Chapter 5: Arnold

Tropical fruit trees lined the path, protected from the harsh March weather in this part of the North Pacific by the glass walls that enclosed the entire garden. There were banana plants, mango trees, apricot trees, lemon trees, and, naturally, orange trees. The delicate smell of oranges pervaded the garden, but that was true of this whole half of the ship and had little to do with the trees.

The lush garden with all its rich, vibrant colors contrasted with the gun-metal gray of the hull and the gray seascape outside. Through the glass, the stern garden had a good view of the jetpads as well as the ocean. There wasn’t any activity out there except for the wind.

Boone was late.

Arnold turned to his assistant. “My afternoon appointment appears to be delayed, which means I have an opening in my schedule. Would you like an opportunity to practice?”

Soo-Jung’s eyes lit up.

If her performance didn’t improve from last time it wouldn’t do her much good, but it would be fun to watch her try.

“You have until my guest arrives,” Arnold told her.

Soo-Jung quickly got down on her knees in the grass, unzipped his fly, and began sucking like a crack whore one trick away from her next fix. Not a terribly bad analogy, though they didn’t exactly sell Arnold-cum at the nearest Stanley’s. Which was thousands miles away, in Alaska. Also, Soo-Jung had probably never heard of a Stanley’s. Whatever.

As he stiffened she could no longer take him in her mouth. There was that nasty gag reflex of hers, rearing its ugly head. Goddammit, there were only five and nine sixteenths inches of it. He would have loved to be bigger, but why did this cunt have so much trouble fitting even that much into her mouth?

Karina and Nadia never had this problem. So much unnecessary coughing and spluttering really ruined his mood. Soo-Jung was really trying, too.

“You better stop gagging and start sucking if you expect to get any relief,” Arnold told her. “That’s not going to cut it.”

His assistant continued a bit more energetically, but whenever she tried to force her mouth further down on his shaft she started gagging again. She kept backing off, trying to focus on the head with her tongue rather than really doing a proper job. The way her tongue delicately caressed the tip of his dick felt great, but it was more of a tease than a real blow-job. After his morning session with Karina, there was no way it would be enough.

Pathetic. He would have to get Nadia to finish him later. Either that, or flip Soo-Jung over and give her some real motivation. There was a thought. She was trying, though, and he didn’t want to truly break her without giving her a few more chances.

Outside, a VTOL jet aircraft had appeared, and was coming down on the pad. These sorts of jets, which could take off and land without the need of a landing strip, were expensive. They were also the only practical way to get here from the mainland in less than a day.

“Time’s up,” Arnold informed his assistant.

She reluctantly gave up her feeble attempt, zipped his fly and stood. “Yes sir. But tonight? Let me make you feel good tonight?”

“We’ll see,” he said, noncommittally. He wanted to get off tonight, so no, it would be Nadia’s turn.

There was a good reason he’d chosen Soo-Jung to accompany him to greet Boone today. Nadia and Karina were classically beautiful, tall, Russian women with large, full breasts. Soo-Jung, on the other hand was graceful. Her short, thin frame and delicate Korean features were attractive in a different, more refined sort of way. She swayed her hips when she walked, of course. They all did, but somehow Soo-Jung managed to incorporate it into her natural movements, made her agitation less obvious. She was the natural choice.

Arnold instructed his assistant to dress conservatively for the meeting. She wore a forest-green dress and a matching skirt that extended below her knees over her more revealing every-day uniform.

Arnold wanted to convey that he was conducting serious research here, not supervising an orgy. The reality was that the two weren’t mutually exclusive, something he suspected Boone already understood. However, it was important to keep up appearances.

From this side of the garden, the pads were less than a minute’s walk down a flight of stairs and through a short hallway.

A lone figure in a pin-stripe suit descended the stairs from his jet. Evidently Boone was traveling by himself today. His expensive plane was probably fully automated. All the latest models were.

“Boone Larson!” Arnold called to his guest. “Welcome aboard the Rosalind Franklin.”

