Dash’s shoulders slumped. “He is so jovial, I am always exhausted when we finally finish speaking.”
Amanda picked up laughing at this. Then she turned serious. “Dash, do you have a proper cocktail dress for a billionaire’s party at a billionaire’s mansion?”
Dash frowned. “I hardly think he has a mansion on the Haven. He says he has a ‘cozy pad.’”
Amanda shook her head. “Trust me. Do you have a dress?”
Dash answered doubtfully, “Yes. At least I think so.”
“And Jam and Ping?”
Dash sighed. “Probably not.”
“Then we have a problem.”
Dash was pleased that Bu Amanda viewed it as her problem too.
Amanda, showing a touch of telepathy, explained, “You’ll all be representing the residents of the Chiron. You must not let anyone outshine you.” Her eyes gleamed momentarily. “You must outshine everyone.”
Amanda started tabbing on her tablet, frowning from time to time. She growled, “I just hate it when those people make us dance to their tune.” She looked up at Dash. “We have some very fine boutiques throughout the BrainTrust, but none of them up to the standard that the Haven brought with them. You’ll all need dresses from Sea Change, on the Haven promenade.”
Amanda tapped out an email for Jam and Ping, demanding, in her role as their boss, that they meet Amanda and Dash at the shop at 5PM sharp that evening. “This is going to be an emergency rush job just like the Heinlein. They’re going to charge us through the nose to have your dresses ready by morning.”
Dash approached the entrance to the Sea Change. The storefront seemed too narrow to house an actual boutique. The door, framed in rococo swirls of gold, was flanked by two windows just wide enough for one tall narrow dress apiece.
Jam, Ping, and Amanda awaited her. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Got tied up.” All three of her companions frowned. Of course, you did, their eyes said most eloquently. Dash straightened her shoulders and marched forward.
A middle-aged woman with short straight black hair hustled up to them. Dash suspected she might have been even shorter than Dash herself, but she moved atop impossibly high platform heels. Dash suppressed a flicker of irritation. It would be nice, just once, to be at eye-level with someone besides Ping. “Good evening. I’m Daniella,” she greeted them with a gracious smile and quick, clipped words.
Amanda explained the crisis. “These three need outstanding outfits for Ben Wilson’s party tomorrow. I’m thinking, we will need Tory Burch, definitely Chanel, Prada, and of course Versace for Ping.” She pointed at her tallest companion. “Jam will need something conservative, yet stunning.” At the moment Jam wore her peacekeeper uniform: black pants and a yellow shirt, and a black scarf over her head.
Daniella nodded. ”Pakistani? It will be a delight working with you. I get so few Pakistani clients here, you know.”
Jam raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you get any.”
Amanda pointed again. “This is Ping.” Ping had come dressed in short shorts and a tank top that showed off her tattoos. It looked a great deal like the outfit she’d worn to take down Jam’s brother-in-law, who’d come with Jam’s ex-husband to conduct an honor killing.
Daniella had apparently heard about that incident. “Ah, of course. Ping the hooker who also is a peacekeeper.” As everyone stared at her, she chuckled. “Oh yes, we’ve heard about you. Half the residents are interested in Dr. Dash’s rejuvenation therapy, and we’re all thankful you saved her on Assault Night.” She turned back to Jam as she realized who her new Pakistani client was. “And you too.” She looked at Ping critically, running a finger lightly down the phoenix inked into her left arm. “For anyone else with tattoos I’d recommend long sleeves for a formal party, but you? Definitely strapless.”
Amanda pointed at Dash, but was too late for the introduction. Daniella clasped her hands together delightedly. “And you simply must be Dr. Dash. I’m so thrilled to make your acquaintance.”
Dash wanted to shrink out the door but knew Amanda wouldn’t allow it. “Call me Dash,” she said softly, “Just Dash.”
Daniella nodded. “Dash. Amanda’s right. Tory Burch.” She paused. “You know you’ll, uh…”
Amanda completed the sentence, “Dash, ditch the lab coat. She needs to be able to see you.”
Daniella looked relieved. “Yes, exactly.”
