Mr. Osiris took it with much aplomb, he really wasn't sure what to make of it, and from his mutterings the AI concluded the chief of staff was well over his head and knew it. The admiral was left out of the delivery, though Sprite did take a moment to fill him in on the political picture.
“Admiral, right now most of the government is supposedly in an 'emergency summit' in the mountains or on a private island in the southern gulf.”
“That figures,” he grumbled. He'd heard about Governor Oman and his family taking a retreat to a private island.
“Yes well, the few government staff members that are working to help the people have been steadily overwhelmed with the workload. It's taking a toll on law and order, in some cities martial law has been declared.”
“Fat lot of good that will do them, there is no military to enforce it. Just the cops and we few in the navy.”
“Yes well, they've drafted volunteer citizens to do the work, most are actually mobs that are playing mercenary.”
“Always a price,” the admiral muttered. “What is it?”
Sprite spread her virtual hands. “I have no idea. I'm assuming first access to vaccines and medical care. Money? Power down the road?”
“Whatever, not our problem,” Irons replied after a long moment.
“Then why bring it up?”
“Perverse curiosity?” the admiral asked with a slight smile as he tucked the coils into the left chamber of the EMP bomb. “This had better work.”
“If it doesn't we'll have to make another.”
“How far along is Phoenix?”
“The bomb?”
“EMP yes. I'd love to have a Damocles on standby though.” A Damocles drop was a kinetic energy strike, normally launched from an orbital weapons platform or a ship. Phoenix didn't have a launcher, but it could put together a kick motor and simple warhead and guidance system.
Sprite shook her virtual head. “Not going to happen admiral, Phoenix is about tapped out of material.”
“Shit.”
“The bomb is slow going, Phoenix is having trouble with assembly and Proteus has been helping with that.”
“Really?” Irons asked. “Is that where my bandwidth was going? I thought you were doing that, consulting with the powers that be in Landing.”
“Okay, a little of both,” Sprite agreed with a good natured shrug. “I'd like to make that medical AI the doctor keeps requesting, okay, no, correction, I'd like to do it for the challenge, but I don't like the ethics involved. And of course space and such is a premium. At least in the net.”
“Okay, this is ground we've covered repeatedly Commander,” Irons warned.
“I know, but that's been the main topic of discussion lately. I just thought I'd keep you appraised. Apparently the doctor is looking far enough ahead and likes my services,” she said sounding smug. Irons snorted.
...*...*...*...*...
“You know this is going too well right? I'd expected a lot more from this nanite weapon by now.”
The admiral sighed. “Sprite...”
“I'm just saying. When something is being this accommodating...”
“You're talking about surprise right? How we're being lulled into a false sense of security? Any evidence to back that up?”
“That's just it, there isn't. Isn't any other form of attack, just the pathogens. Oh, and we can't get into ground zero to get a decent look at what is going on there. Anything that tries gets shot down or torn apart.”
“Right.”
“Don't you think that's a bit odd admiral? I mean, this nanite hive, it could include zombies.”
“Zombies,” the admiral asked carefully, looking around to make sure no one else was around. “Commander, go easy on the speculation.”
“I'm not bringing it up to the uninitiated admiral, but it is a question. The nanites could rewrite a person. Turn them into a walking bio-factory. Apparently in the latter stages of the war the Xeno's had gotten desperate. They had used nanties to rewrite people into meat robots, turning them into abominations that acted as cannon fodder or workers for various supporting projects. They were of course all wiped out.”
Irons winced. “And you're looking for that here?”
“Yes. And I'm not finding it. I'm wondering how old this bomb is.”
“Counting our blessings?”
“I won't count any blessings until we know for sure admiral. Nor should you. We need to plan for every contingency.”
“But not get stuck in a quagmire of planning Commander.”
“True,” Sprite replied, though she sounded nettled.
“According to my research, several worlds had been abandoned because the nanites were hardened against EMP. Several other worlds had been scorched by friendly forces to prevent the zombies from building whatever they had been building. And yes, they had been up to something.”
“Wonderful.”
“Which brings me back to this thing. What is it doing? It's up to something. Is it making something to spread itself faster? Can it adapt?”
“Without a sample we don't know. And I'm betting any samples we get now will self-destruct.”
“True. But the zombie thing...”
“Well, that's not happening here,” Irons vowed. “Are you finished prepping the drone?” Hank had finished the drone's construction and they'd loaded the bomb. Now it was up to the AI to program it's fly by wire system, taking into account the payload.
Sprite immediately checked the latest sim. “Almost done admiral. We will be ready for a flight test soon.”
“It doesn't need to go far or survive for long Commander. Let's get the warhead loaded and end the hive.”
“Yes sir.”
The admiral had left the creation of the missile drone to Hank, after all, it was a simple thing, something the Neolion had built five times before.
The admiral had helped out a bit on assembly, but he'd mainly focused his efforts on the payload. The difficult part was the EMP weapon. It was a canister, about a meter long with wires coming out either end of it. The wires were tucked up into coils while the drone was in transit.
