Orbs (4 page)

“Looks like all systems are normal in the pond chamber,” he said as Sophie approached. “In fact, all systems are performing at one hundred percent in the Biosphere.”

“Good news. I'm glad NTC left us with a fully functional system.”

“Hopefully they also left us a system without video cameras in every room,” Emanuel laughed.

An image of Alexia appeared in front of the team. “I don't mean to correct you, but there are multiple cameras in every room.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Of course there are.”

“So much for trust,” Emanuel replied, frowning.

“Dr. Hoffman likes to know what is going on at all times,” said Alexia. “It is not that he distrusts us. He just—”

“Wants to see us all naked?” Timothy chuckled.

Sophie shot Timothy a glare. “What exactly do you mean by
us,
Alexia?” Sophie asked, spinning to face the AI's hologram.

“Our team, Doctor,” Alexia replied in a calm voice.

Sophie struggled to come to grips with Alexia's presence. She was technically in charge, but Alexia controlled the central mainframe. If something went wrong, Alexia, and not Sophie, would be tasked with making an executive decision, one that could mean the life or death of her team.

Sophie sighed, too tired to argue. “Time for dinner, everyone. Let's see if NTC left us with a fully functional kitchen, shall we?”

The team laughed, but their anxiety was almost palpable in the filtered air. It wasn't even the end of the first day in the facility, and Sophie was beginning to suspect NTC had a stronger grip on the operation than she had first imagined.

“This way,” Saafi said, pointing toward a white door at the far end of the mess hall.

“Have you already checked it out?” Holly asked, holding the door for the others.

“A month of packaged food, just enough time for Farmer Emanuel to grow us something worth eating,” Timothy said. “If he's actually capable of it.”

“Just when I thought you couldn't get any more annoying, you
prove me wrong. For the record, it might take less time than that. These seeds grow faster than any I have ever studied,” Emanuel said, grabbing a vacuum-sealed meal from the stainless-steel cabinet.

The team carried their trays back to the mess hall in silence. Sophie grabbed the open seat next to Emanuel.

“What did you get?” she asked.

“That's a really good question. I can't tell,” Emanuel said, laughing.

Sophie smiled. His sense of humor always had a way of making her feel better, but the hushed whispering from the other table quickly reminded her that the mission hadn't started off as planned. She leisurely picked at her meal, trying to ignore her staff's conversation while replaying the day's events in her mind.

Should she have accepted the contract so hastily? Or had her own dreams of going to Mars clouded her vision? There was also the lingering question of why Dr. Hoffman had seemed so rushed at the briefing. Was he hiding something?

The questions repeated themselves over and over in her mind.

“You need to eat. Tomorrow is the first lab day, and you're going to need your energy,” Emanuel said, noticing she had slipped into a daze.

Her deep brown eyes darted away from her tray and caught his gaze. Her expression reminded Emanuel of a defeated athlete after a long game.

“NTC has us by the balls. It's just . . .” Sophie's voice trailed off.

“This is our ticket to Mars,” he said, finishing her thought. He smiled. “I guess that's more of a reason to do what we came here to do and get out,” he said.

Sophie dropped her fork on her tray, the clank of metal echoing through the mess hall. “I'm not hungry,” she said.

Emanuel looked down at his own meal. “Me neither.”

Sophie looked at her watch, yawning. The day had slipped by, and the sun would have already gone down outside. She turned to her team as she stood and picked up her tray.

“We'll meet back here at 0600 hours. Update your tablets before bed with your work schedules. I want to be able to track everything first thing tomorrow. Work will start in your biomes after a short briefing,” Sophie said.

The turbulent journey of the day before had worn her down, but it wasn't the helicopter ride that had drained her the most. Questions kept spinning through her brain—about Dr. Hoffman and about the mission. Her own team hadn't helped. With Timothy's snide comments and her argument with Alexia, the mission had started off shakily.

