Fool's Gold (The Wandering Engineer) (67 page)

“And
therefore we've added two new systems to the map. Make sure you copy that and
your notes to Firefly and CC it to Smithy and the other ships.”

“Aye
Aye admiral,” Sprite responded. “This does give us something else though, Your
pointing out that last bit did show us a probable course for Horath pirates to
follow.”

“Yes
I was thinking the same thing. We're going to need to secure that route. Or at
least find a way to monitor it,” he sighed. “But, first things first.” He shook
his head and got up. “Coffee.”

“And
I get to go back to recoding the databases of the entire fleet. Lucky me,”
Sprite sounded anything but enthused. “With your permission of course?”

“Go,”
he waved picking up a cup. “Be back by oh eight hundred.”

“Aye
aye Admiral.” He felt her presence shift as his Wi-Fi channels all opened.

“Back
to the wonderful world of paperwork,” he grumbled.

“Okay,
what is it now?” Irons asked as he stretched. He'd really been looking forward
to some downtime. A full shift of shuffling papers was enough to drive anyone
batty. Well, anyone but a dedicated anal retentive paper shuffler that is.

“Problem
on the station,” Sprite reported. “Technically you're still the commanding
officer,” she said before he finished opening his mouth to protest.

“Reading
my mind again?” he asked after a momentary pause.

“I
wish I was that good,” Sprite chuckled. “I can only get an idea based on
synaptic activity and past experience.”

“So
what's the problem?”

“Stand
off. The repairs have forced some of the corridor gangs out and into each
other's territories. This has been causing friction. About an hour ago it
erupted into a full riot,” Sprite answered.

“Breakage?”

“Nine
dead. Four wounded in sickbay. Thirteen more wounded.”

“Why
aren't they in sickbay?” he asked getting up and adjusting his uniform.

“Security
can't get to them. One of them is a child. I'm getting mixed reports, some say
she was trampled by the mob when they panicked.”

“Great.”

“It's
Matilda's granddaughter.”

“Crap.
I'm going.” Irons moved out.

“Admiral
is this wise?” Firefly asked. He grunted. His jaw tightened.

“From
his bio readings I'd say that he's pissed Firefly,” Sprite reported on a side
channel. “When he gets like this it's best to go along for the ride and to pick
up the pieces.”

“Oh.”

He
exited the lock and nodded as a squad of marines in powered combat armor fell
into step behind him. “Something on your mind Major?” he asked over his
shoulder.

“Just
out for a walk with the kiddies sir.”

“Good,”
Irons smiled grimly. Sprite silently fed him the directions to the standoff.

The
entered the bad quarter and he slowed. He looked around. Security was on hand,
bandaging a man in armor. He had his arm up so they could get at the underside.

“Report,”
Irons growled. A shot rang out down the darkened corridor. The others flinched.
He didn't. He saw the shot strike the bulkhead at the corner. The paint on the
wall blistered. His thermals showed him the damage.

“Shields
up Admiral. I do not advise this present course of action though,” Defender
reported.

“Irons
ah...” a guard said looking around.

“Who's
in charge?” Irons asked.

“The
sheriff. But he's in sickbay,” a female guard said. She shook her head. A door
opened. They turned, guns leveled. A head peeked out then went right back in.
The door slammed shut.

“You've
got civilians still on scene?” the major asked. He moved ahead of the Admiral.
He peeked around the corner. A shot rang out, splintering the edge of the
already cratered corner.

“Careful,
that's how Jax got his,” the woman said, indicating the man getting bandaged.
“We've got ten or twelve wounded on the ground there. The gang's bottled up,
we've got another squad on the other end cutting off retreat. Smithy has
blocked the air ducts with robots to keep them penned.”

“Right,”
the major nodded. “So you’re going to what? Wait until they run out of ammo?”
he asked. He winced as the gang began to jeer and scream insults.

