by Eric Flint
Her small face smiling once again, the little girl jumped off her bed and lay down on the floor. She called her dinosaurs by their names. They peered cautiously from their hiding places. When they were certain the dog was gone, they gathered around Gillie in the middle of the floor. She sat up and beamed at her mother.
"Are these..." Eliza motioned at the figures milling about on the floor. "Are these your toys?"
"Yes, they're ready to play now."
Eliza chewed at her lip, uncertain what to do next. Patton snuffled underneath the door.
"Are your dinosaurs friendly?"
Gillie looked offended. "Of course."
"Even the meat-eaters?"
"Are you guys going to play nice?" A chorus of grunts and hoots rose from the small crowd. Gillie looked up at her mom. "They said they will be nice."
Eliza mulled this over, not quite comfortable with animate plastic objects in her house, even if they were friendly. The tinny chirp of a kitchen timer interrupted her musings. "Well, dinner's ready. Let's go eat. Leave your dinosaurs in here." Patton would keep the dinosaurs corralled while she thought of something to do.
"They're hungry."
"Mm. I don't think so. We'll feed them tonight when we feed Patton."
"Okay, Mom. But Dad's not home yet."
"He will be home any minute now. We'll just set the table, okay?" Eliza carried Gillie into the kitchen, and left Patton snuffling and snorting at the bedroom door. "Gillie, I want you to tell me why your dinosaurs are running around."
"Because it's raining outside. They get antsy when it rains."
Eliza sighed at the inarguable kindergarten logic. She opened the crock-pot to dish up the chicken soup. A small green euoplocephalus clung to the bouquet garni. She cried out and dropped the lid. A very excited Patton skidded into the kitchen and tried to jump up on the counter, but missed and plopped down on the floor in a tangle of legs.
"What's wrong?" Gillie ran to the crock-pot. "Oh, I forgot Yewie. He didn't wake up with the others, so I left him in there."
"Wake up? You cooked them to wake them up?"
"I didn't cook them," Gillie huffed. "I warmed them up. Like that show on PBS." She used a slotted spoon to scoop Yewie out of the pot, then dried him off with a kitchen towel. "Their blood was cold and it made them sleep but some had warm blood and they could run around when it was winter and it's winter now so I put them in the crock-pot to warm up."
Eliza blinked. Could it work? Plastic was formed as a byproduct of oil, which in turn was formed from living creatures. She shook her head. Impossible. But she said, "I see."
Gillie nodded, apparently satisfied that she had gotten through to her mom. "I'll just put Yewie in my room with his friends." She ran back to her room and opened the door.
Too late, Eliza grabbed at Patton. He pushed past Gillie and Eliza saw dinosaurs scatter again. Several ran down the hall towards her and she sidestepped to keep them from touching her. Patton swung around to pursue the fleeing dinosaurs into the living room.
Eliza knew she needed something to contain the toys. But what? She picked up Gillie and hurried to the master bedroom. She set her daughter on the bed and dug through the closet for a shoe box. She emptied it and handed it to Gillie. "Get your dinosaurs and put them in this shoe box. Patton will eat your toys if you don't keep them picked up."
"Yes, Mom."
Gillie darted through the house. Eliza stayed close, still worried about the carnivores. She picked up an allosaurus and it chomped on her finger. She winced, expecting blood, but the tiny plastic teeth could not pierce her skin. Her confidence returned and she picked up the dinosaurs as fast as she could find them, their tiny warm bodies struggling to escape. Gillie giggled as she chased and caught several more. The shoe box soon filled with the squirming, bleating animals. As they reached Gillie's bedroom, the phone rang.
"I'll get it, Mom!"
Gillie set the shoe box on her pillow and dashed off to answer the phone. The box tilted. Eliza lunged for it, but the shoe box rolled over and the creatures rushed off the opposite side of the bed and out the bedroom door. Eliza stomped her foot in frustration, her sense of control deflating. She joined Gillie in the kitchen.
