Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer)

by Hechtl, Chris

  “They are?” Hodges, asked, eyes wide.

  “Yeah. Sure they're working on the cures, but to get them they have to go and get the mean old viruses, take them apart, and then send the information to the others in Landing to make the cure.”

  “They are?” Hodges asked again, still scared out of his mind.

  “Yes, boss, they're working on it,” the sheriff replied. “That's why we've got so many inoculations now,” he said waving around. He and the fat commissioner were still in their suits, though Hodges had work crews sealing the boss's office and turning it into a clean room. They were even working on airlocks with ultraviolet lights to decontaminate the suits.

  “So I could have died?” Hodges asked.

  “Yeah, let's not think about that now my fat little buddy. Let's focus on what we can do,” The sheriff said. “Like get people organized, and figuring out who's going to pay for this all when it's over,” he suggested. The fat commissioner went wide eyed and sank into a chair fanning himself and nodding dully.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  The admiral used his red air car to go to Hazard now that Ted Zane and the others had everything under control in Landing. He had doctor La Plaz, a medical replicator, a basic replicator, and the doctor's suit with him. They didn't even bother bringing toiletries or a change of clothes, there hadn't been room. La Plaz said it was the best sleep he had had in a while, even if he'd been gripping the oh shit bar in the car the entire trip down. Irons snorted.

  “Something wrong with my flying?” the admiral asked.

  “No, just the height, I never could get used to that,” the young doctor replied. He too was a beta like doctor Zane, but he was younger, more flexible. He also was less of a womanizer, he'd focused his entire mental capacity on being the best doctor he could be. Irons respected that.

  “How long will it take to get you up and running?” La Plaz asked as Hank came over to meet them.

  “You're out of a suit admiral,” Hank said, wide eyed.

  “A bit late now,” Jerry snorted in his suit, then swore because his breath clouded the mask.

  “I'm immune, don't worry about me,” he said as the doctor shuffled out of the car in his suit. “The doctor though, he's not fully immune since we missed the last dump.”

  “Admiral, there are dozens of pathogens in the air,” Proteus reported. “I'm at ten percent capacity fighting them off. I suggest spinning your shields up if this exposure continues,” the AI reported.

  “Whoops, spoke too soon,” Irons grumbled as his shields came up and sparked.

  “What's that?” Hank asked.

  “My shields,” the admiral replied. “The sparks are the pathogens.”

  “Shields? Wish I had some. Where do we get them?” Jerry asked.

  “You get a lot of implants like me.”

  “You said spoke too soon?” Hank asked, ignoring Jerry.

  The admiral nodded. “Yes, It seems I'm not as invulnerable as I thought.” The others looked at him in concern. “No, no, not infected, but it's taxing my systems. Time to get inside gentlemen,” he said waving them on to the lab and warehouses. He could see the blue lights over the doors and windows. People without suits were taking turns pressing themselves up against the lit building in the light for brief periods before moving on.

  “Lovely,” he sighed. “All this and melanoma cancers to boot. Hank, I've got a couple of replicators that need plugging in, then I need material. A lot of material,” he said.

  “Coming right up,” Hank said, indicating the loader and dump truck filled with material from the Hazard Dump. “All you can use and more,” he said with an ear flick.

  “Great,” Irons sighed. “Remind me to make a molecular furnace. Several of them,” he sighed, getting to work.

  Hank looked around. “We can win this. We're starting to turn it around.”

  Irons turned back to him. “Whatever you do, don't jinx it.”

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Irons spent a great deal of time directing the logistics with Hank. Hank seemed a little put out, he'd been doing rather well. Irons ignored it, they had more important things to do than stroke egos.

  With the admiral on hand he spent a lot of time first replicating his replicator, then replicating other machinery Hank had overlooked. He also had his first replicator making medical replicators. When each was finished he had Jerry carry it to the virology lab for doctor La Plaz to initialize.

