Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) (24 page)

“I'm wondering if the otters and other creatures that go swimming
get this,” Sprite mused.

“Maybe,” Irons replied, looking the people over. Some were working
the nets, others were in the docks working on removing barnacles. He wasn't
sure if he could admire their stubborn tenacity, or shake his head over their
stupidity. Either way, living here was brave... but foolish. “What parent would
want this for their child?” he asked.

“I don't know admiral. I'm not sure we can find something to help
them either,” Sprite replied.

“Oh there has to be a way, we're just not looking hard enough.”

“Well, as it happens neither one of us are cut out for something
like this admiral,” Sprite reminded him. “We may not find a cure. Sometimes
there aren't any simple answers admiral,” Sprite said softly.

“True. I'd like to find something though. I wonder if any of these
people went off world?” he asked thoughtfully.

“I... I have no way of checking that. I would hope not though,”
Sprite replied. He grunted in question. “Think about it admiral, if they did,
they'd carry the contamination with them wherever they went.”

“True, but any travel time would starve the worms of hydration
possibly killing them,” he said.

“Or they could migrate through the body into areas that had a form
of water. The bladder or the colon. Both are frequently infected with these
things too you know,” Sprite reminded him.

He shivered. “Remind me not to go swimming here,” he said, eying
the water. He winced at the sight of children diving off the end of the pier.

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

Just before lunch Irons spotted one of his feline tails on the
wharf a hundred meters away pointing in his general direction. His sensors
identified the being in the shadows with her and he swore.

“I'm not even going to say I'm happy to see him,” Sprite
responded. Irons grunted. He had a choice to make about Ole Blue, with the
population here he didn't want or need a fire fight. “There's no way out
admiral, no way but through. And there are a lot of innocents nearby,” Sprite
said, pointing out all the shoppers visiting the fish market nearby.

The admiral grunted. He turned to the sea. “There is one way,” he
said, not happy about the idea.

“And you just said to remind you not to go swimming,” Sprite said.

“I know. Duly noted. Crank the nanites and shields up to full Commander,
we're going for a dip.”

“You are running from him?” Sprite asked, surprised.

“Let's just say I'm biding my time and picking my battlefields
commander.”

The Veraxin sauntered in his direction but avoided a confrontation
after Irons entered the water with the genies. “Another time perhaps,” Blue
rasped, adjusting his fedora and moving on. “There will be other times my
beauties,” he said, patting his six shooters. People around him got out of his
way as he walked steadily away from the wharf. The two cats stood on a pier
pylon, twitching their whiskers in disgust at all that wet stuff the admiral
was in.

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

“You're a fool for being here lubber,” a blue skinned woman said,
splashing near him. “Though we respect your bravery. Foolish though, you should
go in,” she said. “You're not dressed for this,” she said.

“True,” the admiral replied, looking down at his uniform. “Irons,
admiral Irons.”

“You some nut?” she asked. He snorted softly. He could feel his
nanites killing the tiny worms. It felt like he had ants crawling all over his
body, not a pleasant sensation.

“I'm the real deal. Fleet Admiral John Irons, Federation Navy. I'm
a sleeper,” he said.

“Ah,” she said, catching a net being hauled in. he grabbed it as
well and started hauling. She grunted in appreciation but didn't say anything.

They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes as they
gathered the full net in. It was tough, you needed a strong grip to not only
fight the growing undertow but also the net filled with flapping fish trying to
escape. For him it didn't bother him, but he knew she was pretty tired.

She had blue skin, it glittered a bit like fish scales. Black
hair, long webbed fingers and toes. She had a blue cobra industries wet suit
on, most likely a relic since Sprite hadn't mentioned them in her briefing. The
red hooded cobra symbol covering her bosom reminded him of something from the
past. The suit must have been old, he could see a few patched cuts in the
fabric, but it too glittered with layers in it.

“Thanks,” she said nodding to him.

“No problem,” the admiral replied, smiling.

“Mara, my name is Mara,” the woman said and coughed. “I've seen
you around. The others said you ask all sorts of questions about the worms.”

“I'm concerned about them actually.”

“Well, you aren't the first, but you are the first interested in
doing something,” she replied. “Here, let me get that,” she said, pointing to a
red and purple spined urchin that had attached itself to the admiral's uniform.
She used a piece of sea weed to get it off. She dropped it into a jar a female
Naga held up to her. “The Asian community loves those things,” she shivered.

“Oh?”

“It's poisonous. Something like the puffer fish, but not as fast.
They said something about the kiss of death making you appreciate life,” she
said.

“Takes all kinds,” the admiral replied.

“Whatever. It's ten creds a kilo, so it's okay for us. But if
someone steps on it...” she winced. He nodded.

“It puts a zing in their peckers,” she said. He had to chuckle at
her salty humor.

“But you weren't afraid of it? Ignorance really is bliss,” she
said with a smile as she finger combed her wet bangs out of her eyes.

“No, I'm immune,” the admiral replied.

“Nothing fazes you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope,” he replied with a Gaelic shrug.

“Oh. That sort of takes the fun out of life. No fear.”

“A little,” the admiral replied. He applied a bit of energy to his
uniform. The coverall shed the water like a duck's oily feathers. Water beaded
and dripped from him as if he was sweating. In a moment he was dry.

“Nice, she said, eying his uniform in appreciation.

“I like yours too,” he said.

She looked down at it, seeming to preen. She ran a hand through
her hair, uncovering an ear. “This old thing?”

“The suit, a relic from the past?” he asked. She nodded. “Hand me
down?” she nodded again.

