Professor of Enigmas

by Henry Andrew Wong

  Professor of Enigmas

  Evil Tech Support Origins Story One

  Henry Andrew Wong

  Professor of Enigmas

  by Henry Andrew Wong

  ISBN: 978-1-7753691-1-0 (Electronic Book)

  ISBN: 978-1-7753691-3-4 (Paperback)

  Copyright © 2018 Henry Andrew Wong

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Disclaimer:

  This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contact:

  The author and publisher may be contacted at LaramyOrbital@Gmail.com

  For Sveta, my first reader.

  Contents

  Chapter 1: Sold

  Chapter 2: Employed

  Chapter 3: Presented

  Chapter 4: Caught

  Chapter 5: Ordered

  Chapter 6: Authorized

  Chapter 7: Disrupted

  Chapter 8: Revealed

  Chapter 9: Disputed

  Chapter 10: Concerned

  Chapter 11: Suspected

  Chapter 12: Decided

  Chapter 13: Joined

  Chapter 14: Betrayed

  Chapter 15: Renewed

  Other Books by the Author

  Chapter 1: Sold

  Young Bixby found himself a quiet corner in the library for his final experiment. It was his fifteenth birthday, and his parents were in a meeting room nearby, selling him. They didn’t call it that, but the contract with Smeiser Spaceworks put a virtual red tag on his ear. He wondered how much they would get.

  He thumbed open the small tin box in his pocket, checking the area for spies. They were here—he knew it. The library was a perfect hideout for his watchers. He resented their thinking he didn’t know about them, but it wouldn’t matter after his next experiment.

  He sat down at a round table for kids much younger than himself and gingerly handled one of the pebbles from the box. A pretty girl caught his eye, and Bixby dropped the pebble. Was she one of them?

  He dove under the table to look for it when his father’s voice grated against his thoughts. Bixby heard him say, “Junior,” and knew he was searching the aisles for him. The name was an insult, coming from a man whose intellect fit into the pebble he had dropped. When Bixby considered the space between molecules, it might not even—

  “Junior, come here.” As usual, the man’s brusque words paved his warpath. They must have struck a deal already. His father said, “Junior, you come here now,” too loudly for a library. Bixby found the pebble.

  When he saw his father’s luxurious shoes pacing closer, he bumped his head under the table, dropped the box, and watched helplessly as the rest of his pebbles scattered across the carpet. He turned away to find them and was suddenly thrown amok.

  His father had dragged him out from under the table. He caught a glimpse of the girl’s horrified face as he contorted to get away, unable to shake his captor’s grip. He saw her get up and leave him with his humiliation.

  Then, Bixby kicked his father in the shin—hard with his heel. He heard a crack.

  The man swore, let go for the first time ever, and fell to the carpet involuntarily, gripping his shin and rocking on his ass, drawing short breaths from the pain. When Bixby saw his father’s foot lift, he grabbed the shoe right off of it and flung it across the room. It had been purchased on borrowings anticipating the sale.

  Then he scrambled for the exit, taking the box but leaving the pebbles behind. Only the librarian saw him trip over his own gangly legs and get up to leave—all the other readers had scrammed already, having seen Bixby’s father drag him from Kiddy’s Korner. Such displays of violence were still taboo in polite places, even in the Citadel.

  From the floor behind him, his father said, “It doesn’t matter anyway. You’re on the first ship to the moon tomorrow, you hear me. Good riddance. Don’t bother going home for your stuff. I’m throwing it out. You hear me? Don’t come back. Nobody wants you but Smeiser for their experiments. You think you’re so smart? They’re going to dig a hole in your head and make you their lab rat.”

  Bixby bumped his mother’s shoulder when he reached the hallway. He stopped. They eyed each other somberly for a moment and he knew the deal was sealed—the envelope was fresh in her hand.

  She wasn’t to blame—contracts of this nature were common in the Citadel. But when he thought of saying goodbye, he just turned and left her behind instead.

  Three men in hats emerged from the shadows down the hallway. He knew they were from Smeiser. He straightened his back, determined to walk into manhood before meeting them. As he did, Bixby swiped his little tin box on two sides.

  The entire library behind him flashed electrical green. He heard his parents yelling at each other, but he didn’t care because he knew the pebbles were all back inside of his tin box. He rattled it to make sure they were all there.

  Chapter 2: Employed

  One year had passed and they still couldn’t get the implant into him. He always outmaneuvered them, foiling their preparations with good arguments and improvised technology. For everyone else, it was done first thing. He kept assuring them he’d allow it one day. What could they do? Bixby had made himself indispensable.

  He had produced sixteen viable patents for Smeiser and didn’t even ask for birthday cake. They didn’t know he kept the number down just to amuse himself. It wasn’t out of spite; he just didn’t appreciate their attempts to lock him in the lab. He wanted to stay anyway—the resources available to him were incredible here.

