The Wellness Plague

VI.

Six days later, Rey woke to learn that the Committee on Colonial Security had placed Far Edge under interdict. Neither people nor goods would be allowed into or out of the colony.

“Big deal,” he muttered at the breakfast table. “There hasn’t been any contact to speak of with the other colonies since I came here.”

Ryn-Rosenberger frowned. “The winter winds should cease by the end of the month. We need the zeps for heavy machinery, for new satellite dishes and fiber-optic cable. For that matter, do you plan on culturing your own drugs when you run out of your current supply?”

Rey grimaced, acknowledging the sense of that statement. He shoveled food into his mouth, resolving to wake up more fully before taking the next opportunity to make a fool of himself.

“Rey, excuse me.” Juanita Buergher-Murchison stood by his side, holding a small handset that was part of the building’s communications system. “Councilor Mercer-Konare needs to see you at the Town Hall. He has been trying to get through to the Terraces. They say… they say you are the reason for the Interdiction.”

The Town Hall was a single-story rectangle less than a half a kilometer from the clinic. Its hollowed center was a courtyard which, in good weather, was used for public ceremonies. The outside walls were braced and insulated by sod. Three of the wings were offices, usually vacant. The fourth was a theater, sometimes used for town meetings and amateur dramatic productions.

Rey had to push his way inside past the knots of people who were rapidly filling the theater. On all sides, voices were raised in argument, some angry, some fearful. As he shouldered his way through one of these groups, someone recognized him.

“Hey, Doc, what’s the story?” A strong hand reached out and grabbed him. “You haven’t been snitching on your friends, have you?”

Rey turned, trying to shake the hand off. “Of course not. Now let me go and—”

Another arm reached across, grabbed the hand strongly enough to elicit a grunt of pain, and shoved it away.

“You take it easy, Bart.” Mercer-Korare usually had the self-assurance which went with being the largest Freeholder in the colony. Now his face was flushed and shiny. He might have been afraid. Yet this made him seem more formidable, like a large wounded animal. Rey’s assailant seemed to recognize this, and drew back, muttering.

“Glad you could get over here, Rey.” Mercer-Korare spoke close to his ear in order to be heard over the din of voices. “I don’t know what those morons at the Terraces have—”

“Dr. Reynolds Morrill-Landers.” The voice came over the loudspeakers with a whipcrack of authority. The commotion dwindled away to silence. Looking around for the speaker, Rey noticed for the first time that the curtains at the front of the theater had been drawn aside to reveal a huge video screen. An austere face, wispy white hair framing an oddly delicate skull, seemed to regard him with the disdain he might have reserved for a substandard laboratory specimen.

“I am not a doctor,” Rey said, in the sudden silence. “I am a medical master.”

“You’re the closest thing on Far Edge,” Governor Calley-Li replied, in a voice which would brook no argument. “Except for your research, we might not have discovered the danger until it was too late.”

“Is identification of this great danger too much to ask?” Mercer-Konare queried.

“Years ago, when the establishment of Far Edge was being debated, I spoke against it,” Calley-Li said. “I felt that, at such a low elevation, even the protection of the best cordons would be problematic. Two years ago, the child of one of our most prominent Freeholders was stolen by the so-called White People, and an alien changeling left in his place. Soon thereafter I became governor and began instituting measures for the public safety. The strengthening of our police forces, the passage of the data access law, the formation of the Committee on Colonial Security were all part of my—”

“We know all that!” someone shouted.

“Yeah,” another voice agreed. “Save this for the election. Just explain why you’re screwing with our shipment schedules.”

“Quiet!” Mercer-Konare commanded. To Rey it seemed that he was not really displeased with the outbursts.

“Thank you, Councilor,” Calley-Li said, as the shouting subsided. “A few days ago, Master Morrill-Landers reported through medical channels the existence of a parasitic infestation which has apparently infected every member of your colony. We cannot take the risk that it will spread to the other colonies. For this reason, all contact with Far Edge is prohibited until it can be proven that the infection has been eradicated.”

“My reports were protected by physician-client privilege,” Rey protested. “Any violation of that is actionable.”

The governor blinked, surprised. “You mustn’t worry about that. The data access laws specifically provide that such files may be opened in the case of state emergency. By definition, no privilege exists under such conditions, and therefore it cannot be violated.”

“Governor, with all due respect,” Mercer-Konare interposed, “do we look like plague victims? I assure you that I am in the best of health. And so are my fellow citizens.”

“There have been many diseases with long incubation periods, such as AIDS and cancer,” Calley-Li answered. “They were no less fatal for that.”

“Just how are you going to enforce your decree?” a woman behind Rey asked. “We have our own VTOLs. Once the winds shift, we’ll be able to trade with the nearer colonies on our own. Are you going to have them shoot us down?”

“If it is necessary to contain this plague,” Calley-Li said, his voice quivering, “I will have Far Edge replaned.”

The room fell silent. Videos from childhood replayed themselves in Rey’s imagination: frozen mountain peaks vaporized by an instant, eye-searing glare. Thermonuclear fury creating a plateau which, when it cooled, would be seeded with Terrestrial microbes to produce soil.

“You wouldn’t,” Mercer-Konare whispered.

“I will do whatever is necessary to preserve the human race on this planet,” Calley-Li said. “This may well be the first attack of the White People. It cannot be allowed to succeed. Ask Morrill-Landers if I am exaggerating the danger.”

Heads turned toward him. A simple “You sure are,” is not going to suffice, Rey thought.

“I think,” he began, and paused to swallow so that his voice would sound like something more than a squeak. “I think it is a tremendously selfless statesman who is willing to sacrifice his daughter for the good of the community.”

Calley-Li’s eyes blazed. “What does that mean?”

“I’m talking about the Old Earth Days Ball several months ago,” Rey said. “Your daughter, Andrea, was paired a good deal of the time with O’Donnel Buergher-Murchison. The first parasites I discovered came from O’Donnel.”

“This is entirely irrelevant.”

“The parasite exists throughout the entire digestive systems,” Rey continued doggedly. “The spores are found in the intestines, the stomach, the throat, even the mouth. Little more than casual contact is required for transmission.”

“My daughter has not—”

“—Done anything wrong or even unusual,” Rey said. He spoke more rapidly, afraid Calley-Li would cut him off before he could finish. “A simple kiss would be enough. All she would notice would be an increase in appetite which wouldn’t show up on her waistline. And maybe that her allergies didn’t bother her any more. Ask yourself: has she been careless about wearing her breathing mask? Has there been a recent weight loss? Has she stopped taking allergy pills?”

“I don’t have to listen—” The image cut off abruptly. Rey stood staring at the blank screen. The swell of voices rose around him. The room seemed suddenly uncomfortably hot. He shouldered his way through the arguing groups. Stepping outside, he was nearly blinded by the daylight. The intensity of the early morning sun was a shock. For an instant, he imagined the detonation of a thermonuclear bomb. He wondered if there would be time for anything other than instant annihilation, whether he would sense the flash and feel the pain as his skin turned to ionized gas.

“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.