Sleeping Giants

by Sylvain Neuvel

  Our flight was uneventful, right up until the end. We were heading west near the south edge of the Grand Canyon when I noticed some lights flickering to my left. This was different from the other times we found a body part. There was a patch of white lights. It was there before but neither Mitchell nor I had been paying any attention to it. There was a turquoise spot right in the middle of it, and lights flickering all around. I’ve been in Iraq. This looked like someone had dropped a bomb in the middle of town. I looked at our map. It was Flagstaff.

  I dove down and headed south toward the turquoise spot. As we drew closer, we got a bird’s-eye view of the damage. The piece—from above, it looked like an upper arm—had obliterated a whole city block. Some houses on the edge had been torn in half. There were electric poles down; sparks were flying everywhere. A lot of the remaining houses were on fire.

  I landed in a restaurant parking lot, about three blocks away. We started running toward the flames. Several people wearing next to nothing were running the other way. It was chaos. The fire department hadn’t arrived yet, neither had our recovery team. A few people were fortunate enough to get out of their homes in time to see them reduced to nothing. They were running in the streets, trying to avoid fallen electric lines. I could see the telltale glow coming from a large crater where two large houses used to stand.

  A woman in her nightgown ran out of nowhere and latched on to me, screaming, “Amy! Amy!” She kept screaming her name, pulling me by the arm toward the edge of the crater. “She was in her room! Amy was in her room!”

  Her house appeared to be in fairly good shape from the front, but the back half had been ripped right off. It was like a dollhouse—you could see every room, every piece of furniture. Amy’s room was on the edge, it was just…Mitchell pulled the mother away from me, doing his best to restrain her. “She’s gone,” he told her, holding her as tight as he could. “She’s gone.”

  The hole was all muddy and filled with debris. There must have been a water line running somewhere. There were telephone poles sticking out like ragweed, chunks of bricks. We could see the front end of a car. All of it was mixed with mud and rocks. There was no way to even try to look for survivors.

  There was this dog, a Bernese mountain dog, not a puppy, but you could tell he wasn’t fully grown. It was just standing there, right on the edge, barking at a patch of debris. There were lots of dogs barking, but this one kept jumping and barking at the same spot. He was just so intent, staring at some random spot. There was nothing there, nothing but mud, some clothes, a microwave oven.

  Mitchell and I left the crater and went through a couple of the houses that were on the edge. Nothing.

  Only eight people died that night. That’s what they told me. Most apparently ran out when the ground started shaking. Only eight…I pushed a button fifteen thousand feet away and I killed eight people, ordinary folks who never did anything to deserve this. They must have been so scared.

  They tell me there was nothing we could have done to save any of them. I know that’s not true. We could have not gone over there. We didn’t have to do any of this. I wish it were as easy as saying I was just following orders. I chose to go. I’m responsible.

  Everyone seems to have found a way to bury this, everyone but me. They’ve all shown great concern over me, lots of care and compassion. I don’t deal well with that kind of attention. I know it’s not pity, but I’m used to being the one taking care of people.

  Mitchell comes to see me as often as I let him, which clearly isn’t often enough for him. He really cares, everyone can tell. But I don’t want to talk to him about this. He was there, just like I was. He’s the one who actually pushed the button. He must feel as responsible as I do. And if we keep flying together, I don’t want this to get in the way.

  I’ve been spending a lot of time with Dr. Franklin since it happened. She wants me to call her Rose, as if I ever could. She’s holding herself together really well, considering. She’s the one that orchestrated all of this. The weight on her shoulders must be unbearable.

  She comes every morning before her shift, sometimes she stays for a few hours. She plays the part of the big sister very well. She’s the only one who gets me thinking about something else. She brings me a new book every couple days, bad ones; they’re all horribly corny love stories. But she reads them too, and we laugh about them when we’re done. We have the same kind of humor for that kind of stuff. I guess she’s been as lucky as I have when it comes to relationships.

  She’s never asked me to talk about what happened. She knows I’ve talked about the incident with everyone else. It’s all they wanna talk about. I don’t need to go through the events a thousand times to remember. I was there. I’ll remember how it went down for the rest of my life. I remember every detail; what the people were wearing; the picture frames on the walls of those houses that were torn in half. Dr. Franklin understands that. I’m grateful for that. I’m not sure I could go through this if it weren’t for her.

  I know she still believes that some good can come of this. I can tell. For a while, I thought she was just driven by scientific curiosity, but now I know, she believes it’s worth it. She really thinks we can gain some knowledge that will help people. It’s nice to see that kind of conviction remain after such a tragedy. I wasn’t expecting it.

  Speaking of surprises, Vincent showed up yesterday. I certainly didn’t think he would, since we barely know each other. He only stayed for a minute, but he brought me a present, as he called it. A gift card, $25 at the Home Depot. I laughed my head off. That was the point, I guess. Then he just said goodbye and left. It was touching in some strange way. I don’t know anything about him. He spends all his time alone in the other room, so we never have a chance to talk.

