Star Cruise - Outbreak

by Veronica Scott

  “Sorry to meet again so soon under these circumstances,” he said. “Jake sent me—”

  “Yes, the ship told me you were coming.” She let the portal close behind her and set off at a rapid pace toward the nearest gravlift. The corridor was deserted at this time of “night.”

  “Someone died?”

  Glancing around to make sure there wasn’t anyone close, Red nodded. “Passenger Edvar Groskin, in his cabin.” He allowed her to precede him into the gravlift. “Groskin hadn’t been seen for a day or two, missed an appointment for dinner with some prospective clients who reported not being able to reach him. Had the do-not-disturb signal on, but the chief stewardess was concerned, so she asked Maeve to check.” Red leaned closer. “Passenger privacy is of utmost concern on the CLC Line, but there’s a point where we have to intrude.”

  “You must be positive he’s deceased, not to have called the ship’s emergency response team.”

  “Yeah, we’re sure.” He flicked a glance at her. “Not a pretty sight.”

  “No doubt I’ve seen worse.” Emily clenched one fist where he couldn’t see, nails biting into her palm in hopes the tiny spurt of pain would forestall a flashback to some of the horrific scenes she had endured. Now wasn’t the time for an incident, and echoes of the earlier nightmare lingered. “Suicide?”

  “Doubtful.” Red didn’t appear to notice her preoccupation. “Groskin was a hanger-on with the wealthy crowd. He used to be a minor celebrity, some kind of athlete. Always had a dozen schemes and scams going on. Upbeat guy, from what I’ve been told. He was going to the big surfing competition on Sector Hub.”

  “I treated a surfer today. Got washed off his board and cratered on the bottom of the beach deck sand,” she said. “Poor guy had a broken arm, scrapes and bruises.”

  “Yeah, we’re running our own competition on the starboard side of the beach, trying to tie into the big event.” Red shook his head. “I had beach duty yesterday. Made me nervous watching passengers try to act like extreme athletes. Of course, Maeve doesn’t generate the big waves.”

  They’d reached the late passenger’s cabin, where the portal was half open.

  Jake was waiting in the foyer. “Sorry to wake you, Doc. Guy’s on the floor in the bedroom. We’re not sure what he had.”

  Emily stepped into the room. The bed was in disarray, and the passenger had obviously been quite ill in his last hours. Clothed in synthsilk pajamas, the body was already in the first stage of rigor mortis. Activating the sterile barrier on her hands, she ran her scanner over the man, noting the readings, especially in the heart and lungs. Sitting on her heels, she said, “Heart attack, probably brought on by pneumonia, is my initial diagnosis.” She looked at Jake. “Without an autopsy, we won’t know for sure, and I should warn you I’m not a pathologist.”

  “We’re not set up to do autopsies anyway,” Jake said. “The unpleasant job’ll be for the authorities at the next port of call. I need you to sign the provisional death certificate and state there was no crime involved as far as we know at this time. Different regulations kick in if there’s any evidence of foul play.”

  Emily raised her eyebrows and checked the body again. “Nothing to indicate any kind of crime.” She leaned closer. “Odd.” Pointing at the corpse’s upper chest, revealed by the gaping shirt, she said, “See those purple splotches?”

  “Like spider bites.” Jake shifted position to get a better view. “Something to worry about?”

  “I don’t think so, just unusual. It’s not unheard of for a rash to accompany high fever.” Emily eyed the tiny purplish dots and made a note in the file detailing the way the discoloration covered the man’s chest and neck. “Definitely not bites, no puncture wounds.” She added a sentence or two about the fact the deceased had apparently suffered a copious nosebleed toward the end as well. “Maeve, can you preserve a few photos of this rash for me?”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  “Could this be something contagious?” Red asked.

  “Depends what form of pneumonia he had, but not normally, no. A healthy person can usually fight off the pneumonia-causing microbes. Maybe he had an underlying condition. Hard to say, never having treated him.” She considered her next course of action. “I can take a few samples, run an analysis. Is anyone else on board sick?”

