Turns out they had sent a whole lot of boats after us: several frigates, two destroyers, and a cruiser. They must have been minutes away when it all happened. We could see the Saint Petersburg through the window in the rescue sub—her shadow, actually. There was a lot of bluish light behind her. She was missing part of her tail. A really clean cut, not like an explosion. You’d need a laser or a blowtorch to make a cut that clean. The rescue sub went out to help the Russians. They were lucky. The rear chamber was sealed when their tail was cut off; only two people had died.
I asked the cruiser crew: “What of the Akula?” They just stared at me blankly. It took several of us to convince them that there was an Akula class submarine at the bottom when we arrived. One thing’s for sure, it wasn’t there anymore. Poof! Like magic. There was no wreckage, no floating debris, no sign it was ever there.
—What happened to the Army Chief Warrant?
—Never saw her again. They told me she would be court-martialed. She must have been right. About her orders, I mean.
—I thought you said she would be…
—They also made it very clear to me that none of this ever happened. I don’t think they’ll put anyone on trial for something that didn’t happen.
—Are you always this cynical? You seem to doubt a lot of what you are told.
—It’s all cockamamie, if you ask me. Military intelligence. They come up with these really far-fetched stories, and just because we don’t ask questions, they think we’re actually buying it. They forget that they’re talking to people who are trained not to ask questions. If it were up to me, I’d rather they just didn’t tell me anything. It’s less insulting than to be lied to.
—Do you believe I am lying to you?
—That would be hard. You haven’t told me a single thing. But let’s give it a shot. Can you tell me what it was I fired at? It wasn’t destroyed, just like she said. I saw it hooked to a crane when they brought it aboard, but they had it covered in some black sheeting. I fired two torpedoes at that thing…
—Let us say for a minute I could provide you with—how shall I put it—an alternate story. I can assure you that you would find it so preposterous that you would leave this room absolutely convinced that you fired your torpedoes at a prototype reactor that was lost at sea. So I will save both of us the time and leave it at that. I can tell you this: what you did mattered.
—Thank you. I guess that’s all I really wanted to hear. By the way, that Chief Warrant, I’d like to shake hands with her some time. She’s got grit.
—I will let her know you said hi.
FILE NO. 161
INTERVIEW WITH CW3 KARA RESNIK, UNITED STATES ARMY
Location: Underground Complex, Denver, CO
—I can’t stand it anymore. I feel like I’m watching him die, every day, all the time. If he’s not unconscious, he’s in agony. No one can stand that much pain all the time. I’m surprised he lasted this long.
—He can walk, can he not?
—No! He can’t! You can’t call that walking. You and I are walking. He can barely take a couple steps before his whole body starts shaking. Then he collapses and—to spare us—pretends it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. I’ve had to pick him up from the ground three times today. No one wants to hurt him any more than he already is, so no one says anything.
—And what would they say if they dared?
—He just doesn’t have enough muscle mass left.
—Is he taking his drugs?
—Religiously. But his body’s adapting to the muscle-building agent. The doctor says his tolerance will continue to increase.
—We will find him new medication.
—You can’t keep pumping him full of experimental drugs. His body’s been through enough already.
—Would you rather we let him suffer?
—He doesn’t have to suffer. Take these things out of him and let him rest. He can learn to walk with prosthetics when he’s ready.
—You do realize that this project would essentially be over if he lost his legs. You would be willing to throw away all the work that he did, that you did, to spare him some pain for a few weeks?
—It’s not a few weeks. And if the alternative is to watch him die, then yes, I give up. We’re killing him! And it wouldn’t have to be over. We can find a way to make the helmet work for someone else. We can rig the controls so he can maneuver with his arms. There are a hundred things we can do that don’t involve torturing him. This? What we’re doing to him? It’s just wrong.
—From what Dr. Franklin tells me, we are decades—if not centuries—away from fully understanding the technology behind the helmet. I would also point out that you and Mr. Mitchell—a man in tremendously better shape than Mr. Couture—have worked countless hours in the sphere and were able to make her walk only for a few steps. You cannot seriously suggest that Mr. Couture could control robotic legs with his hands and operate the console with any kind of efficiency. That would be putting his life, and yours, at risk. Mr. Couture is a grown man. Why not let him make his own decisions?
—No. Of course, he’ll take new drugs if you give him a choice. He’d do anything to get the project back on track.
—Some would call that dedication. I would hardly call it a problem.
—It’s not just his body that’s messed up. He’s changed.
—Is he depressed?
—No, quite the opposite. He says this ordeal’s made him see things differently. He keeps telling us how much he appreciates every little thing. You should see him with me. He’s kind, he’s…attentive. It scares the hell out of me.
—It is not uncommon for people to find positive aspects in a negative situation.
—I get that. I’ve heard it before: “Life’s taught me a great lesson.” “I now realize what the important things in life are.” I even think it’s true sometimes. But this doesn’t feel right. That’s not who he is. I think he’s on the verge of a mental breakdown and he’s finding ways of holding on to his sanity for as long as he can.
—It is kind of you to worry about your friend but I honestly believe he is making astounding progress, physically and mentally. Speaking of physical progress, how is your nose healing up? Are you still having trouble breathing?
—It’s kind of me to worry about my friend?…You ought to listen to yourself sometimes. My nose is fine. I still have to breathe through my mouth when I sleep but it’s getting better. They said I’ll need plastic surgery if I want to get rid of the scar. I’m not sure I want to. It’s a shame the helmet doesn’t come down that far, I could have saved a nose job.
—That was a bold move you made. They could have shot you. They should have shot you. Do you realize how dangerous that was?
—I know. It’s not like I planned any of it. They were either going to get us all killed or let the Russians take the head. I’ve never been really afraid of dying, but it would feel damn stupid to get so close to the last piece and let it slip away. I tell myself it was a calculated risk, but the truth is I acted on instinct. They just made me mad.
—An impulsive reaction is to be expected in your case. I am curious as to how you knew the head would not be destroyed?
—You can call it an educated guess. You know I’ve helped Dr. Franklin run some experiments. I assumed that if a tiny speck of metal could absorb a lot of energy, something that massive could withstand a couple torpedo hits. I know. You’re gonna tell me it wasn’t up to me to take that chance, that I could have ruined everything.
—I am not going to tell you anything of the sort. I chose you because of who you are. I sent you there for the same reason. Quite frankly, I would have fired myself. I am curious, however, as to how you knew it would disable the submarines. If my understanding is correct, an electromagnetic pulse does not travel underwater, and if it did, a submarine would likely be shielded from it.
—I thought about that, but an EMP shouldn’t have done anything to my helicopter either. It’s hardened against that. And yet it stopped my engine cold, twice. Whatever this thing shoots out, it’s nasty. If it didn’t work, the shock wave from the explosion might have at least pushed the Russians away.
—They are still searching for the other Russian submarine.
—I feel sorry for those people. I didn’t think it would destroy their ship.
—Obliterate might be a better term. All that is left is a crescent-shaped hollow on the cliffside, and some very confused seamen.