The other man was about the same age as Arnold, in his mid-forties with salt and pepper hair. He was about the same height as well, six feet even. Unlike Arnold, he was also stick skinny. Not just skinny, but if Arnold was any judge, weak. Well, physically weak anyway. The man probably hadn’t once participated in any activity more strenuous than walking up a flight of stairs in the last ten years.

Looks could be deceiving, though. His assistants were constantly reminding him of that.

Either way, today Boone was in a position of strength. He held all the cards.

“Arnold Griffith? Nice to finally meet you.” Boone shook his hand. “I own enough shares in this outfit, you’d think I’d have done my due diligence sooner and flown out here when I was buying, not selling.”

“You’re not getting cold feet, I hope,” Arnold said.

“If you’ll recall, I never wanted to sell,” Boone replied, “but then some idiot offered double the current valuation.”

Arnold grinned. “Glad we understand each other. Oh, and this is my assistant, Soo-Jung.”

Soo-Jung smiled and bowed, saying nothing.

“Come,” Arnold gestured back at the hallway he’d recently emerged from. “We can talk more over lunch.” He led them back inside, out of the cold and into the garden.

Boone looked around at the verdant splendor, clearly impressed. They were, after all, on a ship in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. There weren’t too many ocean-going vessels in the world that could accommodate a garden of this size.

Arnold led them over to a polished granite picnic table near the center of the garden.

“Soo-Jung, if you please?” Arnold gestured to his assistant. She opened the basket she had carried here earlier and removed three rich burgundy tablecloths. One went over the table, and the other two covered the benches on each side.

As Soo-Jung began to deliberately unpack the basket, setting a place for each of them at the table, Arnold explained the picnic lunch. “While we have a formal dining room down below, most of our visitors find the natural beauty of the gardens to be the most impressive feature of our ship. These sandwiches may be coming out of a picnic basket, but they were prepared by our five-star chef less than an hour ago.”

Arnold had an ulterior motive, of course. Everyone else would be eating their noon meal in the dining room. The garden offered privacy. He wanted to keep his business with Boone as quiet as possible, lest anyone work out what he was trying to do. Theoretically everyone on board was on his side, but it was best to take precautions where possible.

Officially, the equity Arnold was buying would be held by a shell corporation, not under any entity that could be easily traced back to him. It would be a nice, quiet private transaction that wouldn’t attract any notice. It was just bad luck that Boone had insisted on flying out here to see the ship in person before he would agree to sell his shares.

Well, who said you couldn’t close a nineteen million dollar deal over a picnic lunch?

“As an investor, I have to wonder whether all this,” Boone waved an arm at their surroundings, “is really economical. Couldn’t you boost profits by converting this space to hold more cargo?”

“Hmm, less than economical, yes. As a former investor, aren’t you glad to be unloading your shares in this inefficient boondoggle, then?”

Boone laughed. “As you were saying, it’s a bit late to be renegotiating our price.”

“Of course,” Arnold said. “The reality is that it’s complicated. The Franklin isn’t just a cargo ship.”

“Obviously,” Boone said. “But are the gardens being used by your research team? I think I see a few banana plants, but they don’t look like part of an experiment. Even your research of, ah, a more sensitive nature isn’t botanical, is it?”

“No, but what you have to understand is that we never dock at a port. This ship goes around in circles, taking in freight from smaller cargo ships on one side of the Pacific, and then transferring it to other ships on the other side. We never get closer than a thousand miles to shore.”

“Yes, this may be my first visit but I am familiar with your business model. What does that have to do with the garden?” Boone asked. He picked up his sandwich, took a large bite and nodded with approval as he chewed.

“No shore leave. If you want to get to shore, you need a jet. Without some comforts, we would all go stir-crazy. Green space goes a long way to prevent that.”

“From what I understand, you have quite a few comforts here,” Boone said, giving Soo-Jung a meaningful glance.

Arnold nodded. “We do indeed, but that’s more recent, and certainly not something we make public. The garden was planned when the ship was first built, over fifteen years ago. It’s great for PR and photo-ops, which were more important back then. Will be again in another five years, too, when we need the reactors serviced. You know the environmentalist types love seeing anything green.”

