Rick’s smile faded. “No, sorry. I was, um, thinking of something completely unrelated to what Misha and James might be doing…together…in his quarters.”
“Oh, well, I’m going to try once more, then we are all going to eat.” Damien began swiping at his hand terminal while Chao, Rick, and Linnea all smirked at each other. “Success!” yelled Damien, then spoke into the device. “We have all been waiting for you and everyone is exceptionally hungry. Is James all right? He’s excellent? That’s very good news, but why didn’t you answer my— A shower? I don’t understand, did you take him to the gym? I tried his terminal as well. No, it’s fine. You can explain when you arrive. How much longer do you— Oh, you’re on your way. Wonderful.” Damien slipped his hand terminal into a pocket and addressed the room. “According to Misha, James is feeling much better and has worked up quite an appetite. I thought, perhaps, she had taken him to the gym. Physical exercise can be quite therapeutic, but she said they didn’t leave his quarters. Perhaps they exercised there.” He shrugged. “In any event, I’ll get a full report from her later.”
Linnea pursed her lips, but Chao walked over and gave Damien a pat on the back. “You are in command, so obviously it is your decision, however, I’d suggest you just leave this one alone. If Misha says James is excellent, then I’d take the win if I were you.”
“Definitely,” added Linnea. “Sometimes it is better to leave well enough alone.”
“Leave what alone?” asked Misha, as she and James walked into the canteen.
Linnea’s nose flared and she blinked at the two new arrivals. “Uh, nothing really. Chao was just giving Damien his perspective on how to triage things. You know, some things need to be done now and some things can be left alone.”
“Oh,” said Misha seeming satisfied, then added, “why haven’t you eaten?”
“We were waiting…for you,” grumbled Damien.
“Well, that certainly was considerate,” she said, “but come on, let’s dig in. I’m famished.”
Sorenson joined the Russian as she walked over to the cooktop and lifted the pot lid. Linnea gave a sniff and Misha paused with her ladle halfway to a bowl. She eyed the younger woman and said, “What? Did I cut in line or something, Barbie?”
The telepath leaned in, as if inhaling the stew’s aroma, and whispered, “Didn’t have time to use soap in that shower of yours? We could have waited an extra ten minutes.”
Misha froze for a second then turned to Linnea and muttered, “First, I hate you and your freakish sense of smell, Barbie.” The other woman grinned. “And second, fucking Damien kept ringing our damned hand terminals.”
Linnea shouldered Misha out of the way, ladled up a bowl, and handed it to Damien. He accepted the food gratefully and immediately sat down at the nearest table. The telepath turned back to Misha and said, “Aw, did the android distract you from ministering to our pilot?” She filled another bowl and handed it to Chao, who made a point of not looking at either of them. Finally, Sorenson filled a third bowl, and gave Misha a brilliant smile. This one’s mine. I’ll leave you to take care of the rest. Linnea turned toward the table, then stopped. “Oh, one more thing.”
“What?” snapped Misha.
“You were right about the sauce. It did need more salt and wine.”
“It does smell delicious,” said Annchi.
“Thanks,” mumbled Misha, and she filled the girl’s bowl. Annchi accepted it with two hands and inclined her head.
Rick smiled at the girl, as she joined the others at table, then extended his bowl toward Misha. “She’s adapting to those nanites better than I could have expected.”
“Good to hear,” said Misha distractedly, then locked eyes with the doctor. “Anything else?”
He shook his head. “No, should there be?” Before she could respond, he looked over to where Branson stood resting both hands on Damien’s shoulders. The pilot said something and everyone laughed. Misha followed his gaze and smiled. “You’re good for him,” said Rick softly, then took the bowl from her hands. She turned back and stared at Carpenter for a beat. He gestured with his bowl, “and he’s good for you.”
Sokolov said nothing but watched as the doctor joined the others. James caught her eye and nodded to her. She sighed and thought, this is either the best or worst thing I have ever done in my entire life.
