The Tomorrow Heist

by Jack Soren

  “Okay, we’re ready. Initiate the start-­up sequence,” Reese said, seeming reluctant to leave his patient and head up into the control room.

  “About bloody time, darling,” Alex said to Reese when he entered. Reese ignored him.

  Inside the control room were even more monitors and controls set into the console desks. Nagura had explained to Tatsu that the procedure was designed to run on its own, but they had the option of jumping in and making adjustments as they went.

  “Give him a break, Corsair,” Nagura said. He was just about the only one on board who ever stood up to Umi’s dark shadow. “The human brain has over one hundred billion neurons. Each of those can make over a thousand connections. Conservatively meaning there are one hundred terabytes of data to manage.”

  “A hundred what?” Alex asked. Nagura shook his head, but Tatsu could tell he was enjoying this distraction while they waited for the start-­up procedure to initialize.

  “Look, imagine a pickup truck filled with books,” Nagura said.

  “Ah, okay, well that’s not that—­”

  “Now imagine one hundred thousand of them.”

  “Bugger me.”

  “Start-­up initialized. Administering focal protocol,” the computer said in an electronic, but feminine voice.

  “What’s happening now?” Umi asked. It was the smallest voice Tatsu had ever heard her use.

  “He’s being given drugs that will focus his mind and increase the blood flow to the brain,” Reese said.

  “Initiating test transfer.”

  “This is the first big hurdle,” Nagura said. “We’re sending a sample piece of data from Mikawa to the cipher’s processing unit. Then we’ll do a checksum—­a test—­to make sure the data transferred successfully. If it passes, we’ll increase the speed of the transfer slowly over several tests and eventually introduce compression algorithms—­uh, ways to make the data smaller. It sounds complicated, but the whole test will only take a minute or two.”

  Everyone stood quietly as they waited. Tatsu thought even Alex seemed pensive.

  “Test complete. Stand by for data transfer at the highest possible data rate.”

  “This is our last chance to abort, Umi. We can stop it now and aside from the drugs in his system, he’ll be just as he was,” Nagura said.

  “Carry on, gentlemen.”

  Reese and Nagura looked at each other with bright eyes.

  “Here we go,” Nagura said.

  Tatsu walked over and put an arm around Umi. They hugged each other as they watched.

  “Well?” Reese asked Nagura ten minutes later as Nagura stared at the readings on the equipment embedded into the console desks.

  “It’s working,” Nagura said. Reese smiled wide and practically bounced. “It’s working!” The men hugged while they laughed in relief. Umi and Tatsu hugged tighter.

  “I’ll be damned,” Alex said.

  But the joy was short-­lived.

  “Catastrophic failure. Preparing to abort. Catastrophic failure. Preparing to abort.”

  Nagura’s face dropped. He let go of Reese and checked the readouts.

  “No, no, no.” He looked through the window. Tatsu followed his line of sight and saw the representation of Mikawa’s brain on the display completely lit up in bright red, yellow letters blinking across the screen: “Data Corruprion.”

  “What’s happening?” Umi yelled. “I thought you couldn’t abort now!”

  “We can’t,” Reese said, running out of the control room.

  “Is it aborting or not?” Alex asked.

  “It’s a computer. It doesn’t understand that an abort will kill him. It just knows the transfer is failing, so it wants to abort to save itself.”

  “Save itself? Stop it!” Tatsu shouted.

  “I can’t! The only thing I can do is delay the abort and increase the speed of the transfer,” Nagura said, punching buttons and typing into the keyboard without waiting for Umi’s okay.

  “Well?” Umi asked.

  “It . . . it seems to be working. If we can keep him—­oh shit!” Nagura yelled. He grabbed the microphone. “What the fuck are you doing, Reese!”

  “What is it?” Tatsu asked.

  “He’s disconnecting the cipher!” Nagura said before he ran out of the control room. Tatsu followed him.

  When they got to the lab, Reese was yanking out fiber-­optic cables by the handful. Nagura yelled and leaped on him. Reese was no match for him—­a few blows and a kick to his head, and he was down.

