Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer)

by Hechtl, Chris

  “See? I didn't have to draw attention to anything, neither did you Commander. They did it for themselves,” the admiral pointed out.

  “True,” Sprite replied amused. “But if you read on Richards asks why you are doing such things.”

  “True,” The admiral replied with a snort. He smiled slightly and nodded in passing to a family. They didn't turn away as if he was a leper, but he didn't get a polite nod in return either. Some progress, however small was welcome. The old adage, one step forward, two steps back rang through his head. “Let them. I'm curious how many will examine their own conscience and how it will change them.”

  “We may never know that Admiral. You won't be here for long,” Sprite replied. “Or hopefully for not much longer, the fuel is still delayed. I strongly suggest you write it off and go to another space port admiral.”

  “True, but we can read about it,” the admiral said, folding the paper under his arm and patting it slightly. “And no, we'll give it a few more days. If nothing happens and they stand up the new ship then we'll figure something else out.”

  ...*...*...*...*...

  His stories were immediately overshadowed by another, the incoming freighter had reported that it had found a derelict in the B448c system with survivors in stasis pods. The small freighter the Prinz Zir traded the sleepers for fuel and port rights. That pre-empted his story pushing it back to the human interest column.

  When the admiral heard about the sleepers from Sprite he was instantly interested. Sprite didn't have a lot of data on them, what she had picked up was that they were civilians. That had been a bit of a letdown, but understandable. There were a lot more civilians floating around in pods than there were military personnel.

  It was odd though, he could understand his own circumstances, and to some degree the Warners, Nohar's, and Horatio Logan's. Each of them had been left to drift in the outer edges or even the outside of a star system. Fleet took care of its own, a Search and Rescue ship would usually comb a system at least once before moving on to other areas. With civilians... especially if it had been from a liner the effort would have been exponentially higher, if only to avoid the massive black eye not responding would cause.

  Still, in the universe anything was apparently possible. They could be sleepers from his time, or even after. Perhaps even from long before the Xeno war! In fact most likely after, the ship could have ran out of fuel or been damaged in... he sighed. The variables were endless really.

  However one thing bothered him, and it didn't take long for Sprite to make her own feelings about the subject known. The two of them were jointly angry about the trade. “Slavery! That's what it is!” Sprite snarled. AI had a particular sensitive spot for that. As did Neos. Both had a history that went right along with Terran black people. In the case of AI's and Neo's thought it was magnified, both had come after the age of slavery and had struggled for freedom and equality over the centuries of 'enlightened' times.

  “It's what the captain of the Io had planned for me Sprite,” Irons replied, for once playing devil's advocate. “They factor in the cost of finding and transporting the pods.”

  “It's still not right. So much for the milk of human kindness,” Sprite responded bitterly.

  “Yeah, they don't do a lot of search and rescue either. If the lost person is a child or someone important...” he shrugged.

  “Yeah, if there's a reward,” Sprite said snidely. Irons winced.

  “Did you notice the line about how they negotiated for fuel? And that they got priority?” Sprite asked. “So much for their problems with supply!”

  “True,” the admiral murmured with a nod. He hadn't missed that either. It annoyed him too.

  “Apparently first come first serve doesn't apply here,” Sprite growled. “Even after everything you've done. I wonder if they are doing it to get you to keep doing what you are doing?” He grunted but didn't respond to that prodding.

  Sprite watched the video feed of the shuttle landing. She was amused, the pilot was good for an organic, better than some she had heard about. He'd dropped the shuttle a little low, but corrected and landed neatly. The landing added an extra sense of drama to a normally routine matter from her time. Here it was something else.

  The boarding ramp dropped and the hatch opened. Apparently they didn't want to taxi the shuttle to the waiting customs station for processing. A person, human in a battered patched civilian flight suit emerged from the shuttle and looked around. He spotted the circus of cameras and people and hesitantly waved to them.

