by A D Davies
“Try this,” Prihya said, cutting in. “I cut it together from the audio Bridget recorded. It’s rough, but I think it’ll work. I’ll tell you the hand signals as you speak. Okay?”
“Bridget?” Jules said.
“Do it,” Bridget replied. “I don’t know what it is, but she seems certain.”
The audio played.
Jules did his best to repeat it.
Gilim listened. Watched.
The hand gestures were tough to translate, but it seemed Jules was getting through. Like listening hard to someone speaking with a thick foreign accent. As Jules conveyed the complex language of throat and hand, Gilim switched his attention between Jules and Ryom, glancing to the building, to the people in the distance far below. He lingered on Dae-Sung for a moment, before listening to Jules’s final syllables.
Gilim backed away. One hand cradled the wound from the helicopter blade, while the other supported his weight as he lumbered aside. Even Ah Dae-Sung lay still. Watching.
“What did I tell him?” Jules asked.
Gilim eased himself onto one hand, lowered his backside to the ground, and creaked back against the hillside with a massive sigh—an old man reclining in bed after a long day. He watched, breathed, his nostrils flaring but no longer fighting, no longer in fear for his life. Trusting again. In Jules, if not in the men who’d hurt him.
“You told him he can help the people who are suffering,” Prihya replied. “If he goes to sleep, no more violence, other people will live.”
“So, he’s just going off for a nap?”
“No, but he’ll leave you alone while he rests. He’s hurt. And you told him the enemy was not a threat. His family is safe.”
“You got all that from a bunch of grunts?” Jules said.
“Bridget worked out the key to it all. The base code.”
“Like some primates,” Bridget said. “Combined with the simplest human traits of—”
“Save the lecture.” Jules was standing between Executive Ryom and Dae-Sung, with an additional factor about to become a problem. “How long we got until the missiles fire?”
“Eight minutes,” Charlie said. “Which means twelve minutes until the orb blows, leaving you—”
“Yeah, yeah, I got seven minutes to cut the power and confirm it. Which should be plenty, except…” Jules followed Dae-Sung’s concerned frown. “Except that’s easier said than done.”
It was a crowd. Dozens of inmates, trekking up the slope down which the helicopter had plummeted, with another group winding up the path Jules had chased them from the yard. They must have passed Gilim on the way here, but—undeterred—they’d pressed onward, coming to face the men who’d imprisoned them.
At least fifteen trudged up the hillside, the first few rising to the platform level as those from the other direction—Jules counted twenty-three at first glance, but there may have been others still following—filled the approach path. Some paused by the bodies left after the fight, but most seemed determined to face their tormentors.
Jules said, “We got some people here who just chose the worst possible moment to exercise their human right to free assembly.”
There was no other way out. And Jules wasn’t sure he should try to find one.
“What are you doing?” Harpal asked.
Dan was tempted to shut him out. He wasn’t sure if it’d give him greater pleasure to listen to him bitching away, or to ignore him. Unusually for him, he chose a middle way. “Watch and learn.”
“What does that mean?” Tane asked, his voice rising. “Harpal, what does he mean by that? Because it sounded like something I won’t like.”
“Oh, man,” Harpal said. “You won’t like it. But there’s a few people I can see who’ll hate it that bit more.”
Despite the lives on the line, including his own, and the wider fate of Korea and—yeah, okay, despite how unreal and cheesy it sounded to his inner monologue—the impending specter of World War III, Dan fought to keep a giddy sensation down. He supposed it must have been the multitude of life-or-death scenarios he’d experienced, both as a serving soldier and in the employ of Toby Smith, but when things like this paid off, he tingled all over.
Not that anyone would know it from his grim face.
Dan said, “Ready?”
“For what?” Tane asked.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m doing it, anyway.”
Dan had punctured one of the generator fuel cans and trailed the stream along the lane which almost resembled a medieval street. The one-story huts that doubled as bunks were at risk, might even burn, but he hoped to make enough noise to startle the inmates from their sleep.
The first thing he did was fire a volley of bullets in the air and yelled, “Up! Get up!”
A few heads peered out, terrified, unwilling to venture into the open. As Tane said, they were conditioned to remain where they were supposed to be.
Then Dan tossed three flashbangs all in different directions. Including one at the pooling gas. He dove inside one of the barracks, fingers in his ears.
Even outside, even with his ears covered, the concussion was still painful. Not enough to deafen him behind the wall, though.
Back in the lane, Dan found it had done its trick. Three fuel cans were ablaze, and inmates were dashing out of their beds, their “homes”, and into the maze of buildings.
Dan fired again into the air and snagged the growing throng’s attention. “Anyone speak English. Anyone? Even a little bit?”
Tane said, “Seriously?”
“Anyone? Speak English? Anyone here?”
A feeble hand rose—a woman of around sixty. Okay, maybe she was forty, but this place would rob anyone of twenty years. No matter.
“English?” Dan said.
“Little,” she replied, holding her thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
Dan pointed the half-mile toward Tane. “Lead them that way. Up the mountain. You are free. Go.”
“Free?” She looked frightened at the prospect.
