by B. V. Larson
“We’ve got a contact,” Dr. Evans said, touching her shoulder. “It’s your baby—she’s back.”
Smiling and blinking, Yuki nodded. She sat up and stretched, yawning and sipping coffee. “It’s almost dawn. That was a long run.”
Evans nodded. “Near the limits of your drone’s endurance, by our estimates.”
Yuki felt a pang at the idea of losing the B-6. She’d put so much of her life into it, it would be a personal tragedy to know it had died alone in the dark.
But here it was, swimming home to them.
Ten minutes passed while she relieved herself and ate a donut. She didn’t have time to take a shower. That would have to wait.
The control room was quiet but still manned. Four or five other scientists had gathered around, watching intently. They only murmured encouragement, as this was Yuki’s show.
“There’s another contact,” the director said, frowning.
“One of yours?”
He shook his head.
“A sub?” Yuki asked. “Or a lost whale?”
“I doubt it. Shut the probe down.”
She turned to her screens. “What? Why?”
“Do it. Let it drift.”
She ran her hands over the controls and swiftly complied. A single pulse of encoded sound from the surface ship was relayed to the listening drone. Less than a minute later, the contact that represented all her recent accomplishments winked out.
“What’s happening?” Yuki asked. “What’s that thing closing in on our position?”
“Maybe nothing,” Director Evans said. “Maybe everything. We’ll wait.”
Five minutes passed. They expected the new contact to shift away. Any natural predator, having detected the drone and mistaken it for food, would have done so. This intruder did not. It continued to make a direct line across the screens toward Yuki’s drone.
Evans had his arms crossed, and his right hand massaged his chin. Finally, when the two contacts were less than a kilometer apart, he shook his head and released a disgusted sigh.
“Wake it up,” he said. “Have it transmit everything it can now. Prioritize the data on ranked value, and keep transmitting as long as you can.”
Yuki was alarmed. “But…but if this thing is some kind of hunter, it will zero in on my drone when I start uploading data. Shouldn’t we wait to see what happens?”
Evans shook his white-frosted head. “Think it through. If the contact isn’t a threat, the drone will simply deliver its report early. If it is a threat, on the other hand, at least we’ll get some of the data.”
She didn’t like the implications, but she tapped in the commands and sent them. Her heart was hammering in her chest and her stomach had twisted up into a knot by the time her drone responded to the new command. She hated the idea of her baby being hunted down and torn apart.
“What if the hunter is unsure where the drone is? We’re just pinpointing our position.”
“Watch,” director Evans said, extending a skinny finger toward the unfolding scene.
Less than a minute passed before the two contacts merged. Shortly thereafter, the transmissions from Yuki’s drone halted. She knew in her heart its first spying mission had been its last.
Director Evans placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Your device served well. We got at least a third of the data. All the basic readings, plus a fair amount of sound and imagery. There will be no video, but we can do a lot without it. Would you like to move into the analysis module to go over the upload?”
She looked up at him unhappily, but she nodded after a short hesitation. She wanted to see what her creation had dredged up. She hoped it was something good, as bringing the B-6 to Lab 126 had cost the probe its existence.
“Let’s go,” he said, and she followed him out.
The brighter light of dawn was just lighting up the sky. Nights were dimmer, days were brighter, but the light never ceased. Every window had black-out shades just so that people could sleep. All across Alaska, people had to darken their windows to simulate the nighttime hours at this time of year.
“You did quite well,” Director Evans told her.
She glanced at him. She was still upset at the loss of her drone. “Do you think it’s really gone?” she asked.
He turned to her with a gentle smile. “Yes, I’m afraid so. We’ve never gotten so close before, actually. I would guess your probe completed its mission. It swam to the point of interest, investigated for hours and wasn’t detected until the return journey.”
“What might have caught up to it? What was that?”
“We’ve seen them before. Sharks, we call them. But I doubt they have teeth. They’re much less sophisticated than your vessel. Hunter-killer drones that don’t have to worry about sneaking around or taking measurements. They detect, home in, and kill. That’s all. The region is full of them.”
“Who made them?”
“The Russians. Who else?”
Yuki shook her head. “It’s like we’re in the middle of a Cold War all over again. What brought this on?”
“We don’t know. But I personally think one of the answers lies out at the bottom of that basin. Let’s hope your probe bought us some critical intelligence.”
Together, they entered the analysis lab. Yuki had never ventured into this building before. The security here was tighter than anywhere else on the lab grounds.
The state of the place was alarming. Every table had been overturned, except for a few in the middle of the room. The power outlets appeared to have been damaged. Blackened walls surrounded each.
“Lightning?” she guessed.
“No, the ‘terrorists’ did this. They shorted out the power after bypassing the breakers. It must have been on their mission list.”
“The computers were damaged, then?”
“Yes, taken out. All of them. The servers have been replaced, but their drives are blank. Fortunately for us, everything of interest this lab ever produced was beamed up via satellite to Washington.”
