Star Cruise - Outbreak

by Veronica Scott

  An inject popped up on the AI table as he walked into the cabin.

  “Headclear, as ordered,” Maeve said.

  Jake laid Emily on the bed and removed her boots before retrieving the medication and administering the inject, rubbing her bicep for a moment after he’d given her the medication. Going to the bathroom to dispose of the empty container, he heard her stirring as the drug powered through her system.

  “Hey,” he said, returning to sit on the edge of the bed. “How are you doing now?”

  She laid one hand over her eyes. “I’ll need a second dose of headclear.” Maeve dimmed the light in the room a fraction. “How drunk was I?”

  “Not too bad.” Jake surveyed her flushed face. “You do this often, Doc?”

  A small headshake. “Not anymore.”

  “Doesn’t help, does it?” he asked. “I bet you faked your way through the outbriefings when you left the service, fooled the psych techs, didn’t you? You’re a doctor, you’d know what the head docs were probing for.”

  “The review board didn’t understand,” she said, voice intense. “None of them were there. They didn’t see what I saw. The things the clinicians suggested to me wouldn’t help me forget. Wouldn’t bring back the ones I couldn’t save. Talking to some lard-ass rear echelon psych tech who never experienced combat in his life—how could that help?”

  “People die in war,” he said. “You couldn’t save them all. I know more than a few guys who’re damn grateful you were there on the planet with them.”

  “Can we not talk about this right now?” Her voice was thick with unshed tears. “I heard enough at dinner. The damn movie star wanted to give Fantalar more human interest.” Her voice dripped disgust. “What the seven hells does he think we were in the middle of there? A party?”

  Jake looked at her for a moment before he rose to get a glass of water. “Drink this, it’ll help the headclear.” As she took the water, he said, “We won’t talk about it tonight, but trying to hold the emotions and memories inside doesn’t work. I know, I fought the same battle after I left the Teams.” She stared at him through red-rimmed eyes as he spoke, her emotional pain scraping across his own nerves like a knife. He wished she’d accept something as simple and comforting as a hug from him but hesitated to offer. “Be aware there are a lot of us here on the Zephyr who’ve been where you are. If you decide to reach out, we’ve got your six. Happy to help a fellow vet.”

  Drawing circles in the bedcovers with her finger, she shook her head. “You don’t understand—it was my job to save their lives, and I fucking couldn’t. Angel of Fantalar. What a joke. Yeah, I was the Angel of Death maybe.”

  Now he did reach out, gently lifting her chin so her gaze would meet his. “More would have died if you weren’t there, or if you hadn’t done your job.”

  “What do you know about it?” Her voice was like cut glass.

  “You saved me, for one, and I’m damn grateful. I always wanted a chance to say thanks.” Jake bit his tongue, knowing this was a potentially disastrous thing to say right now, but she was so deep in her misery and so wrong about what she believed of herself. He wanted to make this right for her so badly he could taste it.

  She flinched, and he released her. Scooting against the headboard, Emily said, “It was my job, soldier. If I saved you, then I did my job and we’re even. I don’t discuss what happened there with anyone. I don’t owe you my memories.”

  “No, you don’t.” He rose from the side of the bed. “Are you okay now? Sleepy?”

  She punched the pillows, avoiding his gaze again. “Does the captain know I went on a bender in public?”

  Jake paused as Maeve added her voice to the conversation. “Captain Fleming designated Officer Dilon as your liaison. I summoned only him. The situation certainly didn’t rise to the level where the captain needed to be disturbed. I allowed no passengers into the observatory once you emptied the first bottle, Dr. Shane.”

  “Thank the Lords of Space for small favors,” Emily muttered, rubbing her forehead. “No one wants to be treated by a drunk doctor.”

  “You’re not drunk, not now that the headclear’s taken effect. I’ll get going.” From her demeanor, there was no point in talking any longer right now. Hell, he wouldn’t have listened to anything anyone said to him right after one of his own benders, before he got his head right. Why should she? Better to retreat and try again later. And he just might have something concrete to offer her. “We both need our rest. Long day ahead on duty.” After yanking the bedcover free and draping it loosely over her as she slid down onto the mattress, still fully clothed, he headed for the door. He paused at the portal, glancing at her. “Promise me one thing.”