  Dr. Franklin told me they’ve put together a leg, and it’s not what we expected. The knee bends the wrong way, apparently. It has an extra joint, so we’re still missing a piece above the thigh. She says it’s like the hind legs on a horse. I can’t wait to see it, but I’m not ready to go back yet.

  It must show. Ryan said our nameless friend asked him how he’d feel about taking over. Ryan wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but he said he’d do it if I told him to. He said they could find me some work on the ground if I wanted out, that everyone would understand.

  How nice of them. Ryan’s such a Boy Scout, he doesn’t even know when he’s being played. I get the feeling we’re dealing with someone who doesn’t easily take no for an answer. Push comes to shove, I think our “friend” would put a gun to my head before he ever let me quit.

  What would I do anyway? Go about my business as if nothing ever happened? I couldn’t even talk about it to anyone. This is gonna sound incredibly selfish, but I’d get bored to death unless someone started World War III or something. Who could go from this to carrying crates from base to base? And I need to know. I mean, how could anyone start something like this and not know how it turns out? I’d lose my mind.

  I just realized our personal journals are saved on the lab servers. I’d be really surprised if “you know who” wasn’t listening to them. Hey! Asshole! Two things I need to say to you. Number 1: Don’t do that. Number 2: I’m guessing you chose me for a reason. You didn’t have to pick a girl with a busted eye and an attitude. I never quit anything in my life. You didn’t learn much from that stupid test of yours if you think I could ever leave this behind.

  Like I said, I just need some time to sort things out, but we have to finish this. That little girl, all those people…We have to see this through.

  FILE NO. 033

  NEWS ARTICLE—CATHERINE MCCORMACK, REPORTER, THE ARIZONA REPUBLIC

  TERROR IN FLAGSTAFF—8 DEAD IN BOMBING ACCIDENT

  More than half a city block was destroyed last night in Flagstaff, in what authorities are calling a terrorist plot gone wrong.

  Suspected domestic terrorist Owen Lehman died last night around 1:00 A.M., along with his 15-year-old son and 6 other people, in what appears to be a
tragic bomb-making accident.

  Lehman, who had been denied disability benefits back in 2012, had been sending increasingly hostile letters to the Federal government. “The language used in some of his recent correspondence was considered threatening. We took it seriously,” said FBI Agent Robert Armstrong from the Phoenix field office. “Trace elements, as well as fragments recovered on-site, lead us to believe Mr. Lehman was attempting to build a large explosive device, which must have accidently detonated.” The FBI had been monitoring Mr. Lehman for several months but lacked sufficient evidence for an arrest. “Obviously, we wish we knew then what we know now,” said Armstrong, “but we believe the intended target was the Social Security office on Woodlands Village Blvd.”

  When asked about the absence of any fire damage, Armstrong added: “The explosion ruptured waterworks directly below Mr. Lehman’s residence. That created some sort of landslide, which swallowed most of the debris and put out the fire. We got lucky. It could have been a lot worse.”

  Nearby resident Clarissa Parlow said Lehman was well liked by his neighbors. “He had a quiet way about him. He seemed shy, more than anything. I guess you just never know about people.”

  Further investigation is under way. Governor Udell plans to address the media later today when he visits the site.

  FILE NO. 034

  INTERVIEW WITH ROBERT WOODHULL, ASSISTANT TO THE PRESIDENT FOR NATIONAL SECURITY AFFAIRS

  Location: White House, Washington, DC

  —I don’t know who you think you are, or whom you think you answer to, but this is the Office of the President, not some subcommittee you can just lie to for funding. How the hell did the NSA let that happen?

  —It was out of their hands.

  —Well, then, if it was out of their hands…Do I even want to know how you got them to agree to this?

  —They did not agree or disagree to anything. It was just…out of their hands. I felt there was nothing to gain through their continued involvement. I do not know how or why they got involved in the first place. They are cryptology experts. They analyze phone calls. Giant artifacts left behind by alien civilizations seem a tad out of their league. If we need to talk about this project over the phone, then I will ask the NSA.

  —It’s nice to see you have such great respect for our national agencies. One question. Who are you to tell the NSA what they can and can’t do? Forget that. Just who the hell are you?

  —I have the utmost respect for the National Security Agency. I also hold my dentist and my accountant in very high esteem. I have not, however, asked either of them to lead our research team.

  —You didn’t answer my question.

  —What were you told when you took this job?

  —Nothing! I was told to cooperate with you as much as I could in the interest of national security. Well, I think this, right now, may be as much as I can.

  —You might want to “sleep on it,” as they say, in the interest of national security.

  —You killed eight people, you son of a bitch! Eight US citizens—a child, for God’s sake! A six-year-old girl, with curly red hair and bright blue eyes.

  —Would you feel any better if her eyes had been a different color?

  —Her face is on every television in every living room in the country.

  —It was an unfortunate incident. I wish I could say it was not foreseeable, but that would not be entirely true. The probability of finding a piece in a densely populated area was deemed acceptably low. We had a contingency plan and it was executed without flaw. We did our best to control a bad situation.

