Origin - Season Two (38 page)

“Pretty sure’s not really good enough.” Her voice seemed strained. “If it moves again you shut it down.”

“We can’t,” Mitch said. “We’re not controlling it.”

“Then who the hell is?”

The question must have stirred a debate on board RP One, because the answer took a good thirty seconds to come, and when it did it offered little comfort.

“Until someone assumes control it’s probably on autopilot,” Mitch said. “There should be a helmet of some kind around there. Can you see a helmet?”

By this time Francis had gathered himself enough to begin a slow and cautious advance. Keeping his eyes squarely on the black giant he took one careful step at a time until he was only a few feet away. Titov and Erik were not far behind, but Naoko had opted to remain where he was.

“Francis,” Richelle said, “please don’t—”

Before she could finish he raised a hand and touched the figure just below the waist with his index finger. When it didn’t react, he put his palm against it.

“It’s warm,” Francis observed, then knocked on it as if it were a door. “And solid.”

Titov and Erik joined him and the three of them began prodding and touching the thing in a way that would have been most undignified, had it been human. Francis looked into the compartment and saw the helmet Mitch had referred to. It was nestled in a hole behind the recently vacated human-shaped depression in the container. He reached in and pulled it out, calling, “Hey guys, take a look at this.”

Titov and Erik joined him. They set to examining the artifact with the nonchalance of three neighbors standing around a barbecue grill, leaving Richelle and Naoko to look on in guarded wonder.

It looked a bit like a motorcycle helmet. It was roughly the same shape but had no visor, and the front extended down to cover everything but the mouth. The inside was lined with what felt like soft rubber.

“So?” Francis asked.

“I’m gonna pass,” Erik said.

“Give it here,” Titov said. “You only live once, right?”

“You sure?” Francis sounded more disappointed than concerned.

“I’ve never been sure of anything,” Titov said. “It’s what makes my life so interesting.”

Francis handed him the helmet. Titov took it and put it on his head.

“Anything happening?” Francis said.

“I can’t see, if that’s what you mean,” Titov said.

Richelle was walking towards them. She gave the robot a wide berth and stopped several yards away. “Mitch says that’s a bad idea. I happen to agree with him.”

“I’ll quite happily sign a waiver of liability if you like,” Titov offered.

“What I’d like,” Richelle said, “is for you to take the goddamned thing off so we can figure out what it is.”

Francis wasn’t listening. His attention had been drawn to the small red circle on the side of the helmet. But when he reached over and pushed it, nothing happened.

“Did you hear me?” Richelle said.

When Titov turned toward the sound of her voice, Francis saw there was another circle on the opposite side. He moved to shield his mouth from Richelle’s view and whispered, “There’s a small button on both sides about where your ears are. Try pushing them both at the same time.”

What happened next shocked everyone, most of all Titov.

Francis took a step back as Titov raised his hands. Richelle, thinking he was taking the helmet off, opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, then quickly closed it again as the big Russian collapsed. Erik and Francis managed to catch him by the arms before he hit the ground.

“Take it off him!” Richelle shouted.

They dragged him to the side of the container and leaned him up against it, but when Francis tried to pull the helmet off, it wouldn’t move. Then he realized why and quickly pushed both buttons. It still wouldn’t come off.

“Oh shit,” Francis said. “This isn’t good.”

Richelle, now on the edge of all-out panic, ran toward Titov and sank to her knees beside him. She began frantically pulling at the helmet, apparently oblivious to the fact that she would end up breaking his neck if she didn’t stop. Francis had to pull her arms away and grab her from behind in a bear hug. Just before the scene could turn into full-scale pandemonium, Titov spoke. “Relax. I’m fine.”

They all looked from Titov to the mouth of the figure in front of the container. The words had come from that mouth. Titov himself was still unconscious. Not only that but the voice had not been Titov’s. It was far too loud and much too deep to even be human. It actually
did
sound like the voice of God, at least the version of it one might hear in a Hollywood Bible epic of the 1950s.

“Titov?” Francis said. “Can you hear me?”

Instead of answering the black giant slowly raised its right hand in front of its face and looked at it with unmistakable curiosity. It flexed the hand several times, then repeated the gesture with the other.

