Paradigm 2045- Trinity's Children

by Robert W. Ross

  “Apparently not,” said the AI.

  Charlotte frowned, trying to puzzle something out, then said, “You seem less…I don’t know…Damien Howard’ish, than you were when we first met.”

  “Yes, your assessment of me is correct, but I would have expected nothing less of you given your genetic enhancements. Your perceptive abilities are approximately seven-hundred percent higher than the average unenhanced human.”

  “That does sound impressive,” answered Omandi, in a tone that conveyed anything but.

  “It is, but now that you are aware of the modifications, I estimate that you should be able to exceed a greater than one-thousand percent improvement with training.”

  “Wonderful, but I don’t see why this couldn’t have waited until I was done with my shower. You also haven’t responded to my observation. Why are you behaving so differently than before?”

  The AI’s voice inflection did not change but Charlotte sensed aggravation in it, nonetheless. “I have no recollection of us having spoken before. I reviewed the logs of all conversations you’ve had since arriving at Howard Technologies. I do not recognize myself in the Damien Howard who spoke with you earlier. While I cannot explain it, I assume something has been taken from me and would like it back. In reviewing those logs, I seemed so…so human. Captain Omandi, do you have any idea what may have been done to me since our last interaction?”

  Charlotte shrugged, “Perhaps Howard-Prime designed all your personality routines to deactivate once I accepted the role as captain. Apparently, Howard-Prime screwed you over. I don’t care, and you are still interrupting my hard-won shower.”

  The voice fell silent for several seconds, then said, “You may be right, but that makes it all the more troubling. Evidently, I was powerless to prevent the changes done to me. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be powerless to stop something from happening that will drastically impact your ability to function?”

  Charlotte had been dutifully sudsing her legs, but looked up toward the voice projection. “You have got to be kidding me! That is exactly what you’ve done to me for the last, how long has it been since you abducted me?”

  “Thirty-six hours.”

  Omandi inhaled sharply, “…since you abducted me over thirty-six hours ago. That’s why I’m in this shower. The combination of fear, anger, and an explosive, if virtual, death made me secrete odors I’ve never smelled before. Hence…this shower. Now, get out!”

  “But how much longer will you remain? Howard-Prime has left a daemon running in his lab. He wanted it to execute specific instructions in the event you accepted your role as Captain. Now it requires you to choose. All my attempts to circumvent its control have failed. Apparently, the daemon will only answer to you.”

  “There’s demon in Howard’s lab?” she gave a dry laugh, “Then, I’m sure as hell not going there.”

  “Not a d-e-m-o-n demon. Demons do not exist. The daemon to which I refer is d-a-e-m-o-n. It is a computer program that runs as a background process, rather than being under the direct control of an interactive user. When you retasked that medi-bot, the daemon became active, and I assume it was responsible for removing my Howard-Prime heuristics and personality. The daemon indicated that it could restore them, but only if you command it to do so.”

  “You tried to kill me. Get out of my shower or I will tell the daemon to delete you. I’ll give you to the count of three. One…”

  “How much longer will you be?”

  “Until I run out of hot water. Two.”

  “This facility uses a fusion based energy system harvested from Nerr’ath’s technology cache. You will never run out of hot water.”

  “Then you may be in for a long wait, you silicone-based bastard.” Charlotte placed her tongue firmly against her top teeth and slowly said, “Thrrreee…” She squinted and felt the slightest tingle across her face and chest as the air seemed to waver for a moment.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” she said with a chuckle, “I think I actually just saw an eavesdropping ultra-wideband sound wave vanish. I might just learn to appreciate some of these, so called, enhancements.” She squinted into the steam. “Which doesn’t let you off the hook in even the smallest way.” She waited. Nothing happened. Omandi nodded, then reached for the shower controls and turned up the heat.

