Braintrust- Requiem

by Marc Stiegler

  He was amused that she had several billion SC in her accounts, although he’d suspected it since she was business partners with Dawn and Gina and Ivy. He was shocked by her time in the White House, but like the others who heard the whole story, his shock turned to rage when he heard what the Premier had done to put her there. He also observed that he now understood why the new Premier and his wife would take time out from their honeymoon to attend their wedding.

  Tricia also told him about her training and experiences as an assassin. He had listened gravely, but she was pretty sure he hadn’t believed her. And in the future she now planned, such skills were irrelevant, so she was fine with his incredulity.

  The ceremony went off without a hitch, as expected. No process involving Dawn would dare run afoul of her wrath.

  That night, Tricia laid her head on Alex’s chest. He stroked her hair and felt her tears trickle over his heart. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  Tricia shook her head. “How can a person like me have a happy ending like this?”

  Jam returned to her cabin on the Elysian Fields, trying not to scratch the long knife wound still healing on her arm.

  As she slumped onto her bed, the doorbell tinkled. She looked at the vidcam and saw an Oriental man standing outside, a rueful, anxious expression on his face. It took her a moment to recognize him, both because it had been a long time, and because of the light speckling of Rubola scars on his cheeks.

  When she finally figured out who it was, she rose as swiftly as she could and hauled the door open. “Major Zhang?”

  The anxiety around his eyes softened. “Jam. You remember me.”

  Jam chuckled. “How could I forget? You rushed after me in hopes of blowing up my spaceship.”

  The anxiety returned to his expression.

  She laughed. “Oh, don’t worry. I don’t hold it against you. I would have done the same thing.” She smiled mischievously. “Except I would have arrived sooner and gotten cooked in the engine exhaust.”

  He smiled at that. “Anyway, I’m a general now.” His voice turned sour. “After almost dying in Beijing during the fall of Sky Rubola, they gave me a medal and promoted me.”

  Jam returned his grave look. “I’m so sorry.” She thought about inviting him into her cabin, but a glance reminded her how austere the place was. She pointed down the passage instead. “There’s a park around the corner. Why don’t we sit and chat?”

  After talking through all the amazing things that had happened to them in the years since they last saw one another, it turned out that Zhang had come on a mission. He opened the backpack he had with him and pulled out a teacup. “After you fled, my men found the rest of the teacups your village elder left behind. Including the two you gave me, I now have eight.” He slid the cup and the backpack over to her. “I thought you might like them back.”

  Jam lifted the cup and stared at it in amazement. “Oh, Zhang, you shouldn’t have.”

  They argued about it for a while. Eventually, Jam half-relented. “You win. I’ll take four of them.” She would keep two for herself, and as for the other two? Well, she had a plan. “But really, keep the other four.”

  Eventually he also relented when she demanded that he meet her the next day in the gardens on the roof of the FB Alpha, where she would serve and share tea with him as she had once before.

  After seeing him off, Jam walked back to her cabin. Outside the cabin, she found a box of chocolates with a note. You agreed to go to dinner with me and then left the archipelago, the note asserted. I demand you make good on your promise. The note included a time and place for her to meet in a ridiculously posh restaurant on the Haven.

  The note was from billionaire Louis Kahn’s son. She’d met him at Ben’s First Launch party several years earlier.

  At the time, he’d regaled her with stories of his exploits with a wingsuit, skydiving around the BrainTrust. She’d explained to him how much she did not want to share the sport with him after her exploits parachute-jumping with the Pakistani commandos.

  Still, he’d been entertaining, and she was more than a little amused at the idea of dining with him on the Haven. But did she have a dress adequate to the purpose?

  At that moment, Aar came strolling up the passage carrying, of all things, a bouquet of brilliant scarlet carnations. He glanced down at the box of chocolates in her hands. “I happened to be wandering through the ships, and thought I’d stop by.” He held out the flowers to her. “When I saw these at a shop on the promenade, I thought you might like them.”

