Braintrust- Requiem

by Marc Stiegler

  Lindsey pursued what many would consider the most important question. “And the kids in the middle? The majority?”

  “They also advance faster than before. Understand that Accel is continuously monitoring the individual child’s progress and modifies the curriculum in real-time to maximize that student’s success without stepping over the line to give them challenges so hard that it would stall them.” He shrugged. “Sort of by definition, each of these children is self-actualizing at the highest rate he or she can achieve. So of course they’re doing better, as long as they have at least a little desire to do so.”

  Lindsey changed the topic. “Now, I’m told Accel education immunizes people against voter behavior correction, the real moneymaker in your company. Are you worried that your work here will kill the golden goose?”

  Craig shrugged. “My job is to make Accel education work as well as humanly possible. No matter what happens, VBC wins, and so do the people of America.”

  Ping knelt in the section of the FB Alpha roof gardens that had been engineered to support the plants of the American Midwest. The heat lamps bathed the plants, and now her, with warmth.

  She found the small flat stone engraved with a name that she had placed there some years earlier. She dug with her bare fingers in the loose soil by the stone to make a hole large enough for the tall-eye phlox she had brought, a plant with small purple flowers with cheerful white centers. It grew like crazy in Chicago.

  As she worked, she talked. “It’s been a while. Don’t tell me not to be sorry. Sorry.” She moved the plant carefully into the hole. “Jam gave me a pair of teacups from home, cups I hadn’t seen since I was a child. Can you believe it? Two thousand years old, and they hardly look a day more than five hundred.”

  She kneaded the soil around the plant. “Anyway, you were right. I need to move on. In keeping with that, I’ve decided to ask Wolf over for a cup of tea. Who knows what’ll happen after that?” She paused, examining the dirt under her fingernails. “So, I thought you should know. On to the next adventure.”

  The President for the Duration acknowledged in his monthly press conference, under fierce pressure from Lucy Palmer, that there had been a very small doubling in the unemployment rate since his ascent to the Presidency. Aside from that, however, the nation was recovering with astonishing speed. You could see it in the fabulous rise in the stock markets; although many corporations had moved their issues to the new BrainTrust Stock Exchange, the ones that remained had soared to record heights.

  All in all, he explained, the country had never been in such good shape. It was the best of times.

  But make no mistake, it was also the worst of times. He rambled through a litany of woes, explained why people other than himself were responsible for each of these problems, and summed up by pointing out that the nation was still in the midst of a devastating crisis.

  So the national emergency continued. With the greatest reluctance, therefore, the President extended his time in office and continued to rule with wisdom and compassion.

  The people of the village opened their eyes grumpily as Quraish ran down the street yelling for their attention. Finally, under his incessant harassment, they rose in the dark before dawn and walked with him to the edge of the solar panel field that now stretched as far as the eye could see.

  By the time they arrived, dawn had fled, and a quiver of excitement passed through the crowd. Soon they were forming a circle and laughing and dancing and holding their heads back and singing to the sky. Their eyes glistened, and water trickled across their cheeks.

  And the rain poured down.

  Joshua always left an hour’s opening in his schedule in the afternoon. During this precious time, he often took a quick nap in his office between mediating contract disputes between businessmen, or almost as often, disputes between married couples who were breaking up.

  So he was deep asleep when his phone rang with the No Diggety tone. He picked it up, half-awake and wholly grumpy. “Ping.” He hoped he’d managed to sound polite since she had called him at a reasonable time of day, even if she had managed once again to wake him up from a deep sleep. Typical.

  “Joshua! You sound like I just woke you up.” She paused uncertainly. “It is daytime there, right? I didn’t screw up, did I?”

  Joshua took a deep breath. “It’s fine, Ping. How can I help you?”

  She sounded relieved. “I have some very exciting news. You know how the Imam declared takfir against all the people of eastern Benin?”

  Joshua suspected the Imam still referred to the region as western Nigeria, but it was interesting that the area had now been fully assimilated, at least in Ping’s mind. “I know. I’ve got some of my mediators augmenting Rubinelle’s efforts to record everyone’s property rights.”

  “Well, apparently he’s not the first guy to declare takfir against a lot of people. The last time, a guy named Shekau did it in 2016.”

  Joshua already knew that. “So?”

  “So even the radicals rejected this stuff back then and threw the guy out.” After a pause, Ping continued with relish. “And now the Nigerians just threw out the Imam too, but with considerably more prejudice.”

  Joshua sat up very straight. “Ping, did you…”

  Ping laughed. “No, not me. Nobody killed him, according to the official story. He committed suicide.”

  “Suicide?”

  Ping’s voice turned satisfied. “Suicide. He shot himself in the back twelve times with a pistol and a rifle.”

  For a moment, Joshua feared this confirmed his suspicions, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought that did not fit Ping’s modus operandi. “So, what does this, uh, suicide have to do with me?”

  “Well, the six guys who took over from him haven’t been able to decide who should be in charge, so Rubinelle went over to have a chat, and teleconferenced Jam and me. Jam came up with a great idea, and Rubinelle and I pushed really hard, and they’ve all agreed. It’s almost the only thing they’ve agreed on since the suicide.”