Gillie hung up the phone. "That was Dad. He has to work late. He said we should eat without him." Her brow furrowed. "The chicken soup can't fix his cold."
"That's okay. He will eat some when he gets home." Eliza kissed Gillie's forehead and smoothed the wrinkles. "The chicken soup will fix him right up."
A pink pterodactyl came around the corner, flapping its wings in an attempt to gain height. A bright-eyed Patton skittered across the linoleum. He gained purchase and sped up. At the other end of the kitchen, he leapt at the airborne toy. It swerved and Patton fell back to the ground with a grunt.
"Patton is getting better at hunting. We have to get the dinosaurs safe," Eliza said. "I will put Patton in my bathroom. You get the shoe box."
Eliza chased after Patton, while Gillie ran off to her bedroom. In short order, they rounded up the dinosaurs. Eliza relished the thought of a rest.
Gillie examined the contents of the shoe box. "We're still missing three. Two velociraptors and a pachycephalosaurus. Ceph will be lonely. His friends are already in here."
Reluctantly, Eliza dove back into the hunt. They searched under tables and chairs and behind bookshelves and appliances.
"Finding anything, Gillie?"
Gillie sang, "Dust bunnies, dead spiders, and debris. Those are the things that start with D."
Eliza winced at the reflection on her housekeeping. "Have you found any dinosaurs?"
Rustling, crackling noises came from the bathroom. Eliza opened the bathroom door just in time to see her husband's rotten dog peeling back one side of the rattan hamper. Dirty clothes spilled out onto the floor. Three small dinosaurs tumbled out among them.
The velociraptors ran in one direction and the pachycephalosaurus ran in the other. Patton slipped through Eliza's grasp yet again as he darted after the velociraptors.
Eliza turned to the pinkish-orange Ceph, who just happened to match her bathroom tiles. He stomped his feet and bellowed in a manner that might have been menacing had he been more than two inches tall.
Ceph put his head down and charged. Eliza flinched and pressed herself against the bathroom wall. As Ceph disappeared around the corner, she rolled her eyes at her own ridiculous behavior. She raced after the fleeing toy and caught up with him as he squeezed under the door to the linen closet. She opened the door, grabbed a clean pillowcase, and scooped up the squalling pachycephalosaurus in one smooth motion.
She slumped against the wall to catch her breath.
"Mom, Patton is bothering my dinosaurs!"
Eliza rushed into the living room with the pillowcase. Patton's hindquarters poked out from under the recliner. His tail slapped the floor in excitement.
"Gillie, take this. Ceph is inside." She handed the pillowcase to Gillie, who maneuvered Ceph into the shoe box.
Eliza hunkered down and peered into the inner workings of the chair. Patton strained to reach the dinosaurs, whiskers twitching. The two velociraptors perched on hinges and made it impossible for her to open the leg rest without hurting them. She reached for them and the tiny animals hopped to another hinge and hissed at her. She repositioned herself and reached in with both hands. With one hand, she herded them into the other. Their mouths tickled her palms as they tried to bite their way out.
Eliza and Patton wriggled out from under the recliner at the same time. Patton darted around the chair to retrieve the dinosaurs, but she kept them tightly covered between her hands. She placed them in the shoe box with the other dinosaurs and heaved a sigh of relief.
Eliza made sandwiches for dinner since the soup had been a swimming pool for dinosaurs. Gillie poured milk in two cups and on the kitchen counter. Patton licked up the milk that spilled onto the floor. Eliza and Gillie sat at the kitchen table and ate their dinner in silence, except for the
occasional rustle from the shoe box.
They moved to the den to watch television. Eliza sat on the sofa. An exhausted Patton settled at her feet and soon snored. Gillie positioned the shoe box on the coffee table so that the dinosaurs could see the television screen. Soft hoots and honks rose from the box.
