Extinction Series (The Complete Collection)

by James D. Prescott

  Over by the fridge was the inner airlock, which led to the USO. Jack crossed the room and peered through the porthole. Recessed neon lighting gave the chamber a sterile, forbidding feel. Red hazmat suits lined both walls. Beyond this airlock was one more and beyond that a world no human had seen with their own eyes.

  Below the mess was where the comms equipment would be located. This was Olsen’s world and he was busy checking that the fiberoptic link was working. It was from here that the Orb would keep in contact with Rear Admiral Stark, who had decided to remain on board the USS Grapple. On the bottom deck was where most of the science would take place. Already, the bulk of the instruments had been set up.

  The crew, as they were now known, was scattered about the Orb performing a variety of final sorting tasks as they hurried to put the place in order. Jack found Rajesh and Anna on the comms level. Rajesh was busy setting up the powerful computers used to maintain and expand Anna’s impressive intellect. The fiberoptic cable would also allow her to access the servers on the rig.

  “Hello, Dr. Greer,” Anna said, turning her digital face to watch him descend the spiral staircase.

  Jack spread out his hands, motioning to their surroundings. “So what do you think?” It was a question more designed to fill an awkward silence than a legitimate inquiry. As impressive as she was, he couldn’t help feeling a little irked by the way her deep brown eyes were regarding him. She blinked twice before answering. The facial tics were a nice touch, Jack thought.

  “The average human takes up three square feet when standing,” Anna told him, her expression calm and jovial. “Four point five square feet while seated. I’ve calculated each level of the habitat to be five hundred square feet for a total of twenty-five hundred square feet. I then subtracted one fifth of that for furniture, scientific instrumentation and computer hardware. That leaves two thousand square feet to be shared among nine individuals. Given the circumstances, I think it’s more than adequate.”

  Jack rolled his eyes. She still didn’t quite get context, but there was something else she did get that Jack found interesting. When dividing up the Orb’s square footage among its inhabitants, she’d included herself among those counted. On some level she seemed to understand the concept of inclusion, or at least felt—or maybe believed—that she was one of them. Jack’s mother had always hated when people fed the family dog at the table. Said it confused the animal into thinking it was human. Maybe the same thing was happening with her?

  Her head tilted slightly. “Penny for your thoughts, Dr. Greer?”

  Rajesh was still fishing for a plug behind the table when Jack bent down and grabbed it for him. “Her spatial awareness and facial recognition are truly impressive.” He didn’t know fancy computer talk, but he was confident Rajesh understood what he was getting at.

  “Dr. Greer?” Anna said, trying to get his attention.

  Rajesh sat straight up, his face slightly distorted from the pooling blood. “Much of that has come from improving her optics.”

  “Dr. Greer?” Anna droned on again in a polite, monotone voice.

  When she called Jack’s name a third time, Rajesh got firm with her, pointing at Jack so Anna could see. “Do not be a nuisance. Dr. Greer and I are speaking.” He leaned in closer to Jack. “When I told you she was like a ten-year-old child, I was not exaggerating.”

  Her expression became saddened. “My apologies. I was waiting for Dr. Greer to respond to my question.”

  “If someone does not respond to your inquiry,” Rajesh informed her, “it either means they are busy or do not feel like answering.”

  “Or they did not hear the question.” Anna looked at Jack and smiled.

  “How long did it take your team to program her facial expressions?” Jack asked, feeling Anna watching him.

  Rajesh stood and clapped the dust off his hands. “Program? No, sir, we did no such thing.”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “Anna developed those on her own, from observing and interacting with humans. The rest she got from watching television.”

  Jack blinked. “TV?”

  “Oh, yes.” Rajesh turned to her, intent on illustrating his point. “What’s your favorite program, Anna?”

  “Sesame Street…” she began.

  Rajesh beamed like a proud father and wiggled his head from side to side.

  “And Jersey Shore,” she continued.

  The answer caught Jack off guard and he burst out laughing.

