Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer)

by Hechtl, Chris

  Miss Persephone said with a slight cattish smile that she had her own way of establishing her authority, it was an effective one. Even the ladies gave her a wide berth. She dressed in flat black, she seemed empowered by the leather outfit. To either compensate for her height or just to accent the outfit she usually walked around with long high heeled boots. The steady tick, tick of her walk alerted anyone around of her presence. The captain had willingly given up his cabin to her without a word.

  “Is that his ship?” The woman asked, pointing a long fingernail to an icon in orbit. The ops officer nodded and shivered as she traced a finger over it. “The Phoenix,” she murmured softly.

  “Yes ma'am,” he said. She looked at him. He gulped when he noticed her eyes flex like a cat briefly. Then after a moment she left, trailing those fingers up his arm before she left.

  He sucked in a breath, looking down to see his ragged sleeve and cuts. He whimpered. The captain closed his eyes, scared too.

  “We expect the credits upon arrival. Credits or materials, and be advised, materials are two to one. Where do you wish to land?”

  “Um... where do most shuttles land?” the captain asked.

  “Hazard normally, but they're quarantined.”

  “Um...” the captain looked at the team leader. She pursed her lips and he jerked out of his chair. She smiled graciously and sat. She crossed her long thin legs, wiggling her spiked stiletto heel before sitting back. “Um...”

  “Oh, Hazard has just been cleared. The doctor has lifted the restrictions on landing, so you can go there and leave, but anyone who does go will have to be inoculated on arrival. No exceptions. Also your shuttle will have to be decontaminated.”

  “Um...” he looked at the team leader. “That's acceptable. But can I ask why?” he asked weakly when she indicated he should continue.

  “Because of a Xeno virus.”

  “A what?” the ops officer demanded, pain forgotten.

  “As you were,” the captain said. “Repeat that Epsilon. Did you say Xeno virus?”

  “It's dead. They finally killed it. And the admiral stopped the planet buster before it could go off so we're safe.”

  “Planet buster?”

  “It's a long story.”

  “I'm not going anywhere,” the captain said, glancing at the woman in his seat. She indicated he should continue. He pursed his lips, hiding his irritation and then turned back to the speaker.

  “Well, it started a month ago. A ship paid it's port fees with a group of sleepers that turned out to be infected...”

  ...*...*...*...*...

  At the port they were met before they got off the dilapidated shuttle. A nurse went through and gave them a shot. When one merc refused the woman stood over him with the syringe. “Look, you either get this, or you get sick and die, or we shoot you. I'm at the point where I don't give a damn.”

  “Okay, I don't want a shot.”

  “I don't care what you want.”

  “I carry a gun.”

  “Okay, I do care what you want,” she said, and the other mercs snorted. “But, see, we've got a bigger gun. Planetary quarantine means no one gets off this planet unless they get this shot. And well, if you don't then they'll have to use the planetary defense network to blow you, your ships, and your friends here into itty bitty pieces. Pity that,” she mocked.

  “Um...”

  “I believe they need the target practice. I'll just let them know.”

  “No, he's fine,” the woman in charge growled. “Give it to him or I will. And I won't be so nice about it.”

  “This is nice?” the tough asked and winced as she jabbed him.

  When the nurse was finished he growled at her. She walked off with a smirk. “No lollipop for you,” she said with a sniff. He got up and grabbed his carryon bag.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “Anything to declare?” The customs agent asked. He was trying to pretend to be bored, but after everything that had happened, having a shuttle arrive meant things were finally back to normal. They were washing the shuttle with decontamination spray, he'd heard these people would be allowed to leave once their business was finished, whatever that was.

  “Just this,” the lead tough said. He held up his black battered duffel bag. The agent looked through it and then looked up. “What's with all the weapons?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Going hunting in the mountains,” the merc replied with a straight face.”

  “Right,” the agent replied as the leader slipped him some credits. “Sure thing.” He nodded and waved them on their way.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Outside the space port, the team leader caught a kid running messages. “You know where this Irons guy is?” she asked, slipping him a credit chit.

