Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer)

by Hechtl, Chris

  “Yeah,” Larry replied. He took a gulp of wine. “We don't need slikes like that here.”

  The admiral shook his head frowning. “Definitely not. Most cops don't care about gambling and liquor, people will get their kicks and if it's consensual they got what they deserved. The house always wins, that's something everyone needs to know right off. Petty theft was minor, people could replace any material item, it usually wasn't worth the cost of stealing. Anything of true value usually was marked in some way and a fence who took it in was just asking for trouble.”

  “Huh.”

  “I don't know how long before the sheriff and other law enforcement people on this planet will wait before they start getting tracking tech. From what I've heard about what Io 11 passed on, maybe a decade. Maybe less,” Irons said, taking a sip of wine. Larry grunted. Suddenly he frowned and then looked very thoughtful.

  “It's that way all throughout civilization. It changes and evolves. Some think of it as a war, one side comes out with something, the other comes up with a counter. Some consider it a game, a high stakes game. It doesn't matter, what matters is that you keep evolving or you get run over.”

  Larry chuckled. He had been amused at first, and he had gone along with the small talk to get Irons to lower his guard.

  The admiral knew the game, he could sense it. He could see at least a dozen people in the room armed, and they weren't there mainly as guards. Even the waiter had a shiv tucked up his sleeve. Defender kept his shields powered up and on standby. The air crackled around him.

  Irons explained about the history of warlords, how they evolved into knights, lords, and kings. How they charged taxes and levies which was basically protection money, and how things slowly turned legit. Irons also explained how the mob had gotten into liquor and other shady businesses. “In the past over time the police and communities evolved, as did those into shady businesses. They had to adapt to the times to survive. Take oh, liquor for example. You have to make sure your product is safe or you'll kill your patron’s right?” Fat Larry nodded.

  “Right. You can't sheer a sheep totally and kill it. Regulate it. Control your wolves, your impulse to kill or maim and their impulse to do the same and you can get what you want without inflicting harm and getting kicked in return. Lessen your chance of getting damaged or damaging the product.”

  Larry nodded noncommittally. “Ah.”

  “Take gambling and prostitution. With gambling, on Earth the mob created casinos. Places where people could come, see the flashy sights and gamble. Both gamblers and mom and pops out for a good time. They take their money, exchange it for chips and then play. Of course the house always gets a cut and you keep them playing until they lose. Entice them with free food and entertainment. Titillate them with near naked girls and stuff. Dangle the dream of a big payday out and let them willingly throw their money at you in order to try to get it. They get good and properly sheered for their trouble and even thank you in the end for the experience.”

  “Um...”

  “The house always wins in the end. Cheaters are... dealt with. Oh you'll get a couple legit winners every week, chalk that up to advertising and a business expense. I can get Sprite to upload some mob films from my archive, you can get all sorts of ideas. Things that I bet the Sheriff wouldn't mind.”

  Larry cocked his head. “Prostitution.”

  The admiral spread his hands. He had no problem with sexual workers as long as they were of consenting age and had consented to get into the professions... and if they were checked regularly by medical staff. But how to get that point across? He thought for a moment and then shrugged. Best to bring it up in small doses. “If the girl or boy is sick you can't work them? If the girl gets pregnant because the John insisted on going bare back? Or gets an STD? And if they get the clients sick that drives all the other customers away.”

  Larry grimaced and then nodded. He'd run into that a few times. One of the reasons he preferred gambling and loan sharking. Both were clean and you didn't have to worry about something bad coming back at you as well. “I see what you mean.” He grimaced, looking away.

  Biscuits became impatient to do the deed but Fat Larry waved him off. Biscuits leaned over to Larry. “We going to do this or not boss?” Biscuits demanded in his ear. Larry scowled blackly. The stupid prick was a liability.

  “Um.”

  “If you're talking about getting the ape behind me to shoot me, no, not a good idea. Very bad idea, right Sheriff?” Irons asked, raising his voice. Sheriff Coltrain turned from the bar and nodded. The mobsters froze and then Fat Larry waved them away with his fingers.