“I admit, I’d love to meet whoever sold this plan to the government,” said Boone. “You’ve got some lobbying team. It takes balls to walk into Congress and simply out-right ask them to give you not one, but two, decommissioned, nuclear-powered Nimitz class aircraft carriers.”

“What else were they going to do with them?” Arnold asked. “The new military drone carriers are tiny by comparison, and they make the enormous things from last century entirely obsolete. They’re antiques.”

“Yes, for military purposes,” Boone acknowledged. “They make ideal cargo ships. Though, I suppose talking about what would happen if Congress didn’t have their heads up their asses is rather pointless.”

They shared a smile over that. It was just as true now as it was fifteen years ago, as it was a century before that.

“Remember,” said Arnold, “This was fifteen years ago, back when Miami Beach was still above sea level. Everyone had heard of climate change, but there were no Seawall projects, no International Fossil Fuel Tariff Pact, and Fukashima was still fresh in everyone’s mind. If you’ll recall, the green freaks were still mostly against nuclear power. It seems obvious now that if cargo ships were burning more oil than all the world’s cars combined, maybe we should have started transitioning them to a different power source sooner. Sometimes you really need to beat the idiots over the head with these things.”

Boone drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully, as he took another bite of his sandwich. “So, in five years, you really think you’re going to get Uncle Sam to foot the bill for the reactor overhaul? In hindsight it’s pretty obvious how you pulled one over on them.”

“Absolutely. The environmentalists are all on our side this time around. Particulate plastic in the Patch is down sixty-eight percent over the last ten years.”

Boone leaned in close. “Between you and me, is that real or just some bullshit cooked up by your stats geeks? It sounds too good to be true.”

Arnold gave his companion a rueful grin. “Oh, it’s true, don’t I know it. The flip side is that our yield is way down. Our profits from carrying cargo are up, but oil revenue is down. When there’s no more plastic in the Great Pacific Garbage patch to clean up, there’s no more plastic we can collect and process back into oil. We produce the only tariff-exempt oil in the world, and we can’t produce it fast enough. You want to talk about wasted space on this boat, that would be the empty oil tanks.”

“Even so, there’s a reason I’m reluctant to sell,” Boone said. “It’s just such a beautiful scheme. Uncle Sam hands you the hardware for free because you’re cleaning up the environment. You sail around cleaning up the plastic, turning it into oil. Then you sell the oil, and as you go around in circles you make a killing transporting cargo halfway across the Pacific. Your reactors mean you don’t even have to pay for fuel.”

“Indeed. Though we didn’t exactly get the ship ready-made. Taking two aircraft carriers and turning them into pontoons for the world’s largest catamaran was a major feat of engineering. Even more critically, we engineered the bacteria that turn the plastic back into oil. We are a bio-tech company, after all. Hence the name of ship. Additionally,” Arnold said with a wink, “that’s why we have a substantial research team on board for further optimizing the process.”

They shared a smile, and there was a pause in the conversation as they ate. Both men understood that the process for recycling plastic garbage by depolymerizing it back into oil had been perfected long ago. It was merely a convenient explanation for the presence of the scientists on board.

If the Franklin had been named to reflect its true nature, it would have been the Mengele.

Smugglers of all sorts were drawn to the ship like flies to a fresh carcass. Because the Franklin never entered a port, it never had to worry about customs, and a transfer through the Franklin could help conceal the origin of a given cargo container. No one looked too closely at any paperwork provided, and most freight of dubious legality went through without a hitch. This was deliberate. It was a trap of sorts explicitly for the human traffickers: not to capture them, but rather their living cargo.

Anyone who tried to load a shipping container container full of people onto the Franklin would find their cargo mysteriously lost. The insurance on whatever the manifest claimed was inside the container was always paid promptly, and the loss put down to “breakage.” Even though every human smuggler who tried shipping their cargo aboard the Franklin experienced a catastrophic loss, it was a frequent occurrence. There was always another smuggler with the same not-so-brilliant idea.

The people in those crates effectively ceased to exist. The smugglers themselves would inevitably do everything necessary to cover up the disappearances. Further, the Franklin had plausible deniability in the unlikely event of an inquiry. Shipping errors happened all the time.

