by Chris Hechtl
Which was of mixed blessings since Nara had died an hour ago.
Doctor Sho's people were doing their best but they were fighting a losing battle. They were also on the front lines so had little time to investigate the means for a cure. The few healers on some of the ships in space around him had little or no knowledge of virology. At best they were saw bone doctors, paramedics able to sew up an injury or set a bone, not true doctors. He shook his head again tiredly.
They were supposed to be familiarizing themselves with the plagues and how to fight them. Some had enlisted the help of database specialists. Some were listening, but others had flat-out told him they were in over their head. He didn't know how to urge them on other than through fear and intimidation.
The good news was mixed. Ships that had not been in port within twenty-four hours of the bitch's arrest had been cleared of any sign of infection. They were holding off, sitting there resentfully waiting under the guns of his flagship for his orders. He'd turned down requests to leave Tortuga space. He had no intention of letting them flee for their wretched lives, not when they might be of some use to him.
Besides, he needed them to defend the star system should the Feds show up.
He had ordered his people to check for information on Fed cures delivered to the nearest planet that had been infected by the Horathians. He thought about that again and then shook his head.
He was already starting to differentiate his pirates from the Horathians, if only in his mind. Funny about that. Pretty soon it would slip out into general conversation with the officers and crew.
Every Horathian who had transferred out of the ships that had brought the plagues had been hunted down and interrogated before being killed. Some had admitted that the Horathian Empire had started a policy of xenophobic extermination of any species other than human decades ago.
So, his family who he'd sent back there were most likely dead. He closed his eyes in a brief flare of grief and pain over that.
They'd been working on defensive plans to defend the Tortuga star system. They, like a lot of things, had been put on hold. Plans to evacuate had not been activated as of yet. An evacuation was becoming increasingly more likely as time went by. That wasn't something he liked. He needed to do something about that. They had a lot of material in the star system, a lot invested in it. He couldn't let it go to waste or be turned over to the Feds. They'd just turn it on them.
But, they needed a backup plan to destroy it all if he was forced out. A GOTH plan, he reminded himself with a mental grimace.
“We're being hit from two fronts. Treachery from within and the Federation from outside,” Kix observed.
“I know. I was stupid to follow the plan. I should never had agreed to spread poison that killed my own people. I should have asked why they wanted to do so!” Leonidas shook his head in self-anger. “I was led by the nose. The promise of a vaccine? That they had a cure to protect our own people?” His mouth worked in an urge to spit in anger at himself. “I should have known better. I should have thrown that dross into the nearest star and the bastards who brought it with them,” he snarled, lips curling up to show his large teeth. Kix nodded in grim agreement. “The entire thing stank to high heaven but I went through with it. I was such a fool,” the admiral said bitterly.
“Well, we're not going to spread it further, right, sir?” the Neochimp asked.
The admiral snorted and then shook his head. “No. The problem is we need to contain our infection and treat it.”
“I've ordered anyone infected to be quarantined. But that doesn't help stop it. That just slows the spread in some quarters, and it will spread it fast between those who are quarantined.”
“True. And the panic spreads even faster.”
“Well, the good news is we have the intel from the data on what the plague is. It is more than one package. The medics are looking at it now,” the admiral said. “Not that it will do them much good.”
“Oh?” Nim asked as he came over to them.
“Yes. And we have the samples. There is hope for a vaccine from them.” Kix said, looking at his fellow Neochimp. He didn't say how much hope. He personally doubt it, but they needed to put on a brave front for the subordinates. Everyone needed to know they were trying to do something, trying to work on a cure.
The Neolion admiral gave his subordinate a long look. “You and I both know that our medics are basic at best. They can patch wounds but can do little else. They have no training in this. They are out of their league.”
Kix blinked his brown eyes at the admiral's blunt brutal honesty. He'd forgotten that. The admiral had also forgotten their need to keep panic from spreading. “Then we need to get more and better ones,” he replied with an indifferent shrug.
“How? The landlubber medics are at best country doctors. They will be in a worse position than our own!” Nim said, voice rising in fear as his fur bristled.
“I think that raid on the Federation is sounding better and better,” Kix said, giving the admiral a significant look. They both wanted to be elsewhere, anywhere but where they were currently at. Out of sight, out of mind applied.
“If we can find them. If we can isolate them and get them without killing them. If I recall from my history books, don't the Feds have some sort of suicide protocol?” the Neolion asked mildly as he checked his nails. He flicked away a piece of fluff.
Kix grimaced as Nim looked from the Neolion to him and back. “Crap. Forgot that,” he muttered.
“Look into it and ways to neutralize it anyway. And look into a target list. Obviously going back to the fed base is one, but I'd rather hit something a bit less protected than that.”
Kix bobbed a nod. “Aye aye, sir,” he said, making a series of notes on his duty tablet.
“Look into any medical texts and data we can get our hands on. Start here. I think some people had personal libraries and collections. Look into that and the databases. Find the quartermasters and have them dig up medical tech and data and hand it over to our people.”
