3. First Coins in the Fountain-5
1431 Words
A teenage brunette in a purple G-string and sneakers passed them going the other way. Amu watched forlornly.
Now Marjan complained at him. “Keep your eyes on the directions.” He looked up and down the hall. Vidcams were angled at both ends of the passage.
The ever-present vidcams launched Marjan into an old complaint. “I still don’t understand how you expect to trap my sister, kill her, and get away without getting caught.”
Jamal smiled for the cameras. “And I keep telling you, I hope to get caught. I am eager to be recognized as I fulfill my mission of honor.” He paused. “You’ve read the descriptions of the BrainTrust as thoroughly as I have. They don’t have jails or real courts or any way of punishing people except by making them pay money.” They turned down another corridor and into an enormous elevator. Amu punched the button for their deck. “After they catch us, what will they do? Their own writings tell us they will send us back to Pakistan for judgment.”
“Where they’ll put us in jail for forever when the BrainTrust demands justice.”
“Where they’ll send us back to our own village. We’ll be celebrated as heroes,” Jamal countered. He tapped Marjan on the shoulder. “I understand your fear, my friend, but it is baseless. The BrainTrust is not some mighty nation, able to bend our government to its will. It is just a bunch of big boats full of infidels, infidels so deep in sin that even infidel countries view them as heretics. The BrainTrust may request that a Pakistani judge treat us as he would a heathen, but our country will insist on showing the world it is an independent sovereign state. Once we get to Pakistan, we’ll be home in a week.” Home, and basking in their victory against Marjan’s humiliating sister.
Dash paced back and forth at the front of the empty conference room, pushing her hair back time and again. The introductory slide of her presentation showed steady on the screen, except that from time to time she clicked rapidly through the slides to find and scrutinize a particular image and silently mouth the words that went with it. She was scheduled to defend her detailed proposal for human trials in a few moments. Three senior members of the medical research department would tell her what she had overlooked and leave her with a lengthy list of tasks still to be done before she could even dream of starting.
She was deep in review of the patient selection process when she heard someone tap on the frame of the open door. She half-jumped out of her skin.
Amanda.
“Here early, are we?” Amanda made a droll face. “Well, I was much the same the first time I went through one of these trials-by-fire.” She dropped into a chair and thumped a thick sheaf of paper onto the table. “Your proposal.” She tapped the paper. “I find I still prefer reviewing these proposals on paper, even after all these years. Someday the admins are going to sneak into my office, hijack my printer to the dumpster, and leave me helpless.” Her eyes were alight with laughter. Dash wished she understood the joke.
Dr. Austin Williams joined them moments later. His skin was much darker than Dash’s own, he was heavyset, and he had short curly black hair and a jovial expression. Dash suffered a moment’s panic. Her first meeting with him had taught her to fear his gentle eyes. After the niceties of polite conversation had been fulfilled, he moved swiftly to questions that were sharp and insightful. Which was fine, but those questions all too frequently focused on the aspects of her plan for which she had fewest answers. She found herself having to thank him for embarrassing her—a most uncomfortable situation. He smiled kindly at her as he slid into a seat, but she was not fooled.
The last member of the committee popped into the room at exactly the appointed moment for the meeting to begin. He moved with hurried grace, as if he had somewhere else he needed to be if only people would let him get on with it. Dash had come to realize that this was a correct interpretation of his situation most of the time.
Dr. Galen Blanchard was only a couple years older than Dash herself, she suspected. His thick black eyebrows were perhaps his most striking feature, set in a pale European face. Dash rather thought that Byron might grow to be like him in a few years. They not only had many physical similarities, they shared the same level of intensity and focus. Galen spoke in such quick clipped phrases that she had trouble following him. Amanda had explained that he had been born in France but grew up in New York City, and therefore could not help himself. Dash’s earlier meeting with him had been very brief. He had transferred a page of notes to her tablet, apologized, and gone off to address the next item on his agenda. The notes had been useful, though she had thought they might have been more useful still with a little explanatory conversation.
Dash knelt next to the corner of the table and picked up a pink box. “Welcome, and thank you for coming.” She placed the box on the table and opened it for their inspection. “I brought donuts, if anyone would like one.”
Before the others could move, Dr. Blanchard plucked a glazed pastry from the box. “Thank you,” he mumbled as he took the first bite. “No breakfast.”
Dr. Williams took a lazy moment to consider the array before selecting a solid chocolate donut. “I don’t know that we’ll be here long enough to finish these,” he said in a way that Dash found ominous, “but thank you for the thought.”
“Of course,” Dash answered stiffly.
After Amanda demurred, Dash began her presentation. “First let me talk about the design of the telomere replicators. The CRISPIER, as you know—”
Dr. Williams coughed. “Excuse me, Dr. Dash, we are all very interested in hearing your presentation, but why don’t we pass Amanda’s delightfully archaic paper copy of your proposal around and sign off before we get into the details?” He smiled broadly. “Amanda’s been following your development of the plan quite closely, has she not?”
Dash stared at him. “Yes…”
“And I have read it thoroughly. On my tablet, of course,” he said, looking at Amanda with humor. “Blackie, I’m sure you’ve read it in penetrating detail as well, haven’t you?”
“Of course,” Dr. Blanchard said abruptly. “I have notes—”
“Yes, certainly,” Williams interrupted. “But did you find the plan fundamentally sound?”
“Well, yes.” Blanchard looked flustered.
Williams pulled himself to the table. “Well, then.” He pulled an old-fashioned ink pen, black with a hint of gold inlay, from his pocket with a flourish. “Let us get on with it.” He handed the pen to Amanda, who signed the top page of the document. Williams pulled the document over to himself and signed, again with a flourish. “Blackie?” he asked, shoving the pen and paper his way.
Blanchard stared at him for a second, then smiled. “Of course.”
Williams took the pen and the paper and laid them in front of Dash. “These are yours.” He straightened. “Now, I’m sure your presentation would be even more enjoyable over drinks, perhaps in Ten-Forward on Gplex I. That would be a more suitable venue than this barren conference room. Any objections?”
Blanchard jumped out of his seat. “That sounds very nice, Dr. Williams, but I really have to—”
“Of course,” Williams interrupted soothingly. “You have to go.” He waved to the door. “See you for Akston’s progress report this afternoon.”
Blanchard said on his way out the door, “Dr. Ambarawati, I’ll send you my notes for your consideration.” And he was gone.
Williams turned. “Amanda?”
“I think a drink would go quite well with the rest of our discussion.”
“Dash?”
Dash was still trying to grasp what had happened. She had the required three signatures on her proposal, so she guessed it was approved. “I… Yes, that would be nice.”
Amanda rose from the table. In the tone of a teacher enlightening a student she observed, “Dash, please note: the review and approval of a research proposal of this nature has to be serious, but it does not need to be formal.” She looked into the distance at phantom people she had argued with in the past. “At least not here.”
Dash gave her a partial bow. “Yes. Thank you, Bu Amanda.”
It turned out that her presentation was, indeed, better discussed over drinks. Even if her own drink was just a Coke with a cherry on top.
- Writer
