She wondered how many homeowners faced with faulty alarms had contemplated shooting them with firearms to get them to stop. Probably the majority, she decided.
Bram caught her attention and pointed at two monitors to her left, which he and Trish had been watching. Estrada and one of the Russians in the front west quadrant were converging, neither one of them having any idea they were on a collision course.
Riley guessed Estrada’s chances were fifty-fifty at this point. It seemed a question of which man had the faster reflexes. And there was always the chance they would kill each other, so maybe fifty-fifty was being optimistic.
“Any way to warn him?” shouted Bram.
“Not in time!” Riley shouted back, and Trish replied in a similar manner.
Seconds before Estrada rounded the corner, the Russian spotted a smoke alarm on the ceiling and shot two rounds into it, happy to be able to lower the decibel level in the mansion even further.
A look of satisfaction came over his face, but only for an instant. The shots had given away his location, and Estrada didn’t hesitate. He dove across the threshold into the room, rolling and coming up firing, spraying the Russian up and down, killing him instantly, the man’s body armor able to protect him from a knife or handgun, but not a barrage from an automatic weapon at near point-blank range.
On still another monitor, Isaac Jordan had entered the mansion and had made his way to one of four rooms clustered in the front east quadrant, a gun in hand. He rushed into the bathroom and took up a position hidden behind the open door, a spider waiting for an insect to land in his web.
At the back door, Carr had finally made it inside, holding a simple handgun rather than a submachine gun. He ran into a Russian almost immediately. Both men already had their weapons extended and both were on high alert, but the Russian never had a chance. Carr’s reflexes and skills were astounding. He put two rounds into the Russian’s head and simultaneously dived out of the way in case his adversary had been fast enough to get off shots of his own.
He hadn’t been.
Carr retrieved the man’s weapon without missing a beat and continued on, changing course when he heard two more shots, caused by the last remaining Russian on the lieutenant’s side of the mansion putting the last of the mansion’s smoke alarms out of commission.
“Thank God!” whispered Bram, basking in the silence.
“I second that,” said Trish in relief.
Bram continued to watch Carr in awe. “They’re down to two men,” he said. “I think Cameron’s a sure bet to get the one near him. He has the advantage now that the guy gave away his position.”
“Not to mention that he has some mad commando skills,” said Trish in admiration.
“Hate to spoil the party,” said Riley. “But my dad’s in trouble.”
On the monitors, Estrada continued to work his way through the mansion, but without knowing it, he was moving away from the last Russian on the front side rather than toward him.
“This guy’s going to be a problem,” continued Riley, nodding toward the Russian in question. “He’s very cautious and methodical when he searches through and clears a room. He never goes through an open door without first making sure no one is lying in wait behind it.”
“So your dad’s ambush won’t work,” said Bram.
“My father is directly in his path,” said Riley. “He has two more rooms to go through and then he’ll be in the one my father’s in.”
They heard another gunshot and glanced at the monitor, just in time to see Carr standing over the last Russian on the back side of the mansion. All things considered, Riley knew that their luck had been remarkable. Carr and Estrada had managed to kill six of the seven intruders, and their group had yet to suffer a single loss.
But their luck was running out. The last of their assailants might kill her father before realizing who he was. If he did recognize him as Isaac Jordan, he would take him as a hostage.
Riley’s brief reverie was interrupted by the sound of locks being disengaged. She turned away from the monitors to see David Bram throwing open the panic room door. “I’ll create a distraction,” he said hastily. “Stay here.”
He rushed off before Riley could say a word, a man with no time or interest in a debate.
Riley’s heart jumped to her throat. What was he doing? She admired his bravery, but now he was putting himself at risk along with her father. And unlike her father, David didn’t have a spare copy of his consciousness lying around.
She had to go after him. She couldn’t lose her father and David Bram both. Not now.
Trish realized Riley’s intent and reached out and held her arm just as she was stepping outside. “Riley, wait!” she said. She pointed to a monitor that showed Carr running in their direction. “I think he’s coming here.”
Riley realized this made great sense. Carr would want to check on them, and he also knew he could use the monitors to gain a panoramic view of the mansion and scope out any remaining players.
“Thanks, Trish,” said Riley as she ran from the room, but on a different course than originally planned. “I’ll meet him halfway.”
58
David Bram’s emotions were now running as wildly as he was. Mostly, he was terrified. Yes, there was only one man left, but this man still had a submachine gun, and Bram was heading right toward him. On purpose.
Apple trained their employees well, but none of his training had covered this situation. And he was pretty sure if Apple did give a course on how to deal with a soldier carrying an automatic weapon, the first lesson would be to run away from the man.
But it was time for Bram to step up. Isaac Jordan was a great man, and he couldn’t let him be killed, even if he did have his pattern saved. He and his double might seem identical in every way, but who was Bram to say they really were? Perhaps Jordan had missed something. Perhaps the duplicate was without some ineffable quality—call it a soul—that made him almost, but not quite the same.
