Neural Web

by Dima Zales

  We fly through the tunnel. One advantage of self-driving cars is that you can race around them easily. When they know a human driver is near, they treat that car like it has rabies.

  As I drive, I also go through the building’s security footage. It takes mere seconds to locate the suspect, since he’s wearing a suicide vest nearly identical to the ones from the earlier attempts on our lives. I get a good shot of his face and scan the report from the face recognition software.

  “Are you watching the news?” Gogi asks out loud. He glances at Joe’s captive and telepathically asks me, “Do you still think we don’t need her?”

  I tune in to the news and confirm what I just learned from facial recognition: Lennox Dixon is a prominent member of the RHO. In fact, there are pictures of him and Tatum all over the news, so I learn another tidbit: the authorities are looking for Tatum, which may further complicate Joe’s kidnapping of the woman.

  “First a protest, then blowing shit up,” Muhomor says. “The RHO does not look good right now.”

  “I just hope they know we have their leader.” I get onto the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. “So they stop trying to kill us.”

  “Even if the RHO is behind this, Joe had no right to do what he did,” Ada says.

  “We’ll deal with that when we’re safe,” I reply, careful not to tell her my theory that the worst for Tatum is still to come. Joe is undoubtedly planning to question her using dubious methods.

  I spot an emergency vehicle in the distance and race ahead to perform a maneuver that was popular in New York before self-driving cars. Catching up to the EMT van, I get behind it so that when it gets the right of way, I can take advantage of the window in the traffic.

  Something bugs me, though—something to do with the recon I’m getting from the drones above us. I’m not sure what I’m seeing yet, but I’ve learned to trust my intuition after being the only one who noticed government surveillance four and a half years ago.

  “Guys,” I say in the VR room, as that’s where the quickest-thinking group is. “Something is off.”

  I put up feedback from the drones I appropriated, and everyone adds their own—turns out each of them was also providing air support.

  “There and there,” Alan says. I recognize his facial expression—this is how he looks when he’s absorbed in a video game. “We’re in trouble.”

  I consult the screen and realize what the oddities are: we’re not the only manually driven car on the road. There’s a green SUV swerving around the self-driving traffic in a way that leaves little doubt there’s a human involved. What’s worse is the giant Peterbilt truck steamrolling onto the ramp at triple the speed limit.

  “The truck will block you from speeding up.” Mitya shows us a screen where he models what he thinks is going on—an impressive feat that must be possible thanks to his newly nonbiological mind. “The SUV probably contains a suicide bomber ready to blow up when he catches up with you.”

  I send a frantic message: “Joe, Gogi, join VR.”

  They obey, joining almost instantly.

  Mitya repeats his theory, and Joe’s grim expression leaves no doubt that he concurs with what’s about to happen.

  Joe’s security team from the car shows up in the VR room. Muhomor nods at Jacob; after the big man saved his life, they became friends. Dominic looks like a regular person here in VR, and it’s eerie to see his shoulders droop. His exoskeleton doesn’t have the capability to express emotion in the real world.

  “You”—Joe gestures at Dominic—“secure Alan, while you”—he points at Jacob—“look out for my aunt.”

  He proceeds to give more orders, and I’m pleased to see he’s treating me as one of the security people. I’m to stay alert and react to the situation. Then again, he might not have ordered anyone to secure me because I’m in the front by myself.

  “Gogi and I are going to take care of the SUV,” Joe says. He looks around as though challenging anyone to contradict him, but no one dares.

  “I should drive,” Mitya says once the plan of action is solidified. “My reaction times are now at least double any of yours.”

  I shudder as I recall the last time Mitya drove in a life-or-death situation. Still, reaction time is the key metric here, so I hesitantly agree.

  “We go back to real time on three.” Gogi wipes sweat from his virtual mustache. “One. Two. Three.”

  Unlike the guards, I don’t need the countdown to pay attention to the real world. I’m already there, double-checking my seatbelt.

