Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer)

by Hechtl, Chris

  Melissa rolled her eyes. “That's all we need!”

  “Right. I don't think you're eager for a grandchild this soon,” another woman nearby said with a nod. “Thanks mister,” she said, turning to the admiral with an invitation for an introduction.

  The admiral bowed slightly. “Irons. John Irons. Don't mention it.”

  “Hey, you related to that Admiral guy?” the woman's husband asked, folding his newspaper and tucking it under his arm.

  “I'm Fleet admiral Irons,” Irons replied absently as he and his breakfast companions got up. ”The he in question is me,” he said with a bit of whimsy. The guy's eyes went wide. Others murmured and slinked away, suddenly giving him sidelong looks. “Something I said?” he asked, turning to a now pale Henrietta. She and Melissa were backing away as if he was radioactive. Internally he sighed.

  Sprite and Defender picked up the murmurs and filtered them out into coherent bits of conversation. “It's him.” “Don't stand too close, someone's liable to pop him right here! We might be in the cross fire!”

  “Poor sod! He's got a contract out on his hide... he's not long for this world...” The AI dutifully informed Irons.

  The admiral looked around the crowd, eyes narrowing. None said anything. Slowly he shrugged. “Don't worry about me folks, no one can harm me,” he said gruffly. The murmuring stopped.

  “Yeah, well, tell that to Ole Blue. He said he's taking your case,” a guy in the back said and then left.

  “That's right, no one's going to interfere. If they did Ole Blue would kill them too. I'm sorry but you're not long for this world and no one wants to go with you,” another guy said as the crowd dispersed.

  “Lovely,” Sprite sighed.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Preparation for the Landing Thanksgiving Day was underway in Capital City, also known as Landing. Bunting was going up here as it was in Hazard and apparently all over. But here things were more vibrant, there were more gay decorations, more pageantry. The Admiral and Sprite were amused that the people had held onto the tradition and that it was still being observed. “The colonists had lost the reason why the date was called that,” Sprite informed him.

  “Then maybe we should educate them,” Irons replied.

  “Educate who? About what?” A kid asked.

  The admiral snorted looking down at the scruffy lad. “About Landing Day. He sat and used a hologram to describe the events on Landing day. He used what information was in the Encyclopedia Galactica and then answered generic answers about the basics of colony startups and terraforming to any questions the lad had. Others nearby heard him talking about Landing day and became intrigued. Slowly they crept closer to see and hear.

  Word spread of that discussion. One of the people who heard was Jerry Richards. He went to the source in order to put the story out in the paper the next day. He'd just finished jotting about a woman named Henrietta who had been healed after an encounter with a man in the same town. Maybe he could find both men.

  The Admiral was amused that a reporter had tracked him down just to hear that story. He took the time to sit down to let the young man interview him. Jerry Richards, the young man introduced himself, with a brunet assistant who seemed bored. She was quite the looker, and for a woman here on this world, rather scantily dressed in her short black minidress and matching high heels. The woman excused herself to go to the bar early on. Both men were amused by that, but for different reasons.

  Jerry was a nice guy, a real newspaper reporter who wasn't so much interested in him as he was other things. Apparently they had enough meat and potato stories for now.

  Jerry introduced himself as a reporter for the EDP when he met the admiral at the bed and breakfast. He showed Irons his credentials. Irons was amused. Sprite double checked but had little to go on. “Your editor is a Mr. White?” Irons asked when Sprite fed him data from what she'd cataloged from the newspaper he'd read the other day.

  “You know him?” Jerry asked, sounding concerned. Was this a dead end? He thought.

  “No, I know of him. Real news hound from the reports,” Irons replied, quickly scanning the brief Sprite had. So that panned out. “I'll tell you what, this place has a nice drawing room. I'll meet you there for lunch.”

  “Um...”

  “My treat,” Irons replied, recognizing the reporter's reluctance. Most likely he was on a strict budget.

  Jerry blinked and then smiled.

  The room was mostly empty, it had a beautiful view of the grounds behind the hotel though. The glass was quite nice, only flawed in a few places, but nice. There were plants in planters on this inside, transitioning the plants from the outside in to make it feel more comfortable and less sterile. The white paint was noticeably absent, instead it was a soft brown stain matching the trees around the outside.

  Apparently most of the men in the hotel were in the bar for some reason. They had the luncheon room to themselves. It was warm, the sun hadn't come around but it wasn't too hot. Still Jerry took off his coat and hung it on the back of the chair.

  They ordered a light lunch and made small talk. The admiral went into the meeting expecting to talk about himself but found out much to his chagrin that Jerry and his boss were more interested in the colonies history. Sprite fed him what data was available in his Encyclopedia Galactica. He then got into the history of Thanksgiving, going back to the colonists on Earth.

  The reporter was amused. “You read all this in a book?” he asked as Irons took a sip of coffee to keep hydrated.

  “Yes and no, some in school,” Irons replied with a shrug. “I admit, I never did get to Plymouth rock, I was too busy when I visited Earth.”

  The reporter looked at him with a hint of pity in his expression. “No, I'm um...” he started to get up.

