“I stunned them. They'll be out for a half hour or so sheriff,” the admiral replied.
“They really wanted to kill you?” the sheriff asked.
“Yes.”
“Too bad we've only got your word for that. No witnesses,” the sheriff said as Roy cuffed the hood on the ground. He felt the man's hand, noting the crushed bones. Biscuits groaned against the ground. “Yeah, he's not happy,” Roy said, looking up. He pointed to the splint.
“The earlier encounter,” The admiral replied. He raised his right hand palm out. The deputy flinched, one hand on his pistol. The sheriff flinched, but only because a volumetric hologram appeared. The admiral replayed each sequence.
“Wow,” the sheriff said when it was over. “That's something!” he said, shaking his head. “Still, boss isn't going to like you mucking up his... um I mean...” he glanced at the two toughs.
“I don't blame the commissioner for not liking crime in his jurisdiction. I'm not going to be here long... unless you want me here to testify,” the admiral said, cocking his head.
“Ah that's right, you being an offworlder and all,” the sheriff said, narrowing his eyes as he looked at Irons. “You know they'll be out on bail in a day right?”
“Probably. But this was, as they said, unsanctioned. Their boss doesn't know about what they've been up to, and I believe they said they don't want him or the commissioner to know.” That made the sheriff's eyes narrow. He turned to glare at the two hoods. “So I think they'll just have a little bit of explaining to do. Right?” Irons asked, smiling slightly.
The sheriff tipped his hat back with his thumb and laughed. “Yeah,” he chortled, “Yeah, I'd say they just might at that. Might make them think twice about something like this.”
Irons nodded, assessing the sheriff. He was in on it, but not deep from the sound of it. Most likely he was paid a cut to look the other way and went along with it as long as no one was seriously hurt... and as long as no one made a fuss over it.
That was typical for a colony cop, the job didn't pay spit so they had to find other ways of making money. Also, if they chased every crime every tough would be gunning for them, and one just might get lucky in some dark alley like this one. A colony cop was lazy enough to turn a blind eye to the lighter extortion or petty crimes but violent crimes he came down on, hard. After all, if he was totally soft on crime he wouldn't be sheriff for long. Good. The Sheriff encouraged him to leave town, soon. “Fat Larry won't like this, so you best be about your business elsewhere.”
“I'll have a chat with him if he's unhappy,” the admiral replied. “I did leave their... disciplining to him,” he pointed out. He pulled a flash chip out and handed it to the sheriff.
The sheriff held it up, looking at the chip curiously. “What's this?”
“My testimony, also a full record of the events up to this point. I'm streaming it to your server as well,” Irons replied.
“Well! You are full of surprises,” the sheriff drawled.
“Do you need me for anything else sir?” Irons asked, putting enough deferential humility into that last statement to butter the man's ego a bit.
“No, move along, move along,” the sheriff said, waving him by. “Just stay outa trouble all right? And you best git out of town right soon if you know what's good for you right?” The sheriff suggested, catching the admiral's eyes with his own in warning.
“I won't start anything sheriff. And yeah, I'll be moving along,” the admiral replied, smiling. He tipped a salute to Roy and then pushed his way past the growing crowd of onlookers who had come to see what was going on.
“All right! Move along! Move along! Here now! I said move along little doggies! Or am I going to have to start writing tickets?” he demanded to the murmuring crowd.
...*...*...*...*...
Irons busied himself with delivering his part of the bargain. A customs agent ticked off each item as it was unloaded. A fuel truck was nearby, when the cargo was off loaded fuel bladders were filled, stuffing the interior of the craft. More water was pumped into the little shuttle's fuel tanks. Finally, ingots of metal were stuffed in any space he could find. “Okay, we'll have delivery of your next consignment in two weeks,” the fuel man said, jerking his cap down to cover his eyes when the last bladder was topped off.
“Okay,” the admiral drawled, nodding. “I'll have your package by then too.” He too could play the waiting game. He knew damn well it didn't take that long to run water from the nearest body of water to a storage center to be cleaned and filtered.