Yuki felt herself becoming angry as she viewed the damage. “How can they get away with this?” she demanded. “Why aren’t we hearing about it on the news? In the old days, Kennedy or someone would have threatened war over attacks like this. Now, it’s as if it’s not even happening!”
Evans shrugged, stirring a Styrofoam cup of coffee. “National security and politics have always mixed together in odd ways. The events the government wants you to hear about, you hear about. The events they want buried often stay that way. The press is more compliant than it used to be in that regard—that’s probably the biggest change.”
Fuming, she logged into a machine and began reviewing the uploaded files. “Doesn’t look like we got any of the imagery. Not even infrared stills. But we did get readings, plenty of charts and numbers.”
When transmitting binary data from one computer to another, there was always an ordering of data sizes. Numbers and records of data took the least amount of space, which translated to less time required to transmit it. Sound and images took more. Videos were always the last to be transmitted because they were the largest files.
The numerical data consisted of temperatures, radiations levels, salinization levels and a dozen other readings. These were taken many times a second by the probe, and together they provided a good idea of what it had encountered.
“The target object appears to be resting on the bottom,” she said after studying the data for half an hour or so. “It's irregularly shaped—somewhat like a starfish in configuration. About a hundred meters wide at the narrow point and triple that at the fullest extension of these broad arms.”
“What’s it made of?”
“Organic sediment, mostly,” she said. “But that’s not accurate. All it means is that the object has been buried over years by debris.”
“How long has it been there, judging by the depth of the mud and growths?”
“Adjusting for Arctic norms, I’d say it’s at le
ast a century old.”
Evans brought fresh coffee for both of them. Along with that, he gave her a plate of bacon and eggs. She didn’t really like that kind of heavy breakfast, but she was hungry and dug in with gusto.
“When did you leave and get this?” she asked, tapping her fork on the paper plate loaded with food.
Evans smiled. “You’ve been very focused on your work. I slipped out twenty minutes ago. You needed fuel, I could tell. The cold burns your calories faster.”
She nodded. She’d already sensed the effect. It seemed to her that she was losing weight up here just from shivering a lot.
“Is the object natural, do you think, or artificial?” Evans asked.
Yuki shook her head. “Hard to say. It’s coated in natural growth, which hides its composition. The drone did get in close and make contact, trying to chip away a sample at the end of its mission. It was unsuccessful. The underlying material must be quite dense.”
Evans nodded thoughtfully and sat back, massaging his chin. “No evidence of an oil find?”
“No. This isn’t some secret underwater drilling rig, if that’s what you were thinking. There’s quite a bit of residual radiation, however. Everything down there is glowing with it.”
“We know about that. A surge of radiation pinpointed the site for us. We’ve hunted in the region before, but we’ve never found anything. This appears to be a significant find, but it’s baffling.”
“Yeah,” Yuki said. “I don’t get it either. They aren’t drilling or mining, not that I can tell. What else would someone want down here?”
“You don’t think they’ve found a rich vein of plutonium, do you? What kind of radiation are we talking about?”
“It’s not a single mineral, as far as I can tell. The rocks and minerals in the water have been transformed into radioactive sources themselves by exposure to radiation. That’s odd in and of itself, but what I’m finding even stranger is the lack of a clear source. Something lit up this area, and it should have left a signature.”
“Let’s review,” Director Evans said. “We have a large, oddly shaped object that’s been down there for a century. Whatever it is, the Russians seem to think it’s worth killing over. Frankly, I’m bewildered.”
“Me too,” she said. “We’ll have to forward this up the chain. Maybe they’ll think of some answers.”
He gave her a wan smile. “That’s already been done. We relayed it all via satellite in real time as you worked.”
She smiled tightly. “Thanks for not telling me. I would have been nervous if I’d realized it was a live show.”
Chapter 27
Homeland Security Offices, Washington D. C.
Day
Secretary Clayworth rustled papers on her desk and tapped through a flood of emails on her tablet. She showed her teeth.
“What the fuck is going on?” she demanded.
Sandeep was startled. The woman was usually a paragon of calm and detachment.
“What happened?” he asked. “Did they hit us somewhere new?”
She looked up, and he saw the mask of calm descending over her face again. She even managed a vague smile.
“The International Space Station,” she said, “apparently, that wasn’t an accident.”
Sandeep’s brow furrowed. “You’re kidding! Are you telling me they blew up their own station? They run that thing. They practically own it. They killed their own men?”
She nodded. “That’s the word from analysis. I believe it. Something’s got them in a mood I’ve never seen before. We have to step up our plans. They might know what’s coming.”
“What is coming?” Sandeep asked.
“Nothing dramatic. Just another leap forward. That’s all.”
“In propulsion this time?”
“Yes. We’ve gotten the go-ahead.”
“They’ll figure it out. They already suspect. They have to.”
She stared at him for a moment. “It doesn’t matter. And besides, the decision is not ours to make. We’ll roll out our new discovery.”