  Another crew member brusquely passed the first and then said something that the far away microphones didn't pick up. The effect though was obvious, the other crew member stopped waiving and went to work. They went to the cargo hatch and started undogging it.

  “Not even checking to see if they will get the fuel?” Sprite asked. “Remarkably trusting of them,” she said to Irons.

  “Maybe,” Irons replied. He was more interested in the shuttle. It wasn't military grade, it had to be a civilian knock off of a Highland class naval shuttle. It had two umbilical ports on either ventral side, one small one larger. The one the crew had exited from was the smaller port hatch. From the look of the shuttle it was in remarkably good condition. Whoever owned it, knew how to take care of her. That was rare in these times.

  “Anything from the ship?” Irons asked.

  “No. No communications to Phoenix at all, which is strange.”

  “Not very talkative with the competition?” the admiral asked, raising an eyebrow. Phoenix would have informed him if they had. It was odd, spacers usually talked to each other in the infrequent times they crossed each other's paths.

  “Everyone likes to talk, even if it's only to size the competition up and see what tidbits they could get out of them. Maybe see where they are going next. It is odd.”

  “Arrogant. Smug?” Irons asked.

  “Quite so,” she replied.

  “Well, they're civilians, they have some right to privacy. Let me know if that changes,” he said as the cargo hatch opened and a hover pallet dropped out. He thought it had been sloppy securing of such precious cargo but two other workman were there pushing it out. Straps dangled from the side of the cargo pod. The pods were covered in a tight fitting tarp, the disappointment from some of the crowd was obvious from their groans.

  He snorted. “So much for that. Keep an eye on the feed. Any ideas on how to get in on this?”

  “One, the medics.”

  “Explain.”

  “They should check the people in the stasis pods out before they wake them. It's only prudent after all,” the AI replied.

  “True, but we're on a colony. A backward colony.”

  “Yes, but that has already been established. Apparently the director of medicine has put her foot down. She doesn't want them to attempt to wake someone who may have been put into stasis because they were terminally ill.”

  “Thought it was a derelict?” Irons asked.

  “That doesn't necessarily mean anything. Remember Kiev 221?” Sprite reminded him.

  The admiral grunted. She was right. Kiev had had hundreds of sleepers in her holds. All had been injured or ill when they'd been put into stasis over the centuries. A ship could have such a cargo, morbid if they were dead, but entirely feasible.

  “Okay, ideas on how to get in touch with the medics? Should we go to the top or what?”

  “I would suggest contacting Doctor Richards directly, yes,” Sprite replied. “The tricky part isn't getting her, it's getting her to listen to you,” Sprite replied, already looking into making the call.

  “True,” Irons replied. “Place the call.”

  “Already working on it sir,” Sprite responded.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  There was a click and then the secretary waved to her. Helen smiled. “What is it?” she called from her desk. She was a bit frustrated, Salt only knew the general location of the Daniels. She wanted to send someone in after them, but he
didn't have a clue which direction they had went. Buzzing the area with the little bush plane to let them know to come out was the only option. But getting them to 'olle olle in free' was difficult, both of them resented it when she interrupted their vacation time. She admitted that from time to time she'd abused that, dispatched them to what was thought a major outbreak only to turn out to be a sniffle fizzle. But this time it was different, it really was critical... she needed them to check out the sleepers... but there was no telling them that of course.

  She sighed, running a hand through her bangs in frustration. She had the door open, and her windows, the better to catch the slight breeze. They were having a light cooling spell, and she wanted to enjoy it. Being in the stuffy office sucked. She kept thinking about getting a ceiling fan or box fan in here sometime. She looked at the wind up clock on the wall. She was perilously close to lunch so it had better be quick. She didn't want to work through another lunch, the low blood sugar it caused gave her a headache.

  “Some crank on the phone. He's interested in the sleepers and said he has some means to help with them. He's willing to trade for the opportunity,” the secretary responded pointing to her own phone.

  “Oh?” Helen replied, raising an eyebrow. “And you left it to me to let him down?”