  The admiral spent a lot of the rest of his time keyed in to the replicators with the doctor, making medical equipment that Hank couldn't make.

  “What do you have there?” Hank asked, as Irons started another project. The admiral moved to one side so the Neolion could see the drone. “Drone?”

  “An EMP cruise missile actually,” the admiral replied. “I've got Phoenix making one as well but that one is a larger yield. In the two hundred kilometer range. This is less than ten kilometers.”

  “Is it... Will it work?” Hank asked as Deputy Rogers and Boss Hodges entered the building.

  “Will what work?” Hodges asked.

  “EMP,” Hank replied absently then froze, wincing.

  “And just what, may I ask, is an E. M. P?” the boss asked.

  Hank mouthed a sorry as the admiral turned. “An EMP is an Electro Magnetic Pulse. It will shut down the nanites operating in Rubicon. Or at least half of them.”

  “Half of them. Half measures?”

  “Cute. Yes and no,” the admiral said. “See, the EMP is designed to scramble electronics. Half the nanites are organic, half are mechanical. By using the EMP to kill the electronic versions, the other organic half will be thrown out of balance and has to either adapt, or...” he pretended to pour the contents of one hand into the other. “Or they have to remake their missing mechanical brethren giving us time to kill them.”

  “Oh.”

  “Isn't that, like dangerous though? Won't it kill everything in the town?” Rogers asked.

  “It will kill anything electronic or electrical in the town certainly. And when the missile's self-destruct goes off, I wouldn't want to be anywhere near it. But it's a dead town anyway.”

  “Says, you, there are a lot of goods in that town,” Hodges said.

  “Which are infected with nanites,” Irons replied patiently. “Nanites that are designed to kill people. Do you honestly want me to believe that people will want to be anywhere near those same goods? Or in the same place where the nanites are?” he demanded. “Rubicon is a dead city, a ghost city. It's best to bury the dead. Give them a proper burial and make sure these things stop spreading.”

  Rogers turned to the boss. “He's got a point boss.”

  “He's got a point boss,” the boss mocked, “Well, I've got one to make too you know, who's paying for all this... this stuff?” he demanded.

  “Power is coming from the grid. Water from the water supply, through we're filtering it. Materials are mostly coming from the Hazard Dump,” Hank replied. The labor,” he shrugged, one hand up to indicate a helpless gesture. “We'll sort that out later boss. The important thing to do is to kill these things like the admiral said.”

  “When will this thing be ready?” Hodges demanded.

  “In a couple of hours,” the admiral replied. “If I'm not disturbed. I've got to test it afterward. Hank and Jerry can help with that since they've got experience with drones. I just need to initialize the components they can't make.”

  “Oh.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Hank replied dryly. The admiral spread his hands.

  “Sorry Hank, they're key locked. I'm talking about the weapon.”

  “Oh.”

  “Well, who's going to pay for the damages?”

  “I don't understand,” Irons said, turning to the boss. “It's not my problem, I'm just doing my best to save your world.”

  “Yes but how do you know it'll work? And does it need to be so big?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, see that it does, but anyth
ing more than what is needed will come out of your hide. Understood?” Hodges said, looking like a bulldog as he waved a fist at the admiral. Irons snorted.

  “Rogers here will keep an eye on things and make sure no one comes in and messes with this stuff,” Hodges said, looking around with barely concealed greed. Irons sighed.

  “Two gets you one he's going to charge you anyway. Either your ship's account or seize stuff as compensation. If you fight it he'll give you a headache and a pound of junk as replacement.” Hank murmured to the admiral.

  “I don't care right now, the only thing that matters now is killing this. Now that you and the others have gotten some lead time on the pathogens this thing is going to figure something else out to try to kill people. Which means we need to kill it. Soon.”

  “Do it,” Hodges growled. “ But don't damage any of my city, my county, or my buildings,” he growled, jaw set. He waddled out. Irons shook his head as he left.

  “He's a pain in the ass,” Hank said.