However, these weren’t errors, but part of a well-organized system for turning smuggled human cargo into human research subjects. No one would miss them, and in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, the research team aboard the Franklin didn’t have to worry about such irritating distractions as laws or ethics.

Given the nature of the research required to create the Complements, it was only natural that the team had shown a special interest in some of the more attractive female test subjects. They became the research team’s “assistants.” Never “slaves,” always “assistants,” or “subordinates.” It was important to maintain appearances.

“Is the fruit in this garden edible?” Boone asked after polishing off his sandwich.

Arnold nodded, “Of course.”

Boone got up, and then carefully stepped onto the bench on his side of the table. It was just barely high enough to allow him to pluck an orange from the tree that grew beside them.

“No offense to your chef, but I think I’d prefer something fresh for dessert.” He sat back down, and started peeling the fruit.

Boone waved the hand that held the orange at Soo-Jung, who had remained entirely silent while the men talked and ate. “Well now, this is what your team has been spending so much time and money on, eh?”

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Only pulled her out of a crate two months ago, so she’s still adjusting.”

“I was under the impression your help wore uniforms that were a bit less formal,” said Boone. “Or was I misinformed?”

Soo-Jung remained quiet, clearly uncomfortable that they were talking about her. That was another way she was different from Karina and Nadia, she was always so shy. Either of the Russians would have tried to work the situation to their advantage, to turn him on and get some relief. Alone, Soo-Jung was as full of fiery passion as the other two, maybe more so, but in the presence of anyone else she had a tendency to shut down completely.

To be fair, Arnold wasn’t sure where Boone was going with this conversation, either. His guest’s interest in his assistant seemed wholly inappropriate for a business meeting. Crass, even. There was a time and a place for that sort of thing, but Arnold wanted to close this deal today. Unfortunately, Boone held the upper hand here. The Korean cunt had better learn to open up, go with the flow and work with his needs.

“We find it prudent to show proper respect to our important guests,” Arnold explained carefully.

“Nonsense, no need for Victorian sensibilities here. As you say, we eat in the garden because natural beauty is impressive. Less is more, eh?”

Arnold turned to Soo-Jung. “Our guest would like to see your uniform. Why don’t you take off that dress now?”

“She speaks English.” Boone commented, as his beautiful assistant removed her dress, folding it carefully and placing it on the table.

“She’s mostly fluent,” said Arnold, “but she doesn’t understand certain, oh, what do you call them? Figures of speech? Idioms. She’s not good with idioms, and it’s pretty obvious English isn’t her first language.”

He took hold of his assistant’s wrist as she moved to sit down beside him again. “No. Stand.”

Soo-Jung did as she was instructed, offering the men an exceptional view of her lithe body. Her uniform consisted of a one piece leotard, the same shade of forest green as the dress she wore earlier. It was entirely opaque but thin and very tight. The uniform clung to her body like a second skin, revealing every fascinating contour beneath the fabric.

“Exquisite” remarked Boone, as he devoured a piece of his orange. “But I have to ask, why even bother? Why not just keep them naked? In the middle of the ocean, who cares?”

“What’s the purpose of any uniform? It conveys status. Our subordinates dress according to who they report to. Mine wear this shade of solid green. Additionally, as flimsy as they are, the uniforms do cover the important parts. When they’re wearing the uniform they’re covered, and when they’re covered they’re working. It’s psychological.”

“Covered, maybe, but it’s not like it hides anything. Those nipples could cut glass! Is that bump there her Complement?” He pointed at Soo-Jung’s crotch with an orange slice. The thin fabric of her uniform bulged out ever so slightly around the hard metal of her focus before sweeping back over her labia, forming a prominent camel-toe.

Arnold forced himself not to roll his eyes. Was this asshole raised in a barn? Boone might be a shrewd investor, but he seemed to lack the finesse he’d come to expect from most power-brokers. These situations called for a wink and a nudge, not a wolf-whistle.

To think, he had initially been worried he might offend Boone’s sensibilities with what went on on this ship.

