Extinction Countdown

by James D. Prescott

  “You were like a drug dealer.” Jack laughed. “But instead of pot, you were selling porn.”

  Eugene threw up his hands. “I was the son of Polish immigrants, born with a big fat ‘kick me’ sign on my back. I didn’t have much choice.”

  The sound of Anna’s metallic footfalls clanked up from downstairs. “I hate to interrupt,” she said, turning to face them once she reached the top riser. “But I thought you should know the decryption protocol I have been running has arrived at a solution.”

  “Which decryption is that?” Jack asked, sitting up straight.

  “The 47th chromatid,” she replied, evenly.

  “You mean Salzburg?” Grant nearly shouted.

  Anna wobbled her head from side to side as she’d seen Rajesh do so often. “Not all of it, Dr. Holland. If you recall, Dr. Ward has only provided us with the DNA sequence for one half of the chromosome. In this case, the 47th chromatid. I expect when she returns I will be able to begin work on the 48th.”

  Something popped into Jack’s mind as Anna spoke. It was an image of the full Salzburg chromosome, the one they had found hidden inside the blast wave. At the time, the extra chromatid showing up in a third of the population had been labeled a disorder. Then once they realized there was more to come, Salzburg no longer represented a strange genetic anomaly, but a dramatic and purposeful shift in human evolution. Still, the question remained whether that shift was intended to help humanity or kill it from within.

  “What led you to the solution?” Eugene asked.

  Anna pivoted at the waist. “The credit for reducing the decryption time must go to Tamura.”

  “It was her observation on the Fibonacci sequence in the temple, wasn’t it?” Jack said, rising and pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  “Correct, Dr. Greer. After running through millions of possible links to that particular sequence of numbers, I discovered that by adding the first thirty-seven prime numbers, one arrives at the sum two thousand five hundred and eighty-four. That also happens to be the eighteenth Fibonacci number. I then multiplied eighteen by the key number of thirty-seven and arrived at six hundred and sixty-six.”

  Grant gasped. “I’m not much for superstition, but isn’t that the sign of the devil?”

  Jack cocked an eyebrow.

  “I am familiar with all of the world’s religions,” Anna replied without a hint of arrogance or pretension. “While the Book of Revelation does attribute six six six to the beast, those same three numbers are often utilized in several other contexts and often without any ill effect. In our particular case, six hundred and sixty-six also happens to be the thirty-seventh number in a triangular number sequence.”

  “Thirty-seven keeps popping up everywhere,” Eugene said in wonder.

  Anna seemed to contemplate this for a moment. “Given its importance, I suppose it would be strange if it did not. To make a long story short, I then applied the first thirty-seven numbers of the triangular sequence against the binary data from the 47th chromatid and proceeded to run it through the same bitmap application we utilized in deciphering the blast wave image.”

  “Okay,” Jack said, holding the sides of his head. “You’re starting to give me a headache again. Just show me what you found.”

  “Very well, Dr. Greer,” she said, patching the image through to everyone’s glasses.

  Two separate pixelated images materialized before him. Jack flipped between them. The first appeared to be notched lines of varying length originating from a central point.

  “Looks like an exploding star, if you ask me,” Eugene observed.

  They caught the sound of laughter on the channel. “It’s a pulsar map,” Gabby said, coming down the stairs and into the room where they were gathered. Tamura and Rajesh were not far behind.

  “I may be the only one without eight PhDs,” Tamura said, sheepishly. “So I might need someone to tell me what that is.”

  “In 1977,” Gabby, the astrophysicist, explained, “NASA launched twin probes, Voyager One and Two, with the goal of mapping the solar system and someday reaching interstellar space. Each Voyager was outfitted with a golden record that contained key pieces of information about Earth. It also contained a pulsar map, a sort of guide to locating our planet within the Milky Way Galaxy. Pulsars are collapsed stars that give off intense bursts of high-energy particles at predictable rates. By identifying the pulse rate and the relative distance from a planet, you could not only show its location, but also when the probe was launched.”