A moment later he breezed past her and opened the high-tech oven. Two loaves of warm bread lay within and Branson grabbed both.
“Hot…hot…hot,” he yelled while trying to juggle them back to the table.
“Well, don’t burn yourself,” yelled Misha. “What the hell are we going to do if our idiot pilot can’t use his damned hands?”
Branson dropped both loaves onto the table and laughed. “Don’t you worry about that love, I can fly better with one foot than ever you could with both hands. And don’t eat everything. I haven’t had any yet.”
She let out a breath and nodded. “I know you haven’t. No, just stay over there. I’m bringing one for you, too.” Sokolov settled into a chair. James exchanged the bowl she was holding for a chunk of bread he’d torn off.
They all stared at each other for several seconds, then looked at the one unoccupied space. Rick poured a glass of red wine and set it in front of the lone empty seat. He lifted his glass and, after the barest of moments, everyone followed suit.
“I’ve often told my patients that few things are as therapeutic as breaking bread with family, and family takes many forms. I want to thank all of you for welcoming me into this one. However, I would be remiss if I did not recognize the help of one who is not with us tonight. Years ago, a friend of mine invited me to his Seder dinner. Around their table was an empty chair, just like the one we have now. My friend poured a glass of wine and set it in that empty space. I asked why and he said, the wine was for Elijah because he would be coming back.” Rick paused for a moment, then said, “I’m not one for grand speeches so I’ll just say this to each of you now. The glass you see there is for Charlotte Omandi, and I’d ask that her glass remain as it is until she returns to claim it.” Carpenter raised his own glass higher and pushed it forward. “May we all hasten that day.”
“Here…here…” shouted James, and leaned forward to give Rick’s wineglass an American-style clink. A second later the canteen rang with the sound of everyone’s glasses as they echoed the promise made by their doctor.
After everyone drank, Chao pushed back his chair and stood up. He felt Damien’s eyes upon him and held out a hand imploringly. “I know, you are hungry, Lt. Smith. I promise this will only take a moment, but I feel I must rise because of that empty chair.” He glanced at Annchi and exhaled softly. “I am a man of few words, but have been moved more than I can say by your support of my daughter and me.” He gestured to encompass the crew, then pointed at Omandi’s empty seat. “I know what it takes to forge a team. The woman whose chair that is must excel at every aspect to have gained your loyalty. Even more impressive, she has found a way to shape or shave the natural edges inherent to each of you in such a way that all fit together—” He raised both hands while interlacing fingers, “—like this.” He bowed, first to the table, and then to Damien. “I am honored to serve among you and look forward to planning how we retrieve your…our…Captain.”
He sat as all heads nodded in agreement. Damien lifted his fork and stared meaningfully at Chao. “I thank you for your words. We will, indeed, be focused on Captain Omandi’s return to the exclusion of all else…after we eat.”
“Wait, I have a speech I’d like to give too,” blurted James, and Damien stared daggers at the pilot.
“He’s just kidding, Damien,” snickered Misha. “Branson knows Pinocchio is a real boy now and wants his dinner. I hope you like it because, if you don’t, well, it’s Barbie’s fault. Remember, I had to go tend Branson before it was finished. You know, to stiffen his…spine.”
The android nodded absently as he took a bite of stew. His face radiated the simple joy o
f a well cooked meal as he slurred his response around another mouthful. “I’m sure he appreciated your efforts, Lieutenant. You’ll have to demonstrate them to me sometime.”
Branson almost choked on a piece of stew while everyone but Damien and Annchi suppressed smiles.
Chao stood at the center of Ice Station Zebra’s command deck and stared at the massive central display screen. The roughly rectangular room had various work stations set along both left and right walls, while the display dominated the front.
Damien gestured to the large central chair, but Chao shook his head and said, “I know what a captain’s chair looks like, Lt. Smith. That’s yours, not mine. I’m confident you can make use of my years of intelligence work and covert operations, but I’ll not be taking that seat, at least not now.” He looked around the room again, then added “It’s strange. This command deck gives me a vague sense of deja vous.”
