Paradigm 2045- Trinity's Children

by Robert W. Ross

  Misha swallowed hard and whispered, “I don’t think I have a mask. I think, maybe, I am the mask.”

  James gave a dry laugh and Sokolov looked up questioningly. “I’ve known people like you,” he began, then waved a hand. “Well, not exactly like you obviously, but generally like you. Sometimes the strongest people physically question whether that strength extends to things that can’t be bent, folded, spindled, or mutilated. The easiest way to avoid answering that question is to not give a shite about anyone else. Unfortunately, that just isn’t you, Sokolov.”

  “You sure about that?” she asked.

  “Yup. This thing with the captain, it’s eating you up and you need to stop that shite. Omandi did what Omandi will always do. Put us first. Put humanity first. That’s who she is, right down to her twenty-third chromosome. She can’t be anything but who she is, just like you can’t.”

  “And I’m the lass who breaks stuff, right?” she asked sarcastically.

  “No, Misha, you are the lass who protects her crew. Hell, you are the shield that guards the realms of man.”

  Sokolov furrowed her brow, then barked a laugh. “I remember that phrase. It’s from—”

  “Game of Thrones,” said Branson with a grin. “Another Howard-Prime watch-list special. Hey, maybe he fancies us all being members of the Night’s Watch.”

  “Weren’t they all men?” asked Sokolov.

  Branson opened his arms. “Hey, it is 2045. Even women can take the black now.” Misha stared a him a moment, then started laughing, and James joined in a second later. Finally, he reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “Let me ask you something. If we needed to bust one of our motley crew out of some government’s black ops site, which of us is best trained to plan and lead such an action?” Misha met his gaze but said nothing. Branson pointed. “Exactly! And which of us being captured provides the most breathing room for the rest of us?”

  “Omandi,” sighed Misha, “But—”

  “Trust me, love, Charlotte knew her capture was a strong, and potentially unavoidable, possibility. She planned for it. As I said earlier, she probably wanted it, at least on some level.” He waved a hand. “I just can’t get obsessed about it, because I have to drive this bus to the bloody moon.” He pointed, “But you, my beautiful bird of prey, you need to keep us all alive on Luna, and then figure out how we bust our Captain out of whatever hole they’ve thrown her in.” He swiveled around to face the command console and said, “Coleman, spin up one last simulation and, this time, I want you to throw the kitchen sink at me.”

  “Configuring final simulation,” said the AI. “Difficulty level set at five-x likely scenarios. Simulation will begin in ten-seconds.”

  Branson took a deep breath then glanced over at Misha. “Oh, one more thing. If I were Omandi, there’s no one I’d rather have in charge of my recovery than a certain Lieutenant M. Sokolov.”

  Misha stood and gripped Branson on the shoulder. “Thanks, James. That really means a lot.”

  He looked over at her and smiled. “Call me, Jim.”

  She froze for a second, then nodded, “Jim.”

  Branson saw her nose begin to redden, but pretended not to notice. Instead he said, “Now get out, Sokolov. Coleman is about to simulate killing all of us.” James grinned, “Or at least he’s gonna try.”

  Chapter 26

  A Battle of Wills

  The door to Charlotte’s room gave a pleasant chime. She looked up from her book, just as a voice began speaking in an artificial staccato. “Doctor David Presley… is at the door…Ms. Charlotte Omandi…do you give permission for him to enter your room?”

  Charlotte narrowed her eyes at the softly glowing blue sphere set into the ceiling. “You mean prison, don’t you?”

  The voice responded, “I do not understand.”

  Omandi sighed, “You must be a pretty early generation, which means I’m in some very old black ops site that hasn’t gotten an upgrade in years. Listen, Siri, or whatever your name is, tell Doctor Dave out there to piss off.” She held up her book and shook it toward the monitor, “I’m reading Time Enough for Love and I think Lazarus Long is about to board his spaceship, the Gay Deceiver. So, yeah, I’m pretty busy. Have him check back next week, okay, thanks.”