“You know that will drive the price up on the booty,” Nim warned.
The admiral instantly flared in indignation. “I don't give a rats ass! Anyone who tries to charge for it will walk the plank! Pure and simple!”
Nim's eyes went wide and then he nodded. “Yes, sir.”
<()>^<()>
A half hour later Kix was on his own when he got a call in from the lab. He frowned as he listened to Val's report. The wolf had volunteered to escort the human lab tech to the lab to look for the infection since her pack mates were down with the illness.
Just one look told him she had it too. Her and the other Neos and aliens behind her. The Neowolf was feverish; she kept panting and looking around blearily. He looked over her shoulder to the small human tech working on the plague samples. “How bad are your people?”
“Bad. In a word, hell, two words, really bad—as bad as it gets. They are feverish.” she snorted and rubbed at her running nose. “I am too.”
“Can you maintain control?” he asked as a Neodog staggered over to the human and growled. The human's eyes went wide. A bark from the wolf made the dog back off but not without a surly look.
“I don't know for how much longer.”
“Try. Keep trying. And I need a download of that database. Maybe we can find something you missed.”
“Here's to hoping, sir,” she said with a nod as she had Rob walk her through how to set up the link. “On the way,” she said.
“We need that kid to keep working and stay in one piece, Val. Do what you have to,” Kix said quietly.
Val looked at the human again and then sighed. “Yeah. I've heard it’s really bad. I don't want to go out like that.”
“Then don't. But make sure he's safe first.”
The wolf looked at the chimp in the eye and then nodded slowly. “Got it,” she said as she cut the channel.
Kix closed his eyes in pain briefly. He hoped she'd gotten the right message.
Chapter 4
Pell looked at his team. He'd managed to keep a solid core of people together, all humans of course. That sucked but it was what it was. They'd even pulled in some toughs and retirees and put them back in uniform. When things had started sliding further and further south, they'd put any volunteer they could get into uniform—even ship's police that had been trapped on the station when the base had been quarantined.
At this point any volunteer was welcome if they could keep a straight face and stand a post. But it was getting tough out there; he knew that.
Which was why he was starting to pull his best and put them in armor. He didn't have a lot of armor, but what he had he fully intended to use to crack heads and make some examples. Only when the survivors were cowed would they get order fully restored.
He grimaced at the sight of the bodies. Some were being spaced, but some were piling up. There were so many … and the pickpockets rifling the dead were terrible. He turned away, turning a blind eye on images of people rifling the dead and dying rather than trying to help—sick, just sickening.
But, oh so normal for his people he thought as sighed mentally.
<()>^<()>
Troy, Sammy, and Ned all looked on to the people around them. “I'm telling you, this shit is crazy,” Ned murmured.
“Crazy doesn't cover it,” Sammy said with a grimace. Both he and Ned worked the ports moving cargo. In their off time, they occasionally worked the back alleys of Tortuga looking for “spare change,” their euphemism for mugging drunks.
Troy Nakumora grunted. He had helped them shanghai a few people, press-ganging them into service of one ship or another. He'd done it because he'd been in too deep to refuse … and because he'd been afraid of what the two would do to him had he backed out.
He'd also had heard about what had happened to Burke and a few of the others who were in Sammy and Ned's line of work. Only the fact that the duo hadn't broken into the late Doctor Wilhelm's market just yet and that they'd led the mob to string up Burke had kept their hands clean.
And now they were doing their best to play the part of innocent people trapped in the situation. For the most part, that was true.
For someone like him, someone whose mother had been a dancer and a slave brought to Tortuga for “entertainment,” to get out of the slave pits and gladiator arena alive was a very special achievement. It had, in some part, been due to his late father's will. His late father had apparently genuinely loved his mother Natasha and had left his booty to her to take care of her and Troy when he was gone.
When his mother had died, he'd tried to gamble the dwindling savings and had lost it all. So, he'd been working odd jobs and keeping one step ahead of people like Sammy and Ned ever since.
“I think the admiral has a plan. We've got the plagues contained, right?” Ned asked as he took a sip of tepid beer. Where he'd gotten it was a mystery to Troy. Ned wasn't apparently in the mood to share his stash or secret.
“Yeah, for the moment,” Sammy said darkly. Order was breaking down in parts of Tortuga far more than usual. There were a lot less people of course. The remains of the shore patrol were not above cracking heads if someone got too uppity with them. But they were turning a blind eye to crime. “But if you think the admiral's going to save us I want some of whatever you are drinking,” he said with a shake of his head. “Keep dreaming.”
“There has to be a plan. Even if there isn't, we're all human,” Troy said looking at the others. “We're immune. We can ride it out and then clean up.”
“You really think they'll reopen the port once the only ones left are humans?” Ned asked. He looked over to Sammy. “I'm telling you, we need to find someone who can fly a shuttle and get the hell out of here.”
“And go where?”
“We're humans so we're immune, right? We let the ships out there know and someone's bound to take us in! We pack it with enough people; maybe sweeten the deal with some geegaws and booty.”
