“Their channel has been muted,” said Linnea. Charlotte flexed her right hand, in a covert signal to Karishma, who tapped her engineering console. The scout ship shuddered violently and several control panels appeared to emit sparks onto their bridge. Talra’tath gestured to the unseen person on his bridge. “Channel open again,” said Sorenson.
“Hath’sede Omandi, I would be very grateful to accept your offer of Compassion.”
Charlotte smiled warmly. “As I understand it from Ambassador Salmix, all those who have completed the Trial of Compassion have been made honored guests of your high-council. We look forward to seeing you there, at some mutually agreeable time, in the near future.” Charlotte paused, then asked, “You seem perplexed, Hath’sede Talra’tath, or is it just my lack of familiarity with Drac’ath facial expressions? Ambassador Salmix did explain your custom correctly, did she not?”
“She did,” said Talra’tath slowly. “I will, of course, convey the details of your assistance to the governing council. I also look forward to supporting the veracity of your Compassion claim. Thank you again for your assistance. Talra’tath out.”
“Channel closed,” said Linnea.
“Ok, last leg of the race,” sighed Omandi. “Karishma if you would do the honors.”
The chief engineer nodded to James. “You got it, Branson?”
“Don’t worry about me, Chief. You just collapse the warp bubble. I’ll back us off as their singularity gate forms.”
“Hey, Salmix, what exactly did you say happens if the edges of that gate touch our warp bubble?” asked Misha.
Nerr’ath turned to face the security officer. “I did not say, because I do not know. However, I suspect it would create a massive explosion across space-time, with both our ships at the epicenter.”
“Oh,” said Misha, then glanced at Branson. “James, don’t let that happen.”
“Good advice, love. Backing us off…nice and slow.”
“Their gate is opening,” said Karishma, “Captain, I could give them a little love tap with the edge of our warp bubble. It wouldn’t do much, just decompress what looks like their aft storage bay.”
Omandi arced a questioning eyebrow at Salmix, and the Drac’athian said, “The scout ship only has a crew compliment of four. There would be no reason for any of them to be in that area of the ship.” She did her best to copy one of Charlotte’s smiles, with mixed success, then added, “…and given that my people have no concept of warp bubbles…it would serve to provide deterrence as well. You humans may not view such technology as a weapon, but it certainly could be used as such in close quarter encounters.”
Charlotte caught the engineer’s eye, and said, “Karishma, feel free to shave a few corners off that ship.”
A second later, several meters of the scout’s hull sheered off as it vanished through the singularity gate. “…and they are through,” said Karishma, then added, “I think I may have shaved off more than a corner. There’s a significant amount of cargo floating around. It will be captured by Europa’s gravity if we don’t.”
“Waste not, want not, Chief Engineer,” chuckled Omandi, then turned to Keung. “Commander, would you and Damien please take the Kepler and collect those parting gifts Talra’tath was kind enough to give us?”
“With pleasure, sir.” He nodded to Damien, and they both slipped into the mag-lift.
Charlotte sat down heavily in her command chair and let out an expansive sigh. Nerr’ath settled in to her left and said, “May I ask a question?”
“Of course,” replied Charlotte, “but hold that thought one moment. Lt. Branson, please set a course for Saturn. Take us through the rings and into a close orbit around Titan.”
“Laying it in now,” he responded, then asked nervously, “Uh, Captain, why are we going to Titan?”
“Relax Branson,” she laughed, “We’re going there because Saturn has always been my favorite planet, I named my first dog after that moon, and God bless it if I don’t deserve to see something pretty that also spurs memories of that beautiful dog.”
“Fucking right you do,” whispered Misha under her breath.
“I’m sorry Nerr’ath, you had a question?” said Charlotte. “What was it?”
Salmix focused on the captain and said, “Three times you referred to me as Ambassador. Why did you do that?”
Charlotte smiled. “Because that is who you are, Nerr’ath, unless I misunderstood your offer of service.”
“You might have,” Nerr’ath replied, then averted her eyes.
“Captain, if I may,” interjected Linnea. “A more correct interpretation of what Nerr’ath promised you is indentured servitude or slavery. From her perspective, you own her.”
Salmix nodded gravely and tapped both hands to forehead then extended them. “I am yours, Hath’sede.”
Charlotte immediately grasped the Drac’athian’s hands and squeezed them. “This ship carries no slaves, Nerr’ath, and I will never own another sentient being. You are my ambassador. I will need your counsel with respect to this Galactic Confederation of yours. However, should you wish to decline that role, now, or at anytime in the future, you will always be free to do so. Are we clear, Nerr’ath? Our species no longer abides slavery. We will not have it.”
Salmix considered this for several seconds, then said, “I understand, Hath’sede and am honored beyond words to serve as you suggest, however, there will never come a day when I would turn my back on you.”
Charlotte patted her hand, and chuckled. “You say that now, Nerr’ath, but just ask those around you. I can be quite demanding.”
“…and rigid,” said James.
“…unreasonable,” added Karishma.
“…reckless,” laughed Misha.
“…overbearing?” asked Linnea.
“Overbearing!” came a chorus.