  Joshua could now smell the distinct aroma of trouble.

  “Agreed to what?”

  “They need someone of indisputable honor and integrity—an outsider with mad negotiation skills—to come in and mediate for them. And, well, make the decisions when they can’t work it out. Be the boss, sort of. Have you ever thought about running a country? It’s easier than it looks if you’ve got the right backup. Think of it as an adventure.”

  Joshua groaned. He most certainly did not need Ping’s idea of an adventure.

  20

  Best Friends Forever

  Anthropologists, archaeologists, and historians generally denote the end of the first phase of the era with the funeral of Colin Wheeler.

  —Accel Educational Framework. Topic: Ancient History. Module: The BrainTrust Era. Author: Dark Alpha 389

  The casket was of normal size and shape. Simple unadorned mahogany, no one not of the BrainTrust would realize it was quite special. Wood did not grow on the ships, so anything made of it had to be important enough to be imported.

  The poles running down the sides of the casket for the pallbearers were obviously unique. Across the world, diverse people, some powerful, some wealthy, some simply old dear friends, had requested the opportunity to help carry the remains, so the poles extended far to the front and far to the rear. Fifty people would work together in this last short march to the sea.

  On the stage set up on the helipad of the Chiron, a rock group made up of engineers from the Dreams Come True delivered a powerful rendition of Jefferson Starship’s We Built This City.

  Ben stood by the left pole close to the center. Since Ben’s pill had not yet kicked in with rejuvenating power, he could barely stand, much less help carry the casket. With forty-nine other people to assist, this made no difference, but Amanda was not one to leave anything to chance. So Matt, with his powerful ex-football-player physique, stood behind him, ready to carry the casket for both of them and to car
ry Ben if he fell during the ceremony.

  Near the front, Toni Shatzki and Rabi el-Hasan bickered about which one would go in front of the other until Amanda put them on opposite poles the same distance from the casket.

  At the tail end, Jam stood in front of Ping. The space behind them was empty, waiting for a late arrival.

  Another rock group, this one composed of students from the BrainTrust University, took over the helipad and played Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’.

  Finally, the last member of the pole bearing assemblage took her position behind them.

  Ping grumbled in a whisper, “About time you showed up.”

  Dash answered with a distraught note in her voice. “I can’t stay. I’m so sorry.”

  Jam whispered fiercely, “You can’t stay? What is wrong with you?”

  Amanda, standing by the pole on the other side of the casket, whispered even more fiercely, “Quiet!”

  People who were unable to procure a pole bearer’s place started giving brief speeches. Ping muttered, “If Colin wasn’t dead, this would be killing him.”

  Jam answered this time. “Silence!”

  Queen’s We Will Rock You was offered by a group from the Mount Helicon from the Fuxing fleet.

  More speeches were followed by the last song to come before the procession, Katy Perry’s Firework, accompanied by a laser fireworks show. The lead singer came from the Mount Parnassus. She belted out the song with the faint yet beautiful French accent of a Benin native.

  A minister spoke, although almost no one paid any attention to her words. “…when the Sea shall give up her dead…”

  The sermon wound down. Ping muttered, “Finally.”

  Jam nodded. “Agreed.”

  Amanda said nothing. Her eyes had misted over.

  Dash spoke last. “And so it begins.”

  The last group of singers, all women, joined a violinist of elfin beauty on the stage. The sound of the Celtic Woman version of the Waterboys’ song Whole of the Moon swept over the deck.

  “I saw the crescent, but you saw the whole of the moon.”

  As they started stepping slowly toward the bow of the ship, Ping shook her head. “Wow. That’s so Colin. I’ve never heard that song before.”

  Amanda growled, “Then shut up and listen.”

  “I was dumbfounded by truth, you cut through lies.”

  Ping gasped. “Did they write this song for Colin?”

  Amanda rolled her eyes. “This song is older than I am.”

  “I wondered, I guessed, and I tried. You just knew.”

  Dash spoke before Ping could continue. Her voice held tears. “It is eerie, is it not?”

  Moments later, Ping felt the weight shift. She glanced back.

  Dash was gone.

  “You know how it feels to get too high, too far, too soon.”

  Ping felt the shift in the weight again. Something was wrong. She pumped the pole up and down.

  Jam turned long enough to glare at her. “What is wrong with you?”

  Ping hissed. “He’s not here.”

  Jam tilted her head back and looked skyward, begging Allah for guidance. “Who’s not here?”

  “Colin, you dummy! The coffin’s empty!”

  Jam shivered. “Don’t even think it.”

  The song faded away. The march ended. The coffin slid down the poles. Into the chute it went, the chute that would take it from the top deck of the Chiron into the ocean sixty meters below.

  Ping practically screamed, “I’m telling you, he’s not here!” She dashed to the bow and threw herself into the chute.

  Jam, not taken entirely by surprise by this, ran behind her. She heard a muffled “Wheee!” echoing down the side of the ship.

  Jam muttered. “I can’t believe you did that.” She looked skyward once more. “I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”

  When she’d been a commando, Jam had hated jumping out of perfectly good airplanes with nothing but a parachute. When she left, she’d sworn never to do it again.

