Witch Of The Federation Read online

  Witch Of The Federation

  Federal Histories™ 01

  Michael Anderle

  Witch Of The Federation (this book) is a work of fiction.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2019 Michael Anderle

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  Cover Art by Jake @ J Caleb Design

  http://jcalebdesign.com / [email protected]

  A Michael Anderle Production

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  First US edition, March 2019

  ISBN: 978-1-64202-151-6

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Creator Notes - Michael Anderle

  Books by Michael Anderle

  Connect with the authors

  The Witch Of The Federation Team

  Thanks to our Beta Team

  Mary Morris, John Ashmore, Nicole Emens, Robert Brooks, and Larry Omans

  Thanks to our JIT Readers

  Angel LaVey

  Jeff Eaton

  John Raisor

  Larry Omans

  Misty Roa

  Tim Adams

  If We’ve missed anyone, please let us know!

  Editor

  The Skyhunter Editing Team

  To Family, Friends and

  Those Who Love

  To Read.

  May We All Enjoy Grace

  To Live The Life We Are

  Called.

  Chapter One

  Stephanie never understood why they painted cinderblock interior walls. It always left small, concave bubbles over the surface. Maybe it was for a textured effect—anything to make the decades-old school hallway look a little more presentable on a day like that. She ran her finger over the slick, shiny white paint a second before someone rammed into her shoulder from behind and knocked her to the side.

  She looked up with irritation as two guys from the other class raced down the hall, chasing each other. The teacher came out of the classroom, clapped her hands, and yelled at them. “Walk, or I’ll send you right back to detention. Trust me, if that one was too exciting, I can load a very rousing small white room with no windows into your headsets.”

  A kid behind her sighed. She glanced back and winced at his wild red hair and braces that almost seemed intrusive. Stephanie turned away and shoved her hands in the front pockets of her jeans as she tapped her vintage Converse up and down. Patience was something she was more familiar with than most kids, but on that particular day, she struggled to keep it together.

  It was testing day—the day every kid had the opportunity to climb inside one of the full immersion pods brought in by the government and give it their best shot for a higher education worth having. They all thought about it, but most of those students considered never made it. Unless, of course, money was no object. Then, you were sent ahead to a bright and exciting future. The rest scrambled their way through the mediocre choices left over for college so they could drown in debt as they stumbled through their mediocre life. Stephanie was sure there was more to it than that—more than simply settling. But then again, what did she really know? She was a teenager.

  Mrs. Abbott, the teacher, stepped out of the classroom and smiled as she tugged nonchalantly on the bottom of her blue button-up blouse in an effort to get the high lace collar off her chin. “All right, single file into the room, all the way down and around the rows. Stop in front of your pod, and you may begin reading your instruction manual.”

  The students whispered excitedly to one another as they shuffled forward. Kids like Stephanie had never been inside a full immersion pod. For others like the redhead behind her, though, it seemed to be an inconvenience.

  He snickered as they entered. “Leave it to the government to send outdated pods.”

  Stephane ignored him, made it down the line, and stood in front of her pod. She retrieved the manual, which really was only a couple of pages long with large text. Trying not to smile too widely, she ran her gaze over the sleek black pod in front of her. It stood as high as her stomach, bubbled at the back, and smoothed out to a rounded point at the front. On the right was a silver handle with an arrow. On the front of it was a screen for the teacher and several flashing red lights.

  The students around her chatted with excitement as the teacher browsed through the rows to see if anyone had any questions. One of the boys in the front row groaned, rolled his eyes, and raised his hand in the air. “This thing won’t open. The handle is all wonky.”

  Mrs. Abbott held her head up and muttered under her breath. In a high-pitched tone with an almost ghastly smile, she wandered over and tapped the book. “Did you read your instructions?”

  The kid’s frown transformed into tight-lipped irritation. “Of course I did.”

