Nohar stared at his arm as the admiral's arm cleaned and repaired the exterior. It was starting to look new.
Proteus handed off the software repairs to Sprite. Sprite brought up the firmware, compared it to the latest patch in her files and then wrote a patch program. “Close your eyes,” Sprite ordered the tiger through his implants.
Nohar flinched again. “Who was that?”
“My AI. They are about to work on your visual implants sergeant,” Irons replied. Nohar sighed, and closed his eyes.
“Do it,” he growled. Sprite rebooted the firmware and watched the patch kick in. It went in smoothly and the implants rebooted. After a moment they ran through POST checks and then signaled all clear.
“Done,” Sprite replied sounding smug. “The visual problem was a bit of grit in the shutter Proteus cleaned out and there was a software bug. I've fixed the bug; Proteus took care of the contamination.”
“Thanks,” the tiger growled.
Irons watched as the AI ran through the tiger, doing what they could. Neither were medical AI so they didn't have much to go off of, just the firmware and drivers in the tiger's implants. Still they were cleaning him up and repairing a great deal of the damage.
“We can't do anything for the leg, it's a simple spring prosthetic,” Proteus reported to both the admiral and the tiger as both AI withdrew. “You need to see a dentist about the abscessed tooth and a doctor about the arthritis. A good dermatologist could help with the scaring and mange,” it reported.
“It's okay, I've learned to live with it,” Nohar growled, flexing his claws on his left hand paw and then flicking away a piece of dirt. Irons nodded.
“I've got more advanced models for both legs,” Irons replied.
“Thank you,” Nohar said, slowly opening his eyes. His eyelids flickered a few times as he blinked. Irons could see the artificial lens zoom in and out. He nodded.
“For a fellow soldier and a sleeper, no problem. Anytime,” Irons replied.
“I'm not a soldier,” Nohar replied, sounding almost angry. “Not anymore anyway,” he said bitterly as Irons withdrew his hand.
“If you change your mind something can be done about that and your implants sergeant,” Irons replied. Nohar stared at him. “I've been reforming the Federation and the military with people like you. I can give you a voucher and you can get your implants rebuilt or replaced with full cloned parts in Pyrax.”
“Why?” Nohar growled. He'd heard something about Irons. He'd been tempted to go to Pyrax but it was a space colony. He just knew he'd go stark raving nuts trapped in a ship let alone a space station.
“We need experienced people. People who know how it's done and can show this new generation how to get it done despite the cost,” the admiral replied quietly. “You heard about the pirates?” Nohar and Hank nodded.
“Hell man, who hasn't?” Hank asked.
“Well, they are a bit more than we or anyone knew about, a lot more. A couple of years ago the Carib Queen came in to Pyrax screaming about a pirate fleet chasing it. I managed to gather some volunteers and together we salvaged some derelict warships. We had just enough time to get the ships sorted out before we had to bust up a small pirate fleet at the Agnosta-Pyrax jump point. You may have heard about it?” Both Neo's nodded. The event had happened a few years ago and had already become a legend. “We found out the pirates are from Horath.”
Hank's eyes went wide again. “Horath!” he spat.
“Ah, you've heard of them huh?” Irons asked, smiling slightly at that reaction.
“Who hasn't?” the bartender rumbled from across the room. Irons looked his way and then nodded. “Bunch of racist fagots,” the gorilla growled, showing a curled tooth.
“Right,” Irons replied. His voice instinctively picked up to make the pitch to the room at large. “I started a seed, a small navy and marine detachment in Pyrax and Agnosta. They will turn those star systems into a black hole for the pirates while building up the tech back to what it was before the war,” Irons replied.
“But to do that... the keys...” Hank mused, eyes flickering as he thought furiously.
Irons nodded. “Which they have, or at least some of them, things are a lot better in Pyrax than ever before. They're working on expanding but they need help.”
“Help,” Nohar said, not sounding like he fully believed his ears.
Irons nodded. “Help. People like you, who know how to fight. If you don't think you can do ground combat you can always teach,” Irons replied.
“Huh,” the tiger growled softly. “I don't do space stations admiral,” he growled after a moment.
The admiral nodded. “Then you can go to Agnosta. There is a marine base there. Several hopefully, I haven't gotten the last report so I'm not sure,” he said raising a hand. “The plan is to have several training bases there to train marines in basic combat. But we also need army. We need Rangers,” Irons said simply.
Nohar grunted. “I'll think about it,” he growled looking away.
The admiral sighed internally but turned, looking around. Some in the room looked interested or at least amused. “The navy has a policy of free education, full medical for you and your family, and will even pay part or all of your transportation costs. Some with the right skill sets can even get sign up bonuses,” Irons said to the room at large.
“I think you made your pitch,” Nohar chuffed, sitting back and for the first time moved his right arm to rest it onto the table. He looked down at it and slowly clenched and unclenched the fist. He raised it and stared at the artificial hand. “It's like new,” he said softly.
“Not as good as mine I admit, but it's useable for now,” Irons replied.
“I've got a client to get to,” Nohar admitted reluctantly after a moment. Irons nodded.
