Jim Baen's Universe

Introducing: Stories by new authors

Chirus Fever

Written by Lisa L. Satterlund

Illustrated by Dean Spencer

"It's too late—the ship is gone." Hal's thin voice seeped through the speakers in Frank's helmet.

"What? Gone?" Frank jumped down from the mounting ladder and yanked his helmet off. The noise of the jet engines rushed in on him, bouncing off the closed hangar doors at his back. "How can it be gone? The Feds told the pilot he was not to lift without the serum."

"Look for yourself, " Hal shouted. He shoved the message screen at Frank. A gust of wind almost flipped it from his hand before Frank could grab it.

The Mens Sano lifted without clearance at 4:32local time. Two agents, three ground crew hospitalized, one agent and one ground crew dead. Status of agent on board unknown.

Frank read the message through twice before scrambling up the mounting ladder to turn off the shooter's engines. The sudden cessation of their throbbing made his ears ring.

"That's it? That's all we know?" he said, dropping back down.

Hal was already on his way to the Tech Center, his short legs pumping. Hal was a techie and uncomfortable around the suborbital shooters. On a different planet, he'd've been able to spend his life secluded in a small apartment, doing all his work via the stream, using the nano-built radio in his head. Here on Orial that just wasn't possible. Frank chased after him. His height and long legs let him catch up before the door into the Tech Center swung shut.

"McCourtney streamed he'd be sending an update in five," Hal said. He wove his way through the maze of mostly empty cubits. This early on a Sunday morning only those working the current emergency were around.

"McCourtney? I thought Liz was in charge." Frank leaned against the door frame of the cubit as the techie dropped into the lone chair. The cubits were very stark at the Center for the Eradication and Control of Infectious Disease. Since so much confidential information flowed through the facility, the walls were high and thick with soundproofing, making the cubits feel like coffins standing on end. The message screen filled the upper half of the right-side wall. Most of the other employees set the screen to show nature scenes when it wasn't in use, but not Hal. His screen displayed a dull gray pattern that almost matched the fabric-covered walls.

Frank grabbed a chair from the nearest cubit and dragged it in, shoving Hal into the corner in the process. Hal rolled his eyes and reached out to slide the door shut. Frank straddled the chair and propped his elbows on the back. He used both hands to push his over-long, dusty-brown hair up off his forehead.

"Why's McCourtney sending the update?" Frank asked.

"Because Liz is on the Mens Sano."

Frank's mouth hung open a moment. Liz was the agent on board? Something must've really gotten bolluxed up. Liz hated going aboard the orbitals—she got space sick in zero g. Hal's message screen flickered and McCourtney's image appeared. Like everything in Hal's life, the colors of his screen were grayed.

"Morning Frank, Hal." McCourtney had a stiff posture and icy blue eyes. His voice was musical and his manner affable. Given the contrast, Frank wondered sometimes about his health. "You know the background. There was an outbreak of what appears to be Chirus fever on board the orbital Mens Sano for which the captain requested CECID aid. Agent Harrison boarded to confirm."

"And before I can even finish my walk-around and take off with the serum, the pilot lifts without clearance." Frank had never had any patience for recaps.

"That's right. We don't yet know why."

"Great. What do we do next? Let 'em go and spread this to the next planet? Let 'em go and hope everyone aboard dies?"

"The Feds have officially requested our assistance. We can have a ship—"

"Wait a minute," Hal said. "Chasing these guys down isn't our job. Let the Port do it."

"—you're licensed for orbitals, aren't you Frank?"

"Licensed, bonded and up-to-date. Hal's got a point, though. Why should we chase these guys down? We're not cops."

"If it weren't Chirus fever, I'd say let the Port do it in a heartbeat," McCourtney said. He canted toward the screen. "Even though they are holding one of our agents hostage. As it is, I want the CECID in control. If you're flying the ship, Frank, they go where you say. More importantly, they don't go where you don't. I'm sending a full lab kit with you. If Liz has the sense we all know she does, she's already doing damage control."

****

This isn't good. Liz Harrison swallowed hard against the inevitable effect of zero g. Not that it did any good. There was nothing left for her system to eject, but that never seemed to matter to her inner ear.

Things had gone well at first. She and the other agents arrived at the hardstand accompanied by the Federal Port Agent. They identified themselves and were admitted without incident. Given the cramped size of the ship, they'd left most of the Feds and medical crew outside. They climbed to the tiny control cabin in the nose of the rocket for the briefing. Thornberg, the Fed agent, started with the standard not-quite-quarantine spiel. Liz noticed an exchange of glances between the pilot and one of the crew, but hadn't thought anything of it. Then she introduced herself and explained what the CECID did, and the bovine waste went flying. It appeared that the owners and most of the crew of the Mens Sano were Attestors. The captain was not.

Attestors did not believe in medical intervention. They would never call for the CECID, nor would they accept the help if offered. Maybe if the Fed hadn't been along the pilot wouldn't have panicked. The Fed was tall, wide, heavy, and black. The crew were like faded photocopies of him: whiter, shorter, and lighter. They shared the same colored hair and light eyes to match. They were, however, taller and heavier than Liz herself. That wasn't saying much. Most fourteen year-old pubescent girls were taller than Liz. Quite a few had more voluptuous figures.

