Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer)

by Hechtl, Chris

  “She's looking back at you,” Sprite informed him, sounding amused. “Did you do that for her benefit?” she asked.

  “No, just happened,” Irons sighed. “I did like that bike though, primitive but it gets the job done,” he said.

  “Sure you did.”

  “Okay, I admit I don't like someone using their size to bully and intimidate others,” he said with a shrug. “But really, it was a case of curiosity,” he said as he noted Defender spinning his shields down to standby.

  “Sure it was,” Sprite replied with an amused snort. He shrugged helplessly and then went about his business. “I suggest you head to Rubicon next admiral...”

  “Sure,” he replied with a shrug.

  Chapter 8

  Landing day arrived, bright and clear. He was amused by the hoopla. The traffic on the ground was terrible. All the industry was off, only restaurants and places to buy food or drinks were open. In order to keep his tail off track he changed plans and went back to Hazard. Rubicon had been nothing but a town of warehouses and smoke filled bars, not where he wanted to hang out at. He even considered hopping his shuttle for a brief orbital hop to another space port.

  Since he had prepaid his room for a week he quietly informed the owners he was going to return to it. They were a bit put out, but when he offered to find other quarters once they refunded him his money they quickly found a similar room near his old one.

  The noise outside sounded too regular for general party goers. It sounded familiar. He put down the tablet he had been reading and went out to see. “A parade,” he said with a snort.

  “Everyone loves a parade,” Sprite quoted.

  He watched the parade from his hotel balcony. “A bit like Mardi Gras actually,” Sprite observed. She started to play a clip on his HUD but he waved it aside. “I'm surprised they're having it at dawn though,” Sprite said. “You'd think they'd do it later in the day.”

  “Smart of them. By noon it will be quite hot out. You don't want people dropping of sunstroke and heat exhaustion,” he replied. Now that the low had passed the evenings were getting hot and sticky with humidity.

  “True.”

  When the parade was over he went to breakfast, amused by how busy the dining areas were and by all the decorations hanging everywhere. He ordered a simple breakfast with coffee and a paper, the EDP of course. He'd found that the Herald and Bugle didn't have the balanced coverage as the EDP did. He read the paper and drank his coffee as he waited on his order. A patron suggested he move on so he stopped.

  “I'm waiting on my breakfast,” the admiral commented, studying the gentleman behind him through his sensors before he shook his paper and continued reading. The surly patron left with an irritable grunt.

  Irons found the article series by the reporter Jerry Richards. He was amused to see a bit of a sneak peek of the future series, more on the history of the old Federation. There was also. "An interview with a sleeper." He snorted.

  When he was finished with the paper he folded it and set it on his table. Someone nearby immediately took it. He turned in annoyance.

  “Oh sorry, did you want it back?” the woman asked, smiling and holding it out.

  “Well, since I paid for it yes. Taking it without asking is just rude.”

  “Sorry,” the woman said. She handed it back and then turned away. He shook his head. Luckily the waitress arrived with his order so he didn't respond further. He did make a show of reading it once more before he left it on the table when he left.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Irons caught sight of pick pockets and thieves in the crowd as he made his way through the crowd to the street. He pointed it out to a nearby deputy who sighed. “We're on crowd control.” The man was in his finest uniform, silver buttons shiny. He was wearing the British style constable outfit, something Irons hadn't expected. It was odd that their sheriff preferred western wear yet the deputies were dressed in British outfits. Was there something going on there? Did Coltrain want to stand out from his men? He was a bit of a peacock with the braid on his broad shoulder boards and black Stetson hat.

  “I've got it on video. I can upload it to your department,” the admiral said as the constable looked away.

  “Um... thanks,” the constable said, looking back at him.

  “Good luck,” Irons said nodding. The man nodded back and then turned back to the crowd.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “Are you concerned about crime?” Sprite asked him as he nodded to another deputy with Strate on his name tag. He was thin, constantly hitching up his gun belt and trousers and rocking back and forth nervously. He had a goofy smile on his face but at least he was polite.

