Paradigm 2045- Trinity's Children

by Robert W. Ross

  Captain Omandi, I have completed a review of all the communications systems both on this station and in the Galileo. I also visited the personal quarters section of the base. Suggest you have Coleman give you the tour. It’s a bit of a maze. You have what looks like a large, corner suite. I’m sorry, but I tried to go in and look around. I know I shouldn’t have, but sometimes I get too curious for my own good. Anyway, I’m sorry. Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning. Charlotte was about to swipe the message aside when Linnea sent an addendum. I’m also sorry if this message seems too informal. I’m much better at feeling out social norms when I have in-person cues to leverage.

  Another chime.

  I’ve decided on a name, Captain. I’d like to be called Damien Smith. I know that may seem odd, but there was an early twenty-first century television show called Doctor Who that both Howard-Prime and I enjoyed immensely. The main character often took the surname Smith as his own. In addition, one of the actors who portrayed this Doctor was also named Smith, and I always fancied myself a bit like him. Anyway, I will henceforth be Damien Robert Smith. Oh, I’ve completed a full diagnostic of this facility and have a thorough understanding of all its scientific instruments and readings. Now, as ordered, I am off to bed. I’ve never slept before, but I do remember enjoying it, if that makes any sense at all. Am I rambling? Is that what I am now, a man that rambles? I suspect I am. Ah well, good night, Captain and thank you again for your trust. I will never let you down.

  “No, I don’t think you will,” Charlotte said softly then swiped her terminal to reveal the last transcribed message.

  Sokolov reporting in, sir. This facility is the most bad-ass thing I’ve ever encountered. Passive and active defenses are as close to impenetrable as I could hope for. Active weapon systems are based on the same principles used by our portable HID weapons, but on a much more massive scale. The entire facility is powered by a fusion generator, which Damien may understand, but I certainly do not. If the Bladerunner is equipped with this same level of bad-assery, we should be quite formidable when these alien bastards come knocking. I’m hitting the rack as ordered. Oh, and old Howard-Prime sure does have a sense of humor. James’quarters are next to mine so I fully expect that horny Irishman will be drilling a peephole into my shower. Trust me, Doctor Howard did this on purpose. I may not have Linnea’s telepathy but I’ve known the old coot a long time and this is absolutely something he would do.

  Charlotte couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Misha jabbing something into her pilot’s eye. She mumbled under her breath, “Good thing I’m recruiting our doctor next, hopefully he’ll be able to repair whatever damage Misha ends up doing to Branson. I can’t think of anything less useful than a blind navigator and pilot.” Omandi inhaled deeply, then scanned the med-bay and nodded. When had she become so comfortable with her new reality? She didn’t know, but decided not to question it either.

  “Coleman,” she called.

  The AI systems controller faded into view. “I am here, Captain. How may I serve?”

  Omandi pinched up her face and asked, “How many versions of yourself can you project simultaneously?”

  “I am not sure, Captain. I have four concurrent versions running. One with you, one with Ensign Sorenson, and one each with Lieutenant’s Sokolov and Branson.”

  “And that’s not confusing to you?”

  “No, why would it be?”

  Omandi shrugged, “No reason, just my being limited by human experience and linearity I suppose.” Coleman didn’t respond so Charlotte said, “Linnea suggested you give me a tour of the crew quarters in general and mine in particular.”

  “Yes, sir, very good. Please follow me.”

  After half a dozen winding passages and several flights of stairs, Coleman pulled up beside a large, intricately carved double door.

  “Is that Musheragi wood?” asked Charlotte as she ran her fingers over the carving.

  “Yes,” replied Coleman, “Doctor Howard has endeavored to provide each of your crew with personal modifications designed to help them feel both peaceful and welcome. There has not been much time since the five of you were confirmed in your roles, but Doctor Howard had the automated construction bots use materials he previously had stored. The result for you is this door and your chapel. The door carving was made based on the hand drawn sketch of a Kenyan artisan. The material, as you have already noted, is native Musheragi wood.”

