Twilight of the Gods (Universe in Flames Book 8)

by Christian Kallias

  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 that 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’ve agreed a long time ago to have her rewrite her own code for this purpose, but I honestly couldn’t tell if mission control is able to access that data nonetheless. They’re the ones who created Tanya. 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. 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 added to the holo-scene. A list of known associates, suspects and their entire bio. 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 starts running scenarios and displays the odds of success for each course of action in 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 reckon and action in this mission, Cole?”

  That’s a good question. We usually use about seventy percent of the time on reckon and interrogation, 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 up 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.

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

  Soon Tanya has all the information gathered by the central city AI. She has already computed dozens of scenarios. I recognize the one with the most chance of success to stop the nuke from detonating. I know this one 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 interrogated before in vain, but I also know that this could just be a fecking nightmare with no impact on how the mission goes. If only I could know this for sure. The more I think about it, the more I think we need to treat this like any other mission and wing it as necessary when the time comes. I might need to be ruthless in my interrogations during this mission. I have to make the most of the now six hundred and fifty-three minutes left at my disposal.

  “We need to decide for a safe 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 catastrophic 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! My last actions on this planet are not to let hundreds of thousands of lives perish.”

  “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 insist, 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 feel 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 what I’m thinking now: 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 in here. It will flash red once more soon, 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 chance of success, therefore they didn’t make it to the final selection. Since the first objective as well as our survival is paramount, I have relegated these scenarios to not feasible.”

  And that’s perhaps the one mistake that could kill us. Trust that a simulation will determine the best course of action to optimize our chances by lowering the risks. There is one thing I am almost certain about: without taking a risk we won’t get Al’Hasi. He knows that, and I’m thinking that’s why he always slips between my fingers. Time to change the way we operate, at least on one 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 these odds.”

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

  “Screw protocol,” I answer vaguely as I’m looking at the second simulation. It has even less chances 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 been seeing 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, 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 seventy percent chance of success on our primary objective.”

  “Override.”

  “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 start getting angry again. I feel like smashing something else. 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 certain of that. When was the last ti
me anything worth doing was easy, after all? No risk, no reward. I know I’m just citing clichés inside my head, but something rings true nonetheless.

  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 know someone who can help us make sure we succeed at the 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 comfort and screw protocol. 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 much 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.

  Feck plan A! I don’t care if the whole world heard that in fact. But I resign myself.

  Captain Eleanor Trevisano.

  Accessing . . . says Tanya coldly.

  I know she is jealous. I’m not an idiot. Tanya is no mere machine. She has feelings, and from our fight earlier on, I can tell these are deep-rooted feelings. Unless it’s my ego talking.

  Yeah, that’s more like it, Cole. Get a grip on yourself, will you? My entire world doesn’t revolve around you.

  That hurts a little, but I have to concede it’s a well-deserved comment.

  Impressive resumé this Captain Trevisano. Up until she was discharged that is.

  You don’t have to tell me; she’s saved my ass more than once.

  Then do you mind if I ask how come she’s the one owing you a favor?

  Let’s just say I’ve saved hers more times. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?

  How likely is she to accept being an intricate part of this mission?

  Likely to very likely.

  You know I need a more precise variable than that, Cole. How likely?

  I swallow hard while I try to imagine how this conversation will go. That’s when the holo-simulation flashes red. We have ninety-seconds left before the mission scenario is selected and locked into Tanya’s matrix. Feck!

  Seventy-five percent chance, I say with as much conviction as I can muster.

  I wonder, am I trying to convince her of that figure, or just myself?

  Never play poker, Cole, you’re a terrible liar. Hasn’t anyone told you that? Nevertheless, crunching numbers. Stand by . . .

  The next five seconds feel like an eternity. Tanya’s right, I lied. I’d be lucky if Eleanor didn’t blow my head off the moment she saw me. We hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms. But she still owes me one, a big one. I need to cash in on that one today so we need to try nonetheless. I’m hoping Tanya’s CPU is too occupied to hear that thought or that she agrees with me; or, at the very least, that she’s willing to take that leap of faith.

  I have faith in you, but let it be known that I object to this course of action, and that’s between you and me. I have redacted the reason for her dishonorable discharge from her file though. Only way to make this work.

  Thank you, Tanya.

  That dishonorable discharge is my fault, and if she tries to redecorate my head with a hole in the middle of my forehead, that would be the reason. I hold my breath while the scores rise progressively with the new mission parameters injected into the scenario. The odds stop at an even seventy percent.

  I exhale deeply in relief.

  “Lock that scenario in, Tanya.”

  I should mention the chances of her surviving this mission is less than twenty percent though.

  That’s the kind of information I don’t need to know, even though I have no doubt it is a strong possibility. Am I really willing to risk an old friend’s life to achieve this mission? I guess there’s no way around it now.

  “Is the scenario locked-in?”

  “It is, for better or for worse.”

