“Snorkeling in the reef,” Mrs. Tetler said. “The holograms are high quality.”
“Dinner in the Starlight Lounge, caught the show at the theater, did some gambling at the casino.” Mr. Tetler paused for a moment of reflection. “Pretty much sums up the itinerary, with minor variations each day.”
“You worked out at the gym on Level 6,” his wife said, poking him in the ribs. “And I spent the afternoon at the spa yesterday. The staff excels at pampering a person. You should have come with me, sweetheart.”
“Being covered in expensive mud and then manhandled by strangers doesn’t appeal to me.” He harrumphed and glared at his bride.
“May I ask what you did instead, sir?” Emily interrupted.
“Revisited the beach and surfed the waves.” He made a gliding motion with his hand. “Not as good as the real thing, of course, but fun. I did okay. The lifeguards are running an amateur competition, and I got third place for the day.”
“I came and joined you later,” his wife said. She glanced at him and blushed. “We, uh, got a bit frisky in the water, Doctor.”
“We had to celebrate my trophy,” he husband said, hugging her closer. “And after all, we did just get married.”
Thinking these two were regaining their energy as the Galamialate kicked in, Emily had heard enough. “All right, I think we’ve gotten enough information, thank you.”
“Can we go to our cabin now?” asked Mr. Tetler.
“Yes, of course. Keep an eye on each other for signs of bleeding or unusual bruising. Call sickbay if you see anything suspicious, and we’ll send out a team to assist you to the quarantine ward.” Emily strove to sound as reassuring as she could. “Stay in your cabin for three days, to ensure you aren’t progressing into stage two.”
The Tetlers couldn’t leave fast enough, leaning on each other.
“I can’t say we got much help from them,” Bevar said, cleaning up the exam room and recycling the used injects. “They did pretty much all the same things as the other passengers have been doing. It’s a cruise ship, limited choices.” He glanced at the AI ganglion in the corner of the ceiling. “No offense, Maeve.”
“Except these two got sick, which tells me the pathogen is still active somewhere. Despite all the cleaning.” Emily pulled up the huge data file Maeve had generated and blinked at the scrolling columns of information her personal AI was projecting. “I keep hoping Mrs. Fenn will have another inspiration about the data, the way she did with the blood types.” With an impatient flick of her wrist, she shut the report off again and rubbed her forehead. “Gives me a headache watching the columns scroll by. All right, I’m off duty till the morning, so I’d better go try for some rest. See you at the staff meeting.”
As she made her way to her cabin with Jake, she briefed him on the new cases. “I keep thinking a vital clue is right in front of me, you know? But there’s so much freaking data. I stare at it and I sort it and nothing pops out. Or else I think I’m onto a trend and then the data peters out and it’s back to the beginning. I’m not trained in epidemiology.”
“And you’re tired, with an overload of problems on your mind. Best thing to do is sleep on it, let your subconscious work on the clues. You might find you wake up with an insight,” Jake suggested as he let her precede him into the cabin.
She curled up in bed but couldn’t sleep, so finally she rose rather than continue to toss and turn and keep Jake from resting. Throwing on a robe and summoning the data stream again from Maeve, she sat on the couch in the living area and tried to concentrate. After a moment, eyes glazing over despite her best intentions, Emily said, “This isn’t going to work.”
“Too much data? Too fast?” Maeve asked. “Do you want me to sort with some other parameter as the critical factor?”
“It all makes me dizzy.” Emily rose, padding into the kitchenette to check for leftover coffee. Maybe she needed to begin afresh, with Patient Zero. Reset her assumptions and re-examine what she knew. “There’s a reason I didn’t go into research after I got my degree. Give me the Groskin file of activities again.”
“Just his?”
“Yes. And I want to see the vid you captured as well as the data readout, please. But suppress the dialogue, one and a half real speed.” The Ship obligingly brought up the information on the late Mr. Groskin. Seating herself at the table and sipping the lukewarm coffee, Emily watched him gamble, flirt with various ladies at the bar, sleep, attend a special tasting dinner with Chef Stephanie and ten other passengers—
“Did anyone else at the tasting event fall ill?”
