He rubbed his eyes and tried to clear his thoughts. He needed to sleep.
Opening his comm-link, Jak called the guard on duty at the airlock. “Make sure that Kaprinian with the twisted antennae gets off the ship,” he instructed. “Why’d you let him on board?”
“No one’s come through here except yourself, sir,” the guard replied. He paused then said in a bewildered tone. “Here he comes now. But I sure didn’t let him on, sir.”
“Make sure he gets off and don’t let him on again,” Jak said. He returned his link to his belt. What was the Kosapi up to? Jak shook his head as he went to his quarters. He was too tired to think.
Chapter Seven
Bridget flopped on her stomach onto the couch in one of Davis’s employee lounges, her right hand dangling to the floor. Torp and Steve claimed the two stuffed chairs while Miguel headed for the vending machines.
“Ohhh,” Bridget moaned. “I’m sore, I’m hungry, I’m dirty and I’m never going to get this smell out of my hair.”
“Cargo testing. They never put that in the college catalogs,” Torp muttered.
Stretching out his long legs, Steve gave a short, unamused laugh, “I certainly never expected to be doing drudge work.”
“Oh, come on, Steve. Everybody else was working harder than we were,” Bridget pointed out.
Miguel pulled out one of the chairs at the round table and sat down, unloading an armload of snacks and drinks. Tossing a bag of chips at Steve, he said, “Here, Miller, feed your face instead of flapping it. What do you want, Brid?”
Bridget lifted her head with a hopeful look on her face, “Do they have those square noodly things with cheese?”
“What do you think this is a gourmet restaurant? Have some chips.” Miguel tossed another bag that landed on Bridget’s back.
Torp got up and wandered over to pick through the selections. He chose a candied orange slice and a bottle of something called Conja Juice.
Bridget finally sat up and started munching. “So, Torp,” she said around a mouthful, “I thought you weren’t taking this internship?”
“I wasn’t going to when I thought we were supposed to be on the Hippocrates.” Torp replied. “But when they changed it to the Pasteur, I couldn’t pass up the chance. Did you know every doctor on board has published at least one article in the Corona Medical Journal? I was impressed.”
“That zinetape isn’t that exclusive anymore; any kodo with a degree from the Theta University can get in these days,” Steve Miller retorted. “Like that schlutz who wrote that piece of tripe a couple of months ago about Cassopian pheromones being able to affect major organs.”
“Dr. Seran Nevlare wrote that article and she knows more about endocrinology than you’d ever be able to grasp in three lifetimes,” remarked Bridget.
“As much as I hate to agree with Miller,” said Torp, “I have to say that article seemed weak in data to me. She talked about these smells affecting a Matian tangle beetle heart.”
“Yeah, that heart has three layers of protection tough as kedellium plus a lattice structure,” Miguel joined the argument; he had written his sophomore term paper on tangle beetles.
Bridget shook her head, flipping her dark red hair across her shoulders, “What do you mean smells, you nidge! Those are real, airborne chemicals.”
“How could chemicals used as a signaling system possibly cause harm to organic material?” Torp asked in a disbelieving voice.
Scrunching up her empty bag, Bridget looked around at her fellow students. “Have any of you ever met a Cassopian?” she asked. All shook their heads. “Hmmm, I thought not. They’ve got some incredible adaptations, in fact, I...”
“Speaking of adaptations, I’m glad the Pasteur has a gravity generator. I don’t know how those guys on the Phoenix stand zero g all the time,” Miguel interrupted. He had learned that the only way to shut Brid up on one of her favorite subjects was to stop her before she really got going.
Bridget blinked her gray eyes at him. “They all take Namzerol three times a day.”
“Yeah, but they don’t last that long. They’re all young. Commander Zelan’s only in his thirties. He’ll probably retire in ten years.”
“Yeah with a nice tidy pension,” said Torp then grinned, “But doctors make more in this business, right?”
