Paradigm 2045- Trinity's Children

by Robert W. Ross

  “I didn’t know you had lost her,” said Karishma. “Look, I really don’t have time for this. There is a big, red, countdown clock blazing down on me every minute of every day. We have exactly seventeen days until the one-hundredth anniversary of the Trinity nuclear test. I rang you knuckleheads for two very simple reasons. One, to tell you to stop wrecking my shuttle, and two, to upload an advanced repair-directives package to the Galileo’s maintenance bots. They should have the shields reconstituted in less than an hour and the damaged hull plating repaired in about six.”

  James had been absently playing a geometric matching game on his hand terminal, but looked up at Karishma’s last comment. “Wait, did you say the Gal’s hull plating was damaged? The shields never went down. How is that possible?”

  Patel sighed. “Do you know how plasmatic shielding works, James?”

  “Well, I think I—”

  “No, no you do not. The concussive radiation wave was largely dispersed by the Galileo’s shielding and the shuttle would have been vaporized without it. However, just because the shields hadn’t failed doesn’t mean there wasn’t damage. Howard-Prime may have wished for a world like Star Trek, but unfortunately for him, physics wins out in our world. In case you were wondering, my diagnostics showed you were dangerously close to a catastrophic hull breach.”

  “Really?” asked James, “How close is close and, since the shields were still up, would they have helped?”

  “Close as in one exploding satellite from your collective blood boiling in the vacuum of space, and no the shields wouldn’t help. They disperse energy. They don’t keep atmosphere inside broken ships.”

  Branson frowned. “Yeah, that’s too bad. It seems that broken ships would really benefit from shields that could keep air in.”

  “I’ll look into repealing the laws of thermodynamics and get back to you. Maybe I could also—”

  “Lt. Commander Patel,” interrupted Damien, “I know you are busy so I’ll keep this brief. Would you please run a computer simulation of the explosions and their effect on Galileo if someone other than Lt. Branson were piloting?”

  She scowled but her fingers were already moving. Karishma said, “Fine, but I’m not going to run it with a generic human pilot because you had access to AI navigation. I’m beginning the sim using Galileo’s advanced autonomous system navigation rather than Branson. I don’t see what information you are hoping—” she broke off and glanced up at Damien, then back to her panel. “Just a moment, I’m going to run that again because you also had the option of Coleman operating the autopilot. He’s much more advanced than even the advanced system nav—” again she stopped. The young engineer swallowed while unconsciously holding one hand to her mouth.

  Damien smiled. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”

  She looked up. “You should all be dead. Every simulation shows terminal damage to the aft or port hull plating. I don’t understand it.” She stared at Branson and said, “You made over seven hundred course adjustments between the first and third detonations. If even three of those course corrections were omitted, Galileo would have explosively decompressed. Coleman’s best result omitted seven. His average result omitted thirteen and his worst omitted twenty-three. I just don’t understand.”

  “And that is what I needed you to realize,” said Damien softly. “Karishma, without you, your skills, and your dedication, our mission would be lost.” The woman nodded, but this time her expression seemed more thoughtful than before. Her eyes flickered between James and Damien as the android continued. “Without you there is no Bladerunner. Without James, it cannot fly. Without Linnea we cannot speak with those who mean us harm. Without Rick we cannot heal those who are harmed.”

  “And without the captain?” she asked softly.

  James barked a laugh. “Without the captain, we’re fecked worse than an Irishman in an American dry county’s Baptist church.”

  Damien nodded. “Which is why we are headed to Luna in the first place. I am in temporary command, and Omandi has ordered me to recruit Chao Keung as our first officer. I don’t know if she views Keung as her replacement or a critical means for us to mount a rescue. What I do know is that I need him to become part of this crew because that is what the captain ordered, and I trust her. From what I’ve gleaned about him, it won’t be easy, but things of worth seldom are.” Damien inhaled deeply, then said, “Are you familiar with the phrase e pluribus unum?” Karishma shook her head. “It is latin for out of the many, one. It is also a motto for the United States of America. For that country, it referred to the assimilation of immigrants into a unified culture, and the binding of sovereign states into a constitutional republic. I’ve heard Charlotte Omandi use that phrase at least a dozen times. Do you know why?”