  Bixby said to the droid, “Niner, you can’t risk it next time. You hear me?” When there was no response, he turned from the circuits splayed out on his lab bench to the droid and knocked on its noggin. “Oh. I guess not.” He squatted, opened a panel on its belly, and untwisted a wire within. The droid purred. Bixby closed it up and patted its head. “Now you can hear me.”

  It said, “I am Niner. Please authenticate.”

  “Not that again. Haven’t I told you not to say that every time you reboot a subsystem? It’s a dead giveaway. If they hear you, they’ll know about the mods and deactivate them, got it? Don’t do it again.”

  “Voice authentication recognized. Bixby. Friend.” It sidled up to his leg.

  He rubbed his nose absently and went back to work on a headset circuit. “Friend? How many of those have you got?” He checked the implant’s compatibility with the headset and waved it over the droid.

  Niner didn’t have a face, so it just stood there, three feet tall and said, “One.”

  “You and me both.” Bixby put the headset right up on top of Niner. He let it sit there like a crown for the bot and said, “Can you feel that?”

  “Niner does not feel. Therefore, Niner does not feel that.”

  “Damn. I thought you might say that.” He chucked the headset onto the lab bench and resigned himself to a break. “Say, Niner. Can you get me a sandwich?”

  The answer was predictable. “Niner has no sandwiches.”

  Bixby feigned a sigh. “Okay, then how about you bring up a full spectral map of Smeiser space, including heat maps of scannable regions.” He stood up and paced. “Identify the zones most out of range for any traffic, patrols, scans or telescopic monitoring. Show me all the possible paths for a space station to remain hidden from most eyes, most of the time, while always moving.”

  Niner said, “No problem,” and broug
ht it up on the lab’s 3D projector. Bixby picked up a tablet and drew up plans.

  Chapter 3: Presented

  Bixby was ready to present his plan another birthday later when he had cemented his technical throne at Smeiser Spaceworks. He was seventeen—that is unless his father had lied to him about his birthday.

  Aside from technical supremacy, he had shown a rare willingness to dig in where others hesitated. He also practiced guile when they weren’t looking. It all turned fortune to his favor.

  They had even agreed to grant him a renewable exemption from his implant when he said it would damage his mind and their profits beyond repair—most of it was true. He projected a revision of the map Niner had shown him the birthday before and addressed the deciders.

  “If we position a small station in this sector, Laramy will be unable to see it,” he said. He paused to confirm nods around the room. Smeiser liked secrecy almost as much as he did.

  Except Pander spoke up—he was the second-class mind who dreamt of Bixby’s spot. He said, “Well, yes. But that is just theory like your patents. You haven’t produced anything of profit yet.”

  Bixby withdrew his tongue from his cheek and said, “That’s your job, isn’t it? I can’t invent things and build them on the production line too—unless you’re offering me your job—”

  One of the directors recognized the tired battle between them and intervened. She said, “Gentlemen, please. We all know our responsibilities. I think what Pander meant to say was we need more specific guidance on production trade-offs from your research.”

  She said to the crowd, “It’s no secret some of Bixby’s designs have…resisted production standards.” That drew laughter. Her stare told Pander to agree and make his case more gently.

  Pander cleared his throat, apparently choking up some confidence. He said to the full table, “His designs break cost constraints.”

  Bixby said, “If we could return to the map—”

  Pander cleared his throat again, louder this time, and said, “And they take too long to assemble.”

  Bixby glared at him openly, purposely rubbing the back of his own hair to remind Pander there was no hold for an implant there—he knew it boiled him. “You point to cost and time as unwanted expenditures—”

  A different director than the first said, “I think Pander has a point. Smeiser needs to produce within bounds. Profitability is a matter of lowest cost and highest volume.”

  Another director said, “Agreed. That has always been our formula. Breaking with tradition is dangerous.”

  The first director—the only female—stood and said, “Let’s hear him out. Bixby, what are we looking at here?”

  Bixby nodded appreciably in thanks. He said, “I recommend we refocus Smeiser on quality and innovation. It will cost more but that’s how Laramy Orbital is defeating us in space.” He heard himself identify with the company for the first time. Defeating us. Perhaps it was the thrill of putting Pander in his place.

  Bixby said, “They do whatever it takes to beat us on quality. They sell more ships than us, even though theirs are more expensive, and we know they’re smuggling hidden features in for criminals. In medical and biological, we’re on par with Laramy Labs for now, but our Sci-suits command lower prices. Why do you think that is?” It was a daring question. He was sounding more and more like a business guy but reeling out of his depth. He couldn’t tell if the deciders knew his question was rhetorical.

  After a long silence, another director said, “The kid has a point.” Murmurs and side conversations followed until the same suit said, “How does this relate to the map?”

  Bixby said, “I propose we launch a mobile research lab in this area.” He walked past Pander to gesture at a dark zone within the 3D projection that filled the room. “For our most secretive experiments. It will put us beyond the eyes of any competitor.”

  Another director said, “—and the law.” This invited nods. The brain trust of Smeiser Spaceworks made no pretense—they participated in black markets too.