“More chips, Brid?” Miguel asked quickly, seeing Bridget gearing up for an argument on profit versus patient care.
“Give me something to drink please. Those chips were...” Bridget paused as the door slid open.
Dr. Aurelia stood there. She looked surprised and stayed still for a moment, her foot keeping the door open as if she might have to make a quick exit. Finally, she limped forward to the machines. The door swished closed in the now silent room.
“Uh, Doctor Aurelia?” Miguel ventured to speak.
Aurelia turned to look at him, the dark circles made her eyes almost seem to glow. She raised an eyebrow.
“You’re welcome to anything here,” Miguel said, waving a hand toward the pile of snacks on the table.
“None of it’s chocolate,” she said with sort of a half smile. “Thanks anyway.” Sliding her PEF card into the machine, Aurelia collected two chocolate Razo bars. She limped to the door then stopped. “The Pasteur will be leaving at 0800 tomorrow morning. I want you to understand that we are not exactly prepared to handle students. We’re not a teaching facility. I am not in complete agreement with the board of directors about this program. Be that as it may, I’m assigning Dr. Sshn’LRuh, our chief resident, to oversee you. Please report to her as soon as you get on board. I expect there to be no problems.” She stopped, looked like she was going to say more but instead turned and walked out.
Miguel ran his fingers through his hair, letting out a loud breath. “Get the feeling she doesn’t like us?”
“I get the feeling this internship program isn’t as organized as the recruiter made it out to be,” said Steve.
“I’ll bet they had it set up with the Hippocrates and had to switch at the last minute for some reason,” Torp replied.
“Who cares?” declared Bridget. “I’d rather be on the Pasteur anyway. Like her or not, Dr. Aurelia is one of the best xenosurgeons around. I hope we get to see her in surgery.”
“I’m still calling my advisor at M.U.,” Steve muttered.
Bridget flicked a chip at him.
“Hey, stop that,” Steve ordered, swiping the chip off his pants, onto the floor.
Miguel and Torp grinned at each other. In a moment, the air was thick with chips and little lumps of balled up wrappers.
“Steve Miller, you have a message in the C.C. Steve Miller, you have a message.” The announcement cut into the laughter and other sounds from the chip battle.
Steve looked a little uncertain. “Who’d be calling me? And where is the C.C.?”
“There’s a monitor over there by the machines. You could probably get your message from there,” suggested Torp.
After some fiddling and some not so helpful advice from the other three, Steve contacted one of the desk clerks in the Communications Center. She transferred the message to the monitor in the lounge.
In a moment the screen blinked on to reveal his father. Robert Miller was a big man with a blond crew cut, pale blue eyes and a square-jawed, ruggedly handsome face. Except for the length of his hair, his son could only grow to look more and more like him. “Hey, son, how do you like Davis?” he asked in a cheerful voice.
“How’d you know I was here?” Steve asked.
“Word gets around,” Robert replied. “Lots of people up there this week.”
“What do you want, Dad?”
Looking over his shoulder, Robert replied absentmindedly, “Can’t a guy call his son just to say hi?” He turned back around and smiled. “I would appreciate it if you could let me know if and when Renner Conlin is planning to step planetside.”
“How am I supposed to do that
? Follow him around?”
“Just keep your eyes and ears open. I have some business with Conlin. No big deal.”
Steve folded his arms across his chest. “It’s always a big deal with you, Dad. The Pasteur is leaving tomorrow morning anyway.”
“Is it? Well, if you happen to hear anything between now and then let me know. See you later, son.” Robert Miller signed off.
“You didn’t call and tell your Dad you were here?” Bridget asked.
“It’s none of your business, O’Connor,” Steve snapped back.
Bridget stared at him. “You don’t have to be such a nidge about it.”
Miguel jumped up and started clearing debris off the table. “I’ve still got junk to transfer from the Phoenix to the Pasteur,” he announced.
So it seemed did everyone else. After cleaning up, they all exited the lounge en masse, each a little nervous about their new adventure.
