by Kevin Brown
The sudden silence was deafening. While some of them had already come to that conclusion, it would not be easy to volunteer for it meant certain death. Even though they all knew the importance of delivering that bomb, no one wanted to lose their life over it even though doing so would save so many lives on Hoon.
Taehan looked around. It was not right to force Shunda and his men to sacrifice for Hoon. Dutan and the other researchers did not know how to fly a bomber. Nor did Santan or Sochan. It would be cowardly to force transport pilots to fly the bomber - they were not ready. Daekhan could fly the plane in, but he was Hoon’s leader and had many responsibilities to manage after the bomb was dropped, so he could not sacrifice his life now.
Sochan and Taehan came to the only conclusion at the same moment. She grasped Taehan’s hand tightly. Others in the group looked at the ground and shuffled their feet a bit for they, too, knew who should be the one to take on this task.
“I will do it!” Daekhan said.
“No, I will do it, Daekhan. You are the leader of Hoon and lead us, as well. You have many things you must yet do, so you cannot fly into Hanbau airspace and never return.”
Taehan took on the responsibility without hesitation, but Sochan cried out. He was her fiancé, not just some member of the organization. “No, not this way… Taehan. You cannot do this to me!” Tears formed large pools at the edges of her eyes, threatening to spill over at any second.
“Sochan…”
“We can go back to Hoon and find another volunteer!”
“Let me talk to her alone please,” Taehan said, leading her away from the group that was still gathered beside the fallen pilot.
“Sochan, you know I have to do this,” he said, trying to soothe her.
“It was not agreed! How could you decide this without asking me?”
“We have no other choice, Sochan. I have to do it. If I try to avoid accepting this task everything I have done so far is meaningless.”
“Everything is meaningless if you are dead. Why does flying that plane in matter to you?” She was very emotional right now and it was impossible to have a proper conversation.
“Sochan, I am so sorry. I do not have time for this. Sorry…”
She did not answer. She looked over his head into thin air as if she was already lost in the misery of losing him. He knew this was his last moment with her. He didn’t want to, but he had no other choice than to return to the others.
“Santan....will you take Sochan to Tobachi’s office?”
Taehan returned to the others and said, “Let’s move. Delaying will make this mission even more dangerous.”
A few moments later a Kimosean aircraft brought a nuclear bomb to the landing zone and installed it on Taehan’s bomber while the researchers quickly checked the various parts necessary to assemble the transmission device. People boarded the transports and they rose vertically at take-off.
After seeing the transports off Taehan sat down in the cockpit, face to face with death. He felt fear, yes, and frustration at having to accept an unexpected death, yet he also felt surprisingly calm for he understood the importance the task that lay ahead. What if he had begged to have someone else fly the bomb in? Sochan would have supported that, but how could he live after being such a coward? He could not bear the humiliation or the certain ridicule of others. That would not be a life worth living. I choose this and I do not regret it. He took a deep breath, started the engine and pressed the takeoff button. The bomber soared into the sky and Taehan took comfort in the beautiful reds and oranges and purples of the sunset spilling through the windshield. It was a beautiful world.
Out into the World 27
Santan walked slowly with Sochan to Tobachi’s office in the Kimosean headquarter building. Lost in her despair and the shock of Taehan’s decision, she stumbled frequently, so he kept a firm hold on her elbow to keep her from falling. She had lost her brother in the war against Taebakun. Soon, she would lose her fiancé. He was sad, as well. It was difficult to lose two best friends one right after the other. But he hadn’t said a word to Taehan. He could not express his sorrow or stop him from undertaking the suicide mission. Nor could Santan take on the mission himself, which he would gladly have done. He didn’t know if he could forgive himself for not knowing how to fly the bomber.
The transports were on their way to install the transmission device at the location that corresponded to the bombing target on Taebakun. Taehan’s mission would be to drop the nuclear bomb immediately after passing through the device to achieve the goal ‘at any cost.’ He might be shot down by the Taebakun fighters if he tried to increase his altitude to escape. There was really no hope of him returning safely through the path that lay outside the atmosphere of Taebakun, and Santan felt that certainty in the deepest recesses of his being. Sadness at the loss of his friend threatened to surface just as they came within earshot of the music they’d heard earlier at the gate of the building.
The majority of people living in Kimose were once imprisoned in Parahan just as he had been. Although he hadn’t met any of them, he felt a certain kinship with them. The music got louder as he and Sochan got closer. He’d always enjoyed living in Parahan. Suddenly, memories of the camp surfaced, brought on by the music. Life had been busy, and hard, a time of eating from hand-to-mouth, but there were fun times with his friends, too. He wished he could take his friends away from Parahan.
Santan felt the future was bleak without his friends, whom he loved so much.
“Should I open a hamburger place here?” Santan joked, saying whatever came to his mind. “There are many people in Kimose who might miss burgers a lot…” He sighed heavily.