  The woman spread her hands apart in supplication. “Far be it from me to turn down help doc, that's up to you remember?”

  “True,” she said thoughtfully. “Just what is he offering?” she asked.

  “Why don't you ask him yourself? I put him on hold. Line two,” the woman said, pointing to her new phone.

  Helen looked down at it. She'd just received it from a communications company in Gotham. It used some material called Bakelite for the handle. It was black, with buttons. One was pressed in.

  “Fine then,” she responded, waving the woman away. She shook her hair away from her right ear and then picked up the handset. “This is director Richards, to whom and I speaking with?” she asked.

  “This is admiral Irons. We've never met doctor, but I'm offering my services.”

  “I heard. Can you tell me why you are interested in doing so?” she asked, toying with a stylus. The name was familiar.

  “Personal interest in the sleepers doctor, I'm willing to provide my services in exchange for helping them,” the man replied.

  “I can't give out any information about patients,” Helen replied, scowling blackly.

  “Understandable doctor, that's part of your profession. But I can be of assistance with technical matters since I'm an engineer.”

  “Oh?” she asked, amused. No one on the planet had experience with the stasis pods. They weren't even sure how to read the vital signs on the things. Something seemed off so she was hesitant to open the pods. Right now they were stored until she found a way to do more research on them. “You're an expert I suppose?” she asked humorously. She toyed with the coiled phone cord.

  “You could say that,” Irons replied with a hint of amusement in his voice.

  “I'm sorry, I'd have to get government approval to bring you on-board. Since you aren't a member of my staff, I doubt I can do that,” she finally said.

  “Pity,” Irons replied and then shrugged. “All right, I've also been attempting to get a meeting with you.”

  “Oh?” suddenly Helen was wary. She didn't like having her very own personal stalker. “Why is that?” she asked.

  “Nothing criminal doctor, and no I don't need treatment,” Irons replied patiently. “I'm...” he fought a sigh and started again. “Now look, I'm not going to be here very long. I'm leaving soon so I figured I'd lend you a hand before I left.”

  Helen finally got it, the guy was looking into using the stasis pods to survive some terminal illness. “I doubt the pods are available for your use,” she said.

  “Doc, can we get off the pods here?” he asked, sounding a little testy. “I'm not interested in the pods themselves, I'm interested in the welfare of the people within. But getting back to what I was talking about, I'm trying to meet each leader and help their department. I was going around to local clinics helping but a friend pointed out that was counterproductive.”

  “Oh?” Helen asked, now confused.

  “I mean, sure I'm making a local impact, but not a big one. You however are in a position to do so. Tell me, have to gotten the packages from the ships processed yet?” he asked.

  “I'm not sure I can discuss that,” she said warily. “I'm sorry, I'm very busy and my time is limited.” She glanced at her open door.

  “I gathered that doctor. I was just wondering if you received all the materials and if they are being put to good use.”

  “Are you a reporter?” she asked suspiciously.

  The admiral laughed. “No, I'm an offworlder, doctor.”

  “Oh. Oh!” her eyes flared wide as she made connections. “So, when you said you wouldn't be here long... You meant you were returning to your ship not dying...”

  “Dying? Doc I'm fit as a fiddle,” the admiral replied with a chuckle. “I wanted to make sure you received the packages from Io 11 and my ship the Phoenix.”

  “Oh. Yes, we're still processing them now. From both ships actually,” Helen replied absently. She felt strange, she didn't know what to expect next from this conversation. She was still ready to hang up, but idle curiosity made her keep listening.

  “What about the software?” Irons asked.

  “Software?” Helen asked, confused. Something in that made her go from bored and ready to hang up to mildly interested.

  “I sent along software as well, doctor. A complete medical text as well as a hard copy back up. The complete medical dictionary, just about every medical file I and Io 11 could get our hands on,” the admiral replied. “I didn't have a copy of the material from Pyrax but my AI did get a lot from Antigua Prime. Petabytes of data doctor.”

