Robert Chase: The Wellness Plague

“You have an interesting way of dealing with authority,” Mercer-Konare said.

Rey looked around, surprised to see that the councilor had followed him outside. He shrugged. “I had to do something to get his attention. You know, they make a big deal about being the repositories of human culture, Homer, Socrates, Augustine, Lao Tzu… Yet sometimes, it seems that all they really study are Dr. Who episodes where some alien virus turns everyone into stiff-legged monsters. This planet, which has been our home for generations, fills them with fear.

“It’s almost funny. Calley-Li thinks the Alienists are depraved and defeatists, yet all they do is put into art everything he believes.”

“How did you learn about his daughter?” the councilor asked.

“I don’t know anything about his daughter, except that she was Don’s date,” Rey said. His lips twitched. “I don’t know that she was infected, or even that you can be infected by person to person contact. I haven’t gotten that far yet. But then, I don’t know that you can’t. And Calley-Li certainly doesn’t know that you can’t. I’m hoping it’ll give him pause.”

A man was approaching them. With a sinking feeling, Rey recognized Bhagwati. He’ll never believe I kept his secret.

But it was Mercer-Konare to whom he wished to speak.

“Councilor,” he said, his voice shaking with agitation, “I fear that I am the cause of this plague.”

Mercer-Konare stared at him. “How so?”

“My sheep,” he said, sounding miserable. “As I listened to the governor, I realized that my sheep, grazing beyond the cordon, must have ingested the parasite and then spread it to the rest of the colony.”

Mercer-Konare turned to Rey. “Is that possible?”

“I suppose,” Rey said doubtfully. The parasite’s presence might explain why bloodbirds persisted in attacking sheep. They would taste or smell something familiar which had, in the past, been associated with nourishment. It might also explain why breaking a bag of blood caused bloodbirds to release their hold, since the artificially cultured blood supplies would lack the parasitic traces. Yet…

“The problem is, I don’t think we can establish that everyone on Far Edge has eaten your sheep,” Rey said. “Most of what you raise is for export. Most of the local consumption comes from the herds of the other Freeholders. As far as I know, their sheep graze on the legal side of the cordon.”

He said the last sentence slowly, giving both of them ample time to contradict him. Bhagwati nodded sadly. Mercer-Konare, however, looked suddenly excited.

“Maybe there are several modes of infection,” he said. “Maybe sheep grazing beyond the cordon is only one. Nonetheless, I bet those sheep are infected. And if they are, then so is everyone who ate them. You’re right in supposing that most of Freeholder Bhagwati’s sheep are exported. In fact, most of them go to the Terraces.”

His gaze turned inward. “I suppose I must communicate this to the Terraces, as well as to any other colonies which may have received infected sheep. It would not do to have the governor’s efforts to contain this plague thwarted by a failure to appreciate just how widespread it is.”

The councilor walked back to his office, humming happily to himself.

Days of anticlimax stretched into a week. An underlying tension ate into the pit of Rey’s stomach. He would wake up wondering: Is this the day some maniac is going to blow us to hell? Then he would push it out of his consciousness and get on with the day’s work. But it stayed just beneath the surface of his thoughts, gnawing at him.

Mercer-Konare asked everyone to prepare a list of those vital supplies which were in short supply, presumably in order to set up a rationing system. Rey and Martina printed out their inventory of medical supplies, then went over it to see what could be made locally. Bandages and splints could be fabricated from cloth and plastic scraps. Alcohol for disinfectant use could be distilled. Very simple tissue grafting could be done in the clinic.

On the other hand, antibiotics and immune system enhancers were both in short supply. There were no resources to support serious surgery or any kind of gene therapy. That sort of work had always been done in the Terraces.

They turned in their lists, revised a few of the clinic procedures to stretch out supplies as far as was consistent with patient safety, and continued on their rounds. Martina spent as much free time as she had with O’Donnel and his three friends, trying to devise new tests to determine why they had not starved to death.

A few guesses were confirmed. All of Bhagwati’s sheep were infected with the parasite. As were all other flocks, and all humans except newborn babies. Analysis of the oldest records indicated that the infection had originally spread west to east. Since that was for most of the year the direction of the prevailing winds, Rey began to suspect that something like airborne spores might be the mechanism of contagion. If so, then no cordon could provide protection. No colony this close to the world jungle would ever be safe.

On the seventh day, a comm call woke Rey while it was still dark.

“Santa Claus is coming to pay a surprise visit,” Mercer-Konare informed him. “You should be on hand to greet her at the airfield.”

A small group of men and women had already assembled by the time Rey reached the communications shack. A mug of hot coffee was pressed into his hand to ward off the pre-dawn chill. He sipped it gingerly, trying to keep it from scalding lips and mouth as his eyes quartered the sky.

There was an exclamation behind him, and an arm pointed to the east. Rey squinted in the direction indicated. At first, he could make out nothing against the featureless dark blue expanse. Then a flash caught his attention. It was the Sunbird , bathed in the advancing light of Tau Ceti. It was dropping quickly to the landing pad. To Rey’s eyes, its movements were sluggish; it seemed to wallow in the air.

“…Hope she didn’t overload…” a woman behind him muttered.

The Sunbird came straight in, hard and fast. Its wheels smacked the pavement and bounced. Wings quivered like an angry butterfly. The fans came to life with a sudden roar, twisting the craft around so that it stopped with its tail brushing the fence at the edge of the cliff.

Regan Lee jumped unsteadily onto the pavement and waved to the crowd which had run up to greet her. Seeing Mercer-Konare, she reached back into the cabin for a large envelope and handed it to him.

“Here’s the manifest. And a few letters from people who don’t want to trust the satellite links for privacy. ”

The councilor thanked her. He examined the manifest, grunted, and began calling out names of those he wanted to help with the unloading. Regan spotted Rey and walked over to him.

“Hi, Doc. You’ve really stirred people up since I dropped you here.”

“Not intentionally,” he mumbled, feeling oddly tongue-tied.

For some reason, her face split in a wide grin. “C’mon. I’ll show you your presents.”

There were three large boxes. Each had its contents listed on a sheet taped to one side. The first contained immune system boosters and pheromone regulators. A quick check disclosed that, at the normal rate of usage, these would last perhaps three months. Most of the second box was filled with a laser scalpel set, complete with spares, and attachments for local nerve deadening.

The third box was the most interesting. Instead of antibiotics, they had received an antibiotic culturing kit. More than thirty basic antibiotics could be grown in the glass trays from the dehydrated sample bags. It was not nearly as convenient as receiving pills or nasal sprays. With proper care, however, it could last decades.