All thought of simulations vanished from Charlotte’s awareness as the implication settled within her. She stepped closer to the screen and locked eyes with those of Salmix. “Abort them, now! We will demonstrate our FTL.”
“I cannot. The launch is automated and hard-coded for that date and time. You were late. I would abort if I could. Please believe me, but—”
“There has to be some other way, Nerr’ath.”
“Captain,” said Misha evenly, “the three projectiles are currently clustered but I suspect will disperse once they hit earth’s outer atmosphere. What are your orders?”
Omandi turned toward Lieutenant Sokolov and stared at her for several heartbeats. The security officer’s face betrayed nothing. “Shoot those things down, Lieutenant. Now!”
Misha arched an eyebrow and Charlotte saw the rest of her bridge crew stare at her questioningly. “Captain,” said Misha in a slow, measured, cadence, “As I’m sure you are aware, we did not have time to activate weapons systems before launching. I have nothing with which to shoot those things down.”
“Damn it, who launches a vessel to confront an alien threat without weapons?” yelled an incredulous Omandi.
“I’m afraid that would have been you, sir,” offered Keung. “We were behind schedule and it was either scrap the weapons systems or miss our designated window, which it now appears we have done regardless.”
“Change course to intercept those projectiles,” ordered Charlotte.
“Aye, Captain,” responded James.
“Time to intercept?”
“One minute, forty-two seconds.”
Omandi turned back to face Nerr’ath. “What happens if I destroy those projectiles. Will you just fire more?”
The xenologist shook her head. “No, the pod was fitted with triple redundancies, but all have launched. If you destroy them, no more will follow until the next pod arrives from the Confederation.”
“But you will tell them, that this was a big mistake, correct? That new ship will test us properly next time. Alternatively, you might consider just leaving us the hell alone rather than wiping out my entire species,” hissed Omandi.
“I will be long dead,” replied Nerr’ath and Charlotte saw her glance to the side as if reading something. “You must have forgotten part of my sentence, Captain. If you failed our tests, the pathogens would launch and my pod would be sent into your system’s star. That course modification has already been laid-in and executed. I’ll be dead in less than fifteen of your minutes.”
“Confirmed,” said Misha, “the enemy pod has changed direction and is headed directly toward the sun.”
Omandi shook her head in frustration. “Nerr’ath, what happens when the next pod arrives? Will they respond to reason? Will they let us prove that we can pass their tests? Tell me, will they at least give us that chance?”
The alien shook her head. “My mission-recorder will jettison before I reach your star’s gravity well. It will contain all of our communications as well as all your actions, but I do not see how that will—”
“Engineering!” barked Omandi into the air and waited. Nothing happened. She turned to Keung. “Why isn’t my chief engineer responding? I’ve watched enough movies to know that every ship has an engineer.”
The Commander’s image wavered slightly and his voice stuttered, “I…I…I…do…don’t…don’t know, Captain. Perhapppps—”
Charlotte smirked at Misha who simply shrugged and Omandi said, “I guess Howard didn’t plan on my asking the question.”
The security officer arched an eyebrow and said, “You are nothing if unpredictable, Captain, but I can execute any, uh, unanticipated orders.”
“Good, Misha, I want you to initiate our FTL engines once we’ve drawn close enough to those projectiles that they will be caught up in the Alcubierre-White warp bubble.” The look of astonishment on the younger woman’s face almost caused Charlotte to laugh, but she simply smiled and said, “You seem to have forgotten that I founded the Omandi Institute and it was my organization that funded Alcubierre-White research. Surely you expected your captain to have at least a rudimentary understanding of A-W warp technology?”
“But Captain,” said Keung before Misha could respond. “If we initiate a warp field while in Earth’s upper atmosphere, the concussive wave will rip the ship to shreds.”
“Forty-five seconds,” called Branson.
“Will those projectiles be ripped apart along with us?” asked Omandi.
