The Extinction Files Box Set

by A. G. Riddle

  Walking through the sub and seeing the dead researchers always reminded her of the pandemic, and the people she had lost from her own team. It was a reminder of what Yuri was capable of. For Yuri, the pandemic had been simply a means to an end: distributing Rapture. The microscopic robots were preprogrammed to neutralize the pathogen, but they remained in the bloodstream indefinitely, awaiting further instructions. With the right software, the Citium could instruct those nanites to alter their hosts at the genetic level.

  Peyton had Rapture nanites in her bloodstream. So did Lin. They were safe for now, only because Peyton’s brother had deleted the Rapture Control program. But Peyton assumed that Yuri and Conner were working feverishly to rebuild the software. Her mother was right about one thing: time was running out. With each passing hour, she felt more aware of the tiny invaders inside her, like a poison flowing through her bloodstream, slowly diffusing, waiting to paralyze her body and mind, to take her freedom from her.

  Up ahead, the two SEALs stopped, unpacked their gear, and turned on their specialized plasma torch. It glowed blue, and sparks of orange flew off as they brought it to the sealed door.

  While they worked on opening a new area, Lin and Peyton ducked into the open office she and Peyton had started searching during the last dive. Without a word, Lin pulled open a drawer of a filing cabinet. Peyton held the camera up, ready to photograph the front and back of every document that came out.

  On the Arktika, the two members of the Citium tactical team made their way belowdecks, to a compartment adjacent to the reactor room. One man stood in the passageway, casually keeping watch, while the other attached explosives to the bulkhead.

  They then moved to the second location: a bulkhead adjoining the hull on the side of the ship opposite their submersible. They moved down the passageway, listening for footsteps ahead of and behind them. Periodically they would reach into their backpacks, pull out explosives, and affix them to the bulkhead, spreading out the charges to ensure the holes ripped in the hull were in different compartments. Sinking the Arktika was a simple matter of getting enough water inside.

  When all the charges were placed, the team leader tapped his open comm line three times. They were ready to proceed.

  Peyton’s mother froze when she saw the page. “Switch the camera off.”

  “Why?”

  Lin turned to face her daughter, her helmet lamps temporarily blinding Peyton. She held up four fingers.

  Peyton switched to channel four on the comm.

  “We’re not cataloging this one,” Lin said.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s important.”

  “Even more reason to catalog it.”

  Lin paused. “Trust me, Peyton. I’m trusting you.”

  Peyton opened her mouth to respond, but stopped. She realized how much her mother’s words meant to her. She desperately wanted her mother to trust her and more than that, she wanted to trust her mother. As if in a trance, she powered off the camera and let it fall to her side. She held out her hand, and her mother transferred the page gently, as if it was a sacred document.

  Peyton was surprised when she saw it. She had expected a written document, but this was a color photograph. It depicted a cave painting of steppe bison, shown in rich tones of red and brown.

  “You said this was important. Why?”

  “It’s a picture from the Cave of Altamira.”

  Peyton had never heard of it. “How’s it connected to the Citium?”

  “Turn it over, dear.”

  On the back, someone had handwritten two lines of text:

  Do fidem me nullum librum

  A Liddell

  “The first line is Latin. What does it mean?”

  “It’s the beginning of an oath. An ancient one. A solemn vow to protect knowledge.”

  Peyton waited, expecting her mother to elaborate, but she didn’t.

  “A Liddell. Sounds like a name. Maybe that’s who wrote it.”

  “It’s not.”

  Peyton stared at her mother. “You know who wrote this?”

  Lin nodded. “Doctor Paul Kraus.”

  “You know his handwriting?” Peyton instantly realized why. “Because you worked with him when you served on the Beagle fifty years ago.”

  “Yes.”

  Peyton looked at the page again. “That’s what this has been about: finding this. He left this for you, didn’t he?”

  “In case something happened.”

  “Like Yuri’s betrayal.”

  “There were always factions within the Citium. Research was stolen. People played politics, tried to divert funds from competing projects. And Kraus was used to hiding his research. He was a German scientist forced to work for the Nazis during World War Two. He emigrated to the US as part of Operation Paperclip.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Paperclip was a post-war program that brought German intellectuals to the West. It had a huge impact on the course of history. A lot of American innovations in the fifties and sixties were a continuation of Nazi-funded research. The Saturn V rockets that carried the Apollo spacecraft to the moon? Just larger versions of the V2 rockets the Nazis fired at London in 1945. Same scientist designed both: Wernher von Braun.”

  “What was Kraus researching?”

  “Human origins. A second theory of evolution.”

  “That’s why the Citium recruited him.”

  Lin nodded. “They thought his research would reveal the true purpose of the human race—our future, what they called our ultimate destiny. Kraus spent his life looking for human ancestors—hominid species that went extinct before us. He believed they were the key to finding the code hidden in the human genome.”

  “What kind of code?”

  “There are multiple theories about what the code is—or does.”

  “What’s your theory?”

  Lin glanced away, her helmet lights following her gaze. “I’ll know soon.”

  Realization hit Peyton then. “You’re going to finish his research.”

