Freedom's End

by Christian Kallias

  “Let’s hope the nightmare was there to allow you to change our tactics. A gift to not make the same—”

  But she doesn’t finish her sentence.

  Yeah . . . let’s hope.

  “Mistakes,” I finish for her. “Don’t censor yourself.”

  “I didn’t want to sound like I was criticizing.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that, I did miscalculate on many levels, and I haven’t listened to my instincts. I won’t repeat this pattern, trust me.”

  I know full well which mistake not to repeat. No bullet-time before I meet Ahmed; that’s one thing I need to change for sure. Which probably means another, if not completely, different approach to the whole mission. Perhaps we can even skip the two hundred and seventieth floor altogether; that is if the mission repeats itself the way it did before.

  I need to be able to use the ultimate advantage that bullet-time gives me to make sure I don’t end up dead. Dying once, whether it was a nightmare or god knows what, is one too many times for a lifetime. I do not intend to repeat that experience, not if I can help it. But I can’t shake this feeling boiling inside me.

  This is going to be the longest day of my life.

  When we arrive at headquarters, the general is already waiting for us. As always, he salutes me. I’ve often wondered why. I don’t really have a rank, not formally anyway. Project Rewind is a highly secret facility and officially doesn’t exist. I am not a member of the United Nations of the Worlds’ military. I used to be, but my insertion into the program required me to resign my previous commission as a major. Now, I’m only an agent. Nevertheless, I return the salute.

  “This is one hell of a shitstorm, Agent Seeker. Multiple high-level mega corporations’ employees and their families have perished in the attack. I don’t need to tell you how paramount it is that we don’t allow this atrocity to take place. We need to rewind you as soon as possible and prevent this from happening again.”

  “Absolutely, General. Do we know who is behind the attack?”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Ahmed Al’Hasi.” I say between greeted teeth.

  “Correct, Agent. I don’t have to tell you how critical it is that this time you take care of this scourge once and for all. I know how frustrating it must have been for you in the past to have him escape justice. Still, stopping the nuke, as always, is your main priority. Al’Hasi is still a secondary objective, but we both know we’d all sleep better if he bites the dust. Do not even try to bring him in; your orders are to use extreme prejudice. You’re authorized to use any means necessary to achieve both your first and secondary objectives.”

  He looks at his smart watch. Not too many people still carry those with all our augments, but I guess, like me, General Richardson is a bit of a nostalgic. “You only have about seven hundred minutes of Rewind Time left; use them wisely.”

  “Understood, General.”

  My heart beats like the double-drum bass track of a speed metal song.

  I’m usually in control and detached from my mission on both a personal and emotional level, and that’s what gives me my edge. But, now, I need to regain control of my emotions, and I need to do it fast. However, I’m failing miserably as I still try to understand how any of this can is even possible.

  Have I developed a precog ability I’m unaware of? Or did this happen at another time in a previous mission, one the Rewind program doesn’t want me to know about? And, if so, how did they manage to bring me back? My head spins, and I wish I could try to find an answer, but right here and now, time is of the essence.

  “You have twenty minutes to analyze the ground zero data we’ve been able to gather since the—incident. All signs point to a dirty bomb exploding in the lower levels of World Security Center in downtown New Geneva. Most of the population is already suffering the effects of the radiation. This is a doomsday scenario for the city. I can’t stress enough how important your Rewind mission is at this point, but I’m sure you get the gist.”

  I know all of this already, but I can’t tell him any of that. Why did he pause mid-sentence though? That’s not like him. It’s not like I can ask him, anyway.

  “Absolutely. I will not fail either my first nor secondary mission objective. Ahmed needs to be dealt with—permanently.”

  “Are you two on a first name basis now? Never mind that though, just—just kill that fecker! Whatever it takes, Agent Seeker. I have the utmost confidence in your abilities to fulfill your mission. You’re dismissed.”

  The general salutes me once more and leaves the entrance hall of the Rewind facility.

  I notice he’d made another awkward pause. I wish I were as confident with myself as he seems to be. But I’m no fool. I heard something in his voice. What was it? Hesitation? Fear? Or perhaps doubt? It doesn’t matter since it won’t change a thing as far as I’m concerned. I have no choice here: I either succeed in my mission or I die. And dying isn’t an option.

  “That’s right, Cole,” says Tanya, “we come back alive from this. I— I don’t want to die either.”

  I have no doubt Tanya doesn’t want to cease to exist. That’s the first sign of consciousness, and while I may have had my doubts about her in the very beginning when they implanted me with her augment, I know she is alive. She feels like any human being, and right now with her processing speed, I’m sure the amount of fear she has to deal with is just as high if not higher than mine.

  We get inside the holographic chamber mission prep room. It’s a spherical room with a catwalk stretching from the entrance to its center. Once I’m in the center platform, the catwalk retracts.

  This room is where I get to prepare all my missions. It provides me with all the data after the fact, using not only my own AI augment processing power to calculate mission-specific protocols and strategies, but also using the city’s main AI, which has, in the past few minutes, accumulated petabytes of data pertaining to this operation. Without it, jumping back in time would be left to chance, and that’s not what the Rewind Project is about. One terrorist act, one jump back to course correct history for the better. At least that’s what they tell me.

