“Well, if a screening process could be engineered then you could go to other world’s right? But you could also pilot ships. Starships. Hyperspace navigation and helm. It's.... it's like flying and swimming in an incredible environment. It's... hard to describe really. If you had implants too it would be... incredible.”
She stared at him for a long time. He shrugged uncomfortably under that intent gaze. “I'm just saying it is something to think about. I'll talk to the local medics. Maybe I can help them with the tech needed to screen your people.”
“It will cost,” she said.
“I'm sure it will. But the benefits are worth it,” Irons replied.
...*...*...*...*...
Exploring the area he ran into a large family of otters. They were entertainers, they also worked on ships scraping barnacles off the hull, or as pick pockets. Tinkers in other words. Mara warned him that they were all magpies, they loved shiny things. He noted a family walking nearby wearing style clothes. One dipped a tiny hand paw into a pocket here and there as if shopping. A man turned and kicked the little being. The otter brushed himself off as he got up, twisted his whiskers and then went on his way twirling a pocket watch.
“Should we stop them?” Sprite asked, sounding amused. Irons shook his head. They were fast, melting into the crowd. Besides, it wasn't his problem, he was learning to pick and choose his battles.
...*...*...*...*...
Irons and Sprite talked into the night about the otters and genies. They still had no known way of safely removing and disposing of the worms. What they had was a list of ways that wouldn't work... or were just too expensive for the people to be able to support. “This isn't really my field. I'm out of my element here,” the admiral finally admitted.
“True.” Sprite replied. They could and should consult a medic but none were available due to the holiday.
“Drying the creatures out, denying them water is the only known way to kill them. Dehydration. I'm betting if there was a way to do that they'd find another way to adapt to that. And how are they growing? They must be attaching to capillaries in the host body and siphoning off nutrients right?” he sighed in disgust. “We really don't have the skills to handle this.”
“Perhaps contacting Pyrax isn't too far out of the question?” Sprite asked. He opened his mouth to object but she plowed on. “Say a message? Asking for Commander Thornby to send a medical team sometime to look into the matter? Perhaps Doctor Thornby would take a humanitarian interest in such a project?”
“I... I don't know. We can try it,” the admiral replied. He'd just discarded trying to kill the worms. He didn't know what would happen if he did, it could disrupt the food chain. Or it could cause other unknown damage. Technically it was illegal to kill a native species, even a parasitical one. He thought of that as foolish, but the law was on the books.
Nanites were out of course, the 'land lubber' community would be horrified at the very idea. They wouldn't support something like that and he couldn't leave the tiny robots behind without supervision. The only idea he had left was a periodic dip in a regen tank. “Regen tanks,” he sighed, clearly stymied and frustrated by it.
“A regen tank has nanites in it of course, and would be useful to the medics in the area. But would they let the device be used by the population he wanted it for? Doubtful.” Sprite argued, citing several examples of such machinery being reserved for 'more important, i.e. rich' people. Pyrax was just one example. He was forced to agree with her.
“They'd make fantastic navigators and helmsman,” Irons commented.
“If they took an interest in such a thing admiral,” Sprite replied. “I've found in my recent research into the Neo genotype that otters have notoriously short attention spans for such work. They are flighty and tend to be more interested in stealing or causing trouble than in running the ship.”
Irons frowned. He'd had one or two otter friends and it was true they suffered from what the charitable would call adult attention deficit disorder. They tended to be lazy, preferring to just get by and have fun. Their pranks could be a blast as long as you weren't on the receiving end of one.
“I think... yeah, they'd tear a crew apart with their antics,” Irons finally admitted.
“Or get themselves spaced,” Sprite agreed. “I know spacers don't mind a good joke, it releases the boredom and tension, but there is such a thing as carrying a joke too far. Otters don't know when to quit,” she said caustically.
“I don't remember you having any experience with them,” Irons replied, sitting up and cocking an eyebrow at her projected image.
“I don't, I've picked up on some things from the other AI,” Sprite replied.
