Stardoc

by S. L. Viehl

  I consulted his chart. “Did the muscle relaxant Dr. Rogan administer before have any effect?”

  My neighbor shook his head, and coughed again. A fine spray of saliva and mucous landed on my tunic, but I ignored it as I repeated the scans.

  “Paul, your back muscles are severely strained, and you have some fluid in your lungs. I’m going to admit you to the inpatient ward for treatment and observation.”

  “Am I contagious?”

  “Not according to my scans,” I said.

  “Great.” Dalton closed his eyes, then chuckled. “Do me a favor, will you, Doc? Call my supervisor and tell him I’m not the one who spread the infection around in my department. Must have been someone else.”

  “Your department?” I said, and my intuition kicked me. Hard. “Paul, how many people have this infection?”

  “Almost everyone, but it’s not—” He began to cough again, and I scanned his lungs once more. I didn’t like what I saw.

  It was the same type of pneumonia that had killed Alun Karas.

  “Look, Doctor,” Paul’s supervisor was sympathetic but not concerned after I contacted him about the infection Paul described. “People get sick all the time here on K-2. Reaction to the new environment, a bug that comes in on a shuttle, you know how it is. No big deal.”

  “I need to check it out, just the same, Mr. Skrople.”

  “I can’t have my entire staff report to the FreeClinic,” the supervisor said. “We have nearly fifty people working per shift on this project.”

  “Then, I will come to you,” I said, my own shift nearly complete. I had hoped to see Kao after work, but this would have to come first. “Is that acceptable?”

  “Sure, I guess so.”

  The Engineering Department was working on a structural augmentation project on the fringe of the Colony. Clusters of gnorra trees and other native plants had been landscaped around the old storage building.

  Low-rising beams were being set into place next to the existing structure, and I watched for several moments as grav-cranes positioned support posts for a new wall. The laughs and shouts the busy workers exchanged made me smile. Some kids never outgrew their building toys.

  A small, wiry alien with dusky skin and an extra pair of lower limbs shambled over to me and handed me a head protector.

  “Geef Skrople.” Paul’s supervisor introduced himself. “Sure you want to do this, Doctor?”

  I eyed the crew. Now that I had been noticed, the good-natured jesting had stopped completely. “It will be the high point of my day,” I lied. “If anyone objects, they will have to report to the FreeClinic for formal evaluation. At once.”

  “Uh, Doc—” The engineer looked sheepish. “If anyone objects, just let me handle it. It’s safer.”

  Skrople stayed at my side. He had to intervene several times, joking with the surly workers to defuse what might have escalated into something really unpleasant. I wondered how someone with such a noticeable lack of bulk had gained such respect in this field.

  I got my answer when one of the support beams began to work loose from a grappling hook. Skrople left me at once to handle it. My eyes rounded as the small alien wedged the heavy beam back into place using only his hands and a shoulder.

  One of the crew standing by me saw my face and said, “He can hoist ten times that.”

  Paul’s supervisor returned, and we continued our rounds. Once I’d finished the last scan, I tallied the data. The readings were disturbing.

  I gazed directly at Skrople. “Eighty-two percent of your people display symptoms of viral infection in some form or another,” I said. “Except no virus is registering on my scanner.”

  “Are you telling me they’re sick but they’re not sick?”

  “I don’t know what to tell you.” I surveyed the busy site. “I have to report back to the FreeClinic with this information. The best thing to do is send everyone home, tell them to stay in their quarters, and take it easy.”

  “What about the next shift? They’ll be reporting in four hours.”

  They would have to be checked, too. “I’ll contact you before that and let you know what has to be done.”

  Skrople touched my arm. “Are you talking quarantine here, Doctor?”

  “No.” If this contagion was spreading, I had to keep panic from doing the same. “Don’t worry. I’ll be in touch.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Hazard Clause

  By this time I had finally figured out why they put that Liability/Hazardous Duty clause in my contract. Being held hostage by an expectant father and nearly blown into the upper stratosphere by a suicidal fairy hadn’t been enough. Now I was facing an unidentified, contagious pathogen on a planet that had only six physicians to cope with it.

