Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) (14 page)

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

Irons poked around the general store. It was a small building
opposite the rather dilapidated Cooter's garage, but it's supplies were fairly
concentrated on the essential basics. There were some food items, cans and
such, tools, some building supplies, the list went on and on.

The shelves weren't well stocked though, a sign that either there
was a supply issue or a problem with the business's accounting. Of course it
could be that he'd wandered in after someone had come in and bought the place
out to build or restock somewhere else.

Yeah that could be it, Irons thought, looking around. He stayed
politely away from the register, there were two people there ahead of him. One
was a big broad shouldered guy, the other a skinnier version. Both were wearing
black hats and black dusters.

“The money Charlie, you know the drill,” the skinny one said
casually, hands on his belt.

“Extortion?” Sprite asked, as Irons focused more intently on the
duo.

“Maybe,” Irons replied softly as the big guy turned to glare
around them.

His roving eyes found Irons. “What're you looking at, come here,”
he growled.

The admiral approached, noting the weapons Defender's scan picked
up. Interesting, he thought. When he got closer he held up a list. “Sorry you
wanted something?” he asked, turning to the tough and interceding between them
and the counter.

The fat storekeeper gulped, not liking what was going on at all.
He didn't have the money they wanted, which made him even more nervous.
Biscuits and Books were spoiling for a fight and he knew what was coming.

“You need to go, I'm closed.” Desperately Mr. Ferguson told the
stranger, from the look of him an offworlder. He rather nervously watched the
others as he repeated his entree to the stranger, now almost pleading him to
mind his own business.

“He's an offworlder. He doesn't know any better. Come on fellas,
I'm barely making Hodges's rent as it is!” He had his hands up, sweating
profusely. “Come on, don't break my place up again, I need it to support my
family!” He licked his lips. Irons could see the guy was truly scared. He was
dressed in a striped shirt, apron, and brown pants. He had muttonchops and a
mustache. Both were going silver, a good match to his black receding hairline.
Black bands were around his elbows, most likely to keep his shirt sleeves
tight.

“Yeah and yourself,” Biscuits said, glaring at the guy. He jerked
his broad thumb at the store keeper. “You believe this lard ball?”

“Oh, I dunno, times might have been tough. We can check the
register of course,” Books replied, nonchalantly yanking the brass machine
around to face them. “You don't mind do you?” he asked snidely.

The storekeeper shook his head, gulping. “Look, I don't want no
trouble,” he stuttered, eyes wide.

Books ransacked the register as Irons clenched his fists. When he
was done Books snarled and knocked the register aside. “Twenty-seven and
change?” he snarled. “That ain't cuttin it lard ball! Guess we'll have to take
it out of you some other way!”

“No,” Irons replied softly.

“No?” Books asked, chuckling as he turned to the intruder. “No?
Did you say no?”

“You heard me,” Irons replied, glad Sprite was recording this.
“You will not harm him,” he growled.

“Well lookey here,”  Books drawled, leaning against the counter
with one elbow. “We have ourselves a
bonafide hero
in our small town.
Will wonders never cease,” he said sarcastically, grinning. His long rat like
face turned and his jaw worked for a moment. He spat a black tobacco wad onto
the floor before he turned back to smile at Irons.

 “Please! Don't. Just go. Don't worry about it mister!” the
storekeeper said, now frantic. He turned to the two thugs. “Look I'll pay you
the money, don't bust up my shop. It costs me even more and I'm near going
under as it is!” His voice was almost shrill in desperation.

Biscuits chuckled, smacking one meaty fist into his opposite hand
a few times. “No, someone needs a lesson in minding their own business,” he said.
He had foul breath, rotten yellow teeth and alcohol. He smiled a feral smile,
eyes glittering. He apparently expected Irons to run, Irons knew better.

Irons nodded tightly, he realized now what was going on. It was a
shake down, one he'd walked into and made worse. Unfortunately as badly as he
wanted to intervene he knew better now. If he did they'd just come back when he
wasn't around and the shop keeper would suffer double. The problem was he was
now in too deep to get out. When the burly thug poked him in the chest and
growled about Irons being a hero the admiral smiled coldly. “I'd take your
finger back.”

“Or else?” the thug growled, getting closer and projecting threat.

“You may lose it,” the Admiral said simply. His hard glittering
eyes locked onto the brute. The brute smirked, ready for a fight but the
circuitry pattern in the admiral's right eye made him pause. He blinked in
confusion and then stepped back, turning away. Irons could see him winding up
for a round house punch and just let it come.

He turned back fast, throwing a punch but Irons was ready for it.
He caught it in his right hand and bore down with his enhanced strength,
crushing the hand. “See?” the admiral said simply as the man dropped to his
knees in agony. His face worked and sweat beaded over it and his entire body.
He groaned, fighting a scream of pain.

“Let him go,” the other tough said, hand wrapped in the
storekeeper's shirt while his free hand held a knife to the guy's throat. “Let
him go or else this geezer gets his gizzard slit.”

“You don't want to do that either,” Irons said softly, turning to
look at the man. Cold eyes glittered as the man at his feet whimpered. He let
go of the hand and the man clutched at it with his left hand, fingers curled.
Tears dripped from his eyes. “I'll tell you what. You take your buddy, your
money and walk. No muss, no more fuss, but if I find out you took out your
anger on these people I'll come back and well...” he smiled. It wasn't a
particularly
nice
smile, more like something from the deep ocean depths
that promised eternal darkness.

The second tough controlled a shiver with some difficulty as he
licked his lips. This guy was something else. There was something there, a
predator, something he was used to seeing only in a mirror. But more than that,
this one was like Ole Blue. Slowly he untangled his hand from the shopkeeper's
apron and set him down. The man pulled out money and dropped it onto the
counter. The tough scooped it up, stuffed it into his inside pocket and then
warily walked to his friend.

