“Cornelius?” Anna whispered.
“Dr. Cornelius Ashton,” I said. “But he’s dead. He’s not here…”
“Someone’s here,” Samuel said, almost in a growl. “Someone has the lights on. Someone cleaned up all the bodies.”
Makara was screaming. “Open this goddamn door or I’m going to…”
The vault door hissed, creaking open inch by inch. The lab within was dark. Makara continued standing in front of the door, not seeming to care that her voice command had actually worked.
She turned to us. “Come on.”
She walked into the darkness of the labs. We rushed to join her.
Lisa’s body was still. It seemed so wrong to leave her here, but we had no other choice.
The Black Files awaited us. But to Makara, they would never be worth the price.
Chapter 20
We entered the main part of the lab. Hundreds of computers, powered off, sat in long lines in the middle of the room. Chairs still sat in front of most of them. Unlike the rest of the bunker, this part was clean. No one had been in here since it had been evacuated. Or someone had been in here and had been keeping things tidy.
Against the far wall was a large screen. As soon as we entered the room, a computerized female voice spoke.
“Powering on.”
In a flash, the fluorescent lights powered on, temporarily blinding me. The computers in their long lines snapped on one by one, filling the room with an iridescent glow. Large machines against the walls — probably more computers — powered on with low hums. The entire lab was starting up. I wondered where the power source was, and how it was still running after all these years. Maybe it had been designed to do so.
Samuel walked to the big screen, and stood at a terminal before it.
Of the doctor, there was no sign. The lab looked as empty as it probably had for the past twelve years.
“He’s not here,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Samuel said. “The Files are ours.”
The computer was already on, ready to go. All Samuel had to do was do a search for the Black Files. He would have them in seconds.
Samuel typed “Black Files” into the computer’s search bar. Instantly, a link appeared: Black Files, The. Dr. Cornelius Ashton. Compiled Xenobiological Research, 2042-2048, property of the Government of the United States of America. CLASSIFIED. Security Clearance Omega.
“Security Clearance Omega?” I asked.
“It means the U.S. does not want us accessing these files,” Samuel said. “But I’ll try.”
Makara watched, not speaking. Anna stood nearby with katana in hand.
“I’ll try my log-in credentials from Bunker 114. Maybe that will be good enough.”
Samuel logged in. The computer paused for a moment, as if thinking. It flashed its message across the screen: Access granted. Welcome, Assistant Chief Scientist, Samuel Neth.
“Assistant Chief Scientist,” Anna said. “Sounds serious.”
“That was not my station,” Samuel said. “Someone’s updated this to recognize my name. Or maybe the computers at Bunker 114 recorded the deaths of the scientists there, so it automatically gives me clearance to these files.”
“Congrats on your promotion,” I said.
Makara remained silent, her face like stone.
They were on the screen: the Black Files we had all been waiting for.
“They are only eighty pages long,” Samuel said, with a frown. “I was expecting more. Much more.”
“You sound disappointed,” I said.
Samuel shrugged. “Just not what I expected at all. Then again, a lot can sometimes be said with a little, but that’s typically not the case with research papers.”
“Read it,” Anna said. “This is what we’re here for. Let’s see how to beat this thing.”
Samuel sighed. “Alright. Reading.”
Samuel scanned the pages furiously. He showed no reaction as we waited. Occasionally, he mouthed something to himself. At the end of ten minutes his face darkened.
“What is it?” I asked.
Samuel held up a hand. As he read, his expression became more and more disturbed.
“What’s going on?” Anna asked.
“Did you finish reading?” I asked.
Samuel nodded. “Yeah. You’re not going to believe where the xenovirus came from. Well, maybe you will, because I suspected it all along. But you will definitely not know why it’s here.”
“Well,” Makara said. “We have time. Tell us what you found out.”
“As I suspected,” Samuel said, “the xenovirus is not of Earth origin. Looking at the flora and fauna it creates should be enough indication of that.”
“It was inside Ragnarok, wasn’t it?” I asked.
Samuel nodded. “Yes. That’s the only way it could have come. In the Old World, NASA did experiments on how long bacteria and viruses could last in the vacuum of space. In some cases, it might be years or longer. The xenovirus was inside Ragnarok, and the rock protected it from the cold vacuum of space. That’s not all, though.”
“What else is there?”
Samuel sighed. “A lot.”
He paused a moment, as if collecting his thoughts. I had a feeling we were about to get a huge dose of information.
“Are you familiar with the Guardian Missions?” Samuel asked.
It sounded familiar, but it was a moment before the memory returned to me.
“There were three,” I said. “They were the world’s attempt to stop Ragnarok from destroying Earth. All of them failed.”
“That’s right,” Samuel said. “Each Guardian Mission had a name, also the name of the ship launched. The first, called the Archangel, was launched in 2024. It reached Ragnarok after a flight of six months. The story is that something went wrong with the landing gear, which caused the ship to crash.”
“Okay,” I said. “So what really happened?”
“There’s only a few paragraphs of it in here,” Samuel said. “But apparently it was something else. The ship landed fine. They were even able to install the rockets on the surface. But they were attacked.”
We looked at each other.
“Wait,” Makara said. “I can understand viruses and microbes surviving. But attacked? Anything capable of harming a person couldn’t withstand space. It’s impossible.”
“Whatever it was, it wasn’t built like we are. There are pictures, even. One of the astronauts managed to get a photo but it didn’t turn out well. You can only see a worm-like creature.”
We crowded around the computer. Indeed, there was a picture of something, probably living.
“Creepy,” Makara said.
“Looks like a crawler,” I said. “The shot is blurry.”
“Information about the attack was held back in order to prevent panic. Another mission was planned, with more people. This one was called Reckoning.”
“I always did think that name sounded funny,” I said.
“They sent soldiers with this one, along with the crew. They had guns. Only this mission never made it to the asteroid in the first place. The story was that it was lost en route, and that one appears to be true, if what I read here is correct. Perhaps hit by a stray piece of rock or debris, or something wrong with the engine or hull.”
“No reckoning, then.”
“No,” Samuel said. “There was the last mission in 2028. The one that appeared to succeed, but didn’t. The Messiah mission.”
We all waited for Samuel to go on.
“Messiah made it to Ragnarok, and landed without a hitch. The rockets were attached to Ragnarok. Like the Archangel mission, it seemed to work. When the crawlers or whatever they were came, they were driven back. Eventually, the astronauts were overwhelmed — but not before the rockets began to go off, doing their job in pushing Ragnarok off course.”