“Oh no, we need it now,” the customs agent said. “I don't deal in credit son.” He turned to the agent brokering the deal.
“Well, I need the material now. No material, no payment. I don't take rain checks or IOU's,” the admiral replied mildly, eyes flickering in annoyance. The agent blinked in surprise. “When you have the order in on the dock call me. I'll have your delivery on the ground within two hours. Until then, It'll have to wait,” he said. “Of course if you'd prefer me to go to another space port...” he suggested. The agent shook his head vehemently no. He knew better than to muck up something Hodges was doing.
“But... but we need, I... oh hell,” the slight man sighed and then rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Irons smiled. “That's how replicators work. They don't work from air. The same goes for me,” he said, nodding to the fuel man. “And I'm guessing you. Why the wait?”
“We're um, down for maintenance,” the fuel man said, winding the hose up, being careful not to look his way. Irons was fairly sure the man couldn't say that with a straight face while looking him in the eye.
“Right,” the admiral drawled.
“Let me see if I can make some calls,” the fuel truck guy said finally.
“Yeah. I watched you handle Io 11's fueling needs rather quickly without problems. It is water after all.”
“You don't understand what goes into making it! You spacers!” the fuel man said, sounding exasperated.
Irons turned, raising an eyebrow. “I've been an engineering officer longer than you've been alive. I can tell you step by step the right way to make fuel for fusion reactors and ships. I can tell exactly what you are doing, which by the way isn't much in my book. You pump it from a water source, filter it, truck it over here to my shuttle, and then pump it here. That's it. You don't split it into hydrogen and oxygen in a reverse water gas shift to help purify it like you do for your vehicle and aircraft fuel. You don't sell the straight hydrogen or oxygen either.”
“You want it or not?” the man demanded, hands on his hips. The admiral nodded. “Then shut up smart ass,” the man growled, climbing into his truck and tearing off.
“Now you've done it. He'll be a bear the rest of the week,” the customs agent sighed. “Getting him to do anything will be fun,” he muttered.
Irons shrugged, “not my problem. I'm going to run this to my ship and then I'll be back. We can settle up in two weeks you said?”
The customs agent nodded glumly. “Fine,” the man said, tucking his clipboard under his arm. “You'd better have it ready,” he warned.
“Of course,” the admiral said, shrugging.
...*...*...*...*...
The admiral ran his supplies up to the ship and then made the next tray of parts. He nodded to Phoenix who was still conversing with Io through long range whisker laser as the other ship left the system. Phoenix seemed to be hitting it off with the other AI. That was good, good for both of them. The more social contact each AI had the better for their long term stability. He'd worried about that for Phoenix, having only Irons and the Trinity AI in him for company to grow up with. But from the sound of things, the AI had been okay.
When he was back on the ground just before dawn he took a quick look around and then went to a new motel. He checked in and chose a balcony suite. He'd been tempted to take a room at the center of the building, but it would have made it difficult to get in and out. The building had two ground side entrances. The
room that he received had a balcony with chipped white paint. Perfect, he thought, tossing his bag on the bed. He placed a series of nanites around the room to keep an eye on things and then left. He had business in town.
...*...*...*...*...
Helen took her tray to the conservatory and smiled politely as another doctor on his way out nodded to her. She set the tray down in her favorite place and then sat primly, adjusting her smock and skirt as she got comfortable. She took out a cloth napkin and put it in her lap. It wouldn't due for the boss to have oatmeal stains on her outfit first thing in the morning. Better to save that for later, she thought with a wry twist of her lips.
She picked up the spoon and looked outside as she poked at the porridge. Patients were on the other side of the glass, walking along the paths or rolling in wheel chairs under the stern eye of the watching staff. Another one of her innovations, getting the more able bodied to get some fresh air, even if it was only for a brief time. The confines of a hospital tended to wear heavily on a seriously ill patient over time, keeping their morale up was an ongoing struggle.