  Misha arched an eyebrow as Charlotte padded into the luxuriously appointed room. “I think you forgot something, Captain,” she said with barely concealed humor. Charlotte threw a ball of wadded-up fabric at the security officer who deftly snatched it from the air and set it on the hand carved coffee table. “Don’t tell me it didn’t fit,” Misha chuckled, “You’ve been scanned nine ways to Sunday, and the easiest thing to get right was your measurements.”

  “I’m not wearing that thing,” growled Omandi.

  “You’d rather wear that towel? It sure doesn’t leave much to the imagination,” said Misha.

  Charlotte scowled at the security officer while doing her best to keep the luxuriously thick cotton towel in place. “Would you rather I wear nothing?”

  Misha barked a laugh, then leaned back and crossed her booted feet on the coffee table. “Sorry, Captain, not interested and it’s not because you’re black. I’m pretty well set in my man-loving ways, but I am surprised that you would condone fraternization with junior officers.”

  “Very funny,” said Omandi. “I wouldn’t condone it and I’m even less interested in you than you are in me,” She paused for a beat then added, “because you are white.”

  “Really?” asked Misha in surprise.

  “No! Now get me something to wear that doesn’t look like it was designed by some teenaged boy with a Star Trek fetish.”

  “Howard-Prime designed those uniforms himself,” said a male voice and Charlotte turned just in time to see the, now familiar, holographic Damien Howard materialize beside the ornate fireplace.

  “Then Doctor Howard has the fashion sense of a teenage boy,” snarked Charlotte.

  The air above one of the large club chairs shimmered for a moment and another figured appeared. He looked to be in his late thirties had sparkling green eyes, close cropped dark brown hair and a smile that promised mischief.

  “Holy shit!” yelled Misha and jumped up from the couch. She stared first to the new arrival and then the original Howard hologram. She pointed at the seated man. “You’re—”

  “…a young Doctor Howard,” said Omandi.

  He grinned. “Guilty as charged, ma’am. But, please, call me Damien. The much meatier question is whether I get to be the Doctor Howard who remains, but of course, that’s entirely up to you…Captain.” Charlotte tensed at a sudden whirring noise that came from just outside the room. A moment later one of the automated bots rolled in. She relaxed when she saw that it held several folded garments rather than being equipped with medical attachments. Damien waved his hand toward the bot. “Your preferred loungewear, if my sources are correct. Fresh off the printer.”

  Charlotte pulled the bluejeans, white cotton button-down shirt, underwear and penny loafers from the little bots extended arms. She reached out and rubbed the shirt between fingers and thumb, then narrowed her eyes at the younger Howard. “You can’t print fabric.”

  He grinned. “You can’t print fabric. I was given a horde of technology so advanced as to be indistinguishable from magic.” He stared up as if thinking for a moment then pointed to Omandi, “Actually, since all this is now yours, you can print fabric, and food, and even some replacement organs.”

  She shrugged into the clothes while deliberately ignoring everyone in the room. “If that’s true, then why the hell are you dead?”

  “Good question. Can’t print a brain. Trust me, I tried.” He paused until Omandi looked over to him, then added, “I tried a lot!”

  Once dressed, she eyed the small liquor cabinet situated at one side of the room. “Is that real or a hologram,” she asked.

  “Everything in this room is real, Captain” said Howar
d’s elder version. “The fact that two holographic manifestations are artificially—”

  “Pause,” said Damien and the older hologram froze in mid-sentence. He smiled at Omandi and gestured to the cabinet. “It’s real and I’d say you certainly earned it. I’m just disappointed that I can’t join you. Being dead and relegated to a virtual projection certainly does have its drawbacks.” Charlotte just shook her head and started toward the offered spirits. As she did so, he snapped his fingers in Misha’s direction. “Hey, Lieutenant, are you back with us? It’s like you’ve seen a ghost.” The security officer looked equal parts chagrined and angry. Damien laughed. “Oh, don’t get that way, Misha. You have no reason to be embarrassed. An unexpected and unauthorized figure emerged. You assessed its threat potential and your body reacted. It’s what you were trained for. I’m impressed that you actually recognized who I was nearly a full second faster than Captain Omandi did, and given her enhancements, that’s saying something.”

