Paradigm 2045- Trinity's Children

by Robert W. Ross

  “Captain Omandi, I have green lights across the board and am prepared for takeoff. Do I have permission to do so?”

  Charlotte drew a deep breath and looked over to Misha who had buckled herself in to a seat nearest the plane’s exit. Sokolov stared back, nonplussed. “What? The daemon managed to hijack a plane, knock out its passengers, and execute a perfectly timed stall next to your apartment. Coleman is much more sophisticated than that and he actually gives a shit if we die. Isn’t that right Coleman?”

  “It is indeed, Lieutenant,” replied Coleman.

  “Besides,” offered Damien, “This next leg is on a need-to-know basis since someone has already tried to abduct or kill you both. There are only two humans on the entire planet that I trust and they are both sitting on this plane.”

  Omandi nodded, then said, “Coleman, you may take us up.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  The jet began moving. Charlotte held up a finger to Damien who seemed about to speak. She glanced over at the jet’s cabin speaker in an unconscious effort to project in the direction of Coleman’s voice. “One question, where exactly are we going?”

  “Ireland, Captain.”

  “Ireland,” she intoned. “I love Ireland, but Coleman, why are we going there?”

  The AI seemed to project surprise. “Why, to assess your navigator prospects, ma'am. I would have thought you knew that.”

  Omandi nodded. “Thank you Coleman, I would have thought so too, but apparently not. Please proceed. How long will it take us to get there?”

  There was a brief pause, then Coleman asked, “Captain, would you prefer my default answers be a bit fuzzy or as precise as possible. For example, my fuzzy response to your question would be, a bit over eight hours. My precise answer would be, eight hours, nine minutes and thirty six seconds.”

  “Let’s go with fuzzy, unless stated otherwise,” said Charlotte.

  “Very good, ma'am.”

  Omandi turned back to Damien who appeared to be staring out his window as the jet climbed above the cloud layer. She cleared her throat and he turned to face her. “Sorry for the interruption, Damien.”

  He waved it aside. “Think nothing of it, I was enjoying the sights. I love flying over the ocean, especially when I know I can’t die if we crash in it.”

  “Of course,” she replied and saw Misha shaking her head. “Something to add, Lieutenant?”

  “Oh no, sir,” she said, “I see where you are going with this, but I think you may be overestimating Damien’s ability to engage in true human interactions.”

  “Perhaps,” said Charlotte, “but I think you’ve been underestimating his ability, and since I don’t instruct you on how to injure people, how about you stay in your lane as well.” Misha gave a snort, but held up a hand indicating that was fine with her.

  “So Damien,” began Omandi, “we agree that I selected you to be a member of my crew, and that the alternative would have been something you found less than appealing. One would have thought my decision would have engendered a bit of loyalty and respect, but apparently not.”

  Damien appeared taken aback by her comment. “I don’t see how that is true at all, Charlotte. I have a great deal of respect for you as did Howard-Prime. He gave you his entire fortune and put the whole of humanity in your care. What more could you want?”

  “Here it comes,” murmured Sokolov, and crossed her booted feet at the ankles.

  “I’d like, Damien, to know where the hell I’m going before I give an order to go there. I’d like to understand why a member of my crew, who is purporting to take on the role of science officer, thinks he and I should be on a first name basis. Finally, I’d like to know why, in addition to that level of informality, this latest member of my crew seems to vacillate between dismissiveness and flirtation.” Damien opened his mouth to object, but Omandi stood, grabbed the chairs to either side of him and said, “No, you listen to me. I didn’t ask for any of this. I’ve got a successful consulting business and partners who probably think I’m having some kind of early midlife crisis. I’m going to use the next eight hours between here and Ireland to try and sort that out. Howard-Prime genetically engineered me to think faster and lead better than any other human being, so I suggest you start following.” She jabbed a finger at Damien’s chest and his shirt fuzzed around it. “I’ve got news for you, I’m damned sure the real Damien Howard knew what he was doing when he Swiss-cheesed your memories. You are not Doctor Damien Howard. You are Lieutenant Damien Howard, my science officer and your virtual ass is mine. You refer to me as Captain, or sir, not Charlotte. Charlotte is what my friends call me, or used to call me, before you, and Coleman, and Misha all fucked up my life! Oh, and Lieutenant, if you ever refer to my undergarments as panties, wadded or otherwise, I will have you boxed up and replaced with that older version of yourself before you can bat one of those baby blue eyes you seem so proud of. Are we clear, Lieutenant?”