  “Which cheek?” Irons asked. “Sorry, old joke gone awry. Anyway, yes, yes he is.”

  “Is that really necessary?” the deputy asked, indicating the pile of drone parts. He was standing near the door. Hank snorted.

  “There is no such thing as overkill where nanites are concerned. I'd rather be safe than sorry,” Irons replied, plugging in the wiring harness. It was all plug and play so the little drone was going together smoothly.

  “Nanites...” the deputy shivered. Irons shot him a glance and then went back to work.

  “They're tools. It's who uses them for what that matters,” Irons said as Hank pulled an aileron from the replicator and then closed the door. The admiral sent a Wi-Fi signal initializing the rudder to be built.

  “But they have so much potential for evil!” Rogers replied.

  “And good,” the admiral replied, turning. “This was made with nanites. The screens the doctors have are nanites. The vaccine they are making is again made with nanites.”

  The deputy shook his head mulishly.

  “Think about it on your own time. I've got work to do,” Irons said. “Sorry Hank, we've got work to do,” he said, nodding to the blue Neolion.

  “At least now he gives me credit,” the lion joked.

  “Admiral, you do realize this missile is going to be vulnerable to interception right?” Sprite asked. “As soon as the hive recognizes it for what it is then it will try to kill it. Or even suborn it and send it back to us.”

  “Well, that's a lovely thought,” Irons replied, sitting back on his haunches. “Ideas?”

  “Fly high and drop?”

  “Bomb drop? That will help avoid interception getting to the target, but below three thousand meters it is vulnerable.”

  “In a dive? It would have what? A minute to impact?” Hank asked.

  “In electronic terms, a minute is an eternity to hack something Mr. McCoy,” Sprite replied dryly.

  Hank blinked. “Oh.”

  “Hank,” Irons asked, looking around. “You still have those drop emitters we were using to land cargo?”

  “Yeah...” Hank drawled, “I'm not sure where you are going with this though...”

  “I can take two to four and rework them into primitive shield emitters. Good for about a minute, maybe two.”

  “Oh. Yeah, I can get Jerry to scrounge a few,” Hank replied.

  Irons rubbed his chin. “The problem is we'll have to save them for the dive. I could wire them into the power, but a shield turns the flight surfaces on an aircraft into useless appendages. It forms an ovoid around the craft redirecting air flow. That means that you not only lose your aerodynamics, you lose all your controls. So, once the shield pops on that's it, she'll stall.”

  “And we'll lose control. No signals in or out with the shield on,” Sprite said.

  “That too,” the admiral sighed. “But that will keep the craft from breaking up by the nanites until it dropped below a thousand feet.”

  “How long will it take to rework the emitters?” Hank asked, looking around. He was trying to remember where they stored them all.

  The admiral noted the chimp nearby. He was certain the simian had been listening the entire time. “Too long, but we'll have to do it. At least two.”

  “All right, I'm on it,” Jerry said from the door. He waved to them and then left.

  “I didn't know he was there,” Hank said.

  “I did,” the admiral replied.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Rajar knew he was in trouble when he had breached his suit when he had instinctively flexed his claws. He had tried to tape the holes up. Unfortunately he just contained the damage, making it worse for him.

  He didn't feel right, he knew it. He knew he was sick. His one attempt at trying to get help had been met with utter failure. The nurse on duty had politely told him with just the right hint of exasperation that the vaccines were for those outside the suits first, and Neo vaccines were waiting on shipping. There were some reported at the virology lab, he needed to speak with Hank McCoy and leave her alone. “Next?” she said looking over her shoulder to the next in line.

  Rajar snarled when someone knocked him to one side. Sick, he staggered through town, trudging to the virology lab. He saw Nohar on the other side of the street and waved tiredly.

  Nohar looked up from where he was standing and noticed Rajar. Well, the cub was still alive, he thought, as he made his way across the street to talk to the cub.

  Nohar caught up with him, at first he thought the lad had over done it in the suit, after all it was very hot out and they were in the sun standing on concrete.