None of this hindsight helped the current situation. The pilot had panicked and now they were approaching orbit. Once there, the Mens Sano would match velocity and dock with the Corporo Sano. Liz could not allow that. Not when Chirus fever might be on board.

She swallowed again and forced herself to loosen her white-knuckled grip on the grab bar. There were seven people in the crowded control cabin—Liz, the Fed, the captain, three crew members and the pilot. The three crew members were watching the Fed and the captain as if they expected them to explode in a flurry of action-vid unarmed combat, despite the way the Fed clung to a grab bar and moaned. No one was watching Liz.

Liz let go of the grab bar and flexed her foot against the deck. That impelled her in the general direction of the pilot. She drifted into reach of another grab bar and used it to adjust her trajectory. Not wanting to bump him, she aimed herself for the secondary command chair. A bright smile stretching her lips, she tugged the harness into place and snapped herself in.

"Do you know the fatality rate of untreated Chirus fever?" she asked.

"No." The pilot's pale eyes flickered from the control desk readouts to her face, then returned to the readouts. His starched and pressed jumpsuit was bare of insignia.

"Sixty to seventy percent."

"Too bad." The pilot's tone was neutral, as if that staggering number had nothing to do with him.

"How long were you downside?"

"Six days. Maybe seven. Orial's clock doesn't sync with the Corporo Sano so I'm not real sure."

"The incubation period for Chirus is seventy-two hours. Do you know what that means?"

"Doesn't mean anything to me. Look, lady. We won't hurt you—as soon as we dock with the Corporo Sano we'll stuff you and the others into a pod and jettison you. You'll be fine. I'm sure your friends," he jerked his head in the direction of the Fed, "have already scrambled an orbital after us. They'll pick you up. We do understand about epidemics, you know. We won't go off infecting the rest of the galaxy."

Liz didn't believe for a minute that it would be that simple. Still, that was a bridge she'd cross when she was forced to. Her first priority as a CECID agent was to keep the Chirus fever—if it was Chirus—off the Corporo Sano.

"Were any of your friends sick before you went downside?"

This time he didn't even bother to glance at her.

"Look,"asshole she thought but didn't say, "if you were downside six days, and the fever started showing up the day before the captain called us in, then your crew caught it downside. That means there won't be any Chirus on the Corporo Sano until you and your crew bring it on board. You say you won't go off infecting the galaxy. Why are you insisting on infecting your main ship?"

****

The shooter rolled to a stop and Frank turned the key in the ignition. It hadn't been one of his smoothest landings—he'd had too much velocity for that—but he hadn't crashed and nothing in the cockpit was broken. He punched the button to raise the canopy and yanked off his helmet. As soon as he had clearance, he reached behind the seat for the lab kit. It was as awkward to maneuver out as it had been to wedge in. By the time he'd succeeded, the mounting ladder was in place. Three mechanics surrounded the ship and the robotic tractor was already attached to the front landing gear.

At the bottom of the ladder was a Fed. He looked vaguely familiar, but that might be the typical Fed suit he was wearing. Standing nearby at the base of an orbital's ramp were two more. Frank wondered how many Port Agents were already aboard.

"What took you so long, Hutchinson?" the Fed said.

"What, an hour door-to-door isn't good enough for you?" Now that he was down on the ground, the Fed was more than vaguely familiar. "How the hell are you, Sam-sam? I thought you were too senior these days to pull pursuit duty."

"And miss the chance to fly with you and rescue the fair Liz?" Sam grinned. He trotted to keep up as Frank hustled toward the waiting orbital. Sam wasn't much shorter than Frank, but his height was in his torso. The orbital was a big ship, bigger than anything Frank had flown before. Sleek and glossy, it rested on its tail fins, dwarfing the blast pit beneath it.

"I'm flattered. What have I got here?" The ramp vibrated beneath their feet and then they were inside. Frank shoved the lab kit into the arms of the nearest Fed and started up the ladder to the control cabin.

"The Port Authority, G-class orbital cruiser. Two stern and four bow guns."

Frank stopped and looked down between his feet at the top of Sam's head. "Guns?"

Sam neither moved nor spoke and after a moment Frank continued up the ladder to the control cabin tucked into the nose of the rocket. It felt almost roomy in comparison to other orbitals he'd flown. In silence, he slid into the main pilot's chair fronting the control desk and snapped his harness into place. He watched from the corner of his eye while Sam did the same. Then he tuned into the stream.

"Port Authority, here. Am I clear?" he said, using the nano-built throat mike to transmit to Traffic Control.

"Confirm clear," said a voice into his ear. In truth, the transmission bypassed his ear, going straight to the auditory center of his brain. It made identifying voices difficult.

"Opening valves, then. See you later." He tuned out of traffic control and into the ship's intercom system. "Sit down or fall down, fellows, we're on our way. Oh, and if anything happens to that lab kit, I'll let Liz take what she needs from your hides."

