“At time zero the nanites communicate and decide which warheads to blow, among thousands of different possible combinations. The goal seems to be to ensure worldwide radiation coverage and global initiation of nuclear winter using the fewest number of detonations.
“For any unfamiliar with the concept of nuclear winter, basically this is when so much smoke and soot are released into the atmosphere as a result of multiple nuclear blasts, that the sun is blotted out for extended periods of time, leading to catastrophic cooling.”
Griffin knew that in every corner of the great cruise ship, the esteemed passengers were being shaken to their cores, and he was glad he had decided to make the announcement alone so he could do it quickly and not have to pause as the audience reacted. “After detonating the bombs,” he continued, “the surviving nanites—those not directly in the blast zones—reproduce to saturation levels once again. And then they phone home—well, not exactly home, but I’ll go into that in a moment. We have no idea what message they are trying to send, but something like, ‘mission accomplished,’ wouldn’t be much of a surprise.
“After this the nanites differentiate. Some are designed to clean up radiation, and they multiply to fantastic levels to do so. Some are designed to seed the atmosphere—changing its composition, reducing the nitrogen and oxygen content and increasing argon, helium, and nitrous oxide to such an extent that the atmosphere becomes poisonous to the plant and animal life currently on Earth.”
Griffin paused, knowing this was another stunning revelation, but also that by now the news couldn’t get much worse, no matter what he said, and his audience was likely getting numb from repeated bombshells. “The nanites broadcast to space two more times, twenty-one and twenty-five years after the explosions. Conducting a sort of triangulation on their broadcasts, however, indicates they are transmitting to a large armada, traveling directly toward Earth, at near light-speed, in the same way as did their probe. While the armada is limited to light speed, judging from the timing and positioning of broadcasts, the broadcasts themselves are sent at speeds far beyond light, probably taking advantage of quantum entanglement in some way. The nanites act as though their messages reach the ships instantaneously, and I have no reason to doubt this.”
Griffin paused. “The bottom line is that the aliens sent their probe to terraform our planet—or rather to do the opposite, transform it into one conducive to their biology. To de-roach the hotel and make sure a chocolate mint is waiting on the pillow for their occupying force. They were clearly aware of the content of our atmosphere and the existence of our nuclear weapons. The chronology of events the aliens are apparently hoping will come to pass is as follows: the probe they send arrives and disgorges nanites. The nanites infect and detonate our nukes. The nanites then clean up the radiation and modify our atmosphere to fit their needs, which we calculate they will accomplish in approximately twenty-five years. Approximately nine years later—thirty-four years from now—the alien armada arrives to colonize a planet sanitized of life, and tuned to their biology.”
Matt Griffin took a deep breath. “After running thousands of simulations, we have pinpointed time zero with great precision,” he reported grimly. He glanced at his watch, swallowed hard, and then turned back to the camera. “The nanites are set to trigger Armageddon in a little over five hours from now.”
54
Kira had cancelled all activities. The Icarus team was effectively in limbo, but this didn’t matter. The entire world was doing little more than holding its breath at this point, waiting for someone in authority to tell them what was going on, what it all meant, what these alien machines were doing here.
The cold war had been psychologically taxing to people around the world. The terror war being waged by jihadists against all of modern civilization had also dramatically elevated the level of global stress. But nothing could compare to the fear, paranoia, and psychic fragility provoked by the alien nanites.
Kira had been through some pretty crazy and consequential months before, but never like this one. Nor had anyone, for that matter.
She had been entirely alone at headquarters before. Being the sole inhabitant of a building so extensive tended to magnify the feeling of isolation. But if she stayed in her and David’s quarters, she couldn’t tell she was anywhere other than a high-end apartment, other than the absence of a yard or deck, and she could ignore the unseen presence of conference rooms and labs just beyond the confines of her humble abode.
A mental image of David Desh and Matt Griffin jumped into her mind. David, rugged and insightful, decisive and competent. Matt, lovable and unpredictable. Never using a small word when a bigger one was available. What were they doing at this instant? She hadn’t heard from either one in almost twenty-four hours.
She wondered if Matt Griffin was making any progress with the nanites, and then returned to the work she was doing, hoping this would take her mind off events that she couldn’t possibly control.
55
Every person aboard the Copernicus was gripped by a horror and fear that was indescribable. Not just the horror and fear at the prospect of their own imminent deaths, which would have been daunting enough, but by the broad, encompassing horror at the prospect of species extinction. At the passing, not only of themselves, but of their entire world.
Around the ship, passengers reacted in different ways. Some became numb and psychologically debilitated. Some meditated, some wept, and some vomited. Some attempted to get drunk as quickly as possible. The majority banded together in large groups, trying to draw comfort from the presence of others.
And hours away from Armageddon, the potential savior of the world, Matt Griffin, was sound asleep in his quarters, hooked up to an IV dispensing yet another bag of glucose and other nutrition directly into his bloodstream.
Three men were stationed just outside his room, and six more covered all points of access from the corridors. Ironically, Jake had heightened security around Matt Griffin when he needed it the least. He was the only hope to fend off doomsday. The fate of the world was riding on his mountainous shoulders, and disturbing him in any way, let alone killing or kidnapping him, was equivalent to suicide for the perpetrator—and for the planet.
Desh rapped on the door to the stateroom three doors over from Griffin’s. The colonel swung the door open and motioned him inside. Dutton was the only other inhabitant of the room.
“You asked to see me?” said Desh, his stare fixed firmly on the powerful civilian who was calling the shots.
“That’s right,” replied Dutton. “How is Matt doing?”
“Sound asleep last I checked.”
Dutton frowned. “I know he’s exhausted, but shouldn’t he be working? He’s our only hope.”
“He isn’t,” corrected Desh. “You could give Matt a million years and he’d never figure out how to disable the nanites. Sleep is the biggest contribution normal Matt can make to this project. His altered self is our hope, and he can’t be recommissioned for a few hours yet. As it is, even then Matt will be taking a big risk.”
“You really think he can pull it off?” asked Dutton nervously. Desh could hardly blame him. It was a chilling feeling to know that nuclear Armageddon was just hours away and it all hinged on the suppositions of one slumbering hacker.