  Karishma nodded. “We are the many,” she said softly. “Each of us are unique and incredibly important, but unless we become one, in both purpose and execution, it won’t matter in the end.” The young engineer gave a long sigh and fixed her gaze on James. “Thanks for saving our ship, Branson. I look forward to you taking the Bladerunner’s helm. She’ll be in good hands.” The engineer smiled, and it lit up her face like nothing they’d seen before, as she added, “assuming I stop jabbering with you idiots and get back to work. Oh, by-the-way, that repair package has successfully uploaded and is executing. Galileo should be right as rain by the time you guys lift off again from Luna. Good luck with Keung. If you are half as persuasive with him as you were with me, I think we’ll have ourselves a first officer by Earthrise tomorrow.”

  James entered the shuttle’s main cabin and frowned. All four of his crewmates stared at one of the large display screens. No one looked happy. He sidled up between Misha and Rick, then nudged Sokolov with an elbow. “All right,” he said, “I’ve got us hiding like mice in the Tsiolkovskiy crater. Would someone mind telling me what the feck changed? Last I heard, we were on track to get codes for the Chinese Fermi station airlock.”

  “Yeah, we got them and they checked out as valid,” said Misha.

  “But then that happened,” added Damien, and pointed to the screen.

  James watched as two asian men wearing Chinese military uniforms stood beside a third man who stared directly into the camera.

  “…take full responsibility for my actions and will return to Earth to face the consequences.”

  “Who’s that?” asked James.

  “That’s our first officer,” grumbled Misha. “He’s just been arrested by the Chinese military for treason.”

  “Well, that’s less than ideal,” said James with his typical, and mostly unwelcome, humor. As four pairs of eyes bored into him, he added, “So, it’s a setup job, right? Not that I give a shite if the poor bastard is a traitor to Chinese Communists. They deserve all the fecking traitors they get, if you ask me.”

  “I assume,” began Damien, “that this is either one hell of a coincidence or his arrest has something to do with us. Clearly Howard-Prime was not nearly as good at cloaking his children as he thought he was. It seems obvious that at least the Chinese, and perhaps others, had Keung under surveillance. Once we extracted Dr. Carpenter, our first officer candidate was their last chance to accurately predict where we’d likely go next.”

  “That’s not completely true. There are two other first-officer candidates,” said Misha. “I can pull them up and we could—”

  “No,” interrupted Damien, “Captain Omandi was most insistent that we acquire Chao Keung. I will not abandon him unless we have no other choice.”

  Misha gave a derisive sniff, “I’d say him being locked up in some Chinese gulag counts as no-other-choice. We should cut our losses and go for one of the alternates.”

  Damien shook his head. “He’s not back on Earth yet. We just need to extract him before he gets there.”

  James put a hand on the android’s shoulder. “Listen mate, I don’t mean to be the bearer of bad news, but you do realize that Fermi station is…” the pilot deliberately slowed the cadence of h
is voice as if speaking to a small child, “the dark side lunar base for the entire Chinese military. I doubt even wrecking-ball Misha could take out more than half of the soldiers there.”

  Sokolov rolled her eyes, “Don’t flirt with me, Branson. We both know, I’d have zero chance. Our plan was a covert snatch, grab, and run kind of deal. We need to adjust to new conditions on the ground. Keung is lost to us.”

  “We’ll extract him from the Earthbound Chinese shuttle,” said Damien.

  Silence blanketed the team for several heartbeats, then James said. “Let me make sure I understand what you’re suggesting. You want us to wait here until the Chinese launch a shuttle taking Keung to Earth. Then you want me to somehow clandestinely launch us out of Tsiolkovskiy crater, track the Keung-shuttle until it passes beyond lunar surveillance, match its velocity, and then somehow enable us to board or disable it?”

  The android nodded and James let out a whoop, “Damien Smith, you are a steely eyed missile man and I am so fecking-in with this plan.”

