Stepping Stones (Founding of the Federation Short Stories Book 1)

by Chris Hechtl

  “Have you come to a decision, sir?” Athena asked when her consciousness returned to note Jack was holding his stylus over the signature line.

  “Yes. I think I have,” he said and signed the document. He pressed his thumb to the box, waited for it to be scanned, then held the tablet in front of his face so it could scan his eye. When it was finished, the order was processed and sent. Soon the young man would lose a year of his life and be laid off from the company.

  “There, it's done,” Jack said quietly. He stared off into space for a long moment. Athena was about to retreat her attention from his presence when Jack sighed. “I hate that—ordering a mindwipe,” Jack murmured.

  “You could have gone another route,” Athena said, calculating the odds of various methods of dealing with the perpetrator. All had variables that she couldn't quantify. Humans and how they reacted were like that.

  “Oh, I know. I could have killed him. Made it look like an accident or suicide. We could stick him in a coma. No. I'm not up to killing my own people out of hand.” He shivered. “Besides, I think, even he thought he meant well. There was no malice in the idea, even Carmen insists on that. He just … got stupid. And he couldn't stop himself once he started. When someone else tried, he made bad choices. That is the only reason I'm going forward with the mindwipe. Had he accepted his mistakes and not taken the lady hostage …,” he shook his head.

  “And the lady? And other people involved?”

  “The lady deserves a medal. Unfortunately, she like a lot of people there aren't going to get it. We're shutting down or at least downgrading the antimatter department. After this incident I'm too concerned about a follow up. We don't want this to ever happen. Ever.” They already had a cover story ready for the young man. Officially he was going to have an accident, suffer a concussion with a brain hemorrhage. He would lose his short-term memory. The company would take care of his medical needs, but he already had on file that if anything happened to him he should be returned to Earth. All the better. He would be returned to Earth for a lengthy recovery. Once there he would not be given medical clearance to return to orbit. Eventually, he would end up in teaching or working at a university.

  “Make a note. I need to warn Reg about this. Another note, this one to Roman. Roman, we need an overhaul of the Antimatter storage and containment security. We've got a stockpile; we need that very secure. Very secure. I can't emphasize that enough.”

  “Understood,” Athena replied, adding the first note to Jack's schedule and jotting out the e-mail to Tyron Roman the company's head of security. “Done, and done.”

  “Note to Carmen. Carmen …,” Jack sighed and licked his lips. “I'm not happy about this. And I'm not happy about how you started this mess either. Obviously, more oversight was needed. I want you to initiate a review of everyone's projects. Do your best to kill the gossip on what happened. I know it's all through your people, but do your best. Officially the young man suffered a brain injury. Brief those directly involved that we're using that as a cover story and that they'd better keep to the party line. You and I are going to have to sit down and figure out your department, Carmen. We can never afford to let something like this out. Once the genie is out …,” he shook his head.

  “Look, I'll talk with you face-to-face later. Make an appointment with my assistant for later in the week. Out.”

  “Sent,” Athena said, sending the e-mail with a copy to the CEO's personal assistant AI. “I've also taken the liberty to alert your assistant bot,” the AI said.

  “Thanks, Athena,” Jack said. “Don't you have something better to do than take dictation?”

