Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2
"There are no facts, only interpretations."
FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE 1844 - 1900
"Mankind is poised midway between the gods and the beasts."
PLOTINUS205 - 270 A.D.
ROM, n. formed of 'read only memory'; memory whose contents can be read but cannot be changed.
SECTION I.
GENERAL THEORY
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
THE ISLAND is natural.
It was discovered and developed in 1953, as an automated manufactory embodying
the agenda of wealthy Japanese neo-Imperalists.
In the beginning, a limited crew of developers stayed at the island, super
vising construction.
They departed in 1956, when Phase 1 of the designers' goal reached fruition:
"Industrial Auto-synthesis."
At this stage, production was completely
automatic. The facility continued to
develop and evolve its financiers' chief
concept independent of human intervention,
until, in 1963, the first successful copy
walked from the assembly line.
A "humandroid":
Carbon-based biological "human simulation,"
with silicarbon "operating cortex" acting as
functionally limited brain and radio-control
transciever.
Programmed for infiltration.
This first drone, named Anton DSR (80-38B),
was clandestinely delivered to North America,
where it successfully integrated itself into
American culture -- posing as a naturalized
Canadian.
Reconnaissance recovered during this "trial
mission" was negligible, but the concept was
proven.
Production continued at the island.
Newer models were sent on more important
missions.
Then, in 1975, the island's managers faced a
serious problem -- a systematic failure in
foresight.
The genetic drones were encountering critical
difficulty "blending in" once their purposes
were achieved; this as a consequence of very
limited synthetic brains.
The solution was not unanimous, though it was
reluctantly accepted:
The humandroids would go to Korea, to quietly
disappear as suburban "expatriates".
With that problem solved, the island's
creators were forced to confront the next
big issue:
What do we do now?
It did not seem mathematically sound to
continue populating the world with false
genetic simulations -- at least, when they
could not integrate seamlessly into society
after mission termination.
So, an alternative had to be proposed.
And an alternative was: natural animals.
These simulated creatures could prowl bases
and campuses -- to greater effect in domestication
-- all the while being perfectly suited for
a return to local ethology.
The secret era of the Humandroid was over.
What few remained on the island were permitted
to stay; to live out their barely sentient
five-century spans.
The auto-synthetic facilities were re-adapted
for new anatomies. Now, creatures of many
types and taxons ambled in great profusion
from the assembly line: everything from the
familiar -- cats, dogs, birds; to the obscure
-- anoles, rheas, alligators. Polar bears.
In reconnaissance, they enjoyed moderate
success. Second gen improvements were soon
to be implemented when Shida Nobunatsi, by
far the most eccentric and influential of the
island's financiers, whimsically re-purposed
the facilities to a radical new end.
In the months leading up to his decision,
Shida had grown very close to a young mechanical
engineer who drafted fantastical "automata of
war" in his free time.
In secret, Shida commissioned the engineer to
draw up several robots and semi-robots to
concretize a nebulous scheme growing in his
head.
When the young engineer's drawings were finished,
Shida Nobunatsi's new plans for the island had
fully and robustly matured.
The rest of the board were baffled by his
unwavering insistence, but Shida's logic was
simple:
---------
Reconnaissance is *preparation*, isn't it?
How will we get anywhere if all we do is
infiltrate? Leverage is good -- when we
have something they do not.
Or . . . *when we pose an imminent threat*.
We have the technology. We have the secrecy.
All we require is the resolve.
It can be done without a single Nipponese
soul lost --
We will rain MACHINES on their bustling cities.
Machines massive, self-directed and impervious.
---------
So the island was once more re-adapted.
The delicate genetic assemblers were destroyed;
immense industrial automatons replaced them
on the assembly line.
Smoke billowed, sparks flew.
Piece by piece, the new machines took shape.
And they were gigantic.
The smallest stood three stories.
The largest, twelve.
They were strangely grotesque, almost Gigerian,
as if Nature had evolved their forms through
countless, painful revisions.
Some were completely robotic; others only
partially so, with bays installed for human
operators. These latter looked like mobile
weapons platforms, bristling with guns and
controls.
As the island's mechanized arsenal steadily
accumulated, with a suicidal assault on the
United States its intention, the non-
renegade board members took emergency action.
