Crescendo Of Fire

by Marc Stiegler

  Ping said brightly, “Cheer up! If we’re lucky, you’ll need to come out to the Prometheus to patch me up after I wipe out all the pirates.”

  With that Ping and Jam walked down the gangway, waved goodbye one last time, and disappeared.

  Dash stood quietly for a long moment. Colin appeared. “They will come back, you know. Stronger, better. Who knows? Perhaps even wiser.”

  Dash watched as the tunnel-bridge connecting the gangways retracted into the side of the ship. “The places they are going are dangerous,” she observed.

  “Which is exactly why we’re sending Jam and Ping. Who better to handle it?”

  Eventually, Dash forced herself to answer. As was her nature, she answered honestly. “True.”

  An alarm went off on Colin’s tablet. “Gotta go.”

  He walked off. Dash watched as the isle ship broke away, and headed into the west, for a very long time.

  In the early days of Mao's revolutionary transformation of China, the power structure was quite simple: the chairman's closest personal friends held all the power. With Mao's death, the process of achieving authority became considerably more Darwinian. Power passed to the most ruthless, cunning, competent and hungry members of the elite.

  But as time passed, the winners of this ferocious process of natural selection discovered they had a problem. Their children were not getting any smarter, and they were not getting any younger. So the system evolved once more, in the way that such systems always evolve, and the instruments of state power were reshaped to protect the bloodlines of the power elite. Thus, early in the twenty-first century, a new class of characters came into being with their own name. The Red Princelings sprang forth, born to accept the power commanded by their parents when their time came.

  By the time the ships of the Fuxing and Prometheus fleets departed from the BrainTrust, the transformation was complete. All power was hereditary. However, the qualities of ruthlessness, cunning, hunger and competence had been transmitted from father to son to grandson as imperfectly as always. The ruthlessness had evolved an edge of cruelty but still crossed generations with considerable success. The hunger utterly disappeared, and the cunning and competence suffered considerable impairment.

  Occasional bright spots arose. Here and there, a grandchild would show a spike in disciplined intelligence, but more often all but the cruelty was lost.

  Guang Jian sat looking out the window of the Dean's office. Others might have found little in the view to hold their interest. All he could see was thick gray fog, like a painter’s canvas that had been exposed to too much car exhaust. On another day, with a brighter sky, another person might have found some charm in the view of the greenswards of the university and of the quaint stone architecture of the old town of Cambridge, England. But Guang Jian found the town no more exciting than the dull fog. Something even duller than the fog, however, filled the room: the droning voice of the dean.

  "If you were anyone else, we would be putting you on trial. But…" The gray-haired fuddy-duddy pursed his lips as he clenched his pen. He sat behind an ancient desk surrounded by bookcases filled with ancient writings that made the room smell moldy, at least to Guang. "The guards will accompany you to your limo. The limo is waiting to take you to your father's airplane, which will take you home."

  Guang Jian exhaled a sigh of relief as the droning stopped. He stood up. "I'll go pack my things."

  The dean clenched his pen tighter. "No need. Your girlfriend, Fan Hui, has already gathered your things into the trunk of the car." The dean sighed. "We'll be sorry to lose her. It's a shame she's chosen to leave with you. She had a bright future here."

  Guang Jian left without responding. Of course, Fan Hui was leaving with him. He was the son of a member of the Standing Committee. Fan’s father, while powerful enough in his own right, was merely a member of the Politburo. Had she not wanted to leave with him, he would have demanded it, and she would have left with him anyway.

  As their private jet arched away from the cold, miserable little island of Britain, Guang asked Fan, "how long until we land in Beijing, anyway?" He asked with a certain amount of dread. When his father droned at him the same way the Dean had, he would have to listen.

  Fan shook her head and her long, glossy black hair reflected glints of light. It was one of the things he loved about her, the way her hair shimmied down her long, lithe back to almost touch her cute butt when she walked. "We aren't going to Beijing. We're going to Shanghai, where we'll board Chen Ying's mom's yacht and sail out to the new BrainTrust." Seeing Guang's blank look that perfectly blended ignorance with disinterest, Fan uttered a disgusted sound. "Honestly, you need to pay a little attention to what's happening in the world. The BrainTrust has sent a new archipelago to set up shop in international waters just outside our two hundred-mile territorial limit. It's called ‘the Fuxing.’ You know, the ancient God of Prosperity."