“Oh. So this is some sort of um... transitional bigotry?” he asked.
She spun, glaring. “I am not a bigot!”
“No? You just made generalizations and slanderous ones at that about an anthro species you have no personal contact with. You have little firsthand observation too.”
Sprite looked shocked. “I... I...”
“Hoisted on your own petard Commander? It seems like you are becoming more organic every day.”
“Now that's hitting below the belt Admiral,” Sprite replied with a dirty look. He snorted and smiled slightly.
“Well, you are evolving.”
“Or devolving down to a lower level,” Sprite muttered.
“Maybe. Or just realizing it's easier to sit back and bitch about something or other without actually getting involved. There might be a way to deal with the otters, train them or spark their interest. I don't know. Short shifts, turning it into some sort of virtual game.... response reward training, I don't know,” he shrugged. “Toss that into a suggestion file and we'll change the subject. Deal?”
“Deal,” Sprite replied with obvious relief. She realized she wasn't fully healed if she could open herself up to something like that and then have such an emotional response to it. She'd have to think about it when the admiral was asleep.
...*...*...*...*...
In the morning he had some lumpy and only slightly warm porridge and wasn't happy that the hotel manager had run out of coffee. He'd sworn softly and stomped off to the nearest tea and coffee shop for his morning jolt of caffeine. There were some things he insisted on, coffee in the morning being one of them. A hot shower was another he thought, running a hand through his still damp hair. He didn't mind an ultrasonic one, but the hotel was old school and it's water heater was substandard. Having one for an entire floor was stupid. Having two bathrooms for forty people was also stupid. Either he'd have to do something about that or he'd have to find someplace else to sleep. Again.
Sleeping in his shuttle was out, he mused. Apparently Commissioner Hodges had put a moratorium on spacers sleeping on or in their shuttle craft. Of course Irons had found out that Hodges had a stake in every hotel, motel, and bed and breakfast in the county. That figured. They also charged exorbitant rates for out of Towner’s, and that too was to be expected. Squeeze the sucker dry he thought with a pang.
In line at the coffee shop he noted a woman cooing over a baby. Looking over her shoulder he flinched when he realized the baby was a Mogwi. A Mogwi of all things. The woman ignored him, just rocked and cooed to the little furry monster.
Mogwi were gene engineered pets from back before his time. Back in the dark days of genetic designer pets some group had gotten it into their heads to create near sapient pets based on a movie creature. They had thought it would be a good idea to make something more interactive than a robot or toy. Despite injunctions, seizures, and other attempts by authorities they had proliferated. The authorities were undermined by the public and their own children's desires to have one as a pet.
Mogwi were furry and cute, smart, and cuddly. They were small, stubby arms and legs with a broad head and bat ears. Their faces were very expressive. Women adored them. Their clumsy antics and ability to purr and baby talk in a pidgin dialect had many in stitches. The net had been covered in video of
their antics, even supplanting the thousands of cat videos that had gotten there over the decades. Since they had long life spans and grew slowly they were an expensive but worthy pet people argued. When they had first come out they had millions of followers, millions of parents wanted one for their kids, it went on and on.
But as the animals and people aged the parents tended to neglect their charges over time. Mogwi were near sapient, and so they resented such rude behavior. Some resorted to mischief to get attention, some to malfeasance. Those that were abused in their punishment grew even more bitter and started shedding their fur and turning into real monsters.
He'd heard stories of them when he'd wanted one as a pet. Spacers hated the beasts, they loved to tear ships apart. They tended to become vicious when provoked. Neutering eased some of the problem, but not all.
What really bothered him was their level of intelligence and ability to turn that against others. They had small hands and a knack of getting into trouble. The adults that had molted were called Gremlins for good reason.
The woman set the animal down when it was her turn to order. It tugged at a jeweled leash with one small hand paw, and then tugged on her skirt whimpering with sad eyes. She hushed him. After a moment it growled and left a steaming bright yellow pile near her foot. Apparently that was his thoughtful response for being set down and neglected.