  Bixby took it as a cue to continue. “We would be free to research anything we please—anything the market wants. I project we could have three Class 1 prototypes ready within a year.” He enjoyed Pander’s dejected reaction to his boast—everyone at the table knew Bixby could deliver on inventions. The only question was—always—whether his inventions could be produced in volume.

  The first director who spoke said, “And what three products are those?”

  Bixby walked over to his favorite backpack—he had left it on his seat when standing up to project the map. He produced a completed headset and what looked like a mechanical squid, placing them on the table in front of him. The crowd of bigwigs reflexively gathered around the devices, jostling for sightlines. Pander practically exploded his own head.

  One director said, “What are they?”

  Bixby said, “A new model implant and a headset that interfaces with it. The installation procedure for this prototype implant is less than two hours—once inside, it can do most of the job itself. I’m working on the housing for it.”

  A director said with some enthusiasm, “That’s the trickiest part, isn’t it?”

  Pander tried to become relevant. He said, “It takes the most surgery.”

  The director ignored him and asked Bixby, “What’s so special about the headset?”

  Bixby said, “It measures three times what we can get from an implant today, and I’m adding emotion metrics. It also interfaces wirelessly with the implant.”

  The first director said, “What’s the third prototype?”

  Bixby reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny tin box. He opened it to show some pebbles. Pander twisted his face and said, “Is this a joke?”

  “No. It’s Smeiser’s comeback. We’re going to use this to take back Smeiser’s number one spot.”

  Chapter 4: Caught

  Niner was attending to the crystals in his lab when Bixby returned from the week’s update sessions with senior staff at Smeiser Spaceworks. Bixby had been elevated to the main attraction—that meant wearing a suit. He threw the jacket off onto the floor and turned to the droid.

  He said, “They don’t know the half of it,” and sat to check Niner’s work. “If they knew about you, they’d saddle us both with implants.”

  The droid didn’t even pause. It just said, “I am Niner. Please authenticate.” Bixby would have to fix that habit later. The green crystals suspended in the yellow liquid were more pressing—they were key to his next innovation.

  Bixby unstrapped the tight tie around his neck and fiddled with the settings on the burner. He turned to Niner and said, “Lower the concentration and start again.”

  Pander mocked a cough from the doorway and Bixby looked up, curling his lips. Damn, he followed me. I have to remember to lock that thing. He wondered if Pander had heard his conversation with Niner. Bixby had defeated his rival in the boardroom, but the guy apparently still felt entitled to barge in whenever he felt like it.

  “What’s this?” Pander said. He folded his arms and leaned up against the wall closer to Bixby. “I was going to ask you about the prototype—good job getting your way back there—but this is much more interesting.” He approached the droid.

  Bixby interposed himself between them and said, “What do you want, Pander? There’s nothing of low quality here for you.”

  Pander challenged him. “Do you always talk to your droids?”

  Bixby deadpanned.

  Pander feigned a dramatic sigh and said, “You barely talk to humans outside of the boardroom—in there, you seem to have found your way.” He got in Bixby’s face and said, “You’ve grown quite…skillful.”

  “Tell me what you want or get out of my lab,” Bixby said, entrenching.

  Pander smirked. He wove around the workbench towards the droid from the other side. Bixby couldn’t grow too insistent about blocking him without heightening Pander’s suspicious. Shit. He knew what was about to happen.
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  Pander glanced at the crystals floating in the yellow liquid and sauntered up to the droid.

  “I am Niner. Please authenticate.” Bixby felt his plans collapse into oblivion. He seriously considered creating an accident. There were chemicals here that could—

  “Niner?” Pander faced the ceiling with a wide smile, drew his arms out clasped his hands, elbows wide, before looking straight back at Bixby. “So you took it all the way—”

  Shit. Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit. “Look—”

  “No, you look, Bixby. You put a subject in there, didn’t you? That’s illegal.” Pander wagged his finger and pointed to his own forehead, drawing an infinite circle from jaw to ear. “Is that an implant I hear sawing into your head?”

  Bixby knew he was caught. There was no way out. Pander would exact his revenge. There was nothing he could say to escape it. About that accident then—

  Then Pander said, “But illegal isn’t unworkable.”

  Bixby said, “What do you mean?”

  Niner said, “I am Niner. Please authenticate.” They both ignored it.

  Pander said, “You and I—we’re not so different. We’re both trying to get ahead and, while I admit we’ve had our differences, you’ve proven a formidable foe.” Was he really saying what Bixby thought?

  “And now?”

  “Now we help each other. Look, I know what that headset does.”

  Bixby thought, Do you really now? What are you hiding?

  Pander said, “The bosses gave it to me to check for production potential. They wanted me to cost it out.” That meant Pander did his usual trade-off analysis. Bixby knew the headsets were far from cost-effective, but what they could do amounted to a kingmaking invention.

  The technology in the headsets meant it was possible to control machines simply by thinking commands. It had been tried with brain waves but the required training made it impossible for masses of people to use. Trying to think commands was different than controlling machines like a party of one’s body.