  “Watch him,” Nagura said to Tatsu, pointing at Reese’s moaning form on the floor, and he began frantically reconnecting the cables between the cipher and the machines. As he did, Mr. Morgan and one of his guards showed up. Tatsu yanked Reese to his feet and shoved him at Morgan, who grabbed the bloody and disoriented scientist.

  “Get him out of here,” Umi said, without looking at Reese, her voice practically a whisper.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Morgan said, as he and the other guard grabbed Reese under the arms and dragged him out of the hold.

  A few moments later, Nagura finished reconnecting all the cables. He checked the connections to the cipher, then he examined Mikawa.

  “Will it still work?” Tatsu asked, as Umi came in to join them. Tatsu could feel Alex sitting up in the control room, watching them.

  “It has to,” Nagura said. “Mikawa’s in bad shape. He won’t survive another attempt.” Nagura stepped to the machines, and Tatsu watched his hands fly across the controls like a concert pianist.

  “Is . . . it okay?” Umi asked, motioning at the cipher. Tatsu knew she wanted to ask about Mikawa, even run to his side, but she would never do that in front of all these ­people. It wasn’t her way. But more than that, Tatsu noticed how Umi had trouble referring to the cipher, and she really wondered what Umi’s reaction would be if this actually worked.

  “I think so. The disconnection was a shock to the artificial synapse, but the buffers seem to have retained all the data. Now it’s flowing . . . wait. Damn it. It’s flowing too fast.”

  “I thought you said it had to go fast?” Tatsu asked.

  “Not this fast. The cipher won’t—­” Nagura suddenly looked like he was trying to remember something, his nostrils flaring. “Do you smell something burning?” he asked, as if he were afraid of the answer.

  Tatsu stepped closer, and a smell like burning plastic hit her sinuses. She looked down and saw the side of the cipher’s head seeming to come alive, wriggling before her eyes. Blue smoke wafted up from the shifting flesh analogue, and she realized what was happening.

  Jesus, it’s melting!

  She tried to warn Nagura, but she was too late. The side of the cipher’s head bubbled, cracked, then shrank away from the metallic skull underneath. Nagura watched it all.

  “No, no, NO!” Nagura yelled as sparks started shooting up from the charring metal, the room filling with smoke.

  Tatsu suddenly realized that the smoke could be toxic. Umi! She ran back and tried to drag the old woman from the danger, but she wouldn’t budge, then actually slapped Tatsu across the face. In shock, Tatsu let go and touched her burning cheek. If anyone else had tried that, they’d already be dead. But she just stared at Umi like a scolded child, watching the old woman’s eyes flick from Mikawa to the cipher and back again.

  Sparks and smoke sprayed out of the cipher’s head, then suddenly the head exploded, the blast knocking Nagura to the floor. Tatsu ran and helped him up, but Nagura pushed away from her, coughing and wincing from minor burns to the side of his face. He grabbed an extinguisher and put out the flames that were licking across and melting the rest of the cipher’s face.

  “It’s destroyed. Reese’s neural net couldn’t handle the data,” Nagura said, waving fumes away from his face.

  “Can you fix it?” Umi said w
eakly.

  “Not in time. The robot will be fine. I’ve got a dozen parts back at my workshop that could fix it in a few hours. But the neural net—­the brain—­is toast.”

  “What about—­” Umi’s question was interrupted by a high-­pitched whine, and Mikawa suddenly began convulsing violently. Nagura ran to his side. As he did, the convulsing stopped, and the brain image on the screen went white.

  “Oh my God,” Nagura hissed.

  “Is he . . . dead?” Umi asked.

  “Yes, but that’s not . . . Reese didn’t shut down the process before he started yanking the cables. It kept going. It emptied Mikawa’s mind completely. He didn’t die from the cancer or the strain of the procedure. He died because . . . he’s not here anymore,” Nagura said, waving his hands over Mikawa’s body.

  “Oh my God,” Tatsu said, putting her arm tentatively around Umi, who was looking pale and like she might pass out. “Was he . . .” She motioned at the burned cipher.

