Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer)

by Hechtl, Chris

  “Unfortunately I wasn't around for that. At least not near the end.”

  “Saw it all from space?” Zane asked. Irons shrugged it off. He turned and saw a man in a duster. The man's face was cold, just looking around with dead eyes. Irons eyes however narrowed, he spotted the weapons under the man's coat.

  When the man looked at Irons he knew the admiral knew. His eyes widened fractionally and he reached. Irons however was faster, his right arm morphed into a stunner and he shot. Women screamed as electricity sizzled in the air and the man wavered and then crumpled into a heap. His sawed off shotgun clattered to the cement walk.

  “What the hell?” Zane asked as people backed away from the shooter.

  “Not sure,” Irons said. He unlike the rest of the people went to the body. A few had their hands to their mouths. He turned the man over and opened the duster. The man had a chicken plate on, a piece of thick metal acting as a bullet proof vest. It hadn't stopped him from getting stunned though. A note was taped to the chicken plate. His eyes scanned it.

  “Die like I want to die, like my family died in Rubicon,” Zane read over his shoulder.

  Irons grunted, kicking the weapon away. He reached into pockets and pulled out ammunition and pistols. “Add these to the donation pile,” Irons growled. He turned to a nearby security guard. The guard was crouching, still wary. Irons snapped his fingers and then pointed down. The man nodded and came over. He kicked the guy and then winced, hopping on one foot because he had kicked the chicken plate.

  “Serves you right,” Zane said in disgust, taking the improvised plate off. He tossed it to clatter in the pile. “He's alive, hand him over to the cops,” he said getting up.

  “Why bother? He wants to die,” the guard said in confusion.

  “Yeah, but I'm not in the mood to give him what he wants,” Irons replied. He waved over two other volunteers to come and help.

  “He lost hope,” Zane said softly.

  “He lost it when Rubicon fell. He didn't have it to begin with,” Irons said, watching the new subdued crowd. Before this had been an occasion, almost giddy. Now they were all sober, all looking at each other warily. Irons sighed.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  On the third day after Hazard was infected An air drop of equipment and supplies commenced. Hours before the alarms had gone off the drops had stopped, no one wanted to bring the viruses back to Gotham or Landing prematurely. However Hazard still needed resources. The admiral had come up with a quick fix, repulser emitters attached to packages. They were short burst devices, each were attached to the underside of a crate and then activated. Their two centimeter diameter superconductor batteries were only good for one landing, then they died.

  The first drop test was almost a disaster, less than a third of the packages landed safely, the rest ended up in trees, or crashed downwind. But that was at least something as Irons pointed out. “And we all know, something is better than nothing. Even though it's not enough, it's a step in the right direction. Now we need to improve it.”

  Part of the problem was the packages, they were unbalanced, ungainly things that tended to tumble in the air. Several were top heavy, when they were let loose from the aircraft they immediately flipped making their repulsers useless.

  Hank saved all the pieces. Those that were broken he reluctantly fed into the scrap pile for recycling, but others he kept. He put them aside for later tinkering, thinking about hover pallets or even his own private air bus.

  Some of the equipment that they received allowed them to set up ultraviolet baths for vehicles, people, and equipment in a larger area. Ultraviolet wands were added above entrances to buildings and for the planes. One plane was rigged with ultraviolet lamps and batteries. It would fly orbits around the pathogen.

  “Think we'll get calls about a UFO? I mean, it is technically a UVFO, but...” Sprite cracked.

  “That is if anyone is alive down below to see it.”

  “True, entirely too true,” Sprite said, now sobered. “What's next?”

  Act III an act of desperation or genius

  Chapter 17

  Sprite's plan to get the dusters into the air was put into action. Chemical works in Gotham, Landing, and Metropolis swung into action, generating tons of the soap. They left out anything not needed in the formula like perfumes. It still took a day to get enough to make a dusting worthwhile, however. Then they had to ship it to Hazard.

