Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) (39 page)

“As I was saying,” Irons said diplomatically. “You need to lock
down all travel.
All
travel, full quarantine planet wide. Keep everyone
indoors, strict curfew. Worry about food and water later. Right now get the
planes and trains stopped.”

“Um...”

The police officer shook his head. “We, uh don't even begin to
have that kind of authority...”

“Lock down the space port, no one leaves. You don't want this
getting out. I need to talk to the doctors.”

“Um...”

“You want your planet to live? Get the hell out of the way!” Irons
barked with command voice, tired of their indecision. Seconds literally counted
now.

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

Helen was in a meeting with the puppet Governor who was fully
panicked. Governor Oman was an overweight blowhard. He sounded good on the
radio, but he knew not to be on the growing television network, it would affect
his popularity. He'd tried to get her to go to his capital building but she'd
refused to waste the time, they had precious to lose as it was. An attempt at a
teleconference call had fallen through. Finally Governor Oman and his entourage
had stormed to her annex.

She never liked the guy, he was good at speeches but he had sweaty
grabby hands and a tendency to expect women to swoon over his every move and
spoken word. His wife was vindictive with any who did take him up on his
advances and she didn't need that headache. She had so far deflected his
advances with various excuses. Now however was not the time to dwell on such
things, they needed to work together as they had never worked before.

The world's so called leaders were rushing away from their areas
of control abandoning their people. Many were the county commissioners, but all
too many were law enforcement. They were the real power behind the thrones, the
people who really called the shots and they were now utterly useless. She
gritted her teeth and rubbed her brow. She ordered all aircraft grounded.

“You can't do that!” Mr. Morton, the director of air traffic said
pointedly.

“You want an aircraft to fly through the contamination? Everyone
will be infected,” she snarled. “When they land they'll spread it like
wildfire. Right now we've got a
slim
chance of containing this. Don't
frack with me, get it done,” she snarled.

The usual affable Morton gaped at her like a fish. She held her
glare and then turned on Oman. The governor gulped, double chin bobbing. He was
pale, very pale. He blotted at sweat on his face and then took his jacket off.
She could see the sweat stains on his white shirt. The fat slob should have
lost some weight like she'd told him she thought angrily. “Do, do it Morton. Do
it now,” the governor finally said.

“But...”

“He said do it!” Richards snarled, turning on the air director and
then back to the others. “Go, get a phone, get it started now. Any aircraft
anywhere near the contagion have them land at Hazard, they've been
contaminated.”

“Shit,” Morton cursed, grabbing his hat and coat and hustling out.

“I'm glad you brought him and the others Oman, but we don't have a
lot of time for fooling around,” Richards ground out, all business. “We need to
establish a quarantine around the area and keep the infected
inside
. If
any are still alive. If they get out it'll spread the disease faster than we
can control. That is if it's not airborne.”

“Is it?” the governor asked, fully panicked.

“From what little we have to go on  yes. I'm still trying to get a
handle on it. From the location I've deduced that it has something to do with
the sleepers.”

“The sleepers?”  Deli Osiris the governor's chief of staff asked.
He unlike the others was a professional person. He did an excellent job not
only managing his boss, but also the various directors. He had no political
ambitions of his own, preferring to be the power behind the throne.

“That's my current hypothesis,” Helen sighed, running a hand
through her hair. “It fits. The location is dead on. Hazard hasn't had any sign
though so I'm keeping it tentative now,” she said.

She'd gotten reports from Hazard. She was still getting reports,
and near hysterical calls from the hospital staff there. The sheriff and
Commissioner had already called in, both were working to cordon off the
capital.

“Hodges has put quarantine protocols into place, or at least he's
trying to. From what I understand the Sheriff has deputized just about all the
able bodied he can find to shut down the roads between Rubicon and Hazard
city.”

“Then it's contained?”

“Not if someone was infected and left in a different direction,”
Ted Zane replied patiently. Helen and most of the other staffers glared at him
for a moment. He shrugged. “And if someone is infected and they get to the
check point they could infect the people there.”

“I know,” Helen sighed. “The problem is we don't have any idea on
how fast this is spreading, what it's incubation period is, it's vector...” she
shook her head in frustration. “I can't ask people to go in to their knowing
they would die. They'd get very little back to us if they did. It's not worth
it,” she said.

“It might be if we can get some useful information out of the
sacrifice,” Osiris said quietly. Nurse Marlone gasped, as did a few others. He
shrugged, eyes cold. He looked at Helen.

“I'll think about it,” she admitted, biting her lip. They turned
to stare at her now. She turned to them. “For the greater good. We've got to
see to the greater good. Sacrifice the few if it will save the many.”

“Think fast. We don't have time,” Osiris replied. He'd already
gone from treating the possibility of the outbreak as real to fully believing
into it.

“Quarantine for now. We need our best virologists on this,” Helen
said, turning to Ted. Ted nodded. He'd already gotten a report that La Plaz was
enroute. Ivanov as well. Salt and the Daniels of course were a problem.

“I um, I need to check on Rosanne and the kids,” Oman said,
picking his jacket up. “Do you need anything else from me?” he asked.

“Reinforce lock down. Get the trains stopped. Highways,
everything,” Helen said firmly. “We'll need to work on a supply method. Method
of treatment. I'll get you a list.” She glanced at Deli. The chief of staff
nodded.

“But food, the economy...” Quertz the Veraxin director of travel
clacked his mandibles in annoyance. She looked at him.

