Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) (70 page)

“And thus compounding the problem,” the admiral sighed, shaking
his head. “Okay. Let me look. Lazarrian Junior,” he said turning to the nurse.

“Bay twelve. He's not...” she glanced at the father. “He's not
well.”

“Stable?” Irons asked.

“He's stopped... he's um...”

“I'll look,” the admiral said.

The admiral made his way slowly down the path, stepping around the
various people weeping or trying to help the sick and dying. There were a few
equipment carts, one had filthy water in it and dressings. Apparently they were
trying to treat the fever with cool compresses.

He looked up, there was a ceiling fan making soft whomp whomp
sounds, being turned by a belt. The belts were connected to other fans further
away. The fans moved slowly, giving a light breeze to dry the sweat and give a
slight relief to the nearly unbearable heat and humidity. Even with the sun
down it was still hot, sticky hot. It would only get worse when the sun rose in
nine hours.

“Bay twelve admiral,” Sprite reported, with an arrow to the left.
He turned, expecting an adult, instead he found a child, under 12. He blinked.

The boy was asleep, a skinny thing, freckled, short brown hair.
“We all start out innocent don't we?” he asked softly.

“It seems that way admiral,” Sprite said, keeping her voice
subdued. He looked at the chart attached to the foot of the bed. His readings
were all over the place. “Sprite? Translation?”

“He's dying admiral. He caught it and his body is giving up the
fight.”

“Shit,” Irons said, closing his eyes. “Ebola?”

“A variant,” Sprite answered.

“Proteus?”

“Yes admiral?”

“Can you kill it? Screen his blood and kill it?”

“I... I don't know admiral,” Proteus reported.

“I'm not asking for a miracle. I'm asking if you can kill it. Set
up in his heart at each valve and kill it as his body pumps it. Check his
lymphatic system and clear that out too.”

“And his lungs,” Sprite replied.

“Fighting chance, that's all I'm asking. Act as a nanite screen.”

“I... I can try,” Proteus said after a moment.

“Thank you. That's all I ask,” Irons said softly, standing over
the boy. He put his right hand out, hesitated, then gently brushed the thin
sheet he had on covering his naked body and put his hand on the hairless chest.
“Do it.”

“Already working,” Proteus reported, moving into the boy.

It took a twenty minutes for all his blood to be filtered, but
when the AI was finished he reported that most if not all of the virus was
cleared from the boy's system. “But that won't keep him from being reinfected
admiral,” Proteus reported.

“From others around him?” Irons asked. The boy sighed softly in
his sleep. Irons brushed his bangs out of his eyes and gently felt his
forehead. His sensors could tell him the kid's core temp, but this was old
school. He wasn't sure, but he felt like his temperature was dropping.

“Yes.”

“Then we'll do something about that,” Irons said. He exited the
bay and nodded to the nurse who was looking at him. He went to the next bay,
pulled the sheet aside and entered. There was an entire family there.

 Irons spent the evening going from one bay to the next, trying to
cover multiple patients at once. “You can't save them all admiral,” Sprite
warned as a man coughed blood nearby.

“No,” the admiral turned to the man who settled back wearily. “But
I can do what I can. We can do what we can. Give them a bit of a fighting
chance,” he said.

“And the others on the other floors?”

“One thing at a time.”

“You do realize you're taking your eyes off the bigger picture for
the small one?” Sprite asked. He scowled.

“Sometimes you need to do that to see the bigger picture. To
realize what we're fighting for Commander,” the admiral said. “We're done here
anyway,” he said finishing with the last patient in the ward.

“Good, you have to key some more parts,” Sprite replied.

He went back to the entrance and nodded to Fat Larry. “Is he...”
Larry asked.

“Proteus cleared his body of the virus. Now he needs to rest and
recover from the damage. If he's anything like you, stubborn and strong, he'll
pull through the night.”

“He's... he's... thanks Irons,” Fat Larry said, looking away.

“Well, the mobster does have a heart,” Sprite said for the
admiral's ears alone. “Will wonders never cease.”

Fat Larry was upset, he started babbling. “I swear Irons, I'll pay
you back. I'm helping boss try to cancel the hit. No one will do it, but...”

Sprite picked up that he knew about the hit on Irons. “Hit what
hit?” Irons demanded turning to the mobster.

“Hit? I didn't say...”

Irons eyes narrowed. “Yes you did. And I suggest you cancel it.
Fast.”

The mobster spread his hands apart. “I didn't order it. But I'll
make sure those who did cancel it or I'll cancel
them
,” the mobster
vowed.

Irons studied him. After a moment he nodded coldly. “You do that.”
He turned and left without another word.

“And now you are reminded that little boys grow up to be men like
him,” Sprite said.

“Commander,” Irons growled.

“Shutting up,” Sprite sighed.

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

Now that they had some semblance of control on fighting the
pathogens, Helen Richards dived into the distribution of the vaccines in order
to streamline and make it more efficient. It turned out some areas weren't
tracking who got what, and some people go the same vaccine twice but not
others. Some went from one site to another getting shots.

Some of the vaccine shipments were going astray, either being reported
as broken in transit or just disappearing with everyone just shrugging when
they asked about it. One shipment was switched, they found that someone had
replaced the shipment with water. Rather dirty water from the look of it. One
vial had pee in it. Helen had been particularly incensed about that.

Education was the key, unfortunately people weren't thinking. They
thought each inoculation was a cure all, which was a problem. Already they were
having trouble with idiots selling more snake oil cures in other cities.
Desperate people were going to anything for an answer, which was a problem.
Fortunately none were on the main continent.