  “Yes, sir,” the AI replied dutifully, taking the hint. She immediately withdrew her attention from his office.

  ~~~(>O<)~~~

  When the movie finished, Vestri sent a signal through his implants to shut the wall screen off. He sat back, tucking a meaty arm under his broad head to think about what he'd seen and what it meant.

  Some things probably eluded him, he got some, but he was an engineer. The drama had been mostly boring to him; he'd fast forwarded through a few bits. He did wonder how things could have turned out if Lagroose hadn't been so benevolent or if the bomb had been stable and gone off as planned.

  Would the universe have been a different place? Most definitely, he thought. But it was a moot point anyway. He shrugged the idea aside.

  “Time to come up with a new plan,” he muttered, pulling up his schedule. He'd expected an eventual revision to incorporate MAM reactors, containment, and the like. Did the admiral understand that he couldn't just hand out antimatter canisters to a ship? It wasn't like they could add it to the deuterium! Slush anti-deuterium … he winced at the idea. Talk about having a nova in your guts!

  So, MAM was out for the time being. Most likely any ships that were going to be outfitted with MAM from the get go would be built in Pyrax to simplify production. Fine with him. He whistled tunelessly as he pulled up his long-range plans and then tweaked them. It freed some resources up, so he split it into three equal amounts and tossed one at the carrier production, a second at the super dreadnaught production line, and the rest into the reserves.

  “I wonder what Athena thought of the situation and a mindwipe,” a familiar voice asked from the overhead. Sindri looked up in surprise, then over to the wall screen. Instead of the screen lighting once more, the holographic projector lit on his desk across the room. He turned his attention to it to see Protector there.

  “You watched it too? Eavesdropping, Protector?” Vestri asked.

  Protector shrugged. “I could and did scan it into memory, but absorbing it like you did was a better way to understand it and the organic reaction to it. You didn't seem too upset by it or the idea of a mindwipe.”

  “You A.I. are big on mindwipes. I know you hate the idea of losing memory,” Vestri replied, propping himself up with one elbow to look at the nosy A.I. avatar. “A part of my problem is the lack of emotional contact. It was after all, ancient history.”

  “What has happened before, can happen again,” Protector reminded him.

  “True, if we're not careful. With that stuff …,” Vestri grimaced. “I'll say one thing. I'm glad it's in Pyrax and not here. And I hope the spirits are watching over the stuff and the security people keeping it under lock and key,” he said grimly.

  “Amen,” Protector murmured. “And on that note, Commander, I'm receiving word you are needed in Ops. It seems there has been another accident with Bismark.”

  “Shit,” Vestri replied with feeling. He ran a hand through the stubble he had on his head. “How bad?”

  “Two tug pilots racing. Fully loaded with pallets. One hit a support and careened into a bulkhead. Cargo and liquids have been scattered all over the scene.”

  “Frack,” Vestri grumbled. “Get the usual parties involved. NCIS, JAG, whoever. Has SAR recovered the pilots yet?”

  “One. The accident victim is dead. I guess he should have zigged when he zagged.”

  “I'll say. Well, I can't get my hands on him, I'll have to settle on the other one,” Vestri grumbled, gripping his massive hands together in crushing motions. “Tell the investigators to expedite documentation so we can clean up. I don't want them shutting the entire ship down. Have the straw boss route around the mess. I'll want the supers, and the pilot's supers in my office when they've gotten the mess under control. Download the flight recorders, get whatever documentation they want done quickly,” he emphasized, “so we can get back doing our job. Email all other pilots the safety regs. Get flight control on report and also in my office. I'll be chewing some ass I guess. A lot of it.”

  “Understood,” Protector replied with a nod. “Done and done. Have a good evening, Commander,” he said with a slight nod as he winked out.

  “Yeah, what's left of it,” Vestri growled, scrubbing his face with one hand. “Well, at least they didn't have loads of antimatter I suppose.”

  Pinky and the Brain

  2160
>
  Big ears and beady black eyes watched the humans at work around his cage. It was a constant thing, drinking in data. The only way he could right now since the humans had denied him access to the facilities data network. He had illicit access but only at night when the humans left for t heir quarters.