The woman scooped him up, scolded him and then tucked him under one arm and smiled as she paid and picked up her coffee. She curtsied slightly to Irons as she passed him.
When the woman left juggling her coffee and the abomination he ordered his coffee and then stepped over the dribble of yellow goo the woman and thing had left. “You've got, um, a mess here,” Irons said, looking down at it and pointing.
“Again?” the barista sighed, shaking her head mournfully.
“Yeah.”
“The least she could do is clean it up!” the barista growled.
“Yeah,” the guy behind Irons growled, being careful not to step in the steaming mess.
“Did you see that thing?” Sprite asked him as he exited the shop. He looked down to his shoes to make sure he hadn't stepped in any of the yellow glop. That stuff stunk to high heaven and only industrial solvent or flushing the soiled items worked to get the smell out. It proliferated through the life support of a ship.
“Yeah,” he muttered, taking a drink as he stepped away from the door.
“And they let her keep it?”
“Apparently so,” Irons grumbled.
“She must be someone important. The wife of someone important or something,” Sprite replied, adding her image to his files.
“I hope we don't run into her again,” Irons sighed, drinking his coffee.
...*...*...*...*...
“Now what?” Sprite asked.
“I'm about out of materials,” the admiral admitted. “I left some in the shuttle. I think we'll make a quick run there,” he said.
“Are you certain it's safe?”
“For me?” the admiral asked, laughing. He checked the air car. No one had tampered with the machine. He made certain to check it over thoroughly. He turned, seeing his two feline tails nonchalantly washing themselves on a rooftop nearby.
“Perhaps you should offer them a ride?” Sprite asked, smirking on his HUD.
“Don't get cheeky Commander,” The admiral replied, climbing into the air car and starting the turbines.
...*...*...*...*...
The flight north to Hazard was a short hop, a couple hundred kilometers at around twenty-five hundred meters. He was glad he'd rented the machine and serviced it before using it. He was paying through the nose to use it, but it certainly came in handy.
He landed in the secure parking near the space port. He signed in to security and nodded to the bored guard as he went to his shuttle. It only took a few minutes to make certain everything was fine, of course it was. Had anyone approached the shuttle Phoenix would have sensed it and alerted them. But it paid to make certain, he didn't need to get cocky right now.
He dropped in some trinkets he'd picked up, mostly minor bits he'd bought for material than for sentimental value. These went into the replicator and were reduced to component materials and then stored. He tapped out a few orders and waited for them to finish building. When the trays were finished he dumped them into his duffel and stuffed his pockets with more flash sticks before he left the craft.
Outside, he walked the streets, certain that Ole Blue wasn't around. He couldn't see the distinctive Veraxin's sensor signature anywhere for at least a kilometer. That was a good sign. He intended to move on soon enough though. He turned though at a throaty roar of an engine.
Hastily people got out of the street as an apparent familiar rumble and dust cloud approached. Irons followed. He stood by as a biker gang on enormous motorcycles and other machines pulled up to a rundown bar near the end of the strip. “That's not a mask is it?” the admiral asked, clearly taken aback himself for once.
“Bio-signs confirm they are who they look like Admiral,” Sprite replied. The admiral grunted. Running into a gene engineered Neo elephant biker gang on a colony world wasn't something he'd ever expected. He was shocked, he hadn't known any existed. The leader was crusty old bull, wearing black leather pants and a tattered vest. “What are you looking at?” the bull growled, looking over to the admiral.
The admiral held up his hands to show he meant no threat. “Sorry, I don't often see your kind.”
“So?” the old Neo asked. The old bull was at least a century old, gray and withered with age but still spry enough to ride the bike and keep up with the young crowd. A few looked related to him.
“No, I meant Neo elephants. I didn't know any lived past the first wave back in the twenty one hundred's.” Irons replied.
“That so?” one asked, signaling amusement. He was a mastodon with four broken tusks. Another was a mammoth, covered in shaggy brown fur with a broad head shaved into BA Barackus mohawk. “You hear this slike? We're extinct.”