  Misha rolled her eyes. “You both have lost your testosterone laden minds, assuming Lieutenant Smith even has testosterone. How do you expect us to breach their shuttle’s hull in space? Even if we’re successful, what makes you think that kind of action would lead to Keung joining us? He’d likely die in the attempt.” Misha gestured to Linnea, “Come on, Barbie, back me up here. The boys need a sanity check.”

  Sorenson had been focused on her hand terminal during the entire exchange, but looked up to meet Misha’s gaze. “He’s under extreme duress and I’m convinced would welcome our intervention. Without it, both he and his daughter will likely die.”

  Sokolov shook her head, “You’ve lost it too. Daughter? What daughter?”

  Linnea swiped at her hand terminal and the news report flew backward in time. She slid her fingers back and forth. “Look at his face there. His eyes there. The left corner of his mouth there. Now watch him glance leftward. He keeps focusing on that point. Something or someone very important to him is the object of that focus.” Sorenson made several more swipes and taps. “Now, this may be hard to make out because I’m zooming in on the reflective surface of that beveled glass behind him.”

  Rick squinted at the still image. “Who is that? She looks about fourteen.”

  “That would be Chao’s daughter,” said Linnea.

  “Bullshit,” yelled Misha, “I reviewed all of the personnel files prior to Howard’s death and none of us have children.”

  Sorenson shrugged, “The reports were wrong. Keung obviously had her when he was nineteen or twenty. We know he is an only child. Given that, and this girl’s obvious genetic similarities, I’m telling you, the person in this image is either his daughter, or his mother. So, unless you can explain how his mother might be a fourteen year old girl, I’m going with daughter.” No one said anything. A beat later, Linnea pointed to the screen. “Save that girl, and we have our first officer.”

  Damien took several steps from the group, then turned. “Ensign Sorenson, how sure are you?”

  “About what, sir?”

  He shook his head and waved toward the screen. “About everything.”

  The young woman looked down, and Misha growled, “Oh no you don’t, Barbie. You don’t get to wilt now, not after basically calling bullshit on my entire perspective of things. Buck the fuck up, buttercup.”

  Sorenson narrowed her eyes at the Russian then squared her shoulders. “That man is desperately afraid for the life of his daughter. His daughter is the girl reflected in that image. I am one hundred percent on both, sir.”

  Damien nodded. “Okay, then.” He turned to Misha. “I assume the Chinese will wait for optimal lunar alignment before launching their return to Earth.” The android glanced up as if calculating something. “That gives you about two hours to figure out how we are going to disable and board that shuttle. How many EVA suits do we have on board?”

  “Five,” Misha said, “but that doesn’t matter. We won’t be needing them and that’s a good thing since none of you numb-nuts would know how to move in one.” She sighed. “I’ve got a few ideas. Give me thirty minutes. I’ll confirm with Branson what’s doable, then we’ll brief everyone to get any final input and—” she broke off to glare at James. “Why are you grinning like an idiot?”

  He blinked. “Was I?”

  “Yes,” responded everyone at once.

  “Well, then, maybe it’s because I never fancied myself a space pirate before, but this sounds like loads of fun. What do you think of the name Dread Pirate Branson? That has a nice ring, doesn’t it?”

  Misha shook her head, shouldered past James, and headed toward the shuttle’s aft workstation. “Is it any wonder I hate you so much?” she growled.

  “You only think you hate me, love. I know it’s confusing,” called James. “After all, the opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference, and you certainly aren’t indifferent to me.”

  The security officer didn’t respond other than to slam the adjoining compartment door. James noticed everyone staring him and said, “Well, she isn’t.”

  Chapter 29

  Chao Keung

  Branson pinched at his hand terminal and zoomed in on the image he had been broadcasting to the large display. He twisted his fingers and the angle changed. "These drones are absolutely fantastic," he exclaimed. "I can't believe I haven't been playing with them before now."

  "The Galileo's drone system is not a toy, Lt. Branson," said Coleman sourly.

