“Sir, I'm not sure it'll work. And the admiral has been extraordinarily helpful. Even before the present crisis.”
“Which he may very well have caused, him being from outer space and all,” the governor growled. Osiris blinked. “No, I want you to arrange it. Have the blood air lifted to me immediately.”
“Sir I um...”
“Do it Osiris, or I'll find another man for the job,” the governor growled. “That's an order. Do you understand? Oh and send along some more chocolates and a side of ribs for my wife. She's rather upset about the food here. You understand.”
“Sir,” Osiris rubbed his brow.
“Get it done Osiris, that's why I left you in charge,” the governor said and then clicked off.
“Yes sir,” Osiris said to a now dead line. He grimaced as he got up. He had some calls to make. “Yes sir indeed.” he muttered.
...*...*...*...*...
“Admiral...”
“Not now Sprite,” Irons growled. He was concentrating on the replicator. He'd heard they were running low on food so he started a new project. A food replicator wouldn't take much to make and it would be on a different part of the grid. It would both supply food, and it could supply plastics and other bits when not fulfilling its primary function.
Getting the pieces of the barrels together was a chore. He should have ordered some, but like an idiot he'd replicated them in pieces and then tried to put the plastic things together. You'd think it would be easy, he grumbled mentally, slot A into tab B, but something was catching somewhere. Or he was just tired and overlooking something stupid but important.
“Admiral...”
“I said not now commander,” he growled.
“Very well. But you may want to tell that to the people coming to kill you,” Sprite informed him. Defender immediately blinked onto his HUD and his shields started to spin up.
The admiral looked up in surprise at that tart rejoinder just in time for the door to the maintenance room to burst open. He turned, glaring at the six police officers entering the room. They were followed by the Malcolm twins, so called because they had the same first name and similar looks. They'd gone to school together too. A female guard commander and three more thugs, all armed with batons were behind the doctors.
“Something I can help you with gentlemen?” he asked mildly. “Ma'am?” he said nodding to the woman. The guard posted at his door was looking rather helpless. One of the thugs in the back had a baton pressed against his chest, keeping him pinned to the hallway. Medical staff were looking at the taboo from down the hall, already starting to talk.
“I'm afraid you'll have to come with us,” the woman said grimly.
“Where are we going?” Irons asked. “I'm rather busy you know,” Irons said, pushing the barrel aside. “As you can see, we've got a bit of a crisis going on?”
“We're here to extract a vaccine from you. Please don't put up a fight, every drop of your blood is precious,” Doctor Innes said, holding up his hands.
“Ah, and you thought of this all by yourselves?” Irons asked, eyes turning from one doctor to the other. “Of course you don't understand why I'm immune...”
“Please. We can figure it out. Once we have your blood we can separate out the plasma and then inject what we need into those who need it the most,” O'Reilly said with a distasteful sniff.
“And you think there is enough blood from one sample to save the world doctor?” Irons asked as Helen Richards and additional security came running up. The rear guard held up a paper.
“By order of the governor, this man is hereby sentenced to death to save this world,” the guard said, sounding smug. “His blood will be used to cure us.”
“Really, death,” Irons said. He looked at the two doctors. “So much for the Hippocratic oath,” he said mildly.
Innes, the one with the long curly black hair and goatee flushed angrily. O'Reilly looked away, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
“Gentlemen before I kill all of you, and I assure you, I can,” Irons said, hand shifting into a plasma weapon. They stared at it. “And you can't touch me,” he said, making his shields shift so it would sparkle and therefore be visible. “I think a demonstration is in order.” He got up and went over to a microscope he had finished making earlier that morning. It was supposed to go to another virology lab, but he was still making other components. Instead he plugged it in and then cut his finger. He smeared the sample onto a glass slide and then put it in the microscope. He stepped back and indicated the scope.
“You can see it on the monitor or on your screens,” he said, feeling Sprite link all the tablets and other viewing devices in the area to the Wi-Fi node attached to the scope. They watched the scope as his nanites destroyed everything in his blood and then themselves. Shaken they looked to him.
“What the hell are you?” Innes asked aghast.
“The future. A Federation Fleet admiral, which by the way is a couple jumps in rank above a planetary governor. I outrank him, and for this little peccadillo I could order his arrest but I think I'll let bygones be bygones if you back off.”
“If, I mean... How...” O'Reilly stuttered.
“Nanites,” Irons said, smiling as O'Reilly stopped stuttering stupidity and hastily stepped back. Some of the guards were already backing off down the hall. “Nanotech is a part of being a flag officer, we have to protect our DNA after the changelings that infiltrated the chain of command. So, my nanites leave no trace of me or themselves behind. They also serve as a rather protective immune system. One nothing can get through. Fight fire with fire in my case. As I explained to your boss and others, there is no way my body can help you.”
“There are no easy answers here. If we're going to do this, and I damn well am going to do this with or without your help we need to come to an understanding. Cut the crap.”
“You can go,” a guard commander told her entourage over her shoulder.
