Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer)

by Hechtl, Chris

  “Irons. I saw him go down the street. Oh bother. I'll see if I can... no, I've got that client at four. Damn!”

  “I'll look into it Hank. I'll try to stop by in a bit,” Helen said, nodding to a pair of doctors and a nurse waving to her. Her finger tips covered the phone speaker for a moment until she realized they were staying at the end of the corridor for the moment. “I've got to go,” she said, taking her eyes off them. “I've got a problem on my end Hank. If you see him let me know again okay? Leave a note with the staff.”

  “I will Helen, thanks for taking my call,” Hank replied, now more subdued.

  “Anytime for a friend and colleague Hank, you know that,” Helen said and hung up. She turned, looking thoughtfully out the window for a moment. “Irons, where have I heard that name before...?” she mused, turning as one of the doctors cleared his throat. “Oh? Sorry, coming,” she said returning to the here and now.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  The admiral passed Nohar who was crouched in an alley watching someone. The Neo cat was obviously on the job so Irons didn't stop to chat though he was tempted to do so. He didn't want to draw attention to either of them. “Admiral, don't forget supplies for when you're here,” Sprite reminded him.

  Irons grunted. “That's where I'm going now, the general store,” he said, nodding his chin to the sign above the brick and mortar structure two hundred meters away.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Nohar blinked as Irons passed, momentarily distracted by the Terran. He was a strange sort, a nice guy, something Nohar wasn't used to dealing with. He'd spent nearly sixty years on this mud ball, cynicism was a survival trait. Usually nice guys either wanted something or were taken advantage of. Hank was nice... as long as he had parts and money, or a really neat puzzle to solve. He could be downright nasty though if you broke something deliberately, or didn't take care of your stuff.

  He looked over his shoulder to where Irons was going. He winced, tracking him with his now fully functional cybernetic eye. If Irons was heading to the store he was in for a bit of grief. For a brief moment he thought about intervening before he shrugged it off. He turned, checking his intended prey. Yup, still got the drapes closed. He chuffed softly.

  He hated working in Hazard but you went where the money was. In this case his client was fairly certain his wife was cheating on him when she went on these shopping trips and visits to her sister here in Hazard. It hadn't taken Nohar long to recognize the signs of an illicit liaison, but getting evidence of that was tricky. The duo were cagy, coming and going separately while avoiding any public displays of affection. He needed concrete photographic proof if his client was going to pay up.

  The problem was their liaison was in a Hodges hotel, and the one thing he'd learned early on is you don't go messing around with anything labeled Hodges on it. Not if you wanted to live past sun down around here. He growled softly and then kept scanning the drapes for any sign of movement.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Irons poked around the general store. It was a small building opposite the rather dilapidated Cooter's garage, but it's supplies were fairly concentrated on the essential basics. There were some food items, cans and such, tools, some building supplies, the list went on and on.

  The shelves weren't well stocked though, a sign that either there was a supply issue or a problem with the business's accounting. Of course it could be that he'd wandered in after someone had come in and bought the place out to build or restock somewhere else.

  Yeah that could be it, Irons thought, looking around. He stayed politely away from the register, there were two people there ahead of him. One was a big broad shouldered guy, the other a skinnier version. Both were wearing black hats and black dusters.

  “The money Charlie, you know the drill,” the skinny one said casually, hands on his belt.

  “Extortion?” Sprite asked, as Irons focused more intently on the duo.

  “Maybe,” Irons replied softly as the big guy turned to glare around them.

  His roving eyes found Irons. “What're you looking at, come here,” he growled.

  The admiral approached, noting the weapons Defender's scan picked up. Interesting, he thought. When he got closer he held up a list. “Sorry you wanted something?” he asked, turning to the tough and interceding between them and the counter.

  The fat storekeeper gulped, not liking what was going on at all. He didn't have the money they wanted, which made him even more nervous. Biscuits and Books were spoiling for a fight and he knew what was coming.

