Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) (36 page)

“Good for him. I need to resupply. Who's next?”

“So far no one, but when word gets out, they'll probably be
chasing you even more than the assassins currently are,” Sprite responded with
a laugh.

“You would remind me of them,” Irons sighed. He looked around to
the busy street. Defender had picked out the bomb attempt at the hotel he had
stayed in Metropolis a few nights ago. The AI had pointed it out to him that
morning. Apparently Sprite hadn't made the connection. To be fair, neither had
the admiral. Still, it was something to think about and to be cautious about. A
bomb would ruin his day but not his life, but it would permanently ruin the
lives of anyone else caught up in the explosion.

“Lunch?” Irons asked.

“You'd think Fox would have offered,” Sprite grumbled. “Two blocks
down admiral, on the left side. There's a restaurant there with adequate food
and better yet, a television with the latest news feed.”

“Right,” Irons sighed, moving off in the indicated direction.

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

The Prinz Zir didn't stay long, just long enough to take on some
fuel and a family of passengers, the Gronix family of three. Irons was amused
at the media story of the family leaving and the shy little blonde girl waving
goodbye at the shuttle launch.

“Slow news day to cover that,” Sprite said after they watched the
vid feed. There was always something about people going off into the great
unknown that intrigued organics, she thought. Which was probably why they ran
the story. That and the fact that a ship coming to the system was still a news
event. It was so in other systems as well.

“True,” Irons replied with a shrug. “Now, where were we?”

“Still going nowhere fast apparently. Though the protests about
the fuel has drawn our supplier out with an out and out demand for more
credits.”

“Lovely.”

“I would suggest trading skills for the fuel but he doesn't
deserve making more profits with his attitude,” Sprite replied. Irons grunted
in irritation.

“Fuel station?” Irons asked. He still had that to fall back on.

“If we go visit it, maybe half a tank admiral,” Sprite replied.
This gas giant is diffuse, the Helium 3 is harder to come by. We sold a lot of
the first run to Io.”

“Which took on what? Ten tons? That's not much.”

“No. But our problem is we need all Helium 3 and deuterium. The
hydrogen we're getting ground side is allowing us to supplement the deuterium
from the platform. Remember, we need more of that then of Helium 3, but the
distilled water we're getting is anything but distilled. And Phoenix has to
scrub it, run it through electrolysis, and then separate the hydrogen and then
screen for the deuterium. We've got plenty of reaction mass for the fusion
drive but...”

Irons held up a restraining hand. “Spare me. I get it. More water.”

“We could camp out on the platform. It would take a month but we
would get the fuel needed for a shorter jump. Say...”

Irons shook his head. “No, we're going for the long jump. But I
think it's time to get the last package and then change continents.”

“Good idea,” Sprite replied. “Let some other person try to screw
us,” she said.

“Not helping,” he growled.

“Sorry sir,” Sprite replied. She blinked and then cocked her head.
“In other news, one of the minicomputers you handed out in Hazard has just gone
orbital.”

“Oh?”

“The one that was given to the school. Or at least one of the
ones. I'm guessing someone either traded for it or did a five fingered
discount.”

“Are you still tracking it?”

“I was but it's now out of range. The ship will be out of Phoenix's
range shortly.”

“Well, at least it's in someone's hands. Someone who can use it
and appreciate it,” he said with a shrug. “Moving on...”

“You know, something that's been bothering me. Perfect Circle,”
the admiral said as his right arm continued to work. He studied the primitive
wiring of the hydroelectric controls and then snorted. It wasn't like the
Siegfried project, but close. This facility was over thirty years old so
apparently some systems hadn't changed much in design. Sprite and Proteus were
adding microcomputers to help control the system. He'd made certain they had
put up additional firewalls to protect the critical systems as well.

“Yes?” Sprite asked.

“What happened to the people there? The people in the resorts and
the people in the prisons?”

“According to what records I've managed to access, the prisoners
stayed in prison until basic utilities broke down. Most of the correctional
officers were bots so they couldn't break out.”

“Oh?”

“There were maybe a thousand on each island. A few attempted to
escape, with predictable and final results for each attempt. Eventually those
that served out their sentences were released to the mainland.”

“Ah,” Irons replied. “Where they had no work, no means of
income... credit was about useless...”

“True. They were released near the resort. Resort security had
been breaking down over time, it eventually failed. The people within were
sheep.”

The admiral winced. “Lambs to the slaughter?”

“Something to that effect. People saw them as parasites, they
demanded food and goods but didn't contribute to the welfare of the colony.
When they lost power no one helped them, in fact many probably helped burn them
down and looted the place.”

“Possibly,” Irons replied.

“The prison islands were all controlled by a network of computers
in the resort. When it went down...”

“No back up?” Irons asked, now surprised.

“No back up and it was also their primary source of power. With
both gone the bots ran out of power. The prisoners escaped.”

Irons winced.

“Yes it's as bad as you think it was, at least on the west coast.
It took time, but eventually the smarter ones either formed their own posses or
joined existing mobs.”

“Ah,” Irons said nodding.

“Many of the white collar criminals that survived the riots
disappeared into the population. A few made names for themselves as mayors or
as victims of someone with an ax to grind.”

“Ouch.”

“Anyone who tried to set up a city or center of government during
the dark times were torn down. They just drew a big target around themselves
that said they had goods to steal and come get them. Eventually the lesson was
learned and everyone kept a low profile.”

