"Thank you, Coleman," said Charlotte, "that will be quite enough."
Branson thrust both hands toward the AI and said, "See, there you have it. I don't want to be tortured, dissected, or put into a cage. I'm sorry, Charlotte, I'm just not Band of Brothers material, although I am sorely tempted just so I can keep flying the Galileo. She's a peach, but truth-be-told, she's not really a starship. I reviewed her engine and fuel parameters. She could make a few trips around the solar system, which I grant you is fecking cool, but no. Not a starship. Now, I'm a man of my word. I'll get you to Monte Carlo, but after that, I'm afraid you are on your own." James felt Omandi's eyes on him and he began to fidget. "Don't look at me that way," he said. "It's as if you are peeling me like an onion."
"I'm trying to decide something," she murmured.
"And what's that exactly?"
"Whether I should trust you. Whether I should want you as part of my crew. Whether you would cut-and-run to save your own hide."
"I'll answer that for ya lass," he laughed, "No...no...and most definitely, yes."
Omandi stared at him for another beat then laughed. "You are such a fraud and I will have you. Welcome to my crew, Lieutenant Branson."
James looked back in shock, but before he could respond, Misha leaned over and whispered into Omandi's ear. The captain nodded. "Oh, I know what he said, but I see who he is and what he really wants."
Misha shrugged and went back to leaning against the cabin wall. For his part, James found his voice and said, "Honestly, Charlotte, unless you plan to take me prisoner, or fulfill my most secret fantasy, there's nothing that will ever make me call you captain."
She showed her teeth, then turned to the shuttle's AI hologram and said, "Coleman, where is the Bladerunner?"
"I'm sorry, Captain, the Bladerunner is not complete and most information has been trigger-locked by Howard-Prime."
"Don't do it," said Damien warily. Omandi cocked her head at him and smiled innocently. "Don't give me that look,” he said, "You know very well what. Do not use the daemon. I'm telling you, that thing is dangerous and if you aren't careful, it will get the better of you."
"I must agree, Captain," said Coleman. "The security surrounding all things Bladerunner is far more sophisticated than that used for Galileo, but the daemon would be relentless. It might just succeed, but in doing so, would likely disrupt the more than four thousand scripts I see currently executing under the Bladerunner autonomous construction program."
Omandi sighed, "I wasn't even considering that, but thank you both for your faith in my judgment." Misha immediately made several snapping motions, with one hand, in Damien and Coleman's general direction as Charlotte continued. "Coleman, never mind its location. Can you tell me what is the Bladerunner?"
The AI smiled, "Information available. The Bladerunner is an interstellar space craft capable of faster than light travel."
Branson dropped his glass and stared first at Omandi and then Coleman. "That's fecking bullshite! What drives it."
"No," replied Coleman evenly, "Bovine defecation does not drive the Bladerunner. Its sub-light power is generated by a stable fusion engine while its FTL uses a varient of Miguel Alcubierre's theoretical warp drive as well as singularity gates of extraterrestrial design. The information provided to Doctor Howard by Nerr'ath Salmix allowed him to solve the infinite mass issues raised by Alcubierre, despite her people never having done so. I assure you, Mr. Branson, the Bladerunner is real, will travel at warp, and can open stable singularity gates.”
"Unless I miss my guess, that would be your one, true fantasy, Mr. Branson. Would it not?" asked Charlotte while smiling like a cat. James slowly nodded as he knelt to pick up the fallen glass. He looked up at her while slowly tilting it side-to-side. She shook her head and he sighed in mock disappointment. "Anything to say for yourself?" Charlotte asked, still smiling.
"Yes, I have something to say," he replied and stood to face her. "Are you sure I can't have just a wee dram with which to toast my captain…Captain?"
Chapter 15
Linnea Sorenson
James removed the virtual reality headset he’d been wearing for the past hour and ran his fingers through his wavy black hair. “Well, I think I’ve got a handle on most of it now. Dead-Howard has built us one hell of a shuttlecraft.” He set the VR headset on a small foldout table, then looked at Coleman. “If this is how the old guy kitted out the Galileo, I’d really like to see her mum.”
