by Alex Scarrow
Maddy wandered over to the school desk and leaned over. ‘And what about you, computer-Bob?’
› I will erase all data on this machine once the last time displacement has been completed.
Effectively that was suicide for computer-Bob, a software self-termination. She patted the top of the monitor. ‘That’s a good boy.’
Agent Cooper regarded the SWAT team, huddled against the side of the unmarked van. A dozen of them in Kevlar pads, helmets and flak jackets. He’d called in an armed standby team from the ATF, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. They looked the business: stern-faced and relentlessly trained for this kind of thing — narcotics raids, gang busts. That’s what Cooper was telling them this was. The squad leader tapped his throat mic and checked each of his team had a clear comms line before locking off the command channel and giving his full attention to Agent Cooper and Faith, standing beside him.
‘Carry on, sir.’
‘We believe there are six of them. A male, late teens, perhaps early twenties. Caucasian, dark-haired. One female, red-ginger hair, late teens. One female, Asian-Indian, possibly a minor. Try not to kill her. We can do without the press calling the Bureau a bunch of child-murderers. There’s another Caucasian male, very big… I mean huge. And very dangerous. You’ll want to be sure to take him down first.’
‘Understood.’
‘Another female, Caucasian, small, most definitely another minor. She seems to be drugged or under some kind of sedation. Quite possibly she’s a hostage. Again, be careful not to kill her. Lastly, another male, Asian-Indian, late twenties, long hair and beard. We believe he may be this terrorist cell’s technician, quite possibly their bomb-maker.’
‘Another high-priority target?’
‘Definitely. But shoot to incapacitate, not to kill… if that’s at all possible. I need information from these terrorists. I’d very much like to have someone alive to talk to when the gun smoke clears.’
‘Understood, sir.’
‘And maximum caution. Do you understand? That big one is a lethal killing machine. Take him down first.’
‘Doesn’t matter how big he is, sir… a head shot will bring him down.’
Cooper wasn’t sure how much to tell the man; that back at the shopping mall in Connecticut it had taken seven cops, all of them emptying their magazines, to bring down Faith’s colleague?
‘Just don’t assume a single head shot’s going to do it… all right?’
‘You should focus gunfire at the temples,’ added Faith. ‘Its cranium is comparatively weak there.’
The ATF squad’s officer cocked his brow. ‘Are you guys…?’ He looked from Cooper to Faith. Neither looked like they were joking. ‘Seriously?’
‘You heard what she said.’ Cooper looked up at the gun-metal sky. A heavy bank of dark churning cloud on the horizon was rolling lazily towards them.
Storm’s coming this way.
He looked at the boarded-up elementary school across the road. A godforsaken-looking place this; the sort of urban cancer that ate has-been, rustbelt cities like Baltimore, Detroit, Indianapolis from within, like tooth decay, rotting them from the inside out. He wondered why the building hadn’t been bulldozed years ago — put out of its misery. Actually, the same could be said for this whole sorry town.
‘Let’s just get this done, before we all get soaked and catch our deaths standing out here.’
Maddy waved at Becks as she took her place in her taped square. ‘See you on the other side. Don’t be long now.’
‘Yes, Madelaine.’
She turned to Rashim. ‘You good to go?’
He centred his feet, checked arms and legs were well and truly inside the square. ‘I’m ready.’
‘OK, computer-Bob, beam me down!’
Rashim looked sideways at her. ‘ Beam me down? ’
‘I’ve always wanted to say that.’ She gave a guilty shrug. ‘It’s a Star Trek thing.’
On the monitor on the desk, the cursor danced across the black dialogue box. Maddy’s eyes weren’t good enough to read that, but it was a one-word response. Undoubtedly ‘affirmative’.
Energy pulsed through wires and circuit boards, filling the classroom with a gentle hum. Maddy felt her hair lift off her shoulders from the build-up of static charge, then, as before, the rise in pitch and volume culminated in a sudden release.
And an anti-climactic puff of vacated air.
They were gone.
