Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) (16 page)

Doctor Whitney had told her class the story of the last large
industrial replicator on the planet. How a hundred and ten no, make that eleven
years ago the treasured artifact and artificer of their past had been misused
by a particularly stupid individual. That man had errantly tried to replicate
another replicator and the machine had self-destructed. He had meant well, but
his zeal had ignored the stern warnings that had been passed on through the
ages not to try such a thing. And with his well-intentioned but incredible
ignorance the last of the machines had been destroyed in a puff of smoke and
ash. Only two had been found since, one had disappeared, the other had been
Hank's folly.

Hopefully Hank wouldn't be that foolish... again. Hopefully, she
thought with a pang. Hank was after all, something of an absent minded master
technician even in the best of his coherent time. Could she draw him into a
contract with the research and logistics of the medical establishment? She
wondered about it as she ate her porridge.

She was sorely tempted to just take the damn thing, hire someone
like Nohar to go get it when Hank wasn't around. Nohar of all beings knew the
importance of the machine, he'd know that Hank wouldn't be able to hang onto it
for long. Too soon someone else would come along.

No, she bit her lip. No, she couldn't do that to Hank. It would
eventually get back to him that she had it after all. She wasn't sure how she
would deal with that. Finding a role for him was out. It wasn't that she was
bigoted against the lovable blue fur ball, it was just that there was no room
in the budget for him. Not now, not this year at any rate.

Which also, unfortunately, left out buying the damn thing. There
wasn't any money right now. And if she did get her hands on it, someone would
try to get it from
her
, most likely by stealing it or seizing it. She
wouldn't put it past Governor Oman, he'd take it just so he and his wife could
use it to make rare foods or some stupid trinkets. Damn it...she sighed putting
the spoon down in disgust. No, she'd have to leave it where it was. Much as it
irked her to do so.

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

Irons contacted Nohar with a simple job, find Fat Larry. Nohar
snorted and told him where Fat Larry was free of charge. “You want back up
admiral?” Nohar asked, sounding only slightly reluctant.

“No, I've got this one, thanks though,” Irons replied with a nod
and pat on the arm as he got up and went to leave.

“If you change your mind let me know,” Nohar called. Irons waved
and left.

Irons hunted down Fat Larry at the indicated restaurant. He nodded
politely to the hoods playing bouncers and entered before they could realize
his intent. He scanned the room until he spotted a rat faced guy narrow his
eyes and then lean over to someone sitting in the booth on the opposite side of
the restaurant.

He made his way over, but a thug got in his way. A rather broad
balding human in a zoot suit waved the thug off as he wiped at his mouth and
swallowed whatever he had just taken a bite of. “Mr. Lazarrian?” The admiral
asked, nodding.

“Sit,” Lazarrian said, waving to the seat across from him. “We
don't want to disturb the lunch rush,” the man said gruffly.

The admiral sat down and made small talk as a waiter came over. He
ordered a glass of wine and then waited for it to appear. While making small
talk the AI used his Wi-Fi to look for any computers. When they didn't find any
Proteus sent his nanites to search out for any databases so they could copy the
contents to his files.

“So, what can I do for you, Irons is it?” Larry asked, sitting
back with a slight smug expression. One of his thugs moved nervously, looking
over his shoulder to glance at the intruder in their midst and then back to a
family with kids as they entered. The admiral saw the three little kids and
winced internally. His eyes cut to the teenage female sitting next to the
mobster. The mobster had one hand under the table resting on her bare thigh. He
rubbed it, up and down. She blushed. She was dressed like a hooker, for all the
admiral knew she might very well be one. She certainly wasn't classy enough to
be a … what was the term? 'mole?'

“Well, I'm an engineering admiral. I'm visiting your planet and
well, I'm good at fixing things. But I wandered into something and now I need
your help in fixing it.”

“Fixing things huh? And you need my help?” Larry asked, eyes
amused.

