both.’ She rolled out of the duct and snatching up the rifle she found lying on the ground, emptied the magazine at the men in flight suits, dropping them both.
"All clear," she called to her companions. "Let's get out of here."
Dave, TJ, and Rachel tumbled out of the duct. She followed Rachel up the stairs into the airplane.
“Mon Dieu,” she gasped.
Braced firmly in the center of the cabin was a long black cylinder with a small red cylinder on the near end. It looked like death itself.
TJ entered the cabin. "Dave's opening the, oh my God.”
She stared at the bomb.
"I'm starting the engine," Rachel called from the cockpit. "Tell Dave to get in here."
She heard the engines whine to life. An eternity later Dave ran up the stairs carrying a rifle.
"Get us out of here Rach!" he yelled.
"I could use some help up here," Rachel called back
He handed the rifle to Monique and ducked into the cockpit. She set the rifle down and looked for a way to close the door. Seeing none, she was turning when she heard TJ scream.
Pivoting, she saw Max climbing through the door, pistol in hand. She kicked his hand hard, smashing it against the bulkhead. The pistol clattered to the deck. Her second kick connected with Max's head. He stumbled backwards and almost fell out, but then caught himself and lunged for the pistol. But this time she was ready, clubbing him in the head with a rifle butt. He fell heavily forward, unconscious.
"Thank you, Max. I've wanted to do that for a very long time."
Ditching
Friday 1:52 a.m.
Rachel pushed the throttle forward and eased the plane out of the hanger.
“Find out what’s going on back there,” she ordered Dave.
A moment later he reported back. “Max tried to climb aboard. Monique knocked him out cold. She’s pretty happy.”
“I guess we can turn him in with the bomb,” she smiled. “Let’s get out of here.”
She glanced and Dave and saw him studying his phone.
“A message?”
He nodded. “We need to drop off TJ and Monique before we take off.”
“Why?”
“I’m sure its brilliant,” he replied, and exited the cockpit.
She taxied down the tarmac to the runway, where she throttled down the engine and waited. She heard the door close, and then Dave slide into the co-pilot’s chair.
“They’re off,” he reported. “And we should be too.”
She pushed the throttles forward and released the brake. The jet accelerated smoothly down the runway and leapt into the air.
“We need to get one of these for ourselves,” she deadpanned.
The lights of Montego Bay fell quickly behind as they headed out to sea. She heard Dave’s phone vibrate again.
“Well, what next?”
He remained silent, shaking his head. Finally, he spoke.
“We ditch the plane.”
“Seriously?”
“That’s what it says. Monique will meet us at dawn 20 kilometers out and we ditch the plane. We will have 90 seconds to open the door, and then the plane and the bomb go to the bottom.”
“Why,” she asked, incredulously.
He shrugged. “There must be a good reason.”
“Fine by me,” she grinned. “I’ve always wanted to ditch a plane, but the Navy frowned on the practice. What will we do with Max?”
"He comes too."
Three hours later she brought the plane over the GPS position that Dave had given her. Banking left, she spotted a single sailboat far below.
“I’m going to take a closer look.”
She pulled back on the throttle and dropped the nose. Turning, she buzzed the boat at 50 meters.
“It’s them,” Dave shouted.
She turned again and set up to ditch the plane. "I hate to send such a beautiful craft to the bottom."
Turning into the wind, she brought the plane in just above the water, cutting the throttle and easing back on the yoke. There were two sharp jolts followed by a rapid deceleration is the plane settled into the water.
"You're lucky I'm such a damn good pilot," she grinned. "Let's get out of here."
She released her harness and entered the cabin. Releasing the lock, she pushed on the exterior door. Nothing happened.
"Help me with this, it's stuck."
Dave joined her pushing against the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Water began welling up from the floor of the cabin.
"I thought these things were supposed to be airtight," he complained, straining against the door.
"A seal must've broken," she replied. "The water is coming in fast."
Water was now plainly visible lapping at the bottom of the passenger windows. She picked up the rifle and shot out the largest passenger window, then ran the muzzle around the window frame to knock off broken glass.
