She shook her head. “Ok, so you can lie to me and Coleman cannot. This tells us a few things, not the least of which is that you inherited the real-Howard’s physical tells when lying.”
“I did? How interesting. He never knew them. What are they?”
“I’m not going to tell you, Damien, besides—”
“Now, Charlotte, that is not at all fair, especially if we are to be colleagues in all this.”
Omandi stood, then leaned over the first chair’s back to glare at Damien. “Didn’t we already cover some of this ground? You and I are not colleagues. I didn’t ask for any of this, but accepted it because, apparently, I was born for the role. You are not Doctor Damien Howard the mad scientist. You are Lieutenant Damien Howard, a junior officer of my crew. For the last time, you will not address me as Charlotte. Is that understood, Lieutenant?”
He stared at her for a moment, then exchanged looks with Coleman and Misha, both of whom gave subtle nods of support to Omandi.
Damien crossed his arms and frowned for several beats before speaking. “Okay,” he began, “I can see you are right. It’s just like you to wait until the perfect moment, then smack a subordinate in the face with reality. Well done, Char—uh, Captain. Truly, I mean that and I will comply. However, please remember that I have trillions of Howard-Prime bits skittering around inside my head. They are slowly being overwritten by my own experiences but, until I’m a fundamentally different person, I may slip up from time-to-time.” He pointed at Omandi, then added, “Which is part of why you chose this version of me rather than the Rainman version. You did have a choice, Captain.”
Omandi retreated back to her seat and nodded. “I did have a choice and remain convinced I made the right one, but let me make a couple things perfectly clear. You will not lie to me unless the truth will jeopardize this mission. Even in that case, if you lie to me and I find out, I’ll do my own assessment. If I find you wanting, I’ll dismiss you from this mission. Are we clear, Lieutenant Howard?”
“Crystal, sir. I don’t know how you would manage that, but I don’t doubt you would find a way.”
“Good, now tell me, why is this craft not an airplane and what else have you withheld from me?”
“I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t know, Captain. Doctor Howard made the deliberate choice to omit those memories from the final upload that birthed me. I don’t know the first thing about this aircraft, I swear.”
“Hypothesize!” The word shot from her like a bullet and both Misha and Damien flinched at the outburst. Omandi swallowed, then added much more softly, “You’re supposed to be the science officer, right? Well then, science. Please, give me your best reasons why Doctor Howard might trigger-lock information about this jet.”
Damien rubbed at his chin for several seconds, then looked up. “Coleman said the information is trigger-locked. Given that, there can be only one explanation. Howard-Prime reasoned that whatever serves as that trigger is something you might avoid if given foreknowledge. In addition, Doctor Howard must have believed so strongly that it needed to unfold spontaneously, that he prevented you from influencing it until after the fact.”
“So, he didn’t trust me,” scoffed Omandi.
Damien rose and moved to sit in the seat beside her. He waited until she looked at him, then shook his head. “No, that’s not it, Captain. I think something is going to happen that will serve as a catalyzing agent.” She squinted at him, and he waved a hand to encompass the jet’s cabin. “We are all evolving. Well, maybe not Coleman, but the rest of us. You are still becoming Captain Charlotte Omandi, just like she is becoming Lieutenant Misha Sokolov.” He gave a low chuckle, then pointed to the closed cockpit door. “And that poor devil doesn’t have the faintest clue what he’s in for, but I suspect he will soon. The point is, Captain, that I’m betting Howard-Prime has kept a very hard thing from you until it was too late for you to do anything about it. I think he’s giving you some time to build emotional callouses of a sort.”
“I don’t need to be coddled, Damien. I know how to make hard choices and need all available information to do so properly. Just how many more of these trigger-locks are there?”
Damien shrugged, but Coleman said, “There are seven, ma’am, including this one.” Misha gave a soft groan as Coleman continued, “To me, they appear as locked data blocks, each with an unidentified trigger which I can only assume is either temporal or situational.”