“Yes,” the admiral replied resting his hands palm down on top of
the table. He could detect the quiescent electronics in the table. It was a
smart table, one with a cracked LCD top. He set Proteus to repairing the smart
table. Nanites streamed out through his hands to make repairs. After a moment
the spider web of cracks on the surface healed. Larry blinked in surprise. When
the screen lit with a menu it impressed the mobster.

“I see what you mean,” he said nodding. “So, why do you need my
help?” Larry smiled to his face but he was clearly not happy about being put on
the spot.

The girl giggled nervously. She murmured something about needing
to use the powder room but the mobster just gripped her thigh harder. She
whimpered slightly but then bit her lip when he didn't let go. Irons gritted
his teeth but didn't react to her presence. He did react to the nervous guards
constantly looking at him. Larry took note and waved them off, trying not to
make a scene.

“Okay, let me explain,” the admiral said. “I wandered into
something I shouldn't have, and I reacted instinctively. I attempted to walk
away but apparently the two gentlemen weren't ready to let bygones be bygones.”

“Ah.”

“What you do with them is your business. I'm sorry if I stepped on
your toes. I know disciplining them is your business. I'm not going to be on
your world long, so what you do is your business.”

“Disciplining them?” Larry echoed, eyes narrowed.

The admiral flipped his right hand palm up. He sent a mental
signal and Sprite replayed the incident in Ferguson's, the discussion between
the two thugs, and then finally the altercation in the alley.

Larry scowled, crossing his arms. His eyes did flare when he saw
how the admiral took both men out, and took them out almost casually.

“I see,” he rumbled.

“As I said, they've been doing stuff behind your back. I walked
into it.”

“Yes. From what I heard, you are bit of a,
misguided
,
hero,” Larry said, trying to seem casual.

The admiral nodded grudgingly. “I've kept the gloves on, death is
so... permanent.”

“True.”

“So, if we can let bygones be bygones, I'd appreciate it if you
called off the dogs.”

“Or else?” Larry asked mildly.

“Or else next time someone will really get hurt. I know good help
is hard to find...” the admiral shrugged and met Larry's eyes with his own.
Larry had the look of a killer basilisk, someone used to being obeyed or else
but Irons was a killer too. “But it can be really hard if they wind up in jail or
worse,” the admiral finished. There was an ominous hum from his right arm.
“After all, violence is bad for business.”

“True,” Larry said nodding. His eyes darted to the right arm
briefly.  He was suddenly very aware of dying.

“Violence is so... unnecessary I should hope. I'm not interested
unless I am... pushed to be. And when push comes to shove I don't stop until
the threat is
completely
eliminated,” the admiral said, smiling ever so
slightly. The smile never got to his eyes. “I'd prefer we each go our separate
ways. I'll be gone soon.”

Larry blinked and then grimaced. Slowly he nodded and dabbed at
his mouth with a linen napkin. “You'll be leaving soon?”

The admiral cocked his head. “In a week or two. The shopkeeper
honestly had
nothing
to do with this. Chalk it up to my military
training kicking in, and your boys deciding to have a little too much fun when
I stopped myself from reacting. I won't be so... nice the next time.”

“Boss, one of the guys are going to be in serious hurt for a week.
One's got a broken hand, the fingers were crushed. I uh...” the rat faced
second in command whispered to his boss. Fat Larry looked at the guy and
stopped himself from backhanding him. Instead he brushed at his thinning hair
and patted the man on the shoulder when he flinched anyway.

“I see what you mean. Let bygones be bygones. You go your way,
we'll go ours.”

The admiral nodded. He could tell the mobster was lying. Or at
least buying time since he hadn't made up his mind. “Exactly. I will do my best
to stay out of your domain Mr. Lazarrian.”

“See that you do.”

“One suggestion.”

“Oh?”

“If you oh, put the guys in private security uniforms, and oh, say
charge a
fee
for their services, put them out where they can patrol
areas... shopping complexes will be encouraged to oh, pay for their services.
No, um... weekly
persuasion
needed.”