Charlotte leaned back into her chair as she watched the blue-tinged star field blur with Bladerunner’s increased acceleration. She glanced over at Salmix. “See what I put up with? Are you still sure you’d like to hitch your wagon to this motley crew’s star?”
Nerr’ath tapped on her wrist terminal, disabled its translation function, and spoke in halting english, “Captain…Chaharlot Omandi, my scaly arse…would rather…be…nowhere else.”
Branson twirled his chair around and raised both hands. “I taught her that!”
Chapter 52
Epilogue
Charlotte paused for a moment as she entered Bladerunner’s hangar bay. Doctor Howard and Damien Smith were standing beside the Kepler talking. She focused on them and shook her head in wonder. They appeared decades apart in terms of age, but each held themselves the same way as they spoke and gestured. It was like watching mirror images that were separated by time.
Damien noticed her and Doctor Howard followed his gaze toward her as well. Both faces flashed, with near identical smiles, that spoke of friendship and mischief, in near equal parts.
So weird, thought Charlotte, as she drew up beside them.
Doctor Howard extended his hand and Charlotte grasped it warmly. “This is it,” he said, “finally time to say goodbye, eh?”
Omandi smiled. “Why don’t we just say, adieu?”
The two Damien’s shared a knowing look and laughed with the android gesturing to Howard, “Age before beauty, Doctor Howard, you go ahead.”
The old man grinned at the younger version of himself, and said, “Adieu, huh? Charlotte, my dear girl, let me tell you about the French. I once thought to purchase an old French firearm from a twentieth century marketplace called eBay. The description read as follows, World War Two French Rifle, great condition. Never fired. Dropped twice.”
Charlotte noted how Damien Smith’s lips moved with Howard’s recitation and then both burst out laughing. Finally, Doctor Howard reached out, squeezed Charlotte’s shoulder, and said, “At my age, I’m okay with goodbyes, especially well earned ones like this.” She saw how the old man’s eyes began to fill with tears and Damie
n turned away to inspect something on the Kepler’s hull.
Howard reached up and cupped Charlotte’s face with both hands. “I love all my children. All of you have bits of me in you, and I’m not just talking about your beautiful eyes. You have the best parts of me, and it is such a joy to see those parts reflected back without the darkness I’ve seen, endured, and made. James is my laughter, Karishma, my diligence, Misha, my righteous anger, Linnea, my empathy, Chao, my wise counsel, and Richard, my compassion.”
Howard patted her cheek, and she felt her own tears begin to fall as his voice caught in his throat. “But you Charlotte…in you I see my idealized self…all the things I could have been, but never was. I am so very, very proud of you.” He sniffed. “Just look at me, over one-hundred-seventy and blubbering like a child.”
Charlotte wiped at her own nose but left her tears as they were. “I think we both deserve a bit of blubbering about now. We’ve earned it, haven’t we?” she asked.
Howard chuckled, “You certainly have. As for me, I am just grateful to have been gifted with your forgiveness.” He paused, then pointed, “gifted… not earned.”
“Well then,” Charlotte said, clearing her throat, “It’s a good thing I’ve set a labor of Hercules before you, isn’t it?”
Howard laughed, “I suppose it is. I still think you would have been better served by tasking another. I don’t know how many more beats this old heart has left in it, Charlotte, I really don’t.”
Omandi knitted her brow and scowled at the old man. “Doctor Howard, isn’t it true that you placed yourself under my command?” He nodded with some mild confusion. “Well, then,” said Charlotte crisply, “you will not die until you have been given permission to do so. Is that understood?”
Howard smiled and inclined his head. “As you say, sir, so shall it be.”
“Good. I’m glad we’ve got that settled because you will have hundreds of countries, offering thousands of candidates, and all for the fifty crew positions I’ve entrusted you to fill. No spies. No snowflakes. No prima donnas, Doctor Howard. Find me the best fifty humanity has to offer, and then wrangle the United Nations into something that resembles a useful body rather than a murder of squawking crows.”
“Well then,” chuckled Doctor Howard, “Given those tasks, maybe I was premature in assuming you actually had forgiven me.”
“Karishma told me it’s almost nine months to Drac’ath,” Charlotte laughed, then said, “but I’ve learned when she’s hedging her bets. We can probably make it in six. Still, I want to get underway, as soon as possible, so there is less chance my gambit around Europa is reevaluated by their council. If we had a means to generate a destination anchor in their system, things would be different, but we don’t so—”
Howard shook his head. “No, Charlotte, it’s better this way. Take the scenic route. Meet some folks along the way who’ve had dealings with the Drac’ath, and see if you can make a few new friends.” Doctor Howard’s eyes widened and he stuck his hand into a pocket. He fished around a second, then withdrew something that flashed gold. “I almost forgot. I have a present for you. When you get as old as I am, or as rich as I was, physical things don’t really have much meaning, but this does.” He placed the object in her hand and wrapped her fingers tightly around it. “Don’t look at it now or we will both get to blubbering again. Keep it a secret until you get to a place where you feel centered.” He touched her closed hand. “Then, my precious Charlotte, enjoy my parting gift to you.”