Dash looked around the small room, bewildered. “You have no dresses here. How can we try on—”
Daniella stepped away and gestured at the walls, which responded immediately. On each wall, a different model appeared, one each of Dash, Jam, and Ping. Daniella spoke again, once to each wall, and the three likenesses of her clients acquired dresses immediately recognizable as too expensive for any sane person to purchase.
Dash swallowed. “Never mind.”
Daniella kept up a running stream of analysis as she discussed with Amanda the best choices for each of them. In those rare moments when Dash, Jam, and Ping got a word in edgewise, Amanda and Daniella acted as if they had not heard, as if the people at the center of this process were too ignorant to offer a useful opinion, which, as Dash ruefully acknowledged to herself, was probably correct.
In the end, Daniella and Amanda confessed to being fully satisfied with the outcome. For Dash, Daniella found Tory Burch’s Evaline Cold Shoulder dress with tassels and a pair of Prada’s kitten heels in the pink and silver to provide a hint of color.
Jam, after an hour of soul-searching, found her virtual self in a Chanel, one of the latest ensembles by Karl Lagerfeld showed during the Chanel Ready-to-Wear Spring/Summer Show. The Tweed Pink, Blue, and Ecru one-piece showed off her height. Danielle had paired the dress with Chanel’s classic spectators in black and white.
Ping meanwhile settled upon a Versace strapless, fully beaded thigh-high…covered in Warhol icons! With Dolce & Gabbana embroidered velvet pumps, a pair of large diamond earrings topped off the chic gaudiness of it all.
At which point Dash looked at Jam, who was looking longingly at the dress chosen for her, while Ping stared at her own image in a way that made Dash look more closely at her to see if steam really was coming out of her ears. Dash realized she had to speak for all three of them. “Daniella, Bu Amanda, we all appreciate what you’re trying to do for us. But really, none of us can afford these dresses.”
Amanda looked at her in astonishment. “You…you can’t afford it?” She peered hard into Dash’s eyes. “What have you been spending all your bonuses on?”
Dash looked at her in puzzlement that slowly faded. “Bonuses? You mean from the successful rejuvenations?”
Amanda’s expression turned into a glare. “Yes, of course. The bonuses.”
Dash blinked. “Well, I, ah, I’ve been really busy.”
Jam tore her eyes away from the dress she could not have. “Let me guess. You’ve never looked at your bonuses. You have no idea how much money you have.”
Dash grimaced. “As project lead, my room and board are paid for automatically. I hardly need any money.” She pointed at the lab coat they had forced her to discard so the boutique’s computers could get her measurements. “Well, I bought a new lab coat. That’s about it.”
Amanda put her hand to her temples and rubbed them. “Dash, would you please look at your bonus account?”
Dash grumbled as she worked her tablet and her eyes widened. “Oh. Goodness.” She looked up at Amanda. “I guess I can afford it after all.”
Amanda gave her a smug smile. “And you’ll probably have enough left over to buy a stick of gum, too.”
Millions of sticks of gum, Dash realized. Then her heart sank as she realized, looking at Jam and Ping, that her sudden rise to riches solved only one-third of the problem. She certainly had enough money to solve the whole problem, but how? If she offered to pay for the outfits outright, Jam and Ping would probably refuse outright.
She looked at Amanda, who looked back mischievously and then turned to Daniella. �
�Could Dash and I speak with you in the back for a moment?”
Jam and Ping watched them suspiciously as they departed. They returned, having agreed to Amanda’s plan quickly—before Jam and Ping got so worried they tried eavesdropping.
Daniella clapped her hands. “I don’t normally do this, but as Dash and Amanda just pointed out to me, you two are so famous you’ll make great advertisements for my styles. I can let you rent the dresses for a day.” She named a price comparable to that for a new pair of blue jeans.
Jam gawked. “But…the dresses are useless to anyone else, right? They’re custom tailored to our measurements, aren’t they?”
Daniella waved the question away airily. “Of course. Of course, I have to get right to work, immediately, to meet your schedule for tomorrow morning—9AM is the party, right?”
