Peacekeeper Pathogen (Galactic Alliance Book 6)

by Doug Farren

  “How far does sound travel down there?” Tom asked.

  “Quite a distance,” Mr. Adams said, extending his hand as Tom approached. “Jim Adams, head of Bluespring Cavern search and rescue.”

  “Tom Wilks,” Tom replied, shaking Jim’s hand. “Any idea how long it will take him to reach the surface?”

  “If Mr. Flothir is where he said he was going to be, about three hours.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Nope. Can I offer you something to drink or eat while we wait?”

  “A glass of water would be nice. It’s hot out here.”

  Jim stepped aside and pulled the door open. “We can wait in my office. With the relays in place, you’ll be able to talk to Mr. Flothir as soon as he meets up with my team.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  Tom followed Jim through the main visitor center and into one of the back rooms. A large display showing a map of the cavern system covered most of one of the walls. Several red dots slowly crawled along a section of the map identified by a light blue line. A bank of video monitors kept an eye on various sections of the cavern, one of them showing a group of people moving slowly through the underground river.

  “We monitor the normal tour routes,” Jim explained. “And we have real-time communication with the guides. But we like to keep as much of the cavern as possible in its natural state. Special permits as well as an experienced guide are required to go beyond what the rest of the public can see.”

  Jim reached into a small refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of water. Handing one to Tom, he said, “I thought you peacekeepers could take the heat.”

  “We can,” Tom replied, cracking open the bottle and taking a sip. “But there’s a certain psychological need to appear as normal as possible. Besides, I was thirsty—thanks.”

  Jim sat down at the desk below the monitors while Tom took up a position behind him. Keying the microphone, he said, “Alfeo, do you copy?”

  A moment later, a voice replied, “Copy.”

  “Peacekeeper Wilks is here. What’s your status?”

  “Still no visual but Riya’s air-horn is getting louder. Won’t be much longer now.”

  “Copy. Put Mr. Flothir on as soon as you make contact.”

  “Got it! Alfeo out.”

  Jim spun around in his chair and faced Tom. “We don’t get to do something like this very often,” he said. “Can you tell me why you need Mr. Flothir out of the cave in such a hurry?”

  “Medical emergency,” Tom replied. “Mr. Flothir is an Omel biomaster and his expertise is needed.”

  Ten minutes later, the radio clicked to life. “This is Biomaster Flothir, what’s going on?”

  Jim picked up the microphone and handed it to Tom. “This is Peacekeeper Tom Wilks. We have a medical emergency at the Kauffman Clinic in Denver that requires the attention of a biomaster. I’m to take you there as soon as possible.”

  “There are other biomasters nearby. Why me?” Tom could tell by the sound of Flothir’s voice that he was on the move.

  “Because you are the only one with the proper clearance.”

  “If it’s that bad, then you must know the ID number. What is it?”

  Although Tom didn’t know, his ship did. A quick query through his biolink gave him the answer. “T11-N106.”

  There was a delay of several seconds. Tom was about to repeat his last transmission when Flothir said, “We’re about to do some climbing. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” Tom said, then handed the microphone back to Jim.

  Three hours later, Tom met the biomaster at the entrance to the cavern. A small group of people had just exited and were moving into the visitor center. They quickly moved aside as Tom made his way to the cavern entrance. Flothir appeared a moment later, flanked by a member of the search and rescue team.

  “Thank you and thank the rest of your team for me,” Tom told the petite woman who had escorted Flothir out of the cavern. Turning his attention to the biomaster, he said, “My ship is in a field not far from here. Is there anything you need to get before we head there?”

  “My rental car is in the lot,” Flothir replied. “I have a small bag in the trunk I’d like to grab. We’re not going to leave it here, are we?”

  “I’ll make arrangements to have it returned,” Tom said. “Where are you staying?”

  “The Hampton.”

  Tom turned and began walking. “I can have them hold the room or I can arrange to have your belongings brought to you in Denver.”

