Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer)

by Hechtl, Chris

  “Boss, one of the guys are going to be in serious hurt for a week. One's got a broken hand, the fingers were crushed. I uh...” the rat faced second in command whispered to his boss. Fat Larry looked at the guy and stopped himself from backhanding him. Instead he brushed at his thinning hair and patted the man on the shoulder when he flinched anyway.

  “I see what you mean. Let bygones be bygones. You go your way, we'll go ours.”

  The admiral nodded. He could tell the mobster was lying. Or at least buying time since he hadn't made up his mind. “Exactly. I will do my best to stay out of your domain Mr. Lazarrian.”

  “See that you do.”

  “One suggestion.”

  “Oh?”

  “If you oh, put the guys in private security uniforms, and oh, say charge a fee for their services, put them out where they can patrol areas... shopping complexes will be encouraged to oh, pay for their services. No, um... weekly persuasion needed.”

  Fat Larry eyed him like he was crazy. After a moment he snorted and looked at his subordinate for a moment and then to Irons. “An interesting idea.”

  “They could be on hand to oh, stop a robber, or oh, protect your customers from damage. Good press and all that. The Sheriff might even get on-board.”

  Larry chuckled now. “An interesting proposal, I'll have to think about it.”

  “Thank you sir,” Irons said. He shook hands with the man. The man blinked when he squeezed the admiral's right hand but didn't get a response. “Sorry, that one's artificial,” the admiral said with a small smile. When the handshake disengaged Irons morphed the hand briefly.

  The patrons stared at him and then at Larry who nervously wiped his hand on his thigh. He licked his lips and beads of sweat were now on his brow. His jowls and double chin shook briefly. Irons looked away from the mole on the guy's cheek.

  One of the guards had his hand in his jacket. Irons looked hard at the man. Slowly he withdrew the hand and then wiggled the fingers to show he was unarmed. Irons nodded slightly. He knew better, knew about the gun in the pocket but if the guy was making a show of not being hostile he'd let it slide.

  “Sorry, showing off I know. In my time things like this were common place. Once civilization gets sorted out a bit more, we'll see.” he shrugged and nodded. “Have a good evening folks.” He turned and walked out.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “Well, that was interesting,” Sprite said as he made his way by circuitous route to his motel. He snorted softly, nodding politely to people he passed. Most were out and about doing various chores or talking. Some people were on ladders putting up bunting and banners. There was a lot of chatter and some horse play, some between kids, some between adults.

  “You think?” Irons asked, dodging a couple of teenagers who were giggling and chasing each other.

  “It's not every day that you stare down a mobster. Definitely one for the memoirs, do you worry about being too arrogant Admiral?”

  “What do you mean?” Irons asked, not breaking his stride.

  “Well, not everyone would just do that you know,” Sprite replied testily. “Even sanity strikes you organics from time to time.”

  “He wasn't a threat and you know it. Not in a public place.”

  “Ah, that's my point, thank you for making it,” Sprite replied with a slight smirk in her voice.

  “Oh?” he asked warily.

  “You assumed he wouldn't do anything. And you assumed you'd be able to handle anything he did throw at you,” Sprite replied.

  “Which was true commander. It's called knowing yourself, knowing your enemy, and a calculated risk. I inferred from the comment Biscuits and Books made about Hodges that Fat Larry wouldn't do anything. I also inferred from previous media experience that, one, Fat Larry wasn't about to do anything in public, and two, he wasn't going to sully himself with the job himself. He's a mover now, he doesn't want exposure. He wants to be a legitimate businessman in the eyes of the public. Even though he's not.”

  “He's a fat slime ball,” Sprite commented.

  “True,” Irons replied with a twisted smile. “He's a small time hood. Tail clear?”

  “Yes sir,” Sprite replied after another check with his sensors.

  “Good.” Irons ducked between a pair of buildings and then tapped his force drive. His legs glowed blue for a moment as ports opened and his calves transformed. He rose, quickly climbing to the balcony of his suite. He grinned as he touched down.

