The Sarran Plague (The Sarrans Book 1)

by A. C. Katt

  “Your objections are duly noted, doctor.”

  Mark was about to argue further, when out of the corner of his eye, he noticed two giants step up next to Morgan. Mark, at six foot three, was no runt. These guys were just shy of seven foot and it was obvious they were not flunkies. Flunkies did not have an aura of self-assurances and competence. Mark noticed they didn’t seem too fond of Morgan either. He sensed that the dark one was hyper and the light one was attempting restraint. Where did they get these guys? Mark wondered. All of the maroon uniform types were over six foot six, making Bane and Flagen on the short side of this equation.

  Fuck! If Mark hadn’t been so damn tired, he would have put it together long before now. Bane and Flagen were with the maroon uniforms, not the government, and the two in front of him were in charge. These men exuded authority. Just behind him he heard Bane and Flagen move as if they had come to attention.

  “Dr. Stern.” The larger blond one interrupted with a deep whiskey tone. “I am Tonas, and this is Jonal. Please believe that all care will be taken in transport. Each patient will be provided with a medical team to see to their needs. I assure you, Doctor, we have taken every precaution.”

  Although still dubious about the situation, Mark instinctively liked Tonas and was inclined to trust him. His instincts had been honed as a combat medical officer and later in Iraq and Afghanistan. They hadn’t steered him wrong, yet. Tonas was a combat veteran, not a puffed up paper pusher.

  “Dr. Stern, if we may proceed?” Morgan said politely, taking his new tone of respect from Tonas.

  “Drs. Bane and Flagen have set up the evacuation procedure,” Mark said. “Gentlemen, would you care to give a report to the General and er…Mr. Tonas? The two behind him almost leapt to the fore, confirming his suspicions.

  Bane took the lead. “All of priority one cases in this sector are on the floors above. Staff is waiting on our signal, sir. These,” Bane said, sweeping his arm to indicate the bank of six elevators, “have been commandeered. They are electronic/mechanical transport that will shift the fem…er patients from the floors above to this area. From here the stretchers may be loaded for transport.”

  Mark was mildly amused. Although their eyes were directed at Morgan, they seemed to be reporting to Tonas and the raven haired Jonal beside him. Who the hell had figured they could pass these guys off as hailing from CDC or from Homeland Security? Agency types? Some kind of special ops? Come to think on it, Bane and Flagen don't fit the lackey mode either. His finely tuned anti-government hackles hadn’t risen at them, more so at the idea of them. If these guys were agency, they were field ops, not desk jockeys.

  Morgan interrupted his thoughts, “Priority one cases?”

  Flagen continued, “Priority One cases are those where the patient is critical and has no immediate family to nurse them through the long recovery and vital recuperative stages. They all will be housed in a central location and given the best care we can provide.”

  An aide-de-camp touched Morgan on the shoulder. A whispered conversation ensued. Morgan nodded, “Ah, the special cases…”

  Dr. Mark Stern shivered. What was it about that word, special?

  Another officer, a captain, approached the general, “Sir, General, sir, transport is a go, and vaccination points are set throughout the quarantined areas for the female children, sir.”

  “And the antidote/vaccination combination, captain?” The black haired Jonal spoke for the first time.

  “Sufficient supply has been transported to every distribution point in the Eastern sector. With the help of foreign medics, we should have either the vaccination or the antidote to the entire population sector by 09:00 hours. We are doing it house to house, sir.

  ''All the paperwork is in order, sir. Four-thousand, four hundred and forty-eight priority one cases nationwide, sir. Two hundred sixty two cases consolidated in this facility.”

  Jonal, ignoring General Morgan, addressed Mark directly, “Are the patients ready for transport, doctor?”

  “I’m still concerned that moving the patients this soon after crisis will cause permanent damage. I would like to see the transport. I need to know my patients will have everything they need.”

  “Rather than just checking the transport, Dr. Stern,” said Bane, behind him, “you are welcome to accompany the patients. Once transport is complete, your work here is done. We will need all the help we can muster on the other side.”

  Flagen shot Bane a look of incredulity. It was that look that made up Mark’s mind.

  The one named Tonas raised his right eyebrow. “Bane—to me. Accompany us?”