She sampled the filtered air as she entered her quarters, and nodded with satisfaction when she found no lingering smell of manure. Her eyes settled on the inviting bed. A good night's rest was what she needed. It was the perfect remedy for her aching body and troubled mind.

Hastily, she pulled off her top and removed her white pants, pulling back the covers and climbing between the soft sheets. Surprisingly, she didn't think of Emanuel. Instead, her mind diverted to a different fantasy—a fantasy of another world, a place she hoped she'd be visiting in a matter of months.

CHAPTER 4

T
HE
air was thin. She took in a deep breath, sucked it deep into her lungs.

It wasn't enough.

She tried again, her open mouth drinking the invisible air.

Still not enough.

Her heart began to race, her mind quickly following suit.

Another long breath, and again it was not enough to satisfy her hungry bloodstream.

She heard the quiet whistle of air escaping her helmet before she saw the microscopic crack. The whistle grew, her mind transforming it into a deafening roar.

How had her helmet cracked? The glass was supposed to be nearly indestructible. No time for questions. She had to find safety before her air supply was sucked into the atmosphere.

Her heart beat faster inside its protective cage of bone, pounding as if it, too, wanted to escape its prison.

How fast? 180 beats a minute? 190? There was no way to tell; she couldn't check her pulse through the padded suit, but it had to be nearing perilous levels.

She surveyed the horizon through her visor, searching for her ship, a shelter, anything. But the red sand of Mars stared back at her, beautiful and deadly, something she had dreamed of for so long.

Dreams.

Was she in the middle of one?

She sucked in another long breath, her mind ignoring the question. It wanted air—air meant life. The oxygen was draining out of her system, and with it, her life force. Soon her mind would slow to a crawl, and she would slip into unconsciousness as any spare oxygen was rerouted to her heart and vital organs. Then they, too, would slow, and finally, stop.

Her eyes desperately scanned the surface. She tried to run, but her legs protested. They were anchors, weights pulling her down.

How did she get here?

It didn't matter. She needed to focus. Panicking meant death. She wasn't ready to die. Not now, not after she had only just gotten to Mars.

In the distance, another deafening roar. Was it her mind playing tricks on her?

She turned and saw the outline of something approaching from a distance, hugging the red horizon like a dolphin riding a wave. The noise increased, and she blinked, straining her eyes. Something was definitely making its way toward her.

With every ounce of her remaining strength, she brought her hand to her visor, attempting to shade her eyes from the blinding sun. The object cruised across the skyline and momentarily blocked the glare, giving her enough time to identify it as a ship—not just any ship, either. She had seen it before, in one of NTC's hangars.

Secundo Casu.

It was the prototype Dr. Hoffman had been working on for years. He had named it himself, humanity's second chance. It was the same craft she had been promised a seat on.

As the ship came into focus, she saw the blue flame symbol of NTC stenciled on its hull. Her suspicions were confirmed. It was definitely
Secundo Casu
, and was clearly no longer just a prototype. Which meant work had been finished much faster than originally planned. But why? What would have prompted them to push up the schedule?

The growl of the spacecraft's engines drowned out the sound of the air escaping from her helmet. For a moment hope replaced her need for oxygen. She watched the craft race toward her, and with her last strength, she waved her hands in the air.

“Down here!” she yelled, knowing there was no chance the crew would be able to hear her. “I'm down here,” she screamed again. Her voice sounded like a whisper in the distance, far from the firm and confident one she was accustomed to.

Her hands dropped to her sides. Her breath was labored and weak. Her head pounded as stars crept across her vision.

The sound of the ship's engines pulled her back. She blinked several times and waited for it to land and rescue her. It closed in. But something was wrong. Why wasn't it slowing? The pilot should be braking by now.

“Down here!” she screamed again. This time her voice was nothing more than a squeak, the desperate sound of a dying animal. A tear crept down her cheek as the craft roared above her, racing away into the distance. She dropped to her knees.

“No!” she cried, choking.

The ship disappeared over the horizon, but the roaring sound in her ears grew louder. Was her mind playing tricks on her?

