“I like the snort, too, Barbie,” said Misha. “Without it, you are boring blonde perfection.” She pointed at Linnea. “Your little snort is like a secret code that represents who you really are. Maybe when Lt. Data over there actually does become a real boy, he’ll use less words. Until then, you’ll always have me, so here it is. Real Barbies don’t snort. You do. People will always underestimate you because of how you look. I certainly did. Use that to your advantage, but keep the imperfections that your real friends find endearing.”
Linnea nodded, and drew her mouth to a line. She glanced over to Rick and said, “I’ll keep my deviated septum for the time being. I’m not sure Lt. Sokolov could stand it otherwise. She’s already insecure about me as it is.” Linnea gave an affected toss of her hair, then sighed, “I think she fears this package of blonde teen-aged perfection might turn a certain Irishman’s head.”
Misha sputtered, then glanced self-consciously toward the cockpit, before pointing at Linnea. Sokolov lowered her voice and said, “I have absolutely no interest in him.”
“In who?” asked Sorenson.
“Branson!” yelled Misha.
“What?” called James. “Is something wrong? Misha, do you need me, cause I’m about to light this candle.”
Sokolov grimaced, then opened her mouth to unleash a torrent of profanity. At the last moment, she shook her head and called out, “Everything’s fine, James. I wasn’t yelling to you. I was just telling Barbie where Howard-Prime took me for my first Christmas in the States.” She glared at Linnea, then added, “It was Branson, Missouri.” Misha pointed at the communications officer and smirked. “There…my quick thinking foiled whatever plot you had brewing in that little blonde head of yours. Now, I’m going to sit back there where there’s less chance of being annoyed by you.”
As Misha stalked toward the last row of seats, Rick touched Linnea gently on the arm. She turned to him and he smiled. “You made a good decision, about the nose I mean. My nanites can’t re-break something once they’ve fixed it.”
The young woman shook her head and chuckled,“Thanks, Doc. I think you’re right. I’ll keep snorting for a bit and see how things develop.”
“Please secure for launch,” said Coleman. “I have confirmed Lt. Branson’s preparations. The Galileo will be deploying a full package of countermeasures but could be detected during several transitionary periods. Base shielding will be down for approximately thirty-seconds as we launch and—” the AI cocked his head as if hearing something. He stared at the crew as they strapped themselves in. “Lt. Branson says he will be able to launch with only an eight-second window of vulnerability. I find that highly unlikely.”
“You will owe me a pint when I do,” came a muffled voice, then the cabin speakers crackled to life and Branson said again, “You will owe me a pint when I do.” A second later he added, “oh, and I found the Gal’s intercom so won’t have to yell anymore.”
Misha shook her head and exhaled slowly. “So, he’s going to launch us into space using a technique our AI says is impossible, but hasn’t been able to make the intercom work until now?”
“The cabin mics are working now, too,” said James, “So, I heard that and you can just feck off, Comrade. I’ve been busy. In case you didn’t know, the moon doesn’t just sit still and I’ve never flown in space before. It’s complicated. Now, please place all seat backs and tray tables in their full upright position, I’m lighting this candle in five…four…three…two…one.
“Shouldn’t you be up front?” asked Misha.
James did a half step to the side, then spun, and opened his arms in a flourish. “We have slipped the surly bounds of Earth and are going to touch the face of Luna.”
“Very impressive,” said Sokolov, “but, again, shouldn’t you be on your bridge doing pilot’y things?”
“It’s not a bridge,” replied Branson. “In fact, it’s not even really a cockpit since we had the door removed and passage widened. I’d just call it the pilot’s station.”
Misha nodded, “And shouldn’t the pilot be at the pilot’s station?”
“Not much to do for about the next ninety minutes, love. So, I figured I would grace you beautiful lasses with my charming presence.” Damien and Rick both stared at the Irishman and he snickered. “Well, all right boys, you may enjoy my presence as well.”
