The Braintrust Complete Series Omnibus

4. A Little Trouble-1

4

A Little Trouble

It ought to be remembered that there is nothing more difficult to take in hand, more perilous to conduct, or more uncertain in its success, than to take the lead in the introduction of a new order of things. Because the innovator has for enemies all those who have done well under the old conditions, and lukewarm defenders in those who may do well under the new. This coolness arises partly from fear of the opponents, who have the laws on their side, and partly from the incredulity of men, who do not readily believe in new things until they have had a long experience of them.

—Machiavelli, The Prince

When she arrived in the cafeteria with Byron by her side the next day, Dash saw Jam sitting alone at their normal table. Dash asked, “Where’s Ping?”

Jam shrugged. “She said she’s bringing a surprise.”

Dash sat down. “Well, I hope she hurries. I have a meeting with a member of the Food and Drug Administration shortly.”

Byron looked at her in astonishment. “The FDA is coming to hear about your work?”

Dash shrugged. “When Bu Amanda told me about it, she was surprised too. Her comment was, ‘Nothing good can come of it.’”

Byron looked excited. “I don’t see why not. Maybe they want to fast-track your therapy for certification.”

“Bu Amanda thought it was more likely they wanted to sabotage me. She pointed out that the FDA did not even acknowledge aging as a condition for which treatment was appropriate until 2031, when a public outcry arose because the media found out that people were actually living longer if they illegally took a well-known decades-old diabetes medication rumored to have longevity properties. Bu Amanda recommended that I be polite to the FDA, but get them off the BrainTrust as quickly as possible so I could get back to work.”

Byron could not help arguing. “Regulators are not all bad. Sure, they get carried away sometimes, but…” his voice faded as he looked at the approaching Ping.

Ping was pulling a black metallic set of interlocking tubes from a back harness. She shook the metal tubes several times; they popped out of their original positions and locked into new ones. Soon the assembly was taller than she was. She hoisted one end onto her shoulder. After swaying under the burden for a moment, she adjusted her balance and pointed it toward the windows.

“See my Big Gun?” she asked excitedly.

Jam pursed her lips. “I see a BT12 PGM Autolauncher with both IR and radar targeting.”

“That’s what I said! It’s my Big Gun.”

Byron shrank down in his seat as if trying to use the table to shield himself. “Could you please put that away before someone gets hurt?”

“Don’t worry, I left the missiles in the armory. It can’t hurt anybody.”

Dash countered. “If you swung it the wrong way, you could bash someone in the head. I second Byron’s request. Please put it away.” As Ping’s face turned sorrowful, Dash softened her tone. “It is a very pretty Big Gun. I have no doubt it would be quite effective for, uh…”

Jam finished the compliment. “Blowing up small boats and slow aircraft.”

Ping pushed a hidden locking button with her thumb and shook the weapon back down to backpack size. “We’re ready now.”

Byron was slowly turning purple. “Ready for what!? You got that out of an onboard armory? What are you doing with an armory on the ship? If you shoot a gun in these steel passageways, the bullets’ll ricochet off the walls and kill a dozen people!”

Jam interceded. “Which is why the guns are locked in an armory. In a Condition Red Defense of Ship, the armory is unlocked. The crew, including Ping and myself, can retrieve our assigned firearms. And any residents who brought their own guns aboard can fetch them as well, for the duration of the emergency.”

Byron pushed. “So people can just wander the passages with guns?”

This time Ping replied. “Only during Condition Red. And of course, the tourists on Elysian Fields are not allowed to bring guns on board at all. Only the crew and residents are allowed to participate in the defense of the ship. Letting tourists have guns would just be crazy.”

This left Byron speechless for a moment, but it did not last. “Defense of Ship? Defense from whom?”

Dash gave him an answer she thought he might appreciate. “Defense from the Red Party that runs your federal government, for one. If you remember your history, the President-for-Life was planning at one point to put soldiers aboard and forcibly evict everyone from the BrainTrust.”

Ping hissed, “Piracy, plain and simple.”

Byron shook his head. “That was a long time ago.”

Dash’s phone rang. She glanced at the text message she’d just received. “I have to go.” She looked remorsefully at the other tables where people sat eating and chatting. “I guess I’ll eat later. I need to meet our guest from the FDA.”

Jam pushed away from the table. “It would be good to stretch my legs. May I come with you?”

Dash motioned for her to come along. The two of them departed, leaving Ping smiling brightly at Byron, who glared back and demanded the last word in the argument. “Physical assaults like that just don’t happen in modern times.”

Dash and Jam walked outside onto Chiron’s sun-washed boat dock, and Dash pointed to a yacht docked at one of the slips. It seemed tiny, though Dash supposed that just about any yacht would look small tied up alongside a BrainTrust isle ship. “That must be his boat.”

As they approached the dock, Jam looked at the yacht in puzzlement. “Why did he come in a boat? Why not a copter?”

A head sporting sandy short-cropped hair appeared on the ladder from belowdecks. As he climbed into full view, he said, “What a great excuse to take my yacht out for a spin!” He reached the stern and jumped lightly across to the dock. “I'm Dr. Jack Keller from the Food and Drug Administration. And you must be—”

“Call me Dash,” she said as she shook his hand heartily. “And this is Jam.”