  But then she’d been thrown out of a perfectly good space capsule with nothing but a rope attached to nothing but Ping. It could not get any worse.

  Now, however, she would have to dive off a perfectly excellent isle ship. And for what?

  She threw herself into the chute. A muffled scream accompanied her descent. “Piiinngg!”

  Jam spluttered as she sank into the ocean and bobbed back up. “Dear Allah, this water’s cold.” She recognized the irony that she was going to freeze to death verifying that Colin had died. At least, she thought, skinny little Ping would freeze to death first. Served her right.

  Ping bobbed next to her and put a hand on the casket, which bobbed with them and seemed reluctant to sink. “All right! Get the other end and we’ll open this baby up!”

  Jam did a quick breaststroke to the other corner. “Ping—”

  “One, two, three!” Ping swung her end up with all her might.

  Jam gritted her chattering teeth and did the same.

  Inside the coffin, a couple of half-heartedly thrown sandbags occupied the space where the body should have been.

  Ping crooned, “See? Told ya!”

  Jam cleared her throat. “Uh, did you notice this?” She touched her dripping hand to the corner of a sheet of paper laid neatly between the sandbags.

  A few words written with crisp precision glared at them.

  Are you two insane? This water is so cold, hypothermia will kill you in a matter of minutes. Get out now! Must I explain everything? How can I trust you without supervision?

  Beneath that, another hand had scrawled boldly across the page, as if to defy the boundary set by the edges of the paper.

  It’s time. Step up. Again.

  The distinctive rumble of a spaceship taking off from the Heinlein arose. They both turned toward the sound.

  They’d never seen a spaceship like it. It had only one booster, like the original Kestrel, but this booster was so fat it looked almost stubby. And the capsule sitting atop it was huge.

  Ping pointed. “Check out the name.”

  Whereas all the other rockets had the word SpaceR lettered down the side, this one had And Beyond.

  Ping chortled. “Dash.”

  Jam added with a hint of asperity, “Colin.” After a moment, she continued. “I saw him in the CIC. He looked dead. Really dead. Even Dash said he was dead.”

  A foam-crested wave smacked Ping in the face. She gurgled. “Apparently, it didn’t take.” She cocked her head to the side. “Dash was working on something she called hyper-healing. Back while we all thought she was dead. You know, when we were fighting Khalid.” She frowned. “But Chance said they were only getting success in one test in two thousand.”

  Jam nodded pensively. “I remember her saying something about it. I think she said she’d doubled the success rate.” She sighed. “So one chance in a thousand.”

  Ping rubbed her chin and chirped her assessment. “Well, then. Good odds.”

  Jam’s voice turned as dry as the Sahara. “Apparently.” She pushed down on her side of the coffin until the ocean flowed in.

  Water swirled around the sandbags, causing the coffin to slip lower in the water until it finally plummeted into the blackness of the sea’s imponderable depths.

  Their eyes turned back to the spaceship rising into the sky.

  Ping asked hopefully, “Should we follow them?”

  Jam gave that serious consideration, but she knew the answer. “Not today.”

  Ping sighed. “Think they’ll be back?”

  For one moment, Jam felt Dash in her head and knew what she would say. “In a universe with space and time unbound, even the least likely things become almost certain.” A mist formed across her eyes, and she whispered gently, “But not until she can call the butterflies once more.”

  No questions remained. So they watched in silence, until the ship disappeared, and the adventure began.

  Author's Notes

&
nbsp; Please don’t ask me where Dash is. I don’t know. At this point, you know her almost as well as I do. You tell me.

  Once again, how real is this stuff, anyway?

  The lightning laced into an overhead spiderweb bowl in DC is real. I saw it myself one Fourth of July on the Mall in front of the Washington Memorial. The rain that followed was real too.

  Vladimir Putin claims the apocalypse torpedo is real. It certainly could be. It probably is not powerful enough to bring on another Year without Summer. Probably.

  The application of prediction markets to government, as Fan starts to do in the villages of China, is a real proposal. Such a government would be called a futarchy.

  The proposal to replace government with a network of smart contracts is, I believe, new, but it is a minor extension of the mechanism for societal organization designed by David Friedman in the book Machinery of Freedom.

  The SmartCoin algorithm that suppresses the boom/bust cycle was invented for the story. My team of economists and cryptocurrency experts think it is quite implementable, and though each of them has an idea for doing something even better, none doubt SmartCoin would work better than what we do to manage currency today.

  Time to confess. I have been lying to you all along. This SF series about the BrainTrust is not fiction. It is a true story.

  According to many of the best current theories of the universe, a plethora of alternate universes are constantly diverging, so the number of universes out there is vast beyond comprehension. A googleplex is a mere mote in this enormity.

  Somewhere in that unbounded plenitude of alternities, an American President different from, but not too different from, the President as I write this expelled the foreign engineers from Silicon Valley. Companies not too different from our own Google and Facebook built a fleet of cruise liners. The BrainTrust was born. A doctor not unlike Dyah Ambarawati sought the secret of rejuvenation. She succeeded.