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” said the AI, “as I have told you four times prior, I simply do not have access to any additional information on the Bladerunner. We will have to wait until Doctor Howard’s previously established trigger-locks are removed.”
“So, what kind of weapons do we have?” interjected Misha.
“Minimal,” replied James, “Two moderate output HID type arrays, one fore and one aft. They would certainly put a hole in something, but seem more for deterrence than anything else.” He pointed at the security officer when her face began to turn down with disappointment. “However, since this baby doesn’t rely on traditional lift-based flight controls, I don’t really think we’ll be having much need for weapons.”
“Famous last words,” grumbled Sokolov, then added, “I always need weapons.”
“You don’t understand,” said the pilot as he stood and began pacing. “The Galileo has a fusion based impulse engine that can direct thrust to any axis.” Damien nodded appreciatively while both Misha and Charlotte stared at James with slightly vacant expressions. “It means,” said Branson, “that we can move up, down, left, right, or any direction in-between, at a moment's notice. Current missile technology simply isn’t built for that. In addition, the Galileo doesn’t emit an exhaust plume so heat seeking missiles will be all screwed up by that as well.”
“Obviously, laser ranging weapons still present a threat” offered Damien.
“Oh no,” snarked Misha, “you do not get to play that obviously card with us. Some part of you built the damned Galileo, so obviously you should know what she can do.”
Damien shook his head. “But I don’t know, Misha. I really don't. I just understand the basic science behind fusion based multi-axis thrust systems. Perhaps I wasn’t clear earlier, absolutely none of Doctor Howard’s mission-related memories were transferred to me.”
Omandi looked up from her hand terminal where she’d been reading about the various governmental entities all arrayed against Howard Technologies. “Why would Doctor Howard have purged those memories as well as the ones you mentioned before?”
Damien shrugged and motioned to Coleman. “Ask him, because I sure as hell don’t know.”
Omandi motioned to Coleman in a clear, well go on, then gesture and the AI nodded. “Damien is correct. Doctor Howard expended an inordinate amount of energy combing through all his available memories and associated emotive algorithms. We determined that certain pre-knowledge could be detrimental to mission outcomes in general and Damien’s relationship with you, specifically.”
Omandi sighed. “Yes, I can see the logic in that.”
“I don’t,” said Misha and Damien together. The hologram glared at her. “It’s my memory that is riddled with more holes than swiss cheese,” he grumbled. “I think I’m more invested in the answer than you.”
“Well, I don’t like losing tactical advantages,” replied Misha. “It seems stupid for Howard-Prime to have reduced our knowledge for no reason.”
“Doctor Howard had a very good reason,” said Omandi. “If Damien retained all Howard-Prime’s memories he would, for example, have known the Galileo was a space-capable vessel. He would have known everything about the Bladerunner.” She paused a moment, then said, “He would also have known that Martin was likely to die. He would have known all those things, and kept them from his commanding officer.” She shook her head. “No, that wouldn’t work. I wouldn’t trust him. Then, once I found out he had such knowledge, I would order him to share it. Damien would be faced with either
disobeying such an order or complying. Doing the former would destroy his relationship with me. Doing the latter would put all of humanity at risk.”
“Exactly, ma'am,” said Coleman.
“Philosophical bullshit,” grumbled Misha.
For his part, Damien just started laughing. “What’s so funny?” asked Branson.
“Oh, nothing really, I just had a visual of me singing Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do, then my head explodes at being unable to rationalize those two diametrically opposing options. Lie to my Captain or tell the truth and fail my mission. That’s hysterical.” Everyone stared at him and he laughed again. “Don’t you guys think that’s hysterical?”
“No!” they all yelled as one.
Damien rocked back a little, then murmured, “Well, I do.”
James shook his head, and faced Omandi. “All I was trying to say, Captain, is that I’ve got a solid handle on the Galileo and her systems. The chunk of Coleman that’s inside her ran me through several simulations and I came through them all five-by-five. That being said, I assume you still want to go to Monte Carlo?”
Charlotte tapped her hand terminal and noted the time. “I do, but should we wait until dark?”
