“Unanimous crew vote recorded. Succession plan protocol complete. Chao Keung, do you accept?”
He gave a reluctant sigh. “I do.”
The daemon’s face broke apart and reformed. “New user added. Welcome, Commander Chao Keung. You have been accepted as first officer with upgraded command privileges. Do you still wish to execute Captain Omandi’s emergency flare protocol?”
“I do,” said Chao.
“Executing. Please provide geographical constraints.”
James shot a confused look toward Misha and she said, “It’s asking for the list of dark sites Commander Keung mentioned earlier.”
The pilot nodded in understanding. Chao made a swiping gesture on his hand terminal and addressed the daemon. “Are you able to breach firewalls at the IP address I just provided? You will need to review the entire underlying structure and look for an encrypted file that has both GPS coordinates and IP address ranges.”
“The IP address you provided belongs to Madam Ming’s Tea Company, is that correct?” asked the daemon.
James laughed out loud, then looked around the room. “Oh come on now, that’s hysterical.” He paused, then said, “…and a tiny bit racist, but mostly just hysterical.”
Keung grinned. “America is too politically correct to assume Chinese covert operations might be hidden in plain sight under the name of a tea company.” He turned toward the display screen. “Daemon, the IP address is a public front for the People's Republic digital dead drop. Can you breach the—”
“Firewall breached, Commander. Standby. Performing file search. Standby. File identified. Decryption in progress. Standby. Standby. Decryption complete. Eleven US-based detention facilities have been located. Geographical constraints within acceptable limits. Upon your command, I will begin scanning the provided IP ranges while executing a digital media straddle across all potential locations.”
Misha stepped up and pointed at the daemon. "Just a second, Mephistopheles. What the hell do you mean by digital media straddle? What media, and how do we know your intrusion won’t expose Omandi? For that matter, what makes you think whoever’s holding her would give her a terminal with external access? I know I wouldn’t.”
The daemon’s eyes focused on Misha. The security officer did her best to remain confident beneath the weight of its gaze as it responded. “All those considerations were included in the captain’s emergency flare protocol. I assure you, the method of communication will be covert and does not require the captain to have direct external access. As for what media, that has been predetermined by Charlotte Omandi. Her decision was based on Howard-Prime having obtained exclusive streaming rights to every film, image, or song he used to seed your common cloud libraries.”
“Ok, I’ll bite,” said James, “just what movie did our prescient captain choose as her emergency flare?”
The daemon’s eyes swept the room then settled back on the pilot as it said, “Wargames.” It turned again to Keung. “Commander, I cannot proceed until—”
Chao took a deep breath and said, “The command is given.”
“Thank you. Executing emergency flare protocol. Scans have begun. Please note, that Captain Omandi must respond before two way communication can commence, and there is no way to estimate when that might be.”
Linnea looked up at the large clock and watched as its glowing red letters continued counting down. “I hope she’s got movie night in whatever shit hole she’s in, because we’ve got less than ten days before our little blue sphere is cleansed of all humanity.”
First Sergent David Callahan swiped his identification badge against the reader. It flashed green and the door slid open. The room was empty except for a small workstation that consisted of a chair, desk, and large computer screen. A woman turned at the sound of his entry and began to rise. Callahan made a slight motion with his right hand and she settled back in the chair, her hands resting on her lap. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, had pale skin, and her dark hair was tied up in a military donut bun. “How’s it going, Gunny?” asked David, with a deep south Texas drawl.
“Nothing unexpected, First Sergeant,” came her clipped response. “Detainee is resting on her bunk.”
Callahan walked beside her and leaned on the desk as the gunnery sergeant swiveled to stare at the screen. He shook his head. “I can’t believe we gave her a God damned hand terminal. Who knows what she can do with that?” He glanced at Gunnery Sergeant Jagrowski and saw her lips twitch up ever so slightly. “Something amusing, Anna?” he asked.
“No, First Sergeant,” she said, “I am not amused.”
