Tales of the Federation Reborn 1

by Chris Hechtl

  “Yes sir. Have a good evening,” the commissioner said, cutting the channel.

  “Good evening,” the governor sniffed. A room filled with stiff necked prigs, wine, dancing, and in a tux. The only thing good about it was the backdoor deals and the money that flowed during such occasions. “Yeah, right,” he muttered, getting back to work.

  ---*---

  Sergeant Haigh frowned, then shrugged and put a call in once they were in the clear. It seemed the right thing to do, making nice with the authorities and all that. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours, and it would be nice to rub some salt into certain wounds. “PSC Rajestan? I wanted to let you know you can stand down your forces. The package has been secured.”

  “You're certain?” Nohar demanded.

  “I'm looking at it. We're on our way to one of our bases. Since this is technically an open line, I won't say which of course.”

  “Yes, definitely don't. Get that crap under lock and key, Sergeant, and keep it that way,” he growled.

  “We're doing that very thing. I just need to get the lieutenant to sign off on it and tie up some loose ends,” he said.

  “Good. Let me know when it's locked down and hell, when it's off planet. I'll sleep better at night.”

  “Yes, sir. I'd thought a sleeper like you would be used to this sort of stuff. Wouldn't mind it being around so much.”

  “That was back before the Xeno war when people knew what they were doing. Make sure you give that container an overhaul, Sergeant. Get a tech to make sure it's got plenty of power to maintain containment.”

  The sergeant nodded. “Understood, sir.”

  “And quit calling me, sir. I worked for a living too,” Nohar growled before he disconnected. The sergeant snorted.

  ---*---

  “It's gone?” Boss Maroney asked, dabbing at his mouth with his snow white linen napkin as he looked up to the thug who his guards had let through to him. He liked his various restaurants. He tried to vary his routine, to randomly eat at one of them. He knew better than to set up a pattern; it was too easy for someone to watch for then hit him.

  “Yes, sir,” Ed said, bobbing a nod. With his thick neck, it was a feat. “The marines swooped in and snatched it up. The moment we saw them we withdrew.”

  “As you should. I don't like it that they were involved though. The governor's supposed to keep them off our back.”

  “Yes, sir. We also got word that the PS is standing down.”

  “That's good news. They are still in Metropolis?”

  “Yes, sir. Gotham is still at the bottom of their to-do list, but if things get too high profile, that might change,” Ed warned.

  The boss grimaced. “I'll take it up with the other bosses and Dons. You get Ackerman under control.”

  “Yes, sir. Low profile?”

  “As low as it goes without putting a bullet in his head,” Boss Maroney said. Ed winced as his face went impassive. “I'm not blaming you, you were following him. I'm debating a promotion for you, but since neither one of you delivered, I think we'll call it good.”

  “No harm, no foul, boss?” Ed asked, not quite sweating.

  “I didn't say that,” the Boss said, eying the underling. “But I'll take it out of your two hides later. Go, get Ackerman, keep him out of the bars so he doesn't talk. The same for everyone else.”

  “Yes, boss. The kids?”

  “If they ever show their face around here, we'll see,” Maroney said, picking up his fork. “Now scat, my Rigatoni is getting cold.”

  “Yes, boss,” the underling said. He made his way past the guards and didn't breathe easier until he was outside and driving away. He knew he wasn't off the hook. The boss could just wait until he lowered his guard and then issue some sort of penance on him, something particularly nasty.

  “If I ever see those two brats again,” he snarled, gripping the steering wheel so hard his hands shook and his knuckles whitened.

  ---*---

  Hank seemed to sigh in relief when he got the news from Nohar. “And the kids?”

  “They are safe too,” Nohar said, shrugging and grooming his shoulder. “It was the antimatter that was the important thing. Kids like that can take care of themselves,” he said.

  “Not necessarily all the time. I mean, Eric's a good tech, and with guidance he'd be outstanding—a bit of education, training... I've tried to get him into it, but he's a natural scrounger and hands-on guy. Sitting in a classroom isn't apparently his thing.”