"What're we watching tonight, Mom?"
" Life Cycle of the..." Eliza trailed off. Gillie did not need any more ideas for science projects. "I mean, Marvelous Automaton Simian Squad: Intense Flight."
"Yippee! Simian Squad! You never let me watch Simian Squad!"
Gillie fell asleep before the show was half over. Eliza carried her to her bedroom and returned to the den. She peered into the shoe box. All the dinosaurs lay on their sides. She touched one. It was cool, like any other plastic animal.
Eliza placed the lid on the shoe box, just to be safe.
She went into the kitchen and got her recipe. Written at the top of the page in her grandmother's elegant handwriting was "Chicken Soup. Cures everything. Promotes vim, vigor, and all-around pep."
* * *
Chirus Fever
Written by Lisa L. Satterlund
Illustrated by Dean Spencer
"It's too late—the ship is gone." Hal's thin voice seeped through the speakers in Frank's helmet.
"What? Gone?" Frank jumped down from the mounting ladder and yanked his helmet off. The noise of the jet engines rushed in on him, bouncing off the closed hangar doors at his back. "How can it be gone? The Feds told the pilot he was not to lift without the serum."
"Look for yourself, " Hal shouted. He shoved the message screen at Frank. A gust of wind almost flipped it from his hand before Frank could grab it.
The Mens Sano lifted without clearance at 4:32 local time. Two agents, three ground crew hospitalized, one agent and one ground crew dead. Status of agent on board unknown.
Frank read the message through twice before scrambling up the mounting ladder to turn off the shooter's engines. The sudden cessation of their throbbing made his ears ring.
"That's it? That's all we know?" he said, dropping back down.
Hal was already on his way to the Tech Center, his short legs pumping. Hal was a techie and uncomfortable around the suborbital shooters. On a different planet, he'd've been able to spend his life secluded in a small apartment, doing all his work via the stream, using the nano-built radio in his head. Here on Orial that just wasn't possible. Frank chased after him. His height and long legs let him catch up before the door into the Tech Center swung shut.
"McCourtney streamed he'd be sending an update in five," Hal said. He wove his way through the maze of mostly empty cubits. This early on a Sunday morning only those working the current emergency were around.
"McCourtney? I thought Liz was in charge." Frank leaned against the door frame of the cubit as the techie dropped into the lone chair. The cubits were very stark at the Center for the Eradication and Control of Infectious Disease. Since so much confidential information flowed through the facility, the walls were high and thick with soundproofing, making the cubits feel like coffins standing on end. The message screen filled the upper half of the right-side wall. Most of the other employees set the screen to show nature scenes when it wasn't in use, but not Hal. His screen displayed a dull gray pattern that almost matched the fabric-covered walls.
Frank grabbed a chair from the nearest cubit and dragged it in, shoving Hal into the corner in the process. Hal rolled his eyes and reached out to slide the door shut. Frank straddled the chair and propped his elbows on the back. He used both hands to push his over-long, dusty-brown hair up off his forehead.
"Why's McCourtney sending the update?" Frank asked.
"Because Liz is on the Mens Sano."
Frank's mouth hung open a moment. Liz was the agent on board? Something must've really gotten bolluxed up. Liz hated going aboard the orbitals—she got space sick in zero g. Hal's message screen flickered and McCourtney's image appeared. Like everything in Hal's life, the colors of his screen were grayed.
"Morning Frank, Hal." McCourtney had a stiff posture and icy blue eyes. His voice was musical and his manner affable. Given the contrast, Frank wondered sometimes about his health. "You know the background. There was an outbreak of what appears to be Chirus fever on board the orbital Mens Sano for which the captain requested CECID aid. Agent Harrison boarded to confirm."
"And before I can even finish my walk-around and take off with the serum, the pilot lifts without clearance." Frank had never had any patience for recaps.
"That's right. We don't yet know why."