Troy shook his head and threw his hands up as he walked away. “You two do what you want.”
“You ain't in?”
“Nah. I'll come up with my own thing. I need to do some checking first,” Troy said as he walked off shaking his head.
<()>^<()>
Black Death
One by one ships in space around the port were checked and cleared of infection. Only two failed. To his utter relief Black Death also passed muster. His harem had been the last to come over in a shuttle, and they'd been en route before the doctor had been arrested. A small percentage of the BC's crew had been on liberty on the base or doing business there in the late evening during the outbreak. Many were dead.
Ships that had sent over shuttles rather than unstepping their drives to go into port and dock were in the best condition. Some had only lost a few people to the plagues. That was the good news.
The yard was also clean. Wida had every tug moving it as far away from the base as possible. She'd sent her people out to grab what they could.
His staff had pitched detaching the docking ring. He'd denied it after reading a report that it had been exposed to plague-ridden people. The immediate space around the base was beginning to show streams of bodies of plague victims. Some were headed to deep space, others to the inner system. A few drifted around the asteroid like a ring of death.
Tugs had been used to move cargo not exposed to the plague within the base. But they had to be careful of the bodies.
Two ships had been found to have the plague. When they'd gotten clear of the docking ring, he'd ordered both destroyed. Both had been Tauren freighters.
There were increasing problems with the ship repairs and resupply however. Manpower was an issue of course. They had to draw supplies from areas that had not been infected. That meant the orbital warehouses and stockpiles around Tortuga. Even private caches or caches their former owners had thought were private.
Kix smirked ever so slightly over that thought. He'd kept careful track of who went where in the system. He'd done so for decades. He knew an approximate location of everyone's hidey hole. Every little rock they'd used to hide their goodies he knew about.
And now he was putting that knowledge to use to save what he could. Not that it was doing much good. Many of the things the captains and sailors had hidden were of value to be sure, but they weren't of use when they were baubles and gold or jewels.
He shook his head angrily. He needed to get a better handle on the supply situation, which meant another round with the XOs and quartermasters in the ships and modules.
Could they use robots to access suspicious areas? He wasn't sure if it would be worth it. How long did it take for the plagues to die off when exposed to vacuum? Again, something he didn't know but something he was pretty sure he needed to find out.
Something told him they were going to need to explore telepresence controls too as well as an inventory of the most distant warehouse modules as well as the boneyard for support. Tortuga's distant boneyard held a couple of dozen ships of various types. None of them were warships though. Any warship hull had been rebuilt and was in use.
But, the boneyard was the only place for fresh parts and material that were increasingly in short supply.
By raiding his supply as well as others, they'd brought up Black Death's port magazines to one quarter. The starboard magazines didn't bear thinking about. Captains Dab and Black were still tut-tutting over the twisted wreckage.
Raiding the supply had brought them up, but he had few tubes. Just one had been restored in the starboard flank. Five were in the port side. He had another one in the bow and one in the stern. That was it.
The starboard flank's energy weapons and rail guns were gone—just … gone. Most of her shield emitters too, though some of the ancient ones had held up under the pounding. No doubt because they'd been embedded in the hull and heavily armored. Dab had promised him that they'd raid that side to fix his port side and then do something about the node and defenses when they could.
His ship was starting to look a bit like himself he thought as he touched his lost eye.
He better not get into any tussles. At the moment his vaunted ship would be hard pressed to fight her way out of a paper bag he thought moodily.
His hand shook for a moment from fatigue before he paused and clenched and unclenched it. When he was sure he had control of himself once more, he went back to making hurried notes and orders.
<()>^<()>
Tortuga
Troy scouted his way out. The bay was locked down though, so he had to go hunting for a less secure one. He'd realized the shuttles were a death trap. He'd spent a little time in the outer dark so he was checked out in a suit and tug. If he could get to one, he might be able to slip through to the yard and then blend in there. That was his plan at any rate.
His plan changed a bit when he checked the outer cameras and saw how far away the yard was. It wasn't even in the main bay anymore, which shocked him. He picked up on chatter that they were moving it out to Black Death. That sucked. He might need to grab a tug to get over there.
No, hang it, he'd definitely need one. No way could he chance going EVA in a suit pack that distance. At least with a tug he could turn back if he got lost. He checked the port. The way things were going he was pretty sure someone was going to make their move soon. If he planned it right, he could go with the flow and use them as a distraction.
He noted the shore patrol was light. No doubt due to the plague but they were also pulling people from the sentry posts. Were they abandoning their posts? He wasn't sure.
<()>^<()>
Shore Patrol officer Dred Pell, a bare six months into his posting had been left in charge for his druthers. He had seen and recognized the signs of trouble. Instead of leaving his few remaining people out on the vine, he had pulled them in. The temporary abandonment of their post wouldn't sit well with the brass, but he had a plan.
That involved getting his people suited up in armor. Shock and awe would do the rest.