“Well, as to that I happen to be the only expert on the subject, I'd love to kick your sources ass. But I don't have the time for such little things. Take my word for it, an EMP would kill any electronics, but wouldn't affect anything organic. So the Prions, bacteria, and the viruses this thing has released as pathogens wouldn't even notice it. They'd just keep breeding and spreading like wildfire.”
“Doctor Richards, is this true?”
“I'll have to defer to the admiral on the EMP, I'm not at all sure what it is. But something that would kill electronics but leave people alone would be totally ineffective Mr. Osiris, he is completely correct on that score. After all, we too are organic, just like these pathogens.”
“Before we get too involved, let me explain. An EMP, or Electromagnetic Pulse is a massive dose of radiation in the form of radio waves. The electron burst fries any electronics turned on in its attack zone. If they are shut off and the power disconnected they have a good chance of survival. But if they are online they are toast,” Irons explained, looking at the doctor. “You could be standing next to the thing when it went off. There is no light, no heat or sound, just the buzz of electricity as electronics fry. No fireworks, and little effect on anyone.” Well, most anyone he admitted in the privacy of his own mind. He and Nohar and those who had implants were a different story. He didn't want to complicate the already difficult conversation.
She slowly nodded. “Then I have to agree with the admiral, they would be completely ineffective against this threat,” she said.
“Damn it!” Osiris cursed and hung up.
“I guess he didn't like hearing that,” Zane said.
“Tough,” Irons replied.
...*...*...*...*...
Things were still rough, and Doctor Richards still insisted on meetings for the staff every shift. It was a pain for the admiral to get to each meeting as she insisted. He made most of them, but when he didn't his absence was immediately noted and questioned. A caustic comment about how some people had better things to do than to spend them shining a chair going over the same thing for an hour that they had talked about seven hours ago got a quelling look from Doctor Richards and a comment about how he wasn't being constructive.
He'd settled down, but still resented the meetings. At least this one was taking place after their last meeting with the governor's representatives. It was stupid, but again, necessary. Possibly for morale, but also to keep everyone on the same page. Without electronic implants that was necessary. The cell phones were receiving updates from Sprite, but the users tended to forget checking them, or they didn't understand them.
No, the meetings allowed face time, and for now that was the only way for the slow organic minds to absorb information. For the most part they were updates on the progression of the spread of the virus and the progress in fighting it. But near the end was a brain storming session, usually a last grasp at any straw that seemed might work.
“You know, some of the canneries have started using steam to kill bacteria. Could that help here?” Doctor Zane asked.
“No,” Sprite replied. “Well, yes and no. It would be effective for cleaning surfaces and in some disinfection, but you need super-hot steam. Two hundred ten degrees C will kill most microorganisms. The surface tension of the water traps the virus, then the heat will kill it.”
“Ah,” the doctor replied, puzzling over her description.
“But anything under one forty five will just make it grow.”
“Body temperature.”
“Right.”
“Then of course you have the problem of keeping the steam hot. It hits the air and it'll cool.”
“So that's out.”
“Some of the viruses are dying due to the UV. The natural UV is killing some of the viruses. I emphasize some. Not all though. We've installed UV light emitters around Hazard and they are cropping up all over the major cities.”
“So, how do we get this in large enough quantities over what? Two hundred square kilometers?
“Crop dusters,” Sprite answered.
“Crop dusters? Not firefighting aircraft?”
“Firefighting aircraft are designed to drop their loads all on one target. Crop dusters distribute the liquid in a mist over large areas. Besides, there aren't any firefighting aircraft,” Sprite replied humorously.
Irons rubbed his brow, and then sat back into his chair. “Point,” he finally said. “It's just crop dusters are small, and they don't fly high. They buzz the ground. This pathogen goes up to three thousand meters.
“True,” Sprite replied. “It's a band aid on the problem.”
“But you think it's effective anyway?”
Sprite spread her virtual hands. “At this point something is better than nothing admiral.”
“All right, but not steam.”
The AI shook her head. “No admiral, it's too difficult to work with. We'd have to find a way to flash boil the water on the plane, most likely with some sort of super heater. Possible, but difficult and dangerous. No, I had another substance in mind. Granted it's not very green, but we can fix it later.”
“Green. What?”
“Soap admiral,” Sprite replied, sounding amused. “Specifically anti-bacterial, and anti-pathogen soap used by medical personnel. The stuff has micro material that's a lot like activated charcoal. It's porous, with thousands of tiny holes in it. The material has enough surface area to cover a football field in each grain.”
“Okay...”
“The bubbles will have surface tension that will bond with the pathogen. They'll be filtered out by the detergents and killed or wrapped in the buckey material and fall to the ground like yellow snow.”
“Don't eat the yellow snow,” Irons muttered, now tired.
“Cute,” Sprite answered. “Yes it's not green, anyone who goes into the area will stir it up, and when it enters the hydrosphere it will kill fish and other animals that eat it, but that is happening as we speak anyway,” Sprite said.
“Okay, get on that.”