“Who will make it this time? Blue-Sky Labs has been blown sky-high.”
“I’m very aware of that. We’re giving it to one of the Aerospace giants this time. Or maybe to that crazy Branson fellow.”
Sandeep shrugged. That choice broke with the usual protocol. The way these things had been done for years was to source a technological breakthrough using a small organization. They were much less closely watched by the media and other interested parties. When microchips had been “sourced” they’d given them to a little-known start up named Intel, for example. Polymers that allowed for the creation of soft contact lenses had been funneled to Bausch and Lomb through Lawrence Livermore labs directly, crediting the labs.
“All right,” Sandeep said. “They’ll be thrilled, I’m sure. Who wouldn’t be? But bigger companies always mean more brains and mouths. The secret might get out.”
Clayworth shook her head. “It doesn’t matter at this point. The Russians appear to know, and they’re taking matters into their own hands more and more directly. They’re openly attacking us. We can’t keep a lid on this for long. There have been too many disasters in too short a time. Once the media connects the dots and starts asking questions, someone in Washington will spill the story. It’s in their DNA.”
Sandeep nodded worriedly. The labs had always been full of science people, souls dedicated to their work and National Security. They’d had their share of leaks over the years, but compared to Washington they were monks with vows of silence.
“I’ll take care of delivering the EM-drive,” he said, standing and putting his cellphone back into his pocket.
“No,” she said. “I need you to do something else for me.”
Sandeep waited.
“Go to the desert,” she said. “Find out what they’re doing out there.”
“Don’t you mean you want to know if there’s a leak?”
“That would be helpful.”
Sandeep left. By the time he was in his car and driving, there was a ticket waiting for a flight out of Oakland. The flight itself would only take an hour and a half. The drive up into the desert would take much longer.
He could have tried to book a military flight, but that would have caused further delays and given them more warning. He’d learned long ago that visits of this nature were best performed by surprise.
The flight was relatively uneventful, and he took the time to catch up on the news broadcasts on the net. The image that the news reports formed was grim. The press was beginning to connect the dots. Even if they were doing so only for the purpose of selling more content and ratings—they were still getting closer to the truth.
The attacks in Silicon Valley and elsewhere were connected. The ISS implosion—now the lead news story—was apparently not an accident. That one still baffled Sandeep. The Russians had put so much money into that station over the years.
There were other reports surfacing as well. The news from Alaska spoke of an industrial accident up around Barrow. He doubted if they could keep the mass killings there secret for much longer.
Then there was the radiation burst in the Arctic. Sandeep didn’t follow everything Clayworth had her fingernails into, but he knew she was at least interested in that scientific anomaly. There had always been odd magnetic storms and the like in the far north. That was nothing new. What was new was the direction of the outburst, and its strength. A blast of radiation had come up from beneath the icecap, temporarily melting a hole in it, if the reports were to be believed.
Radiation bursts were supposed to come from space and hit the Earth, not the other way around. And this outburst had been brief, but extremely strong.
So strange. He could only suspect the Russians had done it. They were always playing around up there since Putin declared the mineral resources of the undersea far north to be the property of his state.
What had the Russians unleashed? And just as importantly, why had they
done it?
Chapter 28
Area 51, Gamma Level
Underground
When the doors finally swung open, Dr. Linscott thought she was ready for anything. She was wrong.
There was a stony hulk in the middle of a vast chamber. Leading up to the hulk from a half-dozen directions were stainless steel walkways. Encircling it was an array of raised platforms. Computers, test equipment and power tools lay everywhere around that circle on tables that were just as surgically clean as the walkways themselves.
Jackie couldn’t stop staring. “This is what you call the Artifact?”
“Yes,” said Clark.
“What is it?”
“A treasure trove. A source of technologies that we’ve mined here for decades.”
She looked at him. He seemed to be in earnest.
“What technologies?”
“Have you heard of the microchip? Of liquid crystal displays, lithium batteries—nuclear power?”
She went back to staring at the strange oblong object. It looked like an asteroid brought down to Earth and placed in a cavernous hole to her. “Unbelievable. Where does it come from?”
“People have spent lifetimes down here trying to figure that out. Every once in a while she gives us a secret—but never the whole story.”
Jackie noticed there were people moving about. She thought she recognized one of them.
“Victor? Detective Perez?”
He paused and turned his head. A faint smile appeared, and he shifted course, coming to greet her. He was wearing a blue uniform that was more or less identical to Clark’s.
“How did you beat me into this place?” she asked him.
“Easy,” he said, giving Major Clark a nod. “I just figured out who was in charge, and I told him whatever he wanted to hear.”
Major Clark looked slightly uncomfortable. It was the first time Jackie had ever seen anything other than pleasant self-control on Clark's face. Right away, she was glad to hear Perez had figured Clark out. The detective might not have a Ph. D. in anything, but he knew people. He had perfected the art just as Clark had.