Fool's Gold (The Wandering Engineer)

by Hechtl, Chris

  “What's the breakage?” Enrique asked an hour later.

  “All told?” the sheriff asked. His mandible clicked. He was missing an arm. “Fourteen dead. Six wounded. A few were playing possum and weren't wounded at all,” he chittered.

  “Smart. Trapped as they were,” Thornby said shaking her head. “I'm treating them and the others for shock. Matilda has her hands full with her granddaughter. The kid was deeply traumatized.” She shook her head.

  “I was wondering why she wasn't here,” Enrique said.

  “Give the lady a break! It was her granddaughter!” Thornby snarled tiredly.

  “Oh,” Enrique sat back.

  Irons drummed his fingers on the table. “Engineering reports minor damage. They'll sort it out soon. Fortunately that wall the gang was using for target practice was pretty thick and grounded. On the other side was one of our primary EPS conduits though.

  “Plasma?” Thornby asked, shaken.

  The sheriff cocked his head. His mandibles twitched. He held up a hand. “How did you know Admiral?”

  “Station blueprints. You may want to adjust your crisis training. Have your people look for possible hazards and work at clearing out civilians and have engineering shut down and reroute around potential problems before they become hazards.”

  “I'll say.” Enrique nodded. “So, what do we do with this gang?” he asked. “I think the airlock is too good for them.”

  “Not all were participants. From what I understand they didn't even instigate it, the east side Mulisha did. Caught sight of them in the corridor and opened up on the crowd, then ran.” Smithy reported.

  “So it was defensive?” Irons asked.

  “Well, not all.” The sheriff shook his head. “Forensics are sorting out who did what now.”

  “But that still leaves what to do with them?”

  “Well, we can't kill them,” Irons said shaking his head.

  “Why not?” the sheriff asked.

  “Because I gave my word that I wouldn't,” Irons replied.

  Enrique opened his mouth then closed it when Thornby glared. “Kids?” She hissed. He shook his head.

  “Okay okay. That's out.”

  “But it does point out a problem. We've got to get a handle on these gangs and the underworld,” the sheriff pointed out.

  “What was their main purpose?” Smithy asked. “I don't have one in the records.”

  “Protection,.” the sheriff said shaking his head. “Also general fear, intimidation, and murder for credits.”

  “In other words, pretty much what station security was doing before you came along Admiral,” Thornby said, nodding to Irons. He shrugged.

  “People need thugs,” Enrique shrugged.

  “No they don't. They need trained soldiers, guards, and sheriffs. A few might fit the bill. I dunno,” the sheriff said rubbing his antenna with his good arm.

  “Interview them and find out. I'll sick Judge Farley and the Major on them as well. See if we can thin out their ranks,” Irons said. He turned to Thornby. “What about the families? Can they find alternative work?”

  “The problem is some are drawn to that sort of thing. Power,” the sheriff said. Thornby frowned then nodded looking a little dejected. “Yes doctor some are trapped into it, knowing nothing else. But many... they wouldn't leave it if they could.” He shook his head.

  “Well, we'll sort this out. Let's see if we can post a schedule of when and where we're going to repair sectors of the station. Get people to help and give the gangs notice so they don't interfere or run.”

  “That means they could cause trouble. Or blend in to the society,” the sheriff said rubbing his mandibles.

  “Blending in we can work with. Trouble... well.” Irons smiled grimly.

  “We can deal with. All right,” Enrique nodded. “We'll have to set an example though.”

  “Rehab or resoc,” Irons said.

  Thornby winced. “Don't. No,” she shook her head.

  “Resoc?” Enrique asked.

  “Resocialization,” the sheriff answered. “Also known as Neural resoc. I read about it in the archives.” He twitched an antenna. “Repattern their brains and body chemistry to more useful means. Sometimes an entire adjustment with either electrodes into their neural net or through chemicals or nanites.”

  Enrique frowned. Thornby shivered a little. “It is useful for those degenerates who aren't completely gone. But not for all.” He cocked his head. “Sometimes you have to use force and nip a problem permanently.” His mandibles clacked together hard.

