Paradigm 2045- Trinity's Children

by Robert W. Ross

  “How long do we have?” she asked.

  The man stared at her for a beat then said, “I have no idea—” The air sizzled again and this time the agent cried out in pain as a larger hole burned its way through his left shoulder.

  “Lie to me again, and you will never see your wife or that little girl you love so much,” growled Sokolov. “How much time?”

  “Ten minutes,” said the agent.

  “Breaching vector?”

  “Stairwells and elevators.”

  “What about the roof?”

  “The roof will be clear,” he said and she fired the weapon just below his groin. He looked down and the blood drained from his face as he, again, met Sokolov’s gaze.

  “Agent, I really do hate making orphans, so I’m giving you one last chance. Don’t test me again.”

  He shook his head several times. “The roof isn’t safe. An assault team will be landing there.”

  “Fuck's sake!” yelled Misha, then gestured to the man. “Lay face down, spread your arms and legs and don’t move.” He did.

  Misha raised her hand terminal, noting the half dozen impact points that dotted its reinforced casing. She turned it over and tapped the glass. Coleman’s face appeared. “Have you encountered some trouble, Lieutenant?”

  “A bit,” she said evenly.

  “Is the captain all right?” he asked.

  Misha glanced at Omandi, who stood just as she had for the last several minutes, frozen in place beside her coffee table. “She appears to be fine, at least until I beat her senseless and then get thrown in the brig we don’t have for assaulting my captain.”

  Coleman frowned up at the security officer. “Your terminal is transmitting vital signs and—”

  “Yeah, I know,” she interrupted, “I’ve been shot…twice. I’ll be fine.”

  “Your liver, kidney and spleen,” began the AI.

  “Coleman, shut the fuck up. I need the daemon.”

  “The daemon, but Lieutenant, the daemon hasn’t been fully tested. It only became active after Doctor Howard’s death and currently has extremely limited operational controls. I do not believe it would be wise to extend its capacity without—”

  “I don’t care. I need an exit from Omandi’s penthouse and I need it in the next seven minutes or she’s dead.”

  “I cannot activate the daemon, Lieutenant,” said Coleman, and Misha pointed her hand terminal at Charlotte.

  “Tell him,” she growled.

  Omandi shook her head, “Again with this daemon? I still don't know what the hell it is.”

  “We already told you and I’m not telling you again. Either trust me and have Coleman activate the daemon or don’t trust me and die in this room along with humanity’s hope for survival. Your call, Captain.”

  Omandi didn’t hesitate. “Coleman, activate the Daemon.”

  “Very good ma’am, but you realize that, once activated, the daemon cannot be deactivated until after June 16th, 2045.”

  Omandi stared directly at Misha and said, “I trust my security officer Coleman, activate the daemon.”

  “Daemon is fully active and under autonomous control,” said the AI. Charlotte shivered at the apparent awe with which Coleman spoke. “Stand by, receiving extraction assessment now. The daemon has found only one solution that will fit our time parameters. There is an 80% chance of collateral damage.”

  “Collateral damage?” asked Omandi, “Tell it to hold. What kind of—”

  “I’m terribly sorry, Captain. The daemon has already begun executing its extraction plan. As I mentioned, it has autonomous control in the matter of your safe extraction. The daemon was merely informing me of its actions, not asking for permission. It analyzed over twenty-thousand options and found only one that fit your time constraints. Extraction in six minutes, twelve seconds.”

  Misha felt her hand terminal vibrate and Coleman’s face vanished. It was replaced with a black screen on which rotated a complex geometric symbol. Omandi eyed the display, and asked, “What’s that?”

  Misha said, “It’s the logo Howard designed for our little band of spacefaring brothers. I’m not sure why it replaced Coleman’s transmission.”

  As if in response the symbol slowly broke apart and reformed as a vaguely humanoid face. Its eyes turned first to Omandi and then Sokolov. It spoke with a distinctly artificial voice and said, “Greetings Captain. I am Howard’s Daemon.”

  “Jesus,” murmured Sokolov.

  “—is Lord,” said Omandi in an unconsciously Catholic response but the daemon ignored them both.