“That wasn’t exactly what I was thinking,” said the android dryly. Dr. Carpenter just shook his head, refusing to get drawn-in, and began swiping at his hand terminal.
Linnea gestured to Branson and asked, “What happened on our way up? I got the sense you were a little, um, a little concerned.”
James laughed. “That’s a wee bit of an understatement, don’t you know. I nearly pissed myself. It looked like half the Russian Federation and Chinese fighter jets were on our arse. We were lit up like a fecking Christmas tree.” He stroked the nearest wall with clear affection, then said, “But my Gal, she’s got a whole bag of tricks for me to use. Still, even with all of that, at least a dozen air-to-airs would likely have banged us around good and true if I hadn’t goosed the Gal a bit.”
Rick looked up from his hand terminal. “Goosed?”
James smiled at the physician. “Yeah. Goosed, as in made go faster. I don’t understand much of the physics, but the same fusion core that provides basic power, also energizes the main engines, defenses, and some kind of magnetic whatsit that provides a little extra juice when flying through a powerful gravity well.”
Damien nodded. “Like what is generated by Earth.”
“Yup,” said James. “I really want to see what she’d do around something even more massive, like Jupiter or—” his eyes suddenly seemed slightly wild and he added, “or even a star. That would provide—”
“How long until we get to Luna?” interrupted Misha.
“Hmm…oh, I already told you. About ninety minutes. It would have been faster, but our target is on the dark-side and that’s Chinese territory. Given how pissed those communist bastards were when vacuum choked off their jets and missiles, I want to be extra careful in finding a place to dock.”
“Why would they think we were going to Luna?” asked Misha.
Branson shrugged. “That’s where we were headed and its the only other major human habitation in the system. I mean there’s a few colonies on Mars, but nothing worth visiting.”
The security officer sighed. “I really think you should go back to your station.”
James furrowed his brow, “Why? Don’t you like me?”
Misha flared her nose in frustration, “No, I do not like you, but that has nothing to do with it. You are supposed to be flying us to the moon!”
He grinned. “Am I? So you want me to fly you to the moon?”
Richard snickered, and tried to intervene, but it was too late because Misha said, “Yes, you silly Irishman, I want to you fly me to the moon.”
“Here we go,” sighed the android, as James began snapping his fingers.
He reached out a hand to Misha who accepted it by reflex rather than intent. He pulled her up and lilted, “Fly me to the moon. Let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on A-Jupiter and Mars.” He twisted Misha’s hand in his, spun her around, and smiled at her confused expression. “In other words, hold my hand. In other words, baby, kiss me.”
James saw her face begin to darken with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. He released her hand and took a jaunty step back toward the shuttle’s pilot station. Branson winked at her and sang, “Fill my heart with song and let me sing for ever more. You are all I long for, all I worship and adore. In other words, please be true. In other words, I…love you.”
He gave a final hum, spun around, and disappeared into the shuttle’s command bay.
“What the fuck was that!” shouted Misha, pointing.
“That,” said Richard, with clear appreciation, “was Francis Albert Sinatra. And apparently our young James has some pipes on him.”
“He’s
an asshole,” mumbled Sokolov, and sat down hard in her chair. She noticed Linnea trying to repress a smirk and glared at the younger woman. “What’s with the face, Barbie?”
“Oh nothing.”
“Bullshit, it’s something. Spill it.”
Sorenson chuckled softly, then moved to sit next to Misha. “Honestly, it’s not my place and you made it abundantly clear I should—”
“I said, fucking spill it,” hissed the Russian.
“Ok, you asked for it. Just remember that, Misha.” Linnea bit her lip to keep from laughing. “It’s just totally obvious how into him you are.”
Sokolov’s eyes widened in shock. She grabbed the younger woman and pulled her close. “What the hell makes you think that, Barbie? He’s an impetuous flyboy who thinks this whole thing is just an excuse for him to play with fast toys.”
“Uh huh,’ snickered Linnea.
“Oh fuck off! You don’t know what I’m think—” Sokolov paused and glared at Linnea. “Barbie, if you’ve been poking around in my head, I’m going to.”
