Star Trek - TOS 38 Idic Epidemic

by Jean Lorrah

  But where do we get the equipment? he asked himself. This disease is outrunning our ability to cope with it, simply in terms of equipment and personnel.

  When Sorel returned to the computer lab after finishing his rounds, he found T’Mir and Daniel already studying the schematic of the new strain of the virus. “We’re about to find out if Klingon blood eats this one for breakfast as well,” said Daniel.

  Sure enough, when it was introduced to Klingon blood cells, it acted like the other strains, shriveling up and dying. Daniel grinned. “We’ve got it! Now all we have to do is test it on somebody!”

  “We have a list of volunteers,” said T’Mir. “All critical and unstable.”

  “Let’s hope none of ‘em are allergic to Klingons,” said Daniel. “Start with three?”

  Sorel nodded. “A Human, a Tellarite, and a Lemnorian—all with iron-based blood.”

  “Right,” said Daniel, looking from his partner to his wife, his hopeful smile fading. But he said only, “Let’s go. At least if we can protect personnel with iron-based blood, we can put together a medical staff to care for everyone else.”

  They administered the serum, and T’Mir returned to the laboratory while Sorel and Daniel went back to their patients. There were three more cases of the new strain already, two of whom had died before being diagnosed as such. By the time they had examined and treated a dozen more patients, hearing on every side complaints about lack of equipment, lack of personnel, Sorel could see the tension and fatigue in his Human partner.

  He knew Daniel’s dedication, knew that he would force himself beyond endurance to save lives. But when they had finished in the hospital proper and Daniel said, “We’d better go over to the mixed-heritage section, check for this new strain—” Sorel interrupted him.

  “Not until you have eaten a meal and slept for at least two hours. That is a prescription, Daniel. You have forgotten again that you are not physically Vulcan.”

  The Human smiled, but there was no humor in it. “I’m not hungry, either.”

  “Shall I insist that you have your blood sugar levels analyzed?”

  “You’d get the report back in about three days! Okay, okay—let’s see if the cafeteria has anything palatable.”

  It was late afternoon, but no one was keeping a normal schedule these days. Only computerized food was available. They dialed up their choices, then waited their turn to go through decontamination and into a small room where it was safe to eat without masks and gloves.

  Or was it? What if one of them was carrying the plague right now?

  It was on Daniel’s mind too. “Sorel,” he said, “have you noticed a growing fear of interaction, even in the short time we’ve been here?”

  “It is normal, Daniel… and healthy, given the current circumstances. Even our best precautions are not preventing the spread of the disease—but if people are overly cautious, at least that may slow it.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Earlier today, T’Mir and I were talking outside the computer lab. We were speaking Vulcan—and a Rigellian came up, stared at me, and demanded to know why I wasn’t over in the medical residence with the rest of the … ‘ergoflin’ was his word. I suppose that means ‘person of mixed heritage’ in Rigellian, but I got the impression that it was not the polite term for it.”

  Sorel did not speak Rigellian, either. Here on Nisus, the standard languages were English and Vulcan; there were not the universal translators everywhere, as there were aboard a starship, and he and Daniel were not carrying translators, since they were fluent in both languages.

  Daniel was still puzzling over the incident. “Even under decontamination gear, you’d think anyone could see I’m Human.”

  “You look Human, but to a Rigellian, your Vulcan probably sounds accentless,” said Sorel. “Only a native speaker would know that you are not one.”

  “Thanks, but that’s not really the point. The man was insulting and aggressive. When I identified myself, his focus of anger turned away from me, but in another direction. He began to rant against allowing people of different races to have children together. Said this plague is nature’s way of showing us how wrong it is. He didn’t know T’Mir was my wife, of course—but Sorel, if she had not exerted calm on me through our bonding, I would probably have slugged him.”

  “I do not think so,” said Sorel. “It is my experience that civilized Humans frequently defuse negative emotions by thinking about aggressive acts, but then they ‘think twice,’ and do not perform them.”

  “Yeah? How many ‘civilized Humans’ do you know?”