  “Lieutenant Sokolov, I have commandeered a small private jet and am vectoring it to your location. I will lower its speed to approximately one-hundred-twenty-five miles per hour then execute a full stall outside Captain Omandi’s penthouse. I will trigger the explosive bolts on the aircraft’s side door and will need you to enter during that stall maneuver. I am aware of your physical capabilities and believe you have a greater than 80% chance of success.”

  “She’s injured,” said Omandi, “I don’t think this is our best option.”

  The daemon’s image broke apart then reformed. “I am sorry, Captain. This is your only option. Security forces have already reached your building and will breach your floor in three minutes. The aircraft will arrive in two. I have assessed Lieutenant Sokolov’s injuries and agree they lower the chances for successful execution to—”

  “I’ve got this,” said Misha and grimaced as she shouldered Omandi’s leather duffle.

  “What the hell are you doing?” asked Charlotte, “You can’t possibly think you’re going to—”

  Misha snorted, “Leap into a moving jet holding you and your luggage? No, Captain, I’m good, but no one is that good.”

  “Then what?”

  “Grab those roller bags of yours. I’m throwing all this shit over the balcony. It obviously means something to you and you’ll never get another chance at retrieving it. I’m sure some of it is breakable, but,” she shrugged, “I imagine we can put most of it back together again.” Sokolov stared at her hand terminal. “Daemon, arrange to have three pieces of luggage picked up in front of the captain’s building.”

  “Already in process,” said the daemon as Misha heaved all three bags over the balcony, then pointed to the sky.

  “I think that’s our ride,” she said. Misha circled her arm around Omandi’s waist as she climbed onto the balcony’s railing.

  Misha tucked her hand terminal in a back pocket and focused on the approaching jet. “I have calculated the optimal jump for you, Lieutenant,” said the daemon, its voice slightly muffled by her clothes. “Please also note that the human occupants may revive soon. I decompressed the aircraft to render them unconscious earlier. You may need to subdue them.”

  “Copy that,” said Misha, then grimaced and looked over at Omandi. “Captain, would you mind not putting your fingers right in my, near fatal, bullet wound? Thanks.”

  Charlotte froze, then lifted her hand slightly higher on Misha’s waist.

  “Three seconds,” said the daemon, “Two…one…”

  “Geronimo!” shouted Misha as the two women leaped into open air.

  Chapter 10

  Flying with a Daemon

  Wind whipped through the Cessna Citation’s cabin as the nimble jet screamed eastward

  “We seem to be flying very low,” yelled Charlotte, as she tried to be heard over the gusts and small flying objects that skittered throughout the aircraft. Misha didn’t reply. She turned toward the cockpit and grimaced in pain. “Let me see it,” said Omandi.

  Misha sucked in a breath, then stood. “It’s fine, Captain, I just need to make sure the pilot doesn’t—”

  “It wasn’t a request, Lieutenant. Show me that wound…now.”

  Misha shot another look toward the cockpit, then sighed and rolled up the bottom of her shirt. She met Charlotte’s eyes and barked a short laugh. “You were surprised I listened to you?”

  Omandi sh
rugged. “A bit, yes. Oh, don’t look so smug, Sokolov. You’ve been a lieutenant a lot longer than I’ve been a captain.” Charlotte bent close and used her hand terminal to illuminate the wound. It seeped blood and some slightly yellow substance, but looked far better than expected. She gave Misha a questioningly look.

  “No, Captain, we don’t have time for that now. I’m your junior officer and you are concerned for my well-being. You ordered me to allow this assessment of my condition and I obeyed.” She lowered her shirt. “They were both simple through-and-through wounds. My internal organs are healing nicely and by tomorrow night I’ll just have two more scars among many others. Once I have you secured, ask all the questions you like, of me, of Coleman, of whomever you want. For right now though, let me do my job, sir.”

  Charlotte gave her security officer a reluctant nod and watched as she headed into the cockpit. “Shit, why can’t anything be simple,” groaned Sokolov. Omandi tried to follow her, but Misha stiff armed Charlotte with her left hand, then used her right to point a small object in the pilot’s direction. A bolt of blue energy leaped from the weapon. Without hesitating, Sokolov then swung her arm around and shot the co-pilot.

