Paradigm 2045- Trinity's Children

by Robert W. Ross

  “James Thomas Branson, you open this fucking door right now, or I will kick it the hell down.” She waited. Nothing. “Don’t test me, Branson! I’m going to count to three, then I swear to God, I am coming in there. One…two…three!” She stared at the closed door for half a second then braced herself for a kick while muttering, “stupid, Irish flyboy bastard, I’m going to—”

  Misha spun around to deliver a devastating blow to Branson’s door. She completed her turn and thrust out a booted foot. Instead of his door, her foot whooshed past Branson’s face to quiver beside his left ear. Sokolov’s eyes widened. “What the hell, Jim,” she yelled. “I could have killed you. I know your stupid Irish head is full of rocks, but even that won’t save you if I kicked it clean off.”

  She lowered her foot and stared at him. He shrugged, then turned and walked back into the room. Misha furrowed her brow, then followed him in and closed the door. James collapsed onto a small two person couch and looked up at Misha. “What do you want?”

  Sokolov moved toward him, and was about to sit down on the edge of his coffee table, when she noticed the two barrels that supported its glass top. Misha smiled and pointed at them. “Are those Jameson barrels?” Branson didn’t answer, and Sokolov bent down for a closer look, then turned back to Branson. “They are. It looks like that’s your personal welcome-to-your-new-home present from Howard-Prime, huh?”

  “I suppose,” said James softly.

  “Oh, so you haven’t lost the power of speech? I had begun to wonder. Do you want to know what my Howard goodie is?” James shrugged again. “It’s an Imperial Fabergé egg that was owned by Czar Nicholas I.” Misha saw the glint in Branson’s eye and she smiled. “Yeah, I thought that would get your attention, you stupid paddy. You’re so predictable. Do you know how much that shiny egg is worth? Something like ten million U.S. dollars.”

  “You’re off a bit,” said Branson, “the last one sold at auction for almost one-hundred-million U.S.”

  Sokolov settled herself on the coffee table and locked eyes with James. “I just love it when you correct me,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “You do?” he asked incredulously.

  “No! I hate it and you obviously are not paying attention.”

  “Well,” whispered Branson, “maybe if you weren’t wrong so often, I wouldn’t need to correct you.”

  She grinned and gave his shoulder a smack. “That’s more like it. Now get off your ass and come to the canteen. Barbie and I have been slaving over a hot…cooking thing.”

  “You mean a stove?” he asked.

  “Clearly, you haven’t used it either. The things in that canteen bear only a vague resemblance to any stove, or oven, I’ve ever used, but you’re stalling. Come on, let’s go eat.”

  Branson shook his head. “You go. I’m really not hungry. I’ll meet up with everyone on the command deck later.”

  She squinted at him. “You’re not hungry? You are always hungry.”

  “Well, I’m not fecking hungry now! Is that all right with you?” yelled Branson. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, just because we’ve shared a few laughs doesn’t mean you need to crawl all up in my business. Listen, Misha, here’s some free advice. If you want to attract and keep a man, try not being such a clingy bitch.”

  His words had the desired effect and James saw her countenance darken. Sokolov grimaced and seemed about to either verbally or physically accost the pilot. Instead, she squinted at him, then shook her head. “I know what threats and attacks look like, Branson. You may think you are good at faking them, but I’m better at seeing through bullshit feints. Now, are you going to tell me what the hell is going on or do I have to beat it out of your fat mick head?”

  “If I wanted to talk with someone about it, I would have gone to Linnea,” growled Branson. He saw hurt flash across Misha’s face but it was gone an instant later.

  “Well, Linnea is busy. She’s probably trying to keep Damien from ruining everyone’s dinner. I’m pretty sure all he knows how to make are pancakes and eggs.”

  James leaned forward, and began rubbing his temples. “Why is Damien cooking with Linnea instead of you?”

  “Because he’s a damned android and whatever the hell has gotten into you is beyond his clockwork brain at this point. Maybe in a year he’ll know what to do with a dour Irishman, but for now, he’s stumped. I’m the backup team, so spill it.”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” grumbled Branson.