Irons stepped back, avoiding a rack of magazines and newspapers
but steering clear of the tough in case he wanted to do something stupid. He
also kept the path to the open door clear so they could walk out. “Come on
Biscuits, move,” the second tough whispered, pulling the guy to his feet with a
jerk on his collar. The second guy staggered, hunched over his hand as he
walked out. The second tough played rear guard, warily watching Irons.

“You know this ain't over,” he said. “Fat Larry's not going to be
happy about this,” he said, jerking his head slightly to the whimpering tough
ahead of him.

“It'd better be. Chalk it up to an educational experience. Don't
bite off more than you can chew. Tell your boss that. I
let
you both
live. Call it even. He doesn't want to tangle with me,” Irons said coldly,
right arm morphing into a plasma blaster for a moment. He lifted it to chest
level and held it there, letting the whine penetrate the tough's brain for a
moment before he then morphed it back. “Trust me,” he said evenly.

“Shit.” The tough's eyes were wide. He licked his lips and then
unsteadily beat feet out.

“Sorry, I'm well, sorry.” Irons said turning to the shop keeper as
his hand changed back. “Sleeper, I'm a, well, officer of the Federation Navy
and even though I've seen stuff like this even in my heyday I have a hard time
not getting involved.” He pulled out a pouch out of his breast pocket. The
Keeper's wife flinched as he dropped the ingots on the table. “For the material
and for your trouble.”

“Just go,” the shopkeeper whispered, pale as a ghost.

“Like I said, sorry.” Irons gathered the packages he'd picked out,
dropped credit coins on the counter and then left.

Irons gloomily trudged back to the space port. He was pissed, not
only at the toughs, but also the whole world in general and himself for getting
involved in particular. “Stupid,” he muttered.

“Don't look now, but I believe we're being followed,” Sprite said,
sounding amused. Defender put up a pair of identity karats on his HUD behind
him.

Irons grunted in annoyance as he checked them out automatically.
He recognized them of course, the big broad shoulders of the guy known as
Biscuits and his skinny partner in crime Books. It figured he thought darkly.
“How long have they been back there?” he asked, trying hard not to turn to
look. Now that he knew he felt the back of his neck itch. He'd been distracted
he admitted, woolgathering, feeling sorry for himself. He was grateful he had
the AI to watch his back.

“Since the store incident,” Defender replied.

He huffed in annoyance for a moment. Apparently some people
couldn't let things go. “Great, just great,” he sighed, stuffing his hands in
his hip pockets.

A block later as he checked the HUD. The two toughs were still
tagging along, far enough back so they couldn't easily be seen. He snorted, fat
chance of that. “Admiral shouldn't we report that to the authorities?” Defender
asked.

“The shopkeeper and family won't testify. Far from it, they know
better. If they did others would come in and destroy their business or worse.
The police can't protect them all the time.” He frowned. “Hell, the sheriff may
be in on the shake down, who knows.”

Defender's artificial eyes smoldered. “Admiral, if you don't stand
up to tyranny...”

“I know, believe me I know. It prospers, it becomes a weed you
can't get out easily. I think the sheriff knows, he's either in on it, resigned
to it, or has tried to get people to cooperate but can't. I honestly don't know
and I regret my involvement. That may have brought retribution down on their
heads.”

“Possibly,” Sprite replied, sounding subdued.

“Pretty much what I thought. Let's get these to the shuttle and
then chase off the tail.”

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

At the space port the admiral climbed off the open air bus and smirked
as he went through customs. He didn't look back, he could tell the two
Neanderthals had stopped and sullenly were watched from outside the chain link
fence. He made certain to lose them in between the buildings so they wouldn't
know which shuttle was his. Not that it would matter, there were only the two
there, his and Hibiki's.

After he dropped the packages off he returned by roundabout route
to the southern gate. He went through customs, smiled politely to the bored
guard and then when he hit the dirt road he took a wide path out to where the
goons were waiting.

Along the way he identified a nice alley to have a 'talk' with the
gentlemen in question. Biscuits was the heavy who got his hands crushed, the
skinny smarter hood was Books. He came up behind them and listened.

“What the hell man, what we going to do?” Biscuits said, still
cradling his hand against his chest. He'd wrapped it in a rag and a makeshift
splint. He really should go to a doctor but he wanted payback.

“We lose this guy Biscuits and the boss is going to be ticked.
Guess who he'll take it out on then? No, no one comes into
our
town and
fracks with
us
. You know that. Hodges won't care as long as we get away
clean,” Books growled.

“Interesting, the commissioner is involved?” Sprite asked him.
Irons frowned.

“What about Fat Larry? You know he doesn't know about our leaning
on Ferguson and the others. If he finds out and finds out we haven't cut him in
we're both going to take a long walk off a short pier. Ain't no way I'm going
out that way man, I can't swim. A bullet in a field somewhere,” Biscuits said,
voice shaky.

Books turned on his partner, angry. “Will you shut up!” he
snarled, and then caught sight of Irons out of the corner of his eye. He
slapped his partner on the arm with the back of his hand. “What the hell? He's
behind us! How'd he get there?” he demanded, pointing to the admiral.

Irons smiled, lounging against the fence post a hundred yards
away. He saluted them casually. “Bastard! He's
asking
for it!” Books
snarled.

“He's going to get it too,” Biscuits said grimly, reaching for
something in his duster. Irons caught the telltale sign of a chemical weapon
inside each of their coats. That was interesting, both men hadn't had those
weapons when they'd met earlier, just knives.

“We can't do him now! Not in the street with everyone watching!”
Books snarled, pushing his partner to keep him from drawing his weapon. “What's
the matter with you! Put that damn thing away!” he whispered fiercely.