  Damien had, once again, retreated partway into his chair, but now straightened his shoulders and said, “Perfectly.”

  “Are you sure, because there will not be a repeat of this conversation that ends with you existing outside some secured cloud server?”

  “I’m sure, sir,” he said, “I apologize. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “I don’t like to say, I told you so,” offered Misha, “but I did tell you that you were overestimating his algorithms.”

  “Oh please, Misha, there is little you enjoy more than being right, especially with those who hold authority over you.” Charlotte saw Sokolov’s expression shift to a combination of wariness and embarrassment. Omandi said, “Oh no, you don’t get to look suspicious. I am just starting to realize all the things that Howard may have done to me. I’ve always been able to read people’s motivations like they were floating above their heads in little thought bubbles. You are no different. You will have to deal with it. Just like I have to deal with the fact that you are Wonder Woman without the costume.”

  “Actually,” said Damien softly, “she does have the costume. She wore it once to—”

  “Don’t want to hear it,” growled Omandi.

  Damien held up his hands. “Okay, okay.” He turned to Misha, “However, the captain was right about you underestimating my capacity. The original Damien Howard was born in 1873 and he lived through some of humanity’s most impactful cultural shifts, especially as it related to gender. Women as subjects. Women as objects. Women as equals. Women as tools for identity politics.” He shook his head. “Fortunately, that last phase was short-lived.” Damien sighed. “The point is that many of those cultural shifts and Howard’s adaptations to them were translated into countless complex algorithms. Those algorithms, in aggregate, are me, so Captain Omandi is right. Sadly, my organic self’s personality, history, and physical attraction toward our Captain all resulted in my acting like—” he paused and shrugged, “— like a bit of an asshole. I am sorry, Captain. It will not happen again. In fact, I can seek out, and delete, the specific algorithms that allowed that behavior to manifest in the first place.”

  Charlotte reached out both hands with her palms up, and Damien extended his own to rest just above hers. She stared at him. “No, I don’t want you to do that. That would be taking something from you that is not mine to take. I don’t know exactly what you are, but while you are under my command, you are not mine to alter.” She smiled at him, then said, “Besides, I’m just vain enough to enjoy knowing you’re attracted to me and can do nothing about it.”

  “Ouch,” said Misha, “The captain can bite when she wants to.”

  Damien raised his hand. “For the record, I really don’t even find you that attractive.”

  “Oh, now that’s complete bullshit,” snickered Misha, then pointed at Charlotte, “She’s empirically beautiful, you clockwork idiot.”

  “Why thank you,” replied Omandi, “I’m just glad my intrinsic beauty isn’t enough to overcome your deep seated racism, Sokolov.”

  �
�I think I missed something,” said Damien, “When did Misha become a racist?”

  “I’m not. Our captain is just referring to the naked towel incident that preceded your appearance.” She waved a hand. “You had to be there.”

  Damien shot both women an evil grin. “From what you’re describing, I wish I had been.” He raised his brows several times in a ludicrous display, and all three began laughing.

  After a few seconds, their amusement died down into several contented sighs. Charlotte buckled herself back into her chair, and said, “So, now that we have all that settled, why are we off to seek our navigator in Ireland? Had I been asked, I would have preferred securing my first officer before my navigator.”

  Damien nodded. “It’s a good question. I’ll ask that you just file the reason under my aforementioned apologies. The answer is that both secondary and tertiary navigator candidates have met unlikely deaths in the last twenty-four hours.”

  Omandi looked at Misha, who stared back in alarm. “News to me, Captain.”

