Stardoc (22 page)

“Phorap must be spaced to try something like this,” mu Cheft’s fishy features were drawn in dour displeasure. “Still, Dr. Mayer can’t dismiss him.”

“Believe me, Daranthura, we’d be better off if Rogan left,” I said as I made a chart entry.

“There’s only five of us now.”

“Rogan’s not much use without a medsysbank, you know that,” I said. “I could train an orderly to do what he does.”

“There’s a thought.”

I recalled Mayer’s former attitude about me, and decided even Rogan deserved another chance. “On the other hand, maybe we can train him to do his own work.”

“Compassion, Dr. Grey Veil?” Mu Cheft grinned.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said with a glare. “Still, everyone is entitled to make a mistake. Even Phorap.”

“You’re right, I suppose. It’s not as if we’re in a position to be choosey until we get better staffing.”

“Have you seen Rogan today?” I was curious to know if Mayer had confronted him yet. I was hoping I could watch.

“No, and he’s missed another shift. That’s four in a row.” Mu Cheft made an irritated sound. “Doubling up the rest of us. Dr. Dloh has mentioned spinning a cocoon for himself in the lounge.”

“He hates the cots.” I chuckled in sympathy. “They aren’t very comfortable for him.”

“I may demand my own immersion tank,” mu Cheft said before he left. I consulted the next chart and found Paul Dalton was waiting for follow-up treatment for lower-back strain. According to the notes, Dr.

Rogan had done the initial exam several days ago, and the Terran reported no improvement.

I signaled Assessment. “K-Cipok, send back Mr. Dalton, if you would.”

Paul’s appearance shocked me. He had lost a substantial amount of weight and was limping badly. His cheerful grin was now a hard white line he managed to bend up at the edges when he saw me.

“Hey, Doc,” he greeted me, and then coughed and groaned. “Wouldn’t you know it, I threw out my back and now I’m getting a cold?”

“Trying to keep me busy, Paul?” I tried to tease, but I couldn’t keep the concern from my voice. I lowered a foam cradle, harnessed it, and suspended his body for examination. The muscles were tightly knotted in the lumbar spinal region, but that didn’t shake me as much as the scanner’s data when I completed the sweep.

Paul Dalton’s lungs showed signs of inflammation and multiloculated infiltrations.

I consulted his chart. “Did the muscle relaxant Dr. Rogan administer before have any effect?”

My neighbor shook his head, and coughed again. A fine spray of saliva and mucous landed on my tunic, but I ignored it as I repeated the scans.

“Paul, your back muscles are severely strained, and you have some fluid in your lungs. I’m going to admit you to the inpatient ward for treatment and observation.”

“Am I contagious?”

“Not according to my scans,” I said.

“Great.” Dalton closed his eyes, then chuckled. “Do me a favor, will you, Doc? Call my supervisor and tell him I’m not the one who spread the infection around in my department. Must have been someone else.”

“Your department?” I said, and my intuition kicked me. Hard. “Paul, how many people have this infection?”

“Almost everyone, but it’s not-“ He began to cough again, and I scanned his lungs once more. I didn’t like what I saw.

It was the same type of pneumonia that had killed Alun Karas.

“Look, Doctor,” Paul’s supervisor was sympathetic but not concerned after I contacted him about the infection Paul described. “People get sick all the time here on K-2. Reaction to the new environment, a bug that comes in on a shuttle, you know how it is. No big deal.”

“I need to check it out, just the same, Mr. Skrople.”

“I can’t have my entire staff report to the FreeClinic,” the supervisor said. “We have nearly fifty people working per shift on this project.”

“Then, I will come to you,” I said, my own shift nearly complete. I had hoped to see Kao after work, but this would have to come first. “Is that acceptable?”

“Sure, I guess so.”

The Engineering Department was working on a structural augmentation project on the fringe of the Colony. Clusters of gnorra trees and other native plants had been landscaped around the old storage building.

Low-rising beams were being set into place next to the existing structure, and I watched for several moments as grav-cranes positioned support posts for a new wall. The laughs and shouts the busy workers exchanged made me smile. Some kids never outgrew their building toys.

A small, wiry alien with dusky skin and an extra pair of lower limbs shambled over to me and handed me a head protector.

“Geef Skrople.” Paul’s supervisor introduced himself. “Sure you want to do this, Doctor?”