“Up to you, sir,” he replied. “Military grade observation equipment doesn’t need light to function so night won’t help us.” He patted the cabin wall nearest him, then added, “But my Gal, she’s chockablock full of countermeasures that will confound the shite out of those systems.”
“What about civilians?” asked Misha.
James grinned. “The Gal has some kind of a photonic dispersion field that I can activate.”
“No shit, really?” asked Damien, then looked at Coleman, “Who came up with that?”
“Not you, Lieutenant,” huffed the AI, “The photonic dispersion used by Galileo was part of the technological cache uncovered by Doctor Howard and me.”
Misha lifted one hand in a clear halting gesture. “Okay, you guys can just stop. Despite Howard-Prime doing his best to force-feed me this shit, I hate science fiction. In fact, I hate science, math, and all related science’y things that don’t involve weapons. So, leave off with the nerd-speak and tell me what the hell photonic disbursement does for us.”
“Pretty much makes us invisible to the naked eye,” said James. Misha’s mouth dropped open slightly and he grinned at her. “Bloody well right. My Gal is sexy as hell, isn’t she?”
Coleman bristled. “Please do not use that diminutive form for this shuttlecraft, Lieutenant Branson. Doctor Howard spent considerable time in choosing its name, which is Galileo, not Gal.”
The navigator stared directly at Coleman, but his words were directed to Omandi. “Captain, the Gal and I await your orders. We’ll surface at your command, and I’ll keep her subsonic to prevent the boom.”
Charlotte pursed her lips. “All right then. Let’s do this.” She tapped her hand terminal. “According to my daemon, our target has been in the Casino de Monte-Carlo for the last two nights. She never stays more than three in any one place when she’s gambling. Branson, get us airborne as soon as you are ready. I’ll have the daemon book us rooms under assumed identities and have appropriate clothes sent up.” She smiled wolfishly then said, “It’s time we caught us a communications officer.”
“This daemon of yours is almost like having a personal genie,” said James. “It managed to book us a suite and courier perfectly fitting clothes in less than two hours. That’s fecking perfect and I want one.”
Charlotte saw Branson’s eyes fix on her as she exited the hotel bathroom. He'd been smoothing the lines of his suit jacket and now stood comically frozen while he watched her through the floor length mirror. He turned and lowered his gaze, then started stammering some excuse for his initial reaction.
Omandi raised a hand to cut him off. “Relax, James, I take it as a compliment.” She paused and took in her own reflection as well, then added, “I also take it as confirmation that our daemon’s talents extend to an appreciation for fine clothing.”
The younger man smiled. “You’re not wrong there, Captain. The red looks good on you. Sets off your skin, and what is that made of, silk?” She nodded and he shook his head, “Damn, that thing must have cost a pretty penny.”
“I’m guessing something north of ten-thousand dollars and your tux must be at least five.” She reached up and James took an uncertain half-step backward. Omandi smirked at him. “Relax, Lieutenant, I’m just going fix your bowtie. It’s crooked.” He still looked uncomfortable as she twisted the fabric and Charlotte arched an eyebrow questioningly.
He sighed. “I’ve had a couple bad situations when I’ve been alone with—”
“Older women,” snickered Charlotte then stepped back to look appraisingly at James. “Well, no means no, Lieutenant. Did you ever try that?”
“Not exactly,” he grumbled then brightened as he looked at himself in the mirror. “Well, shite and sugar, that did the trick. I was fussing with the damnable thing for fifteen minutes. Thanks Captain.”
“You’re welcome,” she said but continued to stare at Branson until his shoulders slumped in resignation, and she nodded at him. “No, I’m not going to let it drop. I know, that I am your type, Lieutenant, and I’ve had plenty of time to read a fair bit of what Doctor Howard had compiled on you. I've also been reading about what he did to me. Apparently, some of my enhancements encourage loyalty, trust, and intimacy. I think that last one can sometimes be misinterpreted as sexual, but I’m more than ten years older than you. I am also in a position of power so nothing is going to happen between us.” She paused and fixed her eyes on his, then said, “Ever.”
He shook his head, “No, ma’am…I mean, sir…Captain. I wasn’t trying to suggest—” The young pilot rocked back against the wall and groaned. “Feck me…”
Omandi cocked her head. “I thought I just made it abundantly clear that wasn’t going to happen.”
