Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) (68 page)

“He's a pain in the ass,” Hank said.

“Which cheek?” Irons asked. “Sorry, old joke gone awry. Anyway,
yes, yes he is.”

“Is that really necessary?” the deputy asked, indicating the pile
of drone parts. He was standing near the door. Hank snorted.

“There is no such thing as overkill where nanites are concerned.
I'd rather be safe than sorry,” Irons replied, plugging in the wiring harness.
It was all plug and play so the little drone was going together smoothly.

“Nanites...” the deputy shivered. Irons shot him a glance and then
went back to work.

“They're tools. It's who uses them for what that matters,” Irons
said as Hank pulled an aileron from the replicator and then closed the door.
The admiral sent a Wi-Fi signal initializing the rudder to be built.

“But they have so much potential for evil!” Rogers replied.

“And good,” the admiral replied, turning. “This was made with
nanites. The screens the doctors have are nanites. The vaccine they are making
is again made with nanites.”

The deputy shook his head mulishly.

“Think about it on your own time. I've got work to do,” Irons
said. “Sorry Hank, we've got work to do,” he said, nodding to the blue Neolion.

“At least now he gives me credit,” the lion joked.

“Admiral, you do realize this missile is going to be vulnerable to
interception right?” Sprite asked. “As soon as the hive recognizes it for what
it is then it will try to kill it. Or even suborn it and send it back to us.”

“Well, that's a lovely thought,” Irons replied, sitting back on
his haunches. “Ideas?”

“Fly high and drop?”

“Bomb drop? That will help avoid interception getting to the
target, but below three thousand meters it is vulnerable.”

“In a dive? It would have what? A minute to impact?” Hank asked.

“In electronic terms, a minute is an eternity to hack something
Mr. McCoy,” Sprite replied dryly.

Hank blinked. “Oh.”

“Hank,” Irons asked, looking around. “You still have those drop
emitters we were using to land cargo?”

“Yeah...” Hank drawled, “I'm not sure where you are going with
this though...”

“I can take two to four and rework them into primitive shield
emitters. Good for about a minute, maybe two.”

“Oh. Yeah, I can get Jerry to scrounge a few,” Hank replied.

Irons rubbed his chin. “The problem is we'll have to save them for
the dive. I could wire them into the power, but a shield turns the flight
surfaces on an aircraft into useless appendages. It forms an ovoid around the
craft redirecting air flow. That means that you not only lose your
aerodynamics, you lose all your controls. So, once the shield pops on that's
it, she'll stall.”

“And we'll lose control. No signals in or out with the shield on,”
Sprite said.

“That too,” the admiral sighed. “But that will keep the craft from
breaking up by the nanites until it dropped below a thousand feet.”

“How long will it take to rework the emitters?” Hank asked,
looking around. He was trying to remember where they stored them all.

The admiral noted the chimp nearby. He was certain the simian had
been listening the entire time. “Too long, but we'll have to do it. At least
two.”

“All right, I'm on it,” Jerry said from the door. He waved to them
and then left.

“I didn't know he was there,” Hank said.

“I did,” the admiral replied.

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

Rajar knew he was in trouble when he had breached his suit when he
had instinctively flexed his claws. He had tried to tape the holes up.
Unfortunately he just contained the damage, making it worse for him.

He didn't feel right, he knew it. He knew he was sick. His one
attempt at trying to get help had been met with utter failure. The nurse on
duty had politely told him with just the right hint of exasperation that the
vaccines were for those outside the suits first, and Neo vaccines were waiting
on shipping. There were some reported at the virology lab, he needed to speak
with Hank McCoy and leave her alone. “Next?” she said looking over her shoulder
to the next in line.

Rajar snarled when someone knocked him to one side. Sick, he
staggered through town, trudging to the virology lab. He saw Nohar on the other
side of the street and waved tiredly.

Nohar looked up from where he was standing and noticed Rajar.
Well, the cub was still alive, he thought, as he made his way across the street
to talk to the cub.