  James shrugged. "I meant play in the most mature sense of the word." He pointed with his free hand. "Look, that spark right there, that's their preignition sequence. Isn't it cute, they are using chemical propulsion."

  Damien frowned at the pilot and said, "The Chinese first landed here over twenty-five years ago and you have been spacefaring for all of a week. I suggest you stow that hubris, mister. It will lead you to ruin.”

  James gave a snort, “Stow that hubris? Lead me to ruin? Wow, that sounds like it came straight from the Howard-Prime part of your brain. Ok, Dad, I’ll keep that in mind. What makes you such an expert on the Chinese, anyway?”

  Damien stared at Branson for several beats then said, “That’s acting-captain Dad to you, and I remember watching the Chinese robotic spacecraft Chang’e 4 make a soft landing…” he gestured below the display screen, “somewhere down there in the South Pole-Aitken Basin area of the moon. It was the first spacecraft in history to achieve, or even attempt, a dark-side landing.” Damien sighed, and his voice took on a an even more serious tone. “We would do well to not underestimate them. I remember several instances where Howard-Prime did so and it was very much to his detriment.”

  “There it goes,” said Sokolov. The screen bloomed with white-yellow fire as it billowed beneath the cone-shaped rocket. “Strap in and let’s go get them.”

  Everyone started moving toward seats, but Branson seemed fixated with something on his hand terminal. Misha stared at him for several seconds then tapped his shoulder. The Irishman glanced up and she smirked at him. “I don’t mean to bother you milord, but perhaps you would consider getting in your little pilot-man-cave because—” she raised her voice while glaring at him, “those red bastards are absconding with our first officer!”

  James smiled. “Red bastards? That’s rich coming from you. Isn’t that like the communist pot calling the kettle Bolshevik?”

  Misha shook her head. “Have you ever even met a history book? No, I don’t want to know. Just—”

  Branson reached up and silenced her by placing a finger on Misha’s lips. Her eyes narrowed dangerously and Linnea reached over to take Misha’s hand but the security officer slapped it away. “I’m recalling the drone,” said Branson, “and I’m calculating the Chinese ship’s final telemetry on the drone’s way back. I have to make some crazy complicated maneuvers to both avoid Luna’s defense grid and ensure we intercept that spacecraft well before we enter Earth’s satellite detection radius. Just hold your yammer for
a few seconds…” he gave his terminal a final one-handed thumb tap, then looked up, “got it. Now what were you—”

  Misha reached up and slowly removed his finger which still rested on her lips. “I…do not…yammer.”

  Branson winked at her. “Well then, you did a fair approximation of it, love. So, what can I do for you?”

  “Me?” she sputtered, “Nothing. I just want you to fly this fucking ship so I can cut a hole in their fucking ship and extract our fucking first officer.”

  “That’s a lot of fucking,” whispered Rick.

  Linnea leaned close to him and said, “You get used to her. It’s kind of like a verbal mood barometer. Measured in SFPS. Higher SFPS, higher agitation.”

  The doctor shook his head and smiled amiably, “SFPS? I’m not familiar with—”

  Linnea snickered, “I made it up, just now. It’s Sokolov Fucks Per Second.”

  Rick started laughing and Misha turned to them both. “Et tu, Barbie?” The Norwegian shrugged.

  “Okay, everyone, listen up,” said Branson. He gave a swipe on his hand terminal and the cabin display showed Earth, Luna, and two intersecting lines, one red, one blue. “That red line is the Chinese, you know, because they’re communists.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” growled Misha, but James ignored her.

  “The blue line is us. You might notice that—”

  “What’s the blue box thing?” asked Linnea, then squinted at the display. “Is that a TARDIS sitting on the blue line where it originates on Luna?” She grinned. “That is a TARDIS. It’s the TARDIS from Doctor Who. I loved watching Doctor Who as a kid.” She nudged Rick. “I had such a crush on David Tennant. He played the tenth Doctor. Oh my God, how I cried when he regenerated into Matt Smith’s Doctor.” She gave a little shrug, “But I came to love him, too.”