  “What the hell are you doing?” asked Omandi, but was knocked to the side by the security officer as she pushed past her and into the main cabin. One uniformed flight attendant and three well dressed businessmen were all rousing to various degrees when Misha sent blasts of energy into each. The attendant collapsed to the floor again, while the passengers slouched bonelessly in their overstuffed leather chairs.

  Misha slipped the weapon beneath her coat and smiled at Charlotte. “That’s better, now what were you asking? Oh, altitude?” She leaned perilously close to the jet’s open door, stared for several seconds, then turned around. “That is some impressive flying. I bet we are less than one-hundred feet off the ground.”

  “Did you just kill those people?” yelled Charlotte, pointing.

  Misha frowned. “No,” she spat defensively. “I’m not a sociopath. I only kill people who are trying to kill me or, now, you.” She paused thoughtfully, then added, “Or, someone you tell me to kill. I’d kill someone if you ordered me to, but I’d want to know why later.”

  “Then what about those—” began Charlotte.

  “Just stunned,” answered Sokolov as she pulled out the strange handgun and tilted it side-to-side for Omandi to see. “It’s some of the magic tech, Howard’s pet alien left him in that Antarctic treasure cave. He calls it a phaser, for the same reason he designed that horrible uniform you rejected. Thank God you did that, by-the-way. I have a much better design that I’d like you to consider. It’s both efficient and stylish.”

  “Stylish?” sputtered Charlotte, “Do you design paramilitary fashions when not shooting people with phasers?”

  “It’s a high intensity discharge weapon,” corrected Sokolov, “I convinced Howard that calling them phasers would be embarrassing, so it’s a HID not a phaser, and it was set to stun. They aren’t dead. Their neurons are just a bit scrambled is all. I’ve been shot by the damned things over a hundred times and I’m fine. I had it set on the second to lowest setting.” The security officer quirked a grin. “You should see what it does on the highest setting. But honestly, Captain, we’ve discussed this. You need to trust me.”

  Before Omandi could respond, the jet banked hard to the right and she careened into one of the unconscious passengers. Misha would have joined her had the security officer not punched her fist through the inner fuselage for support. Omandi’s hand terminal pulsed and she pulled it from her back pocket.

  The daemon’s face stared back at her. “Captain Omandi, I have arranged for the next two legs of your journey. We will be touching down on Mafia Island, Tanzania in exactly thirty-nine minutes. You will be met at the airport by an autonomous Uber with the license plate KBR—”

  “Wait,” said Charlotte, and glanced up at Sokolov, “Is the daemon flying this plane?” Misha shrugged noncommittally.

  Omandi’s hand terminal pulsed a second later. She looked down and felt an eerie connection to the face that stared back at her. “Of course, I am operating the aircraft, Captain,” said the daemon, “I thought that was obvious from my previous communication. Doctor Howard was quite thorough in his preparations. I have access to 85% of all connected infrastructure.”

  Misha whistled. Omandi narrowed her eyes at the face as she reseated herself in an empty chair. “85% of all connected infrastructure?” she repeated questioningly.

  “Doctor Howard did not anticipate my coming online for at least another three weeks. I will have access to over 97% of connected infrastructure by that time. He underestimated the speed with which governmental agencies would act after his death. I apologize for any inconvenience.”

  Charlotte shook her head, then blinked slowly. “I think you missed my point. 85% is pretty damned impressive.” She tapped the mute button, looked at Misha, then said, “and equally terrifying.”

  Before the security officer could respond, the daemon said, “I am sorry for misunderstanding your original point. By design, I have limited self-awareness and very few heuristic algorithms. Does that make me less terrifying?”

  Charlotte felt her stomach twist as she stared at the illuminated mute button on her hand terminal. “Can you hear me, Daemon?”

  “Of course. It would not do for me to be unresponsive simply because you muted your device in error.”

  “I didn’t mute it in error,” she growled. “I wanted privacy.”

  The face wavered a moment then it said, “I apologize again. In future, please simply request privacy and it will be so.”

