Rewind 717: The Adventures of Time Traveler Anti-Terrorist Agent Cole Seeker

by Christian Kallias

  “You have twenty minutes to analyze the ground zero data we’ve been able to gather since the . . . incident. All signs point to a dirty bomb exploding in the lower levels of World Security Center, in downtown New Geneva. Most of the population is already suffering the effect of the radiation. This is a doomsday scenario for this city. I can’t stress enough how important your Rewind mission is at this point, but I’m sure you get the gist.”

  I know all of this already, but I can’t tell him any of that. Why did he pause mid-sentence though? That’s not like him. It’s not like I can ask him anyway.

  “Absolutely. I will not fail either my first nor secondary mission objective. Ahmed needs to be dealt with once and for all.”

  “Are you two on a first name basis now? Never mind that though, just . . . just kill that fecker! Whatever it takes, Agent Seeker. I have the utmost confidence in your abilities to fulfill your mission. You’re dismissed.” The general salutes me once more and leaves the entrance hall of the Rewind facility.

  I notice he’d made another awkward pause. I wish I was as confident with myself as he seems to be. But I’m no fool. I heard something in his voice. What was it? Hesitation? Fear? Or perhaps doubt? It doesn’t matter since it won’t change a thing as far as I’m concerned. I have no choice here; I either succeed in my mission or die. And dying isn’t an option.

  “That’s right, Cole,” says Tanya, “we come back alive from this. I . . . I don’t want to die either.”

  I have no doubt Tanya doesn’t want to cease to exist. That’s the first sign of consciousness, and while I may have had my doubts about her in the very beginning when they implanted me with her augment, I know she is alive. She feels just like any human being, and right now, with her processing speed, I’m sure the amount of fear she is having to deal with is just as high if not higher than mine.

  We get inside the holographic chamber mission prep room. It’s a spherical room with a catwalk stretching out from the entrance to its center. Once I’m in the center platform, the catwalk retracts. This room is where I get to prepare all my missions. It provides me with all the data after the fact, using not only my own AI augment processing power to calculate mission specific protocols and strategies, but also using the city’s main AI, which has, in the past few minutes, accumulated all possible data pertaining to this mission. Without it, jumping back in time would be left to chance, and that’s not what the Rewind Project is about. One terrorist act, one jump back, to course correct history for the better. At least that’s what they tell me.

  The lighting inside the room turns dark, and soon the room is filled with a gigantic holo-projection of the part of town where the dirty bomb detonated. Superimposed over the still flaming and smoky rubble is a 3D diagram of the building, pre-explosion. A top, right-corner window indicates an estimate of casualties. It’s currently at over three hundred thousand souls and climbing at more than fifty lives a second. The emotions that these numbers generate in me I try to mentally push away. I can’t let this impact how I approach my mission. I need to detach myself as much as possible or risk being overwhelmed.

  The mission number is a simple seventeen displayed on the left corner of the holo-simulation. That would mean it’s my seventeenth deployment. Feels like I’ve deployed way more than this paltry figure somehow. I don’t know why, but that’s how it feels. I also wonder if my current anxiety has anything to do with the unusual amount of time I have seen the numbers one and seven in the past few weeks. Like the universe itself is trying to tell me something. At this point it feels more like yelling than talking, and that gets me worried even more. Is this the day I die? Is it written in stone? I am neither a pessimist nor a fatalist but I don’t like this coincidence, not one bit. I reluctantly brush the thought away; it brings nothing but stress and I need to stay clear-headed as much as I can under the circumstances.

  “Any way to lower my anxiety, Tanya?”

  “I’m way ahead of you. I’ve released a mixture of drugs that should help you improve your concentration shortly as well as lower your anxiety levels right about now. I’m doing this in privacy mode, so that mission control doesn’t see it happening. I’ve been feeding them bogus data ever since we’ve been called to action.”

  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, elevator 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 chances 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 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 time 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 operational 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 di
scharge 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.

  C H A P T E R

  VI

  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 as well.

  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.