by Chris Hechtl
Founding of the Federation
Short Stories 1
Stepping Stones
Chris Hechtl
Copyright 2015 © by Chris Hechtl
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book and or portions thereof in any form.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and locations are fictional. Some may be parodies. Some characters are with permission. Any resemblance of some characters and places to others are strictly in the mind of the reader. :)
Cover art by Chris Hechtl. The models are owned by their respective creators and used under the usage license. Some models were made by Chris Hechtl; others were purchased on Daz3d.com or Renderosity.com.
Proofread and copy edited by: Jory Gray, Mike Kotcher, Tim Brown, Thomas Burrows, Poon Lee
Professionally copy edited by Rea Myers.
Formatted by Goodlifeguide.com
I said I'd dedicate a book to a friend when he died. Unfortunately, he did so recently. I found out sometime after his passing when I went looking for him.
I found out things I didn't know about him, uncomfortable things from his deep past long before we had met. I won't judge him; that's for others of a higher power to do now. Jeff, wherever you ended up, I hope it has your beloved Linux and cable to watch Dexter.
Table of Contents
Foreword
The Super Soldier Program
Prosthesis
Gold Rush
Aphrodite
Battlebot
Geppetto
Jack's Beanstalk
Jack the Giant Slayer
A Matter of Antimatter
Pinky and the Brain
Leader of the Troop
Gizmo
Real Estate
Dolphin's Tale
Soldiers of the Future
Author's Afterward
Appendix
Sneak Peek
Sneak Peek
Appendix
Foreword
Many of the stories below take place before and during To Touch the Stars. Some were referred to in the book. This is my way of fleshing out some of the details and background for that book and future books like The First AI War. Enjoy.
The Super Soldier Program
2048
“Welcome, Doctor Lagroose. Welcome,” Doctor Thorpe said, shaking Ursilla's hand. She smiled politely as they went through the usual greeting ritual. “We've been expecting you.”
“I'm still wondering what I'm here for. With all of the backlash against GMOs and such …,” Ursilla shook her head.
“True,” Doctor Thorpe replied, keeping the smile fixed in place. “But we're a bit more than that. For instance, we're doing a great deal to help our wounded warriors return to a normal life.”
“I see,” Ursilla replied as they settled into the doctor's office. She glanced at the coffee carafe.
“Coffee?”
“Please,” she urged, smiling again. She was still feeling a bit jet lagged after visiting her mother. She'd cut the trip short much to her mother's ire. It wasn't the constant nagging for grandkids; it had been the call from Doctor Thorpe telling her she had been hired and to report by Monday that had done her in. Not that her mother had any intention of letting her live it down anytime soon.
After she poured herself a cup, she offered him. He held out his cup as she poured for him. The steaming fragrant brew was like a jolt to her sleepy senses. “But …,” the lead scientist checked that the door was secure then hit the red button on his desk. The lights dimmed once. “Not to put any more drama into the situation than we need, but yes, we're going a bit beyond the wounded warrior recovery program.”
Ursilla had been halfway through her first sip when he said that. She looked at him over her cup and then finished the sip before she put the cup gently down to cradle in her hands. “I see.”
“You come highly recommended.” Doctor Thorpe stated, admiring her composure. Not a lot of their applicants could handle themselves with such poise.
“I'm still struggling with the concept. The idea is fascinating; every geneticist has wanted to do something about screening for diseases but …”
He nodded, excited by the idea and his ability to share the vision with someone else in his field. “That's the other part of our program, but only a small part. And also a cover if the first part is breached. It is important, however,” the older man said, sipping his drink. He set the cup down and then ran a hand through his receding hairline. “Trust me, I wish I could do a few snips and tucks here and there,” he said. His hand fell to his belly. He wasn't plump, but he did have a growing beer gut. She judged that was from sitting for too long behind a desk and eating the wrong food, not just genetics.
She did, however, smile politely at him.
“You'll find that a lot of the military families are involved. Over the decades and well, centuries of service to their country, one generation or another has been exposed to hazardous substances along the way. Agent Orange, the mess in the gulf, some radiation, good ole sun exposure …”
She nodded slowly. “Not to mention other chemicals that they don't want us to know about?”
The doctor nodded soberly. “Exactly. We don't have a need to know so a lot of our knowledge is compartmentalized. The same with knowledge going out. You understand you are under an NDA and military discipline as a civilian contractor, right?” She nodded, again, this time cold sober. “I'm sorry; I have to hear that out loud for the record.”
“Yes,” she replied tightly.
“Good. And do you understand you won't be able to publish what you find? What you create? Possibly ever?”
“I …,” Ursilla struggled with that concept then nodded. “I can see the reasoning. However, if I can create a back story later … say …”
He scowled, then shrugged. “I don't think that will fly. I personally wouldn't try it. But if you find the cure to something major, something could be worked out I suppose.”
