The 6th Extinction (Sigma Force 10)

“Indeed. But shadow biospheres could even be more esoteric than that. Hess proposed that there might be some hidden suite of life that uses an entirely different set of amino acids than what is commonly known. It was why he set up the research station near Mono Lake.”

“Why’s that?” Gray asked.

“Back in 2010, a group of NASA scientists were able to take a microbe native to that highly alkaline lake and force it to switch from using phosphorus in its biochemical processes to arsenic.”

“Why is that significant?” Monk asked.

“As an astrobiologist, Hess was familiar with the NASA team’s work. He believed such a discovery proved that early life on earth was likely arsenic-based. He also hypothesized that a thriving biosphere of arsenic-based organisms might exist somewhere on earth.”

Gray understood Hess’s fervor. Such a discovery would turn biology on its ear and open up an entire new chapter of life on earth.

Raffee frowned. “But he was also investigating many other possible shadow biospheres. Like desert varnish.” From their confused expressions, he explained in more detail. “Desert varnish is that rust to black coating found on exposed rock surfaces. Native people in the past used to scrape it away to create their petroglyphs.”

Gray pictured the ancient stick-figure drawings of people and animals found around the world.

“But the odd thing about desert varnish,” Raffee continued, “is that it still remains unresolved how it forms. Is it a chemical reaction? The by-product of some unknown microbial process? No one knows. In fact, the status of varnish as living or nonliving has been argued all the way back to the time of Darwin.”

Monk grumbled his irritation. “But how does researching some grime on rocks end up triggering a frantic mayday and an explosion?”

“I don’t know. At least not yet. I do know that Hess’s work had already drawn the attention of the private sector, that a portion of his latest work was a joint corporate venture, a part of the federal Technology Transfer Program.” He shrugged. “That’s what happens when you have so many budget cuts in R&D.”

“What was this venture backing?” Kat asked.

“Over the years, Hess’s investigation into shadow biospheres had uncovered a slew of new extremophiles, organisms that thrive in harsh and unusual environments. Such microbes are great resources for the discovery of unique chemicals and compounds. Couple that with the exploding field of synthetic biology, where labs are testing the extremes of genetic engineering, and you have potentially a very lucrative enterprise.”

Gray knew that billions of dollars of corporate money were already pouring into such ventures, from giants like Monsanto, Exxon, DuPont, and BP. And when it came to such high stakes, corporations often placed profit ahead of safety.

“If you’re right about private sector money funding Dr. Hess’s work,” Gray asked, “could this accident have been some form of corporate sabotage?”

“I can’t say, but I’m doubtful. His corporate-funded research was fairly altruistic. It was called Project Neogenesis.”

“And what was its goal?” Kat asked.

“A lofty one. Dr. Hess believes he can slow down or halt the growing number of extinctions on this planet, specifically those losses due to the actions of man. Namely pollution and the effects of climate change. I heard Dr. Hess once give a TED lecture on the fact that the earth is in the middle of a sixth mass extinction, one great enough to rival the asteroid strike that killed off the dinosaurs. I remember him saying how a mere two-degree increase in global temperature would immediately wipe out millions of species.”

Kat knit her brows together. “And what was Dr. Hess’s plan to stop this from happening?”

Raffee stared around the room as if the answer were obvious. “He believes he has discovered a path to engineer our way out of this doom.”

“With Project Neogenesis?” Kat asked.

Gray now understood the name’s significance.

New genesis.

He glanced to the smoking image still fixed on the screen. It was indeed a worthy goal, but at the same time, the man’s hubris had possibly cost thirty men and women their lives.

And with a chill, Gray sensed this wasn’t over yet.

How many more would die?

4

April 27, 8:35 P.M. PDT

Mono Lake, California

I can’t hold out much longer.

Jenna lay flat on her belly beneath the rusted bulk of an old tractor. She had a clear view of the helicopter idling in the meadow beyond the ghost town. She took a flurry of photos with her phone. She dared not use the flash feature for risk of being spotted by the assault team on the ground. It had taken stealth and teeth-clenched patience to creep from the barn to this meager hiding spot.

She craned her neck to track the broad-shouldered man sweeping in a circle around the small cluster of dry structures crowning the hill. His flamethrower roared, shooting out a blazing ten-foot jet. He set fire to the grass, to the bushes, to the closest buildings, turning the hilltop into a hellish landscape. Smoke rolled high, reminding her all too well of the poisonous sea that kept her trapped here.

She might not be able to escape, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t leave something behind, some clue to her fate, to what happened here.

She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She had done her best to capture as many pictures of the helicopter and the armed men as possible. Hopefully someone would be able to identify the aircraft or recognize the few faces she had captured digitally. Using the zoom feature, she had gotten a close-up of the giant wielding the flamethrower. His features were burnished, possibly Hispanic, with dark hair under a military-style cap and a prominent purplish scar that split his chin.

As ugly as that guy is, he’s gotta be in some law enforcement database.

Knowing she’d done all she could, she rolled to her side and found a pair of eyes shining back at her, reflecting the firelight. Nikko panted silently, his tongue lolling. She ran a hand from the crown of his head to his flank. His muscles trembled with adrenaline, ready to run, but she had to ask more of him.

She reached and secured the strap of her cell phone’s case to his leather collar, then cupped his muzzle, meeting that determined gaze.

“Nikko, stay. Hold.”

Reinforcing her command, she held a palm toward him, then clenched a fist.

“Stay and hold,” she repeated.

He stopped panting, and a small whine escaped.

“I know, but you have to stay here.”