  “You, for one. And you are under severe stress, Daniel, as we all are … including that offensive Rigellian.”

  “I know. We walked away from him. But haven’t you heard the same thing, usually put more politely, at least ten times a day since we’ve been here? God, Sorel, what if they’re right? I don’t mean the prejudice. I mean—sometimes the best intentions bring about the worst results. Take Earth’s Eugenics Wars, for example. We meant to improve the species, prevent genetic defects, delay aging. Instead, we created supermen who tried to take over the world, and let loose new diseases, new defects.”

  Daniel’s dejection was palpable as he continued. “What if you and I, intending only to help good people like Sarek and Amanda have children, have helped start that process all over again—this time on a galactic scale? What if this plague, which mutates through such children, is only the beginning?”

  His eyes fixed on Sorel’s, devastation in their depths. “You approved my marriage to your daughter. I married T’Mir because I love her. Suppose we do find a cure for this particular disease. T’Mir and I are still left with a terrible decision: either we must deny ourselves children, or live with the fear that at any time a plague like the one we are fighting, or something worse, could come again.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  When the chief medical officer of the USS Enterprise beamed aboard and released everyone from sickbay except those in the isolation unit, Korsal expected that he and Kevin would immediately be sent back to Nisus. Instead, Dr. McCoy came to stand between their beds, looking from father to son.

  The Human doctor rocked back and forth on his toes, his face a portrait of mixed emotions. Finally he said, “My staff has taken a great deal of blood from you two.”

  “We’ve noticed,” Korsal replied.

  “Do you know why?” the doctor pursued.

  “I assume you’re searching for the reason we’re immune to the Nisus plague.”

  “Have you found it?” Kevin asked eagerly. “Can you use our blood to protect other people?”

  McCoy frowned at the boy. “Is that what you want?”

  “Of course! Doctor, all my friends are in danger.” Korsal saw his son’s realization. “You don’t trust us!”

  “I’ve been told that I can,” said McCoy. Then he smiled. “Your reaction says I’ve been told the truth. Yes, we’ve got a serum, and if you’re willing to help us, we can make more.”

  “How can we help?” Korsal asked.

  “I know you want to go home,” McCoy explained, “but I’d like you to stay here. You’ll need medical supervision, and the hospital on Nisus is a madhouse.”

  “What do you want us to do?” asked Korsal.

  “Take some drugs that will stimulate production of blood cells, and let us have as much of your blood as possible.”

  “Certainly,” said Korsal. “Kevin?”

  “Of course. Uh, do you have to put us to sleep again?” This was the first day the boy had been off medication.

  “No,” McCoy assured him. “But you can’t run around. We can offer all the entertainment tapes you want and—”

  “We’d prefer a computer link,” said Korsal. “Kevin has studies to catch up on, and I have work to do.”

  “You’ll have to ask Captain Kirk about that. He’s coming to see you today. Now, about your younger son—”

  “Karl? Is he all right?” Korsal asked.
<
br />   “Oh, yes, he’s fine. Once he was sure he was immune, he volunteered to work in the high-risk ward, caring for the mixed-heritage children we isolated after we got your report. He’s only a child himself but—”

  “Don’t you say that to Karl!” warned Kevin. “He’s passed Kahs-wan, you know.”

  “Kahs-wan? Isn’t that a Vulcan ritual?”

  “No ritual,” Korsal replied. “A life-or-death survival test, completely comparable to the Klingon Survival every boy must pass. When Karl was at the appropriate age, not enough Klingons remained on Nisus to supervise Survival for him, but I obtained permission for him to substitute Kahs-wan, and the Vulcans accepted him for the trial. So you must ask Karl himself, Doctor. He has the right to make the decision.”

  The doctor’s weary face broke into a grin. “I love it—a Klingon passing Kahs-wan! You folks really do live IDIC on Nisus, don’t you?”

  “I suppose we do,” Korsal replied. “I had not thought of it in those terms. Doctor, are you going back to Nisus soon?”

