“And these spore things are forcing evolutionary changes because they think our world is harsh?” Hammerson was incredulous.
“They might if we didn’t think about from a human being’s perspective.” Hertzog responded. “But what if this stuff is forcing evolutionary changes on us because to something non-Earthly, this is a harsh environment. Or worse, the world it’s creating will be brutal and therefore it might think it’s helping us by preparing us physically for an environment, a world, significantly harsher.”
Hammerson groaned. “So it’s terraforming and transforming us into creatures that can survive in its home environment.”
“Why not? Changing us to adapt to a world ruled by tooth and claw.” Hertzog gave Hammerson a half smile. “Whatever came down in that shuttle is not from our corner of the universe. And perhaps where it came from, its world was horrifyingly hostile.”
Hertzog folded arms over a blood and mucus-spattered suit. “Where exactly was this material picked up from?”
“We believe it came from inside a fragment of asteroid the Orlando plucked from space. However, NASA extrapolations tell us that it came from the void — endless space — it could have been traveling for a billion years.”
“Hmm, until we found it. Or it found us.” Hertzog cursed softly. “And we brought it home, huh?” He sighed. “There’s one more thing, Jack. I don’t believe this biped had finished changing.”
“Hadn’t finished changing? Jesus Christ, this just keeps getting worse.” Hammerson stared for a moment, his mind working. “What would it eventually have become when it did finish?”
“I, for one, never want to find out,” Hertzog said softly. “But that’s not the worst of it. These bipeds can and will breed, and the slime is loaded with spores. Everything about them is designed for rapid reproduction. This could spread catastrophically in a crowded environment.”
Hammerson sighed heavily. He had hoped that the autopsy would reveal something he could use to stall the order from Chilton. Some kind of weakness in the creatures, some weapon they could use, or even some hope of slowing down the contamination spread. But there was nothing for it.
Hertzog looked alarmed. “Jack, if it were my call, then step one would be to clean up the source of the infection. We can’t let it get out. Ever.”
“No, we can’t.” Hammerson knew he had no choice now, and no more time.
CHAPTER 31
Hammerson clicked on the satellite image of the mountaintop crater where his HAWC team and the NASA scientists were deployed. The spore-mist had risen more than a dozen feet since he had last checked and he expected the hyper-aggressive slime mold — or whatever that weird shit was — would have expanded its territory about the same amount.
Nestled in its warm cocoon underneath the atmosphere blanket it would continue to grow, but thankfully for now, not become the super-aggressive form that had attacked and killed the NASA scientists in lab-45 and many of the townsfolk of Greenbelt.
Once again, he clicked on the extrapolation software his techs had put together. It used predictive analytics to create an advanced timeline for how far and fast the biological gas and the underlying organisms were likely to spread. A digital clock raced forward, speeding up the designated area of the Revelation Mountains.
Hammerson’s eyes narrowed as he watched — in another hour, the atmosphere blister would have climbed a further dozen feet. In six more hours, it would reach the rim of the crater. Following that it would begin its long, slow spillover into the valleys.
The environment was still harsh, but as the mass grew the total land it absorbed would grow as well, doubling exponentially every hour — two miles would become four, become eight, become sixteen, become thirty-two, then sixty-four, and so on, and so on.
They had twenty-four hours before the atmosphere blister and carpet of deadly ooze beneath covered 200 square miles. It would then encounter the first of the villages in the lowlands. It would also then enter a more benign climate, and switch on. Once that happened, it was anyone’s guess as to whether it could be controlled or when the free-floating spores would be lifted on the winds to firstly infect Alaska, Canada, the rest of the US, and then the globe.
Colonel Jack Hammerson knew General Chilton was right to take immediate and significant corrective action. And if he didn’t have a horse in the race, he would have come to the same conclusion.
Fact was, HAWCs died, and there were very few old ones, himself being an exception. But time was moving against them. For now, they had the organism contained in a natural kill box. The biological mass would overflow the crater rim in approximately six hours, the detonation would occur in — his eyes moved to his countdown clock — just on five. But his team didn’t know any of this.
Chilton had authorized the use of a single GBU43B Massive Ordnance Air Blast — one of the most powerful non-nuclear weapons ever designed. The MOAB was not a penetrator weapon but was created primarily for surface targets, just like this one.
Hammerson had seen test drops; the things were city killers. They initially detonated with the explosive force of eleven tons of TNT and would raise temperatures to 4,500 degrees in an instant. The secondary ignition of the methane-rich atmosphere would amplify the thermal dispersion, turning the entire cusp of the mountaintop into a molten cauldron.
He slammed a fist down hard on his desk — there’d be nothing left of it or his team. And he couldn’t even warn them. As far as communications went, they were deaf, dumb, and blind. He couldn’t send anyone else in. But even if he thought there was a slim chance of making it in time, or making a difference, he’d goddamn HALO drop in there himself.
He looked again at the visuals — the mountaintop looked like it was stuffed with dirty cotton wool. Trying to affect a blind landing in something like that was suicide.
He could send a probe, drop in a communication spike, but it’d have to land right on Alex’s head for him to find it — impossible. Hammerson lowered his hands. Unless the probe could go looking for him.
He drummed his fingers on the desk as his mind worked. Go looking for him — and then find him.
He lunged for his phone, calling through to the weaponry labs.
“Get me Grey. I need a piece of his tech on a plane, right now.”
CHAPTER 32
Something all leathery wings and multiple limbs flew in front of the window. Alex smiled, grimly. Here they were in a downed spaceship, looking out at an alien world. He was starting to doubt he was even on Earth anymore.
He inhaled the canned air of his suit, and wondered what the atmosphere would smell like if they didn’t make it out. And what it would feel like, or look like, to see his muscles twist and lump like those of the Morg. He didn’t want to find out.
“Listen up.” Alex turned away from the Orlando cockpit window and faced the group. “Our oxy-levels are down. We’ve burned it faster than we expected through all the activity.” He turned to Sam. “Sam…”
Sam Reid nodded. “I figure we’ve got ten hours remaining if we just sit here on our asses, eight hours if we head for home, and maybe five if we gotta run and fight all the way back.”