Spaceship medic

Chapter 11

Don had dismissed Rama, told him to get some sleep, because he wanted to be alone with this problem. The four new cases of fever were in the larger ward, but the first case, Preece, was in the isolation room. Don stood by his bed, listening to the man's heavy, slow breathing and looking at the battery of recording instruments that had been hooked up to the patients body. The situation was clear -but what did it mean?

Pulse, slow but steady. Heart, apparently normal. Temperature, 102 degrees and rising steadily despite the doses of antipyretics that were supposed to bring it down. The antibiotics, also, had apparently had no effect. What was the cause? A little earlier he had been priding himself that he could take care of any medical emergency that might arise. He wasn't doing too well with this one. And he was tired...

Stifling a yawn, he went out into his office and carefully washed his hands and arms, then put them into the ultrasonic sterilizer. Rama had left a thermos of hot coffee and he poured himself a cup. While he sipped at it he tried to fit the facts into a meaningful pattern.

What were the facts - other than that he had five patients hospitalized with a fever of unknown origin? The only specific symptom that Preece, the one with the most advanced case, presented was a peculiar twitching of his face and jaw. Very much like Colliver's symptom, though not as regular or strong. But this was not Colliver's symptom, which occurred only in the paralytic stage of poliomyelitis. There were no other polio symptoms and it could not possibly be that disease. Then what was it?

Like a dog worrying at an old bone, he kept returning to the thought that it was a disease that he had never heard of before. Which was certainly impossible. Diseases mutated or changed, or were very rare. But there were no new diseases. This must be one of the rare ones. He could waste days going through his library, so he had to narrow down the field a bit. Preece was his only lead. As the first victim there was a good chance that he was also the carrier. Don pulled the phone to him and dialled the pursers office.

'Joriquet, I need some information about a passenger.'

'What do you require, sir, my records are quite near?'

I have a passenger here named Preece. I want to know where he comes from, and where he went before he boarded this ship. Any information at all that you have on him.'

'One moment, sir. Will you hold on - or should I ring you back?'

'I'll be in my office, in the sick bay that is.'

He hung up as Rama Kusum came in with a covered tray. 'I had dinner, Captain, and the thought occurred to me that perhaps you had not dined lately. So I took the liberty...'

Don concentrated, but could not remember the last time he had eaten. But he was almost too tired to be hungry now.

'Thanks, but I doubt if I could eat. I saw some of those reconstituted dehydrated meals and I'm sure that they are nutritious. But they looked too much like damp sawdust. Not right now -'

He broke off as Rama put the tray down on the desk before him and uncovered it. A smoking steak lay on the plate, the succulent odour causing him to automatically lick at his lips. He started to reach for the silverware - then looked up in sudden anger.

'I ordered that all foodstuffs except the dehydrated meals be disposed of. I will not have favouritism or special privileges for anyone, myself included.'

'Never, sir!' Rama backed away, hands raised against Don's anger. 'It is a very simple story. Chief Kurikka discovered one of the cooks preparing this for himself. He had apparently hidden it for his own swinish use. The Chief is a just man, but an angry one, and I tremble to tell you of the greedy cook's punishment. The least part of which was the careful preparation of this steak, but not the eating of same. It was the concerted agreement of all present that discarding it would be a waste. And that if anyone on the Big Joe were to have it, it would have to be you. There were no dissenting votes on that, sir. Please eat it before it gets cold.'

Don was silent a moment, then he took up the silverware. His voice was halting when he spoke.

'That is the least I can do. Please... thank them for me. It's a wonderful steak.'

He finished it all and was just washing it down with the last of the coffee when the phone rang. It was the purser calling back.

'The information you requested, Captain. Very simple. The man in question left Earth from the Chicago Lake Rocket Station, and he is also a resident of Greater Chicago. He had not been out of the city for at least a year before this flight. Is that the information you want, sir?'

'Yes, thank you, that's what I want.' Don slowly dropped the receiver back into place.

Dead end. There were no exotic diseases in Greater Chicago.

Is anything wrong?' Rama asked.

Don straightened up, aware that his worries were showing on his face.

'Just a false lead. I am trying to determine the nature of the disease that these people have. It's difficult. To be perfectly frank with you - I haven't the vaguest idea of what is wrong. Since you plan to be a doctor some day, Rama, you might as well find out now that doctors are human. Cut us and we bleed. We do not know everything. That is, any one of us does not know everything. That's why we have specialists. And I am now going to call on a specialist. You had better stay on duty here. I'll be in the control-room if you need me.'