“So your people were here before. How did they treat the worms?”
he asked. “I'm not getting that many answers from the others, most just shrug
or say they don't know.”

“Nanotech,” the woman replied. She held her nose and blew air.
Water dribbled out of her gill slits on the sides of her neck and on her torso.
“Our ancestors used a nanite screen to filter out the parasites.”

“Ah,” the admiral replied, nodding. “So you need some.”

“No one makes any,” she laughed, shaking her hair out.

“You have no fear of them? Of having nanites?” he asked. She shook
her head no.

“I'm not sure if I can make a nanite filter. It...” he cocked his
head. “Proteus?” he asked.

“No Admiral, no such device is in the files,” the AI answered.

“It might be a proprietary design by Cobra industries before the
war,” Sprite interjected. The admiral frowned. He turned to Mara. “Do you have
one left? Even if it doesn't work...” she shook her head.

“Sadly no,” she sighed and then coughed. “We traded them when they
stopped working many years ago. They are most likely melted down by now.”

“Ouch,” the admiral said.

“Why do you ask?” she asked.

“Because I don't have one in my inventory files. It must be a
proprietary device. If I could study one I might be able to replicate it.”

“Oh,” the woman replied, now studying him in renewed interest.
“You are an odd landie, you actually seem to care.”

“That's because I actually do,” the admiral replied, smiling.
“It's not right to lose generations to this damn parasite.”

“Tell me about it,” she sighed. “But that's how it is,” she said
shaking her head.

“Not if I can help it. I can get you a regen tank. That's not a
problem, but the medical nanites needed for it might be. I'll have to research
that,” Irons said.

“It wouldn't do us any good here in the sea,” she said indicating
the ocean. “Most of my people can't get out of the water. The ones you see are
just those that can.”

“Or those that chance the beach in order to do a task,” the
admiral replied with a nod towards a whale merman pulling a barge in. She
turned to the indicated person and then nodded.

“Yes, they usually do that at high tide. We tie the barge off to a
post and when the tide drops the humans come and take the goods off,” she said.

“You know you are being stiffed there right?” he asked. She
shrugged.

“There is nothing we can do about it.”

“But there is something I can do about it. I can help them make
the tools out of metals that won’t rust in the ocean. Brass...”

“Is nice admiral. Copper too, but copper costs, far more than
iron. We'll 'make due',” Mara said with quiet pride. “We always have.”

Irons asked her why her ancestors did this to themselves. She
shrugged the question off. “Why not?” He looked at her pointedly but silently
telling her with his body language that that answer wasn't good enough. She
shrugged again and looked away. “The money really, I don't know why they didn't
hire a sentient alien water dweller, a dolphin or whatever. Robots maybe. They
would have been better, smarter. For some reason they wanted my ancestors for
the job.”

“Doing underwater repair work?”

She nodded. “And research on the beds. Also working the farms.
There might have been some bigotry involved, who knows. For that matter who
cares? They are long dead now after all.”

He nodded. She smiled. “Have you considered emigrating?” he asked
as she sank into the sand. They sat resting.

Her face fell a little. “It's not the expense mind you, it's the
thought of transporting the worms somewhere else. I can't do that. I don't know
if there are others out there, but they deserve a life without these things,”
she grimaced, one hand going to her midriff.

“You're talking about Selkie and others. As far as I know there is
only one surviving Ssilli and no uplifted dolphins. I don't know of any other
water dwellers left.” Irons said sadly. He shrugged at her expression and then
grimaced at her continuous look. “Other than you and your people I mean.”

“Thanks.”

“There are so many different kinds of genies here. Some more human
than others,” he observed.

“We're all human,” Mara said, eyes flickering in annoyance.

“Sorry, no offense, I know that. I'm not prejudiced or anything.
I'm curious though, could you, if you had the choice of being reforged by a
Ynari, would you take it?”

She looked thoughtful for a long moment. “You mean live without
the sea?” she finally asked softly. He nodded. “And miss its' call?” he nodded
again. She shook her head. “No, I could never do it, the sea is like a lover to
me, good or bad.”

“I understand,” the admiral replied softly.

“Do you? Do you landie?” she asked.

He smiled. “I'm a spacer born and bred. Being trapped in a gravity
well for the rest of my life?” he shuddered and shook his head no. Slowly she
nodded.

“Did they make changes to your inner ear?”

She shifted about to get more comfortable, folding her arms over
one another to form a pillow and then resting her chin on that headrest. She
was on her belly, bare feet being lapped by the waves. He sat on his rear, legs
outstretched, propped up on his elbows beside her. She didn't say anything for
a long moment. “We lost a lot of our history. It's hard to keep records,
everything was oral for so long after the war,” she said. He nodded. “I think
so. I... see apparently the company,” she tapped her chest logo. “The company
owned some sort of resort too. Part of my ancestor's job was to work there and
entertain. They had a thing for mermaids. My legs can lock together to form a
tail.”

“Huh,” he said. That explained some of the colors he thought.

“Some of us who don't have a whale tail use straps to keep them
together when we're in the water for long periods of time. I've got a few
cousins that have long webbed fingers and toes,” she grimaced,  looking away
momentarily.

“What?” Irons asked.

“In...” she sighed. “In order to fit in on land, to even get about
some of them have their toes and fingers amputated as children. As babies. They
cut all but the first knuckle off. It's the only way for some.”        

The admiral sighed, closing his eyes. His ample imagination could
see that, and the heart rendering decision that must be. The pain involved, and
the pain in the child in being so mutilated at such a young age. “That's
terrible,” he said softly. “I... If I can help I will.”