  “Yes,” Eugene added. “That’s because as the positions of the pulsars relative to one another will change over time, so too will the pulse rate, but because the change is predictable, finding their locations in the past is simply a question of working the calculation in the opposite direction.”

  Tamura stared intently at the 3D galactic map projected on the lens of her glasses. “So you’re saying the aliens encoded a map to their home world inside human DNA?”

  “Not only human,” Grant said. “It’s inside any creature affected by Salzburg.”

  Dag cackled with laughter. “Far out, isn’t it? And if you look at the second image, you can see a representation of the beings themselves.”

  The image was crude, but the resemblance between the praying mantis people and the image decoded from Salzburg was uncanny.

  “It’s like a watermark,” Gabby said, running her fingers through the hologram.

  “Anna, any idea what planet they’re from?”

  “Yes, Dr. Greer. The pulsar map leads to a planet in the constellation Sagittarius one hundred and fifty light years from Earth.”

  The room grew eerily quiet. In the Star Trek series that distance represented about a twelve-day journey at warp nine. In real life, our fastest spacecraft would take forty thousand years to reach the closest star, Alpha Centauri, a measly four point three light years away.

  “Why does that ring a bell?” Eugene asked, scratching a spot at the top of his head, now barren of hair. “It’s gonna bother me all day now.”

  Gabby swiped the visuals before her off to the side. “It’s because of SETI’s famous Wow! signal. In 1977, radio astronomer Jerry Ehman recorded a strong, narrow-band radio signal far above background noise. They traced it back to the constellation Sagittarius, a hundred and fifty light years from Earth. Since then there’s been speculation the signal was nothing more than a passing comet, but given what we’ve just seen, I believe there’s certainly a strong case to be made that the signal wasn’t a case of mistaken identity at all.”

  Still unencumbered by his helmet, Jack heard the sound of a distant rumble. At once, the thought of another blast wave being released chilled the blood in his veins. But there was something different about this new sound.

  The brightness of Anna’s LED features lit up. “I am receiving a faint signal. It is incredibly garbled and difficult to comprehend.”

  “Any chance you can clean it up?” Jack asked.

  “Running filters and boosting,” Anna replied. Several tense minutes passed before she played the message.

  “This is Admiral Stark. Northern Star is currently in the hands of Russian forces. Moments ago, two of our heavy transports were shot down on approach. If any of you made it down, be aware, you’re about to have company.”

  “Transmission over,” Anna said, more than a hint of concern in her melodic voice.

  “That’s just great,” Eugene said, rubbing his gloved hands on his knees. “Sandwiched between Russian and Israeli special forces. And what have we got? A bunch of nerds and a robot who’s more scared than we are.”

  “Keep your cool,” Jack snapped. “We’ve got weapons and we’ve already killed two of their people. For now we keep pushing toward the pyramid and hope we get to whatever’s inside before they do.”

  Chapter 36

  Rome

  “What the hell is that?” Jansson asked. The flesh around her eyes was dark while the rest of her normally tanned complexion looked
pale and sickly.

  “It’s an electromagnetic field generator,” Mia replied, flipping off the switch and killing the current on the crude-looking device. It seemed easy enough to build—a length of coiled copper wire hooked up to a car battery—and easier still to procure. The hospital’s connection to Sapienza University in Rome meant a single phone call from Dr. Putelli to the university’s physics department had secured one right away.

  The hard part was convincing him that her theory on biophotons and Salzburg had a good chance of being right. He thought the idea was far too unorthodox and suggested she concentrate on the more traditional ways cells communicated. She had asked him whether the traditional method could account for the blast wave’s ability to alter DNA over great distances. Once he had finally acknowledged that it could not, he had agreed to make the call.

