“Sir we're going to have to implement quality control,” Andrew said looking up in disgust.
“Can they be fixed?” Irons asked.
Andrew looked at the suits and then shrugged.
Irons scowled and put a hand on the suit. He felt Proteus send his nanites out to find and repair the holes. After a moment Proteus signaled he was finished with a green light. “Test this one again, it may be fixed,” Irons said.
“Are you sure?” Andrew asked.
“Yes. Long story. Just test it,” Irons said. He went through the stacks, repairing each. He turned to see Andrew had finished the test and gave him a thumbs up. Irons nodded.
Helen came over, crossing her arms and looking tired. “So, do they work?” she asked.
“They do now. I fixed them. Apparently their quality control sucks.”
“Still it was fast for them, I didn't expect anything for another day,” Helen replied. “Though I should've, if I recall fashion last year, I think someone came out with a new clutch bag and copies of it hit the streets by the end of the day,” she said.
“Cute. But a shoddy product that doesn't do the intended purpose is worse than useless. It gives someone a false sense of security. In this case that's deadly. You can't scrimp on something like this.”
“True,” Helen nodded. “Which means we've got to be thorough on our end with our own quality control” she said and nodded.
“Did you see that?” he asked indicating the family in P suits. People were milling around them asking them about them.
Helen turned and noted the suits. She sighed. “Diverting them or black market I wonder?” she shrugged. “It doesn't matter.”
The admiral's jaw set hard. “What the hell do they think they're doing?” He growled.
“For some it's how they make their living,” Helen replied with a shrug. She was used to it, no matter how much of a pain in the ass it was, it was normal for Epsilon.
“If they want to live they damn well better knock that shit off,” Irons growled. “We're running out of time here!”
“Yes, I know. But these are ready to go?” Helen asked. Andrew gave her another thumbs up. She smiled.
“Fine then. I'll ship them to Hazard. Well, some of them,” she said with a shrug. “Any ideas on when we'll get more?” she asked. ”Did they tell you? Do you know?”
Irons shrugged. Andrew looked up. “The driver said they are working twenty four seven. But we're getting half of the suits.”
“Half?” the doctor asked, now angry. “Half did you say?”
“And now you're mad?” Irons asked, now smiling bitterly.
“Half?” Helen asked. She turned. “I've got some calls to make,” she snarled, storming off in a huff.
“And now she's mad,” Irons repeated, shaking his head. “Okay, let's get these on a plane to Hazard. One way flight so we'll send them everything we can,” he said.
...*...*...*...*...
Several of the older medics like nurse Marlone had trouble under the heavy strain. They were going all out, working twenty plus hours a day in an extremely stressful reaction. An old cardiologist had a heart attack. “should have listened to his own orders about reducing stress, and eating heart healthy,” Ted Zane commented.
Fortunately the incident happened on duty so he was immediately treated. There was some minor panic though when it happened, some of the cardiac nursing staff professed profound relief that it was a false alarm. “I mean, I... um, that is not that is was good that Doctor Hoins... um...”
“We know.”
Helen arrived on the scene, and after getting a blow by blow of what happened, realized it was only going to get worse. She immediately ordered food, fluids, and at least two hours of bed rest for everyone every twenty four hours.
“Speaking of listening to someone's own orders...” Marlone crossed her arms, drummed fingers on bicep.
“I'm going,” Helen replied. She pointed to the rather frazzled looking older nurse.
Marlone nodded, brushing wrinkles and stains in her dress uniform. “I'm getting too old for this,” she sighed. Leaning heavily against a nearby counter.
“Barracks,” Zane said. “We can put any fires out for the next four hours. You two crash somewhere. The barracks or the couch in your office chief, where ever,” he said waving a dismissive hand.
“I'm fine,” Helen said, straightening. “I've had some down time. I do need to eat, low blood sugar.”
“Right,” Zane said, studying her. He shrugged and turned to Marlone. She snorted.
“Sonny, you are way too young to be pushing me around,” she said. He snorted. “But I'll take a break,” she turned with a slight tilt of her lifting chin, and walked out.
“Pee break most likely,” Zane murmured. “Good luck getting her to go down willingly. Think we can trank her?”
“You'd need a trank gun. And there's no guarantee it would work before she got within striking range,” Helen replied with a half-smile as she played along with the joke. “And of course when she woke up...” she left that thought hanging.
Zane shivered. That made Helen's half smile turn into a full but tired smile. “Yeah, no, I'll pass,” he said. Helen patted him on the shoulder as she made her exit.
...*...*...*...*...
Several women were rushed in, some with miscarriages, other in premature labor. A Veraxin gave birth, but the eggs were stillborn. The gynecologist patted her shoulder in sympathy. Helen reported to Irons that this and injuries from rioting and accidents were happening all over the globe as panic set in. People were reacting to the stress. Some people were using the virus as an excuse to settle old scores or to loot and hoard goods. The bonds of civilization were growing ever thinner. It was only a matter of time before they broke all together.
