Origin - Season One

by James, Nathaniel Dean

  “I think you’re overstating my value,” Francis said. “I haven’t got a clue what they’re getting into. And I’m sure they don’t either. That’s what scares me.”

  “And I think you’re understating your value,” Mitch said. “No one can know exactly what will happen, but you’re a hell of a lot better suited to dealing with the unexpected than anyone else around here. Besides, you know the old Chinese proverb don’t you? I’m pretty sure it applies here. You owe it – we owe it – to these people to help them.”

  Francis went into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water and stood looking at it, his eyes distant. When he came back into the living room he sat down in front of Mitch, looked at him for a moment longer, then said, “All right. I’ll stay. Now get out of my apartment before I change my mind.”

  Mitch stood and held out a fist. “Put it there, brother.”

  Francis sighed and bumped the fist with his own. “Go on, off with you. Take that girl of yours to dinner. I need a little time to arrange my thoughts.”

  When Francis opened the door Richelle was standing in front of it, one hand raised to knock. Both her eyes were black and she had a small Band-Aid over the bridge of her nose.

  “Bad time?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” Francis said. “Mitch was just leaving.”

  When he passed her Mitch gave Richelle a little thumbs-up and got a wink in return.

  When he was gone, Richelle said, “Everything okay?”

  “Five by five,” Francis said. “And you?”

  “I’m just glad this is all over,” she said. “Did Mitch tell you about Fairchild?”

  “He did.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  Francis smiled at her but said nothing.

  “What?” She said.

  “Richelle, I may have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night. I know a double act when I see one.”

  For a moment she was at a loss for words. “It was that obvious?”

  “It’s okay,” Francis said. “I understand why you did it. Mitch is quite a character, isn’t he?”

  “He certainly is,” she said.

  “If you ask me, I’d say he is going to be a lot more useful around here than me.”

  She regarded him for a moment with a stern gaze. “We need people like you as well, Francis. And everything that’s happened has only made that more obvious than ever. You see that, right?”

  “Sure,” Francis said. “I guess I just don’t see where I fit in exactly. I’m no science major. And I sure as hell don’t know anything about space. Now Mitch, he’s all of that and probably more. I have one skill, and I’m not sure it’s what you’re really looking for.”

  “Killing people?” she said.

  Francis nodded. “Yeah. Killing people.”

  She shook her head. “You’re being a little hard on yourself, don’t you think? Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “What were you going to do? Once you succeeded in shutting down your program? What were you going to do then?”

  Francis considered the question and said, “The truth? I don’t really know. I spent so long getting to that day, I guess I never thought beyond it.”

  “You want to know what I think?” Richelle said.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re going to tell me anyway?”

  She smiled. “I think you did what you did because you recognize that there are things in this world that can’t be allowed to exist. And whatever part you may once have played in that, you’ve more than atoned for it, believe me. I’m not talking about getting the CIA to shut down some assassination program. I’m talking about this. You said it yourself, Brendan wasn’t trying to shut this place down, or simply replace me as the person in charge. He –”

  “He was going to try and use it as a weapon,” Francis said.

  “Yes.”

  “And could he?” Francis asked. “Use it as a weapon?”

  “I don’t mean to sound overly melodramatic,” Richelle said. “But Heinz assures me that there are technologies on board Origin that would make nuclear weapons look like swear words. So when I say you’ve atoned for whatever you’ve done, I’m talking about what might have happened, no, what would have happened, if you hadn’t come along when you did.”

  “All right,” Francis said. “And now that I have. What next? What exactly is the plan?”

  She looked at him as if the question was self-explanatory. “We use what we know to do what we can. We employ the technologies we find as a force for good. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but assassinations are the least of the world’s problems. My father was always clear about his intentions. He wanted to use whatever we found to do something about it.”

  “So you’re going to save the world?” Francis said.

  Richelle looked offended. “Well you don’t have to make it sound so fucking naïve.”

  She saw he was smiling and said, “What?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – maybe I just needed to hear you say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “That this wasn’t all just some…”

  “What?” Richelle said. “The fucking Umbrella Corporation?”

  “The what?”

  “Never mind. Although I’d like to think you’ve seen enough to understand we’re not a bunch of screwballs.”

  Francis held up his hands. “You’re right. And I’m sorry. Look, it’s all happening a bit fast, that’s all. I mean, there’s an alien spaceship up there for god’s sake. The problem is, I don’t actually believe in aliens. It’s a bit like meeting Gandhi in a strip club. You know it can’t be him, and you know he can’t be there, and yet there he is.”

  Her features softened as he spoke. When he was done, she chuckled and said. “Gandhi in a strip club?”

  “Yeah, it happened to me in a dream once. Weird, right?”

  This time she really laughed. “You’re not all there, are you?”

  “What, here? Inside the island stronghold of the new alien revolution? No, I’m not sure that I am.”

  Richelle struggled to stop herself from breaking into a fresh bout of laughter. A moment later Francis began himself.

