Sweat trickled down my neck and pooled on my pillow.
Fever.
I jumped up. I couldn’t stand it. I flung the cabin door open. Fur was outside the door, and he jumped a half meter in the air in surprise. His concern washed over me. He was desperate to help, but what could he do if I got the plague? Maybe tie me down before I could kill anyone?
Damn it, I raged, forget all that crap. “Fur,” I barked.
He jumped again, like a kid guilty of some unimaginable transgression.
“Let’s get some help and inject those damn lizards.” Before I lost it completely.
We recruited the two Pronacian Healers. This turned out to be a mixed blessing. Eight extra arms made all the difference in our work. They handled our little scaled beasties with ease, but this also exposed the Pronacians to Levi’s distinct brand of xenophobia.
As we worked, Levi hovered in the background, which surprised me. His motivation to be obnoxious seemed to overcome his fear of the Pronacians.
“We are wasting our time here,” he said. “We need to move on to human worlds where God intended us to perform our work.”
I tried to ignore him.
“Why do we care if these creatures die? This planet is no good to Dovid’s World and our people.”
This got a long look from both of the Pronacian Healers, accompanied by an aura of distinct hostility.
“Unclean monsters,” Levi muttered.
Both healers stopped their work and faced Levi.
Too late, I realized that Levi was unaware that the clicks and hisses from Ruthie were a translation of his words. “Ruthie. For God’s sake, don’t translate any more of Levi’s diatribes.” I faced Levi. “Are you out of your mind? Are you trying to get us killed?”
Levi huffed. “These disgusting creatures don’t belong here. We don’t need to help—”
Fur grabbed Levi’s arm and bodily removed the protesting rebbe from the laboratory.
I looked at the Pronacians. “Please forgive us. That is not how Fur and I feel. Or how most humans would feel. We do not agree with Reb Levi’s beliefs or hold to his narrow-mindedness. I can’t apologize enough for his behavior.”
One Pronacian cocked its head and stared at me. The other shook its head. Then I realized that Ruthie was no longer translating, so I had her resume and repeated my apology. I could sense that the Healers were now mollified.
Fur returned and said, “I explained that his words were translated for the Pronacians and he understood the possible consequences. I don’t think he will be back.”
We continued our work, and within four hours of the injections, the creatures were sick.
“The stages are the same,” I observed. “They go through incoordination, then aggression, then coma and death, all within six hours. Much faster than the big reptilians. That’s incredible. There’s nothing like it in the literature.”
And I hadn’t shown any symptoms yet.
We took samples and confirmed that the enzyme bug was present in the sick animals, but not the healthy controls, which were injected with sterile saline. That proved the enzyme was the etiological agent of the plague. We necropsied the animals.
“Look at this,” I said. “The brain is swollen, no surprise. The liver is also enlarged...and yellow. The brain makes sense considering the neurological symptoms, but what does the liver mean?”
Fur viewed the biochemical data. He pounded his ham-sized fist on the workbench. I felt the seismic tremor through my shoes. He pointed to the side-by-side readouts from a healthy and a sick lizard.
“Look at the liver data. The sick ones have increased lipid levels. We saw that in the yellowness of the tissue. And look at the alcohol and ketone levels in the blood and tissues. They are higher than I have ever seen in any species.”
The epiphany hit me like a freight drone. “Oh, my God. That’s it.”
Fur pulled his head back and looked at me beneath a lowered brow. “What’s it?”
“The organism—the enzyme. It must subvert the metabolism of the host and catalyze the production of alcohol from carbohydrates and fats. When it breaks down fats, it also produces ketones. The alcohol is toxic to the liver, and both the alcohol and the ketones are toxic to the brain.”
Fur continued my train of thought. “I see. The first step in the metabolism of alcohol is oxidation to acetaldehyde, and that inhibits mitochondrial function—knocks out the cell’s power plant. And acetaldehyde in the brain inhibits enzymes that are critical for nerve transmission.”
“Yeah,” I added. “The incoordination and the coma are due to the nervous system toxicity of the acetaldehyde and ketones. Aggression can be seen with high alcohol levels in people, but may be a uniquely uniform response of Pronacians.”
