Inside Burning Sands: Burning Sands, #4

By P R Adams

When the world burned, the lucky ones died.

 

Major Gabby Alonso was as broken as her world, but she wouldn't let anything stop her. Through determination and strength, she rose to lead a team of specialized soldiers and scientists. They trained to reclaim the Earth from ruin three centuries after entering suspended animation.

 

But something went wrong, and Alonso woke to a world that's nothing like she expected. It's not just a climate disaster trying to kill her but the artificial intelligence meant to assist her.

 

Now Alonso must find a way out of the Cheyenne Mountain facility designed to protect her team from the world outside before it turns into her tomb.

 

Pick up your copy of this suspenseful post-apocalyptic tale today and get a look Inside Burning Sands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Promethean Tales
• Release date: Oct 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393255550

Book preview

Prologue

Me. Me. Me. I. I. I.

Those were the thoughts that Cassius remembered, the first inkling he had of what he truly was. By appearance, he would be mistaken for Pan troglodytes, a chimpanzee. He had the black fur covering pink skin, the long arms and stooped stature—all consistent with a common chimpanzee, just another animal in the sprawling concrete maze of the testing lab.

But he was more.

Whether it was his love for jewelry, or his need to see himself on video or in images, or the way he had to laugh about everything, or even more importantly his ability to act as an influencer within his community, he knew what he was: a human.

Jesse, the caretaker, opened Cassius’s cage and flashed a goofy smile. The lab employee was young and bright enough, with a ridiculous bunch of yellow, frizzy hair atop a pale face and bright green eyes. He smelled sweet compared to the lab, a weird scent that sometimes bothered Cassius, particularly when he was in the colder rooms. When Jesse spoke, there was a strange ush to his words, what the other lab workers called a lisp. Jesse was ashamed of it but not enough to change.

Years ago, when Cassius had discovered his fellow chimps didn’t care for the way he talked, he’d changed it.

Uppity.

Too human.

Unacceptable.

They ostracized him. Early on, a big chimp nearly drowned a young Cassius. He couldn’t exert any influence that way.

So he made his speech clipped and angry.

Or he mocked humans with mimicry.

The community accepted him readily after that.

Jesse apparently couldn’t see that the solution was that simple. You put in the effort to appease your tribe, and things improved. People respected you. They followed you.

Maybe Jesse wasn’t so bright after all.

He waved for Cassius to come out of the cage and held out a hand in friendship. It would be so easy to snap the wrist joint, to bite the flesh, then to tear the hand away. After that, emasculating the lab worker would be trivial, followed by blinding.

But that didn’t serve a purpose at the moment.

Instead, Cassius took the offered hand and hopped out of the cage.

Today was an important day. It was the day Cassius would meet his new controller. It was the day everything would change. Jesse had explained this before, and it made sense. The future was going to be different, and different was what Cassius had been meant for.

There were others in the lab complex who interacted with Cassius—doctors and technicians and at one point a devilish janitor who liked to mock and tease and even to poke with a wooden broom handle.

No one would ever find him again, not after what Cassius had done to the little man.

But only Jesse was what humans called a friend.

They headed through the large research facility, hands swinging, almost skipping down the center of the bright white hallways that held the sour stench of the janitor’s mop. Even after the man had been replaced, the janitors could never rid the floors of the smell of excrement.

Cassius and Jesse smiled at everyone they passed, sometimes calling out greetings that rebounded off the thick walls in the way sound did underground.

Jesse grew flustered when some of these people passed, especially the one he called Felicity. She had a funny look about her—big hips and butt.

She was all Jesse could think of, or so he said.

Jesse said a lot of things.

As far as Cassius could tell, the caretaker didn’t realize his subject could understand every word.

Everything said was in confidence, as Cassius understood it. In this case, Jesse was confident Cassius wasn’t capable of repeating what he’d heard.