  “Of course that was oh, seven hundred and eighty odd years ago. I was only on Earth briefly, less than a week. I was between deployments and waiting for my next ship to come in. They were late,” the admiral explained and shrugged.

  The reporter blinked at him. He smiled. “Have a seat,” he said indicating the chair the reporter had vacated in his urge to leave. Irons placed his right hand out in the center of the table, palm up. A holo of Earth spun to life there. Jerry's eyes went wide in surprise. Not in seeing the holo, he'd seen them, but in seeing one coming from a hand, and most likely someone with implants. Someone like Nohar, that Neotiger he'd tried and tried to get interviews with but had so far been thwarted.

  Fascinated the reporter sank slowly back into the chair. “You really were there?” he asked, voice dropping into a reverent whisper. He couldn't help slipping out of his normal reporter objectivity.

  “Twice.” He went into the story of his leave, trying to keep it interesting but not embellishing it. “The second time was oh, twenty years later. I was there for a conference on yard management.”

  “Oh.” The reporter looked dazed. “So, you're um, a sleeper.” The admiral nodded. “I, um, forgot that.”

  “If you have access to a computer I can download a great deal of information for you. Call it background material,” the admiral suggested. Jerry Richards nodded.

  “You know what, here,” the admiral said, pulling out a flash chip in a plastic sleeve a square centimeter in size. “I've been giving this out to the various communities. It's a copy, well, my copy of the Encyclopedia Galactica as well as some other things. I've bookmarked a few interesting things for people to read.” He handed the chip over.

  The reporter took it slowly and looked at it, turning it over in his hand. “What do I do with it?” he asked, unfamiliar with the device. Usually IT handled the few precious computers the planet had on hand.

  “Put it in an e-reader. Either a flat screen or a holo emitter will do,” the admiral explained. “See if your editor has one or your local library branch if your news agency doesn't have one available. Hopefully they will become available to you soon.”

  The reporter nodded. “Thank you. What was your name again?�
��

  “Irons. John Henry Irons. Fleet Admiral of the Federation Navy,” Irons replied, getting up with the reporter. The reporter blinked, hand out. Irons took it and shook it firmly, amused that he had shocked the man into dropping his jaw again. “I'll be on planet for a week or so. Look me up if you'd like to talk again,” he said.

  “I'll um... do that. I think,” the reporter said, clearly dazed. He stumbled into a chair on his way out.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “A little bit of PR,” Sprite said smugly after the reporter left. She was pleased about the wireless microcomputer the admiral had handed over. With that hooked into the media's computer network she would be able to tap into their files. She felt like she was going stir crazy with so very little to access. When the admiral went to bed she cataloged the various conversations she had overheard, picking out anything of interest. It still wasn't enough though.

  “Maybe. Good or bad, it was amusing,” Irons replied quietly. “What's next?”

  “Well, we've been informed that the delivery date has been pushed back to after the holiday. It seems the shipper shuts down for the holiday.”

  “Lovely. Okay, so what else can we do?”

  “Go walk about?” she suggested. The admiral smiled.

  “An admirable idea. I'll take you up on that.”

  “Wait, you will?” Sprite asked, clearly surprised. She'd calculated that the admiral would sulk for a short bit and then find some engineering project to get his hands into.

  “Sure. We're going to be trapped in a small ship for five months, it's a good idea to stretch our legs don't you think?”

  “Since I don't have real ones, I don't see the need.”

  “But I do. And since I can, why not. Maybe we can find something interesting to fix.”

  “Now that's the admiral I know,” Sprite replied with a chuckle.

  “What?” he asked, looking up in confusion and surprise.

  “Nothing,” she replied, chuckling again.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Jerry shook his head, clearly stunned and realizing it right off as he walked in a daze to his hotel. He had to get a hold of Perry, Irons was here. That name was familiar. Definitely familiar, he'd heard several stories of what happened in Pyrax. Now he didn't take with what some of the nasty ones were saying, Knox news had a way of both staying balanced and getting to the truth. From the reports he'd gotten someone had done a bang up job of sullying the admiral's reputation, dumping a truck load of mud over him.

  Irons had done everything in his power to fight it, but Jerry knew from experience that the truth was one of the first casualties in battles like that. Eventually if you were persistent enough and if you had enough evidence it would win out in the long term, but there would be a germ of distrust and skepticism that would forever hover over the man like a cloud.

  Funny how that happened. Even when you're proven innocent the people who make the accusations get off without so much as a slap on the wrist while you go on trying to pull your life back together.

  According to the report Irons had dumped the full video of everything that had happened onto the local net before he'd gone into exile. Yes, he thought, looking at the chip now with a little foreboding. Yes he'd have to think carefully before using Irons as a source. He didn't want to be tainted himself.

  After a long moment he finally had another thought. He connected it to the name of the person who healed that woman Henrietta. She'd described the fellow to him, and he fit that description. She'd also said he had a hit out on him, that Ole Blue himself was gunning for him. Yes, this was definitely going to have to be handled with kid gloves indeed.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Doctor Salt looked at his two partners and narrowed his eyes. “You think this is a good idea?” he asked.