  Emily raised her head with visible effort, staring at him with glazed eyes. “I owe you for getting me out of there without a scene—what is it?”

  “Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night.”

  Mouth twisted in disdain, she laughed. “So you can lecture me again about not holding my secrets inside?”

  “No, I gave you my word not to do that. I don’t want you to be alone for too many evenings. Downtime is the hardest. Nothing to keep your mind occupied and your hands busy. Hell, I’d ask you to dinner tonight, but I have a commitment I can’t get out of, a passenger thing.”

  “You can’t take me to dinner every night to keep me from having flashbacks,” she said, covering a yawn with one hand. “And I’m not talking about Fantalar, no matter how many meals you buy me or how many times you get me out of a tough spot.”

  “I got the message loud and clear. Fantalar is off the table, no problem. I might have something more effective to suggest than drinking yourself blind. Is a picnic on the beach tomorrow okay?”

  Persistent. Emily hesitated, dark memories trying to push their way to the surface again. But she did owe him. Maybe she could take a tranq before dinner and he wouldn’t know. “Sure. I’d prefer a casual meal to the officers’ wardroom or a fancy restaurant.” She rolled over, facing the bulkhead. Her voice was muffled. “I need to get some shut-eye before I have to go on duty.”

  Taking the hint, Jake left the cabin.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Headclear was a marvel for reversing the inebriating effects of the feelgood, cleaned the alcohol right out of the human body, but Emily felt as if she’d run a marathon. Luckily, the officious AI hadn’t seen fit to call the captain. Fleming didn’t seem the type to tolerate one of his officers going on a bender on the ship. Not even a temporary officer like her. She walked into the clinic and did a double take at how many people were waiting. Day three of her cruise was certainly starting off differently than the preceding two days in terms of patient load. Her chief nurse, Vicente, came to meet her.

  “What’s going on. Why are all these passengers here?” she asked in a low voice as he accompanied her to the office through the throng.

  “Started around two a.m. standard ship time,” he said. “Physician’s Assistant Bevar reported getting calls and a few walk-ins, even at that hour.”

  She tapped the proper tab on the desk’s AI console to signify she was on duty. “And the symptoms?”

  “You won’t like it—gastrointestinal. Diarrhea, vomiting, fever, cramps.”

  Emily stared at him for a moment before sinking into her chair, hand to her forehead. “Tell me we’re not dealing with a norovirus. Remind me how many passengers are aboard?”

  “About three thousand, which is a light load. We’re still in shakedown mode. And a thousand crew members.”

  “And we’ve got how many sick?”

  “So far, maybe fifty passengers in total between the early morning arrivals and now. No crew. Bevar took samples where he could. Waiting for Maeve to do the analysis.” The nurse anticipated her next question.

  “We may not have seen the bug before.” Emily wasn’t too hopeful about lab results. “The Sectors is a big place and viruses mutate all the time. What did Bevar prescribe?”

  “Bed rest, fluids, Galam
ialate for relief of the gastrointestinal symptoms.” Vicente grinned. “The passengers think we’re the next thing to miracle workers once the med kicks in and their nausea and associated unpleasant symptoms disappear.”

  Emily nodded. “Good, a thorough protocol. How much do we stock?

  “I keep a large quantity on hand,” Maeve said. “And I can synthesize more if needed. There are calls queuing, Doctor.”

  “Why wasn’t I alerted when the first rush came in?” Upset, she questioned Vicente more harshly than she’d intended.

  He spread his hands and shrugged. “I wasn’t on duty then.”

  “I made the decision not to disturb you,” Maeve said, voice hard. “You needed your rest.”

  Emily waited for her to add to that remark, but the AI was apparently done. Emily’s secrets were hers to keep. “Thank you, Maeve.”

  Although he gave her a curious glance, Vicente didn’t ask any questions. “The incoming calls are probably more infected passengers wanting us to visit their cabins. Orders, Doctor?”

