Destiny's Choice (The Wandering Engineer) (59 page)

Of
course he could go mute if he kept it up for long, Everette thought as the
chief scowled at him. “Don't you have anything better to do?” Bailey snarled
hoarsely.

“I'm...
no, um, yes?”

“Which
is it? If you don't I'm sure I can find something for you to do,” Bailey
growled.

“I'm
uh, I was just going to check out the cameras.”

“Fine,
sure, whatever,” the chief said waving a dismissive hand. “Anything I need to
know?” he asked, turning to Harry.

Harry
pursed his lips, obviously ready to say something but then changing his mind.
It wasn't fair that the chief was taking his ire and frustration out on them.
Of course if they had been on the ball and not slacking off they would have
caught the... he sighed and shook his head.

“The
bridge is about done with the sublight drive. You were right, the gravity wedge
got us in quicker and used a hell of a lot less fuel. I think we're going to be
using it more often. It's going to put a bit more wear on our shield nodes
though,” Harry said.

“Then
we'd better compensate for it. See what wears the fastest in the nodes. Make a
list up and then see what you can replicate. If anything on the list can't be
done by us then ask the Admiral. See if he's in the mood to replicate spares
for us. I don't think he'll mind the distraction.”

“You're
sure?” Harry asked.

“I
think he's going around in circles and could use the break to let it simmer a
little.”

“Is
he getting anywhere?” Harry asked quietly.

Bailey
shrugged and then blew out a raspberry with his large lips. “You're guess is as
a good as mine. He's not talking.”

“I
hope he fries the bastard,” Harry growled.

“You
and me both. I want to watch. I'll bring the popcorn.”

“I'll
bring the drinks,” Harry said. He'd liked April. She had been a nice woman, and
she had seemed like a good judge of character. Her relationship with Irons had
helped cement the change in attitude toward him. They had made a great couple,
loving and fun.

“We're
running level three diagnostics on the systems now. I'm thinking we need to set
up a random check. Compare it to what we've got on file,” Harry said, sitting
on the edge of the console, crossing his arms as he looked at the chief.
“Something to ferret out any more accidents before they happen,” he said.

“Interesting,”
Bailey said with a nod. “That AI that Sprite made. Put it to use too. And see
if we can find a way to alert us if a subsystem goes down, even for a brief
moment. I want anyone who's in the area to check. Work with security. And if
anyone's working on something they shouldn't I'll roast their balls slowly over
an open flame. Pass that along.”

“Aye
chief. I'll bring the butter.”

“Whatever.
Get to work,” the chief growled, waving a dismissive hand.

“Wow,”
Sprite said as the Admiral looked around. “A medieval colony right out of the
catalog. I'm curious. Why are we here again?”

Briev
wasn't a pretty world, it was dank and dour, covered in moody gray clouds.
According to the entry in the Encyclopedia Galactica the planet had a
pronounced axial tilt and long severe seasons much like Agnosta. It's
continents were bleak... he sighed. That was his mood speaking to him. He tried
to shake it and keep an open mind.

Sprite
was disgusted with the lack of data. And the lack of contact with the planet.
They had no data communications, just a sign and audio channel. Scans of the
planet had showed that it was still occupied. The capital city looked
untouched. That was interesting. He wondered why.

Briev
had a larger population than Agnosta. Or so he'd heard. It was however very
medieval, clinging to that mindset and seemed reluctant to change and adapt.
Odd.

The
planet had four main continents and a handful of islands. There were population
centers situated in about a dozen or so locations on three of the four
continents. The fourth was an arctic continent that was only slightly
populated.

The
population centers seemed to have about six or seven thousand people in each,
with the capital sporting about thirty thousand.

Agnosta
on the other hand had been a rustic world that had been more along the lines of
the Terran North American West. Ripe for change and very interested in it.
Briev seemed stagnant.

Why
wouldn't the leaders, monarchs obviously... why wouldn't the monarchs of Briev
not want to better themselves and their people? He could think of a few
reasons, clinging to power and such, but were they that tyrannical? Were they
that petty and cruel? Did they realize that they were keeping themselves down?
Their children? It wasn't just the comforts it was the absence of medicine too!
What were they thinking? Were they luddites? He had to find out for himself,
with his own eyes.

He'd
been as surprised as the rest of the crew when the planetary authorities had
readily accepted their assurances that they weren't the pirates. Of course
Mayfair's offer of doubling the port fees had probably helped in that regard.
He'd heard that Notuma and her had had a rather big blow up over that one. He
smiled slightly at the thought. To bad he'd missed it.

“Didn't
you say I needed a vacation?” the Admiral replied under his breath, getting out
of the shuttle. He'd taken the risk of riding down in it, but only after doing
a thorough check of it and waiting until the last minute before saying he would
board.

He'd
been tempted to take his launch, but instead he'd gone along with the Pyrax
delegation after Ferguson had relayed their request. For some reason Miss
Mayfair wanted him along and he wasn't sure why. He knew though that if she was
the suspect she wouldn't want to be close to him if anything had been planned
to happen to that shuttle.

The
real reason he was here was because he wanted to keep an eye on the delegates.
All of them were suspects. The old adage of keep your friends close and your
enemies closer kept ringing through his mind. If one of the suspects was in the
delegation he was fairly sure they weren't ready to commit suicide by taking
the shuttle out. At least not yet. You couldn't spend your pay if you were dead
after all.

Of
course he'd left his decision to the very last minute to keep all involved off
balance and in the dark. He'd had Sprite and Bailey go through the shuttle with
a fine tooth comb. If there was something there it was pretty well hidden. He was
fairly certain now that there wasn't.