  “Taking on strays, Hank?” Nohar asked, eying him.

  “Maybe looking after them,” Hank admitted. “This one is good people if he's handled carefully, Nohar. You realize they just walked away from their entire life, right? They can't go back. If they do, even for what belongings they've got, their dead. They won't live long enough to get out of the building.”

  “Yeah, that sucks for them,” Nohar said indifferently.

  “You are a cold bastard, aren't you?”

  “No, but I know life, and this world is cold and hard. So, sometimes you have to be colder,” the Neotiger said. “Besides,” he smiled slightly. “I'm a tiger, remember?”

  “Right,” Hank said, watching the other cat walk off. “But it doesn't have to be. Not all the time,” he murmured.

  ---*---

  “So, this is it?” Lieutenant Brig Thornson asked, looking at the cylinder. He indicated they put it down on his desk. They did so, then stepped back. Neither of the teenagers sat down though. They both looked wary and on edge. They also stank.

  “Yeah, it seems like a lot of nothing for everyone to go nuts over. And to kill over?” the sergeant shook his head in disbelief.

  “Good things come in small packages I heard,” Eric said.

  “That is definitely true, young man,” Lieutenant Thornson said with a nod his way. That acknowledgment was superseded by being referred to as a young man. Eric seemed a little nettled about being thought of as a youth.

  Brig studied the kid. He was street tough, of that he had no doubt. He was getting back onto his feet mentally after the ordeal he and his partner had been put through.

  Gotham certainly made kids grow up fast. He could tell just from looking at them that they had no surviving family. They might have fallen victim to the mob and constant crime or died in the plague. He didn't know. He wasn't sure he wanted to know their life story.

  The naval officer reached out and used his right hand jacks to interface with the computer built into the container. After a long moment of studying the readouts on his HUD, he nodded and then disconnected. He looked up to Eric, meeting him eye to eye. “I'm glad you didn't open it.”

  “Oh, so is it plague?” Eric asked, looking at the container with revulsion.

  The officer toyed with the idea of lying. It would get him the container for a song or the kid would give it to him for free but something bothered him about doing that. No, eventually the story would get around, better to follow Admiral Iron's example and mandate and play it straight. “No, it's antimatter. If you had opened it, boom.”

  “Boom? How big a boom?”

  “Big boom. BIG kaboom,” the officer said, pantomiming a mushroom cloud with his hands.

  Eric's eyes went wide. Connie's were saucers. Both kids paled in fright. “Oh. That kind of boom.” Eric licked his lips nervously, ready to take a step back and get away from the offending thing.

  “Big enough to destroy the city,” the naval officer said, studying the container.

  “But …”

  “The antimatter is suspended in the container. Breaching the container would have let atmo into it. That's why it has the ring on the side. This is for a starship or a base. It's got its own containment method beyond buckyballs to keep the antimatter in suspension without an outside power source. That's … pretty damned advanced,” he admitted.

  Credit signs began to come into Eric's vision. Perhaps they were out of trouble. Just maybe they might be able to make some sort of profit off the thing. B
ut they'd need to skedaddle out of the area once the trade was made. “Oh. So …”

  The officer knitted his fingers together as he frowned. “So yes, we'll take it. And yes, I'll find some way to compensate you two. Credits or trade? I'm assuming you aren't going to donate it.”

  Eric snorted scathingly. Connie looked deeply offended. “As if … trade thought? What do you have that's worth that?” he asked, pointing to the container.

  “I'll buck it up channels. But I could authorize logistics to give you a civilian replicator out of our supplies—a small one, class one, civilian grade of course.”

  Eric rubbed his chin as he thought the proposal over. It made sense; he could do a lot with a replicator. He'd heard his buddy Hank McCoy had one, and he was building one hell of a business with it. But if he got one it would make him a bit of a target. Besides, with just the replicator …. “Which is useless without power. That's power.” he said as he pointed to the container.

  “True,” the officer said, looking at the container before he crossed his hands in front of him. “But not something you can use without an AM plant.”

