Waking Gods (Themis Files #2)(81)

FILE NO. 1623

PERSONAL JOURNAL ENTRY—DR. ROSE FRANKLIN, HEAD OF SCIENCE DIVISION, EARTH DEFENSE CORPS

I’m important, “useful” is what he said. That’s why I’m alive. I’m supposed to do something. I don’t know what that is, but given our circumstances, it has to be something like saving the world. That’s what I was told. That’s right. Someone told me that. He told me the same way he said it might be too early for kung pao chicken. How does one process that kind of information? Did I need to know? Would I not have done it otherwise? Will knowing stop me from doing it?

I’d love to believe it. I’d love to be special. But I’m not. I’m not important. I’m not a savior. I wish I were. The only thing that stopped me from taking my own life is that people were dying by the millions. I thought I could … do something. I thought I could help. I never thought I could do it on my own, but that’s why I stayed. I thought … I hoped I might be important.

I wanted to save everyone. I wanted it so bad. Maybe it’s because no matter how much I try, I can’t shake the thought that they’re dying because of me. I fell on a hand and I brought the world to the brink of war. They brought me back to life and a hundred million people died. I am the harbinger of death.

Now I’m staring at my computer. I’m looking at every piece of data we have on the alien robots and I don’t know where to start. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. If there’s a reason for me to be here, there’s a good chance it has to do with what I’m good at. So I’m focusing on the metal, its composition, waiting for the answer to jump out of the screen. It’s entirely possible that what I’m supposed to achieve has nothing to do with physics. I could be wasting what little time I have trying to convince myself I’m a good scientist. Now I’m overanalyzing everything, wasting time thinking about wasting time.

And what if they’re right? What if wiping us out of history is the right thing to do? I can’t claim to have any objectivity on the matter. Everyone I care about would die in the process and I’d be left to live the most horrible life I can imagine, so my bias is obvious. But these aliens are evidently more evolved than we are. Their technology is incredibly more advanced. It’s at least possible that their understanding of everything else is also leaps and bounds ahead of ours. Maybe they know what’s best.

I feel so alone. I don’t do well on my own. I need people to guide me. I need … I need Kara. I need someone I can talk to about anything, anything but this. I need someone who won’t judge me based on whether or not I can save the world. I suppose no one really does judge me that way, but Kara was the only one who made me feel like I could just … be.

I need you, my nameless friend. Would you be OK with my calling you friend? You died with your arm around me, that has to count for something. Still, you’d probably be uncomfortable with the idea. Talking about you, I realize I’m still angry at you. I can forgive Kara, but you … You had no right to die. You had no right to leave me behind. What would you say if you were here? Something caustic, like: Are you talking to yourself, Dr. Franklin?

Yeah, I’m talking to myself … There’s no one else to talk to. Everyone’s dead. What would you do? What would you say to make me see? You weren’t a scientist, but you’d have made a good one. You were detached, methodical. You could see this problem for what it is. I can only see … nonsense. How can I—me, alone—defeat giant alien robots that can withstand a nuclear explosion, without using anything that was invented in the last three thousand years? What can I do without any technology whatsoever? I can’t even go near them. What would you say to that? You’d probably ask: Do you believe you can defeat them by conversing with the recently deceased?

Probably not. But I’m … allowed to talk to an imaginary friend. It’s in the rules. They had crazy people three thousand years ago. There was nothing else around, though. Nothing but rocks, and dirt, and bugs. I’m sure I wouldn’t like what you’d have to say now. It would be dry, bordering on insulting, but somehow supportive, in your own twisted way.

I know: If that is true, Dr. Franklin, I suggest you stop talking to the dead and find a way to defeat these robots with rocks, dirt, and/or bugs.

I’m losing my mind—I believe that was the general idea that I was trying to convey.

Why does that sentence ring a bell? Rocks, dirt, and/or bugs. What can I do with that? Rocks … Dirt … Bugs … I can throw rocks at them … Maybe they’ll take pity on me, decide we’re not that evolved after all. Think, Rose. Think …

Rocks …

Dirt …

Bugs …

Rocks, and dirt, and …

I think … I think I’ve got it.

Thank you. I don’t believe in the afterlife, but thank you, wherever you are.





FILE NO. 1626

INTERVIEW WITH BRIGADIER GENERAL EUGENE GOVENDER, COMMANDER, EARTH DEFENSE CORPS

Location: Shadow Government Bunker, Lenexa, KS

—You can sit down, Dr. Franklin. You’re stressing me out.

—Thank you, General.

—The Quebecois said you have a plan.

—I do. Half of one anyway.

—That’s a half more than what we had an hour ago.