Plague Planet (The Wandering Engineer)

by Hechtl, Chris

  He was starting to curse Irons for giving him the thing. Yes it was heaven sent, but damn it didn't the man think of what position it put him in? Never mind the good it could do! It didn't do him or his patients any good if someone came around, killed him and took it!

  And what would they do with it? Make some fancy shiny object? A bauble? Forgery? Yeah, and then some idiot would try to make another replicator, or try to make a weapon and poof! Useless.

  He needed to find a better place to hide the thing, somewhere safe, but with power and materials. He shook his head and hunched over his beer.

  “Thinking deep thoughts Hank?” Maggie the waitress asked. He looked up to her. “What the matter Hank, usually you are tinkering with something or other,” she said, indicating his empty hands with her free hand as she swapped his empty beer for a new one from her tray.

  “Taking a break,” he mumbled.

  She eyed him for a moment as she set a basket of fried fingerlings near the beer. “Well, if you want to talk, you know when my shift ends baby,” she said, turning and waving to him with her tail as she strutted off.

  He watched the small cougar go and touched the beer stein with a claw, watching the foam dribble down the side. Yeah, he had a lot to think about he thought.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  According to the gossip on the street, someone in Fat Larry's mob crew put a hit out on Irons. Most likely it was a relative of Biscuits or Books, but no one was talking. As he sat in his booth Ole Blue heard about the admiral's encounter with Fat Larry. Intrigued he took the contract despite the standing warning that had come in a month ago from the guild not to harm Irons and to report his whereabouts. He didn't care, he was invulnerable. They'd get over it.

  “The man's days are numbered. Location?”

  “He just changed hotels. Word on the street he's um, moving around. Maybe leaving town soon.”

  “Interesting,” the Veraxin croaked. The mechanical edge in his voice made his informant shiver a little. The Veraxin picked at his proboscis. “Track his movements. When he settles down, let me know where,” he said.

  “Yes sir,” the informant said nodding.

  “And Jimmy,” Ole Blue said turning. “Next time get my right side. It's my good side,” the assassin said.

  Jimmy gulped. He knew better than to publish photos of the assassin while he was on the planet. No one did that and lived long. The chief had killed any story on the assassin, he didn't want to lose reporters.

  “Yes, I mean no sir. No photos. I remember,” Jimmy replied, backing away.

  “Get,” the alien said, raising his drink. He'd arrange for a meet when he felt the time was right.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  On a whim Irons traveled to the north, renting an air car to get to Landing. It was a two seater passion red thing, back in its hay day it had been a sporty model. It badly needed a tune up now though, seven hundred years later. Someone had taken good care of it over the centuries though... or they'd recently found it and restored it. Barn find maybe? He thought to himself and then shrugged. What mattered to him was that it had pretty good range, so he signed off on it despite the outrageous expense.

  It was interesting that it had been used recently. It took someone with implants to key the ignition, someone had been careful to leave that in place. Sprite checked the computer, she reported a Tom Magnum had been using the vehicle for years. He made a note to look him up... that was if he was still on the planet. Only a sleeper could have implants after all, it would be interesting to compare notes. He took the time to fully service the vehicle, even replacing her worn repulser emitters, and then fueled it before he took off.

  He stopped for the night in one of the suburbs between Landing and the massive Delta River. The Delta River was connected to the great lakes that had been formed by glaciers or possibly even by the asteroid and comet impacts during terraforming. Either way they served as a major water way for goods to flow to and from the cities around it.

  The suburbs were nice, almost quaint. He'd had his fill of big cities in his youth, now being in a small town seemed like the thing to do. This way he wouldn’t have to tune out anyone around him. The bed and breakfast he picked out was nice, white paint, red trim, a brick wall around the perimeter topped by a wrought iron fence. It was clean and neat, and seemed like the best place in the area. The admiral smiled and paid in advance for his room.