  In all the years that lay before them and all the trials and triumphs yet to come, that moment would be one they both remembered as among the best. Perhaps because none of it had happened then, and perhaps because on some level they both knew things would never be that simple or easy to laugh at again.

  Conclusion

  I

  Mike finished reading the four-page document and handed it back.

  He was sitting up in his hospital bed, still hooked up to a plethora of machines and sensors. The man who had come to see him, a career CIA attaché from the embassy named Frank, reached into his jacket pocket and handed Mike a pen. Mike took it but didn’t sign the document.

  “Agent Banner,” Frank said, “I’m not authorized to discuss the matter with you any further. If you have questions, you’ll have to take them up with Director Fairchild when you get back.”

  “I’m not signing this until I know Susan and Josh are safe,” Mike said.

  Frank sighed and closed the door. “Your wife and son arrived in Phoenix this morning. That’s all I can tell you. I fully understand your concern, and I can’t tell you how sorry we are about what’s happened, but that’s all I can tell you. The director assures me every effort will be made to compensate you and your family. But we need to know that we can rely on your discretion in this. If you sign the document, I’ll see what I can do about arranging a phone call home.”

  “So you’re blackmailing me,” Mike said.

  Frank shook his head and was about to reply when Mike said, “It’s all right. I’ll sign it. Just tell Fairchild I expect him to clear this up with the Bureau before I come back.”

  “I’ll be sure to pass it on,” Frank said.

  Mike signed the paper and handed it over. “Can I ask you a question?�
�

  “Sure,” Frank said. “Just don’t expect an answer.”

  “Has Norton Weaver seen that?”

  Frank folded the paper and put it back in his pocket. “I’ll be back a little later. In the meantime, you should get some sleep, Agent Banner.”

  Mike laughed and shook his head. “You guys crack me up, you know that?”

  Frank didn’t answer. Mike watched him leave and laid his head back down on the pillow.

  “Francis,” he said to himself, “you crafty son of a bitch.”

  II

  Joe pulled the rusty old Bronco to the side of the road and looked at Jesse and Amanda in the rear-view mirror. “You guys going to be all right? We don’t have to do it today if you don’t want.”

  Amanda shook her head. “If we put it off for another day I’m going to lose my nerve completely.”

  She took Jesse’s hand. “You ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Joe got out and opened the door on Amanda’s side. She stepped out onto the gravel and gave him a long hug. “Thanks, Joe.”

  When Jesse joined them the two men shook hands.

  “You take care of her,” Joe said, winking at Amanda.

  Jesse reached into his pocket and handed Joe an envelope. “Could you give this to Reginald when you see him?”

  Joe took the letter. “Of course. There’s a bus stop about half a mile up the road. It will take you into town. If you ask the driver he’ll be able to give you directions to the consulate.”

  They watched Joe get back in the truck and waved after him as he turned and headed back the way they had come.

  “Do you think we’ll ever see Francis or Mike again?” Amanda said, as the truck disappeared from view in a cloud of dust.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Jesse took her hand and they began to walk. “Come on, let’s get this over with before we forget what the hell we’re supposed to say.”

  She grinned at him and slapped him on the backside. “You just want your Warhol moment. Admit it.”

  III

  “And you’re not going to tell me where we’re going?” Francis asked.

  “No,” Richelle said. “You’ll understand why when we get there.”

  They were sitting in the galley on board the Callisto. On this particular day Francis was experiencing another first in a seemingly unending line of them. Although it wasn’t really a first because Francis had had plenty of hangovers, just not on this side of the new millennium.

  “I hear you enjoyed yourself last night,” she said with a knowing smile. “Did no one warn you about drinking with Titov?”

  “As a matter of fact, no. And I’m not sure it would have done any good. We share a deep mutual passion for vodka and table dancing.”

  Richelle laughed and said, “Yes, I heard about that, too. It must be an army thing.”

  “Where were you?” Francis asked. “I get the impression you’re the only one that Titov would have listened to last night. You might have been able to do us all a favor.”

  “Like I said, all will be revealed soon enough. In the meantime, you might want to ask the chef for something to take the edge off your hangover. You look like shit.”

  By the time the Callisto surfaced and the commotion began in earnest, Francis was fast asleep in the small bunk he had crawled into after drinking what he still suspected had been a mixture of dog shit and human vomit. That said, it had done the trick. He still didn’t feel like a million dollars, but he felt a lot better.

  He dressed quickly and made his way up to the bridge where Williams was busy shouting orders without pausing for breath. When he saw Francis, Williams pointed at the ladder leading up to the hatch and said, “Better hurry up, party’s starting.”

  Francis waited for him to elaborate, but Williams had turned to help two of his crew, who appeared to be mounting a large video camera to the eyepiece of the periscope.

  Francis’s first impression as he stepped onto the observation deck was that they hadn’t gone anywhere at all. Then he realized that what he had first taken for the dock inside Aurora was in fact the hull of a small vessel. Neither boat was showing any lights. When he looked up he saw there were no stars out. The wind was blowing an ice-cold draft off the water that made him shiver in the thin coveralls.