“Free. But…” He chopped a hand at the dam face, towering over everything. “That. Might explode. Go boom. Understand?”
She turned all the way around, speaking to the people nearest her, translating.
“Suck it, Agent Wiremu,” Dan said. “It’s working.”
“Boom,” the woman said.
That was when an almighty crash rang across the valley. All eyes drew that way, including Dan’s. The direction Jules had chased the big boss man and the giant. Where a helicopter waited.
And which now tumbled end over end down the side, exploding halfway to the ground.
Then figures channeled themselves that way. The effect Dan had hoped for with his flashbangs and gas fires was successful—but elsewhere. And people were funneling themselves in the wrong direction.
“No, no.” Dan touched the old woman on the arm, waving desperately at anyone who saw him. “This way. Go this way. Or you die. Understand?”
The woman translated, and it got through to some. But the flow of evacuees he’d hoped for was more of a trickle.
Jules came back on the line, breathless and—for a change—unsure in his tone. “We got some people here who just chose the worst possible moment to exercise their human right to free assembly.”
Whatever that meant, it didn’t sound good.
The crowd formed a circle. Even politer than a British gathering of tea aficionados waiting for the host to pour. They were so used to being ordered around, it was as if the guards’ authority had transferred to Jules. It might also have had to do with those at the head of the pack witnessing Jules speaking to the giant, and this creature—the first they must have seen outside of a fairytale—obeying him.
To say he “controlled” Gilim was inaccurate. But they had come to an understanding. And now this horde of exhausted, frightened men and women were waiting for… something.
Gilim pulled his feet under himself, about to stand. The people nearest him cowed away, while some jittered
on the spot, a move Jules identified as being prepared to fight. They pushed weaker people behind them, a puny flesh barrier between Gilim and the dozens who’d endured hell. But to Gilim they were more humans, strangers, and it was strangers who’d hurt him, who’d wrenched him from his home, from his family.
“Friends,” Jules said to Gilim. He signed what he thought was appropriate.
Prihya came on the line with another mix of soft huffs and grunts. Jules imitated her the best he could.
Gilim exhaled a deep breath and although he maintained an air of caution, he sat back down, showing the inmates he was no threat to them.
Unfortunately, that spike of adrenaline seemed to have injected more urgency into them. Those who’d been ready to defend their friends against a creature who could tear them limb from limb zeroed in on Executive Ryom and Commander Ah.
“Tane, you got any idea what I do with a bunch of gulag inmates who don’t speak English? Or—I’m assuming—Spanish, Latin, or any of the Arabic languages I got stored away.”
Tane said, “You want them to murder the human dead man’s switch?”
“How about trying the ‘friends’ ploy again?”
Dae-Sung beat them to it, calling out to the crowd. With the camp emptying below and up here, Tane clearly had enough concentration to report what was being said here.
“He’s begging them to spare Ryom. Says his heartbeat is linked to the explosives. Everyone will die if they kill him.”
The crowd was silent. Mostly male, but some of the more able-bodied women were here, too. One man at the head of the pack stepped forward, a stronger looking guy, likely a new arrival. He eyed Jules, but his focus was on the men who’d abused so many.
Tane translated what the prisoner said: “You do not deserve to live. This place should not exist.”
Then Dae-Sung’s reply: “I speak the truth.”
“Remind me what happens if the dam blows,” Jules said.
“The camp is obliterated. The valley floods.”
“Towns? Settlements?”
“There were none on our last flyover, but no telling for sure. Why?”
“I need to know some words. You good with that?”
“Sure,” Tane said. “Although your man there said the prisoners would vote on what happens next.”
“Okay.” Jules told him what he wanted to say to the man, this self-appointed leader.
“Are you sure you wanna say that?”
“It’s their business, not ours.”
Tane gave Jules the words, and Jules got the man’s attention.
In Korean, slowly and phonetically, he said, “If you kill these men, the dam will collapse. You will die here.”
The man’s jaw tensed. A glance to Ryom showed the Executive nod and point, words whose intonation suggested he was advising the mob to listen to Jules.
But Jules wasn’t done. He continued Tane’s words: “The giant is our friend. He was abused the way you were. I have to leave now. What happens to these two…” Jules gestured to Dae-Sung and the Executive, “… is your choice. But if you end their lives… take them above the water level first. There, you will be safe.”
The pack’s leader turned to the people closest to him. All nodded.
Jules said, “Our timeframe got smaller. But they all need this. And I think I can do it. I just need Gilim to follow me.”
As the crowd murmured among themselves, deciding what to do next, Jules approached Gilim. Prihya was already making the sounds he needed to convey.
I need help. To save lives. Come with me.
It took almost no time at all to convince Gilim. He rolled to one side, scattering the people nearest, and he and Jules started out, scrambling directly down the incline toward the access road. And as they began their journey downward, the last Jules saw of Ah Dae-Sung and Ryom Jung-Hwan was a mob of prisoners—former prisoners—closing in around them.
Chapter Forty-Three
Jules didn’t even try to speak as he ran to the main building that was now empty. They met no resistance, at least from the gulag security.
