Sleeping Giants

  I honestly believe that what we are doing is much more important than going to the moon, or getting our hands on a few barrels of oil. In my opinion, it more readily compares with inventing the wheel, or making fire. I realize that others might disagree. I wish I could tell you exactly how many lives this is worth losing, but I cannot. At some point we might decide that we could live with 1,151 dead, but not 1,152. It is, by definition, arbitrary.

  What I can tell you is this: in an underground warehouse in Denver, there is definite proof that we are not alone in the universe, undeniable evidence that there are civilizations literally thousands of years ahead of us technologically, and we are drawing closer to being able to use some of that knowledge. This can be a leap of monumental proportions for all mankind, and not just from a technological standpoint. This will change the way we think of the world, the way we see ourselves. This will reshape this planet, and we have an opportunity to help steer that change. How many lives is that worth to you?

  —Let’s just hope no one else has to die, shall we? We could use some good news, and soon. Speaking of which, did you get that little mutiny of yours under control?

  —As a matter of fact, I did.

  —Good. The president is growing tired of all this. He’s also heard about your little stunt at the hospital.

  —Exactly what nefarious deed of mine are you referring to this time?

  —You forced a doctor to put some crazy metal knees into the linguist. Did you think no one was going to find out?

  —Well, he needed knees.

  —That’s not how the president sees it. Up to this point, he’s been willing to overlook certain risks to the population and he’s given you a fair amount of leeway when it comes to international law, but you’ve just crossed a line that wasn’t meant to be crossed. You performed very risky—experimental is an understatement—body-altering surgery on an American citizen without his consent.

  —I apologize. I did not know that this was frowned upon.

  —This isn’t funny.

  —It is somewhat funny. First of all, I did not perform anything, the doctor did. Second, Mr. Couture is not an American citizen. He is from Montreal. It is a large city, about the size of Boston, in that very large country just north of here. You may have heard of it. They play hockey.

  —That was just an expression.

  —“American citizen” is not an expression. Are you seriously telling me the president is unhappy because I did not let some doctor saw off our best chance of success? I can shoot Mr. Couture if need be, but he finds surgery morally reprehensible? It makes him uncomfortable? Ill at ease? Tell the president we gave him really good knees. Better yet, tell him to give Mr. Couture a medal. That will make him feel better.

  If Mr. Couture survives, our chances of success will be significantly greater than they were before the surgery. May I also remind you that the alternative was to have a leg pilot without legs? There was a unique window of opportunity and I took it. I would do it again without hesitation.

  —The next time you want to turn someone into the six million dollar man, you should get his permission first. As far as the president is concerned, what you did is tantamount to torturing the guy.

  —I respectfully but vehemently disagree. You can tell the president whatever you want. He is your responsibility.

  —…

  —Robert?

  —You know, that medal’s not a bad idea.

  —I was being sarcastic. You cannot give…Never mind. Yes. Give him a medal.

  FILE NO. 141

  INTERVIEW WITH DR. ROSE FRANKLIN, PH.D.

  Location: Underground Complex, Denver, CO

  —Where’s Kara? She didn’t show up today.

  —On assignment. I wish I could tell you more, but she will be back in a few days. I heard you went away as well.

  —You don’t miss much, do you? Yes, I went to visit Ryan.

  —I did not know he was allowed visitors.

  —He’s not. But government psychiatrists are allowed, apparently.

  —They did not check your credentials?

  —The NSA never asked for my ID back. It says Doctor on it…

  —I must say I am moderately surprised. This seems a bit out of character for you.

  —I don’t know if I should be offended or flattered.

  —You should feel neither. I was merely pointing out that your recent behavior is uncharacteristic of your personal disposition. You are extremely brave, but also very rational and methodical. This seems somewhat rash, impulsive. These are words that more easily come to mind when speaking of Ms. Resnik.

  —She suggested it…She said you’d bail me out if I got into trouble.

  —I would not count on it.

  —Well, I couldn’t just leave him alone out there. He had to know that people still cared about him. He seemed genuinely surprised to see me. He feels such shame over what he did; I don’t think he expected anyone to show any concern over him.

  He says the worst part is that he remembers everything about that night. The hours before are either fuzzy or completely missing from his memory, but somehow the alcohol didn’t erase a single detail about the crash. He can still see Vincent’s face when the truck hit. I told him I would visit him again if he let me.

  —Mr. Couture is also very forgiving, considering. That seems to be a common trait in the scientific community. I assume Chief Resnik did not join you.

  —No, she didn’t, but it’s different for her. She feels…responsible. And I wouldn’t go so far as saying I forgive him. I think what he did is appalling. I also know everything he’s been through. Surely, you can understand that.

  —I understand that these are unusual circumstances and that heightened emotions are to be expected. I understand that a strong feeling of attraction can easily develop in stressful situations and that the associated loss can also be proportionally amplified. I also understand that under the same circumstances, you, Ms. Resnik, and Mr. Couture have not attempted to murder anyone. Mr. Mitchell tried to kill one of his coworkers, showed reckless disregard for the life of an Army soldier, and jeopardized what could be the most significant endeavor in modern history. I believe I understand perfectly.