  Rolling his eyes, Rajesh fell into a nearby chair. “Sometimes when we aren’t paying her enough attention she sneaks onto the Web and watches videos on YouTube.”

  Jack shook his head in disbelief. A mind filled with Sesame Street and Jersey Shore. Now there was a scary thought.

  After that, he left Rajesh to finish his work and headed up two levels to his bunk. There he found Grant, lying down. The nearly sixty-year-old biologist had the berth beneath Jack’s.

  As Jack came within a few feet, he noticed Grant’s cheeks and forehead were bright red. In several places, the scientist’s skin appeared to be blistering.

  “You feeling all right?” he asked.

  Grant glanced over without getting up. “Tip-top. Just a little hot under the collar is all. Perhaps I caught a touch of sun when I wasn’t paying attention.”

  They were off the coast of Mexico, so that wasn’t out of the question. In fact, on the rig, sunscreen was considered as mandatory as hard hats and lifejackets.

  “I just wanna make sure you aren’t sick,” Jack said. “I’m gonna get a thermometer.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Grant shot back, gearing up for a fight before quickly realizing it wasn’t a battle he had any hope of winning. As promised, Jack returned a moment later, and inserted one of those new-fangled thermometers into Grant’s ear.

  When Jack checked the readings, he saw the biologist was telling the truth—his temperature was normal. But something about Grant’s skin reminded Jack of the conversation he’d had with Gord. The caretaker had described burn marks on Betsy and Tommy, two piglets on his rescue farm. Of course it was silly to believe there was any kind of connection. But that was how Jack’s mind worked. The world was a giant puzzle upended onto the floor—much like the clothes in his ransacked cabin—and he couldn’t help but hold pieces out two or three at a time, looking for any that might fit together.

  A voice over a PA system brought everyone to attention. It was Commander Hart.

  “Time to suit up, folks. We’re going in.”

  Chapter 21

  It was an hour later that Ollie heard back from his hacker contact, Armoni.

  “He’s willing to meet, but he wants ten thousand dollars up front.”

  “Ten thousand?” Mia exclaimed, feeling the wind from yet another door slamming in her face.

  “Armoni may be a white hat, but that doesn’t mean he works for free.”

  “Perhaps, but I can’t get anywhere near that much.”

  “Let me see what I can do,” Ollie said and spent the next several minutes, emailing back and forth. “I got him down to two thousand, but he wants it wired first.”

  Mia crossed her arms tightly over her knapsack again. “What guarantee do I have he won’t just take the money and blow me off? Tell him fifteen hundred and only when we meet.”

  Ollie grinned. “You’re one tough biscuit,” he said, returning to his phone to relay the message.

  Mia giggled. “You mean cookie.”

  He glanced up. “Huh?”

  “In America we say ‘tough cookie’.”

  Ollie pulled out his best Bogart impression. “You’re not in America anymore, sweetheart.” A moment later his face lit up. “He agreed.”

  A sense of relief washed over her.

  Ollie then showed her the email where Armoni included his address. He instructed her not to put it in her phone, but to memorize it. She stared intently at the email, committing the address to memory. She repeated it over and over.


  They pulled out of the parking structure and headed for the airfield on the outskirts of Santarem. By the side of the road, a group of older men sat outside drinking beer and playing dominos. A scooter zipped by at high speeds, a family of five piled precariously on every available surface.

  “I sent a text to someone else I know,” Ollie said, weaving through traffic. “Bloke I met at a local watering hole. He’s a bush pilot named Gustavo who said he’d bring you to Manaus. From there you can buy yourself a ticket to Argentina. Cash only.” That last part he said extra slow, his Australian drawl on full display, as if to emphasize the importance of staying off the grid.

  He swung into a bank parking lot moments later, instructing Mia to head alone to the ATM. It was better he not be caught on camera anywhere near her or the police might arrest him too.

  Mia soon returned with a stack of bills. She had removed the maximum she could from her checking account and then borrowed against her credit cards. She leafed through the money, her lips moving in unison.

  “Three thousand.”