  “You mean the admiral?” the kid asked. “He's around. He's everywhere. You can spot him by the energy shield. It's this blue glow around him.”

  “Energy shield huh? No one said anything about that,” a tough in the back grumbled softly. The team leader turned a glare on him. He turned away and spat.

  “He usually hangs out near the virology buildings, or in the hospital. Just look for the crowds and cops and ask around. He moves around a lot,” the kid said with a shrug.

  “Thanks for nothing,” the tough said as the kid scampered off.

  “No, he confirmed the admiral is here in town. But I think we still need to talk to the lard ball. Let him know who's boss and make sure he doesn't interfere,” the team leader said over her shoulder. “And next time Mick, you open your mouth...”

  “I know, spit don't say nuthin.”

  “Right.”

  ...*...*...*...*...

  The mercs tracked down and talked to Hodges. Hodges was off balance, his family had survived but the sheriff and deputies were out protecting his holdings. In a rare moment of coherent thought he now regretted that, he had no coverage. Not that anyone except Fat Larry would be stupid enough to challenge him. Larry was dead anyway, or so they said.

  His holdings, his network were in disarray so he was keeping a low profile, in the back room of his favorite restaurant. He was therefore shocked when intruders barged in at gunpoint.

  Wide eyed it didn't take Hodges long to proclaim he'd help them and give them the location of the admiral. “One more, no make that two more things Hodges,” the leader said turning back to him.

  “Yes? Anything!”

  The leader's lip curled in a half snarl of disgust. Squeal indeed. Hodges was falling all over himself to cooperate. A little arm twisting was all it took. “Where are the hang outs for local muscle. Someone big without a lot of brains. People who don't ask too many questions and keep their mouths shut.”

  “I'll write it down,” Hodges said, hands shaking as he pulled a piece of paper out and a pen and started writing.

  “Good. For this to work we'll need you to keep your fat mouth shut. Don't make me come back here and kill you if I find out Irons was tipped off.” The leader knew better than to actually kill the fat commissioner. If he did he'd never get off the planet alive, every other commissioner would be all over him and his crew.

  “I won't say a word,” Hodges said with a slight sneer in his voice as he smiled and handed the note over.

  “Dead men say no tales, remember that Hodges,” the leader growled, eyes locking onto the commissioner. The fat man's eyes went wide and he clutched at his chest. Good, if the lard ball died of a heart attack all the better. He turned and slammed the door shut on his way out.

  “Why didn't we waste him?” the woman asked absently.

  “You do have a lot to learn. You don't kill a county commissioner on this planet. Not if you want to get off it alive,” he snarled as he climbed into the passenger side of the pickup. He waved to the others to get moving.

  “Oh.”

  “Just shut up and drive dumb ass,” he sighed looking out the open window as she started the truck.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Even though
technically it was no longer required, there was no such thing as not being too thorough where nanites were concerned. So, Irons kept on his coup de resistance anyway.

  The nanite bomb was on its way to completion. Irons and Hank busied themselves with the delivery method, in this case another drone, but this time they also were building observation platforms which would orbit from a safe distance as the bomb went off.

  The new nanite bomb would be programmed to kill not only any surviving Xeno nanites, both organic and robotic, but also all the pathogens they had on file. It was a fire versus fire method, now that they had samples of Xeno nanites, both organic and inorganic to use, they had programmed the killer nanites to hunt the Xeno's down and ignore any organic tissue they encountered. The nanites would then suicide after six months.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “Where is that going?” Helen asked, pointing to an aircraft taking off.

  The sheriff sniffed. “Governor Oman is running out of supplies. He ordered it,” he said.

  “Is he nuts?” Helen demanded. The sheriff shrugged. “Why here?”