  Jacob buckles up my mom, and Joe even finds a moment to put a seatbelt on the unconscious RHO leader, though he’s probably less concerned for her safety than preserving the pleasure of torturing her later. Meanwhile, Dominic takes Alan into his arms as though he’s trying to give the kid a hug. Given that Dominic’s body is mostly titanium, Alan should be more secure than in any kind of kiddie car seat.

  Joe and Gogi are the only people unbuckling their seat belts. I know what they’re about to do, so I open the side windows in the back of the car.

  They move in sync, like dancing partners. Both jump up and slide to the window on their side. Both take out their guns seemingly at the same moment. Their simultaneous shots merge into a single eardrum-damaging bang, and the SUV’s tires blow out—Joe and Gogi’s marksmanship is app-enhanced.

  Unfortunately, the SUV appears to have new tires designed, ironically, by Human++. Sparks fly as metal grinds against pavement, but the car doesn’t slow down quickly enough—not if we want to keep a far enough distance from a potential blast radius.

  “I’m speeding up,” Mitya says. “I think that’s the only option. If the truck gets off the ramp ahead of Zapo, you’re toast—and at the moment, we don’t have the resources to run anyone else’s minds in the cloud besides mine.”

  “Wait, hold on,” I yell at my friend in VR. “We’re going to be by the ramp at the same time. The truck will be able to ram straight into us.”

  Mitya either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care.

  Zapo X zooms forward.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Before I recover from whiplash, Mitya swerves into the middle lane. Does he think the truck will have trouble with a few extra feet of distance? Then I realize that puts a car between us and the truck—an empty self-driving red Toyota that works for Uber.

  “I had to speed up,” Mitya says in VR as we watch the slow-from-this-perspective progression of the truck on the ramp. “If the SUV driver is another suicide bomber, going faster is your only option.”

  “The problem is the truck driver might be a suicide bomber as well,” I counter.

  “I don’t think so.” Mitya’s left eye twitches. Even in digital form, he retains his signature poker tell. His face is calm, but I’m not buying it. “Let’s put it another way. If the truck driver has a bomb, you’re all dead anyway.”

  I realize that he and I are both right.

  “Joe, Gogi!” I scream in the real world. “Get back into your seats.”

  The trucker has no bomb, but he’s still suicidal. He’s realized he can’t get ahead of us, so he’s now speeding up and clearly intends to crash into the red Toyota that currently separates us. The trucker must think that hitting the Toyota won’t slow him enough to keep him from reaching us. My heart rate speeds up as I realize he might just be right.

  In real-world slow motion, the cars inch toward each other. I brace myself, cringing at the sight of Gogi and Joe still not in their seats.

  Using the quantum servers, I model the upcoming set of collisions a couple of times. When the results come through the same on the third simulation, I shout in VR, “Mitya, Muhomor, get that ambulance in front of us to stop. We’re going to need it.”

  Important task done, I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for the impact in the real world.

  The truck almost pulverizes the empty Toyota. As the modeling showed, there’s indeed enough momentum left to then ram into Zapo’s hulk with notable force.

  F
or some reason, my enhanced brain registers the sound first, a crunch that sounds as if a giant with diamond teeth decided to chew the bulletproof metal of Zapo with his mouth wide open. The jerk comes next, and every part of my body jolts forward, my neck muscles straining to keep my head attached. Shards of glass rain through the vehicle without cutting anyone, thanks to the patented shatter-without-edges technology that cost the equivalent of a modest car to install.

  Through the drone cameras, I can see that Zapo has withstood the impact slightly better than the modeling predicted, though the suicidal driver got his death wish when he catapulted through his broken window. When I rewind the video, I see him somersault over Zapo’s roof and land in a bloody splat of broken bones.

  Unfortunately, the unsecured Gogi and Joe also behave as foretold in the modeling. As though continuing their earlier synchronicity, each man flies head first at the opposite wall and smacks his skull before collapsing into a limp bundle. The only differences between them are the blood pouring from Joe’s head wound and the unnatural angle of Gogi’s ankle.

  I’m not sure how Mitya or Muhomor managed it, but the ambulance we’ve been following is backing up.

