Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) (44 page)

“Suit yourself. How can you make these things? The replicators,
the bomb...”

“Classified. But well,” Irons shrugged when he noted that wasn't
going to wash with the medical director. “I'm an admiral. A fleet admiral, of
the Federation Navy. An Engineering admiral. We're the keepers of the keys,” he
explained.

“Ah,” she nodded. She had heard of the keys. She wasn't sure what
they were, something about programming. She made a tired mental note to talk to
Hank about it when she had more time and wasn't in a crisis. If they survived
the crisis, she thought with a slight twist of her lips. “First things first,”
she murmured.

“Excuse me?” Irons asked politely.

She looked up and then shrugged. “Sorry, woolgathering. You were
saying? Keys? So why can't you just whip up the things we need?”

“I am in a way, but I'm limited,” Irons sighed. He looked out the
window. “I'm an engineer. I had the opportunity to take the medical classes so
I could certify for them and receive the nanite medical keys but I never saw
the need. Now I'm kicking myself for not doing that,” he said with a bit of
self-loathing. “A lot of people are going to pay for that,” he muttered.

“I didn't know that.”

“You have to be a medical officer to have those keys. I've never
had an interest in medicine. No offense doc, but even I know when I'm out of my
element,” he said with a shrug.

“Well, I'd like to say it's nice to see you off balance but in
this case I wish it wasn't in this subject,” she sighed. She rubbed her brow,
trying to get her thoughts in order. “So what can you do?”

“Right now I can make the tools, infrastructure needed to support
this effort. I can make materials for medicine, but not medical nanites.”

“You said that.”

“Yes, well, there are a few end runs I can use to get around that,
but not many. And they're limited. A planetary emergency lets me get around a
few, but not enough to do much good,” he admitted.

“So we're stuck?”

“No, we'll keep doing what we're doing. Get intel, pump up
logistics, work on vaccines and a plan to distribute them quickly starting in
the affected areas or soon to be effected areas. Work on training people on how
to diagnose, analyze, and treat the pathogens. Right now that's as far as we
can go doc, we can't get too far ahead right now.”

“I understand,” she said, seeing the scope of the projects he was
describing. Without his help the endeavor wouldn't have gotten anywhere or
would have taken months, years to get to this point. With the admiral they were
doing miracles overnight. It just didn't seem like enough.

“Hank is going to need transport,” Irons said. She blinked,
blushed a little at woolgathering and then nodded.

She reached for the phone. “I'll make a call,” she said. He nodded
and withdrew.

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

At eight am a rather tired and frazzled Hank was sent with a
sleepy Wally Wart, an aircraft engineer to Sin City to launch the drone. Their
teenage pilot was an acne covered lad named Luke.

Hank and the engineer flew an appropriated air bus, one of three
left on the planet. To fit the odd shaped parts into the vehicle Hank cut the
top off and then tack welded it back on to carry the drone and equipment. The
pilot muttered about being unbalanced but took off anyway. They were going to
have to land in a farmer's field outside the city and then hike in. A deputy
was supposed to meet them there and clear things with the farmer.

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

Irons was kept in Landing, he was too important in his role there.
Now that the drone was off, Irons used surplus materials to make additional
replicator components, these were larger than the first replicators. He
directed them to be filled with nanites and then patiently waited as his stock
replenished itself under Proteus's guidance. He wistfully wished for medical
nanites and kicked himself for not taking the classes needed.

“Still kicking yourself over the medical nanites admiral?” Sprite
asked him quietly as he worked.

“You know me so well,” he sighed.

“We're legally barred from the keys by law. But we have them, or
at least I do.”

“Your point commander? You and I both know you can't willingly
break the law. This is a sacred thing, I'm betting it's pretty heavily
protected by your ethics,” Irons replied, hands still working as they carried
on with the conversation.

“True,” Sprite replied. “But this is a planetary emergency
admiral,” Sprite replied. “And you and I both know we're going to need them soon,
all this effort is the equivalent of putting a band aid on a cut to the
jugular.”

“Poetic,” Irons ground out. “And yes, you've got a point. I still
am not sure how to get around them. And even if we did the best I could do is a
regen tank. Which as you pointed out earlier wouldn't help here. Not nearly as
much as we'd need. Everyone on this planet will need treatment. Everyone and
every living thing,” he said.

“True,” Sprite sighed. The admiral was of course right. She'd been
focused on the sapients, she'd overlooked the problem of the food chain. That
too had to be addressed or the population would suffer from secondary
infections for centuries to come... if the loss of their animals didn't throw
the biosphere into chaos. Which it very well could.

“There is one way to get around this. A sure fire way admiral, a
way to put this to rest once and for all,” she said.

He stopped what he was doing to stare at her angrily. “Are you
trying to hint at something commander? We don't have time for this!” he said, voicing
his exasperation at her game.

“Not a game admiral, I'm just hesitant to bring it up.”

“You can't be hacked. No. Out of the question.”

“I wasn't suggesting we try,” Sprite replied.

“Okay, but we need a medical officer to get around the problem!”
he said.

“Exactly,” Sprite replied, smiling suddenly. He stopped and looked
at her. She nodded, now picking up in enthusiasm.

“We'd need a medical officer,” she said as he stared at her
avatar. “Which we can do.”

“We can,” he said, not quite believing what he was hearing.
“You're sure?” he asked, eying her.

She shrugged. “As sure as anyone can be admiral. I think it'll
work. I dumped it into a sim, my ethics didn't kick up. The time-line is tough
though, the longer we wait...”

“I'll think about it,” he said finally.

She sighed. “I was afraid you'd say that. I did mention time
right?”