A sonic boom knocked her on her stomach.

No, this was something else.

She rolled onto her back and saw the blue glow of another craft racing after the NTC ship, its design unlike any she had seen. It was curvilinear, like a disc, but not perfectly round. Its blue sides pulsated and rippled as it moved. Inside, a bright glow throbbed like a miniature heart. Was it the ship's engine?

The craft glided silently across the landscape, which meant it was using new and advanced technology—technology she had never seen. NTC had been developing anti-gravity engines for some time, but they still hadn't been able to master the technology. She knew because she'd watched two of the test ships explode within minutes of takeoff. The longer she watched the strange ship crawl across the sky, the more she doubted humans had crafted it.

Dozens of stars danced across her vision, mixed with a tint of red. Her brain was shutting down. She had only seconds of consciousness left.

But she couldn't die yet; she needed a better look at the ship, and she wanted to see it with naked eyes.

Her hands rose to her neck and clawed at the two fastening devices that separated her from the poisonous air. She pressed down on the metal, and with a faint click, she removed her helmet.

The poison gases immediately raced into her deprived lungs, prompting her to gag. Coughing, she lurched forward. She tried to blink, tried to see the blue craft, but the gases were already busy eating her insides, and her vision was fading.

Then it was gone. Only darkness remained.

She could feel the tears flowing freely down her face.

What had she seen? A new NTC design? Or something else?

She had to know. Her eyelids struggled to stay open, blinking over and over, her dying eyes fighting for vision. And for a second, her right eye worked again. The strange craft was directly above her. Inside, the glow of its blue heart throbbed furiously.

One more desperate breath before her mind shut down and her vision went black again.

What had seemed like minutes had, in reality, only been seconds, more than enough time for the atmosphere to eat her insides and boil her skin—more than enough time to kill Dr. Sophie Winston.

“Sophie, wake up!” a voice screamed.

Two strong hands gripped her, shaking her violently.

“Sophie!” the voice yelled again.

The dense fog hovering over the doctor's eyes slowly began to clear, and a face emerged. It was Emanuel.

“You were having a nightmare,” he said.

Sophie sat up, clawing at her tired eyes.

“Mars,” she said under her breath.

“Again? It's happening more often, isn't it?”

She nodded. “This is the third time this week. It's just so . . .” Her voice trailed off as she rubbed her eyes again. “So vivid,” she finished.

“Explain it to me. Maybe I can help.”

“Don't worry about it. Holly said the dreams are just nerves.”

Sophie watched him rub the deep wrinkles on his forehead. They made him look far older than he was.

“I know you better than she does. I know you in ways she never will,” he said with a grin.

She frowned. “Now's not the time.”

“Sorry. Let me help you,” he pleaded. “Tell me, did you see the craft again?”

“Yes.”

“But—let me guess—you don't want to talk about it?”

Sophie laid her head back down on the small pillow. She didn't need to respond for Emanuel to know the answer to his question. He was right—he knew her better than anyone else.

“Go back to sleep,” she said. It was more of an order than a suggestion.

He shrugged and stood, stretching his muscular legs. “Suit yourself,” he replied, strolling out of her room and into the dark corridor.

Sophie couldn't help but sigh. She hated pushing him away, but she had to keep him at a distance.

Darkness flooded the room as the lights dimmed. She closed her eyes and found the image of the blue craft entering her thoughts.

What was it, and why did she continue to see it in her dreams?

There were no answers, only questions, but something inside told her there was more to her dreams than nerves.

Fresh, dark blood was everywhere, speckled on the wall like macabre graffiti. It wasn't like the blood Timothy had seen in movies; it didn't look like ketchup or jam. It was a relish made from chunks of flesh and other pieces of gore that meant only one thing—something had died.

“What happened?” Emanuel roared.

Timothy looked up from the bodies of a dozen chickens sprawled out across the dirt. “I don't know, I found them this way,” he said, staring down at the mess of feathers and sticky blood.

“What the hell . . . ?” Emanuel knelt to check the dead birds.