  “No, the transfer never passed the checksum. He’s . . . he’s still in the buffer,” Nagura said, turning and looking at the machines behind him.

  “You mean he’s in the machine?” Tatsu asked incredulously.

  “He’s alive?” Umi asked.

  “Yes, but . . .” Nagura stepped to the machines and checked a few readouts. “Damn it, I was afraid of this.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “The buffer isn’t designed for long-­term storage. Especially the amount of data we’re talking about. It’s . . . it’s starting to degrade. Flush itself.”

  “Flush itself?” Tatsu said.

  “These machines are very sophisticated. Just like before, it’s trying to save itself. It’s dumping Mikawa, bit by bit. We’re losing him.”

  “What about the other robot?” Tatsu said.

  “We’ll never initialize it in time. The buffer will be completely empty by then.”

  “There’s got to be something we can do!” Tatsu pleaded.

  Nagura ran his hand through his hair and paced. Tatsu was sure all was lost, when suddenly Nagura stopped and looked at Umi.

  “What is it?” Umi asked.

  “It’s a long shot, but there’s only one networked system close by that could handle this amount of data.”

  “Is that possible?” Umi asked. Tatsu realized what they were talking about.

  Ashita.

  “Maybe. But we have to decide now. We’ve already lost eight percent of him.”

  “Umi, maybe we should—­” Tatsu didn’t get to finish.

  “Do it.”

  Chapter Twenty-­eight

  Unknown

  “WHO’S THERE?” LEW said again. The voice had been so small and brief, he was starting to think he’d imagined it. Just as he was about to give up and get back to what was in the crate, he heard it again.

  “Please. Help me. It’s trying to kill me.”

  Lew zeroed in on the source of the strange voice. It was coming from behind a stack of boxes. He stared at them, trying to see who was in the room with him. Finally, he saw a single eye staring out at him from a crack between two crates.

  “What’s trying to kill you?” Lew asked, edging forward. “Come on out from behind there. I won’t hurt you.” Whether Lew would actually hurt him or not depended on what the voice did next, but Lew needed answers. And clothes, he thought, shivering.

  Slowly, a thin, shaking man stood up behind the crates, his bloodshot, wide eyes rimmed with thick black circles. As he stood up, his gaze flicked left and right, like a squirrel in the park being offered a peanut. Lew had seen that look before. On detainees in Kuwait. This guy was sleep deprived. Sleep deprived times ten. The soldiers interrogating them would wake them up whenever they fell asleep—­play loud music, hose them down with ice water—­whatever it took to keep them from getting any rest. After days or weeks of this, they got this same look—­and started to hallucinate. If it went on much longer, they’d literally lose their minds. This guy wasn’t far from there.

  “That’s it. All the way up. Who you hiding from, buddy?” Lew said in an almost singsong voice, like he was talking to a child. Lew was holding his hands up too, so the man could see he wasn’t armed.

  “I’m hiding from . . . him,” the man said, practically hissing as he pointed up at the ceiling. There was nothing on the ceiling but more white.

  “What’s your name?” Lew asked. The man was dressed in an oversized lab coat, filthy to the point of being brown. He kept glaring up into the corners of the room.

  Crap. This guy isn’t going to be any help at all.

  “It wasn’t my fault, you know.”

  “Of course it wasn’t, buddy. These things just happen sometimes,” Lew said.

  The man stood up straight and just looked at Lew. Then he started nodding and crying. “Yes. You understand. It wasn’t my fault. But I’m the only one they put down here. How is that fair?” he said, coming out from behind the crates.

  “It’s not . . . I’m sorry, I forgot—­What’s your name again?”

  “Reese,” he said in an even lower whisper.

  “Hey, Reese. I’m Lew. Do you think you can help me, Reese? I’m kinda freezing here.”

  “Where are your clothes?” Reese said, seeming to notice Lew’s lack of attire for the first time.

  “It took them,” Lew said, hoping if he played along, he’d get further. Direct questions weren’t doing much.

  “I knew it! We need to stick together Lew. Maybe . . . maybe you can stand guard while I get some sleep? I’m so tired.”