  Jake shook his head. “You’d know better than we would. We don’t have access to the clinic records. Passenger privacy laws.”

  As she unpacked the probes to collect samples, Emily said, “As it happens, I was browsing the recent cases after dinner. Nothing interesting there. A lot of minor bumps and scrapes. Couple of work-related injuries for me to follow up on. Certainly no one else presenting with pneumonia. Symptoms—fever, chills, difficulty breathing—usually present in one to three days after incubation in the lungs, but can take as long as ten days to manifest. Anyone else gone missing in a manner Maeve finds suspicious?”

  “No, Doctor.” The ship’s response was crisp and immediate. “May I remind you the unknown pet brought aboard by passenger Hereditary Princess Falyn was sneezing, as was Her Highness,” Maeve said, tone suggestive.

  “Falyn came aboard today, right?” Emily asked, glancing at Jake.

  “Correct, Doctor.”

  “I believe your passenger here has been dead a day or more, from the condition of the body, so he couldn’t possibly have spent any time with either of them. I’ll follow up on the girl and her pet tomorrow. Which is today actually, I guess. I’m sure the princess is fine, and the animal certainly appeared healthy, despite the massive sneezing. For all we know, it communicates in bursts of sneezing.” She looked more closely at her companions. “If you’re ex-Special Forces, haven’t you had all the injects known to humans? I know I have. The military sure doesn’t stint on those. When in doubt, jab, we were taught in basic med training.”

  “Meg is civilian,” Red explained, voice tense. “She’s with passengers all day long—I wouldn’t want her to get sick.”

  “Surely she’s had the basic interstellar travel shots. You might want to consider offering enhanced vaccinations to crew members in the future, though,” Emily said to Jake. “I can include a recommendation in my final cruise report when I leave the ship.”

  “Sure, but the Line bean counters would have to evaluate the cost,” he said. “We’re an independent, but we still have to make a profit. The military feeds off the Sectors’ government’s deep trough so they can afford all the bells and whistles when it comes to medicine.”

  “Could I get an enhanced inject for Meg? We’d pay.” Chewing his lip, Red was obviously far from done mulling over the potential for alien diseases to strike the unvaccinated.

  “Let me see what I have available in the pharmacy before I make any promises. What happens to the body now?” she asked.

  “ICC regulations require us to keep a few cryo cooler pods empty all the time, in case of situations like these.” Jake’s demeanor was matter-of-fact, unconcerned. “Now you’re done, I’ll have the cryo crew come and collect him. Once we make port, the late Mr. Groskin’ll be a problem for the authorities.”

  “If only he’d called Maeve for help. He might have been delirious from the fever, of course.” Emily packed her equipment and rose. “I’m done. I can find the way to my cabin, thanks.”

  “See you later in the morning then, Doc.” Jake lifted a hand as she left.

  She reached her own cabin a short time later, after dropping the samples off in the clinic’s woefully small lab and startling Bevar, the PA on duty, who’d been engrossed in a trideo about an interstellar crime spree. Emily figured surprising him probably wasn’t a bad thing. She liked to keep people on their toes.

  Although she undressed and climbed back into bed as soon as she reached her own cabin, sleep was elusive. Lying in the dark, she kept thinking about the dead passenger. The nosebleed she could attribute to effects of blowing his nose too much as a result of the overall congestion, although it was odd. The purple bruises
bothered her more. Despite what she’d said so confidently to Jake, the conditions that commonly caused such contusions weren’t consistent with how Mr. Groskin had died, or his other symptoms.

  Exasperated with the way her mind wouldn’t let go of this case, she sat up and raised the light level. Grabbing her personal AI, she made a note to find out who the man had associated with among the passengers and see if anyone else had odd symptoms. She added a list of tests she wanted to run on his blood. “I should probably look at the body again too, take my time, check the lymph nodes.”

  “Do you want me to contact the Cryo Officer for you, Doctor?”

  Maeve’s crisp voice startled Emily, and her adrenaline spiked. “I did not give you permission to listen to conversations in my cabin, not even ones where I’m thinking out loud. Access explicitly denied, Ship.”