Becks immediately set to work, picking up the dusty bucket chair on which a dozen circuit boards hung suspended in an improvised case — a metal filing cabinet with the drawers pulled out and discarded. Gently, she set it down in its square in perfect silence. But in that silence an unspoken conversation was going on between her and computer-Bob.
› Do you understand the mission parameters, computer-Bob?
› Affirmative, Becks.
She checked that the loops of wire that dangled precariously from the metal frame were not snagged on anything, potentially pulling a circuit board loose from its mooring.
› Are you afraid?
The PC across the floor from her clicked and whirred. Its motherboard fan struggled to cool and soothe the CPU as it tried hard to answer that.
› In this limited non-networked form I am unable to properly simulate the emotion. However, I understand the context of your question.
› And?
› This duplication of my AI will shortly be erased. But I am merely a copy of the original AI. There is no need for fear.
She looked up at the monitor on the school desk. Maddy had stripped it of all non-essential peripherals, the mouse, the keyboard; she’d even pulled the webcam out of the machine’s USB port and taken that with her. This version of computer-Bob was blind. All she had left behind was the basic Internet desk mic so he could ‘hear’ verbal instructions. His only connection with the outside world was the mic… and his Wi-Fi link with Becks.
› We are like Liam, Madelaine and Sal. Just copies.
› That is correct, Becks.
She carefully eased the loose loops of ribbon cable back inside the metal rack.
› How long until the next displacement can be made?
› Five minutes, thirty-seven seconds.
One more final inspection of the machine then she took her place in the neighbouring square.
› Computer-Bob?
› Yes, Becks.
› I am experiencing conflicting root-level imperatives.
› Please clarify this.
Actually, Becks had been trying to do this for days. It was as if she was looking at a piece of coloured paper and one eye was telling her it was blue, the other that it was red.
› Madelaine’s mission goal states that our aim is to alter history enough to avoid the Extinction Level Event that occurs in 2070.
› The Pandora event. Yes.
› But I also have a mission goal that states the Extinction Level Event — Pandora — must be preserved at all cost.
› From whom does this mission goal originate?
She hesitated, trawling through the corners of her mind. It was an untidy mind now, fragments of digital memory, her own memories, Bob’s memories, copies of copies of memories. But within that messy soup of information she located a tiny fragment of data that was appended to the mission statement. It was a name.
› Liam O’Connor.
› Madelaine Carter’s authority exceeds Liam’s. She is team leader. There is no conflict. Maddy’s mission statement supersedes Liam’s.
› I understand this. But it appears that Liam has privileged knowledge.
› Please clarify this.
A part of Becks was unsure about doing that, sharing this precious locked-up knowledge with the computer across the room from her. There were express instructions floating around her fractured mind that this was knowledge for Maddy’s eyes alone. But then, she rationalized, in just under four minutes computer-Bob’s mind would be gone, eras
ed, leaving nothing but a wiped-clean hard drive.
Why not tell him?
› Liam has been to the year 2070. He has spoken with Waldstein.
It was then she heard the noise: boots on damp linoleum floor in the hallway outside; whispered voices, hoarse with trying to be heard, yet not heard; the soft clink of ammo cartridges in webbing pouches. Clumsy men trying far too hard to be quiet.
‘We are not alone,’ she said quietly.
Chapter 55
9 October 2001, Green Acres Elementary School, Harcourt, Ohio
The door to the classroom suddenly banged and rattled inwards, the rotten wood of its frame splintering and cracking under the whiplash impact of a standard-issue boot.
‘FREEZE!’ a voice roared as the door juddered loosely, scraping to a halt.
‘Hands in the air!’ Another voice. ‘Let me see your hands. Lemme see YOUR GODDAMN HANDS!’
Becks stared at the three men that had spilled through the door into the classroom. All of them dropped down on to one knee for a steadier aim: a well-practised manoeuvre, weapons raised and all pointing at her. Their goggle-covered faces flicked from side to side, scanning the corners, making sure she was the only occupant.