  “How did this happen?” asked Charlotte, “I don’t suppose it could be a coincidence.”

  “Odds of that are astronomically low,” replied Damien, “and I’ve always been a big fan of Occam’s Razor.”

  Both women nodded and Misha said, “All things considered, the simplest answer is most often the truth.”

  “Exactly,” said Damien. “All other candidates appear untouched since Doctor Howard’s death and each crew-complement was compartmentalized from all others. Bottom line, the navigation contingent was compromised somehow and two of them are dead.”

  “But why?” asked Charlotte, “If someone had enough knowledge to do this, they must also know our objective. They will die with everyone else on Earth if we fail.”

  “Human nature,” said her science officer, “That which one cannot control, must be destroyed. Human history is replete with examples where such actions went against the best interests of those who acted. That said, I doubt whatever government or organization has killed these two people know the full extent of Doctor Howard’s plans. That information simply never existed in one place to even be stolen.”

  “What about Coleman?” asked Charlotte.

  “Impossible, Captain,” came his disembodied voice. “All mission parameters and objectives are similarly compartmentalized within my knowledge stores. I can only access each parameter individually and cannot cross reference such compartments except by Doctor Howard’s direct voice command. Any such cross-referenced knowledge is then immediately purged by a routine to which I do not have access. Since Doctor Howard’s death, only you, Captain Omandi, have the ability to create such cross references and have not done so.”

  “So it was a fluke?” she asked incredulously. “I don’t like hanging humanity’s survival on that slender a thread.”

  “Not a fluke,” said Damien, “but not a systemic security failure. However, it is why I took the initiative and directed us to Ireland before it was too late.”

  “It won’t be too late,” said Misha cooly and both the others turned toward her.

  “They killed the other two and could have killed the third just as easily. This last one was left alive as bait. It’s a trap.”

  Damien nodded in surprised agreement. Charlotte stared at her security officer, bewildered at Misha’s expression. “Ok, let’s say you’re right—”

  “Oh, I’m right, Captain.”

  Omandi felt her jaw clench, “I just stipulated that before you interrupted. What I want to know, is why you look so damned happy about it.”

  Misha barked a laugh. “Why shouldn’t I be happy? I love traps when I know about them. Those kind of traps are just the best. They make your adversaries stupid because they think you are walking into their trap. But, when you know it’s a trap, then in reality, you are walking them into your trap.” She shook her head and laughed even harder. “I just love the looks on their faces when they realize how screwed they are.” She shrugged. “Then I usually kill them.”

  Omandi raised a hand. “We are not dealing with the Russian mob now, Misha. Don’t kill anyone unless I say so.”

  Sokolov frowned, “Fine, I won’t unless someone not dying might cause you to die instead. That’s just not going to happen on my watch, Captain.”

  Charlotte inclined her head, “Fair enough, but now I’ve realized the downside of not having any other humans on this plane.”

  “What’s that?” asked Damien.

  “No flight attendants,” she sighed, then added “I could use a drink, preferably a really large bloody mary with extra horseradish and a crisp piece of celery.”

  Damien and Misha exchanged a glance and smiled. “Captain, you don’t need flight attendants for that,” said the science officer. “Remember, the late Doctor Howard has had decades to play with some really advanced alien tech.” Damien had barely finished his sentence when a panel at the rear of the cabin slid up to admit one of the squat little robots Omandi had seen several times before. It’s articulated arm held a medium-sized tray on which rested three tall glasses. It paused in front of Charlotte and she lifted the large bloody mary from the tray. Misha leaned forward and took a squat glass of brown liquor. Finally, Damien reached over and lifted a martini glass with three olives.

  The little bot retreated and Charlotte stared at Damien as he took a loving sip from his glass. He locked eyes with her and smiled. “It’s holographic too, but I have taste and alcohol consumption algorithms so can at least simulate the flavor and effect.”