  “Within the hour, probably. Why?”

  “Would you do me the kindness to carry a message tape for my wife? I’m sure she has been told that Kevin and I are well, but I have been unable to talk to her directly because ship’s channels are all on priority status.”

  “Of course,” said McCoy.

  Korsal added, “I was not even allowed to send the warning about the dam directly, but I am sure your ship’s communications officer delivered it.”

  “The dam?” McCoy asked.

  “The safety sluice—the reason we were up on the mountain when we were caught in the storm,” Korsal explained. “If that safety isn’t repaired, more slabs of ice could get through to hit the turbines, and the power plant could be knocked out.”

  “Why don’t you folks use solar or fusion power, like most planets?” McCoy asked.

  “Nisus is a watery planet, like your Earth,” Korsal explained. “It was much simpler and cheaper to build the hydroelectric plant than a fusion plant, since the dam was needed anyway. And the atmosphere blocks too much sunlight for solar power to be efficient. Nisus is warm more from a greenhouse effect than from direct solar radiation.”

  “Well, I’m a doctor, not an engineer.” McCoy smiled. “I’ll ask Lieutenant Uhura to make sure your message got through. If there’s anything I hate, it’s to have the power go out on me—it always seems to happen in the middle of surgery!”

  McCoy’s efficient sickbay staff soon had Korsal and Kevin hooked up to equipment that monitored their tolerance and administered the flow of blood stimulant. Soon Arthur came in to draw a unit of blood from each of them, and then the captain of the Enterprise paid them a visit.

  Korsal had heard of James T. Kirk. From the legends, he had expected a more imposing figure of a man than this average-height, average-build Human with light brown hair and eyes and the same air of nervous fatigue that gripped everyone here and on Nisus.

  But he soon experienced the power of Kirk’s personality as the man smiled and said, “I want to thank both of you. With your cooperation, we’ve now got a vaccine for everyone with iron-based blood.”

  “Only people with iron-based blood?” Kevin asked. “But that means—”

  “It means,” said Korsal, “that approximately half the residents of Nisus can be protected. Captain, we were not told this fact. I am sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  “We have Vulcan, Rigellian, Orion friends too. There is still no vaccine for them, then.” No protection for Seela.

  “Father,” said Kevin, “we couldn’t possibly give enough blood for the whole planet.”

  “Your son is right,” said Kirk. “But inoculating medical personnel will mean proper care for those who do fall ill. Inoculating those of mixed heritage with iron-based blood will eliminate at least those opportunities for mutation. You’ve given us a place to start, and we are grateful.”

  Korsal smiled, carefully keeping his teeth covered. “You thank us for something we have no control over, a factor in our blood.”

  “No, for your willingness to aid others. Now, is there anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable?”

  “Your staff is treating us like the emperor himself,” Korsal replied.

  “Well, then, at least I can bring you a piece of good news.” He turned to Kevin. “Kevin Katasai, I have the honor and the pleasure of informing you that you have been granted early admission into Starfleet Academy. As I understand it, you will complete your schooling on Nisus by stardate 4100.”

  “That is correct,” said Kevin, his certainty telling his father the boy had calculated the stardate well before today.

  “The next class after that begins on stardate 4168,” said Kirk. “If you accept the appointment, you will report to Starfleet Academy on that date.”

  Korsal saw his son’s eyes sparkle with delight as he shook hands with Captain Kirk. “I am honored, sir,” he said. “Even more so that you should be the one to tell me. I’ve read and heard so much about you—”

  “That you just had to start breaking my records, eh?” said Kirk with a smile.

  “No one will ever break them all, sir,” replied Kevin. “Besides, I don’t plan to go into the command program. I want to be an engineer, like my father. In Starfleet, I can design ships that can go even farther and faster than the Enterprise, bridge the distances between the farthest planets in only days. Or—maybe not need ships at all. Imagine a transporter that would reach from Nisus to Earth!”

  The boy fell silent, realizing: “I’m sorry, sir—it’s just that I’m excited. I was not sure I would be accepted.”