  “Why doctor, you don't know about Hazard's whiskey? Or it's other products?” Boss Hodges asked, coming in and rubbing his fat hands together. “Don't you worry your pretty little head miss,” he said, shooing her along. She looked over her shoulder a few times to them then shrugged as a rather annoyed nurse rounded a corner, made a moue and then waved to her.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “Are we on a snatch and grab or a kill?” one of the mercs asked softly, leaning over to his partner. They'd known each other for years, assigned as partners from time to time in the guild.

  She looked around to make sure no one else was listening. Ralph was a steady sort, he knew only to talk when he needed intel. He must have been out of the loop to have missed this though. “The first contract was redacted.”

  “That doesn't mean anything,” Ralph said shifting his weight to casually look around as one hand rested on his holster. The implied threat had any who might have been interested in their conversation keeping their distance. Of course black haired Marcino was nearby. He was an old hand in the league, good but not very subtle. Probably why he drew this assignment.

  “The kill order has been redacted. In fact the league has a kill order on anyone who kills Irons,” the woman warned. None knew her name, none would ever know. She had long forgotten it. Identities came and went with each assignment. She didn't care, nor did the others.

  “Lovely,” Marcino, their partner and fellow assassin said. He put the butt of his cigar out on his shoe and then tucked it into his breast pocket for later. The woman wrinkled her nose. Filthy habit. Worse it was a telling one, it left DNA on the cigar. Marcino was careful not to discard it anywhere he couldn't burn it, but one accident was all it took for him to be exposed. Exposed and caught, or burned by the league.

  “So purely snatch. If this goes bad pull back fast and fade into the woodwork,” the woman replied. She glanced at Miss Persephone. The bitch would hopefully get killed if it did go south.

  “I intend to. Fall back?” he asked, checking his weapon once more. The pulser was a handy weapon but almost useless after the batteries ran down. He preferred a slug thrower like this one for brazen jobs.

  She laughed, eyes black and empty like an old Terran shark. “Find your own. I know one thing, once this goes down if we lose any time and if there are any witnesses the ship we came in on will be burned fast. Which means we'll have to make other arrangements to get off this planet.”

  “Shit now you tell me,” the first breathed.

  “You took the salt, you knew the deal.”

  “Yeah yeah,” Ralph said, shaking his head to Marcino. “Let's get this over with.”

  “Amateur hour out there,” Marcino observed, lip curling in ill-concealed contempt.

  “Let the clowns draw his fire. We'll be there to clean up the mess.”

  “Or pull back if it gets too hot,” the woman said.

  “That too.”

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “One more day and we should be about finished and ready to launch this thing. Maybe two if we get pulled off onto something else,” Hank said. He scratched an itch, then flicked his ears at the novelty of doing something so simple as scratching... even if it was in public. “Damn that feels good.”

  “Yeah, I'd guess so,” Irons replied with a small snort.

  “You have no idea,” Jerry drawled. He cracked his knuckles. “Now that things are getting back to normal, I'm for beer and bed.”

  “Sounds good,” Hank replied.

  “Hey homes, I don't swing that way, thanks for offering though,” Jerry joked. Hank laughed and threw a rag at him. Jerry ducked away, snickering as he left the building.

  “You heard about the ship?”

  “Ship? My ship? What about it?”

  “No, the ship,” Hank replied, pointing straight up. “New ship. Pretty eager to get on the ground, which is a bit confusing.”

  “A new ship?” Irons asked, wrinkling his nose. “Wait, and eager to get ground side after everything that's happened here? Are they nuts?”

  “Friends of yours I guess so jury is still out there,” Hank replied. “From Pyrax.”

  “Oh?” Irons asked. “And why am I just hearing about this now?” he demanded, turning in place, hands on his hips.

  “Because I've been rather busy monitoring the nanites and programming the killer nanites,” Sprite responded. “So it slipped past me,” she said.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes,” she replied testily. “I'm not organic, but even I'm fallible admiral.”

  “All right, I'm glad you admitted that,” Irons replied. “Anything on the ship?”

  “The Cross, a small yacht turned freighter courier. I don't see why they bothered, she's too small to carry more than a hundred tons of cargo.”

  “Okay.”