“Just think about it. If you want someone to talk about old times with let me know,” Irons said nodding as both of them got up. “Nice to meet you Hank, I'll try to remember to get you that replicator when I get the chance.”
“Thank you um, Admiral,” the Neolion said nodding. Irons realized he had been putting a pocket watch together while they had talked. He snorted softly. He turned and Nohar was already gone.
“Gentlemen, ladies,” Irons said, nodding to the other patrons as he made his way out. He heard the voices pick up as people talked about him and what he had said as he left. A few of the skeptics made him itch to wade back in but he forced himself to move on.
“Well! That was interesting,” Sprite said.
The admiral smiled as they made their way through the crowd. “Was it?” he asked, sounding amused but slightly disinterested.
“Tell me you didn't plan that?” Sprite accused, sounding amused as well.
“I didn't expect gratitude if that's what you're probing about. But yeah, the pitch was part of it. I wanted to one, impress him and the others, and two, get the word out. Even with the skeptics people will talk about it and some will take an interest.”
“Well, I do admit you did make an impression,” Sprite admitted with an amused sniff. “I think setting up a recruiting poster would work better though. It would lay out all the facts for anyone to read. Relying on organic word of mouth is... troubling. Your feeble memories tend to distort simple facts.”
“Which can work to our advantage,” Irons replied with a small smirk as he crossed the street at the corner. He nodded as a horse drawn carriage slowed for him to get out of the way. When he and the older lady who had been just behind him had stepped onto the wooden side walk the carriage moved on.
“Ma'am,” Irons said, stepping aside and nodding politely to the woman behind him. She sniffed and turned walking primly away.
Irons sighed softly watching her leave.
“Somehow, something tells me that wasn't the response you wanted,” Sprite chuckled.
“Oh shut up,” he growled back.
Chapter 3
Irons noticed something was up when the people in the street started heading to th
e sidewalks and into the buildings. Someone bumped him in passing, he turned to protest and saw a pair of figures down a hundred meters away making their way purposely into the street.
“Sprite?”
“Yes Admiral?”
“What's going on?” he asked as a nearby store slammed its door shut and the proprietor clicked the lock as he flipped the sign to closed. “Is it something we did?”
“No Admiral, from the looks of it, everyone is clearing out. Those two look like they are about to fight,” she replied quietly. Red icons highlighted a pair of people a hundred meters away.
“Um... Seriously? Where's the law?”
“Hiding, Admiral, the tall blue one is bad news.”
The admiral studied the tall blue alien. He was fascinating. He was dressed in western wear, a dusty tan duster, fedora, and what looked like weapons strapped to each hip. The alien looked up and Irons blinked. He had two sets of compound eyes, big eyes under that hat. The alien adjusted his hat rim with one clawed hand while the other pulled the duster wide to expose his weapons. Irons blinked. He had a pair of smaller true hands on his long torso, on either side. They were wrapped around the alien's waist with their claws interlocked above his shiny brass belt buckle. If you didn't know any better they blended in to his torso under his red vest.
Respirators were on the alien's mouth, two hoses connected the pair to a small pack on his back.
Irons felt a tug on his arm and looked down. A small black haired Terran girl was there. “Mister you better clear out. That's Ole Blue and he's mean!”
“Okay,” Irons replied, letting the girl lead him on. They ducked between buildings where a knot of people were nervously waiting. The girl's mother grabbed the child and nodded to him. “You new here?” she asked.
“Very,” Irons replied.
“Thought so from your clothes. It's not neighborly to let you get shot your first day or so being here.”
“They're that bad of shots? What about the law?”
“No one goes up against Ole Blue. No one dares,” the woman said and shivered. They could hear the steady tink, tink and foot falls as Blue's opponent walked on. Irons looked at him. It was a Terran, Spanish stock, with a bit of gut under the soiled green poncho. He had a hat on his back. He was sweating profusely, with spittle dribbling from his unshaven chin. From the sound of it, the guy was babbling on and on, possibly praying. His hands were together as if he was at any rate.
“He's a dead man,” the girl said, watching the human coldly. “Estupido,” she said and spat in his direction.
Irons turned to the man and the alien. “Can't anyone stop it?”
“And go up against Ole Blue? He's an assassin. Paid hit man. Sometimes he kills for the fun of it,” the woman said nervously, holding her children closer to her. A man nearby nodded. He looked as pale as a ghost despite his tan.
“I can stop it,” Irons vowed. He felt a hand on his arm. He looked over to see a nervous deputy there.
“Don't mister. There is nothing you can do. Ole Blue is a black hole. This guy's a deader surer than shit,” he said.
Irons blinked at him in shock, a cop saying that... He missed what was said when the Spanish man stopped. Irons turned to see the man turn slowly and gulp. He brushed his poncho back, still shaking like a leaf.
“Are you ready to meet your maker Terran?” a raspy voice chittered. Irons blinked. The high end sounded Veraxin.
“Por favor, I meant no harm,” the man blubbered, hands up.
“You know the deal,” the alien barked. “My babies are hungry,” he said.