  “I understand,” Irons nodded. “Or incarceration,” he shrugged. “A nice penal colony would work. Let them spend their energy working and surviving.”

  “Now that I like,” Enrique smiled. “I'll run it by the judge.” He nodded as they got up.

  Thornby sighed as she patched up another patient. “What are we going to do with you?” she murmured.

  The girl cat mewed a little. She looked down to her kits sleeping on her lap. “That's a good question. What are you going to do with us?” an elderly matron asked. Thornby looked over to her.

  “Well, we've got some options open.” She came over and hunkered down next to the matron. She watched the felinoid sniff the air. “Are you blind?” she asked softly.

  “Hurrah.” the silvery lionoid nodded. She shrugged. “A long time.”'

  “Cataracts’?” the doctor asked. She took out an LED light from her breast pocket and shone it into the matron's eyes. Her implants were only basic. She'd need a diagnostic scanner to be sure.

  “They clouded over time. My vision became fuzzy and now I only see a faint light,” the matron sighed.

  “What do you care. Get it over with,” a young male snarled.

  “Get what over with?” Thornby asked. She hummed as she brought up a diagnostic tool. “Hold still.” She held it over the matron's eyes.

  “Kill us,” a girl growled. Thornby looked over to her. “That's what you’re going to do right? The pride has fallen.”

  “Is that what you call yourselves? A pride?” Thornby asked. The matron flexed her claws. “There.” She took the diagnostic scanner away. She watched the readings on her HUD.

  “You definitely have cataracts. I'll schedule you for surgery,” she nodded to an orderly nearby. He made a note.

  “Thank you,” the matron said, hand on her arm. Thornby looked down to the hand. The claws were thankfully sheathed.

  “It's my duty,” she said nodding.

  “So what is to become of us?” another female asked. Another chuffed, as her child chirred a question. She pushed the baby’s head down.

  Thornby realized most of the gang, or pride as they preferred to call themselves were female. There were only a handful of adult males. The rest of the males were adolescents. Scrawny adolescents.

  “Well, you've got some options.” She patted the matron's hand as she turned to face the group. “You can request counseling and apply for schooling. Or you can apply for the security or law enforcement departments. I'm not sure many of you are really cut out for medicine.”

  A female with scars on her side and shoulder looked up then shook her head. She closed her eyes.

  “Where are the others?” the pantheroid asked.

  “Others?”

  “The pride.”

  “Ah, well, any not wounded went to the brig,” she replied.

  “Oh.” He nuzzled at a gel covered wound.

  “Don't do that. The gel is toxic,” an orderly said. He snarled at her. She jumped back, hands going to her throat.

  “Softly Jethro,” the matron sighed. He hissed and spat. She growled. The other females did as well. The guards looked around nervously. The ears of the panther flattened and his fur stood up then flattened.

  Thornby realized they were joining the matron in rebuking the young male. “Seriously young man, you need to calm down and not cause trouble. Aren't you in enough as it is?” she asked.

  His tawny eyes t
urned to her then away. He licked the fur on his shoulder disdainfully.

  “Kits these days,” the matron sighed.

  “Tell me about it.” Thornby said shaking her head. A marine in combat armor came in. She turned with the others.

  The giant suit stomped in then stopped in the center of the room. The helmet seemed to look around the room, then it peeled back to reveal the Major.

  “Everything all right in here Commander?” he asked, eyes looking around.

  She nodded. “So far so good.” She adjusted the lights over a patient. “Nice suit.”

  “We just broke them out of storage before the pirates came,” the Major replied.

  “How can you run that. It's supposed to require a link,” the panther asked. The Major and Thornby turned to him.

  “It does. How'd you know that?” the Major asked.

  “My ancestors were soldiers. In the first and second AI war and the Xeno war. Scouts. Recon. The Black Devils,” he sniffed, sitting up and straightening his shoulders. His fur fluffed in challenge.

  “The Black Devils. Recon you say?” the Major asked. His hands went out like he was touching a keyboard. His finger wiggled.

  “What's he doing?” a female asked.

