Project Hyperion

by Jeremy Robinson

  Lovecraft’s anguished cry reaches a high pitch that I think will rupture my ears. But then the beast is tossed to the side. Or did it dive? Either way, its cry becomes a wet, bubbling gargle as it splashes down in the ocean.

  To my surprise, the massive beast that I could so easily picture destroying entire worlds, leaps for deeper ocean and dives down when the water is deep enough to accommodate it. Then with a splurge of black goo that blackens the ocean for miles, Lovecraft opens its wings and shoves them back, propelling its girth into deep water, where it dives and disappears.

  I circle the island as the robot pulls itself up from the crushed lighthouse and stands like some heroic beacon in the morning sun. The giant head turns, sees me and then follows my progress around the island. The face is a stoic mask, lacking any kind of expression other than serious determination. But then its massive arm rises, its two fingered hand opens and it waves, friendly and casual.

  The arm lowers again and the head moves, still following me, but splitting at its core and then sliding apart in segments until the face is open and exposed. Inside it is a shiny black oval that looks like oil. The black surface stretches and contorts as something moves within it. A human shape emerges, arms, hands and fingers stretching against the fabric, and then sliding through. A body follows next, and despite the slimy look of the oily substance, comes out clean.

  Maigo!

  She waves in the same way the robot had just a moment ago, confirming that she’s the one controlling it.

  But how? And where the hell did this thing come from?

  My eyes wander down the front of the robot, and I see a massive symbol carved into the chest, three circles connected by a single vertical line. Right now, the outer circle glows red, while the two inner circles are dark. This thing is Atlantean, I realize. Holy... This is what was buried beneath Big Diomede!

  Maigo holds out her hand and raises her index finger in the same way Collins does when she’s on the phone with someone and I want to talk to her. Then she lies back down, and she’s greeted by black tendrils that remind me of Nemesis’s back and how she pulled Endo inside of her. Maigo slides inside the black, which reverts back to a smooth, oily surface.

  “Can you hear me?” Maigo says, her voice clear in my ear, though distorted somehow, like it’s a digital version of her actual voice.

  “Maigo,” I say, relieved that she’s safe. “What the hell is going on? How did you—”

  “Long story,” she says. “But I’m sorry I did it. I put you all in danger.”

  She’s right about that, but I’m not sure having Future Betty would have changed the outcome of this battle the way this robot did. “Just tell me what it is.”

  “Hyperion,” she says, and I wonder if she’s expecting me to know what that is. But then she fills me in. “This is what killed Nemesis Prime.”

  As the massive head closes around Maigo, I take stock of the colossal machine again. From what I know, Nemesis Prime was bigger and badder than our modern day Nemesis, and if this thing took her out, there is more to this robot than we just saw.

  The moment the head closes, Hyperion flinches and turns around, looking back out at the ocean.

  “You guys better get out of here,” Maigo says.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “I can feel her coming.”

  “Lovecraft?”

  “Good name,” she says, “but no. Nemesis. She’s almost here.”

  I bank higher and look into the distance, using the camera to zoom in. A mound of water carved in half by two rows of forty foot tall spines charges toward us.

  That’s Nemesis all right, and she seems pissed.

  That’s when it hits me. Nemesis is a new creation, like Maigo herself, and like Maigo, this ancient goddess of vengeance remembers its first life, and death—at the robotic hands of Hyperion.

  23

  The world was becoming a strange place. Rising up to the surface brought the voices of humanity, like a thick haze, calling for her attention. For her vengeance. She felt the wrongs of the world as strongly as ever, but amidst the chaos was a beacon of interest.

  The creature felt familiar. Like family. But wrong.

  She could feel its power, but was it a threat?

  Not to her, she thought, but the Voice wasn’t so sure. Endo was suspicious. The Gestorumque was aware of Nemesis’s approach, but wasn’t projecting any rage toward her. Instead, she felt kinship from the creature. Welcome. And this confused her.

  But not Endo.

