Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) (15 page)

Irons had heard enough. He turned, and without a word walked
casually away.

“Look man, he's going, he's running! He's afraid of us! Let's go
man!”

“The alley, He's got to pass near it,” Books said. “You tail him,
I'll work my way around. We'll meet there with him in the middle,” Books said.

“Right,” Biscuits replied, nodding once.

“Remember, we've got to do this clean. No one does a hit here
without Fat Larry and Hodges's permission. If anyone's around forget about it.
Got it?” Books said as they started to move.

“Yeah,” Biscuits replied. Books wasn't sure his partner would obey
that, he was out for blood.

Irons didn't bother looking over his shoulder as the gloating
broad shouldered tough trotted along behind him. He made the turn into the
alley and feigned surprise when he spotted Books there waiting for him. Books
gloated, pulling his side arm. Irons however just lifted his right hand and
fired his stunner.

The skinny tough's eyes went wide as the blue bolt hit him. He
dropped like a rag doll just as Biscuits rounded the corner behind Irons. Irons
turned and as the tough cursed and tried to pull his weapon he fired a second
time, this one almost casually.

“The authorities are on their way,” Defender informed him. He
nodded. Sheriff's deputies came at a trot. They entered from either end of the
alley, weapons drawn. One paused over Books and shook his head. Roy, the one
closest to Irons grunted when he saw Biscuits. “You having another busy day?”
he asked.

Irons shrugged.

“All right! What's going on here!” A voice roared. Roy winced as
the Sheriff came around the corner, strutting like a rooster.

“Biscuits? Books?” he said, identifying the toughs on sight. He
kept looking from one to the other. “What's going on here?” he demanded.

“We had an altercation in a store. These two decided to kill me.”

“So you killed them? Oh the boss see, he ain't going to like that,
not one bit. No sir-re!” The sheriff said, shaking his head.

“This one's breathing sheriff,” the deputy at the end of the alley
said, poking the tough with his boot.

The sheriff flinched and then looked it way. “What'd you say?”

“He's alive.”

“I know that!” the sheriff said, flapping his arms like a chicken.
He turned to Irons. “What'd you do?”

“I stunned them. They'll be out for a half hour or so sheriff,”
the admiral replied.

“They really wanted to kill you?” the sheriff asked.

“Yes.”

“Too bad we've only got your word for that. No witnesses,” the
sheriff said as Roy cuffed the hood on the ground. He felt the man's hand,
noting the crushed bones. Biscuits groaned against the ground. “Yeah, he's not
happy,” Roy said, looking up. He pointed to the splint.

“The earlier encounter,” The admiral replied. He raised his right
hand palm out. The deputy flinched, one hand on his pistol. The sheriff
flinched, but only because a volumetric hologram appeared. The admiral replayed
each sequence.

“Wow,” the sheriff said when it was over. “That's something!” he
said, shaking his head. “Still, boss isn't going to like you mucking up his...
um I mean...” he glanced at the two toughs.

“I don't blame the commissioner for not liking crime in his
jurisdiction. I'm not going to be here long... unless you want me here to
testify,” the admiral said, cocking his head.

“Ah that's right, you being an offworlder and all,” the sheriff
said, narrowing his eyes as he looked at Irons. “You know they'll be out on
bail in a day right?”

“Probably. But this was, as they said, unsanctioned. Their boss
doesn't know about what they've been up to, and I believe they said they don't
want him or the commissioner to know.” That made the sheriff's eyes narrow. He
turned to glare at the two hoods. “So I think they'll just have a little bit of
explaining to do. Right?” Irons asked, smiling slightly.

The sheriff tipped his hat back with his thumb and laughed.
“Yeah,” he chortled, “Yeah, I'd say they just might at that. Might make them
think twice about something like this.” 

Irons nodded, assessing the sheriff. He was in on it, but not deep
from the sound of it. Most likely he was paid a cut to look the other way and
went along with it as long as no one was seriously hurt... and as long as no
one made a fuss over it.

That was typical for a colony cop, the job didn't pay spit so they
had to find other ways of making money. Also, if they chased every crime every
tough would be gunning for them, and one just might get lucky in some dark
alley like this one. A colony cop was lazy enough to turn a blind eye to the
lighter extortion or petty crimes but violent crimes he came down on, hard.
After all, if he was totally soft on crime he wouldn't be sheriff for long.
Good. The Sheriff encouraged him to leave town, soon. “Fat Larry won't like
this, so you best be about your business elsewhere.”

“I'll have a chat with him if he's unhappy,” the admiral replied.
“I did leave their... disciplining to him,” he pointed out. He pulled a flash
chip out and handed it to the sheriff.

The sheriff held it up, looking at the chip curiously. “What's
this?”

“My testimony, also a full record of the events up to this point.
I'm streaming it to your server as well,” Irons replied.

“Well! You are full of surprises,” the sheriff drawled.

“Do you need me for anything else sir?” Irons asked, putting
enough deferential humility into that last statement to butter the man's ego a
bit.

“No, move along, move along,” the sheriff said, waving him by.
“Just stay outa trouble all right? And you best git out of town right soon if
you know what's good for you right?” The sheriff suggested, catching the
admiral's eyes with his own in warning.

“I won't start anything sheriff. And yeah, I'll be moving along,”
the admiral replied, smiling. He tipped a salute to Roy and then pushed his way
past the growing crowd of onlookers who had come to see what was going on.

“All right! Move along! Move along! Here now! I said move along
little doggies! Or am I going to have to start writing tickets?” he demanded to
the murmuring crowd.