  The door buzzed then swished open. A man of medium build and average height tentatively crossed the threshold. He wore large glasses that gave him a slightly owlish expression and his head was completely bald.

  “Ms. Omandi,” began Presley, “I really am very sorry to disturb you.”

  “Is that so?” chuckled Charlotte, “Well, you might have thought about that prior to sending special operators after my friends and me. Honestly, David, having them nearly blown up in a nineteenth-century French Quarter doctor’s office has put me in a rather bad mood.”

  David stepped forward and raised both hands apologetically. The door closed shut behind him but not before Charlotte saw at least two guards stationed beyond. Well, she thought to herself, you didn’t think they were going to make escape easy, did you?

  “For the record, I had nothing to do with your, eh, relocation,” said Presley.

  “My abduction, you mean,” corrected Omandi, then added, “Do I just have that kind of face?”

  “Face?” asked Dr. Presley, genuinely confused, “I’m sorry, what kind of face do you mean?”

  Charlotte stood and dropped her book on the table with a thud. “The kind of face that says, ‘please abduct me. I just love being taken at gunpoint and put into locked cells.’”

  David let out a nervous laugh and gestured to the room. “Ms. Omandi, surely you don’t consider this a cell.”

  “Oh, then I may leave?”

  “Uh, no, I’m afraid not. However, your room is far from a prison cell. In fact, it is…”

  “A cage is a cage regardless of how much gilding the jailers apply,” said Omandi flatly.

  The two stared at each other. After several seconds, Presley broke her gaze and gestured at one of the chairs. “May I?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “It’s your house, do as you please. I’ll do the same.” She reclined back on the couch, recovered her book, and crossed her bare feet on the small wooden coffee table. Omandi casually flipped through several pages before saying softly, “Ah, there I was…”

  Presley watched her for several minutes before working up enough courage to interrupt Charlotte’s reading. “Um, excuse me, Ms. Omandi, but we have critical matters to discuss.”

  Charlotte peered over the book. “Really, and what might they be?”

  He sputtered for a second or two then said, “Honestly, Ms. Omandi, this is entirely inappropriate and in, point of fact, quite dangerous.”

  Charlotte set down her book and scissored herself to a seated position. She locked eyes with the smaller man. “Oh, I quite agree with your last statement, doctor.”

  He gave a small sigh and said, “I’m glad we agree. I certainly wouldn’t want anything happening to you.”

  Omandi cocked her head, then started laughing. “Oh, wait, doctor I think we have mixed messages here. I find our current situation dangerous, but not for me. If my crew has to break me out of here, it will be very dangerous for you, and for whomever is watching us on that glowing blue monitor . It is also dangerous for every living person on this planet if they don’t. Honestly, David, you really have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself mixed up with, do you?”

  The little man seemed to bristle at this and leaned forward. “I know that your patron, Damien Howard, possessed alien technology. I know that he used that technology to amass a fortune, and I know that he created an illegal eugenics program. A program, Ms. Omandi, that resulted in you. Now, I need you to describe for me your specific abilities. Once we’ve documented those, I will need a complete run-down on your associates.”

  Omandi smiled. “Anything else?”

  Presley shook his head. “For me, no. But there are others who will debrief you with respect to the alien technology, yo
ur geo-political goals, and the location of all associated physical assets.”

  Charlotte nodded. “I assume you mean like the base you’ve no doubt detected in Turkey?”

  The scientist did his best to affect disinterest, but it was a pathetic attempt as he said, “Yes, that base is a perfect example of what one of my colleagues will need to discuss. However, before we go there, can we please start with you? Based on what limited data we’ve already gathered, my team believes you to have some extraordinary gifts.” He slipped a hand terminal from his coat pocket and swiped it open. “Would you please describe exactly what genetic modifications were made to you, and when? We assume they were all done in utero, but would like confirmation.”

