Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer)

by Hechtl, Chris

  “Boss, shouldn't we do like the doctor lady said?”

  “You work for me not her! Now get!” Hodges snarled.

  “Oh, oh, I'm gone!” the sheriff replied, wincing. He went to put the microphone back but he'd wrapped it around himself. He untangled it in a huff and then hung it up.

  Nohar shook his head in despair. “I've got to go check on some things, you lot mind your p's and q's. I'll be back, um...”

  “Soon?” a rather shaky security guard asked.

  “Yes, soon,” Coltrain pointed to all the helpers. “The rest of you non-deputized folks are dismissed. Boss won't let me pay you so I can't keep you. Go home.”

  “What about...” one guy started to ask. Nohar shook his head.

  “People are already hoarding and looting Coltrain. Shouldn't someone do something about that?” Nohar asked.

  “I've got Rogers on that,” Coltrain said waving a dismissive hand. “He and Eanus are doing just fine. Now go on, get,” he said waving a dismissive hand. “Go, shoo!” he said. “Go on before I cite you all for failure to disperse!” he said. “Oh, oh! That's a good idea! Boss'd get all tickled over the tickets, let me get my pad,” he turned to the car. The assembled people didn't need any further invitation, they dispersed, muttering darkly about ingratitude as they headed back to Hazard.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Back in town, Nohar's group headed their separate ways. Their eyes dart around, paranoid over the darkened town. Hodges had scrimped on the lights, something about the electric bill. For Nohar it was no big deal, but the humans among the group weren't happy about the dark. They were even less happy about being near a full size Neotiger. Nohar snorted as they turned a corner and left him. He however heard voices, angry voices coming from another direction. He oriented on it and noted it was Main street. He sighed. He'd better take a look.

  Rogers was on a darkened main street, trying to keep order. A small riot was put down with a blast of his shot gun over their heads. “That's rock salt.” he cocked the gun again. “Next one's lead. Any of you want some keep doin what your doin. Otherwise go home, lock your doors and wait it out.” He growled.

  The crowd stared, not just at him but at something off to his left. After a long moment they looked down and then the crowd dispersed, muttering as they melted away.

  Roger's turned to see Nohar behind him, backing him up. The Neo's ears were flat on his head, bristling, teeth grimacing. He was a sight. He seemed to slacken off and then relax under the deputies’ gaze though. He nodded. “You too detective, bunk with Kong. We'll need you soon,” Roy said. Nohar nodded and turned to leave.

  “And Nohar,” Roy said. The Neotiger looked over his shoulder. “Thanks for the backup,” he said quietly, tipping his constable helmet.

  “Anytime Rogers,” Nohar growled, flicking his ears in brief humor as he stalked off.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Since the shuttle was in another town and locked down, the admiral was forced to go to Hank. When Hank arrived with the replicator under one arm he was naturally upset, he thought that the admiral was an Indian giver. “No, I'm not, look Hank we don't have a lot of time to discuss this,” Irons replied, trying to remain patient. He needed the blue Neolion, needed him on his side.

  Hank's ears were flat on his head. “I know, and I know I've said the damn thing was more trouble than it was worth but I didn't mean it! Honest!” Hank replied, eyes wide in distress.

  “I know,” Irons replied, one hand up to stop Hank. “Just hear me out. I'm going to borrow it. I need your help. The people of this planet need your help. Can you do that Hank?” Irons asked, looking imploringly to the Neolion.

  Hank nodded.

  “What do you need?” he finally asked gruffly as he set it down on the bench. Irons had been set up in the maintenance shop of the hospital. While waiting for Hank he'd gone around and either selected items to be cannibalized or repaired them and handed them to bemused nurses and orderlies who didn't know what to do with them.

  “More materials, but I think we've got enough here,” Irons said looking around. Proteus had made a start of getting the area set up for his intended purpose. It wasn't big enough, but it would serve, at least for now. “I'm going, I mean we are going to make another replicator. That way we can run two.”

