Nimisha's Ship (35 page)

“Nimisha, stand near Jon and let the vents clear any possible spores that might have reached you, too,” Doc said. “I suspect the powder is airborne. Whether it’s infectious or contagious, I haven’t yet decided. But you don’t want to run the risk.”

“The children?” Nimisha realized she’d sent the captain down the passageway past the doors to their cabins.

“Good tight seal on those doors, and Helm’s already ordered a complete vacuuming.”

“But what is it?” Nimisha asked, hand on her throat in her anxiety. Jon started to put a comforting arm about her and canceled the action.

“Should we shower?” he asked.

“I’d advise it, and I’m preparing a thoroughly stinky but quite effective gel to use.”

“How do you know it’s stinky?” Nimisha asked, irritable with anxiety. “You have no olfactory organs.”

“Because my program tells me the components stink.”

“Oh.”

“Go shower.”

Quite a breeze whipped through the ship since Doc had Helm open the garage hatch and all doors but those on the children’s cabins.

“What is going on?” Captain Meterios demanded, leaning into the wind as she returned. It abated just as she reached one end of the medical unit. A quick peek proved to her that Karpla’s body was now decently covered.

“Clearing the air, Captain,” Doc said.

“What’s the matter with Karpla? You’ve sedated him?”

“The irritation was quite unbearable, Captain. If you will call a stretcher team, he can be returned to his own quarters on the
Acclarke.
”

“Your diagnosis?” Meterios stood hands behind her back, looking quite provoked.

“An extreme allergic reaction to vegetation. I have found no comparison for either the dust or the pustules in my exotic disease data banks. An empirical treatment to relieve his extreme discomfort was necessitated.”

“Allergy?”

“Karpla, on his most recent hunting expedition, apparently plowed through bushes which the Sh’im avoided. I suspect he would have been wiser to follow their example,” Doc said at his mildest.

Meterios was severely irritated as she spoke into her wrist com and ordered a stretcher team on the double. “How long is he likely to be afflicted with this . . . this local allergy?”

“I am running tests on it at this moment, Captain, and will forward the results to you at the
Acclarke.
”

“I shall have to set up a watch on him, I suppose.”

“That won’t be necessary, Captain. I’ve put him in cold sleep.”

“You
what
?”

“Medical necessity. Can’t have him infecting anyone else until I’ve discovered what antidote can prevent its spread.”

“Its spread?”

“It could, you know,” Doc said. “But you had the good sense to wash immediately when you arrived, Captain. I would suggest that you shower with this gel as soon as you return to your ship.” A vial of a dark brown liquid rolled into one of the unit’s apertures.

Jon and Nimisha exchanged quick glances, and just then the gurney team arrived. Doc’s extendibles had by then encased Karpla in a full cold suit.

“Put him in your medical unit in the
Acclarke
and advise it to monitor him. I’ll send what information I discover directly there,” Doc told Meterios.

She gave a sharp nod toward Parappan and Amin, who had brought the transport, and left without further comment.

“What happened to him?” Ace Parappan asked as he and the yeoman, Fez Amin, loaded Karpla’s body on the gurney.

“Went where the Sh’im told him not to,” Jon said succinctly.

“Yeah, he liked hunting with the little guys,” Ace remarked.

“Good shot all right, but won’t listen to anyone,” Fez said.

“You put him in cold sleep, Doc?” asked Parappan.

“Only safe place for him right now. Don’t touch the body bag again. Roll him into the cold sleep unit and when it’s closed, take a thorough, long shower with this gel.” Two vials rolled out of the dispenser drawer.

As Fez put the vials in his thigh pocket, he turned to Jon and said casually, “We got our four-month resupply, sir, just before the wormhole ate us. In case there was something you might need.”

“C’mon, Fez,” Parappan said, but he winked at Jon as they guided the anti-grav gurney out of the hatch.

Doc waited until they had left.

“Into the shower with you, too. Grab the gel in the dispenser and scrub yourselves well. I’m closing the ship and will add a powerful detox to finish cleaning the air.”

“The children . . .” Nimisha started toward their rooms as Jon scooped up the large bottle of brown liquid.

“They’re in no danger. I instigated emergency closure and oxygen the moment I had a good look at Karpla’s condition,” Doc said. “Get scrubbed.”