  “You're lucky we had a recent cancellation. No one tries to travel without a reservation this time of year Mr. Irons,” the receptionist said, pushing the ledger over for him to sign. He jotted out his name with the pen and then she handed him a room key. “Second floor, fourth door on your right. There's a closet on your other side so you shouldn't get much noise from that direction,” she said.

  The admiral nodded. “Thank you,” he said moving off with his duffel.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Helen dealt with issues with the thanksgiving, including no show staff members and people who were injured playing with fire or fireworks. She didn't suffer fools of either stripe lightly and she tore a strip out of all concerned when she had the time to do so, drunk or not. All thoughts of Hank and his situation were temporarily forgotten. “How the hell did you burn your ass?” She demanded of a whimpering Gashg. “Never mind, just... ugh!” She wasn't looking forward to this little project. He must have sat on a box of fireworks or something. He had a deep tissue burn, most likely second degree, going from his left Gluteus Maximus muscle along his spine above his beaver like tail to his right Latissimus dorsi muscle.

  “It will make an impressive scar for the ladies come mating season,” the Gashg said.

  “Okay,” the doctor said, dabbing at the burns. “Have fun trying to sit for the next several weeks though,” she growled. She made a note not to give him a pillow as he lifted his beaver tail. She felt her eyes water at the smell. “The things you do to help people,” she muttered, wishing she had a surgical mask.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  At breakfast the next morning Irons sat at a small table, nursing a half decent cup of coffee while he waited for his 'Proper' English breakfast. It was a nice day out, he was outside with the other patrons of the bed and breakfast, each sitting in cast iron chairs padded with handmade cushions. Each group was around a small round table under the trees. A brick and wrought iron fence shielded them from the traffic out on the main street. A red and white fabric awning covered them. It was already warming up out now that the sun was up.

  His eyes casually scanned the area. A pair of women were talking quietly at the table next to him. Other diners were nearby, some talking, others reading newspapers. “I hope it's a sprain,” the female behind him said. He turned to see the woman in a yellow sundress cradling her right arm. He scanned it and then his eyes narrowed just as her table mate murmured reassurances to her.

  “It's not a sprain,” the admiral said, one hand on the back of his chair. The two women looked up at him. The black portly woman with the red dress set her tea cup down.

  “I do say, this is a private conversation sir. Do have some manners,” she said haughtily.

  “Sorry, just thought she'd like to know,” the admiral replied, nodding to the woman's table mate. “I'd suggest you get that checked out soon miss.”

  “You can tell what is wrong from there?” the woman asked, holding her hand. “I thought my hand was just weak,” she held it out. It trembled.

  Irons judged her around thirty standard years old. “How did you do it? If you don't mind my asking,” he said, turning in his chair to face them better.

  “I did it scrubbing the floor,” the woman admitted.

  “Understandable. I can see the break, it's a hairline fracture of the ulna. Painful, but it can be easily treated by splinting the arm for a six week period.”

  “I dare say, are you a doctor?” the woman in red asked.

  “No, I'm an engineer. But I've got implants,” the admiral said. “May I?” he asked, reac
hing out with both hands. The woman in yellow flinched and then held out her wounded arm. Gently he cupped it with his left hand underneath while his right hovered over the arm. “No swelling?”

  “It was swollen Monday,” the woman murmured.

  “I see,” Irons replied. He sent a signal to Sprite. A volumetric hologram of the woman's arm appeared over his own arm. It was in perfect parallel to the woman's hand. She flinched and the hologram moved as well.

  “Oh my!” the woman in red said, eyes wide. “I...”

  “I'm a sleeper,” Irons replied. Conversation around them died as people turned to see the phenomenon in their midst. Holograms weren't quite as magical to these folk as to say someone on a true rural planet, but it was still amazing for them to see. Something they treasured if only to tell their friends about it or their children and grandchildren. Sprite snorted. He'd be the talk of the town shortly.

