—Does Dr. Franklin know about this?
—Not yet. I thought you would like to know first.
—About the torso being hollow, or about there being a second team?
—Both.
—You kill me, you know. You didn’t tell her you had put together a second team? I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear that one.
—That is not your concern.
—You’re probably right. I want you to tell her—about the torso, that is. You’ll have to tell her about the other team anyway. She’ll be pissed off. I want you to tell her to figure out how this thing works and what it can do. I don’t care if they have to work around the clock, just tell her to do it. Then I want to talk to her. I sure as hell don’t trust you with any of this. Now if—do you hear me—if she tells me she can make it work, then you’ll have the full support of this office. If she says she can’t…Well, let’s impress upon her how it would be in everyone’s best interests that she can.
—You want me to threaten her.
—I want her and everyone involved—that means you too—to understand that the more chips we put on the table, the more difficult it becomes for us to fold.
—So you want me to threaten her.
—You make it sound like I’m ready to kill her.
—Are you?
—No! Why would I do that? I was merely suggesting we could replace her if she doesn’t deliver.
—You do not think she has “delivered” already?
—She has. But if she can’t take us the rest of the way, maybe someone else can. She should be aware of that. I’m not suggesting we replace her now, just that we let her know it’s a possibility. That same reasoning also applies to you.
—It really does not, but I can see why you might think it does.
—What’s that supposed to mean?
—If you had an employee you knew was leaving in six months, just how much responsibility would you be willing to give her?
—I don’t see your point.
—You work for someone who may lose his job after four years, who has to quit after eight. I am merely pointing out there are many things of interest to this nation that require a more long-term commitment.
—I’ll be sure to mention that to the president.
FILE NO. 037
INTERVIEW WITH DR. ROSE FRANKLIN, PH.D.
Location: Underground Complex, Denver, CO
—Definitely a girl! I couldn’t stop grinning when they brought the chest in. Her breasts aren’t that large, given her size, but they’re still bigger than my car. Perky…She must have been the envy of all the giant girl robots back in her day.
—I have not seen it yet.
—Well, you really want to see this. The breastplate and the middle of the abdomen are smooth. I think she’s wearing some type of sleek armor, like the Amazons. Two large turquoise arteries are running down her sides behind large ribs. It’s as if part of her anatomy is exposed. There is a large-scale V-shaped armor piece carved into her back, going all the way to her waist. It’s magnificent, very humbling.
—I appreciate your attention to details. I am not blind to the aesthetics of the device. Some of its parts are indeed striking. You convey your appreciation for this particular piece in a very eloquent manner…
—It’s pieces, plural. The chest and abdomen are separate pieces. They were just joined together when you found them.
—Thank you for correcting me. I was saying that I would prefer if you focused on the functionality of these pieces, plural.
—As I said, you need to see them. You can’t ask about the Sistine Chapel and expect me not to mention the ceiling. The aesthetics aren’t merely a side note, they’re as important as anything else. You can’t look at this thing and not know it was built to intimidate. Anyone who came face-to-face with this thing was meant to be awed and terrified at the same time. Form follows function.
—That the life is recognizable in its expression. That form ever follows function. That is the law.
—Who said that? Was it Frank Lloyd Wright?
—His mentor. I apologize for my previous comment. I should know better than to question your judgment.
—It’s OK. I get a bit carried away. But the torso is magnificent, and very large.
—How large?
—Very large. It’s…big. Roughly the size of a six-story building. We had to relocate.
—Yes, this is an impressive structure. I got lost in the tunnels after they showed me in. It took nearly twenty minutes before a security guard found me and brought me here.
—This place was completely empty before we moved in. Security’s a little thin once you get past the front door.
—What can you tell me about this facility?
—They call it the Ark. We’re right beneath Denver International Airport. It was built at the height of the Cold War as an alternate command center in the event of nuclear war. It also houses living spaces for nearly five thousand people, and it holds the world’s largest underground storage facility.
—It sounds like a description of Cheyenne Mountain.
—Pretty much. Apparently, since Cheyenne Mountain was seen in just about every sci-fi movie you can think of, it would probably be high on a target list and might not withstand a direct hit from modern missiles. They built this facility in the late eighties to be used as a command site and long-term shelter when the Continuity of Government plan is invoked.
We’ve been given access to the storage area. It’s over a hundred thousand square feet with a three-hundred-foot-high ceiling. If we manage to put her back together, she’ll have room to walk around; now that we know she can walk.
—You can give me a tour later. I assume you found the opening.
—Yes, there’s a hatch at the top of her back, right between her shoulder blades. You can barely notice it, but there is a handprint carved into the door that responds to body heat. When you press your hand onto the handprint, the door slides in. Of course, you know all this since your men already went in.
—I sense a bit of frustration in your tone.
—I don’t know if you want to call it frustration, but I was told I was in charge of this project. Then you tell me you had teams searching the Arctic without my knowledge, using my formula. So, no, I’m not entirely happy, and I’m wondering what else you haven’t told me.
