God how I hope you and Riley are safe—that Volkov’s team failed. But no matter what, I cling to sanity imagining that my actions will still help you, still allow us to catalyze humanity’s spread into the cosmos, still serve as midwife to the birth of immortality and infinity.
I have only one player left to kill to rid us of the plague that Volkov brought down upon us. I told him I was coming. I need him to be as near to the elevator exit as possible when I emerge, preparing his ambush. I need him to close the distance between us, which shortens the eons until we engage.
He won’t stand a chance, of course. I envy him.
When I’m not screaming, I’m fantasizing about putting a bullet in my brain and ending this nightmare, but I have to wait until he’s down. I’ve gone this far, suffered this much, so it might as well be for a purpose.
The only positive about this experience is that I no longer fear death. I long for it. I pray for it.
I wanted the chance to pay for our sins, but I have to believe this is payment a thousand times over.
Update. The elevator is now at the landing, and the door will slide open any eon now. I think I went totally mad for almost a month as the elevator descended. I’m not sure what brought me back from the brink. Maybe there is a God and he’s giving me strength. Either that, or he wants me to suffer even longer.
I think I can end this in less than a minute of real time. Sounds so benign when I write it. But for me this will be two or three more sleepless months trapped in hell. But at the end of this seemingly infinite tunnel, I will finally—finally—have the satisfaction of seeing Volkov’s last man fall.
After I’ve killed him it will take my body, even souped-up as it is, another second to redirect the gun so that it’s pointed at my own brain. But knowing this will be the last thirty-six hours I’ll ever have to endure will be absolute heaven.
Would an immortal being long for death? Eventually, I have little doubt he or she would. But not for a very long time. We can’t draw parallels from what I’m going through.
As you know, my experience is a far cry from immortality. Immortals will experience extreme boredom and the weariness of existence, like me, but at a millionth of the duration and intensity. The difference is that immortals will be able to interact with their environments, impact their world. And they will be able to engage in social interactions, instead of being trapped on a desert island as I am, starved for human contact, for companionship.
I can’t tell you how lonely it has been for me these past many months. So unspeakably lonely. This is the cruelest blow of all. Even a man marooned in paradise—the exact opposite of the hellish cage that I’m in—would go mad if he were alone for too long.
Yet there is no reason, at least on paper, why a sentient being shouldn’t be perfectly content to be alone for eternity.
I’ve asked myself a thousand times what defines sentience. Is it the capacity for boredom? The need to fill the void, the emptiness? The hunger for activity? The need for physical and mental stimulation, to experience and interact with an environment?
Clearly this is all part of it. Pock’s clock speed is greater than mine, meaning he waits eons for me to finish posing a question, which he answers in millionths of a second. But Pock is a patient computer. He never gets bored. He never goes mad. Because without a sense of self, there can be no sense of time. And with no sense of self, Pock has no interest in striving toward goals, no need to achieve.
Which brings me to Savant. He was clearly sentient, and also possessed a mind that operated at the speed of light. But he seemed to have no trouble with this, evolved from the start to have no need of anything outside of himself.
Which is why we feared him so much, you and I. Our brains, in concert with our bodies, evolved an absolute need for companionship, for social connection, for physical contact. These things are the fabric of our existence. A mind that is free of these needs is abhorrent to us.
Maybe even God himself needed companionship, needed something outside of himself. Perhaps he was trapped in his own head, like I am, and finally found his salvation through the creation of the universe and sentient life.
I will soon find my salvation as well. Not by creating a universe, which I can’t do. But, instead, by ending my own existence—ironically, the one thing God can’t do, being the eternal deity that he is.
My salvation is getting ever nearer. I’ve exited the elevator and am walking into what I know will be an ambush. Not walking, running. I’ve continued to slip in and out of sanity as I’ve written this, but you always catch me in my sane moments, so you’re spared all of that.
I’ll need to drop the computer to concentrate on dodging bullets and planting one in my quarry in five or six of your seconds, so I’ll need to hit send very soon so you can get this message.
I encourage you to tell Riley about me, after all. I’ve given this months of thought, and I’m convinced she’ll take this the right way. If you do tell her, please let her know how much I love her. My interactions with her revealed an even more amazing young woman than we had come to expect, and I’m counting on you to take good care of her. Tell her that I’ll always be grateful for the few hours I got to spend with her.
I have to go very soon. It’s nearly time to kill my enemy and then myself.
Looks like I’m going to make it! I really didn’t think I would. Turns out you have an extraordinary consciousness. At the risk of sounding conceited, you’re quite a man, Isaac Jordan.
I so wish I could be there to see the launch of the first seed-ships. To witness the realization of our vision. But then again, survival was never part of the plan for me.
When you see my dead body, just know that my ceaseless suffering finally did come to a blissful end, and be glad.
Godspeed, Isaac Jordan.
Yours truly, Isaac Jordan.
62
Pavel Safin was stunned. One second he was holding a gun at the forehead of a woman he had been ordered to execute on Volkov’s command, and the next he was staring at a still image showing the major toppling to the floor, half of his face blown away by a slug at close range.