“Yes, that’s the focus, the metal part of her Complement. Fun fact, those uniforms aren’t off-the-shelf, or even a designer brand. Would you believe that the Chairman designed the uniforms personally, while he still worked on the ship?” Arnold hoped that he could steer the conversation back to business by bringing up the cancer-ridden architect of this enterprise.

“Really?” said Boone. “I knew David was personally involved in all the bio-engineering, but I didn’t realize his expertise extended to fashion design.”

Naturally, Boone would refer to the Chairman by his first name. The man held something like a god-like status around here. Everyone usually referred to him as “the Chairman,” because he founded and chaired the board of directors for both companies with employees aboard the Franklin.

The first company owned the ship itself. The Chairman created the second company based on the results of the covert research taking place here. By creating two separate legal entities, the results of the research could more easily be distanced from where and how the initial breakthroughs were achieved.

“Like the rest of him, David’s expertise extends wherever he wants it to go,” said Arnold. If Boone wanted to casually refer to the Chairman by his first name, he could too. “He started reading the manual for the clothing design software on a Tuesday, and the orders for the uniforms went out to the robo-factories that Friday.”

Boone chuckled. “That certainly fits with what I’ve heard. Such a shame, about the cancer. But that leaves you as third in line for the CY throne, so to speak, doesn’t it?”

Ah, yes. Another topic that was best avoided. Boone was shrewd, though. He may have already worked it out.

“Second,” Arthur corrected him. “Lee got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. David and he go way back, so we didn’t press charges, but after the incident Lee was forced into early retirement.”

“Well then, congratulations on the promotion.”

Arnold shrugged. “If David knocks up one of his women before he goes it won’t really matter. Sure, he made this big deal about his employees retaining control of his companies after he’s gone, and how we’re going to inherit, since he has no children. The reality is that he’s trying to have a kid right now. They’re not sure if the IVF is going to work given the cancer, but the odds aren’t bad. As soon as there’s a child, we get nothing.”

“Not quite the way I heard it,” said Boone. “My understanding is that in the case of a child it goes into a trust, which the kid only gets after turning eighteen. The way it’s worded, those shares function as non-voting shares until the kid grows up. Control is allocated in the same way it would be if there is no kid, with you still up there at the top for the next eighteen years.”

“Second from the top.”

“Mmm. Well, it really comes down to seats on the Board, doesn’t it? Or should I say Boards?”

He’d figured it out. Crass but shrewd. “Does it?” Arnold asked, playing dumb.

“The way I see it, the prize is CY, not BPS. Both held privately, but David holds eighty percent of the equity in CY all by himself, the other twenty held as an investment by BPS. You can’t buy CY shares at any price, because no one has any. I’ve tried, and David wouldn’t budge. He pretty much has a stranglehold on BPS as well. By the way, does it seem weird that we’re using acronyms here? I don’t want to sound like a lunatic.”

“What, you think talking about ‘Banana Powered Shipping’, or ‘Complementing You’ out loud sounds ridiculous? David may be brilliant, but his naming schemes leave something to be desired. The variable names he uses in his code drive the tech geeks up the wall, or so they tell me. Do you have any idea how close this ship came to being called The Banana Boat?”

“I’m going to assume you’re joking,” said Boone, “because I can’t imagine anyone that smart being that dumb. I realize he made his first fortune curing Panama Disease, or as he likes to put it, giving the banana back to the world. Still, that’s crazy.”

“That’s David for you,” Arnold said. “Brilliant, but eccentric.”

It was Boone’s turn to shrug. “Anyway, whatever you want to call it, and in spite of what I was saying earlier, the prize is CY. BPS owns the boat and the oil patent, but the patents CY holds are priceless. The financials are shit right now, but that doesn’t matter. Once CY is properly monetizing what they have — or should I say, what you have? — the money will pour in. Right now, the only way to hold CY is to invest indirectly by buying BPS, and I’m the only one selling. Does that sound about right?”

“You seem to be saying that you’re a fool,” Arnold observed. “Either you flew all the way out here only to change your mind and make your apologies in person, or I’m not following you.”