My excitement left me a bit dizzy, and I panicked. Oh, no. Not now. But the wave of vertigo passed, and my heart rate dropped along with it. It was late and we were exhausted. As we cleaned up, I sensed Fur’s eyes bore through my back whenever he thought I couldn’t see him. I knew he watched me for any signs of alcoholic incoordination.
I could not stand it anymore. “Shit. Don’t stare at me like I’m one of the goddamned sick lizards. I’m going to bed. We’ll work on the cure tomorrow.”
Fur frowned.
“You can lock the goddamned door from the outside if you’re afraid I’ll go berserk.” I knew this was insensitive—the poor guy already thought he had stuck me with a death sentence—but I had reached the end of my string.
Fur flinched at my words. His voice was so very much smaller than his size. “There’s no need for that.”
Whether he meant locking me in or my anger, I did not want to try to sort it out. “Sorry, Fur. I just need some sleep. We both do. See you in the morning.”
The “I hope” hung unvoiced in the air.
In my cabin, I collapsed onto my bunk without undressing, other than kicking off my shoes. I stared at the ceiling. Every logical neuron in my brain said that a copper-based alien enzyme could not reproduce in my body, nor cause the same biochemical changes it did in the reptilians. Every nonlogical neuron—and they seemed to be in the majority—screamed Doom.
***
I awoke with a start. I was sure I had dozed for just a few minutes, but the time on my comm screen said I had slept for nine hours. Nine hours. I was alive. I did not know whether to laugh or cry, but the former took precedence. I got up with no vertigo—I was sober. I slapped my hand on the door lock sensor and there was Fur...again, hovering outside my door.
He looked at me with narrowed eyes, and I laughed. His eyes narrowed even further.
I did a pirouette. “See? Balance good. No sick,” I mimicked Kraznit.
Fur’s hairy face broke into a smile so broad it threatened to crack the sides of his cheeks. He grabbed me under the armpits and lifted me so we were face to face. “Yup. Just as ugly as ever.” He plunked me down hard enough to rattle my teeth.
We both took deep breaths.
“I tried your door a half dozen times through the night,” he said. “I was about ready to break it down.” His eyes were moist. Damn, he was about to cry.
“Hell. It will take more than some Pronancian critter to consign me to vacuum. Come on, we’ve got more work to do. We still don’t know how to cure this thing in the reptilians. Let me get my shoes on.”
All night, something had tickled my subconscious, but it had stayed hidden there. Now, the subconscious tickle had become an itch.
In the lab, I said, “Let me see the Pronacian genome readouts again.”
I compared the data from the first two Healers we had met with the other healthy and sick reptilians. Something about that gene complex...
“Ruthie, can you patch into the genome database and link it with the metabolic program?”
There was a fraction of a second delay before she answered—probably equivalent to several hours of cogitation for a human. “I can do that, Cy.”
“See if it can decode the genome eno
ugh to run a simulation on what that strange complex from the first Healers does.”
The delay was almost a full second this time.
“I have linked the programs. The data readout is printing.”
The printer whirred out two sheets. I grabbed them—and held my breath.
“What are you thinking?” Fur asked.
I held up my hand for silence as I took in the data. My breath whooshed out. “Got it.” I let out a laugh and turned to Fur. “Here. What do you think?”
He took the pages and studied them as he scratched his beard. A grin beamed out from beneath the whiskers. “That’s amazing.”
“The first two Healers never got the disease because they were not susceptible. They have a gene complex that codes for another enzyme that deactivates the plague organism by attacking the copper-protein molecule.
“What threw me off was the fact that the healthy Pronacians at the second facility didn’t have the gene complex, so I thought it wasn’t important. But it was simply that they were not exposed to the disease yet. They would have gotten sick if they had been exposed. And that ten percent that don’t get sick? Like the Kraznit family? Likely they all have this gene complex and the protective enzyme it produces.”
Fur added, “If we give the Pronacians the capability to produce that enzyme in bulk, it’s their antibiotic.”
We both laughed and slapped each other on the back.