Omandi worked her jaw, then inhaled deeply. She let the air out slowly, in one extended breath. “Fine. For the moment, I’m going to assume that the world’s oldest living man, and only one to decipher humanity’s impending doom, knew what the hell he was doing. However, since we are currently sitting in this not-plane, and I have the distinct sense that whatever trigger Howard-Prime set in place is about to go off, I’d like everyone’s opinion.”
“On what, sir?” asked Misha.
“On what Howard-Prime might be shielding me from.”
Before anyone could respond, the cabin speaker crackled to life. Branson’s voice seemed laced with uncharacteristic tension. “Uh, do any of you know a chap named Martin Smith, because he’s broadcasting to me on a secure channel. He says three F-45 War Eagles have formed around him and are demanding to speak to someone named Charlotte Omandi. Apparently she either gives these fighter jockeys what they want or they are going to light up Smith’s Gulfstream.”
Everyone in the cabin stared at each other for a second, then Branson added, “Oh, yeah, Smith’s jet, apparently it’s sporting the same tail number we are and is squawking our transponder code. In case you guys didn’t know any better, that’s pretty much impossible.”
Omandi jumped from her chair and yelled into the air. “Branson, reply back on that same channel and tell Smith to inform those F-45s that Omandi is not on his plane. Give him our exact location.”
The cabin lights flickered and the aircraft bounced as if hitting rough air. Branson’s voice spoke again and Charlotte recognized the forced calm in it. “Ok, now all my instruments are dead including communications. We’re flying blind. Stand-by, I’m coming back there.”
“Captain,” said Coleman, “I now have access to the previously locked event and an accompanying holographic video file from Doctor Damien Howard. Would you like me to activate it?”
James ducked through the narrow cockpit door, glanced into the cabin, and froze with one hand still braced on the door frame. He reached forward with his left hand and began tapping toward all those assembled. One, two, three, and four, and five. His mind rebelled against the facts before him. He knew there had been only two passengers, Sokalov and Omandi, in the jet with him. Now there were five. Well, four people and one obvious hologram of an old man. It was that hologram that seemed to be in the middle of some kind of recorded message.
"...watching this now, I can safely assume that Misha and Coleman have successfully recruited our Captain. Is that correct, Coleman?”
"It is, sir," said a tall dapperly dressed man in his mid sixties.
"Hey now," called Branson, "Would someone mind telling me what the hell is going on here?"
"Pause playback," said Omandi, and stood to face the pilot.
"Excuse me," huffed James, as he tried to squeeze by Coleman, but instead phased through one of his holographic arms. Branson stumbled back against the fore-cabin's bulkhead and stared wide-eyed at what he now realized was a second hologram. “Holy shite on a shingle!” cried James. "No hologram is that realistic."
Coleman smiled at the Irishman and inclined his head. "Thank you, Mr. Branson, that is very kind of you to say. I am a level six holographic intelligent agent. Since only holograms levels four and below are in use by non-governmental bodies, your confusion is understandable.”
Before James could react, Damien raised a hand and waved amiably. "I'm a holographic projection, too, but my artificial intelligence represents the sum total of," he gestured to the elderly Howard, "his life."
Branson squinted f
irst at Damien, and then the flickering still image of Doctor Howard. He seemed to try and take another step backward, but the bulkhead prevented any further movement. Instead, he stared at Charlotte while pointing toward the Howard hologram. "That's Doctor Damien Howard, your dead billionaire husband." James then turned to Damien. "And, you, I’ve seen pictures of Howard when he was young. You look just like him."
"I should hope so," sniffed Damien, "Doctor Howard put a great deal of work into both my physical and intellectual selves. Oh, and he wasn't a billionaire. He was a trillionaire. Twenty-three trillion, to be precise, but all that is Char—uh, Captain Omandi’s now.”
