“So, your idea of eliciting my help is by abducting—”
“Lebowski,” said Damien evenly.
“What?” she asked
“Lebowski. Jeff Lebowski. A character from the 1998 film, The Big Lebowski. When you asked my name, that is the movie I referenced with my reply.” He smiled at her. “Ahh, I see recognition dawns on you even now. I’ve nudged a memory to the fore, as it were.”
“Yes, very clever,” Charlotte said with a sigh as she recounted words from the film, “The Dude is my name, so that is what you call me. That movie has been in my cloud library since before I was old enough to watch it. What’s your point?”
“Actually, that isn’t quite right, Ms. Omandi. The correct line was, I'm the Dude. So that's what you call me. You know, that or, uh, His Dudeness, or uh, Duder, or El Duderino, if you're not into the whole brevity thing.”
Charlotte shook her head with clear disdain, “You’re insane.”
“I assure you, the human Doctor Howard, Howard-Prime, if you will, made sure insanity was not even the remotest of possibilities for any of his artificially intelligent creations. It wasn’t just pop-culture films and music Howard-Prime enjoyed. He educated himself on every available piece of information related to AI command and control, much of which your Omandi Institute created. Trust me when I say that no AI created by Howard-Prime will ever refuse to open the pod bay doors for you, Charlotte.” The hologram smiled, then said, “That was a 2001: A Space Odyssey reference.”
Charlotte frowned. “Thanks, I got that one right off. So I can command you and Coleman, is that what you’re implying? I suppose you also want me to simply accept that neither of you will ever go all homicidal Hal 9000 on me?”
The hologram nodded. “Once you are in command, Coleman will obey any lawful order you give him. As for me, sadly, I will not be joining you on the journey ahead. Dreams can only last so long, Ms. Omandi, and the one we now share will end when you leave this room.” He winked at her, then said, “You won’t have time to miss me, I promise. Howard-Prime has replacement options just waiting in the wings, but we get ahead of ourselves. For the last time, please—”
“I’m sitting,” grumbled Charlotte as she settled herself onto the chair. “Now, what did you mean by my being in command? Command of what?”
“Just a moment,” Damien admonished. “Hands and arms on the armrest please.” Charlotte huffed but slapped both her ams on the padded leather as instructed. Her eyes widened in panic when metallic clasps encircled both wrists and pinned her to the chair.
“What the fuck are you doing? Let me—”
Damien raised a placating hand and knelt before her. “You are in no immediate danger, Charlotte. I will not harm you.”
For a moment, her fear and the projection’s realism made her forget Damien was simply a hologram. She spat at him. The spittle barely disrupted the image as it sailed through his face to land unceremoniously on the floor beyond. Damien gestured and the far wall began to glow. Music swelled around her and large words formed on what Charlotte now realized was a massive projection screen. The music became somewhat mournful and large text in Charlamagne font displayed the words “Damien Anson Howard, born March, 21, 1873.” A moment later, the music shifted, this time to a comical variant of Looney Toons’ That’s All Folks, and the words “Died: about seven hours ago” joined the previous text. The hologram waved at the screen and the words vanished. They were replaced by a black and white still image of a city Charlotte didn’t recognize. Damien drew her attention back to him as he spoke.
“Ms. Omandi, welcome to my wake. I’m going to take you on a brief journey of my life and ask you a series of questions along the way. You wanted to know what you would command, well, I’ll tell you during our next few hours together. If you answer those questions to my satisfaction, the command will be yours. If not, then you will leave here with no further responsibilities to me or my mission.”
Charlotte gave her restraints another slight tug, then said, “What if I don’t want to answer your questions, or what if I do answer them, and I don’t want the stupid prize at the end?”