  Charlotte shook her head in mild disbelief, then drank deeply from her glass. The sweetness of tomato juice mingled perfectly with Worcestershire, horseradish, and vodka. She sighed contentedly and closed her eyes. Her mind raced through all the things, large and small, that Doctor Howard, earth’s oldest living man, had put in place for its defense. For the first time, Charlotte Omandi felt fully alive as if her entire existence had been in preparation for this moment. She smiled and took another drink then said, “Well, let’s go spring their trap and get our navigator.”

  “Wow, the Captain’s really sacked out,” said Misha. She turned and regarded Damien through her augmented reality glasses. “I can never sleep like that.”

  He smiled at her. “I know. You have heightened situational awareness even while sleeping.”

  The security officer glared at him. “Is that your doing?”

  He shrugged. “As our Captain pointed out earlier, I am not Doctor Howard, but why split hairs. The Captain’s primary asset is her mind and a mind needs rest. Your primary asset is far more physical than mental.” He paused a second, then added, “No offense.”

  She smirked at him while giving Omandi a soft pat on the cheek, “None taken.”

  Charlotte’s eyes flew open and she sucked in a breath. Her eyes seemed frantic for the barest of moments then she sighed and dragged a hand across her mouth. Omandi pinched up her face as she wiped the damp from her hand. “Was I drooling?”

  “Just a bit,” offered Damien, “but not to worry, we’re all family here.”

  Charlotte ignored him and rubbed at her eyes, then said, “How long until we land?”

  “That’s why I woke you,” said Misha, “Coleman just informed us that we’re on final approach to Dublin International. Wheels down in less than ten minutes, Captain.”

  Omandi nodded. “And do we know where Mr. Branson will be this time of day?” She lifted the window visor and squinted. “What’s the local time?”

  “We picked up a few hours,” replied Misha as she glanced at her watch, “It’s about nine-thirty in the morning, so I’d expect that Branson is sleeping it off in his apartment.”

  Omandi arched an eyebrow. “My navigator and pilot is a drunk?”

  “Absolutely not,” said Damien defensively. “According to our intelligence James really only drinks to excess after a robbery. If he were a drunk, he wouldn’t be able to stay sober on the run-up to whatever heist he was hired for.” Both women stared at
Damien with almost identically flat expressions. “What?” he asked, “You didn’t know he was a criminal? His entire file is available to both of you. It’s not my fault neither of you read it.”

  Omandi pinched her nose and felt a headache coming on again. “I read the file and it never mentioned him actually robbing things, just his affinity for using fast vehicles in dangerous situations.” She sighed, “Can the little robot bring me some coffee while someone explains why my pilot is a criminal?”

  “I’m sorry, Captain,” said Coleman crisply, “The steward-bot has been stowed for landing, but there should be coffee in the limousine your daemon has sent to pick up you and Lieutenant Sokolov.”

  “What about me?” asked Damien, then winked at Charlotte.

  “You?” asked Coleman with untempered incredulity. “You do not take up space, nor do you require coffee any more than I do.”

  Before Damien could respond, Misha said, “Why don’t we just instruct the daemon to have Branson deposited at our hotel as soon as possible. That way, we can land, get cleaned up a little, and not have to deal with chasing the guy down. He has no idea about any of this, right?”

  Omandi shook her head at Misha and said, “I’m not sure that would be a good idea."

  Damien laughed. “Well, I'm sure. I’m sure it would be a terrible idea. It is also a great example of why you are security and not command, Sokolov.” She glared at him, but Damien just grinned back. “Ok, fine, tell the daemon to,” he made air quotes, “get Branson to our hotel as soon as possible.” He laughed again, then said, “In related news, local authorities reel from several deaths due to car jackings, traffic accidents, and small arms fire while also dealing with what looks like an arsonist’s successful attempt to burn down a Dublin apartment complex.”

  Omandi sighed. “Yeah, that’s kind of what I was picturing. No, we need to keep our daemon-genie in its bottle as much as possible, and not get too used to it deus ex machina’ing us out of trouble.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” said Damien, “That thing is, capital D, Dangerous.”