Braintrust- Requiem

by Marc Stiegler

  Of course, the modern Rockeyes carried bomblets that held shaped-charge armor-piercing warheads so they could take out the occasional tank. Dmitri had suggested that they might have a salubrious effect on lightly armored sensor domes, and even more interestingly, on aircraft on the deck of a carrier.

  So Ping and Toni soared along to conduct this experiment.

  Ping was eagerly anticipating coming into visual range of the Kennedy when Dash’s voice came in on her headset. “Toni. Ping. Break off. Return to base.”

  Ping’s smile barely fit in her helmet. “Dash! You’re alive!”

  “And you will not be if you do not break off.”

  Ping wailed, “But we’re so close.”

  Dash’s voice took on a commanding tone. “Liling.”

  It took Ping a moment to recover from her shock. “How long have you known?”

  Dash sighed. “Since all of Colin’s files unlocked for me when he was in a coma. Your husband once worked for him. They were friends.” Dash paused to let this sink in. “I’d guess you never met him. They hadn’t seen each other for years and years. But some friendships endure though decades may pass in silence.”

  Ping pondered that. She reluctantly confessed, “That explains a couple of things.”

  “Get yourself out of there. I’m about to drop the whole sky on those fleets, and if you’re there, you might die as well.”

  Ping could see the carrier growing rapidly on her sensors. “But—”

  Dash remained resolute. “Liling. Out now. Please.”

  Ping grumbled, but they turned their planes around.

  Too late. One of the Kennedy’s escorts, out of position to the south, got a reflection off the fighters and fired a salvo of missiles. Ping and Toni jinked and jagged away to the north, to no avail.

  Moments later, the two fighters were no more. Four parachutes descended into the ocean.

  Merrilee listened to the message being forwarded through a complicated routing system to her cell phone from the Alcyone. She put her free hand to her mouth. “Oh, Lord, no.” She listened further and nodded. “I understand.”

  She put down the phone and addressed the class. “Stop everything! We have an emergency.” She explained about the apocalypse torpedo heading for them. “Can we hack into the torpedo and make it abort?”

  Charlie and Kingsley put their heads together, talked briefly, and turned to give instructions to everyone else. In moments, the room was filled with the sounds of clacking keys and clicking mice, in such numbers and at such speed that the noise was almost painful, although the individual sounds were soft.

  In the end, Charlie looked up at his mother in horrified dismay. “To communicate directly with the torpedo, we need a special low-frequency transmitter that we don’t have and can’t make.” He held his hands out wide. “The one in the United States is huge; it’s strung through half of Michigan. I’m not being able to find a way to access that one, either.”

  Shura spoke for Kingsley. “The other way in would be through the Premier’s computer on his desk, which would have a connection to such a transmitter.” Her face turned downcast. “But it’s offline at the moment.”

  Charlie’s face twisted. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Ping spluttered as she broke the surface of the water and sucked in air. “Everybody here?”

  Three other heads bobbed nearby.

  Ping clapped her hands, splashing a haze of water. “Excellent.” She frowned. “Now, this is really important. Check carefully. Is anybody bleeding?”

  Toni, Ted, and Diric shifted around as they tested themselves, finishing with a chorus of negatives.

  Ping scanned the surface of the sea in all directions. “There aren’t any shark fins, either.” She chortled. “This is going so much better than the last time.”

  Toni pointed in the distance. “The Russian battlecruiser is over there. It might be heading our way.”

  Ping grinned like a lioness staring at prey. “Oh, goodie! An even bigger one! Jam would be so jealous.”

  Toni stared at her in confusion. “Well, being grabbed by the Russians is better than drowning, but I was hoping not to be taken prisoner when I got up this morning.”

  Ping gave her a puzzled look. “Prisoner? What are you talking about?” She pointed at the vessel. “We’ll just capture it and take it back to the BrainTrust.”

  Diric gurgled with delight.

  Ted gave her a thumbs-up as a wave swept over his head. “I like the way you think.”

  Toni rolled her eyes. They could see objections flicker across her face, and the change in expression every time she figured out how Ping would counter. In the end, there was only one thing to say. “Okay.”