“Did he just kill everyone?” Toby said.
“They needed that,” Jules said as he entered the compound, expecting to lose comms. “Needed some measure of revenge. To build their own future, take control of their lives.”
“But—”
“I got this.”
Jules heard nothing more as he delved inside, comms cut off again. Still obviously in pain, Gilim supported himself on a hand as he lolloped on, alongside Jules, back into the cavern where the bad people had all but tortured him. He had to duck in the final passageway, then paused in the mouth of the staging area.
The orb was still black, its dark rainbow-tinged spin continuing despite Jules cutting it off from the activation suite. The door Gilim escaped from hung wide open on its hinges, and the big metal coffin he’d arrived in lay on its side. The floor remained littered with bodies, which Gilim looked over with a faraway expression. He prodded a couple, but Jules had to urge him onward.
Namely, to the chamber.
Jules held the huge hand, but Gilim stalled. He shook his head and stepped back—a horse refusing to jump a hedge.
“Please,” Jules said. He had no access to the language, cut off as he was. He’d recited the noises but hadn’t grasped what they meant, and he couldn’t repeat all that.
But he had one thing.
The backpack. He pulled off his fleece and rolled the pack off his back, then removed the two bangles. He tugged off his gloves and touched the stone artifacts with his bare skin. They glowed dully, but it was enough to fascinate Gilim.
The giant’s face creased, pointing his finger closer to the bangles. He gave a short, sharp laugh.
Jules had hoped there might be something here. If he was genetically tuned to them, and homo colossus were used as conduits for the same technology, it made sense that some echo in Gilim’s subconscious heritage would resonate.
Jules placed the items on the console next to the big red button he’d activated through his mini flashbang. The tiny metal flecks in the bangles lost their light. Now, he needed to stop the worst of all options coming to pass.
Gilim made a small groan and pulled a disappointed face.
Jules gestured for him to lift the bangles.
Gilim obeyed. At the touch of his finger, the two artefacts glowed. It might have been a trick of the light or because Gilim was casting a gigantic shadow, but they seemed to glow more brightly than when Jules held them. Gilim grinned at the effect.
Jules nodded.
Gilim met his eyes and offered the bangles.
Jules accepted them and slipped them on his wrists. He walked to the chamber and stood beside it with one arm extended toward the interior.
Gilim took a breath. Stared at the machine. Then he exhaled and marched forward. He barely hesitated. He halted beside Jules and backed inside the stone box with the crystal-looking door.
As Gilim settled into it, squirming as if trying to make himself comfortable, Jules smiled. “Thanks for trusting me.”
Jules closed the door, sealing Gilim inside, then hopped up onto the control desk. With limited buttons and levers, most of the functions running from an e-tablet, he could traverse the panel and stand directly in front of the orb.
Static surrounded him. Invisible little fingers picked at the hairs on his arm, his legs, the back of his neck. As he lifted his hands, the bangles heavy on his wrists, he repeated himself.
“Thanks for trusting me. Let’s hope I don’t let you down.”
“Are you outside?” Bridget said.
Jules looked around the room, as if it was more likely she’d teleported here than spoken to him via the subvocal earpiece.
“How’d you do that?” he asked.
“Me? We just heard you talking about trust.”
Jules observed the orb, and how it appeared to shimmer when Bridget spoke. “It’s the network. Somehow, our comms is passin’ through there.
”
“What are you doing?” Toby said. “We have to give Grainger the nod. Are we safe yet?”
“Not yet. Gimme a minute, will you?” Jules shrugged the bangles down so his skin was touching them, waited for the flecks to illuminate, then plunged both hands into the orb.
He howled like he never had before. It was like skinny-dipping in acid. Burning raged up his hands, to the point he thought they’d shear off.
But he somehow knew the answer.
He pushed on, ignoring frantic cries in his ear, asking if he was okay, was he in danger, was he hurt…
When the bangles touched the orb, all pain ceased. If anything, it was serene, a light vibration tickling his skin. He shuddered, half-laughing at the dispersing of all that agony.
“Jules?” Bridget pressed. “Answer us!”
“I’m fine,” Jules said.
He glanced aside, noting the activation suite containing Gilim was doing funky things, too. It had glowed at first, but now appeared to frost over.
No, not appeared to frost… it was frost. Ice. A car windscreen on a winter’s night.
“It’s compensating for the energy overload,” Jules said, unsure how he knew that. A knowledge transfer directly from whatever quantum energies he was accessing.
“Are we done?” Toby asked.
“Give the word.” Jules extended his fingers, partly testing they were still there, but also to inform the particles swimming and crashing around the bangles that he was ready to proceed. With what? He couldn’t put it in to words right then, but he knew one thing. “Tell Grainger to call off the Americans. I can do this.”
“Do what, exactly?”
Jules was about to answer, but a low bass thoom cut him off. The structure shook. The orb wobbled.
“Sounds like the inmates made their choice,” Jules said. “But don’t sweat it, folks. This is gonna be so cool.”
The cage-like scaffold swayed and juddered as the dam wall shook. It was like riding a bull during an earthquake.