  Charlotte raised a hand. “Wait, go back a minute. My chapel? What do you mean by a—”

  The twin wooden doors whispered open and Omandi hesitantly stepped through. A small foyer led to a generous living area complete with couches, chairs and what looked like a large wall display unit. Two much smaller rooms branched off from the foyer to the left and right. One clearly was designed to be a work space with a comfortable-looking, yet utilitarian chair, desk, and midsized computational equipment. However, it was the left room that caused Charlotte to press a hand to her stomach as her throat tightened. She recognized it immediately as a miniature version of the adoration chapel she prayed in as a young girl. The attention to detail was stunning. Instead of two rows of pews there was only a single kneeler. Charlotte walked into the room and reflexively crossed herself as she took in the beautifully carved crucifix that hung above and beyond the kneeler.

  Omandi knelt on the thick leather pad and lay her forearms against the wooden rail while clasping her hands together. She closed her eyes and recalled some of Doctor Damien Howard’s first words to her, Do you believe in God, Charlotte?

  “Yes,” she whispered, repeating her previous response to him, then added, “You knew I believed, didn’t you? You knew I would perform best if my faith traveled with me. Thank you for this Doctor Howard. Thank you.”

  Captain Charlotte Omandi closed her eyes, slowed her breathing, and prayed. She prayed for strength. She prayed for her crew. She prayed for humanity. Deep below the lifeless ice of Antarctica a lone voice lifted up familiar words, “Our Father, who art in heaven…”

  Chapter 21

  A New Day

  An alarm sounded and Charlotte grudgingly cracked one eye, then reflexively swatted for a nightstand that wasn’t there. She sat up with a start and looked around for the source of the sound. In the dim light of her quarters, she saw a hand terminal pulsing on the nearby dresser where she'd left it to charge.

  "What time is it?" she mumbled to herself.

  "The answer to that question is somewhat relative, Captain Omandi," came a male voice that she both instantly recognized and wished was not there.

  Charlotte glanced down at her bare breasts and sighed as she turned to face Coleman who had materialized just to the left of her bed. "Is it possible," she sighed, "that I could avoid being seen naked by AI holograms who seem intent on appearing unannounced?”

  Coleman cocked his head and affected a frown that conveyed mild confusion. “I’m sorry, Captain, I had not noticed your state of undress.”

  “Somehow,” grumbled Charlotte, “that seems even worse. Forget it. What are you doing here?”

  “You asked what time it was,” he replied.

  “I wasn’t asking you. I was talking to myself, actually, more musing than talking. Are you always listening to me?”

  “Listening for you, would be more accurate,” said the AI.

  “Well, stop. That’s creepy and intrusive. If I want you, I will call for you. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir. I understand perfectly. I will passively monitor for you to call for me, then activate. Is that satisfactory?”

  “I guess,” she said, still not completely satisfied. Charlotte slipped off the bed and stretched. She glanced back to Coleman. “So, what time is it?”

  “As I said moments ago, that answer is relative, but I assume your question refers to the base-time you set with the crew last night.” Omandi nodded then reached for the t-shirt and bra she’d tossed on the floor prior to collapsing in exhaustion the night before. “It is a bit after noon, Cap
tain.”

  Charlotte paused with her head still within the t-shirt. “Noon?” she asked, then pulled her shirt the rest of the way down. “Why the hell did you let me sleep until noon?” Where is everyone? What are they doing?”

  Coleman blinked several times and took a step back as Omandi walked toward him. “You did not ask me to wake you. Everyone is in the canteen and they are all about to eat breakfast.”

  “Breakfast? What? Are we running a day spa here?When did they get up?”

  “Ensign Sorenson woke up first, and that was about two hours ago. Lieutenant Branson rose next at—”

  “Stop,” said Charlotte, “It doesn’t really matter. If they were up earlier, why are they just now eating breakfast? More importantly, why did you let the entire crew wake and only then decide to get me up?”

  “They asked me to wake you, Captain. You had left no contravening order prohibiting it, and barring such an order I am obliged to follow the instructions of our crew.”

  Charlotte rubbed her eyes. “No Coleman, that’s fine. You were right to wake me. I just feel like shit sleeping in while my entire crew was working. Great early impression…Captain Omandi…she sleeps til noon.”