  She'd had to sweeten the radio call with an offer to inoculate any pilots who came forward with their planes as soon as the vaccines and other medicines became available.

  The call for dusters brought out dozens including a familiar thirteen year old girl. She flew to support her family with her brother who served as her mechanic. Their dad had been an alcoholic who fell into the bottle after their mom died a few years ago. The lush could fly, but Tori took the plane up more and more on her own to make enough credits to keep the family going. “Girl's got to eat,” she'd tell people who commented in amazement or dismay over her occupation.

  Her little brother Bobby was an able mechanic, their little sister Xani helped keep their home clean. All three kids were being forced to grow up before they had to, but sometimes life was like that.

  They sat through a pilot briefing as the ground crews set up the planes and soap was loaded into the tanks. They tested the spray, it didn't gum up the works. “Why should it? We spray soap on crops to get rid of aphids and other pests all the time,” Tori said with a look of patient amusement for their caution.

  “So now we know it works.”

  “No, we know it sprays.. We'll know if it works when we're in the air,” The lead pilot said. “Ladies and gentlemen, we've been asked to save the world. I'm in no position to say no. But if any of you want to hang back or bail, we'll find another pilot.”

  “I'm in,” Tori said, glancing at her siblings.

  Tori wore a respirator and did the job with the other pilots. As she took off she saw her lush of a father stumble along, trying to stop her. “Sorry dad,” she murmured, hitting the throttle.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Doctor Ivanov had air samples taken during the first drop. A chaser plane was rigged, it followed in their wake taking samples. Another plane led the way, both aircraft were outfitted with the same science package the drones had carried. After careful testing he ruled that the air spray helped, it hindered the spread of the virus. Tori returned to base elated, she was the last to land. Each aircraft was sprayed down to decontaminate them.

  UV lights were supposed to be on in the hangars, but someone had turned them off. “Bobby, the throttle is still a little sticky. And I had a couple coughs up there,” she said as the engine wound down. Her brother came over to her. He had his mask around his neck. She scowled, not taking hers off. She'd listened to the briefings.

  “Put your mask on!” she snarled.

  “Eh?” he teased, not understanding. He cupped a hand to his ear as he came closer. She waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, I heard it,” he said pointing to the engine. He went over and looked.

  Tori popped the canopy and swore, everything was all wet. Her father was there, arguing with someone. She snorted.

  “Owe!” Bobby said, and then coughed. She felt her hear wrench at that. “Bobby!” she squealed.

  “What?”

  “You're supposed to wait!” she snarled, climbing out of the aircraft in her haste to stop him.

  “I am?” he asked, cursing as he got the latches to turn so he could pop the door open. He used the prop wire to prop the door open and then took a look, bare hands on the rag he had covering the still hot cowling. “I don't see anything wrong,” he said as his sister slipped off the wing and then limped around the wing to get to him.

  “You idiot!” she snarled. “You, we, we were all told to clean the birds and not approach them without a mask and gloves on!” she snarled, waving to other crew members servicing the other aircraft.

  “We were?” Bobbi asked. He coughe
d. “Dang dust,” he mumbled. “So? Nothing's wrong,” he said and then coughed again. This time he couldn't stop, and started wheezing.

  “Damn it!” Tori turned in place and waved frantically to her dad and a medic nearby. Her father waved back. The medic frowned. She pointed to her brother urgently just as he crumpled. She turned, hearing his wet thump hit the concrete. “Bobby!” she screamed.

  That got the attention of her father and other adults. Some came running, others hesitated. He was infected she realized, cradling him in her arms. “Bobby you idiot,” she mumbled. His eyes were closed. He was barely breathing. She could see red spots and splotches breaking out all over his face and hands. She looked up as she heard the approach of many feet to see medics rush to the scene.

  The medics did a quick assessment, rubbing his hand with a swab and then putting it into a test kit. A drop of some clear chemical and the sample turned red. The medic swore.