  “You need to go, I'm closed.” Desperately Mr. Ferguson told the stranger, from the look of him an offworlder. He rather nervously watched the others as he repeated his entree to the stranger, now almost pleading him to mind his own business.

  “He's an offworlder. He doesn't know any better. Come on fellas, I'm barely making Hodges's rent as it is!” He had his hands up, sweating profusely. “Come on, don't break my place up again, I need it to support my family!” He licked his lips. Irons could see the guy was truly scared. He was dressed in a striped shirt, apron, and brown pants. He had muttonchops and a mustache. Both were going silver, a good match to his black receding hairline. Black bands were around his elbows, most likely to keep his shirt sleeves tight.

  “Yeah and yourself,” Biscuits said, glaring at the guy. He jerked his broad thumb at the store keeper. “You believe this lard ball?”

  “Oh, I dunno, times might have been tough. We can check the register of course,” Books replied, nonchalantly yanking the brass machine around to face them. “You don't mind do you?” he asked snidely.

  The storekeeper shook his head, gulping. “Look, I don't want no trouble,” he stuttered, eyes wide.

  Books ransacked the register as Irons clenched his fists. When he was done Books snarled and knocked the register aside. “Twenty-seven and change?” he snarled. “That ain't cuttin it lard ball! Guess we'll have to take it out of you some other way!”

  “No,” Irons replied softly.

  “No?” Books asked, chuckling as he turned to the intruder. “No? Did you say no?”

  “You heard me,” Irons replied, glad Sprite was recording this. “You will not harm him,” he growled.

  “Well lookey here,” Books drawled, leaning against the counter with one elbow. “We have ourselves a bonafide hero in our small town. Will wonders never cease,” he said sarcastically, grinning. His long rat like face turned and his jaw worked for a moment. He spat a black tobacco wad onto the floor before he turned back to smile at Irons.

  “Please! Don't. Just go. Don't worry about it mister!” the storekeeper said, now frantic. He turned to the two thugs. “Look I'll pay you the money, don't bust up my shop. It costs me even more and I'm near going under as it is!” His voice was almost shrill in desperation.

  Biscuits chuckled, smacking one meaty fist into his opposite hand a few times. “No, someone needs a lesson in minding their own business,” he said. He had foul breath, rotten yellow teeth and alcohol. He smiled a feral smile, eyes glittering. He apparently expected Irons to run, Irons knew better.

  Irons nodded tightly, he realized now what was going on. It was a shake down, one he'd walked into and made worse. Unfortunately as badly as he wanted to intervene he knew better now. If he did they'd just come back when he wasn't around and the shop keeper would suffer double. The problem was he was now in too deep to get out. When the burly thug poked him in the chest and growled about Irons being a hero the admiral smiled coldly. “I'd take your finger back.”

  “Or else?” the thug growled, getting closer and projecting threat.

  “You may lose it,” the Admiral said simply. His hard glittering eyes locked onto the brute. The brute smirked, ready for a fight but the circuitry pattern in the admiral's right eye made him pause. He blinked in confusion and then stepped back, turning away. Irons could see him winding up for a round house punch and just let it come.

  He turned back fast, throwing a punch but Irons was read
y for it. He caught it in his right hand and bore down with his enhanced strength, crushing the hand. “See?” the admiral said simply as the man dropped to his knees in agony. His face worked and sweat beaded over it and his entire body. He groaned, fighting a scream of pain.

  “Let him go,” the other tough said, hand wrapped in the storekeeper's shirt while his free hand held a knife to the guy's throat. “Let him go or else this geezer gets his gizzard slit.”

  “You don't want to do that either,” Irons said softly, turning to look at the man. Cold eyes glittered as the man at his feet whimpered. He let go of the hand and the man clutched at it with his left hand, fingers curled. Tears dripped from his eyes. “I'll tell you what. You take your buddy, your money and walk. No muss, no more fuss, but if I find out you took out your anger on these people I'll come back and well...” he smiled. It wasn't a particularly nice smile, more like something from the deep ocean depths that promised eternal darkness.