“No. I want them as guards here,” Irons replied. The woman turned to look at him. “We need to keep people from panicking and destroying the cures the doctors are working on... or interrupting the people trying to make them,” he said as the guards looked at each other. “So all of you just volunteered. Thanks,” he said smiling a not quite polite smile. Helen Richards snorted. She'd been trying to get extra guards. Irons was done with asking, he was now drafting help.
“This is your planet's one and only chance at getting it right. Don't screw it up any more than you have,” the admiral growled. “You and your families depend on it. And since you're here, you and they are first, well, second,” he smiled politely to the medics. “Second in line to get all the vaccines. As long as you're here and protecting them,” he said, indicating the medics again.
Grimly the guards looked at the doctors and staff and then each other. Slowly they turned to him and nodded.
Irons turned to the miscreant doctors. “This place is not ground zero and it's the best tech area around. I've spent the past day or so trying to make it so. Don't screw it up or screw with me again. Got it?”
Innes and O'Reilly nodded, eyes downcast. Both men retreated, shuffling past the guards who made a hole so they could leave.
“I know you folks were just doing your jobs. I'm trying to do mine. Don't get in my way again,” Irons growled.
The female guard commander looked at her men and then nodded once more. She took a deep breath. “Where do you need us,” she asked.
“Ask Doctor Richards here,” Irons indicated the doctor behind her. The guards turned to the director. “She can best post you, but I think Mat here could use a break. And I know the hospital is having trouble with the supplies.”
“Guarding supply closets?” one guy muttered.
“They're getting cleaned out. Which means when we need them we don't have those supplies. Which makes it all the more harder to treat people,” Richards said, voicing her disapproval of his reaction.
The big male held up his hands. “Sorry doc. We'll go wher
e you want us,” he said.
“You'd better Toni,” the guard commander said.
“Thanks,” Irons said with a nod. He reached over and handed each a respirator mask and a cell phone. The guards immediately broke into smiles at that.
“Now, let's get back to work shall we?” Irons asked.
Chapter 14
When the admiral had enough supplies he had his helpers set them up in the MPR. The multi-purpose room was full, most of the people there were staff, but a few patients and others had snuck in as well. He briefed them on what he wanted and then he had Sprite use the intercom to call a staff meeting. After the tired staff assembled he took the makeshift stage and used his implants to link to the sound system he'd set up so he could explain how the respirators and P suits worked.
The P suits or pressure suits worked by creating a sterile environment by pressurizing the contents of the suit. Should there be a breech air would escape and deflate the suit. The air rushing out would alert the wearer and would hopefully keep contaminated air from leaking in, theoretically letting the wearer have enough time to patch the suit and observe decontamination protocols. He explained the color code system to them. Yellow, Orange, Red, Blue... It was rather intuitive, so they grasped it and nodded. “We've recently added red for the police officers and guards,” he said indicating the man standing next to him. When the audience nodded he then moved on.
Irons had one of the guards demonstrate how to put a red suit on and how to check its' integrity. He also had the guard demonstrate how to patch a leak. He taught them about how to use the P suit while working with the virus samples. “It would be better to work with them in a micro lab using waldos, but we don't have the time for that.”
“Waldo? Who's waldo?” Zane asked, leaning over to Helen. She shushed him. “Where in the world is doctor Waldo?” Zane asked. Helen turned a glare on him.
Irons had stopped talking. When Zane turned he blushed a bit just as Helen stepped on his foot. He moved his foot away and held up his hands in surrender. Irons nodded.
“And moving on, here's a respirator mask. You wear one in the suit, and they can be issued to those without a suit. It isn't as effective as a full suit, but you will note the full face mask. That's to protect the eyes and nasal passages. This is only effective against airborne pathogens that infect the victim through breathing it in. It isn't protection against those viruses that can attack through skin contact or through say, the ear.”
Helen winced at that. She'd hoped it would protect from everything. At least now they knew. She nodded, cold sober.
He warned them once they were in, don't get out. “Everything from the air you breath, to the water you drink is recycled for seventy two hours. The suit has enough power to run a radio, and a small unit to cool the air in the suit. However any extended physical activity will over heat the user, so be careful.”
“Great,” Helen murmured softly. Another thing to watch out for. And in this summer heat? Down south it was even worse, what with the humidity. She'd have to set up a buddy system or regular checks. How can they drink or eat in the suits? She thought.
“The suit is like a space suit, but designed to work here on a planet. The outside will be contaminated with exposure, it will have the virus on it, only a special cleaning will kill them off,” Irons warned. “I'm working on a scrub system, but it wasn't a priority. I have since passed it on to others who can make it. I don't know how long it will take them though,” he said frowning.
“A good plumber?” Zane quipped. “Depends on the union,” he said. Helen poked him with her elbow. “Shutting up now,” he said.
She sighed softly. Now that the medics were aware of the danger they nodded thoughtfully. “I'm teaching you this because one, you need to be aware of it for your own safety, and two I want you to teach what you have learned to others. I can't teach you all, nor do I intend to do so. I have other things I need to do.”
Helen nodded at this point. “This information, videos and other materials are on a website Commander Sprite has set up. I suggest you take a few moments to look it over when we're done here,” The admiral urged.