  “Settle down, no one’s going to get whacked tonight, no, not good. Bad for business,” Larry said, now pale and visibly sweating. He motioned with his hands for everyone to settle down. “We don't do that sort of thing.”

  “Good to hear that,” the admiral said with a smile. “This pesto is too good to waste.”

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “Sheriff Coltrain, that could have gone better,” Irons said, turning to the sheriff as he approached with one of his deputies. Coltrain was a Terran male, medium build, black hair with silver on the sides and in his long mutton chop sideburns. He had a handlebar mustache and ivory handles on his matching revolvers. He had a lot of flash but he seemed to know the players and didn't like small time hoods.

  “How'd you know?”

  “I've seen a lot of movies. And I've been around the block a century or so,” the admiral replied dryly. Some of what he'd done was training, and of course his implants. But a lot had to do with watching a movie and realizing that that fat bastard was lulling him into lowering his guard. Sometimes paranoia paid off.

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “Technically he did try to assassinate a Federation officer in a time of war. I could have pasted him and his people if I'd chosen to do so,” Irons said. He flicked a glance to the deputy who had flinched. “But I'm... restraining my more primitive instincts. For now,” he said.

  “Thank you,” the sheriff said, with a sigh of relief. Irons noted the man was on edge, sweating slightly. He didn't envy the cop, he was caught in a crack, his duty and staying alive to do his duty. “Fat Larry is usually pretty mild. He sticks to gambling and loans and only dabbles in other things. Fat Tony is the real...” he petered off and then shrugged. “I don't know why it went like that.”

  “I think it was the insult. He couldn't leave someone around who challenged his authority. It set a bad example for others and showed him as weak to the other bosses.”

  “Just the same admiral, it might be wise to um...”

  “Vamoose?” Irons replied with a tight smile. “I don't like running from a fight sheriff. It's not normally in my nature,” he said. He winced internally. That wasn't quite true, he knew when to tuck his tail between his legs and pull out after Pyrax and Antigua now didn't he? Well, pick his fights anyway...

  “I'm more interested in reducing collateral damage sir,” the sheriff replied, gulping slightly and looking around. Irons snorted softly.

  “True. And yes, I was planning on seeing this holiday of yours so I'll be a moving target. I'll extend some of my travels for a bit and keep an irregular schedule. That will have to do,” he said.

  The sheriff nodded.

  “Don't worry about it sheriff. If Fat Larry is smart, and I'm pretty sure he is, he's thinking over what I said carefully. I think you're right, if he's into gambling and loan sharking he may be interested in the casino angle.”

  The sheriff grunted. “Great, that's all we need. Glitz and glamour...”

  “If it's set up and regulated properly than it won't be any more of a headache than the current set up is. Far better possibly, he'd hire people and bring some of his other operations out into the open and under one roof. It's easier to watch then.”

  “True.”

  “He'd be down on local crime too. Anyone disturbing the patrons or robbing them...”

  The deputy a
nd the sheriff nodded. “Would be bad for business. Yeah.”

  “And of course he'd want to work with the authorities,” Irons said, smiling slightly. Both lawmen caught on at the hinted bribe. Coltrain cocked his head thoughtfully. “It's something to think about. If he handled it right it would bring in tourists and entertain people while adding to the tax revenue of your area. Think about it sheriff.”

  The sheriff nodded. “I will. Thank you.”

  “Just trying to be helpful,” Irons replied with a shrug and a nod as he turned and left.

  “Gah, you sounded like a bad commercial with that last line,” Sprite said in disgust.

  “I'll try to work on that then,” the admiral replied dryly.

  Chapter 6

  “Did you hear about that guy who had a chat with the mob?”

  Jerry turned to the photographer who was talking to one of the secretaries near the water cooler. “What guy?” There was something to be said about some of the best stories coming from water cooler gossip. There was no telling what people would talk about. Unfortunately there wasn't much truth to many of the rumors.

