Paradigm 2045- Trinity's Children

by Robert W. Ross

  James shrugged. “I’m a pilot not a scientist.”

  Sokolov grinned. “It means two things, Captain. First, it’s Christmas for Misha, and second, Barbie is not going to be ok.”

  “It’s locked,” said James as he tried the roof access door. Omandi glanced at Misha meaningfully and the security officer released her grip on Linnea, rocked back, and slammed a booted foot into the metal door. Hinges shrieked as the entire door broke free of its frame and flew a dozen feet to clatter against the gravel strewn roof.

  “What are you?” asked Sorenson

  “I’m the girl who opens pickle jars for our Captain,” replied Misha, in the same Russian that Linnea had just used.

  “Linnea…english please,” said Omandi as gently as she could manage, then gestured for the three of them to head out onto the roof.

  “It just happens when I’m not paying attention,” replied Linnea. “I hear an accent, and sometimes respond in a person’s native tongue without thinking…especially when I’m nervous.”

  Misha slipped her arm around the younger woman’s waist and pulled her forward. “That little parlor trick makes you stick out like a sore thumb, Barbie. I suggest you try getting control of your nerves before responding to people in public…just a thought.”

  “Why doesn’t he just land?” asked James, as he pointed to Galileo. The shuttle seemed to be hovering a few feet above, and to the right, of the roof’s edge.

  “Damien says the roof can’t support Galileo’s weight and running the impulse drive while we board is too dangerous,” answered Omandi.

  Misha slipped a small pack off her shoulder. She handed Charlotte and James each a harness comprised of several metallic disks and black kevlar webbing. Sokolov turned Linnea around and attached a third harness to the young woman. A second later she confirmed that both Omandi and James had positioned their harnesses correctly with the disks facing outward from their back.

  She led the three of them toward the Galileo and stopped near the roof’s edge. “Ok, listen up,” began Sokolov, “the disks in your harnesses are exceptionally powerful rare-earth magnets. Their backside is shielded, otherwise the damn things could literally pull iron out of your blood cells. When you jump, be sure to face down. If you are facing up when the grappler engages, all that will be left is a greasy spot. Everyone clear?”

  “W-what?” cried Linnea. “You want us to jump off a God damned roof and trust magnets to catch us?”

  Misha grinned. “I told you it was Christmas.”

  Charlotte stared at her security officer and sighed, “I’m having deja vous, Lieutenant. Are you sure there’s no other way?”

  “I’m not doing it!” yelled Linnea. “You can’t make—”

  “Sure I can,” said Misha, then slammed the palm of her hand against the young woman’s harness. Linnea let out a scream as she sailed over the roof’s edge. A second later she reappeared, arms flailing, as she floated into an enclosure that extended below the Galileo’s hull. Charlotte shook her head and glared at Misha, who shrugged. “To answer your question Captain, I’m sure, and you’re next…Geronimo!”

  Chapter 17

  Escape to the South

  “Why are you sitting in my chair?” James asked with more than a slight air of annoyance. Damien glanced over.

  “Because I’m flying the Galileo,” he replied matter-of-factly.

  Branson grunted something about Damien being unable to land on a perfectly good roof, then proceeded to sit in the pilot’s chair.

  “What the hell,” yelled Damien, “Don’t just sit on me.”

  “I sat through you, not on you,” said James and smiled sweetly at the holographic science officer when he reformed to the right of the pilot’s chair.

  Damien glared at the Irishman and seemed about to unleash a torrent of something when Omandi called from the main cabin. James grinned. “Sounds like you are being summoned. Best not keep mother waiting, off with you.”

  Damien frowned and stalked from the cockpit. He only took a few steps into the main cabin before stopping to stare at both Charlotte and Misha. They stood on either side of a first row chair which had been swiveled to face toward the aisle. Damien pursed his lips as he looked at the mop of blonde hair that obscured Linnea’s face. Her legs were spread slightly and her head rested between her knees while she continued to take deep breaths. “What did you do to her?” asked Damien.