  “I need to speak with the captain right away. You and the staff go ahead and evaluate the patients we have, and I’ll be out to help as soon as I can. Maeve, please tell anyone calling us with these symptoms to remain in their cabin, and we’ll have someone visit at the earliest possible moment. Tell them they must remain in their cabin. Deactivate their door key code as extra incentive not to leave. Screen the calls for anything else, or unusual symptoms, and alert me to those.”

  “Yes, Doctor.” No matter what the crisis, the AI was perennially composed.

  Vicente gave her a mock salute and left the office. Emily shook her head. Of all the things to be facing the morning after going on a bender. The Lords of Space must hate her. At least no one normally died of norovirus. She wanted no more deaths on her conscience. The next few days would be insanely busy, though, as fast as a gut bug could spread. “Can you get me Captain Fleming and patch Jake in on the call?”

  Maeve responded at once. “One moment.”

  “Fleming.” The captain’s voice was rock hard and calm, his demeanor reserved.

  Emily could see from the vid display that Jake was on as well. She avoided meeting his eyes, self-conscious about last night and at a loss for what to say without being too revealing. She focused on Fleming. “Bad news, I’m afraid. We may be in the first throes of a norovirus hitting the passengers.”

  Fleming didn’t blink. “How many affected?”

  “Thirty diagnosed positively since two a.m., seventy-five more probables, plus two crew,” Maeve reported before Emily could say anything. “The most updated figures available.”

  Making a mental note to talk to the AI later about medical protocol when it came to informing the doctor in charge of updates before anyone else received a briefing, she said, “We’re prescribing Galamialate, which the ship tells me we have in good quantities. It can be given as a prophylactic as well.”

  “How do you recommend we proceed, Doctor?”

  “You need to do an all-ship broadcast message, sir. Tell people to stay in their cabins and call us if they experience symptoms. I’ve told Maeve to deactivate the room key codes to ensure compliance. They can get out, but they won’t be able to get back in.”

  Fleming frowned. “Seems a bit precipitate for you to issue that order without consulting me.”

  “Maybe I overstepped a little, but we have a chance to cut the virus’s chain of transmission.” She wasn’t going to back down. “Someone on my staff or I will visit any sick passengers as rapidly as possible for a diagnosis. I can issue a bulletin later, emphasizing proper hand sanitation.”

  “I can deliver Galamialate to all cabins,” Maeve offered.

  “No.” Emily spoke more harshly than she’d intended and saw the captain’s eyebrows rise. “We need to see the patients, make sure each individual is actually presenting with the virus and not something with symptoms mimicking a norovirus. You can track the progress of the outbreak, however, Maeve. I’ll prescribe Galamialate to family members, or persons traveling with someone who’s fallen ill and been properly diagnosed. This type of virus is usually highly contagious, so we need to get ahead of the wave now. You have to pull crew and staff from other duties and disinfect all surfaces people touch—handrails, the gaming devices in the casino, chairs and tables in public areas—”

  “I’m aware of the drill, Doctor,” Fleming said. “This isn’t the first time I’ve encountered a nasty stomach bug on a big ship. Maeve, alert the First Officer there’ll be a change in the daily work assignments.”

  “I need to speak to the chef in charge of the food preparation.” Emily was reviewing protocols in her head.

  “You think this is food poisoning?” Jake’s eyebrows were raised, and his expression indicated astonishment. “Chef Stephanie will go nova at the mere suggestion. She sets a high standard.”

  Emily hesitated a moment as a flicker of some emotion passed over Captain Fleming’s chiseled face. His jaw tightened, and she said, “Problem, sir?”

  “Handle the chef with utmost diplomacy, Doctor. The Line lured her away from one of our competitors at great expense, and she brought a following with her, many high-end passengers who enjoy her cuisine. She’s essential to my ship’s reputation.” Fleming spoke unemotionally, as if the chef was a piece of flight hardware.

  “I’ll be professional, sir,” Emily said, tamping down her anger at the inference she couldn’t be tactful. “But it’s my job to review the food handling now that we have a problem that may be food-related.” She gave Jake a look. “Not food poisoning, by the way—entirely different problem.”