  For even more profound than the sense of belonging with this Gestorumque, they could feel its contempt and rage for the people they cared for. People who were in danger. And despite the impressive speed at which she could swim, Nemesis knew she would not arrive in time to intervene.

  She was no stranger to extreme emotions. They’d been tortured into her Prime self and passed down to her. But failure and shame, those were new, and they came from Endo’s voice. At first, she sneered at the emotions. They felt weak, which wasn’t how she thought of Endo. But discomfort quickly changed to a new kind of rage, and she found her broad tail pounding through the water even faster. And then a new sense reached her mind: exhilaration. From the speed. From the anticipation of battle. From the hope that this new burst of energy might help them arrive in time.

  As they neared the scene, Endo focused their thoughts on what they could detect. The people. The locations. The Gestorumque. While they couldn’t see what was happening, a lot could be inferred by what they felt from those involved. The humans were frightened, desperate, and yet, they were determined and defiant. She and Endo admired these humans for similar reasons despite having very different kinds of interactions with them.

  The Gestorumque was more confusing. It was angry and full of vengeance that mirrored the memories of Prime, but all of that emotion was expertly directed, combining primal power with intelligent focus. It was the kind of symbiosis that Nemesis was only starting to find with Endo. And right now, all that rage and intelligent guidance was directed at humanity, who were simply defending a landscape that had been forever altered by Nemesis.

  The Kaiju felt no remorse for her previous actions, for the destruction of the city ahead or for the coastline she swam along. It felt righteous then, and her memory of the events remained the same. There had been no other option. Not with that wounded voice.

  A sudden shift in emotion revealed a change in the battle’s direction. The humans, their friends, spiked with fear strong enough for Nemesis to feel it from hundreds of miles, and at this proximity, it felt like a slap. They were in danger, direct and immediate.

  We’re not going to make it, Endo thought, urging they move faster despite knowing it was no use. They still had miles to cover, and the doom roiling from their friends was growing all the more powerful, rising to a peak.

  Nemesis roared. The bubbling vocalization would betray their position to the human military forces seeking them out, but it couldn’t be helped. Feeling helpless was not something the Kaiju was familiar with, and it revealed itself as emotions that mirrored those of the people for whom she felt concern.

  And then, in a flash, everything changed.

  They felt relief and surprise from the humans. They had been saved, by something else. Something that filled their hearts with hope.

  But Nemesis felt nothing.

  It was like the newcomer wasn’t really there, detectable only through the emotions of others.

  The Gestorumque’s reaction was equal to that of the humans, but vastly different. After a moment of confusion, the creature emoted waves of anger, fear and doubt. Whatever it had encountered, it was unexpected, but recognized. Nemesis sensed a struggle, reading the Gestorumque’s emotions like a painting, but the image was one sided and incomplete.

  And then there was pain. The Gestorumque had been wounded.

  Logic with a twinge of shame-filled fear propelled the creature away from the humans, who were now elated. The danger for them ha
d passed.

  Nemesis’s charge slowed as she reached shallow waters and let her head rise up. For the first time, she saw the scene with her eyes, and for the first time, she felt complete and abject shock. She flinched in the water, slowing nearly to a stop as a memory slammed into her mind.

  Her death.

  She felt it again.

  Saw this ancient enemy.

  Experienced the pain it had wrought.

  Endo felt it too, but warned against her building emotions. That wasn’t you. Wasn’t us. This is not our enemy. It saved our friends.

  But as he experienced the death himself, his voice lost power, and all that was left in the void of Nemesis’s primal mind, was what she had been designed for: vengeance.

  She would destroy her ancient enemy, without mercy, compassion or hesitation. With a thrust of her tail, Nemesis pounded through the water, surging toward a battle once lost, but soon avenged.

  24

  “Kiku,” Seika Ayugai whispered. “Never leave me.”