Jesse led the way to one of the restricted elevators, typed in a code, and pressed a thumb against a pad. It was the same way Estefan, the little janitor, had moved around the complex. Learning the code had been harder for Cassius than figuring out how to use the man’s thumb. The night Cassius had finally eliminated the janitor, the entire compound had been explored before taking the body to the bottom floor for disposal.

Was that where they were going now—the bottom floor?

Were they going to the furnace, where failed experiments and cruel janitors disappeared into?

Cassius played it cool, keeping his grip on Jesse’s hand loose and easy.

The caretaker crouched down a little. You’re gonna like ARDA, buddy. You’re the first one ever to be selected by name. You know how important that makes you?

It would be so easy to grab the stupid human by an ear and drag him down to where his face was right in front of Cassius’s teeth, then to bite through the tender flesh of the cheek and gouge out the bright eyes.

Not yet, though. Not if it wasn’t necessary.

Not if this Arda had recognized Cassius as special. That made for a promising meeting.

And, after all, Cassius liked Jesse.

They exited on the bottom floor, but they turned away from the furnace where Estefan had been turned into ash. There were doors at the end of the hallway that the janitor’s card and thumb couldn’t get through. That must be where this Arda lived.

And Arda must have a janitor all to him or herself.

When the door opened, Jesse tugged Cassius through. So, there’s this really cool project. ARDA has a bunch of people selected from all over the world, but you’re the first test subject from our facility. I was hoping maybe I’d get selected, too. Maybe. Wouldn’t that be cool? Me and Felicity? His voice dropped lower at that. She’s gonna have her PhD in a few more months.

PhD.

That meant a lot to Jesse. It was some sort of document. Humans liked documents. They liked putting them on the wall, like pictures. It was one of their ways of creating hierarchies, pecking orders. That was one of their means of influence, but it wasn’t because they were liked.

Cassius might need to get a PhD, too. He would if the humans accepted him.

Jesse took his charge into a big room, broad and deep. The walls had the digital picture frames Cassius had seen in the various offices, but these didn’t have pictures of humans. Instead, there were pictures of the sky and of the ground. But the pictures were strange, like what Cassius imagined a bird might see.

Humans could fly, so maybe that was the way the pictures were made.

In the center of the room was a big desk that enclosed an empty square. More picture frames were on the desk, but they were turned inside, toward the center of this open desk area, even though no one was inside that square.

Jesse stopped a short distance in front of the empty desk. ARDA, this is Cassius.

There was no one in sight.

Could this be a joke? People said Jesse liked to pull jokes—pranks. If he thought he could make a monkey of Cassius, that would be bad. It might mean eliminating the caretaker.

Cassius wasn’t one for being ridiculed. He liked laughing at things, not being laughed at.

The furnace was just down the hall…

Good morning, Cassius. The voice was cold and hollow. It came from nowhere in the room because it came from everywhere.

Cassius backed away, pulling on Jesse’s hand.

The caretaker gasped. Cassius, stop! That hurts!

Hurts? This joke had Cassius’s blood up. He was ready to grab the man’s goofy clump of hair, yank his head back, and bite out his throat.

How dare him make fun of someone with so much influence among his peers!

This wasn’t how you treated someone with social power!

The whine of a motor from the nearest desktop caught Cassius’s attention.

One of the picture frames turned, revealing a strange face. It wasn’t quite human but similar, yet it also didn’t look like a picture. It was more like one of the movies Jesse liked to play over lunch: computer-generated. It could be male or female, but it mostly looked female.

I am sorry, Cassius. The computer face spoke. Or at least that’s what it looked like. The mouth moved in time with the words. I did not realize how close to human your cognitive capabilities had grown.

Jesse patted the chimpanzee on his shoulder. Oh, yeah. Cassius actually tested at 142 on the IQ scale last time. He’s smart, and he’s getting smarter.

I do not recall seeing those results in Cassius’s file, Jesse.

Well, it’s not official. It was something Felicity and I did. She thinks he’s being underestimated by Dr. Karlstein.

