Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) (25 page)

“What can you do?”

“You'd be surprised,” the admiral smiled. “I'm still curious about
your inner ear. Do you have that change as well?”

“Some,” Mara finally admitted with a shrug. “I don't know all the
details.”

The admiral looked thoughtful for a long moment. “Do you think you
could pilot a ship?”

“A ship?” she asked, turning to him in surprise. Wide eyes stared
at him. He smiled politely. “Why?” she asked suspiciously.

“Well, if a screening process could be engineered then you could
go to other world’s right? But you could also pilot ships. Starships. Hyperspace
navigation and helm. It's.... it's like flying and swimming in an incredible
environment. It's... hard to describe really. If you had implants too it would
be... incredible.”

She stared at him for a long time. He shrugged uncomfortably under
that intent gaze. “I'm just saying it is something to think about. I'll talk to
the local medics. Maybe I can help them with the tech needed to screen your
people.”

“It will cost,” she said.

“I'm sure it will. But the benefits are worth it,” Irons replied.

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

Exploring the area he ran into a large family of otters. They were
entertainers, they also worked on ships scraping barnacles off the hull, or as
pick pockets. Tinkers in other words. Mara warned him that they were all
magpies, they loved shiny things. He noted a family walking nearby wearing
style clothes. One dipped a tiny hand paw into a pocket here and there as if
shopping. A man turned and kicked the little being. The otter brushed himself
off as he got up, twisted his whiskers and then went on his way twirling a
pocket watch.

“Should we stop them?” Sprite asked, sounding amused. Irons shook
his head. They were fast, melting into the crowd. Besides, it wasn't his
problem, he was learning to pick and choose his battles.

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

Irons and Sprite talked into the night about the otters and
genies. They still had no known way of safely removing and disposing of the
worms. What they had was a list of ways that wouldn't work... or were just too
expensive for the people to be able to support. “This isn't really my field.
I'm out of my element here,” the admiral finally admitted.

“True.” Sprite replied. They could and should consult a medic but
none were available due to the holiday.

“Drying the creatures out, denying them water is the only known
way to kill them. Dehydration. I'm betting if there was a way to do that they'd
find another way to adapt to that. And how are they growing? They must be
attaching to capillaries in the host body and siphoning off nutrients right?”
he sighed in disgust. “We really don't have the skills to handle this.”

“Perhaps contacting Pyrax isn't too far out of the question?”
Sprite asked. He opened his mouth to object but she plowed on. “Say a message?
Asking for Commander Thornby to send a medical team sometime to look into the
matter? Perhaps Doctor Thornby would take a humanitarian interest in such a
project?”

“I... I don't know. We can try it,” the admiral replied. He'd just
discarded trying to kill the worms. He didn't know what would happen if he did,
it could disrupt the food chain. Or it could cause other unknown damage.
Technically it was illegal to kill a native species, even a parasitical one. He
thought of that as foolish, but the law was on the books.

Nanites were out of course, the 'land lubber' community would be
horrified at the very idea. They wouldn't support something like that and he
couldn't leave the tiny robots behind without supervision. The only idea he had
left was a periodic dip in a regen tank. “Regen tanks,” he sighed, clearly stymied
and frustrated by it.

“A regen tank has nanites in it of course, and would be useful to
the medics in the area. But would they let the device be used by the population
he wanted it for? Doubtful.” Sprite argued, citing several examples of such
machinery being reserved for 'more important, i.e. rich' people. Pyrax was just
one example. He was forced to agree with her.

“They'd make fantastic navigators and helmsman,” Irons commented.

“If they took an interest in such a thing admiral,” Sprite
replied. “I've found in my recent research into the Neo genotype that otters
have notoriously short attention spans for such work. They are flighty and tend
to be more interested in stealing or causing trouble than in running the ship.”

Irons frowned. He'd had one or two otter friends and it was true
they suffered from what the charitable would call adult attention deficit
disorder. They tended to be lazy, preferring to just get by and have fun. Their
pranks could be a blast as long as you weren't on the receiving end of one.

“I think... yeah, they'd tear a crew apart with their antics,”
Irons finally admitted.

“Or get themselves spaced,” Sprite agreed. “I know spacers don't
mind a good joke, it releases the boredom and tension, but there is such a
thing as carrying a joke too far. Otters don't know when to quit,” she said
caustically.

“I don't remember you having any experience with them,” Irons
replied, sitting up and cocking an eyebrow at her projected image.

“I don't, I've picked up on some things from the other AI,” Sprite
replied.

“Oh. So this is some sort of um... transitional bigotry?” he
asked.

She spun, glaring. “I am not a bigot!”

“No? You just made generalizations and slanderous ones at that
about an anthro species you have no personal contact with. You have little
firsthand observation too.”

Sprite looked shocked. “I... I...”

“Hoisted on your own petard Commander? It seems like you are
becoming more organic every day.”

“Now that's hitting below the belt Admiral,” Sprite replied with a
dirty look. He snorted and smiled slightly.

“Well, you are evolving.”

“Or devolving down to a lower level,” Sprite muttered.

“Maybe. Or just realizing it's easier to sit back and bitch about
something or other without actually getting involved. There might be a way to
deal with the otters, train them or spark their interest. I don't know. Short
shifts, turning it into some sort of virtual game.... response reward training,
I don't know,” he shrugged. “Toss that into a suggestion file and we'll change
the subject. Deal?”

“Deal,” Sprite replied with obvious relief. She realized she
wasn't fully healed if she could open herself up to something like that and
then have such an emotional response to it. She'd have to think about it when
the admiral was asleep.