  Mia’s plan was to place a subject with Salzburg within the magnetic field, wait for a blast and see if it mitigated the effects. If it did, then at least there was a way to potentially shield huge swaths of the population. The worst-case scenario was that the magnetic field would have little or no effect.

  One thing both Mia and Dr. Putelli did agree on was the need to use a non-human test subject and to conduct the experiment in a closed wing of the hospital. Now devoid of anything but a rectangular folding table, this particular room on the seventh floor had once been an operating theater. The double doors swung open with a bang, revealing Ollie and one of Dr. Putelli’s assistants lugging a large metal cage containing one male pig. It oinked and looked around the room. Even though the creature weighed more than she did, Mia couldn’t help but find it cute.

  Ollie and the assistant rolled the cage into place and lowered the handle. He stuck his finger between the bars. “Soon as we’re done with you, Daddy’s gonna have some bacon.”

  Jansson glowered at him in horror.

  “Ah, love. You should get some sleep. You look beat.”

  Jansson ignored the comment. She waited until the assistant had left. “I was going over the new genes we discovered in the 48th chromatid and found something you might find interesting.”

  “Does it have to do with biophotons?” Ollie asked, eager to join in.

  “No,” Jansson said, curtly. “It has to do with the MRE11 gene responsible for repairing DNA.”

  Mia switched on the battery and listened as a dense hum filled the room. She then ushered them both out of the operating theater and into the hallway. “What about it?” Mia asked, wiping her hands on the lab coat she was wearing.

  “Well, it turns out MRE11 doesn’t only repair some damaged DNA. It repairs about ninety-nine percent of any errors that occur during cell division or from exposure to environmental damage of any kind, including cuts.”

  The muscles in Mia’s face went slack. “It has healing properties.”

  “Relatively rapid healing, I would say.” Jansson rubbed at the corners of her eyes. “The gene also holds the potential for longer lifespans.”

  Mia kept her voice down. “Don’t say anything to Dr. Putelli about this just yet, would you?”

  The request surprised Jansson. “Why not?”

  “Because when you start waving super-healing and longer lifespans in front of people’s faces, they have a habit of losing sight of the big picture.”

  Jansson considered this, rubbing the back of her neck. “Between your biophotons and my findings on MRE11, I don’t think Dr. Putelli is thrilled with us showing up and hijacking his research.”

  “Well, I’m not thrilled with getting snuffed off the planet,” Mia replied. “I’m sorry to be a pain in his ass, but are we really gonna back down from searching for a solution because of social norms and bruised egos? We’re not running a popularity contest.”

  A squeak escaped Jansson’s lips. Her hand went to her face as her body convulsed in a fit of sobbing.

  Mia moved in right away to console her. “Listen, I know that might have come out harshly and I’m sorry. We’re all just under a lot of pressure.”

  “No, it’s not that,” Jansson said, pulling a tissue out of her pocket and running it across her nose. “I just don’t think I can do it anymore. I’ve been trying to stay strong these past few days, but with everything that’s happened I’ve realized I’m just not cut out for this.” Her voice trailed off. “I spoke to my family last night and I think hearing their voices just broke something inside of me.”

  “I know how hard it is,” Mia said, thinking of her own family, of her daughter Zoey, at least. And just as quickly she had to steel herself from heading down the same dirt road Jansson was losing herself on.

  “I don’t know how to say this, but I’m going home.” Jansson looked up at them, her eyes swollen. “I’m sorry.”

  Mia was speechless. She was prepared to do a little bucking up. Whatever it took to get Jansson’s head back in the game. But she hadn’t been ready for this. “Are you sure you’re making the right decision?” she heard herself ask from a great distance.

  Jansson nodded and hugged them both, before turning on her heels and shuffling down the long corridor and out of sight.

  When she was gone, Ollie appeared and put an arm around Mia, squeezing her tight. “You can’t blame the poor gal,” he said, a lump in his throat. “We’re all a bunch of eggs really. Some of us just happen to be hard-boiled.”