  “If the classification you gave me is accurate, I doubt I’ll be returning here,” Flothir replied. “Go ahead- - -”

  “Mom!” a young boy yelled so loud it echoed off the walls. “Look! An alien! Why does he look so funny?”

  Both Flothir and Tom stopped and looked. The boy’s mother, obviously embarrassed, crouched down and put her finger to her child’s lips. “Shhhh,” she said. “Don’t yell.” Looking up at Flothir, she smiled and said, “I’m sorry.”

  Flothir walked over to her and bent down. Omel are a very tall race with a body style similar to Terrans. What makes them stand out is their nearly transparent skin giving them a blood-red appearance.

  “My people are called Omel,” Flothir addressed the boy who didn’t seem to be in the least bit afraid. “My planet orbits a very dim star and because the light is so weak we have no need for skin coloration.” Holding out his hand, Flothir continued, “If you touch me though, you can feel that my skin is quite tough.”

  This was a very generous offer from Flothir as most Omel tended to avoid contact with strangers. The boy looked at his mother, silently asking for her permission. She nodded her head. Reaching out, the boy gingerly touched the back of Flothir’s hand, first with one finger, then with all of them.

  “It feels like mine,” he said.

  Standing up, Flothir looked at the mother, nodded his head, then continued walking.

  “I touched an alien!” Tom heard the boy say as he caught up with Flothir.

  As soon as Tom was by his side, the biomaster asked, “What can you tell me about the patient?”

  “Terran male; 38-years old; stock handler aboard a private freighter; started complaining about shooting pains throughout his body about a week ago. When the pain continued to grow worse despite being given the most powerful pain-killer available, the captain diverted to Earth. He’s been at the clinic for three days. They have him in an isolation ward. What can you tell me about this pathogen we’re dealing with?”

  “I would rather not discuss the details in public,” Flothir replied.

  Tom pushed the door open and they walked out into the heat. The sun was about 30 degrees up from the horizon directly in front of them. Flothir stripped off the jacket he was wearing then reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of dark sunglasses. Tom’s black cybernetic eyes, a feature that many people found disturbing, automatically compensated for the extra light. At the car, the biomaster opened the trunk and pulled out a small travel bag. He flung it over his shoulder then turned to Tom and said, “Ready.”

  Tom led the way to his tricycle. As soon as they were inside the ship, Flothir pulled an insulated box out of his backpack and handed it to Tom.

  “I’m assuming your ship is equipped with standard power connections?” he asked.

  “It is,” Tom said, taking the case.

  “These are my samples. Please plug it in. There’s a built-in refrigeration unit to keep the contents at the same temperature as the cavern.”

  “Will do. The guest room is this way,” Tom said as he began walking. Using his biolink, he issued a series of commands to the ship’s AI to adjust the ship’s environment to one more suitable for Flothir.

  “We don’t know much about T11-N106,” Flothir said from behind as the lights began to dim. “We believe it’s an engineered organism which is why it’s been initially classified as a class-12. Last I heard, there were onl
y seven cases reported throughout the Alliance, all of them concentrated near this sector.”

  “An engineered organism,” Tom said, scratching the back of his head. It was an old habit he had never been able to break even though the back of his head was now covered in black armor and he was scratching with cybernetic fingers. “What makes you think so?”

  Flothir removed his sunglasses as they walked into the guest room. Dropping his bags on the bed, he looked around. A closely spaced pair of thumps indicated the closing of the ramp as well as the equipment hatch where the tricycle was brought aboard.

  Holding a hand up, Flothir ticked off each point. “It has no known cure. It kills in a horrible fashion. Nobody has been able to identify the specific pathogen even after a very detailed autopsy. The victim’s body does not appear to respond to it as one would expect. And, it does not respond to the strongest medications available. These are classic signs of a bioweapon.”

  “Who would make such a disease?” Tom asked. The sound of the ship’s propulsion system changed as the Orion began to lift.