“The good news is the soap isn't a medical lock out, far from it. The medics wanted everyone to have it to soap up daily to prevent the passing of germs and other pathogens.”
“Okay...”
“But, the problem is the dusters, the ones in the area of the attack are all in Hazard. Or were, I checked, they aren't there now. I believe the pilots moved them out of the area.”
“Any idea where?”
“Dirt roads, bush strips... I don't know admiral,” Sprite replied as the admiral scowled. “They have no radios either. They are short ranged, possibly out of fuel.”
“Find them commander. Get with director Richards, get her to sign off on this. Get the media and authorities in the area involved. Find me those pilots and planes!”
“Aye aye admiral.”
The current plan was to use aerosols to spray anti-viruses and antibacterial agents with low flying aircraft. Pilots would be in pressurized aircraft where ever possible, otherwise they would be in full hazmat suits. Each pilot and crew would wear respirator masks.. Their aircraft would be hosed down with pathogen killing agents and run under UV lights to kill any surface pathogens. Hopefully that would keep the viruses from getting back to the base and infecting the ground crew.
...*...*...*...*...
Solaximara, Neocat leader of the Neo's on the planet somehow got himself assigned as their liaison. At first he was obstructionist in attitude, trying to get something out of them. Irons wasn't amused, nor was director Richards or any of the other members of the staff. Fortunately the admiral called Nohar who got involved and briefed them.
“He's a pain in the ass Nohar, I'm not sure what he wants,” Irons said. He had heard the Neolion had 'inspected' the new plasma cutter the admiral had finished and put to use. It was busy cutting parts for various machinery they needed. Of course the red Neo had wanted a demonstration... and when it had finished he hadn't complimented them on the precision device, no, he'd given Irons a dirty l
ook because the person selected to operate the machine was Veraxin.
“Could that be his problem? He doesn't like humans?” Sprite asked. They were using their implants to communicate, bouncing the signal through Phoenix, the most secure way of doing so. Defender had noted new faces hanging around a lot, most of them pretending to do something while they listened to conversations of the staff. When security had confronted them they had waved identification supposedly issued by the governor's office and then left.
“Solaximara is a politician admiral, he's someone who would gladly sell you out if it gave him a leg up. He'd sell his own kid if it got him some brownie points with the public or the powers that be.”
“And of course he doesn't see the long term detractions of such a plan?” Irons asked. Short sighted, he thought, making a mental X mark on the red lion.
“He's a bastard, but so far he's done okay as our rep. That's the only thing he's got going for him really, he's made a lot of enemies with the other species. They'd never let him get any higher than he is no matter what he thinks.”
“Right.”
“How are things going there?”
“Oh, I'm as pale as a ghost,” Nohar sighed. “Doctor Ivanov has me on saline and drinking fruit juice.”
“What for?” Irons asked.
“We forgot I was injected with vaccines,” Nohar replied dryly. “We meaning mainly me. I knew I was partially immune, it seems so far that's holding true. So we're sampling my blood and finding the vaccines and then trying to get them to replicate. Which by the way doesn't work well.”
“That's because the vaccines in your body are a product of modern medicine Sergeant,” Sprite interjected. “They're casid protein structures, basically the hollowed out shell of the actual pathogen. The makers created a close approximation, a dummy to trick your body into creating resistant factors to it.”
“I see,” Nohar replied.
“I see you're quite the crap cutter,” Sprite said, changing the subject.
“Well, I never did like red tape,” the lion chuffed.
“The admiral is of the same mind,” Sprite replied dryly.
“We've got security up, the ultraviolet lights and gear you sent has really helped a lot. We've still got some security issues, some five finger discounts and some smuggling, but remarkably not much.”
“Who would want to smuggle into a death trap?”
“Not many people,” Nohar said. “But there's always some idiot somewhere...” The tiger sighed. “Caught one guy in a bio-hazard suit. He apparently got it from someone in Landing.”
“Great,” Irons said in disgust.
“What was he selling?” Sprite asked, curious.
“Food, at huge prices, mostly just that. Food.”
“Typical.”
“Man's got to eat. Man, Neo, whatever. We're taking losses. Some from that idiot snake oil sales group that came wandering through just before the damn virus hit.”
“Bad?”
“Yes and no. You'd be surprised by what people believed. How stubborn they cling to it even when you rub their faces into it to prove that they're wrong.”
“That's actually not very surprising really,” Irons replied with a sigh. “I wish it was. Triage Sergeant, focus on keeping those who will listen alive. That's all you can do.”
“I know sir. We're doing our best.”
“We're going to be doing some more air drops, but we've got to get a handle on this damn virus.”
“Some of the vaccines are working. Or at least slowing the progression of the symptoms,” Nohar replied. “Though the ultraviolet lights and other things may also be having some effect too.”
“Good.”
“Anything else?” Irons asked, tapping a screwdriver against the table.
“No sir that covered all bases I believe. Oh, watch out for Hodges.”
“We've met,” Irons replied dryly. “He up to his old tricks?”