  “No, just noticing it,” the admiral said quietly, nodding to the deputy and then moving on.

  “Well, if you're bothered by it, you could go to one of the major cities. From the data I've gathered Gotham has quite the celebration but an even higher crime rate.”

  “Gotham?” the admiral asked, wrinkling his nose.

  “Yes, its' police force is run by a commissioner Gordon. They had a serious crime problem up until a vigilante with high tech gear showed up and started taking down the local mobsters. Most headed to the hills or were put in jail.”

  “Huh.”

  “Did you know Hazard and Gotham are popular names for colony places? There are several of each in this sector alone. As well as Landing. You organics can be so unoriginal sometimes.”

  He smiled slightly, not rising to the jab. “Anything else?”

  “Not really. There is a major interest in technology, a renaissance if you will in both Gotham and in Metropolis, the other major city on the planet. One of the other reasons the material you requested is late.”

  “Really,” he said and then shrugged. “Somehow I think we'll endure. I'll pass on both thank you.”

  “I'm surprised. I thought you'd be interested in rubbing elbows with the Carnegie's and Rockefellers’ there. They're really getting into industry in those locations.”

  “Pass. Keep an eye out for a Henry Ford character if you can find one. An Edison... no, JP Morgan... oof. I dunno, on the one hand yeah, but on the other considering the ruthlessness and complete lack of honor...”

  Sprite sighed on his HUD. “That is reaching right now admiral. Maybe in a few years...”

  “Nurture. It all comes down to nurture. So, place to eat?”

  “I would suggest a picnic Admiral, all the restaurants are booked solid right now.”

  “Right,” he said, nodding as he passed a line of people waiting patiently to get into a restaurant.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  The picnic went over well. Irons was amused, it had been decades since he'd been on a genuine picnic. He'd even rented a basket from a harried vendor. Not since... his thoughts shied painfully away from that. Defender silently pointed someone out.

  He looked up to see Deputy Rogers waiting patiently nearby. Irons raised an eyebrow to the young man. He shrugged, not looking at all comfortable in his uniform. Irons wasn't sure if it was the outfit or the heat. Finally Rogers pointed his baton to Irons and then to himself.

  Irons got up and dusted his hands off. He murmured goodbyes to his fellow picnickers and then went to Rogers.

  “Something on your mind deputy?” he asked.

  “I've been ordered to escort you. Someone wants to talk to you,” Rogers said, sounding uncomfortable.

  “No problem deputy, lead the way?” Irons asked.

  “No, I'll guide you,” Rogers said, pointing the billy club towards the restaurants a few blocks away. Irons could image who he was being led to.

  “Why the outfit?” Irons asked, turning slightly to look at the deputy. Rogers snorted, still waving a hand. People around them split apart, making a hole for them to pass through.

  “What this?”

  “I'm curious about the British thing.”

  Roy grunted. “It's so we can stand out between the Sheriff.”

  “A
h, I noticed it's all hands on deck. Reservists and volunteers too huh?”

  “Pretty much,” Rogers replied warily.

  “To be expected. You know I've been around the block a few times,” the admiral replied with a disarming smile. “But still, the jump from western wear to...”

  “A bobby?” Rogers asked and then laughed.” We had western wear too, even wore black hats and all, but the sheriff...” he shrugged. “We tried white hats but they kept getting stained. Hodges didn't like the cleaning bill so this.”

  “Black goes with everything,” the admiral replied with a nod. “And stains are easily hidden," he said, clearly amused. He vaguely remembered something about not letting them see you sweat or bleed.

  “Something like that,” Rogers replied, indicating he take the next left turn. People were out everywhere, dancing and having a grand old time.

  “I like the bobby ole chap,” Rogers hammed, tapping his hat with his billy club. The admiral chuckled.

  “History buff?” he asked.