Branson spun around in his chair and stared at Chao. “Vague you say? Only vague? Are you daft man, it’s almost an exact replica, well except for the extra chairs.”
The Chinese man stared back blankly and said, “Replica? Replica of what?”
“The NX-01 bridge, Father,” said Annchi in a matter-of-fact voice. Chao looked around and saw recognition in everyone’s eyes. He gave a low chuckle and shook his head uncomprehendingly. Annchi smiled. “It was a twentieth century American television show, Father. Star Trek. This particular configuration is similar to the Enterprise NX-01, however, Howard-Prime seems to have borrowed heavily from the Enterprise 1701-D when it comes to command seating.” She pointed at the large central chair and two smaller chairs to its left and right. “The small chairs weren’t part of the original NX-01 design.” She smiled at her father. “I believe the one on the right will be your chair, once Captain Omandi has been recovered, it’s for the first officer.” Annchi noted her father’s expression and continued, “Your deja vous is probably because I’ve watched every episode at least five times and,” she frowned, “you often stood over my shoulder telling me I was wasting my time.”
“Guess you feel pretty stupid about that now, don’tcha?” chuckled Branson, “especially since Coleman finally admitted that this command deck mirrors the bridge of the Bladerunner. I guess Howard-Prime wanted to give us a bit of hands on with some systems before the real thing.”
Damien gave the Irishman a sour look and said, “Lt. Branson, I’ll thank you to demonstrate the respect Commander Keung deserves.”
James’ lips curved upward with an impish grin. “Commander you say? As far as I’ve been told he’s not my commander. He’s a commander in the Chinese People's Liberation Army. When he stops being their commander and starts being ours, then you can give me some shite. Until then—” Branson just shrugged and spun his chair to face the view screen.
Damien turned to Chao. “I must apologize for our pilot. He had no right to be so disrespectful.”
Keung smiled. “He had every right,” and raised his voice to address the room. “All of you do and I take no offense. However, please believe me, when, and if, it becomes apparent that my taking command will do more good than ill, I will ask that you accept me as such. Until then, I am a committed ally, nothing more. Now, Linnea, would you be so kind as to replay the scene from Dr. Carpenter’s office?”
Linnea nodded, but said, “Just give me a couple more minutes please. I’ve uploaded the combined feeds from all of our hand terminals and Coleman is stitching them together now. I think we will get a lot more out of the composite he’s creating. He should be done in—”
“I am done,” said Coleman, as he materialized onto the command deck. The AI gestured to the screen and a two dimensional representation of Rick’s office appeared. He brought his hands together a moment then pulled them back. As he did so, Carpenter’s office detached from the viewscreen and became a three dimensional image.
“That is so fecking cool,” said Branson, as he stared at the frozen forms of Damien, Misha, Rick, and Charlotte.
Chao walked forward and cocked his head. “Where are Lt. Branson and Ensign Sorenson?”
“We were in the Galileo,” answered Linnea.
Chao nodded. “Do you have any video feeds from that vantage?”
“Of course, Mr. Keung,” said Coleman, “but I do not see how that will be of assistance in assessing Captain Omandi’s captors.”
Chao didn’t respond directly, but said, “Please expand the imagery to encompass all available data, then play back at—” He paused, then asked, “How long did the entire event take from first contact to conclusion?”
“Twenty-one minutes, seventeen seconds,” said Coleman.
Chao nodded, then said, “Very good. Please play back at twenty-times speed.” The image came to life, and all eyes fell to Keung as three dimensional figures scurried around while explosions flashed. “Superimpose an X,Y,Z coordinate plane across the live image and replay at thirty times speed.”
A grid appeared and the images raced forward in a blur. “Stop,” said Keung. “Zoom into section negative 12X,3Y,5Z.” The image flashed with everything vanishing except a single soldier. He wore U.N. tactical armor that bore both U.S. and U.N. insignias. The soldier appeared to be adjusting something in his left hand. “Zoom in to that hand terminal,” said Keung. The image flashed again. Chao walked to the center of the command bridge where he stared directly at the massive holographic hand terminal.