  No, PQSGO was definitely not giving me enough compensation. I’d have to see someone about a raise.

  I left the engineering site more unsettled than I cared to admit. My instincts were screaming at me to declare level one quarantine conditions. I couldn’t do it. Without hard evidence, that would be seen as premature, and almost assuredly would create panic throughout the colony.

  The people in charge tended to frown on untidy things like mass hysteria and uncontrollable rioting.

  I left my glidecar a short distance from the FreeClinic. The brief walk would give me a chance to sort out my thoughts before facing Dr. Mayer with my suspicions.

  The night sky was filled with moons and stars that dimmed beside my growing sense of dread. It was no wonder I didn’t see Phorap Rogan until he was almost on top of me.

  “You!” It was screamed like a curse, accompanied by a spray of mucous that spattered over my face. My head snapped back.

  Rogan was staggering, unable to remain in one position. His arms and legs shook badly as bursts of coughing racked his frame. Not good. His facial polyps were barely moving, slick with green, oozing rivulets of infection.

  “Dr. Rogan? What—”

  “Terran bitch!” He took a wild swing at me, and I ducked under his arm and spun away. Rogan lost his balance, then somehow pulled himself upright and shrieked, “Come here!”

  I danced out of reach, at the same time trying to examine him. “Rogan, what happened to you?”

  “You did this—” He broke off into tearing coughs, and spat a mouthful of phlegm on the ground between us. Not good at all. His breathing became labored as he ran his fingers over his facial grooves. “You did this to me . . . infected me . . . what is it?” He lunged and grabbed at me again.

  I made a quick sweep with my leg the way Maggie had taught me, and hooked him behind the knee. In his wild attempt to compensate, he threw himself forward. I leapt out of the way. Rogan fell—hard. A hideous squelching sound accompanied the impact of his face on the walkway. He made a feeble attempt to rise, then collapsed again.

  “Damn it!” I rolled him on his side. He was half conscious, but fever-induced delirium now converted his speech to incoherent babbling. Within seconds we were surrounded by other colonists, seeking to provide aid.

  “Get back!” I yelled at the ring of faces. The thick stench rising from Rogan’s body made some draw back abruptly.

  “Let us help you—”

  “No!” I refused the colonist’s compassionate suggestion. “Move back, ten meters, now! He’s contagious!”

  That effectively dispersed the crowd. I shouted for one of them to call for medevac as I loosened the neck of Rogan’s filthy tunic and checked his pulse. His lungs were obviously filled with fluid; he was turning cyanotic around the open membranes. If I didn’t get him to the FreeClinic fast, he’d suffocate.

  I spotted two Militia approaching and shouted a warning to them. They took up positions to keep everyone at bay until the medevac team arrived. The mobile unit appeared moments later.

  “Quarantine condition one,” I yelled, and the team went into action.

  Barriers were erected, colonists removed from the scene. Someone tossed a field aid case to me, another threw a heav
y, insulated bundle. I released the ties and pulled on the thick biocontainment suit. Once I activated its seals, I rolled Rogan onto the gurney the team pushed over to me.

  “Hold your position,” one of the Militia said as he activated a remote biodecon unit. My suit and Rogan’s gurney shroud were quickly sterilized.

  “Clear a corridor to the back of the FreeClinic for us,” I told one of the Militia team. I punched a touchpad on the evac unit’s outer hull, and Dr. Mayer’s face appeared on the display screen.

  “What’s your status, Dr. Grey Veil?”

  “Dr. Rogan tried to attack me. He is infected with a pneumonic contagion. I’ve had direct physical contact.”

  “ID?”

  “I can’t tag it. It doesn’t show up on my scanner.”

  “Method of transmission?”

  “Unknown. Probable airborne or contact contamination.”

  The chief glowered. “Recommendations?”

  “Institute level one containment at my location. Get air samples taken right away once we’ve cleared. Dr. Rogan’s personal quarters should be sealed as well.” I didn’t ask that everyone who had been in contact with Rogan be checked for the contagion. That could be half the damn colony.