“Sprite...” he took a deep breath, held it and then let it out
slowly. When he was fully deflated he inhaled again. “Just... let's see how
serious the situation is first and then make the decision from there. We need
to broach it with the people involved too, and they may have issues.”

“And the longer they take to get over it...”

He held up a restraining hand. “One thing at a time. Multitask
later. We'll consider the implications later. Right now let's just get the damn
probes in the air.”

“Aye aye admiral,” Sprite replied with a nod.

“Go to it commander, I've got it here,” Irons said. Sprite nodded
and launched herself back into the net.

He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to work through her
suggestion, find a flaw. He didn't find one, which made it all the more
seductive. Seductive and troubling.

Four hours after leaving Landing, Hank had practically kissed the
ground when they'd landed in the farmer's field. The farmer hadn't been
thrilled to see them, but Hank had, despite the shotgun greeting. He and Wart
as well as their teen pilot Luke had been scared shitless the entire way there.
He'd forgotten about the speed the air-cars went and what the air buffeting did
to the skin of the bus. Throw in his tack welds and all three of them had been
worried about the skin being ripped off the roof. He'd even gone so far as to
break out his small welder to tack a couple more spots from the inside. It
hadn't helped much, but it had helped them worry slightly less. Slightly.

Now he had to open the damn thing up again to get the gear out.
Heavy gear, without a crane or winch in sight. He sighed.

“You know that barn has a hay loft,” Wart said, pointing towards
the crop of buildings through the smashed grain.

“So?”

“So it's got that thing, the board sticking out the front. For
hauling the hay up into the loft. Got a pulley on it and everything,” Wart said
as the Sin City deputy arrived and took the angry farmer aside.

“You don't say,” Hank said, nodding and rubbing his chin. “Might
work. We'll find out. Luke, we've got to move this thing. Mr. um, uh...”

“Doherty,” Wart supplied.

“Yeah, whatever,” Hank said. The farmer turned his glare on him.
“The sooner we unload and get this thing put together and into the air the
sooner we're out of what hair you've got left,” he said.

The man tipped his straw hat back and rubbed his brow. “Well, why
didn't you city slickers say so?” the old man growled. Hank snorted, looking at
Wart. “Let's go, gotta save the world,” the old man said, waving them to the
barn as he shambled off.

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

Once Hank was off Irons made their first full pressure suits,
supporting equipment, showers, and virology lab equipment. It was the bare
basics of a diagnostics lab. Helen had tapped a couple of people including one
of their trained Virologists they had on hand to read the manuals. Irons
however didn't make everything, so Helen directed her people to tap the medical
supplies to fill in with slides, culture dishes, and other simple equipment.

The admiral started to explain the working of the equipment when
Sprite interrupted. He sighed and then handed over a tablet and told the
virologist to read it on the flight to Sin City. He had other more important
things to do.

“What flight?” Doctor Ivanov asked, looking around. Irons turned
and pointed to a speck in the sky. The man turned and shielded his eyes just in
time for Luke to do a bit of grandstanding and buzz the field. Irons winced.
“Is he going to fly that way all the way to Sin City?” Doctor Ivanov asked,
sounding worried.

“I hope not. There's a lot of glassware,” Irons scowled, watching
the airbus settle onto the ground nearby. It was the hospital's tennis court,
re purposed as a tarmac.

“We can't all fit... is that roof welded on?” Doctor Ivanov asked
in dismay as workers started moving equipment and boxes.

“Yes. And no, you will be on that,” Irons said, pointing to
another air bus that was landing nearby. This one was white, with blue stripes
and Epsilon tours stenciled on the side. “Doctor Richards appropriated it for
you.” The other bus had just arrived from Gotham.

“Ah,” Doctor Ivanov said, jowls shaking a bit. He adjusted his
glasses and then looked at the admiral.

“Don't worry doctor. We'll send the remaining equipment in follow
up flights and the train. I'll see you there.” Irons said.

“I thought the nearest field was Hazard?” the doctor asked as a
nurse took him by the arm to lead him to the waiting passenger bus.

“It is doctor, we're going to a field in Sin City,” the nurse said
with a slight smile. She was scared, but she didn't want to show it.

“There, there my dear, we'll be fine,” Doctor Ivanov said. “First
flight?” he asked.

She gave a shaky laugh.  He smiled. “They say these air buses can
land vertically. It's very scary,” she said. “Is it that obvious?” she finally
asked, looking around. None of the other volunteers seemed nervous.

“Only to some,” he said, looking at her through the corner of his
eye. When he'd been younger and less... well, fat, he'd been quite the ladies’
man with the single nurses. “I'll sit beside you my dear. We can go over this
together,” he said holding up the tablet.

“What a marvelous thing!” the nurse said, touching the tablet.

Irons looked back and shook his head. He turned to see Luke
drinking a fruit drink. The kid had put on a pilot's white scarf, hat and
goggles for some reason. Grandstanding indeed, Irons thought with a slight
smile. “Luke, fragile goods. Seriously important.
Glass
,” he called out
in warning.

People slowed to look at Irons. Luke stopped sipping from the
straw. He held a hand up, thumbs up. Irons nodded and returned to the building
for his next project.

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

Hank ran into some flack, some refugees were in the way. The help
from the authorities wasn't much, in fact he had little at all to go on. The
bus was it, and he'd had to send it back to Landing after it had been refueled.
Word had come back that more people were coming in several buses. Mr. Doherty
had stormed off when he'd heard that. That was good, at least it got the old
busy body out of his fur. The old man wanted to know every little thing about
the little plane.

He'd ended up staying on the farm, using the barn as his shelter
to put the drone together. He'd had a deputy keeping an eye on him, but the
deputy had been called off after a couple hours, something about crowd control.