  “You’ll want to get down here and across quickly,” someone said from below. “We’re leaving.”

  Francis looked down and saw a crewman standing at the bottom of the ladder leading down onto the hull. He was shining a dim red beam of light up to indicate where the ladder was and Francis climbed down.

  “Gangway’s over there,” the man said when Francis was down. He pointed the beam at a set of steps suspended by a small crane from the boat.

  “Where are we?” Francis asked.

  “The Karl Gustav. Although if you don’t get moving you’ll be in Davy Jones’s locker in about sixty seconds.”

  The man ushered Francis toward the steps and he scrambled up just as they began to rise. As he stepped onto the deck of the Karl Gustav, Francis almost walked straight into a short, stocky man with a battered old captain’s cap covering a thick tangle of red hair.

  “I was just coming to see where you were,” the man said in a thick Scottish accent. “I’m Captain MacDonald. Francis Moore, I presume?”

  “That’s me,” Francis said.

  “A good name, that,” the captain said. “Welcome aboard. I’m afraid Richelle neglected to tell me we had a guest until I ordered the gangway raised. Things have taken an unexpected turn for the worse and as you can see we’re all shitting bricks.”

  Francis wasn’t sure if the man was joking or just crazy; he was smiling as he said it.

  “What the hell is going on?” Francis asked.

  “We’re about to witness a miracle,” the captain said. “Although if the weather gets any worse it may be a short-lived one. Come, follow me.”

  Francis, no closer to getting an intelligible answer to his question, followed the captain across the deck and through a small door at the bottom of the superstructure. It had started to rain by the time they got inside. As soon as the door closed, a light came on in the ceiling and he saw they were in a narrow hallway leading to a set of steps.

  “When I get a hold of the arseholes at the weather station who promised us clear skies and smooth seas for tonight I’m going to castrate them with my bare hands,” MacDonald said as he led Francis down the hall. “Up you go. Straight through the door at the end. I’ve got to get back outside.”

  Francis watched the captain run back to the door and disappear. He stood there for a moment feeling the ship rock gently and thanked the cook on board the Callisto, he of the dog-shit cocktail, for his uncanny foresight. Had he still been feeling like death warmed up, Francis thought he would have had to race the captain back to the door and onto the nearest rail for a spot of projectile vomiting. What he did instead was take a deep breath and climb the steps.

  When he walked through the door at the end of the passage onto the bridge, what greeted him was pandemonium. There were at least a dozen people present. Francis recognized only Richelle and Heinz. Most of the crew were gathered around the communications console where several of the panels below the control interface had been removed. Someone had climbed inside and was buried to his waist in a jumble of wires and cables.

  Francis walked over to Richelle. “What’s going on?”

  It was Heinz who answered. “The transponder for the remote piloting system has shorted out.”

  “Okay,” Francis said. “In English?”

  Before Heinz could answer the door flew open and Captain MacDonald and one of his crew came stumbling in carrying a large red steel box. Both men were drenched and panting heavily. As soon as they set the box down two of the crew began removing the lid. When the man below the console extracted himself and stood up, Francis saw it was Mitch.

  “Hey, double-O-seven,” Mitch said. “I was wonderi
ng when you’d show up.”

  “I feel a bit like a fifth wheel around here,” Francis said.

  Mitch cocked a thumb back at the hole he had just climbed out of. “So did I until things started falling apart.”

  As soon as the lid was off the box Mitch reached inside and pulled out a long narrow circuit board. He crawled back to the hole beneath the console and began pulling out wires. “Charlie, these things aren’t going to connect themselves.”

  A young man – Francis thought he looked no older than seventeen – handed Mitch a small butane soldering iron. They all watched as he began stripping the wires and attaching them to the board. When he was done, Mitch tucked everything back inside and said, “All right boss, try that.”

  Heinz was standing below a monitor mounted to the ceiling of the bridge. It displayed two identical outlines of a ship’s hull against a dark graph background. One was white and centered on the screen, while the one in red was several centimeters to its right and at a slight angle. He typed something on the keyboard below the screen and stood back. The bridge was silent for almost a minute as they all watched. When the distance between the two outlines began to decrease Heinz breathed a long sigh of relief and said, “She’s back online.”

  A cheer went up among the crew. Several of them slapped Mitch on the back. Everyone was celebrating but Francis, who remained clueless as to what was happening.

  Heinz raised his hands and said, “That’s all very well, people. But we still have a job to do here and we’re not out of the woods yet by any stretch. Jonas, get her back into position. And someone contact Captain Almila and let him know.”

  Richelle walked over to Francis and pointed to a ladder at the back of the bridge, “Come on, let’s go up. We’ll get a better view from there.”

  “Better view of what?” Francis said.

  “You’ll see.”

  When he emerged from the hatch at the top of the ladder, Francis saw they were on a large helipad. Where the helicopter was supposed to be, however, there was now a row of large video cameras mounted to the deck on heavy-duty tripods. To Francis they looked like the cameras used to shoot movies or record television programs. Richelle joined him, spoke briefly to one of the people operating the cameras then came back.