Jam saw a frown cross his face for a moment before the smile came back. Addressing Jam, he asked. “Are you coming with us to talk about telomeres as well?” As Jam laughed at this, another man came down the ladder from the yacht’s wheelhouse. Something about him struck Jam as odd. The only thing she consciously saw that seemed out of place was that he was wearing combat boots instead of deck shoes. Jam spoke a little distractedly. “No telomeres for me today, exciting as that sounds.” She was about to explain that she had to go start her peacekeeping shift when the man in the boots started to loop a loose line around a cleat—a simple loop, not a cleat hitch as she’d learned was proper on her trip across the Pacific. “I have some errands to do.”

The man with the line glared at her, clearly wishing she’d go away. “Who’re you?” he demanded.

“Friend of Dr. Dash. You?”

Jack interrupted. “He’s my crew. Kurt.” After a moment’s pause, he turned. “Anything wrong, Kurt?” Kurt replied gruffly, “Everything’s fine, Mr. Keller.”

Jam’s eyes narrowed. Mr. Keller? A strange lack of courtesy…unless Jack Keller was not really a doctor.

At that moment Kurt turned toward the ladder to go belowdecks. As the breeze ruffled his jacket, Jam saw a bulge outlined at the small of his back. A whiskey flask? A bottle of Love Potion Number 9? Or a pistol?

Something was not right here.

Jack frowned at her; apparently he wished she were gone as well. When Jam showed no inclination to depart, he turned to Dash. “I was going to ask you to come aboard for a cup of real mainland coffee, but we should probably be on our way.” He bowed to Dash and waved his hand toward the nearest passage. “Lead on.”

On impulse Jam said, rather too loudly, “You know, this is a delightfully sunny spot. I believe I shall sit and read a bit.” She strolled to where she could lean her back against a bulkhead, slid down to the deck, pulled her tablet from a pocket, and began to peruse a romance novel.

A couple minutes later Kurt came partway up the ladder and saw her. After a long considering moment he smiled, sort of. “Well, if you're a friend of Dr. Dash and you're gonna hang out here a while, you might as well come aboard. There are more comfortable places you can sit, and I'm making coffee.”

Jam smiled innocently back. “That would be great.” She hated coffee, but she doubted they'd get that far. She rose languidly from the deck and kicked off her shoes. The soles of her sneakers were too soft if she needed to kick, so she hated wearing them in a fight.

Kurt offered a hand to climb aboard and she accepted.

“The galley is beyond the salon.” He gestured down the ladder. “Ladies first.” She went down into the salon, wholly outfitted in lustrous redwood, and took several steps toward the doorway at the far end. As Kurt came down the stairway she raised her right arm; her glittering bracelet of shiny silver disks let her look behind her. “Is the galley that way?” she asked, pointing forward.

He reached the bottom of the ladder and turned. “Huh?” he asked.

She continued to keep her back to him as she walked partway into the galley. “This way?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied in another brilliant conversational foray.

She watched in the disks as he pulled a delightfully wicked-looking Ka-Bar from beneath his jacket. Very embarrassing. She hadn't spotted the knife; she'd expected him to go for the gun. Well, on the bright side, this would save her a search of the galley, since she was going to need a knife in a few moments anyway.

Kurt leaned forward, bringing the knife up. Jam leaned forward too and kicked back with her heel, very glad indeed she’d ditched the sneakers.

Kurt gave a satisfying grunt as her foot drove into his solar plexus. She spun to chop his throat. This encouraged Kurt to follow up with a guttural cough. There was a sharp snap as she took his knife-hand in hers and broke his wrist against a convenient counter, bringing him to new heights with his virtuoso performance of a scream of pain. The knife clattered to the floor. She removed the gun from the small of his back—a nice Daewoo 9mm, a professional's piece for all that Kurt had not shown much skill. Perhaps he, like her husband, assumed she was easy because she was a woman. “Hmpf,” she grunted. She snatched up the knife and poked him deeper into the galley. “I used to be a Pakistani commando,” she growled angrily. “Why don't people take me seriously?” She reined in her anger and switched to a chattier voice. “They teach us many interesting interrogation techniques in the commandos. I'm sure you'll enjoy learning them. They should be useful in your line of work.”

After sitting him down on the closest chair she swapped the knife for the gun, making sure he could see the barrel pointed at his chest. That would encourage him not to offer her a distraction as she rifled the drawers in search of zip ties. She conveniently found them in the second drawer she opened—big thick ones, no doubt originally intended for Dash.

After zip-tying him to the chair, she swapped the gun for the knife once more and picked up where she’d left off. “You know, since we're not actually aboard the BrainTrust, we are free of their rules and conventions on handling prisoners.” She leaned over, putting her face into his. She smiled for him, letting a slightly crazed excitement light her eyes. “We are on our own to work out our relationship as we see fit.”

Kurt opened his mouth to object, but the serenity of her madness seemed to stop him. She tapped him lightly on the forehead with the flat of the blade, and brought the point to hover over his left eye. “What's that, Kurt? You disagree? What difference do you think your opinion makes?”

Jam knew, of course, that she would be in serious trouble when her bosses found out about this little escapade, especially if they decided she’d gone as crazy as Kurt thought. But after watching Kurt’s expression change, she concluded that she’d accomplished her goal. She knew that he believed that she believed what she’d said. Good enough—now they could talk.