Free Orbs by Nicholas Sansbury Smith Page A

the storm’s data and send it to the Department of Defense,” Tsui replied.
    Sophie took a seat at her terminal, logging in with a swipe of herindex finger. The stream of data was constant; new statistics were feeding into their system by the second from locations around the world. The dead zone appeared to run from the edge of the Rocky Mountains to the Mississippi. Houston was on the border of the destruction, and while the city was busy being burned to the ground, the radiation levels appeared to be minimal.
    A muffled voice rang out across the room. Sophie turned to see a middle-aged man with a mop of gray hair staring out at them from a screen hanging in the corner of the room. She recognized him instantly as General John McKern, a Department of Defense official and advisor on NTC’s payroll.
    â€œGood morning, Dr. Tsui and staff; glad to see you all weathered the storm safely. It appears you just missed the worst of it.”
    â€œGood morning, sir. How did Washington fare?”
    McKern shrugged. “We were better prepared than most. The military has been hardening facilities, communications, and vehicles for decades.” He lit a cigar and blew a puff of smoke at the monitor. “As you know, it’s the Midwest that took the brunt of it. Which is why I am contacting you. My superiors want a module showing radioactivity patterns. Which cities are lost causes, which ones may be salvageable. You know the drill,” he said, taking another drag of his cigar.
    â€œNo problem, sir. We’ll upload the data within the hour,” Tsui said, motioning Emanuel and another scientist to a pair of computers against the far wall.
    â€œVery good. I’ll check back later,” McKern said, his image quickly fading.
    Henry, the young scientist who had panicked the previous evening, hesitantly motioned Dr. Tsui over to his monitors. “Sir, there’s something I think you should see.”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œDo you remember how the storms seemed to be lasting longer than our initial models predicted?”
    â€œYes, of course I do.”
    â€œSo you recall that it seemed as if something was feeding the storms?”
    Tsui nodded. “What’s your point, Henry?”
    â€œI think I’ve found out what was feeding them. Take a look at this. It’s from the past few days.”
    The group gathered around Henry’s terminal. A row of numbers hovered over the console.
    Sophie recognized the data immediately. It was hers.
    â€œThat’s impossible,” Henry said under his breath, before telling the team what Sophie already knew. “The disruption is coming from . . . Mars.”

CHAPTER 7
    T HE clanking of Timothy and Saafi’s footsteps followed Emanuel across the metal platform above the garden biome. Several days had passed since the death of the chickens, and they were beginning to settle back into a routine. With the loss of one of their major sources of protein, Sophie had conscripted Saafi and Timothy to help Emanuel with Biome 1, leaving Alexia in charge of their jobs. They had spent the entire day planting seeds deep into the dark brown dirt.
    â€œI can’t get the dirt stains off my hands, man, and I’ve spread it all over my monitors in the command center,” Timothy said, rubbing his hands ferociously on his pants.
    â€œIt’s the chemicals. This dirt isn’t your typical topsoil. It’s hybrid soil, meant to germinate seeds as fast as possible,” Emanuel responded, hardly sparing the man a glance.
    â€œHow long until the seeds sprout and we get veggies to eat?” Saafi asked.
    Emanuel shrugged. “Could be as little as a few days for some of the seeds, and as long as a month for others.”
    â€œWhat about the sweet corn? I love sweet corn,” Saafi said, revealing a mouthful of large, white teeth.
    â€œI don’t think sweet corn is on the menu,” Emanuel laughed.
    â€œI’m