Shida Nobunatsi was assassinated on October 12,
1978.
Production at the island was halted, and
means of deployment terminated permanently.
The remaining board faced weeks of angst-
ridden indecision.
Destroying the island would draw attention.
There was only one option:
Oblivion.
Incinerate every shred of document relating
even vaguely to it, go separate ways about
the world, and never, ever mention it again.
And so they did.
Abandoning one of the greatest accomplishments
in structural engineering, about two hundred
dormant robots, and half a dozen genetic
drones ("humandroids"): Agatha YND (80-92L)
Cornel LMR (80-45C)
Isaac SXQ (80-52M)
Gribbin TTW (80-71J)
Irving AMO (80-92X)
and
Ethan ROM (80-22E) At least, they *thought* the robots
were dormant . . .
SECTION II.
EPISODIC ADAPTATION OF THEORY
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The plane crash is genuine.
Ethan ROM is the only humandroid close
enough to witness it.
When it is clear there are survivors,
he very slyly integrates himself into
the confusion.
The Korean couple, Jin and Sun, have
since the impact been suspicious of
the island. Where they lived, stories
abounded -- whispered folklore -- that
strange, depthless men sometimes re-
counted awkward and horrifying pasts,
each beginning in the same way . . .
on the same island.
Their unexpressed anxieties were
confirmed by the abduction of Charlie
and Claire.
When Charlie is recovered, Jack can't
help but notice Jin and Sun's growing
angst. He demands to know what's
going on.
Jin, ever stolid and reluctant, remains
on the beach.
Sun leads Jack away, determined that
*showing* will prove more effective than
words.
She's right.
When she brushes away dead undergrowth,
revealing the hard, angular edge of a
decidedly artifical subterranean structure,
Jack is at once awed and mystified.
The whole story is eventually coaxed from
Sun.
From her descriptions of the facility,
Jack grows deflated very rapidly. He views
the situation with even less hope than
before.
Sun tries gentle encouragement . . .
"Even though the whole facility was automated,
I think one of the immutable design parameters
was to always include a 'Command Nexus' for
human override, the big relay point for all
transmitted sensory data." Jack: "Yeah. Great. You want to go
looking
for it? Go ahead. If anything like that
DOES exist, we have no idea where it is." Locke steps into the clearing:
"I do."
Jack and Sun exchange glances.
Locke concludes: "I've seen it." An assault plan is formulated.
Jack
disseminates the strategy:
We're breaking into a facility that will
tell us where Ethan is. And when we know
that, we've found Claire.
The assumption is that if Ethan was one
of six, the rest are undoubtedly camped
in front of the facility.
Sayid and Locke are put in charge of
offensive strategy.
Fifteen men are selected for the
attack. Locke conducts a brief training
regimen, reading from a use-worn clothbound
edition of Sun Tzu's THE ART OF WAR.
Spears are fashioned in the night.
Traps are assembled.
Camouflage* is applied.
The men are ready. Jack, Hurley and Sayid
among them.
Sun is at first rejected from the group,
but is admitted after confessing a fluency
in Japanese -- the language of the folks who
built this place.
The siege is initiated at midnight.
Locke leads.
After a long hike over treacherous ground,
they eventually reach a slight ridge.
Locke motions for an all-stop.
He peeks his head above the crest, bringing
a pair of orphaned opera glasses to his
eyes. His unreadable expression does not
change as he passes them to Jack.
Over the ridge is a small, circular valley.
At the end farthest from them: an immense
concrete entryway.
Locke motions the rest of them to peek silently
over the ridge. He's pointing to the small
fire burning just before the entryway -- and
the five figures crouched motionless around
it.
With a simple hand gesture, he has the rest
of them drawing out miniature bows. At his
signal, they are loaded with blunt-looking
arrows.
He carefully lights the end of his walking
staff on fire, and one by one the men
pass their arrow-tips through the flame,
igniting them.
Back in radial formation, he does a brief
countdown, ensures aim, and signals "Release!"
The night air is scythed by arcs of burning
light. The humandroids below don't have time
to react: the arrows strike their camp, and
two of them go down with direct hits.
The camp erupts in flame.