  “Are you kidding me, right now?” yelled Misha, while Charlotte raised a hand to forestall her security officer’s indignation.

  “He wasn’t down there, Misha. He doesn’t know,” said the captain.

  “Well, I saved her little blonde life is what I did,” hissed Misha, “and why didn’t you just land on the damned roof. She’s like this because I had to throw her off a God damned building.”

  “It was impossible to land on that roof,” offered Damien, “I examined it carefully and—”

  “I could have done it,” came Branson’s distant voice.

  “Damien,” said Omandi, but the AI science officer didn’t let her finish.

  “That’s incorrect, Captain, the Galileo would have either fallen through the roof or the impulse engines would have blown you three backward a dozen meters.”

  “I don’t care,” said Charlotte quietly. “That’s not why I called you.”

  “Oh. Well, good.” Damien looked confused. “Why did you call me then? I was trying to educate young Branson up there about—”

  Charlotte pointed to Linnea. “She is overwhelmed by sights, scents, and emotions. Misha and I are going to pull back a bit. I want you to try and talk her through things.”

  Damien pinched up his face. “What? I’m your science officer, not a psychologist.” He paused and swallowed as Omandi continued to stare at him. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

  “Because, Lieutenant, I believe your job is to be whatever I need you to be. Right now, I need you to interface with Coleman, and help my communications officer get her head out from between her legs. Do you think you can handle that?”

  Damien grimaced, clearly unhappy at the prospect, but motioned to Charlotte and Misha. For her part, Sokolov needed no further encouragement and walked to the last row of the shuttle with Omandi close behind.

  Damien knelt down and tried to peer through the mass of golden tresses, but could see nothing other than a few errant strands that were stirred by Sorenson’s continued breathing. “Coleman, get over here. If I’m stuck doing this, so are you.”

  “I am here, sir,” said the ship’s AI, “How may I serve?”

  “I think we should prepare a communal VR experience for her.”

  “Very good sir, and who should join her?”

  “All of us,” Damien answered, then held up a hand, “eventually. Let’s start with just you and me because we won’t need any gear. Use the one headset we have on hand and print three others for Branson, Sokolov, and the captain. They can join us later once we’ve got her at least somewhat acclimated to this brave new world that’s been foisted upon her.”

  “Very good sir. I should have all the requested VR headsets ready in approximately thirty minutes, but one of the physical crew will need to actually manipulate them.”

  “Well, that goes without saying, doesn’t it, Coleman? Please don’t treat me like an idiot. You do remember that part of me created all of you?”

  There was a long pause and the ship’s AI pursed its lips. “In point of fact, sir, the part of you that created me is quite small and becoming smaller. I believe this is the third time you have revisited this topic, at least in part. Allow me to clear up any future confusion. Howard-Prime created me and I am honored to have called him friend. We may yet find a way to restore him to life, but you are not Doctor Damien Howard. In addition, with each passing moment, the difference between you and he becomes even more stark. You have a portion of his memories and a semblance of his emotional foundations. That is all. As for treating you like an idiot, well, if the shoe f
its, sir, I suggest you wear it. Now, I will please ask that you stop looking at me with that sulky expression and attend to Ms. Sorenson.”

  Damien turned from Coleman to find Linnea staring at him. Her nose was bright red and lines of tears streaked both cheeks. She took a slow breath that shuddered with raw emotion, then whispered, “Are you all for real? Is this truly happening? Please, tell me what’s going on because I feel like I’m Alice and I’ve fallen down a very deep rabbit hole.”

  Damien nodded and tried to smile reassuringly. “There’s a reason why you think that, Linnea. There’s also a reason why your mind went to the story of Alice in Wonderland. The person who gave you a first edition of the book you treasure so much is the reason we are all here. Let me tell you a little, then I’ll show you a lot. Through it all though, I want you to remember one thing. No-one here means you any harm. You are among friends.” He smiled then added, “More than friends actually, you are among family.”