  Kiku stared back, unblinking, her smile warming his heart. She was always there for him. Always present. Always smiling. Always pretty. Seika considered himself blessed and lucky to have found her at a comic book convention. He didn’t get out much—hardly ever—but some of his virtual gaming friends had been having an annual meet up and he had known that getting out of his small Tokyo apartment would make his parents happy.

  He’d first seen her through a display of Manga, and he’d instantly been smitten by her wide green eyes and lithe figure. He had approached cautiously, with the nervousness of a thirty year old man who had never had a female friend, let alone been with a woman. Her docile demeanor put him at ease and he’d felt no judgment about his size, his balding hair or the nasal pitch of his voice.

  He squeezed her soft body, pulling her against him and leaning his cheek against hers. Light filtering through the blinds made him squint.

  Another morning.

  Another day. From his small room, he could telecommute, do his programming, play Final Fantasy 10 with his friends and have food delivered. With the attached single person bathroom, he could go entire days—weeks even—without ever having to leave this safe space. And Kiku, the ever faithful, stayed with him every second.

  He sat up and looked down at her body, still as perfectly formed and creamy skinned as when he’d first seen her. “Love you, Ki—” The bed shook beneath him. “—ku?”

  He looked around the perfectly organized room. A pen rolled across his desk and fell to the floor.

  “Was that you?” he asked, and something about the question made him queasy. He knew it wasn’t her.

  The bed shook again, and this time, the room with it. The glowing screen of his laptop, wallpapered with a photo of Kiku, flickered.

  Seika stood slowly, his flaccid legs straining with the effort. Hands on hips, he stretched to either side and then stepped toward the window. He didn’t want to open it. Didn’t want to see the city, or feel the warmth of the sun. It irritated his skin, and something about the city—and all the people in it—revolted him. But if there was an earthquake, he and Kiku might have to flee the city.

  When was the last time I used the moped? he wondered, considering whether or not he’d remember how to use it, if it still had gasoline, if the gasoline had gone bad and how he would carry Kiku on the bike.

  Seika’s chest tightened. He leaned forward, holding himself up against the window sill, breathing deeply. I need to exercise, he thought. Or I’m going to die in this room. His eyes widened a touch. I don’t want to die in this room. He looked back at Kiku. Her gaze filled him with relief, and his fears about spending the rest of his life in this small space didn’t feel so wrong. “If you won’t leave me, I will stay here forever.”

  He reached out for the tilt wand on the blinds. He braced himself for the warm glow of the sun and then twisted the wand.

  He squinted in the light, groaning and nearly closing the blinds again. But then he saw Tokyo outside, gleaming and clean from the previous night’s rain. It was still early, and the streets had yet to congest with commuters. It even seemed quiet.

  Then everything shook again, more violently this time. The distant sound of shattering glass was followed by an ear-splitting warning klaxon. Were they under attack? Was it the Chinese, finally seeking retribution for World War II? He looked out the window, peering past the neighboring sky-rise buildings to Tokyo Harbor.

  A wave slid into view, crashing against the docks and tossing boats like toys. He felt a twitch in his mind, as it tried to tell him he was watching a movie. He stepped back and confirmed that he was looking out a window. That this wasn’t a hoax.

  An earthquake at sea, he thought, and he began tallying how many nuclear power plants were in the area. The closest he knew about was Hamaoka in Omaezaki, a three hour drive to the south. They should be safe from a meltdown like the one suffered by the Fukushima Daiichi power plant, but he couldn’t recall if his building was earthquake-proof. He glanced at Kiku and felt safer. As long as she was here, he was safe.

  “I won’t leave you,” he said. “I will—”

  Another quake drew his eyes back to the harbor, and what he saw drew a high-pitched scream from his lips. It slowly reached a crescendo that matched the urgency of the warning klaxons rousing the city from its slumber.

  Stepping from the ocean and onto the docks was a monster...a Kaiju.

  “Like Nemesis,” he said. But not.