The EMP missile was launched just ahead of the storm front. Tori, Xani, and others were there to cheer it on and see it take off. The missile did a text book flight to Rubicon, climbing to four thousand meters and then cruising until it got to the drop point. Phoenix reported the craft was sluggish though the closer they got to the target. There was a brief image of a silver sand under the drone before it started to fishtail and shalom back and forth in the air.
Not taking any chances the AI pulled up into a climb and then armed the bomb. He then detonated the drone over the site with the EMP bomb. Phoenix controlled the bomb, watching as it lined up, the engine cut, then the shields popped on as it dove. The AI could see the shields spark as it dove, that wasn't from re-entry heat, not at those low speeds and temperatures.
The device fell, deploying the coils of wire with explosive charges. Before the bomb went off the sensor feed showed them a sea of writhing silver sand and glowing purple at the central site. The image however was fleeting, a couple of frames of mostly gibberish noise. The EMP wiped whatever was building there... hopefully.
The admiral and crew watched the feed relayed from Phoenix.
“Here we are, big screen TV, event of monumental proportions playing out, and we are stuck in these damn suits without a beer or popcorn. This sucks,” Jerry grumbled.
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Hank said. Putting the damn drone together had been hard in the suits, even harder with Jerry griping about it the entire time. And he didn't even want to remember the fun of having to change their diapers after those things filled up. Fortunately Irons had less of a perverse sense of humor, he'd created a clean zone for people in hazmat suits to go into and use a port-a-potty. A cloud passed over the view, cutting off the feed, but they still saw a bright light and then nothing.
“Was that it?”
“The EMP is silent and deadly
, no bright flashes or sound.”
“A lot like my mother after her chili,” Jerry quipped.
Hank snorted. “Cute. And here I was thinking Marvin Martian's famous line. 'Where's my earth shattering kaboom!'”
“The flash was most likely the self-destruct going off. That was a chemical fuse. I set it up so an electronic squib would light a long fuse just before the bomb went off. The fuse would then trigger the explosives without needing an electronic signal.”
“Clever.”
“So, is that it?”
“No, but it means we're finally hitting back. We'll find out more when we send another drone in to check.”
“You mean we have to make another?” Jerry asked, sounding aggrieved. Hank laughed as he clapped the chimp on the shoulder.
“Come on, let's get started,” he said fatalistically.
Jerry groaned and followed him out. “Can we at least make one that we can recover?” Hank shook his head. “No? Why the hell not?” he demanded. Hank said something about contamination as they got to the door. Jerry grunted. “Oh, yeah, point.”
Irons watched them go and shook his head. “Sprite, Phoenix, good work. I need an analysis of the drop. We need to know how effective it was.”
“Working on it admiral,” Phoenix replied.
...*...*...*...*...
Helen Richards called a press conference when the bomb's detonation had been confirmed. She had thought about getting Osiris to do the deed, but she didn't think the governor deserved the credit. Technically the admiral should be doing this, but he'd handed it off to her. She didn't know whether to thank him or not. From what Commander Sprite said, it was typical of the admiral to hand off credit to others from time to time. Well, she'd see about that later.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she opened her statement and then waited patiently as the various reporters around the lectern settled. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, approximately two hours ago the team in Hazard led by Admiral Irons launched an EMP weapon to destroy or disable the Xeno weapon. It has successfully detonated.”
“Is this the end then? Is it dead?” Lois demanded, thrusting her microphone forward.
“I'll get to that in a minute,” Helen replied, frowning.
“Are we winning the war?”
“The war was long over. We're fighting a different war, one with unfortunately heavy casualties on our side. But we aren't giving up, and yes we are finally making headway. This EMP weapon was our first offensive weapon in this battle, and most likely not our last.”
“When can we get into Hazard to report on conditions there?” Clark asked nervously.
Helen smiled. “I'll be heading to Hazard City within a few days. No, it isn't safe unless you've been properly inoculated and even then it's safest in a hazmat suit. A pressure suit. For those of you who wish to chance it, you can come, but I will remind you, once you're there you'll not be leaving the area until the quarantine is lifted. For some it may very well be a one way trip.”
The reporters shuffled around and murmured at that. She nodded firmly. “Now, the virology team has just reported an immediate decrease in new viruses, and they are cautiously optimistic that the EMP may have interrupted the Xeno nanite's production of the pathogens, if not forever then for the time being at least.”
“So it's over?” Lois asked.
“I didn't say that. We won't know for certain until we get eyes on ground zero and check.”
“Oh. So... It's not over,” Lois said frowning.
Helen shook her head. “No, I'm saying we're getting there. We are... hopeful. That's all for now folks,” she said smiling a tired smile before she turned and went into the building abandoning the lectern and the reporters suddenly left shouting questions.
Irons watched the press conference, he wasn't so sure it was over.
...*...*...*...*...
Defender spotted a pair of toughs bracketing a familiar fat man standing outside the virology lab. The admiral noted the time, it was after dark. He had a feeling about the group, not a good one. He felt that they were a snatch team, waiting for a doctor to come out. He didn't have any evidence to back it up, but the hunch was there, nagging at him.