  Lin said nothing.

  “That’s why you took DNA samples. During the pandemic, in the cordons, governments around the world took samples and provided it to Rook Quantum Sciences. That was part of your research, wasn’t it? You wanted the genomic data to combine with Kraus’s research, which you hoped to find down here.”

  “Yes. As I said before, I had hoped the data would complete Kraus’s work, but I was never told how it would be collected. If I had known Yuri was planning a pandemic…”

  Peyton held up a hand. “I believe you, Mom. Wait—you said you hoped the data would complete Kraus’s work. It didn’t?”

  “It’s incomplete.”

  “How?”

  “The key to understanding the code isn’t sample size. It’s sample diversity. We need to know how the human genome changed over time. There’s a pattern to the changes, like a mathematical equation. If we can gather enough data, we can see how the data is produced.”

  “And what comes next.”

  A smile curled at Lin’s lips, as if she were proud of Peyton for putting it together.

  “Is that what the code is? An algorithm for advancing evolution?”

  “It could be used that way, but we believe it has another purpose.”

  “Which is?”

  Lin was silent for a moment. “Trust me, Peyton.”

  “You keep asking me to trust you, but you won’t tell me what’s going on. You’re not trusting me. That’s not fair.”

  “There are forces here that you don’t appreciate.”

  “Because you’re keeping me in the dark.”

  “No, because every question leads to another question. Eventually, they’ll lead to answers you don’t have the scientific or historical background to understand.”

  “Then I’ll get a library card.”

  “Don’t be flippant, Peyton. It’s rude.”

  “You’re lecturing me on etiquette while condescendingly tel
ling me I’m not smart enough to understand what’s going on?”

  “I never said you weren’t smart enough, and I never meant to condescend. I apologize if you interpreted it that way. It wasn’t my intention.”

  “What is your intention?”

  “To save time. Darling, you don’t lack the intelligence to understand what’s going on, but you do lack the knowledge. Imparting that knowledge would take time—which is a commodity we don’t have. Some of this research has been going on for two thousand years. Most of it isn’t available at a library or university or anywhere else. Some is buried down here, and some is hidden somewhere else, waiting for us to find it. And the rest, frankly, is only in my head.”

  Peyton looked away. “At least tell me why you’re doing this—what your goal is.”

  “You know that. To stop Yuri. To stop the Citium.”

  “But how? How does this code in the human genome do that?”

  Lin exhaled.

  “Give me the simple version.”

  “We believe the code is the key to creating a device. One that will render Yuri and Conner’s Looking Glass harmless. And unravel the greatest mystery of all time.”

  Peyton stared wide-eyed. “This is you versus Yuri, for control of the Looking Glass. He wants it because of the power it would give him. You want it for the sake of science. You don’t want to destroy the Looking Glass. You want to control it.”

  Her mind flashed to thirty years ago, leaving London in the dead of night, traveling to America, living in hotels, her mother hiding in the bathroom, the phone cord stretched from the nightstand, whispered conversations, demanding to know what had happened to the Beagle. “Thirty years ago, you were distraught when the Beagle sank. It was because you needed the research for your own Looking Glass experiment.”

  “Yes.”

  “What does it do—your Looking Glass device?”

  “We call it the Rabbit Hole. It’s nothing like Yuri’s Looking Glass—in operation or effect—”

  “Mom. Just tell me what it does.”

  “This really is all I can tell you, darling. I’m sorry.”

  The beam of a helmet light poured into the room. Peyton turned to see a figure stepping through the doorway toward them.

  Chapter 6

  In the memory, Desmond sat in his office, staring out the window at Sand Hill Road, watching cyclists pass, dressed in expensive gear, pedaling hard as the drizzling rain began. It was the fall of 2003, and the dot-com crash was still fresh in investors’ minds. Funding was scarce. Venture capitalists asked tougher questions—and more of them. Drive-by investing, as it was called, had gone the way of the dinosaur. Those left were the cautious, methodical investors like Desmond. He did his research. And he never gave up on the causes he believed in.

  A knock on the glass door drew his attention.

  Yuri Pachenko stood impassively, his expression blank as usual. Without a word, he turned and walked out of the office.

  Desmond grabbed his raincoat and followed.

  They drove north on Interstate 280, both sitting in silence, watching the green rolling hills turn to strip malls, office buildings, and apartment complexes. The rain picked up as they got closer to San Francisco. The city was like a virus spreading south from the Golden Gate Bridge, transforming any housing that was even remotely dated into something shiny and new. And more expensive. Housing was increasingly out of reach for many who worked in the city.

  Yuri took the exit for Highway 1, and they drove past block after block of homes packed into every square inch of space. Garages took up ground floors, with living areas stacked two and three levels above, mini skyscrapers standing shoulder to shoulder at the edge of the street.

  Campaign signs for Gavin Newsom hung in more than half the windows, and stickers adorned the bumpers of most cars. There were even more signs for the gubernatorial recall, some in support of Governor Gray Davis, others for one of the replacement candidates, mostly Democratic candidate Cruz Bustamante. A banner hanging from the awning at a Flyers gas station simply read Hasta La Vista Baby—indicating support of Arnold Schwarzenegger. The signs reminded Desmond of their Terminator jokes at SciNet, and his initial encounter with the Citium and their front company, Rapture Therapeutics.

