Origin - Season Two

by James, Nathaniel Dean

  To confuse things further, the system used two languages. Most of what appeared on the screen was written in the eight round characters of the programming language, which doubled as a kind of shorthand for the operator, while all the non-system information was written in the alphabet of the spoken language, thirty-nine symmetrical characters that looked a bit like digital Chinese. This is where Naoko came in. Occasionally the two would be mixed, making things even more complicated. In the time they had worked together, Mitch and Naoko had developed a kind of semi-telepathy built on a small vocabulary of essential words and gestures. The fact that the screen wasn’t static, but tuned constantly with the position of Mitch’s head, made it difficult for Naoko to read it unless Mitch sat entirely still, something he wasn’t particularly good at.

  “Same old shit,” Naoko said. “Location beacon not found. Reset or deactivate.”

  Mitch looked down at his notebook and typed something.

  “Override failed,” Naoko said. “Authorization required.”

  Mitch typed something again.

  “Confirm reset override,” Naoko said.

  “Okay,” Mitch said. “And when I do that we get the same damn riddle every time.”

  “Yep,” Naoko said. “Execution failed. Default configuration required. Current status is one.”

  Mitch closed the notebook in frustration. “It’s a good thing this stuff is indestructible. Default configuration? How the hell are we supposed to know what that is if we can’t access the system?”

  The woman who had spoken to them earlier appeared on the bridge. She approached the man standing in front of one of the other consoles next to a tripod with a digital video camera mounted on it.

  “Shift’s over, Justin,” she said.

  Justin reached for the console and the characters on the screen stopped moving. He handed her his notebook. “This job really sucks.”

  “Yep,” she said.

  When Justin was gone she put the remote down, walked over to Mitch and Naoko and sat down at the console next to them. “How’s it going?”

  “It’s not,” Mitch said. “At this rate we’ll be here a year from now doing the same damn thing.”

  “Try again?” Naoko said.

  “Why the hell not.”

  They ran through the sequence again. When they were done, Naoko said, “Same. Execution failed. Default configuration required. Current status is…”

  “One,” Mitch finished.

  “Two,” Naoko said. “It’s two now, not one.”

  “Great,” Mitch said. “One meaningless number replaced by another.”

  But Naoko wasn’t listening. He was looking at the girl at the console next to them, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

  “What?” she said.

  “What is it?” Mitch echoed.

  Naoko ignored the questions and sat down at the console to Mitch’s right. “Run the sequence again.”

  “Why?”

  “I just want to see something.”

  Mitch ran the sequence again. When he was finished Naoko let out a yelp of triumph.

  “What the—” Mitch began, but Naoko only pointed at the screen and said, “Look. It’s changed again. It’s three now.”

  Mitch was about to ask him what difference it made, when the penny dropped. He turned to the girl. “Go grab four people.”

  “Who?” she said.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Mitch said. “Just tell the first four people you find to get their asses in here.”

  She returned a few minutes later with four people in tow, including Heinz. Too impatient to waste time explaining anything, Mitch had everyone sit down at one of the consoles, then climbed into the command seat in the center.

  “Here goes nothing,” Mitch said and began to type.

  The moment he entered the final command the entire ship began to vibrate softly. The bridge was suddenly bathed in a soft red light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. A moment later four large segments of the wall suddenly disappeared to reveal a perfect view of the hangar outside. Mitch watched as two of the crew who had arrived to see what all the fuss was about went running back out the door of the hangar.

  “What’s going on?” Heinz said.

  “We just discovered the default configuration,” Mitch said.

  “The what?”

  “The start button,” Mitch said. “We just found the start button.”

  Chapter 5

  Phoenix, Arizona

  Thursday 7 June 2007

  0700 MST

  Mike Banner arrived just as the night cleaners were finishing up. Now the special agent in charge of the Bureau’s Arizona field office, he was determined to set an example which, if not exactly followed, would at least inspire his staff to commit themselves along similar lines.

  He had returned to his home state from his brief, but eventful, transfer to New York amid the media storm surrounding the kidnapping of his wife and son, as well as his own abduction at the hands of a rogue CIA operative whose name had not been released to the press for obvious reasons. It was all bullshit, of course. Fairchild, the Director of Central Intelligence, had gone out of his way to plant the story and see it through. For his part, all Mike had asked was to be allowed to return home and put the past behind him. Although that, too, had been wishful thinking in many ways.

  Not a day went by that Mike didn’t think about Francis and the events which had led the two of them on a journey halfway across the world. A journey that had almost cost him his life. That was to say nothing of the hard drive and the pictures they had found on it. Some things were too big to just let go, and what Mike had seen on Reginald Styles’ computer had been the biggest of them all. He had never spoken to Susan about it. It would have been a futile conversation anyway. He had gotten ahold of Reginald a few weeks after getting out of the hospital, but it turned out they were both in the same boat. He had even considered contacting Jesse and Amanda, but if even Reginald was in the dark, what good would it do?