  Now boredom congealed on Guang's features. "What could they possibly have that would be interesting?"

  "They have a brand-new University, a part of BTU. So they're already pretty prestigious, even though they don't have any students yet. They’re calling it Taixue University."

  For the first time, Guang showed a little interest. "So we'll have the run of the place?"

  Fan nodded. "Exactly. We can mold it and run it as we see fit." She frowned. "At least we can run it if you learn to keep your pants zipped."

  Dash took an arvee, one of the little driverless vehicles used on the BrainTrust to get around that looked more like a Disney bumper car than anything else, back to her cabin on the Appalachian Spring floor of the Chiron. There she found a tall, lean young woman with shoulder-length black hair, dusky skin, and a solid sleeve of tattoo-work running down her right arm. The tattooed beauty busily carried suitcases into the cabin next to hers — Ping and Jam’s cabin, Dash had always thought of it. Dash gripped her irritation and pushed it down. This woman had not caused her friends' departure.

  The arvee stopped, Dash stepped out, and the new neighbor straightened from her labors. “Dr. Dash? Nice to meet you.” She held out her hand in greeting.

  Dash once more reflected on how irritatingly tall Americans were. She had to crane her neck to smile up at her. “Nice to meet you too. Just call me Dash. I guess you are my new neighbor.”

  “The pleasure is mine. My name is Chance. And I’m not just your new neighbor. I’m your new intern.”

  Dash paused for a moment. “Goodness. In that case, I am doubly delighted to meet you. We are way behind schedule since…things did not work out with my last intern.”

  A shadow of concern crossed Chance’s eyes. “I heard what happened.” She offered a sober smile. “I promise to be a better intern than he was.”

  Dash thought it best not to mention that prior to Byron’s crazed attempt to kill her he had been a brilliant assistant, clearly capable of becoming a lead researcher in a few years in his own right. Chance would have to do well indeed to match him.

  An arvan rolled up, and a bot hopped out and dropped two suitcases and a footlocker.

  Chance nodded at the new packages, saying, “I guess my roommate is on her way.”

  Dash asked, “Do you know her?”

  Chance shook her head. “They just assigned her last night. Her name is Toni.”

  “Toni?! Are you sure?” Dash asked.

  And then another arvee rolled silently up.

  Toni Shatski waved and leaped from the vehicle. “Dash! Great to see you again.” She moved briskly and gave Dash an enthusiastic embrace. She turned. “And you must be Chance, my roommate, right?” More gingerly, Toni hugged her new roommate.

  Dash was still staring at her. “I thought you were a student on the BTU ship. Should you not have a cabin over there?”

  Toni shrugged. “I am a BTU student. But I guess Colin saw how well you and I got on together, so he asked if I’d mind having my home a little farther away.” She paused. “As he pointed out, I’m a little older than the ty
pical BTU kids, he thought I might like to hang out with people a little older, who didn’t feel it necessary to pull all-nighters every time they had an exam.”

  Dash wondered if Toni would be disturbed when she found out how often Dash herself pulled all-nighters.

  But Toni was still speaking. “Besides, it’s only a kilometer and a bit, and I like to run 10K races. BTU is about four minutes away if I kick it a little.”

  Chance spoke. “That’s cool. I’m a runner too.” Her eyes lit up. “I hear there are some good paths around the archipelago.” She turned to Dash. “I don’t suppose you’re a runner as well?”

  Dash shook her head. “No. My knee…” Dash suddenly realized that her old reason for not running was now obsolete. She was still adjusting. “I used to have a bad knee. No cartilage.” She brightened. “But they fixed that while I was in the hospital.” For the bullet wound, she thought, but decided not to mention that. “I should be able to run now. Perhaps, if you don’t mind a beginner …”

  Chance pumped her fist. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

  Toni eyed Dash. “A newbie. We’re going to have to break her in gently.”