  As they swam toward the cruiser, Toni brought up an uncomfortable question. “Uh, Ping? I just remembered. Didn’t Dash say she was going to drop the sky on everyone?”

  Ping continued to swim as she considered. “That could be a problem.” She swam a little faster. “We have to hurry. I missed my last chance to capture a cruiser, and Jam didn’t believe we could do it.” Her chuckle turned to coughing as she swallowed a lungful of ocean. “I have to show Jam. Surely Dash will not kill us until we’ve succeeded.”

  They reached the battlecruiser before Dash made the sky fall, whatever that meant. A couple of sailors threw a pair of rope ladders over the side.

  Ping gave final instructions. “Diric, Ted, hang back a bit and let Toni and I take care of this.” She turned to the other pilot. “When we get to the top, hop over, grab the first gun you see, and sweep the deck or make them surrender. I’ll take out the senior officer and force him to order his men to stand down.”

  Toni rolled her eyes again. “As you wish, Empress.”

  They started climbing the ladder.

  With eyes still wide and filled with blackness, Dash brought Matt Toscano up on one of her screens.

  Matt took one look at her before asking, “What’s wrong?”

  She did not answer the question. “Remember how we used to talk about why Colin insisted we put oversize fuel tanks on the Starry Night satellites for station-keeping?”

  Matt nodded. “We thought we’d figured it out during the FBI attack.”

  “We were wrong.” She took a breath. “I hereby commandeer the entire Starry Night satellite constellation in the name of the BrainTrust, under the clauses of the BrainTrust contract pertaining to seizure of assets during a Condition Red Defense of Fleet.”

  Matt stared at her. “Are you serious?”

  Dash continued as if she hadn’t heard, “You will be compensated the full wholesale cost of deploying the Starry Night system, plus damages as specified by a mediator of your choice.”

  For a moment, life flickered in her eyes. “Sorry, Matt.”

  Matt gasped. “You can’t be serious. You’re going to de-orbit the entire constellation? Drop them on the Russian and American ships?”

  Blackness pooled in her eyes once more. “Death and destruction shall rain down. There shall be no Russian fleet, no American fleet, and no survivors.”

  Captain Wilson Tucker clenched his hands as he gave the order. “All tubes fire.” A spread of four torpedoes accelerated away, hoping to bracket the apocalypse torpedo in an explosive blast.

  Sonar eventually spoke. “Clean miss.”

  The captain closed his eyes for a moment. “I can’t hit it.”

  I CANNOT CATCH IT WITH MY BOTS EITHER. IT IS TOO FAST. WE NEED A TRAP.

  Tucker spoke to the listeners. “How can we help?”

  I WILL LAY THE BOTS IN A LARGE CONE IN FRONT OF THE TORPEDO PATH. I WILL SIT IN THE CENTER OF THE CONE. IF IT AVOIDS THE BOTS, IT WILL EVENTUALLY COME TO ME. WHEN IT HITS, AS A WORST CASE IT WILL EXPLODE BEFORE IT REACHES THE BRAINTRUST, AND IF IT HAS A TWO MEGATON WARHEAD NO ONE ELSE WILL BE HURT. IF WE ARE VERY LUCKY THE IMPACT WILL SHAKE THE BOMB ENOUGH TO PREVENT FULL DETONATION, AND EVEN THE SEVENTY MEGATON WARHEAD WILL HURT NO ONE ELSE.

  The captain looked around at hi
s men, who gazed back at him, ready to do whatever needed to be done. “You have a better chance with a bigger target at the center of the cone. We’ll take up position underneath you.”

  AS YOU WISH.

  The captain turned to his crew. “I want to rig all the torpedoes to explode at my command. If that damned thing comes close but looks like it’s going to miss us, I want to take it with us as a prize for Hell.”

  In the Kremlin hospital, Pascha hovered over the Premier’s bed. She brushed the hair off his sweat-drenched forehead. “Hey, baby, I have good news and bad news.”

  The Premier had never been one to refuse to look reality in the eye. “Bad news first.”

  Pascha frowned. “We should start with the good news. You’ll really like it.”

  The Premier was too tired from his last vomiting session to object.