  Mike was stirred from these thoughts by the telephone. He looked at his watch, frowning, and reached for the receiver. “Banner.”

  “Mr. Banner, good morning. My name is Charles Wentworth, attorney at law with the office of Ritter, Wentworth and Low in Washington. Is this a good time?”

  “I guess that depends on why you’re calling,” Mike said.

  “Indeed. Unfortunately it’s not a matter I’m able to discuss over the phone. I was hoping perhaps we might meet.”

  “When?”

  “Would now be a good time?”

  “Where are you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I’m in the parking lot.”

  Mike stood and walked to the window. There was a black Cadillac sedan parked next to his own car. Standing at the back of it was a thin man in a dark gray suit. He looked up at Mike and waved.

  “Give me a minute,” Mike said.

  Wentworth met him at the door and extended a hand as soon as Mike stepped outside.

  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Banner.”

  Mike shook the hand warily. “Alright, I’m officially intrigued.”

  Wentworth smiled and pointed at the door. “Might we go inside? I assure you, I’m not armed.”

  Mike studied him for a moment and decided he wasn’t lying. “Sure, why not?”

  When they were both seated, Wentworth offered him a smile that suggested he sympathized with Mike’s predicament and said, “Mr. Banner, I represent a client who, for reasons I think will soon be obvious, must remain unnamed for the time being. That said, my client has taken a keen interest in your future and has empowered me to express this in no uncertain terms.”

  Mike only sat there looking at him as if he’d gone mad. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’ve been instructed to make you a proposal,” Wentworth said. “Should you accept, my office and our services will remain at your disposal indefinitely. I assure you, we have all the right co
ntacts and already represent a number of prominent persons.”

  “I’m not following you,” Mike said.

  “Mr. Banner, my client would like you to run for a seat in the US Senate.”

  For a moment Mike could think of nothing to say. The idea was so unexpected, not to mention idiotic, that he could only laugh. “If this is some kind of joke, I’m not getting it. If not, I think you’ve found the wrong Mike Banner. I’m an employee of the FBI, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “I assure you it’s no joke,” Wentworth said. “And being a senior civil servant is hardly an obstacle to running for office. Quite the contrary. There are several serving senators who hail from law enforcement.”

  “Directors, maybe. But I’m no director. I run a small field office. Anyway, I don’t even know why I’m having this conversation because the idea is ridiculous. And frankly, unless you’re going to tell me who sent you, this conversation is over.”

  Wentworth stood. “In that case I should probably get going. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  Mike led him back outside and waited in the lobby as Wentworth drove back to the main road and out of sight. When he returned to his office he found a blank envelope on his desk beneath one of the lawyer’s name cards. Mike opened the envelope and read the letter inside: Hello Mike!

  Before I say anything else I should probably apologize for not contacting you sooner. As I’m sure you understand, the circumstances have demanded caution, both for your sake and mine. Congratulations on your promotion, by the way. I couldn’t think of a better man for the job. In fact, it’s because I believe that emphatically that I urge you to consider our offer. I wish I could tell you more, but suffice it to say that what you and I chanced upon was no hoax, and its importance cannot be overstated. What it will ultimately mean for you and me and those we care about is far from certain, but we have to try by any and all means at our disposal to make it count. Mike, I really believe that you have a part to play, a very important part. If you agree, we will do all we can to ensure you win. You can contact me by letter through the office in Washington. All I would advise is that you don’t include any details that might compromise either of us. If it becomes possible to meet in person, I will contact you again. It would be great to catch up!

  Sincerely,

  FM

  PS. MR is alive, well and doing great things.

  Mike read the letter three times. When he finally folded it back up and returned it to the envelope he was on the verge of tears. What he felt wasn’t sorrow, but relief. Relief that his friends were okay, that Mitch was alive, and at knowing he wasn’t going insane. Because in many ways that’s how he had felt. Each day that went by made the past a little more vague, a little less real, until he had started to question, if only subconsciously, whether it had happened at all.

  By noon, unable to concentrate on anything and already the subject of a concerned whisper or two, Mike resolved to call Wentworth in the morning. If not to agree to running for office—the idea was still madness in his opinion—then at least to hear what he had to say.

  Chapter 6

  The Pandora

  Friday 8 June 2007

  1000 EEST

  Mitch was sitting in the command seat on the bridge of RP One. Heinz and Naoko looked on as he zoomed in the view on the screen in front of them using the controls in the armrest.

  “Incredible,” Heinz said. “Absolutely incredible.”

  The view was still of the hangar wall, only what they were looking at now was a piece of it so small they could see the microscopic contours of the gray paint.

  “Hey Naoko,” Mitch said, unable to take his eyes off the screen.

  “Yeah?”

  “Remember what I said about losing my capacity for incredulity?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I take it back.”

  Mitch entered a command on the armrest and a list appeared on the holographic screen in front of him.