Either the corridors were getting longer or he was getting tireder. He passed one of the passengers on the way, Mrs something-or-other, he should remember her name. He nodded in greeting as they passed, but she just turned away and sniffed audibly. He had to smile.

He could almost read her thoughts: bag-gage-stealing, food-stealing, water-stealing, phoney captain!

Kurikka was alone in the control-room, arms folded over his chest, as he slumped in the astrogators chair and looked at the dials and readouts before him. He might have been asleep, except that Kurikka was not the kind of man who slept on duty. He unfolded his six-foot form and stood up at attention, even though Don told him not to.

'On course, Captain. Everything in the green. Report from air technology said that the oxygen rate is holding steady.'

'At ease, Chief. Sit back down.' He looked him over, noting the wrinkled uniform - the Chief was usually immaculate - and the dark hollows under the man's eyes. 'How long has it been since you had any bunktime?'

I'm not quite sure, sir. But I feel fine. Not tired at all. Undoubtedly because I don't drink or smoke and am always in bed by nine.'

'You're a liar!' Don said, and they both smiled. 'Are we in voice contact with Mars yet?'

'Not yet. But Dr Ugalde showed me how to programme the computer to cut a tape for any messages. Just give it to me and I'll type it out.'

'It's simple enough. Ask them to contact Earth and have the United Diagnostic Centre in London stand by. I'm going to want a consultation. I'll send a list of the symptoms, but get that message out first. It may take some time for them to set up a link.'

'Consultation, for sickness. This has something to do with those patients you have?'

'It certainly does. I'm going to tell you, as my second in command, but I don't want it passed on. The first case appears to be getting serious. As far as I can tell, they all have the same thing. And I haven't the slightest idea of what it is.'

The Chief turned silently to the computer keyboard, and tapped in the message.

Don sat in the captain's chair and tried to organize his thoughts. Disease, cure, symptoms, everything whirled and would not come together in any meaningful pattern...

The voice did not disturb him, and only the steady shaking of his arm brought Don back to consciousness. He opened his gummy eyes to see the Chief bending over him.

'The United Diagnostic Centre is standing by,' Kurikka said.

'How long have I been asleep?'

'About four hours, sir. I checked with the sick bay and you weren't needed there. So I let you sleep.'

'You're probably right, Chief - I certainly needed it.' He looked around. Sparks was adjusting the jury-rigged transmitter and a rating was making entries in the ship's log. 'Now I want you to transcribe a message for me.'

Don dictated all the symptoms of the mysterious disease, and all the medical data about his patients. Every fact that he knew, even the passengers' names and addresses, so that their medical records on Earth could be consulted. Then he yawned and stretched as the coded tape was fitted into the transmitter.

I'm going to wash,' he said. 'There's plenty of time before we can expect an answer. And see if you can have some coffee sent down.'

Don felt better than he had at any time since the nightmare events had begun, following the collision with the meteorite. He had had some sleep and, for a change, there were no pressing emergencies. There was the trouble with the disease, but he could share the responsibility for that with others. Before this he had been alone - but now he had all the tremendous medical resources of Earth behind him. It was a lot like using an elephant gun to shoot a gnat, but it did give him a feeling of security.

Mars Central relayed one message from London asking for some more details, and Don supplied what information he could. Rama reported no change in any of the patients so Don could afford to relax - for the first time in how many days? - and sip his coffee. When the message finally came from the Diagnostic Centre he was not at all prepared for it.

'Hello Big Joe, this is Mars Central calling. I have a message for Doctor Chase, from the United Diagnostic Centre in London. Message follows. "We regret that there is no existing disease that matches the symptoms and details relayed to us. Please keep accurate records as this disease appears to be unique." End of message.'

Unique! Don was on his feet and the unbreakable glass cup was rolling across the deck, spilling a dark dribble of coffee.

There would be no help from the outside. He was alone with this problem, more alone than he had ever been before.

'That doesn't sound so good,' Kurikka said. Don smiled grimly.

'Not so good is a great understatement. For some reason, they can't seem to pinpoint the fever that is giving us trouble.'

'If it's a fever, that doesn't sound too bad. Another five, six days well be orbiting Mars and they can send up all the doctors you need to help out.'

'That's fine, as long as it is just a fever...'

Don cut off as the phone rang. Kurikka picked it up and listened for a moment before covering the mouthpiece.

'It's Rama in the sick bay' he said. 'He wants you at once.'

'Did he say why?'

Kurikka looked around at the other men on the bridge and reached a decision.

'Yes. He said that the patient, Preece, he's dead.'