Linnea couldn’t control her laughter any longer but shook her head in negation. “I wouldn’t do that Misha, and you know it. But, there are some senses I just can’t turn off.” She tapped her nose and smirked at the security officer.
“What?” asked Misha looking slightly panicked, “What did you smell?”
Linnea shrugged. “Don’t feel bad, we all give off a scent, when we, uh, want things.” Sokolov glanced around but no one was paying them much attention. She lifted one arm and gave a sniff, but Linnea tapped her shoulder. “No, underarms are more focused around fear and exertion. There are other areas that are focused around, well, other things.”
Misha swallowed hard. “Are you telling me that I am giving off some kind of fuck-me scent?”
Linnea sighed. “It’s not like anyone else would notice, but that’s not exactly what I smelled anyway.”
Misha exhaled. “Well that’s a relief, then why did you—”
Linnea pursed her lips and said, “It was more like a predatory, I really really want to have my way with you right now kind of smell. All things being equal, that does fit your personality more so I’m pretty sure my interpretation is—” The telepath broke off, stared at Misha for a second, then said, “Don’t get mad at me, you forced me to tell you.”
Sokolov placed a finger on Linnea’s lips. “Barbie, as God is my witness, if you breathe a word of this, especially to Branson. I swear—”
Linnea bushed her hand aside. “Oh, stop. Of course I won’t say anything.”
Sokolov nodded. “Good. I’m glad we understand each—”
The telepath reached up with her own hand, mimicking Misha’s earlier gesture, silencing the security officer. Linnea gave Sokolov an evil grin, then said, “Just like I’d never divulge any scents I might have picked up from that dashing pilot you so want to ravish.”
“What?” whispered Misha, “What do you mean by that?”
Before Linnea could respond, the Galileo rocked hard to one side and sparks shot out from several panels. Security restraints pulled each of them deep into their seats and impact gel flowed around them. The shuttle lights all turned red and a klaxon sounded. “We might have a problem,” yelled Branson. Colman suddenly materialized in the main cabin, his eyes blazing bright blue.
“Multiple detonations have just occurred within close proximity to Galileo. Assessing damage. Standby.”
Damien tried to unbuckle but the restraints would not release. “Coleman,” he yelled, “release security restraints on Damien Smith.” Immediately the buckle unclasped and the android leaped to his feet. He stared out one of the port windows just in time for a brilliant flash to cast him in silhouette. He grabbed both nearby chairs and yelled, “Brace!”
Coleman’s magnified voice blared through the cabin. “Third nuclear detonation detected. Shields at forty-five percent. Radiation and concussion impact in two…one…”
The shuttle careened sideways, and Damien’s legs flew out from beneath him, as the previous thrust gravity was altered by the blast. “Coleman,” he yelled, “report!”
“Three high orbit satellites overloaded their deuterium cores, went critical, and detonated. I find it highly suspicious that they would do so just as we passed by.”
“Well, no shit,” growled Misha, then to Damien, “let me out of this seat.”
“No, Lieutenant, there’s nothing you can do except get yourself killed against some bulkhead. You are staying put.”
“Shields at twenty percent,” said Coleman.
Damien yelled toward the front of the shuttle. “Branson, what the hell is going on up there?”
“We’ve passed beyond the highest satellite rings and I’ve deployed two decoy drones that will project our radiation signature. Both are headed in opposite directions. But, Damien, I was planning to use those when we landed dark-side. We’ve only got one left.”
“We’ll worry about that later,” said the android. “How much time until we are within Luna’s weapons range?”
“Fifty-five minutes. Hang on a second. Getting an encrypted transmission that the Gal says is friendly. Hey, it’s Karishma. Hang on everyone, I’m opening a channel and routing audio and visuals to you guys as well.”
A second later, Karishma’s young, but haggard, face glared out from several screens.
“What the bloody hell have you amateurs done to my shuttle? All of the Galileo status boards have lit up like Vishnu painted them for Diwali!”
