Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) (57 page)

“Good.”

“Anything else?” Irons asked, tapping a screwdriver against the
table.

“No sir that covered all bases I believe. Oh, watch out for
Hodges.”

“We've met,” Irons replied dryly. “He up to his old tricks?”

“Some,” Nohar replied with a slight chuffing laugh. “But he's so
scared he's actually keeping them down to a minimum.”

“Wow. Well, no doubt when things get under control he'll return to
type. Take care Sergeant, we'll check in with you in a day or so.”

“Take care Admiral. Over and out,” The tiger said, fumbling to end
the transmission. Sprite cut it from their end.

“Well, that's interesting,” the AI said. Irons rubbed his chin.
“Hazard is the key. One of them. Now we've got to get a handle on this thing.”

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

When the admiral heard they were having food supply problems with
all the people and no shipments, he tapped his human helper Andrew. Andrew was
a good kid, smart, on point. He had a detailed mind, he could see an exploded
schematic of something and put it together within an hour, sometimes less. With
the tutelage of Irons the young man was blossoming, seeing new things for the
very first time.

Irons had given him his own replicator as he had Hank, but Andrew
had put it to the work of the community. He had however stenciled property of
Andrew on it though. Irons had him tap the little machine for small parts while
he replicated a few larger ones with the larger industrial replicator.

They tested the first food replicator in the warehouse of course,
saluting each other with a cup of coffee and a doughnut. After that people
working there came and got food when they needed it.

A few hours later Andrew, Irons, and a few drafted helpers
installed a pair of food replicators in the cafeterias of the hospital complex.
Diners watched them in amusement and curiosity as they ran hoses to a water
tap, and installed big drums of material.

Irons had the foresight to have a pair of signs made up with basic
instructions. One of the Veraxin helpers hung them, worried over how level it
was. Irons waved that concern off. They had other more important things to deal
with other than nitpick items like that.

When they were leaving Andrew looked over his shoulder and was
amused to see people slowly approaching the devices and puzzling over them. One
woman tried a cup of coffee and grinned.

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

Helen worked with the media, including Mr. Richards, her
ex-husband whom Irons had met earlier. They met to do something about educating
people. The reporter took the information and rushed off to publish it. The
story broke four hours later. The admiral scanned it, not happy about the alarm
in it, or the pessimistic view point but glad some real information was getting
into the hands of the panicked public.

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

In other cities and communities Doctor Richards ordered the setup
of blood drives, food drives, and material drives. A full quarantine was put
into effect for the other continents. All ships with radios were ordered to
return to their port of origin or to avoid the ports on the main continent.

 Helen opened clinics in donated space for medical checkups in
each of the major cities on the main continent. Warehouses owners donated
materials as well as space for the sick and for material storage. They could no
longer be cynical about the motives of all concerned. Haunting images of Crater
and Hazard City where thousands were infected, dead, or dying were all over the
news. Helen didn't have the manpower to police each of the warehouses.

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

“You do realize this is a lot like the world war recycling drives?
Both World War one and two on Earth had them in countries on both sides of the
conflicts. They didn't bring a lot in, but they were a huge morale boost,”
Sprite commented.

“True. People see that they too can contribute, even if it's in
some small way. That they can help, and that by getting them involved they and
the staff develop empathy.”

“True,” Sprite said, watching a woman drop her entire collection
of pots and pans. A few thieves were picking through the goods, but apparently
most of the security force didn't care. One guy made off with a pot, only to be
turned around by an angry group of spectators. He sheepishly returned his
ill-gotten gains and then melted into the crowd.

“The real driving force were bonds sales and donations by
companies,” Sprite said. “And the donation of free labor,” she said.

“Which of course the military contractors loved. They billed the
governments double,” Irons grumbled. “But this is doing better than I'd hoped
in many ways.” He turned to see a nurse handing out pamphlets and kits. A few
people who received the kits were busy reading them as they moved off. A few
people were standing across the street reading the pamphlets or talking about
them. Irons nodded.

Printers donated paper and ink. Helen instead asked them to print
information material. They took what she sent them and printed pamphlets.
Volunteers handed out the informational pamphlets on what to do along with
masks and other items to people who donated. Suddenly community work was even
more appealing to the usually selfish Epsilon people.

Once the first wave of vaccines and drugs were administered to the
population of Hazard they identified what worked and what didn't. A crash wave
of manufacturing by the pharmaceutical companies churned out vaccines that were
immediately distributed, sometimes at the front door of the company itself.

Helen and her staff tried to explain that one shot wasn't a cure
all, it wasn't a permanent cure. They would need repeated shots for each virus
until they got the epidemic under control.

“So what good is it?” A man in line demanded.

“It's a start,” the nurse said, swabbing alcohol on a patch on a
shoulder of a girl next in line.

“It's false hope,” he snarled.

The nurse plunged the needle into the girl's arm. The girl winced
but didn't say anything. When she was finished she pulled the needle out and
put a cotton swab over the hole before it could bleed. She murmured to the girl
to keep it there. The girl nodded and moved along. She turned to the guy. “It's
a
start.
We're working on it. Just have some patience. Help where you
can.” He looked at the nurse dubiously.

“Is this how it was done on other worlds? By other groups?” Doctor
Zane asked. Irons turned to him with a shrug.

“Unfortunately I wasn't around for that. At least not near the
end.”

“Saw it all from space?” Zane asked. Irons shrugged it off. He
turned and saw a man in a duster. The man's face was cold, just looking around
with dead eyes. Irons eyes however narrowed, he spotted the weapons under the
man's coat.