“No, Doctor.”
So much for that theory. Groskin and Stephanie acted like old friends in the vid of the dinner, congenial, flirting a bit. Might be worth sending someone—not Jake—to interview her. Smiling to herself at the little flare of jealousy, Emily made a circular motion with her free hand. “Continue.” Now Groskin was at the beach on Level 5, lugging a surfboard of all things. Despite his somewhat portly build, he rode the waves like a pro, crashing under the surface only a few times. “Wait a minute. Play the last snippet one more time.” As she watched him fall and surface spouting water like a sea creature, she said, “Lords of Space, it’s the water. Tetler said he went surfing. His wife said they were both in the water—”
“I treat the water daily to maintain the ICC-required parameters for Tahumaroa simulations onboard passenger craft.”
“Shh, no one’s criticizing you. Let me think.” Emily jumped from her chair and paced. “Run a check—how many of the stage-one patients spent time at the beach and actually went into the water? Not sat or strolled on the sand, but were directly exposed to the water?”
A moment of silence. “All of them.”
Excitement coursing through her, her heart was a trip-hammer in her chest. “Get me Mrs. Fenn.”
“It’s three in the morning, Terra Standard Time.”
“I don’t care. I need to run this idea by her. She sees patterns in data.”
Drawn by her excited tones, Jake wandered in from the bedroom, giving her a hug before he too sought a mug of coffee. “Find something?”
“Maybe.”
Maeve established the link with Mrs. Fenn before Emily could elaborate on her theory for Jake. Eyes half open, propped up by a mound of pillows, the elderly woman frowned at her, Jake having stayed out of vidcom range. “You seem agitated, Doctor. Bad dream?”
“I may have found the trigger. Without exception, each person on board with Groskin’s, including Patient Zero, spent time on the beach deck in the water. What if he was infected with something that he then shed into the water?”
The researcher’s eyes narrowed, and she played with her loosely braided gray hair as she considered the idea. “Isn’t the water treated?”
“For normal conditions, yes, of course, but it’s not mixed with the ship’s drinking water, so not treated in exactly the same ways. Right, Maeve?”
“Correct, Doctor, although the water on the beach deck is safe to drink, as far as I’m aware.”
“But we’ve never before seen whatever Groskin had,” Emily pointed out, as much to make her case as to placate the ever-touchy Ship. “There are waterborne pathogens occurring in nature.”
“Especially if the problem isn’t a virus or a bacteria, but some kind of microcellular organism, which I’ve begun to suspect, especially in light of the fact that it’s become obvious this ailment doesn’t spread directly from person to person.” Mrs. Fenn gave her snoring husband a gentle shove onto his side. “Where was I? Oh yes, although, fortunately, such organisms are rare, they certainly do exist in nature, and encounters with the higher sentients can be unfortunate for the latter. Where would Groskin have picked this up, I wonder? Let me get samples of the water and run analyses to compare to the samples you took of Mr. Groskin’s blood and spinal fluid. Now that I know what we might be expecting to find, the chances are improved. I’ll also need to understand the differences in how the Ship treats the w
ater versus how the overall recycling system is run.”
“The processes are highly technical,” Maeve said. “I can supply you the specifications.”
“Work with me,” Mrs. Fenn answered. “I think you’ll find I don’t have too much problem sifting through tech specs.” She grinned.
The idea of new data to analyze seemed to have improved the elderly researcher’s mood, middle of the night or not.
“In the meantime, we need to close the beach level,” Jake said, moving into vidcom range. “And I need to light a fire under the Sectors authorities on tracing Groskin’s itinerary before he arrived on your world. If the captain will drop out of hyperspace one more time so we can transmit.”
So much for personal discretion.At least he put his pants on. Emily sighed to herself at the knowing wink Mrs. Fenn gave her as Jake listed action items. Well, she and Jake couldn’t expect to keep their relationship a secret forever. “How hard can it be to find out what Groskin did and where he traveled?”