  “Show off,” Sprite commented. He chuckled, opening the French doors. “Which was my other point, since you've woken up you haven't exactly been keeping your abilities a secret,” Sprite said.

  “I think the statute of secrecy ended a couple centuries ago commander,” Irons replied. “Which is why when we got to Pyrax I decided to open up a bit more. Besides, sometimes inducing a little shock and awe is productive to get things done,” he said.

  “And sometimes counterproductive,” Sprite responded. He shrugged as he entered the suite and looked around. He felt Sprite tap the sensor nanites Proteus had left behind. The tiny robots signaled no one had been in the room. “All clear Admiral.”

  “Good. Good night Commander.”

  “Good night Admiral,” Sprite responded.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  He was a bit grumpy in the morning until he tracked down some decent coffee. Well, it wasn't quite decent, but at least it was coffee.

  “This holiday is messing up your schedule as well Admiral,” Sprite informed him the next day.

  “Oh?”

  “Most shipping shuts down or slows down significantly during the holiday period. Also workers tend to take a lot of time off around this time...”

  “You'd think they'd do that in winter...” he mused rubbing his jaw.

  “They do that as well. This is the second most period when the people travel and take vacations.”

  “Okay.”

  “I'm just letting you know...”

  He held up a hand. “I get it Sprite,” he said with a slight smile. “We'll endure. It's not like we're on a deadline or anything, we don't have to keep a meeting on the other end. We'll wait it out.”

  “Are you sure Admiral?”

  “It'll be fine. What's another week or two in the grand scheme of things?” he asked with a shrug. “Besides, this way I can put in some more good PR and lend a hand here and there. Maybe get a better idea of people and their attitudes.”

  “Spread the love. Great.”

  “More like lay more groundwork for this planet rejoining the Federation,” Irons replied.

  Sprite looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded. “I see your point Admiral.”

  “I'm glad you do.”

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Solaximara, leader of the Neo/anthro lobby wasn't happy about the latest report. Something was going on in Hazard, something weird. He'd have to look into it. His source said Hank McCoy was suddenly flush with parts and was taking in raw material, something no one but a factory could do. He was also acting cagey, another sign that the normally absent minded Leo had something to hide.

  He kept tabs on McCoy because the blue lion sometimes came into things during trades or in scavenging the ruins... and the Leo really didn't understand the value of what he had in front of him. How it would help his community out. More importantly how it would help one red lion named Solaximara out.

  He brushed his whiskers with one claw and growled softly, ears flicking as he read through the report. No, something was up. He'd send word to that barmaid Maggie to keep an eye on Hank. In the meantime he contacted a couple otter friends who might be able to tail the lion to whatever he had stashed. Hopefully they'd get it before Fat Larry or Hodges did.

  Of course the little pricks couldn't be trusted out of his sight. There was something to be said about no honor among thieves. They'd just as soon keep whatever device the Leo had picked up for themselves. Or they'd sell it to Fat Larry or Hodges themselves. He sighed. Nohar...
no, the tiger had a friendship with the Leo. No, he'd have to find someone else to keep an eye on his thieves.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Biscuits and Books bitched to their boss but Fat Larry was leery of killing the guy. He was also seriously unhappy with both thugs for going out on their own... and for getting caught. They didn't know it yet but they were on thin ice.

  “But an example must be made, he undermined me and mine,” Larry said, nodding in agreement. He didn't like it how the arrogant prick had come right up to his face and even threatened him. No one did that and got away with it, he had a rep to protect. Books smirked, something that irritated Larry. The clown really was asking for it, he thought. “He has to be taught a lesson.”

  “A final lesson boss?” Biscuit's asked hopefully, cradling the arm in a cast against his chest. He'd finally seen a doc about it. It had taken damn near a full bottle of whiskey to set everything and he had one hell of a hangover. And when he had a hangover he was beyond mean.

  Fat Larry nodded, scowling. This Irons character had faced him down and he didn't like it, didn't like it one bit. He wasn't at all sure what J.D. would say. Best to not involve him.