  Charlotte let out an exasperated breath, “I’m not sure how I can trust that.”

  “I am an extension of your will and objectives, Captain,” began the daemon. “My only purpose is to execute your commands and ensure your continuity until after July 16, 2045.”

  “Fine,” said Charlotte, “I want privacy now.” Her hand terminal immediately when black and she tilted it toward Misha. “What do you think?”

  Sokolov frowned. “Permission to speak freely, sir?” Charlotte grimaced at what Misha’s formality implied, but nodded. “Howard designed the thing and he’s a genius. I know this because I worked with him and because he constantly told me that he was a genius. However, since you don’t have that history, allow me to point to Exhibit A. Howard lobotomized his daemon to keep it from going Skynet and killing us before those lizard-aliens do. He went through all that trouble, just so you could go and fuck us by not trusting him? Seriously, Captain, you have trust issues. You need to get that shit squared away.”

  “Fuck us? And just how did I do that, Lieutenant?”

  The security officer stared at Charlotte a moment, then said, “Daemon, where’s that autonomous Uber taking us?” Omandi’s terminal stayed black and the daemon did not respond. Misha released her hold on the inner hull, plopped down in the chair opposite Omandi, then leaned forward, and said, “See—”

  “Shit,” said the captain quietly then held up her hand terminal. “Daemon, where will the Uber take us?” No response. She tried again. “Daemon, what is our ETA to Mafia Island?” Still nothing. The security officer shook her head and Omandi raised a finger. “I’ve got this, Misha. Maybe you should try trusting me. Daemon, privacy off.”

  The face immediatel reappeared on the hand terminal. “I am here, Captain.”

  Sokolov frowned. “What the hell? That little bastard was listening the whole time.”

  “I don’t think so, not exactly,” replied Omandi, then addressed the daemon. “I assume you were both listening to the ambient sounds and yet not aware of them, is that correct?”

  “That is correct, captain. Once you requested privacy, I initiated an algorithm to maintain tacit awareness of all local communications but purged such awareness simultaneously unless a phoneme combination consistent with privacy revocation was detected.”

  “It was listening for the equiva
lent of a wake word?” asked Misha.

  “Essentially correct,” replied the daemon.

  “Ok, so then what’s the deal with the autonomous vehicle that’s meeting us?” asked Charlotte, while locking eyes meaningfully with Misha.

  “I’m sorry, Captain,” began the daemon, “can you be more specific? The deal? What deal?”

  “I just asked you a moment ago,” she said. Misha tapped a finger to her own temple in a smart gesture.

  “I have no record of that query, Captain. I will run a diagnostic on—”

  “No, don’t bother. What is our ETA and where will your Uber be taking us?”

  “Given the breached fuselage, you are currently traveling below this aircraft’s maximum velocity of Mach 0.925. You will touchdown in exactly seventeen minutes. I have redirected Uber license number KBR-1242W to arrive in fifteen minutes. It will convey you and Lieutenant Sokolov 5.87 miles to the Shamba Kilole Lodge where you will meet the hydrofoil equipped vessel Ubuntu.”

  “Let me guess,” said Misha smiling, “the Ubuntu is unmanned and its cloud connection is within your 85%?”

  “It is not unmanned, yet, Lieutenant, but the Ubuntu’s crew has just deployed its lifeboat due to an unforeseen waste treatment fault reported by the onboard computer. Apparently, significant amounts of both chlorine and chloramine gasses were detected.”

  “Ha!” shouted Misha, and clapped her hands together. “Sounds like someone took an elephant-sized piss in Clorox.”

  “In point of fact, Lieutenant, there was neither piss nor Clorox. I simulated the emergency to encourage the Ubuntu’s crew to evacuate.”

  The two women smiled knowingly at each other and Omandi lifted the hand terminal. She stared at her daemon and said, “All right then, you certainly have gotten my attention. If past is prologue, you are considering where to send us once we leave Mafia Island. This time, I’d like to make that decision…if you don’t mind?”

  “Of course, Captain,” said the daemon. “I have identified five acceptable options, would you like to hear them?”