This was also Bram’s chance to prove himself to Riley and to gain back his self-respect. He couldn’t continue being a sniveling coward, remaining safely in hiding while other men risked their lives to save the woman he loved. He couldn’t watch her father be killed without lifting a finger to stop it.
He made a brief detour to visit the man Estrada had killed so he could retrieve the dead man’s weapon.
Bile rose in his throat as he neared the bloody corpse. He had seen any number of bodies just like this on TV and in movies, but they were nothing like the real thing, the sight and smell of which brought on instant nausea. Bram was barely able to keep himself from vomiting as he lifted the unfamiliar weapon, which turned out to be heftier than he had anticipated.
Would he really use it to cut down the last attacker? He had never killed before, and he’d prefer not to start now, but this depended on circumstances. In his book, it was better to be armed than not to be.
Bram made it to the room Jordan was in and peered through the open doorway, staying out of sight. He watched as the last of their assailants cautiously entered a walk-in closet, alert for ambushes, leaving only after he had cleared every nook big enough for a woman the size of Riley Ridgeway to hide within. The man finally exited the closet and headed in the direction of the open bathroom door.
Bram crept closer, as silent as a cat.
The Russian wheeled around, apparently able to hear approaching cats, and Bram fired out of raw panic and adrenaline, holding his finger down on the trigger. Having never fired a gun, let alone an assault weapon, he was totally unprepared for the ferocity of its recoil. The gun hammered into his shoulder and sprayed wildly, tearing itself from his hands as it fired, while both Bram and the Russian dived to the ground to avoid this random barrage.
The Russian jumped back up to his feet the moment the firing stopped, while Bram remained on the ground, helpless, his weapon now several feet away. The man raised his own weapon casually, in no hurry now that Bram had disarmed himself, and
pointed it at the civilian.
As Bram stared into the barrel of the gun and prepared to die, Isaac Jordan appeared in the bathroom doorway, an arm’s length behind the intruder, and fired twice in rapid succession. One of the shots grazed the man’s cheek, while the other came closer to hitting Bram than its intended target.
The Russian slammed the butt of his submachine gun into Jordan’s arm, sending Jordan’s handgun flying before he could take a third shot. The soldier raised his weapon and pointed it at the billionaire’s head. “How could you miss from two feet?” he said in English, his expression incredulous.
The Russian’s eyes widened. “You’re Isaac Jordan,” he said in astonishment, recognizing him just in time to ease off the trigger. He immediately turned his gun on Bram, deciding to put him down first before turning his full attention to the helpless genius behind him.
Bram found himself frozen, unable to even breathe.
Two shots rang out and Bram slumped to the floor, dead.
Bram heard a jarring thud in front of him and realized that he wasn’t dead, after all.
He opened his eyes and saw the Russian’s body on the ground, two holes drilled neatly through his forehead.
Bram realized the shots had come from behind him. From Cameron Carr, who had continued to make his way deeper into the room, with Riley and Trish in tow.
Carr glanced back and forth between Bram and Jordan. “Are you okay?” he asked them anxiously.
They both nodded woodenly.
“Thank God!” said Carr, sighing in relief.
After a moment a smile crept across Carr’s face. “Sorry for stealing your thunder,” he said in amusement, relaxed now that the seventh man was down. “I mean, it was obvious you had everything under control.”
Bram tried to force a smile, but failed. Instead, he turned his head to the side and vomited onto the floor. The four others in the room couldn’t help but curl their lips up in disgust as retching sounds filled the room.
“Don’t suppose there’s a toothbrush and toothpaste in there,” said Bram when he was finished, gesturing weakly toward the bathroom.
“There is,” said Jordan. “And thanks, David. I’m pretty sure you saved my life. Not that either one of us should ever be allowed to hold a gun again.”
Bram managed a shallow smile as he made his way to the bathroom. Jordan’s acknowledgment of his heroism in front of Riley did help to soften the blow of his obvious ineptitude and the embarrassment of not being able to keep his lunch down. But everyone was aware that his only contribution was to clumsily keep Jordan alive just long enough for Carr to save them both.
He said as much when he finished brushing his teeth and washing out his mouth.
Carr responded by explaining that if it weren’t for Riley redirecting him here, he wouldn’t have made it in time. Riley then acknowledged Trish’s contribution in alerting her that Carr was on his way.
“Apparently, saving my life takes a village,” said Jordan wryly when they had finished.
“Speaking of a village,” said Carr. “We need to let Roberto know he can stand down.” He shook his head in wonder. “When I set off to stop these guys, I had no idea I’d have this much support. This truly was a great team effort.”
Jordan grinned. “And the three of you haven’t even officially decided to join the team. Think of how well we’ll all be able to work together if you do.”
“We have to make sure you still have a team for us to join,” said Carr gravely. “Volkov is still out there. Still likely holding Jordan Two prisoner. And since he must know now that the team he sent here failed, he’s probably sending reinforcements. We need to double-time it back to where he’s holding Jordan Two and come up with a plan.”
“Let’s round up Roberto and get you guys stabilized,” said Jordan. “I have a state-of-the-art first-aid kit. Plenty of antibiotics and quick-drying wound-sealing foam.”