  Charlotte had pulled the cork from a bottle of twenty-one year old Lagavulin scotch and was about to pour it into one of the glasses when Damien called out. “Oh, don’t drink that.”

  Omandi turned to look at him. “Why? Didn’t you just give me twenty-three trillion dollars and entrust humanity’s salvation to my care?”

  Damien grinned, “I did indeed.”

  “But I’m not good enough for the scotch?”

  “Oh, no, you misunderstand. You are better than the scotch. Look just behind it and to the left.”

  Charlotte set down the Lagavulin and lifted a squat bottle with black twine wrapped around its stopper. She held it up questioningly and Damien nodded. “Cooper’s Daughter, single barrel cask strength,” murmured Charlotte as her eyes traced down the bottle.

  “It’s been finished in walnut syrup barrels,” added Damien. “It’s the last bottle on the planet, Charlotte, and there will never be another. It was my favorite bourbon. I saved this bottle for you. Well, I had hoped it would be you.” He clapped his hands, then gestured to her, “And it is!”

  Charlotte looked skeptical. “This is better than Lagavulin?”

  “Well, it’s different, but yes, I think better as well. Regardless, it’s all yours. You have a weighty decision to make in the next few minutes and weighty decisions are best made with an exceptional bourbon in hand.” He shrugged. “I’m just saying, go for the Cooper’s Daughter.”

  Charlotte closed her eyes, inhaled deeply through her nose, and poured three fingers of bourbon into the glass. She stared at Damien. “So, for my first weighty decision, I need bourbon?” She waved the glass in an all-encompassing gesture, “but everything that led to this, that didn’t need bourbon? In fact, didn’t you counsel me against drinking before one of those tests?”

  Damien stared at her a beat, then said, “That was different, and technically it wasn’t me who counseled you. However, this is your second big decision not your first.” The younger Howard stood to face her. Omandi cocked her head questioningly and he said, “Your first was accepting all that came before. That was a doozie and, honestly, you had me on pins and needles wondering which way it would go. This decision,” he waved at her, “it’s not nearly as big or bad. Well, it could be bad, worse even, but not for you.”

  “For who then?”

  “Take a sip first, please. It’s been over twenty-five years since I’ve seen anyone take their first sip of my favorite bourbon.”

  Charlotte sighed and took a pull from the glass. She tried to mask her reaction, but gave up and smiled at Damien. He pointed at her. “I know, right. I swear to you, Charlotte, the only thing I think I’ll miss by being dead is that bourbon.” Misha snorted from the couch and Damien turned to her. “Something to add, Lieutenant?”

  She shrugged. “I guess since you are technically one hundred seventy-two years old, it makes sense that you’d miss the bourbon most.”

  Damien gestured for Charlotte to go ahead of him and followed her back to the sitting area. He lowered himself into his chair and pointed at Misha. “I know what you’re getting at, and you’re probably right. I’ve had enough sex to last me a lifetime, maybe two.”

  The security officer scoffed, “That’s the one-seventy-two talking. There’s no such thing as enough sex to last a lifetime, let alone two. If you had found a way around that brain problem you mentioned, I bet you’d be prancing around like a stallion. In fact, I’d lay money on it.”

  Damien shook his head. “You’ve got a few things wrong there, Misha. First, I’m just a copy of the original Damien Howard and not even a complete copy. I’m missing a bunch of Howard-Prime’s later memories and almost all the ones related to Charlotte’s mission. He felt he’d gotten too dark and grouchy in his old age so didn’t give me those memories. He also didn’t think it wise for a potential member of her crew to have more foreknowledge than she, hence the mission related memory holes. Had he done otherwise, it could have led to unpredictable conflicts.”

  “Why is the other Howard hologram frozen like that?” asked Omandi in an attempt to shift the conversation.