  The woman’s expression remained frozen like a robot, which was probably why they called her Robot Abbott. “Okay, then. Read it again.”

  Stephanie lowered her head to her own book but shifted her gaze to look at him. He pouted and picked the book up again and read frantically at first before he slowed down as he reached the relevant section. He purs
ed his lips and glanced at the handle and then back at the book. Hesitation paused his hand in mid-reach, but he continued, grabbed the handle, turned it to the left, pushed in, and turned it to the right. The door hissed slightly as it opened and raised the pod top.

  He folded the instructions and tossed them on the seat before he glanced up. Quickly, Stephanie looked away so he wouldn’t catch her watching him figure it out. Again, she had to force herself to hold back the grin that tugged at the sides of her lips. The kid grumbled, took hold of the handle, and hauled himself into the pod. “It’s not as if someone like me will be accepted anyway. This is a waste of my time.”

  Stephanie forced her concentration onto the instructions in front of her. She couldn’t let the naysayers and entitled kids into her psyche. The instruction manual had a different picture on the front than the one she had at home so she could prepare. From the instructions it provided to open the pod, they seemed to be exactly the same, though. She put the manual down and rubbed her hands together, stepped toward the handle, and grasped it firmly.

  After a slow, deep breath, she whispered under her breath, “This is the big one. Don’t screw it up.”

  She turned the handle left, pushed it in, and then right. The compression of the space inside hissed slightly. As she raised it, butterflies fluttered through her chest. The odor of leather fabric on the seats mixed with an odd floral scent hit her senses. It smells like my grandmother’s old car. Maybe that’s a good sign. I’m gonna take it as a good sign, anyway.

  Quickly, she slid into the pod and gripped the handle. She spared one last look at everyone else entering their machines before she closed the door firmly. As it latched, small lights along the edge of the ceiling illuminated the inside in a soft glow. The screen flickered on and several buttons lit up in different colors. She knew from the booklet not to mess with any of those unless instructed to do so by the administrator.

  In the silence that followed, she began to wonder if she had forgotten to do something. Suddenly, a calm female voice spoke soothingly through the pod. “Welcome, student. Are you in need of instructions?”

  Stephanie released her smile and said cheerfully, “Of course.”

  The female voice, slightly robotic in nature, continued. “Excellent. Please lie flat on your back with your hands folded on your chest.”

  She glanced at the pod bed, a leather-covered foam with an indentation for a human body. A small pillow was attached where her head would go. Slowly, she lay back, crossed her ankles, and made sure she was good and comfortable. “Done.”

  “Excellent,” the voice intoned. “I am a second generation VRZ-201 training module. I am a little older but well taken care of and will be able to help you acclimate to the training scenario. Now that you are vertical and comfortable, we will move on to the next step.”

  Stephanie nodded. “Right.”

  “For the next part of your preparation, we will administer a small injection on the left side of your neck. This will release a specialized serum that will allow my technology to speak directly to the receptors in your brain. It is one of the vital parts of the new immersion, headset-free, virtual experience. Please relax.”

  Stephanie raised an eyebrow but closed her eyes and tried to relax. She had been subjected to a barrage of immunizations over the years with the reintroduction of certain flu strains brought by visitors from other planets. These were in addition to about six or seven specialized ones her parents had saved up for to decrease her risk of cancers and other deadly diseases. Most of them weren’t required, but with the way the world had evolved in manufacturing and the increase in climate change events, you didn’t stand a chance past fifty if you didn’t have them. Which was mostly why they were so pricey and usually reserved for the richer families.

  A slight buzz beside her left ear sounded as a small needle ejected and pierced into the vein running up her neck. It whirred and a small amount of yellow liquid was injected.

  “Ouch,” she whispered.

  The pod retracted the needle. “I’m sorry about that. For your information, there is only a six percent chance of an adverse reaction to the injection. It will dissipate from your system within eight hours.”

