Subhuman

by Michael McBride

  “These mountains are so steep that any sort of construction requires an extreme amount of creativity,” Richards said. “This point right here offers the only access to anything resembling a road, which means that as much as we wanted to put the research station here, it was really the only place to put the garage. Of course, I think you’ll all agree that we solved that particular problem quite nicely.”

  Richards waited for them all to catch up before pressing the button to open the door. This moment never failed to give him chills.

  The door slid into the recessed wall and opened upon a glass corridor that offered one of the most majestic views found anywhere on the planet. The enclosed walkway led straight out over the nothingness between the two granite peaks. From this vantage point, you could see all the way to the South Sea across the seemingly interminable fields of white.

  “We call this the Skyway. It’s similar in design to the Golden Gate Bridge and spans the more than two hundred feet between the auxiliary buildings and the research station.” He started across the bridge, his footsteps echoing ahead of him. “It has wind vortex panels rated up to forty knots to keep it from swaying. The power and heat conduits are run across a second, more traditional suspension bridge. You can kind of see it if you look way down there to your left.”

  “Forty knots isn’t really all that fast,” Kelly said. “We get stronger winds on the Oregon coast.”

  “The wind rarely blows anywhere close to that hard this far inland. Near the coast, though? That’s a different story. Those katabatic winds have been recorded at almost two hundred miles an hour.”

  “That’s reassuring,” Roche said.

  “How far up are we?” Jade asked.

  “From the snow or from the ground?” Richards asked.

  “Never mind. I don’t think I want to know the answer.”

  “Two hundred feet,” Evans guessed.

  “Not quite that far,” Richards said. “And I assure you that this Skyway is one of, if not the most stable suspension bridges ever built. Our team of engineers considered every conceivable safety measure when they designed this place. Each building is compartmentalized from all of the others in case anything unforeseen happens. If, say, the power station causes an avalanche, that building is designed to break away from the garage, which in turn is designed to break away from the Skyway, and so on. The research station itself has a standby generator with enough fuel to provide basic life support through the entire winter. While this station may look somewhat precarious, I assure you, there is no safer building on the planet.”

  “Where is this station?” Evans asked.

  “Right in front of you.”

  “All I see is the side of a mountain.”

  Richards smiled.

  “Patience, my friend.”

  They crossed the chasm beneath the blazing sun, which almost made him forget just how cold it was. Directly beneath their feet was a sharp ridge, to either side of which was a steep, snow-covered slope that led into the shadows of the deep valleys. Snow Fell, and the origin of the zigzagging trail through the foothills, was on the far side of the mountain range to his right. Richards preferred the thought of parachuting down the elevator shaft to driving down that road ever again, though.

  He pressed the button to open the door at the far end of the Skyway and guided them up an iron staircase that clanged with every footstep to a broad landing. The sign above the door read ANTARCTIC RESEARCH, EXPERIMENTATION & ANALYSIS STATION 51.

  Richards placed his finger on the button and turned to face the others.

  “Once you pass through this door,” he said, “your lives will never be the same.”

  He knew how melodramatic that sounded, but he feared even those words were insufficient to convey the wonder of what lay on the other side.

  Richards pushed the button and the door slid into the wall.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “Welcome to AREA Fifty-one.”

  BOOK II

  If you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency, and vibration.

  —NIKOLA TESLA

  18

  ANYA

  Antarctic Research, Experimentation &

  Analysis Station 51

  Queen Maud Land, Antarctica

  “The research station itself is actually four separate modular units.” Richards led them through the columns of light admitted by the skylights in the atrium, which was framed by four enormous square structural pillars that served to divide the otherwise open space. The closest pillar to the right had been converted into a climbing wall with rubber handholds so that the researchers could burn off excess energy and climb from the lower level as opposed to merely scaling the spiral staircase. Open doorways to either side granted access to the library and the computer room. “As I’m sure you can imagine, building anything in a location like this is next to impossible, so we needed something that could be assembled elsewhere and installed using a maximum of two helicopters and a minimal amount of manpower.”

  “Why not just build it on the flatlands like Troll?” Roche asked.

  “Ask the British,” Connor said with a smirk.

  “What my colleague means to say is that the entire Antarctic ice cap is in a constant state of motion, which makes it notoriously unpredictable. Believe it or not, our friends from across the pond have had five bases swallowed by fractures in the ice. This station is made of a lightweight, space-age polymer and seated on hydraulic legs bolted directly to the mountain. There’s no more secure way to anchor the buildings on this continent, not to mention the fact that it offers convenient access to the environs beneath the ice without the added risk of destabilization caused by the rapid changes in the environment.”

  Anya cringed at the mention of the changing environment, which had started innumerable arguments about global warming between members of the staff as both sides could produce compelling evidence to support their positions. The problem was that the scientific models were predictive, which inherently introduced a measure of speculation. The only thing that either side could agree upon was that the governments of the world politicized the hot-button topic and utilized an element of fear to control the narrative while making billions of dollars from the regulation of carbon emissions.