  Still, if it panned out it could give Jerry a small human interest story to fill in his byline. He was getting thin on material to print. He was hemmed in, handling the Hazard sector. He couldn't print anything about vice and corruption because of the sheriff and commissioner. Fat Larry and Tony were another problem. Reporters who delved too deep into their domain and saw too much ended up on the obituary page.

  So, here he was, sitting in his cubical near the water cooler in Metropolis wondering what the hell to write... and wondering how long it would be before the chief got wise and tossed him out on his ear.

  “Some guy, says he's an admiral,” the photographer replied, rolling his eyes. “As if that could be true.” They all heard stories from time to time of nut jobs who wanted to relive the old glory days and promoted themselves to admiral or general. They usually ended up in one of the asylums if they were dangerous. Otherwise people razzed them until they went away.

  “I heard he is,” the mousy girl said softly. She adjusted her horn rim glasses. “An admiral that is. A sleeper.”

  “Oh?”

  “I saw him talk to Deputy Roy when I was in Hazard the other day. Nice guy, tall, over two meters. Terran, with an offworlder coverall on. He had a funny hat on with gold leaf.”

  “Jer, is there a story there?” Jimmy the photographer asked.

  “Jimmy!”

  Jimmy flinched at the bellow. “Geese it's the boss,” he cringed, ducking near the duo. “I'm in for it.”

  “Jimmy! Lois needs you at that fire! Get off your ass and get over there! Flirt on your own time!” The editor called, waving his arm with a piece of paper in it. “Clark!” he yelled, turning.

  “Yes chief?” Clark asked, looking up from his cubical. Clark fumbled his glasses and then reached for his tie to straighten it. One didn't look sloppy around the boss. Perry was a stickler for looking professional.

  Perry stuffed his hand in his vest pocket to pull out his gold pocket watch. He took a look and then put the watch back. “Lois is on to something, it may be arson or it may be one of her flights of fantasy again. Either way you know her nose for trouble. Get over there and back her up.”

  “Right away chief,” Clark said, getting up and pulling his jacket off the back of his chair. He grabbed his hat with the brass “Press” button on it and hustled out the door. Jimmy was on his heels.

  “So, tell me more about this sleeper,” Jerry said, smiling politely to Catherine. “Miss Grant?”

  The woman adjusted her too short dress and then smiled. “Call me Cat,” she said breathily. He had to admire how she went from demurring with Jimmy to sexy in a heartbeat. He however was on to her games, she was a vamp, she used men to get what she wanted. A useful ploy, but one he had no intention to fall for, now or ever. Though he did like to taste her wares from time to time... as long as he didn't let his 'other head' get him in too deep. “What's in it for me?” she asked coyly.

  “Diner?” Jerry asked, sighing mentally. This was getting expensive.

  Cat looked thoughtful, tipping her head ever so slightly. “No, I want a byline of my own,” Cat finally said.

  “You...” Jerry blinked at her. “You know Perry will never go for that.”

  “Fashion news. He was muttering about the Bugle having the leg up. I want it,” she said with a smile.

  “I'll talk to him. If this pans out I'll give you a good word,” he muttered.

  “You'd better,” her eyes flashed.

  “I tell you what. You help me do the leg work and I'll put you in as co-writer. “That will go a long way to sell this with the brass. White's a pain in the ass you know, meat and potato stories.”

  “I know, but we need something to fill in the gaps. Gossip attracts all sorts of interest,” Cat said, cozening up to him and smiling to him. She had a nice bright smile he realized as she stroked his tie. One that made him feel very vulnerable.

  “I'll ah, see um, see what I can do?” his voice rose as her beautifully manicured hand stroked his thigh and then reached up to touch his tie again.

  “You do that,” she said smiling now like her nickname. “And I'll show you a night you'll never... never, forget,” she said huskily, stroking his tie.

  He gulped as she turned with a slight leer and hip walked away. Slowly he let out his breath, feeling a bit dazed by that. His 'other head' was now rather painful in his pants.