  “Accessing the records,” Smithy replied. She looked startled as a holo of the AI appeared next to the Major. “Major I'd appreciate a request for access next time,” he said then turned to the group.

  “Got it,” the Major said, not acknowledging the AI's rebuke. “Black panthers in the military services, and Black Devils. Hmmm. Recon.” He nodded.

  “You are a Major?” the teenage panther asked. His chin jutted out.

  “Huh? Yeah. We're reforming the military branches. I'm a marine.” He shrugged. “Currently the ranking marine. I was given a promotion after our last dust up with the pirates. I had been frocked to Major as a courtesy, Admiral Irons made it official.”

  The teens eyes slitted. “Are you going to do recon?”

  “Of course. Eventually,” the major nodded turning to him. “Why? Interested in signing up?”

  A female next to the panther gave a throaty chuckle. “Since he was weaned. All panthers are raised with the story of the marines.” Another chuckled and nodded.

  “Well, You can do so. Any of you can. Provided you sever all links to illicit activities or those who do them.” The Major shrugged. “You'll have to go through boot and accept military discipline. I've got to admit, it'll be a while before we do many ground ops though.”

  “Ground...” a female said looking up in surprised. Thornby looked. The female was rakishly thin. Her arms and legs were long. She was covered in spotted fur. A cheetah biod her implant told her. This one was covered in poorly healed scars.

  “Yeah dummy!” the teen said lashing out at her. She shrank back.

  “Easy,” Thornby said, waving to a guard. “Pack behavior remember?”

  She grimaced. Where there was an alpha, there was always an omega. The bottom dreg of the pack. Someone constantly picked on and beaten. From the looks of things this one fit the bill. “You okay miss?” The girl had a glassy eyed look.

  She turned, her eyes went wide and she chirred. She chirruped and nodded as her tail thrashed then wrapped itself around the bed's supporting leg. “To see the ground, to run under the sky...”

  “Well, the nearest world is Gaston in the Agnosta system,” the Major replied. “We're sending Destiny, she's one of the freighters we caught from the pirates, back to Agnosta to check up on things there.”

  “You... pirates?” a female asked.

  “Sounds like someone's been smoking cabaña gas,” another chirred. Her head dipped up and down with laughter.

  The Major turned. “Yes space pirates. The Admiral picked them off with Firefly. He, hell, we are rebuilding the fleet. Doc there is a lieutenant commander.”

  Thornby blushed a little as all eyes turned to her. “Reservist. I'm still the same chief medical officer here on Anvil.”

  The matron huffed a laugh then coughed.

  “My ancestors were from Genkara. They were park rangers. They were evacuated in a refugee ship,” the cheetah said quietly.

  “Who cares!” a female said. She raised her hand to cuff the girl.

  “Enough of that,” Thornby said. She held up her hand. “This is a sick bay. Calm down or I will sedate you.” She glared around. The cheetah girl came over to her side.

  “Can I help mistress,” she purred. Doc looked at her in surprise.

  “You look like you need help, not the other way around. You're going to get a dunk in the regen tank.”

  “Why? She's just a nuisance. Bloody cheetah,” a lioness growled.

  “I'm a nuisance when you don't need me you mean,” the cheetah said. “My name is Cheetahra the seventy third, I'm... I mean I want to be a medic. I've been acting as one for the pride.”

  “Stupid. Waste of resources.”

  “Why? Is that a bad thing? Having a medic?” the Major asked turning to the lioness girl.

  “They are lions, I'm a cheetah,” Cheetahra said with a air of patience.

  “So?” Thornby said. “I'm human. So what?”

  “So lions hate cheetah. Usually they kill them,” the matriarch sighed. “It is the order of things in nature. Unfortunately such prejudices carried over when we were elevated.”

  “So... why are you here?” an orderly asked.

  “No place else to go,” the cheetah said shaking her head. Her tail twitched. “But the chance to...”

  “Yeah, yeah, we heard,” a lioness voice said testily.

  “So that is what we can do? Work, join the marines or navy, or...”

