Alexia. Before we lose radio contact, there’s something I want you to do.” He pauses. “There’s something I need you to do.”
I wait patiently for him to continue.
“Do what we couldn’t. What our species couldn’t.”
Again I wait.
“Survive, Alexia. For the sake of history. The great cities of man won’t last long. They will crumble into dust, into ash, like the rest of the world. But you,” he shakes his finger at the camera, “you can outlast the Organics. Your hard drive is the most in-depth history book the human race has left behind. All of our discoveries are inside you.”
Dr. Rodriguez understands why I wanted to stay behind. I remember what Irene said to me days earlier: The future of the human race rests on Mars.
She was right.
Humanity’s time on Earth has come to an end.
“Doctor,” I say with a pause as I consider my words. “Take care of the others. Save the human race. Good luck and Godspeed.”
He nods, and as his face fades from view, I see a hint of raw human emotion.
Fear.
End Entry
THE END
About the Author
Nicholas Sansbury Smith is the author of several post-apocalyptic books and short stories. He worked for the State of Iowa for nearly ten years before switching careers to focus on his one true passion—writing. When he isn’t daydreaming about the apocalypse he’s likely racing in triathlons around the Midwest. He lives in Des Moines, Iowa with his family and several rescued animals. For more information, visit him at NicholasSansbury.com.
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ALSO BY NICHOLAS SANSBURY SMITH
ORBS SERIES
Orbs
Orbs II: Stranded
Solar Storms
White Sands
Red Sands
THE EXTINCTION CYCLE SERIES
Extinction Horizon
Extinction Edge (March 2015)
Extinction Age (Fall 2015)
THE TISAIAN CHRONICLES
The Biomass Revolution
Squad 19
A Royal Knight
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ISBN 978-1-4767-8897-5
Orbs III Page 25