  “How did you guess?” Rogers said, pointing down another street. Irons dutifully turned in the indicated direction. “My mother is the curator of the history museum and stage and screen club of Crater City.”

  “I haven't been there yet,” the admiral mused. “Interesting.”

  “Yes, she named me for some character in one of her favorite western films. I've got a brother named Audrey.”

  “Okay...”

  “Boss Hodges got a kick out of this uniform. Want to see my Keystone cop impression?” Irons turned to see the deputy hunch up and waddle, spinning the billy club. He used a finger to pretend he had a mustache. The admiral snorted and then chuckled. The deputy's face creased into a grin as he straightened. “I think you are one of the few people who really appreciate that,” he said.

  “Well, I'm not quite that old! I just feel like it sometimes,” the admiral replied with a laugh. He continued on his way. “So, you grew up in theater?”

  “Ayup, how'd you guess?”

  “Voice. You've got a trained voice,” the admiral replied.

  “Why thank you, I sing too,” Rogers replied. Irons was curious if the man had had a beer or two before coming on duty. He was definitely loose. “Nice,” Irons replied.

  “You just like me for my horse,” Rogers teased. “And my dog buddies Bullet and Phantom.”

  “Bullet? Phantom?” For some reason Rogers liked to ramble. That thought made Irons wince a little.

  “Bullet is a Neo Alsatian in Crater City. He's a deputy like me. Phantom is a game ranger up north.”

  “Good to know, I'll remember that,” Irons replied, bobbing a nod. “Do you perform here? Off duty I mean.”

  “No, the sheriff didn't like it. Said it undermined my authority and his. But I'm president of the book and film club of Hazard.” He tipped his hat slightly. Irons nodded.

  Rogers escorted him to a restaurant, really a hole in the wall with a faded picture of a Terran boar and the name 'Boars Nest' just above the door.

  Rogers nodded to another black haired but slightly pudgy deputy with Hodges on his lapel pin and waved the admiral over to an occupied booth. A fat silver haired human got up and wiped at his mouth with a red napkin and they shook hands. The man was short, barely a hundred and fifty-one centimeters and his silver hair was balding. He had impressive jowls and a double chin but small piercing eyes. He was dressed in a white suit complete with a white tie. “You that admiral they've been talking about?” he asked. The admiral nodded.

  “Fleet Admiral John Henry Irons...”

  “Commissioner Jefferson Davis Hodges,” Sprite supplied in his ear.

  “Commissioner Hodges. It's nice to meet you,” the admiral said without missing a beat, bowing slightly.

  “He goes by JD,” Sprite supplied. “But it's best to stick to formalities admiral, stroke his ego,” the AI suggested, aware he needed to be on his best behavior. The admiral nodded slightly.

  “Good, good,” the fat man said, slapping his arm and chuckling. “Good! Call me Boss or Boss Hodges will you? Everyone does. It's a tradition in these parts.” Irons hid a wince, there was some strength in that slap, Hodges worked out. There was a distinct southern drawl in his voice too, something he must have picked up in his youth somewhere.

  “I see,” the admiral said smiling. He noted a few toughs in the room and another deputy.

  “Cletus,” Boss said and then turned. “This is my second cousin Cletus. Get the man a chair will you?” he said to the deputy.

  Irons watched the deputy bob a nod and scurry away.

  “It's good to be a boss,” the admiral observed.

  “It is isn't it?” the boss laughed heartily. “So, I heard you had a run in with Lazarrian.”

  “He and I had a problem.”

  “I know. I told him to fix it and leave you alone,” the commissioner replied, now all business. His eyes glittered. “Not much passes in my county without me knowing about it.”

  “And getting a cut of the profits of course,” Sprite interjected in the admiral's ear.

  “Ah,” the admiral said nodding.

  “You're doing wonders for our poor planet,” Boss said as Cletus arrived with the chair. The admiral bobbed a nod of thanks as the boss sat in a barber's chair. “Sit, sit!” he urged.

