Really, some did want to at least try to compensate the staff for their troubles. That was good. She had long since learned practicality, she took all forms of exchange even services in exchange for service. Like the doctors of old she didn't turn away any who were sick or hurt, for they may be the key to the future.
Should she have another drive? Another party? She hated them, they were great for publicity but they only barely broke even. Donations were what really paid for her clinics in the most down trodden areas and in the most remote regions of the planet. But relying on the generosity of others, expecting it... that was tantamount to trouble. When it disappeared... she shivered. It was entirely too much like the downtrodden people she was trying to help. The parallel disturbed her.
Doctor Tompkins was doing wonders in Gotham. The older lady had a clinic in the most desperate section of the city and seemed to be doing well. She'd have to talk with her to see how she was managing and how she did it.
“Trisha...” she pushed the button as she said the name. She heard a squeal and winced.
“Yes mum?”
“Can you get a progress report from Gotham?”
“Of course mum. Will that be all?”
“Yes.”
“Don't forget you have rounds soon. And that... person McCoy has been calling again.”
Helen frowned. Trisha was a good secretary but a bit biased against McCoy. “Is he on the phone now?” she asked.
“No, I told him you're occupied,” Trisha replied with a sniff of disdain.
“Well, the next time he calls put him through. If I'm not in the office page me.”
“Yes, mum,” Trisha replied with only a slight hint of disapproval in her voice.
“He may have something interesting,” Helen replied and then took her finger off the button. Education that was her next big project...
...*...*...*...*...
“Tori, we... what do we do?” Bobby whined, clutching her arm.
She shook his arm off with difficulty, her brother was getting bigger every month. She sighed. “What we always do, I'll take the bird up.” She looked at their life blood, a Piper Pawnee clone her family had kept going for nearly a century. She wasn't much to look like now, patched with duct tape and wire, but she could still fly rings around anyone else, if she was empty. Now she regretted her barn storming stunt she'd done earlier in the week. Oh well, over and done with now.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” she said, seeing Mr. Doherty near the front of the hangar waving his wilted cabbage. He had a bug problem and her dad had been contracted to take care of it. Which he wasn't doing, he'd taken most of the front money and blown it getting wasted on moonshine. Now he was sleeping it off. He was going to have the mother of all hangovers when he woke. If he woke. Sometimes she hated working in Hazard, it was the capital of quality moonshine. New Chicago couldn't hold a candle to the corn whiskey and potato vodka they had here. At least he hadn't quite blown all of it, she'd gotten enough to pay for the pest killer. They had a quarter of a tank of fuel though, which was a problem.
“How are you going to fly? On a wing and a prayer?” her brother demanded, shaking her arm. He waved to the plane. “It takes a full tank to get to Sin City remember? A full tank there and back I mean. How...”
“Got any more of that rotgut dad was drinking last night?” the girl asked mildly, smiling slightly.
He frowned. “Yeah. You want me to trade it for fuel? Are you nuts?”
“I was thinking about it. Can it mix with the hydrogen?”
“I... I don't know sis, that's nuts. I mean, I think I could rig it in a separate fuel system to feed into the carburetor, but we're talking mixing hydrogen with alcohol. What will that do to the engine?” There were stories of people who rigged hydrogen engines to run moonshine. So far they had yet to of actually seen one up close.
“I don't know. I do know we need the fuel and we don't have much of a choice. Let me see what else we can come up with. That fuel truck around?”
The kid scowled. “No, Hodges sent it out of town because that Irons guy is chasing them around for the fuel he paid for.”
“Oh lovely,” she sighed and then bit her lip. “Can you um... scavenge some? I mean...”
“If I get caught we're screwed Tori,” he said. “You know Coltrain.”
Tori winced. She did indeed know of the sheriff. He had a very final way of dealing with troublemakers. “Yeah, I know. But get your siphon kit anyway. A little here and a little there won't hurt anyone. Just do it quick and don't make a scene out of it. Get sis to help. Have her play look out again.”
“I'll do my best,” her brother muttered. “It's smarter than the damn alcohol anyway,” he said shaking his head as he moved off.
“Mr. Doherty?” she said, coming over to the still fuming farmer. The old man turned, scowling. Then they both turned to see a shuttle landing. They both shaded their eyes to watch. It flared out in a perfect landing.
“Show off,” Doherty grumbled. “What is it girl,” he growled, turning to her.
“I'm getting the fuel now. That's the hold up, the fuel truck is out and about and Hodges is playing games again,” she said, shrugging.
“Him again,” Doherty snarled, mouth working. Everyone within a thousand kilometers knew of Hodges and his scams and schemes. “Yeah. No excuse though. Your Pa said he'd handle it.”
The girl nodded dutifully. “He's trying sir. My brother is working on it too. As soon as we get the fuel I'll take off,” she said, smiling brightly.
“You?” he said, turning to the girl aghast. She nodded, now dead serious.
“I've been doing it for a couple of years now sir. I'm lighter than dad so we can make the fuel last longer,” she said. “Get in more trips and go further.”