Chapter 28
First Officer in Chains
Damien stared into the middle distance and mused silently whether his blood pressure could actually be raised by the frustration he was feeling. He knew that his body’s circulatory system did, in fact, use blood or something near enough to blood for the distinction not to matter. Still, it seemed rather silly to the android for someone to go to all the trouble of designing an artificial body only to then build in the same weaknesses that were found in the original.
“Lt. Howard, are you listening to me?” asked Karishma, then turned to face Branson. The Irishman gave her a friendly smile that did little to mask his obvious desire to be anywhere other than where he found himself. “James, is Damien listening to me? He looks like he may have developed a fault. I don’t have time to fix the Galileo, let alone him. I am trying to finish construction on a fucking starship.”
“Yes, love, you have mentioned that a time or three,” said the pilot, then added, “by the way, could I pop over for a tour when we get back from Luna? I mean, wouldn’t it be a good idea for me to have hands on Bladerunner before I need to actually fly her?”
“James Branson, are you a lunatic? How many times do I have to tell you that I’ve no Earthly idea where I am? For that matter, I may not even be on Earth.” Her eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment then she said, “No, that’s not true. I’m definitely on Earth. The gravity is too close to normal for it to be simulated by spin or thrust.” Karishma shook her head and sighed at James, “Somehow I think you might actually be capable of lowering both my IQ and productivity just through conversation. That’s quite a feat, especially since you aren’t even physically near me!”
Branson flashed her a grin. “I do have that effect on the lasses, Lt. Commander Patel.”
The engineer’s chocolate complexion seemed to darken further as she took in a breath, but Damien forestalled Karishma’s verbal explosion by saying, “It’s Smith not Howard.”
The young Indian woman stared back at him for several seconds. “What’s Smith?”
“Not what, who,” said Damien.
“Fine. Who’s Smith?” asked the engineer.
“I am,” replied Damien. “The captain suggested I adopt a more unique surname. One that is all my own.”
She shook her head, “And you decided on Smith? No offense, but am I metaphorically surrounded by actual idiots?”
He smiled at her patiently, then said, “Look, I understand your perspective,
which is why I decided to talk with you from the pilot’s station rather than among the rest of the crew. That said, I really need you to consider a few things. First, you have been working with, and among, non-sentient machines for months.”
“Almost a year,” she snapped, “and you should know that, since you are the one who convinced me to take on this shit-show.”
Damien sighed. “Again, not me. That was Howard-Prime, but you make my point, Karishma. You’ve been working in social isolation for almost a year. I believe it has taken a toll on…” he paused for a beat, “on your social graces.”
“Maybe she’s always been like this,” offered James.
“Like what?” hissed Patel, “I have social graces. I’ll have you know that I was being fast tracked for the Space X Martian colony before you, I mean Howard-Prime, dropped his genetic destiny and human extinction bomb on me.”
Damien nodded. “I agree with you, Karishma. James clearly doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“He should get that printed on a shirt,” she grumbled.
“I’d wear it,” chuckled James, “if you added the phrase, but he can fly the fecking shite out of anything.”
“Color me naive,” began Karishma, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “but do those flying skills include not subjecting my shuttle to three deuterium explosions on your first trip outside the ionosphere?”
“It is not your shuttle, Lt. Commander,” said Damien evenly. “It is Captain Omandi’s shuttle, and since her abduction, it is now mine. As for the damage done to Galileo, Coleman has fed me realtime logs and there was no way Lt. Branson could have avoided them. In point of fact, his quick actions may well have saved this shuttle from complete destruction.” The android paused and cocked his head slightly at Patel’s puzzled expression. “What is it, Karishma?” he asked.
“I just want to make sure I heard you correctly, sir. Did you just tell me that you lost our Captain?”
Her question convinced Damien that if he did not have blood pressure, he definitely had something akin to it. The android felt his jaw muscles tighten. “We did not lose the captain. You knew we were assaulted at Dr. Carpenter’s offices in New Orleans and—”
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