  Robby Daniels looked up from tying her shoe lace. She unlike ninety percent of the female population preferred blue jeans and sensible shoes over skirts, dresses and high heels. No woman wanted to be on her feet for a day or so in high heels. She ignored the sidelong looks she got, and the whispered accusations of her being a tom boy. As long as Sam liked her in the jeans she didn't care. He did, always taking the time to admire her legs and backside when he thought she wouldn't notice. She blushed slightly at that thought. Besides, they were comfortable. “She said we've got the holiday week off remember?” She checked to make sure her ponytail hadn't slipped.

  “Two weeks,” Sam said, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. He hugged her. She straightened, smiling at him.

  “Two weeks?” she asked, eyes slightly wide. “And how did you get Helen to agree to that?” she demanded. The director would never let them out of her sight for more than a few days. A weekend was the best they usually got.

  He grinned. “My little secret. Besides, Paco has the mess in that town in hand, nothing else is brewing, let's go get lost little lady.”

  “Oh definitely a worthy aspiration,” she teased, still smiling. He kissed her, then was jerked off balance as their dog moved to chase a squirrel. They laughed as the leash wrapped around them, trapping them together briefly.

  Robby laughed, shaking his head. “Sam, Sam, Sam...”

  Sam grumbled, getting control of the dumb mutt. “You still okay with dropping us off?” he asked, turning to Doctor Salt. It was a bit of irony for a black man to bear the last name Salt of all things. Salt didn't seem to mind. He was a damn good pilot and general medic. He wasn't a specialist, but he'd picked up enough by helping Paco La Plaz, Doctor Ivanov, and the Daniels to know his way around an improvised lab these days.

  “Sure, as long as Helen doesn't track me down and make me go after you two if she needs you,” he said. “I don't do wandering through the bush looking for you.” The two made a face at him. Robby even stuck her tongue out at him. “Come on, I've got the small bush plane rented.”

  “Coming,” Robby said, tying her red bandana around her neck and then gathering up her pack. She put it around her shoulders, adjusted the straps, and then bounced to make sure everything was secure. Even their dog was carrying a load. She grabbed her walking stick. Sam had the gun, where they were going few people liked to go. It was the back woods, far from people. As far away as they could get.

  “You sure this is a bright idea? Losing two of the best virologists on the planet?”

  “Only two of the best? Whatever will we do? There is more of us now that Paco is on-board,” Sam teased. “Say, when are you going to get your specialty?”

  “When I've got the time to actually sit my butt in a class room,” Salt growled back shaking his head. “I keep having to play taxi pilot to you and the others remember?” he sighed. “Come on, let's go,” he said, waving them onward past a guy in a gray coverall.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “So now what?” Sprite asked. “Another sightseeing day?” Sprite asked as he turned to see a trio of people with a large dog headed off towards the nearby airport. Two of the people had camping back packs on and were holding hands. Camping, he thought and then snorted.

  “Actually, I thought maybe we'd stop by the local medical facilities. Drop off a microcomputer, maybe do some repairs, and then maybe swing by the mayor's office if we've got time. Any other places you think we should go visit?”

  “I can think of a few,” Sprite replied, cataloging a couple places, namely the local volunteer fire department and the local school. She added the local police department to the list, and then followed that by her own personal favorite, the local library. Finally she tossed in the power plants in the area for good measure.

  When she showed him the list he snorted. “Just a bit ambitious? And you complain about me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “I learn from the best admiral,” Sprite replied, clearly amused.

  “Well, if we don't get bogged down, we'll see if we can hit them all. If not today then definitely tomorrow.”

  “Definitely tomorrow admiral, I know you like to work aroun
d the clock sometimes but people frown on prowlers around here. Besides, if you aren't in your room by midnight they'll give it away to someone else,” Sprite informed him.

  “Ah well, can't have that. Let's get started then,” he said getting up. “Oh, and add this hotel to that list,” he said with a small smile.

  “Right,” Sprite replied, doing so.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning Irons was amused to pick up the paper and see the reporter had a series going now, the first of two series. This one was on the Landing holiday. He nodded at the thanks to his source at the end of the article. Of course he didn't identify his source by name. Since Ole Blue was gunning for Irons that might be a good thing. It could mean the assassin would track the reporter down to find Irons location.

  It was tempting to turn the tables on the assassin. Go after him, take him out and make it clear he wasn't to be messed with. Tempting, but anyone around when the altercation went down would end up in the crossfire. He didn't want that to happen, he didn't want an innocent to be devoured alive by nanites. No, he'd have to wait and see. It might be that the Veraxin wasn't really tailing him. Or if he was Irons would have to try to somehow steer their meeting to a location of his choosing, preferably somewhere remote and away from the population.

  “It is after all the most relevant thing right now,” Sprite said, sounding almost apologetic.

  The admiral grunted, coming back to the here and now. He realized the AI was referring to the upcoming holiday. “They want to get their readership up. I know. String out the source material. And they don't want to overshadow one series with news from others. If they decide to run them.”

  “True, if.”

  “We'll see. Until then let's go walk about. Did you have an idea on where to go first?”

  “The western sea shore admiral. There are some interesting things going on there.”

  “Really. Well, let's go see then,” he replied.