The Tomorrow Heist (20 page)

 

Chapter Twenty-­six

Jirojin Maru

2:15
P.M.
Local Time

R
AIN
SLUICED
DOWN
onto the heliport, washing away the blood and debris. The storm continued to intensify with every passing moment. The sky overhead was black with clouds, turning day into night, save for the periodic flash of lightning, the following thunder deafening and palpable. The sea was tossing the
Jirojin Maru
around like a toy in a hot tub filled with ink, the huge waves starting to break over the deck.

Jonathan was the only one on his feet, and staying there was more than a little difficult. The gas had stopped billowing out of the vents, but no one knew how long it would be before the ship's innards were traversable without risking unconsciousness for some, or death for the others. And they only had one mask—­still sitting on Alex Corsair's lifeless forehead.

“What's happening, Tanaka? Things are getting really fucking hairy back here,” Jonathan shouted. He'd explained the implant to Maggie and the others, fending off their questions about it as government secrets.

“
The storm is getting stronger,
” Tanaka said.

“Yeah,” Jonathan said, looking out to sea. “Tell me something I don't know.”

“When the gas stopped, I went into a few staterooms and checked out the guests. The antitoxin seems to be working as described. Everyone's out cold, but alive.
”

“That's great, but we're going to be just the opposite if we don't get off this deck like five minutes ago,” Jonathan said, fighting for his balance after another rocking wave.

“What's he saying?” Maggie asked from her position beside Alex.

“He says the storm's getting stronger.”

Maggie rolled her eyes.

“I know, I know,” Jonathan said. Then, “Tanaka, give me something, or we're going to have no choice but to head in.”

“
Don't! Some of the hallways up here are still thick with vapor. You won't get fifty feet without passing out.
”

“Fuck!”

Maggie looked at him.

“Gas is still too thick to go inside.”

“If we can get to the moon-­pool room, we'll be okay,” Tatsu said. She'd been less than forthcoming when asked what Alex's dying words had meant, saying she didn't know any more than he had. Less even. Jonathan didn't know if he believed her or not. He didn't know enough about her to make an evaluation.

“What do you mean?” Per asked.

“The room is pressurized to keep the water in the moon pool from flooding the ship,” Tatsu said. “If it's keeping the water out—­”

“It'll keep the gas out,” Maggie completed. “But we're still four decks up and half a ship away.”

“One of us should take the mask and try to find some other ones. Then come back and we can all get to this moon-­pool room,” Per said.

Jonathan wasn't sure what to make of this guy. And he had no idea how the two of them could possibly be alive after that jump from the helicopter.

“
Great idea, but anyone with a mask has already left the ship,
” Tanaka said. Apparently that had been Umi's original plan; Tanaka had seen her sub depart on the sonar. It had disappeared once it reached the jamming perimeter. Jonathan had already shared the information with the group.

“Not everyone,” Jonathan said. “I've got one in my room.”

“Wait, what about Tanaka?” Maggie said. Jonathan instantly knew what she meant, slapping himself in the forehead. If Tanaka was on the bridge, he was seconds away from Jonathan's room.

“Tanaka, did you hear that?”

“
Yeah,
” said Tanaka. “
But since Morgan's wandering around with a gun, I don't like the idea much.
”

“If you don't hurry, you're going to have the deaths of four ­people on your hands. I'm betting you'd like that even less.”

“
You're right,
” Tanaka said. “
But I—­hang on!
”

“What is it?” Jonathan asked.

“
The sub. It's coming back!
” Jonathan relayed Tanaka's message to Maggie.

“Great, so we've got more guards to deal with?” Maggie asked. Tatsu explained how the sub didn't need to be piloted, so they might have sent it back just to get Morgan.

“But you don't know that,” Jonathan said. Then after a moment, “Ah, it doesn't matter if it's empty or if there are ten guards on board, this is the only plan we've got. Tanaka, get over to my room, grab the mask, and get out here. We can buddy breathe with two masks down to the moon-­pool room.”

“
I'm almost to your room now. See you in ten.
”

“Make it five,” Jonathan said. He turned his attention back to the others around him. “He's on his way.”