Nohar caught up with him, at first he thought the lad had over
done it in the suit, after all it was very hot out and they were in the sun
standing on concrete.

But then he realized the boy was sick when the lion looked at him
with an agonized face and then crumpled. Nohar was instantly upset when the cub
silently raised his paws to show the elder tiger the breaches. Nohar cradled
his body as the lion took in a shuddering breath and his eyes closed.

“Get help!” Nohar snarled to the nearest person. Jerry looked up,
saw what was going on and rushed inside to find Hank.

As Hank and the admiral rushed out Rajar died from weaponized
feline leukemia before help could get to him. Nohar roared in anguish. The
admiral stopped and closed his eyes, clenching his fists silently. For a long
moment he stood there, watching Hank and Nohar, then he turned back to the lab.
Jerry was in the doorway, frozen. He passed the chimp, patted him on the
shoulder and then sat heavily in a chair. He had work to do, he thought, going
through the motions of putting the drone together.

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

Near the outer edges of town, Sheriff Coltrain had tracked down
the assassin. Hodges wasn't comfortable about going to that part of town, it
was filled with the poor who couldn't or wouldn't get to the clinics in town
but he had no choice.

He gulped as he saw the familiar figure sitting alone at the bar.
A series of bottles were arranged in front of the Veraxin, along with a series
of shooter glasses.

“Well well, what can I do for you boss?” Ole Blue cackled,
turning. He rested his upper arms on the back of the brass rail lining the old
bar. From the looks of both they had seen better days.

“I... I need you to reconsider the contract on Irons again. I'll
double your usual fee,” he ground out.

The Veraxin studied him for a long moment, then tipped his fedora
hat back. “Well! Why so serious about this Hodges? It's not like you to
actually want someone alive?” he cackled.

“Irons is doing his best to save us. Save everyone, including you.
I know you don't care about that, but others do. The other commissioners and
the governor have asked me to intercede.”

“Interesting,” the Veraxin mused. “But no, I'm not the type to
give up on something once I've put my mind to doing it, and Irons has lived
long enough. He needs killing,” he said. He turned and took another shot of
whiskey and honey.

“Can you at least wait until he's done?”

“My time fat man, I do it on my own time. Where is he?”

“He's in town.”

“Then he and I have a long awaited appointment,” the Veraxin
chattered, getting up.

“Triple! We'll pay triple if you wait until this is done!” Hodges
said desperately.

“All right, if you are that desperate, for... quadruple the rate,”
the Veraxin said with a lurking smile in his voice.

Hodges squealed but when the assassin turned to leave Hodges held
up his fat pudgy hands and waved them frantically. “Deal it's a deal,” he said
mournfully. “It's a deal. Just let the man do his thing. Please,” he said
desperately.

The alien turned to him. “My time is valuable Hodges,” he warned.

“Oh I know, I know,” Hodges said, nodding with a jerky repetitive
nod he did when he was nervous. No one made him more nervous than this killer.

“I don't like interference Hodges, I usually deal with such...
permanently,” the Veraxin replied.

Hodges's eyes were wide. No one threatened him, especially in his
own county. However Blue was a special case. He knew better than to get uppity.
One cold look from those alien eyes was all it took for his bravado to fade. He
gulped and then nodded, wiping his brow with a handkerchief.

“I expect the money in my account in an hour then,” the alien warned
and walked out.

The admiral received the weather report from Phoenix and wasn't
happy. A series of summer thunderstorms were entering the area over the
following week. He found that the current winds were infecting small villages
and towns south and east of the city, creeping ever closer to Sin City which
had had its first cases show up in its refugee camps earlier in the morning.
The wet thunderstorms and high humidity was kicking the air up, both dampening
the spread with the water, yet spraying the remaining pathogens far and wide
with the gusty winds... and occasional tornado. That explained why the spread
was now haphazard and the infection rate was slowing.

He had Sprite calculate the rate of expansion and recommended
areas that weren’t infected shift people upwind of the virus and to quarantine
the infected areas. Sprite passed the data on to Director Richards as well as
the government in hiding.

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.”