****

Frustration and space sickness were a vile combination. Liz had explained to the crew of the Mens Sano why they shouldn't dock with the Corporo Sano. Each seemed to accept that as a good idea. Each agreed avoidance didn't constitute intervention. And in five more minutes the pilot would be docking with the main ship. What were the idiots in charge of the Corporo Sano telling these guys?

"Hey, girly-girl, how's it going? I have a lab kit for you." Frank's voice slid into her head. She could tell from the background crackle that it was a private transmission.

"Rotten. Where are you?"

"I'm in range. ETA, oh, maybe ten minutes."

"Not good enough, Frankie."

"You can handle it. Need a distraction?"

"I need solid ground, but a distraction would be nice, yes." Liz unbuckled the harness and shifted her grip on the arm of the chair.

"Hello, everybody. Are we having fun yet? This is the Port Authority. You are to change course eighty degrees with five degrees elevation." Frank's voice boomed through the stream. Liz had never figured out how he did that—volume control of an auditory brain signal should be an aspect of the receiving brain, since there were no sound waves involved.

The Mens Sano's pilot stiffened and jerked around to glare at Liz. She smiled. She already knew what she wanted to do. The open racks of control modules made for easy repairs and just as easy sabotage. As he turned back to the control desk, she pushed out of the chair and down to the deck, sliding under the desk. Sometimes her size was an advantage. The impact was worse than she anticipated, and on the rebound, she cracked her head. She grabbed at the module racks to steady herself. Which one was it now? Liz realized she'd spent far too much time watching Frank shuffle various modules. The one she wanted controlled the docking system. Here we go. She squeezed the handles and pulled. With a click, it disconnected from the ship's systems.

Hands yanked at her legs. One of her shoes came off. She let go of the module's handles and let herself be pulled. Her shoe sailed off in one direction while Liz and her attackers caromed off in another. Just before she swung away from the pilot, pivoting around a crew member by her ankles, she saw his foot go out to shove the disconnected module back into place. There was a loud crackle and a sharp smell. A single puff of smoke drifted out from beneath the control desk.

"Oh, Lord," the pilot said. Liz couldn't tell whether he was praying or swearing. If he said anything else, she didn't hear it. The Mens Sano banked sharply as its collision-avoidance system reacted to the nearness of the main ship. The occupants of the control cabin, all except the pilot, went tumbling. Liz bounced off two different bodies before she hit the deck again.

****

"What the hell are they doing?" Sam leaned forward against his harness to get a better view of the observation screen.

"Looks to me like their collision-avoidance system just kicked in. Shall we ask Liz?" Frank said. He grinned. He'd given Liz her distraction and she'd run with it.

"Thompson wants to unlock the guns."

"And he didn't want me to know he'd asked." Frank kept his eyes on the observation screen. He was still far enough away from the Mens Sano that watching was all he could do. Even if Sam unlocked the guns and his subordinates used them. "Don't do it, Sam-sam. Liz asked for a distraction. I'd bet we're watching the results."

"Hutchinson, what did you do?"

"I let them know we were here, that's all. Ordered them to change course—which they've done, although I grant you, that's not the direction I told them to go."

"Next time, let me in on your little jokes," Sam said, then tuned into the ship's intercom system. "Thompson, the guns stay locked. For now. We're watching the result of Hutchinson's and Harrison's work. And next time, broadcast. Hutchinson is on our side."

Frank grinned again. "I'm touched. Okay, here we go. They're stabilizing. If they head for the Corporo Sano again, it didn't work. If they go into orbit, Liz has done . . . something."

"What did you tell her to do?"

"She's a big girl, Sam-sam. I left it up to her imagination." Frank still hadn't looked away from the screen, but he was very aware of the frown on Sam's face. "Just so you know—if you use those guns, Sam-sam, this ship won't land."

****

"What did she do to the ship, Justice?" one of the crew members asked.

"She disconnected the docking module, which wouldn't be so bad except I fried it when I kicked it back in," the pilot said. His self-disgust was obvious in his posture and tone of voice. He'd managed to damp the frenetic motion of the ship and bring them back to an even keel. Liz admired the way he'd kept his head.

The three crew members who had earlier focused their attention on the Fed and the captain were now watching her as if she were an exhibit in the zoo.

"You can fix it, can't you?"

Liz decided there weren't three crew members, there was one with three bodies, because three mouths moved, but only one voice emerged.

"I could if we had another docking module, but we don't. Ezekiel could jury-rig something from the spare c-a module, but he's sick. I'm not bringing him into the control cabin as long as she's here." No one needed to ask whom he meant. Liz widened her eyes and tried to look innocent.

"Mens Sano, this is the Port Authority. That wasn't quite what I had in mind, but it will do." Frank's broadcast interrupted them. "Stand by to match velocities."

"Um . . . Frank, there's a problem," Liz said. There seemed no point in making it a private transmission, now that the Attestors knew he was there.

"What? Is the pilot dead?"

"No, but the docking module is."

"You killed the docking module." Soft crackles filled the background of the transmission.

"No, I loosened the docking module. The