It was not difficult to determine the origin
of the arrows, and the remaining three humandroids
come storming up to the ridge, infuriated.
Locke never misses a beat.
He holds up his hand while the rest sweat,
waiting for the EXACT right moment --
And when it's upon them, he signals for the
second wave.
As one, the men leap over the crest and
descend down the valley's sloped wall --
SCREAMING a horrifying war-chant.
They wield no apparent weapon -- until,
just as they are within range of the
swiftly approaching humandroids, Locke YELLS
the final signal, and everything from wooden
spears to mace-balls are swung out from behind --
EACH incorporating at least five of Locke's
four hundred** stainless blades. Needless to say, the humandroids meet
death
gruesomely.
Jack, Locke, Sun and Hurley head for
the main entryway.
The others maintain guard just outside it.
It is a massive facility. The main entry
is bizarrely gigantic, clearly intended for
the passage of huge, ambulant . . . things.
Hurley is the audience's "curiosity,"
running his fingers across layers of dust
and cobwebs, cringing.
The path eventually takes them into near
total darkness, only tiny shafts of moonlight
illuminating the way ahead.
They pass through cavernous rooms; galleries
and reliquaries, filled with ancient, hulking
forms -- all indistinct in this low light.
Thankfully, all of the forms appear regularly
placed, and dormant.
But they are massive. Three stories at least.
Hurley's pace quickens.
Just as Hurley is about to voice his disquiet,
they are suddenly disoriented, standing in
a chamber of absolute pitch darkness.
Sun remarks, "We should be close."
Locke agrees.
Jack asks them to "feel" for a door. He
says the same to Hurley, when he can hear
him breathing rapidly.
"Hurley, feel the walls? They're circular.
We're in some kind of transitory chamber;
there's a door in here . . . help us find it."
Hurley replies: "Um, guys. . . I don't think
we have to find it . . . "
There is dread in his voice.
They all turn to see what he sees:
Two fist-size dots glowing dull-cherry red.
And now accompanied by a horrifying mechanical
growl.
No one can speak or move.
With the groan of straining metal, the dots
raise higher, and higher.
Dim, recessed wall-lights flicker on,
bathing the mechanical beast in shadowy
light.
It is absolutely hideous.
A rusting monstrosity, clearly intended --
in its design -- to horrify and intimidate
as well as maim.
But it is very old, and has before this never
been used.
So as it tries to lunge forward, a shower of
sparks cascade, and with a screech of twisting
metal, the aberrant beast collapses into a
heap.
The recessed lights stay on.
Nobody can say anything for a solid half minute.
Dust settles.
The silence is broken by Hurley, coughing.
"Um, we're going to turn back now, right?"
Jack: "You bet your sweet a-----"
Locke, squinting: "----No. Look there. See?"
Jack, Hurley, and Sun do: and sure enough,
beyond the heap of scrap, is the depression of
a door.
"So that thing was a guardian," Hurley muses.
No one answers.
They're busy at the door -- which doesn't
appear to open by conventional means. There's
no handle; only a smooth, flat surface made of
stone.
Locke, quite accidentally, passes his hand over
the direct center of it, and with a heavy
grinding noise the door disappears into a
chamber wall.
The room beyond BATHES the four in overwhelming
light.
They step forward cautiously, eyes adjusting
painfully.
The room is full of monitors, hanging from a
ceiling drowned in cords and cables.
A pad fitted with strange levers and knobs issues
from every monitor, some more elaborately nuanced
than others.
Hard embossed into the edges of every monitor
are a sequence of Japanese characters. Sun
examines them voraciously.
Jack: "What is this place?"
Locke: "It looks like a control center."
The unspoken question is, "But for what?"
Hurley: "Whatever's powering these must be
powering that French lady's signal."
No one answers.
The stone door slides closed.
Sun says, agitated: "I found Ethan's console!"
Everyone rushes over.
Locke: "How do you know it's his?"
Sun: "See this ideogram? It means, 'ROM,
Ethan -- 80-22E, Type: Humandroid.'"
Locke: "All I see are schematics."
Sun: "Yes, I think we have to cycle through the
input data to find his visio frequency."
She plays with the controls, each time evoking
a storm of pixels on the display. Finally
they blossom into a continuous, moving image:
Ethan's sight.