...*...*...*...*...
“Admiral, this is a catch 22. This planet is perfect for this virus, we're in a position where we have the knowledge, you and I, I mean, but we don't have the means to implement it. Nor do the medics. They have the will, but lack the resources and skills. You couldn't ask for a better screwed up situation.”
“Ask me for anything but time,” Irons responded softly, replicating another replicator. “I know,” he said.
“And do you understand that people are going to die while we get up to speed?”
“I know Commander,” he said, eyes closed. His right hand pulled the tray and set it down on the table and started assembling the box. His left hand stuffed materials into the tiny replicator and then closed the lid.
“Triage commander, save what we can. That's why we've drawn the line. Here and no further. We don't have a choice.”
“I understand it, you understand it, but do you think you can live with it?” Sprite asked. His eyes opened. He stared at her HUD image for a long moment.
“You and I both know I'm going to have problems, nightmares down the road. I've learned to live with it commander, I've seen worlds die before. I've seen ships die before. I know the drill, I'm sending people off to die in order to further an objective. Feeding them to the furnace as some like to say. Acceptable.”
“For military personnel. They knew what they were getting into, were trained for it. These are civilians,” Sprite reminded him as Proteus finished the assembly stage and his right arm froze and then dropped into his lap.
Irons sighed. “Don't you think I don't know that? The faces of the kids? The unborn? Yes, Commander, I know. There's nothing I can do about it, this I also know. I know it, and yet I know what we are doing now will never seem enough. But I'm going to keep on doing what I'm doing. To save those we can.”
“Understood Admiral,” Sprite replied softly as her avatar winked out.
“Admiral,” Proteus said as he checked the assembly on the new replicator.
“What is it now?” he asked in exasperation.
“Admiral, this is inefficient,” Proteus replied, surprising him.
“In what way?” he asked, raising an eyebrow
as he checked over the half built replicator. It was, as he'd expected, perfect.
“In time. In order to accomplish the goals quickly material must be processed in an expedited way. In other words, not in the replicators themselves.”
“You're suggesting a molecular furnace?” Irons asked. A molecular furnace was a pre-stage of manufacturing. It was basically a box of gobbler nanites what split an object down into component materials and then funneled them into storage bins for other manufacturing steps to tap. Some molecular furnaces were quite efficient. He had a tiny one on Phoenix. He rather regretted not having a larger one there.
The lights flickered. He looked up and scowled. Proteus overlaid his infrared vision again, pointing out the hot spots in the wiring. He had to admit, they were far beyond safe limits. They were putting an awful burden on the power grid, both in the building and in the city. He'd have to look into that before he turned the next replicator on.
Over the past couple of weeks they had done a great deal to teach the natives how to use balanced loads to manage a power grid, but apparently not enough.
“Yes admiral. And yes I understand the power required is a great deal more than the current building can sustain. But I also believe it is necessary. Each replicator is taking three times as long to do the job without that step.”
“I know,” Irons replied.
“We could make a system outdoors or in a nearby building. A grizzly to grind up the source material to make it easier, a plasma furnace to break it down...”
“I know,” Irons replied, looking at the replicator. The power fluctuation had thrown the device off, it had reset it's timer for an additional ten minutes. The AI was right. He got up.
“Okay, you're right. We need more power. Can we locate an idle industry nearby? One that has sufficient amperage?”
“I do not have that data. I am forwarding the request to lieutenant commander Sprite for further review.”
“Good. Draw up a list. We'll see what we can do,” he said. He already knew in moving outdoors he'd also have to move the replicators. They had to be fed by the molecular furnace after all, the closer they were to each other the shorter the feed time involved. “Sprite, get with someone, I don't care. Proteus is right, we need this done,” he said. He kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier. “Some place close by,”
he growled.
“On it,” Sprite replied.
...*...*...*...*...
“So, you want to leave?” Helen demanded when he explained the situation to her later that morning.
“Not leave,” Irons replied patiently. “We don't have enough power here, and this power grid isn't set up for manufacturing. It can't handle the load. I'm going to relocate to a nearby industrial complex. It'll take a short time, but we'll get it done.”
“Yeah but...” Helen sighed. “You realize while you move you won't be producing?”
The admiral nodded. He planned on keeping the replicators running right up until he unplugged them. He also planned on tracking each so none would go astray either. Andrew his volunteer assistant was a nice guy, but he was shifty. “I'm aware I won't, but I'll leave behind half the replicators we've got here. They'll keep working, and you can make stuff without me. Pressure suits and components for one.”
“Okay.”
“It'll take me a couple hours to get set up. After that I'll expand exponentially, as far as the grid will let me.”
“Okay.”
“I need to do this Doc, it's not an option.”
“I gathered that. I'm just worried about you running into a riot. Or your truck being hijacked. Replicators are in short supply,” Helen replied tartly. “People will want them.”
“I know. Which means added security. I'm... I'm working on it,” Irons replied.
...*...*...*...*...
