The Orbs Omnibus

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Drone is perhaps too generous a term for the machine. Engineers would call it a retrofitted maintenance robot, fully equipped with solar panels and rigged with additional cameras to ensure that it collects as much data as possible. Ideally, it would also be able to monitor radiation and carbon dioxide levels as well, but the video feed and sample collection capability are still informative.

  A sensor goes off in the medical ward, and I pull up the feed to Camera 14. Dr. Rodriguez is still studying the new element he has discovered and has pinged me for assistance.

  “How may I help you, Dr. Rodriguez?”

  “Alexia, I’d like you to take a look at this when you have a moment,” Dr. Rodriguez says, without looking up from his microscope. I pull up the data on my display so that I can see what he sees. The information is . . . unexpected. He has made a startling discovery.

  “Doctor Rodriguez, I see you have found a way to reverse the effects of the Organics’ defenses.”

  Emanuel looks up at my camera sternly. “I think it’s time for another meeting.”

  CHAPTER 3

  SOPHIE had a good view of the mess hall from the hallway. It was odd seeing the empty seats where, only weeks before, her fallen teammates Timothy and Saafi had sat experimenting with their tablets. Next to the vacant chairs was a bench full of children—the last thing she would have expected to see at the beginning of their mission, before the world ended. With the loss of marine Eric Finley, there were now almost as many kids as adults.

  Overton and Bouma spoke at the adjacent table. They both wore worried looks, their faces cold as stone. It had taken the sergeant a while to calm down after seeing his men in the video, but since their argument, he hadn’t pushed the issue further. Perhaps shutting him down back in the CIC was the right thing to do after all.

  The sound of laughter distracted Sophie from the marines’ serious conversation. Nearby, Holly entertained the children with a cartoon on her tablet. The sound of laughing kids filled the room, and Sophie remembered that there was still much to be thankful for.

  Behind her a chipper male voice echoed down the hallway. “Hope you have some good news.”

  “I hope you do too,” she replied, turning to see that Emanuel had snuck up on her. “We definitely need it.” His face was animated, more so than normal. It could only mean one thing—he’d made a discovery.

  “Found something, didn’t you?”

  He showed off his dimples with a wide smile and said, “Maybe.”

  As they approached the group, Sophie watched Overton stiffen.

  Sophie summoned her business face. Clearing her throat, she said, “Listen up, everyone. There are quite a few things we need to discuss.” Taking a deliberately slow breath, she swiped her tablet and pulled up a set of notes. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Owen’s curious gaze. For a moment she wondered what the little boy was thinking, and whether he even knew what was going on outside. He’d lost both of his parents at such a young age.

  Images of the human farms instantly popped into her mind. She didn’t want the kids to know about them. Not if they didn’t have to. “Jeff, would you do me a favor? Will you take David, Owen, and Jamie to the garden biome? I want them to see how pretty it looks with the growing plants.”

  The boy rolled his eyes but paced over to Holly’s table and took the younger children by the hand, leading them out of the mess hall and down into the personnel quarters.

  Sophie watched them vanish around the corner before motioning for Emanuel to take a seat with a short nod. “While they’re out of the room, I’ll start with the human farms. By now you’ve all seen or heard about them. We know they exist. We know there are other survivors.” She paused and looked around the room at each member of her team. “I also know, Sergeant, that you want to attempt a rescue mission.”

  Overton sat up in his chair, poised like a snake, his fingers massaging the handle of his .45. But he didn’t reply. Sophie knew he was waiting for his opportunity to strike. She wasn’t going to let him.

  “This was a very hard decision to make, but I’m not authorizing any rescue operation. We’ve gone down that road before, and each time we’ve lost good people—Saafi, Timothy, Finley. I’m not losing anyone else. We’re safe inside, and until we have some way to fight back, some sort of weapon, I’m not going to put any more of my people at risk.”

  “Your people?” Overton burst out of his chair, his voice growing louder. “Your people? That’s bullshit. What about my people? What about the people that are dying out there on our watch?”

  Sophie flinched. She felt a flurry of anger rise up in her throat. How dare he question her motives? Everything she had done, she had done for the Biosphere. For her team. She slammed a fist on the counter, silencing him. “Yes, Sergeant. My people. This is my Biosphere, and until further notice you are to sit down and take my orders!”

  Some mixture of shock and latent respect for the chain of command silenced Overton. He sat glaring at her, his face glowing red. Bouma crossed his arms, a look of shock plastered across his features. The tension in the room was palpable, but she had to keep going.

  “Now, as I said earlier: We need some sort of weapon. Emanuel has already been hard at work on this project for the past couple of weeks. And unless anyone has any further outbursts, he’s going to give us an update.” Sophie turned to Emanuel and forced a smile. “You’re up.”

  The biologist ran a nervous hand through his hair before pushing his glasses farther up onto his nose. It was apparent he didn’t want to be part of the growing power struggle between her and Overton.

  Clenching his teeth, Emanuel said, “Alexia, please bring up specimen ninety-four X.”

  A three-dimensional image shot out of the console nearest the team and rotated slowly in front of them.

  Bouma scowled. “What the hell is that?”

