Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) (37 page)

“About what?” Sprite asked.

“I was so focused on the tactical side, using it as a balm, that I
neglected to see the strategic side,” he said finally.

“I think...” Sprite said slowly. “I think you did it for several
reasons, most likely subconscious. You tend to dive into engineering projects
to distract yourself from your emotional side. But I also think you weren't
happy about some greedy person not only getting credit, but also getting rich
off of what you provide them with.”

“Something like that,” the admiral said, rolling onto his side.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “That bothered me. This planet is a lot like Pyrax. It's
one big snake pit. Someone getting the credit.... I'm not sure I care about
that. But gouging people on something I handed over for free... yeah. And if
they held up critical supplies like medicine?”

“Yes that would be frustrating,” Sprite replied. “We need to
screen for individuals more interested in the common good than in their own
profit. Some profit is fine, a healthy dose of self-interest is common in
organics, but some here...”

“And Digones had trouble finding an honest man!” Irons snorted
bitterly.

“It's not just finding one Admiral, it's finding one who will
remain honest in the long term,” Sprite responded. “Though Fox is a good bet.
He's accessing everything from why copper is microbial to how to make and put
glycerin in pressure gauges.”

The admiral nodded. “Good for him.”

“But I'm still concerned no one has called about that. I'm
concerned he's just taking the info and running with it. Hoarding it.”

“Yeah, power corrupts,” Irons sighed and closed his eyes. “Well,
we'll work on it. Night Sprite.”

“Good night Admiral,” Sprite responded automatically.

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

Helen put the word out to be on the lookout for Admiral Irons. Her
staff asked if they should contact the authorities but she shook her head no.
“No, he said he's going around helping the clinics. If he does, I want them to
put him back in contact with me immediately,” she said.

An hour after the word went out she got a call back from Doctor
Quincy over in Wex village. Wex was a small town near the great lakes. The
elderly man was something of a womanizer, splitting his time between his house,
his beloved boat on the weekends, and his practice. He served as the local
doctor, coroner, and mortician.

Quincy reported that Irons had been over that day, the man had
spent the day improving his practice and repairing virtually every machine in
sight before he'd ended up sleeping at the doctor's house in his drafty guest
room. “I almost didn't do it. He's a nice guy and all, but weird. Freaked a lot
of people out with what he was doing. People don't act that way! It's not
natural I tell you!”

“Is he there?” Helen asked patiently.

“No, he got into his air car after breakfast and left this
morning,” Quincy replied absently. “But I tell you...”

Helen ground her teeth together. When Quincy wound down she
clicked her teeth. He quieted. “Did he say where he was going?” she asked
patiently.

“No, I'm not sure. He just waved good bye and left.”

“All right, thank you doctor. If you see him again please pass on
the message that I wish to speak with him again. It's very important,” she
said. She'd heard that someone was putting out feelers to the medical
industries for new medicines, equipment, and supplies. She had a feeling she knew
who it was, but she wanted a hand in whatever he was stirring up.

“Sure, sure director,” the old man said. “Good day,” he said
almost as an afterthought.

“Good day to you too doctor,” she replied as the dial tone clicked
on. She grimaced and hung up. “Manners,” she murmured.

She put in a call to Hank. Hank was scared, he sounded paranoid,
talking in almost monosyllables. She tried to reassure him and then offered to
put him up. He readily agreed. He babbled on about someone was after him, how
his room had been broken into.

“Then it's settled. Get here now. Take the next transport Hank,
tell them to bill me,” Helen said firmly. She had thought about it. If she
could get her hands on Hank's replicator it would go a long ways to cutting her
supply cost. She could rework the budget from that.

“I'm already packing,” Hank replied. “I can send for the other
stuff or I can make more. I've got what I really need here,” he said.

“Catch the red eye flight then,” she said with a nod.

“I will, thanks Doctor Richards,” he said.

“It's Helen, Hank, don't you forget it,” she said with a smile.
“I'll talk to you once you are here,” she said.

“Will do. Have a good day, I'll hopefully see you tonight,” he
said just as she hung up.

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

Fat Larry had also heard about the sleepers and was interested in
them as well. He was also aware that the competition was as well. Hodges had
taken a mild interest, but not enough, apparently he thought they were too hot
a product to move.

Larry however thought differently. He sent Books to check them out
and maybe steal a couple of the sleepers if possible. He knew his people
wouldn't be able to make off with the entire kit and caboodle, but if they
played it right they maybe could get in, pull a switcheroo and make off with the
goods before anyone knew what was going on.

He could always ransom them back to whoever wanted them the most
later. Hell, maybe he'd start an auction! He was pleased with the whole idea
and had even arranged a cut out. If things got too hot the sleepers and whoever
pinched them for him would end up as gator food.

Books looked around the area. Their source was right on the money.
Which he should be, considering what money he'd been promised for the tip. Not
that the little putz had lived long enough to enjoy it, the boss had said no
loose ends.

No, Books knew he was on thin ice. He'd managed to scrape by when
Biscuits had been popped, and that whole mess with the Irons contract had damn
near punched his ticket permanent like. But he'd managed to convince the boss
he hadn't been involved, which he hadn't been. He didn't know who did it, but
the boss had killed Biscuit's wife, parents, and kid just to be sure.

That had bothered him, popping them. Fat Larry was a bastard,
having Books himself do the deed. He'd sat at the supper table with them,
bounced the kid on his knee for years and years. Damn it. He'd kept it clean,
going in at night and killing them with his garrote one at a time. He kept
imagining Irons or Fat Larry in his cross hairs each time he'd killed one of
them. A few days later whoever had put the contract out on that smug bastard
Irons had gotten the message and canceled it though, so it had saved his bacon.