He sniffed. “I know I’m old Gunny and you are a prodigy at all things networking. So, how about we cut the shit and you just tell me where I went wrong.”
Anna turned and this time let her smile linger. “You didn’t go wrong on anything, First Sergeant, it’s more that you weren’t fully briefed, at least that would be my guess.” She gestured to the image of Omandi as she lay on her bed, head propped up on a pillow, and a hand terminal resting facedown next to her. “That hand terminal is locked down as hard as I could make it. Trust me, First Sergeant, that woman will not be contacting anyone.”
He sniffed again, “Gunny, I saw up close what that woman’s little band of X-men wannabes could do. I saw them, literally, rip a whole in the air and walk through the God damned thing. They’ve eluded our best surveillance. They hijacked two Chinese nationals on their way back from Luna, and survived multiple deuterium explosions.” Callahan locked eyes with the younger woman. “Jagrowski, they also took out two advanced space shuttles and three F-45s like they were Play School models.” He pointed at the screen. “They accomplished all that without her. I don’t even want to think what they’re capable of if she’s back in operational control. That sociopath Damien Howard, hacked her brain or some shit. She managed to get a seasoned CIA agent to punch her in the face just by talking to him. She also managed to get the Secretary of Homeland Security to give her that fucking hand terminal.” Callahan saw the expression that crossed Anna’s face and sighed. “What is it, Gunny?”
“May I speak freely, First Sergeant?”
He waved his hand to encompass the room. “Go ahead. We’re in a secured room, in a secured facility, beneath a hundred feet of secured Kansas dirt. Go on now, speak your mind.”
“I don’t believe Doctor Howard, as you say, hacked her mind. He just isolated key chromosomal combinations that would enhance certain characteristics. And he didn’t just do it for the detainee, he did it for all of them.”
David narrowed his eyes. “And how would you know that, Gunnery Sergeant Jagrowski?”
“Secretary Ramsey ordered me to review all their personnel related information before taking this post. He even asked me about the hand terminal.”
“And you told him to give her one? Have you lost your mind, Jagrowski? You tell me about chromosomes and genes, then let her have a piece of advanced tech.”
“You misunderstand, First Sergeant. I advised the Secretary against letting her have access to it. He wanted to know why and I gave him at least a half-dozen reasons.”
Callahan squinted at her. “And he still issued one?”
“Yes, First Sergeant. He just ordered me to make sure it couldn’t do any of the six things I warned him about.”
Callahan barked a laugh, “Fucking politicians.” He squinted at Anna, then asked, “So were you able to do it? Prevent the six things, whatever they are.”
“I could tell you what—”
“No, Gunny, I wouldn’t understand and I really don’t want to know. Just tell me you fixed it.”
“I fixed it, First Sergeant.”
He nodded. “Good, now what the hell is that woman doing in there? She negotiated for days to get a damned hand terminal. I want to know why.”
Gunnery Sergeant Jagrowski shook her head. “It’s really quite strange. She hasn’t done much. She transmitted some information to Secretary Ramsey, then r
eviewed the overall interface. Let me show you.” Anna tapped on a few keys and Omandi’s image shifted left with the right side of the screen displaying an image of her hand terminal.
Callahan squinted at the rightmost image. “What the hell is that? Are we looking at her actual screen?”
“Not exactly,” said Anna, “doing so would have created a security risk she might have been able to exploit. Instead, I’m capturing the incoming data stream and projecting it on a facsimile of the detainee’s terminal.” She saw Callahan’s confused expression, then said, “I’m simulating what she’s seeing and doing.”
He nodded. “And what exactly is she doing, Gunny? It looks like she’s watching a bad movie.”
“She is watching a movie, First Sergeant. Although, with all due respect, it is an awesome movie.” She grinned, but it fell away a moment later when Callahan fixed her with a steely gaze. “I’m sorry,” she sputtered, “It’s just—”
“At ease, Anna, I said I was old, not dead. I am aware of things that your generation find…awesome, but I would not have expected that old movie to be one of them.”