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

Irons busied himself with delivering his part of the bargain. A
customs agent ticked off each item as it was unloaded. A fuel truck was nearby,
when the cargo was off loaded fuel bladders were filled, stuffing the interior
of the craft. More water was pumped into the little shuttle's fuel tanks.
Finally, ingots of metal were stuffed in any space he could find. “Okay, we'll
have delivery of your next consignment in two weeks,” the fuel man said,
jerking his cap down to cover his eyes when the last bladder was topped off.

“Okay,” the admiral drawled, nodding. “I'll have your package by
then too.” He too could play the waiting game. He knew damn well it didn't take
that
long to run water from the nearest body of water to a storage
center to be cleaned and filtered.

“Oh no, we need it now,” the customs agent said. “I don't deal in
credit son.” He turned to the agent brokering the deal.

“Well, I need the material now. No material, no payment. I don't
take rain checks or IOU's,” the admiral replied mildly, eyes flickering in
annoyance. The agent blinked in surprise. “When you have the order in on the
dock call me. I'll have your delivery on the ground within two hours. Until
then, It'll have to wait,” he said. “Of course if you'd prefer me to go to
another space port...” he suggested. The agent shook his head vehemently no. He
knew better than to muck up something Hodges was doing.

“But... but we need, I... oh hell,” the slight man sighed and then
rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Irons smiled. “That's how replicators work. They don't work from
air. The same goes for me,” he said, nodding to the fuel man. “And I'm guessing
you. Why the wait?”

“We're um, down for maintenance,” the fuel man said, winding the
hose up, being careful not to look his way. Irons was fairly sure the man
couldn't say that with a straight face while looking him in the eye.

“Right,” the admiral drawled.

“Let me see if I can make some calls,” the fuel truck guy said
finally.

“Yeah. I watched you handle Io 11's fueling needs rather quickly
without problems. It is water after all.”

“You don't understand what goes into making it! You spacers!” the
fuel man said, sounding exasperated.

Irons turned, raising an eyebrow. “I've been an engineering
officer longer than you've been
alive
. I can tell you step by step the
right way to make fuel for fusion reactors and ships. I can tell exactly what
you are doing, which by the way
isn't
much in my book. You pump it from a
water source, filter it, truck it over here to my shuttle, and then pump it
here. That's it. You don't split it into hydrogen and oxygen in a reverse water
gas shift to help purify it like you do for your vehicle and aircraft fuel. You
don't sell the straight hydrogen or oxygen either.”

“You want it or not?” the man demanded, hands on his hips. The
admiral nodded. “Then shut up smart ass,” the man growled, climbing into his
truck and tearing off.

“Now you've done it. He'll be a bear the rest of the week,” the
customs agent sighed. “Getting him to do anything will be fun,” he muttered.

Irons shrugged, “not my problem. I'm going to run this to my ship
and then I'll be back. We can settle up in two weeks you said?”

The customs agent nodded glumly. “Fine,” the man said, tucking his
clipboard under his arm. “You'd better have it ready,” he warned.

“Of course,” the admiral said, shrugging.

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

The admiral ran his supplies up to the ship and then made the next
tray of parts. He nodded to Phoenix who was still conversing with Io through
long range whisker laser as the other ship left the system. Phoenix seemed to
be hitting it off with the other AI. That was good, good for both of them. The
more social contact each AI had the better for their long term stability. He'd
worried about that for Phoenix, having only Irons and the Trinity AI in him for
company to grow up with. But from the sound of things, the AI had been okay.

When he was back on the ground just before dawn he took a quick
look around and then went to a new motel. He checked in and chose a balcony
suite. He'd been tempted to take a room at the center of the building, but it
would have made it difficult to get in and out. The building had two ground
side entrances. The room that he received had a balcony with chipped white
paint. Perfect, he thought, tossing his bag on the bed. He placed a series of
nanites around the room to keep an eye on things and then left. He had business
in town.

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

Helen took her tray to the conservatory and smiled politely as
another doctor on his way out nodded to her. She set the tray down in her
favorite place and then sat primly, adjusting her smock and skirt as she got
comfortable. She took out a cloth napkin and put it in her lap. It wouldn't due
for the boss to have oatmeal stains on her outfit first thing in the morning.
Better to save that for later, she thought with a wry twist of her lips.

She picked up the spoon and looked outside as she poked at the
porridge. Patients were on the other side of the glass, walking along the paths
or rolling in wheel chairs under the stern eye of the watching staff. Another
one of her innovations, getting the more able bodied to get some fresh air,
even if it was only for a brief time. The confines of a hospital tended to wear
heavily on a seriously ill patient over time, keeping their morale up was an
ongoing struggle.

Her thoughts turned inward as she took her first bite of stew.
“Irons. Admiral Irons,” she said softly, trying to place the name. It had
bothered her since Hank's call the other day.

“Now where have I heard that blasted name before?” she growled,
blowing on the still hot porridge.

“If it pleases mum...” she turned to the intruding voice. A
secretary bobbed a curtsy. “Irons is the name of the captain of the Phoenix.
The one providing those splendid supplies,” she said with a helpful smile. “I
heard it on the news,” she said.

Helen smiled and snapped her fingers as that hit her. “Indeed it
is Trisha, thank you,” she said warmly. The woman nodded again and got up. Her
dining companion nodded and the two of them left with their trays.

She had heard of him now she realized, he was a sleeper, that bit
fit with the admiral rank. From her research he had indeed provided new
supplies in trade, now she knew how, he had functioning replicators. But did he
make the replicators or did he just have a bunch on his ship? She'd have to
find out.

It was only a matter of time before Hank let slip he had a working
one after all. When that happened, and the news reached the wrong ears it would
be over for that replicator. All too many replicators had been lost because
some fool had tried to replicate something they shouldn't. Hank himself had
destroyed one. She closed her eyes briefly. Hopefully he wouldn't be so foolish
with this one.