  Bingo.

  “I know you are, buddy. Now, clothes. A T-­shirt, a blanket—­anything.”

  Reese’s focus came back to the room for a moment. He stepped over to a steamer trunk and swung it open. Inside was a mini wardrobe. Shirts, underwear, socks, shoes—­the works. The shirts were too small for Lew, but he found a grubby football jersey that fit him. He slipped it on. Everything else was too small, but this would do for now.

  “Do you know anything about that?” Lew asked, pointing at the triangles and the ocean beyond.

  “It’s the ocean,” Reese said matter-­of-­factly. “We’re on the bottom.”

  “Uh, the bottom? Exactly how far down are we?”

  “Not . . . not my specialty. They told me about five hundred meters. Not the bottom-­bottom, we’re on a ridge.”

  Jesus. Lew did some quick calculations. Five hundred meters. About sixteen hundred feet. Somewhere around fifty-­one atmospheres. But he didn’t feel it. Of course. The atmosphere must be normalized. We’re on some sort of specialized submarine. Lew knew from his time in the military that submarines had gone a lot deeper than this.

  “Do you know anything about these?” Lew said, walking over to the crate he had been in.

  Reese walked over and looked inside. On the bottom lay two human-­looking robots, one with a damaged head, blackened like it had been burned. Impossibly, Reese’s eyes got larger than they already were. He started panting like he couldn’t catch his breath.

  “No! You’re with them! You’re with it! Get away!” Reese was blathering, backing away from Lew like he was the plague.

  “Easy, easy. I’m not with anyone.”

  “No! You’re lying! You want to kill me!” Reese threw one of the small crates at Lew. While he was ducking, Reese pressed a panel on the wall and a door slid open. He ran out, straight into a ­couple of guards who stood outside. Lew stayed in a crouch and eased back behind the crate.

  “There you are, Reese,” one of the guards said. “We’ve been looking for you.”

  “No! He’s with you! You all want to kill me!”

  “Reese, settle down! You want me to use my Taser again?” one of the guards said, pulling a Taser out of his belt. Reese immediately stopped thrashing.

  “No. No,
I’ll be good. No more tasing.”

  “Attaboy. Now, the boss lady wants to see you. Pronto. Let’s take a little walk, and maybe she’ll let you sleep tonight.”

  “I’d like that,” Reese said, as the trio moved away.

  Lew waited a few more minutes before he came out from his hiding spot.

  What the hell was going on here? And where the hell was Jonny? He tapped behind his ear a few times.

  “Jonny? You there, buddy?”

  Only silence.

  He didn’t have a choice. He’d have to try to find him. But if he started lurking around a submarine dressed the way he was, it would be almost impossible to keep from being spotted. Unless they’d gotten their hands on something like a Typhoon-­class submarine with it’s massive multifloored layout. Even then. And where the hell would they get—­

  “Hello, Lew.”

  Lew looked around for a second, then realized it had come from his implant. It wasn’t Jonny, though.

  “Hello? Is that you, Fahd?” Lew thought about how much he would love to get his hands on that little bastard.

  “No, we are not Fahd.”

  We?

  Lew got up and moved to the door. Staying in one place like this was too risky. He had to get moving. He peeked around the corner of the door and felt prickles crawl up his back and into his neck from what he saw. His mouth fell open as he looked around and up . . . and up and up and up. He was definitely not on a submarine.

  “If you’re not Fahd, then who the hell are you?” Lew managed.

  “Our name is Mikawa. And we have a proposition for you, Lew.”

  Chapter Twenty-­nine

  Jirojin Maru

  2:30 P.M. Local Time

  BEFORE ANYONE COULD react to Tatsu’s fantastic story, a powerful wave broke over the starboard side and slammed down onto the already waterlogged group sitting on the heliport pad. Tatsu, the smallest and lightest of them all, was almost washed away by it, but Per grabbed her in time.

  “Here comes another one!” Jonathan yelled. The foursome huddled around Alex’s body and grabbed onto each other. They weathered the onslaught, but just barely.