  He waved a fat finger to a girl. The girl came over and nodded as he whispered to her to find Irons and ask him over for a drink. Then he turned to his men and started issuing orders. They'd have to make sure the restaurant was set up just right for this to go down.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “You're not seriously going to stick your head in the lion's den again admiral are you?” Sprite asked aghast after he got the written invitation.

  “Why not?” Irons asked. “I don't want to be rude,” he replied, smiling slightly. Sprite rolled her eyes on his HUD. “Seriously, if we don't we're stiffing the mobster. I'm not in the mood to put up with crap, trying to keep cool as someone is stalking me. Maybe stalking me.”

  “You know he's not inviting you over out of the goodness of his heart,” the AI responded. The admiral chuckled as he put on a fresh coverall.

  “Of course not.”

  “So it's a trap.”

  “Oh, probably,” he replied, putting a navy jacket on and then taking it off. The heat of the summer day had died down and according to the natives it was supposed to be chilly. Of course the cold didn't bother him, but he had to keep up some appearances. He put it back because he didn't want it torn to shreds in a fight. Call it sentimentality, he thought with a slight twist of his lips.

  “So why are you going again?”

  “It's a dinner invitation and I'm hungry,” the admiral replied simply.

  “Admiral, you're normally not this... careless. Foolish,” Sprite warned.

  “One way or another I want this behind us. Even if I have to do something permanent about it,” Irons replied.

  “A show of force?”

  “Possibly. Most likely yes, if they let me leave it at that. If not,” he flexed his right hand.

  “Target practice,” Sprite replied dryly.

  “True.”

  “Can we call for back up?”

  “I'm fairly certain the sheriff is in on this. Or if he's not exactly in on it, he'll know all about it.”

  “You think,” Sprite said, sounding annoyed. The admiral shrugged. “Well, we'll find out in a minute won't we?” he asked as he dropped off the side of the balcony. He floated as his gravitics kicked, just enough buoyancy to get to the ground without going splat. His knees took some of the landing and he turned, trotting out to the main street.

  “Left,” Sprite said, putting a map on his HUD. He grunted and followed it.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Arriving at the restaurant, Irons nodded to the thugs on either side of the door. He caught just the hint of a smirk on the left bruiser’s face. Not enough to give the show away for some, but enough to tell Irons this wasn't going to be a purely social visit. He checked his HUD. Defender was up, his shields were charged and online, ready for instant use.

  He entered, nodding to a waitress in a plaid miniskirt and white checkered bikini top. The red head snapped some gum sizing him up. He ignored her look as he looked around, noting the people in the restaurant and the amount of weapons each had. From the looks of it just about everyone in the building was armed and a part of Fat Larry's gang. Well, all but two. He noted the familiar backside of the sheriff sitting at the bar. The sheriff caught him looking in the broad mirror behind the bar and cocked his head. Irons shrugged and turned to the waitress. She waved him in the direction of Fat Larry's private booth.

  “This is a set up for a quick whack job with a gun to back of head right out of some gangster movie you know that right Admiral?” Sprite asked. Defender projected his energy shield strength. Irons nodded. The shield was close to his body, only a few millimeters away actually. It would protect him from every weapon he had detected in the building.

  Irons shook hands with Larry and Larry made a few small talk jokes and then indicated they sit. “You want something? I own the place. You like Italian?”

  “Italian is fine,” the admiral replied with a nod.

  “Real Italian or American?” Fat Larry asked, clearly amused and testing him. The waitress smiled, taking out a paper pad and pencil.

  That explained the methane smell, the admiral thought as he got comfortable. “Real is fine. What do you have?” Irons asked, looking at the girl. There wasn't any menu around.

  The girl blinked, off guard. She looked at Larry who waved impatiently to her. “I understand the true connoisseurs of Italian were from Sicily,” Irons replied slyly.

  “Oh yeah?” Larry asked, chuckling. “Do tell,” he said.