  Misha sniffed, “Why, because I’m a woman?”

  “Are you?” he asked.

  “You seemed pretty sure I was a woman when you asked me to share your shower. Then there’s all the times I’ve caught you checking out my ass when you didn’t think I was watching. Oh, but let’s not stop at those examples James Branson, because there was that time when I—” she made air quotes, “forgot to wear my sports bra and just threw on a t-shirt after taking a shower. I thought your little Irish eyeballs would pop out of that fat head of yours. So, yeah, I’m sure I’m a woman.”

  “You’re a soldier,” he said sullenly, “that’s why you wouldn’t understand.”

  “I’m a—” she sputtered, “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Branson stood and glared down at her. He shook his head and picked up a glass that was still one-third full of some amber liquid. He drained it, then threw the glass across the room where it shattered against the far wall. Misha rose to face him. James was about a half-head taller than her and, given how close they were, she had to look up to meet his eyes. “What is going on with you, Jim?”

  Misha’s words were uncharacteristically soft and her use of Branson’s private name brought the pilot up short. She could see his jaw working as tears began to fill his eyes. He rubbed angrily at them and said, “I told you, already. You wouldn’t understand. Now, get out…please.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what—”

  “Fine, then I’ll just go back to Galileo and run some sims.” He started to move around her, but was stopped by Misha’s upheld hand. It was like running into a brick wall. The smaller woman didn’t even rock back when he leaned into her palm. Branson met her gaze. “So, what, you are going to play Red Sonja and keep me here?”

  “If that’s what it takes,” she said with far less heat than he had expected. “Now, tell me. Why won’t I understand?”

  “You really want to know, huh?” She nodded. “Fine, you won’t understand because you’re a killer, Misha. You kill people. Apparently, you like killing people. Well, I don’t fecking like killing people, and I just murdered a whole bunch of them. Yeah, so I’m a murderer now. Congratulations, you got it out of me. Happy?”

  He froze in place, and the two stared at each other for several seconds, then Branson slumped back on the couch. He put his face into his hands and growled something unintelligible, then ran his fingers up through his hair. Misha settled herself back on the coffee table and waited. Branson stared at her as the silence stretched between them. He wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but knew it should have felt far more uncomfortable than it did. Finally, after what had to have been several minutes, he said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

  “Mean what?” she asked, “That I’m a killer or that I like being a killer?”

  James squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Both, I’m sorry for both.”

  “But I am a killer, James. I’ve killed lots of people.” Misha reached up and pulled at the left sleeve of her shirt. It ripped at the shoulder seam and she tossed the fabric to the floor. Sokolov held up her arm. “See anything?” James squinted, then shook his head. Misha held up her hand terminal and swiped across it with a thumb. The device emitted a bluish-purple light and she held it near her exposed arm.

  Branson stared at a string of tiny hashmarks that became visible under the hand terminal’s ultraviolet light. “What’s that?” he asked.

  “That’s all the people I’ve killed, including—” she tapp
ed an edge of the hand terminal against one of the marks, “that female taikonaut whose head I crushed against a wall. I wasn’t trying to kill her, but I doubt that means much to her now.”

  James shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  She removed a small, pen-like device, from one end of the hand terminal and held it up. “They’re my way to remember every life I’ve ever taken.” She smiled at him, but it did not touch her eyes. “Come on, Jim, you’re a clever boy. You already had that part figured, didn’t you?” She didn’t wait for a response, but said, “The real question…the only question…is why do I want to remember the lives I’ve taken?”