  “What’s Rogan’s condition?”

  “He’s critical. We’re coming in now.”

  I couldn’t remove the bulky biocontainment suit until we were transported to the back of the facility and isolated in the special unit reserved for such cases. Once there, Mayer appeared outside the barrier as I hauled Rogan’s heavy body onto an exam pad.

  “Give me an update, Dr. Grey Veil.”

  “In a minute,” I said. There would be no nurse to assist me now. No one else could risk being exposed. I stripped off the awkward suit and began my scans.

  Rogan was dying from oxygen deprivation. His lungs were almost completely filled now, and his vitals were off the grid. Higher brain function was beginning to fail.

  “All four lobes are severely inflamed. Massive pleural effusion, heavily multiloculated empyema, and abscesses forming as I speak. I need to get his lungs clear, or he’s going to suffocate.”

  “Counter with antibiotics first.”

  I glared. “Meds won’t do it fast enough. His physiology is only half-Terran. I have to ventilate him now.”

  “He isn’t stable enough—”

  “There’s no more time!” I yelled at the barrier. “No more options!”

  Mayer nodded curtly, and I went to work.

  Rogan’s eyes opened when I tried to insert the endotracheal tube through his mouth. Despite his condition, he got an arm up and shoved me away.

  “No. I don’t have time to anesthetize you,” I said, and he twisted his head as I reintroduced the tube. “Stop it—don’t fight me!”

  His mouth sagged open, and he struggled to draw in enough air to enable his larynx to function.

  “Noooooo . . .”

  I had an idea of what would work. “Listen to me, you have to help me, Phorap,” I said. “I can’t do this by myself. Please!”

  Appealing to his vanity worked. He allowed me to insert the tube and ventilate him. It was only a temporary measure, but might keep him alive long enough for me to find a treatment. I’d have to operate later and insert a tube to drain off the fluid from his lungs.

  “Status,” Mayer’s voice was thin with impatience.

  “We’re all right for the moment. I’ve intubated Dr. Rogan.” I turned to address the chief directly. “He exhibits the same symptoms as Alun Karas. Aspiration pneumonia.”

  “Does Rogan show signs of vomitus aspiration?”

  “No,” I said. “But something got into his lungs. My scanner can’t identify whatever it is. Could it be an exotic mycoplasma?”

  “An intermediate between bacterial and viral pathogens would still show up on our scanners, Doctor.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then, you know it cannot be a mycoplasma.”

  “Look.” I took a deep breath. “I have evidence of transmission of this virus to at least fifty other colonists. I’ll transfer my data scans to you. Review them and contact Engineer Skrople. The infected workers were sent home, but we’ll have to institute a quarantine. Paul Dalton was admitted a few hours ago, he’s infected as well.”

  “You have no evidence to justify a quarantine.”

  I stared at Mayer. “Please, just do it. I’ll get the proof.” He nodded. “I need microscans from the lab work-ups on Karas and Dalton.” A thought occurred to me, and I closed my eyes for a moment. “Nurse Ecla was exposed at the same time Rogan was. The last time I saw her, she showed no signs of infection. Neither do I.” Ecla, the dancing bouquet of beauty.

  Mayer’s crisp voice interrupted my thoughts. “I will have the affected workers and Nurse Ecla brought in and examined. But until a pathogen is identified, there will be no open declaration of a quarantine. Do you understand me? Not a word until we know what we’re dealing with.”

  My turn to compromise. The chief was only doing his job. “Yes. All right.”

  “Keep me informed,” he said, and walked out.

  Twelve hours later Phorap Rogan began the inevitable slide into a coma. His progression was identical to Karas’s; it was just taking a little longer for him to die. I remained at his side throughout the night, pausing only long enough to send a signal to Kao Torin and cancel our date.

  There was no way I could tell the Jorenian I was quarantined with a dying patient. It was hard enough to fake a calm expression and invent an excuse about a routine emergency case. “Sorry I have to stand you up again, but I can’t leave him right now.” At least the last part of that was true.