  “You have every right to be excited,” Kirk told him, then turned to Korsal. “Are you … comfortable with your son’s decision?”

  “He has the right,” Korsal replied. “I know he will be well educated. And it will be good for Kevin to learn something of the Federation outside Nisus. He has been sheltered in many ways.” His smile this time was forced; he knew quite well that Kevin would come up against blatant prejudice at Starfleet Academy.

  Yet… Starfleet Command had overcome its prejudices to allow a half-Klingon cadet to enter the Academy. He knew his son had the courage to succeed. “I am proud of my son’s achievements,” he said, then added, “Captain, would it be possible to have a couple of computer terminals? Kevin needs to catch up on schoolwork he’s missed the past few days.”

  “I thought the schools were closed,” said Kirk.

  “They are, but the students have assignments in those subjects which can be conducted by computer.”

  “Yes,” said Kevin. “I’m way ahead in math and physics. When the schools reopen, we’ll probably spend all our time on discussion subjects—like literature and poetry.”

  Those subjects had not had a large place at the schools Korsal had attended, and he had been surprised to find them such a major part of the curriculum in Federation schools. Kevin’s tone of voice clearly indicated that he considered them a waste of his time.

  Kirk did not miss the boy’s attitude. “You don’t like literature and poetry?”

  “I prefer what’s real,” said Kevin. “That stuff is all imaginary.”

  Kirk laughed. “And where would engineers be without imagination? Kevin, starships had to be imagined before they could be designed and built. Besides, literature deals with people—and if you think about it, all your life you’re going to be dealing with people. You can’t experience all possibilities, but over the centuries writers have described every one of them. Let me see—have you ever read The Canterbury Tales, by Geoffrey Chaucer?”

  “No, but it’s on our reading list.”

  “Our first officer, Mr. Spock, has been reading it while he’s been in isolation; said his father made a reference to it, and he wanted to refresh his memory. So I know it’s in our library computer. Why don’t you read that while you’re sitting around here with nothing to do but save the world?”

  “Half the world,” Kevin
said. Then he added, more brightly, “I’d rather study the schematics of your warp engines.”

  Kirk laughed again. “Tell you what—I’ll set you a course of The Canterbury Tales, and some Earth history of medieval Europe for background. Then I’ll come back and discuss it with you, and you can explain to me what the Canterbury pilgrims and their world have in common with the world you live in on Nisus. In return I’ll get my chief engineer to show you the warp engines. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Kevin replied.

  Korsal could see where Kirk had gotten his reputation for diplomacy. He asked for a terminal for himself and access to his own plague data. If he projected it forward in time, assuming inoculations of the half of the population his and his sons’ blood could protect, perhaps he could find the most efficient order in which to use the vaccine.

  “Certainly,” Kirk agreed. He walked over to the intercom on the wall, but before he could punch the button, it came on.

  “Captain Kirk,” said an urgent female voice.

  “Kirk here,” replied the captain.

  “Uhura here. Captain, when communications cleared, I took us off priority status and started sending through the personal messages to Nisus. But there’s one from the Klingon engineer Korsal to the engineering staff at the dam—”

  “Khest!” exclaimed Korsal. “It wasn’t sent? They don’t know that that safety sluice is out!”

  “Shall I send it? Security suggested it could be some kind of code, Captain.”

  “Send it!” Kirk shouted. Then, more calmly, “We don’t know who all are sick or dead. That message means exactly what it says. Send it, emergency priority, to its original destination and to every Nisus official and every engineer—both home and office.”

  He turned to Korsal. “I’m sorry. If I’d known … how bad is it?”

  “Obviously there has not yet been another accident like the one that caused Kevin and me to fly up there in the first place. But the moment there is a thaw, Captain—if that safety has not been repaired, ice will get through and damage the turbines. We never got high enough to check more than the nearest safety sluice, either. As soon as the weather breaks, all of them need to be checked out, and repaired if necessary. Otherwise, Nisus is virtually certain to lose electrical power just when they are still trying to fight the epidemic.”