Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) (78 page)

“Lovely,” Marcino, their partner and fellow assassin said. He put
the butt of his cigar out on his shoe and then tucked it into his breast pocket
for later. The woman wrinkled her nose. Filthy habit. Worse it was a telling
one, it left DNA on the cigar. Marcino was careful not to discard it anywhere
he couldn't burn it, but one accident was all it took for him to be exposed.
Exposed and caught, or burned by the league.

“So purely snatch. If this goes bad pull back fast and fade into
the woodwork,” the woman replied. She glanced at Miss Persephone. The bitch
would hopefully get killed if it did go south.

“I intend to. Fall back?” he asked, checking his weapon once more.
The pulser was a handy weapon but almost useless after the batteries ran down.
He preferred a slug thrower like this one for brazen jobs.

She laughed, eyes black and empty like an old Terran shark. “Find
your own. I know one thing, once this goes down if we lose any time and if
there are any witnesses the ship we came in on will be burned fast. Which means
we'll have to make other arrangements to get off this planet.”

“Shit now you tell me,” the first breathed.

“You took the salt, you knew the deal.”

“Yeah yeah,” Ralph said, shaking his head to Marcino. “Let's get
this over with.”

“Amateur hour out there,” Marcino observed, lip curling in
ill-concealed contempt.

“Let the clowns draw his fire. We'll be there to clean up the
mess.”

“Or pull back if it gets too hot,” the woman said.

“That too.”

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

“One more day and we should be about finished and ready to launch
this thing. Maybe two if we get pulled off onto something else,” Hank said. He
scratched an itch, then flicked his ears at the novelty of doing something so
simple as scratching... even if it was in public. “Damn that feels good.”

“Yeah, I'd guess so,” Irons replied with a small snort.

“You have no idea,” Jerry drawled. He cracked his knuckles. “Now
that things are getting back to normal, I'm for beer and bed.”

“Sounds good,” Hank replied.

“Hey homes, I don't swing that way, thanks for offering though,”
Jerry joked. Hank laughed and threw a rag at him. Jerry ducked away, snickering
as he left the building.

“You heard about the ship?”

“Ship? My ship? What about it?”

“No,
the
ship,” Hank replied, pointing straight up. “New
ship. Pretty eager to get on the ground, which is a bit confusing.”

“A new ship?” Irons asked, wrinkling his nose. “Wait, and eager to
get ground side after everything that's happened here? Are they nuts?”

“Friends of yours I guess so jury is still out there,” Hank
replied. “From Pyrax.”

“Oh?” Irons asked. “And why am I just hearing about this now?” he
demanded, turning in place, hands on his hips.

“Because I've been rather busy monitoring the nanites and
programming the killer nanites,” Sprite responded. “So it slipped past me,” she
said.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” she replied testily. “I'm not organic, but even I'm
fallible admiral.”

“All right, I'm glad you admitted that,” Irons replied. “Anything
on the ship?”

“The Cross, a small yacht turned freighter courier. I don't see
why they bothered, she's too small to carry more than a hundred tons of cargo.”

“Okay.”

“Ship didn't announce itself until they were entering orbit
apparently,” Sprite reported. From her slow drawl the admiral realized she was
getting this data as she reported it. He glanced at Hank who shrugged and
flicked his ears.

“Admiral, the shuttle is already on the ground.”

“It is?” he asked, surprised. Why would they allow it?

“On the ground here.  Here in Hazard.”

“Now, wait, with three space ports, why come here at ground zero?”
Hank asked.

“I don't know. Something isn't right. But according to the customs
records, the passengers and crew have been inoculated against the viruses.”

“Either someone is desperate for money, or stupid. Or both.”

“Both, I'm betting both. We're out of the woods, but there's
always a chance of something overlooked coming up and biting us on the ass,”
Sprite said. The admiral nodded grimly.

“Well, there's nothing we or you can do about it now, they're here
now,” Hank finally said with a shrug. “Beer and steak?” he asked.

“You talked me into it,” Irons replied with a slight grin. “Let's
see if Kong has the BBQ out back fired up yet.”

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

Later that evening the admiral returned to his hotel and went to
bed. He'd finally started getting regular sleep in the past week. It was a
comfort, finally having a bed to climb into, a cool bed, he'd gotten around to
hooking up  small portable AC unit into his room. The quiet hum lulled him into
a doze and then deeper sleep.

 In the middle of the night Defender picked up movement that fit
an offensive pattern. Before he woke the admiral he ran a passive scan, when
the returns reported metal matching weapons he immediately initiated his
defense systems as he awoke the admiral.

Irons felt a jolt of electricity startle him awake. “Intruders!”
Defender reported, putting the map up on his HUD as he flushed adrenalin into
the admiral's organic tissues.

Irons eyes opened and then closed as he held still. There were a
dozen men and women in skin suits attempting to get into his suite. They were
moving in from all sides, slowly, methodically. It was a crack team, from the
look and feel they were professionals.

He checked and then activated his systems, going active for a
brief microsecond to get a better feel for the numbers.

He picked up the entire team, a baker's dozen of thirteen.
“Attempting to call for help,” Defender reported, sending out a signal to the
Sheriff's office.

“Signal has been blocked. Scrambling detected,” Defender reported
in a cold professional voice. “The long range link to Phoenix has also been
severed admiral.”

“We're on our own. Plan B,” Sprite said.

Defender sent out an active sensor sweep as the admiral rapidly
dressed. It wouldn't do to be killed in his boxers, the admiral thought, but
then again, it was a bit stupid to get dressed under these circumstances. He
watched as a small female human stopped and then held up a fist. She was
looking at something, most likely a scanner.