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

In the morning he had some lumpy and only slightly warm porridge
and wasn't happy that the hotel manager had run out of coffee. He'd sworn
softly and stomped off to the nearest tea and coffee shop for his morning jolt
of caffeine. There were some things he insisted on, coffee in the morning being
one of them. A hot shower was another he thought, running a hand through his
still damp hair. He didn't mind an ultrasonic one, but the hotel was old school
and it's water heater was substandard. Having one for an entire floor was
stupid. Having two bathrooms for forty people was also stupid. Either he'd have
to do something about that or he'd have to find someplace else to sleep. Again.

Sleeping in his shuttle was out, he mused. Apparently Commissioner
Hodges had put a moratorium on spacers sleeping on or in their shuttle craft.
Of course Irons had found out that Hodges had a stake in every hotel, motel,
and bed and breakfast in the county. That figured. They also charged exorbitant
rates for out of Towner’s, and that too was to be expected. Squeeze the sucker
dry he thought with a pang.

In line at the coffee shop he noted a woman cooing over a baby.
Looking over her shoulder he flinched when he realized the baby was a Mogwi. A
Mogwi of all things. The woman ignored him, just rocked and cooed to the little
furry monster.

Mogwi were gene engineered pets from back before his time. Back in
the dark days of genetic designer pets some group had gotten it into their
heads to create near sapient pets based on a movie creature. They had thought
it would be a good idea to make something more interactive than a robot or toy.
Despite injunctions, seizures, and other attempts by authorities they had
proliferated. The authorities were undermined by the public and their own
children's desires to have one as a pet.

Mogwi were furry and cute, smart, and cuddly. They were small,
stubby arms and legs with a broad head and bat ears. Their faces were very
expressive. Women adored them. Their clumsy antics and ability to purr and baby
talk in a pidgin dialect had many in stitches. The net had been covered in
video of their antics, even supplanting the thousands of cat videos that had
gotten there over the decades. Since they had long life spans and grew slowly
they were an expensive but worthy pet people argued. When they had first come
out they had millions of followers, millions of parents wanted one for their
kids, it went on and on.

But as the animals and people aged the parents tended to neglect
their charges over time. Mogwi were near sapient, and so they resented such
rude behavior. Some resorted to mischief to get attention, some to malfeasance.
Those that were abused in their punishment grew even more bitter and started
shedding their fur and turning into real monsters.

He'd heard stories of them when he'd wanted one as a pet. Spacers
hated the beasts, they loved to tear ships apart. They tended to become vicious
when provoked. Neutering eased some of the problem, but not all.

What really bothered him was their level of intelligence and
ability to turn that against others. They had small hands and a knack of
getting into trouble. The adults that had molted were called Gremlins for good
reason.

The woman set the animal down when it was her turn to order. It
tugged at a jeweled leash with one small hand paw, and then tugged on her skirt
whimpering with sad eyes. She hushed him. After a moment it growled and left a
steaming bright yellow pile near her foot. Apparently that was his thoughtful
response for being set down and neglected.

The woman scooped him up, scolded him and then tucked him under
one arm and smiled as she paid and picked up her coffee. She curtsied slightly
to Irons as she passed him.

When the woman left juggling her coffee and the abomination he
ordered his coffee and then stepped over the dribble of yellow goo the woman
and thing had left. “You've got, um, a mess here,” Irons said, looking down at
it and pointing.

“Again?” the barista sighed, shaking her head mournfully.

“Yeah.”

“The least she could do is clean it up!” the barista growled.

“Yeah,” the guy behind Irons growled, being careful not to step in
the steaming mess.

“Did you see that thing?” Sprite asked him as he exited the shop.
He looked down to his shoes to make sure he hadn't stepped in any of the yellow
glop. That stuff stunk to high heaven and only industrial solvent or flushing
the soiled items worked to get the smell out. It proliferated through the life
support of a ship.

“Yeah,” he muttered, taking a drink as he stepped away from the
door.

“And they
let
her keep it?”

“Apparently so,” Irons grumbled.

“She must be someone important. The wife of someone important or
something,” Sprite replied, adding her image to his files.

“I hope we don't run into her again,” Irons sighed, drinking his
coffee.

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

“Now what?” Sprite asked.

“I'm about out of materials,” the admiral admitted. “I left some
in the shuttle. I think we'll make a quick run there,” he said.

“Are you certain it's safe?”

“For me?” the admiral asked, laughing. He checked the air car. No
one had tampered with the machine. He made certain to check it over thoroughly.
He turned, seeing his two feline tails nonchalantly washing themselves on a
rooftop nearby.

“Perhaps you should offer them a ride?” Sprite asked, smirking on
his HUD.

“Don't get cheeky Commander,” The admiral replied, climbing into
the air car and starting the turbines.

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

The flight north to Hazard was a short hop, a couple hundred
kilometers at around twenty-five hundred meters. He was glad he'd rented the
machine and serviced it before using it. He was paying through the nose to use
it, but it certainly came in handy.

He landed in the secure parking near the space port. He signed in
to security and nodded to the bored guard as he went to his shuttle. It only
took a few minutes to make certain everything was fine, of course it was. Had
anyone approached the shuttle Phoenix would have sensed it and alerted them.
But it paid to make certain, he didn't need to get cocky right now.

He dropped in some trinkets he'd picked up, mostly minor bits he'd
bought for material than for sentimental value. These went into the replicator
and were reduced to component materials and then stored. He tapped out a few
orders and waited for them to finish building. When the trays were finished he
dumped them into his duffel and stuffed his pockets with more flash sticks
before he left the craft.