  Then it hits me that I’m relaxing too soon. Surviving the truck still leaves us with the SUV behind us, a car with a suicide bomber behind the wheel.

  “Dominic,” I scream, “behind us!”

  I don’t think I needed to prompt the former soldier. He gently sets Alan on Jacob’s lap and sweeps into action with a set of maneuvers that explain to me why the army is so keenly interested in the exoskeleton technology he now controls. With a powerful push of his legs, he leaps through the broken back window, reaches for his gun in midair, and lands with the softness of a feline predator. He then sprints toward the SUV, his biological hand holding the gun and his bionic hand extended palm outwards.

  “I can’t even imagine what he’s feeling right now,” Alan messages me privately. “Dominic has a deep-seated anxiety when it comes to walking up to cars, even parked ones.”

  Dominic’s bullet hits the driver squarely in the head, but the car still has enough momentum to roll toward us, despite the naked metal of the wheels now gouging deep gashes in the pavement.

  Dominic’s palm connects with the SUV’s grill. If his arm had been mine, enhanced bones or not, it would have snapped. But his state-of-the-art bionic arm holds the car without any problems and makes him look like a superhero as he skids backward in his effort to slow the SUV. The bottoms of his feet are covered by the same titanium as the rest of his body, and the sparks from his feet rival those produced by the car’s wheels.

  In a fraction of a second, I use the quantum servers again to see if the rest of his exoskeleton will prevent his midsection from getting splattered if the SUV slams him into our vehicle. The answer comes out negative—he’ll likely die if he doesn’t stop the car. I frantically run another simulation to tell me if he’ll manage to stop in time.

  Dominic’s back slowly draws nearer. Before I get the calculation results back, he stops, his right foot a millimeter from Zapo’s back tire.

  Everyone in the car cringes. Though the driver can’t activate the bombs now that he’s dead, if his allies have an override, we’re about to go up in smoke.

  “They shouldn’t have an override,” Mitya says in VR, but it’s clear he’s unsure. “They didn’t in earlier attempts.”

  “They might have adapted them,” Alan says.

  “I bet they had the bombs made ahead of time,” Ada says, her Zik message hopeful. “That makes it harder to adapt, unless the driver was very handy with explosive-related gizmos.”

  “Get into the ambulance now,” Muhomor says. “Don’t wait to find out.”

  Dominic seems to have the same idea, because he jumps back into Zapo and picks up Gogi like a doll.

  “The exoskeleton is now one of my favorite creations,” I say in the VR, awestruck. “That, or Dominic is a biological marvel.”

  “I know.” Ada doesn’t seem to realize that she just bit a virtual nail. “The man isn’t even out of breath.”

  An EMT emerges from the passenger side of the ambulance. “What’s going on? We were responding to a heart attack when the car navigation started acting up and made us back up.” Coming closer, he takes in the scene and asks, “Is anyone hurt?”

  “Yes,” I reply. “Please help.”

  “That rerouting sounds like Muhomor’s work,” Mitya says in VR. “Too bad someone’s going to die because of it.”

  “The call was from a hypochondriac.” Muhomor gives Mitya a defensive look. “I’m checking her out through her webcam, and Einstein agrees she’s just having a panic attack.”

  “I’m making sure another ambulance double-checks Doctor Muhomor’s diagnosis,” Ada chimes in. “Meanwhile, take our people to the hospital.”

  Ignoring the emergency personnel, Dominic puts Gogi inside the ambulance and comes back for Joe. The EMT guys gape at all this in fascination; they’re undoubtedly used to doing all the work on their own.

  The rest of us unbuckle our seatbelts, and I check that Mom is okay. She’s been silent throughout the ordeal, and her pale face looks more frightened than the day we rescued her from that Russian facility. On a hunch, I reassure her that Joe is going to be okay, and that seems to return a hint of color to her cheeks. I wait another beat, and when her shallow breathing evens out, I help her stand up. Before she gets a chance to completely come back to her senses, I lead her out of the ruins of Zapo as Jacob carries Alan behind me.

  “That was scary,” Mr. Spock telepathically announces from my pocket. “Let’s not do it again.”