“Well, all right then,” Doherty said, hooking a thumb in his suspenders. He had a farmer's tan to go with his grizzled five o’clock shadow and straw hat. “Get err done,” he said waving.
“We'll do that,” Tori said, turning to see the offworlder get out of his shuttle. He turned, saw them and waved politely in their direction. Tori raised a hand in a casual hi and then let it drop. She sighed. She'd love to fly a shuttle someday. It was her dream, to fly in space. Sometimes she loved to climb as high as the piper's engine could go and see the curve of the horizon... Instead she turned and went back to the run down hangar.
Her brother came trotting in a moment later. She turned, still checking the systems. She'd shaved as much weight as she could out of the cockpit. Her buttocks were going to be sore, she'd even pulled the seat cushions again. Her brother dragged in a fuel tank on a wagon.
“You got some?”
“Yeah, but you won't like where. I had to hit a couple sources close by cause if people see me hauling this around they'll get suspicious.”
“Where?” She asked darting a look at him.
He shrugged, looking out the open hangar doors to the farmer who was now headed to his truck around back. His sister followed his eyes and then her mouth worked. “Oh no you didn't!” she whispered fiercely.
He shrugged helplessly.
“Come on, let's get out of here before he notices,” she growled.
“I left him the rot gut as trade,” her brother said as he hooked the fuel line up and started turning the hand crank to the pump. That was something they'd learned from their mom before she'd died, to leave something in trade or to make up for it later.
“Whatever, damn you're insane. You complain about me,” the girl said softly, shaking her head as she put her flight gear on.
“No I'm not! You are,” he said, whispering back and he cranked the handle on the pump.
“You think this is bad, remember, dad signed us up to do tricks for the crowd on Landing day,” she said. Her brother started to swear softly. She snorted, putting her hat on. “Kick the chocks, we've got work to do,” she said, climbing into the cockpit.
...*...*...*...*...
Dirt side t
he Admiral made his delivery and then went into town once more. He dropped off a solar panel and a pair of e-readers to the local library, and another set to the school across the street. He remembered to give the blue Neolion Hank McCoy the small replicator and another package of tools as well as a solar panel. The lion was like a kid with a new toy as he examined and exclaimed over the packages, turning them all about in his excitement.
“Just don't break it. And don't try to take it apart or make a copy with it or it will lock up,” the admiral cautioned. The delicate hand paws were examining every seam and control button.
“Oh I won't do that! I promise!”
“Not again anyway,” a chimp nearby laughed. “He did it once and it froze.”
“Keys. It self-destructed,” the lion said, sounding sad.
“They're programmed to do that to prevent tampering,” the admiral replied with a straight face.
“How do you fix one?” Hank asked.
The admiral snorted. He could see that question coming a long ways off. “You get someone like me to do it. Someone with the keys,” Irons replied sternly, tapping his chest for emphasis. Hank's eyes widened. “It's a pain in the ass so don't break it. Don't try to take it apart either, otherwise it will melt down. Remember to plug it in, use a good wireless tablet to control it, and keep viruses away from it. And don't I mean DON'T!” Irons stressed, one finger up looking sternly at the lion. “Don't try to make anything on the proscribed list. That included weapons and other replicators. Got it?”
Hank bobbed a nod, tucking the precious device under his arm.
“And he'll remember to feed it, walk it every day, clean up after it...” the chimp teased.
“Oh shut up Jerry,” Hank growled. Irons snorted.
“The other package is a solid state drive with engineering and educational materials. Enjoy,” Irons said.
Hank's eyes widened and he nearly fumbled the replicator as he tried to get his hands on the other package. The admiral sighed and shook his head as he retreated.
“Another engineering student,” Sprite said chuckling.
“If he doesn't kill himself breaking something,” Irons replied, looking over his shoulder. The chimp was teasing the lion, waving him into the bar. Apparently the lion had a room in the hotel above and kept the bar's equipment in working order as part of his room and board. Irons turned back to his current delivery.
“Great, now if we only had something to use them with,” the librarian said wryly. Irons looked at her. She was a frumpy Terran woman, not quite obese but clearly she spent more time on a stool than on her feet. She definitely had a pear shape. She had her brown hair up in a tight knot and wire rim glasses with a gold chain connecting the ear pieces together. She sniffed as he and the maintenance man finished making the connections.
“Each of these machines can link wirelessly to a network. They also have small storage ability, so you can place oh, say they encyclopedia Galactica or your catalog on them.”
“Catalog?” she asked suspiciously.
“Yes, you could input the basic information of each book or piece of material and its location. That way a user can find it on their own.”
“What would I do?” she asked. “You clearly didn't think this through,” she said looking down her nose at him.
Irons spread his hands apart. “I didn't think of it that's true.” She sniffed in disdain. “It's a system that's been in use for over a thousand years. I'm just explaining it.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, that way people can find things quickly.”
“I'll think about it.”
“If you are worried about your job don't be. You'll still be needed to check books in, put them back on the shelves and other things. Then of course there will always be someone who needs a question answered that the machine can't answer... if it's in use by someone else for instance. And of course it needs people to put the information in, in the first place.” He turned. People were already lining up to see the machine.
