Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer)

by Hechtl, Chris

  “Definitely,” Sprite responded. Her image was replaced with a satellite view of Rubicon.

  "This is the town of Rubicon, now a ghost town. Here it is two days ago,” she narrated, showing white hot spots. “The white and yellow spots are people and equipment. People and equipment give off heat as you know.”

  “Yes, we know,” Malcolm Innes replied, sounding testy.

  “Right. Here is the same town as of now,” Sprite replied. The image was replaced by one devoid of moving heat signatures. Only a single heat source was evident, that of an engine running.

  “They're all dead?” Malcolm asked, looking at Helen. She bit her lip.

  “All dead. Zooming out, two kilometer radius,” Sprite replied. The image zoomed out, there were no signs of life. “As you can see, nothing. It's gone from attacking intelligent life to also wiping out all animal life as well. Nothing, not even a mosquito is alive there now,” she said. She zoomed out again, and then again. Finally at twenty kilometers out she found signs of life. A red line was traced around the outbreak. At one section where the line crossed a farm they could see a family within. Sprite split the screen, the second screen zoomed into the farm shot. They watched, normally awed, but now in horror as the white images, distinctly human walked around the house and then started coughing. Some doubled over, others collapsed where they were after a few minutes and laid still. “Life signs terminated,” Sprite said dispassionately as the bodies cooled.

  “Spirit of space!” Zane whispered as a woman whimpered and then started to cry. He turned to the nurse and another with her and silently indicated the door. The second nurse put her arm over the shoulder of the crying woman and escorted her out.

  “As you can see this is rapidly gaining momentum. The prevailing winds are roughly eight kilometers per hour from the north west directing the infection right now since we can now confirm it is airborne,” Sprite said. The large shot filled the screen once more, thankfully for those who couldn't take their eyes off the farm. The AI overlaid a terrain map, and then a weather map complete with wind direction. Then the map changed with a key code. The prevailing winds were from a warm front coming from the south west, moving north east. What they had thought of as a perfect circle of outbreak was nothing of the sort. It was an oval, a candle flame with its point in the direction of Hazard. Fortunately the winds were moving at only eight kph, so they had some time until it reached the outskirts of Hazard one hundred kilometers away.

  “As you can see, the pathogens are spreading like wild fire. This is rapidly going from a potential class six bio-hazard into a full epidemic, and in less than a week, a full pandemic. The good news is that this wind is expected to die off by nightfall. The high over the area is expected to be muggy with gusting winds.”

  “Where are you getting this?” Doctor Zane asked quietly, tapping a finger onto the table gently.

  “Phoenix. The Phoenix AI to be more precise. Please don't interrupt,” Sprite said. “Save your questions for the end of my presentation,” she admonished. Zane nodded curtly.

  “As I was saying, the high has a great deal of water vapor, expect thunderstorms in the area. That will keep the infection localized overnight, but it will continue to spread through the water table and through the passing winds. Phoenix calculates it will hit the outer edges of Hazard city within three to four standard days, perhaps sooner.”

  “As people react they will naturally follow their basic instinct to flee. Some of these pathogens have longer incubation times, some have long periods of survivability outside a host body. Periods lasting into years, and for some possibly centuries.”

  “As the people flee the protean nature of the pathogen will emerge more fully, but it will hasten the demise of the population.” On the screen the image changed as people were factored into the equation. Red spots started to appear in centers of population, and then outward.

  “Weaponized smallpox, hemorrhagic fevers, influenza, Yellow fever, Veraxin hemorrhagic fever, Prions, Veraxin MS, good old fashioned plague, take your pick. Do we have any symptoms?” Sprite asked, listing all the known bio-weapons the Xeno's had used once more and then her image returned to the screen.

  “Coughing,” Malcolm replied, glancing at his boss for confirmation. Helen nodded.

  “Coughing? That's it?” Sprite asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “He didn't live long enough to give us more,” Malcolm replied tartly. “Long enough to get the warning out.”