  Irons however didn't have any interest in that, or at least didn't appear to. He zoomed into the break, framing it with a red karat box and then highlighting the fracture. “Yes, definitely a hairline fracture. You need more calcium in your diet young lady, more vitamin D and calcium. Do you want me to repair it? I can but I'm not a legal doctor here,” he said, turning to the woman.

  “You can? It hurts. Please...” the woman whispered and then licked her lips.

  “Sure.” Irons bent the fingers of his right hand down to touch the back of the woman's hand. Nanites flowed through that contact point to the break. In seconds it was healed. Proteus fed naproxen to the pain nerves until they subsided. After another moment to check for more breaks Proteus withdrew the nanites.

  “Okay, the break has been fused. Your body would have done it on its own in a week or so, motion however was aggravating it and keeping it from healing.”

  “It still hurts,” she said rubbing her arm with her free hand.

  “It will for a short time,” the admiral replied as he withdrew his hands. “When your body realizes the damage has been repaired it will stop complaining. I do suggest you take it easy for some time however, a day or so.”

  “I've been favoring it as it is,” the woman said, cradling it against her bosom once more. “Though I thank you,” she murmured. “My husband would not've been pleased by a doctor's bill.”

  “I'll bet,” Irons replied with a shrug. He started to turn back.

  “Are you alone?” the woman asked. He shrugged.

  The Admiral nodded, “in a manner of speaking.”

  “Then dine with us. It is the least we can do for your services good sir,” she said and smiled. He noted the yellow teeth but smiled politely in return.

  “Sure,” he replied, getting up and moving his things to take a seat with them. “My name is John by the way.”

  “My name is Henrietta, this is Melissa,” the woman in yellow said, nodding to her partner. Her partner nodded to him politely.

  “Perhaps an independent look could help us,” the woman sighed. “You see, my Francesca is dating a horrid man.”

  “Oh?” the admiral asked. “Francesca is your daughter?” he asked. She nodded.

  “The man is involved in the mob,” the woman in red said.

  “Only as an accountant. Though he's seen as a tough,” Henrietta said.

  “True,” Melissa agreed.

  “So, let me guess, the young woman is in love, and will not hear of you banning this fellow. She's, a teen?” he asked. “Teenager?” the woman sighed and rolled her eyes before nodding. “And he's a few years older? More dashing to her?” she nodded again.

  “The sense of danger and of doing something naughty, something you disapprove of is part of what is driving this relationship,” the admiral replied thoughtfully.

  “Are you a counselor now too?” Melissa asked, chuckling as she picked up her tea cup.

  “No, parent. My ex-wife and I ran into this many years ago with our own daughter. And it's been a sad old tale for thousands of years. Romeo and Juliet.”

  “I do not recall them,” Henrietta said in confusion. She looked around them.

  “It is a story from Earth's distant past. Two young lovers of rival houses. Their families hated each other. But they fell in love. It is a romance story told by William Shakespeare. The two would sneak out to meet each other for trysts. When they were caught one tried to fake her death in order to make her parents remorseful, and so she could run away with her lover. But her lover found her body and thought she was truly dead so he committed suicide. When she woke she found him dead so she too poisoned herself.”

  “Oh dear,” Melissa said in a concerned voice, looking at Henrietta in concern. “Not a very good lesson,” she murmured, patting the woman on her left arm.

  “No, it does showcase young love, unrequited love, and the foolishness of youth,” Irons replied.

  “You could say that again admiral,” Sprite replied for his ears alone. “And you do know you got your story facts mixed up right?” she asked, sounding like she was laughing at him again.

  He waved his fingers to wave the thought off. “The young can be impulsive, their hormones drive them to do things that we who have been through it see as impulsive and foolish. They chafe under that sight, for they think that theirs is a unique experience. In some ways they're right,” he said. “But in general,” he smiled again. “We all know from our own experiences and can draw from them.”

  “And they don't want to see it, don't want to listen.”

