Baekdu Daegan Global Seed Vault (2)
It looked like a white tree studded with incredibly dense fish bones. We'd named it the Noise Tree, and it was like a black hole for radio waves. Long branches extended from the massive trunk on both sides, and an invisible curtain spread in their direction, trapping signals like the Great Wall of China. Nothing could get in or out.
Fortunately, this radio blackout wall unfolded in a two-dimensional plane, so its range straight ahead was short. Our destination, the Seed Vault, was outside its influence zone, so this expedition wouldn't be affected.
[If it were you, you'd push on with the operation, right?]
Artemis said.
"You know me well. Can't come all this way and leave empty-handed, right?"
I glared at the Noise Tree on the screen.
"As long as the interference range doesn't suddenly expand and swallow us up here."
Even if that happened, the chopper wouldn't just drop out of the sky. Like the drones, it had an autonomous flight program. Even if Artemis's connection cut out, it would fly itself as long as I set the destination via PDA or voice command.
That said, it didn't mean there were no problems.
"Flying's one thing, but I don't wanna be wandering around on the ground without your support."
[You're stating the obvious. Without me, you'd have died double digits times by now, wouldn't you?]
Safety-first Artemis probably wanted to turn back, but once I'd made my decision, she didn't push it. As a computer, she understood the importance of unified command better than I did. Within the direction I'd set, she'd figure out the optimal choice.
[I'll lower the altitude just in case.]
"Just in case?"
[We have to consider the possibility that it's not just jamming radio waves, but emitting something more.]
"Like what?"
[EMP, for example.]
I almost said that sounded too much like a sci-fi movie, but I shut my mouth. Wasn't our whole situation already a chain of impossibilities? Getting hit by an EMP mid-flight? I didn't even want to imagine it.
[What do you think? Feeling like turning back now?]
She chuckled teasingly. This was only our fourth real combat together. Fifth if you counted the Shelter reclamation? I could feel her turning veteran through these ops. Back then, she'd have whipped the bird around toward the Shelter immediately, but now she had some leeway.
Was she getting seasoned like this too?
[Even if we get hit by an EMP, we won't crash. I've covered all contingencies.]
"And if we assume best and worst cases?"
[If the shielding and gear hold up past a certain level, we can proceed without issue. Even in the worst case, landing's no problem. That's what this flight path is for—we're already on it.]
Ah, so that's why we'd been zigzagging instead of straight-line flying lately.
[But like you said, jamming radio and firing EMPs at the same time doesn't make sense. From the mutation patterns so far, they've specialized in one function intensely.]
Dozens of thin, straight white branches like fish spines swayed endlessly like waves. Too regular and beautiful to be just wind-swayed movement.
[Doing two things means neither is the best. Their viciousness isn't that half-assed, right? The headache's coming from elsewhere.]
I got her point immediately.
"It's too alien to just call it a mutant monster."
Overwhelming brute strength, hurling small monsters from afar that were hard to deal with, spraying corrosive fluids, fly hell disguised as supplies. The Infected we'd faced so far varied in form and method, but all served one purpose: slaughter.
But this Noise Tree was different. No teeth, no fists, no spitting fluids. No interest in killing. It just blocked the technological domain of communication.
"Was it really developed as a weapon?"
I didn't want to believe it, but at this point, denying it was escapism. If that massive tree had been packed with monster eggs or swinging huge tentacles to smash drones, I'd have felt relieved. But its target wasn't lifeforms.
It was civilization.
A mutant designed solely to disrupt the tools of civilization. No virus, bacteria, or parasite feeds on technology instead of living things.
We'd confirmed it. The Infected were unmistakably developed as weapons with malice toward civilization.
We flew toward the Seed Vault, now just a short distance away. Unlike the clear sky, the unease in our hearts was heavier than ever.
'Old man. Answer me, damn it.'
How long had it been since I'd given up trying to reach American radio operator Mr. Hudson via PDA? The already sparse survivor signals had dwindled fast. I'd thought it was just people dropping out one by one in this harsh environment—swallowed by despair, starvation and disease, or the Infected.
But today, a strong conviction hit me.
[There might be plenty of survivors out there.]
Artemis said as I finished gearing up.
Artemis communicated with me and remotely controlled the robots, drones, and chopper via satellite. Signals sent and received from a Shelter-exclusive low-orbit satellite with perfect EMP shielding. Probably one of the few still functioning in Earth's orbit now. Factor in proper command relay from a ground control room without abandonment, and even fewer.
[Even in my remote control range, drone-to-drone radio is dead.]
The Noise Tree seemed optimized to block ground-to-ground comms using radio or shortwave. Our low-orbit satellite's powerful signal worked fine unless we got too close.
"A kind of comms barrier? Focused on severing regional networks."
Click. I checked my weapon's status. My hands tightened involuntarily on the gear.
After the mid-Infection War phase, things resembled the Korean War. Our forces won local battles but got pushed back overall, armies weakening. Military and civilians kept retreating south, south again.
Call it fortunate? The Infected's lack of blitzkrieg—they insisted on annihilation—gave evacuees time. Those who ignored government orders, clinging to homes, died without fail.
By the time central regions emptied, the Shelter was chaos. That's when nukes started flying in earnest, limiting outside intel after.
But survivors had piled up at the southern tip for sure.
"If evac plans succeeded, plenty crossed the sea."
[We can investigate that anytime later.]
Maybe worried I was getting distracted mid-op, Artemis refocused me.
[I'll handle it all. Focus on the goal ahead.]
"Yeah, putting that thought to bed now."
The Black Hawk's rotors slapped the air, echoing off surrounding peaks. The air was cold and slightly damp.
Finally, the elliptical gray dome nestled between abandoned parks came into view. Like a submarine peeking just its head from underground.
Kirrik. The robots disengaged safeties in unison. The spots from the wiped-out Blood Pack Technology squad were filled with new robots, ready to take any threats coming my way, just like their predecessors.
Grass whipped wildly, creating circular ripples. The chopper landed at the center.
Engines cut, rotors slowing gradually. The expedition disembarked below.
"Hoo, haa."
A light drizzle at dawn left fresh wet grass and tree root scents invading my nose. Cold, pleasantly moist mountain air filled my lungs.
Breathing outside air always felt good, but post-rain mountain air was especially invigorating.
Suddenly. I wanted to savor the scent more, but a robot handing me the sealed helmet cut it short.
[Put it on quick.]
I savored one more lungful, then donned the helmet. No choice. Neck implant meant no infection risk now, but parasite attacks were still deadly. Had to seal not just my head better than tofu, but mouth, nose, ears—all external holes tight. Unless I wanted them gouged out with blood spraying.
"If not for those damn parasites, I'd have fixed this ugly mug long ago."
The stalker robots, like the Insomniac series, had vicious mouths. No need for crowd-control ugly faces on external recon models.
Simple reason.
[Tolerate the stuffiness. It reduces your parasite attack risk even a little.]
Helmet meant no visible mouth on me outside; robots had them. That's why no lamprey-like parasites had targeted me in past ops.
[Welcome, Commander.]
The seed vault was a national security facility, built as a fortress to outlast disasters by design. After layers of reinforced doors and security, the entrance—sealed since the Infection War—opened.
"..."
Beyond the open door, a skeleton greeted us, toppled with a hand axe buried in its skull. White coat suggested a researcher here.
"Hope the vault inside's in better shape than this guy."
Inside was dim, lit by sparse emergency lights. We weren't here for data. It was the cryogenically stored organics. Moment the facility failed, seeds and embryos were done.
We stepped inside.