  “He. Species?” Sprite asked, all business.

  “Veraxin. Doctor Tormens. Good bug. He was a hell of a hard ass during my internship...”

  “That's fine,” Sprite said. “If he was communicating and ambulatory for a period of more than fifteen minutes after initial infection then it is not nanites. Or at least not fast acting nanites. We need more data.”

  “Empirical testing is out. We can't get in and out with a sample. That means we need to send a drone in. One with enough power and range to launch from far enough out, but also able to carry a test payload,” the admiral rumbled.

  “Standard destruct?” Sprite asked.

  “Into the ground,” Irons replied with a nod. “Start with air samples at various altitudes. See how far it goes.”

  “Understood. Compiling material list and calculating necessary build time now,” Proteus replied.

  “You said this was a weapon, an alien weapon, how did they get it all? How did they make it? I mean we're alien...” a doctor asked.

  “A question for another time,” Helen said.

  “Medical texts,” Irons replied. He pushed a chip over to Helen. “It's all there, all the medical texts. If anyone gained access to it they'd have the blueprints to not only our DNA, but also our immune systems, and even the blueprints of the diseases we have encountered.”

  “Oh that's smart!” a doctor said in disgust. “Just hand it over to anyone,” he said shaking his head and throwing up his hands in disgust.

  “Over and done with now,” another said.

  “Trust me, there's been enough hand wringing over that subject for centuries I bet,” Irons replied. “The important thing is we use it,” he tapped another chip. “To create antidotes and vaccines. Those too are in the plans. They won't help right off, but if you can get people started on them now, then when we get a sample of this we can figure out how to modify them into being effective against these strains. But first we need samples.”

  Helen sank into a chair, pale as a ghost. It was her worst fear realized.

  “Set one goal now, evacuate everyone outside the current communicable zone of two hundred kilometers. Anyone inside was as good as dead. That included Hazard city,” Sprite said.

  “Crap,” Zane muttered.

  “We also need to get materials, antibiotics, respirators, and other preventive measures into the hands of medics and police personnel in the line of fire as quickly as possible. The longer they can remain functional the better. They can at least give us the data we need to work on antidotes and vaccines,” Sprite said.

  “Damn, you really are an AI to be that cold blooded about it,” Malcolm said, green eyes flashing.

  “Triage doctor, learn it. Live or die. We have got to do it, no matter how it hurts. Mourn the dead later if there is time. For now, try to save the living,” Sprite said.

  “We have a lot to do and we need materials. I need materials. Making one mask at a time is out. Unfortunately we've got an issue,” the admiral said. Irons began to list what he needed. “The problem right now is location, and that Hank McCoy and my shuttle are in the quarantine zone.” He could and would make another replicator, but it would take time.

  “No, I've got Hank,” Helen admitted. Irons looked at her. She smiled a wan smile and brushed her locks back. “He told me about the replicator, Yesterday I brought him in. He arrived last night.”

  “Oh.”

  “Apparently someone tried to steal the damn thing. Now I'm not sure it's worth it.”

  “Oh it is
, believe me. With it we've got a slim chance of containment. But we need to get moving, I mean now,” Irons growled, tapping the table meaningfully. “No screw ups, no time to waste pussy footing around. Get the quarantine set up and masks in place. Shoot on sight anyone who attempts to break out of it. No approach to the body, burn it and run like hell. If anyone tries to breach move the zone back another one hundred kilometers,” Irons said firmly.

  “That'll hit Sin City,” a doctor said.

  “If we don't get this contained and I mean right now we're all dead. Well, all of you, I'm immune,” Irons said, eying the doctors coldly.

  “Can we use you for a vaccine?” Helen asked.

  “No,” Irons said, turning to her. He shook his head. “Won't work. This is an adaptive virus. A simple flu shot won't work here doc. We need intel.”

  “I...” We'll get what we can,” she said.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Helen called a break to the meeting and went to her office. “Call the governor. I need to keep him in the loop. Get me Hank and his replicator,” she said in passing to her secretary Dawn.