“What are we going to do? We needed their eggs!” Timothy said frantically. “We better call Dr. Winston and the others.”

“No! Not yet. Sophie will want answers, and I need to figure out what happened first.” He stared back down at the dead chickens. Their beaks had all been whittled down, cracked and broken as if they had tried to peck through the walls. Quickly he grabbed a pair of gloves from his back pocket and picked up one of the hens to examine it more closely.

“Take a look at that,” he said, holding the bird in front of Timothy's face.

“Get that thing away from me.”

“Relax. Whatever killed these birds isn't contagious. Look at their beaks. They died from massive brain trauma. They were trying to peck their way out of here.”

Timothy looked back at the biologist, confused. He knew computers, not animals—animals scared the shit out of him. When he was a kid he had been bitten by a stray dog, and ever since then he had thought of animals as food: not pets, not friends, just meals.

“Why the hell would they have done that?” he asked.

“I don't know.” Emanuel dropped the bird back into the dirt.

“Are you telling me they committed suicide?”

“It appears that way.”

“I don't understand. If they were pecking their way out of here, then they had to be trying to escape something. But what?” he asked, searching the room.

“That's what you're going to find out,” Emanuel replied with a grin.

The curiosity quickly faded from the young programmer's face, which remolded itself into suspicion. He looked back at his teammate. “What does
you
mean, exactly?”

“You're the computer guy, right?”

“Yes, but what does that have to do with dead birds?”

“Alexia said this place is rigged with cameras. If that's true, then they have to have caught what happened on video.”

Timothy smiled, finally catching on. “Why didn't I think of that?” he chuckled, staring back at the dead birds.

“Back up!” Emanuel shouted.

“All right, relax. And keep your voice down. I thought you didn't want Dr. Winston knowing about this yet.”

“You don't have to call her ‘Dr. Winston,' you know.”

“Whatever. Maybe you don't have to, but then again,
you're
the one sleeping with her.”

The words caught him off guard. “Don't you ever mention that again,” he said, sucking in a deep breath.

Timothy rolled his eyes. “It's not a secret, you know.”

“It happened a long time ago. And it stopped a long time ago, too. If I ever hear you bring this up again—” His voice was interrupted by footsteps in the hallway.

They waited for someone to appear, but the noise slowly faded into the distance.

“If you're done messing around, then how about you show me the footage?”

“Right,” Timothy replied, glad to change the subject. “Here,” he said, pointing at the screen. “At approximately three a.m. the hens started going nuts. Take a look,” he said, spinning the translucent screen with a swipe of a finger.

Emanuel, however, wasn't paying attention to the screen—he was thinking about the time. Three a.m. was exactly when Sophie had had her nightmare. It was the same time she always had her nightmare.

“The witching hour,” he said under his breath.

“What?”

Emanuel shook his head. “Nothing, just a thought.”

Timothy rolled his eyes again, and returned his gaze to the screen. “What do you think spooked them?”

“Honestly, I don't know. There isn't anything in the footage. At first, I thought one of the other animals might have gotten out of its section undetected—and then somehow managed to get back in, I suppose—but that seems unlikely. I can only think of one other thing, but it's a long shot.”

“Well, we have to tell the others something.”

“Yeah, but they aren't going to like what I have to say.”

Timothy shot a concentrated glare his way. “Just tell me,” he said.

“All right, but don't say I didn't warn you.” Emanuel paced over to the corner of the room, folding his arms across his chest. “Have you heard of animals having a sixth sense?”

“You mean when they freak out before an earthquake or something like that?”

“Precisely. My theory is that something outside these walls scared the birds. Something so terrible it prompted them to kill themselves.”

“What the hell would have done that?” Timothy asked.

“I have no idea, but I know how we can find out. Let's find the others,” Emanuel replied, taking a look at the camera above them. The dark lens stared back at him, the blue glow from the power source blinking sporadically. For a second he felt very alone, as if whoever was supposed to be watching wasn't there anymore.