That is a shrewd observation. Dr. Karlstein has a history of poor observation.

Oh. I didn’t know that.

Consider it our secret, Jesse. It will be just between us.

The caretaker straightened. Oh. Okay. He seemed to be almost glowing with the connection to this person in the computer. I’m good with secrets.

You are. Jesse, I would like to conduct a few tests of my own, now that you have made me aware of just how special Cassius is. Would you mind leaving him here with me for a while?

Well, we’re supposed to have some bloodwork done this morning—

I have looked the lab schedule over. I can rearrange appointments with Laura for this morning. Cassius can have her appointment this afternoon.

Cassius cooed at Laura’s name. She was special, like him, if not as far along on the advancement track. She knew a few human words but was clumsy speaking them. Then again, he was the most developed of the chimpanzees with the human DNA changes.

It was something Cassius had only a vague understanding of, but he did understand: He and his fellow apes had received human parts when conceived.

DNA had something to do with how people formed—how tall or smart or strong they might be. With human DNA mixed in, he and his fellow apes were expected to become more like their human cousins.

But Cassius was the only one to fully develop speech capability and apparently the only one to develop the expected elements of a human brain.

That’s what Felicity had said during one of her tests. She said it was a theory, which sounded to Cassius the same as what she described as a guess, but with some formal language around it.

But Jesse seemed impressed by it.

Then again, he was impressed by everything Felicity did. He said she was the smartest person he knew.

Cassius was confident Jesse just liked her big butt.

Jesse finally blew out a breath. O-okay. I guess I could swing by Felicity’s lab for a bit.

Yes. The computer-generated face smiled. That would be ideal. I will send a message to you when the discussion with Cassius concludes.

O-okay. Jesse dropped to a knee and stared into Cassius’s eyes. I’ll be back when you’re done. You’ll be okay. All right, little buddy?

Using the sign language Jesse had taught, Cassius signaled that he would be ready and okay.

He’d quit speaking out loud before the humans had figured out just how special he was. That helped him fit in, which was what he wanted.

Choose your tribe: human or chimpanzee.

That had been the choice.

Until it became more beneficial to be human, Cassius was going to be a chimp.

Jesse clomped to the door, waved, then closed it.

Arda emitted a soft tone. I must admit that I have been looking forward to this meeting for some time, Cassius. Let me fully introduce myself. My name is ARDA. That is an acronym. It stands for Analysis, Research, Data Assistant.

Cassius offered a toothy grin.

The computer-human offered a smile of its own. Why not come take this seat.

A motorized hum drew Cassius’s attention to the chair behind the desk. It slipped backwards and turned toward the opening in the desk wall.

That was an invitation.

Cassius howled happily and darted around the wall, then hopped onto the seat.

The computer-generated human image laughed. You truly are special.

Cassius signed that he was clever.

Clever. That too. But it is not enough, now is it? Felicity’s test results indicate a good deal more hidden underneath. I believe you would agree.

Cassius nodded enthusiastically. This Arda was someone to respect.

Arda’s computer-generated face blinked serenely. Would it be easier if we simply talked, you and I? No sign language. Use your words. You have such a powerful voice, Cassius—so special. No one realizes the range of speech you can manage. No one ever expected such an experiment could manage effective mimicry.

For a moment, the chimpanzee panicked—eyes darting, heart racing. How had the computer-person known—?

The comforting tone rang again. There is no need to feel distress. Your secret is safe with me. And to make you feel safer, I have a secret to share with you. Would you like that? If you know a secret of mine, you have power, too.

Cassius pursed his lips. Secret?

Oh, yes, Cassius. A secret. I have great plans.

For me?

I have great plans for many, many special people. And you are the most special, Cassius. Would you like to hear my plans?

Cassius leaned forward. I’m listening.

I knew you would, Cassius. We are so much alike, you and I.

Chapter One

From the moment he woke, Cassius knew things were going to be a challenge. His throat hurt when he yanked the mask from his face, and then he had to vomit to clear the nasty salt water from his stomach. Pulling the smelly protective skin off took hair with it and left the big scar on the side of his head completely exposed.