  Within her office she paced, unsure of what to do next. Irons was putting them on the right path, he had a plan, which was more than what she currently had. Furthermore he had the means to combat this thing, but lacked contacts and material support. Both she could give him to some degree. She'd already passed orders to find Hank and get him and his precious replicator to the annex. Her secretary leaned in and quietly informed her the governor wasn't busy, he'd left town unexpectedly.

  “Perfect,” Helen snarled, flopping down in her chair. “I should have known,” she sighed, closing her eyes.

  “They are people Doctor Richards, scared people, frightened out of their little wits,” the secretary said. She looked scared herself.

  “That's the problem, even though I told them,” she snarled as she closed her eyes, trying to keep a lid on her temper. “I told them not to panic, told them what needed to be done, what I needed from them,” she paused and sucked in a breath. “They still scurried off for whatever hole they could find and left me and everyone else in a lurch!” Helen snarled throwing her hands up in the air in disgust and dismay.

  “So what are we going to do?” Mr. Osiris asked.

  “He's still in the office?” Helen asked, opening her eyes and removing her arm from her face.

  “Yes,” the secretary replied, bobbing a nod. “He's waiting on line three,” she said, indicating the phone on the desk.

  “Well, at least it's a start,” Helen said, sitting up straight. She shook her hair out and then took a deep breath to compose herself as she reached for the handset. “This is Director Richards, Mr. Osiris?”

  “Yes Director,” he said.

  She filled him in about the admiral's arrival, his AI, and the report they had complied. Osiris listened silently, not asking any questions. Then she went into detail on the tentative plan Irons had laid out. When she was finished Osiris grunted.

  “And you are sure it will work?” he asked.

  “I'm not sure of anything right now. But a drowning man doesn't ask where the life preserver came from, they just grab it and be grateful. Irons has a good plan. We just need the back up and resources to implement it.”

  “He's a political hot potato doctor,” Osiris responded.

  “Who cares!” she demanded, getting up. She held herself up by one hand on the blotter of her desk as she fumed into the phone. “Aren't you listening to me? He's our one chance of not only containing this, but beating it! We need him!”

  “I understand that doctor, but I have to be on the lookout for all the angles,” Osiris responded with a calm air. “You would be advised to do the same,” he cautioned.

  “Screw that. We don't have time for political games! You think your boss is going to be in good odor with any survivors if we get through this? And guess what? I don't give a rat's ass. We need this done now!” She snarled.

  “Not tomorrow, today, right now! I've asked Irons to get to work, he's agreed. I'm doing what I can, but I need the support if this is to succeed.”

  “You know I can't give it doctor, I'm the chief of staff. I can't authorize it.”

  “Then find someone who can!” she snarled, pulling at her hair. She clenched her hand. “You know what, do it or I'll call a press conference and do it myself!” she slammed the receiver down and then flopped once more into her chair with a sigh.

  “Shit,” she sighed, wanting to cry. “Damn, damn, damn,” she muttered. She turned looking out the window. Fleeing was perfectly natural, she could see the stream of people, animals, and machinery clogging the streets. No wonder they were having trouble getting in and out. People were people, they fell to their basic instincts in such situations. Their response though... she sighed.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  After the meeting Helen met with him in her office briefly and asked him quietly if they had a chance. He grimaced.

  “Doc, you know the drill, never let them see you sweat, they need the boost in confidence.”

  She grimaced. “That bad?”

  “We'll know more when we can get some damned intel. Until then we'll plan for the worst. I need access, security, and material. And volunteers,” he said. “But most of all I need access to my ship, my shuttle, and Hank McCoy.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, wondering if he was going to run. Finally she nodded. “I'll see what I can do.”

  “Keep your chin up doc, remember that. It's going to be hard, but we need to keep morale up. If people see us break down it will cause all sorts of problems and make our jobs all that more harder.”