“I'll bet,” the admiral replied as he finished wiring the console
he had been working on. “POST?”

“Power On Self-Test complete Admiral, this substation is ready for
business,” Sprite said as the admiral climbed out from under the console and
dusted his hands off. He smiled politely to the rather frumpy looking man
nearby.

“It works?”

“It's working now,” the admiral replied, pointing to the sea of
green lights on the console. It controlled the hydroelectric facilities on the
river. The engineer adjusted his glasses with finicky precision and then went
over the board, checking his clipboard. He hummed slightly.

“It looks good.”

“I've done what I can. You need to replace the turbines in shaft
two though, they were badly made. The others could be replaced in turn with
better made materials when they come available.”

“Oh?” the man asked absently.

“Copper cladding would act as an antimicrobial preventing the muscle
growth problem you've got that is clogging your systems.”

“Interesting,” the man murmured. “Though I believe the otters who
service that equipment might object,” he said.

“True,” the admiral said with a nod. “Anything else?”

“Can you look at the feeder station? We're losing energy there,”
the man said.

“Sure Mr. Martin, no problem,” Irons replied walking out.

“Not so much as a thank you,” Sprite murmured for his ears alone.

“I'm not doing it for thanks,” Irons replied. “Proteus,
transmission station design. Sprite can you do an encyclopedia check for
historical precedence to help us along?”

“Oh very well. Though I don't see why, you've repaired four others
this week already,” Sprite grumbled, getting to work as the admiral pounded
down the wrought iron stairs to the ground door below.

“Any word on the sleepers?” he asked as his eyes adjusted to the
bright sunlight as he opened the door.

“No, not a word. Apparently they are storing them until they
finish wrangling over what to do with them,” Sprite replied, sounding
disgusted. “Apparently they don't want to put the genie back in the bottle once
they get them out.”

“It would be tacky of them. 'Um, can you folks get back in the
pods? We want to sell you to someone else,'” the admiral mocked as he reached
the rusted iron door. Text and image files of transmission substations were
flashing in a window on one side of his HUD. He oriented onto the spaghetti
mess of wiring and sighed.

“This is going to take a while,” he said.

“Well, since the fuel is still a problem and the contracts in
Gotham and Metropolis are stalled on the company’s ends we don't have much else
to do,” Sprite sighed.

“True,” Irons said, walking to the fence protecting the
transmission equipment. He could hear it hum, feel the electrical energy
crackling around it. His eyes narrowed, some of the energy was going through
the fence. Either someone had gotten smart and electrified it, or something was
using it as a ground. Either way they were losing a lot of energy there, it
wasn't designed as an electric fence.

“The fence is hot,” Sprite warned unnecessarily. The admiral
grunted. “Admiral, I think you've been going about this wrong. Or at least
partially wrong.”

“In what way?” the admiral asked, studying the fence and lines.
Proteus highlighted each as it traced the connections.

“Have you ever heard the expression, 'Feed a man a fish you feed
him for a day, but teach a man to fish you feed him for life'?” Sprite asked.

The admiral grunted. “So your saying this isn't working?”

“We're talking about localized impacts admiral. It's time we
looked at the bigger picture. Instead of fixing a clinic in Podunk out in the
boonies, or handing over a text book it's time to get with the industries and
pass on what we've got. If one balks others might not and just the idea of
competition and of others getting a jump over them will force them to listen.”

“True,” Irons replied thoughtfully, looking away from his current
project. Sprite was right, he'd neglected the big picture in favor of the
little one. Strategic over tactical. He'd been so focused on it... it had been
therapy in some ways, salving his bruised ego after Antigua, but still. She was
right, they needed to remain focused on the big picture. Slowly he smiled a
little. Fox was a nice guy and all, he didn't want to screw him over, but if
his board was dragging its heels maybe giving the data to other companies might
light a fire under their asses.

“I know that smile. You're up to something,” Sprite replied
warily. He had a mischievous smile and her readings of his emotional stability
read pure mischief, which boded ill for someone.

“True. You know me so well,” he teased. “Think you can set up
feelers to manufacture other goods?” the admiral asked.

“Such as?” Sprite asked.

“Oh I don't know, medical supplies, factory equipment, the basics.
Start small though and feel it out. Sell the blueprints or hell, give them away
if you can't find a buyer. Same for the manufacturing steps involved. Start
with what you think they can absorb,” he said.

“That's a broad order admiral,” Sprite replied cautiously.

“Use your initiative and your discretion.”

“I'll need bandwidth,” she cautioned.

“Take all you need. Link to Phoenix and get him involved. He's
probably bored and lonely.”

“Understood,” Sprite replied, practically rubbing her virtual
hands together in glee. This was something of interest to her... and it would
further their cause immensely.

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

“You were right,” the admiral said quietly, lying in bed sometime
later. He'd almost ended up camping in his air car that night, there hadn't
been any available rooms in town. The local doctor had taken him in out of
gratitude and possible pity when he heard Irons on the phone trying to find a
room. It was annoying, he'd spent hours helping the man out with his clinic.
One question about the sleepers and the doctor had turned gruff and taciturn.

The room wasn't much but it was shelter for the next couple of
hours as another thunderstorm raged outside. It didn't help shelter him from
the storm brewing within. He was frustrated. He should be happy, he'd achieved
a lot today. But he'd done that every day for nearly a month on this planet. It
felt like he was running in place, not getting anywhere and Sprite had pointed
out exactly why.