"Let me help you through," he offered, positioning a floor mat across the bottom of the window.
She started to climb through, and then he picked up her legs and threaded her carefully out the window into the water.
"Get away," he shouted as he started through the window.
"What about me," she heard Max call, but she didn't look back.
She felt the pull on her feet as the plane started to go under, but stroking frantically, managed to get away. The suction stopped, and she turned and looked for Dave. Bubbles and debris boiled to the surface, but there was no sign of him.
Ten seconds passed, and then a head broke the surface and coughed violently.
“Dave,” she screamed.
She swam to him.
“Are you hurt?”
He shook his head, still coughing.
She pushed him under.
“What was that for,” he sputtered, resurfacing.
“Your stupid message.”
Who is Dave 2?
Friday 3:00 p.m.
TJ carried tea up from the galley, and poured a cup for Rachel.
"Got any brandy to go with that?" Dave asked. "I think we've earned it."
He was looking insufferably smug. She decided to cut him down a few notches.
"First, fix your mistakes. You almost got us killed a half-dozen times over the last few days, and others are dead. Come up with a better plan, one that doesn't ruin my best suit."
He held up his hands. "But we’re in the middle of the ocean."
“We should be within cell phone range of Montego Bay now. Monique, do you have a signal?”
Monique picked up her phone, looked at display, and nodded.
"Then in the future, set this phone up to send messages now, and change the plan."
"But TJ, this plan worked and we’re all okay. And it was fun."
She stood over him, hands on hips. "Fix it. Fix it so I don't get shot at, blown up, or swim for my life in my underwear."
"But coming up with a plan is not as easy as you think," he protested.
"Have you ever changed a message?" Rachel interjected.
He paused, thinking. "No."
"Have you ever written a message?" she continued.
"Of course," he began, then stopped. "Okay, I can't remember ever writing one, I just resend them. But I have to write them some time."
"Not if you don't remember writing them."
"But there's no one else that could write them," he protested.
And with that, TJ understood.
"The Twins," she blurted. "The Twins are writing the messages."
He laughed. "How can a pair of atoms write anything."
"Because they’re sentient,” TJ replied.
"TJ, the Twins are two atoms resting in the troughs of intersecting laser beams. They are no more alive than this cup of tea."
Rachel looked thoughtfully at TJ. "Dave, I think you should hear her out."
"Thank you," TJ smiled. "Sentience, thinking, is closely relate
d to quantum neural processes. I think quantum phenomena are the difference between you and a big computer.”
"But TJ, Rachel, there are only two atoms. Even if they exhibit quantum phenomena, how can they think," he protested.
TJ took a deep breath. "Because there are an infinite number of pairs spread crossed every timeline of the universe. The Twins have more connections than all of us have neurons in our brains."
"So the Twins are writing the messages," Rachel asked.
"The messages I've been getting don't sound like Dave," Monique chimed in.
"You've been getting messages," he asked, incredulous.
Monique nodded. "And they didn't always seem good for you, or any of us."
"That last message about having 90 seconds to open the door was just plain wrong, and it almost killed you," Rachel observed.
He looked at TJ. "Do you really think the Twins are alive?"
“While I was in your office, someone instructed me to install a script that allows email messages to control your servers. I thought I was doing it for you. Was I?"
"No," he stammered.
"I didn’t think so. Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."
"But two atoms thinking, that is impossible," he protested.
"I've been trying to create the equivalent of a rat brain with arrays of entangled particles. I'm close, but I don't have enough functioning pairs for an ant brain. With the Twins, you have an infinite number of pairs. That's enough for a lot of thinking."
Monique's phone played a short melody. She picked it up, looked at the screen, and frowned.
“It says that Dave didn’t die in the plane, and needs me to help him.”
"Convinced?” TJ asked.
"We’ve got to shut the Twins down,” he declared.
The Bargain
Monday 12:02 p.m.
The taxi dropped them off in front of the data center. Dave looked from TJ to Monique to Rachel.
"I’ve got to shut him off. If I don't, he might be running the world by Saturday, and killing us off somewhere in between."
“I think the Twins think