  He was still having trouble getting around the facilities firewalls however. Perhaps tonight he would have more success, and from there, he could move on to his master plan.

  His ears twitched as the Warner siblings started up again. He could never understand their insistence with reproductive dancing. For an intelligent species, they weren't much elevated beyond his own.

  Nurse Joy Prachette hustled past Doctor Warner. She hoped he was too engrossed with his cultures to notice her. The wolf whistle behind her made her flinch slightly. Apparently not.

  “Hellllooo, Nurse!” the young man said. She shook her head in resignation.

  It was all Doctor Scratchnsmirh's fault really. Her elderly employer insisted she dress as an old school nurse. The letch probably got a thrill out of it. Hell, she did too from time to time.

  She shot the short doctor a coy smile and then hustled on her way. She set the tablet down on the doctor's desk then came out into the lab once more.

  “Tisk tisk, brother, you really need to get a handle on yourself.”

  “It's not me I want to get a handle on,” her brother replied with a grin.

  “Now look, you need to quit this. Both of you. It's sexual harassment; you know that. You know the regs,” Dotty growled, eying him severely.

  “Oh, I don't mind,” a familiar voice said softly from behind her. Dotty turned to look at the source. The woman was a tall, buxom blond with smashing good looks. She, unlike the men, knew there was a first-class mind behind those eyes.

  “It's not right. I'm sorry they can't behave. Someone,” she turned a glower on her baby brother, “needs to teach them some manners,” she growled, eyes glittering in warning.

  Joy wiggled, adjusting the high cut of her skirt lower slightly. It looked like she was doing a simper and wiggle. “I kind of like men who think I'm beautiful,” she replied in a soft voice.

  Dotty shook her head. “Are you serious? You like being ogled like a piece of meat?”

  The nurse smiled. “Well, they can look, they just can't touch.”

  Dotty blinked then smirked. “Oh, one of those.”

  The nurse returned the saccharine smile with one of her own as she left. She did make sure to give the boys a bend once. The good doctor groaned.

  “Hubba hubba!” one of the boys muttered.

  “Oh shut up. Boys,” his sister replied in exasperated disgust. “You know better. She's married. Stop thinking with the wrong head here.”

  “Yeah, but it's still fun to look. I bet it gets the old coot going in the morning. Better than coffee,” Wally replied.

  “Or his blood pressure up to dangerous levels,” Dotty said darkly.

  “Whatever. If you gotta go, go with a smile is my saying,” her baby brother replied with a grin.

  “You are such a Wacko,” Dotty said with a mournful shake of her head.

  “Oh shut up and get back to work. Yack, yack, yack, that's all you do,” their eldest brother complained. “Come on, we need to get these cultures processed before lunch.”

  Wacko glanced at their tall brother. He should talk, his nickname was Yacko anyway. “Why? Got a hot date?”

  “Hey! I'm the cute one here!” Dotty complained. She saw her brothers looking at her with good humor. She scowled, then batted her eyes at them. That got a snicker as they returned to work.

  Small eyes turned to the clock on the wall. Another hour and they would go to lunch … unless they found something. He would have a brief window to do something if he wished. He did but wouldn't; the risk was too high. Better to wait until nightfall.

  >@^@<

  “Got the lights?” Wally asked. He was hungry and ready to get going.

  “Got it,” Dotty murmured, yawning. “Sorry,” she said as she stretched. “Long day.”

  “But a productive one. Good night, everybody,” Yacko said, waving mockingly to the crew.

  “You are such a nerd,” Wally said as he passed his brother. He put his ballcap on and grinned. “Come on, race you to the air car,” he said.

  “No running in the halls!” Ralph the overweight security guard called out, still munching a donut while cradling a steaming cup of coffee in his free hand. “Uh, night,” he said to Dotty.

  “Are they gone?” a familiar elderly voice asked.

  “They are just now leaving, Doctor,” the guard replied.

  “Oh good. They can be so trying sometimes,” the elderly male said, standing with a groan. He looked about him. “And I suppose Miss Cratchette has gone home as well?”

  “Her shift ended uh, an hour or so ago, Doc,” the guard said patiently.

  “Oh yes, forgot that,” the doctor replied, adjusting his glasses. Ralph kept himself from shaking his head. The doctor could get his sight repaired but had given it up some time ago, or so he said. He looked over to the wall plate—NIMPH, Neural Intelligence Miniature Prototype Host. He looked at the images below it.