  Coleman shook his head. “I think you are proceeding from several false assumptions, sir. First, none of the crew were working, except perhaps Ensign Sorenson. She has a surprise for you. Lieutenant Sokolov took a shower and a hot bath after making impressive use of the facility’s exercise equipment. Lieutenant Branson, likewise, took a lengthy shower, but only after Misha declined to share one with the him.”

  Charlotte shrugged into her jeans and squeezed her eyes shut. She let out a low breath. “And how did that go, Coleman? Is my pilot alive?”

  “Yes, sir, he is most definitely alive, however I found the entire exchange quite confusing. Lieutenant Sokolov first hypothesized what she and Branson might do in such a communal shower, which seemed to please him. However, she then indicated that perhaps they postpone the activity until a future time and at an alternate locale. That is when Lieutenant Branson left for his own shower, which he kept much colder than I would have thought comfortable.” Omandi was still shaking her head when Coleman asked, “Captain, one point of clarification. Why would Lt. Sokolov outline the activities as she did, then change the logistics to, and I’m quoting here, the twelfth of never and in your dreams?”

  “Coleman,” began Omandi as she opened the door to her quarters, “You put men and women in close proximity and this shit just happens. You can pretend it doesn’t. You can order it to stop, but in my experience it’s just better to set some ground rules and ensure everyone is empowered to do exactly what Misha did.”

  “But that is just it, Captain, I think it may have more to do with what Lt. Sokolov said than what she did. I believe she may have deployed a play on words.”

  Charlotte stopped and stared directly at the hologram. “Okay, Coleman, just tell me exactly what she said.”

  The AI smiled at Omandi and asked, “May I show you as well? I think that would help.”

  She sighed. “Sure, go ahead.”

  Coleman turned to Charlotte and pretended to rest his hands on her shoulders. “I’m playing the part of Lt. Sokolov.”

  Omandi nodded. “Got it.”

  Coleman stared directly into Charlotte’s eyes, and spoke in a perfect imitation of Misha’s voice, “Listen, Branson. I get it. You want to fuck me.” Coleman raised one holographic hand, pretended to pat Charlotte’s cheek twice, then said, “However, I would prefer that you fuck off.”

  Coleman lowered his hands and took a step back. Omandi shook her head. “Ok, then what happened?”

  Coleman gave a very human shrug. “Nothing happened. Lt. Branson apparently took her suggestion and fucked off to his curiously cold shower.”

  Charlotte barely stopped herself before giving Coleman a friendly slap on the shoulder. Instead she shot him a smile and said, “I can see how that might be confusing, but you’ll have to trust me when I tell you that both Misha and James handled that very human encounter just about as well as could be expected given the circumstances. Now, please tell me why did the crew send you to get me? Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing wrong that I could detect. As I mentioned earlier, Ensign Sorenson was first to rise. She went to the replication center and created something for the crew. They were all extremely pleased and wanted to share it with you. In addition, several mentioned not wanting to eat until you were able to join them.”

  “Hmm,” murmured Charlotte as she began walking toward the canteen. “I wonder what Linnea made.”

  “I cannot tell you, unless you make it an order,” answered Coleman.

  “I wasn’t asking you,” snickered Omandi, “I was just talking out loud again. However, it does bring up a good point. You need to stop snooping on everyone all the time. Humans need their privacy.”

  “But Captain,” objected the AI, “if I do not monitor communications, how will I know if and when the crew might need me?”

  “They can ask for you.”

  “What if they cannot? What if they are hurt or trapped under something heavy?”

  Charlotte stopped again and stared into Coleman’s face which clearly displayed both a sense of unease and concern.

  “Are you worried about us?” she asked. He nodded and Charlotte pursed her lips, considering. “Okay, how about this. Feel free to listen all you want, but I order you to quarantine such audio from all of your AI algorithms except those that provide low level threat assessments. If the audio indicates a threat, then you may become aware of it and act accordingly.”