A message appeared on his computer before he could even process what he was seeing.
Coming 4 U.
Safin’s gun and jaw dropped toward the floor at the same time.
What in the world? Had Jordan escaped and done this?
It couldn’t be.
But it had to be. There was no other explanation. Volkov would have alerted him if the sensors had detected a strike team approaching.
Jordan must have taken out both Volkov and Urinson, using a means that Safin couldn’t begin to guess at. But why would the escaped prisoner warn him he was coming? This was as stupid as it was brazen.
In a flash of inspiration, Safin guessed Jordan’s motivation. The man wanted to make sure the pending execution of his colleague was prevented. By alerting Safin that Volkov was dead—and threatening to kill Safin, also—Jordan had left him with no reason to kill the girl. Instead, Safin would have every reason to abandon her, every reason to make sure he was prepared in case Jordan was crazy enough to really come down here after him.
It had worked, Safin realized, as he rushed off toward Jordan’s personal elevator, leaving the girl alive. He would wait a safe distance away from where Jordan would have to enter the main facility. He was convinced that this was a bluff, but just in case Jordan did dare to come here, Safin wouldn’t be waiting within easy reach of a possible trap Jordan might spring as he exited the elevator.
Instead, he would position himself so that he had a clear shot at Jordan as he entered the spacious main thoroughfare. There was a white marble fountain, currently dry, at a reasonable distance from where Jordan would emerge, about thirty feet around. This was yet another example of the extraordinary efforts the billionaire had taken to make this underground installation as magnificent as any facility Safin had seen.
He approached the fountain and crouched low behind its
thick marble base, making sure that only his head and gun hand were exposed, and waited.
The wait was over in mere seconds.
Jordan burst through the door in the distance and sprinted forward, stopping in the center of the open space, making himself such an inviting target he almost begged to be shot.
Safin’s eyes widened. How had he gotten here so quickly? It couldn’t have been more than two or three minutes since the man had been with Volkov in a room a fair distance from the elevator.
Jordan had a gun in one hand and was balancing a laptop computer with the other. He dropped the computer and turned in Safin’s direction with a speed Safin couldn’t believe. The Russian got off three quick shots and waited for him to fall, but Jordan juked his body in impossible ways.
Instead of falling, Jordan turned his gun in Safin’s direction and squeezed off a shot of his own.
Safin wasn’t the least bit concerned. Only the top half of his face was exposed. His body was so well protected by the base of the marble fountain that Jordan could send a hundred shots his way without danger of one of them hitting the target.
This was the last thought Pavel Safin ever had. Against all expectations, Jordan’s shot penetrated his left eye and drove on through his skull, expanding as it went so that his brain became little more than a messy gray purée.
PART 9
Consensus
63
The endless day continued for Riley Ridgeway, although, after hearing her father read the email he had received from Jordan Two, she couldn’t possibly complain. Even if Jordan Two hadn’t tragically redefined the term endless, Carr and Estrada had lost significant amounts of blood and had experienced far worse than her, and they hadn’t uttered a single complaint between them.
The group from the mansion had arrived at Jordan’s compound by helo two hours earlier, and her father had reestablished perimeter security. They had left Volkov’s and Urinson’s bodies where they had fallen for the time being, having other duties that were more pressing.
Jordan had descended into his facility alone, and while he left Pavel Safin where he had fallen, he had expended the time and energy to move Jordan Two’s body to a nearby room for safekeeping so it wouldn’t be in full view.
No man had ever been more deserving of a hero’s funeral, and Jordan would see that he got one as soon as possible. And he knew that the last thing Jordan Two would ever want was for Riley to see him dead as she entered the underground facility, his life ended at his own hand.
It was hard for Riley to believe the immediate danger had now passed. They had been getting savaged by a violent thunderstorm, drowning in torrential rains. And suddenly the storm had ceased, just like that, just when it was at the height of its strength and seemed as if it would never end.
Once again, she wasn’t sure how she felt. This was becoming a common occurrence as her emotions continued to be pulled in a dozen different directions. She was elated at having escaped the fate Volkov had planned for her—for them—and she was suddenly hopeful about her future. At the same time, she mourned the loss of Jordan Two.
But she should have felt worse. He had endured unimaginable torture to ensure the future of Jordan’s vision. Yet how could she feel the loss of her father as deeply as she normally would—while standing beside her father?
With one version of her father still alive, still looking and behaving exactly the same as the version who had first met with her, she could only mourn Jordan Two intellectually, not emotionally.
She felt horrible about this. Jordan Two deserved better. The fact that a version of him still existed, that he hadn’t left her fatherless, didn’t diminish the sacrifice that he had made, the pain that he had endured.
When her father returned from below ground, he led them to the elevator to give them the tour he had promised. “Ignore the dead body you’ll see when we enter the main facility,” he told them, as if he were a hostess apologizing to a houseguest for a spot of dirt on the carpet. “Also,” he added, “about half of my people are still unconscious. So try not to step on anyone.”