  Branson squinted at Charlotte as she braced herself against a control panel and stared at the endless white landscape. “It looks like a window, but it’s not,” he said, then tapped the screen. Pixels wavered under the pressure created by his finger. “The Gal has dozens of cameras outfitted along various key points of her hull.” His fingers flew over several controls and the exterior view turned into a mosaic of smaller square images. “That’s all of them. As far as I can tell, we have a complete three-hundred-sixty degree field of view.” He grinned at Omandi. “Have I mentioned how much I love this ship?”

  Charlotte straightened and smiled at her pilot. “Yes, James, I do believe you’ve mentioned a certain fondness for the Galileo.”

  He nodded and pinched up his face. “Uh, Captain, mind if I ask a stupid question?” Omandi raised her eyebrows in an amused go ahead manner and Branson spun his chair to more fully face her. “Why are we screaming across the Antarctic?”

  “We needed a place to regroup, resupply, and catch our breath a bit,” she replied. “Howard-Prime established a number of safe-houses. I reviewed them all with Coleman shortly after we left Monaco. Only one of them is both remote and large enough to accommodate the Galileo.”

  “But, sir,” said James gesturing to the view screen, “there’s just nothing out here. Well, nothing but ice and rock. Where exactly do you plan for us to regroup and resupply? I don’t see a damn thing for over a thousand miles.” He paused, and tried to puzzle out his Captain’s expression, but finally gave up. “Ok, fine, what am I missing?”

  She sighed. “Lieutenant, how did we manage to get all the way from Monte Carlo to Antarctica without being detected, despite the fact that at least one hostile governmental body desperately tried to track our collective asses from there?”

  He furrowed his brow. “That’s easy, sir. The Gal, she’s got active countermeasures. She’s practically invisible to radar, lidar, and even has those optical shields for visual camo—” The Irishman broke off and stared from Omandi to his view screen and back again. “Wait, just a tick, Captain, are you saying…”

  Charlotte didn’t answer but instead cleared her throat and said, “Omandi to Coleman, please respond.”

  “I am here, Captain. How may I serve?”

  “What’s our ETA to the alien cache site?”

  “Technically speaking, ma’am, the Galileo will be docking in a subterranean hangar quite a distance from Nerr’ath’s original cache. Howard-Prime designated the entire area as Ice Station Zebra or ISZ for short. If my assumption is correct, and that is what you are referring to, our ETA is approximately five minutes. Would you like me to disable the shielding so Lieutenant Branson can take us in or would you rather me do so autonomously?”

  “What do you say, James?” she asked. “You want to land the Galileo or have our trusty AI autopilot guide her down?”

  “Really? Sir, no offense to Coleman, but I think the Gal responds better to a human touch. I’d like the con, please.”

  Omandi smiled. “I thought you might. Coleman, give navigational control to Lt. Branson.”

  “Very good, ma’am,” began the AI, then added, “but in order to maximize our security envelope, I do not recommend the shielding be down for more than thirty-seconds. That is not a very large window. Are you sure that Lt. Branson is able to—”

  Charlotte saw James’s jaw flex as he ground his teeth in frustration. His eyes flitted toward her for the barest of seconds and she inhaled sharply as pictorial insights flooded her. This is one of those moments, she thought. This is how the many become one. She casually clapped Branson on the shoulder and met his eyes as he turned to look at her. “Give him the con, Coleman and lower the shields thirty-seconds before contact. You don’t need more than thirty-seconds do you, Lieutenant?”

  The Irishman looked forward. While Charlotte could not see his face, she knew what she would have found there…a perfect fusion of determination, appreciation, and loyalty. “No, sir,” he replied crisply. “Thirty-seconds is at least twenty more than I need.”

  “Good to hear,” she said with a low chuckle. “Oh, and Coleman, I think it’s far past time you stop calling me ma’am.”

  “But…” began the AI.