—I wanted to let you finish the search on US soil. I suppose I could have told you before. I am telling you now. You are no longer in charge of the search effort. Everything else is your domain.
I want you to focus on making it work. It is much closer to your area of expertise and it is where you have excelled in the past. I hate to have to remind you, but you are not a military strategist. You almost lost your pilot when you hit your first road bump. Believe me, things are going to get very unpleasant once we take this search onto foreign territory.
—Look, I really don’t care if I run the search or not. I just want you to be straight with me. I’ve never asked for anything since we started all of this. I’m asking now. Don’t go behind my back.
—I will keep that in mind. Now tell me about the torso.
—Behind the hatch, there’s a small tunnel, about four feet across that leads to another small door with a similar handprint—it’s made of a material I can’t identify. This one leads to a spherical chamber, about nine meters wide. That’s about thirty feet.
—I am familiar with the metric system. Thank you.
—The chamber rotates inside the torso based on its incline. Basically, it’s a big gyroscope. The concept is beautifully simple. The sphere is heavier at the bottom, and it floats in some sort of liquid. Gravity does the rest. If you tilt the body, the inner sphere stays level. The sphere appears to be translucent. You can see the dark metal through the milky substance it floats in. The interior is dimly lit though there is no apparent light source. There are no windows of any kind.
The floor of the chamber is flat, split into two cresc
ent-shaped decks. The rear one is raised about three feet, with two steps on each side to get down to the front section. It seems designed to accommodate two people, two pilots. I call them animators. I like the puppet analogy better since it’s not really a ship.
The upper deck is very minimalist. There is a beam that descends from the ceiling about halfway through. Attached to the end of it is a black helmet—like a scooter helmet, with a dark, opaque visor—and what looks like an armored straitjacket. It has metal braces that close over the forearms and upper arms and it’s articulated at the shoulders and elbows. It also has a wide brace that wraps around the chest. There are glove-like devices at the end of each arm. Standing right in front of it is a small metallic round column, about three feet high.
—Have you determined its purpose?
—We have no idea what it does, but we really haven’t tried anything yet.
The bottom deck is much more elaborate. There’s a crescent-shaped console, about two meters wide, with maybe two dozen symbols carved onto it. Some of them are the same curvy ones we found on the panels in the hand chamber, others we haven’t seen before. In front of the console, where you’d expect a chair, there is a round circle. I wouldn’t call it a pool because it’s only half an inch deep, but it’s filled with some milky liquid. It’s very smooth, very silky, like liquid Teflon. Rising from the floor, right in the middle of it, is a shaft, about three feet high. There is another black helmet attached to that shaft, and a matching set of leg braces with stirrups hanging about an inch from the liquid floor.
It would appear that one person operates the arms and trunk, while another controls the legs, plus whatever else one can do from the console. That’s where it gets interesting.
—Before you go on, have you decided who will control the upper body and who will work the legs?
—I haven’t decided yet. The leg station is the one that controls locomotion and every other function on the console so there’s an argument for Kara sitting there, standing there, whatever. On the other hand, I believe it may be physically harder to move the legs and Ryan is a very strong man. We’ll probably try both and see what feels more natural.
—So what is it?
—What is what?
—You said: “This is where it gets interesting.” Irony is not one of my favorite modes of communication, but I can still recognize it. I assume you were about to serve me with some bad news.
—The leg braces are not suited for human anatomy. They were clearly designed for someone with leg articulations like that of the robot itself. I always assumed that the people who built this at least looked like us. If they weren’t human, that is.
—Will that be a problem for the pilot?
—Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. The knees are backward! So yes, it’s a problem, unless we can get a really smart ostrich to control the legs. We’ll have to find a way to adapt the controls to fit our anatomy.
—What about the console? Are you making any progress deciphering the symbols?
—Not really. Vincent took a quick look at the console but now he’s back to working on the panels. He feels there’s a better chance of interpreting the symbols in context, seeing how they combine together, than by looking at them individually.
—He feels…Are you having second thoughts about choosing him?
—What makes you think I…?
—You are distancing yourself from his opinion. That is unlike you. You tend to give credit to others when you succeed and you take responsibility for other people’s failures. It suggests to me that you are having second thoughts.
—Sometimes. He’s absolutely brilliant, don’t get me wrong. He understands things that are well beyond his area of expertise. We had an interesting conversation about extrasolar planets the other night. It turns out he reads about astrophysics in his spare time, just for the fun of it. If anyone can figure out the symbols…
I just hope his ego doesn’t get in the way. He respects me, and it’s easy for me to like him. He can be a little abrasive if you don’t live up to his standards. I have a feeling he’s even more demanding of himself. I’m worried the longer this drags on…He’s managed to get on Kara’s good side, though, and that’s not easy. It certainly makes all our lives a whole lot easier.
—I read his file. I believe he is more resilient than you give him credit for.
—You rea…He has a file?
—Your hairdresser has a file and you see him once a month. Vincent Couture is a foreign national on US soil, with direct access to top-secret-level information on a daily basis. He has several files, very large ones.
—You have a file on my hairdresser?