Her thoughts turned inward as she took her first bite of stew. “Irons. Admiral Irons,” she said softly, trying to place the name. It had bothered her since Hank's call the other day.
“Now where have I heard that blasted name before?” she growled, blowing on the still hot porridge.
“If it pleases mum...” she turned to the intruding voice. A secretary bobbed a curtsy. “Irons is the name of the captain of the Phoenix. The one providing those splendid supplies,” she said with a helpful smile. “I heard it on the news,” she said.
Helen smiled and snapped her fingers as that hit her. “Indeed it is Trisha, thank you,” she said warmly. The woman nodded again and got up. Her dining companion nodded and the two of them left with their trays.
She had heard of him now she realized, he was a sleeper, that bit fit with the admiral rank. From her research he had indeed provided new supplies in trade, now she knew how, he had functioning replicators. But did he make the replicators or did he just have a bunch on his ship? She'd have to find out.
It was only a matter of time before Hank let slip he had a working one after all. When that happened, and the news reached the wrong ears it would be over for that replicator. All too many replicators had been lost because some fool had tried to replicate something they shouldn't. Hank himself had destroyed one. She closed her eyes briefly. Hopefully he wouldn't be so foolish with this one.
Doctor Whitney had told her class the story of the last large industrial replicator on the planet. How a hundred and ten no, make that eleven years ago the treasured artifact and artificer of their past had been misused by a particularly stupid individual. That man had errantly tried to replicate another replicator and the machine had self-destructed. He had meant well, but his zeal had ignored the stern warnings that had been passed on through the ages not to try such a thing. And with his well-intentioned but incredible ignorance the last of the machines had been destroyed in a puff of smoke and ash. Only two had been found since, one had disappeared, the other had been Hank's folly.
Hopefully Hank wouldn't be that foolish... again. Hopefully, she thought with a pang. Hank was after all, something of an absent minded master technician even in the best of his coherent time. Could she draw him into a contract with the research and logistics of the medical establishment? She wondered about it as she ate her porridge.
She was sorely tempted to just take the damn thing, hire someone like Nohar to go get it when Hank wasn't around. Nohar of all beings knew the importance of the machine, he'd know that Hank wouldn't be able to hang onto it for long. Too soon someone else would come along.
No, she bit her lip. No, she couldn't do that to Hank. It would eventually get back to him that she had it after all. She wasn't sure how she would deal with that. Finding a role for him was out. It wasn't that she was bigoted against the lovable blue fur ball, it was just that there was no room in the budget for him. Not now, not this year at any rate.
Which also, unfortunately, left out buying the damn thing. There wasn't any money right now. And if she did get her hands on it, someone would try to get it from her, most likely by stealing it or seizing it. She wouldn't put it past Governor Oman, he'd take it just so he and his wife could use it to make rare foods or some stupid trinkets. Damn it...she sighed putting the spoon down in disgust. No, she'd have to leave it where it was. Much as it irked her to do so.
...*...*...*...*...
Irons contacted Nohar with a simple job, find Fat Larry. Nohar snorted and told him where Fat Larry was free of charge. “You want back up admiral?” Nohar asked, sounding only slightly reluctant.
“No, I've got this one, thanks though,” Irons replied with a nod and pat on the arm as he got up and went to leave.
“If you change your mind let me know,” Nohar called. Irons waved and left.
Irons hunted down Fat Larry at the indicated restaurant. He nodded politely to the hoods playing bouncers and entered before they could realize his intent. He scanned the room until he spotted a rat faced guy narrow his eyes and then lean over to someone sitting in the booth on the opposite side of the restaurant.
He made his way over, but a thug got in his way. A rather broad balding human in a zoot suit waved the thug off as he wiped at his mouth and swallowed whatever he had just taken a bite of. “Mr. Lazarrian?” The admiral asked, nodding.
“Sit,” Lazarrian said, waving to the seat across from him. “We don't want to disturb the lunch rush,” the man said gruffly.