“Unfortunately the suits are made with cheap materials, they're the best I can do in quantity in such short notice. Self-healing suits take three times longer to make and occasionally they have issues with the seams and in folding them. When they are folded and stored in summer temperatures such as we're experiencing outside, the fabric sometimes glues itself together into a mess that had to be recycled or thrown out.”
“Nanite screens are the most effective, but they're beyond the current tech level. I'm working on something now, but I'm limited on what I can do in that regard,” the admiral warned.
Helen set aside her annoyance by being woke up and not warned about the briefing, but drank coffee, grateful for the caffeine boost and listened with the others. When the meeting concluded after forty five minutes Irons had a group of staffers hand out basic materials along with additional smart cell phones and tablets with more in depth information.
Helen was shocked by that, she hadn't expected it. She worked her way through the crowd, not towards the distribution but to where Irons was answering questions. She started to pick up on something, the note of despair some had allowed to creep into their voices and manners were gone. People were curious about the devices, but also for the first time hopeful. It was like the light of the end of a very long tunnel had been seen, she realized, like they really could beat this thing. She felt a few hands pat her on the shoulder and nodded politely as she moved through the crowd, murmuring encouragement as she went.
She smiled as the admiral finished up his side discussion and then patted Ted Zane on the shoulder. Ted bobbed a nod, turned and nodded to Helen and then left.
“Problem doc?” Irons asked, ancient eyes seeming to bore into her. She felt a shiver of awe in that gaze. He really did think they could beat this, not just think it, he knew. It was humbling to think about his dedication, his optimism. Even in this, the most dangerous of situations he didn't even consider giving up and leaving.
“I would have liked some warning you know, it is my staff,” she said. He shrugged.
“You were asleep doc, I'm not going to wake you up for that.”
“When do you sleep?”
“I don't need to for a long time. Now? I don't know. I think I'm going to have enough nightmares,” he sighed. She nodded in sympathy.
“The phones?” she asked.
He nodded, getting off that topic. “Cell phones. We've got a tower up on the roof,” he pointed to the roof. “And more going up around the city and surrounding area.”
“Ah.”
He handed her a cell phone and a tablet. “Both are interchangeable. The tablet is just easier to read. The same guts in those minicomputers are in both,” he explained.
“Oh,” she said taking the devices.
“The cell towers are linked to your primitive phone network, so you can in theory call someone that has a land line. But for now it'd be better if you stuck to cell to cell or me.”
“Okay, and how do I call you? Do you have one?”
“I've got implants. And I'm in your address book,” he said. He leaned over and explained it to her. Some who had a cell phone came over and listened as he explained how it worked.
...*...*...*...*...
“Admiral, we've got a couple companies that want to help,” Helen said after fielding a group of rather anxious visitors. She was fairly certain they would take a cut of the suits for the black market, but right now she didn't care. Some extra suits were better in any hands right now. The right hands were even better she thought.
“Can they do it?” Irons asked.
“Sweat shops admiral. The question isn't if they can do it, nor the quantity, it's the quality of the end product,” Sprite said. “I suggest give them a try and run every suit they produce through a quality control test. Inflate them in water I think the manual says.”
; “Good point,” Irons said looking at Helen. She nodded thoughtfully. She turned to her rather anxious visitors.
“Will any material do?” the Asian woman asked. Irons shook her head. Her face fell.
“But I can give you a fabric extruder. Several if you give me the materials to make them. Then you can make as much plastic material as you need,” he said.
“What about the masks and other things?” a Veraxin chittered.
“I can supply some of that, or if someone is into plastics, I can give them the specs and molds for some of the parts. Same for the electronics.”
“A replicator?” another woman, this one wearing a gaudy set outfit of scarves asked.
“A possibility,” Irons said thoughtfully. He didn't want to shoot them down, but he didn't want to lose a replicator to the black market either. “We need them all producing for this, not for rich people. You understand that right? The priority is the medics and then the other people on the front line. Someone with more money than sense...” Helen rested a hand on his arm. He stopped.
“We understand,” the Asian woman said, bowing slightly. Irons nodded.
“I'm serious,” he said.
“We know the situation,” Helen said turning to him. “But we need to trust,” she said.
“Which I will do, but I will track the equipment,” Irons said. “If it's not used for its intended purpose expect a visit,” he growled. The textile people looked amongst themselves. The Asian woman finally nodded. Suit design and making handed over to sweat shops.
“Give me ten minutes,” the admiral said turning to the various machinery.
...*...*...*...*...
Surprisingly, by evening the first load of finished suits and other materials arrived in a series of trucks. Apparently each of the various clothing manufacturers had gone all out in a competition. A little healthy competition is nice, but Irons immediately questioned it.
He had a couple of his helpers run a random test on the suits in a pool outside. He turned as they ran the first batch, disgusted because none were passing. On the street a group of people were walking by with colored suits on. He blinked, eyes narrowing as he zoomed in. He swore softly as he noted the look. One of the people had a scarf tied around her waist.
Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) Page 35