  “We are?” Hank asked, eyes wide. Irons plugged it in and then quietly explained to the blue Neolion what he wanted. Hank nodded. Hank was fascinated to see Irons jacked into the device and the explanation of what Irons planned. When he finally laid out a list of things for Hank to do the Neolion nodded. “Seems simple enough, just feed the machine, take out the finished tray of stuff and then do it all over again,” he said. “Any idiot can do that.”

  “Yeah well, we need someone who won't mess it up, won't fall asleep or leave his post. I know you Hank, you'll do it. A lot of this stuff will need assembling afterward, the replicators will be too small to do some larger pieces of equipment, that too will fall on you. I'll leave a tablet with directions on other things you can read,” Irons replied.

  “Cool!” Hank said, eyes wide. He spread his hands. “What's first?”

  “Some diagnostic machinery, but since we don't have enough we'll do parts for a probe drone. I've got another going now but I'll show you,” Irons replied. He explained the basic assembly of the drone and showed the blue Neolion the directions on the tablet.

  “Got it,” Hank said with a nod. “Don't you need to be somewhere else?”

  Irons nodded in return and then patted him on the shoulder. Hank watched the first tray of parts for the drone begin to form as Irons moved on to the meeting that had just been called.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  The communications device Irons had made in the conference room was a sat com transceiver. It linked to the computer network he'd established so they could communicate to the satellites in orbit and to Phoenix without going through him anymore, thus freeing him up for other jobs.

  It also served as a long range Wi-Fi node to allow Sprite to communicate through the minicomputer network the admiral had set up in the board room. Since the admiral was away working on logistics, Sprite was monitoring and attempting to brief the doctors in the board room.

  “Are we sure it was the pods as the vector?” Doctor Zane asked. They still didn't have a lot to go on. “We're basing everything on suppositions. A house of cards that could easily get knocked down.” He and Sprite were tasked with trying to get more intel but had little to go on. The distance was a factor, figuring out a way around that... he'd heard them talking about suits but didn't want any part of that right now. Looking at this thing from a distance was the safer bet... at least until they knew more or exhausted all the options.

  “This could be, I dunno, someone may have opened a canister or something, scavengers are always digging stuff up. Or it could be, I don't know something else. A new swamp fever. We get them in that area all the time. Versions of Malaria and all sorts of things. Damn mosquitoes are as thick as pea soup in the summer,” he growled. Some of the other doctors in the room nodded.

  Sprite linked with Phoenix, and then used the screen to show them real time image of Rubicon. Together they spotted strange changes to the ground around where the pods were , or at least once were. “What the hell?” Zane asked. There was a perfect circle in the middle of the warehouse district. He could see warehouses and buildings on the outer edge of that circle corroding before the ship passed over the horizon and the image was lost. Sprite put the last image back up and froze it.

  “What are we looking at?” Helen asked, carrying a tray of sandwiches in as she entered the room. She set them down and turned expectantly to the AI. She was still getting used to the thing.

  Sprite replied “Rubicon,” with a tart voice.

  She blinked. “It's... are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Ted pointed to the screen. “Shouldn't there be, well buildings, a warehouse?”

  Sprite overlaid a map a
nd they discovered the missing buildings had a common center, where the pods where, or at least had been. “Pandora's box,” Sprite murmured.

  “There's your smoking gun doctor. I need to speak with the admiral. This is more than what we thought,” Sprite said tightly. With the building missing that meant nanites as well as a series of biological pathogens. “This just gets better and better,” she muttered.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  A knock on her open office door made Helen grunt. “It's open,” she said, not looking up.

  “We're um, running out of materials for that admiral fellow,” a rather haggard Nurse Marlone told Helen near midnight. “He's stripped us of just about everything we can afford to lose. He's got us bringing him waste, all the hospital waste,” she wrinkled her nose in disgust at that. “And he's even got some patients ripping up the grass and trees for biomass he said.” She wrinkled her nose at that. All sorts of doodads and gizmos were being made, she didn't understand any of them. The stuff Irons had handed to the orderlies had been tossed in a nearby supply closet. They didn't know what to do with the things.

