“I hope not. There's a lot of glassware,” Irons scowled, watching the airbus settle onto the ground nearby. It was the hospital's tennis court, re purposed as a tarmac.
“We can't all fit... is that roof welded on?” Doctor Ivanov asked in dismay as workers started moving equipment and boxes.
“Yes. And no, you will be on that,” Irons said, pointing to another air bus that was landing nearby. This one was white, with blue stripes and Epsilon tours stenciled on the side. “Doctor Richards appropriated it for you.” The other bus had just arrived from Gotham.
“Ah,” Doctor Ivanov said, jowls shaking a bit. He adjusted his glasses and then looked at the admiral.
“Don't worry doctor. We'll send the remaining equipment in follow up flights and the train. I'll see you there.” Irons said.
“I thought the nearest field was Hazard?” the doctor asked as a nurse took him by the arm to lead him to the waiting passenger bus.
“It is doctor, we're going to a field in Sin City,” the nurse said with a slight smile. She was scared, but she didn't want to show it.
“There, there my dear, we'll be fine,” Doctor Ivanov said. “First flight?” he asked.
She gave a shaky laugh. He smiled. “They say these air buses can land vertically. It's very scary,” she said. “Is it that obvious?” she finally asked, looking around. None of the other volunteers seemed nervous.
“Only to some,” he said, looking at her through the corner of his eye. When he'd been younger and less... well, fat, he'd been quite the ladies’ man with the single nurses. “I'll sit beside you my dear. We can go over this together,” he said holding up the tablet.
“What a marvelous thing!” the nurse said, touching the tablet.
Irons looked back and shook his head. He turned to see Luke drinking a fruit drink. The kid had put on a pilot's white scarf, hat and goggles for some reason. Grandstanding indeed, Irons thought with a slight smile. “Luke, fragile goods. Seriously important. Glass,” he called out in warning.
People slowed to look at Irons. Luke stopped sipping from the straw. He held a hand up, thumbs up. Irons nodded and returned to the building for his next project.
...*...*...*...*...
Hank ran into some flack, some refugees were in the way. The help from the authorities wasn't much, in fact he had little at all to go on. The bus was it, and he'd had to send it back to Landing after it had been refueled. Word had come back that more people were coming in several buses. Mr. Doherty had stormed off when he'd heard that. That was good, at least it got the old busy body out of his fur. The old man wanted to know every little thing about the little plane.
He'd ended up staying on the farm, using the barn as his shelter to put the drone together. He'd had a deputy keeping an eye on him, but the deputy had been called off after a couple hours, something about crowd control.
He'd sent Wart to the city to get more supplies and a damn generator. He'd thought about using some of the tools in the barn, he'd brought his replicator, but didn't have a source of power. That sucked. They hadn't planned on that.
Somehow, Jerry of all people had caught up with him. Apparently he'd run into Wally Wart and had tagged along on the return trip. The little chimp stuck to his side like glue. Together the three of them put the drone together, trying to ignore the people who kept butting their nosy heads in to find out what they were doing.
A few people were spooked, thinking the thing would carry the virus back here. Hank had to explain through gritted teeth that it was going on a one way trip, he'd crash it when they were done with it. They didn't believe him. Jerry stepped on Hank's foot and the tired, frazzled, and bedeviled blue Neolion roared in pain. Jerry's brown eyes were wide. The people left at a run, awed and terrified of the angry predator.
“Ow!” Hank snarled, teeth bared.
“Damn!” Jerry replied, bristling and cringing back. “Damn near shit myself!” he said, sniffing. He hadn't shit himself but someone had pissed themselves. He coughed, covering his nose with a hand.
“That hurt!” Hank growled, bending over to rub his foot. He hopped over to a folding chair and flopped into it and then lifted his foot to massage it. “You better not of broken it or you'll be climbing a tree the hard way banana breath!” he snarled.
Jerry looked around. The crowd was gone. He snorted. “Look on the bright side Hanky old buddy, ole pal, ole friend, you got rid of the busy bodies,” he said waving an arm around to show they were gone.