“Oh? Tell me when this starts to sound familiar. Instead of thinking about ownership in terms of how much each person controls, the key here is to consider the voting blocs. There are going to be at least two, and one of them will be the share-holders on this ship. All the way out in the middle Pacific, I bet you have a tight little family, and none of you wants to share. I checked, not quite half of all BPS shares are held by people here.”

Boone continued with a lack of decorum that Arnold tried his best to ignore. “When dear old Dave bites the big one, about half of his shares of both CY and BPS go to members of your research team. That leaves us with forty percent of CY on the Franklin, forty percent elsewhere, and twenty percent in the hands of BPS. Now, here you are, buying just enough of BPS to guarantee the crew on this vessel holds a clear majority of the BPS equity. Third or second in the company, you’re the big cheese here, on-board the Franklin. See where I’m going with this?”

“If you’re asking for a higher price, you’re going to go home empty handed,” Arnold told him. “I could only scrounge up so much spare change under the sofa cushions.”

“You misunderstand. No need to update the paperwork, but if I’m going to play kingmaker, I’m going to need something extra. I’m offering you something that can’t be had for any price, and I only ask that you return the favor.” Boone raised the last slice of his orange to his lips and bit down very slowly, staring pointedly at Soo-Jung.

Oh boy. What he was asking could be problematic. “I think we may be able to come to some sort of accommodation, but I need to understand: Are you asking to spend a quiet afternoon with my assistant, or were you thinking of something a bit more long-term?”

“Not her,” said Boone. “I wouldn’t dream of moving in on your territory. I want to go downstairs and pick a few out for myself. I have some good friends in Customs and Immigration back home, and made the appropriate arrangements. There shouldn’t be any legal complications.”

Arnold frowned and slowly shook his head. “I’m not saying no. I think we can work something out, but I can’t make it happen quite the way you’re thinking.”

Boone folded his arms across his chest. “I’m listening.”

“The assistants on this ship don’t leave here. Ever. If cargo that’s supposed to be lost starts turning up where it shouldn’t, certain people will start asking questions, which could put our whole research program in jeopardy.”

“I’m not hearing the part where we can work something out,” said Boone.

“You’re thinking about this all wrong. Complements are legal in the United States. There are plenty of doctors who would be more than happy to prescribe a Complement if a woman walks in concerned about her chronic problem with bacterial infections. There’s no reason you can’t find a few lovely ladies who are already there. There are plenty that are desperate enough to accept a Complement in exchange for employment or, in many cases, a green card. You can’t put this sort of thing in an employment contract, sure, but it shouldn’t be hard to have a quiet word with your prospective employee to make it clear what she has to do to make the cut.”

Boone did not seem convinced. “That sounds tedious.”

“I can help with the legwork. You aren’t the first person to make such a request. There’s a firm that specializes in employment law that has coordinated similar arrangements for our clients before. They work with several recruiters and make sure to dot the ‘i’s and cross the ‘t’s, legally speaking. We’ve been quite happy with their work. I’ll have a word with them, and they can send you a list of dossiers for your consideration.”

“That’s starting to sound better,” said Boone. “So long as the selection of candidates is appropriate, and I can choose the ones I want, that may be acceptable.”

“Then we have a deal?” Arnold asked. The services of the lawyers weren’t cheap, and typically the client was the one who paid. Boone was expecting a favor, so that meant Arnold was going to have to pony up. Luckily, he had left about seven hundred thousand dollars in wiggle-room, in case Boone had really tried to push him on the price. That should be more than sufficient to cover the extra expense.

“We do,” Boone hesitated briefly, then held up his index finger before finishing the thought. “Just as soon as you make good on your end. I’ll have a chat with these lawyers and if everything checks out, we can finish this next week. I was hoping to get it done today, but if you insist on taking your time I won’t object.”

“Good.” Arnold breathed a sigh of relief.

“Now that that we’re done with business, how about some entertainment?” said Boone. “She’s all yours, but I’d love to see that assistant of yours put on a show for us. What do you say?”

“When you say put on a show... ?” Arnold let the sentence trail off, encouraging his guest to elaborate. Soo-Jung, standing next to them had hardly moved a muscle this whole time, but he could see her tense up even further at the direction things were headed.