  Chance’s eyes lit up. “The beach. We’ll start her off on the beach. The sand makes running really hard, but it soaks up the impact.”

  Toni agreed. “And we can wear bikinis. You’d get to show off all your tattoos.”

  Chance held up her arm to show off the line of tats. “And Dash would look great in a bikini.” She clucked her tongue. “Wouldn’t go very well with her lab coat, though.”

  While her two new neighbors rattled on discussing ever more ridiculous plans, Dash found herself studying them and thinking about their arrival on her doorstep. Once again, she was pretty sure Colin had put them both here, just like Ping and Jam.

  Lindsey had already accused Toni of being one of her protectors. Could that mean…? “Toni,” Dash interrupted the comical discussion of how to be nearly naked on the beach without violating BrainTrust cultural conventions, “You’re in the Air Force, correct? Do they teach you any hand to hand, martial arts combat?”

  Toni shrugged. “They taught me some Krav Maga. Honestly, I don't like it. I’m better with the parts of the style that’re taken from aikido.”

  Dash persisted, “So, are you one of the top three Krav Maga experts or anything like that?”

  Toni just laughed. “Oh, heavens no. Why?”

  Dash turned to Chance. “And you. Are you a world champion martial arts expert in your spare time?”

  Chance raised her eyebrows. “Well, I appeared in a few videos of mixed martial arts contests. They just loved my tattoos.” She struck a pose. “I used to be a tattoo model.”

  Toni asked, “Not anymore? What happened?”

  Chance sighed. “Started to run out of skin. Bioorganic here.” She pointed at her arm again, where the web of tattoo work formed a complex pattern of conjoining curves. She then pulled the side of her skirt up and ran a finger down her left leg. “Biomechanical here.” These tattoos also formed a pattern, but they consisted of sharp lines and hard angles. Chance turned and started lifting the back of her shirt. “And this is my best work—”

  “OK, enough!” Dash said, laughing. “Save some for the beach.”

  Chance shrugged her shirt down again. “Anyway, I decided it was time for a change of profession. So I got a scholarship here, and came to work with you.”

  Ping and Jam had barely crossed the gangway onto the Mount Parnassus, an isle ship of the Fuxing archipelago, when a gruff older man wearing a captain’s uniform accosted them. “And how are my two ferocious combat machines doing today?”

  Jam’s eyes gleamed in recognition. “Captain Ainsworth!” She saw someone else behind him. “And Chief Hart!” Her eyes danced. “Or should I call you Bruno?”

  Security Chief Hart Baddeley scowled at the nickname. “He calls me that when he wants me to pretend to have fifty pounds more and ten IQ points less.” His scowl turned to a happy smile. “Call me Hart.”

  Jam stood awkwardly as the captain and the security chief came up and hugged her.

  Ping smacked her lightly on the shoulder. “You’re supposed to hug them back. After all, I guess they saved your life when they didn’t throw you overboard, the way Drudge and Huffington say they’re supposed to when they find stowaways.” Ping stepped up and hugged them along with Jam.

  Captain Jack Ainsworth finally pulled back, keeping a hand on Jam’s shoulder as he examined her. Then he peered at Ping. “I hear the two of you have been busy, getting shot, being heroes, and so on and so forth.” He chuckled. “About what I expected.”

  Ping offered a correction. “Jam was busy getting shot. I was busy being the hero.”

  Jam nodded. “All too true.”

  Hart guffawed. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s the whole truth.”

  Ping hit him in the shoulder, glaring. “Just you remember it.” She looked at both of them. “What’re you doing here, anyway?”

  Jack stood just the slightest bit straighter and tapped his spiffy new shoulder insignia. “After not throwing Jam overboard, they promoted us. I’m Fleet Captain for the Fuxing fleet. ” He barked as if giving orders. “Listen up! You both report to me now!”

  Ping stood up on her toes to confront him, bringing her head almost up to his chin. “Not me! I’m with the BrainTrust Prometheus fleet.”