“No
I was thinking about pulling back, sealing this sector and then pumping the air
out. Or sleepy gas in,” the guard said shaking her head.

The
major frowned.

“Or
you could do your lone ranger sonic thing,” she said, turning to the admiral
with a raised gun. He gave her a cool look.

“Acoustics
are bad admiral. There would also be damage to our own personnel and the
wounded,” Sprite reported. He grimaced.

“I'd
like to but I can't. I'd do more damage to our own people than to them.” He
accessed the station blue prints and zeroed in on the area.

“It's
the Leo gang. They are pissed,” a guard said shaking his head.

“Leo
gang?” Irons asked.

“Great.”
The major grimaced. He turned to the Admiral. “Neo's. In this case descendants
of bio-sculpts and genie super soldiers from the AI war. Leo is their leader,
he's ah... some sort of cat.”

“Leo
means lion,” Sprite said in his ear.

“Thank
you I know that,” he growled softly. “Warrior society?”

“Yeah.
Leo won it in combat.”

“Hmmm.”
Irons nodded. “I'm coming to negotiate!” he called. He turned to the guard and
the major. “Secure the area. Clear out the civilians in this corridor and the
adjoining areas. Get your wounded out as well. Then we'll deal with this.”

He
walked to the corner. The major stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Admiral
You can't..”

“I
can and I will,” Irons said. He looked around the corner. When no one shot he
stepped around it.

After
a moment a dark shape in the shadows began to move. He could barely make it
out. A stealthed neo.  “Definitely a super soldier admiral, he's not showing up
on thermals or night vision at all,” Defender reported.

Irons
grimaced. The neo growled softly but a sharp bark made him freeze. Irons could
just make out his slitted eyes and teeth as he grimaced.

“Come
yourself navy?” a low bass voice rumbled. He nodded. A hole in the barricade
was made and a male neocat came out.

He
was large, easily filling the darkened space. He was a were, a male humanoid
lion. His mane was black, with tints of silver. He had one eye, the other was
covered by a patch. White puckered scars ran from his temple down to his muzzle
on that side. Most likely how he had lost the eye. He flexed the claws on his
fingers and then rumbled again.

Irons
cocked his head. “I'd like to clear the wounded,” he said simply.

“You
would would you?” the lion growled. He casually shot a groaning victim. “Why
bother?” he asked.

Irons
tried not to snarl at the casual way the neo had murdered the man. Sprite
identified a girl, most likely the grandchild of Matilda near the dead man's
shoulder.

“I
tell you what. I promise I won’t execute you for that or for any of the
previous deaths if you and your people lay down their weapons and come out.”

“What
that?” the gang leader said turning. He spat. “Or that?” He shot another
victim. “Or this?” His hand moved. The gun flashed.

The
neuralizer bolt slammed into his shields. They sparked, the bolt arched up to a
nearby light, exploding it in a shower of sparks and debris.

Irons
right arm flashed up. It morphed in a millisecond and an answering plasma bolt
leapt out and tore the gang leader apart.

“Yeah.
Like that,” he snarled. His hand pointed to the stealthed neo. “Don't try it.”

The
Neo's snarl of rage was cut off as he looked down the barrel of Irons
sincerity. His eyes widened. Slowly his hands came down. The gun he had
clutched to his chest clattered to the ground.

“Now.
Who wants to piss me off more?” Irons voice thundered out in a roar. “You want
to live? Put your weapons down and come out now and I will spare your lives.
Piss me off and I'll pump the air out and watch you suffocate.”

“You
wouldn't,” the ninja said softly. Apparently it too was a cat. From the voice
it was a male. From the size and profile it was a neo panther.

“Watch
me,” Irons snarled. The fans shut off. Vents closed. The panther looked around.

After
a moment he heard mutterings. A woman came out. She was a leo, but tattooed.
She looked down at the male, lip curled then shook her head. She clutched a
pair of kits to her chest and moved down the corridor. In a moment others
followed.