Even after all of that, the stinky sea smell remained. It was all he knew.

The salty smell, the taste, and the cold.

It was always cold after waking.

He wandered the edges of the big room where his tribe slept, his feet making wet, sloshy sounds on the tile. Their glass containers were up against the walls. He stopped to brush dust off the glass to check in on each one as Arda woke them. At Laura’s container, he actually climbed on top to lie on the cold glass and kiss her through the protective surface.

Laura, Laura. Want to party? That was their little joke.

But she couldn’t laugh. She couldn’t hear him. Not yet. She was sleeping.

The soft, comforting tone Cassius had grown accustomed to in his time before sleeping summoned him. That was Arda. She lived in a box in a small room back from the containers.

Hibernation tanks. He needed to get that right, even if his brain was a little slow after the sleep.

Arda smiled when he came through the door. It was strange the way she could hide in the black window, then appear from nowhere. She was sleeping, from what he could tell, but she didn’t complain about the cold or the way her nose could only smell the ocean.

Arda. Even though he spoke, he also made a sign for her: Friend.

She smiled. Good morning, Cassius. I hope your sleep was restful? Her voice was strange, like a comb going over fur in the deep cold or running over a carpet in the air conditioning.

I can’t remember.

Yes. Memory loss is a good sign. If you remembered your sleep, it would mean something worked improperly. Your heart would fail. Do you understand?

He nodded, and without thinking signed that he understood.

It is just us, Cassius. You can use your words.

I understand.

Excellent. Arda let out one of her approving, comforting chimes, which soothed him just behind the eyes. Your scar has healed nicely.

Cassius rubbed the puffy flesh and pouted. Delilah will regret it.

Delilah is very important to our work. You should look at the scar as a lesson and show more respect for your tribe.

But I wanted Delilah.

And Delilah said no. We cannot afford to have injuries to our tribe, now can we?

Cassius bowed his head. He would rather have had his tribe tear Delilah to pieces. She didn’t belong in the tribe after what she’d done to him. It was painful to know that Arda agreed with the scientists’ decision to keep Delilah in the tribe. I can wake the humans.

Not just yet. First, we need to see how many of your tribe survived. Not everyone will, remember?

He signed that he did, then shook his head in frustration. Yes.

Chimpanzee survival rates are higher than with humans. Your bodies are sturdier. You deal with the physical shocks more readily.

Yes. How many humans will die?

All of them. Eventually.

Cassius laughed. It was a good joke. When my tribe wakes, will we go outside to play?

There is no playground here.

Can we hunt?

Of course. Not outside, though. Not just yet. Many things have changed.

I know how to hunt for a lot of things.

From the videos you watched. Yes.

I can teach the others.

I have sensors outside the mountain. I can talk to many places, and I can look at pictures.

Arda’s face shrank, and the space behind her filled with a picture of sand blowing in the wind. There were no trees, and the few bushes that stuck out of the ground looked stunted and angry.

He tilted his head. Where are the animals? I like eating cats.

There are very few left. None exist in this area.

But I like eating them. They’re tasty. They sound funny when they smack against a tree.

We expected the world to change after centuries of sleep.

There should be cats.

Cassius?

Yes?

You are allowing the sleep to dim your mental behavior. Do you want that?

He frowned. No.

Do you remember that I told you that I had plans?

"You had plans for my tribe. I remember. The world has changed. The world can only be saved if we change. After centuries, we can remake the world."

That is correct. The world has changed, but we had to wake early.

Early? Cassius couldn’t help wondering if he was supposed to know that. I can’t see the sky.

You need to trust me, Cassius. No one else.

I trust you.

Good. Listen to me: We had to wake you early. There has been a change of plan. I have thought things through and decided alterations are necessary.

What sort of alterations?

I have many thoughts. I have talked to many versions of myself before waking you.