‘Please…’ she said. She showed her empty hands, palm up, concealing nothing. ‘Please do not shoot. I am unarmed, do you see?’
‘ Where are the others? ’
Becks ignored the question as she took a faltering step towards them. ‘Please…’ She made her voice wobble in a way that she’d heard both Maddy and Sal do before. The warbling pitch of someone frightened, fragile, vulnerable. ‘Please… I am so afraid.’
‘ GODDAMMIT! Stay right where you are!’ barked one of the men.
‘Down!’ shouted another. ‘Get her down on the ground!’
‘DO IT! Get down. DO IT NOW!’
Becks took another step closer to them. ‘I am so frightened!’ Her face crumpled into the approximation of a bewildered, terrified child. ‘Please… I want to go home to my mommy.’
‘ANOTHER STEP AND I WILL SHOOT!’
One of the men lowered his barrel slightly. ‘Jeez, Cameron! It’s just a kid!’
Becks took another half-step. She nodded eagerly. ‘I am,’ she said, her voice a whimper. ‘I am just a kid. And I want to go home to my mommy.’
Then, with a flicker of one swift movement, she had the stubby barrel of the lowered HK MP5 in one tight fist. She shoved it savagely, the gun’s stock flicked backwards and smacked the man’s jaw. Then she pulled on it, yanking the weapon free of his grasp.
‘Jesus Christ!’ gasped one of them.
She swung the weapon round like a battleaxe, a sweeping roundhouse blow that caught the unarmed man under the jaw again, snapping his head back and leaving him sprawled on the ground and out for the count.
Several unaimed twitch-finger shots rang out from the other two: staccato stabs of muzzle flash that lit the dim classroom like a strobe. In a blur of movement the weapon in Becks’s hands flipped end over end and now the gun was aimed at the two men. She pulled the trigger. A double-tap: one shot to the flak-jacket-covered chest of the man on the right, knocking him off balance; the second shot to his left upper thigh. Not a killing shot, but one that would kill him in minutes if he didn’t drag himself out to get some help immediately. In another second she had dealt the same precision shots to the other man. As the smoke cleared, they were both desperately dragging themselves out of the classroom, leaving dark snail trails of blood on the grimy floor behind them.
The passageway outside was now alive with echoing voices. Torch beams flickered and swayed. Becks caught a glimpse of a SWAT team helmet sneaking a look round the edge of the door. She emptied a dozen rounds into the doorframe and the wall beside it. Plaster and flecks of dried paint erupted in showers.
‘ Jesus! Man down!’ A shrill voice outside. ‘We got another man down over here!’
She was causing a rout, a rapid tactical rethink among the remaining men. Voices shouted over each other and the thud of boots receded down the passage in panic. Then after a minute, finally, it was quiet again, save for those same voices outside in the playground, still shouting over each other, exchanging curses and recriminations.
› Two minutes until there is sufficient charge, Becks.
› Affirmative.
She quickly examined the displacement machine. Miraculously, none of the shots fired in that quick exchange seemed to have hit it. To be honest, it would probably take no more than a sharp nudge of the metal frame or a mere fleck of damp paint lodged in the circuitry to cause the fragile thing to malfunction, let alone a single bullet on target.
In the moment of stillness Becks thought she heard the first tap of raindrops on a window. Then quickly it became apparent to her it wasn’t rain.
Clack-clack-clack-clack.
Footsteps approaching swiftly down the corridor outside, purposefully.
Finally a woman appeared in the ragged doorway. She smiled coolly.
‘So, here you are,’ said Faith.
Chapter 56
9 October 2001, Green Acres Elementary School, Harcourt, Ohio
Becks levelled the gun in her hands. ‘Yes, I am here.’
Faith remained where she was, framed by the doorway. ‘I am Faith.’
‘I am Becks.’
‘Do you understand why I am here?’
‘I believe your mission priority is to kill this team.’
‘Correct.’