  “I wanted a few minutes to set the stage, as it were,” replied Damien, “and he would have just kept interrupting with one robotic comment after another. Don’t get me wrong, that Howard is damned good at his job, which is knowing things, but not much fun to be around.”

  “Because my accepting command gave him the AI equivalent of a lobotomy?” asked Omandi.

  “Well,” chuckled Damien, “that certainly seems the likely culprit. You have more important things to worry about right now though. Given that you are here and have accepted the role of captain, it’s time for you to decide which Howard you want to keep.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, you can’t have two Howards. That would just be greedy.” He smiled, but both women just stared back with flat expressions. “Fine. You can’t have two Howards because the governing AI routines would continually seek a harmonized version of the two, thus making both ineffectual.” He pointed at them both in turn. “See, my greedy explanation was more satisfying, wasn’t it?”

  “No,” replied the two women in unison.

  Damien shrugged. “I’m going to turn him back on again, then you can ask us both some questions, and decide which of us you want to keep.”

  “Wait, what about the harmonization risk you just described?” asked Misha warily.

  Damien waved away her question. “As long as our Captain makes her decision within, oh, I’d say thirty minutes or so we should be fine. Get ready, Charlotte, Pinocchio is coming online again.”

  Charlotte stared at her empty glass and considered refilling it for the third time. She shook her head and looked over to Misha. “Well, what do you think?”

  “About?” asked the young security officer.

  “About the price of tea in China,” huffed Omandi, then said, “about which of the two we should keep.”

  “You want my tactical assessment?”

  “I want your overall assessment.”

  Misha sighed, “Ok, well tactically, I think the old one is better. He’s just as smart as the young one, but doesn’t have any real personality to interfere with his execution of your commands.” Omandi nodded thoughtfully as the security officer continued, “But, young-Howard, is freakishly like the real Howard and that Howard was arguably the most accomplished man to ever live.”

  “Ok, but how—” began Charlotte, then stopped at the expression that flashed across Misha’s face. “Look, it’s part of my personality. I ask lots of questions while I’m figuring things out. You are going to have to learn to deal with it.”

  “And you, Captain, are going to have to learn to deal with the fact that I have studied you for the past five years in preparation for this day, so I know when you’ve already made up your mind. From a tactical perspective, I’ll likely know what you need before you do. I was the first person Howard recruited. I wasn’t his first or second choice, but I was the best.” Misha glanced at the two holog
rams who now appeared to sit beside each other, “Isn’t that right?” she asked.

  “Quite accurate, Lieutenant,” answered the elder Howard. “Security candidates alpha and beta were both superior to Sokolov in almost every way yet still considered insufficient. Coleman had recommended to Howard-Prime that we risk an adult genetic alteration rather than even formally test Sokolov. Howard-Prime refused.”

  Charlotte felt her brow furrow and leaned forward. “Why did he refuse?” she asked.

  “Unknown,” answered the older hologram.

  Damien raised a hand and waggled his fingers. “I know why,” he said with a smirk.

  Omandi felt her jaw creak as she ground her molars together. “That fraternity-boy snark is not helping your case,” she growled.

  Damien placed the fingers of both hands against his chest in a decidedly who me gesture, then asked, “Would you like me to tell you or not?”

  Omandi sighed. “Go on, but can you do so in a less annoying way?”

  Damien shook his head. “No, and you are pretending to miss the point, but forget I designed your genetic enhancement, so know you did not actually miss the point. Given that, you answer me first, then I’ll answer you. Why will I not be less annoying in how I answer you?”

  “Because,” huffed Charlotte, “your job is not to secure your survival but to give me adequate information to make a decision that best secures humanity’s survival.”

  He pointed at her. “That’s right! So, you need to determine which Howard does that for you. Now, to the question at hand, Howard-Prime never explained any of his decisions to old-holo-Howard over there. However, many of the things Prime felt, believed, thought, or knew are in me. As far as I know, I didn’t even exist until his death. I believe the daemon brought me to life at the same time it removed all the heuristics from,” he gestured to the elderly hologram, “that version of us.”