  “Right. At that age only experience will help. No matter what you say or do they will continue stubbornly on the path they choose for themselves. It's a part of growing up. Being a parent is highly tested here, you have to try to guard them from their foolishness, yet let them stumble and even fall so they may learn on their own that you speak wisdom.”

  “I so do not want her to be hurt,” Henrietta said, biting her lip.

  “Hurt is a relative thing. She may be hurt emotionally, most likely so. That hurt will fade and even disappear when the next boy comes around. But hopefully she will not be hurt physically,” Irons replied. Melissa nodded.

  “So what am I to do?” the woman asked, hands up in despair.

  “Well... my wife hit upon a bit of reverse psychology that worked for us.”

  “Oh?” Henrietta's eyes shined as she looked at him. “Do tell please?”

  “Well,” Irons smiled and then turned as a waitress approached with a cart of food. She stared at them. He shrugged. “We're dining together,” he murmured. The woman bobbed a curtsy and laid out the food.

  They ate for a few minutes before the admiral took a break for a sip of coffee. “My wife had a psychology degree. She realized that no matter what we did, what we said, our daughter would do what she wanted. She was a willful minx just like her mother,” he said wryly.

  Melissa snorted and nudged her companion. Henrietta colored slightly.

  “So, she invited the lad to dinner. He was reluctant but our daughter liked the idea. It spiked their guns rather neatly, drawing all their sneaking around out into the open. A little mean I guess you could say, everyone loves a secret tryst, but it cooled things down a bit.”

  “Interesting. I would think it would have heated them up with your approval.”

  “You'd think that, but half the excitement is in doing something you know you aren't supposed to do. The sneaking around can be fun and exhilarating, getting the heart pumping. Thrilling, the threat of being caught. Bringing it all out into the open took the fun out of that part.”

  “Ah,” Melissa said thoughtfully.

  “My wife also dropped hints about how long their relationship was going to last, if they were planning a commitment, family...” he smiled evilly.

  Melissa caught on. “And of course the boy being a boy just wanted a roll in the hay,” Melissa said wisely. Irons nodded.

  “It is ever the way with men,” Melissa sighed.

  “Which is what I am afraid of,” Henrietta replied, dabbing at her mouth with a cloth nap
kin.

  “True. But when some of what her mother's little missives started to penetrate they backed off. Each had plans for the future and they hadn't planned on getting tied down and having those plans potentially ruined. She was ever supportive, even urging them to get together,” he chuckled suddenly. “The look on their faces when she oh so ever wistfully said that she'd love to have a grandchild so soon...”

  Melissa's eyes danced as she chuckled. “And I take it that was like a bucket of cold water on them both?”

  “On him at least. Having a kid when you are seventeen is a bit much. As was having to support the child for another sixteen years. Of course our daughter was on contraceptives so that wasn't a problem, but being tied down sort of cooled his ardore off a bit.”

  “Ah.”

  “So, that's what I suggest, give them something to think about. If she genuinely cares for him she'll cling to him. I've known some women who deliberately trapped a man into marriage by getting pregnant. That thought might cool him off. No one wants a shotgun wedding,” Irons said.

  “True,” Henrietta said.

  They finished breakfast in companionable silence, only once or twice talking of how nice the weather was. Now that he was accepted by the woman others nearby talked a bit with him. Many had heard the topic of conversation and those that were parents were sympathetic. Some were amused by his suggestions.

  “So you think that will be all?” Melissa finally asked, coming back to the conversation about the two lovers.

  Irons shrugged. “Drop enough soft hints about working a regular job to support a family... Get them to think about that... yes. Acceptance will get the sneaking around to stop, so the excitement will end. You'll be able to monitor some of it as long as you are discreet. Get your daughter thinking about the dangers of getting pregnant and practicing safe sex. Don't be judgmental, it'll be counterproductive. Make sure you keep an open door so your daughter can come and talk to you if she needs to do so.” Henrietta nodded. “Getting them thinking about the future might make them cool off. At the very least it will make them think about possible unwanted pregnancies.”