“Just going by what’s in our own CLC database, your Patient Zero laid a clever, twisted trail of false tickets and double bookings, as if he didn’t want us to be able to track him, or as if he was on the run from someone. We think he might have been smuggling something or engaging in other criminal activity.” Jake shrugged. “I’ll redouble my efforts. And in the meantime I’ll get Captain Fleming to shut down the beach deck, ostensibly for maintenance.”
“I’ll take samples at the beach and run some tests first thing in the morning,” Mrs. Fenn said. “I know you’d like me to go do it now—I see how impatient you both are—but I’m an old lady, Doctor. I need my sleep to keep my brain synapses firing. This is a marathon we’re in, not a sprint.”
“I can obtain the samples now and have them waiting in the lab,” Maeve offered. “My actual medical analysis processes are limited to routine, basic tests, but I’m fully capable of gathering samples.”
“You know, I’m old-fashioned, Ship, thanks all the same. I haven’t been to the beach deck, and I’d like to see it for myself,” was Mrs. Fenn’s answer. “Other factors could also be at work here besides what might be lurking in the water.”
“I’ll send one of my men with you,” Jake said. “Call me when you’re ready.”
“And both of you wear biohazard suits.” Emily was firm. She didn’t need her one and only research person and one of Jake’s staff falling ill through lack of precautions.
Mrs. Fenn agreed and signed off. Emily gave Jake a smile. “I finally dare to believe we’re getting somewhere on this thing. At least we have a starting point, a possible cause.”
“Can’t cure it till we know what it is, true. Are the blood transfusions doing any good?”
“Not really. The Enzell boy showed the most improvement of the test cases, but his rally lasted only a few hours. Temporary relief. The O blood isn’t the weapon we were hoping for.”
“Even if it keeps people from developing Groskin’s?”
“I feared the transfusions were too simple a solution, but I had hope. It may be having Type O blood isn’t the only factor at work. There may be other genetic attributes involved that a mere blood transfusion can’t replicate for those who are ill.” Emily clenched her fist around the coffee mug. “I have to keep them all alive until we identify the bug and find a cure.”
“Hey.” Jake came to give her a hug. “You’re doing the best you can, the most any human being can. If any of the victims live, it’ll be your victory.”
“Like on Fantalar? A high percentage of casualties is okay as long as some survive?” She leaned into him. “I am coming to peace with that, somewhat. I know you’re right about the limits of any one human. It doesn’t change what I want, though, which is for everyone possible to survive and have a complete recovery from the effects.”
“I know.” He kissed the top of her head. “And I love you for the dedication, as long as you don’t let the impossibility of the task tear you up.”
Reassured by the warmth of his embrace, Emily pushed free just far enough to swing around to face him, going on tiptoe to kiss him and pull him closer.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Emily had to restrain herself from pestering her volunteer researcher over the next few days. The few times she visited the makeshift lab, Mrs. Fenn was deeply involved in culturing samples and consulting with Maeve, and was clearly irritated to be disturbed. Emily left as swiftly as she’d come, not sure whether to feel hopeful or not. She made sure the elderly lady received the twice-a-day status bulletins about the deaths.
But the next morning, after a stern lecture from Captain Fleming about the pressure he was under to have solid information to report to the authorities and the company when they arrived at Sector Hub against orders, Emily tried a new tack. She marched down the corridor to the makeshift lab and stuck her head inside. “I brought some special breakfast pastries from Chef Stephanie, and you’re getting first choice.”
Mrs. Fenn waved her in. “I’d never say no to something sugary and gooey. You know my sweet tooth. Is there coffee in the conference room yet?”
“I’ll check for you.” Emily set the plate of frosted rolls and doughnuts on a side table well away from where Mrs. Fenn had been working, next to her knitting bag. “Any status at all to report? Throw me some shred of good news?”
“Ah, you didn’t fool me. I knew you were here for an update, not just to send my blood sugar count through the roof. I’ll be ready to share preliminary findings at the meeting tonight,” Mrs. Fenn assured her.
“Do you need anything else, any other resources? Captain Fleming and I want to emphasize that any need on your part is our top priority.”