  “Unknown,” Flothir replied. “The organism doesn’t appear to be contagious and so far, we’ve found nothing to link the known cases to a common source. We suspect the few cases we’ve seen to date have been deliberate tests.”

  “Tests! Toward what purpose?”

  A series of thumps announced the fact that the landing struts had been retracted. “To see how we would react and to verify that no cure existed,” Flothir said. “Based on how it kills, we believe it’s designed to be used as a terror weapon.”

  “We being …”

  “The senior biomaster advisory board of which I am a member.”

  “If this is a possible terrorist bioweapon, why haven’t you informed the peacekeepers?”

  “Because at this point we’re unsure and we’ve only been guessing. There’s no need to start a panic. We’ve been devoting considerable resources to learning about this new pathogen. As soon as we acquire enough useful information, the peacekeepers will be contacted.”

  “Consider us contacted,” Tom told him. “From now on, we would like to be informed of developments like this as early as possible. Other than having the patient in an isolation ward, is there anything else we should be doing?”

  “Where are the other crew members?”

  “In isolation and under observation. So far, none of them have exhibited any sign of disease.”

  “For now, no further actions need be taken. By the way, thank you for adjusting the lighting and other environmental conditions for my benefit.”

  In addition to the change in lighting, the temperature had been raised. His cybernetics could keep him comfortable in all sorts of extreme conditions so adjusting the ship’s environment to match what Flothir was accustomed to was an easy matter of courtesy towards his guest.

  Pointing at a door, Tom said, “You’re welcome. The bathroom is through there. I’ll let you get cleaned up. We’ll be arriving at the Denver spaceport in about an hour.”

  “Thank you.” Flothir started to turn away then stopped and looked at Tom. “If the other crew members begin to show signs of the disease, you might want to consider putting everyone who had contact with them in isolation.”

  “Everyone?”

  “If this is indeed a bioweapon and it has become contagious, it will be designed to spread rapidly. Failure to control the spread early could be disastrous.”

  “How disastrous?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Chapter 3

  Rouldian: Reptilian species. Their home planet, Roulda, has a surface gravity 1.8 times stronger than Earth. Rouldians have large, triangular heads with two eyes spaced widely on either side near the top. A bony ridge runs up the middle of the forehead and continues along the back. Two arms jut out from the chest area. Adult Rouldian bodies average 3.5 meters in length and are supported by four stubby legs. Most of the body is covered in fine slightly iridescent scales. Females outnumber males by more than two-to-one. Rouldians mate for life with the male being the one who chooses his mate. If a mate is not found by the age of 23 or 24 the individual becomes sterile.

  “We are cleared to approach,” the ship informed Tom.

  “Take us down,” Tom ordered. “Have Biomaster Flothir meet me at the ramp.”

  “Acknowledged,” the ship replied as Tom got out of the command chair. The ship’s advanced computer was more than capable of handling the tricky maneuver and Tom had no problem leaving the control center as the ship began its descent.

  As soon as Flothir rounded the corner, Tom said, “My ship is too large to land on the roof and there’s no room anywhere near the ground, so the Orion’s going to hover while we exit down the ramp.”

  “I’m assuming your ship’s AI is doing the flying?”

  “Of course. Ready?”

  Flothir took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “Are you okay?” Tom asked.

  “I have a manageable fear of heights,” Flothir admitted, taking in another deep breath. After letting it out, he said, “Ready.”

  Tom positioned himself next to the ramp and waited. A few minutes later, the Orion issued a warning then dropped the ramp. Two side-by-side sections of the deck pivoted up, forming a pair of handrails as the ramp underneath began to lower. The roof came into view and a moment later, Tom said, “I’ll go first. I’ll tell you when to follow.”

  Flothir grabbed the handrail and nodded his head. Tom walked down the ramp to the roof, noting that the end was about a third of a meter above the rooftop. Jumping down, he turned around and looked at the ramp. The Orion utilized its constant link to his cybernetics to fine-tune the position of the ship. As soon as the ramp was nearly touching the roof, Tom yelled, “Okay! Your turn.”