  “Options?” Mitch asked.

  “Yeah,” Naoko said. “The first one says analyze.”

  Mitch selected it. A few moments later the screen filled with Saishan text. “And now?” Mitch said.

  “I don’t know. I only recognize a few of the words. I think it’s a breakdown of the chemical compounds in the frame.”

  “We need to get this to Watkins,” Heinz said.

  “A translation of their periodic table?” Mitch asked, both amused and excited.

  “Yeah,” Heinz said. “And I’m guessing it’s going to be a lot longer than ours.”

  Mitch returned to the previous menu and asked Naoko to translate the next option.

  “Grid location,” Naoko said.

  When Mitch tried to select it the screen flashed red for a second and a message appeared. The text was red instead of the usual bright green. Naoko leaned forward and read it. “Locator inactive. Do you want to activate?”

  “Locator?” Mitch asked, turning to look at them.

  They both shrugged.

  “What do you think?” Mitch said. “Should we try it?”

  When no one said anything Mitch selected the affirmative answer on the screen. “I say we go for it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Considering how little we still now about this ship,” Heinz said, “the worst thing that could happen is probably World War Th—”

  His words were drowned out by a sudden clang from somewhere above them. Mitch pulled his hand away from the control arm of the chair as if it had stung him. A moment later a soft rumbling began somewhere in the bowels of the ship.

  “What the hell did you just do?” Naoko said.

  “Nothing,” Mitch said. “I swear I didn’t do anything.”

  The rumbling began to grow louder until it was a full-on roar. Naoko pointed to the viewport on their right where all the crew in the hangar had moved back against the wall and were looking up at the ship in horror. Mitch jumped out of the seat and ran to the gangway. When he reached the observation platform two decks above he saw a round door in the center of the ship was now standing open. Heinz and Naoko joined him a moment later. The roar—it sounded like a jet engine spooling up—was fainter outside than inside, but still growing louder. When Mitch turned to Naoko both he and Heinz were looking up at the ceiling of the hangar.

  “Oh, fuck,” Mitch said.

  “Tell them to open the doors,” Heinz shouted to Naoko, but Naoko was already doing it.

  The sound continued to grow louder until it began to hurt their ears. Everyone else had already left the hangar. Mitch put his hands over his ears. A moment later the giant doors in the ceiling began to inch open, flooding the hangar in bright sunlight. Mitch held his breath as he watched their painstakingly slow progress, his eyes darting back and forth between the ceiling and the hole in the middle of RP One, which was now glowing.

  Then it happened.

  The hangar was rocked by an explosion, followed by a blinding flash. Mitch looked up just in time to see a bright beam of light go hurtling up into the sky and disappear. Then the world was silent once more.

  Almila, the Pandora’s captain, came storming out onto the platform a moment later. “What the hell is going on?”

  When no one answered he looked from Mitch down to RP One and then up at the open hangar doors.

  “I think we just launched something,” Mitch said.

  “You think?” Almila said.

  “It’s okay, Captain,” Heinz said. “It doesn’t appear to have done any damage.”

  Almila looked at them both as if they were speaking a foreign language. “You’re telling me something just flew out of that?” Almila said, pointing at RP One.

  “It would appear so,” Heinz said.

  “And it never occurred to you to tell me what you were doing? What if the damn thing had gone through the side of this ship instead of the top? Or the bottom?”

  Mitch and Heinz only looked at each other. Two of the ship’s crew came running out a
nd stopped behind the captain. Almila turned to them. “Get up there and make sure nothing has been damaged. I want those doors closed right away.”

  When they were gone Almila glared at Heinz and said, “The next time you decide to conduct an experiment that places the safety of my ship and crew at risk I would appreciate it if you informed me first.”

  Heinz opened his mouth to reply but Almila was apparently done talking. He turned and left.

  “What the hell have we done?” Naoko said.

  “I don’t know,” Heinz said, “but I suggest we get back down there and find out.”

  It took Mitch a moment to regain his nerve, but once he was back on the bridge of RP One his excitement all but eviscerated any apprehension he felt. He returned to the menu and activated the grid location command again. Naoko read the response, “Grid analysis in progress.”

  “What do you suppose that means?” Heinz said.

  “If I had to guess,” Mitch said, “I’d say we just launched some kind of satellite or locator.”

  “I think you’re right,” Naoko said.

  Mitch turned to Heinz smiling. “I really hope these people had an airtight non-interference policy.”

  “What do you mean?” Heinz said.

  “I mean, if whatever we just launched into orbit has a problem with all the junk that’s already up there, we could have a serious situation on our hands.”

  Chapter 7

  Madison, Wisconsin

  Friday 8 June

  1130 MST

  Francis pulled to the curb and turned off the engine. They watched Jasper dart across the busy street and disappear inside the local branch of the First Madison Trust Bank.

  “Does that make any sense to you?” Francis said.

  “What?”