Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) (17 page)

“Good. Good night Commander.”

“Good night Admiral,” Sprite responded.

...*...*...*...*...

He was a bit grumpy in the morning until he tracked down some
decent coffee. Well, it wasn't quite decent, but at least it was coffee.

“This holiday is messing up your schedule as well Admiral,” Sprite
informed him the next day.

“Oh?”

“Most shipping shuts down or slows down significantly during the
holiday period. Also workers tend to take a lot of time off around this
time...”

“You'd think they'd do that in winter...” he mused rubbing his
jaw.

“They do that as well. This is the second most period when the
people travel and take vacations.”

“Okay.”

“I'm just letting you know...”

He held up a hand. “I get it Sprite,” he said with a slight smile.
“We'll endure. It's not like we're on a deadline or anything, we don't have to
keep a meeting on the other end. We'll wait it out.”

“Are you sure Admiral?”

“It'll be fine. What's another week or two in the grand scheme of
things?” he asked with a shrug. “Besides, this way I can put in some more good
PR and lend a hand here and there. Maybe get a better idea of people and their
attitudes.”

“Spread the love. Great.”

“More like lay more groundwork for this planet rejoining the
Federation,” Irons replied.

Sprite looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded. “I see your
point Admiral.”

“I'm glad you do.”

...*...*...*...*...

Solaximara, leader of the Neo/anthro lobby wasn't happy about the
latest report. Something was going on in Hazard, something weird. He'd have to
look into it. His source said Hank McCoy was suddenly flush with parts and was
taking in raw material, something no one but a factory could do. He was also
acting cagey, another sign that the normally absent minded Leo had something to
hide.

He kept tabs on McCoy because the blue lion sometimes came into
things during trades or in scavenging the ruins... and the Leo really didn't
understand the value of what he had in front of him. How it would help his
community out. More importantly how it would help one red lion named Solaximara
out.

He brushed his whiskers with one claw and growled softly, ears
flicking as he read through the report. No, something was up. He'd send word to
that barmaid Maggie to keep an eye on Hank. In the meantime he contacted a
couple otter friends who might be able to tail the lion to whatever he had
stashed. Hopefully they'd get it before Fat Larry or Hodges did.

Of course the little pricks couldn't be trusted out of his sight.
There was something to be said about no honor among thieves. They'd just as
soon keep whatever device the Leo had picked up for themselves. Or they'd sell
it to Fat Larry or Hodges themselves. He sighed. Nohar... no, the tiger had a friendship
with the Leo. No, he'd have to find someone else to keep an eye on his thieves.

...*...*...*...*...

Biscuits and Books bitched to their boss but Fat Larry was leery
of killing the guy. He was also seriously unhappy with both thugs for going out
on their own... and for getting caught. They didn't know it yet but they were
on thin ice.

“But an example must be made, he undermined me and mine,” Larry
said, nodding in agreement. He didn't like it how the arrogant prick had come
right up to his face and even threatened him. No one did that and got away with
it, he had a rep to protect. Books smirked, something that irritated Larry. The
clown really was asking for it, he thought. “He has to be taught a lesson.”

“A final lesson boss?” Biscuit's asked hopefully, cradling the arm
in a cast against his chest. He'd finally seen a doc about it. It had taken
damn near a full bottle of whiskey to set everything and he had one hell of a
hangover. And when he had a hangover he was beyond mean.

Fat Larry nodded, scowling. This Irons character had faced him
down and he didn't like it, didn't like it one bit. He wasn't at all sure what
J.D. would say. Best to not involve him.

He waved a fat finger to a girl. The girl came over and nodded as
he whispered to her to find Irons and ask him over for a drink. Then he turned
to his men and started issuing orders. They'd have to make sure the restaurant
was set up just right for this to go down.

...*...*...*...*...

“You're not seriously going to stick your head in the lion's den
again admiral are you?” Sprite asked aghast after he got the written
invitation.

“Why not?” Irons asked. “I don't want to be rude,” he replied,
smiling slightly. Sprite rolled her eyes on his HUD. “Seriously, if we don't
we're stiffing the mobster. I'm not in the mood to put up with crap, trying to
keep cool as someone is stalking me. Maybe stalking me.”

“You know he's not inviting you over out of the goodness of his
heart,” the AI responded. The admiral chuckled as he put on a fresh coverall.

“Of course not.”

“So it's a trap.”

“Oh, probably,” he replied, putting a navy jacket on and then
taking it off. The heat of the summer day had died down and according to the
natives it was supposed to be chilly. Of course the cold didn't bother him, but
he had to keep up some appearances. He put it back because he didn't want it
torn to shreds in a fight. Call it sentimentality, he thought with a slight
twist of his lips.

“So why are you going again?”

“It's a dinner invitation and I'm hungry,” the admiral replied
simply.

“Admiral, you're normally not this... careless. Foolish,” Sprite
warned.

“One way or another I want this behind us. Even if I have to do
something permanent about it,” Irons replied.

“A show of force?”

“Possibly. Most likely yes, if they let me leave it at that. If
not,” he flexed his right hand.

“Target practice,” Sprite replied dryly.

“True.”

“Can we call for back up?”

“I'm fairly certain the sheriff is in on this. Or if he's not
exactly in on it, he'll know all about it.”

“You think,” Sprite said, sounding annoyed. The admiral shrugged.
“Well, we'll find out in a minute won't we?” he asked as he dropped off the
side of the balcony. He floated as his gravitics kicked, just enough buoyancy
to get to the ground without going splat. His knees took some of the landing
and he turned, trotting out to the main street.

“Left,” Sprite said, putting a map on his HUD. He grunted and
followed it.

...*...*...*...*...