  Jam accepted the flowers, hiding the chocolates behind the bouquet.

  Aar visibly steeled himself. “I don’t suppose you happen to have a few minutes free? I thought you might like to go onto the promenade and have a cup of tea. There’s a great little place that serves chamomile there.” He smiled. “I’d heard you needed healing again and thought the chamomile might do you good.”

  Jam’s smile turned rigid for a moment. Oh, she could just see the two of them, a Muslim girl going on what looked like a date with a Sikh man! Back home, she’d be stoned to death for just thinking about it.

  Aar apparently saw her thoughts in her expression and shrugged. “Hey, it’s the BrainTrust.”

  As she absorbed this telling point, he held out his arm to her. “Why not put those things in a vase and come with me?”

  Jam blinked. She had never been on a date in her life; her marriage in Waziristan to her pig of a husband had been arranged when she was ten years old.

  It seemed she now had the opportunity to date three different men.

  Well, she thought, perhaps it’s time for a different kind of adventure.

  Change in human societies is a slow, incremental process. Except when it’s not.

  The State of Texas declared that all copters certified by the BrainTrust were automatically certified in Texas.

  Both the President for the Duration and the Federal Aviation Administration objected strenuously.

  Inevitably, as the number of copters carrying Texans across the state at record speeds rose at a record pace, an overzealous Air Force fighter pilot buzzed one so close that it ripped the copter’s props to shreds. Everyone agreed it was a miracle the pilot survived.

  The FAA detected far fewer copters flying around Texas thereafter. The President and the FAA told the media of their delight that the problem was solved.

  Ted Simpson made a killing retrofitting all those copters with graphene stealth coatings. Flights continued.

  The State of New Hampshire declared general-purpose robots to be legal. The President for the Duration, appalled by the devastating effect this would have on employment numbers as cruel corporations replaced their people with machines, issued orders to every port of entry and all the personnel in the US Customs Service to ensure such vile automatons did not enter the country.

  He watched unemployment numbers with intense scrutiny to ensure the GP robots had been thwarted. After a couple of months, he ended his hypervigilance, relieved he had succeeded.

  Far out in the international waters of the Atlantic, an immense dirigible floated, held in place by the constant steadying pressure from its propellers.

  A long ribbon of Zylon, stronger than Kevlar, hung to sea level. There a ferry sent a stream of GP bots carrying cargo up the ribbon to the dirigible. Upon arriving, the bots unpacked their cargoes and from them assembled individual plastic gliders. The bots then strapped themselves to the bellies of the gliders and flung themselves from the dirigible.

  The gliders had radar cross-sections smaller than a sparrow and gave off less heat than a sparrow. They flew in the dead of night to Abe’s Hardware Store in New Hampshire, completely undetected.

  Abe’s assistant was the first to see the gliders as they settled into the center of the parking lot, which was lit by spotlights. He pointed. “That was a nice landing.”

  Abe nodded. “Now get that stuff into the back room reserved for local customers only.”

  The bo
ts caused no unemployment because they were mostly bought by maple tree tappers, who would send out the bots to nurture the trees, extract the sap, and heat it until it became maple syrup. The people who owned the bots continued to work very hard. They had to experiment vigorously to discover the most comfortable way to sit on the couch, make difficult decisions about which football game to watch live, and take careful sips of their steaming hot chocolate.

  Jam followed Dash and Ping to the top deck of the Chiron. Dash had invited them to join her for a quiet celebration, although Dash refused to specify what they would celebrate.

  An eerie luminescent green glow consumed almost half the sky.

  Ping gasped first. “The Northern Lights. Aurora Borealis. I didn’t think they came down to this latitude.”

  Dash shook her head. “They don’t come down to San Francisco, but we’re not going straight home from the battle zone where we defeated the Alliance. We’re taking a leisurely cruise, and turning around just south of the Bering Strait.” She pointed at small clusters of people standing on the deck, watching the sky. “Lots of people wanted to see the sights while we were out in the middle of the ocean anyway.”