  “At this rate the grounds are going to be a shambles come morning,” she said sounding aggrieved. “Lobart isn't going to like that,” she warned, mentioning the grounds keeper.

  “I don't care,” Helen replied, not looking up from the text she was trying to concentrate on. She took her glasses off and rubbed at her eyes.

  “You should rest.”

  “I can't. I need more coffee. Find some coffee will you?”

  “We're out. That Irons fellow sucked it all down,” the older woman said.

  “Then find some more!” Helen said in exasperation. “Get someone to, I don't know, go to the store or something.”

  “They are all closed. Everything is closed right now,” the nurse said. “It's the middle of the night,” she replied.

  Helen glanced at the darkened window and snorted. She hadn't even noticed. “Make some calls, get some supplies rolling in. Wake people up if you have to.”

  “I'll...”

  “I don't need excuses just do it,” Helen growled. “I don't care about the budget, if they want money tell them to bill us. Tell them we're trying to fight the damn virus. If they won't give it to you then find someone else!”

  “Irons suggested the dump! Can you believe that?” The nurse asked, wrinkling her nose and crossing her arms. “Go to the dump of all things!”

  “Then do that. It's free, so get what he needs.”

  “But we don't have the trucks...”

  Finally Helen lost her tired temper. She glared and slapped her hand onto the desk. “Look I don't need this shit, just find whatever he needs and do it fast! I don't need problems I need solutions!” She told nurse Marlone and others. They hustled to obey.

  “Problems, nothing but problems, problems they could solve if they just did it!” she snarled throwing her hands up in the air. She hadn't expected logistical problems.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  People milled about outside the perimeter wall, some by torch light, others with flashlights. The police attempted to disburse them but they just came back. It made getting supplies in and out of the compound difficult, slowing the deliveries and returning trucks as people had to be asked to move out of the way.

  The crowd eventually noted some of the medics and drivers were wearing surgical masks. Demand for them spiked as word got around. To placate the crowd the medics distributed some of their excess masks. There wasn't enough to go around however so people began making their own. A few fabric companies woke up to the possibility of profit and got involved and sold them at a premium. Several people set up sowing machines on the curb and volunteers peddled the machine's to keep them going into the night.

  Sprite had to laugh at the designer labels and color patterns. Even in a crisis organics had to do stupid things like that.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “From what we've been able to discover there are multiple elements to this act of bio-terrorism,” Sprite reported near dawn. An image was up on the screen. “This is both a class six and class seven hazard, definitely a planetary class quarantine.”

  “Which we already knew about,” Helen Richards replied patiently. She grabbed the urn of coffee in the center of the table and poured herself a cup. It was only luke warm, but it was enough. She cradled her mug with both hands. “Weaponized airborne pathogens, clustered. Some moving by the wind, others protean.”

  “Yes, well, we know more now Director,” Sprite responded. “A doctor Howard, I'm assuming a retired or off duty doctor who sidelined as a farmer near Rubicon called Hazard a few hours ago. There is a mini-comp plugged into the Hazard City grid, Phoenix recorded the call and I've listened to it.”

  “Can we listen to it?” Doctor Zane asked.

  Sprite's avatar turned to him. “Do you want to listen to your friend die a horrible and agonizing death?” she asked.

  He gulped. After a moment he shook his head.

  “We may have to, it's our only other lead right now,” Helen sighed.

  “Let's leave that for a little while doctor. I can do a rough diagnosis based on his own described symptoms,” Sprite replied. “Which are the following,” she paused.

  “In the first two hours he said he noted inflamed lymph nodes, which are a given since they are under attack. Fever of thirty eight celcius plus, muscle aches, malaise, headache, and prostration, nausea, vomiting, and back ache.”

  “You're describing a cold, or influenza,” Malcolm said.