Jam nodded.
“Well, then, the dresses should be fine.” She gestured to the walls once more, and the images of two peacekeepers and a medical researcher disappeared. In their stead, a set of mirrors arose. “The dresses are printing as we speak. You’ll need to come in for a final test run at 7AM. Now, about the jewelry.”
Dash was sure she looked as shell-shocked as Jam, though Ping just scowled.
A bot rolled into the room with three cases. Daniella opened the first one. “For Dash,” she announced and wrapped an Enticelle De Cartier necklace made of white gold and diamonds around her neck. Dash put on the earrings made of platinum, emeralds, onyx, and diamonds. Danielle held up the Panthere De Cartier Brooch made of white gold, emeralds, onyx, and diamonds so Dash could see the entire suite of jewelry. The mirrors reflected the glory of the gems, and Dash gasped.
Daniella’s eyes gleamed triumphantly. “Yes, that’ll do.” She opened the next container, pulling out a Pearl necklace from Mikimoto which turned out to be two necklaces in one. The shorter one with two diamond-encrusted pendants and the longer strand all in pearls glowed with soft resplendence falling from Jam’s shoulders.
Jam opened her mouth to object, but Dash spoke first. “Perfect. It’s perfect as a housewarming gift.”
Jam stared at her.
Dash put her hands on her hips. “You gave me a housewarming gift, you know, that beautiful rug in my office. I know it cost you everything you had. This is yours.”
Amanda also spoke before Jam could utter a word. “Jam. Say thank you, and accept it graciously. You really have no choice.”
Jam paused, spun to look at herself in all the mirrors, and acquiesced. “Thank you, Dash.”
Daniella reached for the third case, but Ping held up her hand. “Hold it.” She blew out a sharp breath. “I’ve got this covered.” She squeezed her hand into the taut pocket of her shorts and pulled forth a long string of diamonds.
Daniella leaned over to examine the necklace more closely. She gasped. “A Vivienne.” Her eyes widened. “From the 20s. How did… Where did you…” She straightened and looked quizzically at Ping. “That will work.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Long story,” Ping dodged the question everyone wanted to ask while jamming the diamonds back in her pocket with an urgency that suggested she just wanted them to disappear.
Daniella blinked. “Well, I’ll expect you all again at 7AM.” Her voice turned stern. “Don’t be late.”
They had barely escaped the boutique when Ping rounded on Dash and whispered in her ear, “If you bought those dresses for us on the sly and had Daniella go along with this little charade, I’ll…I’ll…I’ll have to squeeze you to death.” At which point she squeezed Dash, not quite to death. “But you still owe me a housewarming present. You got Jam those beautiful jewels. That’s fine, but I want something really special. I’ll let you know when I find it.”
Dash tried and failed to guess what could possibly make a good housewarming present for Ping. She had a terrible feeling she would eventually find out.
FIRST LAUNCH
The best way to predict the future is to create it.
—Alan Kay, 1971
“Starships were meant to fly” were the first words Dash heard on crossing the threshold into Ben’s cozy pad on the Haven, the words of a song playing softly in the background.
Ping gave a sigh of satisfaction. “Nikki Minaj. An oldie but a goodie. Who’d have thought a creaky old geezer like Ben Wilson would have good taste in music?”
Jam swept the enormous room with her eyes. “Are all these people really billionaires? I never would have guessed there could be so many.” She pointed to the right, seemingly at the ornate ebony-wood bar where two older men sat on stools, discussing either the implications of the hyperinflationary phase of the birth of the universe or the best stocks in their portfolios. “I didn’t expect them to be that young, either.”
Dash raised an eyebrow. “Those two gentlemen do not look all that young to me.”
Jam waved her finger again. “Not them, the ones on the dance floor, silly.”
Dash shifted her gaze slightly, to a small cluster of young people, college-age at best, dancing on a makeshift platform by the bar. “Ah.” She thought about it for a moment. “They could actually be billionaires, you know, it happens here. But they are more likely to be the children of billionaires. We could ask, I suppose.”