Hank looked around, muttering darkly as he rubbed his foot and then snorted, good humor suddenly restored. “Fine, good riddance. Lets' triple check this thing and then get it into the air,” he said.
He eyed the plane. It was almost done, a boxy thing, about four meters long and eight meters wide. She was a straight bird, with bulbs all over her nose filled with electronics. Probes stuck out of ports in the nose and from the long straight wingtips. Two scopes were on either underside of the body, they fed a turbine which was a part of the jet engine that powered the thing. A thruster cone was in the rear, it was topped by a pair of rudders that were canted in an upward V shape.
The thing was shiny and new, something most never expected to see. Hank had to admit he'd learned a great deal in the building of the thing. Irons had shown him a lot and he treasured that knowledge.
Jerry frowned. “It's a sweet little plane, too bad we've got to wreck it. I don't suppose we couldn't you know, lose it and sell...” Hank growled a low subsonic growl. Jerry darted a look his way and then sighed theatrically, fighting to get his fur down again. At this rate he was going to be completely frizzy, and not from the damn static electricity in the air. He was going to be a tangled mess before sunset. “Ah, fine, my bad. My mistake, wanting to get something out of this,” he muttered.
Hank flicked his ears. “We are. If we don't do this then the doctors don't have the knowledge they'll need to kill this thing. In other words if this doesn't work we're all screwed,” he said picking up a screwdriver.
“Shit,” Jerry sighed. “You would say that,” he muttered.
“Besides, now that we know how to make one I can make more later,” Hank said with a half-smile as he focused on the micro radar array.
Jerry looked up in surprise. “You can?” he caught the grin and then smiled himself. “Well, alright then,” he chuffed. “Let's get this bird in the air,” he said. Wally, on the other side of the bird, snorted but kept working.
...*...*...*...*...
“This is strange,” Sprite said in their next meeting. Helen looked at her with bloodshot eyes.
“Strange in what way?” Irons asked, glancing from the doctor to the other medics. All needed rest. They were used to over nighters, but some had been on their feet before the crisis had been reported. The stress was also a factor.
“The virus. It doesn't make sense. If this time line is accurate the virus is becoming less deadly.”
“Oh?”
“At ground zero it killed everyone in the area in seconds, possibly minutes. Then Doctor Tormens was infected, and from all reports he died in under an hour.”
“Okay,” Irons nodded as Helen leaned back and stirred her cup with a silver spoon. The spoon was rattling against the mug's ceramic walls in an annoying and distracting fashion. He tried to ignore it. “Go on,” he encouraged.
“Well, that's just it.” Sprite plotted each point of contact out from ground zero. “When we get here,” she pointed to the farm. “The doctor reported a nine hour smallpox outbreak. That breaks with the other two.”
“Is it becoming less virulent? Still fatal but less virulent?” Zane asked tiredly. There was a thread of hope in his voice.
“You'd think that. Smallpox usually has a twelve to sixteen day life cycle. This has obviously been sped up, but what's the point? If it was a timed effort you'd want a longer incubation so it would spread and then go off in a timed manner. But it's not happening that way,” Sprite doggedly said.
“Unless the other deaths weren't from Sm
allpox. They could be from other pathogens,” Irons reminded her. “Some of the people might have been immune to others.” Helen flinched and then nodded.
“True,” Sprite sighed. “I hate working without data. And I'm not too fond of this situation.”
“You never were one for mysteries,” Irons replied. Deductive reasoning only went so far in AI. They liked straight forward Logic. Very Vulcan was the usual tease. “We'll get the data in,” he checked his time piece. “In two hours. Then we'll know more about what we're dealing with,” he said. He turned to Helen. “Until then I suggest you all get some rest. two hours in your barracks or an empty room or on a couch or hell, even on the floor. Any downtime you can. Things are going to be heating up even faster soon,” he said.
“A good idea,” Sprite reinforced with a nod.
“I agree,” Helen ground out, getting to her feet. She swayed a bit. She'd been under stress now for nearly twenty four hours, and she'd been up for twelve hours prior to finding out about the crisis. Forty hours was her limit. She wasn't sure if she could sleep, her stomach felt like it was full of acid, too much coffee, but she'd at least try. Just closing her eyes for a while would help a bit.