  Mark went still to listen.

  “Explain,” he heard Jonal say abruptly.

  Mark casually leaned toward the whispered conversation. Only some was intelligible but obviously something was going on.

  He heard snippets from Bane. “Strange, sir, feels like a pulling…no idea what it means…just know he has to come…”

  Words in a lower tone hissed from Jonal to Tonas, “Is it possible Bond?…Can’t be!. But…Elder’s council…fem…”

  Tonas sighed. “Permission granted.”

  Bane crossed back to Flagen and spoke in a low tone, gesturing wildly. Flagen looked furious, and turned away with a sigh. Bane followed.

  Mark lifted his head and pretended to check charts as he watched Jonal walk across the room towards him. Then Jonal asked. “May I call you Mark?”

  “As long as I can call you Jonal,” Mark riposted.

  “Of course.” Jonal continued, ''Mark, do you have any family or anything of importance that would tie you to this section?”

  “No. Why do you ask?” He had felt from the beginning that this whole operation was weird. If he had the chance to get answers firsthand, he was going to take it. He was up for something new, something that would shake up his complacency. Although devastating, the Plague had been his first challenge in years. Now that his part was over, he didn’t want to go back to what was before. He sensed that there was more to this scenario than what appeared on the surface. This was no vanilla government organization. Curiosity won over caution. He had already made up his mind. Mark was just waiting for one of them to ask.

  “Dr. Bane has indicated that you are an excellent physician. He suggested that you would make an outstanding addition to our medical staff. Of course, compensation would be equal to or greater than what you currently receive. You would be given the opportunity to study the Plague and its effects at close range. There is also a chance for research into medical techniques, anatomy and physiology that few physicians…The opportunity is very rare, let us leave it at that.”

  “I accept,” Mark answered immediately. This was the reason he had studied medicine. And he knew deep in his gut that this was no position with Homeland Security or CDC.

  “Do you have anything personal you absolutely must have accompany you? Most of what you need or want can be provided,” Jonal said.

  “I do not. However, one of the patients is also a pediatric resident at this hospital, Dr. Anya Forrest.”

  Jonal’s eyes lit up, shooting silver sparks. “Really…” Jonal answered.

  Mark watched the beginning of a facial tic that intersected the thin scar along Jonal’s jaw.

  “Do you know her well, Mark?” Jonal asked.

  His tone lowered and went flat. He unconsciously took a step toward Mark with his upper body pitched forward.

  This is one guy I don’t think I want to engage in a pissing match. With a more conciliatory tone Mark said, “Yes, I do. She is on the hospital staff. Once recovered, she would also make an excellent addition to any medical organization. Even though her specialty is children, I found her throughout her residency to be adaptable to most circumstances. This hospital participated in many clinical trials where her input was invaluable. She is on the list, so I know she will be accompanying us…but there might be a problem with Tigger.”

  A tight, hard expression crossed Jonal’s stone-like countenan
ce. Anger, jealousy, both. The words just popped into his mind. The music from the Twilight Zone played in Mark’s head. Tonas crossed the room to join them.

  “Jonal?” he asked.

  “Dr. Stern—Mark said we have the honor of another physician in our ranks, Dr. Anya Forrest,” Jonal said as his eyes flashed with anger. ''Dr. Forrest has an impediment.” Mark was astonished to hear the barely leashed temper in Jonal’s tone. Tonas’s presence seemed to soothe him, but he also seemed a bit perturbed.

  “What impediment, Dr. Stern?” Tonas snapped. “We were assured that all of these cases were priority one, no family, no ties.” Mark looked at him strangely. It was almost as if Anya’s case affected him directly. Tonas, unlike Jonal, did not give the impression of a man who wore his emotions on his face often. Mark looked from Tonas to Jonal and back. These guys were tense.

  Mark laughed. The looks he received in turn would have frozen Brazil. “Tigger is Anya’s cat. She goes nowhere without him. She has been very anxious about him since she became ill, so anxious that it seemed to make her sicker. I asked one of the orderlies to check on him from time to time. He is healthy, but yowling his head off for his mommy.”

  “A cat, you say.” Jonal looked confused.