Chapter Eight
Aurelia sat in one of the private cubicles in C-wing that GEM Co. provided for visiting employees. She had just finished dictating her report on the box pox epidemic when she heard footsteps approaching. Peeking out of the cubicle, she saw Nicholas Zelan. Her already tight muscles tensed even more at the sight of Renner Conlin and Governor Arnott right behind him.
Aurelia would not let them intimidate her. Propping her bad leg on the desk, she unwrapped a Razo bar and waited.
Zelan rapped his knuckles on the top of the cubicle then looked around the open doorway. “Do you have a minute, Doctor?”
“Do I have a choice?” Aurelia replied around a mouthful of candy. “Apparently not,” she added as Conlin and Arnott filed in and Zelan dragged in chairs borrowed from the other cubicles.
"I hope you plan on keeping this short, gentlemen. I was just about to retire.” Aurelia could feel the buzz of exhaustion beginning in the back of her skull.
For probably the first time in his life, Arnott got straight to the point, “We have several concerns about your handling of this box pox investigation, Doctor.”
Aurelia just stared at him and kept chewing.
“I’ve had several complaints about your conduct in the command office. What was your purpose in sealing the door, leaving all those people locked in?”
“Let me ask you a question. Where were you, Governor? The Dulan called me. He should have been calling you.”
“That doesn’t answer the question,” put in Renner Conlin. He was drumming his fat fingers against his knees, the huge ring on his pinkie catching the light with each movement.
Needs a fix, Aurelia thought, appraising the arbiter professionally. I’d love to prove that to the board one of these days. She forced her attention back to the governor.
“Three freighter captains threatened to drop their contracts with us, they were so angry,” Arnott continued.
“We’ve already alienated enough customers with this whole quarantine business,” Zelan added.
“Hold it right there. Which do you prefer? A few angry customers or the loss of this space station? You’re skirting the edge of a hole yourself, Captain, for breaking that quarantine.”
Zelan leaned forward, “You’re quick enough to disregard the rules when it suits you, Doctor. Code 556 of the Intergalactic Treaty has absolutely nothing to do with epidemics.”
Aurelia raised both eyebrows. “Did I get the number wrong?”
“I don’t think arresting that Sclarian was a good idea either. Intergalactic law is iffy at best. I doubt if he will be convicted and it doesn’t help our relationship with the Sclarians.”
“I’ll agree with you on I.G law, but in this case even a Sclarian judge would convict him. We were lucky that wemrat was only carrying box pox. It could have been a lot worse.”
“I think a warning would have been sufficient.”
“Do you honestly think he would have made it through that crowd alive if I had just given him a warning?”
Zelan apparently had no answer to that.
Conlin was practically bouncing off his chair. “The point is,” he said, “you’ve made GEM Co. look bad, doctor. I’m recommending an investigation of your actions.”
The sudden surge of blood through her veins brought Aurelia to her feet. “That’s the most laughable thing I’ve heard all year. I did my job in the best, fastest way possible. The Jidalians are back to work and everybody else will forget it about by tomorrow.”
“I’m sure you would prefer that,” Arnott said.
Aurelia shook her head, “This is really funny. I don’t know what you three think you’re doing. I have nothing to hide. Do all the investigating you want. I’m going to bed.”
Aurelia stepped out from behind the desk, staring down Captain Zelan. “Get out of my way.”
Zelan scooted his chair back.
Limping down the hall, Aurelia drew in a calming breath. It didn’t help. How dare they put her in a pressure cooker? The tactic had been used by GEM Co. middle management for years, mostly to weed out any weak links, though the practice was frowned upon now. There hadn’t seemed to be any point to this beyond mere intimidation. She didn’t like it at all. She could call Admiral Meng, but she didn’t want it to appear that she was running to him for protection.
We’re leaving tomorrow and this will all blow over, she told herself as she caught an express to the docking level.