  Branson gave a half shrug, then said, “I guess, because—”

  Misha placed a finger on his lips in the same manner he did to her when the two were on Galileo. “That was rhetorical, because you don’t know the answer. If you knew the answer, you wouldn’t have said what you did, or feel how you feel.” James swallowed, but remained silent. Misha reached up to cup his face with her hands. She shook her head and he saw pain in her light brown eyes. “I remember the lives I’ve taken because each time I did so it was in defense of another. I don’t like killing, Jim, I hate it, just not as much as I hate seeing those I love hurt.” She shook her arm at him and directed the hand terminal’s UV light at the tattoos. “Each of those marks also represent lives that I’ve saved. The men and women I killed, they chose their deaths by seeking to kill people I loved or protected. I don’t mourn them, but I don’t revel in their deaths, either.” She placed a hand over her heart. “However, I also keep all of the people I’ve saved, right here…Always.”

  James sucked in a long breath then let it out in a whoosh. “I know, you’re right, they had it coming but—”

  “A lot of us have it coming,” said Misha with a mirthless chuckle. “Trust me, that doesn’t help. This does. The people you killed…tell me what they did and why you did whatever it is you did.”

  Branson stood and walked over to a small cabinet. He opened it, removed a half empty bottle, pulled its cork with his teeth, and let it drop to the ground. He lifted the bottle and took several long swallows. Misha raised her eyebrows but said nothing. James gestured to her with the whiskey bottle, but she just shook her head.

  “It happened when we made our northern hemisphere reentry. Remember I was going to take us through where the U.N. detonated those three deuterium powered satellites?” Misha nodded. “Well, the blue bastards actually planned for me being that fecking clever, and had two high orbit shuttles waiting for us. Beneath them, there were three F-45 War Eagles operating at their max surface ceiling.” Branson waved a hand, then took another long pull from his bottle. “I didn’t see shite on our scopes, just the debris from those other satellites. Before I knew what was happening, the U.N.’s God damned shuttles lit us up with targeting lasers. Both of them took shots at us with their railguns.” James gave a slightly hysterical laugh. “It’s just sheer luck I was able to use the Gal’s nav thrusters to twist us between the two blasts.”

  James crossed the room and knelt down in front of Misha. He placed both hands on her knees and looked up. “Those railguns accelerate depleted uranium projectiles to a ridiculous velocity. If even one of them got through our shields, well, you’d all be dead. Anyway, we were lucky the first time, but—”

  “It wasn’t luck, Jim. You saved—”

  “Will you stop interrupting? Jesus, I’m trying to talk here.”

  Misha squeezed her lips together, nodded, and said, “Sorry…I’m being quiet now.”

  “Good,” sighed James, “Anyway, so there I am sitting all alone in my little pilot’s cave and a bunch of things go running through my head. You know, things like, Oh feck, I’m gonna get everyone killed. And, way to go Branson you just ended the human race. And, you stupid idiot why didn’t you tell her—” He broke off, shot Misha an awkward glance, then said, “Anyway, you get the point.”

  She nodded, “I think I do, yes.”

  Branson spun around waving his bottle, then jabbed it upward like he was brandishing a weapon. “So, this all has me a little pissed, yah. I’m thinking, who the feck are these assholes? We’re just trying to save the fecking planet, right? I’m not looking for a ticker tape parade or box seats to the world cup, just don’t try to kill my mates, ok? Then I get really pissed, see, and this dark little corner of my murderous mind says, ‘Branson, why don’t we just open up a gravity-well right underneath those shuttles?’” He pointed at Misha. “Do you know what I did? I listened to that voice. Oh, I didn’t spend any time pondering. You’ve seen how fast I can make the Gal dance. Three maybe four-seconds after we dodged those railguns, I opened a gravity well and it ripped those shuttles to shreds.”

  “Branson,” said Misha softly, but he waved both hands.

  “Not yet, love. Not yet. I’m not done. So the Gal, she’s so sweet. She sees a bunch of humans in space without vac suits and has no idea her pilot just murdered them. Yeah, the Galileo starts giving me survival stats and which ones I might be able to pick up before their blood boils off. Well, I just said no thanks and pointed my Gal’s nose back toward Earth, but then we’ve got those F-45s to deal with. As soon as I hit the atmosphere, they lit us up like a Christmas tree.” James gave another laugh. “I didn’t even need to wait for a murderous voice that time. I just opened up a gravity-well directly in front of those jets and when they fired their missiles…” Branson held up both hands and said, “Boom! The concussive blast tore their fecking wings right off. Unfortunately for them, they didn’t have a super-secret, alien-tech-filled space shuttle underneath their fuselage, so all those blueberries are dead, too. Hey, maybe I need to borrow that tattoo pen of yours because I’ve got at least twenty little hashmarks to make.”