Silence washed over the command bridge and no one spoke. She felt the seconds crawl by until, finally, Misha said, “Without a doubt, sir. Those pathogens will either be burned to atoms or slip into the spacial rift created by the A-W warp bubble. Either way, those little aliens buggers won’t be bothering earth.”
“And neither will we,” murmured Branson before calling out more loudly, “thirty-seconds,” then spun his chair and added, “but Captain, the Bladerunner’s nav computer will recognize that such a maneuver will destroy the ship. It won’t let me execute it. You will need a command-level override and will have to initiate warp directly.”
Charlotte felt a moment of uncertainty, then set her jaw and said, “Computer, request command-level override.”
She immediately recognized Coleman’s voice as it projected across the bridge. “Command-level override eliminates all safety protocols and will give Captain Omandi irrevocable control over all systems. Does the first officer concur?”
Charlotte felt Keung’s eyes on her. The color had drained from his face, and he didn’t move for several beats, then gave her a short nod. “First officer concurs.”
Misha whistled softly as Coleman said, “Command-level override granted. Captain Omandi, all safety protocols disengaged. Awaiting orders.”
Charlotte turned to the view screen one last time and narrowed her eyes at the alien who now watched her with an unreadable expression. “Nerr’ath, I find your so-called CDA law an abomination. I wish I were going to be here to tell that to whoever comes sniffing around next, but you just make sure my crew doesn’t die for nothing. That mission-recorder better get off your ship before it’s too late.
Salmix nodded then touched both hands to her forehead and gestured expansively to Charlotte and her crew.
“Five seconds, Captain.”
Captain Charlotte Omandi took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and said, “Initiate command-level override. Engage warp.”
Her world exploded with flashes of white and red, then everything faded to black.
Chapter 7
Backup Plans
A voice drifted in and out of Charlotte’s awareness like sunlight filtering through thick morning fog. She tried to open her eyes, but they felt as if weights were tied to them. The voice, no two voices, came again. One seemed angry and the other concerned. She thought she recognized the angry one.
“Misha?” she said, or tried to say. Both voices cut off at her utterance, then began again a moment later.
“She just called out to you,” said the Howard hologram, “Answer her.”
“What are you talking about?” Misha replied, “She said something, but that certainly wasn’t my name.”
Howard sounded frustrated. “And which one of us has access to natural language processing algorithms that have been trained on, literally, millions of hours of human speech? I’m telling you, Sokolov, she just called your name. Respond.”
Charlotte heard the scraping of metal on tile. A chair moving, she thought.
“Listen, you holographic asshole,” growled Misha as her anger boiled over. “I’ve had just about enough of your, I’m the last remnant of a deceased genius routine. The real Damien Howard would never have let it get to this point. He knew what she was capable of. What the fuck were you thinking allowing her to get immersed so deeply into that simulation? She completely lost touch with reality at the end. For her it was no longer a simulation. You do realize that don’t you?”
Howard’s concerned respons
e flowed over Omandi as she floated amidst the darkness. “Yes, I realize it Misha, and knew it was a risk, but we needed to determine whether she would develop the expected empathic connection to both crew and mission.”
“Color me unconvinced,” Misha scoffed, “because in my humble opinion, your vaunted decision making leaves much to be desired. You do remember that the real Doctor Howard genetically enhanced Omandi’s capacity for immersion, empathy, and decision making, don’t you? What the hell did you think would happen if you made her choose to sacrifice her entire crew?”
“That scenario never played out in any simulation I ran—”
“Because none of your simulations had us engaging Nerr’ath after the CDA deadline! Why did you do that?”
“I didn’t intend to do it,” replied Howard cooly.
“Didn’t intend to,” sputtered Misha, “What the hell does that even mean?”
Several seconds passed before the hologram replied. “I made an error.”
“Well, no shit,” hissed Misha, “and now you left our best candidate for Captain, drooling like an idiot.”
I am not drooling, thought Charlotte, Am I?