  “I am sorry, too. I am scheduled to leave for the Gra’-capa system tomorrow. The assignment will last several rotations.” Kao’s steady gaze made me feel guilty, but Mayer’s orders had been implicit. “I will see you when I return, Healer?”

  If only I could tell him. “I’m counting on it.”

  Hours later, Dr. Mayer released the barrier seals and walked in. My bleary eyes moved from the data readings on my scanner to the chief’s face. I couldn’t even work up a good whimper of outrage. “Are you nuts?”

  “Bioscans have revealed nothing.”

  “They’re wrong,” I said.

  “Dr. Grey Veil, I conducted the fifth and sixth repeated scan myself,” he told me. “There were no contagions present in any of the samples.”

  “No known contagions.”

  “Unidentified contaminants would still leave a chemical signature, Doctor. The scans were clean.” Mayer surveyed Rogan and consulted his chart. “How long do you estimate he has left?”

  “Twelve hours, maybe a little more. His physiology is more resilient than Karas’s was, and I’ve surgically installed an open drain in his chest.”

  “Fortunate. It will give us time.”

  “Not much.” A yawn tugged at my jaw, and I had to fight the urge to close my eyes. “What about Dalton?”

  “No dramatic change in symptoms. No response to full spectrum Terran antibiotics.”

  “The workers from the project site? Ecla?” I asked.

  “No symptoms other than what you originally observed, and no progression. Nurse Ecla’s scans were clear.”

  “So in other words, I’m starting to look like a paranoid moron.” Mayer didn’t respond, and I began to rub my eyes. “I need to get some sleep.”

  “Go home.”

  “Don’t you think we should at least continue the quarantine protocols until I can figure out how to identify this contagion?” I asked.

  The chief put down Rogan’s chart. “I will continue most of the protocols for another cycle. We will then review the cases and decide on a course of action.”

  “We?” The yawn finally won.

  Dr. Mayer appeared somewhat affronted. “You and I, Dr. Grey Veil.”

  Drowsiness fled, replaced by utter astonishment, but the chief dismissed me without elaborating.

 
Somehow I got to my quarters without losing consciousness, although I was fuzzy on the means I used to get there. I recalled someone helping me into public transport and pushing me out at the front of my unit. I staggered to my door and came to an unsteady halt when I saw the graceful, grey-haired Chakacat waiting patiently beside it.

  “Dr. Grey Veil?”

  I looked around but didn’t see Jenner. “Hello, Alunthri.”

  “May I speak with you?”

  “Sure. Come in.” I opened the door panel and found Jenner pacing nervously inside. He made a sound of pleasure and dashed up into Alunthri’s open arms.

  “Some guard cat you are,” I tried to joke, but I was really too tired to do more than shuffle to a chair and drop.

  “He is very intelligent for his kind. Affectionate, as well.”

  “You haven’t been around when I get home late.” Jenner glared at me, and I nodded. “You’re entitled, too, pal. My hours stink.” I looked at the Chakacat. “What can I do for you, Alunthri?”

  “I am seeking assistance, Doctor. My owner recently expired, and I find I am without deed.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I tried to sound compassionate, but I was beat. “Uh, what does that last part mean—without deed?”

  “I am under no ownership.”

  I saw the license chip was gone from its collar. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “Not under the terms of the current Colonial Charter.”

  Paragraphs flashed through my mind until I focused on the exact application to domesticated life-forms. Oh, no. “They’re going to ship you back to your homeworld.”

  “Unless I can establish deed with another colonist, yes, I will be sent back to Chakara and resold.”

  “That’s unfair.”

  “I agree. Can you assist me, Dr. Grey Veil?”

  It wasn’t hard to guess what form of help Alunthri wanted. “Are you asking me to take over your deed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alunthri, I couldn’t treat you like a domesticated companion,” I said. “In my eyes, you are sentient.”

  “Thank you.” Alunthri put Jenner down and prostrated itself before me. “Yet until such status is granted, I must find ownership here on K-2, or be sold. Please, Doctor, help me.”