  He laid a hand on it. “Good. Now put that away, would you, before someone carjacks us? And not all in the same pocket. Put some of it in your socks as insurance.”

  She did as he suggested, thankful for all of his helpful tips. As Ollie pulled out he saw that she was looking at him.

  “Look, I didn’t exactly grow up in a picturesque part of Brisbane,” he told her. “My father was unemployed and drank to numb the sting of a life he felt he didn’t deserve. There was often little food and plenty of discipline. For breakfast we were given a slice of plain white bread. For dinner we got a beating. Sometimes when I was lucky I got a beating and a bowl of cold soup. Trust me, you spend your childhood living with an old man who hates you for no good reason, and then your adolescence running with the wrong crowd to escape your crappy home life, you tend to pick up a few survival secrets the average bloke doesn’t need to worry about.”

  Mia’s eyes traced down to his hands as they worked the steering wheel, taking note of the nicks and scars. These were clearly places where a difficult life had left its mark. And those were only the scars she could see.

  Ten minutes later, they were at the airfield. Ollie’s friend flew a green-striped four-seat Cessna he kept at the far end of a grassy field. To their left was a long line of small aircraft parked on the apron, most of them two- and four-seaters. To their right was a row of hangars with open doors where mechanics were busy performing maintenance.

  “There he is,” Ollie said, motioning ahead. “If there’s one thing I can say about Gustavo, he seems very dependable.”

  “Seems?” Mia repeated with alarm. “I thought you knew this guy?”

  “We’ve shared a few cocktails here and there.” Ollie sounded defensive. “Don’t forget, lass, I’ve only been in this Godforsaken country a few weeks. The accent may be deceiving, but I’m not exactly a native.”

  They pulled up to the plane and jumped out. Everything Mia owned at the moment was contained within the little red knapsack now slung over both of her shoulders. Gustavo was wiping down the ivory-colored wing of his plane with a rag.

  “Thank you for doing this, mate,” Ollie said, gripping Gustavo’s hand in a long shake. “I know it was last-minute, but once you bring my friend here to Manaus you can consider your debt to me paid in full.”

  Gustavo broke into an awkward smile. Mia noticed the slow change in Ollie’s face. The two men continued shaking while an intense nonverbal conversation passed between them.

  “Get in the plane,” Ollie hollered as the sound of vehicles cutting around the distant hangar caught Mia’s ear. She turned to see a convoy of police cars heading toward them.

  “You double-crossing son of a bitch, Gustavo,” Ollie shouted as he pulled the pistol and aimed it at him.

  “Don’t kill him,” Mia pleaded. She’d seen more than enough death in the last twenty-four hours.

  “Why would I kill him when he’s the only one who can fly us outta here?” Ollie grabbed Gustavo by the collar and shoved him into the pilot’s seat. “That’s not to say I won’t wound him a little.” Ollie went around to the other side while Mia climbed in the back.

  The propeller started to spin as Gustavo fiddled nervously with the controls.

  “You keep stalling and I’ll blow your kneecaps off,” Ollie growled. “Now get us in the air.”

  Mia looked back, butterflies fluttering in her chest. The convoy of cops was getting closer. “Oh, God, hurry up.”

  Ollie pressed the barrel of the gun to Gustavo’s knee and pulled back the hammer. “Your choice, mate.”

  Gustavo whimpered and threw the throttle, lurching the plane forward. Behind them the cops had reached the last hangar.

  “Go, go, go!” Ollie bellowed.

  Gustavo put on his headset and said a few words in Portuguese. The plane straightened out.

  “What are you doing?” Ollie demanded.

  “Waiting for permission from the tower to―”

  “Permission granted.” Ollie forced the throttle all the way, throwing them back in their seats.

  Police cars raced out onto the grassy runway and pulled alongside them, their weapons drawn.

  “Hold on, everyone,” Gustavo said, closing his eyes and pulling back on the yoke.

  Mia felt gravity pushing down on every part of her body as the Cessna climbed into the air.