“Allow me to explain, Lieutenant,” said Damien. “I continued to run simulations right up to the moment Ms. Omandi entered her personal instance of the final test. Unfortunately, my most recent simulation did not reset the deadline timer before Ms. Omandi entered the simulation. I tried to correct the error but was unable to because both you and Charlotte were already fully engaged. This resulted in her test simulating the missed deadline, no-win scenario, rather than what I had intended.”
Misha shook her head in disbelief, “Wait, so you are saying that Nerr’ath’s attack deadline passed and the simulation dynamically adjusted for a chain of events you never tested? Jesus Christ!”
“No, I am not saying that,” replied the hologram. “I had tested the missed deadline situation…extensively, which is why I described it as a no-win scenario. That is also why I rejected such a simulation for Omandi’s suitability test. In all my test simulations, no Captain found a way to save Earth once Nerr’ath’s deadline was missed.”
Charlotte felt a cool hand rest against her forehead and a voice whispered near her ear. “But she did,” said Misha. “Charlotte found a way, didn’t she?”
“She did, indeed,” said Howard, “but now we need to move on to one of the alternate candidates. David Simpson is a seventy-percent match to that of Omandi. You and Coleman should connect with him as soon as possible.”
“Wait, what about her?” asked Misha gesturing to Charlotte.
“I don’t see that we have any choice,” said the hologram, “We need to initiate the euthanasia protocol.”
“The hell we do,” yelled Misha. “Omandi didn’t decline the role, you fried her fucking brain. We are not killing this woman because you screwed up.”
“I do not need your permission, Misha. Now stand aside.”
Charlotte felt hands gripping her shoulders and hot breath on her face. Someone was shaking her. “Omandi!” cried Misha. “Charlotte, come on. Charlotte, he’s trying to kill you. Snap out of it.” Omandi heard the soft whisper of a door opening, followed by the whirring she remembered as belonging to the automated butler device. Something bumped into her shins, and she noticed that the light behind her eyelids dimmed slightly.
“Misha Sokolov,” said Howard, “you knew this was a possibility when you first accepted your own role almost seven years ago. Now step aside and stop blocking the medibot from its task.”
“I’m not going to let you stick her with that. Medibot stop!”
The whirring diminished and Charlotte heard what sounded like a sigh of relief, then Howard said, “Medibot, resume. Command override, Howard-alpha.”
“No!” yelled Misha. The medical robot extended its diagnostic arm and she grabbed at the syringe attachment. Misha grunted with effort as she tried to prevent the arm’s forward movement toward Omandi. Sokolov strained and felt the familiar rush as a flood of genetically enhanced hormones coursed through her. The syringe tip quivered scant inches from Charlotte’s arm and began to creak under the strain of Misha’s enhanced strength. Just as the attachment arm began to bend backward, a bolt of crackling blue electricity arced from it to Sokolov. She flew backward, phasing through the holographic Damien Howard, and slammed against the near wall. Misha was on her feet a second later. She leaped toward the medical robot, but flew headlong into an invisible barrier. Misha slammed her fists against it, and watched as a line of light radiated outward from where each blow landed. She knew what those lines meant. AI-Howard had used the forcefield technology harvested from Nerr’ath’s cache to separate her from Charlotte.
Misha watched impotently as the needle slid into Omandi’s arm and the medi-bot’s blue activity indicator switched to red.
Charlotte opened her eyes and met those of her security officer. She mumbled something unintelligible and the medi-bot’s indicator flashed back to blue.
“She’s all right,” yelled Misha. “Lower this damn forcefield and tell your death-robot to stand down.”
“You are emotionally compromised,” said Howard. “Your loyalty predisposition toward Charlotte Omandi has colored your judgement. She is clearly impaired and cannot fulfill the role. Medi-bot resume. Full command lockout. Authorization, Howard-alpha.”
“You bastard!” cried Misha, but the medical robot remained inert.