  “Ship didn't announce itself until they were entering orbit apparently,” Sprite reported. From her slow drawl the admiral realized she was getting this data as she reported it. He glanced at Hank who shrugged and flicked his ears.

  “Admiral, the shuttle is already on the ground.”

  “It is?” he asked, surprised. Why would they allow it?

  “On the ground here. Here in Hazard.”

  “Now, wait, with three space ports, why come here at ground zero?” Hank asked.

  “I don't know. Something isn't right. But according to the customs records, the passengers and crew have been inoculated against the viruses.”

  “Either someone is desperate for money, or stupid. Or both.”

  “Both, I'm betting both. We're out of the woods, but there's always a chance of something overlooked coming up and biting us on the ass,” Sprite said. The admiral nodded grimly.

  “Well, there's nothing we or you can do about it now, they're here now,” Hank finally said with a shrug. “Beer and steak?” he asked.

  “You talked me into it,” Irons replied with a slight grin. “Let's see if Kong has the BBQ out back fired up yet.”

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Later that evening the admiral returned to his hotel and went to bed. He'd finally started getting regular sleep in the past week. It was a comfort, finally having a bed to climb into, a cool bed, he'd gotten around to hooking up small portable AC unit into his room. The quiet hum lulled him into a doze and then deeper sleep.

  In the middle of the night Defender picked up movement that fit an offensive pattern. Before he woke the admiral he ran a passive scan, when the returns reported metal matching weapons he immediately initiated his defense systems as he awoke the admiral.

  Irons felt a jolt of electricity startle him awake. “Intruders!” Defender reported, putting the map up on his HUD as he flushed adrenalin into the admiral's organic tissues.

  Irons eyes opened and then closed as he held still. There were a dozen men and women in skin suits attempting to get into his suite. They were moving i
n from all sides, slowly, methodically. It was a crack team, from the look and feel they were professionals.

  He checked and then activated his systems, going active for a brief microsecond to get a better feel for the numbers.

  He picked up the entire team, a baker's dozen of thirteen. “Attempting to call for help,” Defender reported, sending out a signal to the Sheriff's office.

  “Signal has been blocked. Scrambling detected,” Defender reported in a cold professional voice. “The long range link to Phoenix has also been severed admiral.”

  “We're on our own. Plan B,” Sprite said.

  Defender sent out an active sensor sweep as the admiral rapidly dressed. It wouldn't do to be killed in his boxers, the admiral thought, but then again, it was a bit stupid to get dressed under these circumstances. He watched as a small female human stopped and then held up a fist. She was looking at something, most likely a scanner.

  “Identity, potential team leader,” Proteus reported. “Additional hostiles.” A set of four icons were posted on his HUD about a hundred meters out. Each were on a rooftop, from the look of it, spotters and possibly snipers.

  “This just gets better and better,” Sprite said.

  “You're telling me? Pros. Mob?” Irons asked.

  “Not this good. Mobsters here are rough. This is a pro job,” Sprite reported. “Ten seconds to point team arrival at the front door,” Sprite reported. He frowned as he watched the break in team through the walls. Someone peaked out of their room and an almost silent putt and the body dropping told him that person would never get up again. Wrong place, wrong time. His eyes narrowed.

  He was tempted to go to the wall, reach through it and kill them, but instead decided the better part of valor was to run, or at least get clear of the area and the other innocents in the area. He didn't want or need a blood bath on his conscience.

  He detected the break in team arriving at his door, one taking up either side, backs flat against the wall while the third lined up to kick the door down. Irons reacted, spinning he threw himself at an adjoining interior wall to burst though it in a shower of rubble. It was after all just plaster and thin strips of wood, easily destroyed. He raced across the room, ignoring the dust and startling a couple in flagrant-delecto. Despite the situation he smiled before smashing though another wall and into a corridor. He raced down the corridor to slam into the snatch team’s rearguard, and like a whirlwind took them out in a rapid series of martial arts moves. Unfortunately he had to play for keeps, striking with fatal consequences for each tango.