  “I'm not finished,” Sprite said. “Continuing, as the disease progressed into the sixth hour, lesions on the tongue, esophagus, mouth, and pallet. He noted the core temperature dropped to normal. The lesions had red spots. The lesions rapidly swell with fluids and rupture.”

  “By the seventh hour the skin becomes blackish, seemingly charred. The whites of the eyes turn red, most likely from ruptured blood vessels in the eyes. Death occurs by the ninth hour of known infection,” she said.

  “How... um...”

  “He watched his family die,” Sprite replied softly. “He wrote down the symptoms and did vital sign checks until he started showing symptoms. Then he checked his own as well.”

  “He's dead?”

  “Suicide. I heard the gunshot,” Sprite replied, sounding subdued. “He set his home on fire before hand to try to contain the infection,” she said. “He said so and I heard the crackle of the fire. Proteus confirmed it when he passed overhead.”

  “That's...”

  “Brave, yes I know,” Sprite replied.

  “I, do we know what that is?” Zane asked, looking at Malcolm. Malcolm shook his head.

  “I've checked the medical texts. Based on his description it's a version of Small pox, Latin Variola Major. In this case the black pox, since the blackened skin he described is Hemorrhagic Small Pox, one of the most deadly,” Sprite replied.

  Just about every eye was staring at the AI. “And before you ask, there aren't many drugs in pharmacopeia that can deal with this virus. A vaccine administered within a few hours of exposure or prior to exposure might help. But if it's a bio-weapon like this one is than its most likely designed to be highly resistant to vaccines and treatment.”

  “Lovely,” Zane breathed, taking a deep breath. He glanced at his boss.

  “Nanotech can screen and kill the virus, but there aren't enough regen tanks on this planet or in this system for that matter. Not enough time to make them either,” Sprite said, this time directing her observation to the admiral.

  “One thing at a time,” Irons replied. “You indicated in your message there was more? Why the class seven?” he asked.

  “Indeed. Class seven has been tentatively confirmed with I admit circumstantial evidence,” Sprite responded. Her avatar disappeared and an image of Rubicon and ground zero was shown. A wire frame overlay was added, instantly Irons picked out the obvious, that structures were missing. He swore. “After consulting with doctor
Richards, she has confirmed that the pods were in this building,” Sprite said pointing a red arrow to a wire frame. “Which no longer exists. That is indicative of a nanite.”

  “Gobbler?”

  “No, the mass readings have changed, but it's not spreading like a normal gobbler would. I am not certain what it is. It may be viral nanotech, after all, most of the buildings in the area are cellulose in construction. Wood. The real virus may be using them to replicate.”

  “And that means?” Zane asked in exasperation.

  “Viral nanotech. Organic viruses created as nanotech weapons. The first nanites in other words. They were used back in the early 21st century on Earth in early medicine and in some minor manufacturing processes.” Irons interjected. The group shuddered in terror. He went on to lecture them about viral nanotech as Sprite supplied a slide show of microscopic images of the viruses. “It's better than gobblers, but not much.”

  “Gobblers?”

  “Nanites designed to tear everything apart at the molecular level. They can literally tear a star system apart given enough time.”

  “Oh my!” They were past the point of being shocked, or thought they had until he'd told them that.

  Irons nodded grimly.

  “Are you sure it's viral nanotech?” They went over the description patiently, knowing he wasn't a medical expert.

  “Nanites! We can't fight them! Who...”

  “Actually, we fight fire with fire,” Irons replied.

  “But we don't have any! And even if we did, to release such monsters...” Nurse Marlone shivered in terror. Others nodded.

  Irons waited for them to finish and then looked at her. “Nanites are in many things ma'am, from regen tanks, to replicators to, well, me.” He held up his right arm. The men and women around the room stared at him. The doctor nearest him nearly tipped his chair over trying to back away.

  “You are doctors, people of medicine. Start acting like that folks,” Irons growled.

  “They're people Admiral,” Helen Richards replied. She was only slightly shaken. “People are people, it takes a little while to get over the initial hind brain reaction. Please have patience,” she said, pursing her lips wryly at that statement.