“Unless he runs into Morgan,” Maggie said. Jonathan ignored her and knelt in front of Tatsu. For a second, Per looked like he was going to intervene. Jonathan didn't know what this guy's real deal was, but let that go for now.

“Tatsu. In another situation, I'd be tactful and very clever, but I don't have time for that. You're lying. I know you're lying, and so does everyone else. If you don't tell us the truth, we're going to leave you and your friend when Tanaka gets here.”

Per made a motion to protect her again.

“And unless you're faster than a bullet, I'd stay exactly where I was, mister,” Jonathan said as Maggie pulled the slide on her weapon back and let it go to emphasize his point. He looked for frustration and anger in Per's eyes, but there was nothing there. Even so, Per finally moved away from Tatsu.

“I won't interfere,” Per said. “I just want answers. We're on the same side.”

“Sure we are. Now, Tatsu. What was Alex talking about?” Jonathan said.

Tatsu seemed to assess their situation, heave a sigh, then finally give in to the inevitable.

“I don't know everything,” Tatsu said, “despite what Mr. Corsair said. But I do know how this all started.”

“U
NTIL
M
IKAWA
, U
MI
'
S
late husband, came along, all she cared about was the bottom line, the next deal. She had just turned ninety when she met Mikawa, twenty-­two years her junior, but neither one cared about their age. Except for the fact that finding each other so late in life meant their days together truly were numbered,” Tatsu said.

She couldn't believe she was telling this story to a bunch of strangers. For so much of Tatsu's life, she'd trained herself to keep secrets. But things were different now. And even if they weren't, there was very little anyone could do to Umi now.

“Everyone thought Mikawa was an opportunist, but they didn't know him. He was the kindest man with the biggest heart that I ever met.” Tatsu said, glad the rain was pelting her face, and no one could see her tears. Her whole life, she had felt like she owed Umi, and that's why she'd done the things she did for her. But Mikawa had shown her compassion and love, expecting nothing in return. She'd loved him like a father.

“Through their years together, he kept his job as a tailor and never took a single dime from Umi or her company. No one knew or cared about that, though.”

“That's a lovely story, but what does it have to do with our current situation?” Maggie asked.

“I'm getting to that,” Tatsu said, as lightning flashed, and a wave broke over the side of the ship, washing over everyone.

“Get to it quicker,” Jonathan said.

“It was about then,” Tatsu continued, “that Umi took an interest in gerontology, the study of the aging process. She wanted more life, both for her and for Mikawa, who was showing his age far more at seventy than she was at ninety-­two. She was afraid she was going to lose him, and Umi couldn't stand the idea that there was something affecting her life that she had no control over. So she did what she does best; she took control back. It was the biggest influx of capital investment the science had ever seen. No matter how far-­fetched or fringe the research, she dumped ridiculous working capital into it. But even that was mild compared to the change in her behavior six months ago.”

“What happened six months ago?” Jonathan asked.

“They ran out of time. Mikawa, who had survived several battles with cancer thanks to Umi's research and money, was under attack again. But this time, the cancer was frighteningly aggressive. Before they could treat it, it metastasized into every system and organ in his body. He had days, if that, to live.

“Umi called in every team that was even remotely close to a solution. But the science simply wasn't ready. The treatments would have killed him faster than the cancer or his age. All, save one. Or two, actually. The two most likely projects combined.”

“You're talking about Nagura and Dr. Reese,” Per said, more to himself it seemed than anyone else. When Tatsu nodded, everyone looked at Per. “I said I wanted answers, I didn't say I didn't have any.”

Tatsu thought most ­people would have punctuated something like that with a sarcastic smile. Per just blinked, stone-­faced, waiting for more of her story. Jonathan shook his head.

“For those of us who didn't just destroy a helicopter, who the hell are Nagura and Dr. Reese?” Jonathan asked.

Tatsu explained Nagura's robotic fame, both in the battling-­robot rings and in the field of robotics.

“Robotics?” Maggie said. “Sorry, I know what robotics are, I just don't see . . . how . . .” Tatsu could tell by the dawning in her eyes that she had made the connection.