“We can get patched up on the helo,” said Carr. “We need to get moving. Volkov is either in the process of moving Jordan Two, or he’s making lethal preparations in case we pay him a visit.”
“Maybe,” said Jordan. “But I have a horrible feeling that Volkov won’t be a problem for long.”
“What do you mean by horrible feeling?” asked Riley
Jordan blew out a long breath. “Let’s get Roberto and I’ll explain,” he said.
PART 8
Quick Thinking
59
Isaac Jordan watched the digital timer on Volkov’s laptop computer tick down to just over a minute. Safin could now be seen on the screen as well, pressing a gun into the unconscious forehead of Marsha Stephens, one of Jordan’s favorite colleagues.
The time had finally come for Jordan to do what he needed to do. He couldn’t put it off any longer.
He took a deep mental breath, knowing he was about to willingly put himself through the ultimate torture. He wanted to cry out and roll into a fetal position, just so he didn’t have to face the reality of what was to come.
Instead, he said a small prayer to a God he didn’t believe in and tilted his head so that the laptop screen, Marat Volkov, and Yakov Urinson were all in his field of view.
“I have your knife,” he said to Volkov matter-of-factly.
“You’ve lost your mind,” said the Russian, pulling up slightly on his right pant leg to confirm that his knife was still strapped to his ankle.
“Not yet,” said Jordan with an expression that could not have been more pained. “But very soon.”
The Russian stared back in confusion.
“Believe it or not,” croaked Jordan, sounding as though he was on his death bed, “I envy you.”
“How so?” said the Russian.
“Because you’ll at least have the mercy of dying quickly.”
Before Volkov could respond, with the countdown now at thirty-eight seconds, Jordan sent a mental code to his own quantum brain, one designed to kick out a linchpin that held a raging rapids at bay.
The effect was immediate, and at first exhilarating. Time abruptly skidded to a halt, and he knew that the subroutine had worked, and that there was no going back.
When he had perfected whole brain emulation, he had mimicked every aspect of the human brain as precisely as possible. Well, it had been the original Isaac Jordan who had done this, but since Jordan Two remembered all of it as if he, himself, had been there, he couldn’t help but think of this history in the first person.
He had resisted the urge to make improvements, just as he had told his daughter. But for a time he had considered making one only, an increase in the brain’s clock speed. An enhancement that could be invoked by the custodians he would send on his seed-ships. After all, they would be pioneers on dangerous planets and could use any edge they could find during dire emergencies.
And what better edge than an increase in their speed of thought? There were times when quick thinking was required to save the day, and increasing their clock speeds ten-, twenty-, or a hundred-fold could fit this bill nicely.
Jordan’s artificial brains were fully optical, using individual photons rather than electric current to perform digital operations. They didn’t operate at the speed of chemical reactions. They weren’t restricted to the speed of action potentials making their way down axons, of impulses traveling along neuronal highways that required myelination to go faster than a relative crawl.
Instead, they operated at the speed of light.
Jordan’s algorithms and entire emulation system suppressed this vast speed. By blocking this raging river, the emulation was forced to limp along at the speed of biology. But what if he could destroy this dam and set up another downstream? A dam that this time regulated the speed of thought to twenty times human normal?
This wouldn’t change what thoughts could be had. Faster thought wouldn’t change the quality of thought. The same thoughts would occur, just more quickly. The brain would still be a human brain, an Isaac Jordan emulation would still be Isaac Jorda
n.
At first he had considered setting up the E-brains of those he would send on seed-ships to always run fast, but this wouldn’t work. After all, these duplicates would be the caretakers of generations of fully biological humans, who would be unable to increase their own clock speed.
Mismatches in the speed of thought between duplicates and homegrown humans would make communication, empathy, and caretaking all but impossible. The only way Jordan could see it working was if the caretakers could use a mental toggle. Jump the speed of their thoughts twenty-fold in dire emergencies, but return their minds to their original settings when a crisis had been averted.
Jordan spent a few months doing experimentation, but even with Pock’s help he was unable to get such a system to work. Since he had designed his neuronal matrix to work at precisely the speed of human thought, this glacial speed could be effectively maintained with the proper dam in place. But once the waters were fully unleashed, they were far too powerful to ever be contained again.
The human speed of thought he had baked into these emulations was like snow resting quietly on a mountainside. Once the stability of this snow was disrupted, once an avalanche began to sweep down the mountain, picking up unimaginable speed and ferocity every inch of the way, there was no stopping it, no putting the snow back neatly where it had started.
It was all or nothing. A mind could operate at the speed of human thought, or at the maximum speed the system would allow. These were the only two choices. Because of certain design limitations, this maximum speed ended up being only a tenth of the speed of light, but this was still a speed that was beyond comprehension.
Jordan had also carefully designed a system that precisely emulated sleep, but this subroutine couldn’t survive the onslaught of such blinding speed. So the possibilities became even more starkly distinct. An emulated consciousness could run at normal human speed, and undergo normal human sleep. Or it could run at ludicrous speed and never know rest.
[2016] Infinity Born Page 33