“Thank you, sir. I'm not involved in disease prevention or cures however.”
“Understood. You know the politics of the world, how things are changing. Some view it as spinning out of control—not only the environmental issues but also terrorism. Throw in civic unrest and well …,” he shrugged uncomfortably as she nodded again, eyes troubled. Her thoughts turned to her husband and family on the front lines of the police force. “The brass wants to be ready to have a pool of soldiers who can handle the ever-changing battlefield, who can recover quickly, and who can do the almost impossible.” He smiled. “We're not making supermen. We're making the next crop of soldiers better or at least giving them a better chance of surviving.” She nodded. “The rest will be up to them and their training.” Again, she nodded. “If it all comes apart, we'll need them. Hardy warriors who can go in where no one wants to go.” He turned away for a moment. She grimaced and took a sip of coffee to cover the awkward pause.
“We tapped you because you are one of the top geneticists in the country—nay, the world. I say that not to give you a swelled head.” He smiled again at her. She blushed. “But because we recognize your talent. Now it's time to put it to work.”
“Yes, sir. Where do you want me to start?”
“I'll give you a cook’s tour. Get you oriented. You'll have to go through a lot of lectures from unsmiling military grunts about security. That will take time; though if you hadn’t been vetted, you wouldn't have gotten this far,” he said, indicating the badge clipped to her blouse. She looked down at it. She hated the picture; her hair was a mess.
“Your husband is on board with you working odd hours?” Doctor Thorpe asked.
She sniffed. “He's from a military family. He's also a cop.” He blinked at her. She shrugged. “In his case he's a canine cop. He and his partner are called out at all hours and are frequently gone for up to twenty or more hours a day. He'll be okay with me working and not home worrying about his welfare, trust me,” she smiled slightly.
“Good. Good to know. Believe it or not, a lot of military spouses go through the same problem. And they go for weeks at a time sometimes. It's not too bad now that they can Skype daily but …,” he shrugged the thought off and then waved a dismissive hand. “Let's get going,” he said, rising to his feet.
She rose too but kept her coffee. She took a sip. It was strong, just what she needed. But she knew it was so strong she'd need to brush soon. “Can I at least keep the coffee?” she asked. He looked at her. She smiled slightly. “Jet lagged.”
He snorted in acknowledgment. “By all means,” he said chuckling softly as he pressed the red button again to disengage the security system, then went to the door.
~~~>
Ursilla wasn't certain what she was getting into but settled in amicably enough after the first week. Seeing some of the poor wretches get a piece of their former lives back helped. She didn't envy them their nightmares and had a few of her own when she saw some of the healing wounds. Hopefully, her husband never came home with that. That or worse, never coming home at all.
She had a small piece of Rob, her insurance policy. He was fully aware of her theft of his sperm, if not amused by it. He had also teased her about his insistence on fathering their prodigies the “old fashioned way.” She, however, had picked apart his DNA in her off time to make certain there were no hidden genetic surprises. She had already done the same for her own DNA during her college years.
Apparently, she wasn't the only one who took out that sort of insurance. Many of the people who came to the program had that question. Some of the men and a few of the women had injuries so severe they couldn't produce heirs of their own without artificial help. There were so many the program's director created a separate fertility clinic to deal with the load. Ursilla worked there for a few weeks, helping to set up the genetic screening process before she was allowed to do what she had intended. It also took her that time to realize the fertility clinic was the perfect cover for her and her more advanced work. By having her work there and occasionally consult, the program would be nicely protected against prying eyes.
It took nearly a month to get into what she'd come for, the super soldier side of the program. It wasn't what she expected, at least not at first. It wasn't like Halo or other science fiction. No cybernetics, no drugs to make soldiers stronger, faster, and more lethal.
What it was, was a long-term strategic goal: an incremental approach to address concern, repair damage, or explore new ideas; a way to get better quality soldiers with a bit of genetic investment; and yes, for the most part, weeding out undesirable things like cancer risk, genetic disorders, and such. Dealing with such problems tended to not only put a drain on the resources but it also deprived the military of some potentially outstanding personnel. She thought of that part as giving parents peace of mind. Just knowing your child wouldn't be born with Tasacks or MS or Parkinson’s was a load off her mind. Every parent wanted a healthy baby.
She found that the program started with a fairly large pool of subjects. They were military families with a long history of service to their country. Many like the Murtough family were also in the Special Forces circles, though a few had ties to DARPA as well. Just making certain they would be able to serve without such distractions was a benefit. Not just mentally but also knowing that the government wouldn't have to deal with the cost of treatment when a disease would normally come up to haunt them.
At the end of her third month, she was past her probation period and introduced into what truly excited her, the edge of the envelope—what she had really come to the program to learn and experience.