  “But nothing. I know you said Howard-Prime conceived of us operating as some kind of Star Trek—Battlestar hybrid, but I don’t want you thinking of yourself as someone who is separate from the crew. Apparently, in Howard’s world, all superior officers are Sir. Since Misha has been using that honorific since first setting eyes on me, and has already infected my science and navigational officers, I’ve decided that I might as well just accept it. You are a valued member of this crew, Coleman, so I expect you to start acting like it.”

  There was a several second pause after which the AI said, “Aye, sir…and…thank you.”

  “Captain,” called Misha from the main cabin. “Need you back here.”

  Charlotte projected her voice toward the rear of the shuttle, “Coming,” then turned briefly to Branson. “Land your gal, Lieutenant. I’ll be in the main cabin assessing what new emotional trauma Misha has managed to inflict on our newest recruit.”

  Linnea Sorenson handed the VR headset to Misha with one hand while running fingers thorough her thick blonde hair with the other. She wiped at both eyes, took a breath, then focused on Charlotte. “Could we talk privately for a few minutes?” asked Sorenson.

  Omandi felt tension immediately settle among the four of them. She glanced at Damien and wondered at just how human he might be for her to be able to actually pick up tension from him. Charlotte crouched down to be at eye-level with Linnea and said, “We could, but I’d rather we not. I assume Damien took you through a series of simulations to bring you up to speed.”

  “Not the same as you, sir,” he said, before Sorenson could respond. “I had Coleman create more of a newsreel version based on past events including my recent memories. I didn’t think the simulations you experienced with Howard-Prime would be effective. Apologies if I erred.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “No, not at all, Damien. Your approach was better. Thank you.” The Captain looked at the young woman and sighed. “So, you understand what we’re about then?” Linnea nodded slowly and Omandi gave her a knowing smile. “But you don’t necessarily believe what you’ve been shown?”

  “Since you’re asking,” began Sorenson, “no. I think it’s far more likely that you are sex traffickers who are trying to make me compliant or, worse, complicit.”

  “Sex traffickers,” growled Misha. Linnea shrank back from the security officer’s growing anger as she said, “You have got to be shitting me! Captain, please give me a minute or two alone with her and I’ll help our young guest understand—”

  “I understand more than you might think, Misha Sokolov” snapped Linnea, “and unless you would like to understand what I am fully capable of, I suggest you—”

  “Suggest I what, Barbie?” scoffed Misha. “I could snap you like a twig. You are lucky we aren’t sex traffickers because you would have zero
chance of saving yourself. I know your type. You’re a born victim.”

  “Lieutenant,” said Omandi in a tone that brought the other up short. “I advise you to not underestimate our newest addition. If I recall correctly, I underestimated you just before you put your hand straight through concrete and they leaped from a thirty story building.” Linnea shied away from the security officer but her look of defiance remained. Charlotte gently tapped the young woman on the leg to regain her attention.

  “As I was saying, Linnea, we could talk in private and I will if you insist. However, assuming for a moment that what we’ve shown you is true, our little band needs to trust each other…completely.” Sorenson opened her mouth to respond, but Charlotte held up a hand. “No, just let me finish. I don’t expect you to trust us right now. There’s no way you could. We’ll have to earn it, but the rest of my crew will need to trust you as well.”

  Linnea didn’t say anything for several seconds then seemed to make up her mind about something. “You’re wrong, Charlotte, there is a way.”

  “Is a way for what?” she asked, standing.

  “For me to trust you…right now.”

  Damien nodded with understanding and Misha suddenly looked wary. Charlotte noted the change but ignored it. “How’s that, exactly?”

  Linnea swallowed. She looked even younger than her nineteen years as her nose started to redden again. She sniffed and steeled her resolve, then said, “I can read your thoughts, or at least your intentions.” She shrank deeper into her seat as if expecting some kind of reaction, but Omandi merely nodded, then turned to Damien.

  “That’s what I was thinking,” he said. “I don’t have access to any of the specific enhancements performed on the crew by Howard-Prime, because he thought learning of them together would be a bonding experience.”

  “Asshole,” mumbled Misha