  Eric blinked in surprise. “Oh.”

  “I can toss in a micro fusion reactor,” the officer said with a small sign of exasperation. “Fueling it is your own problem though. We're not a charity.”

  Eric nodded. “Fusion reactors run off of water,” he said. The officer kept his face impassive. If the kid thought that, let him figure out the problem on his own.

  “Do we have a deal?”

  “Not quite. Turning this thing over to you in a trade will still leave a big target on my back. Having the replicator and reactor will also leave a target. So I want a shuttle. It has the reactor. The shuttle, replicator, and we're square.”

  “Fully fueled and in good condition with a database of stuff,” the girl added.

  Lieutenant Thornson raised his eyebrow as he sat back in amused surprise. “Wow. And you two can pilot it?”

  Eric squirmed. He couldn't help it; he glanced back to Connie who scowled at him. She nodded and waved to him to seal the deal. He turned back and shrugged his shoulders. “Um, sure.”

  “Right,” the officer drawled, eying them with an expression that said he didn't believe it for a minute, which he didn't. He exhaled noisily at their best innocent expressions. “I think I'll throw in an auto pilot program and a tutorial just out of the goodness of my heart and to make sure you don't crash the damn thing and get me into trouble. You get your pilot license and deal with the planetary authorities on your own time and dime,” he warned, holding a finger up. That warning made Eric wince.

  The officer studied him for a long moment. When both teens nodded, he returned the nod once then held out his hand. The young man hesitated, then took it and shook it. “Fine then. We have a deal. Let me make some calls. Obviously not military grade. Civilian. We might have one or two but not here.”

  “Okay.”

  ---*---

  Once the deal was underway, the lieutenant shooed the kids out to talk with the corporal while he put a call in through channels. The senior most officer on the planet happened to be available, though she wasn't entirely too happy about the subject matter.

  Reservist Commander and Planetary Medical Chief Doctor Helen Richards grimaced when he laid out the story and the deal he'd struck.

  “I hate decisions like this. It's crap I am totally out of my element on. We're out on a limb here, and I'm trusting your judgment. I don't want someone coming in behind us to saw that same limb off with us still on it,” she said darkly. “But you think it is worth the risk?”

  “Yes, Commander, I definitely think it is worth the expense, ma'am. It's definitely worth keeping this out of the wrong hands.”

  Helen grimaced. “I'm not keen about the expense. Shuttles and replicators do not grow on trees. But if you say it is as dangerous as you say it is, okay. Go for it. At least it will be out of the wrong hands. We'll have to figure out some way to secure it though. That's your next project.”

  “Thank you for your blessing, ma'am.” He disconnected the call and turned to the sergeant.

  “You heard her?” the lieutenant asked. “I'm passing the security detail to you of course.

  “Gee thanks, sir.”

  “Marines are underfoot for a reason,” the lieutenant said, smiling briefly. The marine seemed to snort and then cock his head. “How much antimatter, sir? Is it really worth it? Like the commander said, a shuttle isn't cheap. A replicator too?”

  “No, but this is four kilograms of antimatter. Three grams of the damn shit is enough to lift 120 tons to orbit. High orbit,” he explained.

  The marine blinked, then slowly nodded. “Oh.”

  “Yeah. It's a lot of explosive power, a lot of energy packed into a tiny space. We can put it to good use, proper use. More importantly, we're keeping it out of the wrong hands.” He looked over to the video image of the kids talking with the corporal in the front room.

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Make sure you keep the doors open with those kids. They may come in handy someday down the road,” the lieutenant said. The sergeant snorted harshly. “Yes, I know they are streetwise con artists. We all had to start somewhere, right?” he shrugged at the sergeant's innocent expression. “Imagine that sort of guile and gumption channeled properly,” he said.

  The sergeant didn't so much as frown as shudder theatrically. “I'd rather not, sir. The two of them running amok in a unit. It doesn't bode well for sound sleep, sir.”

  The lieutenant snorted then chuckled. “Well, I admit, there is that but imagine them as intelligence officers or in some other role,” he said.