  “That, sir, is one of the most important discoveries in the history of modern science,” Emanuel said with a confident smile. “Alexia, enhance image.”

  He took a step away from the hologram and waited for it to enlarge. “These are the remains of one of the Organics’ bones. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much left after you decided to unload a magazine into them a few weeks ago,” Emanuel said.

  Bouma shrugged. “What did you want me to do, let them kill everyone?”

  “As I was saying,” Emanuel continued, “the creature is made up of many of the same elements we see in the anatomy of animals here on Earth. There is one big difference: their bones. Their bones are made up of a new element that is very similar to tungsten.”

  “Isn’t that a metal?” Holly asked.

  “Yes, a very dense metal.”

  “Can you get to the point already?” Overton griped. “You forget we aren’t scientists. Ever heard of speaking in layman’s terms?”

  Sophie watched Emanuel pause. She knew it upset him that no one appreciated the science behind his discoveries, besides her.

  Sighing, Emanuel continued. “Like all metals, this new element—which I’ve decided to call humanitarium—conducts electricity. But the electrical source, well that’s a bit more complicated,” he said, gesturing toward the AI console. “Alexia, bring up the image of the nanobot.”

  A few moments later the peppercorn-shaped hologram emerged. Emanuel smiled confidently. “Billions of these nanobots carry a small electrical charge through the Organics’ systems. The charge is conducted through the aliens’ bones, effectively creating a force field,” he said. “As you know, without their shields, the aliens are actually very fragile. In fact, the creatures can’t survive at all without them.”

  Bouma instantly raised a hand in protest. “No, that doesn’t make sense. I’ve knocked their defenses out with electromagnetic grenades, and they keep coming.”

  “You didn’t knock out their defenses entirely,” Emanuel said. “You see, the nanobots ac
t kind of like little batteries—so even with your grenades, their shields still functioned, but at a lower level. When their shields are low, the aliens are susceptible to human weapons. If you remove their shields entirely, they succumb to our atmosphere.”

  “So you are saying we need to find a way to knock out their shields altogether?” Holly asked.

  Bouma smacked his palm on the table. “Like a massive electromagnetic pulse grenade?”

  “Precisely,” Emanuel replied. “But there is a catch. Alexia thinks the electromagnetic disturbance is the source that actually powers the nanobots, essentially recharging them.”

  “I’m impressed, really,” Sophie said. “The discovery of humanitarium, the nanobots, and the source could be a game changer. But this is all academic. We need something practical. We need a weapon now.”

  The image of the nanobot disappeared and Alexia’s face appeared over the console. “I would like to answer that, Doctor Winston.”

  Sophie nodded her approval and sat down to listen to the AI.

  “I’ve been studying the disturbance outside ever since we sent the drone into the field. Without an EMP simulator or a similar device, it has been difficult to learn much about it, but the drone was able to detect and determine that the wavelength the Organics used to knock out our communications is constant,” she said. “As you may know, an EMP is typically a one-time event; once it is set off, the damage is done quite quickly. This is something entirely different. Take a look.”

  Her hologram transformed into a solid blue ninety-degree angle. A sudden pulse burst across the graphic, curving and making a steep climb until it suddenly flatlined.

  Emanuel pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “So this is worldwide?”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  “And it hasn’t changed since day one of the invasion?” Sophie asked.

  “That is correct,” Alexia replied over the com. “As you can see, the wavelength has a defined lead point. It built up rapidly and then evened out, but it did not dissipate, as you would expect with a human-generated EMP.”

  “It’s like one big surge,” Bouma said under his breath.

  “Let’s cut the crap. How do you shut this surge off?” Overton asked, placing a dirty boot on one of the middle tables. He glanced defiantly at Sophie, who met his gaze. Neither looked away.

  “That is a good question,” Emanuel said, breaking the tension.

  Alexia’s voice sounded distant. “My apologies, but I’m unable to determine the source of the surge.”

  “So it could be coming from the Statue of Liberty, or from the moon for all we know,” Overton replied.

  “It would make more sense if it were coming from the Earth’s orbit,” Alexia replied.

  Sophie felt her lips moving, but she couldn’t form the words. She knew the source was likely Mars. After all, she’d found that the magnetic disturbance that caused the solar storms of 2055 originated on the Red Planet. But the government had never released that information. It was classified, and NTC had threatened her career in order to keep her quiet. Folding her hands, Sophie kept her lips sealed. She didn’t want another reason to piss Overton off.

  “If we don’t know the source, how can we shut it off?” Bouma asked.

  “Maybe we won’t have to,” Sophie replied. “The electromagnetic grenades knock out the Spiders’ shields almost completely, right?” Sophie asked.

  “Yes,” Bouma said.

  “So, we just need something more powerful. To reverse the surge and use it against them,” Sophie said.

  Overton reached for a cigarette, but his hands came back empty. “Shit,” he muttered. Looking back at Sophie he said, “I know where you’re going with this. There are large-scale EMPs like the one used on China years ago. But nothing I know that has ever been used on a worldwide level. But . . .”

  “Go on,” Sophie said, cautiously.