  “Well,” began Charlotte with a smile, “My mind processes abstract information a fair bit quicker than most people, can assimilate vast amounts of seemingly disconnected data, then translate that data into actionable insights.” She leaned forward and locked her eyes on David. “Of course, that’s just the boring stuff. What’s really interesting is that I can align my thoughts with others, in such a way, which increases their inter-cranial pressure. Perhaps you are feeling that now.” Presley tensed, and his eyes widened in alarm, as Omandi continued. “It’s not an exact science mind you, or maybe I just don’t have a handle on it yet. In theory I should be able to control minor motor movements, but so far all I’ve been able to do is cause massive brain embolisms.” Charlotte paused again. Dr. Presley rose uncertainly to his feet. She placed a hand over her mouth. “Oh, dear, is it happening again? Sometimes I just can’t control it.”

  A second later Doctor David Presley bolted for the door and was gone. Charlotte stared pointedly at the glowing blue sphere and said, “Can we please skip the preliminaries? Why don’t you send in someone who actually knows what the fuck they are doing and maybe we can reach some kind of accommodation?” She shrugged, “Or not.”

  Omandi picked up her book, flipped to the dogeared page, and began to read.

  Charlotte padded out from the bedroom, flipped her head forward then tossed it back. She patted her damp curling hair with a towel and looked up to find a tall, well-built, black man sitting on her couch. He smiled. She did not.

  “I hope you didn’t lose my spot,” said Omandi

  He set the book down on the coffee table and leaned back against one corner of the couch. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to dog-ear books, especially when they aren’t yours?”

  Charlotte slipped into the same chair Presley had used earlier in the day. “I’m not your guest. I’m your prisoner, Mr….”

  “White, John White,”

  Omandi snickered, “I bet that name made for all kinds of fun growing up, Mr. White.”

  “It’s not my real name. I work for the United States Central Intelligence Agency.”

  Charlotte held one hand to her mouth, in mock surprise, then narrowed her eyes at the agent. “So, are the you person who’s in-charge of this dark little corner of hell, or do I need to excuse you as I did David Presley?”

  White nodded in understanding. “I think you will find me far more acceptable than was Presley. I’m the Special Agent in Charge of all things Damien Howard. In short, Charlotte, the buck stops with me.”

  Omandi smiled at the agent and said, “Well, John, that is good to know, because I really had been wondering whose ass was going to be in a sling for kidnapping and attempted murder. Apparently, it’s yours.”

  “I ordered us some dinner,” he replied, completely ignoring the intent of her comment. “I assume you are hungry. They told me you didn’t touch your lunch.”

  “That’s true,” offered Omandi, “I thought it might be wiser to suss things out a bit to see if my keepers were the threaten-a-girl-upfront or drug-her-food kind of bastards.”

  “May I offer a third option?” he asked with a low chuckle.

  “Be my guest.”

  “Is it possible, Ms. Omandi, that I might just have your, and your people’s, best interests at heart?”

  “Anything’s possible, John. Hell, some Russian Wonder Woman might kick that door off its hinges in the next two minutes and lasso you with her golden rope.”

  He pulled out a hand terminal and tapped on it. “That would be, Misha Sokolov, right?” Charlotte said nothing and he swiped across the device several times. “How about, James Branson? Will he be joining us? I assume you know that Interpol has several open warrants for him?” White looked up, then added, “Of course you do. Now, what about your newest addition, Linnea Sorenson?” He held up the hand terminal for her to see and made a tsking sound. “She’s been through quite a lot because Doctor Howard didn’t have his lab experiments quite as protected as he thought. Then again, she’s absolutely gorgeous isn’t she? Perhaps that kind of perfection can only be produced in a lab. What do you think?”

  Omandi sighed. “I think you are trying to shock and offend me in order to gain some kind of interrogatory advantage. It’s not going to work. In fact, I’m afraid you may need to revise your rather neanderthal’esque techniques.”

  The door buzzed and Agent White rose to his feet as he asked, “Why would they need revising, Charlotte…because you are one of Howard’s lab experiments as well, is that it? I think you’ll be surprised at the variety of tools I have in my kit. But, please hold that thought. I believe our dinner has arrived.”