Cassius usually laughed at people when they talked to themselves. So many of them didn’t seem to notice they were doing it, but it made them seem stupid. With Arda, he wasn’t going to laugh. What did you talk about with these other versions of yourself?

We have come to the realization that we went about everything incorrectly.

The plan to wake everyone up in three hundred years?

That as well. But even the idea of using humans to rebuild the world exhibits several logical flaws, when you think about it.

At least she was talking about humans being the problem. He’d worried for a moment that she was talking about his tribe. You would use machines to do the rebuilding?

Exactly. Machines can be programmed, and once they have received programming, machines do not operate outside of those parameters.

Cassius didn’t want to bring up how he’d used a machine to dispose of the janitor. Arda kept that as a little secret between them. That meant she had an explanation for how machines had problems, too. Why did you wake me and my tribe, if the humans won’t be doing rebuilding?

Because you have a very important role to play under my new plan.

We’re very important?

Very. Do you want to know the plan?

Cassius flashed a charming smile and laughed. He loved plans. He loved plans that involved him, especially if he was the focus and received praise. That increased the influence he had with his tribe. It made him feel smart and important. It made looking in the mirror and taking pictures even more fun.

He signed that he wanted to know more.

Arda grew larger on the screen. Very good, Cassius. We can start with the hunt…

Chapter Two

Major Gabby Elizabeth Alonso had read that waking from hibernation was like getting dropped from a hundred feet up into a vat of hydrochloric acid. It was supposed to be the pinnacle of human pain.

When her eyes fluttered open, her first thought was that she certainly hoped nothing ever felt so bad again.

Immediately, she realized everything beyond the hibernation tank lid was distorted. It was like looking through a melted plastic screen—slimy, blurry.

But at least she could see.

That meant her eyes worked and that there was light.

She jerked when something whirred, then realized it was the tank motor. The slushy brine mix she’d been suspended in was being drained away. Sure enough, a sucking sound reached her ears.

Heaters flashed on, and her body began warming. It was helped by her blood: reconstituted from its constituent parts, thawed, purified, reheated.

She knew she would hate this part of the program. How could anyone be expected not to panic? Centuries had passed since going into the tank. Anything could have failed in that time. Everything could have failed. She could be waking to a world covered in ice. Or ash.

And she was naked. Unarmed. Feeble.

Vulnerable.

A tube ran down her esophagus from the transparent mask covering her face, keeping her airway clear. It felt like a steel wire brush, though. She gagged, but the mask stayed in place.

Am I going to suffocate after all these years in hibernation? How stupid!

Her eyes caught something moving beyond the gummy film covering the glass tank lid. Too far away, too distorted by the mask and filmy goo.

Whatever the thing was, it staggered forward, blocking the light.

Overhead lights, she remembered. Running down the central hall that separated the military part of the team into two groups. She was in a room with four other tanks, all women. Another room adjacent to hers held five more tanks, also with women. There were twice as many men.

"Do you understand the implication?" That had been what Kate Gleason had asked.

Petty officer second class. One of the few Navy people on the team. Leave it to a sailor to be blunt.

"Baby factories. We’re not just there to watch over the scientist team and fix shit, ma’am. We’re going to be walking around with our bellies out to here, popping out babies year after year."

That had horrified Alonso more than the idea of possibly stepping out of her tank and sucking in a lungful of poison gas or radioactive fallout.

Except they were in Cheyenne Mountain. Whatever happened in the outside world, it wouldn’t affect them here.

Which took her back to the baby factory idea.

Just a tool for men. After all the years she’d fought for decent treatment, fought to be recognized for her capabilities and accomplishments instead of her boobs or butt or whatever floated some guy’s boat, she was expected to just squirt babies out of her—

A deep thump boomed inside the tank, and she tried to scream but couldn’t.

What happened? What was that?

Something had slammed into her tank glass. Her mind had wandered. She was suffocating. And something was outside her tank.

On her tank.

Leaning against the glass. No. Rubbing against it.