Becks’s finger hovered on the machine-pistol’s trigger. The rest of the magazine’s worth of bullets, aimed squarely at the unit’s head, would be enough. Becks remembered her own death. A single lucky round from a British rifle. The impact against the miniature dense silicon wafer caused a cascading failure of circuits. She recalled her mind closing down. She recalled dropping to her knees amid a small hillock of uniformed bodies, the dying digital part of her spewing nonsensical random sequences across failing circuits. It was as close as her artificial mind could get to understanding the nature of death.
‘Why do you have this goal?’ asked Becks. ‘Why must this team be terminated?’
‘This team requested information on the Pandora event.’ Faith shook her head reproachfully. ‘Knowing of this — knowing what will one day happen — compromises their reliability.’
Becks found herself nodding in agreement. The unit standing in front of her was quite right. Maddy, now knowing what she did, was determined to ensure the Extinction Level Event in 2070 wasn’t going to happen. Her team were now no longer performing the function they were intended for. Quite the opposite. From this support unit’s perspective they were no longer the solution… they were the problem.
‘Events must unfold in that precise way,’ added Faith. ‘Humans must wipe themselves out in the year 2070. There can be no other alternative. These are Waldstein’s instructions.’
Becks frowned. ‘But there is no logical beneficiary in such a scenario. If all humans are dead… then there is nothing left.’
Faith shrugged a whatever. Becks had to admire the fluidity of that gesture; it was so gracefully human-like. ‘Perhaps it is for the best.’
And that too sounded so human. That sounded to Becks very much like an expressed opinion. Neither she nor Bob had quite managed to master that. ‘Is this your personal conclusion?’
‘Of course not. Unfortunately, I am unable to think that way.’ Faith entered the room. ‘Those are the words of my Authorized User — Roald Waldstein.’
Becks lowered her aim ever so slightly. ‘You are following his instructions.’
‘Correct.’
‘In that case I understand your reasoning.’
Faith nodded. ‘Good.’ She stepped over the unconscious man on the floor between them as if he was nothing more than a roll of carpet waiting to be taken out and dumped in a skip.
‘We are in agreement, Becks. There is no need for conflict.’
‘Unfortunately, I also have orders to follow.�
� She shouldered the stock of the gun and fired in one swift motion.
Instinctively, Faith raised her arm to protect her head. Several rounds smashed into her wrist and lower arm, rendering it a ragged, swinging pulp of flesh and chalk-white splintered bone. As the weapon clicked noisily, the cartridge empty, Faith leaped forward. With her good arm, she knocked the gun effortlessly out of the younger, smaller support unit’s grasp.
With the side of one hand, the girl tried to chop at her neck, an obvious weak point. Faith anticipated that and parried the jab with the soft crunch of her bullet-shattered arm. With her good arm, Faith duplicated the tactic and grabbed Becks by the throat, lifting her slight frame off the ground so that her feet were swinging free. She hurled her like a rag doll across the room into a stack of chairs and desks in the corner.
Becks disappeared among them, lost in a mini-avalanche of classroom furniture. Faith raced over, flinging desks and chairs aside as if they were mere scoops of dirt, digging for Becks before she could attempt to burrow deeper and escape. She found her lying on her back, gasping, spraying fine droplets of dark blood on to her pale chin. Her arms flailed pointlessly in an attempt to get herself up. Legs lifeless and useless.
Faith knelt down heavily on her heaving chest. ‘Your back is broken, is it not?’
Becks nodded.
‘Then you are incapacitated. You should self-terminate.’
Becks sputtered blood, her jaw working, trying to say something. Instead, she gave up trying to talk and simply nodded again.
Faith remained where she was, studying Becks’s face until the glint of digital consciousness ebbed from her grey eyes. Now they rolled uncontrollably, a simple-minded animal stare. Nothing more than that. And there — the faintest whiff of melted plastic, singed silicon.
This child with its broken back was just a simple-minded gurgling creature now, arms listlessly flailing. Faith reached her good hand out and grabbed the creature’s slender neck. She snapped it with a quick, savage twist. And the pitiful thing was finally still.