Ben’s voice washed over them from nearby. “No time for chitchat with the kids, ladies. You have some serious meeting and greeting to do.” He stood as erect as he could, bent over his walker.
Dash’s heart leaped in her throat; trading introductions with a hundred strangers did not count as one of her favorite things. But Ben seemed to understand. He swept her, not into a cluster of strangers, but rather into group clustered about someone she knew. “Randa! So good to see you.”
Randa Saunders, who had made her billions supplying pipeline infrastructure for nations great and small, glowed with joy at seeing her. “Dash!” She looked Dash up and down, and drawled, “I hardly recognize you without your lab coat.”
Dash laughed and spun lightly. “Bu Amanda insisted I hang it up for today.”
One of the strangers in the group spoke up. “It’s a beautiful dress.” He introduced himself.
This began a round of introductions to people she did not know but whom all seemed to know her. Randa regaled everyone with stories about how Dash had rejuvenated her. Dash felt her face burning.
A male voice interrupted, “Randa, I’m afraid I have to steal your heroine.”
Dash turned, chin up, eyes alight. “Colin!” She nodded to Randa and her troupe and did not quite scamper to Colin’s side. “Thank you for the rescue.”
Colin’s eyes twinkled. “Rescue? You may have to hold off on your thanks. I’d like you to meet Toni.”
Dash sighed. “My throat is quite dry. Could I get a Coke first?”
Colin bowed. “As you wish. But then it’s back into the torture chamber.”
The man standing alertly before the Chief Advisor’s Resolute desk wore a white silk shirt, black tie, and a black suit. With his short haircut and ramrod-straight back, a casual observer might have guessed he was a retired soldier.
In reality, Darren was nothing of the sort. The Army had thrown him aside after the psych evaluation scientifically categorized him with acute antisocial personality disorder. To be more precise, he was a sadistic whack job. Darren led the tiny team, reporting directly to the Chief Advisor, responsible for the branch of governmental intelligence collection euphemistically referred to as “strict interrogation.” The Chief Advisor tasted bile in his throat as he thought about how strict Darren’s interrogations tended to be.
It was all perfectly legal. After an incident in which two tourists from Illinois had been blown up while visiting the Smithsonian in Washington, all the Red state congressmen had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with half the Blue state congressmen to vote for the new powers granted the new team. News media from BreitTart to Huffington heralded it as a remarkable demonstration of bipartisanship.
As Darren reported on his investigations, he lit up
with excitement. The Chief Advisor had gotten used to this. Whether the news proved good or bad, Darren always lit up as he thought about the techniques he had used to obtain the information.
Alas, the Chief Advisor already knew from Darren’s sober posture that the news on the latest interrogation would disappoint. Surprising. Darren never failed to get the answers he sought. Except, of course, on those occasions when the prisoner didn't actually know the answers.
The Chief Advisor decided to warm up the conversation with an easy question. “I take it the transfer of Kelly and Kurt went smoothly?” He already knew that it had gone fine, of course, since he’d been following the progress of these prisoners very closely. Not only did they hold critical information required for the survival of the State, but also the prisoners had cost so much. The concessions he had had to make to the Canadian prime minister to get these kidnappers had been egregious in the extreme. He frowned as he thought with irritation about the BrainTrust’s refusal to send the kidnappers to him in the first place. It was, after all, in the BrainTrust’s best interests as well as his own to find their employer.
Darren answered, “Yes, the transfer was straightforward.” He smiled wickedly. “I don't think the prisoners were very happy with the outcome, however.”
“Judging by your earlier lack of expression, I take it Kelly and Kurt have not yet been helpful in the search for their employer.” What the Chief Advisor had known before prisoner delivery was that Kirk and Kelly had gone to the BrainTrust with the intention of kidnapping the doctor developing the Fountain of Youth. Fortunately, they had been foiled by some girl they claimed to be a commando from the Pakistani army. The Chief Advisor had scoffed at first. Surely no Pakistani would ever let a woman into the Army, much less into the commandos. But his own people had assured him that such women existed. It seemed all too reasonable in retrospect to predict that one of them would find their way to that damnable cluster of sardine cans.
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