  “Very well, Doctor.” Maeve emitted a clicking sound, as if to signal she was signing off.

  “Seven hells.” Emily turned the lights off and lay back against the pillows. “This is going to be a long damn cruise.”

  After the new employee briefing the next morning, Emily had to admire the thoroughness of the dogged Third Officer in charge. Now she could operate the lifeboats and knew all the ship’s safety features and a lot of other useful details that would go a long way in an emergency should one arise. Figuring the odds of such a crisis were pretty slim, Emily paid attention nonetheless. The horrific Nebula Dream incident was still too fresh in the general memory. Nebula Zephyr was a sister ship, but at twice the size, it had a number of new enhancements the designers hoped would minimize the consequences of any disaster of a similar nature.

  After the briefing, she headed to the clinic, feeling an uncharacteristic eagerness. She wondered what kind of unusual passenger complaints she’d be called upon to deal with today. PA Bevar had handed off to chief nurse Vicente at shift change, and he’d done the night records the way Emily wanted to see them. The nurse was busy running a crew sick call, but nothing seemed urgent, so Emily continued on her way to the captain’s cabin for her meeting with him. She’d wanted to research his public record a bit, prepare herself, but the effort would have meant going through Maeve to access the files, and she didn’t trust the AI not to tell the captain his new ship’s physician had been checking on him. While the ship was in hyperspace, all communications had to go through the ship as well, so Emily couldn’t even check with any of her old military buddies to see if someone knew Fleming. Besides, she was going to be on this vessel for only a few weeks, not enlisting for a long deployment. Still, she hated going into any situation without some intel. She knocked on the captain’s door.

  Entering his cabin a moment later, she found him seated at a desk, thumbing through files on his AI, rapidly dispositioning each one with no wasted motions. He glanced at her as he said, “We’ll do the rest later, Maeve.”

  “Yes, Captain.” The AI’s voice was crisp as always.

  Belatedly, Emily wondered if she was expected to salute. But Captain Fleming was already coming toward her with his hand outstretched. “Appreciate you stepping in to help us out, Dr. Shane. Please have a seat.”

  “I’m not exactly sure how I got talked into joining the ship, Captain.” She shook his hand and sat in the chair he’d indicated, realizing candor was the only appropriate tack to take. “Officer Dilon must have hidden powers of persuasion.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, the cruise line is searching for a permanent replacement while we’re underway. We might even have someone identified by the time we dock at Sector Hub. Then you could relax and cruise home to Harilon with us. Or take a vacation on Hub.” He leaned back in his chair. “Coffee?”

  Guessing that with his contacts he probably had the real stuff, she nodded. “I’d love some. I’ve missed it since leaving the military. Costs too much in civilian life.”

  Raising his mug, he said, “Help yourself.”

  Following the direction of his gaze, she saw the coffeepot and paraphernalia with the ship’s insignia on a table off to the side. Figuring the activity might help disguise her attack of nerves and knowing she could stir creamer into the drink rather than openly fidget, she was relieved to fix a cup. Sometimes she got so tired of managing her own anxiety, always thinking of strategies to disguise or soothe the symptoms. Military service on the frontlines sure had done a number on her. She could barely remember her younger, more carefree self any more, although the energetic volleyball games at the party had brought back some good memories.

  “How are you finding the ship so far? Sickbay set up to your specifications?”

  Fleming’s questions recalled her to the present. Striving for tact, she said, “I think the civilian standard is a bit different than what I required in the military, but yes, the staff appears well trained. The ship is certainly well stocked and equipped for most medical situations I can imagine arising.” Stirring the steaming coffee, she made her way to the chair.

  “Good. Anything I need to know on the personal level?” the captain asked. “I read your public record. Impressive. Brave, resourceful, skilled.” Eyes level, face expressionless, Fleming studied her as if she were a cadet reporting to her first assignment on his ship. “Heard rumors you’re having a bit of trouble with lingering effects from your experiences.”