  The lights inside the room turns dark, and soon the room is filled with a gigantic holo-projection of the part of town where the dirty bomb detonated. Superimposed over the still flaming and smoky rubble is a 3D diagram of the building, pre-explosion. A top, right-corner counter indicates an estimate of the casualties. The reading is over three hundred thousand souls and climbing at more than fifty lives every passing second.

  I try to mentally push away the emotions that these numbers generate in me. I can’t let this impact how I approach my mission. I need to detach myself as much as possible or risk being overwhelmed.

  The mission number is a simple seventeen displayed on the left corner of the holo-simulation. That would mean it’s my seventeenth deployment. Feels like I’ve deployed way more than this paltry figure somehow, but I don’t know why, as it’s just a feeling I get.

  I also wonder if my current anxiety has anything to do with the unusual amount of time I have seen the numbers one and seven in the past few weeks. Like the universe itself is trying to tell me something.

  At this point, it feels more like yelling than talking, and that worries me further. Is this the day I die? Is it written in stone? I am neither a pessimist nor a fatalist, but I don’t like this coincidence, not one bit. I reluctantly brush the thought away; it brings nothing but stress, and I need to stay clearheaded as much as I can under the circumstances.

  “Any way to lower my anxiety, Tanya?”

  “I’m way ahead of you. I’ve released a mixture of drugs that should help you improve your concentration shortly and lower your anxiety levels right about now. I’m doing this in privacy mode so that mission control doesn’t see it happening. I’ve been feeding them bogus data ever since we were called to action.”

  You mean you falsified my vitals? I think out loud in my mind.

  Yes, I�
��m not sure they would have deployed you otherwise.

  That’s the price to pay for being connected twenty-four seven. Normally, I couldn’t fart without someone, somewhere, knowing about it. But Tanya knows how to give me an extra layer of privacy, one she understands I need in order to perform unencumbered and feel like I have at least a sliver, no matter how small, of my life being mine and mine alone.

  I realize it’s an illusion of freedom, but that’s one I care about. We agreed a long time ago to have her rewrite her own code for this purpose, but I honestly can’t tell if mission control is able to access that data, nonetheless. They’re the ones who created Tanya. It seems unlikely to me that they wouldn’t have backdoors to her code.

  They probably know everything about her, and because they can still access a complete data dump if they wish, we don’t know if they’d tolerate such mods. But I decided long ago to trust that whatever modifications she has made to her code is foolproof. That if there were holes, she has patched them.

  It’s the only way I can stay sane and not feel like a rat in a maze under constant scrutiny.

  I turn my attention back to the projection before me. The amount of destruction is the worst I have seen in a pre-deployment briefing. A ton of data is superimposed onto the holo-scene and includes a list of known associates, suspects, and their complete bios. I know Tanya records all of this so I can call upon it if needed after the time jump.

  After a couple of minutes, Tanya runs scenarios and displays the odds of success for each course of action in the simulation. We detect traces of mechs in the wreckage, probably those from the two hundred and seventieth floor. I cringe at the display. The holo-display zooms inside the building now. I have access to all shafts, elevators, and routes to my objectives.

  Should we concentrate on scenarios where Al’Hasi escapes from the roof only? she asks mentally so only the two of us can hear this, hopefully.

  No . . . we can’t assume this will turn out the same as in my—nightmare. But compute additional scenarios with those variables. We have to come up with a new game plan. I don’t trust the one that unfolded before. Taking anything for granted is a surefire way to get us both killed.

  “Agreed. How do you want to split the time between recon and action in this mission, Cole?”

  She’s talking out loud again when she can, as to not rise suspicion, we do tend to be talkative during these pre-mission briefings. Better to keep appearances, as I don’t doubt people are listening. If only for review purposes.

  That’s a good question. We usually use about seventy percent of the time on recon and interrogation of suspects, trying to get as much actionable intel on the field before we act, with a mostly fixed battle strategy.

  Of course, some slight on-the-fly adjustments are always needed. I usually just trust my instincts, and until now they haven’t betrayed me, but today I feel like I can’t trust shit. So can we afford to use a standard approach this time? I wish I had a definite answer to that.

  “Use the standard approach for now and we’ll see,” I answer.

  Soon Tanya has all the information gathered by the central city AI into her memory banks. She has already computed dozens of scenarios. I recognize the one with the most chances of success to stop the nuke from detonating.

  I know the one she’s showing me should work, but I also know I might die in the process. So, we’ll need to make changes. I wish I could decide not to interrogate some of the targets I have questioned before in vain, but I also know that this could just be a fecking nightmare with no impact on how the mission ahead unfolds.

  If only I knew this for sure. The more I think about it, the more I think we need to treat this as any other mission and wing it as necessary when the time comes. I might need to be ruthless in my interrogations, and I have to make the most of the now six hundred and fifty-three minutes left at my disposal.

  “We need to decide a safe evac zone in case of mission failure,” says Tanya.