  A piece slid out above her and over her head. Small sensors rested only centimeters from her temples, across her forehead, and in a spiderweb pattern across the top of her head. “This will be able to pick up the infusion as it travels through your brain,” the pod explained. “It will also document your vitals for safety purposes. Now, there are two large gloves attached to the side of the pod. Please rest your forearms on the pads and slip your hands into the gloves. Make sure your fingers are right to the tip or as far as you can go.”

  Stephanie moved her eyes, no longer able to turn her head. On each side were black cushioned arm-holders with tight black gloves. Small silver wires were stitched into the fabric and traced up and down them. She slipped her hand in the first one and it sucked tightly onto her hand. Smiling, she did the same with the other before she flexed her fists.

  On the screen in front of her, a small line appeared and began to rise up and down in sync with the beat of her heart. Below it, other numbers were displayed that changed every few seconds. The pod dimmed the lights. “Now that you have prepped, we will wait for the detection of the serum. The average wait time is five minutes. From there, we will begin the exam.”

  Stephanie raised her hand up and turned it back and forth. “Groovy.”

  The pod beside Stephanie’s shook slightly but no one could see except for Mrs. Abbott, who was distracted by the two boys who still ran up and down the hallway. Inside, Kyle—the redheaded guy from the line—grunted as he tried to get comfortable in the bed of the pod.

  “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “Even the base models of the five-year-old pods had soft seats with body-adjusting cushions. This is like laying on a piece of foam.”

  The lights on the roof flickered on. “Welcome, student. Are you in need of instructions?”

  Kyle sneered at the screens in front of him. “I guess I should since you’re so old. I don’t want to mess up cranking the knobs or some crazy crap like that.”

  The pod didn’t respond to his comment. “Okay. I am a second generation VRZ-201 training module. I am a little older but well taken care of and will be able to help you acclimate to the training scenario.”

  He scoffed. “Are you kidding me? A 201? That was made before I was even born. I’m fairly certain my dad had one when he was my age. Great. Taking it back old-school. It’s just like this place to not provide the state-of-the-art models.”

  “Please find a comfortable position in the bed, facing up with your hands on your stomach,” the pod replied.

  Kyle wiggled again. “Right, like there is actually a comfortable position with this thing.”

  He grumbled but was silenced when the needle emerged and pricked him in the neck. Offended, he clutched the spot and rubbed it. “Hey. Watch out with that thing. Did you even sanitize?”

  “I’m sorry. All needles are pre-packaged and sanitized before each new student enters the pod.”

  Kyle frowned and rested his hands back on his stomach. “I’m shocked you even have the auto-inject. I have an old 304 model in my game room, and I call it an antique. I can’t believe we have to use you for this test. No wonder the kids from the west side don’t have a stinking chance of getting into this thing. I guess that’s all the better for me, though.”

  The screen up front activated and the pod explained the information. “This will monitor your stats while you complete your exam. The headpiece that lowered and your gloves will track the serum injected into your neck.”

  The boy squeezed his fists open and closed. “Perfect. Rusty needles, archaic software, and a damn head clamp. I should have simply volunteered my newest pod. They could have set it all up in that thing and I would be halfway done by now.”

  The pod didn’t respond. “Your heartbeat seems to be slightly elevated.”
br />   He blinked at the ceiling. “Because I am in a time capsule with the capabilities of an iPad from a thousand years ago.”

  “The iPads were used on the first pod but quickly discontinued when the technology became outdated,” the AI explained.

  Kyle gritted his teeth. “So I have an idiot guide through this test that also doubles as an encyclopedia of completely useless information. Perfect. This should be the most fun I’ve had since I broke my nose.”

  The pod beeped. “From your records, it seems your nose was broken on March 9th, 2114 due to a fist fight with a—”

  Kyle cleared his throat and raised his voice. “I get it. You know my file. There’s no need to rehash my accident. I’m sure the kid who tried to hurt me has good enough memories of what I did to him.”