  Pascha sashayed to the door. “Bring him in.”

  A shuffling sound could be heard from the hallway. Soon a big man with heavy eyebrows, clearly designed to be jovial although he currently was not, entered the room wearing an elegantly tailored three-piece suit and manacles.

  The Premier barked a laugh. “Dmitri!” His laughter ended in a choked cough. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  Dmitri growled, “Can’t say the same myself.”

  The Premier’s eyes gleamed with renewed vigor. “As soon as I can get up from this bed, I’ll show you the skinning room.”

  Pascha sighed. “And that almost leads me to the bad news. But not quite yet.” She went to the door once more. “Sis, come on in.”

  The Premier’s eyes widened once again. “Trixie!” A troubled look came to him. “I thought you were dead.”

  Tricia gave a short bow. “The reports were greatly exaggerated. I had to infiltrate the BrainTrust.” She spun in place, showing off ballerina moves she had not forgotten from childhood, although she had not danced since the death of her parents. “I thought I’d bring you a present.” She moved her hands like the hostess on a game show, presenting Dmitri. “Don’t I bring you the best stuff?”

  The Premier chuckled.

  Tricia glided up beside him and kissed him on the temple.

  The Premier settled back, a satisfied smile on his pale, hollow face. “Now, if the Spetsnaz would just get back to me with word that they have the doctor, the day would be complete.”

  Sorrow filled Pascha’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, baby. You need to hear the bad news.”

  Tricia sidled up next to Dmitri and started undoing the manacles.

  The Premier jerked up in alarm. “Hey! You can’t let him go!” He glanced wildly at Pascha.

  Pascha winced. “Tasha can’t keep him like that. He’s the new Premier.”

  The ex-Premier shook his head, utterly baffled.

  Pascha continued in sorrow, “You’re dying, baby. Polonium.”

  The ex-Premier stared at her with horror. “Polonium?”

  Sick and dying though he was, his mind still worked with feverish quickness. His eyes went to Pascha’s nails.

  The sharp tips that had glowed blue earlier had been trimmed away. He muttered, “Cerenkov radiation. You.” He looked up at her as if to ask why but closed his mouth as he answered his own question.

  Dmitri, now free, looked at the sisters. “So, I’m Premier now.” He did not quite make it sound like a question. “Isn’t this a little over the top on the theatrics?” He waved it away. “Never mind.”

  He turned, and the smile he offered the ex-Premier held ferocity but no warmth.

  The ex-Premier sat back again, this time with grim, vicious satisfaction. “How can you possibly run things? Only I have the command codes. ” An ugly laugh followed. “And do I have a surprise for you. I’ve set it up. If I can’t live, everyone will suffer.”

  Dmitri clenched his fists. “What have you done?”

  Pascha and Tricia exchanged knowing looks. Pascha explained, “Don’t you remember, Dmitri? The apocalypse torpedo. It’s on its way to the BrainTrust.” She smiled at the ex-Premier. “Is that what you mean?”

  The ex-Premier remained smug. “It’s unstoppable by anyone but me.”

  Pascha rifled her purse and pulled out her tablet. “You were wondering how Dmitri could run things? Oh, please, baby. I’ve spent so much time pleasuring you in your office, with the computer with all the codes for all the computer chips in the world. How could I resist making a copy?” She blew him a kiss. “You trained me so well, after all.”

  While the ex-Premier and the new Premier stared at her with similar expressions, Pascha scrolled around on her tablet, eventually settling on a page. “Here, Premier. Just tap the Abort button.”

  Dmitri gave her a look of deepest respect. “Thank you, Pascha. Have I mentioned how much I appreciate your help in these matters?” He examined the tablet, then carefully tapped Abort. “So much for that.”

  Tricia interrupted with a tinkling laugh. “Premier, you might want to hurry a little bit to let people know about your status and our changing alliances.”

  Dmitri stared at her without understanding, but he was fast on his feet. “Status. Changing alliances.” He moved his hand in a grand gesture of acceptance. “Of course.”

  Pascha started tapping her screen again. “I should have the first person you need to update online in a moment.”