  “There you are, Hollis! I’ve been trying to get ahold—” Friden stopped halfway up the spiral staircase when he saw the new faces. “Who do we have here?”

  He walked straight up to Kelly and took her by the hand.

  “Max Friden. Doctor Max Friden, actually. And who is this divine creature?”

  Anya sighed. Living with the microbiologist could be exasperating. He had a brilliant mind and was reasonably attractive, but he was like a teenager with his father’s Viagra prescription. While she welcomed anyone who could relieve her of his unrelenting full-court press, she was surprised by a twinge of jealousy.

  “Kelly,” she said, and snatched her hand from his. Her fingers became a blur of motion, as though she were attempting to communicate in sign language. “Kelly Nolan.”

  “For our newcomers,” Richards said, “Dr. Friden is our resident expert in microbiology. Since you’ve already met Ms. Nolan, allow me to introduce the rest—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Nice to meet you all. Can I talk to you for a second, Hollis? You know, privately?”

  “Dr. Fleming, my dear, would you mind taking over the tour for me? I’m sure our guests are eager to see their quarters. After all, it’s been one really long day.”

  He chuckled at his pun, but it lacked his usual joviality.

  “My pleasure,” Anya said.

  Richards excused himself and descended the stairs with Friden, who spoke animatedly in a hushed tone the moment their backs were to the group. Connor nodded farewell and trailed his employer at his customary distance.

  Anya looked at those remaining, who all stared at her expectantly.

  “All right,” she said and clapped her hands just like Richards w
ould have. It was amazing how quickly his mannerisms rubbed off on you. “We’ll start with the research library.”

  She guided them between the columns to the right. An enormous bubbled skylight was set into the ceiling and cast a glare upon a cluster of tables and chairs. One wall was stuffed with books from floor to ceiling; the other was lined with microfiche viewing stations.

  “I know how old-school this must seem, but the world’s been too busy uploading porn and cat pictures to the Internet to waste any time digitizing old scientific texts and articles that are only of interest to the few of us left who can actually read. In here, you’ll find scholarly monographs, journals, and books on pretty much every germane subject, from the diaries of early Antarctic explorers to genetic assays on practically every species of life-form on the planet. There are also novels over here. Our Internet access is intermittent at best, so don’t expect to be able to watch much Netflix. Assuming you have any free time, that is.”

  Anya led them back across the atrium and into the computer lab.

  “This row of computers over here is for personal use. They’re equipped with FaceTime, various browsers, and even a few games, but like I said—”

  “Lousy Internet access at the South Pole?” Evans said. “The hell you say.”

  “We’re limited to accessing polar-orbiting satellites, and even then the Earth’s magnetic field causes all sorts of interference.”

  She directed their attention to the opposite side of the room.

  “These computers over here monitor all of the manual and automatic functions inside the station. There are closed-circuit security cameras pretty much everywhere, except inside the residences and the restrooms.”

  “Why do you need security cameras?” Jade asked.

  “Big Brother is always watching,” Roche said.

  Anya stared at him for a long moment.

  “Ohh-kay. That doorway back there leads to the electrical room where they keep all of the servers and whatnot.”

  She guided them through the atrium and down the stairs, which opened upon a vast space even larger than the level above it. The square columns served as little more than visual barriers between the rooms. They started in the industrial kitchen, which featured a communal cooking area with a long range, oven, serving table, a walk-in cooler, and a tiled dining room with cafeteria-style tables with individual chairs.

  “That’s a lot of seating,” Kelly said. “How many people are here?”

  “Including yourselves? I believe that makes eighteen, although you probably won’t see too much of the night crew.”

  “Night?” Evans said.

  “I know how funny that sounds, but the interior lights are on timers to replicate a sixteen-hour cycle. It takes a little while to get used to, especially coming from the northern hemisphere, where it’s currently the middle of winter.” She passed between the tables and rounded the coffee station. “This isn’t a hotel. There’s no housekeeping or janitorial staff. You’re responsible for your own messes. And if you drink the last of the coffee, please brew another pot. It’s common courtesy and only takes like thirty seconds.”

  They passed a pool table and the back of the staircase. A pinkish aura spilled across the floor from the seams of a large glass enclosure. The windows were blacked out from the inside and dappled with condensation.

  “This greenhouse is the only research lab in the communal unit, and it’s only here because of its proximity to the kitchen. We grow all sorts of fruits and vegetables, but like anywhere else such things take time. The greenhouse also serves as Dr. Bell’s lab, so he gets a little testy when people just barge in.”