  “Yes,” Mark answered, “a cat, her pet cat.”

  “I see, Mark—it is Mark?” said Tonas, exchanging a long glance with Jonal. “May I take the liberty of using your given name?”

  “Yes, Tonas, you may.”

  “I trust you can arrange for your orderly to accompany one of my men to fetch the cat, Tigger, with such supplies as he or she would need for say…a six-month stay. Of course, we will pay for the supplies.” Tonas turned slightly to the right. Dr. Flagen was just outside Mark’s peripheral vision, leaning on a column, listening to Jonal and Stern.

  “Actually, Tigger is an it,” Mark said.

  “An it?” Jonal asked. Tonas turned his head with a jerk.

  “Oh, yes,” said Mark, enjoying himself. Somehow or another, these gentlemen were not conversant with politically correct house pets. “Tigger has been fixed, castrated so as not to reproduce.”

  Both men’s hands twitched. Mark was impressed that they had the discipline not to grab their balls. He continued, “We have an animal control problem here in the U.S. and both male and female pets must be neutered if obtained from a shelter.”

  Both Tonas and Jonal grimaced. “I’ll send one of my men with your orderly,” Tonas replied. He turned his head. “Flagen, come forward.”

  “Yes, sir,” Flagen replied, issuing a strange kind of salute.

  Mark thought his voice sounded rusty, almost unused.

  These guys are so not with CDC. If he was correct, and his inner radar was rarely wrong, the two in charge were lovers. The intimate glances and unspoken communication suggested more than friendship. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought the government had formed a gay brigade. He had observed Bane’s overtly sexual scan of his body.

  Bane is a damn good looking man, Mark thought, still confused by his sexual response to the man. Sensation roared down his skin, prickling with premonitions and something else. Was it a sense of destiny, adventure? Something momentous was about to happen.

  Mark watched as Tonas directed his attention to Flagen. “Doctor, I knew you were on the roster, I’m surprised you didn’t come up to Quarters.”

  Mark glanced at Jonal. The tic was back. This time there was no ambiguity in the body language; it was hostile.

  “I didn’t want to intrude on you and Ad…Jonal, sir. It’s been a long time since the academy, sir. I didn’t think you remembered me,” said Flagen.

  “I remember you, Flagen. You were the youngest in the genetics lab, but you pulled me through that course.” Tonas chuckled, “I was proud of my C, but you were the reason I got it.” Tonas’s head turned back to Jonal, as if in answer to an unspoken command.

  Tonas cleared his throat, “Dr. Flagen, would you please accompany Dr. Stern’s orderly and help him recover Dr. Forrest’s cat?”

  More secrets, Mark thought, scratching his chin. Christ, do I need a shave and a drink. Tonas motioned to General Morgan.

  “General Morgan,” Tonas said, “Could you or one of your staff make whatever arrangement is necessary for a fixed feline pet. I’ll authorize any personnel, permit or supplies.”

  “Tonas.” Jonal hesitated.

  Absently, Tonas replied, “I see no harm as long as it can’t reproduce; we’ll keep it in Quarters.”

  “May we begin, Dr. Stern?” Jonal asked looking pointedly at General Morgan.

  “Immediately, sir,” Mark answered. There was a firm sense of things that were said but not heard, conversation fragments and unfinished sentences, questions and answers left hanging. Shit, thought Mark, figuring this out is going to be one hell of a ride.

  * * * *

  Jonal and Tonas were standing in the emergency room some thirty mots later. Transport worked quickly and efficiently. Twelve patients had been moved from the upper floors though the ER and into the waiting vehicles. The transports were sent to a place called Central Park where General Morgan and his troops had set up a city of canvas material they called a camp. As each truck entered the park, it was stopped and everyone locked down for collection by the ion beam transporter. At the other end, on the Brightstar, medics and BondMates waited anxiously.

  Jonal paced the ER, checking each female patient as she was brought to the doors. “By the Warrior Moon, Tonas, I am tired of waiting. Where is she? I know she is here. Mark said she was here. What is the delay?”

  “Mark!” Jonal shouted before Tonas had the opportunity to say a word, “Where is Dr. Forrest? She was on the critical list and should have been down in the first transports.”

