Mediterranean Sea

On the horizon, David saw the two larger islands of Malta come into view.

In the last six hundred years, this tiny group of islands, which covered just one hundred twenty-two square miles of land, had been the most fought-over place on the entire planet.

During the Second World War, no place on Earth saw as much bombing per square foot as Malta. The German and Italian air forces had leveled it, but the British had held strong.

In some cities, like Rabat, the residents had retreated underground, living in stone rooms connected by miles of tunnels. The catacombs there were legendary. They had been used in Roman times to bury the dead, but they had kept countless Maltese residents alive during the carnage of the Second World War.

Almost four hundred years before the Luftwaffe had unleashed h.e.l.l on Malta, a different devil had appeared on their doorstep: the armada of the Ottoman Empire. In 1563, Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent had brought his fleet of almost two hundred ships, carrying nearly fifty thousand troops-the largest fighting force in the world at the time.

The months that followed became known as the Great Siege of Malta, and it had changed the history of the world. The siege was a clash of unimaginable brutality, one of the bloodiest battles ever fought. An estimated one hundred thirty thousand cannonb.a.l.l.s were fired at or from the island. One in every three inhabitants of Malta was left dead. The Knights Hospitaller, along with a ragtag group of around two thousand soldiers drawn from Spain, Italy, Greece, and Sicily, held the island for four months, until the Ottoman fleet, counting their dead in the tens of thousands, turned and sailed home.

Had the Ottomans taken Malta in 1565, many historians agree that their forces could have easily taken mainland Europe, disrupting the Renaissance to come and forever changing the fate of the world.

The residents of Malta had fought to the death. Were they defending something besides their lives?

David glanced at the paper. Missing Alpha Leads to Treasure of Atlantis.

What was there on Malta? Some ancient treasure? What could it have to do with the plague ravaging the world?

David was a historian. He believed in facts: the truth culled from multiple sources, verified by eyewitnesses, ideally with differing backgrounds and motivations.

Treasure was the lure of fools. As were mythical objects. The Ark of the Covenant. The Holy Grail. He didn't believe in either of them. Military history was always more reliable. Generals counted their dead. Somewhere between the sums on each side lay the truth.

And the truth was that countless armies over the ages had fought for Malta, and rarely had it fallen.

The memories were clearer now, and Kate felt almost as though she could control them, as though she could move backward and forward in time.

She wore the Atlantean suit again, and the scene around her was of a one-room primitive hut. She looked out the door of the hovel. The climate seemed different. It was damp, rainy out, and the vegetation was almost tropical. Not Mediterranean. Perhaps they were in southern Asia.

Three women sat on the ground, working feverishly on something. Kate walked to them and peered down. The Tibetan tapestry. They are creating the warning, in case we fail, she thought.

The Atlanteans had given it to them-she had given it to them-as a backup plan.

She knew that now.

She walked out of the shack, into the open air of the camp. The settlement felt nomadic, as if it had been erected hastily and would be abandoned soon.

A makeshift temple loomed at the center. She walked to it. The guards at the entrance stepped aside, and she wandered in. The stone Ark was here. Monks circled it, sitting cross-legged, heads bowed.

At the sound of her steps, one man rose and hurried to her.

"The floodwaters will come soon," Kate said.

"We are prepared. We will leave tomorrow for the highlands."

"Have you warned the other settlements?"

"We have sent word." He continued to look down. "But they will not heed our warning. They say they have mastered this world. They do not fear the water."

The primitive temple disappeared, replaced by gla.s.s and steel walls, covered mostly by holographic displays.

Kate stood in Alpha Lander's control center, beside her partner, staring at the global map.

The coastlines across southern Asia wavered. The floodwaters were advancing, changing the continent forever, sinking the settlements along the coast, some of which would be lost permanently.

The hologram switched to a satellite view of a group of humans hiking into the mountains, away from the floodwaters. They carried the stone box she had seen-the Ark.

Kate still couldn't see her partner, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dorian, standing rigidly, glancing at the display with only a hint of interest.

"This is not all bad," Dorian said. "A population reduction could allow us to consolidate the genome, perhaps eliminate some of the problems."

Kate didn't want to answer. Dorian was right, but she knew the solution and she dreaded it. The "problems" he had left unspoken had been accelerating in the past ten thousand years-uncontrollable aggression, a tendency to war, to preemptively eliminating any perceived threats. This increasing trend was a fundamental dysfunction of the survival gene: the humans' logical minds knew that their environment had a finite amount of resources, that with their current technology their habitat could support only a limited number of people. They wanted to ensure that it was their people, their genetic line that survived. War-eliminating any compet.i.tors for the finite amount of resources-was their solution. But their race to genocide was happening too fast, as if there were someone else intervening, working against them.