  The Golden Gate Bridge spread out in the distance, its two red towers standing proud as the sun set over the Pacific. Fog was drifting in from the sea, creeping toward the bridge like an avalanche in slow motion.

  Yuri took the winding road through Golden Gate Park into the Presidio. But instead of continuing toward the bridge, he exited onto 101 South, into the marina district. Alcatraz Island loomed in the bay. A ferry carrying tourists was departing, another arriving.

  When he turned onto Lombard Street, Yuri finally spoke.

  “The world is not as it seems, Desmond.” He stared through the windshield, and Desmond thought the older man was going to elaborate, but he simply drove on in silence.

  At Russian Hill, Yuri turned left toward Fisherman’s Wharf. Ghirardelli Square was packed with tourists out for the night, shopping and heading to dinner, consulting maps, and huddling under umbrellas and racing for cover as the drizzling rain turned into a downpour.

  Yuri nodded toward the crowd. “Do you know the difference between us and them?”

  The car came to a stop. The pitter-patter of rain grew louder by the second, making Yuri’s soft voice seem almost far away. “We are awake. We sense the truth: that something is deeply wrong with the world.”

  Yuri pulled back into the street, driving slowly by the crowds. They passed the Argonaut Hotel, the Cannery Shopping Center, and Anchorage Square. He parked again outside Pier 39, the tourist hot spot where the bars, restaurants, and stores were packed.

  “Deep down, they know it too. The feeling ebbs and flows. Some events cover it up for a time: you fall in love, you get a new job, you win the game. You think that’s all you needed, that the feeling will go away, but it doesn’t. It returns, again and again. Our species has become exceedingly adept at covering up the feeling. We work ourselves to death. We buy things. We go to parties and ball games. We laugh, shout, and cheer—and worse, we fight, and argue, and say things we don’t mean. Alcohol and drugs quiet the most acute episodes. But we are constantly keeping the beast at bay. Underneath it all, our subconscious is crying out for help. For a solution—a cure for the root problem. We’re all suffering from the same thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “We’ve been told that it’s simply the human condition.” Yuri turned to face Desmond. “But that’s not true. Our problem is really very simple: the world is not as it seems.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Science gives you one answer. Religious texts offer countless others. But the human population is slowly tiring of those answers. They are starting not to believe. They are awakening—and that awakening will soon tear the world apart. It will be a catastrophe with no equal.” Yuri paused to take a slow, deep breath. “But we can stop it, Desmond. We offer an answer to the question that has haunted us forever. And a solution. Our fix isn’t quick. It won’t be easy to build. Those of us in our… group—”

  “The Citium.”

  “Yes. We’ve been trying to solve this problem for a long time.”

  Desmond’s heart beat faster. “What’s your solution?”

  “When you’re ready.”

  If Desmond’s life had taught him anything, it was that nothing was truly free. There was always a catch. He was sitting in that car because Yuri wanted him there—because Yuri wanted something from him.

  “Why me? What do you want from me?”

  A hint of a smile crossed Yuri’s lips. “Two reasons. First, as I said, you’re awake. If one of those people out there were sitting in this car, and I said what I just said, they would have laughed and walked away. But you know what I’m telling you is true. The world is not as it seems.”

  “And the second reason?”

  “Is one you’ve likely
already guessed.”

  “You need me.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why?”

  “Your skills. I think you are uniquely qualified to construct one of the components of our solution.”

  “The Looking Glass.”

  “Yes.”

  “What is it?”

  “All in good time. There’s still a lot you need to learn.”

  “Such as?”

  “If you want to join the Citium, you must first see the human race as it truly is. You must confront the truths we bury.” Yuri paused again. “This is not a part-time job or a hobby, Desmond. You must commit fully. And once you do, there’s no turning back. Do you understand?”

  Desmond’s mind flashed to the bushfires in Australia, to the day he rushed into the fire that burned his family home and killed his family. And he thought of the day he learned that his uncle was dead, the day Dale Epply came to rob him. On both days, he had decided to act. He had chosen to wade into the fire in Australia. He had turned and fought Dale, killed him to save himself. Both decisions, both actions, marked points of no return.

  He knew that this moment was like that, too. And once again, he had no hesitation. He knew what he had to do.

  “I’ll give you some time to think about it.”

  “I don’t need any time.”

  Yuri pulled away from the curb. He took the Embarcadero out of Fisherman’s Wharf. The hotels, restaurants, and shops were replaced by skyscrapers and parking decks as they moved toward the financial district and the Bay Bridge.

  Yuri parked the car in a deck under a tall, steel-and-glass building that Desmond found unremarkable. It had a CVS and a Banana Republic clothing store on the ground floor and two empty retail spaces. They got out of the car, and Desmond scanned the directory outside the elevator. Rapture Therapeutics was on the fourteenth floor.

  To his surprise, Yuri inserted a key card in the slot and hit the button for the twenty-fifth floor.