They did, with none of the foolery that often accompanied their showers.

“We didn’t need this,” Nimisha said, dressing in fresh clothing. She could see that their cabin had been vacuumed, and the air had a decidedly medicinal taint to it. Fortunately when they reemerged into the main lounge, the air there smelled once again of Erehwon’s summer aromas.

“Doc, Meterios was in close contact with Karpla. Will that detergent keep her from getting it?”

“Too late for her, I fear,” Doc said. “The dust is contagious. She had it on her hands and face and then tried to brush it off when she came in here. Helm informs me there is no trace of powder now in this ship.”

“Fraggit!” Jon muttered.

“I don’t think I’d wish that sort of allergy on anyone, much as she makes me dislike her,” Nimisha said. “How long before she starts scratching?”

“I can’t tell, Nimi, but I suspect by tomorrow, she’ll be showing signs.”

“Then tell her crew to stay the hell away from the
Acclarke
,” Jon ordered.

“Helm has already done so since I declared a medical emergency,” Doc said.

“I have warned everyone,” Helm said.

“What about those poor guys carrying the stretcher?” Nimisha asked.

“They’ll be fine,” Doc said easily. “That’s why I put him in a body bag. No further danger of contamination. Hopefully the cold will also wither the powder, since it thrives in heat.” The medical AI made a throat-clearing sound. “It occurs to me, Lady Nimisha and Commander Svangel,” he went on formally, “that treatment for this condition may only be available back where exotic diseases have been studied. And often cured.”

Jon and Nimisha exchanged glances, and Jon began to chuckle. “You didn’t have a hand in this, did you, Doc?”

“Me, sir? No, sir,” Doc said with what sounded like a genuine indignation. “But it does give us a legitimate reason to send the
Acclarke
back to Vega as fast as Helm can take it. Karpla is, and Meterios will shortly be, dangerous to both humans and Sh’im. Their condition is unlikely to deteriorate once they are both in cold sleep . . .”

“Especially since those were Meterios’s original orders,” Nimisha said drolly.

“And they can be dealt with by medical authorities on their arrival. I strongly urge you to take my advice in this matter.”

“Doc?” Nimisha began, her expression severe.

“One grabs occasions as they arise, Lady Nimisha,” he said at his most courteous and cryptic.

“What was it they used to say about gift horses?” Jon asked, raising an eyebrow as he gave her a charming lopsided grin. “And whatever they got in that four-month resupply should be appropriated as fast as possible.”

“Jon, we shouldn’t,” Nimisha said, aghast.

“Why not? Those two won’t need it, and if there’s some fresh homegrown produce—”

“There is,” Doc interrupted. “I had Helm check with Four’s Helm. D’you want the manifest?”

“We can make sure the crew it was designed for get it, love,” Jon said, touching her elbow. “Sure won’t last four years back to Vegan Headquarters. And we’ll be having visitors who’ll have run out of the supplies they came with.”

“Yes, we will, won’t we?” Nimisha wavered.

The next few days were fraught with nervous tension, begun when Captain Meterios informed Captain Svangel in a tone bordering on hysteria that she had awakened to find herself itching unmercifully.

“Your Doc can handle it,” Jon said, “but if you have anyone else in the
Acclarke,
get them out!”

“As you well know, Commander,” she said, her voice dripping venom, “my crew—” She paused to emphasize her displeasure. “—prefer the native accommodations.”

“As mine do, for that matter, Captain. Get into the medical unit. We’ll be over—”

“You shouldn’t risk it,” Nesta Meterios said, her voice frantic.

“Once you’re in the medical unit, our Doc will tell yours the procedures to instigate, Captain Meterios,” Jon said firmly. “As I am senior serving officer, I hereby formally relieve you of your command, Captain Meterios, and it will be noted that your illness came about in succoring a member of your crew. Please proceed immediately to the medical unit.”

When there was no outraged refusal, Jon and Nimisha exchanged surprised glances.

“You heard Karpla,” Doc said. “She can’t be as bad off as he was when she brought him here, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t suffering a lot.”

Jon strode down the passageway.

“You will, of course, not go in there without full decontam gear,” Nimisha said.

“Damn sure,” was his reply as he hauled open the storage units.

“That won’t be necessary,” Doc said soothingly. “Helm’ll decontam the entire ship once Meterios is in the medical unit. And she’s wasted no time either.”