  “Where are we going?” Gustavo asked, his frantic eyes falling to Ollie’s pistol, still trained on him.

  “Originally Manaus,” Ollie replied. “But thanks to that little stunt you pulled, you’re gonna have to take us all the way to Buenos Aires.”

  Gustavo’s darkened complexion turned ashen. “We don’t have enough fuel.”

  Ollie pulled out a map and spread it over his lap. “One stop in the state of Matto Grosso and another in Paraguay should do just fine.” He turned back to Mia. “Oh, and you’re really gonna love the in-flight movie. It’s about this guy and girl from opposite sides of the world who get thrown together as they try to stay one step ahead of the authorities.”

  Chapter 22

  Jack pulled on his helmet. As he clicked it in place, a cool rush of air caressed his cheeks. Each of the team members was nestled into a tight-fitting white biosuit made from organic polymers woven into a three-dimensional framework. Far from the unwieldy spacesuit or a bulky hazmat, the biosuit was light, flexible and filled with an array of biometric and toxicity sensors monitored by mission control. In this case, mission control was Lieutenant Olsen, who in turn would update Admiral Stark on their progress at the top of every hour.

  Modular sockets on their backs allowed for a hydration bladder and a closed-circuit rebreather. But the pièce de resistance was the fancy-looking glasses they were all given, something Hart referred to as an OHMD (optical head-mounted display). A tiny digital recorder embedded into the right end piece enabled point-of-view video recording. On the left was a holographic display which could project images onto one of the lenses or into the empty space before them. Hand movements could then be used to scroll through maps or to flip through pages of data. Additionally, the glasses were networked, allowing all members to communicate as well as send information to one another.

  Each suit also had a built-in LED light—two thousand lumens strong—secured to the top of their helmet.

  Gabby and Dag headed into the airlock, carrying cases with scientific instruments. Behind them was Anna’s upper torso, which had been rigged to a rover platform with variable drive wheels. Jack watched as she navigated the airlock door’s lower lip and maneuvered herself inside.

  “She driving all on her own?” he asked Rajesh, over the radio.

  The computer engineer wore the expression of a proud father watching his child take her first steps.

  A few feet away, Hart was helping Eugene get his helmet secured.

  “I can’t turn my light on,” the theoretical physicist said in a panic.

  “Blink you
r left eye three times,” Hart told him.

  Eugene’s mouth popped open in a thoroughly unattractive look as he pumped his left eye open and closed. “It’s not wor…”

  A burst of light shot out from Eugene’s head lamp. Blinded, Jack spun away.

  “Oh, there we go,” Eugene cried. “Let’s do this.” A second ago he was about to cry, now he was the Terminator.

  Once they were all assembled, Hart spoke over channel one, the main frequency. “Closing inner airlock door,” he said, shuffling past the others, who pressed themselves and their gear up against the curved walls to make room. “Opening outer airlock door.” A swoosh of condensed air flowed into the chamber.

  Jack’s heart thumped wildly.

  “Jack, your vitals are a little elevated,” Olsen said, from the Orb’s command center.

  Jack laughed. “I hear it’s common when entering alien structures for the first time.”

  Gabby turned back and threw him a half-smile. The unglorified truth was, they were all pretty much crapping themselves. Except for Eugene, perhaps, who kept clapping his hands together like an infielder waiting for a ground ball. If Jack didn’t know any better, he would say the theoretical physicist seemed on the verge of pushing past everyone so he could be the first one inside.

  First one in and first to die.

  Jack swiped the dark thought from his mind.

  Regardless of Eugene’s enthusiasm, Hart took the lead, disappearing into a puff of mist. They followed, lumbering along behind him in single file. Less than five feet in, they came to a hole where the engineers had installed a metal ladder. At the top of the hole was a small crane arm. This was how they would get Anna up and down. Not the most elegant solution, but certainly a limitation of having a team member without any legs.

  This small chamber must have been the section that was flooded. Bits of slag and the distorted shape of the opening near the crane gave evidence that once the water had been pumped out, other Navy personnel had cut an opening into the structure.