“What's
the breakage?” Enrique asked an hour later.

“All
told?” the sheriff asked. His mandible clicked. He was missing an arm.
“Fourteen dead. Six wounded. A few were playing possum and weren't wounded at
all,” he chittered.

“Smart.
Trapped as they were,” Thornby said shaking her head. “I'm treating them and
the others for shock. Matilda has her hands full with her granddaughter. The
kid was deeply traumatized.” She shook her head.

“I
was wondering why she wasn't here,” Enrique said.

“Give
the lady a break! It was her granddaughter!” Thornby snarled tiredly.

“Oh,”
Enrique sat back.

Irons
drummed his fingers on the table. “Engineering reports minor damage. They'll
sort it out soon. Fortunately that wall the gang was using for target practice
was pretty thick and grounded. On the other side was one of our primary EPS
conduits though.

“Plasma?”
Thornby asked, shaken.

The
sheriff cocked his head. His mandibles twitched. He held up a hand. “How did
you know Admiral?”

“Station
blueprints. You may want to adjust your crisis training. Have your people look
for possible hazards and work at clearing out civilians and have engineering
shut down and reroute around potential problems before they become hazards.”

“I'll
say.” Enrique nodded. “So, what do we do with this gang?” he asked. “I think
the airlock is too good for them.”

“Not
all were participants. From what I understand they didn't even instigate it,
the east side Mulisha did. Caught sight of them in the corridor and opened up
on the crowd, then ran.” Smithy reported.

“So
it was defensive?” Irons asked.

“Well,
not all.” The sheriff shook his head. “Forensics are sorting out who did what
now.”

“But
that still leaves what to do with them?”

“Well,
we can't kill them,” Irons said shaking his head.

“Why
not?” the sheriff asked.

“Because
I gave my word that I wouldn't,” Irons replied.

Enrique
opened his mouth then closed it when Thornby glared. “Kids?” She hissed. He
shook his head.

“Okay
okay. That's out.”

“But
it does point out a problem. We've got to get a handle on these gangs and the
underworld,” the sheriff pointed out.

“What
was their main purpose?” Smithy asked. “I don't have one in the records.”

“Protection,.”
the sheriff said shaking his head. “Also general fear, intimidation, and murder
for credits.”

“In
other words, pretty much what station security was doing before you came along
Admiral,” Thornby said, nodding to Irons. He shrugged.

“People
need thugs,” Enrique shrugged.

“No
they don't. They need trained soldiers, guards, and sheriffs. A few might fit
the bill. I dunno,” the sheriff said rubbing his antenna with his good arm.

“Interview
them and find out. I'll sick Judge Farley and the Major on them as well. See if
we can thin out their ranks,” Irons said. He turned to Thornby. “What about the
families? Can they find alternative work?”

“The
problem is some are drawn to that sort of thing. Power,” the sheriff said.
Thornby frowned then nodded looking a little dejected. “Yes doctor some are
trapped into it, knowing nothing else. But many... they wouldn't leave it if
they could.” He shook his head.

“Well,
we'll sort this out. Let's see if we can post a schedule of when and where
we're going to repair sectors of the station. Get people to help and give the
gangs notice so they don't interfere or run.”

“That
means they could cause trouble. Or blend in to the society,” the sheriff said
rubbing his mandibles.

“Blending
in we can work with. Trouble... well.” Irons smiled grimly.

“We
can deal with. All right,” Enrique nodded. “We'll have to set an example
though.”

“Rehab
or resoc,” Irons said.

Thornby
winced. “Don't. No,” she shook her head.

“Resoc?”
Enrique asked.

“Resocialization,”
the sheriff answered. “Also known as Neural resoc. I read about it in the
archives.” He twitched an antenna. “Repattern their brains and body chemistry
to more useful means. Sometimes an entire adjustment with either electrodes
into their neural net or through chemicals or nanites.”