Sochan looked at him.
He explained. “A hamburger is a food item with meat between two slices of bread. It is served hot, so you need to eat it very quickly.”
Sochan only looked at him, deep sadness already etching lines into her face.
“I know it is hard for you, but please understand Taehan’s situation,” Santan said carefully, not wanting to bring her more pain with his words.
“I know… I know…” Sochan’s tears broke out in earnest now.
But even though she was also a member of the ‘Silence in the Storm’ and had joined the organization ahead of Taehan, she could not really understand Taehan’s situation or what was going on in his mind. She became a member of the organization under the influence of her brother Hanmoo, but from the first moment, she was more active than Hanmoo in enthusiastically supporting the goals of the organization.
Although she did not notice it at that time, she became even more devoted to the organization after she fell in love with Taehan. She tried to deny it, but she could not help but feel that way. The devotion to and support of the organization were as important to her as loving the man. At least that’s what she had believed.
Sochan realized her true feelings when she was about to lose Taehan. She desperately wanted to give up Hoon rather than him. All she wanted was to live with him, even if it meant betraying the organization and living in an isolated place with the whole world ridiculing them. But she knew Taehan. More than anything else, he valued his beliefs, the great cause, and the organization. He would not be able to betray them, even for the love of his fiancée.
She wanted to wail and cry, but did her best to keep calm as they walked to the headquarters building one step at a time. She was thankful for Santan’s support, for all she could think of was that any moment now Taehan would get the bomber airborn and fly it into other world where everyone wanted to kill him. There could be no miracle, no safe return.
Sochan thought about the days she would have to live alone after he was gone. Loneliness and grief wrapped around her like a bandage, layer after layer after layer until darkness descended, just like it had when he was sent to camp. But that time she was not completely alone because she knew he would be back in two years. This time it was forever. And there was no hope. The future stretched out bleakly in a thin line wit
h no shape or dimension or color. She burst into tears, hot, steamy tears that wouldn’t stop. Santan stood by her side holding tightly to her elbow.
Out into the World 28
Taehan looked around in the dark for a landing spot away from the trees that dotted the hilly terrain. The transports were just touching down. After landing, he climbed out of the cockpit and plodded over the weed-covered ground toward Shunda’s company and the researchers who were talking with each under the temporary lighting they’d set up. It was impossible to recognize anything outside the range of illumination the light cast.
The researchers began installing the transmission device following Dutan’s instructions. With Shunda and his company assisting them the device was being assembled quickly.
Dutan turned to Taehan and said, “Upon passing through the transmission device you will arrive on Taebakun at a fairly low altitude right above the bombing target. His lips hardened and his face took on a look of sincerity laced with apology. “You have to press the drop button as soon as you pass through the device. Make sure you drop the load immediately!”
I must be successful and die bravely, for if I try to live, I will fail the mission.
Of that he was sure, for he had heard it explained in the transport after moving to Kubaisen.
“How will you know whether I am successful or not?” Taehan asked.
“Your mission will succeed if you press the button. It is impossible for your bomber to come back, but we can receive a simple signal. As soon as you press the drop button, the atoms of the signal generator will be converted to a different state - the state of Kubaisen. Once the state is changed, it will transmit a signal here. I have installed the signal generator on the arm holding the nuclear bomb.”
“I see…”
Taehan looked at the site where researchers were working on the device. The installation seemed to be almost finished.
The round metal rim and blue-colored liquid film within the radius of the circle were not much different from the one he’d seen in the square of the institute.
A moment later, they gave a hand signal that it was completed.
Daekhan and Dutan looked at Taehan with a firm expression but didn’t say a word.
The surrounding area was tranquil, as if all objects were holding their breath.
“You look like you’re at a funeral,” Taehan joked, looking around at everyone and forcing the corner of his mouth upward into a semblance of a smile. “Come one…..”
“We will never forget your sacrifice.: Daekhan said breaking the heavy silence. “You will always be remembered as a hero who saved Hoon and the other universes.”
“I will be successful,” Taehan responded with determination.
The researchers and Shunda’s company gathered around Daekhan and Dutan and looked at Taehan as if he was a ghost.
Taehan couldn’t bear the sad, gloomy looks and moved quickly toward the bomber. He had been strangely calm until the installation of the device was finished, but now he felt fear creeping into his mind and he knew it would only grow if he delayed. Grow and spread until it dropped into his chest and then seeped into his arms and legs until he was paralyzed. He knew he must leave now.
He climbed into the cockpit and readied the plane for take-off. Then, with a last look at the small group below, he coaxed the bomber toward the transmission device, gaining speed with every inch. The blue orb glowed brighter and pulsed with a strange, mesmerizing movement as it blended with the work lights on the ground and bounced off the windshield in a splash of light that swallowed the bomber.