“Good tip,” said Bram wryly.
They were all pressed for time, so Jordan gave them an abbreviated tour. Still, the technology he showed them was remarkable, and the facility itself was extraordinary.
Her father’s underground lair was much different than Riley had expected, although she should have known better, especially after he had mentioned how hard he had worked to make it aesthetically appealing.
Jordan had pioneered asteroid mining, as well as colonies on the Moon and Mars. As part of these efforts, he had developed revolutionary automated technology that could tunnel through miles of the hardest granite and marble in a single day.
But being able to efficiently create tunnels and underground facilities wasn’t enough for her father, especially if these were created on lifeless worlds. Human psychology craved open spaces, craved sunlight, the outdoors, and expansive views. So Jordan had perfected ways to address these needs, as well. Holograms that made tight ceilings seem like vast skies, complete with clouds and birds. Lighting that was as bright and all-encompassing as natural sunlight. Air that was richer in oxygen than normal, mirroring the levels that occurred deep within forests.
Riley was aware of this technology, of course, but hadn’t realized her father would apply it here. Even if she had been expecting it, she could never have imagined its implementation could be so flawless. She had thought that being forced to live and work here would be a hardship that only a mole could love. Instead, the technology fooled her senses so completely she could well have been on the main outdoor campus of an extravagant corporate giant like Google or Apple.
Once the brief tour was completed, Jordan led the group into the main conference room for an emergency session, with everyone who had been at the mansion in attendance, including Roberto Estrada and Trish Casner.
Unlike the rest of the facility, the conference room was fairly standard. Not that it wasn’t top of the line. It was clean, modern, and sophisticated, with a magnificent lacquered mahogany center table and the latest in 3D software and hardware, along with a few plants and a refrigerator set inside a teak cabinet.
But no soaring holographic skies above. No birds and butterflies off in the distance.
Riley was initially disappointed, but realized that the main conference rooms at Apple and Google probably weren’t open-air, either. People were probably better able to hunker down and focus on serious issues inside a contained space. Outside in the wild, minds had a tendency to wander.
Riley had just finished seating herself at the table when the door opened. She gasped in delight as Michael O’Banion entered, a broad smile plastered on his face. She rushed over to him and threw her arms around him.
“Mike was at another facility,” explained Jordan, “but I contacted him from the helo so he could get here in time to join us.”
“I’m so glad you did,” said Riley as she separated from O’Banion.
“I’d like to pretend I did this all for you,” admitted Jordan, “but I can’t. Mike is my right-hand man. An indispensable member of my inner circle. He and a man named John Brennan were the only two who knew about my recent plan.”
O’Banion introduced himself and shook hands all around before sitting down next to Riley at the table, both facing her father.
Bram was sitting on Riley’s other side. “So this is your famous Uncle Mike?” he said to her. He leaned forward and turned his head so he could make eye contact with O’Banion. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for her over the years.”
“I only wish I could have done more,” he replied. A tear appeared in the corner of his right eye as he studied Riley. The love he felt for her was unmistakable.
“But as far as me being the famous Uncle Mike,” he continued, managing to get his emotions back under control, “that all depends on how you feel about the gray-matter-impaired. From what Isaac tells me, the fully biological version of me was k
illed by a Russian named Volkov.”
“Based on what I’ve witnessed,” said Bram, “Isaac’s duplicates are just as human as the originals. You even teared up when you thought about what Riley has been through.” He grinned. “Now that’s just showing off.”
O’Banion smiled back. “The weird thing is that if I don’t consciously think about it, I forget that I’m not the original. It seems to me that I’ve never been Michael O’Banion more than I am now.”
Carr turned to Jordan. “You really need to offer new recruits a course on existential metaphysics,” he said, shaking his head in amusement.
“Existential metaphysics?” repeated the billionaire, arching an eyebrow. “I’m impressed that you came up with a course title that this subject matter might actually fall under. I wouldn’t think many people could conjure one up off-hand.”
“Thanks,” replied Carr. “There was actually a time when I thought I was uncommonly bright, you know.”
“When was that?” asked Jordan.
“Every day of my life until I met you and Riley.”
Smiles broke out all around the table.
Riley tilted her head toward Bram. “I know you were disappointed you didn’t have the chance to meet Mike when we had dinner the other night. Just so you know, he was disappointed, too. I’m just glad my efforts to keep you two apart have failed.”
“Actually,” said O’Banion, “given that I was killed, I’m glad you didn’t bring him to dinner.”
“Why is that?” asked Riley.
“The last version of my consciousness was backed up before I left for San Diego,” replied O’Banion. “So I wouldn’t remember anything about meeting him, anyway. Which is why Isaac needs to finally perfect continuous streaming of a consciousness to the cloud,” he added, needling his friend.
Riley rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because bringing you back to life with only a few days of memory loss isn’t miraculous enough.”
O’Banion laughed. “Well, when you put it that way . . .”
[2016] Infinity Born Page 35