  The second tough controlled a shiver with some difficulty as he licked his lips. This guy was something else. There was something there, a predator, something he was used to seeing only in a mirror. But more than that, this one was like Ole Blue. Slowly he untangled his hand from the shopkeeper's apron and set him down. The man pulled out money and dropped it onto the counter. The tough scooped it up, stuffed it into his inside pocket and then warily walked to his friend.

  Irons stepped back, avoiding a rack of magazines and newspapers but steering clear of the tough in case he wanted to do something stupid. He also kept the path to the open door clear so they could walk out. “Come on Biscuits, move,” the second tough whispered, pulling the guy to his feet with a jerk on his collar. The second guy staggered, hunched over his hand as he walked out. The second tough played rear guard, warily watching Irons.

  “You know this ain't over,” he said. “Fat Larry's not going to be happy about this,” he said, jerking his head slightly to the whimpering tough ahead of him.

  “It'd better be. Chalk it up to an educational experience. Don't bite off more than you can chew. Tell your boss that. I let you both live. Call it even. He doesn't want to tangle with me,” Irons said coldly, right arm morphing into a plasma blaster for a moment. He lifted it to chest level and held it there, letting the whine penetrate the tough's brain for a moment before he then morphed it back. “Trust me,” he said evenly.

  “Shit.” The tough's eyes were wide. He licked his lips and then unsteadily beat feet out.

  “Sorry, I'm well, sorry.” Irons said turning to the shop keeper as his hand changed back. “Sleeper, I'm a, well, officer of the Federation Navy and even though I've seen stuff like this even in my heyday I have a hard time not getting involved.” He pulled out a pouch out of his breast pocket. The Keeper's wife flinched as he dropped the ingots on the table. “For the material and for your trouble.”

  “Just go,” the shopkeeper whispered, pale as a ghost.

  “Like I said, sorry.” Irons gathered the packages he'd picked out, dropped credit coins on the counter and then left.

  Chapter 5

  Irons gloomily trudged back to the space port. He was pissed, not only at the toughs, but also the whole world in general and himself for getting involved in particular. “Stupid,” he muttered.

  “Don't look now, but I believe we're being followed,” Sprite said, sounding amused. Defender put up a pair of identity karats on his HUD behind him.

  Irons grunted in annoyance as he checked them out automatically. He recognized them of course, the big broad shoulders of the guy known as Biscuits and his skinny partner in crime Books. It figured he thought darkly. “How long have they been back there?” he asked, trying hard not to turn to look. Now that he knew he felt the back of his neck itch. He'd been distracted he admitted, woolgathering, feeling sorry for himself. He was grateful he had the AI to watch his back.

  “Since the store incident,” Defender replied.

  He huffed in annoyance for a moment. Apparently some people couldn't let things go. “Great, just great,” he sighed, stuffing his hands in his hip pockets.

  A block later as he checked the HUD. The two toughs were still tagging along, far enough back so they couldn't easily be seen. He snorted, fat chance of that. “Admiral shouldn't we report that to the authorities?” Defender asked.

  “The shopkeeper and family won't testify. Far from it, they know better. If they did others would come in and destroy their business or worse. The police can't protect them all the time.” He frowned. “Hell, the sheriff may be in on the shake down, who knows.”

  Defender's artificial eyes smoldered. “Admiral, if you don't stand up to tyranny...”

  “I know, believe me I know. It prospers, it becomes a weed you can't get out easily. I think the sheriff knows, he's either in on it, resigned to it, or has tried to get people to cooperate but can't. I honestly don't know and I regret my involvement. That may have brought retribution down on their heads.”

  “Possibly,” Sprite replied, sounding subdued.

  “Pretty much what I thought. Let's get these to the shuttle and then chase off the tail.”

  ...*...*...*...*...

  At the space port the admiral climbed off the open air bus and smirked as he went through customs. He didn't look back, he could tell the two Neanderthals had stopped and sullenly were watched from outside the chain link fence. He made certain to lose them in between the buildings so they wouldn't know which shuttle was his. Not that it would matter, there were only the two there, his and Hibiki's.