He was tempted to call the sheriff but that would just delay the problem, not solve it. No, he'd have to handle it. He went to check, certain that if he didn't the trio would eventually come in and cause a disruption.
“Something wrong Mr. Lazarrian?” the admiral asked politely.
Larry nodded glum. “Yeah, it's my kid.” The two toughs looked at each other grimly. “Larry junior.”
“What's wrong?”
“What's wrong? What's wrong? What do you think?” Larry asked contemptuously. “The kid caught something. I told him to stay inside with his mother. He went out to get food and well...” he shrugged helplessly.
“At least he didn't go back and infect the others boss,” one of the hoods said. Fat Larry glared at him. The hood gulped. He knew his boss was on the ragged edge.
“Okay...” the admiral drawled. “Is he with the medics? In the hospital?”
“Yeah. But they don't have a vaccine for him.”
“If he's been infected there isn't a vaccine to cure him. Once you've got something you're body has to fight it off. They can give him some stuff to help but the vaccine is useless at that point.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah it sucks,” the admiral sighed. “So you came by hoping someone here had a better answer?” Irons asked. “Unfortunately they're focused on finding the pathogens, the viruses, and finding ways to make vaccines.”
“But not treating them.”
“No,” the admiral admitted. “That's up to the doctors.”
“But here you are. Word is you're immune.”
“Yes. I've... let's just say I'm immune,” the admiral said. His shields sparked in the night.
“What the hell is that?” Larry demanded, stepping back and licking his lips.
“My energy shields. The sparks are the pathogens getting zapped.”
“Like a bug zapper. Cool. Wish I had one,” the shorter hood said, then hunched his shoulders when his boss turned a low voltage glare on him. He stroked the front of his fedora, turned his head and spat, then went back to watching the area on his side of his boss. Irons realized the two hoods were doubling as bodyguards. They probably were body guards.
“Look Irons, I know you don't owe me nothing. But... I'm desperate here. I'm looking to call in a favor. Name your price...” Fat Larry said.
Irons heard the note of desperation in the voice. It wasn't from a hood, it was from a father for his son. He felt the man's pain, empathized with him. For once he set aside the politics aside and nodded. “Show him to me,” he said simply.
“You?”
“I'm the best you've got,” the admiral replied grimly, starting off to the hospital down the street.
...*...*...*...*...
The hospital was a nightmare, inside and out. The lights were holding the darkness at bay, but only barely. They flickered from time to time. There were ultraviolet lights around every door and window, giving the building a bluish glow.
People standing around outside took turns sunbathing under the lamps. Irons grimaced. They were killing surface pathogens, but most were airborne. They were doing damage to their skin and eyes, complicating the problem of their health care.
They made their way up the brick and cement stairs, the two hoods were in front and behind. People stepped aside as if by magic, even in a crisis a hood with a barely concealed gun and bad rep could part a crowd.
They went up to the third floor where they found a ward packed with the sick and dying. A nurse was cleaning materials and instruments under an ultraviolet light, using foul smelling alcohol and bleach. Irons could hear retching and winced.
This is the Hemorrhagic fever ward. Everyone here is highly contagious,” a nurse said trying to stop them. The two hoods winced, looking at their boss.
“I've
been vaccinated,” Larry said, showing his arm.
“For this?”
“I was told so, better be.”
“Stay here,” Irons said.
“Sir,” the nurse put a hand up to stop him but then snapped it back when she was zapped by static electricity. “What was that?” she asked, blue eyes wide over her surgical mask.
“Energy shield. I'm also immune,” the admiral said. “Ebola?” Irons asked.
“I don't know, I just came on shift. We're sort of just putting everyone with the same group together,” the nurse said, looking around to the walls of sheets lining the bays.
“And thus compounding the problem,” the admiral sighed, shaking his head. “Okay. Let me look. Lazarrian Junior,” he said turning to the nurse.
“Bay twelve. He's not...” she glanced at the father. “He's not well.”
“Stable?” Irons asked.
“He's stopped... he's um...”
“I'll look,” the admiral said.
The admiral made his way slowly down the path, stepping around the various people weeping or trying to help the sick and dying. There were a few equipment carts, one had filthy water in it and dressings. Apparently they were trying to treat the fever with cool compresses.
He looked up, there was a ceiling fan making soft whomp whomp sounds, being turned by a belt. The belts were connected to other fans further away. The fans moved slowly, giving a light breeze to dry the sweat and give a slight relief to the nearly unbearable heat and humidity. Even with the sun down it was still hot, sticky hot. It would only get worse when the sun rose in nine hours.
“Bay twelve admiral,” Sprite reported, with an arrow to the left. He turned, expecting an adult, instead he found a child, under 12. He blinked.
The boy was asleep, a skinny thing, freckled, short brown hair. “We all start out innocent don't we?” he asked softly.
“It seems that way admiral,” Sprite said, keeping her voice subdued. He looked at the chart attached to the foot of the bed. His readings were all over the place. “Sprite? Translation?”
“He's dying admiral. He caught it and his body is giving up the fight.”
Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) Page 49