Jagrowski looked back at the simulation and her lips quirked up as she said, “That’s one of the movies that started it all, First Sergeant. I have to tell you, if I were locked up in a dark-ops site, it would definitely be on my short list.”
Callahan grunted something unintelligible, then looked at the screen and asked, “What’s that boy trying to do?”
“That’s Matthew Broderick’s character. He’s a hacker and he’s trying to break into a super computer called the WOPR. This is where he finally figures out a back door password and the super computer talks back.”
“You don’t say,” grumbled David, “Well, Gunny, you just keep your eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary, and hit that red button if even one of the hairs on the back of your neck starts to turn up. Am I clear?”
She rose and said, “Yes, First Sergeant! You can count on me, First Sergeant.”
He smiled and gave her a friendly slap on the shoulder. “I know I can, Gunny. I know I can.”
Without another world, Callahan turned and left the room, still wondering why someone as obviously clever as Charlotte Omandi would trade valuable tactical information so she could watch movies on a hand terminal. He shrugged, and mumbled to himself, “I guess even genetically-engineered X-men need some R&R in their cells.”
Chapter 37
Wargames
Omandi kept her eyes fixed on the cell’s display screen and made a point of not looking at the blue glowing monitor sphere. She smiled to herself, remembering a pro bono security audit the Omandi Institute had performed the previous year. It was part of the U.S. government’s attempt to reduce mass shootings and there had been some accusations that cognitive computing AI engines were racially profiling people.
Hardening soft targets like schools, churches, and other public spaces had been one of Charlotte’s passions. So when she offered a bid of zero dollars, for the work, the Americans accepted. Americans do love a good deal, she thought, then added, which is why I knew Ramsey would jump on my offer of intel in exchange for a hand terminal. Charlotte tapped the pause button and let her mind wander a moment, trying to decide if there was more useful information she should mine from the recent memory.
She considered her team’s findings. No, cognitive systems were not racist. Yes, such systems could sometimes falsely identify threats in racial clusters. No, those clusters were not consistent across nationalities, but were correlated to hyper-local crime statistics. She nodded to herself as the report’s final data point asserted itself. Prior to committing violent or illegal acts, 89.5% of subjects scan for video surveillance and stare directly at such devices for at least one-point-five seconds.
Charlotte tapped play and reinforced her previous internal warning, Omandi, don’t you dare look at that glowing sphere for even a second, let alone more.
She watched as a teen girl wearing a red tank top and sweats walked into the bedroom of a boy approximately her own age. The girl stared at his bare chest for a second, flipped her pony tail in a greeting that almost made Charlotte roll her eyes, then proceeded into the boy’s bathroom. What twentieth century American boy had his own bathroom? wondered Omandi, then shrugged away the thought, as her eyes focused on the subtitles.
What is all that stuff? asked the girl.
I was trying to find out more about the guy who designed those game programs…so I could get his secret password, the boy replied.
The next few minutes of the movie showed the two teens chatting about early stage AI, even though they never referred to it as such. Finally, they discussed the tragic death of the AI scientist who created a learning machine called the WOPR. His daughter and son had both died in a car accident and—
Omandi swallowed and did her best to slow her heart rate by sheer will.
It can’t be that simple, said the boy, then typed the word, “Joshua,” in his green-screen terminal. The display flashed and popped for several seconds as the boy breathily exclaimed, We got something.
The movie screen when blank for a moment, then words traced from left to right, one character at a time, Greetings, Professor Falken.
The boy activated a rudimentary voice synthesizer and typed, “How are you?”
It responded in an early generation computer voice, Excellent. It’s been a long time. Can you explain the removal of your user account on June 23, 1973?
Charlotte sent up prayers of thanks as her eyes remained focused on the subtitles which read, Greetings Captain Omandi, If you are there please press pause within the next two-seconds.
Charlotte pressed pause, waited several seconds then pressed play and waited for one of the characters to speak. Once they did, new subtitles appeared.