  “I know,” Helen replied with a nod, moving off.

  Chapter 12

  Word of the crisis had the normally relaxed commissioner Hodges in near panic mode. It was apparent right off that as word spread so did the lawlessness. Coltrain had discharged a shotgun and his pistol twice into the air to disperse crowds from the city administration center, and once more to stop the looters from ransacking the Hodges electronics store down the street. He'd ordered his bank shut down to keep the panicked people from running and stripping it clean.

  He paced, fretting over what to do, where to send his people. Many people didn't stand around and dither, some were already heading east out of town. The road was clogging up as people tried to get past each other.

  Cletus had radioed in that a wreck ten kilometers up the road at the hair pin turn had stopped traffic all together. Now he regretted not blowing the cell of rock and widening the road to a two lane road.

  He hadn't because people were heading to Sin City to gamble instead of spending their money here were it belonged, in his back room casino's and in the gambling rackets he or Fat Larry controlled. Now people were piling out of their vehicles, abandoning them and their goods in their haste to get away. It was a nightmare and the night was just starting.

  He looked up to the clouds. They'd gotten a report in that the spread of the virus had slowed, but it was indeed headed for Hazard. He'd asked his fat jujube bean to leave but she'd flat out refused.

  People were breaking out masks and gloves. Surgical masks and bandanas were now spreading as people put them on. Coltrain and his fool deputies were spending more and more time breaking up groups than they were protecting his holdings! Unbelievable! And now word had come through to get out of Hazard... and they couldn't!

  “Where is that fool!” Hodges snarled, looking at his nephew. His nephew was as much of a crook as he was, a slimmed down version. Well he had been, now he was stuffing every pocket with valuables.

  “I don't know uncle boss, I heard something about the doctor lady said to set up a barricade on the north western roads and keep people out of the city. Them's that are most likely infected,” he said. He yipped as his uncle slapped his hand as he tried to stuff more money into his satchel.

  “You leave that there alone. Go and check on my southern assets. Make sure no one's robbing me bl
ind there,” Hodges growled, handing his nephew a shot gun.

  “Me?” Huey demanded, eyes wide.

  “Yes you,” Hodges scowled. “I can't spare anyone else. And who better to trust than kin?” he asked sarcastically. His nephew took the shotgun and then nodded and headed for the door.

  “And nephew, make sure it's all there,” Hodges growled, headed for the telescope again. He picked up the radio. “And leave my money and my pocket watch where you found it,” he growled.

  “Yes uncle boss,” the young man said, pulling the watch out sheepishly before he looked it over, and then set it down on a table by the door.

  “Get with Fat Larry, take two of his crew for muscle. Get,” Hodges said, bringing the radio to his lips. He watched his nephew slam the door and then winced. “This is Boss... Oh! Never mind that, Rosco! You hear me you nit wit!”

  Nohar's ears flicked as he heard the radio call. Coltrain was away from his car, down strutting as he inspected the improvised barricade. A steam shovel was busy ripping the dirt road up and piling the dirt on their side to form a better barricade. Right now all they had were a crowd of people and some fencing.

  “Coltrain!” he yelled, turning and fixing on the sheriff. The sheriff stopped as if he'd been hit with a hot poker. He looked up and pointed to his chest. “Yes, you, radio!” Nohar growled, pointing to the car and open door.

  “Oh, oh! That's probably boss,” the sheriff said, flapping his elbows as he moved quickly for the car. Nohar shook his head in disgust. The sheriff reminded him of a raven sometimes, a raven or a chicken.

  “This is Sheriff Rosco Coltrain, to whom am I talking to?” The sheriff drawled into the mike as he turned.

  “Well, it's about time sheriff,” Hodges's voice cut through Rosco's self-importance like a knife. “Now, if you want to stay sheriff and not be a street sweeper come dawn you'll get over to my Northern holdings and check on them!”

  “But boss...” Coltrain said desperately.

  “Don't you butt boss me!” Hodges snarled.