  “Jake, go with her. You and Chef Stephanie get along well. Keep me apprised of developments. I’ll make the broadcast you suggested, Doctor.” The captain was gone, closing the link on his end.

  “I do not need you watching over me to carry out my professional duties,” Emily said to Jake, who remained in the loop, her voice louder than she’d intended.

  Eyebrows drawing together in a frown, he reacted to her tone. “I believe you, but we’ve both got our orders. When do you want me to meet you?”

  “I need to clear the patient backlog here in the clinic, establish a visitation schedule for those patients who are waiting in their cabins. Give me three hours.”

  “I’ll pick you up at the clinic, escort you to the kitchens.”

  The crew corridors of the ship were something of a maze, so Emily had to admit she was grateful for Jake’s company. “You make an excellent guide,” she said as she hugged the corridor wall next to him while allowing bustling crew members to pass. As she moved to the center of the hall and followed his lead, she decided to indulge her curiosity. “So why are you and the chef such good friends? Or shouldn’t I ask?”

  “You might not believe it, seeing a big ex-soldier like me, but I can actually cook pretty well. When she came on board, we discussed mutual interests a few times. I get her rare ingredients on occasion, through my contacts in odd spots in the Sectors.” A slight flush rose higher on Jake’s neck as he feigned deep interest in a room-service cart they were passing.

  Emily found herself wondering how far the discussion of mutual interests had gone and then—annoyed—directed her thoughts into other channels. None of my business. He was a hell of an attractive man, and he certainly fit all the requirements that usually drew her to someone, but she did not need entanglements on this ship. A fling wasn’t going to help. Was it? Pushing away her inner debate, she said, “I’ll need to talk to the person in charge of the servers as well.”

  “I’ve got Blake meeting us in the kitchen since he reports to the chef.” Jake stopped at a portal. “And here we are.”

  Chef Stephanie wasn’t at all what Emily had expected. The person in charge of food on the Nebula Zephyr was a tiny, slender woman with a cascade of unruly red curls tied back with a thick apple-green band and topped with the traditional chef’s hat. She wore an apron with “Boss” in purple glitter crystals acro
ss the bib. Her hands were typical cook’s hands, even in the modern era, with the scars from tiny cuts, the silver of an old burn mark and a thick callus at the base of her forefinger. Her grasp during the obligatory handshake was firm.

  She eyed Emily up and down, green eyes narrowed. “You wish to lay the blame for the sick passengers at my feet? You think my food causes this problem?”

  “Not at all. We’ll probably never know exactly what sickened them, and this doesn’t appear to be food poisoning. Much more likely to be something about how the meals are served. Maybe a buffet chafing dish not kept hot enough or food left out too long. Or someone not being diligent enough about handwashing.” The captain’s warning about treating Stephanie with kid gloves fresh in her mind, Emily attempted to be conciliatory. Unfortunately, her remarks appeared to inflame the man standing behind the chef.

  Short, rotund and impeccably dressed in a uniform with creases like knives, he was all bluster. “My staff is fully trained and certified, highly professional. None of my people would ever commit a lapse in safety standards.”

  “Dr. Shane, may I introduce Blake Radfor, the Zephyr’s maître d’?” Jake inserted himself into the conversation. “He’s got twenty years of service on some of the premier cruise lines under his belt.”

  “Your staff members are human, and humans have momentary lapses, make mistakes,” Emily said as she shook hands. Radfor snatched his hand away even before the polite gesture was concluded. Keeping her temper, Emily continued. “Maeve is reviewing the records for the robo servers and autopreparers right now, so we’re covering all the possibilities.”

  “Come into my office.” Stephanie cast a glance around the bustling kitchen. “We’re in the middle of lunch preparations, but I can be spared for a few moments.” She paused three times on the way to her office, however, to taste a sauce, to correct the way a sous chef was slicing vegetables and to adjust the flame on an old-fashioned range in the far corner where meat was searing. Emily bit her tongue and curbed her impatience.