  A uniformed steward rolled a heavily laden cart into the room and began placing covered platters on the square table to Charlotte’s right. The agent extended a hand to Omandi and she allowed him to help her up. Here it comes, she thought as his eyes narrowed slightly and his hand tensed on her own.

  White pulled her close and whispered in Charlotte’s ear, “I even know about Howard’s little AI Frankenstein project. We don’t have any holographic emitters here, Ms. Omandi, so I don’t think Damien will be joining any jail break attempts.”

  So he’s completely unaware of Damien’s physical body and that means Ice Station Zebra is likely still secure as well, thought Omandi just before pulling back from White and saying, “No, I don’t expect the Damien Howard hologram will be joining us.” A moment later, Charlotte flashed a brilliant smile and asked, “Now, what are we having for dinner? I’m famished.” She spun out of White’s grip and held out her hand to the steward who had just finished setting the table. He reflexively accepted her gesture and she smiled up at him. “Thank you for your service. Is it safe to eat, or should I make my host try everything first?”

  The young man appeared stricken and shot a panicked look in White’s direction. The agent drew up beside Charlotte and said, “You can release her hand now, Johnson. I’ll take it from here. Why don’t you come back to clean up in…” He turned to Charlotte questioningly, “about an hour?” She shrugged noncommittally and he turned back to the steward. “Make it ninety minutes.”

  Charlotte glanced after the young man as she settled into the chair White pulled out for her. “That young soldier seemed quite nice and not at all the sort who would enjoy kidnapping and false imprisonment.”

  John White lifted the dome off several platters and gave them an approving nod. “He’s the sort who does what he’s ordered. Now, it looks like we have a pretty fine selection here. Steak, some kind of fish, it might be sea bass, truffled potatoes, and some very thin green beans. Oh, and wine, we also have wine, both red and white. Charlotte, what’s you pleasure?”

  Omandi fixed her gaze on his and he felt her taking his measure. “I’ll have a little of everything. It’s hard to turn down surf and turf even when one’s company is rather odious.”

  White gave a low chuckle as he placed food on a plate and handed it to Charlotte. “So, I guess you decided I wasn’t going to try and drug you.” She accepted the plate but he didn’t release it. Omandi arched an eyebrow questioningly and he said, “How can you be sure?”

  She frowned. “I’m not going to play games with you, John. Either set the plate down or don’t. As for you drugging me, that’s not your styl
e.”

  He released the plate. “And you’re sure about that, after meeting for, what, fifteen minutes?”

  Charlotte picked up her knife and fork, immediately cut into her steak and took a bite. “I only needed five to size you up, agent White.”

  “Is that so?” he replied laughing, then sat down beside her with his own plate. “Well, what did you decide?”

  “I think your courtesy is a thin veneer that will vanish like breath on a mirror. I think you would drug, beat, or sexually assault me if it were the most effective means to achieve your ends.” She ate a forkful of truffled potatoes, while he eyed her intently. Charlotte took a sip of red wine, then said, “John, you are an amoral man which is decidedly different from an immoral one. You will pursue your objective in as straight a line as possible. Given that, why don’t we just cut the shit and you tell me exactly what you want. If I can give you what you need without compromising my objectives, I will. If not, I assume my accommodations will become more stark, and you, or those you designate, will become far more physical in your encouragement of my cooperation.” He stared at her for a long moment and Charlotte lifted another forkful of mashed potato. “Have you tried these yet? I just love truffles.”

  White set down his fork and asked, “So, what exactly is your objective, Ms. Omandi?”

  “I am accountable for saving humanity from an alien sponsored extinction event,” she replied. Charlotte looked over and saw the agent’s surprised expression before his mask slipped back in place. She reached over, refilled her wineglass, then tilted it toward him.

  White shook his head, then asked, “What about the money?”

  “What about it?” She asked.

  “Damien Howard’s money. It’s vanished from the international banking system. Beyond that, we know all the public reports are wrong. It’s not eight trillion. We’ve estimated that Howard had direct control of approximately fifteen trillion dollars. Are you going to deny that?”