Nimisha crossed her arms over her chest and, foot tapping, regarded the medical unit. Somewhere it should have eyes that she could pin with her glance when necessary, like right now. She could almost appreciate those who did not like dealing with AI units on the grounds that there were no eyes to contact or anything humanoid about them except their programmed voices.

“How often do you AI’s talk to each other, Doc?”

“Only in emergency situations, my dear Nimisha. And this
is
one, you’ll grant.”

“Yes.”

Jon came back into the main cabin, properly accoutered, masked, and wearing an oxygen tank.

“I told you that it won’t be necessary,” Doc said, sounding peeved. “As if I would risk anyone else.”

“You risked Meterios,” Jon reminded him.

“I did not. Karpla did. The contagion had already passed between them when she assisted him here. I even give Meterios full credit for that act of mercy.”

“She probably couldn’t stand Karpla’s complaints,” Nimisha said unkindly.

“Lady Nimisha!” Doc said in a chiding tone. “Surely that good deed must redeem her in your estimation.”

“I’ll try to let it,” she replied.

“Helm, muster the
Acclarke
’s crew at the skiff hatch,” Jon said. “We can get those supplies off now that the captain’s . . . being taken care of.”

Nimisha was almost shocked at the malicious twinkle in his eyes as he waved her a farewell.

As soon as Jon left, Nimisha went to the bridge of the Fiver and watched him trudge across the sun-baked dusty landing field to the other vessel. Fortunately, decontam suits used air-conditioning, so he wouldn’t be too uncomfortable in today’s heat. On the way, she saw first Globan, then Drayus and the other crew members, fall in beside him. Whatever explanation he gave them stopped them in their tracks. Then Globan started giving orders, and Ace Parappan and Fez Amin, with Tezza Ashke right behind them, found an empty four-wheeled cart, which they pushed to the stern hatch of the
Acclarke.
Some of the Sh’im came along to either investigate or help.

“Now hear this, Nimisha Boynton-Rondymense speaking,” she said, using the traditional hail. “Captain Meterios has become infected by whatever allergen Brad Karpla brought back from his latest hunt. The
Acclarke
is officially in the strictest quarantine. If anyone is experiencing a body-wide itching, please report here immediately. You there of the
Acclarke
crew, do exactly, and only, what Commander Svangel orders.”

“That includes the Sh’im, Nimisha,” Doc said sternly.

“Including Sh’im. We’d like to speak to those who accompanied Brad on his most recent hunt, to determine which plant caused his condition. Karpla and Captain Meterios are resting comfortably while an antidote or a treatment can be found.”

“Which I can’t find without the full resources of a naval medical facility,” Doc added sourly.

Jon had barely returned from his several duties on the
Acclarke,
telling Nimisha that Captain Meterios had been put into cold sleep, when Helm announced a contact.

“Fiver, this is Fiver B calling.” Nimisha gulped at the sound of Caleb Rustin’s unmistakable baritone.

“Fiver B, this is Nimisha receiving you loud and clear. Where are you?”

There was a brief pause that told both Nimisha and Jon that the Fiver B was still a long way off.

“We have just translated to Insystem Drive at heliopause and are reducing our speed preparatory to landing at the coordinates on record.”

“Is Cuiva with you? May I speak to her?” Nimisha said, knowing she didn’t need to shout but doing so in her excitement. Tears ran unheeded down her cheeks, and she felt Jon’s hand gripping her shoulder in comfort.

She thought she’d expire during the time it took for her message to reach the incoming ship and the answer to get back to her.

“She’s in cold sleep. I promised Cuiva not to wake her until her birthday morning, Nimisha,” Caleb replied. “She’s also a junior officer now. She put her travel time to good use.”

“Then she has her Necklace with her?”

“Yes, and yours, too.”

Nimisha could not restrain her sobs then. “Oh, the dear, dear girl. Oh, my darling Cuiva!”

Jon edged into the second seat and took over. “Lieutenant Commander Jonagren Svangel speaking. Lady Nimisha is temporarily overcome with joy at your message.”

Pause.

“Svangel? Delighted to know that Nimisha has not been alone on that planet.”

“Not half as glad as we were, Captain, to see a fresh face, and have the advantages of such a well-equipped ship.”

Pause.