On board the Pasteur, the halls echoed with silence as Aurelia walked carefully through the corridors. Personnel involved in the testing had all crashed in their rooms. With just four of the 150 beds in the wards occupied only one doctor and four nurses kept the afternoon watch. Engineering crew were the only other people awake.
Aurelia wandered into the children’s ward on Deck 7. A dim light glowed at the nurses’ station. The rest of the ward was in darkness. The nurse on duty acknowledged the chief surgeon with a nod.
“How’s our favorite patient?” Aurelia asked.
The nurse rolled her eyes. “Starting to get obnoxious.”
Aurelia smiled. “That’s a good sign.”
“I just put him down for a nap but he’s been asking for you all day.”
Walking to the eighth bed down, Aurelia automatically checked her patient’s wide wristband which kept track of all his vital functions.
“Doc,” a small voice whispered.
She reached over and flipped on the night light. “What is it, Snuffy?” she asked in low tones.
The Sclarian child looked up at her, one tear gleaming on his cheek. His upturned nose quivered. “You didn’t come by all day yesterday,” he said in a shaky voice.
Aurelia lifted the sheet to examine the red patches of skin where new bristles were just beginning to sprout after a ship fire had burned over eighty percent of his body. “I had lots of work to do,” she replied, replacing the sheet. “A few more days and you can blow this one engine joint.”
“Tell me a story.”
“I don’t know any stories.”
“Yeah, you do. I bet your mom told you stories,” the cub urged.
Aurelia shook her head, “I don’t remember my mother.”
“How come?”
“She died...I think.”
Snuffy’s nose began to tremble even more. Two huge tears tumbled out of his eyes, splashing onto Aurelia’s hand. “My mom died too...in the fire. I w...want her back.”
Aurelia reached out for his paw, glad that someone could cry. She sat beside him, staring into the darkness, until his sobs lessened and his breathing deepened into that of sleep. After switching off the light, she crawled into the empty bed next to his and fell asleep herself.
Chapter Nine
Millie’s ninety minute power nap had taken the edge off her tiredness. Other crew members were catching up on their full quota of sleep, but Millie knew from experience that it was better to stick to her regular, daily schedule. With all the time changes and distortions involved with space travel, her biological cloc
k could get screwed up real fast. She had no idea how people like Aurelia did it. The chief surgeon slept at all kinds of odd hours, mostly catnaps and ate whenever she was hungry, mostly junk food.
Stopping in the middle of the corridor, Millie looked around. She intended to go to Davis’s library but had to admit she was hopelessly lost.
Oh, no, she thought, seeing Althan Tahk step off an elevator and turn her way.
Sliding her right hand into the pocket of her green lab coat, Millie tightly gripped the spray can of Nangatrol, a topical anesthetic. In the eyes should be effective.
“Miss Konoho.” He greeted her. “I’m afraid we got off to a bad start earlier. I’d like to apologize,” He smiled and his whole face was transformed. He looked much younger and less intimidating.
Millie relaxed her fingers. “Apology accepted.”
“My name is Althan Tahk, but call me Than, please.” The Kaprinian continued. “Could I interest you in dinner at Alfonso’s? I hear they have some great dish called lasa agna.”
Millie smiled. “That’s lasagna and it is very good.” She looked up into those strange eyes fixed on her face and added, “Thanks for the offer but I really have a lot of work to do yet.”
“Well, you have to eat sometime don’t you? It’s a public place and you won’t be alone with me. Honestly, I’m perfectly safe to be with.”
She had to smile again at his persistence. He really did seem harmless now. Her reaction to him earlier had probably just been lack of sleep. “All right,” she finally agreed.
Alfonso’s had a better reputation than it deserved. It was really just a waiting room for departing passengers with a few tables and a bar added. Most of its customers were crews off the zero gravity freighters to whom any kind of solid food tasted like ambrosia after their dehydrated, highly nutritious, processed fare.
They ordered at the bar then sat down at a table in the corner.
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