“Medi-bot, resume. Acknowledge command,” said the hologram.
The medical device vibrated slightly then replied in an artificial staccato, “Unable to comply. Insufficient authority. Command override in place.”
“What?” said Howard and Misha together.
The security officer looked up to see Charlotte staring at her, lips set in a line of grim determination. They parted slightly and she said, “Lower forcefield.” Misha pitched forward and rapidly closed the distance between them. She gently pulled on the medi-bot until the needle came free of Omandi’s arm.
The holographic Damien Howard walked up beside Misha and stared down at Charlotte. “This is impossible. Only the captain could override my command, but no captain has been seated. You have not been fully assessed. You have not accepted the role. You cannot be the captain, so you cannot override my commands.”
Charlotte smiled as the restraints fell off her wrists and she stood shakily to her feet. Misha wrapped an arm around Omandi’s waist, supporting her as she stared directly at the hologram and said, “Your simulation was a bit too realistic for your own good. Only the captain could be granted command-override, especially when such authority would extend beyond the virtual and into fixed reality. Check your logs and what assessments were made of me, when I was granted that authority within the simulation. Check and see how far that authority extends. I think you will find that your captain has been seated.”
Howard blinked several times, then smiled more warmly than anything Charlotte had seen before. “Well done, Charlotte. You’ve tripped the first of my locks which means it’s time for you to lead and me to sleep. We won’t be seeing each other for a while, but please know that my prayers and best wishes go with you.” A second later, the hologram began to shudder. Its face lost expression and it inclined its head toward Charlotte. “Captain acceptance protocol complete. You are now in command, Ms. Omandi.”
Charlotte straightened and Misha took that as her cue to step back. The Captain nodded at the hologram and asked, “What just happened to him…it?”
Misha shook her head. “Not sure, some kind of glitch I suppose. We could run a diagnostic on the thing if you want.”
Charlotte squinted at the hologram and took a deep breath. “Honestly, I don’t even care right now. I’m covered in dried sweat, and apparently, drool. I smell bad and I want a shower.”
“Of course, Ms Omandi, all Howard Technologies resources are at your disposal,” said the hologram.
Charlotte nodded to herself, then sighed and said, “I should
probably get used to hearing something more appropriate than Ms. Omandi, don’t you think?”
“Quite right, sir” said the hologram, “I have made the necessary internal adjustments. Thank you for correcting me, Captain Omandi.”
Misha let out a relieved breath and extended her hand to Charlotte. “At the risk of repeating myself, and with apologies to Whitman,” began the security officer, “I’d like to say…O Captain! my Captain! Rise up and hear the bells; Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills.”
Chapter 8
The Two Howards
Charlotte tilted her head back and luxuriated as thin streams of steaming hot water struck her from at least nine different shower heads. She ran her fingers through her tight curls and reached over to dispense a dollop of shampoo from a brushed steel cylinder attached to the tiled wall.
“Captain Omandi,” came a disembodied voice. She spun around in alarm. It sounded as if the voice came from within the spacious shower. She peered anxiously through the steam, then shook her head. “Am I disturbing you?” asked the voice.
“Damn it, Howard, yes you are. What the hell are you doing in my shower?” She paused then asked in a more even tone, “How are you in my shower?”
“I am not in your shower, Captain,” replied the AI. “However, I have created two ultra-wideband sound waves, each with half the wavelengths necessary to produce my voice. I have made those two wavelengths intersect just behind you to give my voice the illusion of locality. I assumed doing so would make you more comfortable when hearing from me.”
Omandi reached over to replace the shampoo that she’d dropped during her initial reaction to the AI’s presence. She sighed and said, “So, you seriously figured it would give me comfort to have a disembodied voice speak to me from within my shower. Let me tell you something Doctor Howard. It would not have done so under the best of circumstances and you’re being the artificially intelligent avatar who nearly euthanized and cremated me does not make for the best of circumstances.”
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