  —Maybe you’re right. I just think that’s not all he is. What he did, however horrifying, doesn’t have to negate every other day of his life. He has a family, a mother that brought him into the world, fed him, bathed him. She dressed him for school. She drove him to soccer practice. You can’t expect her to see this in black-and-white. She can’t. Neither can I. I refuse to think of him in such simple terms.

  You thought he was good enough before. Well, before hasn’t changed. Everything he did, up until that day, is still true. Ryan knows he didn’t just hurt Vincent, that he left a whole lot of lives in shambles. He has to live with that. I think that’s punishment enough.

  —Let us agree to disagree. I did not come here to discuss Mr. Mitchell, nor your emotional response to his current predicament. There were reports of an incident in the laboratory.

  —You could call it that. Work on the console has completely stopped without Vincent. Kara was getting restless having no one to train with. The lab feels really empty now that Alyssa’s gone.

  —Where is Ms. Papantoniou?

  —I thought you knew. Her work visa was revoked. Some technicality. She was sent back to Greece on Monday.

  —I am sorry to hear that. I heard she was a brilliant scientist.

  —She was. She had a hard time connecting with anyone, though; I don’t think she had any friends here. I’ll admit she was hard to deal with. She had really strong feelings about the way things should be done, but a lot of the progress we’ve made recently was based on her ideas.

  —I did not know that.

  —Yes. Since we found the second piece, all our attention has been focused on the robot itself. With Vincent unable to train, Alyssa suggested we take the opportunity to go back to the metal. We already know the parts activate in
contact with radioactive material, but she wanted to know if it had anything to do with what they’re made of. Anyway, now that it’s just the two of us in the lab, I decided to have Kara help me run some experiments Alyssa had designed.

  —I am somewhat perplexed. Did you not perform a metallurgical analysis of the material early on?

  —I did, several times. Every piece is a solid block of metal, 89 percent iridium, 9.5 percent iron, 1.5 percent other heavy metals. I could go on about the physical properties of that alloy until morning. Only nothing I would say would mean anything because we know for a fact that it can’t be true. This alloy should weigh ten times more. Metal doesn’t shine light in fancy little patterns, and it sure doesn’t move when you put pieces of it together. What science we do have tells us we’re looking at a solid chunk of metal, but this has all the physical properties of a complex mechanism.

  So I’m trying to devise experiments to find out more than what metallurgy says I can find out. I know it sounds a little iffy, and it should. I’m making this up as I go along.

  I first exposed one of the panels to plutonium-238 and measured its light output. It turns out the parts don’t just activate with radioactive material, they feed off it—any kind of nuclear energy, it would seem. Exposure to even a small amount of radiation increased the light output of the panel by about half a percent.

  —Is that how these things power themselves?

  —That would be my guess, but that’s not the interesting part. We had originally managed to cut a small speck off one of the panels for analysis. I had it encased in transparent resin afterward. It was just sitting on my desk as a paperweight. When we noticed an increase in luminosity in the panels, I had the idea to measure how much energy the material could absorb. I put the fragment in a closed environment in direct contact with the plutonium. It turns out the metal does absorb radiation, but it saturates fairly quickly and needs to release the superfluous energy.

  Upon discharge, it emits a very strong electromagnetic pulse. It knocked out the two computers that were in the room. It’s possible the parts emit the same kind of pulse when they activate. It could be what brought down Kara’s helicopter in Turkey, though an EMP wouldn’t explain why her engine failed. Now that I know what to expect, I’ll monitor anything I can think of. I’d also like to see if it feeds off other types of energy.

  —If it had not been made a cliché by another fellow, I would call this fascinating.

  —I’m glad you like that. But that’s not even the good part. What’s really interesting is that it also generates a strong energy field, strong enough to destroy surrounding objects.

  —What do you mean by “destroy”? Like an explosion?

  —No. Nothing explodes. The stuff around it is just…gone, vaporized, without vapor. I was running the experiment in a glass-enclosed environment. It made a perfect spherical hole in the glass—surgically precise, like a laser. There is no ash, no debris, no trace that the missing matter ever existed.

  —How much energy could the entire robot absorb?

  —A whole lot. If that little speck of metal can discharge enough energy to make a one-foot hole, I can’t begin to imagine how much energy kilotons of this material can swallow. Obviously, I can’t place any instruments anywhere near it, but once I figure out a way to measure the energy output from the small shard, I can extrapolate a figure for the entire thing.

  —Could the robot withstand a hit from a missile or a bomb?

  —It’s complicated. Conventional weapons will generate heat, but most of the damage usually comes from kinetic energy. I have absolutely no idea how it handles kinetic energy. I can run some experiments. It might be as simple as putting a sledge to the panels and measuring the light output. I’ll think of something.

  I can tell you we applied some insane amounts of pressure trying to cut a piece off one of the panels. I really don’t see how a shock wave could seriously damage her. It might knock her on her back if it’s powerful enough. I just don’t know enough about weapons.

  —Do you believe it could withstand a nuclear explosion?

  —I don’t know. Maybe? I think a more important question is how much the sphere is shielded from what happens outside. It might be almost impossible to destroy the robot itself, but it doesn’t mean all that much if everyone inside is dead.