“Was that really the main point you needed to get across right now?” said Charlotte with a resigned sigh. Damien shrugged noncommittally, and she turned back to Branson. “James, come sit down and you can find out what’s going on along with the rest of us.”
He took a couple steps forward then shook his head, “No time for that, this mate of yours, Martin Smith, is about five minutes from being blown from the sky, and that’s assuming the United States Air Force abides by their basic rules of engagement.” He sniffed, “…and with three War Eagles on the guy’s arse, I wouldn’t count on it. One F-45 can turn a small city to glass. I can’t imagine why they would send three, especially when they are looking for you, Omandi. How the hell could their intel be so far off? I mean we are on the opposite side of the bloody world.”
“Resume playback,” said Charlotte and the Doctor Howard hologram blinked several times.
“Which Captain candidate accepted the role?” asked Howard.
“I did,” answered Charlotte.
The hologram flickered several times and turned toward her. It smiled, then nodded. “Charlotte Omandi. I am so pleased it is you. And since it is you, I suspect you are pretty pissed off with me right now.”
“You got that fucking right,” she said. “You withheld critical information from me and, as I understand it, will continue to do so into the future.”
Howard nodded, “That is true, but I also withheld that information from everyone else, including my other self. Is my AI-simulacrum present with you as well?”
“I’m here, you old windbag,” chuckled Damien.
The hologram flickered again then addressed Damien directly. “I see that Charlotte chose the fully sentient version of my present self.”
“Not exactly,” replied Damien, “I kind of de-aged my appearance a bit. I saw no need to dotter around as an old man if I didn’t need to.”
Howard flickered again then froze for a second before responding. “I do not understand that last comment.”
“Apparently,” said Misha sarcastically, “Your bio-papa didn’t anticipate such a vain-jackass response.”
Charlotte ignored the exchange and said, “Tell me why the hell you are withholding information from me.”
“Because,” responded Howard, “this message was designed to activate when, and if, my Gulfstream 950 was threatened. I assume that has occurred.”
“It sure as shite has,” blurted out Branson. “Three War Eagles probably have target locks on that plane of yours right now.”
Howard nodded. “Yes, that was anticipated, which is why I arranged for it to be on the other side of the planet when that altercation occurred.”
“Well, we need to tell those hostiles that they have the wrong plane,” yelled Omandi. “I’m not on that Gulfstream I’m on—”
“The Galileo, yes,” interrupted Howard. “You are exactly where you need to be, Charlotte. Just as Martin Smith is exactly where he needs to be.”
She glared at him. “Well, if I don’t clear this up, those War Eagles are going to kill your guy!”
“Yes,” Howard agreed, “they will, and that is why I locked you out of this information.”
Silence blanketed the room for several heartbeats and finally it broke when Misha whispered, “You didn’t want the captain to be responsible for Martin’s death?”
“I didn’t want her faced with that kind of decision…yet. His death, should it occur, will be on my head, not hers.” The hologram turned to Omandi. “Charlotte Omandi, you will be faced with many difficult decisions in the coming weeks. People will die. Some will die because of what you do. Some will die because of what you do not do. However, every human being on this planet will die if you do not succeed. In this endeavor, the needs of the many truly do outweigh the needs of the one.”
James placed one hand to his ear and pressed on a small communications device. He looked up and said, “We’re about out of time. Those F-45s have been able to confirm Smith is alone on that jet. They are broadcasting in the clear and say they will fire on Martin’s Gulfstream in sixty-seconds if we do not squawk our ident.”
Omandi stood and stared directly at the Howard hologram. “Give me back control of this aircraft, Doctor Howard.”
He had turned to look in Branson’s direction but now stared back at Charlotte. “Who was that speaking? Was it the pilot and navigator, James Branson? I assume you know by now that the other two are deceased. Coleman believes them to have been murdered.”
“Yes, it’s Branson,” she hissed, “and he’s not my anything yet. Now, give me back my aircraft.”
Howard gave her a very human cock of the head and asked, “What will you do if I return control to you?”