She talked to Sprite briefly. She found she liked talking to the
AI, even more than talking to the admiral. The AI was on point, she could
recall things almost instantly, and she didn't try to throw her weight around.
Not that the admiral did, but others like the Malcolm twins tended to do so.
Ted Zane was also getting a bit overbearing for her taste too, he and nurse Marlone
were always chasing her to get some rest.

“You need to find a way to track each shipment. Not just on paper.
A tracking device would be nice, but... reliable people is more important.”

“Yes,” Helen hissed, leaning over her desk to rub at her brow and
support her aching head. All the numbers and various difficulties in the
distribution logistics had given her another headache.

“What you can do is set up a fingerprint system on an electronic
network as well as issue cheap plastic ID cards as a backup.”

Helen looked up. “You think that will stop this?”

“It's a start. The thieves will think twice about having to give
their fingerprints and sign off on something. Some of the more brazen ones no,
but the more tentative ones...”

“Will think twice like you said, yes,” Helen said. “But getting
that all... ugh!” she growled, sitting back in her chair.

“Cards are easy, we can make card makers and readers. You don't
need the admiral for that.”

“We don't?”

“No. Finger print tech yes. That's an issue. I can get him to do
that on this end. I suggest you start the cards in a new place first as a test
case, then learn from any mistakes made.”

“All right,” Helen said, seeing the logic in that. She nodded in
approval.

“It's still a major headache sorting out who got what in the past
though,” she said. “We may never get it straight. Some people will undoubtedly
slip through the cracks.”

“Most likely. I put the odds at greater than eighty nine percent.”

“Gee thanks,” the director growled.

“Sorry, it's just the way the numbers fall doctor, I have no
emotional ties to them. I would like to see them lower too though.”

“Any ideas?”

“No, not at this time. Let me talk to the admiral and get back to
you,” the AI said.

“Okay, thanks,” Helen replied, closing the instant message link.

Sprite briefed the admiral on her conversation.

“I think you covered the basics Commander,” Irons said. “I'd
suggest some sort of pilot program here,” he said with a shrug. Irons was glad
he wasn't involved in that mess.

“Well, from the sound of it the doctor is still considering moving
her operational headquarters here,” Sprite said. “If only to be closer to the
action,” she said.

“She'd be smarter to move to... no, you're right,” the admiral
sighed.

“I am?”

“I meant she is,” the admiral said waving a dismissive hand.
“She's right, coming here where there's an airport is understandable. I'd still
prefer she stay out of the line of fire, it's actually protocol, but since
we've gotten the edge on this...”

“I wouldn't count the Xeno thing out yet admiral,” Sprite said.

“Oh? Something I don't know about?”

“Well, remember what I said about how nice and easy this thing
is?” he nodded “Well, I for one don't trust it when everything goes our way so
easily.”

“Damn it...” Irons sighed. “You call this all going our way?” he
demanded. He turned to see a crew loading bodies onto the back of a flatbed
truck. They were transporting them to a pit to be burned.

“No,” Sprite replied, “I'd count my blessings... but something
tells me this isn't over. It's too easy.”

'I hope you are wrong,” Irons growled.

“Me too.”

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

Word of what the admiral had done in the ward, if not how he had
done it ran through the population of Hazard. Those who were sick or thought
they were sick started to congregate where ever he was. They asked him to touch
them, to heal them or their children.

“Now see what you've done?” Sprite demanded. “Started a whole
religious movement. What's next? Raise the dead?” she asked.

He closed his eyes briefly. She was right, it was a dangerous game
he was playing. He had acted with his heart, impulsively. But he didn't regret
it, not even now. “Commander...” he said wearily.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, not helping,” she sighed.

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

Irons worked on the replicators, trying to find ways to not only streamline
making the vaccines, but find ways to find methods to treat those already
infected. Unfortunately it looked like the only method was his hands on one
with Proteus, but he couldn't go through the city and cure everyone one at a
time. There were thousands infected, the hospital was overrun with casualties.

And that left the question of what would happen to them once he
cured them. Some of the people he had 'cured' had died anyway, he knew that,
even with the virus dead their bodies were still to damaged to pick up where
they had been and recover. Some had just given up the will to live. He sighed,
frustrated.

“Problem admiral?”

“The usual,” The admiral replied, looking over his shoulder to the
chimp. Jerry shrugged as he pulled a parts tray from a replicator. “Deep
thoughts. Sometimes it feels like we're not moving fast enough.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Jerry said. “Any ideas on when we can
get out of these damn suits?” he asked.

“No idea. If you're caught up on your shots you might be able to
get out now. It all depends on the doctors and if they found any more new
viruses.”

“I haven't heard anything. I hate shots,” Jerry said.

The admiral looked at him. “You mean you haven't had any?”

“None of us in suits have admiral. Catch um... Twenty-Three? I think
Hank said.

“Twenty-Two?” the admiral asked.

“Yeah,” the simian replied, bobbing a nod. His suit crinkled and
made hushing noises as the fabric rubbed against itself. “I'm getting used to
wearing this damn thing but I still want to itch bad. And my diaper is full
up.”

“Didn't you go into the clean room and get sorted out?” Irons
asked.

Jerry sniffed. “Some of the medics are using it as a bedroom. They
lock themselves in, get out of the suits, shit and shower, then take a nap.”
Pure envy dripped from his voice.

“And you're just jealous because you didn't think of it first,”
Hank teased, coming up behind him.