  “Boss,” he said, gathering up his courage to confront Perry. Perry stopped in his doorway, hands on his hips. “Um, I've got a proposal for you...”

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “Admiral, can you pick up a paper?” Sprite asked, sounding exasperated.

  “Problem Commander?” Irons asked, cracking an eyelid open. It was nearly dawn. He didn't have a lot to do, but he'd find something. Lazing around on this mud ball was getting old. If he was going to have time off he'd prefer it doing something he enjoyed doing. Watching the rats scurrying in the dark and his nanites killing any fleas in the bed that the delousing spray had missed wasn't it.

  “Well, you organics tend to trade information in rather slow methods,” she replied dryly. “I think I understand why you invented the internet. The sheer appeal at getting information quickly and accurately versus relying on a piece of wood pulp... There are times I've wondered about your species,” she sighed.

  Irons closed his eyes briefly. “Too much before coffee,” he finally said and turned in place. “Any ideas?”

  “A vendor somewhere would do,” Sprite said, sounding eager. The admiral snorted. He'd seen a lad down the street selling papers. “All right, let me finish cleaning up here and we'll go get one,” he said. “Since you can't order one,” he teased.

  “If I could order one I would have already. I was tempted to order one by calling the front desk but they don't have a working phone in this place, what a dump,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said, rubbing at his back. He flicked a flea away and then got up. It hadn't bit him of course, but it had tried. “Fine then, I'm guessing a shower is out. Just let me get dressed”

  After he was cleaned and presentable he left the building whistling. He looked left and right, then oriented on Sprite's directions.

  Irons went down and picked up a paper from the overly brightly eyed and bushy-tailed kid. The kid smirked as he handed a couple coins back. Irons could tell he was being gypped but didn't care. “Kid you know a good coffee place?”

  The kid silently pointed down the street. Irons sighed and then nodded. “Thanks, keep the change,” he said. He turned and went in the indicated direction. As he walked he flipped the paper open to the front page. “'The Epsilon Daily Planet' cute. EDP for short. I take it this is what passes for media here?”

  “It is one of the largest newspapers and media outlets on the planet,” Sprite replied, quickly scanning the text. “Admiral, Biscuit's body was found last night.”r />
  The admiral slowed and then stopped. “Okay,” he said, looking for himself. There wasn't a photo, just a sketch of a crime scene. A back alley. “The article...” he scanned it quickly. It amounted to Biscuits getting two bullets in the back of the head at close range. No leads, no suspects.

  “I believe his attempt on your life was unauthorized and the protection racket was a side project... also unauthorized. In other words they weren't giving their bosses a cut and the bosses decided to make him an example. If I'm reading this right his 'known associate' aka Mr. Books has disappeared as well. Some say he is either on the run, some said he had to kill Biscuits and was now keeping a low profile. Just the same he left the county capital for a while.”

  “Where are you reading this?” Irons asked, scanning the paper. He didn't find it.

  “It's not in the paper. I just overheard it from two people talking nearby.”

  “Ah. So was this really about me getting up and getting a paper? Or you just wanting to gossip?”

  Sprite shrugged on his HUD. “Both.”

  “There is another matter to consider admiral, your security,” Defender interjected. The admiral raised an eyebrow.

  “Explain.”

  “According to protocol, after an attempt on your life or threat to your life it is deemed prudent to change sleeping quarters.”

  “He has a point,” Sprite responded. The admiral grunted.

  “Deal,” Irons replied.

  “Admiral,” Sprite started in and then paused. “Did you mean yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, sorry. My mistake. That was easy,” Sprite replied, sounding suspicious.

  “That's because I wanted out of there the first time I saw the rat. If I'm paying for the room I like my privacy,” he growled. Since the place he had slept at had rats and fleas, no coffee, and cold porridge Irons readily agreed with the move. Even he had standards.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Hank had gotten cagey with his replicator. He'd come to his senses now, realizing that telling Helen was a strategic mistake. Already he was getting paranoid, knowing that others who found out about the device would become a possible source to someone interested in stealing the precious device.