And now, here he was running his own crew. Funny how life turned
out like that. Of course he knew he was responsible for them all, and he was
very much aware that any one of them could turn on him with their own ice
orders an instant he let his guard down. Going out for a ride with the boys had
a lot of connotations in his profession, all of them negative. Usually you
waited until the target let his guard down, smiling and such to him as you
shoved a knife in his back or put to rounds in the back of his head.

He slept in his room with the door locked and a chair propped
under the knob. He couldn't be too careful, but he couldn't look too nervous
either, that'd get you killed just as easily. But so far, the past couple weeks
had worked out. Irons hadn't gotten clipped, he'd actually been thankful for
that, and he too was still alive.

“No one around?” Benny asked. Books looked at the kid.

“Everyone's got to eat sometime kid. I heard this is the guard’s
lunch hour,” he said with a grimace.

“That a fact,” the punk snidely said. Books slapped him upside the
head.

“You're here to do a job, not run your mouth. How about doing the
job? Case the back side. See if there's a door or window open. Don't touch
nothin in case it's rigged.”

“Gotcha,” Benny said, moving out. He was good, nonchalant, not
slinking around and potentially drawing attention to himself. It was ballsy
doing this in broad daylight. Books had counted on no one being around, but
he'd forgotten this was a warehouse town, people worked here. It wasn't like
the houses where they went off to work, no here, they worked here, sometimes
taking shipments in at any hour of the day or night. Great.

But it seemed to be working out, no one was around this area,
everyone was off at the lunch wagons or nearby restaurants or bars. He and his
crew had watched them all file out of the buildings a few minutes ago and then
disperse. No, if anything, now was the time. Night time would be too dangerous,
too easy for a jumpy guard to sound an alarm if Benny tripped over his own two
feet.

“How many of them are there?” Rory asked from behind him.

Books looked over his shoulder briefly. “Boss said plenty. Five or
six. I think six. He said get them all, though it might be better to just take
a few. We'll play it by ear.”

“We doing it now?”

“No, we'll come back later. Now I just want a look around. Get a
feel for the layout you know?” Books said. Rory grunted in irritation,
obviously scared and wanting to get it over with. Well, that was just too damn
bad Books thought. He was a thinker, a planner. He'd let Biscuits go because
the big lug had a way about him, and it was fun to watch. If anything happened
he'd just point to the thick headed fool... as he had with the whole Irons
incident. But here, no, best to be careful.

Benny, hands in his pockets, whistled softly as he walked along
the row of warehouses and then paused at the target one. He peeked at the door,
then looked around casually as he turned in a circle and then stopped in front
of the lock.

“Shit, what is that fool doing?” Books snarled as the kid picked
the lock and opened the door. Benny looked back and waved with a smile and then
entered the warehouse.

“Shit, come on, move your ass!” Books snarled, moving out fast.

His eyes darted around the street but no one was around. A ghost
town it seemed. He got to the other side of the street and then trotted up to the
door. He peeked inside, made sure the coast was clear and then waved Rory
inside. He went in and closed the door behind him.

“Benny!” he hissed, looking for the young fool. He so wanted to
cap the dumb ass right now. He couldn't but damn he so wanted to do so! He
turned and spotted the kid near the package. The kid had already ripped the
tarp off and was puzzling over the controls.

“Benny! Frack!” Books snarled as the kid punched a series of icons
on the black screen. The kid swore, ignoring his nominal boss.

“Stay by the door,” Books ordered Rory. Rory was gaping at the kid
and the pods. He slapped the kid on the stomach. “I said...”

“Yeah, stay by the door. Sure thing,” Rory said.

Books stormed over to the kid, fully aware of how stupid this was.
You didn't just waltz into a target like this! What the hell was the little
brat thinking? He thought, fuming.

He was fully wary of how far out on a limb he was. Benny was
sawing it off behind him and there was damn little he could to do stop the
stupid prick. He reached to slap the kid upside the head, maybe it'd knock some
sense into his pea brain. Before he could get there though his new, young, and
rather stupid helper opened the first pod and yanked the sleeper out into a
fireman's carry.

“We can sell them back to the government or the highest bidder.
Forget about the pods just grab a couple that look interesting and let's go!”
Benny said, all smiles.

“Shit,” Books snarled. He turned to Rory. “Keep an eye out,” he
said as he punched the other pod. A woman was inside.

“Here,” Benny said, turning to help. Books slapped him upside the
head just as the kid got the pod open. Benny didn't say anything, just moved
away. Books reached I and grabbed the body. He hefted the pale woman over his
shoulder and then waved to Rory.

“We'll come back for the others in minute. Keep watch,” he
ordered. Benny coughed, Books glared his way.

“Dust,” the kid choked out. Books grunted, feeling an itching at
the back of his own throat. His nose was filling up. Damn it, stupid time for
his allergies to act up!

Half way to their vehicle they started to cough and collapse. A
passerby came to aid them and immediately collapsed as well.

Rory watched from the door in horror as the bodies of the sleepers
dissolved. He turned to stare at the open pods and opened his mouth, feeling an
itching. He looked down at his hands and legs and felt like ants were crawling
over his body, biting. He screamed a hoarse scream, eyes rolling back as his
body literally started to dissolve. He opened the door and then collapsed onto
the dirt street, writhing as he was consumed.

The men and women coming back from their lunch break found the
scene and some rushed to their aid. But it was already too late for those who
had fallen and those who tried to help. One of them realized the threat and
turned to run, clawing at his throat.