  And just in time too. The holo-simulation terminates, the lights come back to life in the room as the catwalk re-extends itself. A vocal alert informs us it’s time to leave the pre-mission tactical room.

  Now let’s hope I made the right decision. One way or another we’re about to find out soon enough; within the next six hundred and thirty-nine minutes, to be precise.

  6

  Mission completion time: T minus 637 minutes.

  WHEN WE REACH the outer doors of the room, a robotic arm comes out of the wall. I know the drill. This is the authentication tattoo I must present at the other side of my jump. To make sure I’m traveling according to official orders, not on a mission of my own. Only the AI in this room can deliver authenticated tattoos readable by people from the past, and it’s a smart and elegant failsafe to prevent unauthorized time jumps from ever being made. The tattoo is required to jump back in time, as well as my release from the jump chamber in the past.

  I used to think it was a lack of trust for the agent, but then again I’m not exactly employee of the month lately. I walk a fine line between following protocols and doing what I feel must be done, like today.

  I’m thinking there has to be a way to trick the system. This tattoo is obviously known beforehand in some memory banks. It’s one hell of a secure system with multiple encryptions. Still, like every system designed by humans, it must have a flaw. I don’t need to find it, really. I don’t intend to time travel for my own devices.

  But I get it that the company can’t take any chances about it. The mind is a fragile thing, and a loose time traveler could cause irreparable damages not only to the timeline but to the future of humanity as well. Burning the glowing purple barcode tattoo on my skin takes a few seconds, and when it’s done, the door opens. I step outside the holo-simulation room and take a left. From here I’m only a few seconds away from the time chamber.

  “Nervous?” Tanya asks.

  “More than the first time I had sex.”

  “At least you got to do that. I know it’s a touchy subject right now for you, but all things considered, you experienced that pleasure in the past, many times.”

  Not nearly enough if anybody asks me, but no one does.

  Yeah and I wish I could tell you I don’t miss it, but I’d be lying through my teeth. Of everything I had to give up for this job, this is what hurts the most. Even though I can technically have sex, it’s the enjoying part I can never feel again. Sometimes I feel like using time in a mission to visit a black market augment doctor and fix that. But how long would it take until the company discovered I’d done that? Wishful thinking, I know, but it’s a thought I get almost every time before I jump lately.

  Perhaps we should do it, Cole. I think it was a mistake removing that part of your humanity. I don’t see why it would affect your performance.

  That’s sweet of you to say, Tanya, but it’s not worth the risk, and we definitely don’t have time to do this during this particular mission. I need to be one hundred percent focused on the task at hand. I’m afraid reactivating my junk will have to wait for another time.

  And yet perhaps it would relax you more than you know, give you something to fight for and make sure you come back alive from it.

  Could she have a point? It’s all theoretical, and we can't lose precious time to discuss it right now or try anything to that end during this mission. Still, I wonder.

  We enter the time room. I never like what comes next. For some r
eason the bozos who built up that wonder of a machine didn’t manage to allow time traveling with clothes on. I think of old classic SciFi movies and the joke is not lost on me. Oh well, at least Tanya can jump with me.

  I remove my clothes when I catch a glimpse of a new girl operating some part of the machine. She blushes at the sight of me naked. I wink in her direction and she turns red before looking away.

  “Smooth, Cole, very smooth.”

  “Stop being jealous. You know I only have eyes for you, dear.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I get deactivated a minimum of three times a week so you can bring holograms into your bed.”

  “Touché. But I tell you what? Get a body and you can replace them.”

  There is an awkward silence. It doesn’t last long.

  “I might take you up on this. One day.”

  I smile. That wouldn’t be the worst of things now, would it?

  “Tell you what, let’s get . . . fixed and we could try that. I think I would enjoy it very much,” she says with a slight trembling of her synthetic vocal chords.

  You and me both.

  I stand atop the Time Convection Field Generator. The hum of the machine comes to life and I feel a slight tingle on the skin of my feet. A tad more and it would tickle.

  A column of cylindrical blue light rises from below and engulfs me. There are circles of brighter energy flashes flying upwards at a higher frequency over time. They pass in front of my eyes with a distinctive hum. It takes about twenty seconds until they are so fast I can barely see them. They render the cylindrical energy opaque enough that I can’t see the people operating the machine anymore.

  I hear the countdown over the speakers.

  “Time jump in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Engaging time jump.”

  What happens next is the most bizarre sensation. I feel like my body is being de-molecularized, and for a split second that feels like an eternity, I exist only as energy, or thought. I couldn’t tell which. It’s both exhilarating and scary as shit. For a fraction of a second, I also get that feeling like I’m one with the universe. It’s the weirdest and strangest of feelings, no matter how many times I’ve experienced this before. I both love and fear it. It’s over before I can make sense of what it was, but, for just a millisecond, I feel like I know everything about myself, my life, my experiences, my death even. It’s too short for my brain to make any sense of it, and soon the time jump is completed.