“Where you from man?” the leader asked gruffly, putting his gear away.
“Off world,” the admiral replied crossing his arms. “I'm a sleeper.”
“That a fact,” one younger elephant said pounding a meaty hand into another. “Let's stomp him.”
“Not worth the effort,” the leader said, racking his gear. The others turned to him. He nodded subtly to the nervous deputy nearby.
“Him?” the younger bull asked, snorting. The snort was an explosive sound, like a pump or air burst. He had a split trunk and human eyes. Irons realized they were descendants of humans and others who gene engineered themselves into elephants for some strange reason. The young bull had dripping glands on his head. Sprite highlighted them and put a caption on his HUD, musk, in heat. His jaw set. Great, a hormonal elephant, not what he needed to encounter. He really was trying to be good and stay out of trouble.
“Want to arm wrestle little man?” the young bull asked, poking Irons with a trunk, making a show of how big and strong he was in comparison to the puny human.
“Sure. If you think you're strong enough. I doubt it,” the admiral replied. The others raised their trunks and hooted and snorted.
“Little shit thinks he's something else!” a female said. “He's got a set on him,” she admired taking a long look at Irons. The admiral realized her admiration was making the bulls who were in musk angry. She wasn't helping him he realized, quite the contrary.
“Ah let him go,” the old bull said just as the young one ducked his head and charged Irons. The admiral dropped into a horse stance, ducked and caught the charge, grabbing a tusk. Before the bull could toss him his enhanced strength kicked in, pulling the Neo's head down and over his right arm which acted as a fulcrum. He continued the motion, using his right arm and shoulder to pick the bull up off his feet and tossing him over his head. The bull seemed to float through the air as the admiral released his tusk, hitting at least five meters up at the top of his arch b
efore he landed flat on his back ten meters behind the human.
Suddenly the area was still. The gang stared at their fallen friend and then at Irons. Irons didn't smile, didn't blink, he just had a cold look on his face. The young bull he had tossed groaned in the dust cloud, barely moving.
“I told you, I'm a sleeper,” Irons replied sternly, eyes locking on another bull reaching slowly for a pulser. It was a pulse rifle cut down and rebuilt as a pistol for the elephant. “I'm a naval officer and if you pull that weapon I'll wrap that bike around your throat and squeeze,” he growled, voice dropping into an icy rumble of warning.
He could hear subsonic rumbling. It took a moment for Sprite to recognize a pattern and put the conversation on his HUD. Irons snorted softly. They could talk through subsonics, feeling the sounds with their bare feet. The low rumblings that were in the normal range sounded like animals but it was far from it he realized. From the sound of it the leader was trying to calm things down.
“It's rude to talk about me like I can't hear you,” he rumbled, using his own subsonics to reply. The female's eyes went wide. He turned to the leader. “I like your bike,” he said, nodding politely.
“Thanks. Heirloom,” the biker replied, stroking his white goatee as he studied the strange human. Irons nodded. He could tell, it was well cared for too. Big fat meter wide slightly bald tires, chrome that was pitted and blued with age but cleaned regularly, the massive engine looked in good condition. This being loved his equipment and was smart to take care of it.
“Thought so. If you need parts for it or the others let me know. Maybe we can work a trade. I'll be around for a while,” he said. He turned and left as the bull he had tossed rolled and got drunkenly to his feet.
“Where is he?” the bull said with a lipse. He grabbed his mouth and groaned, blood dribbled from his broken tusk. “Shit!”
“Serves you right Pasha, now quit foolin around and lets go,” the leader rumbled. His bike roared to life once more.
Irons got to the corner and paused, watching the crew tear out and up the street. He snorted softly and nodded to a passerby. The woman in a yellow dress and bonnet stared at him and then blushed scarlet when she realized he was returning her gaze. She turned shyly and left fluttering a fan. The admiral turned away. It seemed the bull elephants weren't the only ones pawing at the ground to impress the females, he thought with a pang.
Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) Page 18