  Mark looked at his new boss and thought, not for the first time, that there was more than met the eye here. “Anya is a doctor. She is no longer on a respirator. Even sedated, she insisted that the others be taken before her. In a language you would understand, sir—it’s a matter of honor and medical protocol. According to the orderly I sent to get her cat, she was much more relaxed once she knew it had care. She will be down soon. Is Anya’s case special to you in some way, sir?” Where did that come from? Marc had barely used that salutation in the Army.

  “You could say that, doctor.” Mark turned, surprised that Tonas answered his question before Jonal had a chance to speak.

  Tonas continued smoothly, “Dr. Stern, Dr. Bane will take you to transport. You will both be needed at the other end. I’m sure with your very well-trained staff and General Morgan’s men, our business here will soon be concluded.”

  As Mark walked out to the transport with Bane, the last thing he heard was Tonas’s call to Bane’s shadow, “Flagen, a word before you go.”

  “Yes, Admiral!”

  Admiral? I wonder where that came from?

  Chapter 4

  “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

  —Samuel Johnson

  Sarran Calendar: Cycle 9435.B112

  Earth Calendar: July 22nd

  “Thirsty,” she whispered. Then a strong, gentle hand lifted Anya’s head. She nuzzled closer, breathing deeply of fresh linen, vanilla and man, definitely man.

  “Drink, Pa Mici, drink,” a deep basso voice rumbled.

  Anya’s eye caught a snapshot of dark blue eyes, tousled midnight black hair. A thin white scar traced along the outline of a square jaw. Her vision was fuzzy around the edges. She picked up a slight hesitation between his words and her understanding. His lips moved and she received a nanosecond later, a weird built-in satellite delay. The hair on his muscled arm tickled across her back. His palm cupped the nape of her neck, supporting her head. The thumb stroked downward. She trembled, leaning into the light caress.

  The thick fingers of his other hand curved around a filigreed silver tumbler with maroon and gold swirls.

  “Please, thirsty,” Anya mumbled as her lips pursed round the proffered straw.r />
  “Careful, Pa Mici, lips that shape beg a kiss,” the deep voice rumbled.

  Sweetness exploded on Anya’s tongue, a mélange of fruit? She didn’t recognize any of the flavors. Her eyes closed. The juice flowed through her mouth and down her throat, easing the dryness. Voices in her mind, one was here, the basso, the other, a baritone, was close by. The vibrations sang sweet music to her sex. Anya’s skin flushed rose. She reached up and traced a finger along the thin scar. Anya knew she was dreaming. Her hero’s face was on the cover of every romance novel she ever read. He was an American privateer, scarred from a run-in with a British man-of-war or maybe a Regency Duke, scarred in a duel over his sister. It couldn’t be about a woman other than his sister, after all, this was her dream.

  “Your skin is exquisite, Pa Mici. Do you feel us yet?'' His soft, mobile lips swept light kisses across her cheek and nibbled at the corner of her mouth.

  “Name…my pirate…name,” she insisted, sticking out her lower lip, her mouth in moue.

  “Jonal. Rest now,” the voice soothed.

  “Tis such a good dream,” Anya whispered as she grabbed his arm. “Please, don’t make me wake up.”

  * * * *

  “Saxon, Lunas, you have the Bridge,” Tonas said as he crossed over to the double-paneled doors to the StarRoom. The panels slid into the wall with a whoosh and closed behind him. He strode around the table, past the twin consoles over to a secon entry. Brightstar recognized his biological signature and granted access to the Admirals’ private quarters. The lounge was darkened with only a glow from the rooms deeper in casting some light.

  “Jonal,” Tonas called quietly. He stepped toward the warm glow.

  The paneled entry parted and the broad figure of his BondMate emerged from the slumber suite. Tonas frowned; he heard no other sounds. Tonas moved across the living area and placed a kiss on the nape of Jonal’s corded neck. His lover lifted his head, giving him better access. Tonas’s lips touched Jonal’s skin. The bristles of Jonal’s night shadow rasped along Tonas’s cheek. He raised his arm and pulled Jonal in and held him for a moment. His other arm went up and stroked his Firefly’s hair. He needed this; he was so very tired.