I eyed the crew. Now that I had been noticed, the good-natured jesting had stopped completely. “It will be the high point of my day,” I lied. “If anyone objects, they will have to report to the FreeClinic for formal evaluation. At once.”

“Uh, Doc-“ The engineer looked sheepish. “If anyone objects, just let me handle it. It’s safer.”

Skrople stayed at my side. He had to intervene several times, joking with the surly workers to defuse what might have escalated into something really unpleasant. I wondered how someone with such a noticeable lack of bulk had gained such respect in this field.

I got my answer when one of the support beams began to work loose from a grappling hook. Skrople left me at once to handle it. My eyes rounded as the small alien wedged the heavy beam back into place using only his hands and a shoulder.

One of the crew standing by me saw my face and said, “He can hoist ten times that.”

Paul’s supervisor returned, and we continued our rounds. Once I’d finished the last scan, I tallied the data. The readings were disturbing.

I gazed directly at Skrople. “Eighty-two percent of your people display symptoms of viral infection in some form or another,” I said. “Except no virus is registering on my scanner.”

“Are you telling me they’re sick but they’re not sick?”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” I surveyed the busy site. “I have to report back to the FreeClinic with this information. The best thing to do is send everyone home, tell them to stay in their quarters, and take it easy.”

“What about the next shift? They’ll be reporting in four hours.”

They would have to be checked, too. “I’ll contact you before that and let you know what has to be done.”

Skrople touched my arm. “Are you talking quarantine here, Doctor?”

“No.” If this contagion was spreading, I had to keep panic from doing the same. “Don’t worry. I’ll be in touch.”

By this time I had finally figured out why they put that LiabilityIHazardous Duty clause in my contract.

Being held hostage by an expectant father and nearly blown into the upper stratosphere by a suicidal fairy hadn’t been enough. Now I was facing an unidentified, contagious pathogen on a planet that had only six physicians to cope with it.

No, PQSGO was definitely not giving me enough compensation. I’d have to see someone about a raise.

I left the engineering site more unsettled than I cared to admit. My instincts were screaming at me to declare level one quarantine conditions. I couldn’t do it. Without hard evidence, that would be seen as premature, and almost assuredly would create panic throughout the colony.

The people in charge tended to frown on untidy things like mass hysteria and uncontrollable rioting.

I left my glidecar a short distance from the FreeClinic. The brief walk would give me a chance to sort out my thoughts before facing Dr. Mayer with my suspicions.

The night sky was filled with moons and stars that dimmed beside my growing sense of dread. It was no wonder I didn’t see Phorap Rogan until he was almost on top of me.

“You!” It was screamed like a curse, accompanied by a spray of mucous that spattered over my face.

My head snapped back.

Rogan was staggering, unable to remain in one position. His arms and legs shook badly as bursts of coughing racked his frame. Not good. His facial polyps were barely moving, slick with green, oozing rivulets of infection.

“Dr. Rogan? What-“

“Terran bitch!” He took a wild swing at me, and I ducked under his arm and spun away. Rogan lost his balance, then somehow pulled himself upright and shrieked, “Come here!”

I danced out of reach, at the same time trying to examine him. “Rogan, what happened to you?”

“You did this-“ He broke off into tearing coughs, and spat a mouthful of phlegm on the ground between us. Not good at all. His breathing became labored as he ran his fingers over his facial grooves. “You did this to me... infected me... what is it?” He lunged and grabbed at me again.

I made a quick sweep with my leg the way Maggie had taught me, and hooked him behind the knee. In his wild attempt to compensate, he threw himself forward. I leapt out of the way. Rogan fell - hard. A hideous squelching sound accompanied the impact of his face on the walkway. He made a feeble attempt to rise, then collapsed again.

“Damn it!” I rolled him on his side. He was half conscious, but fever-induced delirium now converted his speech to incoherent babbling. Within seconds we were surrounded by other colonists, seeking to provide aid.

“Get back!” I yelled at the ring of faces. The thick stench rising from Rogan’s body made some draw back abruptly.

“Let us help you-“

“No!” I refused the colonist’s compassionate suggestion. “Move back, ten meters, now! He’s contagious!”