  But then he realized the boy was sick when the lion looked at him with an agonized face and then crumpled. Nohar was instantly upset when the cub silently raised his paws to show the elder tiger the breaches. Nohar cradled his body as the lion took in a shuddering breath and his eyes closed.

  “Get help!” Nohar snarled to the nearest person. Jerry looked up, saw what was going on and rushed inside to find Hank.

  As Hank and the admiral rushed out Rajar died from weaponized feline leukemia before help could get to him. Nohar roared in anguish. The admiral stopped and closed his eyes, clenching his fists silently. For a long moment he stood there, watching Hank and Nohar, then he turned back to the lab. Jerry was in the doorway, frozen. He passed the chimp, patted him on the shoulder and then sat heavily in a chair. He had work to do, he thought, going through the motions of putting the drone together.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Near the outer edges of town, Sheriff Coltrain had tracked down the assassin. Hodges wasn't comfortable about going to that part of town, it was filled with the poor who couldn't or wouldn't get to the clinics in town but he had no choice.

  He gulped as he saw the familiar figure sitting alone at the bar. A series of bottles were arranged in front of the Veraxin, along with a series of shooter glasses.

  “Well well, what can I do for you boss?” Ole Blue cackled, turning. He rested his upper arms on the back of the brass rail lining the old bar. From the looks of both they had seen better days.

  “I... I need you to reconsider the contract on Irons again. I'll double your usual fee,” he ground out.

  The Veraxin studied him for a long moment, then tipped his fedora hat back. “Well! Why so serious about this Hodges? It's not like you to actually want someone alive?” he cackled.

  “Irons is doing his best to save us. Save everyone, including you. I know you don't care about that, but others do. The other commissioners and the governor have asked me to intercede.”

  “Interesting,” the Veraxin mused. “But no, I'm not the type to give up on something once I've put my mind to doing it, and Irons has lived long enough. He needs killing,” he said. He turned and took another shot of whiskey and honey.

  “Can you at least wait until he's done?”

  “My time fat man, I do it on my own time. Where is he?”

  “He's in town.”

&nb
sp; “Then he and I have a long awaited appointment,” the Veraxin chattered, getting up.

  “Triple! We'll pay triple if you wait until this is done!” Hodges said desperately.

  “All right, if you are that desperate, for... quadruple the rate,” the Veraxin said with a lurking smile in his voice.

  Hodges squealed but when the assassin turned to leave Hodges held up his fat pudgy hands and waved them frantically. “Deal it's a deal,” he said mournfully. “It's a deal. Just let the man do his thing. Please,” he said desperately.

  The alien turned to him. “My time is valuable Hodges,” he warned.

  “Oh I know, I know,” Hodges said, nodding with a jerky repetitive nod he did when he was nervous. No one made him more nervous than this killer.

  “I don't like interference Hodges, I usually deal with such... permanently,” the Veraxin replied.

  Hodges's eyes were wide. No one threatened him, especially in his own county. However Blue was a special case. He knew better than to get uppity. One cold look from those alien eyes was all it took for his bravado to fade. He gulped and then nodded, wiping his brow with a handkerchief.

  “I expect the money in my account in an hour then,” the alien warned and walked out.

  Chapter 20

  The admiral received the weather report from Phoenix and wasn't happy. A series of summer thunderstorms were entering the area over the following week. He found that the current winds were infecting small villages and towns south and east of the city, creeping ever closer to Sin City which had had its first cases show up in its refugee camps earlier in the morning. The wet thunderstorms and high humidity was kicking the air up, both dampening the spread with the water, yet spraying the remaining pathogens far and wide with the gusty winds... and occasional tornado. That explained why the spread was now haphazard and the infection rate was slowing.

  He had Sprite calculate the rate of expansion and recommended areas that weren’t infected shift people upwind of the virus and to quarantine the infected areas. Sprite passed the data on to Director Richards as well as the government in hiding.