“Try an analgesic for the headache doc, and something relaxing,” Irons encouraged.
“Playing doctor now Admiral? Not your stripe,” Helen said with a wan smile. She poked Zane who had nodded off. He grunted. “Ah hell, leave him,” she muttered. “Going to have a crick in his neck when he wakes though,” she said. Malcolm, who had leaned forward to rest his head in his arms only grunted.
“Fine, we're going to crash. What about you?” she asked.
Irons shrugged. “Implants. I'm good. I'm going to run around and try to get the headless chickens under control. We'll see what we can whip up.”
“Just keep the noise down to a dull roar,” Malcolm said without looking up. Zane snored. Irons looked at both men and then snorted softly.
“Will do. Rest gentlemen,” he said, motioning for the others to proceed him out. He nodded to Sprite who wasn't paying attention. He looked back as Helen looked over her shoulder. He shooed her on her way and then turned for the maintenance area. He had more work to do.
...*...*...*...*...
“Now what?” Hank demanded, turning as someone opened the barn doors. The farmer's daughter was there with a picnic basket. Wally looked up with a grin. The girl played coy, but Hank really didn't have the time or patience for such crap right now. More important things were a foot. Speaking of foot, his still hurt. He reminded himself to kick Jerry with it when it felt better. He limped a bit, moving around the craft doing a final check.
“What happened to your foot?” the human girl asked. He glanced her way. She was sixteen, freckled, with her hair in braids. She was a bit of a looker, with her blue farm dress on and broad chest.
“Ask the chimp. I'm going to turn him into bedroom slippers if it's broke,” the Neo lion growled.
The girl snickered, free hand over her mouth. “You're funny,” she said.
“That a fact,” Hank drawled, looking at the tablet. The readings were in the green, though some just barely. A few of the systems had been banged up a bit, the right aileron didn't have its full range of movement. He wasn't sure why. The left rudder squeaked when it moved.
“Mama sent me out with sandwiches,” the girl said, hefting the basket.
“Thank you miss Doherty,” Wally said, wiping his hands on a rag. The girl twisted back and forth a bit, both hands on the basket in front of her. Hank tried hard to roll his eyes and close his sinuses. He could smell the hormones and pheromones dripping from both humans.
“We're almost finished up here,” he said just as more noise in the field outside got everyone's attention. Mr. Doherty came out onto the porch of his house, cussing and waving a fist as not one but two air buses landed.
“I think Pa wants to turn this place into an airport and start charging landing fees,” the girl said shaking her head, smiling slightly. “Is it bad as they say it is?” she asked, blue eyes wide in concern.
“We're doing our best to see ma'am,” Wally said with a polite smile.
Hank looked over his shoulder to see the blue and white bus spill doctors and nurses. Luke was in the yellow bus with more stuff it seemed. He was looking around. After a moment he spotted Hank and came over dusting his gloves and pulling his goggles up.
The girl spotted him and instantly brightened. Wally caught the look and scowled. Hank felt despair, he didn't need this crap now. “Why me?” he muttered.
“Someone wanna come unload? I just signed on as pilot,” Luke said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to the bus.
“I'm a freaking mechanic,” Wally growled, glaring.
“We're about done here. Where is all that going anyway?” Hank asked.
Luke looked back at the bus and then to the girl. “I dunno, they just said to get it here,” he said.
“Great,” Hank sighed. “What is it? Another drone?” He turned to see a familiar fat human climb out of the blue and white bus. Ivanov? Here? He thought.
“Virology lab. Supposed to process the stuff when it comes in,” the pilot said, still smiling at the girl. She bit her lip coy, blushing a bit.
Hank looked from the girl to the boys and then gruffly hobbled between them. “Luke, go find out from doctor Ivanov over there where you're supposed to go.” He took the human by the shoulders and physically turned him away from the girl and to the fat virologist Hank had recognized a moment ago. “Wally, you and Jerry finish up. I'm going to survey the road. We'll need to make sure it's clear of rocks and straight enough to use. Miss?” he said turning to the girl. The girl blinked at him.