  Misha rose and walked over to Branson. She held up the small device and said, “You are welcome to borrow it if you like.” He reached for it, but she pulled back. “Before you do, I need you to answer something for me.”

  James shot her a suspicious look. “What’s that?”

  “Why are you so broken up about killing a couple dozen assholes that tried to kill you?”

  Branson started to lift his bottle but Misha pulled it from his hand and took a long swallow. He stared at her a moment, then shrugged, “Because they are human beings, Misha. They probably had families. Hell, some of them may have had kids, and now some kid is going to bed tonight without his Mum or Da…because of me.”

  “Not because of you,” corrected Sokolov, “because they were given unlawful orders by evil men and women. Those leaders killed their soldiers, not you, Jim.” She dropped the bottle and held his face in her hands. “You are a good man, James Thomas Branson. A really good man and there aren’t many around, I can tell you that. Believe me, I’ve tried to find the bullshit in you, because if I could, it would make my life a lot simpler. I really tried, and almost hated you because it just wasn’t there. Oh, I know you play the rogue. I know you’ve stolen millions, and have Interpol warrants across half a dozen countries, but I also know what you did with all that money. I know why you lived in that shithole flat instead of a penthouse suite.”

  His eyes widened in alarm. “How could you…”

  “Because I worked for Howard-fucking-Prime, that’s how. Do you think I would let you within a hundred miles of Charlotte Omandi if I didn’t know what you did with the millions you stole? Did you buy exotic toys? No. Did you immerse yourself in expensive women who would gladly trade sex for luxury? No. Then what did James Branson do with all that money, I wondered? It had to be something nefarious, right, because I knew there were no good men, not really.” She shook her head and gave a derisive snort. “So, I dug deeper until I found the answer.” Sokolov pointed at him. “And that answer made you more of a shit than I ever imagined possible. Oh, not because you did something nefarious, but because you didn’t. You upended my whole world-view, you inconsiderate bastard. I found where all the millions went. I found the anonymous donations t
o foster programs and orphanages, just like the places you grew up in. That’s what Jim Branson did with the money, isn’t it?”

  “You are a fecking spy, Sokolov, and had no right to dig into my life like that.”

  She sneered at him. “Well, you are a fucking inconsiderate dick, and had no right to shatter my belief that all men are pigs.”

  “I couldn’t let them kill you,” whispered James. “I just—”

  Misha slipped her hands behind James’ head and tangled her fingers in his hair. She tighten her grip, then tilted his face toward hers.”

  James hesitated and said, “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

  Misha gave him a predatory smile and lifted up on her toes. She pulled him into a passionate kiss that he enthusiastically returned. When at last they parted, she sighed and said, “I think you’re right, Jim, this is not a good idea, it is an outstanding one.”

  Chapter 34

  The Empty Chair

  Damien peered into the pot for a third time, then said, “I don’t see why we need to wait. Misha is obviously making some progress with James and I’m hungry.”

  Linnea scowled at the android. “You’ve had a body that requires food for what, a few days now, and suddenly you are incapable of dealing with a bit of peckishness?” Damien didn’t respond. She walked over to replace the lid he had removed. “This is your fault anyway,” said Linnea. “We had to send Misha to check on Branson because you couldn’t figure out what was going on with him.”

  “Have you tried his hand terminal?” asked Chao.

  “Yes, of course,” replied Damien, “neither Branson or Sokolov are answering.” The android stared at his terminal with a perplexed expression, then turned to Linnea. “What could they be doing that would prevent them from answering? I marked it as urgent.” The telepath shook her head, but Damien looked past her at Rick. “Doctor? Your expression implies knowledge of some sort. Do you have something to add?”