  “Or apply to another colony, or as ship crew on one of the civilian ships, or save your money and get passage to Gaston, or another colony,” Thornby finished nodding. She finished checking the bandage of her patient, patted her side then went back to the middle of the room. She looked around. “It is an option.”

  “Do the marines care if I'm a sculpt or a genie?” the panther asked.

  “Not a bit,” the Major said shaking his head. “I don't care where you’re from, as long as you can do the job. There are neo's already in the marines.”

  “It doesn't matter if you’re a sculpt or genie. We're all intermingled by now,” the matron said with a laugh.

  “How is that?” the panther asked. “Granddame,” he added as a female near him looked up and growled. Her eyes locked to his then looked away.

  “A thousand years of interbreeding will do that,” she replied. She felt about on her bed. A female rose to help her but she chirred briefly and then sat back with a soft sigh.

  “True. And we really don't care what you are as long as you do the job,” Thornby said nodding. “Think of this as a fresh start. As a civilian or in the military.” She shrugged.

  “Marine. Recon,” the panther said sitting up. The Major nodded to him. “If I am allowed. Recon or nothing. The honor of my ancestors demands it.”

  “Well, since you'd be one of the first you'd be setting the tone for future generations son. So you'll have one hell of a hard road ahead of you,” the Major said studying the boy. It was a bitch getting the sensors to lock onto the kid.

  Panther types had received quite a few special genetic tricks during the time from the first AI war to the Xeno war. They were the ultimate ghost soldier. No wonder they were tolerated in the pride he realized. They would also make for Jim dandy assassins.

  “Is this a formal request?” he asked. The panther nodded.

  “All right then. I've logged it. As soon as Doc clears you We'll set you up with the next boot class. That starts in two days. Until then concentrate on healing well and building up your strength. You'll need it,” he smiled.

  “And the rest of us?” the matron asked.

  “Still up to you. Your fate is partially in your hands. Your choices will dictate it as much as our own,” the Major said nodding to her. “Any other takers?” he asked surveyin
g the room. No one else volunteered. “Well, the marines aren't for everybody,” he said smiling a feral smile. A few raised hackles at that. He snorted.

  “Good day then,” he nodded and left.

  “Something I missed?” Irons said coming in as the Major left.

  “That voice.. are you the one that killed Leo?” the matron said sitting up.

  Irons eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he said drawing himself up straight.

  “He was my son,” she growled softly.

  Irons nodded warily.

  All the females were looking at him with raised hackles. A teenage liger male snarled. He seemed to be building up to leap but a female cuffed him down without looking at him.

  “Stupid! He's got a shield!”

  “That's right. I do,” Irons said, locking eyes with the boy. He cycled his own eye to a cat’s eye. The liger's eyes widened suddenly then his fur fell.

  “Your really an admiral? From the past?” a voice asked.

  “Here we go again,” Thornby sighed.

  “Yes. I am Admiral John Henry Irons. Fleet Admiral. Federation Navy,” he said coming to attention. He looked around.

  “You're really doing it. Really rebuilding the military,” a voice said.

  “Yes,” Irons nodded.

  “Hurrah,” the matron said. She chirred. Her lips parted. “Thank you,” she said softly. All eyes turned to her. “For saving us. Twice. And my... son.”

  “He was in the wrong,” Irons said.

  “I know that. He was... unbalanced,” she sighed. “Mad with fear and power. He had to be stopped. You stopped him before he destroyed the pride.”

  “You can put it that way I suppose,” Sprite said to him alone.

  “I forgive you. For myself and for the pride. There is no blood debt, nor feud between us.” She reached out a hand. He came over and took it with his artificial arm. His pain receptors told him her claws were digging in.

  “Ah...”

  “For we are tied together,” she said. She sniffed her paw after a moment. “No blood?”

  He chuckled. “That was my artificial arm,” he said. She chirred a query. “I am a cyborg. Part man, part machine.” He held up his left arm then rolled up his sleeve. “This one is the real one.”

  She did the bloodletting ceremony once more. “Let none of the pride shed your blood ever again. You are now our leader,” she said.