  Jam felt obligated to say something. “It certainly is a beautiful place for a celebration.” She raised an eyebrow at Dash.

  Dash’s smile shone brightly in the odd light. “And a celebration it is.” She reached into the pocket of her lab coat and pulled out two vials. She handed one to each of them.

  Ping rattled the lone pill in its container. “What is it?” She tried to open the container, but the lid wouldn’t budge.

  Dash gave stern instructions. “Ten years from now, the lids on these bottles will unlock. They will then send email messages to both of you that it’s time to take your pill.”

  Jam’s eyes gleamed. “How many years?”

  Dash’s eyes gleamed back. “Fifteen. Take it in ten years and you’ll be five years younger than you are now.”

  Ping threw her arms around Dash. “Yippee! Congratulations!”

  After Jam joined the hug and they broke apart, Ping pursued an old issue. “So, is this really the Fountain?”

  Dash frowned.

  Ping persisted. “Come on. I won’t take my pill if you don’t say it. It’s the Fountain…”

  Dash slumped in surrender. “You win. It’s the Fountain of Youth.”

  Ping jumped up and down with her arms in the air. “Score!” She turned serious again. “You don’t have to go, you know. You can go later. Now that you’ve made these, you have all the time in the world.”

  Dash’s smile outshone the aurora. “And not a moment to lose.”

  Karen Molina lay limp on her bed in the little apartment, thanking the Lord she could not smell the undoubtedly disgusting stench of unemptied trash cans and unwashed dishes—the aromas of a life coming to an end.

  She spent a few moments regretting moving from Arizona. She would have died sooner there, but she would have died clean. Alas.

  Then she heard someone banging on her door. Who the hell could that be? She couldn’t remember where she’d put her cheap little plastic pistol, so she couldn’t shoot them, but it didn’t sound like thieves anyway. She closed her eyes, confident they’d leave in a few moments.

  No such luck. The sound of scrabbling at the lock yielded to the sound of the door opening.

  Karen watched irritably as Melissa Kuffman marched into her bedroom and started issuing commands. “Get up, you old coot.”

  Melissa turned to her drawers and rifled them. “You got any clothes worth saving? Honestly, where’s your self-respect?”

  She turned back to Karen and continued, “Forget the clothes. You need a serious makeover. New clothes included.”

  Karen croaked, “Why are you here?”

  Melissa stepped over and yanked off the sheets. “I’m mostly here because you stopped answering your phone.” She put her hands on her hips. “If you’d answered your phone, I’d have told you we worked out a deal for you.”

  Karen saw she would have to rise from her deathbed at least long enough to throw Melissa out on her ear. She snorted. “Deal? What kind of deal?”

  “Jonathan cut a deal with your pension fund. He got what’s left as a lump sum. It’s enough to make a down payment for you on a pair of bots. One will take care of you, while the other one will work on a new isle ship that’s due to lift anchor in a month.”

  Karen had trouble making it to her feet. “I don’t need a damn robot. And why would I put one to work on an isle ship, anyway?”

  Melissa heaved her the rest of the way upright. “There. The bot will earn enough money to pay for your room and board and the monthly payments on the bots.”

  Karen’s eyes came alive. “Really? I can earn money from the bot’s work?”

  Melissa grabbed the walker from the other side of the room and brought it to her. “Unless you don’t want the money.”

  Karen snorted. “I don’t need a bot to take care of me. I’m doing fine on my own.”

  Melissa just stared at her.

  Karen continued. “Well, I could do fine on my own if I had a reason.” She licked her lips. “Especially if I could put the second bot to work and make more money.”

  Melissa gave her a satisfied smile. “Now you’re talking like the woman I knew.” She opened the door for Karen.

  “So you’re taking me to the BrainTrust? You’re putting me on a new ship? Can I see the Milky Way in the night sky? What’s the ship called, anyway?”