He focused on the terminal's display, for several seconds, then turned to Damien. “I know who has your Captain, and I hope you have some way to hack into hardened military grade defense systems, because we’re going to need Omandi to meet us half way.”
The android pressed a button on the command chair’s arm and the holographic display vanished. Damien paused, for the barest of moments, then lifted his hand terminal. He tapped several times, and swiped from it toward the main display screen.
A geometric image began rotating within the massive screen. It broke apart and formed into a humanoid face with glowing red eyes that swept the room.
Damien stepped up beside Chao and gestured to the screen. “Commander Keung,” said the android, “I’d like to introduce you to Howard’s Daemon.”
Chapter 35
A Door Cracked Open
Charlotte Omandi sat shackled to the large wooden conference table. One of the guards scowled at her when she raised and lowered her arms. The chain between her handcuffs rattled as it slid through a steel loop that was secured to the table with thick bolts.
Secretary Ramsey stood at the head of the table, several paces away. He said something to a uniformed man who wore the silver eagle insignia of a colonel. Neither man seemed pleased with the other. The colonel shook his head then pointed at Omandi. Charlotte saw how Ramsey slowly crossed his arms and gave the slightest shake of his head. Colonel whomever isn’t going to win this argument, and that’s good news for me, thought Omandi. A couple seconds later, the two men exchanged several more words, after which, the colonel gestured to the guards and left the room.
The secretary walked over and took a seat next to Omandi. “Charlotte,” he said with a sigh.
“Douglas,” she replied, copying his exhalation.
He frowned. “Colonel Winters is not happy with you.”
“Actually,” began Omandi, “I believe the colonel is not happy with you. He thinks I am a threat and you have been coddling me. I wouldn’t feel badly though, Douglas, because you are paid to be smarter than him. You know I’m not a threat, at least not a direct threat.” Omandi extended her hand. “May I have the hand terminal, please?”
The secretary shook his head. “You are not getting everything you wanted.” He saw her lips turn down, then added, “Be reasonable, Charlotte, no one gets everything they want.”
“Actually, I usually do,” she said smugly.
“Well, you aren’t now, but I’ll give you the options under consideration in case you would like to alter the arrangement I’ve made.” Omandi said nothing and
Ramsey continued. “For the record, I didn’t even take your request for a connected hand terminal to the site commander. He would have been well within his rights to forward such a request to the President, or U.N. Secretary General, but you knew that. His counter offer was that he have some of our Russian colleagues waterboard you, while your Marine guards took a lunch break.”
Omandi gave Douglas a forced smile and said, “While that does sound delightful, you know it wouldn’t work on me.”
“So you keep saying, but one never knows without trying,” replied Ramsey. “Still, I’d rather continue our somewhat cooperative relationship, therefore I ordered the colonel to have site-ops configure a hardened hand terminal with intranet only access. We both know you didn’t want that terminal to watch movies, like you claimed. You are hoping to contact members of your so-called crew, and that’s just not going to happen.”
“Maybe you simply underestimate my desire for movie-watching,” said Charlotte with a chuckle.
“I think not,” replied Ramsey, “but let me make one additional thing crystal clear. Your hand terminal will be locked down tight.” The secretary glanced at his own terminal and read, “It will be secured with a recursive algorithm that dynamically adjusts to intrusion attempts.” He looked up. “Now, I have no idea what that means but—”
“It means I have zero chance of hacking it, Douglas. It also means that any hacking attempts will cause the underlying security to adapt in real-time. I’m guessing it will also alert Colonel Waterboard and some bald Russians with neck fat will then pay me a visit.”
The Secretary smiled at her. “I do love how quick you are, Charlotte. It’s just a pity we couldn’t be on the same team, but you did get one thing wrong.”
“Hmm? What’s that?”
“All of our Russian friends are quite devoid of neck fat and most have full heads of hair.”
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