When the man looked at Irons he knew the admiral knew. His eyes
widened fractionally and he reached. Irons however was faster, his right arm
morphed into a stunner and he shot. Women screamed as electricity sizzled in
the air and the man wavered and then crumpled into a heap. His sawed off
shotgun clattered to the cement walk.

“What the hell?” Zane asked as people backed away from the
shooter.

“Not sure,” Irons said. He unlike the rest of the people went to
the body. A few had their hands to their mouths. He turned the man over and
opened the duster. The man had a chicken plate on, a piece of thick metal
acting as a bullet proof vest. It hadn't stopped him from getting stunned
though. A note was taped to the chicken plate. His eyes scanned it.

“Die like I want to die, like my family died in Rubicon,” Zane
read over his shoulder.

Irons grunted, kicking the weapon away. He reached into pockets
and pulled out ammunition and pistols. “Add these to the donation pile,” Irons
growled. He turned to a nearby security guard. The guard was crouching, still
wary. Irons snapped his fingers and then pointed down. The man nodded and came
over. He kicked the guy and then winced, hopping on one foot because he had
kicked the chicken plate.

“Serves you right,” Zane said in disgust, taking the improvised
plate off. He tossed it to clatter in the pile. “He's alive, hand him over to
the cops,” he said getting up.

“Why bother? He wants to die,” the guard said in confusion.

“Yeah, but I'm not in the mood to give him what he wants,” Irons
replied. He waved over two other volunteers to come and help.

“He lost hope,” Zane said softly.

“He lost it when Rubicon fell. He didn't have it to begin with,”
Irons said, watching the new subdued crowd. Before this had been an occasion,
almost giddy. Now they were all sober, all looking at each other warily. Irons
sighed.

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

On the third day after Hazard was infected An air drop of
equipment and supplies commenced. Hours before the alarms had gone off the
drops had stopped, no one wanted to bring the viruses back to Gotham or Landing
prematurely. However Hazard still needed resources. The admiral had come up
with a quick fix, repulser emitters attached to packages. They were short burst
devices, each were attached to the underside of a crate and then activated.
Their two centimeter diameter superconductor batteries were only good for one
landing, then they died.

The first drop test was almost a disaster, less than a third of
the packages landed safely, the rest ended up in trees, or crashed downwind.
But that was at least something as Irons pointed out. “And we all know,
something is better than nothing. Even though it's not enough, it's a step in
the right direction. Now we need to improve it.”

Part of the problem was the packages, they were unbalanced,
ungainly things that tended to tumble in the air. Several were top heavy, when
they were let loose from the aircraft they immediately flipped making their
repulsers useless.

Hank saved all the pieces. Those that were broken he reluctantly
fed into the scrap pile for recycling, but others he kept. He put them aside
for later tinkering, thinking about hover pallets or even his own private air
bus.

Some of the equipment that they received allowed them to set up
ultraviolet baths for vehicles, people, and equipment in a larger area.
Ultraviolet wands were added above entrances to buildings and for the planes.
One plane was rigged with ultraviolet lamps and batteries. It would fly orbits
around the pathogen.

“Think we'll get calls about a UFO? I mean, it is technically a
UVFO, but...” Sprite cracked.

“That is if anyone is alive down below to see it.”

“True, entirely too true,” Sprite said, now sobered. “What's
next?”

Act III an act of desperation or genius

Sprite's plan to get the dusters into the air was put into action.
Chemical works in Gotham, Landing, and Metropolis swung into action, generating
tons of the soap. They left out anything not needed in the formula like
perfumes. It still took a day to get enough to make a dusting worthwhile,
however. Then they had to ship it to Hazard.

She'd had to sweeten the radio call with an offer to inoculate any
pilots who came forward with their planes as soon as the vaccines and other
medicines became available.

The call for dusters brought out dozens including a familiar
thirteen year old girl. She flew to support her family with her brother who
served as her mechanic. Their dad had been an alcoholic who fell into the
bottle after their mom died a few years ago. The lush could fly, but Tori took
the plane up more and more on her own to make enough credits to keep the family
going. “Girl's got to eat,” she'd tell people who commented in amazement or
dismay over her occupation.

Her little brother Bobby was an able mechanic, their little sister
Xani helped keep their home clean. All three kids were being forced to grow up
before they had to, but sometimes life was like that.

They sat through a pilot briefing as the ground crews set up the
planes and soap was loaded into the tanks. They tested the spray, it didn't gum
up the works. “Why should it? We spray soap on crops to get rid of aphids and
other pests all the time,” Tori said with a look of patient amusement for their
caution.

“So now we know it works.”

“No, we know it sprays.. We'll know if it works when we're in the
air,” The lead pilot said. “Ladies and gentlemen, we've been asked to save the
world. I'm in no position to say no. But if any of you want to hang back or
bail, we'll find another pilot.”

“I'm in,” Tori said, glancing at her siblings.

Tori wore a respirator and did the job with the other pilots. As
she took off she saw her lush of a father stumble along, trying to stop her.
“Sorry dad,” she murmured, hitting the throttle.

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

Doctor Ivanov had air samples taken during the first drop. A
chaser plane was rigged, it followed in their wake taking samples. Another
plane led the way, both aircraft were outfitted with the same science package
the drones had carried. After careful testing he ruled that the air spray
helped, it hindered the spread of the virus. Tori returned to base elated, she
was the last to land. Each aircraft was sprayed down to decontaminate them.