In that instant he knew he was no longer there, but here, over the bomb site in Taekhan. He’d positioned his finger on the drop button before going through the orb and now he only hesitated a fraction of a second when Sochan’s face floated before him. His heart leapt into his throat and then he pushed down on the button and simultaneously slammed the throttle forward leaping into top speed as if he could fly home to her. A single tear slid down his cheek.
Then a blinding flash erupted around him.
And in that second, everything evaporated…
Reversion
Reversion 1
Dawn, August 1, 1980
Ablue Pony ran against the wind down the narrow two-lane road in the pre-dawn fog of a small city on the Korean Peninsula.
The man gripped the steering wheel and strained to see beyond the range of his headlights which were not quite a worthy opponent for the thick fog.
It would be better if I had a car in front of me.
The man suddenly slowed down, for his instincts told him it could be the last day of his life.
His mother’s voice bellowed from the back seat, “She may give birth in the car at this rate!”
His wife moaned again.
“Hold on!” he shouted and pressed down harder on the gas pedal. The car lurched forward in response, as if it knew the contractions were unexpected, that the baby was coming early.
Soon they entered the downtown area and passed street after street of darkened homes until he saw the only light in the area: Kim’s OB/GYN. The man leaped out of the car and jerked open the back door as quickly as possible.
His wife, heavy with child, moaned again.
“We’re here now! Hang on just a little longer!”
The man slid his arms around his wife and half lifted, half pulled her from the car with his mother’s help. He rushed into the doctor’s office while supporting his wife. His mother followed them, making impatient sounds every few steps.
A male staff and a nurse were just entering the building and they quickly came toward the small group and helped with the man’s wife. The nurse rushed to the delivery room and opened the door. The man led his wife in and helped her lie on the bed before leaving the room at the nurse’s request.
He watched the door close and walked back to his mother, collapsing into the chair beside her, overcome now by the flood of emotion and the sense of urgency he’d felt trying hard to get here in time through adverse weather conditions. His heart was still pounding wildly. He could hear his wife moaning; each second seemed like an eternity. Time seemed to stand still, as if the only thing that existed in this world was his wife on one side of that door and him on the other.
From the end of what seemed like a long tunnel he heard the cries of a baby. A moment later the nurse came out holding an infant.
“It is a prince. Congratulations.”
The nurse smiled widely as if it were her child. The man could not speak, he simply looked blankly at her face. The lengthy tension turned into relief, and then he began to cry. He could not stop. He gave himself up to joy and happiness…and relief. It was utterly impossible to describe this feeling as just ‘happiness’ alone.
She had not been ready at the time of his birth, but Junsik proved to be a calm, mild-mannered child who rarely caused trouble like other boys, and so his youth went by very smoothly compared to the terrible experience he gave his mother when he was born.
When he entered elementary school, he showed his talent in mathematics and received the attention of the whole city. People said he was a math genius. He would be important when he grew up. His parents and acquaintances were very excited.
However, much different than the expectation, he grew up to be an ordinary man - too ordinary. As he grew older, he filled his ordinary space with sweat and effort. He tried not to disappoint the expectations of his parents and others.
Junsik majored in mathematics in a college in Seoul. It was not a top school, but it was good enough to please his parents.
He was interested in computer science when he was a senior and then later got a job in a conglomerate, so others envied him. He started his career as a software programmer.
Social life was harsher than he expected. He had to work overtime at least three days a week and often got off work after midnight, and the creative challenge and dreams he’d initially had shrunk under the busy-ness of daily life. One day he noticed
he was developing cookie cutter programs much like goods made from some factory mold. He felt like a cog in a machine that just did the same thing over and over, and the work became hard to tolerate.
When he was deeply troubled by his life and felt he was just living to meet the expectations of others regardless of his desire, he quit his job in spite of the attempts of others to get him to stay. He wanted to study in graduate school and take the time to look back on his life. He could maintain his income by working as a private tutor while he pursued his degree.
Six months after he quit the job he met a junior high school alumnus at a bookstore in Gwanghwamun. Her name was Miyoung Kim. They hadn’t been close when they were young, but he recognized her at once. Her pretty face, shapely eyes and cute lips were not something you often saw.
Junsik was in the bestseller section of the bookstore when he noticed her. She looked exactly the same so he couldn’t help but recognize her. When he spoke to her she looked happy to have run into her middle school friend out of nowhere.
She told him she was born in Seoul. Her father was transferred to Cheongju when she was an elementary school student, so she had to move with her family. She said she’d moved back to Seoul after she graduated from the middle school. After retiring from work, her father was serving as the president of an organization called ‘People Cultivating Happiness.’ She was a professional photographer and helped her father whenever possible.
At her suggestion, Junsik heard a speech given by her father, Mr. Yu. Afterwards, he frequently attended the meetings, and he became closer to her and her father through those meetings.