Levi, who had just entered the room with his usual scowl asked, “What are you two so happy about?”
“We’ve tagged our culprit,” I said. “The plague organism converts body fat and carbohydrate to alcohol. The alcohol levels in the blood and tissues of reptilian plague victims are way beyond lethal levels for humans. In fact, blood levels are almost as much as in some of our alcoholic beverages.”
“What are you saying?”
“These guys are—literally—dead drunk!”
***
We had saved millions of lives, and the Pronacians were suitably grateful. Levi demanded payment for veterinary services rendered. For a guy who refused to help and denigrated the Pronacians in the first place, he was sure quick to take their credits. Those went into our account at the Galactic Bank, which meant that they went to the Rebbinical Council at home. The Pronacians said they could never repay their debt, but I began to wonder about that. I told their leaders, privately, that they might hear from me again.
CHAPTER 9
I met my first racing phrook. The creature was long-limbed and slim-bodied with sleek gray-brown coat almost like an otter’s fur. Its head was narrow with an elongated muzzle full of needle-sharp teeth. The prominent black eyes were at my shoulder height and radiated hostility. This phrook’s pain cut through me as if it were my own.
The source of the animal’s pain was clear; he held his left rear leg off the straw on the stable floor. Fur restrained the fractious beast while I bent and palpated the leg.
Master Fredo, the phrook’s owner stood over me as I worked. “Lightspeed is the best racer on the planet.”
Fredo was flanked by Lightspeed’s jockey and a few of Fredo’s lackeys.
The jockey said, “He’s a sure winner in the Beta Cygnus Stakes tomorrow.”
“Biggest purse of the year.” In a harsh whisper, Fredo added, “You fix him up and I’ll give you a cut of the winnings.”
I looked away from the leg and up at Fredo. The man’s voluminous robes did not hide his obesity. Deceit tinged everything he said. His title, Master Fredo, was not lost on me. The guy cowed everyone around him.
Racing phrooks did not have legs designed for the kind of pounding they took. Their fine bones could not carry a human, even one as small as most jockeys, so drivers rode behind them in a sulky. Phrooks were omnivores with a nasty disposition, and pain made this one’s mood worse. He swung his head and snapped at me several times before Fur got him under control. Everything they did was fast. I was glad I worked on the hind leg. I had no desire to add my flesh to the animal’s sustenance.
“Well, whaddaya think?” Fredo asked in a loud and hearty voice.
“Best I can tell he has severe sesamoiditis. That’s inflammation of the bones at the back of the fetlock. That’s why he’s lame.”
“What causes that, anyway?” Fredo’s furrowed brow told me he was annoyed that I did not give him good news.
“Usually, it’s excessive stress on the legs. Often from overtraining.”
Fredo’s doughy face turned dark with a touch of hostility. “I’ll kill that trainer if Lightspeed misses this race.”
The jockey gave Fredo a worried look, as if he believed his boss would do it.
“Can you fix it, Doc?”
I was betting that the Phrook’s overtraining was not the fault of the trainer. “No, I can’t. This is a serious condition. The leg will need to be immobilized. He needs an enforced rest period, as much as a few months.”
Fredo’s eyes narrowed and almost disappeared into the folds of his flesh. “Ain’t gonna happen. This guy runs tomorrow. I got too many credits riding on him. Give ‘im a shot, Doc. Make ‘im good for the race.” His voice cajoled, but his thoughts threatened.
“I can’t do that. He would risk worse injury by running on this leg.”
Fredo now lost any hint of good will. “I don’t give a shit about that, so long as he wins that race. If he’s crippled after, I can still get big stud fees. Give him painkillers and anti-inflammatories, whatever he needs. I know you got that stuff. This guy runs tomorrow.”
I stood and moved away from the phrook. “Can’t and won’t. Anti-inflammatories and analgesics would only mask the problem, and that would be animal cruelty.”
Fredo poked a pudgy finger into my chest. “You will. I run this place. People do what I tell ‘em to.”
I turned to Fur. “We’re done here. Grab my bag, will you?”