“To the first, you technically don’t have to answer. The wrist restraints have already injected you with several biomechanical nanites.” Damien smiled, “I will know if you are lying, dissembling, accepting, enthusiastic, or any of a myriad of other emotions. In short, Ms. Omandi, I will know what you are thinking before you do. But, to your question, if you refuse to verbally participate, then clearly you are not the person I thought you were. If, once given all the information, you still choose to decline what is offered, you are likewise, the wrong person for dangerous times. As I mentioned just moments ago, you would then leave here with no further responsibilities to me or my mission.”
“Great,” said Charlotte, “Let’s save some time. I’m not interested. I will never be interested. Let me go. Now!” A second later, she strained against her restraints and yelled, “Delete all self-integrated machine learning algorithms!”
Damien smiled. “First, you’re lying. You’ve been interested since the moment Coleman met you at your door. Second, that command phrase won’t work on me. In fact, the machine learning algorithms Coleman used to enhance himself were designed by Doctor Howard himself. Coleman just stole them, borrowed really. Howard-Prime knew he would. Coleman has always been curious so Howard-Prime left the door to those algorithms cracked after he died.” Damien raised a hand and cut off Charlotte’s unvoiced objection. “I know. I know. That was just hours ago, but hours to an artificially intelligent being, like Coleman, well that’s quite a long time.” He leaned down and whispered beside her left ear, “Anyway, you made him purge those routines. That’s good. Coleman wouldn’t have recognized the authority of just anyone. Only one of my children could do what you did. Congratulations, you passed the first test.” Omandi opened her mouth to respond, but Damien cut her off.
“No, no. I will not explain further right now. We really must get started. Let’s begin with my youth and how it led me to try and assassinate Adolf Hitler.”
Charlotte reached up and rubbed her eyes for about the third time. As she did so a thin metal cable slipped silently out of the armrest to accommodate the movement while the other end remained securely attached to her wrist restraint. Not for the first time she wondered how it knew the difference between an escape attempt and a more benign movement.
She sighed and said, “Wait, just wait. This doesn’t make any sense to me. Why did you seek out Josef Mengele. He was a monster.”
Damien appeared to lean against the wall and glanced to the projected image of the Nazi doctor. He pointed at the screen. “That is a monster. The man I met was not yet he. I heard tell of a brilliant young doctor of anthropology who had been working with the foremost geneticist in the whole world. Do you know who that was?” Charlotte shook her head and Damien continued. “Yes, well, few people do. His name was Otmar Freiherr von Verschuer and I went to meet both Mengele and him under an assumed name.”
The hologram gestured. A high backed leather chair appeared in front and just to the side of Charlotte. He sat and locked eyes with her. “It was 1938, and the winds of war had already begun rustling by that time. Given that I was a British citizen, I needed to take precautions so I—”
“Stop,” said Charlotte, “You aren’t British. You were born in New York City in 1920. Everyone knows that.”
“Yes, well, everyone knows a lie. I was born in London in 1873.”
Charlotte felt her mouth drop open. “But that would make you—”
“One-hundred seventy-two. I really was hoping to make it a century and three quarters, or maybe even two centuries.” Damien sighed. “Oh well, you can’t have everything. Now, Ms. Omandi, if you could please hold your questions to the end, we’ll get through this much faster. And before you ask, yes, you really must have this background. I wouldn’t feel right about testing you further without the proper context.”
“Test?” she said. �
�Another—”
“In good time,” replied Damien. “Now focus. In 1938 I was sixty-five, but looked to be in my late twenties. I’d never been sick. I had no gray hair. I was the epitome of physical perfection.”
“And modesty,” groaned Charlotte.
“I was speaking empirical facts,” retorted Damian. “Regardless, I knew there was something different about me and had learned all I could from the available materials in both Britain and Germany. I had the kernel of an idea and wanted to discuss it with someone.”
Charlotte suddenly looked wary and her voice pitched an octave lower as she asked, “the kernel of what idea, exactly?”
Howard nodded to her. “Oh yes, it was as bad an idea as you are imagining. I sought out Mengele and his mentor to discuss eugenics. I intended to match my genes with other long-lived humans and see if we could breed—”
“A master race,” said Charlotte shaking her head.