  Chapter 37

  Bethesda, Maryland

  Kay slouched down in the driver’s seat of her Corolla until only her eyes and the top of her head were visible. She was parked on Exeter Road, a sleepy, tree-lined street in a bucolic neighborhood of Bethesda.

  Across from her sat an expensive-looking, two-story red-brick house with a gabled portico entrance and a well-kept lawn. The sun had gone down two hours ago and she was waiting for the owner of the aforementioned house to get in his car and drive away. Five minutes ago, he’d come out to do just that only to disappear back inside.

  Kay had realized rather quickly that finding out what had gone down in that warehouse was a trail that led directly to Stanley Hollerman, the name on the business card. While Lucas had reluctantly agreed to help her find an address for her target, it was now her turn to perform another kind of break-in.

  In the background, the radio crackled with Whitney Houston’s One Moment in Time.

  “We interrupt the regular programming to bring you some breaking news. Secretary of Defense Ford Myers has just been sworn in as acting president of the United States. The former Secretary assumes the role amid one of the most stunning and disturbing crises in American political history: the attempted assassination of a sitting president by the senior members of his own cabinet. A surveillance video suggesting the full extent of the conspiracy was leaked to senior Washington Post reporter Kay Mahoro…”

  “Senior, my ass,” Kay said.

  Just then, the front door to the house swung open and out came Hollerman, dressed in shorts, t-shirt and a headband. He had a dog with him, a shaggy white and grey thing that bore a disturbing resemblance to Sprocket from Fraggle Rock. When the two work-out buddies turned the corner, Kay sprang from the car and headed straight for the front door. She hadn’t seen him lock it. But when her fingers closed around the handle, she felt immediate resistance.

  Damn.

  Kay circled around back. Hollerman didn’t appear to be in the best shape of his life, which meant he probably was not going to be gone very long. She quickly tried two windows and found those locked as well. Then she spotted a sliding glass door at the far end of the property. Once there, she pushed and felt the door give way. Stepping inside, Kay became distinctly aware that her heart was thudding violently in her chest. She’d never done anything like this before. Jaywalking and rolling through stop signs was one thing. She’d never broken any kind of law. Not the important ones, at least.

  The house was cluttered with a ton of gaudy antique furniture. In the hallway and living room, she spotted at least three glass cabinets filled with porcelain figurines. Every room had e
ighteenth-century style sofas, the kind with carved lion’s feet. In other words, Hollerman had strange taste.

  Kay was looking for a home office. Surely even a guy with no taste had to bring his work home with him sometimes. She went upstairs, tip-toeing up each riser one at a time. He’d apparently inherited the house from his late mother three years ago. Another tidbit she’d gathered from the legal papers he’d filed online.

  From the top riser, Kay found a small office overlooking the street. A laminated eighteenth-century desk by the window housed a laptop and speakers. On the shelf next to the desk was a box of tissues and hand lotion.

  If the world wasn’t about to end I’d say this guy needs a girlfriend in the worst kind of way.

  As soon as she opened the laptop cover, it asked her for a password. She was in the process of cursing when she spotted the manila folder resting on top of the printer.

  Kay picked it up and started browsing. The photographs inside had names written on the back. The first shot was of a ruggedly handsome white man with weathered skin, named Ollie Cooper. Next was the woman Ramirez had been protecting, Dr. Mia Ward. Both of them had a file featuring key pieces of information. Where they lived. Where they worked. Then somewhere at the bottom in bold letters were the words. Current Location: Rome, Italy.

  Kay continued flipping and came to an image of a woman she recognized. Leslie Fisher, an investigative reporter with the Washington Tribune. Here as well Kay found a list of pertinent information they’d collected on Leslie. But it was the final group of images that caught the breath in her throat. Photos of Kay, and in all of them she was lying unconscious. In a handful, she’d even been propped up by a pair of strong hands while someone snapped close-ups.