  “Setting off several strategically placed, high-capacity EMPs at fifty thousand feet would probably do the trick. We would just have to find a way into a military installation with high-yield EMPs and reconfigure them, then find a way to deliver the payloads into the atmosphere.”

  “Impossible,” Bouma said.

  Jeff suddenly burst out of the hallway. “My dad said nothing was impossible. We have to at least try.” With a huff, he leaned against the doorframe.

  Sophie looked over at the boy. He was thin, with a strong jaw, thick black hair, and bushy brown eyebrows. He was probably the spitting image of what Emanuel had looked like at nine years old.

  “Your dad was right, Jeff, but that was in the old world,” Holly said, patting the seat next to her. “Come sit down, sweetheart.”

  Jeff didn’t move. His eyes darted from her to Overton. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you guys. But there are people outside that need help. Sitting around and talking about how impossible things are isn’t helping them!”

  A surge of anxiety rushed through Sophie as Overton stood. She knew exactly what was coming and braced herself.

  “The kid’s right. We can’t just sit here and let survivors waste away.” Overton paused, cocking a brow, the scar on his cheek stretching. For a minute he looked like a crazed old man. Locking eyes with Sophie, he said, “Should I have left you, Emanuel, and Saafi to die outside? Should I have let that alien drone take you?”

  Sophie cringed. The marine was a skilled killer, but he was also skilled at manipulation, and knew exactly where to strike. But she hadn’t built a career by letting others push her around.

  “I seem to remember saving your ass back at Denver International. Remember that Sentinel I dropped?” Sophie shot back. “Besides, the situation isn’t the same. Those people are heavily guarded.”

  Overton snorted his response, wiping a sleeve across his face.

  “That’s why we need to develop a weapon,” Emanuel said. He turned to Sophie. “I’m getting close. I just need more time. I’m modifying the RVM so it can knock out the Organics’ defenses on a larger scale than our electromagnetic grenades.”

  “Can you at least wait until then?” Sophie asked Overton. She turned to see Overton jerk his chin toward the exit. Bouma followed him across the room and they vanished into the hallway. Sophie closed her eyes and counted to five. The sergeant was really beginning to test her patience.

  CHAPTER 4

  THE brilliant tail of a shooting star filled Alex’s HUD before it faded into the night sky. He doubled over, desperately trying to catch his breath. Slowly the floating stars before his eyes cleared, and the dizziness faded. He’d been on the run for several hours, just narrowly evading hundreds of thirsty Spiders.

  He was deep in the desert now, lost in the endless sea of sand and guided only by the full moon above. His legs ached, his muscles groaning in protest with every step. He’d felt like this for days now. There was no reprieve. No safety. No salvation. And he couldn’t keep willing himself on. His body was nearing its breaking point. In hours, maybe minutes, he would collapse from exhaustion and dehydration.

  Fortunately, Alex was no stranger to physical pain or fatigue. He never would have thought college football had taught him lessons about surviving the apocalypse, but then again, he’d never believed in aliens before, either.

  Those grueling practices had given him more than physical stamina—they had given him the mental fortitude he needed to survive in the heat with little nutrition. He could remember the practices like they were yesterday: his face baking inside his helmet, the spike of pain when he would get speared attempting to catch a ball too close to a defender and, most of all, the thirst on those one hundred degree days. There was nothing like the lust for water . . .

  Another shooting star raced across his HUD. He turned to watch it disappear into the sky, eager to give his mind a break from his own thoughts.

  Alex glanced at his mission clock, shocked to se
e it was 3:42 A.M.

  Had he really been traveling for over eight hours?

  He collapsed onto a nearby boulder, his body rebelling against the thought of one more step. With a click, he unfastened his helmet and lifted it just far enough so he could take a tiny sip from what was left of the water in his canteen.

  Swishing the water around in his mouth, he savored it, letting it slide down his throat instead of forcing it down with a gulp. He desperately wanted more, but instead, he capped the canteen and reached for his two-way radio.

  At a swipe of his finger, the display glowed to life, and the same flat wavelength he had seen for the past week raced across the screen.

  “Please work,” Alex whispered.

  He checked the channel one more time.

  Nothing.

  Jumping to his feet, he reattached the radio to its clip and prepared to continue his journey through the sand. He knew he couldn’t sleep until he found shelter. It wasn’t safe out here, where he was exposed like a cadaver on an autopsy table.

  Traveling was just as dangerous by night as it was by day. The only slight difference between the two was the ways he could die. The desert was a treacherous place in the dark. Even with his night vision, he had only narrowly missed falling into sand traps. One wrong step would send him to the bottom of a hole lined with jagged rocks and sharp tree branches.

  There were also the dust storms that could emerge at a moment’s notice. At least during the day he could see them coming. Several nights he had been startled awake by the nightmarish roar of the storms barreling down on him. These amazing feats of Mother Nature frightened him almost as badly as the aliens hunting him. He had seen images of men caught out in the open during one of the harrowing events; their clothes and flesh torn away like meat.

  He listened to the calm whistling of the wind in the distance. Tonight, he was lucky—a radiant moon guided him around the sand traps and away from the Organics. He didn’t have to rely on his annoying night vision.