Fredo said to one of his lackeys, “You take that bag.” One look at the giant who now held my medical supplies deterred the lackey. As we left, Fredo upbraided the man for cowardice. I hadn’t noticed Fredo make any move toward Fur.
Fur and I left the stable and walked back into the nearby town. As we approached an alley, five bravos stepped out and blocked our way. I guess they figured five men were enough to intimidate a veterinarian and his assistant, but as they examined Fur, I sensed their hesitation.
“Hand over that bag,” the biggest of them said. He was broad-shouldered but had to look up at Fur. Nervousness trickled out of him like water from a cracked pitcher.
“Big mistake,” I replied.
Fur bared his teeth in a nasty grin. “Go back to your boss. Tell him you couldn’t find us. Save yourselves a lot of pain.”
The thug’s eyebrows just about met between his narrow-set eyes, but he shrugged and yelled, “Get ‘em.”
With the odds five to two, I did not hesitate and took out the leader with a perfect karate Mae Geri front kick to the groin. I didn’t take time to watch him go down, as a second man had lunged at me. I sidestepped and dropped him with a Tegatana chop to the back of the neck. A third man already writhed on the ground and moaned. Fur held another thug over his head.
“Let me go,” the man pleaded, but Fur tossed him a goodly distance anyway. He lay motionless where he landed.
The moaner was up on his knees now. “You broke my arm,” he cried at Fur.
“You’re lucky that’s all I busted.”
He got up and stumbled off, cradling his limb. I saw the fifth tough sprint around the nearest corner.
I staggered, tasted bile, and closed my eyes against the incipient headache. The anger of fights really got to me.
Fur grabbed my arm. “You okay?”
“Let’s get out of here.”
As we walked, Fur looked at me, eyebrows cocked. “Well, Captain, you have some martial arts skill I didn’t know about.”
I felt my face grow warm. “I trained in karate and judo when I was younger.”
The look on his face
demanded more.
“Hell, when you have a nose as big as mine—”
“And combine that with an ego of like size,” Fur murmured.
“It meant lots of fights when other kids made fun of me. Nobody insults my nose and gets away with it.” I fixed him with my best glare. “Any comments?”
Fur put up his hands, palms forward. “Far be it for me...”
I hoped that would be the end of the violence for this trip. My stomach and head would take a while to get back to normal.
***
Back in town, I had a welcome surprise: messages from my folks and Roxanne. I had sent out messages to both earlier in the day, so the missives must have crossed in hyperspace. I amused myself by imagining they waved as they went by.
I listened to my mom and dad first. As always, they were obviously aware of being monitored, and their greetings were heartfelt but cautious. Dad brought me up to date on the farm and the crops, a safe topic, and Mom talked about our neighbors and their obstreperous teenagers. Some of those exploits were humorous. Cow tipping is an age-old urban legend that some kids got hold of. Supposedly, you could sneak up on an unsuspecting sleeping cow and push it over for entertainment. But cows didn’t sleep standing up like horses did, and they weren’t that slow-moving or dumb. Before it was over, an irate cow trampled a couple of kids. Fortunately, the pasture was muddy and the soft substrate minimized their injuries. I chuckled and wondered what Levi would make of that one.
My heart tiptoed through the proverbial tulips as I switched on Roxanne’s message. The holovision of her was enough to mesmerize me as I drank in her words:
Hello Cy,
I hope this catches you soon. It does help having your itinerary, but I’m never sure if it will get there before you leave. We had too little time together, but hyperwave will have to suffice for now.
Things ramped up a bit after you left Sammara. We had a new EPD outbreak and were hard-pressed to contain it. We still have not figured out how it got out again, but likely on someone’s clothing or shoes, I’d guess. There were no cattle movements, that’s for sure. I must admit it has taken me time to get past the depression I felt about being so helpless. As a vet, I want to be able to cure every animal that’s sick or in pain. I know that’s not realistic, but I can’t help it. I have to learn not to feel their suffering—even though I don’t feel it the same way you do. I don’t know how you manage it. Thankfully, that is behind us now.
The Galactic Circle Veterinary Service Page 10