It's a strange picture.
He's somewhere at a river, deep in the jungle,
collecting water and casting glances backward
over his shoulder -- toward a far away point
of light.
Jack: "What's he doing?"
The response is "Shh!"
Ethan turns around, away from the river, walking
toward the light.
When he reaches it, it's a clearing -- with
a bonfire going in the center.
It's very hard to see anything beyond the fire.
He makes his way around the fire and -- THERE!
They can see Claire!
She's bound to saplings with rope, an upright
position.
The thought is: she doesn't look alive . . .
But Ethan brings his container of water up,
to her lips, and she jitters. Then drinks.
There is a brief moment of celebration,
but it is quickly squelched by the urgency to
discover WHERE, exactly, Ethan is. Sun scans
the data . . .
Hurley says, "Uh . . . Sun?"
Jack, not looking: "Not now, Hurley."
Hurley: "No, um, Sun?"
Sun -- slightly frustrated: "Yes?"
"Um, what does this symbol mean?"
He's pointing to a RED glyph printed in bold
on the bottom of a large monitor.
Sun: "It's strange. Something close to,
'The Invincible Tyrant.' Hard to make out."
Hurley: "Oh. Oh. . . Because look at the
screen."
The screen is large, and displayed colorfully
on it is the visual perspective of something
very large. And very high off the ground.
And . . .
Following the exact path they took to get here.
Cresting the ridge.
Ambling down the steep slope.
Shredding the thirteen guards with ease. Jack, Locke, Hurley and Sun exchange
horrified
glances. The room trembles now with the
giant thing's approach.
Jack: "There's no way something that big could
get in here."
Locke: "Not through that door. But maybe it
knows a different way."
They all look about suddenly, searching.
And with mounting dread, notice all too late that
the cavernous control room does not "end" on
the opposite side, but continues on a few yards
and banks sharply right, perhaps stretching
from there into another massive entry
corridor. On the monitor, the thing has reached the
entry way they took to get in.
Jack says, "This is a control center, right?
Shouldn't we be able to manipulate that thing
however we want?"
Locke: "That should be correct. Just a matter
of figuring out the controls."
Hurley: "Um, you think we oughta do that, now?"
Sun busies herself furiously with the task.
Meanwhile Jack asks Locke, frankly:
"Could that thing be . . . "
Locke: "Yes. I've seen him."
Suddenly, Hurley: "Um! Guys!" On the monitor,
twin beams of fire-red light penetrate the
darkness of the empty corridors, storming furiously
forward, increasing in speed.
Sun: "Almost . . . got it . . . "
There is now a very audible SMASHING noise, like
giant pistons in a steam engine . . . the
beast, drawing nearer . . .
Hurley: "I think we better---!"
FZZZZZZPT!! An electrical EXPLOSION.
Circuits fry.
Every lightsource is killed.
They are cast in utter, impenetrable darkness,
and worse: utter, impenetrable silence.
Now there is agitated whispering.
Jack has matches.
He struggles to light one.
Manages to strike one on his belt.
It illuminates very little. He brings it around
in a wide circle, breathing heavily, perspiring,
and apparently relieved that he doesn't see
anything unusual -- WHEN:
SUN'S PALE, DEAD BODY SPILLS ACROSS HIS LEGS
FROM SOME GREAT HEIGHT.
He HOLDS UP THE MATCH, AND IN ITS HARSH FLARE
A HIDEOUS, GROTESQUE ROBOT MONSTER IS REVEALED:
HISSING, GLISTENING SEMI-BIOLOGICAL
MECHANICS, DEEP EMBER-EYES SMOLDERING.
BLOOD DRENCHES ITS HORRIFYING, SERRATED JAW,
AS IT LUNGES FORWARD TO SCREAM --
AN UNFORGETTABLE SOUND: LIKE DYING DINOSAURS
SIMULTANEOUSLY BLOWING A CONCH SHELL AND
BLARING A FOG HORN. The match extinguishes on
IMMUTABLE BLACKNESS.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
*orphaned make-up kits ("compacts") blended wit
dirt and crushed leaves. **assumes Charlie's comments weren't hyperbolic.