  Gripping the mug so hard she was afraid it might shatter in her hand, Emily took a deep breath and sipped at the aromatic liquid. Who has he been talking to and what did they say? “I cleared the psychiatric evals, sir. I’m fine.”

  “PTSD happens to the best of us,” Fleming said. His tone was mild, but his eyes were narrowed, studying her. “Takes all different forms. Nothing to be ashamed of. As long as you can carry out the duties required of you on my ship for the next two months or so, we’re square.”

  Setting the spoon on the edge of the desk, she said, “I have the odd nightmare every now and then—who doesn’t? I’ll be fine watching over the health of your passengers and crew.”

  He nodded, although she didn’t believe he’d actually relaxed. “Jake’s your liaison, although obviously you can come straight to me with anything you deem significant enough to require my attention. Speaking of which, any concerns about the man who died last night?”

  “Groskin?” She shook her head. “Simple case of pneumonia overtaxing the heart, as far as I can see without an autopsy. He may not have been in the best of health to begin with. Somewhat overweight. I noted in the records I reviewed that he’d been at the clinic the week before I got here, with a mild gastrointestinal issue. Dr. Meers saw him and found nothing to cause unusual concern during the office visit.” She decided not to mention her plans to do a bit of discreet follow-up on Groskin’s contacts.

  “All right, then.” Fleming set his empty mug on the desk with a clink. “Thank you for agreeing to ship out with us. I hope you’ll have a peaceful voyage.”

  Taking his dismissal for what it was, Emily finished her coffee in one gulp, rose to place the mug and spoon in the cleaning unit on the side table and left the cabin. Fleming was already busy with Maeve and the reports again as the panel slid shut. She could certainly see why the Line hired a First Officer with deep qualifications in cruise operations—Fleming hadn’t lost an ounce of his frosty military demeanor, even if he was retired. She liked dealing with someone so straightforward and matter-of-fact, but the passengers probably wouldn’t. Unless there was an emergency. Fleming looked like the last starship captain in the Sectors who’d abandon anyone in space.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jake was leaning against the corridor bulkhead and now fell into step with her. “Things go all right with the captain?”

  Annoyed, she stopped in the middle of the hall. “I don’t need a babysitter. As I told Fleming just now, I cleared my psych exams. I know my way around big ships, Officer Dilon.”

  Jake held up his hands. “Hey, I never said I was babysitting. Captain Fleming can be a hard-ass at times. And I’m assigned to be your liaison so it�
��s my job to keep everyone happy. Didn’t he mention that?”

  “Yeah, he brought it up.”

  Grinning, he said, “So here I am, liaising.”

  “Is that even a word?” Laughing, she shook her finger at him and kept her voice light. “Back off until I have something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jake touched his forehead in a mock salute. “You sure left the party in a hurry last night. My friends wondered where you’d gone. I didn’t have a chance to ask you about it while we were in Groskin’s cabin. Was everything okay?”

  Tapping her thigh, she said, “Pulled hamstring, needed ice.” Before he could answer, she continued to the gravlift, relieved he wasn’t following.

  Grumbling, she allowed Maeve to dock her wages an inordinate amount for a CLC dress uniform, which her employment contract stated wasn’t provided at company expense but was required for certain functions. “Fine print indeed,” she muttered as she thumbprinted the screen. “Management gets the working stiff coming and going, right, Maeve?”

  “The CLC Line must make a profit in order to continue flying, Doctor.”

  “If the company is relying on screwing me out of the cost of a dress uniform to stay in the black, CLC’s in bad shape.” Chuckling at the thought, Emily felt her spirits lift a bit.

  Maeve having no comment, Emily reluctantly left her cabin and headed to the Level A dining room to do her duty at the captain’s table. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than spending a few awkward hours hobnobbing with civilians and making small talk. At least at the crew party the night before, she’d been able to play volleyball and avoid talking about anything but points scored or lost.

  The maître d’ personally conducted her to the table in the center of the room. “You’re the ranking crew member present, Doctor,” he said as he seated her at the head, much to her dismay.

  Right on her heels, Meg arrived, shepherding what must be the contest-winning family.