  “I never visited Italy when I was on Earth so I really can't tell for certain,” the admiral said and then shrugged.

  Fat Larry's eyes widened comically. “You's was on Earth?” he chuckled, patting his belly. “Come on now, you're pulling my leg.”

  “No, I was on Earth. I preferred Mars though, my family had holdings there. This was before the Xeno war actually,” Irons replied, sitting back. “My cousins told me about the different pizzas, New York, Chicago, Californian, or real Italian pizza. Me, I liked rigatoni with clams or oh,” he turned to the waitress. “How about um, Risotto Alla Romana, with oh, Zuppe de Cozze, and for desert, um... Tiramisu'.” The admiral said.

  The girl looked confused. She looked at her boss who was staring again. “Um...” the girl said, darting looks from Fat Larry to Irons.

  “If you don't have any muscles for the Zuppe, you could substitute a Ministroni,” Irons replied. “And a good pesto if you've got one. The house version of course.”

  “I, um, I think we can do that,” the girl said, scribbling. Irons was fairly sure she didn't know what he'd said. The difference between American and true Italian indeed! He thought with a chuckle.

  “I, ah, see you are well educated,” Fat Larry said, smiling politely as he waved a meaty hand shooing the girl away.

  “I've been to many places over the centuries,” the admiral replied. Larry had that poleaxed look again. “Earth was quiet beautiful, scared from the AI wars of course, but beautiful. It's a pity it's all gone now,” Irons said with a slightly theatrical smile.

  “You miss it?” Larry asked, genuinely curious.

  “A bit. I'm a spacer though, born and bred. I was never big on cities and big vistas. I'll take a ship or shipyard any day,” Irons replied. He nodded politely to the human waiter who came in with a bottle of white wine. The man made a show of uncorking it, then offered the cork to the mobster. Larry smiled and sniffed it, then handed it to Irons. Irons took a whiff and nodded politely, not commenting about how it didn't measure up to vintages he'd had. Someone didn't know how to properly care of and store wine it seemed.

  He continued the smile as the waiter poured their drinks and then left with a slight bow. Larry grunted and took a sip of wine. Irons did as well. “Was it like this then? The people and stuff?” Larry asked.

  The admiral snorted softl
y, setting his glass down. “In some ways yes... and no. People before the war had access to modern health care and education beyond what is currently available here. They lived longer. But there was still crime, still those who lived in the shadows.”

  “Heh,” Larry grunted.

  “Pirates were the worst of course, and unfortunately the Horathians are now filling that nitch. Oh, I bet there are others out there, freelancers, but I'm fairly sure they aren't nearly as bad as the Horathians.”

  “What about them?” Larry asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “You hadn't heard?” the admiral asked. Larry shrugged and sat back, arms on the back of the booth. “Okay, the pirates that have been attacking ships and colonies in this sector are mostly from Horath. They're building up for something. They're also on an anti-alien and even an anti Neo killing spree too.”

  “Sucks to be them,” Larry said noncommittally.

  “Yes, and for anyone who doesn't play ball with them. Right now they're avoiding places like this for obvious reasons,” Irons replied. He meant the planetary defense network. “But that will eventually change as they pick the other systems clean.”

  “Clean?”

  “Clean. They pretty much wiped out Centennial. Nothing on that world is left. They stripped it to bedrock,” Irons replied.

  Larry whistled softly, eyes gleaming. “Must have been some haul.”

  “Yeah, but they didn't need the women and kids though,” Irons replied. Larry froze. “I saw a couple mass graves. I don't envy anyone who survived and hid. If they're still alive they're in caves somewhere.”

  “Yeah,” Larry replied thoughtfully.

  “That's what they'll do to other worlds eventually.”

  “Yeah,” Larry said softly. He was now thinking about what they'd do here.

  “At least with the mob in my time they were... um, discrete. Gambling, petty theft, drugs, liquor, prostitution, porn. Though prostitution really didn't get all that much credits. Some of the sick puppy crap did, but anyone involved in that knew they were playing with fire.”