“Dr. Reese worked for CRYSTASIS,” she continued. “A company fighting almost as hard as Umi to find the secret to life extension. Reese specialized in neural net computers and artificial intelligence, heading up a special project. Very special.

“It was all still a long shot, the longest shot Umi had ever taken in her life, but it was all she had. And she's not one to give up, no matter what the odds are. Six months ago, long before Dr. Reese's research was ready for application, she invited the two teams here and gave them carte blanche. Whatever they needed they got. And the teams had just enough hubris to think that was all they needed. Everyone's spirits rose, even Mikawa's. Until the accident.”

 

Chapter Twenty-­seven

Six months ago

“D
R
. R
E
ESE
,
WE
need you in the control room.” Nagura stepped back from the microphone and looked through the large window at Reese, who was moving from one bank of machines to another.

Tatsu thought his swirling lab coat made him look like he was dancing. She had never seen machines like these before, the displays and flashing lights looking like some kind of science-­fiction movie to her. Hold C had been set up in remarkable time, the machines constantly arriving over the past few days. Tatsu had spent most of it with Umi and Mikawa, just sitting and holding Mikawa's hand sometimes. She felt so helpless.

They were set up on the
Jirojin Maru
because of the legality involved with human trials of technology that wasn't anywhere near ready for that stage. That and the fact that if they were successful, Umi and Mikawa couldn't very well wander around the mainland in their new bodies.

Reese waved at the control-­room window without looking, like he was shooing a gnat. He stood between the two operating-­room tables set up in the hold, bending over the one with Mikawa on it. Mikawa wanted to be awake as long as possible, but he'd been having some rough days, and he didn't look like he was going to make it to lunch, never mind be able to withstand the procedure.

Tatsu had thought they were crazy when they'd first told her they were going to try to transfer Mikawa's mind into a robot—­Nagura actually called it a
cipher
, which apparently meant a robot body with no one inside it yet—­but she forced herself to be positive when she saw how much Umi was hoping and praying this would work. And it was his last chance. She knew he wouldn't live beyond the week, crazy ideas or not.

Mikawa was wearing an EEG brain cap that looked to Tatsu like an old-­style swimming cap except for the hundreds of thin, fiber-­optic cables running out of it. They joined up just behind his head; and then the futuristic ponytail connected with a bank of machines against the wall. A mass of other wires ran from various body parts into the workstation on wheels that sat between the two tables. The monitor on top of the workstation table showed all of Mikawa's vital signs across several windows. The center of the display showed an animated, colored representation of Mikawa's brain, various quadrants lighting up orange and red briefly before falling back into a cool blue.

“Reese, you've checked and rechecked the readings a hundred times,” Nagura said into the microphone again. “If he's not ready now, he's never going to be.”

Also in the control room were Umi Tenabe and Alex Corsair. Everyone else on the ship had been forbidden to come down to this area until further notice. Tatsu thought Umi looked as if she were going to pass out at any second. Tatsu kept asking her to sit down, but Umi just ignored her and stared out the window. Alex, on the other hand, looked bored.

“We've only got one shot at this, Nagura,” Reese said. “If our calculations are off by even a—­”

“They're not,” Nagura said, his voice full of confidence.

But Tatsu had seen Nagura bent over the occupant on the table beside Mikawa for most of the night, so she knew he wasn't as confident as he pretended to be. Which was understandable. It was his baby. He had created it. Created
them
, actually. There were two humanoid robots in the room, but only one was connected and part of this procedure. The other one, the robot for Umi, was lying dormant in a large crate against the far wall.

When Umi had first seen the robots, she'd balked and almost canceled the project. Nagura had reassured her that the appearance of the robots—­now merely humanoid with white, almost translucent “skin”—­was temporary. Function had to come before form. Once the procedure was successful, they'd have all the time in the world to dress them up. Nagura promised that these sexless drones would not stay that way. They would look and feel like any other human, except that they would last for hundreds of years. More, maybe.

Tatsu watched Reese make a few more adjustments to Mikawa's skullcap, then touch the screen display on the workstation and manually adjust some settings. When he was done, he backed up, and his eyes darted around the room, giving everything one last check.

“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 weakly.

“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.