  The sergeant shrugged such considerations aside.

  “Give them time. Make sure you slip them some brochures and stuff about the marines and navy. The fliers and maybe something in the computers,” he said.

  “Nothing about the army? I thought they were starting them up,” the sergeant said.

  “Let them find their own people when they get organized. Right now they are poaching our people enough as it is,” the lieutenant said dryly.

  “Yes well, there is that, sir.”

  “Speaking of which, we've got another missive to deliver to Nohar. Or did you do that already?” The sergeant grimaced but then nodded. “But he didn't respond?”

  “No, sir. Do we really need to bug that Neocat every month about signing back up?” the sergeant asked.

  “It's in our directives somewhere. A bit of well, I wouldn't quite call it nagging maybe,” the lieutenant replied with a grin. The sergeant snorted again. “But reminding him the door is always open means he'll pass that on to others in the Neo and alien community. It's another point in our favor.”

  “True, sir. I'll toddle on over to drop in on him “unexpectedly” and say hello, maybe buy him a beer and get some stories if you want to pick up the tab.”

  “After, that is, you secure that antimatter. I'll put the calls in to logistics to get the rest of the deal rolling.”

  “Yeah, I was hoping you'd forget that part,” the sergeant sighed. “I'm guessing no one wants it stored on hospital grounds, right, sir?”

  “Definitely not. It'll have to be under discrete guard. We'll get rid of it as soon as an appropriate secure ship comes in.”

  “Understood, sir. I can't wait until it's someone else's problem.”

  “Me neither,” the lieutenant said, pulling out his tablet and typing at the virtual keyboard on his HUD that only he could see. “Damn. We'll have to put in an order for a replacement replicator and shuttle too,” he muttered as the sergeant quietly departed.

  ---*---

  “So, where do we go?” Connie asked, shoving her hands in her pockets. “You know we can't just park this thing anywhere, right? We have to have a place to use it from, which means a spaceport. They charge fees for that,” she warned.

  Eric grimaced. He had to admit he hadn't thought that far ahead.

  “We're also go
ing to need parts. If you don't want to get your pilot’s license right away, we'll need a pilot and a mechanic. Neither of us have a clue on how to fly this bird,” she said, eying the small shuttle. It was a launch, a small civilian shuttle the navy had purchased on the open market and recently restored. It could carry six people.

  “Once we get a license, we can move freight and people. The sky is the limit,” Eric said.

  “We have to get there first,” she warned.

  He put his arm over her shoulders. She looked at him dubiously. He chuckled. “Hey, we got this far, right? Give me a break; we'll figure it out. We're better off now than ever before.”

  “Which vertebra do you want broken?” she asked.

  “Aw, zip it. This is way more than ten thousand credits, so don't get all weepy on me.” she gave him a disgusted look and shook his head. Apparently they were becoming something of a partnership. He didn't know when or where it came about, but he wasn't going to complain. The two of them against the rest of the galaxy. Bring on all comers. What they couldn't fight they'd run from in their not quite new but damn nice shuttle. “Go figure out a cheap spaceport while I figure out how to access the tutorial and autopilot,” he said. “No way we can stay here long. And I don't intend to do so any longer than necessary,” he warned.

  “You'll need to file a flight plan. And I don't know if this thing is licensed to fly,” Connie warned.

  He gave her a push towards the shuttle as the hatch opened. “All right,” she said shaking her head. When she got to the hatch, she paused. “It even smells new,” she murmured in appreciation.

  “See? One step at a time,” Eric said, hand up on the hatch combing as he leaned in to look around. The interior wasn't plush as he'd expected; it was a work horse. That was fine. As expected the replicator was there strapped onto a stand and locked down. The thing wasn't that big, less than fifty centimeters square. That also was fine. His eyes wandered past Connie to the sphere-like device with a couple canisters. The universal symbol of radioactive was plastered in yellow on one side with hazard stripes. He nodded, the reactor, which meant the box nearby had to be the computer database.