“True,” she admitted, looking at the gathering crowd. He shrugged as she left with a snort.
“She gone?” the maintenance guy said.
“For now.”
“Thank the spirit of space,” the man said fervently. “That dragon is a serious pain in the ass.”
“Then why do you work for her?” Irons asked.
“Hell with that, I married her.” The guy said coming out. Irons laughed softly. The old man shook his head. “I admit I was drunk. And she can cook, but ugh.” The admiral chuckled a bit more until the dragon turned and shushed him.
“Come on. I've got another stop. I'll show you the maintenance of the panels. Outside,” the admiral said.
“Thank you,” the maintenance man said, getting his gear together.
“Oh, and you can tell her I'm leaving a copy of my e-books and other material,” the admiral said, pointing to a plastic container of flash drives.
“You tell her. I don't want to eat burnt food for a month. I'll meet you outside where it's safe,” the maintenance guy said, hiking his belt up and heading for the door. Irons chuckled again and shook his head.
...*...*...*...*...
Helen took Hank's call absentmindedly. She'd been ducking his call for a week and felt guilty over it. She really had been busy, she told herself. “What is it Hank?” she asked, signing a form a nurse handed her. The nurse took it, flipped the page up to expose another section. She flipped through it, noted the usual patient consent form and scribbled her signature.
“There.. this guy, he just gave me get this! A brand new replicator!”
“Say again?” Helen asked, stopping and turning, hand on the receiver. She hated that the thing was chained to the wall by a cord. Word was that new telephone designs were in the works in Gotham but she had yet to see the results.
“I said, a Terran sleeper just gave me a replicator!”
“He just up and gave it to you? What's the catch?” Helen asked suspiciously. Hank McCoy was a nice fellow for a Neo. He'd been a class or two behind her and also a protégée of Pratt before nasty bigotry had forced him out of mainstream medicine. Now he worked from the sidelines, serving those who fell through the cracks.
The sad thing Hank was a genius, both in medicine and in technology. His specialty was prosthetics. Hank was the real reason she had such progress with resurrecting all the medical appliances and science. He'd found old files on medicine a scavenger had dug up in exchange for his services, and had managed to not only repair, but also reverse engineer many pieces of tech that their ancestors had taken for granted and later lost during the Xeno war. Simple things like stents and IV's and other things that were now becoming common place.
Which was why she took Hank's call. It wasn't the guilt over not getting him back into mainstream medicine, or so she told herself. He served the greater good where he was she thought, running an impatient hand through her salty hair. She needed a shower she realized.
“Hank... is this for real? Legit?” she finally asked, rubbing her brow.
“Yeah! I told you about this guy, he's a sleeper. He tracked down Nohar and fixed him!”
Helen blew her breath out slowly and wiped her brow with a hand. She vaguely remembered Nohar, the yellow Neotiger she'd met in Crater City a few months ago. She counted to ten as Hank babbled on, describing the encounter. “Wait, you said he's a sleeper? An officer? So they met?”
“No, he said he's an Admiral. Nohar was army infantry.”
“Oh. That's... I dunno. Okay. Go on.” She shooed a curious nurse off with an impatient wave of a hand. She knew she was late for her rounds, she didn't need a reminder.
“He said he'd give me a replicator if I gave a discount to sleepers like Nohar and helped them. He just came by and gave me the replicator. I just finished testing it. It works great! I can finally make the parts I need! The parts you need!” Hank said excitedly. She could hear him banging around in the background. Something clattered and he swore. “Oops
.”
“Don't break anything Hank,” she sighed. “So this is legit?” she felt a twinge of envy, Hank of all people was most likely to get his hands on a replicator, after all he was a tech and had gotten four others, but all had turned out to be dead duds. “You said it works?”
“Like a dream!” Hank replied with a grin in his voice. “Its' brand new!”
“New you say? How can that be?”
“He's an admiral! He's got implants and prosthetics like Nohar. He used them to fix Nohar's. Wait should I say that? Patient confidentiality? Wait, um, forget um... oh crap...”
“You're fine Hank. No worries,” Helen replied patiently, stroking the Neo lion's mental state to try to get him to calm down. Hank had gotten himself in trouble because he forgot the necessities sometimes. “So you said he just made it? Just now? How is that even possible?”
“He's got keys!” Hank replied, now sounding exasperated. “I thought you of all people would figure that out!” he said.
“Sorry, it slipped passed me. I've had a busy week Hank. Okay, an admiral you said. Huh. I wonder if he'll do another for us?”
“I'll ask him! I... crap I'll ask Nohar to find him for me. If I can find him. Damn.”
“What's his name?” Helen asked. Maybe she could do an end run around Hank. She didn't want to, he was good and always did good in his community. But if a replicator was in play all bets were off. She had to look after the greater good after all.
Besides, when the commissioners heard about it that replicator would disappear. Hank would be lucky if he didn't lose his life in the process.
Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) Page 9