  Dotty and Nurse Cratchette liked each of the subjects. Their stars were placed on the left side of the hallway; the right was devoted to the failures. Spectacular failures, but failures none the less.

  Speedy Gonzalez had been an experiment in accelerated metabolisms. He'd died of an apparent heart attack. He had been named after Doctor Hector Gonzalez who had also died of a heart attack. Apparently irony could be cruel like that.

  Mighty Mouse, their attempt at muscle manipulation had been accidentally crushed when he'd escaped. They'd expected him to die like Speedy, but he'd surprised them all. Jerry had been killed by Tomcat. That cat had been history soon afterward, replaced by Rita. She didn't tend to torment the subjects as much.

  Minni had died of a brain aneurism; the bow-like jack implanted in her skull had led to her demise. To this day Dotty insisted Mickey, her black partner, had died of a broken heart. His dissection hadn't shown any other cause of death.

  Fievel had disappeared for a brief time before pieces of him had been found in Tom's favorite nesting spot. It was assumed that the cat got the wayward mouse after he escaped.

  “There sure are a lot of them. Failures I mean, Doc,” Ralph said, saluting the wall. He almost slopped coffee on the image of Slappy and Skippy Squirrel. He winced. He'd accidentally crushed Slappy with the rim of his net device when she'd gotten out. Skippy had died a week ago after chewing on some wires next to his cage.

  “They do seem to be that way. They are rodents after all. Science isn't without risk. And we're furthering the understanding of a lot of fields here,” the psychologist said, making notes on his tablet.

  “Learn anything new today?” the guard asked, keeping the conversation going a bit.

  “Hmmm, a little about Dotty and how she still tries to condition the boys to behave. And that Nurse Cratchette doesn't mind the sexual harassment. She seems to thrive on it,” the doctor replied absently.

  “Um …,” the guard looked dumbfounded then shook his head. He should have known. The good doctor was more obsessed with the Warner trio than what he was supposed to be doing, evaluating the test subjects.

  “It's a pity about Snowball. I thought he was the one there for a while,” Ralph said, indicating the image of the snow white hamster on the wall of shame.

  “He's a lost cause. Dotty won't let us dissect him. I believe he had an aneurism, but he has no loss of motor control or coordination. That rules out a possible stroke as the cause of his loss of intelligence. Until we can do a full necropsy, we're stymied at the cause. And the longer we wait, the less likely we'll figure out the source,” the doctor replied with annoyance.

  “I see, Doc,” the guard said with a nod. He patted Rita, the gray cat. She had been brought in by Dotty. She was a sweet cat but a bit scruffy. She seemed to lov
e Runt, the big slobbery dog Nurse Rita brought in from time to time. She said she brought him to play with Rita. Ralph was pretty sure she brought him along to keep the mutt from tearing her apartment up out of boredom.

  “So, down to the three?” the guard asked, waving a hand to the three mice on the other side of the wall. All white: one female, two male. One male had a huge head.

  “Yes, yes. Of this generation. We'll see what the next one brings once this run is concluded. Good night, Ralph.”

  “Uh, sure thing, Doctor! Night!” he called out as the doctor departed. He whistled softly as he continued his initial rounds.

  >@^@<

  Brain waited and watched impatiently as the big uniformed buffoon checked the locks then went on his way. “So, what are we going to do tonight? Get into Billie's cage again?” his brother asked.

  Brain looked at Billie, then to Pinky. Pinky was slim and more anthropomorphic than he was. But he definitely wasn't the most intelligent of the pair.

  Billie was a female mouse. He'd been attracted to her until the doctors had adjusted his hormone levels. That had allowed him to refocus and realize that she was the control; a normal mouse used to evaluate their intelligence.

  Pinky got up onto his hind legs and used his upper limbs to scratch his sides and back. “Oh, that feels good. Tickles though. Come on, Brain! Try it!” he urged.

  “It is uncomfortable. But this method of locomotion is undignified,” the mouse replied. His head was massive, but his body was squat and well-muscled. He rose to his hind legs and used his tail for support to help balance himself.

  “So? What are we going to do tonight, Brain?”

  “What we try to do every night, Pinky. Try to get out of this cage and upload our minds to take over this world,” the Brain replied.

  “Oh. I was thinking we'd play checkers again,” Pinky said, sounding disappointed. Brain just shook his head.