  After he dropped the packages off he returned by roundabout route to the southern gate. He went through customs, smiled politely to the bored guard and then when he hit the dirt road he took a wide path out to where the goons were waiting.

  Along the way he identified a nice alley to have a 'talk' with the gentlemen in question. Biscuits was the heavy who got his hands crushed, the skinny smarter hood was Books. He came up behind them and listened.

  “What the hell man, what we going to do?” Biscuits said, still cradling his hand against his chest. He'd wrapped it in a rag and a makeshift splint. He really should go to a doctor but he wanted payback.

  “We lose this guy Biscuits and the boss is going to be ticked. Guess who he'll take it out on then? No, no one comes into our town and fracks with us. You know that. Hodges won't care as long as we get away clean,” Books growled.

  “Interesting, the commissioner is involved?” Sprite asked him. Irons frowned.

  “What about Fat Larry? You know he doesn't know about our leaning on Ferguson and the others. If he finds out and finds out we haven't cut him in we're both going to take a long walk off a short pier. Ain't no way I'm going out that way man, I can't swim. A bullet in a field somewhere,” Biscuits said, voice shaky.

  Books turned on his partner, angry. “Will you shut up!” he snarled, and then caught sight of Irons out of the corner of his eye. He slapped his partner on the arm with the back of his hand. “What the hell? He's behind us! How'd he get there?” he demanded, pointing to the admiral.

  Irons smiled, lounging against the fence post a hundred yards away. He saluted them casually. “Bastard! He's asking for it!” Books snarled.

  “He's going to get it too,” Biscuits said grimly, reaching for something in his duster. Irons caught the telltale sign of a chemical weapon inside each of their coats. That was interesting, both men hadn't had those weapons when they'd met earlier, just knives.

  “We can't do him now! Not in the street with everyone watching!” Books snarled, pushing his partner to keep him from drawing his weapon. “What's the matter with you! Put that damn thing away!” he whispered fiercely.

  Irons had heard enough. He turned, and without a word walked casually away.

  “Look man, he's going, he's running! He's afraid of us! Let's go man!”

  “The alley, He's got to pass near it,” Books said. “You tail him, I'll work my way around. We'll meet there with him in the middle,” Books said.


  “Right,” Biscuits replied, nodding once.

  “Remember, we've got to do this clean. No one does a hit here without Fat Larry and Hodges's permission. If anyone's around forget about it. Got it?” Books said as they started to move.

  “Yeah,” Biscuits replied. Books wasn't sure his partner would obey that, he was out for blood.

  Irons didn't bother looking over his shoulder as the gloating broad shouldered tough trotted along behind him. He made the turn into the alley and feigned surprise when he spotted Books there waiting for him. Books gloated, pulling his side arm. Irons however just lifted his right hand and fired his stunner.

  The skinny tough's eyes went wide as the blue bolt hit him. He dropped like a rag doll just as Biscuits rounded the corner behind Irons. Irons turned and as the tough cursed and tried to pull his weapon he fired a second time, this one almost casually.

  “The authorities are on their way,” Defender informed him. He nodded. Sheriff's deputies came at a trot. They entered from either end of the alley, weapons drawn. One paused over Books and shook his head. Roy, the one closest to Irons grunted when he saw Biscuits. “You having another busy day?” he asked.

  Irons shrugged.

  “All right! What's going on here!” A voice roared. Roy winced as the Sheriff came around the corner, strutting like a rooster.

  “Biscuits? Books?” he said, identifying the toughs on sight. He kept looking from one to the other. “What's going on here?” he demanded.

  “We had an altercation in a store. These two decided to kill me.”

  “So you killed them? Oh the boss see, he ain't going to like that, not one bit. No sir-re!” The sheriff said, shaking his head.

  “This one's breathing sheriff,” the deputy at the end of the alley said, poking the tough with his boot.

  The sheriff flinched and then looked it way. “What'd you say?”

  “He's alive.”

  “I know that!” the sheriff said, flapping his arms like a chicken. He turned to Irons. “What'd you do?”