During the screening a second phase had been initiated with candidates who could keep a secret. Through a bit of trial and error, the scientists had initiated conservative steps to improve the next generation.
The first things they had tried was muscle and bone density. The two went hand in hand; you couldn't have strong muscles and weak bones, after all. Increasing the muscle density in proportion to that of a cousin primate like a chimp would give them a strength and speed advantage over stock humans.
She read the treatment from some of the other doctors. She only knew a few names; the program was compartmentalized and any documents were sanitized of names and other identifying information. She learned that if any file or piece of electronics ever left the lab it would lock itself down, report the culprit, and if necessary erase itself. Two techs had gotten in trouble over a flash drive. Security had been all over them.
She, however, had an eidetic memory, so she could pick up things and remember them perfectly to go over later at home. No need to bring her work home with her.
The next phase of the program had started with better lactic acid control to aid in muscle recovery. Doctor Thorpe was heavily involved in that process. They had been trying for better oxygen levels but hadn't quite achieved their goals. Which was where Ursilla came in.
During the process Doctor Thorpe had realized the process was snowballing to eventually involve the whole body. They were prohibited from touching the brain and central nervous system. There had been some work done on regeneration, but apparently they had achieved only minor results there.
Ursilla started on the digestive track to make it more efficient at processing food. She moved on to the lungs when she took it as far as she could without introducing new bacteria into the mix, another prohibition.
She really wanted to get into the senses, but it was a specialized group that was handling those projects. Since a lot was tied to the brain, there was only so much they could do.
She felt for the scientists hemmed in by the rules and budget constraints. Not just those in the improvement program but also in the wounded warrior program. They couldn't use cloning to replace lost limbs, though she hadn't been barred from learning the process of growing a replacement kidney or liver in the lab with an eye to applying what she learned to regenerate an existing one. Which was stupid. If someone came in missing their kidneys due to disease or a war injury, wouldn't it make sense to replace them and not have them live on a dialysis machine? But apparently the brass were concerned about the ghoulish processes involved in the growing. It was all so frustrating!
From time to time, she was drawn into other projects to act as a sounding board and independent reviewer. Sometimes it was to brainstorm a fix to a problem, like the bone structure improvements causing splintering bones on breaks and bone marrow issues, which, according to their simulations, would cause asthma-like effects in the subjects unless it was resolved.
The entire program was like a dream to her. She loved and hated it.
~~~>
Fridays were the days Doctor Thorpe had set aside for the staff to meet and study the subjects. All of the families knew that there had been some genetic adjustments, but many of the improvements had sailed right over their heads. She enjoyed the time with the pregnant mothers in the OB/GYN clinic. Pediatrics was a bit much for her tastes with all the screaming kids and such. Young Murtough tended to be a handful for instance; he kept getting into scrapes and such. It would only get worse when he got older she thought. She saw the boy's mother roll her eyes in despair when he broke a chair and turned away.
“The clumsy stage will pass. Remember, it's a stage. He'll go through it each time he goes through a growth spurt until his brain catches up with the changes,” the pediatrician assured the mother.
“Yes, but will my furniture survive it? Will I?” the mother asked.
Ursilla smiled politely as the pediatrician chuckled. “One day at a time.”
~~
~>
“So, you are okay with this job?” Robert asked, stroking her naked chest. Fingertips circled her nipples briefly.
“Stop that,” she said teasingly, batting his hands away. He chuckled but only waited a beat before he renewed his assault, this time on another piece of her silky terrain. He watched her nostrils quiver once, but she didn't protest. “Working for the pentagon though …”
“I can't talk about it, Rob; you know that,” she said, wishing he wouldn't spoil the mood.
“Turn over,” he ordered. “You're tensing up.”
She turned over onto her belly, then groaned as he straddled her backside and his sure and steady hands dug into her shoulders and neck. “Oh yeah.”
“See?” he teased, working in caresses with his massage to get her purring again. “But about this job …”
“Rob,” she said warningly.
“It's not, like, WMD stuff is it? Making bio-weapons?” he asked, eying her suspiciously.
She rolled her eyes at him but kept her tone serious. “Rob, I can't talk about it, just like you can't talk about your cases.”
“But …”
“But to put your mind at rest, no, no it's not. No more questions, okay? “
“Okay,” he said ever so softly, hands working down her spine.
“Careful there,” she said over her shoulder, mouth tugging into a smile. “You don't want to make promises you don't intend to keep.”
“Who said I don't?” he asked, smiling as his hands caressed her hips and ass lovingly.
She, however, could hear the click of nails on the hardwood floor in the hallway, then the soft whine of a familiar four-legged intruder. When he saw the door opening out of the corner of his eye, he turned to look then sighed.