Free Six Scifi Stories by Robert T. Jeschonek

enemies. The estimated back taxes on Dr. M’s criminal activities are astronomical, and Dr. M hasn’t exactly kept receipts to justify deductions.
    The IRS audit is major trouble, the kind of trouble you can’t dispose of like a stalker boyfriend...and it isn’t the last of her bad breaks.
    Dr. M’s five former husbands write a tell-all book about their marriages to her. It becomes a bestseller that makes her a household name, but not in a good way.
    In the heat of the book brouhaha, when Dr. Medici tries to phone in her threat to launch the doomsday device unless she’s made queen of the world, the United Nations Security Council won’t take her call.
    The worst break of all, though, comes with Dr. Medici’s visit to the doctor--a medical doctor, not a mad scientist. That’s the one that almost wrecks her.
    And it happens on Christmas Eve.
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    *****
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    â€œAll those years,” says Dr. Medici, pouring herself another glass of whiskey. “Instead of working on doomsday devices and killer robots, I should have been studying medicine.”
    â€œWhy? What’s going on?” I’m a little nervous, because I found Dr. M hiding out with her bottle of whiskey in the dungeon...I mean my secret lab. She is leaning against the metal table on which my personal secret project lies hidden under a bedsheet.
    Dr. Medici raises her glass, but I have no glass of my own with which to toast. “That’s irony for you. I’m smart enough that I probably could have found a cure for cancer if I’d put my mind to it.”
    As she downs her drink, I take a step closer. “Cancer?” My head spins as the word dribbles from my lips.
    Dr. Medici nods and refills her glass. “Star cell carcinoma,” she says glibly. “A mind is a terrible thing to turn to paste.”
    I stumble another step toward her in the shadowy chamber. “Inoperable?” I’m having trouble talking to her, but not for the usual reasons.
    Dr. M raises her glass. “Merry Christmas.” She gulps her drink. “What really pisses me off, though,” she says, “is that I didn’t get to be queen of the world first.”
    This time, I stumble back away from her. I come up short against the cold wall of the cave and let it hold me up while the world melts out from under me.
    Dr. Medici laughs bitterly. “I should’ve been a medical doctor,” she says. “What the hell was I thinking?”
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    *****
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    Twenty-five years ago, the first time I saw Dr. Medici, she was pounding the hell out of a teddy bear in her family’s back yard. She was six years old, and dressed all in black.
    Lots of cars were parked in front of her house, and I had come over to see what all the excitement was about. Hildegarde scowled at me and kept pounding the bear as I approached.
    â€œWho’s all the people?” I said, gesturing in the general direction of the cars parked out front.
    â€œFuneral people.” Hildegarde held the bear by its stubby legs and swung it hard at a rock as big as she was.
    â€œWhy are they here?” I remember looking around for something like the stuffed bear to swing and pound, as if it were the polite thing to do.
    â€œMy mother,” said Hildegarde, sweeping the bear way back and really slamming it against the rock with all her might.
    â€œWhat about her?” I said.
    â€œCancer!” Hildegarde went wild then, pounding the bear on the rock so hard that the bear’s seams split and stuffing flew out of it. “Cancer cancer cancer cancer cancer !”
    I stood and watched as she pounded the bear, then dug her nails into the split seams and tore it apart. Grunting like an animal, she shredded the skin and hurled the stuffing into the yard.
    When she finally ran out of bear to pound and rip, she threw down the last remaining hunk of brown fur and glared at me.
    â€œSomeday,” she said, “I’ll be