That effectively dispersed the crowd. I shouted for one of them to call for medevac as I loosened the neck of Rogan’s filthy tunic and checked his pulse. His lungs were obviously filled with fluid; he was turning cyanotic around the open membranes. If I didn’t get him to the FreeClinic fast, he’d suffocate.

I spotted two Militia approaching and shouted a warning to them. They took up positions to keep everyone at bay until the medevac team arrived. The mobile unit appeared moments later.

“Quarantine condition one,” I yelled, and the team went into action.

Barriers were erected, colonists removed from the scene. Someone tossed a field aid case to me, another threw a heavy, insulated bundle. I released the ties and pulled on the thick biocontainment suit.

Once I activated its seals, I rolled Rogan onto the gurney the team pushed over to me.

“Hold your position,” one of the Militia said as he activated a remote biodecon unit. My suit and Rogan’s gurney shroud were quickly sterilized.

“Clear a corridor to the back of the FreeClinic for us,” I told one of the Militia team. I punched a touchpad on the evac unit’s outer hull, and Dr. Mayer’s face appeared on the display screen.

“What’s your status, Dr. Grey Veil?”

“Dr. Rogan tried to attack me. He is infected with a pneumonic contagion. I’ve had direct physical contact.”

“ID?”

“I can’t tag it. It doesn’t show up on my scanner.”

“Method of transmission?”

“Unknown. Probable airborne or contact contamination.”

The chief glowered. “Recommendations?”

“Institute level one containment at my location. Get air samples taken right away once we’ve cleared.

Dr. Rogan’s personal quarters should be sealed as well.” I didn’t ask that everyone who had been in contact with Rogan be checked for the contagion. That could be half the damn colony.

“What’s Rogan’s condition?”

“He’s critical. We’re coming in now.”

I couldn’t remove the bulky biocontainment suit until we were transported to the back of the facility and isolated in the special unit reserved for such cases. Once there, Mayer appeared outside the barrier as I hauled Rogan’s heavy body onto an exam pad.

“Give me an update, Dr. Grey Veil.”

“In a minute,” I said. There would be no nurse to assist me now. No one else could risk being exposed.

I stripped off the awkward suit and began my scans.

Rogan was dying from oxygen deprivation. His lungs were almost completely filled now, and his vitals were off the grid. Higher brain function was beginning to fail.

“All four lobes are severely inflamed. Massive pleural effusion, heavily multiloculated empyema, and abscesses forming as I speak. I need to get his lungs clear, or he’s going to suffocate.”

“Counter with antibiotics first.”

I glared. “Meds won’t do it fast enough. His physiology is only half-Terran. I have to ventilate him now.”

“He isn’t stable enough-“

“There’s no more time!” I yelled at the barrier. “No more options!”

Mayer nodded curtly, and I went to work.

Rogan’s eyes opened when I tried to insert the endo-tracheal tube through his mouth. Despite his condition, he got an arm up and shoved me away.

“No. I don’t have time to anesthetize you,” I said, and he twisted his head as I reintroduced the tube.

“Stop it - don’t fight me!”

His mouth sagged open, and he struggled to draw in enough air to enable his larynx to function.

“Noooooo...”

I had an idea of what would work. “Listen to me, you have to help me, Phorap,” I said. “I can’t do this by myself. Please!”

Appealing to his vanity worked. He allowed me to insert the tube and ventilate him. It was only a tempo rary measure, but might keep him alive long enough for me to find a treatment. I’d have to operate later and insert a tube to drain off the fluid from his lungs.

“Status,” Mayer’s voice was thin with impatience.

“We’re all right for the moment. I’ve intubated Dr. Rogan.” I turned to address the chief directly. “He exhibits the same symptoms as Alun Karas. Aspiration pneumonia.”

“Does Rogan show signs of vomitus aspiration?”

“No,” I said. “But something got into his lungs. My scanner can’t identify whatever it is. Could it be an exotic mycoplasma?”

“An intermediate between bacterial and viral pathogens would still show up on our scanners, Doctor.”

“I know that.”

“Then, you know it cannot be a mycoplasma.”

“Look.” I took a deep breath. “I have evidence of transmission of this virus to at least fifty other colonists. I’ll transfer my data scans to you. Review them and contact Engineer Skrople. The infected workers were sent home, but we’ll have to institute a quarantine. Paul Dalton was admitted a few hours ago, he’s infected as well.”