  She sat up straight, eyes wide in shock. She hadn't made the connection until now. “You...”

  “Yes. Me,” he said with a slight hint of humor in his voice.

  “What did you say your name was?” she asked, rubbing her brow, now irritated at herself.

  “Irons. Fleet Admiral John Henry Irons, Federation Navy. Also currently captain of the Phoenix,” Irons replied.

  She closed her eyes, wincing slightly and mouthed an Oh. “I apologize sir, I didn't place the name,” she said formally and very carefully. This was the guy Hank had talked about she realized.

  “It's okay doctor. Perfectly understandable. I gather you have a lot on your mind,” he said, sounding sympathetic. She winced.

  “You helped Hank McCoy.”

  “And others. I'm doing my best doctor. That's all any of us can do.”

  “Ah, but not many aspire to that virtue my good sir,” she said.

  “True, but we can only hope that someday they will. As I was saying, both ships sent along a great deal of material and data for you.”

  “You seem to know a lot about what we got from Io,” she said, rubbing her brow. “The dealings with each ship is normally kept confidential,” she said.

  His laughter startled her. “Sorry doctor,” he said over the scratchy phone. “I'm sorry, it's just I was a passenger on Io 11 a few years ago. In fact they found me in a stasis pod much like your soon to be new patients that the Prinz Zir is delivering to you.”

  “You were?” she asked, now dumbfounded.

  “Yes,” Irons replied. He related the story of how the ship found him in Senka five years ago. Slowly she accepted he was who he was saying he was. That revelation connected with others, he was a true El Dorado, a sleeper all were searching for. The ones in the pods... his voice continued on and finally penetrated her astonished thoughts. “I spent over eighteen months with them doctor, I taught them and together we repaired the ship to almost factory new. When we were doing so I also hit upon the idea of the care package with the captain and purser.”

  “Ah, I see,” the woman replied, stalling. She rubbed her brow.
It was a lot to take in all at once... and on an empty stomach to boot.

  “I refurnished their medical bays. The regen tanks were tricky but we got them sorted out.”

  Her eyes went wide. “You...”

  “I'm a Federation Engineering Fleet Admiral, doctor. I can't make medical nanites but I can rebuild or even make other medical tech. Or make the factory equipment needed to make those pieces of equipment,” Irons replied.

  “Ah, I see,” the woman said once more. She bit her lip. A trio of doctors were waving urgently at her. She sighed. “I'm afraid I'll have to cut this conversation short Mr. Irons, I have a medical emergency,” she said.

  “Perfectly understandable doctor. Please call Phoenix when you'd like to arrange a meet. I'd like to help your people while I am here. But I'm not going to be here forever,” he said.

  “You have done quite a lot Mr. Irons,” she said, waving a paper at the trio. She scowled and had her hand to the headset. “I thank you for what you did with Hank.”

  “He's a nice guy,” Irons replied.

  “I'll try to be in touch soon,” she said getting up. “Good day sir,” she said and hung up. “What?” she said, glaring at the trio.

  “We wanted to know if um, you wanted to go to lunch,” Marcus said sheepishly. Ted Zane smiled.

  Her eyes flashed. “You interrupted an important call for something like that?” she snarled. She picked the phone up and then sighed at the dial tone. “Damn it!” she slammed the receiver back down.

  She glared again at the trio who hunched their shoulders. “Do you have any idea...” she seethed, taking a deep breath in and out, trying to cleanse her anger over their juvenile antics. “Do you have any idea how important that call was?” she demanded, clearly seething.

  “I thought it was some guy interested in the sleepers?” her secretary asked, coming into the office behind the trio of doctors. She put papers in manila envelopes down onto her desk. “At least that is what it sounded like to me!”

  Helen closed her eyes and rubbed her brow. Finally she flicked her hair and opened her eyes. “I thought so at first, but it turned out he's a sleeper, so he's naturally curious.”