Fatal Containment

Fatal Containment - Chapter 2

Tyrell bristled at the insult. "It's not a shortcut, it's an innovation. It's progress."

Maxim shook his head, his expression one of disappointment. "Progress? No, Sanders, progress is using the organic human mind to create something truly remarkable while allowing us to fully retain our humanity. Once you intrude into the space of the mind with your, your soulless machines, I fear we can never return. If we cross the Rubicon, we are lost, don't you see?"

Tyrell scoffed. "You're just afraid of change, Dr. van Helm. Afraid of being replaced by something better. We can advance man's thinking light-years ahead of where we are now using simple connection protocols to powerful computer banks. We can expand the very mind of man, here, now."

Maxim's gaze hardened. "I'm not afraid of change, Sanders. I'm afraid of losing what makes us human."

Tyrell's eyes held a glint that Maxim couldn't quite decipher. It was a look that sent a chill down his spine.

"Maybe it's time for a change, Dr. van Helm," Tyrell said, his voice low and dangerous. "Maybe it's time for the old ways to make way for the new."

Maxim swallowed, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. "Is that a threat, Sanders? Remember, it was the Imperial intelligence network that gave me control of the project. And they are not an organization to be trifled with."

Tyrell just smiled, a cold, calculating smile. "No, Dr. van Helm, and neither am I, be assured of that."

With that, Tyrell turned back to his work, leaving Maxim standing there, a sense of dread settling in Maxim's stomach as he considered just how little he knew of Tyrell and any ambition he might harbor against the success of the project. And the older man feared that this was a conversation that would cast a long shadow over the events to come.

* * *

Cheryl snapped her eyes open at 0500 hours to the annoying sound of some randomly chosen spritely music blaring from her headboard. Waking on time was usually something she had trained herself to do, but not when running on fumes, so she decided an alarm was the safest bet. With her head pounding from lack of sleep, she was questioning her decision to join the Navy. She pulled herself together, dressed, and went immediately to the lab.

The microbiology lab was a large set of bays with sterile white walls and excellent lighting. There were computer terminals just about everywhere, and certain sections were separated by force fields or, in some cases, thick atmospheric containment doors. White steel tables were positioned at various parts of the spacious laboratory, but at the moment, there were boxes and crates littered everywhere, giving her the impression of a child's messy room. That would be the first thing to get cleaned up, Cheryl thought.

"Good morning, ma'am," Ensign Willow Kearney said cheerily. Her dark skin and bright eyes were always a pleasant sight, even if it was this early in the morning.

"How are our guests?" Cheryl asked as she noticed two of the scientists busily tearing open another crate of gear.

Willow wrinkled her nose and frowned. "These two have been here all night unpacking and fiddling with their toys," she said. "And they have been very particular about everything."

"Typical science types," Cheryl said as she poured herself coffee from the wall dispenser. The ship's coffee wasn't as great as what the captain had access to, but it was passable once you got used to it. Then again, Cheryl assumed sulfuric acid was too if you built up enough immunity to it.

"Take that one for example," Willow said, pointing at Tyrell. "He wants to have access to more powerful computing resources so he can play with his little micro robots, or whatever they are. I informed him that he has been given Level II access to our central computer core, but he wants even more. For a smart person, he doesn't seem to understand that we must have some compute power to run the ship."