Fat Larry eyed him like he was crazy. After a moment he snorted
and looked at his subordinate for a moment and then to Irons. “An interesting
idea.”

“They could be on hand to oh, stop a robber, or oh, protect your
customers from damage. Good press and all that. The Sheriff might even get
on-board.”

Larry chuckled now. “An interesting proposal, I'll have to think
about it.”

“Thank you sir,” Irons said. He shook hands with the man. The man
blinked when he squeezed the admiral's right hand but didn't get a response.
“Sorry, that one's artificial,” the admiral said with a small smile. When the
handshake disengaged Irons morphed the hand briefly.

The patrons stared at him and then at Larry who nervously wiped
his hand on his thigh. He licked his lips and beads of sweat were now on his
brow. His jowls and double chin shook briefly. Irons looked away from the mole
on the guy's cheek.

One of the guards had his hand in his jacket. Irons looked hard at
the man. Slowly he withdrew the hand and then wiggled the fingers to show he
was unarmed. Irons nodded slightly. He knew better, knew about the gun in the
pocket but if the guy was making a show of not being hostile he'd let it slide.

“Sorry, showing off I know. In my time things like this were
common place. Once civilization gets sorted out a bit more, we'll see.” he
shrugged and nodded. “Have a good evening folks.” He turned and walked out.

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

“Well, that was interesting,” Sprite said as he made his way by
circuitous route to his motel. He snorted softly, nodding politely to people he
passed. Most were out and about doing various chores or talking. Some people
were on ladders putting up bunting and banners. There was a lot of chatter and
some horse play, some between kids, some between adults.

“You think?” Irons asked, dodging a couple of teenagers who were
giggling and chasing each other.

“It's not every day that you stare down a mobster. Definitely one
for the memoirs, do you worry about being too arrogant Admiral?”

“What do you mean?” Irons asked, not breaking his stride.

“Well, not everyone would just do that you know,” Sprite replied
testily. “Even sanity strikes you organics from time to time.”

“He wasn't a threat and you know it. Not in a public place.”

“Ah, that's my point, thank you for making it,” Sprite replied
with a slight smirk in her voice.

“Oh?” he asked warily.

“You assumed he wouldn't do anything. And you
assumed
you'd
be able to handle anything he did throw at you,” Sprite replied.

“Which was true commander. It's called knowing yourself, knowing
your enemy, and a calculated risk. I inferred from the comment Biscuits and
Books made about Hodges that Fat Larry wouldn't do anything. I also inferred
from previous media experience that, one, Fat Larry wasn't about to do anything
in public, and two, he wasn't going to sully himself with the job himself. He's
a mover now, he doesn't want exposure. He wants to be a legitimate businessman
in the eyes of the public. Even though he's not.”

“He's a fat slime ball,” Sprite commented.

“True,” Irons replied with a twisted smile. “He's a small time
hood. Tail clear?”

“Yes sir,” Sprite replied after another check with his sensors.

“Good.” Irons ducked between a pair of buildings and then tapped
his force drive. His legs glowed blue for a moment as ports opened and his
calves transformed. He rose, quickly climbing to the balcony of his suite. He
grinned as he touched down.

“Show off,” Sprite commented. He chuckled, opening the French
doors. “Which was my other point, since you've woken up you haven't exactly
been keeping your abilities a secret,” Sprite said.

“I think the statute of secrecy ended a couple centuries ago
commander,” Irons replied. “Which is why when we got to Pyrax I decided to open
up a bit more. Besides, sometimes inducing a little shock and awe is productive
to get things done,” he said.

“And sometimes counterproductive,” Sprite responded. He shrugged
as he entered the suite and looked around. He felt Sprite tap the sensor
nanites Proteus had left behind. The tiny robots signaled no one had been in
the room. “All clear Admiral.”