—Yes. He really needs to file his taxes. As for Mr. Couture, if you wish to replace him…
—You misunderstand. I’m sure if it can be done, Vincent can figure it out. I’m just not sure anyone can decipher these things. It might not be possible at all. That’s what I’m really worried about. I’m afraid of what it will do to him. I don’t think he’s ever been faced with a problem he couldn’t solve. He might just self-destruct if he feels like he’s failing.
—I do not wish to appear insensitive, but without a basic understanding of the symbols, we cannot make this machine work. How Mr. Couture reacts to failure seems rather inconsequential when weighed against the biggest scientific discovery in history. If you suspect he will not succeed, you must replace him immediately. If your only concern is that his ego might be irreparably bruised, I promise we will use the considerable resources at our disposal to get Mr. Couture the best help money can buy. Thirty hours of therapy should not break our budget.
—He just needs more time.
—He has a week.
FILE NO. 039
EXPERIMENT LOG—CW3 KARA RESNIK, UNITED STATES ARMY
Location: Underground Complex, Denver, CO
This is Kara Resnik recording. Today is September 20. It is…10:25 A.M. Dr. Rose Franklin is monitoring my vitals from the lab during the experiment. Hi, Dr. Franklin! We’re about to test the controls inside the device. We’ve attached the complete left arm to the torso, and now we’re gonna see if I can make it move. That’s if I ever get up there. I’m making my way up the stairs now, with a barstool.
We should really set up the elevator for this. Even without the legs, this is pretty high. It’s hard to move with all those sensors glued to my head and chest. I’m afraid I’ll rip out the wires. It’s bad enough I have to bring up furniture. When you speak to our mutual friend, ask him if they found anything resembling an alien stepladder in the Arctic. If anyone else ever listens to this, you should know that the hatch that leads inside the torso opens about four and a half feet from the floor. It’s not that big of a jump, but you’d need to be about eight feet tall to close it from the inside, or to open it again. The moral of this story is: Don’t go in there alone, or bring a barstool. Also, don’t forget to pee.
I’m about thirty steps from the top. Why am I the one going up the stairs anyway? I know, I’m the arm pilot, the singular arm pilot. But since this thing doesn’t have legs for now, maybe we could, you know, share a little. Ryan’s twice my size, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind carrying that stool up fifteen flights of stairs.
I’m not whining. I’m…climbing. I’m at the top. I’m just…gonna catch my breath for a minute…
I’m staring at the hatch. These aliens have really…ordinary hands. It’s a little bigger than mine, but it looks like it could be anyone’s handprint. Pressing my hand on it now. I can feel everything vibrate a little. It might be lining up the hatch inside the sphere with this one. It’s opening.
I’m almost to the other hatch. Why is this walkway so small? OK it’s open. It’ll just take a second to…drop my stupid barstool on the floor…and…I can make my way in.
I’m in. The room is still well lit. The light is very…cozy, like a room with a fireplace. I just closed the inner hatch. I’m off the barstool, now approaching the top station. Rose, I know you
think this looks like a straitjacket, but it’s pretty badass if you ask me. Take it off that pole hanging from the ceiling and I think it would make Batman proud if you spray painted it black. I’m sliding my arms in…
I can’t seem to get my fingers to fit into the gloves. Wiggle, wiggle…OK, the hands are in. Gloves are just a little stiff. Closing the arm braces. I’m trying to…clip the front closed with my big metal fingers. I think that’s how it goes. I’m closing the large metal brace around my chest.
Let me see if I can move with that thing on. Mobility is good, as resistance is minimal on the arms and hands. It’s a bit harder to move my chest. I can bend forward to touch my toes, but I can’t crouch. I can barely flex my knees before I run out of leash. I can’t move away either. It’ll be hard to pick anything up from the ground. Strike that. I’m an idiot. My legs don’t count. Ryan can crouch from the other station, and I can grab stuff from wherever the ground will be…for me. That’ll be weird. I know everyone’s excited, but it might take a while before we get the gist of this two-pilot thing.
Of course, that’ll be the least of our problems, unless there’s a video screen or something in that helmet, because, well, we can’t see outside. I can’t see anything but metal. And the visor on the helmet looks completely opaque, so if there’s no screen, then I won’t see anything at all. Use the Force, Luke! Maybe that’s it. Maybe this is a really big Jedi training thing, to see if you can move a ten-thousand-ton dummy around with your eyes closed.
I don’t think there’s anything else I can try before I put on the helmet. You know, this really looks like a helicopter helmet. I’m putting it over my head now. I wonder if…
AAAAAAAARRRRRRRHHHHHHH…
FILE NO. 041
PERSONAL JOURNAL ENTRY—DR. ROSE FRANKLIN, PH.D.
I’m angry. I’m angry with everyone. I’m angry with myself. I should know better than to experiment with things I don’t understand and assume everything’s going to be fine. That was stupid of me. It’s not as if the leg controls left us with any doubt. This device wasn’t built for humans. Who knows what this thing can do to us? How could I ask Kara to try something I know nothing about, on her head, and not have a medical team with her?