His eyes widened in alarm. “No, no, I didn’t mean that as a request. It was more that I felt I was already—”he broke off and stared at her a moment. “You are screwing with me right now, aren’t you?”
“Definitely,” she said, laughing. “Look, Doctor Howard set us all up in his quasi Star Trek universe and I get his reasons for a chain-of-command. I agree with it on a conceptual level, and I’ll enforce it. However, I also understand that all—,” she waved her hand in an encompassing gesture, “this, is strange as shit. So, you find black women attractive, great. From what I’ve read in your file, I’d actually argue you just find strong willed women attractive. After all, both the American precious metal thief and Czechoslovakian cat burglar you shacked up with were pale as milk. For all I know, Howard somehow manipulated your genes to make that the case. It certainly worked to my advantage in convincing you to fly us hither and yon, now didn’t it?
“Now, that’s more than just a wee bit insulting, Captain,” huffed Branson. “Yours and Misha’s physical attractiveness had absolutely no bearing on my taking the job. It was just about the money.”
Omandi arched an eyebrow. “Who said anything about Misha?”
“Oh come on now, she was rocking some kind of librarian-assassin vibe the second I walked in the room. Fortunately, I’m immune to such manipulations.”
“…says the man who thirty-seconds ago had concerns about being alone with me. Listen, you need to relax, because I need a focused wingman tonight, not a twenty-something with a Mrs. Robinson complex.” She noted his confusion and said, “Mrs. Robinson? Didn’t Howard-Prime have The Graduate among your cloud-server’s required viewing list?” The young navigator shook his head. She sighed, “Well, I’m sure there’s a reason why he had us each read and view some things that overlapped while leaving others unique to ourselves.”
James gave a derisive snort, “I think the old man’s reasons had reasons. I keep feeling like he’s moving my cheese around, and the guy is dead. Imagine what he was capable of when he was alive.”
Omand
i nodded and gave Branson’s shoulder a friendly pat. “We’ll figure him out eventually. Damien will help since he’s about 40% Howard-Prime, but for tonight we need to focus on Linnea Sorenson.”
James slipped past Omandi and walked over to the tall wooden honor bar. He opened the two doors and surveyed its interior then glanced back to Charlotte. She nodded. He reached into the cabinet and withdrew a bottle of eighteen-year old Macallan scotch whiskey. Branson poured two short glasses and handed one to Charlotte. The Irishman tilted his glass and said, “Sláinte,” then took a sip. “So,” he said, “what’s so special about Miss Sorenson. Can she talk to aliens?”
“From what I’ve read,” began Charlotte, after enjoying her first sip from the glass, “she can speak to pretty much anything.”
“Dogs?” asked James with a grin.
“Probably not dogs,” snickered Omandi, then added, “but according to her file, any human language is trivial for her, and, hopefully, any alien language will be as well.” Charlotte settled herself into one of the sitting room chairs and deftly crossed her legs, while noting how Branson made a point of looking elsewhere. “Language isn’t the half of it, though. There have been people who can intuit such things at the phoneme level, but she can—”
“You lost me, Captain. I fly and drive things. I usually do both very fast and very dangerously, but I don’t do math or science. I suspect that’s why you have Damien.”
She chuckled. “Another math and science’phobe. You and Misha are like two peas in a pod. Anyway, Phonemes are the basic building blocks of all human language and, I suspect, alien language as well.”
“That does sound handy,” offered James, as he drained his glass. He inclined his head to the cabinet, in a hopeful gesture, but this time Charlotte shook her head.
“It’s more than handy,” she said, “but I believe Sorenson may also be slightly telepathic. I am certain she is able to read both micro-movements and scent differentials.” Omandi saw his face cloud with confusion again and held up a finger. “Think of it like when playing poker, which, incidentally is why Linnea is staying at this casino. All humans have tells. Even the best poker players have tells, things that give clues to their real intent. The same is true of other situations, as well. For example, we get frightened or sexually aroused and our bodies react without us knowing. She can interpret those changes the same way you or I can read a report.”
Paradigm 2045- Trinity's Children Page 18