  “That's bad right? You, that's bad?” Tori asked in tears, fogging her mask. She wanted to tear it off but a medic in a blue suit and black gloves stopped her. He held her, rubbing her bicep in sympathy as two other medics took her brother's body onto a stretcher and then strapped him down. He was carried away shaking, already his body was feverish.

  “Can you do anything doctor?” Tori asked, looking over her shoulder to Doctor Ivanov.

  “We will do all we can do,” he said, surprised the girl was here. “Did he get any of the shots?” he asked.

  “The pilots did. Ground crew were supposed to but they ran out half way through,” she said as she started to cry.

  “Get her decontaminated. The plane as well. All the planes, inside and out. Pressure wash with soap if you have to,” the doctor said. Her father came to them but the doctor put a hand up stopping him at as distance. “Sir, are you their father?” he asked.

  “Yes. What happened to my son?”

  “Something unfortunate,” the doctor sighed. “Please do not approach until we've been disinfected. Young lady, come with me,” the doctor said. Tori sniffled and walked with him under his arm to the decontamination area.

  Xani and her father met her a few minutes later. She nodded quietly to them. Xani's eyes were red, a sure sign she had been crying. “Come on,” their father said. “Let's go check on him,” he said.

  At the hospital they were stopped at the door. Dozens of people were there outside, some sick, others worried about loved ones. The buildings around them had people coming in and out. One had a pile of bodies in bags. Tori turned away, grabbing little Xani and making her turn away as well.

  Bobby never woke up. He died in less than an hour. Tori and Xani were devastated. Their father turned, and for the first time went to support his family instead of finding solace in a bottle. ”I’m sorry, I'm so sorry,” he whispered, hugging them fiercely.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Sprite listened to the virology report with one part of her consciousness as she turned within. She opened a link to Proteus, something she hadn't done in a while. Ever since the Draco incident she'd been tentative about establishing links to other AI's. Now there was no choice.

  She laid out her plan and together they consulted the regs and the blueprints of a basic implant job. Ruthlessly they pared down the design to the bare minimum. “The question is, can you do it?” Sprite asked.

  “I'm not sure. On one level it's an element of engineering. Running wire, creating electronics, tapping systems. It's the weave to the patient's neural net that's the tricky part. That I am not at all sure about.”

  “Can you sim it?” Sprite asked.

  “I... If I had the power. Right now my nanites are down to ninety percent.”

  “That low?” Sprite asked, now surprised and a little dismayed.

  “I've been doing a lot of work lately,” Proteus replied. “With little time to recharge or rebuild. In fact no time actually.”

  “I'll see what I can do on that score. The admiral is in need of a break, no matter what he thinks. But, okay, send me part of what you have and I'll run it on my processing power and the net we've got.”

  “Sprite, that's dangerous. You do not have enough as it is for both you and the software.”

  “I can handle it,” Sprite said firmly. “Look, I can put some of my deep memory in inactive storage. I know I need downtime too, but we don't have time. Let's do it.”

  “I'll send you part of the file,” Proteus said.

  The news wasn't good, logging camps and small villages one hundred kilometers out from Rubicon were no longer responding. Some went off the air after confirming they were infected. Hazard was barely holding on. Only those people in a hazmat suit were immune, but they couldn't spend the rest of their lives in them. A better solution had to be found soon.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “Admiral, we've exhausted all other options,” Sprite said when Doctor Ivanov reported in. The virologist had confirmed that they had killed a lot of the pathogens, but dozens more remained. The spray was cutting a swath, but it wasn't enough. The aircraft had been covered in pathogens, some new and unrecognized. The boy Bobby had died from one, a virulent form of hemorrhagic fever they had yet to identify. All their attempts at killing it had been in vain.

  Nor were the inoculations doing well, they just weren't as effective as hoped. They had less than a twenty percent success rate... and those that did prove immune to one virus were testing positive for another. Within hours they were becoming sick. Things were dire, growing more dire by the moment.