At the back of Kate's mind, another possibility lingered: Dorian had done this. Was he betraying her? Taking the research she had provided him and modifying it? She had kept her collaboration with Dorian/Ares from her partner. She knew her partner would disagree, but she saw no alternative. The tribes of humanity would need every genetic advantage they could get-if Dorian's story, his a.s.sertions about their enemy, were true.

What else could I do? Kate asked herself. She had chosen the only logical course.

The holographic display began changing. Red spread out across the map: casualty readings.

Her partner spun back to the control station. "Population alarms."

"We must intervene," Dorian said.

"No. Not at these levels," her partner shot back. "We follow our own local precedent-only in the event of an extinction risk."

Kate nodded. Their "precedent" had been set seventy thousand years ago-when she had chosen to provide the Atlantis Gene to the humans in that cave, their subspecies teetering on the brink of extinction.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the holographic wall exploded in alarms.

Population Alert: Subspecies 8471: 92% Extinction Risk.

Kate traced the location. Siberia. The Denisovans. The floodwaters couldn't have touched them there. What was happening?

Another alarm emerged on the screen, in another location.

Population Alert: Subspecies 8473: 84% Extinction Risk.

This subspecies was confined to the islands of Indonesia. The Hobbits. The subspecies that would come to be known as h.o.m.o floresiensis. What was driving their population collapse? The pressure of the flood, combined with the aggressive humans that had settled the islands relatively recently? Kate already knew the history. They would go extinct. What was the year? She glanced at the hologram, deciphering the Atlantean dating scheme.

The memory was from approximately thirteen thousand years ago. Another realization struck her at that moment: she would witness the fall of Atlantis. She would see what had happened. The missed delta.

A third population alarm went off.

Population Alert: Subspecies 8470: 99% Extinction Risk.

Neanderthals. Gibraltar.

Her partner raced to a control panel and began working it with his fingers furiously. He turned to Dorian.

"You did this!"

"Did what? This is your science experiment. After all, I am merely a military adviser. Doctors, do not let me get in your way."

Her partner glanced at Kate.

"Prioritize. Save the ones we can," she said.

He returned to the controls, and Kate felt the ship lift up. The map traced its trajectory. It raced across Africa, barreling toward Gibraltar.

Dorian stood still as a statue, staring at her.

Her partner raced to the door, then stopped. "Are you coming?"

Kate was lost in thought. Three extinction alerts-at the same time. What did it mean?

Was Dorian eliminating all the other subspecies? Was he testing his weapon, ending the experiment? Did he have what he wanted? Had he betrayed her? Or was it something else?

Was this the work of their enemy?

Chance? Pure coincidence?

Either alternative was possible, yet remote.

Kate would know the truth soon.

Her partner's back was to her.

Another question dominated her mind. Who was he?

She needed to see his face, needed to find out who her ally was.

She needed answers.

She tried to focus. "Yes. I'm coming."

Dr. Paul Brenner stared at the patchwork of screens in the Orchid Ops room. Casualty rates were climbing.

Budapest Orchid District: 37% of total population confirmed dead.

Miami Orchid District: 34% of total population confirmed dead.

A countdown clock in the corner read: 1:45:08.

Less than two hours to the near extinction of the human race. Or at the very least, the next stage in human evolution.

After the Euthanasia Protocol, there would be two groups of humans left: the rapidly evolving, and the devolving. There would be two separate subspecies of humans for the first time in thousands of years. Paul knew that state would end soon, just as it had before: with a single subspecies. And it wouldn't be the less-evolved.

The survivors would have the world to themselves, the genetically inferior cleared away.

CHAPTER 81.

You're listening to the BBC, the voice of human triumph on this, the eighty-first day of the Atlantis Plague.

This is a special news bulletin.

A cure, ladies and gentlemen.

Leaders from across the Orchid Alliance, including America, the UK, Germany, Australia, and France, have announced that they have finally found a cure for the Atlantis Plague.

The announcements couldn't have come at a better time. The BBC has acquired cla.s.sified reports and received eyewitness accounts from around the world that claim the death rate is now as high as forty percent in some Orchid Districts.

The announcements were issued in terse statements, and the heads of state have denied all requests for interviews, leaving experts and pundits to wonder about this mysterious cure-specifically, how it could seemingly be manufactured overnight.

Directors of several Orchid Districts, speaking on the condition of anonymity, have insisted that the existing Orchid production plants were already set up to manufacture the new drug, and that it will be handed out within hours.

This has been a BBC special news bulletin.

CHAPTER 82.

Kate was in the decompression chamber again, wearing the suit. She turned quickly, glancing at her partner. He was also suited up.

"The drones only identified one survivor."

One survivor. Incredible. Too... convenient. "Copy," Kate said.

She turned. Dorian was there. He wasn't wearing a suit. "You two go. I'll manage the ship."