  “Yup to the first, yup to the second, and you’ll be able to see the sky from the botanical garden on the roof, though like everything else on this particular ship, you’ll have to pay a fee to get in. And the ship’s called the Friedman. It was built by a couple of billionaires just like you— ‘Don’t Tread on Me’ kind of people. They’re running an experiment, trying to build the world’s first society to use a network of interlocking smart contracts to replace government. You’ll love it. Everybody signing up is as ornery as you are.”

  Karen stopped her walker at the door. “Like me, huh? Won’t that be an adventure.” She looked around the apartment. “I need to find my gun,” she muttered. “Won’t fit in without it.”

  Lindsey Postrel stood outside the high school gymnasium in Capintra, a charming town near Santa Barbara, California. She was asking her interviewee and tour guide a last couple of questions. “So, Craig Lewis, I understand that Sheldon Collins, the CEO of VBC, poached you from the Accel Corporation to run the new VBC division in charge of Advanced Educational Technology. True?”

  Craig chuckled. “I guess you could say he poached me. Sort of. It’s true I’m a VP with VBC now.”

  “And just how did Lenora Thornhill feel about that?”

  Craig laughed out loud. “Actually, she loved it. If I do well here, Accel’s revenues because of the license fees will go through the roof.” He laughed. “They threw a terrific going away and welcoming party.”

  Lindsay paused as she tried to understand. “A going away and a welcoming party at the same time?”

  Craig nodded. “Lenora and Sheldon threw it as an exercise in collaboration. So as you see, no hard feelings.”

  “Goodness.” Lindsey turned to the school. “And how did you get into the high school here?”

  Craig looked sorrowful. “That’s an unfortunate story. The town’s city council and the mayor made a deal to fund new construction about a decade ago. It was one of those deals that looks good on paper—the monthly payments on the loan were quite small for the first few years, but they grew over time.”

  “Sounds like California itself, on a smaller scale. And some years earlier.”

  Craig nodded. “Yeah. Anyway, eventually, the city couldn’t pay for everything anymore. A judge ruled that the pensions for the unions had first priority, the loan payments second, and current services were third.”

  Lindsey groaned. “So no more road repair, no police, no firefighters, and no teachers.”

 
Craig frowned. “Well, the pensioned police, firefighters, and teachers were fine. But you’re right, everyone who was working was furloughed. Almost everyone, anyway. I think there’s one policeman still. And they’ve now got a volunteer fire department. Of course, there’s no judge, so they send alleged criminals to Santa Barbara for trial.”

  Lindsay spoke to her camera. “And now we’ll go see the silver lining to this story.”

  They entered the gymnasium, and Craig explained what they were seeing in a whisper. “As you can see, all the students are gathered here in one big room, working with Accel on their tablets.” He pointed at the two adults in different sections of the room. “We have two teachers here. There are no room-size lectures. Mostly the teachers are alerted by Accel when one of the students is unable to learn a module with any of the existing variants that use different teaching approaches. When that happens, one of the teachers goes and helps that student get over the hump.”

  Lindsay looked around the room, expressing amazement for the camera, although she was not really amazed since she’d seen Accel in action on the BrainTrust. “So you must have a hundred students for every teacher.”

  Craig nodded. “It’s tremendously efficient. The teachers are always doing what every parent should want—offering their children personal, customized help when they most need it.”

  “And yet, with such a poor teacher-student ratio, surely the results are not what you’d find in a richer school district.”

  Craig chuckled, turning smug. “The rich districts just have more money to blow on old-school methods. Sure, if you’re stuck teaching the same way your grandparents did, the money helps. But we’re talking about a transformation here comparable to the change from vacuum tubes to transistors.”

  He waved his hand at the roomful of students of disparate abilities and backgrounds. “Testing so far suggests the following results. Most of the kids who did worst in the old system stay about the same in the new system, though some—the ones who got into trouble because they were bored—do amazingly better. The kids who did best under the old system—the best and brightest in some sense—achieve at a rate that leaves everyone astonished.”