“I’ll save an innocent man’s life, that’s what!”
He shook his head. “As I suspected, which is why I set this trigger-lock in place. No, Charlotte, you need more seasoning, and a full contingent around you, before you can be fully trusted with all aspects of this mission.”
She narrowed her eyes at the hologram. “Have it your way, but I will be taking back control of this aircraft.”
“Coleman,” shouted Omandi, “I want you to override whatever Howard-Prime has done to lock Branson out of flight systems and communications.”
For his part, Coleman managed to give a solid impression of being in actual distress when he said, “I’m sorry, ma’am. I just tried to complete your request and was unable to comply.”
She slammed her fist into the back of a chair and rounded on Howard. “Last chance before I do something reckless. I will not have people unknowingly led as sheep to the slaughter. Will you release the trigger-lock?”
The hologram affected a patronizing smile and said, “I’m afraid you may overestimate your current capabilities, Charlotte. In time, you may rise to a place where you could challenge my designs but today is not—”
Omandi interrupted him by lifting her hand terminal. “Daemon, this is Omandi, get me control of my aircraft.”
The glowing face immediately appeared, then said, “Of course, Captain. Please define operational constraints.”
She glared once more at the Howard hologram and growled, “No constraints, daemon. I want control of this aircraft now.”
“Understood, Captain. Executing, please stand by.”
Misha gave a mirthless laugh and activated her seat’s enhanced crash restraints. Branson stared at her, color draining from his face. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what the hell was that? Did she just conjure a bloody demon.”
“Get in your cockpit, Lieutenant,” barked Omandi. “As soon as you have control, flash our transponder long enough for us to be seen, then get us the hell out of here.”
James stared at her dumbly for a split second and managed to say, “Lieutenant? I’m not—”
“Go!” she yelled, and the younger man spun around, then disappeared into the cockpit.
Howard’s AI hologram had begun twisting and flickering almost immediately after Charlotte issued her command to the daemon, but now seemed to stabilize. It turned to Misha and said, “You let her activate the daemon. You need to stop her, before it is too late.”
Sokolov arched an eyebrow and scoffed. “I didn’t let her do shit. You picked her. Hell, you engineered her. I remember you telling me all about it. As for stopping her…no. I do not work for you.” She locked
eyes with Charlotte and winked. “In point of fact, I work for her.”
“Captain,” said the daemon, “I have disabled all static firewalls that Howard-Prime established around both this ship and the holographic recording that is currently active.”
“You have controls?” yelled Omandi toward the cockpit.
“I don’t have shite!” came the somewhat muffled response.
“You did not let me finish, Captain,” said the daemon with its preternaturally flat voice. “One firewall remains, but it uses an impressively complex recursive algorithm that dynamically adjusts to intrusion attempts.”
“Meaning you can’t break it?” she asked in frustration.
“No, Captain, I can break it. That same algorithm serves as the basis for my own security systems. However, if I breach this firewall, all data associated with the current Doctor Howard recording will be destroyed. Do you want me to proceed? Yes or No?”
She glanced at the flickering hologram and Howard said “Charlotte, do not—”
“Daemon, I said you had no constraints. Proceed, now!”
“Breaching firewall, Captain.”
Several things all began happening at once. The daemon’s face vanished from Omandi’s hand terminal. A split second later, the plane yawed violently, first left then right. Branson whooped, then cursed from within the cockpit. Charlotte collapsed into her chair and activated the same security restraints that Misha had used minutes before. She felt herself pulled deeply into the cushion of her chair. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but definitely came close to being so.
“Branson,” called Omandi, but it was Coleman who answered.
“We have broadcasted our transponder code and current location. A Captain Brandise has acknowledged our transmission and orders you to land at the United States military base in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. He says, they have scrambled local assets and if you do not comply you will—”
Branson burst into the cabin, white as a sheet, “Those crazy American bastards are going to blow your mate out of the sky. I’ve tried to tell them—”
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