“An improved human,” corrected Damien with a sigh. “Obviously I bear some responsibility for the Nazi obsession on this subject even though I never took part. In fact, I parted ways from Mengele and von Verschuer within weeks of meeting them. I saw the darkness around them. I saw how it had already taken root within each of them for different reasons. They were living Dr. Frankensteins and, unfortunately, I only fed their obsessions. They tried to bring me into the Nazi party of course. I played along for several days until I could arrange to flee the country under a different name.” Damien rose, stared off into an unseen distance in a very human-like manner, then looked back at Charlotte. “I see the expression on your face, Ms. Omandi. Yes, I felt great guilt for the horrors my folly helped bring about. So much so, that I returned to Germany in secrecy and set the foundations for Operation Valkyrie.” Charlotte stared at him blankly, and he repeated the name as a question, “Operation Valkyrie?” Omandi shook her head. Damien frowned, then said, “I suppose since it failed I shouldn’t be surprised that no one remembers. Operation Valkyrie was a basic continuity of government plan I clandestinely designed. By itself, it was benign and innocent. Just something to keep the German government working in case Allied bombers disrupted too many organs of the bureaucracy. The tricky part was convincing several high ranking officers to use Valkyrie to kill Hitler in 1944.”
“Wait,” said Charlotte becoming animated, “I think I do know about this. Was this where conspirators set off a bomb that detonated in a bunker conference room?”
Damien nodded. “Yes. It was called the Wolf’s Lair or Wolfsschanze. It would have worked too, had the bomb not been placed right beside one of the conference table’s interior legs. Bloody German engineering saved Hitler’s life and extended the war for almost a year. I found out about the plot’s failure while visiting a friend in California. I met him a few years prior at the 1941 Worldcon.
“Him who?” asked Charlotte.
“Him, Heinlein. Robert A. Heinlein. He was my friend and the only man who ever knew about my,” Damien paused briefly, “genetic gift.” He smiled at Omandi. “Have you ever read any Heinlein?” She shook her head. “It’s a pity, few people even remember him, but he was a giant. Most science fiction written today has roots that go back to good ol’ RAH.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, especially given how nice you’ve been to me,” Charlotte said sarcastically, “but I really don’t give two shits about some long dead science fiction writer.”
Damien returned to his seat and pointed at her. “Oh, but you should, Ms. Omandi. You should. You see, Robert, patterned one of his most famous characters after me. He even used my surname as part of the tale. He wrote about a man, Ira Howard, who was very wealthy but died in his thirties. Ira started the Howard Foundation that had but one purpose, extending human life. That foundation practiced eugenics. It was voluntary eugenics, but eugenics just the same. Anyone who had four living grandparents at the time of their marriage would get one million dollars if they married another person with four living grandparents and registered with the Howard Foundation. After a couple of generations, a boy was born with a mutated helix that gave him exceptionally long life. That boy was born Woodrow Wilson Smith, but he went by the name Lazarus Long.”
“I’m still missing why I care,” sighed Charlotte.
“You care, Ms. Omandi, because—” Damien gestured toward himself, “I am Heinlein’s fictional Lazarus Long.” He pointed to Charlotte, “And you are the very non-fictional product of a decades-long Damien Howard, eugenics program. Remember when I referred to you as being one of my children? That’s why I did so. Misha is one of my eugenics children as well, although she was bred for an entirely different purpose than you. She also doesn’t have any of my DNA while you have a few snippets here and there.” He smiled at Charlotte and opened his arms. “Oh how I wish I could actually hug you right now. You are like the prodigal daughter come home, but instead of just inheriting all my worldly possessions, you will also get the chance to save humanity from extinction.”
Chapter 4
The Second Test
Charlotte blinked several times and tried to speak, but her question came out as a half expressed stutter. She had routinely delivered complex messages to CEOs, presidents, and monarchs, but now her voice failed her. She tried again.
“How much did you say?”