“Identity, potential team leader,” Proteus reported. “Additional
hostiles.” A set of four icons were posted on his HUD about a hundred meters
out. Each were on a rooftop, from the look of it, spotters and possibly
snipers.

“This just gets better and better,” Sprite said.

“You're telling me? Pros. Mob?” Irons asked.

“Not this good. Mobsters here are rough. This is a pro job,”
Sprite reported. “Ten seconds to point team arrival at the front door,” Sprite
reported. He frowned as he watched the break in team through the walls. Someone
peaked out of their room and an almost silent putt and the body dropping told
him that person would never get up again. Wrong place, wrong time. His eyes
narrowed.

He was tempted to go to the wall, reach through it and kill them,
but instead decided the better part of valor was to run, or at least get clear
of the area and the other innocents in the area. He didn't want or need a blood
bath on his conscience.

He detected the break in team arriving at his door, one taking up
either side, backs flat against the wall while the third lined up to kick the
door down. Irons reacted, spinning he threw himself at an adjoining interior
wall to burst though it in a shower of rubble. It was after all just plaster
and thin strips of wood, easily destroyed. He raced across the room,  ignoring
the dust and startling a couple in flagrant-delecto. Despite the situation he
smiled before smashing though another wall and into a corridor. He raced down
the corridor to slam into the snatch team’s rearguard, and like a whirlwind
took them out in a rapid series of martial arts moves. Unfortunately he had to
play for keeps, striking with fatal consequences for each tango.

“Four down, 11 to go,” Sprite reported.

Spinning, he ducked a shot at his back from a sniper and threw a
captured weapon at the shooter. The small pistol spun end over end with deadly
accuracy. The shooter took it on the temple and collapsed like a rag doll, head
gushing blood. That didn't matter, Irons had thrown the weapon with such force
that it had snapped his neck like a twig.

A second shooter lined up a shot but collapsed, the admiral
blinked, then saluted a near naked Doctor La Plaz who had brained the would be
shooter from behind. A running tally of six enemy down… he did a quick check
and found that the remaining team were running in full retreat.

The sheriff's department was finally reacting, and a shootout
between the aggressors and three deputies and a half dressed sheriff Coltrain
left two on either side down and Coltrain wounded before the remaining
aggressors slipped off under the cover of the night.

Unfortunately the police lacked night vision gear, so the goons
got away clean. As they stood around and took stock for ten minutes, Irons was
still answering questions when his sensors noted a shuttle lifting on a
straight vertical path from Hazard Space port.

“And now we know what they were really after,” Sprite said
unnecessarily. “By the time the authorities react the ship will have left orbit
and will be too far down range to engage.”

The admiral watched a gurney with a blood soaked blanket covering it
being wheeled out. “Right,” the admiral replied with a sigh. He turned away
from the sobbing woman being held up by Deputy Rogers.

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

Sheriff Coltrain had been lightly wounded in the retreat and fire
fight so an outside investigation was called in. Police commissioner Gordon
arrived by morning. He interrogated the one surviving team member in the
hospital. The man, Mitch, had little to say. Gordon confronted him with his
gear, including a crumpled image of Irons with a list of alleged crimes under
it. “We're bounty hunters, he's a bounty. We've got a legit warrant from Pyrax.
End of story.”

When he was sure the man wasn't going to say anything, even to
save his own sorry hide, Gordon went to confront the admiral. “According to
this Mitch,” Gordon said, pulling a paper pad from his brown trench coat. Irons
wasn't sure why the commissioner needed to wear it when it was already stifling
hot out. “According to him there's a warrant out for your arrest in Pyrax.
They're bounty hunters sent to collect you and return you for trial.”

From the sound of it Gordon had gotten an earful. Irons frowned.
Gordon looked at him suspiciously

“I don't know what you've heard Commissioner, but why don't you
hear both sides before you pass judgment okay?” Irons said slowly.

“He deserves that Jim. Give the man a chance,” Helen Richards
replied from the open doorway. Gordon looked at her and then shrugged. “We, I
mean none of us would be here without him.”

“All right,” Gordon drawled. “Let's hear it. Let's hear your side.
Since everything you've done here I'm willing to give you the benefit of the
doubt. But some of this stuff I've heard about...”

The admiral wearily sighed and explained to the commissioner and a
weary Helen Richards about the events in Pyrax.

He peppered his explanation with his own recordings of the events.
Skeptical at first, the Commissioner came around when he replayed the
conversation between the council member and himself.

“I see. And I thought we had it bad here,” Gordon replied. “They
really wanted to get rid of you didn't they? Then why do they want you back so
bad?” he asked.

“The keys,” Sprite replied. “They thought they'd be cute and get
rid of the admiral. He left. They thought they'd killed him on Destiny, it had
been rigged to die in hyper, but we stopped that from happening,” the AI
explained.

“So...”

“So what do you want to do commissioner?”

“Well, it's not my jurisdiction. And from what you told me, they
agreed to exile, then changed their minds. I don't see you getting justice in Pyrax.”

“No, neither do I,” Helen agreed.

“But, as long as you're here, you are a target. You and anyone
else around you. So, I won't interfere with you, but I suggest as soon as this
crisis is over you move on.”

The admiral sighed and nodded. “I'm planning on doing so.”

“Good,” Gordon replied. He ran a hand through his graying hair and
then adjusted his glassed. “I'm sorry about that, about this, I really am. It's
just how life works out sometimes.”

“Yes, yes I know. I'll deal with it.”

“I expect you will,” Helen said nodding.

The admiral retired to a new room  in a new hotel later that
evening and was amused to see the alert guards watching his door. “I recall
something about barn doors and such...” Sprite drawled.