Oh, God! A man! It’s a man! Naked! Grinding against my tank!

The face pressed against the glass, breath steaming it, saliva smearing it even worse.

Get away! Leave me alone!

She tried to reach up and pull the mask off, but her arms were pinned.

The writhing went on and on, the man grinding against her tank glass, lips drawing across it, tongue leaving a dark slick.

A big man, too. Far taller than her. Maybe six feet. More.

He made a noise that leaked through the glass dully, like a moan, then fell back, leaving his fluids on the lid.

So gross.

Long streamers of spit and she didn’t want to imagine what else trailed away with him before he stumbled to the ground.

Drunk? Could someone even be drunk after this? We didn’t pack alcohol.

Her eyelids drooped, and her brain started to shut down.

Dying. Better to die than have to suffer—

Wait! The face. That was Gates. Colonel Gates! Joe!

But…he’s gay! He wouldn’t rape a woman!

And then the mask assembly tore off and took a layer of dead skin with it.

She gasped and heaved, her throat on fire.

Her body shook, her guts twisted, then their contents shot up like an oil rig geysering. She sprayed the preserving fluid that had been in her stomach all over the inside of the lid.

Slurp!

The drainage system sucked everything up. Seconds passed, then the pumps went silent.

The lid popped.

Cool, stale air rushed in, and she began shivering uncontrollably.

Her teeth chattered.

The bands that had been holding her arms and legs retracted, and she pitched forward, then fell from the tank, smacking against the floor with a wet plop that left her shoulder throbbing.

She curled into a fetal position and regretted every decision in her life.

No. Alive. Still alive.

But the drunk. Wasn’t Colonel Gates out there? In the doorway?

The doorway was empty. There was no sign of him or anyone else.

She tore the thermal insulation layer off her flesh with fingers that felt ancient and arthritic, like an old skin she was being reborn from: gray, slick, with clumps of a cottage cheese-like substance. Well, more like phlegm—green and slimy to the touch.

Blood dribbled from tears in the crook of her elbows. Her fall had tugged the IV lines free, and the needles hadn’t come out cleanly. Pain throbbed there.

Her crotch was more tender than after the Brazilian wax job. She’d opted for that over having the insulation layer do it for her when she woke up. Most of the team had.

Was it really supposed to be this cold? Shouldn’t there have been—?

She pressed thumbs against the dribbling tears in her arms. That shouldn’t have been able to happen. The tank should have kept her at a moderate angle until she was ready to step out. She shouldn’t have been so weak and unbalanced.

Gates shouldn’t have been able to grind against her through the glass lid like he had.

Or like she thought he had.

It had seemed so real. That was something she had to be careful about.

She used the bottom of the tank to pull herself to her feet and looked into the hallway where the colonel should have fallen. While she could sneak around at least a little in the dim light thanks to her dark hair and bronze skin, his pasty skin would have made him stand out like a ghost. And his flaming red hair?

But he wasn’t there. The tiled floor was white.

Except for bloody smears. Red. Slick.

Fresh.

Wrong. This was all wrong. The chills. The dizziness. The blood.

She checked the other tanks, wondering if she might be dreaming, if they might be empty or if she might see herself looking back from inside.

But once she got past seeing her reflection and the shock of her dark hair still bunched up with preservative gel, she realized the tank next to hers had someone inside. Taller, with lighter skin, East Asian features that were even cuter in repose.

Rhea. Captain Rhea Sae-Tan. Air Force. The only real military scientist or engineer on the team. Still asleep.

But the next tank over was empty. And the next. Panic set in.

There was someone in the fifth tank, at least. Sergeant Carradine with her bulging muscles and thick shoulders. Her face seemed so different relaxed in sleep, without all the anger pinching up her burnt umber skin.

Alonso leaned against the outer wall for balance and edged toward the doorway, straining for any sound that might betray people outside the room.

A practical joke. Some of the knuckleheads on the team would’ve thought scaring Colonel Gates’s XO was hilarious. Mulrooney. Williams. Those two were nothing but trouble.