“Food and the economy matter little to the dead Director Quertz,”
Malcolm O'Reilly said softly. Slowly the Veraxin bobbed a nod. His upper arms
and true arms showed first level agreement.

“Get on that. Governor, I suggest you put martial law into place.
Strict lock down of all communities, starting with any within a hundred
kilometers and then moving out from there. That includes Sin City. You need to
ready that for each of the major cities including Landing. We're going to have
to figure something out soon.”

“Um, please do,” The governor said, bobbing a nod. He left, most
of his staff followed.

“Wanna bet he'll be on the first air car out of here?” Malcolm
asked snidely. “To his retreat?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. Everyone knew
the Governor had several retreats, one on a private island in the southern
gulf.

“I hope not,” Helen said, hands covering her eyes. After a moment
she shifted to the hands just covering her mouth.

“It might help. Get him out of the way. He's not helping,” Malcolm
said.

“That's enough,” Helen said, shooting a reproving look his way. It
wasn't that she didn't privately agree with him, it was just that they didn't
need talk like that right now. “We need to focus. Someone look up every
airborne contagion. Start with those effecting humans and Veraxins. Coughing is
a symptom, right now the only one we've got to go off of.”

“Which covers just about everything,” Malcolm sighed, turning to
the wall of medical texts.

“Something is better than nothing,” Helen said. She turned to head
nurse Marlone. “Get surgical masks into all staff hands now. Gloves, everyone
washes their hands
hourly
. After touching a patient definitely. Use the
special soaps the surgeons use. Get more from the warehouses if you need it.
Get the maintenance staff to disinfect all doorknobs and any place people
touch. Do that at least every few hours. Get the details handled.”

The older woman bobbed a nod and jotted the order out on a memo
pad. Then she looked up. “Is that all?”

“Quarantine the sick. Anyone who comes in coughing gets full
quarantine treatment. For now that's it.”

“All right,” the nurse said, making a second note and then she
left.

“It's not enough,” Malcolm said, not looking up from the tomb he
was reading. She winced and nodded.

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

Irons made his way through the annex trying to locate Helen
Richards. A group of men and women passed him in a huff, moving to the nearest
exit. Irons turned to ask a question but a staffer turned and spread his hands
out, sternly shaking his head no. The man at the center looked a little like
the governor in profile. He was holding a jacket over his shoulder and was
urgently talking to someone on his off side to Irons though. When his
overweight boss had moved on the staffer turned and hurried to catch up.

“What was that about?” Irons asked.

“I'm not certain, but one of them may have been someone
important,” Sprite responded. “Governor Oman from the profile.”

“Hopefully not Richards,” Irons replied. He didn't want to have
come all this way for nothing.

He returned to his search. He was redirected several times, each
time erroneously to the wrong office or part of the building. Finally Sprite
had enough material in his wanderings to make a map of the building. Irons
however had had enough, he marched back to the front entrance of the building
and the reception desk.

“Can I help you?” the elderly Veraxin and her human partner asked.
Both looked haggard. There was a line, Irons bypassed it. “You'll have to start
at the back of the line though,” the other woman said, eyes snapping in
annoyance.

“No, I'll help myself,” Irons said, reaching over the desk to the
intercom.

“Hey! You can't touch that!” the Veraxin said as he hit the
transmit button. “This is Admiral Irons. Director Richards I am in reception
and we need to talk ASAP. Get your ass down here or send someone to direct me.
Over.” He said and put the intercom microphone down.

“You...” the old woman sputtered, staring at him.

“Sorry, but sometimes when you face a Gordian knot the only way
through is to cut it like Alexander did,” Irons replied with a shrug. He turned.
Everyone was staring at him, some were gaping, others were looking furious. He
didn't care. He scanned them rapidly, all were clean.

“You are all clean, no sign of infection. The endemic is in
Rubicon, not here as of yet. Go about your business people,” he said sternly,
turning away from them. His eyes found the guard who had been stationed by the
door.

The fat slob of a security guard nearby reached for his weapon.
Irons pointed his right arm up and then waggled his index finger back and
forth. “Don't,” he growled as the man stared at him, eyes wide. “Just don't.
Get on your radio if you've got one. Find me Richards, we don't have time. I'm
the only chance you've got,” he growled, full command voice.

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

Helen looked up when the speaker squawked and the strange stern
voice cut through her chatter. Finally her eyes widened as she recognized the
voice. “Find Irons!” she said turning to Ted. “He's at reception! Get him here
stat!” she said urging him out. Ted turned and trotted out.

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

Bane finished his latest prey and turned, watching the people
around him fleeing. He'd taken the job on a whim, it was simple since the
target was in town. Hell, he'd been in the same bar as the contractor. The
contractor had pointed over his shoulder to the fool and then handed him a bag
of credits. The rest he would get when the deed was done he'd been told.

The prey had pissed himself in his terror. Fortunately he'd taken
it outside, which made it easier for his babies to do their work. The
authorities got rather snippy if his babies tore apart a building. But the deed
was done and yet the people were terrorized by something, not even looking at
the kill. He sensed it wasn't about him which was strange. They were terrified
of something else. His enhanced senses picked up snippets of conversation,
something about nanites and a pandemic. Fools, he thought.

Then he turned to see someone pointing towards Hazard. Odd, he
thought. A moment ago he had thought they feared his nanites, and rightly so.
But now... “They opened a container of sleepers and a bomb went off. It's
spreading man! Spreading!” a hysterical woman said, waving her arms frantically
as her husband tried to catch her arms. He slapped her on the face and then
stormed inside. After a moment he came out with their valuables and thrust them
at her and told her to load the wagon.