It took hours to arrange transport he could trust to do the move. Irons took the time to survey the site in person as the trucks were being acquired. He made a few minor changes, mostly upgrades to the power grid with Proteus, though he also made a note for someone to clean the bathrooms.
The move to the industrial complex across the street and down half a block from hospital went relatively smoothly. The short move took hours, Irons had to be on both ends to make sure the equipment was disconnected and reconnected properly. Handling... he had a couple close calls of people trying to make off with a replicator but put a stop to such nonsense by just showing up before the handlers could hide the goods.
A lot of people were milling about, scratching their asses and just getting in the way. He roared at them to get moving. He had to get additional security, press ganged a few people to help. Dividing the security between both the hospital grounds and the industrial park wasn't something he'd remembered to anticipate, though Defender had.
The AI had called in the ground force security commander who had attempted to arrest him. Irons was confused by the logic of that choice, but the woman showed up and gave him a curt nod as she deployed her people near the entrances and gates of the complex.
A couple of would be looters tried to get into the work by slipping into the people unloading the trucks. The admiral allowed it but kept an eye on them. They were put to work feeding the machines raw material, a somewhat stinky process since their main supply came from the city dump. They seemed resentful when Irons made it clear nothing was leaving the premises and each would be searched before leaving. However they were promised food. The promise of inoculation for them and their families made them work in better spirits.
...*...*...*...*...
When the admiral was certain his staff knew what they were doing he went to a meeting at the hospital. He talked to Helen and the med team after Sprite presented their latest findings and progress report.
“The virus has a pattern, a series of epidemics designed to spread the next disease as well as panic and disrupt the population,” the AI said, surprising them. “Remember this is a form of bio terrorism. There is however a purpose, a method to the madness if you will. If we can get a better time line of epidemics I can cross reference my files for a pattern,” Sprite said. “Also if we had the age of the pods that would help too.”
“Why?” Helen asked.
“It would allow us to see if there's a pattern, and if there is, to anticipate it. We could inoculate the population based on a given pattern.”
Helen nodded.
“Also by getting the age you can cross reference that with known patterns? Is that what you meant by that Sprite? What if the pods are faked?” the admiral asked.
“That is a problem admiral.”
Helen sighed. “We can't risk you Irons, we need you here.”
“I know that.”
“And I'm not sending someone in a suit. It's just too dangerous.”
“I know that too. A drone might work.”
“Drone?” Helen asked.
“A robot. We could build another cheap one and send it in. Get some details.”
“Ah.”
“I can also cross reference imagery if there is any in the files. If I can ever get access to them,” Sprite growled. Irons grunted in annoyance. The government was still in disarray, they hadn't opened their files or given him or Sprite access to the net yet. Not that there was much of a net. There was more of a net here in the hospital than in all of the capital city.
“Well, right now the epidemic is focused on mammals, specifically Terrans. Lucky us.”
“I think it's due to population demographics doctor. You can't tailor one virus to attack all organic life, well, I mean you could but then it would be vulnerable.”
“I gathered that,” Helen replied dryly. “I'm actually finding a lot of that out from the virologists. We're digging through the mountain of data you sent me as well as our own files.”
“Lovely.”
“The first strain is an influenza, but the second has some Ebola traits. We... the lab is still trying to get organized.”
“You mea
n the new lab. The last lab is down. They didn't adhere to the proper protocols and the lab technicians were all infected,” Sprite informed them. Irons winced. Helen sighed and closed her eyes.
“I don't know if we can beat this at this rate,” she said. “We don't have a lot of trained techs. And each time we lose someone we have to take the time to get their replacement up to speed...”
“Which is why medical staff have to be inoculated first, and why they have to adhere to the proper contamination protocols doctor,” Irons replied patting her shoulder. He squeezed it gently. “It's a gory way to learn, but sometimes it's the only way to get it through thick heads.”
“Thick heads, try tired. If they get too tired they forget.”
“I know,” he replied quietly. “I know. We'll figure something out. Sprite, get on that report.”
“I am,” Sprite replied.
“Good.”
Chapter 15
Ole Blue heard more details about the pandemic and quarantine while drinking whiskey and honey in a rundown tavern on the outskirts of Hazard. He grumbled, unhappy about the situation. He'd seen people rushing about. He hadn't cared for it, he had to admit he didn't like it that the population was more scared of something other than him. “Getting off this planet just got expensive,” he growled, looking at the amber liquid in the shot glass.
“No one's getting off. Didn't you hear? There is only one ship in orbit right now and that admiral guy owns it,” another patron said. When the man turned and recognized who he was talking to the slunk down into his seat, eyes wide.
“Well, isn't that an interesting situation then,” the alien cackled and then coughed. That cleared the building. He looked around in amusement and then went back to his drinking.
...*...*...*...*...
Hank's crew were forced to land because one of the buses ran perilously close to being out of fuel. “You have got to be kidding me!” the Neolion snarled. “Any idiot knows, first thing keys, then gas, then... gah!”
Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) Page 36