  —And a great job you did! A bunch of soldiers shoving a crying mother into a truck. That played so well on CNN.

  —We have a cover story.

  —I know. I’ve read it! A homemade bomb accidentally went off in the home of a suspected domestic terrorist. Gotta love that. You’ll put the entire country on alert just so you can hide your precious little statue. What about that family you’re blaming this on? I’m sure their relatives will be thrilled to know Uncle Owen was a terrorist. This isn’t a game, you know.

  —You and I both know I did not do anything that this country has not done a dozen times before. And while you might be too proud to admit it, your approval ratings will jump twenty points because of this. Oh, do not give me that look. You have many talents but acting is not one of them. The election is less than a year away. How many presidents have lost an election during a crisis? Will you really stand there and tell me you did not think about that? Not even for a moment?

  You can admit it. You were not a causal factor in this tragedy and you bear little to no responsibility for the death of that little girl. I see no reason for you to feel shame because you stand to benefit from it.

  And, for the record, it is not a statue. It appears to be some sort of vehicle.

  —…There was nothing in the report to suggest…

  —Your report may be a bit outdated. I assumed we would not find all the parts on US soil, so I put together a second team to fly drone planes at very high altitudes outside the United States.

  —This is just surreal. When was that?

  —About six months ago.

  —Six months! But you had barely started the search six months ago!

  —Why delay the inevitable? We started with the Arctic since it is mostly uninhabited. We found something under the ice on Ellesmere Island, something you will find interesting.

  —Don’t you think you should have talked to, let me see, me, before you did anything that stupid?

  —My dear Robert. I thoroughly enjoy talking to you. You can rest assured I would have come to you without hesitation had I thought for a second it was something I needed to do.

  —Go to hell…And what does Canada have to say about being invaded?

  —They barely knew we were there. They are so worried about Danish ships challenging their territory, they probably welcome having us patrolling the area.

  We found the torso. It is big, very big. On the surface it looks like every other piece, but we found a very small hatch on the back. This one is hollow. There is a large chamber inside, with what appears to be a control room.

  —You mean it can move? Like a robot?

  —That is our current assumption. We can confirm it once we find the rest of the pieces.

  —OK. I wasn’t expecting that one, but we already have plenty of things that can move, on land, in water, in the air, in space even. Does it have any offensive capabilities?

  —We will know when we have all the pieces. As I said before, we really need to expand our search outside the United States.

  —How many other countries do you have in mind?

  —What do you mean?

  —What do I…? It’s a simple question. How many countries?

  —All of them, of course.

  —Let me get this straight. You want this president to authorize violating the airspace of every single country on the planet so you can spread radioactive material over them, all in the hopes of finding parts of a giant alien robot. Is that all?

  —No, it is not. He needs to be prepared to do a lot more than that. This is only the beginning. I cannot emphasize enough how important it is that he be clear on this.

  Flying over other countries uninvited is easy. If we do this right, no one will ever know we were there. But if it works—and it will work, eventually—these body parts will surface. Some will surface in the middle of nowhere, but some will definitely surface where you do not want them to. They will come up hard, and they will come up fast, and they will destroy things. You thought Flagstaff was bad. Imagine what one of these things will do to downtown London or Paris. How about the Red Square in Moscow? A lot more than eight people will die, a whole lot more. They will be as innocent as the ones that just died. More little girls with curly red hair.

  Most importantly, my people will not always be there in a matter of minutes to collect the pieces, which means other people will. They most likely will have no idea w
hat they are looking at, but it will not take them long to figure out that it is worth their attention. Most likely, they will also not be happy about their little girls being crushed into the Earth.

  You will need to get the pieces back from these people. You will ask nicely at first. Some of them will listen. Some of them will not.

  What then? There will already be a whole lot of blood on your hands. Will you stop there? You really need to ask yourself: “What am I prepared to do?” If you and the president are not willing to go all the way, there are other players in this game who might not have the same reservations.

  —Don’t threaten me. Don’t ever threaten me. You might have enough pull with this office to force me to listen to you, but if you ever threaten me again, you’ll spend the rest of your miserable life in some third-rate country being water-boarded ten times a day. I know people too. Do I make myself clear?

  —As always, my dear Robert, you are the epitome of clarity. Empty threats aside, my point still holds. This was never something we were going to be able to do without leaving this country. You have to remember—and you should have figured this out when you read my first report—these things were buried three thousand years ago. All those borders you are so worried about flying over, they are nothing but color lines on a map. None of these lines existed three thousand years ago.

  —I understand how much more convenient it would have been to dig up these things a couple millennia ago. Somehow, it doesn’t make the idea of violating the airspace of every ally or enemy we have any less insane. Unless, of course, you’re willing to give all the world leaders that map and color-lines speech you just gave me. I’m sure they’d be happy to let us in, if only they knew about the color lines.

  —You can mock me as you please. At the end of the day, you will realize that this has to be done. You may not like it—I certainly do not—but it must be done nonetheless.