She nodded and caught Damien’s eye. The android joined them and patted Doctor Howard affectionately on the back. “Ready for a trip down the gravity well, old man?”
Howard made a comically affected bow. “Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto.”
Damien stared at Doctor Howard for half a beat, laughed, then whispered, “Mata au hi made,” and put his arm around the old man, as they entered Kepler.
Charlotte knelt in her quarter’s small chapel and inhaled the candle’s sweet smell of frankincense and myrrh. She opened her eyes and stared at her right hand, which she’d kept tight around Howard’s gift since watching them depart some minutes ago.
Slowly, she uncurled her fingers and watched as the candlelight danced against the gold coin in her hand. It seemed in almost pristine condition. On the front, an idealized female face stared leftward, surrounded by thirteen stars. She wore a crown emblazoned with the word Liberty. Charlotte traced a finger along the date, 1873. “So, old man, you and this coin came into the world the same year,” she whispered, then turned the coin over to reveal an eagle. Charlotte felt her throat tighten as she traced her finger along the only two areas of the coin that showed any age. The words were worn as if having been gently rubbed over many years.
She whispered, “In God We Trust. E pluribus unum. Out of the many, one.”
The end of Paradigm 2045: Trinity’s Children
Author's Note
I hope you have enjoyed Paradigm 2045, Book 1: Trinity’s Children.
A few weeks ago, the fifth book in my Sentinels of Creation series was published and one of my author-buddies, Quincy, gave it a shout out on his social channels. This, in and of itself, is not necessarily worthy of note although appreciated of course. You see, writers are mostly cracked in the head, so are only truly understood by spouses and other writers. We’re a bit like Carnies, so most of us like to support each other where we can. I give shout outs for Quincy, Mel, and others…they give shout outs for me and the world, she keeps-a-turnin’.
So, what was of note in this particular exchange? Well, Quincy’s lovely new bride, Vicki, made a comment on his post. She said of my books, “…and one of my favorite parts is the lovely conversation Robert has with the reader.”
I read her comment and thought to myself, Self, is that what my author’s notes are? Huh, I guess they are. That’s pretty cool. It is. It would have even been cooler if we had known what it was we were doing.
Well, I don’t exactly remember where my internal monologue went after that and it doesn’t really matter. Two things do matter. First, she was right, this is a little fireside chat between you and me, and I love that! Second, people who have conversations with themselves inside their own heads are cracked, so be wary of inviting them to dinner.
Okay, so in this author’s note, I want to address two primary topics: First Books of a Series, and Crossing Genres.
However, before we get to the rest of this note, I’d like to preface it with a section that began in a previous author’s notes from the Sentinels of Creation series: My Patron shout-outs.
As some of you may know, I have a Patreon page listed under my full name, Robert W. Ross, and there are currently twelve tiers of support, starting as low as one dollar. I recently had an extended dialogue with one reader, on Facebook, and after several back-and-forths he apologized for what he perceived as being an annoying amount of correspondence. Nothing could be further from the truth because, as I told him, I view my readers and listeners as my patrons. Essentially, I work for you.
Each of you spend hard earned money to buy my books, e-books, or audiobooks. In return, I hope you get stories that both entertain and provoke thought. When I’m especially fortunate, one of you takes the time to write a review. I simply cannot overstate how important those reviews are.
Recently, another author friend of mine chastised me for not having a Patreon page. She had all sorts of good reasons why I was remiss in not having established one, ranging from providing sneak peeks of upcoming work, to sharing discussions about my particular alpha-reader approach.
Well, never let it be said that I let chastisement stand in the way of taking good advice. Hence, I did set up a Patreon and am very appreciative to all those who have chosen to support me there.
Starting with the Jarvis’ Secret Agent tier, I promised to add such supporters’ names to my author’s note along with providing them a number of other goodies. So, without further adieu, I’d like to give a big Sentinels of Creation shout-out to
Daniel Seif and Candice Cottingham for becoming Jarvis’ Secret Agents! Thank you, Daniel and Candice!
And now, back to the author’s Note…
First Books of a Series
I briefly wrote in one of my Sentinels author’s notes about how first books are always the hardest for me, personally. I came to this conclusion when asked to provide a short story for an anthology called Storming Area 51. As a quick aside, the anthology is a tome and a great bargain if you like interesting short stories from lots of different others. Anyway, my novella is about 16,000 words and about five thousand words in, I thought to myself, Holy cow, this creating characters out of whole cloth is really difficult.
Now, that might seem obvious to most intelligent people, but it had been five years since I wrote the first Sentinels book and had forgotten how hard that process had been. I was in the middle of Book Five of that series and was much more focused on making sure I didn’t screw up previously established canon than worrying about, what was by then, established character development.
You see, by that point, the characters were who they were. They were alive and had their own personality, objectives, and even will. If you don’t believe me, I can share several times when I tried to get a character to do something and he or she flatly refused. Strange sounding, I know, but such character behavior is an entirely different author’s note. Check out the movie, The Man Who Invented Christmas if you want a wonderfully visual explanation of what I’m talking about :-)
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