  “I’d love not to do that again, bud,” I reply. “The bad people didn’t give me a choice.”

  “I don’t like bad people,” he says confidently. “Can I bite them?”

  Mr. Spock has been learning human social mores, and the mere fact that he asks if he can bite before doing so is a huge sign of progress.

  “I hope you don’t have to bite them. They taste really bad,” I tell him.

  “You’re going to need another vehicle,” Muhomor says.

  A white limousine promptly screeches to a halt in the opposite lane.

  Dominic grabs the still-unconscious Tatum, steps over the road divider, and proceeds toward the limo. He opens the door and climbs inside. Moments later, a bunch of dressed-up teenagers file out, their expressions a blend of anger, fear, and confusion.

  “I’m very sorry, but we need to borrow your ride,” I tell the biggest kid. I take a few crisp hundreds from my wallet.

  “Tell him another rental is on the way,” Muhomor says. “A better, more expensive, and cleaner one, at that.”

  I relay what Muhomor says and hand over the money. “If you need a place to stay after the prom, I just rented you a couple of suites at The Beekman.”

  I bypass the stunned teenagers and get Mom comfortable in the front of the limo. The rest of our group sits in the back.

  “Have the EMT drive to the nearest hospital that’s not overcrowded,” I tell my friends in VR. “Also, make sure a car rental is waiting for me there. I’m going to stay with Gogi and Joe while Dominic takes Mom and Alan to the bunker.”

  “My plane arrives soon,” Muhomor says. “Can they pick me up?”

  Dominic thinks picking up Muhomor might be safer en route, so I agree to that.

  “I’m staying with Josya at the hospital,” Mom says when I tell her the plan.

  I shake my head. “No, Mom. I need you to be there when Dominic picks up your brother.” I’m not just being manipulative. Uncle Abe might balk at going with the robot man, as he calls Dominic behind his back in Russian. “I also need you to get in touch with JC and have him double-check on office evacuations and then join us in the bunker,” I continue. “This mess is looking worse and worse, and I wouldn’t want them—whoever they are—to hurt any more people, especially your new husband.”

  I seem to win this fight. Mom looks distant, a habit whe
n using her Brainocytes.

  I patch into the camera in the EMT van. To my relief, Joe and Gogi’s vitals are good.

  Mitya keeps the limo on the tail of the ambulance all the way to Coney Island Hospital. We’re not allowed to enter the emergency room driveway, so Mitya takes me to the main entrance instead.

  “Alan, Mom,” I say as I get up to leave, “I’ll see you in the bunker. Love you.”

  “Let me know when you find out how Uncle Joe is doing,” Alan says. “And Gogi too.”

  “What am I going to tell Joe’s father?” Mom looks at me sternly.

  “Maybe we’ll know something by the time you have to explain,” I lie. Uncle Abe lives on Brighton Beach just a few blocks away, and there’s no chance Joe will be seen by a doctor in the time it takes the limo to pick up his father.

  “Okay,” she says. “Go make sure they take good care of him.”

  “I’m conscious.” A telepathic message from Joe arrives without any emotional overtones.

  “Great,” I reply. “I’m going to come see you in a moment.”

  Entering the hospital brings back unpleasant flashbacks of my prior hospital visit, and I fight the hollowness in my chest.

  “If any of us visit a hospital a few more times,” Muhomor says, “they’ll probably offer us a procedure for free.”

  My friend’s joke fails to dispel my disquiet, so I get into a virtual room with Einstein in therapist mode. This version of Einstein is good at reading facial cues and body language, and right away, he gives me a soothing smile. His German accent is almost nonexistent as he asks, “How does it feel to be in a hospital?”

  “I’m going to need a gallon of vodka.” Gogi’s grumpy telepathic message comes in at the same time. “Why the hell did you take me to the hospital? You know I hate these places.”

  “Stay put.” I’m hugely relieved that Gogi has also regained consciousness. I also feel slightly guilty that I wasn’t as relieved when I learned that Joe had come to. “I’m on my way to the ER.”