“Leave the basket miss, I think we'll eat in a bit. Can you ask your Pa if he wouldn't mind a free health checkup? Since the doctors and nurses are here they might as well do a house call while they wait,” he suggested.
“Well, Pa has been a bit off his game,” the girl said. She nodded. “And Ma's going through the change,” she said in disgust. “Whatever that is,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I'll um, go check on them.”
“Yes, and please tell them you and your family are in line for vaccines to protect them from the viruses. It's the least we can do for letting us be here,” Hank said.
The girl's eyes widened at that reminder. She dropped the basket and then nodded, looking a little pale. After a moment she turned and trotted off. She looked over her shoulder to Hank and then picked up speed a little.
...*...*...*...*...
An hour and a half later Phoenix opened the shuttle bay and the probe the AI had built deployed. It spent a minute running a last minute final check before the ship's tractors pushed it gently down and away.
The probe was a simple vehicle, a delta shaped flying wing coated in a layer of carbon, carbon to protect it from reentry. Sprite had argued for multiple drop probes, but the admiral had decided to go with a craft that they could pilot to maximize as much data collection as possible.
The probe dropped, aimed by the AI for a reentry window below it. It pitched up, for a precise thirty degree reentry into the atmosphere. Anything less or more of that pitch and the probe would burn up or go out of control and skip off the atmosphere like a flat stone in a pond.
After a tense two minute of black out during reentry it came down, doing a series of S turns to burn off speed and altitude. Telemetry was reacquired as the plasma burned off. “Temperatures have dropped, popping sensor doors,” Phoenix reported. Small explosive bolts blew the cover plates over the sensors and air scoops. The little panels fluttered in the wake of the craft, dropping away rapidly.
When the probe dropped to the first altitude mark it did a fast pass over Rubicon at thirty thousand meters, then a wide S turn to burn off more speed. It's computers and equipment dispassionately analyzed the air sample, but didn’t find any sign of a pathogen. It dropped to six thousand meters, still picked up nothing so it dropped to under that.
; “At least we know it needs oxygen,” Irons said as the probe dropped to three thousand meters. The telemetry shook as turbulence buffeted the craft.
“There is...the probe has found something there,” Phoenix reported.
“Just collect and record the data, interpret later,” the admiral ordered, watching the feed.
“We're having technical difficulties. The craft is having trouble. Turbulence and mechanical failure,” Phoenix reported as the probe dropped below a thousand meters. It did another buzz over the area, then a long circle outward. “Running a diagnostic...”
“I can't find anything wrong with the avionics admiral,” Phoenix reported after ordering a checkup by the little craft's computers.
“And it's not turbulence either. Wind shear is minimal. No ridge lines or any other terrain obstructions either. The thunderstorm has moved on,” Sprite reported.
“Agreed,” Phoenix replied.
“Drop to five hundred meters. Go low and slow. Keep it above stall but get as much as we can before we have to dump her,” Irons ordered.
“So ordered,” the ship AI responded. As the little craft made a wide bank it seemed to lurch in the air. Irons scowled at the feed. The AI were correct, there shouldn't be any problems. It could be mechanical, but that didn't make sense.
“The hull of the probe is ablating,” Phoenix reported a moment later.
“It is?” Irons asked in surprise. That was bonded carbon carbon, it didn't just peel off like badly applied paint. Phoenix opened a window on his HUD to show a rear view. He could just see the skin of the craft, it was indeed ablating.
“What could have caused this? Manufacturing defect?” Irons asked. He couldn't see how, he'd directed the construction of the probe himself. “Materials?” he asked. They'd had to scavenge the ship for the materials required, so that might be the problem.
“Could plasma from reentry have gotten in under the skin somehow?” Sprite asked.
“All possible, but unlikely,” Phoenix replied. “We would have detected a breach. Besides the sensors are working...”
“But no longer detecting anything,” Sprite said as the sensor feed went down all at once. The little craft wobbled and then pitched down. They had a brief view of the ground as it augured into the ground.
Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) Page 32