The admiral sat down and made small talk as a waiter came over. He ordered a glass of wine and then waited for it to appear. While making small talk the AI used his Wi-Fi to look for any computers. When they didn't find any Proteus sent his nanites to search out for any databases so they could copy the contents to his files.
“So, what can I do for you, Irons is it?” Larry asked, sitting back with a slight smug expression. One of his thugs moved nervously, looking over his shoulder to glance at the intruder in their midst and then back to a family with kids as they entered. The admiral saw the three little kids and winced internally. His eyes cut to the teenage female sitting next to the mobster. The mobster had one hand under the table resting on her bare thigh. He rubbed it, up and down. She blushed. She was dressed like a hooker, for all the admiral knew she might very well be one. She certainly wasn't classy enough to be a … what was the term? 'mole?'
“Well, I'm an engineering admiral. I'm visiting your planet and well, I'm good at fixing things. But I wandered into something and now I need your help in fixing it.”
“Fixing things huh? And you need my help?” Larry asked, eyes amused.
“Yes,” the admiral replied resting his hands palm down on top of the table. He could detect the quiescent electronics in the table. It was a smart table, one with a cracked LCD top. He set Proteus to repairing the smart table. Nanites streamed out through his hands to make repairs. After a moment the spider web of cracks on the surface healed. Larry blinked in surprise. When the screen lit with a menu it impressed the mobster.
“I see what you mean,” he said nodding. “So, why do you need my help?” Larry smiled to his face but he was clearly not happy about being put on the spot.
The girl giggled nervously. She murmured something about needing to use the powder room but the mobster just gripped her thigh harder. She whimpered slightly but then bit her lip when he didn't let go. Irons gritted his teeth but didn't react to her presence. He did react to the nervous guards constantly looking at him. Larry took note and waved them off, trying not to make a scene.
“Okay, let me explain,” the admiral said. “I wandered into something I shouldn't have, and I reacted instinctively. I attempted to walk away but apparently the two gentlemen weren't ready to let bygones be bygones.”
“Ah.”
“What you do with them is your business. I'm sorry if I stepped on your toes. I know disciplining them is your bus
iness. I'm not going to be on your world long, so what you do is your business.”
“Disciplining them?” Larry echoed, eyes narrowed.
The admiral flipped his right hand palm up. He sent a mental signal and Sprite replayed the incident in Ferguson's, the discussion between the two thugs, and then finally the altercation in the alley.
Larry scowled, crossing his arms. His eyes did flare when he saw how the admiral took both men out, and took them out almost casually.
“I see,” he rumbled.
“As I said, they've been doing stuff behind your back. I walked into it.”
“Yes. From what I heard, you are bit of a, misguided, hero,” Larry said, trying to seem casual.
The admiral nodded grudgingly. “I've kept the gloves on, death is so... permanent.”
“True.”
“So, if we can let bygones be bygones, I'd appreciate it if you called off the dogs.”
“Or else?” Larry asked mildly.
“Or else next time someone will really get hurt. I know good help is hard to find...” the admiral shrugged and met Larry's eyes with his own. Larry had the look of a killer basilisk, someone used to being obeyed or else but Irons was a killer too. “But it can be really hard if they wind up in jail or worse,” the admiral finished. There was an ominous hum from his right arm. “After all, violence is bad for business.”
“True,” Larry said nodding. His eyes darted to the right arm briefly. He was suddenly very aware of dying.
“Violence is so... unnecessary I should hope. I'm not interested unless I am... pushed to be. And when push comes to shove I don't stop until the threat is completely eliminated,” the admiral said, smiling ever so slightly. The smile never got to his eyes. “I'd prefer we each go our separate ways. I'll be gone soon.”
Larry blinked and then grimaced. Slowly he nodded and dabbed at his mouth with a linen napkin. “You'll be leaving soon?”
The admiral cocked his head. “In a week or two. The shopkeeper honestly had nothing to do with this. Chalk it up to my military training kicking in, and your boys deciding to have a little too much fun when I stopped myself from reacting. I won't be so... nice the next time.”
Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer) Page 11