The man's eyes went wide. Instead of drawing he turned to run. Ole Blue's true hands flashed and a round slammed into the man's back. He fell into the dust and writhed. Irons blinked as a warning tone sounded in his implants and then the AI flashed a bio-hazard sign over the quickly dissolving man. “What the hell? Nanites?”
“Yes Admiral, Gobblers,” Sprite informed him.
Irons scowled. “They're highly illegal!”
“Tell him that,” the deputy said. “Anyone who protests ends up like that,” the man said, gulping nervously and nodding his chin to the bubbling mass on the ground. They could hear a steady click click and footsteps as the alien walked up to the corpse. He stood over it, staring down at it without pity or remorse.
“Pitiful,” the alien said, shaking his head.
“What the hell is he?” Irons asked quietly. He wasn't any alien species he recognized.
“Veraxin admiral,” Sprite informed him.
“You're kidding me!”
“Gene-formed. Or reformed. He's an augment.” She posted the alien's image onto his HUD minus the clothes.
“That's rude,” the alien said, turning to face Irons. “Scanning me like that. And talking about me behind my back? Tisk tisk,” he said. Irons realized he wasn't completely sane. “You have a problem?”
“Gobblers?” Irons demanded, standing straight. “Who doesn't?” He demanded, feeling the people behind him move hastily away. Sprite flashed a warning image; Ole Blue was a member of the assassin's guild, one from his era. One of the number one assassins in the explored galaxy and feared by just about everyone.
“These?” the alien turned back to his prey. He touched something on his belt; a signal controller Irons summarized when he noted the nanites stopped and then started to swirl around the alien. After a moment he held out his hand and a new round formed in his hand. “These are my babies,” he said and cackled.
“Spirit of space,” the deputy said softly, looking at the shallow hole where the man once was. “Nothing left to bury.”
“Dust to dust,” the alien said, turning and flaring his duster to walk off. “Be seeing you around,” he said casually.
“You are a dead man if he does,” the woman said, pulling away from Irons.
“No, he is,” Irons replied, looking at the alien coldly.
...*...*...*...*...
“Still having issues Admiral?” Sprite asked, sounding entirely too amused for his taste.
“In this project, a bit Commander,” Irons sighed sitting back. One of the biggest problems on any terraformed world was the lack of fossil fuels. They weren't just used for vehicle fuel, but also heating oil, lubrication, plastics, tars, and of course activated charcoal.
Activated charcoal, or activated carbon as it was also known was one of the simplest methods of filtration. Filtration was needed in everything from water to chemicals for industrial and medical purposes. Planets that had been recently terraformed didn't have any fossil fuels, and they did have plant material but not in any great supply for at least a century. That was why many startups had trouble. Balancing the need for this basic substance was a headache for many a colony leader. Without it you couldn't filter water for ships either, which was why most colony worlds didn't. He now understood that.
Importing had been a major answer for many colonies for the past seven centuries. Or find a nice Carbon Chloride asteroid and mine the heck out of it. Or, if you planned it properly, a couple of Carbon Chloride asteroids could be used during the terraforming of the planet. Their remains could be mined for their carbon and other resources.
Most of this had been used up on Epsilon over the centuries. No one had known about reactivation of the carbon by recycling it through a hot furnace, so it had been dumped. They were now suffering a shortage. Areas that didn't have access to carbon either made due without and suffered, or they used paper or some other filtration method... with varying degrees of success.
Now, nearly eight hundred years after the colony had been founded, their plants had taken sufficient root to be able to generate local sources of carbon. Irons pointed out to a local lumber mill that they could one use the stumps , shavings, and wood chips for fuel or compressed material, or they could two, pyrolysis the material, that is carbonize it in a nitrogen or argon furnace around six hundred to nine hundred degrees C.
Chemical activation was also a possibility, it was certai
nly quicker and required lower temperatures, but the materials were mostly acids that leached the water content out of the plant material and were therefore troublesome to handle, store, and dispose of properly.
The lumber mill in New Seattle had settled on using pyrolyzing, but they required a source of argon or nitrogen. He could synthesize the nitrogen with an atmospheric convertor, but they also needed a more efficient kiln system. Which was one of the reasons he was here in Hazard. He'd hoped to do some horse trading with Hodges and Io 11, but that seemed out, the fat commissioner was apparently uninterested. He'd have to move on and see if locals in the foundry cities like New Chicago or Gotham were up to the task.
“You should let me deal with the negotiations Admiral, I'm good at it,” Sprite admonished.
“Yes, but I was hoping to keep you under wraps a bit longer,” Irons replied. “The more people know about you the more...” he bit off the rest of what he was going to say.
“The more trouble I'm worth?” Sprite asked, sounding amused again.
“Something like that,” he admitted.
“Well, I don't have any networks to plunder so I'm getting rather bored,” she said dryly.
“Fine, fine, you handle the details then Commander, I'll look into a better kiln design.”
“Gee, thanks,” Sprite replied.
...*...*...*...*...
Near dark Irons left his room to get a meal. He paused as he stepped out onto the strip, he turned at the sound of a large group of people and noted them hustling a man up the street. They were cat calling and waving torches and clubs in their hands. Many were grim. It was a mob, he realized, a lynch mob. “What's going on?” Irons asked cautiously.
Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) Page 4