  The creature before him looked about the same size as Nemesis, who had yet to make landfall in Tokyo, denying her fans the giant monster stereotype. But now...this monster had arrived. It rose from the water, standing hundreds of feet tall, and it spread its four arms wide. The arms were long and thin, ending in slender three-fingered hands tipped with hooked talons that were longer than the hands themselves.

  Its body was covered in a kind of exoskeleton that looked like it wore the bones of another creature over its own bones, but they were still wrapped in its own rough looking, mottled maroon and gray skin. The bony framework made it look emaciated, but its size...the thing exuded power and ferocity. A line of thick, pointed hairs, each the size of a telephone pole, lined the creature’s back, like the dorsal spines of a fish without the fin flesh stretched between them. The worst of it was the face, which reminded Seika of the smooth-domed heads of the xenomorphs from Aliens, but with three red eyes on either side of the head and surrounded by a variety of gray, bony protrusions that could act as offensive weapons or defensive armor. It turned its head, making a slow survey of the city, its lips sneering up, revealing chaotic rows of sharp teeth.

  It turned around, moving too fast, like a spider, twitching quickly, moving from one place to another in a blink. The sudden movement sent a fresh wave rolling down the city streets. A bony-looking, whip-like tail sailed out of the water and struck a building, slicing clean through it at an angle. Gravity tugged on the top half of the building, sliding it toward the ground. Though it crumbled as it moved, the building remained in two distinct slices until the top half spilled over the side and crashed into the ground, pulverizing the building across the street and sending up a plume of dust that partially obscured the monster.

  Seika took in a deep, wheezing breath and staggered back. When his legs struck the bed, he fell back, sitting atop Kiku’s legs. She didn’t complain. She never complained. He reached out for her and grasped a handful of her leg, squeezing hard. “We need to leave,” he said, looking around the small room.

  When his eyes settled on Kiku again and he saw her unconcerned smile, a rush of dopamine put him at ease. It was a big city. The Japanese Defense Force and the American military would respond soon enough. The Kaiju looked dangerous. Ferocious. But it didn’t have the glowing membranes that Nemesis did. It couldn’t level entire cities with the force of a nuclear blast. To reach him, it would have to move through a wall of buildings.

  He pushed off the bed and watched the creature twitch around in the harbor
, like a dog sniffing out a trail. It didn’t seem particularly interested in the city. It’s here for something else, he thought and then he turned to Kiku. “We’re safe here.”

  A crash spun him back around and made him gasp. A second building was falling.

  His thoughts turned back to the moped. If it still ran, he could be out of the city quickly, even if the roads were congested with fleeing cars, the moped would find a path through.

  It’s my best chance, he thought, and he turned to leave.

  Kiku’s smiling face locked him in place. He said he wouldn’t leave her. She’d been with him, without fail, for years. Never complaining. Never asking anything of him.

  He stood still, clenching his fists. “You’ve made me a prisoner.”

  I was already a prisoner, he thought.

  “You made me a content prisoner.”

  She didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Said nothing.

  Tension crept up the back of Seika’s neck, propelled by the klaxons, the sound of destruction and a warbled, haunting cry that made tears well in his eyes.

  Then he snapped, thrusting an accusatory finger at Kiku. “You’re just a pillow!”

  A wave of true relief rushed through him.

  The truth freed him.

  And then, with a groan of airborne metal, and a quickly muffled scream, the tossed hull of a fifty foot fishing trawler crushed him.

  25

  The closer they got to Tokyo, the more reports of carnage began to filter through over the radio and the emergency channels. Something big—a Kaiju—had surfaced in Tokyo Bay. It hadn’t moved inland yet, but it was making a mess of the coastline. Several buildings had been destroyed, and in a city like Tokyo, that probably meant thousands of lives lost. But most major coastal cities around the world had developed emergency evacuation plans after what had happened in Boston, Washington, D.C. and Los Angeles. The populations of landlocked cities had more time to get clear, but when a Kaiju rose from the depths, the time between life and death was reduced from days or hours, to just minutes.