  Coleman nodded appreciatively. “That is an elegant solution, Captain. Thank you. One question, what if you order me to reveal the contents of such quarantined audio or video?”

  Omandi pointed at the AI. “Nobody gets to see, or hear it, unless the underlying person, a related person, or our mission is threatened by such knowledge remaining in quarantine.” She pointed again. “Nobody, Coleman, including me. Is that understood?”

  “Perfectly, sir. I am crafting the algorithm as we speak.”

  Charlotte gave him a nod. “Excellent, now I think I’ve delayed our crew’s breakfast long enough. Besides, I’m curious what kind of present our young communications officer has managed to whip up.”

  The canteen doors slid open and Charlotte felt a grin spread across her face. The crew were mostly facing away as she slipped in. Damien's clanging of pans easily masked the sound made by her entrance. Omandi quietly angled to an inconspicuous corner of the room and observed their interaction.

  “What makes you think she even likes pancakes?” asked Misha.

  “Everyone likes pancakes,” replied Damien without taking his eyes off both griddle and pan.

  “Says who?” Misha snorted.

  “Pretty much everyone,” added Branson.

  The security officer looked at Linnea, but the young woman shook her head and raised both hands in negation. “Sorry, I’m with the boys on this one. Bacon, eggs, and pancakes…what’s not to like?”

  “Well, I don’t like pancakes,” grumbled Misha.

  Damien used his left hand to slip a spatula under several pieces of crisp bacon while simultaneously scrambling eggs with his right. He glanced at Sokolov. “You are Russian, so your opinion is invalid. Not all of us can stomach vodka for breakfast.”

  Misha affected a laugh, “Very funny. You are a laugh riot Damien, and I’ve never heard the Russian-vodka trope before. So original. Wherever do you get your material?”

  The science officer ignored her jibe, finished with the bacon, then moved on to simultaneously flipping pancakes and plating eggs.

  “Was Howard-prime ambidextrous too?” asked Branson. The pilot shook his head in amazement, completely transfixed by the precise blur of Damien’s hands. “Mother Mary, I wish my fingers could dance across control surfaces with half that deft a touch.”

  “That’s what she said,” chuckled Misha and nudged Linn
ea.

  The communication officer frowned. “Remember, you are supposed to be setting an example for me.”

  “I am setting an example,” countered Misha.

  “I think,” began Omandi, “the Ensign meant that you were supposed to be setting a positive example. It’s the positive part that might have confused you.”

  All four of her crew spun around and Charlotte couldn’t help but laugh at the comical expressions. Damien stood with both spatula and spoon pointing toward her. Linnea looked embarrassed and horrified while James offered a half wave. Only Misha seemed nonplussed by Omandi’s appearance. “I was wondering how long you would just stand there eavesdropping. I heard you walking down the hall.”

  “Damn it,” groused Linnea, “all I could smell was the bacon.”

  “Ensign, are you saying that, were it not for the bacon, you would have actually smelled me coming,” asked Omandi with a sniff, “and even after I went to all the trouble of showering? How disappointing.”

  “What?” cried Sorenson as she frantically looked first to Damien and then Misha, “No, it’s just that, you know, I have a heightened—”

  The security officer reached out and tapped Linnea’s arm. “Our dear captain is messing with you, Barbie.”

  “Huh? Really, but I can normally smell…I mean she uses a very distinctive shampoo…and because the olfactory center of my brain is more sensitive, I can—”

  Misha chuckled. “Be messed with by our captain. Yeah, I think we all get it.”

  Linnea stared at Omandi who could no longer keep a straight face. “Well, shoot, Captain. You know I can’t read your emotions. That’s really not playing fair at all.”

  Charlotte shrugged. “No one ever said life was fair, Ensign. If it were, Misha would be having vodka for breakfast.” Omandi frowned, then said, “Apparently, Damien is burning my pancakes.”

  “I am not,” yelled the android then turned to back to his griddle. “Oh, I am.” He began flipping and moving with such rapidity and it all seemed to blur. A moment later, he turned and said, “Okay, breakfast is ready. The slightly overdone ones are for Misha since she’ll likely dip them in vodka anyway.”