  The admiral sat and they talked for a bit. The fat man ate. The admiral smiled and took an appetizer and a beer. They exchanged pleasantries and then he realized that the boss was feeling him out.

  “So this casino thing...”

  “You are no doubt in better position to regulate and set it in motion commissioner,” the admiral replied. He explained the workings of it and then discussed regulating industry, commerce, and other things. Finally he dumped a lot of what they had discussed onto a flash stick and then pulled it out of his pocket.

  The fat man reared back and then laughed and took it with his pudgy fingers. “Heard about this too! My thanks,” he said chuckling, brandishing the device.

  “I don't mind helping people Boss, if they do better, it'll hopefully trickle down.”

  “I see that,” the boss said nodding, eyes narrowed.

  “And of course those interested get a helping hand. Upward,” the admiral said with a slight smile. The commissioner’s eyes gleamed.

  “Yes,” he said putting the chip away and rubbing his hands. “I'd love to be governor someday. I'll look this over very carefully young man.”

  “Thank you commissioner. I'll be around if you need me.”

  “Sure thank you Admiral.” The admiral nodded. They got up, shook hands and then the boss had Cletus show him out.

  Outside he found Roy standing guard by the door. He snorted softly and came over. “Now what?”

  “Now you will hopefully no longer have any more problems,” Roy answered. “At least not from Larry.”

  “Good. Very good. Thank you Deputy Rogers,” the admiral replied.

  “Sure thing. Hey if you see two fellas in an orange vehicle let me know will you? The sheriff's hot on them for some reason or other.”

  “I'll... um, keep that in mind.”

  “Thanks,” the man said smiling and shaking hands with him. “Don't be too surprised if that meal is charged to your ship.”

  Irons chuckled and shook his head. “I'd be surprised if it wasn't,” he replied walking off into the crowd.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  When he returned to the motel the frumpy looking woman at the front desk waved him over. “Sir, this message came in for you a little while ago,” she said, handing him a yellow slip of paper.

  He thanked her absently as he took it and scanned it. Apparently he had received a call from the space port, someone had tried to break into his shuttle. Worried about the mob he checked with Phoenix. “Admiral, no one has gotten within a dozen meters of the shuttle in the past twenty four hours,” Phoenix replied.

  “Huh,” Irons said, a little confused before he looked down at the note once mor
e. Suddenly he was a bit suspicious.

  “Trap?” Sprite asked.

  “Possibly. They could have someone in the port send this out to every motel and hotel to see if I'd respond.”

  “The mob knows you're here admiral, remember who owns this town?” Sprite reminded him.

  “True,” Irons replied. “Can we call them?” he asked.

  “I can put a call in and charge it to your account sir,” the hotel manager said.

  He looked up to her and smiled. “No, I've got that covered, thanks,” he said wandering off. He didn't want the line to be traced.

  “Connecting to Phoenix, bouncing the signal. I am routing the call through the network of microcomputers you've distributed here in case someone attempts to trace the signal. The phone is ringing,” Sprite said.

  “Hello?” a voice asked, sounding both bored and slightly drunk. “Who is this?”

  “Who is this? I'm calling the shuttle port? I was informed someone attempted to break into my shuttle?” Irons asked.

  “Oh you, yeah, someone was here asking about you. Sheriff took care of the guy who got out on the field. It was a nut job looking for either a joy ride or asylum, I don't know, quite frankly don't care.”

  “Really.”

  “Believe it or not this isn't the guy's first time. Him or his girlfriend. Wanted to impress his girl and hop to another city or something. We'll get the story out of them when they sober up.”

  “Okay.”

  “At least I think it was him and her. I missed it. I miss all the good shit. Guy Smiley got it on his shift this morning I heard.”

  “Okay,” the admiral drawled. The guy clearly resented being on the evening shift with nothing to do, and resented it even more since it was a holiday. He had a surly attitude, so he was probably in the right place. At least he was awake manning his post. “Any other problems?” Irons asked. “Do I need to come in?”