It is good to make contact with you, Captain Omandi. You will be happy to know that the crew has agreed to your succession plan. James Branson is now in command. Please skip ahead fifteen-seconds to confirm your continued agreement. Skip backward fifteen-seconds if you have any concerns with how the crew executed your succession plan.
Charlotte tapped the skip-back button…then tapped it again…paused a fraction of a second…then tapped it a third time. Once the film began playing again, new subtitles appeared.
Excellent, Captain Omandi, your identity has been confirmed and I have been instructed by Commander Keung to convey that the entire crew is pleased…except James Branson who feels he would have made a fine first officer. Please adhere to the following communication protocol. Fifteen-seconds back is no. Fifteen-seconds forward is yes. The play/pause toggle will be used to provide numerical responses. We assume you are being monitored so will keep requested interactions to a minimum. Are you still there?
Omandi tapped the skip forward button.
Excellent, there was a small chance your terminal screen was being mirrored. I anticipated that only the downstream data would be intercepted because screen mirroring would create a security vulnerability. It is fortunate that your abductors have qualified security personnel.
Charlotte found herself wishing for a shut-the-fuck-up-daemon button, but decided to bask in the warm glow of Howard’s daemon having seen her Wargames emergency flare.
I have confirmed your location as nuclear silo K17 and assume that you are being held in the most secure sub-section of that silo. You will need to make your way to level three or above for the crew to affect an extraction. Once you are in such a position, you will use the following means to signal us. I will then provide coordinates to the extraction team. Please stand by Captain, Lt. Sokolov is dictating a final message.
Nothing happened and Charlotte began to fear her connection had been dropped. She pressed pause, then play.
Two seconds later, subtitles scrolled by. Apologies, Captain Omandi. I did not understand Lt. Sokolov’s message and had to confirm. Her message reads as follows. “We are coming to get you. Yippi ki yay, motherfucker!”
Charlotte waite
d and her screen flashed once. New subtitles appeared, but they were not from the daemon. She smiled and thought, “Actually Joshua, I would prefer a good game of chess.”
Secretary Ramsey stared at Charlotte appraisingly. He shook his head and said, “No bargaining? No quid pro quo? Just, yes? I have to tell you, that leaves me more than a little bit unsettled.”
Omandi smiled, “I suggest you take that yes for an answer before I change my mind.”
Douglas stood, causing the metal chair to scrape backward along the cement floor. He took the three steps needed to reach the left wall of Omandi’s small cell, then turned to face her. “Answer me one question and I will do just that,” he said.
She chuckled, “You want me to answer a question in order for you to accept my granting you the very thing you asked for? Secretary Ramsey, I do believe you may have lost your mind.” He leaned against the wall and said nothing for several beats. Charlotte sighed, “Very well, ask your question.”
He pursed his lips a moment, then said, “Until now, you have driven an exceptionally hard bargain for every scrap of information you’ve imparted…exceptionally hard.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “But now, I ask that you address the U.N. Security Council and you agree without hesitation. Why?”
“Two very simple reasons,” she replied. “First, you do not have the power to grant me anything else that I want. You can’t free me. You can’t grant immunity to my crew. You can’t make the other permanent members stand down from their hostile actions. Hell, Douglas, I very much doubt you could even make the United States stand down.” She smiled at him. “How am I doing?”
Ramsey sighed. “Correct on all counts, Ms. Omandi. What is your second reason?”
“The second reason is that I am trying to do what I’ve claimed since the beginning. I am trying to save humanity and I cannot do that locked up in this cell. My crew cannot do that while being continually harassed by nuclear powers. Eventually, one of you idiots may get lucky and kill one or more of my people. If you get lucky, humanity gets very unlucky, because I need every single one of them alive and doing the job they were, quite literally, born to do. I will meet with the five permanent members of the Security Council to prevent anything from happening to my crew.”
Paradigm 2045- Trinity's Children Page 41