“The Ship has been extremely helpful. I’m making some progress. An interesting challenge for a researcher like me.” The elderly lady bit into one of the treats and sighed in pleasure as she wiped strawberry jam off her chin. “I’ve nothing that brings us closer to a cure, precisely, but some understanding of what we’re up against, yes.”
Deciding to try outright begging, Emily said, “Can you give me anything now? Some shred of preliminary data?”
“I have one more key analysis to complete before I care to reveal my findings.” Mrs Fenn frowned. “I promise I’m not being stubborn on general principles, Doctor, but I do dislike putting forth an incomplete data set. I understand the urgency of the situation.”
“I’ll send someone down with the coffee for you. And we’ll see you at seven tonight, right? We don’t require a report with annotations, citations and footnotes. We just need some positive news.” Emily made herself smile.
Wandering back to her workbench, Mrs. Fenn waved one hand a bit distractedly and nodded. “Tonight, I promise.”
When the time for the evening briefing approached, Emily held her breath until Mrs. Fenn entered the room. Taking one look at the scientist, she said, “You found something?”
“Indeed, as I promised this morning. An important first step.”
“We’ve got news,” Emily announced to the rest of her makeshift staff, filtering into the conference room. “Mrs. Fenn, you have the floor.”
“You deserve the credit, dear, not me. The key was Dr. Shane’s realization that the entire outbreak started with the beach,” Mrs. Fenn said as the others hushed and settled into their chairs. “I’ve been running tests and analyses for several days now, and I’d like to introduce you to our beastie, known as the Groskin’s bug for lack of a more scientific title at the moment. Maeve, if you please.”
The ship projected a hologram in the middle of the desk as Sid and his trideo operator maneuvered to get a better shot. “No need to crowd the others, Mr. Daburkn,” Maeve said in stern tones. “I can download the file to you later.”
“How come we didn’t see these crawling anywhere on the ship?” he asked, glancing at the deck as if he needed to watch his step. “Are the bugs in the air ducts?”
“This view is magnified millions of times,” Mrs. Fenn said. “Groskin’s
is a microorganism.”
Mottled gray and dark red, the creature was vaguely oval in shape, with a plump center covered in spikes. There were no sensory organs visible, nor a mouth, as the foot-long image rotated in the center of the table. A whip-like organelle at one end seemed like the enemy’s primary method of propulsion.
“If my theory is correct, the organism is in a hard-shelled spore-like state most of the time and can survive environmental extremes virtually forever in the inanimate condition. If carried by the water into proximity with a warm-blooded creature, the organism works its way inside the victim, either through the nose, throat or eyes, or other bodily opening such as a sore or wound, but perhaps via tears in the skin as well—”
“Ouch.” Red shivered, and there was a ripple of nervous laughter.
Mrs. Fenn peered at him. “One wouldn’t of course be able to detect the invasion, despite these rather impressive spikes. And hundreds if not thousands of the creatures would be attempting to penetrate. Once inside, I’m surmising the organisms may assume yet a third form, or even one of several alternate forms, burrow into the stomach and intestinal tissues and reproduce. The organisms would release toxins while doing so, which explains stage one with the nausea and diarrhea.”
“So my O blood cells fight this off?” Meg asked.
“I’m impressed.” Red nudged her in the ribs. “I knew you were a tough cookie, but this is a whole other level.”
Emily felt blowing off a little steam was good for her staff, a way to celebrate this discovery, so she bit her tongue and stifled her impatience, although she realized she was drumming her fingers on the desk. Mrs. Fenn didn’t seem bothered by the quips and levity.
The elderly researcher cleared her throat, took a sip of water and said, “We’re not sure exactly what effect the O type blood has on the organism, but it doesn’t thrive in the body of a person with O. I haven’t had time to research whether the creatures die and are excreted from the people it does infect, or whether Groskin’s bug intentionally leaves the body as part of its natural life cycle. There were no signs of Groskin’s spores or the larvae in the samples of O blood I tested. A small mercy, sparing some from danger.”
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