“Titov?” Richelle said. “Is that you?”

The head of the figure slowly turned toward her and looked down, the face stone cold and full of malice. Then the corners of its rigid mouth turned up in a smile that was even more frightening. To Francis it looked like the smile Frankenstein might have reserved for his least-hated victim.

“This is amazing,” the monster said in its deep, foreboding voice.

The machine that was now Titov took a step forward and swerved to the right, stumbled, and almost fell. Then it/he was walking forward. Every step made the ground tremble. The motion was so fluid, so human, it was almost hypnotizing to watch. Nor did the fact that Titov was now controlling it make it look any less dangerous. When he reached the first tree at the edge of the clearing, Titov grabbed at a branch thick enough to support a rope swing and tore it off as if it were a dry twig. He squeezed his hand into a fist and the branch disintegrated in a loud series of cracks, then he threw it in an arc that sent what was left sailing over the treetops.

“I’m seeing it,” Erik said, “but I’m not sure I can believe it.”

Titov turned back toward them and began walking. Only Francis stood his ground. When he was just a few feet away, Titov raised both hands to his head and pushed what would have been the buttons on the helmet. A moment later the real Titov did the same and pulled it off. For a moment he looked disoriented and just sat looking around. Then he saw Francis and smiled.

“You okay?” Francis said.

“Am I
okay
?” Titov said. “I’m a lot more than okay, my friend.”

“You had us a little worried there for a moment,” Francis said.

Titov got to his feet. “I could stand here and try to describe it to you, but why bother.”

Titov handed Francis the helmet.

“Guys…” Erik pointed toward the path leading to the research center. They turned to see Richelle stalking away.

“She’ll be okay. Although I’d keep
that
thing out of her reach for a while,” Titov said, pointing at the helmet.

Naoko, finally convinced there was no imminent threat to his life, walked over and handed Francis the radio Richelle had left behind.

“Mitch, you there?” Francis said.

“Please tell me that just happened,” Mitch said. “Did I just see Titov turn into a politically correct version of the Silver Surfer or have I lost my mind?”

“He did,” came the reply. “Although I can’t speak for your mind.”

“Holy shit!” Mitch crowed. “This is so fucking awesome I don’t know what to say.”

“Then I guess we’ve witnessed two miracles here today,” Francis said.

“You’re going to try it, right?” Mitch asked. “You’ve got to.”

“I don’t think I have a choice,” Francis said. “We can’t exactly leave this thing standing out here.”

“Right on,” Mitch agreed. “I’m tempted to head over and take Bog for a little spin myself.”

“Bog?” Francis repeated.

“Body of god,” Mitch said. “Bog for short.”

Francis rolled his eyes. “I know you’re dying to try this, but don’t come over now. Richelle’s not exactly over the moon about what just happened. And more importantly, do
not
start telling people this thing is called ‘Bog’. For one, it’s a stupid name. It’s also what the English call their toilets.”

“Alright,” Mitch consented. “So what do we call it?”

“I don’t really see why we need to call it anything right now,” Francis said.

“How about Titan?” Mitch suggested.

“Don’t come over,” Francis said, and turned off the radio before Mitch could reply.

“You guys better go speak to her,” Erik said. “And for what it’s worth, I think that was a shitty thing you did.”

“It was,” Naoko agreed.

“I’ll go,” Titov said. “You park Bog in the hangar.”

Pyongyang, North Korea

Monday 25 June 2007

1600 KST

Kim Jong-sul was enduring what he had come to think of as his daily morale boost when Rhee arrived. The exercise involved sitting at the head of the grotesquely large stone table in the aptly named Hall of Patronage as one general after another vied for the title of most self-deprecating asshole on the planet, while attributing to the dear leader both praise and responsibility for just about anything they could think of. It didn’t even seem important whether or not the acts were real or mildly plausible. One general, apparently unsatisfied with his performance, had even suggested that Kim was to be commended for the increased fertility of north Korean women in the first week of his reign. Kim didn’t know if the general was implying that he, the great leader, had been
personally
involved in nudging up the number of pregnancies, but he accepted the round of applause patiently and sat back to hear what the next man in line would have to dream up to avoid falling behind. After half an hour of this charade he got bored and sent them all away.