 Arriving at the restaurant, Irons nodded to the thugs on either
side of the door. He caught just the hint of a smirk on the left bruiser’s
face. Not enough to give the show away for some, but enough to tell Irons this
wasn't going to be a purely social visit. He checked his HUD. Defender was up,
his shields were charged and online, ready for instant use.

He entered, nodding to a waitress in a plaid miniskirt and white
checkered bikini top. The red head snapped some gum sizing him up. He ignored
her look as he looked around, noting the people in the restaurant and the
amount of weapons each had. From the looks of it just about everyone in the
building was armed and a part of Fat Larry's gang. Well, all but two. He noted
the familiar backside of the sheriff sitting at the bar. The sheriff caught him
looking in the broad mirror behind the bar and cocked his head. Irons shrugged
and turned to the waitress. She waved him in the direction of Fat Larry's
private booth.

 “This is a set up for a quick whack job with a gun to back of
head right out of some gangster movie you know that right Admiral?” Sprite asked.
Defender projected his energy shield strength. Irons nodded. The shield was
close to his body, only a few millimeters away actually. It would protect him
from every weapon he had detected in the building.

Irons shook hands with Larry and Larry made a few small talk jokes
and then indicated they sit. “You want something? I own the place. You like
Italian?”

“Italian is fine,” the admiral replied with a nod.

“Real Italian or American?” Fat Larry asked, clearly amused and
testing him. The waitress smiled, taking out a paper pad and pencil.

That explained the methane smell, the admiral thought as he got
comfortable. “Real is fine. What do you have?” Irons asked, looking at the
girl. There wasn't any menu around.

The girl blinked, off guard. She looked at Larry who waved
impatiently to her. “I understand the true connoisseurs of Italian were from
Sicily,” Irons replied slyly.

“Oh yeah?” Larry asked, chuckling. “Do tell,” he said.

“I never visited Italy when I was on Earth so I really can't tell
for certain,” the admiral said and then shrugged.

Fat Larry's eyes widened comically. “You's was on Earth?” he
chuckled, patting his belly. “Come on now, you're pulling my leg.”

“No, I was on Earth. I preferred Mars though, my family had
holdings there. This was before the Xeno war actually,” Irons replied, sitting
back. “My cousins told me about the different pizzas, New York, Chicago,
Californian, or real Italian pizza. Me, I liked rigatoni with clams or oh,” he
turned to the waitress. “How about um, Risotto Alla Romana, with oh, Zuppe de
Cozze, and for desert, um... Tiramisu'.” The admiral said.

The girl looked confused. She looked at her boss who was staring
again. “Um...” the girl said, darting looks from Fat Larry to Irons.

“If you don't have any muscles for the Zuppe, you could substitute
a Ministroni,” Irons replied. “And a good pesto if you've got one. The house
version of course.”

“I, um, I think we can do that,” the girl said, scribbling. Irons
was fairly sure she didn't know what he'd said. The difference between American
and true Italian indeed! He thought with a chuckle.

“I, ah, see you are well educated,” Fat Larry said, smiling
politely as he waved a meaty hand shooing the girl away.

“I've been to many places over the centuries,” the admiral
replied. Larry had that poleaxed look again. “Earth was quiet beautiful, scared
from the AI wars of course, but beautiful. It's a pity it's all gone now,”
Irons said with a slightly theatrical smile.

“You miss it?” Larry asked, genuinely curious.

“A bit. I'm a spacer though, born and bred. I was never big on
cities and big vistas. I'll take a ship or shipyard any day,” Irons replied. He
nodded politely to the human waiter who came in with a bottle of white wine.
The man made a show of uncorking it, then offered the cork to the mobster.
Larry smiled and sniffed it, then handed it to Irons. Irons took a whiff and
nodded politely, not commenting about how it didn't measure up to vintages he'd
had. Someone didn't know how to properly care of and store wine it seemed.

He continued the smile as the waiter poured their drinks and then
left with a slight bow. Larry grunted and took a sip of wine. Irons did as
well. “Was it like this then? The people and stuff?” Larry asked.

The admiral snorted softly, setting his glass down. “In some ways
yes... and no. People before the war had access to modern health care and
education beyond what is currently available here. They lived longer. But there
was still crime, still those who lived in the shadows.”

“Heh,” Larry grunted.

“Pirates were the worst of course, and unfortunately the
Horathians are now filling that nitch. Oh, I bet there are others out there,
freelancers, but I'm fairly sure they aren't nearly as bad as the Horathians.”

“What about them?” Larry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You hadn't heard?” the admiral asked. Larry shrugged and sat
back, arms on the back of the booth. “Okay, the pirates that have been
attacking ships and colonies in this sector are mostly from Horath. They're
building up for something. They're also on an anti-alien and even an anti Neo
killing spree too.”

“Sucks to be them,” Larry said noncommittally.

“Yes, and for anyone who doesn't play ball with them. Right now
they're avoiding places like this for obvious reasons,” Irons replied. He meant
the planetary defense network. “But that will eventually change as they pick
the other systems clean.”

“Clean?”

“Clean. They pretty much wiped out Centennial. Nothing on that
world is left. They stripped it to bedrock,” Irons replied.

Larry whistled softly, eyes gleaming. “Must have been some haul.”

“Yeah, but they didn't need the women and kids though,” Irons
replied. Larry froze. “I saw a couple mass graves. I don't envy anyone who
survived and hid. If they're still alive they're in caves somewhere.”

“Yeah,” Larry replied thoughtfully.

“That's what they'll do to other worlds eventually.”

“Yeah,” Larry said softly. He was now thinking about what they'd
do here.

“At least with the mob in my time they were... um, discrete.
Gambling, petty theft, drugs, liquor, prostitution, porn. Though prostitution
really didn't get all that much credits. Some of the sick puppy crap did, but
anyone involved in that knew they were playing with fire.”