Waking Gods (Themis Files #2)(3)
Kara and Vincent are the closest thing I have to friends now, but even after nine years, I’m somewhat … ashamed of our friendship. I’m an impostor. Their affection for me is based on a lie. They’ve told me what we supposedly went through together and we all pretend that we would have shared the same experiences had the circumstances been different. We keep pretending I’m that other person, and they like me for it.
I don’t know what I am, but I know I’m not … her. I’m trying to be. Desperately trying. I know that if I could just be her, everything would be all right. But I don’t know her. I have gone over every page of her notes a thousand times, and I still can’t see the world as she did. I see glimpses of myself in some of her journal entries, but those fleeting moments aren’t enough to bring us any closer. She was clever, though; I’m not certain I could do what she did if we were looking for giant body parts today. She must have found some research I don’t know about, probably something that was published while I was “away.” Maybe I’m an imperfect copy. Maybe she was just smarter.
She certainly was more optimistic. She believed—was utterly convinced—that Themis was left here as a gift for us to find in due time, a coming-of-age present left to an adolescent race by a benevolent father figure. Yet they buried all the pieces in the far corners of the Earth, in the most remote of places, even under the ice. I can see why I might get excited by a treasure hunt, but I can’t find a good reason for the added hurdles. My gut tells me these things were hidden … well, just that. Hidden, as if not to be found.
More than anything, I can’t imagine why anyone, however advanced, would leave behind a robot that, in all likelihood, we wouldn’t be able to use. Anyone with the technology to build one of these things, and to travel light-years to bring it here, would have had the power to adapt the controls to our anatomy. They would have had a mechanic aboard, someone who could fix the robot, or at least MacGyver their way out of small problems. All it would really take is their version of a screwdriver to turn the knee braces around so we could use them. They couldn’t have expected us to mutilate ourselves in order to pilot this thing.
I’m a scientist, and I have no proof for any of this, but neither did the other Rose when she assumed the opposite. Without evidence, even Occam’s razor should never have led me in that direction.
The irony is that they built this entire program based on my findings. If I had told them how scared I am of what will come, they never would have given me the freedom to do what I’m doing now. The lab is the only place I find comfort in and I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful for Themis, to be in her company every day. I feel drawn to her. She isn’t of this world either. She doesn’t belong here any more than I do. We’re both out of place and out of time, and the more I learn about her, the closer I feel to understanding what really happened to me.
I know everyone is worried about me. My mother told me she would pray for me. You don’t do that for someone who’s doing great. I didn’t want to upset her, so I said thank you. My faith has never been really strong, but even if it were, I know there’s no God coming to help me. There’s no redemption for what I’ve done. I should be dead. I died. I was brought back by what I assume is advanced technology, but you might as well call it witchcraft. Not too long ago, the Church would have burned someone like me.
I may believe in God, but I’m at war with him. I’m a scientist, I try to answer questions, one at a time, so there’s a little less room for Him as the answer. I plant my flag, and inch by inch, I take away His kingdom. It’s odd, but none of this has ever occurred to me before. I never even saw a real contradiction between science and religion. I see it now, I see it clear as day.
I’ve crossed that line we’re not supposed to cross. I died. And I’m still here. I cheated death. I took away God’s power.
I killed God and I feel empty inside.
FILE NO. 1408
INTERVIEW WITH BRIGADIER GENERAL EUGENE GOVENDER, COMMANDER, EARTH DEFENSE CORPS
Location: Waldorf Astoria Hotel, New York, NY
—You should hurry, Eugene.
—How long have we known each other?
—Fourteen years this September.
—Fourteen years. And in all that time, have I ever, once, given you permission to call me Eugene?
—“General” seems … inappropriate after what we have been through.
—It does, doesn’t it? Imagine how it feels to have absolutely nothing to call you.
—Not that I do not enjoy hearing you ramble endlessly about my anonymity, but you are addressing the United Nations General Assembly in less than one hour. I know how much you loathe speeches, so if you require my help, now would be a good time.
—Then why don’t you give the address? You’re the one who got me into this mess in the first place.
—Let me hear your opening.
—Where’s that damn piece of paper? Oh, here it is. Have you seen my—
—They are on the nightstand.
—Thank you. It goes like this: “I know many of you are afraid. I know you want answers.”
—I meant what is the beginning of your speech?
—That is the beginning of my damn speech.
—Eugene, you are not talking to cadets at the academy. This is the UN General Assembly. There is protocol. You normally begin by naming everyone. Mr. President, Mr. Secretary General, members of the General Assembly, ladies and gentlemen.