When he saw Rhee, Kim cheered up and insisted they make a hasty retreat to his private rooms.

“Someone asked me yesterday,” Kim said, “if I thought it was a good idea to outlaw the private repair of bicycles in the capital because one of my long-lost relatives is having trouble making the desired level of profits in his own repair shops. Can you believe that?”

“It does sound a little drastic,” Rhee said.

“Drastic? It’s completely insane,” Kim said. “These people aren’t living in another country; they’re on a different planet.”

“Then I guess you have your work cut out for you,” Rhee said. “If you don’t mind, I have some urgent things I need you to sign.”

“When can I see my family?” Kim said. “I know you said we have to wait, but isn’t there any other way? I’m going crazy here. If I have to visit another factory and listen to these idiots lie about everything as if it were the height of virtue I’ll end up shooting myself. Where would your plans be then?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Rhee said “These orders authorize the final stages of our project. I’ll remind the Chinese that you have been more than cooperative. Perhaps we can arrange a trip to Beijing, or at least over the border.”

Kim did not even pretend to read what Rhee handed him. In fact, he’d stopped reading just about everything he put his name to these days.

“Thank you,” Rhee said. “I will be speaking to Commander Duan tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll have some good news in a day or two.”

Rhee left in a hurry and made his way across the capital to the home of the only other man in the country who knew the entire truth about both Project 38 and Kim Jong-sul. This was Vice Marshal Hwang Gil-su, chief of the foreign intelligence directorate and Rhee’s nominal superior. Within the precarious world of North Korean politics, Rhee’s relationship to Kim and his Chinese backers placed him several rungs above Hwang in the hierarchy that actually mattered. However, on this occasion Rhee went out of his way to play down this fact.

“Marshal, I hope you are well,” Rhee said, stepping out onto the veranda.

“I’d feel a lot better if you told me what’s so urgent,” Hwang said.

“I’m afraid I bring disturbing news,” Rhee said.

Hwang sat down in one of the lounge chairs and let out a long sigh, as if he had known all along this moment would eventually arrive. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply before saying, “How bad is it?”

“Commander Duan has been arrested,” Rhee said. “It looks like the Chinese have changed their minds about our little venture.”

Hwang said nothing, only looked out across the garden and nodded slowly to himself. When his cigarette had burnt down to the butt he used it to light another and flicked it over the balcony. When he turned to Rhee his face was void of emotion. “We should have known better than to trust them.”

Rhee looked around, then lowered his voice and said, “We have the bombs. They were delivered two days ago.”

Hwang’s eyes grew wide. “They are here?”

Rhee nodded. “Duan must have known what was coming. Why else would he have made the delivery?”

“And decided to level the playing field,” Hwang said. “What do you propose we do, general?”

Rhee made a point of appearing to consider this in earnest, then said, “We have the advantage. If the Chinese want to end our cooperation we must make it clear that we still expect our rightful dues under the agreement.”

“But they have Kim Jong-sul’s wife and child,” Hwang pointed out. “They know he will be of little use to us without them.”

“Perhaps,” Rhee said. “We must demand their immediate return as a show of good faith. If they cooperate we can open negotiations for the return of the weapons on our own terms.”

Hwang nodded, less scared now than thoughtful. “I suppose you intend to remain at Kim Jong-sul’s side?”

Rhee shrugged as if this was of little import. “You and I are the only ones who know of his circumstances. Between the two of us, I think we can manage him.”

Hwang lit another cigarette and extended a hand. “We’ll make it work. For the sake of our good nation.”

Rhee shook the hand and smiled, “Why of course. What other sake is there?”

Aurora

Monday 25 June 2007

2000 EEST

In the end it was Almila who put forward a name everyone could agree on. System 334-5 in the Saishan arsenal, also known as the
Body of God
, was to be called Odin after the Allfather of the gods and the ruler of Asgard in Norse mythology. Considering their proximity to the Scandinavian mainland, it even made a kind of sense.