"Great. What do we do next? Let 'em go and spread this to the next planet? Let 'em go and hope everyone aboard dies?"
"The Feds have officially requested our assistance. We can have a ship—"
"Wait a minute," Hal said. "Chasing these guys down isn't our job. Let the Port do it."
"—you're licensed for orbitals, aren't you Frank?"
"Licensed, bonded and up-to-date. Hal's got a point, though. Why should we chase these guys down? We're not cops."
"If it weren't Chirus fever, I'd say let the Port do it in a heartbeat," McCourtney said. He canted toward the screen. "Even though they are holding one of our agents hostage. As it is, I want the CECID in control. If you're flying the ship, Frank, they go where you say. More importantly, they don't go where you don't. I'm sending a full lab kit with you. If Liz has the sense we all know she does, she's already doing damage control."
* * *
This isn't good. Liz Harrison swallowed hard against the inevitable effect of zero g. Not that it did any good. There was nothing left for her system to eject, but that never seemed to matter to her inner ear.
Things had gone well at first. She and the other agents arrived at the hardstand accompanied by the Federal Port Agent. They identified themselves and were admitted without incident. Given the cramped size of the ship, they'd left most of the Feds and medical crew outside. They climbed to the tiny control cabin in the nose of the rocket for the briefing. Thornberg, the Fed agent, started with the standard not-quite-quarantine spiel. Liz noticed an exchange of glances between the pilot and one of the crew, but hadn't thought anything of it. Then she introduced herself and explained what the CECID did, and the bovine waste went flying. It appeared that the owners and most of the crew of the Mens Sano were Attestors. The captain was not.
Attestors did not believe in medical intervention. They would never call for the CECID, nor would they accept the help if offered. Maybe if the Fed hadn't been along the pilot wouldn't have panicked. The Fed was tall, wide, heavy, and black. The crew were like faded photocopies of him: whiter, shorter, and lighter. They shared the same colored hair and light eyes to match. They were, however, taller and heavier than Liz herself. That wasn't saying much. Most fourteen year-old pubescent girls were taller than Liz. Quite a few had more voluptuous figures.
None of this hindsight helped the current situation. The pilot had panicked and now they were approaching orbit. Once there, the Mens Sano would match velocity and dock with the Corporo Sano. Liz could not allow that. Not when Chirus fever might be on board.
She swallowed again and forced herself to loosen her white-knuckled grip on the grab bar. There were seven people in the crowded control cabin—Liz, the Fed, the captain, three crew members and the pilot. The three crew members were watching the Fed and the captain as if they expected them to explode in a flurry of action-vid unarmed combat, despite the way the Fed clung to a grab bar and moaned. No one was watching Liz.
Liz let go of the grab bar and flexed her foot against the deck. That impelled her in the general direction of the pilot. She drifted into reach of another grab bar and used it to adjust her trajectory. Not wanting to bump him, she aimed herself for the secondary command chair. A bright smile stretching her lips, she tugged the harness into place and snapped herself in.
"Do you know the fatality rate of untreated Chirus fever?" she asked.
"No." The pilot's p
ale eyes flickered from the control desk readouts to her face, then returned to the readouts. His starched and pressed jumpsuit was bare of insignia.
"Sixty to seventy percent."
"Too bad." The pilot's tone was neutral, as if that staggering number had nothing to do with him.
"How long were you downside?"
"Six days. Maybe seven. Orial's clock doesn't sync with the Corporo Sano so I'm not real sure."
"The incubation period for Chirus is seventy-two hours. Do you know what that means?"
"Doesn't mean anything to me. Look, lady. We won't hurt you—as soon as we dock with the Corporo Sano we'll stuff you and the others into a pod and jettison you. You'll be fine. I'm sure your friends," he jerked his head in the direction of the Fed, "have already scrambled an orbital after us. They'll pick you up. We do understand about epidemics, you know. We won't go off infecting the rest of the galaxy."