  The biomaster paused for a moment then quickly made his way down the ramp and onto the roof. “That wasn’t too bad,” he said, turning around and looking back at the ship.

  “We need to get clear,” Tom said, grabbing Flothir’s arm.

  Tom led Flothir out from under the black hull of his ship toward an open doorway. A security guard and a woman dressed in a doctor’s uniform were waiting for them. As soon as they were clear, the ship climbed back into the quickly darkening sky, the ramp slowly closing as it maneuvered away from the hospital roof.

  “Biomaster Flothir. Peacekeeper Wilks” the woman said as they approached, “I’m Doctor Muyen Sing. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  Tom nodded as the two doctors shook hands. Flothir turned around and noted that the roof was considerably smaller than he had thought. A good portion of the 300-meter diameter spaceship must have been hovering over the edge of the building during his exit. Looking around, he could also see that the edge of the ship must have come dangerously close to the mechanical equipment room not for away.

  “I’m very impressed by your ship’s ability to fly itself,” Flothir told Tom.

  “The Orion is a very capable AI,” Tom replied.

  “I would like to see the patient now,” Flothir told Doctor Sing.

  “Of course. Right this way.”

  The doctors engaged each other in conversation as they made their way to the isolation ward, speaking in depth about the patient they were about to see. Unable to understand the thick medical jargon they were using, Tom was content to just follow at a discrete distance. The Orion would be recording and analyzing every word and could provide him with an easier to understand summary if asked.

  “Incoming call from Peacekeeper Miles,” Tom’s ship whispered in his cybernetic ears.

  “Accept,” Tom replied in a whisper that only his ship could hear. He slowed his pace to widen the gap between himself and Biomaster Flothir and Doctor Sing.

  “I have Biomaster Flothir’s belongings from his hotel room,” Miles said as soon as the connection was open. “I’ll be heading your way soon. Does he have a preference for any particular hotel?”

  “Find one close to the hospi
tal that can alter their room environments to accommodate Omel physiology,” Tom replied, keeping his voice low enough so he would not interrupt the conversation in front of him. “Make sure he gets a nice room as well as a rental.”

  “Will do. I have the number of his personal com. I’ll send him the details when everything is set.”

  “Thank you. I have a feeling he’s going to be here at the hospital for some time. Wilks out.”

  The isolation ward was equipped with an observation window. Inside the room, a man lay on the hospital bed. Even though he was restrained, his body writhed and jerked. His entire face was contorted as if he was in great pain and fighting the urge to scream.

  “Is he still coherent?” Flothir asked.

  “At times,” Doctor Sing replied. “Isn’t there anything else we can do?”

  “If it is T11-N106, no. You’ve already seen that pain medication has no effect. Even if you try to put him into a medically induced coma, he will remain conscious.”

  “We told him you were coming,” she said. “Before you arrived, he said he would wait to see if you could help him, and if not, he’s asked us to end his life. It’s allowed here.”

  “I would like to speak to him first. Does your hospital have a sub-millimeter endoscope, preferably with a conformable sample tip?”

  “We do. It’s an MSU-12. Are you familiar with that unit?”

  “I am. Please have it brought here immediately along with a five-millimeter bone drill.”

  Biomaster Flothir turned to the task of donning the isolation suit while Doctor Sing went over to the phone. A few minutes later, the compact machine arrived. Flothir grabbed a headset off the cart and fitted it to his long head, making sure the eyepieces were properly positioned. He then flipped the hood over his head and sealed himself in. The suit went through a self-check and a green light appeared on the monitor strapped to his forearm. Grabbing the cart, he entered the decontamination chamber. The outer door closed, sealed, and the inner door swung open.

  Doctor Sing walked over to a small console near the observation window and ran her finger over the display. “Coms check,” she said.