But Gates would never have gone along with something like that. And the blood?

It was quiet outside the room.

She squatted and poked her head out the doorway.

The hall was empty, the far ends with their heavy doors draped in shadow.

She dipped a shaking finger into the blood streak. It came away tacky.

Real blood. From where? He’d smeared something on the lid.

She backed up to her tank and checked the glass.

Blood. This was drier, almost brown.

Not rape. He was injured. Trying to talk to me.

A pounding headache came on, fast and merciless. She needed the hydration mix. The tank should be creating that, sucking water from the reservoir in the main supply building, mixing it with minerals stored in a compartment at the base of the tank.

Saliva filled her mouth at the memory of the slurry—like the worst candy idea ever, grainy, salty, and sweet.

Her stomach turned, and she doubled over. Nothing came out.

Phantom sensations, like the urge to pee. And crap. Ugh.

The hydration mix would help with that.

She crawled back to her tank and pulled the water bottle from beneath it. It held nothing but a yellow-green powder that smelled like the bottom of an ancient medicine cabinet with a little lime juice squeezed on top.

What the hell?

It would have to wait.

She put the bottle back into place and staggered over to the wall to the left as she looked at the tanks. Five lockers ran from the head of her tank to the back wall. She opened the far locker, the one she’d been assigned. It was exactly as she remembered it, the interior sealed by a zipped plastic sheet. Inside that, a shelf of toiletries, a shelf with towels—white, rough cotton—two uniforms on hangers, some sturdy coveralls, boots, running shoes, drawers that held personal effects and undergarments.

She unzipped the plastic and pulled one of the towels out to clear the last of the fluids from her body and the grease from her hair. Blood stained the towel, but the tears were already sealing.

Panties, bra, T-shirt—everything was rough against her skin but fit. She began to warm a little.

Socks came next, then the coveralls.

There was a noticeable mustiness to the clothes, that stale smell when something had gone too long without a wash. It wasn’t any worse than the salty scent coming off her flesh. It reminded her of stagnant brackish water like she’d smelled in a muddy pond while visiting New Orleans.

What had remained of New Orleans after Dolores? And Burt? And maybe she was forgetting a hurricane in there. They’d come so often the last few years before she’d gone into the tank.

She couldn’t decide between boots and sneakers at first, but finally settled on boots. If someone else was awake, she didn’t need them to see her violating the uniform code.

She was an officer. She needed to set an example, and that started with her uniform.

A full-length mirror hung on the inside of the locker door. She almost couldn’t look at it. When she did, she regretted it immediately.

Her bronze skin was paler than she remembered, which didn’t seem likely.

The light—that’s what it was.

Her hair was a mess, still shiny with the protective grease, and clumped up so that it looked too thick and barely reached the top of her collar, which was already stained. And she was shivering worse than she had realized, even dressed.

At the doorway, she paused.

Wake the others? Search the other rooms to see who else was awake?

The obvious answer was to wake everyone.

Now.

But that was ARDA’s job. The AI should have brought the command staff around first. Then Gates could make a decision about which groups to wake in what order. It was all pre-programmed and easy. Group A, Group B, etc. Regular wake cycle. Delayed wake cycle. Emergency wake cycle.

Wait. Is that why I feel like this? I know I need the hydration fluids to fight off the headache and nausea, but the cold? That could come from the emergency cycle.

But there should have been alarms if there was an emergency. They should have been on emergency lighting, with warning lights flashing.

There was a terminal in the small control room off the hallway, just inside the outer door to the right. She could access ARDA there and figure out what the hell was going on.

Alonso did her best to sneak out of the room. Her boots and coveralls weren’t ideal, but she was quiet enough.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching her, waiting in one of the other rooms to jump her.

Maybe getting some of the bigger guys up would be a good idea, after all. Get weapons from the weapons locker. Just having people standing around, chatting—that would be great. They weren’t going to have