The
ride down had been smooth. Smoother than he'd expected. Miss Willis had looked
a little green when they had banked, shuddering and shutting her window, but
otherwise everything had gone like clockwork... right up until they landed on
the bumpy tarmac.

He
looked around, taking in the sights. It was... well from his perspective
strange and different.

For
some reason the people of Briev had clung to a medieval style of dress and
architecture despite regular visits from passing ships. They really were
luddites of some sort. It was hard to believe. They were wearing mostly animal
products, wool and animal skins. He wrinkled his nose. Some of the furs hadn't
been properly tanned and treated. He could smell rot from here.

The
colors were greens, browns, and black, there was little of any other color. No
buntings or such. Well, a few of the buildings had wooden signs with pictures
carved into them, but no color to them at all. The carvings seemed to be burnt
into the wood to highlight them.

One
of their major exports was wood carvings. The other was furs. He shook his head
at the absurdity in that. They didn't need to be a retrograde colony, but for
some reason they clung to it's ideals. He was curious as to why.

Back
before the war some tourist planets had been like this. Some had been just
that, tourist traps to get people to spend their holiday on a resort world. A
few had been by SCA members who wanted to create their own version of past life
styles.

He'd
even heard about the navy having to intervene when two SCA groups had taken
their life style a little too far and declared war on one another over an
insult about a woman. It had been an amusing thing for some time.

“Yeah
I did. And for once they actually invited you. Odd that,” Sprite replied.

“Funny,”
Irons replied dryly as he took in the space port. It was simple, built in
stone, with good foundations. The walkways were roman stone paths, with curbs
and side walks. The Space port tower facility was a stone tower, washed in
white and what looked like the local equivalent of bird poop. A great deal of
bird poop. He eyed the alien aviators warily.

“They
really have a bird problem don't they?” he muttered seeing the giant flocks of
pterosaurs all over the place. They were different shades of gray, with black
and white markings on their throats and heads. There were a few small flocks of
what looked like Canadian geese as well. Most likely the geese had been
imported. The shuttle had nearly run into one group while landing.

“Yes.
Bird strikes are common here,” a guide replied. He looked like a court jester,
dressed in brown tights and some sort of buckskin jerkin outfit. He had bangles
on his pointed leather moccasins and a scepter to point the way. It was carved
with various animals and tipped with the bust of someone who looked stern and
foreboding. “We have falconers to shoo them off, but they keep coming back.” He
waved to the mill pond near the runway. Reeds and water crests were all along
the shores. “Breeding ground.”

“Ah,”
the Admiral nodded. Beyond the pond was a forest, and beyond that he could just
make out a distant chain of mountains. The air was clear despite the clouds
looming in the distance. “Nice countryside you have here. Most were torn up by
the war.”

“That
is because we were a small new colony. We were a back to basics colony with
little for the xeno's to take interest in,” the guide said waving the group
towards the tower. He smiled politely. “If you'll follow me? You're attendance
at the castle is required. If we do not hurry we will be late. Their majesties
do not like that.”

“Ah
yes. I can imagine,” the Admiral said dryly.

“Can
this place be any more backward?” the Admiral sighed softly an hour later,
watching a man struggle to pull a badly made wooden cart filled with manure
through the dirty streets.

Why
didn't they have animal power? He'd seen a few animals of various types being
harnessed for labor but why... the cart was made to transport the manure, why
not have an animal pull it? The guy was getting one hell of a work out but not
a lot done. Talk about inefficient!

“You'd
think so, but then there is this,” Sprite highlighted a view in the distance
then enhanced it. People dressed in drab medieval clothing were standing around
a fountain. One woman raised her plaid skirt and peed in the water. He couldn't
believe she was doing it in public. Facing the wind. That said a lot about
their hygiene, morale, and intelligence. Irons wrinkled his nose.

“Remind
me...”

“Not
to drink the water. I gathered that already,” Sprite said dryly. “Apparently
the whole concept of hygiene and disease prevention is foreign to them. I guess
it is their own version of a eugenics program. Only the smart ones survive,”
she said snidely.

“Oh
yeah? Then how do you explain that still happening?” he retorted.

“It's
a program in need of refinement obviously,” she answered back.

“Yeah,”
Irons sighed as they made their way through town. It was a shabby affair,
barely fit to use. Most of the stucco buildings were in bad repair. The wood was
crumbling in some areas. The paint was peeling. All were dry, ripe for a good
fire. He shuddered a little at the thought. The people were sullen, hair
unkempt, faces drawn and dirty. They were filthy, all eying the tourists like
fresh meat. Crime must be a major problem here he thought moodily. Most of the
colors were brown and black. Somber. Melancholy. Odd. Even in medieval times
they had used yellows, greens, reds, and blues. Not here apparently.

“I
bet they have a lot of fires. And diseases. Want to bet their fire and medical
services are nonexistent? Which would cull the population even more,” Sprite
said.

“Reading
my mind again?” he asked noting a soldier in red livery. That splash of red was
the first different color they had seen all day. If he remembered correctly red
was the color of nobility. He was fairly sure this so called gentleman was not
a noble. Possibly a guard though from the shiny breast plate under his red
tunic. The man was adjusting his waist belt as he rushed out of a house. A pair
of women ran out yelling curses at him. He smiled and waved as he kept running,
spear banging into things. He pulled his helmet out from under his armpit and
stuck it on. Most people in his path ducked or moved hastily out of the way.

A
blacksmith stopped what he was doing to look at the passing tourists. He
stroked his long curly black beard, eyes hard agates as he stared at them. His
leather apron was filthy. Burns and scars marked his bare arms. He had some
sort of leather pants on. He pulled a rod of iron stock from the glowing fire
and then put it back, bellowing at the apprentice who had been dozing against
the crude leather bellows to get  pumping.