  In any case, if it did survive a nuclear blast, the energy the robot would release would probably be nearly as destructive as the blast itself, unless it can be focused somehow. The fragment I used only weighs a few grams, it’s smaller than the nail of your little finger, and it made a hole about one foot in diameter. I’m just now realizing how powerful this thing might be. I must admit, she’s beginning to scare me.

  —What do you think she was built for?

  —Up until now, I tried to ignore the fact that this might very well be a weapon, an enormously powerful weapon. But when I think about it, there’s simply no reason to build something this massive for anything else. There’s nothing practical about it. She’ll weigh about seven thousand metric tons if we manage to put her together. She’ll destroy anything she steps on. What worries me is that you could have walked through an army of ten thousand men with something a tenth of this size. There was nothing remotely powerful enough six thousand years ago to justify a weapon of this magnitude, nothing of this Earth anyway.

  —You believe she is that powerful?

  —We’ll just have to locate the head to find out.

  —We will have all the answers very soon. Unfortunately, we will need to go under the sea to get them.

  —I thought about that possibility. I’m hoping it’s not, because I can’t get the ARCANA compound to disperse well under water. It’ll take months to develop a new delivery system, and a whole lot longer to go through all the oceans. Whatever I come up with, I can already tell you that dispersal will be a lot slower under water. With a slower vehicle, like a submarine, it could take decades before we find anything. It might be wishful thinking, but I’m really hoping that whoever buried these things was afraid of water.

  —You misunderstood. What I meant is that I know exactly where the head is. It is beneath the sea. The Bering Sea.

  FILE NO. 143

  INTERVIEW WITH CAPT. DEMETRIUS ROOKE, UNITED STATES NAVY

  Location: Naval Submarine Base Bangor, Kitsap Peninsula, WA

  —Please state your name and rank.

  —Captain Demetrius Rooke, United States Navy.

  —What is your current assignment?

  —I’m in command of the USS Jimmy Carter, designated SSN-23.

  —If I understand the designation correctly, that is a nuclear attack submarine.

  —Yes, sir. Seawolf class.

  —How long have you been in command?

  —Five years in October, sir.

  —I am not part of the military. You do not have to call me “sir.”

  —What would you prefer I call you?

  —On second thought, sir will be just fine. Please describe, in your own words, the events that occurred on the morning of August 17.

  —Very well. We left Bangor Base alongside the USS Maine. She’s an Ohio class ballistic missile sub. We were on our way to SEAFAC in Ketchikan, Alaska, for a week of detection exercises when we got a call from SECNAV.

  —You received a call from the Office of the Secretary of the Navy.

  —No. I mean from the Secretary of the Navy himself.

  —Does the Secretary of the Navy often call submarine captains directly?

  —No, he does not. That was unusual in and of itself. His orders were definitely out of the ordinary. We were to intercept two Russian subs in the Bering Sea and secure whatever we found on the site. We were to avoid hostilities, if at all possible, but use of force was authorized if necessary.

  I don’t know if you’ve ever spoken to SECNAV, but he’s a very loud man. He speaks slowly with a very deep voice. It’s really impossible to misunderstand anything he says, but I asked him to repea
t anyway. I don’t think a sub captain has heard those words since World War II.

  First, we had to head back to Bangor, to take an Army Chief Warrant on board as an advisor. Good-looking girl. We headed west from there. The trip is about sixty hours at maximum speed.

  She said we were on our way to recover a new kind of power reactor, some new fission technology we couldn’t let the Russians get their hands on. Apparently, it was on its way to a secret facility in Alaska when there was an incident and they had to drop it into the sea. Her helo was escorting the ship, and she was familiar with the device. That’s why we had to bring her aboard.

  She asked to be brought to the control room right away. One of my lieutenants told her we’d send for her when we reached our destination, but she insisted. Some words were exchanged. My XO had to intervene. I didn’t think too much of it at first. I thought claustrophobia was getting to her. It’s not unusual when people get on a sub for the first time. Tight spaces, small doors, low ceilings—some people have a hard time adjusting. It can make them irritable. I let her blow a little steam and left it at that.

  —Did you bring her to the control room?

  —Not right away, no. I sent for her about twelve hours from our target. She seemed calm and in control. We went around the Alaskan Peninsula and headed north from Dutch Harbor. After about ten miles, we made sonar contact with three objects. There was an Akula class sub lying on her side at the bottom of a small cliff. She appeared to be disabled. The Saint Petersburg was just sitting there, staring at us, about two thousand feet west of the Akula.

  —The Saint Petersburg?

  —Lada class. She’s the lead ship. Really quiet. She was designed for this sort of thing. Blowing up subs, defending a base, things like that. They must have sent her when the Akula stopped responding. Whatever she was guarding, the “reactor,” she seemed adamant about not letting us anywhere near it.

  —You do not think it was a power reactor?

  —It’s not my place to say. It was a large object, about thirty-five feet in diameter, sitting in between her and the disabled Akula. Sonar said it was metallic. When we tried to get closer, the Saint Pete maneuvered herself between us and the target.