  “There isn't any more choice here,” she repeated, Irons still didn't respond. “Admiral, we've got to get implants going, and we need navy medics on the scene.”

  “Sprite, I'm not sure...”

  “I am admiral, it's our only option. We'll have to make it work.”

  “Do we have time?”

  “If we cut it down, yes sir. Just the ident implants and basics. Ident implants at first, those you can manage yourself. But the others are a problem.”

  “And the solution is?”

  “I've been thinking about it,” Sprite admitted. “I've discussed this with Proteus. It's a risk, but we can inject nanites into others through personal contact. Your nanites. Proteus can make basic repairs, following a guide we can make rough implants.”

  “Without killing anyone Sprite? Proteus is an engineering AI, not a medical AI,” Irons said, deeply concerned.

  “I believe we have to take the risk admiral,” Proteus replied. “As the lieutenant Commander pointed out, we are running out of options,” it said.

  Run it by me again,” Irons said. He listened to the pitch once more and then nodded. “The question is, will it work?”

  “It's worth a shot admiral. Right now we need a faster means to kill this thing and only a doctor can authorize it,” the AI replied.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Irons entered the director's office and softly closed the door behind him. “What is it this time?” she asked tiredly, scrubbing her face with her hands before she looked up. “Admiral!” she said in surprise.

  “We have something to discuss. It's a long shot,” the admiral replied. He sat down across from her and set a portable holo generator on her desk. Sprite's avatar immediately coalesced into being. She smiled to the doctor.

  “What is it?” the doctor asked. She was now used to conversing with the AI.

  “The commander has an idea. I've signed off on it, but I'm not thrilled about the risks. But we need to discuss it with you. It is extremely dangerous,” the admiral said.

  “Oh.”

  Irons and Sprite broached the reserve idea to Helen. “With this you can have medical keys. Which means you would be able to build medical nanites and tech I currently can't.”

  “You can't but you can give me the ability?”

  Irons smiled. “It's not that simple doctor. I'm,” he sighed. “Let's just say it's complicated. I don't have a medical degree and you do.”

  “Oh.”

&nbs
p; “Which makes you and others like you uniquely qualified for this. But it isn't all peaches and cream doctor, there's risk involved.” They patiently explained the steps involved, and the time it would take. Helen was desperate, but they had to explain it all. She was impatient, ready to try it, thousands were falling ill by the hour, and any salvation was worth the cost. Sprite warned her that there was a time period for recovery, one that they couldn't fool with. “Doctor if you try to use your implants before they're integrated and the swelling has dropped to acceptable levels you could do yourself permanent damage. Usually implants are locked down for that period to prevent that. I can't in good consciousness bypass that.”

  “We don't have time.”

  “Some things have to be done right if we expect them to succeed doctor.”

  “Wait,” Helen said, thinking fast. “We can inject an anti-inflammatory medication like a glucocorticoid to prevent rejections and to lower swelling. They work by bonding to glucocorticoid receptors. Once we're clear we can then back off the dosages.”

  “The problem is doctor, the anti-rejection drugs are autoimmune suppressants. With what's going on now with this virus...”

  Helen frowned. “We'll have to chance it. We don't have any other choice. We'll have to stay quarantined until we're clear.”

  “Normally I'd say using quick-heal and a dunk in a regen tank, but neither are currently available,” Irons mused. “Sprite and I have talked about it, due to the crisis we'd have to go with the bare minimum implants. Ident implants and control implants. We can work on anti-geriatrics, super strength, vision and other sensory enhancements, and other treatments later.”

  “I...” Helen blinked at him. “Are you serious?”

  “It's all part of the package of being in the military doctor,” Sprite replied with a smile. She showed the doctor a list of other treatments. Helen whistled softly as she scanned them.

  “Quite an incentive I assure you! Anti-geriatrics, treatments.. I can understand the vaccines now. Hmmm..”

  “The other problem is that some of the medications like the glucocorticoid steroids suppress the long term integration of the implants. Some are dangerous to the patient.”