  As the tablet worked, Pascha turned back to the ex-Premier. She patted him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, baby. It’ll be a grand funeral.” A twinkle appeared in her eyes. “Right after the wedding.” She looked at Dmitri with a sultry expression.

  Dmitri’s eyes bulged. “The wedding. Yes, of course.”

  Ping glanced at Toni one last time as they reached the gunwales of the battlecruiser. “Luck favors the bold.”

  Toni nodded acknowledgment.

  They swung quickly over the side, bounced off the deck, and started to run into the crowd of enemies, to snatch up rifles and begin the assault.

  They stopped just as suddenly.

  No one held a rifle for them to snatch, not even a pistol. But there were a number of instruments of war.

  The ship’s band struck up a somewhat recognizable rendition of the BrainTrust anthem Firework. To Ping’s ears, it sounded like the best performance ever.

  The admiral surged forth from the crowd. “Welcome, welcome, Empress Ping and General Shatzki!” He embraced them each in turn, kissing both on both cheeks.

  He turned to Ping and bowed. “My ship is your ship.” He offered her his hand. “May I have this dance?”

  Ping looked at Toni, who was receiving a similar offer from the ship’s captain. Ping turned back to the admiral. “Of course.” She held out her hands, and they swept across the deck together in a ring of clapping admirers.

  Somewhere along the way, Ted and Diric clambered aboard and watched with amused bafflement.

  Firework gave way to Kazachok, a Russian tune with a lively beat. Ping and Toni switched partners repeatedly, and it became clear that they would necessarily dance with every sailor on the ship before the night was out.

  Before pursuing that goal to completion, however, the band switched to Hava Nagila. An immense circle of hand-holding participants stepped round and round in time to the rhythm.

  Eventually the girls got a break as a team of sailors performed the Hopak, the Cossack sword dance. In those precious moments, Toni sidled up to a flushed Ping. “Looks like we took over the ship after all. I admit I had my doubts.”

  Ping beamed back. “I just can’t wait to tell Jam. I’ll never allow her to doubt me again.” She lowered her voice as she granted a concession of sorts. “I confess, it was easier than I’d expected. A little bit, anyway.”

  Admiral Beck brought his fleet up to cruising speed. With the sky clear of copters and drones and fighters and the laser ship clearly struggling to stay afloat, he thought he should get close enough to see the enemy, in case his satellites really were compromised. Besides, if he hoped real hard, would the ice start to melt?

 
His radar operator interrupted his calm thoughts. “Sir, the Russians are on the move.”

  The admiral spoke with irritated satisfaction. “About time. Heading for the BrainTrust?”

  It took the operator a moment of study to answer. “No, sir.” He looked up at his commander. “They’re heading for us, sir.”

  The admiral gaped at him. “What do they think they’re doing?”

  Adjutant Lambert shrugged. “We don’t dare turn on our comm systems to ask them about it. Do we wait until they’re in semaphore range?”

  Radar interrupted again. “I’m tracking missile launches from the Nakhimov.” His eyes widened. “They’re heading for us as well.”

  No! The admiral shouted, “Tell everyone to close up! Evasive maneuvers!”

  The radar operator slumped in his chair. “Phew. They’re all going to miss.”

  Beck tried to relax his muscles. Moments later, everyone watched out the forward window as half a dozen missiles splashed into the water in front of them.

  Lambert spoke in a dry tone. “I think they’re signaling us without flags. Literally a shot across our bow.”

  The admiral shook his head. “Well, they certainly got our attention.”

  Radar spoke. “Another flight.” After a moment, he offered his interpretation. “Another warning shot. Closer this time.”

  The admiral spoke with command. “Halt the fleet.” He turned to his staff officers. “Opinions?”

  His surveillance expert offered the obvious. “Are they telling us they changed sides? Are they BrainTrust allies all of a sudden?”

  Beck thought that of all the strategies ever used in the history of battle, this sounded most like the approach the BrainTrust would take. This was, after all, how the Romans had finally defeated the Carthaginians. “Order twenty missiles targeted on the Nakhimov. Do not fire.” He asked a foolish question. “Any more missiles inbound?”

  Radar shook his head. “No, sir. They seem to have stopped firing.” He paused. “But they’re still heading our way.”