  Anya knocked on the glass door before sliding it open and pushing through the heavy plastic flaps hanging over the entryway. The walls to either side were lined with racks upon racks of plants in shallow growing trays, from the floor all the way to the ceiling. The rows of lights above them alternated red and blue bulbs to produce a purplish glow that made the green leaves appear white. A fine mist of water blew onto the plants from tiny brass nozzles. There was lettuce and kale, beans and carrots. Tomatoes and strawberries hung from spherical planters overhead, forcing everyone to duck as they advanced down the main aisle, which was essentially one giant grate through which the condensation drained.

  Another glass door divided the greenhouse roughly in half. It slid open, and a man in rubber boots and a rain slicker passed through the plastic curtains. His face was red and round, much like everything else about him.

  “I’ve told you all a thousand times to stay the hell out of my . . .”

  His words trailed off and his angry expression softened when he saw the new faces. He spoke with a brogue and, like every Scot Anya had ever known, had a hair-trigger temper. He smoothed his slicker and straightened the brim of his rain hat.

  “Dr. Simon Bell,” he said, and brusquely shook each of their hands with both of his. “Lord, what you must think of me. You have to understand that if I don’t keep everyone from helping themselves, there won’t be enough for everyone. People around here think it’s funny trying to take my strawberries without me noticing”—he raised his voice to be heard outside the greenhouse—“but I always notice. You hear me? I always notice!”

  He took a deep breath and visibly collected himself.

  “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m right in the middle of something and I’m trying not to lose my train of thought, which is why it’s so bloody hard to get anything done around here with everyone”—again, he raised his voice—“doing their damnedest to pinch my bloody berries!”

  “I was just showing our new arrivals around,” Anya said. “We’ll get out of your hair now.”

  She turned and started back toward where they’d entered.

  “So what do you grow in here?” Evans asked.

  Anya sighed, closed her eyes, and hung her head.

  “What do I grow? You think I’m some sort of gardener, is that it? What do I grow? I don’t grow anything. I, sir, am one of the foremost paleobotanists in the world. I replicate the proper conditions to germinate complex arrangements of genetic material to give life to biological specimens that pre-date the earliest quote-unquote higher orders of life.”

  “Pre-date?” Roche said. “By how much?”

  Bell pursed his lips and stared at Roche for several seconds as though sizing him up. He grunted, nodded to himself, and turned without another word. He slid open the door and parted the opaque curtains.

  “That is the question, isn’t it?”

  Everyone in the station had a pretty good idea what Bell was working on back there, but outside of Richards and a precious few others, he never let anyone into his private lab. He even kept a second lock on the inner door should anyone be so desperate as to pick the outer lock he’d installed following what the old-timers at AREA 51 referred to as “Watermelongate,” a series of events that started with a missing melon and somehow culminated in a McCarthy-esque witch hunt.

  Anya looked at Bell. A part of her expected him to rescind his offer and retreat, cackling, into his lair.

  Instead, he opened the door even wider and said, “Do come along, won’t you?”

  Anya nodded and followed him into a realm like an overgrown tea garden. Mist swirled near the ceiling and clung to plants unlike any she’d ever seen. With the way the purple light seemed to bleach the leaves, it was impossible to tell what kind of plants they were. What looked like ferns grew from a long rack, while broad-leaved succulents and bamboo filled the racks above it. Shrubs with leaves like inverted spearheads grew from buckets. Some were nearly as tall as the slanted roof and were developing pealike seeds from the undersides of the leaves. There were countless racks of test tubes filled with agar and seeds in various stages of germination scattered throughout the room, seemingly wherever there was enough space.

  “This is what Antarctica looked like some fifteen thousand years ago,” Bell said. “Imagine, if you will, a Valdivian temperate rainforest like you would fi
nd on the southern Andean steppe. Picture an understory of ferns and bamboo, above which towering conifers and flowering angiosperms grow so tightly together that they block out the midday sun. Once upon a time, this must have been one of the most stunning forests on the planet, one that was something of a transition zone between the Chilean matorral and the Mediterranean forests of Southwest Australia.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like these over here,” Jade said. She gently traced the leaves of one of the tall trees.

  “No one has. This species of Glossopteris has previously only been identified through fossils, and yet here it stands in all its majesty.”

  “You’re saying this tree is extinct,” Evans said.

  “Was extinct.”

  “How did you clone it then?”

  “I didn’t. I removed the seed coat and cultured the embryo in a modified Murashige and Skoog medium.”

  “Where did you get the seeds?” Roche asked.

  “We collected them down there. Under the ice. You’d be amazed what all is down there. Granted, the seeds weren’t in the best shape, but I was able to extract enough viable genetic material to get a handful to germinate.”

  “No amount of genetic material, regardless of the species, can remain intact for millions of years,” Evans said.

  “No, it cannot,” Bell said. He smiled for the first time.

  “Which means . . .”

  “Precisely. The implications are astounding, are they not?”

  That was exactly why Anya was here. If they were able to gather enough DNA from the seeds frozen down there to bring this species of plant back to life, then there was hope that they could do the same thing with her work.