  Jack relaxed with a laugh. “Stand down, peacekeeper. Actually, Ping, you do report to me, if only temporarily.”

  Ping continued to glare at him, though she at least came down off her toes. “What are you talking about?”

  Jam explained. “I tried to tell you this earlier, but you weren’t listening. For the moment, both our fleets are merged together. Colin stole our manufacturing ship for SpaceR. It’s really not practical to run an archipelago without one. So you’ll hook up with us off the coast of China while your manufacturing ship manufactures a new manufacturing ship for us.”

  Ping considered this for a moment, then lit up. “Cool! We’re still together for a while.”

  Jack pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. “Glad you approve. Now, let me introduce you to the real people in charge.”

  Jam shook her head in puzzlement. “I thought you said you were the Fleet Captain. Don’t you report directly to the BrainTrust consortium?”

  Jack pointed the way to the elevators, Security Chief Hart bade his leave, and Jack led them onto the elevators and selected the destination. “Lothlorien deck,” he ordered the elevator. “I do report to the BrainTrust. But the lines of command are not always hierarchically simple, as you two ought to know by now. I also report, under normal circumstances, to the Mission Commander. Or rather, the Mission Commanders, since we have two of them on board until we actually separate.”

  Jam immediately saw the problem. “Two Mission Commanders? And how do they resolve disputes when they disagree?”

  The captain chortled. “Oh, they’ve been figuring out how to resolve disputes between the two of them for decades. If those two fight, just stand back and let them duke it out. They always deliver a good show.”

  The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out into a passage where the walls were decorated so that brilliant sunlight seemed to filter through the leaves of immense trees. Spiral staircases circled the stout trunks to treehouses barely visible from the ground. They walked across a patch of deck flooring made to look like a bridge of living wood, with a deep blue roaring stream crossing beneath them. They turned through an entrance into a hut.

  Except that behind the hut entrance they found, instead of a hut, a large well-equipped lab with many tables— not a research lab, but rather a teaching lab where students would gather to perform chemistry experiments… Or in this case biology experiments. Despite the high power ventilation system found on all isle ships, a whiff of formaldehyde hung in the air.

  A young woman with ivory skin and sea green hair that matched her sea green eyes looked up from the partial
ly dissected frog on her table. Seeing the three of them, she waved with the hand that held the scalpel. She was holding her left hand up rather awkwardly, with blood running from a gash in the middle of her palm. A thin stream of red trickled down to her elbow and dripped on the floor. “Hi!” She gave them a bright smile.

  Nodding a quick greeting to the captain, she focused on the new arrivals. “You must be Jam and Ping!” She put down the scalpel and came over to shake their hands. Fortunately, the flow of blood seemed to have slowed enough so that it no longer dripped. “I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you.”

  For the first time, the woman evidenced awareness of something wrong with her left hand and eyed the wound. “I was hoping to get you to tell stories about your time on the BrainTrust. But I suppose I should introduce you to my mother and go get someone to look at this.” Her eyes went wide. “Oh, by the way, I’m Ciara, the Mission Commander for the Prometheus archipelago. Ciara Thornhill.”

  They heard footsteps coming into the room, and Ciara looked past them to see who was coming. “And there’s my mom now. Hey, mom, Jack just brought us Jam and Ping!”

  A well-kept woman in her fifties with carefully-brushed brown hair and a slight smile stopped and scrutinized them. Her eyes froze when she saw Ciara’s hand. She spoke in a commanding tone as befitted any good mother. “Ciara! You’re bleeding all over the floor. You need to go get that seen to.”

  Ciara rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mother.” She looked at Ping and Jam. “I guess Mom will tell you about the schools and the missions.” She looked at her hand again, and for just a moment winced with irritated pain. “I should be back in a few.” With that, she departed.

  Ping watched with delight as she disappeared into the passage. “Oh, we are so going to get along, just exceptionally well.”

  Jam groaned. “I’m afraid so.”

  The captain, who had been watching all of this with simple bemusement, realized he needed to perform some introductions. “Jam, Ping, this is Lenora Thornhill, Mission Commander for the Fuxing archipelago.”