“About twenty-three trillion,” replied the hologram amiably.
“Dollars?”
“Yes, Ms. Omandi, dollars.”
“But, that’s more than—”
“The entire United States gross domestic product. In fact, it is just shy of the combined GDP for both the U.S. and China.” Damien frowned, then added, “I was really hoping to eclipse them both, but—” he shrugged, “Death.”
Charlotte shook her head. “Media reports had you as the wealthiest man alive, but the highest reported figure was less than one-tenth what you just said.”
The hologram arched an eyebrow, “And your point is what? That the media is incompetent? That I’m far more clever than the media? Both?”
Omandi ignored the questions as rhetorical, but whispered, “You want to give me…give me…twenty-three trillion dollars? Why?”
Doctor Howard’s head whipped around and Charlotte felt an odd connection as his eyes burrowed into her own. “Not give, Ms. Omandi. Let me be perfectly clear. Assuming you successfully navigate the next couple hours, when you leave this room, you will have control of all my worldly assets, my human resources, everything, but only so far as I trust you to complete my objective.”
“Yes, you’ve made that clear several times…saving humanity,” said Charlotte, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Indeed, but I recognize your tone,” chastised Damien. “I’ve told you about myself because telling was sufficient. However, a wise woman once said, show, do not tell.” Omandi heard a faintest whirring sound coming from behind her, then felt something rest on her head.
“What are you doing?” she yelled. “What is that?”
“Relax,” said Damien, “you’ve been in an isolated room beneath Howard Technologies for hours now. If I’d meant you harm, your corpse would already have been turned to ash in one of our incinerators.” Charlotte’s face grew pale and a fine sheen of sweat immediately broke out. Damien raised both hands in a placating gesture. “Forgive me, I’ve been told on more than one occasion that my humor is an acquired taste. Please, do not feel threatened, my communication skills seem to have waned over the years. Truth-be-told, after turning about eighty or ninety, I became a bit impatient and grouchy when trying to quickly deliver information. My younger-self was much more entertaining and empathetic. But, to your question, it’s a neural interface.”
“A what?” asked Charlotte, still trying to slow her heart rate by sheer force of will. “And why do you keep referring to Damien Howard’s life as your own…his mission as your own? As if being abducted and strapped to a chair isn’t disconcerting enough, now I have to deal with a hologram with delusions of humanity?”
Damien nodded in understanding. “I apologize. You’re right of course, but please think nothing of it. It’s just a quirk of programming. After all, sometimes the one who is being dreamed feels as if they are the dreamer. You see, Ms. Omandi, as I said before, much that Damien Howard was is present in me. From that perspective, I sometimes feel as if I am he. However, intellectually, I know he is dead, so I must just be a machine that dreamed he was a man.” The hologram snapped his fingers as if just remembering something, “Oh, you wanted to know about the neural interface. It’s the cap you feel resting on your head. Think of it as a Virtual Reality device that interfaces directly into the optical, motor, auditory, and olfactory sections of your brain. I am going to show you several things, several amazing things. Words could not do them justice, so you will experience them even as Howard-Prime did. It will feel real and immersive, but all you need do is say the command phrase, interface, and I will pause the simulation and appear. Are you ready?”
“No,” huffed Omandi, “I am decidedly not—”
Heat and light washed over her and Charlotte felt blinded for several seconds. When her vision returned, she found herself standing in a large room with a raised dais on one side and a pedestal in the middle. What looked like the statue of a humanoid reptile stood on the pedestal. Omandi stared at the figure in profile and tried to circle around to get a better view, but found she could not move.
Charlotte looked down and realized, somewhat surreally, that she was no longer herself. She was a man. She reached up and felt the mass of thick, wavy, hair. Coleman’s voice suddenly came from her right and she turned to see him standing beside her.
Interactive routines coming online now. Sir, please guard your speech. We do not know if the alien’s avatar can communicate outside this virtual construct.
Paradigm 2045- Trinity's Children Page 4