“Some,” Nohar replied with a slight chuffing laugh. “But he's so scared he's actually keeping them down to a minimum.”
“Wow. Well, no doubt when things get under control he'll return to type. Take care Sergeant, we'll check in with you in a day or so.”
“Take care Admiral. Over and out,” The tiger said, fumbling to end the transmission. Sprite cut it from their end.
“Well, that's interesting,” the AI said. Irons rubbed his chin. “Hazard is the key. One of them. Now we've got to get a handle on this thing.”
...*...*...*...*...
When the admiral heard they were having food supply problems with all the people and no shipments, he tapped his human helper Andrew. Andrew was a good kid, smart, on point. He had a detailed mind, he could see an exploded schematic of something and put it together within an hour, sometimes less. With the tutelage of Irons the young man was blossoming, seeing new things for the very first time.
Irons had given him his own replicator as he had Hank, but Andrew had put it to the work of the community. He had however stenciled property of Andrew on it though. Irons had him tap the little machine for small parts while he replicated a few larger ones with the larger industrial replicator.
They tested the first food replicator in the warehouse of course, saluting each other with a cup of coffee and a doughnut. After that people working there came and got food when they needed it.
A few hours later Andrew, Irons, and a few drafted helpers installed a pair of food replicators in the cafeterias of the hospital complex. Diners watched them in amusement and curiosity as they ran hoses to a water tap, and installed big drums of material.
Irons had the foresight to have a pair of signs made up with basic instructions. One of the Veraxin helpers hung them, worried over how level it was. Irons waved that concern off. They had other more important things to deal with other than nitpick items like that.
When they were leaving Andrew looked over his shoulder and was amused to see people slowly approaching the devices and puzzling over them. One woman tried a cup of coffee and grinned.
...*...*...*...*...
Helen worked with the media, including Mr. Richards, her ex-husband whom Irons had met earlier. They met to do something about educating people. The reporter took the information and rushed off to publish it. The story broke four hours later. The admiral scanned it, not happy about the alarm in it, or the pessimistic view point but glad some real information was getting into the hands of the panicked public.
...*...*...*...*...
In other cities and communities Doctor Richards ordered the setup of blood drives, food drives, and material drives. A full quarantine was put into effect for the other continents. All ships with radios were ordered to return to their port of origin or to avoid the ports on the main continent.
Helen opened clinics in donated space for medical checkups in each of the major cities on the main continent. Warehouses owners donated materials as well as space for the sick and for material storage. They could no longer be cynical about the motives of all concerned. Haunting images of Crater and Hazard City where thousands were infected, dead, or dying were all over the news. Helen didn't have the manpower to police each of the warehouses.
...*...*...*...*...
“You do realize this is a lot like the world war recycling drives? Both World War one and two on Earth had them in countries on both sides of the conflicts. They didn't bring a lot in, but they were a huge morale boost,” Sprite commented.
“True. People see that they too can contribute, even if it's in some small way. That they can help, and that by getting them involved they and the staff develop empathy.”
“True,” Sprite said, watching a woman drop her entire collection of pots and pans. A few thieves were picking through the goods, but apparently most of the security force didn't care. One guy made off with a pot, only to be turned around by an angry group of spectators. He sheepishly returned his ill-gotten gains and then melted into the crowd.
“The real driving force were bond
s sales and donations by companies,” Sprite said. “And the donation of free labor,” she said.
“Which of course the military contractors loved. They billed the governments double,” Irons grumbled. “But this is doing better than I'd hoped in many ways.” He turned to see a nurse handing out pamphlets and kits. A few people who received the kits were busy reading them as they moved off. A few people were standing across the street reading the pamphlets or talking about them. Irons nodded.
Printers donated paper and ink. Helen instead asked them to print information material. They took what she sent them and printed pamphlets. Volunteers handed out the informational pamphlets on what to do along with masks and other items to people who donated. Suddenly community work was even more appealing to the usually selfish Epsilon people.
Once the first wave of vaccines and drugs were administered to the population of Hazard they identified what worked and what didn't. A crash wave of manufacturing by the pharmaceutical companies churned out vaccines that were immediately distributed, sometimes at the front door of the company itself.
Helen and her staff tried to explain that one shot wasn't a cure all, it wasn't a permanent cure. They would need repeated shots for each virus until they got the epidemic under control.
“So what good is it?” A man in line demanded.
“It's a start,” the nurse said, swabbing alcohol on a patch on a shoulder of a girl next in line.
“It's false hope,” he snarled.
The nurse plunged the needle into the girl's arm. The girl winced but didn't say anything. When she was finished she pulled the needle out and put a cotton swab over the hole before it could bleed. She murmured to the girl to keep it there. The girl nodded and moved along. She turned to the guy. “It's a start. We're working on it. Just have some patience. Help where you can.” He looked at the nurse dubiously.
“Is this how it was done on other worlds? By other groups?” Doctor Zane asked. Irons turned to him with a shrug.
Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) Page 40