  “No. We don’t fail this mission. That’s not an option. No matter what, we stop that nuke. Do you hear what I’m saying, Tanya?”

  “Cole, this is contrary to mission protocol. Even in the unfortunate event that we fail to diffuse the nuke, we have to survive this mission. Or we can’t go back to try to prevent it from happening again. It’s in your job description; survival is paramount.”

  “I don’t care. They’ll find someone else, but this nuke doesn’t detonate! Not on my watch. My last actions on this planet won’t bet to let hundreds of thousands of lives perish.”

  “You mean perish again.”

  “You know very well what I mean, Tanya.”

  “I understand, but by your own admission, these wouldn’t be your last actions if we successfully evac to a safe zone during the mission, should the need arise. Therefore, we need to think about a plan B where both you and I live to fight another day.”

  “Compute that plan if it makes you feel better, but do not, I repeat, do not activate it against my will. Are we clear on that?”

  There is a long pause. In Tanya’s world that must mean more thinking than I could achieve in a day. When she finally answers, I can hear the tension in her voice.

  “Very well, Cole.”

  I keep my thinking on the down-low as much as I humanly can. I don’t want her to pick up on the fact that part of me is unconvinced of the sincerity of her last answer.

  “Thank you, Tanya, I couldn’t do any of this if I didn’t trust you with my life.”

  “Neither could I.”

  Tanya focuses on the three most likely simulations leading to a higher chance of completing the primary objective. She keeps tuning that scenario in real time and I can see all the variations. We’ve already spent too much time in here, but this is not a mission we want to rush into unprepared.

  The holo-simulation flashes orange to let us know we can’t stay more than another few minutes. It will soon flash red once, and then it will turn off, whether we think we’re done or not with our mission assessment. We must hurry; the more time we spend here, the less time we will have in the past to complete our mission.

  “What about the scenarios where both objectives are met successfully, i.e., diffusing the bomb and killing Al’Hasi? Display those please.”

  “None of these scenarios are past the seventy percent chances of success, therefore, they didn’t make it to my final selection. Since the first objective, as well as our survival, is paramount, I marked these scenarios as not feasible.”

  And that’s perhaps the one mistake that could kill us—trusting that a simulation will determine the best course of action to optimize our chances by lowering the risks.

  If there’s one thing I am almost certain about: without taking risks we won’t get Al’Hasi. He knows that, and I think that’s why he always slips between my fingers. Time to change the way we operate, at least on that front.

  “Belay that. Display the simulations where both objectives are attainable and show me the odds.”

  The first one shows a sixty-five percent chance of diffusing the bomb and only a thirty-five percent chance of catching Al’Hasi.

  “I can live with those odds.”

  “Not according to the standard operating protocol you can’t.”

  “Screw protocol,” I answer vaguely as I’m looking at the second simulation.

  It has even less of a chance to reach primary objective completion, at only fifty-nine percent, but it has a seventy-one percent chance of capturing or killing the terrorist. That’s more like it. Perhaps that’s the reason behind all the ones and the sevens I’ve seen these past few days. Maybe it’s a sign.

  “I like this one even better,” I say as I quickly glance at the third scenario, which seems useless: less than fifty percent chance on both objectives.

  Cole, she goes private again. I feel obliged to remind you that your current state of mind could very well influence your decision and, at the same time, put both our lives in danger. I cannot comply and
go ahead with a simulation where the odds aren’t at least at a seventy percent chance of success on our primary objective. You know that.

  Override your damn protocols, Tanya. Trust me on this one.

  I can’t; this function isn’t something I can rewrite. I’m sorry, Cole. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think this would work.

  I can feel I’m getting angry again. I feel like smashing something again. I try to lower my anger and focus all my attention on how to make it work, how to fool the system into giving us bigger odds since Tanya can’t do it on her own.

  I can feel it in my bones. This is the course of action we have to choose. The simple fact it was rejected automatically makes me even more confident of that. When was the last time anything worth doing was easy after all? No risk, no reward. I know I’m citing clichés inside my head, but something rings true, nonetheless.

  Are you still in private mode? I ask mentally.

  Of course. No way I’d let mission control hear us bickering about the course of action we need to take. They’d decommission me on the spot and equip you with a memory-wiped model. I don’t think that’s what you’d want?

  Indeed, it isn’t. What if we had someone join our party?

  Who? There isn’t anyone to add, Cole.

  That’s not entirely true. I know a . . . someone. I correct myself. I know a person who can help make sure we succeed in our mission.

  This is against Rewind protocol, Cole. We’re already deviating too far from our standard operating procedures as it is for my own comfort.

  No offense, Tanya, but screw your comfort and screw protocols. This is someone I can trust; this officer owes me one, a big one. Today is the day I cash in on that favor.

  Not knowing about this person can’t help me feed the data on the simulation and won’t affect the score. Not to mention that by doing so I might sign my own death warrant should we be discovered.

  Can’t you just calculate the odds if a highly decorated special ops marine were to enter the equation?

  You know full well that I need as many details as I can in order to calculate odds, and we’re running out of time, Cole. You either divulge the soldier’s identity, or we go with plan A.